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diff --git a/30967-h/30967-h.htm b/30967-h/30967-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac9c960 --- /dev/null +++ b/30967-h/30967-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10093 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title> The Project Gutenberg eBook of Slave Narratives, A Folk History of +Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves. Texas, +Part 2. </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + + +.intro { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-weight: bold; +} + +.number { + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; + text-align: center; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +.caption { + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + margin-bottom: 2em; + +} + +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +span.corr {border-bottom: 1px dotted red;} + +.trnote {margin: 5% 10% 5% 10%; + border: 1px solid; + padding: 1em; + background-color: #dddddd; + font-family: sans-serif; + font-size: 90%;} + +.spaced {letter-spacing:3px; font-style: normal;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: a Folk History of Slavery +in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves., 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. + Texas Narratives, Part 2 + +Author: Work Projects Administration + +Release Date: January 14, 2010 [EBook #30967] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES, TEXAS, PART 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Miranda van de Heijning and The Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Library of Congress, Manuscript Division. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="trnote"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"> <h2>Transcriber's Note:</h2></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> I. Inconsistent punctuation and duplicated phrases have been silently corrected throughout the book.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> II. Clear spelling mistakes have been corrected however, +inconsistent languague usage (such as 'day' and 'dey') +has been maintained. A list of spelling corrections is included +at the <a href="#Transcribers_Corrections">end of the book</a>.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> III. The numbers at the start of each chapter were stamped + into the original scan and refer to the number of the published +interview in the context of the entire Slave Narratives +project.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> IV. Several handwritten notes have been retained and are +annotated as such.</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<h1>SLAVE NARRATIVES</h1> + + +<p class="center"><i>A Folk History of Slavery in the United States +From Interviews with Former Slaves</i></p> + + +<p class="center">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</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated with Photographs</i></p> + + +<p class="center">WASHINGTON 1941</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p class="center">VOLUME XVI</p> + + +<h2>TEXAS NARRATIVES</h2> + +<h3>PART 2</h3> + + +<p class="center">Prepared by +the Federal Writers' Project of +the Works Progress Administration +for the State of Texas +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INFORMANTS" id="INFORMANTS"></a>INFORMANTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">Easter, Willis</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Edwards, Anderson and Minerva</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Edwards, Ann J.</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Edwards, Mary Kincheon</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Elder, Lucinda</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ellis, John</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ezell, Lorenza <br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_25">25</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Farrow, Betty</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Finnely, John</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ford, Sarah</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Forward, Millie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fowler, Louis</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Franklin, Chris</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Franks, Orelia Alexie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Frazier, Rosanna<br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gibson, Priscilla</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gilbert, Gabriel</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gilmore, Mattie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Goodman, Andrew</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Grant, Austin</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Green, James</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Green, O.W.</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Green, Rosa</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Green, William (Rev. Bill)</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Grice, Pauline<br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_98">98</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hadnot, Mandy</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hamilton, William</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Harper, Pierce</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Harrell, Molly</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hawthorne, Ann</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hayes, James</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Haywood, Felix</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Henderson, Phoebe</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hill, Albert</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hoard, Rosina</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Holland, Tom</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Holman, Eliza</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Holt, Larnce</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Homer, Bill</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hooper, Scott</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Houston, Alice</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Howard, Josephine</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hughes, Lizzie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hursey, Moses</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hurt, Charley<br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_172">172</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ingram, Wash<br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_177">177</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, Carter J.</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, James</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, Maggie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, Martin</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, Nancy</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jackson, Richard</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">James, John</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johns, Thomas</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johns, Mrs. Thomas</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Gus</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Harry</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, James D.</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Mary</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Mary Ellen</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Pauline, and Boudreaux, Felice</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnson, Spence</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jones, Harriet</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jones, Lewis</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jones, Liza</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jones, Lizzie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Jones, Toby<br /><br /></td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_249">249</a><br /><br /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kelly, Pinkie</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kilgore, Sam</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kinchlow, Ben</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kindred, Mary</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">King, Nancy</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">King, Silvia</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="left">Facing page</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Anderson and Minerva Edwards</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ann J. Edwards</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mary Kincheon Edwards</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">John Ellis</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lorenza Ezell</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Betty Farrow</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sarah Ford</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Louis Fowler</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Orelia Alexie Franks</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Priscilla Gibson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Andrew Goodman</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Austin Grant</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">James Green</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O.W. Green and Granddaughter</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">William Green, (Rev. Bill)</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pauline Grice</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mandy Hadnot</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">William Hamilton</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Felix Haywood</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Phoebe Henderson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Albert Hill</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Eliza Holman</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bill Homer</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Scott Hooper</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Alice Houston</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Moses Hursey</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Charley Hurt</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wash Ingram</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Carter J. Jackson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">James Jackson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Martin Jackson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Richard Jackson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">John James</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gus Johnson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">James D. Johnson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mary Ellen Johnson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pauline Johnson and Felice Boudreaux</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Spence Johnson</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Harriet Jones</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Harriet Jones with Daughter and Granddaughter</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lewis Jones</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lizzie Jones</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sam Kilgore</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ben Kinchlow</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mary Kindred</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_290">290</a><a name="TC_1" id="TC_1"></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420285" id="n420285"></a>420285<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>WILLIS EASTER, 85, was born +near Nacogdoches, Texas. He +does not know the name of his +first master. Frank Sparks +brought Willis to Bosqueville, +Texas, when he was two years +old. Willis believes firmly +in "conjuremen" and ghosts, +and wears several charms for +protection against the former. +He lives in Waco, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's birthed below Nacogdoches, and dey tells me it am +on March 19th, in 1852. My mammy had some kind of paper what say dat. +But I don't know my master, 'cause when I's two he done give me to +Marse Frank Sparks and he brung me to Bosqueville. Dat sizeable place +dem days. My mammy come 'bout a month after, 'cause Marse Frank, he say +I's too much trouble without my mammy.</p> + +<p>"Mammy de bes' cook in de county and a master hand at spinnin' +and weavin'. She made her own dye. Walnut and elm makes red dye and +walnut brown color, and shumake makes black color. When you wants yallow +color, git cedar moss out de brake.</p> + +<p>"All de lint was picked by hand on our place. It a slow job to git +dat lint out de cotton and I's gone to sleep many a night, settin' by de +fire, pickin' lint. In bad weather us sot by de fire and pick lint and +patch harness and shoes, or whittle out something, dishes and bowls and +troughs and traps and spoons.</p> + +<p>"All us chillen weared lowel white duckin', homemake, jes' one +garment. It was de long shirt. You couldn't tell gals from boys on de yard.</p> + +<p>"I's twelve when us am freed and for awhile us lived on Marse Bob +Wortham's place, on Chalk Bluff, on Horseshoe Bend. After de freedom war,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +dat old Brazos River done change its course up 'bove de bend, and move to +de west.</p> + +<p>"I marries Nancy Clark in 1879, but no chilluns. Dere plenty deer +and bears and wild turkeys and antelopes here den. Dey's sho' fine eatin' +and wish I could stick a tooth in one now. I's seed fifty antelope at a +waterin' hole.</p> + +<p>"Dere plenty Indians, too. De Rangers had de time keepin' dem back. +Dey come in bright of de moon and steals and kills de stock. Dere a ferry +'cross de Brazos and Capt. Ross run it. He sho' fit dem Indians.</p> + +<p>"Dem days everybody went hossback and de roads was jes' trails and +bridges was poles 'cross de creeks. One day us went to a weddin'. Dey sot +de dinner table out in de yard under a big tree and de table was a big slab +of a tree on legs. Dey had pewter plates and spoons and chiny bowls and +wooden dishes. Some de knives and forks was make out of bone. Dey had beef +and pork and turkey and <a name='TC_2'></a><ins title="come">some</ins> antelope.</p> + +<p>"I knows 'bout ghostes. First, I tells you a funny story. A old man +named Josh, he purty old and notionate. Every evenin' he squat down under +a oak tree. Marse Smith, he slip up and hear Josh prayin, 'Oh, Gawd, please +take pore old Josh home with you.' Next day, Marse Smith wrop heself in a +sheet and git in de oak tree. Old Josh come 'long and pray, 'Oh, Gawd, +please come take pore old Josh home with you.' Marse say from top de tree, +'Poor Josh, I's come to take you home with me.' Old Josh, he riz up and +seed dat white shape in de tree, and he yell, 'Oh, Lawd, not right now, +I hasn't git forgive for all my sins.' Old Josh, he jes' shakin' and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +dusts out dere faster den a wink. Dat broke up he prayin' under dat tree.</p> + +<p>"I never studied cunjurin', but I knows dat scorripins and things dey +cunjures with am powerful medicine. Dey uses hair and fingernails and tacks +and dry insects and worms and bat wings and sech. Mammy allus tie a leather +string round de babies' necks when dey teethin', to make dem have easy time. +She used a dry frog or piece nutmeg, too.</p> + +<p>"Mammy allus tell me to keep from bein' cunjure, I sing:</p> + +<p> +"'Keep 'way from me, hoodoo and witch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lend my path from de porehouse gate;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I pines for golden harps and sich,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lawd, I'll jes' set down and wait.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Satan am a liar and cunjurer, too—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you don't watch out, he'll cunjure you.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dem cunjuremen sho' bad. Dey make you have pneumony and boils and bad +luck. I carries me a jack all de time. It em de charm wrop in red flannel. +Don't know what am in it. A bossman, he fix it for me.</p> + +<p>"I sho' can find water for de well. I got a li'l tree limb what am like +a V. I driv de nail in de end of each branch and in de crotch. I takes hold +of each branch and iffen I walks over water in de ground, dat limb gwine turn +over in my hand till it points to de ground. Iffen money am buried, you can +find it de same way.</p> + +<p>"Iffen you fills a shoe with salt and burns it, dat call luck to you. +I wears a dime on a string round de neck and one round de ankle. Dat to keep +any conjureman from sottin' de trick on ma. Dat dime be bright iffen my +friends am true. It sho' gwine git dark iffen dey does me wrong.</p> + +<p>"For to make a jack dat am sho' good, git snakeroot and sassafras and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +a li'l lodestone and brimstone and asafoetida and resin and bluestone and gum +arabic and a pod or two red pepper. Put dis in de red flannel bag, at midnight +on de dark of de moon, and it sho' do de work.</p> + +<p>"I knowed a ghost house, I sho' did. Everybody knowed it, a red brick +house in Waco, on Thirteenth and Washington St. Dey calls it de Bell house. +It sho' a fine, big house, but folks couldn't use it. De white folks what owns +it, dey gits one nigger and 'nother to stay round and look after things. De +white folks wants me to stay dere. I goes. Every Friday night dere am a rustlin' +sound, like murmur of treetops, all through dat house. De shutters rattles—only +dere ain't no shutters on dem windows. Jes' plain as anything, I hears a +chair, rockin', rockin'. Footsteps, soft as de breath, you could hear dem plain. +But I stays and hunts and can't find nobody nor nothin' none of dem Friday nights.</p> + +<p>"Den come de Friday night on de las' quarter de moon. Long 'bout midnight, +something lift me out de cot. I heared a li'l child sobbin', and dat rocker git +started, and de shutters dey rattle softlike, and dat rustlin', mournin' sound +all through dat house. I takes de lantern and out in de hall I goes. Right by de +foot de stairs I seed a woman, <a name='TC_3'></a><ins title="bit">big</ins> as life, but she was thin and I seed right +through her. She jes' walk on down dat hall and pay me no mind. She make de sound +like de beatin' of wings. I jes' froze. I couldn't move.</p> + +<p>"Dat woman jes' melted out de window at de end of de hall, and I left dat +place!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420054" id="n420054"></a>420054</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;"> <a href="images/162005v.png"> +<img src="images/162005r.png" width="458" height="300" alt="Anderson and Minerva Edwards" title="" /> </a> +<span class="caption">Anderson and Minerva Edwards</span> +</div> + +<div class="intro"><p>ANDERSON AND MINERVA EDWARDS, +a Negro Baptist preacher and +his wife, were slaves on adjoining +plantations in Rusk +County, Texas. Anderson was +born March 12, 1844, a slave +of Major Matt Gaud, and Minerva +was born February 2, 1850, +a slave of Major Flannigan. As +a boy Andrew would get a pass +to visit his father, who belonged +to Major Flannigan, and there +he met Minerva. They worked for +their masters until three years +after the war, then moved to +Harrison County, married and +reared sixteen children. Andrew +and Minerva live in a small but +comfortable farmhouse two miles +north of Marshall. Minerva's +memory is poor, and she added +little to Anderson's story.</p></div> + + +<p>"My father was Sandy Flannigan and he had run off from his +first master in Maryland, on the east shore, and come to Texas, and +here a slave buyer picked him up and sold chances on him. If they +could find his Maryland master he'd have to go back to him and if +they couldn't the chances was good. Wash Edwards in Panola County +bought the chance on him, but he run off from him, too, and come to +Major Flannigan's in Rusk County. Fin'ly Major Flannigan had to pay +a good lot to get clear title to him.</p> + +<p>"My mammy was named Minerva and her master was Major Gaud, and +I was born there on his plantation in 1866. You can ask that tax man +at Marshall 'bout my age, 'cause he's fix my 'xemption papers since +I'm sixty. I had seven brothers and two sisters. There was Frank, +Joe, Sandy and Gene, Preston and William and Sarah and Delilah, and +they all lived to be old folks and the younges' jus' died last year. +Folks was more healthy when I growed up and I'm 93 now and ain't dead; +fact is, I feels right pert mos' the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My missy named Mary and she and Massa Matt lived in a hewed log house +what am still standin' out there near Henderson. Our quarters was 'cross the +road and set all in a row. Massa own three fam'lies of slaves and lots of +hosses and sheep and cows and my father herded for him till he was freed. The +government run a big tan yard there on Major Gaud's place and one my uncles +was shoemaker. Jus' 'bout time of war, I was piddlin' 'round the tannery +and a government man say to me, 'Boy, I'll give you $1,000 for a drink of water,' +and he did, but it was 'federate money that got kilt, so it done me no good.</p> + +<p>"Mammy was a weaver and made all the clothes and massa give us plenty +to eat; fact, he treated us kind-a like he own boys. Course he whipped us +when we had to have it, but not like I seed darkies whipped on other place. +The other niggers called us Major Gaud's free niggers and we could hear 'em +moanin' and cryin' round 'bout, when they was puttin' it on 'em.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the field from one year end to t'other and when we come +in at dusk we had to eat and be in bed by nine. Massa give us mos' anything +he had to eat, 'cept biscuits. That ash cake wasn't sich bad eatin' and it +was cooked by puttin' cornmeal batter in shucks and bakin' in the ashes.</p> + +<p>"We didn't work in the field Sunday but they have so much stock to tend +it kep' us busy. Missy was 'ligious and allus took us to church when she +could. When we prayed by ourse'ves we daren't let the white folks know it +and we turned a wash pot down to the ground to cotch the voice. We prayed a +lot to be free and the Lord done heered us. We didn't have no song books and +the Lord done give us our songs and when we sing them at night it jus' whispering +to nobody hear us. One went like this:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"'My knee bones am aching,<br /> +My body's rackin' with pain,<br /> +I 'lieve I'm a chile of God,<br /> +And this ain't my home,<br /> +'Cause Heaven's my aim.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Massa Gaud give big corn shuckin's and cotton pickin's +and the women cook up big dinners and massa give us some whiskey, and lots +of times we shucked all night. On Saturday nights we'd sing and dance and +we made our own instruments, which was gourd fiddles and quill flutes. +Gen'rally Christmas was like any other day, but I got Santa Claus twict in +slavery, 'cause massa give me a sack of molasses candy once and some biscuits +once and that <a name='TC_4'></a><ins title="was that a">was a</ins> whole lot to me then.</p> + +<p>"The Vinsons and Frys what lived next to massa sold slaves +and I seed 'em sold and chained together and druv off in herds by a white +man on a hoss. They'd sell babies 'way from the mammy and the Lord never +did 'tend sich as that.</p> + +<p>"I 'lieve in that hant business yet. I seed one when I was a +boy, right after mammy die. I woke up and seed it come in the door, and it +had a body and legs and tail and a face like a man and it walked to the fireplace +and lifted the lid off a skillet of 'taters what sot there and came to +my bed and raised up the cover and crawled in and I hollers so loud it wakes +everybody. I tell 'em I seed a ghost and they say I crazy, but I guess I +knows a hant when I sees one. Minerva there can tell you 'bout that haunted +house we lived in near Marshall jus' after we's married." (Minerva says, +'Deed, I can,' and here is her story:)</p> + +<p>"The nex' year after Anderson and me marries we moves to a +place that had 'longed to white folks and the man was real mean and choked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +his wife to death and he lef' the country and we moved in. We heered +peculiar noises by night and the niggers 'round there done told us it +was hanted but I didn't 'lieve 'em, but I do now. One night we seed the +woman what died come all 'round with a light in the hand and the neighbors +said that candle light the house all over and it look like it on fire. +She come ev'ry night and we left our crop and moved 'way from there and +ain't gone back yit to gather that crop. 'Fore we moved in that place +been empty since the woman die, 'cause nobody live there. One night +Charlie Williams, what lives in Marshall, and runs a store out by the +T. & P. Hospital git drunk and goes out there to sleep and while he sleepin' +that same woman come in and nigh choked him to death. Ain't nobody +ever live in that house since we is there."</p> + +<p>Anderson then resumed his story: "I 'member when war starts and +massa's boy, George it was, saddles up ole Bob, his pony, and lef'. He +stays six months and when he rid up massa say, 'How's the war, George?' +and massa George say, 'It's Hell. Me and Bob has been runnin' Yankees +ever since us lef'.' 'Fore war massa didn't never say much 'bout slavery +but when he heered us free he cusses and say, 'Gawd never did 'tend +to free niggers,' and he cussed till he died. But he didn't tell us we's +free till a whole year after we was, but one day a bunch of Yankee soldiers +come ridin' up and massa and missy hid out. The soldiers walked into the +kitchen and mammy was churnin' and one of them kicks the churn over and +say, 'Git out, you's jus' as free as I is.' Then they ramsacked the place +and breaks out all the window lights and when they leaves it look like a +storm done hit that house. Massa come back from hidin' and that when he +starts on a cussin' spree what lasts as long as he lives.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'bout four year after that war pappy took me to Harrison +County and I've lived here ever, since and Minerva's pappy moves from +the Flannigan place to a jinin' farm 'bout that time and sev'ral years +later we was married. It was at her house and she had a blue serge suit +and I wore a cutaway Prince Albert suit and they was 'bout 200 folks at +our weddin'. The nex' day they give us an infair and a big dinner. +We raises sixteen chillen to be growed and six of the boys is still +livin' and workin' in Marshall.</p> + +<p>"I been preachin' the Gospel and farmin' since slavery time. +I jined the church mos' 83 year ago when I was Major Gaud's slave and +they baptises me in the spring branch clost to where I finds the Lord. +When I starts preachin' I couldn't read or write and had to preach what +massa told me and he say tell them niggers iffen they obeys the massa +they goes to Heaven but I knowed there's something better for them, but +daren't tell them 'cept on the sly. That I done lots. I tells 'em iffen +they <a name='TC_5'></a><ins title="kepps">keeps</ins> prayin' the Lord will set 'em free. But since them days I's +done studied some and I preached all over Panola and Harrison County and +I started the Edward's Chapel over there in Marshall and pastored it till +a few year ago. It's named for me.</p> + +<p>"I don't preach much now, 'cause I can't hold out to walk far +and I got no other way to go. We has a $14.00 pension and lives on that +and what we can raise on the farm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420219" id="n420219"></a>420219</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 177px;"> <a href="images/162010v.png"> +<img src="images/162010r.png" width="177" height="300" alt="Ann J. Edwards" title="" /> </a> +<span class="caption">Ann J. Edwards</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ANN J. EDWARDS, 81, was born +a slave of John Cook, of Arlington +County, Virginia. He manumitted +his slaves in 1857. Four +years later Ann was adopted by +Richard H. Cain, a colored preacher. +He was elected to the 45th +Congress in 1876, and remained +in Washington, D.C., until his +death, in 1887. Ann married Jas. +E. Edwards, graduate of Howard +College, a preacher. She now +lives with her granddaughter, +Mary Foster, at 804 E. 4th St., +Fort Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I shall gladly relate the story of my life. I was born a slave +on January 27th, 1856, and my master's name was John J. Cook, who was a +resident of Arlington County, Virginia. He moved to Washington, D.C., +when I was nearly two years old and immediately gave my parents their +freedom. They separated within a year after that, and my mother earned +our living, working as a hairdresser until her death in 1861. I was +then adopted by Richard H. Cain, a minister of the Gospel in the African +Methodist Church.</p> + +<p>"I remember the beginning of the war well. The conditions made +a deep impression on my mind, and the atmosphere of Washington was charged +with excitement and expectations. There existed considerable need for +assistance to the Negroes who had escaped after the war began, and Rev. +Cain took a leading part in rendering aid to them. They came into the +city without clothes or money and no idea of how to secure employment. +A large number were placed on farms, some given employment as domestics +and still others mustered into the Federal Army.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The city was one procession of men in blue and the air was full of +martial music. The fife and drum could be heard almost all the time, so you +may imagine what emotions a colored person of my age would experience, especially +as father's church was a center for congregating the Negroes and advising +them. That was a difficult task, because a large majority were illiterate +and ignorant.</p> + +<p>"The year father was called to Charleston, South Carolina, to take +charge of a church, we became the center of considerable trouble. It was right +after the close of the war. In addition to his ministerial duties, father +managed a newspaper and became interested in politics. He was elected a delegate +to the Constitutional Convention of South Carolina in 1868. He was also elected +a Republican member of the State Senate and served from 1868 to 1872. Then he +became the Republican candidate for the United States Representative of the +Charleston district, was elected and served in the 45th Congress from March 4, +1877 to March 3, 1879.</p> + +<p>"You can imagine the bitter conflict his candidacy brought on. A Negro +running for public office against a white person in a Southern state that was +strong for slavery does not seem the sensible thing for a man to do, but he did +and was, of course, successful. From the moment he became delegate to the Constitutional +Convention a guard was necessary night and day to watch our home. +He was compelled to have a bodyguard wherever he went. We, his family, lived +in constant fear at all times. Many times mother pleaded with him to cease his +activities, but her pleadings were of no avail.</p> + +<p>"In the beginning the resentment was not so pronounced. The white people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +were shocked and dejected over the outcome of the war, but gradually recovered. +As they did, determination to establish order and prosperity developed, and +they resented the Negro taking part in public affairs. On the other side of +the cause was the excess and obstinate actions of some ignorant Negroes, acting +under ill advice. Father was trying to prevent excesses being done by either +side. He realized that the slaves were unfit, at that time, to take their place +as dependable citizens, for the want of experience and wisdom, and that there +would have to be mental development and wisdom learned by his race, and that +such would only come by a gradual process.</p> + +<p>"He entered the contest in the interest of his own race, primarily, +but as a whole, to do justice to all. No one could change his course. He +often stated, 'It is by the Divine will that I am in this battle.'</p> + +<p>"The climax of the resentment against him took place when he was chosen +Republican candidate to the House of Representatives. He had to maintain an +armed guard at all times. Several times, despite these guards, attempts were +made to either burn the house or injure some member of the family. If it had +not been for the fact that the officials of the city and county were afraid +of the federal government, which gave aid in protecting him, the mob would +have succeeded in harming him.</p> + +<p>"A day or two before election a mob gathered suddenly in front of the +house, and we all thought the end had come. Father sent us all upstairs, and +said he would, if necessary, give himself up to the mob and let them satisfy +their vengeance on him, to save the rest of us.</p> + +<p>"While he was talking, mother noticed another body of men in the alley. +They were certainly sinister looking. Father told us to prepare for the worst,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +saying, 'What they plan to do is for those in front to engage the attention of +ourselves and the guard, then those in the rear will fire the place and force +us out.' He was calm throughout it all, but mother was greatly agitated and +I was crying.</p> + +<p>"The chief of the guard called father for a parley. The mob leader +demanded that father come out for a talk. Then the sheriff and deputies appeared +and he addressed the crowd of men, and told them if harm came to us the city +would be placed under martial law. The men then dispersed, after some discussion +among themselves.</p> + +<p>"Father moved to Washington, took the oath of office and served until +March 4th, 1879. He then received the appointment of Bishop of the African +Methodist Church and served until his death in Washington, on Jan. 18th, 1887.</p> + +<p>"I began my schooling in Charleston and continued in Washington, where +I entered Howard College, but did not continue until graduation. I met James +E. Edwards, another student, who graduated in 1881, and my heart overruled my +desire for an education. We married and he entered the ministry and was called +to Dallas, Texas. He remained two years, then we were called to Los Angeles. +The Negroes there were privileged to enter public eating establishments, but +a cafe owner we patronized told us the following:</p> + +<p>"'After a time, I was compelled to refuse service to Negroes because they +abused the privilege. They came in in a boisterous manner and crowded and +shoved other patrons. It was due to a lack of wisdom and education.'</p> + +<p>"That was true. The white people tried to give the Negro his rights +and he abused the privilege because he was ignorant, a condition he could not +then help.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My husband and I were called to Kansas City in 1896 and from there +to many other towns. Finally we came to Waco, and he had charge of a church +there when he died, in 1927. We had a pleasant married life and I tried to +do my duty as a pastor's wife and help elevate my race. We were blessed with +three children, and the only one now living is in Boston, Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>"I now reside with my granddaughter, Mary Foster, and this shack is +the best her husband can afford. In fact, we are living in destitute circumstances. +It is depressing to me, after having lived a life in a comfortable +home. It is the Lord's will and I must accept what is provided. There is a +purpose for all things. I shall soon go to meet my Maker, with the satisfaction +of having done my duty—first, to my race, second, to mankind.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="intro"><p>Note: The biography of Richard H. Cain is published in the Biographical +Directory of the American Congress.</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420008" id="n420008"></a>420008</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 181px;"><a href="images/162015v.png"> +<img src="images/162015r.png" width="181" height="300" alt="Mary Kincheon Edwards" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Mary Kincheon Edwards</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MARY KINCHEON EDWARDS says +she was born on July 8, 1810, +but she has nothing to substantiate +this claim. However, +she is evidently very +old. Her memory is poor, but +she knows she was reared by +the Kincheons, in Baton Rouge, +Louisiana, and that she spoke +French when a child. The Kincheons +gave her to Felix Vaughn, +who brought her to Texas before +the Civil War. Mary lives with +Beatrice Watters, near Austin, +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"When I's a li'l gal my name Mary Anne Kincheon and I's born +on the eighth of July, in 1810. I lives with de Kincheon family over +in Louisiana. Baton Rouge am de name of dat place. Dem Kincheons have +plenty chillen. O, dey have so many chillen!</p> + +<p>"I don't 'member much 'bout dem days. I's done forgot so many +things, but I 'members how de stars fell and how scared us was. Dem +stars got to fallin' and was out 'fore dey hits de ground. I don't +knew when dat was, but I's good size den.</p> + +<p>"I get give to Massa Felix Vaughn and he brung me to Texas. +Dat long 'fore de war for freedom, but I don't know de year. De most +work I done for de Vaughns was wet nuss de baby son, what name Elijah. +His mammy jes' didn't have 'nough milk for him.</p> + +<p>"Den I knit de socks and wash de clothes and sometimes I work +in de fields. I he'ped make de baskets for de cotton. De man git white-oak +wood and we lets it stay in de water for de night and de nex' mornin' +and it soft and us split it in strips for makin' of de baskets. Everybody +try see who could make de bes' basket.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us pick 'bout 100 pound cotton in one basket. I didn't mind +pickin' cotton, 'cause I never did have de backache. I pick two and +three hunnert pounds a day and one day I picked 400. Sometime de prize +give by massa to de slave what pick de most. De prize am a big cake +or some clothes. Pickin' cotton not so bad, 'cause us used to it and +have de fine time of it. I gits a dress one day and a pair shoes +'nother day for pickin' most. I so fast I take two rows at de time.</p> + +<p>"De women brung oil cloths to de fields, so dey make shady place +for de chillen to sleep, but dem what big 'nough has to pick. Sometime +dey sing</p> + +<p> +"'O—ho, I's gwine home,<br /> +And cuss de old overseer.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Us have ash-hopper and uses drip-lye for make barrels soap and +hominy. De way us test de lye am drap de egg in it and if de egg float +de lye ready to put in de grease for makin' de soap. Us throwed greasy +bones in de lye and dat make de bes' soap. De lye eat de bones.</p> + +<p>"Us boil wild sage and make tea and it smell good. It good for +de fever and chills. Us git slippery elm out de bottom and chew it. +Some chew it for bad feelin's and some jes' to be chewin'.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes us go to dances and missy let me wear some her jewl'ry. +I out dances dem all and folks didn't know dat not my jewl'ry. After freedom +I stays with de Vaughns and marries, but I forgit he name. Dat 'fore +freedom. After freedom I marries Osburn Edwards and has five chillen. Dey +all dead now. I can still git 'round with dis old gnarly cane. Jes' you +git me good and scared and see how fast I can git 'round!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420266" id="n420266"></a>420266</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LUCINDA ELDER, 86, was born a +slave of the Cardwell family, +near Concord Deport, Virginia. +She came to Texas with Will +Jones and his wife, Miss Susie, +in 1860, and was their nurse-girl +until she married Will +Elder, in 1875. Lucinda lives +at 1007 Edwards St., Houston, +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"You chilluns all go 'way now, while I talks to dis gen'man. +I 'clares to goodness, chilluns nowadays ain't got no manners 'tall. +'Tain't like when I was li'l, dey larnt you manners and you larnt to +mind, too. Nowadays you tell 'em to do somethin' and you is jes' +wastin' you breath, 'less you has a stick right handy. Dey is my +great grandchilluns, and dey sho' is spoilt. Maybe I ain't got no +patience no more, like I use to have, 'cause dey ain't so bad.</p> + +<p>"Well, suh, you all wants me to tell you 'bout slave times, and +I'll tell you first dat I had mighty good white folks, and I hope dey +is gone up to Heaven. My mama 'long to Marse John Cardwell, what I +hear was de riches' man and had de bigges' plantation round Concord +Depot. Dat am in Campbell County, in Virginny. I don't 'member old +missy's name, but she mighty good to de slaves, jes' like Marse John +was.</p> + +<p>"Mama's name was Isabella and she was de cook and born right on +de plantation. Papa's name was Gibson, his first name was Jim, and he +'long to Marse Gibson what had a plantation next to Marse John, and I +knows papa come to see mama on Wednesday and Sat'day nights.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lemme see, now, dere was six of us chilluns. My mem'ry ain't so good +no more, but Charley was oldes', den come Dolly and Jennie and Susie and me +and Laura. Law me, I guess old Dr. Bass, what was doctor for Marse John, +use to be right busy with us 'bout once a year for quite a spell.</p> + +<p>"Dem times dey don't marry by no license. Dey takes a slave man and +woman from de same plantation and puts 'em together, or sometime a man from +'nother plantation, like my papa and mama. Mamma say Marse John give 'em a +big supper in de big house and read out de Bible 'bout obeyin' and workin' and +den dey am married. Course, de nigger jes' a slave and have to do what de +white folks say, so dat way of marryin' 'bout good as any.</p> + +<p>"But Marse John sho' was de good marse and we had plenty to eat and wear +and no one ever got whipped. Marse John say iffen he have a nigger what oughta +be whipped, he'd git rid of him quick, 'cause a bad nigger jes' like a rotten +'tater in a sack of good ones—it spoil de others.</p> + +<p>"Back dere in Virginny it sho' git cold in winter, but come September +de wood gang git busy cuttin' wood and haulin' it to de yard. Dey makes two +piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. When dey git +it all hauled it look like a <a name='TC_6'></a><ins title="bit">big</ins> woodyard. While dey is haulin', de women make +quilts and dey is wool quilts. Course, dey ain't made out of shearin' wool, +but jes' as good. Marse John have lots of sheep and when dey go through de +briar patch de wool cotch on dem briars and in de fall de women folks goes out +and picks de wool off de briars jes' like you picks cotton. Law me, I don't +know nothin' 'bout makin' quilts out of cotton till I comes to Texas.</p> + +<p>"Course I never done no work, 'cause Marse John won't work no one till dey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +is fifteen years old. Den dey works three hours a day and dat all. Dey don't +work full time till dey's eighteen. We was jes' same as free niggers on our place. +He gives each slave a piece of ground to make de crop on and buys de stuff hisself. +We growed snap beans and corn and plant on a light moon, or turnips and onions +we plant on de dark moon.</p> + +<p>"When I gits old 'nough Marse John lets me take he daughter, Nancy Lee, +to school. It am twelve miles and de yard man hitches up old Bess to de buggy +and we gits in and no one in dat county no prouder dan what I was.</p> + +<p>"Marse John lets us go visit other plantations and no pass, neither. Iffen +de patterroller stop us, we jes' say we 'long to Marse John and dey don't bother us +none. Iffen dey comes to our cabin from other plantations, dey has to show de patterroller +de pass, and iffen dey slipped off and ain't got none, de patterroller +sho' give a whippin' den. But dey waits till dey off our place, 'cause Marse John +won't 'low no whippin' on our place by no one.</p> + +<p>"Well, things was jes' 'bout de same all de time till jes' 'fore freedom. +Course, I hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de Yanks, fightin' our +folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. Den one dey mamma took <a name='TC_7'></a><ins title="sich">sick</ins> and she had +hear talk and call me to de bed and say, 'Lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not +work 'less we git paid for it.' She sho' was right, 'cause Marse John calls all us +to de cookhouse and reads de freedom papers to us and tells us we is all free, but iffen +we wants to stay he'll give us land to make a crop and he'll feed us. Now I tells you +de truth, dey wasn't no one leaves, 'cause we all loves Marse John.</p> + +<p>"Den, jus' three weeks after freedom mama dies and dat how come me to leave +Marse John. You see, Marse Gibson what owns papa 'fore freedom, was a good marse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +and when papa was sot free Marse Gibson gives him some land to farm. 'Course, +papa was gwine have us all with him, but when mamma dies, Marse Gibson tell him Mr. +Will Jones and Miss Susie, he wife, want a nurse girl for de chilluns, so papa +hires me out to 'em and I want to say right now, dey jes' as good white folks as +Marse John and Old Missy, and sho' treated me good.</p> + +<p>"Law me, I never won't forgit one day. Mr. Will say, 'Lucinda, we is gwine +drive you over to Appomatox and take de chilluns and you can come, too.' Course, +I was tickled mos' to pieces but he didn't tell what he gwine for. You know what? +To see a nigger hung. I gettin' long mighty old now, but I won't never forgit dat. +He had kilt a man, and I never saw so many people 'fore, what dere to see him hang. +I jes' shut my eyes.</p> + +<p>"Den Mr. Will he take me to de big tree what have all de bark strip off it and +de branches strip off, and say, 'Lucinda, dis de tree where Gen. Lee surrendered.' +I has put dese two hands right on dat tree, yes, suh, I sho' has.</p> + +<p>"Miss Susie say one day, 'Lucinda, how you like to go with us to Texas?' Law +me, I didn't know where Texas was at, or nothin', but I loved Mr. Will and Miss +Susie and de chilluns was all wrop up in me, so I say I'll go. And dat how come +I'm here, and I ain't never been back, and I ain't see my own sisters and brother +and papa since.</p> + +<p>"We come to New Orleans on de train and takes de boat on de Gulf to Galveston +and den de train to Hempstead. Mr. Will farm at first and den he and Miss Susie +run de hotel, and I stays with dem till I gets married to Will Elder in '75, and I +lives with him till de good Lawd takes him home.</p> + +<p>"I has five chilluns but all dead now, 'ceptin' two. I done served de Lawd +now for 64 years and soon he's gwine call old Lucinda, but I'm ready and I know +I'll be better off when I die and go to Heaven, 'cause I'm old and no 'count now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420024" id="n420024"></a>420024</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"><a href="images/162021v.png"> +<img src="images/162021r.png" width="475" height="300" alt="John Ellis" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">John Ellis</span> +</div> + + + +<div class="intro"><p>JOHN ELLIS, was born June 26, 1852, +a slave of the Ellis family in +Johnson County near Cleburne, Texas. +He remained with his white folks and +was paid by the month for his labor +for one year after freedom, when his +master died and his mistress returned +to Mississippi. He worked as a laborer +for many years around Cleburne, +coming to San Angelo, Texas in 1928. +He now lives alone and is very active +for his age.</p></div> + + +<p>John relates:</p> + +<p>"My father and mother, John and Fannie Ellis, were +sold in Springfield, Missouri, to my marster, Parson Ellis, +and taken away from all their people and brought to Johnson +County, Texas.</p> + +<p>"My marster, he was a preacher and a good man. None +of de slaves ever have better white folks den we did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We had good beds and good food and dey teaches +us to read and write too. De buffalo and de antelope +and de deer was mos' as thick as de cattle now, and we +was sent out after dem, so we would always have plenty +of fresh meat. We had hogs and cattle too. Any of +dem what was not marked was just as much ours as iffen +we had raised dem, 'cause de range was all free.</p> + +<p>"Some of de fish we would catch out of dat Brazos +River would be so big dey would pull us in but finally +we would manage to gits dem out. De rabbits and de +'possum was plentiful too and wid de big garden what our +marster had for us all, we sho' had good to eat.</p> + +<p>"I's done all kinds of work what it takes to run +a fa'm. My boss he had only fourteen slaves and what +was called a small fa'm, compared wid de big plantations. +After our days work was done we would set up at night +and pick de seed out of de cotton so dey could spin it +into thread. Den we goes out and gits different kinds +of bark and boils it to git dye for de thread 'fore it +was spinned into cloth. De chillun jes' have long shirts +and slips made out of dis home spun and we makes our +shoes out of rawhide, and Lawdy! Dey was so hard we would +have to warm dem by de fire and grease dem wid tallow to +ever wear dem 'tall.</p> + +<p>"We had good log huts and our boss had a bigger log +house. We never did work long into de night and long +'fore day like I hear tell some did. We didn' have none +of dem drivers and when we done anything very bad old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +marster he whoop us a little but we never got hurt.</p> + +<p>"I didn' see no slaves sold. Dat was done, I hear, +but not so much in Texas. I never did see no jails nor +chains nor nothin' like dat either, but I hears 'bout dem.</p> + +<p>"We never worked Sat'days and de colored went to +church wid de whites and jine de church too, but dey never +baptized dem so far as I knows.</p> + +<p>"We had lots to eat and big times on Christmas, mos' +as big as when de white folks gits married. Umph, um! +One of de gi'ls got married once and she had such a long +train on dat weddin' gown 'til me and my sister, we have +to walks along behind her and carry dat thing, all of us +a-walkin' on a strip of nice cloth from de carriage to de +church. We sho' have de cakes and all dem good eats at +dem weddin' suppers.</p> + +<p>"I nev'r hear tell of many colored weddin's. We +jes' jumps over de broom an' de bride she has to jump over +it backwards and iffen she couldn' jump it backwards she +couldn't git married. Dat was sho' funny, seein' dem +colored gi'ls a tryin' to jump dat broom.</p> + +<p>"Our boss, he tells us 'bout bein' free and he say he +hire us by de month and we stays dere a year and he dies, +den ole miss she go back to Mississippi and we jes' scatter +'round, some a workin' here and some a workin' yonder, mos' +times for our victuals and clothes. I couldn' tell much +difference myself 'cause I had good people to live wid and +when it was dat way de whites and de colored was better off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +de way I sees it den dey is now, some of dem.</p> + +<p>"I seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know +jes' what's wrong wid me but I <a name='TC_8'></a><ins title="neber">never</ins> was use to doctors +anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage weed and sheep +waste tea for de measles am all de doctoring we gits when +we was slaves and dat done jes' as well.</p> + +<p>"My wife she been dead all dese years an' I jes' +lives here alone.</p> + +<p>"Chillun? No mam, I never had no chillun 'fore I +was married an' I only had twelve after I was married; +yes mam, jes' nine boys and three girls, but I prefers to +live here by myself, 'cause I gits along alright."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420945" id="n420945"></a>420945</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 201px;"><a href="images/162025v.png"> +<img src="images/162025r.png" width="201" height="300" alt="Lorenza Ezell" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Lorenza Ezell</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LORENZA EZELL, Beaumont, Texas, +Negro, was born in 1850 on the +plantation of Ned Lipscomb, in +Spartanburg County, South Carolina. +Lorenza is above the average +in intelligence and remembers +many incidents of slavery and Reconstruction +days. He came to +Brenham, Texas, in 1882, and several +years later moved to Beaumont, +where he lives in a little shack +almost hidden by vines and trees.</p></div> + + +<p>"Us plantation was jes' east from Pacolet Station on Thicketty +Creek, in Spartanburg County, in South Carolina. Dat near Little +and Big Pacolet Rivers on de route to Limestone Springs, and it jes' +a ordinary plantation with de main crops cotton and wheat.</p> + +<p>"I 'long to de Lipscombs and my mama, Maria Ezell, she 'long +to 'em, too. Old Ned Lipscomb was 'mongst de oldest citizens of dat +county. I's born dere on July 29th, in 1850 and I be 87 year old dis +year. Levi Ezell, he my daddy, and he 'long to Landrum Ezell, a Baptist +preacher. Dat young massa and de old massa, John Ezell, was de first +Baptist preacher I ever heered of. He have three sons, Landrum and Judson +and Bryson. Bryson have gif' for business and was right smart of +a orator.</p> + +<p>"Dey's fourteen niggers on de Lipscomb place. Dey's seven +of us chillen, my mamma, three uncle and three aunt and one man what +wasn't no kin to us. I was oldest of de chillen, and dey called Sallie +and Carrie and Alice and Jabus and Coy and LaFate and Rufus and Nelson.</p> + +<p>"Old Ned Lipscomb was one de best massa in de whole county. +You know dem old patterrollers, dey call us 'Old Ned's free niggers,' and +sho' hate us. Dey cruel to us, 'cause dey think us have too good a massa. +One time dey cotch my uncle and beat him most to death.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us go to work at daylight, but us wasn't 'bused. Other +massas used to blow de horn or ring de bell, but massa, he never use +de horn or de whip. All de man folks was 'lowed raise a garden patch +with tobaccy or cotton for to sell in de market. Wasn't many massas +what 'lowed dere niggers have patches and some didn't even feed 'em +enough. Dat's why dey have to git out and hustle at night to git food +for dem to eat.</p> + +<p>"De old massa, he 'sisted us go to church. De Baptist church +have a shed built behind de pulpit for cullud folks, with de dirt floor +and split log seat for de women folks, but most de men folks stands or +kneels on de floor. Dey used to call dat de coop. De white preacher +back to us, but iffen he want to he turn 'round and talk to us awhile. +Us mess up songs, 'cause us couldn't read or write. I 'member dis one:</p> + +<p> +'De rough, rocky road what Moses done travel,<br /> +I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd;<br /> +It's a mighty rocky road but I mos' done travel,<br /> +And I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Us sing 'Sweet Chariot,' but us didn't sing it like dese days. +Us sing:</p> + +<p> +'Swing low, sweet chariot,<br /> +Freely let me into rest,<br /> +I don't want to stay here no longer;<br /> +Swing low, sweet chariot,<br /> +When Gabriel make he las' alarm<br /> +I wants to be rollin' in Jesus arm,<br /> +'Cause I don't want to stay here no longer.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>Us sing 'nother song what de Yankees take dat tune and make a +hymm out of it. Sherman army sung it, too. We have it like dis:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p> +'Our bodies bound to morter and decay,<br /> +Our bodies bound to morter and decay,<br /> +Our bodies bound to morter and decay,<br /> +But us souls go marchin' home.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Befo' de war I jes' big 'nough to drap corn and tote water. +When de little white chillen go to school 'bout half mile, I wait till +noon and run all de way up to de school to run base when dey play at noon. +Dey sev'ral young Lipscombs, dere Smith and Bill and John and Nathan, and +de oldest son, Elias.</p> + +<p>"In dem days cullud people jes' like mules and hosses. Dey +didn't have no last name. My mamma call me after my daddy's massa, Ezell. +Mamma was de good woman and I 'member her more dan once rockin' de little +cradle and singin' to de baby. Dis what she sing:</p> + +<p> +"Milk in de dairy nine days old,<br /> +Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +Frogs and skeeters gittin' mighty bol!<br /> +Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +<br /> +(Chorus)<br /> +<br /> +Keemo, kimo, darro, wharro,<br /> +With me hi, me ho;<br /> +In come Sally singin'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sometime penny winkle,</span><br /> +Lingtum nip cat,<br /> +Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +<br /> +Dere a frog live in a pool,<br /> +Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +Sure he was de bigges' fool,<br /> +Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +<br /> +For he could dance and he could sing<br /> +Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?<br /> +And make de woods aroun' him ring<br /> +Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Old massa didn't hold with de way some mean massas treat dey niggers. +Dere a place on our plantation what us call 'De old meadow.' It was common +for runaway niggers to have place 'long de way to hide and res' when dey run +off from mean massa. Massa used to give 'em somethin' to eat when dey hide +dere. I saw dat place operated, though it wasn't knowed by dat den, but +long time after I finds out dey call it part of de 'Underground railroad.' +Dey was stops like dat all de way up to de north.</p> + +<p>"We have went down to Columbia when I 'bout 11 year old and dat where +de first gun fired. Us rush back home, but I could say I heered de first +guns of de war shot, at Fort Sumter.</p> + +<p>"When Gen'ral Sherman come 'cross de Savannah River in South Carolina, +some of he sojers come right 'cross us plantation. All de neighbors have +brung dey cotton and stack it in de thicket on de Lipscomb place. Sherman +men find it and sot it on fire. Dat cotton stack was big as a little courthouse +and it took two months' burnin'.</p> + +<p>"My old massa run off and stay in de woods a whole week when Sherman +men come through. He didn't need to worry, 'cause us took care of everythin'. +Dey a funny song us make up 'bout him runnin' off in de woods. I +know it was make up, 'cause my uncle have a hand in it. It went like dis:</p> + +<p> +'White folks, have you seed old massa<br /> +Up de road, with he mustache on?<br /> +He pick up he hat and he leave real sudden<br /> +And I 'lieve he's up and gone.<br /> +<br /> +(Chorus)<br /> +<br /> +'Old massa run away<br /> +And us darkies stay at home.<br /> +It mus' be now dat Kingdom's comin'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>And de year of Jubilee.<br /> +<br /> +'He look up de river and he seed dat smoke<br /> +Where de Lincoln gunboats lay.<br /> +He big 'nuff and he old 'nuff and he orter know better,<br /> +But he gone and run away.<br /> +<br /> +'Now dat overseer want to give trouble<br /> +And trot us 'round a spell,<br /> +But we lock him up in de smokehouse cellar,<br /> +With de key done throwed in de well.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Right after dat I start to be boy what run mail from camp to +camp for de sojers. One time I capture by a bunch of deserters what was +hidin' in de woods 'long Pacolet River. Dey didn't hurt me, though, but +dey mos' scare me to death. Dey parole me and turn me loose.</p> + +<p>"All four my young massas go to de war, all but Elias. He +too old. Smith, he kilt at Manassas Junction. Nathan he git he finger +shot at de first round at Fort Sumter. But when Billy was wounded at +Howard Gap in North Carolina and dey brung him home with he jaw split open, +I so mad I could have kilt all de Yankees. I say I be happy iffen I could +kill me jes' one Yankee. I hated dem 'cause dey hurt my white people. +Billy was disfigure awful when he jaw split and he teeth all shine through +he cheek.</p> + +<p>"After <a name='TC_9'></a><ins title="was">war</ins> was over, old massa call us up and told us we free +but he 'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. Us all stay. Den +us select us homes and move to it. Us folks move to Sam Littlejohn's, north +of Thickettty Creek, where us stay two year. Den us move back to Billy Lipscomb, +de young massa, and stay dere two more year. I's right smart good +banjo picker in dem day. I kin 'member one dem songs jes' as good today as +when I pick it. Dat was:</p> + +<p> +'Early in de mornin'<br /> +Don't you hear de dogs a-barkin'?<br /> +Bow, wow, wow!<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><br /> +(Chorus)<br /> +<br /> +'Hush, hush, boys<br /> +Don't make a noise,<br /> +Massa's fast a-sleepin'.<br /> +Run to de barnyard<br /> +Wake up de boys<br /> +Let's have banjo pickin.'.<br /> +<br /> +'Early in de mornin'<br /> +Don't you hear dem roosters crowin'?<br /> +Cock-a-doodle-do.