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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:45 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:45 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13700-0.txt b/13700-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1cceb11 --- /dev/null +++ b/13700-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10215 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13700 *** + +[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note +[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note + + + + +SLAVE NARRATIVES + +A Folk History of Slavery in the United States +From Interviews with Former Slaves + +TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY +THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT +1936-1938 +ASSEMBLED BY +THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT +WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION +FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA +SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS + +Illustrated with Photographs + + +WASHINGTON 1941 + + + + +VOLUME II + +ARKANSAS NARRATIVES + +PART 2 + + + + +Prepared by +the Federal Writers' Project of +the Works Progress Administration +for the State of Arkansas + + + +INFORMANTS + +Cannon, Frank +Cauley, Zenie +Chambers, Liney +Charleston, Jr., Willie Buck +Chase, Lewis +Clay, Katherine +Clemments, Maria Sutton [TR: also reported as Maria Sutton Clements] +Clemons, Fannie +Clinton, Joe +Coleman, Betty +Cotton, Lucy +Cotton, T.W. +Cragin, Ellen +Crane, Sallie +Crawford, Isaac +Crosby, Mary +Crump, Richard +Culp, Zenia +Cumins, Albert [TR: in header and text of interview, Cummins] +Curlett, Betty +Curry, J.H. + +Dandridge, Lyttleton +Daniels, Ella +Darrow, Mary Allen +Davis, Alice +Davis, Charlie +Davis, D. +Davis, James +Davis, Jim +Davis, Jeff +Davis, Jeff +Davis, Jordan +Davis, Mary Jane Drucilla +Davis, Minerva +Davis, Rosetta +Davis, Virginia (Jennie) +Davis, Winnie +Day, Leroy +Dell, Hammett +Dickey, James +Diggs, Benjamin +Dillon, Katie +Dixon, Alice +Dixon, Luke D. +Dixon, Martha Ann +Dockery, Railroad +Donalson, Callie +Dortch, Charles Green +Dorum, Fannie +Dothrum, Silas +Douglas, Sarah +Douglas, Tom +Douglas, Sarah and Tom +Douglas, Sebert +Doyl, Henry +Doyld, Willie +Dudley, Wade +Duke, Isabella +Dukes, Wash +Dunn, Lizzie +Dunne, Nellie +Dunwoody, William L. + +Edwards, Lucius +Elliott, John +Evans, Millie +Farmer, Robert +Fergusson, Lou +Ferrell, Jennie +Fikes, Frank +Filer, J.E. +Finger, Orleans [TR: in text of interview, Orleana] +Finley, Molly +Finney, Fanny +Fisher, Gate-Eye +Fitzgerald, Ellen +Fitzhugh, Henry +Flagg, Mary +Flowers, Doc +Fluker, Frances +Fluker, Ida May +Ford, Wash +Fortenberry, Judia +Foster, Emma +Foster, Ira +Franklin, Leonard +Frazier, Eliza +Frazier, Mary +Frazier, Tyler +Freeman, Mittie +Fritz, Mattie + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +Sarah and Sam Douglas [TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes + "'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."] +Millie Evans + + +[TR: Some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added +to interview headers in brackets. Where part of date could not be +determined -- has been substituted. These dates do not appear to +represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews +were received or perhaps transcription dates.] + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Frank Cannon + R.F.D., two miles, Palestine, Arkansas +Age: 77 + + +"I was born three miles west of Starkville, Mississippi on a pretty +tolerable large farm. My folks was bought from a speculator drove come +by. They come from Sanders in South Ca'lina. Master Charlie Cannon +bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. He had +five farms, big size farms. Saturday was ration day. + +"Our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to +preach to us. He was a white preacher. Said he wanted his slaves to be +Christians. + +"I never went to school in my life. I was taught by the fireside to be +obedient and not steal. + +"We et outer trays hewed out of logs. Three of us would eat together. We +had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. +We all had gourds to drink outer. When we had milk we'd get on our knees +and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. They give the grown up +the meat and us pot-liquor. + +"Pa was a blacksmith. He got a little work from other plantations. The +third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. The master was dead. He +never went to war. He went in the black jack thickets. His sons wasn't +old enough to go to war. Pa seemed to like ole master. The overseer was +white looking like the master but I don't know if he was white man or +nigger. Ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. Master +held him off on whooping. + +"When the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and +look at him. When he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. He didn't care +if we look at him. + +"My pa was light about my color. Ma was dark. I heard them say she was +part Creek (Indian). + +"Folks was modester before the children than they are now. The children +was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. Everything +we said wasn't smart like what children say now. We was seen and not +heard. Not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a +brush to nettle our legs. Then we'd run and holler both. + +"Now and then a book come about and it was hid. Better not be caught +looking at books. + +"Times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got +worked too hard and frailed. Some folks was treated very good, some +killed. + +"Folks getting mean now. They living in hopes and lazing about. They +work some." + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person Interviewed: Zenie Cauley + 1000 Louisiana + Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 78 +[-- 7 1938] + + +"I member when they freed the people. + +"I was born in Bedie Kellog's yard and I know she said, 'Zenie, I hate +to give you up, I'd like to keep you.' But my mother said, 'No, ma'am, I +can't give Zenie up.' + +"We still stayed there on the place and I was settled and growed up when +I left there. + +"I'm old. I feels my age too. I may not look old but I feels it. + +"Yes ma'am, I member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. +Old folks had rags on their hair. Yes'm, I been here. + +"My father was a Missionary Baptist preacher and he _was_ a preacher. +Didn't know 'A' from 'B' but he was a preacher. Everbody knowed Jake +Alsbrooks. He preached all over that country of North Carolina. They'd +be as many white folks as colored. They'd give him _money_ and he never +called for a collection in his life. Why one Sunday they give him +sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse. + +"Fore I left the old county, I member the boss man, Henry Grady, come by +and tell my mother, 'I'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when I +come back--kill a chicken.' She was one of the cooks. Used to have us +chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house. + +"Yes, I done left there thirty-six years--will be this August. + +"When we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets +and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach +on Sunday. He fell down in Bedie Kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the +barn. He was standin' on the wagon and I guess he lost his balance. They +sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his +nabel string. They preached his funeral ever year for five years. Seemed +like they just couldn't give him up. + +"White folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up +Uncle Jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he +beat us so I don't know how I can remember anything. He wouldn't let us +go to school. Had to work and just live like pigs. + +"Oh, I used to be a tiger bout work, but I fell on the ice in +'twenty-nine and I ain't never got over it. I said I just had a death +shock. + +"I never went to school but three months in my life. Didn't go long +enough to learn anything. + +"I was bout a mile from where I was born when I professed religion. My +daddy had taught us the right way. I tell you, in them days you couldn't +join the church unless you had been changed. + +"I come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to Arkansas." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Liney Chambers, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I was born in Tennessee close to Memphis. I remember seein' the +Yankees. I was most too little to be very scared of them. They had their +guns but they didn't bother us. I was born a slave. My mother cooked for +Jane and Silas Wory. My mother's name was Caroline. My father's name was +John. An old bachelor named Jim Bledsoe owned him. When the war was over +I don't remember what happened. My mother moved away. She and my father +didn't live together. I had one brother, Proctor. I expect he is dead. +He lived in California last I heard of him. + +"They just expected freedom all I ever heard. I know they didn't expect +the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land +bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. They +thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. They kept +the land and that is about all there was left. Whut the Yankees didn't +take they wasted and set fire to it. They set fire to the rail fences so +the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. Both sides +was mean. But it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the +Souths ground it was the wurst here. Now that's just the way I sees it. +They done one more thing too. They put any colored man in the front +where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the +back lines. When they come along they try to get the colored men to go +with them and that's the way they got treated. I didn't know where +anybody was made to stay on after the war. They was lucky if they had a +place to stay at. There wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. Times +was awful unsettled for a long time. People whut went to the cities +died. I don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' +and livin' I guess whut done it. They died mighty fast for awhile. I +knowed some of them and I heard 'em talking. + +"That period after the war was a hard time. It sho was harder than the +depression. It lasted a long time. Folks got a lots now besides what +they put up with then. Seemed like they thought if they be free they +never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. They +found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been +used to. I don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the +color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. Some of +them had a worse time. So many soon got sick and died. They died of +Consumption and fevers and nearly froze. Some near 'bout starved. The +colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war. + +"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen one. + +"I never voted. I don't believe in it. + +"I never heard of any uprisings. I don't know nobody in that rebellion +(Nat Turner). + +"I used to sing to my children and in the field. + +"I lived on the farm till I come to my daughters to live. I like it +better then in town. We homesteaded a place at Grunfield (Zint) and my +sister bought it. We barely made a living and never had money to lay up. + +"I don't know what they'll (young generation) do. Things going so fast. +I'm glad I lived when I did. I think it's been the best time for p[o]r +folks. Some now got too much and some not got nothin'. That what I +believe make times seem so hard." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Willie Buck Charleston, Jr., Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"I was born up here on the Biscoe place before Mr. Biscoe was heard of +in this country. I'm for the world like my daddy. He was light as I is. +I'm jus' his size and make. There was three of us boys. Dan was the +oldest; he was my own brother, and Ed was my half-brother. My daddy was +a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. He was in the Old War (Civil +War). He was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. +Mother had been a cook. She and my grandmother was sold in South +Carolina and brought out here. Mother's name was Sallie Harry. Judging +by them being Harrys that might been who owned them before they was +sold. She was about as light as me. Mother died when I was a litter bit +er of a fellar. Then me and Dan lived from house to house. Grandma Harry +and my Aunt Mat and Jesse Dove raised us. My daddy married right er way +ag'in. + +"I recollect mighty little about the war. We lived back in the woods and +swamps. I was afraid of the soldiers. I seen them pass by. I was so +little I can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them. + +"When we lived over about Forrest City I seen the Ku Klux whoop Joe Saw +and Bill Reed. It was at night. They was tied to trees and whooped with +a leather snake whoop. I couldn't say how it come up but they sure +poured it on them. There was a crowd come up during the acting. I was +scared to death then. After then I had mighty little use for dressed-up +folks what go around at night (Ku Klux). I can tell you no sich thing +ever took place as I heard of at Biscoe. We had our own two officers and +white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well together." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lewis Chase; Des Arc, Arkansas +Age: 90? + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I answer all your questions I knows lady. + +"When de Civil War goin on I heard lots folks talking. I don't know what +all they did say. It was a war mong de white folks. Niggers had no say +in it. Heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. +Niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. Yankey troops come take +everything we had made, take it to the Bluff (DeValls Bluff), waste it +and eat it. He claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater +way. De niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. +Niggers what I knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin +but freedom. + +"I was sold. Yes mam I sho was. Jes put up on a platform and auctioned +off. Sold right here in Des Arc. Nom taint right. My old mistress [Mrs. +Snibley] whoop me till I run off and they took me back when they found +out where I lef from. I stayed way bout two weeks. + +"One man I sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. N[o]'[o]m he +didn't get me. I heard him puttin up the prices and I sho hope he didn't +get me. + +"I don't know whar I come from. Old Missus Snibley kept my hat pulled +down over my face so I couldn't see de way to go back. I didn't want to +come and I say I go right back. Whar I set, right between old missus and +master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus +Snibley's two girls right behind us. I recken it was a covered wagon. +The girls name was Florence and Emma. Old master Snibley never whip me +but old Missus sho did pile it on me. Noom I didn't lack her. I run +away. He died f[o] the war was over. I did leave her when de war was +over. + +"I saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but I nebber seed no Ku +Klux. I heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the Wattensaw bridge +[Iron bridge]. I was scared might near all de time for four years. Noom +I didn't want no soldiers to get me. + +"I recken I wo long britches when de war started cause when I pulled off +dresses I woe long britches. Never wo no short ones. Nigger boys and +white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years +old in them times. They put on britches when they big nough to help at +the field. + +"I worked at the house and de field. I'se farmed all my life. + +"I vote [HW: many] a time. I don't know what I vote. Noom I don't! I +recken I votes Democrat, I don't know. It don't do no good. Noom I ain't +voted in a long time. I don't know nothin bout votin. I never did. + +"Noom I never owned no land, noom no home neither. I didn't need no +home. The man I worked for give me a house on his place. I work for +another man and he give me a house on his land. I owned a horse one +time. I rode her. + +"I don't know nuthin bout the young generation. I takes care bout +myself. Dats all I'm able to do now. Some ob dem work. Nom they don't +work hard as I did. I works now hard as they do. They ought to work. I +don't know what going to become ob them. I can't help what they do. + +"The times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap +ob time they ain't no work fo em to do. + +"Noom I lived at Bells, Arkansas for I come to Hickory Plains and Des +Arc. I don't know no kin but my mother. She died durin the war. Noom not +all de white folks good to the niggers. Some mean. They whoop em. Some +white folks good. Jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and +some ob em mean. + +"I works when I can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little. + +"I _am_ er hundred years old! Cause I knows I is. White folks all tell +you I am." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Katherine Clay, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 69 + + +"I was born in West Point, Mississippi. My folks' owners was Master +Harris and Liddie Harris. My parent's name was Sely Sikes. She was +mother of seven children. Papa was name Owen Sikes. He never was +whooped. They had different owners. Both my grandparents was dead on +both sides. I never seen them. + +"Mama said her owners wasn't good. Her riding boss put a scar on her +back she took to her grave. It was deep and a foot long. He wanted to +whoop her naked. He had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. She +run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and +told him all about it. She had been in the woods about a week she +reckon. She had a baby she had left. The old mistress done had it +brought to her. She was nursing it. She had a sicking baby of her own. +She kept that baby. Mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had +to come wait on her; it nearly ruined. + +"Mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and +give him ten minutes to leave his place. He left in a hurry. That was +her very first baby. She was raising a family, so they put her a nurse +at the house. She had been ploughing. She had big fine children. They +was proud of them. She raised a big family. She took care of all her and +Miss Liddie's babies and washed their hippins. Never no soap went on +them she said reason she had that to do. Another woman cooked and +another woman washed. + +"Mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her have +her four children. She grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would have a +hard time. She sold for one thousand dollars. She said that was half +price but freedom was coming on. She never laid eyes on her mama ag'in. + +"After freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the +place run the Ku Klux off. They come there and he told them to go on +away, if he need them he would call them back out there. They never came +back, she said. They was scared to death of the Ku Klux. At the place +where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. That was +for miles about. Their master told them up at his house. He said it was +sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. But for +them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. They +didn't go off right at first. They was several years getting broke up. +Some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. Like bees trying to +find a setting place. Seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even +being free. + +"I had eleven children my own self. I let the plough fly back and hit me +once and now I got a tumor there. I love to plough. I got two children +living. She comes to see me. She lives across over here. I don't hear +from my boy. I reckon he living. I gets help from the relief on account +I can't work much with this tumor." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clemments, DeValls Bluff, Ark. +Age: Between 85 and 90 years +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clements] + + +I don't know jes how old I is. Yes mum I show do member the war jes lack +as if it was yesterday. I was born in Lincoln County, Georgia. My old +mistress was named Frances Sutton. She was a real old lady. Her husband +was dead. She had two sons Abraham and George. One of them tried to get +old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. He wanter sell +her cause she too old to bear children. Sell her and buy young woman +raise mo children to sell. Put em in the nigger drove and speculate on +em. Young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes +and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred +dollars. Yea mam every cent of it. Two weeks after baby born see the +mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the +children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. When de sun come +up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid +de dogs playin long after him. If they didn't chop dat cotton jes right +he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood +run out the gashes. They come right back and take up whar they lef off +work. Two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row. + +Had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. +They didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. They had pewter bowls to +eat outer and spoons. Eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the +kitchen. Eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the +bell rung. Big bell on a high post. + +My ma's name was Sina Sutton. She come from Virginia in a nigger traders +drove when she was sixteen years old and Miss Frances husband bought er. +She had nine childen whut lived. I am de youngest. She died jes before +de war broke out. Till that time I had been trained a house girl. My ma +was a field hand. Then when the men all went to the army I plowed. I +plowed four years I recken, till de surrender. Howd I know it was +freedom? A strange woman--I never seed fore, came runnin down where we +was all at work. She say loud as she could "Hay freedom. You is free." +Everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. Dats whut +they come by fer. Course dey was Yankee soldiers settin the colored +folks all free. Everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. They +didn't know whar des goin. Jes scatterin round. I say give 'em somethin. +They was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the +land. The hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. White folks sho +had been rich but all they had was the land. The smoke houses had been +stripped and stripped. The cows all been took off cept the scrubs. Folks +plowed ox and glad to plow one. + +Sometime we had a good time. I danced till I joined the church. We +didn't have no nigger churches that I knowed till after freedom. Go to +the white folks church. We danced square dance jess like the white folks +long time ago. The niggers baptized after the white folks down at the +pond. They joined the white folks church sometimes. The same woman on +the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for Miss Frances. I +recollects that. She knitted and seed about things. She showed the +nigger women how to sew. All the women on the place could card and spin. +They sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. +They show didn't teach them to read. They whoop you if they see you have +a book. If they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout +freedom or equalization. They scatter you bout. + +When they sell you, they take you off. See drove pass the house. Men be +ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. The slaves +be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. They make em stand in +a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction +em. + +The pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own +land. There shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. Some ob +dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get +them to work for them sometimes and pay em. + +When you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. When a +man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. They call +it sellin nigger meat. No use tryin run off they catch you an bring you +back. + +I don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they +was fightin. Said that was what it was about. That was a white mans war +cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the Yankee lines. And some ob +the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. He so used to bein +waited on. I ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem I tell you. + +If der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. The niggers +get passes and visit round on Saturday evening or on Sunday jes mongst +theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round. + +When dat war was done Georgia was jes like being at the bad place. You +couldn't stay in the houses fear some Ku Klux come shoot under yo door +and bust in wid hatchets. Folks hide out in de woods mostly. If dey hear +you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. They whoop you. You +couldn't be settin or standing talkin. They come and ask you what he +been tell you. That Ku Klux killed white men too. They say they put em +up to hold offices over them. It was heap worse in Georgia after freedom +than it was fore. I think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de +white man put on him. We's had a hard time. Some of em down there in +Georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals +and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly +starved and died out. I heard em talk bout how they died in piles. +Niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. White folks didn't have +no meat, no flour. + +The folks was after some people and I run off and kept goin till I +took up with some people. The white folks brought them to +Tennessee--Covington--I come too. They come in wagons. My father, he got +shot and I never seed him no mo. He lived on another farm fo de war. I +lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and I married. My old +man wanted to come to dis new country. Heard so much talk how fine it +was. Then I had run across my brother. He followed me. One brother was +killed in the war somehow. My brother liked Memphis an he stayed there. +We come on the train. I never did like no city. + +We farmed bout, cleared land. Never got much fo the hard work we done. +The white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was +made cept a bare living. + +I could read a little and write. He could too. We went to school a +little in Tennessee. + +When we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, +right here, and I cooked fo Mr. Hopkins seven years and fo Mr. Gus +Thweatt and fo Mr. Nick Thweatt. We got a little ahead then by the +hardest. I carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her +waist]. We bought a house and five acres of land. No mum I don't own it +now. We got in hard luck and give a mortgage. They closed us out. Mr. +Sanders. They say I can live there long as I lives. But they owns it. My +garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. They promises to +come put the posts in but they won't do it and I ain't able no mo. I had +a garden this year. Spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid +the kolerg [cholera]. So I ain't got no meat to eat dis year. + +I ain't never had a chile. I ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat I +knows bout. When I gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after +me. + +I thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they +too lazy to work. No mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. They ain't got +no religion. They so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise +em. I never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation +is killin time. I sho never did vote. I don't believe in it. The women +runnin the world now. The old folks ain't got no money an the young ones +wastes theirs. Theys able to make it. They don't give the old folks +nuthin. The times changes so much I don't know what goiner come next. I +jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. I can't +see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. Things is heap better now fo de +young folks now if they would help derselves. I'm too wo out. I can't do +much like I could when I was young. The white folks don't cheat the +niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when I farmed. + +I never knowed about uprisings till the Ku Klux sprung up. I never heard +bout the Nat Turner rebellion. I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed +come from Virginia. A fellow come in the country bout everybody called +Solomon. Dis long fo the war. He was a free man he said. He would go +bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him +along. He teached some to read. When freedom he went to Augusta. My +brother seed him and said "Solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "I +am er teaching school to my own color." Then he said they run him out of +Virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. Some white +folks up North learned him to read and cipher. He used a black slate and +he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. He was what they +called a ginger cake color. They would whoop you if they seed you with +books learnin. Mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. We mark on +the ground. The passes bout all the paper I ever seed fo I come to +Tennessee. Then I got to go to school a little. + +Whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? Never had +none cept if a white man give it to him. When you a slave you don't have +nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. They cook on the +fireplace. Niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in +one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. The Ku Klux +done the uprisin. They say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. They +killed a lot of black folks in Georgia and a few white folks whut they +said was in wid em. We darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. Two or +three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet +nearly off. That the way the white folks treat the darky. + +I never knowed nobody to hold office. Them whut didn't want to starve +got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. You don't know whut hard +times is. Dem was hard times. They used to hide in big cane brakes, +nearly wild and nearly starved. Scared to come out. I ain't wanted to go +back to Georgia. + +The folks I lived wid fo I come to Tennessee, he tanned hides down at +the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. He sold +them. We farmed but I watched them up at the house minu a time. + +One thing I recollect mighty well. Fo de war a big bellied great monster +man come in an folks made a big to do over him. He eat round and laughed +round havin a big time. His name was Mr. Wimbeish (?). He wo white +britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all +trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. He blowed a bugle +and marched all the men every Friday ebening. He come to Miss Frances. +They fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my +mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. When de first shot of war +went off no more could be heard ob old Mr. Wimbeish. He lef an never was +heard tell ob no mo. _He said never was a Yankee had a hart he didn't +understand_! I never did know whut he was. He jess said that right +smart. + +I gets the Old Age Pension and meets the wagon and gets a little +commodities. I works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. +I trusts in de Lord and try to do right, honey, dat way I lives. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements, De Valls Bluff, Ark. +Age: Between 85 and 90 +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments] + + +"Miss, I don't know a whole heap bout Mr. Wimbeish. I don't know no +other name that what they all call him. Some I heard say it like +Wimbush. He was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here +[stomach]. He have hair bout color youn [light]. He have big blue eyes +jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. He was a lively +man. He had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. He had fair skin and +rosy jaws--full round face. He laughed out loud pretty often. He looked +fine when he laughed too. They all was foolish bout him. He was a +newcommer in there. I don't know whah he stay. He come down the road +regular as Friday come, going to practice em marchin'. Looked like bout +fifty fellows. I never seed Mr. Wimbeish on a horse all time he passed +long that road. He miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed +there. He wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. I never seed him outer +that fresh starched white suit. It was fishtail coat and had red bands +stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. He sure +was a young man. They had him bout different places eatin'. Old mistress +said, 'Fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' That table +was piled full. It was fine eatin'. He say so much I couldn't forgit. +Never was a Yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. I don't +know what he was. He was so different. He muster been a Southerner +'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. It was fo de +war. They say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done gone an' +nebber been heard of till dis day. I heard some say last they seed him, +he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off to find +em nother captain. I don't know if they was tellin' like it took place. +I know I never seed him no more. + + +Slave Times + +"The servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans--little wooden +bowls--and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. Some +had tables fixed up out under the trees. Way they make em--split a big +tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. They +cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. They cooked sompin +to eat. They had plenty to eat. But they didn't have pies and cake less +they be goiner have company. They have so much milk they fatten the pigs +on it. + +"The animals eat up the gardens and crops. The man kill coon and possum +if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. I say it sure is good. It +is good as pork. The men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. If you +be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a +bucket that high [2 ft.], that big er round [1-1/2 feet wide]. The hands +all come an' did they eat. That be mostly fried meat and bread and baked +taters, so they could work. + +"Old mistress say she first married Mr. Abraham Chenol. Then she married +Mr. Joel Sutton and they both died. She had two sons. She had a nephew +what come there from way off. She said he was her sister's boy. Couse +they had doctors and good ones. Iffen a doctor come say one thing the +matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. Old +mistress had three boys till one died. I was brushin' flies offen him. +She come and cry and go way cryin'. He callin' her all time. He quit +callin' her then he was dead. Made a sorter gurglin' sound. That the +first person I seed die. When they say he dead I got out and off I was +gone. I was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. I don't know +what was the matter wid em. They buried him on her place whah the grave +yard was made. Both her husbands buried down there. She had a fine +marble put over his grave. It had things wrote on it. She sent way off +an' got it. They hauled it to here in a wagon. The Masons burled him. It +was the prettiest sight I ever seed. + +"Her son John had some peafowls. She had geese--a big drove--turkeys, +guineas, ducks, and geese. + +"She had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! They +used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather +bed. Old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. +They had a marble top table and a big square piano. That was the parlor +furniture. They made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins. + +"When she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine +dresses--big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round +her waist. We wore 5ยข calico and gingham dresses for best. She'd buy +three and four bolts at Augusta [Georgia] and have it made up to work +in. We didn't spin and weave till the war come on. Some old men come +round making spinnin' wheels. They was very plain too nearly bout rough. +Rich folks had fine silk dresses--jes' rattle when they walked--to wear +to preachin'. They sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war +but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war +started. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"It started outener the bushwhackers. Some say they didn't get what was +promised em at Shiloh Battle. They didn't get their rights. I don't know +what they meant by it. The bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner +work--ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. Such hollerin' and +scramblin' then you never heard. They hide behind big pine trees till he +come up then step out behind and grab him. They first come an' call fer +water. Plenty water in the well or down at the spring. They knowed it +too. Then they waste all you had brought up and say--'Ah! First drink I +had since I come from hell.' They all knowed ain't nobody come from +hell. They had hatchets an' they burst in your house. Jes' to scare you. +They shoot under your house. They wore their wives big wide nightgowns +and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. They looked like a gang from +hell--ugliest things you ebber _did_ see. It was cold--ground spewed up +wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. +Old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a +preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. He put a navy six in his +belt and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. It was a long gun +shoot sixteen times. He was a dangerous man. He made the Ku Klux let his +folks alone. He walk all night bout his place. He say, 'Forward March!' +Then they pass by. He was a dangerous man. So much takin' place all time +I was scared nearly to death all time." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements + De Valls Bluff, Arkansas +Age: +[Dec 31 1937] +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments] + + +"Missus, I thought if I'd see you agin I'd tell you this song: + + 'Jeff Davis is President + Abe Lincoln is a fool + Come here, see Jeff ride the gray horse + And Abe Lincoln the mule.' + +"They sang all sich songs durin' of the war. + +"Five wagons come by. They said it was Jeff Davise's wagons. They was +loaded wid silver money--all five--in Lincoln County, Georgia. Somehow +the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. +Abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. Sho it +was white folks all but two or three slaves. Hogs tore up sacks money, +find em hid in the woods. They thought it was corn. They found a leather +trunk full er money--silver money--down in the creek. Money buried all +round. The way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime +to a Yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. That started it all. They tied +their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in +trees by their wrists behind em. It put heep of em in bed an' some most +died never did get over it. The Yankee soldiers come down that [HW: +then?] and got all the money nearly. They say the war last four years, +five months. Seemed like twenty years." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Person Interviewed: Fannie Clemons + 940 N. Washington + El Dorado, Ark. +Age: 78 + + +"I was born down in Farmerville, Louisiana in the year of 1860. Now my +ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people I do not +know. You see, child, I am old and I can't recollect so good. I didn't +know my pa cause my ma quit him when I was little. My ma said she worked +hard in the field like a black stepchild. My ma had nine chilluns and I +was the oldest of the nine. She said her old miss wouldn't let her come +to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl +through a hole in the floor. She took and pulled a plank up so she could +slip through. + +"I would drink any kind of water that I saw if I wanted a drink. If the +white folks poured out wash water and I wanted a drink that would do me. +It just made me fat and healthy. Most we played was tussling, and +couldn't no boy throw me. Nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't. + +"We always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. +At Christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas +and stuff like that wasn't out then. Bananas and oranges just been out a +few years. And sugar--we did not know about that. We always used sugar +from molasses. I don't think sugar been in session long. If it had I did +not get it. + +"I got married when I was pretty old, I lived with my husband eight +years and he died. I had some children, but I stole them. The biggest +work I ever done was farm and we sure worked." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person interviewed: Joe Clinton, Route 2, Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 86 + + +"Uncle Joe" Clinton, on ex-Mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that +he owns a few miles north of Marvell, Arkansas. His wife has been dead +for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his +boy, Joe, who left home fifteen years ago for Chicago and from whom no +word has been received since, is still alive. Due to the infirmities of +age "Uncle Joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the +income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the Negro +family with whom he lives. Seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "Uncle +Joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early October as +I passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his +cabin. Arousing himself on my approach, the old Negro offered me a +chair. I explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the +following story: + +"I'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in Panola County, +Mississippi 'bout three miles from Sardis. My ole mars was Mark +Childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en +jus' gangs of chillun. I was real small when us lived in Panola County; +how-some-ever I riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold +out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big +plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in Coahoma County not far from +Friar Point. De very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is +what dey call now, de 'Clover Hill Plantation'. De fust year dat us +lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'Swan Lake +Place'. Dat place is over dere close to Jonestown and de very place dat +Mr. Billy Jones and his son John bought, en dats zackly how come dat +town git its name. It was named for Mr. John Jones. + +"My mars, Mark Childress, he never was married. He was a bachelor, en +I'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to +be found wid him. But dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. Dey +was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat I is +ever seen. Dat was Harvey Brown. Mars had a nephew what lived with him +named Mark Sillers. He was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. +Mr. Mark Sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times +dat mars 'way from home Mr. Mark, he the real boss den. + +"Mr. Harvey Brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough I tell you, and de +onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would +be old mars or Mr. Mark Sillers. Bofe of dem was good and kind most all +de time. One time dat I remembers, ole mars, he gone back to Panola +County for somepin', en Mr. Mark Sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. +That was de day dat Mr. Harvey Brown come mighty nigh killin' Henry. +I'll tell you how dat was, boss. It was on Monday morning that it +happened. De Friday before dat Monday morning, all of de hands had been +pickin' cotton and Mr. Harvey Brown didn't think dat Henry had picked +enough cotton dat day en so he give Henry er lashin' out in de field. +Dat night Henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid +in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. Mr. Harvey, he missed +Henry from de field en sent Jeff an' Randall to find him and bring him +in. Dey found Henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to +de field dat Mr. Harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. So Henry, he +comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds +what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off. + +"When Henry git back Mr. Harvey say, 'Henry, where your sack? And how +come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' Henry say he +done burnt he sack up. Wid dat Mr. Harvey lit in to him like a bear, +lashin' him right and left. Henry broke en run den to de cook house +where he mammy, 'Aunt Mary', was, en Mr. Harvey right after him wid a +heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. Mr. Harvey got Henry +cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. In fact, +Mr. Harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt Henry 'cause he called +'Uncle Nat' en said, 'Nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis +nigger what I done kilt.' + +"But Henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in +de sick house. For days en days 'Uncle Warner' had to 'tend to him, en +wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. Dat was jus' de way +dat Mr. Harvey Brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. He +would even lash en beat de wimmens. + +"Ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where +dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' +in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. Old 'Aunt Hannah', an old granny +woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. De chillun's mammies, dey would +come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. +Dere was er young nigger woman name Jessie what had a young baby. One +day when Jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, Mr. Harvey think +she gone little too long. He give her a hard lashin'. + +"Ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he +own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. Dat was where all +de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. Aunt Mary, she de +head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. All of de field hands +durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. I waited +on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters +en de barns, en too I was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets +of grub to de field hands. + +"Ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. +Dat was where dem was put dat was sick. It was a place where dey was +doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. It was er sort +er hospital like. 'Uncle Warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he +could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play +off from work. + +"My pappy, he was named Bill Clinton en my mammy was named Mildred. De +reason how come I not named Childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he +named Clinton when mars git him from de Clintons up in Tennessee +somewhere. My mars, he was a good man jus' like I'm tellin' you. Mars +had a young nigger woman named Malinda what got married to Charlie +Voluntine dat belonged to Mr. Nat Voluntine dat had a place 'bout six +miles from our place. In dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen +de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't +git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. So +Malinda, she got atter mars to buy Charlie. Sure 'nough he done that +very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. Dat was good in our +mars. + +"When any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, +dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he +say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'Uncle Peyton' to +marry 'em. 'Course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers +to marry en I don't riccolect what it was dat 'Uncle Peyton' would say +when he done de marryin'. But I 'members well dat 'Uncle Peyton', he de +one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies. + +"My mars, he didn't go to de War but he sure sent er lot er corn en he +sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat I 'members. +Den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de Confedrites +in Georgia. I 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. They was +all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en +goin' to de War. Dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em +fight. But mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en +sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en Jeff an' Randall, they runned +off en come back home all de way from Georgia en mars let 'em stay. + +"Boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en +dat his overseer, Mr. Harvey Brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en +would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it +was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. Now I'se +gwine to tell you de reason. You know de truth is de light, boss, an' +dis is de truth what I'se gwine to say. Mars, he in love with Mr. Harvey +Brown's wife, Miss Mary, and Miss Mary's young daughter, she was mars' +chile. Yas suh, she was dat. She wasn't no kin er tall to Mr. Harvey +Brown. Her name was Miss Markis, dats what it was. Mars had done willed +dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. He +was gwine give her Tolliver, Beckey, Aunt Mary, Austin, an' Savannah en +er heap more 'sides dat. But de War, it come on en broke mars up, en all +de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so I heered Mr. Harvey Brown en Miss +Mary, and de young lady Miss Markis, dey moved up North some place en I +ain't never heered no more from dem. + +"Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Clarke what de town of Clarksdale is named for, dey +lived not far from our place. I knowed dem well. Albert, one of mars' +darkies, married Cindy, one of Mr. Clarke's women. General Forrest, I +know you is heered of him. I speck he 'bout de bes' general in de War. +He sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. De +general, he had a big plantation down dere in Coahoma County where he +would come ever so offen. A lot of times he would come to our place en +take dinner wid ole mars, en I would be er waitin' on de table er takin' +dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness. + +"Boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de +white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. Dere was a heap of dat went on +all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' +had to put up wid it. Da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens I'se +ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. Of +course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars +knowin' it. Dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but I'se never heered +'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. It jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed +it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. You know dat niggers is +bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and +some of mars' darkies, dey say dat Sam and Dick, what was two real light +colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. Dat was all talk. I nebber +did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber +cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Betty Coleman + 1112-1/2 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 +Occupation: Cotton Picker +[Dec 31 1937] + + +"My father belonged to Mr. Ben Martin and my mother and me belonged to +the Slaughters. I was small then and didn't know what the war was about, +but I remember seein' the Yankees and the Ku Klux. + +"Old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but Mr. Martin had a +plenty--he had bout a hundred head. + +"I member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in Bradley County. We +was goin' to Texas to keep the Yankees from gettin' us. I member Mr. Gil +Martin was just a young lad of a boy. We got as far as Union County and +I know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and +then peace was declared so we cane back to Warren. + +"While the war was goin' on, I member when my mother took a note to some +soldiers in Warren and asked em to come and play for Miss Mary. I know +they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. There was +a perty big bunch of em. Us chillun was glad to hear it. I member just +as well as if 'twas yesterday. + +"I member when the Yankees come and took all of Miss Mary's silver--took +every piece of it. And another time they got three or four of the +colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em +bareback. Yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as +mad. Oh Lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. All the horses was +just alike--iron gray. Sho was perty horses. Them Yankees took +everything Miss Mary had. + +"After the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop and +then my father bought fifty acres of Mr. Ben Martin. He paid some on it +every year and when it was paid for Mr. Ben give him a deed to it. + +"I'm the only child my mother had. She never had but me, one. I went to +school after the war and I member at night I'd be studyin' my lesson and +rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. I used to +love to hear him on long winter evenings. + +"I stayed right there till I married. My father had cows and he'd kill +hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. Our white folks was +always good to us." + + + + +Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lucy +Person interviewed: Lucy Cotton + Russellville, Arkansas +Age: 72 +[Jan 7 1938] + + +"Lucy Cotton's my name, and I was born on the tenth day of June, 1865, +jist two months after the surrender. No suh, I ain't no kin to the other +Cottons around here, so far as I knows. My mother was Jane Hays, and she +was owned by a master named Wilson. + +"I've belonged to the Holiness Church six years. (They call us +'Holiness,' but the real name is Pentecostal.) + +"Yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when I was a +girl--especially among the young people. I think no woman, white or +black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. Their +place is at home raisin' a family. I hear em sometimes slinging out +their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me. + +"Good day, mistah. I wish you well--but the gov'ment ain't gonna do +nothing. It never has yit." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: T.W. Cotton, Helena, Arkansas +Age: 80 +[May 11 1938] + + +"I was born close to Indian Bay. I belong to Ed Cotton. Mother was sold +from John Mason between Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia. Three sisters +was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. Grandma was +so old she wasn't much account fer field work. Mother left a son she +never seen ag'in. Aunt Adeline's boy come too. They was put on a block +but I can't recollect where it was. If mother had a husband she never +said nothing 'bout him. He muster been dead. + +"Now my papa come from La Grange, Tennessee. Master Bowers sold him to +Ed Cotton. He was sold three times. He had one scar on his shoulder. The +patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at Indian Bay. He was +a Guinea man. He was heavy set, not very tall. Generally he carried the +lead row in the field. He was a good worker. They had to be quiet wid +him to get him to work. He would run to the woods. He was a fast runner. +He lived to be about a hundred years old. I took keer of him the last +five years of his life. Mother was seventy-one years old when she died. +She was the mother of twenty-one children. + +"Sure, I do remember freedom. After the Civil War ended, Ed Cotton +walked out and told papa: 'Rob, you are free.' We worked on till 1866 +and we moved to Joe Lambert's place. He had a brother named Tom Lambert. +Father never got no land at freedom. He got to own 160 acres, a house on +it, and some stock. We all worked and helped him to make it. He was a +hard worker and a fast hand. + +"I farmed all my life till fifteen years ago I started trucking here in +Helena. I gets six dollars assistance from the Sociable Welfare and some +little helpouts as I calls it--rice and potatoes and apples. I got one +boy fifty-five years old if he be living. I haven't seen him since 1916. +He left and went to Chicago. I got a girl in St. Louis. I got a girl +here in Helena. I jus' been up to see her. I had nine children. I been +married twice. I lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven +months. She died. I lived with my second wife forty years and some +over--several weeks. She died. + +"I was a small boy when the Civil War broke out. Once I got a awful +scare. I was perched up on a post. The Yankees come up back of the house +and to my back. I seen them. I yelled out, 'Yonder come Yankees.' They +come on cussing me. Aunt Ruthie got me under my arms and took me to Miss +Fannie Cotton. We lived in part of their house. Walter (white) and me +slept together. Mother cooked. Aunt Ruthie was a field hand. Aunt +Adeline must have been a field hand too. She hung herself on a black +jack tree on the other side of the pool. It was a pool for ducks and +stock. + +"She hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. Mother raised +(reared) her boy. She told mother she would kill herself before she +would be whooped. I never heard what she was to be whooped for. She +thought she would be whooped. She took a rope and tied it to a limb and +to her neck and then jumped. Her toes barely touched the ground. They +buried her in the cemetery on the old Ed Cotton place. I never seen her +buried. Aunt Ruthie's grave was the first open grave I ever seen. Aunt +Mary was papa's sister. She was the oldest. + +"I would say anything to the Yankees and hang and hide in Miss Fannie's +dress. She wore long big skirts. I hung about her. Grandma raised me on +a bottle so mother could nurse Walter (white). There was something wrong +wid Miss Fannie. We colored children et out of trays. They hewed them +out of small logs. Seven or eight et together. We had our little cups. +Grandma had a cup for my water. We et with spoons. It would hold a peck +of something to eat. I nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised +Walter and grandma raised me. Walter et out of our tray many and many a +time. Mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. Henry was +younger than Walter. They was the only two children Miss Fannie had. +Grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. She'd put the +bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. It was good. + +"Did you ever hear of Walter Cotton, a cancer doctor? That was him. He +may be dead now. Me and him caused Aunt Sue to get a whooping. They had +a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. Walter knocked +one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. We et it. Mr. Ed asked +'bout it. Walter told her Aunt Sue pulled it. She didn't come by the +tree. He whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled it nor +never seen it. I was scared then to tell on Walter. I hope eat it. Aunt +Sue had grown children. + +"The Ku Klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and +he opened the door. They grunted around. They told papa to come out. He +didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. He told them +when he finished that crop they could have his room. He left that year. +They come in on me once before I married. I was at my girl's house. They +wanted to be sure we married. The principal thing they was to see was +that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. I +wasn't married but I soon did marry her. They scared us up some. + +"I don't know if times is so much better for some or not. Some folks +won't work. Some do work awful hard. Young folks I'm speaking 'bout. +Times is mighty fast now. Seems like they get faster and faster every +way. I'll be eighty years old this May. I was born in 1858." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Ellen Cragin + 815-1/2 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: Around 80 or more +[May 31 1939] + + +[HW: Escapes on Cow] + +"I was born on the tenth of March in some year, I don't know what one. I +don't know whether it was in the Civil War or before the Civil War. I +forget it. I think that I was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi; I'm not +sure, but I think it was. + +"My mother was a great shouter. One night before I was born, she was at +a meeting, and she said, 'Well, I'll have to go in, I feel something.' +She said I was walkin' about in there. And when she went in, I was born +that same night. + +"My mother was a great Christian woman. She raised us right. We had to +be in at sundown. If you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip +you,--whip you within an inch of your life. + +"She didn't work in the field. She worked at a loom. She worked so long +and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. Her master's boy +saw her and told his mother. His mother told him to take a whip and wear +her out. He took a stick and went out to beat her awake. He beat my +mother till she woke up. When she woke up, she took a pole out of the +loom and beat him nearly to death with it. He hollered, 'Don't beat me +no more, and I won't let 'em whip you.' + +"She said, 'I'm goin' to kill you. These black titties sucked you, and +then you come out here to beat me.' And when she left him, he wasn't +able to walk. + +"And that was the last I seen of her until after freedom. She went out +and got on an old cow that she used to milk--Dolly, she called it. She +rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if +she stayed. + +"My mother was named Luvenia Polk. She got plumb away and stayed away. +On account of that, I was raised by my mother. She went to Atchison, +Kansas--rode all through them woods on that cow. Tore her clothes all +off on those bushes. + +"Once a man stopped her and she said, 'My folks gone to Kansas and I +don't know how to find 'em.' He told her just how to go. + +"My father was an Indian. 'Way back in the dark days, his mother ran +away, and when she came up, that's what she come with--a little Indian +boy. They called him 'Waw-_hoo_'che.' His master's name was Tom Polk. +Tom Polk was my mother's master too. It was Tom Polk's boy that my +mother beat up. + +"My father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. One time when somethin' +he had did didn't suit Tom Polk--I don't know what it was--they cut +sores on him that he died with. Cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. +And then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores. + +"He told his master, 'You have took me down and beat me for nothin', and +when you do it again, I'm goin' to put you in the ground.' Papa never +slept in the house again after that. They got scared and he was scared +of them. He used to sleep in the woods. + +"They used to call me 'Waw-hoo'che' and 'Red-Headed Indian Brat.' I got +in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,--on account of that. + +"The children used to say to me, 'They beat your papa yesterday.' + +"And I would say to them, 'They better not beat my papa,' and they would +go up to the house and tell it, and I would beat 'em for tellin' it. + +"There was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read +the Bible. + +"Papa said, 'Ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?' + +"The old man said, 'No; they don't know what I'm doing, and don't you +tell 'em. If you do, they will kill me.' + + +Signs of the War + +"One night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the +elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens. + +"'Don't you see them, honey?' he said; but I couldn't see them. And he +said there was going to be a war. + +"I went out and told it. The white people said they ought to take him +out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. Because if they got such +talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do +nothin' with them. Dr. Polk's wife's father, Old Man Woods, used to say +that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. He said that God had showed +that to him. + + +Mean Masters + +"Dr. Polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the +ground, were two mean men. When the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for +them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, +till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death. + +"Mother was a breeder. While she did that weaving, she had children +fast. One day, Tom Polk hit my mother. That was before she ran away. He +hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. When +there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you +know. I forget how much cotton they had to pick. I don't know how many +times he hit her. I was small. I heard some one say, 'They got Clarisay +Down, down there!' I went to see. And they had her down. She was stout, +and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. I never did +get over that. I'm an old woman, but Tom Polk better not come 'round me +now even. + +"I have heard women scream and holler, 'Do pray, massa, do pray.' And I +was sure glad when she beat up young Tom and got away. I didn't have no +use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet. + +"It wasn't her work to be in the field. He made her breed and then made +her work at the loom. That wasn't nothin'. He would have children by a +nigger woman and then have them by her daughter. + +"I went out one day and got a gun. I don't know whose gun it was. I said +to myself, 'If you whip my mother today, I am goin' to shoot you.' I +didn't know where the gun belonged. My oldest sister told me to take it +and set it by the door, and I did it. + + +How Freedom Came + +"Dr. Polk had a fine horse. He came riding through the field and said, +'All you all niggers are free now. You can stay here and work for me or +you can go to the next field and work.' + +"I had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. She jumped off +that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering. + +"The people all said, 'Nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her +today.' She'd been setting on that log one year. She wouldn't do no kind +of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her. + + +"Big Niggers" + +"They used to call my folks 'big niggers.' Papa used to get things off a +steamboat. One day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the +people not to touch it. One day when he went out, I went in it. I had to +see what it was. I drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, +'You've been in that demi-john.' I said, 'No, I haven't.' But he said, +'Yes, you have; I can tell by the way you look.' And then I told him the +truth. + +"He would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of +other things. Anything he wanted, he would get. That he didn't, he would +ask him to bring the next trip. + +"It was a Union gunboat, and ran under the water. You could see the +smoke. The white people said, 'That boat's goin' to carry some of these +niggers away from here one of these days.' + +"And sure enough, it did carry one away. + + +Buried Treasure and a Runaway + +"I went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named Charles +there. + +"I said, 'What you doing out here so early this morning?' + +"He said to me, 'You hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.' + +"I went back to the house and told my mother, 'I saw Charles out there.' +That was before my mother ran away. + +"My mother said, 'He's fixing to run away. And he's got a barrel of +money. And it belongs to the Doctor. 'Cause he and the Dr. went out to +bury it to keep the Yankees from getting it.' + +"He ran away, and he took the money with him, too. He went out to Kansas +City and bought a home. We didn't think much of it, because we knew it +was wrong to do it. But Old Master Tom had done a heap of wrong too. He +was the first one spotted the boat that morning--Charles was. And he +went away on it. + + +Plenty to Eat + +"My father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. +I know what it is now. I didn't know then. He would clean the hog and +everything before he would bring him to the house. You had to come down +outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to +eat. If my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his +master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit. + +"My folks liked hog guts. We didn't try to keep them long. We'd jus' +clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. I didn't like to +clean 'em but I sure loved to eat 'em. Father had a great big pot they +called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. You could +smell 'em all over the country. I didn't have no sense. Whenever we had +a big hog killin', I would say to the other kids, 'We got plenty of meat +at our house.' + +"They would say back, 'Where you got it?' + +"I would tell 'em. And they would say, 'Give us some.' + +"And I would say to them, 'No, that's for us.' + +"So they called us 'big niggers.' + + +Marriages Since Freedom + +"My first baby was born to my husband. I didn't throw myself away. I +married Mr. Cragin in 1867. He lived with me about fifteen years before +he died. He got kicked. He was a baker. During the War, he was the cook +in a camp. He went to get some flour one morning. He snatched the tray +too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. He never did get over it. The +tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. It was a sliding tray. +It rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. I don't know +why they called it a kick. + +"I married a second husband--if you can call it that--a nigger named +Jones. He had a spoonful of sense. We didn't live together three months. +He came in one day and I didn't have dinner ready. He slapped me. I had +never been slapped by a man before. I went to the drawer and got my +pistol out and started to kill him. But I didn't. I told him to leave +there fast. He had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, +and then he used to use bad language too. + + +Occupation + +"I've always sewed for a living. See that sign up there?" The sign read: + + ALL KINDS OF BUTTONS SEWED ON + MENDING TOO + +"I can't cut out no dress and make it, but I can use a needle on +patching and quilting. Can't nobody beat me doin' that. I can knit, too. +I can make stockings, gloves, and all such things. + +"I belong to Bib Bethel Church, and I get most of my support from the +Lord. I get help from the government. I'm trying to get moved, and I'm +just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. I ain't got +no money, but he promised to move me." + + +INTERVIEWER'S COMMENT + +There it was--the appeal to the slush fund. I have contributed to lunch, +tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. I had only +six cents which I had reserved for car fare. But after you have talked +with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in +any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent +on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged +clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely +hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it +is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk +any distance you want to. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Sallie Crane + See first paragraph in interviewer's comment + for residences +Age: 90, or more + + +[HW: Whipped from Sunup to Sundown] + +"I was born in Hempstead County, between Nashville and Greenville, in +Arkansas, on the Military Road. Never been outside the state in my life. +I was born ninety years ago. I been here in Pulaski County nearly +fifty-seven years. + +"I was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. Nary a window +and one door. I had a bedstead made with saw and ax. Chairs were made +with saw, ax, and draw knife. My brother Orange made the furniture. We +kept the food in boxes. + +"My mother's name was Mandy Bishop, and my father's name was Jerry +Bishop. I don't know who my grand folks were. They was all Virginia +folks--that is all I know. They come from Virginia, so they told me. My +old master was Harmon Bishop and when they divided the property I fell +to Miss Evelyn Bishop. + + +Age + +"The first man that came through here writing us up for the Red Cross, I +give him my age as near as I could. And they kept that. You know peace +was declared in 1865. They told me I was free. I got scared and thought +that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me +down in Louisiana. My old mistress said, 'You fool, you are free. We are +going to take you to your mammy.' I cried because I thought they was +carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in +Louisiana. My old mistress said she would whip me. But she didn't. When +we got to my mother's, I said, 'How old is I?' She said, 'You are +sixteen.' She didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say +weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'You are sixteen.' And my +case worker told me that made me ninety years old. + +"I was in Hempstead County on Harmon Bishop's plantation. It was Miss +Polly, Harmon's wife, that told me I was free, and give me my age. + +"I know freedom come before 1865, because my brothers would tell me to +come home from Nashville where I would be sent to do nursing by my old +mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress. + +"When my old master's property was divided, I don't know why--he wasn't +dead nor nothin'--I fell to Miss Evelyn, but I stayed in Nashville +working for Miss Jennie Nelson, one of Harmon's daughters. Miss Jennie +was my young mistress. My brothers were already free. I don't know how +Miss Polly came to tell me I was free. But my brothers would see me and +tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but I +was afraid to try it. Finally Miss Polly found that she couldn't keep me +any longer and she come and told me I was free. But I thought that she +was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators. + + +Family + +"My mother was the mother of twenty children and I am the mother of +eighteen. My youngest is forty-five. I don't know whether any of my +mother's children is living now or not. I left them that didn't join the +militia in Hempstead County fifty-seven years ago. Them that joined the +militia went off. I don't know nothin' about them. I have two girls +living that I know about. I had two boys went to France and I never +heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. Nothing--not a word. Red +Cross has hunted 'em. Police Mitchell hunted 'em--police Mitchell in +Little Rock. But I ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em. + + +Work + +"The first work I did was nursing and after that I was water toter. I +reckon I was about seven or eight years old when I first began to nurse. +I could barely lift the baby. I would have to drag them 'round. Then I +toted water to the field. Then when I was put to plowing, and chopping +cotton, I don't know exactly how old I was. But I know I was a young +girl and it was a good while before the War. I had to do anything that +come up--thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting +logs, splitting rails. Women in them days wasn't tender like they is +now. They would call on you to work like men and you better work too. My +mother and father were both field hands. + + +Soldiers + +"Oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! Man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, +two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching +making it to the next stockade. Those were Yankees. They didn't set no +slaves free. When I knowed anything about freedom, it was the Bureaus. +We didn't know nothing like young folks do now. + +"We hardly knowed our names. We was cussed for so many bitches and sons +of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. We never heard our +names scarcely at all. First young man I went with wanted to know my +initials! What did I know 'bout initials? You ask 'em ten years old now, +and they'll tell you. That was after the War. Initials!!! + + +Slave Sales + +"Have I seen slaves sold! Good God, man! I have seed them sold in +droves. I have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying +to run away. I couldn't eat nor drink--couldn't even catch the slobber +that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on +it and blowed it. 'Scuse me but jus' look at these places. (She pulled +open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in--ed.) + + +Whippings + +"I been whipped from sunup till sundown. Off and on, you know. They whip +me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start +again. They kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' +nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would +take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt +more. They would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with +birch sprouts the other part. There were splinters long as my finger +left in my back. A girl named Betty Jones come over and soaped the +splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. They didn't +whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. They jus' +whipped me 'cause they could--'cause they had the privilege. It wasn't +nothin' I done; they just whipped me. My married young master, Joe, and +his wife, Jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. But I +belonged to Miss Evelyn. + +"They had so many babies 'round there I couldn't keep up with all of +them. I was jus' a young girl and I couldn't keep track of all them +chilen. While I was turned to one, the other would get off. When I +looked for that one, another would be gone. Then they would whip me all +day for it. They would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a +bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when +company come. + + +Food + +"We et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. Mush and milk. Cedar trough +and long-handled cedar spoons. Didn't know what meat was. Never got a +taste of egg. Oo-ee! Weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. They used to +make citrons. They were good too. When the little white chilen would be +comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. They would say, 'Whose +nigger are you?' And we would say, 'Yor'n!' And they would say, 'No, you +ain't.' They would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good +stuff they'd brought back. Hold it out and snatch it back! Finally, +they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing. + + +Health + +"They're burying old Brother Jim Mullen over here today. He was an old +man. They buried one here last Sunday--eighty some odd. Brother Mullen +had been sick for thirty years. Died settin' up--settin' up in a chair. +The old folks is dyin' fas'. Brother Smith, the husband of the old lady +that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. Ain't been well +for a long time. + +"Look at that place on my head. (There was a knot as big as a hen +egg--smooth and shiny--ed.) When it first appeared, it was no bigger +then a pea, I scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. I +went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. One doctor said it +was a busted vein. Another said it was a tumor. Another said it was a +wen. I know one thing. It don't hurt me. I can scratch it; I can rub it. +(She scratched and rubbed it while I flinched and my flesh crawled--ed.) +But it's got me so I can't see and hear good. Dr. Junkins, the best +doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. Dr. Hicks +wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. I told him he'd let it stay on +for nothin'. I never was sick in my life till a year ago. I used to +weigh two hundred ten pounds; now I weigh one hundred forty. I can lap +up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice. + +"Since I was sick a year ago. I haven't been able to get 'round any. I +never been well since. The first Sunday in January this year, I got +worse settin' in the church. I can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on +myself. But with what I do and the neighbors' help, I gets along +somehow. + + +Present Condition + +"If it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. I would suffer +for a drink of water. Somebody ran in on old lady Chairs and killed her +for her money. But they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. +Somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. Since then I have been +'fraid to stay at home even. + +"I had a fine five-room house and while I was down sick, my daughter +sold it and I didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. She got the +money, but I never seed it. I jus' lives here in these rags and this +dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. I've got fine +furniture that she keeps in her house. + +"I get some help from the Welfare. They give me eight dollars. They give +me commodities too. They give me six at first, and they increased it. My +case worker said she would try to git me some more. God knows I need it. +I have to pay for everything I get. Have to pay a boy to go get water +for me. There's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time +to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. You see those boys there +goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. One of the merchants in town +had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him. + +"You gets 'round lots, son, don't you? Well; if you see anybody that has +some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. I don't care +whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. Men's shoes are more +comfortable. I wear number sevens. I don't know what last. Can't you +tell? (I suppose that her shoes would be seven E--ed.) I can't live off +eight dollar. I have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go +for my water, 'n everything. I got these dresses give to me. They too +small, and I got 'em laid out to be let out. + +"You just come in any time; I can't talk to you like I would a woman; +but I guess you can understand me." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Sallie Crane lives near the highway between Sweet Home and Wrightsville. +Wrightsville post office, Lucinda Hays' box. McLain Birch, 1711 Wolfe +Street, Little Rock, knows the way to her house. + +Her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed +before the War. If anything, it is more than the ninety which she +claims. Those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five. + +She has a good memory although she complains of her health. She seems to +be pretty well dependent on herself and the Welfare and is asking for +old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person Interviewed: Isaac Crawford + Brinkley, Ark. +Age: 75 + + +"I was born the first year of the Civil War. I was born and raised and +married in Holmes County, Mississippi. My parents was named Harriett and +James Crawford. They belong to a widow woman, Miss Sallie Crawford. She +had a girl named Bettie and three sons named Sam, Mack, Gus. Mack and +Gus was heavy drinkers. Moster Sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. +They wasn't mean to the Negroes on the place. They had eight or nine +families scattered around over their land. + +"I farmed till I was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands +on the place I stayed till after I married. + +"I know Sam was in the war and come home cripple. He was in the war five +years. He couldn't get home from the war. I drove his hack and toted him +to it. I toted him in the house. He said he never rode in the war; he +always had to walk and tote his baggage. His feet got frost bit and raw. +They never got well. He lived. They lived close to Goodman, Mississippi. + +"I heard my mother say she was mixed with Creole Indian. She was some +French. My father was pure African. Now what am I? + +"Ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. She wrung my ears and talked to +me. I minded her pretty good. + +"The children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. Some +folks kept their children looking good. Some let em go. They fed em--set +a big pot and dip em out greens. Give em a cup of milk. We all had +plenty coarse victuals. We all had to work. It done you no good to be +fraid er sweat in them days. + +"I didn't know bout freedom and I didn't care bout it. They didn't give +no land nor no mules away as I ever know'd of. + +"The Ku Klux never come on our place. I heard about em all the time. I +seen em in the road. They look like hants. + +"I been farming all my life. I come here to farm. Better land and no +fence law. + +"I come to 'ply to the P.W.A. today. That is the very reason you caught +me in town today." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Crosby + 1216 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"Good morning. I don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery +times 'cept me. I don't know exactly when I was born in Georgia but I +can remember my mama said her old master, Mat Fields, sent my father and +all the other men folks to Arkansas the second year of the war. After +the war, I remember there was a colored man named Mose come from +Mississippi to Georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money +off the trees in Mississippi. Of course they was just ignorant as cattle +and they believed him. I know I thought what a good time I would have. I +can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all +leaving, but Mose emigrated all of us to Mississippi. + +"He kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. The +white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he +sure did get some colored folks out of Georgia. + +"I 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. They called it the +Civil War. I never did know why they called it that. I can't 'member +things like I used to. + +"My mother's old master's granddaughter, Miss Anne, had a baby that was +six months old when I was born and mama said old master come in and tell +Miss Ann, 'I've got a new little nigger for Mary Lou.' He said he was +goin' to give her ten and that I was her first little nigger. When we +was both grown Mary Lou used to write to me once a year and say 'I claim +you yet, Mary.' + +"I 'member when Garfield was shot. That was the first time I ever heard +of gangrene. + +"Yes'm I have worked hard all my life. When I was in Mississippi I used +to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. But I'm not +able to work now. The Welfare helps me some." + + + + +[HW: (COPY)] +El Dorado Division +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS (Ex-Slave) +Mrs. Mildred Thompson +Federal Writers' Project +Union County, Arkansas +[TR: hand dated Nov. 6, 1936] + +[TR: Ellen Crowley] + + +Ellen Crowley an old Negress of Jefferson county, known as "old Aunt +Ellen" to both white and colored people. She was quite a character; a +slave during Civil War and lived in Mississippi. She later married and +moved to Arkansas. + +Aunt Ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing +to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those +she didn't like. This unusual talent "come about" while on a white +plantation as a nurse. She foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on +her white folks and in the year two children passed away. One day soon +after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put +the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits." + +She said she was "purty nigh" 200 when asked her age, always slept in +the nude, and on arising she would say: "I didn't sleep well last night, +the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "I had a +good rest the Lord sit at my head and brought me peace." + +She was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red +bandana around her head. + +Her mania was to clean the yard. When asked about her marriage she would +say: "I been married seven times" but Jones, Brown and Crowley were the +only husbands she could remember by name. She said the other "four no +count Negroes wasn't worth remembering." + +She was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten +and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. Would +come in and say: "Howdy, I'se come to stay awhile. I'll clean the yard +for my victuals and I can sleep on the floor." She would go on her way +in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a +faithful servant. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Richard Crump + 1801 Gaines Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 82 + + +[HW: Father Takes a "Deadening"] + +"I was born right here in Aberdeen, Mississippi about five miles from +the town on the east side of the Tom Bigbee River in Monroe County, +Mississippi. + +"My father's name was Richard Crump. My mother was named Emily Crump. My +grandmother on my father's side was named Susan Crump. My mother came +from Middleton, Tennessee. But I don't know nothing about any of her +people. My father said he come from South Carolina when he was a boy +eight or ten years old. That was way before I was born. They brought him +to Mississippi from South Carolina. + +"My father's master was old man Johnnie Crump. My mistress was named +Nina Crump. That was Johnnie Crump's wife. My mars had four boys to my +remembrance. One was named Wess, one was named Rufe, one was named Joe, +and one was named Johnnie. He had a girl named Annie and one named Lulu. + +"My mother was the mother of thirteen children. I am the onliest one +living, that I know of. The way they gwine with us now, I ain't goin' a +be here long. Just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git +somethin' to eat for a month. You don't git nothin' much when you git +the commodities--no grease to cook with. + +"We never had no trouble much when I was coming along. My mars was a +pretty good old man. He didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. The +overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind of +bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. And +he wouldn't go in neither. + +"My grandmother had three or four sons. One was name Nels Crump, another +was named Miles and another was named Henry and another Jim. She had two +or three more but I can't think of them. They died before I was old +enough to know anything. Then she had two or three daughters. One was +named Lottie. She had another one but I can't think of her name. I was +so little. All of them are dead now. All of my people are dead but me. +They are trying to find a sister of mine, but I ain't found her yet. She +oughter be down here by Forrest City somewheres. But there ain't nobody +here that I know about but me. And the way they're carryin' them now I +ain't goin' to be here long. All of them people you hear me talk about, +they're supposed to be dead. + +"I was born in 1858. At least the old man told me that. I mean my father +of course. The first thing I knowed anything about was picking cotton. I +was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. I +was pickin' beside my mother. They would grab us sometimes when we +didn't pick right. Shake us and pull our ears. + +"I didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. I never was sold. + +"The next thing I remember was being told I was free. My daddy said old +mars told them they were free. I didn't hear him tell it myself. They +come 'round on a Monday morning and told papa and the rest that they +were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they +could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no +more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more. + +"Right after freedom, my folks worked on old man Jim Burdyne's farm. +That is the first place I remember after freedom. Father taken a little +deadening. You don't know what a deadening is? That's a lease. He +cleaned up some land. We boys were just gettin' so we could pick up +brush and tops of trees--and burn it, and one thing and another. Two +years after the War was over, I got big enough to plow. I was plowing +when I was nine years old. We had three boys and four girls older than +me. The balance of them was born after freedom. We made crops on shares +for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. Shares +were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. They didn't pay +everything they promised. They taken a lot of it away from us. They said +figures didn't lie. You know how that was. You dassent dispute a man's +word then. Sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and +run him away. But my daddy wouldn't do it. He said, 'Well, if I owe +anything I'll pay it. I got a large family to take care of.' + +"I never got a chance to go to school any. There was too much work to +do. I married when I was twenty-one. I would go off and stay a month or +two and come back. Never left home permanent for a long while. Stayed +'round home till I was forty years old. I come to Arkansas in 1898. I +made a living by farming at first. + +"I didn't shoot no craps. I belong to the church. I have belonged to the +church about forty years or more. I did play cords and shoot craps and +things like that for years before I got religion. + +"I come to Little Rock in 1918 and been here ever since. I worked 'round +here in town first one thing and then another. Worked at the railroad +and on like that. + +"We used to vote right smart in Mississippi. Had a little trouble +sometimes but it would soon die down. I haven't voted since I been here. +Do no good nohow. Can't vote in none of these primary elections. Vote +for the President. And that won't do no good. They can throw your ballot +out if they want to. + +"I believe in the right thing. I wouldn't believe in anything else. I +try to be loyal to the state and the city. But colored folks don't have +much show. Work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he +don't know nothin' about you. They soon forget you and a white man's +word goes far. + +"I was able to work as late as 1930, but I ain't been no 'count since to +do much work. I get a pension for old age from the Welfare and +commodities and I depend on that for a living. Whatever they want to +give me, I'll take it and make out with it. If there's any chance for me +to git a slave's pension, I wish they would send it to me. For I need it +awful bad. They done cut me way down now. I got heart trouble and high +blood pressure but I don't give up. + +"My mother sure used to make good ash cake. When she made it for my +daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the +bottom. That would keep it clean. She made it extra good. When he would +git through, she would give us the rest. Sometimes, she wouldn't put the +paper on it because she would be mad. He would ask, 'No paper today?' +She would say, 'No.' And he wouldn't say nothin' more. + +"There is some of the meanest white people in the United States in +Mississippi up there on the Yellow Dog River. That's where the Devil +makes meanness. + +"There's some pretty mean colored folks too. There is some of them right +here in Little Rock. Them boys from Dunbar give me a lot of trouble. +They ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. If we say anything to +them, they say, 'Shut up, old gray head.' Sometimes they say worse. I +used to live by Brother Love. Christmas the boys threw at the house and +gave me sass when I spoke to them. So I got out of that settlement. Here +it is quiet because it is among the white folks." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham, El Dorado Division +Person interviewed: Zenia Culp +Age: Over 80 +[Jan 29 1938] + + +"Yas'm, my name is Zenia, Zenia Culp 'tis now since I married. My old +master's name was Billy Newton. Him and three more brothers come here +and settled in this county years ago and Master Billy settled this farm. +I was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. I used +to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. You know up there where +Mr. John Dunbar's widow lives now. And the family burying groun' is jus' +a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones +out in the middle of the field. + +"Master Billy's folks was so good to me and I sure thought a heap of +young Master Billy. Believe I told you I was the nurse girl. Well, young +Master Billy was my special care. And he was a live one too. I sure had +a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. I would get him ready for bed +every night. In summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does +and course I would wash his foots before I put him to bed. That little +fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'Don't wash em, +Zenia, jes' wet em.' Oh, he was a sight, young Master Billy was. + +"Does you know Miss Pearl? She live there in El Dorado. She is young +master's widow. Miss Pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks +lots bout young Master Billy. + +"Yas'm, I'se always lived here where I was born. Never moved way from de +old plantation. Course things is changed lots since the days when old +Master Billy was livin'. When he went off to the war he took most of the +men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and +the chillun. + +"My husban' been dead a long, long time and I live here wid my son. His +wife is gone from home dis evenin'. So I thought I'd come out and pick +off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. That's my son +out there makin' sorghum. My daughter-in-law is so good to me. She +treats me like I was a baby. + +"You asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our +work then. Well, as I tell you, my job was nurse girl and all I had to +do was to keep up wid young Master Billy and that wasn't no work tall, +that was just fun. But while I'd be followin' roun' after him I'd see +how the others would be doin' things. + +"When they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with +straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a +coop over it. This would keep the potatoes from rotting. The Irish +potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the +onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting. + +"In old Master Newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put +the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to +keep em cool. + +"Master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was +fed out of the big house. I members they had a long table to eat off and +kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured +the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. They made +their mops cut of shucks. I always eat in the nursery with young Master +Billy. + +"They had big old fireplaces in Master's house and I never seen a stove +till after the war. + +"I member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had +the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot +ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain. + +"The pickaninnies had a time playin'. Seein' these peanuts minds me that +they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. +Course Master Billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they +pinched. + +"Lan', but them was good old days when Master Billy was alive." + + + + +Texarkana District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W.M. Ball +Subject: Anecdotes +Story: + +Information given by: Albert Cummins +Place of Residence: Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark. +Occupation: None (Ex-Slave) +Age: 86 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of second page.] + + +An humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an +interesting old negro, Albert Cummins. + +Texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain +from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this +country. This ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but +continued to live in the same family until he was a man. He says: "All +de training an' advice I evah had come frum mah mistress. She wuz a +beautiful Christian; if I am anybody, I owe it to her. I nevah went to +school a day in mah life; whut I know I absorbed frum de white folks! +Mah religion is De Golden Rule. It will take any man to heaben who +follows its teachings. + +"Mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at Poison Springs, near +Camden. We got separated in de skirmish an' I nevah did see him again. +Libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, +only to sen' messages by horseback riders. It wuz months befo' I really +knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where. + +"Mr. Autrey bought mah mother when I wuz an infant, and gave us de +protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. +I worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. I sees him +often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, +jus' as de South wuz left after de war." + +"I came heah when Texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little +kindly village, where we all knew each udder. Due to de location an' de +comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. Not until it wuz too late +did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between +two states. Dis being Texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle +overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. Still dat State Line +divides de two cities like de "Mason and Dixon Line" divides the North +an' South. + +"Living on the Arkansas side of this city, Albert Cummins is naturally +very partial to his side. "The Arkansas side is more civilized", +according to his version. "Too easy fo' de Texas folks to commit a crime +an' step across to Arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob +again." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Betty Curlett, Hazen, Arkansas +Age: 66 +[-- -- 1938] + + +"I can tell you all about my kin folks. My mama's owners was Mars John +Moore and Miss Molly Moore. They come from Virginia and brought Grandma +Mahaley and Grandpa Tom. + +"Mr. Daniel Johnson went to North Carolina and bought Alice and John and +their family. When he brought them to Mississippi, they come in a hack. +It was snowing and cold. It took em so long to came they take turns +walkin'. Grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut +through and climbed over a railin' fence. She lost her baby outer her +quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. She say, 'Lawd, +Master Daniel, if I ain't lost my baby.' They stopped the hack and she +went back to see where her baby could be. She knowed where she got out +the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. Fore she got to the fence +she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. She said the sun was warm +and he was well wrop up. That all what saved em. She shuck him round +till she woke him up. She was so scared he be froze. When he let out +cryin' she knowed he be all right. She put him in the foot of the hack +mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. She say he never +had a cold from it. Well, that was John, my papa, what she lost in de +snow. Grandma used to set and tell us that and way I can member it was +my own papa she be talkin' bout. + +"Papa was raised up by the Johnson family and mama by the Moore family. +Den Alice Moore had em marry her and John Johnson. Their plantations +joined, and joined Judge Reid's (or Reed's) place. We all had a big time +on them three farms. They was good to their niggers but Mr. ---- they +said whooped his niggers awful heep. + +"Ed Amick was Mars Daniel Johnson's overseer. He told him he wanted his +slaves treated mighty good and they was good. Yes ma'am, they was good +to em!! We had a plenty to eat. Every Saturday they killed a lamb, a +goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. Us +childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. White folks didn't +eat em. They was tender seem like round the head. + +"Miss Evaline was Mars Daniel's sister. She was a old maid. Miss +Evaline, Aunt Selie old nigger woman and Brittain old nigger man done +nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. They had a +few turkeys and peafowls all the time. When they stewed chicken it was +stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. They fry chicken +in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. They put eggs +in it, too. They call it marble cakes. Then they pour sweet milk in the +bottom grease and make good gravy. When they rendered up lard they +always made marble cakes. They cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and +twisted em round like knots and rings. They take em up in big pans big +as dish pans. + +"We had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. +Regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. She made our +dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on +our waist. + +"I was named for Miss Betty Johnson. Mars Daniel bought me books. I slip +and tear ABC's outen every book he buy for me. Miss Betty say A-B-C-D; I +say after her. She say, 'Betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' I say, +'Miss Betty, I hear Miss Cornelia's baby woke up. Agin Miss Betty--she +was my young mistress--ABC's me sayin' em long wid her. I say, 'Miss +Betty, I smell ginger bread, can't I go git a piece?' She say, +'Betty--I'm so sorry I name you fer me. I wish I named Mary.' I say, +'Then you name Mary Betty an' give me nother name.' Miss Betty git me +down agin to sayin' the ABC's, I be lookin' off. She say, 'Betty, you +goin' to be a idiot.' I say, 'That what I wanter be--zactly what I +wanter be.' I didn't know what a idiot was then. + +"I took up crocheting. Miss Cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. She say +'Betty that's her talent' bout me. Miss Betty say, 'If she goin' to be +mine I want her to be smart.' Miss Mary lernt my sister Mary fast. + +"When I was bout fifteen I was goiner to the nigger school. I wanted to +go to the white school wid Miss Mag. Miss Betty say, 'Betty, that white +woman would whoop you every day.' I take my dinner in a bucket and go on +wid Mary. I'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git +in late. The teacher said, 'Betty, Miss Cornelia and Miss Betty say they +want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all +sorts er ways. Ain't you shamed?' + +"They had a big entertainment. Miss Betty learned me a piece to +say--poetry. I could lern it from sayin' it over wid Miss Betty. They +bought me and Mary our fust calico dresses. I lack to walked myself to +death. I was so proud. It had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and +a shash tied at the waist behind. We had red hats wid streamers hanging +down the back. The dresses was red and black small checks. Mary lernt +her piece at school. We had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the +school closin'. + +"Mr. John Moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first +battle soon as he got there. They had a sayin, 'You won't last as long +as John Moore when he went to war.' + +"Mr. Criss Moore was kickin' a nigger boy. Old Miss say, 'Criss, quit +kickin' him, you hurt him.' He say, 'I ain't hurtin' him, I'm playin' +wid him!' White boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the +house. Glad to meet up to get to play. + +"Mr. Criss Moore, Jr. (John Moore's grandson) is a doctor way up North +and so is Mr. Daniel Johnson, Jr. One of em in Washington I think. I +could ask Miss Betty Carter when I go back to Mississippi. + +"When I left Mississippi Mr. Criss hated to see me go. Mr. Johnson say, +'I wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' He say to Jim, my +husband, 'Now when she die you let me know and I'll help bring her back +and bury her in the old graveyard.' When my papa died Mr. Johnson had +the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. He +was buried by mama and nearly all the Johnson, Moore, and Reed (or Reid) +niggers buried there. My husband is buried here (Hazen, Arkansas) but he +was a Curlett. + +"Papa set out apple trees on the old Johnson place, still bearin' +apples. The old farm place is forty-eight miles from Tupelo and three +miles from Houlka, Mississippi. + +"My mother had eighteen children and I had sixteen but all mine dead now +but three. Mama's ma and grandpapa Haley had twenty-two children. Yes +ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. Mars Daniel say to his wife, +'Cornelia, feed my niggers.' That bout last he said when he went off to +war. Mars Green, Daniel, and Jimmie three brothers. Three Johnson +brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots +fore they left and went to war. + +"When the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the +farm bells and blowed horns--big old cow horns. When Mars Daniel come +home he went to my papa's house and says, 'John, you free.' He says, 'I +been free as I wanter be whah I is.' He went on to my grandpa's house +and says, 'Toby, you are free!' He raised up and says, 'You brought me +here frum Africa and North Carolina and I goiner stay wid you long as +ever I get sompin to eat. You gotter look after me!' Mars Daniel say, +'Well, I ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' +Purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. Mars +Daniel say to grandpa, 'Toby, you ain't my nigger.' Grandpa raise up an' +say, 'I is, too.' + +"They had to work but they had plenty that made em content. We had good +times. On moonlight nights somebody ask Mars Daniel if they could have a +cotton pile, then they go tell Mars Moore and Judge Reid (or Reed). They +come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. Pick out four or five +bales. Then Mars Daniel say you come to the house. Ring the bell. Then +we have a big supper--pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. +Have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we +could eat. + +"Then we had three banjos. The musicians was William Word, Uncle Dan +Porter, and Miles Porter. Did we dance? Square dance. Then if somebody +been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they +married. You can't get nobody--colored folks I mean--to step over a +broom; they say it bad luck. If it fall and they step over they step +back. They say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that +year. Folks didn't visit round much. They had some place to go they went +but they had to work. They work together and done mighty little--idle +vistin'. Folks took the knitting long visting lest it be Sunday. + +"White women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their +breast fall. They would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to +the house. They had a house close by. She would nurse her baby and the +white baby, too. They would feed her everything she wanted. She didn't +have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. Dannie and +my brother Bradford, and Mary my sister and Miss Maggie nursed my mama. +Rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause +their breast to be flat. + +"My papa was the last slave to die. Mama died twelve months fore he +died. I was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and +papa said. Grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and Miss Cornelia +learned me to sew and learned Aunt Joe (a ex-slave Negro here in town) +to play Miss Betty's piano. She was their house girl. Yes ma'am, when I +was small girl she was bout grown. Aunt Joe is a fine cook. Miss +Cornelia learnt her how. I could learned to played too but I didn't want +to. I wanted to knit and crochet and sew. Miss Cornelia said that was my +talent. I made wrist warmers and lace. Sister Mary would spin. She spun +yarn and cotton thread. They made feather beds. Picked the geese and +sheared the sheep. I got my big feather bed now. + +"When I married, Miss Betty made my weddin' dress. We had a preacher +marry us at my home. My mama give me to Miss Betty and they raised me. I +was the weaslingest one of her children. She give me to Miss Betty. Now +she wants me to come back. I think I go back Christmas and stay. Miss +Betty is old and feeble now. I got three children living here in Hazen +now. All I got left. + +"The men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. I don't know +how they voted. Now, honey, you know I don't know nothing bout voting. + +"Times is so changed. Conditions so changed that I don't know if the +young generation is improved much. They learn better but it don't do em +no more good. It seems like it is the management that counts. That is +the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave Mars Daniel Johnson's. He was +a good manager and Miss Betty is a good manager. We don't know how to +manage and ain't got much to manage wid. That the way it looks to me. +Some folks is luckier than others." + + + + +Little Rock District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson +[HW: Yankees Stole Food] +Subject: History--Slavery Days +Subject: Musical Instrument +Story:--Information +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] +[TR: Hand dated 11-14-36] + +This information given by: Betty Curlett +Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas +Occupation: Washwoman +Age: 67 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"My mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of +wooden spoons and bowls they made." They cooked a washpot full of peas +for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. They +always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for +there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked +for her family in with what she cooked for the Master. They made banks +of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till +they went to cook them. They had rows of banks in the garden or out +behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in +the spring to bed. + +They saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them +and saved the drip--lye--and made soap or corn hominy--made big pots of +soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. They carried corn to the mill +and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. The women +spun, wove, and knitted. The men would hunt between crop times. If the +slaves were caught stealing, the Patty Row would catch him and his +master whip him. + +My Grandpas and Grandmas and Mamma's Master was John Moore. Mr. John +said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade +blood saddle-skirt deep. He set out to war. Went to Vicksburg and was +killed. + +His wifes name was Mrs. Elisabeth and his daughters name was Miss Inez. +They say thats where the saying "He won't last longer than John Moore +did when he went to war" sprang up but I don't know about that part of +it for sure. + +Grandma Becky said when the Yankees came to Mrs. Moores house and to +Judge Rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't +have none. They stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. Just tore +up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. They took +two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the +ground, leaving piles of them to waste. + +Song her Mother and Grandmother sang: + + Old Cow died in the fork of the branch + Baby, Ba, Ba. + Dock held the light, Kimbo skinned it. + Ba, Ba, Ba. + Old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from + branch, Kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide + he had tanned. + Baby, Ba, Ba. + + +Musical Instrument + +"The only musical instrument we had was a banjo. Some made their banjos. +Take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. 3 horse hairs twisted made +the base string. 2 horsehairs twisted made the second string. 1 horse +hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it +was not twisted at all but drawn tight. They were all bees waxed." + + + + +Circumstances of Interview +STATE--Arkansas +NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor +ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas +DATE--December, 1938 +SUBJECT--Ex-Slave +[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] + + +1. Name and address of informant--J.H. Curry, Washington, Arkansas + +2. Date and time of interview-- + +3. Place of interview--Washington, Arkansas + +4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with +informant-- + +5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- + +6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc. + + +Personal History of Informant + +1. Ancestry--father, Washington Curry; mother, Eliza Douglass; +grandmother; Malinda Evans; grandfather, Mike Evans. + +2. Place and date of birth--Born in Haywood County, Tennessee in 1862. + +3. Family-- + +4. Places lived in, with dates--Tennessee until 1883. From 1883 until +now, in Arkansas. + +5. Education, with dates--He took a four-years' course at Haywood after +the war. + +6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Minister + +7. Special skills and interest--Church work. + +8. Community and religious activities--Preacher + +9. Description of informant-- + +10. Other points gained in interview--His father was a slave and he +tells lots of slavery. + + +[HW: Master Educates Slave] + +Text of Interview (Unedited) + +"I was born in 1862, September first. I got that off the Bible. My +father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait +man to him. And the doctor learnt him how to read and write. Right after +the War, he was a teacher. He was ready to be a teacher before most +other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. There were +so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers +and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he +taught my father to read and write so that he could do it. + +"I was born in Tennessee, in Haywood County. My father was born in North +Carolina, so they tell me. He was brought to Tennessee. He was a slave +and my mother was a slave. His name was Washington Curry and my mother's +name was Eliza Douglass before she married. Her master was named John +Douglass and my father's master was named T.A. Curry, Tom Curry some +folks called him. + +"I don't know just how many slaves Tom Curry owned. Lemme see. There was +my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. My father's father had +ten children, and my father had the same number--five boys and six +girls. Ten of us lived for forty years. My mother had ten living +children when she died in 1921. Since '21, three girls died. My father +died in 1892. + +"My father's master had around a hundred slaves. Douglass was a richer +man than my father's master. I suspect he had two hundred slaves. He was +my mother's father as well as her master. I know him. He used to come to +our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. He liked her. She +was his daughter. + +"My father's father--I can't remember what his name was. I know his +mother was Candace. I never did see his father but I saw my grandma. He +was dead before I was born. My mother's mother was named Malinda Evans. +Only one thing I remember that was remarkable about her. Her husband was +a free man named Mike Evans. He come from up North and married her in +slave time and he bought her. He was a fine carpenter. They used to hire +him out to build houses. He was a contractor in slave time. I remember +him well. + +"After the War, he used to have white men getting training for the +carpenter's training under him. He was Grandma Evans' husband. He wasn't +my father's father. My father was born before Grandma Evans was freed. +All the rest of them were born afterward. They sold her to him but the +children all belonged to the Douglasses. He probably paid for her on +time and they kept the children that was born. + +"The doctor was good to my father. Way after freedom, he was our family +doctor. He was at my father's bedside when father died. He's dead now. + +"My father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). He was a finished +carpenter. He used to make everything 'round the house. Sometimes he +went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and +his master would give him some for himself. + +"My mother worked 'round the house. She was a servant. I don't know that +she ever did the work in the field. My daddy just come home every +Saturday night. My father and mother always belonged to different +masters in slavery time. The Douglasses and the Currys were five or six +miles apart. My father would walk that distance on Saturday night and +stay there all day Sunday and git up before day in the morning Monday so +that he would be back home Monday morning in time for his work. I +remember myself when we moved away. That's when my memory first starts. + +"I could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'Uncle +Washington, please don't carry Aunt Lize away.' But we went on away. +When we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor +that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. +Nothing to eat--not a bite. I went to bed hungry, and you know how it is +when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. I jerk a little nod, and +then I'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. One time I woke +up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at +the table, and mama reached over and said, 'Stick your head back under +the cover again, you little rascal you.' I won't say what I saw. But +I'll say this much. We had the finest breakfast the next morning that I +ever ate in all my life. + +"I used to hear my people talk about pateroles but I don't reckon I can +recall now what they said. There is a man in Washington named Bob +Sanders. He knows everything about slavery, and politics too. He used to +be a regular politician. He is about ninety years old. They came there +and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his +fare. Man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. +They were writing up something about Arkansas history. + +"I have been married fifty-seven years. I married in 1881. My wife was a +Lemons. I married on February tenth in Tennessee at Stanton. Nancy +Lemons. + +"I went to public school a little after the war. My wife and I both went +to Haywood after we were married. After we married and had children, we +went. I took a four-years' course there when it was a fine institution. +It's gone down now. + +"I was the oldest boy. We had two mules. We farmed on the halves. We +made fifteen bales of cotton a year. Never did make less than ten or +twelve. + +"I have been in the ministry fifty-three years. I was transferred to +Arkansas in 1883 in the conference which met at Humboldt. My first work +here was in Searcy in 1884. + +"I think the question of Negro suffrage will work itself out. As we get +further away from the Civil War and the reconstruction, it will be less +and less opposition to the Negro's voting. You can see a lot of signs of +that now. + +"I don't know about the young people. They are gone wild. I don't know +what to say about them. + +"I think where men are able to work I think it is best to give them +work. A man that is able to work ought to be given work by the +government if he can't get it any other way." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Lyttleton Dandridge + 2800 W. Tenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 + + +"I was told I was born in '57 in East Carroll Parish, Louisiana. + +"Oh, I can remember before the War broke out. Yes ma'am, I had good +owners. Old master and mistress was named James Railey and Matilda +Railey. I called her mistress. + +"I remember one time my father carried me to Natchez on Christmas to +spend with his people. His parents were servants on a plantation near +Natchez. + +"I remember two shows I saw. They was the Daniel Rice shows. They was +animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. We didn't +have trains and things like that--traveled on the big waters. + +"I remember when we refugeed to Texas in '63. They raised tobacco there. + +"We got free in '65 and the Governor or somebody ordered all the owners +to take all the folks back that wanted to go. + +"All the young folks, they had them in Tyler, Texas makin' bullets. My +father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets. + +"Old master had two plantations in Louisiana and three in Mississippi. +He was a large slaveholder. + +"When we got back to Louisiana from Texas, ever'thing was the same +except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land. + +"Old master died before the War broke out and my mistress died in '67. + +"My father died in Texas. That left my mother a widow. She spent about +two weeks at the old home place in Louisiana. She pulled up then and +went to Natchez to my father's people. She made two crops with my young +master. His name was Otie Railey. Help her? Well, I was comin'. I had +one brother and one sister. + +"In '68 she worked with a colored man on the shares. + +"I started to school in '67. A colored man come in there and established +a private school. I went in '67, '68, and '69 and then I didn't go any +more till '71 and '72. I got along pretty well in it. I know mine from +the other fellows. I can write and any common business I can take care +of. + +"We had two or three men run off and joined the Yankees. One got drowned +fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom. + +"My mother worked for wages after freedom. She got three bales of cotton +for her services and mine and she boarded herself. + +"In '74 she rented. I still stayed with her. She lived with me all her +life and died with me. + +"I come over to Arkansas the twenty-third day of December in 1916. +Worked for Long-Bell Lumber Company till they went down. Then I Just +jobbed around. I can still work a little but not like I used to. + +"I used to vote Republican when I was interested in politics but I have +no interest in it now. + +"The younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. They was +more constrictions on the young people. When I was young I had a certain +hour to come in at night. Eight o'clock was my hour--not later than +that. I think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started +in time they could control them. + +"I remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she +caught up with him. He fell down and she booed him in the back. My +grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. She just shook +her head and went off. + +"Outside of my people, the best friend I ever met up with was a white +man." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Ella Daniels + 1223 W. Eleventh Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 74, or over + + +[HW: Food Rationed] + +"I was born in North Carolina, in Halifax County, in the country near +Scotland Neck. My mother's name was Nellie Doggett. Her name was Hale +before she married. My father's name was Tom Doggett. I never did see +any of my grand people. + +"My mother's master was named Lewis Hale. He was a farmer. He was fairly +good himself but the overseers wasn't. They have mistreated my mother. +All I know is what I heard, of course; I wasn't old enough to see for +myself. My mother was a field hand. She worked on the farm. My father +did the same thing. + +"My father and mother belonged to different masters. I forgot now who my +father said he belonged to. My father didn't live on the same plantation +with my mother. He just came and visited her from time to time. + + +Food + +"Sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. The old missis sometimes +saw that my mother's children were fed. My mother's master was pretty +good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. Food was +issued every week. They give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little +rice and along like that. + + +House + +"My mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. I don't know +whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. But I +nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and I know +several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. Most of the houses had +two rooms. The food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations +given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house. + + +Breeding + +"I don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but I +have heard of them. I don't know the names of the people. Just remember +hearing talk about them. + + +Freedom Comes + +"My mother and father never found out they were free till April 1865. +Some of them were freed before then. I don't know how they found it out, +but I heard them talking about it. + + +Right after Freedom + +"Right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same +place just like they always did. I reckon they paid them, I don't know. +They did what they wanted to. + + +Patrollers, Ku Klux, and Reconstruction + +"I remember the Ku Klux. They used to come and whip the niggers that +didn't have a pass. I think them was pateroles though. There was some +people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, +and then they would sell them. I don't know what they called them. I +just remember the Ku Klux and the pateroles. + +"The Ku Klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out +without a pass. I don't remember any Ku Klux whipping niggers after the +War because they were in politics. + + +Voters and Officeholders + +"I have heard of Negroes voting and holding office after the War. I +wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named Kane Gibbs and +another named Cicero Barnes. I heard the old people talking about them. +I don't know what offices they held. They lived in another county +somewhere. + + +Life Since Emancipation + +"I went from North Carolina to Louisiana, and from Louisiana here. They +had it that you could shake trees out in Louisiana and the money would +fall off. They had some good land out there too. One acre would make all +you wanted--corn or anything else. That was a rich land. But I don't +know--I don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, +you had to leave it there. Never would give you no direct settlement or +pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. Just gave you +something from time to time. Whatever you had you had to leave it there. + + +Occupational Experiences + +"I used to work in the field when I was able. That was when I was in the +country. When I came to the city I usually did washing and ironing. Now +I can't do anything. All the people I used to work for is dead. There +was one woman in particular. She was a good woman, too. I don't have any +help at all now, except my son. He has a family of his own--wife and +seven children. Right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for +himself nor nobody else. But I thank God for what I have because things +could be much worse." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with Ku Klux. It seems to +point to a use of the word Ku Klux before the War. Of course, it is +clear that the Ku Klux Klan operated after the War. + +Ella Daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and +I have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. +But three children were born after her and before the close of the War. +She says they were born two years apart. Allowing that the youngest was +born, in 1864, the one next to her would have been born in 1860, and she +would have been born in 1858. This seems likely too because she speaks +of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and +must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. Born in 1858, +she would have been seven years old in 1865 and would have been able to +have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two +years probably. So it appears to me that her age is eighty, but I have +recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mary Allen Darrow, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"I was born at Monticello, Arkansas at the last of the Cibil (Civil) +War. My parents' names was Richard and Ann Allen. They had thirteen +children. Mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer. + +"My great-grandma and grandpa was killed in Indian Nation (Alabama) by +Sam and Will Allen. They was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of +the Carolinas. I disremembers which they told me. Great-grandpa was a +chief. They was shot and all the children run but they caught my Grandma +Evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to Monticello, +Arkansas. They fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. She was a +little full-blood Indian girl then. They got her fer my great-grandpa a +wife. He seen her and thought she was so pretty. + +"She was wild. She wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. She +had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. They tamed her. Grandpa's pa +that wanted the Indian wife was full-blood African. Mama was little +lighter than 'gingercake' color. + +"My Indian grandma was mean. I was feard of 'er. She run us down and +ketch us and whoop us. She was tall slender woman. She was mean as she +could be. She'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. Grandpa was +kind. He'd bring me candy back if he went off. I cried after him. I +played with his girl. We was about the same size. Her name was Annie +Mathis. He was a Mathis. He was a blacksmith too at Monticello and later +he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. I was raised on a farm. +Papa died there. I washed and done field work all my life. Grandma +married Bob Mathis. + +"Our owner was Sam and Lizzie Allen. William Allen was his brother. I +think Sam had eight children. There was a Claude Allen in Monticello and +some grandchildren, Eva Allen and Lent Allen. Eva married Robert Lawson. +I lived at Round Pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to Forrest +City. I been away from them Allen's and Mathis' and Gill's so long and +'bout forgot 'em. They wasn't none too good to nobody--selfish. They'd +make trouble, then crap out of it. Pack it on anybody. They wasn't none +too good to do nothing. Some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and +women. Some of 'em I know wasn't rich--poor as 'Jobe's stucky.' I don't +know nothing 'bout 'em now. They wasn't good. + +"I was a baby at freedom and I don't know about that nor the Ku Klux. +Grandpa started a blacksmith shop at Monticello after freedom. + +"My pa was a white man. Richard Allen was mama's husband. + +"Me and my husband gats ten dollars from the Old Age Pension. He is +ninety-six years old. He do a little about. I had a stroke and ain't +been no 'count since. He can tell you about the Cibil War." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +I missed her husband twice. It was a long ways out there but I will see +him another time. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Alice Davis + 1700 Vaugine Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"I was born in Mississippi. My mistress was Jane Davis. She raised me. +She owned my mother too. + +"When Miss Jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and +Mandy Paine owned me then. When I was one month old they said I was so +white Mandy Paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and +carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. When the +childun heard, they run and cried, 'Mama's goin' to kill Harriet's +baby.' Old mistress, Jane Davis, heard about it and she come and paid +Miss Jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and I slep +right in the bed with her till the war ceasted." + +"Her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'Ma, why don't +you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me +and say, 'This the only nigger I got.' + +"I stayed there two or three years after freedom. I didn't know what +free meant. Big childun all laugh and say, 'All niggers free, all +niggers free.' And I'd say, 'What is free?' I was lookin' for a man to +come. + +"I worked in the house and in the field. I had plenty chances to go to +school but I didn't have no sense. + +"My mother was sold to nigger traders and I never did see her again. I +always say I never had no mother, and I never did know who my father +was. + +"I've worked hard since I got to be a women. I never been the mother of +but three childun. Me and my boy stay together. + +"I had a happy time when I lived with Miss Jane, but I been workin' ever +since." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Charlie Davis + 100 North Plum, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"They said I was born in 1862, the second day of March, in Little Rock. + +"I 'member the War. I 'member the bluecoats. I knowed they was fightin' +but I didn't know what about. + +"My old master was killed in the War. I don't know his name, I just +heered 'em call him old master. + +"I know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the War and looked +for him afterward. As long as I could understand anything she was still +lookin'. + +"Far as I know, my parents stayed with old missis after the War. + +"I 'member my father hired me out when I was a little boy. They treated, +me good. + +"Never have done anything 'cept farm work. I'm failin' now. Hate to say +so but I found out I am. + +"I never did want to go away from here. I could a went, but I think a +fellow can do better where he is raised. I have watched the dumb beasts +go off with others and see how they was treated, so I never did crave to +go off from home. I have knowed people have went away and they'd bring +'em back dead, and I'd say to myself, 'I wonder how he died?' I've +studied it over and I've just made myself satisfied. + +"I went to school some but I was the biggest help the old folks had and +they kept me workin'." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person Interviewed: D. Davis + R.F.D., six miles north of Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 85 + + +Uncle D. Davis, an ex-slave, 85 years of age lives some miles north of +Marvell, Arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter +owns. Uncle D himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further +up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able +to tend the land. This old negro, now old and bent from years of work +and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the +assistance of a crutch and a cane. His mind however is very clear and +his recollection keen. As I sat with him on the porch of his daughter's +home he told me the following story: + +"Yes Sir, Mr. McKinney, I has been in Phillips County fer pas forty-five +years and I is now pas eighty-five. I wuz a grown en settled man when I +fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. Dats how cum me ter com +here on er count of one of my boys. Dis boy he cum befo I did en hed +done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from Mississippi. Yo +know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done +drifted rite down dere below Marvell on de Cypress Bayou, en war wukin +fer Mr. Fred Mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. I guess +dat yo has heard of Mr. Fred Mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close +ter Turner. Well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter I cum I +jined up wid Mr. Mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en I wud er ben +wid him fer good I rekkin iffen I hadn't wanter buy me er place of my +own, kase Mr. Fred Mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands +fair. + +"When I cided ter git me er little place of my own, I went en got +quainted wid Mr. Marve Carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, +en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter Mr. Carruth fer ter git de +advice, en Mr. Carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is +mine yit. Dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan Mr. Marve +Carruth. No Sir dat is a fac. + +"Yo see, Capn, I wuz borned en raised in de hills of Mississippi, in +Oktibbawa County not so fer frum Starkville, en dat wuz a ole country +time I hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when I +cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, +en how rish de lan, I jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite +here en mobed my fambly rite off. Folkses hed cotton piled up all er +round dey houses en I cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home +den. + +"My ole Marster wuz Tom Davis en Capn dere warnt never no finer man whut +ever libed dan Marse Tom. Marse Tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he +hed, en Marse Tom sho hed a passel of em. He had bettern two-hundred +head en de las one dey crazy bout Marse Tom Davis. He war rather old +frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de +war. Marse Tom he owned a grete heap er lan. His lan hit stretch out fer +God knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water +wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. Dey neber +bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all +de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. Marse Tom he +tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin +er sellin no niggers. Dat he didn't. He neber wud sell er one, en he +neber did buy but three. Dat is er fac, Capn, en one of dem three whut +he bought wuz "Henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed Henry frum Mr. +Spence kase Henry hed done got married ter Malindy, whut wuz my mammy. +Dat is whut my Mammy en Pappy dey bofe tole me. + +"Marse Tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, +but Marse Phil he jined up. Marse Phil dat war Marse Tom's son, en de +onliest boy dat Ole Marster en Ole Mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile +en dat wuz de girl, Miss Rachel, en atter de war ober Miss Rachel she +married Capn Dan Travis whut cum from Alabama. Ole Marster he neber +laked Capn Dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout Miss Rachel +gwine ter git married ter dat Capn, but hit neber done him no good ter +cut up kase Ole Mis she sided wid Miss Rachel, en den too Miss Rachel +she hab er head of her own en she know her Pa aint gwine ter stop her. +Marse Tom he didn't lak Capn Dan kase de Capn he er big sport, en mighty +wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, +do he sho war a fine lookin gentman. + +"Whilst Marse Tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er +man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en Ole Mis dey +neber want Marse Phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer +ter tek Marse Phil's place so he won't hatter go, but Marse Phil he sey +he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he Ma en Pa dey cut up right +smart bout Marse Phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. Marse +Phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter +sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad +spell er sikness en died. Dat wuz sho tuf on Marse Tom en de Ole Mis fer +dem ter lose Marse Phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him +bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. Hit mighty +nigh broke dem ole peoples up. + +"No Sir, Capn, I betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white +man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers +dan Marse Tom Davis. Now jes tek dis, dere wuz "Uncle Joe" whut wuz my +grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as Marse Tom, en dey growed +up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat Marse Tom's pappy git "Uncle Joe" +when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red +hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter +Marse Tom, en atter Marse Tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy +died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, +en Uncle Joe done raise Marse Tom seben chillun, den Marse Tom he up en +sot Uncle Joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase +Uncle Joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise Marse Tom +all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy. + +"Capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) Well, +I gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. Dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de +niggers. Dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round +thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en +womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. Hit wuz jes lak you mite +sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. Jist befo dese here +speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try +ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long +side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, +en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some +nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine +try ter do de bizness wid. Dats zackly de way dey do Capn, jes lak +curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually +is. + +"Whilst Marse Tom Davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of +de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he +niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery +week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat +week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den +ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en +whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres +whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey own, +en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey want. + +"Marse Tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always +on er Sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de +folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er Sattidy atter noon fer er +frolic. Ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest +man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter +"go befo de King", dats whut us called it. All wud gather in bak of de +big house under de big oak trees en Marse Tom he wud cum out wid he +fiddle under he arm, yo kno Marse Tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot +hisself down in de chere whut Uncle Joe done fotched fer im, en den he +tell Uncle Joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all +er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den Marse Tom he +start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab +de bes kin er frolic, en Marse Tom he git jes es much fun outen de party +as de niggers demselves. Dats de kine er man whut Marse Tom wuz. + +"I tell yo, Capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. Dey all +draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times +dey cud always git mo, en Marse Tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour +at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. Dats rite, Capn, en I sho tells +dis fer de truf, en dat is I say dat iffen all de slabe owning white +folks lak Marse Tom Davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de +darkies, kase Marse Tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey +bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone. + +"At Chrismus time on Marse Tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er +mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. De candy pullin, en de dances wid be +gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de +marster. + +"All endurin of de war times, Marse Tom he neber raised no cotton er +tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de +Confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de +loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. De Yankees +sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er +bruning [TR: burning?] en sich dat I is heard dat dey done in places in +other parts of de state. We all heard one time dat de Yankees wuz close +er roun en wuz on de way ter burn Marse Tom's mill but dey got on de +wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er +dat too. Yit en still attar de war ober, Marse Tom, he had bout four +hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de Yankee govment dey sho +tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. I knows dat ter be er +fac. + +"I members de war rail well, kase ye see, I wuz bout twelve year old +when hit ober. En de last two er three years of de trubble I wuz big +enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er +waitin boy round de house, en I slept in dar too on er pallit on de +floor, en er lot er times de Calvary sojers wud stop at Marse Tom's en +spen de nite, en I wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en I +cud hear dem talkin ter Marse Tom, en Marster he wud ax dem how de fite +cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de Yankees, en de Calvary sojers dey say +dat dey whippin de Yankees ebery day en killin em out, en Marse Tom he +sey "Yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem +Yankees? Dem Yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo +doin. Yo know yo aint whippin no Yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter +dem rite now stid dem atter yo". No Sir, dem Calvary sojers cudn't fool +Marse Tom. + +"Yes sir, I tell yo, Capn, de slabes dey fared well wid Marse Tom Davis, +en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every +body ben lak Marse Tom. All his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben +know what de Yankees en de Southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase +dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum +dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter +do wid hit. En atter de bondage lifted, Marse Tom he called em all up en +tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere +wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. Dey ebery one stayed, en I spect dat +er lot of dem Davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid +whoever hit belongs to. + +"When er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich +thing as er license fer dem. All dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit +frum de Marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. Atter de +freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz +giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal. + +"Atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, +en atter de surrender, Marse Tom he hed his whole place lined out by de +surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty +acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock +wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de +lan frum Marse Tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till Marse Tom en ole +Mis bofe died, en dat wuz when Capn Dan Travis, Miss Rachel's husband, +he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies +hed made wid Marse Tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, +en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de Davis place, wid Capn +Dan Travis in charge, en Marse Tom gone. But Capn Dan he en Miss Rachel +didn't keep dey place long atter her Pa dead, kase de Capn he too wild, +en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin. + +"Capn, did yo eber hear of de "Chapel Hill" fight dat de colored folks +en de white folks hed in Mississippi? I will tell yo bout dat fight en +de leadin up ter de trubble. + +"Atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de Klu Klux bofe, en de white +folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey didn't. I +don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, so de +white folks say. You know sum way er udder de Yankees er de +carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de +cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in Jackson. Dat wuz de +craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant +niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. I tell yo, Capn, dem +whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de +niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk +long. Dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded +dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er +roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. Dem ignorant +niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. Hit wasn't long +do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. De Klu Klux dey +wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick +by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, +en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter +tek bak wid em when de day light cum. All de time de niggers habin dey +club meetins in er ole loose house dere at Chapel Hill, en de Klux er +gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de +black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er +grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de +Klu Klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter +dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er +shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, +dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club +meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote +house. I heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase Chapel Hill hit warn't +fer frum whar I libed at dat time. I seed Dr. Marris Gray on de rode on +he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. Dr. +Marris Gray he pulled up en sed, "Good mornin "D" is ye heard bout de +fite whut wuz had last nite at Chapel Hill" en I sey "No Sir Doctor, +whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he +didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de +club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en +also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat +he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. En den I sey +"Doctor Morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he +say "En cose I warn't dere yo don't think I gwine be roun what no +shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en I say "Naw Suh" en de doctor he rid +on down de rode den, but I knowed in my own mine dat Doctor Morris wuz +in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en I seed er long +pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat I iz +knowed de doctor eber since I wuz a chile when Marse Tom uster hab him +ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en I seed him one night er +ridin wid de Klu Klux en heard him er talkin when I wuz hid in de bushes +lon side de rode when I cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de +thicket, en den Doctor Morris he wid General Forrest all throo de war en +he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss +no shootin." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: James Davis + 1112 Indiana St. (owner), Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 96 +Occupation: Cotton farmer + + +"This is what's left of me. How old? Me? Now listen and let me tell you +how 'twas. Old mistress put all our ages in the family Bible, and I was +born on Christmas morning in 1840 in Raleigh, North Carolina. + +"My old master was Peter Davis and he was old Jeff Davis' brother. There +was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream. + +"Old master was good to us. He said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' +and workin' in the field from morning to night. He fed us well and we +had plenty good clothes to wear--heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in +the winter time. When I was a young man I wore good clothes. + +"I served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. We +didn't have a thing in God's world to worry bout. Every darky old master +had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. Oh, he was +rich--had bout five or six thousand slaves. Oh, he had darkies aplenty. +He run a hundred plows. + +"I went to work when I was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and I been +workin' ever since. But when I was comin' up I had good times. I had +better times than I ever had in my life. I used to be one of the best +banjo pickers. I was good. Played for white folks and called figgers for +em. In them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', +'change partners'. They don't know how to dance now. We had parties and +corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes. + +"I'll sing you a song + + 'Oh lousy nigger + Oh grandmammy + Knock me down with the old fence rider, + Ask that pretty gal let me court her + Young gal, come blow the coal.' + +"When I was twenty-one I was sold to the speculator and sent to Texas. +They started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd +and fifty and knocked me off. He paid for me in old Jeff Davis' shin +plasters. + +"I runned away and I was in Mississippi makin' my way back home to North +Carolina. I was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of Sherman's +Rough Riders come along. When they got close to me the horses jumped +sudden and they said, 'Come out of there, we know you're in there!' And +when I come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. +They said they thought I was a Revel and 'serted the army. That was on +New Years day of the year the war ended. The Yankees said, 'We's freed +you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' I said, 'If you goin' +North, I'll go.' So I stayed with em till I got back to North Carolina. + +"After surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come I'm +here. I emigrated here. I left Raleigh, North Carolina Christmas Eve +1883. I've seen ninety-six Christmases. + +"I member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. The South +wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do. + +"When I come to this country of Arkansas I brought twelve chillun and +left four in North Carolina. I've had six wives and had twenty-nine +chillun by the six wives. + +"I've seen them Ku Klux in slavery times and I've cut a many a +grapevine. We'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the +grape vine strung across the road and the Ku Klux come ridin' along and +run right into it and throw the horses down. + +"Cose I believe in hants. They're in the air. Can't everybody see em. +Some come in the shape of a cat or a dog--you know, old folks spirits. I +ain't afeared of em--ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. Cose I got +a gun--got three or four of em. You can't kill a spirit cept with +silver. + +"I was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and I see +somethin' white come right up side of me. I didn't run then. You know +you can git so scared you can't run, but when I got so I could, I like +to killed myself runnin'. + +"I'm not able to work now, but I just go anyhow. I got a willin' mind to +work and a strong constitution but I ain't got nothin' to back it. I +never was sick but twice in my life. + +"Since I been in Pine Bluff I worked sixteen years at night firing up +and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. I +worked for the Cotton Belt forty-eight years. I worked up until the fust +day of this last past May, five years ago, when they laid me off. + +"I'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but I works every day anyway. + +"I'll show you I haven't been asleep atall. I worked for the railroad +company forty-eight years and I been tryin' to get that railroad pension +but there's so much Red Cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be +three months before they could do anything." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jim Davis + 1112 Indiana Street + Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 98 + + +"Well, I've broke completely down. I ain't worth nothing. Got rheumatism +all over me. + +"I never seen inside a schoolhouse--allus looked on the outside. + +"The general run of this younger generation ain't no good. What I'm +speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. They ain't healthy either. Why, +when I was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. Why, look +at me. I ain't never had but two spells of sickness and I ain't never +had the headache. The only thing--I broke these three fingers. Hit a +mule in the head. Killed him too. + +"Yes'm, that was in slavery times. Why, they passed a law in Raleigh, +North Carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. That was when I +was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars. + +"Ever' time they'd make me mad I'd run off in the woods. + +"But they sure was good to their darkies. Plenty to eat and plenty good +clothes. Sam Davis was my owner. And he wouldn't have no rough +overseer." + + + + +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Slavery Time Songs +Subject: Superstitions +Story:--Information +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] + +This information given by: Jim Davis +Place of residence: 1112 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 98 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I used to be a banjo picker in Civil War times. I could pick a church +song just as good as I could a reel. + +"Some of 'em I used to pick was 'Amazing Grace', 'Old Dan Tucker,' Used +to pick one went like this + + 'Farewell, farewell, sweet Mary; + I'm ruined forever + By lovin' of you; + Your parents don't like me, + That I do know + I am not worthy to enter your d[o].' + +I used to pick + + 'Dark was the night + Cold was the ground + On which the Lord might lay.' + +I could pick anything. + + 'Amazing grace + How sweet it sounds + To save a wretch like me.' + + 'Go preach my Gospel + Says the Lord, + Bid this whole earth + My grace receive; + Oh trust my word + Ye shall be saved.' + +I used to talk that on my banjo just like I talked it there." + + +Superstitions + +"Oh, yes ma'am, I believe in all the old signs. + +"You can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore +shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that +bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel--I know what +I'm talkin' 'bout now--and you tote that in your pocket night and +day--sleep with it--and it brings you good luck. But the last one I had +got burnt up when my house burnt down and I been goin' back ever since. + +"And these here frizzly chicken are good luck. If you have a black +frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your +yard, they'll scratch it up." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis + 1100 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 85 +[May 31 1938] + + +"What's my name? I got a good name. Name's Jeff Davis. Miss Mary Vinson +was some of my white folks. + +"Oh Lord yes, I was here in slavery times--runnin' around like you +are--ten years old. I'm eighty-five even. + +"Soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. Blue coats was what they +called 'em. And the Rebs was Gray. + +"Yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. Had cannon-balls +weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds. + +"I'm a musician--played the fife. Played it to a T. Had two kinds of +drums. Had different kinds of brass horns too. I 'member one time they +was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till I took it. + +"Had plenty to eat. Old master fed us plenty. + +"Oh, I used to do a heap of work in a day. + +"I was 'bout ten when freedom come. Yes ma'am." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis + R.F.D. five miles south, Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 78 + + +"I'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. I was borned +in de Tennessee Valley not far from Huntsville, Alabama. Right soon +atter I was borned my white folks, de Welborns, dey left Alabama an' +come right here to Phillips County, Arkansas, an' brung all the darkies +with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. I is been here +all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every +since I been old enough. I is seen good times an' hard times, Boss, all +endurin' of those years followin' de War, but de worst times I is ever +seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck. + +"How-some-ever I is got 'long first rate I reckon 'cause you know I owns +my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all +such like. I really ain't suffered any for nothin'. Still they has been +times when I ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, +but I is made it out somehow. Us old darkies what come up with de +country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there +wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long +on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. Couldn't mind a panic +bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration. + +"You see, I was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. +An' course I can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my +mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times. + +"Like I first said, us belonged to de Welborns an' dey was powerful +loyal to de Souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey +sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in +Tennessee an' Georgia. Dat's what my mammy tole me an' I know dey done +dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout Mr. Jefferson Davis, de fust an' only +President of de Confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name I got. +Yas suh, dat is how come me named 'Jeff Davis.' An' I always has been +proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what I is named after. + +"My pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. I knows he +bound to been 'cause I is too bright to not have no white blood in me. +My mammy, she named 'Mary Welborn'. She say dat my pappy was a white man +name 'Bill Ward' what lived back in Alabama. Dat's all my mammy ever +told me about my pappy. She never say iffen he work for de Welborns er +no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. I don't know nothin' 'bout him +scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'Bill Ward'. My steppappy, he +was name John Sanders, an' he married my mammy when I 'bout four year +old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage. + +"My steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he +want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. +I riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was +built through Marvell from Helena to Clarendon. He made dem culberts +outen logs what would be split half in two. Then he would hew out de two +halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. Dey +would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de +water to run through. + +"There was several white mens dat I knowed in dis part of de county what +raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. I will say this +for them mens though. Whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem +what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care +of de whole gang. I riccolect one white man in particular, an' I knows +you is heered of him too. How-some-ever, I won't call no names. He lived +down on de ribber on de island. Dis white man, he was a overseer for a +widder woman what lived in Helena an' what owned de big place dat dis +man oberseer was on. Dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de +longest. She have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals. + +"After a while dis man, he got him a place up close to Marvell where he +moved to. He brought his nigger fambly with him. He built dem a good +house on his farm where he kept them. He give dat woman an' dem chillun +dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. Then he +married him a nice white woman after he moved close to Marvell. He built +him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap +of chillun too by dis same man. So dis man, he had a white fambly an' a +half nigger fambly before. De most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in +this county right now. + +"Yas suh, Boss, I is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. In my +young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. There +wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. De houses an' barns was +most all made of logs, but I is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers +an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey +does at dis time. De white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more +confidence in each other seems like in dem days. I don't know how 'twas +in de other states after de War, but right here in Phillips County de +white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. Dey helped dem +to git it. Dey sure done dat. Mr. Marve Carruth, dat was really a good +white man. He helped me to get dis very place here dat I is owned for +fifty years. An' then I tell you dis too, Boss, when I was coming up, de +folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. A good hand then +naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as +dey do now. Seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and +down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey +orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home. + +"Yas suh, I riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs +in de courthouse in Helena, but I is never took no part in that votin' +business an' I allus kept out of dem arguments. I left it up to de white +folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers. + +"De darkies what was in de courthouse dat I riccolect was: Bill Gray, he +was one of de clerks; Hense Robinson, Dave Ellison, an' some more dat I +don't remember. Bill Gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was +just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. Bill Gray, he +used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. He was +sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. The +captain used to let him git some eddycation. Darkies, dey never last +long in de courthouse. Dey soon git 'em out. + +"I gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since I was +comin' up. Dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't +believe in no more. Yet de same signs is still here, an' I sure does +believe in 'em 'cause I done seen 'em work for all dese years. De Lawd +give de peoples a sign for all things. De moon an' de stars, dey is a +sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de +cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. De screech owls, dey give er +warnin' dat some one gwine to die. About de best sign dat some person +gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' +constant in de middle of de night. Dat is a sign I hardly is ever seen +fail an' I seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old Aunt Dinah +died up de road. I heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' +back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past +Aunt Dinah's cabin. I say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to +take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' +de sign just right. Dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' Aunt +Dinah, she plumb well at de time. About er week from then Aunt Dinah, +she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she +died. I knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still I didn't +know who it was to be. I tell you, Boss, I is gittin' uneasy an' +troubled de last day or two, 'cause I is done heered another cow a +lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. She keeps a walkin' back +an' forth past my house out there in de road. I is really troubled +'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. We is both way up in +years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, Aunt Dinah was too. +Dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat I done noticed mighty +nigh allus comes true." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jordan Davis + 306 Cypress Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 86 + + +"I was a boy in the house when the war started and I heard the mistress +say the abolitionists was about to take the South. Yes ma'm. That was in +Natchez, Mississippi. I was about nine or ten. + +"Mistress' name was Eliza A. Hart and master's name was Dave A. Hart. + +"I guess they _was_ good to me. I lived right there in the house with +then. Mistress used to send me to Sunday School and she'd say 'Now, +Jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with +them nigger chillun on the streets.' + +"My daddy belonged to a man named Davis way down the river in the +country and after the war he came and got me. Sure did. Carried me to +Davis Bend. I was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. He took me +to Mrs. Leas Hamer and you know I was a good-sized boy when she put me +in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. Yes'm, I sure can cook. She +kept me right in the house with her children. I did her cooking and +cleaned up the house. I never got any money for it, or if I did I done +forgot all about it. She kept me in clothes, she sure did. I didn't need +any money. I stayed five or six years with her, sure did. I thought a +lot of her and her children--she was so kind to me. + +"Yes ma'm, I went to school one or two years in Mississippi. + +"When I come here to Arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in +Pine Bluff, there was a white man standin' there named Burks. He kept +lookin' at me and directly he said 'Can you cook?' I was married then +and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me +out to his house. His wife kept a first-class boarding house. Just +first-class white folks stayed there. After the madam found out I had a +good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things +over to me. + +"Miss, it's been so long, I don't study 'bout that votin' business. I +have never bothered 'bout no Republican or votin' business--I never +cared about it. I know one thing, the white people are the only ones +ever did me any good. + +"Mrs. J.B. Talbot has been very good to me. My wife used to work for her +and so did I. She sure has been a friend to me. Mrs. J.B. Talbot has +certainly stuck to me. + +"Oh I think the colored folks ought to be free but I know some of 'em +had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too. + +"Ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. I see 'em goin' down the +street singin' and dancin' and half naked--ain't nothin' to 'em. + +"My wife's been dead five or six years and I live here alone. Yes ma'm! +I don't want nobody here with me." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Jane Drucilla Davis + 1612 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 73 + + + "'Little baby's gone to heaven + To try on his robe + Oh, Lord, I'm most done toiling here + Little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' + +"Oh, it was so mournful. And let me tell you what they'd do. They'd all +march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on +their shoulder and sing that song. That's the first song I remember. I +was three years old and now I'm seventy-three and crippled up with +rheumatism. + +"My mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard +and I thought they was buryin' it in the garden. That was in Georgia. + +"In the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all +night, but they don't do that now. + +"I was married young. I don't love to tell how old but I was fifteen and +when I was seventeen I was a widow. I tried and tried to get another +husband as good as my first one but I couldn't. I didn't marry then till +I was thirty some. + +"My parents brought me from Georgia when I was five years old and now I +ain't got no blood kin in Pine Bluff. + +"Do I believe in signs? Well, let me tell you what I do know. Before my +house burned in 1937, I was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and +sister come up to my house. They come a distance to the steps and went +around the house. They was both dead but I could see 'em just as plain. +And do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. I think +that vision was a sign of bad luck. + +"And another time when I was havin' water put in my house, I dreamed +that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign +a contract and I didn't know there was a contract. And that next day a +man come out for me to sign a contract and I said, 'No.' He wanted to +know why and finally I told him, and he said, 'You're just like my +mother.' It was two days 'fore I'd sign. The men had quit work waitin' +for me to sign. But let me tell you when they put the water in and when +they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. The ground was too low and I +never could use the commode. Now don't you think that dream was a +warning? + +"Just before I had this spell of sickness I dreamed my baby--he's +dead--come and knocked and said. 'Mama.' And I said, 'Yes, darlin', God +bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's +comin'. I really thought I was goin' to die. I got up and looked in the +glass. You know you can see death in the eyes, but I didn't see any sign +of death and I haven't gone yet. + +"Last Saturday I was prayin' to God not to let me get out of the heart +of the people. You see, I have no kin people and I wanted people to come +to my rescue. The next day was Sunday and more people come to see me and +brought me more things. + +"I been in the church fifty-seven years. I'm the oldest member in St. +John's. I joined in May 1881. + +"I went to school some. I went as far as the fourth grade." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Minerva Davis, Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 56 + + +"My father was sold in Richmond, Virginia when he was eighteen years old +to the nigger traders. They had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and +horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. Papa said +he traveled to Tennessee. His job was to wash their faces and hands and +fix their hair--comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be +auctioned off. They sold a lot of children from Virginia all along the +way and he was put up in Tennessee and auctioned off. He was sold to the +highest bidder. Bill Thomas at Brownsville, Tennessee was the one bought +him. Papa was a large strong man. + +"He run off and went to war. He had learned to cook and he was one-eyed +and couldn't fight. All the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. Then +he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and +he never got a pension because of that. He said he come home pretty +often and mama was expecting a baby. He thought he was needed at home +worse. He was so tired of war. He didn't know it would be valuable to +him in his old days. He was sorry he didn't stay till they got him +mustered out. He said it was harder in the war than in slavery. They was +putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to +death all the time. Never did know when they would be shot and killed. + +"Mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. A drove of folks +come by. It was the nigger traders. She had pulled up her two or three +buckets. She carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. They +said, 'Draw me up some water to drink.' She was so smart they bragged on +her. They said, 'She such a smart little thing.' They went to see her +owner and bought her on the spot. They took her away from her people and +she never heard tell of none of them no more. She said there was a big +family of them. They brought her to Brownsville, Tennessee and Johnny +Williams bought her. That was my grandma. + +"Mother was born there on Johnny Williams' place and she was heired by +his daughter. His daughter married Bill Thomas, the one what done bought +my papa. Her young mistress was named Sallie Ann Thomas. Mama got +married when she was about grown. She said after she married she'd have +a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. Mama had twelve +children and raised eleven to be grown. Four of us are living yet. My +sister was married when I was born. White folks married young and +encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. Mama +died when I was a year old but papa lived on with Johnny Williams where +he was when she died. I lived with my married sister. I was the baby and +she took me and raised me with her children. + +"The Ku Klux wanted to whoop my papa. They all called him Dan. They said +he was mean. His white folks protected him. They said he worked well. +They wouldn't let him be whooped by them Ku Kluxes. + +"Miss Sallie Ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the +children and to help the cook where she visited. They was there a right +smart while from the way papa said. The pattyrollers whooped somebody on +that farm while she was over there. They wasn't many slaves on her place +and they was good to them. That whooping was right smart a curiosity to +mama the way papa told us about it. + +"When mama and papa married, Johnny Williams had a white preacher to +read out of a book to them. They didn't jump over no broom he said. + +"They was the biggest kind of Methodist folks and when mama was five +years old Johnny Williams had all his slaves baptized into that church +by his own white preacher. Papa said some of them didn't believe niggers +had no soul but Johnny Williams said they did. (The Negroes must have +been christened--ed.) + +"Papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about +freedom. Mama was working for Miss Sallie Ann and done something wrong. +Miss Sallie Ann says, 'I'm a good mind to whoop you. You ain't paying +'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' Mama says, 'Miss Sallie +Ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care +what I do.' When Bill come home he say, 'How come you to sass my wife? +She so good to you.' Mama say, 'Master Bill, them soldiers say I'm +free.' He slapped her. That the first time he laid hands on her in his +life. In a few days he said, 'We going to town and see is you free. You +leave the baby with Sallie Ann.' It was the courthouse. They questioned +her and him both. Seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to +be and mama didn't neither. Then papa took mama on Johnny Williams' +place. He come out to Arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then +he moved his children all out here. + +"Uncle Albert and grandpa take nights about going out. Uncle Albert was +courting. + +"They put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm +ready to eat. The fire popped out on mama. She was in a light blaze. Not +a bit of water in the house. Her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on +her to put out the fire. Her stomach was burned and scarred. They was +all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. Miss +Sallie Ann took her and cured her and when Miss Sallie Ann was going to +marry, her folks didn't want to give her Minerva. She tended (contended) +out and got her and Agnes both. Agnes died at about emancipation. + +"I'm named for my mother. I'm her youngest child. + +"I recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back +to olden times the older he got to be. When folks would run down slavery +he would say it wasn't so bad with them--him and mama. He never seen +times bad as times is got to be now. Then he sure would wanted slavery +back some more. He was a strong hard laboring man. He was a provider for +his family till he got so no 'count. + +"Times is changing up fast. Folks is worse about cutting up and +carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. I ain't +old so speaking." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Rosetta Davis, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 55 + + +"I was born in Phillips County, Arkansas. My folks' master was named Dr. +Jack Spivy. Grandma belong to him. She was a field woman. I don't know +if he was a good master er not. They didn't know it was freedom till +three or four months. They was at work and some man come along and said +he was going home, the War was over. Some of the hands asked him who win +and he told them the Yankees and told them they was free fer as he +knowed. They got to inquiring and found out they done been free. They +made that crap I know and I don't recollect nothing else. + +"I farmed at Foreman, Arkansas for Taylor Price, Steve Pierce, John +Huey. I made a crap here with Will Dale. I come to Arkansas twenty-nine +years ago. I come to my son. He had a cleaning and pressing shop here +(Marianna). He died. I hired to the city to work on the streets. I never +been in jail. I owned a house here in town till me and my wife +separated. She caused me to lose it. I was married once. + +"I get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment. + +"The present time is queer. I guess I could git work if I was able to do +it. I believe in saving some of what you make along. I saved some along +and things come up so I had to spend it. I made so little. + +"Education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. Education is good +fer some folks and not good fer some. Some folks git spoilt and lazy. I +think it helped to do it to the people of today." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Virginia (Jennie) Davis + Scott Street, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 45 or 47 + + +"This is what my father, Isaac Johnson, always told us: + +'I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Mama died and left three of us +children and my papa. He was a blacksmith.' I don't recollect grandpa's +name now. + +'A man come to buy me. I was a twin. My sisters cried and cried but I +didn't cry. I wanted to ride in the surrey. I was sold and taken to +Montgomery, Alabama.' + +"Angeline was his oldest sister and Emmaline was his twin sister. He +never seen any of his people again. He forgot their names. His old +master that bought him died soon after he come back from North Carolina. + +"His young master didn't even know his age. He tried to get in the army +and he did get in the navy. They said he was younger than he told his +age. He enlisted for three years. He was in a scrimmage with the Indians +once and got wounded. He got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his +services till he died. + +"He wasn't old enough to be in the Civil War. He said he remembered his +mistress crying and they said Lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. His +young master told him he was free. The colored folks was having a +jubilee. He had nowheres to go. He went back to the big house and sot +around. They called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been +sleeping. He had nowheres to go. He stayed there till he joined the +navy. Then he come to Mississippi and married Sallie Bratcher and he +went back to Alabama and taught school. He went to school at night after +the Civil War till he went to the navy. He was a light-brown skin. + +"Grandma, Jane Cash, was one brought from Huntingdon, Tennessee in a +gang and sold at auction in Memphis, Tennessee. She said her mother, +father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, +divided out and separated. Grandma said one of her sisters had a +suckling baby. She couldn't keep it from crying. They stopped and made +her give it away. + +"Then grandma fell in the hands of the Walls at Holly Springs, +Mississippi. She was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. +They wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant. + +"Mrs. Walls buried her silver in the front yard. She had an old trusty +colored man to dig a hole and bury it. No one ever found it. The +soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. +They ransacked her house. Mr. Walls wasn't there. + +"My auntie, Eliza Williamson, was half white. She was one of her +master's son's children. Her first master put her and her husband +together. She lives near Conway, Arkansas now and is very old. + +"Grandma was living at Menifee, Arkansas, and a man from De Valls Bluff, +Arkansas come to her house. She saw a scar on his arm. He was marked by +gingerbread. She asked him some questions. Epps was his name and he was +older than herself. He told her about the sale in Memphis. He remembered +some things she didn't. He knowd where they all went. Her sister was +Mary Wright at Milan, Tennessee. Grandma was twelve years old when that +sale come off. She shouted and they cried. She couldn't eat for a week. + +"She said old man Walls was good to them. When my mama was a little girl +she was short and fat and light color. Old man Walls would call them in +his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. He was proud of +them. He'd give them big dances ever so often. In the evening they had +their own preaching in white folks' church. Grandma was good with the +needle. She sewed for the mistress and her own family too. She had +twelve children I think they said. They said her mistress had a large +family too. + +"Grandpa belong to Mike Cash. He give her husband what he made on +Saturday evening. I think grandpa was sold from the Walls to Mike Cash. +He took the Cash name and my mother was a Cash and she married Isaac +Johnson. She was raised in Arkansas. Papa was married twice. I was +raised around Holly Grove, Arkansas. That is where my folks lived in the +last of slavery--that is mama's folks. Papa come to Arkansas at a later +time. + +"I think times is queer. I work and makes the best of 'em. (Ten dollars +a month house rent.) I work all the time washing and ironing. (She has +washed for the same families years and years. She is a light +mulatto--ed.) + +"Young folks is lost respect for the truth. Not dependable. That is +their very worst fault, I think. + +"No-oom, I wouldn't vote no quicker 'en I'd smoke a cigarette. But I +haben never smoked narry one." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Ex-Slaves +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Winnie Davis (C) +Place of residence: 304 E. Twenty-First Street + Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 100 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"Katie Butler was my old missis 'fore I married my husband. His name +David Davis. I cooked for Jeff Davis and took care of his daughter, +Winnie. I stayed with old missis, Jeff Davis' wife, till she died. She +made me promise I'd stay with her. That was in Virginia." + +(I have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of +Winnie Davis. Her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when +Winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she +gave her name, the clerk said, "Were you named after Jeff Davis' +daughter?" and that Winnie replied, "She must have been named after me +'cause I cooked for Jeff Davis 'fore she was born." + +Her mind is not very good at times, but the day I took her picture, I +asked who she used to cook for and she said, "Jeff Davis." + +She is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around the +house quite well. The neighbors say that she has been a hard worker and +of a very high-strung temperament. + +The granddaughter, Mattie Sneed, says her grandmother said she was sold +in Virginia when she was eight years old.) + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Leroy Day (c) +Age: 80 +Home: 123 N. Walnut Street, Pine Bluff, Ark. + + +"Good Lord yes, lady, I was here in slavery days. I remember my old +marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid. + +"I remember when the soldiers--the Yankees--come through, some said they +was takin' things. + +"Old Marster, his name was Joe Day, he was good to us. He seemed to be a +Christian man and he was a Judge. They generally called him Judge Day. I +never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. I tell +you if he wasn't a Christian, he looked like one. + +"I was born in Georgia and I can remember the first Governor we had +after freedom. His name was Governor Bullock. I heard it said the people +raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. +That was when Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia. + +"I used to vote after freedom. I voted Republican. I went to school a +little after the war and then emigrated to Louisiana and Arkansas. + +"Things has got so now everything is in politics. Some votes cause they +want their friends in office and some don't take no interest. + +"Some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are +goin' kinda slow. Some is goin' take another growth. The schoolin' they +is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up. + +"Yes mam, I use to be strong and I have done a heap of work in my life. +Cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the +money and we had to work to get some of that money. + +"I remember when the Ku Klux was right bad in Louisiana. I never did see +any--I didn't _try_ to see 'em. I know I heard that they went to a +school house and broke up a negro convention. They called for a colored +man named Peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man +got killed. They had a right smart little scrummage, and I know the +colored people ran off and went to Kansas. + +"The fust man I ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in +another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so +mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other +man. I never did know what the punishment was. + +"Since I have become afflicted (I'm ruptured) I can't do no work any +more. I can't remember anything else. If I had time to study I might +think of something else." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Hammett Dell, Brasfield, Arkansas +Age: 90 +[-- -- 1937] + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I was born in Tennessee, 10 miles from Murfreesboro. They call it now +Releford. I was born October 12, 1847. I stayed wid old master till he +died. I was bout thirty-five years old. He lernt me a good trade, brick +layin'. He give me everything I needed and more. After the war he took +me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick--it was made round--and lernt +me outer the Blue Back Speller and Rithmetic. The spelling book had +readin' in it. Lady ain't you seed one yit? Then I lernt outer Rays +Rithmetic and McGuffeys Reader. Old master say it ginst the law to teach +slaves foe the war. Dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a +nigger slave. The white folks schools was pay foe the war. + +"My old master had a small farm. His wife died. He never married no +more. I caint member her name. She died when I was a little bitter of a +boy. They had a putty large family. There was Marion, William, Fletcher, +John, Miss Nancy, Miss Claricy, Miss Betsy. I think that all. The older +childern raised up the little ones. My master named Mars Pleasant White. +Long as I stayed wid him I had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to +spend. I had no sense to save a cent for a old day. Mars White was a +good man if ever one lived. He was a good man. Four old darkies all Mars +White had. They was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. My name I would lack +it better White but that is where the Dell part come in; papa b'long to +the Dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. He took his old +master's name. They call him Louis Dell White. He didn't have no +brothers but my mama had two sisters. Her name was Mary White. Them was +happy days b'fo the war. The happiest days in all my life. Bout at the +beginnin' of the war Mama took cole at the loom and died. We all waited +on her, white folks too. She didn't lack for waitin' on. Something white +folks et, we et. We had plenty good grub all time long as Mars White +live. + +"How'd I know bout to git in war? I heard white folks talkin' bout it. +One time I heard Mars White talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. We +was happy an' doin' well an' I didn't lack the talk but I didn't know +what "war" was. No mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down +at Murfreesboro. Mars White was a ruptured man. He never left our place. +I never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. Mars White aired +(heired) all us. My papa left and never come back. I d[o]n[o] how he got +through the lines in the army. I guess he did fight wid the Yankees. + +"Papa didn't speak plain. Grandma couldn't speak plain. They lisp. They +talk fast. Sound so funny. Mama and auntie speak well. Plain as I do +now. They was up wid Mars White's childern more. Mars White sent his +childern to pay school. It was a log house and they had a lady teacher. +They had a accordion. Mars Marion's neighbor had one too. All of em +could play. + +"White women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse +collars. The white women lernt the darkie women. There was no leather +horse collars as ever I seed. I lernt to twist shucks and weave chair +bottoms. Then I lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. I made +all kinds baskets. We had all sizes and kinds of baskets. When they git +old they turn dark. Shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff +an' not so fancy. + +"Well when they started off fightin' at Murfreesboro, it was a continual +roar. The tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. It was +distressful. The house shakin' all time. All our houses jar. The earth +quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides +foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to +live on. That's "war". I found out all bout what it was. Lady it ain't +nuthin' but hell on dis erth. + +"I tole you I was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how +the cannons shook the earth. There couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor +a year of corn to be found bout our place. It was sich hard times. It +was both sides come git what you had. Whole heap of Yankees come in +their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. They was huntin' +horses. They done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old +mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. Young mistress had +a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house. + +"Then when they started to leave, one old Yankee set the corner of the +house on fire. We all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry +in' water ter put it out. We got it out but while we doin' that, mind +out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug +out. One old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. She been so +scared she never come to the house no more. Nobody knowed there was one +on our place. He took his javelin and stuck it through her back. She +started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, +started runnin' and some of em buckin'. We got the fire bout out. We +couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. I been bustin' I was so mad +cause they tried take old Beck. Three of em horses throwd em. They +struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch +tryin' to head off their horses. Them horses throwd em sprawlin'. That +was the funniest sight I ever seed. + +"We got our water out of a cave. It was good cold limestone water. We +had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. We swing the pole +round let it down then pull it back and tie it. They go to the other end +and git the bucket of water. I toted bout all the water to both places +what they used. One day I goin' to the cave after water. I had a habit +of throwin' till I got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. I spied a +hornets nest in a tree long the lane. I knowd them soldiers be long back +fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. It wasn't long show nuff they come back +and went up to the house. + +"I got a pile of rocks in my hands. I hid down in the hazel nut bushes. +When they come by gallopin' I throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. +The way they piled out on them soldiers. You could see em fightin' far +as you could see em wid their blue caps. The horses runnin' and buckin'. +I let out to the house to see what else they carried off. + +"I tole Mars White bout how I hit that hornets nest wid the first rock I +throwd. He scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed +me. It scared him. He said don't do no more capers like that. That old +hornets nest soon come down. It was big as a water bucket. Mars White +call me son boy. I tole him what terrible language they used, and bout +some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. It was made outer rails +piled up. Mars White sho was glad they didn't see me. He kept on sayin' +son boy they would killed you right on the spot. Don't do nuthin' to em +to aggravate em. + +"It look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the +soldiers couldn't find it. We had a ash hopper settin' all time. We made +our soap and lye hominy. They took all our salt. We couldn't buy none. +We put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. We +hid that. No they didn't find it. Our smoke house was logs dobbed wid +mud and straw. It was good size bout as big as our cabins. It had +somepin in it too. All the time I tell you. + +"You ever eat dried beef? It is fine. + +"I say I been to corn shuckins. They do that at night. We hurry and git +through then we have a dance in front of Mars White's house. We had a +good time. Mars White pass round ginger bread and hard cider. We wore a +thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. One darkie sit up +on the pile and lead the singin'. Old Dan Tucker was one song we lernt. +I made some music instruments. We had music. Folks danced then more they +do now. Most darkies blowed quills and Jew's harps. I took cane cut four +or six made whistles then I tuned em together and knit em together in a +row like a mouth harp you see. + +[TR: there is a drawing of the whistles, something like this: + + _ + - | | + - | | | | + _ | | | | | | + - | | | | | | | | + - | | | | | | | | | | + | | | | | | | | | | | | + - - - - - - + [HW: blow] + +Two lines across all the whistles may indicate strings.] + +Another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, +hold your fingers over different holes and blow. I never had a better +time since freedom. I never had a doctor till since I been 80 years old +neither. + +"Later on I made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the +string wid my fingers while I hold the other end wid this hand. (Left +hand. It was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) See my hand that what +caused it. I have been a musician in my time. I lernt to handle the +banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. I played fer many a set, all over +the country mostly back home (in Tennessee). + +"We had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. They have big +suppers spread under the trees. We sho know we have a good supper after +a log rollin'. + +"We most always worked at night in winter. Mama worked at the loom and +weaved. Grandma and old mistress carded. They used hand cards. Auntie +spun thread. I reeled the thread. I like to hear it cluck off the hanks. +Papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. He'd fool round after +that. He went off to the war at the first of it and never come home. + +"The war broke us up and ruined us all but me. Grandma married old man +soon after freedom. He whooped and beat her up till she died. He was a +mean old scoundel. They said he was a nigger driver. His name was Wesley +Donald. She died soon after the war. Mama was dead. Auntie married and +went on off. I was 18 years old. When freedom come on Mars White says +you all set free. You can leave or stay on here. I stayed there. Mars +White didn't give us nuthin'. He was broke. All he had was land. + +"Come a talk bout Lincoln givin' em homes. Some racketed bout what they +outer git. That was after freedom. Most of em never got nuthin'. They up +and left. Some kept on workin'. They got to stealin' right smart. Some +the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and white +folks too. White folks made em go to work. The darky men sorter quit +work and made the women folks do the work. They do thater way now. Some +worse den others bout it. + +"Me and Mars White went to work. We see droves darkies just rovin' +round. Said they huntin' work and homes. Some ask for victuals. Yes they +give em something to eat. When they come in droves they couldn't give em +much. Some of em oughter left. Some of the masters was mean. Some of em +mighty good. + +"Me and Mars White and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band +to a lay (lathe). One man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the +lay (lathe) all time. We made pipes outer maple and chairs. We chiseled +out table legs and bed post. We made all sort of things. Anything to +sell. We sold a heap of things. We made money. If I'd had sense to keep +part of it. Mars White always give me a share. We had a good livin' soon +as we got over the war. + +"I farmed. I was a brick layer. Mars White lernt me that. When he died I +followed that trade. I worked at New Orleans, Van Buren, Jackson, +Meridian. I worked at Lake Villiage with Mr. Lasley, and Mr. Ivy. They +was fine brick layers. I worked for Dr. Stubbs. Mr. Scroggin never went +huntin' without me but once over here on Cache River. He give me land to +build my cabins. I got lumber up at the mills here. Folks come to my +cabins from 23 states. J. Dall Long at St. Louis sent me a block wid my +picture. I didn't know what it was. Mr. Moss told me it was a bomb like +they used in the World War. I had some cards made in Memphis, some +Little Rock. I sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good +fishin' now. + +"J. Dall Long said when I go back home I send you somethin' nice. That +what he sent in the mail. + +"It was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches +leg pullin' me over out the boat. He had me named "Hambones" under it. I +still got my block. I got nuther thing--old aunties bonnet she wore in +slavery. + +"I quit keepin' club house. I kept it 27 years. I rented the cabins, +sold minnows and bates. They give me the land but I couldn't sell it. +Old woman everybody call "Nig" cook fer me. I wanter live like Nig and +go up yonder. I ainter goner be in this world long but I want to go to +heben. Nig was not my wife. She was a fine cook. She cooked an' stayed +at my cabins. This little chile--orphan chile--I got wid me was Nig's +grandchild. When Nig died I took him. I been goin with him to pick +cotton. I want er lern him to work. Egercation ain't no good much to +darkies. I been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. They ain't +nuthin'. I set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. He is +six years old. When it rain I caint pick and set on the wet ground. + + +Ku Klux + +"The onlies sperience I had myself wid the Ku Klux was one night fo +Grandma and auntie left. Somebody wrap on our cabin door. They opened +it. We gat scared when we seed em. They had the horses wrapped up. They +had on white long dresses and caps. Every one of em had a horse whoop +(whip). They called me out. Grandma and auntie so scared they hid. They +tole me to git em water. They poured it some whah it did not spill on +the ground. Kept me totin' water. Then they say, "You bin a good boy?" +They still drinkin'. One say, "Just from Hell pretty dry." Then they +tole me to stand on my head. I turned summer sets a few times. They +tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. I had on a long shirt. They +laugh when I stand on my head. Old Mars White laughed. I knowed his +laugh. Then I got over my scare. They say, "Who live next down the +road?" I tole em Nells Christian. They say, "What he do?" I said, "Works +in the field." They all grunt, m-m-m-m. Then they say, "Show us the +way." I nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the +white horses. The moon shining bright as day. They say Nells come out +here. He say "Holy Moses." He come out. They say "Nells what you do?" "I +farms." They say "What you raise?" He say "Cotton and corn." They say +"Take us to see yo cotton we jess from Hell. We ain't got no cotton +there." He took em out there where it was clean. They got down and felt +it. Then they say "What is dat?", feelin' the grass. Nells say "That is +grass." They say, "You raise grass too?" He said, "No. It come up." They +say "Let us see yo corn." He showed em the corn. They felt it. They say +"What this?" Nells say, "It grass." They say, "You raise grass here?" +They all grunt m-m-m-m everything Nells say. They give him one bad +whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. They +said "You raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." They they +moan, "m-m-m-m." I herd em say his whole family and him too was out by +day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. I was sho +glad to git back to our cabin. They didn't come back to Nells no more +that I herd bout. The man Nells worked for muster been one in that +crowd. He lived way over yonder. No I think the Ku Klux was a good thing +at that time. The darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. They was +notorious. They got mean. The men wouldn't work. Their families have to +work an' let them roam round over the country. Some of em mean to their +families. They woulder starved the white out and their selves too. I +seed the Ku Klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. I herd +a heap they done along after that. They say some places the Ku Klux go +they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they +whoop em. Sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. I +sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, +vistin'. The Ku Klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. +Nells moster lived at what they called Caneville over cross the field. + +"The way that Patty Rollers was. The mosters paid somebody. Always +somebody round wantin' a job like that. Mars White was his own overseer. +All round there was good livers. They worked long wid the slaves. Some +of the slaves would race. Papa would race. He wanted to race all time. +Grandma cooked for all of us. They had a stone chimney in the kitchen. +Big old hearth way out in front. Made outer stone too. We all et the +same victuals long as Mars White lived. Then I left." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: James Dickey, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 68 +[May 31 1939] + + +"I don't know much to tell about my folks. My parents died when I was +young. Mother died when I was twelve and father when I was seven years +old. Great-grandma was an Indian squaw. My father's pa was his young +master. His old master was named George Dickey. The young master was +John Dickey. I reckon to start with my mother had a husband. She had +twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. He was lighter than I +am and paler. This red is Indian in me. I know how he looked and how she +looked too. The young master never married. He had some brothers. My +father lived with us and his pa was there too some. I don't know what +become of John Dickey but my pa was buried at Mt. Tursey Cemetery. It +was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. Mother +come here and was buried at Cat Island in a colored church cemetery. + +"I farmed in Mississippi, then I come to Miller Lumber Company and I +worked with them forty-two years. I worked at Marked Tree, then they +sent me here (Marianna). + +"I voted in Caruthersville, Missouri last I voted. It don't do much good +to vote. I am too old to vote. I never voted in Arkansas. I voted some +in Mississippi but not regular. + +"Times is hard. So many white women do their own cooking and washing +till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. The lumber work is +gone fer good. + +"The present generation is going back'ards. For awhile it looked like +they was rising--I'm speaking morally. They going back down in a hurry. +Drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. The race is going back'ard +now. Seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in. + +"I got high blood pressure. I do a little work. I watch on Sunday at the +mills. I don't get no help from the Gover'ment." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Benjamin Diggs + 420 N. Cypress, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 79 + + +"I was born in 1859 in North Carolina. Oh, sure, I remember when the +Yankees come through. They said they done right smart of damage. I +remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. They didn't do +nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock. + +"The Lyles was my white folks. They called her Polly Lyles. Oh, they was +good to us. My mother and her sister and another colored woman and we +children all belonged to one set of people--Miss Polly Lyles; and my +father belonged to the Diggs. + +"After freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and +we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us. + +"I've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my +father said he was glad to get one. He said he didn't get 'em but once a +week. + +"Oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks +was treated. Some of 'em was very good, just like they is now. + +"Well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old +then. + +"I come here to Arkansas in '88. That was when they was emigratin' the +folks. I was grown and married then. I was twenty-six when I married in +'85. + +"I went to school a little. I can sorta scribble a little and read a +little, but my eyes is failin' now. I started wearin' glasses 'fore I +really needed 'em. I got to projectin' with my mother's glasses Looked +like they read so good. + +"Farmin' is all I know how to do. Never done anything else. I owned some +land and farmed for myself. + +"Sure, I used to vote--Republican. I never had any trouble. I always +tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. I believe in that policy. + +"I joined the church when I was very young, very young. I go by the +Golden Rule and by the Bible. + +"I first lived in Pope County. + +"I learned since I come here to Pine Bluff there's enough churches here +to save the world, but there's some mean people here." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Katie Dillon + 307 Hazel Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 82 +[Dec 31 1937] + + +"I hope I was here in slavery days--don't I look like it? I was a good +big girl after surrender. + +"I was born in Rodney, Mississippi in 1855. + +"I had a good old master--Doctor Williams. Didn't have no mistress. He +never married till after surrender. + +"We lived right in town--right on the Mississippi River where the gun +boats went by. They shelled the town one day. Remember it just as well +as if 'twas now. I hope it was exciting. Everybody moved out. Some run +and left their stores. They run to Alcorn University, five miles from +there. Some of em come back next day and some never come back till after +surrender. + +"The old Doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. When she +got big enough she was the cook. Made a fine one too. I worked around +the house and toted in wood and water. + +"After surrender, Dr. Williams wanted my mother to give me and my +brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. I wish +she had but you know I wasn't old enough to know what was best. She +hired out and took us with her. I hired out too. I reckon I was paid but +I never did see it. I reckon my mother collected it. I know she clothed +me. I had better clothes than I got now. We stayed there till we come to +Arkansas. I was married then. I married when I was seventeen. I was fast +wasn't I? I got a good husband. Didn't have to work, only do my own +work. Just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. My +husband was a picture man. Yes'm, I've lived in town all my life--born +and raised up in town. + +"After surrender I went to the first free school ever was in Rodney, +Mississippi. I went about two sessions. I ought to've learned more'n I +did but I didn't see how it would benefit me. + +"In slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the +white folks was through. We didn't eat out of no pots and pans. Whatever +was on the table you et it until you got enough. + +"When I was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they +sent out invitations and I went, but when they had that kind where +everybody could go I wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'. + +"The way things is goin' now I don't think the end can be very far off. + +"I remember when peace was declared I saw the soldiers across the street +and they had their guns all stacked. I was lookin' and wonderin' what it +was. You know children didn't ask questions in them days. I heard some +of the older ones talkin' and I heard em say the war was over. + +"I never had but two children and only one livin' now. Yes'm, I own my +home and my son helps me what he can. I'm thankful I got as much as I +have." + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Customs] +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subject: Customs--Slavery Days +[Nov 30 1936] + +This information given by: Alice Dixon +Place of Residence: Rock Island quarters +Occupation: None +Age: 80 (approx) +[TR: Personal information moved from last page of interview.] + + +Well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. De white fokes have mah +age. Ah blong tuh de Newtons. As near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout +74 now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter +surrender. + +Mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and +one uv mah bruthes. We staid wid de Newtons till we wuz set free and I +nuss fuh de Newtons aftuh we wuz set free. De Newtons wuz awful good ter +me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. Ah slept up in de big house wid de +Newtons. Ah nevah went ter school. Ah didn' have a chance. Ah went ter +church jes sometimes. We didn have churches. We jes had meetin in our +house we lived in. We cooked on fire places. We cooked our bread in what +we called oven bout so high. We had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, +meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie +till ah got to be an oman. Ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in +slave time but ah shore can recollect dem Yankees riding dem hosses and +ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made +in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. Yo know we had steps +made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er +shoutin and singin "Ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free +at last, thank Gawd a Mighty ah'm free at last." She wuz so glad ter be +free. + +My ma in huh time would make cloth. She had a loom. Hit wuz a high thing +and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call +shickle. She'd have a bench so high. The loom was high as dis door and +my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a +bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come +open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd +mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. Jes so we'd make eight +and ten yards of cloth in one day. An when hit wuz made we would carry +hit to de white fokes. Dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. Ifn dey +wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. Dey had what we called a +loom dat would make, le' me see now, Card would card the cotton, and de +looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well +as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an +put it on de loom and make thread. De looms was jes so long. Ever time +the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. Ah +don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. Ah jes caint +tell you how hit wuz hits so much. + +De Newton's nevah did whup me. She started to whup me tho one day. Ah +kin recollect bout de dogs. There wuz one dog whut wuz called Dinah. But +yo know dey had ten uv em. One day ole Uncle Henry Jones done somethin +and run off and climbed a tree and de Newton's miss him so dey called de +dogs and dey went on to de tree. Dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. +Uncle Henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right +dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de Newtons come. An chile +dem Newtons whip de skin off Uncle Herny's [TR: Henry's] back. Dem dogs +would git yo. + +Mrs. Newton nevah got outn de bed no time. Ah would lift her from one +bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah +would bath her and dress huh all de times. + +Ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout Henry Johnson. He had ter clean up +mos uv de time. So Mrs. Newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de +wall and when he come out he said to ole Uncle Jerry, he said: "Jerry +guess whut ah done" and Jerry said: "Whut?" And Uncle Henry said: "Ah +put mah han undah ole Mistess dress." Uncle Jerry said: "Whut did she +say?" Uncle Henry say: "She didn' say nothin." So Uncle Jerry cided he'd +try hit. So he went draggin on in de house. Set down on de floor by ole +mistess. Ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster +jumped up and jumped on Jerry and like to beat him ter death. Jerry went +out cryin and got out and called Henry. He said: "Henry ah though yo +said yo put yo hand undah ole Mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." +Uncle Henry said: "Ah did and she didn' say nuthin." Jerry said: "Ah put +mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." +Uncle Henry said: "Yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall +when ah put mah han up undah hit." + +We didn' eat eggs only on Sunday mornin. Me and mah sis et together in +de same plate. We didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. We et wid +our fingahs. + +Ah had a good ole pa too. He died a long time ago. Ah member one night +he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. So +mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole Dinah, Dinah wuz a dog +yo know but Dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs +went and got me brudder and dem Newtons sho did beat him. But twasnt +long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. An when we wuz goin ter +bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: Two turtle doves flew roun the +wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an +hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh +dat. Ah didn' bleave in signs till den. Ah know mah pa always bleaved in +signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round +dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. He say twas bad +luck. An ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes +tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. An we +would do hit an he would hush. Yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler +roun yo place. + +Oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. We made all +of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin +else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty +years. Hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if +blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece +of fire on hit and [HW: put] some [HW: on] the sore parts and chile, +honey, hit will git well right now. + +Chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. Ah'd go ter +dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. Uh, my! ah jus couldn +make mah foots act right. We use ter dance sixteen sets. We'd be er +dancing and hit would sound so good. Someone would say swing de one yo +love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want +anyone tah know him. + +On Sunday mornin dats when we play. Ole marster would put a rope cross +fer us ter jump and we'd line up. The rope wuz bout five feet high and +chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. O-o-o-o-oooo. We had ter run. +He line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, +three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. An yo talk bout runnin. We had ter +run. He would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would +haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' +stoppin. Oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Luke D. Dixon + DeValls Bluff, Ark. +Age: 81 + + +"My father's owner was Jim Dixon in Elmo County, Virginia. That is where +I was born. I am 81 years old. Jim Dixon had several boys--Baldwin and +Joe. Joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to New +Mexico to shun the war. Uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. They +went in at the ending up. We lived on the big road that run to the +Atlantic Ocean. Not far from Richmond. Ma lived three or four miles from +Pa. She lived across big creek--now they call it Farrohs Run. Ma belong +to Harper Williams. Pa's folks was very good but Ma's folks was +unpleasant. + +"Ma lived to be 103 years old. Pa died in 1905 and was 105 years old. I +used to set on Grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to +catch people in Africa. They herded them up like cattle and put them in +stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. She said some they +captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never +went back to get them. They died. They had room in the stalls on the +boat to set down or lie down. They put several together. Put the men to +themselves and the women to themselves. When they sold Grandma and +Grandpa at a fishing dock called New Port, Va., they had their feet +bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. They sold +Grandma's daughter to somebody in Texas. She cried and begged to let +them be together. They didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. She couldn't talk +but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. Six years after +slavery they got together. When a boat was to come in people come and +wait to buy slaves. They had several days of selling. I never seen this +but that is the way it was told to me. + +"The white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and +they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. I seen +that done in Virginia across from where I lived. I don't know what the +folks had done. They pulled the man up with block and tackle. + +"Another thing I seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches +together green, twist them and dry them. They would cry like a leather +whip. They whooped the slaves with them. + +"Grandpa was named Sam Abraham and Phillis Abraham was his mate. They +was sold twice. Once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. +Well, it was hard on the Africans to be treated like cattle. I never +heard of the Nat Turner rebellion. I have heard of slaves buying their +own freedom. I don't know how it was done. I have heard of folks being +helped to run off. Grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from +Dalton, Mississippi to the North. After the war he come to Virginia. + +"When freedom was declared we left and went to Wilmington and Wilson, +North Carolina. Dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the +year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and +part of the crop. My mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. She +was cooking then I recollect. Folks jes went wild when they got turned +loose. + +"My parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in +Virginia. After freedom they was remarried under a new law and the +license cost more but I forgot how much. They had fourteen children to +my knowing. After the war you could register under any name you give +yourself. My father went by the name of Right Dixon and mother Jilly +Dixon. + +"The Ku Klux was bad. They was a band of land owners what took the law +in hand. I was a boy. I scared to be caught out. They took the place of +pattyrollers before freedom. + +"I never went to public school but two days in my life. I went to night +school and paid Mr. J.C. Price and Mr. S.H. Vick to teach me. My father +got his leg shot off and I had to work. It kept me out of meanness. Work +and that woman has kept me right. I come to Arkansas, brought my wife +and one child, April 5, 1889. We come from Wilson, North Carolina. Her +people come from North Carolina and Moultrie, Georgia. + +"I do vote. I sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. +It look like I'm the kind of folks the government would help--them that +works and tries hard to have something--but seems like they don't get no +help. They wouldn't help me if I was bout to starve. I vote a Republican +ticket." + + +NOTE: On the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a +framed picture of Booker T. Washington and Teddy Roosevelt sitting at a +round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. Underneath the +picture in large print was "Equality." I didn't appear to ever see the +picture. + +This negro is well-fixed for living at home. He is large and very black, +but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Martha Ann Dixon (mulatto) + DeValls Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"I am eighty-one years old. I was born close to Saratoga, North +Carolina. My mother died before I can recollect and my grandmother +raised me. They said my father was a white man. They said Jim Beckton. I +don't recollect him. My mother was named Mariah Tyson. + +"I recollect how things was. My grandmother was Miss Nancy Tyson's cook. +She had one son named Mr. Seth Tyson. He run her farm. They et in the +dining room, we et in the kitchen. Clothes and something to eat was +scarce. I worked at whatever I was told to do. Grandma told me things to +do and Miss Nancy told me what to do. I went to the field when I was +pretty little. Once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and +went off to do something else. It come up a hard shower. I crawled under +the mule. If I had been still it would been all right but my hair stood +up and tickled the mule's stomach. The mule jumped and the plough hit me +in my hip here at the side. It is a wonder I didn't get killed. + +"After the Civil War was times like now. Money scarce and prices high, +and you had to start all over new. Pigs was hard to start, mules and +horses was mighty scarce. Seed was scarce. Everything had to be started +from the stump. Something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or +two dresses a year had to do. Folks didn't study about going so much. + +"I had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the +little pigs in cold weather. The rake was made out of wood. It had +hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. It was heavy. I put my leaves +in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. I couldn't tote +it--I drug it. I had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till +the snow got off before I could get more. It seem like it snowed a lot. +The pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners +at night. It was ditched all around. It didn't get very muddy. Rattle +snakes was bad in the mountains. I used to tote water--one bucketful on +my head and one bucketful in each hand. We used wooden buckets. It was +lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. When other little +children come visiting that is what we would do. We didn't set around +and listen at the grown folks. We toted up rocks and then they made rock +rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. They looked +so pretty. Some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be +mixed. They walled wells with rocks too. All we done or knowed was work. +When we got tired there was places to set and rest. The men made plough +stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy +weather. I used to pick up literd [HW: lightwood] knots and pile them in +piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. They +made a good light and kindling wood. + +"They didn't whoop Grandma but she whooped me a plenty. + +"After the war some white folks would tell Grandma one thing and some +others tell her something else. She kept me and cooked right on. I +didn't know what freedom was. Seemed like most of them I knowed didn't +know what to do. Most of the slaves left the white folks where I was +raised. It took a long time to ever get fixed. Some of them died, some +went to the cities, some up North, some come to new country. I married +and come to Fredonia, Arkansas in 1889. I had been married since I was a +young girl. But as I was saying the slaves was still hunting a better +place and more freedom. The young folks is still hunting a better place +and more freedom. Grandma learnt me to set down and be content. We have +done better out here than we could done in North Carolina but I don't +believe in so much rambling. + +"We come on the passenger train and paid our own way to Arkansas. It was +a wild and sickly country and has changed. Not like living in the same +country. I try to live like the white folks and Grandma raised me. I do +like they done. I think is the reason we have saved and have good a +living as we got. We do on as little as we can and save a little for the +rainy day." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Railroad Dockery + 1103 Short 13th, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"Railroad Dockery, that's my name. I belonged to John Dockery and we +lived at Lamertine, Arkansas where I was born. My mother's name was +Martha and I am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. +Red River, Ouachita, Mississippi and Railroad were our names. (Mrs. Mary +Browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, +John Dockery, was the president of the Mississippi, Red River, Ouachita +Railroad, the first one to be surveyed in Arkansas, and that when the +directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them +after the railroad, which was done--ed.) + +"Yes ma'm, Red River and Ouachita died when they were tots and +Mississippi and Railroad were raised. Now that's what my mother said. +Mississippi died five or six years ago and I'm the onliest one left. + +"I remember mighty little about the war. I never thought anything about +the war. All I did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the +woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. That's what I +followed. Never did nothing else but play till after the war. + +"After surrender I went with my father and mother to work for General +Tom Dockery. He was John Dockery's brother. I was big enough to plow +then. I followed the plow all the time. My father and mother were paid +for their work. We stayed there about five years and then moved to +Falcon, Arkansas. Father died there. + +"In the time of the war I heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and I +heard my father talk about the Ku Klux but that was all I knowed, just +what he said about it. + +"I remember the presidents and I voted for some of them but oh Lord, I +haven't voted in several years. + +"I got along after freedom just as well as I ever did. I never had no +trouble--never been in no trouble. + +"About the world now--it looks like to me these days things are pretty +tight. I could hardly tell you what I think of the younger generation. I +think one thing--if the old heads would die all at once they would be +out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now. + +"I went to school only three months in my life. I learned to read and +write very well. I don't need glasses and I read principally the Bible. +To my mind it is the best book in the world. Biggest part of the +preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than +they are worth. + +"The biggest part of my work was farming. I never did delight in +cooking. Now I can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to +cooking. + +"I just can't sing to do no good. Never could sing. Seems like when I +try to sing something gets tangled in my throat. + +"Oh Lord, I remember one old song they used to sing + + 'A charge to keep I have + A God to glorify.' + +"I don't remember anything else but now if Mississippi was here, she +could tell you lots of things." + + + + +Interviewer: Irene Robertson +Subject: Ex-slave +Information given by: Callie Donalson, Biscoe, Arkansas + + +Story + +I wasn't born in slavery but I was born in the white folks kitchen. Bob +Walker was ma mother's Master and James Austin ma father's Master. They +said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. Now ma mothers +white folks was sho good to her. When de war was all over me family +jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. +There was two brothers and a sister older than me. She thought her white +folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her +pregnancy and thats how come I was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife +tended on er. I never will forget her. She was named Mrs. Coffee. There +wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. I was born in Haywood +county Tennessee in 1866. No'm I tell you when you first come I wasn't +born in slavery. My white mistress named me, the young mistress, she +named me Callie. Bob Walkers girl married Ben Geeter. I was right in Ben +Geeters kitchen when Miss Sallie named me. They seemed proud of the +little black babies. + +Ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. She was a good +spinner. She carded and wove and spun all. She knitted too. She knitted +mostly by nite. All the stockings and gloves had to be knit. She sewed +and I learned from her. We had to sew with our fingers. + +When I was a little girl I just set around, brought in wood. Yes maam we +did play and I had some dolls, I was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. +We use to drive the calves up. If they didn't come up they sent the dog +fur de cows. One of dem wore a bell. They had shepherd dogs, long +haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come. + +Ma folks farmed in Tennessee till I married and den we farmed. Agents +jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. They +say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs +beggin somebody to eat em over in Arkansas. + +No'm I aint seed none lack dat, I seed em down in the swamps what you +could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. I says I mean I +seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. I +show have since I come here. The land was so poor in Tennessee and this +was uncleared land so we come to a new country. It show is rich land. +They use guano back in Tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. Abe +Miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. He was broke +and he paid our way. We come on the Josie Harry boat. Der was several +families sides us come wid him. He done fine out here--we got off the +boat at Augusta and I worked up there in Woodruff county till ma +husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. We raised his +boys and our family till dey was ob age. I left em. They went in big +business here in Biscoe and lost de farm and everything. Ma husband died +I lives with ma girl. I got one boy married lives in Chicago, and a girl +up there too. No'm dey aint rich. Dem his children come home wid ma +daughters on a visit--Little Yankees ain't got no manners. + +I voted one time in ma life, in 1933, for Hoover. I don't know nothing +about voting. I can read. I reads ma Bible. Ma young mistress learnt me +to read. I never got to go to school much. Whut my young mistress learnt +me was ma A B C's and how to call words. Yes maam I can write ma name +but I forgot how to write, been so long since I wrote a letter. + +All the songs I ever sung was "In Dixie" "Little Brown Jug" an mostly +religious songs, Lawd I forgot em now. I never knowd about no slave +uprisings--white folks alway good to us. We misses em now. Times not +lack dey use to be. + +Dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. Its +kinder kritical. No use trying to tell em nuthin. Dey's getting an +education I don't know whut thell do with it. If dey had somebody to +manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting +broke. They work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep +nuthin. No'om I don't think they are so bad. + +In 1893 me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here +we sold it and went on his brothers place. I owns ma house thats all. Ma +daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from +the relief. If I could work I wouldn't ax nobody for no help. I jess +past working much. + +I jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. The +conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. They have no +education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. They seems so +restless and don't take no interest in nothin. They are all right. It is +jess the times an the Bible full filling fast as it can. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Charles Green Dortch + 804 Victory Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +[HW: Father a Pet] + +"I was born June 18, 1857. The reason I don't show my age is because I +got Scotch-Irish, Indian, and Negro mixed up in me. I was born in +Princeton--that is, near Princeton--in Dallas County. Princeton is near +Fordyce. I was born on Hays' farm. Hays was my second master--Archie +Hays. Dortch was my first master. He brought my parents from Richmond, +Virginia, and he settled right in Princeton. + +"My father's name was Reuben Rainey Dortch. He was an octoroon I guess. +He looked more like a Cuban than a Negro. He had beautiful wavy hair, +naturally wavy. He was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. His +father was Dortch. Some say Rainey. But he must have been a Dortch; he +called himself Dortch, and we go in the name of Dortch. Rainey was a +white man employed on Dortch's plantation. Rainey's name was Wilson +Rainey. My name has always been Dortch. + +"My mother was named Martha Dortch. I am trying to think what her maiden +name was. My sister can tell you all the details of it. She is five +years older than I am. She can tell you all the old man's folks and my +mother's too more easily than I can. + +"My father had, as nearly as I can remember--lemme see--Cordelia, +Adrianna, Mary, Jennie, Emma, and Dortch. Emma and Dortch were children +by a first wife. Cordelia was his stepdaughter. My brothers were Alec +and Gabe. There is probably some I have overlooked. + +"The Indian blood in me came through my mother's father. He was a +full-blooded red Indian. I can't think of his name now. Her mother was a +dark woman. + +"My father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. All the work +he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket +making. He made coffins too just after peace was declared. They didn't +have no undertakers then. He made the bottoms to chairs too. He could +put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one I know. Nobody +could beat him putting shingles on a house. + +"My mother was reared to work in the house. She was cook, housekeeper. +She was a weaver too. She worked the loom and the spinning wheel. She +gardened a little. But her work was mostly in the house as cook and +weaver. She never went out in the field as a hand. My father didn't +either. + + +Kind Masters + +"My father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. He was a kind +of boss more than anything else. He had his way. Nobody was allowed to +mistreat him in any way. My mother was the same way. I don't think she +was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks--not that I ever saw. + + +Attitude of Slaves Toward Father + +"There wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. +My oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but I don't think he ever +had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the +white folks. He was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of +himself. Then again, he had a good master. Hays was a good man. We made +a trip down there just a short while ago. We hadn't been there since the +Civil War. They made it so pleasant for us! We all set down to the same +table and ate together. Frank was down there. He was my young master. + + +Thirty Acres--not Forty + +"They gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. They +didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. I am going down +there again sometime. My young master is the postmaster down there now. +He thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister. + +"I don't mind telling people anything about myself. I was born in June. +They ain't nothing slipping up on me. I understand when to talk. There +are two of us, Adrianna Kern--that's her married name. She and I are the +ones Mr. Frank gave the thirty acres to. I have a younger sister. + + +Slave Work + +"I don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. The +least I ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. Some would pick as +high as three and four hundred pounds. + +"My father was not a field hand. He was what they called the first man +'round there. He was a regular leader on the plantation--boss of the +tool room. He was next to the master of them, you might say. He was a +kind of boss. + +"I never heard of his working for other men besides his master. I +believe he drove the stage for a time from Arkadelphia to Camden or +Princeton. I don't know just how that come about. My sister though has a +more exact remembrance than I have, and she can probably tell you the +details of it. + + +Boyhood Experiences + +"My father used to take me to the mill with him when I was a kid. That +was in slavery time. He went in a wagon and took me with him. + +"The biggest thing I did was to play with the other kids. They had me do +such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from +the pasture. And as near as I can remember it seems like they had me +more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that. + + +Food, Houses, Clothes + +"Corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game--that +was the principal food. The people on our place were fed pretty well. We +lived off of ash cakes and biscuits. + +"The slaves lived in old log houses. I can almost see them now. Let's +see--they usually had just one window. The slaves slept on pallets +mostly and wore long cotton shirts. + + +Patrollers + +"I have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles--how they tied +ropes across the road and trapped them. Sometimes they would be knocked +off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from +there. Of course, that was sometimes. They was always halting the slaves +and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes. + + +How Freedom Came + +"The way I understand it there came a rumor all at once that the Negroes +were free. It seems that they throwed up their hands. They had a great +fight at Pine Bluff and Helena and De Valls Bluff. Then came peace. The +rumor came from Helena. Meade and Thomas winded the thing up some way. +Sherman made his march somewhere. The colored soldiers and the white +soldiers came pouring in from Little Rock. They come in a rush and said, +'Tell them niggers they're free.' They run into the masters' and +notified them they were going to take all the Negroes to Little Rock. It +wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to +take us to Little Rock. + +"When they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of +houses up just west of where the Arch street graveyard is now. They put +us all there in the soldiers' buildings. They called them camps. They +seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. It wasn't long before they +had us in school and in church. The Freedmen's Bureau visited us and +gave us rations just like the Government has been doing these last +years. They gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. +That was all done right here in Little Rock. + + +Schooling + +"My first teacher was Miss Sarah Henley. I could show you the home she +used to live in. It's right up the street. It's on Third Street between +Izard and State right in the middle of the block--next to the building +on the corner of Izard on the south side of Third Street. There is a +brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one +right next to it. She was a white woman and was my first teacher. She +taught me, as near as I can remember, one session. My next teacher was +Mrs. Hunt. She was from Ohio. My first teacher was from Ohio too. Mrs. +Hunt taught me about two sessions. Lemme see, Mrs. Clapp came after her. +She was from Pennsylvania. Mrs. Clapp taught me one session. I am trying +to think of that other teacher. We went over to Union School then. +Charlotte Andrews taught us there for a while. That was her maiden name. +Her married name is Stephens. She was the first colored teacher in the +city. Mrs. Hubbard teached us a while, too. Mrs. Scull taught us right +here on Gaines and Seventh Streets where this church is now. They moved +us a long time ago down to the Mess House at the Rock Island for a while +but we didn't stay there long. We came back to the Methodist church--the +one on Eighth and Broadway, not the Bethel Church on Ninth and Broadway. +There was a colored church on Eighth and Broadway then. They kept +sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. Woods, a +colored man, was one of the teachers at Capitol Hill Public School. We +were there when it first opened. That was the last school I went to. I +finished eight grades. Me and Scipio Jones went to school together and +were in the same class. I left him in school and went to work to take +care of my folks. + + +Occupational Experiences + +"Right after the Civil War, I went to school. I did no work except to +sell papers and black boots on the corner of Main and Markham on Sunday. +After I stopped school I went to work as assistant porter in the +railroad office at the Union Station for the St. Louis, Iron Mountain, +Southern Railway and Cairo and Fulton. That was one road or system. I +stayed with them from 1873 till 1882 in the office as office porter. +From that I went train porter out of the office in 1882. I stayed as +train porter till 1892. Then right back from 1892 I went in the general +superintendent's private car. Then from there I went to the shop here in +North Little Rock--the Missouri Pacific Shops--as a straw boss of the +storeroom gang. That was in 1893. I stayed in the shop until 1894. Then +I was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. That was in 1895. +I stayed as coach cleaner till 1913. From that I went to the State +Capitol and stayed there as janitor of the Supreme Court for three +years. In 1917, I went back to the coach cleaning department. That was +during the war. I stayed there till 1922. I come out on the strike and +have been out ever since. Since then I have done house cleaning all over +the city. That brings me up to about two years ago. Now I pick up +something here and something there. I have been knocking around sick +most of the time and supported by the Relief and the Welfare +principally. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"I don't remember much about the Ku Klux Klan. They never bothered me, +and never bothered any one connected with me. + + +Powell Clayton + +"I have stood at the bar and drank with Powell Clayton. He had been +'round here ever since we had. He was a very particular friend of my +boss'--the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. They were all +Yankees together. They would all meet at the office. That was while I +was working my way through school and afterwards too. He was strictly a +'Negroes' Friend'. He was a straight out and out Yankee. + + +A Broken Thumb in a Political Fight + +"I got this thumb broken beating a white man up. No, I'll tell the +truth. He was beating me up and I thought he was going to kill me. It +was when Benjamin Harrison had been elected President. I was in Sol +Joe's saloon and I said, 'Hurrah for Harrison.' A white man standing at +the bar there said to me, 'What do you mean, nigger, insulting the +guests here?' And before I knew what he was going to do--bop!