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Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 5

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Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume II, Arkansas Narratives, Part 5

Author: United States. Work Projects Administration


        
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11544]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES: A FOLK HISTORY OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES FROM INTERVIEWS WITH FORMER SLAVES, VOLUME II, ARKANSAS NARRATIVES, PART 5 ***

[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note
[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note




SLAVE NARRATIVES


A Folk History of Slavery in the United States
From Interviews with Former Slaves


TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY
THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
1936-1938
ASSEMBLED BY
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT
WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS


WASHINGTON 1941




VOLUME II

ARKANSAS NARRATIVES

PART 5




Prepared by
the Federal Writers' Project of
the Works Progress Administration
for the State of Arkansas



INFORMANTS

McClendon, Charlie
McCloud, Lizzie
McConico, Avalena
McCoy, Ike
McDaniel, Richard H.
McIntosh, Waters
Mack, Cresa
McKinney, Warren
McMullen, Victoria
Madden, Nannie P.
Madden, Perry
Mann, Lewis
Martin, Angeline
Martin, Josie
Mathis, Bess
Matthews, Caroline
Maxwell, Malindy
Maxwell, Nellie
May, Ann
Mayes, Joe
Meeks, Rev. Jesse
Metcalf, Jeff
Miller, Hardy
Miller, Henry Kirk
Miller, Matilda
Miller, Nathan
Miller, Sam
Miller, W.D.
Minser, Mose
Minton, Gip
Mitchell, A.J.
Mitchell, Gracie
Mitchell, Hettie
Mitchell, Mary
Mitchell, Moses
Moon, Ben
Moore, Emma
Moore, Patsy
Moorehead, Ada
Mooreman, Mary Jane (Mattie)
Morgan, Evelina
Morgan, James
Morgan, Olivia
Morgan, Tom
Morris, Charity
Morris, Emma
Moss, Claiborne
Moss, Frozie
Moss, Mose
Mullins, S.O.
Murdock, Alex
Myers, Bessie
Myhand, Mary
Myrax, Griffin

Neal, Tom Wylie
Nealy (Neely), Sally
Nealy, Wylie
Neland, Emaline
Nelson, Henry
Nelson, Iran
Nelson, James Henry
Nelson, John
Nelson, Lettie
Nelson, Mattie
Newborn, Dan
Newsom, Sallie
Newton, Pete
Norris, Charlie

Oats, Emma
Odom, Helen
Oliver, Jane
Osborne, Ivory
Osbrook, Jane

Page, Annie
Parker, Fannie
Parker, J.M.
Parker, Judy
Parker, R.F.
Parks, Annie
Parnell, Austin Pen
Parr, Ben
Patterson, Frank A.
Patterson, John
Patterson, Sarah Jane
Pattillo, Solomon P.
Patton, Carry Allen
Payne, Harriett McFarlin
Payne, John
Payne, Larkin
Perkins, Cella
Perkins, Marguerite (Maggie)
Perkins, Rachel
Perry, Dinah
Peters, Alfred
Peters, Mary Estes
Peterson, John
Pettis, Louise
Pettus, Henry C.
Phillips, Dolly
Piggy, Tony
Pittman, Ella
Pittman, Sarah
Poe, Mary
Pollacks, W.L.
Pope, John (Doc)
Porter, William
Potter, Bob
Prayer, Louise




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Charlie McClendon
                    708 E. Fourth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 77


"I don't know exactly how old I am. I was six or seven when the war
ended. I member dis--my mother said I was born on Christmas day. Old
master was goin' to war and he told her to take good care of that
boy--he was goin' to make a fine little man.

"Did I live up to it? I reckon I was bout as smart a man as you could
jump up. The work didn't get too hard for _me_. I farmed and I sawmilled
a lot. Most of my time was farmin'.

"I been in Jefferson County all my life. I went to school three or four
sessions.

"About the war, I member dis--I member they carried us to Camden and I
saw the guards. I'd say, 'Give me a pistol.' They'd say, 'Come back
tomorrow and we'll give you one.' They had me runnin' back there every
day and I never did get one. They was Yankee soldiers.

"Our folks' master was William E. Johnson. Oh Lord, they was just as
good to us as could be to be under slavery.

"After they got free my people stayed there a year or two and then our
master broke up and went back to South Carolina and the folks went in
different directions. Oh Lord, my parents sho was well treated. Yes
ma'm. If he had a overseer, he wouldn't low him to whip the folks. He'd
say, 'Just leave em till I come home.' Then he'd give em a light
breshin'.

"My father run off and stay in the woods one or two months. Old master
say, 'Now, Jordan, why you run off? Now I'm goin' to give you a light
breshin' and don't you run off again.' But he'd run off again after
awhile.

"He had one man named Miles Johnson just stayed in the woods so he put
him on the block and sold him.

"I seed the Ku Klux. We colored folks had to make it here to Pine Bluff
to the county band. If the Rebels kotch you, you was dead.

"Oh Lord yes, I voted. I voted the Publican ticket, they called it. You
know they had this Australia ballot. You was sposed to go in the caboose
and vote. They like to scared me to death one time. I had a description
of the man I wanted to vote for in my pocket and I was lookin' at it so
I'd be sure to vote for the right man and they caught me. They said,
'What you doin' there? We're goin' to turn you over to the sheriff after
election!' They had me scared to death. I hid out for a long time till I
seed they wasn't goin' to do nothin'.

"My wife's brother was one of the judges of the election. Some of the
other colored folks was constables and magistrates--some of em are
now--down in the country.

"I knew a lot about things but I knew I was in the United States and had
to bow to the law. There was the compromise they give the colored
folks--half of the offices and then they got em out afterwards. John M.
Clayton was runnin' for the senate and say he goin' to see the colored
people had equal rights, but they killed him as he was gwine through the
country speakin'.

"The white people have treated me very well but they don't pay us enough
for our work--just enough to live on and hardly that. I can say with a
clear conscience that if it hadn't been for this relief, I don't know
what I'd do--I'm not able to work. I'm proud that God Almighty put the
spirit in the man (Roosevelt) to help us."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Lizzie McCloud
                    1203 Short 13th Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 120?


"I was one of 'em bless your heart. Yes ma'm, Yes ma'm, I wouldn't tell
you a lie 'bout that. If I can't tell you the truth I'm not goin' tell
you nothin'!

"Oh yes, I was a young lady in slavery times--bred and born in
Tennessee. Miss Lizzie and Marse John Williams--I belonged to them--sho
did! I was scared to death of the white folks. Miss Lizzie--she mean as
the devil. She wouldn't step her foot on the ground, she so rich. No
ma'm wouldn't put her foot on the ground. Have her carriage drive up to
the door and have that silk carpet put down for her to walk on. Yes
Lord. Wouldn't half feed us and they went and named me after her.

"I know all about the stars fallin'. I was out in the field and just
come in to get our dinner. Got so dark and the stars begin to play
aroun'. Mistress say, 'Lizzie, it's the judgment.' She was just a
hollerin'. Yes ma'm I was a young woman. I been here a long time, yes
ma'm, I been here a long time. Worked and whipped, too. I run off many a
time. Run off to see my mammy three or four miles from where I was.

"I never was sold but they took we young women and brought us down in
the country to another plantation where they raised corn, wheat, and
hay. Overseer whipped us too. Marse John had a brother named Marse
Andrew and he was a good man. He'd say to the overseer, 'Now don't whip
these girls so much, they can't work.' Oh, he was a good man. Oh, white
folks was the devil in slavery tines. I was scared to death of 'em.
They'd have these long cow hide whips. Honey, I was treated bad. I seen
a time in this world.

"Oh Lord, yes, that was long 'fore the war. I was right down on my
master's place when it started. They said it was to free the niggers. Oh
Lord, we was right under it in Davidson County where I come from. Oh
Lord, yes, I knowed all about when the war started. I'se a young woman,
a young woman. We was treated just like dogs and hogs. We seed a hard
time--I know what I'm talkin' about.

"Oh God, I seed the Yankees. I saw it all. We was so scared we run under
the house and the Yankees called 'Come out Dinah' (didn't call none of
us anything but Dinah). They said 'Dinah, we're fightin' to free you and
get you out from under bondage.' I sure understood that but I didn't
have no better sense than to go back to mistress.

"Oh Lord, yes, I seed the Ku Klux. They didn't bother me cause I didn't
stay where they could; I was way under the house.

"Yankees burned up everything Marse John had. I looked up the pike and
seed the Yankees a coming'. They say 'We's a fightin' for you, Dinah!'
Yankees walked in, chile, just walked right in on us. I tell you I've
seed a time. You talkin' 'bout war--you better wish no more war come. I
know when the war started. The Secessors on this side and the Yankees on
that side. Yes, Miss, I seen enough. My brother went and jined the
Secessors and they killed him time he got in the war.

"No, Missy, I never went to no school. White folks never learned me
nothin'. I believes in tellin' white folks the truth.

"White folks didn't 'low us to marry so I never married till I come to
Arkansas and that was one year after surrender.

"First place I landed on was John Clayton's place. Mr. John Clayton was
a Yankee and he was good to us. We worked in the field and stayed there
two years. I been all up and down the river and oh Lord, I had a good
time after I was free. I been treated right since I was free. My color
is good to me and the white folks, too. I ain't goin' to tell only the
truth. Uncle Sam goin' send me 'cross the water if I don't tell the
truth. Better _not fool_ with dat man!"




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Lizzie McCloud
                    1203 E. Short 13th Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 103
[TR: Appears to be same as previous informant despite age discrepancy.]


"Well, where you been? I been wonderin' 'bout you. Yes Lawd. You sure is
lookin' fine.

"Yes, honey, I was bred and bawn in Davidson County, Tennessee. Come
here one year after surrender.

"My daughter there was a baby jus' sittin' alone, now, sittin' alone
when I come here to this Arkansas. I know what I'm talkin' about.

"Lizzie Williams, my old missis, was rich as cream. Yes Lawd! I know all
about it 'cause I worked for 'em.

"I was a young missis when the War started. I was workin' for my owners
then. I knowed when they was free--when they said they was free.

"The Yankees wouldn't call any of the colored women anything but Dinah.
I didn't know who they was till they told us. Said, 'Dinah, we's comin'
to free you.'

"The white folks didn't try to scare us 'bout the Yankees 'cause they
was too scared theirselves. Them Yankees wasn't playin'; they was
fitin'. Yes, Jesus!

"Had to work hard--and whipped too. Wasn't played with. Mars Andrew come
in the field a heap a times and say, 'Don't whip them women so hard,
they can't work.' I thought a heap of Mars Andrew.

"I used to see the Yankees ridin' hosses and them breastplates a
shining'. Yes Lawd. I'd run and they'd say, 'Dinah, we ain't gwine hurt
you.' Lawd, them Yankees didn't care for nothin'. Oh, they was fine.

"My husband was a soldier--a Yankee. Yes ma'am. They sends me thirty
dollars every month, before the fourth. Postman brings it right to me
here at the house. They treats me nice.

"When I come here, I landed on John Clayton's place. He was a Yankee and
he was a good white man too.

"I'm the onliest one left now in my family."




Interviewer: Mrs. Irene Robertson
Person Interviewed: Avalena McConico
                    on the [TR: ---- ----] west of Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 40[TR: ?]
[TR: Much of this interview smeared and difficult to decipher;
     illegible words indicated by "----", questionable words
     followed by "?".]


"Grandma was a slave woman. Her name was Emma Harper. She was born in
Chesterville, Mississippi. Her young master was Jim and Miss Corrie
Burton. The old man was John Burton. I aimed[?] to see them once. I
seen both Miss Corrie and Mr. Jim. My grandparents was never sold. They
left out after freedom. They stayed there a long time but they left.

"The first of the War was like dis: Our related folks was having a
dance. The Yankees come in and was dancing. Some "fry boys" [---- ----]
them. The next day they were all in the field and heard something.
They went to the house and told the white folks there was [----] a
fire. They heard it. [----] he [----] about. Master told them it
was war. Miss Burton was crying. They heard about [----] in [----] at
Harrisburg where they could hear the shooting.

"They put the slaves to digging. They dug two weeks. They buried their
meat and money and a whole heap of things. They never found it. A little
white,[?] Mollita[?], was out where they were digging. She went in the
house. She said, Mama, is the devil coming? They said he was." Master
had them come to him. He questioned them. They told him they got so
tired [----] of them said he [----] he [---- ----] the [----] Yankees
come he'd tell them where all this was, but he was just talking. But
when the Yankees did come they was so scared they never got close to a
Yankee. They was scared to death. They never found the meat and money.
They [----] and cut the turkeys' heads off and the turkey fell off the
rail fence, the head drop on one side and the body on the other. They
milked a cow and cut both hind quarters off and leave the rest of the
cow there and the cow not dead yet.

"Mr. South[?] Strange at Chesterville, Mississippi had a pony named
Zane. The Yankees hemmed him and four more men in at Malone Creek and
killed the four men. Zane rared up on hind legs and went up a steep
cliff and ran three miles. Mr. Strange's coat was cut off from him. It
was a gray coat. Mr. Strange was a white man.

"Uncle Frank Jones was forty years old when they gathered him up out of
the woods and put him in the battle lines. All the runaway black folks
in the woods was hunted out and put in the Yankee lines. Uncle Frank
lived in a cave up till about then. His master made him mean. He got
better as he got old. His master would sell him and tell him to run away
and come back to his cave. He'd feed him. He never worked and he went up
for his provisions. He was sold over and over and over. His master
learnt him in books and to how to cuss. He learnt him how to trick the
dogs and tap trees like a coon. At the end of the trail the dogs would
turn on the huntsman. Uncle Frank was active when he was old. He was
hired out to race other boys sometimes. He never wore glasses. He could
see well when he was old. He told me he was raised out from England,
Arkansas.

"When freedom was told 'em Uncle Frank said all them in the camps
hollered and danced, and marched and sung. They was so glad the War was
done and so glad they been freed.

"Grandma was sold in South Carolina to Mississippi and sold again to Dr.
Shelton. Now that was my father's father and mother. She said they rode
and walked all the way. They came on ox wagons. She said on the way they
passed some children. They was playing. A little white boy was up in a
persimmon tree settin' on a limb eating persimmons. He was so pretty and
clean. Grandma says, 'You think you is some pumpkin, don't you, honey
child.' He says, 'Some pumpkin and some 'simmon too.' Grandma was a
house girl. She got to keep her baby and brought him. He was my father.
Uncle was born later. Then they was freed. Grandma lived to be
ninety-five years old. Mrs. Dolphy Wooly and Mrs. Shelton was her young
mistresses. They kept her till she died. They kept her well.

"Grandma told us about freedom. She was hired out to the Browns to make
sausage and dry out lard. Five girls was in the field burning brush.
They was white girls--Mrs. Brown's girls. They come to the house and
said some Blue Coats come by and said, 'You free.' They told them back,
'That's no news, we was born free.' Grandma said that night she melted
pewter and made dots on her best dress. It was shiny. She wore it home
next day 'cause she was free, and she never left from about her own
white folks till she died and left them.

"Times seem very good on black folks till hard cold winter and spring
come, then times is mighty, mighty bad. It is so hard to keep warm fires
and enough to eat. Times have been good. Black folks in the young
generation need more heart training and less book learning. Times is so
fast the young set is too greedy. They is wasteful too. Some is hard
workers and tries to live right.

"I wash and irons and keep a woman's little chile so she can work. I
owns my home."




Interviewer: Mrs. Irene Robertson
Person Interviewed: Ike McCoy, Biscoe, Arkansas
Age: 65
[TR: Illegible words indicated by "----",
     questionable words followed by "?".]


"My parents named Harriett and Isaac McCoy. Far as I knew they was
natives of North Kaline (Carolina). He was a farmer. He raised corn and
cabbage, a little corn and wheat. He had tasks at night in winter I
heard him say. She muster just done anything. She knit for us here in
the last few years. She died several years ago. Now my oldest sister was
born in slavery. I was next but I came way after slavery.

"In war time McCoys hid their horses in the woods. The Yankees found
them and took all the best ones and left their [----] (nags). Old boss
man McCoy hid in the closet and locked himself up. The Yankees found
him, broke in on him and took him out and they nearly killed him 
beating him so bad. He told all of 'em on the place he was going off.
They wore him out. He didn't live long after that.

"Things got lax. I heard her say one man sold all his slaves. The War
broke out. They run away and went back to him. She'd see 'em pass going
back home. They been sold and wouldn't stay. Folks got to running off to
war. They thought it look like a frolic. I heard some of them say they
wish they hadn't gone off to war 'fore it was done. Niggers didn't know
that[TR: ?] war no freedom was 'ceptin' the Yankees come tell them
something and then they couldn't understand how it all be. Black folks
was mighty ignant then. They is now for that matter. They look to white
folks for right kind of doings[?].

"Ma said every now and then see somebody going back to that man tried to
get rid of them. They traveled by night and beg along from black folks.
In daytime they would stay in the woods so the pettyrollers wouldn't run
up on them. The pettyrollers would whoop 'em if they catch 'em.

"Ma told about one day the Yankees come and made the white women came
help the nigger women cook up a big dinner. Ma was scared so bad she
couldn't see nothing she wanted. She said there was no talking. They was
too scared to say a word. They sot the table and never a one of them
told 'em it was ready.

"She said biscuits so scarce after the War they took 'em 'round in their
pockets to nibble on they taste so good.

"I was eighteen years old when pa and ma took the notion to come out
here. All of us come but one sister had married, and pa and one brother
had a little difference. Pa had children ma didn't have. They went
together way after slavery. We got transportation to Memphis by train
and took a steamboat to Pillowmount. That close to Forrest City. Later
on I come to Biscoe. They finally come too.

"I been pretty independent all my life till I getting so feeble. I work
a sight now. I'm making boards to kiver my house out at the lot now. I
goiner get somebody to kiver it soon as I get my boards made.

"We don't get no PWA aid 'ceptin' for two orphant babies we got. They
are my wife's sister's little boys.

"Well sir-ree, folks could do if the young ones would. Young folks don't
have no consideration for the old wore-out parents. They dance and drink
it bodaciously out on Saturday ebening and about till Sunday night. I
may be wrong but I sees it thater way. Whan we get old we get helpless.
I'm getting feebler every year. I see that. Times goiner be hard ag'in
this winter and next spring. Money is scarce now for summer time and
craps laid by. I feels that my own self now. Every winter times get
tough."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Richard H. McDaniel, Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 73


"I was born in Newton County, Mississippi the first year of the
surrender. I don't think my mother was sold and I know my father was
never sold. Jim McDaniel raised my father and one sister after his
mother died. One sister was married when she died. I heard him say when
he got mad he would quit work. He said old master wouldn't let the
mistress whoop him and she wouldn't let him whoop my father. My father
was a black man but my mother was light. Her father was a white man and
her mother part Indian and white mixed, so what am I? My mother was
owned by people named Wash. Dick Wash was her young master. My parents'
names was Willis and Elsie McDaniel. When it was freedom I heard them
say Moster McDaniel told them they was free. He was broke. If they could
do better go on, he didn't blame them, he couldn't promise them much
now. They moved off on another man's place to share crop. They had to
work as hard and didn't have no more than they had in slavery. That is
what they told me. They could move around and visit around without
asking. They said it didn't lighten the work none but it lightened the
rations right smart. Moster McDaniel nor my father neither one went to
war.

"From the way I always heard it, the Ku Klux was the law like night
watchman. When I was a boy there was a lot of stealing and bushwhacking.
Folks meet you out and kill you, rob you, whoop you. A few of the black
men wouldn't work and wanted to steal. That Ku Klux was the law watching
around. Folks was scared of em. I did see them. I would run hide.

"I farmed up till 1929. Then I been doing jobs. I worked on relief till
they turned me off, said I was too old to work but they won't give me
the pension. I been trying to figure out what I am to do. Lady, could
you tell me? Work at jobs when I can get them.

"I allus been voting till late years. If they let some folks vote in the
first lection, they would be putting in somebody got no business in the
gover'ment. All the fault I see in white folks running the gover'ment is
we colored folks ain't got work we can do all the time to live on. I
thought all the white folks had jobs what wanted jobs. The conditions is
hard for old men like me. I pay $3 for a house every month. It is a cold
house.

"This present generation is living a fast life. What all don't they do?"




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Waters McIntosh
                    1900 Howard Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 76


"I was born July 4, 1862 at 2:08 in the morning at Lynchburg, Sumter
County, South Carolina.


Parents

"My mother was named Lucy Sanders. My father was named Sumter Durant.
Our owner was Dr. J.M. Sanders, the son of Mr. Bartlett Sanders. Sumter
Durant was a white man. My mother was fourteen years old when I was born
I was her second child. Durant was in the Confederate army and was
killed during the War in the same year I was born, and before my birth.


Sold

"When I was a year old, my mother was sold for $1500 in gold, and I was
sold for $500 in gold to William Carter who lived about five miles south
of Cartersville. The payment was made in fine gold. I was sold because
my folk realized that freedom was coming and they wanted to obtain the
cash value of their slaves.