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I come in contac' with de Klu Klux. Us lef' de plantation +in '65 or '66 and by '68 us was havin' sich a awful time with de Klu Klux. +First time dey come to my mamma's house at midnight and claim dey sojers +done come back from de dead. Dey all dress up in sheets and make up like +spirit. Dey groan 'round and say dey been kilt wrongly and come back +for justice. One man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up +'bout eighteen feet high all of a <a name='TC_10'></a><ins title="suddent">sudden</ins>. Another say he so thirsty +he ain't have no water since he been kilt at Manassas Junction. He ask +for water and he jes' kept pourin' it in. Us think he sho' must be a +spirit to drink dat much water. Course he not drinkin' it, he pourin' it +in a bag under he sheet. My mama never did take up no truck with spirits +so she knowed it jes' a man. Dey tell us what dey gwine do iffen we don't +all go back to us massas and us all 'grees and den dey all dis'pear.</p> + +<p>"Den us move to New Prospect on de Pacolet River, on de Perry +Clemmons' place. Dat in de upper edge of de county and dat where de second +swarm of de Klu Klux come out. Dey claim dey gwine kill everybody what am +Repub'can. My daddy charge with bein' a leader 'mongst de niggers. He +make speech and 'struct de niggers how to vote for Grant's first 'lection. +De Klu Klux want to whip him and he have to sleep in a holler log every +night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dey's a old man name Uncle Bart what live 'bout half mile from +us. De Klu Klux come to us house one night, but my daddy done hid. Den I +hear dem say dey gwine go kill old man Bart. I jump out de window and +cut short cut through dem wood and warn him. He git out de house in time +and I save he life. De funny thing, I knowed all dem Klu Klux. Spite dey +sheets and things, I knowed dey voices and dey saddle hosses.</p> + +<p>"Dey one white man name Irving Ramsey. Us play fiddle together +lots of time. When de white boys dance dey allus wants me to go to play for +dey party. One day I say to dat boy, 'I done knowed you last night.' He +say, 'What you mean?' I say, 'You one dem Klu Klux.' He want to know how +I know. I say, 'Member when you go under de chestnut tree and say, "Whoa, +Sont, whoa, Sont, to your hoss?" He say, 'Yes,' and I laugh and say, 'Well, +I's right up in dat tree.' Dey all knowed I knowed dem den, but I never +told on dem. When dey seed I ain't gwineter tell, dey never try whip my +daddy or kill Uncle Bart no more.</p> + +<p>"I ain't never been to school but I jes' picked up readin'. With +some my first money I ever earn I buy me a old blue-back Webster. I carry +dat book wherever I goes. When I plows down a row I stop at de end to rest +and den I overlook de lesson. I 'member one de very first lessons was, +'Evil communications 'rupts good morals.' I knowed de words 'evil' and +'good' and a white man 'splain de others. I been done use dat lesson all +my life.</p> + +<p>"After us left de Pacolet River us stay in Atlanta a little +while and den I go on to Louisiana. I done lef' Spartanburg completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +in '76 but I didn't git into Texas till 1882. I fin'lly git to Brenham, +Texas and marry Rachel Pinchbeck two year after. Us was marry in church +and have seven chillen. Den us sep'rate. I been batching 'bout 20 year +and I done los' track mos' dem chillen. My gal, Lula, live in Beaumont, +and Will, he in Chicago.</p> + +<p>"Every time I tells dese niggers I's from South Carolina dey +all say, 'O, he bound to make a heap.' I could be a conjure doctor and +make plenty money, but dat ain't good. In slavery time dey's men like dat +'garded as bein' dangerous. Dey make charms and put bad mouth on you. +De old folks wears de rabbit foot or coon foot and sometime a silver dime +on a fishin' string to keep off de witches. Some dem old conjure people +make lots of money for charm 'gainst ruin or cripplin' or dry up de blood. +But I don't take up no truck with things like dat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420093" id="n420093"></a>420093</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 196px;"><a href="images/162033v.png"> +<img src="images/162033r.png" width="196" height="300" alt="Betty Farrow" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Betty Farrow</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>BETTY FARROW, 90, now living +with a son on a farm in Moser +Valley, a Negro settlement ten +miles northeast of Fort Worth +on Texas Highway No. 15, was +born a slave to Mr. Alex Clark, +plantation owner in Patrick Co., +Virginia.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's glad to tell what I knows, but yous have to 'scuse +me, 'cause my 'collection am bad. I jus' don' 'member much, but I's +bo'n on Masta Alex Clark's plantation in Patrick County, Virginny, +on June 28th, 1847. Dat's what my mammy tol' me. You see, we cullud +folks have no schoolin' dem days and I can't read or write. I has to +depen' on what folks tells me.</p> + +<p>"Masta Clark has right smart plantation in ole Virginny and +he owns 'bout twenty other slaves dat wo'ked de big place. He had three +girls and four boys and when I's a chile we'uns played togedder and we'uns +'tached to each other all our lives.</p> + +<p>"In mammy's family dere was five boys and four girls. I don' +'member my pappy. When I's 'bout ten, I's set to work, peddalin' 'round +de house.</p> + +<p>"'bout three years 'fore de war marster sol' his plantation +for to go to Texas. I 'members de day we'uns started in three covered +wagons, all loaded. 'Twas celebration day for us chillun. We travels +from daylight to dark, 'cept to feed and res' de mules at noon. I don' +rec'lec' how long we was on de way, but 'twas long time and 'twarn't no +celebration towards de las'. After while we comes to Sherman, in Texas, +to our new farm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When we was dere 'bout a year, dere am heaps of trouble. +Dere was a neighbor, Shields, he's drivin' wood to town and goes n'cross +masta's yard and dey have arg'ments. One day we chillen playin' and +masta settin' on de front porch and Shields come up de road. Masta stops +him when he starts to cross de yard and de fust thing we knows, we hears +'bang' and dat Shields shoot de masta and we sees him fall. Dey sen's +young Alex for de doctor and he makes dat mule run like he never run 'fore. +De doctor comes in de house and looks at de masta, and listens to his heart +and says, 'He am dead.' Dere was powerful sorrow in dat home.</p> + +<p>"After dat, Masta Alex takes charge, and in 'bout one year, he says, +'We'uns goin' to Fort Worth.' So we goes, and if I rec'lec's right, dat year +de war started. After dat, dere was times dere wasn' enough to make de +clothes, but we'uns allus had plenty to eat, and we gives lots of feed to +de army mans.</p> + +<p>"I don' 'member bein' tol' I's free. We'uns stayed right dere on +de farm 'cause it was de only home we knew and no reason to go. I stays +dere till I's twenty-seven years ole, den I marries and my husban' rents +land. We'uns has ten chillun and sometimes we has to skimp, but we gets +on. When my husban' dies fifteen years ago, I comes here. I's allus been +too busy tendin' to my 'sponsibilities for to git in de debilmen' and now +I's happy, tendin' to my great gran'chile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420147" id="n420147"></a>420147</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JOHN FINNELY, 86, was born a slave +to Martin Finnely, in Jackson Co., +Alabama. During the Civil War ten +slaves escaped from the Finnely +plantation. Their success led John +to escape. He joined the Federal +Army. John farmed from 1865 until +1917, then moved to Fort Worth, Tex., +and worked in packing plants until +1930. He now lives at 2812 Cliff +St., Fort Worth, his sole support +a $17.00 monthly pension.</p></div> + + +<p>"Alabama am de state where I's born and dat 86 year ago, in Jackson +County, on Massa Martin Finnely's plantation, and him owns 'bout 75 other +slaves 'sides mammy and me. My pappy am on dat plantation but I don't +know him, 'cause mammy never talks 'bout him 'cept to say, 'He am here.'</p> + +<p>"Massa run de cotton plantation but raises stock and feed and corn +and cane and rations for de humans sich as us. It am diff'rent when I's +a young'un dan now. Den, it am needful for to raise everything yous need, +'cause dey couldn't 'pend on factory made goods. Dey could buy shoes and +clothes and sich, but we'uns could make dem so much cheaper.</p> + +<p>"What we'uns make? 'Low me to 'collect a li'l. Let's see, we'uns +make shoes, and leather and clothes and cloth and grinds de meal. And +we'uns cures de meat, preserves de fruit and make 'lassas and brown sugar. +All de harness for de mules and de hosses is make and de carts for haulin'. +Am dat all? Oh, yes, massa make peach brandy and him have he own still.</p> + +<p>"De work am 'vided 'twixt de cullud folks and us allus have certain +duties to do. I's am de field hand and befo' I's old 'nough for to do dat, +dey has me help with de chores and errands.</p> + +<p>"Us have de cabins of logs with one room and one door and one window +hole and bunks for sleepin'. But no cookin' am done dere. It am done in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +de cookhouse by de cooks for all us niggers and we'uns eats in de eatin' shed. +De rations am good, plain victuals and dere plenty of it and 'bout twict a +week dere somethin' for treat. Massa sho' am 'ticular 'bout feedin', 'specially +for de young'uns in de nursery. You see, dere am de nursery for sich what +needs care while dere mammies am a-workin'.</p> + +<p>"Massa feed plenty and him 'mand plenty work. Dat cause heap of +trouble on dat plantation, 'cause whippin's am given and hard ones, too. Lots +of times at de end of de day I's so tired I's couldn't speak for to stop de +mule, I jus' have to lean back on de lines.</p> + +<p>"Dis nigger never gits whupped 'cept for dis, befo' I's a field +hand. Massa use me for huntin' and use me for de gun rest. When him have de +long shot I bends over and puts de hands on de knees and massa puts his gun +on my back for to git de good aim. What him kills I runs and fotches and +carries de game for him. I turns de squirrels for him and dat disaway: de +squirrel allus go to udder side from de hunter and I walks 'round de tree +and de squirrel see me and go to massa's side de tree and he gits de shot.</p> + +<p>"All dat not so bad, but when he shoots de duck in de water and I +has to fotch it out, dat give me de worryment. De fust time he tells me +to go in de pond I's skeert, powe'ful skeert. I takes off de shirt and pants +but there I stands. I steps in de water, den back 'gain, and 'gain. Massa +am gittin' mad. He say, 'Swim in dere and git dat duck.' 'Yes, sar, massa,' +I says, but I won't go in dat water till massa hit me some licks. I couldn't +never git use to bein' de water dog for de ducks.</p> + +<p>"De worst whuppin' I seed was give to Clarinda. She hits massa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +with de hoe 'cause he try 'fere with her and she try stop him. She am put +on de log and give 500 lashes. She am over dat log all day and when dey takes +her off, she am limp and act deadlike. For a week she am in de bunk. Dat +whuppin' cause plenty trouble and dere lots of arg'ments 'mong de white folks +'round dere.</p> + +<p>"We has some joyments on de plantation, no parties or dancin' but +we has de corn huskin' and de nigger fights. For de corn huskin' everybody +come to one place and dey gives de prize for findin' de red ear. On massa's +place de prize am brandy or you am 'lowed to kiss de gal you calls for. +While us huskin' us sing lots. No, no, I's not gwine sing any dem songs, +'cause I's forgit and my voice sound like de bray of de mule.</p> + +<p>"De nigger fights am more for de white folks' joyment but de +slaves am 'lowed to see it. De massas of plantations match dere niggers +'cording to size and bet on dem. Massa Finnely have one nigger what weighs +'bout 150 pounds and him powerful good fighter and he like to fight. None +lasts long with him. Den a new niggers comes to fight him.</p> + +<p>"Dat fight am held at night by de pine torch light. A ring am +made by de folks standin' 'round in de circle. Deys 'lowed to do anything +with dey hands and head and teeth. Nothin' barred 'cept de knife and de +club. Dem two niggers gits in de ring and Tom he starts quick, and dat new +nigger he starts jus' as quick. Dat 'sprise Tom and when dey comes togedder +it like two bulls—kersmash—it sounds like dat. Den it am hit and kick +and bite and butt anywhere and any place for to best de udder. De one on de +bottom bites knees or anything him can do. Dat's de way it go for half de +hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fin'ly dat new nigger gits Tom in de stomach with he knee and a +lick side de jaw at de same time and down go Tom and de udder nigger jumps +on him with both feets, den straddle him and hits with right, left, right, +left, right, side Tom's head. Dere Tom lay, makin' no 'sistance. Everybody +am saysin', 'Tom have met he match, him am done.' Both am bleedin' and am +awful sight. Well, dat new nigger 'laxes for to git he wind and den Tom, +quick like de flash, flips him off and jump to he feet and befo' dat new +nigger could git to he feet, Tom kicks him in de stomach, 'gain and 'gain. +Dat nigger's body start to quaver and he massa say, 'Dat 'nough.' Dat de +clostest Tom ever come to gittin' whupped what I's know of.</p> + +<p>"I becomes a runaway nigger short time after dat fight. De war am +started den for 'bout a year, or somethin' like dat, and de Fed'rals am +north of us. I hears de niggers talk 'bout it, and 'bout runnin' 'way to +freedom. I thinks and thinks 'bout gittin' freedom, and I's gwine run off. +Den I thinks of de patter rollers and what happen if dey cotches me off de +place without de pass. Den I thinks of some joyment sich as de corn huskin' +and de fights and de singin' and I don't know what to do. I tells you one +singin' but I can't sing it:</p> + +<p> +"'De moonlight, a shinin' star,<br /> +De big owl hootin' in de tree;<br /> +O, bye, my baby, ain't you gwineter sleep,<br /> +A-rockin' on my knee?<br /> +<br /> +"'Bye, my honey baby,<br /> +A-rockin' on my knee,<br /> +Baby done gone to sleep,<br /> +Owl hush hootin' in de tree.<br /> +<br /> +"'She gone to sleep, honey baby sleep,<br /> +A-rockin' on my, a-rockin' on my knee.'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, back to de freedom. One night 'bout ten niggers run +away. De next day we'uns hears nothin', so I says to myself, 'De patters +don't cotch dem.' Den I makes up my mind to go and I leaves with de chunk +of meat and cornbread and am on my way, half skeert to death. I sho' has de +eyes open and de ears forward, watchin' for de patters. I steps off de road +in de night, at sight of anything, and in de day I takes to de woods. It +takes me two days to make dat trip and jus' once de patters pass me by. I +am in de thicket watchin' dem and I's sho' dey gwine search dat thicket, 'cause +dey stops and am a-talkin' and lookin' my way. Dey stands dere for a li'l bit +and den one comes my way. Lawd A-mighty! Dat sho' look like de end, but dat +man stop and den look and look. Den he pick up somethin' and goes back. It +am a bottle and dey all takes de drink and rides on. I's sho' in de sweat and +I don't tarry dere long.</p> + +<p>"De Yanks am camped nere Bellfound and dere's where I gits to. 'Magine +my 'sprise when I finds all de ten runaway niggers am dere, too. Dat am on a +Sunday and on de Monday, de Yanks puts us on de freight train and we goes to +Stevenson, in Alabama. Dere, us put to work buildin' breastworks. But after +de few days, I gits sent to de headquarters at Nashville, in Tennessee.</p> + +<p>"I's water toter dere for de army and dere am no fightin' at first +but 'fore long dey starts de battle. Dat battle am a 'sperience for me. +De noise am awful, jus' one steady roar of de guns and de cannons. De window +glass in Nashville am all shoke out from de shakement of de cannons. Dere am +dead mens all over de ground and lots of wounded and some cussin' and some +prayin'. Some am moanin' and dis and dat one cry for de water and, God A-mighty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +I don't want any sich 'gain. Dere am men carryin' de dead off da field, +but dey can't keep up with de cannons. I helps bury de dead and den I gits +sent to Murphysboro and dere it am jus' de same.</p> + +<p>"You knows when Abe Lincoln am shot? Well, I's in Nashville den and +it am near de end of de war and I am standin' on Broadway Street talkin' +with de sergeant when up walk a man and him shakes hands with me and says, +'I's proud to meet a brave, young fellow like you.' Dat man am Andrew +Johnson and him come to be president after Abe's dead.</p> + +<p>"I stays in Nashville when de war am over and I marries Tennessee +House in 1875 and she died July 10th, 1936. Dat make 61 year dat we'uns +am togedder. Her old missy am now livin' in Arlington Heights, right +here in Fort Worth and her name am Mallard and she come from Tennessee, too.</p> + +<p>"I comes here from Tennessee 51 year ago and at fust I farms and den +I works for de packin' plants till dey lets me out, 'cause I's too old for +to do 'nough work for dem.</p> + +<p>"I has eight boys and three girls, dat make eleven chillen, and dey +makin' scatterment all over de country so I's alone in my old age. I has +dat $17.00 de month pension what I gits from de State.</p> + +<p>"Dat am de end of de road.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420031" id="n420031"></a>420031</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 195px;"><a href="images/162041v.png"> +<img src="images/162041r.png" width="195" height="300" alt="Sarah Ford" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Sarah Ford</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>SARAH FORD, whose age is problematical, +but who says, "I's +been here for a long time," lives +in a small cottage at 3151 Clay +St., Houston, Texas. Born on the +Kit Patton plantation near West +Columbia, Texas, Aunt Sarah was +probably about fifteen years old +when emancipated. She had eleven +children, the first born during +the storm of 1875, at East Columbia, +in which Sarah's mother +and father both perished.</p></div> + + +<p>"Law me, you wants me to talk 'bout slave times, and you is +cotched me 'fore I's had my coffee dis mornin', but when you gits old +as I is, talk is 'bout all you can do, so 'scuse me whilst I puts de +coffee pot on de fire and tell you what I can.</p> + +<p>"Now, what I tells you is de truth, 'cause I only told one little +lie in my whole life and I got cotched in it and got whipped both ways. +Oh, Lawd, I sho' never won't forget dat, mama sho' was mad. Mama sends +me over to Sally Ann, the cow woman, to get some milk and onions. I +never did like to borrow, so I comes back with the milk and tell mama +Sally Ann say she ain't got no onions for no Africans. Dat make mamma +mad and she goes tell dat Sally Ann Somethin'. She brung back de onions +and say, 'You, Sarah, I'll larn you not to tell no lie.' She sho' give +me a hidin'.</p> + +<p>"Now, I tells you 'bout de plantation what I's born on. You all +knows where West Columbia is at? Well, dat's right where I's born, on +Massa Kit Patton's Plantation, dey calls it de Hogg place now." (Owned +by children of Gov. Will Hogg.)</p> + +<p>"Mamma and papa belongs to Massa Kit and mama born there, too. +Folks called her 'Little Jane,' 'cause she's no bigger'n nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Papa's name was Mike and he's a tanner and he come from Tennessee +and sold to Massa Kit by a nigger trader. He wasn't all black, he +was part Indian. I heared him say what tribe, but I can't 'lect now. +When I's growed mama tells me lots of things. She say de white folks +don't let de slaves what works in de field marry none, dey jus' puts a +man and breedin' woman together like mules. Iffen the women don't like +the man it don't make no diff'rence, she better go or dey gives her a +hidin'.</p> + +<p>"Massa Kit has two brothers, Massa Charles and Massa Matt, +what lives at West Columbia. Massa Kit on one side Varney's Creek and +Massa Charles on de other side. Massa Kit have a <a name='TC_11'></a><ins title="Arfican">African</ins> woman from +Kentucky for he wife, and dat's de truth. I ain't sayin' iffen she a +real wife or not, but all de slaves has to call her 'Miss Rachel.' But +iffen a bird fly up in de sky it mus' come down sometime, and Rachel +jus' like dat bird, 'cause Massa Kit go crazy and die and Massa Charles +take over de plantation and he takes Rachel and puts her to work in de +field. But she don't stay in de field long, 'cause Massa Charles puts +her in a house by herself and she don't work no more.</p> + +<p>"If us gits sick us call Mammy Judy. She de cook and iffen you +puts a sugar barrel 'long side her and puts a face on dat barrel, you sho' +can't tell it from her, she so round and fat. Iffen us git real sick dey +calls de doctor, but iffen it a misery in de stomach or jus' de flux, +Mammy Judy fix up some burr vine tea or horsemint tea. Dey de male burr +vine and de female burr vine and does a woman or gal git de misery, dey +gives 'em de female tea, and does a man, or boy chile git it, dey gives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +him de male vine tea.</p> + +<p>"Scuse me while I pours me some coffee. It sho' do fortify me. +You know what us drink for coffee in slave times? Parched meal, and it +purty good iffen you know's how.</p> + +<p>"Us don't have much singin' on our place, 'cepting at church on +Sunday. Law me, de folks what works in de fields feels more like cryin' +at night. Us chillen used to sing dis:</p> + +<p> +"'Where you goin', buzzard,<br /> +Where you gwine to go?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I's <a name='TC_12'></a><ins title="goiin'">goin'</ins> down to new ground,</span><br /> +For to hunt Jim Crow.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I guess Massa Charles, what taken us when Massa Kit die, was 'bout +de same as all white folks what owned slaves, some good and some bad. We has +plenty to eat—more'n I has now—and plenty clothes and shoes. But de +overseer was Uncle Big Jake, what's black like de rest of us, but he so mean +I 'spect de devil done make him overseer down below long time ago. Dat de +bad part of Massa Charles, 'cause he lets Uncle Jake whip de slaves so much +dat some like my papa what had spirit was all de time runnin' 'way. And even +does your stomach be full, and does you have plenty clothes, dat bullwhip on +your bare hide make you forgit de good part, and dat's de truth.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Big Jake sho' work de slaves from early mornin' till night. +When you is in de field you better not lag none. When its fallin' weather +de hands is put to work fixin' dis and dat. De woman what has li'l chillen +don't have to work so hard. Dey works 'round de sugar house and come 11 o'clock +dey quits and cares for de babies till 1 o'clock, and den works till 3 o'clock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +and quits.</p> + +<p>"Massa Charles have a arbor and dat's where we has preachin'. One +day old Uncle Law preachin' and he say, 'De Lawd make everyone to come in +unity and on de level, both white and black.' When Massa Charles hears +'bout it, he don't like it none, and de next mornin' old Uncle Jake git Uncle +Law and put him out in de field with de rest.</p> + +<p>"Massa Charles run dat plantation jus' like a factory. Uncle Cip +was sugar man, my papa tanner and Uncle John Austin, what have a wooden leg, +am shoemaker and make de shoes with de brass toes. Law me, dey heaps of +things go on in slave time what won't go on no more, 'cause de bright light +come and it ain't dark no more for us black folks. Iffen a nigger run away +and dey cotch him, or does he come back 'cause he hongry, I seed Uncle Jake +stretch him out on de ground and tie he hands and feet to posts so he can't +move none. Den he git de piece of iron what he call de 'slut' and what is +like a block of wood with little holes in it, and fill de holes up with +tallow and put dat iron in de fire till de grease sizzlin' hot and hold it +over de pore nigger's back and let dat hot grease drap on he hide. Den he +take de bullwhip and whip up and down, and after all dat throw de pore nigger +in de stockhouse and chain him up a couple days with nothin' to eat. My +papa carry de grease scars on he back till he die.</p> + +<p>"Massa Charles and Uncle Jake don't like papa, 'cause he ain't so +black, and he had spirit, 'cause he part Indian. Do somethin' go wrong +and Uncle Big Jake say he gwine to give papa de whippin', he runs off. One +time he gone a whole year and he sho' look like a monkey when he gits back, +with de hair standin' straight on he head and he face. Papa was mighty good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +to mama and me and dat de only reason he ever come back from runnin' 'way, +to see us. He knowed he'd git a whippin' but he come anyway. Dey never +could cotch papa when he run 'way, 'cause he part Indian. Massa Charles +even gits old Nigger Kelly what lives over to Sandy Point to track papa +with he dogs, but papa wade in water and dey can't track him.</p> + +<p>"Dey knows papa is de best tanner 'round dat part de country, so +dey doesn't sell him off de place. I 'lect papa sayin' dere one place +special where he hide, some German folks, de name Ebbling, I think. While +he hides dere, he tans hides on de sly like and dey feeds him, and lots +of mornin's when us open de cabin door on a shelf jus' 'bove is food for +mama and me, and sometime store clothes. No one ain't see papa, but dere +it is. One time he brung us dresses, and Uncle Big Jake heered 'bout it +and he sho' mad 'cause he can't cotch papa, and he say to mama he gwine to +whip her 'less she tell him where papa is. Mama say, 'Fore God, Uncle Jake, +I don't know, 'cause I ain't seed him since he run 'way,' and jus' den papa +come 'round de corner of de house. He save mama from de whippin' but papa +got de hot grease drapped on him like I told you Uncle Big Jake did, and +got put in de stockhouse with shackles on him, and kep' dere three +days, and while he in dere mama has de goin' down pains and my sister, Rachel, +is born.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come, I didn't know what dat was. I 'lect Uncle Charley +Burns what drive de buggy for Massa Charles, come runnin' out in de yard and +holler, 'Everybody free, everybody free,' and purty soon sojers comes and +de captain reads a 'mation. And, Law me, dat one time Massa Charley can't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +open he mouth, 'cause de captain tell him to shut up, dat he'd do de talkin'. +Den de captain say, 'I come to tell you de slaves is free and you don't have +to call nobody master no more.' Well, us jus' mill 'round like cattle do. +Massa Charley say iffen us wants to stay he'll pay us, all 'cepting my papa. +He say, 'You can't stay here, 'cause you is a bad 'fluence.'</p> + +<p>"Papa left but come back with a wagon and mules what he borrows and +loads mama and my sister and me in and us go to East Columbia on de Brazos +river and settles down. Dey hires me out and us have our own patch, too, and +dat de fust time I ever seed any money. Papa builds a cabin and a corn crib +and us sho' happy, 'cause de bright light done come and dey no more whippin's.</p> + +<p>"One night us jus' finish eatin supper and someone holler 'Hello.' You +know who it was holler? Old Uncle Big Jake. De black folks all hated him so +dey wouldn't have no truck with him and he ask my papa could he stay. Papa +didn't like him none, 'cause he done treat papa so bad, but de old devil jus' +beg so hard papa takes him out to de corn crib and fix a place for him and he +stay most a month till he taken sick and died.</p> + +<p>"I stays with papa and mama till I marries Wes Ford and I shows you +how de Lawd done give and take away. Wes and I has a cabin by ourselves near +papa's and I is jus' 'bout to have my first baby. De wind start blowin' and +it git harder and harder and right when its de worst de baby comes. Dat in +'75 and whilst I havin' my baby, de wind tear de cabin where mama and papa is +to pieces and kilt 'em. My sister Rachel was with me so she wasn't kilt.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't complain, 'cause de Lawd sho' been good to me. Wes +and all 'cept four my chillen is dead now. I has six boys and five gals. +But de ones what is alive is pore like dey mammy. But I praises de Lawd +'cause de bright light am turned on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420153" id="n420153"></a>420153</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MILLIE FORWARD, about 95 years old, +was born a slave of Jason Forward, in +Jasper, Texas. She has spent her entire +life in that vicinity, and now +lives in Jasper with her son, Joe McRay. +Millie has been totally blind for fifteen +years and is very deaf.</p></div> + + +<p>"Us used to live 'bout four mile east of Jasper, on de Newton +Highway. I reckon I's 'bout 95 year old and I thank de Lawd I's been +spared dis long. Some my old friends say I's 100, and maybe I is. I +feels like it.</p> + +<p>"I's born in Alabama and mammy have jus' got up when de white +folks brung us out west. Pappy's name Jim Forward and mammy name Mary. +Dey lef' pappy in Alabama, 'cause he 'long to 'nother massa.</p> + +<p>"My massa name Jason Forward and he own a lot of slaves. I work +as housegirl and wait on de white women. Missus name am Sarah Ann Forward. +Massa Jason he own de fust drugstore in Jasper. I have de sister, Susan, +and de brudder, Tom. Massa and missus, dey treats us jes' like dey us +pappy and mammy.</p> + +<p>"Us have more to eat den dan us do now. Us never was knowed to +be without meat, 'cause massa raise plenty pigs. Us have fish and possum +and coon and deer and everything. Us have biscuits and cake, too, but +us drink bran meal coffee. Massa and missus has no chillen and dey give +us feast and have biscuits and cake. Befo' Christmas massa go to town +and buy all kinds candy and toys and say, 'Millie, you go out on de +gallery and holler and tell Santy not forgit fill your stockin' tonight.' +I holler loud as I can and nex' mornin' my stockin' chock full.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"After freedom come, us stays right on with massa and missus. Massa +teach school for us at night. Us learn A B C and how spell cat and dog and nigger. +Den one day he git cross and scold us and us didn't go back to school no more. Us +didn't have sense 'nough to know he tryin' do us good.</p> + +<p>"Den missus git sick, but she dat good, dat when one cullud man git +drown in de 'river she sit up in bed and make he shroud and massa feed de whole +crowd de two days dey findin' de body. After him bury, missus git worse and +say, 'Jason, pull down de blind, de light am so bright it hurt my eyes.' Den +a big, white crane come light on de chimney and us chillen throw rocks at him, +but he jes' shake he head and ruffle he feathers and still sit dere. I tells +you dat de light of Heaven shinin' on missus and iffen ever a woman went dere, +she did. She de bes' white woman I ever see. De day she die, I cry all day.</p> + +<p>"When de sojers go to de war, every man take a slave to wait on him +and take care he camp and cook. After de end of war, when de sojers gwine home, +don't know how many Yankees pass through Jasper, but it sound like de roar of +a storm comin'. Every officer have he wife ridin' right by he side. Dey wives +come to go home with dem. Dey thousands bluecoats, ridin' two abreas'.</p> + +<p>"When I young lady, dey have tourn'ments at Adrian Ryall place west +of Jasper and de one what cotch de hoss bridle de most times, git crown queen. +I gits to be queen every time. I looks like a queen now, doesn't I?</p> + +<p>"After us git free a long time, me and Susan and Tom us work hard +and buy us de black land farm. But de deed git' burnt up and us didn't know +how to git 'nother deed, and a young nigger call McRay, he come foolin' 'round +me and makin' love to me. He find out us don't have no deed no more and he claim +dat farm and take it 'way from us and leave me with li'l baby boy what I names +Joe Millie McRay. But never 'gain. I never marries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us done work in de cotton field and wash many a long day to +pay for dat farm. But dat boy growed to be a good man and I live with him and +he wife now. And he boy, Bob, am better still. He jes' work so hard and he +buy fine li'l home in Jasper and marry de bes' gal, mos' white. Dey have nice +fur'ture and gas and lights and everything.</p> + +<p>"Dey treat us purty good in slavery days but I'd rather be free, +but it purty hard to be blind so long and most deaf, too, but I thank de Lawd +I's not sufferin'. I gits de pension of 'leven dollars a month. I's so old +I can't 'member much, only sometime, things comes to me I thought I forgot long +time ago. I's had it purty hard to pay for de farm and den have it stoled +from me when I's old and blind, but de good Lawd, he know all 'bout it and we +all got to stand 'fore de jedgment some day soon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420051" id="n420051"></a>420051</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;"><a href="images/162050v.png"> +<img src="images/162050r.png" width="184" height="300" alt="Louis Fowler" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Louis Fowler</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LOUIS FOWLER, 84, was born a +slave to Robert Beaver, in +Macon Co., Georgia. Fowler did +not take his father's name, but +that of his stepfather, J. Fowler. +After he was freed, Louis farmed +for several years, then worked in +packing plants in Fort Worth, Tex. +He lives at 2706 Holland St., Fort +Worth.</p></div> + + +<p>"Dis cullud person am 84 years old and I's born on de plantation +of Massa Robert Beaver, in old Georgia. He owned my mammy and +'bout 50 slaves. Now, 'bout my pappy, I lets you judge. Look at my +hair. De color am red, ain't it? My beard am red and my eyes is +brown and my skin am light yellow. Now, who does you think my pappy +was? You don't know, of course, but I knows, 'cause on dat plantation +am a man dat am over six feet tall and his hair as red as a brick.</p> + +<p>"My mammy am married to a man named Fowler and he am owned by +Massa Jack Fowler, on de place next to ours. Our place am middlin' big +and fixed first class. He has first-class quarter for us cullud folks. +De cabins am two and some three rooms and dey all built of logs and chinked +with a piece of wood and daubed with dirt to fill de cracks. De +way we'uns fix dat dirt am take de clay or gumbo which am sticky when it +am wet. Dat dirt am soaked with water till it stick together and den +hay or straw am mixed with it. When sich mud am daubed in de cracks +it stay and dem cabins am sho' windproof and warm.</p> + +<p>"De treatment am good and Massa Beaver have de choice name 'mong +he neighbors for bein' good to he niggers. No work on Sunday, no work on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +Saturday evenin's. Dem times was for de cullud folks to do for demselves. +Massa Beaver have it fixed disaway, he 'low each family a piece of groun' +and dey can raise what dey likes.</p> + +<p>"De rations am measure out and de massa allus 'low plenty of meat +and we has wheat flour. Mos' de niggers don't have wheat flour, but massa +raises de wheat and we gits it. We kin have 'lasses and brown sugar but +one thing we'uns has to watch am de waste, 'cause massa won't stand for dat.</p> + +<p>"De meat am cured with de hick'ry wood smoke and if you could git +jus' one taste dat ham and bacon you'd never eat none of this nowadays meat. +It sho' have a dif'rent taste.</p> + +<p>"We makes de cloth and de wool and I could card and spin and weave +'fore I's big 'nough to work in de field. My mammy larned me to help her. +We makes dye from de bark of walnut and de cherry and red oak trees, and +some from berries but what dey is I forgit. Iffen we'uns wants clay red, we +buries de cloth in red clay for a week and it takes on de color. Den we +soaks de cloth in cold salt water and it stays colored.</p> + +<p>"Massa builded a log church house for we'uns cullud folks for to +go to God. Dat nigger named Allen Beaver am de preacherman and de leader +in all de parties, 'cause him can play de fiddle. No, Allen am not educated, +but can he preach a pow'ful sermon. O, Lawd! He am inspire from de +Lawd and he preached from his heartfelt.</p> + +<p>"Dere am only one time dat a nigger gits whupped on dat plantation +and dat am not given by massa but by dem patterrollers. Massa don't +gin'rally 'low dem patterrollers whup on his place, and all de niggers from +round dere allus run from de patterrollers onto massa's land and den dey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +safe. But in dis 'ticlar case, massa make de 'ception.</p> + +<p>"'Twas nigger Jack what dey chases home and he gits under de cabin +and 'fused to come out. Massa say, 'In dis case I gwine make 'ception, +'cause dat Jack he am too unreas'able. He allus chasin' after some nigger +wench and not satisfied with de pass I give. Give him 25 lashes but don't +draw de blood or leave de marks.'</p> + +<p>"Well, sar, it am de great sight to see Jack git dat whuppin'. Him +am skeert, but dey ain't hurtin' him bad. Massa make him come out and dey +tie him to a post and he starts to bawl and beller befo' a lick am struck. +Say! Him beg like a good fellow. It am, 'Oh, massa, massa, Oh, massa, have +mercy, don't let 'em whup me. Massa, I won't go off any more.' De patterrollers +gives him a lick and Jack lets out a yell dat sounds like a mule +bray and twice as loud.</p> + +<p>"Dere used to be a patterroller song what sent like dis:</p> + +<p> +"Up 'de hill and down de holler<br /> +White man cotch nigger by de collar<br /> +Dat nigger run and dat nigger flew,<br /> +Dat nigger tore he shirt in two.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Well, while dey's whuppin' dat nigger, Jack, he couldn't run and +he couldn't tear he shirt in two, but he holler till he tear he mouth in two. +Jack say he never go off without de pass 'gain and he kept he word, too.</p> + +<p>"De big doin's am on Christmas Day and de massa have present for +each cullud person. Dey am little things and I laughs when I thinks of them, +but de cullud folks sho' 'joy dem and it show massa's heart am right. For de +chillen it am candy and for de women, a pin or sich, and for de men, a knife or +sich. On dat day, preacherman Allen sho' have de full heart, and he preach +and preach.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But de war starts and it not so happy on massa's place and 'fore long +he two sons goes to dat war. De massa show worryment 'cause dey fightin' +here and dere and den come de day when dey fight right nex' to de massa's +place. It am in de field next to we'uns and de two boys, young Charley +and he brother, Bob, am in de fight. It am for sev'ral days de army am +a-marchin' to de field and gittin' ready for de battle. Durin' dat time, +de two boys comes home for a spell every day. Early one mornin' de shootin' +starts and it am not much at first but it ain't long till it am a +steady thunder and it keep up all day.</p> + +<p>"De missy am walkin' in de yard and den go in de house and out +'gain. She am a-twistin' her hands and cryin'. She keeps sayin', 'Dey +sho' gits kilt, my poor babies.' De massa talk to her to quiet her. +Dat help me, too, 'cause I sho' skeert. Nobody do much work dat day, but +stand round with quiverments and when dey talk, dey voice quiver. Why, +even de buildin's quivered. Every once in de while, dere am an extry +roar. Dat de cannon and every time I heered it, I jumps. I's sent to +git de eggs and have 'bout five dozen in de basket, holdin' it in front of +me with my two hands. All a sudden, one of dem extry shoots comes and down +dis nigger kid go and my head hits into de basket. Dere I is, eggs oozin' +all round me and I so skeert and fussed up I jus' lays and kicks. I wants +to scream but I can't for de eggs in my mouth. To dis day I thinks of dat +battle every time I eats eggs.</p> + +<p>"De nex' day after de battle am over, mos' us cullud folks goes to +de field. Some of 'em buries de dead, and I hears 'em tell how in de low +places de blood stand like water and de bodies all shoot to pieces.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Massa's sons not kilt and am de missy glad! She have allus +colored folks come to de house and make us kneel down and she thank de +Lawd for savin' her sons. Dey even go to other places and fights, but +dey comes home after de war am over.</p> + +<p>"Surrender come and massa tells us we can stay or go and if we stay +he pay us wages or we works on shares. Some go and some stay. Mammy and +me goes to de Fowler place with my stepfather and we share crops for three +year.</p> + +<p>"I stays with dem till I's 18 and den I gits married. Dat in 1871 +and my wife died in 1928 and we'uns have four chillen. All dat time I's +farmed till 'bout 30 year ago when I works in de packin' plant here in +Fort Worth. I works dere 20 years and den dey say I's too old and since +den I works at de odd jobs till 'bout five years ago.</p> + +<p>"Since I's quit work at de packin' plant it am hard for dis cullud +person. I soon uses up my savin's and den I's gone hongry plenty times. +My chillen am old and dey havin' de hard time, too. My friends helps me +a little and I gits de pension, but it am only $3.00 a month and, course, +dat ain't 'nough.</p> + +<p>"After all dese years I's worked and 'haved, I never thinks I comes +to where I couldn't git 'nough to eat. I's am wishful for de Lawd to call +me to jedgment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420307" id="n420307"></a>420307</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>CHRIS FRANKLIN, 82, was born +a slave of Judge Robert J. +Looney, in Bossier Parish, +Louisiana. Chris now lives +in Beaumont, Texas, and supports +himself by gardening +and yard work. He is thrifty +and owns his own home.</p></div> + + +<p>"Yes, suh, dis is Chris Franklin. I signs my name C.C. Franklin, +dat for Christopher Columbus Franklin. I's born in Bossier Parish, up in +Louisiana, jes' twenty-five miles de other side of Shreveport. I's born dere +in 1855, on Christmas Day, but I's raise up in Caddo Parish. Old massa move +over dere when I 'bout a year old.</p> + +<p>"Old massa name Robert J. Looney and he a jedge and lawyer. He have a +boy name R.J., Jr., but I's talkin' 'bout de old head, de old 'riginal. De +missy, her name Lettie Looney. He weren't no farmer, jes' truck farm to raise +de livin' for he household and slaves. He didn't have over a half dozen growed +up slaves. Course, dey rears a lot of young'uns.</p> + +<p>"My pappy's name Solomon Lawson. He 'long to Jedge Lawson, what live +near us. When freedom come, he done take de name Sol Franklin, what he say +am he pappy's name.</p> + +<p>"Jedge Looney have de ord'nary frame house. Dey 'bout six, seven rooms +in it, all under one roof. De dinin' room and cook room wasn't built off to +deyself, like mos' big houses. It was a raise house, raise up on high pillars +and dey could drive a hoss and buggy under it. He live on de Fairview Road.</p> + +<p>"Us slaves all live in one big slave cabin, built out of plank. It +built sort-a like de 'partment house. Dey four rooms and each fam'ly have one +room. Dey have a lamp and a candle for our comfort. It jes' a li'l, ord'nary +brass lamp. Dey used to make 'em out of wax and tallow. Dey raise dere own +bees and when dey rob de bee gums dey strain de honey and melt de wax with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +tallow to make it firmer. Dey tie one end de wick on de stick 'cross de mold +and put in de melted wax and tallow.</p> + +<p>"Dey have a table and benches, too. But a chair de rare thing in a cabin. +Dey make some with de split hick'ry or rawhide bottom. Dey have hay mattress. +De tickin' am rice sacks. Us have mud chimney. Dey fix sticks like de ladder +and mix mud and moss and grass in what dey calls 'cats'. Dey have rock backs, +and, man, us have a sho' 'nough fire in 'em. Put a stick long as me and big as +a porch post in dat fireplace. In cold weather dat last all day and all night.</p> + +<p>"When de parents workin' in de field, somebody look after de chillen. De +nannies come in and nuss dem when time come. De white folks never put on 'strictions +on de chillen till dey twelve, fourteen years old. Dey all wear de straight-cut +slip. Dey give de li'l gals de slip dress and li'l panties. In wintertime dey +give de boy's de li'l coat and pants and shoes, but no drawers or unnerwear. Dey +give dem hard russet shoes in wintertime. Dey have brass toes. Dey plenty dur'ble. +In summertime us didn't see no shoe.</p> + +<p>"Massa Looney jes' as fine de man as ever make tracks. Christmas time +come, he give 'em a few dollars and say go to the store and buy what us want. +He give all de li'l nigger chillen gif's, jes' like he own. He git de jug of +whiskey and plenty eggs and make de big eggnog for everybody. He treat us cullud +folks jes' like he treat he own fam'ly. He never take no liquor 'cept at Christmas. +He give us lots to eat at Christmas, too.</p> + +<p>"Sometime old missy come out and call all de li'l niggers in de house to +play with her chillen. When us eat us have de tin plate and cup. Dey give us +plenty milk and butter and 'taters and sich. Us all set on de floor and make 'way +with dem rations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dey had a li'l church house for de niggers and preachin' in de afternoon, +and on into de night lots of times. Dey have de cullud preacher. He couldn't +read. He jes' preach from nat'ral wit and what he larn from white folks. De +whole outfit profess to be Baptis'.</p> + +<p>"De marryin' business go through by what massa say. De fellow git de +massa's consen'. Massa mos'ly say yes without waitin', 'cause marryin' mean more +niggers for him comin' on. He git de jedge or preacher to marry dem. Iffen de +man live on one plantation and de gal on 'nother, he have to git de pass to go see +her. Dat so de patterrollers not git him.</p> + +<p>"De slaves used to have balls and frolics in dey cabins. But iffen dey +go to de frolic on 'nother plantation dey git de pass. Dat so dey can cotch +runaway niggers. I never heared of stealin' niggers, 'cept dis-a-way. Sometime +de runaway nigger git fifty or hundred miles away and show up dere as de stray +slave. Dat massa where he show up take care of him so long, den lay claim to +him. Dat call harborin' de nigger.</p> + +<p>"Dey lots of places where de young massas has heirs by nigger gals. Dey +sell dem jes' like other slaves. Dat purty common. It seem like de white women +don't mind. Dey didn't 'ject, 'cause dat mean more slaves.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes de white folks has de big deer drive. Dem and de niggers go +down in de bottoms to drive deers up. Dey rid big, fine hosses and start de +deers runnin'. Dey raise dere own dogs. Massa sho' careful 'bout he hounds. +He train dem good and treat dem good, too. He have somethin' cook reg'lar for +dem. Dey hunts foxes and wolves and plenty dem kinds varmints.</p> + +<p>"I seen sojers' by de thousands. When 'mancipation come out massa come to +de back door with de paper and say, 'Yous free.' He furnish dem with all dey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +needs and give dem part de crop. He 'vide up de pig litters and such 'mongst +dem. He give dem de start. Den after two, three year he commence takin' out +for dere food and boots and clothes and sich.</p> + +<p>"De night de pusson die dey has de wake and sing and pray all night +long. Dey all very 'ligious in dere profession. Dey knock off all work so de +slaves can go to de buryin'.</p> + +<p>"De white folks 'low dem to have de frolic with de fiddle or banjo or +windjammer. Dey dances out on de grass, forty or fifty niggers, and dem big +gals nineteen year old git out dere barefoot as de goose. It jes' de habit +of de times, 'cause dey all have shoes. Sometimes dey call de jig dance and +some of dem sho' dance it, too. De prompter call, 'All git ready.' Den he +holler, 'All balance,' and den he sing out, 'Swing you pardner,' and dey does +it. Den he say, 'First man head off to de right,' and dere dey goes. Or he +say, 'All promenade,' and dey goes in de circle. One thing dey calls, 'Bird +in de Cage.' Three joins hands round de gal in de middle, and dance round +her, and den she git out and her pardner git in de center and dey dance dat +way awhile.</p> + +<p>"After freedom dey have de log cabin schoolhouse. De first teacher +was de cullud women name Mary Chapman. I near wore out dat old blueblack +speller tryin' to larn A B C's.</p> + +<p>"I leaves Caddo Parish in 1877 for Galveston, and leaves dere on de +four mast schooner for Leesburg and up de Calcasieu River. Den I goes to de +Cameron Parish and in 1879 I comes to Beaumont. I marries Mandy Watson in +1882 and she died in 1932. Us never have no chillen but 'dopts two. Us marry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +in de hotel dinin'-room, 'cause I's workin' for de hotel man, J.B. Goodhue. +De Rev. Elder Venable, what am da old cullud preacher, marries us. I didn't +git marry like in slavery time, I's got a great big marriage certif'cate +hangin' on de wall of my house.</p> + +<p>"I 'longs to several lodges, de Knights of Labor and de Knights of Honor +and de Pilgrims. I never hold no office. I's jes' de bench member. I's a member +of de Live Lake Missionary Baptist Church.</p> + +<p>"I's got de big house of my own, on de corner of Roberts Avenue and San +Antonio street. After my wife die, I gits de man to come and live dere with me. +Dat's all I knows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420002" id="n420002"></a>420002</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 195px;"><a href="images/162060v.png"> +<img src="images/162060r.png" width="195" height="300" alt="Orelia Alexie Franks" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Orelia Alexie Franks</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ORELIA ALEXIE FRANKS was born +on the plantation of Valerian +Martin, near Opelousas, Louisiana. +She does not know her +age, but thinks she is near +ninety. Her voice has the musical +accent of the French Negro. +She has lived in Beaumont, Texas, +many years.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's born on Mr. George Washington's birthday', the twenty-second of +February but I don't know what year. My old massa was Valerian Martin +and he come from foreign country. He come from Canada and he Canada +French. He wife name Malite Guidry. Old massa a good Catholic and he +taken all the li'l slave chillen to be christen. Oh, he's a Christian +massa and I used to be a Catholic but now I's a Apostolic, but I's +christen in St. Johns Catholic Church, what am close to Lafayette, where +I's born.</p> + +<p>"My pa name Alexis Franks and he was American and Creole. My ma +name Fanire Martin and I's raise where everybody talk French. I talks +American but I talks French goodest.</p> + +<p>"Old massa he big cane and cotton farmer and have big plantation +and raise everything, and us all well treat. Dey feed us right, too. +Raise big hawg in de pen and raise lots of beef. All jes' for to feed +he cullud folks.</p> + +<p>"Us quarters out behind de big house and old massa come round through +de quarters every mornin' and see how us niggers is. If us sick he call +nuss. She old slavery woman. She come look at 'em. If dey bad sick dey +send for de doctor. Us house all log house. Dey all dab with dirt 'tween +de logs. Dey have dirt chimney make out of sticks and dab with mud. Dey +<i>[Transcriber's Note: unfinished sentence at end of page]</i> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + +"Lots of time we eat coosh-coosh. Dat make out of meal and water. +You bile de water and salt it, den put in de cornmeal and stir it and bile +it. Den you puts milk or clabber or syrup on it and eat it.</p> + +<p>"Old massa have de graveyard a purpose to bury de cullud folks in. +Dey have cullud preacher. Dey have funeral in de graveyard. Dat nigger +preacher he a Mef'dist.</p> + +<p>"Old massa son-in-law, he overseer. He 'low nobody to beat de +slaves. Us li'l ones git spank when we bad. Dey put us 'cross de knee +and spank us where dey allus spank chillen.</p> + +<p>"Christmas time dey give big dinner. Dey give all de old men +whiskey. Everybody have big time.</p> + +<p>"Dey make lots of sugar. After dey finish cookin' de sugar dey +draw off what left from de pots and give it to us chillen. Us have +candy pullin'.</p> + +<p>"Dey weave dey own cloth. Us have good clothes. Dey weave de +cloth for make mattress and stuff 'em with moss. Massa sho' believe to +serve he niggers good. I see old massa when he die. Us see old folks +cry and us cry, too. Dey have de priest and burn de candles. Us sho' +miss old massa.</p> + +<p>"I see lots of sojers. Dey so many like hair on your head. Dey +Yankees. Dey call 'em bluejackets. Dey a fight up near massa's house. +Us climb in tree for to see. Us hear bullets go 'zoom' through de air +'round dat tree but us didn't know it was bullets. A man rid up on a +hoss and tell massa to git us pickaninnies out dat tree or dey git kilt. +De Yankees have dat battle and den sot us niggers free.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Old massa, he de kind man what let de niggers have dey prayer-meetin'. +He give 'em a big cabin for dat. Shout? Yes, Lawd! Sing +like dis:</p> + +<p> +"'Mourner, fare you well,<br /> +Gawd 'Mighty bless you,<br /> +Till we meets again.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Us sings 'nother song:</p> + +<p> +"'Sinner blind,<br /> +Johnnie, can't you ride no more?<br /> +Sinner blind.<br /> +Your feets may be slippin'<br /> +Your soul git lost.<br /> +Johnnie, can't you ride no more?<br /> +Yes, Lawd,<br /> +Day by day you can't see,<br /> +Johnnie, can't you ride no more?<br /> +Yes, Lawd.'"<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420136" id="n420136"></a>420136</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ROSANNA FRAZIER was born a slave +on the Frazier plantation in Mississippi. +She does not remember +her masters given name, nor does +she know her age, although from +her memories of various events +during the Civil War, she believes +she is close to ninety, at least. +Rosanna is blind and bedridden, +and is cared for by friends in +a little house in Pear Orchard +Negro Settlement, in Beaumont, +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"My mammy was a freeborn woman named Viny Frazier and she come +from a free country. She was on her way to school when dey stoled her, +when she de young gal. De spec'lator gang stoled her and brung her and +sold her in Red River, in Mississippi. Missy Mary, she buy her. Missy +Mary married den to one man named Pool and she have two boys call Josh +and Bill. After dat man die, she marry Marse Frazier.</p> + +<p>"My daddy name Jerry Durden and after I's born they brings us +all to Texas, but my daddy belong to de Neylands, so we loses him. My +white folks moves to a big plantation close to Woodville, in Tyler County, +and Marse Frazier have de store and plenty of stock. He come first from +Georgia.</p> + +<p>"All us little chillen, black and white, play togedder and +Marse Frazier, he raise us. His chillen call Sis and Texana and Robert +and John. Marse Frazier he treat us nice and de other white folks calls +us 'free niggers', and wouldn't 'low us on dere places. Dey 'fraid dere +niggers git dissatisfy with dey own treatment. Sho's you born, iffen one +of us git round dem plantations, dey jus' cut us to pieces with de whip. +Some of dem white folks sho' was mean, and dey work de niggers all day +in de sun and cut dem with de whip, and sho' done 'em up bad. Dat on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +other places, not on ours.</p> + +<p>"Marse Frazier, he didn't work us too hard and give Saturday and Sunday +off. He's all right and give good food. People sho' would rare off from him, +'cause he too good. He was de Methodist preacher and furnish us church. Sometimes +he has camp meeting and dey cook out doors with de skillicks. Sometimes +he has corn shucking time and we has hawg meat and meal bread and whiskey and +eggnog and chicken.</p> + +<p>"De books he brung us didn't do us no good, 'cause us wouldn't larn +nothin'. Us too busy playin' and huntin' good berries in de wood, de huckleberry +and grape and muscadine and chinquapins. All dis time de war was fixin' and I +seed two, three soldiers round spyin'. When peace 'clared missy's two boys +come back from de war. We stays with Marse Frazier two year and den I goes +and gits married to de man call Baker.</p> + +<p>"I done been blind like dis over 40 year. One Sunday I stay all night +with a man and he wife and I was workin' as woodchopper on de Santa Fe route +up Beaumont to Tyler County. After us git up and I starts 'way, I ain't gone +but 15, 16 yard when I hear somethin' say, 'Rose, you done somethin' you +ain't ought.' I say, 'No, Lawd, no.' Den de voice say, 'Somethin' gwine happen +to you,' and de next mornin' I's blind as de bat and I ain't never seed since.</p> + +<p>"Some try tell me snow or sweat or smoke de reason. Dat ain't de +reason. Dey a old, old, slowfooted somethin' from Louisiana and dey say he +de conjure man, one dem old hoodoo niggers. He git mad at me de last plum-ripenin' +time and he make up powdered rattlesnake dust and pass dat through +my hair and I sho' ain't seed no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dat not de onliest thing dem old conjure men do. Dey powder +up de rattle offen de snake and tie it up in de little old rag bag and +dey do devilment with it. Day git old scorpion and make bad medicine. +Dey git dirt out de graveyard and dat dirt, after dey speak on it, would +make you go crazy.</p> + +<p>"When dey wants conjure you, dey sneak round and git de hair +combin' or de finger or toenail, or anything natural 'bout your body, and +works de hoodoo on it.</p> + +<p>"Dey make de straw man or de clay man and dey puts de pin in he +leg and you leg gwineter git hurt or sore jus' where dey puts de pin. +Iffen dey puts de pin through de heart you gwineter die and ain't nothin' +kin save you.</p> + +<p>"Dey make de charm to wear round de neck or de ankle and dey +make de love powder, too, out de love vine, what grow in de woods. Dey +biles de leaves and powders 'em. Dey sho' works, I done try 'em.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420097" id="n420097"></a>420097</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 207px;"><a href="images/162066v.png"> +<img src="images/162066r.png" width="207" height="300" alt="Priscilla Gibson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Priscilla Gibson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>PRISCILLA GIBSON is not sure of +her age, but thinks she was born +about 1856, in Smith County, Mississippi, +to Mary Puckett and +her Indian husband. They belonged +to Jesse Puckett, who +owned a plantation on the Strong +River. Priscilla now lives in +Jasper, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Priscilla Gibson is my name, and I's bo'n in Smith +County, way over in Mis'ippi, sometime befo' de War. I figger +it was 'bout 1856, 'cause I's old enough to climb de fence and +watch dem musterin' in de troops when de war began. Dey tol' +me I's nine year ole when de War close, but dey ain' sure of +dat, even. My neighbor, Uncle Bud Adams, he 83, and I's clippin' +close at he heels.</p> + +<p>"Mammy's name was Mary Puckett, but I never seed my +father as I knows of. Don' know if he was a whole Injun or +part white man. Never seed but one brother and his name was +Jake. Dey took him to de War with de white boys, to cook and +min' de camp and he took pneumony and die.</p> + +<p>"Massa's name was Jesse Puckett, and Missus' name Mis' +Katie. Dey hab big fam'ly and dey live in a big wooden-beam house +with a big up-stair'. De house was right on de highway from +Raleigh to Brandon, with de Strong River jis' below us. Dey took +in and 'commadated travelers 'cause dey warn' hotels den.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Massa have hunner's of acres. You could walk all day and +you never git offen his lan'. An' he have gran' furniture and other +things in de house. I kin remember dem, 'cause I use' to he'p 'round +de house, run errands and fan Mis' Katie and sich. I 'members chairs +with silk coverin's on 'em and dere was de gran' lights, big lamps +with de roses on de shades. And eve'ywhere de floors with rugs and +de rugs was pretty, dey wasn' like dese thin rugs you sees nowadays. +No, ma'am, dey has big flowers on 'em and de feets sinks in 'em. I +useter lie down on one of dem rugs in Mis' Katie's room when she's +asleep and I kin stop fannin.'</p> + +<p>"Massa Puckett was tol'able good to de slaves. We has clothes +made of homespun what de nigger women weaved, and de little boys +wo' long-tail shirts, with no pants till they's grown. Massa raised +sheep and dey make us wool clothes for winter, but we has no shoes.</p> + +<p>"De white folks didn' larn us read and write but dey was good +to us 'cep' when some niggers try to run away and den dey whips 'em +hard. We has plenty to eat and has prayer meetin's with singin' and +shoutin', and we chilluns played marbles and jump de rope.