--he +knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. He +started to stamp me. My head was roaring, but I grabbed his legs and +held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it +out. I butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with +my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. There was +plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. A great +commotion set up and I slipped out the back door and went home during +the excitement. + +"When I went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the +fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. Sol Joe told me that he +showed the man he was wrong, that I was one of his best customers. To +make Sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. When I got there +and found the money waiting for me, I just called everybody in the house +up to the bar and treated it out. + +"They claimed I had hit him with brass knucks, but when I showed them my +hand--it was swollen double--and then showed them how the thumb was +broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. That thumb never did set +properly. You see, it's out of shape right now. + + +Domestic Life + +"I met my wife going home. I was a train porter between here and +Memphis. She was put in my care to see that she took her train all right +out of Memphis, Tennessee, going on farther. I fell in love with her and +commenced courting her right from there. She was so white in color that +you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. After I married +her, I was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got +on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. Every once in a +while they would come back and peep in the Negro coach. Sometimes they +would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. My sister notice it +and called my attention to it. I went to the conductor and complained. +He called their hand. + +"It seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and +staying on the train to be able to get off where I got off. The +conductor told them that if they went into Little Rock with the train +there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that +the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that I worked on the road, and +that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if I just sent +a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. They got off the train at +the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they +didn't believe what had been told them. + +"We were married only three and a half years when she died. Her name was +Lillie Love Douglass before she married me. She was a perfect angel. +White folks tried to say that she was white. We had two children. Both +of them are dead. One died while giving birth to a child and the other +died at the age of thirty-three. + +"I married the second time. I met my second wife the same way I met the +first. I was working on the railroad and she was traveling. I was a +coach cleaner. We lived together three years and were separated over +foolishness. She had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers +stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to +braid into a watch chain. She said, 'I'll give you a lock.' I said, 'You +and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away +without asking me.' She might have been joking, and I was not altogether +serious. But it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. One day, I had +been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. I don't +remember what it was all about. Anyway, she called me a liar and I +slapped her before I thought. + +"For two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though +nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to +me. She would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. One day I +gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. She was a +wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while +I was out on the road working. When I came back that evening, the store +was wide open and she was gone. She had slipped off and gone home from +the station across the river. I didn't find that out till the next day. +She hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. And +another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the +train. I was out with a shotgun watching. I am glad I did not meet them. +She is living in Chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the +lock of hair to and doing well the last I heard from her. She was a good +woman, just marked with a high temper. There was no reason why we should +not have lived together and gotten along well. We loved each other and +were making money hand over fist when we separated. + + +Opinions + +"The young people are too much for me. Women are awful now. The young +ones are too wild for me. The old ones allow them too much freedom. They +are not given proper instruction and training by their elders." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his +master or someone closely connected with his master--his first master. +His last master was the father of his half-sister, Cordelia, born before +any of the other members of his family. These facts account largely for +the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave time and for +the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery. + +Dortch's whole sister, Adrianna, is living next door to him, and is +eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. She has a clearer memory than +Dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. She never went to +school but uses excellent English and thinks straight. I have not made +Dortch's interview any longer because I am spending the rest of this +period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material +which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. I have +already finished ten pages of her story. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Fannie Dorum + 423 W. Twenty-Fourth Street + North Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 94 + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.] + + +[HW: Church Holds Old Age Contest] + +"I was here in slavery time. Know the years I plowed. Ginned cotton in +slavery time. My daddy was the ginner. His name was Hamp High. Stayed +down in Lonoke County. + +"I was here in slavery time. The third year of the surrender (1868), I +married--married Burton Dorum. + +"I was born in Franklin, North Carolina. My old master's name was Jack +Green, Franklin County. He had five boys--Henry, John, James, Robert, +and William Henry. And he had a daughter named Mary. My old mistress' +name was Jennie Green. They all came from North Carolina and I think +they are still there. + + +Work + +"A slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. You better +pick a hundred. I couldn't pick a hundred. I never was much on picking +cotton. + +"I weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, +and did all such work. I plowed before the War about two years. I used +to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go +through. I was about nineteen years old when Lee surrendered. That would +make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. The boys figgered it all +out when they had the old age contest 'round here. They added up the +times I worked and put everything together. + + +Family + +"I raised eight children. Have five living. And I reckon about +forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and +great-great-grandchildren. You see I have been here right smart time. + + +Schooling + +"Colored folks didn't get no learning then. I never learned to read or +write. Before I married, I learned to spell my name, but I had so much +to do I have forgot how to do that. + + +How Freedom Came + +"The Yankees were coming through the place. A great crowd of soldiers. +The day the corps of Yankees were to go out, they all went up to the +pike and it looked like a dark cloud. There were great big wagons loaded +down with everything to eat. They took all the meat, all the whiskey, +all the flour. That they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured +on the ground. They took the corn out of the crib. + +"The next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. He told +us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us. + + +Whipping + +"My old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. I +said, 'Master, if you don't hit me no more, I'll tell you who's been +stealing all your eggs.' He said, 'Will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' I +said, 'Yes.' But I never done it. + + +Patrollers + +"I heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. They would +catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. The +pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when +they were out without a pass. Sometimes the colored folks would stretch +ropes across the road and trip them up. You would hear them laughing +about it when they got amongst themselves the next day. + + +House, Etc. + +"I was born in a old log house--two rooms. One for the kitchen and one +to sleep in. We had homemade furniture. Mighty few of them had bought +furniture. Most of then made it themselves. If you had bought furniture, +that was called fine. There was no rollers to any bed. Food was kept in +the house. Wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to +keep it. Planks were put around it. We children used to jump up and down +in it. + + +Rations + +"When the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a +tub and said, 'Come and git it.' + +"They would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of +the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. They put the white folks' meat +in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. When you wanted +something, you would go up to old master and say, 'My meat is out,' and +they would give you some more out of the smokehouse. + +"Brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the +colored [TR: corrected from 'cullud'] folks--they didn't give any of it +to them. My daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and +slip and sell it to the colored folks. He didn't tell the white folks +who he was gettin' it for. + +"You didn't have a regular time to git rations. You didn't on my place. +You got things any time you needed them. My master was a good man. My +dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. When he was +working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' +house and git anything he wanted and eat it--brandy, meat, anything. + + +Slave Wages + +"My daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for +other folks. He did the ginning for an old rich man named Jack Green, +who lived in Franklin County. Jack Green paid wages for my father's, +Hampton High's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. I +don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, +or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. They trusted +him and I know he did work for pay. On account of the money my father +earned he was considered a valuable slave. That's why he could go and +eat and drink anything he wanted to. + + +Life Since Slavery + +"My husband married me in May. He went to his uncle and worked an shares +for two or three years. Then my husband took a crop to himself. He +bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. Raised a great +big orchard. All my children were born right there. White people owned +the farm. Priestley Mangham and his wife were the white people. When we +left that place, my children were all big enough to work. That was in +North Carolina. The nearest town was College. + +"When the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, +then we left and came here. My husband is dead and has been dead over +twenty years. + +"My daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on +relief themselves and can't do much for me. + + +Opinions + +"The young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. They +are there on mealtime, but that is about all." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +About three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the +colored churches of North Little Rock. Sister Hatchett was considered +the oldest, Fannie Dorum next. Sarah Jane Patterson was among those +considered in the nineties also. It is very probable that all of these +three are ninety or more. Stories of Dorum and Patterson are already in, +and interview with Hatchett will be completed soon. + +This paper fails to record Fannie Dorum's accent with any approach to +accuracy. She speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal +of attention to grammaticalness. But she pronounces all "er" ending as +"uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs. + +There are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which I do +not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal +pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for "[e]r". + +The slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more nearly correct than the +normal pronunciation of "m(a)ster." Frequent pronunciations are marse, +marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Silas Dothrum + 1419 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 82 or 83 +Occupation: Field hand, general work +[May 31 1939] + + +[HW: Don't Know Nothin'] + +"The white people that owned me are all dead. I am in this world by +myself. Do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the +flies off it when it has sores on it? I had the city doctor here, but he +didn't do me no good. I have to tie these rags around my foot to keep +the flies off the sores. + +"I worked with a white man nineteen years--put all that concrete down +out there. He is still living. He helps me a little sometimes. If it +weren't for him I couldn't live. The government allows me and my wife +together eight dollars a month. I asked for more, but I couldn't get it. +I get commodities too. They amount to about a dollar and a half a month. +They don't give any flour or meat. Last month they gave some eggs and +those were nice. What they give is a help to a man in my condition. + +"I don't know where I was born and I don't know when. I know I am +eighty-two or eighty-three years old. The white folks that raised me +told me how old I was. I never saw my father and my mother in my life. I +don't know nothin'. I'm Just on old green man. I don't know none of my +kin people--father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. When I found +myself the white people had me. + +"That was right down here in Arkansas here on old Dick Fletcher's farm. +There was a big family of them Fletchers. They took me to Harriet +Lindsay to raise. She is dead. She had a husband and he is dead. She had +two or three daughters and they are dead. + + +Slave Houses + +"I can remember what they used to live in. The slaves lived in old +wooden houses. They ain't living in no houses now--one-half of them. +They were log houses--two rooms. I have forgot what kind of +floors--dirt, I guess. Food was kept in a smokehouse. + + +Relatives + +"The whole family of Fletchers is dead. I think that there is a Jef +Fletcher living in this town. I don't know just where but I met him +sometime ago. He doesn't do nothing for me. Nobody gives me anything for +myself but the man I used to work for--the concrete man. He's a man. + + +How Freedom Came + +"All I remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and +carried us to Texas and kept us there till freedom came. Then they told +us we were free and could go where wanted. But they kept me in bondage +and a girl that used to be with them. We were bound to them that we +would have to stay with them. They kept me just the same as under +bondage. I wasn't allowed no kind of say-so. + +"After Dick Fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us +back--fetched us back in a covered wagon. + +"I am a Arkansas man. Was raised here. I am very well known here, too. +Some years after that she turned us loose. I can't remember just how +many years it was, but it was a good many. + + +Right After the War + +"After Mrs. Fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. I +was working by the year. If I broke anything they took it out of my +wages. If I broke a plow they would charge me for it. I was working for +niggers. I can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything +when they got through taking out. I'm dogged if I know how much they +were supposed to pay; it has been so long. But I know that if I broke +anything--a tool or something--they charged me for it. I didn't have +much at the end of the year. It would take me a lifetime to make +anything if I had to do that. + + +Patrollers + +"I have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone +into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. They would +surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they +could whip them as much as they wanted to. All that is been years and +years ago. I never seen any niggers get away from them. I have heared of +them getting away, but if they did I never knowed it. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"I heared of the Ku Klux, but they never bothered me. I never saw them +do anything to anybody. + + +Recollections Relating to Parents + +"I don't know who my parents were, but it seems like I heard them say my +father was a white man, and I seen to remember that they said my mother +was a dark woman. + +Opinions + +"The young people today ain't worth a shit. These young people going to +school don't mean good to nobody. They dance all the night and all the +time, and do everything else. That man across the street runs a whiskey +house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. They +ain't worth nothing." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson +Person interviewed: Sarah Douglas + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 82? + +[Illustration: Sarah and Sam Douglas] +[TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes "'Tom' written in + pencil above 'Sam' in title."] + + +"I was born in Alabama. I don't know when though. I did not find out +when I was born because old miss never told me. My ma died when I was +real small and my old miss raised me. I had a hard time of my life. I +slept on the floor just like a cat--anywhere I laid down I slept. In +winter I slept on rags. If I got sick old miss would give me plenty of +medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. My old +master was name John Buffett and old misses name was Eddie Buffett. She +would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the +floor. I never ate at the table until I was twelve and that was after +freedom. + +"To whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken +the cow hide whip and beat me until I couldn't sit down for a week. +Sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree +with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow +hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! +child, I shouted when I wasn't happy. All I could say was, 'Oh pray, +mistress, pray.' That was our way to say Lord have mercy. The last +whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my Lord! old miss +whipped me that day. That was the worse whipping I ever got in my life. +I cried and bucked and hollered until I couldn't. I give up for dead and +she wouldn't stop. I stop crying and said to her, 'Old miss, if I were +you and you were me I wouldn't beat you this way.' That struck old +miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me +any more. + +"I did every kind of work when I was a little slave; split rails, +sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted. + +"I remember young master going to war and I remember hearing the first +gun shoot but I did not see it. I saw the smoke though. + +"I never went to school a day in my life. The white folks said we did +not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us +with that cow hide whip. + +"We went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. +They allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or +felt that the Lord had forgiven them of their sins. We told our +determination; this is what we said: 'I feel that the Lord have forgiven +me for my sins. I have prayed and I feel that I am a better girl. I +belong to master so and so and I am so old.' The white preacher would +then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they +could see any change. They would get up and say: 'I notice she don't +steal and I notice she don't lie as much and I notice she works better.' +Then they let us join. We served our mistress and master in slavery-time +and not God. + +"I recollect miss died just after the War. Old miss was very strict on +us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's +kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left +the print of her hand on her face. That white hand never did go away and +that place was forever haunted after that. + +"Now I don't know how to tell you to get after my age but I was twelve +years old two years after surrender." + + + + +Interviewer: Carol Graham +Subject: Ex-slaves +Information given by: Sarah Douglas, El Dorado, Arkansas + + +Mornin' honey. I thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' +summer an' I looked fuh you the longes' time. I'se plum proud tuh see +you ergin. Dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is +she? + +Now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants Aunt Sarah tuh tell huh some +more 'bout slave'y times. John Bufford wuz mah marster's name. I wuz +bo'n in Alabama an' brought to Louisiana by my marster's fambly. Aftuh +de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white +folks from the North fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey +soon learnt bettuh. + +I ain't been well lately. The doctuh said I had slamatory rheumatis. I'm +ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. My mistress wuz mammy +in de ol' days. + +Aftuh I got up fum mah rheumatism I went down tuh that church you sees, +I give de lan' fuh hit, me and Tom did and I jes felt good and wanted +tuh praise the Lord. I wuz so glad the sperit come once more, I got +happy and I got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "I want to shake +hand wid ever' body in dis house. I wanna stroke yo hand." An' I stood +down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and +two women come down an' shook hands wid me, I jes didn't know whut tuh +think. Yoh know when I wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' +dey made a noise but not so now. An' tuh think dey couldn't turn +praises. + +You say yo' wants tuh talk tuh Tom? Well he's out dar in de back yard +but he aint well and I specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. +Tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. I'll go back an talk tuh de +lady whuts waitin' in de car. + + +(The above written just as Sarah Douglas expressed it). + +(Taken down word for word.) + +(August 11, 1937.) + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson +Person interviewed: Tom Douglas + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 91 + + +"I was born in Marion, Louisiana September 15, 1847 at 8 o'clock in the +morning. I was eighteen years of age at surrender. My master and missus +was B.B. Thomas and Miss Susan Thomas. Old master had a gang of slaves +and we all worked like we were putting out fire. Lord child, wasn't near +like it is now. We went to bed early and got up early. There was a gang +of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a +washwoman. We worked too and didn't mind it. If we acted like we didn't +want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree +or bush and whipped until we bled. They had a whipping post that they +tied us to to whip us. + +"We was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. They built +nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. They drove niggers in +there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. The +white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they +could tell how old we were. They had a 'penetenture' for the white folks +when they did wrong. When we done wrong we was tied to that whipping +post and our hide busted open with that cow hide. + +"We stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would +allowance our week's rations out to us and Sunday morning we got one +biscuit each. If our week's allowance give out before the week we did +not get any more. + +"Cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. We did not have to worry about +our clothes. Old missus looked after everything. We wore brogan shoes +and homespun clothes. There was a bunch of women that did the spinning +and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. I was a shoe +maker. I made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. We had to +go nice and clean. If old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. I +got slavery time scars on my back now. You ought to see my back. Scars +been on my back for seventy-five years. + +"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned my ABC'S after I was +nineteen years old. I went to night school, then to a teacher by the +name of Nelse Otom. I was the first nigger to join the church on this +side of the Mason and Dixie line. During slavery we all joined the white +folk's church set in the back. After slavery in 1866 they met in +conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. There +was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we +called our preacher and I was the first one to join. Old master asked +our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. We told him old shoes and +clothes. Old master says, 'Well, that's damn poor pay.' Our preacher +says, 'And they got a damn poor preacher.' + +"I did not know anything about war. Only I know it began in 1861, closed +in 1865, and I know they fought at Vicksburg. That was two or three +hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table +whenever they shot a bomb. Those bombs would jar the house so hard and +we could see the smoke that far. + +"We was allowed to visit Saturday night and Sunday. If you had a wife +you could go to see her Wednesday night and Saturday night and stay with +her until Monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the +patrollers would catch you. That is where the song come from, 'Run +nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' Sometimes a nigger +would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. In slavery white +folks put you together. Just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or +him. You had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not. + +"After freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, +opened a big gate and drove us all out. We didn't know what to do--not a +penny, nowhere to go--so we went out there and set down. In about thirty +minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for +food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and +the next year they gave us half. So ever' since then we people been +working for half. + +"Here is one of my boy songs: + + 'Sadday night and Sunday too, + A pretty girl on my mind + As soon as Monday morning come + The white folks get me gwi-ng.'" + + + + +[HW: Regrets End of Slavery] +OLD SLAVE STORIES + +[TR: Sarah and Tom Douglas] + + +[TR: Aunt Sarah Douglas]--Ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. Wuz +twelve years ole at de time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined +de church. In them days when chillun j'ined de church some grown person +had ter speak fuh em an tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. +Now when chillun j'in de church if they is big enough ter talk they take +em in widout grown fokes speaking fuh em a tall. + +Slavery times wuz sho good times. We wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to +worry about. Now poar ole niggers go hungry. Sho we wuz whipped in +slavery times. Mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz +whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. Coase hit +did. Hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo +chickens. + +Me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no +chillun. Yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. Now +if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole +days. Mah ole man, Tom, is 89 an I'se 82. Poar ole man. Ah does all ah +kin fuh him but I'se ole too. These young niggers is gettin so uppity. +They think they is better than we is. A Darkey jes don' love one another +an stick t'gether like white fokes does. But ah is goin ter stick ter my +ole man. He needs me. He is jes like a little helpless chile widout me +ter look after him. Ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when ah +wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. Ah likes ter go ter +church. See that little white church over de hill? That is Douglas +Chapel, a Baptist church. Me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that +church. We had plenty them days when Douglas was laid out (meaning +Douglas Addition). But now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all +de time. None of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us +somethin' ter eat. White fokes have good hearts but niggers is +grudgeful. De bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an +when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces. + +Niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. Ah went to a +missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "Sister +Douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "Amazing +Grace." Sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined +in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when +that sister spoke up an said: "Sister Douglas, don' yo know that is done +gone out of style?" an selected "Fly Away" an den all of them sisters +j'ined in an sung "Fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance +chune. + +Yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. We use +ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. An that ole horse is our fambly +horse. Dolly Jane ah calls her. We've had her forty years an she gits +sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time +but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. We has lived +in this house since 1900 but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de +tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. Nobody lef on this side but white +fokes now ceptin us. When de railroad come through down there ah had a +cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton +patch an ruint part of hit. All we got out'n hit wuz damages. + +No'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. Mebby ifn yo +all come back he kin talk ter yo then. + +(In the meantime we investigated Tom and Sarah Douglas and found that he +has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now +Douglas Addition. In a few days we went back and found Tom sitting on +the porch.) + + +Uncle Tom Douglas--Yas'm, ah members de wah. Ah wuz fo'teen when de wah +began an eighteen when hit closed. Mah marster wuz B.B. Thomas, Union +Parish, Louisiana, near Marion, Louisiana. Ah saw de fust soldiers go an +saw young marster go. When young marster come back at de close of de wah +he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he +done have ter eat while he wuz in de army. + +Ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. They wuz sold +jes like stock. Ah members one fambly. De man wuz a blacksmith, de woman +a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. They wuz put on de block +an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt part +of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. They wuz +sole jes like cows an horses. No'm, ah didn't like slavery days. Ah'd +rather be free an hungry. + +(Tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and +we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.) + +Yo say tell yo about hants. There is such a thing. Yes mam. Some fokes +calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an Sarah has seed em haint +we Sarah. Here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil? + +(After we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we +would not repeat it, they told us the following): + +When me an Sarah lived out at de Moore place about three miles east on +the main street road we seed plenty of haints. De graveyard wuz in sight +of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they +would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there +campin. We could see they campfires. We could hear their dishes rattling +an their tincups an knives an forks. An hear em talkin. Den again they +would be diggin with shovels. Sometimes in de graveyard we could see de +sperits doin de things they did befo they died. Some would be plowing, +some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. +When day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in +de graves. Yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. After we moved +from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de +chimney. An hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen +there. + +Yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. They is such thin's as hants. Me an +Sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham +Person interviewed: Tom & Sarah Douglas +Resident: El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 90 and 83. + + +NOTE: + +This is a second interview with Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah Douglas. The +first was sent to your office in September 1936 from interview by Mrs. +Mildred Thompson, El Dorado, Arkansas. Mrs. Thompson is not now with the +Project. Mrs. Carol Graham made the second interview. + +_Tom Douglas--Ex-slave_. I was a slave boy till I was eighteen. Was born +in 1847, 'mancipated in '65. No, my master did not give me forty acres +of land and a mule. When we was 'mancipated my master came took us +outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "You are free +to work for anybody you want to." We set there a while then we went +whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and +finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. The next year +we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five +years. 'F we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in +money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over. + +My ol' master was S.B. [TR: in two previous interviews, B.B. Thomas] +Thomas. The young master was Emmett Thomas. Mr. Emmett was his son. Dey +was near Marion, Louisiana, then I worked fuh his brother-in-law 'Lias +George. His wife was Susan George. I tell you the fact, these times is +much bettuh than slave times. If I'm hungry an' naked, I'm free. I'm +crazy 'bout liberty. + +I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan but never did see none of 'em. Have seen +where they is been but nevuh did see 'em. + +We voted several years. Was considered citizens--voted an' all that sort +of thing. I think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes +makes us citizens don' it? I used to be a big politics man--lost all I +had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. I was tol' +one day that the Ku Kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' I got +on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. I was a big +politics man then--lost all I had and quit politics. I'm ninety years +old and fifteenth of next September. Looks like the old might get +pensions if old has anything to do with it I ought to get a pension but +us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' +to eat they say don' get none. + +I come to El Dorado January 3, 1893. This place was in the woods then. I +bought 120 acres from Mr. Dave Armstrong at five dollars per acre and in +nine years I had it all paid for. It was after I got tired of workin' on +the halves that I bought me a place. + +Worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in 1897 or 98. Than I jobbed +aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. Carried $25 +with me when I moved to town and brought $28 back with me. Cleared $1 a +year an' got tired of that. + +Am livin' off my land. Have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times +is hard and folks can't pay. I takes in from $18 to $25 per month. + +The young folks is gone to destruction. Aint nothin' but destruction. +You is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was +ten years back. Young folks is goin' to destruction. Me, I'm goin' home. +Goin' back 80 years an comin' up to day I is seen a mighty big change. +Me, I'm goin' home. Don't know what you young folks going to see eighty +years from now. Everybody is trying to get something for nothing. + +We use to sing "Gimme this Old Time Religion, It's Good enough for me". +An' we sung "I'm a Soldier of the Cross" an lots of others. We don' live +right now, don' serve God. Pride, formality an love of money keeps folks +from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. You know that ol' +sayin: "Preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; All for your money +an' none for your soul." Seems like its true now days. + +You ask does I have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? +No maam. I was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard +with the little white chillun. You says Sarah told you that las' year? +Missy you mus' be mistaken. I was whipped once or twice but I needed it +then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no +stripes on me. My old master was good to all his niggers and I'm tellin +you I was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to +me. All we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every +Sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. No maam my +old master was always good to his niggers. + + +(Above is as exactly told by Tom Douglas with the exception that he used +the word Marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for I and +other quaint expressions--these were omitted because of instruction in +Bulletin received August 7th, 1937.) + +Taken down word for word. August 11, 1937. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Sebert Douglas + 610 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 82 + + +"I was born in Lebanon, Kentucky. Gover Hood was my old master. His +wife's name was Ann Hood. + +"I 'member Morgan's Raid. I don't 'member what year it was but I 'member +a right smart about it. Cumberland Gap was where they met. + +"The Rebs and Yankees both come and took things from old master. I +'member three horses they taken well. Yankees had tents in the yard. +They was right in the yard right in front of the Methodist church. + +"My mother was Mrs. Hood's slave, and when she married she took my +mother along and I was born on her place. + +"I was the carriage boy in slave times. My father did the driving and I +was the waitin' boy. I opened the gates. + +"I 'member Billy Chandler and Lewis Rodman run off and j'ined the +Yankees but they come back after the War was over. + +"Paddyrollers was about the same as the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux would take +the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make +'em go back where they come from. + +"We stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we +went to the country and farmed for ourselves. + +"I went to school just long enough to read and write. I never seed no +use for figgers till I married and went to farmin'. + +"Since I been in Pine Bluff I done mill work. I was a sash and door man. + +"I used to vote every election till Hoover, but I never held any office. + +"The younger generation is bad medicine. Can't tell what's gwine come of +'em!" + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Henry Doyl, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: Will be 74 +Feb. 2, 1938 + + +"I was born in Hardeman County near Bolivar, Tennessee. My mother's +moster was Bryant Cox and his wife was Miss Neely Cox. My mother was +Dilly Cox. Two things I remembers tinctly that took place in my +childhood: that was when my mother married George Doyl. I was raised by +a stepfather. Miss Neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put +me in her pocket. She told her that more'n one time. I recollect that. + +"My oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. My mother was a +field hand. She was at work in the field. When she come to the house, +the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. That grieved her mighty +bad and when Miss Neely tell her soon as I got big nough she was goner +sell me mighty near break her heart. + +"The first year after the surrender my father, Buck Rogers, left my +mother in her bad condition. She said she followed him crying and +begging him not to leave her to Montgomery Bridge, in Alabama. The last +she seen him he was on Montgomery Bridge. + +"They just expected freedom. My mother left her mistress and moved to +the Doyl place. She didn't get nothing but her few clothes. I was born +at the Doyl place. She worked for Moster Bob Doyl, a young man. They +share cropped. We had a plenty I reckon of what we raised and a little +money. + +"I worked on Colonel Nuckles place when I got up grown. I worked on the +Lunatic Asylum at Bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the I.C. +Railroad a long time. + +"I don't recollect that the Ku Klux ever bothered us. + +"My stepfather voted Republican ticket. I haven't voted for a good many +years--not since Garfield or McKinley was our President. + +"I come to Arkansas in 1887. I married in Arkansas. I heard that +Arkansas was a rich country. My mother was dead. My stepfather had been +out here. I come on the train, paid my own way. Come to Palestine the +first night then on to Brinkley. I been close to Brinkley ever since. + +"The old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. I still work +on the place. Everybody don't know how to walk levies. It will kill an +old man. Your feet stay wet and cold all time. I do wear hip boots but +my feet stay cold and damp. I got down with the rheumatism and jes' now +got so I can walk. + +"I got a wife and three living children. They all married and gone. + +"Times is hard for old folks and changed so much. Children used to get +jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. They can't +take care of themselves no more it look like. I don't know how to take +the young generation. They are drifting along with the fast times. + +"I applied but don't get no pension." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Willie Doyld (male), Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 78 +[-- -- 1938] + + +"I was born in Grenada, Mississippi. My parents belong to the same +family of white folks. My moster was Jim Doyld. His wife was Mistress +Karoline Doyld. Well as I recollect they had four childen. My parent's +name was Hannah and William Doyld. I'm named for em. They was three of +us childen. They belong to same family of white folks for a fact. I +heard em say Moster Jim bought em offen the block at the same time. He +got em at Galveston, Texas. He kept five families of slaves on his place +well as I recollect. + +"My pa was Moster Jim's ox driver. He drove five or six yokes at a time. +He walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. He toted a long cowhide +whoop. He toted it over his shoulder. When he'd crack it you could hear +his whoop half a mile. Knowed he was comin' on up to the house. Them +oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. He'd +be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. He +nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the +front wagon an' ride a piece. + +"He was a very good moster I recken far as I knows. They go up there, +get sompin' to eat. He give em a midlin' meat. He give us clothes. Folks +wore heep of clothes then. They got whoopin's if they not do lack they +tole em to do--plenty whoopin's! He kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. +They hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. Them dogs died wid black +tongue. Every one of em died. + +"We et at home mostly. We was lounced wid the rations but had a big +plenty. We got the rations every Saturday mornin'. One fellow cut and +weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git +it in. Sometimes we et up at the house. Mama bring a big bucket milk and +set it down, give us a tin cup. We eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. +Mama cooked for old mistress. She bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last +us two or three days at er time. Papa could cook when he be round the +house too. I recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. They come from +Georgia. Moster Jim muster bought them too but I don't know if he got em +all at the same time down at Galveston, Texas. + +"Moster Jim show did drink liquor--whiskey. I recken he would. When he +got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he +sober up. Miss Karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and +white. + +"My grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. The balance of my +kin was pure nigger. + +"I kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. Papa went off +to war wid Jack Hoskins. He was goin' to be his waitin' man. He stayed a +good while fore he got home. Jack Hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast +one mornin'. That all I heard him say. I recken he helped bury him but I +never heard em say. + +"The plainest thing I recollect was a big drove of the Yankee +soldiers--some ridin', some walkin'--come up to the moster's house. He +was sorter old man. He was settin' in the gallery. He lived in a big log +house. He was readin' the paper. He throwed back his head and was dead. +Jes' scared to death. They said that was what the matter. In spite of +that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. All the +niggers scared to death not to go. There lay old Moster Jim stretched +dead in his chair. They was backed up to the smoke house door and the +horses makin' splinters of the door. It was three planks thick, crossed +one another and bradded together wid iron nails. They throwed the stuff +out an' say, 'Come an' git it. Take it to your houses.' They took it. It +was ours and we didn't want it wasted. Soon as they gone they got mighty +busy bringing it back. They built nother door an' put it up. Old Miss +Karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. They buried Moster +Jim at Water Valley, Mississippi. Miss Karoline broke up and went back +to Virginia. My grandma got her feather bed and died on it. Bout two +years after that the Yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. +We all had good log houses down close together. They didn't bother us. + +"I don't recollect the Ku Klux. + +"Our folks never knowed when freedom come on. Some didn't believe they +was free at all. They went on farmin' wid what left. What they made they +got it. My folks purty nigh all died right there. + +"I lives alone. I got two childern in Lulu, Mississippi. I had three +childern. My wife come here wid me. She dead. + +"I had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. It went for debts. White +folks got it. I ain't made nuthin' since. + +"I ain't no hand at votin' much. I railly never understood nuthin' bout +the run of politics. + +"I hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get +by widout it. They take it, if they can, outen the old folks. I used to +didn't ask folks no diffrunce. I worked right long. + +"I gets commodities wid this old woman. I come here to build her fires +and see after er. I don't git no check." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wade Dudley, Moro, Ark. +Age: 73 + + +"Bill Kidd and Miss Nancy Kidd owned my parents. I was born close to +Okalona, Chickasha County, Mississippi, about the last year of the Civil +War. Mr. Bill was Miss Nancy's boy. He was a nigger trader. They said +the overseers treated em pretty rough. They made em work in nearly a +run. When Miss Nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got +down pretty low. He married. Course I knowd em. I been through his +house. He had a fine house. My mother said she was born in Virginia. She +belong to Addison and Duley. Her mother come wid her. They sold them but +didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. She walked or come +in a ox wagon part of the way. She was with a _drove_. My father come +from North Carolina. His father was free. My father weighed out rations. +He was bright color. He worked round the house and then durin' the war +he run a refugee wagon. The Yankees got men, mules, meat from Mr. Bill +Kidd. My father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one +place to another to keep the Yankees from starving em all to death. My +mother had nine boys. They all belong to Mr. Miller. He died, his widow +married Mr. Owen then Mr. Owen sold them to Mrs. Kidd. That was where +they was freed. My parents stayed about Mrs. Kidd's till she died. They +worked for a third some of the time, I don't know how long. When I was a +boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the +government was going to give em something. I was ten years old when they +left Mrs. Kidd's. They thought the government was going to give em 40 +acres and a mule or some kind of a start. I don't know where they got +the notion. My father voted down in Mississippi. I vote. I was working +in the car shops in St. Louis in 1923. Me and my wife both voted then. I +worked there two years. I come back to Arkansas where I could farm. The +land was better here than in Mississippi. I walked part of the way and +rode part of the way when I come here from Mississippi. I vote a +Republican ticket. Bout all I owns is two little pigs and a few +chickens. I did have a spring garden. We work in the field and make a +little to eat and wear. + +"I find the present times is hard for old folks. Some young folks is +doing well I guess. They look like it. I made application twice for help +but I ain't never got on. I don't know what to think bout the young +folks. If they can get a living they have a good time. They don't worry +bout the future. A little money don't buy nothin' much now. It seem like +everything is to buy. Money is hard to get." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Isabella Duke + Little Rock, Arkansas (towards Benton) + Visiting in Hazen +Age: 62 + + +[HW: Father Wore a Bonnet] + +"My own dear mother was born at Faithville, Alabama. She belong to Sam +Norse. His wife was Mistress Mai Jane. They moved to Little Rock years +after my mother had come there. After seberal months they got trace of +one another. I seed two of the Norse girls and a boy. Master Norse was a +farmer in Alabama. Mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. She was a +field hand. She had a tough time during slavery. + +"Pa said he had a good time. 'Bout all he ever done was put on old +mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. He built and +chunked up the fires. Old mistress raised him and he had to wear a +bonnet. He was real light. He said the worse whoopings he ever got was +when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. The hands +on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'Old mis' thinks +he's white sure as de worl'.' The hands on the place sent him to the big +house squalling many a time. + +"After he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. He was part +French. He talked Frenchy and acted Frenchy. Every one who knowd him in +Little Rock called him Pa Frazier and called my mother Ma Frazier, but +she was dark. Pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he +didn't. She raised him about like her own boy. + +"Mother had a hard time. Alex Norse bought my mother and a small brother +from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years +old. Her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. But +there had been an older boy sold to some folks near Norse's place before +she was sold. The brother that was two years old died. There were other +older children sold. My mother never saw her mother after she was sold. +She heard from her mother in 1910. She was then one hundred and one +years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. Her baby boy six +months old when mother was sold come to visit us. Mother wanted to go +back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. Mother had +good sight when she died in 1920. She was eighty-seven years old and +didn't have to wear glasses to see. Mother's father was on another +place. He was said to be part or all Indian. + +"Mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. Her older +brother John lived on a place close to the Norse place. John told the +peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. But John was the one +got the goods mind out. The peddler reported it to Master Norse. He give +my mother a terrible beating. After that it come out on John. He had +stole the piece of cloth. John then took sick, lay sick a long time. +Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh John. She knowd when he died and +the day he was to be buried. Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh +there, not even look like she wanted to cry. + +"Mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. Then after +freedom she married my father. My parents named Clara and George +Frazier. She had twelve children. Pa was a cripple man. He was a +soldier. He said he never was shot and never shot no one. He was on a +horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the +shooting) all time. A horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. +After that he limped. He drew a pension. I limps but I'm better as I got +grown. I'm marked after him. One of my children I named after him what +died was cripple like him. My little George died when he was ten. He was +marked at birth after his grandpa. I had ten, jus' got five living +children. + +"My husband's father's father was in the Civil War. He didn't want to go +out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his +fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. His eye went out. He +hurt it too near the sight. He said he was sorry the rest of his life he +done that. He got a pension too. He was blind and always was sorry for +his disobedience. He said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then +as go into the battlefield. + +"In some ways times is better. People are no better. Children jus' +growing up wild. Their education is of the head and not their heart and +hands. + +"I was raised around Little Rock is about right. I gets a pension. I'm +sixty-two years old but I was down sick with nerve trouble several +years. I'm better now. I've been gradually coming on up for over a year +now. + +"Mr. Ernest Harper of Little Rock takes out truckloads of black folks to +work on his place in the country every day. They can get work that way +if they can work." + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: "Wash" Dukes + 2217 E. Barraque + Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 83 + + +"Yes'm, Wash Dukes is my name. My mother liked Washington so well, she +named me General Washington Dukes, but I said my name was Wash Dukes. +I'm the oldest one and I'm still here. Me? I was born in the state of +Georgia, Howson County. Perry, Georgia was my closest place. I was born +and raised on the Riggins place. I was born in 1855, you understand. The +first day of March is my birthday. We had it on the Bible, four boys and +four girls, and I was the oldest. House caught fire and burned up the +Bible, but I always say I'm as old as a hoss. + +"I can't see as good as I used to--gettin' too old, I reckon. + +"Old master and mistis was good to us. + +"My mother plowed just like a man. Had a little black mule named Mollie +and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee. + +"Old master was a long tall man with black hair. + +"You know I was here cause I remember when Lincoln was elected +president. He run against George Washington. + +"I seen the Yankees but I never talked to em. I was scared of em. Had +them muskets with a spear on the end. They give my uncle a hoss. When it +thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance--thought twas a +battle. And when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on +him. I say, 'Where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'Yankees give him +to me.' + +"I know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. I guess they +shot his hoss. He had plenty money. I tried to get him to give me some +but he wouldn't give me a bit. + +"At Oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. They was a +little stream run through it and the Rebels pizened it and killed a lot +of em. + +"I was so crazy when I was young. I know one time mama sent me to town +to get a dress pattern--ten yards. She say, 'Now, Wash, when you go +across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', +but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' But I say, 'I won't hear it.' I +went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'You done been to +town already?' I said, 'Yes, here's your dress pattern.' I went through +there ninety to nothin'. I went so fast my heart hurt me. + +"In slave times I remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you +had to have a pass. Paddyrollers nearly got me one night. I was on a +hoss. They was shootin' at me. I know the hoss was just stretched out +and I was layin' right down on his neck. + +"I stayed in Georgia till '74. I heared em say the cotton grow so big +here in Arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. I know when I +got here they was havin' that Brooks-Baxter war in Little Rock. I say, +'Press me into the war.' Man say, 'I ain't goin' press no boys.' I say, +'Give me a gun, I can kill em.' I wanted to fight. + +"I tell you where I voted--colored folks don't vote now--it was when I +was on the Davis place. I voted once or twice since I been up here. I +called myself votin' Republican. I member since I been up here you know +they had a colored man in the courthouse. When they had a grand jury +they had em mixed, some colored and some white. I say now they ain't got +no privilege. If they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes. + +"Up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they +got a 'tition between em. + +"When I first went to farmin' I rented the land and the cotton was all +mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'. + +"If I keep a livin', I'm goin' away from here. I'm goin' up north. I +won't go fore it gets warm though. I seen the snow knee deep in +Cleveland, Ohio. + +"I was workin' up north once. I had a pretty good job in Detroit doin' +piece work, and doin' well, but I come back here cause my wife's mother +was too old to move. If I had stayed I might have done well. + +"I own this property but I'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes. + +"I got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' +my mouth. None of em has ever give me a dime in their life. This younger +generation is goin' to nothin'. They got a good education. I got a boy +can write six different kinds a hands. Write enough to get in the pen. I +got him pardoned and he's in Philadelphia now. Never sends me a dime. + +"I never went to any school but night school a little. I was the oldest +and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones. + +"I preach sometimes. I'm not ordained--I'm a floor preacher, just stands +in front of the altar." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lizzie Dunn, Clarendon, Arkansas +Age: 88 + + +"I was born close to Hernando, Mississippi. My parents was Cassie +Gillahm and Ely Gillahm. My master was John Gillahm. I fell to John +Gillahm and Tim bought me from him so I could be with my mother. I was a +young baby. Bill Gillahm was our old master. He might had a big farm but +I was raised on a small farm. White folks raised me. They put me to +sewing young. I sewed with my fingers. I could sew mighty nice. My +mistress had a machine she screwed on a table. + +"All the Gillahms went to Louisiana in war time and left the women with +youngest white master. They was trying to keep their slaves from +scattering. They were so sure that the War would be lost. + +"The Yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt +them. They et them out time and ag'in. I seen the Yankees every day. I +seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. The sound was like eternity +had turned loose. Everything shook like earthquakes day and night. The +light was bright and red and smoke terrible. + +"Mother cooked and we et from our master's table. + +"We was all scared when the War was on and glad it was over. Mama died +at the close. Me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of +cotton in one year. + +"When freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. We all cried. +Miss Mollie was next to our own mother. She raised us. We kept on their +place. + +"I cooked for Joe Campbell at Forrest City. He had one boy I help to +raise. They think well of me." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Very light mulatto. Bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. Had +been alone all day except when Home Aid girls bathed and cleaned her +bed. She is paralyzed. She said she was hungry. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Nellie Dunne + 3900 W. Sixth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 78 + + +"Yes ma'am, I was slavery born but free raised. I was half as big as I +is now. (She is not much over four feet tall--ed.) Born in Silver Creek, +Mississippi. Yes ma'am. They give ever'body on the place their ages but +mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so I don't know what year +I was born. + +"Cy Magby--mama was under his control. He would carry us over to the +white folks' house every morning to see Miss Becky. When old master come +after us, he'd say, 'What you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'One-two-three.' +Then we'd go over to old Mis' and courtesy and say, 'Good morning, Miss +Becky; good morning, Mars Albert; good morning, Mars Wardly.' They was +just little old kids but we had to call 'em Mars. + +"What I know I'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no +tale. + +"I 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next +year, and that year we got free. My mother shouted, 'Now I ain't lyin' +'bout dat.' I sure 'member when they sot the people free. They was just +ready to blow the folks out to the field. I 'member old Mose would blow +the bugle and he could _blow_ that bugle. If you wasn't in, you better +get in. Yes ma'am! The day freedom come, I know Mose was just ready to +blow the bugle when the Yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. +They knowed it was all over then. That ain't no joke. + +"I was a full grown woman then I come to Arkansas; I wasn't no baby. + +"I went to school one month in my life. That was in Mississippi. + +"My Joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. He went up +here to that Branch Normal. That boy had good learnin'. He could a +learnt me but he was too high tempered. If I missed a word he would be +so crabb'y. So one night I throwed the book across the room and said, +'You don't need try to learn me no more.'" + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: William L. Dunwoody + 2116 W. 24th Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: About 98 + + +[HW: Remembers Jeff Davis] + +"I was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in the year 1840. + +"My father was killed in the Civil War when they taken South Carolina. +His name was Charles Dunwoody. My mother's name was Mary Dunwoody. My +father was a free man and my mother was a slave. When he courted and +married her he took the name of Dunwoody. + + +Houses + +"Ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up +and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were +working? They'd cut down a tree. Then they'd line it--fasten a piece of +twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and +mark the log. Then they'd score it with axes. Then the hewers would come +along and hew the log. Sometimes they could hew it so straight you +couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. Where they didn't +take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a +little shack for the men to sleep in. + +"Just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a +log. + +"To make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you +put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. When you get +them in, lay the planks to walk on. Then they put on the first log. You +notch it. To make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half +first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough +for shingles. Then you would saw the shingles off. They had plenty of +time. + + +Food + +"The slaves ate just what the master ate. They ate the same on my +master's place. All people didn't farm alike. Some just raised cotton +and corn. Some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. My +old master raised corn, potatoes--Irish and sweet--, goober peas +(peanuts), rye, and wheat, and I can't remember what else. That's in the +eating line. He had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, +ducks. That is all I can remember in the eating line. My old master's +slaves et anything he raised. + +"He would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. One of +them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. You know flour +seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. You get all that from the +wheat. Buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. The wagons came +back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. The old man had six +wheat barns to keep the wheat in. + +"All the slaves ate together. They had a cook special for them. This +cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. Two or three +women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel +now. All the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave +them. It was one thing one time and another another. The cook gave the +hands anything that was raised on the place. There was one woman in +there cooking that was called 'Mammy' and she seed to all the chilen. + + +Feeding the Children + +"After the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook +would blow a horn. That would be about nine o'clock or eight. All the +children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. Some of them +would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after +themselves. The cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for +breakfast. They ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks. + +"Between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and +the children would come in from play. There would be a large bowl and a +large spoon for each group of larger children. There would be enough +children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. One would +take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his +neighbor. His neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, +and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. Then they would begin +again, and so on until the bowl was empty. If they did not have enough +then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. Most of the time, bread +and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk. + +"There was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in +the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just +like they passed around the big spoon. + +"About two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. Time +the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. +The old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little +pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. They'd call it pepper pot. +Then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. +And it was good. + +"After the large children had et, they would go back to see after the +babies. If they were awake, the large children would put on their +clothes and clean them up. Then where there was a woman who had two or +three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd +give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. +If she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. If she +didn't then they would use anybody's children. + +"About eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not +been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. When a +woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to +work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work +in the evening. She would come in long before sundown. In between times, +the old mammy and the other children would look after them. + + +War Memories + +"I saw Jeff Davis once. He was one-eyed. He had a glass eye. My old +mistiss had three girls. They got into the buggy and went to see Jeff +Davis when he come through Auburn, Alabama. We were living in Auburn +then. I drove them. Jeff Davis came through first, and then the +Confederate army, and then the Yankees. They didn't come on the same day +but some days apart. + +"The way I happened to see the Yanks was like this. I went to carry some +clothes to my young master. He was a doctor, and was out where they were +drilling the men. I laid down on the carpet in his tent and I heard +music playing 'In Dixie Land I'll take my stand and live and die in +Dixie.' I got up and come out and looked up ever which way but I +couldn't see nothing. I went back again and laid down again in the tent, +and I heard it again. I run out and looked all up and around again, and +I still couldn't see nothin'. That time I looked and saw my young master +talking to another officer--I can't remember his name. My young master +said, 'What you looking for?' + +"I said, 'I'm looking for them angels I hear playing. Don't you hear em +playing Dixie?' The other officer said, 'Celas, you ought to whip that +nigger.' I went back into the tent. My young master said, 'Whip him for +what?' And he said, 'For telling that lie.' My young master said to him +like this, 'He don't tell lies. He heard something somewhere.' + +"Then they got through talking and he come on in and I seed him and +beckoned to him. He came to me and I said, 'Lie down there.' He laid +down and I laid down with him, and he heard it. Then he said, 'Look out +there and tell him to come in.' + +"I called the other officer and he come in. The doctor (that was my +young master) said, 'Lie down there.' When he laid down by my young +master, he heard it too. Then the doctor said to him, 'You said William +was telling a damn lie.' He said, 'I beg your pardon, doctor.' + +"My young master got up and said, 'Where is my spy glasses? Le'me have a +look.' He went out and there was a mountain called the Blue Ridge +Mountain. He looked but he didn't see nothin'. I went out and looked +too. I said, 'Look down the line beside those two big trees,' and I +handed the glasses back to him. He looked and then he hollered, 'My God, +look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. He looked +too. Then the doctor said, 'What are we going to do?' He said, 'I am +goin' to put pickets way out.' He told me to get to my mule. I got. He +put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the +Yanks were coming. You know what 'ma' he was talking about? That was his +wife's mother. We all called her 'mother.' + +"I carried the note. When I got to Mrs. Dobbins' house, I yelled, 'The +Yanks are coming--Yankees, Yankees, Yankees!' She had two boys. They +runned out and said, 'What did you say?' + +"I said, 'Yankees, Yankees!' + +"They said, 'Hell, what could he see?' + +"I come on then and got against Miss Yancy's. She had a son, a man named +Henry Yancy. He had a sore leg. He asked me what I said. I told him that +the Yanks were coming. He called for Henry, a boy that stayed with him, +and had him saddle his horse. Then he got on it and rode up town. When +he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. Did he see +them. He said he didn't see them, that Celas Neal saw them and the +doctor's mother's boy brought the message. Then he taken off. + +"Jeff Davis went on. The Confederates went on. They all went on. Then +the Yanks passed through. + +"The first fight they had there, they cleaned up the Sixty-Ninth Alabama +troops. My young master had been helping drill them. He went on and +overtook the others. + + +Right After the War + +"I am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. I don't know +whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. I can just go +by my mother. After freedom, we came from Auburn, Alabama to Opelika, +Alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough +for what she wanted to do. When she got fixed, she moved then to +Columbus, Georgia. She rented a place from Ned Burns, a policeman. When +that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. Sterling Love +rented a house from the same man. He had four children and they were +going to school and they took me too. + + +Schooling + +"I fixed up and went to school with them. I didn't get no learning at +all in slavery times. + + +How Freedom Came + +"I don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but I know +this--when they quit fighting, I know the white children called we +little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and +said, 'You all is jus' as free as we is. You ain't got no master and no +mistiss,' and I don't know what they told them at the plantation. + + +Occupation + +"Right after the War, my mother worked--washed--for an old white man. He +took an interest in me and taught me. I did little things for him. When +he died, I took up the teaching which he had been doing. + +"At first I taught in Columbus, Georgia. By and by, a white man came +along looking for laborers for this part of the country. He said money +grew on bushes out here. He cleaned out the place. All the children and +all the grown folks followed him. Two of my boys came to me and told me +they were coming. We hoboed on freights and walked to Chattanooga, +Tennessee. We stayed there awhile. Then a white man came along getting +laborers. I never kept the year nor nothin'. He brought us to Lonoke +County, and I got work on The Bood Bar Plantation. Squirrels, wild +things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. So you see, the man told the +truth when he said money grew on bushes. + +"I taught and farmed all my life. Farming is the greatest occupation. It +supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. None of them +can live without it. + +"I can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile +and made me a cripple. I'd a been all right if so many of them young +doctors hadn't experimented on me. Then I can't see good out of one eye. +I can't do much now. I don't know why they won't give me a pension." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +William Dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would +be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. But there was one respect +in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed. + +At the close of the first day's interview when I arose to go he said to +me, "Now you got what you want?" I told him yes and that I would be back +for more the next day. Then he said, "Well, if you got what you want, +there's one thing I want you to do for me before you go." + +"Certainly, Brother Dunwoody," I said, "I'll be glad to do anything you +want me to do. Just what can I do for you?" + +"Well," he said, "I want you to read me what you been writin' there." + +And I read it. + +A little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he +dictated to me. I furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel +for the old man's tobacco. + +The old man got a kick out of the dictation. After the first day, he +became very cautious. He would say, "Now don't write this," and he +wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. Instead, he would make +a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. He +is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in +appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit--mentally. + +He walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. He has +good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lucius Edwards +Age: 72 + + +Interviewer's Comment + +I went to see Lucius Edwards, age seventy-two, twice. He has colitis. He +wouldn't tell me anything. He said he was born in Shreveport, Louisiana +and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised +him. The first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' +owners. The next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were +sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. He told the nurse he had +farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. He was up but wouldn't +tell us anything. He told me, "I don't think I ever voted." We decided +he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: John Elliott +Age: 80 +Home: South Border (property of brother's estate) + + +As told by: John Elliott + +"No, ma'am. I ain't got no folks. They've all died out. My son, he may +be alive. When I last heard from him, he was in Pine Bluff. But I wrote +down lots of times and nobody can't find him. Brother said, that was +before he died, that I could stay on in the place as long as I lived. +His wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way. + +The comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. I'm expectin' to hear +if I get the pension, Tuesday. No ma'am, I ain't worked in three years. +Yes, ma'am, I was a slave. I was about 8 years old when they mustered +'em out the last time. + +My daddy went along to take care of his young master. He died, and my +daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home. + +You see it was this way. My mother was a run-away slave. She was from, +what's that big state off there--Virginia--yes, ma'am, that's it. There +was a pretty good flock of them. They came into North Carolina--Wayne +County was where John Elliott found them. They was in a pretty bad way. +They didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. +They didn't have nobody to own 'em. They didn't know what to do. My +mother was about 13. + +By some means or other they met up with a man named John Elliott. He was +a teacher. He struck a bargain with them. He pitched in and he bought +200 acres of land. He built a big house for Miss Polly and Bunk and +Margaret. Miss Polly was his sister. And he built cabins for the black +folks. + +And he says 'You stay here, and you take care of Miss Polly and the +children. Now mind, you raise lots to eat. You take care of the place +too. And if anybody bothers you you tell Miss Polly.' My Uncle Mose, he +was the oldest. He was a blacksmith. Jacob was the carpenter. 'Now look +here, Mose,' says Mister John, 'you raise plenty of hogs. Mind you give +all the folks plenty of meat. Then you take the rest to Miss Polly and +let her lock it in the smokehouse.' Miss Polly carried the key, but Mose +was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse. + +They didn't get money to any extreme. But whatever they wanted, Miss +Polly would go along with them and they would buy it. They went to +Goldsboro. That was the biggest town near us. The patrollers never +bothered any of us. Once or twice they tried it. But Miss Polly wrote to +Mr. John. He'd write it all down like it ought to be. Then they didn't +bother us any more. + +There was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. +They never had to go to the hiring ground. Mr. John built a church for +my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. And he +built a school for the children. Some other colored children tried to +come to the school too. They was welcome. But sometimes the white folks +would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried +to come. + +Our folks stayed on and on. Mr. John was off teaching school most of the +time. We stayed on and on. Pretty soon there was about 150-200, of us. +Some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. +Mr. John even put in a mill. A groundhog saw mill, it was. Some white +men put it in. But it was the colored folks who run it. They all stayed +right on on the farm. There wasn't any white folks about at all, except +Miss Polly and Bunk and Margaret. + +No, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. We all stayed +on. We worked the place. And when we got a chance, Mr. John let us hire +out and keep the money. And if the folks wouldn't pay us, Mr. John would +write the Federal and the Federal would see that we got our money for +what we had worked. Mr. John was a mighty good man to us. + +No ma'am. Nobody got discontented for a long time. Then some men come in +and messed them up. Told us that we could make more money other places. +And it was true too--if they had let us get the money. By that time Mr. +John, had died. Bunk had died too, Miss Margaret had grown up and +married. Her husband was managing the farm. He was good, but he wasn't +like Mr. John. So lots of us moved away. + +But about not making money. Take me. I raised 14-16 bales of cotton. The +man who owned the land, I worked on halvers, sold it on the Liverpool +market. But he wouldn't pay me but about 1/3 of what he collected on my +half. And I says to him, 'You gets full price for your half, why can't I +get full price for mine?' And he says, 'It's against the rules.' And I +says, 'It ain't fair! And he says, 'It's the rules.' So after about six +years I quit farming. You can't make no money that way. Yes--you make +it, but you can't get it. + +I went to town at Pine Bluff. There I got to mixing concrete. I made +pretty good at it, too. I stayed on for some years. Then I came to Hot +Springs. My brother was along with me. We both worked and after work we +built a house. It took us four years. But it was a good house. It has +six rooms in it. It makes a good home. My brother had the deed. But his +widow says I can stay on. The folks what lives in the rest of the house +are good to me. + +When I got to Hot Springs I worked mixing concrete. There was lots of +sidewalks being made along about that time. Then I scatter dirt all +around where the court house is now. Then I worked at both of the very +biggest hotels. I washed. I washed cream pitchers--the little ones with +corners that were hard to clean. + +No, I ain't worked in three years. It hard to try to get along. Some +states, they pays good pensions. I can't be here long--don't look like I +can be here long. Seems as if they could take care of me for the few +days I'm going to be on this earth. Seems like they could. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham +Person interviewed: Millie Evans +Age: + + +[Illustration: Millie Evans] + +Yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? Well, Miss, I is +one of 'em. Was born in 1849 but I don' know jus' when. My birthday +comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till +bout a hour 'fore I was born. Was born in North Carolina and was a young +lady at the time of surrender. + +I don' 'member ol' master's name; all I 'member is that we call 'em ol' +master an ol' mistress. They had bout a hundred niggers and they was +rich. Master always tended the men and mistress tended to us. + +Ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git +up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. I can +hear hit now. Hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and I can see 'em +now stirrin in Carolina. I git so lonesome when I thinks bout times we +used to have. Twas better livin back yonder than now. + +I stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. My ma had to +work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was +hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. Sometime +she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +They had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. They would +fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' +trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. I +can jus' see myself drinkin' now. Hit was so good. There was so many +black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. Greens was +cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. An' +sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an +we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. When we et our regular meals the +table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on +when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. But we didn' +eat out'n plates. We et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. An' we +had plenty t'eat. Whooo-eee! Jus' plenty t'eat. Ol' master's folks +raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, +eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat. + +Ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy +chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. I can +hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies: + + "Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Way beneath the silver shining moon + Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Daddy's little Carolina coons + Now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." + +When I got big 'nough I nursed my mistress's baby. When de baby go to +sleep in de evenin' I woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de +cradle an go to sleep. I played a heap when I was little. We played +Susannah Gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an +jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. When I got big 'nough to cook, I +cooked den. + +The kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we +cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. We had swing pots an would swing +'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. We +call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it. + +We had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was Christian +fo'ks an they taught us to be Christianlike too. Ev'y Sunday mornin' ol' +master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an +pray an read de Bible to us all. Ol' master taught us not to be bad; he +taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales +an not to do anythin' that was bad. He said: Yo' will reap what yo' sow, +that you sow it single an' reap double. I learnt that when I was a +little chile an I ain't fo'got it yet. When I got grown I went de +Baptist way. God called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in +de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. On preachin' day ol' +master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him. + +We had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they +does in the bricks t'day. + +Down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. +We didn' have no floors in them cabins. Nice dirt floors was de style +then an we used sage brooms. Took a string an tied the sage together an +had a nice broom out'n that. We would gather broom sage fo' our winter +brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. We kep' our dirt +floors swep' as clean an' white. An our bed was big an tall an had +little beds to push under there. They was all little er nough to go +under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one +an make heaps of room. Our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks +an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good. + +When the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get +a turn of lider knots. I specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. That was +what we use' fo' light. When our fire went out we had no fire. Didn' +know nothin' bout no matches. To start a fire we would take a skillet +lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. Lay de cotton on th' skillet +lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would +come. Sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would +come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine. + +Up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for +lights. We made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. We had +moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to +light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould. + +We use to play at night by moonlight and I can recollec' singin wid the +fiddle. Oh, Lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an I can hear it ringin +now. Sometime we would dance in the moonlight too. + +Ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an +wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. An we knit all the +stockin's we wo'. They made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark +an leaves an things. Dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up +an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit +out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then +take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. Then +rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make. + +I'll tell yo' how to dye. A little beech bark dyes slate color set with +copperas. Hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; +bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. Pine straw dyes purple, +set color with chamber lye. To dye cloth brown we would take de cloth an +put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then +set the color with apple vinegar. An we dyed blue wid indigo an set the +color wid alum. + +We wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our +dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem +petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. They didn' +know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in +dey shirttails. An we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes. + +Master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an +took the hide an tanned it. The way they tanned it was to take red oak +bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. Firs' +he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of +leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with +water. After that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. Then +he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. Then the hide +was put to soak in with the red oak bark. It stayed in the water till +the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it +was a purty tan. It didn' have to soak long. Then he would get his +pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. We called 'em +brogans. + +They planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. When it got ripe they +gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week +then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of +'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother +week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. We let it set three +or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and the +settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. We cut ours in +little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too. + +We made vinegar out of apples. Took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an +put 'em in a sack an let drip. Didn' add no water an when it got through +drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had +some of the bes vinegar ever made. + +We had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. We had a block an +battlin' stick. We put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an +lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out +of 'em. We mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the +bes clo'es lines they was. + +Ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let +it dry an then put it in lasses. After the lasses dripped off then they +roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun 10 or 12 days. It +sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so +yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit. + +The way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet +bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then +we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too. + +When there was distressful news master would ring the bell. When the +niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder +what the trouble was. You'd see 'em stirrin' too. They would always ring +the bell at twelve 'clock. Sometime then they would think it was some +thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they +shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner. + +The reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' +have nothin' to do but save it. They made money an raised ev'ything they +used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. Didn' have no banks in them +days an master buried his money. + +The floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. We always kep' them +scoured good. We didn' know what it was to use soap. We jus' took oak +ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured +with a corn shuck mop. Then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two +times an let it dry. When it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. +To make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it +stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. The +way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. We would get down on +our knees an dry it so dry. + +I 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. +That was after I was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some +cookin. Some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so +we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to +cool an some of 'em stole it. This way old master found out who was doin +the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell. + +All ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a +neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. He would say to the man: +"Do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "Do yo' want this boy?" Then +he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would +hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump +dis broom and he would say: "Dat's yo' wife." Dey called marryin' like +that jumpin the broom. + +Now chile I can't 'member everything I done in them days but we didn' +have ter worry bout nothin. Ol' mistress was the one to worry. Twasn't +then like it is now, no twasn't. We had such a good time an ev'ybody +cried when the Yankees cried out: "Free." Tother niggers say dey had a +hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. If you had a +hard time we don it ourselves. + +Ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' +to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to Arkansas they would +have a chance to keep 'em. So they got on their way. We loaded up our +wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of +horse feed. We traveled bout 15 or 20 miles a day an would stop an camp +at night. We would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. The cows +was drove t'gether. Some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a +time. I mean, dey _had_ a time. While we was on our way ol' master died +an three of the slaves died too. We buried the slaves there but we +camped while ol' master was carried back to North Carolina. When ol' +mistress come back we started on to Arkansas an reached here safe but +when we got here we foun' freedom here too. Ol' mistress begged us to +stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to +Carolina. There wasn' nobody lef' but Miss Nancy an she soon married an +lef' an I los' track of her an Mr. Tom. + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subjects: Customs related to Slavery Time [HW: Ex Slave Story] +Subject: Food--Particular foods typical and characteristic of certain +localities and certain people (negroes) +[Nov 6 1936] +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] + +This information given by: Millie Evans (Negroes pronounce it Irvins) +Place of Residence: By Missouri Pacific Track near MOP Shops +Occupation: None +Age: 87 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of interview.] + + +I wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. I am a slave chile. I am +one of them. I had a gran' time in slavery time. I wuz born wid de white +foks. I stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. I +nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. I churned and sot de table. When de baby +go to sleep in de evenin' I put hit in de cradle. An' I'd lay down by +the cradle and go to sleep. Every evenin' I'd go git _lida knots_. I +played a lots. I wuz born 1849. We played Susanna Gals, and we just +played jump rope. Jes' we gals did. We played calling' cows. Dey'd come +to us and we run from um. My [TR: 'I' corrected to 'My'] mistess wuz a +millionaire. I went to school a while. I can count only lit bit. One uz +de girl made fun uz me. She kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de +school house. Old log school house. Dey had two big rooms. Ah went to de +ole fokes' church. Young un too. We'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter +church wid ma and pa. + +Our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile I can see +hit now. We et on a loal (oil) table cloth. When dey called us to de +table dey would ring a bell. We didn' eat out uz plates. We et outn +gourds. We all et outn gourds. When I got big nuff ter cook I cooked +den. We had plenty to eat. We raised who-eee plenty meat. We raised our +sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. Who-eee chile we had plenty to +eat. Our mistess had ovah a hunert (100) niggers. Ole moster nevah did +whip none uv us niggers. He tended de men and mistess always tended to +us. I wudden (wasn't) quite grown when I wuz married. We cooked out in +de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). We cooked +greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook +greens. We cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). An +evah thing we had wuz good too. We made our churns in dem days. Made dem +outn cypress. + +Evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "Free." We cried too; we +hated hit so bad. We had such a good time. I is gittin so ole I can't +member so ever' thin' I done. Now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' I +done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. Ole mistress +wuz de one ter worry. Twasn't den like hit is now. No Twasn't. Tother +niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem Yankee cried "Free" but it waz +den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves. + + +[HW: Negro food] + +_PERSIMMON PIE_ Make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take +your persimmons and wash them. Let them be good and ripe. Get the seed +out of them. Don't cook them. Mash them and put cinnamon and spice in +and butter. Sugar to taste. Then roll your dough and put in custard pan, +and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little +sugar on top and bake. + +_PERSIMMON CORNBREAD_ Sift meal and add your ingredients then your +persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them +and put in and stir well together. Grease pan well and pour in and bake. +Eat with fresh meat. + +_PERSIMMON BEER_ Gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover +well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about +three days. That makes a nice drink. + +Boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for +the same purpose. + +_ASH CAKE_ Two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot +water to make it stick together. Roll out in pones and wrap in a corn +shuck or collard leaves or paper. Lay on hot ashes and cover with hot +ashes and let cook about ten minutes. + +_CORNBREAD JOHNNY CAKE_ Two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a +teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. +Add teaspoon of lard. Pour in greased pan and bake. + +[HW: _Water_ or _Milk_ added?] + +(Old Mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four o'clock +in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. Dey had +a long trough. Dey kep' hit so clean fur us. Ev'ry evening about four +dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut 100 of us chilluns. +We'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold our johnny +cake in our han's. I can jes see mahself drinkin now. It wus so good.) + +_BEEF DUMPLINS_ Take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and +season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken +dumplins. + +Pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with +meat to season. Season to suit taste. This makes the best vegetable +dish. + +_POTATO BISCUIT_ Two cups flour. Two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch +of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well +mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough. + +_IRISH POTATO PIE_ Boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well +and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to +suit taste, bake in pie crust. Irish potatoes make a better pie than +sweet potatoes. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: Mose Evans +Home: 451 Walnut +Aged: 76 + + +Radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. +Ben[TR:?] Winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in +which moaning trombones predominated. + +At one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "They's +all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. But in this block of +comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of Walnut evidently +there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. A mild prosperity seemed to +pervade everything. The Walnut section is in the "old part of town". +Some of the houses had evidently been built during the 90s; but they +were well kept up and painted. + +There was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for +water. One or two had been simply boarded over. One, a front yard affair +had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. The well had been +filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of +cement. Into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. Even in +January the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming. + +"_PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD_" admonished the electrified box sign +attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. Its border was of black +wood. The sign itself was of white frosted glass. Letters of the slogan +were in scarlet. + +Next doer was another religious reminder. It was a modest pasteboard +window card and announced Bible Study at 2: P.M. daily. + +Three blocks up Walnut the pavement ends. Beyond that sidewalks too, +listlessly peter out. A young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is +beginning to separate path from street. Houses begin to take on a more +dilapidated appearance. They lean uncertainly. + +A colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly +in the stranger's path and demands, "Is you the investigator? No? Well +who is you looking for? Oh, Mose, he's at his son's. Good thing I +stopped you. Cause you would have gone too far. He's at his son's. His +grandson just done had his tonsils out. He's over there." + +The interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's +house". No Mose wasn't there. He had just left. Maybe he'd gone home. +The de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored +youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. He wore +whip-cord jodphurs--protruding widely on either side of his plump +thighs--and knee high leather riding boots. Plump and smiling, he looked +for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and +blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun. + +The child eyed the interviewer's pencil. Since, she was carrying a +"spare" she offered it to him. He smiled and accepted with alacrity. +Later when the interviewer had found Mose and brought him back to the +house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil +and showed it with heartfelt pride. + +On up the street went the interviewer. Arrived at 451 she approached the +house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. +Nobody answered her knock. Two blocks back toward town she was stopped +by the same woman who had accosted her before. "Did you find him?" "No," +replied the interviewer. "Well he's somewhere on the street. He's +a'carrying a cane. You just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him +if he ain't Mose Evans." The advice was sound/ The first elderly man +coming north was carrying a cane. He was Mose Evans. + +"So you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "Mose, you +ought of asked her--when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't +looking for you." "Maybe," said Mose, "but then I didn't know, and I +don't want to butt into other folks business" "Huh," snorted the woman, +"spose I hadn't butted in. Where'd you be. You wouldn't have found her +and she wouldn't have found you!" Both Mose and the interviewer wore +forced to admit that she was right--but from Mose's disapproving +expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it. + +"No, ma'am. I ain't been here long. Just about two weeks. You want to +talk to me. Let's go on up to my son's house. We'll stop there. I's +tired. Seems like I get tired awful quick. Had to go down to the store +to get some coal." (He was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon +capacity. "Coal" was probably charcoal--much favored among wash women +for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) My wife has +to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood. + +Did I say I'd been here two weeks? I meant I has been here two years. +I's lived all over. Came here from Woodruff county. Yes, ma'am. I can't +work no more. My wife she gets 2-3 days washing a week. Then she gets +some bundles to bring home and do. She got sick, same as me and her +brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. They provided +for me too. They took good care of us. Then one of 'em got sick himself, +and the other he lost out in a money way. So she's a washing. + +Can't remember very much about the war. I was just a little thing when +it was a'going on. Was hardly any size at all. I does remember standing +in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. Men +dressed in blue they was. Wasn't afraid of them--didn't have sense +enough to be, I guess. Looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue +that way. And they was riding fine horses. Made a big noise they did. +They was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. I won't never forgot +it. + +Guess Confederates passed too. I was too small to know about them. They +was all soldiers to me. Folks told me they was on their way to +Vicksburg. I heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around +Vicksburg. + +I was born on a place which belonged to a man named Thad Shackleford. +Don't remember him very well. They took me away from his place when I +was little. But I never did hear my mother say anything against him. +Awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. I had lots of half sisters--5 +of 'em and 6 half brothers. There was just one full sister. + +Farm? Not until I was 14. Just stayed around the house and nursed the +children. Nursed lots of children. Took care of them and amused them. +Played with them. But for four, five, maybe six years I helped my mother +farm. Went out into the fields and worked. + +Then I went to myself. Yes, ma'am, I share cropped. Share cropped up +until about 1908. By that time I had got together a pretty good lot and +bought stock and tools. Then I rented--rented thirds and fourths. I +liked that way lots best. It's best if a body can get himself stocked +up. + +But let me tell you, ma'am. It's a lot easier to get behind than it is +to catch up. Falling behind is easy. Catching up ain't so simple. I sort +of lost my health and then I had to sell my stock. After that it was +share-crop again. I share cropped right up until 1935. That's when we +come here. + +Yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. Longest what I worked for any man was +12 years. He was J.W. Hill, the best man I ever did see. Once I rented +from a colored man, but he died. Was with him 6 years before another man +came into possession. Rented from Cockerill 4 years and Doss 2 years, +and Doyle 3 years. But now I's like an old shoe. I's worn out. Been a +good, faithful servant, but I's wore out." + + + + +Interviewer: S.S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Rachel Fairley + 1600 Brown St. + Little Rock, Ark. +Age: 75 +Occupation: General Housework +[Jan 23 1938] + + +[HW: Mother Stole to Get Food] + +"My mother said she had a hard time getting through. Had to steal half +the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. It was +a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. She would set it +aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to +pray. + +"My father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and +sold at Charlottesville, North Carolina. My mother was sold on the same +day. They sold her to a man named Paul Barringer, and refugeed her to a +place near Sardis, Mississippi, to the cotton country. Before he was +sold, my father belonged to the Greers in Charlottesville. I don't know +who owned my mother. I never did hear her say how old she was when she +was sold. They was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. One +would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest +bid would get the slave. + +"Mother did not go clear to Sardis but to a plantation ten miles from +Sardis. This was before freedom. We stayed there till two years after +freedom. + +"I remember when my mother moved. I had never seen a wagon before. I was +so uplifted, I had to walk a while and ride a while. We'd never seen a +wagon nor a train neither. McKeever was the place where she moved from +when she moved to Sardis. + +"The first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. +The next year she moved. That was the year she moved to Sardis itself. +There she made sharecrops. That was the third year after freedom. That +is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. I don't know what +their share was. But I guess it was half to them and half to him. + +"I do general housework. I been doing that for eleven years. I never +have any trouble. Whenever I want to I get off. + +"The slaves used to live in one room log huts. They cooked out in the +yard. I have seen them huts many a time. They had to cook out in the +yard in the summertime. If they didn't, they'd burn up. + +"My mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. He +didn't know he'd been seen. She didn't know where he went, but she seen +the direction he took. Her master was Paul Barringer. That was on +McKeever Creek near Sardis. It was near the end of the war. I never +heard my mother say what became of the money, but I guess he got it back +after everything was over. + +"They had to work all the time. When they went to church on Sunday, they +would tell them not to steal their master's things. How could they help +but steal when they didn't have nothin'? You didn't eat if you didn't +steal. + +"My mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves +Barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where +they come from. Lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at +their homes. They would go back if they were sold away. It took a long +time because they walked. When my mother and father were sold they had +to walk. It took them six weeks,--from Charlottesville, North Carolina +to Sardis, Mississippi. + +"In Sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the +field. Master was mean and hard. Whipped them lots. Mother had to pick +cotton all day every day and Sunday. When I first seen my father to +remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for +special days. We called it a ham-beater. It had pieces that would make +it set on you like a basque. He wore a high beaver hat too. That was his +uniform. Whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it. + +"My mother tickled me. She said she went out one day and kill a +billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like +the rest of them. My mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because +they dried them and give them to them in slave time. You had to eat what +you could git then. + +"My mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married. + +"My father and mother were not exactly sold to Mississippi. My father +was but my mother wasn't. When Paul Barringer lost all of his niggers, +what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of +them. I don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. My father +went alone, but all my mother's people were taken--four sisters, and +three brothers. They were all grown when I first seen them. I never seen +my mother's father at all. + +"There was a world of yellow people then. My mother said her sister had +two yellow children; they were her master's. I know of plenty of light +people who were living at that time. + +"My mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. They were +taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their +sister and brother (white). All the orphans were taken and given back to +the people what owned them when freedom came. My mother's sister was +refugeed back to Charlottesville, North Carolina before the end of the +war so that she wouldn't get free. After the war they were set free out +there and never came back. The children were with my mother and they had +to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. Then they +would be free. They wouldn't give them any schooling at all. They were +as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored +woman. That made the difference. + +"My mother said that the Ku Klux used to come through ridin' horses. I +don't remember her saying what they wore. + +"When the Yanks came through, they took everything. Made the niggers all +leave. My mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing +everything, even the babies. + +"I was born in Sardis, Mississippi, Panolun (?) County, April 10, 1863." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Pauline Fakes, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"My mama come from Virginia. Her owner was Moses Crawford. He had a +bachelor son Prior Crawford. My papa's owner was Step Crawford. They was +in Arkansas during the Civil War I know because I was born close to +Cotton Plant. Papa's folks had lived in Tennessee but grandma and +grandpa was raised in Indian Nation; they called it Alabama afterwards. +She was a full blooded Creek and he was part Cherokee. + +"Mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. They took them to Texas. +She never seen one of them again. Mama had scrofula and her owners let a +woman take her North. She cured her. She wanted to keep her but they +didn't let her. They kept her till freedom. + +"The owners told them they was free. Stayed on a while. We never have +got very fur off from where I was born. I had thirteen children of my +own. Three living now. + +"I know times was mighty hard when I was a child. Biscuits was big +rarity as cake is now. I don't have much cake. Little cornbread and +meat, molasses and proud to get that. We didn't have much clothes but we +had plenty wood. We had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all +night. They saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. In the +coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and +pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle +of the room. It be snow and ice all over the ground. I got wood many a +day. Yes, I plowed many a day. I done all kinds of field work, cook and +wash and iron. Mid-wife is my talent. I been big and strong and work was +the least of my worries. + +"I can barely recollect seeing soldiers. They must have just got home +from the war. The shiny buttons is about all I can recollect. + +"I recollect the Ku Klux. They rode at night, some dressed in dark and +some white clothes. They come through our house one time. I got under +the cover. I was scared nearly to death. + +"Near Cotton Plant there was a log cabin (Methodist?) church--Negro +church two and one-half miles northeast direction. They had a Negro +preacher. When they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the +road. White people lived close to the road. The Ku Klux planned to break +it up. They went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up +and scattered their seats. One was killed. He may have acted 'smarty' or +saucy or he may have been the leader." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mattie Fannen, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 87 + + +"My mother was named Silla Davis. She had four children. Her owners was +Jep Davis and Tempy Davis. She died and he married her niece, Sally +Davis. He had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his +second wife. Wasn't that a plenty children doe? Mama was a field hand. +She ploughed in slavery right along. My father was named Bob Lee (Lea?). +I never knowed much about him. His folks moved and took him off. Mother +was sold but not on a stand. She belong to Bill Davis. He was Jep's +brother. They said Bill Davis drunk up mother and all her children. He +sold Aunt Serina to a man in Elberton, Georgia and all he had left then +was grandma. He couldn't sell her. She was too old and Aunt Kizziah and +Aunt Martha lived with her. Mother was born in Georgia. When a child was +sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. It +was bad as deaths in the families. Jep Davis had forty or fifty niggers. +He had six boys. They all had to go to war. They was in the Confederate +army. Billy Davis was his daddy's young overseer. He had been raised up +with some of the nigger boys then come over them. They wouldn't mind his +orders. He tried to whoop them. They'd fight him back, choke him, throw +him on the ground. Then the old man would whoop them. We all wanted 'em +all to come home but Billy. Billy Davis got killed at war and never come +home. His sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him +on the place would kill him and wanted Jep to make him stay at the +house. Jep Davis was a good master and he was bad enough. + +"I seen mama whooped. They tied some of them to trees and some they just +whooped across their backs. It was 'cordin' to what they had done. Some +of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. The other +niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving. + +"Jep Davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his +young niggers to his first set of children. His young wife cried till he +destroyed it. She said, 'You kept the old ones here and me and my +children won't have nothing.' I was willed to Miss Lizzie. They was +fixing the wagon for me to go in. I wanted to go to Jefferson on the +train. I told them so. I wanted to ride on the train. I never did get +off. His young wife started crying. Miss Lizzie lived with her brother. +They didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. They +kept a fuss up with her and all left. Then he divided the land. + +"I nursed for his second wife, Miss Sally. I was five years or little +older when I started nursing for his first wife. I nursed for a long +time. I don't like children yet on that account. I got so many whoopings +on their blame. I'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and +rocking 'em. I got tired of 'em all the time. + +"Me and Zack (white) was raised up together. He was one of the old set +of children. The baby in that set. I'd set on the log across a branch +and wait till Zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy +and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. One morning the sun was +so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. He never +brought me no biscuit. He had just got up. I was five years old. I said +I was glad. Emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off +the log and made my nose bleed. I cried and run home. My mother picked +me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. I told her +I was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. +They took me to the grave. She wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at +the side of the house off a piece. She was buried there first. There was +a big crowd. I kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me +back by my dress tail. She was buried in a metal coffin. Susan was the +oldest girl. She fainted. They took her to a carriage standing close. +The whole family was buried there. Took back from places they lived to +be buried in that graveyard. That was close to Nuna, Georgia. + +"When the old man Jep Davis married again, Miss Sally must have me sleep +in her room on a pallet so I could tend to the baby. The older girls +would pick me and I would tell them what they talked about after they +went to bed. + +"When the War come on, the boys and Jep Davis dug a hole in the +henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. They was there when the +War ended. They had some jewelry. I don't know where they kept it. They +sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the +Yankees. Not a one of us ever run off. Not a one ever went to the War or +the Yankees. Jep Davis had been to get his mail on his horse. A Yankee +come up at the gate walking and took it. He asked for the bridle and +saddle but the Yankee laughed in his face. We never seen our horse no +more. 'Babe' we called her. She was a pretty horse and so gentle we +could ride her bare back. + +"Jep Davis was religious. They had preaching at his church, the Baptist +church at Nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher +preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. He'd go to +prayer meeting on Wednesday night and Thursday night he would come to +the boys' house and read the Bible to his own niggers. We would sing and +pray. He never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better +ketch 'em dancing. He'd whoop every one of 'em. + +"I learned same of the ABC's in playing ball with the white children. We +never had a book. I never went to school in my life. The boys not +married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. They got +cooked fer up at Jep Davises house till they got a house built for them +and give them a wife. Maybe they would see a woman on another plantation +and claim her. Then the master had to talk that over. + + +Freedom + +"Jep Davis had been to town. He got a notice to free his niggers. He had +the farm bell rung. We all went out up to his house. He said, 'You are +free. Go. If you can't get along come back and do like you been.' They +left. Went hog wild. I was the last one to go. He said, 'Mattie, come +back if you find you can't make it.' I had a hard time for a fact. I had +a sister married in Atlanta. I went with them in 1866. I married to +better my living. We quit. I met a man come to Arkansas and sent back +for me when he got the money. I was in Atlanta thirty years. I was +married in Arkansas in 1895. Been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back +in Georgia. My husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. He left +me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (She has an +income of forty dollars per month--rent on houses.) "He was a hard +worker. + +"I'd go to see my white folks after freedom. I loved 'em all. + +"Jep Davis died out of the church. Him and Jack (Robertson, Robson, +Robinson?) was deacons together in the Baptist church and their farms +j'ined. Jack had two boys, John and Ed. Ed was killed by Hinton Right +over his sister Mollie. Then she married Hinton Right. The quarrel +started at La Grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church +yard at the Baptist church at Nuna, Georgia. Jack was mean. He had a lot +of Negroes and a big farm. He had two boys and four girls. Jennie died. +Florence and Lula, old maids; John and Ed and Mollie. + +"Jack caused Jep Davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after +freedom he didn't believe in slavery. He always thought they ought to be +free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living +easy. He was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. +When Jack was sick, Jep went to see him. He wouldn't let Jep come in to +see him and he died. + +"I worked in the field, washed and ironed. I never cooked but a little. +In Atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box I started +cooking for a woman. She was upstairs. Had a small baby a few days old. +I didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. It +cried and fretted till I got dinner done. I took it and got it to sleep. +She sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have +a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. She was a Yankee +woman. I left and I never cooked out no more. + +"I never had no dealings with the Ku Klux. I was in Atlanta then. I +heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in +the country where she was. Seem like they was mad 'cause they was free. + +"Times was hard after freedom. Times is hard now for some folks. Times +running away with the white and black races both. They stop thinking. +The thing what they call education done ruined this country. The folks +quit work and living on education. I learned to work. My husband was a +good shoemaker. We laid up all we could. I got seven houses renting +around here. I gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. It +do very well, I reckon." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person Interviewed: Robert Farmer + 1612 Battery Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 84 + + +[HW: Tale of a "Nigger Ruler"] + +"I was born in North Carolina. I can't tell when. Our names are in the +Bible, and it was burnt up. My old master died and my young master was +to go to the war, the Civil War, in the next draft. I remember that they +said, 'If them others had shot right, I wouldn't have had to go.' + +"He talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting +at the Yankees. Of course it wasn't that way. But he said that they +didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. They all +came back, and none of them had shot right. One sick (he died after he +got home); the other two come back all right. + +"When my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a +little while. When he left he said about me, 'Don't let anybody whip him +while I am gone. If they do, I'll bury them when I come back.' He was a +good man and a good master. + + +Brutal Beating + +"There were some that weren't so good. One of his brothers was a real +bad man. They called him a nigger ruler. He used to go from place to +place and handle niggers. He carried his cowhide with him when he went. +My master said, 'A man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and +butcher him up.' He said, 'If they need a whipping, whip them, but don't +beat them so they can't work.' He never whipped his slaves. No man ever +hit me a lick but my father. No man. I ain't got no scar on me nowhere. + +"My young master was named Wiley Grave Sharpe. He drawed me when my old +master, Teed Sharpe, Sr., died. He's been dead a long time. Teed Sharpe, +Jr., Gibb Sharpe, and Sam Sharpe were brothers to Wiley Grave Sharpe. +Teed Sharpe, Jr. was the brutal one. He was the nigger ruler that did +the beating up and the killing of Negroes. + +"He beat my brother Peter once till Peter dropped dead. Wiley Graves who +drawed me said, 'My brother shouldn't have done that.' But my brother +didn't belong to Wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. That was +Teed, Jr.'s name. He got big money and was called a nigger ruler. Teed +had said he was going to make Peter do as much work as my sister did. +She was a young girl--but grown and stout and strong. In the olden time, +you could see women stout and strong like that. They don't grow that way +now. Peter couldn't keep up with her. He wasn't old enough nor strong +enough then. He would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my +sister had. Every time that Peter would fall behind my sister, Teed +would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and +stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and +down his back. He would split it open with every stroke and the blood +would run down. The last time he turned Peter loose, Peter went to my +sister and asked her for a rag. She thought he just wanted to wipe the +blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell +down dead across the potato ridges. + + +Family + +"Mary Farmer was my mother. William Farmer was my father. I never knowed +any of my father's 'lations except one sister. She would come to see us +sometimes. + +"My father's master was Isaac Farmer. My mother didn't 'long to him. She +'longed to the Sharpes. Just what her master's name was I don't +recollect. She lived five miles from my father. He went to see her every +Thursday night. That was his regular night to go. He would go Saturday +night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they +would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. But they +never did whip my father because they never could catch him. He was one +of those who ran. + +"My father and mother had ten children. I don't know whether any of them +is living now or not besides myself. + + +How Freedom Came + +"Freedom was a singsong every which way when I knowed anything. My +father's master, Isaac Farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. +He told the slaves all of them were free. He told his brother's slaves, +'After you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here +because I am able to take care of them.' He had a smokehouse full of +meat and other things. He told my father that after this crop is +gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (Isaac Farmer), because +Sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. +So my father brought us to Isaac Farmer's farm. + +"I never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. I +was large enough to take water in the field but I didn't have to do +that. There were so many of them there that one could do what he +pleased. The next year I worked because they had thinned out. The first +year come during the surrender. They cared for Sharpe's crop. The next +year they took Isaac Farmer's invitation and stayed with him. The third +year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and +brothers and sisters stayed with Isaac Farmer for awhile. + +"As time went on, I farmed with success myself. + +"I stayed in North Carolina a long time. I had a wife and children in +North Carolina. Later on, I went to Louisiana and stayed there one year +and made one crop. Then I came here with my wife and children. I don't +know how long I been here. We came up here when the high water was. That +was the biggest high water they had. I worked on the levee and farmed. +The first year we came here, we farmed. I lived out in the country then. + + +Occupation + +"While I was able to work, I stayed on the farm. I had forty acres. But +after my children left me and my wife died, I thought it would be better +to sell out and pay my debts. Pay your honest debts and everything will +be lovely. Now I manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and +I get help from the government. I can't read and I can't write. + +"I went down yonder to get help from the county. At last they taken me +on and I got groceries three times. After that I couldn't get nothin' no +more. They said my papers were made out incorrectly. I asked the worker +to make it out correctly because I couldn't read and write. She said she +wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. She made it out for me. +A short time later, the postman brought me a letter. I handed it to a +lady to read for me, and she said, 'This is your old age check.' You +don't know how much help that thing's been to me. + + +Ku Klux + +"The Ku Klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people. + + +Opinions + +"The young people pass by me and I don't know nothing about 'em. I know +they are quite indifferent from what I was. When I come old enough to +want a wife, I knowed what sort of wife I wanted. God blessed me and I +happened to run up on the kind of woman I wanted. I made an engagement +with her, and I didn't have a dollar. I was engaged to marry for three +years before I married. I knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the +way she was raised and I didn't have nothing. It looked curious for me +to want that woman. I wanted her, and I had sense. I had sense enough to +know how I must carry myself to get her. Now it looks like a young man +wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one. + +"My youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. He took up with what +I call a whiskey head. He's been swapping horses ever since. That is the +baby boy of mine. You know good and well a man couldn't get along that +way. + +"These young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then +that one over there for a few days. It shows like he wants them all. + + +Voting + +"I have voted. I don't now. Since I lost out, I ain't voted. + + +Slave Houses + +"You might say slave houses was nothing. Log houses, made out of logs +and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. Chimneys made with +sticks and mud. Two rooms in our house. No windows, just cracks. All +furniture was homemade. Take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put +a cross piece in it and you had a bed. + +"They made stools for chairs and made tables too. Food was kept in the +smokehouse. For rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, +and so much meal. No sugar and no coffee. They used to make tea out of +sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee. + + +Marriages + +"I been married twice. The first time was out in North Carolina. The +last time was in this city. I didn't stay with that last woman but four +days. It took me just that long to find out who and who. She didn't want +me; she wanted my money, and she thought I had more of it than I did. +She got all I had though. I had just fifty dollars and she got that. I +am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as I can get divorced. + + +Memories of Work on Plantation + +"My mother used to milk and I used to rope the calves and hold them so +that they couldn't get to the cow. I had to keep the horses in the +canebrake so they could eat. That was to keep the soldiers from getting +a fine black horse the master had. + + +Soldiers + +"But they got him just the same. The Yankees used to come in blue +uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. They would take +your horse and ask nothing. They would go into the smokehouse and take +out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and +brandy that was there. + + +Dances After Freedom + +"Two sisters stayed in North Carolina in a two-room house in Wilson +County. There was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the +evening to get whiskey. There was one man who had a wife with us, but +all the rest were single. We cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and +quadrilled. We danced all night until we burned up all the wood. Then we +went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he +could carry. We chopped this up and piled it in the room. Then we went +on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there. + +"When we got through dancing, I looked at my feet and the bottom of them +was plumb naked. I had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms +clean out of them. + + +"I belong to the Primitive Baptist Church. I stay with Dr. Cope and +clean up the back yard for my rent." + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins. +Person Interviewed: Mrs. Lou Fergusson +Aged: 91 +Home: With daughter Mrs. Peach Sinclair, Wade Street. +[Jan 29 1938] + + +Zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly +settled territory went the interviewer. The terrain was rolling--to put +it mildly. During most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of +winter-packed earth. Sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule. + +Wade Street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the Boulevard". +Holding to a general direction she kept her course. "The Boulevard", +known on the tax books of Hot Springs as Boulevard Addition, sprawls +over a wide area. Houses vary in size and construction with startling +frequency. Few of them are pretentious. Many appear well planned, are in +excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, +sometimes patterned with flower beds. Occasionally a building leans with +age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids--long since +abandoned by owners to wind and weather. + +Up one hill, down another went the interviewer. Given a proper steer +here and there by colored men and women--even children along the way, +she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to +Peach Sinclair. + +Two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild January sunlight +on a back porch. "I beg your pardon," said the interviewer, approaching +the step, "is this the home of Peach Sinclair, and will I find Mrs. Lou +Fergusson here?" + +"It sure is," the voice was cheerful. "My mother is in the house. Come +around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back +steps, even if she had wanted to--the back yard was fenced from the +front) "she's in the parlor." + +Mrs. Lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably +plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. She seemed an Aunt +Jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "Mamma, this young +lady's come to see you. She wants to talk to you and ask you some +questions, about when--about before the war." (The situation is always +delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. Somehow both interviewer +and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. The skillful +interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as +any variant of the word negro. The informant is usually less squeamish. +"Black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "Master's people", "us" +are all encountered frequently.) + +Five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. Both +Mrs. Sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and +made comments frequently. "Law, child, we bought this place from your +father. He was a mighty fine man." Mrs. Sinclair was delighted to find +her guest to be "Jack Hudgins daughter." And later in the chat, "You +done lost everything? Even your home--that's going? Too bad. But then I +guess at that you're better off than we are. I've been trying for nearly +a year to get my mother on the old age pension. They say she has passed. +That was way along last March. Here it is January and she hasn't got a +penny. No, I know you can't help. Yes, I see what you're doing. But if +ever you does get on the pensions work--I'm going to 'hant'[A] you." (a +wide grin) [Footnote A: "Hant" was an intentional barbarism.] + +The old woman rocked and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I'm her oldest, alive. She +had 17 and 15 of them lived to grow up. But I'm about as old as she is, +looks like. She never did have glasses--and today she can thread the +finest needle. She can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. +Makes fine stitches too. Seems like they made them stronger in her day." +A nod of delighted approval from Mrs. Fergusson. + +"I was born in Hempstead County, right here in this state. The town we +were nearest was Columbus. I lived around there all of my life until I +come here to be with my daughter. That was 15 years ago. Yes, I was born +on a farm. From what I know, I'm over ninety. I was around 20 when the +war ceaseted. + +The man what owned us was named Ed Johnson. Yes, ma'am he had lots of +folks. Was he good to us? Well, he was and he wasn't. He was good +himself, wouldn't never have whipped us--but he had a mean wife. She'd +dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least +little thing. Then they put overseers over us. They was most generally +mean. They'd run us out way fore day--even in the sleet--run us out to +the field. + +Was the life hard--well it was and it wasn't. No, ma'am, I didn't get +much learning. Some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. +Then there was some which would let their children teach the colored +children what they learned at school. We never learned very much. + +You see, Master didn't live on the place. He lived bout as far as from +here to town" (fully two miles) "The overseer looked after us mostly. +No, ma'am I don't remember much about the war. You see, they was afraid +that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to +Texas. We settled down and made a crop there. How'd we get the land? +Master rented it. + +We made a crop down there and later we come back. No, ma'am we didn't +stay with Mr. Johnson more than a month after there was peace. We come +on in to Washington. No, ma'am, I never heard tell that Washington had +been the Capitol of Arkansas for a while during the War. No, I never did +hear that. Guess it was when we was in Texas. Then we folks didn't hear +so much anyway. + +We stayed in Washington most a year. Was I with my Mother? No, ma'am I +was married--married before the war was thru. Married--does you know how +we folks married in them days? Well the man asked your mother. Then you +both asked your master. He built you a house. You moved in and there you +was. You was married. I did some washing and cooking when I was in +Washington. Then we moved onto a farm. I sort of liked Washington, but I +was born on a farm and I sort of liked farm life. + +We didn't move around very much--just two or three places. We raised +cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of +things. No ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way +off like they does in Hempstead county now. Cotton was our cash crop. We +rented thirds and fourths. Didn't move but three times. One place I +stayed 15 years. + +I been a widow 40 years. Yes, ma'am. I farmed myself, and my children +helped me. Me and the owners got along well. Made good crops, me and the +children. I managed to take good care of them. Made out to raise 15 out +of the 17 to be grown. There's only 5 of them alive now. + +Hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. Well now, I don't know. I made +out. I raised my children and raised them healthy. I got along well with +the farm owner. You might know when I was let to stay on one place for +15 years. You know I must have treated the land right and worked it +fair. + +Yes ma'am I remembers lots. Seems like women folks remembers better than +men. I've got a good daughter. I'm still strong and can get about good. +Guess the Lord has been good to me." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Jennie Ferrell, West Memphis, Arkansas +Age: 65 + + +"I was born in Yellowbush County, Mississippi close to Grenada. +Grandmother come from North Carolina. They wouldn't sell grandpa. He was +owned by Laston. They never met again. She brought two boys with her. +She was a Pernell. Her master brought her away and would have brought +her husband but they wouldn't sell. She said durin' her forty years in +slavery she never got a whoopin'. She was a field hand. After she come +to Mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. She was a +midwife. She doctored the rich white and colored. She rode horseback, +she said, far and near. In Grenada after freedom she walked. They called +her free her master was so good to her. I don't know how she learned to +be a midwife. Her master was Henry Pernell. He owned a small place +twelve miles from Grenada and another place in the Mississippi bottoms. +My folks become renters after freedom. I don't know if they rented from +him but I guess they did. + +"The Ku Klux never bothered them that I ever heard them mention." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Person interviewed: Frank Fikes, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: About 88 + + +"My name is Frank Fikes. I live between El Dorado and Strong and I am 79 +years old if I make no mistake. I know my mama told me years ago that I +was born in watermelon time. She said she ate the first watermelon that +got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. She thought she +had the colic. Said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the +pain and after eating the root for the pain behold I was born. So if I +live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time I will be eighty this +year. I was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen. + +"My work was very easy when I was a little slave. Something got wrong +with my foot when I first started to walking and I was crippled. I could +not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of +the time. Sometimes, as fast as I got one baby to sleep I would have to +nurse another one to sleep. We belonged to Mars Colonel Williams and he +had I guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had +a baby, so I had a big job after all. The rest of the children carried +water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old +mar's house. + +"I had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of +rocks and iron. Old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. +The slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. They ate out of +wooden bowls and wooden spoons. They ate greens and peas and bread. And +old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. She fed us on what we +called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. We +children did not use spoons. We picked the bread out with our fingers +and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. We +all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better +then. + +"I never went to church until after surrender. Neither did we go to +school but the white children taught me to read and count. + +"I recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers +passing our house going to Vicksburg to fight. The reason I recollect it +so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down +the front. They passed a whole day and we watched them all day. + +"Old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and +we were freed. We did not have a hard time until after we were freed. +They got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a +crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our +backs. We wandered around and around for a long time. Then they hired us +to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and I've been having +a hard time ever since. + +"Before the War we lived in log cabins. There was a row of log cabins a +quarter of a mile long. No windows and no floor. We had grass to sit on. +Our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay +beds. My mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the +beds with. Our cover was made from our old worn out clothes. + +"On Sunday evenings we played. We put on clean clothes once a week. In +summer we bathed in the branch. We did not bathe at all in winter. I +went in my shirt tail until I was eleven or twelve years old. Back in +slavery time boys did not wear britches. They wore shirts and our hair +was long. The slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was +ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: J.E. Filer, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"I was born in Washington, Georgia. I come here in 1866. There was three +stores in Marianna. My parents name Betsy and Bob Filer. My mother +belong to Collins in Georgia. She come to this state with Colonel Woods. +She worked in the field in Georgia and here too. Mama said they always +had some work on hand. Work never played out. When it was cold and +raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. The men would be under a +shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the +tools so they could work. + +"Since we come to this state I've seen them make oak boards and pile +them up in pens to dry out straight. I don't recollect that in Georgia. +I was so little when we come here. I can recollect that but not much +else. My brother was older. He might tell all about it." + + +[TR: Next section crossed out] +Interviewer's Comment + +I didn't get to see his brother. I went twice more but he was at work on +a farm somewhere. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Subject: Ex-slavery +[May 11 1938] + +Person Interviewed: Orleans Finger [TR: In text of interview, Orleana] + Negro (Apparently octoroon or quadroon) +Address: 2804 West Fifteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas. +Occupation: Formerly field hand and housekeeper +Age: 79 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +Birth, Family, and Master + +"I was born in Mississippi in Tippa County not far from the edge of +Tennessee. I wasn't raised in Arkansas, but all my children was raised +here. I really don't know just where in Tippa county I was born. My +mother's name was Ann Toler. Toler was my step father. My real father, I +don't know. My mother never told me nothin' bout him and I don't know +that; I can't tell what I don't know. + +"My grandfather on my mother's side was Captain Ellis. That is the one +come after me when I was small to carry me back to my folks. I didn't +know him, and I said 'I don't want to go 'way with them strange +Niggers'. He's dead now. They're all dead long ago. I have got children +over fifty years old myself. I am the mother of nine children--three of +them living. One of the living ones is Arthur Finger. He lives in St. +Louis. I expected to hear from him today, but didn't. Cornelius Finger. +(He is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in Palestine, Arkansas, near +Forrest City. Arthur is my baby boy. Elmira was my baby girl. She's the +one you met. She's married and has children of her own. + +"Captain Ellis' wife was named Minerva. She was my mother's mother. +She's been dead years. I got children older than she was when she died. +She died in Mississippi. I got a cousin named Molly Spight. She's dead. +My mother's sister was named Emmaline; she is dead now too. + +"My mother was colored. I don't know nothin' about my father, and my +mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him. + +"My step father and mother were both field hands. They worked in the +field. + +"I don't know just when I was born, but I am just sure that it was +before the war. I remember hearing people talk about things in the war. + +"My mother's master was named Whitely, I think, because she was named +Whitley before she married. + +"I have been married three times. The first man I married was 'Lijah +Gibbs. The second time I married, I married Joe Finger. The third time I +married Will Reese. He warn't no husband at all. They're all dead. Folks +always called me Finger after my second husband died, because I didn't +live with my third husband long. + + +House + +"They had log houses. You would never see no brick chimney nor nothing +of that kind. The logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat--no roof +like now. They might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. +Wouldn't be any steep like they is now. In them times they wouldn't have +many rooms. Sometimes they would have two. They wouldn't have so many +windows. Just old dirt chimneys. They'd take and dig a hole and stick +sticks up in it. Then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and +pull grass and mix it in the dirt. They'd build a frame on the sticks +and then put the mud on. The chimney couldn't catch fire till the house +got old and the mud would fall off. When it got old and the mud got to +fallin off, then they would be a fire. I've seen that since I been in +Arkansas. + +"Sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to +take the place of bricks. You could get rocks in the forest. + + +Furniture + +"Used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. The cords would +act in place of springs. When you move you would have a heap of trouble +because all that would have to be undone and done up again. You have to +take the cords out and them put it together again. The cords would be +run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs. + +"They used to have spinning wheels and looms. They made clothes and they +made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the +cloth our of. They'd card and spin the thread. There's lots of other +things I can't remember. + + +War Memories + +"The Yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. They'd +kill chickens and geese and things. The old people used to take their +horses out and tie them out in the woods--hiding them out to keep the +Yankees from getting them. The Yankees would ride up, take a good horse +and leave the old worn-out one. + +"There never was any fighting round where I lived. None of my folks was +soldiers in the war. + + +Right After the War + +"I don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. They were +field hands and I guess they did that. My mother worked in the field +that's all I know. + + +Life Since the War + +"I have been in Arkansas a long time. I have been here ever since I left +Mississippi. My first marriage was in Mississippi. The second and last +ones was in Arkansas--Forrest City. My second husband had been dead +since 1921. I don't know that I count Reese. We married in June and +separated in September. He's dead now, and I don't hold nothin' against +him. + +"I am not able to work now. I do a little 'round the house and dig a +little in the garden. I haven't worked in the field since way before +1921. I don't get no help at all from the Welfare. My daughter does what +she can for me. I always have lived before I ever heard about the old +age pension and I suppose God will take care of me yet somehow. + + +Cured by Prayer + +"I'm puny and no'count. Aint able to do much. But I was crippled. I had +a hurting in my leg and I couldn't walk without a stick. Finally, one +day I went to go out and pick some turnips. I was visiting my son in +Palestine. My leg hurt so bad that I talked to the Lord about it. And it +seemed to me, he said 'Put down your stick.' I put it down and I aint +used it since. I put it down right thar and I aint used it since. God is +a momentary God. God knowed what I wanted and he said, 'Put down that +sick,' and I aint been crippled since. It done me so much good. Looks +like to me when I get to talking about the Lord, aint nobody a stranger +to me. + +"I know I been converted but that made me stronger. My son is a siner. +He knowed about how I was crippled. He said you ought use your stick. He +didn't know what to think about it. Young folks don't believe because +they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can +happen. + + +"I done told you all I know. I don't want to tell you anything I don't +know. If you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't." + +Everything which Orleana Finger states has the earmarks of being true. +There are a great many things which she does not state which I believe +that she could state if she wished. She evidently has a long list of +things which she things should be unmentioned. She has two magic phrases +with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to +discuss: + +"I don't remember that." + +"I better quit talking now before I start lying." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Molly Finley, Honey Creek + 3-1/2 miles from Mesa, Arkansas +Age: Born 1865 + + +"My master was Captain Baker Jones and his pa was John Jones. Miss +Mariah was Baker Jones' wife. I believe the old man's wife was dead. + +"My parents' name was Henry ("Clay") Harris and Harriett Harris. They +had nine children. We lived close to the Post (Arkansas Post). Our +nearest trading post was Pine Bluff. And the old man made trips to +Memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. We lived around Hanniberry +Creek. It was a pretty lake of water. Some folks called it Hanniberry +Lake. We fished and waded and washed. We got our water out of two +springs further up. I used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each +hand. You never see that no more. Mama was a nurse and house woman and +field woman if she was needed. I made fires around the pots and 'tended +to mama's children. + +"We lived on the Jones place years after freedom. I was born after +freedom. We finally left. I cried and cried to let's go back. Only place +ever seem like home to me yet. We went to the Cummings farm. They worked +free labor then. Then we went to the hills. Then we seen hard times. We +knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills. + +"I was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. I went to +school on the river. My teacher was a white man named Mr. Van Sang. + +"Mama belong to the Garretts in Mississippi. She was sold when she was +about four years old she tole me. There had been a death and old +mistress bought her in. Master Garrett died. Then she give her to her +daughter. She was her young mistress then. Old mistress didn't want her +to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the +children. Mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. Her father, +she said, was light and part Enjun (Indian). + +"John Prior owned papa in Kentucky. He sold him, brother and his mother +to a nigger trader's gang. Captain Jones bought all three in Tennessee. +He come brought them on to Arkansas. He was a field hand. He said they +worked from daylight till after dark. + +"They took their slaves to close to Houston, Texas to save them. Captain +Jones said he didn't want the Yankees to scatter them and make soldiers +of them. He brought them back on his place like he expected to do. Mama +said they was out there three years. She had a baby three months old and +the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. I was her next +baby after that. Freedom done been declared. Mama said they went in +wagons and camped along the roadside at night. + +"Before they left, the Yankees come. Old Master Jones treated them so +nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some +for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. Then +he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to Texas. + +"Mama and papa said the Jones treated them pretty well. They wouldn't +allow the overseers to beat up his slaves. + +"The two Jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. They +said it weighed two hundred pounds. Four men took it out there in +barrels and eight men lowered it. They took it to the family graveyard +down past the orchard. They leveled it up like it was a grave. Yankees +didn't get Jones money! Then he sent the slaves to Texas. + +"Captain Jones had a home in Tennessee and one in Arkansas. Papa said he +cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and +wild cats. They worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot +varmints. He said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them +that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on Sundays +three times. The women left the fields to go fix supper and see after +their cabins and children. They hauled their water in barrels and put it +under the trees. They cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a +big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at Christmas. They had +gourd banjos. Mama said they had good times. + +"They had preaching one Sunday for white folks and one Sunday for black +folks. They used the same preacher there but some colored preachers +would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the +quarters. They said the white preacher would say, 'You may get to the +kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you +tell no stories, etc.' + +"Captain Jones was a good doctor. If a doctor was had you know somebody +was right low. They seldom had a doctor. Mama said her coat tail froze +and her working. But they wore warm clothes next to their bodies. + +"Captain Jones said, 'You all can go back on my place that want to go +back and stay. You will have to learn to look after your own selves now +but I will advise you and help you best I can. You will have to work +hard as us have done b'fore. But I will pay you.' My folks was ready to +'board the wagons back to Jones' farm then. That is the way mama tole me +it was at freedom! It was a long time I kept wondering what is freedom? +I took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and I caught +on. I found out times had changed just b'fore I got into this world. + +"Some things seem all right and some don't. Times seem good now but wait +till dis winter. Folks will go cold and hungry again. Some folks good +and some worse than in times b'fore." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Gets a pension check. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Fanny Finney, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 74 plus + + +"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. Born during slavery. I +b'long to Master John Rook. He died during the Civil War. Miss Patsy +Rook raised me. I put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water +and kindling wood. + +"My parents named Catherine and Humphrey Rook. They had three children. + +"When Master John Rook died they divided us. They give me to Rodie +Briggs. John and Lizzie was Master John's other two children. He had +three children too same as ma. My young master was a ball player. I'd +hear them talk. Ma was a good house girl. They thought we'd all be like +'er. When I was three years old, I was the baby. They took ma and pa off +keep the Yankees from stealing then. Miss Patsy took keer me. When ma +and pa come home I didn't know them a tall. They say when they come back +they went to Louziana, then 'bout close to Monticello in dis state, then +last year they run 'em to Texas. + +"Pa was jus' a farmer. Gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my +sisters. I'd start to see 'em. Old gander run me. Sometimes the geese +get me down and flog me wid their wings. One day I climbed up and peeped +through a crack. I seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. It looked so +easy. They was singing. + +"Betsy done the milking. I'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. +She ax me which I wanted, milk or butter. I'd tell her. She put a little +sugar on my buttered bread. It was so good I thought Sometimes she'd +fill my cup up with fresh churned milk. + +"I et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. I slep' in +granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. Granny's name was +'Aunt' Hannah. She was real old and the boss cook on our place. She +learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. Kept one or two helping +her all the time. It was her part to make them wash their faces every +morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the +time er cooking. Granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. +Betty would make them help her milk. They had to wash the cows udder +before they ever milked a drop. Miss Patsy learnt her black folks to be +clean. Every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born. + +"I was so little I couldn't think they got whoopings. I never heard of a +woman on the place being whooped. They all had their work to do. Grandma +cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm. + +"Old man Rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. He bought whiskey by +the barrel. On cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. I +heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. His hands got to the +field whooping and singing. The overseers handed it out to them. The +women didn't get none as I knowed of. + +"The paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but Master John Rook never let them +whoop his colored folks. + +"We lived six miles from Holly Springs on the big road to Memphis. Seem +like every regiment of Yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. +They made a rake-off every time. They cleaned us out of something to +eat. They took the watches and silverware. The Yankees rode up on our +porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. Miss Patsy done +run an' hid. I stood about. I had no sense. They done a lot every time +they come. I watched see what all they would do. They burnt a lot of +houses. + +"A little white boy said, 'I tell you something if you give me a +watermelon.' The black man give the boy a big watermelon. He had a big +patch. The boy said, 'My papa coming take all your money away from you +some night.' He fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a Ku Klux. He +had some money but they didn't find it. One of the Ku Kluxes run off and +left his spurs. The colored folks killed some and they run off and leave +their horses. They come around and say they could drink three hundred +fifteen buckets of water. They throw turpentine balls in the houses to +make a light. They took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light +it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. +A lot of black folks was killed and whooped. Their money was took from +them. + +"The third year after the War ma and pa come and got me. They made a +crop for a third. That was our first year off of Rook's place. I love +them Rook's girls so good right now. Wish I could see them or knowd +where to write. I had to learn my folks. I played with my sisters all my +life but I never had lived with them. When pa come for me they had my +basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. They +sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. One of them was mine. +Miss Patsy said, 'Let Fannie come back to see my girls.' I went back and +visited. Granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. I had a +place with granny at her house. We went back often and we helped them +after freedom. They was good white folks as ever breathed. There was +good folks and bad folks then and still is. + +"Times is hard. I was raised in the field. I made seven crops here--near +Brinkley--with my son. I had two girls. One teaches in Brinkley, fourth +or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in New York. My son fell off +a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. He was in +Detroit. Times is hard now. The young folks is going at too fast a gait. +They are faster than the old generation. No time to sit and talk. On the +go all the time. Hurrying and worrying through time. Hard to make a +living." + + + + +Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel +Information given by: "Gate-eye" Fisher +Residence: Washington County, Arkansas + + +"I was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when War come" said +"Gate-eye" Fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old +tin, on what is known as the old Bullington farm near Lincoln. His one +room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new +renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "Gate-eye" +just belongs. He bothers no one. No floors, no windows just a door, a +bed, stove and a table. Yes and a lantern and a chair. + +"Yes mam, my mother, Caroline, belonged to the Mister Dave Moore family. +His wife, Miss Pleanie, was a Reagan. Yes mam, they was good folks. When +the War come, my pa, Harrison Fisher and my ma stayed on the place, +Mister Moore had lots of land and stock--and he and his folks went to +Texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine +stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted +them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. Pa was boss +over all the slaves. I guess mos' all my white folks is dead. Mos' of +them all buried down yan way to Ft. Smith. One of Mister Moore's +daughters, Miss Mary, married Dr. Davenport and Miss Sinth (Cynthia) +went to live with her." + +(The Moores came from Kentucky and Tennessee and settled at Cane Hill, +Washington County, about 1829. The Reagans came about the same time. The +first schools in the county were at Cane Hill). + +"Yes mam, I guess all the colored folks that belonged to Mister Moore, +but me, is dead. I guess. My mother, Caroline, stayed in the house +nearly all the time and took care of Missy's children, and when they +come home from school she'd hear them learn their ABC's. That's how come +I can read and write. My ma taught me, out of an old Blue Back Speller. +Yes mam, I learned to read and can't write much, jes my own name. Yes +mam, I kinda believe in signs that's how come I wear this leather strap +'round my wrist it keeps me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. Yes mam, +it helps. I used to believe in signs a lot and I used to believe in +wishes. I used to wish a lot of bad wishes on folks till one day I read +a piece from New York and it said the bad wishes that you made would +come back to you wosser than you wished, so I don't wish no more. I got +scared and don't wish nothin' to no body." + +"After the War Ole Mister and Ole Missey called in my ma and pa and +asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. +'Bout ten of us stayed. Then a while after Mister Moore asked my pa if +he wanted to go up on the Tilley place--600 acres and farm it for what +he could make. We, my pa and my ma and my sister Mandy, stayed there a +long time. Then Mister Moore sold off a little here and a little there +and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, Peter +Doss, where my ma died. Then I went down to Mister Oscar Moore's +place--he was my Missey' boy." + +"Yes mam, I did have a wife. I had a mos' worrysome time. It is a +worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. +No'm, I don't ever want her to come back." + +"Yes'm, I do my own cooking, and I've put up some fruit. I have a little +mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. +I get a little pension too." + +"These darkies today nearly all get wild. You can't tell What they are +going to do tomorrow. They's jes like everybody--some awful good and +some awful bad." + +And in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door +held by a leather strap, "Gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood +stove. A long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of +canned fruit, dried beans and peas. The bed is a series of old bed +springs. But "Gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one +feels kindly toward him. He says he is seventy-one years, past. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person Interviewed: Ellen Fitzgerald + Brinkley, Ark. +Age: 74 + + +"Mama was named Anna Noles. Papa named Milias Noles. She belong to the +Whitakers and he belong to Gibbs. Noles bought them both. They was both +sold. Mother was born in Athens, papa somewhere in Kentucky. Their +owners, the Noles, come to Aberdeen, Mississippi. + +"Grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. She was a +slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. She was at the +spring, washing. They cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. They used +a big tree stump for battling. They had paddles, wide as this (two hands +wide--eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. +They wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat +em. Rub boards was not heard of in them days. They soaked the clothes, +boiled and rinsed a heap. They done good washing. I heard em say the +clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. They made the +soap. They had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat +skins. They used tallow and mutton suet too. I don't know what was said, +but I recken she didn't please her mistress--Mrs. Callie Gibbs. She +struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. She left her at +the spring. Somebody went to get water and seen her there. They took her +to the house but she finally died. Grandpa was dead then. I recken they +got scared to keep papa round then and sold him. + +"I was born first year of the surrender. Moster Noles told them they was +free. They didn't give them a thing. They was glad they was free. They +didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. They +lived about places, do little work where they found it. + +"We dodged the Ku Klux. One night they was huntin' a man and come to the +wrong house. They nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. +They give us some trouble coming round. We was scared of em. We dodged +em all the time. + +"I was married and had a child eight years old fore I come to Arkansas. +I come to Brinkley first. I was writing to friends. They had immigrated, +so we immigrated here and been here ever since. When I come here there +was two big stores and a little one. A big sawmill--nothing but woods +and wild animals. It wasn't no hard times then. We had a plenty to live +on. + +"My husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. He worked on the +section. I nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. We done +about right smart. I could do right smart now if white folks hire me. + +"The night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken I had. He +died last week. We found out it was two colored men. I ain't needed no +support till now. My husband made us a good living long as he was able +to go. We raised a family. He was a tolerably dark sort of man. My girls +bout his color." + +The two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. Both of them said they +were married and lived somewhere else. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: Henry Fitzhugh +Aged: 90 +Home: Rooms at 209 Walnut Street + + +Several "colored" districts are scattered throughout Hot springs. On +Whittington, within a block of the First Presbyterian Church and St. +Joseph's Infirmary stand the Roanok Baptist and the Haven Methodist +(both for colored). Architecturally they compare favorably with similar +edifices for whites. Their choirs have become nationally famous. Sunday +afternoon concerts are frequent. Mid-week ones are not uncommon. At such +times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. +Visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely. + +Across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a +negro apartment house. A couple of blocks up Whittington, Walnut veers +to the right. It is paved for several blocks. Fronting on concrete +sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate +pride in possession. Some are private homes, some rooming houses and +some apartments. Porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete +studded with crystals. + +Finding Henry Fitzhugh wasn't easy. The delivery boy at the corner chain +store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a passer-by. He +offered the address _209_. That number turned out to be an old, but +substantial and well cared for two story house. Ringing the bell +repeatedly brought no response. + +A couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find Fitzhugh +one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back +porch." This procedure too brought no results. Another backyard observer +offered the suggestion that Fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant +eating. + +School had just been dismissed. Two well dressed negro children walked +along together, swinging their books. "Can you tell me where the +restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "Do you mean the +colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment +in her manner, no servility, no resentment--just an ordinary question. +"It's right over there." + +The restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. +Tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. Sunshine +streamed in from two directions. Fitzhugh was sitting just outside +talking to the boot-black. + +"Yes, ma'am, I's Henry Fitzhugh. Can't work no more since I got hit by +an automoble. Before that I had a shoe-shine place myself. But I can't +work no more. Yes 'um I gets the pension. I gets $10 a month. It's not +much, but I sort of get by. I's got my room up at 209 and I gets my +meals down here at the restaurant. Yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming +in pretty regular now. + +Been in Hot Springs a long, long time. Come here in 1876. I remembers +lots of the old families here. What yo say your name was? Your Mother +was a Dengler? Sure, I remembers the Denglers. Mr. Dengler had a +soda-water shop. I remembers him. + +When I first come, soon as I was able, I cleaned up for Captain Mallard. +Cleaned up all along Central in that block he was in. + +How'd I come to Hot springs? I was sick. I had rheumatism. Was down with +it so bad the doctor had done give me up. He'd stopped giving me +medicine. But the lady I was working for, she run a hotel in Poplar +Bluff. They put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and +they brought me clean on in to Hot Springs. They bathed me at the free +bath house. I started getting better right away. 'Twasn't long before I +was well and able to work. I stayed right on here in Hot Springs. + +Yes, ma'am I's all Arkansas. I was born near Little Rock. Ain't never +been out of the state but twice. Then I didn't stay long. + +I worked on a farm that belonged to Mr. J.B. Henderson. He was an uncle +to Mr. Jerome Henderson what was in the bank and Mr. Jethro Henderson +what was a Judge. + +No, the war didn't bother us none. We wasn't afraid. We heard the shots, +but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. Guess we +just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. Fighting we did [HW: hear +was] near Pine Bluff--the Baxter-Ware trouble. We seen the soldiers when +they come through Mt. Pleasant, right smart bunch of them. They was +Confederates. We didn't see none of the Yankees. + +My father was killed during the war. Went off to help and never came +back. My mother, she died when I was a baby. She was lying down in her +cabin before the fire--lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. The door +was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. She dropped me +and she screamed and run out into the yard. Old Miss saw her from the +house. She grabbed a quilt and started out. She got to my mother and she +wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. But my mother done +swallowed fire. She died. That's the story they tell me. I was too +little to know. + +I guess I was about eleven when I went into the fields. What's that, +pretty young? I didn't go because they made me. I went because I wanted +to be with the men. Wasn't nobody around to play with. We was the only +family on the farm. It was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of +children. There was Miss Sally and Miss Fanny and Miss Ella and Miss +Myrtle and Miss Hattie. Then there was four boys. + +Stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. They treated +me good and gave me what I wanted. Treated me nice--very nice--my white +folks. + +Then I went on down to Marshall--way down in Texas. There I worked for +the high sheriff. Drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the +yard. I worked for him a whole year then I went back to Arkansas and +then went up in Missouri. Wasn't there long before I got sick. I was +working for a woman who had a hotel. She was good to me. Mighty good she +was. + +Yes ma'am. There has been lost chances I has had to do more than I has. +But I's sort of satisfied. There's been lots of changes in Hot Springs +since I come. I used to know all the white folks and all the colored +folks too. Can't do that today. Place has got too big. + +Joe Golden? Yes, I does--I knows Joe. He used to have a butcher shop +over on Malvern. Quite a man, Joe was. I hasn't seen him in a long time. +How is he? Pretty good? That's fine. + +"I remembers Mc--McLeod's Happy Hollow." (Hot Spring nearest approach to +a Coney Island in the earlier days). "I remembers that they used to have +the old stage coach there what the James and Younger brothers held up. +Sort of broken down it was, but it was there. + +Law, law, them was the times. I'll never forget when Allen Roane brought +in the news. Allen drove a sort of a hack. He come on into town and he +whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. +Allen lived just next door to where I does now." + +Down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. Passing the +porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she +paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. Fitzhugh grinned. +"She's sanctified," he explained. + +"Did you ever hear of Tucky-Nubby? He was an Indian. Bob Hurley used to +bring him to Hot Springs every year. What medicine shows they used to +have here. Ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed +Tucky-Nubby. Lots of those medicine shows--free shows, used to come +here. But Bob Hurley and Tucky-Nubby was the most liked. + +Yes, ma'am, I'm all alone now. My sister married a man a long, long time +ago. She didn't live but a couple of years. I's had four children. One +of them died when it was born. One died when it was three. One lived +until it was seven. One son he lived to be grown. He went to the war. +Got as far as camp. One day I got a word saying that he was sick. I went +but before I could get there he had died. That left me alone. + +What's that? Been married once? I been married _eleven_ times. But it +was ten times too many. Besides they is all dead, so you might say that +I's been married only once. + +Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am. The quarter will come in powerful handy. +When you tries to make out on $10 a month a little extra comes in +powerful handy. Thank you ma'am. I enjoyed talking to you, ma'am." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Flagg + 1601 Georgia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 89 + + +"Yes'm, I was here in Civil War days. I was bout twelve years old when +Lincoln was elected. I remember when he was elected. I was big enough to +weave and knit for the soldiers. I remember when the war started. Yes +ma'm--oh I remember so much. Saw all the soldiers and shook hands with +em. Why I waited on the table when General Lee stopped there for dinner +on his way from Mobile to meet Sherman. That was in Winchester, +Mississippi where I was born. I worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. I was +raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. I was born right +in Winchester, Mississippi. Used to see the soldiers drill every day. If +I could remember, I could tell you a heap of things. + +"My mistress' name was Mrs. Shaw. She took me away from my mother when I +was four years old--taken me for her body servant. She learned me how to +do housework and all kinds of sewin'--cuttin' and makin'. I done all the +sewin' for her family. + +"I never went to no school but Mrs. Shaw tried to teach me and she +slapped my jaws many a day bout my book. + +"I married when I was fifteen just fore the war ended and I forgot +everything I ever learned--yes ma'm! I been married four times and +they're all dead. I never married when any of em was livin' like a heap +of colored folks did. + +"The Yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then +they burned the bridge and turned back. White folks never told us what +the war was for but a old German man used to read the paper at the +table--every battle they'd fight and when the Yankees would whip. Oh +them was times then. If I could remember I could tell you a heap of +things but my mind's gone from me. + +"Old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a +cousin had five hundred. + +"White folks was good to me. My father was the carriage driver and old +mistress used to carry me to church with her every Sunday. + +"I never seen no Ku Klux but I lived where they was, in Mississippi. +That was a Ku Klux state. Yes ma'm. + +"I remember when General Lee come to Winchester you could hear the +horses' feet a mile away, it so cold. + +"My great grandfather was a full blooded Indian. I've lived among the +Indians in Mississippi and bought baskets from em. They lived all around +us. Yes ma'm, I'm acquainted with em. Oh, I been through a little bit. + +"I started sewin' and weavin' when I was just big enough to reach the +treadles. Used to sew for Mrs. Hulburt in Bolivar County, Mississippi. I +remember she started to the Mardi Gras on a boat called the Mary Bell. +It got burned and she had to turn back. I used to do a heap a sewin'. + +"Everythings changed now. People is so treacherous now. Chile, ain't +nothin' to this younger generation. Now I'm tellin' you the truth. They +ain't studyin' nothin' good. Sin and corruption all you see now. + +"Last man I married was Elder Flagg. He was a preacher in the Baptist +church and as good a preacher as I ever heard. They don't preach the +Gospel now. + +"Well, I wish I could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long +time. I'll be ninety if I live till the 4th of next May." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Zillah Cross Peel +Person interviewed: Doc Flowers +Age: 85? +Home: Lincoln, Arkansas + + +Everybody calls him Uncle Doc. His name is Doc Flowers, and he lives in +the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of +Lincoln, Arkansas. + +When you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. One +has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch +hidden by the tangle of weeds. + +If old Aunt Jinney is on the porch she will say, "Sorry, honey, but de +path done growed up." + +Uncle Doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. Whether he is 80 or +if he is 90, he is young-looking for his age. + +"No'm lady, I'se jes' don' know how old I is. Back in dem days didn't +keep up with our ages. No record of the born. Yes'm I was a pretty good +chunk of a boy when de war started." + +Doc belonged to Edward Choate, who lived on Barron Forks, near Dutch +Mills in the Southwest corner of Washington County. Barron Forks is made +up from Fly Creek and the River Jordan Creek. + +About 1849 Edward Choate came from Tennessee to Arkansas, where he had +bought Aunt Marie [TR: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, +Doc, Abe, and Dave. + +"Yes'm, we had a 100 acres or better all along the banks of de river and +good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' +'bacco. Master Choate had three sons, I recollect, Jack, Sam, and Win. +He had a lot of slaves. Some of dem was good, some was bad. An' old +Mister Choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. He never did have to whup me, some +of dem darkies did get whupped. Dar was one who was always dressing up +in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river. + +"My mother was Maria. She worked part time in de kitchen and part time +in de field. My mother had three boys and I 'member one of my sisters +was sold as a slave. We darkies had cabins all along de river bank. + +"During de War we all jes' stayed on de place. Mister Choate and Old +Missy stayed too. After peace was made my mother and all of we went up +to Prairie Grove to live. + +"Yes'm, I voted every chance I got. I voted for Harrison for President. +No'm, I don't know which Harrison. Yes'm, I vote Republican. + +"I can't say much for these young darkies these times. + +"I ben 'roun' some. I went to Caldwell, Kansas, two times. Farming is my +occupation. Now we jes' live. I get $10 a month from the state. Yes'm, +that there Jinney is my wife. Her mother Celia and she belonged to the +Ballards of Cincinnati. + +"No'm, I jes' can' tell how old I is. I know I was quite a chunk of a +boy when de War started. Me and Mister Win, one of Mister Choate's boys, +was 'bout de same age." (Winston Choate died in the spring of 1935 at +the age of 94 years, according to a niece.) + +The Choate place down on Barron Forks is still owned by one of the +Choates, a grandson of the first owner, Edward Choate. + +A granddaughter of Mr. Choate lives in Fayetteville and said that there +are four or five graves on the old place where Negro slaves who belonged +to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would +never go near these graves. They thought they were haunted. + +So when one asks Uncle Doc how old he is he will say, "I know I was jes' +a chunk of a boy when de War started so I mus' be 'bout 83 nex' spring." + +Aunt Jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth +while Uncle Doc was talking. She didn't speak while Doc was speaking. + +"Law, honey, I had good white folks. None of dem never struck their +colored folks. No'm. Me an' my mother Celia belonged to Mister Ballard +at Cincinnati. Old Missey's name was Miss Liza, an' she kept my ma in de +house wid her to wait on her. Yes'm all de white folks always kept a +little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. Dem was good times 'fo' +de War. Yes'm good times--plenty to eat. Good times. I was jes' a baby +crawling on de flo' when de War come." + +The interviewer didn't ask Uncle Doc when and why he went to Caldwell, +Kansas the two times. She knew that Uncle Doc, big and strong, took +another Negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to Kansas and +there left her. Later he brought her to Arkansas. Jinney was his wife +and took Uncle Doc back, but Gate-eye didn't take his wife back. Nor did +the interviewer tell Uncle Doc that she had been to see old Gate-eye +Fisher and had heard the long ago story of Uncle Doc taking his wife, +and what a worrysome time he had. In an old record marked +"Miscellaneous" in the Washington County Courthouse at Fayetteville, +Arkansas, one can find this Emancipation paper: + +"For and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my +little Negro girl (a slave) named Celia, about two years old, I do by +these presents henceforth and forever give to said Celia her liberty and +freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, I now +hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in +accordance with this indenture of emancipation. + +"In testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this 26th day of January +1846. + + Signed: Thomas B. Ballard + + Witnesses: Charles Baylor + Sumet Mussett" + + +Jinney, wife of Doc Flowers, is the daughter of the said Celia. "Yes'm," +said Jinney, "Miss Liza, my old Missy, always had my mother right by her +side all the time to wait on her. She were always good to all her +colored folks. No'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored +folks." + +Jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from Miss Liza, for +her little three-room home that she and Doc rent for $4 a month is +spotless. Maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't +blame that on Jinney. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Frances Fluker, Edmondson, Arkansas +Age: 77 +[May 11 1938] + + +"I was born the 25th day of December 1860 in Marshall County, +Mississippi. Our owners was Dr. George Wilson and Mistress Mary. They +had one son I knowed, Dr. Wilson at Coldwater, Mississippi. My parents +was Viney Perry and Dock Bradley. + +"I never seen my pa. I heard about him since I been grown. He left when +the War was going on and never went back. Mama had ten children and I am +all that's living now. Old mistress set my name and age down in her +Bible. I sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so I +could get my pension. I pasted it in the front of my Bible. I was never +sold. It was freedom when I first recollect. + +"Ma was the cook for the white folks. Grandma Perry come from North +Carolina I heard 'em say. She was a widow woman. When company come they +would send us out to play. They never talked to us children, no ma'am, +not 'fore us neither. I come a woman 'fore I knowed what it was. My +sisters knowed better than tell me. They didn't tell me nothin'. + +"When it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. At night +we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by +daybreak--children and all. They said it caused children's j'ints to be +stiff sleeping up in the day. All old folks could tell you that. + +"This young set ain't got no strength neither. Ma cooked and washed and +raised five children up grown. The slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em +in the way of land nor stock. They got what clothes they had and some +provisions. + +"Ma was ginger cake. They said pa was black. I don't know. Grandma was +reddish and lighter still than ma. They said she was part Cherokee +Indian. Her hair was smooth and pretty. She combed her hair with the +fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. I recollect her +combing her hair. It was long about on her shoulders. + +"I heard about the Ku Klux but I never seed none of 'em. Ma said her +owners was good to her. Ma never had but one husband. + +"I come to Arkansas 1921. Mr. Passler in Coldwater, Mississippi had +bought a farm at Onida. We had worked for him at Lula, Mississippi. Me +and my husband come here. My husband died the first year. I cooked some +in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. I +like' field work long as I was able to go. + +"My first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. He and myself done +it, we had help. We got in debt and lost it. He bought the place. That +was in Pinola County close to Sardis. I had four children. One daughter +living. + +"What I think it was give me rheumatism was I picked cotton, broke it +off frozen two weeks on the sleet. I picked two hundred pounds a day. I +got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. He said it was from +overwork. I got over that but I had rheumatism ever since. + +"I learned to read. I went to Shiloah School--and church too--several +terms. Mr. Will Dunlap was my first teacher. He was a white man. He run +the school a good while but I don't know how long. My name is Frances +Christiana Fluker. I been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. +Never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause I knowed I couldn't. + +"I jus' get $6 and that is all. It cost more to send get the commodities +than it do to buy them. We don't get much of them. I needs +clothes--union suits. 'Course I wears 'em all summer. If they would give +me yarn and needles I could knit my socks. 'Course I can see and ain't +doing nothing else. I needs a dress. I ain't got but this one dress." + + +NOTE: The two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. They had two chairs +and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the +little yellow torn to pieces Bible tied around the back with a string. +The large board door was kept wide open for light I suppose. There were +no windows to the room. + +I heard the reason she gets only $6 was because her daughter lives there +and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young +grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Ida May Fluker + Route 6, Box 80, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 83 + + +"I was born in slavery times in Clark County, Alabama. Clover Hill was +the county seat. + +"Elias Campbell was old master. I know the first time I ever saw any +plums, old master brought 'em. I 'member that same as yesterday. + +"I 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the Yankees come. We +chillun would hide behind the door. Had on blue suits with brass +buttons. So you see I'm no baby. + +"I 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house +and help make molasses. Didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up +there anyway. + +"Old missis' name Miss Annis. She was good to us. + +"I didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. Used to +tote water from the Wood Spring. Had a spring called Wood Spring. + +"My mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. I used to weave +after freedom. + +"I know the Yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. They was +drivin' a lot of cows. We chillun would be scared of 'em--mama would be +at the big house. + +"Mama belonged to the Campbells and papa belonged to Davis Solomon, and +I know every Christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me +and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. I 'member it same as if +'twas yesterday 'cause I was crazy 'bout them red dresses. + +"I used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. Yes ma'am, I heered +that song + + 'Run nigger run + Paddyrollers will ketch you + Jes' 'fore day.' + +I know you've heered that song. + +"I heered papa talk about how he was sold. He say the overseer so mean +he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week. + +"I guess we had plenty to eat. I know mama used to fetch us somethin' to +eat from the house. Old missis give it to her. I know I was glad to get +it. + +"When the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to +house and prayed and give thanks to the Lord. + +"Our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares. + +"I never went to school but about two weeks. My papa was hard workin'. +Other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun +rest. He sure did work us hard. + +"You know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time +to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. We didn't have no time to +see 'bout no ages--had to work. That's the truth." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Arkansas +Age: 73 or 75? + + +"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains, seems like about half +way. Mama's master was named Powell. Papa's master was Frank Ford. My +parents was Fannie and Henry Ford. I was the oldest child. There was 6 +boys, 4 girls of us. + +"They didn't get anything after freedom. They kept on farming. They +started working on shares. That was all they could do. If they expected +anything I never heard it. + +"I heard my mother say when I was small Papa was bouncing me up and +down. He was lying on the floor playing like wid me. She looked up the +road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'Yonder come some soldiers. What +they coming here for?' Papa put me down and run. He hid. They didn't +find him. It was soldiers from De Valls Bluff I judge. They made the +colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. That +is what I heard. + +"My father voted. He voted a Republican ticket. I do cause he did I +reckon. I still vote. If the colored man could vote in the Primary it +wouldn't be no better. They know better who to put in office, to run the +offices right. I think it is right for a woman to vote. + +"I been farming all my life. I was a section hand much as six months in +all my life. I work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. I am +having a hard time. I have high blood pressure. I can't pick cotton. I +can't even get a mess of turnip greens. The Social Welfare helps me a +little and I am janitor up town in two offices. They hand me a little +pocket change. It amount to maybe $2 a month. I had that job four years. +If I could work I would be on the farm. I could make a living there. I +always did. I had plenty on the farm. + +"Young folks don't take on no manners. The young folks take care of +themselves. It is the old ones seeing a hard time now." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Ark. +Age: 75? + + +"One thing I remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. They had a leader +hoeing cotton. His name was John. He was a fast hand. He hoe one row a +piece and reach over and hoe the other. He'd get way ahead of the other +hands. If they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. So he rest till they +ketch up. Once he hoed up to a tree--big shade tree out in the field. He +stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that +time. It bit him right on the toe. They took him up to the house but he +died. + +"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains. My parents was Henry +and Fannie Ford. Her master was named Powell and his master was named +Frank Ford. I was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. My folks +didn't git nuthing. I don't think they expected freedom much. They heard +they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. They didn't know what +freedom be like. When they was set free at DeValls Bluff they signed up. +They went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. That what +I heard em say when I was small boy. + +"I voted--Republican ticket, I believe. If I vote that what I vote. I +reckon the women ought to vote. I still vote that is if I sees fit to +vote. + +"My father run from the soldiers. He didn't go to the war as I ever +knowd of. + +"I been farmin' all my life till I got so nocount I ain't able to do +nothin' no more. I worked on the section bout six months. I worked some +off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. I does a little janitor +work now and the Welfare help me a little. + +"The present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they +run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they +cain't git no credit. Times is hard for old folks." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Judia Fortenberry + 712 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 75 +Occupation: Field hand +[May 21 1938] + + +[HW: Slaves Allowed to Visit] + +"I was born three miles west of Hamburg in Ashley County, Arkansas, in +the year 1859, in the month of October. I don't know just what day of +the month it was. + +"My mother was named Indiana Simms and my father was named Burrell +Simms. My father's mother was named Ony Simms, and my mother's mother +was named Maria Young. I don't know what the names of their parents was. + +"My mother's master was named Robert Tucker. My father's master was +named Hartwell Simms. Their plantations were pretty close together, but +I don't know how my father and my mother got together. I guess they just +happened to meet up with each other. The slaves from the two plantations +were allowed to visit one another. After their marriage, the two +continued to belong to different masters. Every Sunday, they would visit +one another. My father used to come to visit his wife every Sunday and +through the week at night. + +"My mother had ten children. + + +Houses + +"I was born in a log house with one room. It was built with a stick and +dirt chimney. It had plank floors. They didn't have nothin' much in the +way of furniture--homemade beds, stools, tables. We had common pans and +tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. The cabin had one window and +one door. + + +Patrollers + +"I have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. +But I can't remember them. My father said they used to go into the slave +cabins and take folks out and whip them. They'd go at night and get 'em +out and whip 'em. + + +How Freedom Came + +"I was so little that I don't know much about how freedom came. I just +know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. Went to +another man. Didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. He never got +anything when he was freed. I never heard of any of the slaves getting +anything. + + +Schooling + +"I went to free school after the War. I just went along during the +vacation when they weren't doing any farming. That is all the education +I got. I can't tell how many seasons I went--four or five, I reckon. I +never did go any whole season. I never had much chance to go to school. +People didn't send their children to school much in those days. I went +to school in Monticello, but most of my schooling was in country +schools. + + +Occupation + +"When I first went to work, I picked cotton. That is at a place out near +Hamburg. I picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. Then I went to +town--Monticello. I washed and ironed. About forty-five years ago, I +came to Little Rock, and have been here every since. Washing and ironing +has been my support. I have sometimes cooked. + + +Opinions + +"I don't know what I think about the young people. Seems to me they +coming to nothing. Lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance +to do it. I'm a christian. I belong to the A.M.E.'s. You know how they +do. + + Song + + 1 + + I belong to the band + That good old Christian band + Thank God I belong to the band. + + Chorus + + Steal away home to Jesus + I ain't got long to stay here. + + 2 + + There'll I'll meet my mother, + My good old christian mother, + Mother, how do you do; + Thank God I belong to the band. + +I can't remember the music. But that's on old song we used to sing 'way +back yonder. I can't remember any more of the verses. You got enough +anyhow." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Emma Foster + 1200 N. Magnolia, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 + + +"Yes'm, I was born in time of slavery--seven years before surrender. +No'm, I wasn't born in Arkansas. Born in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana. + +"I remember hearin' the big guns shoot. I was small and I didn't know +what it was only by what they told me. + +"My parents belonged to the Harts. My mother run off and left me, a +year-old baby. + +"I remember better when I was young than I do now. + +"After I got big enough--you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' +around in the yard--after I got big enough, they took me in the house to +rock the cradle, and I stayed there till I was twenty-three. I would a +stayed longer but they was so cruel to me. + +"I didn't know nothin'. I run off and stayed with a colored preacher and +his family not far away. You know I was crazy. One day the preacher said +some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' +to tell my white folks where I was. And sure enough, he did, and one +morning I was out in the field and I saw the son-in-law comin'. So I +went back and worked for him and his wife. + +"Me? All I did do was farmin' when I was young. + +"Oh, I been in Arkansas 'bout fifty years. My oldest boy was fourteen +when I come here and he is sixty-four now. + +"No, honey, I can't cook now. I'd burn it up. I used to cook. It's a +poor dog that won't wag its own tail. + +"All I know is I had a hard time, I been married three times. My last +husband was a preacher and he was so mean I left him. I told him if all +preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em. + +"I went to Chicago and lived with my son a while but I didn't like it, +so I come back here and I been here right in the yard with Mrs. O'Neal +eight years washin' and ironin'--anything come to hand. + +"Now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, I can see that 'fore +it happens. I was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain +and I come in and somethin' just bore down on me and I started to cry. I +didn't know why. I thought, 'Oh, Lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to +my son?' But instead it was my grandson. He got killed that evenin'." + + + + +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Birthmarks +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Emma Foster (C) +Place of residence: 1200 N. Magnolia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: Laundress +Age: 80 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"I know I marked one of my babies with beer. It was 'cause I wanted some +beer and couldn't get it. And when it was born it had a place on the +back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. And +when she was about a week old I got some beer and give it to her with a +teaspoon and she quit foamin'. + +"And another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the +doctor had done took the bone out. He and I used to love to rassle +(wrestle) and one day he said, 'Oh, Emma, you hurt my finger.' And like +a fool, you know I took his hand and just rubbed that finger. And do you +know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Ira Foster + 2000 W. Eureka Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"I was born in slavery because when the people come back from the War I +was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come. + +"I heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the War. + +"Yes ma'am, I was sure born in Arkansas; I won't tell no lie 'bout that. + +"My mother's old master was named Foster and after she married she +belonged to Hezekiah Bursey. + +"She was born in Alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated. + +"She was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner. + +"I never have been to school. Never did learn nothin'. My father put me +to work soon as I was big enough. + +"I always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near +as I can come at it. I went to saw millin' and I didn't do nothin' but +manufacture lumber. I worked for the Camden Lumber Company eighteen +years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble. + +"If I just had enough to live on I wouldn't do a thing but just sit +around 'cause I think I done worked my share. Why, some of the white +folks say, 'Foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty +dollars a month.' And I say, 'Why?' And they say, 'Cause you look just +like a darky that has worked hard in this world.' + +"I suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. Seems +like sometimes I can't hardly get around." + + + + +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Songs of Pre-War Days +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Ira Foster +Place of residence: 2000 W. Eureka, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 76 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + + "'You may call me Raggedy Pat + 'Cause I wear this raggedy hat, + And you may think I'm a workin' + But I ain't.' + +I used to hear my uncle sing that. That's all the words I can remember." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Leonard Franklin + Temporary: 301 Ridgeway, Little Rock, Arkansas + Permanent: Warren, Arkansas +Age: 70 + + +[HW: Mother Whipped Overseer] + +"I don't know exactly the year I was born. But my father told me I was +born since the Civil War. I am seventy years old. They always tell me +when my birthday come 'round it will be in January--the eighteenth of +January. + +"My father's name was Abe Franklin and my mother's name was Lucy +Franklin. I know my father's mother but I didn't ever know his father. +His mother's name was Maria Franklin. My mother's father was Harris +Pennington. I never did see her mother and never did see her. + +"I was born in Warren, Arkansas. My mother and father were born in +Warren. That is on the outer edge of Warren. My mother's slavery farm +was on what they called Big Creek. It is named Franklin Creek. Two or +three miles of it ran through Franklin's Farm. + +"My father's master was Al Franklin. And my mother's master's name was +Hill Pennington. One of Hill Pennington's sons was named Fountain +Pennington. He lives about five miles from Warren now on the south +highway. + +"My mother had about three masters before she got free. She was a +terrible working woman. Her boss went off deer hunting once for a few +weeks. While he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. She knocked +him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. +When Pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked +him what was the matter with it. The overseer told him that he went down +in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit +Lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she +jumped on me and like to tore me up. Old Pennington said to him, 'Well, +if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have +to take it.' + +"Then they sold her to another man named Jim Bernard. Bernard did a lot +of big talk to her one morning. He said, 'Look out there and mind you do +what you told around her and step lively. If you don't, you'll get that +bull whip.' She said to him, 'Yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' He had +heard about her; so he sold her to another man named Cleary. He was good +to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that. + +"There wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. +She could do more work than any two men. There wasn't no use for no one +man to try to do nothin' with her. No overseer never downed her. + +"They didn't kill niggers then--not in slavery times. Not 'round where +my folks were. A nigger was money. Slaves were property. They'd paid +money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill +'em up. When they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their +money out of them. + +"The white people started to Texas with the colored folks near the end +of the war and got as far as El Dorado. Word come to 'em that freedom +had come and they turned back. + +"A paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of +water. He said he was thirsty. He had a rubber thing on and drank two or +three buckets of water. His rubber bag swelled up and made his head or +the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. Instead +of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and I'll +tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more. + +"Right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. They hired out +by the month. [HW: My father] didn't never say how much he got. When +they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages +didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. Said he had ate +it all up. After that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of +his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to +show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. +It was ten years before he got a start. It was hard to get ahead then +because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't +know nothin'. My father had two brothers that just stayed on with the +white folks. They stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had +to go. Couldn't do no good then. My father was always treated well by +his master. + +"I got my schooling at Warren. I went to the tenth grade. Could have +gone farther but didn't want to. I was looking at something I thought +was better than education. When I got of age, I come up here and just +run about. I was what you might say pretty fine. I was looking so high I +couldn't find nothing to suit me. I went 'round to a number of places +and none of them suited me. So I went on back home and been there ever +since. + +"I married once in my life. My wife is still living. My wife is a good +woman. No, if I got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. I +am the father of ten living children. I made a living by doing anything +that come up--housework, gardening, anything. + +"I don't get no government help. I don't want none yet. God has seen me +this far. I think He'll see me to the end. He is good to me; He's given +me such a good time I couldn't help but serve Him. Only been sick once +in seventy years. + +"I belong to the Baptist church. God is my boss now. He has brought me +this far and He's able to carry me across" + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Eliza Frazier + 2003 Saracen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 88? + + +"I don't know when I was born or 'zackly how old I is, but I was born in +South Carolina and come here before the War. + +"I belonged to Wiley Mosley and he brought me and my mother and my +sister here to Arkansas. I don't 'member it at all 'cause I was a baby, +but I know what Wiley Mosley and my mother told me. + +"Settled in Redland Township. That's what they called it. He bought a +plantation there. There was three brothers come to this country and they +didn't live very far from each other. + +"I 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the War and one time I heered the guns +a poppin'. They said they was just passin' through. I was just a small +girl but I 'member it. I seed the Yankees too. I 'member they'd come up +in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take +the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk. + +"Old master was gone to the War. I 'member when he was gwine and I +'member when he come back. Old missis said he was up in Missouri. Got +shot right through the foot once. I know he come home and stayed 'til he +was well, then he went back. I don't know how long he stayed but he went +back--I know that. And he come back after the War--I 'member that. + +"I 'member one time when I upset the cradle. Miss Jane wouldn't 'low me +to take the baby up but I rocked the cradle. And one time I reckon I +rocked it too hard and it turned over. Miss Jane heard it time it hit +the floor and she come runnin'. I was under the house by that time but +she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. I +know I didn't turn it over no more. + +"The Yankees never said nothin' to me--talked to my mother though, and +old mis'. + +"They said they was fightin' to free the niggers. There was a boy on the +place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and +get the news. He didn't do that when old master was home. I know he +brought the news when peace declared. Patrollers got him one night. + +"I 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and +hollerin', 'The niggers is free, the niggers is free!' + +"Our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. I +'member I was gwine out to the field and Woodson, he was the baby I +upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and I know old +master said, 'Put him down and let him walk.' + +"They told me I was twenty when I was married--the white folks told me. +I know my mother asked how old I was and they said I was 'bout twenty. I +'member it well enough. + +"I never went to school but I knowed my ABC's and could read some in the +first reader. I ain't forgot about it. I thinks about it sometimes. + +"The biggest work I has done is farm work. + +"I've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one." + + +NOTE: + +Eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail +carrier and he is now sending three children to the A.M.& N. College +here. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mary Frazier, near Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 60 + + +"My parents was Neily and Amos Hamilton. They lived in Marshall County, +about forty-eight miles from Memphis. They belong to people by that same +name. + +"I heard them all say how they come to be way out in Mississippi. The +Thompsons owned Grandma Diana and her husband in South Carolina. Master +Jefferies went there from Mississippi and bought grandma. They let all +twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell +grandpa. He grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward +and bought him. Jefferies was good to them. I was born in Mississippi. +Grandma cooked all the time. Mama and papa both worked in the field. I +heard grandma say every one of her children was born in South Carolina. +Mr. Jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in Clarendon, Arkansas. +Since I come to this country I seen him. I lived over there pretty close +by. + +"I got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. They want to have +a big time when they are young. All young folks is swift on foot that +way. Times is funny. Funniest times ever been in my life. Is times right +now? Ain't no credit no more. That one thing making times so hard. Money +is the whole thing now'days." + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subject: TALES OF SLAVERY DAYS +Story:--Information +[Feb 6 1937] + +This information given by: Tyler Frazier +Place of Residence: Ouachita County +Occupation: Domestic +Age: 75 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +Ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus +freed. Ah got freed in Texas. We went tuh Texas on a steamboat an dey +wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. We sho 'joyed dat trip. We went wid +our mistress an moster. Dey wuz de Lides, Mistuh John Lide's parents. De +Lides run one uv de bigges' stores in Camden now, if yo knows dem dey is +de same Lides. One uv de boys wuz named Blackie Lide, one John Lide, one +named Hugh Lide. Dem wuz granchillun. Hannah Lide, Minnie Watts now, dey +wuz de granchillun. Now let me see, one Miss wuz named Emma Lide. Dem +sho wuz good fokes. Ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis +country. An ole moster been daid since way back yondah. But when we got +tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum Camden in +Ouachita County. Ole moster wuz named Peter Lide. We jes went tuh school +nough tuh learn our A.B.C.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. We +carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. We kep' +spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. We pickled de backbone an dem +spareribs. We worked evah day. Wednesday night wuz wash night. Dat's +when de women would do de washin. We'd go tuh de fiel way fo day. + +Back in dem days we had er log church. Ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah +wuz six. Mis Lide made mah fust pair uv britches. Ah membuhs one time ah +went to Miss Lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. Ah put em in a sack +an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung +an moster caught me. Ah'm tellin de truth. Ah aint had no desire tuh +steal since. + +Moster Peter Lide's favorite song wus dis: "Hit's er long way tuh +heaven." Ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. He wuz a Christian man. He +wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good Christian. We didn' know +bout no money. When we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. We didn' know +bout Thanksgiving day and Christmas. We heard de white fokes tawkin bout +hit but we didn' know whut hit meant. + +When anybody would die dey made de coffin. Didn' have no funeral, no +singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. Dat wus all. Nebber stop +work. We nevah plowed er hoss. We used oxen teams. We made good crops +den. We raised all our sumpin tuh eat. + +When ah wus a lil' bitsy boy Mrs. Lide use tuh tell us stories at night. +She give us our fireside trainin. She tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin +not tuh but in. Ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot +dat. We ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. We lives in de days +dats past. All we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. When mah +time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah God, mah +country and mah race. + + + + +Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg +Person interviewed: Aunt Mittie Freeman +Aged: 86 +Home: 320 Elm St., North Little Rock. In home of granddaughter. +[Aug 27 1937] + + +Story by Aunt Mittie Freeman + +"Howdy, honey. Come on in and set down. It's awful hot, ain't it? What +you come to see me for? You says old uncle Boss tell you I'se old slave +lady? That's right, that's right. Us old war folks never fergits the +others. Anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. I got +the bestest remembrance. + +Orange county, Mississippi was where I was borned at but I been right +here in Arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. In slavery, it was, +when my white folks done come to Camden. You know where that is?--Camden +on the Ouachita? That's the place where we come. Yes Ma'am, it was long +before the war when the doctor--I means Dr. Williams what owned my pappy +and all us younguns--say he going to Arkansas. Theys rode in the fine +carriages. Us slaves rode in ox wagons. Lord only knows how long it tuck +a-coming. Every night we camped. I was jest a little tike then but I has +a remembrance of everything. The biggest younguns had to walk till theys +so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been +a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like +this we go on. + +Dr. Williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. He was sure good +man. He didn't work his slaves hard like some. My pappy was a kind of a +manager for Doctor. Doctor tended his business and pappy runned the +plantation where we lived at. Our good master died before freedom. He +willed us slaves to his chilrun. You know--passeled (parcelled) us out, +some to this child, some to that. I went to his daughter, Miss Emma. +Laws-a-Mercy, how I wishes I could see her face onct more afore I dies. +I heerd she married rich. Unh-unh! I'd shore love to see her onct more. + +After old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of +the fam'ly. It had a overseer. He was a northerner man and the meanest +devil ever put foot on a plantation. My father was a gentleman; yes +ma'am, he was jest that. He had been brung up that-a-way. Old master +teached us to never answer back to no white folks. But one day that +overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit +him. + +So after that, he sent pappy down to New Orleans to be sold. He said he +would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned +him. Pappy was old. Every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; +everybody pass old pappy by. After a long time--oh, maybe five +years--one day they ax pappy--"Are you got some white folks back in +Arkansas?" He telled them the Williams white folks in Camden on the +Ouachita. Theys white. After while theys send pappy home. Miss, I tells +you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. Old Miss and the young white +folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; +they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. That's what them +Williams folks thought of their slaves. Yes ma'am. + +Old Miss was name Miss 'liza. She skeered to stay by herself after old +master died. I was took to be her companion. Every day she wanted me to +bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said I was +gentle and didn't never hurt her. One day I was a standing by the window +and I seen smoke--blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. I heerd +cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. She say: "Run, Mittie, and +hide yourself. It's the Yanks. Theys coming at last, Oh lordy!" I was +all incited (excited) and told her I didn't want to hide, I wanted to +see 'em. "No" she say, right firm. "Ain't I always told you Yankees has +horns on their heads? They'll get you. Go on now, do like I tells you." +So I runs out the room and went down by the big gate. A high wall was +there and a tree put its branches right over the top. I clim up and hid +under the leaves. They was coming, all a marching. The captain opened +our big gate and marched them in. A soldier seen me and said "Come on +down here; I want to see you." I told him I would, if he would take off +his hat and show me his horns. + +The day freedom came, I was fishing with pappy. My remembrance is sure +good. All a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. +You know what that was, Miss? It was the fall of Richmond. Cannons was +to roar every place when Richmond fell. Pappy jumps up, throws his pole +and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. +"It's victory," he keep on saying. "It's freedom. Now we'es gwine be +free." I didn't know what it all meant. + +It seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. Everything jest +kept on like it was. We heard that lots of slaves was getting land and +some mules to set up fer theirselves; I never knowed any what got land +or mules nor nothing. + +We all stayed right on the place till the Yankees came through. They was +looking for slaves what was staying on. Now we was free and had to git +off the plantation. They packed us in their big amulance ... you say it +wasn't a amulance,--what was it? Well, then, their big covered army +wagons, and tuck us to Little Rock. Did you ever know where the old +penitentiary was? Well, right there is where the Yanks had a great big +barracks. All chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. Did you +know that the fust real free school in Little Rock was opened by the +govment for colored chullens? Yes ma'am, and I went to it, right from +the day we got there. + +They took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the +corner of Second and Main Street. He got $12.00 a month and all the grub +we could eat. Unh, Unh! Didn't we live good? I sure got a good +remembrance, honey. Can't you tell? Yes, Ma'am. They was plenty of other +refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of +'em. + +I was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help +pappy. A man name Captain Hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the +river. He wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get +colored folks to help him. A lot of us niggers from the barracks was +sent to pick. We got $1.25 a hundred pounds. What did I do with my +money? Is you asking me that? Bless your soul, honey, I never seen that +money hardly long enough to git it home. In them days chilluns worked +for their folks. I toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to +have. That's the way it was. We picked cotton all fall and winter, and +went to school after picking was over. + +When I got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting +on. Pappy had a five year lease,--do you know what that was, I +don't--but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could +clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. He built +a log house and put in a orchard. Next year he had a big garden and sold +vegables. Lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but +pappy. They'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting +ears. When he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and +made it right good. His name was Harry Williams. He was a stern man, and +honest. He was named for his old master. When my brothers got growed +they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in Little +Rock. But when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck +a farm--the old Lawson place--so to make a home for mammy and the little +chilluns. + +I married Freeman. Onliest husban ever I had. He died last summer. He +was a slave too. We used to talk over them days before we met. The +K.K.K. never bothered us. They was gathered together to bother niggers +and whites what made trouble. If you tended to your own business, they's +let you alone. + +No ma'am, I never voted. My husband did. Yes ma'am, I can remember when +they was colored men voted into office. Justice of Peace, county clerks, +and, er--er--that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets +killed. What you call him? Coroner? Sure, that's him. I know that, +'cause I seen them a-setting in their offices. + +We raised our fam'ly on a plantation. That's the bestest place for +colored chilluns. Yes ma'am. My five boys stayed with me till they was +grown. They heerd about the Railroad shops and was bound theys going +there to work. Ben--that was my man--and me couldn't make it by +ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon +after the war. He was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and +died in two weeks. He didn't know nothing all that time. My onliest boy +what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. All them others went +to Iowa after the big railroad strike here. They was out of work for +many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they +been in the shops. + +How I a-living now? You wants to know, honest? Say honey, is you a +relief worker--one of them welfare folkses? Lor' God, how I needs help! +Honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to +put on 'em to bury in. I told the Welfare could I get something clean +and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was +two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close +(clothes). Theys told me then I would get $10.00 a month, but in all +this time now, I only had $5.00 one time. I lives with my daughter here +in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up +the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. Lordy, where'll we go? I made +big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. Hot summer burnt +everything up, now. Yessum, that $5.00 the Reliefers give me--I bought +my garden stuff with it. + +I got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. It look like I'm done. I knowed +a old potion. It made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. Good whiskey. Not +old cheap corn likker. Yessum, you takes fine whiskey--'bout half +bottle, and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. Tablespoon three +times a day. Look-a-here, miss. Look at these old arms go up and down +now. I kin do a washing along with the youngish womens. + +Iffen you wants to know what I thinks of the young folks I tells you. +Look at that grandchile a-setting there. She fourteen and know more +right now than I knowed in my whole life. Yes ma'am! She can sew on a +machine and make a dress in one day. She read in a book how to make +sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. Theys fast, too. Ain't got no time +for olds like me. Can't find no time to do nothin' for me. People now +makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't +honest. No'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. Old honest way was to bend +the back and bear down on the hoe. + +Did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? Sure did have purty music +them days. It's so long, honey, I jest can't 'member the names, +'excusing one. It was "Hark, from the Tombs a Doleful Sound." It was a +burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. It was the +most onliest song they knowed. They was other music, though. Could they +play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! Lordy, iffen I could take you +back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and +learned me to dance the contillion! + +I'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you +think? Yes, Mam! We sure is living in the seventh seal. The days of +tribulations is on us right now. Nothing make like it used to. I sure +would be proud iffen I knowed I had a living for the balance of my days. +I got a clean and a clear heart--a clean and clear heart. Be so to your +neighbors and God will make it up to you. He sure will, honey." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mattie Fritz, Clarendon, Arkansas +Age: 79 + + +"I was born at Duncan, Arkansas. Mother died when I was a baby. Old +slavery black 'Mammy' raised me. I called her 'Mammy'. My father was +born in the State of Mississippi. He got loose there at 'mancipation. +His master Jack Oates got killed in battle. They brung him home and +buried him in the garden. Down close to Duncan on the place. I played in +the yard wid Mr. Jack Oates, Jr. when we was little fellars. Father's +master in Tennessee was Bill Tyler. My uncle went back to Tennessee to +them. His name was Tyler Oates. Mr. Jack Gates, Sr. used to pat me and +call me his little nigger. We thought the world and all of our white +folks. We sure did. Some of 'em 'round 'bout Helena they say now. Mr. +Jack, Jr., he had two boys and he was a widower. + +"My own dear mother was Jane. My father called hisself Bill Tyler. My +stepmother was Liddy. The woman what raised me was 'Mammy' all I ever +knowed. But her name was Luckadoo. + +"Mr. Tyler got killed. Pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. He +got sold. Then she died. Then mother died. Jack Oates went to my father +and brung him to Mississippi, then to Arkansas. + +"Master Jack Tyler hid out. The Yankees come at night and caught him +there and shot him. His wife lived about two more years. She grieved +about him. They took everything and searched the house. My pa was hid +under the house. They rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen +him once. He was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the +dark. All what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. They couldn't see +him so good. Way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in +the fights too. Them Yankees took Massa Jack Tyler off and sont him back +in a while. She had him buried in the garden. She didn't know it was +him. + +"'Mammy' was a slavery woman. She was sold first time from a neighbor +man to a neighbor man. He was an old man. She ploughed and rolled logs. +Then she was sold to Master Luckadoo close to Holly Grove. They named +her Eloise, and she was a farm woman. She was so good to me. She was a +worker and never took time to tell me about old times. She said Luckadoo +never whooped her. A storm come and blowed a limb down killed her +granddaughter and broke my leg. The same storm killed their mule. She +raised a orphan boy too. She died from the change of life but she was +old, gray headed. Since I'm older I think she had a tumor. 'Cause she +was old when she took me on. + +"I gets ten dollars from the Welfare. I ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em +nor nothin' agin 'em. They's betwix' and between no 'count and good. + +"Times too fast. I can't keep up wid them. 'Betwix' and between the fat +and the lean.' Some do very well I reckon." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: A Folk History of +Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2, by Work Projects Administration + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13700 *** diff --git a/13700-h/13700-h.htm b/13700-h/13700-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5223f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/13700-h/13700-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10379 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>Born in Slavery: Slave Narratives from the Federal Writers' Project, 1936-1938: +Arkansas Narratives, Volume II, Part 2</title> +<meta name="author" content="Federal Writers' Project"> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13700 ***</div> + +<p>[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note</p> +<p>[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> + +<h1>SLAVE NARRATIVES</h1> +<br> + +<h2><i>A Folk History of Slavery in the United States<br> +From Interviews with Former Slaves</i></h2> +<br> + + +<h4>TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY<br> +THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT<br> +1936-1938<br> +ASSEMBLED BY<br> +THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT<br> +WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION<br> +FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA<br> +SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS</h4> +<br> + +<p><i>Illustrated with Photographs</i></p> + +<br> + + +<p>WASHINGTON 1941</p> +<br><br><br> + +<h2>VOLUME II</h2> + +<h2>ARKANSAS NARRATIVES</h2> + +<h2>PART 2</h2> + + +<h3>Prepared by<br> +the Federal Writers' Project of<br> +the Works Progress Administration<br> +for the State of Arkansas</h3> +<br><br><br> + + +<h2>INFORMANTS</h2> + +<a href='#CannonFrank'>Cannon, Frank</a><br> +<a href='#CauleyZenie'>Cauley, Zenie</a><br> +<a href='#ChambersLiney'>Chambers, Liney</a><br> +<a href='#CharlestonWillie'>Charleston, Jr., Willie Buck</a><br> +<a href='#ChaseLewis'>Chase, Lewis</a><br> +<a href='#ClayKatherine'>Clay, Katherine</a><br> +<a href='#ClemmentsMaria'>Clemments, Maria Sutton</a><br> +<a href='#ClementsMaria'>Clements, Maria Sutton</a> [TR: same as Maria Sutton Clemments, second interview]<br> +<a href='#ClementsMaria2'>Clements, Maria Sutton</a> + [TR: third interview] <br> +<a href='#ClemonsFannie'>Clemons, Fannie</a><br> +<a href='#ClintonJoe'>Clinton, Joe</a><br> +<a href='#ColemanBetty'>Coleman, Betty</a><br> +<a href='#CottonLucy'>Cotton, Lucy</a><br> +<a href='#CottonTW'>Cotton, T.W.</a><br> +<a href='#CraginEllen'>Cragin, Ellen</a><br> +<a href='#CraneSallie'>Crane, Sallie</a><br> +<a href='#CrawfordIsaac'>Crawford, Isaac</a><br> +<a href='#CrosbyMary'>Crosby, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#CrumpRichard'>Crump, Richard</a><br> +<a href='#CulpZenia'>Culp, Zenia</a><br> +<a href='#CumminsAlbert'>Cumins, Albert</a> [TR: in header and text of interview, Cummins]<br> +<a href='#CurlettBetty'>Curlett, Betty</a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#CurlettBetty2'>Curlett, Betty</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#CurryJH'>Curry, J.H.</a><br> +<br> +<a href='#DandridgeLyttleton'>Dandridge, Lyttleton</a><br> +<a href='#DanielsElla'>Daniels, Ella</a><br> +<a href='#DarrowMaryAllen'>Darrow, Mary Allen</a><br> +<a href='#DavisAlice'>Davis, Alice</a><br> +<a href='#DavisCharlie'>Davis, Charlie</a><br> +<a href='#DavisD'>Davis, D.</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJames'>Davis, James</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJim'>Davis, Jim</a> [TR: same as James Davis, second interview]<br> +<a href='#DavisJim2'>Davis, Jim</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#DavisJeff1'>Davis, Jeff</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJeff2'>Davis, Jeff</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJordan'>Davis, Jordan</a><br> +<a href='#DavisMaryJane'>Davis, Mary Jane Drucilla</a><br> +<a href='#DavisMinerva'>Davis, Minerva</a><br> +<a href='#DavisRosetta'>Davis, Rosetta</a><br> +<a href='#DavisVirginia'>Davis, Virginia (Jennie)</a><br> +<a href='#DavisWinnie'>Davis, Winnie</a><br> +<a href='#DayLeroy'>Day, Leroy</a><br> +<a href='#DellHammett'>Dell, Hammett</a><br> +<a href='#DickeyJames'>Dickey, James</a><br> +<a href='#DiggsBenjamin'>Diggs, Benjamin</a><br> +<a href='#DillonKatie'>Dillon, Katie</a><br> +<a href='#DixonAlice'>Dixon, Alice</a><br> +<a href='#DixonLukeD'>Dixon, Luke D.</a><br> +<a href='#DixonMarthaAnn'>Dixon, Martha Ann</a><br> +<a href='#DockeryRailroad'>Dockery, Railroad</a><br> +<a href='#DonalsonCallie'>Donalson, Callie</a><br> +<a href='#DortchCharlesGreen'>Dortch, Charles Green</a><br> +<a href='#DorumFannie'>Dorum, Fannie</a><br> +<a href='#DothrumSilas'>Dothrum, Silas</a><br> +<a href='#DouglasSarah'>Douglas, Sarah</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarah2'>Douglas, Sarah</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#DouglasTom'>Douglas, Tom</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarahTom'>Douglas, Sarah and Tom</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarahTom2'>Douglas, Sarah and Tom</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#DouglasSebert'>Douglas, Sebert</a><br> +<a href='#DoylHenry'>Doyl, Henry</a><br> +<a href='#DoyldWillie'>Doyld, Willie</a><br> +<a href='#DudleyWade'>Dudley, Wade</a><br> +<a href='#DukeIsabella'>Duke, Isabella</a><br> +<a href='#DukesWash'>Dukes, Wash</a> <br> +<a href='#DunnLizzie'>Dunn, Lizzie</a><br> +<a href='#DunneNellie'>Dunne, Nellie</a><br> +<a href='#DunwoodyWilliamL'>Dunwoody, William L.</a><br> +<br> +<a href='#EdwardsLucius'>Edwards, Lucius</a><br> +<a href='#ElliottJohn'>Elliott, John</a><br> +<a href='#EvansMillie'>Evans, Millie</a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#EvansMillie2'>Evans, Millie</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FarmerRobert'>Farmer, Robert</a><br> +<a href='#FergussonMrsLou'>Fergusson, Lou</a><br> +<a href='#FerrellJennie'>Ferrell, Jennie</a><br> +<a href='#FikesFrank'>Fikes, Frank</a><br> +<a href='#FilerJE'>Filer, J.E.</a> <br> +<a href='#FingerOrleana'>Finger, Orleana</a> [TR: in text of interview, Orleana]<br> +<a href='#FinleyMolly'>Finley, Molly</a><br> +<a href='#FinneyFanny'>Finney, Fanny</a><br> +<a href='#FisherGateEye'>Fisher, Gate-Eye</a><br> +<a href='#FitzgeraldEllen'>Fitzgerald, Ellen</a><br> +<a href='#FitzhughHenry'>Fitzhugh, Henry</a><br> +<a href='#FlaggMary'>Flagg, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#FlowersDoc'>Flowers, Doc</a><br> +<a href='#FlukerFrances'>Fluker, Frances</a><br> +<a href='#FlukerIdaMay'>Fluker, Ida May</a><br> +<a href='#FordWash'>Ford, Wash</a> <br> +<a href='#FordWash2'>Ford, Wash</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#FortenberryJudia'>Fortenberry, Judia</a><br> +<a href='#FosterEmma'>Foster, Emma</a> + [TR: interview]<br> +<a href='#FosterEmma2'>Foster, Emma</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FosterIra'>Foster, Ira </a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#FosterIra2'>Foster, Ira</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FranklinLeonard'>Franklin, Leonard</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierEliza'>Frazier, Eliza</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierMary'>Frazier, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierTyler'>Frazier, Tyler</a><br> +<a href='#FreemanAuntMittie'>Freeman, Mittie</a><br> +<a href='#FritzMattie'>Fritz, Mattie</a><br> +<br> +<br> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<a href="#img_STD">Sarah and Sam Douglas</a> [TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes +"'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."]<br> +<a href="#img_ME">Millie Evans</a> <br> +<br><br> + +<p>[TR: Some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added +to interview headers in brackets. Where part of date could not be +determined -- has been substituted. These dates do not appear to +represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews +were received or perhaps transcription dates.]</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CannonFrank"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Frank Cannon<br> + R.F.D., two miles, Palestine, Arkansas<br> +Age: 77</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born three miles west of Starkville, Mississippi on a pretty +tolerable large farm. My folks was bought from a speculator drove come +by. They come from Sanders in South Ca'lina. Master Charlie Cannon +bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. He had +five farms, big size farms. Saturday was ration day.</p> + +<p>"Our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to +preach to us. He was a white preacher. Said he wanted his slaves to be +Christians.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school in my life. I was taught by the fireside to be +obedient and not steal.</p> + +<p>"We et outer trays hewed out of logs. Three of us would eat together. We +had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. +We all had gourds to drink outer. When we had milk we'd get on our knees +and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. They give the grown up +the meat and us pot-liquor.</p> + +<p>"Pa was a blacksmith. He got a little work from other plantations. The +third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. The master was dead. He +never went to war. He went in the black jack thickets. His sons wasn't +old enough to go to war. Pa seemed to like ole master. The overseer was +white looking like the master but I don't know if he was white man or +nigger. Ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. Master +held him off on whooping.</p> + +<p>"When the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and +look at him. When he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. He didn't care +if we look at him.</p> + +<p>"My pa was light about my color. Ma was dark. I heard them say she was +part Creek (Indian).</p> + +<p>"Folks was modester before the children than they are now. The children +was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. Everything +we said wasn't smart like what children say now. We was seen and not +heard. Not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a +brush to nettle our legs. Then we'd run and holler both.</p> + +<p>"Now and then a book come about and it was hid. Better not be caught +looking at books.</p> + +<p>"Times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got +worked too hard and frailed. Some folks was treated very good, some +killed.</p> + +<p>"Folks getting mean now. They living in hopes and lazing about. They +work some."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CauleyZenie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person Interviewed: Zenie Cauley<br> + 1000 Louisiana<br> + Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 78 <br> +[-- 7 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I member when they freed the people.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Bedie Kellog's yard and I know she said, 'Zenie, I hate +to give you up, I'd like to keep you.' But my mother said, 'No, ma'am, I +can't give Zenie up.'</p> + +<p>"We still stayed there on the place and I was settled and growed up when +I left there.</p> + +<p>"I'm old. I feels my age too. I may not look old but I feels it.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. +Old folks had rags on their hair. Yes'm, I been here.</p> + +<p>"My father was a Missionary Baptist preacher and he <u>was</u> a preacher. +Didn't know 'A' from 'B' but he was a preacher. Everbody knowed Jake +Alsbrooks. He preached all over that country of North Carolina. They'd +be as many white folks as colored. They'd give him <u>money</u> and he never +called for a collection in his life. Why one Sunday they give him +sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse.</p> + +<p>"Fore I left the old county, I member the boss man, Henry Grady, come +by and tell my mother, 'I'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when +I come back—kill a chicken.' She was one of the cooks. Used to have us +chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I done left there thirty-six years—will be this August.</p> + +<p>"When we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets +and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach +on Sunday. He fell down in Bedie Kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the +barn. He was standin' on the wagon and I guess he lost his balance. They +sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his +nabel string. They preached his funeral ever year for five years. Seemed +like they just couldn't give him up.</p> + +<p>"White folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up +Uncle Jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he +beat us so I don't know how I can remember anything. He wouldn't let us +go to school. Had to work and just live like pigs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I used to be a tiger bout work, but I fell on the ice in +'twenty-nine and I ain't never got over it. I said I just had a death +shock.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but three months in my life. Didn't go long +enough to learn anything.</p> + +<p>"I was bout a mile from where I was born when I professed religion. My +daddy had taught us the right way. I tell you, in them days you couldn't +join the church unless you had been changed.</p> + +<p>"I come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to Arkansas."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ChambersLiney"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson <br> +Person interviewed: Liney Chambers, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age:</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee close to Memphis. I remember seein' the +Yankees. I was most too little to be very scared of them. They had their +guns but they didn't bother us. I was born a slave. My mother cooked for +Jane and Silas Wory. My mother's name was Caroline. My father's name was +John. An old bachelor named Jim Bledsoe owned him. When the war was over +I don't remember what happened. My mother moved away. She and my father +didn't live together. I had one brother, Proctor. I expect he is dead. +He lived in California last I heard of him.</p> + +<p>"They just expected freedom all I ever heard. I know they didn't expect +the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land +bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. They +thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. They kept +the land and that is about all there was left. Whut the Yankees didn't +take they wasted and set fire to it. They set fire to the rail fences so +the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. Both sides +was mean. But it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the +Souths ground it was the wurst here. Now that's just the way I sees it. +They done one more thing too. They put any colored man in the front +where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the +back lines. When they come along they try to get the colored men to go +with them and that's the way they got treated. I didn't know where +anybody was made to stay on after the war. They was lucky if they had a +place to stay at. There wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. Times +was awful unsettled for a long time. People whut went to the cities +died. I don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' +and livin' I guess whut done it. They died mighty fast for awhile. I +knowed some of them and I heard 'em talking.