Name

"My name is spelled 'Waters' but it is pronounced 'Waiters.' When I was
born, I was thought to be a very likely child and it was proposed that I
should be a waiter. Therefore I was called Waters (but it was pronounced
Waiters). They did not spell it w-a-i-t-e-r-s, but they pronounced it
that way.


How Freedom Came

"My mother said that they had been waiting a long time to hear what had
become of the War, perhaps one or two weeks. One day when they were in
the field moulding corn, going round the corn hoeing it and putting a
little hill around it, the conk sounded at about eleven o'clock, and
they knew that the long expected time had come. They dropped their hoes
and went to the big house. They went around to the back where the master
always met the servants and he said to them, 'You are all free, free as
I am. You can go or come as you please. I want you to stay. If you will
stay, I will give you half the crop.' That was the beginning of the
share cropping system.

"My mother came at once to the quarters, and when she found me she
pulled the end out of a corn sack, stuck holes on the sides, put a cord
through the top, pulled out the end, put it on me, put on the only dress
she had, and made it back to the old home (her first master's folk).


What the Slaves Expected

"When the slaves were freed, they got what they expected. They were glad
to get it and get away with it, and that was what mother and them did.


Slave Time Preaching

"One time when an old white man come along who wanted to preach, the
white people gave him a chance to preach to the niggers. The substance
of his sermon was this:

"'Now when you servants are working for your masters, you must be
honest. When you go to the mill, don't carry along an extra sack and put
some of the meal or the flour in for yourself. And when you women are
cooking in the big house, don't make a big pocket under your dress and
put a sack of coffee and a sack of sugar and other things you want in
it."

"They took him out and hanged him for corrupting the morals of the
slaves.


Conditions After the War

"Immediately after the War, there was a great scarcity of food. Neither
Negroes nor white folk had anything to eat. The few white people who did
have something wouldn't let it be known. My grandmother who was
sixty-five years old and one of the old and respected inhabitants of
that time went out to find something for us to eat. A white woman named
Mrs. Burton gave her a sack of meal and told her not to tell anybody
where she got it.

"My grandmother brought the meal home and cooked it in a large skillet
in a big cake. When it got done, she cut it into slices in the way you
would cut up a pie and divided it among us. That all we had to eat.


House

"The white people in those days built their houses back from the front.
In South Carolina, there were lots of farms that had four to twelve
thousand acres. From what mother told me, Master Bill's place set back
from the road. Then there was a great square place they called the yard.
A fence divided the house and the yard adjoining it from that part of
the grounds which held the barn. The yard in front and back of the house
held a grove.

[Illustration]

The square around the house and the Negro quarters were all enclosed so
that the little slaves could not get out while parents were at work. The
Negroes assembled on the porch when the gong called them in the morning.
The boss gave orders from the porch. There was an open space between the
quarters and the court (where the little slaves played). There was a
gate between the court and the big house.

"On the rear of the house, there was a porch from which the boss gave
orders usually about four o'clock in the morning and at which they would
disband in the evening between nine and ten--no certain time but more or
less not earlier than nine and not often later than ten. Back of the
house and beyond it was a fence extending clear across the yard. In one
corner of this fence was a gate leading into the court. Leading out of
the court was an opening surrounded by a semi-circular fence which
enclosed the Negro quarters.

"The cabins were usually built on the ground--no floors. The roofs were
covered with clapboards.

"When I was a boy we used to sing, 'Rather be a nigger than a poor white
man.' Even in slavery they used to sing that. It was the poor white man
who was freed by the War, not the Negroes.


Furniture

"There wasn't any furniture. Beds were built with one post out and the
other three _sides_ fastened to the sides of the house.


Marrying Time

"I remember one night the people were gone to marry. That was when all
the people in the community married immediately after slavery.


Ghosts

"We had an open fireplace. That was at Bartlett Sanders' place. He had
close on to three thousand acres. Every grown person had gone to the
marrying, and I was at home in the bed I just described.

"My grandfather's mother[HW: ?] had a chair and that was hers only. She
was named Senia and was about eighty years old. We burned nothing but
pine knots in the hearth. You would put one or two of those on the fire
and they would burn for hours. We were all in bed and had been for an
hour or two. There were some others sleeping in the same room. There
came a peculiar knocking on grandmother's[HW: great grandmother?] chair.
It's hard to describe it. It was something like the distant beating of a
drum. Grandmother was dead, of course. The boys got up and ran out and
brought in some of the hands. When they came in, a little thing about
three and a half feet high with legs about six or eight inches long ran
out of the room.


Ku Klux Klan

"Whenever there was a man of influence, they terrorized him. They were
at their height about the time of Grant's election. Many a time my
mother and I have watched them pass our door. They wore gowns and some
kind of helmet. They would be going to catch same leading Negro and whip
him. There was scarcely a night they couldn't take a leading Negro out
and whip him if they would catch him alone. On that account, the Negro
men did not stay at home in Sumter County, South Carolina at night. They
left home and stayed together. The Ku Klux very seldom interfered with a
woman or a child.

"They often scared colored people by drinking large quantities of water.
They had something that held a lot of water, and when they would raise
the bucket to their mouths to drink, they would slip the water into it.


White Caps

"The white caps operated further to the northwest of where I lived. I
never came in contact with them. They were not the same thing as the Ku
Klux.


Voting

"In South Carolina under the Reconstruction, we voted right along. In
1868 there were soldiers at all of the election places to see that you
did vote.


Career Since the War

"In 1881 I married. The year after that, in '83,[HW: ?] I merchandised a
little. Then I got converted. I got it in my head that it was wrong to
take big profits from business, so I sold out. Then I was asked to
assist the keeper of the jail.

"In 1888 I went to school for the first time. I was then twenty-six
years old. By the end of the first term, I knew all that the teacher
could teach, so he sent me to Claflin University. I left there in the
third year normal.

"When I returned home, I taught school, at first in a private school and
later in a public school for $15 a month.

"A man named Boyle told me that he had some ground to sell. I saved up
$45, the price he asked for it. When I offered it to him, he said that
he had decided not to sell it. I went to town and spent my $45. A few
days later, he met me and offered me the place again. I told him I had
spent my money. He then offered it to me on time. There was plenty of
timber on the place, so I got some contracts with a man named Roland and
delivered wood to him. When I went to collect the money, he said he
would not pay me in money.

"A man named Pennington offered me 20¢ a day for labor. I asked if he
would pay in money.

"He replied, 'If you're looking for money, don't come.'

"I went home and said to my wife, 'I am going to leave here.'

"I came to Forrest City, Arkansas January 28, 1888. I farmed in Forrest
City, making one crop, and then I entered the ministry, and then I
preached at Spring Park for two years.

"Then I entered Philander Smith College where I stayed from 1891-1897. I
preached from the time I left Philander until 1913.

"Then I studied law and completed the American Correspondence course in
Law when I was fifty years old. I am still practicing.


Wife and Family

"In 1897, when I graduated from Philander, my wife and six children were
sitting on the front seat.

"I have eleven sons and daughters, of whom six are living. I had seven
brothers and sisters.

"My wife and I have been married fifty-six years. I had to steal her
away from her parents, and she has never regretted coming to me nor I
taking her."


Interviewer's Comment

"Brother Mack" as he is familiarly and affectionately known to his
friends is a man keen and vigorous, mentally and physically. He attends
Sunday school, church both in the morning and evening, and all
departments of the Epworth League. He takes the Epworth Herald, the
Southwestern Christian Advocate, the Literary Digest, some poultry and
farm magazines, the Arkansas Gazette, and the St. Louis Democrat, and
several other journals. He is on omnivorous reader and a clear thinker.
He raises chickens and goats and plants a garden as avocations. He has
on invincible reputation for honesty as well as for thrift and thought.

Nothing is pleasanter than to view the relationship between him and his
wife. They have been married fifty-six years and seem to have achieved a
perfect understanding. She is an excellent cook and is devoted to her
home. She attends church regularly. Seems to be four or five years
younger than her husband. Like him, however, she seems to enjoy
excellent health.




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Cresa Mack
                    1417 Short Indiana St., Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 85


"I can tell you something about slavery days. I was born at South Bend,
Arkansas on the old Joe Clay place. I 'member they used to work 'em
scandalous. They used me at the house and I used to wait on old
mistress' brother. He was a old man named Cal Fletcher.

"I 'member when they said the Yankees was comin' the boss man put us in
wagons and runned us to Texas. They put the women and chillun in the
wagons but the men had to walk. I know I was something over twelve years
old.

"Old mistress, Miss Sarah Clay, took her chillun and went to Memphis.

"My white folks treated us very well. I never seed 'em whip my mother
but once, but I seen some whipped till they's speechless. Yes ma'm I
have.

"I can 'member a lot 'bout the war. The Lord have mercy, I'se old. I
'member they used to sing

  'Run nigger run,
  The paddyrollers'll ketch you,
  Run nigger run.'

"Corse if they ketch you out without a pass they'd beat you nearly to
death and tell you to go home to your master.

"One time I was totin' water for the woman what did the washin'. I was
goin' along the road and seed somethin' up in a tree that look like a
dog. I said 'Look at that dog.' The overseer was comin' from the house
and said 'That ain't no dog, that's a panther. You better not stop' and
he shot it out. Then I've seen bears out in the cane brakes. I thought
they was big black bulls. I was young then--yes mam, I was young.

"When the Yankees come through they sot the house afire and the gin and
burned up 'bout a hundred bales a cotton. They never bothered the
niggers' quarters. That was the time the overseer carried us to Texas to
get rid of the Yankees.

"After the surrender the Yankees told the overseer to bring us all up in
the front yard so he could read us the ceremony and he said we was as
free as any white man that walked the ground. I didn't know what 'twas
about much cause I was too busy playin'.

"I didn't know what school was 'fore freedom, but I went about a month
after peace was declared. Then papa died and mama took me out and put me
in the field.

"I was grown, 'bout twenty-four or five, when I married. Now my chillun
and grand chillun takes care of me."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Warren McKinney, Hazen, Arkansas
Age: 85


I was born in Edgefield County, South Carolina. I am eighty-five years
old. I was born a slave of George Strauter. I remembers hearing them say
"Thank God Ize free as a jay bird." My ma was a slave in the field. I
was eleven years old when freedom was declared. When I was little, Mr.
Strauter whipped my ma. It hurt me bad as it did her. I hated him. She
was crying. I chunked him with rocks. He run after me, but he didn't
catch me. There was twenty-five or thirty hands that worked in the
field. They raised wheat, corn, oats, barley, and cotton. All the
children that couldn't work stayed at one house. Aunt Mat kept the
babies and small children that couldn't go to the field. He had a gin
and a shop. The shop was at the fork of the roads. When de war come on
my papa went to build forts. He quit ma and took another woman. When de
war closed ma took her four children, bundled em up and went to Augusta.
The government give out rations there. My ma washed and ironed. People
died in piles. I don't know till yet what was de matter. They said it
was the change of living. I seen five or six wooden, painted coffins
piled up on wagons pass by our house. Loads passed every day lack you
see cotton pass here. Some said it was cholorea and some took
consumption. Lots of de colored people nearly starved. Not much to get
to do and not much house room. Several families had to live in one
house. Lots of the colored folks went up north and froze to death. They
couldn't stand the cold. They wrote back about them dieing. No they
never sent them back. I heard some sent for money to come back. I heerd
plenty bout the Ku Klux. They scared the folks to death. People left
Augusta in droves. About a thousand would all meet and walk going to
hunt work and new homes. Some of them died. I had a sister and brother
lost that way. I had another sister come to Louisiana that way. She
wrote back.

I don't think the colored folks looked for a share of land. They never
got nothing cause the white folks didn't have nothing but barren hills
left. About all the mules was wore out hauling provisions in the army.
Some folks say they ought to done more for de colored folks when dey
left, but dey say dey was broke. Freeing all de slaves left em broke.

That reconstruction was a mighty hard pull. Me and ma couldn't live. A
man paid our ways to Carlisle, Arkansas and we come. We started working
for Mr. Emenson. He had a big store, teams, and land. We liked it fine,
and I been here fifty-six years now. There was so much wild game living
was not so hard. If a fellow could get a little bread and a place to
stay he was all right. After I come to dis state I voted some. I have
farmed and worked at odd jobs. I farmed mostly. Ma went back to her old
master. He persuaded her to come back home. Me and her went back and run
a farm four or five years before she died. Then I come back here. I
first had 300 acres at Carlisle. I sold it and bought 80 acres at Green
Grove. I married in South Carolina. We had a fine weddin, home weddin.
Each of our families furnished the weddin supper. We had 24 waiters.
That is all the wife I ever had. We lived together 57 years. It is hard
for me to keep up with my mind since she died. She been dead five years
nearly now. I used to sing but I forgot all the songs. We had song
books. I joined the church when I was twelve years old.

I think the times are worse than they use to be. The people is living
mighty fast I tell you. I don't get no help from the government. They
won't give me the pension. I can't work and I can't pay taxes on my
place. They just don't give me nothing but a little out of the store. I
can't get no pension.




Little Rock District
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson
Subject: Ex-Slave--History
Story:--Information

This Information given by: Warren McKinney
Place of Residence: Hazen, Green Grove Settlement, Arkansas
Occupation: Farming
Age: 84
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]


Warren McKinney was born in Edgefield County, South Carolina. He was
born a slave. His master was George Strauter. He had a big plantation
and worked twenty-five or thirty work hands. There were twenty-five or
thirty children too small to work in the field. They raised cotton,
corn, oats, and wheat. His mother washed and ironed and cooked. He was
small but well remembers once when his mother had been sick and had just
gotten out. George Strauter whipped her with a switch on her legs.
Warren did not approve of it. Rocks were plentiful and he began throwing
at him. He said Mr. George took out after him but didn't catch or whip
him.

George Strauter tried to teach them all how to be good farmers and be
saving. Warren knew war was going on but he didn't see any of it. His
father came home several times. He was off building forts. He said he
remembered a big "hurly-burly" and he heard 'em saying, "Thank God I'ze
free as a jay bird." He didn't know why they were fighting so he didn't
know then why they were saying that.

George Strauter had a shop at the fork of the roads. He had his own gin.
They sold cotton and bought provisions at Augusta, Georgia. They made
some of their meal and flour and raised all their meat and made enough
lard to do the year around.

He heard them talking about the "Yankees" burning up Augusta, but he saw
where they had burned Hamburg, South Carolina or North Augusta they call
it.

After they were free he remembers his mother bundling up her things and
her family and them all going in an ox cart to Augusta to live. Warren's
mother washed, cooked and ironed for a living. Her husband went off and
lived with another woman after freedom. Warren was about eleven years
old then. The Government furnished food for them too. One thing that
distressed Warren was _the way people died for more than a year_. He saw
five or six coffins piled up on a wagon being taken out to be buried. He
thought it was changing houses and changing ways of living. They didn't
have shoes and warm clothes and weren't fed from white folks smoke
house. _Lots of the slaves had Consumption and died right now_. Stout
men and women didn't live two years after they were freed. Lots of them
said they didn't like that freedom and wanted to go back but the masters
were broke and couldn't keep many of them if they went back.

When Warren was about fifteen years old, there was a white man or two,
but colored leaders mostly got about a thousand colored people to start
for the West walking. Warren had sisters and brothers who started on
this trip. Warren had some fussy brothers, his mother was afraid would
get in jail. They kept her uneasy. They shipped their "stuff" by boat
and train. He never saw them any more but he heard from them in
Louisiana. Louisiana had a bad name in those days.

When Warren was about fourteen and fifteen, his mother had them on a
farm, farming near Hamburg.

When he was sixteen or seventeen, his mother and the other children came
on the train to about where Carlisle now is but it wasn't called by that
name. There were very few houses of any kind. Mr. Emerson had a big
store and lots of land. He worked black and white. Mr. Emerson let them
have seven or eight mules and wagons and they farmed near there. He
remembers pretty soon there was a depot where the depot now stands, a
bank, a post office, and two or three more stores, all small buildings.
He liked coming to Arkansas because he got to ride on the train a long
ways. It was easy to live here. There were lots of game and fish.

Warren never shot anything in his life. He was no hunter. _Nats_ were
awful. Warren made smoke to run the nats from the cows. Four or five
deer would come to the smoke. Cows were afraid of them and would leave
the smoke. When he would go the deer would leap four or five feet in the
air at the sight of him.

When Warren lived in Augusta, Georgia, they had schools a month at a
time but Warren never did get to go to any, so he can't read or write.
But he learned to save his money. He joined a church when he was twelve
years old in South Carolina and belongs to the Baptist church at Green
Grove now.

The old master in South Carolina persuaded his mother to come back. They
all went back four or five years before his mother died. While Warren
was there he married a woman on a joining farm.




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Victoria McMullen
                    1416 E. Valmar, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 54
Occupation: Seamstress


"My mother was born March 16, 1865, and knew nothing of slavery.

"Both my grandmothers and both grandfathers were slaves. My father was
born in the same year as my mother and like my mother knew nothing of
slavery although both of them might have been born slaves.

"I knew my mother's mother and father and my father's mother, but I
didn't know my father's father.

"He was from Texas and he always stayed there. He never did come out to
Louisiana where I was born. My mother was born in Louisiana, but my
father was born in Texas. I don't know what county or city my father was
born in. I just heard my grandmother on his side say he was born in
Texas.

"During the War (he was born in '65 when the War ceased), Grandmother
Katy--that was her name, Katy, Katy Elmore--she was in Louisiana at
first--she was run out in Texas, I suppose, to be hidden from the
Yankees. My father was born there and my grandfather stayed there. He
died in Texas and then Grandma Katy come back to Louisiana with my
father and settled in Ouachita Parish.

"Grandma Katy was sold from South Carolina into Louisiana to Bob
McClendon, and she kept the name of Elmore who was her first owner in
South Carolina. It was Bob McClendon who run her out in Texas to hide
her from the Yankees. My grandfather in Texas kept the name of Jamison.
That was the name of his master in Texas. But grandma kept the name of
Elmore from South Carolina because he was good to her. He was better
than Bob McClendon. The eastern states sold their slaves to the southern
states and got all the money, then they freed the slaves and that left
the South without anything.

"Grandma Katy had Creek Indian blood in her. She was of medium size and
height, copper colored, high cheek bones, small squinchy eyes, black
curly hair. Her hair was really pretty but she didn't curl it. It was
just naturally curly. She was a practical nurse as they call it, but she
did more of what some people call a midwife. They call it something else
now. They got a proper word for it.

"They got it in these government agencies. That is what she was even in
slavery times. She worked for colored people and white people both. That
was after she was freed until she went blind. She went blind three years
before she died. She died at the age of exactly one hundred years. She
treated women and babies. They said she was a real good doctor in her
day. That is been fifty-four years ago. [I will be fifty-four years old
tomorrow--September 18, 1938.] In slavery times my grandma was almost as
free as she was in freedom because of her work.

"She said that Bob McClendon was cruel to her. Sometimes he'd get angry
and take the shovel and throw hot ashes on the slaves. And then he'd see
them with blisters on them and he would take a handsaw or a flat plank
and bust the blisters. Louisiana was a warm country and they wouldn't
have much clothes on. When the slaves were freed, he went completely
broke. He had scarcely a place to live.

"I seen him once. Be look like on old possum. He had a long beard down
to his waist and he had long side burns too. Just a little of his face
showed. He was tall and stooping and he wore his hair long and uncut
down on his neck. You know about what he looked like. He had on blue
jeans pants and brogan shoes and a common shirt--a work shirt. He wore
very common clothes. When they freed the Negroes, it broke him up
completely. He had been called a 'big-to-do' in his life but he wasn't
nothing then. He owned Grandma Katy.

"Grandma Katy had a sister named Maria and a brother named Peter. He
owned all three of them. I have seen all of them. Grandma Katy was the
oldest. She and Uncle Peter stayed close together. He didn't have no
wife and she didn't have no husband. But Aunt Maria had a husband. She
lived off from them after freedom. It was about twelve miles away. My
great-aunt and great-uncle--they were Maria and Peter--that was what
they were. Uncle Peter died first before I left Louisiana, but Aunt
Maria and Grandma Katy died after I came to Arkansas. Grandma Katy lived
four years after I came here.

"After they was free and my father had gotten large enough to work and
didn't have no horse, my grandma was going 'round waiting on women--that
is all she did--all the rest of the people had gotten large and left
home. Papa made a crop with a hoe. He made three bales of cotton and
about twelve loads of corn with that hoe. He used to tell me, 'You don't
know nothin' 'bout work. You oughter see how I had to work.' After that
he bought him a horse. Money was scarce then and it took something to
buy the place and the horse both. They were turned loose from slavery
without anything. Hardly had a surname--just Katy, Maria, and Peter.