</p> + +<p>"After freedom come all lef' but me 'cause Missus say she have +me boun' to her till I git my age. But I's res'less one night and +my sister, Georgy Ann, come see me, and I run off with her, but dey +never comes after me. I was scart dey would, 'cause I 'membered 'bout +our neighbor, ole Means, and his slave, Sylvia, and she run away and +was in de woods, and he'd git on de hoss, take de dogs and set 'em on +her, and let dem bite her and tear her clothes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420303" id="n420303"></a>420303</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>GABRIEL GILBERT was born in +slavery on the plantation of +Belizare Brassard, in New +Iberia Parish, Louisiana. He +does not know his age, but +appears to be about eighty. +He has lived in Beaumont, +Texas, for sixteen years.</p></div> + + +<p>"My old massa was Belizare Broussard. He was my mom's massa. +He had a big log house what he live in. De places 'tween de logs was +fill with dirt. De quarters de slaves live in was make out of dirt. Dey +put up posties in de ground and bore holes in de posts and put in pickets +'cross from one post to the other. Den dey build up de sides with mud. +De floor and everything was dirt. Dey had a schoolhouse built for de white +chillen de same way. De cullud chillen didn't have no school.</p> + +<p>"Dem was warm healthy houses us grew up in. Dey used to raise +better men den in dem houses dan now. My pa name was Joseph Gilbert. He +old massa was Belleau Prince.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know what a store was when I was growin' up. Us didn't +have store things like now. Us had wooden pan and spoon dem times. I never +see no iron plow dem days. Nothin' was iron on de plow 'cept de share. +I tell dese youngsters, 'You in hebben now from de time I come up.' When +a man die dem days, dey use de ox cart to carry de corpse.</p> + +<p>"Massa have 'bout four hundred acres and lots of slaves. He raise +sugar cane. He have a mill and make brown sugar. He raise cotton and corn, +too. He have plenty stock on de place. He give us plenty to eat. He was +a nice man. He wasn't brutish. He treat he slaves like hisself. I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +'member see him whip nobody. He didn't 'low no ill treatment. All de folks +round he place say he niggers ruint and spoiled.</p> + +<p>"De li'l white folks and nigger folks jus' play round like brudder and +sister and us all eat at de white table. I slep' in de white folks house, too. +My godfather and godmother was rich white folks. I still Cath'lic.</p> + +<p>"I seed sojers but I too li'l to know nothin' 'bout dem. Dey didn't worry +me a-tall. I didn't git close to de battle.</p> + +<p>"My mammy weave cloth out cotton and wool. I 'member de loom. It go +'boom-boom-boom.' Dat de shuttle goin' cross. My daddy, he de smart man. +I'll never be like him long as I live in dis world. He make shoes. He build +house. He do anything. He and my mammy neither one ever been brutalize'.</p> + +<p>"De first work I done was raisin' cotton and sugar cane and sweet and +Irish 'taters. I used to cook sugar.</p> + +<p>"I marry on twenty-second of February. My wife was Medora Labor. She +been dead thirty-five year now. I never marry no second woman. I love my wife +so much I never want nobody else. Us had six chillen. Two am livin'.</p> + +<p>"Goin' back when I a slave, massa have a store. When de priest come dey +hold church in dat store. Old massa have sev'ral boys. Dey went after some +de slave gals. Dey have chillen by dem. Dem gals have dere cabins and dere +chillen, what am half white.</p> + +<p>"After while dem boys marry. But dey allus treat dey chillen by de slave +womens good. Dey white wife treat dem good, too, most like dey dere own chillen.</p> + +<p>"Old massa have plenty money. Land am only two bits de acre. Some places +it cost nothing. Dey did haulin' in ox-carts. A man what had mules had something +extra.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us have plenty wild game, wild geese and ducks. Fishin' am mighty +good. Dey was 'gaters, too. I seed dem bite a man's arm off.</p> + +<p>"If a slave feelin' bad dey wouldn't make him work. My uncle and my +mammy dey never work nothing to speak of. Dey allus have some kind complaint. +Ain't no tellin' what it gwine be, but you could 'low something ailin' dem!</p> + +<p>"I 'member dey a white man. He had a gif'. I don't care what kind of +animal, a dog or a hoss, dat man he work on it and it never leave you or you +house. If anybody have toothache or earache he take a brand new nail what +ain't never work befo' and work dat round you tooth or ear. Dat break up +de toothache or earache right away. He have li'l prayer he say. I don't +know what it was.</p> + +<p>"I's seed ghosties. I talk with dem, too. Sometimes dey like people. +Sometimes dey like animal, maybe white dog. I allus feel chilly when dey come +round me. I talk with my wife after she dead. She tell me, 'Don't you forgit +to pray.' She say dis world corrupt and you got to fight it out."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420230" id="n420230"></a>420230</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MATTIE GILMORE lives in a +little cabin on E. Fifth Avenue, +in Corsicana, Texas. A smile +came to her lips, as she recalled +days when she was a slave +in Mobile, Alabama. She has +no idea how old she is. Her +master, Thomas Barrow, brought +his slaves to Athens, Texas, +during the Civil War, and +Mattie had two children at +that time, so she is probably +about ninety.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's born in Mobile, Alabama, and I don't have no idea when. My +white folks never did tell me how old I was. My own dear mammy died 'fore +I can remember and my stepma didn't take no time to tell me nothin'. Her +name was Mary Barrow and papa's name was Allison Barrow, and I had sisters, +Rachel and Lou and Charity, and a brother, Allison.</p> + +<p>"My master sold Rachel when she was jus' a girl. I sho' did cry. They +put her on a block and sold her off. I heared they got a thousand dollars for +her, but I never seed her no more till after freedom. A man named Dick Burdon, +from Kaufman County, bought her. After freedom I heared she's sick and brung +her home, but she was too far gone.</p> + +<p>"We lived in a log house with dirt floors, warm in winter but sho' hot +in summer, no screens or nothin', <a name='TC_13'></a><ins title="hus'">jus'</ins> homemade doors. We had homemade beds +out of planks they picked up around. Mattresses nothin', we had shuck beds. +But, anyway, you takes it, we was better off den dan now.</p> + +<p>"I worked in the fields till Rachel was sold, den tooken her place, +doin' kitchen work and fannin' flies off de table with a great, long limb. +I liked dat. I got plenty to eat and not so hot. We had jus' food to +make you stand up and work. It wasn't none the good foolish things we has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +now. We had cornbread and blackeyed peas and beans and sorghum 'lasses. Old +master give us our rations and iffen dat didn't fill us up, we jus' went lank. +Sometimes we had possum and rabbits and fish, iffen we cotched dem on Sunday. +I seed Old Missy parch coffee in a skittle, and it good coffee, too. We couldn't +go to the store and buy things, 'cause they warn't no stores hardly.</p> + +<p>"When dey's hoein' cotton or corn, everybody has to keep up with de +driver, not hurry so fast, but workin' steady. Some de women what had suckin' +babies left dem in de shade while dey worked, and one time a big, bald eagle +flew down by one dem babies and picked it up and flew away with it. De mama +couldn't git it and we never heared of dat baby 'gain.</p> + +<p>"I 'member when we come from Mobile to Texas. By time we heared de Yankees +was comin' dey got all dere gold together and Miss Jane called me and give me a +whole sack of pure gold and silver, and say bury it in de orchard. I sho' was +scart, but I done what she said. Dey was more gold in a <a name='TC_14'></a><ins title="bit">big</ins> desk, and de Yanks +pulled de top of dat desk and got de gold. Miss Jane had a purty gold ring on +her finger and de captain yanked it off. I said, 'Miss Jane, is dey gwine give +you ring back?' All she said was, 'Shet you mouth,' and dat's what I did.</p> + +<p>"Dat night dey digs up de buried gold and we left out. We jus' traveled +at night and rested in daytime. We was scart to make a fire. Dat was awful times. +All on de way to de Mississip', we seed dead men layin' everywhere, black and +white.</p> + +<p>"While we's waitin' to go cross de Mississip' a white man come up and +asks Marse Barrow how many niggers he has, and counts us all. While we's waitin' +de guns 'gins to go boom, boom, and you could hear all dat noise, it so close.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +When we gits on de boat it flops dis way and dat scart me. I sho' don't want +to see no more days like dat one, with war and boats.</p> + +<p>"We fixes up a purty good house and quarters and gits settled up +round Athens. And it ain't so long 'fore a paper come make us free. Some de +slaves laughin' and some cryin' and it a funny place to be. Marse Barrow asks +my stepma to stay cook and he'd pay her some money for it. We stayed four or +five years. Marse Barrow give each he slaves somethin' when dey's freed. Lots +of master put dem out without a thing. But de trouble with most niggers, dey +never done no managin' and didn't know how. De niggers suffered from de war, +iffen dey did git freedom from it.</p> + +<p>"I's already married de slave way in Mobile and had three chillen. My +husband died 'fore war am over and I marries Las Gilmore and never has no more +chillen. I has no livin' kinfolks I knows of. When we come here Las done +any work he could git and bought this li'l house, but I can't pay taxes on it, +but, sho', de white folks won't put me out. I done git my leg cut off in a train +wreck, so I can't work, and I's too old, noways. I don't has no idea how old I is.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420245" id="n420245"></a>420245</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;"><a href="images/162074v.png"> +<img src="images/162074r.png" width="184" height="300" alt="Andrew Goodman" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Andrew Goodman</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ANDREW GOODMAN, 97, was born +a slave of the Goodman family, +near Birmingham, Alabama. His +master moved to Smith County, +Texas, when Andrew was three +years old. Andrew is a frail, +kindly old man, who lives in +his memories. He lives at +2607 Canton St., Dallas, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was born in slavery and I think them days was better for the +niggers than the days we see now. One thing was, I never was cold and +hongry when my old master lived, and I has been plenty hongry and cold +a lot of times since he is gone. But sometimes I think Marse Goodman +was the bestes' man Gawd made in a long time.</p> + +<p>"My mother, Martha Goodman, 'longed to Marse Bob Goodman when she +was born, but my paw come from Tennessee and Marse Bob heired him from some +of his kinfolks what died over there. The Goodmans must have been fine +folks all-a-way round, 'cause my paw said them that raised him was good +to they niggers.</p> + +<p>"Old Marse never 'lowed none of his nigger families separated. He +'lowed he thought it right and fittin' that folks stay together, though +I heard tell of some that didn't think so.</p> + +<p>"My Missus was just as good as Marse Bob. My maw was a puny little +woman that wasn't able to do work in the fields, and she puttered round +the house for the Missus, doin' little odd jobs. I played round with +little Miss Sallie and little Mr. Bob, and I ate with them and slept with +them. I used to sweep off the steps and do things, and she'd brag on me +and many is the time I'd git to noddin' and go to sleep, and she'd pick +me up and put me in bed with her chillun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marse Bob didn't put his little niggers in the fields till they's big +'nough to work, and the mammies was give time off from the fields to come +back to the nursin' home to suck the babies. He didn't never put the niggers +out in bad weather. He give us something to do, in out of the weather, like +shellin' corn and the women could spin and knit. They made us plenty of good +clothes. In summer we wore long shirts, split up the sides, made out of +lowerings—that's same as cotton sacks was made out of. In winter we +had good jeans and knitted sweaters and knitted socks.</p> + +<p>"My paw was a shoemaker. He'd take a calfhide and make shoes with +the hairy sides turned in, and they was warm and kept your feet dry. My +maw spent a lot of time cardin' and spinnin' wool, and I allus had plenty +things.</p> + +<p>"Life was purty fine with Marse Bob. He was a man of plenty. He had +a lot of land and he built him a big log house when he come to Texas. He +had sev'ral hundred head of cattle and more than that many hawgs. We raised +cotton and grain and chickens and vegetables, and most anything anybody could +ask for. Some places the masters give out a peck of meal and so many pounds +of meat to a family for them a week's rations, and if they et it up that was +all they got. But Marse Bob allus give out plenty, and said, 'If you need +more you can have it, 'cause ain't any going to suffer on my place.'</p> + +<p>"He built us a church, and a old man, Kenneth Lyons, who was a slave of +the Lyon's family nearby, used to git a pass every Sunday mornin' and come +preach to us. He was a man of good learnin' and the best preacher I ever +heard. He baptised in a little old mudhole down back of our place. Nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +all the boys and gals gits converted when they's 'bout twelve or fifteen +year old. Then on Sunday afternoon, Marse Bob larned us to read and write. +He told us we oughta git all the learnin' we could.</p> + +<p>"Once a week the slaves could have any night they want for a dance +or frolic. Mance McQueen was a slave 'longing on the Dewberry place, what +could play a fiddle, and his master give him a pass to come play for us. +Marse Bob give us chickens or kilt a fresh beef or let us make 'lasses candy. +We could choose any night, 'cept in the fall of the year. Then we worked +awful hard and didn't have the time. We had a gin run by horsepower and +after sundown, when we left the fields, we used to gin a bale of cotton +every night. Marse allus give us from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day +off, to make up for the hard work in the fall.</p> + +<p>"Christmas time everybody got a present and Marse Bob give a big +hawg to every four families. We had money to buy whiskey with. In spare time +we'd make cornshuck horse collars and all kinds of baskets, and Marse bought +them off us. What he couldn't use, he sold for us. We'd take post oak and +split it thin with drawin' knives and let it git tough in the sun, and then +weave it into cotton baskets and fish baskets and little fancy baskets. The +men spent they money on whiskey, 'cause everything else was furnished. We +raised our own tobacco and hung it in the barn to season, and a'body could go +git it when they wanted it.</p> + +<p>"We allus got Saturday afternoons off to fish and hunt. We used to +have fish fries and plenty game in them days.</p> + +<p>"Course, we used to hear 'bout other places where they had nigger +drivers and beat the slaves. But I never did see or hear tell of one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +master's slaves gittin' a beatin'. We had a overseer, but didn't know what +a nigger driver was. Marse Bob had some nigger dogs like other places, and +used to train them for fun. He'd git some the boys to run for a hour or so +and then put the dogs on the trail. He'd say, 'If you hear them gittin' +near, take to a tree.' But Marse Bob never had no niggers to run off.</p> + +<p>"Old man Briscoll, who had a place next to ours, was vicious cruel. He +was mean to his own blood, beatin' his chillen. His slaves was afeared all +the time and hated him. Old Charlie, a good, old man who 'longed to him, run +away and stayed six months in the woods 'fore Briscoll cotched him. The +niggers used to help feed him, but one day a nigger 'trayed him, and Briscoe +put the dogs on him and cotched him. He made to Charlie like he wasn't goin' +to hurt him none, and got him to come peaceful. When he took him home, he +tied him and beat him for a turrible long time. Then he took a big, pine +torch and let burnin' pitch drop in spots all over him. Old Charlie was +sick 'bout four months and then he died.</p> + +<p>"Marse Bob knowed me better'n most the slaves, 'cause I was round the +house more. One day he called all the slaves to the yard. He only had sixty-six +then, 'cause he had 'vided with his son and daughter when they married. +He made a little speech. He said, 'I'm going to a war, but I don't think +I'll be gone long, and I'm turnin' the overseer off and leavin' Andrew in +charge of the place, and I wants everything to go on, just like I was here. +Now, you all mind what Andrew says, 'cause if you don't, I'll make it rough +on you when I come back home.' He was jokin', though, 'cause he wouldn't +have done nothing to them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then he said to me, 'Andrew, you is old 'nough to be a man and +look after things. Take care of Missus and see that none the niggers wants, +and try to keep the place going.'</p> + +<p>"We didn't know what the war was 'bout, but master was gone four years. +When Old Missus heard from him, she'd call all the slaves and tell us the news +and read us his letters. Little parts of it she wouldn't read. We never +heard of him gittin' hurt none, but if he had, Old Missus wouldn't tell us, +'cause the niggers used to cry and pray over him all the time. We never heard +tell what the war was 'bout.</p> + +<p>"When Marse Bob come home, he sent for all the slaves. He was sittin' +in a yard chair, all tuckered out, and shuck hands all round, and said he's +glad to see us. Then he said, 'I got something to tell you. You is jus' as +free as I is. You don't 'long to nobody but you'selves. We went to the war +and fought, but the Yankees done whup us, and they say the niggers is free. +You can go where you wants to go, or you can stay here, jus' as you likes.' +He couldn't help but cry.</p> + +<p>"The niggers cry and don't know much what Marse Bob means. They is +sorry 'bout the freedom, 'cause they don't know where to go, and they's allus +'pend on Old Marse to look after them. Three families went to get farms for +theyselves, but the rest just stay on for hands on the old place.</p> + +<p>"The Federals has been comin' by, even 'fore Old Marse come home. They +all come by, carryin' they little budgets, and if they was walkin' they'd look +in the stables for a horse or mule, and they jus' took what they wanted of corn +or livestock. They done the same after Marse Bob come home. He jus' said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +'Let them go they way, 'cause that's what they're going to do, anyway.' We was +scareder of them than we was of the debbil. But they spoke right kindly to us +cullud folks. They said, 'If you got a good master and want to stay, well, you +can do that, but now you can go where you want to, 'cause ain't nobody going to +stop you.'</p> + +<p>"The niggers can't hardly git used to the idea. When they wants to leave +the place, they still go up to the big house for a pass. They jus' can't understand +'bout the freedom. Old Marse <a name='TC_15'></a><ins title="of">or</ins>Missus say, 'You don't need no pass. All +you got to do is jus' take you foot in you hand and go.'</p> + +<p>"It seem like the war jus' plumb broke Old Marse up. It wasn't long till he +moved into Tyler and left my paw runnin' the farm on a halfance with him and the +niggers workers. He didn't live long, but I forgits jus' how long. But when +Mr. Bob heired the old place, he 'lowed we'd jus' go 'long the way his paw has +made the trade with my paw.</p> + +<p>"Young Mr. Bob 'parently done the first rascality I ever heard of a +Goodman doin'. The first year we worked for him we raised lots of grain and other +things and fifty-seven bales of cotton. Cotton was fifty-two cents a pound and +he shipped it all away, but all he ever gave us was a box of candy and a sack of +store tobacco and a sack of sugar. He said the 'signment done got lost. Paw said +to let it go, 'cause we had allus lived by what the Goodman had said.</p> + +<p>"I got married and lived on the old place till I was in my late fifties. +I had seven chillun, but if I got any livin' now, I don't know where they is now. +My paw and maw got to own a little piece of land not far from the old place, and +paw lived to be 102 and maw 106. I'm the last one of any of my folks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For twenty years my health ain't been so good, and I can't work +even now, though my health is better'n in the past. I had hemorraghes. All +my folks died on me, and it's purty rough on a old man like me. My white folks +is all dead or I wouldn't be 'lowed to go hongry and cold like I do, or have to +pay rent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420060" id="n420060"></a>420060</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 192px;"><a href="images/162081av.png"> +<img src="images/162081ar.png" width="192" height="300" alt="Austin Grant (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Austin Grant (A)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 191px;"><a href="images/162081bv.png"> +<img src="images/162081br.png" width="191" height="300" alt="Austin Grant (B)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Austin Grant (B)</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>AUSTIN GRANT came to Texas from +Mississippi with his grandfather, +father, mother and brother. George +Harper owned the family. He raised +cotton on Peach Creek, near Gonzales. +Austin was hired out by his master +and after the war his father hired +him out to the Riley Ranch on Seco +Creek, above D'hanis. He then +bought a farm in the slave settlement +north of Hondo. He is 89 +or 90 years old.</p></div> + + +<p>"I'm mixed up on my age, I'm 'fraid, for the Bible got +burned up that the master's wife had our ages in. She told me my +age, which would make me 89, but I believe I come nearer bein' 91, +accordin' to the way my mother figured it out.</p> + +<p>"I belonged to George Harper, he was Judge Harper. The' +was my father, mother and two boys. He brought us from Mississippi, +but I don' 'member what part they come from. We settled down here +at Gonzeles, on Peach Creek, and he farmed one year there. Then he +moved out here to Medina County, right here on Hondo Creek. I dont +'member how many acres he had, but he had a big farm. He had at +least eight whole slave families. He sold 'em when he wanted money.</p> + +<p>"My mother's name was Mary Harper and my father's name was +Ike Harper, and they belonged to the Harpers, too. You know, after +they was turned loose they had to name themselves. My father named +himself Grant and his brother named himself Glover, and my grandfather +was Filmore. They had some kin' of law you had to git away from your +boss' name so they named themselves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Our house we had to live in, I tell you we had a tough +affair, a picket concern, you might say no house a-tall. The beds was +one of your own make; if you knowed how to make one, you had one, but +of course the chillen slept on the floor, patched up some way.</p> + +<p>"We went barefooted in the summer and winter, too. You had +to prepare that for yourself, and if you didn' have head enough to prepare +for yourself, you went without. I don' see how they done as well +as they done, 'cause some winters was awful cold, but I always said the +Lawd was with 'em.</p> + +<p><i>[Handwritten Note: 'used']</i></p> + +<p>"We didn' have no little garden, we never had no time to work +no garden. When you could see to work, you was workin' for him. Ho! +You didn' know what money was. He never paid you anything, you never got +to see none. Some of the Germans would give the old ones a little piece +of money, but the chillen, pshaw! They never got to see nothin.'</p> + +<p>"He was a pretty good boss. You didn' have to work Sunday and +part of Saturday and in the evenin', you had that. He fed us good. Sometimes, +if you was crowded, you had to work all day Saturday. But usually +he give you that, so you could wash and weave cloth or such. He had cullud +women there he kep' all the time to weave and spin. They kep' cloth made.</p> + +<p>"On Saturday nights, we jes' knocked 'round the place. Christmas? +I don' know as I was ever home Christmas. My boss kep' me hired out. The +slaves never had no Christmas presents I know of. And big dinners, I never +was at nary one. They didn' give us nothin, I tell you, but a grubbin' hoe +and axe and the whip. They had co'n shuckin's in them days and co'n shellin's, +too. We would shuck so many days and so many days to shell it up.</p> + +<p>"We would shoot marbles when we was little. It was all the game the +niggers ever knowed, was shootin' marbles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"After work at nights there wasn't much settin' 'round; you'd +fall into bed and go to sleep. On Saturday night they didn' git together, +they would jes' sing at their own houses. Oh, yes'm, I 'member 'em singin' +'Run, nigger, run,' but it's too far back for me to 'member those other +songs. They would raise up a song when they was pickin' cotton, but I +don' 'member much about those songs.</p> + +<p>"My old boss, I'm boun' to give him praise, he treated his niggers +right. He made 'em work, though, and he whipped 'em, too. But he +fed good, too. We had rabbits and possums once in awhile. Hardly ever +any game, but you might git a deer sometimes.</p> + +<p>"Let 'em ketch you with a gun or a piece of paper with writin' +on it and he'd whip you like everything. Some of the slaves, if they ever +did git a piece of paper, they would keep it and learn a few words. But +they didn' want you to know nothin', that's what, nothin' but work. You +would think they was goin' to kill you, he would whip you so if he caught +you with a piece of paper. You couldn' have nothin' but a pick and axe and +grubbin' hoe.</p> + +<p>"We never got to play none. Our boss hired us out lots of times. +I don' know what he got for us. We farmed, cut wood, grubbed, anything. I +herded sheep and I picked cotton.</p> + +<p>"We got up early, you betcha. You would be out there by time you +could see and you quit when it was dark. They tasked us. They would give us +200 or 300 pounds of cotton to bring in and you would git it, and if you +didn' git it, you better, or you would git it tomorrow, or your back would +git it. Or you'd git it from someone else, maybe steal it from their sacks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My grandfather, he would tell us things, to keep the whip +off our backs. He would say, 'Chillen, work, work and work hard. You +know how you hate to be whipped, so work hard!' And of course we chillen +tried, but of course we would git careless sometimes.</p> + +<p>"The master had a 'black snake'—some called it a 'bull whip,' +and he knew how to use it. He whipped, but I don' 'member now whether +he brought any blood on me, but he cut the blood outta the grown ones. +He didn' tie 'em, he always had a whippin' block or log to make 'em lay +down on. They called 500 licks a 'light breshin,' and right on your naked +back, too. They said your clothes wouldn' grow but your hide would. From +what I heered say, if you run away, then was when they give you a whippin,' +prob'bly 1500 or 2000 licks. They'd shore tie you down then, 'cause you +couldn' stan' it. Then you'd have to work on top of all that, with your +shirt stickin' to your back.</p> + +<p>"The overseer woke us up. Sometimes he had a kin' of horn to +blow, and when you heered that horn, you'd better git up. He would give +you a good whippin' iffen he had to come and wake you up. He was the meanest +one on the place, worse'n the boss man.</p> + +<p>"The boss man had a nice rock house, and the women didn' work +at all.</p> + +<p>"I never did see any slaves auctioned off, but I heered of it. +My boss he would take 'em there and sell 'em.</p> + +<p>"They had a church this side of New Fountain <a name='TC_16'></a><ins title="ahd">and</ins> the boss man +'lowed us to go on Sunday. If any of the slaves did join, they didn' +baptize them, as I know of.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When one of the slaves would die, they would bury 'em on +the land there. Reg'lar little cemetery there. Oh, yes, they would +have doctors for 'em. If anybody died, they would tell some of the +other slaves to dig the grave and take 'em out there and bury 'em. They +jes' put 'em in a box, no preachin' or nothin.' But, of course, if it +was Sunday the slaves would follow out there and sing. No, if they +didn' die on Sunday, you couldn' go; you went to that field.</p> + +<p>"If you wanted to go to any other plantation you had to git a +pass to go over there, and if you didn' and got caught, you got one of +the worst whippins'. If things happened and they wanted to tell 'em on +other plantations, they would slip out at night and tell 'em.</p> + +<p>"We never heered much about the fightin' or how it was goin.' When +the war finally was over, our old boss called us all up and had us to stand +in abreast, and he stood on the gallery and he read the verdict to 'em, and +said, 'Now, you can jes' work on if you want to, and I'll treat you jes' +like I always did.' I guess when he said that they knew what he meant. +The' wasn't but one family left with 'im. They stayed about two years. +But the rest was just like birds, they jes' flew.</p> + +<p>"I went with my father and he hired me out for two years, to a +man named Riley, over on the Seco. I did most everythin', worked the field +and was house rustler, too. But I had a good time there. After I left +'im, I came to D'Hanis. I worked on a church house they was buildin'. +Then I went back to my father and worked for him a long time, freightin' +cotton to Eagle Pass. I used horses and mules and hauled cotton and flour +and whiskey and things like that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I met my wife down on Black Creek, and I freighted two years +after we was married. We got married so long ago, but in them days anything +would do. You see, these days they are so proud, but we was glad +to have anything. I had a black suit to be married in, and a pretty long +shirt, and I wore boots. She wore a white dress, but in them days they +didn' have black shoes. Yes'm, they had a dance, down here on Black Creek. +Danced half the night at her house and two men played the fiddle. Eat? +We had everythin' to eat, a barbecued calf and a hog, too, and all kinds +of cakes and pies. Drink? Why, the men had whiskey to drink and the +women drank coffee. We married about 7 or 8 in the evenin' at her house. +My wife's name was Sarah Ann Brackins.</p> + +<p>"Did I see a ghost? Well, over yonder on the creek was a ghost. +It was a moonlight night and it passed right by me and it never had no +head on it a-tall. It almost breshed me. It kep' walkin' right by side +of me. I shore saw it and I run like a good fellow. Lots of 'em could +see wonnurful sights then and I heered lots of noises, but that's the only +ghost I ever seen.</p> + +<p>"No, I never knowed nothing 'bout charms. I've seen 'em have a +rabbit heel or coon heel for good luck. I seen a woman one time that was +tricked, or what I'd call poisoned. A place on her let, it was jes' the +shape of these little old striped lizards. It was somethin' they called +'trickin it,' and a person that knowed to trick you would put it there to +make you suffer the balance of your days. It would go 'round your leg clear +to the hip and be between the skin and the flesh. They called it the +devil's work."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420118" id="n420118"></a>420118</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 208px;"><a href="images/162087v.png"> +<img src="images/162087r.png" width="208" height="300" alt="James Green" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">James Green</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JAMES GREEN is half American +Indian and half Negro. He was +born a slave to John Williams, +of Petersburg, Va., became a +"free boy", then was kidnapped +and sold in a Virginia slave +market to a Texas ranchman. +He now lives at 323 N. Olive St., +San Antonio, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I never knowed my age till after de war, when I's set free +de second time, and then marster gits out a big book and it shows I's +25 year old. It shows I's 12 when I is bought and $800 is paid for me. +That $800 was stolen money, 'cause I was kidnapped and dis is how it +come:</p> + +<p>"My mammy was owned by John Williams in Petersburg, in Virginia, +and I come born to her on dat plantation. Den my father set 'bout to +git me free, 'cause he a full-blooded Indian and done some big favor +for a big man high up in de courts, and he gits me set free, and den +Marster Williams laughs and calls me 'free boy.'</p> + +<p>"Then, one day along come a Friday and that a unlucky star day +and I playin' round de house and Marster Williams come up and say, 'Delia, +will you 'low Jim walk down de street with me?' My mammy say, 'All right, +Jim, you be a good boy,' and dat de las' time I ever heared her speak, +or ever see her. We walks down whar de houses grows close together and +pretty soon comes to de slave market. I ain't seed it 'fore, but when +Marster Williams says, 'Git up on de block,' I got a funny feelin', and +I knows what has happened. I's sold to Marster John Pinchback and he had +de St. Vitus dance and he likes to make he niggers suffer to make up for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +his squirmin' and twistin' and he the bigges' debbil on earth.</p> + +<p>"We leaves right away for Texas and goes to marster's ranch in +Columbus. It was owned by him and a man call Wright, and when we gits +there I's put to work without nothin' to eat. Dat night I makes up my +mind to run away but de nex' day dey takes me and de other niggers to look +at de dogs and chooses me to train de dogs with. I's told I had to play +I runnin' away and to run five mile in any way and then climb a tree. One +of de niggers tells me kind of nice to climb as high in dat tree as I could +if I didn't want my body tore off my legs. So I runs a good five miles +and climbs up in de tree whar de branches is gettin' small.</p> + +<p>"I sits dere a long time and den sees de dogs comin'. When +dey gits under de tree dey sees me and starts barkin'. After dat I never +got thinkin' of runnin' away.</p> + +<p>"Time goes on and de war come along, but everything goes on +like it did. Some niggers dies, but more was born, 'cause old Pinchback +sees to dat. He breeds niggers as quick as he can, 'cause dat money for +him. No one had no say who he have for wife. But de nigger husbands wasn't +de only ones dat keeps up havin' chillen, 'cause de marsters and de drivers +takes all de nigger gals dey wants. Den de chillen was brown and I seed +one clear white one, but dey slaves jus' de same.</p> + +<p>"De end of dat war comes and old Pinchback says, 'You niggers +all come to de big house in de mornin'. He tells us we is free and he opens +his book and gives us all a name and tells us whar we comes from and how +old we is, and says he pay us 40 cents a day to stay with him. I stays 'bout +a year and dere's no big change. De same houses and some got whipped but +nobody got nailed to a tree by de ears, like dey used to. Finally old Pinchback<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +dies and when he buried de lightnin' come and split de grave and +de coffin wide open.</p> + +<p>"Well, time goes on some more and den Lizzie and me, we gits +together and we marries reg'lar with a real weddin'. We's been together +a long time and we is happy.</p> + +<p>"I 'members a old song like dis:</p> + +<p> +"'Old marster eats beef and sucks on de bone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And give us de gristle—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To make, to make, to make, to make,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To make de nigger whistle.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dat all de song I 'member from dose old days, 'ceptin' one +more:</p> + +<p> +"'I goes to church in early morn,<br /> +De birds just a-sittin' on de tree—<br /> +Sometimes my clothes gits very much worn—<br /> +'Cause I wears 'em out at de knee.<br /> +<br /> +"'I sings and shouts with all my might,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To drive away de cold—</span><br /> +And de bells keep ringin' in gospel light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till de story of de Lamb am told.'"</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420064" id="n420064"></a>420064</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 207px;"><a href="images/162090v.png"> +<img src="images/162090r.png" width="207" height="300" alt="O.W. Green and Granddaughter" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">O.W. Green and Granddaughter</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>O.W. Green, son of Frank and of +Mary Ann Marks, was born in slavery at +Bradly Co., Arkansas, June 26, 1859. +His owners, the Mobley family, owned +a large plantation and two or three +thousand slaves. Jack Mobley, Green's +young master, was killed in the Civil +War, and Green became one of the "orphan +chillen." When the Ku Klux Klan became +active, the "orphan chillen" were taken +to Little Rock, Ark. Later on, Green +moved to Del Rio, Texas, where he now +lives.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was bo'ned in Arkansas. Frank Marks was my father and +Mary Ann Marks my mother. She was bo'n on the plantation. I had +two brothers.</p> + +<p>"I don' 'member de quarters, but dey mus' of had plenty, +'cause dey was two, three thousand slaves on de plantation. All +my kin people belonged to Massa Mobley. My grandfather was a millman +and dey had one de bigges' grist mills in de country.</p> + +<p>"Our Massa was good and we had plenty for to eat. Dere was +no jail for slaves on our place but not far from dere was a jail.</p> + +<p>"De Ku Klux Klan made everything pretty squally, so dey taken +de orphan chillen to Little Rock and kep' 'em two, three years. Dere +was lots of slaves in dat country 'round Rob Roy and Free Nigger Bend. +Old Churchill, who used to be governor, had a plantation in dere.</p> + +<p>"When I was nine years ol' dey had de Bruce and Baxter revolution. +'Twas more runnin' dan fightin'. Bruce was 'lected for governor +but Baxter said he'd be governor if he had to run Brooks into de sea.</p> + +<p>"My young Massa, Jack Mobley, was killed in de war, is how I come +to be one of de orphan chillen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"While us orphan chillen was at Little Rock dere come a +terrible soreness of de eyes. I heard tell 'twas caused from +de cholera. Every little child had to take turns about sittin' +by de babies or totin' them. I was so blind, my eyes was so +sore, I couldn't see. The doctor's wife was working with us. +She was tryin' to figure up a cure for our sore eyes, first +using one remedy and den another. An old herb doctor told her +about a herb he had used on de plantations to cure de slaves' +sore eyes. Dey boiled de herb and put hit on our eyes, on a +white cloth. De doctor's wife had a little boy about my age. +He would play with me, and thought I was about hit. He would +lead me around, then he would run off and leave me and see if +I could see. One day between 'leven and twelve o'clock—I +never will fergit hit—he taken me down to de mess room. De +lady was not quite ready to dress my eyes. She told me to go +on and come back in a little while. When I got outside I tore +dat old rag off of my eyes and throwed hit down. I told the +little boy, 'O, I can see you!' He grabbed me by de arm and +ran yellin' to his mammy, 'Mama, he can see! Mama, Owen can +see!' I neva will fo'git dat word. Dey were all in so a rejoicin', +excitable way. I was de first one had his eyes cured. +Dey sent de lady to New York and she made plenty of money from +her remedy.</p> + +<p>"Things sure was turrible durin' de war. Dey just driv +us in front of de soldiers. Dere was lots of cholera. We was +just bedded together lak hogs. The Ku Klux Klan come behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +de soldiers, killin' and robbin'.</p> + +<p>"After two or three years in de camp with de orphans, my +kin found me and took me home.</p> + +<p>"My grandfather and uncle was in de fightin'. My grandfather +was a wagon man. De las' trip he made, he come home +bringin' a load of dead soldiers to be buried. My grandfather +told de people all about de war. He said hit sure was terrible.</p> + +<p>"When de war was over de people jus' shouted for joy. De +men and women jus' shouted for joy. 'Twas only because of de +prayers of de cullud people, dey was freed, and de Lawd worked +through Lincoln.</p> + +<p>"My old masta was a doctor and a surgeon. He trained my +grandmother; she worked under him thirty-seven years as a nurse. +When old masta wanted grandmother to go on a special case he +would whip her so she wouldn't tell none of his secrets. Grandmother +used herbs fo' medicine—black snake root, sasparilla, +blackberry briar roots—and nearly all de young'uns she fooled +with she save from diarrhea.</p> + +<p>"My old masta was good, but when he found you shoutin' +he burnt your hand. My grandmother said he burnt her hand several +times. Masta wouldn't let de cullud folks have meetin', but +dey would go out in de woods in secret to pray and preach and +shout.</p> + +<p>"I jist picked up enough readin' to read my bible and +scratch my name. I went to school one mo'ning and didn't git +along wid de teacher so I didn't go no mo'.</p> + +<p>"I 'member my folks had big times come Christmas. Dey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +never did work on Sundays, jist set around and rest. Dey never +worked in bad weather. Dey never did go to de field till seven +o'clock.</p> + +<p>"I married in 1919. I have two step-daughters and one step-son. +My step-son lives in San Antonio. I have six step-grandchillen. +I was a member of de Baptist church befo' you was +bo'n, lady.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420394" id="n420394"></a>420394</div> + + +<p> +<i>Dibble, Fred</i><br /> +<i>Beaumont, Jefferson Co. Dist. #3</i><br /> +</p> + +<div class="intro"><p>ROSA GREEN, 85 years old, was born at +Ketchi, Louisiana, but as soon as she +was old enough became a housegirl on +the plantation of Major "Bob" Hollingsworth +at Mansfield, Louisiana. To the +best of her knowledge, she was about 13 +when the "freedom papers" were read. She +had had 13 children by her two husbands, +both deceased, and lives with her youngest +daughter in Beaumont. Their one-room, +unpainted house is one of a dozen unprepossessing +structures bordering an alleyway +leading off Pine Street. Rosa, a spry +little figure, crowned with short, snow-white +pigtails extending in various directions, +spends most of her time tending her +small flowerbeds and vegetable garden. +She is talkative and her memory seems quite +active.</p></div> + + +<p>"When de w'ite folks read de freedom paper I was +13 year old. I jes' lean up agin de porch, 'cause I didn' know +den what it was all about. I war'nt bo'n in Texas, I was bo'n +in Ketchi, but I was rais' in Manfiel'. Law, yes, I 'member de +fight at Manfiel'. My ol' marster tuk all he niggers and lef' +at night. Lef' us little ones; say de Yankees could git us effen +day wan' to, 'cause we no good no way, and I wouldn' care if dey +did git us. Dey put us in a sugar hogshead and give us a spoon to +scrape out de sugar. 'Bout de ol' plantation, I work a little +w'ile in de fiel'. I didn' know den like I see now. Dese chillen +bo'n wid mo' sense now dan we was den. Dey was 'bout ten cullud +folks on de place. My ol' marster name Bob Hollingsworth, but dey +call 'im Major, 'cause he was a major in de war, not de las' one, +but de one way back yonder. Ol' missus work de little ones roun' +de house and under de house and kep' ev'yt'ing clean as yo' han'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +The ol' marster I thought was de meanes' man de Lawd ever made. Look +like he cuss ev'y time he open he mouth. De neighbor w'ite folks, some +good, some bad. My work was cleanin' up 'roun de house and nussin' de +chillen. Only times I went to church when day tuk us long to min' de +chillen. When de battle of Manfiel' was, we didn' git out much. When +de Yankees was comin' to Gran' Cane, my w'ite folks dig a big pit and +put der meat and flour and all in it and cover it over wid dirt and +put wagon loads of pine straw over it. It was 'bout five or six mile +to Manfield and 'bout 49 or 50 mile to Shreveport. My ol' marster tuk +all he niggers and went off somweres, dey called it Texas, but I didn' +know where. De ol'er ones farm. Dey rais' ev'yt'ing dey could put in +de groun', dey did. My pa was kirrige(carriage) driver for my ol' missus. +He was boss nigger fo' de cullud men when marster wan't right dere. My +father jis' stay dere. See, dey free our people in July. Dat leave de +whole crop stanin' dere in de fiel'. Dey had to stay dere and take care +of de crop. After dat dey commence makin' contraks and bargins. I was +22 years ol' when I marry de fus' time. Both my husban's dead. I had +13 chillen in all.</p> + +<p>"De fus' time I went to church, missus tuk me and another gal +to min' de chillen. I never heared a preacher befo'. I 'member how de +preacher word de hymn:</p> + +<p> +'Come, ye sinners, po' and needy.<br /> +Weak and wounded, sick and so'.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I couldn' understan' it, but now when I look down on it I sees +it now. I bleeve us been here goin' on fo' year' right yere in dis house."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420078" id="n420078"></a>420078</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 185px;"><a href="images/162096av.png"> +<img src="images/162096ar.png" width="185" height="300" alt="William Green, (Rev. Bill) (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">William Green, (Rev. Bill) (A)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 190px;"><a href="images/162096bv.png"> +<img src="images/162096br.png" width="190" height="300" alt="William Green, (Rev. Bill) (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">William Green, (Rev. Bill) (B)</span> +</div> + + + + + +<div class="intro"><p>WILLIAM GREEN, or "Reverend +Bill", as he is call by the +other Negroes, was brought +to Texas from Mississippi in +1862. His master was Major +John Montgomery. William is +87 years old. He has lived +in San Antonio, Texas, for 50 +years.</p></div> + + +<p>"I is Reverend Bill, all right, but I is 'fraid dat compliment +don't belong to me no more, 'cause I quit preachin' in favor +of de young men.</p> + +<p>"I kin tell you my 'speriences in savin'—mis'ry dat was, +is peace dat is. I tells you dis 'spite of bein' alone in de world +with no chillun.</p> + +<p>"I is raised a slave and 'mancipated in June, but I 'members de +old plantation whar I is born. Massa John Montgomery, he owned me, +and he went to de war and git kilt. I knowed 'bout de war, though +us slaves wasn't sposed to know nothin' 'bout it. I was livin' in +Texas then, 'cause Massa John moved over here from Mis'sippi. In +dat place niggers was allus wrong, no matter what, but it was better +in dis place. We used to think we was lucky to git over here to Texas, +and we used to sing a song 'bout it:</p> + +<p> +"'Over yonder is de wild-goose nation,<br /> +Whar old missus has sugar plantation—<br /> +Sugar grows sweet but de plantation's sour,<br /> +'cause de nigger jump and run every hour.<br /> +<br /> +"'I has you all to know, you all to know,<br /> +Dare's light on de shore,<br /> +Says little Bill to big Bill,<br /> +There's a li'l nigger to write and cipher.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I don't know what de song meant but we thought we'd git free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +here in Texas, and we'd git eddicated, and dat's de meanin' of de +talk about writin' and cipherin'.</p> + +<p>"Well, when I is free I isn't free, 'cause de boss wants me +and another boy to stay till we's 21 year old. But old Judge Longworth, +he come down dere and dere was pretty near a fight, and he +'splains to us we was free.</p> + +<p>"'bout five year after dat I takes up preachin' and I preaches +for a long time, and I works on a farm, half and half with de owner. +I has a good life, but now I's too old to preach.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420041" id="n420041"></a>420041</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 177px;"><a href="images/162098v.png"> +<img src="images/162098r.png" width="177" height="300" alt="Pauline Grice" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Pauline Grice</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>PAULINE GRICE, 81, was born a slave +of John Blackshier, who owned her +mother, about 150 slaves, 50 slave +children, and a large plantation +near Atlanta, Georgia. Pauline +married Navasota Grice in 1875 +and they moved to Texas in 1917. +Since her husband's death in 1928 +Pauline has depended on the charity +of friends, with whom she lives at +2504 Ross Ave., North Fort Worth, +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"White man, dis old cullud woman am not strong. 'Bout all my substance +am gone now. De way you sees me layin' on dis bed am what I has +to do mos' de time. My mem'randum not so good like 'twas.</p> + +<p>"De place I am borned am right near Atlanta, in Georgia, and on +dat plantation of Massa John Blackshier. A big place, with 'bout 150 +growed slaves and 'bout 50 pickininnies. I doesn't work till near de +surrender, 'cause I's too small. But us don't leave Massa John, us go +right on workin' for him like 'fore.</p> + +<p>"Massa John am de kind massa and don't have whuppin's. He tell +de overseer, 'If you can't make dem niggers work without de whup, den +you not de man I wants.' Mos' de niggers 'have theyselves and when dey +don't massa put dem in de li'l house what he call de jail, with nothin' +to eat till deys ready to do what he say. Onct or twict he sell de +nigger what won't do right and do de work.</p> + +<p>"Us have de cabin what am made from logs but us only sleeps dere. +All us cookin' done in de big kitchen. Dere am three women what do dat, +and give us de meals in de long shed with de long tables.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To de bes' of dis nigger's mem'randum, de feed am good. Plenty +of everything and corn am de mostest us have. Dere am cornbread and +cornmeal mush and corn hominy and corn grits and parched corn for drink, +'stead of tea <a name='TC_17'></a><ins title="of">or</ins> coffee. Us have milk and 'lasses and brown sugar, and +some meat. Dat all raise on de place. Stuff for to eat and wear, dat +am made by us cullud folks and dat place am what dey calls se'f-s'portin'. +De shoemaker make all de shoes and fix de leather, too.</p> + +<p>"After breakfas' in de mornin' de niggers am gwine here, dere and +everywhere, jus' like de big factory. Every one to he job, some a-whistlin', +some a-singin'. Dey sings diff'rent songs and dis am one when deys gwine +to work:</p> + +<p> +"'Old cotton, old corn, see you every morn,<br /> +Old cotton, old corn, see you since I's born.<br /> +Old cotton, old corn, hoe you till dawn,<br /> +Old cotton, old corn, what for you born?'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh, everybody happy on massa's place till war begin. He +have two sons and Willie am 'bout 18 and Dave am 'bout 17. Dey jines de +army and after 'bout a year, massa jine too, and, course, dat make de +missy awful sad. She have to 'pend on de overseer and it warn't like massa +keep things runnin'.</p> + +<p>"In de old days, if de niggers wants de party, massa am de big toad +in de puddle. And Christmas, it am de day for de big time. A tree am fix, +and some present for everyone. De white preacher talk 'bout Christ. Us +have singin' and 'joyment all day. Den at night, de big fire builded and +all us sot 'round it. Dere am 'bout hundred hawg bladders save from hawg +killin'. So, on Christmas night, de chillen takes dem and puts dem on de +stick. Fust dey is all blowed full of air and tied tight and dry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +Den de chillen holds de bladder in de fire and purty soon, '<span class="spaced">BANG</span>,' dey +goes. Dat am de fireworks.</p> + +<p>"Dat all changed after massa go to war. Fust de 'federate sojers come +and takes some mules and hosses, den some more come for de corn. After +while, de Yankee sojers comes and takes some more. When dey gits through, +dey ain't much more tookin' to be done. De year 'fore surrender, us am short +of rations and sometime us hongry. Us sees no battlin' but de cannon bang all +day. Once, dey bang two whole days 'thout hardly stoppin'. Dat am when +missy go tech in de head, 'cause massa and de boys in dat battle. She jus' +walk 'round de yard and twist de hands and say, 'Dey sho' git kilt. Dey sho' +dead.' Den when extra loud noise come from de cannon, she scream. Den word +come Willie am kilt. She gits over it, but she am de diff'rent woman. For +her, it am trouble, trouble and more trouble.</p> + +<p>"She can't sell de cotton. Dey done took all de rations and us couldn't +eat de cotton. One day she tell us, 'De war am on us. De sojers done took +de rations. I can't sell de cotton, 'cause of de blockade.' I don't know +what am dat blockade, but she say it. 'Now,' she say, 'All you cullud folks +born and raise here and us allus been good to you. I can't holp it 'cause +rations am short and I'll do all I can for you. Will yous be patient with +me?' All us stay dere and holp missy all us could.</p> + +<p>"Den massa come home and say, 'Yous gwine be free. Far as I cares, you +is free now, and can stay here and tough it through or go where you wants. +I thanks yous for all de way yous done while I's gone, and I'll holp you +all I can.' Us all stay and it sho' am tough times. Us have most nothin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +to eat and den de Ku Klux come 'round dere. Massa say not mix with dat +crowd what lose de head, jus' stay to home and work. Some dem niggers on +other plantations ain't keep de head and dey gits whupped and some gits +kilt, but us does what massa say and has no trouble with dem Klux.</p> + +<p>"It 'bout two year after freedom mammy gits marry and us goes +and works on shares. I stays with dem till 1875 and den marries Navasota +Robert Grice and us live by farmin' till he die, nine year since. 'Bout 20 +year since us come here from Georgia and works de truck farm. I has two +chillen but dey dead. De way I feels now, 'twon't be long 'fore I goes, too. +My friends is good to me and lets me stay with dem.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420107" id="n420107"></a>420107</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 219px;"><a href="images/162102v.png"> +<img src="images/162102r.png" width="219" height="300" alt="Mandy Hadnot" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Mandy Hadnot</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MANDY HADNOT, small and forlorn +looking, as she lies in a huge, +old-fashioned wooden bed, appears +very black in contrast to the +clean white sheets and a thick +mop of snowy wool on her head. +She does not know her age, but +from her appearance and the details +she remembers of her years +as slave in the Slade home, near +Cold Springs, Texas, she must be +very old. She lives in Woodville, +Texas, with her husband, Josh, +to whom she has been married 13 +years.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's too small to 'member my father, 'cause he die when +I jus' a baby. Dey was my mudder and me and de ole mistus and marster +on de plantation. It were mo' jus' a farm, but dey raise us all we +need to eat and feed de cows and hosses.</p> + +<p>"De earlies' 'membrance I hab is when de ole marster drive +into de town for supplies every two weeks. Us place was right near +Col' Springs. He was a good man. He treat dis lil' darky jus' like +he own chile, 'cause he never hab any chillen of his own. I know 'bout +de time he comin' home when he go to town and I wait down by de big +gate. Purty soon I see de big ox comin' and see de smoke from de road +dust flyin'. Den I know he almos' home and I holler and wave my han' +and he holler and wave he han' right back. He allus brung me somethin', +jus' like I he own little gal. Sometime he brung me a whistle or some +candy or doll or somethin'.</p> + +<p>"One Easter he brung me de purties' lil' hat I ever did see. +My ole mistus took me to Sunday school with her and I spruce up in dat +hat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Every Christmas 'fore ole marster die he fix me up a tree out +de woods. Dey put popco'n on it to trim it and dey give me sometime a +purty dress or shoes and plenty candy and maybe a big, red apple. Dey +hab a big san' pile for me to play in, but I never play with any other +chillen. My mammy, Emily Budle, she cook and clean up mistus log house +cabin. After de ole marster die dey both work in de fiel' and raise +plenty vegetables to can and eat. My task was to shell peas and watch +and stir de big cookin' pots on de fireplace.</p> + +<p>"My mistus hav lots of company. When she come in and say, 'Mandy, +shine up de knife and fork and put de polish on de pianny, I allus happy, +'cause I lub to see folks come. Us hab chicken and all kinds of good +things. De preacher, he was big, jolly man, he come to de house 'bout one +Sunday in every month. Sometime dey brung lil' white chillen to dinner. +Den us play</p> + +<p> +'Rabbit, rabbit.<br /> +Jump fru' de crack.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>and</p> + +<p> +'Kitty, kitty,<br /> +In de corner,<br /> +Meow, meow,<br /> +Run, kitty, run.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"De ole marster pick me out a lil', gentle hoss named Julie and +dat was my very own hoss. It was jus' a common lil' hoss. I uster sneak +sugar out de barrel to feed Julie. Dey had a big smokehouse on de farm +where dey kep' all kin's of good things like sugar and sich. Dey had fruits +of all kin's put up.</p> + +<p>"Every mornin' de ole mistus took out de big Bible and hab prayer +meetin' for jus' us three. Us never learn read much, tho' she try teach me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +some. When I's 'bout nine year ole she buy me a purty white dress and took me +to jine de church. She was a little, white-hair' woman, what never los' her +temper 'bout nothin'. She use' to let me bump on her pianny and didn' say +nothin'. She couldn' play de pianny but she kinder hope maybe I could, but I +never did learn how.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come my mudder and me pay no 'tention to it. Us stay +right on de place. Purty soon my mudder die and I jus' took up her shoes. +One day I's makin' a bonfire in de yard and ketch my dress on fire. De whol +side of my lef' leg mos' bu'n off. Mistus was so lil' she couldn' lif' me +but she fin'ly git me to bed. Dere I stay for long, long time, and she wait +on me han' and feet. She make linseed poultice and kep' de bu'n grease good. +Mos' time she leave all de wo'k stan' in de middle of de floor and read de +Bible and pray for me to git heal up and not suffer. She cry right 'long +with me when I cry, 'cause I hurt so.</p> + +<p>"When I's 16 year ole I want to hab courtin'. Mistus 'low me to +hab de boy come right to de big house to see me. He come two mile every +Sunday and us go to Lugene Baptist church. Den she hav nice Sunday dinner +for both us. She let me go to ice cream supper, too. Dey didn' hab no +freezer den, jus' a big pan in some ice. De boys and girls took tu'ns +stirrin' de cream. It never git real ha'd but stay kinder slushy. Dey +serve cake. Us hav pie supper, too. Whoever git de girl's pie eat it with +her.</p> + +<p>"My ole mistus she pay me money right 'long after freedom but I too +close to spen' any. Den when I 'cide to marry Bob Thomas, she he'p me fix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +a hope ches'. I buys goods for sheets and table kivers and one nice +Sunday set dishes.</p> + +<p>"Us marry right in de parlor of de mistus house. De white man +preacher marry us and mistus she give me 'way. Ole mistus he'p me make +my weddin' dress outta white lawn. I hab purty long, black hair and a +veil with a ribbon 'round de fron'. De weddin' feas' was strawberry +ice cream and yaller cake. Ole mistus giv me my bedstead, one of her +purtiest ones, and de set dishes and glasses us eat de weddin' dinner +outta. My husban' gib me de trabblin' dress, but I never use dat dress +for three weeks, though, 'cause ole mistus cry so when I hafter leave +dat I stay for three weeks after I marry.</p> + +<p>"She all 'lone in de big house and I think it break her heart. +I ain' been gone to de sawmill town very long when she sen' for me. I +go to see her and took a peach pie, 'cause I lub her and I know dat's +what she like better'n anything. She was sick and she say, 'Mandy, dis +de las' time us gwineter see each other, 'cause I ain' gwineter git well. +You be a good girl and try to git through de worl' dat way.' Den she +make me say de Lord Prayer for her jus' like she allus make me say it for +a night prayer when I lil' gal. I never see her no mo'.