</p> + +<p>"That period after the war was a hard time. It sho was harder than the +depression. It lasted a long time. Folks got a lots now besides what +they put up with then. Seemed like they thought if they be free they +never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. They +found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been +used to. I don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the +color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. Some of +them had a worse time. So many soon got sick and died. They died of +Consumption and fevers and nearly froze. Some near 'bout starved. The +colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war.</p> + +<p>"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen one.</p> + +<p>"I never voted. I don't believe in it.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of any uprisings. I don't know nobody in that rebellion +(Nat Turner).</p> + +<p>"I used to sing to my children and in the field.</p> + +<p>"I lived on the farm till I come to my daughters to live. I like it +better then in town. We homesteaded a place at Grunfield (Zint) and my +sister bought it. We barely made a living and never had money to lay up.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what they'll (young generation) do. Things going so fast. +I'm glad I lived when I did. I think it's been the best time for p[o]r +folks. Some now got too much and some not got +nothin'. That what I believe make times seem so hard."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CharlestonWillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Willie Buck Charleston, Jr., Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born up here on the Biscoe place before Mr. Biscoe was heard of +in this country. I'm for the world like my daddy. He was light as I is. +I'm jus' his size and make. There was three of us boys. Dan was the +oldest; he was my own brother, and Ed was my half-brother. My daddy was +a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. He was in the Old War (Civil +War). He was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. +Mother had been a cook. She and my grandmother was sold in South +Carolina and brought out here. Mother's name was Sallie Harry. Judging +by them being Harrys that might been who owned them before they was +sold. She was about as light as me. Mother died when I was a litter bit +er of a fellar. Then me and Dan lived from house to house. Grandma Harry +and my Aunt Mat and Jesse Dove raised us. My daddy married right er way +ag'in.</p> + +<p>"I recollect mighty little about the war. We lived back in the woods and +swamps. I was afraid of the soldiers. I seen them pass by. I was so +little I can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them.</p> + +<p>"When we lived over about Forrest City I seen the Ku Klux whoop Joe Saw +and Bill Reed. It was at night. They was tied to trees and whooped with +a leather snake whoop. I couldn't say how it come up but they sure +poured it on them. There was a crowd come up during the acting. I was +scared to death then. After then I had mighty little use for dressed-up +folks what go around at night (Ku Klux). I can tell you no sich thing +ever took place as I heard of at Biscoe. We had our own two officers +and white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well +together."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ChaseLewis"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lewis Chase; Des Arc, Arkansas<br> +Age: 90?</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I answer all your questions I knows lady.</p> + +<p>"When de Civil War goin on I heard lots folks talking. I don't know what +all they did say. It was a war mong de white folks. Niggers had no say +in it. Heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. +Niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. Yankey troops come take +everything we had made, take it to the Bluff (DeValls Bluff), waste it +and eat it. He claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater +way. De niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. +Niggers what I knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin +but freedom.</p> + +<p>"I was sold. Yes mam I sho was. Jes put up on a platform and auctioned +off. Sold right here in Des Arc. Nom taint right. My old mistress [Mrs. +Snibley] whoop me till I run off and they took me back when they found +out where I lef from. I stayed way bout two weeks.</p> + +<p>"One man I sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. N[o]'[o]m +he didn't get me. I heard him puttin up the prices and I sho hope he didn't get me.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whar I come from. Old Missus Snibley kept my hat pulled +down over my face so I couldn't see de way to go back. I didn't want to +come and I say I go right back. Whar I set, right between old missus +and master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus +Snibley's two girls right behind us. I recken it was a covered wagon. +The girls name was Florence and Emma. Old master Snibley never whip me +but old Missus sho did pile it on me. Noom I didn't lack her. I run +away. He died f[o] the war was over. I did leave her when de war was over.</p> + +<p>"I saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but I nebber seed no Ku +Klux. I heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the Wattensaw bridge +[Iron bridge]. I was scared might near all de time for four years. Noom +I didn't want no soldiers to get me.</p> + +<p>"I recken I wo long britches when de war started cause when I pulled off +dresses I woe long britches. Never wo no short ones. Nigger boys and +white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years +old in them times. They put on britches when they big nough to help at +the field.</p> + +<p>"I worked at the house and de field. I'se farmed all my life.</p> + +<p>"I vote [HW: many] a time. I don't know what I vote. Noom I don't! I +recken I votes Democrat, I don't know. It don't do no good. Noom I ain't +voted in a long time. I don't know nothin bout votin. I never did.</p> + +<p>"Noom I never owned no land, noom no home neither. I didn't need no +home. The man I worked for give me a house on his place. I work for +another man and he give me a house on his land. I owned a horse one +time. I rode her.</p> + +<p>"I don't know nuthin bout the young generation. I takes care bout +myself. Dats all I'm able to do now. Some ob dem work. Nom they don't +work hard as I did. I works now hard as they do. They ought to work. I +don't know what going to become ob them. I can't help what they do.</p> + +<p>"The times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap +ob time they ain't no work fo em to do.</p> + +<p>"Noom I lived at Bells, Arkansas for I come to Hickory Plains and Des +Arc. I don't know no kin but my mother. She died durin the war. Noom not +all de white folks good to the niggers. Some mean. They whoop em. Some +white folks good. Jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and +some ob em mean.</p> + +<p>"I works when I can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little.</p> + +<p>"I <u>am</u> er hundred years old! Cause I knows I is. White folks all tell +you I am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClayKatherine"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Katherine Clay, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 69</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in West Point, Mississippi. My folks' owners was Master +Harris and Liddie Harris. My parent's name was Sely Sikes. She was +mother of seven children. Papa was name Owen Sikes. He never was +whooped. They had different owners. Both my grandparents was dead on +both sides. I never seen them.</p> + +<p>"Mama said her owners wasn't good. Her riding boss put a scar on her +back she took to her grave. It was deep and a foot long. He wanted to +whoop her naked. He had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. She +run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and +told him all about it. She had been in the woods about a week she +reckon. She had a baby she had left. The old mistress done had it +brought to her. She was nursing it. She had a sicking baby of her own. +She kept that baby. Mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had +to come wait on her; it nearly ruined.</p> + +<p>"Mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and +give him ten minutes to leave his place. He left in a hurry. That was +her very first baby. She was raising a family, so they put her a nurse +at the house. She had been ploughing. She had big fine children. They +was proud of them. She raised a big family. She took care of all her and +Miss Liddie's babies and washed their hippins. Never no soap went on +them she said reason she had that to do. Another woman cooked and +another woman washed.</p> + +<p>"Mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her +have her four children. She grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would +have a hard time. She sold for one thousand dollars. She said that was +half price but freedom was coming on. She never laid eyes on her mama +ag'in.</p> + +<p>"After freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the +place run the Ku Klux off. They come there and he told them to go on +away, if he need them he would call them back out there. They never came +back, she said. They was scared to death of the Ku Klux. At the place +where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. That was +for miles about. Their master told them up at his house. He said it was +sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. But for +them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. They +didn't go off right at first. They was several years getting broke up. +Some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. Like bees trying to +find a setting place. Seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even +being free.</p> + +<p>"I had eleven children my own self. I let the plough fly back and hit me +once and now I got a tumor there. I love to plough. I got two children +living. She comes to see me. She lives across over here. I don't hear +from my boy. I reckon he living. I gets help from the relief on account +I can't work much with this tumor."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClemmentsMaria"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clemments, DeValls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: Between 85 and 90 years</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clements]</p> +<br> + +<p>I don't know jes how old I is. Yes mum I show do member the war jes lack +as if it was yesterday. I was born in Lincoln County, Georgia. My old +mistress was named Frances Sutton. She was a real old lady. Her husband +was dead. She had two sons Abraham and George. One of them tried to get +old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. He wanter sell +her cause she too old to bear children. Sell her and buy young woman +raise mo children to sell. Put em in the nigger drove and speculate on +em. Young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes +and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred +dollars. Yea mam every cent of it. Two weeks after baby born see the +mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the +children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. When de sun come +up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid +de dogs playin long after him. If they didn't chop dat cotton jes right +he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood +run out the gashes. They come right back and take up whar they lef off +work. Two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row.</p> + +<p>Had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. +They didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. They had pewter bowls to +eat outer and spoons. Eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the +kitchen. Eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the +bell rung. Big bell on a high post.</p> + +<p>My ma's name was Sina Sutton. She come from Virginia in a nigger traders +drove when she was sixteen years old and Miss Frances husband bought er. +She had nine childen whut lived. I am de youngest. She died jes before +de war broke out. Till that time I had been trained a house girl. My ma +was a field hand. Then when the men all went to the army I plowed. I +plowed four years I recken, till de surrender. Howd I know it was +freedom? A strange woman—I never seed fore, came runnin down where we +was all at work. She say loud as she could "Hay freedom. You is free." +Everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. Dats whut +they come by fer. Course dey was Yankee soldiers settin the colored +folks all free. Everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. They +didn't know whar des goin. Jes scatterin round. I say give 'em somethin. +They was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the +land. The hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. White folks sho +had been rich but all they had was the land. The smoke houses had been +stripped and stripped. The cows all been took off cept the scrubs. Folks +plowed ox and glad to plow one.</p> + +<p>Sometime we had a good time. I danced till I joined the church. We +didn't have no nigger churches that I knowed till after freedom. Go to +the white folks church. We danced square dance jess like the white folks +long time ago. The niggers baptized after the white folks down at the +pond. They joined the white folks church sometimes. The same woman on +the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for Miss Frances. I +recollects that. She knitted and seed about things. She showed the +nigger women how to sew. All the women on the place could card and spin. +They sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. +They show didn't teach them to read. They whoop you if they see you have +a book. If they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout +freedom or equalization. They scatter you bout.</p> + +<p>When they sell you, they take you off. See drove pass the house. Men be +ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. The slaves +be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. They make em stand in +a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction +em.</p> + +<p>The pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own +land. There shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. Some ob +dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get +them to work for them sometimes and pay em.</p> + +<p>When you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. When a +man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. They call +it sellin nigger meat. No use tryin run off they catch you an bring you +back.</p> + +<p>I don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they +was fightin. Said that was what it was about. That was a white mans war +cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the Yankee lines. And some ob +the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. He so used to bein +waited on. I ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem I tell you.</p> + +<p>If der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. The niggers +get passes and visit round on Saturday evening or on Sunday jes mongst +theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round.</p> + +<p>When dat war was done Georgia was jes like being at the bad place. You +couldn't stay in the houses fear some Ku Klux come shoot under yo door +and bust in wid hatchets. Folks hide out in de woods mostly. If dey hear +you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. They whoop you. You +couldn't be settin or standing talkin. They come and ask you what he +been tell you. That Ku Klux killed white men too. They say they put em +up to hold offices over them. It was heap worse in Georgia after freedom +than it was fore. I think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de +white man put on him. We's had a hard time. Some of em down there in +Georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals +and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly +starved and died out. I heard em talk bout how they died in piles. +Niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. White folks didn't have +no meat, no flour.</p> + +<p>The folks was after some people and I run off and kept goin till I +took up with some people. The white folks brought them to +Tennessee—Covington—I come too. They come in wagons. My father, he got +shot and I never seed him no mo. He lived on another farm fo de war. I +lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and I married. My old +man wanted to come to dis new country. Heard so much talk how fine it +was. Then I had run across my brother. He followed me. One brother was +killed in the war somehow. My brother liked Memphis an he stayed there. +We come on the train. I never did like no city.</p> + +<p>We farmed bout, cleared land. Never got much fo the hard work we done. +The white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was +made cept a bare living.</p> + +<p>I could read a little and write. He could too. We went to school a +little in Tennessee.</p> + +<p>When we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, +right here, and I cooked fo Mr. Hopkins seven years and fo Mr. Gus +Thweatt and fo Mr. Nick Thweatt. We got a little ahead then by the +hardest. I carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her +waist]. We bought a house and five acres of land. No mum I don't own it +now. We got in hard luck and give a mortgage. They closed us out. Mr. +Sanders. They say I can live there long as I lives. But they owns it. My +garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. They promises to +come put the posts in but they won't do it and I ain't able no mo. I had +a garden this year. Spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid +the kolerg [cholera]. So I ain't got no meat to eat dis year.</p> + +<p>I ain't never had a chile. I ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat I +knows bout. When I gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after +me.</p> + +<p>I thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they +too lazy to work. No mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. They ain't got +no religion. They so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise +em. I never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation +is killin time. I sho never did vote. I don't believe in it. The women +runnin the world now. The old folks ain't got no money an the young +ones wastes theirs. Theys able to make it. They don't give the old folks +nuthin. The times changes so much I don't know what goiner come next. I +jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. I can't +see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. Things is heap better now fo de +young folks now if they would help derselves. I'm too wo out. I can't +do much like I could when I was young. The white folks don't cheat the +niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when I farmed.</p> + +<p>I never knowed about uprisings till the Ku Klux sprung up. I never heard +bout the Nat Turner rebellion. I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed +come from Virginia. A fellow come in the country bout everybody called +Solomon. Dis long fo the war. He was a free man he said. He would go +bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him +along. He teached some to read. When freedom he went to Augusta. My +brother seed him and said "Solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "I +am er teaching school to my own color." Then he said they run him out of +Virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. Some white +folks up North learned him to read and cipher. He used a black slate and +he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. He was what they +called a ginger cake color. They would whoop you if they seed you with +books learnin. Mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. We mark on +the ground. The passes bout all the paper I ever seed fo I come to +Tennessee. Then I got to go to school a little.</p> + +<p>Whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? Never had +none cept if a white man give it to him. When you a slave you don't have +nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. They cook on the +fireplace. Niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in +one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. The Ku Klux +done the uprisin. They say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. They +killed a lot of black folks in Georgia and a few white folks whut they +said was in wid em. We darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. Two or +three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet +nearly off. That the way the white folks treat the darky.</p> + +<p>I never knowed nobody to hold office. Them whut didn't want to starve +got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. You don't know whut hard +times is. Dem was hard times. They used to hide in big cane brakes, +nearly wild and nearly starved. Scared to come out. I ain't wanted to go +back to Georgia.</p> + +<p>The folks I lived wid fo I come to Tennessee, he tanned hides down at +the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. He sold +them. We farmed but I watched them up at the house minu a time.</p> + +<p>One thing I recollect mighty well. Fo de war a big bellied great monster +man come in an folks made a big to do over him. He eat round and laughed +round havin a big time. His name was Mr. Wimbeish (?). He wo white +britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all +trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. He blowed a bugle +and marched all the men every Friday ebening. He come to Miss Frances. +They fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my +mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. When de first shot of war +went off no more could be heard ob old Mr. Wimbeish. He lef an never was +heard tell ob no mo. <u>He said never was a Yankee had a hart he didn't +understand</u>! I never did know whut he was. He jess said that right +smart.</p> + +<p>I gets the Old Age Pension and meets the wagon and gets a little +commodities. I works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. +I trusts in de Lord and try to do right, honey, dat way I lives.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClementsMaria"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements, De Valls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: Between 85 and 90</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Miss, I don't know a whole heap bout Mr. Wimbeish. I don't know no +other name that what they all call him. Some I heard say it like +Wimbush. He was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here +[stomach]. He have hair bout color youn [light]. He have big blue eyes +jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. He was a lively +man. He had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. He had fair skin and +rosy jaws—full round face. He laughed out loud pretty often. He looked +fine when he laughed too. They all was foolish bout him. He was a +newcommer in there. I don't know whah he stay. He come down the road +regular as Friday come, going to practice em marchin'. Looked like bout +fifty fellows. I never seed Mr. Wimbeish on a horse all time he passed +long that road. He miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed +there. He wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. I never seed him outer +that fresh starched white suit. It was fishtail coat and had red +bands stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] +[TR: 'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. +He sure was a young man. They had him bout different places eatin'. Old +mistress said, 'Fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' That +table was piled full. It was fine eatin'. He say so much I couldn't +forgit. Never was a Yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. +I don't know what he was. He was so different. He muster been a +Southerner 'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. It +was fo de war. They say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done +gone an' nebber been heard of till dis day. I heard some say last they +seed him, he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off +to find em nother captain. I don't know if they was tellin' like it took +place. I know I never seed him no more.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Times</b></p> + +<p>"The servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans—little wooden +bowls—and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. Some +had tables fixed up out under the trees. Way they make em—split a big +tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. They +cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. They cooked sompin +to eat. They had plenty to eat. But they didn't have pies and cake less +they be goiner have company. They have so much milk they fatten the pigs +on it.</p> + +<p>"The animals eat up the gardens and crops. The man kill coon and possum +if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. I say it sure is good. It +is good as pork. The men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. If you +be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a +bucket that high [2 ft.], that big er round [1-1/2 feet wide]. The +hands all come an' did they eat. That be mostly fried meat and bread and +baked taters, so they could work.</p> + +<p>"Old mistress say she first married Mr. Abraham Chenol. Then she married +Mr. Joel Sutton and they both died. She had two sons. She had a nephew +what come there from way off. She said he was her sister's boy. Couse +they had doctors and good ones. Iffen a doctor come say one thing the +matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. Old +mistress had three boys till one died. I was brushin' flies offen him. +She come and cry and go way cryin'. He callin' her all time. He quit +callin' her then he was dead. Made a sorter gurglin' sound. That the +first person I seed die. When they say he dead I got out and off I was +gone. I was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. I don't know +what was the matter wid em. They buried him on her place whah the grave +yard was made. Both her husbands buried down there. She had a fine +marble put over his grave. It had things wrote on it. She sent way off +an' got it. They hauled it to here in a wagon. The Masons burled him. It +was the prettiest sight I ever seed.</p> + +<p>"Her son John had some peafowls. She had geese—a big drove—turkeys, +guineas, ducks, and geese.</p> + +<p>"She had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! They +used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather +bed. Old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. +They had a marble top table and a big square piano. That was the parlor +furniture. They made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins.</p> + +<p>"When she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine +dresses—big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round +her waist. We wore 5¢ calico and gingham dresses for best. She'd buy +three and four bolts at Augusta [Georgia] and have it made up to work +in. We didn't spin and weave till the war come on. Some old men come +round making spinnin' wheels. They was very plain too nearly bout rough. +Rich folks had fine silk dresses—jes' rattle when they walked—to wear +to preachin'. They sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war +but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war +started.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"It started outener the bushwhackers. Some say they didn't get what was +promised em at Shiloh Battle. They didn't get their rights. I don't know +what they meant by it. The bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner +work—ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. Such hollerin' and +scramblin' then you never heard. They hide behind big pine trees till he +come up then step out behind and grab him. They first come an' call fer +water. Plenty water in the well or down at the spring. They knowed it +too. Then they waste all you had brought up and say—'Ah! First drink I +had since I come from hell.' They all knowed ain't nobody come from +hell. They had hatchets an' they burst in your house. Jes' to scare you. +They shoot under your house. They wore their wives big wide nightgowns +and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. They looked like a gang from +hell—ugliest things you ebber <u>did</u> see. It was cold—ground spewed up +wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. +Old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a +preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. He put a navy six in his belt +and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. It was a long gun shoot +sixteen times. He was a dangerous man. He made the Ku Klux let his folks +alone. He walk all night bout his place. He say, 'Forward March!' Then +they pass by. He was a dangerous man. So much takin' place all time I +was scared nearly to death all time."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClementsMaria2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements<br> + De Valls Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age:<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Missus, I thought if I'd see you agin I'd tell you this song:</p> + +<pre> +'Jeff Davis is President + Abe Lincoln is a fool + Come here, see Jeff ride the gray horse + And Abe Lincoln the mule.' +</pre> + +<p>"They sang all sich songs durin' of the war.</p> + +<p>"Five wagons come by. They said it was Jeff Davise's wagons. They was +loaded wid silver money—all five—in Lincoln County, Georgia. Somehow +the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. +Abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. Sho it +was white folks all but two or three slaves. Hogs tore up sacks money, +find em hid in the woods. They thought it was corn. They found a leather +trunk full er money—silver money—down in the creek. Money buried all +round. The way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime +to a Yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. That started it all. They tied +their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in +trees by their wrists behind em. It put heep of em in bed an' some most +died never did get over it. The Yankee soldiers come down that [HW: +then?] and got all the money nearly. They say the war last four years, +five months. Seemed like twenty years."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClemonsFannie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Person Interviewed: Fannie Clemons<br> + 940 N. Washington<br> + El Dorado, Ark.<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born down in Farmerville, Louisiana in the year of 1860. Now my +ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people I do not +know. You see, child, I am old and I can't recollect so good. I didn't +know my pa cause my ma quit him when I was little. My ma said she worked +hard in the field like a black stepchild. My ma had nine chilluns and I +was the oldest of the nine. She said her old miss wouldn't let her come +to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl +through a hole in the floor. She took and pulled a plank up so she could +slip through.</p> + +<p>"I would drink any kind of water that I saw if I wanted a drink. If the +white folks poured out wash water and I wanted a drink that would do me. +It just made me fat and healthy. Most we played was tussling, and +couldn't no boy throw me. Nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't.</p> + +<p>"We always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. +At Christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas +and stuff like that wasn't out then. Bananas and oranges just been out a +few years. And sugar—we did not know about that. We always used sugar +from molasses. I don't think sugar been in session long. If it had I did +not get it.</p> + +<p>"I got married when I was pretty old, I lived with my husband eight +years and he died. I had some children, but I stole them. The biggest +work I ever done was farm and we sure worked."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClintonJoe"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person interviewed: Joe Clinton, Route 2, Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Uncle Joe" Clinton, on ex-Mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that +he owns a few miles north of Marvell, Arkansas. His wife has been dead +for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his +boy, Joe, who left home fifteen years ago for Chicago and from whom no +word has been received since, is still alive. Due to the infirmities of +age "Uncle Joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the +income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the Negro +family with whom he lives. Seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "Uncle +Joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early October as +I passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his +cabin. Arousing himself on my approach, the old Negro offered me a +chair. I explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the +following story:</p> + +<p>"I'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in Panola County, +Mississippi 'bout three miles from Sardis. My ole mars was Mark +Childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en +jus' gangs of chillun. I was real small when us lived in Panola County; +how-some-ever I riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold +out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big +plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in Coahoma County not far from +Friar Point. De very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is +what dey call now, de 'Clover Hill Plantation'. De fust year dat us +lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'Swan Lake +Place'. Dat place is over dere close to Jonestown and de very place dat +Mr. Billy Jones and his son John bought, en dats zackly how come dat +town git its name. It was named for Mr. John Jones.</p> + +<p>"My mars, Mark Childress, he never was married. He was a bachelor, en +I'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to +be found wid him. But dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. Dey +was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat I is +ever seen. Dat was Harvey Brown. Mars had a nephew what lived with him +named Mark Sillers. He was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. +Mr. Mark Sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times +dat mars 'way from home Mr. Mark, he the real boss den.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harvey Brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough I tell you, and de +onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would +be old mars or Mr. Mark Sillers. Bofe of dem was good and kind most all +de time. One time dat I remembers, ole mars, he gone back to Panola +County for somepin', en Mr. Mark Sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. +That was de day dat Mr. Harvey Brown come mighty nigh killin' Henry. +I'll tell you how dat was, boss. It was on Monday morning that it +happened. De Friday before dat Monday morning, all of de hands had been +pickin' cotton and Mr. Harvey Brown didn't think dat Henry had picked +enough cotton dat day en so he give Henry er lashin' out in de field. +Dat night Henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid +in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. Mr. Harvey, he missed +Henry from de field en sent Jeff an' Randall to find him and bring him +in. Dey found Henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to +de field dat Mr. Harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. So Henry, he +comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds +what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off.</p> + +<p>"When Henry git back Mr. Harvey say, 'Henry, where your sack? And how +come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' Henry say he +done burnt he sack up. Wid dat Mr. Harvey lit in to him like a bear, +lashin' him right and left. Henry broke en run den to de cook house +where he mammy, 'Aunt Mary', was, en Mr. Harvey right after him wid a +heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. Mr. Harvey got Henry +cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. In fact, +Mr. Harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt Henry 'cause he called +'Uncle Nat' en said, 'Nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis +nigger what I done kilt.'</p> + +<p>"But Henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in +de sick house. For days en days 'Uncle Warner' had to 'tend to him, en +wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. Dat was jus' de way +dat Mr. Harvey Brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. He +would even lash en beat de wimmens.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where +dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' +in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. Old 'Aunt Hannah', an old granny +woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. De chillun's mammies, dey would +come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. +Dere was er young nigger woman name Jessie what had a young baby. One +day when Jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, Mr. Harvey think +she gone little too long. He give her a hard lashin'.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he +own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. Dat was where all +de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. Aunt Mary, she de +head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. All of de field hands +durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. I waited +on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters +en de barns, en too I was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets +of grub to de field hands.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. +Dat was where dem was put dat was sick. It was a place where dey was +doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. It was er sort +er hospital like. 'Uncle Warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he +could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play +off from work.</p> + +<p>"My pappy, he was named Bill Clinton en my mammy was named Mildred. De +reason how come I not named Childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he +named Clinton when mars git him from de Clintons up in Tennessee +somewhere. My mars, he was a good man jus' like I'm tellin' you. Mars +had a young nigger woman named Malinda what got married to Charlie +Voluntine dat belonged to Mr. Nat Voluntine dat had a place 'bout six +miles from our place. In dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen +de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't +git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. So +Malinda, she got atter mars to buy Charlie. Sure 'nough he done that +very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. Dat was good in our +mars.</p> + +<p>"When any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, +dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he +say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'Uncle Peyton' to +marry 'em. 'Course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers +to marry en I don't riccolect what it was dat 'Uncle Peyton' would say +when he done de marryin'. But I 'members well dat 'Uncle Peyton', he de +one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies.</p> + +<p>"My mars, he didn't go to de War but he sure sent er lot er corn en he +sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat I 'members. +Den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de Confedrites +in Georgia. I 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. They was +all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en +goin' to de War. Dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em +fight. But mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en +sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en Jeff an' Randall, they runned +off en come back home all de way from Georgia en mars let 'em stay.</p> + +<p>"Boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en +dat his overseer, Mr. Harvey Brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en +would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it +was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. Now I'se +gwine to tell you de reason. You know de truth is de light, boss, an' +dis is de truth what I'se gwine to say. Mars, he in love with Mr. Harvey +Brown's wife, Miss Mary, and Miss Mary's young daughter, she was mars' +chile. Yas suh, she was dat. She wasn't no kin er tall to Mr. Harvey +Brown. Her name was Miss Markis, dats what it was. Mars had done willed +dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. He +was gwine give her Tolliver, Beckey, Aunt Mary, Austin, an' Savannah en +er heap more 'sides dat. But de War, it come on en broke mars up, en all +de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so I heered Mr. Harvey Brown en Miss +Mary, and de young lady Miss Markis, dey moved up North some place en I +ain't never heered no more from dem.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Clarke what de town of Clarksdale is named for, dey +lived not far from our place. I knowed dem well. Albert, one of mars' +darkies, married Cindy, one of Mr. Clarke's women. General Forrest, I +know you is heered of him. I speck he 'bout de bes' general in de War. +He sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. De +general, he had a big plantation down dere in Coahoma County where he +would come ever so offen. A lot of times he would come to our place en +take dinner wid ole mars, en I would be er waitin' on de table er takin' +dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness.</p> + +<p>"Boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de +white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. Dere was a heap of dat went on +all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' +had to put up wid it. Da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens I'se +ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. Of +course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars +knowin' it. Dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but I'se never heered +'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. It jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed +it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. You know dat niggers is +bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and +some of mars' darkies, dey say dat Sam and Dick, what was two real light +colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. Dat was all talk. I nebber +did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber +cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ColemanBetty"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Betty Coleman<br> + 1112-1/2 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80<br> +Occupation: Cotton Picker<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father belonged to Mr. Ben Martin and my mother and me belonged to +the Slaughters. I was small then and didn't know what the war was about, +but I remember seein' the Yankees and the Ku Klux.</p> + +<p>"Old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but Mr. Martin had a +plenty—he had bout a hundred head.</p> + +<p>"I member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in Bradley County. We +was goin' to Texas to keep the Yankees from gettin' us. I member Mr. Gil +Martin was just a young lad of a boy. We got as far as Union County and +I know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and +then peace was declared so we cane back to Warren.</p> + +<p>"While the war was goin' on, I member when my mother took a note to some +soldiers in Warren and asked em to come and play for Miss Mary. I know +they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. There was +a perty big bunch of em. Us chillun was glad to hear it. I member just +as well as if 'twas yesterday.</p> + +<p>"I member when the Yankees come and took all of Miss Mary's silver—took +every piece of it. And another time they got three or four of the +colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em +bareback. Yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as +mad. Oh Lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. All the horses was +just alike—iron gray. Sho was perty horses. Them Yankees took +everything Miss Mary had.</p> + +<p>"After the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop +and then my father bought fifty acres of Mr. Ben Martin. He paid some on +it every year and when it was paid for Mr. Ben give him a deed to it.</p> + +<p>"I'm the only child my mother had. She never had but me, one. I went to +school after the war and I member at night I'd be studyin' my lesson and +rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. I used to +love to hear him on long winter evenings.</p> + +<p>"I stayed right there till I married. My father had cows and he'd kill +hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. Our white folks was +always good to us."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CottonLucy"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lucy<br> +Person interviewed: Lucy Cotton<br> + Russellville, Arkansas<br> +Age: 72<br> +[Jan 7 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Lucy Cotton's my name, and I was born on the tenth day of June, 1865, +jist two months after the surrender. No suh, I ain't no kin to the other +Cottons around here, so far as I knows. My mother was Jane Hays, and she +was owned by a master named Wilson.</p> + +<p>"I've belonged to the Holiness Church six years. (They call us +'Holiness,' but the real name is Pentecostal.)</p> + +<p>"Yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when I was a +girl—especially among the young people. I think no woman, white or +black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. Their +place is at home raisin' a family. I hear em sometimes slinging out +their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me.</p> + +<p>"Good day, mistah. I wish you well—but the gov'ment ain't gonna do +nothing. It never has yit."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CottonTW"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: T.W. Cotton, Helena, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80<br> +[May 11 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Indian Bay. I belong to Ed Cotton. Mother was sold +from John Mason between Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia. Three sisters +was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. Grandma was +so old she wasn't much account fer field work. Mother left a son she +never seen ag'in. Aunt Adeline's boy come too. They was put on a block +but I can't recollect where it was. If mother had a husband she never +said nothing 'bout him. He muster been dead.</p> + +<p>"Now my papa come from La Grange, Tennessee. Master Bowers sold him to +Ed Cotton. He was sold three times. He had one scar on his shoulder. The +patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at Indian Bay. He was +a Guinea man. He was heavy set, not very tall. Generally he carried the +lead row in the field. He was a good worker. They had to be quiet wid +him to get him to work. He would run to the woods. He was a fast runner. +He lived to be about a hundred years old. I took keer of him the last +five years of his life. Mother was seventy-one years old when she died. +She was the mother of twenty-one children.</p> + +<p>"Sure, I do remember freedom. After the Civil War ended, Ed Cotton +walked out and told papa: 'Rob, you are free.' We worked on till 1866 +and we moved to Joe Lambert's place. He had a brother named Tom Lambert. +Father never got no land at freedom. He got to own 160 acres, a house on +it, and some stock. We all worked and helped him to make it. He was a +hard worker and a fast hand.</p> + +<p>"I farmed all my life till fifteen years ago I started trucking here in +Helena. I gets six dollars assistance from the Sociable Welfare and some +little helpouts as I calls it—rice and potatoes and apples. I got one +boy fifty-five years old if he be living. I haven't seen him since 1916. +He left and went to Chicago. I got a girl in St. Louis. I got a girl +here in Helena. I jus' been up to see her. I had nine children. I been +married twice. I lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven +months. She died. I lived with my second wife forty years and some +over—several weeks. She died.</p> + +<p>"I was a small boy when the Civil War broke out. Once I got a awful +scare. I was perched up on a post. The Yankees come up back of the house +and to my back. I seen them. I yelled out, 'Yonder come Yankees.' They +come on cussing me. Aunt Ruthie got me under my arms and took me to Miss +Fannie Cotton. We lived in part of their house. Walter (white) and me +slept together. Mother cooked. Aunt Ruthie was a field hand. Aunt +Adeline must have been a field hand too. She hung herself on a black +jack tree on the other side of the pool. It was a pool for ducks and +stock.</p> + +<p>"She hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. Mother raised +(reared) her boy. She told mother she would kill herself before she +would be whooped. I never heard what she was to be whooped for. She +thought she would be whooped. She took a rope and tied it to a limb and +to her neck and then jumped. Her toes barely touched the ground. They +buried her in the cemetery on the old Ed Cotton place. I never seen her +buried. Aunt Ruthie's grave was the first open grave I ever seen. Aunt +Mary was papa's sister. She was the oldest.</p> + +<p>"I would say anything to the Yankees and hang and hide in Miss Fannie's +dress. She wore long big skirts. I hung about her. Grandma raised me on +a bottle so mother could nurse Walter (white). There was something wrong +wid Miss Fannie. We colored children et out of trays. They hewed them +out of small logs. Seven or eight et together. We had our little cups. +Grandma had a cup for my water. We et with spoons. It would hold a peck +of something to eat. I nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised +Walter and grandma raised me. Walter et out of our tray many and many a +time. Mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. Henry was +younger than Walter. They was the only two children Miss Fannie had. +Grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. She'd put the +bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. It was good.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Walter Cotton, a cancer doctor? That was him. He +may be dead now. Me and him caused Aunt Sue to get a whooping. They had +a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. Walter knocked +one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. We et it. Mr. Ed asked +'bout it. Walter told her Aunt Sue pulled it. She didn't come by the +tree. He whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled +it nor never seen it. I was scared then to tell on Walter. I hope eat +it. Aunt Sue had grown children.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and +he opened the door. They grunted around. They told papa to come out. He +didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. He told them +when he finished that crop they could have his room. He left that year. +They come in on me once before I married. I was at my girl's house. They +wanted to be sure we married. The principal thing they was to see was +that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. I +wasn't married but I soon did marry her. They scared us up some.</p> + +<p>"I don't know if times is so much better for some or not. Some folks +won't work. Some do work awful hard. Young folks I'm speaking 'bout. +Times is mighty fast now. Seems like they get faster and faster every +way. I'll be eighty years old this May. I was born in 1858."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CraginEllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor <br> +Person interviewed: Ellen Cragin<br> + 815-1/2 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: Around 80 or more<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Escapes on Cow]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born on the tenth of March in some year, I don't know what one. I +don't know whether it was in the Civil War or before the Civil War. I +forget it. I think that I was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi; I'm not +sure, but I think it was.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a great shouter. One night before I was born, she was at +a meeting, and she said, 'Well, I'll have to go in, I feel something.' +She said I was walkin' about in there. And when she went in, I was born +that same night.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a great Christian woman. She raised us right. We had to +be in at sundown. If you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip +you,—whip you within an inch of your life.</p> + +<p>"She didn't work in the field. She worked at a loom. She worked so long +and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. Her master's boy +saw her and told his mother. His mother told him to take a whip and wear +her out. He took a stick and went out to beat her awake. He beat my +mother till she woke up. When she woke up, she took a pole out of the +loom and beat him nearly to death with it. He hollered, 'Don't beat me +no more, and I won't let 'em whip you.'</p> + +<p>"She said, 'I'm goin' to kill you. These black titties sucked you, and +then you come out here to beat me.' And when she left him, he wasn't +able to walk.</p> + +<p>"And that was the last I seen of her until after freedom. She went out +and got on an old cow that she used to milk—Dolly, she called it. She +rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if +she stayed.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Luvenia Polk. She got plumb away and stayed away. +On account of that, I was raised by my mother. She went to Atchison, +Kansas—rode all through them woods on that cow. Tore her clothes all +off on those bushes.</p> + +<p>"Once a man stopped her and she said, 'My folks gone to Kansas and I +don't know how to find 'em.' He told her just how to go.</p> + +<p>"My father was an Indian. 'Way back in the dark days, his mother ran +away, and when she came up, that's what she come with—a little Indian +boy. They called him 'Waw-<u>hoo</u>'che.' His master's name was Tom Polk. +Tom Polk was my mother's master too. It was Tom Polk's boy that my +mother beat up.</p> + +<p>"My father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. One time when somethin' +he had did didn't suit Tom Polk—I don't know what it was—they cut +sores on him that he died with. Cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. +And then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores.</p> + +<p>"He told his master, 'You have took me down and beat me for nothin', and +when you do it again, I'm goin' to put you in the ground.' Papa never +slept in the house again after that. They got scared and he was scared +of them. He used to sleep in the woods.</p> + +<p>"They used to call me 'Waw-hoo'che' and 'Red-Headed Indian Brat.' I got +in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,—on account of that.</p> + +<p>"The children used to say to me, 'They beat your papa yesterday.'</p> + +<p>"And I would say to them, 'They better not beat my papa,' and they would +go up to the house and tell it, and I would beat 'em for tellin' it.</p> + +<p>"There was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read +the Bible.</p> + +<p>"Papa said, 'Ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?'</p> + +<p>"The old man said, 'No; they don't know what I'm doing, and don't you +tell 'em. If you do, they will kill me.'</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Signs of the War</b></p> + +<p>"One night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the +elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens.</p> + +<p>"'Don't you see them, honey?' he said; but I couldn't see them. And he +said there was going to be a war.</p> + +<p>"I went out and told it. The white people said they ought to take him +out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. Because if they got such +talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do +nothin' with them. Dr. Polk's wife's father, Old Man Woods, used to say +that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. He said that God had showed +that to him.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Mean Masters</b></p> + +<p>"Dr. Polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the +ground, were two mean men. When the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for +them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, +till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death.</p> + +<p>"Mother was a breeder. While she did that weaving, she had children +fast. One day, Tom Polk hit my mother. That was before she ran away. He +hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. When +there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you +know. I forget how much cotton they had to pick. I don't know how many +times he hit her. I was small. I heard some one say, 'They got Clarisay +Down, down there!' I went to see. And they had her down. She was stout, +and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. I never did +get over that. I'm an old woman, but Tom Polk better not come 'round me +now even.</p> + +<p>"I have heard women scream and holler, 'Do pray, massa, do pray.' And I +was sure glad when she beat up young Tom and got away. I didn't have no +use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't her work to be in the field. He made her breed and then made +her work at the loom. That wasn't nothin'. He would have children by a +nigger woman and then have them by her daughter.</p> + +<p>"I went out one day and got a gun. I don't know whose gun it was. I said +to myself, 'If you whip my mother today, I am goin' to shoot you.' I +didn't know where the gun belonged. My oldest sister told me to take it +and set it by the door, and I did it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"Dr. Polk had a fine horse. He came riding through the field and said, +'All you all niggers are free now. You can stay here and work for me or +you can go to the next field and work.'</p> + +<p>"I had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. She jumped off +that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering.</p> + +<p>"The people all said, 'Nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her +today.' She'd been setting on that log one year. She wouldn't do no kind +of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>"Big Niggers"</b></p> + +<p>"They used to call my folks 'big niggers.' Papa used to get things off a +steamboat. One day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the +people not to touch it. One day when he went out, I went in it. I had to +see what it was. I drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, +'You've been in that demi-john.' I said, 'No, I haven't.' But he said, +'Yes, you have; I can tell by the way you look.' And then I told him the +truth.</p> + +<p>"He would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of +other things. Anything he wanted, he would get. That he didn't, he would +ask him to bring the next trip.</p> + +<p>"It was a Union gunboat, and ran under the water. You could see the +smoke. The white people said, 'That boat's goin' to carry some of these +niggers away from here one of these days.'</p> + +<p>"And sure enough, it did carry one away.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Buried Treasure and a Runaway</b></p> + +<p>"I went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named Charles +there.</p> + +<p>"I said, 'What you doing out here so early this morning?'</p> + +<p>"He said to me, 'You hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.'</p> + +<p>"I went back to the house and told my mother, 'I saw Charles out there.' +That was before my mother ran away.</p> + +<p>"My mother said, 'He's fixing to run away. And he's got a barrel of +money. And it belongs to the Doctor. 'Cause he and the Dr. went out to +bury it to keep the Yankees from getting it.'</p> + +<p>"He ran away, and he took the money with him, too. He went out to +Kansas City and bought a home. We didn't think much of it, because we +knew it was wrong to do it. But Old Master Tom had done a heap of wrong +too. He was the first one spotted the boat that morning—Charles was. +And he went away on it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Plenty to Eat</b></p> + +<p>"My father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. +I know what it is now. I didn't know then. He would clean the hog and +everything before he would bring him to the house. You had to come down +outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to +eat. If my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his +master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit.</p> + +<p>"My folks liked hog guts. We didn't try to keep them long. We'd jus' +clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. I didn't like to +clean 'em but I sure loved to eat 'em. Father had a great big pot they +called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. You could +smell 'em all over the country. I didn't have no sense. Whenever we had +a big hog killin', I would say to the other kids, 'We got plenty of meat +at our house.'</p> + +<p>"They would say back, 'Where you got it?'</p> + +<p>"I would tell 'em. And they would say, 'Give us some.'</p> + +<p>"And I would say to them, 'No, that's for us.'</p> + +<p>"So they called us 'big niggers.'</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Marriages Since Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"My first baby was born to my husband. I didn't throw myself away. I +married Mr. Cragin in 1867. He lived with me about fifteen years before +he died. He got kicked. He was a baker. During the War, he was the cook +in a camp. He went to get some flour one morning. He snatched the tray +too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. He never did get over it. The +tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. It was a sliding tray. +It rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. I don't know +why they called it a kick.</p> + +<p>"I married a second husband—if you can call it that—a nigger named +Jones. He had a spoonful of sense. We didn't live together three months. +He came in one day and I didn't have dinner ready. He slapped me. I had +never been slapped by a man before. I went to the drawer and got my +pistol out and started to kill him. But I didn't. I told him to leave +there fast. He had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, +and then he used to use bad language too.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"I've always sewed for a living. See that sign up there?" The sign read:</p> + +<pre> + ALL KINDS OF BUTTONS SEWED ON + MENDING TOO +</pre> + +<p>"I can't cut out no dress and make it, but I can use a needle on +patching and quilting. Can't nobody beat me doin' that. I can knit, too. +I can make stockings, gloves, and all such things.</p> + +<p>"I belong to Bib Bethel Church, and I get most of my support from the +Lord. I get help from the government. I'm trying to get moved, and I'm +just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. I ain't got +no money, but he promised to move me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>INTERVIEWER'S COMMENT</b></p> + +<p>There it was—the appeal to the slush fund. I have contributed to lunch, +tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. I had only +six cents which I had reserved for car fare. But after you have talked +with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in +any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent +on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged +clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely +hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it +is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk +any distance you want to.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CraneSallie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Sallie Crane<br> + See first paragraph in interviewer's comment<br> + for residences<br> +Age: 90, or more</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Whipped from Sunup to Sundown]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Hempstead County, between Nashville and Greenville, in +Arkansas, on the Military Road. Never been outside the state in my life. +I was born ninety years ago. I been here in Pulaski County nearly +fifty-seven years.</p> + +<p>"I was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. Nary a window +and one door. I had a bedstead made with saw and ax. Chairs were made +with saw, ax, and draw knife. My brother Orange made the furniture. We +kept the food in boxes.</p> + +<p>"My mother's name was Mandy Bishop, and my father's name was Jerry +Bishop. I don't know who my grand folks were. They was all Virginia +folks—that is all I know. They come from Virginia, so they told me. My +old master was Harmon Bishop and when they divided the property I fell +to Miss Evelyn Bishop.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Age</b></p> + +<p>"The first man that came through here writing us up for the Red Cross, I +give him my age as near as I could. And they kept that. You know peace +was declared in 1865. They told me I was free. I got scared and thought +that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me +down in Louisiana. My old mistress said, 'You fool, you are free. We are +going to take you to your mammy.' I cried because I thought they was +carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in +Louisiana. My old mistress said she would whip me. But she didn't. When +we got to my mother's, I said, 'How old is I?' She said, 'You are +sixteen.' She didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say +weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'You are sixteen.' And my +case worker told me that made me ninety years old.</p> + +<p>"I was in Hempstead County on Harmon Bishop's plantation. It was Miss +Polly, Harmon's wife, that told me I was free, and give me my age.</p> + +<p>"I know freedom come before 1865, because my brothers would tell me to +come home from Nashville where I would be sent to do nursing by my old +mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress.</p> + +<p>"When my old master's property was divided, I don't know why—he wasn't +dead nor nothin'—I fell to Miss Evelyn, but I stayed in Nashville +working for Miss Jennie Nelson, one of Harmon's daughters. Miss Jennie +was my young mistress. My brothers were already free. I don't know how +Miss Polly came to tell me I was free. But my brothers would see me and +tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but I +was afraid to try it. Finally Miss Polly found that she couldn't keep me +any longer and she come and told me I was free. But I thought that she +was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"My mother was the mother of twenty children and I am the mother of +eighteen. My youngest is forty-five. I don't know whether any of my +mother's children is living now or not. I left them that didn't join the +militia in Hempstead County fifty-seven years ago. Them that joined the +militia went off. I don't know nothin' about them. I have two girls +living that I know about. I had two boys went to France and I never +heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. Nothing—not a word. Red +Cross has hunted 'em. Police Mitchell hunted 'em—police Mitchell in +Little Rock. But I ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Work</b></p> + +<p>"The first work I did was nursing and after that I was water toter. I +reckon I was about seven or eight years old when I first began to nurse. +I could barely lift the baby. I would have to drag them 'round. Then I +toted water to the field. Then when I was put to plowing, and chopping +cotton, I don't know exactly how old I was. But I know I was a young +girl and it was a good while before the War. I had to do anything that +come up—thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting +logs, splitting rails. Women in them days wasn't tender like they is +now. They would call on you to work like men and you better work too. My +mother and father were both field hands.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Soldiers</b></p> + +<p>"Oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! Man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, +two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching +making it to the next stockade. Those were Yankees. They didn't set no +slaves free. When I knowed anything about freedom, it was the Bureaus. +We didn't know nothing like young folks do now.</p> + +<p>"We hardly knowed our names. We was cussed for so many bitches and sons +of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. We never heard our +names scarcely at all. First young man I went with wanted to know my +initials! What did I know 'bout initials? You ask 'em ten years old now, +and they'll tell you. That was after the War. Initials!!!</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Sales</b></p> + +<p>"Have I seen slaves sold! Good God, man! I have seed them sold in +droves. I have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying +to run away. I couldn't eat nor drink—couldn't even catch the slobber +that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on +it and blowed it. 'Scuse me but jus' look at these places. (She pulled +open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in—ed.)</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Whippings</b></p> + +<p>"I been whipped from sunup till sundown. Off and on, you know. They whip +me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start +again. They kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' +nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would +take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt +more. They would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with +birch sprouts the other part. There were splinters long as my finger +left in my back. A girl named Betty Jones come over and soaped the +splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. They didn't +whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. They jus' +whipped me 'cause they could—'cause they had the privilege. It wasn't +nothin' I done; they just whipped me. My married young master, Joe, and +his wife, Jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. But I +belonged to Miss Evelyn.</p> + +<p>"They had so many babies 'round there I couldn't keep up with all of +them. I was jus' a young girl and I couldn't keep track of all them +chilen. While I was turned to one, the other would get off. When I +looked for that one, another would be gone. Then they would whip me all +day for it. They would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a +bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when +company come.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"We et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. Mush and milk. Cedar trough +and long-handled cedar spoons. Didn't know what meat was. Never got a +taste of egg. Oo-ee! Weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. They used to +make citrons. They were good too. When the little white chilen would be +comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. They would say, 'Whose +nigger are you?' And we would say, 'Yor'n!' And they would say, 'No, you +ain't.' They would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good +stuff they'd brought back. Hold it out and snatch it back! Finally, +they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Health</b></p> + +<p>"They're burying old Brother Jim Mullen over here today. He was an old +man. They buried one here last Sunday—eighty some odd. Brother Mullen +had been sick for thirty years. Died settin' up—settin' up in a chair. +The old folks is dyin' fas'. Brother Smith, the husband of the old lady +that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. Ain't been well +for a long time.</p> + +<p>"Look at that place on my head. (There was a knot as big as a hen +egg—smooth and shiny—ed.) When it first appeared, it was no bigger +then a pea, I scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. I +went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. One doctor said it +was a busted vein. Another said it was a tumor. Another said it was a +wen. I know one thing. It don't hurt me. I can scratch it; I can rub +it. (She scratched and rubbed it while I flinched and my flesh +crawled—ed.) But it's got me so I can't see and hear good. Dr. Junkins, +the best doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. +Dr. Hicks wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. I told him he'd let +it stay on for nothin'. I never was sick in my life till a year ago. I +used to weigh two hundred ten pounds; now I weigh one hundred forty. I +can lap up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice.</p> + +<p>"Since I was sick a year ago. I haven't been able to get 'round any. I +never been well since. The first Sunday in January this year, I got +worse settin' in the church. I can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on +myself. But with what I do and the neighbors' help, I gets along +somehow.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Present Condition</b></p> + +<p>"If it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. I would suffer +for a drink of water. Somebody ran in on old lady Chairs and killed her +for her money. But they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. +Somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. Since then I have been +'fraid to stay at home even.</p> + +<p>"I had a fine five-room house and while I was down sick, my daughter +sold it and I didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. She got the +money, but I never seed it. I jus' lives here in these rags and this +dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. I've got fine +furniture that she keeps in her house.</p> + +<p>"I get some help from the Welfare. They give me eight dollars. They give +me commodities too. They give me six at first, and they increased it. My +case worker said she would try to git me some more. God knows I need it. +I have to pay for everything I get. Have to pay a boy to go get water +for me. There's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time +to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. You see those boys there +goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. One of the merchants in town +had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him.</p> + +<p>"You gets 'round lots, son, don't you? Well; if you see anybody that +has some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. I don't +care whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. Men's shoes are more +comfortable. I wear number sevens. I don't know what last. Can't you +tell? (I suppose that her shoes would be seven E—ed.) I can't live off +eight dollar. I have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go +for my water, 'n everything. I got these dresses give to me. They too +small, and I got 'em laid out to be let out.</p> + +<p>"You just come in any time; I can't talk to you like I would a woman; +but I guess you can understand me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Sallie Crane lives near the highway between Sweet Home and Wrightsville. +Wrightsville post office, Lucinda Hays' box. McLain Birch, 1711 Wolfe +Street, Little Rock, knows the way to her house.</p> + +<p>Her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed +before the War. If anything, it is more than the ninety which she +claims. Those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five.</p> + +<p>She has a good memory although she complains of her health. She seems to +be pretty well dependent on herself and the Welfare and is asking for +old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrawfordIsaac"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person Interviewed: Isaac Crawford<br> + Brinkley, Ark.<br> +Age: 75</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born the first year of the Civil War. I was born and raised and +married in Holmes County, Mississippi. My parents was named Harriett and +James Crawford. They belong to a widow woman, Miss Sallie Crawford. She +had a girl named Bettie and three sons named Sam, Mack, Gus. Mack and +Gus was heavy drinkers. Moster Sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. +They wasn't mean to the Negroes on the place. They had eight or nine +families scattered around over their land.</p> + +<p>"I farmed till I was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands +on the place I stayed till after I married.</p> + +<p>"I know Sam was in the war and come home cripple. He was in the war five +years. He couldn't get home from the war. I drove his hack and toted him +to it. I toted him in the house. He said he never rode in the war; he +always had to walk and tote his baggage. His feet got frost bit and raw. +They never got well. He lived. They lived close to Goodman, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"I heard my mother say she was mixed with Creole Indian. She was some +French. My father was pure African. Now what am I?</p> + +<p>"Ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. She wrung my ears and talked to +me. I minded her pretty good.</p> + +<p>"The children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. Some +folks kept their children looking good. Some let em go. They fed em—set +a big pot and dip em out greens. Give em a cup of milk. We all had +plenty coarse victuals. We all had to work. It done you no good to be +fraid er sweat in them days.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know bout freedom and I didn't care bout it. They didn't give +no land nor no mules away as I ever know'd of.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never come on our place. I heard about em all the time. I +seen em in the road. They look like hants.</p> + +<p>"I been farming all my life. I come here to farm. Better land and no +fence law.</p> + +<p>"I come to 'ply to the P.W.A. today. That is the very reason you caught +me in town today."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrosbyMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Crosby<br> + 1216 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Good morning. I don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery +times 'cept me. I don't know exactly when I was born in Georgia but I +can remember my mama said her old master, Mat Fields, sent my father and +all the other men folks to Arkansas the second year of the war. After +the war, I remember there was a colored man named Mose come from +Mississippi to Georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money +off the trees in Mississippi. Of course they was just ignorant as cattle +and they believed him. I know I thought what a good time I would have. I +can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all +leaving, but Mose emigrated all of us to Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"He kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. The +white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he +sure did get some colored folks out of Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. They called it the +Civil War. I never did know why they called it that. I can't 'member +things like I used to.</p> + +<p>"My mother's old master's granddaughter, Miss Anne, had a baby that was +six months old when I was born and mama said old master come in and tell +Miss Ann, 'I've got a new little nigger for Mary Lou.' He said he was +goin' to give her ten and that I was her first little nigger. When we +was both grown Mary Lou used to write to me once a year and say 'I claim +you yet, Mary.'</p> + +<p>"I 'member when Garfield was shot. That was the first time I ever heard +of gangrene.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm I have worked hard all my life. When I was in Mississippi I used +to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. But I'm not +able to work now. The Welfare helps me some."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrowleyEllen"></a> +<h3>[HW: (COPY)]<br> +El Dorado Division<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS (Ex-Slave)<br> +Mrs. Mildred Thompson<br> +Federal Writers' Project<br> +Union County, Arkansas.<br> +[TR: Hand dated Nov. 6, 1936]<br> +<br> +[TR: Ellen Crowley]</h3> +<br> + +<p>Ellen Crowley an old Negress of Jefferson county, known as "old Aunt +Ellen" to both white and colored people. She was quite a character; a +slave during Civil War and lived in Mississippi. She later married and +moved to Arkansas.</p> + +<p>Aunt Ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing +to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those +she didn't like. This unusual talent "come about" while on a white +plantation as a nurse. She foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on +her white folks and in the year two children passed away. One day soon +after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put +the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits."</p> + +<p>She said she was "purty nigh" 200 when asked her age, always slept in +the nude, and on arising she would say: "I didn't sleep well last night, +the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "I had a +good rest the Lord sit at my head and brought me peace."</p> + +<p>She was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red +bandana around her head.</p> + +<p>Her mania was to clean the yard. When asked about her marriage she would +say: "I been married seven times" but Jones, Brown and Crowley were the +only husbands she could remember by name. She said the other "four no +count Negroes wasn't worth remembering."</p> + +<p>She was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten +and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. Would +come in and say: "Howdy, I'se come to stay awhile. I'll clean the yard +for my victuals and I can sleep on the floor." She would go on her way +in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a +faithful servant.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrumpRichard"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Richard Crump<br> + 1801 Gaines Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father Takes a "Deadening"]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born right here in Aberdeen, Mississippi about five miles from +the town on the east side of the Tom Bigbee River in Monroe County, +Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Richard Crump. My mother was named Emily Crump. My +grandmother on my father's side was named Susan Crump. My mother came +from Middleton, Tennessee. But I don't know nothing about any of her +people. My father said he come from South Carolina when he was a boy +eight or ten years old. That was way before I was born. They brought him +to Mississippi from South Carolina.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was old man Johnnie Crump. My mistress was named +Nina Crump. That was Johnnie Crump's wife. My mars had four boys to my +remembrance. One was named Wess, one was named Rufe, one was named Joe, +and one was named Johnnie. He had a girl named Annie and one named Lulu.</p> + +<p>"My mother was the mother of thirteen children. I am the onliest one +living, that I know of. The way they gwine with us now, I ain't goin' a +be here long. Just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git +somethin' to eat for a month. You don't git nothin' much when you git +the commodities—no grease to cook with.</p> + +<p>"We never had no trouble much when I was coming along. My mars was a +pretty good old man. He didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. +The overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind +of bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. +And he wouldn't go in neither.</p> + +<p>"My grandmother had three or four sons. One was name Nels Crump, another +was named Miles and another was named Henry and another Jim. She had two +or three more but I can't think of them. They died before I was old +enough to know anything. Then she had two or three daughters. One was +named Lottie. She had another one but I can't think of her name. I was +so little. All of them are dead now. All of my people are dead but me. +They are trying to find a sister of mine, but I ain't found her yet. She +oughter be down here by Forrest City somewheres. But there ain't nobody +here that I know about but me. And the way they're carryin' them now I +ain't goin' to be here long. All of them people you hear me talk about, +they're supposed to be dead.</p> + +<p>"I was born in 1858. At least the old man told me that. I mean my father +of course. The first thing I knowed anything about was picking cotton. I +was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. I +was pickin' beside my mother. They would grab us sometimes when we +didn't pick right. Shake us and pull our ears.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. I never was sold.</p> + +<p>"The next thing I remember was being told I was free. My daddy said old +mars told them they were free. I didn't hear him tell it myself. They +come 'round on a Monday morning and told papa and the rest that they +were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they +could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no +more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more.</p> + +<p>"Right after freedom, my folks worked on old man Jim Burdyne's farm. +That is the first place I remember after freedom. Father taken a little +deadening. You don't know what a deadening is? That's a lease. He +cleaned up some land. We boys were just gettin' so we could pick up +brush and tops of trees—and burn it, and one thing and another. Two +years after the War was over, I got big enough to plow. I was plowing +when I was nine years old. We had three boys and four girls older than +me. The balance of them was born after freedom. We made crops on shares +for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. Shares +were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. They didn't pay +everything they promised. They taken a lot of it away from us. They said +figures didn't lie. You know how that was. You dassent dispute a man's +word then. Sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and +run him away. But my daddy wouldn't do it. He said, 'Well, if I owe +anything I'll pay it. I got a large family to take care of.'</p> + +<p>"I never got a chance to go to school any. There was too much work to +do. I married when I was twenty-one. I would go off and stay a month or +two and come back. Never left home permanent for a long while. Stayed +'round home till I was forty years old. I come to Arkansas in 1898. I +made a living by farming at first.</p> + +<p>"I didn't shoot no craps. I belong to the church. I have belonged to the +church about forty years or more. I did play cords and shoot craps and +things like that for years before I got religion.</p> + +<p>"I come to Little Rock in 1918 and been here ever since. I worked 'round +here in town first one thing and then another. Worked at the railroad +and on like that.</p> + +<p>"We used to vote right smart in Mississippi. Had a little trouble +sometimes but it would soon die down. I haven't voted since I been here. +Do no good nohow. Can't vote in none of these primary elections. Vote +for the President. And that won't do no good. They can throw your ballot +out if they want to.</p> + +<p>"I believe in the right thing. I wouldn't believe in anything else. I +try to be loyal to the state and the city. But colored folks don't have +much show. Work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he +don't know nothin' about you. They soon forget you and a white man's +word goes far.</p> + +<p>"I was able to work as late as 1930, but I ain't been no 'count since +to do much work. I get a pension for old age from the Welfare and +commodities and I depend on that for a living. Whatever they want to +give me, I'll take it and make out with it. If there's any chance for me +to git a slave's pension, I wish they would send it to me. For I need it +awful bad. They done cut me way down now. I got heart trouble and high +blood pressure but I don't give up.</p> + +<p>"My mother sure used to make good ash cake. When she made it for my +daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the +bottom. That would keep it clean. She made it extra good. When he would +git through, she would give us the rest. Sometimes, she wouldn't put the +paper on it because she would be mad. He would ask, 'No paper today?' +She would say, 'No.' And he wouldn't say nothin' more.</p> + +<p>"There is some of the meanest white people in the United States in +Mississippi up there on the Yellow Dog River. That's where the Devil +makes meanness.</p> + +<p>"There's some pretty mean colored folks too. There is some of them right +here in Little Rock. Them boys from Dunbar give me a lot of trouble. +They ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. If we say anything to +them, they say, 'Shut up, old gray head.' Sometimes they say worse. I +used to live by Brother Love. Christmas the boys threw at the house and +gave me sass when I spoke to them. So I got out of that settlement. Here +it is quiet because it is among the white folks."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CulpZenia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham, El Dorado Division<br> +Person interviewed: Zenia Culp<br> +Age: Over 80<br> +[Jan 29 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yas'm, my name is Zenia, Zenia Culp 'tis now since I married. My old +master's name was Billy Newton. Him and three more brothers come here +and settled in this county years ago and Master Billy settled this farm. +I was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. I used +to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. You know up there where +Mr. John Dunbar's widow lives now. And the family burying groun' is jus' +a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones +out in the middle of the field.</p> + +<p>"Master Billy's folks was so good to me and I sure thought a heap of +young Master Billy. Believe I told you I was the nurse girl. Well, young +Master Billy was my special care. And he was a live one too. I sure had +a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. I would get him ready for bed +every night. In summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does +and course I would wash his foots before I put him to bed. That little +fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'Don't wash em, +Zenia, jes' wet em.' Oh, he was a sight, young Master Billy was.</p> + +<p>"Does you know Miss Pearl? She live there in El Dorado. She is young +master's widow. Miss Pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks +lots bout young Master Billy.</p> + +<p>"Yas'm, I'se always lived here where I was born. Never moved way from de +old plantation. Course things is changed lots since the days when old +Master Billy was livin'. When he went off to the war he took most of the +men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and +the chillun.</p> + +<p>"My husban' been dead a long, long time and I live here wid my son. His +wife is gone from home dis evenin'. So I thought I'd come out and pick +off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. That's my son +out there makin' sorghum. My daughter-in-law is so good to me. She +treats me like I was a baby.</p> + +<p>"You asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our +work then. Well, as I tell you, my job was nurse girl and all I had to +do was to keep up wid young Master Billy and that wasn't no work tall, +that was just fun. But while I'd be followin' roun' after him I'd see +how the others would be doin' things.</p> + +<p>"When they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with +straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a +coop over it. This would keep the potatoes from rotting. The Irish +potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the +onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting.</p> + +<p>"In old Master Newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put +the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to +keep em cool.</p> + +<p>"Master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was +fed out of the big house. I members they had a long table to eat off and +kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured +the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. They made +their mops cut of shucks. I always eat in the nursery with young Master +Billy.</p> + +<p>"They had big old fireplaces in Master's house and I never seen a stove +till after the war.</p> + +<p>"I member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had +the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot +ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain.</p> + +<p>"The pickaninnies had a time playin'. Seein' these peanuts minds me that +they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. +Course Master Billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they +pinched.</p> + +<p>"Lan', but them was good old days when Master Billy was alive."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CumminsAlbert"></a> +<h3>Texarkana District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W.M. Ball<br> +Subject: Anecdotes<br> +Story:<br> +<br> +Information given by: Albert Cummins<br> +Place of Residence: Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark.<br> +Occupation: None (Ex-Slave)<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of second page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>An humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an +interesting old negro, Albert Cummins.</p> + +<p>Texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain +from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this +country. This ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but +continued to live in the same family until he was a man. He says: "All +de training an' advice I evah had come frum mah mistress. She wuz a +beautiful Christian; if I am anybody, I owe it to her. I nevah went to +school a day in mah life; whut I know I absorbed frum de white folks! +Mah religion is De Golden Rule. It will take any man to heaben who +follows its teachings.</p> + +<p>"Mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at Poison Springs, near +Camden. We got separated in de skirmish an' I nevah did see him again. +Libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, +only to sen' messages by horseback riders. It wuz months befo' I really +knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Autrey bought mah mother when I wuz an infant, and gave us de +protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. +I worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. I sees him +often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, +jus' as de South wuz left after de war."</p> + +<p>"I came heah when Texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little +kindly village, where we all knew each udder. Due to de location an' de +comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. Not until it wuz too late +did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between +two states. Dis being Texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle +overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. Still dat State Line +divides de two cities like de "Mason and Dixon Line" divides the North +an' South.</p> + +<p>"Living on the Arkansas side of this city, Albert Cummins is naturally +very partial to his side. "The Arkansas side is more civilized", +according to his version. "Too easy fo' de Texas folks to commit a crime +an' step across to Arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob +again."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurlettBetty"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Betty Curlett, Hazen, Arkansas<br> +Age: 66<br> +[-- -- 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I can tell you all about my kin folks. My mama's owners was Mars John +Moore and Miss Molly Moore. They come from Virginia and brought Grandma +Mahaley and Grandpa Tom.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Daniel Johnson went to North Carolina and bought Alice and John and +their family. When he brought them to Mississippi, they come in a hack. +It was snowing and cold. It took em so long to came they take turns +walkin'. Grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut +through and climbed over a railin' fence. She lost her baby outer her +quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. She say, 'Lawd, +Master Daniel, if I ain't lost my baby.' They stopped the hack and she +went back to see where her baby could be. She knowed where she got out +the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. Fore she got to the fence +she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. She said the sun was warm +and he was well wrop up. That all what saved em. She shuck him round +till she woke him up. She was so scared he be froze. When he let out +cryin' she knowed he be all right. She put him in the foot of the hack +mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. She say he never +had a cold from it. Well, that was John, my papa, what she lost in de +snow. Grandma used to set and tell us that and way I can member it was +my own papa she be talkin' bout.</p> + +<p>"Papa was raised up by the Johnson family and mama by the Moore family. +Den Alice Moore had em marry her and John Johnson. Their plantations +joined, and joined Judge Reid's (or Reed's) place. We all had a big +time on them three farms. They was good to their niggers but Mr. +---- they said whooped his niggers awful heep.</p> + +<p>"Ed Amick was Mars Daniel Johnson's overseer. He told him he wanted his +slaves treated mighty good and they was good. Yes ma'am, they was good +to em!! We had a plenty to eat. Every Saturday they killed a lamb, a +goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. Us +childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. White folks didn't +eat em. They was tender seem like round the head.</p> + +<p>"Miss Evaline was Mars Daniel's sister. She was a old maid. Miss +Evaline, Aunt Selie old nigger woman and Brittain old nigger man done +nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. They had a +few turkeys and peafowls all the time. When they stewed chicken it was +stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. They fry chicken +in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. They put eggs +in it, too. They call it marble cakes. Then they pour sweet milk in the +bottom grease and make good gravy. When they rendered up lard they +always made marble cakes. They cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and +twisted em round like knots and rings. They take em up in big pans big +as dish pans.</p> + +<p>"We had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. +Regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. She made our +dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on +our waist.</p> + +<p>"I was named for Miss Betty Johnson. Mars Daniel bought me books. I slip +and tear ABC's outen every book he buy for me. Miss Betty say A-B-C-D; I +say after her. She say, 'Betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' I say, +'Miss Betty, I hear Miss Cornelia's baby woke up. Agin Miss Betty—she +was my young mistress—ABC's me sayin' em long wid her. I say, 'Miss +Betty, I smell ginger bread, can't I go git a piece?' She say, +'Betty—I'm so sorry I name you fer me. I wish I named Mary.' I say, +'Then you name Mary Betty an' give me nother name.' Miss Betty git me +down agin to sayin' the ABC's, I be lookin' off. She say, 'Betty, you +goin' to be a idiot.' I say, 'That what I wanter be—zactly what I +wanter be.' I didn't know what a idiot was then.</p> + +<p>"I took up crocheting. Miss Cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. She say +'Betty that's her talent' bout me. Miss Betty say, 'If she goin' to be +mine I want her to be smart.' Miss Mary lernt my sister Mary fast.</p> + +<p>"When I was bout fifteen I was goiner to the nigger school. I wanted to +go to the white school wid Miss Mag. Miss Betty say, 'Betty, that white +woman would whoop you every day.' I take my dinner in a bucket and go on +wid Mary. I'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git +in late. The teacher said, 'Betty, Miss Cornelia and Miss Betty say they +want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all +sorts er ways. Ain't you shamed?'</p> + +<p>"They had a big entertainment. Miss Betty learned me a piece to +say—poetry. I could lern it from sayin' it over wid Miss Betty. They +bought me and Mary our fust calico dresses. I lack to walked myself to +death. I was so proud. It had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and +a shash tied at the waist behind. We had red hats wid streamers hanging +down the back. The dresses was red and black small checks. Mary lernt +her piece at school. We had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the +school closin'.</p> + +<p>"Mr. John Moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first +battle soon as he got there. They had a sayin, 'You won't last as long +as John Moore when he went to war.'</p> + +<p>"Mr. Criss Moore was kickin' a nigger boy. Old Miss say, 'Criss, quit +kickin' him, you hurt him.' He say, 'I ain't hurtin' him, I'm playin' +wid him!' White boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the +house. Glad to meet up to get to play.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Criss Moore, Jr. (John Moore's grandson) is a doctor way up North +and so is Mr. Daniel Johnson, Jr. One of em in Washington I think. I +could ask Miss Betty Carter when I go back to Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"When I left Mississippi Mr. Criss hated to see me go. Mr. Johnson say, +'I wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' He say to Jim, my +husband, 'Now when she die you let me know and I'll help bring her back +and bury her in the old graveyard.' When my papa died Mr. Johnson had +the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. He +was buried by mama and nearly all the Johnson, Moore, and Reed (or Reid) +niggers buried there. My husband is buried here (Hazen, Arkansas) but he +was a Curlett.</p> + +<p>"Papa set out apple trees on the old Johnson place, still bearin' +apples. The old farm place is forty-eight miles from Tupelo and three +miles from Houlka, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My mother had eighteen children and I had sixteen but all mine dead now +but three. Mama's ma and grandpapa Haley had twenty-two children. Yes +ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. Mars Daniel say to his wife, +'Cornelia, feed my niggers.' That bout last he said when he went off to +war. Mars Green, Daniel, and Jimmie three brothers. Three Johnson +brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots +fore they left and went to war.</p> + +<p>"When the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the +farm bells and blowed horns—big old cow horns. When Mars Daniel come +home he went to my papa's house and says, 'John, you free.' He says, 'I +been free as I wanter be whah I is.' He went on to my grandpa's house +and says, 'Toby, you are free!' He raised up and says, 'You brought me +here frum Africa and North Carolina and I goiner stay wid you long as +ever I get sompin to eat. You gotter look after me!' Mars Daniel say, +'Well, I ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' +Purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. Mars +Daniel say to grandpa, 'Toby, you ain't my nigger.' Grandpa raise up an' +say, 'I is, too.'</p> + +<p>"They had to work but they had plenty that made em content. We had good +times. On moonlight nights somebody ask Mars Daniel if they could have a +cotton pile, then they go tell Mars Moore and Judge Reid (or Reed). They +come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. Pick out four or five +bales. Then Mars Daniel say you come to the house. Ring the bell. Then +we have a big supper—pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. +Have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we +could eat.</p> + +<p>"Then we had three banjos. The musicians was William Word, Uncle Dan +Porter, and Miles Porter. Did we dance? Square dance. Then if somebody +been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they +married. You can't get nobody—colored folks I mean—to step over a +broom; they say it bad luck. If it fall and they step over they step +back. They say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that +year. Folks didn't visit round much. They had some place to go they went +but they had to work. They work together and done mighty little—idle +vistin'. Folks took the knitting long visting lest it be Sunday.</p> + +<p>"White women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their +breast fall. They would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to +the house. They had a house close by. She would nurse her baby and the +white baby, too. They would feed her everything she wanted. She didn't +have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. Dannie and +my brother Bradford, and Mary my sister and Miss Maggie nursed my mama. +Rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause +their breast to be flat.</p> + +<p>"My papa was the last slave to die. Mama died twelve months fore he +died. I was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and +papa said. Grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and Miss Cornelia +learned me to sew and learned Aunt Joe (a ex-slave Negro here in town) +to play Miss Betty's piano. She was their house girl. Yes ma'am, when I +was small girl she was bout grown. Aunt Joe is a fine cook. Miss +Cornelia learnt her how. I could learned to played too but I didn't want +to. I wanted to knit and crochet and sew. Miss Cornelia said that was my +talent. I made wrist warmers and lace. Sister Mary would spin. She spun +yarn and cotton thread. They made feather beds. Picked the geese and +sheared the sheep. I got my big feather bed now.</p> + +<p>"When I married, Miss Betty made my weddin' dress. We had a preacher +marry us at my home. My mama give me to Miss Betty and they raised me. I +was the weaslingest one of her children. She give me to Miss Betty. Now +she wants me to come back. I think I go back Christmas and stay. Miss +Betty is old and feeble now. I got three children living here in Hazen +now. All I got left.</p> + +<p>"The men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. I don't know +how they voted. Now, honey, you know I don't know nothing bout voting.</p> + +<p>"Times is so changed. Conditions so changed that I don't know if the +young generation is improved much. They learn better but it don't do em +no more good. It seems like it is the management that counts. That is +the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave Mars Daniel Johnson's. He was +a good manager and Miss Betty is a good manager. We don't know how to +manage and ain't got much to manage wid. That the way it looks to me. +Some folks is luckier than others."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurlettBetty2"></a> +<h3>Little Rock District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson<br> +[HW: Yankees Stole Food]<br> +Subject: History—Slavery Days<br> +Subject: Musical Instrument<br> +Story:—Information<br> +[TR: hand dated 11-14-36]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Betty Curlett<br> +Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: Washwoman<br> +Age: 67</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"My mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of +wooden spoons and bowls they made." They cooked a washpot full of peas +for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. They +always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for +there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked +for her family in with what she cooked for the Master. They made banks +of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till +they went to cook them. They had rows of banks in the garden or out +behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in +the spring to bed.</p> + +<p>They saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them +and saved the drip—lye—and made soap or corn hominy—made big pots of +soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. They carried corn to the mill +and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. The women +spun, wove, and knitted. The men would hunt between crop times. If the +slaves were caught stealing, the Patty Row would catch him and his +master whip him.</p> + +<p>My Grandpas and Grandmas and Mamma's Master was John Moore. Mr. John +said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade +blood saddle-skirt deep. He set out to war. Went to Vicksburg and was +killed.</p> + +<p>His wifes name was Mrs. Elisabeth and his daughters name was Miss Inez. +They say thats where the saying "He won't last longer than John Moore +did when he went to war" sprang up but I don't know about that part of +it for sure.</p> + +<p>Grandma Becky said when the Yankees came to Mrs. Moores house and to +Judge Rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't +have none. They stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. Just tore +up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. They took +two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the +ground, leaving piles of them to waste.</p> + +<p>Song her Mother and Grandmother sang:</p> + +<pre> +Old Cow died in the fork of the branch + Baby, Ba, Ba. +Dock held the light, Kimbo skinned it. + Ba, Ba, Ba. +Old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from +branch, Kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide +he had tanned. + Baby, Ba, Ba. +</pre> +<br> +<p><b>Musical Instrument</b></p> + +<p>"The only musical instrument we had was a banjo. Some made their banjos. +Take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. 3 horse hairs twisted made +the base string. 2 horsehairs twisted made the second string. 1 horse +hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it +was not twisted at all but drawn tight. They were all bees waxed."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurryJH"></a> +<h3>Circumstances of Interview<br> +STATE—Arkansas<br> +NAME OF WORKER—Samuel S. Taylor<br> +ADDRESS—Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +DATE—December, 1938<br> +SUBJECT—Ex-Slave</h3> +<p>[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]</p> +<br> + +<p>1. Name and address of informant—<big><b>J.H. Curry</b></big>, Washington, Arkansas</p> + +<p>2. Date and time of interview—</p> + +<p>3. Place of interview—Washington, Arkansas</p> + +<p>4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with +informant—</p> + +<p>5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you—</p> + +<p>6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Personal History of Informant</b></p> + +<p>1. Ancestry—father, Washington Curry; mother, Eliza Douglass; +grandmother; Malinda Evans; grandfather, Mike Evans.</p> + +<p>2. Place and date of birth—Born in Haywood County, Tennessee in 1862.</p> + +<p>3. Family—</p> + +<p>4. Places lived in, with dates—Tennessee until 1883. From 1883 until +now, in Arkansas.</p> + +<p>5. Education, with dates—He took a four-years' course at Haywood after +the war.</p> + +<p>6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates—Minister</p> + +<p>7. Special skills and interest—Church work.</p> + +<p>8. Community and religious activities—Preacher</p> + +<p>9. Description of informant—</p> + +<p>10. Other points gained in interview—His father was a slave and he +tells lots of slavery.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Master Educates Slave]<br> +Text of Interview</b> (Unedited)</p> + +<p>"I was born in 1862, September first. I got that off the Bible. My +father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait +man to him. And the doctor learnt him how to read and write. Right after +the War, he was a teacher. He was ready to be a teacher before most +other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. There were +so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers +and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he +taught my father to read and write so that he could do it.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee, in Haywood County. My father was born in North +Carolina, so they tell me. He was brought to Tennessee. He was a slave +and my mother was a slave. His name was Washington Curry and my mother's +name was Eliza Douglass before she married. Her master was named John +Douglass and my father's master was named T.A. Curry, Tom Curry some +folks called him.</p> + +<p>"I don't know just how many slaves Tom Curry owned. Lemme see. There was +my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. My father's father had +ten children, and my father had the same number—five boys and six +girls. Ten of us lived for forty years. My mother had ten living +children when she died in 1921. Since '21, three girls died. My father +died in 1892.</p> + +<p>"My father's master had around a hundred slaves. Douglass was a richer +man than my father's master. I suspect he had two hundred slaves. He was +my mother's father as well as her master. I know him. He used to come to +our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. He liked her. She +was his daughter.</p> + +<p>"My father's father—I can't remember what his name was. I know his +mother was Candace. I never did see his father but I saw my grandma. He +was dead before I was born. My mother's mother was named Malinda Evans. +Only one thing I remember that was remarkable about her. Her husband was +a free man named Mike Evans. He come from up North and married her in +slave time and he bought her. He was a fine carpenter. They used to hire +him out to build houses. He was a contractor in slave time. I remember +him well.</p> + +<p>"After the War, he used to have white men getting training for the +carpenter's training under him. He was Grandma Evans' husband. He wasn't +my father's father. My father was born before Grandma Evans was freed. +All the rest of them were born afterward. They sold her to him but the +children all belonged to the Douglasses. He probably paid for her on +time and they kept the children that was born.</p> + +<p>"The doctor was good to my father. Way after freedom, he was our family +doctor. He was at my father's bedside when father died. He's dead now.</p> + +<p>"My father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). He was a finished +carpenter. He used to make everything 'round the house. Sometimes he +went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and +his master would give him some for himself.</p> + +<p>"My mother worked 'round the house. She was a servant. I don't know that +she ever did the work in the field. My daddy just come home every +Saturday night. My father and mother always belonged to different +masters in slavery time. The Douglasses and the Currys were five or six +miles apart. My father would walk that distance on Saturday night and +stay there all day Sunday and git up before day in the morning Monday so +that he would be back home Monday morning in time for his work. I +remember myself when we moved away. That's when my memory first starts.</p> + +<p>"I could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'Uncle +Washington, please don't carry Aunt Lize away.' But we went on away. +When we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor +that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. +Nothing to eat—not a bite. I went to bed hungry, and you know how it is +when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. I jerk a little nod, and +then I'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. One time I woke +up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at +the table, and mama reached over and said, 'Stick your head back under +the cover again, you little rascal you.' I won't say what I saw. But +I'll say this much. We had the finest breakfast the next morning that I +ever ate in all my life.</p> + +<p>"I used to hear my people talk about pateroles but I don't reckon I can +recall now what they said. There is a man in Washington named Bob +Sanders. He knows everything about slavery, and politics too. He used to +be a regular politician. He is about ninety years old. They came there +and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his +fare. Man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. +They were writing up something about Arkansas history.</p> + +<p>"I have been married fifty-seven years. I married in 1881. My wife was a +Lemons. I married on February tenth in Tennessee at Stanton. Nancy +Lemons.</p> + +<p>"I went to public school a little after the war. My wife and I both +went to Haywood after we were married. After we married and had +children, we went. I took a four-years' course there when it was a fine +institution. It's gone down now.</p> + +<p>"I was the oldest boy. We had two mules. We farmed on the halves. We +made fifteen bales of cotton a year. Never did make less than ten or +twelve.</p> + +<p>"I have been in the ministry fifty-three years. I was transferred to +Arkansas in 1883 in the conference which met at Humboldt. My first work +here was in Searcy in 1884.</p> + +<p>"I think the question of Negro suffrage will work itself out. As we get +further away from the Civil War and the reconstruction, it will be less +and less opposition to the Negro's voting. You can see a lot of signs of +that now.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about the young people. They are gone wild. I don't know +what to say about them.</p> + +<p>"I think where men are able to work I think it is best to give them +work. A man that is able to work ought to be given work by the +government if he can't get it any other way."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DandridgeLyttleton"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Lyttleton Dandridge<br> + 2800 W. Tenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was told I was born in '57 in East Carroll Parish, Louisiana.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can remember before the War broke out. Yes ma'am, I had good +owners. Old master and mistress was named James Railey and Matilda +Railey. I called her mistress.</p> + +<p>"I remember one time my father carried me to Natchez on Christmas to +spend with his people. His parents were servants on a plantation near +Natchez.</p> + +<p>"I remember two shows I saw. They was the Daniel Rice shows. They was +animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. We didn't +have trains and things like that—traveled on the big waters.</p> + +<p>"I remember when we refugeed to Texas in '63. They raised tobacco there.</p> + +<p>"We got free in '65 and the Governor or somebody ordered all the owners +to take all the folks back that wanted to go.</p> + +<p>"All the young folks, they had them in Tyler, Texas makin' bullets. My +father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets.</p> + +<p>"Old master had two plantations in Louisiana and three in Mississippi. +He was a large slaveholder.</p> + +<p>"When we got back to Louisiana from Texas, ever'thing was the same +except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land.</p> + +<p>"Old master died before the War broke out and my mistress died in '67.</p> + +<p>"My father died in Texas. That left my mother a widow. She spent about +two weeks at the old home place in Louisiana. She pulled up then and +went to Natchez to my father's people. She made two crops with my young +master. His name was Otie Railey. Help her? Well, I was comin'. I had +one brother and one sister.</p> + +<p>"In '68 she worked with a colored man on the shares.</p> + +<p>"I started to school in '67. A colored man come in there and established +a private school. I went in '67, '68, and '69 and then I didn't go any +more till '71 and '72. I got along pretty well in it. I know mine from +the other fellows. I can write and any common business I can take care +of.</p> + +<p>"We had two or three men run off and joined the Yankees. One got drowned +fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom.</p> + +<p>"My mother worked for wages after freedom. She got three bales of cotton +for her services and mine and she boarded herself.</p> + +<p>"In '74 she rented. I still stayed with her. She lived with me all her +life and died with me.</p> + +<p>"I come over to Arkansas the twenty-third day of December in 1916. +Worked for Long-Bell Lumber Company till they went down. Then I Just +jobbed around. I can still work a little but not like I used to.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote Republican when I was interested in politics but I have +no interest in it now.</p> + +<p>"The younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. They was +more constrictions on the young people. When I was young I had a certain +hour to come in at night. Eight o'clock was my hour—not later than +that. I think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started +in time they could control them.</p> + +<p>"I remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she +caught up with him. He fell down and she booed him in the back. My +grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. She just shook +her head and went off.</p> + +<p>"Outside of my people, the best friend I ever met up with was a white +man."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DanielsElla"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Ella Daniels<br> + 1223 W. Eleventh Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74, or over</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Food Rationed]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in North Carolina, in Halifax County, in the country near +Scotland Neck. My mother's name was Nellie Doggett. Her name was Hale +before she married. My father's name was Tom Doggett. I never did see +any of my grand people.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Lewis Hale. He was a farmer. He was fairly +good himself but the overseers wasn't. They have mistreated my mother. +All I know is what I heard, of course; I wasn't old enough to see for +myself. My mother was a field hand. She worked on the farm. My father +did the same thing.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother belonged to different masters. I forgot now who my +father said he belonged to. My father didn't live on the same plantation +with my mother. He just came and visited her from time to time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"Sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. The old missis sometimes +saw that my mother's children were fed. My mother's master was pretty +good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. Food was +issued every week. They give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little +rice and along like that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House</b></p> + +<p>"My mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. I don't know +whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. But I +nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and I know +several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. Most of the houses had +two rooms. The food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations +given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Breeding</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but I +have heard of them. I don't know the names of the people. Just remember +hearing talk about them.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Freedom Comes</b></p> + +<p>"My mother and father never found out they were free till April 1865. +Some of them were freed before then. I don't know how they found it out, +but I heard them talking about it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right after Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same +place just like they always did. I reckon they paid them, I don't know. +They did what they wanted to.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers, Ku Klux, and Reconstruction</b></p> + +<p>"I remember the Ku Klux. They used to come and whip the niggers that +didn't have a pass. I think them was pateroles though. There was some +people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, +and then they would sell them. I don't know what they called them. I +just remember the Ku Klux and the pateroles.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out +without a pass. I don't remember any Ku Klux whipping niggers after the +War because they were in politics.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Voters and Officeholders</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard of Negroes voting and holding office after the War. I +wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named Kane Gibbs and +another named Cicero Barnes. I heard the old people talking about them. +I don't know what offices they held. They lived in another county +somewhere.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since Emancipation</b></p> + +<p>"I went from North Carolina to Louisiana, and from Louisiana here. They +had it that you could shake trees out in Louisiana and the money would +fall off. They had some good land out there too. One acre would make all +you wanted—corn or anything else. That was a rich land. But I don't +know—I don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, +you had to leave it there. Never would give you no direct settlement or +pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. Just gave you +something from time to time. Whatever you had you had to leave it there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupational Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"I used to work in the field when I was able. That was when I was in the +country. When I came to the city I usually did washing and ironing. Now +I can't do anything. All the people I used to work for is dead. There +was one woman in particular. She was a good woman, too. I don't have any +help at all now, except my son. He has a family of his own—wife and +seven children. Right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for +himself nor nobody else. But I thank God for what I have because things +could be much worse."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with Ku Klux. It seems to +point to a use of the word Ku Klux before the War. Of course, it is +clear that the Ku Klux Klan operated after the War.</p> + +<p>Ella Daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and +I have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. +But three children were born after her and before the close of the War. +She says they were born two years apart. Allowing that the youngest was +born, in 1864, the one next to her would have been born in 1860, and she +would have been born in 1858. This seems likely too because she speaks +of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and +must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. Born in 1858, +she would have been seven years old in 1865 and would have been able to +have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two +years probably. So it appears to me that her age is eighty, but I have +recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DarrowMaryAllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Allen Darrow, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born at Monticello, Arkansas at the last of the Cibil (Civil) +War. My parents' names was Richard and Ann Allen. They had thirteen +children. Mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer.</p> + +<p>"My great-grandma and grandpa was killed in Indian Nation (Alabama) by +Sam and Will Allen. They was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of +the Carolinas. I disremembers which they told me. Great-grandpa was a +chief. They was shot and all the children run but they caught my Grandma +Evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to Monticello, +Arkansas. They fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. She was a +little full-blood Indian girl then. They got her fer my great-grandpa a +wife. He seen her and thought she was so pretty.</p> + +<p>"She was wild. She wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. She +had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. They tamed her. Grandpa's pa +that wanted the Indian wife was full-blood African. Mama was little +lighter than 'gingercake' color.</p> + +<p>"My Indian grandma was mean. I was feard of 'er. She run us down and +ketch us and whoop us. She was tall slender woman. She was mean as she +could be. She'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. Grandpa was +kind. He'd bring me candy back if he went off. I cried after him. I +played with his girl. We was about the same size. Her name was Annie +Mathis. He was a Mathis. He was a blacksmith too at Monticello and later +he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. I was raised on a farm. +Papa died there. I washed and done field work all my life. Grandma +married Bob Mathis.</p> + +<p>"Our owner was Sam and Lizzie Allen. William Allen was his brother. I +think Sam had eight children. There was a Claude Allen in Monticello and +some grandchildren, Eva Allen and Lent Allen. Eva married Robert Lawson. +I lived at Round Pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to Forrest +City. I been away from them Allen's and Mathis' and Gill's so long and +'bout forgot 'em. They wasn't none too good to nobody—selfish. They'd +make trouble, then crap out of it. Pack it on anybody. They wasn't none +too good to do nothing. Some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and +women. Some of 'em I know wasn't rich—poor as 'Jobe's stucky.' I don't +know nothing 'bout 'em now. They wasn't good.</p> + +<p>"I was a baby at freedom and I don't know about that nor the Ku Klux. +Grandpa started a blacksmith shop at Monticello after freedom.</p> + +<p>"My pa was a white man. Richard Allen was mama's husband.</p> + +<p>"Me and my husband gats ten dollars from the Old Age Pension. He is +ninety-six years old. He do a little about. I had a stroke and ain't +been no 'count since. He can tell you about the Cibil War."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I missed her husband twice. It was a long ways out there but I will see +him another time.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisAlice"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Alice Davis<br> + 1700 Vaugine Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Mississippi. My mistress was Jane Davis. She raised me. +She owned my mother too.</p> + +<p>"When Miss Jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and +Mandy Paine owned me then. When I was one month old they said I was so +white Mandy Paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and +carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. When the +childun heard, they run and cried, 'Mama's goin' to kill Harriet's +baby.' Old mistress, Jane Davis, heard about it and she come and paid +Miss Jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and I slep +right in the bed with her till the war ceasted."</p> + +<p>"Her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'Ma, why don't +you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me +and say, 'This the only nigger I got.'</p> + +<p>"I stayed there two or three years after freedom. I didn't know what +free meant. Big childun all laugh and say, 'All niggers free, all +niggers free.' And I'd say, 'What is free?' I was lookin' for a man to +come.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the house and in the field. I had plenty chances to go to +school but I didn't have no sense.</p> + +<p>"My mother was sold to nigger traders and I never did see her again. I +always say I never had no mother, and I never did know who my father +was.</p> + +<p>"I've worked hard since I got to be a women. I never been the mother of +but three childun. Me and my boy stay together.</p> + +<p>"I had a happy time when I lived with Miss Jane, but I been workin' ever +since."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisCharlie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Charlie Davis<br> + 100 North Plum, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"They said I was born in 1862, the second day of March, in Little Rock.</p> + +<p>"I 'member the War. I 'member the bluecoats. I knowed they was fightin' +but I didn't know what about.</p> + +<p>"My old master was killed in the War. I don't know his name, I just +heered 'em call him old master.</p> + +<p>"I know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the War and looked +for him afterward. As long as I could understand anything she was still +lookin'.</p> + +<p>"Far as I know, my parents stayed with old missis after the War.</p> + +<p>"I 'member my father hired me out when I was a little boy. They treated, +me good.</p> + +<p>"Never have done anything 'cept farm work. I'm failin' now. Hate to say +so but I found out I am.</p> + +<p>"I never did want to go away from here. I could a went, but I think a +fellow can do better where he is raised. I have watched the dumb beasts +go off with others and see how they was treated, so I never did crave to +go off from home. I have knowed people have went away and they'd bring +'em back dead, and I'd say to myself, 'I wonder how he died?' I've +studied it over and I've just made myself satisfied.</p> + +<p>"I went to school some but I was the biggest help the old folks had and +they kept me workin'."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisD"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person Interviewed: D. Davis<br> + R.F.D., six miles north of Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 85</h3> +<br> + +<p>Uncle D. Davis, an ex-slave, 85 years of age lives some miles north of +Marvell, Arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter +owns. Uncle D himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further +up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able +to tend the land. This old negro, now old and bent from years of work +and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the +assistance of a crutch and a cane. His mind however is very clear and +his recollection keen. As I sat with him on the porch of his daughter's +home he told me the following story:</p> + +<p>"Yes Sir, Mr. McKinney, I has been in Phillips County fer pas forty-five +years and I is now pas eighty-five. I wuz a grown en settled man when I +fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. Dats how cum me ter com +here on er count of one of my boys. Dis boy he cum befo I did en hed +done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from Mississippi. Yo +know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done +drifted rite down dere below Marvell on de Cypress Bayou, en war wukin +fer Mr. Fred Mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. I guess +dat yo has heard of Mr. Fred Mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close +ter Turner. Well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter I cum I +jined up wid Mr. Mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en I wud er ben +wid him fer good I rekkin iffen I hadn't wanter buy me er place of my +own, kase Mr. Fred Mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands +fair.</p> + +<p>"When I cided ter git me er little place of my own, I went en got +quainted wid Mr. Marve Carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, +en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter Mr. Carruth fer ter git de +advice, en Mr. Carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is +mine yit. Dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan Mr. Marve +Carruth. No Sir dat is a fac.</p> + +<p>"Yo see, Capn, I wuz borned en raised in de hills of Mississippi, in +Oktibbawa County not so fer frum Starkville, en dat wuz a ole country +time I hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when I +cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, +en how rish de lan, I jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite +here en mobed my fambly rite off. Folkses hed cotton piled up all er +round dey houses en I cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home +den.</p> + +<p>"My ole Marster wuz Tom Davis en Capn dere warnt never no finer man whut +ever libed dan Marse Tom. Marse Tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he +hed, en Marse Tom sho hed a passel of em. He had bettern two-hundred +head en de las one dey crazy bout Marse Tom Davis. He war rather old +frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de +war. Marse Tom he owned a grete heap er lan. His lan hit stretch out fer +God knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water +wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. Dey neber +bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all +de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. Marse Tom he +tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin +er sellin no niggers. Dat he didn't. He neber wud sell er one, en he +neber did buy but three. Dat is er fac, Capn, en one of dem three whut +he bought wuz "Henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed Henry frum Mr. +Spence kase Henry hed done got married ter Malindy, whut wuz my mammy. +Dat is whut my Mammy en Pappy dey bofe tole me.</p> + +<p>"Marse Tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, +but Marse Phil he jined up. Marse Phil dat war Marse Tom's son, en de +onliest boy dat Ole Marster en Ole Mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile +en dat wuz de girl, Miss Rachel, en atter de war ober Miss Rachel she +married Capn Dan Travis whut cum from Alabama. Ole Marster he neber +laked Capn Dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout Miss Rachel +gwine ter git married ter dat Capn, but hit neber done him no good ter +cut up kase Ole Mis she sided wid Miss Rachel, en den too Miss Rachel +she hab er head of her own en she know her Pa aint gwine ter stop her. +Marse Tom he didn't lak Capn Dan kase de Capn he er big sport, en mighty +wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, +do he sho war a fine lookin gentman.</p> + +<p>"Whilst Marse Tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er +man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en Ole Mis dey +neber want Marse Phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer +ter tek Marse Phil's place so he won't hatter go, but Marse Phil he sey +he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he Ma en Pa dey cut up right +smart bout Marse Phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. Marse +Phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter +sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad +spell er sikness en died. Dat wuz sho tuf on Marse Tom en de Ole Mis fer +dem ter lose Marse Phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him +bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. Hit mighty +nigh broke dem ole peoples up.</p> + +<p>"No Sir, Capn, I betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white +man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers +dan Marse Tom Davis. Now jes tek dis, dere wuz "Uncle Joe" whut wuz my +grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as Marse Tom, en dey growed +up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat Marse Tom's pappy git "Uncle Joe" +when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red +hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter +Marse Tom, en atter Marse Tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy +died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, +en Uncle Joe done raise Marse Tom seben chillun, den Marse Tom he up en +sot Uncle Joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase +Uncle Joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise Marse Tom +all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy.</p> + +<p>"Capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) Well, +I gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. Dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de +niggers. Dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round +thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en +womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. Hit wuz jes lak you mite +sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. Jist befo dese here +speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try +ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long +side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, +en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some +nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine +try ter do de bizness wid. Dats zackly de way dey do Capn, jes lak +curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually +is.</p> + +<p>"Whilst Marse Tom Davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of +de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he +niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery +week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat +week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den +ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en +whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres +whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey +own, en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey +want.</p> + +<p>"Marse Tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always +on er Sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de +folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er Sattidy atter noon fer er +frolic. Ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest +man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter +"go befo de King", dats whut us called it. All wud gather in bak of de +big house under de big oak trees en Marse Tom he wud cum out wid he +fiddle under he arm, yo kno Marse Tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot +hisself down in de chere whut Uncle Joe done fotched fer im, en den he +tell Uncle Joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all +er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den Marse Tom he +start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab +de bes kin er frolic, en Marse Tom he git jes es much fun outen de party +as de niggers demselves. Dats de kine er man whut Marse Tom wuz.</p> + +<p>"I tell yo, Capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. Dey all +draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times +dey cud always git mo, en Marse Tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour +at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. Dats rite, Capn, en I sho tells +dis fer de truf, en dat is I say dat iffen all de slabe owning white +folks lak Marse Tom Davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de +darkies, kase Marse Tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey +bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone.</p> + +<p>"At Chrismus time on Marse Tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er +mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. De candy pullin, en de dances wid be +gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de +marster.</p> + +<p>"All endurin of de war times, Marse Tom he neber raised no cotton er +tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de +Confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de +loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. De Yankees +sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er +bruning [TR: burning?] en sich dat I is heard dat dey done in places in +other parts of de state. We all heard one time dat de Yankees wuz close +er roun en wuz on de way ter burn Marse Tom's mill but dey got on de +wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er +dat too. Yit en still attar de war ober, Marse Tom, he had bout four +hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de Yankee govment dey sho +tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. I knows dat ter be er +fac.</p> + +<p>"I members de war rail well, kase ye see, I wuz bout twelve year old +when hit ober. En de last two er three years of de trubble I wuz big +enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er +waitin boy round de house, en I slept in dar too on er pallit on de +floor, en er lot er times de Calvary sojers wud stop at Marse Tom's en +spen de nite, en I wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en I +cud hear dem talkin ter Marse Tom, en Marster he wud ax dem how de fite +cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de Yankees, en de Calvary sojers dey say +dat dey whippin de Yankees ebery day en killin em out, en Marse Tom he +sey "Yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem +Yankees? Dem Yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo +doin. Yo know yo aint whippin no Yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter +dem rite now stid dem atter yo". No Sir, dem Calvary sojers cudn't fool +Marse Tom.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir, I tell yo, Capn, de slabes dey fared well wid Marse Tom Davis, +en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every +body ben lak Marse Tom. All his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben +know what de Yankees en de Southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase +dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum +dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter +do wid hit. En atter de bondage lifted, Marse Tom he called em all up en +tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere +wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. Dey ebery one stayed, en I spect dat +er lot of dem Davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid +whoever hit belongs to.</p> + +<p>"When er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich +thing as er license fer dem. All dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit +frum de Marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. Atter de +freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz +giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal.</p> + +<p>"Atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, +en atter de surrender, Marse Tom he hed his whole place lined out by de +surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty +acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock +wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de +lan frum Marse Tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till Marse Tom en ole +Mis bofe died, en dat wuz when Capn Dan Travis, Miss Rachel's husband, +he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies +hed made wid Marse Tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, +en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de Davis place, wid Capn +Dan Travis in charge, en Marse Tom gone. But Capn Dan he en Miss Rachel +didn't keep dey place long atter her Pa dead, kase de Capn he too wild, +en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin.</p> + +<p>"Capn, did yo eber hear of de "Chapel Hill" fight dat de colored folks +en de white folks hed in Mississippi? I will tell yo bout dat fight en +de leadin up ter de trubble.</p> + +<p>"Atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de Klu Klux bofe, en de +white folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey +didn't. I don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, +so de white folks say. You know sum way er udder de Yankees er de +carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de +cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in Jackson. Dat wuz de +craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant +niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. I tell yo, Capn, dem +whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de +niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk +long. Dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded +dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er +roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. Dem ignorant +niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. Hit wasn't long +do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. De Klu Klux dey +wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick +by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, +en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter +tek bak wid em when de day light cum. All de time de niggers habin dey +club meetins in er ole loose house dere at Chapel Hill, en de Klux er +gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de +black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er +grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de +Klu Klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter +dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er +shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, +dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club +meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote +house. I heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase Chapel Hill hit warn't +fer frum whar I libed at dat time. I seed Dr. Marris Gray on de rode on +he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. Dr. +Marris Gray he pulled up en sed, "Good mornin "D" is ye heard bout de +fite whut wuz had last nite at Chapel Hill" en I sey "No Sir Doctor, +whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he +didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de +club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en +also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat +he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. En den I sey +"Doctor Morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he +say "En cose I warn't dere yo don't think I gwine be roun what no +shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en I say "Naw Suh" en de doctor he rid +on down de rode den, but I knowed in my own mine dat Doctor Morris wuz +in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en I seed er long +pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat I iz +knowed de doctor eber since I wuz a chile when Marse Tom uster hab him +ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en I seed him one night er +ridin wid de Klu Klux en heard him er talkin when I wuz hid in de bushes +lon side de rode when I cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de +thicket, en den Doctor Morris he wid General Forrest all throo de war en +he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss +no shootin."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJames"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: James Davis<br> + 1112 Indiana St. (owner), Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 96<br> +Occupation: Cotton farmer</h3> +<br> + +<p>"This is what's left of me. How old? Me? Now listen and let me tell you +how 'twas. Old mistress put all our ages in the family Bible, and I was +born on Christmas morning in 1840 in Raleigh, North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"My old master was Peter Davis and he was old Jeff Davis' brother. There +was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream.</p> + +<p>"Old master was good to us. He said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' +and workin' in the field from morning to night. He fed us well and we +had plenty good clothes to wear—heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in +the winter time. When I was a young man I wore good clothes.</p> + +<p>"I served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. We +didn't have a thing in God's world to worry bout. Every darky old master +had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. Oh, he was +rich—had bout five or six thousand slaves. Oh, he had darkies aplenty. +He run a hundred plows.</p> + +<p>"I went to work when I was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and I been +workin' ever since. But when I was comin' up I had good times. I had +better times than I ever had in my life. I used to be one of the best +banjo pickers. I was good. Played for white folks and called figgers for +em. In them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', +'change partners'. They don't know how to dance now. We had parties and +corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes.</p> + +<p>"I'll sing you a song</p> + +<pre> +'Oh lousy nigger + Oh grandmammy + Knock me down with the old fence rider, + Ask that pretty gal let me court her + Young gal, come blow the coal.' +</pre> + +<p>"When I was twenty-one I was sold to the speculator and sent to Texas. +They started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd +and fifty and knocked me off. He paid for me in old Jeff Davis' shin +plasters.</p> + +<p>"I runned away and I was in Mississippi makin' my way back home to North +Carolina. I was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of Sherman's +Rough Riders come along. When they got close to me the horses jumped +sudden and they said, 'Come out of there, we know you're in there!' And +when I come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. +They said they thought I was a Revel and 'serted the army. That was on +New Years day of the year the war ended. The Yankees said, 'We's freed +you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' I said, 'If you goin' +North, I'll go.' So I stayed with em till I got back to North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"After surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come I'm +here. I emigrated here. I left Raleigh, North Carolina Christmas Eve +1883. I've seen ninety-six Christmases.</p> + +<p>"I member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. The South +wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do.</p> + +<p>"When I come to this country of Arkansas I brought twelve chillun and +left four in North Carolina. I've had six wives and had twenty-nine +chillun by the six wives.</p> + +<p>"I've seen them Ku Klux in slavery times and I've cut a many a +grapevine. We'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the +grape vine strung across the road and the Ku Klux come ridin' along and +run right into it and throw the horses down.</p> + +<p>"Cose I believe in hants. They're in the air. Can't everybody see em. +Some come in the shape of a cat or a dog—you know, old folks spirits. I +ain't afeared of em—ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. Cose I got +a gun—got three or four of em. You can't kill a spirit cept with +silver.</p> + +<p>"I was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and I see +somethin' white come right up side of me. I didn't run then. You know +you can git so scared you can't run, but when I got so I could, I like +to killed myself runnin'.</p> + +<p>"I'm not able to work now, but I just go anyhow. I got a willin' mind to +work and a strong constitution but I ain't got nothin' to back it. I +never was sick but twice in my life.</p> + +<p>"Since I been in Pine Bluff I worked sixteen years at night firing up +and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. I +worked for the Cotton Belt forty-eight years. I worked up until the fust +day of this last past May, five years ago, when they laid me off.</p> + +<p>"I'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but I works every day anyway.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you I haven't been asleep atall. I worked for the railroad +company forty-eight years and I been tryin' to get that railroad pension +but there's so much Red Cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be +three months before they could do anything."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJim"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jim Davis<br> + 1112 Indiana Street<br> + Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 98</h3> +<p>[TR: Same as previous informant despite age difference.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Well, I've broke completely down. I ain't worth nothing. Got rheumatism +all over me.</p> + +<p>"I never seen inside a schoolhouse—allus looked on the outside.</p> + +<p>"The general run of this younger generation ain't no good. What I'm +speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. They ain't healthy either. Why, +when I was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. Why, look +at me. I ain't never had but two spells of sickness and I ain't never +had the headache. The only thing—I broke these three fingers. Hit a +mule in the head. Killed him too.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, that was in slavery times. Why, they passed a law in Raleigh, +North Carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. That was when I +was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>"Ever' time they'd make me mad I'd run off in the woods.</p> + +<p>"But they sure was good to their darkies. Plenty to eat and plenty good +clothes. Sam Davis was my owner. And he wouldn't have no rough +overseer."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJim2"></a> +<h3>FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Slavery Time Songs<br> +Subject: Superstitions<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Jim Davis<br> +Place of residence: 1112 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None <br> +Age: 98</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]<br> +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I used to be a banjo picker in Civil War times. I could pick a church +song just as good as I could a reel.</p> + +<p>"Some of 'em I used to pick was 'Amazing Grace', 'Old Dan Tucker,' Used +to pick one went like this</p> + +<pre> +'Farewell, farewell, sweet Mary; + I'm ruined forever + By lovin' of you; + Your parents don't like me, + That I do know + I am not worthy to enter your d[o].' +</pre> + +<p>I used to pick</p> + +<pre> +'Dark was the night + Cold was the ground + On which the Lord might lay.' +</pre> + +<p>I could pick anything.</p> + +<pre> +'Amazing grace + How sweet it sounds + To save a wretch like me.' + +'Go preach my Gospel + Says the Lord, + Bid this whole earth + My grace receive; + Oh trust my word + Ye shall be saved.' +</pre> + +<p>I used to talk that on my banjo just like I talked it there."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Superstitions</b></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes ma'am, I believe in all the old signs.</p> + +<p>"You can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore +shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that +bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel—I know what +I'm talkin' 'bout now—and you tote that in your pocket night and +day—sleep with it—and it brings you good luck. But the last one I had +got burnt up when my house burnt down and I been goin' back ever since.</p> + +<p>"And these here frizzly chicken are good luck. If you have a black +frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your +yard, they'll scratch it up."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJeff1"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis<br> + 1100 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 85<br> +[May 31 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"What's my name? I got a good name. Name's Jeff Davis. Miss Mary Vinson +was some of my white folks.</p> + +<p>"Oh Lord yes, I was here in slavery times—runnin' around like you +are—ten years old. I'm eighty-five even.</p> + +<p>"Soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. Blue coats was what they +called 'em. And the Rebs was Gray.</p> + +<p>"Yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. Had cannon-balls +weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds.</p> + +<p>"I'm a musician—played the fife. Played it to a T. Had two kinds of +drums. Had different kinds of brass horns too. I 'member one time they +was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till I took it.</p> + +<p>"Had plenty to eat. Old master fed us plenty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I used to do a heap of work in a day.</p> + +<p>"I was 'bout ten when freedom come. Yes ma'am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJeff2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis<br> + R.F.D. five miles south, Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. I was borned +in de Tennessee Valley not far from Huntsville, Alabama. Right soon +atter I was borned my white folks, de Welborns, dey left Alabama an' +come right here to Phillips County, Arkansas, an' brung all the darkies +with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. I is been here +all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every +since I been old enough. I is seen good times an' hard times, Boss, all +endurin' of those years followin' de War, but de worst times I is ever +seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck.</p> + +<p>"How-some-ever I is got 'long first rate I reckon 'cause you know I owns +my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all +such like. I really ain't suffered any for nothin'. Still they has been +times when I ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, +but I is made it out somehow. Us old darkies what come up with de +country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there +wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long +on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. Couldn't mind a panic +bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration.</p> + +<p>"You see, I was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. +An' course I can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my +mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times.</p> + +<p>"Like I first said, us belonged to de Welborns an' dey was powerful +loyal to de Souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey +sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in +Tennessee an' Georgia. Dat's what my mammy tole me an' I know dey done +dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout Mr. Jefferson Davis, de fust an' only +President of de Confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name I got. +Yas suh, dat is how come me named 'Jeff Davis.' An' I always has been +proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what I is named after.</p> + +<p>"My pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. I knows he +bound to been 'cause I is too bright to not have no white blood in me. +My mammy, she named 'Mary Welborn'. She say dat my pappy was a white man +name 'Bill Ward' what lived back in Alabama. Dat's all my mammy ever +told me about my pappy. She never say iffen he work for de Welborns er +no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. I don't know nothin' 'bout him +scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'Bill Ward'. My steppappy, he +was name John Sanders, an' he married my mammy when I 'bout four year +old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage.</p> + +<p>"My steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he +want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. +I riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was +built through Marvell from Helena to Clarendon. He made dem culberts +outen logs what would be split half in two. Then he would hew out de two +halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. Dey +would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de +water to run through.</p> + +<p>"There was several white mens dat I knowed in dis part of de county what +raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. I will say this +for them mens though. Whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem +what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care +of de whole gang. I riccolect one white man in particular, an' I knows +you is heered of him too. How-some-ever, I won't call no names. He lived +down on de ribber on de island. Dis white man, he was a overseer for a +widder woman what lived in Helena an' what owned de big place dat dis +man oberseer was on. Dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de +longest. She have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals.</p> + +<p>"After a while dis man, he got him a place up close to Marvell where he +moved to. He brought his nigger fambly with him. He built dem a good +house on his farm where he kept them. He give dat woman an' dem chillun +dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. Then he +married him a nice white woman after he moved close to Marvell. He built +him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap +of chillun too by dis same man. So dis man, he had a white fambly an' a +half nigger fambly before. De most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in +this county right now.</p> + +<p>"Yas suh, Boss, I is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. In my +young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. There +wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. De houses an' barns was +most all made of logs, but I is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers +an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey +does at dis time. De white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more +confidence in each other seems like in dem days. I don't know how 'twas +in de other states after de War, but right here in Phillips County de +white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. Dey helped dem +to git it. Dey sure done dat. Mr. Marve Carruth, dat was really a good +white man. He helped me to get dis very place here dat I is owned for +fifty years. An' then I tell you dis too, Boss, when I was coming up, +de folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. A good hand then +naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as +dey do now. Seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and +down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey +orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home.</p> + +<p>"Yas suh, I riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs +in de courthouse in Helena, but I is never took no part in that votin' +business an' I allus kept out of dem arguments. I left it up to de white +folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers.</p> + +<p>"De darkies what was in de courthouse dat I riccolect was: Bill Gray, he +was one of de clerks; Hense Robinson, Dave Ellison, an' some more dat I +don't remember. Bill Gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was +just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. Bill Gray, he +used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. He was +sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. The +captain used to let him git some eddycation. Darkies, dey never last +long in de courthouse. Dey soon git 'em out.</p> + +<p>"I gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since I was +comin' up. Dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't +believe in no more. Yet de same signs is still here, an' I sure does +believe in 'em 'cause I done seen 'em work for all dese years. De Lawd +give de peoples a sign for all things. De moon an' de stars, dey is a +sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de +cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. De screech owls, dey give er +warnin' dat some one gwine to die. About de best sign dat some person +gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' +constant in de middle of de night. Dat is a sign I hardly is ever seen +fail an' I seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old Aunt Dinah +died up de road. I heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' +back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past +Aunt Dinah's cabin. I say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to +take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' +de sign just right. Dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' Aunt +Dinah, she plumb well at de time. About er week from then Aunt Dinah, +she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she +died. I knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still I didn't +know who it was to be. I tell you, Boss, I is gittin' uneasy an' +troubled de last day or two, 'cause I is done heered another cow a +lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. She keeps a walkin' back +an' forth past my house out there in de road. I is really troubled +'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. We is both way up in +years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, Aunt Dinah was too. +Dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat I done noticed mighty +nigh allus comes true."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJordan"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jordan Davis<br> + 306 Cypress Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was a boy in the house when the war started and I heard the mistress +say the abolitionists was about to take the South. Yes ma'm. That was in +Natchez, Mississippi. I was about nine or ten.</p> + +<p>"Mistress' name was Eliza A. Hart and master's name was Dave A. Hart.</p> + +<p>"I guess they <u>was</u> good to me. I lived right there in the house with +then. Mistress used to send me to Sunday School and she'd say 'Now, +Jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with +them nigger chillun on the streets.'</p> + +<p>"My daddy belonged to a man named Davis way down the river in the +country and after the war he came and got me. Sure did. Carried me to +Davis Bend. I was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. He took me +to Mrs. Leas Hamer and you know I was a good-sized boy when she put me +in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. Yes'm, I sure can cook. She +kept me right in the house with her children. I did her cooking and +cleaned up the house. I never got any money for it, or if I did I done +forgot all about it. She kept me in clothes, she sure did. I didn't need +any money. I stayed five or six years with her, sure did. I thought a +lot of her and her children—she was so kind to me.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'm, I went to school one or two years in Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"When I come here to Arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in +Pine Bluff, there was a white man standin' there named Burks. He kept +lookin' at me and directly he said 'Can you cook?' I was married then +and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me +out to his house. His wife kept a first-class boarding house. Just +first-class white folks stayed there. After the madam found out I had a +good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things +over to me.</p> + +<p>"Miss, it's been so long, I don't study 'bout that votin' business. I +have never bothered 'bout no Republican or votin' business—I never +cared about it. I know one thing, the white people are the only ones +ever did me any good.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. J.B. Talbot has been very good to me. My wife used to work for her +and so did I. She sure has been a friend to me. Mrs. J.B. Talbot has +certainly stuck to me.</p> + +<p>"Oh I think the colored folks ought to be free but I know some of 'em +had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too.</p> + +<p>"Ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. I see 'em goin' down the +street singin' and dancin' and half naked—ain't nothin' to 'em.</p> + +<p>"My wife's been dead five or six years and I live here alone. Yes ma'm! +I don't want nobody here with me."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisMaryJane"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Jane Drucilla Davis<br> + 1612 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 73</h3> +<br> + +<pre> +"'Little baby's gone to heaven + To try on his robe + Oh, Lord, I'm most done toiling here + Little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' +</pre> + +<p>"Oh, it was so mournful. And let me tell you what they'd do. They'd all +march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on +their shoulder and sing that song. That's the first song I remember. I +was three years old and now I'm seventy-three and crippled up with +rheumatism.</p> + +<p>"My mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard +and I thought they was buryin' it in the garden. That was in Georgia.</p> + +<p>"In the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all +night, but they don't do that now.</p> + +<p>"I was married young. I don't love to tell how old but I was fifteen and +when I was seventeen I was a widow. I tried and tried to get another +husband as good as my first one but I couldn't. I didn't marry then till +I was thirty some.</p> + +<p>"My parents brought me from Georgia when I was five years old and now I +ain't got no blood kin in Pine Bluff.</p> + +<p>"Do I believe in signs? Well, let me tell you what I do know. Before my +house burned in 1937, I was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and +sister come up to my house. They come a distance to the steps and went +around the house. They was both dead but I could see 'em just as plain. +And do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. I think +that vision was a sign of bad luck.</p> + +<p>"And another time when I was havin' water put in my house, I dreamed +that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign +a contract and I didn't know there was a contract. And that next day a +man come out for me to sign a contract and I said, 'No.' He wanted to +know why and finally I told him, and he said, 'You're just like my +mother.' It was two days 'fore I'd sign. The men had quit work waitin' +for me to sign. But let me tell you when they put the water in and when +they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. The ground was too low and I +never could use the commode. Now don't you think that dream was a +warning?</p> + +<p>"Just before I had this spell of sickness I dreamed my baby—he's +dead—come and knocked and said. 'Mama.' And I said, 'Yes, darlin', God +bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's +comin'. I really thought I was goin' to die. I got up and looked in the +glass. You know you can see death in the eyes, but I didn't see any sign +of death and I haven't gone yet.</p> + +<p>"Last Saturday I was prayin' to God not to let me get out of the heart +of the people. You see, I have no kin people and I wanted people to come +to my rescue. The next day was Sunday and more people come to see me and +brought me more things.</p> + +<p>"I been in the church fifty-seven years. I'm the oldest member in St. +John's. I joined in May 1881.</p> + +<p>"I went to school some. I went as far as the fourth grade."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisMinerva"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Minerva Davis, Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 56</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father was sold in Richmond, Virginia when he was eighteen years old +to the nigger traders. They had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and +horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. Papa said +he traveled to Tennessee. His job was to wash their faces and hands and +fix their hair—comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be +auctioned off. They sold a lot of children from Virginia all along the +way and he was put up in Tennessee and auctioned off. He was sold to the +highest bidder. Bill Thomas at Brownsville, Tennessee was the one bought +him. Papa was a large strong man.</p> + +<p>"He run off and went to war. He had learned to cook and he was one-eyed +and couldn't fight. All the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. Then +he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and +he never got a pension because of that. He said he come home pretty +often and mama was expecting a baby. He thought he was needed at home +worse. He was so tired of war. He didn't know it would be valuable to +him in his old days. He was sorry he didn't stay till they got him +mustered out. He said it was harder in the war than in slavery. They was +putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to +death all the time. Never did know when they would be shot and killed.</p> + +<p>"Mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. A drove of folks +come by. It was the nigger traders. She had pulled up her two or three +buckets. She carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. They +said, 'Draw me up some water to drink.' She was so smart they bragged on +her. They said, 'She such a smart little thing.' They went to see her +owner and bought her on the spot. They took her away from her people and +she never heard tell of none of them no more. She said there was a big +family of them. They brought her to Brownsville, Tennessee and Johnny +Williams bought her. That was my grandma.</p> + +<p>"Mother was born there on Johnny Williams' place and she was heired by +his daughter. His daughter married Bill Thomas, the one what done bought +my papa. Her young mistress was named Sallie Ann Thomas. Mama got +married when she was about grown. She said after she married she'd have +a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. Mama had twelve +children and raised eleven to be grown. Four of us are living yet. My +sister was married when I was born. White folks married young and +encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. Mama +died when I was a year old but papa lived on with Johnny Williams where +he was when she died. I lived with my married sister. I was the baby and +she took me and raised me with her children.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux wanted to whoop my papa. They all called him Dan. They said +he was mean. His white folks protected him. They said he worked well. +They wouldn't let him be whooped by them Ku Kluxes.</p> + +<p>"Miss Sallie Ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the +children and to help the cook where she visited. They was there a right +smart while from the way papa said. The pattyrollers whooped somebody on +that farm while she was over there. They wasn't many slaves on her place +and they was good to them. That whooping was right smart a curiosity to +mama the way papa told us about it.</p> + +<p>"When mama and papa married, Johnny Williams had a white preacher to +read out of a book to them. They didn't jump over no broom he said.</p> + +<p>"They was the biggest kind of Methodist folks and when mama was five +years old Johnny Williams had all his slaves baptized into that church +by his own white preacher. Papa said some of them didn't believe niggers +had no soul but Johnny Williams said they did. (The Negroes must have +been christened—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about +freedom. Mama was working for Miss Sallie Ann and done something wrong. +Miss Sallie Ann says, 'I'm a good mind to whoop you. You ain't paying +'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' Mama says, 'Miss Sallie +Ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care +what I do.' When Bill come home he say, 'How come you to sass my wife? +She so good to you.' Mama say, 'Master Bill, them soldiers say I'm +free.' He slapped her. That the first time he laid hands on her in his +life. In a few days he said, 'We going to town and see is you free. You +leave the baby with Sallie Ann.' It was the courthouse. They questioned +her and him both. Seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to +be and mama didn't neither. Then papa took mama on Johnny Williams' +place. He come out to Arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then +he moved his children all out here.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Albert and grandpa take nights about going out. Uncle Albert was +courting.</p> + +<p>"They put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm +ready to eat. The fire popped out on mama. She was in a light blaze. Not +a bit of water in the house. Her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on +her to put out the fire. Her stomach was burned and scarred. They was +all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. Miss +Sallie Ann took her and cured her and when Miss Sallie Ann was going to +marry, her folks didn't want to give her Minerva. She tended (contended) +out and got her and Agnes both. Agnes died at about emancipation.</p> + +<p>"I'm named for my mother. I'm her youngest child.</p> + +<p>"I recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back +to olden times the older he got to be. When folks would run down slavery +he would say it wasn't so bad with them—him and mama. He never seen +times bad as times is got to be now. Then he sure would wanted slavery +back some more. He was a strong hard laboring man. He was a provider for +his family till he got so no 'count.</p> + +<p>"Times is changing up fast. Folks is worse about cutting up and +carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. I ain't +old so speaking."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisRosetta"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Rosetta Davis, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 55</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Phillips County, Arkansas. My folks' master was named Dr. +Jack Spivy. Grandma belong to him. She was a field woman. I don't know +if he was a good master er not. They didn't know it was freedom till +three or four months. They was at work and some man come along and said +he was going home, the War was over. Some of the hands asked him who win +and he told them the Yankees and told them they was free fer as he +knowed. They got to inquiring and found out they done been free. They +made that crap I know and I don't recollect nothing else.</p> + +<p>"I farmed at Foreman, Arkansas for Taylor Price, Steve Pierce, John +Huey. I made a crap here with Will Dale. I come to Arkansas twenty-nine +years ago. I come to my son. He had a cleaning and pressing shop here +(Marianna). He died. I hired to the city to work on the streets. I never +been in jail. I owned a house here in town till me and my wife +separated. She caused me to lose it. I was married once.</p> + +<p>"I get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment.</p> + +<p>"The present time is queer. I guess I could git work if I was able to do +it. I believe in saving some of what you make along. I saved some along +and things come up so I had to spend it. I made so little.</p> + +<p>"Education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. Education is good +fer some folks and not good fer some. Some folks git spoilt and lazy. I +think it helped to do it to the people of today."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisVirginia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Virginia (Jennie) Davis<br> + Scott Street, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 45 or 47</h3> +<br> + +<p>"This is what my father, Isaac Johnson, always told us:</p> + +<p>'I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Mama died and left three of us +children and my papa. He was a blacksmith.' I don't recollect grandpa's +name now.</p> + +<p>'A man come to buy me. I was a twin. My sisters cried and cried but I +didn't cry. I wanted to ride in the surrey. I was sold and taken to +Montgomery, Alabama.'</p> + +<p>"Angeline was his oldest sister and Emmaline was his twin sister. He +never seen any of his people again. He forgot their names. His old +master that bought him died soon after he come back from North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"His young master didn't even know his age. He tried to get in the army +and he did get in the navy. They said he was younger than he told his +age. He enlisted for three years. He was in a scrimmage with the Indians +once and got wounded. He got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his +services till he died.</p> + +<p>"He wasn't old enough to be in the Civil War. He said he remembered his +mistress crying and they said Lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. His +young master told him he was free. The colored folks was having a +jubilee. He had nowheres to go. He went back to the big house and sot +around. They called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been +sleeping. He had nowheres to go. He stayed there till he joined the +navy. Then he come to Mississippi and married Sallie Bratcher and he +went back to Alabama and taught school. He went to school at night after +the Civil War till he went to the navy. He was a light-brown skin.</p> + +<p>"Grandma, Jane Cash, was one brought from Huntingdon, Tennessee in a +gang and sold at auction in Memphis, Tennessee. She said her mother, +father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, +divided out and separated. Grandma said one of her sisters had a +suckling baby. She couldn't keep it from crying. They stopped and made +her give it away.</p> + +<p>"Then grandma fell in the hands of the Walls at Holly Springs, +Mississippi. She was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. +They wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Walls buried her silver in the front yard. She had an old trusty +colored man to dig a hole and bury it. No one ever found it. The +soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. +They ransacked her house. Mr. Walls wasn't there.</p> + +<p>"My auntie, Eliza Williamson, was half white. She was one of her +master's son's children. Her first master put her and her husband +together. She lives near Conway, Arkansas now and is very old.</p> + +<p>"Grandma was living at Menifee, Arkansas, and a man from De Valls Bluff, +Arkansas come to her house. She saw a scar on his arm. He was marked by +gingerbread. She asked him some questions. Epps was his name and he was +older than herself. He told her about the sale in Memphis. He remembered +some things she didn't. He knowd where they all went. Her sister was +Mary Wright at Milan, Tennessee. Grandma was twelve years old when that +sale come off. She shouted and they cried. She couldn't eat for a week.</p> + +<p>"She said old man Walls was good to them. When my mama was a little +girl she was short and fat and light color. Old man Walls would call +them in his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. He was +proud of them. He'd give them big dances ever so often. In the evening +they had their own preaching in white folks' church. Grandma was good +with the needle. She sewed for the mistress and her own family too. She +had twelve children I think they said. They said her mistress had a +large family too.</p> + +<p>"Grandpa belong to Mike Cash. He give her husband what he made on +Saturday evening. I think grandpa was sold from the Walls to Mike Cash. +He took the Cash name and my mother was a Cash and she married Isaac +Johnson. She was raised in Arkansas. Papa was married twice. I was +raised around Holly Grove, Arkansas. That is where my folks lived in the +last of slavery—that is mama's folks. Papa come to Arkansas at a later +time.</p> + +<p>"I think times is queer. I work and makes the best of 'em. (Ten dollars +a month house rent.) I work all the time washing and ironing. (She has +washed for the same families years and years. She is a light +mulatto—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Young folks is lost respect for the truth. Not dependable. That is +their very worst fault, I think.</p> + +<p>"No-oom, I wouldn't vote no quicker 'en I'd smoke a cigarette. But I +haben never smoked narry one."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisWinnie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Ex-Slaves<br> +Story:—Information <br> +<br> +This information given by: Winnie Davis (C)<br> +Place of residence: 304 E. Twenty-First Street<br> + Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 100</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Katie Butler was my old missis 'fore I married my husband. +His name David Davis. I cooked for Jeff Davis and took care of his +daughter, Winnie. I stayed with old missis, Jeff Davis' wife, till +she died. She made me promise I'd stay with her. That was in +Virginia."</p> + +<p>(I have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of +Winnie Davis. Her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when +Winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she gave +her name, the clerk said, "Were you named after Jeff Davis' daughter?" +and that Winnie replied, "She must have been named after me 'cause I +cooked for Jeff Davis 'fore she was born."</p> + +<p>Her mind is not very good at times, but the day I took her picture, +I asked who she used to cook for and she said, "Jeff Davis."</p> + +<p>She is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around +the house quite well. The neighbors say that she has been a hard worker +and of a very high-strung temperament.</p> + +<p>The granddaughter, Mattie Sneed, says her grandmother said she was +sold in Virginia when she was eight years old.)</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DayLeroy"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Leroy Day (c)<br> +Age: 80<br> +Home: 123 N. Walnut Street, Pine Bluff, Ark.</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Good Lord yes, lady, I was here in slavery days. I remember my old +marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid.</p> + +<p>"I remember when the soldiers—the Yankees—come through, some said they +was takin' things.</p> + +<p>"Old Marster, his name was Joe Day, he was good to us. He seemed to be a +Christian man and he was a Judge. They generally called him Judge Day. I +never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. I tell +you if he wasn't a Christian, he looked like one.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Georgia and I can remember the first Governor we had +after freedom. His name was Governor Bullock. I heard it said the people +raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. +That was when Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote after freedom. I voted Republican. I went to school a +little after the war and then emigrated to Louisiana and Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Things has got so now everything is in politics. Some votes cause they +want their friends in office and some don't take no interest.</p> + +<p>"Some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are +goin' kinda slow. Some is goin' take another growth. The schoolin' they +is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up.</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I use to be strong and I have done a heap of work in my life. +Cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the +money and we had to work to get some of that money.</p> + +<p>"I remember when the Ku Klux was right bad in Louisiana. I never did +see any—I didn't <u>try</u> to see 'em. I know I heard that they went to a +school house and broke up a negro convention. They called for a colored +man named Peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man +got killed. They had a right smart little scrummage, and I know the +colored people ran off and went to Kansas.</p> + +<p>"The fust man I ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in +another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so +mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other +man. I never did know what the punishment was.</p> + +<p>"Since I have become afflicted (I'm ruptured) I can't do no work any +more. I can't remember anything else. If I had time to study I might +think of something else."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DellHammett"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Hammett Dell, Brasfield, Arkansas<br> +Age: 90<br> +[-- -- 1937]</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee, 10 miles from Murfreesboro. They call it now +Releford. I was born October 12, 1847. I stayed wid old master till he +died. I was bout thirty-five years old. He lernt me a good trade, brick +layin'. He give me everything I needed and more. After the war he took +me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick—it was made round—and lernt +me outer the Blue Back Speller and Rithmetic. The spelling book had +readin' in it. Lady ain't you seed one yit? Then I lernt outer Rays +Rithmetic and McGuffeys Reader. Old master say it ginst the law to teach +slaves foe the war. Dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a +nigger slave. The white folks schools was pay foe the war.</p> + +<p>"My old master had a small farm. His wife died. He never married no +more. I caint member her name. She died when I was a little bitter of a +boy. They had a putty large family. There was Marion, William, Fletcher, +John, Miss Nancy, Miss Claricy, Miss Betsy. I think that all. The older +childern raised up the little ones. My master named Mars Pleasant White. +Long as I stayed wid him I had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to +spend. I had no sense to save a cent for a old day. Mars White was a +good man if ever one lived. He was a good man. Four old darkies all Mars +White had. They was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. My name I would +lack it better White but that is where the Dell part come in; papa +b'long to the Dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. He took +his old master's name. They call him Louis Dell White. He didn't have no +brothers but my mama had two sisters. Her name was Mary White. Them was +happy days b'fo the war. The happiest days in all my life. Bout at the +beginnin' of the war Mama took cole at the loom and died. We all waited +on her, white folks too. She didn't lack for waitin' on. Something white +folks et, we et. We had plenty good grub all time long as Mars White +live.</p> + +<p>"How'd I know bout to git in war? I heard white folks talkin' bout it. +One time I heard Mars White talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. We +was happy an' doin' well an' I didn't lack the talk but I didn't know +what "war" was. No mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down +at Murfreesboro. Mars White was a ruptured man. He never left our place. +I never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. Mars White aired +(heired) all us. My papa left and never come back. I d[o]n[o] +how he got through the lines in the army. I guess he did fight wid the Yankees.</p> + +<p>"Papa didn't speak plain. Grandma couldn't speak plain. They lisp. They +talk fast. Sound so funny. Mama and auntie speak well. Plain as I do +now. They was up wid Mars White's childern more. Mars White sent his +childern to pay school. It was a log house and they had a lady teacher. +They had a accordion. Mars Marion's neighbor had one too. All of em +could play.</p> + +<p>"White women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse +collars. The white women lernt the darkie women. There was no leather +horse collars as ever I seed. I lernt to twist shucks and weave chair +bottoms. Then I lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. I made +all kinds baskets. We had all sizes and kinds of baskets. When they git +old they turn dark. Shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff +an' not so fancy.</p> + +<p>"Well when they started off fightin' at Murfreesboro, it was a continual +roar. The tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. It was +distressful. The house shakin' all time. All our houses jar. The earth +quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides +foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to +live on. That's "war". I found out all bout what it was. Lady it ain't +nuthin' but hell on dis erth.</p> + +<p>"I tole you I was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how +the cannons shook the earth. There couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor +a year of corn to be found bout our place. It was sich hard times. It +was both sides come git what you had. Whole heap of Yankees come in +their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. They was huntin' +horses. They done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old +mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. Young mistress had +a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house.</p> + +<p>"Then when they started to leave, one old Yankee set the corner of the +house on fire. We all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry +in' water ter put it out. We got it out but while we doin' that, mind +out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug +out. One old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. She been so +scared she never come to the house no more. Nobody knowed there was one +on our place. He took his javelin and stuck it through her back. She +started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, +started runnin' and some of em buckin'. We got the fire bout out. We +couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. I been bustin' I was so mad +cause they tried take old Beck. Three of em horses throwd em. They +struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch +tryin' to head off their horses. Them horses throwd em sprawlin'. That +was the funniest sight I ever seed.</p> + +<p>"We got our water out of a cave. It was good cold limestone water. We +had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. We swing the pole +round let it down then pull it back and tie it. They go to the other end +and git the bucket of water. I toted bout all the water to both places +what they used. One day I goin' to the cave after water. I had a habit +of throwin' till I got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. I spied a +hornets nest in a tree long the lane. I knowd them soldiers be long back +fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. It wasn't long show nuff they come back +and went up to the house.</p> + +<p>"I got a pile of rocks in my hands. I hid down in the hazel nut bushes. +When they come by gallopin' I throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. +The way they piled out on them soldiers. You could see em fightin' far +as you could see em wid their blue caps. The horses runnin' and buckin'. +I let out to the house to see what else they carried off.</p> + +<p>"I tole Mars White bout how I hit that hornets nest wid the first rock I +throwd. He scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed +me. It scared him. He said don't do no more capers like that. That old +hornets nest soon come down. It was big as a water bucket. Mars White +call me son boy. I tole him what terrible language they used, and bout +some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. It was made outer rails +piled up. Mars White sho was glad they didn't see me. He kept on sayin' +son boy they would killed you right on the spot. Don't do nuthin' to em +to aggravate em.</p> + +<p>"It look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the +soldiers couldn't find it. We had a ash hopper settin' all time. We made +our soap and lye hominy. They took all our salt. We couldn't buy none. +We put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. We +hid that. No they didn't find it. Our smoke house was logs dobbed wid +mud and straw. It was good size bout as big as our cabins. It had +somepin in it too. All the time I tell you.</p> + +<p>"You ever eat dried beef? It is fine.</p> + +<p>"I say I been to corn shuckins. They do that at night. We hurry and git +through then we have a dance in front of Mars White's house. We had a +good time. Mars White pass round ginger bread and hard cider. We wore a +thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. One darkie sit up +on the pile and lead the singin'. Old Dan Tucker was one song we lernt. +I made some music instruments. We had music. Folks danced then more they +do now. Most darkies blowed quills and Jew's harps. I took cane cut four +or six made whistles then I tuned em together and knit em together in a +row like a mouth harp you see.</p> + +<p><img src='images/whistle.gif' width='80' height='43' +alt='drawing of whistle' > </p> + +<p>Another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, +hold your fingers over different holes and blow. I never had a better +time since freedom. I never had a doctor till since I been 80 years old +neither.</p> + +<p>"Later on I made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the +string wid my fingers while I hold the other end wid this hand. (Left +hand. It was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) See my hand that what +caused it. I have been a musician in my time. I lernt to handle the +banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. I played fer many a set, all over +the country mostly back home (in Tennessee).</p> + +<p>"We had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. They have big +suppers spread under the trees. We sho know we have a good supper after +a log rollin'.</p> + +<p>"We most always worked at night in winter. Mama worked at the loom and +weaved. Grandma and old mistress carded. They used hand cards. Auntie +spun thread. I reeled the thread. I like to hear it cluck off the hanks. +Papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. He'd fool round after +that. He went off to the war at the first of it and never come home.</p> + +<p>"The war broke us up and ruined us all but me. Grandma married old man +soon after freedom. He whooped and beat her up till she died. He was a +mean old scoundel. They said he was a nigger driver. His name was Wesley +Donald. She died soon after the war. Mama was dead. Auntie married and +went on off. I was 18 years old. When freedom come on Mars White says +you all set free. You can leave or stay on here. I stayed there. Mars +White didn't give us nuthin'. He was broke. All he had was land.</p> + +<p>"Come a talk bout Lincoln givin' em homes. Some racketed bout what they +outer git. That was after freedom. Most of em never got nuthin'. They +up and left. Some kept on workin'. They got to stealin' right smart. +Some the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and +white folks too. White folks made em go to work. The darky men sorter +quit work and made the women folks do the work. They do thater way now. +Some worse den others bout it.</p> + +<p>"Me and Mars White went to work. We see droves darkies just rovin' +round. Said they huntin' work and homes. Some ask for victuals. Yes they +give em something to eat. When they come in droves they couldn't give em +much. Some of em oughter left. Some of the masters was mean. Some of em +mighty good.</p> + +<p>"Me and Mars White and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band +to a lay (lathe). One man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the +lay (lathe) all time. We made pipes outer maple and chairs. We chiseled +out table legs and bed post. We made all sort of things. Anything to +sell. We sold a heap of things. We made money. If I'd had sense to keep +part of it. Mars White always give me a share. We had a good livin' soon +as we got over the war.</p> + +<p>"I farmed. I was a brick layer. Mars White lernt me that. When he died I +followed that trade. I worked at New Orleans, Van Buren, Jackson, +Meridian. I worked at Lake Villiage with Mr. Lasley, and Mr. Ivy. They +was fine brick layers. I worked for Dr. Stubbs. Mr. Scroggin never went +huntin' without me but once over here on Cache River. He give me land to +build my cabins. I got lumber up at the mills here. Folks come to my +cabins from 23 states. J. Dall Long at St. Louis sent me a block wid my +picture. I didn't know what it was. Mr. Moss told me it was a bomb like +they used in the World War. I had some cards made in Memphis, some +Little Rock. I sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good +fishin' now.</p> + +<p>"J. Dall Long said when I go back home I send you somethin' nice. That +what he sent in the mail.</p> + +<p>"It was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches +leg pullin' me over out the boat. He had me named "Hambones" under it. I +still got my block. I got nuther thing—old aunties bonnet she wore in +slavery.</p> + +<p>"I quit keepin' club house. I kept it 27 years. I rented the cabins, +sold minnows and bates. They give me the land but I couldn't sell it. +Old woman everybody call "Nig" cook fer me. I wanter live like Nig and +go up yonder. I ainter goner be in this world long but I want to go to +heben. Nig was not my wife. She was a fine cook. She cooked an' stayed +at my cabins. This little chile—orphan chile—I got wid me was Nig's +grandchild. When Nig died I took him. I been goin with him to pick +cotton. I want er lern him to work. Egercation ain't no good much to +darkies. I been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. They ain't +nuthin'. I set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. He is +six years old. When it rain I caint pick and set on the wet ground.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux</b></p> + +<p>"The onlies sperience I had myself wid the Ku Klux was one night fo +Grandma and auntie left. Somebody wrap on our cabin door. They opened +it. We gat scared when we seed em. They had the horses wrapped up. They +had on white long dresses and caps. Every one of em had a horse whoop +(whip). They called me out. Grandma and auntie so scared they hid. They +tole me to git em water. They poured it some whah it did not spill on +the ground. Kept me totin' water. Then they say, "You bin a good boy?" +They still drinkin'. One say, "Just from Hell pretty dry." Then they +tole me to stand on my head. I turned summer sets a few times. They +tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. I had on a long shirt. They +laugh when I stand on my head. Old Mars White laughed. I knowed his +laugh. Then I got over my scare. They say, "Who live next down the +road?" I tole em Nells Christian. They say, "What he do?" I said, "Works +in the field." They all grunt, m-m-m-m. Then they say, "Show us the +way." I nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the +white horses. The moon shining bright as day. They say Nells come out +here. He say "Holy Moses." He come out. They say "Nells what you do?" "I +farms." They say "What you raise?" He say "Cotton and corn." They say +"Take us to see yo cotton we jess from Hell. We ain't got no cotton +there." He took em out there where it was clean. They got down and felt +it. Then they say "What is dat?", feelin' the grass. Nells say "That is +grass." They say, "You raise grass too?" He said, "No. It come up." They +say "Let us see yo corn." He showed em the corn. They felt it. They say +"What this?" Nells say, "It grass." They say, "You raise grass here?" +They all grunt m-m-m-m everything Nells say. They give him one bad +whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. They +said "You raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." They they +moan, "m-m-m-m." I herd em say his whole family and him too was out by +day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. I was sho +glad to git back to our cabin. They didn't come back to Nells no more +that I herd bout. The man Nells worked for muster been one in that +crowd. He lived way over yonder. No I think the Ku Klux was a good thing +at that time. The darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. They was +notorious. They got mean. The men wouldn't work. Their families have to +work an' let them roam round over the country. Some of em mean to their +families. They woulder starved the white out and their selves too. I +seed the Ku Klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. I herd +a heap they done along after that. They say some places the Ku Klux go +they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they +whoop em. Sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. I +sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, +vistin'. The Ku Klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. +Nells moster lived at what they called Caneville over cross the field.</p> + +<p>"The way that Patty Rollers was. The mosters paid somebody. Always +somebody round wantin' a job like that. Mars White was his own overseer. +All round there was good livers. They worked long wid the slaves. Some +of the slaves would race. Papa would race. He wanted to race all time. +Grandma cooked for all of us. They had a stone chimney in the kitchen. +Big old hearth way out in front. Made outer stone too. We all et the +same victuals long as Mars White lived. Then I left."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DickeyJames"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: James Dickey, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 68<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I don't know much to tell about my folks. My parents died when I was +young. Mother died when I was twelve and father when I was seven years +old. Great-grandma was an Indian squaw. My father's pa was his young +master. His old master was named George Dickey. The young master was +John Dickey. I reckon to start with my mother had a husband. She had +twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. He was lighter than I +am and paler. This red is Indian in me. I know how he looked and how she +looked too. The young master never married. He had some brothers. My +father lived with us and his pa was there too some. I don't know what +become of John Dickey but my pa was buried at Mt. Tursey Cemetery. It +was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. Mother +come here and was buried at Cat Island in a colored church cemetery.</p> + +<p>"I farmed in Mississippi, then I come to Miller Lumber Company and I +worked with them forty-two years. I worked at Marked Tree, then they +sent me here (Marianna).</p> + +<p>"I voted in Caruthersville, Missouri last I voted. It don't do much good +to vote. I am too old to vote. I never voted in Arkansas. I voted some +in Mississippi but not regular.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard. So many white women do their own cooking and washing +till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. The lumber work is +gone fer good.</p> + +<p>"The present generation is going back'ards. For awhile it looked like +they was rising—I'm speaking morally. They going back down in a hurry. +Drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. The race is going back'ard +now. Seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in.</p> + +<p>"I got high blood pressure. I do a little work. I watch on Sunday at the +mills. I don't get no help from the Gover'ment."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DiggsBenjamin"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Benjamin Diggs<br> + 420 N. Cypress, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 79</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in 1859 in North Carolina. Oh, sure, I remember when the +Yankees come through. They said they done right smart of damage. I +remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. They didn't do +nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock.</p> + +<p>"The Lyles was my white folks. They called her Polly Lyles. Oh, they was +good to us. My mother and her sister and another colored woman and we +children all belonged to one set of people—Miss Polly Lyles; and my +father belonged to the Diggs.</p> + +<p>"After freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and +we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us.</p> + +<p>"I've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my +father said he was glad to get one. He said he didn't get 'em but once a +week.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks +was treated. Some of 'em was very good, just like they is now.</p> + +<p>"Well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old +then.</p> + +<p>"I come here to Arkansas in '88. That was when they was emigratin' the +folks. I was grown and married then. I was twenty-six when I married in +'85.</p> + +<p>"I went to school a little. I can sorta scribble a little and read a +little, but my eyes is failin' now. I started wearin' glasses 'fore I +really needed 'em. I got to projectin' with my mother's glasses Looked +like they read so good.</p> + +<p>"Farmin' is all I know how to do. Never done anything else. I owned some +land and farmed for myself.</p> + +<p>"Sure, I used to vote—Republican. I never had any trouble. I always +tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. I believe in that policy.</p> + +<p>"I joined the church when I was very young, very young. I go by the +Golden Rule and by the Bible.</p> + +<p>"I first lived in Pope County.</p> + +<p>"I learned since I come here to Pine Bluff there's enough churches here +to save the world, but there's some mean people here."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DillonKatie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Katie Dillon<br> + 307 Hazel Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I hope I was here in slavery days—don't I look like it? I was a good +big girl after surrender.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Rodney, Mississippi in 1855.</p> + +<p>"I had a good old master—Doctor Williams. Didn't have no mistress. He +never married till after surrender.</p> + +<p>"We lived right in town—right on the Mississippi River where the gun +boats went by. They shelled the town one day. Remember it just as well +as if 'twas now. I hope it was exciting. Everybody moved out. Some run +and left their stores. They run to Alcorn University, five miles from +there. Some of em come back next day and some never come back till after +surrender.</p> + +<p>"The old Doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. When she +got big enough she was the cook. Made a fine one too. I worked around +the house and toted in wood and water.</p> + +<p>"After surrender, Dr. Williams wanted my mother to give me and my +brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. I wish +she had but you know I wasn't old enough to know what was best. She +hired out and took us with her. I hired out too. I reckon I was paid but +I never did see it. I reckon my mother collected it. I know she clothed +me. I had better clothes than I got now. We stayed there till we come +to Arkansas. I was married then. I married when I was seventeen. I was +fast wasn't I? I got a good husband. Didn't have to work, only do my own +work. Just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. My +husband was a picture man. Yes'm, I've lived in town all my life—born +and raised up in town.</p> + +<p>"After surrender I went to the first free school ever was in Rodney, +Mississippi. I went about two sessions. I ought to've learned more'n I +did but I didn't see how it would benefit me.</p> + +<p>"In slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the +white folks was through. We didn't eat out of no pots and pans. Whatever +was on the table you et it until you got enough.</p> + +<p>"When I was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they +sent out invitations and I went, but when they had that kind where +everybody could go I wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'.</p> + +<p>"The way things is goin' now I don't think the end can be very far off.</p> + +<p>"I remember when peace was declared I saw the soldiers across the street +and they had their guns all stacked. I was lookin' and wonderin' what it +was. You know children didn't ask questions in them days. I heard some +of the older ones talkin' and I heard em say the war was over.</p> + +<p>"I never had but two children and only one livin' now. Yes'm, I own my +home and my son helps me what he can. I'm thankful I got as much as I +have."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonAlice"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Customs]<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson <br> +Subject: Customs—Slavery Days <br> +[Nov 30 1936]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Alice Dixon<br> +Place of Residence: Rock Island quarters<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 80 (approx)</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from last page of interview.]</p> +<br> + +<p>Well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. De white fokes have mah +age. Ah blong tuh de Newtons. As near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout +74 now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter +surrender.</p> + +<p>Mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and +one uv mah bruthes. We staid wid de Newtons till we wuz set free and I +nuss fuh de Newtons aftuh we wuz set free. De Newtons wuz awful good ter +me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. Ah slept up in de big house wid de +Newtons. Ah nevah went ter school. Ah didn' have a chance. Ah went ter +church jes sometimes. We didn have churches. We jes had meetin in our +house we lived in. We cooked on fire places. We cooked our bread in what +we called oven bout so high. We had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, +meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie +till ah got to be an oman. Ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in +slave time but ah shore can recollect dem Yankees riding dem hosses and +ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made +in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. Yo know we had steps +made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er +shoutin and singin "Ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free +at last, thank Gawd a Mighty ah'm free at last." She wuz so glad ter be +free.</p> + +<p>My ma in huh time would make cloth. She had a loom. Hit wuz a high thing +and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call +shickle. She'd have a bench so high. The loom was high as dis door and +my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a +bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come +open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd +mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. Jes so we'd make eight +and ten yards of cloth in one day. An when hit wuz made we would carry +hit to de white fokes. Dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. Ifn dey +wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. Dey had what we called a +loom dat would make, le' me see now, Card would card the cotton, and de +looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well +as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an +put it on de loom and make thread. De looms was jes so long. Ever time +the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. Ah +don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. Ah jes caint +tell you how hit wuz hits so much.</p> + +<p>De Newton's nevah did whup me. She started to whup me tho one day. Ah +kin recollect bout de dogs. There wuz one dog whut wuz called Dinah. But +yo know dey had ten uv em. One day ole Uncle Henry Jones done somethin +and run off and climbed a tree and de Newton's miss him so dey called de +dogs and dey went on to de tree. Dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. +Uncle Henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right +dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de Newtons come. An chile +dem Newtons whip de skin off Uncle Herny's [TR: Henry's] back. Dem dogs +would git yo.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Newton nevah got outn de bed no time. Ah would lift her from one +bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah +would bath her and dress huh all de times.</p> + +<p>Ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout Henry Johnson. He had ter clean up +mos uv de time. So Mrs. Newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de +wall and when he come out he said to ole Uncle Jerry, he said: "Jerry +guess whut ah done" and Jerry said: "Whut?" And Uncle Henry said: "Ah +put mah han undah ole Mistess dress." Uncle Jerry said: "Whut did she +say?" Uncle Henry say: "She didn' say nothin." So Uncle Jerry cided he'd +try hit. So he went draggin on in de house. Set down on de floor by ole +mistess. Ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster +jumped up and jumped on Jerry and like to beat him ter death. Jerry went +out cryin and got out and called Henry. He said: "Henry ah though yo +said yo put yo hand undah ole Mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." +Uncle Henry said: "Ah did and she didn' say nuthin." Jerry said: "Ah put +mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." +Uncle Henry said: "Yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall +when ah put mah han up undah hit."</p> + +<p>We didn' eat eggs only on Sunday mornin. Me and mah sis et together in +de same plate. We didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. We et wid +our fingahs.</p> + +<p>Ah had a good ole pa too. He died a long time ago. Ah member one night +he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. So +mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole Dinah, Dinah wuz a dog +yo know but Dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs +went and got me brudder and dem Newtons sho did beat him. But twasnt +long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. An when we wuz goin ter +bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: Two turtle doves flew roun the +wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an +hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh +dat. Ah didn' bleave in signs till den. Ah know mah pa always bleaved in +signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round +dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. He say twas bad +luck. An ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes +tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. An we +would do hit an he would hush. Yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler +roun yo place.</p> + +<p>Oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. We made all +of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin +else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty +years. Hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if +blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece +of fire on hit and [HW: put] some [HW: on] the sore parts and chile, +honey, hit will git well right now.</p> + +<p>Chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. Ah'd go ter +dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. Uh, my! ah jus couldn +make mah foots act right. We use ter dance sixteen sets. We'd be er +dancing and hit would sound so good. Someone would say swing de one yo +love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want +anyone tah know him.</p> + +<p>On Sunday mornin dats when we play. Ole marster would put a rope cross +fer us ter jump and we'd line up. The rope wuz bout five feet high and +chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. O-o-o-o-oooo. We had ter run. +He line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, +three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. An yo talk bout runnin. We had ter +run. He would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would +haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' +stoppin. Oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonLukeD"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Luke D. Dixon<br> + DeValls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father's owner was Jim Dixon in Elmo County, Virginia. That is where +I was born. I am 81 years old. Jim Dixon had several boys—Baldwin and +Joe. Joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to New +Mexico to shun the war. Uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. They +went in at the ending up. We lived on the big road that run to the +Atlantic Ocean. Not far from Richmond. Ma lived three or four miles from +Pa. She lived across big creek—now they call it Farrohs Run. Ma belong +to Harper Williams. Pa's folks was very good but Ma's folks was +unpleasant.</p> + +<p>"Ma lived to be 103 years old. Pa died in 1905 and was 105 years old. I +used to set on Grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to +catch people in Africa. They herded them up like cattle and put them in +stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. She said some they +captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never +went back to get them. They died. They had room in the stalls on the +boat to set down or lie down. They put several together. Put the men to +themselves and the women to themselves. When they sold Grandma and +Grandpa at a fishing dock called New Port, Va., they had their feet +bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. They sold +Grandma's daughter to somebody in Texas. She cried and begged to let +them be together. They didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. She couldn't talk +but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. Six years after +slavery they got together. When a boat was to come in people come and +wait to buy slaves. They had several days of selling. I never seen this +but that is the way it was told to me.</p> + +<p>"The white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and +they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. I seen +that done in Virginia across from where I lived. I don't know what the +folks had done. They pulled the man up with block and tackle.</p> + +<p>"Another thing I seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches +together green, twist them and dry them. They would cry like a leather +whip. They whooped the slaves with them.</p> + +<p>"Grandpa was named Sam Abraham and Phillis Abraham was his mate. They +was sold twice. Once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. +Well, it was hard on the Africans to be treated like cattle. I never +heard of the Nat Turner rebellion. I have heard of slaves buying their +own freedom. I don't know how it was done. I have heard of folks being +helped to run off. Grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from +Dalton, Mississippi to the North. After the war he come to Virginia.</p> + +<p>"When freedom was declared we left and went to Wilmington and Wilson, +North Carolina. Dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the +year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and +part of the crop. My mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. +She was cooking then I recollect. Folks jes went wild when they got +turned loose.</p> + +<p>"My parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in +Virginia. After freedom they was remarried under a new law and the +license cost more but I forgot how much. They had fourteen children to +my knowing. After the war you could register under any name you give +yourself. My father went by the name of Right Dixon and mother Jilly +Dixon.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux was bad. They was a band of land owners what took the law +in hand. I was a boy. I scared to be caught out. They took the place of +pattyrollers before freedom.</p> + +<p>"I never went to public school but two days in my life. I went to night +school and paid Mr. J.C. Price and Mr. S.H. Vick to teach me. My father +got his leg shot off and I had to work. It kept me out of meanness. Work +and that woman has kept me right. I come to Arkansas, brought my wife +and one child, April 5, 1889. We come from Wilson, North Carolina. Her +people come from North Carolina and Moultrie, Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I do vote. I sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. +It look like I'm the kind of folks the government would help—them that +works and tries hard to have something—but seems like they don't get no +help. They wouldn't help me if I was bout to starve. I vote a Republican +ticket."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b> On the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a +framed picture of Booker T. Washington and Teddy Roosevelt sitting at a +round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. Underneath the +picture in large print was "Equality." I didn't appear to ever see the +picture.</p> + +<p>This negro is well-fixed for living at home. He is large and very black, +but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonMarthaAnn"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Martha Ann Dixon (mulatto)<br> + DeValls Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I am eighty-one years old. I was born close to Saratoga, North +Carolina. My mother died before I can recollect and my grandmother +raised me. They said my father was a white man. They said Jim Beckton. I +don't recollect him. My mother was named Mariah Tyson.</p> + +<p>"I recollect how things was. My grandmother was Miss Nancy Tyson's cook. +She had one son named Mr. Seth Tyson. He run her farm. They et in the +dining room, we et in the kitchen. Clothes and something to eat was +scarce. I worked at whatever I was told to do. Grandma told me things to +do and Miss Nancy told me what to do. I went to the field when I was +pretty little. Once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and +went off to do something else. It come up a hard shower. I crawled under +the mule. If I had been still it would been all right but my hair stood +up and tickled the mule's stomach. The mule jumped and the plough hit me +in my hip here at the side. It is a wonder I didn't get killed.</p> + +<p>"After the Civil War was times like now. Money scarce and prices high, +and you had to start all over new. Pigs was hard to start, mules and +horses was mighty scarce. Seed was scarce. Everything had to be started +from the stump. Something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or +two dresses a year had to do. Folks didn't study about going so much.</p> + +<p>"I had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the +little pigs in cold weather. The rake was made out of wood. It had +hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. It was heavy. I put my leaves +in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. I couldn't tote +it—I drug it. I had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till +the snow got off before I could get more. It seem like it snowed a lot. +The pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners +at night. It was ditched all around. It didn't get very muddy. Rattle +snakes was bad in the mountains. I used to tote water—one bucketful on +my head and one bucketful in each hand. We used wooden buckets. It was +lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. When other little +children come visiting that is what we would do. We didn't set around +and listen at the grown folks. We toted up rocks and then they made rock +rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. They looked +so pretty. Some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be +mixed. They walled wells with rocks too. All we done or knowed was work. +When we got tired there was places to set and rest. The men made plough +stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy +weather. I used to pick up literd [HW: lightwood] knots and pile them in +piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. They +made a good light and kindling wood.</p> + +<p>"They didn't whoop Grandma but she whooped me a plenty.</p> + +<p>"After the war some white folks would tell Grandma one thing and some +others tell her something else. She kept me and cooked right on. I +didn't know what freedom was. Seemed like most of them I knowed didn't +know what to do. Most of the slaves left the white folks where I was +raised. It took a long time to ever get fixed. Some of them died, some +went to the cities, some up North, some come to new country. I married +and come to Fredonia, Arkansas in 1889. I had been married since I was a +young girl. But as I was saying the slaves was still hunting a better +place and more freedom. The young folks is still hunting a better place +and more freedom. Grandma learnt me to set down and be content. We have +done better out here than we could done in North Carolina but I don't +believe in so much rambling.</p> + +<p>"We come on the passenger train and paid our own way to Arkansas. It was +a wild and sickly country and has changed. Not like living in the same +country. I try to live like the white folks and Grandma raised me. I do +like they done. I think is the reason we have saved and have good a +living as we got. We do on as little as we can and save a little for the +rainy day."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DockeryRailroad"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Railroad Dockery<br> + 1103 Short 13th, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Railroad Dockery, that's my name. I belonged to John Dockery and we +lived at Lamertine, Arkansas where I was born. My mother's name was +Martha and I am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. +Red River, Ouachita, Mississippi and Railroad were our names. (Mrs. Mary +Browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, +John Dockery, was the president of the Mississippi, Red River, Ouachita +Railroad, the first one to be surveyed in Arkansas, and that when the +directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them +after the railroad, which was done—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'm, Red River and Ouachita died when they were tots and +Mississippi and Railroad were raised. Now that's what my mother said. +Mississippi died five or six years ago and I'm the onliest one left.</p> + +<p>"I remember mighty little about the war. I never thought anything about +the war. All I did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the +woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. That's what I +followed. Never did nothing else but play till after the war.</p> + +<p>"After surrender I went with my father and mother to work for General +Tom Dockery. He was John Dockery's brother. I was big enough to plow +then. I followed the plow all the time. My father and mother were paid +for their work. We stayed there about five years and then moved to +Falcon, Arkansas. Father died there.</p> + +<p>"In the time of the war I heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and I +heard my father talk about the Ku Klux but that was all I knowed, just +what he said about it.</p> + +<p>"I remember the presidents and I voted for some of them but oh Lord, I +haven't voted in several years.</p> + +<p>"I got along after freedom just as well as I ever did. I never had no +trouble—never been in no trouble.</p> + +<p>"About the world now—it looks like to me these days things are pretty +tight. I could hardly tell you what I think of the younger generation. I +think one thing—if the old heads would die all at once they would be +out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now.</p> + +<p>"I went to school only three months in my life. I learned to read and +write very well. I don't need glasses and I read principally the Bible. +To my mind it is the best book in the world. Biggest part of the +preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than +they are worth.</p> + +<p>"The biggest part of my work was farming. I never did delight in +cooking. Now I can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to +cooking.</p> + +<p>"I just can't sing to do no good. Never could sing. Seems like when I +try to sing something gets tangled in my throat.</p> + +<p>"Oh Lord, I remember one old song they used to sing</p> + +<pre> +'A charge to keep I have + A God to glorify.' +</pre> + +<p>"I don't remember anything else but now if Mississippi was here, she +could tell you lots of things."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DonalsonCallie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Irene Robertson<br> +Subject: Ex-slave <br> +Information given by: Callie Donalson, Biscoe, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Story</b></p> + +<p>I wasn't born in slavery but I was born in the white folks kitchen. Bob +Walker was ma mother's Master and James Austin ma father's Master. They +said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. Now ma mothers +white folks was sho good to her. When de war was all over me family +jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. +There was two brothers and a sister older than me. She thought her white +folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her +pregnancy and thats how come I was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife +tended on er. I never will forget her. She was named Mrs. Coffee. There +wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. I was born in Haywood +county Tennessee in 1866. No'm I tell you when you first come I wasn't +born in slavery. My white mistress named me, the young mistress, she +named me Callie. Bob Walkers girl married Ben Geeter. I was right in Ben +Geeters kitchen when Miss Sallie named me. They seemed proud of the +little black babies.</p> + +<p>Ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. She was a good +spinner. She carded and wove and spun all. She knitted too. She knitted +mostly by nite. All the stockings and gloves had to be knit. She sewed +and I learned from her. We had to sew with our fingers.</p> + +<p>When I was a little girl I just set around, brought in wood. Yes maam we +did play and I had some dolls, I was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. +We use to drive the calves up. If they didn't come up they sent the dog +fur de cows. One of dem wore a bell. They had shepherd dogs, long +haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come.</p> + +<p>Ma folks farmed in Tennessee till I married and den we farmed. Agents +jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. They +say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs +beggin somebody to eat em over in Arkansas.</p> + +<p>No'm I aint seed none lack dat, I seed em down in the swamps what you +could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. I says I mean I +seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. I +show have since I come here. The land was so poor in Tennessee and this +was uncleared land so we come to a new country. It show is rich land. +They use guano back in Tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. Abe +Miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. He was broke +and he paid our way. We come on the Josie Harry boat. Der was several +families sides us come wid him. He done fine out here—we got off the +boat at Augusta and I worked up there in Woodruff county till ma +husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. We raised his +boys and our family till dey was ob age. I left em. They went in big +business here in Biscoe and lost de farm and everything. Ma husband died +I lives with ma girl. I got one boy married lives in Chicago, and a girl +up there too. No'm dey aint rich. Dem his children come home wid ma +daughters on a visit—Little Yankees ain't got no manners.</p> + +<p>I voted one time in ma life, in 1933, for Hoover. I don't know nothing +about voting. I can read. I reads ma Bible. Ma young mistress learnt me +to read. I never got to go to school much. Whut my young mistress learnt +me was ma A B C's and how to call words. Yes maam I can write ma name +but I forgot how to write, been so long since I wrote a letter.</p> + +<p>All the songs I ever sung was "In Dixie" "Little Brown Jug" an mostly +religious songs, Lawd I forgot em now. I never knowd about no slave +uprisings—white folks alway good to us. We misses em now. Times not +lack dey use to be.</p> + +<p>Dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. Its +kinder kritical. No use trying to tell em nuthin. Dey's getting an +education I don't know whut thell do with it. If dey had somebody to +manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting +broke. They work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep +nuthin. No'om I don't think they are so bad.</p> + +<p>In 1893 me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here +we sold it and went on his brothers place. I owns ma house thats all. Ma +daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from +the relief. If I could work I wouldn't ax nobody for no help. I jess +past working much.</p> + +<p>I jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. The +conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. They have no +education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. They seems so +restless and don't take no interest in nothin. They are all right. It is +jess the times an the Bible full filling fast as it can.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DortchCharlesGreen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Charles Green Dortch<br> + 804 Victory Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father a Pet]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born June 18, 1857. The reason I don't show my age is because I +got Scotch-Irish, Indian, and Negro mixed up in me. I was born in +Princeton—that is, near Princeton—in Dallas County. Princeton is near +Fordyce. I was born on Hays' farm. Hays was my second master—Archie +Hays. Dortch was my first master. He brought my parents from Richmond, +Virginia, and he settled right in Princeton.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Reuben Rainey Dortch. He was an octoroon I guess. +He looked more like a Cuban than a Negro. He had beautiful wavy hair, +naturally wavy. He was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. His +father was Dortch. Some say Rainey. But he must have been a Dortch; he +called himself Dortch, and we go in the name of Dortch. Rainey was a +white man employed on Dortch's plantation. Rainey's name was Wilson +Rainey. My name has always been Dortch.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Martha Dortch. I am trying to think what her maiden +name was. My sister can tell you all the details of it. She is five +years older than I am. She can tell you all the old man's folks and my +mother's too more easily than I can.</p> + +<p>"My father had, as nearly as I can remember—lemme see—Cordelia, +Adrianna, Mary, Jennie, Emma, and Dortch. Emma and Dortch were children +by a first wife. Cordelia was his stepdaughter. My brothers were Alec +and Gabe. There is probably some I have overlooked.</p> + +<p>"The Indian blood in me came through my mother's father. He was a +full-blooded red Indian. I can't think of his name now. Her mother was a +dark woman.</p> + +<p>"My father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. All the work +he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket +making. He made coffins too just after peace was declared. They didn't +have no undertakers then. He made the bottoms to chairs too. He could +put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one I know. Nobody +could beat him putting shingles on a house.</p> + +<p>"My mother was reared to work in the house. She was cook, housekeeper. +She was a weaver too. She worked the loom and the spinning wheel. She +gardened a little. But her work was mostly in the house as cook and +weaver. She never went out in the field as a hand. My father didn't +either.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Kind Masters</b></p> + +<p>"My father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. He was a kind +of boss more than anything else. He had his way. Nobody was allowed to +mistreat him in any way. My mother was the same way. I don't think she +was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks—not that I ever saw.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Attitude of Slaves Toward Father</b></p> + +<p>"There wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. +My oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but I don't think he ever +had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the +white folks. He was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of +himself. Then again, he had a good master. Hays was a good man. We made +a trip down there just a short while ago. We hadn't been there since the +Civil War. They made it so pleasant for us! We all set down to the same +table and ate together. Frank was down there. He was my young master.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Thirty Acres—not Forty</b></p> + +<p>"They gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. They +didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. I am going down +there again sometime. My young master is the postmaster down there now. +He thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind telling people anything about myself. I was born in June. +They ain't nothing slipping up on me. I understand when to talk. There +are two of us, Adrianna Kern—that's her married name. She and I are the +ones Mr. Frank gave the thirty acres to. I have a younger sister.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Work</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. The +least I ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. Some would pick as +high as three and four hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>"My father was not a field hand. He was what they called the first man +'round there. He was a regular leader on the plantation—boss of the +tool room. He was next to the master of them, you might say. He was a +kind of boss.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of his working for other men besides his master. I +believe he drove the stage for a time from Arkadelphia to Camden or +Princeton. I don't know just how that come about. My sister though has a +more exact remembrance than I have, and she can probably tell you the +details of it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Boyhood Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"My father used to take me to the mill with him when I was a kid. That +was in slavery time. He went in a wagon and took me with him.</p> + +<p>"The biggest thing I did was to play with the other kids. They had me do +such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from +the pasture. And as near as I can remember it seems like they had me +more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food, Houses, Clothes</b></p> + +<p>"Corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game—that +was the principal food. The people on our place were fed pretty well. We +lived off of ash cakes and biscuits.</p> + +<p>"The slaves lived in old log houses. I can almost see them now. Let's +see—they usually had just one window. The slaves slept on pallets +mostly and wore long cotton shirts.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles—how they tied +ropes across the road and trapped them. Sometimes they would be knocked +off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from +there. Of course, that was sometimes. They was always halting the slaves +and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"The way I understand it there came a rumor all at once that the Negroes +were free. It seems that they throwed up their hands. They had a great +fight at Pine Bluff and Helena and De Valls Bluff. Then came peace. The +rumor came from Helena. Meade and Thomas winded the thing up some way. +Sherman made his march somewhere. The colored soldiers and the white +soldiers came pouring in from Little Rock. They come in a rush and said, +'Tell them niggers they're free.' They run into the masters' and +notified them they were going to take all the Negroes to Little Rock. It +wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to +take us to Little Rock.</p> + +<p>"When they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of +houses up just west of where the Arch street graveyard is now. They put +us all there in the soldiers' buildings. They called them camps. They +seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. It wasn't long before they +had us in school and in church. The Freedmen's Bureau visited us and +gave us rations just like the Government has been doing these last +years. They gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. +That was all done right here in Little Rock.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"My first teacher was Miss Sarah Henley. I could show you the home she +used to live in. It's right up the street. It's on Third Street between +Izard and State right in the middle of the block—next to the building +on the corner of Izard on the south side of Third Street. There is a +brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one +right next to it. She was a white woman and was my first teacher. She +taught me, as near as I can remember, one session. My next teacher was +Mrs. Hunt. She was from Ohio. My first teacher was from Ohio too. Mrs. +Hunt taught me about two sessions. Lemme see, Mrs. Clapp came after her. +She was from Pennsylvania. Mrs. Clapp taught me one session. I am trying +to think of that other teacher. We went over to Union School then. +Charlotte Andrews taught us there for a while. That was her maiden +name. Her married name is Stephens. She was the first colored teacher in +the city. Mrs. Hubbard teached us a while, too. Mrs. Scull taught us +right here on Gaines and Seventh Streets where this church is now. They +moved us a long time ago down to the Mess House at the Rock Island for a +while but we didn't stay there long. We came back to the Methodist +church—the one on Eighth and Broadway, not the Bethel Church on Ninth +and Broadway. There was a colored church on Eighth and Broadway then. +They kept sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. +Woods, a colored man, was one of the teachers at Capitol Hill Public +School. We were there when it first opened. That was the last school I +went to. I finished eight grades. Me and Scipio Jones went to school +together and were in the same class. I left him in school and went to +work to take care of my folks.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupational Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"Right after the Civil War, I went to school. I did no work except to +sell papers and black boots on the corner of Main and Markham on Sunday. +After I stopped school I went to work as assistant porter in the +railroad office at the Union Station for the St. Louis, Iron Mountain, +Southern Railway and Cairo and Fulton. That was one road or system. I +stayed with them from 1873 till 1882 in the office as office porter. +From that I went train porter out of the office in 1882. I stayed as +train porter till 1892. Then right back from 1892 I went in the general +superintendent's private car. Then from there I went to the shop here in +North Little Rock—the Missouri Pacific Shops—as a straw boss of the +storeroom gang. That was in 1893. I stayed in the shop until 1894. Then +I was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. That was in 1895. +I stayed as coach cleaner till 1913. From that I went to the State +Capitol and stayed there as janitor of the Supreme Court for three +years. In 1917, I went back to the coach cleaning department. That was +during the war. I stayed there till 1922. I come out on the strike and +have been out ever since. Since then I have done house cleaning all over +the city. That brings me up to about two years ago. Now I pick up +something here and something there. I have been knocking around sick +most of the time and supported by the Relief and the Welfare +principally.