"I knew more about the slave-time history of my mother's folks than I
did about my father's but I'll tell you that some other time. My
grandmother on my mother's side was born in Richmond, Virginia. She was
owned by a doctor but I can't call his name. She gets her name from her
husband's owners. They came from Virginia. They didn't take the name of
their owners in Louisiana. They took the name of the owners in Virginia.
She was a twin--her twin was a boy named June and her name was Hetty.
Her master kept her brother to be a driver for him. She was sent from
Virginia to Louisiana to people that were related to her Virginia
people. She called her Louisiana mistress 'White Ma;' she never did call
her 'missis.' The white folks and the colored folks too called her
Indian because she was mixed with Choctaw. That's the Indian that has
brown spots on the jaw. They're brownskin. It was an Indian from the
Oklahoma reservation that said my mother belonged to the Choctaws.

"She rode from Virginia to Louisiana on a boat at the age of twelve
years. She was separated from her mother and brothers and sisters and
never did see them again. She was kept in the house for a nurse. She was
not a midwife. She nursed the white babies. That was what she was sent
to Louisiana for--to nurse the babies. The Louisiana man that owned her
was named George Dorkins. But I think this white woman came from
Virginia. She married this Louisiana man, then sent back to her father's
house and got grandma; she got her for a nurse. She worked only a year
and a half in the field before peace was declared. After she got grown
and married, my grandfather--she had to stay with him and cook and keep
house for him. That was during slavery time but after George Dorkins
died. Dorkins went and got hisself a barrel of whiskey--one of these
great big old barrels--and set it up in his house, and put a faucet in
it and didn't do nothin' but drink whiskey. He said he was goin' to
drink hisself to death. And he did.

"He was young enough to go to war and he said he would drink hisself to
death before he would go, and he did. My grandma used to steal
newspapers out of his house and take them down to the quarters and leave
them there where there were one or two slaves that could read and tell
how the War was goin' on. I never did learn how the slaves learned to
read. But she was in the house and she could steal the papers and send
them down. Later she could slip off and they would tell her the news,
and then she could slip the papers back.

"Her master drank so much he couldn't walk without falling and she would
have to help him out. Her mistress was really good. She never allowed
the overseer to whip her. She was only whipped once in slave time while
my father's mother was whipped more times than you could count.

"Her master often said, 'I'll drink myself to death before I'll go to
war and be shot down like a damn target.' She said in living with them
in the house, she learned to cuss from him. She said she was a cussin'
soul until she became a Christian. She wasn't 'fraid of them because she
was kin to them in some way. There was another woman there who was some
kin to them and she looked enough like my grandma for them to be kin to
each other. We talked it over several times and said we believed we were
related; but none of us know for sure.

"When the slaves wanted something said they would have my grandma say it
because they knew she wouldn't be whipped for it. 'White Ma' wouldn't
let nobody whip her if she knew it. She cussed the overseer out that
time for whipping her.

"When grandma was fourteen or fifteen years old they locked her up in
the seed house once or twice for not going to church. You see they let
the white folks go to the church in the morning and the colored folks in
the evening, and my grandma didn't always want to go. She would be
locked up in the seed bin and she would cuss the preacher out so he
could hear her. She would say, 'Master, let us out.' And he would say,
'You want to go to church?' And she would say, 'No, I don't want to hear
that same old sermon: "Stay out of your missis' and master's hen house.
Don't steal your missis' and master's chickens. Stay out of your missis'
and master's smokehouse. Don't steal your missis' and master's hams." I
don't steal nothing. Don't need to tell me not to.'

"She was tellin' the truth too. She didn't steal because she didn't have
to. She had plenty without stealin'! She got plenty to eat in the house.
But the other slaves didn't git nothin' but fat meat and corn bread and
molasses. And they got tired of that same old thing. They wanted
something else sometimes. They'd go to the hen house and get chickens.
They would go to the smokehouse and get hams and lard. And they would
get flour and anything else they wanted and they would eat something
they wanted. There wasn't no way to keep them from it.

"The reason she got whipped that time, the overseer wanted her to help
get a tree off the fence that had been blown down by a storm. She told
him that wasn't her work and she wasn't goin' to do it. Old miss was
away at that time. He hit her a few licks and she told old miss when she
came back. Old 'White Ma' told the overseer, 'Don't never put your hands
on her no more no matter what she does. That's more than I do. I don't
hit her and you got no business to do it.'

"Her husband, my grandfather, was a blacksmith, and he never did work in
the field. He made wagons, plows, plowstocks, buzzard wings--they call
them turning plows now. They used to make and put them on the stocks. He
made anything-handles, baskets. He could fill wagon wheels. He could
sharpen tools. Anything that come under the line of blacksmith, that is
what he did. He used to fix wagons all the time I knowed him. In harvest
time in the fall he would drive from Bienville where they were slaves to
Monroe in Ouachita Parish. He kept all the plows and was sharpening and
fixing anything that got broke. He said he never did get no whipping.

"His name was Tom Eldridge. They called him 'Uncle Tom'. They was the
mother and father of twelve children. Six lived and six died. One boy
and five girls lived. And one girl and five boys died--half and half. He
died at the age of seventy-five, June 6, 1908. She died January 1920.

"I came out here in January 1907. I lived in Pine Bluff. From Louisiana
I came to Pine Bluff in 1906. In 1907 I went to Kerr in Lonoke County
and lived there eight years and then I came to Little Rock. I farmed at
Kerr and just worked 'round town those few months in Pine Bluff.
Excusing the time I was in Pine Bluff and Little Rock I farmed. I farmed
in Ouachita Parish, Louisiana."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Nannie P. Madden
                    West Memphis, Arkansas
Age: 69


"I am Martha Johnson's sister. I was born at Lake Village, Arkansas. I
am 69 years old. I was born on Mr. Ike Wethingtons place. Pa was
renting. Mother died in 1876 on this farm. We called it Red Leaf
plantation. Father died at Martha Johnson's here in West Memphis when he
was 88 years old.

"Mother was not counted a slave. Her master's Southern wife (white wife)
disliked her very much but kept her till her death. Mother had three
white children by her master. After freedom she married a black man and
had four children by him. We are in the last set.

"We was born after slavery and all we know is from hearing our people
talk. Father talked all time about slavery. He was a soldier. I couldn't
tell you straight. I can give you some books on slavery:

  Booker T. Washington's Own Story of His Life and Work,
  64 page supplement, by Albon L. Holsey

    Authentic Edition--in office of Library of Congress,
    Washington, D.C., 1915, copywrighted by J.L. Nichols
    Co.

  The Master Mind of a Child of Slavery--Booker T. Washington,
  by Frederick E. Drinker, Washington, D.C.

I have read them both. Yes, they are my own books.

"I farmed and cooked all my life."




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Perry Madden, Thirteenth Street, south side,
                    one block east of Boyle Park Road, Route 6,
                    Care L.G. Cotton, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: About 79


Birth and Age

"I have been here quite a few years. This life is short. A man ought to
prepare for eternity. I had an uncle who used to say that a person who
went to torment stayed as long as there was a grain of sand on the sea.

"I was a little boy when slavery broke. I used to go out with my
brother. He watched gaps. I did not have to do anything; I just went out
with him to keep him company. I was scared of the old master. I used to
call him the 'Big Bear.' He was a great big old man.

"I was about six years old when the War ended, I guess. I don't know how
old I am. The insurance men put me down as seventy-three. I know I was
here in slavery time, and I was just about six years old when the War
ended.


Schooling

"I got my first learning in Alabama. I didn't learn anything at all in
slavery times. I went to school. I would go to the house in slavery
tine, and there wouldn't be nobody home, and I would go to the bed and
get under it because I was scared. When I would wake up it would be way
in the night and dark, and I would be in bed.

"I got my schooling way after the surrender. We would make crops. The
third time we moved, dad started me to school. I had colored teachers. I
was in Talladega County. I made the fifth grade before I stopped. My
father died and then I had to stop and take care of my mother.


An "Aunt Caroline" Story

"I know that some people can tell things that are goin' to happen. Old
man Julks lived at Pumpkin Bend. He had a colt that disappeared. He went
to 'Aunt Caroline'--that's Caroline Dye. She told him just where the
colt was and who had it and how he had to get it back. She described the
colt and told him that was what he come to find out about before he had
a chance to ask her anything. She told him that white people had it and
told him where they lived and told him he would have to have a white man
go and git it for him. He was working for a good man and he told him
about it. He advertised for the colt and the next day, the man that
stole it came and told him that a colt had been found over on his place
and for him to come over and arrange to git it. But he said, 'No, I've
placed that matter in the hands of my boss.' He told his boss about it,
but the fellow brought the horse and give it to the boss without any
argument.


Family and Masters

"My old master's slaves were called free niggers. He and his wife never
mistreated their slaves. When any of Madden's slaves were out and the
pateroles got after them, if they could make it home, that ended it.
Nobody beat Madden's niggers.

"My father's name was Allen Madden and my mother's name was Amy Madden.
I knew my grandfather and grandmother on my mother's side. My
grandfather and grandmother never were 'round me though that I can
remember.

"When the old man died, the Negroes were divided out. This boy got so
many and that one got so many. The old man, Mabe Madden, had two sons,
John and Little Mabe. My mother and father went to John. They were in
Talladega because John stayed there.

"My father's mother and father fell to Little Mabe Madden. They never
did come to Alabama but I have heard my father talk about them so much.
My father's father was named Harry. His last name must have been Madden.

"My grandfather on my mother's side was named Charlie Hall. He married
into the Madden family. He belonged to the Halls before he married. Old
man Charlie, his master, had a plantation that wasn't far from the
Madden's plantation. In those days, if you met a girl and fell in love
with her, you could git a pass and go to see her if you wanted to. You
didn't have to be on the same plantation at all. And you could marry her
and go to see her, and have children by her even though you belonged to
different masters. The Maddens never did buy Hall. Grandma never would
change her name to Hall. He stayed at my house after we married, stayed
with me sometimes, and stayed with his other son sometimes.

"My mother was born a Madden. She was born right at Madden's place. When
grandma married Hall, like it is now, she would have been called Hall.
But she was born a Madden and stayed Madden and never did change to her
husband's name. So my mother was born a Madden although her father's
name was Hall.

"I don't know what sort of man Mabe was, and I only know what my parents
said about John. They said he was a good man and I have to say what they
said. He didn't let nobody impose on his niggers. Pateroles did git
after them and bring them in with the hounds, but when they got in, that
settled it. Madden never would allow white people to beat on his
niggers.

"They tried to git my daddy out so that they could whip him, but they
couldn't catch him. They shot him--the pateroles did--but he whipped
them. My daddy was a coon. I mean he was a good man.


Early Life

"My brother was big enough to mind gaps. That was in slavery times. They
had good fences around the field. They didn't have gates like they do
now. They had gaps. The fence would zigzag, and the rails could be
lifted down at one section, and that would leave a gap. If you left a
gap, the stock would go into the field. When there was a gap, my brother
would stay in it and keep the stock from passing. When the folks would
come to dinner, he would go in and eat dinner with them just as big as
anybody. When they would leave, the gap would stay down till night. It
stayed down from morning till noon and from one o'clock till the men
come in at night. The gap was a place in the rails like I told you where
they could take down the rails to pass. It took time to lay the rails
down and more time to place then back up again. They wouldn't do it.
They would leave them down till they come back during the work hours and
a boy that was too small to do anything else was put to mind them. My
brother used to do that and I would keep him company. When I heard old
master coming there, I'd be gone, yes siree. I would see him when he
left the house and when he got to the gap, I would be home or at my
grandfather's.


Occupational Experiences

"I have followed farming all my life. That is the sweetest life a man
can lead. I have been farming all my life principally. My occupation is
farming. That is it was until I lost my health. I ain't done nothin' for
about four years now. I would follow public work in the fall of the year
and make a crop every year. Never failed till I got disabled. I used to
make all I used and all I needed to feed my stock. I even raised my own
wheat before I left home in Alabama. That is a wheat country. They don't
raise it out here.[HW: ?]

"I came here--lemme see, about how many years ago did I come here. I
guess I have been in Arkansas about twenty-eight years since the first
time I come here. I have gone in and out as I got a chance to work
somewheres. I have been living in this house about three years.

"I preached for about twenty or more years. I don't know that I call
myself a preacher. I am a pretty good talker sometimes. I have never
pastored a church; somehow or 'nother the word come to me to go and I go
and talk. I ain't no pulpit chinch. I could have taken two or three
men's churches out from under them, but I didn't.


Freedom and Soldiers

"I can't remember just how my father got freed. Old folks then didn't
let you stan' and listen when they talked. If you did it once, you
didn't do it again. They would talk while they were together, but the
children would have business outdoors. Yes siree, I never heard them say
much about how they got freedom.

"I was there when the Yankees come through. That was in slave time. They
marched right through old man Madden's grove. They were playing the
fifes and beating the drums. And they were playing the fiddle. Yes sir,
they were playing the fiddle too. It must have been a fiddle; it sounded
just like one. The soldiers were all just a singin'. They didn't bother
nobody at our house. If they bothered anything, nothing was told me
about it. I heard my uncle say they took a horse from my old manager. I
didn't see it. They took the best horse in the lot my uncle said. Pardon
me, they didn't take him. A peckerwood took him and let the Yankees get
him. I have heard that they bothered plenty of other places. Took the
best mules, and left old broken down ones and things like that. Broke
things up. I have heard that about other places, but I didn't see any of
it.


Right after the War

"Right after the War, my father went to farming--renting land. I mean he
sharecropped and done around. Thing is come way up from then when the
Negroes first started. They didn't have no stock nor nothin' then. They
made a crop just for the third of it. When they quit the third, they
started givin' them two-fifths. That's more than a third, ain't it? Then
they moved up from that, and give them half, and they are there yet. If
you furnish, they give you two-thirds and take one-third. Or they give
you so much per acre or give him produce in rent.


Marriage

"I was married in 1883. My wife's name was Mary Elston. Her mother died
when she was an infant. Her grandmother was an Elston at first. Then she
changed her name to Cunningham. But she always went in the name of
Elston, and was an Elston when she married me. My wife I mean. I married
on a Thursday in the Christmas week. This December I will be married
fifty-five years. This is the only wife I have ever had. We had three
children and all of them are dead. All our birthed children are dead.
One of them was just three months old when he died. My baby girl had
three children and she lived to see all of them married.


Opinions

"Our own folks is about the worst enemies we have. They will come and
sweet talk you and then work against you. I had a fellow in here not
long ago who came here for a dollar, and I never did hear from him again
after he got it. He couldn't get another favor from me. No man can fool
me more than one time. I have been beat out of lots of money and I have
got hurt trying to help people.

"The young folks now is just gone astray. I tell you the truth, I
wouldn't give you forty cents a dozen for these young folks. They are
sassy and disrespectful. Don't respect themselves and nobody else. When
they get off from home, they'll respect somebody else better 'n they
will their own mothers.

"If they would do away with this stock law, they would do better
everywhere. If you would say fence up your place and raise what you
want, I could get along. But you have to keep somebody to watch your
stock. If you don't, you'll have to pay something out. It's a bad old
thing this stock law. It's detrimental to the welfare of man."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Lewis Mann
                    1501 Bell Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 81


"As nigh as I can come at it, I was bout five or six time of the war. I
remember when the war ceasted. I was a good-sized chap.

"Durin' the war my mother's master sent us to Texas; western Texas is
whar they stopped me. We stayed there two years and then they brought us
back after surrender.

"I remember when the war ceasted and remember the soldiers refugeein'
through the country. I'm somewhar round eighty-one. I'm tellin' you the
truf. I ain't just now come here.

"I was born right here in Arkansas. My mother's master was old B.D.
Williams of Tennessee and we worked for his son Mac H. Williams here in
Arkansas. They was good to my mother. Always had nurses for the colored
childrun while the old folks was in the field.

"After the war I used to work in the house for my white folks--for Dr.
Bob Williams way up there in the country on the river. I stayed with his
brother Mac Williams might near twenty-five or thirty years. Worked
around the house servin' and doin' arrands different places.

"I went to school a little bit a good piece after the war and learned to
read and write.

"I've heard too much of the Ku Klux. I remember when they was Ku Kluxin'
all round through here.

"Lord! I don't know how many times I ever voted. I used to vote every
time they had an election. I voted before I could read. The white man
showed me how to vote and asked me who I wanted to vote for. Oh Lord, I
was might near grown when I learned to read.

"I been married just one time in my life and my wife's been dead
thirteen years.

"I tell you, Miss, I don't know hardly what to think of things now.
Everything so changeable I can't bring nothin' to remembrance to hold
it.

"I didn't do nothin' when I was young but just knock around with the
white folks. Oh Lord, when I was young I delighted in parties. Don't
nothin' like that worry me now. Don't go to no parades or nothin'. Don't
have that on my brain like I did when I was young. I goes to church all
the place I does go.

"I ain't never had no accident. Don't get in the way to have no accident
cause I know the age I is if I injure these bones there ain't anything
more to me.

"My mother had eight childrun and just my sister and me left. I can't do
a whole day's work to save my life. I own this place and my
sister-in-law gives me a little somethin' to eat. I used to be on the
bureau but they took me off that."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Angeline Martin, Kansas City, Missouri
                    Visiting at 1105 Louisiana St., Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age 80


"Well, I was livin' then. I was born in Georgia. Honey, I don't know
what year. I was born before the war. I was about ten when freedom come.
I don't remember when it started but I remember when it ended. I think
I'm in the 80's--that's the way I count it.

"My master was dead and my mistress was a widow--Miss Sarah Childs. She
had a guardeen.

"When the war come, old mistress and her daughter refugeed to
Mississippi. The guardeen wouldn't let me go, said I was too young.

"My parents stayed on the plantation. My white folks' house was vacant
and the Yankees come and used it for headquarters. They never had put
shoes on me and when the Yankees shot the chickens I'd run and get em.
They didn't burn up nothin', just kill the hogs and chickens and give us
plenty.

"I didn't know what the war was about. You know chillun in them days
didn't have as much sense as they got now.

"After freedom, my folks stayed on the place and worked on the shares. I
want to school right after the war. I went every year till we left
there. We come to this country in seventy something. We come here and
stopped at the Cummins place. I worked in the field till I come to town
bout fifty years ago. Since then I cooked some and done laundry work.

"I married when I was seventeen. Had six children. I been livin' in
Kansas City twenty-three years. Followed my boy up there. I like it up
there a lot better than I do here. Oh lord, yes, there are a lot of
colored people in Kansas City."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Josie Martin
                    R.F.D., Madison, Arkansas
Age:  86


"I was born up near Cotton Plant but took down near Helena to live. My
parents named Sallie and Bob Martin. They had seven children. I heard
mother say she was sold on a block in Mississippi when she was twelve
years old. My father was a Creek Indian; he was dark. Mother was a
Choctaw Indian; she was bright. Mother died when I was but a girl and
left a family on my hands. I sent my baby brother and sister to school
and I cooked on a boarding train. The railroad hands working on the
tracks roomed and et on the train. They are all dead now and I'm 'lone
in the world.

"My greatest pleasure was independence--make my money, go and spend it
as I see fit. I wasn't popular with men. I never danced. I did sell
herbs for diarrhea and piles and 'what ails you.' I don't sell no more.
Folks too close to drug stores now. I had long straight hair nearly to
my knees. It come out after a spell of typhoid fever. It never come in
to do no good." (Baldheaded like a man and she shaves. She is a
hermaphrodite, reason for never marrying.) "I made and saved up at one
time twenty-three thousand dollars cooking and field work. I let it slip
out from me in dribs.

"I used to run from the Yankees. I've seen them go in droves along the
road. They found old colored couple, went out, took their hog and made
them barbecue it. They drove up a stob, nailed a piece to a tree stacked
their guns. They rested around till everything was ready. They et at one
o'clock at night and after the feast drove on. They wasn't so good to
Negroes. They was good to their own feelings. They et up all that old
couple had to eat in their house and the pig they raised. I reckon their
owners give them more to eat. They lived off alone and the soldiers
stopped there and worked the old man and woman nearly to death.

"Our master told us about freedom. His name was Master Martin. He come
here from Mississippi. I don't recollect his family.

"I get help from the Welfare. I had paralysis. I never got over my
stroke. I ain't no 'count to work."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Bess Mathis, Hazen, Arkansas
Age: 82


"I was born in De Sota County, Mississippi. My parents' owners was Mars
Hancock. Mama was a cook and field hand. Papa milked and worked in the
field. Mama had jes' one child, that me. I had six childern. I got five
livin'. They knowed they free. It went round from mouth to mouth. Mama
said Mars Hancock was good er slave holder as ever lived she recken. I
heard her come over that er good many times. But they wanted to be free.
I jes' heard em talk bout the Ku Klux. They said the Ku Klux made lot of
em roamin' round go get a place to live and start workin'. They tell how
they would ride at night and how scarry lookin' they was. I heard em say
if Mars Hancock didn't want to give em meat they got tree a coon or
possum. Cut the tree down or climb it and then come home and cook it.
They had no guns. They had dogs or could get one. Game helps out lots.