</p> + +<p>"Me and Bob Thomas and dis husban', Josh, what I marry thirteen +year ago, hab 'bout 10 chillen all togedder. Us been lib here many a year. +I don' care so much 'bout leavin' dis yearthly home, 'cause I knows I +gwineter see de ole mistus up dere and I tell her I allus 'member what she +tell me and try lib dat way all time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420237" id="n420237"></a>420237</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 218px;"><a href="images/162106v.png"> +<img src="images/162106r.png" width="218" height="300" alt="William Hamilton" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">William Hamilton</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>WILLIAM HAMILTON belonged to +a slave trader, who left him +on the Buford plantation, near +Village Creek, Texas. The trader +did not return, so the Buford +family raised the child with +their slaves. William now lives +at 910 E. Weatherford St., Ft. +Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Who I is, how old I is and where I is born, I don't know. But +Massa Buford told me how durin' de war a slave trader name William +Hamilton, come to Village Creek, where Massa Buford live. Dat trader +was on his way south with my folks and a lot of other slaves, takin' +'em somewheres, to sell. He camped by Massa Buford's plantation and +asks him, 'Can I leave dis li'l nigger here till I comes back?' Massa +Buford say, 'Yes,' and de trader say he'll be back in 'bout three weeks, +soon as he sells all the slaves. He mus' still be sellin' 'em, 'cause he +never comes back so far and there I am and my folks am took on, and I +is too li'l to 'member 'em, so I never knows my pappy and mammy. Massa +Buford says de trader comes from Missouri, but if I is born dere I don't +know.</p> + +<p>"De only thing I 'members 'bout all dat, am dere am lots of cryin' +when dey tooks me 'way from my mammy. Dat something I never forgits.</p> + +<p>"I only 'members after de war, and most de cullud folks stays with +Massa Buford after surrender and works de land on shares. Dey have good +times on dat place, and don't want to leave. Day has dances and fun +till de Ku Klux org'nizes and den it am lots of trouble. De Klux comes +to de dance and picks out a nigger and whups him, jus' to keep de niggers +scart, and it git so bad dey don't have no more dances or parties.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I 'members seein' Faith Baldwin and Jeb Johnson and Dan Hester +gittin' whupped by de Klux. Dey wasn't so bad after women. It am allus +after dark when dey comes to de house and catches de man and whups him for +nothin'. Dey has de power, and it am done for to show dey has de power. It +gits so bad round dere, dat de menfolks allus eats supper befo' dark and +takes a blanket and goes to de woods for to sleep. Alex Buford don't sleep +in de house for one whole summer.</p> + +<p>"No one knowed when de Klux comin'. All a-sudden up dey gallops on +hosses, all covered with hoods, and bust right into de house. Jus' latches +'stead of locks was used dem days. Dey comes sev'ral times to Alex' house +but never cotches him. I'd hear dem comin' when dey hit de lane and I'd +holler, 'De Klux am comin'.' It was my job, after dark, listenin' for dem +Klux, den I gits under de bed.</p> + +<p>"Why dey comes so many times round dere, am 'cause de second time +dey comes, Jane Bensom am dere. Jane am lots of woman, wide as de door and +tall, and weighs 'bout three hunder pounds. I calls, 'Here comes de Klux,' +and makes for under de bed. There am embers in de fireplace and she fills +a pail with dem and when de Klux busts in de door she lets dem have de embers +in de face, and den out de back door she goes. Two of dem am burnt purty +bad. De nex' night back dey comes and asks where Jane am. She 'longs to +Massa John Ditto and am so big everybody knows her, but de niggers won't +tell on her. She leaves de country fin'ly, but dey comes lookin' for her +every night for two months.</p> + +<p>"Right over on Massa Ditto's place, am a killin' of a baby by dem +Klux. De baby am in de mammy's arms and a bunch of Klux ridin' by takes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +a shot at de mammy, and it hits de baby and kills it.</p> + +<p>"Right after de baby killin', sojers with blue coats comes dere and +camps front of Massa Buford's place and pertects de cullud folks. I goes +over to dey camp every day and dey gives me lots of good eats.</p> + +<p>"De cullud folks has lots of trouble after de war, 'cause dey am +ir'rant niggers and gits foolishment in de head. They gits de idea de white +folks should give dem land and mules and sich. Over in de valley, Massa Moses +owns lots of land and fifty nigger families, and he gives each family a deed +to 'bout fifty acres. Some dem cullud folks grandchillen still on dat land, +too, de Parkers and Farrows and Nelsons and some others. Den all de other +niggers thinks dey should git land, too, but dey don't, and it make dem git +foolishment and git in trouble.</p> + +<p>"In 1897 I marries Effie Coleman and has no chillens, so I is alone +in de world now. I can't do much and lives on de $10.00 de month pension. +De white folks lets me live in dis shack for mowin' de lawn, but I worries +'bout when I can't do no more work. It am de awful way to spend you last +days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420163" id="n420163"></a>420163</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>PIERCE HARPER, 86, was born on +the Subbs plantation near Snow +Hill, North Carolina. When eight +years old he was sold for $1,150 <i>[Handwritten Note: '?']</i> +to the Harper family, who lived +in Snow Hill. After the Civil +War, Pierce farmed a small place +near Snow Hill and saw many raids +of the Klu Klux Klan. He came to +Galveston, Texas, in 1877. Pierce +attended a Negro school after he +was grown, learned to read and +write, and is interested in the +betterment of his race.</p></div> + + +<p>"When you ask me is I Pierce Harper, you kind of 'sprised me. +I reckoned everybody know old Pierce Harper. Sister Johnson say to me +outside of services last Sunday night, 'Brother Harper, you is de +beatines' man I ever seen. You know everybody and everybody know you.' +And I said, 'Sister Johnson, dat's 'cause I keep faith with de Lawd. +I love de Lawd and my neighbors and de Lawd and my neighbors love me.' +Dat's what my old mother told me 'way back in slavery, before I was +ever sold. But here I is talking 'bout myself when you want to hear me +talk 'bout slavery. Let's see, now.</p> + +<p>"I was born way back in 1851 in North Carolina, on Mr. Subbs' +plantation, clost to Snow Hill, which was the county seat. My daddy was +a field hand and my mother worked in the fields, too, right 'longside my +daddy, so she could keep him lined up. The master said that Calisy, that +my mother, was the best fieldhand he had, and Calvin, that my daddy, was +the laziest. My mother used to say he was chilesome.</p> + +<p>"Then when I was eight years old they sold me. The market place +was in Snow Hill on the public square near the jailhouse. It was jus' a +little stand built out in the open with no top on it, that the slaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +stood on to get sold while the white folks auctioned 'em off. I was too +little to get on the stand, so they had to hold me up and Mr. Harper bought +me for $1,100. <i>[Handwritten Note: '?']</i> That was cheap for a boy.</p> + +<p>"He lived in a brick house in town and had two-three slaves 'sides +me. I run errands and kept the yard clean, things a little boy could do. +They didn't have no school for slaves and I never learned to read and write +till after freedom. After I was sold, they let me go visit my mother once +a year, on Sunday morning, and took me back at night.</p> + +<p>"The masters couldn't whip the slaves there. The law said in black +and white no master couldn't whip no slave, no matter what he done. When a +slave got bad they took him to the county seat and had him whipped. One +day I seen my old daddy get whipped by the county and state 'cause he wouldn't +work. They had a post in the public square what they tied 'em to and a +man what worked for the county whipped 'em.</p> + +<p>"After he was whipped my daddy run away to the north. Daddy come +by when I was cleanin' the yard and said, 'Pierce, go 'round side the house, +where nobody can't see us.' I went and he told me goodbye, 'cause he was +goin' to run away in a few days. He had to stay in the woods and travel at +night and eat what he could find, berries and roots and things. They never +caught him and after he crossed the Mason-Dixon line he was safe.</p> + +<p>"There used to be a man who raised bloodhounds to hunt slaves with. +I seen the dogs on the trail a whole day and still not catch 'em. Sometimes +the slave made friends with the dogs and they wouldn't let on if they found +him. Three dogs followed one slave the whole way up north and he sold them +up there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I heered 'em talk about some slaves what run barefooted in cold +weather and you could trail 'em by blood in the snow and ice where they hurt +their feet.</p> + +<p>"Most of the time the master gave us castor oil when we were sick. +Some old folks went in the woods for herbs and made medicine. They made +tea out of 'lion's tongue' for the stomach and snake root is good for pains +in the stomach, too. Horse mint breaks the fever. They had a vermifuge +weed.</p> + +<p>"I seed a lot of Southern soldiers and they'd go to the big house +for something to eat. Late in '63 they had a fight at a place called Kingston, +only 12 miles from our place, takin' how the jacks go. We could hear the +guns go off when they was fightin'. The Yankees beat and settled down there +and the cullud folks flocked down on them and when they got to the Yankee +lines they was safe. They went in droves of 25 or 50 to the Yankees and they +put 'em to work fightin' for freedom. They fit till the war was over and a +lot of 'em got kilt. My mother and sister run away to the Yankees and they +paid 'em big money to wash for 'em.</p> + +<p>"When peace come they read the 'mancipation law to the cullud people +and they stayed up half the night at Mr. Harper's, singing and shouting. +They spent that night singin' and shoutin'. They wasn't slaves no more. +The master had to give 'em a half or third of what he made. Our master +parceled out some land to 'em and told 'em to work it their selves and some +done real well. They got hosses that the soldiers had turned loose to die, +and fed them and took good care of 'em and they got good stock that way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +Cotton was twenty and thirty cents a pound then.</p> + +<p>"After us cullud folks was 'sidered free and turned loose, the Klu +Klux broke out. Some cullud people started to farmin', like I told you, and +gathered the old stock. If they got so they made good money, and had a good +farm, the Klu Klux would come and murder 'em. The gov'ment builded school +houses and the Klu Klux went to work and burned 'em down. They'd go to the +jails and take the cullud men out and knock their brains out and break their +necks and throw 'em in the river.</p> + +<p>"There was a cullud man they taken, his name was Jim Freeman. They +taken him and destroyed his stuff and him, 'cause he was making some money. Hung +him on a tree in his front yard, right in front of his cabin.</p> + +<p>"There was some cullud young men went to the schools they'd opened +by the gov'ment. Some white woman said someone had stole something of hers +so they put them young men in jail. The Klu Klux went to the jail and took +'em out and killed 'em. That happened the second year after the War.</p> + +<p>"After the Klu Kluxes got so strong the cullud men got together and +made the complaint before the law. The Gov'nor told the law to give 'em the +old guns in the com'sary, what the Southern soldiers had used, so they issued +the cullud men old muskets and said protect themselves. They got together +and organized the militia and had leaders like reg'lar soldiers. They didn't +meet 'cept when they heered the Klu Kluxes was coming to get some cullud folks. +Then they was ready for 'em. They'd hide in the cabins and then's when they +found out who a lot of them Klu Kluxes was, 'cause a lot of 'em was kilt. They +wore long sheets and covered the hosses with sheets so you couldn't rec'nize 'em.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +Men you thought was your friend was Klu Kluxes and you'd deal with 'em in +stores in the daytime and at night they'd come out to your house and kill +you. I never took part in none of the fights, but I heered the others talk +'bout them, but not where them Klu Klux could hear 'em.</p> + +<p>"One time they had 12 men in jail, 'cused of robbin' white folks. +All was white in jail but one, and he was cullud. The Klu Kluxes went to +the jailor's house and got the jail key and got them men out and carried +'em to the River Bridge, in the middle. Then they knocked their brains out +and threw 'em in the river.</p> + +<p>"We was 'fraid of them Klu Kluxes and come to town, to Snow Hill. +We rented a little house and my mother took in washing and ironing. I went +to school and learned to read and write, then worked on farms, and fin'ly +went to Columbia, in South Carolina, and worked in the turpentine country. +I stayed there a while and got married.</p> + +<p>"I come to Texas in 1877 and Galveston was a little pen then, a +little mess. I worked for some white people and then went to Houston and +it wasn't nothing but a mudhole. So I messed 'round in South Carolina again +a while and then come back to Galveston.</p> + +<p>"The Lawd called me then and I answered and was +preacher here at the Union Baptist Church, on 11th and K, 'bout 25 years.</p> + +<p>"I knowed Wright Cuney well and he held the biggest place a cullud +man ever helt in Galveston. He was congressman and the white people looked +up to him just like he was white.</p> + +<p>"Durin' the Spanish-American War I went to Washington, D.C., to see +my sister and got in the soldier business. The gov'ment give me $30.00 a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +month for drivin' a four-mule wagon for the army. I druv all through <a name='TC_18'></a><ins title="Pennslyvania">Pennsylvania</ins> +and Virginia and South Carolina for the gov'ment. I was a——what +do they call a laborer in the army?</p> + +<p>"When war was over I come back here and now I'm too old to work +and the state gives me a pension and me and my granddaughter live on that. +The young folks is makin' their mark now. One thing about 'em, they get educated, +but there's not much for them to do when they get finished with school but walk +the streets now. I been always trying to help my people to rise 'bove their +station and they are rising all the time, and some day they'll be free."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420298" id="n420298"></a>420298</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MOLLY HARRELL was born a +slave on the Swanson plantation, +near Palestine, +Texas. She was a housegirl, +but must have been +too small to do much work. +She does not know her age, +but thinks she was about +seven when she was freed. +Molly lives at 3218 Ave H., +Galveston, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Don't you tell nobody dat I use to be a slave. I 'most forgot +it myself till you got round me jes' den. Course, I ain't blamin' you for +it, but what you done say 'bout all de plantations havin' schools was +wrong, so I jes' had to tell you I been a slave myself. It jes' slip out.</p> + +<p>"Like I jes' say, I knows what I's talkin' 'bout, 'cause I use to be +a slave myself and I don't know how to read and write. Dat why I say I +can't see so good. It don't do to let folks know dey's smarter'n you, +'cause den dey got you right where dey wants you. Now, Will, dat de man +I's marry to, am younger'n me but he don't know it. When you git marry, +you don't tell de man how old you is. He wouldn't have you if you did. +'Course, Will ain't so young heself, but he's born after de war and I's +born durin' slavery, so dat make me older.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Swanson use to own de big plantation in Palestine. Everybody +in dat part de country knowed him. He use to live in a plain, wood house +on de Palestine road. My mother use to cook and wait on tables. John +was my father.</p> + +<p>"Dey use to have de little whip dey use on de women. Course de field +hands got it worse, but den, dey was men. Mr. Swanson was good and he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +mean. He was nice one day and mean as Hades de next. You never knowed what he +gwine to do. But he never punish nobody 'cept dey done somethin'. My father +was a field hand, and Mr. Swanson work de fire out dem. Work, work—dat all +dey know from time dey git up in de mornin' till dey went to bed at night. But +he wasn't hard on dem like some masters was. If dey sick, dey didn't habe to +work and he give dem de med'cine hisself. If he cotch dem tryin' play off sick, +den he lay into dem, or if he cotch dem loafin'. Course, I don't blame him for +dat, 'cause dere ain't anythin' lazier dan a lazy nigger. Will am 'bout de +laziest one in de bunch. You ain't never find a lazier nigger dan Will.</p> + +<p>"I was purty little den, but I done my share. I holp my mother dust +and clean up de house and peel 'tatoes. Dere some old men dat too old to work +so dey sot in de sun all day and holp with de light work. Dey carry grub and +water to de field hands.</p> + +<p>"Somebody run 'way all de time and hide in de woods till dere gut pinch +dem and den dey have to come back and git somethin' to eat. Course, dey got +beat, but dat didn't worry dem none, and it not long till dey gone 'gain.</p> + +<p>"My mother sold into slavery in Georgia, or round dere. <a name='TC_19'></a><ins title="Sue">She</ins> tell me +funny things 'bout how dey use to do up dere. A old white man think so much of +he old nigger when he die he free dat nigger in he will, and lef' him a little +money. He open de blacksmith shop and buy some slaves. Mother allus say dose +free niggers make de hardes' masters. One in Palestine marry a nigger slave +and buy her from her master. Den he tell everybody he own a slave.</p> + +<p>"Everybody talk 'bout freedom and hope to git free 'fore dey die. I 'member +de first time de Yankees pass by, my mother lift me up on de fence. Dey use<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +to pass by with bags on de mules and fill dem with stuff from de houses. +Dey go in de barn and holp deyself. Dey go in de stables and turn out de +white folks' hosses and run off what dey don't take for deyself.</p> + +<p>"Den one night I 'member jes' as well, me and my mother was settin' +in de cabin gettin' ready to go to bed, when us hear somebody call my mother. +We listen and de overseer whisper under de door and told my mother dat she +free but not to tell nobody. I don't know why he done it. He allus like my +mother, so I guess he do it for her. The master reads us de paper right after +dat and say us free.</p> + +<p>"Me and my mother lef' right off and go to Palestine. Most everybody +else go with us. We all walk down de road singin' and shoutin' to beat de band. +My father come nex' day and jine us. My sister born dere. Den us go to Houston +and Louisiana for a spell and I hires out to cook. I works till us come to +Galveston 'bout ten year ago.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420316" id="n420316"></a>420316</div> + + +<p> +<i>Dibble, Fred, P.W., Beehler, Rheba, P.W.,</i><br /> +<i>Beaumont, Jefferson, Dist. #3.</i><br /> +</p> + +<div class="intro"><p>ANN HAWTHORNE, Beaumont, Tex., was clad in a white +dress which was protected by a faded +blue checked apron. On her feet she +wore men's bedroom slippers much too +large for her, and to prevent their +falling off, were tied around the +ankle by rag strings. She wore silk +hose with the heels completely worn +out of them. Her figure is generous +in proportions, and her hair snow +white, fixed in little pig tails and +wrapped in black string. Ann related +her story in a deep voice and a jovial +manner. Although born and raised in +Jasper county, she speaks boastfully +about having been to Houston.</p></div> + + +<p>"If you's lookin' for Ann Hawthorne, dis is me. I +was bo'n in slavery, and I was a right sizeable gal when +freedom come. I was 'bout 10 or 12 year' ol' when freedom +riz up."</p> + +<p>"I was bo'n up here in Jasper. Ol' marster Woodruff +Norsworthy and Miss Ca'lina, dey was my ol' marster and +mistus. Miss Ca'lina she name' me."</p> + +<p>"My pa was Len Norsworthy. My ma was name Ca'line +after ol' mistus. Dat how come I 'member ol' mistus name +so good. I got fo' brudders livin', but nary a sister. +My brudders is Newton and Silas and Willie and Frank. I +say dey's livin'. I mean dat de las' time I heard of 'em +dey was livin'."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yas, I 'member de house I was raise in. It was +jis' a one-room log house. Dey was a ol' Geo'gia hoss +bed in it. It was up pretty high and us chillun had to +git on a box to git in dat bed. De mattress was mek outer +straw. Sometime dey mek 'em in co'n sacks and sometime +dey put 'em in a tick what dey weave on de loom. I had a +aunt what was de weaver. She weave all de time for ol' +marster. She uster weave all us clo's."</p> + +<p>"My ma she was jis' a fiel' han' but my gramma and +my aunt dey hab dem for wuk 'roun' de house. I didn' do +nuthin' but chu'n (churn) and clean de yard, and sweep +'roun' and go to de spring and tote de water. I l'arn +how to hoe, too."</p> + +<p>"Dat was a big plantation. Fur as I kin 'member I +t'ink dey was 'bout 25 or 30 slaves on de place. You see +I done git ol' and childish and I can't 'member like what +I uster could. I 'member though, dat my pa uster drive a +team for ol' marster. Sometime he fiel' han' on de plantation, +too."</p> + +<p>"Ol' marster he was good to his slaves. I heerd of +slaves bein' whip' but I ain't never see any git whip. Dey +was a overseer on de place and iffen dey was any whippin' +to be did, he done it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Me? I never did git no lickin's when I was a li'l +slave. No mam. I allus did obey jis' like I was teached +to do and dey didn' hafter whip me. I 'members dat."</p> + +<p>"We done our playin' 'roun' dat big house, but dat +front gate, we dassen' go outside dat. We uster jump de +rope and play ring plays and sich. You know how dey yoke +dey han's togedder? Dat de way us uster do and go 'roun' +and 'roun' singin' our li'l jumped up songs. Den us jis' +play 'roun' lots of times anyt'ing what happen to come up +in our min's."</p> + +<p>"Dey feed us good back in slavery. Give us plenty of +meat and bread and greens and t'ings. Ye, dey feed us +good and us had plenty. Dey give us plenty of co'nbread. +Dat's de reason I's a co'nbread eater now. I ain't no +flour-bread eater. I lubs my co'nbread. Us all eat outer +one big pan. Dey give each li'l nigger a big iron spoon +and us sho' go to it. Dey give us milk in a sep'rate vessel, +and dey give eb'ryone a slice of meat in our greens. +And dey never dassent tek de other feller's piece of meat. +Eb'ryt'ing better go 'long smoove wid us chillun. We better +eat and shut our mouf. We dassent raise no squall."</p> + +<p>"I tell dese chillun here dey ain't know nuffin'. Dey +got dey glass. We had our li'l go'ds (gourds) pretty and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +clean and white. I wish I had one of dem ol' time go'ds +now to drink my milk outer."</p> + +<p>"In good wedder dey feed us under a big tree out in +de yard. And us better leave eb'ryt'ing clean and no litter +'roun'. In de winter time dey fed us in de kitchen."</p> + +<p>"Us gals wo' plain, long waisted dress. Dey was cut +straight and wid long waist and dey button down de back."</p> + +<p>"Dey was a cullud man what mek shoes for de slaves +to wear in de winter time. He mek 'em outer rough red russet +ledder. Dat ledder was hard and lots of times it mek +blister on us feet. I uster be glad when summer time come +so's I could go barefoot."</p> + +<p>"Dey had cabins for de slaves to live in. Dere was +jis' one room and one family to de cabin. Some of 'em was +bigger dan others and dey put a big family in a big cabin +and a li'l family in a li'l cabin."</p> + +<p>"I never see no slaves bought and sol'. I heerd my +gramma and ma say dey ol' marster wouldn' sell none of his +slaves."</p> + +<p>"I heerd 'bout dem broom-stick marriages, but I ain't +never seed none. Dat was dey law in dem days."</p> + +<p>"Dey didn' know nuffin' 'bout preachin' and Sunday +School in dem times. De fus' preachin' I heerd was atter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +dat. I hear a white preacher preach. He uster preach +to de white folks in de mornin' and de cullud folks in +de afternoons. But de slaves some of 'em uster had family +prayer meetings to deyselfs."</p> + +<p>"De ol' marster he didn' work he han's on Sunday and +he give 'em half de day off on Sadday, too. But he never +give 'em a patch to work for deyself. Dat half a day off +on Sadday was for de slaves to wash and clean up deyselfs."</p> + +<p>"I never git marry 'till way atter freedom come. Dat +was up in Jasper county where I's bred and bo'n. I marry +Hyman Hawthorne. Near as you kin guess, dat was 'bout 50 +year' ago. Den he die and lef' me wid eight chillun. My +baby gal she ain't never see no daddy."</p> + +<p>"Atter he dead I wash and iron and cook out and raise +my chillun. I was raise up in de fiel' all my life. When +I git disable' to wuk in de time of de 'pressure (depression) +I git on my walkin' stick. I wag up town and I didn' +fail to ax de white folks 'cause I wo' myself out wukkin' +for 'em. Dey load up my sack and sometime dey bring me +stuff in a car right dere to dat gate. But I's had two +strokes and I ain't able to go to town no mo'."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I never hear nuthin' 'bout chu'ch 'till +way atter freedom. Sometime den us go to chu'ch. Dey was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +one Mef'dis' Chu'ch and one Baptis' Chu'ch in Jasper. Dere +moughta been a Cabilic (Catholic) Chu'ch dere too, but I +dunno 'bout dat."</p> + +<p>"I don' 'member seein' no sojers. I t'ink some of +ol' marster's boys went to de war but de ol' man didn' go. +I dunno 'bout wedder dey come back or not 'cep'n' I 'member +dat Crab Norsworthy he come back."</p> + +<p>"When any of de slaves git sick ol' mistus and my +gramma dey doctor 'em. De ol' mistus she a pretty good +doctor. When us chillun git sick dey git yarbs or dey +give us castor oil and <a name='TC_20'></a><ins title="turpentime">turpentine</ins>. Iffen it git to be a +ser'ous ailment dey sen' for de reg'lar doctor. Dey uster +hang asafoetida 'roun' us neck in a li'l bag to keep us +from ketch' de whoopin' cough and de measles."</p> + +<p>"Dey was a gin and cotton press on de place. Ol' marster +gin' and bale' he own cotton. Dat ol' press had dem +long arms a-stickin' down what dey hitch hosses to and mek +'em go 'roun' and 'roun' and press de bale."</p> + +<p>"Dey raise dey own t'bacco on de place. I didn' use +snuff nor chew 'till after I growed up and marry. Back +in slavery you couldn' let 'em ketch you wid a chew of +t'bacco or snuff in your mouf. Iffen you did dey wouldn' +let you forgit it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I uster like to go and play 'roun' de calfs, jis' +go up and pet 'em and rub 'em. But we dassent git on +'em to ride 'em."</p> + +<p>"Marster uster sit 'roun' and watch us chillun play. +He enjoy dat. He call me his Annie 'cause I name' after +my mistus. Sometime he hab a wagon load of watermilion +haul' up from de fiel' and cut 'em. Eb'ry chile hab a +side of watermilion. And us hab all de sugar cane and +sweet 'taters us want."</p> + +<p>"Dey had a big smokehouse. Dey hab big hog killin' +time, and dey dry and salt de meat in a big long trough. +Dey git oak and ash and hick'ry wood and mek a fire under +it and smoke it. My gramma toted de key to dat smokehouse +and ol' mistus she'd tell her what to go and git for de +white folks and de cullud folks."</p> + +<p>"When Crismus come 'roun' dey give us big eatin'. Us +hab chicken and turkey and cake. I don' 'member dat dey +give us no presents."</p> + +<p>"My gramma and my ma and ol' man Norsworthy dey come +from Alabama. I never hear of him breakin' up a family. +But when dey was livin' in Geo'gy, my ma marry a man name' +Hawthorne in Geo'gy. He wouldn' sell him to Marse Norsworthy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +when he come to Texas. Atter freedom marster go +to Geo'gy to git him and bring him to Texas, but he done +raisin' up anudder family dere and won't come. Li'l befo' +she die her husban' come. When he 'bout wo' out and +ready to die, den he come. Some of de ol'es' chillun +'member dey daddy and dey crazy for him to come and dey +mek up de money for him. When he git here dey tek care +of him 'till he die right dere at Olive. Ma tell 'em to +write him he neenter (need not) come. She say he ain't +no service to her. But he come and de daughter tek care +of her ma and pa bofe."</p> + +<p>"I's got 8 gran'chillun and 5 great-gran'chillun. I +'vides (divide) my time 'tween my daughter here and de +one in Houston."</p> + +<p>"You wants to tek my picture? Daughter, I don' want +dat hat you got dere. Dat one of de chillun' hats. Git +dat li'l bonnet. Dat becomes me better. I can't stan' +much sun. Dey say I's got high blood pressue."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420186" id="n420186"></a>420186</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JAMES HAYES, 101, was born +a slave to a plantation owner +whose name he does not now recall, +in Shelby Co., two miles +from Marshall, Texas. Mr. John +Henderson bought the place, six +slaves and James and his mother. +James, known as Uncle Jim, seems +happy, still stands erect, and +is very active for his age. He +lives on a green slope overlooking +the Trinity river, in Moser Valley, +a Negro settlement ten miles northeast +of Fort Worth.</p></div> + + +<p>"Dis nigger have lived a long time, yas, suh! I's 101 +years ole, 'cause I's bo'n Dec. 28, 1835. Dat makes me 102 come +nex' December. I can' 'member my fust marster's name, 'cause when +I's 'bout two years ole, me and my sis, 'bout five, and our mammy +was sol' to Marster John Henderson. I don' 'member anything 'bout +my pappy, but I 'member Marster Henderson jus' like 'twas las' week. +I's settin' hear a thinkin' of dem ole days when I's a li'l nigger +a cuttin' up on ole marster's plantation. How I did play roun' with +de chilluns till I's big enough for to wo'k. After I's 'bout 13, I +jus' peddles roun' de house for 'bout a year, den 'twarn't long till +I hoes co'n and potatoes. Dere's six slaves on dat place and I coul' +beat dem all a-hoein'.</p> + +<p>"De marster takes good care of us and sometimes give us money, +'bout 25¢, and lets us go to town. Dat's when we was happy and celebrates. +We'uns spent all de money on candy and sweet drinks. Marster +never crowded us 'bout de wo'k, and never give any of us whuppin's. I's +sev'ral times needed a whuppin', but de marster never gives dis nigger +more'n a good scoldin'. De nearest I comes to gittin whupped, 'twas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +once when I stole a plate of biscuits offen de table. I warn't in need +of 'em, but de devil in me caused me to do it. Marster and all de folks +comes in and sets down, and he asks for de biscuits, and I's under de +house and could hear 'em talk. De cook says, 'I's put de biscuits on de +table.' Marster says, 'If you did, de houn' got 'em.' Cook says, 'If +a houn' got 'em, 'twas a two-legged one, 'cause de plate am gone, too.' +I's made de mistake of takin' de plate. Marster give me de wors' scoldin' +I ever has and dat larned me a lesson.</p> + +<p>"Not long after dat, Marster sol' my mammy to his brudder who +lived in Fort Worth. When dey took her away, I's powerful grieved. 'Bout +dat time de War started. De marster and his boy, Marster Ben, jined de +army. De marster was a sergeant. De women folks was proud of dere men +folks, but dey was powerful grieved. All de time de men's away, I could tell +Missy Elline and her mamma was worried. Dey allus sen's me for de mail, +and when I fotches it, dey run to meet me, anxious like, to open de letter, +and was skeert to do it. One day I fotches a letter and I could feel it in +my bones, dere was trouble in dat letter. Sure 'nough, dere was trouble, +heaps of it. It tells dat Marster Ben am kilt and dat dey was a shippin' +him home. All de ole folks, cullud and white, was cryin'. Missy Elline, +she fainted. When de body comes home, dere's a powerful big funeral and +after dat, dere's powerful weepin's and sadness on dat place. De women +folks don' talk much and no laughin' like 'fore. I 'members once de missy +asks me to make a 'lasses cake. I says, 'I's got no 'lasses.' Missy says, +'Don' say 'lasses, say molasses.' I says, 'Why say molasses when I's got +no 'lasses.' Dat was de fus' time Missy laugh after de funeral.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Durin' de War, things was 'bout de same, like always, 'cept +some vittles was scarce. But we'uns had plenty to eat and us slaves +didn' know what de War was 'bout. I guess we was too ign'rant. De +white folks didn' talk 'bout it 'fore us. When it's over, de Marster +comes home and dey holds a big celebration. I's workin' in de kitchen and +dey tol' me to cook heaps of ham, chicken, pies, cakes, sweet 'taters +and lots of vegetables. Lots of white folks comes and dey eats and +drinks wine, dey sings and dances. We'uns cullud folks jined in and +was singin' out in de back, 'Massa's in de Col', Har' Groun'. Marster +asks us to come in and sing dat for de white folks, so we'uns goes in +de house and sings dat for de white folks and dey jines in de chorus.</p> + +<p>"Three days after de celebration, de marster calls all de slaves +in de house and says, 'Yous is all free, free as I am.' He tol' us we'uns +could go if we'uns wanted to. None of us knows what to do, dere +warn't no place to go and why would we'uns wan' to go and leave good +folks like de marster? His place was our home. So we'uns asked him if +we could stay and he says, 'Yous kin stay as long as yous want to and +I can keep yous.' We'uns all stayed till he died, 'bout a year after +dat.</p> + +<p>"When he was a-dyin', marster calls me to his bed and says, 'My +dyin' reques' is dat yous be taken to your mama.' He calls his son, +Zeke, in and tells him dat I should be fotched to my mamma. And 'bout +in a year, Marster Zeke fotches me to my mamma, in Johnson Station, +south of Arlington. She's wo'kin' for Jack Ditto and I's pleased to +see her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>I's pleased to see my mammy, but after a few days I wants to go back to +Marshall with Marster Zeke. Dat was my home, so I kep' pesterin' marster +to fetch me back, but he slips off and leaves me. I has to stay and I's +been here ever since.</p> + +<p>"I gits my fust job with Carter Cannon, on a farm, and stays seven +years. Den I goes to Fort Worth and takes a job cookin' in de Gran' Hotel +for three years. Den I goes to Dallas and cooks for private families, and +wo'ks for Marster James Ellison for 30 years. I stops four years ago and +comes out here to wait till de good Lawd calls me home.</p> + +<p>"Bout gittin' married, after I quits de Gran' Hotel I marries and +we'uns has two chillen. My wife died three years later.</p> + +<p>"You knows, I believes I's mo' contented as a slave. I's treated +kind all de time and had no frettin' 'bout how I gwine git on. Since I's +been free, I sometimes have heaps of frettin'. Course, I don' want to go +back into slavery, but I's paid for my freedom.</p> + +<p>"I's never been sick abed, but I's had mo' misery dis las' year dan +all my life. It's my heart. If I live till December, I'll be 102 years old, +and dis ole heart have been pumpin' and pumpin' all dem years and have missed +nary a beat till dis las' year. I knows 'twon't be long till de good Lawd +calls dis ole nigger to cross de Ribber Jordan and I's ready for de Lawd when +he calls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420082" id="n420082"></a>420082</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 188px;"><a href="images/162130av.png"> +<img src="images/162130ar.png" width="188" height="300" alt="Felix Haywood (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Felix Haywood (A)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 220px;"><a href="images/162130bv.png"> +<img src="images/162130br.png" width="220" height="300" alt="Felix Haywood (B)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Felix Haywood (B)</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>FELIX HAYWOOD is a temperamental +and whimsical old Negro of San +Antonio, Texas, who still sees the +sunny side of his 92 years, in +spite of his total blindness. He +was born and bred a slave in St. +Hedwig, Bexar Co., Texas, the son +of slave parents bought in <a name='TC_21'></a><ins title="Missisippi">Mississippi</ins> +by his master, William Gudlow. +Before and during the Civil War +he was a sheep herder and cowpuncher. +His autobiography is a colorful contribution, +showing the philosophical +attitude of the slaves, as well as +shedding some light upon the lives +of slave owners whose support of +the Confederacy was not accompanied +by violent hatred of the Union.</p></div> + + +<p>"Yes, sir, I'm Felix Haywood, and I can answer all those +things that you want to know. But, first, let me ask you this: Is +you all a white man, or is you a black man?"</p> + +<p>"I'm black, blacker than you are," said the caller.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the old blind Negro,—eyes like two murkey brown +marbles—actually twinkled. Then he laughed:</p> + +<p>"No, you ain't. I knowed you was white man when you comes up +the path and speaks. I jus' always asks that question for fun. It +makes white men a little insulted when you dont know they is white, and +it makes niggers all conceited up when you think maybe they is white."</p> + +<p>And there was the key note to the old Negro's character and +temperament. He was making a sort of privileged game with a sportive +twist out of his handicap of blindness.</p> + +<p>As the interviewer scribbled down a note, the door to the little +shanty on Arabella Alley opened and a backless chair was carried out on +the porch by a vigorous old colored woman. She was Mrs. Ella Thompson,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +Felix' youngest sister, who had known only seven years of slavery. After +a timid "How-do-you-do," and a comment on the great heat of the June day, +she went back in the house. Then the old Negro began searching his 92 +years of reminiscences, intermixing his findings with philosophy, poetry +and prognostications.</p> + +<p>"It's a funny thing how folks always want to know about the War. +The war weren't so great as folks suppose. Sometimes you didn't knowed +it was goin' on. It was the endin' of it that made the difference. That's +when we all wakes up that somethin' had happened. Oh, we knowed what was +goin' on in it all the time, 'cause old man Gudlow went to the post office +every day and we knowed. We had papers in them days jus' like now.</p> + +<p>"But the War didn't change nothin'. We saw guns and we saw soldiers, +and one member of master's family, Colmin Gudlow, was gone fightin'—somewhere. +But he didn't get shot no place but one—that was in the big toe. +Then there was neighbors went off to fight. Some of 'em didn't want to go. +They was took away (conscription). I'm thinkin' lots of 'em pretended to +want to go as soon as they had to go.</p> + +<p>"The ranch went on jus' like it always had before the war. Church +went on. Old Mew Johnson, the preacher, seen to it church went on. The +kids didn't know War was happenin'. They played marbles, see-saw and rode. +I had old Buster, a ox, and he took me about plenty good as a horse. Nothin' +was different. We got layed-onto(whipped) time on time, but gen'rally life +was good—just as good as a sweet potato. The only misery I had was when +a black spider bit me on the ear. It swelled up my head and stuff came out. +I was plenty sick and Dr. Brennen, he took good care of me. The whites +always took good care of people when they was sick. Hospitals couldn't do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +no better for you today.... Yes, maybe it was a black widow spider, but we +called it the 'devil biter'.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes someone would come 'long and try to get us to run up North +and be free. We used to laugh at that. There wasn't no reason to <span class="u">run</span> up +North. All we had to do was to <span class="u">walk</span>, but walk <span class="u">South</span>, and we'd be free as +soon as we crossed the Rio Grande. In Mexico you could be free. They didn't +care what color you was, black, white, yellow or blue. Hundreds of slaves +did go to Mexico and got on all right. We would hear about 'em and how they +was goin' to be Mexicans. They brought up their children to speak only Mexican.</p> + +<p>"Me and my father and five brothers and sisters weren't goin' to Mexico. +I went there after the war for a while and then I looked 'round and decided +to get back. So I come back to San Antonio and I got a job through Colonel +Breckenridge with the waterworks. I was handling pipes. My foreman was Tom +Flanigan—he must have been a full-blooded Frenchman!</p> + +<p>"But what I want to say is, we didn't have no idea of runnin' and +escapin'. We was happy. We got our lickings, but just the same we got our +fill of biscuits every time the white folks had 'em. Nobody knew how it was +to lack food. I tell my chillen we didn't know no more about pants than a +hawg knows about heaven; but I tells 'em that to make 'em laugh. We had +all the clothes we wanted and if you wanted shoes bad enough you got 'em—shoes +with a brass square toe. And shirts! Mister, them was shirts that +was shirts! If someone gets caught by his shirt on a limb of a tree, he +had to die there if he weren't cut down. Them shirts wouldn't rip no more'n +buckskin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The end of the war, it come jus' like that—like you snap your +fingers."</p> + +<p>"How did you know the end of the war had come?" asked the interviewer.</p> + +<p>"How did we know it! Hallelujah broke out—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Abe Lincoln freed the nigger</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the gun and the trigger;</span><br /> +And I ain't goin' to get whipped any more.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I got my ticket,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leavin' the thicket,</span><br /> +And I'm a-headin' for the Golden Shore!'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Soldiers, all of a sudden, was everywhere—comin' in bunches, +crossin' and walkin' and ridin'. Everyone was a-singin'. We was all +walkin' on golden clouds. <a name='TC_22'></a><ins title="Hallejujah!">Hallelujah!</ins></p> + +<p> +"'Union forever,<br /> +Hurrah, boys, hurrah!<br /> +Although I may be poor,<br /> +I'll never be a slave—<br /> +Shoutin' the battle cry of freedom.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Everybody went wild. We all felt like heroes and nobody had made +us that way but ourselves. We was free. Just like that, we was free. It +didn't seem to make the whites mad, either. They went right on giving us +food just the same. Nobody took our homes away, but right off colored folks +started on the move. They seemed to want to get closer to freedom, so they'd +know what it was—like it was a place or a city. Me and my father stuck, +stuck close as a lean tick to a sick kitten. The Gudlows started us out on +a ranch. My father, he'd round up cattle, unbranded cattle, for the whites. +They was cattle that they belonged to, all right; they had gone to find +water 'long the San Antonio River and the Guadalupe. Then the whites gave +me and my father some cattle for our own. My father had his own brand, +7 B ), and we had a herd to start out with of seventy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We knowed freedom was on us, but we didn't know what was to +come with it. We thought we was goin' to get rich like the white folks. +We thought we was goin' to be richer than the white folks, 'cause we was +stronger and knowed how to work, and the whites didn't and they didn't +have us to work for them anymore. But it didn't turn out that way. We +soon found out that freedom could make folks proud but it didn't make 'em +rich.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever stop to think that thinking don't do any good when +you do it too late? Well, that's how it was with us. If every mother's +son of a black had thrown 'way his hoe and took up a gun to fight for his +own freedom along with the Yankees, the war'd been over before it began. +But we didn't do it. We couldn't help stick to our masters. We couldn't +no more shoot 'em than we could fly. My father and me used to talk 'bout +it. We decided we was too soft and freedom wasn't goin' to be much to our +good even if we had a education."</p> + +<p>The old Negro was growing very tired, but, at a request, he instantly +got up and tapped his way out into the scorching sunshine to have +his photograph taken. Even as he did so, he seemed to smile with those +blurred, dead eyes of his. Then he chuckled to himself and said:</p> + +<p> +"'Warmth of the wind<br /> +And heat of the South,<br /> +And ripe red cherries<br /> +For a ripe, red mouth.'"<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Land sakes, Felix!" came through the window from sister Ella. +"How you carries on! Don't you be a-mindin' him, mister."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420096" id="n420096"></a>420096</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 236px;"><a href="images/162135v.png"> +<img src="images/162135r.png" width="236" height="300" alt="Phoebe Henderson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Phoebe Henderson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>PHOEBE HENDERSON, a 105 year old Negro +of Harrison Co., was born a slave of +the Bradley family at Macon, Georgia. +After the death of her mistress, Phoebe +belonged to one of the daughters, Mrs. +Wiley Hill, who moved to Panola County, +Texas in 1859, where Phoebe lived until +after the Civil War. For the past 22 +years she has lived with Mary Ann Butler, +a daughter, about five miles east of +Marshall, in Enterprise Friendship Community. +She draws a pension of $16.00 +a month.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was bo'n a slave of the Bradley family in Macon, Georgia. +My father's name was Anthony Hubbard and he belonged to the Hubbard's +in Georgia. He was a young man when I lef' Georgia and I never heard +from him since. I 'member my mother; she had a gang of boys. Marster +Hill brought her to Texas with us.</p> + +<p>"My ole missus name was Bradley and she died in Tennessee. My +lil' missus was her daughter. After dey brought us to Texas in 1859 +I worked in the field many a day, plowin' and hoein', but the children +didn't do much work 'cept carry water. When dey git tired, dey'd say +dey was sick and the overseer let 'em lie down in de shade. He was a +good and kindly man and when we do wrong and go tell him he forgave us +and he didn't whip the boys 'cause he was afraid they'd run away.</p> + +<p>"I worked in de house, too. I spinned seven curts a day and +every night we run two looms, makin' large curts for plow lines. We +made all our clothes. We didn't wear shoes in Georgia but in this +place the land was rough and strong, so we couldn't go barefooted. +A black man that worked in the shop measured our feet and made us two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +pairs a year. We had good houses and dey was purty good to us. Sometimes +missus give us money and each family had their garden and some +chickens. When a couple marry, the master give them a house and we +had a good time and plenty to wear and to eat. They cared for us when +we was sick.</p> + +<p>"Master Wiley Hill had a big plantation and plenty of stock and +hawgs, and a big turnip patch. He had yellow and red oxen. We never +went to school any, except Sunday school. We'd go fishin' often down on +the creek and on Saturday night we'd have parties in the woods and play +ring plays and dance.</p> + +<p>"My husband's name was David Henderson and we lived on the same +place and belonged to the same man. No, suh, Master Hill didn't have nothin' +to do with bringin' us together. I guess God done it. We fell in love, +and David asked Master Hill for me. We had a weddin' in the house and was +married by a colored Baptist preacher. I wore a white cotton dress and +Missus Hill give me a pan of flour for a weddin' present. He give us a +house of our own. My husband was good to me. He was a careful man and +not rowdy. When we'd go anywhere we'd ride horseback and I'd ride behin' +him.</p> + +<p>"I's scared to talk 'bout when I was freed. I 'member the soldiers +and that warrin' and fightin'. Toby, one of the colored boys, joined the +North and was a mail messenger boy and he had his horse shot out from under +him. But I guess its a good thing we was freed, after all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420007" id="n420007"></a>420007</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 187px;"><a href="images/162137v.png"> +<img src="images/162137r.png" width="187" height="300" alt="Albert Hill" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Albert Hill</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ALBERT HILL, 81, was born a +slave of Carter Hill, who owned +a plantation and about 50 slaves, +in Walton Co., Georgia. Albert +remained on the Hill place until +he was 21, when he went to Robinson +Co., Texas. He now lives +at 1305 E. 12th St., Fort Worth, +Texas, in a well-kept five-room +house, on a slope above the +Trinity River.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was born on Massa Carter Hill's plantation, in Georgia, +and my name am Albert Hill. My papa's name was Dillion, 'cause he +taken dat name from he owner, Massa Tom Dillion. He owned de plantation +next to Massa Hill's, and he owned my mammy and us 13 chillen. +I don't know how old I is, but I 'members de start of de war, and +I was a sizeable chile den.</p> + +<p>"De plantation wasn't so big and wasn't so small, jus' fair +size, but it am fixed first class and everything am good. We has good +quarters made out of logs and lots of tables and benches, what was +made of split logs. We has de rations and massa give plenty of de +cornmeal and beans and 'lasses and honey. Sometimes we has tea, and +once in a while we gits coffee. And does we have de tasty and tender +hawg meat! I'd like to see some of dat hawg meat now.</p> + +<p>"Massa am good but he don't 'low de parties. But we kin go to +Massa Dillion's place next to us and dey has lots of parties and de dances. +We dances near all night Saturday night, but we has to stay way in de back +where de white folks can't hear us. Sometimes we has de fiddle and de +banjo and does we cut dat chicken wing and de shuffle! We sho' does.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I druv de ox, and drivin' dat ox am agitation work in de summer +time when it am hot, 'cause dey runs for water every time. But de worst +trouble I ever has is with one hoss. I fotches de dinner to de workers out +in de field and I use dat hoss, hitched to de two-wheel cart. One day him +am halfway and dat hoss stop. He look back at me, a-rollin' de eye, and +I knows what dat mean—'Here I stays, nigger.' But I heered to tie de rope +on de balky hosses tail and run it 'twixt he legs and tie to de shaft. I done +dat and puts some cuckleburrs on de rope, too. Den I tech him with de whip +and he gives de rear back'ards. Dat he best rear. When he do dat it pull de +rope and de rope pull de tail and de burrs gits busy. Dat hoss moves for'ard +faster and harder den what he ever done 'fore, and he keep on gwine. You see, +he am trying git 'way from he tail, but de tail am too fast. Course, it stay +right behin' him. Den I's in de picklement. Dat hoss am runnin' away and I +can't stop him. De workers lines up to stop him but de cart give de shove and +dat pull he tail and, lawdy whoo, dat hose jump for'ard like de jackrabbit +and go through dat line of workers. So I steers him into de fence row, and +dere's no more runnin', but an awful mix-up with de hoss and de cart and de +rations. Dat hoss so sceered him have de quavers. Massa say, 'What you doin'?' +I says, 'Break de balk.' He say, 'Well, yous got everything else broke. We'll +see 'bout de balk later.'</p> + +<p>Massa has de daughter, Mary, and she want to marry Bud Jackson, but +massa am 'gainst it. Bud am gwine to de army and dat give dis boy work, 'cause +I de messenger boy for him and Missy Mary. Dey keeps company unbeknownst and +I carry de notes. I puts de paper in de hollow stump. Once I's sho' I's kotched. +Dere am de massa and he say, 'Where you been, nigger?' I's sho' skeert and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +I says, 'I's lookin' for de squirrels.' So massa goes 'way and when I tells +you I's left, it ain't de proper word for to 'splain, 'cause I's flew from +here.' I tells Missy Mary and she say, 'You sho' am de Lawd's chosen nigger.'</p> + +<p>"De 'federate soldiers comes and dey takes de rations, but de massa +has dug de pit in de pasture and buried lots of de rations, so de soldiers +don't find so much. De clostest battle was Atlanta, more dan 25 mile 'way.</p> + +<p>"When de war come over, Bud Jackson he come home. De massa welcome +him, to de sprise of everybody, and when Bud say he want to marry Missy +Mary, massa say, 'I guesses you has earnt her.'</p> + +<p>"When freedom am here, massa call all us together and tells us 'bout +de difference 'tween freedom and hustlin' for ourselves and dependin' on +someone else. Most of de slaves stays, and massa pays them for de work, +and I stays till I's 21 year old, and I gits $7.00 de month and de clothes +and de house and all I kin eat. De massa have died 'fore dat, and dere am +powerful sorrow. Missy Mary and Massa Bud has de plantation den, and dey +don't want me to go to Texas. But dey goes on de visit and while dey gone +I takes de train for Robinson County, what am in Texas.</p> + +<p>"I works at de pavin' work and at de hostlin' work and I works on +de hosses. Den I works for de Santa Fe railroad, handlin' freight, and I +works till 'bout three year ago, when I gits too old for to work no more.</p> + +<p>"But I tells you 'bout de visit back to de old plantation. I been +gone near 40 year and I 'cides to go back, so I reaches de house and dere +am Missy Mary peelin' apples on de back gallery. She looks at me, and she +say, 'I got whippin' waiting for yous, 'cause you run off without tellin' us.' +Dere wasn't no more peelin' dat day, 'cause we sits and talks 'bout de old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +times and de old massa. Dere sho' am de tears in dis nigger's eyes. Den +we talks 'bout de nigger messenger I was, and we laughs a little. All day +long we talks a little, and laughs and cries and talks. I stays 'bout +two weeks and seed lots of de folks I knowed when I was young, de white +folks and de niggers, too.</p> + +<p>"I's too old to make any more visits, but I would like to go +back to Old Georgia once more. If Missy Mary was 'live, I'd <a name='TC_23'></a><ins title="tey">try</ins>, but she +am dead, so I tries to wait for old Gabriel blow he horn. When he blow he +horn, dis nigger say, 'Louder, Gabriel, louder!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420308" id="n420308"></a>420308</div> + +<div class="intro"><p>ROSINA HOARD does not know just +where she was born. The first +thing she remembers is that she +and her parents were purchased +by Col. Pratt Washington, who +owned a plantation near Garfield, +in Travis County, Texas. Rosina, +who is a very pleasant and sincere +person, says she has had a tough +life since she was free. She receives +a monthly pension of fourteen +dollars, for which she expresses +gratitude. Her address +is 1301 Chestnut St., Austin, Tex.</p></div> + + +<p>"When I's a gal, I's Rosina Slaughter, but folks call me Zina. +Yes, sar. It am Zina dat and Zina dis. I says I's born April 9, <a name='TC_24'></a><ins title="1959">1859</ins>, but +I 'lieve I's older. It was somewhere in Williamson County, but I don't +know the massa's name. My mammy was Lusanne Slaughter and she was stout +but in her last days she got to be a li'l bit of a woman. She died only +last spring and she was a hunerd eleven years old.</p> + +<p>"Papa was a Baptist preacher to de day of he death. He had asthma +all his days. I 'member how he had de sorrel hoss and would ride off and +preach under some arbor bush. I rid with him on he hoss.</p> + +<p>"First thing I 'member is us was bought by Massa Col. Pratt Washington +from Massa Lank Miner. Massa Washington was purty good man. He +boys, George and John Henry, was de only overseers. Dem boys treat us nice. +Massa allus rid up on he hoss after dinner time. He hoss was a bay, call +Sank. De fields was in de bottoms of de Colorado River. De big house was +on de hill and us could see him comin'. He weared a tall, beaver hat allus.</p> + +<p>"De reason us allus watch for him am dat he boy, George, try larn +us our A B C's in de field. De workers watch for massa and when dey seed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +him a-ridin' down de hill dey starts singin' out, 'Ole hawg 'round de bench—Ole +hawg 'round de bench.'</p> + +<p>"Dat de signal and den everybody starts workin' like dey have something +after dem. But I's too young to larn much in de field and I can't read today +and have to make de cross when I signs for my name.</p> + +<p>"Each chile have he own wood tray. Dere was old Aunt Alice and she +done all de cookin' for de chillen in de depot. Dat what dey calls de place all +de chillen stays till dere mammies come home from de field. Aunt Alice have de +big pot to cook in, out in de yard. Some days we had beans and some day peas. +She put great hunks of salt bacon in de pot, and bake plenty cornbread, and +give us plenty milk.</p> + +<p>"Some big chillen have to pick cotton. Old Junus was de cullud overseer +for de chillen and he sure mean to dem. He carry a stick and use it, too.</p> + +<p>"One day de blue-bellies come to de fields. Dey Yankee sojers, and +tell de slaves dey free. Some stayed and some left. Papa took us and move to +de Craft plantation, not far 'way, and farm dere.</p> + +<p>"I been married three time. First to Peter Collinsworth. I quit him. +Second to George Hoard. We stayed togedder till he die, and have five chillen. +Den I marries he brother, Jim Hoard. I tells you de truth, Jim never did work +much. He'd go fishin' and chop wood by de days, but not many days. He suffered +with de piles. I done de housework and look after de chillen and den go out and +pick two hunerd pound cotton a day. I was a cripple since one of my boys birthed. +I git de rheumatis' and my knees hurt so much sometime I rub wed sand and mud +on dem to ease de pain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We had a house at Barton Springs with two rooms, one log and one box. +I never did like it up dere and I told Jim I's gwine. I did, but he come and +got me.</p> + +<p>"Since freedom I's been through de toughs. I had to do de man's work, +chop down trees and plow de fields and pick cotton. I want to tell you how glad +I is to git my pension. It is sure nice of de folks to take care of me in my +old age. Befo' I got de pension I had a hard time. You can sho' say I's been +through de toughs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420286" id="n420286"></a>420286</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>TOM HOLLAND was born in Walker +County, Texas, and thinks he is +about 97 years old. His master, +Frank Holland, traded Tom to William +Green just before the Civil +War. After Tom was freed, he +farmed both for himself and for +others in the vicinity of his +old home. He now lives in Madisonville, +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"My owner was Massa Frank Holland, and I's born on his place in Walker +County. I had one sister named Gena and three brothers, named George and +Will and Joe, but they's all dead now. Mammy's name was Gena and my father's +named Abraham Holland and they's brung from North Carolina to Texas by Massa +Holland when they's real young.</p> + +<p>"I chopped cotton and plowed and split rails, then was a horse rider. In +them days I could ride the wildest horse what ever made tracks in Texas, but +I's never valued very high 'cause I had a glass eye. I don't 'member how I +done got it, but there it am. I'd make a dollar or fifty cents to ride wild +horses in slavery time and massa let me keep it. I buyed tobacco and candy +and if massa cotch me with tobacco I'd git a whippin', but I allus slipped +and bought chewin' tobacco.</p> + +<p>"We allus had plenty to eat, sich as it was them days, and it was good, +plenty wild meat and cornbread cooked in ashes. We toasted the meat on a open +fire, and had plenty possum and rabbit and fish.</p> + +<p>"We wore them loyal shirts open all way down the front, but I never seed +shoes till long time after freedom. In cold weather massa tanned lots of hides +and we'd make warm clothes. My weddin' clothes was a white loyal shirt, never +had no shoes, married barefooted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Massa Frank, he one real good white man. He was awful good to his Negroes. +Missis Sally, she a plumb angel. Their three chillen stayed with me nearly all the +time, askin' this Negro lots of questions. They didn't have so fine a house, neither, +two rooms with a big hall through and no windows and deer skins tacked over the +door to keep out rain and cold. It was covered with boards I helped cut after I +got big 'nough.</p> + +<p>"Massa Frank had cotton and corn and everything to live on, 'bout three +hundred acres, and overseed it himself, and seven growed slaves and five little +slaves. He allus waked us real early to be in the field when daylight come and +worked us till slap dark, but let us have a hour and a half at noon to eat and +rest up. Sometimes when slaves got stubborn he'd whip them and make good Negroes +out of them, 'cause he was real good to them.