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"I don't remember much about the Ku Klux Klan. They never bothered me, +and never bothered any one connected with me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Powell Clayton</b></p> + +<p>"I have stood at the bar and drank with Powell Clayton. He had been +'round here ever since we had. He was a very particular friend of my +boss'—the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. They were all +Yankees together. They would all meet at the office. That was while I +was working my way through school and afterwards too. He was strictly a +'Negroes' Friend'. He was a straight out and out Yankee.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>A Broken Thumb in a Political Fight</b></p> + +<p>"I got this thumb broken beating a white man up. No, I'll tell the +truth. He was beating me up and I thought he was going to kill me. It +was when Benjamin Harrison had been elected President. I was in Sol +Joe's saloon and I said, 'Hurrah for Harrison.' A white man standing at +the bar there said to me, 'What do you mean, nigger, insulting the +guests here?' And before I knew what he was going to do—bop!—he +knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. He +started to stamp me. My head was roaring, but I grabbed his legs and +held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it +out. I butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with +my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. There was +plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. A great +commotion set up and I slipped out the back door and went home during +the excitement.</p> + +<p>"When I went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the +fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. Sol Joe told me that he +showed the man he was wrong, that I was one of his best customers. To +make Sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. When I got there +and found the money waiting for me, I just called everybody in the house +up to the bar and treated it out.</p> + +<p>"They claimed I had hit him with brass knucks, but when I showed them my +hand—it was swollen double—and then showed them how the thumb was +broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. That thumb never did set +properly. You see, it's out of shape right now.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Domestic Life</b></p> + +<p>"I met my wife going home. I was a train porter between here and +Memphis. She was put in my care to see that she took her train all right +out of Memphis, Tennessee, going on farther. I fell in love with her and +commenced courting her right from there. She was so white in color that +you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. After I married +her, I was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got +on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. Every once in a +while they would come back and peep in the Negro coach. Sometimes they +would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. My sister notice it +and called my attention to it. I went to the conductor and complained. +He called their hand.</p> + +<p>"It seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and +staying on the train to be able to get off where I got off. The +conductor told them that if they went into Little Rock with the train +there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that +the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that I worked on the road, and +that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if I just sent +a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. They got off the train at +the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they +didn't believe what had been told them.</p> + +<p>"We were married only three and a half years when she died. Her name was +Lillie Love Douglass before she married me. She was a perfect angel. +White folks tried to say that she was white. We had two children. Both +of them are dead. One died while giving birth to a child and the other +died at the age of thirty-three.</p> + +<p>"I married the second time. I met my second wife the same way I met the +first. I was working on the railroad and she was traveling. I was a +coach cleaner. We lived together three years and were separated over +foolishness. She had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers +stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to +braid into a watch chain. She said, 'I'll give you a lock.' I said, 'You +and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away +without asking me.' She might have been joking, and I was not altogether +serious. But it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. One day, I had +been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. I don't +remember what it was all about. Anyway, she called me a liar and I +slapped her before I thought.</p> + +<p>"For two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though +nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to +me. She would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. One day I +gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. She was a +wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while +I was out on the road working. When I came back that evening, the store +was wide open and she was gone. She had slipped off and gone home from +the station across the river. I didn't find that out till the next day. +She hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. And +another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the +train. I was out with a shotgun watching. I am glad I did not meet them. +She is living in Chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the +lock of hair to and doing well the last I heard from her. She was a good +woman, just marked with a high temper. There was no reason why we should +not have lived together and gotten along well. We loved each other and +were making money hand over fist when we separated.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people are too much for me. Women are awful now. The young +ones are too wild for me. The old ones allow them too much freedom. They +are not given proper instruction and training by their elders."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his +master or someone closely connected with his master—his first master. +His last master was the father of his half-sister, Cordelia, born +before any of the other members of his family. These facts account +largely for the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave +time and for the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery.</p> + +<p>Dortch's whole sister, Adrianna, is living next door to him, and is +eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. She has a clearer memory than +Dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. She never went to +school but uses excellent English and thinks straight. I have not made +Dortch's interview any longer because I am spending the rest of this +period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material +which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. I have +already finished ten pages of her story.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DorumFannie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Fannie Dorum<br> + 423 W. Twenty-Fourth Street<br> + North Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 94</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Church Holds Old Age Contest]</b></p> + +<p>"I was here in slavery time. Know the years I plowed. Ginned cotton in +slavery time. My daddy was the ginner. His name was Hamp High. Stayed +down in Lonoke County.</p> + +<p>"I was here in slavery time. The third year of the surrender (1868), I +married—married Burton Dorum.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Franklin, North Carolina. My old master's name was Jack +Green, Franklin County. He had five boys—Henry, John, James, Robert, +and William Henry. And he had a daughter named Mary. My old mistress' +name was Jennie Green. They all came from North Carolina and I think +they are still there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Work</b></p> + +<p>"A slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. You better +pick a hundred. I couldn't pick a hundred. I never was much on picking +cotton.</p> + +<p>"I weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, +and did all such work. I plowed before the War about two years. I used +to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go +through. I was about nineteen years old when Lee surrendered. That would +make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. The boys figgered it all +out when they had the old age contest 'round here. They added up the +times I worked and put everything together.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"I raised eight children. Have five living. And I reckon about +forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and +great-great-grandchildren. You see I have been here right smart time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"Colored folks didn't get no learning then. I never learned to read or +write. Before I married, I learned to spell my name, but I had so much +to do I have forgot how to do that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"The Yankees were coming through the place. A great crowd of soldiers. +The day the corps of Yankees were to go out, they all went up to the +pike and it looked like a dark cloud. There were great big wagons loaded +down with everything to eat. They took all the meat, all the whiskey, +all the flour. That they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured +on the ground. They took the corn out of the crib.</p> + +<p>"The next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. He told +us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Whipping</b></p> + +<p>"My old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. I +said, 'Master, if you don't hit me no more, I'll tell you who's been +stealing all your eggs.' He said, 'Will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' I +said, 'Yes.' But I never done it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. They would +catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. The +pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when +they were out without a pass. Sometimes the colored folks would stretch +ropes across the road and trip them up. You would hear them laughing +about it when they got amongst themselves the next day.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House, Etc.</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in a old log house—two rooms. One for the kitchen and one +to sleep in. We had homemade furniture. Mighty few of them had bought +furniture. Most of then made it themselves. If you had bought furniture, +that was called fine. There was no rollers to any bed. Food was kept in +the house. Wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to +keep it. Planks were put around it. We children used to jump up and down +in it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Rations</b></p> + +<p>"When the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a +tub and said, 'Come and git it.'</p> + +<p>"They would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of +the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. They put the white folks' meat +in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. When you wanted +something, you would go up to old master and say, 'My meat is out,' and +they would give you some more out of the smokehouse.</p> + +<p>"Brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the +colored [TR: corrected from 'cullud'] folks—they didn't give any of it +to them. My daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and +slip and sell it to the colored folks. He didn't tell the white folks +who he was gettin' it for.</p> + +<p>"You didn't have a regular time to git rations. You didn't on my place. +You got things any time you needed them. My master was a good man. My +dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. When he was +working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' +house and git anything he wanted and eat it—brandy, meat, anything.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Wages</b></p> + +<p>"My daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for +other folks. He did the ginning for an old rich man named Jack Green, +who lived in Franklin County. Jack Green paid wages for my father's, +Hampton High's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. I +don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, +or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. They trusted +him and I know he did work for pay. On account of the money my father +earned he was considered a valuable slave. That's why he could go and +eat and drink anything he wanted to.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since Slavery</b></p> + +<p>"My husband married me in May. He went to his uncle and worked an shares +for two or three years. Then my husband took a crop to himself. He +bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. Raised a great +big orchard. All my children were born right there. White people owned +the farm. Priestley Mangham and his wife were the white people. When we +left that place, my children were all big enough to work. That was in +North Carolina. The nearest town was College.</p> + +<p>"When the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, +then we left and came here. My husband is dead and has been dead over +twenty years.</p> + +<p>"My daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on +relief themselves and can't do much for me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. They +are there on mealtime, but that is about all."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>About three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the +colored churches of North Little Rock. Sister Hatchett was considered +the oldest, Fannie Dorum next. Sarah Jane Patterson was among those +considered in the nineties also. It is very probable that all of these +three are ninety or more. Stories of Dorum and Patterson are already in, +and interview with Hatchett will be completed soon.</p> + +<p>This paper fails to record Fannie Dorum's accent with any approach to +accuracy. She speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal +of attention to grammaticalness. But she pronounces all "er" ending as +"uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs.</p> + +<p>There are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which I do +not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal +pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for +"[e]r".</p> + +<p>The slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more +nearly correct than the normal pronunciation of "m(a)" +Frequent pronunciations are marse, marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DothrumSilas"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Silas Dothrum<br> + 1419 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82 or 83 <br> +Occupation: Field hand, general work<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Don't Know Nothin']</b></p> + +<p>"The white people that owned me are all dead. I am in this world by +myself. Do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the +flies off it when it has sores on it? I had the city doctor here, but he +didn't do me no good. I have to tie these rags around my foot to keep +the flies off the sores.</p> + +<p>"I worked with a white man nineteen years—put all that concrete down +out there. He is still living. He helps me a little sometimes. If it +weren't for him I couldn't live. The government allows me and my wife +together eight dollars a month. I asked for more, but I couldn't get it. +I get commodities too. They amount to about a dollar and a half a month. +They don't give any flour or meat. Last month they gave some eggs and +those were nice. What they give is a help to a man in my condition.</p> + +<p>"I don't know where I was born and I don't know when. I know I am +eighty-two or eighty-three years old. The white folks that raised me +told me how old I was. I never saw my father and my mother in my life. I +don't know nothin'. I'm Just on old green man. I don't know none of my +kin people—father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. When I found +myself the white people had me.</p> + +<p>"That was right down here in Arkansas here on old Dick Fletcher's farm. +There was a big family of them Fletchers. They took me to Harriet +Lindsay to raise. She is dead. She had a husband and he is dead. She +had two or three daughters and they are dead.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Houses</b></p> + +<p>"I can remember what they used to live in. The slaves lived in old +wooden houses. They ain't living in no houses now—one-half of them. +They were log houses—two rooms. I have forgot what kind of +floors—dirt, I guess. Food was kept in a smokehouse.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Relatives</b></p> + +<p>"The whole family of Fletchers is dead. I think that there is a Jef +Fletcher living in this town. I don't know just where but I met him +sometime ago. He doesn't do nothing for me. Nobody gives me anything for +myself but the man I used to work for—the concrete man. He's a man.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"All I remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and +carried us to Texas and kept us there till freedom came. Then they told +us we were free and could go where wanted. But they kept me in bondage +and a girl that used to be with them. We were bound to them that we +would have to stay with them. They kept me just the same as under +bondage. I wasn't allowed no kind of say-so.</p> + +<p>"After Dick Fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us +back—fetched us back in a covered wagon.</p> + +<p>"I am a Arkansas man. Was raised here. I am very well known here, too. +Some years after that she turned us loose. I can't remember just how +many years it was, but it was a good many.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"After Mrs. Fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. I +was working by the year. If I broke anything they took it out of my +wages. If I broke a plow they would charge me for it. I was working for +niggers. I can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything +when they got through taking out. I'm dogged if I know how much they +were supposed to pay; it has been so long. But I know that if I broke +anything—a tool or something—they charged me for it. I didn't have +much at the end of the year. It would take me a lifetime to make +anything if I had to do that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone +into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. They would +surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they +could whip them as much as they wanted to. All that is been years and +years ago. I never seen any niggers get away from them. I have heared of +them getting away, but if they did I never knowed it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"I heared of the Ku Klux, but they never bothered me. I never saw them +do anything to anybody.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Recollections Relating to Parents</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know who my parents were, but it seems like I heard them say my +father was a white man, and I seen to remember that they said my mother +was a dark woman.</p> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people today ain't worth a shit. These young people going to +school don't mean good to nobody. They dance all the night and all the +time, and do everything else. That man across the street runs a whiskey +house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. They +ain't worth nothing."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarah"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Sarah Douglas<br> + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82?</h3> +<br> + +<a name="img_STD"></a> + +<center><p> +<img src='images/stdouglas.jpg' width='250' height='368' alt='Sarah and Tom Douglas'> +</p></center> + +<p>[TR: Original interview where photograph inserted notes photograph of "Sarah and Sam +Douglas." The Library of Congress photo archive notes "'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."]</p> +<br> +<p>"I was born in Alabama. I don't know when though. I did not find out +when I was born because old miss never told me. My ma died when I was +real small and my old miss raised me. I had a hard time of my life. I +slept on the floor just like a cat—anywhere I laid down I slept. In +winter I slept on rags. If I got sick old miss would give me plenty of +medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. My old +master was name John Buffett and old misses name was Eddie Buffett. She +would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the +floor. I never ate at the table until I was twelve and that was after +freedom.</p> + +<p>"To whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken +the cow hide whip and beat me until I couldn't sit down for a week. +Sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree +with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow +hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! +child, I shouted when I wasn't happy. All I could say was, 'Oh pray, +mistress, pray.' That was our way to say Lord have mercy. The last +whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my Lord! old miss +whipped me that day. That was the worse whipping I ever got in my life. +I cried and bucked and hollered until I couldn't. I give up for dead and +she wouldn't stop. I stop crying and said to her, 'Old miss, if I were +you and you were me I wouldn't beat you this way.' That struck old +miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me +any more.</p> + +<p>"I did every kind of work when I was a little slave; split rails, +sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted.</p> + +<p>"I remember young master going to war and I remember hearing the first +gun shoot but I did not see it. I saw the smoke though.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school a day in my life. The white folks said we did +not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us +with that cow hide whip.</p> + +<p>"We went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. +They allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or +felt that the Lord had forgiven them of their sins. We told our +determination; this is what we said: 'I feel that the Lord have forgiven +me for my sins. I have prayed and I feel that I am a better girl. I +belong to master so and so and I am so old.' The white preacher would +then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they +could see any change. They would get up and say: 'I notice she don't +steal and I notice she don't lie as much and I notice she works better.' +Then they let us join. We served our mistress and master in slavery-time +and not God.</p> + +<p>"I recollect miss died just after the War. Old miss was very strict on +us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's +kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left +the print of her hand on her face. That white hand never did go away and +that place was forever haunted after that.</p> + +<p>"Now I don't know how to tell you to get after my age but I was twelve +years old two years after surrender."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarah2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Carol Graham<br> +Subject: Ex-slaves<br> +Information given by: Sarah Douglas, El Dorado, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>Mornin' honey. I thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' +summer an' I looked fuh you the longes' time. I'se plum proud tuh see +you ergin. Dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is +she?</p> + +<p>Now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants Aunt Sarah tuh tell huh some +more 'bout slave'y times. John Bufford wuz mah marster's name. I wuz +bo'n in Alabama an' brought to Louisiana by my marster's fambly. Aftuh +de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white +folks from the North fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey +soon learnt bettuh.</p> + +<p>I ain't been well lately. The doctuh said I had slamatory rheumatis. I'm +ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. My mistress wuz mammy +in de ol' days.</p> + +<p>Aftuh I got up fum mah rheumatism I went down tuh that church you sees, +I give de lan' fuh hit, me and Tom did and I jes felt good and wanted +tuh praise the Lord. I wuz so glad the sperit come once more, I got +happy and I got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "I want to shake +hand wid ever' body in dis house. I wanna stroke yo hand." An' I stood +down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and +two women come down an' shook hands wid me, I jes didn't know whut tuh +think. Yoh know when I wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' +dey made a noise but not so now. An' tuh think dey couldn't turn +praises.</p> + +<p>You say yo' wants tuh talk tuh Tom? Well he's out dar in de back yard +but he aint well and I specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. +Tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. I'll go back an talk tuh de +lady whuts waitin' in de car.</p> +<br> + +<p>(The above written just as Sarah Douglas expressed it).</p> + +<p>(Taken down word for word.)</p> + +<p>(August 11, 1937.)</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasTom"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Tom Douglas<br> + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: 91</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Marion, Louisiana September 15, 1847 at 8 o'clock in the +morning. I was eighteen years of age at surrender. My master and missus +was B.B. Thomas and Miss Susan Thomas. Old master had a gang of slaves +and we all worked like we were putting out fire. Lord child, wasn't near +like it is now. We went to bed early and got up early. There was a gang +of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a +washwoman. We worked too and didn't mind it. If we acted like we didn't +want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree +or bush and whipped until we bled. They had a whipping post that they +tied us to to whip us.</p> + +<p>"We was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. They built +nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. They drove niggers in +there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. The +white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they +could tell how old we were. They had a 'penetenture' for the white folks +when they did wrong. When we done wrong we was tied to that whipping +post and our hide busted open with that cow hide.</p> + +<p>"We stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would +allowance our week's rations out to us and Sunday morning we got one +biscuit each. If our week's allowance give out before the week we did +not get any more.</p> + +<p>"Cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. We did not have to worry about +our clothes. Old missus looked after everything. We wore brogan shoes +and homespun clothes. There was a bunch of women that did the spinning +and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. I was a shoe +maker. I made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. We had to +go nice and clean. If old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. I +got slavery time scars on my back now. You ought to see my back. Scars +been on my back for seventy-five years.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned my ABC'S after I was +nineteen years old. I went to night school, then to a teacher by the +name of Nelse Otom. I was the first nigger to join the church on this +side of the Mason and Dixie line. During slavery we all joined the white +folk's church set in the back. After slavery in 1866 they met in +conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. There +was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we +called our preacher and I was the first one to join. Old master asked +our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. We told him old shoes and +clothes. Old master says, 'Well, that's damn poor pay.' Our preacher +says, 'And they got a damn poor preacher.'</p> + +<p>"I did not know anything about war. Only I know it began in 1861, closed +in 1865, and I know they fought at Vicksburg. That was two or three +hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table +whenever they shot a bomb. Those bombs would jar the house so hard and +we could see the smoke that far.</p> + +<p>"We was allowed to visit Saturday night and Sunday. If you had a wife +you could go to see her Wednesday night and Saturday night and stay with +her until Monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the +patrollers would catch you. That is where the song come from, 'Run +nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' Sometimes a nigger +would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. In slavery white +folks put you together. Just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or +him. You had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not.</p> + +<p>"After freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, +opened a big gate and drove us all out. We didn't know what to do—not a +penny, nowhere to go—so we went out there and set down. In about thirty +minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for +food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and +the next year they gave us half. So ever' since then we people been +working for half.</p> + +<p>"Here is one of my boy songs:</p> + +<pre> +'Sadday night and Sunday too, + A pretty girl on my mind + As soon as Monday morning come + The white folks get me gwi-ng.'" +</pre> + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarahTom"></a> +<h3>[HW: Regrets End of Slavery] <br> +OLD SLAVE STORIES<br> +<br> +[TR: Sarah and Tom Douglas]</h3> +<br> + + +<p><b>[TR: Aunt Sarah Douglas]</b>— +Ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. Wuz twelve years ole at de +time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined de church. In them days +when chillun j'ined de church some grown person had ter speak fuh em an +tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. Now when chillun j'in de +church if they is big enough ter talk they take em in widout grown fokes +speaking fuh em a tall.</p> + +<p>Slavery times wuz sho good times. We wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to +worry about. Now poar ole niggers go hungry. Sho we wuz whipped in +slavery times. Mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz +whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. Coase hit +did. Hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo +chickens.</p> + +<p>Me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no +chillun. Yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. Now +if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole +days. Mah ole man, Tom, is 89 an I'se 82. Poar ole man. Ah does all ah +kin fuh him but I'se ole too. These young niggers is gettin so uppity. +They think they is better than we is. A Darkey jes don' love one another +an stick t'gether like white fokes does. But ah is goin ter stick ter +my ole man. He needs me. He is jes like a little helpless chile widout +me ter look after him. Ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when +ah wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. Ah likes ter go ter +church. See that little white church over de hill? That is Douglas +Chapel, a Baptist church. Me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that +church. We had plenty them days when Douglas was laid out (meaning +Douglas Addition). But now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all +de time. None of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us +somethin' ter eat. White fokes have good hearts but niggers is +grudgeful. De bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an +when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces.</p> + +<p>Niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. Ah went to a +missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "Sister +Douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "Amazing +Grace." Sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined +in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when +that sister spoke up an said: "Sister Douglas, don' yo know that is done +gone out of style?" an selected "Fly Away" an den all of them sisters +j'ined in an sung "Fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance +chune.</p> + +<p>Yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. We use +ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. An that ole horse is our fambly +horse. Dolly Jane ah calls her. We've had her forty years an she gits +sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time +but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. We has lived +in this house since 1900 but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de +tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. Nobody lef on this side but white +fokes now ceptin us. When de railroad come through down there ah had a +cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton +patch an ruint part of hit. All we got out'n hit wuz damages.</p> + +<p>No'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. Mebby ifn yo +all come back he kin talk ter yo then.</p> + +<p>(In the meantime we investigated Tom and Sarah Douglas and found that he +has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now +Douglas Addition. In a few days we went back and found Tom sitting on +the porch.)</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Uncle Tom Douglas</b>—Yas'm, ah members de wah. Ah wuz fo'teen when de wah +began an eighteen when hit closed. Mah marster wuz B.B. Thomas, Union +Parish, Louisiana, near Marion, Louisiana. Ah saw de fust soldiers go an +saw young marster go. When young marster come back at de close of de wah +he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he +done have ter eat while he wuz in de army.</p> + +<p>Ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. They wuz sold +jes like stock. Ah members one fambly. De man wuz a blacksmith, de woman +a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. They wuz put on de +block an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt +part of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. They +wuz sole jes like cows an horses. No'm, ah didn't like slavery days. +Ah'd rather be free an hungry.</p> + +<p>(Tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and +we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.)</p> + +<p>Yo say tell yo about hants. There is such a thing. Yes mam. Some fokes +calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an Sarah has seed em haint +we Sarah. Here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil?</p> + +<p>(After we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we +would not repeat it, they told us the following):</p> + +<p>When me an Sarah lived out at de Moore place about three miles east on +the main street road we seed plenty of haints. De graveyard wuz in sight +of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they +would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there +campin. We could see they campfires. We could hear their dishes rattling +an their tincups an knives an forks. An hear em talkin. Den again they +would be diggin with shovels. Sometimes in de graveyard we could see de +sperits doin de things they did befo they died. Some would be plowing, +some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. +When day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in +de graves. Yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. After we moved +from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de +chimney. An hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen +there.</p> + +<p>Yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. They is such thin's as hants. Me an +Sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarahTom2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham <br> +Person interviewed: Tom & Sarah Douglas<br> +Resident: El Dorado, Arkansas <br> +Age: 90 and 83</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b></p> + +<p>This is a second interview with Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah Douglas. The +first was sent to your office in September 1936 from interview by Mrs. +Mildred Thompson, El Dorado, Arkansas. Mrs. Thompson is not now with the +Project. Mrs. Carol Graham made the second interview.</p> + +<p><u>Tom Douglas—Ex-slave</u>. I was a slave boy till I was eighteen. Was born +in 1847, 'mancipated in '65. No, my master did not give me forty acres +of land and a mule. When we was 'mancipated my master came took us +outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "You are free +to work for anybody you want to." We set there a while then we went +whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and +finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. The next year +we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five +years. 'F we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in +money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over.</p> + +<p>My ol' master was S.B. [TR: in two previous interviews, B.B. Thomas] +Thomas. The young master was Emmett Thomas. Mr. +Emmett was his son. Dey was near Marion, Louisiana, then I worked fuh +his brother-in-law 'Lias George. His wife was Susan George. I tell you +the fact, these times is much bettuh than slave times. If I'm hungry an' +naked, I'm free. I'm crazy 'bout liberty.</p> + +<p>I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan but never did see none of 'em. Have seen +where they is been but nevuh did see 'em.</p> + +<p>We voted several years. Was considered citizens—voted an' all that sort +of thing. I think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes +makes us citizens don' it? I used to be a big politics man—lost all I +had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. I was +tol' one day that the Ku Kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' I +got on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. I was a big +politics man then—lost all I had and quit politics. I'm ninety years +old and fifteenth of next September. Looks like the old might get +pensions if old has anything to do with it I ought to get a pension but +us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' +to eat they say don' get none.</p> + +<p>I come to El Dorado January 3, 1893. This place was in the woods then. I +bought 120 acres from Mr. Dave Armstrong at five dollars per acre and in +nine years I had it all paid for. It was after I got tired of workin' on +the halves that I bought me a place.</p> + +<p>Worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in 1897 or 98. Than I jobbed +aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. Carried $25 +with me when I moved to town and brought $28 back with me. Cleared $1 a +year an' got tired of that.</p> + +<p>Am livin' off my land. Have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times +is hard and folks can't pay. I takes in from $18 to $25 per month.</p> + +<p>The young folks is gone to destruction. Aint nothin' but destruction. +You is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was +ten years back. Young folks is goin' to destruction. Me, I'm goin' home. +Goin' back 80 years an comin' up to day I is seen a mighty big change. +Me, I'm goin' home. Don't know what you young folks going to see eighty +years from now. Everybody is trying to get something for nothing.</p> + +<p>We use to sing "Gimme this Old Time Religion, It's Good enough for me". +An' we sung "I'm a Soldier of the Cross" an lots of others. We don' live +right now, don' serve God. Pride, formality an love of money keeps folks +from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. You know that ol' +sayin: "Preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; All for your +money an' none for your soul." Seems like its true now days.</p> + +<p>You ask does I have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? +No maam. I was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard +with the little white chillun. You says Sarah told you that las' year? +Missy you mus' be mistaken. I was whipped once or twice but I needed it +then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no +stripes on me. My old master was good to all his niggers and I'm tellin +you I was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to +me. All we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every +Sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. No maam my +old master was always good to his niggers.</p> +<br> + +<p>(Above is as exactly told by Tom Douglas with the exception that he used +the word Marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for I and +other quaint expressions—these were omitted because of instruction in +Bulletin received August 7th, 1937.)</p> + +<p>Taken down word for word. August 11, 1937.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSebert"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Sebert Douglas<br> + 610 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Lebanon, Kentucky. Gover Hood was my old master. His +wife's name was Ann Hood.</p> + +<p>"I 'member Morgan's Raid. I don't 'member what year it was but I 'member +a right smart about it. Cumberland Gap was where they met.</p> + +<p>"The Rebs and Yankees both come and took things from old master. I +'member three horses they taken well. Yankees had tents in the yard. +They was right in the yard right in front of the Methodist church.</p> + +<p>"My mother was Mrs. Hood's slave, and when she married she took my +mother along and I was born on her place.</p> + +<p>"I was the carriage boy in slave times. My father did the driving and I +was the waitin' boy. I opened the gates.</p> + +<p>"I 'member Billy Chandler and Lewis Rodman run off and j'ined the +Yankees but they come back after the War was over.</p> + +<p>"Paddyrollers was about the same as the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux would take +the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make +'em go back where they come from.</p> + +<p>"We stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we +went to the country and farmed for ourselves.</p> + +<p>"I went to school just long enough to read and write. I never seed no +use for figgers till I married and went to farmin'.</p> + +<p>"Since I been in Pine Bluff I done mill work. I was a sash and door man.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote every election till Hoover, but I never held any +office.</p> + +<p>"The younger generation is bad medicine. Can't tell what's gwine come of +'em!"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DoylHenry"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Henry Doyl, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: Will be 74<br> +Feb. 2, 1938</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Hardeman County near Bolivar, Tennessee. My mother's +moster was Bryant Cox and his wife was Miss Neely Cox. My mother was +Dilly Cox. Two things I remembers tinctly that took place in my +childhood: that was when my mother married George Doyl. I was raised by +a stepfather. Miss Neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put +me in her pocket. She told her that more'n one time. I recollect that.</p> + +<p>"My oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. My mother was a +field hand. She was at work in the field. When she come to the house, +the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. That grieved her mighty +bad and when Miss Neely tell her soon as I got big nough she was goner +sell me mighty near break her heart.</p> + +<p>"The first year after the surrender my father, Buck Rogers, left my +mother in her bad condition. She said she followed him crying and +begging him not to leave her to Montgomery Bridge, in Alabama. The last +she seen him he was on Montgomery Bridge.</p> + +<p>"They just expected freedom. My mother left her mistress and moved to +the Doyl place. She didn't get nothing but her few clothes. I was born +at the Doyl place. She worked for Moster Bob Doyl, a young man. They +share cropped. We had a plenty I reckon of what we raised and a little +money.</p> + +<p>"I worked on Colonel Nuckles place when I got up grown. I worked on the +Lunatic Asylum at Bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the I.C. +Railroad a long time.</p> + +<p>"I don't recollect that the Ku Klux ever bothered us.</p> + +<p>"My stepfather voted Republican ticket. I haven't voted for a good many +years—not since Garfield or McKinley was our President.</p> + +<p>"I come to Arkansas in 1887. I married in Arkansas. I heard that +Arkansas was a rich country. My mother was dead. My stepfather had been +out here. I come on the train, paid my own way. Come to Palestine the +first night then on to Brinkley. I been close to Brinkley ever since.</p> + +<p>"The old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. I still work +on the place. Everybody don't know how to walk levies. It will kill an +old man. Your feet stay wet and cold all time. I do wear hip boots but +my feet stay cold and damp. I got down with the rheumatism and jes' now +got so I can walk.</p> + +<p>"I got a wife and three living children. They all married and gone.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard for old folks and changed so much. Children used to get +jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. They can't +take care of themselves no more it look like. I don't know how to take +the young generation. They are drifting along with the fast times.</p> + +<p>"I applied but don't get no pension."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DoyldWillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Willie Doyld (male), Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78<br> +[-- -- 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Grenada, Mississippi. My parents belong to the same +family of white folks. My moster was Jim Doyld. His wife was Mistress +Karoline Doyld. Well as I recollect they had four childen. My parent's +name was Hannah and William Doyld. I'm named for em. They was three of +us childen. They belong to same family of white folks for a fact. I +heard em say Moster Jim bought em offen the block at the same time. He +got em at Galveston, Texas. He kept five families of slaves on his place +well as I recollect.</p> + +<p>"My pa was Moster Jim's ox driver. He drove five or six yokes at a time. +He walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. He toted a long cowhide +whoop. He toted it over his shoulder. When he'd crack it you could hear +his whoop half a mile. Knowed he was comin' on up to the house. Them +oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. He'd +be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. He +nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the +front wagon an' ride a piece.</p> + +<p>"He was a very good moster I recken far as I knows. They go up there, +get sompin' to eat. He give em a midlin' meat. He give us clothes. Folks +wore heep of clothes then. They got whoopin's if they not do lack they +tole em to do—plenty whoopin's! He kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. +They hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. Them dogs died wid black +tongue. Every one of em died.</p> + +<p>"We et at home mostly. We was lounced wid the rations but had a big +plenty. We got the rations every Saturday mornin'. One fellow cut and +weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git +it in. Sometimes we et up at the house. Mama bring a big bucket milk and +set it down, give us a tin cup. We eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. +Mama cooked for old mistress. She bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last +us two or three days at er time. Papa could cook when he be round the +house too. I recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. They come from +Georgia. Moster Jim muster bought them too but I don't know if he got em +all at the same time down at Galveston, Texas.</p> + +<p>"Moster Jim show did drink liquor—whiskey. I recken he would. When he +got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he +sober up. Miss Karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and +white.</p> + +<p>"My grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. The balance of my +kin was pure nigger.</p> + +<p>"I kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. Papa went off +to war wid Jack Hoskins. He was goin' to be his waitin' man. He stayed a +good while fore he got home. Jack Hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast +one mornin'. That all I heard him say. I recken he helped bury him but I +never heard em say.</p> + +<p>"The plainest thing I recollect was a big drove of the Yankee +soldiers—some ridin', some walkin'—come up to the moster's house. He +was sorter old man. He was settin' in the gallery. He lived in a big log +house. He was readin' the paper. He throwed back his head and was dead. +Jes' scared to death. They said that was what the matter. In spite of +that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. All the +niggers scared to death not to go. There lay old Moster Jim stretched +dead in his chair. They was backed up to the smoke house door and the +horses makin' splinters of the door. It was three planks thick, crossed +one another and bradded together wid iron nails. They throwed the stuff +out an' say, 'Come an' git it. Take it to your houses.' They took it. It +was ours and we didn't want it wasted. Soon as they gone they got mighty +busy bringing it back. They built nother door an' put it up. Old Miss +Karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. They buried Moster +Jim at Water Valley, Mississippi. Miss Karoline broke up and went back +to Virginia. My grandma got her feather bed and died on it. Bout two +years after that the Yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. +We all had good log houses down close together. They didn't bother us.</p> + +<p>"I don't recollect the Ku Klux.</p> + +<p>"Our folks never knowed when freedom come on. Some didn't believe they +was free at all. They went on farmin' wid what left. What they made they +got it. My folks purty nigh all died right there.</p> + +<p>"I lives alone. I got two childern in Lulu, Mississippi. I had three +childern. My wife come here wid me. She dead.</p> + +<p>"I had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. It went for debts. White +folks got it. I ain't made nuthin' since.</p> + +<p>"I ain't no hand at votin' much. I railly never understood nuthin' bout +the run of politics.</p> + +<p>"I hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get +by widout it. They take it, if they can, outen the old folks. I used to +didn't ask folks no diffrunce. I worked right long.</p> + +<p>"I gets commodities wid this old woman. I come here to build her fires +and see after er. I don't git no check."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DudleyWade"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wade Dudley, Moro, Ark.<br> +Age: 73</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Bill Kidd and Miss Nancy Kidd owned my parents. I was born close to +Okalona, Chickasha County, Mississippi, about the last year of the Civil +War. Mr. Bill was Miss Nancy's boy. He was a nigger trader. They said +the overseers treated em pretty rough. They made em work in nearly a +run. When Miss Nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got +down pretty low. He married. Course I knowd em. I been through his +house. He had a fine house. My mother said she was born in Virginia. She +belong to Addison and Duley. Her mother come wid her. They sold them but +didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. She walked or come +in a ox wagon part of the way. She was with a <u>drove</u>. My father come +from North Carolina. His father was free. My father weighed out rations. +He was bright color. He worked round the house and then durin' the war +he run a refugee wagon. The Yankees got men, mules, meat from Mr. Bill +Kidd. My father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one +place to another to keep the Yankees from starving em all to death. My +mother had nine boys. They all belong to Mr. Miller. He died, his widow +married Mr. Owen then Mr. Owen sold them to Mrs. Kidd. That was where +they was freed. My parents stayed about Mrs. Kidd's till she died. They +worked for a third some of the time, I don't know how long. When I was +a boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the +government was going to give em something. I was ten years old when they +left Mrs. Kidd's. They thought the government was going to give em 40 +acres and a mule or some kind of a start. I don't know where they got +the notion. My father voted down in Mississippi. I vote. I was working +in the car shops in St. Louis in 1923. Me and my wife both voted then. I +worked there two years. I come back to Arkansas where I could farm. The +land was better here than in Mississippi. I walked part of the way and +rode part of the way when I come here from Mississippi. I vote a +Republican ticket. Bout all I owns is two little pigs and a few +chickens. I did have a spring garden. We work in the field and make a +little to eat and wear.</p> + +<p>"I find the present times is hard for old folks. Some young folks is +doing well I guess. They look like it. I made application twice for help +but I ain't never got on. I don't know what to think bout the young +folks. If they can get a living they have a good time. They don't worry +bout the future. A little money don't buy nothin' much now. It seem like +everything is to buy. Money is hard to get."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DukeIsabella"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Isabella Duke<br> + Little Rock, Arkansas (towards Benton)<br> + Visiting in Hazen<br> +Age: 62</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father Wore a Bonnet]</b></p> + +<p>"My own dear mother was born at Faithville, Alabama. She belong to Sam +Norse. His wife was Mistress Mai Jane. They moved to Little Rock years +after my mother had come there. After seberal months they got trace of +one another. I seed two of the Norse girls and a boy. Master Norse was a +farmer in Alabama. Mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. She was a +field hand. She had a tough time during slavery.</p> + +<p>"Pa said he had a good time. 'Bout all he ever done was put on old +mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. He built and +chunked up the fires. Old mistress raised him and he had to wear a +bonnet. He was real light. He said the worse whoopings he ever got was +when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. The hands +on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'Old mis' thinks +he's white sure as de worl'.' The hands on the place sent him to the big +house squalling many a time.</p> + +<p>"After he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. He was part +French. He talked Frenchy and acted Frenchy. Every one who knowd him in +Little Rock called him Pa Frazier and called my mother Ma Frazier, but +she was dark. Pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he +didn't. She raised him about like her own boy.</p> + +<p>"Mother had a hard time. Alex Norse bought my mother and a small brother +from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years +old. Her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. +But there had been an older boy sold to some folks near Norse's place +before she was sold. The brother that was two years old died. There were +other older children sold. My mother never saw her mother after she was +sold. She heard from her mother in 1910. She was then one hundred and +one years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. Her baby boy +six months old when mother was sold come to visit us. Mother wanted to +go back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. Mother had +good sight when she died in 1920. She was eighty-seven years old and +didn't have to wear glasses to see. Mother's father was on another +place. He was said to be part or all Indian.</p> + +<p>"Mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. Her older +brother John lived on a place close to the Norse place. John told the +peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. But John was the one +got the goods mind out. The peddler reported it to Master Norse. He give +my mother a terrible beating. After that it come out on John. He had +stole the piece of cloth. John then took sick, lay sick a long time. +Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh John. She knowd when he died and +the day he was to be buried. Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh +there, not even look like she wanted to cry.</p> + +<p>"Mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. Then after +freedom she married my father. My parents named Clara and George +Frazier. She had twelve children. Pa was a cripple man. He was a +soldier. He said he never was shot and never shot no one. He was on a +horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the +shooting) all time. A horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. +After that he limped. He drew a pension. I limps but I'm better as I got +grown. I'm marked after him. One of my children I named after him what +died was cripple like him. My little George died when he was ten. He was +marked at birth after his grandpa. I had ten, jus' got five living +children.</p> + +<p>"My husband's father's father was in the Civil War. He didn't want to go +out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his +fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. His eye went out. He +hurt it too near the sight. He said he was sorry the rest of his life he +done that. He got a pension too. He was blind and always was sorry for +his disobedience. He said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then +as go into the battlefield.</p> + +<p>"In some ways times is better. People are no better. Children jus' +growing up wild. Their education is of the head and not their heart and +hands.</p> + +<p>"I was raised around Little Rock is about right. I gets a pension. I'm +sixty-two years old but I was down sick with nerve trouble several +years. I'm better now. I've been gradually coming on up for over a year +now.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ernest Harper of Little Rock takes out truckloads of black folks to +work on his place in the country every day. They can get work that way +if they can work."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DukesWash"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: "Wash" Dukes<br> + 2217 E. Barraque <br> + Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 83</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, Wash Dukes is my name. My mother liked Washington so well, she +named me General Washington Dukes, but I said my name was Wash Dukes. +I'm the oldest one and I'm still here. Me? I was born in the state of +Georgia, Howson County. Perry, Georgia was my closest place. I was born +and raised on the Riggins place. I was born in 1855, you understand. The +first day of March is my birthday. We had it on the Bible, four boys and +four girls, and I was the oldest. House caught fire and burned up the +Bible, but I always say I'm as old as a hoss.</p> + +<p>"I can't see as good as I used to—gettin' too old, I reckon.</p> + +<p>"Old master and mistis was good to us.</p> + +<p>"My mother plowed just like a man. Had a little black mule named Mollie +and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee.</p> + +<p>"Old master was a long tall man with black hair.</p> + +<p>"You know I was here cause I remember when Lincoln was elected +president. He run against George Washington.</p> + +<p>"I seen the Yankees but I never talked to em. I was scared of em. Had +them muskets with a spear on the end. They give my uncle a hoss. When it +thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance—thought twas +a battle. And when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on +him. I say, 'Where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'Yankees give him +to me.'</p> + +<p>"I know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. I guess they +shot his hoss. He had plenty money. I tried to get him to give me some +but he wouldn't give me a bit.</p> + +<p>"At Oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. They was a +little stream run through it and the Rebels pizened it and killed a lot +of em.</p> + +<p>"I was so crazy when I was young. I know one time mama sent me to town +to get a dress pattern—ten yards. She say, 'Now, Wash, when you go +across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', +but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' But I say, 'I won't hear it.' I +went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'You done been to +town already?' I said, 'Yes, here's your dress pattern.' I went through +there ninety to nothin'. I went so fast my heart hurt me.</p> + +<p>"In slave times I remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you +had to have a pass. Paddyrollers nearly got me one night. I was on a +hoss. They was shootin' at me. I know the hoss was just stretched out +and I was layin' right down on his neck.</p> + +<p>"I stayed in Georgia till '74. I heared em say the cotton grow so big +here in Arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. I know when I +got here they was havin' that Brooks-Baxter war in Little Rock. I say, +'Press me into the war.' Man say, 'I ain't goin' press no boys.' I say, +'Give me a gun, I can kill em.' I wanted to fight.</p> + +<p>"I tell you where I voted—colored folks don't vote now—it was when I +was on the Davis place. I voted once or twice since I been up here. I +called myself votin' Republican. I member since I been up here you know +they had a colored man in the courthouse. When they had a grand jury +they had em mixed, some colored and some white. I say now they ain't got +no privilege. If they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes.</p> + +<p>"Up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they +got a 'tition between em.</p> + +<p>"When I first went to farmin' I rented the land and the cotton was all +mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'.</p> + +<p>"If I keep a livin', I'm goin' away from here. I'm goin' up north. I +won't go fore it gets warm though. I seen the snow knee deep in +Cleveland, Ohio.</p> + +<p>"I was workin' up north once. I had a pretty good job in Detroit doin' +piece work, and doin' well, but I come back here cause my wife's mother +was too old to move. If I had stayed I might have done well.</p> + +<p>"I own this property but I'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes.</p> + +<p>"I got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' +my mouth. None of em has ever give me a dime in their life. This younger +generation is goin' to nothin'. They got a good education. I got a boy +can write six different kinds a hands. Write enough to get in the pen. +I got him pardoned and he's in Philadelphia now. Never sends me a dime.</p> + +<p>"I never went to any school but night school a little. I was the oldest +and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones.</p> + +<p>"I preach sometimes. I'm not ordained—I'm a floor preacher, just stands +in front of the altar."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunnLizzie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lizzie Dunn, Clarendon, Arkansas<br> +Age: 88</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Hernando, Mississippi. My parents was Cassie +Gillahm and Ely Gillahm. My master was John Gillahm. I fell to John +Gillahm and Tim bought me from him so I could be with my mother. I was a +young baby. Bill Gillahm was our old master. He might had a big farm but +I was raised on a small farm. White folks raised me. They put me to +sewing young. I sewed with my fingers. I could sew mighty nice. My +mistress had a machine she screwed on a table.</p> + +<p>"All the Gillahms went to Louisiana in war time and left the women with +youngest white master. They was trying to keep their slaves from +scattering. They were so sure that the War would be lost.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt +them. They et them out time and ag'in. I seen the Yankees every day. I +seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. The sound was like eternity +had turned loose. Everything shook like earthquakes day and night. The +light was bright and red and smoke terrible.</p> + +<p>"Mother cooked and we et from our master's table.</p> + +<p>"We was all scared when the War was on and glad it was over. Mama died +at the close. Me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of +cotton in one year.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. We all cried. +Miss Mollie was next to our own mother. She raised us. We kept on their +place.</p> + +<p>"I cooked for Joe Campbell at Forrest City. He had one boy I help to +raise. They think well of me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Very light mulatto. Bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. Had +been alone all day except when Home Aid girls bathed and cleaned her +bed. She is paralyzed. She said she was hungry.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunneNellie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Nellie Dunne<br> + 3900 W. Sixth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I was slavery born but free raised. I was half as big as I +is now. (She is not much over four feet tall—ed.) Born in Silver Creek, +Mississippi. Yes ma'am. They give ever'body on the place their ages but +mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so I don't know what year +I was born.</p> + +<p>"Cy Magby—mama was under his control. He would carry us over to the +white folks' house every morning to see Miss Becky. When old master come +after us, he'd say, 'What you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'One-two-three.' +Then we'd go over to old Mis' and courtesy and say, 'Good morning, Miss +Becky; good morning, Mars Albert; good morning, Mars Wardly.' They was +just little old kids but we had to call 'em Mars.</p> + +<p>"What I know I'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no +tale.</p> + +<p>"I 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next +year, and that year we got free. My mother shouted, 'Now I ain't lyin' +'bout dat.' I sure 'member when they sot the people free. They was just +ready to blow the folks out to the field. I 'member old Mose would blow +the bugle and he could <u>blow</u> that bugle. If you wasn't in, you better +get in. Yes ma'am! The day freedom come, I know Mose was just ready to +blow the bugle when the Yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. +They knowed it was all over then. That ain't no joke.</p> + +<p>"I was a full grown woman then I come to Arkansas; I wasn't no baby.</p> + +<p>"I went to school one month in my life. That was in Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My Joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. He went up +here to that Branch Normal. That boy had good learnin'. He could a +learnt me but he was too high tempered. If I missed a word he would be +so crabb'y. So one night I throwed the book across the room and said, +'You don't need try to learn me no more.'"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunwoodyWilliamL"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: William L. Dunwoody<br> + 2116 W. 24th Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: About 98</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Remembers Jeff Davis]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in the year 1840.</p> + +<p>"My father was killed in the Civil War when they taken South Carolina. +His name was Charles Dunwoody. My mother's name was Mary Dunwoody. My +father was a free man and my mother was a slave. When he courted and +married her he took the name of Dunwoody.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Houses</b></p> + +<p>"Ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up +and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were +working? They'd cut down a tree. Then they'd line it—fasten a piece of +twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and +mark the log. Then they'd score it with axes. Then the hewers would come +along and hew the log. Sometimes they could hew it so straight you +couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. Where they didn't +take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a +little shack for the men to sleep in.</p> + +<p>"Just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a +log.</p> + +<p>"To make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you +put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. When you get +them in, lay the planks to walk on. Then they put on the first log. You +notch it. To make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half +first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough +for shingles. Then you would saw the shingles off. They had plenty of +time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"The slaves ate just what the master ate. They ate the same on my +master's place. All people didn't farm alike. Some just raised cotton +and corn. Some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. My +old master raised corn, potatoes—Irish and sweet—, goober peas +(peanuts), rye, and wheat, and I can't remember what else. That's in the +eating line. He had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, +ducks. That is all I can remember in the eating line. My old master's +slaves et anything he raised.</p> + +<p>"He would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. One of +them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. You know flour +seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. You get all that from the +wheat. Buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. The wagons came +back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. The old man had six +wheat barns to keep the wheat in.</p> + +<p>"All the slaves ate together. They had a cook special for them. This +cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. Two or three +women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel +now. All the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave +them. It was one thing one time and another another. The cook gave the +hands anything that was raised on the place. There was one woman in +there cooking that was called 'Mammy' and she seed to all the chilen.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Feeding the Children</b></p> + +<p>"After the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook +would blow a horn. That would be about nine o'clock or eight. All the +children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. Some of them +would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after +themselves. The cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for +breakfast. They ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks.</p> + +<p>"Between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and +the children would come in from play. There would be a large bowl and a +large spoon for each group of larger children. There would be enough +children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. One would +take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his +neighbor. His neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, +and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. Then they would begin +again, and so on until the bowl was empty. If they did not have enough +then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. Most of the time, bread +and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk.</p> + +<p>"There was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in +the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just +like they passed around the big spoon.</p> + +<p>"About two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. Time +the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. +The old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little +pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. They'd call it pepper pot. +Then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. +And it was good.</p> + +<p>"After the large children had et, they would go back to see after the +babies. If they were awake, the large children would put on their +clothes and clean them up. Then where there was a woman who had two or +three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd +give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. +If she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. If she +didn't then they would use anybody's children.</p> + +<p>"About eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not +been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. When a +woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to +work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work +in the evening. She would come in long before sundown. In between times, +the old mammy and the other children would look after them.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>War Memories</b></p> + +<p>"I saw Jeff Davis once. He was one-eyed. He had a glass eye. My old +mistiss had three girls. They got into the buggy and went to see Jeff +Davis when he come through Auburn, Alabama. We were living in Auburn +then. I drove them. Jeff Davis came through first, and then the +Confederate army, and then the Yankees. They didn't come on the same day +but some days apart.</p> + +<p>"The way I happened to see the Yanks was like this. I went to carry some +clothes to my young master. He was a doctor, and was out where they were +drilling the men. I laid down on the carpet in his tent and I heard +music playing 'In Dixie Land I'll take my stand and live and die in +Dixie.' I got up and come out and looked up ever which way but I +couldn't see nothing. I went back again and laid down again in the tent, +and I heard it again. I run out and looked all up and around again, and +I still couldn't see nothin'. That time I looked and saw my young master +talking to another officer—I can't remember his name. My young master +said, 'What you looking for?'</p> + +<p>"I said, 'I'm looking for them angels I hear playing. Don't you hear em +playing Dixie?' The other officer said, 'Celas, you ought to whip that +nigger.' I went back into the tent. My young master said, 'Whip him for +what?' And he said, 'For telling that lie.' My young master said to him +like this, 'He don't tell lies. He heard something somewhere.'</p> + +<p>"Then they got through talking and he come on in and I seed him and +beckoned to him. He came to me and I said, 'Lie down there.' He laid +down and I laid down with him, and he heard it. Then he said, 'Look out +there and tell him to come in.'</p> + +<p>"I called the other officer and he come in. The doctor (that was my +young master) said, 'Lie down there.' When he laid down by my young +master, he heard it too. Then the doctor said to him, 'You said William +was telling a damn lie.' He said, 'I beg your pardon, doctor.'</p> + +<p>"My young master got up and said, 'Where is my spy glasses? Le'me have a +look.' He went out and there was a mountain called the Blue Ridge +Mountain. He looked but he didn't see nothin'. I went out and looked +too. I said, 'Look down the line beside those two big trees,' and I +handed the glasses back to him. He looked and then he hollered, 'My God, +look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. He looked +too. Then the doctor said, 'What are we going to do?' He said, 'I am +goin' to put pickets way out.' He told me to get to my mule. I got. He +put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the +Yanks were coming. You know what 'ma' he was talking about? That was +his wife's mother. We all called her 'mother.'</p> + +<p>"I carried the note. When I got to Mrs. Dobbins' house, I yelled, 'The +Yanks are coming—Yankees, Yankees, Yankees!' She had two boys. They +runned out and said, 'What did you say?'</p> + +<p>"I said, 'Yankees, Yankees!'</p> + +<p>"They said, 'Hell, what could he see?'</p> + +<p>"I come on then and got against Miss Yancy's. She had a son, a man named +Henry Yancy. He had a sore leg. He asked me what I said. I told him that +the Yanks were coming. He called for Henry, a boy that stayed with him, +and had him saddle his horse. Then he got on it and rode up town. When +he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. Did he see +them. He said he didn't see them, that Celas Neal saw them and the +doctor's mother's boy brought the message. Then he taken off.</p> + +<p>"Jeff Davis went on. The Confederates went on. They all went on. Then +the Yanks passed through.</p> + +<p>"The first fight they had there, they cleaned up the Sixty-Ninth Alabama +troops. My young master had been helping drill them. He went on and +overtook the others.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"I am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. I don't know +whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. I can just go +by my mother. After freedom, we came from Auburn, Alabama to Opelika, +Alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough +for what she wanted to do. When she got fixed, she moved then to +Columbus, Georgia. She rented a place from Ned Burns, a policeman. When +that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. Sterling Love +rented a house from the same man. He had four children and they were +going to school and they took me too.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"I fixed up and went to school with them. I didn't get no learning at +all in slavery times.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but I know +this—when they quit fighting, I know the white children called we +little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and +said, 'You all is jus' as free as we is. You ain't got no master and no +mistiss,' and I don't know what they told them at the plantation.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"Right after the War, my mother worked—washed—for an old white man. He +took an interest in me and taught me. I did little things for him. When +he died, I took up the teaching which he had been doing.</p> + +<p>"At first I taught in Columbus, Georgia. By and by, a white man came +along looking for laborers for this part of the country. He said money +grew on bushes out here. He cleaned out the place. All the children and +all the grown folks followed him. Two of my boys came to me and told me +they were coming. We hoboed on freights and walked to Chattanooga, +Tennessee. We stayed there awhile. Then a white man came along getting +laborers. I never kept the year nor nothin'. He brought us to Lonoke +County, and I got work on The Bood Bar Plantation. Squirrels, wild +things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. So you see, the man told the +truth when he said money grew on bushes.</p> + +<p>"I taught and farmed all my life. Farming is the greatest occupation. +It supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. None of +them can live without it.</p> + +<p>"I can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile +and made me a cripple. I'd a been all right if so many of them young +doctors hadn't experimented on me. Then I can't see good out of one eye. +I can't do much now. I don't know why they won't give me a pension."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>William Dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would +be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. But there was one respect +in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed.</p> + +<p>At the close of the first day's interview when I arose to go he said to +me, "Now you got what you want?" I told him yes and that I would be back +for more the next day. Then he said, "Well, if you got what you want, +there's one thing I want you to do for me before you go."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Brother Dunwoody," I said, "I'll be glad to do anything you +want me to do. Just what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I want you to read me what you been writin' there."</p> + +<p>And I read it.</p> + +<p>A little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he +dictated to me. I furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel +for the old man's tobacco.</p> + +<p>The old man got a kick out of the dictation. After the first day, he +became very cautious. He would say, "Now don't write this," and he +wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. Instead, he would make +a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. He +is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in +appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit—mentally.</p> + +<p>He walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. He has +good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EdwardsLucius"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lucius Edwards<br> +Age: 72</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I went to see Lucius Edwards, age seventy-two, twice. He has colitis. He +wouldn't tell me anything. He said he was born in Shreveport, Louisiana +and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised +him. The first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' +owners. The next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were +sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. He told the nurse he had +farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. He was up but wouldn't +tell us anything. He told me, "I don't think I ever voted." We decided +he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ElliottJohn"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: John Elliott <br> +Age: 80<br> +Home: South Border (property of brother's estate)</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>As told by: John Elliott</b></p> + +<p>"No, ma'am. I ain't got no folks. They've all died out. My son, he may +be alive. When I last heard from him, he was in Pine Bluff. But I wrote +down lots of times and nobody can't find him. Brother said, that was +before he died, that I could stay on in the place as long as I lived. +His wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way.</p> + +<p>The comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. I'm expectin' to hear +if I get the pension, Tuesday. No ma'am, I ain't worked in three years. +Yes, ma'am, I was a slave. I was about 8 years old when they mustered +'em out the last time.</p> + +<p>My daddy went along to take care of his young master. He died, and my +daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home.</p> + +<p>You see it was this way. My mother was a run-away slave. She was from, +what's that big state off there—Virginia—yes, ma'am, that's it. There +was a pretty good flock of them. They came into North Carolina—Wayne +County was where John Elliott found them. They was in a pretty bad way. +They didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. +They didn't have nobody to own 'em. They didn't know what to do. My +mother was about 13.</p> + +<p>By some means or other they met up with a man named John Elliott. He was +a teacher. He struck a bargain with them. He pitched in and he bought +200 acres of land. He built a big house for Miss Polly and Bunk and +Margaret. Miss Polly was his sister. And he built cabins for the black +folks.</p> + +<p>And he says 'You stay here, and you take care of Miss Polly and the +children. Now mind, you raise lots to eat. You take care of the place +too. And if anybody bothers you you tell Miss Polly.' My Uncle Mose, he +was the oldest. He was a blacksmith. Jacob was the carpenter. 'Now look +here, Mose,' says Mister John, 'you raise plenty of hogs. Mind you give +all the folks plenty of meat. Then you take the rest to Miss Polly and +let her lock it in the smokehouse.' Miss Polly carried the key, but Mose +was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse.</p> + +<p>They didn't get money to any extreme. But whatever they wanted, Miss +Polly would go along with them and they would buy it. They went to +Goldsboro. That was the biggest town near us. The patrollers never +bothered any of us. Once or twice they tried it. But Miss Polly wrote to +Mr. John. He'd write it all down like it ought to be. Then they didn't +bother us any more.</p> + +<p>There was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. +They never had to go to the hiring ground. Mr. John built a church for +my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. And he +built a school for the children. Some other colored children tried to +come to the school too. They was welcome. But sometimes the white folks +would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried +to come.</p> + +<p>Our folks stayed on and on. Mr. John was off teaching school most of the +time. We stayed on and on. Pretty soon there was about 150-200, of us. +Some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. +Mr. John even put in a mill. A groundhog saw mill, it was. Some white +men put it in. But it was the colored folks who run it. They all stayed +right on on the farm. There wasn't any white folks about at all, except +Miss Polly and Bunk and Margaret.</p> + +<p>No, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. We all stayed +on. We worked the place. And when we got a chance, Mr. John let us hire +out and keep the money. And if the folks wouldn't pay us, Mr. John would +write the Federal and the Federal would see that we got our money for +what we had worked. Mr. John was a mighty good man to us.</p> + +<p>No ma'am. Nobody got discontented for a long time. Then some men come in +and messed them up. Told us that we could make more money other places. +And it was true too—if they had let us get the money. By that time Mr. +John, had died. Bunk had died too, Miss Margaret had grown up and +married. Her husband was managing the farm. He was good, but he wasn't +like Mr. John. So lots of us moved away.</p> + +<p>But about not making money. Take me. I raised 14-16 bales of cotton. The +man who owned the land, I worked on halvers, sold it on the Liverpool +market. But he wouldn't pay me but about 1/3 of what he collected on my +half. And I says to him, 'You gets full price for your half, why can't I +get full price for mine?' And he says, 'It's against the rules.' And I +says, 'It ain't fair! And he says, 'It's the rules.' So after about six +years I quit farming. You can't make no money that way. Yes—you make +it, but you can't get it.</p> + +<p>I went to town at Pine Bluff. There I got to mixing concrete. I made +pretty good at it, too. I stayed on for some years. Then I came to Hot +Springs. My brother was along with me. We both worked and after work we +built a house. It took us four years. But it was a good house. It has +six rooms in it. It makes a good home. My brother had the deed. But his +widow says I can stay on. The folks what lives in the rest of the house +are good to me.</p> + +<p>When I got to Hot Springs I worked mixing concrete. There was lots of +sidewalks being made along about that time. Then I scatter dirt all +around where the court house is now. Then I worked at both of the very +biggest hotels. I washed. I washed cream pitchers—the little ones with +corners that were hard to clean.</p> + +<p>No, I ain't worked in three years. It hard to try to get along. Some +states, they pays good pensions. I can't be here long—don't look like I +can be here long. Seems as if they could take care of me for the few +days I'm going to be on this earth. Seems like they could.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham<br> +Person interviewed: Millie Evans<br> +Age:</h3> +<br> + +<a name="img_ME"></a> + +<center><p> +<img src='images/mevans.jpg' width='230' height='393' alt='MillieEvans'> +</p></center> +<br> +<p>Yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? Well, Miss, I is +one of 'em. Was born in 1849 but I don' know jus' when. My birthday +comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till +bout a hour 'fore I was born. Was born in North Carolina and was a young +lady at the time of surrender.</p> + +<p>I don' 'member ol' master's name; all I 'member is that we call 'em ol' +master an ol' mistress. They had bout a hundred niggers and they was +rich. Master always tended the men and mistress tended to us.</p> + +<p>Ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git +up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. I can +hear hit now. Hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and I can see 'em +now stirrin in Carolina. I git so lonesome when I thinks bout times we +used to have. Twas better livin back yonder than now.</p> + +<p>I stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. My ma had to +work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was +hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. Sometime +she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +They had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. They would +fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' +trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. I +can jus' see myself drinkin' now. Hit was so good. There was so many +black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. Greens was +cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. An' +sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an +we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. When we et our regular meals the +table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on +when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. But we didn' +eat out'n plates. We et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. An' we +had plenty t'eat. Whooo-eee! Jus' plenty t'eat. Ol' master's folks +raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, +eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat.</p> + +<p>Ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy +chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. I can +hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies:</p> + +<pre> +"Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Way beneath the silver shining moon + Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Daddy's little Carolina coons + Now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." +</pre> + +<p>When I got big 'nough I nursed my mistress's baby. When de baby go to +sleep in de evenin' I woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de +cradle an go to sleep. I played a heap when I was little. We played +Susannah Gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an +jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. When I got big 'nough to cook, I +cooked den.</p> + +<p>The kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we +cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. We had swing pots an would swing +'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. We +call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it.</p> + +<p>We had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was Christian +fo'ks an they taught us to be Christianlike too. Ev'y Sunday mornin' ol' +master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an +pray an read de Bible to us all. Ol' master taught us not to be bad; he +taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales +an not to do anythin' that was bad. He said: Yo' will reap what yo' sow, +that you sow it single an' reap double. I learnt that when I was a +little chile an I ain't fo'got it yet. When I got grown I went de +Baptist way. God called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in +de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. On preachin' day ol' +master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him.</p> + +<p>We had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they +does in the bricks t'day.</p> + +<p>Down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. +We didn' have no floors in them cabins. Nice dirt floors was de style +then an we used sage brooms. Took a string an tied the sage together an +had a nice broom out'n that. We would gather broom sage fo' our winter +brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. We kep' our dirt +floors swep' as clean an' white. An our bed was big an tall an had +little beds to push under there. They was all little er nough to go +under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one +an make heaps of room. Our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks +an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good.</p> + +<p>When the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get +a turn of lider knots. I specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. That was +what we use' fo' light. When our fire went out we had no fire. Didn' +know nothin' bout no matches. To start a fire we would take a skillet +lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. Lay de cotton on th' skillet +lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would +come. Sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would +come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine.</p> + +<p>Up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for +lights. We made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. We had +moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to +light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould.</p> + +<p>We use to play at night by moonlight and I can recollec' singin wid the +fiddle. Oh, Lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an I can hear it ringin +now. Sometime we would dance in the moonlight too.</p> + +<p>Ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an +wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. An we knit all the +stockin's we wo'. They made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark +an leaves an things. Dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up +an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit +out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then +take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. Then +rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make.</p> + +<p>I'll tell yo' how to dye. A little beech bark dyes slate color set with +copperas. Hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; +bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. Pine straw dyes purple, +set color with chamber lye. To dye cloth brown we would take de cloth +an put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then +set the color with apple vinegar. An we dyed blue wid indigo an set the +color wid alum.</p> + +<p>We wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our +dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem +petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. They didn' +know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in +dey shirttails. An we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes.</p> + +<p>Master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an +took the hide an tanned it. The way they tanned it was to take red oak +bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. Firs' +he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of +leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with +water. After that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. Then +he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. Then the hide +was put to soak in with the red oak bark. It stayed in the water till +the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it +was a purty tan. It didn' have to soak long. Then he would get his +pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. We called 'em +brogans.</p> + +<p>They planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. When it got ripe they +gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week +then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of +'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother +week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. We let it set +three or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and +the settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. We cut ours in +little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too.</p> + +<p>We made vinegar out of apples. Took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an +put 'em in a sack an let drip. Didn' add no water an when it got through +drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had +some of the bes vinegar ever made.</p> + +<p>We had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. We had a block an +battlin' stick. We put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an +lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out +of 'em. We mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the +bes clo'es lines they was.</p> + +<p>Ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let +it dry an then put it in lasses. After the lasses dripped off then they +roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun 10 or 12 days. It +sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so +yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit.</p> + +<p>The way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet +bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then +we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too.</p> + +<p>When there was distressful news master would ring the bell. When the +niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder +what the trouble was. You'd see 'em stirrin' too. They would always ring +the bell at twelve 'clock. Sometime then they would think it was some +thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they +shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner.</p> + +<p>The reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' +have nothin' to do but save it. They made money an raised ev'ything they +used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. Didn' have no banks in them +days an master buried his money.</p> + +<p>The floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. We always kep' them +scoured good. We didn' know what it was to use soap. We jus' took oak +ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured +with a corn shuck mop. Then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two +times an let it dry. When it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. +To make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it +stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. The +way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. We would get down on +our knees an dry it so dry.</p> + +<p>I 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. +That was after I was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some +cookin. Some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so +we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to +cool an some of 'em stole it. This way old master found out who was doin +the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell.</p> + +<p>All ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a +neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. He would say to the man: +"Do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "Do yo' want this boy?" Then +he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would +hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump +dis broom and he would say: "Dat's yo' wife." Dey called marryin' like +that jumpin the broom.</p> + +<p>Now chile I can't 'member everything I done in them days but we didn' +have ter worry bout nothin. Ol' mistress was the one to worry. Twasn't +then like it is now, no twasn't. We had such a good time an ev'ybody +cried when the Yankees cried out: "Free." Tother niggers say dey had a +hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. If you had a +hard time we don it ourselves.</p> + +<p>Ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' +to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to Arkansas they would +have a chance to keep 'em. So they got on their way. We loaded up our +wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of +horse feed. We traveled bout 15 or 20 miles a day an would stop an camp +at night. We would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. The cows +was drove t'gether. Some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a +time. I mean, dey <u>had</u> a time. While we was on our way ol' master died +an three of the slaves died too. We buried the slaves there but we +camped while ol' master was carried back to North Carolina. When ol' +mistress come back we started on to Arkansas an reached here safe but +when we got here we foun' freedom here too. Ol' mistress begged us to +stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to +Carolina. There wasn' nobody lef' but Miss Nancy an she soon married an +lef' an I los' track of her an Mr. Tom.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMillie2"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Subjects: Customs related to Slavery Time [HW: Ex Slave Story]<br> +Subject: Food—Particular foods typical and characteristic of certain<br> + localities and certain people (negroes) <br> +[Nov 6 1936]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Millie Evans (Negroes pronounce it Irvins)<br> +Place of Residence: By Missouri Pacific Track near MOP Shops<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 87</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of interview.]</p> +<br> + +<p>I wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. I am a slave chile. I am +one of them. I had a gran' time in slavery time. I wuz born wid de white +foks. I stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. I +nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. I churned and sot de table. When de baby +go to sleep in de evenin' I put hit in de cradle. An' I'd lay down by +the cradle and go to sleep. Every evenin' I'd go git <u>lida knots</u>. I +played a lots. I wuz born 1849. We played Susanna Gals, and we just +played jump rope. Jes' we gals did. We played calling' cows. Dey'd come +to us and we run from um. My [TR: 'I' corrected to 'My'] mistess wuz a +millionaire. I went to school a while. I can count only lit bit. One uz +de girl made fun uz me. She kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de +school house. Old log school house. Dey had two big rooms. Ah went to de +ole fokes' church. Young un too. We'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter +church wid ma and pa.</p> + +<p>Our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile I can see +hit now. We et on a loal (oil) table cloth. When dey called us to de +table dey would ring a bell. We didn' eat out uz plates. We et outn +gourds. We all et outn gourds. When I got big nuff ter cook I cooked +den. We had plenty to eat. We raised who-eee plenty meat. We raised our +sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. Who-eee chile we had plenty to +eat. Our mistess had ovah a hunert (100) niggers. Ole moster nevah did +whip none uv us niggers. He tended de men and mistess always tended to +us. I wudden (wasn't) quite grown when I wuz married. We cooked out in +de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). We cooked +greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook +greens. We cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). An +evah thing we had wuz good too. We made our churns in dem days. Made +dem outn cypress.</p> + +<p>Evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "Free." We cried too; we +hated hit so bad. We had such a good time. I is gittin so ole I can't +member so ever' thin' I done. Now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' I +done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. Ole mistress +wuz de one ter worry. Twasn't den like hit is now. No Twasn't. Tother +niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem Yankee cried "Free" but it waz +den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Negro food]</b></p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON PIE</u> Make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take +your persimmons and wash them. Let them be good and ripe. Get the seed +out of them. Don't cook them. Mash them and put cinnamon and spice in +and butter. Sugar to taste. Then roll your dough and put in custard pan, +and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little +sugar on top and bake.</p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON CORNBREAD</u> Sift meal and add your ingredients then your +persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them +and put in and stir well together. Grease pan well and pour in and bake. +Eat with fresh meat.</p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON BEER</u> Gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover +well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about +three days. That makes a nice drink.</p> + +<p>Boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for +the same purpose.</p> + +<p><u>ASH CAKE</u> Two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot +water to make it stick together. Roll out in pones and wrap in a corn +shuck or collard leaves or paper. Lay on hot ashes and cover with hot +ashes and let cook about ten minutes.</p> + +<p><u>CORNBREAD JOHNNY CAKE</u> Two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a +teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. +Add teaspoon of lard. Pour in greased pan and bake.</p> + +<p>[HW: <u>Water</u> or <u>Milk</u> added?]</p> + +<p>(Old Mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four +o'clock in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +Dey had a long trough. Dey kep' hit so clean fur us. Ev'ry evening about +four dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut 100 of us +chilluns. We'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold +our johnny cake in our han's. I can jes see mahself drinkin now. It wus +so good.)</p> + +<p><u>BEEF DUMPLINS</u> Take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and +season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken +dumplins.</p> + +<p>Pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with +meat to season. Season to suit taste. This makes the best vegetable +dish.</p> + +<p><u>POTATO BISCUIT</u> Two cups flour. Two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch +of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well +mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough.</p> + +<p><u>IRISH POTATO PIE</u> Boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well +and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to +suit taste, bake in pie crust. Irish potatoes make a better pie than +sweet potatoes.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMose"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Mose Evans<br> +Home: 451 Walnut <br> +Aged: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>Radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. Ben[TR:?] +Winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in which moaning +trombones predominated.</p> + +<p>At one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "They's +all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. But in this block of +comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of Walnut evidently +there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. A mild prosperity seemed to +pervade everything. The Walnut section is in the "old part of town". +Some of the houses had evidently been built during the 90s; but they +were well kept up and painted.</p> + +<p>There was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for +water. One or two had been simply boarded over. One, a front yard affair +had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. The well had been +filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of +cement. Into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. Even in +January the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming.</p> + +<p>"<u>PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD</u>" admonished the electrified box sign +attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. Its border was of black +wood. The sign itself was of white frosted glass. Letters of the slogan +were in scarlet.</p> + +<p>Next doer was another religious reminder. It was a modest pasteboard +window card and announced Bible Study at 2: P.M. daily.</p> + +<p>Three blocks up Walnut the pavement ends. Beyond that sidewalks too, +listlessly peter out. A young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is +beginning to separate path from street. Houses begin to take on a more +dilapidated appearance. They lean uncertainly.</p> + +<p>A colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly +in the stranger's path and demands, "Is you the investigator? No? Well +who is you looking for? Oh, Mose, he's at his son's. Good thing I +stopped you. Cause you would have gone too far. He's at his son's. His +grandson just done had his tonsils out. He's over there."</p> + +<p>The interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's +house". No Mose wasn't there. He had just left. Maybe he'd gone home. +The de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored +youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. He wore +whip-cord jodphurs—protruding widely on either side of his plump +thighs—and knee high leather riding boots. Plump and smiling, he looked +for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and +blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun.</p> + +<p>The child eyed the interviewer's pencil. Since, she was carrying a +"spare" she offered it to him. He smiled and accepted with alacrity. +Later when the interviewer had found Mose and brought him back to the +house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil +and showed it with heartfelt pride.</p> + +<p>On up the street went the interviewer. Arrived at 451 she approached the +house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. +Nobody answered her knock. Two blocks back toward town she was stopped +by the same woman who had accosted her before. "Did you find him?" "No," +replied the interviewer. "Well he's somewhere on the street. He's +a'carrying a cane. You just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him +if he ain't Mose Evans." The advice was sound/ The first elderly man +coming north was carrying a cane. He was Mose Evans.</p> + +<p>"So you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "Mose, you +ought of asked her—when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't +looking for you." "Maybe," said Mose, "but then I didn't know, and I +don't want to butt into other folks business" "Huh," snorted the woman, +"spose I hadn't butted in. Where'd you be. You wouldn't have found her +and she wouldn't have found you!" Both Mose and the interviewer wore +forced to admit that she was right—but from Mose's disapproving +expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am. I ain't been here long. Just about two weeks. You want to +talk to me. Let's go on up to my son's house. We'll stop there. I's +tired. Seems like I get tired awful quick. Had to go down to the store +to get some coal." (He was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon +capacity. "Coal" was probably charcoal—much favored among wash women +for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) My wife +has to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood.</p> + +<p>Did I say I'd been here two weeks? I meant I has been here two years. +I's lived all over. Came here from Woodruff county. Yes, ma'am. I can't +work no more. My wife she gets 2-3 days washing a week. Then she gets +some bundles to bring home and do. She got sick, same as me and her +brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. They provided +for me too. They took good care of us. Then one of 'em got sick himself, +and the other he lost out in a money way. So she's a washing.</p> + +<p>Can't remember very much about the war. I was just a little thing when +it was a'going on. Was hardly any size at all. I does remember standing +in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. Men +dressed in blue they was. Wasn't afraid of them—didn't have sense +enough to be, I guess. Looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue +that way. And they was riding fine horses. Made a big noise they did. +They was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. I won't never forgot +it.</p> + +<p>Guess Confederates passed too. I was too small to know about them. They +was all soldiers to me. Folks told me they was on their way to +Vicksburg. I heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around +Vicksburg.</p> + +<p>I was born on a place which belonged to a man named Thad Shackleford. +Don't remember him very well. They took me away from his place when I +was little. But I never did hear my mother say anything against him. +Awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. I had lots of half sisters—5 +of 'em and 6 half brothers. There was just one full sister.</p> + +<p>Farm? Not until I was 14. Just stayed around the house and nursed the +children. Nursed lots of children. Took care of them and amused them. +Played with them. But for four, five, maybe six years I helped my mother +farm. Went out into the fields and worked.</p> + +<p>Then I went to myself. Yes, ma'am, I share cropped. Share cropped up +until about 1908. By that time I had got together a pretty good lot and +bought stock and tools. Then I rented—rented thirds and fourths. I +liked that way lots best. It's best if a body can get himself stocked +up.</p> + +<p>But let me tell you, ma'am. It's a lot easier to get behind than it is +to catch up. Falling behind is easy. Catching up ain't so simple. I sort +of lost my health and then I had to sell my stock. After that it was +share-crop again. I share cropped right up until 1935. That's when we +come here.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. Longest what I worked for any man was +12 years. He was J.W. Hill, the best man I ever did see. Once I rented +from a colored man, but he died. Was with him 6 years before another man +came into possession. Rented from Cockerill 4 years and Doss 2 years, +and Doyle 3 years. But now I's like an old shoe. I's worn out. Been a +good, faithful servant, but I's wore out."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FairleyRachel"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: S.S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Rachel Fairley<br> + 1600 Brown St.<br> + Little Rock, Ark.<br> +Age: 75 <br> +Occupation: General Housework<br> +[Jan 23 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Mother Stole to Get Food]</b></p> + +<p>"My mother said she had a hard time getting through. Had to steal half +the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. It was +a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. She would set it +aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to +pray.</p> + +<p>"My father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and +sold at Charlottesville, North Carolina. My mother was sold on the same +day. They sold her to a man named Paul Barringer, and refugeed her to a +place near Sardis, Mississippi, to the cotton country. Before he was +sold, my father belonged to the Greers in Charlottesville. I don't know +who owned my mother. I never did hear her say how old she was when she +was sold. They was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. One +would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest +bid would get the slave.</p> + +<p>"Mother did not go clear to Sardis but to a plantation ten miles from +Sardis. This was before freedom. We stayed there till two years after +freedom.</p> + +<p>"I remember when my mother moved. I had never seen a wagon before. I was +so uplifted, I had to walk a while and ride a while. We'd never seen a +wagon nor a train neither. McKeever was the place where she moved from +when she moved to Sardis.</p> + +<p>"The first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. +The next year she moved. That was the year she moved to Sardis itself. +There she made sharecrops. That was the third year after freedom. That +is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. I don't know what +their share was. But I guess it was half to them and half to him.</p> + +<p>"I do general housework. I been doing that for eleven years. I never +have any trouble. Whenever I want to I get off.</p> + +<p>"The slaves used to live in one room log huts. They cooked out in the +yard. I have seen them huts many a time. They had to cook out in the +yard in the summertime. If they didn't, they'd burn up.</p> + +<p>"My mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. He +didn't know he'd been seen. She didn't know where he went, but she seen +the direction he took. Her master was Paul Barringer. That was on +McKeever Creek near Sardis. It was near the end of the war. I never +heard my mother say what became of the money, but I guess he got it back +after everything was over.</p> + +<p>"They had to work all the time. When they went to church on Sunday, they +would tell them not to steal their master's things. How could they help +but steal when they didn't have nothin'? You didn't eat if you didn't +steal.</p> + +<p>"My mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves +Barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where +they come from. Lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at +their homes. They would go back if they were sold away. It took a long +time because they walked. When my mother and father were sold they had +to walk. It took them six weeks,—from Charlottesville, North Carolina +to Sardis, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"In Sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the +field. Master was mean and hard. Whipped them lots. Mother had to pick +cotton all day every day and Sunday. When I first seen my father to +remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for +special days. We called it a ham-beater. It had pieces that would make +it set on you like a basque. He wore a high beaver hat too. That was his +uniform. Whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it.</p> + +<p>"My mother tickled me. She said she went out one day and kill a +billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like +the rest of them. My mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because +they dried them and give them to them in slave time. You had to eat what +you could git then.</p> + +<p>"My mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother were not exactly sold to Mississippi. My father +was but my mother wasn't. When Paul Barringer lost all of his niggers, +what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of +them. I don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. My father +went alone, but all my mother's people were taken—four sisters, and +three brothers. They were all grown when I first seen them. I never seen +my mother's father at all.</p> + +<p>"There was a world of yellow people then. My mother said her sister had +two yellow children; they were her master's. I know of plenty of light +people who were living at that time.</p> + +<p>"My mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. They were +taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their +sister and brother (white). All the orphans were taken and given back to +the people what owned them when freedom came. My mother's sister was +refugeed back to Charlottesville, North Carolina before the end of the +war so that she wouldn't get free. After the war they were set free out +there and never came back. The children were with my mother and they had +to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. Then they +would be free. They wouldn't give them any schooling at all. They were +as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored +woman. That made the difference.</p> + +<p>"My mother said that the Ku Klux used to come through ridin' horses. I +don't remember her saying what they wore.</p> + +<p>"When the Yanks came through, they took everything. Made the niggers all +leave. My mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing +everything, even the babies.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Sardis, Mississippi, Panolun (?) County, April 10, 1863."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FakesPauline"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Pauline Fakes, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My mama come from Virginia. Her owner was Moses Crawford. He had a +bachelor son Prior Crawford. My papa's owner was Step Crawford. They was +in Arkansas during the Civil War I know because I was born close to +Cotton Plant. Papa's folks had lived in Tennessee but grandma and +grandpa was raised in Indian Nation; they called it Alabama afterwards. +She was a full blooded Creek and he was part Cherokee.</p> + +<p>"Mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. They took them to Texas. +She never seen one of them again. Mama had scrofula and her owners let a +woman take her North. She cured her. She wanted to keep her but they +didn't let her. They kept her till freedom.</p> + +<p>"The owners told them they was free. Stayed on a while. We never have +got very fur off from where I was born. I had thirteen children of my +own. Three living now.</p> + +<p>"I know times was mighty hard when I was a child. Biscuits was big +rarity as cake is now. I don't have much cake. Little cornbread and +meat, molasses and proud to get that. We didn't have much clothes but we +had plenty wood. We had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all +night. They saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. In the +coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and +pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle +of the room. It be snow and ice all over the ground. I got wood many a +day. Yes, I plowed many a day. I done all kinds of field work, cook and +wash and iron. Mid-wife is my talent. I been big and strong and work was +the least of my worries.</p> + +<p>"I can barely recollect seeing soldiers. They must have just got home +from the war. The shiny buttons is about all I can recollect.</p> + +<p>"I recollect the Ku Klux. They rode at night, some dressed in dark and +some white clothes. They come through our house one time. I got under +the cover. I was scared nearly to death.</p> + +<p>"Near Cotton Plant there was a log cabin (Methodist?) church—Negro +church two and one-half miles northeast direction. They had a Negro +preacher. When they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the +road. White people lived close to the road. The Ku Klux planned to break +it up. They went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up +and scattered their seats. One was killed. He may have acted 'smarty' or +saucy or he may have been the leader."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FannenMattie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mattie Fannen, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 87</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My mother was named Silla Davis. She had four children. Her owners was +Jep Davis and Tempy Davis. She died and he married her niece, Sally +Davis. He had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his +second wife. Wasn't that a plenty children doe? Mama was a field hand. +She ploughed in slavery right along. My father was named Bob Lee (Lea?). +I never knowed much about him. His folks moved and took him off. Mother +was sold but not on a stand. She belong to Bill Davis. He was Jep's +brother. They said Bill Davis drunk up mother and all her children. He +sold Aunt Serina to a man in Elberton, Georgia and all he had left then +was grandma. He couldn't sell her. She was too old and Aunt Kizziah and +Aunt Martha lived with her. Mother was born in Georgia. When a child was +sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. It +was bad as deaths in the families. Jep Davis had forty or fifty niggers. +He had six boys. They all had to go to war. They was in the Confederate +army. Billy Davis was his daddy's young overseer. He had been raised up +with some of the nigger boys then come over them. They wouldn't mind his +orders. He tried to whoop them. They'd fight him back, choke him, throw +him on the ground. Then the old man would whoop them. We all wanted 'em +all to come home but Billy. Billy Davis got killed at war and never come +home. His sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him +on the place would kill him and wanted Jep to make him stay at the +house. Jep Davis was a good master and he was bad enough.</p> + +<p>"I seen mama whooped. They tied some of them to trees and some they +just whooped across their backs. It was 'cordin' to what they had done. +Some of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. The +other niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his +young niggers to his first set of children. His young wife cried till he +destroyed it. She said, 'You kept the old ones here and me and my +children won't have nothing.' I was willed to Miss Lizzie. They was +fixing the wagon for me to go in. I wanted to go to Jefferson on the +train. I told them so. I wanted to ride on the train. I never did get +off. His young wife started crying. Miss Lizzie lived with her brother. +They didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. They +kept a fuss up with her and all left. Then he divided the land.</p> + +<p>"I nursed for his second wife, Miss Sally. I was five years or little +older when I started nursing for his first wife. I nursed for a long +time. I don't like children yet on that account. I got so many whoopings +on their blame. I'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and +rocking 'em. I got tired of 'em all the time.</p> + +<p>"Me and Zack (white) was raised up together. He was one of the old set +of children. The baby in that set. I'd set on the log across a branch +and wait till Zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy +and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. One morning the sun was +so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. He never +brought me no biscuit. He had just got up. I was five years old. I said +I was glad. Emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off +the log and made my nose bleed. I cried and run home. My mother picked +me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. I told her +I was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. +They took me to the grave. She wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at +the side of the house off a piece. She was buried there first. There was +a big crowd. I kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me +back by my dress tail. She was buried in a metal coffin. Susan was the +oldest girl. She fainted. They took her to a carriage standing close. +The whole family was buried there. Took back from places they lived to +be buried in that graveyard. That was close to Nuna, Georgia.</p> + +<p>"When the old man Jep Davis married again, Miss Sally must have me sleep +in her room on a pallet so I could tend to the baby. The older girls +would pick me and I would tell them what they talked about after they +went to bed.</p> + +<p>"When the War come on, the boys and Jep Davis dug a hole in the +henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. They was there when the +War ended. They had some jewelry. I don't know where they kept it. They +sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the +Yankees. Not a one of us ever run off. Not a one ever went to the War or +the Yankees. Jep Davis had been to get his mail on his horse. A Yankee +come up at the gate walking and took it. He asked for the bridle and +saddle but the Yankee laughed in his face. We never seen our horse no +more. 'Babe' we called her. She was a pretty horse and so gentle we +could ride her bare back.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis was religious. They had preaching at his church, the Baptist +church at Nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher +preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. He'd go to +prayer meeting on Wednesday night and Thursday night he would come to +the boys' house and read the Bible to his own niggers. We would sing and +pray. He never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better +ketch 'em dancing. He'd whoop every one of 'em.</p> + +<p>"I learned same of the ABC's in playing ball with the white children. +We never had a book. I never went to school in my life. The boys not +married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. They got +cooked fer up at Jep Davises house till they got a house built for them +and give them a wife. Maybe they would see a woman on another plantation +and claim her. Then the master had to talk that over.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Jep Davis had been to town. He got a notice to free his niggers. He had +the farm bell rung. We all went out up to his house. He said, 'You are +free. Go. If you can't get along come back and do like you been.' They +left. Went hog wild. I was the last one to go. He said, 'Mattie, come +back if you find you can't make it.' I had a hard time for a fact. I had +a sister married in Atlanta. I went with them in 1866. I married to +better my living. We quit. I met a man come to Arkansas and sent back +for me when he got the money. I was in Atlanta thirty years. I was +married in Arkansas in 1895. Been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back +in Georgia. My husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. He left +me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (She has an +income of forty dollars per month—rent on houses.) "He was a hard +worker.</p> + +<p>"I'd go to see my white folks after freedom. I loved 'em all.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis died out of the church. Him and Jack (Robertson, Robson, +Robinson?) was deacons together in the Baptist church and their farms +j'ined. Jack had two boys, John and Ed. Ed was killed by Hinton Right +over his sister Mollie. Then she married Hinton Right. The quarrel +started at La Grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church +yard at the Baptist church at Nuna, Georgia. Jack was mean. He had a lot +of Negroes and a big farm. He had two boys and four girls. Jennie died. +Florence and Lula, old maids; John and Ed and Mollie.</p> + +<p>"Jack caused Jep Davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after +freedom he didn't believe in slavery. He always thought they ought to be +free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living +easy. He was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. +When Jack was sick, Jep went to see him. He wouldn't let Jep come in to +see him and he died.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the field, washed and ironed. I never cooked but a little. +In Atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box I started +cooking for a woman. She was upstairs. Had a small baby a few days old. +I didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. It +cried and fretted till I got dinner done. I took it and got it to sleep. +She sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have +a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. She was a Yankee +woman. I left and I never cooked out no more.</p> + +<p>"I never had no dealings with the Ku Klux. I was in Atlanta then. I +heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in +the country where she was. Seem like they was mad 'cause they was free.</p> + +<p>"Times was hard after freedom. Times is hard now for some folks. Times +running away with the white and black races both. They stop thinking. +The thing what they call education done ruined this country. The folks +quit work and living on education. I learned to work. My husband was a +good shoemaker. We laid up all we could. I got seven houses renting +around here. I gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. It +do very well, I reckon."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FarmerRobert"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person Interviewed: Robert Farmer<br> + 1612 Battery Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 84</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Tale of a "Nigger Ruler"]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in North Carolina. I can't tell when. Our names are in the +Bible, and it was burnt up. My old master died and my young master was +to go to the war, the Civil War, in the next draft. I remember that they +said, 'If them others had shot right, I wouldn't have had to go.'</p> + +<p>"He talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting +at the Yankees. Of course it wasn't that way. But he said that they +didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. They all +came back, and none of them had shot right. One sick (he died after he +got home); the other two come back all right.</p> + +<p>"When my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a +little while. When he left he said about me, 'Don't let anybody whip him +while I am gone. If they do, I'll bury them when I come back.' He was a +good man and a good master.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Brutal Beating</b></p> + +<p>"There were some that weren't so good. One of his brothers was a real +bad man. They called him a nigger ruler. He used to go from place to +place and handle niggers. He carried his cowhide with him when he went. +My master said, 'A man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and +butcher him up.' He said, 'If they need a whipping, whip them, but don't +beat them so they can't work.' He never whipped his slaves. No man ever +hit me a lick but my father. No man. I ain't got no scar on me nowhere.</p> + +<p>"My young master was named Wiley Grave Sharpe. He drawed me when my old +master, Teed Sharpe, Sr., died. He's been dead a long time. Teed Sharpe, +Jr., Gibb Sharpe, and Sam Sharpe were brothers to Wiley Grave Sharpe. +Teed Sharpe, Jr. was the brutal one. He was the nigger ruler that did +the beating up and the killing of Negroes.</p> + +<p>"He beat my brother Peter once till Peter dropped dead. Wiley Graves who +drawed me said, 'My brother shouldn't have done that.' But my brother +didn't belong to Wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. That was +Teed, Jr.'s name. He got big money and was called a nigger ruler. Teed +had said he was going to make Peter do as much work as my sister did. +She was a young girl—but grown and stout and strong. In the olden time, +you could see women stout and strong like that. They don't grow that way +now. Peter couldn't keep up with her. He wasn't old enough nor strong +enough then. He would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my +sister had. Every time that Peter would fall behind my sister, Teed +would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and +stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and +down his back. He would split it open with every stroke and the blood +would run down. The last time he turned Peter loose, Peter went to my +sister and asked her for a rag. She thought he just wanted to wipe the +blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell +down dead across the potato ridges.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"Mary Farmer was my mother. William Farmer was my father. I never knowed +any of my father's 'lations except one sister. She would come to see us +sometimes.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was Isaac Farmer. My mother didn't 'long to him. +She 'longed to the Sharpes. Just what her master's name was I don't +recollect. She lived five miles from my father. He went to see her every +Thursday night. That was his regular night to go. He would go Saturday +night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they +would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. But they +never did whip my father because they never could catch him. He was one +of those who ran.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother had ten children. I don't know whether any of them +is living now or not besides myself.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"Freedom was a singsong every which way when I knowed anything. My +father's master, Isaac Farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. +He told the slaves all of them were free. He told his brother's slaves, +'After you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here +because I am able to take care of them.' He had a smokehouse full of +meat and other things. He told my father that after this crop is +gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (Isaac Farmer), because +Sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. +So my father brought us to Isaac Farmer's farm.</p> + +<p>"I never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. I +was large enough to take water in the field but I didn't have to do +that. There were so many of them there that one could do what he +pleased. The next year I worked because they had thinned out. The first +year come during the surrender. They cared for Sharpe's crop. The next +year they took Isaac Farmer's invitation and stayed with him. The third +year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and +brothers and sisters stayed with Isaac Farmer for awhile.</p> + +<p>"As time went on, I farmed with success myself.</p> + +<p>"I stayed in North Carolina a long time. I had a wife and children in +North Carolina. Later on, I went to Louisiana and stayed there one year +and made one crop. Then I came here with my wife and children. I don't +know how long I been here. We came up here when the high water was. That +was the biggest high water they had. I worked on the levee and farmed. +The first year we came here, we farmed. I lived out in the country then.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"While I was able to work, I stayed on the farm. I had forty acres. But +after my children left me and my wife died, I thought it would be better +to sell out and pay my debts. Pay your honest debts and everything will +be lovely. Now I manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and +I get help from the government. I can't read and I can't write.</p> + +<p>"I went down yonder to get help from the county. At last they taken me +on and I got groceries three times. After that I couldn't get nothin' no +more. They said my papers were made out incorrectly. I asked the worker +to make it out correctly because I couldn't read and write. She said she +wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. She made it out for me. +A short time later, the postman brought me a letter. I handed it to a +lady to read for me, and she said, 'This is your old age check.' You +don't know how much help that thing's been to me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux</b></p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people pass by me and I don't know nothing about 'em. I know +they are quite indifferent from what I was. When I come old enough to +want a wife, I knowed what sort of wife I wanted. God blessed me and I +happened to run up on the kind of woman I wanted. I made an engagement +with her, and I didn't have a dollar. I was engaged to marry for three +years before I married. I knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the +way she was raised and I didn't have nothing. It looked curious for me +to want that woman. I wanted her, and I had sense. I had sense enough to +know how I must carry myself to get her. Now it looks like a young man +wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one.</p> + +<p>"My youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. He took up with what +I call a whiskey head. He's been swapping horses ever since. That is the +baby boy of mine. You know good and well a man couldn't get along that +way.</p> + +<p>"These young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then +that one over there for a few days. It shows like he wants them all.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Voting</b></p> + +<p>"I have voted. I don't now. Since I lost out, I ain't voted.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Houses</b></p> + +<p>"You might say slave houses was nothing. Log houses, made out of logs +and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. Chimneys made with +sticks and mud. Two rooms in our house. No windows, just cracks. All +furniture was homemade. Take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put +a cross piece in it and you had a bed.</p> + +<p>"They made stools for chairs and made tables too. Food was kept in the +smokehouse. For rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, +and so much meal. No sugar and no coffee. They used to make tea out of +sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Marriages</b></p> + +<p>"I been married twice. The first time was out in North Carolina. The +last time was in this city. I didn't stay with that last woman but four +days. It took me just that long to find out who and who. She didn't want +me; she wanted my money, and she thought I had more of it than I did. +She got all I had though. I had just fifty dollars and she got that. I +am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as I can get divorced.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Memories of Work on Plantation</b></p> + +<p>"My mother used to milk and I used to rope the calves and hold them so +that they couldn't get to the cow. I had to keep the horses in the +canebrake so they could eat. That was to keep the soldiers from getting +a fine black horse the master had.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Soldiers</b></p> + +<p>"But they got him just the same. The Yankees used to come in blue +uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. They would take +your horse and ask nothing. They would go into the smokehouse and take +out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and +brandy that was there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Dances After Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Two sisters stayed in North Carolina in a two-room house in Wilson +County. There was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the +evening to get whiskey. There was one man who had a wife with us, but +all the rest were single. We cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and +quadrilled. We danced all night until we burned up all the wood. Then we +went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he +could carry. We chopped this up and piled it in the room. Then we went +on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there.</p> + +<p>"When we got through dancing, I looked at my feet and the bottom of them +was plumb naked. I had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms +clean out of them.</p> +<br> + +<p>"I belong to the Primitive Baptist Church. I stay with Dr. Cope and +clean up the back yard for my rent."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FergussonMrsLou"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Mrs. Lou Fergusson<br> +Aged: 91<br> +Home: With daughter Mrs. Peach Sinclair, Wade Street.<br> +[Jan 29 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>Zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly +settled territory went the interviewer. The terrain was rolling—to put +it mildly. During most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of +winter-packed earth. Sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule.</p> + +<p>Wade Street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the Boulevard". +Holding to a general direction she kept her course. "The Boulevard", +known on the tax books of Hot Springs as Boulevard Addition, sprawls +over a wide area. Houses vary in size and construction with startling +frequency. Few of them are pretentious. Many appear well planned, are in +excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, +sometimes patterned with flower beds. Occasionally a building leans with +age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids—long since +abandoned by owners to wind and weather.</p> + +<p>Up one hill, down another went the interviewer. Given a proper steer +here and there by colored men and women—even children along the way, +she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to +Peach Sinclair.</p> + +<p>Two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild January +sunlight on a back porch. "I beg your pardon," said the interviewer, +approaching the step, "is this the home of Peach Sinclair, and will I +find Mrs. Lou Fergusson here?"</p> + +<p>"It sure is," the voice was cheerful. "My mother is in the house. Come +around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back +steps, even if she had wanted to—the back yard was fenced from the +front) "she's in the parlor."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably +plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. She seemed an Aunt +Jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "Mamma, this young +lady's come to see you. She wants to talk to you and ask you some +questions, about when—about before the war." (The situation is always +delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. Somehow both interviewer +and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. The skillful +interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as +any variant of the word negro. The informant is usually less squeamish. +"Black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "Master's people", "us" +are all encountered frequently.)</p> + +<p>Five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. Both +Mrs. Sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and +made comments frequently. "Law, child, we bought this place from your +father. He was a mighty fine man." Mrs. Sinclair was delighted to find +her guest to be "Jack Hudgins daughter." And later in the chat, "You +done lost everything? Even your home—that's going? Too bad. But then I +guess at that you're better off than we are. I've been trying for nearly +a year to get my mother on the old age pension. They say she has passed. +That was way along last March. Here it is January and she hasn't got a +penny. No, I know you can't help. Yes, I see what you're doing. But if +ever you does get on the pensions work—I'm going to 'hant'<a name='FNanchor_A_1'></a><a href='#Footnote_A_1'><sup>[A]</sup></a> you." (a +wide grin) <a name='Footnote_A_1'></a><a href='#FNanchor_A_1'>[A]</a><div class='note'><p> "Hant" was an intentional barbarism.</p></div> + +<p>The old woman rocked and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I'm her oldest, alive. She +had 17 and 15 of them lived to grow up. But I'm about as old as she is, +looks like. She never did have glasses—and today she can thread the +finest needle. She can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. +Makes fine stitches too. Seems like they made them stronger in her day." +A nod of delighted approval from Mrs. Fergusson.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Hempstead County, right here in this state. The town we +were nearest was Columbus. I lived around there all of my life until I +come here to be with my daughter. That was 15 years ago. Yes, I was born +on a farm. From what I know, I'm over ninety. I was around 20 when the +war ceaseted.</p> + +<p>The man what owned us was named Ed Johnson. Yes, ma'am he had lots of +folks. Was he good to us? Well, he was and he wasn't. He was good +himself, wouldn't never have whipped us—but he had a mean wife. She'd +dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least +little thing. Then they put overseers over us. They was most generally +mean. They'd run us out way fore day—even in the sleet—run us out to +the field.</p> + +<p>Was the life hard—well it was and it wasn't. No, ma'am, I didn't get +much learning. Some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. +Then there was some which would let their children teach the colored +children what they learned at school. We never learned very much.</p> + +<p>You see, Master didn't live on the place. He lived bout as far as from +here to town" (fully two miles) "The overseer looked after us mostly. +No, ma'am I don't remember much about the war. You see, they was afraid +that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to +Texas. We settled down and made a crop there. How'd we get the land? +Master rented it.</p> + +<p>We made a crop down there and later we come back. No, ma'am we didn't +stay with Mr. Johnson more than a month after there was peace. We come +on in to Washington. No, ma'am, I never heard tell that Washington had +been the Capitol of Arkansas for a while during the War. No, I never did +hear that. Guess it was when we was in Texas. Then we folks didn't hear +so much anyway.</p> + +<p>We stayed in Washington most a year. Was I with my Mother? No, ma'am I +was married—married before the war was thru. Married—does you know how +we folks married in them days? Well the man asked your mother. Then you +both asked your master. He built you a house. You moved in and there you +was. You was married. I did some washing and cooking when I was in +Washington. Then we moved onto a farm. I sort of liked Washington, but I +was born on a farm and I sort of liked farm life.</p> + +<p>We didn't move around very much—just two or three places. We raised +cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of +things. No ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way +off like they does in Hempstead county now. Cotton was our cash crop. We +rented thirds and fourths. Didn't move but three times. One place I +stayed 15 years.</p> + +<p>I been a widow 40 years. Yes, ma'am. I farmed myself, and my children +helped me. Me and the owners got along well. Made good crops, me and +the children. I managed to take good care of them. Made out to raise 15 +out of the 17 to be grown. There's only 5 of them alive now.</p> + +<p>Hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. Well now, I don't know. I made +out. I raised my children and raised them healthy. I got along well with +the farm owner. You might know when I was let to stay on one place for +15 years. You know I must have treated the land right and worked it +fair.</p> + +<p>Yes ma'am I remembers lots. Seems like women folks remembers better than +men. I've got a good daughter. I'm still strong and can get about good. +Guess the Lord has been good to me."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FerrellJennie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Jennie Ferrell, West Memphis, Arkansas<br> +Age: 65</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Yellowbush County, Mississippi close to Grenada. +Grandmother come from North Carolina. They wouldn't sell grandpa. He was +owned by Laston. They never met again. She brought two boys with her. +She was a Pernell. Her master brought her away and would have brought +her husband but they wouldn't sell. She said durin' her forty years in +slavery she never got a whoopin'. She was a field hand. After she come +to Mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. She was a +midwife. She doctored the rich white and colored. She rode horseback, +she said, far and near. In Grenada after freedom she walked. They called +her free her master was so good to her. I don't know how she learned to +be a midwife. Her master was Henry Pernell. He owned a small place +twelve miles from Grenada and another place in the Mississippi bottoms. +My folks become renters after freedom. I don't know if they rented from +him but I guess they did.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never bothered them that I ever heard them mention."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FikesFrank"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Frank Fikes, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: About 88</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My name is Frank Fikes. I live between El Dorado and Strong and I am 79 +years old if I make no mistake. I know my mama told me years ago that I +was born in watermelon time. She said she ate the first watermelon that +got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. She thought she +had the colic. Said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the +pain and after eating the root for the pain behold I was born. So if I +live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time I will be eighty this +year. I was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen.</p> + +<p>"My work was very easy when I was a little slave. Something got wrong +with my foot when I first started to walking and I was crippled. I could +not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of +the time. Sometimes, as fast as I got one baby to sleep I would have to +nurse another one to sleep. We belonged to Mars Colonel Williams and he +had I guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had +a baby, so I had a big job after all. The rest of the children carried +water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old +mar's house.</p> + +<p>"I had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of +rocks and iron. Old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. +The slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. They ate out of +wooden bowls and wooden spoons. They ate greens and peas and bread. And +old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. She fed us on what we +called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. We +children did not use spoons. We picked the bread out with our fingers +and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. We +all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better +then.</p> + +<p>"I never went to church until after surrender. Neither did we go to +school but the white children taught me to read and count.</p> + +<p>"I recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers +passing our house going to Vicksburg to fight. The reason I recollect it +so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down +the front. They passed a whole day and we watched them all day.</p> + +<p>"Old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and +we were freed. We did not have a hard time until after we were freed. +They got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a +crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our +backs. We wandered around and around for a long time. Then they hired us +to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and I've been having +a hard time ever since.</p> + +<p>"Before the War we lived in log cabins. There was a row of log cabins a +quarter of a mile long. No windows and no floor. We had grass to sit on. +Our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay +beds. My mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the +beds with. Our cover was made from our old worn out clothes.</p> + +<p>"On Sunday evenings we played. We put on clean clothes once a week. In +summer we bathed in the branch. We did not bathe at all in winter. I +went in my shirt tail until I was eleven or twelve years old. Back in +slavery time boys did not wear britches. They wore shirts and our hair +was long. The slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was +ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FilerJE"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: J.E. Filer, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Washington, Georgia. I come here in 1866. There was three +stores in Marianna. My parents name Betsy and Bob Filer. My mother +belong to Collins in Georgia. She come to this state with Colonel Woods. +She worked in the field in Georgia and here too. Mama said they always +had some work on hand. Work never played out. When it was cold and +raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. The men would be under a +shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the +tools so they could work.</p> + +<p>"Since we come to this state I've seen them make oak boards and pile +them up in pens to dry out straight. I don't recollect that in Georgia. +I was so little when we come here. I can recollect that but not much +else. My brother was older. He might tell all about it."</p> +<br> + +<p>[TR: Next section crossed out]<br> +<b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I didn't get to see his brother. I went twice more but he was at work on +a farm somewhere.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FingerOrleana"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Subject: Ex-slavery<br> +[May 11 1938]<br> +<br> +Person Interviewed: Orleans Finger<br> + Negro (Apparently octoroon or quadroon)<br> +Address: 2804 West Fifteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas.<br> +Occupation: Formerly field hand and housekeeper <br> +Age: 79</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</br> +[TR: In text of interview, informant's name is given as <b>Orleana</b>.]</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Birth, Family, and Master</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Mississippi in Tippa County not far from the edge of +Tennessee. I wasn't raised in Arkansas, but all my children was raised +here. I really don't know just where in Tippa county I was born. My +mother's name was Ann Toler. Toler was my step father. My real father, I +don't know. My mother never told me nothin' bout him and I don't know +that; I can't tell what I don't know.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather on my mother's side was Captain Ellis. That is the one +come after me when I was small to carry me back to my folks. I didn't +know him, and I said 'I don't want to go 'way with them strange +Niggers'. He's dead now. They're all dead long ago. I have got children +over fifty years old myself. I am the mother of nine children—three of +them living. One of the living ones is Arthur Finger. He lives in St. +Louis. I expected to hear from him today, but didn't. Cornelius Finger. +(He is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in Palestine, Arkansas, near +Forrest City. Arthur is my baby boy. Elmira was my baby girl. She's the +one you met. She's married and has children of her own.</p> + +<p>"Captain Ellis' wife was named Minerva. She was my mother's mother. +She's been dead years. I got children older than she was when she died. +She died in Mississippi. I got a cousin named Molly Spight. She's dead. +My mother's sister was named Emmaline; she is dead now too.</p> + +<p>"My mother was colored. I don't know nothin' about my father, and my +mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him.</p> + +<p>"My step father and mother were both field hands. They worked in the +field.</p> + +<p>"I don't know just when I was born, but I am just sure that it was +before the war. I remember hearing people talk about things in the war.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Whitely, I think, because she was named +Whitley before she married.</p> + +<p>"I have been married three times. The first man I married was 'Lijah +Gibbs. The second time I married, I married Joe Finger. The third time I +married Will Reese. He warn't no husband at all. They're all dead. Folks +always called me Finger after my second husband died, because I didn't +live with my third husband long.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House</b></p> + +<p>"They had log houses. You would never see no brick chimney nor nothing +of that kind. The logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat—no roof +like now. They might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. +Wouldn't be any steep like they is now. In them times they wouldn't have +many rooms. Sometimes they would have two. They wouldn't have so many +windows. Just old dirt chimneys. They'd take and dig a hole and stick +sticks up in it. Then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and +pull grass and mix it in the dirt. They'd build a frame on the sticks +and then put the mud on. The chimney couldn't catch fire till the house +got old and the mud would fall off. When it got old and the mud got to +fallin off, then they would be a fire. I've seen that since I been in +Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to +take the place of bricks. You could get rocks in the forest.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Furniture</b></p> + +<p>"Used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. The cords would +act in place of springs. When you move you would have a heap of trouble +because all that would have to be undone and done up again. You have to +take the cords out and them put it together again. The cords would be +run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs.</p> + +<p>"They used to have spinning wheels and looms. They made clothes and they +made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the +cloth our of. They'd card and spin the thread. There's lots of other +things I can't remember.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>War Memories</b></p> + +<p>"The Yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. They'd +kill chickens and geese and things. The old people used to take their +horses out and tie them out in the woods—hiding them out to keep the +Yankees from getting them. The Yankees would ride up, take a good horse +and leave the old worn-out one.</p> + +<p>"There never was any fighting round where I lived. None of my folks was +soldiers in the war.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"I don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. They were +field hands and I guess they did that. My mother worked in the field +that's all I know.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since the War</b></p> + +<p>"I have been in Arkansas a long time. I have been here ever since I left +Mississippi. My first marriage was in Mississippi. The second and last +ones was in Arkansas—Forrest City. My second husband had been dead +since 1921. I don't know that I count Reese. We married in June and +separated in September. He's dead now, and I don't hold nothin' against +him.</p> + +<p>"I am not able to work now. I do a little 'round the house and dig a +little in the garden. I haven't worked in the field since way before +1921. I don't get no help at all from the Welfare. My daughter does what +she can for me. I always have lived before I ever heard about the old +age pension and I suppose God will take care of me yet somehow.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Cured by Prayer</b></p> + +<p>"I'm puny and no'count. Aint able to do much. But I was crippled. I had +a hurting in my leg and I couldn't walk without a stick. Finally, one +day I went to go out and pick some turnips. I was visiting my son in +Palestine. My leg hurt so bad that I talked to the Lord about it. And it +seemed to me, he said 'Put down your stick.' I put it down and I aint +used it since. I put it down right thar and I aint used it since. God is +a momentary God. God knowed what I wanted and he said, 'Put down that +sick,' and I aint been crippled since. It done me so much good. Looks +like to me when I get to talking about the Lord, aint nobody a stranger +to me.</p> + +<p>"I know I been converted but that made me stronger. My son is a siner. +He knowed about how I was crippled. He said you ought use your stick. He +didn't know what to think about it. Young folks don't believe because +they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can +happen.</p> +<br> + +<p>"I done told you all I know. I don't want to tell you anything I don't +know. If you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't."</p> + +<p>Everything which Orleana Finger states has the earmarks of being true. +There are a great many things which she does not state which I believe +that she could state if she wished. She evidently has a long list of +things which she things should be unmentioned. She has two magic phrases +with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to +discuss:</p> + +<p>"I don't remember that."</p> + +<p>"I better quit talking now before I start lying."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FinleyMolly"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Molly Finley, Honey Creek<br> + 3-1/2 miles from Mesa, Arkansas<br> +Age: Born 1865</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My master was Captain Baker Jones and his pa was John Jones. Miss +Mariah was Baker Jones' wife. I believe the old man's wife was dead.</p> + +<p>"My parents' name was Henry ("Clay") Harris and Harriett Harris. They +had nine children. We lived close to the Post (Arkansas Post). Our +nearest trading post was Pine Bluff. And the old man made trips to +Memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. We lived around Hanniberry +Creek. It was a pretty lake of water. Some folks called it Hanniberry +Lake. We fished and waded and washed. We got our water out of two +springs further up. I used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each +hand. You never see that no more. Mama was a nurse and house woman and +field woman if she was needed. I made fires around the pots and 'tended +to mama's children.</p> + +<p>"We lived on the Jones place years after freedom. I was born after +freedom. We finally left. I cried and cried to let's go back. Only place +ever seem like home to me yet. We went to the Cummings farm. They worked +free labor then. Then we went to the hills. Then we seen hard times. We +knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills.</p> + +<p>"I was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. I went to +school on the river. My teacher was a white man named Mr. Van Sang.</p> + +<p>"Mama belong to the Garretts in Mississippi. She was sold when she was +about four years old she tole me. There had been a death and old +mistress bought her in. Master Garrett died. Then she give her to her +daughter. She was her young mistress then. Old mistress didn't want her +to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the +children. Mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. Her father, +she said, was light and part Enjun (Indian).</p> + +<p>"John Prior owned papa in Kentucky. He sold him, brother and his mother +to a nigger trader's gang. Captain Jones bought all three in Tennessee. +He come brought them on to Arkansas. He was a field hand. He said they +worked from daylight till after dark.</p> + +<p>"They took their slaves to close to Houston, Texas to save them. Captain +Jones said he didn't want the Yankees to scatter them and make soldiers +of them. He brought them back on his place like he expected to do. Mama +said they was out there three years. She had a baby three months old and +the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. I was her next +baby after that. Freedom done been declared. Mama said they went in +wagons and camped along the roadside at night.</p> + +<p>"Before they left, the Yankees come. Old Master Jones treated them so +nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some +for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. Then +he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Mama and papa said the Jones treated them pretty well. They wouldn't +allow the overseers to beat up his slaves.</p> + +<p>"The two Jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. They +said it weighed two hundred pounds. Four men took it out there in +barrels and eight men lowered it. They took it to the family graveyard +down past the orchard. They leveled it up like it was a grave. Yankees +didn't get Jones money! Then he sent the slaves to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones had a home in Tennessee and one in Arkansas. Papa said +he cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and +wild cats. They worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot +varmints. He said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them +that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on Sundays +three times. The women left the fields to go fix supper and see after +their cabins and children. They hauled their water in barrels and put it +under the trees. They cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a +big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at Christmas. They had +gourd banjos. Mama said they had good times.</p> + +<p>"They had preaching one Sunday for white folks and one Sunday for black +folks. They used the same preacher there but some colored preachers +would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the +quarters. They said the white preacher would say, 'You may get to the +kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you +tell no stories, etc.'</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones was a good doctor. If a doctor was had you know somebody +was right low. They seldom had a doctor. Mama said her coat tail froze +and her working. But they wore warm clothes next to their bodies.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones said, 'You all can go back on my place that want to go +back and stay. You will have to learn to look after your own selves now +but I will advise you and help you best I can. You will have to work +hard as us have done b'fore. But I will pay you.' My folks was ready to +'board the wagons back to Jones' farm then. That is the way mama tole me +it was at freedom! It was a long time I kept wondering what is freedom? +I took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and I caught +on. I found out times had changed just b'fore I got into this world.</p> + +<p>"Some things seem all right and some don't. Times seem good now but +wait till dis winter. Folks will go cold and hungry again. Some folks +good and some worse than in times b'fore."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Gets a pension check.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FinneyFanny"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Fanny Finney, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74 plus</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. Born during slavery. I +b'long to Master John Rook. He died during the Civil War. Miss Patsy +Rook raised me. I put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water +and kindling wood.</p> + +<p>"My parents named Catherine and Humphrey Rook. They had three children.</p> + +<p>"When Master John Rook died they divided us. They give me to Rodie +Briggs. John and Lizzie was Master John's other two children. He had +three children too same as ma. My young master was a ball player. I'd +hear them talk. Ma was a good house girl. They thought we'd all be like +'er. When I was three years old, I was the baby. They took ma and pa off +keep the Yankees from stealing then. Miss Patsy took keer me. When ma +and pa come home I didn't know them a tall. They say when they come back +they went to Louziana, then 'bout close to Monticello in dis state, then +last year they run 'em to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Pa was jus' a farmer. Gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my +sisters. I'd start to see 'em. Old gander run me. Sometimes the geese +get me down and flog me wid their wings. One day I climbed up and peeped +through a crack. I seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. It looked so +easy. They was singing.</p> + +<p>"Betsy done the milking. I'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. +She ax me which I wanted, milk or butter. I'd tell her. She put a +little sugar on my buttered bread. It was so good I thought Sometimes +she'd fill my cup up with fresh churned milk.</p> + +<p>"I et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. I slep' in +granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. Granny's name was +'Aunt' Hannah. She was real old and the boss cook on our place. She +learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. Kept one or two helping +her all the time. It was her part to make them wash their faces every +morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the +time er cooking. Granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. +Betty would make them help her milk. They had to wash the cows udder +before they ever milked a drop. Miss Patsy learnt her black folks to be +clean. Every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born.</p> + +<p>"I was so little I couldn't think they got whoopings. I never heard of a +woman on the place being whooped. They all had their work to do. Grandma +cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm.</p> + +<p>"Old man Rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. He bought whiskey by +the barrel. On cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. I +heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. His hands got to the +field whooping and singing. The overseers handed it out to them. The +women didn't get none as I knowed of.</p> + +<p>"The paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but Master John Rook never let them +whoop his colored folks.</p> + +<p>"We lived six miles from Holly Springs on the big road to Memphis. Seem +like every regiment of Yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. +They made a rake-off every time. They cleaned us out of something to +eat. They took the watches and silverware. The Yankees rode up on our +porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. Miss Patsy done +run an' hid. I stood about. I had no sense. They done a lot every time +they come. I watched see what all they would do. They burnt a lot of +houses.</p> + +<p>"A little white boy said, 'I tell you something if you give me a +watermelon.' The black man give the boy a big watermelon. He had a big +patch. The boy said, 'My papa coming take all your money away from you +some night.' He fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a Ku Klux. He +had some money but they didn't find it. One of the Ku Kluxes run off and +left his spurs. The colored folks killed some and they run off and leave +their horses. They come around and say they could drink three hundred +fifteen buckets of water. They throw turpentine balls in the houses to +make a light. They took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light +it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. +A lot of black folks was killed and whooped. Their money was took from +them.</p> + +<p>"The third year after the War ma and pa come and got me. They made a +crop for a third. That was our first year off of Rook's place. I love +them Rook's girls so good right now. Wish I could see them or knowd +where to write. I had to learn my folks. I played with my sisters all my +life but I never had lived with them. When pa come for me they had my +basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. They +sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. One of them was mine. +Miss Patsy said, 'Let Fannie come back to see my girls.' I went back and +visited. Granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. I had a +place with granny at her house. We went back often and we helped them +after freedom. They was good white folks as ever breathed. There was +good folks and bad folks then and still is.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard. I was raised in the field. I made seven crops here—near +Brinkley—with my son. I had two girls. One teaches in Brinkley, fourth +or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in New York. My son fell off +a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. He was in +Detroit. Times is hard now. The young folks is going at too fast a gait. +They are faster than the old generation. No time to sit and talk. On the +go all the time. Hurrying and worrying through time. Hard to make a +living."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FisherGateEye"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel<br> +Information given by: "Gate-eye" Fisher<br> +Residence: Washington County, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when War come" said +"Gate-eye" Fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old +tin, on what is known as the old Bullington farm near Lincoln. His one +room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new +renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "Gate-eye" +just belongs. He bothers no one. No floors, no windows just a door, a +bed, stove and a table. Yes and a lantern and a chair.</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, my mother, Caroline, belonged to the Mister Dave Moore family. +His wife, Miss Pleanie, was a Reagan. Yes mam, they was good folks. When +the War come, my pa, Harrison Fisher and my ma stayed on the place, +Mister Moore had lots of land and stock—and he and his folks went to +Texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine +stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted +them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. Pa was boss +over all the slaves. I guess mos' all my white folks is dead. Mos' of +them all buried down yan way to Ft. Smith. One of Mister Moore's +daughters, Miss Mary, married Dr. Davenport and Miss Sinth (Cynthia) +went to live with her."</p> + +<p>(The Moores came from Kentucky and Tennessee and settled at Cane Hill, +Washington County, about 1829. The Reagans came about the same time. The +first schools in the county were at Cane Hill).</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I guess all the colored folks that belonged to Mister Moore, +but me, is dead. I guess. +My mother, Caroline, stayed in the house nearly all the time and took +care of Missy's children, and when they come home from school she'd hear +them learn their ABC's. That's how come I can read and write. My ma +taught me, out of an old Blue Back Speller. Yes mam, I learned to read +and can't write much, jes my own name. Yes mam, I kinda believe in +signs that's how come I wear this leather strap 'round my wrist it keeps +me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. Yes mam, it helps. I used to +believe in signs a lot and I used to believe in wishes. I used to wish a +lot of bad wishes on folks till one day I read a piece from New York and +it said the bad wishes that you made would come back to you wosser than +you wished, so I don't wish no more. I got scared and don't wish nothin' +to no body."</p> + +<p>"After the War Ole Mister and Ole Missey called in my ma and pa and +asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. +'Bout ten of us stayed. Then a while after Mister Moore asked my pa if +he wanted to go up on the Tilley place—600 acres and farm it for what +he could make. We, my pa and my ma and my sister Mandy, stayed there a +long time. Then Mister Moore sold off a little here and a little there +and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, Peter +Doss, where my ma died. Then I went down to Mister Oscar Moore's +place—he was my Missey' boy."</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I did have a wife. I had a mos' worrysome time. It is a +worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. +No'm, I don't ever want her to come back."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I do my own cooking, and I've put up some fruit. I have a little +mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. +I get a little pension too."</p> + +<p>"These darkies today nearly all get wild. You can't tell What they are +going to do tomorrow. They's jes like everybody—some awful good and +some awful bad."</p> + +<p>And in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door +held by a leather strap, "Gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood +stove. A long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of +canned fruit, dried beans and peas. The bed is a series of old bed +springs. But "Gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one +feels kindly toward him. He says he is seventy-one years, past.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FitzgeraldEllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person Interviewed: Ellen Fitzgerald<br> + Brinkley, Ark.<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Mama was named Anna Noles. Papa named Milias Noles. She belong to the +Whitakers and he belong to Gibbs. Noles bought them both. They was both +sold. Mother was born in Athens, papa somewhere in Kentucky. Their +owners, the Noles, come to Aberdeen, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"Grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. She was a +slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. She was at the +spring, washing. They cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. They used +a big tree stump for battling. They had paddles, wide as this (two hands +wide—eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. +They wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat +em. Rub boards was not heard of in them days. They soaked the clothes, +boiled and rinsed a heap. They done good washing. I heard em say the +clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. They made the +soap. They had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat +skins. They used tallow and mutton suet too. I don't know what was said, +but I recken she didn't please her mistress—Mrs. Callie Gibbs. She +struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. She left her at +the spring. Somebody went to get water and seen her there. They took her +to the house but she finally died. Grandpa was dead then. I recken they +got scared to keep papa round then and sold him.</p> + +<p>"I was born first year of the surrender. Moster Noles told them they +was free. They didn't give them a thing. They was glad they was free. +They didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. They +lived about places, do little work where they found it.</p> + +<p>"We dodged the Ku Klux. One night they was huntin' a man and come to the +wrong house. They nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. +They give us some trouble coming round. We was scared of em. We dodged +em all the time.</p> + +<p>"I was married and had a child eight years old fore I come to Arkansas. +I come to Brinkley first. I was writing to friends. They had immigrated, +so we immigrated here and been here ever since. When I come here there +was two big stores and a little one. A big sawmill—nothing but woods +and wild animals. It wasn't no hard times then. We had a plenty to live +on.</p> + +<p>"My husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. He worked on the +section. I nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. We done +about right smart. I could do right smart now if white folks hire me.</p> + +<p>"The night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken I had. He +died last week. We found out it was two colored men. I ain't needed no +support till now. My husband made us a good living long as he was able +to go. We raised a family. He was a tolerably dark sort of man. My girls +bout his color."</p> + +<p>The two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. Both of them said they +were married and lived somewhere else.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FitzhughHenry"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Henry Fitzhugh<br> +Aged: 90<br> +Home: Rooms at 209 Walnut Street</h3> +<br> + +<p>Several "colored" districts are scattered throughout Hot springs. On +Whittington, within a block of the First Presbyterian Church and St. +Joseph's Infirmary stand the Roanok Baptist and the Haven Methodist +(both for colored). Architecturally they compare favorably with similar +edifices for whites. Their choirs have become nationally famous. Sunday +afternoon concerts are frequent. Mid-week ones are not uncommon. At such +times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. +Visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely.</p> + +<p>Across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a +negro apartment house. A couple of blocks up Whittington, Walnut veers +to the right. It is paved for several blocks. Fronting on concrete +sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate +pride in possession. Some are private homes, some rooming houses and +some apartments. Porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete +studded with crystals.</p> + +<p>Finding Henry Fitzhugh wasn't easy. The delivery boy at the corner +chain store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a +passer-by. He offered the address <u>209</u>. That number turned out to be an +old, but substantial and well cared for two story house. Ringing the +bell repeatedly brought no response.</p> + +<p>A couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find Fitzhugh +one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back +porch." This procedure too brought no results. Another backyard observer +offered the suggestion that Fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant +eating.</p> + +<p>School had just been dismissed. Two well dressed negro children walked +along together, swinging their books. "Can you tell me where the +restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "Do you mean the +colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment +in her manner, no servility, no resentment—just an ordinary question. +"It's right over there."</p> + +<p>The restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. +Tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. Sunshine +streamed in from two directions. Fitzhugh was sitting just outside +talking to the boot-black.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, I's Henry Fitzhugh. Can't work no more since I got hit by +an automoble. Before that I had a shoe-shine place myself. But I can't +work no more. Yes 'um I gets the pension. I gets $10 a month. It's not +much, but I sort of get by. I's got my room up at 209 and I gets my +meals down here at the restaurant. Yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming +in pretty regular now.</p> + +<p>Been in Hot Springs a long, long time. Come here in 1876. I remembers +lots of the old families here. What yo say your name was? Your Mother +was a Dengler? Sure, I remembers the Denglers. Mr. Dengler had a +soda-water shop. I remembers him.</p> + +<p>When I first come, soon as I was able, I cleaned up for Captain Mallard. +Cleaned up all along Central in that block he was in.</p> + +<p>How'd I come to Hot springs? I was sick. I had rheumatism. Was down with +it so bad the doctor had done give me up. He'd stopped giving me +medicine. But the lady I was working for, she run a hotel in Poplar +Bluff. They put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and +they brought me clean on in to Hot Springs. They bathed me at the free +bath house. I started getting better right away. 'Twasn't long before I +was well and able to work. I stayed right on here in Hot Springs.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am I's all Arkansas. I was born near Little Rock. Ain't never +been out of the state but twice. Then I didn't stay long.</p> + +<p>I worked on a farm that belonged to Mr. J.B. Henderson. He was an uncle +to Mr. Jerome Henderson what was in the bank and Mr. Jethro Henderson +what was a Judge.</p> + +<p>No, the war didn't bother us none. We wasn't afraid. We heard the shots, +but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. Guess we +just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. Fighting we did [HW: hear +was] near Pine Bluff—the Baxter-Ware trouble. We seen the soldiers when +they come through Mt. Pleasant, right smart bunch of them. They was +Confederates. We didn't see none of the Yankees.</p> + +<p>My father was killed during the war. Went off to help and never came +back. My mother, she died when I was a baby. She was lying down in her +cabin before the fire—lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. The door +was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. She dropped me +and she screamed and run out into the yard. Old Miss saw her from the +house. She grabbed a quilt and started out. She got to my mother and she +wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. But my mother done +swallowed fire. She died. That's the story they tell me. I was too +little to know.</p> + +<p>I guess I was about eleven when I went into the fields. What's that, +pretty young? I didn't go because they made me. I went because I wanted +to be with the men. Wasn't nobody around to play with. We was the only +family on the farm. It was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of +children. There was Miss Sally and Miss Fanny and Miss Ella and Miss +Myrtle and Miss Hattie. Then there was four boys.</p> + +<p>Stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. They treated +me good and gave me what I wanted. Treated me nice—very nice—my white +folks.</p> + +<p>Then I went on down to Marshall—way down in Texas. There I worked for +the high sheriff. Drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the +yard. I worked for him a whole year then I went back to Arkansas and +then went up in Missouri. Wasn't there long before I got sick. I was +working for a woman who had a hotel. She was good to me. Mighty good she +was.</p> + +<p>Yes ma'am. There has been lost chances I has had to do more than I has. +But I's sort of satisfied. There's been lots of changes in Hot Springs +since I come. I used to know all the white folks and all the colored +folks too. Can't do that today. Place has got too big.</p> + +<p>Joe Golden? Yes, I does—I knows Joe. He used to have a butcher shop +over on Malvern. Quite a man, Joe was. I hasn't seen him in a long time. +How is he? Pretty good? That's fine.</p> + +<p>"I remembers Mc—McLeod's Happy Hollow." (Hot Spring nearest approach +to a Coney Island in the earlier days). "I remembers that they used to +have the old stage coach there what the James and Younger brothers held +up. Sort of broken down it was, but it was there.</p> + +<p>Law, law, them was the times. I'll never forget when Allen Roane brought +in the news. Allen drove a sort of a hack. He come on into town and he +whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. +Allen lived just next door to where I does now."</p> + +<p>Down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. Passing the +porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she +paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. Fitzhugh grinned. +"She's sanctified," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Tucky-Nubby? He was an Indian. Bob Hurley used to +bring him to Hot Springs every year. What medicine shows they used to +have here. Ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed +Tucky-Nubby. Lots of those medicine shows—free shows, used to come +here. But Bob Hurley and Tucky-Nubby was the most liked.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am, I'm all alone now. My sister married a man a long, long time +ago. She didn't live but a couple of years. I's had four children. One +of them died when it was born. One died when it was three. One lived +until it was seven. One son he lived to be grown. He went to the war. +Got as far as camp. One day I got a word saying that he was sick. I went +but before I could get there he had died. That left me alone.</p> + +<p>What's that? Been married once? I been married <u>eleven</u> times. But it +was ten times too many. Besides they is all dead, so you might say that +I's been married only once.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am. The quarter will come in powerful handy. +When you tries to make out on $10 a month a little extra comes in +powerful handy. Thank you ma'am. I enjoyed talking to you, ma'am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlaggMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Flagg<br> + 1601 Georgia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 89</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, I was here in Civil War days. I was bout twelve years old when +Lincoln was elected. I remember when he was elected. I was big enough to +weave and knit for the soldiers. I remember when the war started. Yes +ma'm—oh I remember so much. Saw all the soldiers and shook hands with +em. Why I waited on the table when General Lee stopped there for dinner +on his way from Mobile to meet Sherman. That was in Winchester, +Mississippi where I was born. I worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. I was +raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. I was born right +in Winchester, Mississippi. Used to see the soldiers drill every day. If +I could remember, I could tell you a heap of things.</p> + +<p>"My mistress' name was Mrs. Shaw. She took me away from my mother when I +was four years old—taken me for her body servant. She learned me how to +do housework and all kinds of sewin'—cuttin' and makin'. I done all the +sewin' for her family.</p> + +<p>"I never went to no school but Mrs. Shaw tried to teach me and she +slapped my jaws many a day bout my book.</p> + +<p>"I married when I was fifteen just fore the war ended and I forgot +everything I ever learned—yes ma'm! I been married four times and +they're all dead. I never married when any of em was livin' like a heap +of colored folks did.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then +they burned the bridge and turned back. White folks never told us what +the war was for but a old German man used to read the paper at the +table—every battle they'd fight and when the Yankees would whip. Oh +them was times then. If I could remember I could tell you a heap of +things but my mind's gone from me.</p> + +<p>"Old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a +cousin had five hundred.</p> + +<p>"White folks was good to me. My father was the carriage driver and old +mistress used to carry me to church with her every Sunday.</p> + +<p>"I never seen no Ku Klux but I lived where they was, in Mississippi. +That was a Ku Klux state. Yes ma'm.</p> + +<p>"I remember when General Lee come to Winchester you could hear the +horses' feet a mile away, it so cold.</p> + +<p>"My great grandfather was a full blooded Indian. I've lived among the +Indians in Mississippi and bought baskets from em. They lived all around +us. Yes ma'm, I'm acquainted with em. Oh, I been through a little bit.</p> + +<p>"I started sewin' and weavin' when I was just big enough to reach the +treadles. Used to sew for Mrs. Hulburt in Bolivar County, Mississippi. I +remember she started to the Mardi Gras on a boat called the Mary Bell. +It got burned and she had to turn back. I used to do a heap a sewin'.</p> + +<p>"Everythings changed now. People is so treacherous now. Chile, ain't +nothin' to this younger generation. Now I'm tellin' you the truth. They +ain't studyin' nothin' good. Sin and corruption all you see now.</p> + +<p>"Last man I married was Elder Flagg. He was a preacher in the Baptist +church and as good a preacher as I ever heard. They don't preach the +Gospel now.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish I could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long +time. I'll be ninety if I live till the 4th of next May."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlowersDoc"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Zillah Cross Peel<br> +Person interviewed: Doc Flowers <br> +Age: 85?<br> +Home: Lincoln, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>Everybody calls him Uncle Doc. His name is Doc Flowers, and he lives in +the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of +Lincoln, Arkansas.</p> + +<p>When you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. One +has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch +hidden by the tangle of weeds.</p> + +<p>If old Aunt Jinney is on the porch she will say, "Sorry, honey, but de +path done growed up."</p> + +<p>Uncle Doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. Whether he is 80 or +if he is 90, he is young-looking for his age.</p> + +<p>"No'm lady, I'se jes' don' know how old I is. Back in dem days didn't +keep up with our ages. No record of the born. Yes'm I was a pretty good +chunk of a boy when de war started."</p> + +<p>Doc belonged to Edward Choate, who lived on Barron Forks, near Dutch +Mills in the Southwest corner of Washington County. Barron Forks is made +up from Fly Creek and the River Jordan Creek.</p> + +<p>About 1849 Edward Choate came from Tennessee to Arkansas, where he had +bought Aunt Marie [TR: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, +Doc, Abe, and Dave.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, we had a 100 acres or better all along the banks of de river and +good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' +'bacco. Master Choate had three sons, I recollect, Jack, Sam, and Win. +He had a lot of slaves. Some of dem was good, some was bad. An' old +Mister Choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. He never did have to whup me, some +of dem darkies did get whupped. Dar was one who was always dressing up +in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river.</p> + +<p>"My mother was Maria. She worked part time in de kitchen and part time +in de field. My mother had three boys and I 'member one of my sisters +was sold as a slave. We darkies had cabins all along de river bank.</p> + +<p>"During de War we all jes' stayed on de place. Mister Choate and Old +Missy stayed too. After peace was made my mother and all of we went up +to Prairie Grove to live.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I voted every chance I got. I voted for Harrison for President. +No'm, I don't know which Harrison. Yes'm, I vote Republican.</p> + +<p>"I can't say much for these young darkies these times.</p> + +<p>"I ben 'roun' some. I went to Caldwell, Kansas, two times. Farming is my +occupation. Now we jes' live. I get $10 a month from the state. Yes'm, +that there Jinney is my wife. Her mother Celia and she belonged to the +Ballards of Cincinnati.</p> + +<p>"No'm, I jes' can' tell how old I is. I know I was quite a chunk of a +boy when de War started. Me and Mister Win, one of Mister Choate's boys, +was 'bout de same age." (Winston Choate died in the spring of 1935 at +the age of 94 years, according to a niece.)</p> + +<p>The Choate place down on Barron Forks is still owned by one of the +Choates, a grandson of the first owner, Edward Choate.</p> + +<p>A granddaughter of Mr. Choate lives in Fayetteville and said that there +are four or five graves on the old place where Negro slaves who belonged +to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would +never go near these graves. They thought they were haunted.</p> + +<p>So when one asks Uncle Doc how old he is he will say, "I know I was jes' +a chunk of a boy when de War started so I mus' be 'bout 83 nex' spring."</p> + +<p>Aunt Jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth +while Uncle Doc was talking. She didn't speak while Doc was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Law, honey, I had good white folks. None of dem never struck their +colored folks. No'm. Me an' my mother Celia belonged to Mister Ballard +at Cincinnati. Old Missey's name was Miss Liza, an' she kept my ma in de +house wid her to wait on her. Yes'm all de white folks always kept a +little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. Dem was good times 'fo' +de War. Yes'm good times—plenty to eat. Good times. I was jes' a baby +crawling on de flo' when de War come."</p> + +<p>The interviewer didn't ask Uncle Doc when and why he went to Caldwell, +Kansas the two times. She knew that Uncle Doc, big and strong, took +another Negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to Kansas and +there left her. Later he brought her to Arkansas. Jinney was his wife +and took Uncle Doc back, but Gate-eye didn't take his wife back. Nor did +the interviewer tell Uncle Doc that she had been to see old Gate-eye +Fisher and had heard the long ago story of Uncle Doc taking his wife, +and what a worrysome time he had. +In an old record marked "Miscellaneous" in the Washington County +Courthouse at Fayetteville, Arkansas, one can find this Emancipation +paper:</p> + +<p>"For and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my +little Negro girl (a slave) named Celia, about two years old, I do by +these presents henceforth and forever give to said Celia her liberty and +freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, I now +hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in +accordance with this indenture of emancipation.</p> + +<p>"In testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this 26th day of January +1846.</p> + +<pre> + Signed: Thomas B. Ballard + +Witnesses: Charles Baylor + Sumet Mussett" +</pre> + +<p>Jinney, wife of Doc Flowers, is the daughter of the said Celia. "Yes'm," +said Jinney, "Miss Liza, my old Missy, always had my mother right by her +side all the time to wait on her. She were always good to all her +colored folks. No'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored +folks."</p> + +<p>Jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from Miss Liza, for +her little three-room home that she and Doc rent for $4 a month is +spotless. Maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't +blame that on Jinney.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlukerFrances"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Frances Fluker, Edmondson, Arkansas<br> +Age: 77<br> +[May 11 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born the 25th day of December 1860 in Marshall County, +Mississippi. Our owners was Dr. George Wilson and Mistress Mary. They +had one son I knowed, Dr. Wilson at Coldwater, Mississippi. My parents +was Viney Perry and Dock Bradley.</p> + +<p>"I never seen my pa. I heard about him since I been grown. He left when +the War was going on and never went back. Mama had ten children and I am +all that's living now. Old mistress set my name and age down in her +Bible. I sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so I +could get my pension. I pasted it in the front of my Bible. +I was never sold. It was freedom when I first +recollect.</p> + +<p>"Ma was the cook for the white folks. Grandma Perry come from North +Carolina I heard 'em say. She was a widow woman. When company come they +would send us out to play. They never talked to us children, no ma'am, +not 'fore us neither. I come a woman 'fore I knowed what it was. My +sisters knowed better than tell me. They didn't tell me nothin'.</p> + +<p>"When it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. At night +we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by +daybreak—children and all. They said it caused children's j'ints to be +stiff sleeping up in the day. All old folks could tell you that.</p> + +<p>"This young set ain't got no strength neither. Ma cooked and washed and +raised five children up grown. The slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em +in the way of land nor stock. They got what clothes they had and some +provisions.</p> + +<p>"Ma was ginger cake. They said pa was black. I don't know. Grandma was +reddish and lighter still than ma. They said she was part Cherokee +Indian. Her hair was smooth and pretty. She combed her hair with the +fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. I recollect her +combing her hair. It was long about on her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I heard about the Ku Klux but I never seed none of 'em. Ma said her +owners was good to her. Ma never had but one husband.</p> + +<p>"I come to Arkansas 1921. Mr. Passler in Coldwater, Mississippi had +bought a farm at Onida. We had worked for him at Lula, Mississippi. Me +and my husband come here. My husband died the first year. I cooked some +in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. I +like' field work long as I was able to go.</p> + +<p>"My first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. He and myself done +it, we had help. We got in debt and lost it. He bought the place. That +was in Pinola County close to Sardis. I had four children. One daughter +living.</p> + +<p>"What I think it was give me rheumatism was I picked cotton, broke it +off frozen two weeks on the sleet. I picked two hundred pounds a day. I +got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. He said it was from +overwork. I got over that but I had rheumatism ever since.</p> + +<p>"I learned to read. I went to Shiloah School—and church too—several +terms. Mr. Will Dunlap was my first teacher. He was a white man. He run +the school a good while but I don't know how long. My name is Frances +Christiana Fluker. I been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. +Never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause I knowed I couldn't.</p> + +<p>"I jus' get $6 and that is all. It cost more to send get the +commodities than it do to buy them. We don't get much of them. I needs +clothes—union suits. 'Course I wears 'em all summer. If they would give +me yarn and needles I could knit my socks. 'Course I can see and ain't +doing nothing else. I needs a dress. I ain't got but this one dress."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b> The two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. They had two chairs +and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the +little yellow torn to pieces Bible tied around the back with a string. +The large board door was kept wide open for light I suppose. There were +no windows to the room.</p> + +<p>I heard the reason she gets only $6 was because her daughter lives there +and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young +grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlukerIdaMay"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Ida May Fluker<br> + Route 6, Box 80, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 83</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in slavery times in Clark County, Alabama. Clover Hill was +the county seat.</p> + +<p>"Elias Campbell was old master. I know the first time I ever saw any +plums, old master brought 'em. I 'member that same as yesterday.</p> + +<p>"I 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the Yankees come. We +chillun would hide behind the door. Had on blue suits with brass +buttons. So you see I'm no baby.</p> + +<p>"I 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house +and help make molasses. Didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up +there anyway.</p> + +<p>"Old missis' name Miss Annis. She was good to us.</p> + +<p>"I didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. Used to +tote water from the Wood Spring. Had a spring called Wood Spring.</p> + +<p>"My mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. I used to weave +after freedom.</p> + +<p>"I know the Yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. They was +drivin' a lot of cows. We chillun would be scared of 'em—mama would be +at the big house.</p> + +<p>"Mama belonged to the Campbells and papa belonged to Davis Solomon, and +I know every Christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me +and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. I 'member it same as if +'twas yesterday 'cause I was crazy 'bout them red dresses.</p> + +<p>"I used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. Yes ma'am, I heered +that song</p> + +<pre> +'Run nigger run + Paddyrollers will ketch you + Jes' 'fore day.' +</pre> + +<p>I know you've heered that song.</p> + +<p>"I heered papa talk about how he was sold. He say the overseer so mean +he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week.</p> + +<p>"I guess we had plenty to eat. I know mama used to fetch us somethin' to +eat from the house. Old missis give it to her. I know I was glad to get +it.</p> + +<p>"When the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to +house and prayed and give thanks to the Lord.</p> + +<p>"Our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but about two weeks. My papa was hard workin'. +Other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun +rest. He sure did work us hard.</p> + +<p>"You know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time +to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. We didn't have no time to +see 'bout no ages—had to work. That's the truth."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FordWash"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Arkansas<br> +Age: 73 or 75?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains, seems like about half +way. Mama's master was named Powell. Papa's master was Frank Ford. My +parents was Fannie and Henry Ford. I was the oldest child. There was 6 +boys, 4 girls of us.</p> + +<p>"They didn't get anything after freedom. They kept on farming. They +started working on shares. That was all they could do. If they expected +anything I never heard it.</p> + +<p>"I heard my mother say when I was small Papa was bouncing me up and +down. He was lying on the floor playing like wid me. She looked up the +road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'Yonder come some soldiers. What +they coming here for?' Papa put me down and run. He hid. They didn't +find him. It was soldiers from De Valls Bluff I judge. They made the +colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. That +is what I heard.</p> + +<p>"My father voted. He voted a Republican ticket. I do cause he did I +reckon. I still vote. If the colored man could vote in the Primary it +wouldn't be no better. They know better who to put in office, to run the +offices right. I think it is right for a woman to vote.</p> + +<p>"I been farming all my life. I was a section hand much as six months in +all my life. I work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. I +am having a hard time. I have high blood pressure. I can't pick cotton. +I can't even get a mess of turnip greens. The Social Welfare helps me a +little and I am janitor up town in two offices. They hand me a little +pocket change. It amount to maybe $2 a month. I had that job four years. +If I could work I would be on the farm. I could make a living there. I +always did. I had plenty on the farm.</p> + +<p>"Young folks don't take on no manners. The young folks take care of +themselves. It is the old ones seeing a hard time now."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FordWash2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Ark.<br> +Age: 75?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"One thing I remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. They had a leader +hoeing cotton. His name was John. He was a fast hand. He hoe one row a +piece and reach over and hoe the other. He'd get way ahead of the other +hands. If they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. So he rest till they +ketch up. Once he hoed up to a tree—big shade tree out in the field. He +stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that +time. It bit him right on the toe. They took him up to the house but he +died.</p> + +<p>"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains. My parents was Henry +and Fannie Ford. Her master was named Powell and his master was named +Frank Ford. I was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. My folks +didn't git nuthing. I don't think they expected freedom much. They heard +they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. They didn't know what +freedom be like. When they was set free at DeValls Bluff they signed up. +They went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. That what +I heard em say when I was small boy.</p> + +<p>"I voted—Republican ticket, I believe. If I vote that what I vote. I +reckon the women ought to vote. I still vote that is if I sees fit to +vote.</p> + +<p>"My father run from the soldiers. He didn't go to the war as I ever +knowd of.</p> + +<p>"I been farmin' all my life till I got so nocount I ain't able to do +nothin' no more. I worked on the section bout six months. I worked some +off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. I does a little janitor +work now and the Welfare help me a little.</p> + +<p>"The present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they +run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they +cain't git no credit. Times is hard for old folks."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FortenberryJudia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Judia Fortenberry<br> + 712 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 75<br> +Occupation: Field hand<br> +[May 21 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Slaves Allowed to Visit]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born three miles west of Hamburg in Ashley County, Arkansas, in +the year 1859, in the month of October. I don't know just what day of +the month it was.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Indiana Simms and my father was named Burrell +Simms. My father's mother was named Ony Simms, and my mother's mother +was named Maria Young. I don't know what the names of their parents was.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Robert Tucker. My father's master was +named Hartwell Simms. Their plantations were pretty close together, but +I don't know how my father and my mother got together. I guess they just +happened to meet up with each other. The slaves from the two plantations +were allowed to visit one another. After their marriage, the two +continued to belong to different masters. Every Sunday, they would visit +one another. My father used to come to visit his wife every Sunday and +through the week at night.</p> + +<p>"My mother had ten children.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Houses</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in a log house with one room. It was built with a stick and +dirt chimney. It had plank floors. They didn't have nothin' much in the +way of furniture—homemade beds, stools, tables. We had common pans and +tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. The cabin had one window and +one door.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. +But I can't remember them. My father said they used to go into the slave +cabins and take folks out and whip them. They'd go at night and get 'em +out and whip 'em.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"I was so little that I don't know much about how freedom came. I just +know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. Went to +another man. Didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. He never got +anything when he was freed. I never heard of any of the slaves getting +anything.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"I went to free school after the War. I just went along during the +vacation when they weren't doing any farming. That is all the education +I got. I can't tell how many seasons I went—four or five, I reckon. I +never did go any whole season. I never had much chance to go to school. +People didn't send their children to school much in those days. I went +to school in Monticello, but most of my schooling was in country +schools.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"When I first went to work, I picked cotton. That is at a place out near +Hamburg. I picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. Then I went to +town—Monticello. I washed and ironed. About forty-five years ago, I +came to Little Rock, and have been here every since. Washing and ironing +has been my support. I have sometimes cooked.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know what I think about the young people. Seems to me they +coming to nothing. Lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance +to do it. I'm a christian. I belong to the A.M.E.'s. You know how they +do.</p> + +<pre> +Song + +1 + +I belong to the band +That good old Christian band +Thank God I belong to the band. + +Chorus + +Steal away home to Jesus +I ain't got long to stay here. + +2 + +There'll I'll meet my mother, +My good old christian mother, +Mother, how do you do; +Thank God I belong to the band. +</pre> + +<p>I can't remember the music. But that's on old song we used to sing 'way +back yonder. I can't remember any more of the verses. You got enough +anyhow."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterEmma"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Emma Foster<br> + 1200 N. Magnolia, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, I was born in time of slavery—seven years before surrender. +No'm, I wasn't born in Arkansas. Born in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana.</p> + +<p>"I remember hearin' the big guns shoot. I was small and I didn't know +what it was only by what they told me.</p> + +<p>"My parents belonged to the Harts. My mother run off and left me, a +year-old baby.</p> + +<p>"I remember better when I was young than I do now.</p> + +<p>"After I got big enough—you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' +around in the yard—after I got big enough, they took me in the house to +rock the cradle, and I stayed there till I was twenty-three. I would a +stayed longer but they was so cruel to me.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know nothin'. I run off and stayed with a colored preacher and +his family not far away. You know I was crazy. One day the preacher said +some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' +to tell my white folks where I was. And sure enough, he did, and one +morning I was out in the field and I saw the son-in-law comin'. So I +went back and worked for him and his wife.</p> + +<p>"Me? All I did do was farmin' when I was young.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I been in Arkansas 'bout fifty years. My oldest boy was fourteen +when I come here and he is sixty-four now.</p> + +<p>"No, honey, I can't cook now. I'd burn it up. I used to cook. It's a +poor dog that won't wag its own tail.</p> + +<p>"All I know is I had a hard time, I been married three times. My last +husband was a preacher and he was so mean I left him. I told him if all +preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em.</p> + +<p>"I went to Chicago and lived with my son a while but I didn't like it, +so I come back here and I been here right in the yard with Mrs. O'Neal +eight years washin' and ironin'—anything come to hand.</p> + +<p>"Now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, I can see that 'fore +it happens. I was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain +and I come in and somethin' just bore down on me and I started to cry. I +didn't know why. I thought, 'Oh, Lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to +my son?' But instead it was my grandson. He got killed that evenin'."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterEmma2"></a> +<h3>Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Birthmarks<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Emma Foster (C) <br> +Place of residence: 1200 N. Magnolia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: Laundress<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I know I marked one of my babies with beer. It was 'cause I wanted some +beer and couldn't get it. And when it was born it had a place on the +back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. And +when she was about a week old I got some beer and give it to her with a +teaspoon and she quit foamin'.</p> + +<p>"And another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the +doctor had done took the bone out. He and I used to love to rassle +(wrestle) and one day he said, 'Oh, Emma, you hurt my finger.' And like +a fool, you know I took his hand and just rubbed that finger. And do you +know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterIra"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Ira Foster<br> + 2000 W. Eureka Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in slavery because when the people come back from the War I +was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come.</p> + +<p>"I heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the War.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I was sure born in Arkansas; I won't tell no lie 'bout that.</p> + +<p>"My mother's old master was named Foster and after she married she +belonged to Hezekiah Bursey.</p> + +<p>"She was born in Alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated.</p> + +<p>"She was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner.</p> + +<p>"I never have been to school. Never did learn nothin'. My father put me +to work soon as I was big enough.</p> + +<p>"I always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near +as I can come at it. I went to saw millin' and I didn't do nothin' but +manufacture lumber. I worked for the Camden Lumber Company eighteen +years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble.</p> + +<p>"If I just had enough to live on I wouldn't do a thing but just sit +around 'cause I think I done worked my share. Why, some of the white +folks say, 'Foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty +dollars a month.' And I say, 'Why?' And they say, 'Cause you look just +like a darky that has worked hard in this world.'</p> + +<p>"I suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. Seems +like sometimes I can't hardly get around."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterIra2"></a> +<h3>FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Songs of Pre-War Days<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Ira Foster<br> +Place of residence: 2000 W. Eureka, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + + +<pre> +"'You may call me Raggedy Pat + 'Cause I wear this raggedy hat, + And you may think I'm a workin' + But I ain't.' +</pre> + +<p>I used to hear my uncle sing that. That's all the words I can remember."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FranklinLeonard"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Leonard Franklin<br> + Temporary: 301 Ridgeway, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> + Permanent: Warren, Arkansas<br> +Age: 70</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Mother Whipped Overseer]</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know exactly the year I was born. But my father told me I was +born since the Civil War. I am seventy years old. They always tell me +when my birthday come 'round it will be in January—the eighteenth of +January.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Abe Franklin and my mother's name was Lucy +Franklin. I know my father's mother but I didn't ever know his father. +His mother's name was Maria Franklin. My mother's father was Harris +Pennington. I never did see her mother and never did see her.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Warren, Arkansas. My mother and father were born in +Warren. That is on the outer edge of Warren. My mother's slavery farm +was on what they called Big Creek. It is named Franklin Creek. Two or +three miles of it ran through Franklin's Farm.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was Al Franklin. And my mother's master's name was +Hill Pennington. One of Hill Pennington's sons was named Fountain +Pennington. He lives about five miles from Warren now on the south +highway.</p> + +<p>"My mother had about three masters before she got free. She was a +terrible working woman. Her boss went off deer hunting once for a few +weeks. While he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. She knocked +him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. +When Pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked +him what was the matter with it. The overseer told him that he went down +in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit +Lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she +jumped on me and like to tore me up. Old Pennington said to him, 'Well, +if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have +to take it.'</p> + +<p>"Then they sold her to another man named Jim Bernard. Bernard did a lot +of big talk to her one morning. He said, 'Look out there and mind you do +what you told around her and step lively. If you don't, you'll get that +bull whip.' She said to him, 'Yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' He had +heard about her; so he sold her to another man named Cleary. He was good +to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that.</p> + +<p>"There wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. +She could do more work than any two men. There wasn't no use for no one +man to try to do nothin' with her. No overseer never downed her.</p> + +<p>"They didn't kill niggers then—not in slavery times. Not 'round where +my folks were. A nigger was money. Slaves were property. They'd paid +money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill +'em up. When they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their +money out of them.</p> + +<p>"The white people started to Texas with the colored folks near the end +of the war and got as far as El Dorado. Word come to 'em that freedom +had come and they turned back.</p> + +<p>"A paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of +water. He said he was thirsty. He had a rubber thing on and drank two or +three buckets of water. His rubber bag swelled up and made his head or +the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. Instead +of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and I'll +tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more.</p> + +<p>"Right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. They hired out +by the month. [HW: My father] didn't never say how much he got. When +they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages +didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. Said he had ate +it all up. After that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of +his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to +show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. +It was ten years before he got a start. It was hard to get ahead then +because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't +know nothin'. My father had two brothers that just stayed on with the +white folks. They stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had +to go. Couldn't do no good then. My father was always treated well by +his master.</p> + +<p>"I got my schooling at Warren. I went to the tenth grade. Could have +gone farther but didn't want to. I was looking at something I thought +was better than education. When I got of age, I come up here and just +run about. I was what you might say pretty fine. I was looking so high I +couldn't find nothing to suit me. I went 'round to a number of places +and none of them suited me. So I went on back home and been there ever +since.</p> + +<p>"I married once in my life. My wife is still living. My wife is a good +woman. No, if I got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. I +am the father of ten living children. I made a living by doing anything +that come up—housework, gardening, anything.</p> + +<p>"I don't get no government help. I don't want none yet. God has seen me +this far. I think He'll see me to the end. He is good to me; He's given +me such a good time I couldn't help but serve Him. Only been sick once +in seventy years.</p> + +<p>"I belong to the Baptist church. God is my boss now. He has brought me +this far and He's able to carry me across"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierEliza"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Eliza Frazier<br> + 2003 Saracen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 88?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I don't know when I was born or 'zackly how old I is, but I was born in +South Carolina and come here before the War.</p> + +<p>"I belonged to Wiley Mosley and he brought me and my mother and my +sister here to Arkansas. I don't 'member it at all 'cause I was a baby, +but I know what Wiley Mosley and my mother told me.</p> + +<p>"Settled in Redland Township. That's what they called it. He bought a +plantation there. There was three brothers come to this country and they +didn't live very far from each other.</p> + +<p>"I 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the War and one time I heered the guns +a poppin'. They said they was just passin' through. I was just a small +girl but I 'member it. I seed the Yankees too. I 'member they'd come up +in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take +the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk.</p> + +<p>"Old master was gone to the War. I 'member when he was gwine and I +'member when he come back. Old missis said he was up in Missouri. Got +shot right through the foot once. I know he come home and stayed 'til he +was well, then he went back. I don't know how long he stayed but he went +back—I know that. And he come back after the War—I 'member that.</p> + +<p>"I 'member one time when I upset the cradle. Miss Jane wouldn't 'low me +to take the baby up but I rocked the cradle. And one time I reckon I +rocked it too hard and it turned over. Miss Jane heard it time it hit +the floor and she come runnin'. I was under the house by that time but +she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. I +know I didn't turn it over no more.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees never said nothin' to me—talked to my mother though, and +old mis'.</p> + +<p>"They said they was fightin' to free the niggers. There was a boy on the +place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and +get the news. He didn't do that when old master was home. I know he +brought the news when peace declared. Patrollers got him one night.</p> + +<p>"I 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and +hollerin', 'The niggers is free, the niggers is free!'</p> + +<p>"Our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. I +'member I was gwine out to the field and Woodson, he was the baby I +upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and I know old +master said, 'Put him down and let him walk.'</p> + +<p>"They told me I was twenty when I was married—the white folks told me. +I know my mother asked how old I was and they said I was 'bout twenty. I +'member it well enough.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but I knowed my ABC's and could read some in the +first reader. I ain't forgot about it. I thinks about it sometimes.</p> + +<p>"The biggest work I has done is farm work.</p> + +<p>"I've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b></p> + +<p>Eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail +carrier and he is now sending three children to the A.M.& N. College +here.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Frazier, near Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 60</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My parents was Neily and Amos Hamilton. They lived in Marshall County, +about forty-eight miles from Memphis. They belong to people by that same +name.</p> + +<p>"I heard them all say how they come to be way out in Mississippi. The +Thompsons owned Grandma Diana and her husband in South Carolina. Master +Jefferies went there from Mississippi and bought grandma. They let all +twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell +grandpa. He grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward +and bought him. Jefferies was good to them. I was born in Mississippi. +Grandma cooked all the time. Mama and papa both worked in the field. I +heard grandma say every one of her children was born in South Carolina. +Mr. Jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in Clarendon, Arkansas. +Since I come to this country I seen him. I lived over there pretty close +by.</p> + +<p>"I got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. They want to have +a big time when they are young. All young folks is swift on foot that +way. Times is funny. Funniest times ever been in my life. Is times right +now? Ain't no credit no more. That one thing making times so hard. Money +is the whole thing now'days."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierTyler"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Subject: TALES OF SLAVERY DAYS<br> +Story:—Information<br> +[Feb 6 1937]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Tyler Frazier<br> +Place of Residence: Ouachita County<br> +Occupation: Domestic<br> +Age: 75</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>Ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus +freed. Ah got freed in Texas. We went tuh Texas on a steamboat an dey +wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. We sho 'joyed dat trip. We went wid +our mistress an moster. Dey wuz de Lides, Mistuh John Lide's parents. De +Lides run one uv de bigges' stores in Camden now, if yo knows dem dey is +de same Lides. One uv de boys wuz named Blackie Lide, one John Lide, one +named Hugh Lide. Dem wuz granchillun. Hannah Lide, Minnie Watts now, dey +wuz de granchillun. Now let me see, one Miss wuz named Emma Lide. Dem +sho wuz good fokes. Ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis +country. An ole moster been daid since way back yondah. But when we got +tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum Camden in +Ouachita County. Ole moster wuz named Peter Lide. We jes went tuh school +nough tuh learn our A.B.C.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. We +carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. We kep' +spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. We pickled de backbone an dem +spareribs. We worked evah day. Wednesday night wuz wash night. Dat's +when de women would do de washin. We'd go tuh de fiel way fo day.</p> + +<p>Back in dem days we had er log church. Ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah +wuz six. Mis Lide made mah fust pair uv britches. Ah membuhs one time ah +went to Miss Lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. Ah put em in a sack +an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung +an moster caught me. Ah'm tellin de truth. Ah aint had no desire tuh +steal since.</p> + +<p>Moster Peter Lide's favorite song wus dis: "Hit's er long way tuh +heaven." Ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. He wuz a Christian man. He +wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good Christian. We didn' know +bout no money. When we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. We didn' know +bout Thanksgiving day and Christmas. We heard de white fokes tawkin bout +hit but we didn' know whut hit meant.</p> + +<p>When anybody would die dey made de coffin. Didn' have no funeral, no +singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. Dat wus all. Nebber stop +work. We nevah plowed er hoss. We used oxen teams. We made good crops +den. We raised all our sumpin tuh eat.</p> + +<p>When ah wus a lil' bitsy boy Mrs. Lide use tuh tell us stories at night. +She give us our fireside trainin. She tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin +not tuh but in. Ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot +dat. We ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. We lives in de days +dats past. All we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. When mah +time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah God, mah +country and mah race.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FreemanAuntMittie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg<br> +Person interviewed: Aunt Mittie Freeman<br> +Aged: 86<br> +Home: 320 Elm St., North Little Rock. In home of granddaughter.<br> +[Aug 27 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Story by Aunt Mittie Freeman</b></p> + +<p>"Howdy, honey. Come on in and set down. It's awful hot, ain't it? What +you come to see me for? You says old uncle Boss tell you I'se old slave +lady? That's right, that's right. Us old war folks never fergits the +others. Anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. I got +the bestest remembrance.</p> + +<p>Orange county, Mississippi was where I was borned at but I been right +here in Arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. In slavery, it was, +when my white folks done come to Camden. You know where that is?—Camden +on the Ouachita? That's the place where we come. Yes Ma'am, it was long +before the war when the doctor—I means Dr. Williams what owned my pappy +and all us younguns—say he going to Arkansas. Theys rode in the fine +carriages. Us slaves rode in ox wagons. Lord only knows how long it tuck +a-coming. Every night we camped. I was jest a little tike then but I has +a remembrance of everything. The biggest younguns had to walk till theys +so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been +a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like +this we go on.</p> + +<p>Dr. Williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. He was sure good +man. He didn't work his slaves hard like some. My pappy was a kind of a +manager for Doctor. Doctor tended his business and pappy runned the +plantation where we lived at. Our good master died before freedom. He +willed us slaves to his chilrun. You know—passeled (parcelled) us out, +some to this child, some to that. I went to his daughter, Miss Emma. +Laws-a-Mercy, how I wishes I could see her face onct more afore I dies. +I heerd she married rich. Unh-unh! I'd shore love to see her onct more.</p> + +<p>After old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of +the fam'ly. It had a overseer. He was a northerner man and the meanest +devil ever put foot on a plantation. My father was a gentleman; yes +ma'am, he was jest that. He had been brung up that-a-way. Old master +teached us to never answer back to no white folks. But one day that +overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit +him.</p> + +<p>So after that, he sent pappy down to New Orleans to be sold. He said he +would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned +him. Pappy was old. Every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; +everybody pass old pappy by. After a long time—oh, maybe five +years—one day they ax pappy—"Are you got some white folks back in +Arkansas?" He telled them the Williams white folks in Camden on the +Ouachita. Theys white. After while theys send pappy home. Miss, I tells +you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. Old Miss and the young white +folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; +they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. That's what them +Williams folks thought of their slaves. Yes ma'am.</p> + +<p>Old Miss was name Miss 'liza. She skeered to stay by herself after old +master died. I was took to be her companion. Every day she wanted me to +bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said I was +gentle and didn't never hurt her. One day I was a standing by the window +and I seen smoke—blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. I heerd +cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. She say: "Run, Mittie, and +hide yourself. It's the Yanks. Theys coming at last, Oh lordy!" I was +all incited (excited) and told her I didn't want to hide, I wanted to +see 'em. "No" she say, right firm. "Ain't I always told you Yankees has +horns on their heads? They'll get you. Go on now, do like I tells you." +So I runs out the room and went down by the big gate. A high wall was +there and a tree put its branches right over the top. I clim up and hid +under the leaves. They was coming, all a marching. The captain opened +our big gate and marched them in. A soldier seen me and said "Come on +down here; I want to see you." I told him I would, if he would take off +his hat and show me his horns.</p> + +<p>The day freedom came, I was fishing with pappy. My remembrance is sure +good. All a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. +You know what that was, Miss? It was the fall of Richmond. Cannons was +to roar every place when Richmond fell. Pappy jumps up, throws his pole +and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. +"It's victory," he keep on saying. "It's freedom. Now we'es gwine be +free." I didn't know what it all meant.</p> + +<p>It seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. Everything jest +kept on like it was. We heard that lots of slaves was getting land and +some mules to set up fer theirselves; I never knowed any what got land +or mules nor nothing.</p> + +<p>We all stayed right on the place till the Yankees came through. They was +looking for slaves what was staying on. Now we was free and had to git +off the plantation. They packed us in their big amulance ... you say it +wasn't a amulance,—what was it? Well, then, their big covered army +wagons, and tuck us to Little Rock. Did you ever know where the old +penitentiary was? Well, right there is where the Yanks had a great big +barracks. All chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. Did you +know that the fust real free school in Little Rock was opened by the +govment for colored chullens? Yes ma'am, and I went to it, right from +the day we got there.</p> + +<p>They took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the +corner of Second and Main Street. He got $12.00 a month and all the grub +we could eat. Unh, Unh! Didn't we live good? I sure got a good +remembrance, honey. Can't you tell? Yes, Ma'am. They was plenty of other +refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of +'em.</p> + +<p>I was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help +pappy. A man name Captain Hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the +river. He wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get +colored folks to help him. A lot of us niggers from the barracks was +sent to pick. We got $1.25 a hundred pounds. What did I do with my +money? Is you asking me that? Bless your soul, honey, I never seen that +money hardly long enough to git it home. In them days chilluns worked +for their folks. I toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to +have. That's the way it was. We picked cotton all fall and winter, and +went to school after picking was over.</p> + +<p>When I got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting +on. Pappy had a five year lease,—do you know what that was, I +don't—but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could +clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. He built +a log house and put in a orchard. Next year he had a big garden and sold +vegables. Lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but +pappy. They'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting +ears. When he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and +made it right good. His name was Harry Williams. He was a stern man, and +honest. He was named for his old master. When my brothers got growed +they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in Little +Rock. But when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck +a farm—the old Lawson place—so to make a home for mammy and the little +chilluns.</p> + +<p>I married Freeman. Onliest husban ever I had. He died last summer. He +was a slave too. We used to talk over them days before we met. The +K.K.K. never bothered us. They was gathered together to bother niggers +and whites what made trouble. If you tended to your own business, they's +let you alone.</p> + +<p>No ma'am, I never voted. My husband did. Yes ma'am, I can remember when +they was colored men voted into office. Justice of Peace, county clerks, +and, er—er—that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets +killed. What you call him? Coroner? Sure, that's him. I know that, +'cause I seen them a-setting in their offices.</p> + +<p>We raised our fam'ly on a plantation. That's the bestest place for +colored chilluns. Yes ma'am. My five boys stayed with me till they was +grown. They heerd about the Railroad shops and was bound theys going +there to work. Ben—that was my man—and me couldn't make it by +ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon +after the war. He was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and +died in two weeks. He didn't know nothing all that time. My onliest boy +what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. All them others went +to Iowa after the big railroad strike here. They was out of work for +many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they +been in the shops.</p> + +<p>How I a-living now? You wants to know, honest? Say honey, is you a +relief worker—one of them welfare folkses? Lor' God, how I needs help! +Honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to +put on 'em to bury in. I told the Welfare could I get something clean +and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was +two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close +(clothes). Theys told me then I would get $10.00 a month, but in all +this time now, I only had $5.00 one time. I lives with my daughter here +in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up +the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. Lordy, where'll we go? I made +big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. Hot summer burnt +everything up, now. Yessum, that $5.00 the Reliefers give me—I bought +my garden stuff with it.</p> + +<p>I got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. It look like I'm done. I knowed +a old potion. It made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. Good whiskey. Not +old cheap corn likker. Yessum, you takes fine whiskey—'bout half bottle, +and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. Tablespoon three times a +day. Look-a-here, miss. Look at these old arms go up and down now. I kin +do a washing along with the youngish womens.</p> + +<p>Iffen you wants to know what I thinks of the young folks I tells you. +Look at that grandchile a-setting there. She fourteen and know more +right now than I knowed in my whole life. Yes ma'am! She can sew on a +machine and make a dress in one day. She read in a book how to make +sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. Theys fast, too. Ain't got no time +for olds like me. Can't find no time to do nothin' for me. People now +makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't +honest. No'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. Old honest way was to bend +the back and bear down on the hoe.</p> + +<p>Did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? Sure did have purty music +them days. It's so long, honey, I jest can't 'member the names, +'excusing one. It was "Hark, from the Tombs a Doleful Sound." It was a +burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. It was the +most onliest song they knowed. They was other music, though. Could they +play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! Lordy, iffen I could take you +back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and +learned me to dance the contillion!</p> + +<p>I'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you +think? Yes, Mam! We sure is living in the seventh seal. The days of +tribulations is on us right now. Nothing make like it used to. I sure +would be proud iffen I knowed I had a living for the balance of my days. +I got a clean and a clear heart—a clean and clear heart. Be so to your +neighbors and God will make it up to you. He sure will, honey."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FritzMattie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mattie Fritz, Clarendon, Arkansas<br> +Age: 79</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born at Duncan, Arkansas. Mother died when I was a baby. Old +slavery black 'Mammy' raised me. I called her 'Mammy'. My father was +born in the State of Mississippi. He got loose there at 'mancipation. +His master Jack Oates got killed in battle. They brung him home and +buried him in the garden. Down close to Duncan on the place. I played in +the yard wid Mr. Jack Oates, Jr. when we was little fellars. Father's +master in Tennessee was Bill Tyler. My uncle went back to Tennessee to +them. His name was Tyler Oates. Mr. Jack Gates, Sr. used to pat me and +call me his little nigger. We thought the world and all of our white +folks. We sure did. Some of 'em 'round 'bout Helena they say now. Mr. +Jack, Jr., he had two boys and he was a widower.</p> + +<p>"My own dear mother was Jane. My father called hisself Bill Tyler. My +stepmother was Liddy. The woman what raised me was 'Mammy' all I ever +knowed. But her name was Luckadoo.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tyler got killed. Pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. He +got sold. Then she died. Then mother died. Jack Oates went to my father +and brung him to Mississippi, then to Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Master Jack Tyler hid out. The Yankees come at night and caught him +there and shot him. His wife lived about two more years. She grieved +about him. They took everything and searched the house. My pa was hid +under the house. They rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen +him once. He was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the +dark. All what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. They couldn't see +him so good. Way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in +the fights too. Them Yankees took Massa Jack Tyler off and sont him back +in a while. She had him buried in the garden. She didn't know it was +him.</p> + +<p>"'Mammy' was a slavery woman. She was sold first time from a neighbor +man to a neighbor man. He was an old man. She ploughed and rolled logs. +Then she was sold to Master Luckadoo close to Holly Grove. They named +her Eloise, and she was a farm woman. She was so good to me. She was a +worker and never took time to tell me about old times. She said Luckadoo +never whooped her. A storm come and blowed a limb down killed her +granddaughter and broke my leg. The same storm killed their mule. She +raised a orphan boy too. She died from the change of life but she was +old, gray headed. Since I'm older I think she had a tumor. 'Cause she +was old when she took me on.</p> + +<p>"I gets ten dollars from the Welfare. I ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em +nor nothin' agin 'em. They's betwix' and between no 'count and good.</p> + +<p>"Times too fast. I can't keep up wid them. 'Betwix' and between the fat +and the lean.' Some do very well I reckon."</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13700 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/13700-h/images/mevans.jpg b/13700-h/images/mevans.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..202a354 --- /dev/null +++ b/13700-h/images/mevans.jpg diff --git a/13700-h/images/stdouglas.jpg b/13700-h/images/stdouglas.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ca70d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/13700-h/images/stdouglas.jpg diff --git a/13700-h/images/whistle.gif b/13700-h/images/whistle.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..21ede07 --- /dev/null +++ b/13700-h/images/whistle.gif diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7b5c68 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13700 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13700) diff --git a/old/13700-h.zip b/old/13700-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e28dfc7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13700-h.zip diff --git a/old/13700-h/13700-h.htm b/old/13700-h/13700-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b750fb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13700-h/13700-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10799 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>Born in Slavery: Slave Narratives from the Federal Writers' Project, 1936-1938: +Arkansas Narratives, Volume II, Part 2</title> +<meta name="author" content="Federal Writers' Project"> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery +in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2, by Work Projects Administration + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2 + +Author: Work Projects Administration + +Release Date: October 11, 2004 [EBook #13700] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES *** + + + + +Produced by Jeannie Howse, Andrea Ball, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team from images provided by the Library of Congress, +Manuscript Division. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p>[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note</p> +<p>[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"><br><br> + +<h1>SLAVE NARRATIVES</h1> +<br> + +<h2><i>A Folk History of Slavery in the United States<br> +From Interviews with Former Slaves</i></h2> +<br> + + +<h4>TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY<br> +THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT<br> +1936-1938<br> +ASSEMBLED BY<br> +THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT<br> +WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION<br> +FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA<br> +SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS</h4> +<br> + +<p><i>Illustrated with Photographs</i></p> + +<br> + + +<p>WASHINGTON 1941</p> +<br><br><br> + +<h2>VOLUME II</h2> + +<h2>ARKANSAS NARRATIVES</h2> + +<h2>PART 2</h2> + + +<h3>Prepared by<br> +the Federal Writers' Project of<br> +the Works Progress Administration<br> +for the State of Arkansas</h3> +<br><br><br> + + +<h2>INFORMANTS</h2> + +<a href='#CannonFrank'>Cannon, Frank</a><br> +<a href='#CauleyZenie'>Cauley, Zenie</a><br> +<a href='#ChambersLiney'>Chambers, Liney</a><br> +<a href='#CharlestonWillie'>Charleston, Jr., Willie Buck</a><br> +<a href='#ChaseLewis'>Chase, Lewis</a><br> +<a href='#ClayKatherine'>Clay, Katherine</a><br> +<a href='#ClemmentsMaria'>Clemments, Maria Sutton</a><br> +<a href='#ClementsMaria'>Clements, Maria Sutton</a> [TR: same as Maria Sutton Clemments, second interview]<br> +<a href='#ClementsMaria2'>Clements, Maria Sutton</a> + [TR: third interview] <br> +<a href='#ClemonsFannie'>Clemons, Fannie</a><br> +<a href='#ClintonJoe'>Clinton, Joe</a><br> +<a href='#ColemanBetty'>Coleman, Betty</a><br> +<a href='#CottonLucy'>Cotton, Lucy</a><br> +<a href='#CottonTW'>Cotton, T.W.</a><br> +<a href='#CraginEllen'>Cragin, Ellen</a><br> +<a href='#CraneSallie'>Crane, Sallie</a><br> +<a href='#CrawfordIsaac'>Crawford, Isaac</a><br> +<a href='#CrosbyMary'>Crosby, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#CrumpRichard'>Crump, Richard</a><br> +<a href='#CulpZenia'>Culp, Zenia</a><br> +<a href='#CumminsAlbert'>Cumins, Albert</a> [TR: in header and text of interview, Cummins]<br> +<a href='#CurlettBetty'>Curlett, Betty</a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#CurlettBetty2'>Curlett, Betty</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#CurryJH'>Curry, J.H.</a><br> +<br> +<a href='#DandridgeLyttleton'>Dandridge, Lyttleton</a><br> +<a href='#DanielsElla'>Daniels, Ella</a><br> +<a href='#DarrowMaryAllen'>Darrow, Mary Allen</a><br> +<a href='#DavisAlice'>Davis, Alice</a><br> +<a href='#DavisCharlie'>Davis, Charlie</a><br> +<a href='#DavisD'>Davis, D.</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJames'>Davis, James</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJim'>Davis, Jim</a> [TR: same as James Davis, second interview]<br> +<a href='#DavisJim2'>Davis, Jim</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#DavisJeff1'>Davis, Jeff</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJeff2'>Davis, Jeff</a><br> +<a href='#DavisJordan'>Davis, Jordan</a><br> +<a href='#DavisMaryJane'>Davis, Mary Jane Drucilla</a><br> +<a href='#DavisMinerva'>Davis, Minerva</a><br> +<a href='#DavisRosetta'>Davis, Rosetta</a><br> +<a href='#DavisVirginia'>Davis, Virginia (Jennie)</a><br> +<a href='#DavisWinnie'>Davis, Winnie</a><br> +<a href='#DayLeroy'>Day, Leroy</a><br> +<a href='#DellHammett'>Dell, Hammett</a><br> +<a href='#DickeyJames'>Dickey, James</a><br> +<a href='#DiggsBenjamin'>Diggs, Benjamin</a><br> +<a href='#DillonKatie'>Dillon, Katie</a><br> +<a href='#DixonAlice'>Dixon, Alice</a><br> +<a href='#DixonLukeD'>Dixon, Luke D.</a><br> +<a href='#DixonMarthaAnn'>Dixon, Martha Ann</a><br> +<a href='#DockeryRailroad'>Dockery, Railroad</a><br> +<a href='#DonalsonCallie'>Donalson, Callie</a><br> +<a href='#DortchCharlesGreen'>Dortch, Charles Green</a><br> +<a href='#DorumFannie'>Dorum, Fannie</a><br> +<a href='#DothrumSilas'>Dothrum, Silas</a><br> +<a href='#DouglasSarah'>Douglas, Sarah</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarah2'>Douglas, Sarah</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#DouglasTom'>Douglas, Tom</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarahTom'>Douglas, Sarah and Tom</a> <br> +<a href='#DouglasSarahTom2'>Douglas, Sarah and Tom</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#DouglasSebert'>Douglas, Sebert</a><br> +<a href='#DoylHenry'>Doyl, Henry</a><br> +<a href='#DoyldWillie'>Doyld, Willie</a><br> +<a href='#DudleyWade'>Dudley, Wade</a><br> +<a href='#DukeIsabella'>Duke, Isabella</a><br> +<a href='#DukesWash'>Dukes, Wash</a> <br> +<a href='#DunnLizzie'>Dunn, Lizzie</a><br> +<a href='#DunneNellie'>Dunne, Nellie</a><br> +<a href='#DunwoodyWilliamL'>Dunwoody, William L.</a><br> +<br> +<a href='#EdwardsLucius'>Edwards, Lucius</a><br> +<a href='#ElliottJohn'>Elliott, John</a><br> +<a href='#EvansMillie'>Evans, Millie</a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#EvansMillie2'>Evans, Millie</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FarmerRobert'>Farmer, Robert</a><br> +<a href='#FergussonMrsLou'>Fergusson, Lou</a><br> +<a href='#FerrellJennie'>Ferrell, Jennie</a><br> +<a href='#FikesFrank'>Fikes, Frank</a><br> +<a href='#FilerJE'>Filer, J.E.</a> <br> +<a href='#FingerOrleana'>Finger, Orleana</a> [TR: in text of interview, Orleana]<br> +<a href='#FinleyMolly'>Finley, Molly</a><br> +<a href='#FinneyFanny'>Finney, Fanny</a><br> +<a href='#FisherGateEye'>Fisher, Gate-Eye</a><br> +<a href='#FitzgeraldEllen'>Fitzgerald, Ellen</a><br> +<a href='#FitzhughHenry'>Fitzhugh, Henry</a><br> +<a href='#FlaggMary'>Flagg, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#FlowersDoc'>Flowers, Doc</a><br> +<a href='#FlukerFrances'>Fluker, Frances</a><br> +<a href='#FlukerIdaMay'>Fluker, Ida May</a><br> +<a href='#FordWash'>Ford, Wash</a> <br> +<a href='#FordWash2'>Ford, Wash</a> + [TR: second interview] <br> +<a href='#FortenberryJudia'>Fortenberry, Judia</a><br> +<a href='#FosterEmma'>Foster, Emma</a> + [TR: interview]<br> +<a href='#FosterEmma2'>Foster, Emma</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FosterIra'>Foster, Ira </a> + [TR: interview] <br> +<a href='#FosterIra2'>Foster, Ira</a> + [TR: story] <br> +<a href='#FranklinLeonard'>Franklin, Leonard</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierEliza'>Frazier, Eliza</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierMary'>Frazier, Mary</a><br> +<a href='#FrazierTyler'>Frazier, Tyler</a><br> +<a href='#FreemanAuntMittie'>Freeman, Mittie</a><br> +<a href='#FritzMattie'>Fritz, Mattie</a><br> +<br> +<br> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<a href="#img_STD">Sarah and Sam Douglas</a> [TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes +"'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."]<br> +<a href="#img_ME">Millie Evans</a> <br> +<br><br> + +<p>[TR: Some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added +to interview headers in brackets. Where part of date could not be +determined -- has been substituted. These dates do not appear to +represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews +were received or perhaps transcription dates.]</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CannonFrank"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Frank Cannon<br> + R.F.D., two miles, Palestine, Arkansas<br> +Age: 77</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born three miles west of Starkville, Mississippi on a pretty +tolerable large farm. My folks was bought from a speculator drove come +by. They come from Sanders in South Ca'lina. Master Charlie Cannon +bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. He had +five farms, big size farms. Saturday was ration day.</p> + +<p>"Our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to +preach to us. He was a white preacher. Said he wanted his slaves to be +Christians.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school in my life. I was taught by the fireside to be +obedient and not steal.</p> + +<p>"We et outer trays hewed out of logs. Three of us would eat together. We +had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. +We all had gourds to drink outer. When we had milk we'd get on our knees +and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. They give the grown up +the meat and us pot-liquor.</p> + +<p>"Pa was a blacksmith. He got a little work from other plantations. The +third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. The master was dead. He +never went to war. He went in the black jack thickets. His sons wasn't +old enough to go to war. Pa seemed to like ole master. The overseer was +white looking like the master but I don't know if he was white man or +nigger. Ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. Master +held him off on whooping.</p> + +<p>"When the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and +look at him. When he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. He didn't care +if we look at him.</p> + +<p>"My pa was light about my color. Ma was dark. I heard them say she was +part Creek (Indian).</p> + +<p>"Folks was modester before the children than they are now. The children +was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. Everything +we said wasn't smart like what children say now. We was seen and not +heard. Not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a +brush to nettle our legs. Then we'd run and holler both.</p> + +<p>"Now and then a book come about and it was hid. Better not be caught +looking at books.</p> + +<p>"Times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got +worked too hard and frailed. Some folks was treated very good, some +killed.</p> + +<p>"Folks getting mean now. They living in hopes and lazing about. They +work some."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CauleyZenie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person Interviewed: Zenie Cauley<br> + 1000 Louisiana<br> + Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 78 <br> +[-- 7 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I member when they freed the people.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Bedie Kellog's yard and I know she said, 'Zenie, I hate +to give you up, I'd like to keep you.' But my mother said, 'No, ma'am, I +can't give Zenie up.'</p> + +<p>"We still stayed there on the place and I was settled and growed up when +I left there.</p> + +<p>"I'm old. I feels my age too. I may not look old but I feels it.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. +Old folks had rags on their hair. Yes'm, I been here.</p> + +<p>"My father was a Missionary Baptist preacher and he <u>was</u> a preacher. +Didn't know 'A' from 'B' but he was a preacher. Everbody knowed Jake +Alsbrooks. He preached all over that country of North Carolina. They'd +be as many white folks as colored. They'd give him <u>money</u> and he never +called for a collection in his life. Why one Sunday they give him +sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse.</p> + +<p>"Fore I left the old county, I member the boss man, Henry Grady, come +by and tell my mother, 'I'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when +I come back—kill a chicken.' She was one of the cooks. Used to have us +chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I done left there thirty-six years—will be this August.</p> + +<p>"When we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets +and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach +on Sunday. He fell down in Bedie Kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the +barn. He was standin' on the wagon and I guess he lost his balance. They +sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his +nabel string. They preached his funeral ever year for five years. Seemed +like they just couldn't give him up.</p> + +<p>"White folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up +Uncle Jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he +beat us so I don't know how I can remember anything. He wouldn't let us +go to school. Had to work and just live like pigs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I used to be a tiger bout work, but I fell on the ice in +'twenty-nine and I ain't never got over it. I said I just had a death +shock.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but three months in my life. Didn't go long +enough to learn anything.</p> + +<p>"I was bout a mile from where I was born when I professed religion. My +daddy had taught us the right way. I tell you, in them days you couldn't +join the church unless you had been changed.</p> + +<p>"I come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to Arkansas."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ChambersLiney"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson <br> +Person interviewed: Liney Chambers, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age:</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee close to Memphis. I remember seein' the +Yankees. I was most too little to be very scared of them. They had their +guns but they didn't bother us. I was born a slave. My mother cooked for +Jane and Silas Wory. My mother's name was Caroline. My father's name was +John. An old bachelor named Jim Bledsoe owned him. When the war was over +I don't remember what happened. My mother moved away. She and my father +didn't live together. I had one brother, Proctor. I expect he is dead. +He lived in California last I heard of him.</p> + +<p>"They just expected freedom all I ever heard. I know they didn't expect +the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land +bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. They +thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. They kept +the land and that is about all there was left. Whut the Yankees didn't +take they wasted and set fire to it. They set fire to the rail fences so +the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. Both sides +was mean. But it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the +Souths ground it was the wurst here. Now that's just the way I sees it. +They done one more thing too. They put any colored man in the front +where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the +back lines. When they come along they try to get the colored men to go +with them and that's the way they got treated. I didn't know where +anybody was made to stay on after the war. They was lucky if they had a +place to stay at. There wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. Times +was awful unsettled for a long time. People whut went to the cities +died. I don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' +and livin' I guess whut done it. They died mighty fast for awhile. I +knowed some of them and I heard 'em talking.</p> + +<p>"That period after the war was a hard time. It sho was harder than the +depression. It lasted a long time. Folks got a lots now besides what +they put up with then. Seemed like they thought if they be free they +never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. They +found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been +used to. I don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the +color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. Some of +them had a worse time. So many soon got sick and died. They died of +Consumption and fevers and nearly froze. Some near 'bout starved. The +colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war.</p> + +<p>"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen one.</p> + +<p>"I never voted. I don't believe in it.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of any uprisings. I don't know nobody in that rebellion +(Nat Turner).</p> + +<p>"I used to sing to my children and in the field.</p> + +<p>"I lived on the farm till I come to my daughters to live. I like it +better then in town. We homesteaded a place at Grunfield (Zint) and my +sister bought it. We barely made a living and never had money to lay up.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what they'll (young generation) do. Things going so fast. +I'm glad I lived when I did. I think it's been the best time for p[o]r +folks. Some now got too much and some not got +nothin'. That what I believe make times seem so hard."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CharlestonWillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Willie Buck Charleston, Jr., Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born up here on the Biscoe place before Mr. Biscoe was heard of +in this country. I'm for the world like my daddy. He was light as I is. +I'm jus' his size and make. There was three of us boys. Dan was the +oldest; he was my own brother, and Ed was my half-brother. My daddy was +a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. He was in the Old War (Civil +War). He was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. +Mother had been a cook. She and my grandmother was sold in South +Carolina and brought out here. Mother's name was Sallie Harry. Judging +by them being Harrys that might been who owned them before they was +sold. She was about as light as me. Mother died when I was a litter bit +er of a fellar. Then me and Dan lived from house to house. Grandma Harry +and my Aunt Mat and Jesse Dove raised us. My daddy married right er way +ag'in.</p> + +<p>"I recollect mighty little about the war. We lived back in the woods and +swamps. I was afraid of the soldiers. I seen them pass by. I was so +little I can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them.</p> + +<p>"When we lived over about Forrest City I seen the Ku Klux whoop Joe Saw +and Bill Reed. It was at night. They was tied to trees and whooped with +a leather snake whoop. I couldn't say how it come up but they sure +poured it on them. There was a crowd come up during the acting. I was +scared to death then. After then I had mighty little use for dressed-up +folks what go around at night (Ku Klux). I can tell you no sich thing +ever took place as I heard of at Biscoe. We had our own two officers +and white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well +together."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ChaseLewis"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lewis Chase; Des Arc, Arkansas<br> +Age: 90?</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I answer all your questions I knows lady.</p> + +<p>"When de Civil War goin on I heard lots folks talking. I don't know what +all they did say. It was a war mong de white folks. Niggers had no say +in it. Heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. +Niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. Yankey troops come take +everything we had made, take it to the Bluff (DeValls Bluff), waste it +and eat it. He claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater +way. De niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. +Niggers what I knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin +but freedom.</p> + +<p>"I was sold. Yes mam I sho was. Jes put up on a platform and auctioned +off. Sold right here in Des Arc. Nom taint right. My old mistress [Mrs. +Snibley] whoop me till I run off and they took me back when they found +out where I lef from. I stayed way bout two weeks.</p> + +<p>"One man I sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. N[o]'[o]m +he didn't get me. I heard him puttin up the prices and I sho hope he didn't get me.</p> + +<p>"I don't know whar I come from. Old Missus Snibley kept my hat pulled +down over my face so I couldn't see de way to go back. I didn't want to +come and I say I go right back. Whar I set, right between old missus +and master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus +Snibley's two girls right behind us. I recken it was a covered wagon. +The girls name was Florence and Emma. Old master Snibley never whip me +but old Missus sho did pile it on me. Noom I didn't lack her. I run +away. He died f[o] the war was over. I did leave her when de war was over.</p> + +<p>"I saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but I nebber seed no Ku +Klux. I heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the Wattensaw bridge +[Iron bridge]. I was scared might near all de time for four years. Noom +I didn't want no soldiers to get me.</p> + +<p>"I recken I wo long britches when de war started cause when I pulled off +dresses I woe long britches. Never wo no short ones. Nigger boys and +white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years +old in them times. They put on britches when they big nough to help at +the field.</p> + +<p>"I worked at the house and de field. I'se farmed all my life.</p> + +<p>"I vote [HW: many] a time. I don't know what I vote. Noom I don't! I +recken I votes Democrat, I don't know. It don't do no good. Noom I ain't +voted in a long time. I don't know nothin bout votin. I never did.</p> + +<p>"Noom I never owned no land, noom no home neither. I didn't need no +home. The man I worked for give me a house on his place. I work for +another man and he give me a house on his land. I owned a horse one +time. I rode her.</p> + +<p>"I don't know nuthin bout the young generation. I takes care bout +myself. Dats all I'm able to do now. Some ob dem work. Nom they don't +work hard as I did. I works now hard as they do. They ought to work. I +don't know what going to become ob them. I can't help what they do.</p> + +<p>"The times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap +ob time they ain't no work fo em to do.</p> + +<p>"Noom I lived at Bells, Arkansas for I come to Hickory Plains and Des +Arc. I don't know no kin but my mother. She died durin the war. Noom not +all de white folks good to the niggers. Some mean. They whoop em. Some +white folks good. Jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and +some ob em mean.</p> + +<p>"I works when I can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little.</p> + +<p>"I <u>am</u> er hundred years old! Cause I knows I is. White folks all tell +you I am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClayKatherine"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Katherine Clay, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 69</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in West Point, Mississippi. My folks' owners was Master +Harris and Liddie Harris. My parent's name was Sely Sikes. She was +mother of seven children. Papa was name Owen Sikes. He never was +whooped. They had different owners. Both my grandparents was dead on +both sides. I never seen them.</p> + +<p>"Mama said her owners wasn't good. Her riding boss put a scar on her +back she took to her grave. It was deep and a foot long. He wanted to +whoop her naked. He had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. She +run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and +told him all about it. She had been in the woods about a week she +reckon. She had a baby she had left. The old mistress done had it +brought to her. She was nursing it. She had a sicking baby of her own. +She kept that baby. Mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had +to come wait on her; it nearly ruined.</p> + +<p>"Mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and +give him ten minutes to leave his place. He left in a hurry. That was +her very first baby. She was raising a family, so they put her a nurse +at the house. She had been ploughing. She had big fine children. They +was proud of them. She raised a big family. She took care of all her and +Miss Liddie's babies and washed their hippins. Never no soap went on +them she said reason she had that to do. Another woman cooked and +another woman washed.</p> + +<p>"Mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her +have her four children. She grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would +have a hard time. She sold for one thousand dollars. She said that was +half price but freedom was coming on. She never laid eyes on her mama +ag'in.</p> + +<p>"After freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the +place run the Ku Klux off. They come there and he told them to go on +away, if he need them he would call them back out there. They never came +back, she said. They was scared to death of the Ku Klux. At the place +where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. That was +for miles about. Their master told them up at his house. He said it was +sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. But for +them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. They +didn't go off right at first. They was several years getting broke up. +Some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. Like bees trying to +find a setting place. Seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even +being free.</p> + +<p>"I had eleven children my own self. I let the plough fly back and hit me +once and now I got a tumor there. I love to plough. I got two children +living. She comes to see me. She lives across over here. I don't hear +from my boy. I reckon he living. I gets help from the relief on account +I can't work much with this tumor."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClemmentsMaria"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clemments, DeValls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: Between 85 and 90 years</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clements]</p> +<br> + +<p>I don't know jes how old I is. Yes mum I show do member the war jes lack +as if it was yesterday. I was born in Lincoln County, Georgia. My old +mistress was named Frances Sutton. She was a real old lady. Her husband +was dead. She had two sons Abraham and George. One of them tried to get +old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. He wanter sell +her cause she too old to bear children. Sell her and buy young woman +raise mo children to sell. Put em in the nigger drove and speculate on +em. Young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes +and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred +dollars. Yea mam every cent of it. Two weeks after baby born see the +mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the +children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. When de sun come +up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid +de dogs playin long after him. If they didn't chop dat cotton jes right +he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood +run out the gashes. They come right back and take up whar they lef off +work. Two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row.</p> + +<p>Had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. +They didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. They had pewter bowls to +eat outer and spoons. Eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the +kitchen. Eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the +bell rung. Big bell on a high post.</p> + +<p>My ma's name was Sina Sutton. She come from Virginia in a nigger traders +drove when she was sixteen years old and Miss Frances husband bought er. +She had nine childen whut lived. I am de youngest. She died jes before +de war broke out. Till that time I had been trained a house girl. My ma +was a field hand. Then when the men all went to the army I plowed. I +plowed four years I recken, till de surrender. Howd I know it was +freedom? A strange woman—I never seed fore, came runnin down where we +was all at work. She say loud as she could "Hay freedom. You is free." +Everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. Dats whut +they come by fer. Course dey was Yankee soldiers settin the colored +folks all free. Everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. They +didn't know whar des goin. Jes scatterin round. I say give 'em somethin. +They was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the +land. The hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. White folks sho +had been rich but all they had was the land. The smoke houses had been +stripped and stripped. The cows all been took off cept the scrubs. Folks +plowed ox and glad to plow one.</p> + +<p>Sometime we had a good time. I danced till I joined the church. We +didn't have no nigger churches that I knowed till after freedom. Go to +the white folks church. We danced square dance jess like the white folks +long time ago. The niggers baptized after the white folks down at the +pond. They joined the white folks church sometimes. The same woman on +the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for Miss Frances. I +recollects that. She knitted and seed about things. She showed the +nigger women how to sew. All the women on the place could card and spin. +They sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. +They show didn't teach them to read. They whoop you if they see you have +a book. If they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout +freedom or equalization. They scatter you bout.</p> + +<p>When they sell you, they take you off. See drove pass the house. Men be +ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. The slaves +be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. They make em stand in +a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction +em.</p> + +<p>The pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own +land. There shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. Some ob +dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get +them to work for them sometimes and pay em.</p> + +<p>When you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. When a +man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. They call +it sellin nigger meat. No use tryin run off they catch you an bring you +back.</p> + +<p>I don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they +was fightin. Said that was what it was about. That was a white mans war +cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the Yankee lines. And some ob +the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. He so used to bein +waited on. I ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem I tell you.</p> + +<p>If der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. The niggers +get passes and visit round on Saturday evening or on Sunday jes mongst +theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round.</p> + +<p>When dat war was done Georgia was jes like being at the bad place. You +couldn't stay in the houses fear some Ku Klux come shoot under yo door +and bust in wid hatchets. Folks hide out in de woods mostly. If dey hear +you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. They whoop you. You +couldn't be settin or standing talkin. They come and ask you what he +been tell you. That Ku Klux killed white men too. They say they put em +up to hold offices over them. It was heap worse in Georgia after freedom +than it was fore. I think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de +white man put on him. We's had a hard time. Some of em down there in +Georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals +and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly +starved and died out. I heard em talk bout how they died in piles. +Niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. White folks didn't have +no meat, no flour.</p> + +<p>The folks was after some people and I run off and kept goin till I +took up with some people. The white folks brought them to +Tennessee—Covington—I come too. They come in wagons. My father, he got +shot and I never seed him no mo. He lived on another farm fo de war. I +lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and I married. My old +man wanted to come to dis new country. Heard so much talk how fine it +was. Then I had run across my brother. He followed me. One brother was +killed in the war somehow. My brother liked Memphis an he stayed there. +We come on the train. I never did like no city.</p> + +<p>We farmed bout, cleared land. Never got much fo the hard work we done. +The white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was +made cept a bare living.</p> + +<p>I could read a little and write. He could too. We went to school a +little in Tennessee.</p> + +<p>When we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, +right here, and I cooked fo Mr. Hopkins seven years and fo Mr. Gus +Thweatt and fo Mr. Nick Thweatt. We got a little ahead then by the +hardest. I carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her +waist]. We bought a house and five acres of land. No mum I don't own it +now. We got in hard luck and give a mortgage. They closed us out. Mr. +Sanders. They say I can live there long as I lives. But they owns it. My +garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. They promises to +come put the posts in but they won't do it and I ain't able no mo. I had +a garden this year. Spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid +the kolerg [cholera]. So I ain't got no meat to eat dis year.</p> + +<p>I ain't never had a chile. I ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat I +knows bout. When I gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after +me.</p> + +<p>I thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they +too lazy to work. No mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. They ain't got +no religion. They so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise +em. I never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation +is killin time. I sho never did vote. I don't believe in it. The women +runnin the world now. The old folks ain't got no money an the young +ones wastes theirs. Theys able to make it. They don't give the old folks +nuthin. The times changes so much I don't know what goiner come next. I +jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. I can't +see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. Things is heap better now fo de +young folks now if they would help derselves. I'm too wo out. I can't +do much like I could when I was young. The white folks don't cheat the +niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when I farmed.</p> + +<p>I never knowed about uprisings till the Ku Klux sprung up. I never heard +bout the Nat Turner rebellion. I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed +come from Virginia. A fellow come in the country bout everybody called +Solomon. Dis long fo the war. He was a free man he said. He would go +bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him +along. He teached some to read. When freedom he went to Augusta. My +brother seed him and said "Solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "I +am er teaching school to my own color." Then he said they run him out of +Virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. Some white +folks up North learned him to read and cipher. He used a black slate and +he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. He was what they +called a ginger cake color. They would whoop you if they seed you with +books learnin. Mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. We mark on +the ground. The passes bout all the paper I ever seed fo I come to +Tennessee. Then I got to go to school a little.</p> + +<p>Whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? Never had +none cept if a white man give it to him. When you a slave you don't have +nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. They cook on the +fireplace. Niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in +one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. The Ku Klux +done the uprisin. They say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. They +killed a lot of black folks in Georgia and a few white folks whut they +said was in wid em. We darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. Two or +three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet +nearly off. That the way the white folks treat the darky.</p> + +<p>I never knowed nobody to hold office. Them whut didn't want to starve +got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. You don't know whut hard +times is. Dem was hard times. They used to hide in big cane brakes, +nearly wild and nearly starved. Scared to come out. I ain't wanted to go +back to Georgia.</p> + +<p>The folks I lived wid fo I come to Tennessee, he tanned hides down at +the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. He sold +them. We farmed but I watched them up at the house minu a time.</p> + +<p>One thing I recollect mighty well. Fo de war a big bellied great monster +man come in an folks made a big to do over him. He eat round and laughed +round havin a big time. His name was Mr. Wimbeish (?). He wo white +britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all +trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. He blowed a bugle +and marched all the men every Friday ebening. He come to Miss Frances. +They fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my +mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. When de first shot of war +went off no more could be heard ob old Mr. Wimbeish. He lef an never was +heard tell ob no mo. <u>He said never was a Yankee had a hart he didn't +understand</u>! I never did know whut he was. He jess said that right +smart.</p> + +<p>I gets the Old Age Pension and meets the wagon and gets a little +commodities. I works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. +I trusts in de Lord and try to do right, honey, dat way I lives.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClementsMaria"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements, De Valls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: Between 85 and 90</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Miss, I don't know a whole heap bout Mr. Wimbeish. I don't know no +other name that what they all call him. Some I heard say it like +Wimbush. He was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here +[stomach]. He have hair bout color youn [light]. He have big blue eyes +jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. He was a lively +man. He had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. He had fair skin and +rosy jaws—full round face. He laughed out loud pretty often. He looked +fine when he laughed too. They all was foolish bout him. He was a +newcommer in there. I don't know whah he stay. He come down the road +regular as Friday come, going to practice em marchin'. Looked like bout +fifty fellows. I never seed Mr. Wimbeish on a horse all time he passed +long that road. He miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed +there. He wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. I never seed him outer +that fresh starched white suit. It was fishtail coat and had red +bands stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] +[TR: 'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. +He sure was a young man. They had him bout different places eatin'. Old +mistress said, 'Fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' That +table was piled full. It was fine eatin'. He say so much I couldn't +forgit. Never was a Yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. +I don't know what he was. He was so different. He muster been a +Southerner 'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. It +was fo de war. They say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done +gone an' nebber been heard of till dis day. I heard some say last they +seed him, he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off +to find em nother captain. I don't know if they was tellin' like it took +place. I know I never seed him no more.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Times</b></p> + +<p>"The servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans—little wooden +bowls—and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. Some +had tables fixed up out under the trees. Way they make em—split a big +tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. They +cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. They cooked sompin +to eat. They had plenty to eat. But they didn't have pies and cake less +they be goiner have company. They have so much milk they fatten the pigs +on it.</p> + +<p>"The animals eat up the gardens and crops. The man kill coon and possum +if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. I say it sure is good. It +is good as pork. The men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. If you +be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a +bucket that high [2 ft.], that big er round [1-1/2 feet wide]. The +hands all come an' did they eat. That be mostly fried meat and bread and +baked taters, so they could work.</p> + +<p>"Old mistress say she first married Mr. Abraham Chenol. Then she married +Mr. Joel Sutton and they both died. She had two sons. She had a nephew +what come there from way off. She said he was her sister's boy. Couse +they had doctors and good ones. Iffen a doctor come say one thing the +matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. Old +mistress had three boys till one died. I was brushin' flies offen him. +She come and cry and go way cryin'. He callin' her all time. He quit +callin' her then he was dead. Made a sorter gurglin' sound. That the +first person I seed die. When they say he dead I got out and off I was +gone. I was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. I don't know +what was the matter wid em. They buried him on her place whah the grave +yard was made. Both her husbands buried down there. She had a fine +marble put over his grave. It had things wrote on it. She sent way off +an' got it. They hauled it to here in a wagon. The Masons burled him. It +was the prettiest sight I ever seed.</p> + +<p>"Her son John had some peafowls. She had geese—a big drove—turkeys, +guineas, ducks, and geese.</p> + +<p>"She had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! They +used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather +bed. Old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. +They had a marble top table and a big square piano. That was the parlor +furniture. They made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins.</p> + +<p>"When she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine +dresses—big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round +her waist. We wore 5¢ calico and gingham dresses for best. She'd buy +three and four bolts at Augusta [Georgia] and have it made up to work +in. We didn't spin and weave till the war come on. Some old men come +round making spinnin' wheels. They was very plain too nearly bout rough. +Rich folks had fine silk dresses—jes' rattle when they walked—to wear +to preachin'. They sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war +but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war +started.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"It started outener the bushwhackers. Some say they didn't get what was +promised em at Shiloh Battle. They didn't get their rights. I don't know +what they meant by it. The bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner +work—ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. Such hollerin' and +scramblin' then you never heard. They hide behind big pine trees till he +come up then step out behind and grab him. They first come an' call fer +water. Plenty water in the well or down at the spring. They knowed it +too. Then they waste all you had brought up and say—'Ah! First drink I +had since I come from hell.' They all knowed ain't nobody come from +hell. They had hatchets an' they burst in your house. Jes' to scare you. +They shoot under your house. They wore their wives big wide nightgowns +and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. They looked like a gang from +hell—ugliest things you ebber <u>did</u> see. It was cold—ground spewed up +wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. +Old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a +preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. He put a navy six in his belt +and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. It was a long gun shoot +sixteen times. He was a dangerous man. He made the Ku Klux let his folks +alone. He walk all night bout his place. He say, 'Forward March!' Then +they pass by. He was a dangerous man. So much takin' place all time I +was scared nearly to death all time."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClementsMaria2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements<br> + De Valls Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age:<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<p>[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Missus, I thought if I'd see you agin I'd tell you this song:</p> + +<pre> +'Jeff Davis is President + Abe Lincoln is a fool + Come here, see Jeff ride the gray horse + And Abe Lincoln the mule.' +</pre> + +<p>"They sang all sich songs durin' of the war.</p> + +<p>"Five wagons come by. They said it was Jeff Davise's wagons. They was +loaded wid silver money—all five—in Lincoln County, Georgia. Somehow +the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. +Abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. Sho it +was white folks all but two or three slaves. Hogs tore up sacks money, +find em hid in the woods. They thought it was corn. They found a leather +trunk full er money—silver money—down in the creek. Money buried all +round. The way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime +to a Yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. That started it all. They tied +their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in +trees by their wrists behind em. It put heep of em in bed an' some most +died never did get over it. The Yankee soldiers come down that [HW: +then?] and got all the money nearly. They say the war last four years, +five months. Seemed like twenty years."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClemonsFannie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Person Interviewed: Fannie Clemons<br> + 940 N. Washington<br> + El Dorado, Ark.<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born down in Farmerville, Louisiana in the year of 1860. Now my +ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people I do not +know. You see, child, I am old and I can't recollect so good. I didn't +know my pa cause my ma quit him when I was little. My ma said she worked +hard in the field like a black stepchild. My ma had nine chilluns and I +was the oldest of the nine. She said her old miss wouldn't let her come +to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl +through a hole in the floor. She took and pulled a plank up so she could +slip through.</p> + +<p>"I would drink any kind of water that I saw if I wanted a drink. If the +white folks poured out wash water and I wanted a drink that would do me. +It just made me fat and healthy. Most we played was tussling, and +couldn't no boy throw me. Nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't.</p> + +<p>"We always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. +At Christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas +and stuff like that wasn't out then. Bananas and oranges just been out a +few years. And sugar—we did not know about that. We always used sugar +from molasses. I don't think sugar been in session long. If it had I did +not get it.</p> + +<p>"I got married when I was pretty old, I lived with my husband eight +years and he died. I had some children, but I stole them. The biggest +work I ever done was farm and we sure worked."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ClintonJoe"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person interviewed: Joe Clinton, Route 2, Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Uncle Joe" Clinton, on ex-Mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that +he owns a few miles north of Marvell, Arkansas. His wife has been dead +for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his +boy, Joe, who left home fifteen years ago for Chicago and from whom no +word has been received since, is still alive. Due to the infirmities of +age "Uncle Joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the +income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the Negro +family with whom he lives. Seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "Uncle +Joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early October as +I passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his +cabin. Arousing himself on my approach, the old Negro offered me a +chair. I explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the +following story:</p> + +<p>"I'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in Panola County, +Mississippi 'bout three miles from Sardis. My ole mars was Mark +Childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en +jus' gangs of chillun. I was real small when us lived in Panola County; +how-some-ever I riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold +out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big +plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in Coahoma County not far from +Friar Point. De very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is +what dey call now, de 'Clover Hill Plantation'. De fust year dat us +lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'Swan Lake +Place'. Dat place is over dere close to Jonestown and de very place dat +Mr. Billy Jones and his son John bought, en dats zackly how come dat +town git its name. It was named for Mr. John Jones.</p> + +<p>"My mars, Mark Childress, he never was married. He was a bachelor, en +I'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to +be found wid him. But dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. Dey +was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat I is +ever seen. Dat was Harvey Brown. Mars had a nephew what lived with him +named Mark Sillers. He was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. +Mr. Mark Sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times +dat mars 'way from home Mr. Mark, he the real boss den.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harvey Brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough I tell you, and de +onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would +be old mars or Mr. Mark Sillers. Bofe of dem was good and kind most all +de time. One time dat I remembers, ole mars, he gone back to Panola +County for somepin', en Mr. Mark Sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. +That was de day dat Mr. Harvey Brown come mighty nigh killin' Henry. +I'll tell you how dat was, boss. It was on Monday morning that it +happened. De Friday before dat Monday morning, all of de hands had been +pickin' cotton and Mr. Harvey Brown didn't think dat Henry had picked +enough cotton dat day en so he give Henry er lashin' out in de field. +Dat night Henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid +in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. Mr. Harvey, he missed +Henry from de field en sent Jeff an' Randall to find him and bring him +in. Dey found Henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to +de field dat Mr. Harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. So Henry, he +comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds +what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off.</p> + +<p>"When Henry git back Mr. Harvey say, 'Henry, where your sack? And how +come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' Henry say he +done burnt he sack up. Wid dat Mr. Harvey lit in to him like a bear, +lashin' him right and left. Henry broke en run den to de cook house +where he mammy, 'Aunt Mary', was, en Mr. Harvey right after him wid a +heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. Mr. Harvey got Henry +cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. In fact, +Mr. Harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt Henry 'cause he called +'Uncle Nat' en said, 'Nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis +nigger what I done kilt.'</p> + +<p>"But Henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in +de sick house. For days en days 'Uncle Warner' had to 'tend to him, en +wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. Dat was jus' de way +dat Mr. Harvey Brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. He +would even lash en beat de wimmens.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where +dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' +in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. Old 'Aunt Hannah', an old granny +woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. De chillun's mammies, dey would +come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. +Dere was er young nigger woman name Jessie what had a young baby. One +day when Jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, Mr. Harvey think +she gone little too long. He give her a hard lashin'.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he +own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. Dat was where all +de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. Aunt Mary, she de +head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. All of de field hands +durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. I waited +on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters +en de barns, en too I was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets +of grub to de field hands.</p> + +<p>"Ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. +Dat was where dem was put dat was sick. It was a place where dey was +doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. It was er sort +er hospital like. 'Uncle Warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he +could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play +off from work.</p> + +<p>"My pappy, he was named Bill Clinton en my mammy was named Mildred. De +reason how come I not named Childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he +named Clinton when mars git him from de Clintons up in Tennessee +somewhere. My mars, he was a good man jus' like I'm tellin' you. Mars +had a young nigger woman named Malinda what got married to Charlie +Voluntine dat belonged to Mr. Nat Voluntine dat had a place 'bout six +miles from our place. In dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen +de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't +git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. So +Malinda, she got atter mars to buy Charlie. Sure 'nough he done that +very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. Dat was good in our +mars.</p> + +<p>"When any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, +dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he +say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'Uncle Peyton' to +marry 'em. 'Course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers +to marry en I don't riccolect what it was dat 'Uncle Peyton' would say +when he done de marryin'. But I 'members well dat 'Uncle Peyton', he de +one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies.</p> + +<p>"My mars, he didn't go to de War but he sure sent er lot er corn en he +sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat I 'members. +Den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de Confedrites +in Georgia. I 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. They was +all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en +goin' to de War. Dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em +fight. But mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en +sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en Jeff an' Randall, they runned +off en come back home all de way from Georgia en mars let 'em stay.</p> + +<p>"Boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en +dat his overseer, Mr. Harvey Brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en +would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it +was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. Now I'se +gwine to tell you de reason. You know de truth is de light, boss, an' +dis is de truth what I'se gwine to say. Mars, he in love with Mr. Harvey +Brown's wife, Miss Mary, and Miss Mary's young daughter, she was mars' +chile. Yas suh, she was dat. She wasn't no kin er tall to Mr. Harvey +Brown. Her name was Miss Markis, dats what it was. Mars had done willed +dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. He +was gwine give her Tolliver, Beckey, Aunt Mary, Austin, an' Savannah en +er heap more 'sides dat. But de War, it come on en broke mars up, en all +de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so I heered Mr. Harvey Brown en Miss +Mary, and de young lady Miss Markis, dey moved up North some place en I +ain't never heered no more from dem.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Clarke what de town of Clarksdale is named for, dey +lived not far from our place. I knowed dem well. Albert, one of mars' +darkies, married Cindy, one of Mr. Clarke's women. General Forrest, I +know you is heered of him. I speck he 'bout de bes' general in de War. +He sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. De +general, he had a big plantation down dere in Coahoma County where he +would come ever so offen. A lot of times he would come to our place en +take dinner wid ole mars, en I would be er waitin' on de table er takin' +dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness.</p> + +<p>"Boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de +white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. Dere was a heap of dat went on +all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' +had to put up wid it. Da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens I'se +ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. Of +course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars +knowin' it. Dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but I'se never heered +'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. It jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed +it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. You know dat niggers is +bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and +some of mars' darkies, dey say dat Sam and Dick, what was two real light +colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. Dat was all talk. I nebber +did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber +cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ColemanBetty"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Betty Coleman<br> + 1112-1/2 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80<br> +Occupation: Cotton Picker<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father belonged to Mr. Ben Martin and my mother and me belonged to +the Slaughters. I was small then and didn't know what the war was about, +but I remember seein' the Yankees and the Ku Klux.</p> + +<p>"Old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but Mr. Martin had a +plenty—he had bout a hundred head.</p> + +<p>"I member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in Bradley County. We +was goin' to Texas to keep the Yankees from gettin' us. I member Mr. Gil +Martin was just a young lad of a boy. We got as far as Union County and +I know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and +then peace was declared so we cane back to Warren.</p> + +<p>"While the war was goin' on, I member when my mother took a note to some +soldiers in Warren and asked em to come and play for Miss Mary. I know +they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. There was +a perty big bunch of em. Us chillun was glad to hear it. I member just +as well as if 'twas yesterday.</p> + +<p>"I member when the Yankees come and took all of Miss Mary's silver—took +every piece of it. And another time they got three or four of the +colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em +bareback. Yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as +mad. Oh Lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. All the horses was +just alike—iron gray. Sho was perty horses. Them Yankees took +everything Miss Mary had.</p> + +<p>"After the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop +and then my father bought fifty acres of Mr. Ben Martin. He paid some on +it every year and when it was paid for Mr. Ben give him a deed to it.</p> + +<p>"I'm the only child my mother had. She never had but me, one. I went to +school after the war and I member at night I'd be studyin' my lesson and +rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. I used to +love to hear him on long winter evenings.</p> + +<p>"I stayed right there till I married. My father had cows and he'd kill +hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. Our white folks was +always good to us."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CottonLucy"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lucy<br> +Person interviewed: Lucy Cotton<br> + Russellville, Arkansas<br> +Age: 72<br> +[Jan 7 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Lucy Cotton's my name, and I was born on the tenth day of June, 1865, +jist two months after the surrender. No suh, I ain't no kin to the other +Cottons around here, so far as I knows. My mother was Jane Hays, and she +was owned by a master named Wilson.</p> + +<p>"I've belonged to the Holiness Church six years. (They call us +'Holiness,' but the real name is Pentecostal.)</p> + +<p>"Yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when I was a +girl—especially among the young people. I think no woman, white or +black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. Their +place is at home raisin' a family. I hear em sometimes slinging out +their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me.</p> + +<p>"Good day, mistah. I wish you well—but the gov'ment ain't gonna do +nothing. It never has yit."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CottonTW"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: T.W. Cotton, Helena, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80<br> +[May 11 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Indian Bay. I belong to Ed Cotton. Mother was sold +from John Mason between Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia. Three sisters +was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. Grandma was +so old she wasn't much account fer field work. Mother left a son she +never seen ag'in. Aunt Adeline's boy come too. They was put on a block +but I can't recollect where it was. If mother had a husband she never +said nothing 'bout him. He muster been dead.</p> + +<p>"Now my papa come from La Grange, Tennessee. Master Bowers sold him to +Ed Cotton. He was sold three times. He had one scar on his shoulder. The +patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at Indian Bay. He was +a Guinea man. He was heavy set, not very tall. Generally he carried the +lead row in the field. He was a good worker. They had to be quiet wid +him to get him to work. He would run to the woods. He was a fast runner. +He lived to be about a hundred years old. I took keer of him the last +five years of his life. Mother was seventy-one years old when she died. +She was the mother of twenty-one children.</p> + +<p>"Sure, I do remember freedom. After the Civil War ended, Ed Cotton +walked out and told papa: 'Rob, you are free.' We worked on till 1866 +and we moved to Joe Lambert's place. He had a brother named Tom Lambert. +Father never got no land at freedom. He got to own 160 acres, a house on +it, and some stock. We all worked and helped him to make it. He was a +hard worker and a fast hand.</p> + +<p>"I farmed all my life till fifteen years ago I started trucking here in +Helena. I gets six dollars assistance from the Sociable Welfare and some +little helpouts as I calls it—rice and potatoes and apples. I got one +boy fifty-five years old if he be living. I haven't seen him since 1916. +He left and went to Chicago. I got a girl in St. Louis. I got a girl +here in Helena. I jus' been up to see her. I had nine children. I been +married twice. I lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven +months. She died. I lived with my second wife forty years and some +over—several weeks. She died.</p> + +<p>"I was a small boy when the Civil War broke out. Once I got a awful +scare. I was perched up on a post. The Yankees come up back of the house +and to my back. I seen them. I yelled out, 'Yonder come Yankees.' They +come on cussing me. Aunt Ruthie got me under my arms and took me to Miss +Fannie Cotton. We lived in part of their house. Walter (white) and me +slept together. Mother cooked. Aunt Ruthie was a field hand. Aunt +Adeline must have been a field hand too. She hung herself on a black +jack tree on the other side of the pool. It was a pool for ducks and +stock.</p> + +<p>"She hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. Mother raised +(reared) her boy. She told mother she would kill herself before she +would be whooped. I never heard what she was to be whooped for. She +thought she would be whooped. She took a rope and tied it to a limb and +to her neck and then jumped. Her toes barely touched the ground. They +buried her in the cemetery on the old Ed Cotton place. I never seen her +buried. Aunt Ruthie's grave was the first open grave I ever seen. Aunt +Mary was papa's sister. She was the oldest.</p> + +<p>"I would say anything to the Yankees and hang and hide in Miss Fannie's +dress. She wore long big skirts. I hung about her. Grandma raised me on +a bottle so mother could nurse Walter (white). There was something wrong +wid Miss Fannie. We colored children et out of trays. They hewed them +out of small logs. Seven or eight et together. We had our little cups. +Grandma had a cup for my water. We et with spoons. It would hold a peck +of something to eat. I nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised +Walter and grandma raised me. Walter et out of our tray many and many a +time. Mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. Henry was +younger than Walter. They was the only two children Miss Fannie had. +Grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. She'd put the +bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. It was good.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Walter Cotton, a cancer doctor? That was him. He +may be dead now. Me and him caused Aunt Sue to get a whooping. They had +a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. Walter knocked +one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. We et it. Mr. Ed asked +'bout it. Walter told her Aunt Sue pulled it. She didn't come by the +tree. He whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled +it nor never seen it. I was scared then to tell on Walter. I hope eat +it. Aunt Sue had grown children.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and +he opened the door. They grunted around. They told papa to come out. He +didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. He told them +when he finished that crop they could have his room. He left that year. +They come in on me once before I married. I was at my girl's house. They +wanted to be sure we married. The principal thing they was to see was +that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. I +wasn't married but I soon did marry her. They scared us up some.</p> + +<p>"I don't know if times is so much better for some or not. Some folks +won't work. Some do work awful hard. Young folks I'm speaking 'bout. +Times is mighty fast now. Seems like they get faster and faster every +way. I'll be eighty years old this May. I was born in 1858."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CraginEllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor <br> +Person interviewed: Ellen Cragin<br> + 815-1/2 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: Around 80 or more<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Escapes on Cow]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born on the tenth of March in some year, I don't know what one. I +don't know whether it was in the Civil War or before the Civil War. I +forget it. I think that I was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi; I'm not +sure, but I think it was.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a great shouter. One night before I was born, she was at +a meeting, and she said, 'Well, I'll have to go in, I feel something.' +She said I was walkin' about in there. And when she went in, I was born +that same night.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a great Christian woman. She raised us right. We had to +be in at sundown. If you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip +you,—whip you within an inch of your life.</p> + +<p>"She didn't work in the field. She worked at a loom. She worked so long +and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. Her master's boy +saw her and told his mother. His mother told him to take a whip and wear +her out. He took a stick and went out to beat her awake. He beat my +mother till she woke up. When she woke up, she took a pole out of the +loom and beat him nearly to death with it. He hollered, 'Don't beat me +no more, and I won't let 'em whip you.'</p> + +<p>"She said, 'I'm goin' to kill you. These black titties sucked you, and +then you come out here to beat me.' And when she left him, he wasn't +able to walk.</p> + +<p>"And that was the last I seen of her until after freedom. She went out +and got on an old cow that she used to milk—Dolly, she called it. She +rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if +she stayed.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Luvenia Polk. She got plumb away and stayed away. +On account of that, I was raised by my mother. She went to Atchison, +Kansas—rode all through them woods on that cow. Tore her clothes all +off on those bushes.</p> + +<p>"Once a man stopped her and she said, 'My folks gone to Kansas and I +don't know how to find 'em.' He told her just how to go.</p> + +<p>"My father was an Indian. 'Way back in the dark days, his mother ran +away, and when she came up, that's what she come with—a little Indian +boy. They called him 'Waw-<u>hoo</u>'che.' His master's name was Tom Polk. +Tom Polk was my mother's master too. It was Tom Polk's boy that my +mother beat up.</p> + +<p>"My father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. One time when somethin' +he had did didn't suit Tom Polk—I don't know what it was—they cut +sores on him that he died with. Cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. +And then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores.</p> + +<p>"He told his master, 'You have took me down and beat me for nothin', and +when you do it again, I'm goin' to put you in the ground.' Papa never +slept in the house again after that. They got scared and he was scared +of them. He used to sleep in the woods.</p> + +<p>"They used to call me 'Waw-hoo'che' and 'Red-Headed Indian Brat.' I got +in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,—on account of that.</p> + +<p>"The children used to say to me, 'They beat your papa yesterday.'</p> + +<p>"And I would say to them, 'They better not beat my papa,' and they would +go up to the house and tell it, and I would beat 'em for tellin' it.</p> + +<p>"There was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read +the Bible.</p> + +<p>"Papa said, 'Ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?'</p> + +<p>"The old man said, 'No; they don't know what I'm doing, and don't you +tell 'em. If you do, they will kill me.'</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Signs of the War</b></p> + +<p>"One night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the +elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens.</p> + +<p>"'Don't you see them, honey?' he said; but I couldn't see them. And he +said there was going to be a war.</p> + +<p>"I went out and told it. The white people said they ought to take him +out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. Because if they got such +talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do +nothin' with them. Dr. Polk's wife's father, Old Man Woods, used to say +that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. He said that God had showed +that to him.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Mean Masters</b></p> + +<p>"Dr. Polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the +ground, were two mean men. When the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for +them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, +till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death.</p> + +<p>"Mother was a breeder. While she did that weaving, she had children +fast. One day, Tom Polk hit my mother. That was before she ran away. He +hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. When +there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you +know. I forget how much cotton they had to pick. I don't know how many +times he hit her. I was small. I heard some one say, 'They got Clarisay +Down, down there!' I went to see. And they had her down. She was stout, +and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. I never did +get over that. I'm an old woman, but Tom Polk better not come 'round me +now even.</p> + +<p>"I have heard women scream and holler, 'Do pray, massa, do pray.' And I +was sure glad when she beat up young Tom and got away. I didn't have no +use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't her work to be in the field. He made her breed and then made +her work at the loom. That wasn't nothin'. He would have children by a +nigger woman and then have them by her daughter.</p> + +<p>"I went out one day and got a gun. I don't know whose gun it was. I said +to myself, 'If you whip my mother today, I am goin' to shoot you.' I +didn't know where the gun belonged. My oldest sister told me to take it +and set it by the door, and I did it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"Dr. Polk had a fine horse. He came riding through the field and said, +'All you all niggers are free now. You can stay here and work for me or +you can go to the next field and work.'</p> + +<p>"I had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. She jumped off +that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering.</p> + +<p>"The people all said, 'Nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her +today.' She'd been setting on that log one year. She wouldn't do no kind +of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>"Big Niggers"</b></p> + +<p>"They used to call my folks 'big niggers.' Papa used to get things off a +steamboat. One day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the +people not to touch it. One day when he went out, I went in it. I had to +see what it was. I drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, +'You've been in that demi-john.' I said, 'No, I haven't.' But he said, +'Yes, you have; I can tell by the way you look.' And then I told him the +truth.</p> + +<p>"He would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of +other things. Anything he wanted, he would get. That he didn't, he would +ask him to bring the next trip.</p> + +<p>"It was a Union gunboat, and ran under the water. You could see the +smoke. The white people said, 'That boat's goin' to carry some of these +niggers away from here one of these days.'</p> + +<p>"And sure enough, it did carry one away.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Buried Treasure and a Runaway</b></p> + +<p>"I went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named Charles +there.</p> + +<p>"I said, 'What you doing out here so early this morning?'</p> + +<p>"He said to me, 'You hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.'</p> + +<p>"I went back to the house and told my mother, 'I saw Charles out there.' +That was before my mother ran away.</p> + +<p>"My mother said, 'He's fixing to run away. And he's got a barrel of +money. And it belongs to the Doctor. 'Cause he and the Dr. went out to +bury it to keep the Yankees from getting it.'</p> + +<p>"He ran away, and he took the money with him, too. He went out to +Kansas City and bought a home. We didn't think much of it, because we +knew it was wrong to do it. But Old Master Tom had done a heap of wrong +too. He was the first one spotted the boat that morning—Charles was. +And he went away on it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Plenty to Eat</b></p> + +<p>"My father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. +I know what it is now. I didn't know then. He would clean the hog and +everything before he would bring him to the house. You had to come down +outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to +eat. If my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his +master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit.</p> + +<p>"My folks liked hog guts. We didn't try to keep them long. We'd jus' +clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. I didn't like to +clean 'em but I sure loved to eat 'em. Father had a great big pot they +called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. You could +smell 'em all over the country. I didn't have no sense. Whenever we had +a big hog killin', I would say to the other kids, 'We got plenty of meat +at our house.'</p> + +<p>"They would say back, 'Where you got it?'</p> + +<p>"I would tell 'em. And they would say, 'Give us some.'</p> + +<p>"And I would say to them, 'No, that's for us.'</p> + +<p>"So they called us 'big niggers.'</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Marriages Since Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"My first baby was born to my husband. I didn't throw myself away. I +married Mr. Cragin in 1867. He lived with me about fifteen years before +he died. He got kicked. He was a baker. During the War, he was the cook +in a camp. He went to get some flour one morning. He snatched the tray +too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. He never did get over it. The +tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. It was a sliding tray. +It rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. I don't know +why they called it a kick.</p> + +<p>"I married a second husband—if you can call it that—a nigger named +Jones. He had a spoonful of sense. We didn't live together three months. +He came in one day and I didn't have dinner ready. He slapped me. I had +never been slapped by a man before. I went to the drawer and got my +pistol out and started to kill him. But I didn't. I told him to leave +there fast. He had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, +and then he used to use bad language too.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"I've always sewed for a living. See that sign up there?" The sign read:</p> + +<pre> + ALL KINDS OF BUTTONS SEWED ON + MENDING TOO +</pre> + +<p>"I can't cut out no dress and make it, but I can use a needle on +patching and quilting. Can't nobody beat me doin' that. I can knit, too. +I can make stockings, gloves, and all such things.</p> + +<p>"I belong to Bib Bethel Church, and I get most of my support from the +Lord. I get help from the government. I'm trying to get moved, and I'm +just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. I ain't got +no money, but he promised to move me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>INTERVIEWER'S COMMENT</b></p> + +<p>There it was—the appeal to the slush fund. I have contributed to lunch, +tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. I had only +six cents which I had reserved for car fare. But after you have talked +with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in +any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent +on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged +clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely +hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it +is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk +any distance you want to.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CraneSallie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Sallie Crane<br> + See first paragraph in interviewer's comment<br> + for residences<br> +Age: 90, or more</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Whipped from Sunup to Sundown]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Hempstead County, between Nashville and Greenville, in +Arkansas, on the Military Road. Never been outside the state in my life. +I was born ninety years ago. I been here in Pulaski County nearly +fifty-seven years.</p> + +<p>"I was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. Nary a window +and one door. I had a bedstead made with saw and ax. Chairs were made +with saw, ax, and draw knife. My brother Orange made the furniture. We +kept the food in boxes.</p> + +<p>"My mother's name was Mandy Bishop, and my father's name was Jerry +Bishop. I don't know who my grand folks were. They was all Virginia +folks—that is all I know. They come from Virginia, so they told me. My +old master was Harmon Bishop and when they divided the property I fell +to Miss Evelyn Bishop.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Age</b></p> + +<p>"The first man that came through here writing us up for the Red Cross, I +give him my age as near as I could. And they kept that. You know peace +was declared in 1865. They told me I was free. I got scared and thought +that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me +down in Louisiana. My old mistress said, 'You fool, you are free. We are +going to take you to your mammy.' I cried because I thought they was +carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in +Louisiana. My old mistress said she would whip me. But she didn't. When +we got to my mother's, I said, 'How old is I?' She said, 'You are +sixteen.' She didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say +weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'You are sixteen.' And my +case worker told me that made me ninety years old.</p> + +<p>"I was in Hempstead County on Harmon Bishop's plantation. It was Miss +Polly, Harmon's wife, that told me I was free, and give me my age.</p> + +<p>"I know freedom come before 1865, because my brothers would tell me to +come home from Nashville where I would be sent to do nursing by my old +mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress.</p> + +<p>"When my old master's property was divided, I don't know why—he wasn't +dead nor nothin'—I fell to Miss Evelyn, but I stayed in Nashville +working for Miss Jennie Nelson, one of Harmon's daughters. Miss Jennie +was my young mistress. My brothers were already free. I don't know how +Miss Polly came to tell me I was free. But my brothers would see me and +tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but I +was afraid to try it. Finally Miss Polly found that she couldn't keep me +any longer and she come and told me I was free. But I thought that she +was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"My mother was the mother of twenty children and I am the mother of +eighteen. My youngest is forty-five. I don't know whether any of my +mother's children is living now or not. I left them that didn't join the +militia in Hempstead County fifty-seven years ago. Them that joined the +militia went off. I don't know nothin' about them. I have two girls +living that I know about. I had two boys went to France and I never +heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. Nothing—not a word. Red +Cross has hunted 'em. Police Mitchell hunted 'em—police Mitchell in +Little Rock. But I ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Work</b></p> + +<p>"The first work I did was nursing and after that I was water toter. I +reckon I was about seven or eight years old when I first began to nurse. +I could barely lift the baby. I would have to drag them 'round. Then I +toted water to the field. Then when I was put to plowing, and chopping +cotton, I don't know exactly how old I was. But I know I was a young +girl and it was a good while before the War. I had to do anything that +come up—thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting +logs, splitting rails. Women in them days wasn't tender like they is +now. They would call on you to work like men and you better work too. My +mother and father were both field hands.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Soldiers</b></p> + +<p>"Oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! Man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, +two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching +making it to the next stockade. Those were Yankees. They didn't set no +slaves free. When I knowed anything about freedom, it was the Bureaus. +We didn't know nothing like young folks do now.</p> + +<p>"We hardly knowed our names. We was cussed for so many bitches and sons +of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. We never heard our +names scarcely at all. First young man I went with wanted to know my +initials! What did I know 'bout initials? You ask 'em ten years old now, +and they'll tell you. That was after the War. Initials!!!</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Sales</b></p> + +<p>"Have I seen slaves sold! Good God, man! I have seed them sold in +droves. I have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying +to run away. I couldn't eat nor drink—couldn't even catch the slobber +that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on +it and blowed it. 'Scuse me but jus' look at these places. (She pulled +open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in—ed.)</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Whippings</b></p> + +<p>"I been whipped from sunup till sundown. Off and on, you know. They whip +me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start +again. They kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' +nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would +take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt +more. They would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with +birch sprouts the other part. There were splinters long as my finger +left in my back. A girl named Betty Jones come over and soaped the +splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. They didn't +whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. They jus' +whipped me 'cause they could—'cause they had the privilege. It wasn't +nothin' I done; they just whipped me. My married young master, Joe, and +his wife, Jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. But I +belonged to Miss Evelyn.</p> + +<p>"They had so many babies 'round there I couldn't keep up with all of +them. I was jus' a young girl and I couldn't keep track of all them +chilen. While I was turned to one, the other would get off. When I +looked for that one, another would be gone. Then they would whip me all +day for it. They would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a +bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when +company come.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"We et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. Mush and milk. Cedar trough +and long-handled cedar spoons. Didn't know what meat was. Never got a +taste of egg. Oo-ee! Weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. They used to +make citrons. They were good too. When the little white chilen would be +comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. They would say, 'Whose +nigger are you?' And we would say, 'Yor'n!' And they would say, 'No, you +ain't.' They would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good +stuff they'd brought back. Hold it out and snatch it back! Finally, +they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Health</b></p> + +<p>"They're burying old Brother Jim Mullen over here today. He was an old +man. They buried one here last Sunday—eighty some odd. Brother Mullen +had been sick for thirty years. Died settin' up—settin' up in a chair. +The old folks is dyin' fas'. Brother Smith, the husband of the old lady +that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. Ain't been well +for a long time.</p> + +<p>"Look at that place on my head. (There was a knot as big as a hen +egg—smooth and shiny—ed.) When it first appeared, it was no bigger +then a pea, I scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. I +went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. One doctor said it +was a busted vein. Another said it was a tumor. Another said it was a +wen. I know one thing. It don't hurt me. I can scratch it; I can rub +it. (She scratched and rubbed it while I flinched and my flesh +crawled—ed.) But it's got me so I can't see and hear good. Dr. Junkins, +the best doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. +Dr. Hicks wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. I told him he'd let +it stay on for nothin'. I never was sick in my life till a year ago. I +used to weigh two hundred ten pounds; now I weigh one hundred forty. I +can lap up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice.</p> + +<p>"Since I was sick a year ago. I haven't been able to get 'round any. I +never been well since. The first Sunday in January this year, I got +worse settin' in the church. I can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on +myself. But with what I do and the neighbors' help, I gets along +somehow.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Present Condition</b></p> + +<p>"If it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. I would suffer +for a drink of water. Somebody ran in on old lady Chairs and killed her +for her money. But they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. +Somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. Since then I have been +'fraid to stay at home even.</p> + +<p>"I had a fine five-room house and while I was down sick, my daughter +sold it and I didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. She got the +money, but I never seed it. I jus' lives here in these rags and this +dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. I've got fine +furniture that she keeps in her house.</p> + +<p>"I get some help from the Welfare. They give me eight dollars. They give +me commodities too. They give me six at first, and they increased it. My +case worker said she would try to git me some more. God knows I need it. +I have to pay for everything I get. Have to pay a boy to go get water +for me. There's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time +to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. You see those boys there +goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. One of the merchants in town +had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him.</p> + +<p>"You gets 'round lots, son, don't you? Well; if you see anybody that +has some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. I don't +care whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. Men's shoes are more +comfortable. I wear number sevens. I don't know what last. Can't you +tell? (I suppose that her shoes would be seven E—ed.) I can't live off +eight dollar. I have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go +for my water, 'n everything. I got these dresses give to me. They too +small, and I got 'em laid out to be let out.</p> + +<p>"You just come in any time; I can't talk to you like I would a woman; +but I guess you can understand me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Sallie Crane lives near the highway between Sweet Home and Wrightsville. +Wrightsville post office, Lucinda Hays' box. McLain Birch, 1711 Wolfe +Street, Little Rock, knows the way to her house.</p> + +<p>Her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed +before the War. If anything, it is more than the ninety which she +claims. Those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five.</p> + +<p>She has a good memory although she complains of her health. She seems to +be pretty well dependent on herself and the Welfare and is asking for +old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrawfordIsaac"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person Interviewed: Isaac Crawford<br> + Brinkley, Ark.<br> +Age: 75</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born the first year of the Civil War. I was born and raised and +married in Holmes County, Mississippi. My parents was named Harriett and +James Crawford. They belong to a widow woman, Miss Sallie Crawford. She +had a girl named Bettie and three sons named Sam, Mack, Gus. Mack and +Gus was heavy drinkers. Moster Sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. +They wasn't mean to the Negroes on the place. They had eight or nine +families scattered around over their land.</p> + +<p>"I farmed till I was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands +on the place I stayed till after I married.</p> + +<p>"I know Sam was in the war and come home cripple. He was in the war five +years. He couldn't get home from the war. I drove his hack and toted him +to it. I toted him in the house. He said he never rode in the war; he +always had to walk and tote his baggage. His feet got frost bit and raw. +They never got well. He lived. They lived close to Goodman, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"I heard my mother say she was mixed with Creole Indian. She was some +French. My father was pure African. Now what am I?</p> + +<p>"Ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. She wrung my ears and talked to +me. I minded her pretty good.</p> + +<p>"The children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. Some +folks kept their children looking good. Some let em go. They fed em—set +a big pot and dip em out greens. Give em a cup of milk. We all had +plenty coarse victuals. We all had to work. It done you no good to be +fraid er sweat in them days.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know bout freedom and I didn't care bout it. They didn't give +no land nor no mules away as I ever know'd of.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never come on our place. I heard about em all the time. I +seen em in the road. They look like hants.</p> + +<p>"I been farming all my life. I come here to farm. Better land and no +fence law.</p> + +<p>"I come to 'ply to the P.W.A. today. That is the very reason you caught +me in town today."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrosbyMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Crosby<br> + 1216 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Good morning. I don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery +times 'cept me. I don't know exactly when I was born in Georgia but I +can remember my mama said her old master, Mat Fields, sent my father and +all the other men folks to Arkansas the second year of the war. After +the war, I remember there was a colored man named Mose come from +Mississippi to Georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money +off the trees in Mississippi. Of course they was just ignorant as cattle +and they believed him. I know I thought what a good time I would have. I +can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all +leaving, but Mose emigrated all of us to Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"He kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. The +white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he +sure did get some colored folks out of Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. They called it the +Civil War. I never did know why they called it that. I can't 'member +things like I used to.</p> + +<p>"My mother's old master's granddaughter, Miss Anne, had a baby that was +six months old when I was born and mama said old master come in and tell +Miss Ann, 'I've got a new little nigger for Mary Lou.' He said he was +goin' to give her ten and that I was her first little nigger. When we +was both grown Mary Lou used to write to me once a year and say 'I claim +you yet, Mary.'</p> + +<p>"I 'member when Garfield was shot. That was the first time I ever heard +of gangrene.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm I have worked hard all my life. When I was in Mississippi I used +to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. But I'm not +able to work now. The Welfare helps me some."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrowleyEllen"></a> +<h3>[HW: (COPY)]<br> +El Dorado Division<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS (Ex-Slave)<br> +Mrs. Mildred Thompson<br> +Federal Writers' Project<br> +Union County, Arkansas.<br> +[TR: Hand dated Nov. 6, 1936]<br> +<br> +[TR: Ellen Crowley]</h3> +<br> + +<p>Ellen Crowley an old Negress of Jefferson county, known as "old Aunt +Ellen" to both white and colored people. She was quite a character; a +slave during Civil War and lived in Mississippi. She later married and +moved to Arkansas.</p> + +<p>Aunt Ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing +to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those +she didn't like. This unusual talent "come about" while on a white +plantation as a nurse. She foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on +her white folks and in the year two children passed away. One day soon +after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put +the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits."</p> + +<p>She said she was "purty nigh" 200 when asked her age, always slept in +the nude, and on arising she would say: "I didn't sleep well last night, +the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "I had a +good rest the Lord sit at my head and brought me peace."</p> + +<p>She was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red +bandana around her head.</p> + +<p>Her mania was to clean the yard. When asked about her marriage she would +say: "I been married seven times" but Jones, Brown and Crowley were the +only husbands she could remember by name. She said the other "four no +count Negroes wasn't worth remembering."</p> + +<p>She was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten +and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. Would +come in and say: "Howdy, I'se come to stay awhile. I'll clean the yard +for my victuals and I can sleep on the floor." She would go on her way +in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a +faithful servant.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CrumpRichard"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Richard Crump<br> + 1801 Gaines Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father Takes a "Deadening"]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born right here in Aberdeen, Mississippi about five miles from +the town on the east side of the Tom Bigbee River in Monroe County, +Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Richard Crump. My mother was named Emily Crump. My +grandmother on my father's side was named Susan Crump. My mother came +from Middleton, Tennessee. But I don't know nothing about any of her +people. My father said he come from South Carolina when he was a boy +eight or ten years old. That was way before I was born. They brought him +to Mississippi from South Carolina.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was old man Johnnie Crump. My mistress was named +Nina Crump. That was Johnnie Crump's wife. My mars had four boys to my +remembrance. One was named Wess, one was named Rufe, one was named Joe, +and one was named Johnnie. He had a girl named Annie and one named Lulu.</p> + +<p>"My mother was the mother of thirteen children. I am the onliest one +living, that I know of. The way they gwine with us now, I ain't goin' a +be here long. Just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git +somethin' to eat for a month. You don't git nothin' much when you git +the commodities—no grease to cook with.</p> + +<p>"We never had no trouble much when I was coming along. My mars was a +pretty good old man. He didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. +The overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind +of bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. +And he wouldn't go in neither.</p> + +<p>"My grandmother had three or four sons. One was name Nels Crump, another +was named Miles and another was named Henry and another Jim. She had two +or three more but I can't think of them. They died before I was old +enough to know anything. Then she had two or three daughters. One was +named Lottie. She had another one but I can't think of her name. I was +so little. All of them are dead now. All of my people are dead but me. +They are trying to find a sister of mine, but I ain't found her yet. She +oughter be down here by Forrest City somewheres. But there ain't nobody +here that I know about but me. And the way they're carryin' them now I +ain't goin' to be here long. All of them people you hear me talk about, +they're supposed to be dead.</p> + +<p>"I was born in 1858. At least the old man told me that. I mean my father +of course. The first thing I knowed anything about was picking cotton. I +was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. I +was pickin' beside my mother. They would grab us sometimes when we +didn't pick right. Shake us and pull our ears.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. I never was sold.</p> + +<p>"The next thing I remember was being told I was free. My daddy said old +mars told them they were free. I didn't hear him tell it myself. They +come 'round on a Monday morning and told papa and the rest that they +were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they +could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no +more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more.</p> + +<p>"Right after freedom, my folks worked on old man Jim Burdyne's farm. +That is the first place I remember after freedom. Father taken a little +deadening. You don't know what a deadening is? That's a lease. He +cleaned up some land. We boys were just gettin' so we could pick up +brush and tops of trees—and burn it, and one thing and another. Two +years after the War was over, I got big enough to plow. I was plowing +when I was nine years old. We had three boys and four girls older than +me. The balance of them was born after freedom. We made crops on shares +for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. Shares +were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. They didn't pay +everything they promised. They taken a lot of it away from us. They said +figures didn't lie. You know how that was. You dassent dispute a man's +word then. Sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and +run him away. But my daddy wouldn't do it. He said, 'Well, if I owe +anything I'll pay it. I got a large family to take care of.'</p> + +<p>"I never got a chance to go to school any. There was too much work to +do. I married when I was twenty-one. I would go off and stay a month or +two and come back. Never left home permanent for a long while. Stayed +'round home till I was forty years old. I come to Arkansas in 1898. I +made a living by farming at first.</p> + +<p>"I didn't shoot no craps. I belong to the church. I have belonged to the +church about forty years or more. I did play cords and shoot craps and +things like that for years before I got religion.</p> + +<p>"I come to Little Rock in 1918 and been here ever since. I worked 'round +here in town first one thing and then another. Worked at the railroad +and on like that.</p> + +<p>"We used to vote right smart in Mississippi. Had a little trouble +sometimes but it would soon die down. I haven't voted since I been here. +Do no good nohow. Can't vote in none of these primary elections. Vote +for the President. And that won't do no good. They can throw your ballot +out if they want to.</p> + +<p>"I believe in the right thing. I wouldn't believe in anything else. I +try to be loyal to the state and the city. But colored folks don't have +much show. Work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he +don't know nothin' about you. They soon forget you and a white man's +word goes far.</p> + +<p>"I was able to work as late as 1930, but I ain't been no 'count since +to do much work. I get a pension for old age from the Welfare and +commodities and I depend on that for a living. Whatever they want to +give me, I'll take it and make out with it. If there's any chance for me +to git a slave's pension, I wish they would send it to me. For I need it +awful bad. They done cut me way down now. I got heart trouble and high +blood pressure but I don't give up.</p> + +<p>"My mother sure used to make good ash cake. When she made it for my +daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the +bottom. That would keep it clean. She made it extra good. When he would +git through, she would give us the rest. Sometimes, she wouldn't put the +paper on it because she would be mad. He would ask, 'No paper today?' +She would say, 'No.' And he wouldn't say nothin' more.</p> + +<p>"There is some of the meanest white people in the United States in +Mississippi up there on the Yellow Dog River. That's where the Devil +makes meanness.</p> + +<p>"There's some pretty mean colored folks too. There is some of them right +here in Little Rock. Them boys from Dunbar give me a lot of trouble. +They ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. If we say anything to +them, they say, 'Shut up, old gray head.' Sometimes they say worse. I +used to live by Brother Love. Christmas the boys threw at the house and +gave me sass when I spoke to them. So I got out of that settlement. Here +it is quiet because it is among the white folks."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CulpZenia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham, El Dorado Division<br> +Person interviewed: Zenia Culp<br> +Age: Over 80<br> +[Jan 29 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yas'm, my name is Zenia, Zenia Culp 'tis now since I married. My old +master's name was Billy Newton. Him and three more brothers come here +and settled in this county years ago and Master Billy settled this farm. +I was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. I used +to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. You know up there where +Mr. John Dunbar's widow lives now. And the family burying groun' is jus' +a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones +out in the middle of the field.</p> + +<p>"Master Billy's folks was so good to me and I sure thought a heap of +young Master Billy. Believe I told you I was the nurse girl. Well, young +Master Billy was my special care. And he was a live one too. I sure had +a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. I would get him ready for bed +every night. In summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does +and course I would wash his foots before I put him to bed. That little +fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'Don't wash em, +Zenia, jes' wet em.' Oh, he was a sight, young Master Billy was.</p> + +<p>"Does you know Miss Pearl? She live there in El Dorado. She is young +master's widow. Miss Pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks +lots bout young Master Billy.</p> + +<p>"Yas'm, I'se always lived here where I was born. Never moved way from de +old plantation. Course things is changed lots since the days when old +Master Billy was livin'. When he went off to the war he took most of the +men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and +the chillun.</p> + +<p>"My husban' been dead a long, long time and I live here wid my son. His +wife is gone from home dis evenin'. So I thought I'd come out and pick +off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. That's my son +out there makin' sorghum. My daughter-in-law is so good to me. She +treats me like I was a baby.</p> + +<p>"You asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our +work then. Well, as I tell you, my job was nurse girl and all I had to +do was to keep up wid young Master Billy and that wasn't no work tall, +that was just fun. But while I'd be followin' roun' after him I'd see +how the others would be doin' things.</p> + +<p>"When they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with +straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a +coop over it. This would keep the potatoes from rotting. The Irish +potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the +onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting.</p> + +<p>"In old Master Newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put +the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to +keep em cool.</p> + +<p>"Master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was +fed out of the big house. I members they had a long table to eat off and +kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured +the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. They made +their mops cut of shucks. I always eat in the nursery with young Master +Billy.</p> + +<p>"They had big old fireplaces in Master's house and I never seen a stove +till after the war.</p> + +<p>"I member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had +the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot +ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain.</p> + +<p>"The pickaninnies had a time playin'. Seein' these peanuts minds me that +they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. +Course Master Billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they +pinched.</p> + +<p>"Lan', but them was good old days when Master Billy was alive."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CumminsAlbert"></a> +<h3>Texarkana District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W.M. Ball<br> +Subject: Anecdotes<br> +Story:<br> +<br> +Information given by: Albert Cummins<br> +Place of Residence: Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark.<br> +Occupation: None (Ex-Slave)<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of second page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>An humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an +interesting old negro, Albert Cummins.</p> + +<p>Texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain +from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this +country. This ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but +continued to live in the same family until he was a man. He says: "All +de training an' advice I evah had come frum mah mistress. She wuz a +beautiful Christian; if I am anybody, I owe it to her. I nevah went to +school a day in mah life; whut I know I absorbed frum de white folks! +Mah religion is De Golden Rule. It will take any man to heaben who +follows its teachings.</p> + +<p>"Mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at Poison Springs, near +Camden. We got separated in de skirmish an' I nevah did see him again. +Libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, +only to sen' messages by horseback riders. It wuz months befo' I really +knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Autrey bought mah mother when I wuz an infant, and gave us de +protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. +I worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. I sees him +often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, +jus' as de South wuz left after de war."</p> + +<p>"I came heah when Texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little +kindly village, where we all knew each udder. Due to de location an' de +comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. Not until it wuz too late +did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between +two states. Dis being Texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle +overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. Still dat State Line +divides de two cities like de "Mason and Dixon Line" divides the North +an' South.</p> + +<p>"Living on the Arkansas side of this city, Albert Cummins is naturally +very partial to his side. "The Arkansas side is more civilized", +according to his version. "Too easy fo' de Texas folks to commit a crime +an' step across to Arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob +again."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurlettBetty"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Betty Curlett, Hazen, Arkansas<br> +Age: 66<br> +[-- -- 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I can tell you all about my kin folks. My mama's owners was Mars John +Moore and Miss Molly Moore. They come from Virginia and brought Grandma +Mahaley and Grandpa Tom.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Daniel Johnson went to North Carolina and bought Alice and John and +their family. When he brought them to Mississippi, they come in a hack. +It was snowing and cold. It took em so long to came they take turns +walkin'. Grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut +through and climbed over a railin' fence. She lost her baby outer her +quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. She say, 'Lawd, +Master Daniel, if I ain't lost my baby.' They stopped the hack and she +went back to see where her baby could be. She knowed where she got out +the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. Fore she got to the fence +she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. She said the sun was warm +and he was well wrop up. That all what saved em. She shuck him round +till she woke him up. She was so scared he be froze. When he let out +cryin' she knowed he be all right. She put him in the foot of the hack +mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. She say he never +had a cold from it. Well, that was John, my papa, what she lost in de +snow. Grandma used to set and tell us that and way I can member it was +my own papa she be talkin' bout.</p> + +<p>"Papa was raised up by the Johnson family and mama by the Moore family. +Den Alice Moore had em marry her and John Johnson. Their plantations +joined, and joined Judge Reid's (or Reed's) place. We all had a big +time on them three farms. They was good to their niggers but Mr. +---- they said whooped his niggers awful heep.</p> + +<p>"Ed Amick was Mars Daniel Johnson's overseer. He told him he wanted his +slaves treated mighty good and they was good. Yes ma'am, they was good +to em!! We had a plenty to eat. Every Saturday they killed a lamb, a +goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. Us +childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. White folks didn't +eat em. They was tender seem like round the head.</p> + +<p>"Miss Evaline was Mars Daniel's sister. She was a old maid. Miss +Evaline, Aunt Selie old nigger woman and Brittain old nigger man done +nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. They had a +few turkeys and peafowls all the time. When they stewed chicken it was +stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. They fry chicken +in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. They put eggs +in it, too. They call it marble cakes. Then they pour sweet milk in the +bottom grease and make good gravy. When they rendered up lard they +always made marble cakes. They cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and +twisted em round like knots and rings. They take em up in big pans big +as dish pans.</p> + +<p>"We had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. +Regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. She made our +dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on +our waist.</p> + +<p>"I was named for Miss Betty Johnson. Mars Daniel bought me books. I slip +and tear ABC's outen every book he buy for me. Miss Betty say A-B-C-D; I +say after her. She say, 'Betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' I say, +'Miss Betty, I hear Miss Cornelia's baby woke up. Agin Miss Betty—she +was my young mistress—ABC's me sayin' em long wid her. I say, 'Miss +Betty, I smell ginger bread, can't I go git a piece?' She say, +'Betty—I'm so sorry I name you fer me. I wish I named Mary.' I say, +'Then you name Mary Betty an' give me nother name.' Miss Betty git me +down agin to sayin' the ABC's, I be lookin' off. She say, 'Betty, you +goin' to be a idiot.' I say, 'That what I wanter be—zactly what I +wanter be.' I didn't know what a idiot was then.</p> + +<p>"I took up crocheting. Miss Cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. She say +'Betty that's her talent' bout me. Miss Betty say, 'If she goin' to be +mine I want her to be smart.' Miss Mary lernt my sister Mary fast.</p> + +<p>"When I was bout fifteen I was goiner to the nigger school. I wanted to +go to the white school wid Miss Mag. Miss Betty say, 'Betty, that white +woman would whoop you every day.' I take my dinner in a bucket and go on +wid Mary. I'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git +in late. The teacher said, 'Betty, Miss Cornelia and Miss Betty say they +want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all +sorts er ways. Ain't you shamed?'</p> + +<p>"They had a big entertainment. Miss Betty learned me a piece to +say—poetry. I could lern it from sayin' it over wid Miss Betty. They +bought me and Mary our fust calico dresses. I lack to walked myself to +death. I was so proud. It had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and +a shash tied at the waist behind. We had red hats wid streamers hanging +down the back. The dresses was red and black small checks. Mary lernt +her piece at school. We had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the +school closin'.</p> + +<p>"Mr. John Moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first +battle soon as he got there. They had a sayin, 'You won't last as long +as John Moore when he went to war.'</p> + +<p>"Mr. Criss Moore was kickin' a nigger boy. Old Miss say, 'Criss, quit +kickin' him, you hurt him.' He say, 'I ain't hurtin' him, I'm playin' +wid him!' White boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the +house. Glad to meet up to get to play.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Criss Moore, Jr. (John Moore's grandson) is a doctor way up North +and so is Mr. Daniel Johnson, Jr. One of em in Washington I think. I +could ask Miss Betty Carter when I go back to Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"When I left Mississippi Mr. Criss hated to see me go. Mr. Johnson say, +'I wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' He say to Jim, my +husband, 'Now when she die you let me know and I'll help bring her back +and bury her in the old graveyard.' When my papa died Mr. Johnson had +the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. He +was buried by mama and nearly all the Johnson, Moore, and Reed (or Reid) +niggers buried there. My husband is buried here (Hazen, Arkansas) but he +was a Curlett.</p> + +<p>"Papa set out apple trees on the old Johnson place, still bearin' +apples. The old farm place is forty-eight miles from Tupelo and three +miles from Houlka, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My mother had eighteen children and I had sixteen but all mine dead now +but three. Mama's ma and grandpapa Haley had twenty-two children. Yes +ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. Mars Daniel say to his wife, +'Cornelia, feed my niggers.' That bout last he said when he went off to +war. Mars Green, Daniel, and Jimmie three brothers. Three Johnson +brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots +fore they left and went to war.</p> + +<p>"When the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the +farm bells and blowed horns—big old cow horns. When Mars Daniel come +home he went to my papa's house and says, 'John, you free.' He says, 'I +been free as I wanter be whah I is.' He went on to my grandpa's house +and says, 'Toby, you are free!' He raised up and says, 'You brought me +here frum Africa and North Carolina and I goiner stay wid you long as +ever I get sompin to eat. You gotter look after me!' Mars Daniel say, +'Well, I ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' +Purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. Mars +Daniel say to grandpa, 'Toby, you ain't my nigger.' Grandpa raise up an' +say, 'I is, too.'</p> + +<p>"They had to work but they had plenty that made em content. We had good +times. On moonlight nights somebody ask Mars Daniel if they could have a +cotton pile, then they go tell Mars Moore and Judge Reid (or Reed). They +come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. Pick out four or five +bales. Then Mars Daniel say you come to the house. Ring the bell. Then +we have a big supper—pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. +Have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we +could eat.</p> + +<p>"Then we had three banjos. The musicians was William Word, Uncle Dan +Porter, and Miles Porter. Did we dance? Square dance. Then if somebody +been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they +married. You can't get nobody—colored folks I mean—to step over a +broom; they say it bad luck. If it fall and they step over they step +back. They say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that +year. Folks didn't visit round much. They had some place to go they went +but they had to work. They work together and done mighty little—idle +vistin'. Folks took the knitting long visting lest it be Sunday.</p> + +<p>"White women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their +breast fall. They would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to +the house. They had a house close by. She would nurse her baby and the +white baby, too. They would feed her everything she wanted. She didn't +have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. Dannie and +my brother Bradford, and Mary my sister and Miss Maggie nursed my mama. +Rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause +their breast to be flat.</p> + +<p>"My papa was the last slave to die. Mama died twelve months fore he +died. I was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and +papa said. Grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and Miss Cornelia +learned me to sew and learned Aunt Joe (a ex-slave Negro here in town) +to play Miss Betty's piano. She was their house girl. Yes ma'am, when I +was small girl she was bout grown. Aunt Joe is a fine cook. Miss +Cornelia learnt her how. I could learned to played too but I didn't want +to. I wanted to knit and crochet and sew. Miss Cornelia said that was my +talent. I made wrist warmers and lace. Sister Mary would spin. She spun +yarn and cotton thread. They made feather beds. Picked the geese and +sheared the sheep. I got my big feather bed now.</p> + +<p>"When I married, Miss Betty made my weddin' dress. We had a preacher +marry us at my home. My mama give me to Miss Betty and they raised me. I +was the weaslingest one of her children. She give me to Miss Betty. Now +she wants me to come back. I think I go back Christmas and stay. Miss +Betty is old and feeble now. I got three children living here in Hazen +now. All I got left.</p> + +<p>"The men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. I don't know +how they voted. Now, honey, you know I don't know nothing bout voting.</p> + +<p>"Times is so changed. Conditions so changed that I don't know if the +young generation is improved much. They learn better but it don't do em +no more good. It seems like it is the management that counts. That is +the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave Mars Daniel Johnson's. He was +a good manager and Miss Betty is a good manager. We don't know how to +manage and ain't got much to manage wid. That the way it looks to me. +Some folks is luckier than others."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurlettBetty2"></a> +<h3>Little Rock District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson<br> +[HW: Yankees Stole Food]<br> +Subject: History—Slavery Days<br> +Subject: Musical Instrument<br> +Story:—Information<br> +[TR: hand dated 11-14-36]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Betty Curlett<br> +Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: Washwoman<br> +Age: 67</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"My mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of +wooden spoons and bowls they made." They cooked a washpot full of peas +for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. They +always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for +there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked +for her family in with what she cooked for the Master. They made banks +of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till +they went to cook them. They had rows of banks in the garden or out +behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in +the spring to bed.</p> + +<p>They saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them +and saved the drip—lye—and made soap or corn hominy—made big pots of +soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. They carried corn to the mill +and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. The women +spun, wove, and knitted. The men would hunt between crop times. If the +slaves were caught stealing, the Patty Row would catch him and his +master whip him.</p> + +<p>My Grandpas and Grandmas and Mamma's Master was John Moore. Mr. John +said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade +blood saddle-skirt deep. He set out to war. Went to Vicksburg and was +killed.</p> + +<p>His wifes name was Mrs. Elisabeth and his daughters name was Miss Inez. +They say thats where the saying "He won't last longer than John Moore +did when he went to war" sprang up but I don't know about that part of +it for sure.</p> + +<p>Grandma Becky said when the Yankees came to Mrs. Moores house and to +Judge Rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't +have none. They stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. Just tore +up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. They took +two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the +ground, leaving piles of them to waste.</p> + +<p>Song her Mother and Grandmother sang:</p> + +<pre> +Old Cow died in the fork of the branch + Baby, Ba, Ba. +Dock held the light, Kimbo skinned it. + Ba, Ba, Ba. +Old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from +branch, Kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide +he had tanned. + Baby, Ba, Ba. +</pre> +<br> +<p><b>Musical Instrument</b></p> + +<p>"The only musical instrument we had was a banjo. Some made their banjos. +Take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. 3 horse hairs twisted made +the base string. 2 horsehairs twisted made the second string. 1 horse +hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it +was not twisted at all but drawn tight. They were all bees waxed."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="CurryJH"></a> +<h3>Circumstances of Interview<br> +STATE—Arkansas<br> +NAME OF WORKER—Samuel S. Taylor<br> +ADDRESS—Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +DATE—December, 1938<br> +SUBJECT—Ex-Slave</h3> +<p>[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]</p> +<br> + +<p>1. Name and address of informant—<big><b>J.H. Curry</b></big>, Washington, Arkansas</p> + +<p>2. Date and time of interview—</p> + +<p>3. Place of interview—Washington, Arkansas</p> + +<p>4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with +informant—</p> + +<p>5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you—</p> + +<p>6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Personal History of Informant</b></p> + +<p>1. Ancestry—father, Washington Curry; mother, Eliza Douglass; +grandmother; Malinda Evans; grandfather, Mike Evans.</p> + +<p>2. Place and date of birth—Born in Haywood County, Tennessee in 1862.</p> + +<p>3. Family—</p> + +<p>4. Places lived in, with dates—Tennessee until 1883. From 1883 until +now, in Arkansas.</p> + +<p>5. Education, with dates—He took a four-years' course at Haywood after +the war.</p> + +<p>6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates—Minister</p> + +<p>7. Special skills and interest—Church work.</p> + +<p>8. Community and religious activities—Preacher</p> + +<p>9. Description of informant—</p> + +<p>10. Other points gained in interview—His father was a slave and he +tells lots of slavery.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Master Educates Slave]<br> +Text of Interview</b> (Unedited)</p> + +<p>"I was born in 1862, September first. I got that off the Bible. My +father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait +man to him. And the doctor learnt him how to read and write. Right after +the War, he was a teacher. He was ready to be a teacher before most +other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. There were +so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers +and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he +taught my father to read and write so that he could do it.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee, in Haywood County. My father was born in North +Carolina, so they tell me. He was brought to Tennessee. He was a slave +and my mother was a slave. His name was Washington Curry and my mother's +name was Eliza Douglass before she married. Her master was named John +Douglass and my father's master was named T.A. Curry, Tom Curry some +folks called him.</p> + +<p>"I don't know just how many slaves Tom Curry owned. Lemme see. There was +my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. My father's father had +ten children, and my father had the same number—five boys and six +girls. Ten of us lived for forty years. My mother had ten living +children when she died in 1921. Since '21, three girls died. My father +died in 1892.</p> + +<p>"My father's master had around a hundred slaves. Douglass was a richer +man than my father's master. I suspect he had two hundred slaves. He was +my mother's father as well as her master. I know him. He used to come to +our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. He liked her. She +was his daughter.</p> + +<p>"My father's father—I can't remember what his name was. I know his +mother was Candace. I never did see his father but I saw my grandma. He +was dead before I was born. My mother's mother was named Malinda Evans. +Only one thing I remember that was remarkable about her. Her husband was +a free man named Mike Evans. He come from up North and married her in +slave time and he bought her. He was a fine carpenter. They used to hire +him out to build houses. He was a contractor in slave time. I remember +him well.</p> + +<p>"After the War, he used to have white men getting training for the +carpenter's training under him. He was Grandma Evans' husband. He wasn't +my father's father. My father was born before Grandma Evans was freed. +All the rest of them were born afterward. They sold her to him but the +children all belonged to the Douglasses. He probably paid for her on +time and they kept the children that was born.</p> + +<p>"The doctor was good to my father. Way after freedom, he was our family +doctor. He was at my father's bedside when father died. He's dead now.</p> + +<p>"My father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). He was a finished +carpenter. He used to make everything 'round the house. Sometimes he +went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and +his master would give him some for himself.</p> + +<p>"My mother worked 'round the house. She was a servant. I don't know that +she ever did the work in the field. My daddy just come home every +Saturday night. My father and mother always belonged to different +masters in slavery time. The Douglasses and the Currys were five or six +miles apart. My father would walk that distance on Saturday night and +stay there all day Sunday and git up before day in the morning Monday so +that he would be back home Monday morning in time for his work. I +remember myself when we moved away. That's when my memory first starts.</p> + +<p>"I could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'Uncle +Washington, please don't carry Aunt Lize away.' But we went on away. +When we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor +that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. +Nothing to eat—not a bite. I went to bed hungry, and you know how it is +when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. I jerk a little nod, and +then I'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. One time I woke +up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at +the table, and mama reached over and said, 'Stick your head back under +the cover again, you little rascal you.' I won't say what I saw. But +I'll say this much. We had the finest breakfast the next morning that I +ever ate in all my life.</p> + +<p>"I used to hear my people talk about pateroles but I don't reckon I can +recall now what they said. There is a man in Washington named Bob +Sanders. He knows everything about slavery, and politics too. He used to +be a regular politician. He is about ninety years old. They came there +and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his +fare. Man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. +They were writing up something about Arkansas history.</p> + +<p>"I have been married fifty-seven years. I married in 1881. My wife was a +Lemons. I married on February tenth in Tennessee at Stanton. Nancy +Lemons.</p> + +<p>"I went to public school a little after the war. My wife and I both +went to Haywood after we were married. After we married and had +children, we went. I took a four-years' course there when it was a fine +institution. It's gone down now.</p> + +<p>"I was the oldest boy. We had two mules. We farmed on the halves. We +made fifteen bales of cotton a year. Never did make less than ten or +twelve.</p> + +<p>"I have been in the ministry fifty-three years. I was transferred to +Arkansas in 1883 in the conference which met at Humboldt. My first work +here was in Searcy in 1884.</p> + +<p>"I think the question of Negro suffrage will work itself out. As we get +further away from the Civil War and the reconstruction, it will be less +and less opposition to the Negro's voting. You can see a lot of signs of +that now.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about the young people. They are gone wild. I don't know +what to say about them.</p> + +<p>"I think where men are able to work I think it is best to give them +work. A man that is able to work ought to be given work by the +government if he can't get it any other way."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DandridgeLyttleton"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Lyttleton Dandridge<br> + 2800 W. Tenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was told I was born in '57 in East Carroll Parish, Louisiana.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can remember before the War broke out. Yes ma'am, I had good +owners. Old master and mistress was named James Railey and Matilda +Railey. I called her mistress.</p> + +<p>"I remember one time my father carried me to Natchez on Christmas to +spend with his people. His parents were servants on a plantation near +Natchez.</p> + +<p>"I remember two shows I saw. They was the Daniel Rice shows. They was +animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. We didn't +have trains and things like that—traveled on the big waters.</p> + +<p>"I remember when we refugeed to Texas in '63. They raised tobacco there.</p> + +<p>"We got free in '65 and the Governor or somebody ordered all the owners +to take all the folks back that wanted to go.</p> + +<p>"All the young folks, they had them in Tyler, Texas makin' bullets. My +father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets.</p> + +<p>"Old master had two plantations in Louisiana and three in Mississippi. +He was a large slaveholder.</p> + +<p>"When we got back to Louisiana from Texas, ever'thing was the same +except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land.</p> + +<p>"Old master died before the War broke out and my mistress died in '67.</p> + +<p>"My father died in Texas. That left my mother a widow. She spent about +two weeks at the old home place in Louisiana. She pulled up then and +went to Natchez to my father's people. She made two crops with my young +master. His name was Otie Railey. Help her? Well, I was comin'. I had +one brother and one sister.</p> + +<p>"In '68 she worked with a colored man on the shares.</p> + +<p>"I started to school in '67. A colored man come in there and established +a private school. I went in '67, '68, and '69 and then I didn't go any +more till '71 and '72. I got along pretty well in it. I know mine from +the other fellows. I can write and any common business I can take care +of.</p> + +<p>"We had two or three men run off and joined the Yankees. One got drowned +fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom.</p> + +<p>"My mother worked for wages after freedom. She got three bales of cotton +for her services and mine and she boarded herself.</p> + +<p>"In '74 she rented. I still stayed with her. She lived with me all her +life and died with me.</p> + +<p>"I come over to Arkansas the twenty-third day of December in 1916. +Worked for Long-Bell Lumber Company till they went down. Then I Just +jobbed around. I can still work a little but not like I used to.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote Republican when I was interested in politics but I have +no interest in it now.</p> + +<p>"The younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. They was +more constrictions on the young people. When I was young I had a certain +hour to come in at night. Eight o'clock was my hour—not later than +that. I think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started +in time they could control them.</p> + +<p>"I remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she +caught up with him. He fell down and she booed him in the back. My +grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. She just shook +her head and went off.</p> + +<p>"Outside of my people, the best friend I ever met up with was a white +man."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DanielsElla"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Ella Daniels<br> + 1223 W. Eleventh Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74, or over</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Food Rationed]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in North Carolina, in Halifax County, in the country near +Scotland Neck. My mother's name was Nellie Doggett. Her name was Hale +before she married. My father's name was Tom Doggett. I never did see +any of my grand people.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Lewis Hale. He was a farmer. He was fairly +good himself but the overseers wasn't. They have mistreated my mother. +All I know is what I heard, of course; I wasn't old enough to see for +myself. My mother was a field hand. She worked on the farm. My father +did the same thing.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother belonged to different masters. I forgot now who my +father said he belonged to. My father didn't live on the same plantation +with my mother. He just came and visited her from time to time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"Sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. The old missis sometimes +saw that my mother's children were fed. My mother's master was pretty +good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. Food was +issued every week. They give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little +rice and along like that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House</b></p> + +<p>"My mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. I don't know +whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. But I +nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and I know +several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. Most of the houses had +two rooms. The food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations +given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Breeding</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but I +have heard of them. I don't know the names of the people. Just remember +hearing talk about them.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Freedom Comes</b></p> + +<p>"My mother and father never found out they were free till April 1865. +Some of them were freed before then. I don't know how they found it out, +but I heard them talking about it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right after Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same +place just like they always did. I reckon they paid them, I don't know. +They did what they wanted to.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers, Ku Klux, and Reconstruction</b></p> + +<p>"I remember the Ku Klux. They used to come and whip the niggers that +didn't have a pass. I think them was pateroles though. There was some +people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, +and then they would sell them. I don't know what they called them. I +just remember the Ku Klux and the pateroles.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out +without a pass. I don't remember any Ku Klux whipping niggers after the +War because they were in politics.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Voters and Officeholders</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard of Negroes voting and holding office after the War. I +wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named Kane Gibbs and +another named Cicero Barnes. I heard the old people talking about them. +I don't know what offices they held. They lived in another county +somewhere.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since Emancipation</b></p> + +<p>"I went from North Carolina to Louisiana, and from Louisiana here. They +had it that you could shake trees out in Louisiana and the money would +fall off. They had some good land out there too. One acre would make all +you wanted—corn or anything else. That was a rich land. But I don't +know—I don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, +you had to leave it there. Never would give you no direct settlement or +pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. Just gave you +something from time to time. Whatever you had you had to leave it there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupational Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"I used to work in the field when I was able. That was when I was in the +country. When I came to the city I usually did washing and ironing. Now +I can't do anything. All the people I used to work for is dead. There +was one woman in particular. She was a good woman, too. I don't have any +help at all now, except my son. He has a family of his own—wife and +seven children. Right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for +himself nor nobody else. But I thank God for what I have because things +could be much worse."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with Ku Klux. It seems to +point to a use of the word Ku Klux before the War. Of course, it is +clear that the Ku Klux Klan operated after the War.</p> + +<p>Ella Daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and +I have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. +But three children were born after her and before the close of the War. +She says they were born two years apart. Allowing that the youngest was +born, in 1864, the one next to her would have been born in 1860, and she +would have been born in 1858. This seems likely too because she speaks +of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and +must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. Born in 1858, +she would have been seven years old in 1865 and would have been able to +have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two +years probably. So it appears to me that her age is eighty, but I have +recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DarrowMaryAllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Allen Darrow, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born at Monticello, Arkansas at the last of the Cibil (Civil) +War. My parents' names was Richard and Ann Allen. They had thirteen +children. Mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer.</p> + +<p>"My great-grandma and grandpa was killed in Indian Nation (Alabama) by +Sam and Will Allen. They was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of +the Carolinas. I disremembers which they told me. Great-grandpa was a +chief. They was shot and all the children run but they caught my Grandma +Evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to Monticello, +Arkansas. They fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. She was a +little full-blood Indian girl then. They got her fer my great-grandpa a +wife. He seen her and thought she was so pretty.</p> + +<p>"She was wild. She wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. She +had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. They tamed her. Grandpa's pa +that wanted the Indian wife was full-blood African. Mama was little +lighter than 'gingercake' color.</p> + +<p>"My Indian grandma was mean. I was feard of 'er. She run us down and +ketch us and whoop us. She was tall slender woman. She was mean as she +could be. She'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. Grandpa was +kind. He'd bring me candy back if he went off. I cried after him. I +played with his girl. We was about the same size. Her name was Annie +Mathis. He was a Mathis. He was a blacksmith too at Monticello and later +he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. I was raised on a farm. +Papa died there. I washed and done field work all my life. Grandma +married Bob Mathis.</p> + +<p>"Our owner was Sam and Lizzie Allen. William Allen was his brother. I +think Sam had eight children. There was a Claude Allen in Monticello and +some grandchildren, Eva Allen and Lent Allen. Eva married Robert Lawson. +I lived at Round Pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to Forrest +City. I been away from them Allen's and Mathis' and Gill's so long and +'bout forgot 'em. They wasn't none too good to nobody—selfish. They'd +make trouble, then crap out of it. Pack it on anybody. They wasn't none +too good to do nothing. Some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and +women. Some of 'em I know wasn't rich—poor as 'Jobe's stucky.' I don't +know nothing 'bout 'em now. They wasn't good.</p> + +<p>"I was a baby at freedom and I don't know about that nor the Ku Klux. +Grandpa started a blacksmith shop at Monticello after freedom.</p> + +<p>"My pa was a white man. Richard Allen was mama's husband.</p> + +<p>"Me and my husband gats ten dollars from the Old Age Pension. He is +ninety-six years old. He do a little about. I had a stroke and ain't +been no 'count since. He can tell you about the Cibil War."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I missed her husband twice. It was a long ways out there but I will see +him another time.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisAlice"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Alice Davis<br> + 1700 Vaugine Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Mississippi. My mistress was Jane Davis. She raised me. +She owned my mother too.</p> + +<p>"When Miss Jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and +Mandy Paine owned me then. When I was one month old they said I was so +white Mandy Paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and +carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. When the +childun heard, they run and cried, 'Mama's goin' to kill Harriet's +baby.' Old mistress, Jane Davis, heard about it and she come and paid +Miss Jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and I slep +right in the bed with her till the war ceasted."</p> + +<p>"Her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'Ma, why don't +you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me +and say, 'This the only nigger I got.'</p> + +<p>"I stayed there two or three years after freedom. I didn't know what +free meant. Big childun all laugh and say, 'All niggers free, all +niggers free.' And I'd say, 'What is free?' I was lookin' for a man to +come.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the house and in the field. I had plenty chances to go to +school but I didn't have no sense.</p> + +<p>"My mother was sold to nigger traders and I never did see her again. I +always say I never had no mother, and I never did know who my father +was.</p> + +<p>"I've worked hard since I got to be a women. I never been the mother of +but three childun. Me and my boy stay together.</p> + +<p>"I had a happy time when I lived with Miss Jane, but I been workin' ever +since."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisCharlie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Charlie Davis<br> + 100 North Plum, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"They said I was born in 1862, the second day of March, in Little Rock.</p> + +<p>"I 'member the War. I 'member the bluecoats. I knowed they was fightin' +but I didn't know what about.</p> + +<p>"My old master was killed in the War. I don't know his name, I just +heered 'em call him old master.</p> + +<p>"I know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the War and looked +for him afterward. As long as I could understand anything she was still +lookin'.</p> + +<p>"Far as I know, my parents stayed with old missis after the War.</p> + +<p>"I 'member my father hired me out when I was a little boy. They treated, +me good.</p> + +<p>"Never have done anything 'cept farm work. I'm failin' now. Hate to say +so but I found out I am.</p> + +<p>"I never did want to go away from here. I could a went, but I think a +fellow can do better where he is raised. I have watched the dumb beasts +go off with others and see how they was treated, so I never did crave to +go off from home. I have knowed people have went away and they'd bring +'em back dead, and I'd say to myself, 'I wonder how he died?' I've +studied it over and I've just made myself satisfied.</p> + +<p>"I went to school some but I was the biggest help the old folks had and +they kept me workin'."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisD"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person Interviewed: D. Davis<br> + R.F.D., six miles north of Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 85</h3> +<br> + +<p>Uncle D. Davis, an ex-slave, 85 years of age lives some miles north of +Marvell, Arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter +owns. Uncle D himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further +up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able +to tend the land. This old negro, now old and bent from years of work +and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the +assistance of a crutch and a cane. His mind however is very clear and +his recollection keen. As I sat with him on the porch of his daughter's +home he told me the following story:</p> + +<p>"Yes Sir, Mr. McKinney, I has been in Phillips County fer pas forty-five +years and I is now pas eighty-five. I wuz a grown en settled man when I +fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. Dats how cum me ter com +here on er count of one of my boys. Dis boy he cum befo I did en hed +done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from Mississippi. Yo +know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done +drifted rite down dere below Marvell on de Cypress Bayou, en war wukin +fer Mr. Fred Mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. I guess +dat yo has heard of Mr. Fred Mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close +ter Turner. Well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter I cum I +jined up wid Mr. Mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en I wud er ben +wid him fer good I rekkin iffen I hadn't wanter buy me er place of my +own, kase Mr. Fred Mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands +fair.</p> + +<p>"When I cided ter git me er little place of my own, I went en got +quainted wid Mr. Marve Carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, +en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter Mr. Carruth fer ter git de +advice, en Mr. Carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is +mine yit. Dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan Mr. Marve +Carruth. No Sir dat is a fac.</p> + +<p>"Yo see, Capn, I wuz borned en raised in de hills of Mississippi, in +Oktibbawa County not so fer frum Starkville, en dat wuz a ole country +time I hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when I +cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, +en how rish de lan, I jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite +here en mobed my fambly rite off. Folkses hed cotton piled up all er +round dey houses en I cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home +den.</p> + +<p>"My ole Marster wuz Tom Davis en Capn dere warnt never no finer man whut +ever libed dan Marse Tom. Marse Tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he +hed, en Marse Tom sho hed a passel of em. He had bettern two-hundred +head en de las one dey crazy bout Marse Tom Davis. He war rather old +frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de +war. Marse Tom he owned a grete heap er lan. His lan hit stretch out fer +God knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water +wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. Dey neber +bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all +de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. Marse Tom he +tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin +er sellin no niggers. Dat he didn't. He neber wud sell er one, en he +neber did buy but three. Dat is er fac, Capn, en one of dem three whut +he bought wuz "Henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed Henry frum Mr. +Spence kase Henry hed done got married ter Malindy, whut wuz my mammy. +Dat is whut my Mammy en Pappy dey bofe tole me.</p> + +<p>"Marse Tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, +but Marse Phil he jined up. Marse Phil dat war Marse Tom's son, en de +onliest boy dat Ole Marster en Ole Mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile +en dat wuz de girl, Miss Rachel, en atter de war ober Miss Rachel she +married Capn Dan Travis whut cum from Alabama. Ole Marster he neber +laked Capn Dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout Miss Rachel +gwine ter git married ter dat Capn, but hit neber done him no good ter +cut up kase Ole Mis she sided wid Miss Rachel, en den too Miss Rachel +she hab er head of her own en she know her Pa aint gwine ter stop her. +Marse Tom he didn't lak Capn Dan kase de Capn he er big sport, en mighty +wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, +do he sho war a fine lookin gentman.</p> + +<p>"Whilst Marse Tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er +man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en Ole Mis dey +neber want Marse Phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer +ter tek Marse Phil's place so he won't hatter go, but Marse Phil he sey +he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he Ma en Pa dey cut up right +smart bout Marse Phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. Marse +Phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter +sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad +spell er sikness en died. Dat wuz sho tuf on Marse Tom en de Ole Mis fer +dem ter lose Marse Phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him +bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. Hit mighty +nigh broke dem ole peoples up.</p> + +<p>"No Sir, Capn, I betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white +man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers +dan Marse Tom Davis. Now jes tek dis, dere wuz "Uncle Joe" whut wuz my +grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as Marse Tom, en dey growed +up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat Marse Tom's pappy git "Uncle Joe" +when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red +hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter +Marse Tom, en atter Marse Tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy +died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, +en Uncle Joe done raise Marse Tom seben chillun, den Marse Tom he up en +sot Uncle Joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase +Uncle Joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise Marse Tom +all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy.</p> + +<p>"Capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) Well, +I gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. Dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de +niggers. Dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round +thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en +womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. Hit wuz jes lak you mite +sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. Jist befo dese here +speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try +ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long +side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, +en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some +nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine +try ter do de bizness wid. Dats zackly de way dey do Capn, jes lak +curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually +is.</p> + +<p>"Whilst Marse Tom Davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of +de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he +niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery +week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat +week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den +ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en +whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres +whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey +own, en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey +want.</p> + +<p>"Marse Tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always +on er Sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de +folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er Sattidy atter noon fer er +frolic. Ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest +man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter +"go befo de King", dats whut us called it. All wud gather in bak of de +big house under de big oak trees en Marse Tom he wud cum out wid he +fiddle under he arm, yo kno Marse Tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot +hisself down in de chere whut Uncle Joe done fotched fer im, en den he +tell Uncle Joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all +er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den Marse Tom he +start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab +de bes kin er frolic, en Marse Tom he git jes es much fun outen de party +as de niggers demselves. Dats de kine er man whut Marse Tom wuz.</p> + +<p>"I tell yo, Capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. Dey all +draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times +dey cud always git mo, en Marse Tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour +at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. Dats rite, Capn, en I sho tells +dis fer de truf, en dat is I say dat iffen all de slabe owning white +folks lak Marse Tom Davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de +darkies, kase Marse Tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey +bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone.</p> + +<p>"At Chrismus time on Marse Tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er +mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. De candy pullin, en de dances wid be +gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de +marster.</p> + +<p>"All endurin of de war times, Marse Tom he neber raised no cotton er +tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de +Confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de +loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. De Yankees +sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er +bruning [TR: burning?] en sich dat I is heard dat dey done in places in +other parts of de state. We all heard one time dat de Yankees wuz close +er roun en wuz on de way ter burn Marse Tom's mill but dey got on de +wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er +dat too. Yit en still attar de war ober, Marse Tom, he had bout four +hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de Yankee govment dey sho +tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. I knows dat ter be er +fac.</p> + +<p>"I members de war rail well, kase ye see, I wuz bout twelve year old +when hit ober. En de last two er three years of de trubble I wuz big +enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er +waitin boy round de house, en I slept in dar too on er pallit on de +floor, en er lot er times de Calvary sojers wud stop at Marse Tom's en +spen de nite, en I wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en I +cud hear dem talkin ter Marse Tom, en Marster he wud ax dem how de fite +cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de Yankees, en de Calvary sojers dey say +dat dey whippin de Yankees ebery day en killin em out, en Marse Tom he +sey "Yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem +Yankees? Dem Yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo +doin. Yo know yo aint whippin no Yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter +dem rite now stid dem atter yo". No Sir, dem Calvary sojers cudn't fool +Marse Tom.</p> + +<p>"Yes sir, I tell yo, Capn, de slabes dey fared well wid Marse Tom Davis, +en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every +body ben lak Marse Tom. All his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben +know what de Yankees en de Southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase +dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum +dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter +do wid hit. En atter de bondage lifted, Marse Tom he called em all up en +tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere +wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. Dey ebery one stayed, en I spect dat +er lot of dem Davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid +whoever hit belongs to.</p> + +<p>"When er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich +thing as er license fer dem. All dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit +frum de Marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. Atter de +freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz +giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal.</p> + +<p>"Atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, +en atter de surrender, Marse Tom he hed his whole place lined out by de +surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty +acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock +wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de +lan frum Marse Tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till Marse Tom en ole +Mis bofe died, en dat wuz when Capn Dan Travis, Miss Rachel's husband, +he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies +hed made wid Marse Tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, +en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de Davis place, wid Capn +Dan Travis in charge, en Marse Tom gone. But Capn Dan he en Miss Rachel +didn't keep dey place long atter her Pa dead, kase de Capn he too wild, +en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin.</p> + +<p>"Capn, did yo eber hear of de "Chapel Hill" fight dat de colored folks +en de white folks hed in Mississippi? I will tell yo bout dat fight en +de leadin up ter de trubble.</p> + +<p>"Atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de Klu Klux bofe, en de +white folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey +didn't. I don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, +so de white folks say. You know sum way er udder de Yankees er de +carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de +cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in Jackson. Dat wuz de +craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant +niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. I tell yo, Capn, dem +whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de +niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk +long. Dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded +dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er +roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. Dem ignorant +niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. Hit wasn't long +do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. De Klu Klux dey +wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick +by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, +en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter +tek bak wid em when de day light cum. All de time de niggers habin dey +club meetins in er ole loose house dere at Chapel Hill, en de Klux er +gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de +black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er +grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de +Klu Klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter +dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er +shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, +dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club +meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote +house. I heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase Chapel Hill hit warn't +fer frum whar I libed at dat time. I seed Dr. Marris Gray on de rode on +he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. Dr. +Marris Gray he pulled up en sed, "Good mornin "D" is ye heard bout de +fite whut wuz had last nite at Chapel Hill" en I sey "No Sir Doctor, +whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he +didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de +club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en +also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat +he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. En den I sey +"Doctor Morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he +say "En cose I warn't dere yo don't think I gwine be roun what no +shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en I say "Naw Suh" en de doctor he rid +on down de rode den, but I knowed in my own mine dat Doctor Morris wuz +in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en I seed er long +pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat I iz +knowed de doctor eber since I wuz a chile when Marse Tom uster hab him +ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en I seed him one night er +ridin wid de Klu Klux en heard him er talkin when I wuz hid in de bushes +lon side de rode when I cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de +thicket, en den Doctor Morris he wid General Forrest all throo de war en +he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss +no shootin."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJames"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: James Davis<br> + 1112 Indiana St. (owner), Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 96<br> +Occupation: Cotton farmer</h3> +<br> + +<p>"This is what's left of me. How old? Me? Now listen and let me tell you +how 'twas. Old mistress put all our ages in the family Bible, and I was +born on Christmas morning in 1840 in Raleigh, North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"My old master was Peter Davis and he was old Jeff Davis' brother. There +was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream.</p> + +<p>"Old master was good to us. He said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' +and workin' in the field from morning to night. He fed us well and we +had plenty good clothes to wear—heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in +the winter time. When I was a young man I wore good clothes.</p> + +<p>"I served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. We +didn't have a thing in God's world to worry bout. Every darky old master +had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. Oh, he was +rich—had bout five or six thousand slaves. Oh, he had darkies aplenty. +He run a hundred plows.</p> + +<p>"I went to work when I was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and I been +workin' ever since. But when I was comin' up I had good times. I had +better times than I ever had in my life. I used to be one of the best +banjo pickers. I was good. Played for white folks and called figgers for +em. In them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', +'change partners'. They don't know how to dance now. We had parties and +corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes.</p> + +<p>"I'll sing you a song</p> + +<pre> +'Oh lousy nigger + Oh grandmammy + Knock me down with the old fence rider, + Ask that pretty gal let me court her + Young gal, come blow the coal.' +</pre> + +<p>"When I was twenty-one I was sold to the speculator and sent to Texas. +They started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd +and fifty and knocked me off. He paid for me in old Jeff Davis' shin +plasters.</p> + +<p>"I runned away and I was in Mississippi makin' my way back home to North +Carolina. I was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of Sherman's +Rough Riders come along. When they got close to me the horses jumped +sudden and they said, 'Come out of there, we know you're in there!' And +when I come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. +They said they thought I was a Revel and 'serted the army. That was on +New Years day of the year the war ended. The Yankees said, 'We's freed +you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' I said, 'If you goin' +North, I'll go.' So I stayed with em till I got back to North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"After surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come I'm +here. I emigrated here. I left Raleigh, North Carolina Christmas Eve +1883. I've seen ninety-six Christmases.</p> + +<p>"I member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. The South +wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do.</p> + +<p>"When I come to this country of Arkansas I brought twelve chillun and +left four in North Carolina. I've had six wives and had twenty-nine +chillun by the six wives.</p> + +<p>"I've seen them Ku Klux in slavery times and I've cut a many a +grapevine. We'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the +grape vine strung across the road and the Ku Klux come ridin' along and +run right into it and throw the horses down.</p> + +<p>"Cose I believe in hants. They're in the air. Can't everybody see em. +Some come in the shape of a cat or a dog—you know, old folks spirits. I +ain't afeared of em—ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. Cose I got +a gun—got three or four of em. You can't kill a spirit cept with +silver.</p> + +<p>"I was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and I see +somethin' white come right up side of me. I didn't run then. You know +you can git so scared you can't run, but when I got so I could, I like +to killed myself runnin'.</p> + +<p>"I'm not able to work now, but I just go anyhow. I got a willin' mind to +work and a strong constitution but I ain't got nothin' to back it. I +never was sick but twice in my life.</p> + +<p>"Since I been in Pine Bluff I worked sixteen years at night firing up +and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. I +worked for the Cotton Belt forty-eight years. I worked up until the fust +day of this last past May, five years ago, when they laid me off.</p> + +<p>"I'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but I works every day anyway.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you I haven't been asleep atall. I worked for the railroad +company forty-eight years and I been tryin' to get that railroad pension +but there's so much Red Cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be +three months before they could do anything."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJim"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jim Davis<br> + 1112 Indiana Street<br> + Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 98</h3> +<p>[TR: Same as previous informant despite age difference.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Well, I've broke completely down. I ain't worth nothing. Got rheumatism +all over me.</p> + +<p>"I never seen inside a schoolhouse—allus looked on the outside.</p> + +<p>"The general run of this younger generation ain't no good. What I'm +speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. They ain't healthy either. Why, +when I was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. Why, look +at me. I ain't never had but two spells of sickness and I ain't never +had the headache. The only thing—I broke these three fingers. Hit a +mule in the head. Killed him too.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, that was in slavery times. Why, they passed a law in Raleigh, +North Carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. That was when I +was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>"Ever' time they'd make me mad I'd run off in the woods.</p> + +<p>"But they sure was good to their darkies. Plenty to eat and plenty good +clothes. Sam Davis was my owner. And he wouldn't have no rough +overseer."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJim2"></a> +<h3>FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Slavery Time Songs<br> +Subject: Superstitions<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Jim Davis<br> +Place of residence: 1112 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None <br> +Age: 98</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]<br> +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I used to be a banjo picker in Civil War times. I could pick a church +song just as good as I could a reel.</p> + +<p>"Some of 'em I used to pick was 'Amazing Grace', 'Old Dan Tucker,' Used +to pick one went like this</p> + +<pre> +'Farewell, farewell, sweet Mary; + I'm ruined forever + By lovin' of you; + Your parents don't like me, + That I do know + I am not worthy to enter your d[o].' +</pre> + +<p>I used to pick</p> + +<pre> +'Dark was the night + Cold was the ground + On which the Lord might lay.' +</pre> + +<p>I could pick anything.</p> + +<pre> +'Amazing grace + How sweet it sounds + To save a wretch like me.' + +'Go preach my Gospel + Says the Lord, + Bid this whole earth + My grace receive; + Oh trust my word + Ye shall be saved.' +</pre> + +<p>I used to talk that on my banjo just like I talked it there."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Superstitions</b></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes ma'am, I believe in all the old signs.</p> + +<p>"You can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore +shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that +bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel—I know what +I'm talkin' 'bout now—and you tote that in your pocket night and +day—sleep with it—and it brings you good luck. But the last one I had +got burnt up when my house burnt down and I been goin' back ever since.</p> + +<p>"And these here frizzly chicken are good luck. If you have a black +frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your +yard, they'll scratch it up."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJeff1"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis<br> + 1100 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 85<br> +[May 31 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"What's my name? I got a good name. Name's Jeff Davis. Miss Mary Vinson +was some of my white folks.</p> + +<p>"Oh Lord yes, I was here in slavery times—runnin' around like you +are—ten years old. I'm eighty-five even.</p> + +<p>"Soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. Blue coats was what they +called 'em. And the Rebs was Gray.</p> + +<p>"Yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. Had cannon-balls +weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds.</p> + +<p>"I'm a musician—played the fife. Played it to a T. Had two kinds of +drums. Had different kinds of brass horns too. I 'member one time they +was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till I took it.</p> + +<p>"Had plenty to eat. Old master fed us plenty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I used to do a heap of work in a day.</p> + +<p>"I was 'bout ten when freedom come. Yes ma'am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJeff2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Watt McKinney<br> +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis<br> + R.F.D. five miles south, Marvell, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. I was borned +in de Tennessee Valley not far from Huntsville, Alabama. Right soon +atter I was borned my white folks, de Welborns, dey left Alabama an' +come right here to Phillips County, Arkansas, an' brung all the darkies +with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. I is been here +all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every +since I been old enough. I is seen good times an' hard times, Boss, all +endurin' of those years followin' de War, but de worst times I is ever +seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck.</p> + +<p>"How-some-ever I is got 'long first rate I reckon 'cause you know I owns +my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all +such like. I really ain't suffered any for nothin'. Still they has been +times when I ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, +but I is made it out somehow. Us old darkies what come up with de +country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there +wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long +on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. Couldn't mind a panic +bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration.</p> + +<p>"You see, I was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. +An' course I can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my +mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times.</p> + +<p>"Like I first said, us belonged to de Welborns an' dey was powerful +loyal to de Souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey +sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in +Tennessee an' Georgia. Dat's what my mammy tole me an' I know dey done +dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout Mr. Jefferson Davis, de fust an' only +President of de Confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name I got. +Yas suh, dat is how come me named 'Jeff Davis.' An' I always has been +proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what I is named after.</p> + +<p>"My pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. I knows he +bound to been 'cause I is too bright to not have no white blood in me. +My mammy, she named 'Mary Welborn'. She say dat my pappy was a white man +name 'Bill Ward' what lived back in Alabama. Dat's all my mammy ever +told me about my pappy. She never say iffen he work for de Welborns er +no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. I don't know nothin' 'bout him +scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'Bill Ward'. My steppappy, he +was name John Sanders, an' he married my mammy when I 'bout four year +old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage.</p> + +<p>"My steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he +want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. +I riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was +built through Marvell from Helena to Clarendon. He made dem culberts +outen logs what would be split half in two. Then he would hew out de two +halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. Dey +would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de +water to run through.</p> + +<p>"There was several white mens dat I knowed in dis part of de county what +raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. I will say this +for them mens though. Whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem +what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care +of de whole gang. I riccolect one white man in particular, an' I knows +you is heered of him too. How-some-ever, I won't call no names. He lived +down on de ribber on de island. Dis white man, he was a overseer for a +widder woman what lived in Helena an' what owned de big place dat dis +man oberseer was on. Dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de +longest. She have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals.</p> + +<p>"After a while dis man, he got him a place up close to Marvell where he +moved to. He brought his nigger fambly with him. He built dem a good +house on his farm where he kept them. He give dat woman an' dem chillun +dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. Then he +married him a nice white woman after he moved close to Marvell. He built +him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap +of chillun too by dis same man. So dis man, he had a white fambly an' a +half nigger fambly before. De most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in +this county right now.</p> + +<p>"Yas suh, Boss, I is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. In my +young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. There +wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. De houses an' barns was +most all made of logs, but I is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers +an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey +does at dis time. De white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more +confidence in each other seems like in dem days. I don't know how 'twas +in de other states after de War, but right here in Phillips County de +white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. Dey helped dem +to git it. Dey sure done dat. Mr. Marve Carruth, dat was really a good +white man. He helped me to get dis very place here dat I is owned for +fifty years. An' then I tell you dis too, Boss, when I was coming up, +de folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. A good hand then +naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as +dey do now. Seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and +down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey +orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home.</p> + +<p>"Yas suh, I riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs +in de courthouse in Helena, but I is never took no part in that votin' +business an' I allus kept out of dem arguments. I left it up to de white +folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers.</p> + +<p>"De darkies what was in de courthouse dat I riccolect was: Bill Gray, he +was one of de clerks; Hense Robinson, Dave Ellison, an' some more dat I +don't remember. Bill Gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was +just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. Bill Gray, he +used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. He was +sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. The +captain used to let him git some eddycation. Darkies, dey never last +long in de courthouse. Dey soon git 'em out.</p> + +<p>"I gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since I was +comin' up. Dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't +believe in no more. Yet de same signs is still here, an' I sure does +believe in 'em 'cause I done seen 'em work for all dese years. De Lawd +give de peoples a sign for all things. De moon an' de stars, dey is a +sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de +cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. De screech owls, dey give er +warnin' dat some one gwine to die. About de best sign dat some person +gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' +constant in de middle of de night. Dat is a sign I hardly is ever seen +fail an' I seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old Aunt Dinah +died up de road. I heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' +back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past +Aunt Dinah's cabin. I say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to +take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' +de sign just right. Dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' Aunt +Dinah, she plumb well at de time. About er week from then Aunt Dinah, +she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she +died. I knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still I didn't +know who it was to be. I tell you, Boss, I is gittin' uneasy an' +troubled de last day or two, 'cause I is done heered another cow a +lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. She keeps a walkin' back +an' forth past my house out there in de road. I is really troubled +'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. We is both way up in +years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, Aunt Dinah was too. +Dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat I done noticed mighty +nigh allus comes true."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisJordan"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Jordan Davis<br> + 306 Cypress Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 86</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was a boy in the house when the war started and I heard the mistress +say the abolitionists was about to take the South. Yes ma'm. That was in +Natchez, Mississippi. I was about nine or ten.</p> + +<p>"Mistress' name was Eliza A. Hart and master's name was Dave A. Hart.</p> + +<p>"I guess they <u>was</u> good to me. I lived right there in the house with +then. Mistress used to send me to Sunday School and she'd say 'Now, +Jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with +them nigger chillun on the streets.'</p> + +<p>"My daddy belonged to a man named Davis way down the river in the +country and after the war he came and got me. Sure did. Carried me to +Davis Bend. I was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. He took me +to Mrs. Leas Hamer and you know I was a good-sized boy when she put me +in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. Yes'm, I sure can cook. She +kept me right in the house with her children. I did her cooking and +cleaned up the house. I never got any money for it, or if I did I done +forgot all about it. She kept me in clothes, she sure did. I didn't need +any money. I stayed five or six years with her, sure did. I thought a +lot of her and her children—she was so kind to me.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'm, I went to school one or two years in Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"When I come here to Arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in +Pine Bluff, there was a white man standin' there named Burks. He kept +lookin' at me and directly he said 'Can you cook?' I was married then +and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me +out to his house. His wife kept a first-class boarding house. Just +first-class white folks stayed there. After the madam found out I had a +good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things +over to me.</p> + +<p>"Miss, it's been so long, I don't study 'bout that votin' business. I +have never bothered 'bout no Republican or votin' business—I never +cared about it. I know one thing, the white people are the only ones +ever did me any good.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. J.B. Talbot has been very good to me. My wife used to work for her +and so did I. She sure has been a friend to me. Mrs. J.B. Talbot has +certainly stuck to me.</p> + +<p>"Oh I think the colored folks ought to be free but I know some of 'em +had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too.</p> + +<p>"Ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. I see 'em goin' down the +street singin' and dancin' and half naked—ain't nothin' to 'em.</p> + +<p>"My wife's been dead five or six years and I live here alone. Yes ma'm! +I don't want nobody here with me."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisMaryJane"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Jane Drucilla Davis<br> + 1612 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 73</h3> +<br> + +<pre> +"'Little baby's gone to heaven + To try on his robe + Oh, Lord, I'm most done toiling here + Little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' +</pre> + +<p>"Oh, it was so mournful. And let me tell you what they'd do. They'd all +march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on +their shoulder and sing that song. That's the first song I remember. I +was three years old and now I'm seventy-three and crippled up with +rheumatism.</p> + +<p>"My mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard +and I thought they was buryin' it in the garden. That was in Georgia.</p> + +<p>"In the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all +night, but they don't do that now.</p> + +<p>"I was married young. I don't love to tell how old but I was fifteen and +when I was seventeen I was a widow. I tried and tried to get another +husband as good as my first one but I couldn't. I didn't marry then till +I was thirty some.</p> + +<p>"My parents brought me from Georgia when I was five years old and now I +ain't got no blood kin in Pine Bluff.</p> + +<p>"Do I believe in signs? Well, let me tell you what I do know. Before my +house burned in 1937, I was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and +sister come up to my house. They come a distance to the steps and went +around the house. They was both dead but I could see 'em just as plain. +And do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. I think +that vision was a sign of bad luck.</p> + +<p>"And another time when I was havin' water put in my house, I dreamed +that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign +a contract and I didn't know there was a contract. And that next day a +man come out for me to sign a contract and I said, 'No.' He wanted to +know why and finally I told him, and he said, 'You're just like my +mother.' It was two days 'fore I'd sign. The men had quit work waitin' +for me to sign. But let me tell you when they put the water in and when +they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. The ground was too low and I +never could use the commode. Now don't you think that dream was a +warning?</p> + +<p>"Just before I had this spell of sickness I dreamed my baby—he's +dead—come and knocked and said. 'Mama.' And I said, 'Yes, darlin', God +bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's +comin'. I really thought I was goin' to die. I got up and looked in the +glass. You know you can see death in the eyes, but I didn't see any sign +of death and I haven't gone yet.</p> + +<p>"Last Saturday I was prayin' to God not to let me get out of the heart +of the people. You see, I have no kin people and I wanted people to come +to my rescue. The next day was Sunday and more people come to see me and +brought me more things.</p> + +<p>"I been in the church fifty-seven years. I'm the oldest member in St. +John's. I joined in May 1881.</p> + +<p>"I went to school some. I went as far as the fourth grade."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisMinerva"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Minerva Davis, Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 56</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father was sold in Richmond, Virginia when he was eighteen years old +to the nigger traders. They had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and +horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. Papa said +he traveled to Tennessee. His job was to wash their faces and hands and +fix their hair—comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be +auctioned off. They sold a lot of children from Virginia all along the +way and he was put up in Tennessee and auctioned off. He was sold to the +highest bidder. Bill Thomas at Brownsville, Tennessee was the one bought +him. Papa was a large strong man.</p> + +<p>"He run off and went to war. He had learned to cook and he was one-eyed +and couldn't fight. All the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. Then +he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and +he never got a pension because of that. He said he come home pretty +often and mama was expecting a baby. He thought he was needed at home +worse. He was so tired of war. He didn't know it would be valuable to +him in his old days. He was sorry he didn't stay till they got him +mustered out. He said it was harder in the war than in slavery. They was +putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to +death all the time. Never did know when they would be shot and killed.</p> + +<p>"Mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. A drove of folks +come by. It was the nigger traders. She had pulled up her two or three +buckets. She carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. They +said, 'Draw me up some water to drink.' She was so smart they bragged on +her. They said, 'She such a smart little thing.' They went to see her +owner and bought her on the spot. They took her away from her people and +she never heard tell of none of them no more. She said there was a big +family of them. They brought her to Brownsville, Tennessee and Johnny +Williams bought her. That was my grandma.</p> + +<p>"Mother was born there on Johnny Williams' place and she was heired by +his daughter. His daughter married Bill Thomas, the one what done bought +my papa. Her young mistress was named Sallie Ann Thomas. Mama got +married when she was about grown. She said after she married she'd have +a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. Mama had twelve +children and raised eleven to be grown. Four of us are living yet. My +sister was married when I was born. White folks married young and +encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. Mama +died when I was a year old but papa lived on with Johnny Williams where +he was when she died. I lived with my married sister. I was the baby and +she took me and raised me with her children.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux wanted to whoop my papa. They all called him Dan. They said +he was mean. His white folks protected him. They said he worked well. +They wouldn't let him be whooped by them Ku Kluxes.</p> + +<p>"Miss Sallie Ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the +children and to help the cook where she visited. They was there a right +smart while from the way papa said. The pattyrollers whooped somebody on +that farm while she was over there. They wasn't many slaves on her place +and they was good to them. That whooping was right smart a curiosity to +mama the way papa told us about it.</p> + +<p>"When mama and papa married, Johnny Williams had a white preacher to +read out of a book to them. They didn't jump over no broom he said.</p> + +<p>"They was the biggest kind of Methodist folks and when mama was five +years old Johnny Williams had all his slaves baptized into that church +by his own white preacher. Papa said some of them didn't believe niggers +had no soul but Johnny Williams said they did. (The Negroes must have +been christened—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about +freedom. Mama was working for Miss Sallie Ann and done something wrong. +Miss Sallie Ann says, 'I'm a good mind to whoop you. You ain't paying +'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' Mama says, 'Miss Sallie +Ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care +what I do.' When Bill come home he say, 'How come you to sass my wife? +She so good to you.' Mama say, 'Master Bill, them soldiers say I'm +free.' He slapped her. That the first time he laid hands on her in his +life. In a few days he said, 'We going to town and see is you free. You +leave the baby with Sallie Ann.' It was the courthouse. They questioned +her and him both. Seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to +be and mama didn't neither. Then papa took mama on Johnny Williams' +place. He come out to Arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then +he moved his children all out here.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Albert and grandpa take nights about going out. Uncle Albert was +courting.</p> + +<p>"They put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm +ready to eat. The fire popped out on mama. She was in a light blaze. Not +a bit of water in the house. Her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on +her to put out the fire. Her stomach was burned and scarred. They was +all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. Miss +Sallie Ann took her and cured her and when Miss Sallie Ann was going to +marry, her folks didn't want to give her Minerva. She tended (contended) +out and got her and Agnes both. Agnes died at about emancipation.</p> + +<p>"I'm named for my mother. I'm her youngest child.</p> + +<p>"I recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back +to olden times the older he got to be. When folks would run down slavery +he would say it wasn't so bad with them—him and mama. He never seen +times bad as times is got to be now. Then he sure would wanted slavery +back some more. He was a strong hard laboring man. He was a provider for +his family till he got so no 'count.</p> + +<p>"Times is changing up fast. Folks is worse about cutting up and +carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. I ain't +old so speaking."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisRosetta"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Rosetta Davis, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 55</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Phillips County, Arkansas. My folks' master was named Dr. +Jack Spivy. Grandma belong to him. She was a field woman. I don't know +if he was a good master er not. They didn't know it was freedom till +three or four months. They was at work and some man come along and said +he was going home, the War was over. Some of the hands asked him who win +and he told them the Yankees and told them they was free fer as he +knowed. They got to inquiring and found out they done been free. They +made that crap I know and I don't recollect nothing else.</p> + +<p>"I farmed at Foreman, Arkansas for Taylor Price, Steve Pierce, John +Huey. I made a crap here with Will Dale. I come to Arkansas twenty-nine +years ago. I come to my son. He had a cleaning and pressing shop here +(Marianna). He died. I hired to the city to work on the streets. I never +been in jail. I owned a house here in town till me and my wife +separated. She caused me to lose it. I was married once.</p> + +<p>"I get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment.</p> + +<p>"The present time is queer. I guess I could git work if I was able to do +it. I believe in saving some of what you make along. I saved some along +and things come up so I had to spend it. I made so little.</p> + +<p>"Education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. Education is good +fer some folks and not good fer some. Some folks git spoilt and lazy. I +think it helped to do it to the people of today."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisVirginia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Virginia (Jennie) Davis<br> + Scott Street, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 45 or 47</h3> +<br> + +<p>"This is what my father, Isaac Johnson, always told us:</p> + +<p>'I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Mama died and left three of us +children and my papa. He was a blacksmith.' I don't recollect grandpa's +name now.</p> + +<p>'A man come to buy me. I was a twin. My sisters cried and cried but I +didn't cry. I wanted to ride in the surrey. I was sold and taken to +Montgomery, Alabama.'</p> + +<p>"Angeline was his oldest sister and Emmaline was his twin sister. He +never seen any of his people again. He forgot their names. His old +master that bought him died soon after he come back from North Carolina.</p> + +<p>"His young master didn't even know his age. He tried to get in the army +and he did get in the navy. They said he was younger than he told his +age. He enlisted for three years. He was in a scrimmage with the Indians +once and got wounded. He got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his +services till he died.</p> + +<p>"He wasn't old enough to be in the Civil War. He said he remembered his +mistress crying and they said Lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. His +young master told him he was free. The colored folks was having a +jubilee. He had nowheres to go. He went back to the big house and sot +around. They called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been +sleeping. He had nowheres to go. He stayed there till he joined the +navy. Then he come to Mississippi and married Sallie Bratcher and he +went back to Alabama and taught school. He went to school at night after +the Civil War till he went to the navy. He was a light-brown skin.</p> + +<p>"Grandma, Jane Cash, was one brought from Huntingdon, Tennessee in a +gang and sold at auction in Memphis, Tennessee. She said her mother, +father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, +divided out and separated. Grandma said one of her sisters had a +suckling baby. She couldn't keep it from crying. They stopped and made +her give it away.</p> + +<p>"Then grandma fell in the hands of the Walls at Holly Springs, +Mississippi. She was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. +They wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Walls buried her silver in the front yard. She had an old trusty +colored man to dig a hole and bury it. No one ever found it. The +soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. +They ransacked her house. Mr. Walls wasn't there.</p> + +<p>"My auntie, Eliza Williamson, was half white. She was one of her +master's son's children. Her first master put her and her husband +together. She lives near Conway, Arkansas now and is very old.</p> + +<p>"Grandma was living at Menifee, Arkansas, and a man from De Valls Bluff, +Arkansas come to her house. She saw a scar on his arm. He was marked by +gingerbread. She asked him some questions. Epps was his name and he was +older than herself. He told her about the sale in Memphis. He remembered +some things she didn't. He knowd where they all went. Her sister was +Mary Wright at Milan, Tennessee. Grandma was twelve years old when that +sale come off. She shouted and they cried. She couldn't eat for a week.</p> + +<p>"She said old man Walls was good to them. When my mama was a little +girl she was short and fat and light color. Old man Walls would call +them in his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. He was +proud of them. He'd give them big dances ever so often. In the evening +they had their own preaching in white folks' church. Grandma was good +with the needle. She sewed for the mistress and her own family too. She +had twelve children I think they said. They said her mistress had a +large family too.</p> + +<p>"Grandpa belong to Mike Cash. He give her husband what he made on +Saturday evening. I think grandpa was sold from the Walls to Mike Cash. +He took the Cash name and my mother was a Cash and she married Isaac +Johnson. She was raised in Arkansas. Papa was married twice. I was +raised around Holly Grove, Arkansas. That is where my folks lived in the +last of slavery—that is mama's folks. Papa come to Arkansas at a later +time.</p> + +<p>"I think times is queer. I work and makes the best of 'em. (Ten dollars +a month house rent.) I work all the time washing and ironing. (She has +washed for the same families years and years. She is a light +mulatto—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Young folks is lost respect for the truth. Not dependable. That is +their very worst fault, I think.</p> + +<p>"No-oom, I wouldn't vote no quicker 'en I'd smoke a cigarette. But I +haben never smoked narry one."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DavisWinnie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Ex-Slaves<br> +Story:—Information <br> +<br> +This information given by: Winnie Davis (C)<br> +Place of residence: 304 E. Twenty-First Street<br> + Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 100</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"Katie Butler was my old missis 'fore I married my husband. +His name David Davis. I cooked for Jeff Davis and took care of his +daughter, Winnie. I stayed with old missis, Jeff Davis' wife, till +she died. She made me promise I'd stay with her. That was in +Virginia."</p> + +<p>(I have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of +Winnie Davis. Her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when +Winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she gave +her name, the clerk said, "Were you named after Jeff Davis' daughter?" +and that Winnie replied, "She must have been named after me 'cause I +cooked for Jeff Davis 'fore she was born."</p> + +<p>Her mind is not very good at times, but the day I took her picture, +I asked who she used to cook for and she said, "Jeff Davis."</p> + +<p>She is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around +the house quite well. The neighbors say that she has been a hard worker +and of a very high-strung temperament.</p> + +<p>The granddaughter, Mattie Sneed, says her grandmother said she was +sold in Virginia when she was eight years old.)</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DayLeroy"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Leroy Day (c)<br> +Age: 80<br> +Home: 123 N. Walnut Street, Pine Bluff, Ark.</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Good Lord yes, lady, I was here in slavery days. I remember my old +marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid.</p> + +<p>"I remember when the soldiers—the Yankees—come through, some said they +was takin' things.</p> + +<p>"Old Marster, his name was Joe Day, he was good to us. He seemed to be a +Christian man and he was a Judge. They generally called him Judge Day. I +never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. I tell +you if he wasn't a Christian, he looked like one.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Georgia and I can remember the first Governor we had +after freedom. His name was Governor Bullock. I heard it said the people +raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. +That was when Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote after freedom. I voted Republican. I went to school a +little after the war and then emigrated to Louisiana and Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Things has got so now everything is in politics. Some votes cause they +want their friends in office and some don't take no interest.</p> + +<p>"Some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are +goin' kinda slow. Some is goin' take another growth. The schoolin' they +is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up.</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I use to be strong and I have done a heap of work in my life. +Cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the +money and we had to work to get some of that money.</p> + +<p>"I remember when the Ku Klux was right bad in Louisiana. I never did +see any—I didn't <u>try</u> to see 'em. I know I heard that they went to a +school house and broke up a negro convention. They called for a colored +man named Peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man +got killed. They had a right smart little scrummage, and I know the +colored people ran off and went to Kansas.</p> + +<p>"The fust man I ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in +another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so +mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other +man. I never did know what the punishment was.</p> + +<p>"Since I have become afflicted (I'm ruptured) I can't do no work any +more. I can't remember anything else. If I had time to study I might +think of something else."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DellHammett"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Hammett Dell, Brasfield, Arkansas<br> +Age: 90<br> +[-- -- 1937]</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Tennessee, 10 miles from Murfreesboro. They call it now +Releford. I was born October 12, 1847. I stayed wid old master till he +died. I was bout thirty-five years old. He lernt me a good trade, brick +layin'. He give me everything I needed and more. After the war he took +me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick—it was made round—and lernt +me outer the Blue Back Speller and Rithmetic. The spelling book had +readin' in it. Lady ain't you seed one yit? Then I lernt outer Rays +Rithmetic and McGuffeys Reader. Old master say it ginst the law to teach +slaves foe the war. Dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a +nigger slave. The white folks schools was pay foe the war.</p> + +<p>"My old master had a small farm. His wife died. He never married no +more. I caint member her name. She died when I was a little bitter of a +boy. They had a putty large family. There was Marion, William, Fletcher, +John, Miss Nancy, Miss Claricy, Miss Betsy. I think that all. The older +childern raised up the little ones. My master named Mars Pleasant White. +Long as I stayed wid him I had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to +spend. I had no sense to save a cent for a old day. Mars White was a +good man if ever one lived. He was a good man. Four old darkies all Mars +White had. They was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. My name I would +lack it better White but that is where the Dell part come in; papa +b'long to the Dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. He took +his old master's name. They call him Louis Dell White. He didn't have no +brothers but my mama had two sisters. Her name was Mary White. Them was +happy days b'fo the war. The happiest days in all my life. Bout at the +beginnin' of the war Mama took cole at the loom and died. We all waited +on her, white folks too. She didn't lack for waitin' on. Something white +folks et, we et. We had plenty good grub all time long as Mars White +live.</p> + +<p>"How'd I know bout to git in war? I heard white folks talkin' bout it. +One time I heard Mars White talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. We +was happy an' doin' well an' I didn't lack the talk but I didn't know +what "war" was. No mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down +at Murfreesboro. Mars White was a ruptured man. He never left our place. +I never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. Mars White aired +(heired) all us. My papa left and never come back. I d[o]n[o] +how he got through the lines in the army. I guess he did fight wid the Yankees.</p> + +<p>"Papa didn't speak plain. Grandma couldn't speak plain. They lisp. They +talk fast. Sound so funny. Mama and auntie speak well. Plain as I do +now. They was up wid Mars White's childern more. Mars White sent his +childern to pay school. It was a log house and they had a lady teacher. +They had a accordion. Mars Marion's neighbor had one too. All of em +could play.</p> + +<p>"White women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse +collars. The white women lernt the darkie women. There was no leather +horse collars as ever I seed. I lernt to twist shucks and weave chair +bottoms. Then I lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. I made +all kinds baskets. We had all sizes and kinds of baskets. When they git +old they turn dark. Shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff +an' not so fancy.</p> + +<p>"Well when they started off fightin' at Murfreesboro, it was a continual +roar. The tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. It was +distressful. The house shakin' all time. All our houses jar. The earth +quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides +foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to +live on. That's "war". I found out all bout what it was. Lady it ain't +nuthin' but hell on dis erth.</p> + +<p>"I tole you I was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how +the cannons shook the earth. There couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor +a year of corn to be found bout our place. It was sich hard times. It +was both sides come git what you had. Whole heap of Yankees come in +their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. They was huntin' +horses. They done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old +mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. Young mistress had +a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house.</p> + +<p>"Then when they started to leave, one old Yankee set the corner of the +house on fire. We all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry +in' water ter put it out. We got it out but while we doin' that, mind +out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug +out. One old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. She been so +scared she never come to the house no more. Nobody knowed there was one +on our place. He took his javelin and stuck it through her back. She +started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, +started runnin' and some of em buckin'. We got the fire bout out. We +couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. I been bustin' I was so mad +cause they tried take old Beck. Three of em horses throwd em. They +struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch +tryin' to head off their horses. Them horses throwd em sprawlin'. That +was the funniest sight I ever seed.</p> + +<p>"We got our water out of a cave. It was good cold limestone water. We +had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. We swing the pole +round let it down then pull it back and tie it. They go to the other end +and git the bucket of water. I toted bout all the water to both places +what they used. One day I goin' to the cave after water. I had a habit +of throwin' till I got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. I spied a +hornets nest in a tree long the lane. I knowd them soldiers be long back +fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. It wasn't long show nuff they come back +and went up to the house.</p> + +<p>"I got a pile of rocks in my hands. I hid down in the hazel nut bushes. +When they come by gallopin' I throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. +The way they piled out on them soldiers. You could see em fightin' far +as you could see em wid their blue caps. The horses runnin' and buckin'. +I let out to the house to see what else they carried off.</p> + +<p>"I tole Mars White bout how I hit that hornets nest wid the first rock I +throwd. He scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed +me. It scared him. He said don't do no more capers like that. That old +hornets nest soon come down. It was big as a water bucket. Mars White +call me son boy. I tole him what terrible language they used, and bout +some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. It was made outer rails +piled up. Mars White sho was glad they didn't see me. He kept on sayin' +son boy they would killed you right on the spot. Don't do nuthin' to em +to aggravate em.</p> + +<p>"It look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the +soldiers couldn't find it. We had a ash hopper settin' all time. We made +our soap and lye hominy. They took all our salt. We couldn't buy none. +We put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. We +hid that. No they didn't find it. Our smoke house was logs dobbed wid +mud and straw. It was good size bout as big as our cabins. It had +somepin in it too. All the time I tell you.</p> + +<p>"You ever eat dried beef? It is fine.</p> + +<p>"I say I been to corn shuckins. They do that at night. We hurry and git +through then we have a dance in front of Mars White's house. We had a +good time. Mars White pass round ginger bread and hard cider. We wore a +thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. One darkie sit up +on the pile and lead the singin'. Old Dan Tucker was one song we lernt. +I made some music instruments. We had music. Folks danced then more they +do now. Most darkies blowed quills and Jew's harps. I took cane cut four +or six made whistles then I tuned em together and knit em together in a +row like a mouth harp you see.</p> + +<p><img src='images/whistle.gif' width='80' height='43' +alt='drawing of whistle' > </p> + +<p>Another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, +hold your fingers over different holes and blow. I never had a better +time since freedom. I never had a doctor till since I been 80 years old +neither.</p> + +<p>"Later on I made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the +string wid my fingers while I hold the other end wid this hand. (Left +hand. It was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) See my hand that what +caused it. I have been a musician in my time. I lernt to handle the +banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. I played fer many a set, all over +the country mostly back home (in Tennessee).</p> + +<p>"We had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. They have big +suppers spread under the trees. We sho know we have a good supper after +a log rollin'.</p> + +<p>"We most always worked at night in winter. Mama worked at the loom and +weaved. Grandma and old mistress carded. They used hand cards. Auntie +spun thread. I reeled the thread. I like to hear it cluck off the hanks. +Papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. He'd fool round after +that. He went off to the war at the first of it and never come home.</p> + +<p>"The war broke us up and ruined us all but me. Grandma married old man +soon after freedom. He whooped and beat her up till she died. He was a +mean old scoundel. They said he was a nigger driver. His name was Wesley +Donald. She died soon after the war. Mama was dead. Auntie married and +went on off. I was 18 years old. When freedom come on Mars White says +you all set free. You can leave or stay on here. I stayed there. Mars +White didn't give us nuthin'. He was broke. All he had was land.</p> + +<p>"Come a talk bout Lincoln givin' em homes. Some racketed bout what they +outer git. That was after freedom. Most of em never got nuthin'. They +up and left. Some kept on workin'. They got to stealin' right smart. +Some the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and +white folks too. White folks made em go to work. The darky men sorter +quit work and made the women folks do the work. They do thater way now. +Some worse den others bout it.</p> + +<p>"Me and Mars White went to work. We see droves darkies just rovin' +round. Said they huntin' work and homes. Some ask for victuals. Yes they +give em something to eat. When they come in droves they couldn't give em +much. Some of em oughter left. Some of the masters was mean. Some of em +mighty good.</p> + +<p>"Me and Mars White and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band +to a lay (lathe). One man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the +lay (lathe) all time. We made pipes outer maple and chairs. We chiseled +out table legs and bed post. We made all sort of things. Anything to +sell. We sold a heap of things. We made money. If I'd had sense to keep +part of it. Mars White always give me a share. We had a good livin' soon +as we got over the war.</p> + +<p>"I farmed. I was a brick layer. Mars White lernt me that. When he died I +followed that trade. I worked at New Orleans, Van Buren, Jackson, +Meridian. I worked at Lake Villiage with Mr. Lasley, and Mr. Ivy. They +was fine brick layers. I worked for Dr. Stubbs. Mr. Scroggin never went +huntin' without me but once over here on Cache River. He give me land to +build my cabins. I got lumber up at the mills here. Folks come to my +cabins from 23 states. J. Dall Long at St. Louis sent me a block wid my +picture. I didn't know what it was. Mr. Moss told me it was a bomb like +they used in the World War. I had some cards made in Memphis, some +Little Rock. I sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good +fishin' now.</p> + +<p>"J. Dall Long said when I go back home I send you somethin' nice. That +what he sent in the mail.</p> + +<p>"It was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches +leg pullin' me over out the boat. He had me named "Hambones" under it. I +still got my block. I got nuther thing—old aunties bonnet she wore in +slavery.</p> + +<p>"I quit keepin' club house. I kept it 27 years. I rented the cabins, +sold minnows and bates. They give me the land but I couldn't sell it. +Old woman everybody call "Nig" cook fer me. I wanter live like Nig and +go up yonder. I ainter goner be in this world long but I want to go to +heben. Nig was not my wife. She was a fine cook. She cooked an' stayed +at my cabins. This little chile—orphan chile—I got wid me was Nig's +grandchild. When Nig died I took him. I been goin with him to pick +cotton. I want er lern him to work. Egercation ain't no good much to +darkies. I been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. They ain't +nuthin'. I set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. He is +six years old. When it rain I caint pick and set on the wet ground.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux</b></p> + +<p>"The onlies sperience I had myself wid the Ku Klux was one night fo +Grandma and auntie left. Somebody wrap on our cabin door. They opened +it. We gat scared when we seed em. They had the horses wrapped up. They +had on white long dresses and caps. Every one of em had a horse whoop +(whip). They called me out. Grandma and auntie so scared they hid. They +tole me to git em water. They poured it some whah it did not spill on +the ground. Kept me totin' water. Then they say, "You bin a good boy?" +They still drinkin'. One say, "Just from Hell pretty dry." Then they +tole me to stand on my head. I turned summer sets a few times. They +tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. I had on a long shirt. They +laugh when I stand on my head. Old Mars White laughed. I knowed his +laugh. Then I got over my scare. They say, "Who live next down the +road?" I tole em Nells Christian. They say, "What he do?" I said, "Works +in the field." They all grunt, m-m-m-m. Then they say, "Show us the +way." I nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the +white horses. The moon shining bright as day. They say Nells come out +here. He say "Holy Moses." He come out. They say "Nells what you do?" "I +farms." They say "What you raise?" He say "Cotton and corn." They say +"Take us to see yo cotton we jess from Hell. We ain't got no cotton +there." He took em out there where it was clean. They got down and felt +it. Then they say "What is dat?", feelin' the grass. Nells say "That is +grass." They say, "You raise grass too?" He said, "No. It come up." They +say "Let us see yo corn." He showed em the corn. They felt it. They say +"What this?" Nells say, "It grass." They say, "You raise grass here?" +They all grunt m-m-m-m everything Nells say. They give him one bad +whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. They +said "You raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." They they +moan, "m-m-m-m." I herd em say his whole family and him too was out by +day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. I was sho +glad to git back to our cabin. They didn't come back to Nells no more +that I herd bout. The man Nells worked for muster been one in that +crowd. He lived way over yonder. No I think the Ku Klux was a good thing +at that time. The darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. They was +notorious. They got mean. The men wouldn't work. Their families have to +work an' let them roam round over the country. Some of em mean to their +families. They woulder starved the white out and their selves too. I +seed the Ku Klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. I herd +a heap they done along after that. They say some places the Ku Klux go +they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they +whoop em. Sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. I +sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, +vistin'. The Ku Klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. +Nells moster lived at what they called Caneville over cross the field.</p> + +<p>"The way that Patty Rollers was. The mosters paid somebody. Always +somebody round wantin' a job like that. Mars White was his own overseer. +All round there was good livers. They worked long wid the slaves. Some +of the slaves would race. Papa would race. He wanted to race all time. +Grandma cooked for all of us. They had a stone chimney in the kitchen. +Big old hearth way out in front. Made outer stone too. We all et the +same victuals long as Mars White lived. Then I left."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DickeyJames"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: James Dickey, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 68<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I don't know much to tell about my folks. My parents died when I was +young. Mother died when I was twelve and father when I was seven years +old. Great-grandma was an Indian squaw. My father's pa was his young +master. His old master was named George Dickey. The young master was +John Dickey. I reckon to start with my mother had a husband. She had +twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. He was lighter than I +am and paler. This red is Indian in me. I know how he looked and how she +looked too. The young master never married. He had some brothers. My +father lived with us and his pa was there too some. I don't know what +become of John Dickey but my pa was buried at Mt. Tursey Cemetery. It +was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. Mother +come here and was buried at Cat Island in a colored church cemetery.</p> + +<p>"I farmed in Mississippi, then I come to Miller Lumber Company and I +worked with them forty-two years. I worked at Marked Tree, then they +sent me here (Marianna).</p> + +<p>"I voted in Caruthersville, Missouri last I voted. It don't do much good +to vote. I am too old to vote. I never voted in Arkansas. I voted some +in Mississippi but not regular.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard. So many white women do their own cooking and washing +till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. The lumber work is +gone fer good.</p> + +<p>"The present generation is going back'ards. For awhile it looked like +they was rising—I'm speaking morally. They going back down in a hurry. +Drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. The race is going back'ard +now. Seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in.</p> + +<p>"I got high blood pressure. I do a little work. I watch on Sunday at the +mills. I don't get no help from the Gover'ment."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DiggsBenjamin"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Benjamin Diggs<br> + 420 N. Cypress, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 79</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in 1859 in North Carolina. Oh, sure, I remember when the +Yankees come through. They said they done right smart of damage. I +remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. They didn't do +nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock.</p> + +<p>"The Lyles was my white folks. They called her Polly Lyles. Oh, they was +good to us. My mother and her sister and another colored woman and we +children all belonged to one set of people—Miss Polly Lyles; and my +father belonged to the Diggs.</p> + +<p>"After freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and +we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us.</p> + +<p>"I've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my +father said he was glad to get one. He said he didn't get 'em but once a +week.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks +was treated. Some of 'em was very good, just like they is now.</p> + +<p>"Well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old +then.</p> + +<p>"I come here to Arkansas in '88. That was when they was emigratin' the +folks. I was grown and married then. I was twenty-six when I married in +'85.</p> + +<p>"I went to school a little. I can sorta scribble a little and read a +little, but my eyes is failin' now. I started wearin' glasses 'fore I +really needed 'em. I got to projectin' with my mother's glasses Looked +like they read so good.</p> + +<p>"Farmin' is all I know how to do. Never done anything else. I owned some +land and farmed for myself.</p> + +<p>"Sure, I used to vote—Republican. I never had any trouble. I always +tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. I believe in that policy.</p> + +<p>"I joined the church when I was very young, very young. I go by the +Golden Rule and by the Bible.</p> + +<p>"I first lived in Pope County.</p> + +<p>"I learned since I come here to Pine Bluff there's enough churches here +to save the world, but there's some mean people here."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DillonKatie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Katie Dillon<br> + 307 Hazel Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82<br> +[Dec 31 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I hope I was here in slavery days—don't I look like it? I was a good +big girl after surrender.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Rodney, Mississippi in 1855.</p> + +<p>"I had a good old master—Doctor Williams. Didn't have no mistress. He +never married till after surrender.</p> + +<p>"We lived right in town—right on the Mississippi River where the gun +boats went by. They shelled the town one day. Remember it just as well +as if 'twas now. I hope it was exciting. Everybody moved out. Some run +and left their stores. They run to Alcorn University, five miles from +there. Some of em come back next day and some never come back till after +surrender.</p> + +<p>"The old Doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. When she +got big enough she was the cook. Made a fine one too. I worked around +the house and toted in wood and water.</p> + +<p>"After surrender, Dr. Williams wanted my mother to give me and my +brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. I wish +she had but you know I wasn't old enough to know what was best. She +hired out and took us with her. I hired out too. I reckon I was paid but +I never did see it. I reckon my mother collected it. I know she clothed +me. I had better clothes than I got now. We stayed there till we come +to Arkansas. I was married then. I married when I was seventeen. I was +fast wasn't I? I got a good husband. Didn't have to work, only do my own +work. Just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. My +husband was a picture man. Yes'm, I've lived in town all my life—born +and raised up in town.</p> + +<p>"After surrender I went to the first free school ever was in Rodney, +Mississippi. I went about two sessions. I ought to've learned more'n I +did but I didn't see how it would benefit me.</p> + +<p>"In slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the +white folks was through. We didn't eat out of no pots and pans. Whatever +was on the table you et it until you got enough.</p> + +<p>"When I was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they +sent out invitations and I went, but when they had that kind where +everybody could go I wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'.</p> + +<p>"The way things is goin' now I don't think the end can be very far off.</p> + +<p>"I remember when peace was declared I saw the soldiers across the street +and they had their guns all stacked. I was lookin' and wonderin' what it +was. You know children didn't ask questions in them days. I heard some +of the older ones talkin' and I heard em say the war was over.</p> + +<p>"I never had but two children and only one livin' now. Yes'm, I own my +home and my son helps me what he can. I'm thankful I got as much as I +have."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonAlice"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Customs]<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson <br> +Subject: Customs—Slavery Days <br> +[Nov 30 1936]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Alice Dixon<br> +Place of Residence: Rock Island quarters<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 80 (approx)</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from last page of interview.]</p> +<br> + +<p>Well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. De white fokes have mah +age. Ah blong tuh de Newtons. As near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout +74 now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter +surrender.</p> + +<p>Mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and +one uv mah bruthes. We staid wid de Newtons till we wuz set free and I +nuss fuh de Newtons aftuh we wuz set free. De Newtons wuz awful good ter +me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. Ah slept up in de big house wid de +Newtons. Ah nevah went ter school. Ah didn' have a chance. Ah went ter +church jes sometimes. We didn have churches. We jes had meetin in our +house we lived in. We cooked on fire places. We cooked our bread in what +we called oven bout so high. We had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, +meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie +till ah got to be an oman. Ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in +slave time but ah shore can recollect dem Yankees riding dem hosses and +ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made +in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. Yo know we had steps +made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er +shoutin and singin "Ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free +at last, thank Gawd a Mighty ah'm free at last." She wuz so glad ter be +free.</p> + +<p>My ma in huh time would make cloth. She had a loom. Hit wuz a high thing +and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call +shickle. She'd have a bench so high. The loom was high as dis door and +my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a +bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come +open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd +mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. Jes so we'd make eight +and ten yards of cloth in one day. An when hit wuz made we would carry +hit to de white fokes. Dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. Ifn dey +wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. Dey had what we called a +loom dat would make, le' me see now, Card would card the cotton, and de +looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well +as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an +put it on de loom and make thread. De looms was jes so long. Ever time +the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. Ah +don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. Ah jes caint +tell you how hit wuz hits so much.</p> + +<p>De Newton's nevah did whup me. She started to whup me tho one day. Ah +kin recollect bout de dogs. There wuz one dog whut wuz called Dinah. But +yo know dey had ten uv em. One day ole Uncle Henry Jones done somethin +and run off and climbed a tree and de Newton's miss him so dey called de +dogs and dey went on to de tree. Dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. +Uncle Henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right +dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de Newtons come. An chile +dem Newtons whip de skin off Uncle Herny's [TR: Henry's] back. Dem dogs +would git yo.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Newton nevah got outn de bed no time. Ah would lift her from one +bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah +would bath her and dress huh all de times.</p> + +<p>Ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout Henry Johnson. He had ter clean up +mos uv de time. So Mrs. Newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de +wall and when he come out he said to ole Uncle Jerry, he said: "Jerry +guess whut ah done" and Jerry said: "Whut?" And Uncle Henry said: "Ah +put mah han undah ole Mistess dress." Uncle Jerry said: "Whut did she +say?" Uncle Henry say: "She didn' say nothin." So Uncle Jerry cided he'd +try hit. So he went draggin on in de house. Set down on de floor by ole +mistess. Ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster +jumped up and jumped on Jerry and like to beat him ter death. Jerry went +out cryin and got out and called Henry. He said: "Henry ah though yo +said yo put yo hand undah ole Mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." +Uncle Henry said: "Ah did and she didn' say nuthin." Jerry said: "Ah put +mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." +Uncle Henry said: "Yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall +when ah put mah han up undah hit."</p> + +<p>We didn' eat eggs only on Sunday mornin. Me and mah sis et together in +de same plate. We didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. We et wid +our fingahs.</p> + +<p>Ah had a good ole pa too. He died a long time ago. Ah member one night +he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. So +mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole Dinah, Dinah wuz a dog +yo know but Dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs +went and got me brudder and dem Newtons sho did beat him. But twasnt +long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. An when we wuz goin ter +bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: Two turtle doves flew roun the +wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an +hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh +dat. Ah didn' bleave in signs till den. Ah know mah pa always bleaved in +signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round +dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. He say twas bad +luck. An ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes +tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. An we +would do hit an he would hush. Yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler +roun yo place.</p> + +<p>Oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. We made all +of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin +else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty +years. Hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if +blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece +of fire on hit and [HW: put] some [HW: on] the sore parts and chile, +honey, hit will git well right now.</p> + +<p>Chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. Ah'd go ter +dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. Uh, my! ah jus couldn +make mah foots act right. We use ter dance sixteen sets. We'd be er +dancing and hit would sound so good. Someone would say swing de one yo +love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want +anyone tah know him.</p> + +<p>On Sunday mornin dats when we play. Ole marster would put a rope cross +fer us ter jump and we'd line up. The rope wuz bout five feet high and +chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. O-o-o-o-oooo. We had ter run. +He line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, +three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. An yo talk bout runnin. We had ter +run. He would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would +haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' +stoppin. Oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonLukeD"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Luke D. Dixon<br> + DeValls Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My father's owner was Jim Dixon in Elmo County, Virginia. That is where +I was born. I am 81 years old. Jim Dixon had several boys—Baldwin and +Joe. Joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to New +Mexico to shun the war. Uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. They +went in at the ending up. We lived on the big road that run to the +Atlantic Ocean. Not far from Richmond. Ma lived three or four miles from +Pa. She lived across big creek—now they call it Farrohs Run. Ma belong +to Harper Williams. Pa's folks was very good but Ma's folks was +unpleasant.</p> + +<p>"Ma lived to be 103 years old. Pa died in 1905 and was 105 years old. I +used to set on Grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to +catch people in Africa. They herded them up like cattle and put them in +stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. She said some they +captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never +went back to get them. They died. They had room in the stalls on the +boat to set down or lie down. They put several together. Put the men to +themselves and the women to themselves. When they sold Grandma and +Grandpa at a fishing dock called New Port, Va., they had their feet +bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. They sold +Grandma's daughter to somebody in Texas. She cried and begged to let +them be together. They didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. She couldn't talk +but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. Six years after +slavery they got together. When a boat was to come in people come and +wait to buy slaves. They had several days of selling. I never seen this +but that is the way it was told to me.</p> + +<p>"The white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and +they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. I seen +that done in Virginia across from where I lived. I don't know what the +folks had done. They pulled the man up with block and tackle.</p> + +<p>"Another thing I seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches +together green, twist them and dry them. They would cry like a leather +whip. They whooped the slaves with them.</p> + +<p>"Grandpa was named Sam Abraham and Phillis Abraham was his mate. They +was sold twice. Once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. +Well, it was hard on the Africans to be treated like cattle. I never +heard of the Nat Turner rebellion. I have heard of slaves buying their +own freedom. I don't know how it was done. I have heard of folks being +helped to run off. Grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from +Dalton, Mississippi to the North. After the war he come to Virginia.</p> + +<p>"When freedom was declared we left and went to Wilmington and Wilson, +North Carolina. Dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the +year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and +part of the crop. My mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. +She was cooking then I recollect. Folks jes went wild when they got +turned loose.</p> + +<p>"My parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in +Virginia. After freedom they was remarried under a new law and the +license cost more but I forgot how much. They had fourteen children to +my knowing. After the war you could register under any name you give +yourself. My father went by the name of Right Dixon and mother Jilly +Dixon.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux was bad. They was a band of land owners what took the law +in hand. I was a boy. I scared to be caught out. They took the place of +pattyrollers before freedom.</p> + +<p>"I never went to public school but two days in my life. I went to night +school and paid Mr. J.C. Price and Mr. S.H. Vick to teach me. My father +got his leg shot off and I had to work. It kept me out of meanness. Work +and that woman has kept me right. I come to Arkansas, brought my wife +and one child, April 5, 1889. We come from Wilson, North Carolina. Her +people come from North Carolina and Moultrie, Georgia.</p> + +<p>"I do vote. I sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. +It look like I'm the kind of folks the government would help—them that +works and tries hard to have something—but seems like they don't get no +help. They wouldn't help me if I was bout to starve. I vote a Republican +ticket."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b> On the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a +framed picture of Booker T. Washington and Teddy Roosevelt sitting at a +round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. Underneath the +picture in large print was "Equality." I didn't appear to ever see the +picture.</p> + +<p>This negro is well-fixed for living at home. He is large and very black, +but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DixonMarthaAnn"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Martha Ann Dixon (mulatto)<br> + DeValls Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I am eighty-one years old. I was born close to Saratoga, North +Carolina. My mother died before I can recollect and my grandmother +raised me. They said my father was a white man. They said Jim Beckton. I +don't recollect him. My mother was named Mariah Tyson.</p> + +<p>"I recollect how things was. My grandmother was Miss Nancy Tyson's cook. +She had one son named Mr. Seth Tyson. He run her farm. They et in the +dining room, we et in the kitchen. Clothes and something to eat was +scarce. I worked at whatever I was told to do. Grandma told me things to +do and Miss Nancy told me what to do. I went to the field when I was +pretty little. Once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and +went off to do something else. It come up a hard shower. I crawled under +the mule. If I had been still it would been all right but my hair stood +up and tickled the mule's stomach. The mule jumped and the plough hit me +in my hip here at the side. It is a wonder I didn't get killed.</p> + +<p>"After the Civil War was times like now. Money scarce and prices high, +and you had to start all over new. Pigs was hard to start, mules and +horses was mighty scarce. Seed was scarce. Everything had to be started +from the stump. Something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or +two dresses a year had to do. Folks didn't study about going so much.</p> + +<p>"I had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the +little pigs in cold weather. The rake was made out of wood. It had +hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. It was heavy. I put my leaves +in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. I couldn't tote +it—I drug it. I had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till +the snow got off before I could get more. It seem like it snowed a lot. +The pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners +at night. It was ditched all around. It didn't get very muddy. Rattle +snakes was bad in the mountains. I used to tote water—one bucketful on +my head and one bucketful in each hand. We used wooden buckets. It was +lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. When other little +children come visiting that is what we would do. We didn't set around +and listen at the grown folks. We toted up rocks and then they made rock +rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. They looked +so pretty. Some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be +mixed. They walled wells with rocks too. All we done or knowed was work. +When we got tired there was places to set and rest. The men made plough +stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy +weather. I used to pick up literd [HW: lightwood] knots and pile them in +piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. They +made a good light and kindling wood.</p> + +<p>"They didn't whoop Grandma but she whooped me a plenty.</p> + +<p>"After the war some white folks would tell Grandma one thing and some +others tell her something else. She kept me and cooked right on. I +didn't know what freedom was. Seemed like most of them I knowed didn't +know what to do. Most of the slaves left the white folks where I was +raised. It took a long time to ever get fixed. Some of them died, some +went to the cities, some up North, some come to new country. I married +and come to Fredonia, Arkansas in 1889. I had been married since I was a +young girl. But as I was saying the slaves was still hunting a better +place and more freedom. The young folks is still hunting a better place +and more freedom. Grandma learnt me to set down and be content. We have +done better out here than we could done in North Carolina but I don't +believe in so much rambling.</p> + +<p>"We come on the passenger train and paid our own way to Arkansas. It was +a wild and sickly country and has changed. Not like living in the same +country. I try to live like the white folks and Grandma raised me. I do +like they done. I think is the reason we have saved and have good a +living as we got. We do on as little as we can and save a little for the +rainy day."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DockeryRailroad"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Railroad Dockery<br> + 1103 Short 13th, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Railroad Dockery, that's my name. I belonged to John Dockery and we +lived at Lamertine, Arkansas where I was born. My mother's name was +Martha and I am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. +Red River, Ouachita, Mississippi and Railroad were our names. (Mrs. Mary +Browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, +John Dockery, was the president of the Mississippi, Red River, Ouachita +Railroad, the first one to be surveyed in Arkansas, and that when the +directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them +after the railroad, which was done—ed.)</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'm, Red River and Ouachita died when they were tots and +Mississippi and Railroad were raised. Now that's what my mother said. +Mississippi died five or six years ago and I'm the onliest one left.</p> + +<p>"I remember mighty little about the war. I never thought anything about +the war. All I did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the +woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. That's what I +followed. Never did nothing else but play till after the war.</p> + +<p>"After surrender I went with my father and mother to work for General +Tom Dockery. He was John Dockery's brother. I was big enough to plow +then. I followed the plow all the time. My father and mother were paid +for their work. We stayed there about five years and then moved to +Falcon, Arkansas. Father died there.</p> + +<p>"In the time of the war I heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and I +heard my father talk about the Ku Klux but that was all I knowed, just +what he said about it.</p> + +<p>"I remember the presidents and I voted for some of them but oh Lord, I +haven't voted in several years.</p> + +<p>"I got along after freedom just as well as I ever did. I never had no +trouble—never been in no trouble.</p> + +<p>"About the world now—it looks like to me these days things are pretty +tight. I could hardly tell you what I think of the younger generation. I +think one thing—if the old heads would die all at once they would be +out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now.</p> + +<p>"I went to school only three months in my life. I learned to read and +write very well. I don't need glasses and I read principally the Bible. +To my mind it is the best book in the world. Biggest part of the +preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than +they are worth.</p> + +<p>"The biggest part of my work was farming. I never did delight in +cooking. Now I can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to +cooking.</p> + +<p>"I just can't sing to do no good. Never could sing. Seems like when I +try to sing something gets tangled in my throat.</p> + +<p>"Oh Lord, I remember one old song they used to sing</p> + +<pre> +'A charge to keep I have + A God to glorify.' +</pre> + +<p>"I don't remember anything else but now if Mississippi was here, she +could tell you lots of things."