"The women chewed for their children after they weaned em. They don't
none of em do that way now. Women wouldn't cut the baby's finger nails.
They bite em off. They said if you cut its nails off he would steal.
They bite its toe nails off, too. And if they wanted the children to
have long pretty hair, they would trim the ends off on the new of the
moon. That would cause the hair to grow long. White folks and darkies
both done them things.

"I been doin' whatever come to hand--farmin', cookin', washin', ironin'.

"I never expects to vote neither. I sure ain't voted.

"Conditions pretty bad sometimes. I don't know what cause it. You got
beyond me now. I don't know what going become of the young folks, and
they ain't studyin' it. They ain't kind. Got no raisin' I call it. I
tried to raise em to work and behave. They work some. My son is takin'
care of me now."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Caroline Matthews
                    812 Spruce Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 79


"Yes'm, I was born in slavery times in Mississippi. Now, the only thing
I remember was some soldiers come along on some mules. I remember my
mother and father was sittin' on the gallery and they say, 'Look a
there, them's soldiers.'

"And I remember when my parents run off. I was with 'em and I cried for
'em to tote me.

"My mother's first owner was named Armstrong. She said she was about
eleven years old when he bought her. I heard her say they just changed
around a lot.

"Freedom was comin' and her last owners had carried her to a state where
it hadn't come yet. That's right--it was Texas.

"Her first owners was good. She said they wouldn't 'low the overseer to
'buke the women at all.

"But her last owners was cruel. She said one day old missis was out in
the yard and backed up and fell into a pan of hot water and when her
husband come she told him and he tried to 'buke my mother. You know if
somebody tryin' to get the best of you and you can help yourself, you
gwine do it. So mama throwed up her arm and old master hit it with a
stick and cut it bad. So my parents run off. That was in Texas.

"She said we was a year comin' back and I know they stopped at the
Dillard place and made a crop. And they lost one child on the way--that
was Kittie.

"I heard mama say they got back here to Arkansas and got to the bureau
and they freed 'em. I know the War wasn't over yet 'cause I know I heard
mama say, 'Just listen to them guns at Vicksburg.'

"When I was little, I was so sickly. I took down with the whoopin' cough
and I was sick so long. But mama say to the old woman what stayed with
me, 'This gal gwine be here to see many a winter 'cause she so stout in
the jaws I can't give her no medicine.'

"When I commenced to remember anything, I heered 'em talkin' 'bout Grant
and Colfax. Used to wear buttons with Grant and Colfax.

"But I was livin' in Abraham Lincoln's time. Chillun them days didn't
know nothin'. Why, woman, I was twelve years old 'fore I knowed babies
didn't come out a holler log. I used to go 'round lookin' in logs for a
baby.

"I had seven sisters and three brothers and they all dead but me. Had
three younger than me. They was what they called freeborn chillun.

"After freedom my parents worked for Major Ross. I know when mama fixed
us up to go to Sunday-school we'd go by Major Ross for him to see us. I
know we'd go so early, sometimes he'd still be in his drawers.

"I know one thing--when I was about sixteen years old things was good
here. Ever'body had a good living."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Malindy Maxwell, Madison, Arkansas
Age: Up in 80's


"I was born close to Como and Sardis, Mississippi. My master and
mistress was Sam Shans and Miss Cornelia Shans. I was born a slave. They
owned mama and Master Rube Sanders owned pa. Neither owner wouldn't sell
but they agreed to let ma and pa marry. They had a white preacher and
they married out in the yard and had a big table full of weddin' supper,
and the white folks et in the house. They had a big supper too. Ma said
they had a big crowd. The preacher read the ceremony. Miss Cornelia give
her a white dress and white shoes and Miss Cloe Wilburn give her a veil.
Miss Cloe was some connection of Rube Sanders.

"They had seven children. I'm the oldest--three of us living.

"After 'mancipation pa went to see about marrying ma over agen and they
told him that marriage would stand long as ever he lived.

"Mama was sold at twelve years old in Atlanta, Georgia. Ma and pa was
always field hands. Grandma got to be one of John Sanders' leading hands
to work mong the women folks. They said John Sanders was meanest man
ever lived or died. According to pa's saying, Mars Ruben was a good
sorter man. Pa said John Sanders was too mean a man to have a wife. He
was mean to Miss Sarah. They said he beat her, his wife, like he beat a
nigger woman.

"Miss Sarah say, 'Come get your rations early Saturday morning, clean up
your house, wash and iron, and we'll go to preaching tomorrow--Sunday. I
want you to all come out clean Monday morning.' They go ask Mars John
Sanders if they could go to preaching. I recken from what they said they
walked. Mars John, when they git their best clothes on, make them turn
round and go to the field and work all day long. He was just that mean.
Work all day long Sunday.

"Miss Sarah was a Primitive Baptist and that is what I am till this day.
Some folks call us Hardshell Baptist. The colored folks set in the back
of the church. The women all set on one side and the men on the other.
If they had a middle row, there was a railing dividing mens' seats from
the womens' seats on the very same benches.

"Miss Cloe, Miss Cornelia, and Miss Sarah cook up a whole lot of good
things to eat and go to camp meeting. Sometimes they would stay a week
and longer. They would take time bout letting the colored folks go long.
We had big times. My grandpa took a gingercake cutter with him and sold
gingercakes when they come out of the church. He could keep that money
his own. I don't know how he sold them. My sister has the cutter now I
expect. My girl has seen it. It was a foot long, this wide (5 inches),
and fluted all around the edges, and had a handle like a biscuit cutter.
They was about an inch thick. He made good ones and he sold all he could
ever make. Grandpa took carpet sacks to carry his gingercakes in to sell
them. I remember that mighty well. (The shape of the cutter was like
this: [Illustration].) He purt nigh always got to go to all the camp
meetings. Folks got happy and shouted in them days. It would be when
somebody got religion. At some big meetings they didn't shout.

"When I was born they had a white mid-wife, Miss Martin. My mistress was
in the cabin when I was born. I was born foot foremost and had a veil on
my face and down on my body a piece. They call it a 'caul.' Sometimes I
see forms and they vanish. I can see some out of one eye now. But I've
always seen things when my sight was good. It is like when you are
dreaming at night but I see them at times that plain in day.

"I don't know how old I am but I was a good size girl when 'mancipation
come on. Miss Cornelia had my age in her Bible. They done took me from
the cabin and I was staying at the house. I slept on a trundle bed under
Miss Cornelia's bed. Her bed was a teaster--way high up, had a big stool
to step on to go up in there and she had it curtained off. I had a good
cotton bed and I slept good up under there. Her bed was corded with sea
grass rope. It didn't have no slats like beds do now.

"Colored folks slept on cotton beds and white folks--some of em at
least--picked geese and made feather beds and down pillows. They carded
and washed sheep's wool and put in their quilts. Some of them, they'd be
light and warm. Colored folks' bed had one leg. Then it was holes hewed
in the wall on the other three sides and wooden slats across it. Now
that wasn't no bad bed. Some of them was big enough for three to sleep
on good. When the children was small four could sleep easy cross ways,
and they slept that way.

"They had shelves and tables and chairs. They made chests and put things
in there and set on top of it too. White folks had fine chests to keep
their bed clothes in. Some of them was made of oak, and pine, and
cypress. They would cook walnut hulls and bark and paint them dark with
the tea.

"I recollect a right smart of the Civil War. We was close nough to hear
the roar and ramble and the big cannons shake the things in the house. I
don't know where they was fighting--a long ways off I guess.

"I saw the soldiers scouting. They come most any time. They go in and
take every drop of milk out of the churn. They took anything they could
find and went away with it. I seen the cavalry come through. I thought
they looked so pretty. Their canteens was shining in the sun. Miss
Cornelia told me to hide, the soldiers might take me on with them. I
didn't want to go. I was very well pleased there at Miss Cornelia's.

"I seen the cavalry come through that raised the 'white sheet.' I know
now it must have been a white flag but they called it a white sheet to
quit fighting. It was raised a short time after they passed and they
said they was the ones raised it. I don't know where it was. I reckon it
was a big white flag they rared up. It was so they would stop fighting.

"Mars Sam Shan didn't go to no war; he hid out. He said it was a useless
war, he wasn't going to get shot up for no use a tall, and he never went
a step. He hid out. I don't know where. I know Charles would take the
baskets off. Charles tended to the stock and the carriage. He drove the
wagon and carriage. He fetched water and wood. He was a black boy. Mars
Sam Shan said he wasn't goiner loose his life for nothing.

"Miss Cornelia would cook corn light bread and muffins and anything else
they had to cook. Rations got down mighty scarce before it was done wid.
They put the big round basket nearly big as a split cotton basket out on
the back portico. Charles come and disappear with it.

"Chess and Charles was colored overseers. He didn't have white
overseers. Miss Cornelia and Miss Cloe would walk the floor and cry and
I would walk between. I would cry feeling sorry for them, but I didn't
know why they cried so much. I know now it was squally times. War is
horrible.

"Mars Sam Shan come home, went down to the cabins--they was scattered
over the fields--and told them the War was over, they was free but that
they could stay. Then come some runners, white men. They was Yankee men.
I know that now. They say you must get pay or go off. We stayed that
year. Another man went to pa and said he would give him half of what he
made. He got us all up and we went to Pleasant Hill. We done tolerable
well.

"Then he tried to buy a house and five acres and got beat out of it. The
minor heirs come and took it. I never learnt in books till I went to
school. Seem like things was in a confusion after I got big nough for
that. I'd sweep and rake and cook and wash the dishes, card, spin, hoe,
scour the floors and tables. I would knit at night heap of times. We'd
sing some at night.

"Colored folks couldn't read so they couldn't sing at church lessen they
learnt the songs by hearing them at home. Colored folks would meet and
sing and pray and preach at the cabins.

"My first teacher was a white man, Mr. Babe Willroy. I went to him
several short sessions and on rainy days and cold days I couldn't work
in the field. I worked in the field all my life. Cook out in the winter,
back to the field in the spring till fall again.

"Well, I jes' had this one girl. I carried her along with me. She would
play round and then she was a heap of help. She is mighty good to me
now.

"I never seen a Ku Klux in my life. Now, I couldn't tell you about them.

"My parents' names was Lou Sanders and Anthony Sanders. Ma's mother was
a Rockmore and her husband was a Cherokee Indian. I recollect them well.
He was a free man and was fixing to buy her freedom. Her young mistress
married Mr. Joe Bues and she heired her. Mr. Joe Bues drunk her up and
they come and got her and took her off. They run her to Memphis before
his wife could write to her pa. He was Mars Rockmore.

"Grandma was put on a block and sold fore grandpa could cumerlate nough
cash to buy her for his wife. Grandma never seen her ma no more. Grandpa
followed her and Mr. Sam Shans bought her and took her to Mississippi
with a lot more he bought.

"My pa's ma b'long to John Sanders and grandpa b'long to Rube Sanders.
They was brothers. Rube Sanders bought grandpa from Enoch Bobo down in
Mississippi. The Bobo's had a heap of slaves and land. Now, he was the
one that sold gingercakes. He was a blacksmith too. Both my grandpas was
blacksmiths but my Indian grandpa could make wagons, trays, bowls,
shoes, and things out of wood too. Him being a free man made his living
that way. But he never could cumolate enough to buy grandma.

"My other grandma was blacker than I am and grandpa too. When grandpa
died he was carried back to the Bobo graveyard and buried on Enoch
Bobo's place. It was his request all his slaves be brought back and
buried on his land. I went to the burying. I recollect that but ma and
pa had to ask could we go. We all got to go--all who wanted to go. It
was a big crowd. It was John Sanders let us go mean as he was.

"Miss Cornelia had the cistern cleaned out and they packed up their
pretty china dishes and silver in a big flat sorter box. Charles took
them down a ladder to the bottom of the dark cistern and put dirt over
it all and then scattered some old rubbish round, took the ladder out.
The Yankees never much as peared to see that old open cistern. I don't
know if they buried money or not. They packed up a lot of nice things.
It wasn't touched till after the War was over.

"I been farming and cooking all my life. I worked for Major Black, Mr.
Ben Tolbert, Mr. Williams at Pleasant Hill, Mississippi. I married and
long time after come to Arkansas. They said you could raise stock
here--no fence law.

"I get $8 and commodities because I am blind. I live with my daughter
here."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Nellie Maxwell, Biscoe, Arkansas
Age: 63


"Mama was Harriett Baldwin. She was born in Virginia. Her owners was
Mistress Mollie Fisher and Master Coon Fisher. It was so cold one winter
that they burned up their furniture keeping a fire. Said seemed like
they would freeze in spite of what all they could do.

"Grandpa was sold away from grandma and three children. He didn't want
to be sold nary bit. When they would be talking about selling him he go
hide under the house. They go on off. He'd come out. When he was sold he
went under there. He come out and went on off when they found him and
told him he was sold to this man. Grandma said he was obedient. They
never hit him. He was her best husband. They never sold grandma and she
couldn't 'count for him being let go. Grandma had another husband after
freedom and two more children. They left there in a crowd and all come
to Arkansas. Grandma was a cook for the field hands. She had charge of
ringing a big dinner-bell hung up in a tree. She was black as charcoal.
Mama and grandma said Master Coon and old Mistress Mollie was good to
them. That the reason grandpa would go under the house. He didn't want
to be sold. He never was seen no more by them.

"Grandma said sometimes the meals was carried to the fields and they fed
the children out of troughs. They took all the children to the spring
set them in a row. They had a tubful of water and they washed them dried
them and put on their clean clothes. They used homemade lye soap and
greased them with tallow and mutton suet. That made them shine. They
kept them greased so their knees and knuckles would ruff up and bleed.

"Grandma and mama stopped at Fourche Dam. They was so glad to be free
and go about. Then it scared them to hear talk of being sold. It divided
them and some owners was mean.

"In my time if I done wrong most any grown person whoop me. Then mama
find it out, she give me another one. I got a double whooping.

"Times is powerful bad to raise up a family. Drinking and gambling, and
it takes too much to feed a family now. Times is so much harder that way
then when I was growing."




Interviewer: Miss Sallie C. Miller
Person interviewed: Ann May, Clarksville, Arkansas
Age: 82


"I was born at Cabin Creek (Lamar now, but I still call it Cabin Creek.
I can't call it anything else). I was sold with my mother when I was a
little girl and lived with our white folks until after the war and was
freed. We lived on a farm. My father belong to another family, a
neighbor of ours. We all lived with the white folks. My mother took care
of all of them. They was always as good as they could be to us and after
the war we stayed on with the white folks who owned my father and worked
on the farm for him. His master gave us half of everything we made until
we could get started our selves, then our white folks told my father to
homestead a place near him, and he did. We lived there until after
father died. We paid taxes and lived just like the white folks. We did
what the white folks told us to do and never lost a thing by doing it.
After I married my husband worked at the mill for your father and made a
living for me and I worked for the white folks. Now I am too old to cook
but I have a few washin's for the white folks and am getting my old age
pension that helps me a lot.

"I don't know what I think about the young generation. I aim at my
stopping place.

"The songs we sang were

  'Come ye that love the Lord and let your Joys be known'
  'When You and I Were Young, Maggie'
  'Juanita'
  'Just Before the Battle, Mother'
  'Darling Nellie Gray'
  'Carry Me Back to Old Virginia'
  'Old Black Joe'

Of course we sang 'Dixie.' We had to sing that, it was the leading
song."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Joe Mayes, Madison, Arkansas
Age: ?


"I was born a slave two years. I never will forget man come and told
mother she was free. She cooked. She never worked in the field till
after freedom. In a few days another man come and made them leave. They
couldn't hold them in Kentucky. The owners give her provisions, meat,
lasses, etc. They give her her clothes. She had four children and I was
her youngest. The two oldest was girls. Father was dead. I don't
remember him. Mother finally made arrangements to go to Will Bennett's
place.

"Another thing I remember: Frank Hayes sold mother to Isaac Tremble
after she was free. She didn't know she was free. Neither did Isaac
Tremble. I don't know whether Frank Mayes was honest or not. The part I
remember was that us boys stood on the block and never was parted from
her. We had to leave our sisters. One was sold to Miss Margaret Moxley,
the other to Miss Almyra Winder. (He said "Miss" but they may have been
widows. He didn't seem to know--ed.) Father belong to a Master Mills.
All our family got together after we found out we had been freed.

"The Ku Klux: I went to the well little after dark. It was a good piece
from our house. I looked up and saw a man with a robe and cap on. It
scared me nearly to death. I nearly fell out. I had heard about the
'booger man' and learned better then. But there he was. I had heard a
lot about Ku Klux.

"There was a big gourd hanging up by the well. We kept it there. There
was a bucket full up. He said, 'Give me water.' I handed over the gourd
full. He done something with it. He kept me handing him water. He said,
'Hold my crown and draw me up another bucket full.' I was so scared I
lit out hard as I could run. It was dark enough to hide me when I got a
piece out of his way.

"The owners was pretty good to mother to be slavery. She had clothes and
enough to eat all the time. I used to go back to see all our white folks
in Kentucky. They are about all dead now I expect. Mother was glad to be
free but for a long time her life was harder.

"After we got up larger she got along better. I worked on a steamboat
twelve or thirteen years. I was a roustabout and freight picker. I was
on passenger boats mostly but they carried freight. I went to school
some. I always had colored teachers. I farmed at Hughes and Madison ever
since excepting one year in Mississippi.

"I live alone. I get $8 and commodities from the Sociable Welfare.

"The young folks would do better, work better, if they could get work
all time. It is hard at times to get work right now. The times is all
right. Better everything but work. I know colored folks is bad managers.
That has been bad on us always.

"I worked on boats from Evansville, St. Louis, Memphis to New Orleans
mostly. It was hard work but a fine living. I was stout then."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Jesse Meeks
                    707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 76
Occupation: Minister


"I am seventy-six. 'Course I was young in slavery times, but I can
remember some things. I remember how they used to feed us. Put milk and
bread or poke salad and corn-meal dumplin's in a trough and give you a
wooden spoon and all the children eat together.

"We stayed with our old master fourteen years. They were good folks and
treated us right. My old master's name was Sam Meeks--in Longview, Drew
County, Arkansas, down here below Monticello.

"I got a letter here about a month ago from the daughter of my young
mistress. I wrote to my young mistress and she was dead, so her daughter
got the letter. She answered it and sent me a dollar and asked me was I
on the Old Age Pension list.

"As far as I know, I am the onliest one of the old darkies living that
belonged to Sam Meeks.

"I remember when the Ku Klux run in on my old master. That was after the
War. He was at the breakfast table with his wife. You know in them days
they didn't have locks and keys. Had a hole bored through a board and
put a peg in it, and I know the Ku Klux come up and stuck a gun through
the auger hole and shot at old master but missed him. He run to the door
and shot at the Ku Klux. I know us children found one of 'em down at the
spring bathin' his leg where old master had shot him.

"Oh! they were good folks and treated us right."




FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Subject: Superstitions
Story:--Information

This information given by: Jesse Meeks
Place of residence: 707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Occupation:  Minister
Age: 76
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]


"I remember there was on old man called Billy Mann lived down here at
Noble lake. He said he could 'give you a hand.' If you and your wife
wasn't gettin' along very well and you wanted to get somebody else, he
said he could 'give you a hand' and that would enable you to get anybody
you wanted. That's what he said.

"And I've heard 'em say they could make a ring around you and you
couldn't get out.

"I don't believe in that though 'cause I'm in the ministerial work and
it don't pay me to believe in things like that. That is the work of the
devil."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Jeff Metcalf
                    R.F.D., Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 73


"My mother's name was Julia Metcalf and my father's name was Jim
Metcalf. They belong to an old bachelor named Bill Metcalf. I think I
was born in Lee County, Mississippi. They did not leave when the war was
over. They stayed on the Bill Metcalf place till they died. I reckon I
do remember him.

"I can't tell you 'bout the war nor slavery. I don't know a thing 'bout
it. I heard but I couldn't tell you it been so long ago. They didn't
expect nothing but freedom. They got along in the Reconstruction days
about like they had been getting along. Seemed like they didn't know
much about the war. They heard they was free. I don't remember the Ku
Klux Klan. I heard old folks talk 'bout it.

"I don't know if my father ever voted but I guess he did. I have voted
but I don't vote now. In part I 'proves of the women votin'. I think the
men outer vote and support his family fur as he can.

"I come here in 1914 from Mississippi. I got busted farmin'. I knowed a
heap o' people said they was doing so well I come too. I come on the
train.

"I ain't got no home, no land. I got a hog. No garden. Two times in the
year now is hard--winter and simmer. In some ways times is better. In
some ways they is worser. When a trade used to be made to let you have
provisions, you know you would not starve. Now if you can't get work you
'bout starve and can't get no credit. Crops been good last few years and
prices fair fur it. But money won't buy nothin' now. Everything is so
high. Meat is so high. Working man have to eat meat. If he don't he get
weak.