</p> + +<p>"I seed slaves sold and auctioned off, 'cause I's put up to the highest +bidder myself. Massa traded me to William Green jus' 'fore the war, for a hundred +acres land at $1.00 a acre. He thought I'd never be much 'count, 'cause I had +the glass eye, but I'm still livin' and a purty fair Negro to my age. All the +hollerin' and bawlin' took place and when he sold me it took me most a year to git +over it, but there I was, 'longin' to 'nother man.</p> + +<p>"If we went off without a pass we allus went two at a time. We slipped off +when we got a chance to see young folks on some other place. The patterrollers +cotched me one night and, Lawd have <a name='TC_25'></a><ins title="mercy me">mercy on me</ins>, they stretches me over a log and +hits thirty-nine licks with a rawhide loaded with rock, and every time they hit +me the blood and hide done fly. They drove me home to massa and told him and +he called a old mammy to doctor my back, and I couldn't work for four days. +That never kep' me from slippin' off 'gain, but I's more careful the next time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We'd go and fall right in at the door of the quarters at night, so massa +and the patterrollers thinks we's real tired and let us alone and not watch us. +That very night we'd be plannin' to slip off somewheres to see a Negro gal or +our wife, or to have a big time, 'specially when the moon shine all night so we +could see. It wouldn't do to have torch lights. They was 'bout all the kind +of lights we had them days and if we made light, massa come to see what we're +doin', and it be jus' too bad then for the stray Negro!</p> + +<p>"That there war brung suffrin' to lots of people and made a widow out of +my missis. Massa William, he go and let one them Yankees git him in one of them +battles and they never brung him home. Missis, she gits the letter from his +captain, braggin' on his bravery, but that never helped him after he was kilt in +the war. She gits 'nother letter that us Negroes is free and she tells us. We +had no place to go, so we starts to cry and asks her what we gwine do. She said +we could stay and farm with her and work her teams and use her tools and land and +pay her half of what we made, 'sides our supplies. That's a happy bunch of Negroes +when she told us this.</p> + +<p>"Late in that evenin' the Negroes in Huntsville starts hollerin' and shoutin' +and one gal was hollerin' loud and a white man come ridin' on a hoss and leans +over and cut that gal nearly half in two and a covered wagon come along and picks +her up and we never heared nothin' more.</p> + +<p>"I married Imogene, a homely weddin' 'fore the war. We didn't have much +to-do at our weddin'. I asks missis if I could have Imogene and she says yes and +that's all they was to our weddin'. We had three boys and three gals, and Imogene +died 'bout twenty years ago and I been livin' with one child and 'nother. I gits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +a little pension from the gov'ment and does small jobs round for the white +people.</p> + +<p>"I 'lieve they ought to have gived us somethin' when we was freed, +but they turned us out to graze or starve. Most of the white people turned the +Negroes slam loose. We stayed a year with missis and then she married and her +husband had his own workers and told us to git out. We worked for twenty and +thirty cents a day then, and I fin'ly got a place with Dr. L.J. Conroe. But +after the war the Negro had a hard struggle, 'cause he was turned loose jus' like +he came into the world and no education or 'sperience.</p> + +<p>"If the Negro wanted to vote the Klu Kluxes was right there to keep +him from votin'. Negroes was 'fraid to git out and try to 'xert they freedom. +They'd ride up by a Negro and shoot him jus' like a wild hawg and never a word +said or done 'bout it.</p> + +<p>"I's farmed and makin' a livin' is 'bout all. I come over here in +Madison County and rents from B.F. Young, clost <a name='TC_26'></a><ins title="ot">to</ins> Midway and gits me a few +cows. I been right round here ever since. I lives round with my chillen now, +'cause I's gittin' too old to work.</p> + +<p>"This young bunch of Negroes is all right some ways, but they won't +tell the truth. They isn't raised like the white folks raised us. If we didn't +tell the truth our massa'd tear us all to pieces. Of course, they is educated +now and can get 'most any kind of work, some of them, what we couldn't.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420052" id="n420052"></a>420052</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/162285v.png"> +<img src="images/162285r.png" width="200" height="300" alt="Eliza Holman" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Eliza Holman</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ELIZA HOLMAN, 82, was born a slave +of the Rev. John Applewhite, near +Clinton, Mississippi. In 1861 they +came to Texas, settling near Decatur. +Eliza now lives at 2507 Clinton Ave., +Fort Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Talk 'bout de past from de time I 'members till now, slave days +and all? Dat not so hard. I knows what de past am, but what to come, dat +am different. Dey says, 'Let de past be de guide for de future,' but if +you don't know de future road, hows you gwine guide? I's sho' glad to tell +you all I 'members, but dat am a long 'memberance.</p> + +<p>"I know I's past 80, for sho', and maybe more, 'cause I's old 'nough +to 'member befo' de war starts. I 'members when de massa move to Texas by +de ox team and dat am some trip! Dey loads de wagon till dere ain't no more +room and den sticks we'uns in, and we walks some of de time, too.</p> + +<p>"My massa am a preacherman and have jus' three slaves, me and pappy +and mammy. She am cook and housekeeper and I helps her. Pappy am de field +hand and de coachman and everything else what am needed. We have a nice, two-room +log house to live in and it am better den what mos' slaves have, with +de wood floor and real windows with glass in dem.</p> + +<p>"Massa am good but he am strict. He don't have to say much when he +wants you to do somethin'. Dere am no honey words round de house from him, +but when him am preachin' in de church, him am different. He am honey man +den. Massa could tell de right way in de church but it am hard for him to +act it at home. He makes us go to church every Sunday.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I's tellin' you how we'uns come to Texas. De meals am +cook by de campfire and after breakfast we starts and it am bump, bump, +bump all day long. It am rocks and holes and mudholes, and it am streams +and rivers to cross. We'uns cross one river, musta been de Mississippi, +and drives on a big bridge and dey floats dat bridge right 'cross dat river.</p> + +<p>"Massa and missus argues all de way to Texas. She am +skeert mos' de time and he allus say de Lawd take care of us. He say, 'De +Lawd am a-guidin' us.' She say, 'It am fools guidin' and a fool move for +to start.' Dat de way dey talks all de way. And when we gits in de mudhole +'twas a argument 'gain. She say, 'Dis am some more of your Lawd's calls.' +He say, 'Hush, hush, woman. Yous gittin' sac'ligious.' So we has to walk +two mile for a man to git his yoke of oxen to pull us out dat mudhole, and +when we out, massa say, 'Thank de Lawd.' And missus say, 'Thank de mens +and de oxen.'</p> + +<p>"Den one day we'uns camps under a big tree and when we'uns woke +in de mornin' dere am worms and worms and worms. Millions of dem come off +dat tree. Man, man, dat am a mess. Massa say dey army worms and missus say, +'Why for dey not in de army den?'</p> + +<p>"After we been in Texas 'bout a year, missy Mary gits married to +John Olham. Missy Mary am massa's daughter. After dat I lives with her and +Massa John and den hell start poppin' for dis nigger. Missy Mary am good but +Massa John am de devil. Dat man sho' am cruel, he works me to death and whups +me for de leas' thing. My pappy say to me, 'You should 'come a runaway nigger.' +He runs 'way hisself and dat de las' time we hears of him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When surrender come I has to stay on with Massa Olham, 'cause I has +no place to go and I's too young to know how to do for myself. I stays 'bout +till I's 16 year old and den I hunts some place to work and gits it in Jacksboro +and stays dere sev'ral years. I quits when I gits married and dat 'bout +nine year after de war end.</p> + +<p>"I marries Dick Hines at Silver Creek and he am a farmer and a contrary +man. He worked jus' as hard at his contrariness as him did at his farmin'. +Mercy, how distressin' and worryment am life with dat nigger! I couldn't +stand it no longer dan five year till I tooks my getaway. De nex' year I +marries Sam Walker what worked for cattlement here in Fort Worth and he died +'bout 20 year ago. Den 'twas 'bout 13 year ago I marries Jack Holman and +he died in 1930. I's sho' try dis marrin' business but I ain't gwine try it +no more, no, suh.</p> + +<p>"'Twixt all dem husbands and workin' for de white folks I gits 'long, +but I's old and de last few years I can't work. Dey pays me $12.00 de month +from de State and dat's what I lives on. Shucks, I's not worth nothin' no +more. I jus' sets and sets and thinks of de old days and my mammy. All dat +make me sad. I'll tell you one dem songs what 'spresses my feelin's 'zactly.</p> + +<p> +"I's am climbin' Jacob's ladder, ladder,<br /> +I's am climbin' Jacob's ladder, ladder,<br /> +Soldier of de cross; O-h-h-h! Rise and shine,<br /> +Give Gawd de glory, glory, glory,<br /> +In de year of Jubilee.<br /> +I wants to climb up Jacob's ladder, ladder,<br /> +Jacob's ladder, till I gits in de new Jerusalem.<br /> +<br /> +"Dat jus' how I feels."<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420143" id="n420143"></a>420143</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LARNCE HOLT, 79, was born +near Woodville, in Tyler +County, Texas, a slave of +William Holt. He now lives +in Beaumont, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's jus' small fry when freedom come, 'cause I's born in +1858. Bill Holt was my massa's name, dat why dey calls me Larnce +Holt. My massa, he come from Alabama but my mammy and daddy born +in Texas. Mammy named Hannah and daddy Elbert. Mammy cooked for +de white folks but daddy, he de shoemaker. Dat consider' a fine +job on de plantation, 'cause he make all de shoes de white folks +uses for everyday and all de cullud people shoes. Every time dey +kill de beef dey save de hide for leather and dey put it in de +trough call de tan vat, with de oak bark and other things, and leave +'em dere long time. Dat change de raw hide to leather. When de +shoe done us black dem with soot, 'cause us have to do dat or wear +'em red. I's de little tike what help my daddy put on de soot.</p> + +<p>"Massa have de big plantation and I 'member de big log house. +It have de gallery on both sides and dey's de long hall down de +center. De dogs and sometimes a possum used to run through de hall +at night. De hall was big 'nough to dance in and I plays de fiddle.</p> + +<p>"My mammy have four boys, call Eb and Ander and Tobe. My +big brother Eb he tote so many buckets of water to de hands in de +field he wore all de hair offen de top he head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I be so glad when Christmas come, when I's li'l. Down in de quarter +us hang up stocking and us have plenty homemake ginger cake and candy make +out of sugar and maybe a apple. One Christmas I real small and my mammy +buy me a suit of clothes in de store. I so proud of it I 'fraid to sit down +in it. 'Terials in dem day was strong and last a long time. One time I +git de first pair shoes from a store. I thought dey's gold. My daddy bought +dem for me and dey have a brace in de toe and was nat'ral black.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come us family breaks up. Old missy can't bear +see my mammy go, so us stay. Dey give my daddy a place on credick and he +start farm and dey even 'low him hosses and mule and other things he need. +My massa good to de niggers. I stays with my mammy till she die when I ten +year old and den my brother Eb he take me and raise me till I sixteen. Den +I go off for myself.</p> + +<p>"Dem young year us have good time. I fiddle to de dance, play +'Git up in de Cool,' and 'Hopus Creek and de Water.' Us sho' dress up for +de dance. I have black calico pants with red ribbon up de sides and a +hickory shirt. De gals all wears ribbons 'round de waist and one like it +'round de head.</p> + +<p>"Us have more hard time after freedom come dan in all de other time +together. Us livin' in trouble time. 'Bout 15 year ago I lost a leg, a big +log fall 'cross it when I makin' ties. I had plenty den but it go for de +hospital.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420120" id="n420120"></a>420120</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 197px;"><a href="images/162153v.png"> +<img src="images/162153r.png" width="197" height="300" alt="Bill Homer" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Bill Homer</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>BILL HOMER, 87, was born a slave +on June 17, 1850, to Mr. Jack Homer, +who owned a large plantation near +Shreveport, La. In 1860 Bill was +given to Mr. Homer's daughter, who +moved to Caldwell, Texas. Bill now +lives at 3215 McKinley Ave., Fort +Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I is 87 years old, 'cause I is born on June 17th, in +1850, and that's 'cording to de statement my missy give me. I was born +on Massa Jack Homer's plantation, close to Shreveport. Him owned my +mammy and my pappy and 'bout 100 other slaves. Him's plantation was +a big un. I don't know how many acres him have, but it was miles long. +Dere was so many buildings and sheds on dat place it was a small town. +De massa's house was a big two-story building and dere was de spinnin' +house, de smokehouse, de blacksmith shop and a nursery for de cullud +chillens and a lot of sheds and sich. In de nigger quarters dere was +50 one-room cabins and dey was ten in a row and dere was five rows.</p> + +<p>"De cabins was built of logs and had dirt floors and a hole +whar a window should be and a stone fireplace for de cookin' and de +heat. Dere was a cookhouse for de big house and all de cookin' for +de white folks was 'tended to by four cooks. We has lots of food, too—cornmeal +and vegetables and milk and 'lassas and meat. For mos' de +meat dey kotched hawgs in de Miss'sippi River bottoms. Once a week, +we have white flour biscuit.</p> + +<p>"Some work was hard and some easy, but massa don' 'lieve in +overworkin' his slaves. Sat'day afternoon and Sunday, dere was no +work. Some whippin' done, but mos' reasonable. If de nigger stubborn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +deys whips 'nough for to change his mind. If de nigger runs on, dat +calls de good whippin's. If any of de cullud folks has de misery, dey +lets him res' in bed and if de misery bad de massa call de doctor.</p> + +<p>"I larnt to be coachman and drive for massa's family. But in +de year of 1860, Missy Mary gits married to Bill Johnson and at dat +weddin' massa Homer gives me and 49 other niggers to her for de weddin' +present. Massa Johnson's father gives him 50 niggers too. Dey has a +gran' weddin'. I helps take care of de hosses and dey jus' kep' a-comin'. +I 'spect dere was more'n 100 peoples dere and dey have lots of music +and dancin' and eats and, I 'spects, drinks, 'cause we'uns made peach +brandy. You see, de massa had his own still.</p> + +<p>"After de weddin' was over, dey gives de couple de infare. +Dere's whar dis nigger comes in. I and de other niggers was lined up, +all with de clean clothes on and den de massa say, 'For to give my lovin' +daughter de start, I gives you dese 50 niggers. Massa Bill's father done +de same for his son, and dere we'uns was, 100 niggers with a new massa.</p> + +<p>"Dey loads 15 or 20 wagons and starts for Texas. We travels from +daylight to dark, with mos' de niggers walkin'. Of course, it was hard, +but we enjoys de trip. Dere was one nigger called Monk and him knows a +song and larned it to us, like this:</p> + +<p> +"'Walk, walk, you nigger, walk!<br /> +De road am dusty, de road am tough,<br /> +Dust in de eye, dust in de tuft;<br /> +Dust in de mouth, yous can't talk—<br /> +Walk, you niggers, don't you balk.<br /> +<br /> +"'Walk, walk, you nigger walk!<br /> +De road am dusty, de road am rough.<br /> +Walk 'til we reach dere, walk or bust—<br /> +De road am long, we be dere by and by.'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, we'uns was a-follerin' behin' de wagons and we'uns sings it to de +slow steps of de ox. We'uns don't sing it many times 'til de missy +come and sit in de back of de wagon, facin' we'uns and she begin to beat +de slow time and sing wid we'uns. Dat please Missy Mary to sing with us +and she laugh and laugh.</p> + +<p>"After 'bout two weeks we comes to de place near Caldwell, in Texas, +and dere was buildin's and land cleared, so we's soon settled. Massa +plants mostly cotton and corn and clears more land. I larned to be a +coachman, but on dat place I de ox driver or uses de hoe.</p> + +<p>"Yous never drive de ox, did yous? De mule ain't stubborn side of +de ox, de ox am stubborn and den some more. One time I's haulin' fence +rails and de oxen starts to turn gee when I wants dem to go ahead. I calls +for haw, but dey pays dis nigger no mind and keeps agwine gee. Den dey +starts to run and de overseer hollers and asks me, 'Whar you gwine?' I +hollers back, 'I's not gwine, I's bein' took.' Dem oxen takes me to de +well for de water, 'cause if dey gits dry and is near water, dey goes in +spite of de devil.</p> + +<p>"De treatment from new massa am good, 'cause of Missy Mary. She say +to Massa Bill, 'if you mus' 'buse de nigger, 'buse yous own.' We has music +and parties. We plays de quill, make from willow stick when de sap am up. +Yous takes de stick and pounds de bark loose and slips it off, den slit de +wood in one end and down one side, puts holes in de bark and put it back on +de stick. De quill plays like de flute.</p> + +<p>"I never goes out without de pass, so I never has trouble with de +patter rollers. Nigger Monk, him have de 'sperience with 'em. Dey kotched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +him twice and dey sho' makes him hump and holler. After dat he gits +pass or stays to home.</p> + +<p>"De War make no diff'runce with us, 'cept de soldiers comes +and takes de rations. But we'uns never goes hungry, 'cause de massa +puts some niggers hustlin' for wil' hawgs. After surrender, missy reads +de paper and tells dat we'uns is free, but dat we'uns kin stay 'til we +is 'justed to de change.</p> + +<p>"De second year after de War, de massa sells de plantation +and goes back to Louisiana and den we'uns all lef'. I goes to Laredo +for seven year and works on a stock ranch, den I goes to farmin'. I +gits married in 1879 to Mary Robinson and we'uns has 14 chilluns. Four +of dem lives here.</p> + +<p>"I works hard all my life 'til 1935 and den I's too old. +My wife and I lives on de pensions we gits.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420234" id="n420234"></a>420234</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 208px;"><a href="images/162157v.png"> +<img src="images/162157r.png" width="208" height="300" alt="Scott Hooper" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Scott Hooper</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>SCOTT HOOPER, 81, was born a +slave of the Rev. Robert Turner, +a Baptist minister who owned +seven slave families. They lived +on a small farm near Tenaha, then +called Bucksnort, in Shelby County, +Texas. Scott's father was owned +by Jack Hooper, a neighboring +farmer. Scott married Steve Hooper +when she was thirteen and they had +eight children, whose whereabouts +are now unknown to her. She receives +an $8.00 monthly pension.</p></div> + + +<p>"Well, I'll do de best I can to tell yous 'bout my life. I used +to have de good 'collection, but worryment 'bout ups and downs has 'fected +my 'membance. I knows how old I is, 'cause mammy have it in de Bible, and +I's born in de year 1856, right in Shelby County, and near by Bucksnort, what +am call Tenaha now.</p> + +<p>"Massa Turner am de bestest man he could be and taken good care of +us, for sho'. He treat us like humans. There am no whuppin's like some +other places has. Gosh. What some dem old slaves tell 'bout de whup and de +short rations and lots of hard work am awful, so us am lucky.</p> + +<p>"Massa don't have de big place, but jus' seven families what was +five to ten in de family. My mammy had nine chillen, but my pappy didn't +live on us place, but on Jack Hooper's farm, what am four mile off. He +comes Wednesday and Saturday night to see us. His massa am good, too, and +lets him work a acre of land and all what he raises he can sell. Pappy +plants cotton and mostest de time he raises better'n half de bale to he +acre. + +Dat-a-way, he have money and he own pony and saddle, and he brung us chillen +candy and toys and coffee and tea for mammy. He done save 'bout $500 when +surrender come, but it am all 'Federate money and it ain't worth nothin'. +He give it to us chillen to play with.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Massa Turner am de Baptist preacherman and he have de church at +Bucksnort. He run de store, too, and folks laughs 'cause 'sides being a +preacherman he sells whiskey in dat store. He makes it medicine for us, +with de cherry bark and de rust from iron nails in it. He call it, 'Bitters,' +and it a good name. It sho' taste bitter as gall. When us feels de misery +it am bitters us gits. Castor oil am candy 'side dem bitters!</p> + +<p>"My grandmammy am de cook and all us eats in de shed. It am plenty +food and meat and 'lasses and brown sugar and milk and butter, and even some +white flour. Course, peas and beans am allus on dat table.</p> + +<p>"<a name='TC_27'></a><ins title="Whnen">When</ins> surrender come massa calls all us in de yard and makes de talk. +He tells us we's free and am awful sorry and show great worryment. He say +he hate to part with us and us been good to him, but it am de law. He say us +can stay and work de land on shares, but mostest left. Course, mammy go to +Massa Hooper's place to pappy and he rents land from Massa Hooper, and us +live there seven years and might yet, but dem Klu Klux causes so much troublement. +All us niggers 'fraid to sleep in de house and goes to de woods at night. +Pappy gits 'fraid something happen to us and come to Fort Worth. Dat in 1872 +and he farms over in de bottom.</p> + +<p>"I's married to Steve Hooper den, 'cause us marry when I's thirteen years +old. He goes in teamin' in Fort Worth and hauls sand and gravel twenty-nine +years. He doin' sich when he dies in 1900. Den I does laundry work till I's +too old. I tries to buy dis house and does fair till age catches me and now +I can't pay for it. All I has is $8.00 de month and I's glad to git dat, but +it won't even buy food. On sich 'mount, there am no way to stinch myself and +pinch off de payments on de house. Dat am de worryment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420021" id="n420021"></a>420021</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 543px;"><a href="images/162159av.png"> +<img src="images/162159ar.png" width="543" height="300" alt="Alice Houston (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Alice Houston (A)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 219px;"><a href="images/162159bv.png"> +<img src="images/162159br.png" width="219" height="300" alt="Alice Houston (B)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Alice Houston (B)</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>ALICE HOUSTON, pioneer nurse and +midwife on whom many San Angeloans +have relied for years, was +born October 22, 1859. She was a +slave of Judge Jim Watkins on his +small plantation in Hays County, +near San Marcos, Texas and served +as house girl to her mistress, Mrs. +Lillie Watkins for many years after +the Civil War. At Mrs. Watkins' +death she came with her husband, Jim +Houston, to San Angelo, Texas where +she has continued her services as +nurse to white families to the present +time.</p></div> + + +<p>Alice relates her slave day experiences as follows:</p> + +<p>"I was jes' a little chile when dat Civil War broke +out and I's had de bes' white folks in de world. My ole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +mistress she train me for her house girl and nurse +maid. Dat's whar I's gits so many good ideas fer +nursin'.</p> + +<p>"My mother's name was Mariah Watkins an' my +father was named Henry Watkins. He would go out in de +woods on Sat'day nights and ketch 'possums and bring +dem home and bake 'em wid taters. Dat was de best eatin' +we had. Course we had good food all de time but we jes' +like dat 'possum best.</p> + +<p>"My marster, he only have four families and he had +a big garden fer all of us. We had our huts at de back +of de farm. Dey was made out of logs and de cracks daubbed +up wid mud. Dey was clean and comfortable though, and we +had good beds.</p> + +<p>"When we was jes' little kids ole marster he ketch +us a stealin' watermelons and he say, 'Git! Git! Git! And +when we runs and stoops over to crawl through de crack of +de fence he sho' give us a big spank. Den we runs off +cryin' and lookin' back like.</p> + +<p>"Ole marster, he had lots of hogs and cows and +chickens and I can jes' taste dat clabber milk now. Ole +miss, she have a big dishpan full of clabber and she tells de girl +to set dat down out in de yard and she say, 'Give all dem +chillun a spoon now and let dem eat dat.' When we all git +'round dat pan we sho' would lick dat clabber up.</p> + +<p>"We had straight slips made out of white lowell what +was wove on dat ole spinnin' wheel. Den dey make jeans for +de men's breeches and dye it wid copperas and some of de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +cloth dey dye wid sumac berries and hit was sho' purty too.</p> + +<p>"Ole miss, she make soda out of a certain kind of weed +and dey makes coffee out of dried sweet taters.</p> + +<p>"My marster he didn' have no over-seer. He say his +slaves had to be treated right. He never 'lowed none of his +slaves to be sold 'way from their folks. I's nev'r, nev'r +seen any slaves in chains but I's hear talk of dem chains.</p> + +<p>"My white folks, dey tries to teach us to read and spell +and write some and after ole marster move into town he lets us +go to a real school. That's how come I can read so many docto' +books you see.</p> + +<p>"We goes to church wid our white folks at dem camp +meetin's and oh Lawdy! Yes, mam, we all sho' did shout. +Sometimes we jined de church too.</p> + +<p>"We washed our clothes on Sat'day and danced dat night.</p> + +<p>"On Christmas and New Year we would have all de good +things old marster and ole missus had and when any of de +white folks marry or die dey sho' carry on big. Weddin's +and funerals, dem was de biggest times.</p> + +<p>"When we gits sick, ole marster he have de docto' +right now. He sho' was good 'bout dat. Ole miss she make +us wear a piece of lead 'round our necks fer de malaria and +to keeps our nose from bleedin' and all of us wore some asafoetida +'round our necks to keep off contagion.</p> + +<p>"When de war close ole marster calls up all de slaves +and he say, 'You's all free people now, jes' same as I is, +and you can go or stay,' and we all wants to stay 'cause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +wasn't nothin' we knowed how to do only what ole marster +tells us. He say he let us work de land and give us half +of what we make, and we all stayed on several years until +he died. We stayed with Miss Watkins, and here I is an ole +nigga, still adoin' good in dis world, a-tellin' de white +folks how to take care of de chilluns."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420271" id="n420271"></a>420271</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JOSEPHINE HOWARD was born in +slavery on the Walton plantation +near Tuscaloosa, Alabama. +She does not know her age, but +when Mr. Walton moved to Texas, +before the Civil War, she was +old enough to work in the fields. +Josephine is blind and very feeble. +She lives with a daughter at 1520 +Arthur St., Houston, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Lawd have mercy, I been here a thousand year, seems like. 'Course +I ain't been here so long, but it seems like it when I gits to thinkin' +back. It was long time since I was born, long 'fore de war. Mammy's +name was Leonora and she was cook for Marse Tim Walton what had de +plantation at Tuscaloosa. Dat am in Alabamy. Papa's name was Joe Tatum +and he lived on de place 'jinin' ourn. Course, papa and mamy wasn't +married like folks now, 'cause dem times de white folks jes' put slave +men and women together like hosses or cattle.</p> + +<p>"Dey allus done tell us it am wrong to lie and steal, but why did de +white folks steal my mammy and her mammy? Dey lives clost to some water, +somewheres over in Africy, and de man come in a little boat to de sho' and +tell dem he got presents on de big boat. Most de men am out huntin' and +my mammy and her mammy gits took out to dat big boat and dey locks dem in +a black hole what mammy say so black you can't see nothin'. Dat de sinfulles' +stealin' dey is.</p> + +<p>"De captain keep dem locked in dat black hole till dat boat gits to Mobile +and dey is put on de block and sold. Mammy is 'bout twelve year old and +dey am sold to Marse Tim, but grandma dies in a month and dey puts her in +de slave graveyard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mammy am nuss gal till she git older and den cook, and den old +Marse Tim puts her and papa together and she has eight chillen. I reckon +Marse Tim warn't no wor'ser dan other white folks. De nigger driver sho' +whip us, with de reason and without de reason. You never knowed. If dey +done took de notion dey jes' lays it on you and you can't do nothin'.</p> + +<p>"One mornin' we is all herded up and mammy am cryin' and say dey +gwine to Texas, but can't take papa. He don't 'long to dem. Dat de lastes' +time we ever seed papa. Us and de women am put in wagons but de men slaves +am chained together and has to walk.</p> + +<p>"Marse Tim done git a big farm up by Marshall but only live a year +dere and his boys run de place. Dey jes' like dey papa, work us and work us. +Lawd have mercy, I hear dat call in de mornin' like it jes' jesterday, +'All right, everybody out, and you better git out iffen you don't want to +feel dat bullwhip 'cross you back.'</p> + +<p>"My gal I lives with don't like me to talk 'bout dem times. She say +it ain't no more and it ain't good to think 'bout it. But when you has live +in slave times you ain't gwine forgit dem, no, suh! I's old and blind and +no 'count, but I's alive, but in slave times I'd be dead long time ago, 'cause +white folks didn't have no use for old niggers and git shet of dem one way or +t'other.</p> + +<p>"It ain't till de sojers comes we is free. Dey wants us to git in de +pickin', so my folks and some more stays. Dey didn't know no place to go to. +Mammy done took sick and die and I hires out to cook for Missy Howard, and +marries her coachman, what am Woodson Howard. We farms and comes to Houston<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +nigh sixty year ago. Dey has mule cars den. Woodson gits a job drayin' and +'fore he dies we raises three boys and seven gals, but all 'cept two gals am +dead now. Dey takes care of me, and dat all I know 'bout myself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420275" id="n420275"></a>420275</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LIZZIE HUGHES, blind Negress of +Harrison County, Texas, was born +on Christmas Day, 1848, a slave +of Dr. Newton Fall, near Nacogdoches. +Lizzie married when she +was eighteen and has lived near +Marshall since that time. She +is cared for by a married daughter, +who <a name='TC_28'></a><ins title="live">lives</ins> on Lizzie's farm.</p></div> + + +<p>"My name am Lizzie Fall Hughes. I was borned on Christmas +at Chireno, 'tween old Nacogdoches town and San Augustine. Dat +eighty-nine year ago in slavery time. My young master give me +my age on a piece of paper when I married but the rats cut it up.</p> + +<p>"I 'longed to Dr. Fall and old Miss Nancy, his wife. They +come from Georgia. Papa was named Ed Wilson Fall and mammy was +June. Dr. Newton Fall had a big place at Chireno and a hundred +slaves. They lived in li'l houses round the edge of the field. +We had everything we needed. Dr. Newton run a store and was a big +printer. He had a printin' house at Chireno and 'nother in California.</p> + +<p>"The land was red and they worked them big Missouri mules +and sho' raised somethin'. Master had fifty head of cows, too, and +they was plenty wild game. When master was gone he had a overseer, +but tell him not to whip. He didn't 'lieve in rushin' his niggers. +All the white folks at Chireno was good to they niggers. On Saturday +night master give all the men a jug of syrup and a sack of flour and +a ham or middlin' and the smokehouse was allus full of beef and pork. +We had a good time on that place and the niggers was happy. I 'member +the men go out in the mornin', singin':<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"'I went to the barn with a shinin', bright moon,<br /> +I went to the wood a-huntin' a coon.<br /> +The coon spied me from a sugar maple tree,<br /> +Down went my gun and up the tree went me.<br /> +Nigger and coon come tumblin' down,<br /> +Give the hide to master to take off to town,<br /> +That coon was full of good old fat,<br /> +And master brung me a new beaver hat.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Part of 'nother song go like this:</p> + +<p> +"'Master say, you breath smell of brandy,<br /> +Nigger say, no, I's lick 'lasses candy.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"When old master come to the lot and hear the men singin' like that, +he say, 'Them boys is lively this mornin', I's gwine git a big day's plowin' +done. They did, too, 'cause them big Missouri mules sho' tore up that red +land. Sometime they sing:</p> + +<p> +"'This ain't Christmas mornin', just a long summer day,<br /> +Hurry up, yellow boy and don't run 'way,<br /> +Grass in the cotton and weeds in the corn,<br /> +Get in the field, 'cause it soon be morn.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"At night when the hands come in they didn't do nothin' but eat and cut +up round the quarters. They'd have a big ball in a big barn there on the +place and sixty and seventy on the floor at once, singin':</p> + +<p> +"'Juba this and Juba that,<br /> +Juba killed a yaller cat.<br /> +Juba this and Juba that,<br /> +Hold you partner where you at.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"The whites preached to the niggers and the niggers preached to theyselves. +Gen'man sho' could preach good them times; everybody cried, they +preached so good. I's a mourner when I git free.</p> + +<p>"I's big 'nough to work round the house when war starts, but not big +'nough to be studyin' 'bout marryin'. I's sho' sorry when we's sot free.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +Old master didn't tell his niggers they free. He didn't want them to go. +On a day he's gone, two white men come and showed us a piece of paper and +say we's free now. One them men was a big mill man and told mama he'll give +her $12.00 a month and feed her seven li'l niggers if she go cook for his +millhands. Papa done die in slavery, so mama goes with the man. I run off +and hid under the house. I wouldn't leave till I seed master. When he come +home he say, 'Lizzie, why didn't you go?' I say, 'I don't want to leave my +preserves and light bread.' He let me stay.</p> + +<p>"Then I gits me a li'l man. He works for master in the store and +I works round the house. Master give me two dresses and a pair of shoes +when I married. We lived with him a year or two and then come to Marshall. +My husband worked on public work and I kept house for white folks and we +saved our money and buyed this li'l farm. My man's dead fourteen years +now and my gal and her husband keeps the farm goin'.</p> + +<p>"Me and my man didn't have nothin' when we left Nacogdoches, but +we works hard and saves our money and buyed this farm. It 'pear like these +young niggers don't try to 'cumulate nothin'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420226" id="n420226"></a>420226</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 168px;"><a href="images/162169v.png"> +<img src="images/162169r.png" width="168" height="300" alt="Moses Hursey" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Moses Hursey</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MOSE HURSEY believes he is about +eighty-two years old. He was born +in slavery on a plantation in Louisiana, +and was brought to Texas by his +parents after they were freed. Mose +has been a preacher most of his life, +and now believes he is appointed by +God to be "Head Prophet of the World." +He lives with his daughter at 1120 +Tenth St., Dallas, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was born somewhere in Louisiana, but can't rec'lect the place +exact, 'cause I was such a little chap when we left there. But I heared +my mother and father say they belonged to Marse Morris, a fine gentleman, +with everything fine. He sold them to Marse Jim Boling, of Red River +County, in Texas. So they changes their name from Morris to Boling, Liza +Boling and Charlie Boling, they was. Marse Boling didn't buy my brother +and sister, so that made me the olderest child and the onliest one.</p> + +<p>"The Bolings had a 'normous big house and a 'normous big piece of +land. The house was the finest I ever seen, white and two-story. He had +about sixty slaves, and he thought a powerful lot of my folks, 'cause they +was good workers. My mother, special, was a powerful 'ligious woman.</p> + +<p>"We lived right well, considerin'. We had a little log house like +the rest of the niggers and I played round the place. Eatin' time come, +my mother brung a pot of peas or beans and cornbread or side meat. I had +'nother brother and sister comin' 'long then, and we had tin plates and cups +and knives and spoons, and allus sot to our food.</p> + +<p>"We had 'nough of clothes, sich as they was. I wore shirttails out of +duckings till I was a big boy. All the little niggers wore shirttails. My +mother had fair to middlin' cotton dresses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All week the niggers worked plantin' and hoein' and carin' for the +livestock. They raised cotton and corn and veg'tables, and mules and horses +and hawgs and sheep. On Sundays they had meetin', sometimes at our house, +sometimes at 'nother house. Right fine meetin's, too. They'd preach and pray +and sing—shout, too. I heared them git up with a powerful force of the +spirit, clappin' they hands and walkin' round the place. They'd shout, 'I +got the glory. I got that old time 'ligion in my heart.' I seen some powerful +'figurations of the spirit in them days. Uncle Billy preached to us and he was +right good at preachin' and nat'rally a good man, anyways. We'd sing:</p> + +<p> +"'Sisters, won't you help me bear my cross,<br /> +Help me bear my cross,<br /> +I been done wear my cross.<br /> +I been done with all things here,<br /> +'Cause I reach over Zion's Hill.<br /> +Sisters, won't you please help bear my cross,<br /> +Up over Zion's hill?'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I seed a smart number of wagons and mules a-passin' along and some +camp along the woods by our place. I heared they was a war and folks was goin' +with 'visions and livestock. I wasn't much bigger'n a minute and I was scared +clean to my wits.</p> + +<p>"Then they's a time when paw says we'll be a-searchin' a place to stay +and work on a pay way. They was a consider'ble many niggers left the Bolings. +The day we went away, which was 'cause 'twas the breakin' up of slavery, we +went in the wagon, out the carriage gate in front the Boling's place. As we +was leavin', Mr. Boling called me and give me a cup sweet coffee. He thought +consid'ble plenty of me.</p> + +<p>"We went to a place called Mantua, or somethin' like that. My paw says +he'll make a man of me, and he puts me to breakin' ground and choppin' wood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +Them was bad times. Money was scarce and our feedin' was pore.</p> + +<p>"My paw died and maw and me and the children, Nancy and Margina and +Jessie and George, moves to a little place right outside Sherman. Maw took +in washin' and ironin'. I went one week to school and the teacher said I +learned fastest of any boy she ever see. She was a nice, white lady. Maw +took me out of school 'cause she needed me at home to tend the other children, +so's she could work. I had a powerful yearnin' to read and write, and I +studied out'n my books by myself and my friends helped me with the cipherin'.</p> + +<p>"I did whatever work I could find to do, but my maw said I was a +different mood to the other children. I was allus of a 'ligious and serious +turn of mind. I was baptised when I was fifteen and then when I was about +twenty-five I heared a clear call to preach the Gospel-word. I went to +preachin' the word of Gawd. I got married and raised a family of children, +and I farmed and preached.</p> + +<p>"I was just a preacher till about thirty years ago, and then Gawd +started makin' a prophet out of me. Today I am Mose Hursey, Head Prophet +to the World. They is lesser prophets, but I is the main one. I became a +great prophet by fastin' and prayin'. I fast Mondays and Wednesdays and +Fridays. I know Gawd is feedin' the people through me. I see him in visions +and he speaks to me. In 1936 I saw him at Commerce and Jefferson Streets (Dallas) +and he had a great banner, sayin', 'All needs a pension.' In August this year +I had a great vision of war in the eastern corner of the world. I seen miles +of men marchin' and big guns and trenches filled with dead men. Gawd tells me +to tell the people to be prepared, 'cause the tides of war is rollin' this way, +<a name='TC_29'></a><ins title="nand">and</ins> all the thousands of millions of dollars they spend agin it ain't goin' to +stop it. I live to tell people the word Gawd speaks through me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420081" id="n420081"></a>420081</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 198px;"><a href="images/162172v.png"> +<img src="images/162172r.png" width="198" height="300" alt="Charley Hurt" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Charley Hurt</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>CHARLEY HURT, 85, was born a +slave of John Hurt, who owned +a large plantation and over a +hundred slaves, in Oglethorpe +County, Georgia. Charley stayed +with his master for five years +after the Civil War. In 1899 +Charley moved to Fort Worth, and +now lives at 308 S. Harding St.</p></div> + + +<p>"Yes, suh, I'm borned in slavery and not 'shamed of it, 'cause +I can't help how I'm borned. Dere am folks what wont say dey borned in +slavery.</p> + +<p>"Us plantation am near Maxie, over in Oglethorpe County, in +Georgia, and massa am John Hurt and he have near a hunerd slaves. Us +live in de li'l cabin make from logs chink with mud and straw and twigs +am mix with dat mud to make it hold. De big chimley am outside de cabin +mostly, and am logs and mud, too. De cabin am 'bout ten by twenty feet +and jus' one room.</p> + +<p>"Would I like some dem rations we used to git, now? 'Deed I would. +Dem was good, dat meat and cornmeal and 'lasses and plenty milk and sometimes +butter. De meat am mostest pork, with some beef, 'cause massa raise +plenty hawgs and tendin' meat curin' am my first work. I puts dat meat in +de brine and den smokes de hams and shoulders. When hawg-killin' time come +I'm busy watchin' de smokehouse, what am big, and hams and sich hung on racks +'bout six feet high from de fireplace. Den it my duty to keep dat fire +smoulderin' and jus' smokin'. De more smoke, de better. Den I packs dat +meat in hawgs heads and puts salt over each layer. Dat am some meat!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I mus' tell you 'bout dat whiskey and brandy. Massa have he own +still and allus have three barrels or more whiskey and brandy on hand. Den +on Christmas Day, him puts a tub of whiskey or brandy in de yard and hangs +tin cups 'round de tub. Us helps ourselves. At first us start jokin' with +each other, den starts to sing and everybody am happy. Massa watches us +and if one us gittin' too much, massa sends him to he cabin and he sleep it +off. Anyway, dat one day on massa's place all am happy and forgits dey am +slaves.</p> + +<p>"De last Christmas 'fore surrender I gits too much and am sick. +Gosh a-mighty! Dat de sickest I ever be and dat de last time I gits drunk. +Yes, suh, dat spoil dis nigger's taste for whiskey.</p> + +<p>"Now, 'bout whuppin's, dere am only one whuppin' what am give. Jerry +gits dat, 'cause he wont do what massa say. He tie Jerry on de log and +have de rawhide whip.</p> + +<p>"Dere am system on dat plantation. Everybody do he own work, sich +as field hands, stock hands, de blacksmith and de shoemaker and de weavers +and clothes makers. I'm all 'round worker and goes after de mail, jus' +runnin' 'round de place.</p> + +<p>"When de war start, all massa's sons jines de army. He have three. +John am de captain and James carry de flag and I guesses August am jus' +de plain sojer. Dey all comes home 'fore de war am finish. August git run +over by de wheel of de cannon truck and it cripple he legs so he can't walk +good. James gits sick with some kind fever misery and he am sent home. +Den John am shot in de shoulder and it stay sore and won't heal. One day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +Jerry say to massa he want to look at dat sore. Him see somethin' stickin' +out and he pull it. It a piece of young massa's coat and de bullet have +carry it into de flesh and it am dere a whole year. De sore gits all right +after dat out.</p> + +<p>"'Fore de boys goes to fightin' dey trains near de place where am de +big field for to train hunerds of sojer boys. I likes dat, 'cause de drums +goes, 'ter-ump, ter-ump, ter-ump, tump, tump,' and de fifes goes, 'te, te, ta, +te, tat' and plays Dixie. One day Young massa trainin' dem sojers and he +am walkin' backwards and facin' dem sojers, and jus' as him say, 'Halt,' +down he go, flat on he back. Right away quick, him say, ''Bout face,' +'cause him don't want dem sojers to laugh in he face, so he turn dem 'round.</p> + +<p>"When surrender come, all dem what not kilt comes home and dey have +a big 'ception in Maxie. Dey have lots of long tables and de food am put +on 'fore de train come in. Dere was two coaches full of de boys and dey +doesn't wait for dat train to stop. No, suh, dey crawls out de windows. +Well, dere am huggin' and kissin' of de homefolks, and dey all laughin' +and cryin' at de same time, 'cause of de joy dey's feelin'. Den dey all +sets down to de feast. Massa make de welcome talk. I done hide in de wagon +full of hams and cakes and pies and dere a canvas over dat stuff, and dat +how I gits to dat welcome home.</p> + +<p>"I crawls out 'fore dey unloads de wagon and 'fore long massa see me +and him say, 'Gosh for hemlock! Boy, how comes you here?' I lets my face +slip a li'l, 'bout half a laugh. I says, 'I rides under dat canvas.' Dat +start him laughin' and he tells de people dat I'm a pat'otic nigger. After +dey all eats us niggers gits to eat. For once, I gits plenty pie and cake.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us never have much joyments in slave time. Only when de corn ready +for huskin' all de neighbors comes dere and a whole big crowd am a-huskin' +and singin'. I can't 'member dem songs, 'cause I'm not much for singin'. +One go like dis:</p> + +<p> +"'Pull de husk, break de ear;<br /> +Whoa, I's got de red ear here.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"When you finds de red ear, dat 'titles you to de prize, like kissin' de +gal or de drink of brandy or somethin'. Dey not 'nough red ears to suit us.</p> + +<p>"I'm thirteen year when surrender come. Massa don't call us to him like +other massas done. Him jus' go 'mongst de folks and say, 'Well, folks, yous +am free now and no longer my prop'ty, and yous 'titled to pay for work. +I 'member old Jerry sings, 'Free, free as de jaybird, free to flew like de +jaybird. Whew!'</p> + +<p>"Some de cullud folks stays and some goes. Mostest dem stays and works +de land on shares. I stays till I'm eighteen year and den I works for a +farmer den for a blacksmith den some carpenter work and some railroadin'. De +fact am, I works at anything I could find to does. I does dat most my life.</p> + +<p>"It good for me to stay with Massa Hurt after freedom, 'cause den day +plenty trouble in every place. Dere am fightin' 'twixt white and cullud +folks over votin' and sich. Dey try 'lect my brudder to Congress one time, +but he not 'lect, 'cause de white man what am runnin' 'gainst him gits a +cullud preacher to run 'gainst dem both. Dat split de cullud votes and de +white man am 'lect. I votes like de white man say, couple times, but after +dat I stops votin'. It ain't right for me to vote 'less I knows how and why. +I larns to read and den starts votin' 'gain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"After de war de Ku Klux am org'nize and dey makes de niggers plenty +trouble. Sometimes de niggers has it comin' to 'em and lots of times dey +am 'posed on. Dere a old, cullud man name George and he don't trouble +nobody, but one night de white caps—dat what dey called—comes to George's +place. Now, George know of some folks what am whupped for no-cause, so he +prepare for dem white caps. When dey gits to he house George am in de loft. +He tell dem he done nothin' wrong and for dem to go 'way, or he kill dem. +Dey say he gwine have a free sample of what he git if he do wrong and one +dem white caps starts up de ladder to git George and George shoot him dead. +'Nother white cap starts shootin' through de ceilin'. He can't see George +but through de cracks George can see and he shoots de second feller. So dey +leaves and say dey come back. George runs to he old massa and he takes +George to de law men. Never nothin' am done 'bout him killin' de white caps, +'cause dem white caps goes 'round 'busing niggers.</p> + +<p>"I comes to Texas 'bout 40 year since and gits by purty good till +de depression comes, den it hard for me. My age am 'gainst me, too, and +many de time I's wish for some dat old ham and bacon on de old plantation.</p> + +<p>"First I marries Ann Arrant, in 1898 dat was, and us have three +chillen but dey all dead. Us git sep'rate in 1917 and I marries Mary Durham +in 1921, and us still livin' together. Us have no chillen. Mammy have ten +chillen but I'm de only one what am livin' now, 'cause I'm de youngest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420088" id="n420088"></a>420088</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 198px;"><a href="images/162177v.png"> +<img src="images/162177r.png" width="198" height="300" alt="Wash Ingram" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Wash Ingram</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>WASH INGRAM, A 93 year old Negro, +was born a slave of Capt. Jim Wall, +of Richmond, Va. His father, Charley +Wall Ingram, ran away and secured +work in a gold mine. Later, his +mother died and Capt. Wall sold Wash +and his two brothers to Jim Ingram, +of Carthage, Texas. When Wash's +father learned this, he overtook +his sons before they reached Texas +and put himself back in bondage, +so he could be with his children. +Wash served as water carrier for +the Confederate soldiers at the +battle of Mansfield, La. He now +lives with friends on the Elysian +Fields Road, seven miles southeast +of Marshall, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"I don' know just how ole I is. I was 'bout 18 when de +War was over. I was bo'n on Captain Wall's place in Richmond, Virgini'. +Pappy's name was Charlie and mammy's name was Ca'line. I had +six sisters and two brothers and all de sisters is dead. I haven't +heard from my brothers since Master turn us loose, a year after de +war.</p> + +<p>"Pappy say dat he and mammy was sold and traded lots of +times in Virgini'. We always went by de name of whoever we belonged +to. I first worked as a roustabout boy dere on Capt. Wall's place in +Virgini'. He was sho' a big man, weighed more'n 200 pounds. He owned +lots of niggers and worked lots of land. The white folks was good to +us, but Pappy was a fightin' man and he run off and got a job in a +gold mine in Virgini'.</p> + +<p>"After pappy run away, mammy died and den one day de overseer +herded up a big bunch of us niggers and driv us to Barnum's Tradin' Ya'd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +down in Mississippi. Dat's a place where dey sold and traded Niggers jus' +lak stock. I cried when Capt. Wall sold me, 'cause dat was one man dat sho' +was good to his niggers. But he had too many slaves.</p> + +<p>"Cotton was a good price den and dem slave buyers had plenty of money. +We was sold to Jim Ingram, of Carthage. He bought a big gang of slaves +and refugeed part of 'em to Louisiana and part to Texas. We come to Texas +in ox wagons. While we was on the way, camped at Keachie, Louisiana, a man +come ridin' into camp and someone say to me, 'Wash, dar's your pappy.' I +didn' believe it 'cause pappy was workin' in a gold mine in Virgini'. Some +of de men told pappy his chillen is in camp and he come and fin' me and my +brothers. Den he jine Master Ingram's slaves so he can be with his chillen.</p> + +<p>"Master Ingram had a big plantation down near Carthage and lots of +niggers. He also buyed land, cleared it and sol' it. I plowed with oxen. +We had a overseer and sev'ral taskmasters. Dey whip de niggers for not +workin' right, or for runnin' 'way or pilferin' roun' master's house. We +woke up at four o'clock and worked from sunup to sundown. Dey give us an +hour for dinner. Dem dat work roun' de house et at tables with plates. +Dem dat work in de field was drove in from work and fed jus' like hosses +at a big, long wooden trough. Dey had to eat with a wooden spoon. De +trough and de food was clean and always plenty of it, and we stood up to +eat. We went to bed soon after supper durin' de week for dat's 'bout all +we feel like doin' after workin' twelve hours. We slep' in wooden beds what +had corded rope mattresses.</p> + +<p>"We had to learn de best way we could, 'cause dere was no schools. +We had church out in de woods. I didn' see no money till after de surrender.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +Guess we didn' need any, 'cause dey give us food and clothes and tobacco. +We didn' have to buy nothin'. I had broadcloth clothes, a blue jean overcoat +and good shoes and boots.</p> + +<p>"De niggers had heap better times dan now. Now we work all time +and can't git nothin'. Sat'day night we would have parties and dance and +play ring plays. We had de parties dere in a big double log house. Dey +would give us whiskey and wine and cherry brandy, but dere wasn' no shootin' +or gamblin'. Dey didn' 'low it. De men and women didn' do like dey do now. +If dey had such carryin's on as dey do now, de white folks would have whipped +'em good.</p> + +<p>"I 'member dat war and I sees dem cannons and hears 'em. I toted +water for de soldiers what fought at de Battle of Mansfield. Master Ingram +had 350 slaves when de war was over but he didn' turn us loose till a year +after surrender. He telled us dat de gov'ment goin' to give us 40 acres +of land and a pair of mules, but we didn' git nothin'. After Master Ingram +turn us loose, pappy bought a place at De Berry, Texas, and I live with him +till after I was grown. Den I marry and move to Louisiana. I come back to +Texas two years ago and lived with my friends here ever since. My wife died +18 years ago and I had a hard time 'cause I don' have no folks, but I's managed +to git someone to let me work for somethin' to eat, a few clothes and a +place to sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420047" id="n420047"></a>420047</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 206px;"><a href="images/162180v.png"> +<img src="images/162180r.png" width="206" height="300" alt="Carter J. Jackson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Carter J. Jackson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>CARTER J. JACKSON, 85, was born +in Montgomery, Alabama, a slave +of Parson Dick Rogers. In 1863 +the Rogers family brought Carter +to Texas and he worked for them +as a slave until four years after +emancipation. Carter was with +his master's son, Dick, when he +was killed at Pittsburg, Pa. +Carter married and moved to Tatum +in 1871.</p></div> + + +<p>"If you's wants to know 'bout slavery time, it was Hell. I's +born in Montgomery, over yonder in Alabama. My pappy named Charles +and come from Florida and mammy named Charlotte and her from Tennessee. +They was sold to Parson Rogers and brung to Alabama by him. +I had seven brothers call Frank and Benjamin and Richardson and Anderson +and Miles, Emanuel and Gill, and three sisters call Milanda, +Evaline and Sallie, but I don't know if any of 'em are livin' now.</p> + +<p>"Parson Rogers come to Texas in '63 and brung 'bout 42 slaves +and my first work was to tote water in the field. Parson lived in +a good, big frame house, and the niggers lived in log houses what +had dirt floors and chimneys, and our bunks had rope slats and grass +mattress. I sho' wish I could have cotch myself sleepin' on a feather +bed them days. I wouldn't woke up till Kingdom Come.</p> + +<p>"We et vegetables and meat and ash cake. You could knock you +mammy in the head, eatin' that ash cake bread. I ain't been fit since. +We had hominy cooked in the fireplace in big pots that ain't bad to +talk 'bout. Deer was thick them days and we sot up sharp stobs inside +the pea field and them young bucks jumps over the fence and stabs themselves. +That the only way to cotch them, 'cause they so wild you +couldn't git a fair shot with a rifle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Massa Rogers had a 300 acre plantation and 200 in cultivation +and he had a overseer and Steve O'Neal was the nigger driver. The horn +to git up blowed 'bout four o'clock and if we didn't fall out right now, +the overseer was in after us. He tied us up every which way and whip us, +and at night he walk the quarters to keep us from runnin' 'round. On +Sunday mornin' the overseer come 'round to each nigger cabin with a big +sack of shorts and give us 'nough to make bread for one day.</p> + +<p>"I used to steal some chickens, 'cause we didn't have 'nough +to eat, and I don' think I done wrong, 'cause the place was full of 'em. +We sho' earned what we et. I'd go up to the big house to make fires and +lots of times I seed the mantel board lined with greenbacks, 'tween mantel +and wall and I's snitched many a $50.00 bill, but it 'federate money.</p> + +<p>"Me and four of her chillen standin' by when mammy's sold for +$500.00. Cryin' didn't stop 'em from sellin' our mammy 'way from us.</p> + +<p>"I 'member the war was tough and I went 'long with young massa +Dick when he went to the war, to wait on him. I's standin' clost by when +he was kilt under a big tree in Pittsburg, and 'fore he die he ask Wes +Tatum, one the neighbor boys from home, to take care of me and return me +to Massa George.</p> + +<p>"I worked on for Massa Rogers four year after that, jus' like +in slavery time, and one day he call us and say we can go or stay. So I +goes with my pappy and lives with him till 1871. Then I marries and works +on the railroad when it's builded from Longview to Big Sandy, 'bout 1872. +I works there sev'ral years and I raises seven chillen. After I quits the +railroad I works wherever I can, on farms or in town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420092" id="n420092"></a>420092</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 180px;"><a href="images/162182v.png"> +<img src="images/162182r.png" width="180" height="300" alt="James Jackson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">James Jackson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JAMES JACKSON, 87, was born a +slave to the Alexander family, +in Caddo Parish, La. When he +was about two, his master moved +to Travis County, Texas. A +short time later he and his two +brothers were stolen and sold to +Dr. Duvall, in Bastrop Co., Texas. +He worked around Austin till he +married, when he moved to Taylor +and then to Kaufman. In 1929 he +went to Fort Worth where he has +lived ever since.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was bo'n at Caddo Parish, dats in Louisiana, on de +Doc Alexander plantation. My mother says I was bo'n on de 18th +day of December, in de year of 1850. I guess dat's right, 'cause +I's 87 years ole dis comin' December.</p> + +<p>"Jus' 'bout dat time dey started shippin' de darkies +to Texas. My marster moved to Travis County, Texas, and tuk all +his slaves wid him. I was too young to 'member, but my mother, +she told me 'bout it.</p> + +<p>"It wasn' long after we was on Marster Alexander's new +place in Travis County, till one night a man rode up on a hoss and +stole me and my two brothers and rode away wid us. He tuk us to +Bastrop County and sold us to Doc Duvall. Marster Duvall sold my +brother right after he bought us, but me and John, we stayed wid +him till de slaves was freed.