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DonalsonCallie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Irene Robertson<br> +Subject: Ex-slave <br> +Information given by: Callie Donalson, Biscoe, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Story</b></p> + +<p>I wasn't born in slavery but I was born in the white folks kitchen. Bob +Walker was ma mother's Master and James Austin ma father's Master. They +said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. Now ma mothers +white folks was sho good to her. When de war was all over me family +jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. +There was two brothers and a sister older than me. She thought her white +folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her +pregnancy and thats how come I was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife +tended on er. I never will forget her. She was named Mrs. Coffee. There +wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. I was born in Haywood +county Tennessee in 1866. No'm I tell you when you first come I wasn't +born in slavery. My white mistress named me, the young mistress, she +named me Callie. Bob Walkers girl married Ben Geeter. I was right in Ben +Geeters kitchen when Miss Sallie named me. They seemed proud of the +little black babies.</p> + +<p>Ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. She was a good +spinner. She carded and wove and spun all. She knitted too. She knitted +mostly by nite. All the stockings and gloves had to be knit. She sewed +and I learned from her. We had to sew with our fingers.</p> + +<p>When I was a little girl I just set around, brought in wood. Yes maam we +did play and I had some dolls, I was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. +We use to drive the calves up. If they didn't come up they sent the dog +fur de cows. One of dem wore a bell. They had shepherd dogs, long +haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come.</p> + +<p>Ma folks farmed in Tennessee till I married and den we farmed. Agents +jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. They +say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs +beggin somebody to eat em over in Arkansas.</p> + +<p>No'm I aint seed none lack dat, I seed em down in the swamps what you +could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. I says I mean I +seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. I +show have since I come here. The land was so poor in Tennessee and this +was uncleared land so we come to a new country. It show is rich land. +They use guano back in Tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. Abe +Miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. He was broke +and he paid our way. We come on the Josie Harry boat. Der was several +families sides us come wid him. He done fine out here—we got off the +boat at Augusta and I worked up there in Woodruff county till ma +husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. We raised his +boys and our family till dey was ob age. I left em. They went in big +business here in Biscoe and lost de farm and everything. Ma husband died +I lives with ma girl. I got one boy married lives in Chicago, and a girl +up there too. No'm dey aint rich. Dem his children come home wid ma +daughters on a visit—Little Yankees ain't got no manners.</p> + +<p>I voted one time in ma life, in 1933, for Hoover. I don't know nothing +about voting. I can read. I reads ma Bible. Ma young mistress learnt me +to read. I never got to go to school much. Whut my young mistress learnt +me was ma A B C's and how to call words. Yes maam I can write ma name +but I forgot how to write, been so long since I wrote a letter.</p> + +<p>All the songs I ever sung was "In Dixie" "Little Brown Jug" an mostly +religious songs, Lawd I forgot em now. I never knowd about no slave +uprisings—white folks alway good to us. We misses em now. Times not +lack dey use to be.</p> + +<p>Dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. Its +kinder kritical. No use trying to tell em nuthin. Dey's getting an +education I don't know whut thell do with it. If dey had somebody to +manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting +broke. They work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep +nuthin. No'om I don't think they are so bad.</p> + +<p>In 1893 me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here +we sold it and went on his brothers place. I owns ma house thats all. Ma +daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from +the relief. If I could work I wouldn't ax nobody for no help. I jess +past working much.</p> + +<p>I jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. The +conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. They have no +education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. They seems so +restless and don't take no interest in nothin. They are all right. It is +jess the times an the Bible full filling fast as it can.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DortchCharlesGreen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Charles Green Dortch<br> + 804 Victory Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 81</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father a Pet]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born June 18, 1857. The reason I don't show my age is because I +got Scotch-Irish, Indian, and Negro mixed up in me. I was born in +Princeton—that is, near Princeton—in Dallas County. Princeton is near +Fordyce. I was born on Hays' farm. Hays was my second master—Archie +Hays. Dortch was my first master. He brought my parents from Richmond, +Virginia, and he settled right in Princeton.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Reuben Rainey Dortch. He was an octoroon I guess. +He looked more like a Cuban than a Negro. He had beautiful wavy hair, +naturally wavy. He was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. His +father was Dortch. Some say Rainey. But he must have been a Dortch; he +called himself Dortch, and we go in the name of Dortch. Rainey was a +white man employed on Dortch's plantation. Rainey's name was Wilson +Rainey. My name has always been Dortch.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Martha Dortch. I am trying to think what her maiden +name was. My sister can tell you all the details of it. She is five +years older than I am. She can tell you all the old man's folks and my +mother's too more easily than I can.</p> + +<p>"My father had, as nearly as I can remember—lemme see—Cordelia, +Adrianna, Mary, Jennie, Emma, and Dortch. Emma and Dortch were children +by a first wife. Cordelia was his stepdaughter. My brothers were Alec +and Gabe. There is probably some I have overlooked.</p> + +<p>"The Indian blood in me came through my mother's father. He was a +full-blooded red Indian. I can't think of his name now. Her mother was a +dark woman.</p> + +<p>"My father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. All the work +he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket +making. He made coffins too just after peace was declared. They didn't +have no undertakers then. He made the bottoms to chairs too. He could +put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one I know. Nobody +could beat him putting shingles on a house.</p> + +<p>"My mother was reared to work in the house. She was cook, housekeeper. +She was a weaver too. She worked the loom and the spinning wheel. She +gardened a little. But her work was mostly in the house as cook and +weaver. She never went out in the field as a hand. My father didn't +either.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Kind Masters</b></p> + +<p>"My father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. He was a kind +of boss more than anything else. He had his way. Nobody was allowed to +mistreat him in any way. My mother was the same way. I don't think she +was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks—not that I ever saw.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Attitude of Slaves Toward Father</b></p> + +<p>"There wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. +My oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but I don't think he ever +had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the +white folks. He was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of +himself. Then again, he had a good master. Hays was a good man. We made +a trip down there just a short while ago. We hadn't been there since the +Civil War. They made it so pleasant for us! We all set down to the same +table and ate together. Frank was down there. He was my young master.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Thirty Acres—not Forty</b></p> + +<p>"They gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. They +didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. I am going down +there again sometime. My young master is the postmaster down there now. +He thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind telling people anything about myself. I was born in June. +They ain't nothing slipping up on me. I understand when to talk. There +are two of us, Adrianna Kern—that's her married name. She and I are the +ones Mr. Frank gave the thirty acres to. I have a younger sister.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Work</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. The +least I ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. Some would pick as +high as three and four hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>"My father was not a field hand. He was what they called the first man +'round there. He was a regular leader on the plantation—boss of the +tool room. He was next to the master of them, you might say. He was a +kind of boss.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of his working for other men besides his master. I +believe he drove the stage for a time from Arkadelphia to Camden or +Princeton. I don't know just how that come about. My sister though has a +more exact remembrance than I have, and she can probably tell you the +details of it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Boyhood Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"My father used to take me to the mill with him when I was a kid. That +was in slavery time. He went in a wagon and took me with him.</p> + +<p>"The biggest thing I did was to play with the other kids. They had me do +such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from +the pasture. And as near as I can remember it seems like they had me +more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food, Houses, Clothes</b></p> + +<p>"Corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game—that +was the principal food. The people on our place were fed pretty well. We +lived off of ash cakes and biscuits.</p> + +<p>"The slaves lived in old log houses. I can almost see them now. Let's +see—they usually had just one window. The slaves slept on pallets +mostly and wore long cotton shirts.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles—how they tied +ropes across the road and trapped them. Sometimes they would be knocked +off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from +there. Of course, that was sometimes. They was always halting the slaves +and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"The way I understand it there came a rumor all at once that the Negroes +were free. It seems that they throwed up their hands. They had a great +fight at Pine Bluff and Helena and De Valls Bluff. Then came peace. The +rumor came from Helena. Meade and Thomas winded the thing up some way. +Sherman made his march somewhere. The colored soldiers and the white +soldiers came pouring in from Little Rock. They come in a rush and said, +'Tell them niggers they're free.' They run into the masters' and +notified them they were going to take all the Negroes to Little Rock. It +wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to +take us to Little Rock.</p> + +<p>"When they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of +houses up just west of where the Arch street graveyard is now. They put +us all there in the soldiers' buildings. They called them camps. They +seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. It wasn't long before they +had us in school and in church. The Freedmen's Bureau visited us and +gave us rations just like the Government has been doing these last +years. They gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. +That was all done right here in Little Rock.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"My first teacher was Miss Sarah Henley. I could show you the home she +used to live in. It's right up the street. It's on Third Street between +Izard and State right in the middle of the block—next to the building +on the corner of Izard on the south side of Third Street. There is a +brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one +right next to it. She was a white woman and was my first teacher. She +taught me, as near as I can remember, one session. My next teacher was +Mrs. Hunt. She was from Ohio. My first teacher was from Ohio too. Mrs. +Hunt taught me about two sessions. Lemme see, Mrs. Clapp came after her. +She was from Pennsylvania. Mrs. Clapp taught me one session. I am trying +to think of that other teacher. We went over to Union School then. +Charlotte Andrews taught us there for a while. That was her maiden +name. Her married name is Stephens. She was the first colored teacher in +the city. Mrs. Hubbard teached us a while, too. Mrs. Scull taught us +right here on Gaines and Seventh Streets where this church is now. They +moved us a long time ago down to the Mess House at the Rock Island for a +while but we didn't stay there long. We came back to the Methodist +church—the one on Eighth and Broadway, not the Bethel Church on Ninth +and Broadway. There was a colored church on Eighth and Broadway then. +They kept sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. +Woods, a colored man, was one of the teachers at Capitol Hill Public +School. We were there when it first opened. That was the last school I +went to. I finished eight grades. Me and Scipio Jones went to school +together and were in the same class. I left him in school and went to +work to take care of my folks.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupational Experiences</b></p> + +<p>"Right after the Civil War, I went to school. I did no work except to +sell papers and black boots on the corner of Main and Markham on Sunday. +After I stopped school I went to work as assistant porter in the +railroad office at the Union Station for the St. Louis, Iron Mountain, +Southern Railway and Cairo and Fulton. That was one road or system. I +stayed with them from 1873 till 1882 in the office as office porter. +From that I went train porter out of the office in 1882. I stayed as +train porter till 1892. Then right back from 1892 I went in the general +superintendent's private car. Then from there I went to the shop here in +North Little Rock—the Missouri Pacific Shops—as a straw boss of the +storeroom gang. That was in 1893. I stayed in the shop until 1894. Then +I was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. That was in 1895. +I stayed as coach cleaner till 1913. From that I went to the State +Capitol and stayed there as janitor of the Supreme Court for three +years. In 1917, I went back to the coach cleaning department. That was +during the war. I stayed there till 1922. I come out on the strike and +have been out ever since. Since then I have done house cleaning all over +the city. That brings me up to about two years ago. Now I pick up +something here and something there. I have been knocking around sick +most of the time and supported by the Relief and the Welfare +principally.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"I don't remember much about the Ku Klux Klan. They never bothered me, +and never bothered any one connected with me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Powell Clayton</b></p> + +<p>"I have stood at the bar and drank with Powell Clayton. He had been +'round here ever since we had. He was a very particular friend of my +boss'—the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. They were all +Yankees together. They would all meet at the office. That was while I +was working my way through school and afterwards too. He was strictly a +'Negroes' Friend'. He was a straight out and out Yankee.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>A Broken Thumb in a Political Fight</b></p> + +<p>"I got this thumb broken beating a white man up. No, I'll tell the +truth. He was beating me up and I thought he was going to kill me. It +was when Benjamin Harrison had been elected President. I was in Sol +Joe's saloon and I said, 'Hurrah for Harrison.' A white man standing at +the bar there said to me, 'What do you mean, nigger, insulting the +guests here?' And before I knew what he was going to do—bop!—he +knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. He +started to stamp me. My head was roaring, but I grabbed his legs and +held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it +out. I butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with +my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. There was +plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. A great +commotion set up and I slipped out the back door and went home during +the excitement.</p> + +<p>"When I went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the +fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. Sol Joe told me that he +showed the man he was wrong, that I was one of his best customers. To +make Sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. When I got there +and found the money waiting for me, I just called everybody in the house +up to the bar and treated it out.</p> + +<p>"They claimed I had hit him with brass knucks, but when I showed them my +hand—it was swollen double—and then showed them how the thumb was +broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. That thumb never did set +properly. You see, it's out of shape right now.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Domestic Life</b></p> + +<p>"I met my wife going home. I was a train porter between here and +Memphis. She was put in my care to see that she took her train all right +out of Memphis, Tennessee, going on farther. I fell in love with her and +commenced courting her right from there. She was so white in color that +you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. After I married +her, I was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got +on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. Every once in a +while they would come back and peep in the Negro coach. Sometimes they +would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. My sister notice it +and called my attention to it. I went to the conductor and complained. +He called their hand.</p> + +<p>"It seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and +staying on the train to be able to get off where I got off. The +conductor told them that if they went into Little Rock with the train +there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that +the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that I worked on the road, and +that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if I just sent +a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. They got off the train at +the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they +didn't believe what had been told them.</p> + +<p>"We were married only three and a half years when she died. Her name was +Lillie Love Douglass before she married me. She was a perfect angel. +White folks tried to say that she was white. We had two children. Both +of them are dead. One died while giving birth to a child and the other +died at the age of thirty-three.</p> + +<p>"I married the second time. I met my second wife the same way I met the +first. I was working on the railroad and she was traveling. I was a +coach cleaner. We lived together three years and were separated over +foolishness. She had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers +stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to +braid into a watch chain. She said, 'I'll give you a lock.' I said, 'You +and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away +without asking me.' She might have been joking, and I was not altogether +serious. But it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. One day, I had +been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. I don't +remember what it was all about. Anyway, she called me a liar and I +slapped her before I thought.</p> + +<p>"For two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though +nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to +me. She would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. One day I +gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. She was a +wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while +I was out on the road working. When I came back that evening, the store +was wide open and she was gone. She had slipped off and gone home from +the station across the river. I didn't find that out till the next day. +She hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. And +another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the +train. I was out with a shotgun watching. I am glad I did not meet them. +She is living in Chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the +lock of hair to and doing well the last I heard from her. She was a good +woman, just marked with a high temper. There was no reason why we should +not have lived together and gotten along well. We loved each other and +were making money hand over fist when we separated.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people are too much for me. Women are awful now. The young +ones are too wild for me. The old ones allow them too much freedom. They +are not given proper instruction and training by their elders."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his +master or someone closely connected with his master—his first master. +His last master was the father of his half-sister, Cordelia, born +before any of the other members of his family. These facts account +largely for the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave +time and for the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery.</p> + +<p>Dortch's whole sister, Adrianna, is living next door to him, and is +eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. She has a clearer memory than +Dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. She never went to +school but uses excellent English and thinks straight. I have not made +Dortch's interview any longer because I am spending the rest of this +period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material +which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. I have +already finished ten pages of her story.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DorumFannie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Fannie Dorum<br> + 423 W. Twenty-Fourth Street<br> + North Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 94</h3> +<p>[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.]</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Church Holds Old Age Contest]</b></p> + +<p>"I was here in slavery time. Know the years I plowed. Ginned cotton in +slavery time. My daddy was the ginner. His name was Hamp High. Stayed +down in Lonoke County.</p> + +<p>"I was here in slavery time. The third year of the surrender (1868), I +married—married Burton Dorum.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Franklin, North Carolina. My old master's name was Jack +Green, Franklin County. He had five boys—Henry, John, James, Robert, +and William Henry. And he had a daughter named Mary. My old mistress' +name was Jennie Green. They all came from North Carolina and I think +they are still there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Work</b></p> + +<p>"A slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. You better +pick a hundred. I couldn't pick a hundred. I never was much on picking +cotton.</p> + +<p>"I weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, +and did all such work. I plowed before the War about two years. I used +to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go +through. I was about nineteen years old when Lee surrendered. That would +make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. The boys figgered it all +out when they had the old age contest 'round here. They added up the +times I worked and put everything together.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"I raised eight children. Have five living. And I reckon about +forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and +great-great-grandchildren. You see I have been here right smart time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"Colored folks didn't get no learning then. I never learned to read or +write. Before I married, I learned to spell my name, but I had so much +to do I have forgot how to do that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"The Yankees were coming through the place. A great crowd of soldiers. +The day the corps of Yankees were to go out, they all went up to the +pike and it looked like a dark cloud. There were great big wagons loaded +down with everything to eat. They took all the meat, all the whiskey, +all the flour. That they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured +on the ground. They took the corn out of the crib.</p> + +<p>"The next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. He told +us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Whipping</b></p> + +<p>"My old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. I +said, 'Master, if you don't hit me no more, I'll tell you who's been +stealing all your eggs.' He said, 'Will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' I +said, 'Yes.' But I never done it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. They would +catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. The +pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when +they were out without a pass. Sometimes the colored folks would stretch +ropes across the road and trip them up. You would hear them laughing +about it when they got amongst themselves the next day.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House, Etc.</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in a old log house—two rooms. One for the kitchen and one +to sleep in. We had homemade furniture. Mighty few of them had bought +furniture. Most of then made it themselves. If you had bought furniture, +that was called fine. There was no rollers to any bed. Food was kept in +the house. Wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to +keep it. Planks were put around it. We children used to jump up and down +in it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Rations</b></p> + +<p>"When the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a +tub and said, 'Come and git it.'</p> + +<p>"They would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of +the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. They put the white folks' meat +in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. When you wanted +something, you would go up to old master and say, 'My meat is out,' and +they would give you some more out of the smokehouse.</p> + +<p>"Brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the +colored [TR: corrected from 'cullud'] folks—they didn't give any of it +to them. My daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and +slip and sell it to the colored folks. He didn't tell the white folks +who he was gettin' it for.</p> + +<p>"You didn't have a regular time to git rations. You didn't on my place. +You got things any time you needed them. My master was a good man. My +dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. When he was +working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' +house and git anything he wanted and eat it—brandy, meat, anything.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Wages</b></p> + +<p>"My daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for +other folks. He did the ginning for an old rich man named Jack Green, +who lived in Franklin County. Jack Green paid wages for my father's, +Hampton High's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. I +don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, +or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. They trusted +him and I know he did work for pay. On account of the money my father +earned he was considered a valuable slave. That's why he could go and +eat and drink anything he wanted to.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since Slavery</b></p> + +<p>"My husband married me in May. He went to his uncle and worked an shares +for two or three years. Then my husband took a crop to himself. He +bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. Raised a great +big orchard. All my children were born right there. White people owned +the farm. Priestley Mangham and his wife were the white people. When we +left that place, my children were all big enough to work. That was in +North Carolina. The nearest town was College.</p> + +<p>"When the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, +then we left and came here. My husband is dead and has been dead over +twenty years.</p> + +<p>"My daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on +relief themselves and can't do much for me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. They +are there on mealtime, but that is about all."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>About three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the +colored churches of North Little Rock. Sister Hatchett was considered +the oldest, Fannie Dorum next. Sarah Jane Patterson was among those +considered in the nineties also. It is very probable that all of these +three are ninety or more. Stories of Dorum and Patterson are already in, +and interview with Hatchett will be completed soon.</p> + +<p>This paper fails to record Fannie Dorum's accent with any approach to +accuracy. She speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal +of attention to grammaticalness. But she pronounces all "er" ending as +"uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs.</p> + +<p>There are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which I do +not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal +pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for +"[e]r".</p> + +<p>The slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more +nearly correct than the normal pronunciation of "m(a)" +Frequent pronunciations are marse, marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DothrumSilas"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Silas Dothrum<br> + 1419 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82 or 83 <br> +Occupation: Field hand, general work<br> +[May 31 1939]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Don't Know Nothin']</b></p> + +<p>"The white people that owned me are all dead. I am in this world by +myself. Do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the +flies off it when it has sores on it? I had the city doctor here, but he +didn't do me no good. I have to tie these rags around my foot to keep +the flies off the sores.</p> + +<p>"I worked with a white man nineteen years—put all that concrete down +out there. He is still living. He helps me a little sometimes. If it +weren't for him I couldn't live. The government allows me and my wife +together eight dollars a month. I asked for more, but I couldn't get it. +I get commodities too. They amount to about a dollar and a half a month. +They don't give any flour or meat. Last month they gave some eggs and +those were nice. What they give is a help to a man in my condition.</p> + +<p>"I don't know where I was born and I don't know when. I know I am +eighty-two or eighty-three years old. The white folks that raised me +told me how old I was. I never saw my father and my mother in my life. I +don't know nothin'. I'm Just on old green man. I don't know none of my +kin people—father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. When I found +myself the white people had me.</p> + +<p>"That was right down here in Arkansas here on old Dick Fletcher's farm. +There was a big family of them Fletchers. They took me to Harriet +Lindsay to raise. She is dead. She had a husband and he is dead. She +had two or three daughters and they are dead.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Houses</b></p> + +<p>"I can remember what they used to live in. The slaves lived in old +wooden houses. They ain't living in no houses now—one-half of them. +They were log houses—two rooms. I have forgot what kind of +floors—dirt, I guess. Food was kept in a smokehouse.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Relatives</b></p> + +<p>"The whole family of Fletchers is dead. I think that there is a Jef +Fletcher living in this town. I don't know just where but I met him +sometime ago. He doesn't do nothing for me. Nobody gives me anything for +myself but the man I used to work for—the concrete man. He's a man.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"All I remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and +carried us to Texas and kept us there till freedom came. Then they told +us we were free and could go where wanted. But they kept me in bondage +and a girl that used to be with them. We were bound to them that we +would have to stay with them. They kept me just the same as under +bondage. I wasn't allowed no kind of say-so.</p> + +<p>"After Dick Fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us +back—fetched us back in a covered wagon.</p> + +<p>"I am a Arkansas man. Was raised here. I am very well known here, too. +Some years after that she turned us loose. I can't remember just how +many years it was, but it was a good many.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"After Mrs. Fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. I +was working by the year. If I broke anything they took it out of my +wages. If I broke a plow they would charge me for it. I was working for +niggers. I can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything +when they got through taking out. I'm dogged if I know how much they +were supposed to pay; it has been so long. But I know that if I broke +anything—a tool or something—they charged me for it. I didn't have +much at the end of the year. It would take me a lifetime to make +anything if I had to do that.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone +into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. They would +surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they +could whip them as much as they wanted to. All that is been years and +years ago. I never seen any niggers get away from them. I have heared of +them getting away, but if they did I never knowed it.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux Klan</b></p> + +<p>"I heared of the Ku Klux, but they never bothered me. I never saw them +do anything to anybody.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Recollections Relating to Parents</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know who my parents were, but it seems like I heard them say my +father was a white man, and I seen to remember that they said my mother +was a dark woman.</p> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people today ain't worth a shit. These young people going to +school don't mean good to nobody. They dance all the night and all the +time, and do everything else. That man across the street runs a whiskey +house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. They +ain't worth nothing."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarah"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Sarah Douglas<br> + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82?</h3> +<br> + +<a name="img_STD"></a> + +<center><p> +<img src='images/stdouglas.jpg' width='250' height='368' alt='Sarah and Tom Douglas'> +</p></center> + +<p>[TR: Original interview where photograph inserted notes photograph of "Sarah and Sam +Douglas." The Library of Congress photo archive notes "'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."]</p> +<br> +<p>"I was born in Alabama. I don't know when though. I did not find out +when I was born because old miss never told me. My ma died when I was +real small and my old miss raised me. I had a hard time of my life. I +slept on the floor just like a cat—anywhere I laid down I slept. In +winter I slept on rags. If I got sick old miss would give me plenty of +medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. My old +master was name John Buffett and old misses name was Eddie Buffett. She +would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the +floor. I never ate at the table until I was twelve and that was after +freedom.</p> + +<p>"To whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken +the cow hide whip and beat me until I couldn't sit down for a week. +Sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree +with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow +hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! +child, I shouted when I wasn't happy. All I could say was, 'Oh pray, +mistress, pray.' That was our way to say Lord have mercy. The last +whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my Lord! old miss +whipped me that day. That was the worse whipping I ever got in my life. +I cried and bucked and hollered until I couldn't. I give up for dead and +she wouldn't stop. I stop crying and said to her, 'Old miss, if I were +you and you were me I wouldn't beat you this way.' That struck old +miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me +any more.</p> + +<p>"I did every kind of work when I was a little slave; split rails, +sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted.</p> + +<p>"I remember young master going to war and I remember hearing the first +gun shoot but I did not see it. I saw the smoke though.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school a day in my life. The white folks said we did +not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us +with that cow hide whip.</p> + +<p>"We went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. +They allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or +felt that the Lord had forgiven them of their sins. We told our +determination; this is what we said: 'I feel that the Lord have forgiven +me for my sins. I have prayed and I feel that I am a better girl. I +belong to master so and so and I am so old.' The white preacher would +then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they +could see any change. They would get up and say: 'I notice she don't +steal and I notice she don't lie as much and I notice she works better.' +Then they let us join. We served our mistress and master in slavery-time +and not God.</p> + +<p>"I recollect miss died just after the War. Old miss was very strict on +us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's +kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left +the print of her hand on her face. That white hand never did go away and +that place was forever haunted after that.</p> + +<p>"Now I don't know how to tell you to get after my age but I was twelve +years old two years after surrender."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarah2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Carol Graham<br> +Subject: Ex-slaves<br> +Information given by: Sarah Douglas, El Dorado, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>Mornin' honey. I thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' +summer an' I looked fuh you the longes' time. I'se plum proud tuh see +you ergin. Dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is +she?</p> + +<p>Now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants Aunt Sarah tuh tell huh some +more 'bout slave'y times. John Bufford wuz mah marster's name. I wuz +bo'n in Alabama an' brought to Louisiana by my marster's fambly. Aftuh +de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white +folks from the North fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey +soon learnt bettuh.</p> + +<p>I ain't been well lately. The doctuh said I had slamatory rheumatis. I'm +ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. My mistress wuz mammy +in de ol' days.</p> + +<p>Aftuh I got up fum mah rheumatism I went down tuh that church you sees, +I give de lan' fuh hit, me and Tom did and I jes felt good and wanted +tuh praise the Lord. I wuz so glad the sperit come once more, I got +happy and I got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "I want to shake +hand wid ever' body in dis house. I wanna stroke yo hand." An' I stood +down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and +two women come down an' shook hands wid me, I jes didn't know whut tuh +think. Yoh know when I wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' +dey made a noise but not so now. An' tuh think dey couldn't turn +praises.</p> + +<p>You say yo' wants tuh talk tuh Tom? Well he's out dar in de back yard +but he aint well and I specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. +Tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. I'll go back an talk tuh de +lady whuts waitin' in de car.</p> +<br> + +<p>(The above written just as Sarah Douglas expressed it).</p> + +<p>(Taken down word for word.)</p> + +<p>(August 11, 1937.)</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasTom"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Tom Douglas<br> + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: 91</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Marion, Louisiana September 15, 1847 at 8 o'clock in the +morning. I was eighteen years of age at surrender. My master and missus +was B.B. Thomas and Miss Susan Thomas. Old master had a gang of slaves +and we all worked like we were putting out fire. Lord child, wasn't near +like it is now. We went to bed early and got up early. There was a gang +of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a +washwoman. We worked too and didn't mind it. If we acted like we didn't +want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree +or bush and whipped until we bled. They had a whipping post that they +tied us to to whip us.</p> + +<p>"We was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. They built +nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. They drove niggers in +there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. The +white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they +could tell how old we were. They had a 'penetenture' for the white folks +when they did wrong. When we done wrong we was tied to that whipping +post and our hide busted open with that cow hide.</p> + +<p>"We stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would +allowance our week's rations out to us and Sunday morning we got one +biscuit each. If our week's allowance give out before the week we did +not get any more.</p> + +<p>"Cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. We did not have to worry about +our clothes. Old missus looked after everything. We wore brogan shoes +and homespun clothes. There was a bunch of women that did the spinning +and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. I was a shoe +maker. I made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. We had to +go nice and clean. If old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. I +got slavery time scars on my back now. You ought to see my back. Scars +been on my back for seventy-five years.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned my ABC'S after I was +nineteen years old. I went to night school, then to a teacher by the +name of Nelse Otom. I was the first nigger to join the church on this +side of the Mason and Dixie line. During slavery we all joined the white +folk's church set in the back. After slavery in 1866 they met in +conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. There +was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we +called our preacher and I was the first one to join. Old master asked +our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. We told him old shoes and +clothes. Old master says, 'Well, that's damn poor pay.' Our preacher +says, 'And they got a damn poor preacher.'</p> + +<p>"I did not know anything about war. Only I know it began in 1861, closed +in 1865, and I know they fought at Vicksburg. That was two or three +hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table +whenever they shot a bomb. Those bombs would jar the house so hard and +we could see the smoke that far.</p> + +<p>"We was allowed to visit Saturday night and Sunday. If you had a wife +you could go to see her Wednesday night and Saturday night and stay with +her until Monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the +patrollers would catch you. That is where the song come from, 'Run +nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' Sometimes a nigger +would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. In slavery white +folks put you together. Just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or +him. You had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not.</p> + +<p>"After freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, +opened a big gate and drove us all out. We didn't know what to do—not a +penny, nowhere to go—so we went out there and set down. In about thirty +minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for +food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and +the next year they gave us half. So ever' since then we people been +working for half.</p> + +<p>"Here is one of my boy songs:</p> + +<pre> +'Sadday night and Sunday too, + A pretty girl on my mind + As soon as Monday morning come + The white folks get me gwi-ng.'" +</pre> + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarahTom"></a> +<h3>[HW: Regrets End of Slavery] <br> +OLD SLAVE STORIES<br> +<br> +[TR: Sarah and Tom Douglas]</h3> +<br> + + +<p><b>[TR: Aunt Sarah Douglas]</b>— +Ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. Wuz twelve years ole at de +time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined de church. In them days +when chillun j'ined de church some grown person had ter speak fuh em an +tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. Now when chillun j'in de +church if they is big enough ter talk they take em in widout grown fokes +speaking fuh em a tall.</p> + +<p>Slavery times wuz sho good times. We wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to +worry about. Now poar ole niggers go hungry. Sho we wuz whipped in +slavery times. Mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz +whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. Coase hit +did. Hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo +chickens.</p> + +<p>Me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no +chillun. Yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. Now +if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole +days. Mah ole man, Tom, is 89 an I'se 82. Poar ole man. Ah does all ah +kin fuh him but I'se ole too. These young niggers is gettin so uppity. +They think they is better than we is. A Darkey jes don' love one another +an stick t'gether like white fokes does. But ah is goin ter stick ter +my ole man. He needs me. He is jes like a little helpless chile widout +me ter look after him. Ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when +ah wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. Ah likes ter go ter +church. See that little white church over de hill? That is Douglas +Chapel, a Baptist church. Me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that +church. We had plenty them days when Douglas was laid out (meaning +Douglas Addition). But now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all +de time. None of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us +somethin' ter eat. White fokes have good hearts but niggers is +grudgeful. De bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an +when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces.</p> + +<p>Niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. Ah went to a +missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "Sister +Douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "Amazing +Grace." Sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined +in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when +that sister spoke up an said: "Sister Douglas, don' yo know that is done +gone out of style?" an selected "Fly Away" an den all of them sisters +j'ined in an sung "Fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance +chune.</p> + +<p>Yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. We use +ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. An that ole horse is our fambly +horse. Dolly Jane ah calls her. We've had her forty years an she gits +sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time +but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. We has lived +in this house since 1900 but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de +tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. Nobody lef on this side but white +fokes now ceptin us. When de railroad come through down there ah had a +cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton +patch an ruint part of hit. All we got out'n hit wuz damages.</p> + +<p>No'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. Mebby ifn yo +all come back he kin talk ter yo then.</p> + +<p>(In the meantime we investigated Tom and Sarah Douglas and found that he +has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now +Douglas Addition. In a few days we went back and found Tom sitting on +the porch.)</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Uncle Tom Douglas</b>—Yas'm, ah members de wah. Ah wuz fo'teen when de wah +began an eighteen when hit closed. Mah marster wuz B.B. Thomas, Union +Parish, Louisiana, near Marion, Louisiana. Ah saw de fust soldiers go an +saw young marster go. When young marster come back at de close of de wah +he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he +done have ter eat while he wuz in de army.</p> + +<p>Ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. They wuz sold +jes like stock. Ah members one fambly. De man wuz a blacksmith, de woman +a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. They wuz put on de +block an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt +part of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. They +wuz sole jes like cows an horses. No'm, ah didn't like slavery days. +Ah'd rather be free an hungry.</p> + +<p>(Tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and +we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.)</p> + +<p>Yo say tell yo about hants. There is such a thing. Yes mam. Some fokes +calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an Sarah has seed em haint +we Sarah. Here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil?</p> + +<p>(After we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we +would not repeat it, they told us the following):</p> + +<p>When me an Sarah lived out at de Moore place about three miles east on +the main street road we seed plenty of haints. De graveyard wuz in sight +of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they +would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there +campin. We could see they campfires. We could hear their dishes rattling +an their tincups an knives an forks. An hear em talkin. Den again they +would be diggin with shovels. Sometimes in de graveyard we could see de +sperits doin de things they did befo they died. Some would be plowing, +some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. +When day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in +de graves. Yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. After we moved +from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de +chimney. An hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen +there.</p> + +<p>Yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. They is such thin's as hants. Me an +Sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSarahTom2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham <br> +Person interviewed: Tom & Sarah Douglas<br> +Resident: El Dorado, Arkansas <br> +Age: 90 and 83</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b></p> + +<p>This is a second interview with Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah Douglas. The +first was sent to your office in September 1936 from interview by Mrs. +Mildred Thompson, El Dorado, Arkansas. Mrs. Thompson is not now with the +Project. Mrs. Carol Graham made the second interview.</p> + +<p><u>Tom Douglas—Ex-slave</u>. I was a slave boy till I was eighteen. Was born +in 1847, 'mancipated in '65. No, my master did not give me forty acres +of land and a mule. When we was 'mancipated my master came took us +outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "You are free +to work for anybody you want to." We set there a while then we went +whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and +finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. The next year +we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five +years. 'F we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in +money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over.</p> + +<p>My ol' master was S.B. [TR: in two previous interviews, B.B. Thomas] +Thomas. The young master was Emmett Thomas. Mr. +Emmett was his son. Dey was near Marion, Louisiana, then I worked fuh +his brother-in-law 'Lias George. His wife was Susan George. I tell you +the fact, these times is much bettuh than slave times. If I'm hungry an' +naked, I'm free. I'm crazy 'bout liberty.</p> + +<p>I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan but never did see none of 'em. Have seen +where they is been but nevuh did see 'em.</p> + +<p>We voted several years. Was considered citizens—voted an' all that sort +of thing. I think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes +makes us citizens don' it? I used to be a big politics man—lost all I +had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. I was +tol' one day that the Ku Kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' I +got on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. I was a big +politics man then—lost all I had and quit politics. I'm ninety years +old and fifteenth of next September. Looks like the old might get +pensions if old has anything to do with it I ought to get a pension but +us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' +to eat they say don' get none.</p> + +<p>I come to El Dorado January 3, 1893. This place was in the woods then. I +bought 120 acres from Mr. Dave Armstrong at five dollars per acre and in +nine years I had it all paid for. It was after I got tired of workin' on +the halves that I bought me a place.</p> + +<p>Worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in 1897 or 98. Than I jobbed +aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. Carried $25 +with me when I moved to town and brought $28 back with me. Cleared $1 a +year an' got tired of that.</p> + +<p>Am livin' off my land. Have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times +is hard and folks can't pay. I takes in from $18 to $25 per month.</p> + +<p>The young folks is gone to destruction. Aint nothin' but destruction. +You is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was +ten years back. Young folks is goin' to destruction. Me, I'm goin' home. +Goin' back 80 years an comin' up to day I is seen a mighty big change. +Me, I'm goin' home. Don't know what you young folks going to see eighty +years from now. Everybody is trying to get something for nothing.</p> + +<p>We use to sing "Gimme this Old Time Religion, It's Good enough for me". +An' we sung "I'm a Soldier of the Cross" an lots of others. We don' live +right now, don' serve God. Pride, formality an love of money keeps folks +from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. You know that ol' +sayin: "Preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; All for your +money an' none for your soul." Seems like its true now days.</p> + +<p>You ask does I have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? +No maam. I was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard +with the little white chillun. You says Sarah told you that las' year? +Missy you mus' be mistaken. I was whipped once or twice but I needed it +then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no +stripes on me. My old master was good to all his niggers and I'm tellin +you I was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to +me. All we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every +Sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. No maam my +old master was always good to his niggers.</p> +<br> + +<p>(Above is as exactly told by Tom Douglas with the exception that he used +the word Marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for I and +other quaint expressions—these were omitted because of instruction in +Bulletin received August 7th, 1937.)</p> + +<p>Taken down word for word. August 11, 1937.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DouglasSebert"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Sebert Douglas<br> + 610 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 82</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Lebanon, Kentucky. Gover Hood was my old master. His +wife's name was Ann Hood.</p> + +<p>"I 'member Morgan's Raid. I don't 'member what year it was but I 'member +a right smart about it. Cumberland Gap was where they met.</p> + +<p>"The Rebs and Yankees both come and took things from old master. I +'member three horses they taken well. Yankees had tents in the yard. +They was right in the yard right in front of the Methodist church.</p> + +<p>"My mother was Mrs. Hood's slave, and when she married she took my +mother along and I was born on her place.</p> + +<p>"I was the carriage boy in slave times. My father did the driving and I +was the waitin' boy. I opened the gates.</p> + +<p>"I 'member Billy Chandler and Lewis Rodman run off and j'ined the +Yankees but they come back after the War was over.</p> + +<p>"Paddyrollers was about the same as the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux would take +the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make +'em go back where they come from.</p> + +<p>"We stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we +went to the country and farmed for ourselves.</p> + +<p>"I went to school just long enough to read and write. I never seed no +use for figgers till I married and went to farmin'.</p> + +<p>"Since I been in Pine Bluff I done mill work. I was a sash and door man.</p> + +<p>"I used to vote every election till Hoover, but I never held any +office.</p> + +<p>"The younger generation is bad medicine. Can't tell what's gwine come of +'em!"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DoylHenry"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Henry Doyl, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: Will be 74<br> +Feb. 2, 1938</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Hardeman County near Bolivar, Tennessee. My mother's +moster was Bryant Cox and his wife was Miss Neely Cox. My mother was +Dilly Cox. Two things I remembers tinctly that took place in my +childhood: that was when my mother married George Doyl. I was raised by +a stepfather. Miss Neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put +me in her pocket. She told her that more'n one time. I recollect that.</p> + +<p>"My oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. My mother was a +field hand. She was at work in the field. When she come to the house, +the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. That grieved her mighty +bad and when Miss Neely tell her soon as I got big nough she was goner +sell me mighty near break her heart.</p> + +<p>"The first year after the surrender my father, Buck Rogers, left my +mother in her bad condition. She said she followed him crying and +begging him not to leave her to Montgomery Bridge, in Alabama. The last +she seen him he was on Montgomery Bridge.</p> + +<p>"They just expected freedom. My mother left her mistress and moved to +the Doyl place. She didn't get nothing but her few clothes. I was born +at the Doyl place. She worked for Moster Bob Doyl, a young man. They +share cropped. We had a plenty I reckon of what we raised and a little +money.</p> + +<p>"I worked on Colonel Nuckles place when I got up grown. I worked on the +Lunatic Asylum at Bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the I.C. +Railroad a long time.</p> + +<p>"I don't recollect that the Ku Klux ever bothered us.</p> + +<p>"My stepfather voted Republican ticket. I haven't voted for a good many +years—not since Garfield or McKinley was our President.</p> + +<p>"I come to Arkansas in 1887. I married in Arkansas. I heard that +Arkansas was a rich country. My mother was dead. My stepfather had been +out here. I come on the train, paid my own way. Come to Palestine the +first night then on to Brinkley. I been close to Brinkley ever since.</p> + +<p>"The old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. I still work +on the place. Everybody don't know how to walk levies. It will kill an +old man. Your feet stay wet and cold all time. I do wear hip boots but +my feet stay cold and damp. I got down with the rheumatism and jes' now +got so I can walk.</p> + +<p>"I got a wife and three living children. They all married and gone.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard for old folks and changed so much. Children used to get +jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. They can't +take care of themselves no more it look like. I don't know how to take +the young generation. They are drifting along with the fast times.</p> + +<p>"I applied but don't get no pension."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DoyldWillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Willie Doyld (male), Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78<br> +[-- -- 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Grenada, Mississippi. My parents belong to the same +family of white folks. My moster was Jim Doyld. His wife was Mistress +Karoline Doyld. Well as I recollect they had four childen. My parent's +name was Hannah and William Doyld. I'm named for em. They was three of +us childen. They belong to same family of white folks for a fact. I +heard em say Moster Jim bought em offen the block at the same time. He +got em at Galveston, Texas. He kept five families of slaves on his place +well as I recollect.</p> + +<p>"My pa was Moster Jim's ox driver. He drove five or six yokes at a time. +He walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. He toted a long cowhide +whoop. He toted it over his shoulder. When he'd crack it you could hear +his whoop half a mile. Knowed he was comin' on up to the house. Them +oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. He'd +be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. He +nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the +front wagon an' ride a piece.</p> + +<p>"He was a very good moster I recken far as I knows. They go up there, +get sompin' to eat. He give em a midlin' meat. He give us clothes. Folks +wore heep of clothes then. They got whoopin's if they not do lack they +tole em to do—plenty whoopin's! He kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. +They hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. Them dogs died wid black +tongue. Every one of em died.</p> + +<p>"We et at home mostly. We was lounced wid the rations but had a big +plenty. We got the rations every Saturday mornin'. One fellow cut and +weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git +it in. Sometimes we et up at the house. Mama bring a big bucket milk and +set it down, give us a tin cup. We eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. +Mama cooked for old mistress. She bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last +us two or three days at er time. Papa could cook when he be round the +house too. I recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. They come from +Georgia. Moster Jim muster bought them too but I don't know if he got em +all at the same time down at Galveston, Texas.</p> + +<p>"Moster Jim show did drink liquor—whiskey. I recken he would. When he +got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he +sober up. Miss Karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and +white.</p> + +<p>"My grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. The balance of my +kin was pure nigger.</p> + +<p>"I kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. Papa went off +to war wid Jack Hoskins. He was goin' to be his waitin' man. He stayed a +good while fore he got home. Jack Hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast +one mornin'. That all I heard him say. I recken he helped bury him but I +never heard em say.</p> + +<p>"The plainest thing I recollect was a big drove of the Yankee +soldiers—some ridin', some walkin'—come up to the moster's house. He +was sorter old man. He was settin' in the gallery. He lived in a big log +house. He was readin' the paper. He throwed back his head and was dead. +Jes' scared to death. They said that was what the matter. In spite of +that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. All the +niggers scared to death not to go. There lay old Moster Jim stretched +dead in his chair. They was backed up to the smoke house door and the +horses makin' splinters of the door. It was three planks thick, crossed +one another and bradded together wid iron nails. They throwed the stuff +out an' say, 'Come an' git it. Take it to your houses.' They took it. It +was ours and we didn't want it wasted. Soon as they gone they got mighty +busy bringing it back. They built nother door an' put it up. Old Miss +Karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. They buried Moster +Jim at Water Valley, Mississippi. Miss Karoline broke up and went back +to Virginia. My grandma got her feather bed and died on it. Bout two +years after that the Yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. +We all had good log houses down close together. They didn't bother us.</p> + +<p>"I don't recollect the Ku Klux.</p> + +<p>"Our folks never knowed when freedom come on. Some didn't believe they +was free at all. They went on farmin' wid what left. What they made they +got it. My folks purty nigh all died right there.</p> + +<p>"I lives alone. I got two childern in Lulu, Mississippi. I had three +childern. My wife come here wid me. She dead.</p> + +<p>"I had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. It went for debts. White +folks got it. I ain't made nuthin' since.</p> + +<p>"I ain't no hand at votin' much. I railly never understood nuthin' bout +the run of politics.</p> + +<p>"I hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get +by widout it. They take it, if they can, outen the old folks. I used to +didn't ask folks no diffrunce. I worked right long.</p> + +<p>"I gets commodities wid this old woman. I come here to build her fires +and see after er. I don't git no check."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DudleyWade"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wade Dudley, Moro, Ark.<br> +Age: 73</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Bill Kidd and Miss Nancy Kidd owned my parents. I was born close to +Okalona, Chickasha County, Mississippi, about the last year of the Civil +War. Mr. Bill was Miss Nancy's boy. He was a nigger trader. They said +the overseers treated em pretty rough. They made em work in nearly a +run. When Miss Nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got +down pretty low. He married. Course I knowd em. I been through his +house. He had a fine house. My mother said she was born in Virginia. She +belong to Addison and Duley. Her mother come wid her. They sold them but +didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. She walked or come +in a ox wagon part of the way. She was with a <u>drove</u>. My father come +from North Carolina. His father was free. My father weighed out rations. +He was bright color. He worked round the house and then durin' the war +he run a refugee wagon. The Yankees got men, mules, meat from Mr. Bill +Kidd. My father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one +place to another to keep the Yankees from starving em all to death. My +mother had nine boys. They all belong to Mr. Miller. He died, his widow +married Mr. Owen then Mr. Owen sold them to Mrs. Kidd. That was where +they was freed. My parents stayed about Mrs. Kidd's till she died. They +worked for a third some of the time, I don't know how long. When I was +a boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the +government was going to give em something. I was ten years old when they +left Mrs. Kidd's. They thought the government was going to give em 40 +acres and a mule or some kind of a start. I don't know where they got +the notion. My father voted down in Mississippi. I vote. I was working +in the car shops in St. Louis in 1923. Me and my wife both voted then. I +worked there two years. I come back to Arkansas where I could farm. The +land was better here than in Mississippi. I walked part of the way and +rode part of the way when I come here from Mississippi. I vote a +Republican ticket. Bout all I owns is two little pigs and a few +chickens. I did have a spring garden. We work in the field and make a +little to eat and wear.</p> + +<p>"I find the present times is hard for old folks. Some young folks is +doing well I guess. They look like it. I made application twice for help +but I ain't never got on. I don't know what to think bout the young +folks. If they can get a living they have a good time. They don't worry +bout the future. A little money don't buy nothin' much now. It seem like +everything is to buy. Money is hard to get."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DukeIsabella"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Isabella Duke<br> + Little Rock, Arkansas (towards Benton)<br> + Visiting in Hazen<br> +Age: 62</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Father Wore a Bonnet]</b></p> + +<p>"My own dear mother was born at Faithville, Alabama. She belong to Sam +Norse. His wife was Mistress Mai Jane. They moved to Little Rock years +after my mother had come there. After seberal months they got trace of +one another. I seed two of the Norse girls and a boy. Master Norse was a +farmer in Alabama. Mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. She was a +field hand. She had a tough time during slavery.</p> + +<p>"Pa said he had a good time. 'Bout all he ever done was put on old +mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. He built and +chunked up the fires. Old mistress raised him and he had to wear a +bonnet. He was real light. He said the worse whoopings he ever got was +when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. The hands +on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'Old mis' thinks +he's white sure as de worl'.' The hands on the place sent him to the big +house squalling many a time.</p> + +<p>"After he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. He was part +French. He talked Frenchy and acted Frenchy. Every one who knowd him in +Little Rock called him Pa Frazier and called my mother Ma Frazier, but +she was dark. Pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he +didn't. She raised him about like her own boy.</p> + +<p>"Mother had a hard time. Alex Norse bought my mother and a small brother +from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years +old. Her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. +But there had been an older boy sold to some folks near Norse's place +before she was sold. The brother that was two years old died. There were +other older children sold. My mother never saw her mother after she was +sold. She heard from her mother in 1910. She was then one hundred and +one years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. Her baby boy +six months old when mother was sold come to visit us. Mother wanted to +go back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. Mother had +good sight when she died in 1920. She was eighty-seven years old and +didn't have to wear glasses to see. Mother's father was on another +place. He was said to be part or all Indian.</p> + +<p>"Mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. Her older +brother John lived on a place close to the Norse place. John told the +peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. But John was the one +got the goods mind out. The peddler reported it to Master Norse. He give +my mother a terrible beating. After that it come out on John. He had +stole the piece of cloth. John then took sick, lay sick a long time. +Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh John. She knowd when he died and +the day he was to be buried. Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh +there, not even look like she wanted to cry.</p> + +<p>"Mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. Then after +freedom she married my father. My parents named Clara and George +Frazier. She had twelve children. Pa was a cripple man. He was a +soldier. He said he never was shot and never shot no one. He was on a +horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the +shooting) all time. A horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. +After that he limped. He drew a pension. I limps but I'm better as I got +grown. I'm marked after him. One of my children I named after him what +died was cripple like him. My little George died when he was ten. He was +marked at birth after his grandpa. I had ten, jus' got five living +children.</p> + +<p>"My husband's father's father was in the Civil War. He didn't want to go +out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his +fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. His eye went out. He +hurt it too near the sight. He said he was sorry the rest of his life he +done that. He got a pension too. He was blind and always was sorry for +his disobedience. He said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then +as go into the battlefield.</p> + +<p>"In some ways times is better. People are no better. Children jus' +growing up wild. Their education is of the head and not their heart and +hands.</p> + +<p>"I was raised around Little Rock is about right. I gets a pension. I'm +sixty-two years old but I was down sick with nerve trouble several +years. I'm better now. I've been gradually coming on up for over a year +now.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ernest Harper of Little Rock takes out truckloads of black folks to +work on his place in the country every day. They can get work that way +if they can work."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DukesWash"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: "Wash" Dukes<br> + 2217 E. Barraque <br> + Pine Bluff, Ark.<br> +Age: 83</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, Wash Dukes is my name. My mother liked Washington so well, she +named me General Washington Dukes, but I said my name was Wash Dukes. +I'm the oldest one and I'm still here. Me? I was born in the state of +Georgia, Howson County. Perry, Georgia was my closest place. I was born +and raised on the Riggins place. I was born in 1855, you understand. The +first day of March is my birthday. We had it on the Bible, four boys and +four girls, and I was the oldest. House caught fire and burned up the +Bible, but I always say I'm as old as a hoss.</p> + +<p>"I can't see as good as I used to—gettin' too old, I reckon.</p> + +<p>"Old master and mistis was good to us.</p> + +<p>"My mother plowed just like a man. Had a little black mule named Mollie +and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee.</p> + +<p>"Old master was a long tall man with black hair.</p> + +<p>"You know I was here cause I remember when Lincoln was elected +president. He run against George Washington.</p> + +<p>"I seen the Yankees but I never talked to em. I was scared of em. Had +them muskets with a spear on the end. They give my uncle a hoss. When it +thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance—thought twas +a battle. And when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on +him. I say, 'Where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'Yankees give him +to me.'</p> + +<p>"I know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. I guess they +shot his hoss. He had plenty money. I tried to get him to give me some +but he wouldn't give me a bit.</p> + +<p>"At Oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. They was a +little stream run through it and the Rebels pizened it and killed a lot +of em.</p> + +<p>"I was so crazy when I was young. I know one time mama sent me to town +to get a dress pattern—ten yards. She say, 'Now, Wash, when you go +across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', +but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' But I say, 'I won't hear it.' I +went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'You done been to +town already?' I said, 'Yes, here's your dress pattern.' I went through +there ninety to nothin'. I went so fast my heart hurt me.</p> + +<p>"In slave times I remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you +had to have a pass. Paddyrollers nearly got me one night. I was on a +hoss. They was shootin' at me. I know the hoss was just stretched out +and I was layin' right down on his neck.</p> + +<p>"I stayed in Georgia till '74. I heared em say the cotton grow so big +here in Arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. I know when I +got here they was havin' that Brooks-Baxter war in Little Rock. I say, +'Press me into the war.' Man say, 'I ain't goin' press no boys.' I say, +'Give me a gun, I can kill em.' I wanted to fight.</p> + +<p>"I tell you where I voted—colored folks don't vote now—it was when I +was on the Davis place. I voted once or twice since I been up here. I +called myself votin' Republican. I member since I been up here you know +they had a colored man in the courthouse. When they had a grand jury +they had em mixed, some colored and some white. I say now they ain't got +no privilege. If they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes.</p> + +<p>"Up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they +got a 'tition between em.</p> + +<p>"When I first went to farmin' I rented the land and the cotton was all +mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'.</p> + +<p>"If I keep a livin', I'm goin' away from here. I'm goin' up north. I +won't go fore it gets warm though. I seen the snow knee deep in +Cleveland, Ohio.</p> + +<p>"I was workin' up north once. I had a pretty good job in Detroit doin' +piece work, and doin' well, but I come back here cause my wife's mother +was too old to move. If I had stayed I might have done well.</p> + +<p>"I own this property but I'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes.</p> + +<p>"I got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' +my mouth. None of em has ever give me a dime in their life. This younger +generation is goin' to nothin'. They got a good education. I got a boy +can write six different kinds a hands. Write enough to get in the pen. +I got him pardoned and he's in Philadelphia now. Never sends me a dime.</p> + +<p>"I never went to any school but night school a little. I was the oldest +and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones.</p> + +<p>"I preach sometimes. I'm not ordained—I'm a floor preacher, just stands +in front of the altar."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunnLizzie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lizzie Dunn, Clarendon, Arkansas<br> +Age: 88</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Hernando, Mississippi. My parents was Cassie +Gillahm and Ely Gillahm. My master was John Gillahm. I fell to John +Gillahm and Tim bought me from him so I could be with my mother. I was a +young baby. Bill Gillahm was our old master. He might had a big farm but +I was raised on a small farm. White folks raised me. They put me to +sewing young. I sewed with my fingers. I could sew mighty nice. My +mistress had a machine she screwed on a table.</p> + +<p>"All the Gillahms went to Louisiana in war time and left the women with +youngest white master. They was trying to keep their slaves from +scattering. They were so sure that the War would be lost.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt +them. They et them out time and ag'in. I seen the Yankees every day. I +seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. The sound was like eternity +had turned loose. Everything shook like earthquakes day and night. The +light was bright and red and smoke terrible.</p> + +<p>"Mother cooked and we et from our master's table.</p> + +<p>"We was all scared when the War was on and glad it was over. Mama died +at the close. Me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of +cotton in one year.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. We all cried. +Miss Mollie was next to our own mother. She raised us. We kept on their +place.</p> + +<p>"I cooked for Joe Campbell at Forrest City. He had one boy I help to +raise. They think well of me."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Very light mulatto. Bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. Had +been alone all day except when Home Aid girls bathed and cleaned her +bed. She is paralyzed. She said she was hungry.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunneNellie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Nellie Dunne<br> + 3900 W. Sixth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 78</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I was slavery born but free raised. I was half as big as I +is now. (She is not much over four feet tall—ed.) Born in Silver Creek, +Mississippi. Yes ma'am. They give ever'body on the place their ages but +mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so I don't know what year +I was born.</p> + +<p>"Cy Magby—mama was under his control. He would carry us over to the +white folks' house every morning to see Miss Becky. When old master come +after us, he'd say, 'What you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'One-two-three.' +Then we'd go over to old Mis' and courtesy and say, 'Good morning, Miss +Becky; good morning, Mars Albert; good morning, Mars Wardly.' They was +just little old kids but we had to call 'em Mars.</p> + +<p>"What I know I'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no +tale.</p> + +<p>"I 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next +year, and that year we got free. My mother shouted, 'Now I ain't lyin' +'bout dat.' I sure 'member when they sot the people free. They was just +ready to blow the folks out to the field. I 'member old Mose would blow +the bugle and he could <u>blow</u> that bugle. If you wasn't in, you better +get in. Yes ma'am! The day freedom come, I know Mose was just ready to +blow the bugle when the Yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. +They knowed it was all over then. That ain't no joke.</p> + +<p>"I was a full grown woman then I come to Arkansas; I wasn't no baby.</p> + +<p>"I went to school one month in my life. That was in Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"My Joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. He went up +here to that Branch Normal. That boy had good learnin'. He could a +learnt me but he was too high tempered. If I missed a word he would be +so crabb'y. So one night I throwed the book across the room and said, +'You don't need try to learn me no more.'"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="DunwoodyWilliamL"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: William L. Dunwoody<br> + 2116 W. 24th Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: About 98</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Remembers Jeff Davis]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in the year 1840.</p> + +<p>"My father was killed in the Civil War when they taken South Carolina. +His name was Charles Dunwoody. My mother's name was Mary Dunwoody. My +father was a free man and my mother was a slave. When he courted and +married her he took the name of Dunwoody.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Houses</b></p> + +<p>"Ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up +and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were +working? They'd cut down a tree. Then they'd line it—fasten a piece of +twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and +mark the log. Then they'd score it with axes. Then the hewers would come +along and hew the log. Sometimes they could hew it so straight you +couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. Where they didn't +take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a +little shack for the men to sleep in.</p> + +<p>"Just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a +log.</p> + +<p>"To make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you +put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. When you get +them in, lay the planks to walk on. Then they put on the first log. You +notch it. To make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half +first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough +for shingles. Then you would saw the shingles off. They had plenty of +time.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Food</b></p> + +<p>"The slaves ate just what the master ate. They ate the same on my +master's place. All people didn't farm alike. Some just raised cotton +and corn. Some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. My +old master raised corn, potatoes—Irish and sweet—, goober peas +(peanuts), rye, and wheat, and I can't remember what else. That's in the +eating line. He had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, +ducks. That is all I can remember in the eating line. My old master's +slaves et anything he raised.</p> + +<p>"He would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. One of +them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. You know flour +seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. You get all that from the +wheat. Buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. The wagons came +back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. The old man had six +wheat barns to keep the wheat in.</p> + +<p>"All the slaves ate together. They had a cook special for them. This +cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. Two or three +women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel +now. All the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave +them. It was one thing one time and another another. The cook gave the +hands anything that was raised on the place. There was one woman in +there cooking that was called 'Mammy' and she seed to all the chilen.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Feeding the Children</b></p> + +<p>"After the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook +would blow a horn. That would be about nine o'clock or eight. All the +children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. Some of them +would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after +themselves. The cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for +breakfast. They ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks.</p> + +<p>"Between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and +the children would come in from play. There would be a large bowl and a +large spoon for each group of larger children. There would be enough +children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. One would +take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his +neighbor. His neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, +and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. Then they would begin +again, and so on until the bowl was empty. If they did not have enough +then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. Most of the time, bread +and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk.</p> + +<p>"There was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in +the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just +like they passed around the big spoon.</p> + +<p>"About two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. Time +the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. +The old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little +pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. They'd call it pepper pot. +Then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. +And it was good.</p> + +<p>"After the large children had et, they would go back to see after the +babies. If they were awake, the large children would put on their +clothes and clean them up. Then where there was a woman who had two or +three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd +give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. +If she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. If she +didn't then they would use anybody's children.</p> + +<p>"About eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not +been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. When a +woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to +work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work +in the evening. She would come in long before sundown. In between times, +the old mammy and the other children would look after them.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>War Memories</b></p> + +<p>"I saw Jeff Davis once. He was one-eyed. He had a glass eye. My old +mistiss had three girls. They got into the buggy and went to see Jeff +Davis when he come through Auburn, Alabama. We were living in Auburn +then. I drove them. Jeff Davis came through first, and then the +Confederate army, and then the Yankees. They didn't come on the same day +but some days apart.</p> + +<p>"The way I happened to see the Yanks was like this. I went to carry some +clothes to my young master. He was a doctor, and was out where they were +drilling the men. I laid down on the carpet in his tent and I heard +music playing 'In Dixie Land I'll take my stand and live and die in +Dixie.' I got up and come out and looked up ever which way but I +couldn't see nothing. I went back again and laid down again in the tent, +and I heard it again. I run out and looked all up and around again, and +I still couldn't see nothin'. That time I looked and saw my young master +talking to another officer—I can't remember his name. My young master +said, 'What you looking for?'</p> + +<p>"I said, 'I'm looking for them angels I hear playing. Don't you hear em +playing Dixie?' The other officer said, 'Celas, you ought to whip that +nigger.' I went back into the tent. My young master said, 'Whip him for +what?' And he said, 'For telling that lie.' My young master said to him +like this, 'He don't tell lies. He heard something somewhere.'</p> + +<p>"Then they got through talking and he come on in and I seed him and +beckoned to him. He came to me and I said, 'Lie down there.' He laid +down and I laid down with him, and he heard it. Then he said, 'Look out +there and tell him to come in.'</p> + +<p>"I called the other officer and he come in. The doctor (that was my +young master) said, 'Lie down there.' When he laid down by my young +master, he heard it too. Then the doctor said to him, 'You said William +was telling a damn lie.' He said, 'I beg your pardon, doctor.'</p> + +<p>"My young master got up and said, 'Where is my spy glasses? Le'me have a +look.' He went out and there was a mountain called the Blue Ridge +Mountain. He looked but he didn't see nothin'. I went out and looked +too. I said, 'Look down the line beside those two big trees,' and I +handed the glasses back to him. He looked and then he hollered, 'My God, +look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. He looked +too. Then the doctor said, 'What are we going to do?' He said, 'I am +goin' to put pickets way out.' He told me to get to my mule. I got. He +put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the +Yanks were coming. You know what 'ma' he was talking about? That was +his wife's mother. We all called her 'mother.'</p> + +<p>"I carried the note. When I got to Mrs. Dobbins' house, I yelled, 'The +Yanks are coming—Yankees, Yankees, Yankees!' She had two boys. They +runned out and said, 'What did you say?'</p> + +<p>"I said, 'Yankees, Yankees!'</p> + +<p>"They said, 'Hell, what could he see?'</p> + +<p>"I come on then and got against Miss Yancy's. She had a son, a man named +Henry Yancy. He had a sore leg. He asked me what I said. I told him that +the Yanks were coming. He called for Henry, a boy that stayed with him, +and had him saddle his horse. Then he got on it and rode up town. When +he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. Did he see +them. He said he didn't see them, that Celas Neal saw them and the +doctor's mother's boy brought the message. Then he taken off.</p> + +<p>"Jeff Davis went on. The Confederates went on. They all went on. Then +the Yanks passed through.</p> + +<p>"The first fight they had there, they cleaned up the Sixty-Ninth Alabama +troops. My young master had been helping drill them. He went on and +overtook the others.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"I am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. I don't know +whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. I can just go +by my mother. After freedom, we came from Auburn, Alabama to Opelika, +Alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough +for what she wanted to do. When she got fixed, she moved then to +Columbus, Georgia. She rented a place from Ned Burns, a policeman. When +that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. Sterling Love +rented a house from the same man. He had four children and they were +going to school and they took me too.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"I fixed up and went to school with them. I didn't get no learning at +all in slavery times.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but I know +this—when they quit fighting, I know the white children called we +little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and +said, 'You all is jus' as free as we is. You ain't got no master and no +mistiss,' and I don't know what they told them at the plantation.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"Right after the War, my mother worked—washed—for an old white man. He +took an interest in me and taught me. I did little things for him. When +he died, I took up the teaching which he had been doing.</p> + +<p>"At first I taught in Columbus, Georgia. By and by, a white man came +along looking for laborers for this part of the country. He said money +grew on bushes out here. He cleaned out the place. All the children and +all the grown folks followed him. Two of my boys came to me and told me +they were coming. We hoboed on freights and walked to Chattanooga, +Tennessee. We stayed there awhile. Then a white man came along getting +laborers. I never kept the year nor nothin'. He brought us to Lonoke +County, and I got work on The Bood Bar Plantation. Squirrels, wild +things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. So you see, the man told the +truth when he said money grew on bushes.</p> + +<p>"I taught and farmed all my life. Farming is the greatest occupation. +It supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. None of +them can live without it.</p> + +<p>"I can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile +and made me a cripple. I'd a been all right if so many of them young +doctors hadn't experimented on me. Then I can't see good out of one eye. +I can't do much now. I don't know why they won't give me a pension."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>William Dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would +be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. But there was one respect +in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed.</p> + +<p>At the close of the first day's interview when I arose to go he said to +me, "Now you got what you want?" I told him yes and that I would be back +for more the next day. Then he said, "Well, if you got what you want, +there's one thing I want you to do for me before you go."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Brother Dunwoody," I said, "I'll be glad to do anything you +want me to do. Just what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I want you to read me what you been writin' there."</p> + +<p>And I read it.</p> + +<p>A little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he +dictated to me. I furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel +for the old man's tobacco.</p> + +<p>The old man got a kick out of the dictation. After the first day, he +became very cautious. He would say, "Now don't write this," and he +wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. Instead, he would make +a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. He +is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in +appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit—mentally.</p> + +<p>He walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. He has +good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EdwardsLucius"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Lucius Edwards<br> +Age: 72</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I went to see Lucius Edwards, age seventy-two, twice. He has colitis. He +wouldn't tell me anything. He said he was born in Shreveport, Louisiana +and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised +him. The first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' +owners. The next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were +sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. He told the nurse he had +farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. He was up but wouldn't +tell us anything. He told me, "I don't think I ever voted." We decided +he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="ElliottJohn"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: John Elliott <br> +Age: 80<br> +Home: South Border (property of brother's estate)</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>As told by: John Elliott</b></p> + +<p>"No, ma'am. I ain't got no folks. They've all died out. My son, he may +be alive. When I last heard from him, he was in Pine Bluff. But I wrote +down lots of times and nobody can't find him. Brother said, that was +before he died, that I could stay on in the place as long as I lived. +His wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way.</p> + +<p>The comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. I'm expectin' to hear +if I get the pension, Tuesday. No ma'am, I ain't worked in three years. +Yes, ma'am, I was a slave. I was about 8 years old when they mustered +'em out the last time.</p> + +<p>My daddy went along to take care of his young master. He died, and my +daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home.</p> + +<p>You see it was this way. My mother was a run-away slave. She was from, +what's that big state off there—Virginia—yes, ma'am, that's it. There +was a pretty good flock of them. They came into North Carolina—Wayne +County was where John Elliott found them. They was in a pretty bad way. +They didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. +They didn't have nobody to own 'em. They didn't know what to do. My +mother was about 13.</p> + +<p>By some means or other they met up with a man named John Elliott. He was +a teacher. He struck a bargain with them. He pitched in and he bought +200 acres of land. He built a big house for Miss Polly and Bunk and +Margaret. Miss Polly was his sister. And he built cabins for the black +folks.</p> + +<p>And he says 'You stay here, and you take care of Miss Polly and the +children. Now mind, you raise lots to eat. You take care of the place +too. And if anybody bothers you you tell Miss Polly.' My Uncle Mose, he +was the oldest. He was a blacksmith. Jacob was the carpenter. 'Now look +here, Mose,' says Mister John, 'you raise plenty of hogs. Mind you give +all the folks plenty of meat. Then you take the rest to Miss Polly and +let her lock it in the smokehouse.' Miss Polly carried the key, but Mose +was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse.</p> + +<p>They didn't get money to any extreme. But whatever they wanted, Miss +Polly would go along with them and they would buy it. They went to +Goldsboro. That was the biggest town near us. The patrollers never +bothered any of us. Once or twice they tried it. But Miss Polly wrote to +Mr. John. He'd write it all down like it ought to be. Then they didn't +bother us any more.</p> + +<p>There was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. +They never had to go to the hiring ground. Mr. John built a church for +my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. And he +built a school for the children. Some other colored children tried to +come to the school too. They was welcome. But sometimes the white folks +would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried +to come.</p> + +<p>Our folks stayed on and on. Mr. John was off teaching school most of the +time. We stayed on and on. Pretty soon there was about 150-200, of us. +Some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. +Mr. John even put in a mill. A groundhog saw mill, it was. Some white +men put it in. But it was the colored folks who run it. They all stayed +right on on the farm. There wasn't any white folks about at all, except +Miss Polly and Bunk and Margaret.</p> + +<p>No, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. We all stayed +on. We worked the place. And when we got a chance, Mr. John let us hire +out and keep the money. And if the folks wouldn't pay us, Mr. John would +write the Federal and the Federal would see that we got our money for +what we had worked. Mr. John was a mighty good man to us.</p> + +<p>No ma'am. Nobody got discontented for a long time. Then some men come in +and messed them up. Told us that we could make more money other places. +And it was true too—if they had let us get the money. By that time Mr. +John, had died. Bunk had died too, Miss Margaret had grown up and +married. Her husband was managing the farm. He was good, but he wasn't +like Mr. John. So lots of us moved away.</p> + +<p>But about not making money. Take me. I raised 14-16 bales of cotton. The +man who owned the land, I worked on halvers, sold it on the Liverpool +market. But he wouldn't pay me but about 1/3 of what he collected on my +half. And I says to him, 'You gets full price for your half, why can't I +get full price for mine?' And he says, 'It's against the rules.' And I +says, 'It ain't fair! And he says, 'It's the rules.' So after about six +years I quit farming. You can't make no money that way. Yes—you make +it, but you can't get it.</p> + +<p>I went to town at Pine Bluff. There I got to mixing concrete. I made +pretty good at it, too. I stayed on for some years. Then I came to Hot +Springs. My brother was along with me. We both worked and after work we +built a house. It took us four years. But it was a good house. It has +six rooms in it. It makes a good home. My brother had the deed. But his +widow says I can stay on. The folks what lives in the rest of the house +are good to me.</p> + +<p>When I got to Hot Springs I worked mixing concrete. There was lots of +sidewalks being made along about that time. Then I scatter dirt all +around where the court house is now. Then I worked at both of the very +biggest hotels. I washed. I washed cream pitchers—the little ones with +corners that were hard to clean.</p> + +<p>No, I ain't worked in three years. It hard to try to get along. Some +states, they pays good pensions. I can't be here long—don't look like I +can be here long. Seems as if they could take care of me for the few +days I'm going to be on this earth. Seems like they could.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMillie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham<br> +Person interviewed: Millie Evans<br> +Age:</h3> +<br> + +<a name="img_ME"></a> + +<center><p> +<img src='images/mevans.jpg' width='230' height='393' alt='MillieEvans'> +</p></center> +<br> +<p>Yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? Well, Miss, I is +one of 'em. Was born in 1849 but I don' know jus' when. My birthday +comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till +bout a hour 'fore I was born. Was born in North Carolina and was a young +lady at the time of surrender.</p> + +<p>I don' 'member ol' master's name; all I 'member is that we call 'em ol' +master an ol' mistress. They had bout a hundred niggers and they was +rich. Master always tended the men and mistress tended to us.</p> + +<p>Ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git +up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. I can +hear hit now. Hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and I can see 'em +now stirrin in Carolina. I git so lonesome when I thinks bout times we +used to have. Twas better livin back yonder than now.</p> + +<p>I stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. My ma had to +work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was +hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. Sometime +she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +They had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. They would +fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' +trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. I +can jus' see myself drinkin' now. Hit was so good. There was so many +black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. Greens was +cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. An' +sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an +we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. When we et our regular meals the +table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on +when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. But we didn' +eat out'n plates. We et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. An' we +had plenty t'eat. Whooo-eee! Jus' plenty t'eat. Ol' master's folks +raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, +eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat.</p> + +<p>Ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy +chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. I can +hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies:</p> + +<pre> +"Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Way beneath the silver shining moon + Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Daddy's little Carolina coons + Now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." +</pre> + +<p>When I got big 'nough I nursed my mistress's baby. When de baby go to +sleep in de evenin' I woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de +cradle an go to sleep. I played a heap when I was little. We played +Susannah Gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an +jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. When I got big 'nough to cook, I +cooked den.</p> + +<p>The kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we +cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. We had swing pots an would swing +'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. We +call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it.</p> + +<p>We had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was Christian +fo'ks an they taught us to be Christianlike too. Ev'y Sunday mornin' ol' +master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an +pray an read de Bible to us all. Ol' master taught us not to be bad; he +taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales +an not to do anythin' that was bad. He said: Yo' will reap what yo' sow, +that you sow it single an' reap double. I learnt that when I was a +little chile an I ain't fo'got it yet. When I got grown I went de +Baptist way. God called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in +de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. On preachin' day ol' +master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him.</p> + +<p>We had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they +does in the bricks t'day.</p> + +<p>Down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. +We didn' have no floors in them cabins. Nice dirt floors was de style +then an we used sage brooms. Took a string an tied the sage together an +had a nice broom out'n that. We would gather broom sage fo' our winter +brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. We kep' our dirt +floors swep' as clean an' white. An our bed was big an tall an had +little beds to push under there. They was all little er nough to go +under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one +an make heaps of room. Our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks +an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good.</p> + +<p>When the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get +a turn of lider knots. I specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. That was +what we use' fo' light. When our fire went out we had no fire. Didn' +know nothin' bout no matches. To start a fire we would take a skillet +lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. Lay de cotton on th' skillet +lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would +come. Sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would +come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine.</p> + +<p>Up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for +lights. We made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. We had +moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to +light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould.</p> + +<p>We use to play at night by moonlight and I can recollec' singin wid the +fiddle. Oh, Lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an I can hear it ringin +now. Sometime we would dance in the moonlight too.</p> + +<p>Ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an +wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. An we knit all the +stockin's we wo'. They made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark +an leaves an things. Dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up +an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit +out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then +take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. Then +rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make.</p> + +<p>I'll tell yo' how to dye. A little beech bark dyes slate color set with +copperas. Hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; +bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. Pine straw dyes purple, +set color with chamber lye. To dye cloth brown we would take de cloth +an put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then +set the color with apple vinegar. An we dyed blue wid indigo an set the +color wid alum.</p> + +<p>We wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our +dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem +petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. They didn' +know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in +dey shirttails. An we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes.</p> + +<p>Master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an +took the hide an tanned it. The way they tanned it was to take red oak +bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. Firs' +he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of +leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with +water. After that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. Then +he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. Then the hide +was put to soak in with the red oak bark. It stayed in the water till +the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it +was a purty tan. It didn' have to soak long. Then he would get his +pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. We called 'em +brogans.</p> + +<p>They planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. When it got ripe they +gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week +then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of +'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother +week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. We let it set +three or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and +the settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. We cut ours in +little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too.</p> + +<p>We made vinegar out of apples. Took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an +put 'em in a sack an let drip. Didn' add no water an when it got through +drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had +some of the bes vinegar ever made.</p> + +<p>We had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. We had a block an +battlin' stick. We put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an +lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out +of 'em. We mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the +bes clo'es lines they was.</p> + +<p>Ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let +it dry an then put it in lasses. After the lasses dripped off then they +roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun 10 or 12 days. It +sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so +yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit.</p> + +<p>The way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet +bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then +we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too.</p> + +<p>When there was distressful news master would ring the bell. When the +niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder +what the trouble was. You'd see 'em stirrin' too. They would always ring +the bell at twelve 'clock. Sometime then they would think it was some +thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they +shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner.</p> + +<p>The reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' +have nothin' to do but save it. They made money an raised ev'ything they +used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. Didn' have no banks in them +days an master buried his money.</p> + +<p>The floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. We always kep' them +scoured good. We didn' know what it was to use soap. We jus' took oak +ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured +with a corn shuck mop. Then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two +times an let it dry. When it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. +To make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it +stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. The +way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. We would get down on +our knees an dry it so dry.</p> + +<p>I 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. +That was after I was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some +cookin. Some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so +we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to +cool an some of 'em stole it. This way old master found out who was doin +the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell.</p> + +<p>All ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a +neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. He would say to the man: +"Do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "Do yo' want this boy?" Then +he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would +hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump +dis broom and he would say: "Dat's yo' wife." Dey called marryin' like +that jumpin the broom.</p> + +<p>Now chile I can't 'member everything I done in them days but we didn' +have ter worry bout nothin. Ol' mistress was the one to worry. Twasn't +then like it is now, no twasn't. We had such a good time an ev'ybody +cried when the Yankees cried out: "Free." Tother niggers say dey had a +hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. If you had a +hard time we don it ourselves.</p> + +<p>Ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' +to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to Arkansas they would +have a chance to keep 'em. So they got on their way. We loaded up our +wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of +horse feed. We traveled bout 15 or 20 miles a day an would stop an camp +at night. We would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. The cows +was drove t'gether. Some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a +time. I mean, dey <u>had</u> a time. While we was on our way ol' master died +an three of the slaves died too. We buried the slaves there but we +camped while ol' master was carried back to North Carolina. When ol' +mistress come back we started on to Arkansas an reached here safe but +when we got here we foun' freedom here too. Ol' mistress begged us to +stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to +Carolina. There wasn' nobody lef' but Miss Nancy an she soon married an +lef' an I los' track of her an Mr. Tom.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMillie2"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Subjects: Customs related to Slavery Time [HW: Ex Slave Story]<br> +Subject: Food—Particular foods typical and characteristic of certain<br> + localities and certain people (negroes) <br> +[Nov 6 1936]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Millie Evans (Negroes pronounce it Irvins)<br> +Place of Residence: By Missouri Pacific Track near MOP Shops<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 87</h3> +<p>[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.]<br> +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of interview.]</p> +<br> + +<p>I wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. I am a slave chile. I am +one of them. I had a gran' time in slavery time. I wuz born wid de white +foks. I stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. I +nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. I churned and sot de table. When de baby +go to sleep in de evenin' I put hit in de cradle. An' I'd lay down by +the cradle and go to sleep. Every evenin' I'd go git <u>lida knots</u>. I +played a lots. I wuz born 1849. We played Susanna Gals, and we just +played jump rope. Jes' we gals did. We played calling' cows. Dey'd come +to us and we run from um. My [TR: 'I' corrected to 'My'] mistess wuz a +millionaire. I went to school a while. I can count only lit bit. One uz +de girl made fun uz me. She kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de +school house. Old log school house. Dey had two big rooms. Ah went to de +ole fokes' church. Young un too. We'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter +church wid ma and pa.</p> + +<p>Our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile I can see +hit now. We et on a loal (oil) table cloth. When dey called us to de +table dey would ring a bell. We didn' eat out uz plates. We et outn +gourds. We all et outn gourds. When I got big nuff ter cook I cooked +den. We had plenty to eat. We raised who-eee plenty meat. We raised our +sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. Who-eee chile we had plenty to +eat. Our mistess had ovah a hunert (100) niggers. Ole moster nevah did +whip none uv us niggers. He tended de men and mistess always tended to +us. I wudden (wasn't) quite grown when I wuz married. We cooked out in +de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). We cooked +greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook +greens. We cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). An +evah thing we had wuz good too. We made our churns in dem days. Made +dem outn cypress.</p> + +<p>Evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "Free." We cried too; we +hated hit so bad. We had such a good time. I is gittin so ole I can't +member so ever' thin' I done. Now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' I +done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. Ole mistress +wuz de one ter worry. Twasn't den like hit is now. No Twasn't. Tother +niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem Yankee cried "Free" but it waz +den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Negro food]</b></p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON PIE</u> Make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take +your persimmons and wash them. Let them be good and ripe. Get the seed +out of them. Don't cook them. Mash them and put cinnamon and spice in +and butter. Sugar to taste. Then roll your dough and put in custard pan, +and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little +sugar on top and bake.</p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON CORNBREAD</u> Sift meal and add your ingredients then your +persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them +and put in and stir well together. Grease pan well and pour in and bake. +Eat with fresh meat.</p> + +<p><u>PERSIMMON BEER</u> Gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover +well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about +three days. That makes a nice drink.</p> + +<p>Boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for +the same purpose.</p> + +<p><u>ASH CAKE</u> Two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot +water to make it stick together. Roll out in pones and wrap in a corn +shuck or collard leaves or paper. Lay on hot ashes and cover with hot +ashes and let cook about ten minutes.</p> + +<p><u>CORNBREAD JOHNNY CAKE</u> Two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a +teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. +Add teaspoon of lard. Pour in greased pan and bake.</p> + +<p>[HW: <u>Water</u> or <u>Milk</u> added?]</p> + +<p>(Old Mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four +o'clock in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +Dey had a long trough. Dey kep' hit so clean fur us. Ev'ry evening about +four dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut 100 of us +chilluns. We'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold +our johnny cake in our han's. I can jes see mahself drinkin now. It wus +so good.)</p> + +<p><u>BEEF DUMPLINS</u> Take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and +season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken +dumplins.</p> + +<p>Pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with +meat to season. Season to suit taste. This makes the best vegetable +dish.</p> + +<p><u>POTATO BISCUIT</u> Two cups flour. Two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch +of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well +mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough.</p> + +<p><u>IRISH POTATO PIE</u> Boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well +and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to +suit taste, bake in pie crust. Irish potatoes make a better pie than +sweet potatoes.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="EvansMose"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Mose Evans<br> +Home: 451 Walnut <br> +Aged: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>Radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. Ben[TR:?] +Winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in which moaning +trombones predominated.</p> + +<p>At one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "They's +all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. But in this block of +comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of Walnut evidently +there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. A mild prosperity seemed to +pervade everything. The Walnut section is in the "old part of town". +Some of the houses had evidently been built during the 90s; but they +were well kept up and painted.</p> + +<p>There was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for +water. One or two had been simply boarded over. One, a front yard affair +had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. The well had been +filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of +cement. Into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. Even in +January the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming.</p> + +<p>"<u>PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD</u>" admonished the electrified box sign +attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. Its border was of black +wood. The sign itself was of white frosted glass. Letters of the slogan +were in scarlet.</p> + +<p>Next doer was another religious reminder. It was a modest pasteboard +window card and announced Bible Study at 2: P.M. daily.</p> + +<p>Three blocks up Walnut the pavement ends. Beyond that sidewalks too, +listlessly peter out. A young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is +beginning to separate path from street. Houses begin to take on a more +dilapidated appearance. They lean uncertainly.</p> + +<p>A colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly +in the stranger's path and demands, "Is you the investigator? No? Well +who is you looking for? Oh, Mose, he's at his son's. Good thing I +stopped you. Cause you would have gone too far. He's at his son's. His +grandson just done had his tonsils out. He's over there."</p> + +<p>The interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's +house". No Mose wasn't there. He had just left. Maybe he'd gone home. +The de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored +youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. He wore +whip-cord jodphurs—protruding widely on either side of his plump +thighs—and knee high leather riding boots. Plump and smiling, he looked +for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and +blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun.</p> + +<p>The child eyed the interviewer's pencil. Since, she was carrying a +"spare" she offered it to him. He smiled and accepted with alacrity. +Later when the interviewer had found Mose and brought him back to the +house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil +and showed it with heartfelt pride.</p> + +<p>On up the street went the interviewer. Arrived at 451 she approached the +house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. +Nobody answered her knock. Two blocks back toward town she was stopped +by the same woman who had accosted her before. "Did you find him?" "No," +replied the interviewer. "Well he's somewhere on the street. He's +a'carrying a cane. You just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him +if he ain't Mose Evans." The advice was sound/ The first elderly man +coming north was carrying a cane. He was Mose Evans.</p> + +<p>"So you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "Mose, you +ought of asked her—when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't +looking for you." "Maybe," said Mose, "but then I didn't know, and I +don't want to butt into other folks business" "Huh," snorted the woman, +"spose I hadn't butted in. Where'd you be. You wouldn't have found her +and she wouldn't have found you!" Both Mose and the interviewer wore +forced to admit that she was right—but from Mose's disapproving +expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am. I ain't been here long. Just about two weeks. You want to +talk to me. Let's go on up to my son's house. We'll stop there. I's +tired. Seems like I get tired awful quick. Had to go down to the store +to get some coal." (He was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon +capacity. "Coal" was probably charcoal—much favored among wash women +for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) My wife +has to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood.</p> + +<p>Did I say I'd been here two weeks? I meant I has been here two years. +I's lived all over. Came here from Woodruff county. Yes, ma'am. I can't +work no more. My wife she gets 2-3 days washing a week. Then she gets +some bundles to bring home and do. She got sick, same as me and her +brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. They provided +for me too. They took good care of us. Then one of 'em got sick himself, +and the other he lost out in a money way. So she's a washing.</p> + +<p>Can't remember very much about the war. I was just a little thing when +it was a'going on. Was hardly any size at all. I does remember standing +in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. Men +dressed in blue they was. Wasn't afraid of them—didn't have sense +enough to be, I guess. Looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue +that way. And they was riding fine horses. Made a big noise they did. +They was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. I won't never forgot +it.</p> + +<p>Guess Confederates passed too. I was too small to know about them. They +was all soldiers to me. Folks told me they was on their way to +Vicksburg. I heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around +Vicksburg.</p> + +<p>I was born on a place which belonged to a man named Thad Shackleford. +Don't remember him very well. They took me away from his place when I +was little. But I never did hear my mother say anything against him. +Awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. I had lots of half sisters—5 +of 'em and 6 half brothers. There was just one full sister.</p> + +<p>Farm? Not until I was 14. Just stayed around the house and nursed the +children. Nursed lots of children. Took care of them and amused them. +Played with them. But for four, five, maybe six years I helped my mother +farm. Went out into the fields and worked.</p> + +<p>Then I went to myself. Yes, ma'am, I share cropped. Share cropped up +until about 1908. By that time I had got together a pretty good lot and +bought stock and tools. Then I rented—rented thirds and fourths. I +liked that way lots best. It's best if a body can get himself stocked +up.</p> + +<p>But let me tell you, ma'am. It's a lot easier to get behind than it is +to catch up. Falling behind is easy. Catching up ain't so simple. I sort +of lost my health and then I had to sell my stock. After that it was +share-crop again. I share cropped right up until 1935. That's when we +come here.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. Longest what I worked for any man was +12 years. He was J.W. Hill, the best man I ever did see. Once I rented +from a colored man, but he died. Was with him 6 years before another man +came into possession. Rented from Cockerill 4 years and Doss 2 years, +and Doyle 3 years. But now I's like an old shoe. I's worn out. Been a +good, faithful servant, but I's wore out."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FairleyRachel"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: S.S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Rachel Fairley<br> + 1600 Brown St.<br> + Little Rock, Ark.<br> +Age: 75 <br> +Occupation: General Housework<br> +[Jan 23 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Mother Stole to Get Food]</b></p> + +<p>"My mother said she had a hard time getting through. Had to steal half +the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. It was +a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. She would set it +aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to +pray.</p> + +<p>"My father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and +sold at Charlottesville, North Carolina. My mother was sold on the same +day. They sold her to a man named Paul Barringer, and refugeed her to a +place near Sardis, Mississippi, to the cotton country. Before he was +sold, my father belonged to the Greers in Charlottesville. I don't know +who owned my mother. I never did hear her say how old she was when she +was sold. They was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. One +would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest +bid would get the slave.</p> + +<p>"Mother did not go clear to Sardis but to a plantation ten miles from +Sardis. This was before freedom. We stayed there till two years after +freedom.</p> + +<p>"I remember when my mother moved. I had never seen a wagon before. I was +so uplifted, I had to walk a while and ride a while. We'd never seen a +wagon nor a train neither. McKeever was the place where she moved from +when she moved to Sardis.</p> + +<p>"The first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. +The next year she moved. That was the year she moved to Sardis itself. +There she made sharecrops. That was the third year after freedom. That +is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. I don't know what +their share was. But I guess it was half to them and half to him.</p> + +<p>"I do general housework. I been doing that for eleven years. I never +have any trouble. Whenever I want to I get off.</p> + +<p>"The slaves used to live in one room log huts. They cooked out in the +yard. I have seen them huts many a time. They had to cook out in the +yard in the summertime. If they didn't, they'd burn up.</p> + +<p>"My mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. He +didn't know he'd been seen. She didn't know where he went, but she seen +the direction he took. Her master was Paul Barringer. That was on +McKeever Creek near Sardis. It was near the end of the war. I never +heard my mother say what became of the money, but I guess he got it back +after everything was over.</p> + +<p>"They had to work all the time. When they went to church on Sunday, they +would tell them not to steal their master's things. How could they help +but steal when they didn't have nothin'? You didn't eat if you didn't +steal.</p> + +<p>"My mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves +Barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where +they come from. Lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at +their homes. They would go back if they were sold away. It took a long +time because they walked. When my mother and father were sold they had +to walk. It took them six weeks,—from Charlottesville, North Carolina +to Sardis, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"In Sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the +field. Master was mean and hard. Whipped them lots. Mother had to pick +cotton all day every day and Sunday. When I first seen my father to +remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for +special days. We called it a ham-beater. It had pieces that would make +it set on you like a basque. He wore a high beaver hat too. That was his +uniform. Whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it.</p> + +<p>"My mother tickled me. She said she went out one day and kill a +billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like +the rest of them. My mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because +they dried them and give them to them in slave time. You had to eat what +you could git then.</p> + +<p>"My mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother were not exactly sold to Mississippi. My father +was but my mother wasn't. When Paul Barringer lost all of his niggers, +what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of +them. I don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. My father +went alone, but all my mother's people were taken—four sisters, and +three brothers. They were all grown when I first seen them. I never seen +my mother's father at all.</p> + +<p>"There was a world of yellow people then. My mother said her sister had +two yellow children; they were her master's. I know of plenty of light +people who were living at that time.</p> + +<p>"My mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. They were +taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their +sister and brother (white). All the orphans were taken and given back to +the people what owned them when freedom came. My mother's sister was +refugeed back to Charlottesville, North Carolina before the end of the +war so that she wouldn't get free. After the war they were set free out +there and never came back. The children were with my mother and they had +to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. Then they +would be free. They wouldn't give them any schooling at all. They were +as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored +woman. That made the difference.</p> + +<p>"My mother said that the Ku Klux used to come through ridin' horses. I +don't remember her saying what they wore.</p> + +<p>"When the Yanks came through, they took everything. Made the niggers all +leave. My mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing +everything, even the babies.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Sardis, Mississippi, Panolun (?) County, April 10, 1863."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FakesPauline"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Pauline Fakes, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My mama come from Virginia. Her owner was Moses Crawford. He had a +bachelor son Prior Crawford. My papa's owner was Step Crawford. They was +in Arkansas during the Civil War I know because I was born close to +Cotton Plant. Papa's folks had lived in Tennessee but grandma and +grandpa was raised in Indian Nation; they called it Alabama afterwards. +She was a full blooded Creek and he was part Cherokee.</p> + +<p>"Mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. They took them to Texas. +She never seen one of them again. Mama had scrofula and her owners let a +woman take her North. She cured her. She wanted to keep her but they +didn't let her. They kept her till freedom.</p> + +<p>"The owners told them they was free. Stayed on a while. We never have +got very fur off from where I was born. I had thirteen children of my +own. Three living now.</p> + +<p>"I know times was mighty hard when I was a child. Biscuits was big +rarity as cake is now. I don't have much cake. Little cornbread and +meat, molasses and proud to get that. We didn't have much clothes but we +had plenty wood. We had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all +night. They saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. In the +coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and +pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle +of the room. It be snow and ice all over the ground. I got wood many a +day. Yes, I plowed many a day. I done all kinds of field work, cook and +wash and iron. Mid-wife is my talent. I been big and strong and work was +the least of my worries.</p> + +<p>"I can barely recollect seeing soldiers. They must have just got home +from the war. The shiny buttons is about all I can recollect.</p> + +<p>"I recollect the Ku Klux. They rode at night, some dressed in dark and +some white clothes. They come through our house one time. I got under +the cover. I was scared nearly to death.</p> + +<p>"Near Cotton Plant there was a log cabin (Methodist?) church—Negro +church two and one-half miles northeast direction. They had a Negro +preacher. When they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the +road. White people lived close to the road. The Ku Klux planned to break +it up. They went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up +and scattered their seats. One was killed. He may have acted 'smarty' or +saucy or he may have been the leader."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FannenMattie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mattie Fannen, Forrest City, Arkansas<br> +Age: 87</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My mother was named Silla Davis. She had four children. Her owners was +Jep Davis and Tempy Davis. She died and he married her niece, Sally +Davis. He had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his +second wife. Wasn't that a plenty children doe? Mama was a field hand. +She ploughed in slavery right along. My father was named Bob Lee (Lea?). +I never knowed much about him. His folks moved and took him off. Mother +was sold but not on a stand. She belong to Bill Davis. He was Jep's +brother. They said Bill Davis drunk up mother and all her children. He +sold Aunt Serina to a man in Elberton, Georgia and all he had left then +was grandma. He couldn't sell her. She was too old and Aunt Kizziah and +Aunt Martha lived with her. Mother was born in Georgia. When a child was +sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. It +was bad as deaths in the families. Jep Davis had forty or fifty niggers. +He had six boys. They all had to go to war. They was in the Confederate +army. Billy Davis was his daddy's young overseer. He had been raised up +with some of the nigger boys then come over them. They wouldn't mind his +orders. He tried to whoop them. They'd fight him back, choke him, throw +him on the ground. Then the old man would whoop them. We all wanted 'em +all to come home but Billy. Billy Davis got killed at war and never come +home. His sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him +on the place would kill him and wanted Jep to make him stay at the +house. Jep Davis was a good master and he was bad enough.</p> + +<p>"I seen mama whooped. They tied some of them to trees and some they +just whooped across their backs. It was 'cordin' to what they had done. +Some of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. The +other niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his +young niggers to his first set of children. His young wife cried till he +destroyed it. She said, 'You kept the old ones here and me and my +children won't have nothing.' I was willed to Miss Lizzie. They was +fixing the wagon for me to go in. I wanted to go to Jefferson on the +train. I told them so. I wanted to ride on the train. I never did get +off. His young wife started crying. Miss Lizzie lived with her brother. +They didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. They +kept a fuss up with her and all left. Then he divided the land.</p> + +<p>"I nursed for his second wife, Miss Sally. I was five years or little +older when I started nursing for his first wife. I nursed for a long +time. I don't like children yet on that account. I got so many whoopings +on their blame. I'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and +rocking 'em. I got tired of 'em all the time.</p> + +<p>"Me and Zack (white) was raised up together. He was one of the old set +of children. The baby in that set. I'd set on the log across a branch +and wait till Zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy +and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. One morning the sun was +so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. He never +brought me no biscuit. He had just got up. I was five years old. I said +I was glad. Emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off +the log and made my nose bleed. I cried and run home. My mother picked +me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. I told her +I was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. +They took me to the grave. She wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at +the side of the house off a piece. She was buried there first. There was +a big crowd. I kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me +back by my dress tail. She was buried in a metal coffin. Susan was the +oldest girl. She fainted. They took her to a carriage standing close. +The whole family was buried there. Took back from places they lived to +be buried in that graveyard. That was close to Nuna, Georgia.</p> + +<p>"When the old man Jep Davis married again, Miss Sally must have me sleep +in her room on a pallet so I could tend to the baby. The older girls +would pick me and I would tell them what they talked about after they +went to bed.</p> + +<p>"When the War come on, the boys and Jep Davis dug a hole in the +henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. They was there when the +War ended. They had some jewelry. I don't know where they kept it. They +sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the +Yankees. Not a one of us ever run off. Not a one ever went to the War or +the Yankees. Jep Davis had been to get his mail on his horse. A Yankee +come up at the gate walking and took it. He asked for the bridle and +saddle but the Yankee laughed in his face. We never seen our horse no +more. 'Babe' we called her. She was a pretty horse and so gentle we +could ride her bare back.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis was religious. They had preaching at his church, the Baptist +church at Nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher +preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. He'd go to +prayer meeting on Wednesday night and Thursday night he would come to +the boys' house and read the Bible to his own niggers. We would sing and +pray. He never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better +ketch 'em dancing. He'd whoop every one of 'em.</p> + +<p>"I learned same of the ABC's in playing ball with the white children. +We never had a book. I never went to school in my life. The boys not +married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. They got +cooked fer up at Jep Davises house till they got a house built for them +and give them a wife. Maybe they would see a woman on another plantation +and claim her. Then the master had to talk that over.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Jep Davis had been to town. He got a notice to free his niggers. He had +the farm bell rung. We all went out up to his house. He said, 'You are +free. Go. If you can't get along come back and do like you been.' They +left. Went hog wild. I was the last one to go. He said, 'Mattie, come +back if you find you can't make it.' I had a hard time for a fact. I had +a sister married in Atlanta. I went with them in 1866. I married to +better my living. We quit. I met a man come to Arkansas and sent back +for me when he got the money. I was in Atlanta thirty years. I was +married in Arkansas in 1895. Been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back +in Georgia. My husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. He left +me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (She has an +income of forty dollars per month—rent on houses.) "He was a hard +worker.</p> + +<p>"I'd go to see my white folks after freedom. I loved 'em all.</p> + +<p>"Jep Davis died out of the church. Him and Jack (Robertson, Robson, +Robinson?) was deacons together in the Baptist church and their farms +j'ined. Jack had two boys, John and Ed. Ed was killed by Hinton Right +over his sister Mollie. Then she married Hinton Right. The quarrel +started at La Grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church +yard at the Baptist church at Nuna, Georgia. Jack was mean. He had a lot +of Negroes and a big farm. He had two boys and four girls. Jennie died. +Florence and Lula, old maids; John and Ed and Mollie.</p> + +<p>"Jack caused Jep Davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after +freedom he didn't believe in slavery. He always thought they ought to be +free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living +easy. He was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. +When Jack was sick, Jep went to see him. He wouldn't let Jep come in to +see him and he died.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the field, washed and ironed. I never cooked but a little. +In Atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box I started +cooking for a woman. She was upstairs. Had a small baby a few days old. +I didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. It +cried and fretted till I got dinner done. I took it and got it to sleep. +She sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have +a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. She was a Yankee +woman. I left and I never cooked out no more.</p> + +<p>"I never had no dealings with the Ku Klux. I was in Atlanta then. I +heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in +the country where she was. Seem like they was mad 'cause they was free.</p> + +<p>"Times was hard after freedom. Times is hard now for some folks. Times +running away with the white and black races both. They stop thinking. +The thing what they call education done ruined this country. The folks +quit work and living on education. I learned to work. My husband was a +good shoemaker. We laid up all we could. I got seven houses renting +around here. I gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. It +do very well, I reckon."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FarmerRobert"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person Interviewed: Robert Farmer<br> + 1612 Battery Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 84</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Tale of a "Nigger Ruler"]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in North Carolina. I can't tell when. Our names are in the +Bible, and it was burnt up. My old master died and my young master was +to go to the war, the Civil War, in the next draft. I remember that they +said, 'If them others had shot right, I wouldn't have had to go.'</p> + +<p>"He talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting +at the Yankees. Of course it wasn't that way. But he said that they +didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. They all +came back, and none of them had shot right. One sick (he died after he +got home); the other two come back all right.</p> + +<p>"When my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a +little while. When he left he said about me, 'Don't let anybody whip him +while I am gone. If they do, I'll bury them when I come back.' He was a +good man and a good master.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Brutal Beating</b></p> + +<p>"There were some that weren't so good. One of his brothers was a real +bad man. They called him a nigger ruler. He used to go from place to +place and handle niggers. He carried his cowhide with him when he went. +My master said, 'A man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and +butcher him up.' He said, 'If they need a whipping, whip them, but don't +beat them so they can't work.' He never whipped his slaves. No man ever +hit me a lick but my father. No man. I ain't got no scar on me nowhere.</p> + +<p>"My young master was named Wiley Grave Sharpe. He drawed me when my old +master, Teed Sharpe, Sr., died. He's been dead a long time. Teed Sharpe, +Jr., Gibb Sharpe, and Sam Sharpe were brothers to Wiley Grave Sharpe. +Teed Sharpe, Jr. was the brutal one. He was the nigger ruler that did +the beating up and the killing of Negroes.</p> + +<p>"He beat my brother Peter once till Peter dropped dead. Wiley Graves who +drawed me said, 'My brother shouldn't have done that.' But my brother +didn't belong to Wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. That was +Teed, Jr.'s name. He got big money and was called a nigger ruler. Teed +had said he was going to make Peter do as much work as my sister did. +She was a young girl—but grown and stout and strong. In the olden time, +you could see women stout and strong like that. They don't grow that way +now. Peter couldn't keep up with her. He wasn't old enough nor strong +enough then. He would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my +sister had. Every time that Peter would fall behind my sister, Teed +would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and +stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and +down his back. He would split it open with every stroke and the blood +would run down. The last time he turned Peter loose, Peter went to my +sister and asked her for a rag. She thought he just wanted to wipe the +blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell +down dead across the potato ridges.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Family</b></p> + +<p>"Mary Farmer was my mother. William Farmer was my father. I never knowed +any of my father's 'lations except one sister. She would come to see us +sometimes.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was Isaac Farmer. My mother didn't 'long to him. +She 'longed to the Sharpes. Just what her master's name was I don't +recollect. She lived five miles from my father. He went to see her every +Thursday night. That was his regular night to go. He would go Saturday +night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they +would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. But they +never did whip my father because they never could catch him. He was one +of those who ran.</p> + +<p>"My father and mother had ten children. I don't know whether any of them +is living now or not besides myself.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"Freedom was a singsong every which way when I knowed anything. My +father's master, Isaac Farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. +He told the slaves all of them were free. He told his brother's slaves, +'After you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here +because I am able to take care of them.' He had a smokehouse full of +meat and other things. He told my father that after this crop is +gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (Isaac Farmer), because +Sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. +So my father brought us to Isaac Farmer's farm.</p> + +<p>"I never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. I +was large enough to take water in the field but I didn't have to do +that. There were so many of them there that one could do what he +pleased. The next year I worked because they had thinned out. The first +year come during the surrender. They cared for Sharpe's crop. The next +year they took Isaac Farmer's invitation and stayed with him. The third +year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and +brothers and sisters stayed with Isaac Farmer for awhile.</p> + +<p>"As time went on, I farmed with success myself.</p> + +<p>"I stayed in North Carolina a long time. I had a wife and children in +North Carolina. Later on, I went to Louisiana and stayed there one year +and made one crop. Then I came here with my wife and children. I don't +know how long I been here. We came up here when the high water was. That +was the biggest high water they had. I worked on the levee and farmed. +The first year we came here, we farmed. I lived out in the country then.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"While I was able to work, I stayed on the farm. I had forty acres. But +after my children left me and my wife died, I thought it would be better +to sell out and pay my debts. Pay your honest debts and everything will +be lovely. Now I manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and +I get help from the government. I can't read and I can't write.</p> + +<p>"I went down yonder to get help from the county. At last they taken me +on and I got groceries three times. After that I couldn't get nothin' no +more. They said my papers were made out incorrectly. I asked the worker +to make it out correctly because I couldn't read and write. She said she +wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. She made it out for me. +A short time later, the postman brought me a letter. I handed it to a +lady to read for me, and she said, 'This is your old age check.' You +don't know how much help that thing's been to me.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Ku Klux</b></p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"The young people pass by me and I don't know nothing about 'em. I know +they are quite indifferent from what I was. When I come old enough to +want a wife, I knowed what sort of wife I wanted. God blessed me and I +happened to run up on the kind of woman I wanted. I made an engagement +with her, and I didn't have a dollar. I was engaged to marry for three +years before I married. I knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the +way she was raised and I didn't have nothing. It looked curious for me +to want that woman. I wanted her, and I had sense. I had sense enough to +know how I must carry myself to get her. Now it looks like a young man +wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one.</p> + +<p>"My youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. He took up with what +I call a whiskey head. He's been swapping horses ever since. That is the +baby boy of mine. You know good and well a man couldn't get along that +way.</p> + +<p>"These young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then +that one over there for a few days. It shows like he wants them all.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Voting</b></p> + +<p>"I have voted. I don't now. Since I lost out, I ain't voted.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Slave Houses</b></p> + +<p>"You might say slave houses was nothing. Log houses, made out of logs +and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. Chimneys made with +sticks and mud. Two rooms in our house. No windows, just cracks. All +furniture was homemade. Take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put +a cross piece in it and you had a bed.</p> + +<p>"They made stools for chairs and made tables too. Food was kept in the +smokehouse. For rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, +and so much meal. No sugar and no coffee. They used to make tea out of +sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Marriages</b></p> + +<p>"I been married twice. The first time was out in North Carolina. The +last time was in this city. I didn't stay with that last woman but four +days. It took me just that long to find out who and who. She didn't want +me; she wanted my money, and she thought I had more of it than I did. +She got all I had though. I had just fifty dollars and she got that. I +am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as I can get divorced.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Memories of Work on Plantation</b></p> + +<p>"My mother used to milk and I used to rope the calves and hold them so +that they couldn't get to the cow. I had to keep the horses in the +canebrake so they could eat. That was to keep the soldiers from getting +a fine black horse the master had.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Soldiers</b></p> + +<p>"But they got him just the same. The Yankees used to come in blue +uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. They would take +your horse and ask nothing. They would go into the smokehouse and take +out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and +brandy that was there.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Dances After Freedom</b></p> + +<p>"Two sisters stayed in North Carolina in a two-room house in Wilson +County. There was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the +evening to get whiskey. There was one man who had a wife with us, but +all the rest were single. We cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and +quadrilled. We danced all night until we burned up all the wood. Then we +went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he +could carry. We chopped this up and piled it in the room. Then we went +on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there.</p> + +<p>"When we got through dancing, I looked at my feet and the bottom of them +was plumb naked. I had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms +clean out of them.</p> +<br> + +<p>"I belong to the Primitive Baptist Church. I stay with Dr. Cope and +clean up the back yard for my rent."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FergussonMrsLou"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Mrs. Lou Fergusson<br> +Aged: 91<br> +Home: With daughter Mrs. Peach Sinclair, Wade Street.<br> +[Jan 29 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>Zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly +settled territory went the interviewer. The terrain was rolling—to put +it mildly. During most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of +winter-packed earth. Sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule.</p> + +<p>Wade Street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the Boulevard". +Holding to a general direction she kept her course. "The Boulevard", +known on the tax books of Hot Springs as Boulevard Addition, sprawls +over a wide area. Houses vary in size and construction with startling +frequency. Few of them are pretentious. Many appear well planned, are in +excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, +sometimes patterned with flower beds. Occasionally a building leans with +age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids—long since +abandoned by owners to wind and weather.</p> + +<p>Up one hill, down another went the interviewer. Given a proper steer +here and there by colored men and women—even children along the way, +she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to +Peach Sinclair.</p> + +<p>Two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild January +sunlight on a back porch. "I beg your pardon," said the interviewer, +approaching the step, "is this the home of Peach Sinclair, and will I +find Mrs. Lou Fergusson here?"</p> + +<p>"It sure is," the voice was cheerful. "My mother is in the house. Come +around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back +steps, even if she had wanted to—the back yard was fenced from the +front) "she's in the parlor."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably +plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. She seemed an Aunt +Jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "Mamma, this young +lady's come to see you. She wants to talk to you and ask you some +questions, about when—about before the war." (The situation is always +delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. Somehow both interviewer +and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. The skillful +interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as +any variant of the word negro. The informant is usually less squeamish. +"Black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "Master's people", "us" +are all encountered frequently.)</p> + +<p>Five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. Both +Mrs. Sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and +made comments frequently. "Law, child, we bought this place from your +father. He was a mighty fine man." Mrs. Sinclair was delighted to find +her guest to be "Jack Hudgins daughter." And later in the chat, "You +done lost everything? Even your home—that's going? Too bad. But then I +guess at that you're better off than we are. I've been trying for nearly +a year to get my mother on the old age pension. They say she has passed. +That was way along last March. Here it is January and she hasn't got a +penny. No, I know you can't help. Yes, I see what you're doing. But if +ever you does get on the pensions work—I'm going to 'hant'<a name='FNanchor_A_1'></a><a href='#Footnote_A_1'><sup>[A]</sup></a> you." (a +wide grin) <a name='Footnote_A_1'></a><a href='#FNanchor_A_1'>[A]</a><div class='note'><p> "Hant" was an intentional barbarism.</p></div> + +<p>The old woman rocked and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I'm her oldest, alive. She +had 17 and 15 of them lived to grow up. But I'm about as old as she is, +looks like. She never did have glasses—and today she can thread the +finest needle. She can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. +Makes fine stitches too. Seems like they made them stronger in her day." +A nod of delighted approval from Mrs. Fergusson.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Hempstead County, right here in this state. The town we +were nearest was Columbus. I lived around there all of my life until I +come here to be with my daughter. That was 15 years ago. Yes, I was born +on a farm. From what I know, I'm over ninety. I was around 20 when the +war ceaseted.</p> + +<p>The man what owned us was named Ed Johnson. Yes, ma'am he had lots of +folks. Was he good to us? Well, he was and he wasn't. He was good +himself, wouldn't never have whipped us—but he had a mean wife. She'd +dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least +little thing. Then they put overseers over us. They was most generally +mean. They'd run us out way fore day—even in the sleet—run us out to +the field.</p> + +<p>Was the life hard—well it was and it wasn't. No, ma'am, I didn't get +much learning. Some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. +Then there was some which would let their children teach the colored +children what they learned at school. We never learned very much.</p> + +<p>You see, Master didn't live on the place. He lived bout as far as from +here to town" (fully two miles) "The overseer looked after us mostly. +No, ma'am I don't remember much about the war. You see, they was afraid +that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to +Texas. We settled down and made a crop there. How'd we get the land? +Master rented it.</p> + +<p>We made a crop down there and later we come back. No, ma'am we didn't +stay with Mr. Johnson more than a month after there was peace. We come +on in to Washington. No, ma'am, I never heard tell that Washington had +been the Capitol of Arkansas for a while during the War. No, I never did +hear that. Guess it was when we was in Texas. Then we folks didn't hear +so much anyway.</p> + +<p>We stayed in Washington most a year. Was I with my Mother? No, ma'am I +was married—married before the war was thru. Married—does you know how +we folks married in them days? Well the man asked your mother. Then you +both asked your master. He built you a house. You moved in and there you +was. You was married. I did some washing and cooking when I was in +Washington. Then we moved onto a farm. I sort of liked Washington, but I +was born on a farm and I sort of liked farm life.</p> + +<p>We didn't move around very much—just two or three places. We raised +cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of +things. No ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way +off like they does in Hempstead county now. Cotton was our cash crop. We +rented thirds and fourths. Didn't move but three times. One place I +stayed 15 years.</p> + +<p>I been a widow 40 years. Yes, ma'am. I farmed myself, and my children +helped me. Me and the owners got along well. Made good crops, me and +the children. I managed to take good care of them. Made out to raise 15 +out of the 17 to be grown. There's only 5 of them alive now.</p> + +<p>Hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. Well now, I don't know. I made +out. I raised my children and raised them healthy. I got along well with +the farm owner. You might know when I was let to stay on one place for +15 years. You know I must have treated the land right and worked it +fair.</p> + +<p>Yes ma'am I remembers lots. Seems like women folks remembers better than +men. I've got a good daughter. I'm still strong and can get about good. +Guess the Lord has been good to me."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FerrellJennie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Jennie Ferrell, West Memphis, Arkansas<br> +Age: 65</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Yellowbush County, Mississippi close to Grenada. +Grandmother come from North Carolina. They wouldn't sell grandpa. He was +owned by Laston. They never met again. She brought two boys with her. +She was a Pernell. Her master brought her away and would have brought +her husband but they wouldn't sell. She said durin' her forty years in +slavery she never got a whoopin'. She was a field hand. After she come +to Mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. She was a +midwife. She doctored the rich white and colored. She rode horseback, +she said, far and near. In Grenada after freedom she walked. They called +her free her master was so good to her. I don't know how she learned to +be a midwife. Her master was Henry Pernell. He owned a small place +twelve miles from Grenada and another place in the Mississippi bottoms. +My folks become renters after freedom. I don't know if they rented from +him but I guess they did.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Klux never bothered them that I ever heard them mention."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FikesFrank"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Person interviewed: Frank Fikes, El Dorado, Arkansas<br> +Age: About 88</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My name is Frank Fikes. I live between El Dorado and Strong and I am 79 +years old if I make no mistake. I know my mama told me years ago that I +was born in watermelon time. She said she ate the first watermelon that +got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. She thought she +had the colic. Said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the +pain and after eating the root for the pain behold I was born. So if I +live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time I will be eighty this +year. I was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen.</p> + +<p>"My work was very easy when I was a little slave. Something got wrong +with my foot when I first started to walking and I was crippled. I could +not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of +the time. Sometimes, as fast as I got one baby to sleep I would have to +nurse another one to sleep. We belonged to Mars Colonel Williams and he +had I guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had +a baby, so I had a big job after all. The rest of the children carried +water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old +mar's house.</p> + +<p>"I had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of +rocks and iron. Old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. +The slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. They ate out of +wooden bowls and wooden spoons. They ate greens and peas and bread. And +old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. She fed us on what we +called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. We +children did not use spoons. We picked the bread out with our fingers +and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. We +all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better +then.</p> + +<p>"I never went to church until after surrender. Neither did we go to +school but the white children taught me to read and count.</p> + +<p>"I recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers +passing our house going to Vicksburg to fight. The reason I recollect it +so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down +the front. They passed a whole day and we watched them all day.</p> + +<p>"Old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and +we were freed. We did not have a hard time until after we were freed. +They got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a +crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our +backs. We wandered around and around for a long time. Then they hired us +to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and I've been having +a hard time ever since.</p> + +<p>"Before the War we lived in log cabins. There was a row of log cabins a +quarter of a mile long. No windows and no floor. We had grass to sit on. +Our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay +beds. My mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the +beds with. Our cover was made from our old worn out clothes.</p> + +<p>"On Sunday evenings we played. We put on clean clothes once a week. In +summer we bathed in the branch. We did not bathe at all in winter. I +went in my shirt tail until I was eleven or twelve years old. Back in +slavery time boys did not wear britches. They wore shirts and our hair +was long. The slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was +ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FilerJE"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: J.E. Filer, Marianna, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Washington, Georgia. I come here in 1866. There was three +stores in Marianna. My parents name Betsy and Bob Filer. My mother +belong to Collins in Georgia. She come to this state with Colonel Woods. +She worked in the field in Georgia and here too. Mama said they always +had some work on hand. Work never played out. When it was cold and +raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. The men would be under a +shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the +tools so they could work.</p> + +<p>"Since we come to this state I've seen them make oak boards and pile +them up in pens to dry out straight. I don't recollect that in Georgia. +I was so little when we come here. I can recollect that but not much +else. My brother was older. He might tell all about it."</p> +<br> + +<p>[TR: Next section crossed out]<br> +<b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>I didn't get to see his brother. I went twice more but he was at work on +a farm somewhere.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FingerOrleana"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Subject: Ex-slavery<br> +[May 11 1938]<br> +<br> +Person Interviewed: Orleans Finger<br> + Negro (Apparently octoroon or quadroon)<br> +Address: 2804 West Fifteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas.<br> +Occupation: Formerly field hand and housekeeper <br> +Age: 79</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</br> +[TR: In text of interview, informant's name is given as <b>Orleana</b>.]</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Birth, Family, and Master</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in Mississippi in Tippa County not far from the edge of +Tennessee. I wasn't raised in Arkansas, but all my children was raised +here. I really don't know just where in Tippa county I was born. My +mother's name was Ann Toler. Toler was my step father. My real father, I +don't know. My mother never told me nothin' bout him and I don't know +that; I can't tell what I don't know.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather on my mother's side was Captain Ellis. That is the one +come after me when I was small to carry me back to my folks. I didn't +know him, and I said 'I don't want to go 'way with them strange +Niggers'. He's dead now. They're all dead long ago. I have got children +over fifty years old myself. I am the mother of nine children—three of +them living. One of the living ones is Arthur Finger. He lives in St. +Louis. I expected to hear from him today, but didn't. Cornelius Finger. +(He is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in Palestine, Arkansas, near +Forrest City. Arthur is my baby boy. Elmira was my baby girl. She's the +one you met. She's married and has children of her own.</p> + +<p>"Captain Ellis' wife was named Minerva. She was my mother's mother. +She's been dead years. I got children older than she was when she died. +She died in Mississippi. I got a cousin named Molly Spight. She's dead. +My mother's sister was named Emmaline; she is dead now too.</p> + +<p>"My mother was colored. I don't know nothin' about my father, and my +mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him.</p> + +<p>"My step father and mother were both field hands. They worked in the +field.</p> + +<p>"I don't know just when I was born, but I am just sure that it was +before the war. I remember hearing people talk about things in the war.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Whitely, I think, because she was named +Whitley before she married.</p> + +<p>"I have been married three times. The first man I married was 'Lijah +Gibbs. The second time I married, I married Joe Finger. The third time I +married Will Reese. He warn't no husband at all. They're all dead. Folks +always called me Finger after my second husband died, because I didn't +live with my third husband long.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>House</b></p> + +<p>"They had log houses. You would never see no brick chimney nor nothing +of that kind. The logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat—no roof +like now. They might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. +Wouldn't be any steep like they is now. In them times they wouldn't have +many rooms. Sometimes they would have two. They wouldn't have so many +windows. Just old dirt chimneys. They'd take and dig a hole and stick +sticks up in it. Then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and +pull grass and mix it in the dirt. They'd build a frame on the sticks +and then put the mud on. The chimney couldn't catch fire till the house +got old and the mud would fall off. When it got old and the mud got to +fallin off, then they would be a fire. I've seen that since I been in +Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to +take the place of bricks. You could get rocks in the forest.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Furniture</b></p> + +<p>"Used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. The cords would +act in place of springs. When you move you would have a heap of trouble +because all that would have to be undone and done up again. You have to +take the cords out and them put it together again. The cords would be +run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs.</p> + +<p>"They used to have spinning wheels and looms. They made clothes and they +made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the +cloth our of. They'd card and spin the thread. There's lots of other +things I can't remember.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>War Memories</b></p> + +<p>"The Yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. They'd +kill chickens and geese and things. The old people used to take their +horses out and tie them out in the woods—hiding them out to keep the +Yankees from getting them. The Yankees would ride up, take a good horse +and leave the old worn-out one.</p> + +<p>"There never was any fighting round where I lived. None of my folks was +soldiers in the war.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Right After the War</b></p> + +<p>"I don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. They were +field hands and I guess they did that. My mother worked in the field +that's all I know.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Life Since the War</b></p> + +<p>"I have been in Arkansas a long time. I have been here ever since I left +Mississippi. My first marriage was in Mississippi. The second and last +ones was in Arkansas—Forrest City. My second husband had been dead +since 1921. I don't know that I count Reese. We married in June and +separated in September. He's dead now, and I don't hold nothin' against +him.</p> + +<p>"I am not able to work now. I do a little 'round the house and dig a +little in the garden. I haven't worked in the field since way before +1921. I don't get no help at all from the Welfare. My daughter does what +she can for me. I always have lived before I ever heard about the old +age pension and I suppose God will take care of me yet somehow.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Cured by Prayer</b></p> + +<p>"I'm puny and no'count. Aint able to do much. But I was crippled. I had +a hurting in my leg and I couldn't walk without a stick. Finally, one +day I went to go out and pick some turnips. I was visiting my son in +Palestine. My leg hurt so bad that I talked to the Lord about it. And it +seemed to me, he said 'Put down your stick.' I put it down and I aint +used it since. I put it down right thar and I aint used it since. God is +a momentary God. God knowed what I wanted and he said, 'Put down that +sick,' and I aint been crippled since. It done me so much good. Looks +like to me when I get to talking about the Lord, aint nobody a stranger +to me.</p> + +<p>"I know I been converted but that made me stronger. My son is a siner. +He knowed about how I was crippled. He said you ought use your stick. He +didn't know what to think about it. Young folks don't believe because +they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can +happen.</p> +<br> + +<p>"I done told you all I know. I don't want to tell you anything I don't +know. If you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't."</p> + +<p>Everything which Orleana Finger states has the earmarks of being true. +There are a great many things which she does not state which I believe +that she could state if she wished. She evidently has a long list of +things which she things should be unmentioned. She has two magic phrases +with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to +discuss:</p> + +<p>"I don't remember that."</p> + +<p>"I better quit talking now before I start lying."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FinleyMolly"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Molly Finley, Honey Creek<br> + 3-1/2 miles from Mesa, Arkansas<br> +Age: Born 1865</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My master was Captain Baker Jones and his pa was John Jones. Miss +Mariah was Baker Jones' wife. I believe the old man's wife was dead.</p> + +<p>"My parents' name was Henry ("Clay") Harris and Harriett Harris. They +had nine children. We lived close to the Post (Arkansas Post). Our +nearest trading post was Pine Bluff. And the old man made trips to +Memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. We lived around Hanniberry +Creek. It was a pretty lake of water. Some folks called it Hanniberry +Lake. We fished and waded and washed. We got our water out of two +springs further up. I used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each +hand. You never see that no more. Mama was a nurse and house woman and +field woman if she was needed. I made fires around the pots and 'tended +to mama's children.</p> + +<p>"We lived on the Jones place years after freedom. I was born after +freedom. We finally left. I cried and cried to let's go back. Only place +ever seem like home to me yet. We went to the Cummings farm. They worked +free labor then. Then we went to the hills. Then we seen hard times. We +knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills.</p> + +<p>"I was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. I went to +school on the river. My teacher was a white man named Mr. Van Sang.</p> + +<p>"Mama belong to the Garretts in Mississippi. She was sold when she was +about four years old she tole me. There had been a death and old +mistress bought her in. Master Garrett died. Then she give her to her +daughter. She was her young mistress then. Old mistress didn't want her +to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the +children. Mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. Her father, +she said, was light and part Enjun (Indian).</p> + +<p>"John Prior owned papa in Kentucky. He sold him, brother and his mother +to a nigger trader's gang. Captain Jones bought all three in Tennessee. +He come brought them on to Arkansas. He was a field hand. He said they +worked from daylight till after dark.</p> + +<p>"They took their slaves to close to Houston, Texas to save them. Captain +Jones said he didn't want the Yankees to scatter them and make soldiers +of them. He brought them back on his place like he expected to do. Mama +said they was out there three years. She had a baby three months old and +the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. I was her next +baby after that. Freedom done been declared. Mama said they went in +wagons and camped along the roadside at night.</p> + +<p>"Before they left, the Yankees come. Old Master Jones treated them so +nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some +for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. Then +he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Mama and papa said the Jones treated them pretty well. They wouldn't +allow the overseers to beat up his slaves.</p> + +<p>"The two Jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. They +said it weighed two hundred pounds. Four men took it out there in +barrels and eight men lowered it. They took it to the family graveyard +down past the orchard. They leveled it up like it was a grave. Yankees +didn't get Jones money! Then he sent the slaves to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones had a home in Tennessee and one in Arkansas. Papa said +he cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and +wild cats. They worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot +varmints. He said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them +that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on Sundays +three times. The women left the fields to go fix supper and see after +their cabins and children. They hauled their water in barrels and put it +under the trees. They cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a +big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at Christmas. They had +gourd banjos. Mama said they had good times.</p> + +<p>"They had preaching one Sunday for white folks and one Sunday for black +folks. They used the same preacher there but some colored preachers +would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the +quarters. They said the white preacher would say, 'You may get to the +kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you +tell no stories, etc.'</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones was a good doctor. If a doctor was had you know somebody +was right low. They seldom had a doctor. Mama said her coat tail froze +and her working. But they wore warm clothes next to their bodies.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jones said, 'You all can go back on my place that want to go +back and stay. You will have to learn to look after your own selves now +but I will advise you and help you best I can. You will have to work +hard as us have done b'fore. But I will pay you.' My folks was ready to +'board the wagons back to Jones' farm then. That is the way mama tole me +it was at freedom! It was a long time I kept wondering what is freedom? +I took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and I caught +on. I found out times had changed just b'fore I got into this world.</p> + +<p>"Some things seem all right and some don't. Times seem good now but +wait till dis winter. Folks will go cold and hungry again. Some folks +good and some worse than in times b'fore."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Interviewer's Comment</b></p> + +<p>Gets a pension check.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FinneyFanny"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Fanny Finney, Brinkley, Arkansas<br> +Age: 74 plus</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. Born during slavery. I +b'long to Master John Rook. He died during the Civil War. Miss Patsy +Rook raised me. I put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water +and kindling wood.</p> + +<p>"My parents named Catherine and Humphrey Rook. They had three children.</p> + +<p>"When Master John Rook died they divided us. They give me to Rodie +Briggs. John and Lizzie was Master John's other two children. He had +three children too same as ma. My young master was a ball player. I'd +hear them talk. Ma was a good house girl. They thought we'd all be like +'er. When I was three years old, I was the baby. They took ma and pa off +keep the Yankees from stealing then. Miss Patsy took keer me. When ma +and pa come home I didn't know them a tall. They say when they come back +they went to Louziana, then 'bout close to Monticello in dis state, then +last year they run 'em to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Pa was jus' a farmer. Gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my +sisters. I'd start to see 'em. Old gander run me. Sometimes the geese +get me down and flog me wid their wings. One day I climbed up and peeped +through a crack. I seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. It looked so +easy. They was singing.</p> + +<p>"Betsy done the milking. I'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. +She ax me which I wanted, milk or butter. I'd tell her. She put a +little sugar on my buttered bread. It was so good I thought Sometimes +she'd fill my cup up with fresh churned milk.</p> + +<p>"I et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. I slep' in +granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. Granny's name was +'Aunt' Hannah. She was real old and the boss cook on our place. She +learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. Kept one or two helping +her all the time. It was her part to make them wash their faces every +morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the +time er cooking. Granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. +Betty would make them help her milk. They had to wash the cows udder +before they ever milked a drop. Miss Patsy learnt her black folks to be +clean. Every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born.</p> + +<p>"I was so little I couldn't think they got whoopings. I never heard of a +woman on the place being whooped. They all had their work to do. Grandma +cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm.</p> + +<p>"Old man Rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. He bought whiskey by +the barrel. On cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. I +heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. His hands got to the +field whooping and singing. The overseers handed it out to them. The +women didn't get none as I knowed of.</p> + +<p>"The paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but Master John Rook never let them +whoop his colored folks.</p> + +<p>"We lived six miles from Holly Springs on the big road to Memphis. Seem +like every regiment of Yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. +They made a rake-off every time. They cleaned us out of something to +eat. They took the watches and silverware. The Yankees rode up on our +porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. Miss Patsy done +run an' hid. I stood about. I had no sense. They done a lot every time +they come. I watched see what all they would do. They burnt a lot of +houses.</p> + +<p>"A little white boy said, 'I tell you something if you give me a +watermelon.' The black man give the boy a big watermelon. He had a big +patch. The boy said, 'My papa coming take all your money away from you +some night.' He fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a Ku Klux. He +had some money but they didn't find it. One of the Ku Kluxes run off and +left his spurs. The colored folks killed some and they run off and leave +their horses. They come around and say they could drink three hundred +fifteen buckets of water. They throw turpentine balls in the houses to +make a light. They took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light +it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. +A lot of black folks was killed and whooped. Their money was took from +them.</p> + +<p>"The third year after the War ma and pa come and got me. They made a +crop for a third. That was our first year off of Rook's place. I love +them Rook's girls so good right now. Wish I could see them or knowd +where to write. I had to learn my folks. I played with my sisters all my +life but I never had lived with them. When pa come for me they had my +basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. They +sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. One of them was mine. +Miss Patsy said, 'Let Fannie come back to see my girls.' I went back and +visited. Granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. I had a +place with granny at her house. We went back often and we helped them +after freedom. They was good white folks as ever breathed. There was +good folks and bad folks then and still is.</p> + +<p>"Times is hard. I was raised in the field. I made seven crops here—near +Brinkley—with my son. I had two girls. One teaches in Brinkley, fourth +or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in New York. My son fell off +a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. He was in +Detroit. Times is hard now. The young folks is going at too fast a gait. +They are faster than the old generation. No time to sit and talk. On the +go all the time. Hurrying and worrying through time. Hard to make a +living."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FisherGateEye"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel<br> +Information given by: "Gate-eye" Fisher<br> +Residence: Washington County, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when War come" said +"Gate-eye" Fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old +tin, on what is known as the old Bullington farm near Lincoln. His one +room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new +renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "Gate-eye" +just belongs. He bothers no one. No floors, no windows just a door, a +bed, stove and a table. Yes and a lantern and a chair.</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, my mother, Caroline, belonged to the Mister Dave Moore family. +His wife, Miss Pleanie, was a Reagan. Yes mam, they was good folks. When +the War come, my pa, Harrison Fisher and my ma stayed on the place, +Mister Moore had lots of land and stock—and he and his folks went to +Texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine +stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted +them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. Pa was boss +over all the slaves. I guess mos' all my white folks is dead. Mos' of +them all buried down yan way to Ft. Smith. One of Mister Moore's +daughters, Miss Mary, married Dr. Davenport and Miss Sinth (Cynthia) +went to live with her."</p> + +<p>(The Moores came from Kentucky and Tennessee and settled at Cane Hill, +Washington County, about 1829. The Reagans came about the same time. The +first schools in the county were at Cane Hill).</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I guess all the colored folks that belonged to Mister Moore, +but me, is dead. I guess. +My mother, Caroline, stayed in the house nearly all the time and took +care of Missy's children, and when they come home from school she'd hear +them learn their ABC's. That's how come I can read and write. My ma +taught me, out of an old Blue Back Speller. Yes mam, I learned to read +and can't write much, jes my own name. Yes mam, I kinda believe in +signs that's how come I wear this leather strap 'round my wrist it keeps +me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. Yes mam, it helps. I used to +believe in signs a lot and I used to believe in wishes. I used to wish a +lot of bad wishes on folks till one day I read a piece from New York and +it said the bad wishes that you made would come back to you wosser than +you wished, so I don't wish no more. I got scared and don't wish nothin' +to no body."</p> + +<p>"After the War Ole Mister and Ole Missey called in my ma and pa and +asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. +'Bout ten of us stayed. Then a while after Mister Moore asked my pa if +he wanted to go up on the Tilley place—600 acres and farm it for what +he could make. We, my pa and my ma and my sister Mandy, stayed there a +long time. Then Mister Moore sold off a little here and a little there +and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, Peter +Doss, where my ma died. Then I went down to Mister Oscar Moore's +place—he was my Missey' boy."</p> + +<p>"Yes mam, I did have a wife. I had a mos' worrysome time. It is a +worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. +No'm, I don't ever want her to come back."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I do my own cooking, and I've put up some fruit. I have a little +mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. +I get a little pension too."</p> + +<p>"These darkies today nearly all get wild. You can't tell What they are +going to do tomorrow. They's jes like everybody—some awful good and +some awful bad."</p> + +<p>And in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door +held by a leather strap, "Gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood +stove. A long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of +canned fruit, dried beans and peas. The bed is a series of old bed +springs. But "Gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one +feels kindly toward him. He says he is seventy-one years, past.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FitzgeraldEllen"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person Interviewed: Ellen Fitzgerald<br> + Brinkley, Ark.<br> +Age: 74</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Mama was named Anna Noles. Papa named Milias Noles. She belong to the +Whitakers and he belong to Gibbs. Noles bought them both. They was both +sold. Mother was born in Athens, papa somewhere in Kentucky. Their +owners, the Noles, come to Aberdeen, Mississippi.</p> + +<p>"Grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. She was a +slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. She was at the +spring, washing. They cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. They used +a big tree stump for battling. They had paddles, wide as this (two hands +wide—eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. +They wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat +em. Rub boards was not heard of in them days. They soaked the clothes, +boiled and rinsed a heap. They done good washing. I heard em say the +clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. They made the +soap. They had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat +skins. They used tallow and mutton suet too. I don't know what was said, +but I recken she didn't please her mistress—Mrs. Callie Gibbs. She +struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. She left her at +the spring. Somebody went to get water and seen her there. They took her +to the house but she finally died. Grandpa was dead then. I recken they +got scared to keep papa round then and sold him.</p> + +<p>"I was born first year of the surrender. Moster Noles told them they +was free. They didn't give them a thing. They was glad they was free. +They didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. They +lived about places, do little work where they found it.</p> + +<p>"We dodged the Ku Klux. One night they was huntin' a man and come to the +wrong house. They nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. +They give us some trouble coming round. We was scared of em. We dodged +em all the time.</p> + +<p>"I was married and had a child eight years old fore I come to Arkansas. +I come to Brinkley first. I was writing to friends. They had immigrated, +so we immigrated here and been here ever since. When I come here there +was two big stores and a little one. A big sawmill—nothing but woods +and wild animals. It wasn't no hard times then. We had a plenty to live +on.</p> + +<p>"My husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. He worked on the +section. I nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. We done +about right smart. I could do right smart now if white folks hire me.</p> + +<p>"The night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken I had. He +died last week. We found out it was two colored men. I ain't needed no +support till now. My husband made us a good living long as he was able +to go. We raised a family. He was a tolerably dark sort of man. My girls +bout his color."</p> + +<p>The two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. Both of them said they +were married and lived somewhere else.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FitzhughHenry"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins<br> +Person Interviewed: Henry Fitzhugh<br> +Aged: 90<br> +Home: Rooms at 209 Walnut Street</h3> +<br> + +<p>Several "colored" districts are scattered throughout Hot springs. On +Whittington, within a block of the First Presbyterian Church and St. +Joseph's Infirmary stand the Roanok Baptist and the Haven Methodist +(both for colored). Architecturally they compare favorably with similar +edifices for whites. Their choirs have become nationally famous. Sunday +afternoon concerts are frequent. Mid-week ones are not uncommon. At such +times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. +Visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely.</p> + +<p>Across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a +negro apartment house. A couple of blocks up Whittington, Walnut veers +to the right. It is paved for several blocks. Fronting on concrete +sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate +pride in possession. Some are private homes, some rooming houses and +some apartments. Porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete +studded with crystals.</p> + +<p>Finding Henry Fitzhugh wasn't easy. The delivery boy at the corner +chain store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a +passer-by. He offered the address <u>209</u>. That number turned out to be an +old, but substantial and well cared for two story house. Ringing the +bell repeatedly brought no response.</p> + +<p>A couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find Fitzhugh +one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back +porch." This procedure too brought no results. Another backyard observer +offered the suggestion that Fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant +eating.</p> + +<p>School had just been dismissed. Two well dressed negro children walked +along together, swinging their books. "Can you tell me where the +restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "Do you mean the +colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment +in her manner, no servility, no resentment—just an ordinary question. +"It's right over there."</p> + +<p>The restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. +Tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. Sunshine +streamed in from two directions. Fitzhugh was sitting just outside +talking to the boot-black.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, I's Henry Fitzhugh. Can't work no more since I got hit by +an automoble. Before that I had a shoe-shine place myself. But I can't +work no more. Yes 'um I gets the pension. I gets $10 a month. It's not +much, but I sort of get by. I's got my room up at 209 and I gets my +meals down here at the restaurant. Yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming +in pretty regular now.</p> + +<p>Been in Hot Springs a long, long time. Come here in 1876. I remembers +lots of the old families here. What yo say your name was? Your Mother +was a Dengler? Sure, I remembers the Denglers. Mr. Dengler had a +soda-water shop. I remembers him.</p> + +<p>When I first come, soon as I was able, I cleaned up for Captain Mallard. +Cleaned up all along Central in that block he was in.</p> + +<p>How'd I come to Hot springs? I was sick. I had rheumatism. Was down with +it so bad the doctor had done give me up. He'd stopped giving me +medicine. But the lady I was working for, she run a hotel in Poplar +Bluff. They put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and +they brought me clean on in to Hot Springs. They bathed me at the free +bath house. I started getting better right away. 'Twasn't long before I +was well and able to work. I stayed right on here in Hot Springs.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am I's all Arkansas. I was born near Little Rock. Ain't never +been out of the state but twice. Then I didn't stay long.</p> + +<p>I worked on a farm that belonged to Mr. J.B. Henderson. He was an uncle +to Mr. Jerome Henderson what was in the bank and Mr. Jethro Henderson +what was a Judge.</p> + +<p>No, the war didn't bother us none. We wasn't afraid. We heard the shots, +but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. Guess we +just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. Fighting we did [HW: hear +was] near Pine Bluff—the Baxter-Ware trouble. We seen the soldiers when +they come through Mt. Pleasant, right smart bunch of them. They was +Confederates. We didn't see none of the Yankees.</p> + +<p>My father was killed during the war. Went off to help and never came +back. My mother, she died when I was a baby. She was lying down in her +cabin before the fire—lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. The door +was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. She dropped me +and she screamed and run out into the yard. Old Miss saw her from the +house. She grabbed a quilt and started out. She got to my mother and she +wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. But my mother done +swallowed fire. She died. That's the story they tell me. I was too +little to know.</p> + +<p>I guess I was about eleven when I went into the fields. What's that, +pretty young? I didn't go because they made me. I went because I wanted +to be with the men. Wasn't nobody around to play with. We was the only +family on the farm. It was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of +children. There was Miss Sally and Miss Fanny and Miss Ella and Miss +Myrtle and Miss Hattie. Then there was four boys.</p> + +<p>Stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. They treated +me good and gave me what I wanted. Treated me nice—very nice—my white +folks.</p> + +<p>Then I went on down to Marshall—way down in Texas. There I worked for +the high sheriff. Drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the +yard. I worked for him a whole year then I went back to Arkansas and +then went up in Missouri. Wasn't there long before I got sick. I was +working for a woman who had a hotel. She was good to me. Mighty good she +was.</p> + +<p>Yes ma'am. There has been lost chances I has had to do more than I has. +But I's sort of satisfied. There's been lots of changes in Hot Springs +since I come. I used to know all the white folks and all the colored +folks too. Can't do that today. Place has got too big.</p> + +<p>Joe Golden? Yes, I does—I knows Joe. He used to have a butcher shop +over on Malvern. Quite a man, Joe was. I hasn't seen him in a long time. +How is he? Pretty good? That's fine.</p> + +<p>"I remembers Mc—McLeod's Happy Hollow." (Hot Spring nearest approach +to a Coney Island in the earlier days). "I remembers that they used to +have the old stage coach there what the James and Younger brothers held +up. Sort of broken down it was, but it was there.</p> + +<p>Law, law, them was the times. I'll never forget when Allen Roane brought +in the news. Allen drove a sort of a hack. He come on into town and he +whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. +Allen lived just next door to where I does now."</p> + +<p>Down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. Passing the +porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she +paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. Fitzhugh grinned. +"She's sanctified," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Tucky-Nubby? He was an Indian. Bob Hurley used to +bring him to Hot Springs every year. What medicine shows they used to +have here. Ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed +Tucky-Nubby. Lots of those medicine shows—free shows, used to come +here. But Bob Hurley and Tucky-Nubby was the most liked.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am, I'm all alone now. My sister married a man a long, long time +ago. She didn't live but a couple of years. I's had four children. One +of them died when it was born. One died when it was three. One lived +until it was seven. One son he lived to be grown. He went to the war. +Got as far as camp. One day I got a word saying that he was sick. I went +but before I could get there he had died. That left me alone.</p> + +<p>What's that? Been married once? I been married <u>eleven</u> times. But it +was ten times too many. Besides they is all dead, so you might say that +I's been married only once.</p> + +<p>Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am. The quarter will come in powerful handy. +When you tries to make out on $10 a month a little extra comes in +powerful handy. Thank you ma'am. I enjoyed talking to you, ma'am."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlaggMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Flagg<br> + 1601 Georgia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 89</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, I was here in Civil War days. I was bout twelve years old when +Lincoln was elected. I remember when he was elected. I was big enough to +weave and knit for the soldiers. I remember when the war started. Yes +ma'm—oh I remember so much. Saw all the soldiers and shook hands with +em. Why I waited on the table when General Lee stopped there for dinner +on his way from Mobile to meet Sherman. That was in Winchester, +Mississippi where I was born. I worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. I was +raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. I was born right +in Winchester, Mississippi. Used to see the soldiers drill every day. If +I could remember, I could tell you a heap of things.</p> + +<p>"My mistress' name was Mrs. Shaw. She took me away from my mother when I +was four years old—taken me for her body servant. She learned me how to +do housework and all kinds of sewin'—cuttin' and makin'. I done all the +sewin' for her family.</p> + +<p>"I never went to no school but Mrs. Shaw tried to teach me and she +slapped my jaws many a day bout my book.</p> + +<p>"I married when I was fifteen just fore the war ended and I forgot +everything I ever learned—yes ma'm! I been married four times and +they're all dead. I never married when any of em was livin' like a heap +of colored folks did.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then +they burned the bridge and turned back. White folks never told us what +the war was for but a old German man used to read the paper at the +table—every battle they'd fight and when the Yankees would whip. Oh +them was times then. If I could remember I could tell you a heap of +things but my mind's gone from me.</p> + +<p>"Old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a +cousin had five hundred.</p> + +<p>"White folks was good to me. My father was the carriage driver and old +mistress used to carry me to church with her every Sunday.</p> + +<p>"I never seen no Ku Klux but I lived where they was, in Mississippi. +That was a Ku Klux state. Yes ma'm.</p> + +<p>"I remember when General Lee come to Winchester you could hear the +horses' feet a mile away, it so cold.</p> + +<p>"My great grandfather was a full blooded Indian. I've lived among the +Indians in Mississippi and bought baskets from em. They lived all around +us. Yes ma'm, I'm acquainted with em. Oh, I been through a little bit.</p> + +<p>"I started sewin' and weavin' when I was just big enough to reach the +treadles. Used to sew for Mrs. Hulburt in Bolivar County, Mississippi. I +remember she started to the Mardi Gras on a boat called the Mary Bell. +It got burned and she had to turn back. I used to do a heap a sewin'.</p> + +<p>"Everythings changed now. People is so treacherous now. Chile, ain't +nothin' to this younger generation. Now I'm tellin' you the truth. They +ain't studyin' nothin' good. Sin and corruption all you see now.</p> + +<p>"Last man I married was Elder Flagg. He was a preacher in the Baptist +church and as good a preacher as I ever heard. They don't preach the +Gospel now.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish I could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long +time. I'll be ninety if I live till the 4th of next May."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlowersDoc"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Zillah Cross Peel<br> +Person interviewed: Doc Flowers <br> +Age: 85?<br> +Home: Lincoln, Arkansas</h3> +<br> + +<p>Everybody calls him Uncle Doc. His name is Doc Flowers, and he lives in +the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of +Lincoln, Arkansas.</p> + +<p>When you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. One +has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch +hidden by the tangle of weeds.</p> + +<p>If old Aunt Jinney is on the porch she will say, "Sorry, honey, but de +path done growed up."</p> + +<p>Uncle Doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. Whether he is 80 or +if he is 90, he is young-looking for his age.</p> + +<p>"No'm lady, I'se jes' don' know how old I is. Back in dem days didn't +keep up with our ages. No record of the born. Yes'm I was a pretty good +chunk of a boy when de war started."</p> + +<p>Doc belonged to Edward Choate, who lived on Barron Forks, near Dutch +Mills in the Southwest corner of Washington County. Barron Forks is made +up from Fly Creek and the River Jordan Creek.</p> + +<p>About 1849 Edward Choate came from Tennessee to Arkansas, where he had +bought Aunt Marie [TR: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, +Doc, Abe, and Dave.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, we had a 100 acres or better all along the banks of de river and +good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' +'bacco. Master Choate had three sons, I recollect, Jack, Sam, and Win. +He had a lot of slaves. Some of dem was good, some was bad. An' old +Mister Choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. He never did have to whup me, some +of dem darkies did get whupped. Dar was one who was always dressing up +in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river.</p> + +<p>"My mother was Maria. She worked part time in de kitchen and part time +in de field. My mother had three boys and I 'member one of my sisters +was sold as a slave. We darkies had cabins all along de river bank.</p> + +<p>"During de War we all jes' stayed on de place. Mister Choate and Old +Missy stayed too. After peace was made my mother and all of we went up +to Prairie Grove to live.</p> + +<p>"Yes'm, I voted every chance I got. I voted for Harrison for President. +No'm, I don't know which Harrison. Yes'm, I vote Republican.</p> + +<p>"I can't say much for these young darkies these times.</p> + +<p>"I ben 'roun' some. I went to Caldwell, Kansas, two times. Farming is my +occupation. Now we jes' live. I get $10 a month from the state. Yes'm, +that there Jinney is my wife. Her mother Celia and she belonged to the +Ballards of Cincinnati.</p> + +<p>"No'm, I jes' can' tell how old I is. I know I was quite a chunk of a +boy when de War started. Me and Mister Win, one of Mister Choate's boys, +was 'bout de same age." (Winston Choate died in the spring of 1935 at +the age of 94 years, according to a niece.)</p> + +<p>The Choate place down on Barron Forks is still owned by one of the +Choates, a grandson of the first owner, Edward Choate.</p> + +<p>A granddaughter of Mr. Choate lives in Fayetteville and said that there +are four or five graves on the old place where Negro slaves who belonged +to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would +never go near these graves. They thought they were haunted.</p> + +<p>So when one asks Uncle Doc how old he is he will say, "I know I was jes' +a chunk of a boy when de War started so I mus' be 'bout 83 nex' spring."</p> + +<p>Aunt Jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth +while Uncle Doc was talking. She didn't speak while Doc was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Law, honey, I had good white folks. None of dem never struck their +colored folks. No'm. Me an' my mother Celia belonged to Mister Ballard +at Cincinnati. Old Missey's name was Miss Liza, an' she kept my ma in de +house wid her to wait on her. Yes'm all de white folks always kept a +little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. Dem was good times 'fo' +de War. Yes'm good times—plenty to eat. Good times. I was jes' a baby +crawling on de flo' when de War come."</p> + +<p>The interviewer didn't ask Uncle Doc when and why he went to Caldwell, +Kansas the two times. She knew that Uncle Doc, big and strong, took +another Negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to Kansas and +there left her. Later he brought her to Arkansas. Jinney was his wife +and took Uncle Doc back, but Gate-eye didn't take his wife back. Nor did +the interviewer tell Uncle Doc that she had been to see old Gate-eye +Fisher and had heard the long ago story of Uncle Doc taking his wife, +and what a worrysome time he had. +In an old record marked "Miscellaneous" in the Washington County +Courthouse at Fayetteville, Arkansas, one can find this Emancipation +paper:</p> + +<p>"For and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my +little Negro girl (a slave) named Celia, about two years old, I do by +these presents henceforth and forever give to said Celia her liberty and +freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, I now +hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in +accordance with this indenture of emancipation.</p> + +<p>"In testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this 26th day of January +1846.</p> + +<pre> + Signed: Thomas B. Ballard + +Witnesses: Charles Baylor + Sumet Mussett" +</pre> + +<p>Jinney, wife of Doc Flowers, is the daughter of the said Celia. "Yes'm," +said Jinney, "Miss Liza, my old Missy, always had my mother right by her +side all the time to wait on her. She were always good to all her +colored folks. No'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored +folks."</p> + +<p>Jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from Miss Liza, for +her little three-room home that she and Doc rent for $4 a month is +spotless. Maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't +blame that on Jinney.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlukerFrances"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Frances Fluker, Edmondson, Arkansas<br> +Age: 77<br> +[May 11 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born the 25th day of December 1860 in Marshall County, +Mississippi. Our owners was Dr. George Wilson and Mistress Mary. They +had one son I knowed, Dr. Wilson at Coldwater, Mississippi. My parents +was Viney Perry and Dock Bradley.</p> + +<p>"I never seen my pa. I heard about him since I been grown. He left when +the War was going on and never went back. Mama had ten children and I am +all that's living now. Old mistress set my name and age down in her +Bible. I sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so I +could get my pension. I pasted it in the front of my Bible. +I was never sold. It was freedom when I first +recollect.</p> + +<p>"Ma was the cook for the white folks. Grandma Perry come from North +Carolina I heard 'em say. She was a widow woman. When company come they +would send us out to play. They never talked to us children, no ma'am, +not 'fore us neither. I come a woman 'fore I knowed what it was. My +sisters knowed better than tell me. They didn't tell me nothin'.</p> + +<p>"When it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. At night +we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by +daybreak—children and all. They said it caused children's j'ints to be +stiff sleeping up in the day. All old folks could tell you that.</p> + +<p>"This young set ain't got no strength neither. Ma cooked and washed and +raised five children up grown. The slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em +in the way of land nor stock. They got what clothes they had and some +provisions.</p> + +<p>"Ma was ginger cake. They said pa was black. I don't know. Grandma was +reddish and lighter still than ma. They said she was part Cherokee +Indian. Her hair was smooth and pretty. She combed her hair with the +fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. I recollect her +combing her hair. It was long about on her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I heard about the Ku Klux but I never seed none of 'em. Ma said her +owners was good to her. Ma never had but one husband.</p> + +<p>"I come to Arkansas 1921. Mr. Passler in Coldwater, Mississippi had +bought a farm at Onida. We had worked for him at Lula, Mississippi. Me +and my husband come here. My husband died the first year. I cooked some +in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. I +like' field work long as I was able to go.</p> + +<p>"My first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. He and myself done +it, we had help. We got in debt and lost it. He bought the place. That +was in Pinola County close to Sardis. I had four children. One daughter +living.</p> + +<p>"What I think it was give me rheumatism was I picked cotton, broke it +off frozen two weeks on the sleet. I picked two hundred pounds a day. I +got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. He said it was from +overwork. I got over that but I had rheumatism ever since.</p> + +<p>"I learned to read. I went to Shiloah School—and church too—several +terms. Mr. Will Dunlap was my first teacher. He was a white man. He run +the school a good while but I don't know how long. My name is Frances +Christiana Fluker. I been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. +Never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause I knowed I couldn't.</p> + +<p>"I jus' get $6 and that is all. It cost more to send get the +commodities than it do to buy them. We don't get much of them. I needs +clothes—union suits. 'Course I wears 'em all summer. If they would give +me yarn and needles I could knit my socks. 'Course I can see and ain't +doing nothing else. I needs a dress. I ain't got but this one dress."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b> The two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. They had two chairs +and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the +little yellow torn to pieces Bible tied around the back with a string. +The large board door was kept wide open for light I suppose. There were +no windows to the room.</p> + +<p>I heard the reason she gets only $6 was because her daughter lives there +and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young +grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FlukerIdaMay"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Ida May Fluker<br> + Route 6, Box 80, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 83</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in slavery times in Clark County, Alabama. Clover Hill was +the county seat.</p> + +<p>"Elias Campbell was old master. I know the first time I ever saw any +plums, old master brought 'em. I 'member that same as yesterday.</p> + +<p>"I 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the Yankees come. We +chillun would hide behind the door. Had on blue suits with brass +buttons. So you see I'm no baby.</p> + +<p>"I 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house +and help make molasses. Didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up +there anyway.</p> + +<p>"Old missis' name Miss Annis. She was good to us.</p> + +<p>"I didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. Used to +tote water from the Wood Spring. Had a spring called Wood Spring.</p> + +<p>"My mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. I used to weave +after freedom.</p> + +<p>"I know the Yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. They was +drivin' a lot of cows. We chillun would be scared of 'em—mama would be +at the big house.</p> + +<p>"Mama belonged to the Campbells and papa belonged to Davis Solomon, and +I know every Christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me +and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. I 'member it same as if +'twas yesterday 'cause I was crazy 'bout them red dresses.</p> + +<p>"I used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. Yes ma'am, I heered +that song</p> + +<pre> +'Run nigger run + Paddyrollers will ketch you + Jes' 'fore day.' +</pre> + +<p>I know you've heered that song.</p> + +<p>"I heered papa talk about how he was sold. He say the overseer so mean +he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week.</p> + +<p>"I guess we had plenty to eat. I know mama used to fetch us somethin' to +eat from the house. Old missis give it to her. I know I was glad to get +it.</p> + +<p>"When the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to +house and prayed and give thanks to the Lord.</p> + +<p>"Our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but about two weeks. My papa was hard workin'. +Other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun +rest. He sure did work us hard.</p> + +<p>"You know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time +to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. We didn't have no time to +see 'bout no ages—had to work. That's the truth."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FordWash"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Arkansas<br> +Age: 73 or 75?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains, seems like about half +way. Mama's master was named Powell. Papa's master was Frank Ford. My +parents was Fannie and Henry Ford. I was the oldest child. There was 6 +boys, 4 girls of us.</p> + +<p>"They didn't get anything after freedom. They kept on farming. They +started working on shares. That was all they could do. If they expected +anything I never heard it.</p> + +<p>"I heard my mother say when I was small Papa was bouncing me up and +down. He was lying on the floor playing like wid me. She looked up the +road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'Yonder come some soldiers. What +they coming here for?' Papa put me down and run. He hid. They didn't +find him. It was soldiers from De Valls Bluff I judge. They made the +colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. That +is what I heard.</p> + +<p>"My father voted. He voted a Republican ticket. I do cause he did I +reckon. I still vote. If the colored man could vote in the Primary it +wouldn't be no better. They know better who to put in office, to run the +offices right. I think it is right for a woman to vote.</p> + +<p>"I been farming all my life. I was a section hand much as six months in +all my life. I work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. I +am having a hard time. I have high blood pressure. I can't pick cotton. +I can't even get a mess of turnip greens. The Social Welfare helps me a +little and I am janitor up town in two offices. They hand me a little +pocket change. It amount to maybe $2 a month. I had that job four years. +If I could work I would be on the farm. I could make a living there. I +always did. I had plenty on the farm.</p> + +<p>"Young folks don't take on no manners. The young folks take care of +themselves. It is the old ones seeing a hard time now."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FordWash2"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Ark.<br> +Age: 75?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"One thing I remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. They had a leader +hoeing cotton. His name was John. He was a fast hand. He hoe one row a +piece and reach over and hoe the other. He'd get way ahead of the other +hands. If they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. So he rest till they +ketch up. Once he hoed up to a tree—big shade tree out in the field. He +stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that +time. It bit him right on the toe. They took him up to the house but he +died.</p> + +<p>"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains. My parents was Henry +and Fannie Ford. Her master was named Powell and his master was named +Frank Ford. I was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. My folks +didn't git nuthing. I don't think they expected freedom much. They heard +they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. They didn't know what +freedom be like. When they was set free at DeValls Bluff they signed up. +They went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. That what +I heard em say when I was small boy.</p> + +<p>"I voted—Republican ticket, I believe. If I vote that what I vote. I +reckon the women ought to vote. I still vote that is if I sees fit to +vote.</p> + +<p>"My father run from the soldiers. He didn't go to the war as I ever +knowd of.</p> + +<p>"I been farmin' all my life till I got so nocount I ain't able to do +nothin' no more. I worked on the section bout six months. I worked some +off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. I does a little janitor +work now and the Welfare help me a little.</p> + +<p>"The present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they +run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they +cain't git no credit. Times is hard for old folks."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FortenberryJudia"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Judia Fortenberry<br> + 712 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> +Age: 75<br> +Occupation: Field hand<br> +[May 21 1938]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Slaves Allowed to Visit]</b></p> + +<p>"I was born three miles west of Hamburg in Ashley County, Arkansas, in +the year 1859, in the month of October. I don't know just what day of +the month it was.</p> + +<p>"My mother was named Indiana Simms and my father was named Burrell +Simms. My father's mother was named Ony Simms, and my mother's mother +was named Maria Young. I don't know what the names of their parents was.</p> + +<p>"My mother's master was named Robert Tucker. My father's master was +named Hartwell Simms. Their plantations were pretty close together, but +I don't know how my father and my mother got together. I guess they just +happened to meet up with each other. The slaves from the two plantations +were allowed to visit one another. After their marriage, the two +continued to belong to different masters. Every Sunday, they would visit +one another. My father used to come to visit his wife every Sunday and +through the week at night.</p> + +<p>"My mother had ten children.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Houses</b></p> + +<p>"I was born in a log house with one room. It was built with a stick and +dirt chimney. It had plank floors. They didn't have nothin' much in the +way of furniture—homemade beds, stools, tables. We had common pans and +tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. The cabin had one window and +one door.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Patrollers</b></p> + +<p>"I have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. +But I can't remember them. My father said they used to go into the slave +cabins and take folks out and whip them. They'd go at night and get 'em +out and whip 'em.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>How Freedom Came</b></p> + +<p>"I was so little that I don't know much about how freedom came. I just +know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. Went to +another man. Didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. He never got +anything when he was freed. I never heard of any of the slaves getting +anything.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Schooling</b></p> + +<p>"I went to free school after the War. I just went along during the +vacation when they weren't doing any farming. That is all the education +I got. I can't tell how many seasons I went—four or five, I reckon. I +never did go any whole season. I never had much chance to go to school. +People didn't send their children to school much in those days. I went +to school in Monticello, but most of my schooling was in country +schools.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Occupation</b></p> + +<p>"When I first went to work, I picked cotton. That is at a place out near +Hamburg. I picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. Then I went to +town—Monticello. I washed and ironed. About forty-five years ago, I +came to Little Rock, and have been here every since. Washing and ironing +has been my support. I have sometimes cooked.</p> +<br> + +<p><b>Opinions</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know what I think about the young people. Seems to me they +coming to nothing. Lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance +to do it. I'm a christian. I belong to the A.M.E.'s. You know how they +do.</p> + +<pre> +Song + +1 + +I belong to the band +That good old Christian band +Thank God I belong to the band. + +Chorus + +Steal away home to Jesus +I ain't got long to stay here. + +2 + +There'll I'll meet my mother, +My good old christian mother, +Mother, how do you do; +Thank God I belong to the band. +</pre> + +<p>I can't remember the music. But that's on old song we used to sing 'way +back yonder. I can't remember any more of the verses. You got enough +anyhow."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterEmma"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Emma Foster<br> + 1200 N. Magnolia, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<br> + +<p>"Yes'm, I was born in time of slavery—seven years before surrender. +No'm, I wasn't born in Arkansas. Born in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana.</p> + +<p>"I remember hearin' the big guns shoot. I was small and I didn't know +what it was only by what they told me.</p> + +<p>"My parents belonged to the Harts. My mother run off and left me, a +year-old baby.</p> + +<p>"I remember better when I was young than I do now.</p> + +<p>"After I got big enough—you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' +around in the yard—after I got big enough, they took me in the house to +rock the cradle, and I stayed there till I was twenty-three. I would a +stayed longer but they was so cruel to me.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know nothin'. I run off and stayed with a colored preacher and +his family not far away. You know I was crazy. One day the preacher said +some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' +to tell my white folks where I was. And sure enough, he did, and one +morning I was out in the field and I saw the son-in-law comin'. So I +went back and worked for him and his wife.</p> + +<p>"Me? All I did do was farmin' when I was young.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I been in Arkansas 'bout fifty years. My oldest boy was fourteen +when I come here and he is sixty-four now.</p> + +<p>"No, honey, I can't cook now. I'd burn it up. I used to cook. It's a +poor dog that won't wag its own tail.</p> + +<p>"All I know is I had a hard time, I been married three times. My last +husband was a preacher and he was so mean I left him. I told him if all +preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em.</p> + +<p>"I went to Chicago and lived with my son a while but I didn't like it, +so I come back here and I been here right in the yard with Mrs. O'Neal +eight years washin' and ironin'—anything come to hand.</p> + +<p>"Now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, I can see that 'fore +it happens. I was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain +and I come in and somethin' just bore down on me and I started to cry. I +didn't know why. I thought, 'Oh, Lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to +my son?' But instead it was my grandson. He got killed that evenin'."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterEmma2"></a> +<h3>Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Birthmarks<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Emma Foster (C) <br> +Place of residence: 1200 N. Magnolia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: Laundress<br> +Age: 80</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>"I know I marked one of my babies with beer. It was 'cause I wanted some +beer and couldn't get it. And when it was born it had a place on the +back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. And +when she was about a week old I got some beer and give it to her with a +teaspoon and she quit foamin'.</p> + +<p>"And another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the +doctor had done took the bone out. He and I used to love to rassle +(wrestle) and one day he said, 'Oh, Emma, you hurt my finger.' And like +a fool, you know I took his hand and just rubbed that finger. And do you +know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterIra"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Ira Foster<br> + 2000 W. Eureka Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born in slavery because when the people come back from the War I +was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come.</p> + +<p>"I heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the War.</p> + +<p>"Yes ma'am, I was sure born in Arkansas; I won't tell no lie 'bout that.</p> + +<p>"My mother's old master was named Foster and after she married she +belonged to Hezekiah Bursey.</p> + +<p>"She was born in Alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated.</p> + +<p>"She was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner.</p> + +<p>"I never have been to school. Never did learn nothin'. My father put me +to work soon as I was big enough.</p> + +<p>"I always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near +as I can come at it. I went to saw millin' and I didn't do nothin' but +manufacture lumber. I worked for the Camden Lumber Company eighteen +years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble.</p> + +<p>"If I just had enough to live on I wouldn't do a thing but just sit +around 'cause I think I done worked my share. Why, some of the white +folks say, 'Foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty +dollars a month.' And I say, 'Why?' And they say, 'Cause you look just +like a darky that has worked hard in this world.'</p> + +<p>"I suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. Seems +like sometimes I can't hardly get around."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FosterIra2"></a> +<h3>FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Subject: Songs of Pre-War Days<br> +Story:—Information<br> +<br> +This information given by: Ira Foster<br> +Place of residence: 2000 W. Eureka, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Occupation: None<br> +Age: 76</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + + +<pre> +"'You may call me Raggedy Pat + 'Cause I wear this raggedy hat, + And you may think I'm a workin' + But I ain't.' +</pre> + +<p>I used to hear my uncle sing that. That's all the words I can remember."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FranklinLeonard"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor<br> +Person interviewed: Leonard Franklin<br> + Temporary: 301 Ridgeway, Little Rock, Arkansas<br> + Permanent: Warren, Arkansas<br> +Age: 70</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>[HW: Mother Whipped Overseer]</b></p> + +<p>"I don't know exactly the year I was born. But my father told me I was +born since the Civil War. I am seventy years old. They always tell me +when my birthday come 'round it will be in January—the eighteenth of +January.</p> + +<p>"My father's name was Abe Franklin and my mother's name was Lucy +Franklin. I know my father's mother but I didn't ever know his father. +His mother's name was Maria Franklin. My mother's father was Harris +Pennington. I never did see her mother and never did see her.</p> + +<p>"I was born in Warren, Arkansas. My mother and father were born in +Warren. That is on the outer edge of Warren. My mother's slavery farm +was on what they called Big Creek. It is named Franklin Creek. Two or +three miles of it ran through Franklin's Farm.</p> + +<p>"My father's master was Al Franklin. And my mother's master's name was +Hill Pennington. One of Hill Pennington's sons was named Fountain +Pennington. He lives about five miles from Warren now on the south +highway.</p> + +<p>"My mother had about three masters before she got free. She was a +terrible working woman. Her boss went off deer hunting once for a few +weeks. While he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. She knocked +him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. +When Pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked +him what was the matter with it. The overseer told him that he went down +in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit +Lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she +jumped on me and like to tore me up. Old Pennington said to him, 'Well, +if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have +to take it.'</p> + +<p>"Then they sold her to another man named Jim Bernard. Bernard did a lot +of big talk to her one morning. He said, 'Look out there and mind you do +what you told around her and step lively. If you don't, you'll get that +bull whip.' She said to him, 'Yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' He had +heard about her; so he sold her to another man named Cleary. He was good +to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that.</p> + +<p>"There wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. +She could do more work than any two men. There wasn't no use for no one +man to try to do nothin' with her. No overseer never downed her.</p> + +<p>"They didn't kill niggers then—not in slavery times. Not 'round where +my folks were. A nigger was money. Slaves were property. They'd paid +money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill +'em up. When they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their +money out of them.</p> + +<p>"The white people started to Texas with the colored folks near the end +of the war and got as far as El Dorado. Word come to 'em that freedom +had come and they turned back.</p> + +<p>"A paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of +water. He said he was thirsty. He had a rubber thing on and drank two or +three buckets of water. His rubber bag swelled up and made his head or +the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. Instead +of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and I'll +tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more.</p> + +<p>"Right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. They hired out +by the month. [HW: My father] didn't never say how much he got. When +they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages +didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. Said he had ate +it all up. After that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of +his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to +show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. +It was ten years before he got a start. It was hard to get ahead then +because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't +know nothin'. My father had two brothers that just stayed on with the +white folks. They stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had +to go. Couldn't do no good then. My father was always treated well by +his master.</p> + +<p>"I got my schooling at Warren. I went to the tenth grade. Could have +gone farther but didn't want to. I was looking at something I thought +was better than education. When I got of age, I come up here and just +run about. I was what you might say pretty fine. I was looking so high I +couldn't find nothing to suit me. I went 'round to a number of places +and none of them suited me. So I went on back home and been there ever +since.</p> + +<p>"I married once in my life. My wife is still living. My wife is a good +woman. No, if I got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. I +am the father of ten living children. I made a living by doing anything +that come up—housework, gardening, anything.</p> + +<p>"I don't get no government help. I don't want none yet. God has seen me +this far. I think He'll see me to the end. He is good to me; He's given +me such a good time I couldn't help but serve Him. Only been sick once +in seventy years.</p> + +<p>"I belong to the Baptist church. God is my boss now. He has brought me +this far and He's able to carry me across"</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierEliza"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden<br> +Person interviewed: Eliza Frazier<br> + 2003 Saracen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas<br> +Age: 88?</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I don't know when I was born or 'zackly how old I is, but I was born in +South Carolina and come here before the War.</p> + +<p>"I belonged to Wiley Mosley and he brought me and my mother and my +sister here to Arkansas. I don't 'member it at all 'cause I was a baby, +but I know what Wiley Mosley and my mother told me.</p> + +<p>"Settled in Redland Township. That's what they called it. He bought a +plantation there. There was three brothers come to this country and they +didn't live very far from each other.</p> + +<p>"I 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the War and one time I heered the guns +a poppin'. They said they was just passin' through. I was just a small +girl but I 'member it. I seed the Yankees too. I 'member they'd come up +in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take +the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk.</p> + +<p>"Old master was gone to the War. I 'member when he was gwine and I +'member when he come back. Old missis said he was up in Missouri. Got +shot right through the foot once. I know he come home and stayed 'til he +was well, then he went back. I don't know how long he stayed but he went +back—I know that. And he come back after the War—I 'member that.</p> + +<p>"I 'member one time when I upset the cradle. Miss Jane wouldn't 'low me +to take the baby up but I rocked the cradle. And one time I reckon I +rocked it too hard and it turned over. Miss Jane heard it time it hit +the floor and she come runnin'. I was under the house by that time but +she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. I +know I didn't turn it over no more.</p> + +<p>"The Yankees never said nothin' to me—talked to my mother though, and +old mis'.</p> + +<p>"They said they was fightin' to free the niggers. There was a boy on the +place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and +get the news. He didn't do that when old master was home. I know he +brought the news when peace declared. Patrollers got him one night.</p> + +<p>"I 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and +hollerin', 'The niggers is free, the niggers is free!'</p> + +<p>"Our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. I +'member I was gwine out to the field and Woodson, he was the baby I +upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and I know old +master said, 'Put him down and let him walk.'</p> + +<p>"They told me I was twenty when I was married—the white folks told me. +I know my mother asked how old I was and they said I was 'bout twenty. I +'member it well enough.</p> + +<p>"I never went to school but I knowed my ABC's and could read some in the +first reader. I ain't forgot about it. I thinks about it sometimes.</p> + +<p>"The biggest work I has done is farm work.</p> + +<p>"I've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one."</p> +<br> + +<p><b>NOTE:</b></p> + +<p>Eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail +carrier and he is now sending three children to the A.M.& N. College +here.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierMary"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mary Frazier, near Biscoe, Arkansas<br> +Age: 60</h3> +<br> + +<p>"My parents was Neily and Amos Hamilton. They lived in Marshall County, +about forty-eight miles from Memphis. They belong to people by that same +name.</p> + +<p>"I heard them all say how they come to be way out in Mississippi. The +Thompsons owned Grandma Diana and her husband in South Carolina. Master +Jefferies went there from Mississippi and bought grandma. They let all +twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell +grandpa. He grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward +and bought him. Jefferies was good to them. I was born in Mississippi. +Grandma cooked all the time. Mama and papa both worked in the field. I +heard grandma say every one of her children was born in South Carolina. +Mr. Jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in Clarendon, Arkansas. +Since I come to this country I seen him. I lived over there pretty close +by.</p> + +<p>"I got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. They want to have +a big time when they are young. All young folks is swift on foot that +way. Times is funny. Funniest times ever been in my life. Is times right +now? Ain't no credit no more. That one thing making times so hard. Money +is the whole thing now'days."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FrazierTyler"></a> +<h3>El Dorado District<br> +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS<br> +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson<br> +Subject: TALES OF SLAVERY DAYS<br> +Story:—Information<br> +[Feb 6 1937]<br> +<br> +This information given by: Tyler Frazier<br> +Place of Residence: Ouachita County<br> +Occupation: Domestic<br> +Age: 75</h3> +<p>[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]</p> +<br> + +<p>Ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus +freed. Ah got freed in Texas. We went tuh Texas on a steamboat an dey +wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. We sho 'joyed dat trip. We went wid +our mistress an moster. Dey wuz de Lides, Mistuh John Lide's parents. De +Lides run one uv de bigges' stores in Camden now, if yo knows dem dey is +de same Lides. One uv de boys wuz named Blackie Lide, one John Lide, one +named Hugh Lide. Dem wuz granchillun. Hannah Lide, Minnie Watts now, dey +wuz de granchillun. Now let me see, one Miss wuz named Emma Lide. Dem +sho wuz good fokes. Ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis +country. An ole moster been daid since way back yondah. But when we got +tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum Camden in +Ouachita County. Ole moster wuz named Peter Lide. We jes went tuh school +nough tuh learn our A.B.C.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. We +carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. We kep' +spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. We pickled de backbone an dem +spareribs. We worked evah day. Wednesday night wuz wash night. Dat's +when de women would do de washin. We'd go tuh de fiel way fo day.</p> + +<p>Back in dem days we had er log church. Ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah +wuz six. Mis Lide made mah fust pair uv britches. Ah membuhs one time ah +went to Miss Lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. Ah put em in a sack +an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung +an moster caught me. Ah'm tellin de truth. Ah aint had no desire tuh +steal since.</p> + +<p>Moster Peter Lide's favorite song wus dis: "Hit's er long way tuh +heaven." Ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. He wuz a Christian man. He +wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good Christian. We didn' know +bout no money. When we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. We didn' know +bout Thanksgiving day and Christmas. We heard de white fokes tawkin bout +hit but we didn' know whut hit meant.</p> + +<p>When anybody would die dey made de coffin. Didn' have no funeral, no +singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. Dat wus all. Nebber stop +work. We nevah plowed er hoss. We used oxen teams. We made good crops +den. We raised all our sumpin tuh eat.</p> + +<p>When ah wus a lil' bitsy boy Mrs. Lide use tuh tell us stories at night. +She give us our fireside trainin. She tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin +not tuh but in. Ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot +dat. We ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. We lives in de days +dats past. All we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. When mah +time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah God, mah +country and mah race.</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FreemanAuntMittie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg<br> +Person interviewed: Aunt Mittie Freeman<br> +Aged: 86<br> +Home: 320 Elm St., North Little Rock. In home of granddaughter.<br> +[Aug 27 1937]</h3> +<br> + +<p><b>Story by Aunt Mittie Freeman</b></p> + +<p>"Howdy, honey. Come on in and set down. It's awful hot, ain't it? What +you come to see me for? You says old uncle Boss tell you I'se old slave +lady? That's right, that's right. Us old war folks never fergits the +others. Anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. I got +the bestest remembrance.</p> + +<p>Orange county, Mississippi was where I was borned at but I been right +here in Arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. In slavery, it was, +when my white folks done come to Camden. You know where that is?