"The young folks do work. They can't save much farmin'. If they could do
public work between times it be better. I had a hard time in July and
August. I got six children, they grown and gone. My wife is 72 years
old. She ain't no 'count for work no more. The Government give me an'
her $10 a month between us two. Her name is Hannah Metcalf.

"I wish I did know somethin' to tell you, lady, 'bout the Civil War and
the slavery times. I done forgot 'bout all I heard 'em talkin'. When you
see Hannah she might know somethin'."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Hardy Miller
                    702-1/2 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 85
Occupation: Yardman


"Mistress, I'll tell you what my mother said. She said she birthed me on
Christmas morning in 1852 in Sumpter County, Georgia. It was on her old
master's place. Bright Herring was his name. Old mistress' name was Miss
Lizzie. My father belonged to a different owner.

"Mac McClendon and John Mourning was two nigger traders and they brought
my mother and sister Nancy and sister Liza and my sister Anna and Hardy
Miller--that's me--out here on the train from Americus, Georgia to
Memphis and put us on a steamboat and brought us here to Pine Bluff and
sold me to Dr. Pope. He was a poor white man and he wanted a pair of
niggers. He bought me and Laura Beckwith. In them days a doctor examined
you and if your heart was sound and your lungs was sound and you didn't
have no broken bones--have to pay one hundred dollars for every year you
was old. That was in 1862 and I was ten years old so they sold me for
one thousand dollars and one thousand dollars for Laura cause she was
sound too. Carried us down to Monticello and when I got free my mammy
come after me.

"Fore I left Georgia, my daddy belonged to a man named Bill Ramsey. You
see niggers used the name of their masters.

"I can remember when I was a boy Bill Ramsey set my father free and give
him a free pass and anybody hire him have to pay just like they pay a
nigger now. My daddy hired my mammy from her master. My mammy was her
master's daughter by a colored woman.

"My daddy had a hoss named Salem and had a cart and he would take me and
my mammy and my sister Liza and go to Americus and buy rations for the
next week.

"I member when the war started in 1861 my mammy hired me out to Mrs.
Brewer and she used to git after me and say, 'You better do that good or
I'll whip you. My husband gone to war now on account of you niggers and
it's a pity you niggers ever been cause he may get killed and I'll never
see him again.'

"I member seein' General Bragg's men and General Steele and General
Marmaduke. Had a fight down at Mark's Mill. We just lived six miles from
there. Seen the Yankees comin' by along the big public road. The Yankees
whipped and fought em so strong they didn't have time to bury the dead.
We could see the buzzards and carrion crows. I used to hear old mistress
say, 'There goes the buzzards, done et all the meat off.' I used to go
to mill and we could see the bones. Used to got out and look at their
teeth. No ma'm, I wasn't scared, the white boys was with me.

"Dr. Pope was good to me, better to me than he was to Master Walter and
Master Billy and my young Miss, Aurelia, cause me and Laura was scared
of em and we tried to do everything they wanted.

"When the war ended in 1865 we was out in the field gettin' pumpkins.
Old master come out and said, 'Hardy, you and Laura is free now. You can
stay or you can go and live with somebody else.' We stayed till 1868 and
then our mammies come after us. I was seventeen.

"After freedom my mammy sent me to school. Teacher's name was W.H.
Young. Name was William Young but he went under the head of W.H. Young.

"I went to school four years and then I got too old. I learned a whole
lot. Learned to read and spell and figger. I done pretty good. I learned
how to add and multiply and how to cancel and how to work square root.

"What I've been doin' all my life is farmin' down at Fairfield on the
Murphy place.

"Vote? Good lord! I done more votin'. Voted for all the Presidents.
Yankees wouldn't let us vote Democrat, had to vote Republican. They'd be
there agitatin'. Stand right there and tell me the ones to vote for. I
done quit votin'. I voted for Coolidge--we called him College--that's
the last votin' I did. One of my friends, Levi Hunter, he was a colored
magistrate down at Fairfield.

"Ku Klux? What you talkin' about? Ku Klux come to our house. My sister
Ellen's husband went to war on the Yankee side durin' the war--on the
Republican side and fought the Democrats.

"After the war the Ku Klux came and got the colored folks what fought
and killed em. I saw em kill a nigger right off his mule. Fell off on
his sack of corn and the old mule kep' on goin'.

"Ku Klux used to wear big old long robe with bunches of cotton sewed all
over it. I member one time we was havin' church and a Ku Klux was hid up
in the scaffold. The preacher was readin' the Bible and tellin' the
folks there was a man sent from God and say an angel be here directly.
Just then the Ku Klux fell down and the niggers all thought 'twas the
angel and they got up and flew.

"Ku Klux used to come to the church well and ask for a drink and say, 'I
ain't had a bit of water since I fought the battle of Shiloh.'

"Might as well tell the truth--had just as good a time when I was a
slave as when I was free. Had all the hog meat and milk and everything
else to eat.

"I member one time when old master wasn't at home the Yankees come and
say to old mistress, 'Madam, we is foragin'.' Old mistress say, 'My
husband ain't home; I can't let you.' Yankees say, 'Well, we're goin' to
anyway.' They say, 'Where you keep your milk and butter?' Old mistress
standin' up there, her face as red as blood and say, 'I haven't any milk
or butter to spare.' But the Yankees would hunt till they found it.

"After a battle when the dead soldiers was layin' around and didn't have
on no uniform cause some of the other soldiers took em, I've heard the
old folk what knowed say you could tell the Yankees from the Rebels
cause the Yankees had blue veins on their bellies and the Rebels didn't.

"Now you want me to tell you bout this young nigger generation? I never
thought I'd live to see this young generation come out and do as well as
they is doin'. I'm goin' tell you the truth. When I was young, boys and
girls used to wear long white shirt come down to their ankles, cause it
would shrink, with a hole cut out for their head. I think they is doin'
a whole lot better. Got better clothes. Almost look as well as the white
folks. I just say the niggers dressin' better than the white folks used
to.

"Then I see some niggers got automobiles. Just been free bout
seventy-two years and some of em actin' just like white folks now.

"Well, good-bye--if I don't see you again I'll meet you in Heaven."




Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg
Person interviewed: [HW: Henry Kirk] H.K. Miller
                    1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 86


"No ma'am, it will not bother me one bit if you want to have a long
visit with me.... Yes, I was a little busy, but it can wait. I was
getting my dishes ready for a party tomorrow night.

"Yes ma'am, I was born during slavery. I was born at a little place
called Fort Valley in Georgia, July 25, 1851. Fort Valley is about 30
miles from Macon. I came to Little Rock in 1873. My old mistress was a
widow. As well as I can remember she did not have any slaves but my
father and mother and the six children. No ma'am, her name was not
Miller, it was Wade.... Where did I get my name, then? It came from my
grandfather on my father's side.... Well, now, Miss, I can't tell you
where he got that name. From some white master, I reckon.

"We got free in Georgia June 15, 1865. I'll never forget that date. What
I mean is, that was the day the big freedom came. But we didn't know it
and just worked on. My father was a shoemaker for old mistress. Only one
in town, far as I recollect. He made a lot of money for mistress. Mother
was houseworker for her. As fast as us children got big enough to hire
out, she leased us to anybody who would pay for our hire. I was put out
with another widow woman who lived about 20 miles. She worked me on her
cotton plantation. Old mistress sold one of my sisters; took cotton for
pay. I remember hearing them tell about the big price she brought
because cotton was so high. Old mistress got 15 bales of cotton for
sister, and it was only a few days till freedom came and the man who had
traded all them bales of cotton lost my sister, but old mistress kept
the cotton. She was smart, wasn't she? She knew freedom was right there.
Sister came right back to my parents.

"Just give me time, miss, and I'll tell you the whole story. This woman
what had me hired tried to run away and take all her slaves along. I
don't remember just how many, but a dozen or more. Lots of white folks
tried to run away and hide their slaves until after the Yankee soldiers
had been through the town searching for them what had not been set free.
She was trying to get to the woods country. But she got nervous and
scared and done the worst thing she could. She run right into a Yankee
camp. Course they asked where we all belonged and sent us where we
belonged. They had always taught us to be scared of the Yankees. I
remember just as well when I got back to where my mother was she asked
me: "Boy, why you come here? Don't you know old mistress got you rented
out? You're goin' be whipped for sure." I told her, no, now we got
freedom. That was the first they had heard. So then she had to tell my
father and mother. She tole them how they have no place to go, no
money,--nothing to start life on; they better stay on with her. So my
father and mother kept on with her; she let them have a part of what
they made; she took some for board, as was right. The white ladies what
had me between them fixed it up that I would serve out the time I was
rented out for. It was about six months more. My parents saved money and
we all went to a farm. I stayed with them till I was 19 years old. Of
course they got all the money I made. I married when I was 20, still
living in Georgia. We tried to farm on shares. A man from Arkansas came
there, getting up a colony of colored to go to Arkansas to farm. Told
big tales of fine land with nobody to work it. Not half as many Negroes
in Arkansas as in Georgia. Me and my wife joined up to go.

"Well, ma'am, I didn't get enough education to be what you call a
educated man. My father paid for a six months night course for me after
peace. I learned to read and write and figure a little. I have used my
tablespoon full of brains ever since, always adding to that start. I
learned everything I could from the many white friends I have had. Any
way, miss, I have known enough to make a good living all these years.

"Now I'll get on with the story. First work I got in Arkansas was
working on a farm; me and her both; we always tried to stay together. We
could not make anything on the Garner farm, and it was mighty unhealthy
down in Fourche bottoms. I carried her back to Little Rock and I got
work as house man in the Bunch home. From there I went to the home of
Dudley E. Jones and stayed there 28 years. That was the beginning of my
catering. I just naturally took to cooking and serving. White folks was
still used to having colored wait on them and they liked my style. Mr.
Jones was so kind. He told his friends about how I could plan big
dinners and banquets; then cook and serve them. Right soon I was
handling most of the big swell weddings for the society folks. Child, if
I could call off the names of the folks I have served, it would be
mighty near everybody of any consequence in Little Rock for more than 55
years. Yes ma'am, I'm now being called on to serve the grandchildren of
my first customers.

"During the 28 years I lived in Mr. Jones' family I was serving
banquets, big public dinners, all kinds of big affairs. I have had the
spring and fall banquets for the Scottish Rite Masons for more than 41
years. I have served nearly all the Governor's banquets, college
graduation and reunion parties; I took care of President Roosevelt--not
this one, but Teddy----. Served about 600 that day. Any big parties for
colored people?... Yes ma'am! Don't you remember when Booker T.
Washington was here?... No ma'am. White folks didn't have a thing to do
with it, excepting the city let us have the new fire station. It was
just finished but the fire engines ain't moved in yet. I served about
600 that time. Yes ma'am, there was a lot of white folks there. Then, I
have been called to other places to do the catering. Lonoke, Benton,
Malvern, Conway--a heap of places like that.

"No miss, I didn't always have all the catering business; oh, no. There
was Mr. Rossner. He was a fine man. White gentleman. I used to help him
a lot. But when he sold out to Bott, I got a lot of what business Mr.
Rossner had had, Mr. Bott was a Jew. All that time my wife was my best
helper. I took a young colored fellow named Freeling Alexander and
taught him the business. He never been able to make it go on his own,
but does fine working on salary. He has a cafeteria now.

"Well thank you miss, speaking about my home like that. Yes ma'am, I
sure do own it. Fifty-two years I been living right here. First I bought
the lot; it took me two years to pay for it. Next I build a little
house. The big pin oak trees out front was only saplings when I set them
out. Come out in the back yard and see my pecan tree.... It is a giant,
ain't it? Yes ma'am, it was a tiny thing when I set it out fifty-two
years ago. Our only child was born in this house,--a dear daughter--and
her three babies were born here too. After my wife and daughter died, me
and the children kept on trying to keep the home together. I have taught
them the catering business. Both granddaughters are high school
graduates. The boy is in Mexico. Before he went he signed his name to a
check and said: "Here, grandpa. You ain't going to want for a thing
while I'm gone. If something happens to your catering business, or you
get so you can't work, fill this in for whatever you need." But thank
the good Lord, I'm still going strong. Nobody has ever had to take care
of H.K. Miller. Now let me tell you something else about this place. For
more than ten years I have been paying $64.64 every year for my part of
that asphalt paving you see out in front. Yes ma'am, the lot is 50 foot
front, and I am paying for only half of it; from my curb line to the
middle of the street. Maybe if I live long enough I'll get it paid for
sometime.

"I haven't tried to lay by much money. I don't suppose there is any
other colored man--uneducated like me--what has done more for his
community. I have given as high as $80 and $100 at one time to help out
on the church debt or when they wanted to build. I always help in times
of floods and things like that. I've helped many white persons in my
lifetime.

"Well, now, I'll tell you what I think about the voting system. I think
this. Of course we are still in subjection to the white people; they are
in the majority and have most of the government on their side. But I
think that, er,--er,--well I'll tell you, while it is all right for them
to be at the head of things, they ought to do what is right. Being
educated, they ought to know right from wrong. I believe in the Bible,
miss. Look here. This little book--Gospel of St. John--has been carried
in my pocket every day for years and years. And I never miss a day
reading it. I don't see how some people can be so unjust. I guess they
never read their Bible. The reason I been able to make my three-score
years and ten is because I obeys what the Good Book says.

"Now, let me see. I can remember that I been voting mighty near ever
since I been here. I never had any trouble voting. I have never been
objected from voting that I remember of.

"Now you ask about what I think of the young people. Well, I tell you. I
think really that the young people of today had better begin to check
up, a little. They are going too fast. They don't seem to have enough
consideration. When I see so many killed in automobile accidents, and
know that drinking is the cause of so many car accidents,--well, yes
ma'am, drinking sure does have a lot to do with it. I think they should
more consider the way they going to make a living. Make a rule to look
before they act. Another thing--the education being given them--they are
not taking advantage of it. If they would profit by what they learn they
could benefit theirselves. A lot of them now spend heap of time trying
to get to be doctors and lawyers and like that. That is a mistake. There
is not enough work among colored people to support them. I know. Negroes
do not have confidence in their race for this kind of business. No
ma'am. Colored will go for a white doctor and white lawyer 'cause they
think they know more about that kind of business. I would recommend as
the best means of making a living for colored young people is to select
some kind of work that is absolutely necessary to be done and then do it
honestly. The trades, carpentering, paper hanging, painting, garage
work. Some work that white people need to have done, and they just as
soon colored do it as white. White folks ain't never going to have Negro
doctors and lawyers, I reckon. That's the reason I took up
catering--even that long ago. Fifty-five years ago I knew to look around
and find some work that white folks would need done. There's where your
living comes from.

"Yes, miss, my business is slack--falling off, as you say. Catering is
not what it used to be. You see, 30 or 40 years ago, people's homes were
grand and big; big dining rooms, built for parties and banquets. But for
the big affairs with 500 or 600 guests, they went to the hotels. Even
the hotels had to rent my dishes, silver and linens.... Oh, lord, yes,
miss. I always had my own. It took me ten years to save enough money to
start out with my first 500 of everything.... You want to see them?...
Sure, I keep them here at home.... Look. Here's my silver chests, all
packed to go. I have them divided into different sizes. This one has
fifty of every kind of silver, so if fifty guests are to be provided
for. I keep my linens, plates of different sizes, glasses and everything
the same way. A 200-guest outfit is packed in those chests over there.
No, ma'am, I don't have much trouble of losing silver, because it all
has my initials on; look: H.K.M. on every piece. Heap of dishes are
broken every time I have a big catering. I found one plate
yesterday--the last of a full pattern I had fifteen years ago. About
every ten years is a complete turnover of china. Glassware goes faster,
and of course, the linen is the greatest overhead. Yes ma'am, as I was
telling you, catering is slack because of clubs. So many women take
their parties to clubs now. Another thing, the style of food has
changed. In those old days, the table was loaded with three four meats,
fish, half dozen vegetable dishes, entrees, different kinds of wine, and
an array of desserts. Now what do they have? Liquid punch, frozen punch
and cakes. In June I had a wedding party for 400, and that's all they
served. I had to have 30 punch bowls, but borrowed about half from my
white friends.

"You have got that wrong about me living with my grandchildren. No
ma'am! They are living with me. They make their home with me. I don't
expect ever to marry again. I'm 86. In my will I am leaving everything I
have to my three grandchildren.

"Well, miss, you're looking young and blooming. Guess your husband is
right proud of you? Say you're a widow? Well, now, my goodness. Some of
these days a fine man going to find you and then, er--er, lady, let me
cater for the wedding?"




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Henry Kirk Miller [HW: Same as H.K. Miller]
                    1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age 87 [HW: 86]


"I am eighty-six years old-eighty-six years and six months. I was born
July 25, 1851. I was a slave. Didn't get free till June 1865. I was a
boy fifteen years old when I got free.

"I have been living in this house fifty years. I have been living in
Arkansas ever since 1873. That makes about sixty-five years.

"The engineer who got killed in that wreck the other day (a wreck which
occurred February 7, 1938, Monday morning at three and in which the
engineer and five other people were killed) came right from my town,
Fort Valley, Georgia. I came here from there in 1873. I don't know
anybody living in Fort Valley now unless it's my own folks. And I don't
'spect I'd know them now. When I got married and left there, I was only
twenty-one years old.


Parents and Relatives

"My mother and father were born in South Carolina. After their master
and missis married they came to Georgia. Back there I don't know. When I
remember anything they were in Georgia. They said they came from South
Carolina to Georgia. I don't know how they came. Both of my parents were
Negroes. They came to Arkansas ahead of me. I have their pictures." (He
carried me into the parlor and showed me life-sized bust portraits of
his mother and father.)

"There were eighteen of us: six boys and twelve girls. They are all dead
now but myself and one sister. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia. I am older
than she is.


Occupation

"I am a caterer. I have been serving the Scottish Rite Masons in their
annual reunion every six months for forty-one years. We are going to the
Seventh Street Entrance this Friday. One of the orders will have a
dinner and I am going down to serve it. I served the dinner for Teddy
Roosevelt there, thirty years ago. This Roosevelt is a cousin of his.


Masters

"My parents' master was named Wade. When he died, I was so little that
they had to lift me up to let me see into the coffin so I could look at
him. I went to his daughter. My name is after my father's father. My
grandfather was named Miller. I took his name. He was a white man.

"Wade's daughter was named Riley, but I keep my grandfather's name. My
mother and father were then transferred to the Rileys too, and they took
the name of Riley. It was after freedom that I took the name Miller from
my original people. Haven Riley's father was my brother." (Haven Riley
lives in Little Rock and was formerly an instructor at Philander Smith
College. Now he is a public stenographer and a private teacher.)

"Wade owned all of my brothers and sisters and parents and some of my
kin--father's sister and brother. There might have been some more I
can't remember. Wade was a farmer.

"I remember once when my mother and father were going to the field to
work, I went with them as usual. That was before Wade died and his
daughter drew us.

"My wife died six years ago. If she had lived till tomorrow, she would
have been married to me sixty years. She died on the tenth of February
and we were married on the sixth. We just lacked five years of being
married sixty years when she died.


Food

"For food, I don't know anything more than bread and meat. Meal, meat,
molasses were the only rations I saw. In those times the white people
had what was known as the white people's house and then what was known
as nigger quarters. The children that weren't big enough to work were
fed at the white people's house. We got milk and mush for breakfast.
When they boiled cabbage we got bread and pot-liquor. For supper we got
milk and bread. They had cows and the children were fed mostly on milk
and mush or milk and bread. We used to bake a corn cake in the ashes,
ash cake, and put it in the milk.

"The chickens used to lay out in the barn. If we children would find the
nests and bring the eggs in our missis would give us a biscuit, and we
always got biscuits for Christmas.


Houses in the Negro Quarters

"In the nigger quarters there were nothing but log houses. I don't
remember any house other than a log house. They'd just go out in the
woods and get logs and put up a log house. Put dirt and mud or clay in
the cracks to seal it. Notch the logs in the end to hitch them at
corners. Nailed planks at the end of the logs to make a door frame.

"My people all ate and cooked and lived in the same room. Some of the
slaves had dirt floors and some of them had plank floors.

"Food was kept in the house in a sort of box or chest, built in the wall
sometimes. Mostly it was kept on the table.

"In cooking they had a round oven made like a pot only the bottom would
be flat. It had an iron top. The oven was a bought oven. It was shaped
like a barrel. The top lifted up. Coal was placed under the oven and a
little on top.


Tables and Chairs

"Tables were just boards nailed together. Nothing but planks nailed
together. I don't remember nothing but homemade benches for chairs. They
sometimes made platted or split-bottom chairs out of white oak. Strips
of oak were seven feet long. They put them in water so they would bend
easily and wove them while they were flexible and fresh. The whole chair
bottom was made out of one strip just like in caning. Those chairs were
stouter than the chairs they make now."