</p> + +<p>"On Marster Duvall's plantation de slaves all lived in +log cabins back of de big house. Dey was one room, two rooms and +three room cabins, dependin' on de size of de family. Most had +dirt floors, but some of 'em had log slabs. We had dese ole wooden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +beds wid a rope stretch 'cross de bottom and a mattress of straw +or cotton dat de niggers got in de fiel'. We had lots to eat, like +biscuit, cornbread, meat and sich stuff. Most times dey made coffee +outta parch cornmeal. We had gardens and raised most of de stuff +to eat.</p> + +<p>"I herds sheep and is houseboy most of de time. When I +was ole enough, I picks cotton. I was jus' learnin' when de slaves +was freed. Marster Duvall had over 500 acres in cotton and he kep' +us in de fiel' all de time, 'cept Saturday afternoon and Sunday.</p> + +<p>"Dey had meetin' and dances Saturday nights. I was too +young to 'member jus' what de songs was, but dey had a fiddle and +played all night long. On ever' Sunday de niggers went to Church +in de evenin'. Dey had a white preacher in de mornin' and a cullud +preacher in de evenin'.</p> + +<p>"Marster Duvall would whip de niggers who was disobedience +and he jus' call dem up and ask dem what was de trouble, den he would +whip dem wid a cowhide or a rope whip. We could go anywhere iffen we +had a pass, but if we didn' de paddlerollers would ketch us. They +was kinda like policemen we got today.</p> + +<p>"In slavery, dey traded and sold niggers like dey do +hosses and mules. Dey carry dem to de court house and put dem on de +block and auction 'em off. Some sold for roun' $3,000. It was hard +to sell one wid scars on him, 'cause nobody wanted him. I seen 'em +come by in droves, all chained together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When de slaves was free dey was sho' happy. Dey all got +together and had a kin' of cel'bration. Marster told dem if dey +wanted to stay and help make de crop, he'd give 'em 50 cents a day +and a place to stay. Some tuk him up on dat and stayed, but a lot +of dem left dere. Me and my brother, we started walkin' to Austin. +In Austin we finds our mother, she was working for Judge Paschal. +She hires us out to one place and den another.</p> + +<p>"Since freedom I done most everything anybody could do. I +been porter and waiter in hotels and rest'rants. I been factory hand, +and worked for carpenters and in de roun' house. I picked cotton and +worked on de farm.</p> + +<p>"I been married 61 years. I gits married at home, like +civilize folks do. I raised a big family, 12 chillen, but only five +is alive today. I moved here in 1929 and looks like I's here till +I die.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420188" id="n420188"></a>420188</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MAGGIE JACKSON was born a slave of the +Sam Oliver family, in Cass Co., Texas, +near Douglasville. She is about 80 +years old and her memory is not very +good, so her story gives few details. +She lives with her daughter near Douglasville, +on highway #8.</p></div> + + +<p>"I am about 80 years old and was a chile during slavery +times. My papa's name was Tom Spencer Hall and my mama's name +was Margaret Hall. My brothers and sisters was Maria and Barbara +and Alice and Octavia and Andrew and Thomas and Hillary and Eugenia +and Silas and Thomas. We was a big fam'ly.</p> + +<p>"My mama was Sam Oliver's slave, but my papa lived a mile +away with Masta Sam Carlow. We lived in box houses and slep' on +wood beds and we et co'nbread and peas and grits and lots of rabbits +and 'possums. Mama cooked it on the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"Masta Sam's house was big and had six big rooms with a +hall through the middle and the kitchen sot way off in the ya'd +and had a big cellar under it. Masta Sam had a big orchard and +put apples and pears in the cellar for the winter. My brothers +use' to slip under there and steal them and mama'd whip 'em.</p> + +<p>"The big house set 'mong big oak trees and the slaves +houses was scattered roun' the back. Masta Sam had a ole cowhorn +he use' to blow for the niggers to come outta the fiel'.</p> + +<p>"Mos' all us chillen wen' fishin' on Saturday and we'd fish +with pins. One day I slipped off and caught a whole string of fish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We learned to read and write and we wen' to church with +the white folks. Masta Sam was good to us and gave us plenty food and +clothes.</p> + +<p>"I never was 'fraid of haints and I never see none, but +I know some seen 'em.</p> + +<p>"I married John Jackson in a white muslin dress and we was +married by Dan Sherman, a cullud preacher from Jefferson. I married +John 'cause I loved him and we didn' fuss and fight. I has five chillen +and five grandchillen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420083" id="n420083"></a>420083</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 197px;"><a href="images/162187av.png"> +<img src="images/162187ar.png" width="197" height="300" alt="Martin Jackson (A)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Martin Jackson (A)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 190px;"><a href="images/162187bv.png"> +<img src="images/162187br.png" width="190" height="300" alt="Martin Jackson (B)" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Martin Jackson (B)</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MARTIN JACKSON, who calls himself +a "black Texan", well deserves to +select a title of more distinction, +for it is quite possible that he is +the only living former slave who +served in both the Civil War and +the World War. He was born in +bondage in Victoria Co., Texas, in +1847, the property of Alvy Fitzpatrick. +This self-respecting +Negro is totally blind, and when +a person touches him on the arm +to guide him he becomes bewildered +and asks his helper to give verbal +directions, up, down, right or left. +It may be he has been on his own so +long that he cannot, at this late +date, readjust himself to the touch +of a helping hand. His mind is uncommonly +clear and he speaks with no +Negro colloquialisms and almost no +dialect.</p></div> + + +<p>Following directions as to where to find Martin Jackson, +"the most remarkable Negro in San Antonio," a researcher made his way +to an old frame house at 419 Center St., walked up the steps and +through the house to an open door of a rear room. There, on an iron +bed, lay a long, thin Negro, smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in +a woolen undershirt and black trousers and his beard and mustache +were trimmed much after the fashion of white gallants of the Gay +Nineties. His head was remarkably well-shaped, with striking eminences +in his forehead over his brows.</p> + +<p>After a moment the intruder spoke and announced his mission. +The old Negro, who is stone blind, quickly admitted that he was Martin +Jackson, but before making any further comment he carried on an efficient +interview himself; he wanted to know who the caller was, who +had directed the visit, and just what branch of the Federal service +happened to be interested in the days of slavery. These questions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +satisfactorily answered, he went into his adventures and experiences, embellishing +the highlights with uncommon discernment and very little prodding +by the researcher.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"I have about 85 years of good memory to call on. I'm ninety, and +so I'm not counting my first five years of life. I'll try to give you as +clear a picture as I can. If you want to give me a copy of what you are +going to write, I'll appreciate it. Maybe some of my children would like +to have it.</p> + +<p>"I was here in Texas when the Civil War was first talked about. +I was here when the War started and followed my young master into it with +the First Texas Cavalry. I was here during reconstruction, after the War. +I was here during the European World War and the second week after the +United States declared war on Germany I enlisted as cook at Camp Leon Springs.</p> + +<p>"This sounds as if I liked the war racket. But, as a matter of fact, +I never wore a uniform—grey coat or khaki coat—or carried a gun, unless +it happened to be one worth saving after some Confederate soldier got shot. I +was official lugger-in of men that got wounded, and might have been called a +Red Cross worker if we had had such a corps connected with our company. My +father was head cook for the battalion and between times I helped him out with +the mess. There was some difference in the food served to soldiers in 1861 +and 1917!</p> + +<p>"Just what my feelings was about the War, I have never been able to +figure out myself. I knew the Yanks were going to win, from the beginning. +I wanted them to win and lick us Southerners, but I hoped they was going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +do it without wiping out our company. I'll come back to that in a minute. +As I said, our company was the First Texas Cavalry. Col. Buchell was our +commander. He was a full-blooded German and as fine a man and a soldier +as you ever saw. He was killed at the Battle of Marshall and died in my +arms. You may also be interested to know that my old master, Alvy Fitzpatrick, +was the grandfather of Governor Jim Ferguson.</p> + +<p>"Lots of old slaves closes the door before they tell the truth +about their days of slavery. When the door is open, they tell how kind +their masters was and how rosy it all was. You can't blame them for this, +because they had plenty of early discipline, making them cautious about +saying anything uncomplimentary about their masters. I, myself, was in a +little different position than most slaves and, as a consequence, have no +grudges or resentment. However, I can tell you the life of the average +slave was not rosy. They were dealt out plenty of cruel suffering.</p> + +<p>"Even with my good treatment, I spent most of my time planning +and thinking of running away. I could have done it easy, but my old father +used to say, 'No use running from bad to worse, hunting better.' Lots of +colored boys did escape and joined the Union army, and there are plenty of +them drawing a pension today. My father was always counseling me. He said, +'Every man has to serve God under his own vine and fig tree.' He kept pointing +out that the War wasn't going to last forever, but that our forever was +going to be spent living among the Southeners, after they got licked. He'd +cite examples of how the whites would stand flatfooted and fight for the blacks +the same as for members of their own family. I knew that all was true, but +still I rebelled, from inside of me. I think I really was afraid to run away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +because I thought my conscience would haunt me. My father knew I felt this +way and he'd rub my fears in deeper. One of his remarks still rings in my +ears: 'A clear conscience opens bowels, and when you have a guilty soul it +ties you up and death will not for long desert you.'</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I haven't had any education. I should have had one, +though. My old missus was sorry, after the War, that she didn't teach me. +Her name, before she married my old master, was Mrs. Long. She lived in New +York City and had three sons. When my old master's wife died, he wrote up to +a friend of his in New York, a very prominent merchant named C.C. Stewart. +He told this friend he wanted a wife and gave him specifications for one. +Well, Mrs. Long, whose husband had died, fitted the bill and she was sent +down to Texas. She became Mrs. Fitzpatrick. She wasn't the grandmother of +Governor Ferguson. Old Fitzpatrick had two wives that preceded Mrs. Long. +One of the wives had a daughter named Fanny Fitzpatrick and it was her that +was the Texas' governor's mother. I seem to have the complicated family tree +of my old master more clear than I've got my own, although mine can be put in +a nutshell: I married only once and was blessed in it with 45 years of devotion. +I had 13 children and a big crop of grandchildren.</p> + +<p>"My earliest recollection is the day my old boss presented me to +his son, Joe, as his property. I was about five years old and my new master +was only two.</p> + +<p>"It was in the Battle of Marshall, in Louisiana, that Col. Buchell +got shot. I was about three miles from the front, where I had pitched up a +kind of first-aid station. I was all alone there. I watched the whole thing. +I could hear the shooting and see the firing. I remember standing there and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +thinking the South didn't have a chance. All of a sudden I heard someone call. +It was a soldier, who was half carrying Col. Buchell in. I didn't do nothing +for the Colonel. He was too far gone. I just held him comfortable, and that +was the position he was in when he stopped breathing. That was the worst hurt +I got when anybody died. He was a friend of mine. He had had a lot of soldiering +before and fought in the Indian War.</p> + +<p>"Well, the Battle of Marshall broke the back of the Texas Cavalry. +We began straggling back towards New Orleans, and by that time the War was over. +The soldiers began to scatter. They was a sorry-lookin' bunch of lost sheep. +They didn't know where to go, but most of 'em ended up pretty close to the +towns they started from. They was like homing pigeons, with only the instinct +to go home and, yet, most of them had no homes to go to.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I never went into books. I used to handle a big dictionary +three times a day, but it was only to put it on a chair so my young master +could sit up higher at the table. I never went to school. I learned to talk +pretty good by associating with my masters in their big house.</p> + +<p>"We lived on a ranch of about 1,000 acres close to the Jackson County +line in Victoria County, about 125 miles from San Antonio. Just before the +war ended they sold the ranch, slaves and all, and the family, not away fighting, +moved to Galveston. Of course, my father and me wasn't sold with the other blacks, +because we was away at war. My mother was drowned years before when I was a little +boy. I only remember her after she was dead. I can take you to the spot in +the river today where she was drowned. She drowned herself. I never knew the +reason behind it, but it was said she started to lose her mind and preferred +death to that."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>At this point in the old Negro's narrative the sound of someone +singing was heard. A moment later the door to the house slammed shut and +in accompaniment to the tread of feet in the kitchen came this song:</p> + +<p> +"I sing because I'm happy,<br /> +And I sing because I'm free—<br /> +His eyes is on the sparrow<br /> +And I know He watches me."<br /> +</p> + +<p>The singer glanced in the bedroom and the song ended with both embarrassment +and anger:</p> + +<p>"Father! Why didn't you say you had callers?"</p> + +<p>It was not long, however, before the singer, Mrs. Maggie Jackson, +daughter-in-law of old Martin Jackson, joined in the conversation.</p> + +<p>"The master's name was usually adopted by a slave after he was +set free. This was done more because it was the logical thing to do and +the easiest way to be identified than it was through affection for the +master. Also, the government seemed to be in a almighty hurry to have us +get names. We had to register as someone, so we could be citizens. Well, +I got to thinking about all us slaves that was going to take the name Fitzpatrick. +I made up my mind I'd find me a different one. One of my grandfathers +in Africa was called Jeaceo, and so I decided to be Jackson."</p> + +<p>After this clear-headed Negro had posed for his photograph, the researcher +took his leave and the old blind man bade him a gracious "good-bye." +He stood as if watching his new friend walking away, and then lighted a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"How long have you been smoking, Martin?" called back the researcher.</p> + +<p>"I picked up the deadly habit," answered Martin, "over seventy-five +years ago."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420137" id="n420137"></a>420137</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>NANCY JACKSON, about 105 years +old, was born in Madison Co., +Tennessee, a slave of the Griff +Lacy family. She was married +during slavery and was the +mother of three children when +she was freed. In 1835, Nancy +claims, she was brought to Texas +by her owner, and has lived +in Panola Co. all her life. +She has no proof of her age and, +of course, may be in the late +nineties instead of over one +hundred, as she thinks. She +lives with her daughter about +five miles west of Tatum, Tex.</p></div> + + +<p>"I's live in Panola County now going on 102 year and that a +mighty long time for to 'member back, but I'll try to rec'lect. I's +born in Tennessee and I think it's in 1830 or 1832. I lives with my +baby chile what am now 57 year old and she's born when I's 'bout +'bout 33. But I ain't sho' 'bout my age, noways.</p> + +<p>"Massa Griff fetches us to Texas when I a baby and my brudders +what am Redic and Anthony and Essex and Allen and Brick and my sisters +what am Ann and Matty and Charlotte, we all come to Texas. Mammy come +with us but pappy was sold off the Lacy place and stays in Tennessee.</p> + +<p>"Massa had the bigges' house in them parts and a passel of +slaves. Mammy's name was Letha, and we have a purty good place to +live and massa not bad to us. We was treated fair, I guesses, but they +allus whipped us niggers for somethin'. But when we got sick they'd +git the doctor, 'cause losin' a nigger like losin' a pile of money in +them days.</p> + +<p>"Massa sometimes outlines the Bible to us and we had a song +what we'd sing sometimes:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"'Stand your storm, Stand your storm,<br /> +Till the wind blows over,<br /> +Stand your storm, Stand your storm,<br /> +I's a sojer of the Cross,<br /> +A follower of the Lamb.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"We was woke by a bell and called to eat by a bell and put to +bed by that bell and if that bell ring outta time you'd see the niggers +jumpin' rail fences and cotton rows like deers or something, gettin' to +that house, 'cause that mean something bad wrong at massa's house.</p> + +<p>"I marries right here in Panola County while slavery still +here and my brother-in-law marries me and Lewis Blakely, and I's 'bout +nineteen. My husban' 'longed to the Blakely's and after the weddin' he +had to go back to them and they 'lowed him come to see me once a week +on Saturday and he could stay till Sunday. I works on for the Lacy's +more'n a year after slavery till Lewis come got me and we moved to ourselves.</p> + +<p>"I 'member one big time we done have in slavery. Massa gone and +he wasn't gone. He left the house 'tendin' go on a visit and missy and +her chillen gone and us niggers give a big ball the night they all gone. +The leader of that ball had on massa's boots and he sing a song he make +up:</p> + +<p> +"'Ole massa's gone to Philiman York<br /> +And won't be back till July 4th to come;<br /> +Fac' is, I don't know he'll be back at all,<br /> +Come on all you niggers and jine this ball.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"That night they done give that big ball, massa had blacked up +and slip back in the house and while they singin' and dancin', he sittin' +by the fireplace all the time. 'Rectly he spit, and the nigger who had +on he boots recernizes him and tries climb up the chimmey."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420259" id="n420259"></a>420259</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 180px;"><a href="images/162195v.png"> +<img src="images/162195r.png" width="180" height="300" alt="Richard Jackson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Richard Jackson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>RICHARD JACKSON, Harrison County +farmer, was born in 1859, a slave +of Watt Rosborough. Richard's +family left the Rosboroughs when +the Negroes were freed, and moved +to a farm near Woodlawn. Richard +married when he was twenty-five +and moved to an adjoining farm, +which he now owns.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was born on the Rosborough plantation in 1859 and 'longed to +old man Watt Rosborough. He brung my mammy out of North Carolina, but +my pappy died when I was a baby, and mammy married Will Jackson. Besides +me they was six brothers, Jack and Nathan, Josh and Bill and Ben and Mose. +I had three sisters named Matilda and Charity and Anna.</p> + +<p>"I 'members my mammy's father, Jack, but don't know where he come +from. I heared him tell of fightin' the Indians on the frontier, and one +mammy's brothers was shot with a Indian arrow.</p> + +<p>"The plantation jined the Sabine river and old man Watt owned many +a slave. The old home is still standin' cross the road from Rosborough +Springs, nine miles south of Marshall.</p> + +<p>"They was a white overseer on the place and mammy's stepdaddy, Kit, +was niggerdriver and done all the whippin', 'cept of mammy. She was bad +'bout fightin' and the overseer allus tended to her. One day he come to +the <a name='TC_30'></a><ins title="wuarters">quarters</ins> to whip her and she up and throwed a shovel full of live coals +from the fireplace in his bosom and run out the door. He run her all over +the place 'fore he cotched her. I seed the overseer tie her down and whip +her. The niggers wasn't whipped much 'cept for fightin' 'mongst themselves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I 'members mammy allus sayin' the darkies had to pray out in the +woods, 'cause they ain't 'lowed to make no fuss round the house. She say +they was fed and clothed well 'nough, but the overseer worked the lights out +of the darkies. I wasn't big 'nough to do field work, but 'member goin' to +the field to take mammy's pipe to her. They wasn't no matches in them days, +and I allus took fire from the house and sot a stump afire in the field, so +mammy could light her pipe.</p> + +<p>"None of our folks larnt to read and write till after slavery. My +oldes' brother was larnin' to read on the sly, but the overseer found out +'bout it and stopped him. He found some letters writ on the wall of the +quarter with charcoal and made the darkies tell him who writ it. My brother +Jack done it. The overseer didn't whip him, but told him he darns't do it +'gain.</p> + +<p>"After surrender my folks left the Rosboroughs right straight and +moved clost to Woodlawn. My oldes' hired out in Shreveport. When they asks +him what he's worth, he told them he didn't know, but he was allus worth a +heap of money when anyone wanted to buy him from the Rosboroughs.</p> + +<p>"The Ku Kluxers come to our house in Woodlawn, and I got scart and +crawled under the bed. They told mammy they wasn't gwine hurt her, but jus' +wanted water to drink. They didn't call each other by names. When the head +man spoke to any of them he'd say, Number 1, or Number 2, and like that.</p> + +<p>"I thunk I heared ghosts on the Driscoll place once, up in the loft of +the house. I heared them plain as day. My step-pa done die there and might +of been his ghost. We moved away right straight, and old man Driscoll had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +burn that house down after that, 'cause wouldn't none the darkies live in it.</p> + +<p>"The only time I voted was when they put whiskey out. I heared a white +man one time in Marshall, makin' a speech on the square. He said he was gwine +tell us darkies why they didn't low us to vote. He didn't tell us, 'cause the +law come out and made him git out the wagon and leave.</p> + +<p>"This young race is sho' livin' fast, but I guess they's all right. +Things is jes' different now to when I was a boy. When I was a boy, folks +didn't mind helpin' one 'nother, but now they is in too big a hurry to pay +you any mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420016" id="n420016"></a>420016</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 191px;"><a href="images/162198v.png"> +<img src="images/162198r.png" width="191" height="300" alt="John James" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">John James</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JOHN JAMES, 78, was born a slave +to John Chapman, on a large plantation +in East Baton Rouge Parish, +Louisiana. John took the name of +his father, who was owned by John +James. John and his mother stayed +with Mr. Chapman for six years after +they were freed, then John went to +Missouri, where he worked for the +M. K. & T. Railroad for twenty years. +He then came to Texas, and now lives +at 315 S. Jennings Ave., in Fort +Worth.</p></div> + + +<p>"I doesn't have so much mind for slavery days, 'cause I's too +young then, but I 'members when surrender come and some befo' dat. I +'members my mammy lef' me in de nursery with all de other cullud babies +when she go work in de field. De old nurse, Jane, tooks care of us.</p> + +<p>"Dat were de big place what Massa John have and dere 'bout fifty +cullud families on de place, so it am more'n a hunerd slaves what he own. +I's runnin' round, like kids am allus doin', first one place, den t'other, +watchin' everything. De big bell ring in de mornin' and you'd see all de +cullud folks comin' from dey cabins, gwineter de kitchen to breakfast. Dat +allus befo' daybreak, and dey have to eat by de light of de pine torch. It +am de pineknot torch. De meals am all cooked dere and dey eat at long +tables. De young'uns from six to ten year eats at de second table and +little'r den dat, in de nursery.</p> + +<p>"I sho' 'members 'bout dat nursery feedin'. I never forgits how dat +cornmeal mush and milk am served in de big pans. Dey gives we uns de wooden +spoon and we'uns crowds round de pans like little pigs. I can see it now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +Us push and shove and de nurse walk here and dere, tryin' to make us eat like +humans. She have to cuff one of us once in a while. If she don't, dem kids +be in de pans with both feet. When dey done eatin', dey faces am all smear with +mush and milk.</p> + +<p>"Massa allus feed plenty rations, only after war starts de old folks say +dey am short of dis and dat, 'cause dem sojers done took it for de army.</p> + +<p>"After breakfast I'd see a crew go here and a crew go dere. Some of 'em +spin and weave and make clothes, and some <a name='TC_31'></a><ins title="tann">tan</ins> de leather or do de blacksmith +work, and mos' of 'em go out in de field to work. Dey works till dark and den +come home and work round de quarters.</p> + +<p>"Dem quarters was 'bout ten by fifteen feet, each one, with a hole for +de window dat am not dere and de floor am de ground, and de straw bunks for to +sleep on. In us cabin am mammy and us three chillen and our aunt. My pappy done +die befo' I 'member him. Some kind stomach mis'ry kilt him.</p> + +<p>"One day Massa Chapman call all us to de front gallery. Us didn't know +what gwine to happen, 'cause it not ord'nary to git called from de work. Him ring +de bell and dat am sho' 'nough de liberty bell, 'cause him read from de long +paper and say, 'You is slaves no more. You is free, jus' like I is, and have +to 'pend on yourselves for de livin'. All what wants to stay I'll pay money +to work, and a share of de crop, iffen you don't want money.' Mostest of dem +stays, and some what goes gits into troublement, 'cause den dere's trouble 'twixt +de white folks and de cullud folks. Some de niggers thinks they am bigger dan +de white folks, 'cause dey free, and de Klu Klux, what us call white caps, puts +dem in de place dey 'longs.</p> + +<p>"I gits chased by dem white caps once, jus' befo' us leave massa. Dat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +am when I's 'bout thirteen year old. I's 'bout a mile off de place without +de pass and it am de rule them days, all cullud folks must have de pass to show +where dey 'longs and where dey gwine. I has no business to be off de place without +de pass. 'Twas a gal.. Sho', day am it. Us walks down de road 'bout a +mile and am settin' 'hind some bushes, off de plantation. Us see dem white +caps comin' down de road on hossback and us ain't much scart, 'cause us think +dey can't see us 'hind dem bushes. But dat leader say, 'Whoa,' and dey could +look down on us, 'cause dey on hossback. Well, gosh for 'mighty! Dere us am +and can't move den us so scart. One dem white caps says, 'What you doin', +nigger?' 'Jus' settin' here,' I telt him. 'Yous better start runnin', 'cause +us gwine try cotch you,' dey says.</p> + +<p>"Us two niggers am down dat road befo' dem words am outten he mouth. +Dey lets de hosses canter 'hind we'uns and us try to run faster. Fin'ly us gits +home and dat de last time I goes off without de pass.</p> + +<p>"Mammy moves to Baton Rouge soon after dat and works as de housemaid. +Us stay dere two year and I gits some little jobs and den I goes to work for +de railroad in Sedalia, up in Missouri, and dere I works as section hand for +de Katy railroad for twenty year. Den I gits through and comes to Texas.</p> + +<p>"I works at anything till eight year ago and den I's no count for +work so I's livin' on de pension, what am $15.00 de month.</p> + +<p>"I's never married. I jus' couldn't make de hitch. Dem what I wants, +don't want me. Dem what wants me, I don't want, so dere am never no agreement.</p> + +<p>"No, I's never voted, 'cause I done heared 'bout de trouble dey has over +in Baton Rouge 'bout niggers <a name='TC_32'></a><ins title="botin'">votin'</ins>. I jus' don't like trouble, and for de few +years what am left, I's gwine keep de record of stayin' 'way from it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420190" id="n420190"></a>420190</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>THOMAS JOHNS, 508 Knopp St., Cleburne, +Texas, was born April 18, 1847, in +Chambers Co., Alabama. He belonged to +Col. Robert Johns, who had come to Alabama +from Virginia. After Johns was +freed he stayed with his old owner's +family until 1874, when he moved to +Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"My father's name was George and my mother's name was Nellie. +My father was born in Africa. Him and two of his brothers and one sister +was stole and brought to Savannah, Georgia, and sold. Dey was de chillen +of a chief of de Kiochi tribe. De way dey was stole, dey was asked to a +dance on a ship which some white man had, and my aunt said it was early +in de mornin' when dey foun' dey was away from de land, and all dey could +see was de water all 'round. She said they was members of de file-tooth +tribe of niggers. My father's teeth was so dat only de front ones met together +when he closed his mouth. De back ones didn' set together. W'en his +front teeth was together, de back ones was apart, sorta like a V on its side.</p> + +<p>"My mother was born a slave in Virginia. She married there and had +a little girl, and they was sold away from the husband and brought to Alabama. +She said her mother was part Indian and part nigger. Her father was +part white and part nigger, but he look about as white as a white man.</p> + +<p>"My brother's names was John, Jake and Dave. My sister's names +was Ann, Katie, Judie and Easter.</p> + +<p>"I belonged to Col. Robert Johns. He owned 30 or 35 slaves. We +was well treated and had the same food the white folks did, and didn' none<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +of us go hongry. Col. Johns didn' have his niggers whipped, neither.</p> + +<p>"Marster's place had 500 acres in it. We raised cotton, corn and +rice, vegetables and every sort of fruit that would grow there, a lot of +it growin' wild. We et mostly hog meat, but we had some beef and mutton, +too. When we'd kill a beef, we'd send some to all the neighbors.</p> + +<p>"We done a good day's work, but didn' have to work after night 'less +it was necessary. We was allowed to stop at 12 o'clock and have time for +rest 'fore goin' back to work. Other slave owners roun' our place wasn't +as good to dere slaves, would work 'em hard and half starve 'em. And some +marsters or overseers would whip dere niggers pretty hard, sometimes whip +'em to death. Marster Johns didn' have no overseer. He seed to the work +and my father was foreman. For awhile after old Marster died, in 1862 or +1863, I forget which now, we had a overseer, John Sewell. He was mean. He +whipped the chillen and my mother told Miss Lucy, old marster's oldest girl.</p> + +<p>"We was allus well treated by old marster. We was called, 'John's +free niggers,' not dat we was free, but 'cause we was well treated. Jesse +Todd, his place joined ours, had 500 slaves, and he treated 'em mighty bad. +He whipped some of 'em to death. A man sold him two big niggers which was +brothers and they was so near white you couldn' hardly tell 'em from a white +man. Some people thought the man what sold 'em was their daddy. The two +niggers worked good and dey hadn' never been whipped and dey wouldn' stand +for bein' whipped. One mornin' Todd come up to 'em and told de oldest to +take his shirt off. He say, 'Marster, what you wan' me to take my shirt +off for?' Todd say, 'I told you to take your shirt off.' De nigger say, +'Marster, I ain' never took my shirt off for no man.' Todd run in de house +and got his gun and come back and shot de nigger dead. His brother fell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +down by him where he lay on de groun'. Todd run back to load his gun again, +it bein' a single shot. Todd's wife and son grabbed him and dey had all dey +coul' do to keep him from comin' out and killin' de other nigger.</p> + +<p>"Marse Johns had 12 chillen. De house dey lived in was Colonyal style +and had 12 rooms. I was bo'n in dat house.</p> + +<p>"De slaves had log cabins. We wore some cotton clothes in de summer +but in de winter we wore wool clothes. We allus had shoes. A shoemaker would +come 'round once a year and stay maybe 30 days, makin' shoes for everybody on +de place; den in about 6 months he would come back and half-sole and make +other repairs to de shoes. We made all our clothes on de place. We wove +light wool cloth for summer and heavy for winter.</p> + +<p>"I could take raw cotton and card and spin it on a spinnin' wheel into +thread, fine enough to be sewed with a needle. We woun' de thread on a broche, +make like and 'bout de size of a ice pick. De thread was den woun' on a reel +'bout de size of a forewheel of a wagon, and de reel would turn 48 times and +den 'cluck'. Dat was for dem to be able to tell we was workin'.</p> + +<p>"Dere was plenty wild game, possums, rabbits, turkey and so on. Dere +was fish, too, in de creek. I was de leader of de bunch. We would ketch little +fish in de creek. We'd cook a lot of fish and den we'd put a rag rug in de +yard under a big mulberry tree and pour de fish out on dat and den eat 'em.</p> + +<p>"Old marster never beat his slaves and he didn' sell 'em. But some of +de owners did. If a owner had a big woman slave and she had a little man for +her husban' and de owner had a big man slave, dey would make de little husban' +leave, and make de woman let de big man be her husban', so's dere be big chillen, +which dey could sell well. If de man and woman refused, dey'd get whipped.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Course whippin' made a slave hard to sell, maybe couldn' be sold, +'cause when a man went to buy a slave he would make him strip naked and look +him over for whip marks and other blemish, jus' like dey would a horse. But +even if it done damage to de sale to whip him, dey done it, 'cause dey figgered, +kill a nigger, breed another—kill a mule, buy another.</p> + +<p>"I'll never forget de rice patch. It shore got me some whippin's, 'cause +my daddy tell me to watch de birds 'way from dat rice, and sometimes dey'd get to +it. It jus' seem like de blackbirds jus' set 'round and watched for dat rice to +grow up where dey could get it. We would cut a block off a pine tree and build +a fire on it and burn it out. Den we would cut down into it and scrape out all +de char, and den put de rice in dere and beat and poun' it with a pestle till +we had all de grain beat out de heads. Den we'd pour de rice out on a cloth +and de chaff and trash would blow away.</p> + +<p>"Our marster he drilled men for de army. De drill groun' was 'bout a mile +from our place. He was a dead shot with a rifle and had a rifle with an extry +long barrel.</p> + +<p>"De Yankees told us niggers when dey freed us after de war dat dey would +give each one of us 40 acres of land and a mule. De nearest I'se ever come to +dat is de pension of 'leven dollars I gets now. But I'se jus' as thankful for +dat as I can be. In fac', I don't see how I could be any more thankful it 'twas +a hun'erd and 'leven dollars.</p> + +<p>"A man told me a nigger woman told his wife she would ruther be slave +than free. Well, I think, but I might be wrong, anybody which says that is tellin +a lie. Dere is sumpin' 'bout bein' free and dat makes up for all de hardships. +I'se been both slave and free and I knows. Course, while I was slave I didn' have +no 'sponsibility, didn' have to worry 'bout where sumpin' to eat and wear and a +place to sleep was comin' from, but dat don't make up for bein' free.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420191" id="n420191"></a>420191</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>AUNTIE THOMAS JOHNS, 508 Knopp +St., Cleburne, Texas, was born +in Burleson Co., Texas, in 1864. +She was only two when her mother +was freed, so knows nothing of +slavery except stories her mother +told her, or that she heard her +husband, Thomas Johns, tell.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was two years old when my mama was set free. Her +owner was Major Odom. He was good to his niggers, my mama +said. She tol' me 'bout slavery times. She said other white +folks roun' there called Major Odom's niggers, 'Odom's damn +free niggers,' 'cause he was so easy on 'em.</p> + +<p>"He was never married, but he had a nigger woman, Aunt +Phyllis she was called, that he had some children by. She was +half white. I remember her and him and five of their sons. +The ones I knowed was nearly all white, but Aunt Phyllis had +one boy that was nigger black. His daddy was a nigger man. +When she was drunk or mad she'd say she thought more of her +black chile than all the others. Major Odom treated their +children jus' like he treated the other niggers. He never +whipped none of his niggers. When his and Aunt Phyllis'es +sons was grown they went to live in the quarters, which was +what the place the niggers lived was called.</p> + +<p>"One of Major Odom's niggers was whipped by a man named +Steve Owens. He got to goin' to see a nigger woman Owens owned, +and one night they beat him up bad. Major Odom put on his gun +for Owens, and they carried guns for each other till they died, +but they never did have a shootin'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Colonel Sims had a farm joinin' Major Odom's farm, and his +niggers was treated mean. He had a overseer, J.B. Mullinax, I 'member +him, and he was big and tough. He whipped a nigger man to death. +He would come out of a mornin' and give a long, keen yell, and say, +'I'm J.B. Mullinax, just back from a week in Hell, where I got two +new eyes, one named Snap and Jack, and t'other Take Hold. I'm goin' +to whip two or three niggers to death today.' He lived a long time, +but long 'fore he died his eyes turned backward in his head. I seen +'em thataway. He wouldn' give his niggers much to eat and he'd make +'em work all day, and just give 'em boiled peas with just water and +no salt and cornbread. They'd eat their lunch right out in the hot sun +and then go right back to work. Mama said she could hear them niggers +bein' whipped at night and yellin', 'Pray, marster, pray,' beggin' him +not to beat 'em.</p> + +<p>"Other niggers would run away and come to Major Odom's place and +ask his niggers for sumpin' to eat. My mama would get word to bring 'em +food and she'd start out to where they was hidin' and she'd hear the +hounds, and the runaway niggers would have to go on without gettin' +nothin' to eat.</p> + +<p>"My husban's tol' me about slavery times in Alabama. He said they +would make the niggers work hard all day pickin' cotton and then take it +to the gin and gin away into the night, maybe all night. They'd give a +nigger on Sunday a peck of meal and three pounds of meat and no salt nor +nothin' else, and if you et that up 'fore the week was out, you jus' done +without anything to eat till the end of the week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My husban' said a family named Gullendin was mighty hard +on their niggers. He said ole Missus Gullendin, she'd take a needle and +stick it through one of the nigger women's lower lips and pin it to the +bosom of her dress, and the woman would go 'round all day with her head +drew down thataway and slobberin'. There was knots on the nigger's lip +where the needle had been stuck in it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420911" id="n420911"></a>420911</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 207px;"><a href="images/162208v.png"> +<img src="images/162208r.png" width="207" height="300" alt="Gus Johnson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Gus Johnson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>GUS JOHNSON, 90 years or more, +was born a slave of Mrs. Betty +Glover, in Marengo Co., Alabama. +Most of his memories are of his +later boyhood in Sunnyside, Texas. +He lives in an unkempt, little +lean-to house, in the north end of +Beaumont, Texas. There is no furniture +but a broken-down bed and an +equally dilapidated trunk and stove. +Gus spends most of his time in the +yard, working in his vegetable garden.</p></div> + + +<p>"Dey brung thirty-six of us here in a box car from Alabama. +Yes, suh, dat's where I come from—Marengo County, not so far from +'Mopolis. Us belong to old missy Betty Glover and my daddy name August +Glover and my mammy Lucinda. Old missy, she sho' treat us good and I +never git whip for anything 'cept lyin'. Old missy, she do de whippin'.</p> + +<p>"Old missy she sho' a good woman and all her white folks, dey +used to go to church at White Chapel at 'leven in de mornin'. Us cullud +folks goes in de evenin'. Us never do no work on Sunday, and on Saturday +after twelve o'clock us can go fishin' or huntin'.</p> + +<p>"Dey give de rations on Saturday and dat's 'bout five pound salt +bacon and a peck of meal and some sorghum syrup. Dey make dat syrup on +de plantation. Dey's ten or twelve big clay kettles in a row, sot in de +furnace.</p> + +<p>"We have lots to eat, and if de rations run short we goes huntin' +or fishin'. Some de old men kills rattlesnake and cook 'em like fish and +say dey fish. I eat dat many a time and never knowed it. 'Twas good, too.</p> + +<p>"Dey used to have a big house where dey kep' de chillen, 'cause +de wolves and panthers was bad. Some de mammies what suckle de chillen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +takes care of all de chillen durin' de daytime and at night dey own mammies +come in from de field and take dem. Sometime old missy she help nuss and +all de li'l niggers well care for. When dey gits sick dey makes de med'cine +of herbs and well 'em dat way.</p> + +<p>"When us left Alabama us come through Meridian to Houston and den +to Hockley and den to Sunnyside, 'bout 18 mile west of Houston. Dat a +country with lots of woods and us sot in to clean up de ground and clean +up 150 acres to farm on. Dere 'bout forty-seven hands and more 'cumulates. +Dey go back to Meridian for more and brung 'em in a ox cart.</p> + +<p>"My brother, Bonzane Johnson, was one dey brung on dat trip. +I had 'nother brother, Keen, what die when he 102 year old. Us was all +long-life people, 'cause I have a gran' uncle what die when he 136 year old. +He and my grandma and grandpa come from South Carolina and dey was all +Africa people. I heered dem tell how dey brung from Africa in de ship. +My daddy he die at 99 and 'nother brother at 104.</p> + +<p>"Us see lots of sojers when us come through from Meridian and +dey de cavalry. Dey come ridin' up with high hats like beavers on dey head +and us 'fraid of 'em, 'cause dey told us dey gwine take us to Cuba and sell +us dere.</p> + +<p>"When us first git to Texas it was cold—not sort a cold, but +I mean cold. I shovel de snow many a day. Dey have de big, common house +and de white folks live upstairs and de niggers sleep on de first floor. +Dat to 'tect de white folks at night, but us have our own houses for to +live in in de daytime, builded out of logs and daubed with mud and nail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +rive out boards over dat mud. Dey make de chimney out of sticks and mud, +too but us have no windows, and in summer us kind of live out in de bresh +arbor, what was cool.</p> + +<p>"Us have all kind of crops and more'n 100 acres in fruit, 'cause +dey brung all kind trees and seeds from Alabama. Dey was undergroun' +springs and de water was sho' good to drink, 'cause in Mobile de water +wasn't fitten to drink. It taste like it have de lump of salt melted in +it. Us keep de butter and milk in de spring house in dem days, 'cause +us ain't have no ice in dem time.</p> + +<p>"Old massa, he name Adam and he brother name John, and dey +was way up yonder tall people. Old massa die soon and us have missy +to say what we do. All her overseers have to be good. She punish de +slaves iffen day bad, but not whip 'em. She have de jail builded undergroun' +like de stormcave and it have a drop door with de weight on it, so +dey couldn't git up from de bottom. It sho' was dark in dat place.</p> + +<p>"In slavery time us better be in by eight o'clock, better be +in dat house, better stick to dat rule. I 'member after freedom, missy +have de big celebration on Juneteenth every year. <i>[Handwritten Note: '?']</i></p> + +<p>"When war come to Texas every plantation was conscrip' for +de war and my daddy was 'pinted to selec' de able body men offen us +place for to be sojers. My brother Keen was one of dem. He come back +all right, though.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come missy give all de men niggers $500 each, +but dat 'federate money and have pictures of hosses on it. Dat de onlies'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +money missy have den. Old missy Betty, she die in Sunnyside, Texas, +when she 115 year old.</p> + +<p>"When I's 18 year old I marry a gal by name Lucy Johnson. She +dead now long ago. I got five livin' chillen somewhere, but I done lost +track of 'em. One of dem boys serve in de last war.</p> + +<p>"I used to hear somethin' 'bout rabbit foot. De old folks used to +say dat iffen de rabbit have time to stop and lick he foot de dog can't +track him no more and I allus wears de rabbit foot for good luck. I don't +know if it brung me dat luck, though.</p> + +<p>"I been here 36 year and I work mos' de time as house mover, what +I work at 26 year. I'll be honnes' with you, I don't know how old I is, +but it mus' be plenty, 'cause I 'members lots 'bout de war. I didn't see +no fightin' but I knowed what was goin' on den.</p> + +<p>"I belong to de U. B. F. Lodge, what I pays into in case I gits +sick. But I never can git sick and I ain't have no ailment 'cept my feets +jus' swoll up, and I can't git nothin' for that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420139" id="n420139"></a>420139</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>HARRY JOHNSON, 86, whose real +name was Jim, was born in Missouri, +where he was stolen by +Harry Fugot, when about twelve +years old, and taken to Arkansas. +He was given the name of Harry +and remained with Fugot until +near the close of the Civil War. +Fugot then sold him to Graham +for 1,200 acres and he was +brought to Coryell Co., Texas, +and later to Caldwell Co. He +worked in Texas two years before +finding out the slaves were +free. He later went to McMullen +Co. to work cattle, but eventually +spent most of his time rearing ten +white children. He now lives in +Pearsall, where he married at the +age of 59.</p></div> + + +<p>"I come from Missouri to Arkansas and then to Texas, and I was +owned by Massa Louis Barker and my name was Jim Johnson. But a white +man name Harry Fugot stoled me and run me out to Arkansas and changed +my name to Harry. He stoled me from Mississippi County in de southern +part of Missouri, down close to de Arkansas line, and I was 'bout 12 year +old then.</p> + +<p>"My mama's name was Judie and her husban' name Miller. When I +wasn't big 'nough to pack a chip, old Massa Louis Barker wouldn't take +$400 for me, 'cause he say he wants to make a overseer out of me. +My daddy went off durin' de war. He carried off by sojers and he never +did come back.</p> + +<p>"Dey 'bout 30, 40 acres in Massa Barker's plantation in Missouri. +He used to hire me out from place to place and de men what hires me puts +me to doin' what he wanted. I was stole from my mammy when I's 'bout 10 +or 12 and she never did know what become of me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O, my stars! I seed hun'erds and hun'erds of sojers 'fore I stole +from Missouri. Dey what us call Yankees. I seed 'em strung out a half-mile +long, goin' battle two and three deep. Dey never did destroy any +homes. Dey took up a little stuff. I had five sacks of meal one day and +was goin' to de mill and de sojers come along and taken me, meal and all. +De maddes' woman I ever saw was dat day. De sojers come and druv off her +cows. She told 'em not to, dat her husban' fightin' and she have to make +de livin' off dem cows, but dey druv de cows to camp and kilt 'bout three +of 'em. Dey done dat, I knows, 'cause I's with 'em.</p> + +<p>"But down in Arkansas I seed de southern sojers and I's plowin' +for a old lady call Williams, and some sojers come and goes in de house. +I heered say dey was Green's men, and dey taken everything dat old woman +have what dey wants, and dey robs lots of houses.</p> + +<p>"It don't look reas'able to say it, but it's a fac'—durin' slavery +iffen you lived one place and your mammy lived 'cross de street you couldn't +go to see her without a pass. De paddlerollers would whip you if you did. +Dere was one woman owns some slaves and one of 'em asks her for a pass and +she give him de piece of paper sposed to be de pass, but she writes on it:</p> + +<p> +"'His shirt am rough and his back am tough,<br /> +Do, pray, Mr. Paddleroller, give 'im 'nough.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"De paddlerollers beat him nearly to death, 'cause that's what's +wrote on de paper he give 'em.</p> + +<p>"I 'member a whippin' one slave got. It were 100 lashes. Dey's a +big overseer right here on de San Marcos river, Clem Polk, him and he massa +kilt 16 niggers in one day. Dat massa couldn't keep a overseer, 'cause de +niggers wouldn't let 'em whip 'em, and dis Clem, he say, 'I'll stay dere,'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +and he finds he couldn't whip dem niggers either, so he jus' kilt 'em. +One nigger nearly got him and would have kilt him. Dat nigger raise de +ax to come down on Polk's head and de massa stopped him jus' in time, and +den Polk shoots dat nigger in de breast with a shotgun.</p> + +<p>"Dey had court days and when court met, dey passed a bill what +say, 'Keep de niggers at home.' Some of 'em could go to church and some +of 'em couldn't. Dey'd let de cullud people be baptized, but dey didn't +many want it, dey didn't understan' it 'nough.</p> + +<p>"After de war ends, Massa Fugot sells me to Massa Graham for +1,200 acres of land, and I lives in Caldwell County. He was purty good +to he slaves and we live in a li'l old frame house, facin' west. I sleeps +in de same house as massa and missus, to guard 'em. One night some men +came and wake me up and tells me to put my clothes on. Missus was in de +bed and she 'gin cryin' and tell 'em not to take me, but dey taken me anyway. +We called 'em Guerrillas and dey thieves. Dey white men and one +of 'em I had knowed a long time. I's with dem thives and hears 'em talk +'bout killin' Yankees. Dey kep' me in de south part of Missouri a long +time. I didn't do anything but sit 'round de house with dem.</p> + +<p>"When I's sold to Massa Graham I didn't have to come to Texas, +'cause I's free, but I didn't know dat, and I's out here two years 'fore +I knowed I's free. Down in Caldwell County is where de bondage was lifted +offen me and I found out I's free. I jus' stays on and works and my massa +give me he promise I's git a hoss and saddle and $100 in money when I's +21 year old, but he didn't do it. He give me a li'l pony and a saddle what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +I sold for $3.00 and 'bout eight or nine dollars in money. He had me +blindfolded and I thought I gwine git a good hoss and saddle and more +money.</p> + +<p>"I looks back sometimes and thinks times was better for eatin' +in slavery dan what dey is now. My mammy was a reg'lar cook and she +made me peach cobblers and apple dumplin's. In dem days, we'd take +cornmeal and mix it with water and call 'em corn dodgers and dey awful +nice with plenty butter. We had lots of hawg meat and when dey kilt +a beef a man told all de neighbors to come git some of de meat.</p> + +<p>"Right after de war, times is pretty hard and I's taken beans +and parched 'em and got 'em right brown, and meal bran to make coffee +out of. Times was purty hard, but I allus could find somethin' to work +at in dem days.</p> + +<p>"I lived all my life 'mong white folks and jus' worked in +first one place and then 'nother. I raised ten white chillen, nine of +de Lowe chillen, and dey'd mind me quicker dan dey own pappy and mammy. +Dat in McMullin County.</p> + +<p>"De day I's married I's 59 year old and my wife is 'bout +60 year old now. De last 20 years I's jus' piddled 'round and done +no reg'lar work. I married right here in de church house. I nussed +my wife when she a baby and used to court her mammy when she's a girl. +We's been real happy together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420928" id="n420928"></a>420928</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 191px;"><a href="images/162216v.png"> +<img src="images/162216r.png" width="191" height="300" alt="James D. Johnson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">James D. Johnson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>JAMES D. JOHNSON, born Oct. +1st, 1860, at Lexington, +Mississippi, was a slave of +Judge Drennon. He now lives +with his daughter at 4527 +Baltimore St., Dallas, Texas. +His memory is poor and his +conversation is vague and +wandering. His daughter says, +"He ain't at himself these days." +James attended Tuckaloo University, +near Jackson, Mississippi, +and uses very little dialect.</p></div> + + +<p>"My first clear recollection is about a day when I was five years +old. I was playing in the sand by the side of the house in Lexington with +some other children and some Yankee soldiers came by. They came on horseback +and they drew rein by the side of the house and I ran under the house +and hid. My mother called to me to come out and told me they were Federal +soldiers and I could tell it by their blue uniforms. One of the soldiers +reached into his haversack and pulled out a uniform and gave it to me. +'Have your mammy make a suit out of it,' he said. Another soldier gave me +a uniform and my mother was a seamstress in the home of the Drennons and she +made me two suits out of those uniforms.</p> + +<p>"Judge Drennon had married the daughter of Colonel Terry and he +had given my parents to his daughter when she married the judge. My father +and mother both came from Virginia. Colonel Terry had bought them at separate +times from a slave trader who brought them from Virginia to Mississippi. +They had a likeness for each other when they learned both came from Virginia. +Both of them had white fathers, were light complected and had been brought up +in the big house.</p> + +<p>"When they told the Colonel they wished to marry he only said, +'Julia, do you take William,' and 'William, do you take Julia?' Then they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +were man and wife. He gave them the name of Johnson, which was the family name +of my father's mother and the name of his father.</p> + +<p>"When my parents lived with Judge Drennon they had a house in the +yard quarters. The Drennon home was the most beautiful house I ever have seen. +It was a big, brick mansion with tall, white pillars reaching up to the second +story. The yards and grounds were so beautiful the white folks used to come +from long ways off to see them.</p> + +<p>"After the surrendering we lived with the Drennons four or five years. +They paid my parents for their work and I had an easy time of it. I was youngest +of eight children and there was ten years or more between me and the next older +child. My mother wanted to make something special out of me.</p> + +<p>"I went to three different schools down in the woods before I was nine. +White people would come and put up schools for the colored children but the white +people in Mississippi said they were not good people and would criticize them. +Sometimes the schools would get busted up. We studied out of the Blue Back speller +and an arithmetic and a dictionary. I could spell and give the meaning of +most nigh every word in that dictionary.</p> + +<p>"When I was thirteen they held an examination at Lexington for colored +children to see who'd get a scholarship at Tuckaloo University, eight miles from +Jackson. I was greatly surprised when I won from my county and I went but didn't +finish there. Then I went a little while to a small university near Lexington, +called Allcorn University. I loved to go to school and was considered bookish. +But my people died and I had to earn a living for myself and I couldn't find any +way to use so much what I learned out of books, as far as making money was concerned. +So I came to Texas, doing any kind of labor work I could find. Finally +I married and went to farming 35 or 40 years and raised five children.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm the only one left now of my brothers and sisters and it +won't be long until I'm gone, too, but I don't mind that. We lived a long +time. Some of it was hard and some of it was good. I tried all the time +to live according to my lights and that is as far as I know how to do. +I don't feel resentful of anything, anymore.</p> + +<p>"When there is sun, I just sit in the sun."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420132" id="n420132"></a>420132</div> + + + + +<div class="intro"><p>MARY JOHNSON does not know +her age but is evidently +very old. Paralytic strokes +have affected mind and body. +Her speech, though impaired, +is a swift flow of words, often +profane. A bitter attitude +toward everything is apparent. +Mary is homeless and owes the +necessities of life to the kindness +of a middle aged Negress +who takes care of several old +women in her home in Pear Orchard, +in Beaumont, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"Now, wait, white folks, I got to scratch my head so's I kin +'member. I's been paralyze so I can't git my tongue to speak good. +It git all twist up.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how old I is. My daddy he have my age in the +big Bible but he done move 'round so much it git lost long ago. He used +to 'long to them Guinea men. Them was real small men and they sho' walk +fast. He wasn't so tall as my mommer and he name John Allen and he a +pore man, all bone. He sold out from the old country, that Mississippi. +My mama name Sarah and she come from Choctaw country, 'round in Georgia. +I have grandma Rebecca, a reg'lar old Indian woman and she have two long +black braid longer'n her waist and she allus wore a big bonnet with splits +in it. You know de Indian people totes they chillens on they back and my +mommer have me wrop up in a blanket and strop on her back.</p> + +<p>"I's the firstborn chile and my mommer have two gal chillen, +me and Hannah, and she have seven boy. Where I's born was old wild country +and old Virginny run down thataway. Everything was plenty good to eat +and I seed strawberries what would push you to git 'em in your mouth.</p> + +<p>"Clost to where I's born they's a place where they brung the Africy +people to tame 'em and they have big pens where they puts 'em after they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +takes 'em outta they gun ships. They sho' was wild and they have hair all +over jus' like a dog and big hammer rings in they noses. They didn't wore +no clothes and sometime they git 'way and run to them swamps in Floridy and +git all wild and hairy 'gain. They brung preachers to help tame 'em, but +didn't 'low no preacher in them pens by hisself, 'cause they say them preacher +won't come back, 'cause some them wild Africy people done kill 'em and eat +'em. They done worship them snake bit as a rake handle, 'cause they ain't +knowed no better. When they gits 'em all tame they sells 'em for field hands, +but they allus wild and iffen anybody come they duck and hide down.</p> + +<p>"My old missy she name Florence Walker and she reg'lar tough. I +helps nuss her chile, Mary, and Mary make her mommer be good to me. Us +wore li'l brass toe shoes and I call mine gold toe shoes. Them shoes hard +'nough to knock a mule out. After young missy and me git growed us run +off to dances and old missy beat us behind good. She say us jes' chillen +yet and keep us in short, short dress and we pull out the stitchin' in them +hems so us dresses drags and she sho' wore us out for that.</p> + +<p>"Did us love to dance? Jesus help me! Them country niggers +swing me so hard us land in the corner with a wham.</p> + +<p>"My brudder Robert he a pow'ful big boy and he wasn't 'lowed to +have no pants till he 21 year old, but that didn't 'scourage him from courtin' +the gals. I try tease him 'bout go see the gals with dat split shirt. That +not all, that boy nuss he mommer breast till he 21 year old. He have to have +that nussin' real reg'lar. But one time he pesterin' mommer and she tryin' +milk the cow and the cow git nervous and kick over the bucket and mommer +fall off the stool and she so mad she wean him right there and then.