—Camden +on the Ouachita? That's the place where we come. Yes Ma'am, it was long +before the war when the doctor—I means Dr. Williams what owned my pappy +and all us younguns—say he going to Arkansas. Theys rode in the fine +carriages. Us slaves rode in ox wagons. Lord only knows how long it tuck +a-coming. Every night we camped. I was jest a little tike then but I has +a remembrance of everything. The biggest younguns had to walk till theys +so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been +a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like +this we go on.</p> + +<p>Dr. Williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. He was sure good +man. He didn't work his slaves hard like some. My pappy was a kind of a +manager for Doctor. Doctor tended his business and pappy runned the +plantation where we lived at. Our good master died before freedom. He +willed us slaves to his chilrun. You know—passeled (parcelled) us out, +some to this child, some to that. I went to his daughter, Miss Emma. +Laws-a-Mercy, how I wishes I could see her face onct more afore I dies. +I heerd she married rich. Unh-unh! I'd shore love to see her onct more.</p> + +<p>After old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of +the fam'ly. It had a overseer. He was a northerner man and the meanest +devil ever put foot on a plantation. My father was a gentleman; yes +ma'am, he was jest that. He had been brung up that-a-way. Old master +teached us to never answer back to no white folks. But one day that +overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit +him.</p> + +<p>So after that, he sent pappy down to New Orleans to be sold. He said he +would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned +him. Pappy was old. Every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; +everybody pass old pappy by. After a long time—oh, maybe five +years—one day they ax pappy—"Are you got some white folks back in +Arkansas?" He telled them the Williams white folks in Camden on the +Ouachita. Theys white. After while theys send pappy home. Miss, I tells +you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. Old Miss and the young white +folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; +they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. That's what them +Williams folks thought of their slaves. Yes ma'am.</p> + +<p>Old Miss was name Miss 'liza. She skeered to stay by herself after old +master died. I was took to be her companion. Every day she wanted me to +bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said I was +gentle and didn't never hurt her. One day I was a standing by the window +and I seen smoke—blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. I heerd +cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. She say: "Run, Mittie, and +hide yourself. It's the Yanks. Theys coming at last, Oh lordy!" I was +all incited (excited) and told her I didn't want to hide, I wanted to +see 'em. "No" she say, right firm. "Ain't I always told you Yankees has +horns on their heads? They'll get you. Go on now, do like I tells you." +So I runs out the room and went down by the big gate. A high wall was +there and a tree put its branches right over the top. I clim up and hid +under the leaves. They was coming, all a marching. The captain opened +our big gate and marched them in. A soldier seen me and said "Come on +down here; I want to see you." I told him I would, if he would take off +his hat and show me his horns.</p> + +<p>The day freedom came, I was fishing with pappy. My remembrance is sure +good. All a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. +You know what that was, Miss? It was the fall of Richmond. Cannons was +to roar every place when Richmond fell. Pappy jumps up, throws his pole +and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. +"It's victory," he keep on saying. "It's freedom. Now we'es gwine be +free." I didn't know what it all meant.</p> + +<p>It seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. Everything jest +kept on like it was. We heard that lots of slaves was getting land and +some mules to set up fer theirselves; I never knowed any what got land +or mules nor nothing.</p> + +<p>We all stayed right on the place till the Yankees came through. They was +looking for slaves what was staying on. Now we was free and had to git +off the plantation. They packed us in their big amulance ... you say it +wasn't a amulance,—what was it? Well, then, their big covered army +wagons, and tuck us to Little Rock. Did you ever know where the old +penitentiary was? Well, right there is where the Yanks had a great big +barracks. All chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. Did you +know that the fust real free school in Little Rock was opened by the +govment for colored chullens? Yes ma'am, and I went to it, right from +the day we got there.</p> + +<p>They took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the +corner of Second and Main Street. He got $12.00 a month and all the grub +we could eat. Unh, Unh! Didn't we live good? I sure got a good +remembrance, honey. Can't you tell? Yes, Ma'am. They was plenty of other +refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of +'em.</p> + +<p>I was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help +pappy. A man name Captain Hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the +river. He wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get +colored folks to help him. A lot of us niggers from the barracks was +sent to pick. We got $1.25 a hundred pounds. What did I do with my +money? Is you asking me that? Bless your soul, honey, I never seen that +money hardly long enough to git it home. In them days chilluns worked +for their folks. I toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to +have. That's the way it was. We picked cotton all fall and winter, and +went to school after picking was over.</p> + +<p>When I got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting +on. Pappy had a five year lease,—do you know what that was, I +don't—but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could +clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. He built +a log house and put in a orchard. Next year he had a big garden and sold +vegables. Lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but +pappy. They'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting +ears. When he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and +made it right good. His name was Harry Williams. He was a stern man, and +honest. He was named for his old master. When my brothers got growed +they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in Little +Rock. But when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck +a farm—the old Lawson place—so to make a home for mammy and the little +chilluns.</p> + +<p>I married Freeman. Onliest husban ever I had. He died last summer. He +was a slave too. We used to talk over them days before we met. The +K.K.K. never bothered us. They was gathered together to bother niggers +and whites what made trouble. If you tended to your own business, they's +let you alone.</p> + +<p>No ma'am, I never voted. My husband did. Yes ma'am, I can remember when +they was colored men voted into office. Justice of Peace, county clerks, +and, er—er—that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets +killed. What you call him? Coroner? Sure, that's him. I know that, +'cause I seen them a-setting in their offices.</p> + +<p>We raised our fam'ly on a plantation. That's the bestest place for +colored chilluns. Yes ma'am. My five boys stayed with me till they was +grown. They heerd about the Railroad shops and was bound theys going +there to work. Ben—that was my man—and me couldn't make it by +ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon +after the war. He was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and +died in two weeks. He didn't know nothing all that time. My onliest boy +what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. All them others went +to Iowa after the big railroad strike here. They was out of work for +many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they +been in the shops.</p> + +<p>How I a-living now? You wants to know, honest? Say honey, is you a +relief worker—one of them welfare folkses? Lor' God, how I needs help! +Honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to +put on 'em to bury in. I told the Welfare could I get something clean +and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was +two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close +(clothes). Theys told me then I would get $10.00 a month, but in all +this time now, I only had $5.00 one time. I lives with my daughter here +in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up +the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. Lordy, where'll we go? I made +big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. Hot summer burnt +everything up, now. Yessum, that $5.00 the Reliefers give me—I bought +my garden stuff with it.</p> + +<p>I got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. It look like I'm done. I knowed +a old potion. It made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. Good whiskey. Not +old cheap corn likker. Yessum, you takes fine whiskey—'bout half bottle, +and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. Tablespoon three times a +day. Look-a-here, miss. Look at these old arms go up and down now. I kin +do a washing along with the youngish womens.</p> + +<p>Iffen you wants to know what I thinks of the young folks I tells you. +Look at that grandchile a-setting there. She fourteen and know more +right now than I knowed in my whole life. Yes ma'am! She can sew on a +machine and make a dress in one day. She read in a book how to make +sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. Theys fast, too. Ain't got no time +for olds like me. Can't find no time to do nothin' for me. People now +makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't +honest. No'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. Old honest way was to bend +the back and bear down on the hoe.</p> + +<p>Did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? Sure did have purty music +them days. It's so long, honey, I jest can't 'member the names, +'excusing one. It was "Hark, from the Tombs a Doleful Sound." It was a +burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. It was the +most onliest song they knowed. They was other music, though. Could they +play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! Lordy, iffen I could take you +back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and +learned me to dance the contillion!</p> + +<p>I'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you +think? Yes, Mam! We sure is living in the seventh seal. The days of +tribulations is on us right now. Nothing make like it used to. I sure +would be proud iffen I knowed I had a living for the balance of my days. +I got a clean and a clear heart—a clean and clear heart. Be so to your +neighbors and God will make it up to you. He sure will, honey."</p> + + + +<br><br><hr width="65%"><br><br> +<a name="FritzMattie"></a> +<h3>Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson<br> +Person interviewed: Mattie Fritz, Clarendon, Arkansas<br> +Age: 79</h3> +<br> + +<p>"I was born at Duncan, Arkansas. Mother died when I was a baby. Old +slavery black 'Mammy' raised me. I called her 'Mammy'. My father was +born in the State of Mississippi. He got loose there at 'mancipation. +His master Jack Oates got killed in battle. They brung him home and +buried him in the garden. Down close to Duncan on the place. I played in +the yard wid Mr. Jack Oates, Jr. when we was little fellars. Father's +master in Tennessee was Bill Tyler. My uncle went back to Tennessee to +them. His name was Tyler Oates. Mr. Jack Gates, Sr. used to pat me and +call me his little nigger. We thought the world and all of our white +folks. We sure did. Some of 'em 'round 'bout Helena they say now. Mr. +Jack, Jr., he had two boys and he was a widower.</p> + +<p>"My own dear mother was Jane. My father called hisself Bill Tyler. My +stepmother was Liddy. The woman what raised me was 'Mammy' all I ever +knowed. But her name was Luckadoo.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tyler got killed. Pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. He +got sold. Then she died. Then mother died. Jack Oates went to my father +and brung him to Mississippi, then to Arkansas.</p> + +<p>"Master Jack Tyler hid out. The Yankees come at night and caught him +there and shot him. His wife lived about two more years. She grieved +about him. They took everything and searched the house. My pa was hid +under the house. They rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen +him once. He was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the +dark. All what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. They couldn't see +him so good. Way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in +the fights too. Them Yankees took Massa Jack Tyler off and sont him back +in a while. She had him buried in the garden. She didn't know it was +him.</p> + +<p>"'Mammy' was a slavery woman. She was sold first time from a neighbor +man to a neighbor man. He was an old man. She ploughed and rolled logs. +Then she was sold to Master Luckadoo close to Holly Grove. They named +her Eloise, and she was a farm woman. She was so good to me. She was a +worker and never took time to tell me about old times. She said Luckadoo +never whooped her. A storm come and blowed a limb down killed her +granddaughter and broke my leg. The same storm killed their mule. She +raised a orphan boy too. She died from the change of life but she was +old, gray headed. Since I'm older I think she had a tumor. 'Cause she +was old when she took me on.</p> + +<p>"I gets ten dollars from the Welfare. I ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em +nor nothin' agin 'em. They's betwix' and between no 'count and good.</p> + +<p>"Times too fast. I can't keep up wid them. 'Betwix' and between the fat +and the lean.' Some do very well I reckon."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: A Folk History of +Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2, by Work Projects Administration + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES *** + +***** This file should be named 13700-h.htm or 13700-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/0/13700/ + +Produced by Jeannie Howse, Andrea Ball, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team from images provided by the Library of Congress, +Manuscript Division. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2 + +Author: Work Projects Administration + +Release Date: October 11, 2004 [EBook #13700] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES *** + + + + +Produced by Jeannie Howse, Andrea Ball, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team from images provided by the Library of Congress, +Manuscript Division. + + + + + + + +[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note +[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note + + + + +SLAVE NARRATIVES + +A Folk History of Slavery in the United States +From Interviews with Former Slaves + +TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY +THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT +1936-1938 +ASSEMBLED BY +THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT +WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION +FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA +SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS + +Illustrated with Photographs + + +WASHINGTON 1941 + + + + +VOLUME II + +ARKANSAS NARRATIVES + +PART 2 + + + + +Prepared by +the Federal Writers' Project of +the Works Progress Administration +for the State of Arkansas + + + +INFORMANTS + +Cannon, Frank +Cauley, Zenie +Chambers, Liney +Charleston, Jr., Willie Buck +Chase, Lewis +Clay, Katherine +Clemments, Maria Sutton [TR: also reported as Maria Sutton Clements] +Clemons, Fannie +Clinton, Joe +Coleman, Betty +Cotton, Lucy +Cotton, T.W. +Cragin, Ellen +Crane, Sallie +Crawford, Isaac +Crosby, Mary +Crump, Richard +Culp, Zenia +Cumins, Albert [TR: in header and text of interview, Cummins] +Curlett, Betty +Curry, J.H. + +Dandridge, Lyttleton +Daniels, Ella +Darrow, Mary Allen +Davis, Alice +Davis, Charlie +Davis, D. +Davis, James +Davis, Jim +Davis, Jeff +Davis, Jeff +Davis, Jordan +Davis, Mary Jane Drucilla +Davis, Minerva +Davis, Rosetta +Davis, Virginia (Jennie) +Davis, Winnie +Day, Leroy +Dell, Hammett +Dickey, James +Diggs, Benjamin +Dillon, Katie +Dixon, Alice +Dixon, Luke D. +Dixon, Martha Ann +Dockery, Railroad +Donalson, Callie +Dortch, Charles Green +Dorum, Fannie +Dothrum, Silas +Douglas, Sarah +Douglas, Tom +Douglas, Sarah and Tom +Douglas, Sebert +Doyl, Henry +Doyld, Willie +Dudley, Wade +Duke, Isabella +Dukes, Wash +Dunn, Lizzie +Dunne, Nellie +Dunwoody, William L. + +Edwards, Lucius +Elliott, John +Evans, Millie +Farmer, Robert +Fergusson, Lou +Ferrell, Jennie +Fikes, Frank +Filer, J.E. +Finger, Orleans [TR: in text of interview, Orleana] +Finley, Molly +Finney, Fanny +Fisher, Gate-Eye +Fitzgerald, Ellen +Fitzhugh, Henry +Flagg, Mary +Flowers, Doc +Fluker, Frances +Fluker, Ida May +Ford, Wash +Fortenberry, Judia +Foster, Emma +Foster, Ira +Franklin, Leonard +Frazier, Eliza +Frazier, Mary +Frazier, Tyler +Freeman, Mittie +Fritz, Mattie + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +Sarah and Sam Douglas [TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes + "'Tom' written in pencil above 'Sam' in title."] +Millie Evans + + +[TR: Some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added +to interview headers in brackets. Where part of date could not be +determined -- has been substituted. These dates do not appear to +represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews +were received or perhaps transcription dates.] + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Frank Cannon + R.F.D., two miles, Palestine, Arkansas +Age: 77 + + +"I was born three miles west of Starkville, Mississippi on a pretty +tolerable large farm. My folks was bought from a speculator drove come +by. They come from Sanders in South Ca'lina. Master Charlie Cannon +bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. He had +five farms, big size farms. Saturday was ration day. + +"Our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to +preach to us. He was a white preacher. Said he wanted his slaves to be +Christians. + +"I never went to school in my life. I was taught by the fireside to be +obedient and not steal. + +"We et outer trays hewed out of logs. Three of us would eat together. We +had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. +We all had gourds to drink outer. When we had milk we'd get on our knees +and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. They give the grown up +the meat and us pot-liquor. + +"Pa was a blacksmith. He got a little work from other plantations. The +third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. The master was dead. He +never went to war. He went in the black jack thickets. His sons wasn't +old enough to go to war. Pa seemed to like ole master. The overseer was +white looking like the master but I don't know if he was white man or +nigger. Ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. Master +held him off on whooping. + +"When the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and +look at him. When he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. He didn't care +if we look at him. + +"My pa was light about my color. Ma was dark. I heard them say she was +part Creek (Indian). + +"Folks was modester before the children than they are now. The children +was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. Everything +we said wasn't smart like what children say now. We was seen and not +heard. Not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a +brush to nettle our legs. Then we'd run and holler both. + +"Now and then a book come about and it was hid. Better not be caught +looking at books. + +"Times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got +worked too hard and frailed. Some folks was treated very good, some +killed. + +"Folks getting mean now. They living in hopes and lazing about. They +work some." + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person Interviewed: Zenie Cauley + 1000 Louisiana + Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 78 +[-- 7 1938] + + +"I member when they freed the people. + +"I was born in Bedie Kellog's yard and I know she said, 'Zenie, I hate +to give you up, I'd like to keep you.' But my mother said, 'No, ma'am, I +can't give Zenie up.' + +"We still stayed there on the place and I was settled and growed up when +I left there. + +"I'm old. I feels my age too. I may not look old but I feels it. + +"Yes ma'am, I member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. +Old folks had rags on their hair. Yes'm, I been here. + +"My father was a Missionary Baptist preacher and he _was_ a preacher. +Didn't know 'A' from 'B' but he was a preacher. Everbody knowed Jake +Alsbrooks. He preached all over that country of North Carolina. They'd +be as many white folks as colored. They'd give him _money_ and he never +called for a collection in his life. Why one Sunday they give him +sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse. + +"Fore I left the old county, I member the boss man, Henry Grady, come by +and tell my mother, 'I'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when I +come back--kill a chicken.' She was one of the cooks. Used to have us +chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house. + +"Yes, I done left there thirty-six years--will be this August. + +"When we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets +and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach +on Sunday. He fell down in Bedie Kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the +barn. He was standin' on the wagon and I guess he lost his balance. They +sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his +nabel string. They preached his funeral ever year for five years. Seemed +like they just couldn't give him up. + +"White folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up +Uncle Jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he +beat us so I don't know how I can remember anything. He wouldn't let us +go to school. Had to work and just live like pigs. + +"Oh, I used to be a tiger bout work, but I fell on the ice in +'twenty-nine and I ain't never got over it. I said I just had a death +shock. + +"I never went to school but three months in my life. Didn't go long +enough to learn anything. + +"I was bout a mile from where I was born when I professed religion. My +daddy had taught us the right way. I tell you, in them days you couldn't +join the church unless you had been changed. + +"I come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to Arkansas." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Liney Chambers, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I was born in Tennessee close to Memphis. I remember seein' the +Yankees. I was most too little to be very scared of them. They had their +guns but they didn't bother us. I was born a slave. My mother cooked for +Jane and Silas Wory. My mother's name was Caroline. My father's name was +John. An old bachelor named Jim Bledsoe owned him. When the war was over +I don't remember what happened. My mother moved away. She and my father +didn't live together. I had one brother, Proctor. I expect he is dead. +He lived in California last I heard of him. + +"They just expected freedom all I ever heard. I know they didn't expect +the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land +bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. They +thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. They kept +the land and that is about all there was left. Whut the Yankees didn't +take they wasted and set fire to it. They set fire to the rail fences so +the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. Both sides +was mean. But it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the +Souths ground it was the wurst here. Now that's just the way I sees it. +They done one more thing too. They put any colored man in the front +where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the +back lines. When they come along they try to get the colored men to go +with them and that's the way they got treated. I didn't know where +anybody was made to stay on after the war. They was lucky if they had a +place to stay at. There wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. Times +was awful unsettled for a long time. People whut went to the cities +died. I don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' +and livin' I guess whut done it. They died mighty fast for awhile. I +knowed some of them and I heard 'em talking. + +"That period after the war was a hard time. It sho was harder than the +depression. It lasted a long time. Folks got a lots now besides what +they put up with then. Seemed like they thought if they be free they +never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. They +found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been +used to. I don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the +color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. Some of +them had a worse time. So many soon got sick and died. They died of +Consumption and fevers and nearly froze. Some near 'bout starved. The +colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war. + +"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen one. + +"I never voted. I don't believe in it. + +"I never heard of any uprisings. I don't know nobody in that rebellion +(Nat Turner). + +"I used to sing to my children and in the field. + +"I lived on the farm till I come to my daughters to live. I like it +better then in town. We homesteaded a place at Grunfield (Zint) and my +sister bought it. We barely made a living and never had money to lay up. + +"I don't know what they'll (young generation) do. Things going so fast. +I'm glad I lived when I did. I think it's been the best time for p[o]r +folks. Some now got too much and some not got nothin'. That what I +believe make times seem so hard." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Willie Buck Charleston, Jr., Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"I was born up here on the Biscoe place before Mr. Biscoe was heard of +in this country. I'm for the world like my daddy. He was light as I is. +I'm jus' his size and make. There was three of us boys. Dan was the +oldest; he was my own brother, and Ed was my half-brother. My daddy was +a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. He was in the Old War (Civil +War). He was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. +Mother had been a cook. She and my grandmother was sold in South +Carolina and brought out here. Mother's name was Sallie Harry. Judging +by them being Harrys that might been who owned them before they was +sold. She was about as light as me. Mother died when I was a litter bit +er of a fellar. Then me and Dan lived from house to house. Grandma Harry +and my Aunt Mat and Jesse Dove raised us. My daddy married right er way +ag'in. + +"I recollect mighty little about the war. We lived back in the woods and +swamps. I was afraid of the soldiers. I seen them pass by. I was so +little I can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them. + +"When we lived over about Forrest City I seen the Ku Klux whoop Joe Saw +and Bill Reed. It was at night. They was tied to trees and whooped with +a leather snake whoop. I couldn't say how it come up but they sure +poured it on them. There was a crowd come up during the acting. I was +scared to death then. After then I had mighty little use for dressed-up +folks what go around at night (Ku Klux). I can tell you no sich thing +ever took place as I heard of at Biscoe. We had our own two officers and +white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well together." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lewis Chase; Des Arc, Arkansas +Age: 90? + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I answer all your questions I knows lady. + +"When de Civil War goin on I heard lots folks talking. I don't know what +all they did say. It was a war mong de white folks. Niggers had no say +in it. Heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. +Niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. Yankey troops come take +everything we had made, take it to the Bluff (DeValls Bluff), waste it +and eat it. He claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater +way. De niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. +Niggers what I knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin +but freedom. + +"I was sold. Yes mam I sho was. Jes put up on a platform and auctioned +off. Sold right here in Des Arc. Nom taint right. My old mistress [Mrs. +Snibley] whoop me till I run off and they took me back when they found +out where I lef from. I stayed way bout two weeks. + +"One man I sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. N[o]'[o]m he +didn't get me. I heard him puttin up the prices and I sho hope he didn't +get me. + +"I don't know whar I come from. Old Missus Snibley kept my hat pulled +down over my face so I couldn't see de way to go back. I didn't want to +come and I say I go right back. Whar I set, right between old missus and +master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus +Snibley's two girls right behind us. I recken it was a covered wagon. +The girls name was Florence and Emma. Old master Snibley never whip me +but old Missus sho did pile it on me. Noom I didn't lack her. I run +away. He died f[o] the war was over. I did leave her when de war was +over. + +"I saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but I nebber seed no Ku +Klux. I heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the Wattensaw bridge +[Iron bridge]. I was scared might near all de time for four years. Noom +I didn't want no soldiers to get me. + +"I recken I wo long britches when de war started cause when I pulled off +dresses I woe long britches. Never wo no short ones. Nigger boys and +white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years +old in them times. They put on britches when they big nough to help at +the field. + +"I worked at the house and de field. I'se farmed all my life. + +"I vote [HW: many] a time. I don't know what I vote. Noom I don't! I +recken I votes Democrat, I don't know. It don't do no good. Noom I ain't +voted in a long time. I don't know nothin bout votin. I never did. + +"Noom I never owned no land, noom no home neither. I didn't need no +home. The man I worked for give me a house on his place. I work for +another man and he give me a house on his land. I owned a horse one +time. I rode her. + +"I don't know nuthin bout the young generation. I takes care bout +myself. Dats all I'm able to do now. Some ob dem work. Nom they don't +work hard as I did. I works now hard as they do. They ought to work. I +don't know what going to become ob them. I can't help what they do. + +"The times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap +ob time they ain't no work fo em to do. + +"Noom I lived at Bells, Arkansas for I come to Hickory Plains and Des +Arc. I don't know no kin but my mother. She died durin the war. Noom not +all de white folks good to the niggers. Some mean. They whoop em. Some +white folks good. Jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and +some ob em mean. + +"I works when I can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little. + +"I _am_ er hundred years old! Cause I knows I is. White folks all tell +you I am." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Katherine Clay, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 69 + + +"I was born in West Point, Mississippi. My folks' owners was Master +Harris and Liddie Harris. My parent's name was Sely Sikes. She was +mother of seven children. Papa was name Owen Sikes. He never was +whooped. They had different owners. Both my grandparents was dead on +both sides. I never seen them. + +"Mama said her owners wasn't good. Her riding boss put a scar on her +back she took to her grave. It was deep and a foot long. He wanted to +whoop her naked. He had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. She +run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and +told him all about it. She had been in the woods about a week she +reckon. She had a baby she had left. The old mistress done had it +brought to her. She was nursing it. She had a sicking baby of her own. +She kept that baby. Mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had +to come wait on her; it nearly ruined. + +"Mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and +give him ten minutes to leave his place. He left in a hurry. That was +her very first baby. She was raising a family, so they put her a nurse +at the house. She had been ploughing. She had big fine children. They +was proud of them. She raised a big family. She took care of all her and +Miss Liddie's babies and washed their hippins. Never no soap went on +them she said reason she had that to do. Another woman cooked and +another woman washed. + +"Mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her have +her four children. She grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would have a +hard time. She sold for one thousand dollars. She said that was half +price but freedom was coming on. She never laid eyes on her mama ag'in. + +"After freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the +place run the Ku Klux off. They come there and he told them to go on +away, if he need them he would call them back out there. They never came +back, she said. They was scared to death of the Ku Klux. At the place +where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. That was +for miles about. Their master told them up at his house. He said it was +sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. But for +them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. They +didn't go off right at first. They was several years getting broke up. +Some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. Like bees trying to +find a setting place. Seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even +being free. + +"I had eleven children my own self. I let the plough fly back and hit me +once and now I got a tumor there. I love to plough. I got two children +living. She comes to see me. She lives across over here. I don't hear +from my boy. I reckon he living. I gets help from the relief on account +I can't work much with this tumor." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clemments, DeValls Bluff, Ark. +Age: Between 85 and 90 years +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clements] + + +I don't know jes how old I is. Yes mum I show do member the war jes lack +as if it was yesterday. I was born in Lincoln County, Georgia. My old +mistress was named Frances Sutton. She was a real old lady. Her husband +was dead. She had two sons Abraham and George. One of them tried to get +old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. He wanter sell +her cause she too old to bear children. Sell her and buy young woman +raise mo children to sell. Put em in the nigger drove and speculate on +em. Young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes +and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred +dollars. Yea mam every cent of it. Two weeks after baby born see the +mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the +children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. When de sun come +up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid +de dogs playin long after him. If they didn't chop dat cotton jes right +he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood +run out the gashes. They come right back and take up whar they lef off +work. Two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row. + +Had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. +They didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. They had pewter bowls to +eat outer and spoons. Eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the +kitchen. Eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the +bell rung. Big bell on a high post. + +My ma's name was Sina Sutton. She come from Virginia in a nigger traders +drove when she was sixteen years old and Miss Frances husband bought er. +She had nine childen whut lived. I am de youngest. She died jes before +de war broke out. Till that time I had been trained a house girl. My ma +was a field hand. Then when the men all went to the army I plowed. I +plowed four years I recken, till de surrender. Howd I know it was +freedom? A strange woman--I never seed fore, came runnin down where we +was all at work. She say loud as she could "Hay freedom. You is free." +Everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. Dats whut +they come by fer. Course dey was Yankee soldiers settin the colored +folks all free. Everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. They +didn't know whar des goin. Jes scatterin round. I say give 'em somethin. +They was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the +land. The hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. White folks sho +had been rich but all they had was the land. The smoke houses had been +stripped and stripped. The cows all been took off cept the scrubs. Folks +plowed ox and glad to plow one. + +Sometime we had a good time. I danced till I joined the church. We +didn't have no nigger churches that I knowed till after freedom. Go to +the white folks church. We danced square dance jess like the white folks +long time ago. The niggers baptized after the white folks down at the +pond. They joined the white folks church sometimes. The same woman on +the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for Miss Frances. I +recollects that. She knitted and seed about things. She showed the +nigger women how to sew. All the women on the place could card and spin. +They sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. +They show didn't teach them to read. They whoop you if they see you have +a book. If they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout +freedom or equalization. They scatter you bout. + +When they sell you, they take you off. See drove pass the house. Men be +ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. The slaves +be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. They make em stand in +a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction +em. + +The pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own +land. There shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. Some ob +dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get +them to work for them sometimes and pay em. + +When you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. When a +man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. They call +it sellin nigger meat. No use tryin run off they catch you an bring you +back. + +I don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they +was fightin. Said that was what it was about. That was a white mans war +cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the Yankee lines. And some ob +the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. He so used to bein +waited on. I ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem I tell you. + +If der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. The niggers +get passes and visit round on Saturday evening or on Sunday jes mongst +theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round. + +When dat war was done Georgia was jes like being at the bad place. You +couldn't stay in the houses fear some Ku Klux come shoot under yo door +and bust in wid hatchets. Folks hide out in de woods mostly. If dey hear +you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. They whoop you. You +couldn't be settin or standing talkin. They come and ask you what he +been tell you. That Ku Klux killed white men too. They say they put em +up to hold offices over them. It was heap worse in Georgia after freedom +than it was fore. I think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de +white man put on him. We's had a hard time. Some of em down there in +Georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals +and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly +starved and died out. I heard em talk bout how they died in piles. +Niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. White folks didn't have +no meat, no flour. + +The folks was after some people and I run off and kept goin till I +took up with some people. The white folks brought them to +Tennessee--Covington--I come too. They come in wagons. My father, he got +shot and I never seed him no mo. He lived on another farm fo de war. I +lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and I married. My old +man wanted to come to dis new country. Heard so much talk how fine it +was. Then I had run across my brother. He followed me. One brother was +killed in the war somehow. My brother liked Memphis an he stayed there. +We come on the train. I never did like no city. + +We farmed bout, cleared land. Never got much fo the hard work we done. +The white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was +made cept a bare living. + +I could read a little and write. He could too. We went to school a +little in Tennessee. + +When we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, +right here, and I cooked fo Mr. Hopkins seven years and fo Mr. Gus +Thweatt and fo Mr. Nick Thweatt. We got a little ahead then by the +hardest. I carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her +waist]. We bought a house and five acres of land. No mum I don't own it +now. We got in hard luck and give a mortgage. They closed us out. Mr. +Sanders. They say I can live there long as I lives. But they owns it. My +garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. They promises to +come put the posts in but they won't do it and I ain't able no mo. I had +a garden this year. Spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid +the kolerg [cholera]. So I ain't got no meat to eat dis year. + +I ain't never had a chile. I ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat I +knows bout. When I gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after +me. + +I thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they +too lazy to work. No mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. They ain't got +no religion. They so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise +em. I never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation +is killin time. I sho never did vote. I don't believe in it. The women +runnin the world now. The old folks ain't got no money an the young ones +wastes theirs. Theys able to make it. They don't give the old folks +nuthin. The times changes so much I don't know what goiner come next. I +jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. I can't +see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. Things is heap better now fo de +young folks now if they would help derselves. I'm too wo out. I can't do +much like I could when I was young. The white folks don't cheat the +niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when I farmed. + +I never knowed about uprisings till the Ku Klux sprung up. I never heard +bout the Nat Turner rebellion. I tell you bout the onliest man I knowed +come from Virginia. A fellow come in the country bout everybody called +Solomon. Dis long fo the war. He was a free man he said. He would go +bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him +along. He teached some to read. When freedom he went to Augusta. My +brother seed him and said "Solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "I +am er teaching school to my own color." Then he said they run him out of +Virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. Some white +folks up North learned him to read and cipher. He used a black slate and +he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. He was what they +called a ginger cake color. They would whoop you if they seed you with +books learnin. Mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. We mark on +the ground. The passes bout all the paper I ever seed fo I come to +Tennessee. Then I got to go to school a little. + +Whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? Never had +none cept if a white man give it to him. When you a slave you don't have +nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. They cook on the +fireplace. Niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in +one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. The Ku Klux +done the uprisin. They say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. They +killed a lot of black folks in Georgia and a few white folks whut they +said was in wid em. We darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. Two or +three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet +nearly off. That the way the white folks treat the darky. + +I never knowed nobody to hold office. Them whut didn't want to starve +got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. You don't know whut hard +times is. Dem was hard times. They used to hide in big cane brakes, +nearly wild and nearly starved. Scared to come out. I ain't wanted to go +back to Georgia. + +The folks I lived wid fo I come to Tennessee, he tanned hides down at +the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. He sold +them. We farmed but I watched them up at the house minu a time. + +One thing I recollect mighty well. Fo de war a big bellied great monster +man come in an folks made a big to do over him. He eat round and laughed +round havin a big time. His name was Mr. Wimbeish (?). He wo white +britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all +trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. He blowed a bugle +and marched all the men every Friday ebening. He come to Miss Frances. +They fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my +mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. When de first shot of war +went off no more could be heard ob old Mr. Wimbeish. He lef an never was +heard tell ob no mo. _He said never was a Yankee had a hart he didn't +understand_! I never did know whut he was. He jess said that right +smart. + +I gets the Old Age Pension and meets the wagon and gets a little +commodities. I works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. +I trusts in de Lord and try to do right, honey, dat way I lives. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements, De Valls Bluff, Ark. +Age: Between 85 and 90 +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments] + + +"Miss, I don't know a whole heap bout Mr. Wimbeish. I don't know no +other name that what they all call him. Some I heard say it like +Wimbush. He was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here +[stomach]. He have hair bout color youn [light]. He have big blue eyes +jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. He was a lively +man. He had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. He had fair skin and +rosy jaws--full round face. He laughed out loud pretty often. He looked +fine when he laughed too. They all was foolish bout him. He was a +newcommer in there. I don't know whah he stay. He come down the road +regular as Friday come, going to practice em marchin'. Looked like bout +fifty fellows. I never seed Mr. Wimbeish on a horse all time he passed +long that road. He miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed +there. He wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. I never seed him outer +that fresh starched white suit. It was fishtail coat and had red bands +stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. He sure +was a young man. They had him bout different places eatin'. Old mistress +said, 'Fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' That table +was piled full. It was fine eatin'. He say so much I couldn't forgit. +Never was a Yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. I don't +know what he was. He was so different. He muster been a Southerner +'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. It was fo de +war. They say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done gone an' +nebber been heard of till dis day. I heard some say last they seed him, +he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off to find +em nother captain. I don't know if they was tellin' like it took place. +I know I never seed him no more. + + +Slave Times + +"The servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans--little wooden +bowls--and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. Some +had tables fixed up out under the trees. Way they make em--split a big +tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. They +cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. They cooked sompin +to eat. They had plenty to eat. But they didn't have pies and cake less +they be goiner have company. They have so much milk they fatten the pigs +on it. + +"The animals eat up the gardens and crops. The man kill coon and possum +if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. I say it sure is good. It +is good as pork. The men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. If you +be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a +bucket that high [2 ft.], that big er round [1-1/2 feet wide]. The hands +all come an' did they eat. That be mostly fried meat and bread and baked +taters, so they could work. + +"Old mistress say she first married Mr. Abraham Chenol. Then she married +Mr. Joel Sutton and they both died. She had two sons. She had a nephew +what come there from way off. She said he was her sister's boy. Couse +they had doctors and good ones. Iffen a doctor come say one thing the +matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. Old +mistress had three boys till one died. I was brushin' flies offen him. +She come and cry and go way cryin'. He callin' her all time. He quit +callin' her then he was dead. Made a sorter gurglin' sound. That the +first person I seed die. When they say he dead I got out and off I was +gone. I was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. I don't know +what was the matter wid em. They buried him on her place whah the grave +yard was made. Both her husbands buried down there. She had a fine +marble put over his grave. It had things wrote on it. She sent way off +an' got it. They hauled it to here in a wagon. The Masons burled him. It +was the prettiest sight I ever seed. + +"Her son John had some peafowls. She had geese--a big drove--turkeys, +guineas, ducks, and geese. + +"She had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! They +used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather +bed. Old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. +They had a marble top table and a big square piano. That was the parlor +furniture. They made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins. + +"When she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine +dresses--big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round +her waist. We wore 5ข calico and gingham dresses for best. She'd buy +three and four bolts at Augusta [Georgia] and have it made up to work +in. We didn't spin and weave till the war come on. Some old men come +round making spinnin' wheels. They was very plain too nearly bout rough. +Rich folks had fine silk dresses--jes' rattle when they walked--to wear +to preachin'. They sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war +but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war +started. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"It started outener the bushwhackers. Some say they didn't get what was +promised em at Shiloh Battle. They didn't get their rights. I don't know +what they meant by it. The bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner +work--ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. Such hollerin' and +scramblin' then you never heard. They hide behind big pine trees till he +come up then step out behind and grab him. They first come an' call fer +water. Plenty water in the well or down at the spring. They knowed it +too. Then they waste all you had brought up and say--'Ah! First drink I +had since I come from hell.' They all knowed ain't nobody come from +hell. They had hatchets an' they burst in your house. Jes' to scare you. +They shoot under your house. They wore their wives big wide nightgowns +and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. They looked like a gang from +hell--ugliest things you ebber _did_ see. It was cold--ground spewed up +wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. +Old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a +preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [TR: +'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. He put a navy six in his +belt and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. It was a long gun +shoot sixteen times. He was a dangerous man. He made the Ku Klux let his +folks alone. He walk all night bout his place. He say, 'Forward March!' +Then they pass by. He was a dangerous man. So much takin' place all time +I was scared nearly to death all time." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Maria Sutton Clements + De Valls Bluff, Arkansas +Age: +[Dec 31 1937] +[TR: Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments] + + +"Missus, I thought if I'd see you agin I'd tell you this song: + + 'Jeff Davis is President + Abe Lincoln is a fool + Come here, see Jeff ride the gray horse + And Abe Lincoln the mule.' + +"They sang all sich songs durin' of the war. + +"Five wagons come by. They said it was Jeff Davise's wagons. They was +loaded wid silver money--all five--in Lincoln County, Georgia. Somehow +the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. +Abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. Sho it +was white folks all but two or three slaves. Hogs tore up sacks money, +find em hid in the woods. They thought it was corn. They found a leather +trunk full er money--silver money--down in the creek. Money buried all +round. The way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime +to a Yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. That started it all. They tied +their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in +trees by their wrists behind em. It put heep of em in bed an' some most +died never did get over it. The Yankee soldiers come down that [HW: +then?] and got all the money nearly. They say the war last four years, +five months. Seemed like twenty years." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Person Interviewed: Fannie Clemons + 940 N. Washington + El Dorado, Ark. +Age: 78 + + +"I was born down in Farmerville, Louisiana in the year of 1860. Now my +ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people I do not +know. You see, child, I am old and I can't recollect so good. I didn't +know my pa cause my ma quit him when I was little. My ma said she worked +hard in the field like a black stepchild. My ma had nine chilluns and I +was the oldest of the nine. She said her old miss wouldn't let her come +to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl +through a hole in the floor. She took and pulled a plank up so she could +slip through. + +"I would drink any kind of water that I saw if I wanted a drink. If the +white folks poured out wash water and I wanted a drink that would do me. +It just made me fat and healthy. Most we played was tussling, and +couldn't no boy throw me. Nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't. + +"We always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. +At Christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas +and stuff like that wasn't out then. Bananas and oranges just been out a +few years. And sugar--we did not know about that. We always used sugar +from molasses. I don't think sugar been in session long. If it had I did +not get it. + +"I got married when I was pretty old, I lived with my husband eight +years and he died. I had some children, but I stole them. The biggest +work I ever done was farm and we sure worked." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person interviewed: Joe Clinton, Route 2, Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 86 + + +"Uncle Joe" Clinton, on ex-Mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that +he owns a few miles north of Marvell, Arkansas. His wife has been dead +for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his +boy, Joe, who left home fifteen years ago for Chicago and from whom no +word has been received since, is still alive. Due to the infirmities of +age "Uncle Joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the +income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the Negro +family with whom he lives. Seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "Uncle +Joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early October as +I passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his +cabin. Arousing himself on my approach, the old Negro offered me a +chair. I explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the +following story: + +"I'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in Panola County, +Mississippi 'bout three miles from Sardis. My ole mars was Mark +Childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en +jus' gangs of chillun. I was real small when us lived in Panola County; +how-some-ever I riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold +out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big +plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in Coahoma County not far from +Friar Point. De very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is +what dey call now, de 'Clover Hill Plantation'. De fust year dat us +lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'Swan Lake +Place'. Dat place is over dere close to Jonestown and de very place dat +Mr. Billy Jones and his son John bought, en dats zackly how come dat +town git its name. It was named for Mr. John Jones. + +"My mars, Mark Childress, he never was married. He was a bachelor, en +I'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to +be found wid him. But dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. Dey +was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat I is +ever seen. Dat was Harvey Brown. Mars had a nephew what lived with him +named Mark Sillers. He was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. +Mr. Mark Sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times +dat mars 'way from home Mr. Mark, he the real boss den. + +"Mr. Harvey Brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough I tell you, and de +onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would +be old mars or Mr. Mark Sillers. Bofe of dem was good and kind most all +de time. One time dat I remembers, ole mars, he gone back to Panola +County for somepin', en Mr. Mark Sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. +That was de day dat Mr. Harvey Brown come mighty nigh killin' Henry. +I'll tell you how dat was, boss. It was on Monday morning that it +happened. De Friday before dat Monday morning, all of de hands had been +pickin' cotton and Mr. Harvey Brown didn't think dat Henry had picked +enough cotton dat day en so he give Henry er lashin' out in de field. +Dat night Henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid +in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. Mr. Harvey, he missed +Henry from de field en sent Jeff an' Randall to find him and bring him +in. Dey found Henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to +de field dat Mr. Harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. So Henry, he +comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds +what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off. + +"When Henry git back Mr. Harvey say, 'Henry, where your sack? And how +come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' Henry say he +done burnt he sack up. Wid dat Mr. Harvey lit in to him like a bear, +lashin' him right and left. Henry broke en run den to de cook house +where he mammy, 'Aunt Mary', was, en Mr. Harvey right after him wid a +heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. Mr. Harvey got Henry +cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. In fact, +Mr. Harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt Henry 'cause he called +'Uncle Nat' en said, 'Nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis +nigger what I done kilt.' + +"But Henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in +de sick house. For days en days 'Uncle Warner' had to 'tend to him, en +wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. Dat was jus' de way +dat Mr. Harvey Brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. He +would even lash en beat de wimmens. + +"Ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where +dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' +in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. Old 'Aunt Hannah', an old granny +woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. De chillun's mammies, dey would +come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. +Dere was er young nigger woman name Jessie what had a young baby. One +day when Jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, Mr. Harvey think +she gone little too long. He give her a hard lashin'. + +"Ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he +own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. Dat was where all +de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. Aunt Mary, she de +head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. All of de field hands +durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. I waited +on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters +en de barns, en too I was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets +of grub to de field hands. + +"Ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. +Dat was where dem was put dat was sick. It was a place where dey was +doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. It was er sort +er hospital like. 'Uncle Warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he +could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play +off from work. + +"My pappy, he was named Bill Clinton en my mammy was named Mildred. De +reason how come I not named Childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he +named Clinton when mars git him from de Clintons up in Tennessee +somewhere. My mars, he was a good man jus' like I'm tellin' you. Mars +had a young nigger woman named Malinda what got married to Charlie +Voluntine dat belonged to Mr. Nat Voluntine dat had a place 'bout six +miles from our place. In dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen +de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't +git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. So +Malinda, she got atter mars to buy Charlie. Sure 'nough he done that +very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. Dat was good in our +mars. + +"When any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, +dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he +say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'Uncle Peyton' to +marry 'em. 'Course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers +to marry en I don't riccolect what it was dat 'Uncle Peyton' would say +when he done de marryin'. But I 'members well dat 'Uncle Peyton', he de +one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies. + +"My mars, he didn't go to de War but he sure sent er lot er corn en he +sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat I 'members. +Den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de Confedrites +in Georgia. I 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. They was +all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en +goin' to de War. Dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em +fight. But mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en +sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en Jeff an' Randall, they runned +off en come back home all de way from Georgia en mars let 'em stay. + +"Boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en +dat his overseer, Mr. Harvey Brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en +would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it +was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. Now I'se +gwine to tell you de reason. You know de truth is de light, boss, an' +dis is de truth what I'se gwine to say. Mars, he in love with Mr. Harvey +Brown's wife, Miss Mary, and Miss Mary's young daughter, she was mars' +chile. Yas suh, she was dat. She wasn't no kin er tall to Mr. Harvey +Brown. Her name was Miss Markis, dats what it was. Mars had done willed +dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. He +was gwine give her Tolliver, Beckey, Aunt Mary, Austin, an' Savannah en +er heap more 'sides dat. But de War, it come on en broke mars up, en all +de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so I heered Mr. Harvey Brown en Miss +Mary, and de young lady Miss Markis, dey moved up North some place en I +ain't never heered no more from dem. + +"Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Clarke what de town of Clarksdale is named for, dey +lived not far from our place. I knowed dem well. Albert, one of mars' +darkies, married Cindy, one of Mr. Clarke's women. General Forrest, I +know you is heered of him. I speck he 'bout de bes' general in de War. +He sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. De +general, he had a big plantation down dere in Coahoma County where he +would come ever so offen. A lot of times he would come to our place en +take dinner wid ole mars, en I would be er waitin' on de table er takin' +dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness. + +"Boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de +white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. Dere was a heap of dat went on +all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' +had to put up wid it. Da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens I'se +ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. Of +course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars +knowin' it. Dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but I'se never heered +'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. It jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed +it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. You know dat niggers is +bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and +some of mars' darkies, dey say dat Sam and Dick, what was two real light +colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. Dat was all talk. I nebber +did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber +cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Betty Coleman + 1112-1/2 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 +Occupation: Cotton Picker +[Dec 31 1937] + + +"My father belonged to Mr. Ben Martin and my mother and me belonged to +the Slaughters. I was small then and didn't know what the war was about, +but I remember seein' the Yankees and the Ku Klux. + +"Old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but Mr. Martin had a +plenty--he had bout a hundred head. + +"I member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in Bradley County. We +was goin' to Texas to keep the Yankees from gettin' us. I member Mr. Gil +Martin was just a young lad of a boy. We got as far as Union County and +I know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and +then peace was declared so we cane back to Warren. + +"While the war was goin' on, I member when my mother took a note to some +soldiers in Warren and asked em to come and play for Miss Mary. I know +they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. There was +a perty big bunch of em. Us chillun was glad to hear it. I member just +as well as if 'twas yesterday. + +"I member when the Yankees come and took all of Miss Mary's silver--took +every piece of it. And another time they got three or four of the +colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em +bareback. Yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as +mad. Oh Lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. All the horses was +just alike--iron gray. Sho was perty horses. Them Yankees took +everything Miss Mary had. + +"After the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop and +then my father bought fifty acres of Mr. Ben Martin. He paid some on it +every year and when it was paid for Mr. Ben give him a deed to it. + +"I'm the only child my mother had. She never had but me, one. I went to +school after the war and I member at night I'd be studyin' my lesson and +rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. I used to +love to hear him on long winter evenings. + +"I stayed right there till I married. My father had cows and he'd kill +hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. Our white folks was +always good to us." + + + + +Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lucy +Person interviewed: Lucy Cotton + Russellville, Arkansas +Age: 72 +[Jan 7 1938] + + +"Lucy Cotton's my name, and I was born on the tenth day of June, 1865, +jist two months after the surrender. No suh, I ain't no kin to the other +Cottons around here, so far as I knows. My mother was Jane Hays, and she +was owned by a master named Wilson. + +"I've belonged to the Holiness Church six years. (They call us +'Holiness,' but the real name is Pentecostal.) + +"Yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when I was a +girl--especially among the young people. I think no woman, white or +black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. Their +place is at home raisin' a family. I hear em sometimes slinging out +their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me. + +"Good day, mistah. I wish you well--but the gov'ment ain't gonna do +nothing. It never has yit." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: T.W. Cotton, Helena, Arkansas +Age: 80 +[May 11 1938] + + +"I was born close to Indian Bay. I belong to Ed Cotton. Mother was sold +from John Mason between Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia. Three sisters +was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. Grandma was +so old she wasn't much account fer field work. Mother left a son she +never seen ag'in. Aunt Adeline's boy come too. They was put on a block +but I can't recollect where it was. If mother had a husband she never +said nothing 'bout him. He muster been dead. + +"Now my papa come from La Grange, Tennessee. Master Bowers sold him to +Ed Cotton. He was sold three times. He had one scar on his shoulder. The +patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at Indian Bay. He was +a Guinea man. He was heavy set, not very tall. Generally he carried the +lead row in the field. He was a good worker. They had to be quiet wid +him to get him to work. He would run to the woods. He was a fast runner. +He lived to be about a hundred years old. I took keer of him the last +five years of his life. Mother was seventy-one years old when she died. +She was the mother of twenty-one children. + +"Sure, I do remember freedom. After the Civil War ended, Ed Cotton +walked out and told papa: 'Rob, you are free.' We worked on till 1866 +and we moved to Joe Lambert's place. He had a brother named Tom Lambert. +Father never got no land at freedom. He got to own 160 acres, a house on +it, and some stock. We all worked and helped him to make it. He was a +hard worker and a fast hand. + +"I farmed all my life till fifteen years ago I started trucking here in +Helena. I gets six dollars assistance from the Sociable Welfare and some +little helpouts as I calls it--rice and potatoes and apples. I got one +boy fifty-five years old if he be living. I haven't seen him since 1916. +He left and went to Chicago. I got a girl in St. Louis. I got a girl +here in Helena. I jus' been up to see her. I had nine children. I been +married twice. I lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven +months. She died. I lived with my second wife forty years and some +over--several weeks. She died. + +"I was a small boy when the Civil War broke out. Once I got a awful +scare. I was perched up on a post. The Yankees come up back of the house +and to my back. I seen them. I yelled out, 'Yonder come Yankees.' They +come on cussing me. Aunt Ruthie got me under my arms and took me to Miss +Fannie Cotton. We lived in part of their house. Walter (white) and me +slept together. Mother cooked. Aunt Ruthie was a field hand. Aunt +Adeline must have been a field hand too. She hung herself on a black +jack tree on the other side of the pool. It was a pool for ducks and +stock. + +"She hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. Mother raised +(reared) her boy. She told mother she would kill herself before she +would be whooped. I never heard what she was to be whooped for. She +thought she would be whooped. She took a rope and tied it to a limb and +to her neck and then jumped. Her toes barely touched the ground. They +buried her in the cemetery on the old Ed Cotton place. I never seen her +buried. Aunt Ruthie's grave was the first open grave I ever seen. Aunt +Mary was papa's sister. She was the oldest. + +"I would say anything to the Yankees and hang and hide in Miss Fannie's +dress. She wore long big skirts. I hung about her. Grandma raised me on +a bottle so mother could nurse Walter (white). There was something wrong +wid Miss Fannie. We colored children et out of trays. They hewed them +out of small logs. Seven or eight et together. We had our little cups. +Grandma had a cup for my water. We et with spoons. It would hold a peck +of something to eat. I nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised +Walter and grandma raised me. Walter et out of our tray many and many a +time. Mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. Henry was +younger than Walter. They was the only two children Miss Fannie had. +Grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. She'd put the +bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. It was good. + +"Did you ever hear of Walter Cotton, a cancer doctor? That was him. He +may be dead now. Me and him caused Aunt Sue to get a whooping. They had +a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. Walter knocked +one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. We et it. Mr. Ed asked +'bout it. Walter told her Aunt Sue pulled it. She didn't come by the +tree. He whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled it nor +never seen it. I was scared then to tell on Walter. I hope eat it. Aunt +Sue had grown children. + +"The Ku Klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and +he opened the door. They grunted around. They told papa to come out. He +didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. He told them +when he finished that crop they could have his room. He left that year. +They come in on me once before I married. I was at my girl's house. They +wanted to be sure we married. The principal thing they was to see was +that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. I +wasn't married but I soon did marry her. They scared us up some. + +"I don't know if times is so much better for some or not. Some folks +won't work. Some do work awful hard. Young folks I'm speaking 'bout. +Times is mighty fast now. Seems like they get faster and faster every +way. I'll be eighty years old this May. I was born in 1858." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Ellen Cragin + 815-1/2 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: Around 80 or more +[May 31 1939] + + +[HW: Escapes on Cow] + +"I was born on the tenth of March in some year, I don't know what one. I +don't know whether it was in the Civil War or before the Civil War. I +forget it. I think that I was born in Vicksburg, Mississippi; I'm not +sure, but I think it was. + +"My mother was a great shouter. One night before I was born, she was at +a meeting, and she said, 'Well, I'll have to go in, I feel something.' +She said I was walkin' about in there. And when she went in, I was born +that same night. + +"My mother was a great Christian woman. She raised us right. We had to +be in at sundown. If you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip +you,--whip you within an inch of your life. + +"She didn't work in the field. She worked at a loom. She worked so long +and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. Her master's boy +saw her and told his mother. His mother told him to take a whip and wear +her out. He took a stick and went out to beat her awake. He beat my +mother till she woke up. When she woke up, she took a pole out of the +loom and beat him nearly to death with it. He hollered, 'Don't beat me +no more, and I won't let 'em whip you.' + +"She said, 'I'm goin' to kill you. These black titties sucked you, and +then you come out here to beat me.' And when she left him, he wasn't +able to walk. + +"And that was the last I seen of her until after freedom. She went out +and got on an old cow that she used to milk--Dolly, she called it. She +rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if +she stayed. + +"My mother was named Luvenia Polk. She got plumb away and stayed away. +On account of that, I was raised by my mother. She went to Atchison, +Kansas--rode all through them woods on that cow. Tore her clothes all +off on those bushes. + +"Once a man stopped her and she said, 'My folks gone to Kansas and I +don't know how to find 'em.' He told her just how to go. + +"My father was an Indian. 'Way back in the dark days, his mother ran +away, and when she came up, that's what she come with--a little Indian +boy. They called him 'Waw-_hoo_'che.' His master's name was Tom Polk. +Tom Polk was my mother's master too. It was Tom Polk's boy that my +mother beat up. + +"My father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. One time when somethin' +he had did didn't suit Tom Polk--I don't know what it was--they cut +sores on him that he died with. Cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. +And then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores. + +"He told his master, 'You have took me down and beat me for nothin', and +when you do it again, I'm goin' to put you in the ground.' Papa never +slept in the house again after that. They got scared and he was scared +of them. He used to sleep in the woods. + +"They used to call me 'Waw-hoo'che' and 'Red-Headed Indian Brat.' I got +in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,--on account of that. + +"The children used to say to me, 'They beat your papa yesterday.' + +"And I would say to them, 'They better not beat my papa,' and they would +go up to the house and tell it, and I would beat 'em for tellin' it. + +"There was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read +the Bible. + +"Papa said, 'Ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?' + +"The old man said, 'No; they don't know what I'm doing, and don't you +tell 'em. If you do, they will kill me.' + + +Signs of the War + +"One night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the +elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens. + +"'Don't you see them, honey?' he said; but I couldn't see them. And he +said there was going to be a war. + +"I went out and told it. The white people said they ought to take him +out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. Because if they got such +talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do +nothin' with them. Dr. Polk's wife's father, Old Man Woods, used to say +that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. He said that God had showed +that to him. + + +Mean Masters + +"Dr. Polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the +ground, were two mean men. When the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for +them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, +till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death. + +"Mother was a breeder. While she did that weaving, she had children +fast. One day, Tom Polk hit my mother. That was before she ran away. He +hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. When +there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you +know. I forget how much cotton they had to pick. I don't know how many +times he hit her. I was small. I heard some one say, 'They got Clarisay +Down, down there!' I went to see. And they had her down. She was stout, +and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. I never did +get over that. I'm an old woman, but Tom Polk better not come 'round me +now even. + +"I have heard women scream and holler, 'Do pray, massa, do pray.' And I +was sure glad when she beat up young Tom and got away. I didn't have no +use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet. + +"It wasn't her work to be in the field. He made her breed and then made +her work at the loom. That wasn't nothin'. He would have children by a +nigger woman and then have them by her daughter. + +"I went out one day and got a gun. I don't know whose gun it was. I said +to myself, 'If you whip my mother today, I am goin' to shoot you.' I +didn't know where the gun belonged. My oldest sister told me to take it +and set it by the door, and I did it. + + +How Freedom Came + +"Dr. Polk had a fine horse. He came riding through the field and said, +'All you all niggers are free now. You can stay here and work for me or +you can go to the next field and work.' + +"I had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. She jumped off +that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering. + +"The people all said, 'Nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her +today.' She'd been setting on that log one year. She wouldn't do no kind +of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her. + + +"Big Niggers" + +"They used to call my folks 'big niggers.' Papa used to get things off a +steamboat. One day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the +people not to touch it. One day when he went out, I went in it. I had to +see what it was. I drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, +'You've been in that demi-john.' I said, 'No, I haven't.' But he said, +'Yes, you have; I can tell by the way you look.' And then I told him the +truth. + +"He would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of +other things. Anything he wanted, he would get. That he didn't, he would +ask him to bring the next trip. + +"It was a Union gunboat, and ran under the water. You could see the +smoke. The white people said, 'That boat's goin' to carry some of these +niggers away from here one of these days.' + +"And sure enough, it did carry one away. + + +Buried Treasure and a Runaway + +"I went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named Charles +there. + +"I said, 'What you doing out here so early this morning?' + +"He said to me, 'You hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.' + +"I went back to the house and told my mother, 'I saw Charles out there.' +That was before my mother ran away. + +"My mother said, 'He's fixing to run away. And he's got a barrel of +money. And it belongs to the Doctor. 'Cause he and the Dr. went out to +bury it to keep the Yankees from getting it.' + +"He ran away, and he took the money with him, too. He went out to Kansas +City and bought a home. We didn't think much of it, because we knew it +was wrong to do it. But Old Master Tom had done a heap of wrong too. He +was the first one spotted the boat that morning--Charles was. And he +went away on it. + + +Plenty to Eat + +"My father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. +I know what it is now. I didn't know then. He would clean the hog and +everything before he would bring him to the house. You had to come down +outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to +eat. If my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his +master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit. + +"My folks liked hog guts. We didn't try to keep them long. We'd jus' +clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. I didn't like to +clean 'em but I sure loved to eat 'em. Father had a great big pot they +called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. You could +smell 'em all over the country. I didn't have no sense. Whenever we had +a big hog killin', I would say to the other kids, 'We got plenty of meat +at our house.' + +"They would say back, 'Where you got it?' + +"I would tell 'em. And they would say, 'Give us some.' + +"And I would say to them, 'No, that's for us.' + +"So they called us 'big niggers.' + + +Marriages Since Freedom + +"My first baby was born to my husband. I didn't throw myself away. I +married Mr. Cragin in 1867. He lived with me about fifteen years before +he died. He got kicked. He was a baker. During the War, he was the cook +in a camp. He went to get some flour one morning. He snatched the tray +too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. He never did get over it. The +tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. It was a sliding tray. +It rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. I don't know +why they called it a kick. + +"I married a second husband--if you can call it that--a nigger named +Jones. He had a spoonful of sense. We didn't live together three months. +He came in one day and I didn't have dinner ready. He slapped me. I had +never been slapped by a man before. I went to the drawer and got my +pistol out and started to kill him. But I didn't. I told him to leave +there fast. He had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, +and then he used to use bad language too. + + +Occupation + +"I've always sewed for a living. See that sign up there?" The sign read: + + ALL KINDS OF BUTTONS SEWED ON + MENDING TOO + +"I can't cut out no dress and make it, but I can use a needle on +patching and quilting. Can't nobody beat me doin' that. I can knit, too. +I can make stockings, gloves, and all such things. + +"I belong to Bib Bethel Church, and I get most of my support from the +Lord. I get help from the government. I'm trying to get moved, and I'm +just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. I ain't got +no money, but he promised to move me." + + +INTERVIEWER'S COMMENT + +There it was--the appeal to the slush fund. I have contributed to lunch, +tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. I had only +six cents which I had reserved for car fare. But after you have talked +with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in +any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent +on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged +clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely +hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it +is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk +any distance you want to. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Sallie Crane + See first paragraph in interviewer's comment + for residences +Age: 90, or more + + +[HW: Whipped from Sunup to Sundown] + +"I was born in Hempstead County, between Nashville and Greenville, in +Arkansas, on the Military Road. Never been outside the state in my life. +I was born ninety years ago. I been here in Pulaski County nearly +fifty-seven years. + +"I was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. Nary a window +and one door. I had a bedstead made with saw and ax. Chairs were made +with saw, ax, and draw knife. My brother Orange made the furniture. We +kept the food in boxes. + +"My mother's name was Mandy Bishop, and my father's name was Jerry +Bishop. I don't know who my grand folks were. They was all Virginia +folks--that is all I know. They come from Virginia, so they told me. My +old master was Harmon Bishop and when they divided the property I fell +to Miss Evelyn Bishop. + + +Age + +"The first man that came through here writing us up for the Red Cross, I +give him my age as near as I could. And they kept that. You know peace +was declared in 1865. They told me I was free. I got scared and thought +that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me +down in Louisiana. My old mistress said, 'You fool, you are free. We are +going to take you to your mammy.' I cried because I thought they was +carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in +Louisiana. My old mistress said she would whip me. But she didn't. When +we got to my mother's, I said, 'How old is I?' She said, 'You are +sixteen.' She didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say +weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'You are sixteen.' And my +case worker told me that made me ninety years old. + +"I was in Hempstead County on Harmon Bishop's plantation. It was Miss +Polly, Harmon's wife, that told me I was free, and give me my age. + +"I know freedom come before 1865, because my brothers would tell me to +come home from Nashville where I would be sent to do nursing by my old +mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress. + +"When my old master's property was divided, I don't know why--he wasn't +dead nor nothin'--I fell to Miss Evelyn, but I stayed in Nashville +working for Miss Jennie Nelson, one of Harmon's daughters. Miss Jennie +was my young mistress. My brothers were already free. I don't know how +Miss Polly came to tell me I was free. But my brothers would see me and +tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but I +was afraid to try it. Finally Miss Polly found that she couldn't keep me +any longer and she come and told me I was free. But I thought that she +was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators. + + +Family + +"My mother was the mother of twenty children and I am the mother of +eighteen. My youngest is forty-five. I don't know whether any of my +mother's children is living now or not. I left them that didn't join the +militia in Hempstead County fifty-seven years ago. Them that joined the +militia went off. I don't know nothin' about them. I have two girls +living that I know about. I had two boys went to France and I never +heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. Nothing--not a word. Red +Cross has hunted 'em. Police Mitchell hunted 'em--police Mitchell in +Little Rock. But I ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em. + + +Work + +"The first work I did was nursing and after that I was water toter. I +reckon I was about seven or eight years old when I first began to nurse. +I could barely lift the baby. I would have to drag them 'round. Then I +toted water to the field. Then when I was put to plowing, and chopping +cotton, I don't know exactly how old I was. But I know I was a young +girl and it was a good while before the War. I had to do anything that +come up--thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting +logs, splitting rails. Women in them days wasn't tender like they is +now. They would call on you to work like men and you better work too. My +mother and father were both field hands. + + +Soldiers + +"Oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! Man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, +two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching +making it to the next stockade. Those were Yankees. They didn't set no +slaves free. When I knowed anything about freedom, it was the Bureaus. +We didn't know nothing like young folks do now. + +"We hardly knowed our names. We was cussed for so many bitches and sons +of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. We never heard our +names scarcely at all. First young man I went with wanted to know my +initials! What did I know 'bout initials? You ask 'em ten years old now, +and they'll tell you. That was after the War. Initials!!! + + +Slave Sales + +"Have I seen slaves sold! Good God, man! I have seed them sold in +droves. I have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying +to run away. I couldn't eat nor drink--couldn't even catch the slobber +that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on +it and blowed it. 'Scuse me but jus' look at these places. (She pulled +open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in--ed.) + + +Whippings + +"I been whipped from sunup till sundown. Off and on, you know. They whip +me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start +again. They kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' +nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would +take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt +more. They would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with +birch sprouts the other part. There were splinters long as my finger +left in my back. A girl named Betty Jones come over and soaped the +splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. They didn't +whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. They jus' +whipped me 'cause they could--'cause they had the privilege. It wasn't +nothin' I done; they just whipped me. My married young master, Joe, and +his wife, Jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. But I +belonged to Miss Evelyn. + +"They had so many babies 'round there I couldn't keep up with all of +them. I was jus' a young girl and I couldn't keep track of all them +chilen. While I was turned to one, the other would get off. When I +looked for that one, another would be gone. Then they would whip me all +day for it. They would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a +bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when +company come. + + +Food + +"We et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. Mush and milk. Cedar trough +and long-handled cedar spoons. Didn't know what meat was. Never got a +taste of egg. Oo-ee! Weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. They used to +make citrons. They were good too. When the little white chilen would be +comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. They would say, 'Whose +nigger are you?' And we would say, 'Yor'n!' And they would say, 'No, you +ain't.' They would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good +stuff they'd brought back. Hold it out and snatch it back! Finally, +they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing. + + +Health + +"They're burying old Brother Jim Mullen over here today. He was an old +man. They buried one here last Sunday--eighty some odd. Brother Mullen +had been sick for thirty years. Died settin' up--settin' up in a chair. +The old folks is dyin' fas'. Brother Smith, the husband of the old lady +that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. Ain't been well +for a long time. + +"Look at that place on my head. (There was a knot as big as a hen +egg--smooth and shiny--ed.) When it first appeared, it was no bigger +then a pea, I scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. I +went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. One doctor said it +was a busted vein. Another said it was a tumor. Another said it was a +wen. I know one thing. It don't hurt me. I can scratch it; I can rub it. +(She scratched and rubbed it while I flinched and my flesh crawled--ed.) +But it's got me so I can't see and hear good. Dr. Junkins, the best +doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. Dr. Hicks +wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. I told him he'd let it stay on +for nothin'. I never was sick in my life till a year ago. I used to +weigh two hundred ten pounds; now I weigh one hundred forty. I can lap +up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice. + +"Since I was sick a year ago. I haven't been able to get 'round any. I +never been well since. The first Sunday in January this year, I got +worse settin' in the church. I can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on +myself. But with what I do and the neighbors' help, I gets along +somehow. + + +Present Condition + +"If it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. I would suffer +for a drink of water. Somebody ran in on old lady Chairs and killed her +for her money. But they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. +Somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. Since then I have been +'fraid to stay at home even. + +"I had a fine five-room house and while I was down sick, my daughter +sold it and I didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. She got the +money, but I never seed it. I jus' lives here in these rags and this +dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. I've got fine +furniture that she keeps in her house. + +"I get some help from the Welfare. They give me eight dollars. They give +me commodities too. They give me six at first, and they increased it. My +case worker said she would try to git me some more. God knows I need it. +I have to pay for everything I get. Have to pay a boy to go get water +for me. There's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time +to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. You see those boys there +goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. One of the merchants in town +had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him. + +"You gets 'round lots, son, don't you? Well; if you see anybody that has +some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. I don't care +whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. Men's shoes are more +comfortable. I wear number sevens. I don't know what last. Can't you +tell? (I suppose that her shoes would be seven E--ed.) I can't live off +eight dollar. I have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go +for my water, 'n everything. I got these dresses give to me. They too +small, and I got 'em laid out to be let out. + +"You just come in any time; I can't talk to you like I would a woman; +but I guess you can understand me." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Sallie Crane lives near the highway between Sweet Home and Wrightsville. +Wrightsville post office, Lucinda Hays' box. McLain Birch, 1711 Wolfe +Street, Little Rock, knows the way to her house. + +Her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed +before the War. If anything, it is more than the ninety which she +claims. Those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five. + +She has a good memory although she complains of her health. She seems to +be pretty well dependent on herself and the Welfare and is asking for +old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person Interviewed: Isaac Crawford + Brinkley, Ark. +Age: 75 + + +"I was born the first year of the Civil War. I was born and raised and +married in Holmes County, Mississippi. My parents was named Harriett and +James Crawford. They belong to a widow woman, Miss Sallie Crawford. She +had a girl named Bettie and three sons named Sam, Mack, Gus. Mack and +Gus was heavy drinkers. Moster Sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. +They wasn't mean to the Negroes on the place. They had eight or nine +families scattered around over their land. + +"I farmed till I was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands +on the place I stayed till after I married. + +"I know Sam was in the war and come home cripple. He was in the war five +years. He couldn't get home from the war. I drove his hack and toted him +to it. I toted him in the house. He said he never rode in the war; he +always had to walk and tote his baggage. His feet got frost bit and raw. +They never got well. He lived. They lived close to Goodman, Mississippi. + +"I heard my mother say she was mixed with Creole Indian. She was some +French. My father was pure African. Now what am I? + +"Ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. She wrung my ears and talked to +me. I minded her pretty good. + +"The children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. Some +folks kept their children looking good. Some let em go. They fed em--set +a big pot and dip em out greens. Give em a cup of milk. We all had +plenty coarse victuals. We all had to work. It done you no good to be +fraid er sweat in them days. + +"I didn't know bout freedom and I didn't care bout it. They didn't give +no land nor no mules away as I ever know'd of. + +"The Ku Klux never come on our place. I heard about em all the time. I +seen em in the road. They look like hants. + +"I been farming all my life. I come here to farm. Better land and no +fence law. + +"I come to 'ply to the P.W.A. today. That is the very reason you caught +me in town today." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Crosby + 1216 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"Good morning. I don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery +times 'cept me. I don't know exactly when I was born in Georgia but I +can remember my mama said her old master, Mat Fields, sent my father and +all the other men folks to Arkansas the second year of the war. After +the war, I remember there was a colored man named Mose come from +Mississippi to Georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money +off the trees in Mississippi. Of course they was just ignorant as cattle +and they believed him. I know I thought what a good time I would have. I +can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all +leaving, but Mose emigrated all of us to Mississippi. + +"He kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. The +white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he +sure did get some colored folks out of Georgia. + +"I 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. They called it the +Civil War. I never did know why they called it that. I can't 'member +things like I used to. + +"My mother's old master's granddaughter, Miss Anne, had a baby that was +six months old when I was born and mama said old master come in and tell +Miss Ann, 'I've got a new little nigger for Mary Lou.' He said he was +goin' to give her ten and that I was her first little nigger. When we +was both grown Mary Lou used to write to me once a year and say 'I claim +you yet, Mary.' + +"I 'member when Garfield was shot. That was the first time I ever heard +of gangrene. + +"Yes'm I have worked hard all my life. When I was in Mississippi I used +to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. But I'm not +able to work now. The Welfare helps me some." + + + + +[HW: (COPY)] +El Dorado Division +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS (Ex-Slave) +Mrs. Mildred Thompson +Federal Writers' Project +Union County, Arkansas +[TR: hand dated Nov. 6, 1936] + +[TR: Ellen Crowley] + + +Ellen Crowley an old Negress of Jefferson county, known as "old Aunt +Ellen" to both white and colored people. She was quite a character; a +slave during Civil War and lived in Mississippi. She later married and +moved to Arkansas. + +Aunt Ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing +to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those +she didn't like. This unusual talent "come about" while on a white +plantation as a nurse. She foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on +her white folks and in the year two children passed away. One day soon +after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put +the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits." + +She said she was "purty nigh" 200 when asked her age, always slept in +the nude, and on arising she would say: "I didn't sleep well last night, +the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "I had a +good rest the Lord sit at my head and brought me peace." + +She was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red +bandana around her head. + +Her mania was to clean the yard. When asked about her marriage she would +say: "I been married seven times" but Jones, Brown and Crowley were the +only husbands she could remember by name. She said the other "four no +count Negroes wasn't worth remembering." + +She was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten +and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. Would +come in and say: "Howdy, I'se come to stay awhile. I'll clean the yard +for my victuals and I can sleep on the floor." She would go on her way +in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a +faithful servant. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Richard Crump + 1801 Gaines Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 82 + + +[HW: Father Takes a "Deadening"] + +"I was born right here in Aberdeen, Mississippi about five miles from +the town on the east side of the Tom Bigbee River in Monroe County, +Mississippi. + +"My father's name was Richard Crump. My mother was named Emily Crump. My +grandmother on my father's side was named Susan Crump. My mother came +from Middleton, Tennessee. But I don't know nothing about any of her +people. My father said he come from South Carolina when he was a boy +eight or ten years old. That was way before I was born. They brought him +to Mississippi from South Carolina. + +"My father's master was old man Johnnie Crump. My mistress was named +Nina Crump. That was Johnnie Crump's wife. My mars had four boys to my +remembrance. One was named Wess, one was named Rufe, one was named Joe, +and one was named Johnnie. He had a girl named Annie and one named Lulu. + +"My mother was the mother of thirteen children. I am the onliest one +living, that I know of. The way they gwine with us now, I ain't goin' a +be here long. Just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git +somethin' to eat for a month. You don't git nothin' much when you git +the commodities--no grease to cook with. + +"We never had no trouble much when I was coming along. My mars was a +pretty good old man. He didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. The +overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind of +bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. And +he wouldn't go in neither. + +"My grandmother had three or four sons. One was name Nels Crump, another +was named Miles and another was named Henry and another Jim. She had two +or three more but I can't think of them. They died before I was old +enough to know anything. Then she had two or three daughters. One was +named Lottie. She had another one but I can't think of her name. I was +so little. All of them are dead now. All of my people are dead but me. +They are trying to find a sister of mine, but I ain't found her yet. She +oughter be down here by Forrest City somewheres. But there ain't nobody +here that I know about but me. And the way they're carryin' them now I +ain't goin' to be here long. All of them people you hear me talk about, +they're supposed to be dead. + +"I was born in 1858. At least the old man told me that. I mean my father +of course. The first thing I knowed anything about was picking cotton. I +was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. I +was pickin' beside my mother. They would grab us sometimes when we +didn't pick right. Shake us and pull our ears. + +"I didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. I never was sold. + +"The next thing I remember was being told I was free. My daddy said old +mars told them they were free. I didn't hear him tell it myself. They +come 'round on a Monday morning and told papa and the rest that they +were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they +could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no +more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more. + +"Right after freedom, my folks worked on old man Jim Burdyne's farm. +That is the first place I remember after freedom. Father taken a little +deadening. You don't know what a deadening is? That's a lease. He +cleaned up some land. We boys were just gettin' so we could pick up +brush and tops of trees--and burn it, and one thing and another. Two +years after the War was over, I got big enough to plow. I was plowing +when I was nine years old. We had three boys and four girls older than +me. The balance of them was born after freedom. We made crops on shares +for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. Shares +were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. They didn't pay +everything they promised. They taken a lot of it away from us. They said +figures didn't lie. You know how that was. You dassent dispute a man's +word then. Sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and +run him away. But my daddy wouldn't do it. He said, 'Well, if I owe +anything I'll pay it. I got a large family to take care of.' + +"I never got a chance to go to school any. There was too much work to +do. I married when I was twenty-one. I would go off and stay a month or +two and come back. Never left home permanent for a long while. Stayed +'round home till I was forty years old. I come to Arkansas in 1898. I +made a living by farming at first. + +"I didn't shoot no craps. I belong to the church. I have belonged to the +church about forty years or more. I did play cords and shoot craps and +things like that for years before I got religion. + +"I come to Little Rock in 1918 and been here ever since. I worked 'round +here in town first one thing and then another. Worked at the railroad +and on like that. + +"We used to vote right smart in Mississippi. Had a little trouble +sometimes but it would soon die down. I haven't voted since I been here. +Do no good nohow. Can't vote in none of these primary elections. Vote +for the President. And that won't do no good. They can throw your ballot +out if they want to. + +"I believe in the right thing. I wouldn't believe in anything else. I +try to be loyal to the state and the city. But colored folks don't have +much show. Work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he +don't know nothin' about you. They soon forget you and a white man's +word goes far. + +"I was able to work as late as 1930, but I ain't been no 'count since to +do much work. I get a pension for old age from the Welfare and +commodities and I depend on that for a living. Whatever they want to +give me, I'll take it and make out with it. If there's any chance for me +to git a slave's pension, I wish they would send it to me. For I need it +awful bad. They done cut me way down now. I got heart trouble and high +blood pressure but I don't give up. + +"My mother sure used to make good ash cake. When she made it for my +daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the +bottom. That would keep it clean. She made it extra good. When he would +git through, she would give us the rest. Sometimes, she wouldn't put the +paper on it because she would be mad. He would ask, 'No paper today?' +She would say, 'No.' And he wouldn't say nothin' more. + +"There is some of the meanest white people in the United States in +Mississippi up there on the Yellow Dog River. That's where the Devil +makes meanness. + +"There's some pretty mean colored folks too. There is some of them right +here in Little Rock. Them boys from Dunbar give me a lot of trouble. +They ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. If we say anything to +them, they say, 'Shut up, old gray head.' Sometimes they say worse. I +used to live by Brother Love. Christmas the boys threw at the house and +gave me sass when I spoke to them. So I got out of that settlement. Here +it is quiet because it is among the white folks." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham, El Dorado Division +Person interviewed: Zenia Culp +Age: Over 80 +[Jan 29 1938] + + +"Yas'm, my name is Zenia, Zenia Culp 'tis now since I married. My old +master's name was Billy Newton. Him and three more brothers come here +and settled in this county years ago and Master Billy settled this farm. +I was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. I used +to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. You know up there where +Mr. John Dunbar's widow lives now. And the family burying groun' is jus' +a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones +out in the middle of the field. + +"Master Billy's folks was so good to me and I sure thought a heap of +young Master Billy. Believe I told you I was the nurse girl. Well, young +Master Billy was my special care. And he was a live one too. I sure had +a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. I would get him ready for bed +every night. In summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does +and course I would wash his foots before I put him to bed. That little +fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'Don't wash em, +Zenia, jes' wet em.' Oh, he was a sight, young Master Billy was. + +"Does you know Miss Pearl? She live there in El Dorado. She is young +master's widow. Miss Pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks +lots bout young Master Billy. + +"Yas'm, I'se always lived here where I was born. Never moved way from de +old plantation. Course things is changed lots since the days when old +Master Billy was livin'. When he went off to the war he took most of the +men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and +the chillun. + +"My husban' been dead a long, long time and I live here wid my son. His +wife is gone from home dis evenin'. So I thought I'd come out and pick +off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. That's my son +out there makin' sorghum. My daughter-in-law is so good to me. She +treats me like I was a baby. + +"You asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our +work then. Well, as I tell you, my job was nurse girl and all I had to +do was to keep up wid young Master Billy and that wasn't no work tall, +that was just fun. But while I'd be followin' roun' after him I'd see +how the others would be doin' things. + +"When they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with +straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a +coop over it. This would keep the potatoes from rotting. The Irish +potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the +onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting. + +"In old Master Newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put +the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to +keep em cool. + +"Master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was +fed out of the big house. I members they had a long table to eat off and +kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured +the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. They made +their mops cut of shucks. I always eat in the nursery with young Master +Billy. + +"They had big old fireplaces in Master's house and I never seen a stove +till after the war. + +"I member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had +the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot +ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain. + +"The pickaninnies had a time playin'. Seein' these peanuts minds me that +they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. +Course Master Billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they +pinched. + +"Lan', but them was good old days when Master Billy was alive." + + + + +Texarkana District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W.M. Ball +Subject: Anecdotes +Story: + +Information given by: Albert Cummins +Place of Residence: Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark. +Occupation: None (Ex-Slave) +Age: 86 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of second page.] + + +An humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an +interesting old negro, Albert Cummins. + +Texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain +from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this +country. This ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but +continued to live in the same family until he was a man. He says: "All +de training an' advice I evah had come frum mah mistress. She wuz a +beautiful Christian; if I am anybody, I owe it to her. I nevah went to +school a day in mah life; whut I know I absorbed frum de white folks! +Mah religion is De Golden Rule. It will take any man to heaben who +follows its teachings. + +"Mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at Poison Springs, near +Camden. We got separated in de skirmish an' I nevah did see him again. +Libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, +only to sen' messages by horseback riders. It wuz months befo' I really +knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where. + +"Mr. Autrey bought mah mother when I wuz an infant, and gave us de +protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. +I worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. I sees him +often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, +jus' as de South wuz left after de war." + +"I came heah when Texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little +kindly village, where we all knew each udder. Due to de location an' de +comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. Not until it wuz too late +did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between +two states. Dis being Texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle +overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. Still dat State Line +divides de two cities like de "Mason and Dixon Line" divides the North +an' South. + +"Living on the Arkansas side of this city, Albert Cummins is naturally +very partial to his side. "The Arkansas side is more civilized", +according to his version. "Too easy fo' de Texas folks to commit a crime +an' step across to Arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob +again." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Betty Curlett, Hazen, Arkansas +Age: 66 +[-- -- 1938] + + +"I can tell you all about my kin folks. My mama's owners was Mars John +Moore and Miss Molly Moore. They come from Virginia and brought Grandma +Mahaley and Grandpa Tom. + +"Mr. Daniel Johnson went to North Carolina and bought Alice and John and +their family. When he brought them to Mississippi, they come in a hack. +It was snowing and cold. It took em so long to came they take turns +walkin'. Grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut +through and climbed over a railin' fence. She lost her baby outer her +quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. She say, 'Lawd, +Master Daniel, if I ain't lost my baby.' They stopped the hack and she +went back to see where her baby could be. She knowed where she got out +the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. Fore she got to the fence +she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. She said the sun was warm +and he was well wrop up. That all what saved em. She shuck him round +till she woke him up. She was so scared he be froze. When he let out +cryin' she knowed he be all right. She put him in the foot of the hack +mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. She say he never +had a cold from it. Well, that was John, my papa, what she lost in de +snow. Grandma used to set and tell us that and way I can member it was +my own papa she be talkin' bout. + +"Papa was raised up by the Johnson family and mama by the Moore family. +Den Alice Moore had em marry her and John Johnson. Their plantations +joined, and joined Judge Reid's (or Reed's) place. We all had a big time +on them three farms. They was good to their niggers but Mr. ---- they +said whooped his niggers awful heep. + +"Ed Amick was Mars Daniel Johnson's overseer. He told him he wanted his +slaves treated mighty good and they was good. Yes ma'am, they was good +to em!! We had a plenty to eat. Every Saturday they killed a lamb, a +goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. Us +childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. White folks didn't +eat em. They was tender seem like round the head. + +"Miss Evaline was Mars Daniel's sister. She was a old maid. Miss +Evaline, Aunt Selie old nigger woman and Brittain old nigger man done +nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. They had a +few turkeys and peafowls all the time. When they stewed chicken it was +stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. They fry chicken +in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. They put eggs +in it, too. They call it marble cakes. Then they pour sweet milk in the +bottom grease and make good gravy. When they rendered up lard they +always made marble cakes. They cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and +twisted em round like knots and rings. They take em up in big pans big +as dish pans. + +"We had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. +Regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. She made our +dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on +our waist. + +"I was named for Miss Betty Johnson. Mars Daniel bought me books. I slip +and tear ABC's outen every book he buy for me. Miss Betty say A-B-C-D; I +say after her. She say, 'Betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' I say, +'Miss Betty, I hear Miss Cornelia's baby woke up. Agin Miss Betty--she +was my young mistress--ABC's me sayin' em long wid her. I say, 'Miss +Betty, I smell ginger bread, can't I go git a piece?' She say, +'Betty--I'm so sorry I name you fer me. I wish I named Mary.' I say, +'Then you name Mary Betty an' give me nother name.' Miss Betty git me +down agin to sayin' the ABC's, I be lookin' off. She say, 'Betty, you +goin' to be a idiot.' I say, 'That what I wanter be--zactly what I +wanter be.' I didn't know what a idiot was then. + +"I took up crocheting. Miss Cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. She say +'Betty that's her talent' bout me. Miss Betty say, 'If she goin' to be +mine I want her to be smart.' Miss Mary lernt my sister Mary fast. + +"When I was bout fifteen I was goiner to the nigger school. I wanted to +go to the white school wid Miss Mag. Miss Betty say, 'Betty, that white +woman would whoop you every day.' I take my dinner in a bucket and go on +wid Mary. I'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git +in late. The teacher said, 'Betty, Miss Cornelia and Miss Betty say they +want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all +sorts er ways. Ain't you shamed?' + +"They had a big entertainment. Miss Betty learned me a piece to +say--poetry. I could lern it from sayin' it over wid Miss Betty. They +bought me and Mary our fust calico dresses. I lack to walked myself to +death. I was so proud. It had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and +a shash tied at the waist behind. We had red hats wid streamers hanging +down the back. The dresses was red and black small checks. Mary lernt +her piece at school. We had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the +school closin'. + +"Mr. John Moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first +battle soon as he got there. They had a sayin, 'You won't last as long +as John Moore when he went to war.' + +"Mr. Criss Moore was kickin' a nigger boy. Old Miss say, 'Criss, quit +kickin' him, you hurt him.' He say, 'I ain't hurtin' him, I'm playin' +wid him!' White boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the +house. Glad to meet up to get to play. + +"Mr. Criss Moore, Jr. (John Moore's grandson) is a doctor way up North +and so is Mr. Daniel Johnson, Jr. One of em in Washington I think. I +could ask Miss Betty Carter when I go back to Mississippi. + +"When I left Mississippi Mr. Criss hated to see me go. Mr. Johnson say, +'I wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' He say to Jim, my +husband, 'Now when she die you let me know and I'll help bring her back +and bury her in the old graveyard.' When my papa died Mr. Johnson had +the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. He +was buried by mama and nearly all the Johnson, Moore, and Reed (or Reid) +niggers buried there. My husband is buried here (Hazen, Arkansas) but he +was a Curlett. + +"Papa set out apple trees on the old Johnson place, still bearin' +apples. The old farm place is forty-eight miles from Tupelo and three +miles from Houlka, Mississippi. + +"My mother had eighteen children and I had sixteen but all mine dead now +but three. Mama's ma and grandpapa Haley had twenty-two children. Yes +ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. Mars Daniel say to his wife, +'Cornelia, feed my niggers.' That bout last he said when he went off to +war. Mars Green, Daniel, and Jimmie three brothers. Three Johnson +brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots +fore they left and went to war. + +"When the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the +farm bells and blowed horns--big old cow horns. When Mars Daniel come +home he went to my papa's house and says, 'John, you free.' He says, 'I +been free as I wanter be whah I is.' He went on to my grandpa's house +and says, 'Toby, you are free!' He raised up and says, 'You brought me +here frum Africa and North Carolina and I goiner stay wid you long as +ever I get sompin to eat. You gotter look after me!' Mars Daniel say, +'Well, I ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' +Purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. Mars +Daniel say to grandpa, 'Toby, you ain't my nigger.' Grandpa raise up an' +say, 'I is, too.' + +"They had to work but they had plenty that made em content. We had good +times. On moonlight nights somebody ask Mars Daniel if they could have a +cotton pile, then they go tell Mars Moore and Judge Reid (or Reed). They +come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. Pick out four or five +bales. Then Mars Daniel say you come to the house. Ring the bell. Then +we have a big supper--pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. +Have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we +could eat. + +"Then we had three banjos. The musicians was William Word, Uncle Dan +Porter, and Miles Porter. Did we dance? Square dance. Then if somebody +been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they +married. You can't get nobody--colored folks I mean--to step over a +broom; they say it bad luck. If it fall and they step over they step +back. They say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that +year. Folks didn't visit round much. They had some place to go they went +but they had to work. They work together and done mighty little--idle +vistin'. Folks took the knitting long visting lest it be Sunday. + +"White women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their +breast fall. They would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to +the house. They had a house close by. She would nurse her baby and the +white baby, too. They would feed her everything she wanted. She didn't +have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. Dannie and +my brother Bradford, and Mary my sister and Miss Maggie nursed my mama. +Rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause +their breast to be flat. + +"My papa was the last slave to die. Mama died twelve months fore he +died. I was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and +papa said. Grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and Miss Cornelia +learned me to sew and learned Aunt Joe (a ex-slave Negro here in town) +to play Miss Betty's piano. She was their house girl. Yes ma'am, when I +was small girl she was bout grown. Aunt Joe is a fine cook. Miss +Cornelia learnt her how. I could learned to played too but I didn't want +to. I wanted to knit and crochet and sew. Miss Cornelia said that was my +talent. I made wrist warmers and lace. Sister Mary would spin. She spun +yarn and cotton thread. They made feather beds. Picked the geese and +sheared the sheep. I got my big feather bed now. + +"When I married, Miss Betty made my weddin' dress. We had a preacher +marry us at my home. My mama give me to Miss Betty and they raised me. I +was the weaslingest one of her children. She give me to Miss Betty. Now +she wants me to come back. I think I go back Christmas and stay. Miss +Betty is old and feeble now. I got three children living here in Hazen +now. All I got left. + +"The men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. I don't know +how they voted. Now, honey, you know I don't know nothing bout voting. + +"Times is so changed. Conditions so changed that I don't know if the +young generation is improved much. They learn better but it don't do em +no more good. It seems like it is the management that counts. That is +the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave Mars Daniel Johnson's. He was +a good manager and Miss Betty is a good manager. We don't know how to +manage and ain't got much to manage wid. That the way it looks to me. +Some folks is luckier than others." + + + + +Little Rock District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson +[HW: Yankees Stole Food] +Subject: History--Slavery Days +Subject: Musical Instrument +Story:--Information +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] +[TR: Hand dated 11-14-36] + +This information given by: Betty Curlett +Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas +Occupation: Washwoman +Age: 67 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"My mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of +wooden spoons and bowls they made." They cooked a washpot full of peas +for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. They +always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for +there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked +for her family in with what she cooked for the Master. They made banks +of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till +they went to cook them. They had rows of banks in the garden or out +behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in +the spring to bed. + +They saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them +and saved the drip--lye--and made soap or corn hominy--made big pots of +soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. They carried corn to the mill +and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. The women +spun, wove, and knitted. The men would hunt between crop times. If the +slaves were caught stealing, the Patty Row would catch him and his +master whip him. + +My Grandpas and Grandmas and Mamma's Master was John Moore. Mr. John +said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade +blood saddle-skirt deep. He set out to war. Went to Vicksburg and was +killed. + +His wifes name was Mrs. Elisabeth and his daughters name was Miss Inez. +They say thats where the saying "He won't last longer than John Moore +did when he went to war" sprang up but I don't know about that part of +it for sure. + +Grandma Becky said when the Yankees came to Mrs. Moores house and to +Judge Rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't +have none. They stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. Just tore +up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. They took +two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the +ground, leaving piles of them to waste. + +Song her Mother and Grandmother sang: + + Old Cow died in the fork of the branch + Baby, Ba, Ba. + Dock held the light, Kimbo skinned it. + Ba, Ba, Ba. + Old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from + branch, Kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide + he had tanned. + Baby, Ba, Ba. + + +Musical Instrument + +"The only musical instrument we had was a banjo. Some made their banjos. +Take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. 3 horse hairs twisted made +the base string. 2 horsehairs twisted made the second string. 1 horse +hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it +was not twisted at all but drawn tight. They were all bees waxed." + + + + +Circumstances of Interview +STATE--Arkansas +NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor +ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas +DATE--December, 1938 +SUBJECT--Ex-Slave +[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] + + +1. Name and address of informant--J.H. Curry, Washington, Arkansas + +2. Date and time of interview-- + +3. Place of interview--Washington, Arkansas + +4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with +informant-- + +5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- + +6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc. + + +Personal History of Informant + +1. Ancestry--father, Washington Curry; mother, Eliza Douglass; +grandmother; Malinda Evans; grandfather, Mike Evans. + +2. Place and date of birth--Born in Haywood County, Tennessee in 1862. + +3. Family-- + +4. Places lived in, with dates--Tennessee until 1883. From 1883 until +now, in Arkansas. + +5. Education, with dates--He took a four-years' course at Haywood after +the war. + +6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Minister + +7. Special skills and interest--Church work. + +8. Community and religious activities--Preacher + +9. Description of informant-- + +10. Other points gained in interview--His father was a slave and he +tells lots of slavery. + + +[HW: Master Educates Slave] + +Text of Interview (Unedited) + +"I was born in 1862, September first. I got that off the Bible. My +father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait +man to him. And the doctor learnt him how to read and write. Right after +the War, he was a teacher. He was ready to be a teacher before most +other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. There were +so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers +and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he +taught my father to read and write so that he could do it. + +"I was born in Tennessee, in Haywood County. My father was born in North +Carolina, so they tell me. He was brought to Tennessee. He was a slave +and my mother was a slave. His name was Washington Curry and my mother's +name was Eliza Douglass before she married. Her master was named John +Douglass and my father's master was named T.A. Curry, Tom Curry some +folks called him. + +"I don't know just how many slaves Tom Curry owned. Lemme see. There was +my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. My father's father had +ten children, and my father had the same number--five boys and six +girls. Ten of us lived for forty years. My mother had ten living +children when she died in 1921. Since '21, three girls died. My father +died in 1892. + +"My father's master had around a hundred slaves. Douglass was a richer +man than my father's master. I suspect he had two hundred slaves. He was +my mother's father as well as her master. I know him. He used to come to +our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. He liked her. She +was his daughter. + +"My father's father--I can't remember what his name was. I know his +mother was Candace. I never did see his father but I saw my grandma. He +was dead before I was born. My mother's mother was named Malinda Evans. +Only one thing I remember that was remarkable about her. Her husband was +a free man named Mike Evans. He come from up North and married her in +slave time and he bought her. He was a fine carpenter. They used to hire +him out to build houses. He was a contractor in slave time. I remember +him well. + +"After the War, he used to have white men getting training for the +carpenter's training under him. He was Grandma Evans' husband. He wasn't +my father's father. My father was born before Grandma Evans was freed. +All the rest of them were born afterward. They sold her to him but the +children all belonged to the Douglasses. He probably paid for her on +time and they kept the children that was born. + +"The doctor was good to my father. Way after freedom, he was our family +doctor. He was at my father's bedside when father died. He's dead now. + +"My father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). He was a finished +carpenter. He used to make everything 'round the house. Sometimes he +went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and +his master would give him some for himself. + +"My mother worked 'round the house. She was a servant. I don't know that +she ever did the work in the field. My daddy just come home every +Saturday night. My father and mother always belonged to different +masters in slavery time. The Douglasses and the Currys were five or six +miles apart. My father would walk that distance on Saturday night and +stay there all day Sunday and git up before day in the morning Monday so +that he would be back home Monday morning in time for his work. I +remember myself when we moved away. That's when my memory first starts. + +"I could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'Uncle +Washington, please don't carry Aunt Lize away.' But we went on away. +When we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor +that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. +Nothing to eat--not a bite. I went to bed hungry, and you know how it is +when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. I jerk a little nod, and +then I'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. One time I woke +up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at +the table, and mama reached over and said, 'Stick your head back under +the cover again, you little rascal you.' I won't say what I saw. But +I'll say this much. We had the finest breakfast the next morning that I +ever ate in all my life. + +"I used to hear my people talk about pateroles but I don't reckon I can +recall now what they said. There is a man in Washington named Bob +Sanders. He knows everything about slavery, and politics too. He used to +be a regular politician. He is about ninety years old. They came there +and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his +fare. Man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. +They were writing up something about Arkansas history. + +"I have been married fifty-seven years. I married in 1881. My wife was a +Lemons. I married on February tenth in Tennessee at Stanton. Nancy +Lemons. + +"I went to public school a little after the war. My wife and I both went +to Haywood after we were married. After we married and had children, we +went. I took a four-years' course there when it was a fine institution. +It's gone down now. + +"I was the oldest boy. We had two mules. We farmed on the halves. We +made fifteen bales of cotton a year. Never did make less than ten or +twelve. + +"I have been in the ministry fifty-three years. I was transferred to +Arkansas in 1883 in the conference which met at Humboldt. My first work +here was in Searcy in 1884. + +"I think the question of Negro suffrage will work itself out. As we get +further away from the Civil War and the reconstruction, it will be less +and less opposition to the Negro's voting. You can see a lot of signs of +that now. + +"I don't know about the young people. They are gone wild. I don't know +what to say about them. + +"I think where men are able to work I think it is best to give them +work. A man that is able to work ought to be given work by the +government if he can't get it any other way." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Lyttleton Dandridge + 2800 W. Tenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 + + +"I was told I was born in '57 in East Carroll Parish, Louisiana. + +"Oh, I can remember before the War broke out. Yes ma'am, I had good +owners. Old master and mistress was named James Railey and Matilda +Railey. I called her mistress. + +"I remember one time my father carried me to Natchez on Christmas to +spend with his people. His parents were servants on a plantation near +Natchez. + +"I remember two shows I saw. They was the Daniel Rice shows. They was +animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. We didn't +have trains and things like that--traveled on the big waters. + +"I remember when we refugeed to Texas in '63. They raised tobacco there. + +"We got free in '65 and the Governor or somebody ordered all the owners +to take all the folks back that wanted to go. + +"All the young folks, they had them in Tyler, Texas makin' bullets. My +father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets. + +"Old master had two plantations in Louisiana and three in Mississippi. +He was a large slaveholder. + +"When we got back to Louisiana from Texas, ever'thing was the same +except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land. + +"Old master died before the War broke out and my mistress died in '67. + +"My father died in Texas. That left my mother a widow. She spent about +two weeks at the old home place in Louisiana. She pulled up then and +went to Natchez to my father's people. She made two crops with my young +master. His name was Otie Railey. Help her? Well, I was comin'. I had +one brother and one sister. + +"In '68 she worked with a colored man on the shares. + +"I started to school in '67. A colored man come in there and established +a private school. I went in '67, '68, and '69 and then I didn't go any +more till '71 and '72. I got along pretty well in it. I know mine from +the other fellows. I can write and any common business I can take care +of. + +"We had two or three men run off and joined the Yankees. One got drowned +fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom. + +"My mother worked for wages after freedom. She got three bales of cotton +for her services and mine and she boarded herself. + +"In '74 she rented. I still stayed with her. She lived with me all her +life and died with me. + +"I come over to Arkansas the twenty-third day of December in 1916. +Worked for Long-Bell Lumber Company till they went down. Then I Just +jobbed around. I can still work a little but not like I used to. + +"I used to vote Republican when I was interested in politics but I have +no interest in it now. + +"The younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. They was +more constrictions on the young people. When I was young I had a certain +hour to come in at night. Eight o'clock was my hour--not later than +that. I think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started +in time they could control them. + +"I remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she +caught up with him. He fell down and she booed him in the back. My +grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. She just shook +her head and went off. + +"Outside of my people, the best friend I ever met up with was a white +man." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Ella Daniels + 1223 W. Eleventh Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 74, or over + + +[HW: Food Rationed] + +"I was born in North Carolina, in Halifax County, in the country near +Scotland Neck. My mother's name was Nellie Doggett. Her name was Hale +before she married. My father's name was Tom Doggett. I never did see +any of my grand people. + +"My mother's master was named Lewis Hale. He was a farmer. He was fairly +good himself but the overseers wasn't. They have mistreated my mother. +All I know is what I heard, of course; I wasn't old enough to see for +myself. My mother was a field hand. She worked on the farm. My father +did the same thing. + +"My father and mother belonged to different masters. I forgot now who my +father said he belonged to. My father didn't live on the same plantation +with my mother. He just came and visited her from time to time. + + +Food + +"Sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. The old missis sometimes +saw that my mother's children were fed. My mother's master was pretty +good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. Food was +issued every week. They give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little +rice and along like that. + + +House + +"My mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. I don't know +whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. But I +nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and I know +several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. Most of the houses had +two rooms. The food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations +given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house. + + +Breeding + +"I don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but I +have heard of them. I don't know the names of the people. Just remember +hearing talk about them. + + +Freedom Comes + +"My mother and father never found out they were free till April 1865. +Some of them were freed before then. I don't know how they found it out, +but I heard them talking about it. + + +Right after Freedom + +"Right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same +place just like they always did. I reckon they paid them, I don't know. +They did what they wanted to. + + +Patrollers, Ku Klux, and Reconstruction + +"I remember the Ku Klux. They used to come and whip the niggers that +didn't have a pass. I think them was pateroles though. There was some +people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, +and then they would sell them. I don't know what they called them. I +just remember the Ku Klux and the pateroles. + +"The Ku Klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out +without a pass. I don't remember any Ku Klux whipping niggers after the +War because they were in politics. + + +Voters and Officeholders + +"I have heard of Negroes voting and holding office after the War. I +wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named Kane Gibbs and +another named Cicero Barnes. I heard the old people talking about them. +I don't know what offices they held. They lived in another county +somewhere. + + +Life Since Emancipation + +"I went from North Carolina to Louisiana, and from Louisiana here. They +had it that you could shake trees out in Louisiana and the money would +fall off. They had some good land out there too. One acre would make all +you wanted--corn or anything else. That was a rich land. But I don't +know--I don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, +you had to leave it there. Never would give you no direct settlement or +pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. Just gave you +something from time to time. Whatever you had you had to leave it there. + + +Occupational Experiences + +"I used to work in the field when I was able. That was when I was in the +country. When I came to the city I usually did washing and ironing. Now +I can't do anything. All the people I used to work for is dead. There +was one woman in particular. She was a good woman, too. I don't have any +help at all now, except my son. He has a family of his own--wife and +seven children. Right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for +himself nor nobody else. But I thank God for what I have because things +could be much worse." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with Ku Klux. It seems to +point to a use of the word Ku Klux before the War. Of course, it is +clear that the Ku Klux Klan operated after the War. + +Ella Daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and +I have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. +But three children were born after her and before the close of the War. +She says they were born two years apart. Allowing that the youngest was +born, in 1864, the one next to her would have been born in 1860, and she +would have been born in 1858. This seems likely too because she speaks +of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and +must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. Born in 1858, +she would have been seven years old in 1865 and would have been able to +have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two +years probably. So it appears to me that her age is eighty, but I have +recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mary Allen Darrow, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"I was born at Monticello, Arkansas at the last of the Cibil (Civil) +War. My parents' names was Richard and Ann Allen. They had thirteen +children. Mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer. + +"My great-grandma and grandpa was killed in Indian Nation (Alabama) by +Sam and Will Allen. They was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of +the Carolinas. I disremembers which they told me. Great-grandpa was a +chief. They was shot and all the children run but they caught my Grandma +Evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to Monticello, +Arkansas. They fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. She was a +little full-blood Indian girl then. They got her fer my great-grandpa a +wife. He seen her and thought she was so pretty. + +"She was wild. She wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. She +had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. They tamed her. Grandpa's pa +that wanted the Indian wife was full-blood African. Mama was little +lighter than 'gingercake' color. + +"My Indian grandma was mean. I was feard of 'er. She run us down and +ketch us and whoop us. She was tall slender woman. She was mean as she +could be. She'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. Grandpa was +kind. He'd bring me candy back if he went off. I cried after him. I +played with his girl. We was about the same size. Her name was Annie +Mathis. He was a Mathis. He was a blacksmith too at Monticello and later +he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. I was raised on a farm. +Papa died there. I washed and done field work all my life. Grandma +married Bob Mathis. + +"Our owner was Sam and Lizzie Allen. William Allen was his brother. I +think Sam had eight children. There was a Claude Allen in Monticello and +some grandchildren, Eva Allen and Lent Allen. Eva married Robert Lawson. +I lived at Round Pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to Forrest +City. I been away from them Allen's and Mathis' and Gill's so long and +'bout forgot 'em. They wasn't none too good to nobody--selfish. They'd +make trouble, then crap out of it. Pack it on anybody. They wasn't none +too good to do nothing. Some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and +women. Some of 'em I know wasn't rich--poor as 'Jobe's stucky.' I don't +know nothing 'bout 'em now. They wasn't good. + +"I was a baby at freedom and I don't know about that nor the Ku Klux. +Grandpa started a blacksmith shop at Monticello after freedom. + +"My pa was a white man. Richard Allen was mama's husband. + +"Me and my husband gats ten dollars from the Old Age Pension. He is +ninety-six years old. He do a little about. I had a stroke and ain't +been no 'count since. He can tell you about the Cibil War." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +I missed her husband twice. It was a long ways out there but I will see +him another time. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Alice Davis + 1700 Vaugine Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"I was born in Mississippi. My mistress was Jane Davis. She raised me. +She owned my mother too. + +"When Miss Jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and +Mandy Paine owned me then. When I was one month old they said I was so +white Mandy Paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and +carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. When the +childun heard, they run and cried, 'Mama's goin' to kill Harriet's +baby.' Old mistress, Jane Davis, heard about it and she come and paid +Miss Jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and I slep +right in the bed with her till the war ceasted." + +"Her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'Ma, why don't +you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me +and say, 'This the only nigger I got.' + +"I stayed there two or three years after freedom. I didn't know what +free meant. Big childun all laugh and say, 'All niggers free, all +niggers free.' And I'd say, 'What is free?' I was lookin' for a man to +come. + +"I worked in the house and in the field. I had plenty chances to go to +school but I didn't have no sense. + +"My mother was sold to nigger traders and I never did see her again. I +always say I never had no mother, and I never did know who my father +was. + +"I've worked hard since I got to be a women. I never been the mother of +but three childun. Me and my boy stay together. + +"I had a happy time when I lived with Miss Jane, but I been workin' ever +since." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Charlie Davis + 100 North Plum, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"They said I was born in 1862, the second day of March, in Little Rock. + +"I 'member the War. I 'member the bluecoats. I knowed they was fightin' +but I didn't know what about. + +"My old master was killed in the War. I don't know his name, I just +heered 'em call him old master. + +"I know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the War and looked +for him afterward. As long as I could understand anything she was still +lookin'. + +"Far as I know, my parents stayed with old missis after the War. + +"I 'member my father hired me out when I was a little boy. They treated, +me good. + +"Never have done anything 'cept farm work. I'm failin' now. Hate to say +so but I found out I am. + +"I never did want to go away from here. I could a went, but I think a +fellow can do better where he is raised. I have watched the dumb beasts +go off with others and see how they was treated, so I never did crave to +go off from home. I have knowed people have went away and they'd bring +'em back dead, and I'd say to myself, 'I wonder how he died?' I've +studied it over and I've just made myself satisfied. + +"I went to school some but I was the biggest help the old folks had and +they kept me workin'." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person Interviewed: D. Davis + R.F.D., six miles north of Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 85 + + +Uncle D. Davis, an ex-slave, 85 years of age lives some miles north of +Marvell, Arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter +owns. Uncle D himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further +up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able +to tend the land. This old negro, now old and bent from years of work +and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the +assistance of a crutch and a cane. His mind however is very clear and +his recollection keen. As I sat with him on the porch of his daughter's +home he told me the following story: + +"Yes Sir, Mr. McKinney, I has been in Phillips County fer pas forty-five +years and I is now pas eighty-five. I wuz a grown en settled man when I +fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. Dats how cum me ter com +here on er count of one of my boys. Dis boy he cum befo I did en hed +done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from Mississippi. Yo +know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done +drifted rite down dere below Marvell on de Cypress Bayou, en war wukin +fer Mr. Fred Mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. I guess +dat yo has heard of Mr. Fred Mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close +ter Turner. Well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter I cum I +jined up wid Mr. Mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en I wud er ben +wid him fer good I rekkin iffen I hadn't wanter buy me er place of my +own, kase Mr. Fred Mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands +fair. + +"When I cided ter git me er little place of my own, I went en got +quainted wid Mr. Marve Carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, +en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter Mr. Carruth fer ter git de +advice, en Mr. Carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is +mine yit. Dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan Mr. Marve +Carruth. No Sir dat is a fac. + +"Yo see, Capn, I wuz borned en raised in de hills of Mississippi, in +Oktibbawa County not so fer frum Starkville, en dat wuz a ole country +time I hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when I +cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, +en how rish de lan, I jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite +here en mobed my fambly rite off. Folkses hed cotton piled up all er +round dey houses en I cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home +den. + +"My ole Marster wuz Tom Davis en Capn dere warnt never no finer man whut +ever libed dan Marse Tom. Marse Tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he +hed, en Marse Tom sho hed a passel of em. He had bettern two-hundred +head en de las one dey crazy bout Marse Tom Davis. He war rather old +frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de +war. Marse Tom he owned a grete heap er lan. His lan hit stretch out fer +God knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water +wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. Dey neber +bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all +de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. Marse Tom he +tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin +er sellin no niggers. Dat he didn't. He neber wud sell er one, en he +neber did buy but three. Dat is er fac, Capn, en one of dem three whut +he bought wuz "Henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed Henry frum Mr. +Spence kase Henry hed done got married ter Malindy, whut wuz my mammy. +Dat is whut my Mammy en Pappy dey bofe tole me. + +"Marse Tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, +but Marse Phil he jined up. Marse Phil dat war Marse Tom's son, en de +onliest boy dat Ole Marster en Ole Mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile +en dat wuz de girl, Miss Rachel, en atter de war ober Miss Rachel she +married Capn Dan Travis whut cum from Alabama. Ole Marster he neber +laked Capn Dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout Miss Rachel +gwine ter git married ter dat Capn, but hit neber done him no good ter +cut up kase Ole Mis she sided wid Miss Rachel, en den too Miss Rachel +she hab er head of her own en she know her Pa aint gwine ter stop her. +Marse Tom he didn't lak Capn Dan kase de Capn he er big sport, en mighty +wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, +do he sho war a fine lookin gentman. + +"Whilst Marse Tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er +man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en Ole Mis dey +neber want Marse Phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer +ter tek Marse Phil's place so he won't hatter go, but Marse Phil he sey +he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he Ma en Pa dey cut up right +smart bout Marse Phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. Marse +Phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter +sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad +spell er sikness en died. Dat wuz sho tuf on Marse Tom en de Ole Mis fer +dem ter lose Marse Phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him +bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. Hit mighty +nigh broke dem ole peoples up. + +"No Sir, Capn, I betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white +man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers +dan Marse Tom Davis. Now jes tek dis, dere wuz "Uncle Joe" whut wuz my +grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as Marse Tom, en dey growed +up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat Marse Tom's pappy git "Uncle Joe" +when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red +hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter +Marse Tom, en atter Marse Tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy +died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, +en Uncle Joe done raise Marse Tom seben chillun, den Marse Tom he up en +sot Uncle Joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase +Uncle Joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise Marse Tom +all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy. + +"Capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) Well, +I gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. Dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de +niggers. Dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round +thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en +womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. Hit wuz jes lak you mite +sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. Jist befo dese here +speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try +ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long +side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, +en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some +nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine +try ter do de bizness wid. Dats zackly de way dey do Capn, jes lak +curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually +is. + +"Whilst Marse Tom Davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of +de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he +niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery +week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat +week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den +ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en +whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres +whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey own, +en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey want. + +"Marse Tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always +on er Sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de +folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er Sattidy atter noon fer er +frolic. Ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest +man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter +"go befo de King", dats whut us called it. All wud gather in bak of de +big house under de big oak trees en Marse Tom he wud cum out wid he +fiddle under he arm, yo kno Marse Tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot +hisself down in de chere whut Uncle Joe done fotched fer im, en den he +tell Uncle Joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all +er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den Marse Tom he +start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab +de bes kin er frolic, en Marse Tom he git jes es much fun outen de party +as de niggers demselves. Dats de kine er man whut Marse Tom wuz. + +"I tell yo, Capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. Dey all +draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times +dey cud always git mo, en Marse Tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour +at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. Dats rite, Capn, en I sho tells +dis fer de truf, en dat is I say dat iffen all de slabe owning white +folks lak Marse Tom Davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de +darkies, kase Marse Tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey +bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone. + +"At Chrismus time on Marse Tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er +mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. De candy pullin, en de dances wid be +gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de +marster. + +"All endurin of de war times, Marse Tom he neber raised no cotton er +tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de +Confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de +loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. De Yankees +sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er +bruning [TR: burning?] en sich dat I is heard dat dey done in places in +other parts of de state. We all heard one time dat de Yankees wuz close +er roun en wuz on de way ter burn Marse Tom's mill but dey got on de +wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er +dat too. Yit en still attar de war ober, Marse Tom, he had bout four +hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de Yankee govment dey sho +tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. I knows dat ter be er +fac. + +"I members de war rail well, kase ye see, I wuz bout twelve year old +when hit ober. En de last two er three years of de trubble I wuz big +enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er +waitin boy round de house, en I slept in dar too on er pallit on de +floor, en er lot er times de Calvary sojers wud stop at Marse Tom's en +spen de nite, en I wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en I +cud hear dem talkin ter Marse Tom, en Marster he wud ax dem how de fite +cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de Yankees, en de Calvary sojers dey say +dat dey whippin de Yankees ebery day en killin em out, en Marse Tom he +sey "Yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem +Yankees? Dem Yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo +doin. Yo know yo aint whippin no Yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter +dem rite now stid dem atter yo". No Sir, dem Calvary sojers cudn't fool +Marse Tom. + +"Yes sir, I tell yo, Capn, de slabes dey fared well wid Marse Tom Davis, +en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every +body ben lak Marse Tom. All his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben +know what de Yankees en de Southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase +dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum +dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter +do wid hit. En atter de bondage lifted, Marse Tom he called em all up en +tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere +wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. Dey ebery one stayed, en I spect dat +er lot of dem Davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid +whoever hit belongs to. + +"When er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich +thing as er license fer dem. All dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit +frum de Marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. Atter de +freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz +giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal. + +"Atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, +en atter de surrender, Marse Tom he hed his whole place lined out by de +surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty +acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock +wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de +lan frum Marse Tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till Marse Tom en ole +Mis bofe died, en dat wuz when Capn Dan Travis, Miss Rachel's husband, +he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies +hed made wid Marse Tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, +en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de Davis place, wid Capn +Dan Travis in charge, en Marse Tom gone. But Capn Dan he en Miss Rachel +didn't keep dey place long atter her Pa dead, kase de Capn he too wild, +en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin. + +"Capn, did yo eber hear of de "Chapel Hill" fight dat de colored folks +en de white folks hed in Mississippi? I will tell yo bout dat fight en +de leadin up ter de trubble. + +"Atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de Klu Klux bofe, en de white +folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey didn't. I +don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, so de +white folks say. You know sum way er udder de Yankees er de +carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de +cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in Jackson. Dat wuz de +craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant +niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. I tell yo, Capn, dem +whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de +niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk +long. Dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded +dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er +roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. Dem ignorant +niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. Hit wasn't long +do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. De Klu Klux dey +wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick +by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, +en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter +tek bak wid em when de day light cum. All de time de niggers habin dey +club meetins in er ole loose house dere at Chapel Hill, en de Klux er +gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de +black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er +grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de +Klu Klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter +dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er +shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, +dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club +meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote +house. I heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase Chapel Hill hit warn't +fer frum whar I libed at dat time. I seed Dr. Marris Gray on de rode on +he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. Dr. +Marris Gray he pulled up en sed, "Good mornin "D" is ye heard bout de +fite whut wuz had last nite at Chapel Hill" en I sey "No Sir Doctor, +whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he +didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de +club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en +also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat +he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. En den I sey +"Doctor Morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he +say "En cose I warn't dere yo don't think I gwine be roun what no +shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en I say "Naw Suh" en de doctor he rid +on down de rode den, but I knowed in my own mine dat Doctor Morris wuz +in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en I seed er long +pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat I iz +knowed de doctor eber since I wuz a chile when Marse Tom uster hab him +ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en I seed him one night er +ridin wid de Klu Klux en heard him er talkin when I wuz hid in de bushes +lon side de rode when I cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de +thicket, en den Doctor Morris he wid General Forrest all throo de war en +he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss +no shootin." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: James Davis + 1112 Indiana St. (owner), Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 96 +Occupation: Cotton farmer + + +"This is what's left of me. How old? Me? Now listen and let me tell you +how 'twas. Old mistress put all our ages in the family Bible, and I was +born on Christmas morning in 1840 in Raleigh, North Carolina. + +"My old master was Peter Davis and he was old Jeff Davis' brother. There +was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream. + +"Old master was good to us. He said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' +and workin' in the field from morning to night. He fed us well and we +had plenty good clothes to wear--heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in +the winter time. When I was a young man I wore good clothes. + +"I served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. We +didn't have a thing in God's world to worry bout. Every darky old master +had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. Oh, he was +rich--had bout five or six thousand slaves. Oh, he had darkies aplenty. +He run a hundred plows. + +"I went to work when I was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and I been +workin' ever since. But when I was comin' up I had good times. I had +better times than I ever had in my life. I used to be one of the best +banjo pickers. I was good. Played for white folks and called figgers for +em. In them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', +'change partners'. They don't know how to dance now. We had parties and +corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes. + +"I'll sing you a song + + 'Oh lousy nigger + Oh grandmammy + Knock me down with the old fence rider, + Ask that pretty gal let me court her + Young gal, come blow the coal.' + +"When I was twenty-one I was sold to the speculator and sent to Texas. +They started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd +and fifty and knocked me off. He paid for me in old Jeff Davis' shin +plasters. + +"I runned away and I was in Mississippi makin' my way back home to North +Carolina. I was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of Sherman's +Rough Riders come along. When they got close to me the horses jumped +sudden and they said, 'Come out of there, we know you're in there!' And +when I come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. +They said they thought I was a Revel and 'serted the army. That was on +New Years day of the year the war ended. The Yankees said, 'We's freed +you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' I said, 'If you goin' +North, I'll go.' So I stayed with em till I got back to North Carolina. + +"After surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come I'm +here. I emigrated here. I left Raleigh, North Carolina Christmas Eve +1883. I've seen ninety-six Christmases. + +"I member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. The South +wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do. + +"When I come to this country of Arkansas I brought twelve chillun and +left four in North Carolina. I've had six wives and had twenty-nine +chillun by the six wives. + +"I've seen them Ku Klux in slavery times and I've cut a many a +grapevine. We'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the +grape vine strung across the road and the Ku Klux come ridin' along and +run right into it and throw the horses down. + +"Cose I believe in hants. They're in the air. Can't everybody see em. +Some come in the shape of a cat or a dog--you know, old folks spirits. I +ain't afeared of em--ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. Cose I got +a gun--got three or four of em. You can't kill a spirit cept with +silver. + +"I was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and I see +somethin' white come right up side of me. I didn't run then. You know +you can git so scared you can't run, but when I got so I could, I like +to killed myself runnin'. + +"I'm not able to work now, but I just go anyhow. I got a willin' mind to +work and a strong constitution but I ain't got nothin' to back it. I +never was sick but twice in my life. + +"Since I been in Pine Bluff I worked sixteen years at night firing up +and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. I +worked for the Cotton Belt forty-eight years. I worked up until the fust +day of this last past May, five years ago, when they laid me off. + +"I'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but I works every day anyway. + +"I'll show you I haven't been asleep atall. I worked for the railroad +company forty-eight years and I been tryin' to get that railroad pension +but there's so much Red Cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be +three months before they could do anything." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jim Davis + 1112 Indiana Street + Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 98 + + +"Well, I've broke completely down. I ain't worth nothing. Got rheumatism +all over me. + +"I never seen inside a schoolhouse--allus looked on the outside. + +"The general run of this younger generation ain't no good. What I'm +speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. They ain't healthy either. Why, +when I was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. Why, look +at me. I ain't never had but two spells of sickness and I ain't never +had the headache. The only thing--I broke these three fingers. Hit a +mule in the head. Killed him too. + +"Yes'm, that was in slavery times. Why, they passed a law in Raleigh, +North Carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. That was when I +was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars. + +"Ever' time they'd make me mad I'd run off in the woods. + +"But they sure was good to their darkies. Plenty to eat and plenty good +clothes. Sam Davis was my owner. And he wouldn't have no rough +overseer." + + + + +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Slavery Time Songs +Subject: Superstitions +Story:--Information +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] + +This information given by: Jim Davis +Place of residence: 1112 Indiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 98 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I used to be a banjo picker in Civil War times. I could pick a church +song just as good as I could a reel. + +"Some of 'em I used to pick was 'Amazing Grace', 'Old Dan Tucker,' Used +to pick one went like this + + 'Farewell, farewell, sweet Mary; + I'm ruined forever + By lovin' of you; + Your parents don't like me, + That I do know + I am not worthy to enter your d[o].' + +I used to pick + + 'Dark was the night + Cold was the ground + On which the Lord might lay.' + +I could pick anything. + + 'Amazing grace + How sweet it sounds + To save a wretch like me.' + + 'Go preach my Gospel + Says the Lord, + Bid this whole earth + My grace receive; + Oh trust my word + Ye shall be saved.' + +I used to talk that on my banjo just like I talked it there." + + +Superstitions + +"Oh, yes ma'am, I believe in all the old signs. + +"You can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore +shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that +bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel--I know what +I'm talkin' 'bout now--and you tote that in your pocket night and +day--sleep with it--and it brings you good luck. But the last one I had +got burnt up when my house burnt down and I been goin' back ever since. + +"And these here frizzly chicken are good luck. If you have a black +frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your +yard, they'll scratch it up." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis + 1100 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 85 +[May 31 1938] + + +"What's my name? I got a good name. Name's Jeff Davis. Miss Mary Vinson +was some of my white folks. + +"Oh Lord yes, I was here in slavery times--runnin' around like you +are--ten years old. I'm eighty-five even. + +"Soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. Blue coats was what they +called 'em. And the Rebs was Gray. + +"Yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. Had cannon-balls +weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds. + +"I'm a musician--played the fife. Played it to a T. Had two kinds of +drums. Had different kinds of brass horns too. I 'member one time they +was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till I took it. + +"Had plenty to eat. Old master fed us plenty. + +"Oh, I used to do a heap of work in a day. + +"I was 'bout ten when freedom come. Yes ma'am." + + + + +Interviewer: Watt McKinney +Person interviewed: Jeff Davis + R.F.D. five miles south, Marvell, Arkansas +Age: 78 + + +"I'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. I was borned +in de Tennessee Valley not far from Huntsville, Alabama. Right soon +atter I was borned my white folks, de Welborns, dey left Alabama an' +come right here to Phillips County, Arkansas, an' brung all the darkies +with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. I is been here +all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every +since I been old enough. I is seen good times an' hard times, Boss, all +endurin' of those years followin' de War, but de worst times I is ever +seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck. + +"How-some-ever I is got 'long first rate I reckon 'cause you know I owns +my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all +such like. I really ain't suffered any for nothin'. Still they has been +times when I ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, +but I is made it out somehow. Us old darkies what come up with de +country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there +wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long +on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. Couldn't mind a panic +bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration. + +"You see, I was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. +An' course I can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my +mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times. + +"Like I first said, us belonged to de Welborns an' dey was powerful +loyal to de Souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey +sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in +Tennessee an' Georgia. Dat's what my mammy tole me an' I know dey done +dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout Mr. Jefferson Davis, de fust an' only +President of de Confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name I got. +Yas suh, dat is how come me named 'Jeff Davis.' An' I always has been +proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what I is named after. + +"My pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. I knows he +bound to been 'cause I is too bright to not have no white blood in me. +My mammy, she named 'Mary Welborn'. She say dat my pappy was a white man +name 'Bill Ward' what lived back in Alabama. Dat's all my mammy ever +told me about my pappy. She never say iffen he work for de Welborns er +no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. I don't know nothin' 'bout him +scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'Bill Ward'. My steppappy, he +was name John Sanders, an' he married my mammy when I 'bout four year +old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage. + +"My steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he +want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. +I riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was +built through Marvell from Helena to Clarendon. He made dem culberts +outen logs what would be split half in two. Then he would hew out de two +halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. Dey +would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de +water to run through. + +"There was several white mens dat I knowed in dis part of de county what +raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. I will say this +for them mens though. Whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem +what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care +of de whole gang. I riccolect one white man in particular, an' I knows +you is heered of him too. How-some-ever, I won't call no names. He lived +down on de ribber on de island. Dis white man, he was a overseer for a +widder woman what lived in Helena an' what owned de big place dat dis +man oberseer was on. Dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de +longest. She have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals. + +"After a while dis man, he got him a place up close to Marvell where he +moved to. He brought his nigger fambly with him. He built dem a good +house on his farm where he kept them. He give dat woman an' dem chillun +dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. Then he +married him a nice white woman after he moved close to Marvell. He built +him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap +of chillun too by dis same man. So dis man, he had a white fambly an' a +half nigger fambly before. De most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in +this county right now. + +"Yas suh, Boss, I is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. In my +young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. There +wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. De houses an' barns was +most all made of logs, but I is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers +an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey +does at dis time. De white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more +confidence in each other seems like in dem days. I don't know how 'twas +in de other states after de War, but right here in Phillips County de +white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. Dey helped dem +to git it. Dey sure done dat. Mr. Marve Carruth, dat was really a good +white man. He helped me to get dis very place here dat I is owned for +fifty years. An' then I tell you dis too, Boss, when I was coming up, de +folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. A good hand then +naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as +dey do now. Seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and +down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey +orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home. + +"Yas suh, I riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs +in de courthouse in Helena, but I is never took no part in that votin' +business an' I allus kept out of dem arguments. I left it up to de white +folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers. + +"De darkies what was in de courthouse dat I riccolect was: Bill Gray, he +was one of de clerks; Hense Robinson, Dave Ellison, an' some more dat I +don't remember. Bill Gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was +just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. Bill Gray, he +used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. He was +sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. The +captain used to let him git some eddycation. Darkies, dey never last +long in de courthouse. Dey soon git 'em out. + +"I gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since I was +comin' up. Dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't +believe in no more. Yet de same signs is still here, an' I sure does +believe in 'em 'cause I done seen 'em work for all dese years. De Lawd +give de peoples a sign for all things. De moon an' de stars, dey is a +sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de +cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. De screech owls, dey give er +warnin' dat some one gwine to die. About de best sign dat some person +gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' +constant in de middle of de night. Dat is a sign I hardly is ever seen +fail an' I seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old Aunt Dinah +died up de road. I heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' +back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past +Aunt Dinah's cabin. I say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to +take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' +de sign just right. Dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' Aunt +Dinah, she plumb well at de time. About er week from then Aunt Dinah, +she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she +died. I knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still I didn't +know who it was to be. I tell you, Boss, I is gittin' uneasy an' +troubled de last day or two, 'cause I is done heered another cow a +lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. She keeps a walkin' back +an' forth past my house out there in de road. I is really troubled +'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. We is both way up in +years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, Aunt Dinah was too. +Dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat I done noticed mighty +nigh allus comes true." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Jordan Davis + 306 Cypress Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 86 + + +"I was a boy in the house when the war started and I heard the mistress +say the abolitionists was about to take the South. Yes ma'm. That was in +Natchez, Mississippi. I was about nine or ten. + +"Mistress' name was Eliza A. Hart and master's name was Dave A. Hart. + +"I guess they _was_ good to me. I lived right there in the house with +then. Mistress used to send me to Sunday School and she'd say 'Now, +Jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with +them nigger chillun on the streets.' + +"My daddy belonged to a man named Davis way down the river in the +country and after the war he came and got me. Sure did. Carried me to +Davis Bend. I was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. He took me +to Mrs. Leas Hamer and you know I was a good-sized boy when she put me +in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. Yes'm, I sure can cook. She +kept me right in the house with her children. I did her cooking and +cleaned up the house. I never got any money for it, or if I did I done +forgot all about it. She kept me in clothes, she sure did. I didn't need +any money. I stayed five or six years with her, sure did. I thought a +lot of her and her children--she was so kind to me. + +"Yes ma'm, I went to school one or two years in Mississippi. + +"When I come here to Arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in +Pine Bluff, there was a white man standin' there named Burks. He kept +lookin' at me and directly he said 'Can you cook?' I was married then +and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me +out to his house. His wife kept a first-class boarding house. Just +first-class white folks stayed there. After the madam found out I had a +good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things +over to me. + +"Miss, it's been so long, I don't study 'bout that votin' business. I +have never bothered 'bout no Republican or votin' business--I never +cared about it. I know one thing, the white people are the only ones +ever did me any good. + +"Mrs. J.B. Talbot has been very good to me. My wife used to work for her +and so did I. She sure has been a friend to me. Mrs. J.B. Talbot has +certainly stuck to me. + +"Oh I think the colored folks ought to be free but I know some of 'em +had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too. + +"Ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. I see 'em goin' down the +street singin' and dancin' and half naked--ain't nothin' to 'em. + +"My wife's been dead five or six years and I live here alone. Yes ma'm! +I don't want nobody here with me." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Jane Drucilla Davis + 1612 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 73 + + + "'Little baby's gone to heaven + To try on his robe + Oh, Lord, I'm most done toiling here + Little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' + +"Oh, it was so mournful. And let me tell you what they'd do. They'd all +march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on +their shoulder and sing that song. That's the first song I remember. I +was three years old and now I'm seventy-three and crippled up with +rheumatism. + +"My mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard +and I thought they was buryin' it in the garden. That was in Georgia. + +"In the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all +night, but they don't do that now. + +"I was married young. I don't love to tell how old but I was fifteen and +when I was seventeen I was a widow. I tried and tried to get another +husband as good as my first one but I couldn't. I didn't marry then till +I was thirty some. + +"My parents brought me from Georgia when I was five years old and now I +ain't got no blood kin in Pine Bluff. + +"Do I believe in signs? Well, let me tell you what I do know. Before my +house burned in 1937, I was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and +sister come up to my house. They come a distance to the steps and went +around the house. They was both dead but I could see 'em just as plain. +And do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. I think +that vision was a sign of bad luck. + +"And another time when I was havin' water put in my house, I dreamed +that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign +a contract and I didn't know there was a contract. And that next day a +man come out for me to sign a contract and I said, 'No.' He wanted to +know why and finally I told him, and he said, 'You're just like my +mother.' It was two days 'fore I'd sign. The men had quit work waitin' +for me to sign. But let me tell you when they put the water in and when +they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. The ground was too low and I +never could use the commode. Now don't you think that dream was a +warning? + +"Just before I had this spell of sickness I dreamed my baby--he's +dead--come and knocked and said. 'Mama.' And I said, 'Yes, darlin', God +bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's +comin'. I really thought I was goin' to die. I got up and looked in the +glass. You know you can see death in the eyes, but I didn't see any sign +of death and I haven't gone yet. + +"Last Saturday I was prayin' to God not to let me get out of the heart +of the people. You see, I have no kin people and I wanted people to come +to my rescue. The next day was Sunday and more people come to see me and +brought me more things. + +"I been in the church fifty-seven years. I'm the oldest member in St. +John's. I joined in May 1881. + +"I went to school some. I went as far as the fourth grade." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Minerva Davis, Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 56 + + +"My father was sold in Richmond, Virginia when he was eighteen years old +to the nigger traders. They had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and +horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. Papa said +he traveled to Tennessee. His job was to wash their faces and hands and +fix their hair--comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be +auctioned off. They sold a lot of children from Virginia all along the +way and he was put up in Tennessee and auctioned off. He was sold to the +highest bidder. Bill Thomas at Brownsville, Tennessee was the one bought +him. Papa was a large strong man. + +"He run off and went to war. He had learned to cook and he was one-eyed +and couldn't fight. All the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. Then +he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and +he never got a pension because of that. He said he come home pretty +often and mama was expecting a baby. He thought he was needed at home +worse. He was so tired of war. He didn't know it would be valuable to +him in his old days. He was sorry he didn't stay till they got him +mustered out. He said it was harder in the war than in slavery. They was +putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to +death all the time. Never did know when they would be shot and killed. + +"Mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. A drove of folks +come by. It was the nigger traders. She had pulled up her two or three +buckets. She carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. They +said, 'Draw me up some water to drink.' She was so smart they bragged on +her. They said, 'She such a smart little thing.' They went to see her +owner and bought her on the spot. They took her away from her people and +she never heard tell of none of them no more. She said there was a big +family of them. They brought her to Brownsville, Tennessee and Johnny +Williams bought her. That was my grandma. + +"Mother was born there on Johnny Williams' place and she was heired by +his daughter. His daughter married Bill Thomas, the one what done bought +my papa. Her young mistress was named Sallie Ann Thomas. Mama got +married when she was about grown. She said after she married she'd have +a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. Mama had twelve +children and raised eleven to be grown. Four of us are living yet. My +sister was married when I was born. White folks married young and +encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. Mama +died when I was a year old but papa lived on with Johnny Williams where +he was when she died. I lived with my married sister. I was the baby and +she took me and raised me with her children. + +"The Ku Klux wanted to whoop my papa. They all called him Dan. They said +he was mean. His white folks protected him. They said he worked well. +They wouldn't let him be whooped by them Ku Kluxes. + +"Miss Sallie Ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the +children and to help the cook where she visited. They was there a right +smart while from the way papa said. The pattyrollers whooped somebody on +that farm while she was over there. They wasn't many slaves on her place +and they was good to them. That whooping was right smart a curiosity to +mama the way papa told us about it. + +"When mama and papa married, Johnny Williams had a white preacher to +read out of a book to them. They didn't jump over no broom he said. + +"They was the biggest kind of Methodist folks and when mama was five +years old Johnny Williams had all his slaves baptized into that church +by his own white preacher. Papa said some of them didn't believe niggers +had no soul but Johnny Williams said they did. (The Negroes must have +been christened--ed.) + +"Papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about +freedom. Mama was working for Miss Sallie Ann and done something wrong. +Miss Sallie Ann says, 'I'm a good mind to whoop you. You ain't paying +'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' Mama says, 'Miss Sallie +Ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care +what I do.' When Bill come home he say, 'How come you to sass my wife? +She so good to you.' Mama say, 'Master Bill, them soldiers say I'm +free.' He slapped her. That the first time he laid hands on her in his +life. In a few days he said, 'We going to town and see is you free. You +leave the baby with Sallie Ann.' It was the courthouse. They questioned +her and him both. Seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to +be and mama didn't neither. Then papa took mama on Johnny Williams' +place. He come out to Arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then +he moved his children all out here. + +"Uncle Albert and grandpa take nights about going out. Uncle Albert was +courting. + +"They put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm +ready to eat. The fire popped out on mama. She was in a light blaze. Not +a bit of water in the house. Her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on +her to put out the fire. Her stomach was burned and scarred. They was +all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. Miss +Sallie Ann took her and cured her and when Miss Sallie Ann was going to +marry, her folks didn't want to give her Minerva. She tended (contended) +out and got her and Agnes both. Agnes died at about emancipation. + +"I'm named for my mother. I'm her youngest child. + +"I recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back +to olden times the older he got to be. When folks would run down slavery +he would say it wasn't so bad with them--him and mama. He never seen +times bad as times is got to be now. Then he sure would wanted slavery +back some more. He was a strong hard laboring man. He was a provider for +his family till he got so no 'count. + +"Times is changing up fast. Folks is worse about cutting up and +carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. I ain't +old so speaking." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Rosetta Davis, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 55 + + +"I was born in Phillips County, Arkansas. My folks' master was named Dr. +Jack Spivy. Grandma belong to him. She was a field woman. I don't know +if he was a good master er not. They didn't know it was freedom till +three or four months. They was at work and some man come along and said +he was going home, the War was over. Some of the hands asked him who win +and he told them the Yankees and told them they was free fer as he +knowed. They got to inquiring and found out they done been free. They +made that crap I know and I don't recollect nothing else. + +"I farmed at Foreman, Arkansas for Taylor Price, Steve Pierce, John +Huey. I made a crap here with Will Dale. I come to Arkansas twenty-nine +years ago. I come to my son. He had a cleaning and pressing shop here +(Marianna). He died. I hired to the city to work on the streets. I never +been in jail. I owned a house here in town till me and my wife +separated. She caused me to lose it. I was married once. + +"I get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment. + +"The present time is queer. I guess I could git work if I was able to do +it. I believe in saving some of what you make along. I saved some along +and things come up so I had to spend it. I made so little. + +"Education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. Education is good +fer some folks and not good fer some. Some folks git spoilt and lazy. I +think it helped to do it to the people of today." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Virginia (Jennie) Davis + Scott Street, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 45 or 47 + + +"This is what my father, Isaac Johnson, always told us: + +'I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Mama died and left three of us +children and my papa. He was a blacksmith.' I don't recollect grandpa's +name now. + +'A man come to buy me. I was a twin. My sisters cried and cried but I +didn't cry. I wanted to ride in the surrey. I was sold and taken to +Montgomery, Alabama.' + +"Angeline was his oldest sister and Emmaline was his twin sister. He +never seen any of his people again. He forgot their names. His old +master that bought him died soon after he come back from North Carolina. + +"His young master didn't even know his age. He tried to get in the army +and he did get in the navy. They said he was younger than he told his +age. He enlisted for three years. He was in a scrimmage with the Indians +once and got wounded. He got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his +services till he died. + +"He wasn't old enough to be in the Civil War. He said he remembered his +mistress crying and they said Lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. His +young master told him he was free. The colored folks was having a +jubilee. He had nowheres to go. He went back to the big house and sot +around. They called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been +sleeping. He had nowheres to go. He stayed there till he joined the +navy. Then he come to Mississippi and married Sallie Bratcher and he +went back to Alabama and taught school. He went to school at night after +the Civil War till he went to the navy. He was a light-brown skin. + +"Grandma, Jane Cash, was one brought from Huntingdon, Tennessee in a +gang and sold at auction in Memphis, Tennessee. She said her mother, +father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, +divided out and separated. Grandma said one of her sisters had a +suckling baby. She couldn't keep it from crying. They stopped and made +her give it away. + +"Then grandma fell in the hands of the Walls at Holly Springs, +Mississippi. She was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. +They wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant. + +"Mrs. Walls buried her silver in the front yard. She had an old trusty +colored man to dig a hole and bury it. No one ever found it. The +soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. +They ransacked her house. Mr. Walls wasn't there. + +"My auntie, Eliza Williamson, was half white. She was one of her +master's son's children. Her first master put her and her husband +together. She lives near Conway, Arkansas now and is very old. + +"Grandma was living at Menifee, Arkansas, and a man from De Valls Bluff, +Arkansas come to her house. She saw a scar on his arm. He was marked by +gingerbread. She asked him some questions. Epps was his name and he was +older than herself. He told her about the sale in Memphis. He remembered +some things she didn't. He knowd where they all went. Her sister was +Mary Wright at Milan, Tennessee. Grandma was twelve years old when that +sale come off. She shouted and they cried. She couldn't eat for a week. + +"She said old man Walls was good to them. When my mama was a little girl +she was short and fat and light color. Old man Walls would call them in +his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. He was proud of +them. He'd give them big dances ever so often. In the evening they had +their own preaching in white folks' church. Grandma was good with the +needle. She sewed for the mistress and her own family too. She had +twelve children I think they said. They said her mistress had a large +family too. + +"Grandpa belong to Mike Cash. He give her husband what he made on +Saturday evening. I think grandpa was sold from the Walls to Mike Cash. +He took the Cash name and my mother was a Cash and she married Isaac +Johnson. She was raised in Arkansas. Papa was married twice. I was +raised around Holly Grove, Arkansas. That is where my folks lived in the +last of slavery--that is mama's folks. Papa come to Arkansas at a later +time. + +"I think times is queer. I work and makes the best of 'em. (Ten dollars +a month house rent.) I work all the time washing and ironing. (She has +washed for the same families years and years. She is a light +mulatto--ed.) + +"Young folks is lost respect for the truth. Not dependable. That is +their very worst fault, I think. + +"No-oom, I wouldn't vote no quicker 'en I'd smoke a cigarette. But I +haben never smoked narry one." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Ex-Slaves +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Winnie Davis (C) +Place of residence: 304 E. Twenty-First Street + Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 100 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"Katie Butler was my old missis 'fore I married my husband. His name +David Davis. I cooked for Jeff Davis and took care of his daughter, +Winnie. I stayed with old missis, Jeff Davis' wife, till she died. She +made me promise I'd stay with her. That was in Virginia." + +(I have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of +Winnie Davis. Her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when +Winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she +gave her name, the clerk said, "Were you named after Jeff Davis' +daughter?" and that Winnie replied, "She must have been named after me +'cause I cooked for Jeff Davis 'fore she was born." + +Her mind is not very good at times, but the day I took her picture, I +asked who she used to cook for and she said, "Jeff Davis." + +She is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around the +house quite well. The neighbors say that she has been a hard worker and +of a very high-strung temperament. + +The granddaughter, Mattie Sneed, says her grandmother said she was sold +in Virginia when she was eight years old.) + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Leroy Day (c) +Age: 80 +Home: 123 N. Walnut Street, Pine Bluff, Ark. + + +"Good Lord yes, lady, I was here in slavery days. I remember my old +marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid. + +"I remember when the soldiers--the Yankees--come through, some said they +was takin' things. + +"Old Marster, his name was Joe Day, he was good to us. He seemed to be a +Christian man and he was a Judge. They generally called him Judge Day. I +never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. I tell +you if he wasn't a Christian, he looked like one. + +"I was born in Georgia and I can remember the first Governor we had +after freedom. His name was Governor Bullock. I heard it said the people +raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. +That was when Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia. + +"I used to vote after freedom. I voted Republican. I went to school a +little after the war and then emigrated to Louisiana and Arkansas. + +"Things has got so now everything is in politics. Some votes cause they +want their friends in office and some don't take no interest. + +"Some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are +goin' kinda slow. Some is goin' take another growth. The schoolin' they +is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up. + +"Yes mam, I use to be strong and I have done a heap of work in my life. +Cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the +money and we had to work to get some of that money. + +"I remember when the Ku Klux was right bad in Louisiana. I never did see +any--I didn't _try_ to see 'em. I know I heard that they went to a +school house and broke up a negro convention. They called for a colored +man named Peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man +got killed. They had a right smart little scrummage, and I know the +colored people ran off and went to Kansas. + +"The fust man I ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in +another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so +mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other +man. I never did know what the punishment was. + +"Since I have become afflicted (I'm ruptured) I can't do no work any +more. I can't remember anything else. If I had time to study I might +think of something else." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Hammett Dell, Brasfield, Arkansas +Age: 90 +[-- -- 1937] + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] + + +"I was born in Tennessee, 10 miles from Murfreesboro. They call it now +Releford. I was born October 12, 1847. I stayed wid old master till he +died. I was bout thirty-five years old. He lernt me a good trade, brick +layin'. He give me everything I needed and more. After the war he took +me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick--it was made round--and lernt +me outer the Blue Back Speller and Rithmetic. The spelling book had +readin' in it. Lady ain't you seed one yit? Then I lernt outer Rays +Rithmetic and McGuffeys Reader. Old master say it ginst the law to teach +slaves foe the war. Dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a +nigger slave. The white folks schools was pay foe the war. + +"My old master had a small farm. His wife died. He never married no +more. I caint member her name. She died when I was a little bitter of a +boy. They had a putty large family. There was Marion, William, Fletcher, +John, Miss Nancy, Miss Claricy, Miss Betsy. I think that all. The older +childern raised up the little ones. My master named Mars Pleasant White. +Long as I stayed wid him I had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to +spend. I had no sense to save a cent for a old day. Mars White was a +good man if ever one lived. He was a good man. Four old darkies all Mars +White had. They was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. My name I would lack +it better White but that is where the Dell part come in; papa b'long to +the Dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. He took his old +master's name. They call him Louis Dell White. He didn't have no +brothers but my mama had two sisters. Her name was Mary White. Them was +happy days b'fo the war. The happiest days in all my life. Bout at the +beginnin' of the war Mama took cole at the loom and died. We all waited +on her, white folks too. She didn't lack for waitin' on. Something white +folks et, we et. We had plenty good grub all time long as Mars White +live. + +"How'd I know bout to git in war? I heard white folks talkin' bout it. +One time I heard Mars White talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. We +was happy an' doin' well an' I didn't lack the talk but I didn't know +what "war" was. No mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down +at Murfreesboro. Mars White was a ruptured man. He never left our place. +I never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. Mars White aired +(heired) all us. My papa left and never come back. I d[o]n[o] how he got +through the lines in the army. I guess he did fight wid the Yankees. + +"Papa didn't speak plain. Grandma couldn't speak plain. They lisp. They +talk fast. Sound so funny. Mama and auntie speak well. Plain as I do +now. They was up wid Mars White's childern more. Mars White sent his +childern to pay school. It was a log house and they had a lady teacher. +They had a accordion. Mars Marion's neighbor had one too. All of em +could play. + +"White women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse +collars. The white women lernt the darkie women. There was no leather +horse collars as ever I seed. I lernt to twist shucks and weave chair +bottoms. Then I lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. I made +all kinds baskets. We had all sizes and kinds of baskets. When they git +old they turn dark. Shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff +an' not so fancy. + +"Well when they started off fightin' at Murfreesboro, it was a continual +roar. The tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. It was +distressful. The house shakin' all time. All our houses jar. The earth +quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides +foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to +live on. That's "war". I found out all bout what it was. Lady it ain't +nuthin' but hell on dis erth. + +"I tole you I was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how +the cannons shook the earth. There couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor +a year of corn to be found bout our place. It was sich hard times. It +was both sides come git what you had. Whole heap of Yankees come in +their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. They was huntin' +horses. They done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old +mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. Young mistress had +a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house. + +"Then when they started to leave, one old Yankee set the corner of the +house on fire. We all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry +in' water ter put it out. We got it out but while we doin' that, mind +out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug +out. One old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. She been so +scared she never come to the house no more. Nobody knowed there was one +on our place. He took his javelin and stuck it through her back. She +started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, +started runnin' and some of em buckin'. We got the fire bout out. We +couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. I been bustin' I was so mad +cause they tried take old Beck. Three of em horses throwd em. They +struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch +tryin' to head off their horses. Them horses throwd em sprawlin'. That +was the funniest sight I ever seed. + +"We got our water out of a cave. It was good cold limestone water. We +had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. We swing the pole +round let it down then pull it back and tie it. They go to the other end +and git the bucket of water. I toted bout all the water to both places +what they used. One day I goin' to the cave after water. I had a habit +of throwin' till I got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. I spied a +hornets nest in a tree long the lane. I knowd them soldiers be long back +fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. It wasn't long show nuff they come back +and went up to the house. + +"I got a pile of rocks in my hands. I hid down in the hazel nut bushes. +When they come by gallopin' I throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. +The way they piled out on them soldiers. You could see em fightin' far +as you could see em wid their blue caps. The horses runnin' and buckin'. +I let out to the house to see what else they carried off. + +"I tole Mars White bout how I hit that hornets nest wid the first rock I +throwd. He scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed +me. It scared him. He said don't do no more capers like that. That old +hornets nest soon come down. It was big as a water bucket. Mars White +call me son boy. I tole him what terrible language they used, and bout +some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. It was made outer rails +piled up. Mars White sho was glad they didn't see me. He kept on sayin' +son boy they would killed you right on the spot. Don't do nuthin' to em +to aggravate em. + +"It look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the +soldiers couldn't find it. We had a ash hopper settin' all time. We made +our soap and lye hominy. They took all our salt. We couldn't buy none. +We put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. We +hid that. No they didn't find it. Our smoke house was logs dobbed wid +mud and straw. It was good size bout as big as our cabins. It had +somepin in it too. All the time I tell you. + +"You ever eat dried beef? It is fine. + +"I say I been to corn shuckins. They do that at night. We hurry and git +through then we have a dance in front of Mars White's house. We had a +good time. Mars White pass round ginger bread and hard cider. We wore a +thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. One darkie sit up +on the pile and lead the singin'. Old Dan Tucker was one song we lernt. +I made some music instruments. We had music. Folks danced then more they +do now. Most darkies blowed quills and Jew's harps. I took cane cut four +or six made whistles then I tuned em together and knit em together in a +row like a mouth harp you see. + +[TR: there is a drawing of the whistles, something like this: + + _ + - | | + - | | | | + _ | | | | | | + - | | | | | | | | + - | | | | | | | | | | + | | | | | | | | | | | | + - - - - - - + [HW: blow] + +Two lines across all the whistles may indicate strings.] + +Another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, +hold your fingers over different holes and blow. I never had a better +time since freedom. I never had a doctor till since I been 80 years old +neither. + +"Later on I made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the +string wid my fingers while I hold the other end wid this hand. (Left +hand. It was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) See my hand that what +caused it. I have been a musician in my time. I lernt to handle the +banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. I played fer many a set, all over +the country mostly back home (in Tennessee). + +"We had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. They have big +suppers spread under the trees. We sho know we have a good supper after +a log rollin'. + +"We most always worked at night in winter. Mama worked at the loom and +weaved. Grandma and old mistress carded. They used hand cards. Auntie +spun thread. I reeled the thread. I like to hear it cluck off the hanks. +Papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. He'd fool round after +that. He went off to the war at the first of it and never come home. + +"The war broke us up and ruined us all but me. Grandma married old man +soon after freedom. He whooped and beat her up till she died. He was a +mean old scoundel. They said he was a nigger driver. His name was Wesley +Donald. She died soon after the war. Mama was dead. Auntie married and +went on off. I was 18 years old. When freedom come on Mars White says +you all set free. You can leave or stay on here. I stayed there. Mars +White didn't give us nuthin'. He was broke. All he had was land. + +"Come a talk bout Lincoln givin' em homes. Some racketed bout what they +outer git. That was after freedom. Most of em never got nuthin'. They up +and left. Some kept on workin'. They got to stealin' right smart. Some +the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and white +folks too. White folks made em go to work. The darky men sorter quit +work and made the women folks do the work. They do thater way now. Some +worse den others bout it. + +"Me and Mars White went to work. We see droves darkies just rovin' +round. Said they huntin' work and homes. Some ask for victuals. Yes they +give em something to eat. When they come in droves they couldn't give em +much. Some of em oughter left. Some of the masters was mean. Some of em +mighty good. + +"Me and Mars White and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band +to a lay (lathe). One man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the +lay (lathe) all time. We made pipes outer maple and chairs. We chiseled +out table legs and bed post. We made all sort of things. Anything to +sell. We sold a heap of things. We made money. If I'd had sense to keep +part of it. Mars White always give me a share. We had a good livin' soon +as we got over the war. + +"I farmed. I was a brick layer. Mars White lernt me that. When he died I +followed that trade. I worked at New Orleans, Van Buren, Jackson, +Meridian. I worked at Lake Villiage with Mr. Lasley, and Mr. Ivy. They +was fine brick layers. I worked for Dr. Stubbs. Mr. Scroggin never went +huntin' without me but once over here on Cache River. He give me land to +build my cabins. I got lumber up at the mills here. Folks come to my +cabins from 23 states. J. Dall Long at St. Louis sent me a block wid my +picture. I didn't know what it was. Mr. Moss told me it was a bomb like +they used in the World War. I had some cards made in Memphis, some +Little Rock. I sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good +fishin' now. + +"J. Dall Long said when I go back home I send you somethin' nice. That +what he sent in the mail. + +"It was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches +leg pullin' me over out the boat. He had me named "Hambones" under it. I +still got my block. I got nuther thing--old aunties bonnet she wore in +slavery. + +"I quit keepin' club house. I kept it 27 years. I rented the cabins, +sold minnows and bates. They give me the land but I couldn't sell it. +Old woman everybody call "Nig" cook fer me. I wanter live like Nig and +go up yonder. I ainter goner be in this world long but I want to go to +heben. Nig was not my wife. She was a fine cook. She cooked an' stayed +at my cabins. This little chile--orphan chile--I got wid me was Nig's +grandchild. When Nig died I took him. I been goin with him to pick +cotton. I want er lern him to work. Egercation ain't no good much to +darkies. I been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. They ain't +nuthin'. I set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. He is +six years old. When it rain I caint pick and set on the wet ground. + + +Ku Klux + +"The onlies sperience I had myself wid the Ku Klux was one night fo +Grandma and auntie left. Somebody wrap on our cabin door. They opened +it. We gat scared when we seed em. They had the horses wrapped up. They +had on white long dresses and caps. Every one of em had a horse whoop +(whip). They called me out. Grandma and auntie so scared they hid. They +tole me to git em water. They poured it some whah it did not spill on +the ground. Kept me totin' water. Then they say, "You bin a good boy?" +They still drinkin'. One say, "Just from Hell pretty dry." Then they +tole me to stand on my head. I turned summer sets a few times. They +tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. I had on a long shirt. They +laugh when I stand on my head. Old Mars White laughed. I knowed his +laugh. Then I got over my scare. They say, "Who live next down the +road?" I tole em Nells Christian. They say, "What he do?" I said, "Works +in the field." They all grunt, m-m-m-m. Then they say, "Show us the +way." I nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the +white horses. The moon shining bright as day. They say Nells come out +here. He say "Holy Moses." He come out. They say "Nells what you do?" "I +farms." They say "What you raise?" He say "Cotton and corn." They say +"Take us to see yo cotton we jess from Hell. We ain't got no cotton +there." He took em out there where it was clean. They got down and felt +it. Then they say "What is dat?", feelin' the grass. Nells say "That is +grass." They say, "You raise grass too?" He said, "No. It come up." They +say "Let us see yo corn." He showed em the corn. They felt it. They say +"What this?" Nells say, "It grass." They say, "You raise grass here?" +They all grunt m-m-m-m everything Nells say. They give him one bad +whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. They +said "You raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." They they +moan, "m-m-m-m." I herd em say his whole family and him too was out by +day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. I was sho +glad to git back to our cabin. They didn't come back to Nells no more +that I herd bout. The man Nells worked for muster been one in that +crowd. He lived way over yonder. No I think the Ku Klux was a good thing +at that time. The darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. They was +notorious. They got mean. The men wouldn't work. Their families have to +work an' let them roam round over the country. Some of em mean to their +families. They woulder starved the white out and their selves too. I +seed the Ku Klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. I herd +a heap they done along after that. They say some places the Ku Klux go +they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they +whoop em. Sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. I +sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, +vistin'. The Ku Klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. +Nells moster lived at what they called Caneville over cross the field. + +"The way that Patty Rollers was. The mosters paid somebody. Always +somebody round wantin' a job like that. Mars White was his own overseer. +All round there was good livers. They worked long wid the slaves. Some +of the slaves would race. Papa would race. He wanted to race all time. +Grandma cooked for all of us. They had a stone chimney in the kitchen. +Big old hearth way out in front. Made outer stone too. We all et the +same victuals long as Mars White lived. Then I left." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: James Dickey, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 68 +[May 31 1939] + + +"I don't know much to tell about my folks. My parents died when I was +young. Mother died when I was twelve and father when I was seven years +old. Great-grandma was an Indian squaw. My father's pa was his young +master. His old master was named George Dickey. The young master was +John Dickey. I reckon to start with my mother had a husband. She had +twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. He was lighter than I +am and paler. This red is Indian in me. I know how he looked and how she +looked too. The young master never married. He had some brothers. My +father lived with us and his pa was there too some. I don't know what +become of John Dickey but my pa was buried at Mt. Tursey Cemetery. It +was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. Mother +come here and was buried at Cat Island in a colored church cemetery. + +"I farmed in Mississippi, then I come to Miller Lumber Company and I +worked with them forty-two years. I worked at Marked Tree, then they +sent me here (Marianna). + +"I voted in Caruthersville, Missouri last I voted. It don't do much good +to vote. I am too old to vote. I never voted in Arkansas. I voted some +in Mississippi but not regular. + +"Times is hard. So many white women do their own cooking and washing +till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. The lumber work is +gone fer good. + +"The present generation is going back'ards. For awhile it looked like +they was rising--I'm speaking morally. They going back down in a hurry. +Drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. The race is going back'ard +now. Seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in. + +"I got high blood pressure. I do a little work. I watch on Sunday at the +mills. I don't get no help from the Gover'ment." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Benjamin Diggs + 420 N. Cypress, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 79 + + +"I was born in 1859 in North Carolina. Oh, sure, I remember when the +Yankees come through. They said they done right smart of damage. I +remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. They didn't do +nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock. + +"The Lyles was my white folks. They called her Polly Lyles. Oh, they was +good to us. My mother and her sister and another colored woman and we +children all belonged to one set of people--Miss Polly Lyles; and my +father belonged to the Diggs. + +"After freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and +we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us. + +"I've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my +father said he was glad to get one. He said he didn't get 'em but once a +week. + +"Oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks +was treated. Some of 'em was very good, just like they is now. + +"Well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old +then. + +"I come here to Arkansas in '88. That was when they was emigratin' the +folks. I was grown and married then. I was twenty-six when I married in +'85. + +"I went to school a little. I can sorta scribble a little and read a +little, but my eyes is failin' now. I started wearin' glasses 'fore I +really needed 'em. I got to projectin' with my mother's glasses Looked +like they read so good. + +"Farmin' is all I know how to do. Never done anything else. I owned some +land and farmed for myself. + +"Sure, I used to vote--Republican. I never had any trouble. I always +tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. I believe in that policy. + +"I joined the church when I was very young, very young. I go by the +Golden Rule and by the Bible. + +"I first lived in Pope County. + +"I learned since I come here to Pine Bluff there's enough churches here +to save the world, but there's some mean people here." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Katie Dillon + 307 Hazel Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 82 +[Dec 31 1937] + + +"I hope I was here in slavery days--don't I look like it? I was a good +big girl after surrender. + +"I was born in Rodney, Mississippi in 1855. + +"I had a good old master--Doctor Williams. Didn't have no mistress. He +never married till after surrender. + +"We lived right in town--right on the Mississippi River where the gun +boats went by. They shelled the town one day. Remember it just as well +as if 'twas now. I hope it was exciting. Everybody moved out. Some run +and left their stores. They run to Alcorn University, five miles from +there. Some of em come back next day and some never come back till after +surrender. + +"The old Doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. When she +got big enough she was the cook. Made a fine one too. I worked around +the house and toted in wood and water. + +"After surrender, Dr. Williams wanted my mother to give me and my +brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. I wish +she had but you know I wasn't old enough to know what was best. She +hired out and took us with her. I hired out too. I reckon I was paid but +I never did see it. I reckon my mother collected it. I know she clothed +me. I had better clothes than I got now. We stayed there till we come to +Arkansas. I was married then. I married when I was seventeen. I was fast +wasn't I? I got a good husband. Didn't have to work, only do my own +work. Just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. My +husband was a picture man. Yes'm, I've lived in town all my life--born +and raised up in town. + +"After surrender I went to the first free school ever was in Rodney, +Mississippi. I went about two sessions. I ought to've learned more'n I +did but I didn't see how it would benefit me. + +"In slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the +white folks was through. We didn't eat out of no pots and pans. Whatever +was on the table you et it until you got enough. + +"When I was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they +sent out invitations and I went, but when they had that kind where +everybody could go I wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'. + +"The way things is goin' now I don't think the end can be very far off. + +"I remember when peace was declared I saw the soldiers across the street +and they had their guns all stacked. I was lookin' and wonderin' what it +was. You know children didn't ask questions in them days. I heard some +of the older ones talkin' and I heard em say the war was over. + +"I never had but two children and only one livin' now. Yes'm, I own my +home and my son helps me what he can. I'm thankful I got as much as I +have." + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Customs] +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subject: Customs--Slavery Days +[Nov 30 1936] + +This information given by: Alice Dixon +Place of Residence: Rock Island quarters +Occupation: None +Age: 80 (approx) +[TR: Personal information moved from last page of interview.] + + +Well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. De white fokes have mah +age. Ah blong tuh de Newtons. As near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout +74 now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter +surrender. + +Mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and +one uv mah bruthes. We staid wid de Newtons till we wuz set free and I +nuss fuh de Newtons aftuh we wuz set free. De Newtons wuz awful good ter +me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. Ah slept up in de big house wid de +Newtons. Ah nevah went ter school. Ah didn' have a chance. Ah went ter +church jes sometimes. We didn have churches. We jes had meetin in our +house we lived in. We cooked on fire places. We cooked our bread in what +we called oven bout so high. We had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, +meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie +till ah got to be an oman. Ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in +slave time but ah shore can recollect dem Yankees riding dem hosses and +ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made +in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. Yo know we had steps +made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er +shoutin and singin "Ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free +at last, thank Gawd a Mighty ah'm free at last." She wuz so glad ter be +free. + +My ma in huh time would make cloth. She had a loom. Hit wuz a high thing +and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call +shickle. She'd have a bench so high. The loom was high as dis door and +my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a +bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come +open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd +mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. Jes so we'd make eight +and ten yards of cloth in one day. An when hit wuz made we would carry +hit to de white fokes. Dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. Ifn dey +wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. Dey had what we called a +loom dat would make, le' me see now, Card would card the cotton, and de +looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well +as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an +put it on de loom and make thread. De looms was jes so long. Ever time +the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. Ah +don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. Ah jes caint +tell you how hit wuz hits so much. + +De Newton's nevah did whup me. She started to whup me tho one day. Ah +kin recollect bout de dogs. There wuz one dog whut wuz called Dinah. But +yo know dey had ten uv em. One day ole Uncle Henry Jones done somethin +and run off and climbed a tree and de Newton's miss him so dey called de +dogs and dey went on to de tree. Dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. +Uncle Henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right +dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de Newtons come. An chile +dem Newtons whip de skin off Uncle Herny's [TR: Henry's] back. Dem dogs +would git yo. + +Mrs. Newton nevah got outn de bed no time. Ah would lift her from one +bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah +would bath her and dress huh all de times. + +Ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout Henry Johnson. He had ter clean up +mos uv de time. So Mrs. Newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de +wall and when he come out he said to ole Uncle Jerry, he said: "Jerry +guess whut ah done" and Jerry said: "Whut?" And Uncle Henry said: "Ah +put mah han undah ole Mistess dress." Uncle Jerry said: "Whut did she +say?" Uncle Henry say: "She didn' say nothin." So Uncle Jerry cided he'd +try hit. So he went draggin on in de house. Set down on de floor by ole +mistess. Ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster +jumped up and jumped on Jerry and like to beat him ter death. Jerry went +out cryin and got out and called Henry. He said: "Henry ah though yo +said yo put yo hand undah ole Mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." +Uncle Henry said: "Ah did and she didn' say nuthin." Jerry said: "Ah put +mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." +Uncle Henry said: "Yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall +when ah put mah han up undah hit." + +We didn' eat eggs only on Sunday mornin. Me and mah sis et together in +de same plate. We didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. We et wid +our fingahs. + +Ah had a good ole pa too. He died a long time ago. Ah member one night +he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. So +mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole Dinah, Dinah wuz a dog +yo know but Dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs +went and got me brudder and dem Newtons sho did beat him. But twasnt +long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. An when we wuz goin ter +bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: Two turtle doves flew roun the +wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an +hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh +dat. Ah didn' bleave in signs till den. Ah know mah pa always bleaved in +signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round +dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. He say twas bad +luck. An ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes +tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. An we +would do hit an he would hush. Yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler +roun yo place. + +Oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. We made all +of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin +else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty +years. Hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if +blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece +of fire on hit and [HW: put] some [HW: on] the sore parts and chile, +honey, hit will git well right now. + +Chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. Ah'd go ter +dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. Uh, my! ah jus couldn +make mah foots act right. We use ter dance sixteen sets. We'd be er +dancing and hit would sound so good. Someone would say swing de one yo +love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want +anyone tah know him. + +On Sunday mornin dats when we play. Ole marster would put a rope cross +fer us ter jump and we'd line up. The rope wuz bout five feet high and +chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. O-o-o-o-oooo. We had ter run. +He line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, +three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. An yo talk bout runnin. We had ter +run. He would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would +haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' +stoppin. Oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Luke D. Dixon + DeValls Bluff, Ark. +Age: 81 + + +"My father's owner was Jim Dixon in Elmo County, Virginia. That is where +I was born. I am 81 years old. Jim Dixon had several boys--Baldwin and +Joe. Joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to New +Mexico to shun the war. Uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. They +went in at the ending up. We lived on the big road that run to the +Atlantic Ocean. Not far from Richmond. Ma lived three or four miles from +Pa. She lived across big creek--now they call it Farrohs Run. Ma belong +to Harper Williams. Pa's folks was very good but Ma's folks was +unpleasant. + +"Ma lived to be 103 years old. Pa died in 1905 and was 105 years old. I +used to set on Grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to +catch people in Africa. They herded them up like cattle and put them in +stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. She said some they +captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never +went back to get them. They died. They had room in the stalls on the +boat to set down or lie down. They put several together. Put the men to +themselves and the women to themselves. When they sold Grandma and +Grandpa at a fishing dock called New Port, Va., they had their feet +bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. They sold +Grandma's daughter to somebody in Texas. She cried and begged to let +them be together. They didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. She couldn't talk +but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. Six years after +slavery they got together. When a boat was to come in people come and +wait to buy slaves. They had several days of selling. I never seen this +but that is the way it was told to me. + +"The white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and +they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. I seen +that done in Virginia across from where I lived. I don't know what the +folks had done. They pulled the man up with block and tackle. + +"Another thing I seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches +together green, twist them and dry them. They would cry like a leather +whip. They whooped the slaves with them. + +"Grandpa was named Sam Abraham and Phillis Abraham was his mate. They +was sold twice. Once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. +Well, it was hard on the Africans to be treated like cattle. I never +heard of the Nat Turner rebellion. I have heard of slaves buying their +own freedom. I don't know how it was done. I have heard of folks being +helped to run off. Grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from +Dalton, Mississippi to the North. After the war he come to Virginia. + +"When freedom was declared we left and went to Wilmington and Wilson, +North Carolina. Dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the +year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and +part of the crop. My mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. She +was cooking then I recollect. Folks jes went wild when they got turned +loose. + +"My parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in +Virginia. After freedom they was remarried under a new law and the +license cost more but I forgot how much. They had fourteen children to +my knowing. After the war you could register under any name you give +yourself. My father went by the name of Right Dixon and mother Jilly +Dixon. + +"The Ku Klux was bad. They was a band of land owners what took the law +in hand. I was a boy. I scared to be caught out. They took the place of +pattyrollers before freedom. + +"I never went to public school but two days in my life. I went to night +school and paid Mr. J.C. Price and Mr. S.H. Vick to teach me. My father +got his leg shot off and I had to work. It kept me out of meanness. Work +and that woman has kept me right. I come to Arkansas, brought my wife +and one child, April 5, 1889. We come from Wilson, North Carolina. Her +people come from North Carolina and Moultrie, Georgia. + +"I do vote. I sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. +It look like I'm the kind of folks the government would help--them that +works and tries hard to have something--but seems like they don't get no +help. They wouldn't help me if I was bout to starve. I vote a Republican +ticket." + + +NOTE: On the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a +framed picture of Booker T. Washington and Teddy Roosevelt sitting at a +round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. Underneath the +picture in large print was "Equality." I didn't appear to ever see the +picture. + +This negro is well-fixed for living at home. He is large and very black, +but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Martha Ann Dixon (mulatto) + DeValls Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"I am eighty-one years old. I was born close to Saratoga, North +Carolina. My mother died before I can recollect and my grandmother +raised me. They said my father was a white man. They said Jim Beckton. I +don't recollect him. My mother was named Mariah Tyson. + +"I recollect how things was. My grandmother was Miss Nancy Tyson's cook. +She had one son named Mr. Seth Tyson. He run her farm. They et in the +dining room, we et in the kitchen. Clothes and something to eat was +scarce. I worked at whatever I was told to do. Grandma told me things to +do and Miss Nancy told me what to do. I went to the field when I was +pretty little. Once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and +went off to do something else. It come up a hard shower. I crawled under +the mule. If I had been still it would been all right but my hair stood +up and tickled the mule's stomach. The mule jumped and the plough hit me +in my hip here at the side. It is a wonder I didn't get killed. + +"After the Civil War was times like now. Money scarce and prices high, +and you had to start all over new. Pigs was hard to start, mules and +horses was mighty scarce. Seed was scarce. Everything had to be started +from the stump. Something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or +two dresses a year had to do. Folks didn't study about going so much. + +"I had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the +little pigs in cold weather. The rake was made out of wood. It had +hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. It was heavy. I put my leaves +in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. I couldn't tote +it--I drug it. I had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till +the snow got off before I could get more. It seem like it snowed a lot. +The pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners +at night. It was ditched all around. It didn't get very muddy. Rattle +snakes was bad in the mountains. I used to tote water--one bucketful on +my head and one bucketful in each hand. We used wooden buckets. It was +lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. When other little +children come visiting that is what we would do. We didn't set around +and listen at the grown folks. We toted up rocks and then they made rock +rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. They looked +so pretty. Some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be +mixed. They walled wells with rocks too. All we done or knowed was work. +When we got tired there was places to set and rest. The men made plough +stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy +weather. I used to pick up literd [HW: lightwood] knots and pile them in +piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. They +made a good light and kindling wood. + +"They didn't whoop Grandma but she whooped me a plenty. + +"After the war some white folks would tell Grandma one thing and some +others tell her something else. She kept me and cooked right on. I +didn't know what freedom was. Seemed like most of them I knowed didn't +know what to do. Most of the slaves left the white folks where I was +raised. It took a long time to ever get fixed. Some of them died, some +went to the cities, some up North, some come to new country. I married +and come to Fredonia, Arkansas in 1889. I had been married since I was a +young girl. But as I was saying the slaves was still hunting a better +place and more freedom. The young folks is still hunting a better place +and more freedom. Grandma learnt me to set down and be content. We have +done better out here than we could done in North Carolina but I don't +believe in so much rambling. + +"We come on the passenger train and paid our own way to Arkansas. It was +a wild and sickly country and has changed. Not like living in the same +country. I try to live like the white folks and Grandma raised me. I do +like they done. I think is the reason we have saved and have good a +living as we got. We do on as little as we can and save a little for the +rainy day." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Railroad Dockery + 1103 Short 13th, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +"Railroad Dockery, that's my name. I belonged to John Dockery and we +lived at Lamertine, Arkansas where I was born. My mother's name was +Martha and I am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. +Red River, Ouachita, Mississippi and Railroad were our names. (Mrs. Mary +Browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, +John Dockery, was the president of the Mississippi, Red River, Ouachita +Railroad, the first one to be surveyed in Arkansas, and that when the +directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them +after the railroad, which was done--ed.) + +"Yes ma'm, Red River and Ouachita died when they were tots and +Mississippi and Railroad were raised. Now that's what my mother said. +Mississippi died five or six years ago and I'm the onliest one left. + +"I remember mighty little about the war. I never thought anything about +the war. All I did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the +woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. That's what I +followed. Never did nothing else but play till after the war. + +"After surrender I went with my father and mother to work for General +Tom Dockery. He was John Dockery's brother. I was big enough to plow +then. I followed the plow all the time. My father and mother were paid +for their work. We stayed there about five years and then moved to +Falcon, Arkansas. Father died there. + +"In the time of the war I heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and I +heard my father talk about the Ku Klux but that was all I knowed, just +what he said about it. + +"I remember the presidents and I voted for some of them but oh Lord, I +haven't voted in several years. + +"I got along after freedom just as well as I ever did. I never had no +trouble--never been in no trouble. + +"About the world now--it looks like to me these days things are pretty +tight. I could hardly tell you what I think of the younger generation. I +think one thing--if the old heads would die all at once they would be +out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now. + +"I went to school only three months in my life. I learned to read and +write very well. I don't need glasses and I read principally the Bible. +To my mind it is the best book in the world. Biggest part of the +preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than +they are worth. + +"The biggest part of my work was farming. I never did delight in +cooking. Now I can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to +cooking. + +"I just can't sing to do no good. Never could sing. Seems like when I +try to sing something gets tangled in my throat. + +"Oh Lord, I remember one old song they used to sing + + 'A charge to keep I have + A God to glorify.' + +"I don't remember anything else but now if Mississippi was here, she +could tell you lots of things." + + + + +Interviewer: Irene Robertson +Subject: Ex-slave +Information given by: Callie Donalson, Biscoe, Arkansas + + +Story + +I wasn't born in slavery but I was born in the white folks kitchen. Bob +Walker was ma mother's Master and James Austin ma father's Master. They +said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. Now ma mothers +white folks was sho good to her. When de war was all over me family +jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. +There was two brothers and a sister older than me. She thought her white +folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her +pregnancy and thats how come I was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife +tended on er. I never will forget her. She was named Mrs. Coffee. There +wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. I was born in Haywood +county Tennessee in 1866. No'm I tell you when you first come I wasn't +born in slavery. My white mistress named me, the young mistress, she +named me Callie. Bob Walkers girl married Ben Geeter. I was right in Ben +Geeters kitchen when Miss Sallie named me. They seemed proud of the +little black babies. + +Ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. She was a good +spinner. She carded and wove and spun all. She knitted too. She knitted +mostly by nite. All the stockings and gloves had to be knit. She sewed +and I learned from her. We had to sew with our fingers. + +When I was a little girl I just set around, brought in wood. Yes maam we +did play and I had some dolls, I was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. +We use to drive the calves up. If they didn't come up they sent the dog +fur de cows. One of dem wore a bell. They had shepherd dogs, long +haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come. + +Ma folks farmed in Tennessee till I married and den we farmed. Agents +jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. They +say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs +beggin somebody to eat em over in Arkansas. + +No'm I aint seed none lack dat, I seed em down in the swamps what you +could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. I says I mean I +seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. I +show have since I come here. The land was so poor in Tennessee and this +was uncleared land so we come to a new country. It show is rich land. +They use guano back in Tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. Abe +Miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. He was broke +and he paid our way. We come on the Josie Harry boat. Der was several +families sides us come wid him. He done fine out here--we got off the +boat at Augusta and I worked up there in Woodruff county till ma +husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. We raised his +boys and our family till dey was ob age. I left em. They went in big +business here in Biscoe and lost de farm and everything. Ma husband died +I lives with ma girl. I got one boy married lives in Chicago, and a girl +up there too. No'm dey aint rich. Dem his children come home wid ma +daughters on a visit--Little Yankees ain't got no manners. + +I voted one time in ma life, in 1933, for Hoover. I don't know nothing +about voting. I can read. I reads ma Bible. Ma young mistress learnt me +to read. I never got to go to school much. Whut my young mistress learnt +me was ma A B C's and how to call words. Yes maam I can write ma name +but I forgot how to write, been so long since I wrote a letter. + +All the songs I ever sung was "In Dixie" "Little Brown Jug" an mostly +religious songs, Lawd I forgot em now. I never knowd about no slave +uprisings--white folks alway good to us. We misses em now. Times not +lack dey use to be. + +Dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. Its +kinder kritical. No use trying to tell em nuthin. Dey's getting an +education I don't know whut thell do with it. If dey had somebody to +manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting +broke. They work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep +nuthin. No'om I don't think they are so bad. + +In 1893 me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here +we sold it and went on his brothers place. I owns ma house thats all. Ma +daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from +the relief. If I could work I wouldn't ax nobody for no help. I jess +past working much. + +I jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. The +conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. They have no +education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. They seems so +restless and don't take no interest in nothin. They are all right. It is +jess the times an the Bible full filling fast as it can. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Charles Green Dortch + 804 Victory Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 81 + + +[HW: Father a Pet] + +"I was born June 18, 1857. The reason I don't show my age is because I +got Scotch-Irish, Indian, and Negro mixed up in me. I was born in +Princeton--that is, near Princeton--in Dallas County. Princeton is near +Fordyce. I was born on Hays' farm. Hays was my second master--Archie +Hays. Dortch was my first master. He brought my parents from Richmond, +Virginia, and he settled right in Princeton. + +"My father's name was Reuben Rainey Dortch. He was an octoroon I guess. +He looked more like a Cuban than a Negro. He had beautiful wavy hair, +naturally wavy. He was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. His +father was Dortch. Some say Rainey. But he must have been a Dortch; he +called himself Dortch, and we go in the name of Dortch. Rainey was a +white man employed on Dortch's plantation. Rainey's name was Wilson +Rainey. My name has always been Dortch. + +"My mother was named Martha Dortch. I am trying to think what her maiden +name was. My sister can tell you all the details of it. She is five +years older than I am. She can tell you all the old man's folks and my +mother's too more easily than I can. + +"My father had, as nearly as I can remember--lemme see--Cordelia, +Adrianna, Mary, Jennie, Emma, and Dortch. Emma and Dortch were children +by a first wife. Cordelia was his stepdaughter. My brothers were Alec +and Gabe. There is probably some I have overlooked. + +"The Indian blood in me came through my mother's father. He was a +full-blooded red Indian. I can't think of his name now. Her mother was a +dark woman. + +"My father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. All the work +he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket +making. He made coffins too just after peace was declared. They didn't +have no undertakers then. He made the bottoms to chairs too. He could +put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one I know. Nobody +could beat him putting shingles on a house. + +"My mother was reared to work in the house. She was cook, housekeeper. +She was a weaver too. She worked the loom and the spinning wheel. She +gardened a little. But her work was mostly in the house as cook and +weaver. She never went out in the field as a hand. My father didn't +either. + + +Kind Masters + +"My father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. He was a kind +of boss more than anything else. He had his way. Nobody was allowed to +mistreat him in any way. My mother was the same way. I don't think she +was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks--not that I ever saw. + + +Attitude of Slaves Toward Father + +"There wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. +My oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but I don't think he ever +had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the +white folks. He was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of +himself. Then again, he had a good master. Hays was a good man. We made +a trip down there just a short while ago. We hadn't been there since the +Civil War. They made it so pleasant for us! We all set down to the same +table and ate together. Frank was down there. He was my young master. + + +Thirty Acres--not Forty + +"They gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. They +didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. I am going down +there again sometime. My young master is the postmaster down there now. +He thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister. + +"I don't mind telling people anything about myself. I was born in June. +They ain't nothing slipping up on me. I understand when to talk. There +are two of us, Adrianna Kern--that's her married name. She and I are the +ones Mr. Frank gave the thirty acres to. I have a younger sister. + + +Slave Work + +"I don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. The +least I ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. Some would pick as +high as three and four hundred pounds. + +"My father was not a field hand. He was what they called the first man +'round there. He was a regular leader on the plantation--boss of the +tool room. He was next to the master of them, you might say. He was a +kind of boss. + +"I never heard of his working for other men besides his master. I +believe he drove the stage for a time from Arkadelphia to Camden or +Princeton. I don't know just how that come about. My sister though has a +more exact remembrance than I have, and she can probably tell you the +details of it. + + +Boyhood Experiences + +"My father used to take me to the mill with him when I was a kid. That +was in slavery time. He went in a wagon and took me with him. + +"The biggest thing I did was to play with the other kids. They had me do +such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from +the pasture. And as near as I can remember it seems like they had me +more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that. + + +Food, Houses, Clothes + +"Corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game--that +was the principal food. The people on our place were fed pretty well. We +lived off of ash cakes and biscuits. + +"The slaves lived in old log houses. I can almost see them now. Let's +see--they usually had just one window. The slaves slept on pallets +mostly and wore long cotton shirts. + + +Patrollers + +"I have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles--how they tied +ropes across the road and trapped them. Sometimes they would be knocked +off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from +there. Of course, that was sometimes. They was always halting the slaves +and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes. + + +How Freedom Came + +"The way I understand it there came a rumor all at once that the Negroes +were free. It seems that they throwed up their hands. They had a great +fight at Pine Bluff and Helena and De Valls Bluff. Then came peace. The +rumor came from Helena. Meade and Thomas winded the thing up some way. +Sherman made his march somewhere. The colored soldiers and the white +soldiers came pouring in from Little Rock. They come in a rush and said, +'Tell them niggers they're free.' They run into the masters' and +notified them they were going to take all the Negroes to Little Rock. It +wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to +take us to Little Rock. + +"When they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of +houses up just west of where the Arch street graveyard is now. They put +us all there in the soldiers' buildings. They called them camps. They +seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. It wasn't long before they +had us in school and in church. The Freedmen's Bureau visited us and +gave us rations just like the Government has been doing these last +years. They gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. +That was all done right here in Little Rock. + + +Schooling + +"My first teacher was Miss Sarah Henley. I could show you the home she +used to live in. It's right up the street. It's on Third Street between +Izard and State right in the middle of the block--next to the building +on the corner of Izard on the south side of Third Street. There is a +brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one +right next to it. She was a white woman and was my first teacher. She +taught me, as near as I can remember, one session. My next teacher was +Mrs. Hunt. She was from Ohio. My first teacher was from Ohio too. Mrs. +Hunt taught me about two sessions. Lemme see, Mrs. Clapp came after her. +She was from Pennsylvania. Mrs. Clapp taught me one session. I am trying +to think of that other teacher. We went over to Union School then. +Charlotte Andrews taught us there for a while. That was her maiden name. +Her married name is Stephens. She was the first colored teacher in the +city. Mrs. Hubbard teached us a while, too. Mrs. Scull taught us right +here on Gaines and Seventh Streets where this church is now. They moved +us a long time ago down to the Mess House at the Rock Island for a while +but we didn't stay there long. We came back to the Methodist church--the +one on Eighth and Broadway, not the Bethel Church on Ninth and Broadway. +There was a colored church on Eighth and Broadway then. They kept +sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. Woods, a +colored man, was one of the teachers at Capitol Hill Public School. We +were there when it first opened. That was the last school I went to. I +finished eight grades. Me and Scipio Jones went to school together and +were in the same class. I left him in school and went to work to take +care of my folks. + + +Occupational Experiences + +"Right after the Civil War, I went to school. I did no work except to +sell papers and black boots on the corner of Main and Markham on Sunday. +After I stopped school I went to work as assistant porter in the +railroad office at the Union Station for the St. Louis, Iron Mountain, +Southern Railway and Cairo and Fulton. That was one road or system. I +stayed with them from 1873 till 1882 in the office as office porter. +From that I went train porter out of the office in 1882. I stayed as +train porter till 1892. Then right back from 1892 I went in the general +superintendent's private car. Then from there I went to the shop here in +North Little Rock--the Missouri Pacific Shops--as a straw boss of the +storeroom gang. That was in 1893. I stayed in the shop until 1894. Then +I was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. That was in 1895. +I stayed as coach cleaner till 1913. From that I went to the State +Capitol and stayed there as janitor of the Supreme Court for three +years. In 1917, I went back to the coach cleaning department. That was +during the war. I stayed there till 1922. I come out on the strike and +have been out ever since. Since then I have done house cleaning all over +the city. That brings me up to about two years ago. Now I pick up +something here and something there. I have been knocking around sick +most of the time and supported by the Relief and the Welfare +principally. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"I don't remember much about the Ku Klux Klan. They never bothered me, +and never bothered any one connected with me. + + +Powell Clayton + +"I have stood at the bar and drank with Powell Clayton. He had been +'round here ever since we had. He was a very particular friend of my +boss'--the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. They were all +Yankees together. They would all meet at the office. That was while I +was working my way through school and afterwards too. He was strictly a +'Negroes' Friend'. He was a straight out and out Yankee. + + +A Broken Thumb in a Political Fight + +"I got this thumb broken beating a white man up. No, I'll tell the +truth. He was beating me up and I thought he was going to kill me. It +was when Benjamin Harrison had been elected President. I was in Sol +Joe's saloon and I said, 'Hurrah for Harrison.' A white man standing at +the bar there said to me, 'What do you mean, nigger, insulting the +guests here?' And before I knew what he was going to do--bop!--he +knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. He +started to stamp me. My head was roaring, but I grabbed his legs and +held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it +out. I butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with +my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. There was +plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. A great +commotion set up and I slipped out the back door and went home during +the excitement. + +"When I went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the +fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. Sol Joe told me that he +showed the man he was wrong, that I was one of his best customers. To +make Sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. When I got there +and found the money waiting for me, I just called everybody in the house +up to the bar and treated it out. + +"They claimed I had hit him with brass knucks, but when I showed them my +hand--it was swollen double--and then showed them how the thumb was +broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. That thumb never did set +properly. You see, it's out of shape right now. + + +Domestic Life + +"I met my wife going home. I was a train porter between here and +Memphis. She was put in my care to see that she took her train all right +out of Memphis, Tennessee, going on farther. I fell in love with her and +commenced courting her right from there. She was so white in color that +you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. After I married +her, I was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got +on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. Every once in a +while they would come back and peep in the Negro coach. Sometimes they +would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. My sister notice it +and called my attention to it. I went to the conductor and complained. +He called their hand. + +"It seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and +staying on the train to be able to get off where I got off. The +conductor told them that if they went into Little Rock with the train +there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that +the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that I worked on the road, and +that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if I just sent +a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. They got off the train at +the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they +didn't believe what had been told them. + +"We were married only three and a half years when she died. Her name was +Lillie Love Douglass before she married me. She was a perfect angel. +White folks tried to say that she was white. We had two children. Both +of them are dead. One died while giving birth to a child and the other +died at the age of thirty-three. + +"I married the second time. I met my second wife the same way I met the +first. I was working on the railroad and she was traveling. I was a +coach cleaner. We lived together three years and were separated over +foolishness. She had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers +stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to +braid into a watch chain. She said, 'I'll give you a lock.' I said, 'You +and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away +without asking me.' She might have been joking, and I was not altogether +serious. But it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. One day, I had +been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. I don't +remember what it was all about. Anyway, she called me a liar and I +slapped her before I thought. + +"For two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though +nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to +me. She would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. One day I +gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. She was a +wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while +I was out on the road working. When I came back that evening, the store +was wide open and she was gone. She had slipped off and gone home from +the station across the river. I didn't find that out till the next day. +She hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. And +another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the +train. I was out with a shotgun watching. I am glad I did not meet them. +She is living in Chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the +lock of hair to and doing well the last I heard from her. She was a good +woman, just marked with a high temper. There was no reason why we should +not have lived together and gotten along well. We loved each other and +were making money hand over fist when we separated. + + +Opinions + +"The young people are too much for me. Women are awful now. The young +ones are too wild for me. The old ones allow them too much freedom. They +are not given proper instruction and training by their elders." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his +master or someone closely connected with his master--his first master. +His last master was the father of his half-sister, Cordelia, born before +any of the other members of his family. These facts account largely for +the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave time and for +the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery. + +Dortch's whole sister, Adrianna, is living next door to him, and is +eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. She has a clearer memory than +Dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. She never went to +school but uses excellent English and thinks straight. I have not made +Dortch's interview any longer because I am spending the rest of this +period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material +which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. I have +already finished ten pages of her story. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Fannie Dorum + 423 W. Twenty-Fourth Street + North Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 94 + +[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters + surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.] + + +[HW: Church Holds Old Age Contest] + +"I was here in slavery time. Know the years I plowed. Ginned cotton in +slavery time. My daddy was the ginner. His name was Hamp High. Stayed +down in Lonoke County. + +"I was here in slavery time. The third year of the surrender (1868), I +married--married Burton Dorum. + +"I was born in Franklin, North Carolina. My old master's name was Jack +Green, Franklin County. He had five boys--Henry, John, James, Robert, +and William Henry. And he had a daughter named Mary. My old mistress' +name was Jennie Green. They all came from North Carolina and I think +they are still there. + + +Work + +"A slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. You better +pick a hundred. I couldn't pick a hundred. I never was much on picking +cotton. + +"I weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, +and did all such work. I plowed before the War about two years. I used +to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go +through. I was about nineteen years old when Lee surrendered. That would +make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. The boys figgered it all +out when they had the old age contest 'round here. They added up the +times I worked and put everything together. + + +Family + +"I raised eight children. Have five living. And I reckon about +forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and +great-great-grandchildren. You see I have been here right smart time. + + +Schooling + +"Colored folks didn't get no learning then. I never learned to read or +write. Before I married, I learned to spell my name, but I had so much +to do I have forgot how to do that. + + +How Freedom Came + +"The Yankees were coming through the place. A great crowd of soldiers. +The day the corps of Yankees were to go out, they all went up to the +pike and it looked like a dark cloud. There were great big wagons loaded +down with everything to eat. They took all the meat, all the whiskey, +all the flour. That they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured +on the ground. They took the corn out of the crib. + +"The next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. He told +us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us. + + +Whipping + +"My old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. I +said, 'Master, if you don't hit me no more, I'll tell you who's been +stealing all your eggs.' He said, 'Will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' I +said, 'Yes.' But I never done it. + + +Patrollers + +"I heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. They would +catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. The +pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when +they were out without a pass. Sometimes the colored folks would stretch +ropes across the road and trip them up. You would hear them laughing +about it when they got amongst themselves the next day. + + +House, Etc. + +"I was born in a old log house--two rooms. One for the kitchen and one +to sleep in. We had homemade furniture. Mighty few of them had bought +furniture. Most of then made it themselves. If you had bought furniture, +that was called fine. There was no rollers to any bed. Food was kept in +the house. Wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to +keep it. Planks were put around it. We children used to jump up and down +in it. + + +Rations + +"When the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a +tub and said, 'Come and git it.' + +"They would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of +the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. They put the white folks' meat +in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. When you wanted +something, you would go up to old master and say, 'My meat is out,' and +they would give you some more out of the smokehouse. + +"Brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the +colored [TR: corrected from 'cullud'] folks--they didn't give any of it +to them. My daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and +slip and sell it to the colored folks. He didn't tell the white folks +who he was gettin' it for. + +"You didn't have a regular time to git rations. You didn't on my place. +You got things any time you needed them. My master was a good man. My +dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. When he was +working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' +house and git anything he wanted and eat it--brandy, meat, anything. + + +Slave Wages + +"My daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for +other folks. He did the ginning for an old rich man named Jack Green, +who lived in Franklin County. Jack Green paid wages for my father's, +Hampton High's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. I +don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, +or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. They trusted +him and I know he did work for pay. On account of the money my father +earned he was considered a valuable slave. That's why he could go and +eat and drink anything he wanted to. + + +Life Since Slavery + +"My husband married me in May. He went to his uncle and worked an shares +for two or three years. Then my husband took a crop to himself. He +bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. Raised a great +big orchard. All my children were born right there. White people owned +the farm. Priestley Mangham and his wife were the white people. When we +left that place, my children were all big enough to work. That was in +North Carolina. The nearest town was College. + +"When the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, +then we left and came here. My husband is dead and has been dead over +twenty years. + +"My daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on +relief themselves and can't do much for me. + + +Opinions + +"The young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. They +are there on mealtime, but that is about all." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +About three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the +colored churches of North Little Rock. Sister Hatchett was considered +the oldest, Fannie Dorum next. Sarah Jane Patterson was among those +considered in the nineties also. It is very probable that all of these +three are ninety or more. Stories of Dorum and Patterson are already in, +and interview with Hatchett will be completed soon. + +This paper fails to record Fannie Dorum's accent with any approach to +accuracy. She speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal +of attention to grammaticalness. But she pronounces all "er" ending as +"uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs. + +There are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which I do +not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal +pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for "[e]r". + +The slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more nearly correct than the +normal pronunciation of "m(a)ster." Frequent pronunciations are marse, +marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Silas Dothrum + 1419 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 82 or 83 +Occupation: Field hand, general work +[May 31 1939] + + +[HW: Don't Know Nothin'] + +"The white people that owned me are all dead. I am in this world by +myself. Do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the +flies off it when it has sores on it? I had the city doctor here, but he +didn't do me no good. I have to tie these rags around my foot to keep +the flies off the sores. + +"I worked with a white man nineteen years--put all that concrete down +out there. He is still living. He helps me a little sometimes. If it +weren't for him I couldn't live. The government allows me and my wife +together eight dollars a month. I asked for more, but I couldn't get it. +I get commodities too. They amount to about a dollar and a half a month. +They don't give any flour or meat. Last month they gave some eggs and +those were nice. What they give is a help to a man in my condition. + +"I don't know where I was born and I don't know when. I know I am +eighty-two or eighty-three years old. The white folks that raised me +told me how old I was. I never saw my father and my mother in my life. I +don't know nothin'. I'm Just on old green man. I don't know none of my +kin people--father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. When I found +myself the white people had me. + +"That was right down here in Arkansas here on old Dick Fletcher's farm. +There was a big family of them Fletchers. They took me to Harriet +Lindsay to raise. She is dead. She had a husband and he is dead. She had +two or three daughters and they are dead. + + +Slave Houses + +"I can remember what they used to live in. The slaves lived in old +wooden houses. They ain't living in no houses now--one-half of them. +They were log houses--two rooms. I have forgot what kind of +floors--dirt, I guess. Food was kept in a smokehouse. + + +Relatives + +"The whole family of Fletchers is dead. I think that there is a Jef +Fletcher living in this town. I don't know just where but I met him +sometime ago. He doesn't do nothing for me. Nobody gives me anything for +myself but the man I used to work for--the concrete man. He's a man. + + +How Freedom Came + +"All I remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and +carried us to Texas and kept us there till freedom came. Then they told +us we were free and could go where wanted. But they kept me in bondage +and a girl that used to be with them. We were bound to them that we +would have to stay with them. They kept me just the same as under +bondage. I wasn't allowed no kind of say-so. + +"After Dick Fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us +back--fetched us back in a covered wagon. + +"I am a Arkansas man. Was raised here. I am very well known here, too. +Some years after that she turned us loose. I can't remember just how +many years it was, but it was a good many. + + +Right After the War + +"After Mrs. Fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. I +was working by the year. If I broke anything they took it out of my +wages. If I broke a plow they would charge me for it. I was working for +niggers. I can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything +when they got through taking out. I'm dogged if I know how much they +were supposed to pay; it has been so long. But I know that if I broke +anything--a tool or something--they charged me for it. I didn't have +much at the end of the year. It would take me a lifetime to make +anything if I had to do that. + + +Patrollers + +"I have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone +into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. They would +surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they +could whip them as much as they wanted to. All that is been years and +years ago. I never seen any niggers get away from them. I have heared of +them getting away, but if they did I never knowed it. + + +Ku Klux Klan + +"I heared of the Ku Klux, but they never bothered me. I never saw them +do anything to anybody. + + +Recollections Relating to Parents + +"I don't know who my parents were, but it seems like I heard them say my +father was a white man, and I seen to remember that they said my mother +was a dark woman. + +Opinions + +"The young people today ain't worth a shit. These young people going to +school don't mean good to nobody. They dance all the night and all the +time, and do everything else. That man across the street runs a whiskey +house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. They +ain't worth nothing." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson +Person interviewed: Sarah Douglas + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 82? + +[Illustration: Sarah and Sam Douglas] +[TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes "'Tom' written in + pencil above 'Sam' in title."] + + +"I was born in Alabama. I don't know when though. I did not find out +when I was born because old miss never told me. My ma died when I was +real small and my old miss raised me. I had a hard time of my life. I +slept on the floor just like a cat--anywhere I laid down I slept. In +winter I slept on rags. If I got sick old miss would give me plenty of +medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. My old +master was name John Buffett and old misses name was Eddie Buffett. She +would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the +floor. I never ate at the table until I was twelve and that was after +freedom. + +"To whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken +the cow hide whip and beat me until I couldn't sit down for a week. +Sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree +with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow +hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! +child, I shouted when I wasn't happy. All I could say was, 'Oh pray, +mistress, pray.' That was our way to say Lord have mercy. The last +whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my Lord! old miss +whipped me that day. That was the worse whipping I ever got in my life. +I cried and bucked and hollered until I couldn't. I give up for dead and +she wouldn't stop. I stop crying and said to her, 'Old miss, if I were +you and you were me I wouldn't beat you this way.' That struck old +miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me +any more. + +"I did every kind of work when I was a little slave; split rails, +sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted. + +"I remember young master going to war and I remember hearing the first +gun shoot but I did not see it. I saw the smoke though. + +"I never went to school a day in my life. The white folks said we did +not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us +with that cow hide whip. + +"We went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. +They allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or +felt that the Lord had forgiven them of their sins. We told our +determination; this is what we said: 'I feel that the Lord have forgiven +me for my sins. I have prayed and I feel that I am a better girl. I +belong to master so and so and I am so old.' The white preacher would +then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they +could see any change. They would get up and say: 'I notice she don't +steal and I notice she don't lie as much and I notice she works better.' +Then they let us join. We served our mistress and master in slavery-time +and not God. + +"I recollect miss died just after the War. Old miss was very strict on +us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's +kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left +the print of her hand on her face. That white hand never did go away and +that place was forever haunted after that. + +"Now I don't know how to tell you to get after my age but I was twelve +years old two years after surrender." + + + + +Interviewer: Carol Graham +Subject: Ex-slaves +Information given by: Sarah Douglas, El Dorado, Arkansas + + +Mornin' honey. I thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' +summer an' I looked fuh you the longes' time. I'se plum proud tuh see +you ergin. Dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is +she? + +Now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants Aunt Sarah tuh tell huh some +more 'bout slave'y times. John Bufford wuz mah marster's name. I wuz +bo'n in Alabama an' brought to Louisiana by my marster's fambly. Aftuh +de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white +folks from the North fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey +soon learnt bettuh. + +I ain't been well lately. The doctuh said I had slamatory rheumatis. I'm +ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. My mistress wuz mammy +in de ol' days. + +Aftuh I got up fum mah rheumatism I went down tuh that church you sees, +I give de lan' fuh hit, me and Tom did and I jes felt good and wanted +tuh praise the Lord. I wuz so glad the sperit come once more, I got +happy and I got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "I want to shake +hand wid ever' body in dis house. I wanna stroke yo hand." An' I stood +down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and +two women come down an' shook hands wid me, I jes didn't know whut tuh +think. Yoh know when I wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' +dey made a noise but not so now. An' tuh think dey couldn't turn +praises. + +You say yo' wants tuh talk tuh Tom? Well he's out dar in de back yard +but he aint well and I specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. +Tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. I'll go back an talk tuh de +lady whuts waitin' in de car. + + +(The above written just as Sarah Douglas expressed it). + +(Taken down word for word.) + +(August 11, 1937.) + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson +Person interviewed: Tom Douglas + Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 91 + + +"I was born in Marion, Louisiana September 15, 1847 at 8 o'clock in the +morning. I was eighteen years of age at surrender. My master and missus +was B.B. Thomas and Miss Susan Thomas. Old master had a gang of slaves +and we all worked like we were putting out fire. Lord child, wasn't near +like it is now. We went to bed early and got up early. There was a gang +of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a +washwoman. We worked too and didn't mind it. If we acted like we didn't +want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree +or bush and whipped until we bled. They had a whipping post that they +tied us to to whip us. + +"We was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. They built +nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. They drove niggers in +there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. The +white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they +could tell how old we were. They had a 'penetenture' for the white folks +when they did wrong. When we done wrong we was tied to that whipping +post and our hide busted open with that cow hide. + +"We stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would +allowance our week's rations out to us and Sunday morning we got one +biscuit each. If our week's allowance give out before the week we did +not get any more. + +"Cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. We did not have to worry about +our clothes. Old missus looked after everything. We wore brogan shoes +and homespun clothes. There was a bunch of women that did the spinning +and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. I was a shoe +maker. I made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. We had to +go nice and clean. If old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. I +got slavery time scars on my back now. You ought to see my back. Scars +been on my back for seventy-five years. + +"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned my ABC'S after I was +nineteen years old. I went to night school, then to a teacher by the +name of Nelse Otom. I was the first nigger to join the church on this +side of the Mason and Dixie line. During slavery we all joined the white +folk's church set in the back. After slavery in 1866 they met in +conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. There +was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we +called our preacher and I was the first one to join. Old master asked +our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. We told him old shoes and +clothes. Old master says, 'Well, that's damn poor pay.' Our preacher +says, 'And they got a damn poor preacher.' + +"I did not know anything about war. Only I know it began in 1861, closed +in 1865, and I know they fought at Vicksburg. That was two or three +hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table +whenever they shot a bomb. Those bombs would jar the house so hard and +we could see the smoke that far. + +"We was allowed to visit Saturday night and Sunday. If you had a wife +you could go to see her Wednesday night and Saturday night and stay with +her until Monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the +patrollers would catch you. That is where the song come from, 'Run +nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' Sometimes a nigger +would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. In slavery white +folks put you together. Just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or +him. You had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not. + +"After freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, +opened a big gate and drove us all out. We didn't know what to do--not a +penny, nowhere to go--so we went out there and set down. In about thirty +minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for +food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and +the next year they gave us half. So ever' since then we people been +working for half. + +"Here is one of my boy songs: + + 'Sadday night and Sunday too, + A pretty girl on my mind + As soon as Monday morning come + The white folks get me gwi-ng.'" + + + + +[HW: Regrets End of Slavery] +OLD SLAVE STORIES + +[TR: Sarah and Tom Douglas] + + +[TR: Aunt Sarah Douglas]--Ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. Wuz +twelve years ole at de time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined +de church. In them days when chillun j'ined de church some grown person +had ter speak fuh em an tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. +Now when chillun j'in de church if they is big enough ter talk they take +em in widout grown fokes speaking fuh em a tall. + +Slavery times wuz sho good times. We wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to +worry about. Now poar ole niggers go hungry. Sho we wuz whipped in +slavery times. Mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz +whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. Coase hit +did. Hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo +chickens. + +Me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no +chillun. Yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. Now +if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole +days. Mah ole man, Tom, is 89 an I'se 82. Poar ole man. Ah does all ah +kin fuh him but I'se ole too. These young niggers is gettin so uppity. +They think they is better than we is. A Darkey jes don' love one another +an stick t'gether like white fokes does. But ah is goin ter stick ter my +ole man. He needs me. He is jes like a little helpless chile widout me +ter look after him. Ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when ah +wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. Ah likes ter go ter +church. See that little white church over de hill? That is Douglas +Chapel, a Baptist church. Me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that +church. We had plenty them days when Douglas was laid out (meaning +Douglas Addition). But now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all +de time. None of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us +somethin' ter eat. White fokes have good hearts but niggers is +grudgeful. De bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an +when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces. + +Niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. Ah went to a +missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "Sister +Douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "Amazing +Grace." Sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined +in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when +that sister spoke up an said: "Sister Douglas, don' yo know that is done +gone out of style?" an selected "Fly Away" an den all of them sisters +j'ined in an sung "Fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance +chune. + +Yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. We use +ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. An that ole horse is our fambly +horse. Dolly Jane ah calls her. We've had her forty years an she gits +sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time +but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. We has lived +in this house since 1900 but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de +tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. Nobody lef on this side but white +fokes now ceptin us. When de railroad come through down there ah had a +cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton +patch an ruint part of hit. All we got out'n hit wuz damages. + +No'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. Mebby ifn yo +all come back he kin talk ter yo then. + +(In the meantime we investigated Tom and Sarah Douglas and found that he +has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now +Douglas Addition. In a few days we went back and found Tom sitting on +the porch.) + + +Uncle Tom Douglas--Yas'm, ah members de wah. Ah wuz fo'teen when de wah +began an eighteen when hit closed. Mah marster wuz B.B. Thomas, Union +Parish, Louisiana, near Marion, Louisiana. Ah saw de fust soldiers go an +saw young marster go. When young marster come back at de close of de wah +he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he +done have ter eat while he wuz in de army. + +Ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. They wuz sold +jes like stock. Ah members one fambly. De man wuz a blacksmith, de woman +a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. They wuz put on de block +an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt part +of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. They wuz +sole jes like cows an horses. No'm, ah didn't like slavery days. Ah'd +rather be free an hungry. + +(Tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and +we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.) + +Yo say tell yo about hants. There is such a thing. Yes mam. Some fokes +calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an Sarah has seed em haint +we Sarah. Here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil? + +(After we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we +would not repeat it, they told us the following): + +When me an Sarah lived out at de Moore place about three miles east on +the main street road we seed plenty of haints. De graveyard wuz in sight +of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they +would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there +campin. We could see they campfires. We could hear their dishes rattling +an their tincups an knives an forks. An hear em talkin. Den again they +would be diggin with shovels. Sometimes in de graveyard we could see de +sperits doin de things they did befo they died. Some would be plowing, +some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. +When day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in +de graves. Yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. After we moved +from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de +chimney. An hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen +there. + +Yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. They is such thin's as hants. Me an +Sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham +Person interviewed: Tom & Sarah Douglas +Resident: El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: 90 and 83. + + +NOTE: + +This is a second interview with Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah Douglas. The +first was sent to your office in September 1936 from interview by Mrs. +Mildred Thompson, El Dorado, Arkansas. Mrs. Thompson is not now with the +Project. Mrs. Carol Graham made the second interview. + +_Tom Douglas--Ex-slave_. I was a slave boy till I was eighteen. Was born +in 1847, 'mancipated in '65. No, my master did not give me forty acres +of land and a mule. When we was 'mancipated my master came took us +outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "You are free +to work for anybody you want to." We set there a while then we went +whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and +finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. The next year +we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five +years. 'F we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in +money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over. + +My ol' master was S.B. [TR: in two previous interviews, B.B. Thomas] +Thomas. The young master was Emmett Thomas. Mr. Emmett was his son. Dey +was near Marion, Louisiana, then I worked fuh his brother-in-law 'Lias +George. His wife was Susan George. I tell you the fact, these times is +much bettuh than slave times. If I'm hungry an' naked, I'm free. I'm +crazy 'bout liberty. + +I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan but never did see none of 'em. Have seen +where they is been but nevuh did see 'em. + +We voted several years. Was considered citizens--voted an' all that sort +of thing. I think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes +makes us citizens don' it? I used to be a big politics man--lost all I +had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. I was tol' +one day that the Ku Kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' I got +on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. I was a big +politics man then--lost all I had and quit politics. I'm ninety years +old and fifteenth of next September. Looks like the old might get +pensions if old has anything to do with it I ought to get a pension but +us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' +to eat they say don' get none. + +I come to El Dorado January 3, 1893. This place was in the woods then. I +bought 120 acres from Mr. Dave Armstrong at five dollars per acre and in +nine years I had it all paid for. It was after I got tired of workin' on +the halves that I bought me a place. + +Worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in 1897 or 98. Than I jobbed +aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. Carried $25 +with me when I moved to town and brought $28 back with me. Cleared $1 a +year an' got tired of that. + +Am livin' off my land. Have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times +is hard and folks can't pay. I takes in from $18 to $25 per month. + +The young folks is gone to destruction. Aint nothin' but destruction. +You is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was +ten years back. Young folks is goin' to destruction. Me, I'm goin' home. +Goin' back 80 years an comin' up to day I is seen a mighty big change. +Me, I'm goin' home. Don't know what you young folks going to see eighty +years from now. Everybody is trying to get something for nothing. + +We use to sing "Gimme this Old Time Religion, It's Good enough for me". +An' we sung "I'm a Soldier of the Cross" an lots of others. We don' live +right now, don' serve God. Pride, formality an love of money keeps folks +from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. You know that ol' +sayin: "Preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; All for your money +an' none for your soul." Seems like its true now days. + +You ask does I have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? +No maam. I was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard +with the little white chillun. You says Sarah told you that las' year? +Missy you mus' be mistaken. I was whipped once or twice but I needed it +then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no +stripes on me. My old master was good to all his niggers and I'm tellin +you I was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to +me. All we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every +Sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. No maam my +old master was always good to his niggers. + + +(Above is as exactly told by Tom Douglas with the exception that he used +the word Marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for I and +other quaint expressions--these were omitted because of instruction in +Bulletin received August 7th, 1937.) + +Taken down word for word. August 11, 1937. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Sebert Douglas + 610 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 82 + + +"I was born in Lebanon, Kentucky. Gover Hood was my old master. His +wife's name was Ann Hood. + +"I 'member Morgan's Raid. I don't 'member what year it was but I 'member +a right smart about it. Cumberland Gap was where they met. + +"The Rebs and Yankees both come and took things from old master. I +'member three horses they taken well. Yankees had tents in the yard. +They was right in the yard right in front of the Methodist church. + +"My mother was Mrs. Hood's slave, and when she married she took my +mother along and I was born on her place. + +"I was the carriage boy in slave times. My father did the driving and I +was the waitin' boy. I opened the gates. + +"I 'member Billy Chandler and Lewis Rodman run off and j'ined the +Yankees but they come back after the War was over. + +"Paddyrollers was about the same as the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux would take +the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make +'em go back where they come from. + +"We stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we +went to the country and farmed for ourselves. + +"I went to school just long enough to read and write. I never seed no +use for figgers till I married and went to farmin'. + +"Since I been in Pine Bluff I done mill work. I was a sash and door man. + +"I used to vote every election till Hoover, but I never held any office. + +"The younger generation is bad medicine. Can't tell what's gwine come of +'em!" + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Henry Doyl, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: Will be 74 +Feb. 2, 1938 + + +"I was born in Hardeman County near Bolivar, Tennessee. My mother's +moster was Bryant Cox and his wife was Miss Neely Cox. My mother was +Dilly Cox. Two things I remembers tinctly that took place in my +childhood: that was when my mother married George Doyl. I was raised by +a stepfather. Miss Neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put +me in her pocket. She told her that more'n one time. I recollect that. + +"My oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. My mother was a +field hand. She was at work in the field. When she come to the house, +the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. That grieved her mighty +bad and when Miss Neely tell her soon as I got big nough she was goner +sell me mighty near break her heart. + +"The first year after the surrender my father, Buck Rogers, left my +mother in her bad condition. She said she followed him crying and +begging him not to leave her to Montgomery Bridge, in Alabama. The last +she seen him he was on Montgomery Bridge. + +"They just expected freedom. My mother left her mistress and moved to +the Doyl place. She didn't get nothing but her few clothes. I was born +at the Doyl place. She worked for Moster Bob Doyl, a young man. They +share cropped. We had a plenty I reckon of what we raised and a little +money. + +"I worked on Colonel Nuckles place when I got up grown. I worked on the +Lunatic Asylum at Bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the I.C. +Railroad a long time. + +"I don't recollect that the Ku Klux ever bothered us. + +"My stepfather voted Republican ticket. I haven't voted for a good many +years--not since Garfield or McKinley was our President. + +"I come to Arkansas in 1887. I married in Arkansas. I heard that +Arkansas was a rich country. My mother was dead. My stepfather had been +out here. I come on the train, paid my own way. Come to Palestine the +first night then on to Brinkley. I been close to Brinkley ever since. + +"The old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. I still work +on the place. Everybody don't know how to walk levies. It will kill an +old man. Your feet stay wet and cold all time. I do wear hip boots but +my feet stay cold and damp. I got down with the rheumatism and jes' now +got so I can walk. + +"I got a wife and three living children. They all married and gone. + +"Times is hard for old folks and changed so much. Children used to get +jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. They can't +take care of themselves no more it look like. I don't know how to take +the young generation. They are drifting along with the fast times. + +"I applied but don't get no pension." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Willie Doyld (male), Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 78 +[-- -- 1938] + + +"I was born in Grenada, Mississippi. My parents belong to the same +family of white folks. My moster was Jim Doyld. His wife was Mistress +Karoline Doyld. Well as I recollect they had four childen. My parent's +name was Hannah and William Doyld. I'm named for em. They was three of +us childen. They belong to same family of white folks for a fact. I +heard em say Moster Jim bought em offen the block at the same time. He +got em at Galveston, Texas. He kept five families of slaves on his place +well as I recollect. + +"My pa was Moster Jim's ox driver. He drove five or six yokes at a time. +He walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. He toted a long cowhide +whoop. He toted it over his shoulder. When he'd crack it you could hear +his whoop half a mile. Knowed he was comin' on up to the house. Them +oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. He'd +be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. He +nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the +front wagon an' ride a piece. + +"He was a very good moster I recken far as I knows. They go up there, +get sompin' to eat. He give em a midlin' meat. He give us clothes. Folks +wore heep of clothes then. They got whoopin's if they not do lack they +tole em to do--plenty whoopin's! He kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. +They hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. Them dogs died wid black +tongue. Every one of em died. + +"We et at home mostly. We was lounced wid the rations but had a big +plenty. We got the rations every Saturday mornin'. One fellow cut and +weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git +it in. Sometimes we et up at the house. Mama bring a big bucket milk and +set it down, give us a tin cup. We eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. +Mama cooked for old mistress. She bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last +us two or three days at er time. Papa could cook when he be round the +house too. I recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. They come from +Georgia. Moster Jim muster bought them too but I don't know if he got em +all at the same time down at Galveston, Texas. + +"Moster Jim show did drink liquor--whiskey. I recken he would. When he +got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he +sober up. Miss Karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and +white. + +"My grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. The balance of my +kin was pure nigger. + +"I kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. Papa went off +to war wid Jack Hoskins. He was goin' to be his waitin' man. He stayed a +good while fore he got home. Jack Hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast +one mornin'. That all I heard him say. I recken he helped bury him but I +never heard em say. + +"The plainest thing I recollect was a big drove of the Yankee +soldiers--some ridin', some walkin'--come up to the moster's house. He +was sorter old man. He was settin' in the gallery. He lived in a big log +house. He was readin' the paper. He throwed back his head and was dead. +Jes' scared to death. They said that was what the matter. In spite of +that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. All the +niggers scared to death not to go. There lay old Moster Jim stretched +dead in his chair. They was backed up to the smoke house door and the +horses makin' splinters of the door. It was three planks thick, crossed +one another and bradded together wid iron nails. They throwed the stuff +out an' say, 'Come an' git it. Take it to your houses.' They took it. It +was ours and we didn't want it wasted. Soon as they gone they got mighty +busy bringing it back. They built nother door an' put it up. Old Miss +Karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. They buried Moster +Jim at Water Valley, Mississippi. Miss Karoline broke up and went back +to Virginia. My grandma got her feather bed and died on it. Bout two +years after that the Yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. +We all had good log houses down close together. They didn't bother us. + +"I don't recollect the Ku Klux. + +"Our folks never knowed when freedom come on. Some didn't believe they +was free at all. They went on farmin' wid what left. What they made they +got it. My folks purty nigh all died right there. + +"I lives alone. I got two childern in Lulu, Mississippi. I had three +childern. My wife come here wid me. She dead. + +"I had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. It went for debts. White +folks got it. I ain't made nuthin' since. + +"I ain't no hand at votin' much. I railly never understood nuthin' bout +the run of politics. + +"I hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get +by widout it. They take it, if they can, outen the old folks. I used to +didn't ask folks no diffrunce. I worked right long. + +"I gets commodities wid this old woman. I come here to build her fires +and see after er. I don't git no check." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wade Dudley, Moro, Ark. +Age: 73 + + +"Bill Kidd and Miss Nancy Kidd owned my parents. I was born close to +Okalona, Chickasha County, Mississippi, about the last year of the Civil +War. Mr. Bill was Miss Nancy's boy. He was a nigger trader. They said +the overseers treated em pretty rough. They made em work in nearly a +run. When Miss Nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got +down pretty low. He married. Course I knowd em. I been through his +house. He had a fine house. My mother said she was born in Virginia. She +belong to Addison and Duley. Her mother come wid her. They sold them but +didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. She walked or come +in a ox wagon part of the way. She was with a _drove_. My father come +from North Carolina. His father was free. My father weighed out rations. +He was bright color. He worked round the house and then durin' the war +he run a refugee wagon. The Yankees got men, mules, meat from Mr. Bill +Kidd. My father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one +place to another to keep the Yankees from starving em all to death. My +mother had nine boys. They all belong to Mr. Miller. He died, his widow +married Mr. Owen then Mr. Owen sold them to Mrs. Kidd. That was where +they was freed. My parents stayed about Mrs. Kidd's till she died. They +worked for a third some of the time, I don't know how long. When I was a +boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the +government was going to give em something. I was ten years old when they +left Mrs. Kidd's. They thought the government was going to give em 40 +acres and a mule or some kind of a start. I don't know where they got +the notion. My father voted down in Mississippi. I vote. I was working +in the car shops in St. Louis in 1923. Me and my wife both voted then. I +worked there two years. I come back to Arkansas where I could farm. The +land was better here than in Mississippi. I walked part of the way and +rode part of the way when I come here from Mississippi. I vote a +Republican ticket. Bout all I owns is two little pigs and a few +chickens. I did have a spring garden. We work in the field and make a +little to eat and wear. + +"I find the present times is hard for old folks. Some young folks is +doing well I guess. They look like it. I made application twice for help +but I ain't never got on. I don't know what to think bout the young +folks. If they can get a living they have a good time. They don't worry +bout the future. A little money don't buy nothin' much now. It seem like +everything is to buy. Money is hard to get." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Isabella Duke + Little Rock, Arkansas (towards Benton) + Visiting in Hazen +Age: 62 + + +[HW: Father Wore a Bonnet] + +"My own dear mother was born at Faithville, Alabama. She belong to Sam +Norse. His wife was Mistress Mai Jane. They moved to Little Rock years +after my mother had come there. After seberal months they got trace of +one another. I seed two of the Norse girls and a boy. Master Norse was a +farmer in Alabama. Mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. She was a +field hand. She had a tough time during slavery. + +"Pa said he had a good time. 'Bout all he ever done was put on old +mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. He built and +chunked up the fires. Old mistress raised him and he had to wear a +bonnet. He was real light. He said the worse whoopings he ever got was +when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. The hands +on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'Old mis' thinks +he's white sure as de worl'.' The hands on the place sent him to the big +house squalling many a time. + +"After he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. He was part +French. He talked Frenchy and acted Frenchy. Every one who knowd him in +Little Rock called him Pa Frazier and called my mother Ma Frazier, but +she was dark. Pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he +didn't. She raised him about like her own boy. + +"Mother had a hard time. Alex Norse bought my mother and a small brother +from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years +old. Her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. But +there had been an older boy sold to some folks near Norse's place before +she was sold. The brother that was two years old died. There were other +older children sold. My mother never saw her mother after she was sold. +She heard from her mother in 1910. She was then one hundred and one +years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. Her baby boy six +months old when mother was sold come to visit us. Mother wanted to go +back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. Mother had +good sight when she died in 1920. She was eighty-seven years old and +didn't have to wear glasses to see. Mother's father was on another +place. He was said to be part or all Indian. + +"Mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. Her older +brother John lived on a place close to the Norse place. John told the +peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. But John was the one +got the goods mind out. The peddler reported it to Master Norse. He give +my mother a terrible beating. After that it come out on John. He had +stole the piece of cloth. John then took sick, lay sick a long time. +Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh John. She knowd when he died and +the day he was to be buried. Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh +there, not even look like she wanted to cry. + +"Mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. Then after +freedom she married my father. My parents named Clara and George +Frazier. She had twelve children. Pa was a cripple man. He was a +soldier. He said he never was shot and never shot no one. He was on a +horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the +shooting) all time. A horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. +After that he limped. He drew a pension. I limps but I'm better as I got +grown. I'm marked after him. One of my children I named after him what +died was cripple like him. My little George died when he was ten. He was +marked at birth after his grandpa. I had ten, jus' got five living +children. + +"My husband's father's father was in the Civil War. He didn't want to go +out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his +fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. His eye went out. He +hurt it too near the sight. He said he was sorry the rest of his life he +done that. He got a pension too. He was blind and always was sorry for +his disobedience. He said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then +as go into the battlefield. + +"In some ways times is better. People are no better. Children jus' +growing up wild. Their education is of the head and not their heart and +hands. + +"I was raised around Little Rock is about right. I gets a pension. I'm +sixty-two years old but I was down sick with nerve trouble several +years. I'm better now. I've been gradually coming on up for over a year +now. + +"Mr. Ernest Harper of Little Rock takes out truckloads of black folks to +work on his place in the country every day. They can get work that way +if they can work." + + + + +Interviewer: Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: "Wash" Dukes + 2217 E. Barraque + Pine Bluff, Ark. +Age: 83 + + +"Yes'm, Wash Dukes is my name. My mother liked Washington so well, she +named me General Washington Dukes, but I said my name was Wash Dukes. +I'm the oldest one and I'm still here. Me? I was born in the state of +Georgia, Howson County. Perry, Georgia was my closest place. I was born +and raised on the Riggins place. I was born in 1855, you understand. The +first day of March is my birthday. We had it on the Bible, four boys and +four girls, and I was the oldest. House caught fire and burned up the +Bible, but I always say I'm as old as a hoss. + +"I can't see as good as I used to--gettin' too old, I reckon. + +"Old master and mistis was good to us. + +"My mother plowed just like a man. Had a little black mule named Mollie +and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee. + +"Old master was a long tall man with black hair. + +"You know I was here cause I remember when Lincoln was elected +president. He run against George Washington. + +"I seen the Yankees but I never talked to em. I was scared of em. Had +them muskets with a spear on the end. They give my uncle a hoss. When it +thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance--thought twas a +battle. And when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on +him. I say, 'Where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'Yankees give him +to me.' + +"I know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. I guess they +shot his hoss. He had plenty money. I tried to get him to give me some +but he wouldn't give me a bit. + +"At Oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. They was a +little stream run through it and the Rebels pizened it and killed a lot +of em. + +"I was so crazy when I was young. I know one time mama sent me to town +to get a dress pattern--ten yards. She say, 'Now, Wash, when you go +across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', +but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' But I say, 'I won't hear it.' I +went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'You done been to +town already?' I said, 'Yes, here's your dress pattern.' I went through +there ninety to nothin'. I went so fast my heart hurt me. + +"In slave times I remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you +had to have a pass. Paddyrollers nearly got me one night. I was on a +hoss. They was shootin' at me. I know the hoss was just stretched out +and I was layin' right down on his neck. + +"I stayed in Georgia till '74. I heared em say the cotton grow so big +here in Arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. I know when I +got here they was havin' that Brooks-Baxter war in Little Rock. I say, +'Press me into the war.' Man say, 'I ain't goin' press no boys.' I say, +'Give me a gun, I can kill em.' I wanted to fight. + +"I tell you where I voted--colored folks don't vote now--it was when I +was on the Davis place. I voted once or twice since I been up here. I +called myself votin' Republican. I member since I been up here you know +they had a colored man in the courthouse. When they had a grand jury +they had em mixed, some colored and some white. I say now they ain't got +no privilege. If they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes. + +"Up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they +got a 'tition between em. + +"When I first went to farmin' I rented the land and the cotton was all +mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'. + +"If I keep a livin', I'm goin' away from here. I'm goin' up north. I +won't go fore it gets warm though. I seen the snow knee deep in +Cleveland, Ohio. + +"I was workin' up north once. I had a pretty good job in Detroit doin' +piece work, and doin' well, but I come back here cause my wife's mother +was too old to move. If I had stayed I might have done well. + +"I own this property but I'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes. + +"I got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' +my mouth. None of em has ever give me a dime in their life. This younger +generation is goin' to nothin'. They got a good education. I got a boy +can write six different kinds a hands. Write enough to get in the pen. I +got him pardoned and he's in Philadelphia now. Never sends me a dime. + +"I never went to any school but night school a little. I was the oldest +and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones. + +"I preach sometimes. I'm not ordained--I'm a floor preacher, just stands +in front of the altar." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lizzie Dunn, Clarendon, Arkansas +Age: 88 + + +"I was born close to Hernando, Mississippi. My parents was Cassie +Gillahm and Ely Gillahm. My master was John Gillahm. I fell to John +Gillahm and Tim bought me from him so I could be with my mother. I was a +young baby. Bill Gillahm was our old master. He might had a big farm but +I was raised on a small farm. White folks raised me. They put me to +sewing young. I sewed with my fingers. I could sew mighty nice. My +mistress had a machine she screwed on a table. + +"All the Gillahms went to Louisiana in war time and left the women with +youngest white master. They was trying to keep their slaves from +scattering. They were so sure that the War would be lost. + +"The Yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt +them. They et them out time and ag'in. I seen the Yankees every day. I +seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. The sound was like eternity +had turned loose. Everything shook like earthquakes day and night. The +light was bright and red and smoke terrible. + +"Mother cooked and we et from our master's table. + +"We was all scared when the War was on and glad it was over. Mama died +at the close. Me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of +cotton in one year. + +"When freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. We all cried. +Miss Mollie was next to our own mother. She raised us. We kept on their +place. + +"I cooked for Joe Campbell at Forrest City. He had one boy I help to +raise. They think well of me." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Very light mulatto. Bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. Had +been alone all day except when Home Aid girls bathed and cleaned her +bed. She is paralyzed. She said she was hungry. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Nellie Dunne + 3900 W. Sixth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 78 + + +"Yes ma'am, I was slavery born but free raised. I was half as big as I +is now. (She is not much over four feet tall--ed.) Born in Silver Creek, +Mississippi. Yes ma'am. They give ever'body on the place their ages but +mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so I don't know what year +I was born. + +"Cy Magby--mama was under his control. He would carry us over to the +white folks' house every morning to see Miss Becky. When old master come +after us, he'd say, 'What you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'One-two-three.' +Then we'd go over to old Mis' and courtesy and say, 'Good morning, Miss +Becky; good morning, Mars Albert; good morning, Mars Wardly.' They was +just little old kids but we had to call 'em Mars. + +"What I know I'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no +tale. + +"I 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next +year, and that year we got free. My mother shouted, 'Now I ain't lyin' +'bout dat.' I sure 'member when they sot the people free. They was just +ready to blow the folks out to the field. I 'member old Mose would blow +the bugle and he could _blow_ that bugle. If you wasn't in, you better +get in. Yes ma'am! The day freedom come, I know Mose was just ready to +blow the bugle when the Yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. +They knowed it was all over then. That ain't no joke. + +"I was a full grown woman then I come to Arkansas; I wasn't no baby. + +"I went to school one month in my life. That was in Mississippi. + +"My Joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. He went up +here to that Branch Normal. That boy had good learnin'. He could a +learnt me but he was too high tempered. If I missed a word he would be +so crabb'y. So one night I throwed the book across the room and said, +'You don't need try to learn me no more.'" + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: William L. Dunwoody + 2116 W. 24th Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: About 98 + + +[HW: Remembers Jeff Davis] + +"I was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in the year 1840. + +"My father was killed in the Civil War when they taken South Carolina. +His name was Charles Dunwoody. My mother's name was Mary Dunwoody. My +father was a free man and my mother was a slave. When he courted and +married her he took the name of Dunwoody. + + +Houses + +"Ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up +and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were +working? They'd cut down a tree. Then they'd line it--fasten a piece of +twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and +mark the log. Then they'd score it with axes. Then the hewers would come +along and hew the log. Sometimes they could hew it so straight you +couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. Where they didn't +take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a +little shack for the men to sleep in. + +"Just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a +log. + +"To make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you +put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. When you get +them in, lay the planks to walk on. Then they put on the first log. You +notch it. To make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half +first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough +for shingles. Then you would saw the shingles off. They had plenty of +time. + + +Food + +"The slaves ate just what the master ate. They ate the same on my +master's place. All people didn't farm alike. Some just raised cotton +and corn. Some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. My +old master raised corn, potatoes--Irish and sweet--, goober peas +(peanuts), rye, and wheat, and I can't remember what else. That's in the +eating line. He had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, +ducks. That is all I can remember in the eating line. My old master's +slaves et anything he raised. + +"He would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. One of +them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. You know flour +seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. You get all that from the +wheat. Buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. The wagons came +back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. The old man had six +wheat barns to keep the wheat in. + +"All the slaves ate together. They had a cook special for them. This +cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. Two or three +women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel +now. All the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave +them. It was one thing one time and another another. The cook gave the +hands anything that was raised on the place. There was one woman in +there cooking that was called 'Mammy' and she seed to all the chilen. + + +Feeding the Children + +"After the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook +would blow a horn. That would be about nine o'clock or eight. All the +children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. Some of them +would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after +themselves. The cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for +breakfast. They ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks. + +"Between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and +the children would come in from play. There would be a large bowl and a +large spoon for each group of larger children. There would be enough +children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. One would +take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his +neighbor. His neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, +and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. Then they would begin +again, and so on until the bowl was empty. If they did not have enough +then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. Most of the time, bread +and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk. + +"There was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in +the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just +like they passed around the big spoon. + +"About two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. Time +the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. +The old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little +pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. They'd call it pepper pot. +Then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. +And it was good. + +"After the large children had et, they would go back to see after the +babies. If they were awake, the large children would put on their +clothes and clean them up. Then where there was a woman who had two or +three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd +give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. +If she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. If she +didn't then they would use anybody's children. + +"About eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not +been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. When a +woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to +work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work +in the evening. She would come in long before sundown. In between times, +the old mammy and the other children would look after them. + + +War Memories + +"I saw Jeff Davis once. He was one-eyed. He had a glass eye. My old +mistiss had three girls. They got into the buggy and went to see Jeff +Davis when he come through Auburn, Alabama. We were living in Auburn +then. I drove them. Jeff Davis came through first, and then the +Confederate army, and then the Yankees. They didn't come on the same day +but some days apart. + +"The way I happened to see the Yanks was like this. I went to carry some +clothes to my young master. He was a doctor, and was out where they were +drilling the men. I laid down on the carpet in his tent and I heard +music playing 'In Dixie Land I'll take my stand and live and die in +Dixie.' I got up and come out and looked up ever which way but I +couldn't see nothing. I went back again and laid down again in the tent, +and I heard it again. I run out and looked all up and around again, and +I still couldn't see nothin'. That time I looked and saw my young master +talking to another officer--I can't remember his name. My young master +said, 'What you looking for?' + +"I said, 'I'm looking for them angels I hear playing. Don't you hear em +playing Dixie?' The other officer said, 'Celas, you ought to whip that +nigger.' I went back into the tent. My young master said, 'Whip him for +what?' And he said, 'For telling that lie.' My young master said to him +like this, 'He don't tell lies. He heard something somewhere.' + +"Then they got through talking and he come on in and I seed him and +beckoned to him. He came to me and I said, 'Lie down there.' He laid +down and I laid down with him, and he heard it. Then he said, 'Look out +there and tell him to come in.' + +"I called the other officer and he come in. The doctor (that was my +young master) said, 'Lie down there.' When he laid down by my young +master, he heard it too. Then the doctor said to him, 'You said William +was telling a damn lie.' He said, 'I beg your pardon, doctor.' + +"My young master got up and said, 'Where is my spy glasses? Le'me have a +look.' He went out and there was a mountain called the Blue Ridge +Mountain. He looked but he didn't see nothin'. I went out and looked +too. I said, 'Look down the line beside those two big trees,' and I +handed the glasses back to him. He looked and then he hollered, 'My God, +look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. He looked +too. Then the doctor said, 'What are we going to do?' He said, 'I am +goin' to put pickets way out.' He told me to get to my mule. I got. He +put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the +Yanks were coming. You know what 'ma' he was talking about? That was his +wife's mother. We all called her 'mother.' + +"I carried the note. When I got to Mrs. Dobbins' house, I yelled, 'The +Yanks are coming--Yankees, Yankees, Yankees!' She had two boys. They +runned out and said, 'What did you say?' + +"I said, 'Yankees, Yankees!' + +"They said, 'Hell, what could he see?' + +"I come on then and got against Miss Yancy's. She had a son, a man named +Henry Yancy. He had a sore leg. He asked me what I said. I told him that +the Yanks were coming. He called for Henry, a boy that stayed with him, +and had him saddle his horse. Then he got on it and rode up town. When +he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. Did he see +them. He said he didn't see them, that Celas Neal saw them and the +doctor's mother's boy brought the message. Then he taken off. + +"Jeff Davis went on. The Confederates went on. They all went on. Then +the Yanks passed through. + +"The first fight they had there, they cleaned up the Sixty-Ninth Alabama +troops. My young master had been helping drill them. He went on and +overtook the others. + + +Right After the War + +"I am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. I don't know +whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. I can just go +by my mother. After freedom, we came from Auburn, Alabama to Opelika, +Alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough +for what she wanted to do. When she got fixed, she moved then to +Columbus, Georgia. She rented a place from Ned Burns, a policeman. When +that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. Sterling Love +rented a house from the same man. He had four children and they were +going to school and they took me too. + + +Schooling + +"I fixed up and went to school with them. I didn't get no learning at +all in slavery times. + + +How Freedom Came + +"I don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but I know +this--when they quit fighting, I know the white children called we +little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and +said, 'You all is jus' as free as we is. You ain't got no master and no +mistiss,' and I don't know what they told them at the plantation. + + +Occupation + +"Right after the War, my mother worked--washed--for an old white man. He +took an interest in me and taught me. I did little things for him. When +he died, I took up the teaching which he had been doing. + +"At first I taught in Columbus, Georgia. By and by, a white man came +along looking for laborers for this part of the country. He said money +grew on bushes out here. He cleaned out the place. All the children and +all the grown folks followed him. Two of my boys came to me and told me +they were coming. We hoboed on freights and walked to Chattanooga, +Tennessee. We stayed there awhile. Then a white man came along getting +laborers. I never kept the year nor nothin'. He brought us to Lonoke +County, and I got work on The Bood Bar Plantation. Squirrels, wild +things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. So you see, the man told the +truth when he said money grew on bushes. + +"I taught and farmed all my life. Farming is the greatest occupation. It +supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. None of them +can live without it. + +"I can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile +and made me a cripple. I'd a been all right if so many of them young +doctors hadn't experimented on me. Then I can't see good out of one eye. +I can't do much now. I don't know why they won't give me a pension." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +William Dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would +be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. But there was one respect +in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed. + +At the close of the first day's interview when I arose to go he said to +me, "Now you got what you want?" I told him yes and that I would be back +for more the next day. Then he said, "Well, if you got what you want, +there's one thing I want you to do for me before you go." + +"Certainly, Brother Dunwoody," I said, "I'll be glad to do anything you +want me to do. Just what can I do for you?" + +"Well," he said, "I want you to read me what you been writin' there." + +And I read it. + +A little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he +dictated to me. I furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel +for the old man's tobacco. + +The old man got a kick out of the dictation. After the first day, he +became very cautious. He would say, "Now don't write this," and he +wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. Instead, he would make +a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. He +is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in +appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit--mentally. + +He walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. He has +good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Lucius Edwards +Age: 72 + + +Interviewer's Comment + +I went to see Lucius Edwards, age seventy-two, twice. He has colitis. He +wouldn't tell me anything. He said he was born in Shreveport, Louisiana +and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised +him. The first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' +owners. The next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were +sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. He told the nurse he had +farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. He was up but wouldn't +tell us anything. He told me, "I don't think I ever voted." We decided +he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: John Elliott +Age: 80 +Home: South Border (property of brother's estate) + + +As told by: John Elliott + +"No, ma'am. I ain't got no folks. They've all died out. My son, he may +be alive. When I last heard from him, he was in Pine Bluff. But I wrote +down lots of times and nobody can't find him. Brother said, that was +before he died, that I could stay on in the place as long as I lived. +His wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way. + +The comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. I'm expectin' to hear +if I get the pension, Tuesday. No ma'am, I ain't worked in three years. +Yes, ma'am, I was a slave. I was about 8 years old when they mustered +'em out the last time. + +My daddy went along to take care of his young master. He died, and my +daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home. + +You see it was this way. My mother was a run-away slave. She was from, +what's that big state off there--Virginia--yes, ma'am, that's it. There +was a pretty good flock of them. They came into North Carolina--Wayne +County was where John Elliott found them. They was in a pretty bad way. +They didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. +They didn't have nobody to own 'em. They didn't know what to do. My +mother was about 13. + +By some means or other they met up with a man named John Elliott. He was +a teacher. He struck a bargain with them. He pitched in and he bought +200 acres of land. He built a big house for Miss Polly and Bunk and +Margaret. Miss Polly was his sister. And he built cabins for the black +folks. + +And he says 'You stay here, and you take care of Miss Polly and the +children. Now mind, you raise lots to eat. You take care of the place +too. And if anybody bothers you you tell Miss Polly.' My Uncle Mose, he +was the oldest. He was a blacksmith. Jacob was the carpenter. 'Now look +here, Mose,' says Mister John, 'you raise plenty of hogs. Mind you give +all the folks plenty of meat. Then you take the rest to Miss Polly and +let her lock it in the smokehouse.' Miss Polly carried the key, but Mose +was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse. + +They didn't get money to any extreme. But whatever they wanted, Miss +Polly would go along with them and they would buy it. They went to +Goldsboro. That was the biggest town near us. The patrollers never +bothered any of us. Once or twice they tried it. But Miss Polly wrote to +Mr. John. He'd write it all down like it ought to be. Then they didn't +bother us any more. + +There was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. +They never had to go to the hiring ground. Mr. John built a church for +my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. And he +built a school for the children. Some other colored children tried to +come to the school too. They was welcome. But sometimes the white folks +would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried +to come. + +Our folks stayed on and on. Mr. John was off teaching school most of the +time. We stayed on and on. Pretty soon there was about 150-200, of us. +Some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. +Mr. John even put in a mill. A groundhog saw mill, it was. Some white +men put it in. But it was the colored folks who run it. They all stayed +right on on the farm. There wasn't any white folks about at all, except +Miss Polly and Bunk and Margaret. + +No, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. We all stayed +on. We worked the place. And when we got a chance, Mr. John let us hire +out and keep the money. And if the folks wouldn't pay us, Mr. John would +write the Federal and the Federal would see that we got our money for +what we had worked. Mr. John was a mighty good man to us. + +No ma'am. Nobody got discontented for a long time. Then some men come in +and messed them up. Told us that we could make more money other places. +And it was true too--if they had let us get the money. By that time Mr. +John, had died. Bunk had died too, Miss Margaret had grown up and +married. Her husband was managing the farm. He was good, but he wasn't +like Mr. John. So lots of us moved away. + +But about not making money. Take me. I raised 14-16 bales of cotton. The +man who owned the land, I worked on halvers, sold it on the Liverpool +market. But he wouldn't pay me but about 1/3 of what he collected on my +half. And I says to him, 'You gets full price for your half, why can't I +get full price for mine?' And he says, 'It's against the rules.' And I +says, 'It ain't fair! And he says, 'It's the rules.' So after about six +years I quit farming. You can't make no money that way. Yes--you make +it, but you can't get it. + +I went to town at Pine Bluff. There I got to mixing concrete. I made +pretty good at it, too. I stayed on for some years. Then I came to Hot +Springs. My brother was along with me. We both worked and after work we +built a house. It took us four years. But it was a good house. It has +six rooms in it. It makes a good home. My brother had the deed. But his +widow says I can stay on. The folks what lives in the rest of the house +are good to me. + +When I got to Hot Springs I worked mixing concrete. There was lots of +sidewalks being made along about that time. Then I scatter dirt all +around where the court house is now. Then I worked at both of the very +biggest hotels. I washed. I washed cream pitchers--the little ones with +corners that were hard to clean. + +No, I ain't worked in three years. It hard to try to get along. Some +states, they pays good pensions. I can't be here long--don't look like I +can be here long. Seems as if they could take care of me for the few +days I'm going to be on this earth. Seems like they could. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham +Person interviewed: Millie Evans +Age: + + +[Illustration: Millie Evans] + +Yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? Well, Miss, I is +one of 'em. Was born in 1849 but I don' know jus' when. My birthday +comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till +bout a hour 'fore I was born. Was born in North Carolina and was a young +lady at the time of surrender. + +I don' 'member ol' master's name; all I 'member is that we call 'em ol' +master an ol' mistress. They had bout a hundred niggers and they was +rich. Master always tended the men and mistress tended to us. + +Ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git +up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. I can +hear hit now. Hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and I can see 'em +now stirrin in Carolina. I git so lonesome when I thinks bout times we +used to have. Twas better livin back yonder than now. + +I stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. My ma had to +work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was +hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. Sometime +she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. +They had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. They would +fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' +trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. I +can jus' see myself drinkin' now. Hit was so good. There was so many +black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. Greens was +cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. An' +sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an +we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. When we et our regular meals the +table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on +when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. But we didn' +eat out'n plates. We et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. An' we +had plenty t'eat. Whooo-eee! Jus' plenty t'eat. Ol' master's folks +raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, +eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat. + +Ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy +chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. I can +hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies: + + "Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Way beneath the silver shining moon + Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies + Daddy's little Carolina coons + Now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." + +When I got big 'nough I nursed my mistress's baby. When de baby go to +sleep in de evenin' I woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de +cradle an go to sleep. I played a heap when I was little. We played +Susannah Gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an +jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. When I got big 'nough to cook, I +cooked den. + +The kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we +cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. We had swing pots an would swing +'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. We +call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it. + +We had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was Christian +fo'ks an they taught us to be Christianlike too. Ev'y Sunday mornin' ol' +master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an +pray an read de Bible to us all. Ol' master taught us not to be bad; he +taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales +an not to do anythin' that was bad. He said: Yo' will reap what yo' sow, +that you sow it single an' reap double. I learnt that when I was a +little chile an I ain't fo'got it yet. When I got grown I went de +Baptist way. God called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in +de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. On preachin' day ol' +master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him. + +We had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they +does in the bricks t'day. + +Down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. +We didn' have no floors in them cabins. Nice dirt floors was de style +then an we used sage brooms. Took a string an tied the sage together an +had a nice broom out'n that. We would gather broom sage fo' our winter +brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. We kep' our dirt +floors swep' as clean an' white. An our bed was big an tall an had +little beds to push under there. They was all little er nough to go +under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one +an make heaps of room. Our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks +an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good. + +When the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get +a turn of lider knots. I specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. That was +what we use' fo' light. When our fire went out we had no fire. Didn' +know nothin' bout no matches. To start a fire we would take a skillet +lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. Lay de cotton on th' skillet +lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would +come. Sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would +come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine. + +Up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for +lights. We made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. We had +moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to +light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould. + +We use to play at night by moonlight and I can recollec' singin wid the +fiddle. Oh, Lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an I can hear it ringin +now. Sometime we would dance in the moonlight too. + +Ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an +wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. An we knit all the +stockin's we wo'. They made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark +an leaves an things. Dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up +an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit +out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then +take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. Then +rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make. + +I'll tell yo' how to dye. A little beech bark dyes slate color set with +copperas. Hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; +bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. Pine straw dyes purple, +set color with chamber lye. To dye cloth brown we would take de cloth an +put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then +set the color with apple vinegar. An we dyed blue wid indigo an set the +color wid alum. + +We wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our +dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem +petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. They didn' +know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in +dey shirttails. An we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes. + +Master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an +took the hide an tanned it. The way they tanned it was to take red oak +bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. Firs' +he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of +leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with +water. After that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. Then +he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. Then the hide +was put to soak in with the red oak bark. It stayed in the water till +the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it +was a purty tan. It didn' have to soak long. Then he would get his +pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. We called 'em +brogans. + +They planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. When it got ripe they +gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week +then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of +'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother +week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. We let it set three +or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and the +settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. We cut ours in +little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too. + +We made vinegar out of apples. Took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an +put 'em in a sack an let drip. Didn' add no water an when it got through +drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had +some of the bes vinegar ever made. + +We had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. We had a block an +battlin' stick. We put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an +lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out +of 'em. We mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the +bes clo'es lines they was. + +Ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let +it dry an then put it in lasses. After the lasses dripped off then they +roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun 10 or 12 days. It +sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so +yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit. + +The way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet +bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then +we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too. + +When there was distressful news master would ring the bell. When the +niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder +what the trouble was. You'd see 'em stirrin' too. They would always ring +the bell at twelve 'clock. Sometime then they would think it was some +thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they +shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner. + +The reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' +have nothin' to do but save it. They made money an raised ev'ything they +used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. Didn' have no banks in them +days an master buried his money. + +The floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. We always kep' them +scoured good. We didn' know what it was to use soap. We jus' took oak +ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured +with a corn shuck mop. Then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two +times an let it dry. When it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. +To make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it +stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. The +way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. We would get down on +our knees an dry it so dry. + +I 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. +That was after I was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some +cookin. Some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so +we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to +cool an some of 'em stole it. This way old master found out who was doin +the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell. + +All ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a +neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. He would say to the man: +"Do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "Do yo' want this boy?" Then +he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would +hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump +dis broom and he would say: "Dat's yo' wife." Dey called marryin' like +that jumpin the broom. + +Now chile I can't 'member everything I done in them days but we didn' +have ter worry bout nothin. Ol' mistress was the one to worry. Twasn't +then like it is now, no twasn't. We had such a good time an ev'ybody +cried when the Yankees cried out: "Free." Tother niggers say dey had a +hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. If you had a +hard time we don it ourselves. + +Ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' +to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to Arkansas they would +have a chance to keep 'em. So they got on their way. We loaded up our +wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of +horse feed. We traveled bout 15 or 20 miles a day an would stop an camp +at night. We would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. The cows +was drove t'gether. Some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a +time. I mean, dey _had_ a time. While we was on our way ol' master died +an three of the slaves died too. We buried the slaves there but we +camped while ol' master was carried back to North Carolina. When ol' +mistress come back we started on to Arkansas an reached here safe but +when we got here we foun' freedom here too. Ol' mistress begged us to +stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to +Carolina. There wasn' nobody lef' but Miss Nancy an she soon married an +lef' an I los' track of her an Mr. Tom. + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subjects: Customs related to Slavery Time [HW: Ex Slave Story] +Subject: Food--Particular foods typical and characteristic of certain +localities and certain people (negroes) +[Nov 6 1936] +[TR: Additional topic moved from subsequent page.] + +This information given by: Millie Evans (Negroes pronounce it Irvins) +Place of Residence: By Missouri Pacific Track near MOP Shops +Occupation: None +Age: 87 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of interview.] + + +I wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. I am a slave chile. I am +one of them. I had a gran' time in slavery time. I wuz born wid de white +foks. I stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. I +nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. I churned and sot de table. When de baby +go to sleep in de evenin' I put hit in de cradle. An' I'd lay down by +the cradle and go to sleep. Every evenin' I'd go git _lida knots_. I +played a lots. I wuz born 1849. We played Susanna Gals, and we just +played jump rope. Jes' we gals did. We played calling' cows. Dey'd come +to us and we run from um. My [TR: 'I' corrected to 'My'] mistess wuz a +millionaire. I went to school a while. I can count only lit bit. One uz +de girl made fun uz me. She kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de +school house. Old log school house. Dey had two big rooms. Ah went to de +ole fokes' church. Young un too. We'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter +church wid ma and pa. + +Our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile I can see +hit now. We et on a loal (oil) table cloth. When dey called us to de +table dey would ring a bell. We didn' eat out uz plates. We et outn +gourds. We all et outn gourds. When I got big nuff ter cook I cooked +den. We had plenty to eat. We raised who-eee plenty meat. We raised our +sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. Who-eee chile we had plenty to +eat. Our mistess had ovah a hunert (100) niggers. Ole moster nevah did +whip none uv us niggers. He tended de men and mistess always tended to +us. I wudden (wasn't) quite grown when I wuz married. We cooked out in +de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). We cooked +greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook +greens. We cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). An +evah thing we had wuz good too. We made our churns in dem days. Made dem +outn cypress. + +Evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "Free." We cried too; we +hated hit so bad. We had such a good time. I is gittin so ole I can't +member so ever' thin' I done. Now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' I +done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. Ole mistress +wuz de one ter worry. Twasn't den like hit is now. No Twasn't. Tother +niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem Yankee cried "Free" but it waz +den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves. + + +[HW: Negro food] + +_PERSIMMON PIE_ Make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take +your persimmons and wash them. Let them be good and ripe. Get the seed +out of them. Don't cook them. Mash them and put cinnamon and spice in +and butter. Sugar to taste. Then roll your dough and put in custard pan, +and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little +sugar on top and bake. + +_PERSIMMON CORNBREAD_ Sift meal and add your ingredients then your +persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them +and put in and stir well together. Grease pan well and pour in and bake. +Eat with fresh meat. + +_PERSIMMON BEER_ Gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover +well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about +three days. That makes a nice drink. + +Boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for +the same purpose. + +_ASH CAKE_ Two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot +water to make it stick together. Roll out in pones and wrap in a corn +shuck or collard leaves or paper. Lay on hot ashes and cover with hot +ashes and let cook about ten minutes. + +_CORNBREAD JOHNNY CAKE_ Two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a +teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. +Add teaspoon of lard. Pour in greased pan and bake. + +[HW: _Water_ or _Milk_ added?] + +(Old Mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four o'clock +in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. Dey had +a long trough. Dey kep' hit so clean fur us. Ev'ry evening about four +dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut 100 of us chilluns. +We'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold our johnny +cake in our han's. I can jes see mahself drinkin now. It wus so good.) + +_BEEF DUMPLINS_ Take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and +season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken +dumplins. + +Pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with +meat to season. Season to suit taste. This makes the best vegetable +dish. + +_POTATO BISCUIT_ Two cups flour. Two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch +of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well +mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough. + +_IRISH POTATO PIE_ Boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well +and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to +suit taste, bake in pie crust. Irish potatoes make a better pie than +sweet potatoes. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: Mose Evans +Home: 451 Walnut +Aged: 76 + + +Radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. +Ben[TR:?] Winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in +which moaning trombones predominated. + +At one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "They's +all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. But in this block of +comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of Walnut evidently +there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. A mild prosperity seemed to +pervade everything. The Walnut section is in the "old part of town". +Some of the houses had evidently been built during the 90s; but they +were well kept up and painted. + +There was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for +water. One or two had been simply boarded over. One, a front yard affair +had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. The well had been +filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of +cement. Into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. Even in +January the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming. + +"_PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD_" admonished the electrified box sign +attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. Its border was of black +wood. The sign itself was of white frosted glass. Letters of the slogan +were in scarlet. + +Next doer was another religious reminder. It was a modest pasteboard +window card and announced Bible Study at 2: P.M. daily. + +Three blocks up Walnut the pavement ends. Beyond that sidewalks too, +listlessly peter out. A young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is +beginning to separate path from street. Houses begin to take on a more +dilapidated appearance. They lean uncertainly. + +A colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly +in the stranger's path and demands, "Is you the investigator? No? Well +who is you looking for? Oh, Mose, he's at his son's. Good thing I +stopped you. Cause you would have gone too far. He's at his son's. His +grandson just done had his tonsils out. He's over there." + +The interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's +house". No Mose wasn't there. He had just left. Maybe he'd gone home. +The de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored +youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. He wore +whip-cord jodphurs--protruding widely on either side of his plump +thighs--and knee high leather riding boots. Plump and smiling, he looked +for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and +blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun. + +The child eyed the interviewer's pencil. Since, she was carrying a +"spare" she offered it to him. He smiled and accepted with alacrity. +Later when the interviewer had found Mose and brought him back to the +house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil +and showed it with heartfelt pride. + +On up the street went the interviewer. Arrived at 451 she approached the +house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. +Nobody answered her knock. Two blocks back toward town she was stopped +by the same woman who had accosted her before. "Did you find him?" "No," +replied the interviewer. "Well he's somewhere on the street. He's +a'carrying a cane. You just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him +if he ain't Mose Evans." The advice was sound/ The first elderly man +coming north was carrying a cane. He was Mose Evans. + +"So you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "Mose, you +ought of asked her--when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't +looking for you." "Maybe," said Mose, "but then I didn't know, and I +don't want to butt into other folks business" "Huh," snorted the woman, +"spose I hadn't butted in. Where'd you be. You wouldn't have found her +and she wouldn't have found you!" Both Mose and the interviewer wore +forced to admit that she was right--but from Mose's disapproving +expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it. + +"No, ma'am. I ain't been here long. Just about two weeks. You want to +talk to me. Let's go on up to my son's house. We'll stop there. I's +tired. Seems like I get tired awful quick. Had to go down to the store +to get some coal." (He was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon +capacity. "Coal" was probably charcoal--much favored among wash women +for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) My wife has +to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood. + +Did I say I'd been here two weeks? I meant I has been here two years. +I's lived all over. Came here from Woodruff county. Yes, ma'am. I can't +work no more. My wife she gets 2-3 days washing a week. Then she gets +some bundles to bring home and do. She got sick, same as me and her +brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. They provided +for me too. They took good care of us. Then one of 'em got sick himself, +and the other he lost out in a money way. So she's a washing. + +Can't remember very much about the war. I was just a little thing when +it was a'going on. Was hardly any size at all. I does remember standing +in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. Men +dressed in blue they was. Wasn't afraid of them--didn't have sense +enough to be, I guess. Looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue +that way. And they was riding fine horses. Made a big noise they did. +They was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. I won't never forgot +it. + +Guess Confederates passed too. I was too small to know about them. They +was all soldiers to me. Folks told me they was on their way to +Vicksburg. I heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around +Vicksburg. + +I was born on a place which belonged to a man named Thad Shackleford. +Don't remember him very well. They took me away from his place when I +was little. But I never did hear my mother say anything against him. +Awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. I had lots of half sisters--5 +of 'em and 6 half brothers. There was just one full sister. + +Farm? Not until I was 14. Just stayed around the house and nursed the +children. Nursed lots of children. Took care of them and amused them. +Played with them. But for four, five, maybe six years I helped my mother +farm. Went out into the fields and worked. + +Then I went to myself. Yes, ma'am, I share cropped. Share cropped up +until about 1908. By that time I had got together a pretty good lot and +bought stock and tools. Then I rented--rented thirds and fourths. I +liked that way lots best. It's best if a body can get himself stocked +up. + +But let me tell you, ma'am. It's a lot easier to get behind than it is +to catch up. Falling behind is easy. Catching up ain't so simple. I sort +of lost my health and then I had to sell my stock. After that it was +share-crop again. I share cropped right up until 1935. That's when we +come here. + +Yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. Longest what I worked for any man was +12 years. He was J.W. Hill, the best man I ever did see. Once I rented +from a colored man, but he died. Was with him 6 years before another man +came into possession. Rented from Cockerill 4 years and Doss 2 years, +and Doyle 3 years. But now I's like an old shoe. I's worn out. Been a +good, faithful servant, but I's wore out." + + + + +Interviewer: S.S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Rachel Fairley + 1600 Brown St. + Little Rock, Ark. +Age: 75 +Occupation: General Housework +[Jan 23 1938] + + +[HW: Mother Stole to Get Food] + +"My mother said she had a hard time getting through. Had to steal half +the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. It was +a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. She would set it +aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to +pray. + +"My father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and +sold at Charlottesville, North Carolina. My mother was sold on the same +day. They sold her to a man named Paul Barringer, and refugeed her to a +place near Sardis, Mississippi, to the cotton country. Before he was +sold, my father belonged to the Greers in Charlottesville. I don't know +who owned my mother. I never did hear her say how old she was when she +was sold. They was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. One +would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest +bid would get the slave. + +"Mother did not go clear to Sardis but to a plantation ten miles from +Sardis. This was before freedom. We stayed there till two years after +freedom. + +"I remember when my mother moved. I had never seen a wagon before. I was +so uplifted, I had to walk a while and ride a while. We'd never seen a +wagon nor a train neither. McKeever was the place where she moved from +when she moved to Sardis. + +"The first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. +The next year she moved. That was the year she moved to Sardis itself. +There she made sharecrops. That was the third year after freedom. That +is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. I don't know what +their share was. But I guess it was half to them and half to him. + +"I do general housework. I been doing that for eleven years. I never +have any trouble. Whenever I want to I get off. + +"The slaves used to live in one room log huts. They cooked out in the +yard. I have seen them huts many a time. They had to cook out in the +yard in the summertime. If they didn't, they'd burn up. + +"My mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. He +didn't know he'd been seen. She didn't know where he went, but she seen +the direction he took. Her master was Paul Barringer. That was on +McKeever Creek near Sardis. It was near the end of the war. I never +heard my mother say what became of the money, but I guess he got it back +after everything was over. + +"They had to work all the time. When they went to church on Sunday, they +would tell them not to steal their master's things. How could they help +but steal when they didn't have nothin'? You didn't eat if you didn't +steal. + +"My mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves +Barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where +they come from. Lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at +their homes. They would go back if they were sold away. It took a long +time because they walked. When my mother and father were sold they had +to walk. It took them six weeks,--from Charlottesville, North Carolina +to Sardis, Mississippi. + +"In Sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the +field. Master was mean and hard. Whipped them lots. Mother had to pick +cotton all day every day and Sunday. When I first seen my father to +remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for +special days. We called it a ham-beater. It had pieces that would make +it set on you like a basque. He wore a high beaver hat too. That was his +uniform. Whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it. + +"My mother tickled me. She said she went out one day and kill a +billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like +the rest of them. My mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because +they dried them and give them to them in slave time. You had to eat what +you could git then. + +"My mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married. + +"My father and mother were not exactly sold to Mississippi. My father +was but my mother wasn't. When Paul Barringer lost all of his niggers, +what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of +them. I don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. My father +went alone, but all my mother's people were taken--four sisters, and +three brothers. They were all grown when I first seen them. I never seen +my mother's father at all. + +"There was a world of yellow people then. My mother said her sister had +two yellow children; they were her master's. I know of plenty of light +people who were living at that time. + +"My mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. They were +taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their +sister and brother (white). All the orphans were taken and given back to +the people what owned them when freedom came. My mother's sister was +refugeed back to Charlottesville, North Carolina before the end of the +war so that she wouldn't get free. After the war they were set free out +there and never came back. The children were with my mother and they had +to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. Then they +would be free. They wouldn't give them any schooling at all. They were +as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored +woman. That made the difference. + +"My mother said that the Ku Klux used to come through ridin' horses. I +don't remember her saying what they wore. + +"When the Yanks came through, they took everything. Made the niggers all +leave. My mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing +everything, even the babies. + +"I was born in Sardis, Mississippi, Panolun (?) County, April 10, 1863." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Pauline Fakes, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 74 + + +"My mama come from Virginia. Her owner was Moses Crawford. He had a +bachelor son Prior Crawford. My papa's owner was Step Crawford. They was +in Arkansas during the Civil War I know because I was born close to +Cotton Plant. Papa's folks had lived in Tennessee but grandma and +grandpa was raised in Indian Nation; they called it Alabama afterwards. +She was a full blooded Creek and he was part Cherokee. + +"Mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. They took them to Texas. +She never seen one of them again. Mama had scrofula and her owners let a +woman take her North. She cured her. She wanted to keep her but they +didn't let her. They kept her till freedom. + +"The owners told them they was free. Stayed on a while. We never have +got very fur off from where I was born. I had thirteen children of my +own. Three living now. + +"I know times was mighty hard when I was a child. Biscuits was big +rarity as cake is now. I don't have much cake. Little cornbread and +meat, molasses and proud to get that. We didn't have much clothes but we +had plenty wood. We had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all +night. They saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. In the +coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and +pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle +of the room. It be snow and ice all over the ground. I got wood many a +day. Yes, I plowed many a day. I done all kinds of field work, cook and +wash and iron. Mid-wife is my talent. I been big and strong and work was +the least of my worries. + +"I can barely recollect seeing soldiers. They must have just got home +from the war. The shiny buttons is about all I can recollect. + +"I recollect the Ku Klux. They rode at night, some dressed in dark and +some white clothes. They come through our house one time. I got under +the cover. I was scared nearly to death. + +"Near Cotton Plant there was a log cabin (Methodist?) church--Negro +church two and one-half miles northeast direction. They had a Negro +preacher. When they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the +road. White people lived close to the road. The Ku Klux planned to break +it up. They went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up +and scattered their seats. One was killed. He may have acted 'smarty' or +saucy or he may have been the leader." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mattie Fannen, Forrest City, Arkansas +Age: 87 + + +"My mother was named Silla Davis. She had four children. Her owners was +Jep Davis and Tempy Davis. She died and he married her niece, Sally +Davis. He had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his +second wife. Wasn't that a plenty children doe? Mama was a field hand. +She ploughed in slavery right along. My father was named Bob Lee (Lea?). +I never knowed much about him. His folks moved and took him off. Mother +was sold but not on a stand. She belong to Bill Davis. He was Jep's +brother. They said Bill Davis drunk up mother and all her children. He +sold Aunt Serina to a man in Elberton, Georgia and all he had left then +was grandma. He couldn't sell her. She was too old and Aunt Kizziah and +Aunt Martha lived with her. Mother was born in Georgia. When a child was +sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. It +was bad as deaths in the families. Jep Davis had forty or fifty niggers. +He had six boys. They all had to go to war. They was in the Confederate +army. Billy Davis was his daddy's young overseer. He had been raised up +with some of the nigger boys then come over them. They wouldn't mind his +orders. He tried to whoop them. They'd fight him back, choke him, throw +him on the ground. Then the old man would whoop them. We all wanted 'em +all to come home but Billy. Billy Davis got killed at war and never come +home. His sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him +on the place would kill him and wanted Jep to make him stay at the +house. Jep Davis was a good master and he was bad enough. + +"I seen mama whooped. They tied some of them to trees and some they just +whooped across their backs. It was 'cordin' to what they had done. Some +of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. The other +niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving. + +"Jep Davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his +young niggers to his first set of children. His young wife cried till he +destroyed it. She said, 'You kept the old ones here and me and my +children won't have nothing.' I was willed to Miss Lizzie. They was +fixing the wagon for me to go in. I wanted to go to Jefferson on the +train. I told them so. I wanted to ride on the train. I never did get +off. His young wife started crying. Miss Lizzie lived with her brother. +They didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. They +kept a fuss up with her and all left. Then he divided the land. + +"I nursed for his second wife, Miss Sally. I was five years or little +older when I started nursing for his first wife. I nursed for a long +time. I don't like children yet on that account. I got so many whoopings +on their blame. I'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and +rocking 'em. I got tired of 'em all the time. + +"Me and Zack (white) was raised up together. He was one of the old set +of children. The baby in that set. I'd set on the log across a branch +and wait till Zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy +and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. One morning the sun was +so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. He never +brought me no biscuit. He had just got up. I was five years old. I said +I was glad. Emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off +the log and made my nose bleed. I cried and run home. My mother picked +me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. I told her +I was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. +They took me to the grave. She wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at +the side of the house off a piece. She was buried there first. There was +a big crowd. I kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me +back by my dress tail. She was buried in a metal coffin. Susan was the +oldest girl. She fainted. They took her to a carriage standing close. +The whole family was buried there. Took back from places they lived to +be buried in that graveyard. That was close to Nuna, Georgia. + +"When the old man Jep Davis married again, Miss Sally must have me sleep +in her room on a pallet so I could tend to the baby. The older girls +would pick me and I would tell them what they talked about after they +went to bed. + +"When the War come on, the boys and Jep Davis dug a hole in the +henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. They was there when the +War ended. They had some jewelry. I don't know where they kept it. They +sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the +Yankees. Not a one of us ever run off. Not a one ever went to the War or +the Yankees. Jep Davis had been to get his mail on his horse. A Yankee +come up at the gate walking and took it. He asked for the bridle and +saddle but the Yankee laughed in his face. We never seen our horse no +more. 'Babe' we called her. She was a pretty horse and so gentle we +could ride her bare back. + +"Jep Davis was religious. They had preaching at his church, the Baptist +church at Nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher +preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. He'd go to +prayer meeting on Wednesday night and Thursday night he would come to +the boys' house and read the Bible to his own niggers. We would sing and +pray. He never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better +ketch 'em dancing. He'd whoop every one of 'em. + +"I learned same of the ABC's in playing ball with the white children. We +never had a book. I never went to school in my life. The boys not +married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. They got +cooked fer up at Jep Davises house till they got a house built for them +and give them a wife. Maybe they would see a woman on another plantation +and claim her. Then the master had to talk that over. + + +Freedom + +"Jep Davis had been to town. He got a notice to free his niggers. He had +the farm bell rung. We all went out up to his house. He said, 'You are +free. Go. If you can't get along come back and do like you been.' They +left. Went hog wild. I was the last one to go. He said, 'Mattie, come +back if you find you can't make it.' I had a hard time for a fact. I had +a sister married in Atlanta. I went with them in 1866. I married to +better my living. We quit. I met a man come to Arkansas and sent back +for me when he got the money. I was in Atlanta thirty years. I was +married in Arkansas in 1895. Been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back +in Georgia. My husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. He left +me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (She has an +income of forty dollars per month--rent on houses.) "He was a hard +worker. + +"I'd go to see my white folks after freedom. I loved 'em all. + +"Jep Davis died out of the church. Him and Jack (Robertson, Robson, +Robinson?) was deacons together in the Baptist church and their farms +j'ined. Jack had two boys, John and Ed. Ed was killed by Hinton Right +over his sister Mollie. Then she married Hinton Right. The quarrel +started at La Grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church +yard at the Baptist church at Nuna, Georgia. Jack was mean. He had a lot +of Negroes and a big farm. He had two boys and four girls. Jennie died. +Florence and Lula, old maids; John and Ed and Mollie. + +"Jack caused Jep Davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after +freedom he didn't believe in slavery. He always thought they ought to be +free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living +easy. He was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. +When Jack was sick, Jep went to see him. He wouldn't let Jep come in to +see him and he died. + +"I worked in the field, washed and ironed. I never cooked but a little. +In Atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box I started +cooking for a woman. She was upstairs. Had a small baby a few days old. +I didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. It +cried and fretted till I got dinner done. I took it and got it to sleep. +She sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have +a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. She was a Yankee +woman. I left and I never cooked out no more. + +"I never had no dealings with the Ku Klux. I was in Atlanta then. I +heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in +the country where she was. Seem like they was mad 'cause they was free. + +"Times was hard after freedom. Times is hard now for some folks. Times +running away with the white and black races both. They stop thinking. +The thing what they call education done ruined this country. The folks +quit work and living on education. I learned to work. My husband was a +good shoemaker. We laid up all we could. I got seven houses renting +around here. I gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. It +do very well, I reckon." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person Interviewed: Robert Farmer + 1612 Battery Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 84 + + +[HW: Tale of a "Nigger Ruler"] + +"I was born in North Carolina. I can't tell when. Our names are in the +Bible, and it was burnt up. My old master died and my young master was +to go to the war, the Civil War, in the next draft. I remember that they +said, 'If them others had shot right, I wouldn't have had to go.' + +"He talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting +at the Yankees. Of course it wasn't that way. But he said that they +didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. They all +came back, and none of them had shot right. One sick (he died after he +got home); the other two come back all right. + +"When my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a +little while. When he left he said about me, 'Don't let anybody whip him +while I am gone. If they do, I'll bury them when I come back.' He was a +good man and a good master. + + +Brutal Beating + +"There were some that weren't so good. One of his brothers was a real +bad man. They called him a nigger ruler. He used to go from place to +place and handle niggers. He carried his cowhide with him when he went. +My master said, 'A man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and +butcher him up.' He said, 'If they need a whipping, whip them, but don't +beat them so they can't work.' He never whipped his slaves. No man ever +hit me a lick but my father. No man. I ain't got no scar on me nowhere. + +"My young master was named Wiley Grave Sharpe. He drawed me when my old +master, Teed Sharpe, Sr., died. He's been dead a long time. Teed Sharpe, +Jr., Gibb Sharpe, and Sam Sharpe were brothers to Wiley Grave Sharpe. +Teed Sharpe, Jr. was the brutal one. He was the nigger ruler that did +the beating up and the killing of Negroes. + +"He beat my brother Peter once till Peter dropped dead. Wiley Graves who +drawed me said, 'My brother shouldn't have done that.' But my brother +didn't belong to Wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. That was +Teed, Jr.'s name. He got big money and was called a nigger ruler. Teed +had said he was going to make Peter do as much work as my sister did. +She was a young girl--but grown and stout and strong. In the olden time, +you could see women stout and strong like that. They don't grow that way +now. Peter couldn't keep up with her. He wasn't old enough nor strong +enough then. He would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my +sister had. Every time that Peter would fall behind my sister, Teed +would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and +stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and +down his back. He would split it open with every stroke and the blood +would run down. The last time he turned Peter loose, Peter went to my +sister and asked her for a rag. She thought he just wanted to wipe the +blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell +down dead across the potato ridges. + + +Family + +"Mary Farmer was my mother. William Farmer was my father. I never knowed +any of my father's 'lations except one sister. She would come to see us +sometimes. + +"My father's master was Isaac Farmer. My mother didn't 'long to him. She +'longed to the Sharpes. Just what her master's name was I don't +recollect. She lived five miles from my father. He went to see her every +Thursday night. That was his regular night to go. He would go Saturday +night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they +would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. But they +never did whip my father because they never could catch him. He was one +of those who ran. + +"My father and mother had ten children. I don't know whether any of them +is living now or not besides myself. + + +How Freedom Came + +"Freedom was a singsong every which way when I knowed anything. My +father's master, Isaac Farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. +He told the slaves all of them were free. He told his brother's slaves, +'After you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here +because I am able to take care of them.' He had a smokehouse full of +meat and other things. He told my father that after this crop is +gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (Isaac Farmer), because +Sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. +So my father brought us to Isaac Farmer's farm. + +"I never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. I +was large enough to take water in the field but I didn't have to do +that. There were so many of them there that one could do what he +pleased. The next year I worked because they had thinned out. The first +year come during the surrender. They cared for Sharpe's crop. The next +year they took Isaac Farmer's invitation and stayed with him. The third +year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and +brothers and sisters stayed with Isaac Farmer for awhile. + +"As time went on, I farmed with success myself. + +"I stayed in North Carolina a long time. I had a wife and children in +North Carolina. Later on, I went to Louisiana and stayed there one year +and made one crop. Then I came here with my wife and children. I don't +know how long I been here. We came up here when the high water was. That +was the biggest high water they had. I worked on the levee and farmed. +The first year we came here, we farmed. I lived out in the country then. + + +Occupation + +"While I was able to work, I stayed on the farm. I had forty acres. But +after my children left me and my wife died, I thought it would be better +to sell out and pay my debts. Pay your honest debts and everything will +be lovely. Now I manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and +I get help from the government. I can't read and I can't write. + +"I went down yonder to get help from the county. At last they taken me +on and I got groceries three times. After that I couldn't get nothin' no +more. They said my papers were made out incorrectly. I asked the worker +to make it out correctly because I couldn't read and write. She said she +wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. She made it out for me. +A short time later, the postman brought me a letter. I handed it to a +lady to read for me, and she said, 'This is your old age check.' You +don't know how much help that thing's been to me. + + +Ku Klux + +"The Ku Klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people. + + +Opinions + +"The young people pass by me and I don't know nothing about 'em. I know +they are quite indifferent from what I was. When I come old enough to +want a wife, I knowed what sort of wife I wanted. God blessed me and I +happened to run up on the kind of woman I wanted. I made an engagement +with her, and I didn't have a dollar. I was engaged to marry for three +years before I married. I knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the +way she was raised and I didn't have nothing. It looked curious for me +to want that woman. I wanted her, and I had sense. I had sense enough to +know how I must carry myself to get her. Now it looks like a young man +wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one. + +"My youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. He took up with what +I call a whiskey head. He's been swapping horses ever since. That is the +baby boy of mine. You know good and well a man couldn't get along that +way. + +"These young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then +that one over there for a few days. It shows like he wants them all. + + +Voting + +"I have voted. I don't now. Since I lost out, I ain't voted. + + +Slave Houses + +"You might say slave houses was nothing. Log houses, made out of logs +and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. Chimneys made with +sticks and mud. Two rooms in our house. No windows, just cracks. All +furniture was homemade. Take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put +a cross piece in it and you had a bed. + +"They made stools for chairs and made tables too. Food was kept in the +smokehouse. For rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, +and so much meal. No sugar and no coffee. They used to make tea out of +sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee. + + +Marriages + +"I been married twice. The first time was out in North Carolina. The +last time was in this city. I didn't stay with that last woman but four +days. It took me just that long to find out who and who. She didn't want +me; she wanted my money, and she thought I had more of it than I did. +She got all I had though. I had just fifty dollars and she got that. I +am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as I can get divorced. + + +Memories of Work on Plantation + +"My mother used to milk and I used to rope the calves and hold them so +that they couldn't get to the cow. I had to keep the horses in the +canebrake so they could eat. That was to keep the soldiers from getting +a fine black horse the master had. + + +Soldiers + +"But they got him just the same. The Yankees used to come in blue +uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. They would take +your horse and ask nothing. They would go into the smokehouse and take +out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and +brandy that was there. + + +Dances After Freedom + +"Two sisters stayed in North Carolina in a two-room house in Wilson +County. There was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the +evening to get whiskey. There was one man who had a wife with us, but +all the rest were single. We cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and +quadrilled. We danced all night until we burned up all the wood. Then we +went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he +could carry. We chopped this up and piled it in the room. Then we went +on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there. + +"When we got through dancing, I looked at my feet and the bottom of them +was plumb naked. I had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms +clean out of them. + + +"I belong to the Primitive Baptist Church. I stay with Dr. Cope and +clean up the back yard for my rent." + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins. +Person Interviewed: Mrs. Lou Fergusson +Aged: 91 +Home: With daughter Mrs. Peach Sinclair, Wade Street. +[Jan 29 1938] + + +Zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly +settled territory went the interviewer. The terrain was rolling--to put +it mildly. During most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of +winter-packed earth. Sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule. + +Wade Street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the Boulevard". +Holding to a general direction she kept her course. "The Boulevard", +known on the tax books of Hot Springs as Boulevard Addition, sprawls +over a wide area. Houses vary in size and construction with startling +frequency. Few of them are pretentious. Many appear well planned, are in +excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, +sometimes patterned with flower beds. Occasionally a building leans with +age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids--long since +abandoned by owners to wind and weather. + +Up one hill, down another went the interviewer. Given a proper steer +here and there by colored men and women--even children along the way, +she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to +Peach Sinclair. + +Two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild January sunlight +on a back porch. "I beg your pardon," said the interviewer, approaching +the step, "is this the home of Peach Sinclair, and will I find Mrs. Lou +Fergusson here?" + +"It sure is," the voice was cheerful. "My mother is in the house. Come +around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back +steps, even if she had wanted to--the back yard was fenced from the +front) "she's in the parlor." + +Mrs. Lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably +plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. She seemed an Aunt +Jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "Mamma, this young +lady's come to see you. She wants to talk to you and ask you some +questions, about when--about before the war." (The situation is always +delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. Somehow both interviewer +and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. The skillful +interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as +any variant of the word negro. The informant is usually less squeamish. +"Black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "Master's people", "us" +are all encountered frequently.) + +Five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. Both +Mrs. Sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and +made comments frequently. "Law, child, we bought this place from your +father. He was a mighty fine man." Mrs. Sinclair was delighted to find +her guest to be "Jack Hudgins daughter." And later in the chat, "You +done lost everything? Even your home--that's going? Too bad. But then I +guess at that you're better off than we are. I've been trying for nearly +a year to get my mother on the old age pension. They say she has passed. +That was way along last March. Here it is January and she hasn't got a +penny. No, I know you can't help. Yes, I see what you're doing. But if +ever you does get on the pensions work--I'm going to 'hant'[A] you." (a +wide grin) [Footnote A: "Hant" was an intentional barbarism.] + +The old woman rocked and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I'm her oldest, alive. She +had 17 and 15 of them lived to grow up. But I'm about as old as she is, +looks like. She never did have glasses--and today she can thread the +finest needle. She can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. +Makes fine stitches too. Seems like they made them stronger in her day." +A nod of delighted approval from Mrs. Fergusson. + +"I was born in Hempstead County, right here in this state. The town we +were nearest was Columbus. I lived around there all of my life until I +come here to be with my daughter. That was 15 years ago. Yes, I was born +on a farm. From what I know, I'm over ninety. I was around 20 when the +war ceaseted. + +The man what owned us was named Ed Johnson. Yes, ma'am he had lots of +folks. Was he good to us? Well, he was and he wasn't. He was good +himself, wouldn't never have whipped us--but he had a mean wife. She'd +dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least +little thing. Then they put overseers over us. They was most generally +mean. They'd run us out way fore day--even in the sleet--run us out to +the field. + +Was the life hard--well it was and it wasn't. No, ma'am, I didn't get +much learning. Some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. +Then there was some which would let their children teach the colored +children what they learned at school. We never learned very much. + +You see, Master didn't live on the place. He lived bout as far as from +here to town" (fully two miles) "The overseer looked after us mostly. +No, ma'am I don't remember much about the war. You see, they was afraid +that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to +Texas. We settled down and made a crop there. How'd we get the land? +Master rented it. + +We made a crop down there and later we come back. No, ma'am we didn't +stay with Mr. Johnson more than a month after there was peace. We come +on in to Washington. No, ma'am, I never heard tell that Washington had +been the Capitol of Arkansas for a while during the War. No, I never did +hear that. Guess it was when we was in Texas. Then we folks didn't hear +so much anyway. + +We stayed in Washington most a year. Was I with my Mother? No, ma'am I +was married--married before the war was thru. Married--does you know how +we folks married in them days? Well the man asked your mother. Then you +both asked your master. He built you a house. You moved in and there you +was. You was married. I did some washing and cooking when I was in +Washington. Then we moved onto a farm. I sort of liked Washington, but I +was born on a farm and I sort of liked farm life. + +We didn't move around very much--just two or three places. We raised +cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of +things. No ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way +off like they does in Hempstead county now. Cotton was our cash crop. We +rented thirds and fourths. Didn't move but three times. One place I +stayed 15 years. + +I been a widow 40 years. Yes, ma'am. I farmed myself, and my children +helped me. Me and the owners got along well. Made good crops, me and the +children. I managed to take good care of them. Made out to raise 15 out +of the 17 to be grown. There's only 5 of them alive now. + +Hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. Well now, I don't know. I made +out. I raised my children and raised them healthy. I got along well with +the farm owner. You might know when I was let to stay on one place for +15 years. You know I must have treated the land right and worked it +fair. + +Yes ma'am I remembers lots. Seems like women folks remembers better than +men. I've got a good daughter. I'm still strong and can get about good. +Guess the Lord has been good to me." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Jennie Ferrell, West Memphis, Arkansas +Age: 65 + + +"I was born in Yellowbush County, Mississippi close to Grenada. +Grandmother come from North Carolina. They wouldn't sell grandpa. He was +owned by Laston. They never met again. She brought two boys with her. +She was a Pernell. Her master brought her away and would have brought +her husband but they wouldn't sell. She said durin' her forty years in +slavery she never got a whoopin'. She was a field hand. After she come +to Mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. She was a +midwife. She doctored the rich white and colored. She rode horseback, +she said, far and near. In Grenada after freedom she walked. They called +her free her master was so good to her. I don't know how she learned to +be a midwife. Her master was Henry Pernell. He owned a small place +twelve miles from Grenada and another place in the Mississippi bottoms. +My folks become renters after freedom. I don't know if they rented from +him but I guess they did. + +"The Ku Klux never bothered them that I ever heard them mention." + + + + +Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Person interviewed: Frank Fikes, El Dorado, Arkansas +Age: About 88 + + +"My name is Frank Fikes. I live between El Dorado and Strong and I am 79 +years old if I make no mistake. I know my mama told me years ago that I +was born in watermelon time. She said she ate the first watermelon that +got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. She thought she +had the colic. Said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the +pain and after eating the root for the pain behold I was born. So if I +live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time I will be eighty this +year. I was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen. + +"My work was very easy when I was a little slave. Something got wrong +with my foot when I first started to walking and I was crippled. I could +not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of +the time. Sometimes, as fast as I got one baby to sleep I would have to +nurse another one to sleep. We belonged to Mars Colonel Williams and he +had I guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had +a baby, so I had a big job after all. The rest of the children carried +water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old +mar's house. + +"I had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of +rocks and iron. Old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. +The slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. They ate out of +wooden bowls and wooden spoons. They ate greens and peas and bread. And +old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. She fed us on what we +called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. We +children did not use spoons. We picked the bread out with our fingers +and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. We +all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better +then. + +"I never went to church until after surrender. Neither did we go to +school but the white children taught me to read and count. + +"I recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers +passing our house going to Vicksburg to fight. The reason I recollect it +so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down +the front. They passed a whole day and we watched them all day. + +"Old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and +we were freed. We did not have a hard time until after we were freed. +They got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a +crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our +backs. We wandered around and around for a long time. Then they hired us +to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and I've been having +a hard time ever since. + +"Before the War we lived in log cabins. There was a row of log cabins a +quarter of a mile long. No windows and no floor. We had grass to sit on. +Our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay +beds. My mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the +beds with. Our cover was made from our old worn out clothes. + +"On Sunday evenings we played. We put on clean clothes once a week. In +summer we bathed in the branch. We did not bathe at all in winter. I +went in my shirt tail until I was eleven or twelve years old. Back in +slavery time boys did not wear britches. They wore shirts and our hair +was long. The slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was +ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: J.E. Filer, Marianna, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"I was born in Washington, Georgia. I come here in 1866. There was three +stores in Marianna. My parents name Betsy and Bob Filer. My mother +belong to Collins in Georgia. She come to this state with Colonel Woods. +She worked in the field in Georgia and here too. Mama said they always +had some work on hand. Work never played out. When it was cold and +raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. The men would be under a +shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the +tools so they could work. + +"Since we come to this state I've seen them make oak boards and pile +them up in pens to dry out straight. I don't recollect that in Georgia. +I was so little when we come here. I can recollect that but not much +else. My brother was older. He might tell all about it." + + +[TR: Next section crossed out] +Interviewer's Comment + +I didn't get to see his brother. I went twice more but he was at work on +a farm somewhere. + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Subject: Ex-slavery +[May 11 1938] + +Person Interviewed: Orleans Finger [TR: In text of interview, Orleana] + Negro (Apparently octoroon or quadroon) +Address: 2804 West Fifteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas. +Occupation: Formerly field hand and housekeeper +Age: 79 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +Birth, Family, and Master + +"I was born in Mississippi in Tippa County not far from the edge of +Tennessee. I wasn't raised in Arkansas, but all my children was raised +here. I really don't know just where in Tippa county I was born. My +mother's name was Ann Toler. Toler was my step father. My real father, I +don't know. My mother never told me nothin' bout him and I don't know +that; I can't tell what I don't know. + +"My grandfather on my mother's side was Captain Ellis. That is the one +come after me when I was small to carry me back to my folks. I didn't +know him, and I said 'I don't want to go 'way with them strange +Niggers'. He's dead now. They're all dead long ago. I have got children +over fifty years old myself. I am the mother of nine children--three of +them living. One of the living ones is Arthur Finger. He lives in St. +Louis. I expected to hear from him today, but didn't. Cornelius Finger. +(He is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in Palestine, Arkansas, near +Forrest City. Arthur is my baby boy. Elmira was my baby girl. She's the +one you met. She's married and has children of her own. + +"Captain Ellis' wife was named Minerva. She was my mother's mother. +She's been dead years. I got children older than she was when she died. +She died in Mississippi. I got a cousin named Molly Spight. She's dead. +My mother's sister was named Emmaline; she is dead now too. + +"My mother was colored. I don't know nothin' about my father, and my +mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him. + +"My step father and mother were both field hands. They worked in the +field. + +"I don't know just when I was born, but I am just sure that it was +before the war. I remember hearing people talk about things in the war. + +"My mother's master was named Whitely, I think, because she was named +Whitley before she married. + +"I have been married three times. The first man I married was 'Lijah +Gibbs. The second time I married, I married Joe Finger. The third time I +married Will Reese. He warn't no husband at all. They're all dead. Folks +always called me Finger after my second husband died, because I didn't +live with my third husband long. + + +House + +"They had log houses. You would never see no brick chimney nor nothing +of that kind. The logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat--no roof +like now. They might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. +Wouldn't be any steep like they is now. In them times they wouldn't have +many rooms. Sometimes they would have two. They wouldn't have so many +windows. Just old dirt chimneys. They'd take and dig a hole and stick +sticks up in it. Then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and +pull grass and mix it in the dirt. They'd build a frame on the sticks +and then put the mud on. The chimney couldn't catch fire till the house +got old and the mud would fall off. When it got old and the mud got to +fallin off, then they would be a fire. I've seen that since I been in +Arkansas. + +"Sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to +take the place of bricks. You could get rocks in the forest. + + +Furniture + +"Used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. The cords would +act in place of springs. When you move you would have a heap of trouble +because all that would have to be undone and done up again. You have to +take the cords out and them put it together again. The cords would be +run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs. + +"They used to have spinning wheels and looms. They made clothes and they +made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the +cloth our of. They'd card and spin the thread. There's lots of other +things I can't remember. + + +War Memories + +"The Yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. They'd +kill chickens and geese and things. The old people used to take their +horses out and tie them out in the woods--hiding them out to keep the +Yankees from getting them. The Yankees would ride up, take a good horse +and leave the old worn-out one. + +"There never was any fighting round where I lived. None of my folks was +soldiers in the war. + + +Right After the War + +"I don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. They were +field hands and I guess they did that. My mother worked in the field +that's all I know. + + +Life Since the War + +"I have been in Arkansas a long time. I have been here ever since I left +Mississippi. My first marriage was in Mississippi. The second and last +ones was in Arkansas--Forrest City. My second husband had been dead +since 1921. I don't know that I count Reese. We married in June and +separated in September. He's dead now, and I don't hold nothin' against +him. + +"I am not able to work now. I do a little 'round the house and dig a +little in the garden. I haven't worked in the field since way before +1921. I don't get no help at all from the Welfare. My daughter does what +she can for me. I always have lived before I ever heard about the old +age pension and I suppose God will take care of me yet somehow. + + +Cured by Prayer + +"I'm puny and no'count. Aint able to do much. But I was crippled. I had +a hurting in my leg and I couldn't walk without a stick. Finally, one +day I went to go out and pick some turnips. I was visiting my son in +Palestine. My leg hurt so bad that I talked to the Lord about it. And it +seemed to me, he said 'Put down your stick.' I put it down and I aint +used it since. I put it down right thar and I aint used it since. God is +a momentary God. God knowed what I wanted and he said, 'Put down that +sick,' and I aint been crippled since. It done me so much good. Looks +like to me when I get to talking about the Lord, aint nobody a stranger +to me. + +"I know I been converted but that made me stronger. My son is a siner. +He knowed about how I was crippled. He said you ought use your stick. He +didn't know what to think about it. Young folks don't believe because +they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can +happen. + + +"I done told you all I know. I don't want to tell you anything I don't +know. If you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't." + +Everything which Orleana Finger states has the earmarks of being true. +There are a great many things which she does not state which I believe +that she could state if she wished. She evidently has a long list of +things which she things should be unmentioned. She has two magic phrases +with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to +discuss: + +"I don't remember that." + +"I better quit talking now before I start lying." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Molly Finley, Honey Creek + 3-1/2 miles from Mesa, Arkansas +Age: Born 1865 + + +"My master was Captain Baker Jones and his pa was John Jones. Miss +Mariah was Baker Jones' wife. I believe the old man's wife was dead. + +"My parents' name was Henry ("Clay") Harris and Harriett Harris. They +had nine children. We lived close to the Post (Arkansas Post). Our +nearest trading post was Pine Bluff. And the old man made trips to +Memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. We lived around Hanniberry +Creek. It was a pretty lake of water. Some folks called it Hanniberry +Lake. We fished and waded and washed. We got our water out of two +springs further up. I used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each +hand. You never see that no more. Mama was a nurse and house woman and +field woman if she was needed. I made fires around the pots and 'tended +to mama's children. + +"We lived on the Jones place years after freedom. I was born after +freedom. We finally left. I cried and cried to let's go back. Only place +ever seem like home to me yet. We went to the Cummings farm. They worked +free labor then. Then we went to the hills. Then we seen hard times. We +knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills. + +"I was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. I went to +school on the river. My teacher was a white man named Mr. Van Sang. + +"Mama belong to the Garretts in Mississippi. She was sold when she was +about four years old she tole me. There had been a death and old +mistress bought her in. Master Garrett died. Then she give her to her +daughter. She was her young mistress then. Old mistress didn't want her +to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the +children. Mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. Her father, +she said, was light and part Enjun (Indian). + +"John Prior owned papa in Kentucky. He sold him, brother and his mother +to a nigger trader's gang. Captain Jones bought all three in Tennessee. +He come brought them on to Arkansas. He was a field hand. He said they +worked from daylight till after dark. + +"They took their slaves to close to Houston, Texas to save them. Captain +Jones said he didn't want the Yankees to scatter them and make soldiers +of them. He brought them back on his place like he expected to do. Mama +said they was out there three years. She had a baby three months old and +the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. I was her next +baby after that. Freedom done been declared. Mama said they went in +wagons and camped along the roadside at night. + +"Before they left, the Yankees come. Old Master Jones treated them so +nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some +for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. Then +he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to Texas. + +"Mama and papa said the Jones treated them pretty well. They wouldn't +allow the overseers to beat up his slaves. + +"The two Jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. They +said it weighed two hundred pounds. Four men took it out there in +barrels and eight men lowered it. They took it to the family graveyard +down past the orchard. They leveled it up like it was a grave. Yankees +didn't get Jones money! Then he sent the slaves to Texas. + +"Captain Jones had a home in Tennessee and one in Arkansas. Papa said he +cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and +wild cats. They worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot +varmints. He said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them +that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on Sundays +three times. The women left the fields to go fix supper and see after +their cabins and children. They hauled their water in barrels and put it +under the trees. They cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a +big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at Christmas. They had +gourd banjos. Mama said they had good times. + +"They had preaching one Sunday for white folks and one Sunday for black +folks. They used the same preacher there but some colored preachers +would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the +quarters. They said the white preacher would say, 'You may get to the +kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you +tell no stories, etc.' + +"Captain Jones was a good doctor. If a doctor was had you know somebody +was right low. They seldom had a doctor. Mama said her coat tail froze +and her working. But they wore warm clothes next to their bodies. + +"Captain Jones said, 'You all can go back on my place that want to go +back and stay. You will have to learn to look after your own selves now +but I will advise you and help you best I can. You will have to work +hard as us have done b'fore. But I will pay you.' My folks was ready to +'board the wagons back to Jones' farm then. That is the way mama tole me +it was at freedom! It was a long time I kept wondering what is freedom? +I took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and I caught +on. I found out times had changed just b'fore I got into this world. + +"Some things seem all right and some don't. Times seem good now but wait +till dis winter. Folks will go cold and hungry again. Some folks good +and some worse than in times b'fore." + + +Interviewer's Comment + +Gets a pension check. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Fanny Finney, Brinkley, Arkansas +Age: 74 plus + + +"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. Born during slavery. I +b'long to Master John Rook. He died during the Civil War. Miss Patsy +Rook raised me. I put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water +and kindling wood. + +"My parents named Catherine and Humphrey Rook. They had three children. + +"When Master John Rook died they divided us. They give me to Rodie +Briggs. John and Lizzie was Master John's other two children. He had +three children too same as ma. My young master was a ball player. I'd +hear them talk. Ma was a good house girl. They thought we'd all be like +'er. When I was three years old, I was the baby. They took ma and pa off +keep the Yankees from stealing then. Miss Patsy took keer me. When ma +and pa come home I didn't know them a tall. They say when they come back +they went to Louziana, then 'bout close to Monticello in dis state, then +last year they run 'em to Texas. + +"Pa was jus' a farmer. Gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my +sisters. I'd start to see 'em. Old gander run me. Sometimes the geese +get me down and flog me wid their wings. One day I climbed up and peeped +through a crack. I seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. It looked so +easy. They was singing. + +"Betsy done the milking. I'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. +She ax me which I wanted, milk or butter. I'd tell her. She put a little +sugar on my buttered bread. It was so good I thought Sometimes she'd +fill my cup up with fresh churned milk. + +"I et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. I slep' in +granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. Granny's name was +'Aunt' Hannah. She was real old and the boss cook on our place. She +learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. Kept one or two helping +her all the time. It was her part to make them wash their faces every +morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the +time er cooking. Granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. +Betty would make them help her milk. They had to wash the cows udder +before they ever milked a drop. Miss Patsy learnt her black folks to be +clean. Every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born. + +"I was so little I couldn't think they got whoopings. I never heard of a +woman on the place being whooped. They all had their work to do. Grandma +cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm. + +"Old man Rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. He bought whiskey by +the barrel. On cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. I +heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. His hands got to the +field whooping and singing. The overseers handed it out to them. The +women didn't get none as I knowed of. + +"The paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but Master John Rook never let them +whoop his colored folks. + +"We lived six miles from Holly Springs on the big road to Memphis. Seem +like every regiment of Yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. +They made a rake-off every time. They cleaned us out of something to +eat. They took the watches and silverware. The Yankees rode up on our +porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. Miss Patsy done +run an' hid. I stood about. I had no sense. They done a lot every time +they come. I watched see what all they would do. They burnt a lot of +houses. + +"A little white boy said, 'I tell you something if you give me a +watermelon.' The black man give the boy a big watermelon. He had a big +patch. The boy said, 'My papa coming take all your money away from you +some night.' He fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a Ku Klux. He +had some money but they didn't find it. One of the Ku Kluxes run off and +left his spurs. The colored folks killed some and they run off and leave +their horses. They come around and say they could drink three hundred +fifteen buckets of water. They throw turpentine balls in the houses to +make a light. They took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light +it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. +A lot of black folks was killed and whooped. Their money was took from +them. + +"The third year after the War ma and pa come and got me. They made a +crop for a third. That was our first year off of Rook's place. I love +them Rook's girls so good right now. Wish I could see them or knowd +where to write. I had to learn my folks. I played with my sisters all my +life but I never had lived with them. When pa come for me they had my +basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. They +sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. One of them was mine. +Miss Patsy said, 'Let Fannie come back to see my girls.' I went back and +visited. Granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. I had a +place with granny at her house. We went back often and we helped them +after freedom. They was good white folks as ever breathed. There was +good folks and bad folks then and still is. + +"Times is hard. I was raised in the field. I made seven crops here--near +Brinkley--with my son. I had two girls. One teaches in Brinkley, fourth +or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in New York. My son fell off +a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. He was in +Detroit. Times is hard now. The young folks is going at too fast a gait. +They are faster than the old generation. No time to sit and talk. On the +go all the time. Hurrying and worrying through time. Hard to make a +living." + + + + +Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel +Information given by: "Gate-eye" Fisher +Residence: Washington County, Arkansas + + +"I was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when War come" said +"Gate-eye" Fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old +tin, on what is known as the old Bullington farm near Lincoln. His one +room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new +renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "Gate-eye" +just belongs. He bothers no one. No floors, no windows just a door, a +bed, stove and a table. Yes and a lantern and a chair. + +"Yes mam, my mother, Caroline, belonged to the Mister Dave Moore family. +His wife, Miss Pleanie, was a Reagan. Yes mam, they was good folks. When +the War come, my pa, Harrison Fisher and my ma stayed on the place, +Mister Moore had lots of land and stock--and he and his folks went to +Texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine +stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted +them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. Pa was boss +over all the slaves. I guess mos' all my white folks is dead. Mos' of +them all buried down yan way to Ft. Smith. One of Mister Moore's +daughters, Miss Mary, married Dr. Davenport and Miss Sinth (Cynthia) +went to live with her." + +(The Moores came from Kentucky and Tennessee and settled at Cane Hill, +Washington County, about 1829. The Reagans came about the same time. The +first schools in the county were at Cane Hill). + +"Yes mam, I guess all the colored folks that belonged to Mister Moore, +but me, is dead. I guess. My mother, Caroline, stayed in the house +nearly all the time and took care of Missy's children, and when they +come home from school she'd hear them learn their ABC's. That's how come +I can read and write. My ma taught me, out of an old Blue Back Speller. +Yes mam, I learned to read and can't write much, jes my own name. Yes +mam, I kinda believe in signs that's how come I wear this leather strap +'round my wrist it keeps me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. Yes mam, +it helps. I used to believe in signs a lot and I used to believe in +wishes. I used to wish a lot of bad wishes on folks till one day I read +a piece from New York and it said the bad wishes that you made would +come back to you wosser than you wished, so I don't wish no more. I got +scared and don't wish nothin' to no body." + +"After the War Ole Mister and Ole Missey called in my ma and pa and +asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. +'Bout ten of us stayed. Then a while after Mister Moore asked my pa if +he wanted to go up on the Tilley place--600 acres and farm it for what +he could make. We, my pa and my ma and my sister Mandy, stayed there a +long time. Then Mister Moore sold off a little here and a little there +and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, Peter +Doss, where my ma died. Then I went down to Mister Oscar Moore's +place--he was my Missey' boy." + +"Yes mam, I did have a wife. I had a mos' worrysome time. It is a +worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. +No'm, I don't ever want her to come back." + +"Yes'm, I do my own cooking, and I've put up some fruit. I have a little +mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. +I get a little pension too." + +"These darkies today nearly all get wild. You can't tell What they are +going to do tomorrow. They's jes like everybody--some awful good and +some awful bad." + +And in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door +held by a leather strap, "Gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood +stove. A long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of +canned fruit, dried beans and peas. The bed is a series of old bed +springs. But "Gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one +feels kindly toward him. He says he is seventy-one years, past. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person Interviewed: Ellen Fitzgerald + Brinkley, Ark. +Age: 74 + + +"Mama was named Anna Noles. Papa named Milias Noles. She belong to the +Whitakers and he belong to Gibbs. Noles bought them both. They was both +sold. Mother was born in Athens, papa somewhere in Kentucky. Their +owners, the Noles, come to Aberdeen, Mississippi. + +"Grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. She was a +slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. She was at the +spring, washing. They cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. They used +a big tree stump for battling. They had paddles, wide as this (two hands +wide--eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. +They wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat +em. Rub boards was not heard of in them days. They soaked the clothes, +boiled and rinsed a heap. They done good washing. I heard em say the +clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. They made the +soap. They had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat +skins. They used tallow and mutton suet too. I don't know what was said, +but I recken she didn't please her mistress--Mrs. Callie Gibbs. She +struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. She left her at +the spring. Somebody went to get water and seen her there. They took her +to the house but she finally died. Grandpa was dead then. I recken they +got scared to keep papa round then and sold him. + +"I was born first year of the surrender. Moster Noles told them they was +free. They didn't give them a thing. They was glad they was free. They +didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. They +lived about places, do little work where they found it. + +"We dodged the Ku Klux. One night they was huntin' a man and come to the +wrong house. They nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. +They give us some trouble coming round. We was scared of em. We dodged +em all the time. + +"I was married and had a child eight years old fore I come to Arkansas. +I come to Brinkley first. I was writing to friends. They had immigrated, +so we immigrated here and been here ever since. When I come here there +was two big stores and a little one. A big sawmill--nothing but woods +and wild animals. It wasn't no hard times then. We had a plenty to live +on. + +"My husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. He worked on the +section. I nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. We done +about right smart. I could do right smart now if white folks hire me. + +"The night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken I had. He +died last week. We found out it was two colored men. I ain't needed no +support till now. My husband made us a good living long as he was able +to go. We raised a family. He was a tolerably dark sort of man. My girls +bout his color." + +The two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. Both of them said they +were married and lived somewhere else. + + + + +Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins +Person Interviewed: Henry Fitzhugh +Aged: 90 +Home: Rooms at 209 Walnut Street + + +Several "colored" districts are scattered throughout Hot springs. On +Whittington, within a block of the First Presbyterian Church and St. +Joseph's Infirmary stand the Roanok Baptist and the Haven Methodist +(both for colored). Architecturally they compare favorably with similar +edifices for whites. Their choirs have become nationally famous. Sunday +afternoon concerts are frequent. Mid-week ones are not uncommon. At such +times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. +Visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely. + +Across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a +negro apartment house. A couple of blocks up Whittington, Walnut veers +to the right. It is paved for several blocks. Fronting on concrete +sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate +pride in possession. Some are private homes, some rooming houses and +some apartments. Porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete +studded with crystals. + +Finding Henry Fitzhugh wasn't easy. The delivery boy at the corner chain +store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a passer-by. He +offered the address _209_. That number turned out to be an old, but +substantial and well cared for two story house. Ringing the bell +repeatedly brought no response. + +A couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find Fitzhugh +one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back +porch." This procedure too brought no results. Another backyard observer +offered the suggestion that Fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant +eating. + +School had just been dismissed. Two well dressed negro children walked +along together, swinging their books. "Can you tell me where the +restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "Do you mean the +colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment +in her manner, no servility, no resentment--just an ordinary question. +"It's right over there." + +The restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. +Tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. Sunshine +streamed in from two directions. Fitzhugh was sitting just outside +talking to the boot-black. + +"Yes, ma'am, I's Henry Fitzhugh. Can't work no more since I got hit by +an automoble. Before that I had a shoe-shine place myself. But I can't +work no more. Yes 'um I gets the pension. I gets $10 a month. It's not +much, but I sort of get by. I's got my room up at 209 and I gets my +meals down here at the restaurant. Yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming +in pretty regular now. + +Been in Hot Springs a long, long time. Come here in 1876. I remembers +lots of the old families here. What yo say your name was? Your Mother +was a Dengler? Sure, I remembers the Denglers. Mr. Dengler had a +soda-water shop. I remembers him. + +When I first come, soon as I was able, I cleaned up for Captain Mallard. +Cleaned up all along Central in that block he was in. + +How'd I come to Hot springs? I was sick. I had rheumatism. Was down with +it so bad the doctor had done give me up. He'd stopped giving me +medicine. But the lady I was working for, she run a hotel in Poplar +Bluff. They put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and +they brought me clean on in to Hot Springs. They bathed me at the free +bath house. I started getting better right away. 'Twasn't long before I +was well and able to work. I stayed right on here in Hot Springs. + +Yes, ma'am I's all Arkansas. I was born near Little Rock. Ain't never +been out of the state but twice. Then I didn't stay long. + +I worked on a farm that belonged to Mr. J.B. Henderson. He was an uncle +to Mr. Jerome Henderson what was in the bank and Mr. Jethro Henderson +what was a Judge. + +No, the war didn't bother us none. We wasn't afraid. We heard the shots, +but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. Guess we +just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. Fighting we did [HW: hear +was] near Pine Bluff--the Baxter-Ware trouble. We seen the soldiers when +they come through Mt. Pleasant, right smart bunch of them. They was +Confederates. We didn't see none of the Yankees. + +My father was killed during the war. Went off to help and never came +back. My mother, she died when I was a baby. She was lying down in her +cabin before the fire--lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. The door +was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. She dropped me +and she screamed and run out into the yard. Old Miss saw her from the +house. She grabbed a quilt and started out. She got to my mother and she +wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. But my mother done +swallowed fire. She died. That's the story they tell me. I was too +little to know. + +I guess I was about eleven when I went into the fields. What's that, +pretty young? I didn't go because they made me. I went because I wanted +to be with the men. Wasn't nobody around to play with. We was the only +family on the farm. It was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of +children. There was Miss Sally and Miss Fanny and Miss Ella and Miss +Myrtle and Miss Hattie. Then there was four boys. + +Stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. They treated +me good and gave me what I wanted. Treated me nice--very nice--my white +folks. + +Then I went on down to Marshall--way down in Texas. There I worked for +the high sheriff. Drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the +yard. I worked for him a whole year then I went back to Arkansas and +then went up in Missouri. Wasn't there long before I got sick. I was +working for a woman who had a hotel. She was good to me. Mighty good she +was. + +Yes ma'am. There has been lost chances I has had to do more than I has. +But I's sort of satisfied. There's been lots of changes in Hot Springs +since I come. I used to know all the white folks and all the colored +folks too. Can't do that today. Place has got too big. + +Joe Golden? Yes, I does--I knows Joe. He used to have a butcher shop +over on Malvern. Quite a man, Joe was. I hasn't seen him in a long time. +How is he? Pretty good? That's fine. + +"I remembers Mc--McLeod's Happy Hollow." (Hot Spring nearest approach to +a Coney Island in the earlier days). "I remembers that they used to have +the old stage coach there what the James and Younger brothers held up. +Sort of broken down it was, but it was there. + +Law, law, them was the times. I'll never forget when Allen Roane brought +in the news. Allen drove a sort of a hack. He come on into town and he +whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. +Allen lived just next door to where I does now." + +Down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. Passing the +porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she +paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. Fitzhugh grinned. +"She's sanctified," he explained. + +"Did you ever hear of Tucky-Nubby? He was an Indian. Bob Hurley used to +bring him to Hot Springs every year. What medicine shows they used to +have here. Ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed +Tucky-Nubby. Lots of those medicine shows--free shows, used to come +here. But Bob Hurley and Tucky-Nubby was the most liked. + +Yes, ma'am, I'm all alone now. My sister married a man a long, long time +ago. She didn't live but a couple of years. I's had four children. One +of them died when it was born. One died when it was three. One lived +until it was seven. One son he lived to be grown. He went to the war. +Got as far as camp. One day I got a word saying that he was sick. I went +but before I could get there he had died. That left me alone. + +What's that? Been married once? I been married _eleven_ times. But it +was ten times too many. Besides they is all dead, so you might say that +I's been married only once. + +Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am. The quarter will come in powerful handy. +When you tries to make out on $10 a month a little extra comes in +powerful handy. Thank you ma'am. I enjoyed talking to you, ma'am." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Mary Flagg + 1601 Georgia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 89 + + +"Yes'm, I was here in Civil War days. I was bout twelve years old when +Lincoln was elected. I remember when he was elected. I was big enough to +weave and knit for the soldiers. I remember when the war started. Yes +ma'm--oh I remember so much. Saw all the soldiers and shook hands with +em. Why I waited on the table when General Lee stopped there for dinner +on his way from Mobile to meet Sherman. That was in Winchester, +Mississippi where I was born. I worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. I was +raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. I was born right +in Winchester, Mississippi. Used to see the soldiers drill every day. If +I could remember, I could tell you a heap of things. + +"My mistress' name was Mrs. Shaw. She took me away from my mother when I +was four years old--taken me for her body servant. She learned me how to +do housework and all kinds of sewin'--cuttin' and makin'. I done all the +sewin' for her family. + +"I never went to no school but Mrs. Shaw tried to teach me and she +slapped my jaws many a day bout my book. + +"I married when I was fifteen just fore the war ended and I forgot +everything I ever learned--yes ma'm! I been married four times and +they're all dead. I never married when any of em was livin' like a heap +of colored folks did. + +"The Yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then +they burned the bridge and turned back. White folks never told us what +the war was for but a old German man used to read the paper at the +table--every battle they'd fight and when the Yankees would whip. Oh +them was times then. If I could remember I could tell you a heap of +things but my mind's gone from me. + +"Old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a +cousin had five hundred. + +"White folks was good to me. My father was the carriage driver and old +mistress used to carry me to church with her every Sunday. + +"I never seen no Ku Klux but I lived where they was, in Mississippi. +That was a Ku Klux state. Yes ma'm. + +"I remember when General Lee come to Winchester you could hear the +horses' feet a mile away, it so cold. + +"My great grandfather was a full blooded Indian. I've lived among the +Indians in Mississippi and bought baskets from em. They lived all around +us. Yes ma'm, I'm acquainted with em. Oh, I been through a little bit. + +"I started sewin' and weavin' when I was just big enough to reach the +treadles. Used to sew for Mrs. Hulburt in Bolivar County, Mississippi. I +remember she started to the Mardi Gras on a boat called the Mary Bell. +It got burned and she had to turn back. I used to do a heap a sewin'. + +"Everythings changed now. People is so treacherous now. Chile, ain't +nothin' to this younger generation. Now I'm tellin' you the truth. They +ain't studyin' nothin' good. Sin and corruption all you see now. + +"Last man I married was Elder Flagg. He was a preacher in the Baptist +church and as good a preacher as I ever heard. They don't preach the +Gospel now. + +"Well, I wish I could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long +time. I'll be ninety if I live till the 4th of next May." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Zillah Cross Peel +Person interviewed: Doc Flowers +Age: 85? +Home: Lincoln, Arkansas + + +Everybody calls him Uncle Doc. His name is Doc Flowers, and he lives in +the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of +Lincoln, Arkansas. + +When you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. One +has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch +hidden by the tangle of weeds. + +If old Aunt Jinney is on the porch she will say, "Sorry, honey, but de +path done growed up." + +Uncle Doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. Whether he is 80 or +if he is 90, he is young-looking for his age. + +"No'm lady, I'se jes' don' know how old I is. Back in dem days didn't +keep up with our ages. No record of the born. Yes'm I was a pretty good +chunk of a boy when de war started." + +Doc belonged to Edward Choate, who lived on Barron Forks, near Dutch +Mills in the Southwest corner of Washington County. Barron Forks is made +up from Fly Creek and the River Jordan Creek. + +About 1849 Edward Choate came from Tennessee to Arkansas, where he had +bought Aunt Marie [TR: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, +Doc, Abe, and Dave. + +"Yes'm, we had a 100 acres or better all along the banks of de river and +good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' +'bacco. Master Choate had three sons, I recollect, Jack, Sam, and Win. +He had a lot of slaves. Some of dem was good, some was bad. An' old +Mister Choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. He never did have to whup me, some +of dem darkies did get whupped. Dar was one who was always dressing up +in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river. + +"My mother was Maria. She worked part time in de kitchen and part time +in de field. My mother had three boys and I 'member one of my sisters +was sold as a slave. We darkies had cabins all along de river bank. + +"During de War we all jes' stayed on de place. Mister Choate and Old +Missy stayed too. After peace was made my mother and all of we went up +to Prairie Grove to live. + +"Yes'm, I voted every chance I got. I voted for Harrison for President. +No'm, I don't know which Harrison. Yes'm, I vote Republican. + +"I can't say much for these young darkies these times. + +"I ben 'roun' some. I went to Caldwell, Kansas, two times. Farming is my +occupation. Now we jes' live. I get $10 a month from the state. Yes'm, +that there Jinney is my wife. Her mother Celia and she belonged to the +Ballards of Cincinnati. + +"No'm, I jes' can' tell how old I is. I know I was quite a chunk of a +boy when de War started. Me and Mister Win, one of Mister Choate's boys, +was 'bout de same age." (Winston Choate died in the spring of 1935 at +the age of 94 years, according to a niece.) + +The Choate place down on Barron Forks is still owned by one of the +Choates, a grandson of the first owner, Edward Choate. + +A granddaughter of Mr. Choate lives in Fayetteville and said that there +are four or five graves on the old place where Negro slaves who belonged +to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would +never go near these graves. They thought they were haunted. + +So when one asks Uncle Doc how old he is he will say, "I know I was jes' +a chunk of a boy when de War started so I mus' be 'bout 83 nex' spring." + +Aunt Jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth +while Uncle Doc was talking. She didn't speak while Doc was speaking. + +"Law, honey, I had good white folks. None of dem never struck their +colored folks. No'm. Me an' my mother Celia belonged to Mister Ballard +at Cincinnati. Old Missey's name was Miss Liza, an' she kept my ma in de +house wid her to wait on her. Yes'm all de white folks always kept a +little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. Dem was good times 'fo' +de War. Yes'm good times--plenty to eat. Good times. I was jes' a baby +crawling on de flo' when de War come." + +The interviewer didn't ask Uncle Doc when and why he went to Caldwell, +Kansas the two times. She knew that Uncle Doc, big and strong, took +another Negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to Kansas and +there left her. Later he brought her to Arkansas. Jinney was his wife +and took Uncle Doc back, but Gate-eye didn't take his wife back. Nor did +the interviewer tell Uncle Doc that she had been to see old Gate-eye +Fisher and had heard the long ago story of Uncle Doc taking his wife, +and what a worrysome time he had. In an old record marked +"Miscellaneous" in the Washington County Courthouse at Fayetteville, +Arkansas, one can find this Emancipation paper: + +"For and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my +little Negro girl (a slave) named Celia, about two years old, I do by +these presents henceforth and forever give to said Celia her liberty and +freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, I now +hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in +accordance with this indenture of emancipation. + +"In testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this 26th day of January +1846. + + Signed: Thomas B. Ballard + + Witnesses: Charles Baylor + Sumet Mussett" + + +Jinney, wife of Doc Flowers, is the daughter of the said Celia. "Yes'm," +said Jinney, "Miss Liza, my old Missy, always had my mother right by her +side all the time to wait on her. She were always good to all her +colored folks. No'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored +folks." + +Jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from Miss Liza, for +her little three-room home that she and Doc rent for $4 a month is +spotless. Maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't +blame that on Jinney. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Frances Fluker, Edmondson, Arkansas +Age: 77 +[May 11 1938] + + +"I was born the 25th day of December 1860 in Marshall County, +Mississippi. Our owners was Dr. George Wilson and Mistress Mary. They +had one son I knowed, Dr. Wilson at Coldwater, Mississippi. My parents +was Viney Perry and Dock Bradley. + +"I never seen my pa. I heard about him since I been grown. He left when +the War was going on and never went back. Mama had ten children and I am +all that's living now. Old mistress set my name and age down in her +Bible. I sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so I +could get my pension. I pasted it in the front of my Bible. I was never +sold. It was freedom when I first recollect. + +"Ma was the cook for the white folks. Grandma Perry come from North +Carolina I heard 'em say. She was a widow woman. When company come they +would send us out to play. They never talked to us children, no ma'am, +not 'fore us neither. I come a woman 'fore I knowed what it was. My +sisters knowed better than tell me. They didn't tell me nothin'. + +"When it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. At night +we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by +daybreak--children and all. They said it caused children's j'ints to be +stiff sleeping up in the day. All old folks could tell you that. + +"This young set ain't got no strength neither. Ma cooked and washed and +raised five children up grown. The slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em +in the way of land nor stock. They got what clothes they had and some +provisions. + +"Ma was ginger cake. They said pa was black. I don't know. Grandma was +reddish and lighter still than ma. They said she was part Cherokee +Indian. Her hair was smooth and pretty. She combed her hair with the +fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. I recollect her +combing her hair. It was long about on her shoulders. + +"I heard about the Ku Klux but I never seed none of 'em. Ma said her +owners was good to her. Ma never had but one husband. + +"I come to Arkansas 1921. Mr. Passler in Coldwater, Mississippi had +bought a farm at Onida. We had worked for him at Lula, Mississippi. Me +and my husband come here. My husband died the first year. I cooked some +in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. I +like' field work long as I was able to go. + +"My first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. He and myself done +it, we had help. We got in debt and lost it. He bought the place. That +was in Pinola County close to Sardis. I had four children. One daughter +living. + +"What I think it was give me rheumatism was I picked cotton, broke it +off frozen two weeks on the sleet. I picked two hundred pounds a day. I +got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. He said it was from +overwork. I got over that but I had rheumatism ever since. + +"I learned to read. I went to Shiloah School--and church too--several +terms. Mr. Will Dunlap was my first teacher. He was a white man. He run +the school a good while but I don't know how long. My name is Frances +Christiana Fluker. I been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. +Never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause I knowed I couldn't. + +"I jus' get $6 and that is all. It cost more to send get the commodities +than it do to buy them. We don't get much of them. I needs +clothes--union suits. 'Course I wears 'em all summer. If they would give +me yarn and needles I could knit my socks. 'Course I can see and ain't +doing nothing else. I needs a dress. I ain't got but this one dress." + + +NOTE: The two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. They had two chairs +and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the +little yellow torn to pieces Bible tied around the back with a string. +The large board door was kept wide open for light I suppose. There were +no windows to the room. + +I heard the reason she gets only $6 was because her daughter lives there +and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young +grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least. + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Ida May Fluker + Route 6, Box 80, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 83 + + +"I was born in slavery times in Clark County, Alabama. Clover Hill was +the county seat. + +"Elias Campbell was old master. I know the first time I ever saw any +plums, old master brought 'em. I 'member that same as yesterday. + +"I 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the Yankees come. We +chillun would hide behind the door. Had on blue suits with brass +buttons. So you see I'm no baby. + +"I 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house +and help make molasses. Didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up +there anyway. + +"Old missis' name Miss Annis. She was good to us. + +"I didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. Used to +tote water from the Wood Spring. Had a spring called Wood Spring. + +"My mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. I used to weave +after freedom. + +"I know the Yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. They was +drivin' a lot of cows. We chillun would be scared of 'em--mama would be +at the big house. + +"Mama belonged to the Campbells and papa belonged to Davis Solomon, and +I know every Christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me +and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. I 'member it same as if +'twas yesterday 'cause I was crazy 'bout them red dresses. + +"I used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. Yes ma'am, I heered +that song + + 'Run nigger run + Paddyrollers will ketch you + Jes' 'fore day.' + +I know you've heered that song. + +"I heered papa talk about how he was sold. He say the overseer so mean +he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week. + +"I guess we had plenty to eat. I know mama used to fetch us somethin' to +eat from the house. Old missis give it to her. I know I was glad to get +it. + +"When the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to +house and prayed and give thanks to the Lord. + +"Our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares. + +"I never went to school but about two weeks. My papa was hard workin'. +Other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun +rest. He sure did work us hard. + +"You know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time +to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. We didn't have no time to +see 'bout no ages--had to work. That's the truth." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Arkansas +Age: 73 or 75? + + +"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains, seems like about half +way. Mama's master was named Powell. Papa's master was Frank Ford. My +parents was Fannie and Henry Ford. I was the oldest child. There was 6 +boys, 4 girls of us. + +"They didn't get anything after freedom. They kept on farming. They +started working on shares. That was all they could do. If they expected +anything I never heard it. + +"I heard my mother say when I was small Papa was bouncing me up and +down. He was lying on the floor playing like wid me. She looked up the +road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'Yonder come some soldiers. What +they coming here for?' Papa put me down and run. He hid. They didn't +find him. It was soldiers from De Valls Bluff I judge. They made the +colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. That +is what I heard. + +"My father voted. He voted a Republican ticket. I do cause he did I +reckon. I still vote. If the colored man could vote in the Primary it +wouldn't be no better. They know better who to put in office, to run the +offices right. I think it is right for a woman to vote. + +"I been farming all my life. I was a section hand much as six months in +all my life. I work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. I am +having a hard time. I have high blood pressure. I can't pick cotton. I +can't even get a mess of turnip greens. The Social Welfare helps me a +little and I am janitor up town in two offices. They hand me a little +pocket change. It amount to maybe $2 a month. I had that job four years. +If I could work I would be on the farm. I could make a living there. I +always did. I had plenty on the farm. + +"Young folks don't take on no manners. The young folks take care of +themselves. It is the old ones seeing a hard time now." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Wash Ford, Des Arc, Ark. +Age: 75? + + +"One thing I remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. They had a leader +hoeing cotton. His name was John. He was a fast hand. He hoe one row a +piece and reach over and hoe the other. He'd get way ahead of the other +hands. If they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. So he rest till they +ketch up. Once he hoed up to a tree--big shade tree out in the field. He +stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that +time. It bit him right on the toe. They took him up to the house but he +died. + +"I was born close to Des Arc and Hickory Plains. My parents was Henry +and Fannie Ford. Her master was named Powell and his master was named +Frank Ford. I was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. My folks +didn't git nuthing. I don't think they expected freedom much. They heard +they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. They didn't know what +freedom be like. When they was set free at DeValls Bluff they signed up. +They went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. That what +I heard em say when I was small boy. + +"I voted--Republican ticket, I believe. If I vote that what I vote. I +reckon the women ought to vote. I still vote that is if I sees fit to +vote. + +"My father run from the soldiers. He didn't go to the war as I ever +knowd of. + +"I been farmin' all my life till I got so nocount I ain't able to do +nothin' no more. I worked on the section bout six months. I worked some +off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. I does a little janitor +work now and the Welfare help me a little. + +"The present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they +run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they +cain't git no credit. Times is hard for old folks." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Judia Fortenberry + 712 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas +Age: 75 +Occupation: Field hand +[May 21 1938] + + +[HW: Slaves Allowed to Visit] + +"I was born three miles west of Hamburg in Ashley County, Arkansas, in +the year 1859, in the month of October. I don't know just what day of +the month it was. + +"My mother was named Indiana Simms and my father was named Burrell +Simms. My father's mother was named Ony Simms, and my mother's mother +was named Maria Young. I don't know what the names of their parents was. + +"My mother's master was named Robert Tucker. My father's master was +named Hartwell Simms. Their plantations were pretty close together, but +I don't know how my father and my mother got together. I guess they just +happened to meet up with each other. The slaves from the two plantations +were allowed to visit one another. After their marriage, the two +continued to belong to different masters. Every Sunday, they would visit +one another. My father used to come to visit his wife every Sunday and +through the week at night. + +"My mother had ten children. + + +Houses + +"I was born in a log house with one room. It was built with a stick and +dirt chimney. It had plank floors. They didn't have nothin' much in the +way of furniture--homemade beds, stools, tables. We had common pans and +tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. The cabin had one window and +one door. + + +Patrollers + +"I have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. +But I can't remember them. My father said they used to go into the slave +cabins and take folks out and whip them. They'd go at night and get 'em +out and whip 'em. + + +How Freedom Came + +"I was so little that I don't know much about how freedom came. I just +know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. Went to +another man. Didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. He never got +anything when he was freed. I never heard of any of the slaves getting +anything. + + +Schooling + +"I went to free school after the War. I just went along during the +vacation when they weren't doing any farming. That is all the education +I got. I can't tell how many seasons I went--four or five, I reckon. I +never did go any whole season. I never had much chance to go to school. +People didn't send their children to school much in those days. I went +to school in Monticello, but most of my schooling was in country +schools. + + +Occupation + +"When I first went to work, I picked cotton. That is at a place out near +Hamburg. I picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. Then I went to +town--Monticello. I washed and ironed. About forty-five years ago, I +came to Little Rock, and have been here every since. Washing and ironing +has been my support. I have sometimes cooked. + + +Opinions + +"I don't know what I think about the young people. Seems to me they +coming to nothing. Lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance +to do it. I'm a christian. I belong to the A.M.E.'s. You know how they +do. + + Song + + 1 + + I belong to the band + That good old Christian band + Thank God I belong to the band. + + Chorus + + Steal away home to Jesus + I ain't got long to stay here. + + 2 + + There'll I'll meet my mother, + My good old christian mother, + Mother, how do you do; + Thank God I belong to the band. + +I can't remember the music. But that's on old song we used to sing 'way +back yonder. I can't remember any more of the verses. You got enough +anyhow." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Emma Foster + 1200 N. Magnolia, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 80 + + +"Yes'm, I was born in time of slavery--seven years before surrender. +No'm, I wasn't born in Arkansas. Born in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana. + +"I remember hearin' the big guns shoot. I was small and I didn't know +what it was only by what they told me. + +"My parents belonged to the Harts. My mother run off and left me, a +year-old baby. + +"I remember better when I was young than I do now. + +"After I got big enough--you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' +around in the yard--after I got big enough, they took me in the house to +rock the cradle, and I stayed there till I was twenty-three. I would a +stayed longer but they was so cruel to me. + +"I didn't know nothin'. I run off and stayed with a colored preacher and +his family not far away. You know I was crazy. One day the preacher said +some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' +to tell my white folks where I was. And sure enough, he did, and one +morning I was out in the field and I saw the son-in-law comin'. So I +went back and worked for him and his wife. + +"Me? All I did do was farmin' when I was young. + +"Oh, I been in Arkansas 'bout fifty years. My oldest boy was fourteen +when I come here and he is sixty-four now. + +"No, honey, I can't cook now. I'd burn it up. I used to cook. It's a +poor dog that won't wag its own tail. + +"All I know is I had a hard time, I been married three times. My last +husband was a preacher and he was so mean I left him. I told him if all +preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em. + +"I went to Chicago and lived with my son a while but I didn't like it, +so I come back here and I been here right in the yard with Mrs. O'Neal +eight years washin' and ironin'--anything come to hand. + +"Now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, I can see that 'fore +it happens. I was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain +and I come in and somethin' just bore down on me and I started to cry. I +didn't know why. I thought, 'Oh, Lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to +my son?' But instead it was my grandson. He got killed that evenin'." + + + + +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Birthmarks +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Emma Foster (C) +Place of residence: 1200 N. Magnolia Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: Laundress +Age: 80 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +"I know I marked one of my babies with beer. It was 'cause I wanted some +beer and couldn't get it. And when it was born it had a place on the +back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. And +when she was about a week old I got some beer and give it to her with a +teaspoon and she quit foamin'. + +"And another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the +doctor had done took the bone out. He and I used to love to rassle +(wrestle) and one day he said, 'Oh, Emma, you hurt my finger.' And like +a fool, you know I took his hand and just rubbed that finger. And do you +know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand." + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Ira Foster + 2000 W. Eureka Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 76 + + +"I was born in slavery because when the people come back from the War I +was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come. + +"I heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the War. + +"Yes ma'am, I was sure born in Arkansas; I won't tell no lie 'bout that. + +"My mother's old master was named Foster and after she married she +belonged to Hezekiah Bursey. + +"She was born in Alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated. + +"She was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner. + +"I never have been to school. Never did learn nothin'. My father put me +to work soon as I was big enough. + +"I always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near +as I can come at it. I went to saw millin' and I didn't do nothin' but +manufacture lumber. I worked for the Camden Lumber Company eighteen +years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble. + +"If I just had enough to live on I wouldn't do a thing but just sit +around 'cause I think I done worked my share. Why, some of the white +folks say, 'Foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty +dollars a month.' And I say, 'Why?' And they say, 'Cause you look just +like a darky that has worked hard in this world.' + +"I suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. Seems +like sometimes I can't hardly get around." + + + + +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Subject: Songs of Pre-War Days +Story:--Information + +This information given by: Ira Foster +Place of residence: 2000 W. Eureka, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Occupation: None +Age: 76 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + + "'You may call me Raggedy Pat + 'Cause I wear this raggedy hat, + And you may think I'm a workin' + But I ain't.' + +I used to hear my uncle sing that. That's all the words I can remember." + + + + +Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor +Person interviewed: Leonard Franklin + Temporary: 301 Ridgeway, Little Rock, Arkansas + Permanent: Warren, Arkansas +Age: 70 + + +[HW: Mother Whipped Overseer] + +"I don't know exactly the year I was born. But my father told me I was +born since the Civil War. I am seventy years old. They always tell me +when my birthday come 'round it will be in January--the eighteenth of +January. + +"My father's name was Abe Franklin and my mother's name was Lucy +Franklin. I know my father's mother but I didn't ever know his father. +His mother's name was Maria Franklin. My mother's father was Harris +Pennington. I never did see her mother and never did see her. + +"I was born in Warren, Arkansas. My mother and father were born in +Warren. That is on the outer edge of Warren. My mother's slavery farm +was on what they called Big Creek. It is named Franklin Creek. Two or +three miles of it ran through Franklin's Farm. + +"My father's master was Al Franklin. And my mother's master's name was +Hill Pennington. One of Hill Pennington's sons was named Fountain +Pennington. He lives about five miles from Warren now on the south +highway. + +"My mother had about three masters before she got free. She was a +terrible working woman. Her boss went off deer hunting once for a few +weeks. While he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. She knocked +him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. +When Pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked +him what was the matter with it. The overseer told him that he went down +in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit +Lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she +jumped on me and like to tore me up. Old Pennington said to him, 'Well, +if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have +to take it.' + +"Then they sold her to another man named Jim Bernard. Bernard did a lot +of big talk to her one morning. He said, 'Look out there and mind you do +what you told around her and step lively. If you don't, you'll get that +bull whip.' She said to him, 'Yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' He had +heard about her; so he sold her to another man named Cleary. He was good +to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that. + +"There wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. +She could do more work than any two men. There wasn't no use for no one +man to try to do nothin' with her. No overseer never downed her. + +"They didn't kill niggers then--not in slavery times. Not 'round where +my folks were. A nigger was money. Slaves were property. They'd paid +money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill +'em up. When they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their +money out of them. + +"The white people started to Texas with the colored folks near the end +of the war and got as far as El Dorado. Word come to 'em that freedom +had come and they turned back. + +"A paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of +water. He said he was thirsty. He had a rubber thing on and drank two or +three buckets of water. His rubber bag swelled up and made his head or +the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. Instead +of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and I'll +tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more. + +"Right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. They hired out +by the month. [HW: My father] didn't never say how much he got. When +they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages +didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. Said he had ate +it all up. After that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of +his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to +show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. +It was ten years before he got a start. It was hard to get ahead then +because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't +know nothin'. My father had two brothers that just stayed on with the +white folks. They stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had +to go. Couldn't do no good then. My father was always treated well by +his master. + +"I got my schooling at Warren. I went to the tenth grade. Could have +gone farther but didn't want to. I was looking at something I thought +was better than education. When I got of age, I come up here and just +run about. I was what you might say pretty fine. I was looking so high I +couldn't find nothing to suit me. I went 'round to a number of places +and none of them suited me. So I went on back home and been there ever +since. + +"I married once in my life. My wife is still living. My wife is a good +woman. No, if I got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. I +am the father of ten living children. I made a living by doing anything +that come up--housework, gardening, anything. + +"I don't get no government help. I don't want none yet. God has seen me +this far. I think He'll see me to the end. He is good to me; He's given +me such a good time I couldn't help but serve Him. Only been sick once +in seventy years. + +"I belong to the Baptist church. God is my boss now. He has brought me +this far and He's able to carry me across" + + + + +Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden +Person interviewed: Eliza Frazier + 2003 Saracen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas +Age: 88? + + +"I don't know when I was born or 'zackly how old I is, but I was born in +South Carolina and come here before the War. + +"I belonged to Wiley Mosley and he brought me and my mother and my +sister here to Arkansas. I don't 'member it at all 'cause I was a baby, +but I know what Wiley Mosley and my mother told me. + +"Settled in Redland Township. That's what they called it. He bought a +plantation there. There was three brothers come to this country and they +didn't live very far from each other. + +"I 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the War and one time I heered the guns +a poppin'. They said they was just passin' through. I was just a small +girl but I 'member it. I seed the Yankees too. I 'member they'd come up +in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take +the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk. + +"Old master was gone to the War. I 'member when he was gwine and I +'member when he come back. Old missis said he was up in Missouri. Got +shot right through the foot once. I know he come home and stayed 'til he +was well, then he went back. I don't know how long he stayed but he went +back--I know that. And he come back after the War--I 'member that. + +"I 'member one time when I upset the cradle. Miss Jane wouldn't 'low me +to take the baby up but I rocked the cradle. And one time I reckon I +rocked it too hard and it turned over. Miss Jane heard it time it hit +the floor and she come runnin'. I was under the house by that time but +she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. I +know I didn't turn it over no more. + +"The Yankees never said nothin' to me--talked to my mother though, and +old mis'. + +"They said they was fightin' to free the niggers. There was a boy on the +place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and +get the news. He didn't do that when old master was home. I know he +brought the news when peace declared. Patrollers got him one night. + +"I 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and +hollerin', 'The niggers is free, the niggers is free!' + +"Our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. I +'member I was gwine out to the field and Woodson, he was the baby I +upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and I know old +master said, 'Put him down and let him walk.' + +"They told me I was twenty when I was married--the white folks told me. +I know my mother asked how old I was and they said I was 'bout twenty. I +'member it well enough. + +"I never went to school but I knowed my ABC's and could read some in the +first reader. I ain't forgot about it. I thinks about it sometimes. + +"The biggest work I has done is farm work. + +"I've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one." + + +NOTE: + +Eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail +carrier and he is now sending three children to the A.M.& N. College +here. + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mary Frazier, near Biscoe, Arkansas +Age: 60 + + +"My parents was Neily and Amos Hamilton. They lived in Marshall County, +about forty-eight miles from Memphis. They belong to people by that same +name. + +"I heard them all say how they come to be way out in Mississippi. The +Thompsons owned Grandma Diana and her husband in South Carolina. Master +Jefferies went there from Mississippi and bought grandma. They let all +twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell +grandpa. He grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward +and bought him. Jefferies was good to them. I was born in Mississippi. +Grandma cooked all the time. Mama and papa both worked in the field. I +heard grandma say every one of her children was born in South Carolina. +Mr. Jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in Clarendon, Arkansas. +Since I come to this country I seen him. I lived over there pretty close +by. + +"I got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. They want to have +a big time when they are young. All young folks is swift on foot that +way. Times is funny. Funniest times ever been in my life. Is times right +now? Ain't no credit no more. That one thing making times so hard. Money +is the whole thing now'days." + + + + +El Dorado District +FOLKLORE SUBJECTS +Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson +Subject: TALES OF SLAVERY DAYS +Story:--Information +[Feb 6 1937] + +This information given by: Tyler Frazier +Place of Residence: Ouachita County +Occupation: Domestic +Age: 75 +[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.] + + +Ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus +freed. Ah got freed in Texas. We went tuh Texas on a steamboat an dey +wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. We sho 'joyed dat trip. We went wid +our mistress an moster. Dey wuz de Lides, Mistuh John Lide's parents. De +Lides run one uv de bigges' stores in Camden now, if yo knows dem dey is +de same Lides. One uv de boys wuz named Blackie Lide, one John Lide, one +named Hugh Lide. Dem wuz granchillun. Hannah Lide, Minnie Watts now, dey +wuz de granchillun. Now let me see, one Miss wuz named Emma Lide. Dem +sho wuz good fokes. Ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis +country. An ole moster been daid since way back yondah. But when we got +tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum Camden in +Ouachita County. Ole moster wuz named Peter Lide. We jes went tuh school +nough tuh learn our A.B.C.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. We +carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. We kep' +spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. We pickled de backbone an dem +spareribs. We worked evah day. Wednesday night wuz wash night. Dat's +when de women would do de washin. We'd go tuh de fiel way fo day. + +Back in dem days we had er log church. Ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah +wuz six. Mis Lide made mah fust pair uv britches. Ah membuhs one time ah +went to Miss Lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. Ah put em in a sack +an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung +an moster caught me. Ah'm tellin de truth. Ah aint had no desire tuh +steal since. + +Moster Peter Lide's favorite song wus dis: "Hit's er long way tuh +heaven." Ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. He wuz a Christian man. He +wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good Christian. We didn' know +bout no money. When we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. We didn' know +bout Thanksgiving day and Christmas. We heard de white fokes tawkin bout +hit but we didn' know whut hit meant. + +When anybody would die dey made de coffin. Didn' have no funeral, no +singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. Dat wus all. Nebber stop +work. We nevah plowed er hoss. We used oxen teams. We made good crops +den. We raised all our sumpin tuh eat. + +When ah wus a lil' bitsy boy Mrs. Lide use tuh tell us stories at night. +She give us our fireside trainin. She tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin +not tuh but in. Ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot +dat. We ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. We lives in de days +dats past. All we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. When mah +time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah God, mah +country and mah race. + + + + +Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg +Person interviewed: Aunt Mittie Freeman +Aged: 86 +Home: 320 Elm St., North Little Rock. In home of granddaughter. +[Aug 27 1937] + + +Story by Aunt Mittie Freeman + +"Howdy, honey. Come on in and set down. It's awful hot, ain't it? What +you come to see me for? You says old uncle Boss tell you I'se old slave +lady? That's right, that's right. Us old war folks never fergits the +others. Anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. I got +the bestest remembrance. + +Orange county, Mississippi was where I was borned at but I been right +here in Arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. In slavery, it was, +when my white folks done come to Camden. You know where that is?--Camden +on the Ouachita? That's the place where we come. Yes Ma'am, it was long +before the war when the doctor--I means Dr. Williams what owned my pappy +and all us younguns--say he going to Arkansas. Theys rode in the fine +carriages. Us slaves rode in ox wagons. Lord only knows how long it tuck +a-coming. Every night we camped. I was jest a little tike then but I has +a remembrance of everything. The biggest younguns had to walk till theys +so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been +a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like +this we go on. + +Dr. Williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. He was sure good +man. He didn't work his slaves hard like some. My pappy was a kind of a +manager for Doctor. Doctor tended his business and pappy runned the +plantation where we lived at. Our good master died before freedom. He +willed us slaves to his chilrun. You know--passeled (parcelled) us out, +some to this child, some to that. I went to his daughter, Miss Emma. +Laws-a-Mercy, how I wishes I could see her face onct more afore I dies. +I heerd she married rich. Unh-unh! I'd shore love to see her onct more. + +After old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of +the fam'ly. It had a overseer. He was a northerner man and the meanest +devil ever put foot on a plantation. My father was a gentleman; yes +ma'am, he was jest that. He had been brung up that-a-way. Old master +teached us to never answer back to no white folks. But one day that +overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit +him. + +So after that, he sent pappy down to New Orleans to be sold. He said he +would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned +him. Pappy was old. Every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; +everybody pass old pappy by. After a long time--oh, maybe five +years--one day they ax pappy--"Are you got some white folks back in +Arkansas?" He telled them the Williams white folks in Camden on the +Ouachita. Theys white. After while theys send pappy home. Miss, I tells +you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. Old Miss and the young white +folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; +they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. That's what them +Williams folks thought of their slaves. Yes ma'am. + +Old Miss was name Miss 'liza. She skeered to stay by herself after old +master died. I was took to be her companion. Every day she wanted me to +bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said I was +gentle and didn't never hurt her. One day I was a standing by the window +and I seen smoke--blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. I heerd +cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. She say: "Run, Mittie, and +hide yourself. It's the Yanks. Theys coming at last, Oh lordy!" I was +all incited (excited) and told her I didn't want to hide, I wanted to +see 'em. "No" she say, right firm. "Ain't I always told you Yankees has +horns on their heads? They'll get you. Go on now, do like I tells you." +So I runs out the room and went down by the big gate. A high wall was +there and a tree put its branches right over the top. I clim up and hid +under the leaves. They was coming, all a marching. The captain opened +our big gate and marched them in. A soldier seen me and said "Come on +down here; I want to see you." I told him I would, if he would take off +his hat and show me his horns. + +The day freedom came, I was fishing with pappy. My remembrance is sure +good. All a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. +You know what that was, Miss? It was the fall of Richmond. Cannons was +to roar every place when Richmond fell. Pappy jumps up, throws his pole +and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. +"It's victory," he keep on saying. "It's freedom. Now we'es gwine be +free." I didn't know what it all meant. + +It seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. Everything jest +kept on like it was. We heard that lots of slaves was getting land and +some mules to set up fer theirselves; I never knowed any what got land +or mules nor nothing. + +We all stayed right on the place till the Yankees came through. They was +looking for slaves what was staying on. Now we was free and had to git +off the plantation. They packed us in their big amulance ... you say it +wasn't a amulance,--what was it? Well, then, their big covered army +wagons, and tuck us to Little Rock. Did you ever know where the old +penitentiary was? Well, right there is where the Yanks had a great big +barracks. All chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. Did you +know that the fust real free school in Little Rock was opened by the +govment for colored chullens? Yes ma'am, and I went to it, right from +the day we got there. + +They took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the +corner of Second and Main Street. He got $12.00 a month and all the grub +we could eat. Unh, Unh! Didn't we live good? I sure got a good +remembrance, honey. Can't you tell? Yes, Ma'am. They was plenty of other +refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of +'em. + +I was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help +pappy. A man name Captain Hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the +river. He wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get +colored folks to help him. A lot of us niggers from the barracks was +sent to pick. We got $1.25 a hundred pounds. What did I do with my +money? Is you asking me that? Bless your soul, honey, I never seen that +money hardly long enough to git it home. In them days chilluns worked +for their folks. I toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to +have. That's the way it was. We picked cotton all fall and winter, and +went to school after picking was over. + +When I got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting +on. Pappy had a five year lease,--do you know what that was, I +don't--but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could +clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. He built +a log house and put in a orchard. Next year he had a big garden and sold +vegables. Lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but +pappy. They'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting +ears. When he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and +made it right good. His name was Harry Williams. He was a stern man, and +honest. He was named for his old master. When my brothers got growed +they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in Little +Rock. But when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck +a farm--the old Lawson place--so to make a home for mammy and the little +chilluns. + +I married Freeman. Onliest husban ever I had. He died last summer. He +was a slave too. We used to talk over them days before we met. The +K.K.K. never bothered us. They was gathered together to bother niggers +and whites what made trouble. If you tended to your own business, they's +let you alone. + +No ma'am, I never voted. My husband did. Yes ma'am, I can remember when +they was colored men voted into office. Justice of Peace, county clerks, +and, er--er--that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets +killed. What you call him? Coroner? Sure, that's him. I know that, +'cause I seen them a-setting in their offices. + +We raised our fam'ly on a plantation. That's the bestest place for +colored chilluns. Yes ma'am. My five boys stayed with me till they was +grown. They heerd about the Railroad shops and was bound theys going +there to work. Ben--that was my man--and me couldn't make it by +ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon +after the war. He was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and +died in two weeks. He didn't know nothing all that time. My onliest boy +what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. All them others went +to Iowa after the big railroad strike here. They was out of work for +many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they +been in the shops. + +How I a-living now? You wants to know, honest? Say honey, is you a +relief worker--one of them welfare folkses? Lor' God, how I needs help! +Honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to +put on 'em to bury in. I told the Welfare could I get something clean +and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was +two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close +(clothes). Theys told me then I would get $10.00 a month, but in all +this time now, I only had $5.00 one time. I lives with my daughter here +in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up +the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. Lordy, where'll we go? I made +big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. Hot summer burnt +everything up, now. Yessum, that $5.00 the Reliefers give me--I bought +my garden stuff with it. + +I got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. It look like I'm done. I knowed +a old potion. It made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. Good whiskey. Not +old cheap corn likker. Yessum, you takes fine whiskey--'bout half +bottle, and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. Tablespoon three +times a day. Look-a-here, miss. Look at these old arms go up and down +now. I kin do a washing along with the youngish womens. + +Iffen you wants to know what I thinks of the young folks I tells you. +Look at that grandchile a-setting there. She fourteen and know more +right now than I knowed in my whole life. Yes ma'am! She can sew on a +machine and make a dress in one day. She read in a book how to make +sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. Theys fast, too. Ain't got no time +for olds like me. Can't find no time to do nothin' for me. People now +makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't +honest. No'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. Old honest way was to bend +the back and bear down on the hoe. + +Did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? Sure did have purty music +them days. It's so long, honey, I jest can't 'member the names, +'excusing one. It was "Hark, from the Tombs a Doleful Sound." It was a +burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. It was the +most onliest song they knowed. They was other music, though. Could they +play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! Lordy, iffen I could take you +back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and +learned me to dance the contillion! + +I'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you +think? Yes, Mam! We sure is living in the seventh seal. The days of +tribulations is on us right now. Nothing make like it used to. I sure +would be proud iffen I knowed I had a living for the balance of my days. +I got a clean and a clear heart--a clean and clear heart. Be so to your +neighbors and God will make it up to you. He sure will, honey." + + + + +Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson +Person interviewed: Mattie Fritz, Clarendon, Arkansas +Age: 79 + + +"I was born at Duncan, Arkansas. Mother died when I was a baby. Old +slavery black 'Mammy' raised me. I called her 'Mammy'. My father was +born in the State of Mississippi. He got loose there at 'mancipation. +His master Jack Oates got killed in battle. They brung him home and +buried him in the garden. Down close to Duncan on the place. I played in +the yard wid Mr. Jack Oates, Jr. when we was little fellars. Father's +master in Tennessee was Bill Tyler. My uncle went back to Tennessee to +them. His name was Tyler Oates. Mr. Jack Gates, Sr. used to pat me and +call me his little nigger. We thought the world and all of our white +folks. We sure did. Some of 'em 'round 'bout Helena they say now. Mr. +Jack, Jr., he had two boys and he was a widower. + +"My own dear mother was Jane. My father called hisself Bill Tyler. My +stepmother was Liddy. The woman what raised me was 'Mammy' all I ever +knowed. But her name was Luckadoo. + +"Mr. Tyler got killed. Pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. He +got sold. Then she died. Then mother died. Jack Oates went to my father +and brung him to Mississippi, then to Arkansas. + +"Master Jack Tyler hid out. The Yankees come at night and caught him +there and shot him. His wife lived about two more years. She grieved +about him. They took everything and searched the house. My pa was hid +under the house. They rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen +him once. He was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the +dark. All what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. They couldn't see +him so good. Way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in +the fights too. Them Yankees took Massa Jack Tyler off and sont him back +in a while. She had him buried in the garden. She didn't know it was +him. + +"'Mammy' was a slavery woman. She was sold first time from a neighbor +man to a neighbor man. He was an old man. She ploughed and rolled logs. +Then she was sold to Master Luckadoo close to Holly Grove. They named +her Eloise, and she was a farm woman. She was so good to me. She was a +worker and never took time to tell me about old times. She said Luckadoo +never whooped her. A storm come and blowed a limb down killed her +granddaughter and broke my leg. The same storm killed their mule. She +raised a orphan boy too. She died from the change of life but she was +old, gray headed. Since I'm older I think she had a tumor. 'Cause she +was old when she took me on. + +"I gets ten dollars from the Welfare. I ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em +nor nothin' agin 'em. They's betwix' and between no 'count and good. + +"Times too fast. I can't keep up wid them. 'Betwix' and between the fat +and the lean.' Some do very well I reckon." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: A Folk History of +Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 2, by Work Projects Administration + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES *** + +***** This file should be named 13700.txt or 13700.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/0/13700/ + +Produced by Jeannie Howse, Andrea Ball, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team from images provided by the Library of Congress, +Manuscript Division. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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