(To be continued) [TR: No continuation found.]




Interviewer: Mrs. Annie L. LaCotts
Person interviewed: Matilda Miller
                    Humphrey, Ark.
Age: 79


The day of the interview Matilda, a nice clean-looking Negro woman, was
in bed, suffering from some kind of a pain in her head. She lives in a
little two-room unpainted boxed house beside the highway in Humphrey.
Her house is almost in the shadow of the big tank which was put up
recently when the town acquired its water system.

When told that the visitor wanted to talk with her about her early life,
Matilda said, "Well, honey, I'll tell you all I can, but you see, I was
just a little girl when the war was, but I've heard my mother tell lots
of things about then.

"I was born a slave; my mother and daddy both were owned by Judge
Richard Gamble at Crockett's Bluff. I was born at Boone Hill--about
twelve miles north of DeWitt--and how come it named Boone Hill, that
farm was my young mistress's. Her papa give it to her, just like he give
me to her when I was little, and after she married Mr. Oliver Boone and
lived there the farm always went by the name of 'Boone Hill.' The house
is right on top of a hill, you know, it shure was a pretty place when
Miss Georgia lived there, with great big Magnolia trees in the front
yard. I belonged to Miss Georgia, my young mistress, and when the
niggers were freed my mamma staid on with her. She was right there when
both of his chillun were born, Mr. John Boone and Miss Mary, too. I
nursed _both_ of them chillun. You know who Miss Mary is now, don't you?
Yes'um, she's Mr. Lester Black's wife and he's good, too.

"I was de oney child my mother had till twelve years after the
surrender. You see, my papa went off with Yankees and didn't come back
till twelve years after we was free, and then I had some brothers and
sisters. Exactly nine months from the day my daddy come home, I had a
baby brother born. My mother said she knew my daddy had been married or
took up with some other woman, but she hadn't got a divorce and still
counted him her husband. They lived for a long time with our white
folks, for they were good to us, but you know after the boys and girls
got grown and began to marry and live in different places, my parents
wanted to be with them and left the white folks.

"No mam, I didn't see any fighting, but we could hear the big guns
booming away off in the distance. I was married when I was 21 to Henry
Miller and lived with him 51 years and ten months; he died from old age
and hard work. We had two chillun, both girls. One of them lives here
with me in that other room. Mamma said the Yankees told the Negroes when
they got em freed they'd give em a mule and a farm or maybe a part of
the plantation they'd been working on for their white folks. She thought
they just told em that to make them dissatisfied and to get more of them
'to join up with em' and they were dressed in pretty blue clothes and
had nice horses and that made lots of the Negro men go with them. None
of em ever got anything but what their white folks give em, and just
lots and lots of em never come back after the war cause the Yankees put
them in front where the shooting was and they was killed. My husband
Henry Miller died four years ago. He followed public work and made
plenty of money but he had lots of friends and his money went easy too.
I don't spect I'll live long for this hurtin' in my head is awful bad
sometime."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Nathan Miller, Madison, Arkansas
Age: Born in 1868


"Lady, I'll tell you what I know but it won't nigh fill your book.

"I was born in 1862 south of Lockesburg, Arkansas. My parents was
Marther and Burl Miller.

"They told me their owners come here from North Carolina in 1820. They
owned lots of slaves and lots of land. Mother was medium light--about my
color. See, I'm mixed. My hair is white. I heard mother say she never
worked in the field. Father was a blacksmith on the place. He wasn't a
slave. His grandfather willed him free at ten years of age. It was tried
in the Supreme Court. They set him free. Said they couldn't break the
dead man's will.

"My father was a real bright colored man. It caused some disturbance.
Father went back and forth to Kansas. They tried to make him leave if he
was a free man. They said I would have to be a slave several years or
leave the State. Freedom settled that for me.

"My great grandmother on my mother's side belong to Thomas Jefferson. He
was good to her. She used to tell me stories on her lap. She come from
Virginia to Tennessee. They all cried to go back to Virginia and their
master got mad and sold them. He was a meaner man. Her name was Sarah
Jefferson. Mariah was her daughter and Marther was my mother. They was
real dark folks but mother was my color, or a shade darker.

"Grandmother said she picked cotton from the seed all day till her
fingers nearly bled. That was fore gin day. They said the more hills of
tobacco you could cultivate was how much you was worth.

"I don't remember the Ku Klux. They was in my little boy days but they
never bothered me.

"All my life I been working hard--steamboat, railroad, farming. Wore
clean out now.

"Times is awful hard. I am worn clean out. I am not sick. I'm ashamed to
say I can't do a good day's work but I couldn't. I am proud to own I get
commodities and $8 from the Relief."




Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lacy
Person interviewed: Sam Miller, Morrilton, Arkansas
Age: 98


"I is ninety-eight years old, suh. My name's Sam Miller, and I was born
in Texas in 1840--don't know de month nor de day. My parents died when I
was jes' a little chap, and we come to Conway County, Arkansas fifty
years ago; been livin' here ever since. My wife's name was Annie
Williamson. We ain't got no chillun and never had none. I don't belong
to no chu'ch, but my wife is a Baptis'.

"Can't see to git around much now. No, suh, I can't read or write,
neither. My memory ain't so good about things when I was little, away
back yonder, but I sure members dem Ku Klux Klans and de militia. They
used to ketch people and take em out and whup em.

"Don't rickolleck any of de old songs but one or two--oh, yes, dey used
to sing 'Old time religion's good enough for me' and songs like dat.

"De young people! Lawzy, I jest dunno how to take em. Can't understand
em at all. Dey too much for me!"


NOTE: The old fellow chuckled and shook his head but said very little
more. He could have told much but for his faulty memory, no doubt. He
was almost non-committal as to facts of slavery days, the War between
the States, and Reconstruction period. Has the sense of humor that seems
to be a characteristic of most of the old-time Negroes, but aside from a
whimsical chuckle shows little of the interest that is usually
associated with the old generation of Negroes.




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: W.D. Miller, West Memphis, Arkansas
Age: 65?


"Grandpa was sold twice in Raleigh, North Carolina. He was sold twice to
the same people, from the Millers to the Robertsons (Robersons,
Robinsons, etc.?). He said the Robertsons were not so very good to him
but the Millers were. Grandma was washing when a Yank come and told them
they had been sot free. They quit washing and went from house to house
rejoicing. My parents' names was Jesse and Mary Miller, and Grandma
Agnes and Grandpa Peter Miller. The Robertsons was hill wheat farmers.
The Millers had a cloth factory. Dan Miller owned it and he raised
wheat. Mama was a puny woman and they worked her in the factory. She
made cloth and yarn.

"I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina or close by there. My father's
uncle John House brought about one hundred families from North Carolina
to Quittenden County, Mississippi. I was seven years old. He said they
rode mules to pick cotton, it growed up like trees. We come in car
boxes. I came to Heath and Helena eleven years ago. Papa stayed with his
master Dan Miller till my uncle tolled him away. He died with smallpox
soon after we come to Mississippi.

"It is a very good country but they don't pick cotton riding on mules,
at least I ain't seed none that way."




El Dorado District
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson
Subject: Slavery Customs
Story:--Information

Information given by: Mose Minser--Farmer--Age--78
Place of Residence: 5 miles from El Dorado--Section 8
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]


Ah use ter could tawk an tell a thing plum well but ah been broke up by
a cah. Cah run ovah mah haid an ah couldn' tawk fuh 30 days. So now ah
aint no good fuh nothin. Ah recollect one night ah dream a dream. De
dream at ah dreamt, next morning dat dream come true. Jes like ah dreamt
hit. Yes hit did. Ah wuz heah in slavery time. Ah membuh when dey freed
us niggers. Se here, ah wuz a purty good size kid when dey free us. Ah
kin membuh our house. Sot dis way. An ole Marster called all his niggers
up. Dey all come along roun in a squad on de porch. Ah did not heah whut
he said tuh em. But mah step-pa wuz dere an tole us we wuz free. Ah
atter dey freed mah step-pa ah recollect he went on home and fried some
aigs (eggs) in de ubben. Know we didn have no stove we cooked on de
fiuhplace. As ah said cook dem aigs, gimme some uv hit, an he lef' den.
Went east and ah aint nevah seed dat man since. Ah membuhs once ah got a
whoopin bout goin tuh de chinquepin tree. Some uv um tole me ole master
wuz gwianter let us quit at dinnuh an so in place uv me goin ter dinnuh
ah went on by de chinquepin tree tuh git some chanks. Ah had a brothuh
wid me. So ah come tuh fine out dat dey gin tuh callin us. Dey hollered
tuh come on dat we wuz gointer pick cotton. So in place uv us goin on
tuh de house we went on back tuh de fiel'. Our fiel wuz bout a mile fum
de house. Ole Moster waited down dere at de gate. He call me when ah got
dere an wanted tuh know why ah didn come and git mah dinnah sos ah could
pick cotton. So he taken mah britches down dat day. Mah chinks all run
out on de groun' an he tole mah brothah tuh pick um up. Ah knocked mah
brothuh ovah fuh pickin um up an aftuh ah done dat ole moster taken his
red pocket han'cher out and tied hit ovah mah eyes tuh keep me fum seein
mah brothuh pick um up.

So when he got through wid me and put mah britches back on me ah went on
tuh de fiel and went tuh pickin cotton. Dat evenin when us stop pickin
cotton ah took mah brothah down and taken mah chinquapins.




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Gip Minton, Des Arc, Arkansas
Age: 84


"I was born at Jackson, Alabama on the Tennessee River. It was sho a
putty river. I never did know my grandfolks. I think my father was a
soldier. My master was a soldier, I think. He was in de war. I do
remember the Civil War. I remember the last battle at Scottsboro. There
was several but one big battle and they got to Belfontain. That is where
it seemed they were trying to go. I don't recollect who won the battle.
I heard them fighting and saw the smoke and after they went on saw the
bodies dead and all that was left was like a cyclone had swept by. There
was a big regiment stationed at Scottsboro. It was just like any war
fought with guns and they lived in tents. They took everything they
could find. Looked like starvation was upon de land.

"I had two sisters and one brother and my mother died when I was a baby.
I come out here to Arkansas with my mothers old master and mistress and
never did see nor hear of none of them. No I never did hear from none of
them. I come out here when I was ten or twelve years old. It was, it was
right after the war. I recken I was freed, but I was raised by white
folks and I stayed right on wid em. Dat freedom ain't never bothered me.

"My master and mistress names was Master Alfred Minton. Dey call me Gip
for him. Gip Minton is what they always called me. My mistress was Miss
Annie Minton. I stayed right wid em. They raised me and I come on here
wid em. I don't know nothin about that freedom.

"I recken they was good to me. I et in de kitchen when they got through
or on a table out in de back yard sometimes. I slept in an outhouse they
fixed up mostly, when I got up big.

"We come on the train to Memphis and they come on thater way to Lonoke
whar we settled. Don Shirley was the man I come on horseback with from
Memphis to Lonoke. He was a man what dealt in horses. Sure he was a
white man. He's where we got some horses. I don't remember if he lived
at Lonoke or not.

"I have voted, yes ma'am, a heap of times. I don't remember what kind er
ticket I votes. I'm a Democrat, I think so. I ain't voted fur sometime
now. I don't know if I'll vote any more times or not. I don't know what
is right bout votin and what ain't right.

"When I was a boy I helped farm. We had what we made. I guess it was
plenty. I had more to eat and I didn't have as many changes of clothes
as folks has to have nowdays bout all de difference. They raised lots
more. They bought things to do a year and didn't be allus goin to town.
It was hard to come to town. Yes mam it did take a long time, sometimes
in a ox wagon. The oxen pulled more over muddy roads. Took three days to
come to town and git back. I farmed one-half-for-the-other and on shear
crop. Well one bout good as the other. Bout all anybody can make farmin
is plenty to eat and a little to wear long time ago and nows the same
way. The most I reckon I ever did make was on Surrounded Hill (Biscoe)
when I farmed one-half-fur-de-udder for Sheriff Reinhardt. The ground
was new and rich and the seasons hit just fine. No maam I never owned no
farm, no livestock, no home. The only thing I owned was a horse one
time. I worked 16 or 17 years for Mr. Brown and for Mr. Plunkett and
Son. I drayed all de time fur em. Hauled freight up from the old depot
(wharf) down on the river. Long time fore a railroad was thought of. I
helped load cotton and hides on the boats. We loaded all day and all
night too heap o'nights. We worked till we got through and let em take
the ship on.

"The times is critical for old folks, wages low and everything is so
high. The young folks got heap better educations but seems like they
can't use it. They don't know how to any avantage. I know they don't
have as good chances at farmin as de older folks had. I don't know why
it is. My son works up at the lumber yard. Yes he owns this house.
That's all he owns. He make nough to get by on, I recken. He works hard,
yes maam. He helps me if he can. I get $4 a month janitor at the Farmers
and Merchants Bank (Des Arc). I works a little garden and cleans off
yards. No maam it hurts my rheumatism to run the yard mower. I works
when I sho can't hardly go. Nothin matter cept I'm bout wo out. I plied
for the old folks penshun but I ain't got nuthin yet. I signed up at the
bank fur it agin not long ago. I has been allus self sportin. Didn't
pend on no livin soul but myself."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: A.J. Mitchell
                    419 E. 11th Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 78
Occupation: Garbage hauler


"I was 'bout seven when they surrendered. I can remember when my old
master sold Aunt Susan. She raised me. I seen old master when he was
tryin' to whip old Aunt Susan. She was the cook. She said, 'I ain't
goin' let you whip me' and I heard my sister say next day he done sold
Aunt Susan. I ain't seed her since. I called her ma. My mother died when
I was two years old. She was full Injun. My father was black but his
hair was straight. His face was so black it shined. Looked like it was
greased. My father said he was freeborn and I've seen stripes on his
back look like the veins on back of my hand where they whipped him
tryin' to make him disown his freedom.

"Old Jack Clifton was my master. Yes ma'm, that was his name.

"I 'member when they had those old looms--makin' cloth and old shuttle
to put the thread on. I can see 'em now.

"I can 'member when this used to be a Injun place. I've seen old Injun
mounds. White folks come and run 'em out and give 'em Injun Territory.

"I heered the guns in the war and seed the folks comin' home when the
war broke. They said they was fitin' 'bout freedom, tryin' to free the
people. I 'member when they was fitin' at Marks Mill. I know some of the
people said that was where they was sot free.

"I don't know as I seed any Ku Klux when they was goin' round. Hearin'
'bout 'em scared me. I have a good recollection. I can remember the
first dream I ever had and the first time I whistled. I can remember
when I was two or three years old. Remember when they had a big old
conch shell. Old master would blow it at twelve o'clock for 'em to come
in.

"Old master was good to us but I 'member he had a leather strap and if
we chillun had done anything he'd make us younguns put our head 'tween
his legs and put that strap on us. My goodness! He called me Pat and
called his own son Bug--his own son Junie. We played together. Old
master had nicknames for everybody.

"My first mistress was named Miss Mary but she died. I 'member when old
master married and brought Miss Becky home.

"Marse John (he was old master's oldest son) he used to tote me about in
his saddle bags. He was the overseer.

"I 'member old master's ridin' hoss--a little old bay pony--called him
Hardy. I never remember nobody else bein' on it--that was his ridin'
hoss.

"Old master had dogs. One was Gus and one named Brute (he was a red bone
hound). And one little dog they called Trigger. Old master's head as
white as cotton.

"I do remember the day they said the people was free--after the war
broke. My father come and got me.

"Now I'm givin' you a true statement. I've been stayin' by myself
twenty-three years. I been here in Pine Bluff--well I jest had got here
when the people was comin' back from that German war.

"My God, we had the finest time when we killed hogs--make sausage. We'd
eat cracklin's--oh, we thought they wasn't nothin' like cracklin's. The
Lord have mercy, there was an old beech tree set there in my master's
yard. You could hear that old tree pop ever' day bout the same time,
bout twelve o'clock. We used to eat beech mass. Good? Yes ma'm! I think
about it often and wonder why it was right in old master's yard.

"I've cast a many a vote. Not a bit of trouble in the world. Hope elect
most all the old officers here in town. I had a brother was a constable
under Squire Gaines. Well of course, Miss, I don't think it's right when
they disfranchised the colored people. I tell you, Miss, I read the
Bible and the Bible says every man has his rights--the poor and the free
and the bound. I got good sense from the time I leaped in this world. I
'member well I used to go and cast my vote just that quick but they got
so they wouldn't let you vote unless you could read.

"I've had 'em to offer me money to vote the Democrat ticket. I told him,
no. I didn't think that was principle. The colored man ain't got no
representive now. Colored men used to be elected to the legislature and
they'd go and sell out. Some of 'em used to vote the Democrat ticket.
God wants every man to have his birthright.

"I tell you one thing they did. This here no fence law was one of the
lowest things they ever did. I don't know what the governor was studyin'
'bout. If they would let the old people raise meat, they wouldn't have
to get so much help from the government. God don't like that, God wants
the people to raise things. I could make a livin' but they won't let me.

"The first thing I remember bout studyin' was Junie, old master's son,
studyin' his book and I heard 'em spell the word 'baker'. That was when
they used the old Blue Back Speller.

"I went to school. I'm goin' tell you as nearly as I can. That was,
madam, let me see, that was in sixty-nine as near as I can come at it.
Miss, I don't know how long I went. My father wouldn't let me. I didn't
know nothin' but work. I weighed cotton ever since I was a little boy. I
always wanted to be weighin'. Looked like it was my gift--weighin'
cotton.

"I'm a Missionary Baptist preacher. Got a license to preach. You go down
and try to preach without a license and they put you up.

"Madam, you asked me a question I think I can answer with knowledge and
understanding. The young people is goin' too fast. The people is growin'
weaker and wiser. You take my folks--goin' to school but not doin'
anything. I don't think there's much to the younger generation. Don't
think they're doin' much good. I was brought up with what they called
fireside teachin'."




Circumstances of Interview
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Bernice Bowden
ADDRESS--1006 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
DATE--November 2, 1938
SUBJECT--Exslaves
[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]


1. Name and address of informant--Gracie Mitchell

2. Date and time of interview--November 1, 1938, 3:00 p.m.

3. Place of interview--117 Worthen Street

4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with
informant--Bernice Wilburn, 101 Miller Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--None

6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--A frame house
(rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three
straight chairs. In an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove,
two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. A third room the
kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs.


Text of Interview

"They said I was born in Alabama. My mother's name was Sallie and my
father was Andrew Wheeler. I couldn't tell when I was born--my folks
never did tell me that. Belonged to Dr. Moore and when his daughter
married he give my mother to her and she went to Mobile. They said I
wasn't weaned yet. My grandmother told me that. She is dead now. Don't
know nothin' bout nary one o' my white folks. I don't recollect nothin'
bout a one of 'em 'cept my old boss. He took us to Texas and stayed till
the niggers was all free and then he went back. Good to me? No ma'm--no
good there. And if you didn't work he'd see what was the matter. Lived
near Coffeyville in Upshaw county. That's whar my husband found me. I
was living with my aunt and uncle. They said the reason I had such a
good gift makin' quilts was cause my mother was a seamstress.

"I cooked 'fore I married and I could make my own dresses, piece quilts
and quilt. That's mostly what I done. No laundry work. I never did farm
till I was married. After we went to Chicago in 1922, I took care of
other folks chillun, colored folks, while they was working in laundries
and factories. I sure has worked. I ain't nobody to what I was when I
was first married. I knowed how to turn, but I don't know whar to turn
now--I ain't able.

"I use to could plow just as good as any man. I could put that dirt up
against that cotton and corn. I'd mold it up. Lay it by? Yes ma'm I'd
lay it by, too.

"They didn't send me to school but they learned me how to work.

"I had a quilt book with a lot o' different patterns but I loaned it to
a woman and she carried it to Oklahoma. Mighty few people you can put
confidence in nowdays.

"I don't go out much 'cept to church--folks is so critical.

  "You have to mind how you walk on the cross;
  If you don't, your foot will slip,
  And your soul will be lost."

"I was a motherless chile but the Lord made up for it by givin' me a
good husband and I don't want for anything."


Interviewer's Comment

According to her husband, Gracie spends every spare moment piecing
quilts. He said they use to go fishing and that Gracie always took her
quilt pieces along and if the fish were not biting she would sew. She
showed me twenty-two finished quilt tops, each of a different design and
several of the same design, or about thirty quilts in all. Two were
entirely of silk, two of applique design which called "laid work". They
were folded up in a trunk and as she took them out and spread them on
the bed for me to see she told me the name of the design. The following
are the names of the designs:

  1. Breakfast Dish
  2. Sawtooth (silk)
  3. Tulip design (Laid work)
  4. "Prickle" Pear
  5. Little Boy's Breeches
  6. Birds All Over the Elements
  7. Drunkard's Path
  8. Railroad Crossing
  9. Cocoanut Leaf ("That's Laid Work")
 10. Cotton Leaf
 11. Half an Orange
 12. Tree of Paradise
 13. Sunflower
 14. Ocean Wave (silk)
 15. Double Star
 16. Swan's Nest
 17. Log Cabin in the Lane
 18. Reel
 19. Lily in de Valley (Silk)
 20. Feathered Star
 21. Fish Tail
 22. Whirligig

Gracie showed me her winter coat bought in Chicago of fur fabric called
moleskin, and with fur collar and cuffs.