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Old massa he never clean hisself up or dress up. He look like +a vagrant thing and <a name='TC_33'></a><ins title="be">he</ins> and missy mean, too. My pore daddy he back allus +done cut up from the whip and bit by the dogs. Sometime when a woman big +they make a hollow out place for her stomach and make her lay down 'cross +that hole and whip her behind. They sho' tear that thing up.</p> + +<p>"Us chillen git to play and us sing</p> + +<p> +"'Old possum in the holler log<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing high de loo,</span><br /> +Fatter than a old green frog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing high de loo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whar possum?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"That church they have a 'markable thing. They a deep tranch what +cut all 'round the bottom and clay steps what lead all the way to the top the +mountain and when the niggers git to shoutin' that church jes' a-rollin' and +rockin'. One the songs I 'member was</p> + +<p> +"'Shoo the devil out the corner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shoo, members, shoo,</span><br /> +Shoo the devil out the corner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shoo, members, shoo.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Us li'l gals allus wore cottanade dresses ev'ry day. Them what us +call nine-stitch dresses. Mammy make fasten-back dresses and fasten-back +drawers and knit sweaters and socks for the mens. She git sheep wool what +near ruint by cockle burrs and make us chillen set by the hour and pick out +them burrs.</p> + +<p>"Us houses like chicken coops but us sho' happy in that li'l cabin +house. Nothin' to worry 'bout. Mammy cook them grits, that yaller hominy. +She make 'ash cat', cornbread wrop in cabbage leaf and put ashes 'round it.</p> + +<p>"The old plantation 'bout on the line 'tween Virginny and Mis'sippi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +and us live near the Madstone. That a big stone, all smooth and when a dog +bite you you go run 'round the Madstone and wash yourself in the hot springs +and the bites don't hurt you.</p> + +<p>"I seed lots of sojers and my daddy fit with the Yankees and they have +a big fight close there and have a while lots of dead bodies layin' 'round like +so many logs and they jus' stack 'em up and sot fire to 'em. You seed 'em +burnin' night and day. They lay down and shoot and then jump up and stick 'em +and sometimes they drunk the blood outten where they stick 'em, 'cause they +can't git no water.</p> + +<p>"After freedom us go in ox team to New Orleans and daddy he raise +cotton and sell it and mommer sell eggs. My daddy a workin' man and he help +build the big custom house in New Orleans and help pull the rope to pull the +boats up the canal from the river. That Canal Street now. He put he name +on top that custom house and it there to this day. You can go there and see +it. He help build the hosp'tal, too.</p> + +<p>"One time us live close to the bay and that gran' and us take a stove +and cotch catfish and perch and cook 'em on the bank and us go meet oyster +boats and daddy git 'em by the tub.</p> + +<p>"I git marry in Baton Rouge when I sixteen and my husban' he name +Arras Shaw and he lots older'n me and I couldn't keep him. He in Port Arthur +now. My husban' and I sawmill 20 year in Grayburg, here in Texas, and then +us sep'rate. I been in Beaumont 16 year and I's rice farm cook in the camp +on the Fannett Road. They tells me I got uncles in Africy. I goes to Sanctified +church and that all I can do now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420050" id="n420050"></a>420050</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 177px;"><a href="images/162223v.png"> +<img src="images/162223r.png" width="177" height="300" alt="Mary Ellen Johnson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Mary Ellen Johnson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MARY ELLEN JOHNSON, owner of a +little restaurant at 1301 Marilla +St., Dallas, Texas, is 77 +years old. She was born in slavery +to the Murth family, about +ten miles from San Marcos, Texas. +She neither reads nor writes but +talks with little dialect.</p></div> + + +<p>"I don't know so fur back as befo' I was born, 'cept what my +mammy told me, and she allus said little black chillen wasn't sposed +to ask so many questions. Her name was Missouri Ellison, 'cause she +belonged to Miss Micelder Ellison and then when she married with Mr. +Murth, her daddy said my mammy was her 'heritance.</p> + +<p>"My first mem'ries are us playin' in the backyard with Miss +Fannie and Miss Martha and Mr. Sammie. They was the little Murth chillen. +We used to make playhouses out there and sweep the ground clean down to +the level with brush brooms and dec'rate it all up with little broken +glasses and crockery.</p> + +<p>"In them days we lived in a little, old log cabin in the backyard +and there was just one room, but it was snug and we had a plenty of +livin'. My mammy had a nice cotton bed and she weren't no field nigger, +but my pappy were.</p> + +<p>"Miss Micelder had a fine farm and raised most everything we ate +and the food nowadays ain't like what it was then. Miss Micelder had a +wood frame house with a big kitchen and they were cookin' goin' on all +the time. They cooked on a wood stove with iron pots and skillets, and +the roastin' ears and chicken fried right out of your own yard is tastier +than what you git now. Grated 'tater puddin' was my dish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When I am seven years old I hear talk 'bout a war and the separation +but I don't pay much 'tention. It seem far away and I don't bother +my kinky head 'bout it. But then they tells eme [typo: me] the war is over and I'm +goin' to be raised free and that I don't 'long to anybody but Gawd and my +pappy and mammy, but it don't make me feel nothin', 'cause I ain't never +know I ain't free.</p> + +<p>"After the war we removed to a house on a hill where they is +five houses, little log houses all in a row. We had good times, but we had +to work in the cotton and corn and wheat in the daylight time, but when the +dusk come we used to sing and dance and play into the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"But one man called Milton, he's past his yearling boy days and he +didn't like to see us spend our time in sin, so he'd preach to us from the +Gospel, but I had the hardest time to get 'ligion of anybody I knowed. Fin'ly +I got sick when I were fifteen and was in my bed and somethin' happened. Lawd, +it was the most 'lievable thing ever happened to me. I was layin' there when +sin formed a heavy, white veil just like a blanket over my bed and it just eased +down over me till it was mashing the breath out of me. I crys out to the Lawd +to save me and, sho' 'nough, He hear the cry of a pore mis'able sinner. I ran +to my mammy and pappy a-shoutin'.</p> + +<p>"The next year I marries and went on 'nother farm right near by and +starts havin' chillen. I has ten and think I done rightly my part, 'cause I +lived right by the word and taught my chillen the same. I'm lookin' to the +promise to live in Glory after my days here is done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420115" id="n420115"></a>420115</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 204px;"><a href="images/162225v.png"> +<img src="images/162225r.png" width="204" height="300" alt="Pauline Johnson and Felice Boudreaux" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Pauline Johnson and Felice Boudreaux</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>PAULINE JOHNSON and FELICE +BOUDREAUX, sisters, were once +slaves on the plantation of +Dermat Martine, near Opelousas, +Louisiana. As their owners +were French, they are more inclined +to use a Creole patois +than English.</p></div> + + +<p>"Us was both slaves on de old plantation close to Opelousas," +Pauline began. As the elder of the two sisters she carried most of the +conversation, although often referring to Felice before making positive +statements.</p> + +<p>"I was 12 year old when freedom come and Felice was 'bout six. +Us belonged to Massa Dermat Martine and the missy's name Mimi. They raise +us both in the house and they love us so they spoil us. I never will forget +that. The little white chillen was younger than me, 'bout Felice's +age. They sho' had pretty li'l curly black hair.</p> + +<p>"Us didn't have hard time. Never even knowed hard time. That old +massa, he what you call a good man.</p> + +<p>"Us daddy was Renee and he work in the field. The old massa give +him a mud and log house and a plot of ground for he own. The rain sho' +never get in that log house, it so tight. The furniture was homemake, +but my daddy make it good and stout.</p> + +<p>"Us daddy he work de ground he own on Sunday and sold the things +to buy us shoes to put on us feet and clothes. The white folks didn't +give us clothes but they let him have all the money he made in his own +plot to get them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us mama name Marguerite and she a field hand, too, so us chillen +growed up in the white folks house mostly. 'Fore Felice get big enough to +leave I stay in the big house and take care of her.</p> + +<p>"One day us papa fall sick in the bed, just 'fore freedom, and he +kep' callin' for the priest. Old massa call the priest and just 'fore us +papa die the priest marry him and my mama. 'fore dat they just married by +the massa's word.</p> + +<p>"Felice and me, us have two brothers what was born and die in slavery, +and one sister still livin' in Bolivar now. Us three uncles, Bruno +and Pophrey and Zaphrey, they goes to the war. Them three dies too young. +The Yankees stole them and make them boys fight for them.</p> + +<p>"I never done much work but wash the dishes. They wasn't poor +people and they uses good dishes. The missy real particular 'bout us +shinin' them dishes nice, and the silver spoons and knives, too.</p> + +<p>"Them white people was good Christian people and they christen +us both in the old brick Catholic church in Opelousas. They done torn it +down now. Missy give me pretty dress to get christen in. My godmother, +she Mileen Nesaseau, but I call her 'Miran'. My godfather called 'Paran.'</p> + +<p>"On Sunday mornin' us fix our dress and hair and go up to the +missy's looking-glass to see if us pretty enough go to church. Us goes +to Mass every Sunday mornin' and church holiday, and when the cullud +folks sick massa send for the priest same's for the white folks.</p> + +<p>"We wears them things on the strings round the neck for the good +of the heart. They's nutmeg.</p> + +<p>"The plantation was a big, grand place and they have lots of orange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +trees. The slaves pick them oranges and pack then down on the barrel +with la mosse (Spanish moss) to keep them. They was plenty pecans and +figs, too.</p> + +<p>"In slavery time most everybody round Opelousas talk Creole. +That make the words hard to come sometime. Us both talk that better +way than English.</p> + +<p>"Durin' the war, it were a sight. Every mornin' Capt. Jenerette +Bank and he men go a hoss-back drillin' in the pasture and then +have drill on foot. A white lady take all us chillen to the drill ground +every mornin'. Us take the lunch food in the basket and stay till they +done drill out.</p> + +<p>"I can sing for you the song they used to sing:</p> + +<p> +"O, de Yankee come to put de nigger free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says I, says I, pas bonne;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In eighteen-sixty-three,</span><br /> +De Yankee get out they gun and say,<br /> +Hurrah! Let's put on the ball.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"When war over none the slaves wants leave the plantation. +My mama and us chillen stays on till old massa and missy dies, and then +goes live on the old Repridim place for a time.</p> + +<p>"Both us get marry in that Catholic church in Opelousas. As +for me, it most too long ago to talk about. His name Alfred Johnson and +he dead 12 years. Our youngest boy, John, go to the World War. Two my +nephews die in that war and one nephew can't walk now from that war.</p> + +<p>"Felice marry Joseph Boudreaux and when he die she come here to +stay with me. There's more hard time now than in the old day for us, but +I hope things get better.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420103" id="n420103"></a>420103</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 214px;"><a href="images/162228v.png"> +<img src="images/162228r.png" width="214" height="300" alt="Spence Johnson" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Spence Johnson</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>SPENCE JOHNSON was born free, +a member of the Choctaw Nation, +in the Indian Territory, in the +1850's. He does not know his +exact age. He and his mother +were stolen and sold at auction +in Shreveport to Riley Surratt, +who lived near Shreveport, on +the Texas-Louisiana line. He +has lived in Waco since 1874.</p></div> + + +<p>"De nigger stealers done stole me and my mammy out'n de +Choctaw Nation, up in de Indian Territory, when I was 'bout three +years old. Brudder Knox, Sis Hannah, and my mammy and her two +step-chillun was down on de river washin'. De nigger stealers driv +up in a big carriage and mammy jus' thought nothin', 'cause the +road was near dere and people goin' on de road stopped to water de +horses and res' awhile in de shade. By'n by, a man coaxes de two +bigges' chillun to de carriage and give dem some kind-a candy. Other +chillun sees dis and goes, too. Two other men was walkin' 'round +smokin' and gettin' closer to mammy all de time. When he kin, de +man in de carriage got de two big step-chillun in with him and me +and sis' clumb in too, to see how come. Den de man holler, 'Git de +ole one and let's git from here.' With dat de two big men grab mammy +and she fought and screeched and bit and cry, but dey hit her on de +head with something and drug her in, and throwed her on de floor. De +big chilluns begin to fight for mammy, but one of de men hit 'em hard +and off dey driv, with de horses under whip.</p> + +<p>"Dis was near a place called Boggy Depot. Dey went down de +Red Ribber, 'cross de ribber and on down in Louisian to Shreveport.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +Down in Louisan us was put on what dey call de 'block' and sol' to de +highes' bidder. My mammy and her three chillun brung $3,000 flat. De +step chillun was sol' to somebody else, but us was bought by Marse Riley +Surratt. He was de daddy of Jedge Marshall Surratt, him who got to be +jedge here in Waco.</p> + +<p>"Marse Riley Surratt had a big plantation; don't know how many +acres, but dere was a factory and gins and big houses and lots of nigger +quarters. De house was right on de Tex-Louisan line. Mammy cooked for +'em. When Marse Riley bought her, she couldn' speak nothin' but de +Choctaw words. I was a baby when us lef' de Choctaw country. My sister +looked like a full blood Choctaw Indian and she could pass for a real +full blood Indian. Mammy's folks was all Choctaw Indians. Her sisters +was Polly Hogan, and Sookey Hogan and she had a brudder, Nolan Tubby. Dey +was all known in de Territory in de ole days.</p> + +<p>"Near as Marse Riley's books can come to it, I mus' of been bo'n +'round 1859, up in de Territory.</p> + +<p>"Us run de hay press to bale cotton on de plantation and took +cotton by ox wagons to Shreveport. Seven or eight wagons in a train, with +three or four yoke of steers to each wagon. Us made 'lasses and cloth +and shoes and lots of things. Old Marse Riley had a nigger who could make +shoes and if he had to go to court in Carthage, he'd leave nigger make +shoes for him.</p> + +<p>"De quarters was a quarter mile long, all strung out on de creek +bank. Our cabin was nex' de big house. De white folks give big balls and +had supper goin' all night. Us had lots to eat and dey let us have dances +and suppers, too. We never go anywhere. Mammy always cry and 'fraid of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +bein' stole again.</p> + +<p>"Dere was a white man live close to us, but over in Louisan. +He had raised him a great big black man what brung fancy price on de +block. De black man sho' love dat white man. Dis white man would sell +ole John—dat's de black man's name—on de block to some man from +Georgia or other place fur off. Den, after 'while de white man would +steal ole John back and bring him home and feed him good, den sell him +again. After he had sol' ole John some lot of times, he coaxed ole John +off in de swamp one day and ole John foun' dead sev'ral days later. +De white folks said dat de owner kilt him, 'cause 'a dead nigger won't +tell no tales.'</p> + +<p>"Durin' de Freedom War, I seed soldiers all over de road. Dey +was breakin' hosses what dey stole. Us skeered and didn' let soldiers +see us if we could he'p it. Mammy and I stayed on with Marse Riley +after Freedom and till I was 'bout sixteen. Den Marse Riley died and +I come to Waco in a wagon with Jedge Surratt's brother, Marse Taylor +Surratt. I come to Waco de same year dat Dr. Lovelace did, and he says +that was 1874. I married and us had six chillun.</p> + +<p>"I can't read or write, 'cause I only went to school one day. +De white folks tried to larn me, but I's too thickheaded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420244" id="n420244"></a>420244</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 220px;"><a href="images/162231av.png"> +<img src="images/162231ar.png" width="220" height="300" alt="Harriet Jones" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Harriet Jones</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 423px;"><a href="images/162231bv.png"> +<img src="images/162231br.png" width="423" height="300" alt="Harriet Jones with Daughter and Granddaughter" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Harriet Jones with Daughter and Granddaughter</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>HARRIET JONES, 93, was born a +slave of Martin Fullbright, who +owned a large plantation in +North Carolina. When he died +his daughter, Ellen, became +Harriet's owner, and was so +kind to Harriet that she looks +back on slave years as the happiest +time in her life.</p></div> + + +<p>"My daddy and mammy was Henry and Zilphy Guest and Marse Martin +Fullbright brung dem from North Carolina to Red River County, in Texas, +long 'fore freedom, and settled near Clarksville. I was one of dere +eight chillen and borned in 1844 and am 93 years old. My folks stayed +with Marse Martin and he daughter, Miss Ellen, till dey went to de reward +where dey dies no more.</p> + +<p>"De plantation raise corn and oats and wheat and cotton and hawgs +and cattle and hosses, and de neares' place to ship to market am at Jefferson, +Texas, ninety miles from Clarksville, den up river to Shreveport +and den to Memphis or New Orleans. Dey send cotton by wagon train to +Jefferson but mostly by boat up de bayou.</p> + +<p>"When Marse Martin die he 'vide us slaves to he folks and I falls +to he daughter, Miss Ellen. Iffen ever dere was a angel on dis earth +she was it. I hopes wherever it is, her spirit am in glory.</p> + +<p>"When Miss Ellen marry Marse Johnnie Watson, she have me fix her up. +She have de white satin dress and pink sash and tight waist and hoop skirt, +so she have to go through de door sideways. De long curls I made hang +down her shoulders and a bunch of pink roses in de hand. She look like a +angel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All de fine folks in Clarksville at dat weddin' and dey dances in +de big room after de weddin' supper. It was de grand time but it make me cry, +'cause Miss Ellen done growed up. When she was a li'l gal she wore de sweetes' +li'l dresses and panties with de lace ruffles what hung down below her skirt, +and de jacket button in de back and shoes from soft leather de shoeman tan jus' +for her. When she li'l bigger she wear de tucked petticoats, two, three at a +time to take place of hoops, but she still wear de white panties with lace ruffles +what hang below de skirt 'bout a foot. Where dey gone now? I ain't seed any +for sich a long time!</p> + +<p>"When de white ladies go to church in dem hoop skirts, dey has to pull +dem up in da back to set down. After freedom dey wears de dresses long with de +train and has to hold up de train when dey goes in de church, lessen dey has +de li'l nigger to go 'long and hold it up for dem.</p> + +<p>"All us house women larned to knit de socks and head mufflers, and many is +de time I has went to town and traded socks for groceries. I cooked, too, and +helped 'fore old Marse died. For everyday cookin' we has corn pone and potlicker +and bacon meat and mustard and turnip greens, and good, old sorghum 'lasses. On +Sunday we has chicken or turkey or roast pig and pies and cakes and hot, salt-risin' +bread.</p> + +<p>"When folks visit dem days dey do it right and stays several days, maybe +a week or two. When de quality folks comes for dinner, Missie show me how to +wait on table. I has to come in when she ring de bell, and hold de waiter for +food jus' right. For de breakfas' we has coffee and hot waffles what my mammy +make.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dere was a old song we used to sing 'bout de hoecake, when we cookin' +dem:</p> + +<p> +"'If you wants to bake a hoecake,<br /> +To bake it good and done,<br /> +Slap it on a nigger's heel,<br /> +And hold it to de sun.<br /> +<br /> +"'My mammy baked a hoecake,<br /> +As big as Alabama,<br /> +She throwed it 'gainst a nigger's head,<br /> +It ring jus' like a hammer.<br /> +<br /> +"'De way you bake a hoecake,<br /> +De old Virginny way,<br /> +Wrap it round a nigger's stomach,<br /> +And hold it dere all day.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dat de life we lives with old and young marse and missie, for dey +de quality folks of old Texas.</p> + +<p>"'Bout time for de field hands to go to work, it gittin' mighty hot +down here, so dey go by daylight when it cooler. Old Marse have a horn and +'long 'bout four o'clock it 'gin to blow, and you turn over and try take 'nother +nap, den it goes arguin', <span class="spaced">blow</span>, how loud dat old horn do blow, but de sweet +smell de air and de early breeze blowin' through de trees, and de sun peepin' +over de meadow, make you glad to git up in de early mornin'.</p> + +<p> +"'It's a cool and frosty mornin'<br /> +And de niggers goes to work,<br /> +With hoes upon dey shoulders,<br /> +Without a bit of shirt.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"'When dey hears de horn blow for dinner it am de race, and dey sings:</p> + +<p> +"'I goes up on de meatskins,<br /> +I comes down on de pone—<br /> +I hits de corn pone fifty licks,<br /> +And makes dat butter moan.'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"De timber am near de river and de bayou and when dey not workin' de +hosses or no other work, we rides down and goes huntin' with de boys, for wild +turkeys and prairie chickens, but dey like bes' to hunt for coons and possums.</p> + +<p> +"'Possum up de gum stump,<br /> +Raccoon in de hollow—<br /> +Git him down and twist him out,<br /> +And I'll give you a dollar.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Come Christmas, Miss Ellen say, 'Harriet, have de Christmas Tree carry in +and de holly and evergreens.' Den she puts de candles on de tree and hangs de +stockin's up for de white chillen and de black chillen. Nex' mornin', everybody +up 'fore day and somethin' for us all, and for de men a keg of cider or wine +on de back porch, so dey all have a li'l Christmas spirit.</p> + +<p>"De nex' thing am de dinner, serve in de big dinin' room, and dat dinner! +De onlies' time what I ever has sich a good dinner am when I gits married and +when Miss Ellen marries Mr. Johnnie. After de white folks eats, dey watches de +servants have dey dinner.</p> + +<p>"Den dey has guitars and banjoes and fiddles and plays old Christmas +tunes, den dat night marse and missie brung de chillen to de quarters, to see +de niggers have dey dance. 'Fore de dance dey has Christmas supper, on de long +table out in de yard in front de cabins, and have wild turkey or chicken and +plenty good things to eat. When dey all through eatin', dey has a li'l fire +front de main cabins where de dancin' gwine be. Dey moves everything out de +cabin 'cept a few chairs. Next come de fiddler and banjo-er and when dey starts, +de caller call, 'Heads lead off,' and de first couple gits in middle de floor, +and all de couples follow till de cabin full. Next he calls, 'Sashay to de right,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +and do-si-do.' Round to de right dey go, den he calls, 'Swing you partners, +and dey swing dem round twice, and so it go till daylight come, den he sing dis +song:</p> + +<p> +"'Its gittin' mighty late when de Guinea hen squall,<br /> +And you better dance now if you gwine dance a-tall—<br /> +If you don't watch out, you'll sing 'nother tune,<br /> +For de sun rise and cotch you, if you don't go soon,<br /> +For de stars gittin' paler and de old gray coon<br /> +Is sittin' in de grapevine a-watchin' de moon.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Den de dance break up with de Virginny Reel, and it de end a happy +Christmas day. De old marse lets dem frolic all night and have nex' day to git +over it, 'cause its Christmas.</p> + +<p>"'Fore freedom de soldiers pass by our house and stop ask mammy to cook +dem something to eat, and when de Yankees stop us chillen hides. Once two men +stays two, three weeks lookin' round, pretends dey gwine buy land. But when de +white folks gits 'spicious, dey leaves right sudden, and it turn out dey's Yankee +spies.</p> + +<p>"I marries Bill Jones de year after freedom. It a bright, moonlight night +and all de white folks and niggers come and de preacher stand under de big elm tree, +and I come in with two li'l pickininnies for flower gals and holdin' my train. I +has on one Miss Ellen's dresses and red <a name='TC_34'></a><ins title="stockn's">stockin's</ins> and a pair brand new shoes and +a wide brim hat. De preacher say, 'Bill, does you take dis woman to be you lawful +wife?' and Bill say he will. Den he say, 'Harriet, will you take dis nigger to be +you lawful boss and do jes' what he say?' Den we signs de book and de preacher +say, 'I quotes from de scripture:</p> + +<p> +"'Dark and stormy may come de weather,<br /> +I jines dis man and woman together.<br /> +Let none but Him what make de thunder,<br /> +Put dis man and woman asunder.'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Den we goes out in de backyard, where de table sot for supper, a long +table made with two planks and de peg legs. Miss Ellen puts on de white tablecloth +and some red berries, 'cause it am November and dey is ripe. Den she +puts on some red candles, and we has barbecue pig and roast sweet 'taters and +dumplin's and pies and cake. Dey all eats dis grand supper till dey full and +mammy give me de luck charm for de bride. It am a rabbit toe, and she say:</p> + +<p> +"'Here, take dis li'l gift,<br /> +And place it near you heart;<br /> +It keep away dat li'l riff<br /> +What causes folks to part.<br /> +<br /> +"'It only jes' a rabbit toe,<br /> +But plenty luck it brings,<br /> +Its worth a million dimes or more,<br /> +More'n all de weddin' rings.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Den we goes to Marse Watson's saddleshop to dance and dances all night, +and de bride and groom, dat's us, leads de grand march.</p> + +<p>"De Yankees never burned de house or nothin', so Young Marse and Missie +jes' kep' right on livin' in de old home after freedom, like old Marse done +'fore freedom. He pay de families by de <a name='TC_35'></a><ins title="dey">day</ins> for work and let dem work land on +de halves and furnish dem teams and grub and dey does de work.</p> + +<p>"But bye'n-bye times slow commence to change, and first one and 'nother +de old folks goes on to de Great Beyon', one by one dey goes, till all I has +left am my great grandchild what I lives with now. My sister was livin' at +Greenville six years ago. She was a hundred and four years old den. I don't +know if she's livin' now or not. How does we live dat long? Way back yonder +'fore I's born was a blessin' handed down from my great, great, grandfather. +It de blessin' of long life, and come with a blessin' of good health from +livin' de clean, hones' life. When nighttime come, we goes to bed and to +sleep, and dat's our blessin'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420057" id="n420057"></a>420057</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 171px;"><a href="images/162237v.png"> +<img src="images/162237r.png" width="171" height="300" alt="Lewis Jones" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Lewis Jones</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LEWIS JONES, 86, was born a slave +to Fred Tate, who owned a large +plantation on the Colorado River +in Fayette Co., Texas. Lewis' +father was born a slave to H. +Jones and was sold to Fred Tate, +who used him as a breeder to build +up his slave stock. Lewis took +his father's name after Emancipation, +and worked for twenty-three +years in a cotton gin at La Grange. +He came to Fort Worth in 1896 and +worked for Armour & Co. until 1931. +Lewis lives at 3304 Loving Ave., +Fort Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"My birth am in de year 1851 on de plantation of Massa Fred Tate, +what am on de Colorado River. Yes, suh, dat am in de state of Texas. +My mammy am owned by Massa Tate and so am my pappy and all my brudders +and sisters. How many brudders and sisters? Lawd A-mighty! I'll tell +you 'cause you asks and dis nigger gives de facts as 'tis. Let's see, +I can't 'lect de number. My pappy have 12 chillen by my mammy and 12 +by anudder nigger name Mary. You keep de count. Den dere am Liza, him +have 10 by her, and dere am Mandy, him have 8 by her, and dere am Betty, +him have six by her. Now, let me 'lect some more. I can't bring de +names to mind, but dere am two or three other what have jus' one or two +chillen by my pappy. Dat am right. Close to 50 chillen, 'cause my +mammy done told me. It's disaway, my pappy am de breedin' nigger.</p> + +<p>"You sees, when I meets a nigger on dat plantation, I's most +sho' it am a brudder or sister, so I don't try keep track of 'em.</p> + +<p>"Massa Tate didn't give rations to each family like lots of +massas, but him have de cookhouse and de cooks, and all de rations +cooked by dem and all us niggers sat down to de long tables. Dere am +plenty, plenty. I sho' wishes I could have some good rations like dat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +now. Man, some of dat ham would go fine. Dat was 'Ham, what am.'</p> + +<p>"We'uns raise all de food right dere on de place. Hawgs? We'uns +have three, four hundred and massa raise de corn and feed dem and cure de +meat. We'uns have de cornmeal and de wheat flour and all de milk and +butter we wants, 'cause massa have 'bout 30 cows. And dere am de good +old 'lasses, too.</p> + +<p>"Massa feed powerful good and he am not onreas'ble. He don't whup +much and am sho' reas'ble 'bout de pass, and he 'low de parties and have +de church on de place. Old Tom am de preacherman and de musician and him +play de fiddle and banjo. Sometime dey have jig contest, dat when dey puts +de glass of water on de head and see who can jig de hardes' without spillin' +de water. Den dere am joyment in de singin'. Preacher Tom set all us niggers +in de circle and sing old songs. I jus' can't sing for you, 'cause I's lost +my teeth and my voice am raspin', but I'll word some, sich as</p> + +<p> +"'In de new Jerusalem,<br /> +In de year of Jubilee.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"I done forgit de words. Den did you ever hear dis one:</p> + +<p> +"'Oh, do, what Sam done, do dat again,<br /> +He went to de hambone, bit off de end.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"When Old Tom am preacherman, him talks from he heartfelt. Den sometime +a white preacherman come and he am de Baptist and baptize we'uns.</p> + +<p>"Massa have de fine coach and de seat for de driver am up high in front +and I's de coachman and he dresses me nice and de hosses am fine, white team. +Dere I's sat up high, all dress good, holdin' a tight line 'cause de team am +full of spirit and fast. We'uns goes lickity split and it am a purty sight. +Man, 'twarnt anyone bigger dan dis nigger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I has de bad luck jus' one time with dat team and it am disaway: +massa have jus' change de power for de gin from hoss to steam and dey am +ginnin' cotton and I's with dat team 'side de house and de hosses am a-prancin' +and waitin' for missy to come out. Massa am in de coach. Den, de fool +niggers blows de whistle of dat steam engine and de hosses never heered sich +befo' and dey starts to run. Dey have de bit in de teeths and I's lucky +dat road am purty straight. I thinks of massa bein' inside de coach and +wants to save him. I says to myself, 'Dem hosses skeert and I don't want +to skeer 'em no more.' I jus' hold de lines steady and keep sayin', +'Steady, boys, whoa boys.' Fin'ly dey begins to slow down and den stops +and massa gits out and de hosses am puffin' hard and all foam. He turns to +me and say, 'Boy, you's made a wonnerful drive, like a vet'ran.' Now, does +dat make me feel fine! It sho' do.</p> + +<p>"When surrender come I's been drivin' 'bout a year and it's 'bout +11 o'clock in de mornin', 'cause massa have me ring de bell and all de niggers +runs quick to de house and massa say dey am free niggers. It am time for +layin' de crops by and he say if dey do dat he pay 'em. Some stays and some +goes off, but mammy and pappy and me stays. Dey never left dat plantation, +and I stays 'bout 8 years. I guess it dat coachman job what helt me.</p> + +<p>"When I quits I goes to work for Ed Mattson in La Grange and I works +in dat cotton gin 18 years. Fin'ly I comes here to Fort Worth. Dat am 1896. +I works for Armours 20 years but dey let me off six years ago, 'cause I's too +old. Since den I works at any little old job, for to make my livin'.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sho', I's been married and it to Jane Owen in La Grange, +and we'uns have three chillen and dey all dead. She died in 1931.</p> + +<p>"It am hard for dis nigger to git by and sometime I don't know +for sho' dat I's gwine git anudder meal, but it allus come some way. Yes, +suh, dey allus come some way. Some of de time dey is far apart, but dey +comes. De Lawd see to dat, I guess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420148" id="n420148"></a>420148</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LIZA JONES, 81, was born a slave +of Charley Bryant, near Liberty, +Texas. She lives in Beaumont, +and her little homestead is reached +by a devious path through a cemetery +and across a ravine on a plank +foot-bridge. Liza sat in a backless +chair, smoking a pipe, and +her elderly son lay on a blanket +nearby. Both were resting after +a hot day's work in the field. +Within the open door could be +seen Henry Jones, Liza's husband +for sixty years, a tall, gaunt +Negro who is helpless. Blind, +deaf and almost speechless, he +could tell nothing of slavery +days, although he was grown when +the war ended.</p></div> + + +<p>"When de Yankees come to see iffen dey had done turn us a-loose, I +am a nine year old nigger gal. That make me about 81 now. Dey promenade +up to de gate and de drum say a-dr-um-m-m-m-m, and de man in de blue uniform +he git down to open de gate. Old massa he see dem comin' and he runned +in de house and grab up de gun. When he come hustlin' down off de gallery, +my daddy come runnin'. He seed old massa too mad to know what he a-doin', +so quicker dan a chicken could fly he grab dat gun and wrastle it outten +old massa's hands. Den he push old massa in de smokehouse and lock de door. +He ain't do dat to be mean, but he want to keep old massa outten trouble. +Old massa know dat, but he beat on de door and yell, but it ain't git open +till dem Yankees done gone.</p> + +<p>"I wisht old massa been a-livin' now, I'd git a piece of bread and +meat when I want it. Old man Charley Bryant, he de massa, and Felide Bryant +de missus. Dey both have a good age when freedom come.</p> + +<p>"My daddy he George Price and he boss nigger on de place. Dey all +come from Louisiana, somewhere round New Orleans and all dem li'l extra +places.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Liz'beth she my mama and dey's jus' two us chillen, me and my brudder, John. +He lives in Beaumont.</p> + +<p>"'Bout all de work I did was 'tend to de rooms and sweep. Nobody ever +'low us to see nobody 'bused. I never seed or heared of nobody gittin' cut +to pieces with a whip like some. Course, chillen wasn't 'lowed to go everywhere +and see everything like dey does now. Dey jump in every corner now.</p> + +<p>"Miss Flora and Miss Molly am de only ones of my white folks what am +alive now and dey done say dey take me to San Antonio with dem. Course, I +couldn't go now and leave Henry, noway. De old Bryant place am in de lawsuit. +Dey say de brudder, Mister Benny, he done sharped it 'way from de +others befo' he die, but I 'lieve the gals will win dat lawsuit.</p> + +<p>"My daddy am de gold <a name='TC_36'></a><ins title="iplot">pilot</ins> on de old place. Dat mean anything he done +was right and proper. Way after freedom, when my daddy die in Beaumont, +Cade Bryant and Mister Benny both want to see him befo' he buried. Dey ride +in and say, 'Better not you bury him befo' us see him. Dat's us young George.' +Dey allus call daddy dat, but he old den.</p> + +<p>"My mama was de spring back cook and turkey baker. Dey call her dat, +she so neat, and cook so nice. I's de expert cook, too. She larnt me.</p> + +<p>"Us chillen used to sing</p> + +<p> +"'Don't steal,<br /> +Don't steal my sugar.<br /> +Don't steal,<br /> +Don't steal my candy.<br /> +I's comin' round de mountain.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dey sho' have better church in dem days dan now. Us git happy and +shout. Dey too many blind taggers now. Now dey say dey got de key and dey +ain't got nothin'. Us used to sing like dis:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"'Adam's fallen race,<br /> +Good Lawd, hang down my head and cry.<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Gift of Gawd.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Help me to trust him,<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Eternal Life.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Had not been for Adam's race,<br /> +I wouldn't been sinnin' today,<br /> +Help me to trust him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Gift of Gawd.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Dey 'nother hymn like dis:</p> + +<p> +"'Heavenly land,<br /> +Heavenly land,<br /> +I's gwineter beg Gawd,<br /> +For dat Heavenly land.<br /> +<br /> +"'Some come cripplin',<br /> +Some come lame,<br /> +Some come walkin',<br /> +In Jesus' name.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"You know I saw you-all last night in my sleep? I ain't never seed +you befo' today, but I seed you last night. Dey's two of you, a man and a woman, +and you come crost dat bridge and up here, askin' me iffen I trust in de Lawd. +And here you is today.</p> + +<p>"Dey had nice parties in slavery time and right afterwards. Dey have +candy pullin' and corn shuckin's and de like. Old Massa Day and Massa Bryant, +dey used to put dey niggers together and have de prize dances. Massa Day allus +lose, 'cause us allus beat he niggers at dancin'. Lawd, when I clean myself up, +I sho' could teach dem how to buy a cake-walk in dem days. I could cut de +pigeon wing, jes' pull my heels up and clack dem together. Den us do de back +step and de banquet, too.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Us allus have de white tarleton Swiss dress for dances and Sunday. +Dem purty good clothes, too and dey make at home. Us knowed how to sew and +one de old man's gals, she try teach me readin' and writin'. I didn't have +no sense, though, and I cry to go out and play.</p> + +<p>"When freedom come old massa he done broke down and cry, so my daddy +stay with him. He stay a good many year, till both us chillen was growed. +Us have de li'l log house on de place all dat time. Dey 'nother old cullud +man what stay, name George Whitehouse. He have de li'l house, too. He stay +till he die.</p> + +<p>"Dey was tryin' to make a go of it after de war, 'cause times was hard. +De white boys, dey go out in de field and work den, and work hard, 'cause dey +don't have de slaves no more. I used to see de purty, young white ladies, all +dress up, comin' to de front door. I slips out and tell de white boys, and +dey workin' in de field, half-naked and dirty, and dey sneak in de back door +and clean up to spark dem gals.</p> + +<p>"I been marry to dat Henry in dere sixty year, and he was a slave in +Little Rock, in Arkansas, for Anderson Jones. Henry knowed de bad, tejous +part of de war and he must be 'bout 96 year old. Now he am in pain all de +time. Can't see, can't hear and can't talk. Us never has had de squabble. +At de weddin' de white folks brung cakes and every li'l thing. I had a white +tarleton dress with de white tarleton wig. Dat de hat part what go over de +head and drape on de shoulder. Dat de sign you ain't never done no wrong sin +and gwinter keep bein' good.</p> + +<p>"After us marry I move off de old place, but nothin' must do but I got to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +keep de house for Mister Benny. I's cleanin' up one time and finds a milk +churn of money. I say, 'Mr. Benny, what for you ain't put dat money in de +bank?' He say he will. De next time I cleanin' up I finds a pillow sack full +of money. I says, 'Mr. Benny, I's gwineter quit. I ain't gwineter be 'sponsible +for dis money.' He's sick den and I put de money under he pillow and git +ready to go. He say, 'You better stay, or I send Andrew, de sheriff, after +you.' I goes and cooks dinner and when I gits back dey has four doctors +with Mr. Benny. He wife say to me, 'Liza, you got de sight. Am Benny gwineter +git well?' I goes and looks and I knowed he gwine way from dere. I knowed +he was gone den. Dey leant on me a heap after dat.</p> + +<p>"It some years after dat I leaves dem and Henry and me gits married +and us make de livin' farmin'. Us allus stays right round hereabouts and +gits dis li'l house. Now my son and me, us work de field and gits 'nough +to git through on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420089" id="n420089"></a>420089</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 206px;"><a href="images/162246v.png"> +<img src="images/162246r.png" width="206" height="300" alt="Lizzie Jones" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Lizzie Jones</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>LIZZIE JONES, an 86 year old ex-slave +of the R.H. Hargrove family, was born +in 1861, in Harrison County, Texas. She +stayed with her owner until four years +after the close of the Civil War. She +now lives with Talmadge Buchanan, a +grandson, two miles east of Karnack, on +the Lee road.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was bo'n on the ole Henry Hargrove place. My ole +missus was named Elizabeth and mammy called me Lizzie for her. +But the Hargroves called me 'Wink' since I was a chile, 'cause +I was so black and shiny. Massa Hargrove had four girls and +four boys and I helped tend them till I was big enough to cook +and keep house. I wagged ole Marse Dr. Hargrove, dat lives in +Marshall, round when he was a baby.</p> + +<p>"I allus lived in de house with the white folks and +ate at their table when they was through, and slep' on the floor. +We never had no school or church in slavery time. The niggers +couldn' even add. None of us knowed how ole we was, but Massa +set our ages down in a big book.</p> + +<p>"I 'member playin' peep-squirrel and marbles and keepin' +house when I was a chile. Massa 'lowed the boys and girls to +cou't but they couldn' marry 'fore they was 20 years ole, and +they couldn' marry off the plantation. Slaves warn't married by +no Good Book or the law, neither. They'd jes' take up with each +other and go up to the Big House and ask massa to let them marry. +If they was ole enough, he'd say to the boy, 'Take her and go on +home.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mammy lived 'cross the field at the quarters and there was +so many nigger shacks it look like a town. The slaves slep' on bunks +of homemade boards nailed to de wall with poles for legs and they cooked +on the fireplace. I didn' know what a stove was till after de War. +Sometime they'd bake co'nbread in the ashes and every bit of the grub +they ate come from the white folks and the clothes, too. I run them +looms many a night, weavin' cloth. In summer we had lots of turnips +and greens and garden stuff to eat. Massa allus put up sev'ral barrels +of kraut and a smokehouse full of po'k for winter. We didn' have flour +or lard, but huntin' was good 'fore de war and on Sat'day de men could +go huntin' and fishin' and catch possum and rabbits and squirrels and +coons.</p> + +<p>"The overseer was named Wade and he woke the han's up at four +in the mornin' and kep' them in the field from then till the sun set. +Mos' of de women worked in de fields like de men. They'd wash clothes +at night and dry them by the fire. The overseer kep' a long coach whip +with him and if they didn' work good, he'd thrash them good. Sometime +he's pretty hard on them and strip 'em off and whip 'em till they think +he was gonna kill 'em. No nigger ever run off as I 'member.</p> + +<p>"We never have no parties till after 'mancipation, and we couldn' +go off de place. On Sundays we slep' or visited each other. But the +white folks was good to us. Massa Hargrove didn' have no doctor but +there wasn' much sickness and seldom anybody die.</p> + +<p>"I don' 'member much 'bout de War. Massa went to it, but he come +home shortly and say he sick with the 'sumption, but he got well real<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +quick after surrender.</p> + +<p>"The white folks didn' let the niggers know they was free +till 'bout a year after the war. Massa Hargrove took sick sev'ral +months after and 'fore he did he tell the folks not to let the niggers +loose till they have to. Finally they foun' out and 'gun to +leave.</p> + +<p>"My pappy died 'fore I was bo'n and mammy married Caesar +Peterson and 'bout a year after de war dey moved to a farm close to +Lee, but I kep' on workin' for de Hargroves for four years, helpin' +missus cook and keep house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420288" id="n420288"></a>420288</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>TOBY JONES was born in South +Carolina, in 1850, a slave of +Felix Jones, who owned a large +tobacco plantation. Toby has +farmed in Madisonville, Texas, +since 1869, and still supports +himself, though his age makes +it hard for him to work.</p></div> + + +<p>"My father's name was Eli Jones and mammy's name was Jessie. They +was captured in Africa and brought to this country whilst they was still +young folks, and my father was purty hard to realize he was a slave, 'cause +he done what he wanted back in Africa.</p> + +<p>"Our owner was Massa Felix Jones and he had lots of tobacco planted. +He was real hard on us slaves and whipped us, but Missie Janie, she was a +real good woman to her black folks. I 'members when their li'l curlyheaded +Janie was borned. She jus' loved this old, black nigger and I carried her +on my back whole days at a time. She was the sweetes' baby ever borned.</p> + +<p>"Massa, he lived in a big, rock house with four rooms and lots of +shade trees, and had 'bout fifty slaves. Our livin' quarters wasn't bad. +They was rock, too, and beds built in the corners, with straw moss to sleep +on.</p> + +<p>"We had plenty to eat, 'cause the woods was full of possum and rabbits +and all the mud holes full of fish. I sho' likes a good, old, fat possum +cooked with sweet 'taters round him. We cooked meat in a old-time pot over +the fireplace or on a forked stick. We grated corn by hand for cornbread +and made waterpone in the ashes.</p> + +<p>"I was borned 'bout 1850, so I was plenty old to 'member lots 'bout +slave times. I 'members the loyal clothes, a long shirt what come down below<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +our knees, opened all the way down the front. On Sunday we had white loyal +shirts, but no shoes and when it was real cold we'd wrap our feet in wool +rags so they wouldn't freeze. I married after freedom and had white loyal +breeches. I wouldn't marry 'fore that, 'cause massa wouldn't let me have +the woman I wanted.</p> + +<p>"The overseer was a mean white man and one day he starts to whip +a nigger what am hoein' tobacco, and he whipped him so hard that nigger +grabs him and made him holler. Missie come out and made them turn loose +and massa whipped that nigger and put him in chains for a whole year. Every +night he had to be in jail and couldn't see his folks for that whole year.</p> + +<p>"I seed slaves sold, and they'd make them clean up good and grease +their hands and face, so they'd look real fat, and sell them off. Of course, +most the niggers didn't know their parents or what chillen was theirs. The +white folks didn't want them to git 'tached to each other.</p> + +<p>"Missie read some Bible to us every Sunday mornin' and taught us to +do right and tell the truth. But some them niggers would go off without a +pass and the patterrollers would beat them up scand'lous.</p> + +<p>"The fun was on Saturday night when massa 'lowed us to dance. There +was lots of banjo pickin' and tin pan beatin' and dancin', and everybody +would talk 'bout when they lived in Africa and done what they wanted.</p> + +<p>"I worked for massa 'bout four years after freedom, 'cause he forced +me to, said he couldn't 'ford to let me go. His place was near ruint, the +fences burnt and the house would have been but it was rock. There was a +battle fought near his place and I taken missie to a hideout in the mountains +to where her father was, 'cause there was bullets flyin' everywhere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +When the war was over, massa come home and says, 'You son of a gun, you's sposed +to be free, but you ain't, 'cause I ain't gwine give you freedom.' So, I goes +on workin' for him till I gits the chance to steal a hoss from him. The woman +I wanted to marry, Govie, she 'cides to come to Texas with me. Me and Govie, +we rides that hoss most a hundred miles, then we turned him a-loose and give +him a scare back to his house, and come on foot the rest the way to Texas.</p> + +<p>"All we had to eat was what we could beg and sometimes we went three days +without a bite to eat. Sometimes we'd pick a few berries. When we got cold +we'd crawl in a breshpile and hug up close together to keep warm. Once in +awhile we'd come to a farmhouse and the man let us sleep on cottonseed in his +barn, but they was far and few between, 'cause they wasn't many houses in the +country them days like now.</p> + +<p>"When we gits to Texas we gits married, but all they was to our weddin' +am we jus' 'grees to live together as man and wife. I settled on some land +and we cut some trees and split them open and stood them on end with the tops +together for our house. Then we deadened some trees and the land was ready to +farm. There was some wild cattle and hawgs and that's the way we got our start, +caught some of them and tamed them.</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I 'spected nothin' from freedom, but they turned us out +like a bunch of stray dogs, no homes, no clothin', no nothin', not 'nough food +to last us one meal. After we settles on that place, I never seed man or woman, +'cept Govie, for six years, 'cause it was a long ways to anywhere. All we had +to farm with was sharp sticks. We'd stick holes and plant corn and when it come +up we'd punch up the dirt round it. We didn't plant cotton, 'cause we couldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +eat that. I made bows and arrows to kill wild game with and we never went +to a store for nothin'. We made our clothes out of animal skins.</p> + +<p>"We used rabbit foots for good luck, tied round our necks. We'd make +medicine out of wood herbs. There is a rabbit foot weed that we mixed with +sassafras and made good cough syrup. Then there is cami weed for chills and +fever.</p> + +<p>"All I ever did was to farm and I made a livin'. I still makes one, +though I'm purty old now and its hard for me to keep the work up. I has some +chickens and hawgs and a yearling or two to sell every year.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420173" id="n420173"></a>420173</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>AUNT PINKIE KELLY, whose age is +a matter of conjecture, but who +says she was "growed up when sot +free," was born on a plantation +in Brazoria Co., owned by Greenville +McNeel, and still lives on +what was a part of the McNeel +plantation, in a little cabin +which she says is much like the +old slave quarters.</p></div> + + +<p>"De only place I knows 'bout is right here, what was +Marse Greenville McNeel's plantation, 'cause I's born here and +Marse Greenville and Missy Amelia, what was his wife, is de only +ones I ever belonged to. After de war, Marse Huntington come +down from up north and took over de place when Marse Greenville die, +but de big house burned up and all de papers, too, and I couldn't +tell to save my life how old I is, but I's growed up and worked in +de fields befo' I's sot free.</p> + +<p>"My mammy's name was Harriet Jackson and she was born on +de same plantation. My pappy's name was Dan, but folks called him +Good Cheer. He druv oxen and one day they show me him and say he +my pappy, and so I guess he was, but I can't tell much about him, +'cause chillen then didn't know their pappys like chillen do now.</p> + +<p>"Most I 'members 'bout them times is work, 'cause we's put +out in de fields befo' day and come back after night. Then we has +to shell a bushel of corn befo' we goes to bed and we was so tired +we didn't have time for nothin'.</p> + +<p>"Old man Jerry Driver watches us in de fields and iffen we +didn't work hard he whip us and whip us hard. Then he die and 'nother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +man call Archer come. He say, 'You niggers now, you don't work good, I +beat you,' and we sho' worked hard then.</p> + +<p>"Marse Greenville treated us pretty good but he never give us nothin'. +Sometime we'd run away and hide in de woods for a spell, but when they cotch +us Marse Greenville tie us down and whip us so we don't do it no more.</p> + +<p>"We didn't have no clothes like we do now, jes' cotton lowers and +rubber shoes. They used to feed us peas and cornbread and hominy, and sometime +they threw beef in a pot and bile it, but we never had hawg meat.</p> + +<p>"Iffen we took sick, old Aunt Becky was de doctor. They was a +building like what they calls a hospital and she put us in there and give +us calomel or turpentine, dependin' on what ailed us. They allus kep' the +babies there and let de mammies come in and suckle and dry 'em up.</p> + +<p>"I never heered much 'bout no <a name='TC_37'></a><ins title="wat">war</ins> and Marse Greenville never told +us we was free. First I knows was one day we gwine to de fields and a man +come ridin' up and say, 'Whar you folks gwine?' We say we gwine to de fields +and then he say to Marse Greenville, 'You can't work these people, without no +pay, 'cause they's as free as you is.' Law, we sho' shout, young folks and +old folks too. But we stay there, no place to go, so we jes' stay, but we +gits a little pay.</p> + +<p>"After 'while I marries. Allen Kelley was de first husban' what I +ever owned and he die. Houston Edmond, he the las' husban' I ever owned +and he die, too.</p> + +<p>"Law me, they used to be a sayin' that chillen born on de dark of +de moon ain't gwineter have no luck, and I guess I sho' was born then!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420217" id="n420217"></a>420217</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 188px;"><a href="images/162255v.png"> +<img src="images/162255r.png" width="188" height="300" alt="Sam Kilgore" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Sam Kilgore</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>SAM KILGORE, 92, was born +a slave of John Peacock, of +Williams County, Tennessee, +who owned one of the largest +plantations in the south. +When he was eight years old, +Sam accompanied his master +to England for a three-year +stay. Sam was in the Confederate +Army and also served +in the Spanish-American +War. He came to Fort Worth +in 1889 and learned cement +work. In 1917 he started a +cement contracting business +which he still operates. He +lives at 1211 E. Cannon St., +Fort Worth, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"You asks me when I's born and was I born a slave. Well, I's born +on July 17, 1845, so I's a slave for twenty years, and had three massas. +I's born in Williamson County, near Memphis, in Tennessee. Massa John +Peacock owned de plantation and am it de big one! Dere am a thousand +acres and 'bout a thousand slaves.</p> + +<p>"De slave cabins am in rows, twenty in de first row and eighteen +in de second and sixteen in de third. Den dere am house servants quarters +near de big house. De cabins am logs and not much in dem but homemade +tables and benches and bunks 'side de wall. Each family has dere own cabin +and sometimes dere am ten or more in de family, so it am kind of crowded. +But massa am good and let dem have de family life, and once each week de +rations am measure out by a old darky what have charge de com'sary, and dere +am allus plenty to eat.</p> + +<p>"But dem eats ain't like nowadays. It am home-cured meat and mostly +cornmeal, but plenty veg'tables and 'lasses and brown sugar. Massa raised +lots of hawgs, what am Berkshires and Razorbacks. Razorback meat am 'sidered +de best and sweetest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"De work stock am eighty head of mules and fifty head of hosses +and fifteen yoke of oxen. It took plenty feed for all dem and massa have +de big field of corn, far as we could see. De plantation am run on system +and everything clean and in order, not like lots of plantations with tools +scattered 'round and dirt piles here and there. De chief overseer am white +and de second overseers am black. Stien was nigger overseer in de shoemakin' +and harness, and Aunty Darkins am overseer of de spinnin' and weavin'.</p> + +<p>"Dat place am so well manage dat whippin's am not nec'sary. Massa +have he own way of keepin' de niggers in line. If dey bad he say, 'I 'spect +dat nigger driver comin' round tomorrow and I's gwine sell you.' Now, when +a nigger git in de hands of de nigger driver it am de big chance he'll git +sold to de cruel massa, and dat make de niggers powerful skeert, so dey 'haves. +On de next plantation we'd hear de niggers pleadin' when dey's whipped, 'Massa, +have mercy,' and sich. Our massa allus say, 'Boys, you hears dat mis'ry and +we don't want no sich on dis place and it am up to you.' So us all 'haves +ourselves.</p> + +<p>"When I's four years old I's took to de big house by young Massa Frank, +old massa's son. He have me for de errand boy and, I guess, for de plaything. +When I gits bigger I's his valet and he like me and I sho' like him. He am +kind and smart, too, and am choosed from nineteen other boys to go to England +and study at de mil'tary 'cademy. I's 'bout eight when we starts for +Liverpool. We goes from Memphis to Newport and takes de boat, Bessie. It am +a sailboat and den de fun starts for sho'. It am summer and not much wind +and sometimes we jus' stand still day after day in de fog so thick we can't +see from one end de boat to de other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll never forgit dat trip. When we gits far out on de water, I's +dead sho' we'll never git back to land again. First I takes de seasick and +dat am something. If there am anything worser it can't be stood! It ain't +possible to 'splain it, but I wants to die, and if dey's anything worser dan +dat seasick mis'ry, I says de Lawd have mercy on dem. I can't 'lieve dere am +so much stuff in one person, but plenty come out of me. I mos' raised de ocean! +When dat am over I gits homesick and so do Massa Frank. I cries and he tries to +'sole me and den he gits tears in he eyes. We am weeks on dat water, and good +old Tennessee am allus on our mind.</p> + +<p>"When we gits to England it am all right, but often we goes down to de +wharf and looks over de cotton bales for dat Memphis gin mark. Couple times +Massa Frank finds some and he say, 'Here a bale from home, Sam,' with he voice +full of joy like a kid what find some candy. We stands round dat bale and +wonders if it am raised on de plantation.</p> + +<p>"But we has de good time after we gits 'quainted and I seed lots and +gits to know some West India niggers. But we's ready to come home and when +we gits dere it am plenty war. Massa Frank jines de 'Federate Army and course +I's his valet and goes with him, right over to Camp Carpenter, at Mobile. He +am de lieutenant under General Gordon and befo' long dey pushes him higher. +Fin'ly he gits notice he am to be a colonel and dat sep'rates us, 'cause he +has to go to Floridy. 'I's gwine with you,' I says, for I thinks I 'longs to +him and he 'longs to me and can't nothing part us. But he say, 'You can't go +with me this time. Dey's gwine put you in de army.' Den I cries and he cries.