She sells the quilt tops whenever she can. Many are made of new material
which they buy.


Personal History of Informant

1. Ancestry--Father, Andrew Wheeler; Sallie Wheeler, mother.

2. Place and date of birth--Alabama. No date known, about 80 years old.

3. Family--Husband and one grown son.

4. Places lived in, with dates--Alabama, Texas till 1897, Arkansas
1897-1922, Chicago, 1922 to 1930. Arkansas 1930 to date.

5. Education, with dates--No education.

6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Cooked before marriage
at 16; farmed after marriage; home sewing.

7. Special skills and interests--Quilt making and knitting.

8. Community and religious activities--Assisted husband in ministry.

9. Description of informant--Hair divided into many pigtails and wrapped
with rags. Skin, dark. Medium height, slender, clothing soiled.

10. Other points gained in interview--Spends all her time piecing
quilts, aside from housework.




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Hettie Mitchell (mulatto)
                    Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 69


"I am sixty-nine years old. I was raised in Dyersburg, Tennessee. I can
tell you a few things mother told us. My own grandma on mother's side
was in South Carolina. She was stole when a child and brought to
Tennessee in a covered wagon. Her mother died from the grief of it. She
was hired out to nurse for these people. The people that stole her was
named Spence. She was a house woman for them till freedom. She was never
sold. Spences was not cruel people. Mother was never sold. She was the
mother of twelve and raised nine to a good age--more than grown. The
Spences seemed to always care for her children. When I go to Dyersburg
they always want us to come to see them and they treat us mighty well.

"Mother was light. She said she had Indian strain (blood) but father was
very light and it was white blood but he never discussed it before his
children. So I can't tell you excepting he said he was owned by the
Brittians in South Carolina. He said his mother died soon after he was
sold. He was sold to a nigger trader and come in the gang to Memphis,
Tennessee and was put on the block and auctioned off to the highest
bidder. He was a farm hand.

"Mother married father when she was nineteen years old. She was a house
girl. She lived close to her old mistress. She was very, very old before
she died she nearly stayed at my mother's house. Her mind wasn't right
and mother understood how to take care of her and was kind to her. The
Spences heard about grandma. They wrote and visited years after when
mother was a girl.

"The way that father found out about his kin folks was this: One day a
creek was named and he told the white man, 'I was born close to that
creek and played there in the white sand and water when I was a little
boy.' The white man asked his name, said he knew the creek well too.
Father told him he never was named till he was sold and they named him
Sam--Sam Barnett. He was sold to Barnett in Memphis. But his dear own
mother called him 'Candy.' The white man found out about his people for
him and they found out his own dear mother died that same year he was
taken from South Carolina from grief. He heard from some of his people
from that time on till he died.

"I worked on the farm in Tennessee till I married. I ironed, washed, and
have kept my own house and done the work that goes along with raising a
small family. We own our home. We have saved all we could along. I have
never had a real hard time like some I know. I guess my time is at hand
now. I don't know which way to turn since my husband got down sick.

"I don't vote. Seem like it used to not be a nice place for women to go
where voting was taking place. Now they go mix up and vote. That is one
big change. Time is changing and changing the people. Maybe it is the
people is changing up the world as time goes by. We colored folks look
to the white folks to know the way to do. We have always done it."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Mary Mitchell, Hazen, Arkansas
Age: 60


"I was born in Trenton, Tennessee. My parents had five children. They
were named William and Charlotte Wells. My father ran away and left my
mother with all the children to raise. By birth mother was a
Mississippian. She had been a nurse and my father was a timber man and
farmer. My mother said she had her hardest time raising her little
children. She was taken from her parents when a small girl and put on a
block and sold. She never said if her owners was bad to her, but she
said they was rough on Uncle Peter. He would fight. She said they would
tie Uncle Peter and whoop him with a strap. From what she said there was
a gang of slaves on Mr. Wade's place. He owned her. I never heard her
mention freedom but she said they had a big farm bell on a tall post in
the back yard and they had a horn to blow. It was a whistle made of a
cow's horn.

"She said they was all afraid of the Ku Klux. They would ride across the
field and they could see that they was around, but they never come up
close to them."




Circumstances of Interview
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Bernice Bowden
ADDRESS--1006 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
DATE--November 3, 1938
SUBJECT--Exslaves
[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]


1. Name and address of informant--Moses Mitchell, 117 Worthen Street

2. Date and time of interview--November 1, 1938, 1:00 p.m.

3. Place of interview--117 Worthen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

4. Place and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with
informant--Bernice Wilburn, 101 Miller Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--None

6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--A frame house
(rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three
straight chairs. In an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove,
two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. A third room, the
kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs.


Text of Interview

"I was born down here on White River near Arkansas Post, August, 1849. I
belonged to Thomas Mitchel and when they (Yankees) took Arkansas Post,
our owners gathered us up and my young master took us to Texas and he
sold me to an Irishman named John McInish in Marshall for $1500. $500 in
gold and the rest in Confederate money. They called it the new issue.

"I was twelve years old then and I stayed in Texas till I was
forty-eight. I was at Tyler, Texas when they freed us. When they took us
to Texas they left my mother and baby sister here in Arkansas, down here
on Oak Log Bayou. I never saw her again and when I came back here to
Arkansas, they said she had been dead twenty-eight years. Never did hear
of my father again.

"I'm supposed to be part Creek Indian. Don't know how much. We have one
son, a farmer, lives across the river. Married this wife in 1873.

"My wife and I left Texas forty-one years ago and came back here to
Arkansas and stayed till 1922. Then we went to Chicago and stayed till
1930, and then came back here. I'd like to go back up there, but I guess
I'm gettin' too old. While I was there I preached and I worked all the
time. I worked on the streets and the driveways in Lincoln Park. I was
in the brick and block department. Then I went from there to the asphalt
department. There's where I coined the money. Made $6.60 in the brick
and block and $7.20 a day in the asphalt. Down here they don't know no
more about asphalt than a pig does about a holiday. _A man that's from
the South and never been nowhere, don't know nothin', a woman either_.

"Yes ma'm, I'm a preacher. Just a local preacher, wasn't ordained. The
reason for that was, in Texas a man over forty-five couldn't join the
traveling connection. I was licensed, but of course I couldn't perform
marriage ceremonies. I was just within one step of that.

"I went to school two days in my life. I was privileged to go to the
first free school in Texas. Had a teacher named Goldman. Don't know what
year that was but they found out me and another fellow was too old so
they wouldn't let us go no more. But I caught my alphabet in them two
days. So I just caught what education I've got, here and there. I can
read well--best on my Bible and Testament and I read the newspapers. I
can sorta scribble my name.

"I've been a farmer most of my life and a preacher for fifty-five years.
I can repair shoes and use to do common carpenter work. I can help build
a house. I only preach occasionally now, here and there. I belong to the
Allen Temple in Hoboken (East Pine Bluff).

"I think the young generation is gone to naught. They're a different cut
to what they was in my comin' up."


Interviewer's Comment

This man and his wife live in the outskirts of West pine Bluff. They
receive a small sum of money and commodities from the County Welfare
Department. He has a very pleasant personality, a good memory and
intelligence above the ordinary. Reads the Daily Graphic and Arkansas
Gazette. Age 89. He said, "_Here's the idea, freedom is worth it all_."


Personal History of Informant

1. Ancestry--Father, Lewis Mitchell; Mother, Rhoda Mitchell

2. Place and date of birth--Oak Log Bayou, White River, near Arkansas
Post, Ark.

3. Family--Wife and one grown son.

4. Places lived in, with dates--Taken to Texas by his young master and
sold in Marshall during the war. Lived in Tyler, Texas until forty-eight
years of age; came back to Arkansas in 1897 and stayed until 1922; went
to Chicago and lived until 1930; back to Jefferson County, Arkansas.

5. Education, with dates--Two days after twenty-one years of age. No
date.

6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Farmer, preacher, common
carpenter, cobbler, public work on streets in Chicago, farmed and
preached until he went to Chicago in 1922. The he worked in the
maintenance department of city streets of Chicago and of Lincoln Park,
Chicago.

7. Special skills and interests--Asphalt worker

8. Community and religious activities--Licensed Methodist Preacher. No
assignment now.

9. Description of informant--Five feet eight inches tall; weight, 165
pounds, nearly bald. Very prominent cheek bones. Keen intelligence.
Neatly dressed.

10. Other points gained in interview--Reads daily papers; knowledge of
world affairs.




Pine Bluff District
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Martin - Barker
Subject: Negro Customs

Information by: Ben Moon
[TR: Information moved from bottom of second page.]


I was born on the Walker place, in 1869. My father was a slave to Mr.
Bob. I used to drive Miss Lelia (Eulalie) to the Catholic church here in
Pine Bluff. She used to let me go barefooted, and bare headed.

Miss Lelia was the daughter of Col. Creed Taylor. All during slavery
time I drove her gins. We had eight mules. Eight at a time hitched to
each lever, they would weave in an out but they was so hitched that they
never got in any body's way. They just walked around and round like they
did in those days. We had herds of sheep, we sheared them and wove yarn
for socks. We raised wheat, when it was ripe we laid a canvas cloth on
the ground and put wheat on it, then men and women on horse back rode
over it, and thrashed it that way. They called it treading it. Then we
took it to the mill and ground it and made it into flour. For breakfast,
(we ate awful soon in the morning), about 4 AM, then we packed lunch in
tin buckets and eat again at daylight. Fat meat, cornbread and molasses.
Some would have turnip greens for breakfast.

Summertime, Miss Lelia would plant plenty of fruit, and we would have
fried apples, stewed peaches and things.

Sunday mornings we would have biscuit, butter, molasses, chicken, etc.

For our work they paid us seventy-five cents a day and when come cotton
picking time old rule, seventy five cents for pickin cotton. Christmas
time, plenty of fireworks, plenty to eat, drink and everything. We would
dance all Christmas.

All kind of game was plentiful, plenty of coon, possum, used up
everything that grew in the woods. Plenty of corn, we took it to the
grist mill every Saturday.

Ark. riv. boats passed the Walker place, and dey was a landing right at
dere place, and one at the Wright place, that is where the airport is
now.

All de white folks had plenty of cattle den and in de winter time dey
was all turned in on the fields and with what us niggers had, that made
a good many, and you know yorself dat was good for de ground.

Mother was a slave on the Merriweather place, her marster was Mick[TR:
name not clear] Merriweather. My granma was Gusta Merriweather, my
mother Lavina and lived on the Merriweather place in what was then
Dorsey county, near Edinburg, now Cleveland Co. My grandfather was Louis
Barnett, owned by Nick Barnett of Cleveland co., then Dorsey co. Fathers
people was owned by Marse Bob Walker. Miss Lelia (Eulalie) was mistis.
Miss Maggie Benton was young mistis.

I dont believe in ghosts or spirits.




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Emma Moore
                    3715 Short West Second, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 80
Occupation: Laundry work


"I'se born in slavery times. When my daddy come back from the War, he
said I was gwine on seven or eight.

"He stayed in the War three years and six months. I know that's what he
always told us. He went with his master, Joe Horton. Looks like I can
see old Marse Joe now. Had long sandy whiskers. The las' time I seed him
he come to my uncle's house. We was all livin' in a row of houses.
Called em the quarters. I never will fergit it.

"I was born on Horton's Island here in Arkansas. That's what they told
me.

"I know when my daddy went to war and when he come back, he put on his
crudiments (accoutrements) to let us see how he looked.

"I seed the soldiers gwine to war and comin' back. Look like to me I was
glad to see em till I seed too many of em.

"Yankees used to come down and take provisions. Yes, 'twas the Yankees!

"My granddaddy was the whippin' boss. Had a white boss too named Massa
Fred.

"Massa Joe used to come down and play with us chillun. His name was Joe
Horton. Ever'body can tell you that was his name. Old missis named Miss
Mary. She didn't play with us much.

"Yes ma'am, they sure did take us to Texas durin' of the War--in a ox
wagon. Stayed down there a long time.

"We didn't have plenty to eat but we had to eat what we did. I member
they wouldn't give us chillun no meat, jus' grease my mouf and make my
mother think we had meat.

"Now my mother told me, at night some of the folks used to steal one of
old massa's shoats and cook it at night. I know when that pot was on the
rack but you better not say nothin' bout it.

"All us chillun stayed in a big long log house. Dar is where us chillun
stayed in the daytime, right close to Miss Mary.

"I used to sit on the lever at the gin. You know that was glory to me to
ride. I whipped the old mule. Ever' now and then I'd give him a tap.

"When they pressed the cotton, they wet the press and I member one time
they wet it too much. I don't say they sont it back but I think they
made em pay for it. And they used to put chunks in the bale to make it
weigh heavy. Right there on that lake where I was born.

"Used to work in the field. These white folks can tell you I loved to
work. I used to get as much as the men. My mammy was a worker and as the
sayin' is, I was a chip off the old block.

"The first teacher I went to school to was named Mr. Cushman. Didn't go
only on rainy days. That was the first school and you might say the las'
one cause I had to nuss them chillun.

"You know old massa used to keep all our ages and my daddy said I was
nineteen when I married, but I don't know what year 'twas--honest I
don't.

"I been married three times.

"I member one time I was goin' to a buryin'. I was hurryin' to get
dressed. I wanted to be ready when they come by for me cause they say
it's bad luck to stop a corpse. If you don't know that I do--you know if
they had done started from the house.

"My mama and daddy said they was born in Tennessee and was bought and
brought here.

"I been goin' to one of these gov'ment schools and got my eyes so weak I
can't hardly see to thread a needle. I'se crazy bout it I'm tellin' you.
I sit up here till God knows how long. They give me a copy to practice
and they'd brag on me and that turned me foolish. I jus' thought I was
the teacher herself almos'. That's the truf now.

"I can't read much. I don't fool with no newspaper. I wish I could,
woman--I sure do.

"I keep tellin' these young folks they better learn somethin'. I tell em
they better take this chance. This young generation--I don't know much
bout the whites--I'm tellin' you these colored is a sight.

"Well, I'm gwine away from here d'rectly--ain't gwine be here much
longer. If I don't see you again I'll meet you in heaven."




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Patsy Moore, Madison, Arkansas
Age: 74


"My mother was sold in Jamestown, Virginia to Daphney Hull. Her white
folks got in debt. My papa was born in Georgia. Folks named Williams
owned him. Ma never seen her ma no more but William Hull went to
Virginia and bought her two sisters.

"I was named Patsy after grandma in Virginia. She had twenty-one
children to ma's knowing. Ma was a light color. Pa was a Molly Glaspy
man. That means he was Indian and African. Molly Glaspy folks was nearly
always free folks. Ma was named Mattie. If they would have no children
they got trafficked about.

"Daphney Hull was good but William Hull and his wife was both mean. They
lived on the main road to Holly Springs. Daphney Hull was a Methodist
man, kind-hearted and good. He was a bachelor I think. He kept a woman
to cook and keep his house. Auntie said the Yankees was mean to Mr.
William Hull's wife. They took all their money and meat. They had their
money hid and some of the black folks let the Yankees find out where it
was. They got it.

"Papa was a soldier. He sent for us. We come to Memphis, Tennessee in a
wagon. We lived there five or six years. Pa got a pension till he died.
Both my parents was field hands in slavery. Ma took in washing and
ironing in Memphis.

"I was born in De Sota County, Mississippi. I remember Forrest's battle
in Memphis. I didn't have sense to be scared. I seen black and white
dead in the streets and alleys. We went to the magazine house for
protection, and we played and stayed there. They tried to open the
magazine house but couldn't.

"When freedom come, folks left home, out in the streets, crying,
praying, singing, shouting, yelling, and knocking down everything. Some
shot off big guns. Den come the calm. It was sad then. So many folks
done dead, things tore up and nowheres to go and nothing to eat, nothing
to do. It got squally. Folks got sick, so hungry. Some folks starved
nearly to death. Times got hard. We went to the washtub onliest way we
all could live. Ma was a cripple woman. Pa couldn't find work for so
long when he mustered out.

"I do recollect the Civil War well.

"I live with my daughter. I have a cough since I had flu and now I have
chills and fever. My daughter helps me all I get. She lives with me.

"Some of the young folks is mighty good. I reckon some is too loose
acting. Times is hard. Harder in the winter than in summer time. We has
our garden and chickens to help us out in summer."




Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Ada Moorehead
                    2300 E. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 82?


"I was here in slavery times, honey, but I don't know exactly how old I
am. I was born in Huntsville, Alabama but you know in them days old
folks didn't tell the young folks no thin' and I was so small when they
brought me here. I don't know what year I was born but I believe I'm
about eighty-two. You know when a person ain't able to work and dabble
out his own clothes, you know he's gone a long ways.

"My white folks was Ad White what owned me. Called him Marse Ad. Don't
call folks marse much now-days.

"My father was sold away from us in Alabama and we heard he was here in
Pine Bluff so Aunt Fanny brought us here. She just had a road full of us
and brought us here to Arkansas. We walked. We was a week on the road. I
know we started here on Monday morning and we got here to the courthouse
on the next Monday round about noon. That was that old courthouse. I
reckon that ground is in the river now.

"When we got here I saw my father. He took me to his sister--that was my
Aunt Savannah--and dropped me down.

"Mrs. Reynolds raised me. She come to Aunt Savannah's house and hired me
the very same day I got here. I nursed Miss Katie. She was bout a month
old. You know--a little long dress baby. Don't wear then long dresses
now--gettin' wiser.

"Mrs. Reynolds she was good to me. And since she's gone looks like I'm
gone too--gone to the dogs. Cause when Mrs. Reynolds got a dress for
Miss Katie--got one for me too.

"My father was a soldier in the war. Last time I heard from him I know
he was hauling salt to the breastworks. Yes, I was here in the war. That
was all right to me but I wished a many a time I wasn't here.

"I went to school two or three days in a week for about a term. But I
didn't learn to read much. Had to hire out and help raise my brother and
sister. I'm goin' to this here government school now. I goes every
afternoon.

"Since I got old I can think bout the old times. It comes to me. I
didn't pay attention to nothin' much when I was young.

"Oh Lord, I don't know what's goin' to become of us old folks. Wasn't
for the Welfare, I don't know what I'd do.

"I was sixteen when I married. I sure did marry young. I married young
so I could see my chillun grown. I never married but once and I stayed a
married woman forty-nine years to the very day my old man died. Lived
with one man forty-nine years. I had my hand and heart full. I had a
home of my own. How many chillun? Me? I had nine of my own and I raised
other folks' chillun. Oh, I been over this world right smart--first one
thing and then another. I know a lot of white folks. They all been
pretty good to me."




Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins
Person Interviewed: Mrs. Mary Jane (Mattie) Mooreman
Home: with son
Age: 90


"Yes, ma'am. I've been in Hot Springs, been in Hot Springs 57 years.
That's a long time. Lots of changes have come--I've seen lots of changes
here--changed from wooden sidewalks and little wood buildings.

"Your name's Hudgins? I knew the Hudginses--knew Miss Nora well. What's
that? Did I know Adeline? Did I know Adeline! Do you mean to tell me
she's still alive? Adeline! Why Miss Maud," (addressing Mrs. Eisele, for
whom she works--and who sat nearby to help in the interview) "Miss
Maude, I tell you Adeline's WHITE, she's white clean through!" (see
interview with Adeline Blakeley, who incidentally is as black as "the
ace of spades"--in pigmentation.) "Miss Maude, you never knew anybody
like Adeline. She bossed those children and made them mind--just like
they was hers. She took good care of them." (Turning to the interviewer)
"You know how the Hudgins always was about their children. Adeline
thought every one of 'em was made out of gold---made out of pure GOLD.

"She made 'em mind. I remember once, she was down on Central Avenue with
Ross and he did southing or other that, wasn't nice. She walked over to
the umbrella stand, you remember how they used to have umbrellas for
sale out in front of the stores. She grabbed an umbrella and she whipped
Ross with it--she didn't hurt him. Then she put it back in the stand
and said to the man who ran the store, 'If that umbrella's hurt, just
charge it to Harve Hudgins.' That's the way Adeline was. So she's still
alive. Law how I'd like to see her. Bring me a picture of her. Oh Miss
Mary, I'd love to have it.

"Me? I was born on Green river near Hartford, Kentucky. Guess I was
about a year and a half, from what they told me when my mistress
married. Don't know how she ever met my master. She was raised in a
convent and his folks lived a long way from hers. But anyhow she did.
She was just 13 when she married. The man she married was named Charles
Mooreman M-O-O-R-E-M-A-N. They had a son called Charles Wycliff
Mooreman. He was named for his mother's people. I got a son I called
Charles Wycliff too. He works at the Arlington. He's a waiter. They say
he looks just like me. Mr. Charles Wycliff Mooreman--back in Kentucky.
I still gets letters from him.

"Miss Mary I guess I had a pretty easy time in slavery days. They was
good to us. Besides I was a house niggah." (Those who have been "house
niggahs" never quibble at the word slave or negro. A subtle social
distinction brewed in the black race to separate house servants from
field hands as far as wealthy planters from "poor white trash.".) "Once
I heard a man say of my mother, 'You could put on a white boiled shirt
and lie flat down on the floor in her kitchen and not get dirty.'"

"Cook? No, ma'am!" (with dignity and indignation) "I never cooked until
after I was married, and I never washed, never washed so much as a rag.
All I washed was the babies and maybe my mistress's feet. I was a lady's
maid. I'd wait on my mistress and I'd knit sox for all the folks. When
they would sleep it was our duty--us maids--to fan 'em with feathers
made out of turkey feathers--feather fans. Part of it was to keep 'em
cool. Then they didn't have screens like we have today. So part of it
was to keep the flies off. I remember how we couldn't stomp our feet to
keep the flies from biting for fear of waking 'em up.

"No, Miss Mary, we didn't get such, good food. Nobody had all the kinds
of things we have today. We had mostly buttermilk and cornbread and fat
meat. Cake? 'Deed we didn't. I remember once they baked a cake and Mr.
Charles Wycliff--he was just a little boy--he got in and took a whole
fistful out of the cake. When Miss found out about it, she give us all
doses of salts--enough to make us all throw up. She gave it to all the
niggahs and the children--the white children. And what did she find out?
It was her own child who had done it.

"Yes ma'am we learned to read and write. Oh, Miss Maude now--I don't
want to recite. I don't want to." (But she did "Twinkle, Twinkle Little
Star" and "The Playful Kitten"--the latter all of 40 lines.) "I think, I
think they both come out of McGuffey's second Reader. Yes ma'am I
remember's McGuffey's and the Blueback speller too.

"No, Miss Mary, there wasn't so much of the war that was fought around
us. I remember that old Master used to go out in the front yard and
stand by a locust tree and put his ear against it. He said that way he
could hear the cannon down to Bowling Green. No, I didn't never hear any
shooting from the war myself.

"Yes ma'am, the Confederates used to come through lots. I remember how
we used to go to the spring for water for 'em. Then we'd stand with the
buckets on our heads while they drank--drank out of a big gourd. When
the buckets was empty we'd go back to the spring for more water.

"Once the Yankees come by the place. It was at night. They went out to
the quarters and they tried to get 'em to rise up. Told 'em to come on
in the big house and take what they wanted. Told 'em to take anything
they wanted to take, take Master's silver spoons and Miss' silk dress.
'If they don't like it, we'll shoot their brains out,' they said. Next
morning they told Master. He got scared and moved. At that time we was
living at Cloverport.

"It was near the end of the war and we was already free, only we didn't
know it. He moved on up to Stephensport. That's on the Ohio too. He took
me and a brother of mine and another black boy. While we was there I
remember he took me to a circus. I remember how the lady--she was
dressed in pink come walking down a wire--straight on down to the
ground. She was carrying a long pole. I won't never forget that.

"Not long afterwards I was married. We was all free then. My husband
asked my master if he could marry me. He told him 'You're a good man.
You can come and live on my farm and work for me, but you can't have
Mattie.' So we moved off to his Master's farm.

"A little while after that his Master bought a big farm in Arkansas. He
wanted to hire as many people as he could. So we went with him. He
started out well, but the first summer he died. So everything had to be
sold. A man what come down to bid on some of the farm tools and
stock--come to the auction, he told us to come on up to Woodruff county
and work for him. We was there 7 years and he worked the farm and I took
care of myself and my babies. Then he went off and left me.

"I went in to Cotton Plant and started working there. Finally he wrote
me and tried to get me to say we hadn't never been married. Said he
wanted to marry another woman. The white folks I worked for wouldn't let
me. I'd been married right and they wouldn't let me disgrace myself by
writing such a letter.

"Finally I came on to Hot Springs. For a while I cooked and washed. Then
I started working for folks, regular. For 9 years, tho, I mostly washed
and ironed.

"I came to Hot Springs on the 7th of February--I think it was 57 years
ago. You remember Miss Maud--it was just before that big hail storm. You
was here, don't you remember--that hail storm that took all the windows
out of all the houses, tore off roofs and swept dishes and table-cloths
right off the tables. Can't nobody forget that who's seen it.

"Miss Mary, do you know Miss Julia Huggins? I worked for her a long
time. Worked for her before she went away and after she came back.
Between times I cooked for Mrs. Button (Burton--but called Button by
everyone) Housley. When Miss Julia come back she marches right down to
Mrs. Housley's and tells me she wants me to work for her again. 'Can't
get her now,' says Mrs. Housley, 'Mattie's done found out she's black.'
But anyhow I went to see her, and I went back to work for her, pretty
foxy Miss Julia was.

"I been working for Mrs. Eisele pretty near twenty five years. Saw her
children grow up and the grand children. Lancing, he's my heart. Once
when Mr. and Mrs. Eisele went to see Mrs. Brown, Lancing's mother, they
took me with them. All the way to Watertown, Wisconsin. There wasn't any
more niggas in the town and all the children thought I was somthing to
look at. They'd come to see me and they'd bring their friends with 'em.
Once while we was there, a circus come to town. The children wanted me
to see it. Told me there was a negro boy in it. Guess they thought it
would be a treat to me to see another niggah. I told 'em, 'Law, don't
you think I see lots, lots more than I wants, everyday when I is at
home?'

"It used to scare me. The folks would go off to a party or a show and
leave me alone with the baby. No, Miss Mary, I wasn't scared for myself.
I thought somebody might come in and kidnap that baby. No matter how
late they was I'd sit on the top step of the stairs leading
upstairs--just outside the door where Lansing was asleep. No matter what
time they come home they'd find me there. 'Why don't you go on in your
bedroom and lie down?' they'd ask me. 'No,' I'd tell 'em, 'somebody
might come in, and they would have to get that baby over my dead body.'

"Jonnie, that's my daughter" (Mrs. D.G. Murphy, 338 Walnut Street, a
large stucco house with well cared for lawn) "she wants me to quit work.
I told her, 'You put that over on Mrs. Murphy--you made her quit work
and took care of her. What happened to her? She died! You're not going
to make me old.'

"Twice she's got me to quit work. Once, she told me it was against the
law. Told me there was a law old folks couldn't work. I believed her and
I quit. Then I come on down and I asked Mr. Eisele" (an important
business executive and prominent in civic affairs, [HW: aged 83]) "He
rared back and he said, 'I'd like to see anybody stop me from working.'
So I come on back.

"Another time, it was when the old age pensions come in. They tried to
stop me again. Told me I had to take it. I asked Mr. Eisele if I could
work just the same. 'No,' he says 'if you take it, you'll have to quit
work.' So I stamped my foot and I says, 'I won't take nobody's pension.'

"The other day Jonnie called up here and she started to crying. Lots of
folks write her notes and say she's bad to let me work. Somebody told
her that they had seen me going by to work at 4 o'clock in the morning.
It wasn't no such. I asked a man when I was on the way and it was 25
minutes until 5. Besides, my clock had stopped and I couldn't tell what
time it was. Yes, Miss Mary, I does get here sort of early, but then I
like it. I just sit in the kitchen until the folks get up.

"You see that picture over there, it's Mr. Eisele when he was 17. I'd
know that smiling face anywhere. He's always good to me. When they go
away to Florida I can go to the store and get money whenever I need it.
But it's always good to see them come back. Miss Maud says I'm sure to
go to Heaven, I'm such a good worker. No, Miss Mary, I'm not going to
quit work. Not until I get old."




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Evelina Morgan
                    1317 W. Sixteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: App. 81
[TR: Original first page moved to follow second page per
 HW: Insert this page before Par. 1, P. 3]


"I was born in Wedgeboro, North Carolina, on the plantation of--let me
see what that man's name was. He was an old lawyer. I done forgot that
old white man's name. Old Tom Ash! Senator Ash--that's his name. He was
good to his slaves. He had so many niggers he didn't know them all.

"My father's name was Alphonso Dorgens and my mother's name was Lizzie
Dorgens. Both of them dead. I don't know what her name was before she
married. My pa belonged to the Dorgens' and he married my ma. That is
how she come to be a Dorgen. Old Man Ash never did buy him. He just
visited my mother. They all was in the same neighborhood. Big
plantations. Both of them had masters that owned lots of land. I don't
know how often he visited my mother after he married her. He was over
there all the time. They were right adjoining plantations.

"I was born in a frame house. I don't know nothin' about it no more than
that. It was j'ined to the kitchen. My mother had two rooms j'ined to
the kitchen. She was the old mistress' cook. She could come right out of
the kitchen and go on in her room.

"My father worked on the farm. They fed the slaves meat and bread. That
is all I remember--meat and bread and potatoes. They made lots of
potatoes. They gave 'em what they raised. You could raise stuff for
yourself if you wanted to.

"My mother took care of her children. We children was on the place there
with her. She didn't have nobody's children to take care of but us.

"I was six years old during of the War. My ma told me my age, but I
forgot it; I never did have it put down. The only way I gits a pension,
I just tells 'em I was six years old during of the War, and they figures
out the age. Sorta like that. But I know I was six years old when the
Rebels and the Yankees was fighting.

"I seed the Yankees come through. I seed that. They come in the time old
master was gone. He run off--he run away. He didn't let 'em git him. I
was a little child. They stayed there all day breaking into
things--breaking into the molasses and all like that. Old mistress
stayed upstairs hiding. The soldiers went down in the basement and
throwed things around. Old master was a senator; they wanted to git him.
They sure did cuss him: 'The ----, ----, ----, old senator,' they would
say. He took his finest horses and all the gold and silver with him
somewheres. They couldn't git 'im. They was after senators and high-ups
like that.

"The soldiers tickled me. They sung. The white people's yard was jus'
full of them playing 'Yankee Doodle' and 'Hang Jeff Davis on a Sour
Apple Tree.'

"All the white people gone! Funny how they run away like that. They had
to save their selves. I 'member they took one old boss man and hung him
up in a tree across a drain of water, jus' let his foot touch--and
somebody cut him down after 'while. Those white folks had to run away.


Patrollers

"I used to hear them all talk about the patrollers. I used to hear my
mother talking about them. My ma said my master wouldn't let the
patrollers come on his place. They could go on anybody else's place but
he never did let them come on his place. Some of the slaves were treated
very bad. But my ma said he didn't allow a patroller on the place and he
didn't allow no other white man to touch his niggers. He was a big white
man--a senator. He didn't know all his Negroes but he didn't allow
nobody to impose on them. He didn't let no patroller and nobody else
beat up his niggers.


How Freedom Came

"I don't know how freedom came. I know the Yankees came through and
they'd pat we little niggers on the head and say, 'Nigger, you are just
as free as I am.' And I would say, 'Yes'm.'


Right After Freedom

"Right after the War my mother and father moved off the place and went
on another plantation somewheres--I don't know where. They share
cropped. I don't know how long. Old mistress didn't want them to move at
all. I never will forget that.


Present Occupation and Opinions

"I used to cook out all the time when I got grown. I couldn't tell you
when I married. You got enough junk down there now. So I ain't giving
you no more. My husband's been dead about seven years. I goes to the
Methodist church on Ninth and Broadway. I ain't able to do no work now.
I gets a little pension, and the Lord takes care of me. I have a hard
time sometime.

"I ain't bothered about these young folks. They is _somethin' awful_. It
would be wonderful to write a book from that. They ought to git a
history of these young people. You could git a wonderful book out of
that.

"The colored folks have come a long way since freedom. And if the white
folks didn't pin 'em down they'd go further. Old Jeff Davis said when
the niggers was turned loose, 'Dive up your knives and forks with them.'
But they didn't do it.

"Some niggers was sharp and got something. And they lost it just like
they got it. Look at Bush. I know two or three big niggers got a lot and
ain't got nothin' left now. Well, I ain't got no time for no more junk.
You got enough down there. You take that and go on."


Interviewer's Comment

During the interview, a little "pickaninny" came in with his mother. His
grandmother and a forlorn little dog were also along. "Tell grandma what
you want," his mother prompted. "Is that your grandson?" I interrupted.
"No," she said, "He ain't no kin to me, but he calls me 'ma' and acts as
if I was his grandma." The little fellow hung back. He was just about
twenty-two months old, but large and mature for that age.

"Tell 'ma' what you want," his grandmother put in. Finally, he made up
his mind and stood in front of her and said, "Buh--er." His mother
explained, "I've done made him some corn bread, but he ain't got no
butter to put on it and he wants you to give him some."

Sister Morgan sat silent awhile. Then she rose deliberately and went
slowly to the ancient ice-box, opened it and took out a tin of butter
which she had evidently churned herself in some manner and carefully cut
out a small piece and wrapped it neatly and handed it to the little one.
After a few amenities, they passed out.

Even with her pitiful and meagre lot, the old lady evidently means to
share her bare necessities with others.

The manner of her calculation of her age is interesting. She was six
years old when the War was going on. She definitely remembers seeing
Sherman's army and Wheeler's cavalry after she was six. Since they were
in her neighborhood in 1864, she is undoubtedly more than eighty.
Eighty-one is a fair estimate.




Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: James Morgan
                    819 Rice Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 65


"During the slave time, the pateroles used to go from one plantation to
the other hunting Negroes. They would catch them at the door and throw
hot ashes in their faces. You could go to another plantation and steal
or do anything you wanted if you could manage to get back to your old
master's place. But if you got caught away from your plantation, they
would get you. Sometimes a nigger didn't want to get caught and beat, so
he would throw a shovel of hot ashes in the pateroles' faces and beat it
away.

"My daddy used to tell lots of stories about slavery times. He's been
dead forty-three years and my mother has been dead forty-one
years--forty-one years this May. I was quite young and lots of the
things they told me, I remember, and some of them, I don't.

"I was born in 1873. That was eight years after the War ended. My
father's name was Aaron and my mother's name was Rosa. Both of them was
in slavery.[TR: sentence lined out.] I got a brother that was a baby in
her lap when the Yankee soldiers got after a chicken. The chicken flew
up in her lap and they never got that one. The white folks lost it, but
the Yankees didn't get it. I have heard my mother tell all sorts of
things. But they just come to me at times. The soldiers would take
chickens or anything they could get their hands on--those soldiers
would.

"My mother married the first time in slavery. Her first husband was sold
in slavery. That is the onliest brother I'm got living now out of
ten--that one that was settin' in her lap when the soldiers come
through. He's in Boydell, Arkansas now. It used to be called Morrell. It
is about one hundred twenty-one miles from here, because Dermott is one
hundred nine and Boydell is about twelve miles further on. It's in
Nashville[HW:?] County. My brother was a great big old baby in slavery
times. He was my mother's child by her first husband. All the rest of
them is dead and he is the onliest one that is living.

"I was a section foreman for the Missouri Pacific for twenty-two years.
I worked there altogether for thirty-five years, but I was section
foreman for twenty-two years. There's my card. Lots of men stayed on the
job till it wore them out. Lewis Holmes did that. It would take him two
hours to walk from here to his home--if he ever managed it at all.

"It's warm today and it will bring a lot of flies. Flies don't die in
the winter. Lots of folks think they do. They go up in cracks and little
places like that under the weatherboard there--any place where it is
warm--and there they huddle up and stay till it gets warm. Then they
come out and get something to eat and go back again when it cools off.
They live right on through the winter in their hiding places.

"Both of my parents said they always did their work whatever the task
might be. And my daddy said he never got no whipping at all. You know
they would put a task on you and if you didn't do it, you would get a
whipping. My daddy wouldn't stand to be whipped by a paterole, and he
didn't have to be whipped by nobody else, because he always did his
work.

"He was one of the ones that the pateroles couldn't catch. When the
pateroles would be trying to break in some place where he was, and the
other niggers would be standing 'round frightened to death and wonderin'
what to do, he would be gettin' up a shovelful of ashes. When the door
would be opened and they would be rushin' in, he would scatter the ashes
in their faces and rush out. If he couldn't find no ashes, he would
always have a handful of pepper with him, and he would throw that in
their faces and beat it.

"He would fool dogs that my too. My daddy never did run away. He said he
didn't have no need to run away. They treated him all right. He did his
work. He would get through with everything and sometimes he would be
home before six o'clock. My mother said that lots of times she would
pick cotton and give it to the others that couldn't keep up so that they
wouldn't be punished. She had a brother they used to whip all the time
because he didn't keep up.

"My father told me that his old master told him he was free. He stayed
with his master till he retired and sold the place. He worked on shares
with him. His old master sold the place and went to Monticello and died.
He stayed with him about fifteen or sixteen years after he was freed,
stayed on that place till the Government donated him one hundred sixty
acres and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for it. He built a
house on it and cleared it up. That's what my daddy did. Some folks
don't believe me when I tell 'em the Government gave him a hundred and
sixty acres of land and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for
it--a penny a acre.

"I am retired now. Been retired since 1938. The Government took over the
railroad pension and it pays me now. That is under the Security Act.
Each and every man on the railroad pays in to the Government.

"I have been married right around thirty-nine years.

"I was born in Chicot County, Arkansas.[TR: sentence lined out.] My
father was born in Georgia and brought here by his master. He come here
in a old covered ox wagon. I don't know how they happened to decide to
come here. My mother was born in South Carolina. She met my father here
in Arkansas. They sold her husband and she was brought here. After peace
was declared she met my daddy. Her first husband was sold in South
Carolina and she never did know that became of him. They put him up on
the block and sold him and she never did know which way he went. He left
her with two boys right then. She had a sister that stayed in South
Carolina. Somebody bought her there and kept her and somebody bought my
mother and brought her here. My father's master was named McDermott. My
mother's last master was named Belcher or something like that.

"I don't belong to any church. I have always lived decent and kept out
of trouble."


Interviewer's Comment

When Morgan said "there is my record", he showed me a pass for the year
1938-39 for himself and his wife between all stations on the Missouri
Pacific lines signed by L.W. Baldwin, Chief Executive Officer.

He is a good man even if he is not a Christian as to church membership.




Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person Interviewed: Olivia Morgan
                    Hazen, Ark.
Age: 62


"I am 62 years old. I was born in Lafayette County close to New
Lewisville. I heard mama say many a time she was named after her
state--North Carolina. Her name was Carolina Alexandria. They brought
her a slave girl to this new country. She and papa must of met up
toreckly after freedom. She had some children and I'm one of my papa's
oldest children.

"Papa come here long fore the war started. The old master in Atlanta,
Georgia--Abe Smith--give his son three boys and one girl. He emigrated
to Arkansas.

"Mama said her first husband and the young master went off and he never
come back as she knowed of. Young master played with mama's second girl
a whole heap. One day they was playing hiding round. Just as she come
running to the base from round the house, young master hit her on the
forehead with a rock. It killed her. Old master tried to school him but
he worried so they sent him off--thought it would do his health good to
travel. I don't think they ever come back.

"After freedom mama married and went over to papa's master's. Papa
stayed round there a long time. They got news some way they was to get
forty acres land and a mule to start out with but they said they never
got nothing.

"My papa said he knowed it to be a fact, the Ku Klux cut a colored
woman's breast off. I don't recollect why he said they got after her.
The Jayhawkers was bad too. They all went wild; some of em left men
hanging up in trees. They needed a good master to protect em worse after
the war than they needed em before. They said they had a Yankee
government then was reason of the Ku Klux. They run the Jayhawkers out
and made the Yankees go on home. Everybody had a hard time. Bread was
mighty scarce when I was a child. Times was hard. Men that had land had
to let it lay out. They had nothin' to feed the hands on, no money to
pay, no seed, no stock to work. The fences all went to rack and all the
houses nearly down. When I was a child they was havin' hard times.

"I'm a country woman. I farmed all my life. I been married two times; I
married Holmes, then Morgan. They dead. I washed, ironed, cooked, all at
Mr. Jim Buchannan's sawmill close to Lewisville two years and eight
months; then I went back to farmin' up at Pine Bluff. My oldest sister
washed and ironed for Mrs. Buchannan till she moved from the sawmill to
Texarkana. He lived right at the sawmill ground.

"My papa voted a Republican ticket. I don't vote. My husbands have voted
along. If the women would let the men have the business I think times
would be better. I don't believe in women voting. The men ought to make
the livings for the families, but the women doing too much. They
crowding the men out of work.

"Some folks is sorry in all colors. Seems like the young folks ain't got
no use for quiet country life. They buying too much. They say they have
to buy everything. I ain't had no depression yet. I been at work and we
had crop failures b

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