</p> + +<p>"I's seventeen years old when I puts my hand on de book and am a sojer. +I talks to my captain 'bout Massa Frank and wants to go to see him. But it +wasn't more'n two weeks after he leaves dat him was kilt. Dat am de awful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +shock to me and it am a long time befo' I gits over it. I allus feels if I'd +been with him maybe I could save his life.</p> + +<p>"My company am moved to <a name='TC_38'></a><ins title="Bermingham">Birmingham</ins> and builds breastworks. Dey say +Gen. Lee am comin' for a battle but he didn't ever come and when I been back +to see dem breastworks, dey never been used. We marches north to Lexington, +in Kentuck' but am gone befo' de battle to Louisville. We comes back to Salem, +in Georgia, but I's never in no big battle, only some skirmishes now and den. +We allus fixes for de battles and builds bridges and doesn't fight much.</p> + +<p>"I goes back after de war to Memphis. My mammy am on de Kilgore +place and Massa Kilgore takes her and my pappy and two hundred other slaves +and comes to Texas. Dat how I gits here. He settles at de place called Kilgore, +and it was named after him, but in 1867 he moves to Cleburne.</p> + +<p>"Befo' we moved to Texas de Klu Kluxers done burn my mammy's house +and she lost everything. Dey was 'bout $100 in greenbacks in dat house and +a three hundred pound hawg in de pen, what die from de heat. We done run to +Massa Rodger's house. De riders gits <a name='TC_39'></a><ins title="to">so</ins> bad dey come most any time and run de +cullud folks off for no cause, jus' to be orn'ry and plunder de home. But one +day I seed Massa Rodgers take a dozen guns out his wagon and he and some white +men digs a ditch round de cotton field close to de road. Couple nights after +dat de riders come and when dey gits near dat ditch a volley am fired and lots +of dem draps off dey hosses. Dat ended de Klux trouble in dat section.</p> + +<p>"After I been in Texas a year I jines de Fed'ral Army for de Indian +war. I's in de transportation division and drives oxen and mules, haulin' supplies +to de forts. We goes to Fort Griffin and Dodge City and Laramie, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +Wyoming. Dere am allus two or three hundred sojers with us, to watch for +Indian attacks. Dey travels on hosses, 'head, 'side and 'hind de wagon. One +day de Sent'nel reports Indians am round so we gits hid in de trees and +bresh. On a high ledge off to de west we sees de Indians travelin' north, +two abreast. De lieutenant say he counted 'bout seven hundred but dey +sho' missed us, or maybe I'd not be here today.</p> + +<p>"I stays in de service for seven years and den goes back to +Johnson County, farmin' on de Rodgers place, and stays till I comes to Fort +Worth in 1889. Den I gits into 'nother war, de Spanish 'merican War. But I's +in de com'sary work so don't see much fightin'. In all dem wars I sees most +no fightin', 'cause I allus works with de supplies.</p> + +<p>"After dat war I goes to work laborin' for buildin' contractors. +I works for sev'ral den gits with Mr. Bardon and larns de cement work with +him. He am awful good man to work for, dat John Bardon. Fin'ly I starts +my own cement business and am still runnin' it. My health am good and I's +allus on de job, 'cause dis home I owns has to be kept up. It cost sev'ral +thousand dollars and I can't 'ford to neglect it.</p> + +<p>"I's married twict. I marries Mattie Norman in 1901 and sep'rates +in 1904. She could spend more money den two niggers could shovel it in. Den +I marries Lottie Young in 1909, but dere am no chillens. I's never dat lucky.</p> + +<p>"I's voted ev'ry 'lection and 'lieves it de duty for ev'ry citizen to +vote.</p> + +<p>"Now, I's told you everything from Genesis to Rev'lations, and it de +truth, as I 'members it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420058" id="n420058"></a>420058</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 185px;"><a href="images/162260v.png"> +<img src="images/162260r.png" width="185" height="300" alt="Ben Kinchlow" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Ben Kinchlow</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>BEN KINCHLOW, 91, was the son of Lizaer +Moore, a half-white slave owned by Sandy +Moore, Wharton Co., and Lad Kinchlow, a +white man. When Ben was one year old his +mother was freed and given some money. +She was sent to Matamoras, Mexico and they +lived there and at Brownsville, Texas, +during the years before and directly following +the Civil War. Ben and his wife, +Liza, now live in Uvalde, Texas, in a +neat little home. Ben has straight hair, +a Roman nose, and his speech is like that +of the early white settler. He is affable +and enjoys recounting his experiences.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was birthed in 1846 in Wharton, Wharton +County, in slavery times. My mother's name was +Lizaer Moore. I think her master's name was Sandy +Moore, and she went by his name. My father's +name was Lad Kinchlow. My mother was a half-breed +Negro; my father was a white man of that same +county. I don't know anything about my father. +He was a white man, I know that. After I was +borned and was one year old, my mother was set +free and sent to Mexico to live. When we left +Wharton, we was sent away in an ambulance. It +was an old-time ambulance. It was what they +called an ambulance—a four-wheeled concern +pulled by two mules. That is what they used to +traffic in. The big rich white folks would get +in it and go to church or on a long journey. We +landed safely into Matamoros, Mexico, just me +and my mother and older brother. She had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +means to live on till she got there and got acquainted. +We stayed there about twelve years. +Then we moved back to Brownsville and stayed +there until after all Negroes were free. She +went to washing and she made lots of money at +it. She charged by the dozen. Three or four +handkerchiefs were considered a piece. She made +good because she got $2.50 a dozen for men washing +and $5 a dozen for women's clothes.</p> + +<p>"I was married in February, 1879, to Christiana +Temple, married at Matagorda, Matagorda County. +I had six children by my first wife. Three boys +and three girls. Two girls died. The other +girl is in Gonzales County. Lawrence is here +workin' on the Kincaid Ranch and Andrew is workin' +for John Monagin's dairy and Henry is seventy +miles from Alpine. He's a highway boss. This +was my first wife. Now I am married again and +have been with this wife forty years. Her name +was Eliza Dawson. No children born to this union.</p> + +<p>"The way we lived in those days—the +country was full of wild game, deer, wild hogs, +turkey, duck, rabbits, 'possum, lions, quails,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +and so forth. You see, in them days they was +all thinly settled and they was all neighbors. +Most settlements was all Meskins mostly; of +course there was a few white people. In them +days the country was all open and a man could +go in there and settle down wherever he wanted +to and wouldn't be molested a-tall. They wasn't +molested till they commenced putting these fences +and putting up these barbwire fences. You could +ride all day and never open a gate. Maybe ride +right up to a man's house and then just let down +a bar or two.</p> + +<p>"Sometime when we wanted fresh meat we went +out and killed. We also could kill a calf or goat +whenever we cared to because they were plenty and +no fence to stop you. We also had plenty milk +and butter and home-made cheese. We did not have +much coffee. You know the way we made our coffee? +We just taken corn and parched it right brown and +ground it up. Whenever we would get up furs and +hides enough to go into market, a bunch of neighbors +would get together and take ten to fifteen +deer hides each and take 'em in to Brownsville<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +and sell 'em and get their supplies. They paid +twenty-five cents a pound for them. That's when +we got our coffee, but we'd got so used to using +corn-coffee, we didn't care whether we had that +real coffee so much, because we had to be careful +with our supplies, anyway. My recollection is +that it was fifty cents a pound and it would be +green coffee and you would have to roast it and +grind it on a mill. We didn't have any sugar, +and very rare thing to have flour. The deer was +here by the hundreds. There was blue quail—my +goodness! You could get a bunch of these +blue top-knot quail rounded up in a bunch of pear +and, if they was any rocks, you could kill every +one of 'em. If you could hit one and get 'im +to fluttering the others would bunch around him +and you could kill every one of 'em with rocks.</p> + +<p>"We lived very neighborly. When any of the +neighbors killed fresh meat we always divided +with one another. We all had a corn patch, about +three or four acres. We did not have plows; we +planted with a hoe. We were lucky in raisin' +corn every year. Most all the neighbors had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +little bunch of goats, cows, mares, and hogs. +Our nearest market was forty miles, at old Brownsville. +When I was a boy I wo'e what was called +shirt-tail. It was a long, loose shirt with no +pants. I did not wear pants until I was about +ten or twelve. The way we got our supplies, all +the neighbors would go in together and send into +town in a dump cart drawn by a mule. The main +station was at Brownsville. It was thirty-five +miles from where they'd change horses. They +carried this mail to Edinburg, and it took four +days. Sometimes they'd ride a horse or mule. +We'd get our mail once a week. We got our mail +at Brownsville.</p> + +<p>"The country was very thinly settled then +and of very few white people; most all Meskins, +living on the border. The country was open, +no fences. Every neighbor had a little place. +We didn't have any plows; we planted with a hoe +and went along and raked the dirt over with our +toes. We had a grist mill too. I bet I've +turned one a million miles. There was no hired +work then. When a man was hired he got $10 or $12<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +per month, and when people wanted to brand or do +other work, all the neighbors went together and +helped without pay. The most thing that we had +to fear was Indians and cattle rustlers and wild +animals.</p> + +<p>"While I was yet on the border, the plantation +owners had to send their cotton to the border +to be shipped to other parts, so it was transferred +by Negro slaves as drivers. Lots of times, +when these Negroes got there and took the cotton +from their wagon, they would then be persuaded +to go across the border by Meskins, and then they +would never return to their master. That is how +lots of Negroes got to be free. The way they +used to transfer the cotton—these big cotton +plantations east of here—they'd take it to +Brownsville and put it on the wharf and ship it +from there. I can remember seeing, during the +cotton season, fifteen or twenty teams hauling +cotton, sometimes five or six, maybe eight bales +on a wagon. You see, them steamboats used to run +all up and down that river. I think this cotton +went out to market at New Orleans and went right +out into the Gulf.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Our house was a log cabin with a log chimney +da'bbed with mud. The cabin was covered with grass +for a roof. The fireplace was the kind of stove +we had. Mother cooked in Dutch ovens. Our main +meal was corn bread and milk and grits with milk. +That was a little bit coarser than meal. The way +we used to cook it and the best flavored is to +cook it out-of-doors in a Dutch oven. We called +'em corn dodgers. Now ash cakes, you have your +dough pretty stiff and smooth off a place in the +ashes and lay it right on the ashes and cover it +up with ashes and when it got done, you could +wipe every bit of the ashes off, and get you some +butter and put on it. M-m-m! I tell you, its fine! +There is another way of cookin' flour bread without +a skillet or a stove, is to make up your dough +stiff and roll it out thin and cut it in strips +and roll it on a green stick and just hold it +over the coals, and it sure makes good bread. +When one side cooks too fast, you can just turn it +over, and have your stick long enough to keep it +from burnin' your hands. How come me to learn +this was: One time we were huntin' horse stock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +and there was an outfit along and the pack mule +that was packed with our provisions and skillets +and coffee pots and things—we never did carry +much stuff, not even no beddin'—the pack turned +on the mule and we lost our skillet and none +of us knowed it at the time. All of us was cooks, +but that old Meskin that was along was the only +one that knew how to cook bread that way. Sometimes +we would be out six weeks or two months on +a general round-up, workin' horse stock; the +country would just be alive with cattle, and +horses too. We used to have lots of fun on those +drives.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, I didn't enjoy that 'court' at +night. They got so tough on us you couldn't spit +in camp, couldn't use no cuss words—they would +sure 'put the leggin's on you' if you did!"</p> + +<p>Uncle Ben hitched his chair, and with much +chuckling, recalled the "kangaroo court" the cowboys +used to hold at night in camp. These impromptu +courts were often all the fun the cowboys +had during the long weeks of hunting stock in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +open range country.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was all in fun. Just catch somebody +so we could hold court! They would have two or +three as a jury. They would use me as sheriff +and appoint a judge. The prisoner was turned +over to the judge and whatever he said, it had +to be carried out exactly. The penalty? Well, +sometimes—it was owing to the crime—but +sometimes they would put it up to about twenty +licks with the leggin's. If they was any bendin' +trees, they would lay you across the log. They +got tough, all right, but we sure had fun. We +had to salute the boss every mornin', and if we +forgot it...! They never forgot it that night; +you'd sure get tried in court.</p> + +<p>"We camped on the side of a creek one time, +and we had a new man, a sort of green fellow. +This new man unsaddled his horse by the side of +the creek and he lay down there. He had on a +big pair of spurs, and I was watchin' him and +studyin' up some kind of prank to play on 'im. +So I went and got me a string and tied one of +his spurs to his saddle and then I told the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +boss what I'd done and he had one of the fellows +put a saddle on and tie tin cups and pots on it +and then they commenced shootin' and yellin'. +This man with the saddle on went pitchin' right +toward that fellow, and that man got up, scared +to death, and started to run. He run the length +of the string and then fell down, but he didn't +take time to get up; he went runnin' on his all-fours +as fur as he could, till he drug the +saddle to where it hung up. He woulda run right +into the creek, but the saddle held 'im back. We +didn't hold kangaroo court over that! Nobody +knowed who did it. Of course, they all knowed, +but they didn't let on. But nobody ever got in a +bad humor; it didn't do no good.</p> + +<p>"I've stood up of many a bad night, dozin'. +It would be two weeks, sometimes, before we got +to lay down on our beds. I have stood up between +the wagon wheel and the bed (of the wagon) and +dozed many a night. Maybe one or two men would +come in and doze an hour or two, but if the cattle +were restless and ready to run, we had to be ready +right now. Sho! Those stormy nights thunderin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +and lightnin'! You could just see the lightnin' +all over the steers' horns and your horse's ears +and mane too. It would dangle all up and down +his mane. It never interfered with <span class="u">you</span> a-tall. +And you could see it around the steer's horns +in the herd, the lightnin' would dangle all over +'em. If the hands (cowboys) or the relief could +get to 'em before they got started to runnin', +they could handle 'em; but if they got started +first, they would be pretty hard to handle.</p> + +<p>"The first ranch I worked on after I left +McNelly was on the <span class="u">Banqueta</span> on the <span class="u">Agua Dulce</span> +Creek for the Miley boys, putting up a pasture +fence. I worked there about two months, diggin' +post holes. From there to the King Ranch for +about four months, breaking horses. I kept +travelin' east till I got back to Wharton, where +my mother was. She died there in Wharton. I +didn't stay with her very long. I went down to +<span class="u">Tres Palacios</span> in Matagorda County. I did pasture +work there, and cattle work. I worked for Mr. +Moore for twelve years. Then he moved to Stockdale +and I worked for him there eight years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +From there, after I got through with Mr. Moore, +I went back to <span class="u">Tres Palacios</span> and I worked there +for first one man and then another. I think we +have been here at Uvalde for about twenty-three +years.</p> + +<p>"I've been the luckiest man in the world +to have gone through what I have and not get +hurt. I have never had but two horses to fall +with me. I could ride all day right now and never +tire. You never hear me say, 'I'm tired, I'm +sleepy, I'm hongry.' And out in camp you never +see me lay down when I come in to camp, or set +down to eat, and if I <span class="u">do</span>, I set down on my foot. +I always get my plate in my hand and eat standin' +up, or lean against the wagon, maybe.</p> + +<p>"When Cap'n. McNelly taken sick and resigned, +I traveled east and picked up jobs of work on +ranches. The first work after I left the Rio +Grande was on the <span class="u">Banqueta</span>, and then I went to +work on the King Ranch about fifty miles southeast +(?) of Brownsville. It wasn't fixed up in +them days like it is now. But the territory is +like it was then. They worked all Meskin hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +They were working about twenty-five or thirty +Meskins at the headquarters' ranch. And the +main <span class="u">caporal</span> was a Meskin. His wages was top +wages and he got twelve dollars a month. And +the hands, if you was a real good hand, you got +seven or eight dollars a month, and they would +give you rations. They would furnish you all +the meat you wanted and furnish you corn, but +you would have to grind it yourself for bread. +You know, like the Meskins make on a <span class="u">metate</span>. +You could have all the home-made cheese you want, +and milk. In them days, the Meskins didn't have +sense enough to make butter. I seen better times +them days than I am seein' now. We just had a +home livin'. You could go out any time and kill +you anything you wanted—turkeys, hogs, javalinas, +deer, 'coons, 'possums, quail.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you about a Meskin ranch I worked +on. It was a big lake. It covered, I reckin, +fifty acres, and these little Meskin huts just +surrounded that big lake. And fish! My goodness, +you could just go down there and throw your hook +in without a bait and catch a fish. That was what +you call the <span class="u">Laguna de Chacona</span>. That was out from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +Brownsville about thirty-five miles. That ranch +was owned by the old Meskin named Chacon, where +the lake got its name.</p> + +<p>"It seems funny the way they handled milk +calves—you know, the men-folks didn't milk +cows, they wouldn't even fool with 'em. They +would have a great big corral and maybe they +would have fifteen or twenty cows and they would +be four or five families go there to milk. Every +calf would have a rawhide strap around his neck +about six foot long. Now, instead of them makin' +a calf pen—of evenin's the girls would go down +there and I used to go help 'em—they would +pull the calf up to the fence and stick the strap +through a crack and pull the calf's head down +nearly to the ground where he <a name='TC_40'></a><ins title="coudn't">couldn't</ins> suck. Of +course, the old cow would hang around right close +to the calf as she could git. When they let the +calf suck, they'd leave 'im tied down so he couldn't +suck in the night. They always kep' the cows up +at night and they'd leave the calves in the pen +with 'em, but tied down. But buildin' just what +you call a calf pen, they'd set posts in the ground<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +just like these stock pens at the railroad and +lay the poles between 'em. Then again, they +would dig a trench and set mesquite poles so +thick and deep, why, you couldn't push it down!</p> + +<p>"Now, in dry times, they would have a <span class="u">banvolete</span> +(ban-bo-la-te). Hand me two of them +sticks, mama. Now, you see, like here would be +the well and you cut a long stick as long as you +could get it, with a fork up here in this here +pole, and have this here stick in the fork of +the pole. They'd bolt the cross piece down in +the fork of the pole that was put in the ground +right by the well, and have it so it would work +up and down. They'd be a weight tied on the end +of the other pole and they could sure draw water +in a hurry. I made one out here on the Anderson +Ranch. Just as fast as you could let your bucket +down, then jerk it up, you had the water up. The +well had cross pieces of poles laid around it +and cut to fit together.</p> + +<p>"Now, about the other way we had to draw +water. We had a big well, only it was fenced +around to keep cattle from gettin' in there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +The reason they had to do that, they had a big +wheel with footpieces, like steps, to tread, and +you would have the wheel over the well and they +had about fifteen or twenty rawhide buckets +fastened to a rope (that the wheel pulled it went +around), and when they went down, they would go +down in front of you. You had to sit down right +behind the wheel, and you would push with your +feet and pull with your hands, and the buckets +came up behind you and as they went up, they would +empty and go back down. They had some way of +fixin' the rawhide. I think they toasted it, or +scorched the hide to keep it hard so the water +wouldn't soak it up and get it soft. That was on +that place, the Chacona Lakes. That old Meskin +was a native of the Rio Grande and run cattle and +horses. In them days, you could buy an acre of +land for fifty cents, river front, all the land +you wanted. Now that land in that valley, you +couldn't buy it for a hundred dollars an acre.</p> + +<p>"Did I tell you about diggin' that pit right +in the fence of our corn patch to catch javalines? +The way we done, why, we just dug a big pit right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +on the inside of the field, right against the +fence, and whenever they would go through that +hole to go in the corn patch, they would drop +off in that hole. I think we caught nine, little +and big, at one trappin' once. It was already +an old trompin' place where they come in and out, +and we had put the pit there. But after you use +it, they won't come in there again.</p> + +<p>"You see, I tell you about them brush fences. +The deer had certain places to go to that fence +to jump it, and after we found the regular jumpin' +place, we would cut three sticks—pretty good +size, about like your wrist, about three foot +long—and peel 'em and scorch 'em in the fire +and sharpen the ends right good and we would +go to set our traps. We would put these three +sharp sticks right about where the forefeet of +the deer would hit. You'd just set the sticks +about four inches from where his forefeet would +hit the ground, and you'd set the sticks leanin' +towards the brush fence, and they would be one +in the center and two on the side and about two +inches apart. When he jumped, you would sure get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +'im right about the point of the brisket. He'd +hardly ever miss 'em, and you'd find 'im right +there. Oh, sometimes he'd pull up a stick +and run a piece with it, but he didn't run very +far.</p> + +<p>"I been listenin' to the radio about Cap'n +McNelly and I tell you it didn't sound right to +me. In what way? Why, they never was no cattle +on the steamboats down the Rio Grande. I just +tell you they was no way of shippin' cattle on +a steamboat. They couldn't get 'em down the hatch +and they couldn't keep 'em on deck and they wasn't +no wharf to load 'em, either. I was there and I +seen them boats too long and I <span class="u">know</span> they never +shipped no cattle on them steamboats. After they +crossed the Rio Grand into Mexico, they might have +been shipped from some port down there, but all +them cattle they crossed was <span class="u">swum</span> across. They +was big boats, but they wasn't no stock boats. +They shipped lots of cotton on them steamboats, +but they wasn't fixed to ship no cattle. They +was up there for freight and passengers. The +passengers was going on down the Gulf, maybe to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +New Orleans. They would get on at Brownsville. +The steamboats couldn't go very fur up the river +only in high water, but they could come up to +Brownsville all the time.</p> + +<p>"I was in the Ranger service for about a +year with Captain <a name='TC_41'></a><ins title="McNeely">McNelly</ins>, or until he died. I +was his guide. I was living thirty-five miles +above Brownsville. I was working for a man right +there on the place by the name of John Cunningham. +It was called Bare Stone. You see, hit +was a ranch there. McNelly was stationed there +after the government troops moved off. They had +'em (the troops) there for a while, but they never +did do no good, never did make a raid on nothin'. +I was twenty or twenty-one. How come me to get +in with McNelly, they had a big meadow there, a +big 'permuda' (Bermuda) grass meadow. Me and +another fellow used to go in there, and John Cunningham +furnished Cap'n McNelly hay for his horses. +That's how come me to get in with 'im. Fin'ly, +he found out I knew all about that country and +sometimes he would come over there and get me to +map off a road, though they wasn't but one main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +road right there. So, one day I was over in the +camp with 'im and I say, 'Cap'n, how would you +like to give me a job to work with you?' He +said, 'I'd like to have you all right, but you +couldn't come here on state pay, and under <span class="u">no +responsibility</span>.' I told 'im that was all right. +I knew how I was going to get my money, 'cause +I gambled. Sometimes I would have a hundred or +a hundred, twenty-five dollars. Durin' the month +I would win from the soljers dealin' monte or +playin' seven-up. They wasn't no craps in them +days. We played luck too; we never had no shenanigans, +a-stealin' a man's money. If you had a good +streak o' luck, you made good; if you didn't, you +was out o' luck. Sometimes, I had up as high as +twenty-five or thirty dollars.</p> + + +<p>"One thing about the cap'n, he'd tell his +men—well, we had a sutler's shop right across +from our camp, all kinds of good drinks—and he +would tell his men he didn't care how much they +drank but he didn't want any of 'em fighting'. +He kep' 'em under good control.</p> + +<p>"You see, they was all dependin' on me for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +guidin'. There was no way for them cow rustlers +or bandits to get to the cow ranches after they +crossed the river (Rio Grande) excep' to cross +that road for there was no other way for 'em +to get out there. You see, there was where it +would be easy for me, pickin' up a trail. I +would just follow that road on if I had a certain +distance to go, and if I didn't find no trail +I would come back and report, and if I would +find a trail he would ask me how many they was +and where they was goin', and I would tell 'im +which way, 'cause I didn't know exactly where +they was goin' to round-up. He would always +give 'em about two or three days to make the +round-up from the time that trail crossed. +And we always went to meet 'em, or catch 'em at +the river. We got into two or three real bad +combats.</p> + +<p>"The worst one was on Palo Alto Prairie, +one of Santa Anna's battle grounds. About +twelve or fifteen miles east of old Brownsville. +They was sixteen of the bandits and they was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +fifteen of 'em killed—all Meskins excep' one +white man. One Meskin escaped. The cap'n just +put 'em all up together in a pile and sent a +message to Brownsville to the authorities and +told 'em where they was at and what shape they +was in. They must have had two hundred or two +hundred and twenty-five head (of cattle) with +'em. It was open country and they would get +anybody's cattle. They just got 'em off the +range.</p> + +<p>"They mostly would cross that road at night, +and by me gettin' out early next mornin' and +findin' that trail, I could tell pretty much +how old it was. I reckon that place wasn't +over thirteen miles from Brownsville and our +camp was thirty-five miles, I guess it must +have been twenty-five miles from our camp to +where we had that battle. We sure went there +to get 'em. I trailed them horses and I knowed +from the direction they was takin' that they +was goin' to those big lakes called Santa Lalla. +They was between Point Isabel and Brownsville<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +and that made us about a forty-five mile ride +to get to that crossin', to a place called +Bagdad, right on the waters of the Rio Grande.</p> + +<p>"We got our lunch at Brownsville and +started out to go to this crossin'. I knowed +right about where this crossin' was and I says +to the cap'n, 'Don't you reckon I better go +and see if they was any sign?' We stayed +there about three hours and didn't hear a +thing. And then the cap'n said, 'Boys, we +better eat our lunch'. While we was eatin', +we heard somebody holler, and he said, 'Boys, +there they are.' And he said to me, 'Ben, you +want to stay with the horses or be in the fun?' +And I said, 'I don't care.' So he said, 'You +better stay with the horses; you ain't paid to +kill Meskins! I went out to where the horses +were. The rangers were afoot in the brush. +It was about an hour from the time we heard the +fellow holler before the cattle got there. +When the rangers placed themselves on the side +of the road, the Meskins didn't know what they +was goin' to get into!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Meskins was all singin' at the top of +their voices and they was comin' on in. The +cap'n waited till they went to crossin' the herd, +he waited till these rustlers all got into the +river behind the cattle, and then the cap'n +opened fire on the bandits. They didn't have +no possible show. They was in the water, and +he just floated 'em down the river. They was +one man got away. I saw 'im later, and he told +me about it. The way he got away, he says he +was a good swimmer and he just fell off his +horse in the water and the swift water took 'im +down and he just kep' his nose out of the water +and got away that way. They was fo'teen in +that bunch, I know.</p> + +<p>"The echo of the shootin' turned the cattle +back to the American side. The lead cattle was +just gettin' ready to hit the other side of the +river when the shootin' taken place and the +echo of the shootin' turned 'em and they come +back across. Now, in swimmin' a bunch of cattle, +if you pop your whip, you are just as liable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +to turn 'em back, or if you holler the echo +might turn 'em back. It'll do that nearly +every time.</p> + +<p>"After the fight, the cap'n says to the +boys, 'Well, boys, the fun is all over now, +I guess we'd better start back to camp.' And +they all mounted their horses and begun +singin':</p> + +<p> +"O, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the wild coyotes will howl o'er me-e-e,</span><br /> +Right where all the Meskins ought to be-e-e!"<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420949" id="n420949"></a>420949</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"><a href="images/162285v.png"> +<img src="images/162285r.png" width="200" height="300" alt="Mary Kindred" title="" /></a> +<span class="caption">Mary Kindred</span> +</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>MARY KINDRED was a slave on +the Luke Hadnot plantation +in Jasper, Texas. She does +not know her age but thinks +she is about 80. She now +lives in Beaumont, Texas.</p></div> + + +<p>"My mind don't dwell back. The older I gits the lessen +I thinks 'bout the old times. I ain't gittin' old. I's done got old. +I not been one of them bad, outlawed fellers, so de good Lawd done 'low +me live a long time. Some things I knows I heered from my mother and +my grandma. They so fresh to them in that time, though, I mostly sure +they's truth.</p> + +<p>"My mother name was Hannah Hadnot and my daddy was Ruffin +Hadnot and he used to carry the mail from Weiss Bluff to Jasper. They +waylay him 'long the road in 1881 and kill him and rob the mail.</p> + +<p>"Luke Hadnot was our old massa. He good to my grandma and +give her license for a doctor woman. Old massa must of thought lots +of her, 'cause he give her forty acres of land and a home fer herself. +That house still standin' up there in Jasper, yet.</p> + +<p>"Grandma used to sing a li'l song to us, like this:</p> + +<p> +"'One mornin' in May,<br /> +I spies a beautiful dandy,<br /> +A-rakin' way of de hay.<br /> +I asks her to marry.<br /> +She say, scornful, 'No.'<br /> +But befo' six months roll by<br /> +Her apron strings wouldn't tie<br /> +She wrote me a letter,<br /> +She marry me then,<br /> +I say, no, no, my gal, not I.'<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Grandma git de bark offen de thorn tree and bile it with +turpentine for de toothache. She used herbs for de medicine and they's +good.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Old missy was tall and slim, a rawbone sort of woman. Her name +was Matilda Hadnot. Massa have as big a still as ever I seed and dey used +to make everything there. They has it civered with boards they rive out +the woods. There wasn't no revenuers in dem days.</p> + +<p>"Us gits de groceries by steamboat and the wagons go down the old +Bevilport Road to the steamboat landin'. That the Ang'leen River. One +the biggest boats was own by Capt. Bryce Hadnot, the 'Old Grim.'</p> + +<p>"I 'member back durin' the war the people couldn't git no coffee. +They used to take bran and peanuts and okra seed and sich and parch 'em +for coffee. It make right drinkable coffee. They gits sugar from the +store or the sugar cane. When they buy it, it's in a big, white lump +what they calls 'sugar loaf.' When they has no sugar they uses the syrup +to sweeten the coffee and they call syrup 'long sweetenin' and sugar, +'short sweetenin'.</p> + +<p>"Us has lots of dances with fiddle and 'corjum player. Us +sing, 'Swing you partner, Promenade.' Another li'l song start out:</p> + +<p> +"'Dinah got a meat skin lay away,<br /> +Grease dat wooden leg, Dinah.<br /> +Grease dat wooden leg, Dinah.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shake dat wooden leg, Dinah,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shake dat wooden leg, Dinah.'</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>I 'members this song:</p> + +<p> +"'Down in Shiloh town,<br /> +Down in Shiloh town,<br /> +De old grey mare come<br /> +Tearin' out de wilderness.<br /> +Down in Shiloh town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O, boys, O,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O, boys, O,</span><br /> +Down in Shiloh town.'<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I's seed lots of blue gum niggers and they say iffen they bite you +dey pizen you. They hands diff'rent from other niggers. Now, my hand's +right smart white in the inside, but blue gum nigger hand is more browner +on the inside.</p> + +<p>"I used to have a old aunt name Harriett and iffen she tell you +anythin' you kin jes' put it down it gwineter come out like she say. She +have the big mole on the inside her mouth and when she shake her finger at +you it gwine happen to you jes' like she say. That <a name='TC_42'></a><ins title="whay">what</ins> they call puttin' +bad mouth on them and she sho' could do it.</p> + +<p>"I's had 12 chillen. My first husban was Anthony Adams and the +last Alfred Kindred. I only got three chillen livin' now, though. One +of the sons am the outer door guard of the lodge here in Beaumont.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420311" id="n420311"></a>420311</div> + + +<div class="intro"><p>NANCY KING, 93, was born in +Upshur County, Texas, a slave +of William Jackson. She and +her husband moved to Marshall, +Texas, in 1866. Nancy now +lives with her daughter, Lucy +Staples.</p></div> + + +<p>"I was borned and raised on William Jackson's place, jus' twelve miles +east of Gilmer. I was growed and had one child at surrender, and my mother +told me I was a woman of my own when Old Missie sot us free, jus' after surrender, +so you can figurate my age from that.</p> + +<p>"My first child was borned the January befo' surrender in June, and I +'members hoeing in the field befo' the war come on. Massa William raised lots +of cotton and corn and tobacco and most everything we et. I never worked in +the field, 'cept to chase the calves in, till I was most growed. Massa was +good to us. Course, I never went to school, but Old Missie sent my brother, +Alex, two years after the war, with her own chillen.</p> + +<p>"I was married durin' the war and it was at church, with a white +preacher. Old Missie give me the cloth and dye for my weddin' dress and my +mother spun and dyed the cloth, and I made it. It was homespun but nothin' +cheap 'bout it for them days. After the weddin' massa give us a big dinner +and we had a time.</p> + +<p>"Massa done all the bossin' his own self. He never whipped me, but +Old Missie had to switch me a little for piddlin' round, 'stead of doin' what +she said. Every Sat'day night we had a candy pullin' and played games, and +allus had plenty of clothes and shoes.</p> + +<p>"I seed the soldiers comin' and gwine to the war, and 'members when +Massa William left to go fight for the South. His boy, Billie, was sixteen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +and tended the place while massa's away. Massa done say he'd let the niggers +go without fightin'. He didn't think war was right, but he had to go. He +'serts and comes home befo' the war gits goin' good and the soldiers come after +him. He run off to the bottoms, but they was on hosses and overtook him. I was +there in the room when they brung him back. One of them says, 'Jackson, we +ain't gwine take you with us now, but we'll fix you so you can't run off till +we git back.' They put red pepper in his eyes and left. Missie cried. They +come back for him in a day or two and made my father saddle up Hawk-eye, massa's +best hoss. Then they rode away and we never seed massa 'gain. One day my +brother, Alex, hollers out, 'Oh, Missie, yonder is the hoss, at the gate, and +ain't nobody ridin' him.' Missie throwed up her hands and says, 'O, Lawdy, my +husban' am dead!' She knowed somehow when he left he wasn't comin' back.</p> + +<p>"Old Missie freed us but said we had a home as long as she did. Me and +my husban' stays 'bout a year, but my folks stays till she marries 'gain.</p> + +<p>"My brother-in-law, Sam Pitman, tells us how he put one by the Ku +Kluxers. Him and some niggers was out one night and the Kluxers chases them on +hosses. They run down a narrow road and tied four strands of grapevine 'cross +the road, 'bout breast high to a hoss. The Kluxers come gallopin' down that +road and when the hosses hit that grapevine, it throwed them every which way +and broke some their arms. Sam used to laugh and tell how them Kluxers cussed +them niggers.</p> + +<p>"Me and my husban' come to Marshall the year after surrender, and I is +lived here every since. My man works on farms till he got on the railroad. I's +been married four times and raised six chillen. The young people is diff'rent +from what we was, but diff'rent times calls for diff'rent ways, I 'spect. My +chillen allus done the best they could by me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="number"><a name="n420272" id="n420272"></a>420272</div> + + +<div class="intro">SILVIA KING, French Negress of +Marlin, Texas, does not know her +age, but says that she was born +in Morocco. She was stolen from +her husband and three children, +brought to the United States and +sold into slavery. Silvia has the +appearance of extreme age, and +may be close to a hundred years +old, as she thinks she is, because +of her memories of the children +she never saw again and of +the slave ship.</div> + + +<p>"I know I was borned in Morocco, in Africa, and was married +and had three chillen befo' I was stoled from my husband. I don't know +who it was stole me, but dey took me to France, to a place called Bordeaux, +and drugs me with some coffee, and when I knows anything 'bout it, I's +in de bottom of a boat with a whole lot of other niggers. It seem like +we was in dat boat forever, but we comes to land, and I's put on de block +and sold. I finds out afterwards from my white folks it was in New +Orleans where dat block was, but I didn't know it den.</p> + +<p>"We was all chained and dey strips all our clothes off and de folks +what gwine buy us comes round and feels us all over. Iffen any de niggers +don't want to take dere clothes off, de man gits a long, black whip +and cuts dem up hard. I's sold to a planter what had a big plantation +in Fayette County, right here in Texas, don't know no name 'cept Marse +Jones.</p> + +<p>"Marse Jones, he am awful good, but de overseer was de meanest man +I ever knowed, a white man name Smith, what boasts 'bout how many niggers +he done kilt. When Marse Jones seed me on de block, he say, 'Dat's a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +whale of a woman.' I's scairt and can't say nothin', 'cause I can't speak +English. He buys some more slaves and dey chains us together and marches us +up near La Grange, in Texas. Marse Jones done gone on ahead and de overseer +marches us. Dat was a awful time, 'cause us am all chained up and whatever +one does us all has to do. If one drinks out of de stream we all drinks, and +when one gits tired or sick, de rest has to drag and carry him. When us git +to Texas, Marse Jones raise de debbil with dat white man what had us on da +march. He git de doctor man and tell de cook to feed us and lets us rest up.</p> + +<p>"After 'while, Marse Jones say to me, 'Silvia, am you married?' I tells +him I got a man and three chillen back in de old country, but he don't understand +my talk and I has a man give to me. I don't bother with dat nigger's +name much, he jes' Bob to me. But I fit him good and plenty till de overseer +shakes a blacksnake whip over me.</p> + +<p>"Marse Jones and Old Miss finds out 'bout my cookin' and takes me to de +big house to cook for dem. De dishes and things was awful queer to me, to +what I been brung up to use in France. I mostly cooks after dat, but I's de +powerful big woman when I's young and when dey gits in a tight <i>[Handwritten Note: 'place?']</i> I helps out.</p> + +<p>"'Fore long Marse Jones 'cides to move. He allus say he gwine git where +he can't hear he neighbor's cowhorn, and he do. Dere ain't nothin' but woods +and grass land, no houses, no roads, no bridges, no neighbors, nothin' but +woods and wild animals. But he builds a mighty fine house with a stone chimney +six foot square at de bottom. The sill was a foot square and de house am made +of logs, but dey splits out two inch plank and puts it outside de logs, from de +ground clean up to de eaves. Dere wasn't no nails, but dey whittles out pegs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +Dere was a well out de back and a well on de back porch by de kitchen door. +It had a wheel and a rope. Dere was 'nother well by de barns and one or two +round de quarters, but dey am fixed with a long pole sweep. In de kitchen +was de big fireplace and de big back logs am haul to de house. De oxen pull +dem dat far and some men takes poles and rolls dem in de fireplace. Marse +Jones never 'low dat fire go out from October till May, and in de fall Marse +or one he sons lights de fire with a flint rock and some powder.</p> + +<p>"De stores was a long way off and de white folks loans seed and +things to each other. If we has de toothache, de blacksmith pulls it. My +husband manages de ox teams. I cooks and works in Old Miss's garden and de +orchard. It am big and fine and in fruit time all de women works from light +to dark dryin' and 'servin' and de like.</p> + +<p>"Old Marse gwine feed you and see you quarters am dry and warm +or know de reason why. Most ev'ry night he goes round de quarters to see +if dere any sickness or trouble. Everybody work hard but have plenty to eat. +Sometimes de preacher tell us how to git to hebben and see de ring lights +dere.</p> + +<p>"De smokehouse am full of bacon sides and cure hams and barrels +lard and 'lasses. When a nigger want to eat, he jes' ask and git he passel. +Old Miss allus 'pend on me to spice de ham when it cure. I larnt dat back +in de old country, in France.</p> + +<p>"Dere was spinnin' and weavin' cabins, long with a chimney in each +end. Us women spins all de thread and weaves cloth for everybody, de white +folks, too. I's de cook, but times I hit de spinnin' loom and wheel fairly +good. Us bleach de cloth and dyes it with barks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dere allus de big woodpile in de yard, and de big, caboose kettle +for renderin' hawg fat and beef tallow candles and makin' soap. Marse allus +have de niggers take some apples and make cider, and he make beer, too. Most +all us had cider and beer when we want it, but nobody git drunk. Marse sho' +cut up if we do.</p> + +<p>"Old Miss have de floors sanded, dat where you sprinkles fine, white sand +over da floor and sweeps it round in all kinds purty figgers. Us make a corn +shuck broom.</p> + +<p>"Marse sho' a fool 'bout he hounds and have a mighty fine pack. De +boys hunts wolves and painters (panthers) and wild game like dat. Dere was +lots of wild turkey and droves of wild prairie chickens. Dere was rabbits +and squirrels and Indian puddin', make of cornmeal. It am real tasty. I cooks +goose and pork and mutton and bear meat and beef and deer meat, den makes +de fritters and pies and dumplin's. Sho' wish us had dat food now.</p> + +<p>"On de cold winter night I's sot many a time spinnin' with two threads, +one in each hand and one my feets on de wheel and de baby sleepin' on my lap. +De boys and old men was allus whittlin' and it wasn't jes' foolishment. Dey +whittles traps and wooden spoons and needles to make seine nets and checkers +and sleds. We all sits workin' and singin' and smokin' pipes. I likes my +pipe right now, and has two clay pipes and keeps dem under de pillow. I don't +aim for dem pipes to git out my sight. I been smokin' clost to a hunerd years +now and it takes two cans tobaccy de week to keep me goin'.</p> + +<p>"Dere wasn't many doctors dem days, but allus de closet full of simples +(home remedies) and most all de old women could git med'cine out de woods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +Ev'ry spring, Old Miss line up all de chillen and give dem a dose of garlic +and rum.</p> + +<p>"De chillen all played together, black and white. De young ones purty +handy trappin' quail and partridges and sech. Dey didn't shoot if dey could +cotch it some other way, 'cause powder and lead am scarce. Dey cotch de deer +by makin' de salt lick, and uses a spring pole to cotch pigeons and birds.</p> + +<p>"De black folks gits off down in de bottom and shouts and sings and +prays. Dey gits in de ring dance. It am jes' a kind of shuffle, den it git +faster and faster and dey gits warmed up and moans and shouts and claps and +dances. Some gits 'xhausted and drops out and de ring gits closer. Sometimes +dey sings and shouts all night, but come break of day, de nigger got to git +to he cabin. Old Marse got to tell dem de tasks of de day.</p> + +<p>"Old black Tom have a li'l bottle and have spell roots and water in +it and sulphur. He sho' could find out if a nigger gwine git whipped. He +have a string tie round it and say, 'By sum Peter, by sum Paul, by de Gawd +dat make us all, Jack don't you tell me no lie, if marse gwine whip Mary, +tell me.' Sho's you born, if dat jack turn to de laft, de nigger git de +whippin', but if marse ain't makeup he mind to whip, dat jack stand and quiver.</p> + +<p>"You white folks jes' go through de woods and don't know nothin'. +Iffen you digs out splinters from de north side a old pine tree what been +struck by lightnin', and gits dem hot in a iron skillet and burns dem to +ashes, den you puts dem in a brown paper sack. Iffen de officers gits you +and you gwine have it 'fore de jedge, you gits de sack and goes outdoors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +at midnight and hold de bag of ashes in you hand and look up at de moon—but +don't you open you mouth. Nex' mornin' git up early and go to de courthouse +and sprinkle dem ashes in de doorway and dat law trouble, it gwine git +tore up jes' like de lightnin' done tore up dat tree.</p> + +<p>"De shoestring root am powerful strong. Iffen you chews on it and +spits a ring round de person what you wants somethin' from, you gwine git +it. You can git more money or a job or most anythin' dat way. I had a black +cat bone, too, but it got away from me.</p> + +<p>"I's got a big frame and used to weigh a hunerd pounds, but day tells +me I only weighs a hunerd now. Dis Louis Southern I lives with, he's de +youngest son of my grandson, who was de son of my youngest daughter. My marse, +he knowed Gen. Houston and I seed him many a time. I lost what teeth I had +a long time ago and in 1920 two more new teeth come through. Dem teeth sho' +did worry me and I's glad when dey went, too.</p> + + +<div class="trnote"> +<a name="Transcribers_Corrections"></a> +<h2>List of Transcriber's Corrections:</h2> + +<p><a href='#TC_1'>List of Illustrations</a>: 285 (<b>290</b>)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_2'>Page 2</a>: come (wooden dishes. Some de knives and forks was make out of bone. Dey had beef and pork and turkey and <b>some</b> antelope.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_3'>Page 4</a>: bit (all through dat house. I takes de lantern and out in de hall I goes. Right by de foot de stairs I seed a woman, <b>big</b> as life, but she was thin and I seed right through her. She jes' walk on down dat hall and pay me no mind. She make de sound)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_4'>Page 7</a>: was that a (slavery, 'cause massa give me a sack of molasses candy once and some biscuits once and that <b>was a</b> whole lot to me then.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_5'>Page 9</a>: kepps (daren't tell them 'cept on the sly. That I done lots. I tells 'em iffen they <b>keeps</b> prayin' the Lord will set 'em free. But since them days I's done studied some and I preached all over Panola and Harrison County and)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_6'>Page 18</a>: bit (piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. When dey git it all hauled it look like a <b>big</b> woodyard. While dey is haulin', de women make quilts and dey is wool quilts. Course, dey ain't made out of shearin' wool,)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_7'>Page 19</a>: sich (Course, I hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de Yanks, fightin' our folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. Den one dey mamma took <b>sick</b> and she had hear talk and call me to de bed and say, 'Lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_8'>Page 24</a>: neber ("I seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know jes' what's wrong wid me but I <b>never</b> was use to doctors anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage weed and sheep)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_9'>Page 29</a>: was ("After <b>war</b> was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he 'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. Us all stay. Den)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_10'>Page 30</a>: suddent (for justice. One man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up 'bout eighteen feet high all of a <b>sudden</b>. Another say he so thirsty he ain't have no water since he been kilt at Manassas Junction. He ask)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_11'>Page 42</a>: (what lives at West Columbia. Massa Kit on one side Varney's Creek and Massa Charles on de other side. Massa Kit have a <b>African</b> woman from Kentucky for he wife, and dat's de truth. I ain't sayin' iffen she a)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_12'>Page 43</a>: goiin' (Where you gwine to go?<br /> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I's <b>goin'</b> down to new ground,</span><br /> For to hunt Jim Crow.')</p> +<p><a href='#TC_13'>Page 71</a>: hus' ("We lived in a log house with dirt floors, warm in winter but sho' hot in summer, no screens or nothin', <b>jus'</b> homemade doors. We had homemade beds out of planks they picked up around. Mattresses nothin', we had shuck beds.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_14'>Page 72</a>: bit (whole sack of pure gold and silver, and say bury it in de orchard. I sho' was scart, but I done what she said. Dey was more gold in a <b>big</b> desk, and de Yanks pulled de top of dat desk and got de gold. Miss Jane had a purty gold ring on)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_15'>Page 79</a>: of (the place, they still go up to the big house for a pass. They jus' can't understand 'bout the freedom. Old Marse <b>or</b>Missus say, 'You don't need no pass. All you got to do is jus' take you foot in you hand and go.')</p> +<p><a href='#TC_16'>Page 84</a>: ahd ("They had a church this side of New Fountain <b>and</b> the boss man 'lowed us to go on Sunday. If any of the slaves did join, they didn')</p> +<p><a href='#TC_17'>Page 99</a>: of (cornmeal mush and corn hominy and corn grits and parched corn for drink, 'stead of tea <b>or</b> coffee. Us have milk and 'lasses and brown sugar, and some meat. Dat all raise on de place. Stuff for to eat and wear, dat)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_18'>Page 114</a>: Pennslyvania (my sister and got in the soldier business. The gov'ment give me $30.00 a month for drivin' a four-mule wagon for the army. I druv all through <b>Pennsylvania</b> and Virginia and South Carolina for the gov'ment. I was a——what)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_19'>Page 116</a>: Sue ("My mother sold into slavery in Georgia, or round dere. <b>She</b> tell me funny things 'bout how dey use to do up dere. A old white man think so much of)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_20'>Page 123</a>: turpentime (doctor. When us chillun git sick dey git yarbs or dey give us castor oil and <b>turpentine</b>. Iffen it git to be a ser'ous ailment dey sen' for de reg'lar doctor. Dey uster)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_21'>Page 130</a>: Missisippi (Hedwig, Bexar Co., Texas, the son of slave parents bought in <b>Mississippi</b> by his master, William Gudlow.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_22'>Page 133</a>: Hallejujah! (crossin' and walkin' and ridin'. Everyone was a-singin'. We was all walkin' on golden clouds. <b>Hallelujah!</b>)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_23'>Page 140</a>: tey ("I's too old to make any more visits, but I would like to go back to Old Georgia once more. If Missy Mary was 'live, I'd <b>try</b>, but she am dead, so I tries to wait for old Gabriel blow he horn. When he blow he)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_24'>Page 141</a>: 1959 ("When I's a gal, I's Rosina Slaughter, but folks call me Zina. Yes, sar. It am Zina dat and Zina dis. I says I's born April 9, <b>1859</b>, but I 'lieve I's older. It was somewhere in Williamson County, but I don't)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_25'>Page 145</a>: mercy me (when we got a chance to see young folks on some other place. The patterrollers cotched me one night and, Lawd have <b>mercy on me</b>, they stretches me over a log and hits thirty-nine licks with a rawhide loaded with rock, and every time they hit)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_26'>Page 147</a>: ot ("I's farmed and makin' a livin' is 'bout all. I come over here in Madison County and rents from B.F. Young, clost <b>to</b> Midway and gits me a few cows. I been right round here ever since. I lives round with my chillen now,)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_27'>Page 158</a>: Whnen ("<b>When</b> surrender come massa calls all us in de yard and makes de talk. He tells us we's free and am awful sorry and show great worryment. He say)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_28'>Page 166</a>: live (is cared for by a married daughter, who <b>lives</b> on Lizzie's farm.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_29'>Page 171</a>: nand (to tell the people to be prepared, 'cause the tides of war is rollin' this way, <b>and</b> all the thousands of millions of dollars they spend agin it ain't goin' to stop it. I live to tell people the word Gawd speaks through me.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_30'>Page 195</a>: wuarters ('bout fightin' and the overseer allus tended to her. One day he come to the <b>quarters</b> to whip her and she up and throwed a shovel full of live coals from the fireplace in his bosom and run out the door. He run her all over)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_31'>Page 199</a>: tann ("After breakfast I'd see a crew go here and a crew go dere. Some of 'em spin and weave and make clothes, and some <b>tan</b> de leather or do de blacksmith work, and mos' of 'em go out in de field to work. Dey works till dark and den)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_32'>Page 200</a>: botin' ("No, I's never voted, 'cause I done heared 'bout de trouble dey has over in Baton Rouge 'bout niggers <b>votin'</b>. I jus' don't like trouble, and for de few years what am left, I's gwine keep de record of stayin' 'way from it.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_33'>Page 221</a>: be ("Old massa he never clean hisself up or dress up. He look like a vagrant thing and <b>he</b> and missy mean, too. My pore daddy he back allus done cut up from the whip and bit by the dogs. Sometime when a woman big)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_34'>Page 235</a>: stockn's (and I come in with two li'l pickininnies for flower gals and holdin' my train. I has on one Miss Ellen's dresses and red <b>stockin's</b> and a pair brand new shoes and a wide brim hat. De preacher say, 'Bill, does you take dis woman to be you lawful)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_35'>Page 236</a>: dey (jes' kep' right on livin' in de old home after freedom, like old Marse done 'fore freedom. He pay de families by de <b>day</b> for work and let dem work land on de halves and furnish dem teams and grub and dey does de work.)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_36'>Page 242</a>: iplot ("My daddy am de gold <b>pilot</b> on de old place. Dat mean anything he done was right and proper. Way after freedom, when my daddy die in Beaumont,)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_37'>Page 254</a>: wat ("I never heered much 'bout no <b>war</b> and Marse Greenville never told us we was free. First I knows was one day we gwine to de fields and a man)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_38'>Page 258</a>: Bermingham ("My company am moved to <b>Birmingham</b> and builds breastworks. Dey say Gen. Lee am comin' for a battle but he didn't ever come and when I been back)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_39'>Page 258</a>: to (a three hundred pound hawg in de pen, what die from de heat. We done run to Massa Rodger's house. De riders gits <b>so</b> bad dey come most any time and run de cullud folks off for no cause, jus' to be orn'ry and plunder de home. But one)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_40'>Page 273</a>: coudn't (through a crack and pull the calf's head down nearly to the ground where he <b>couldn't</b> suck. Of course, the old cow would hang around right close)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_41'>Page 278</a>: McNeely ("I was in the Ranger service for about a year with Captain <b>McNelly</b>, or until he died. I was his guide. I was living thirty-five miles)</p> +<p><a href='#TC_42'>Page 287</a>: whay (have the big mole on the inside her mouth and when she shake her finger at you it gwine happen to you jes' like she say. That <b>what</b> they call puttin' bad mouth on them and she sho' could do it.)</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: a Folk History of +Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves., by Work Projects Administration + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES, TEXAS, PART 2 *** + +***** This file should be named 30967-h.htm or 30967-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/9/6/30967/ + +Produced by Miranda van de Heijning and The Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. 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