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Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume IV, Georgia Narratives, Part 3

by United States. Work Projects Administration · English · Gutenberg #18484 · 487,619 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume IV, Georgia Narratives, Part 3

Author: United States. Work Projects Administration


        
Release date: June 1, 2006 [eBook #18484]

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by Reda and the Online Distributed Proofreading
        Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
        images generously made available by the Library of Congress,
        Manuscript Division)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES: A FOLK HISTORY OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES FROM INTERVIEWS WITH FORMER SLAVES, VOLUME IV, GEORGIA NARRATIVES, PART 3 ***




Produced by Reda and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by the Library of Congress,
Manuscript Division)







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



SLAVE NARRATIVES

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

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

Illustrated with Photographs

WASHINGTON 1941




VOLUME IV

GEORGIA NARRATIVES

PART 3




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


INFORMANTS

Kendricks, Jennie                       1
Kilpatrick, Emmaline                    8
Kimbrough, Frances                     14
King, Charlie                          16
Kinney, Nicey                          21

Larken, Julia                          34
Lewis, George                          47

McCommons, Mirriam                     51
McCree, Ed                             56
McCullough, Lucy                       66
McDaniel, Amanda                       71
McGruder, Tom                          76
McIntosh, Susan                        78
McKinney, Matilda                      88
McWhorter, William                     91
Malone, Mollie                        104
Mason, Charlie                        108
  [TR: In the interview, Aunt Carrie Mason]
Matthews, Susan                       115
Mays, Emily                           118
Mention, Liza                         121
Miller, Harriet                       126
Mitchell, Mollie                      133
Mobley, Bob                           136

Nix, Fanny                            139
Nix, Henry                            143

Ogletree, Lewis                       146
Orford, Richard                       149

Parkes, Anna                          153
Pattillio, G.W.                       165
  [TR: In the interview,  G.W. Pattillo]
Pope, Alec                            171
Price, Annie                          178
Pye, Charlie                          185

Raines, Charlotte                     189
Randolph, Fanny                       194
Richards, Shade                       200
Roberts, Dora                         206
Rogers, Ferebe                        209
Rogers, Henry                         217
Rush, Julia                           229

Settles, Nancy                        232
Sheets, Will                          236
Shepherd, Robert                      245
Singleton, Tom                        264
Smith, Charles                        274
  [TR: In the interview, Charlie Tye Smith]
Smith, Georgia                        278
Smith, Mary                           285
Smith, Melvin                         288
Smith, Nancy                          295
Smith, Nellie                         304
Smith, Paul                           320
Stepney, Emeline                      339
Styles, Amanda                        343



Transcriber's Notes:

[TR: The interview headers presented here contain all information
included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability.
Also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information
on subsequent interview pages. Names in brackets were drawn from text of
interviews.]

[TR: Some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to
interview headers in brackets. Where part of date could not be
determined -- has been substituted. These dates do not appear to
represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were
received or perhaps transcription dates.]



[HW: Dist 5
Ex-Slave #63]

Whitley,
1-22-36
Driskell

EX SLAVE
JENNIE KENDRICKS
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Jennie Kendricks, the oldest of 7 children, was born in Sheram, Georgia
in 1855. Her parents were Martha and Henry Bell. She says that the first
thing she remembers is being whipped by her mother.

Jennie Kendricks' grandmother and her ten children lived on this
plantation. The grandmother had been brought to Georgia from Virginia:
"She used to tell me how the slave dealers brought her and a group of
other children along much the same as they would a herd of cattle," said
the ex-slave, "when they reached a town all of them had to dance through
the streets and act lively so that the chances for selling them would be
greater".

When asked to tell about Mr. Moore, her owner, and his family Jennie
Kendricks stated that although her master owned and operated a large
plantation, he was not considered a wealthy man. He owned only two other
slaves besides her immediate family and these were men.

"In Mr. Moores family were his mother, his wife, and six children (four
boys and two girls). This family lived very comfortably in a two storied
weatherboard house. With the exception of our grandmother who cooked for
the owner's family and slaves, and assisted her mistress with housework
all the slaves worked in the fields where they cultivated cotton and the
corn, as well as the other produce grown there. Every morning at sunrise
they had to get up and go to the fields where they worked until it was
too dark to see. At noon each day they were permitted to come to the
kitchen, located just a short distance in the rear of the master's
house, where they were served dinner. During the course of the day's
work the women shared all the men's work except plowing. All of them
picked cotton when it was time to gather the crops. Some nights they
were required to spin and to help Mrs. Moore, who did all of the
weaving. They used to do their own personal work, at night also." Jennie
Kendricks says she remembers how her mother and the older girls would go
to the spring at night where they washed their clothes and then left
them to dry on the surrounding bushes.

As a little girl Jennie Kendricks spent all of her time in the master's
house where she played with the young white children. Sometimes she and
Mrs. Moore's youngest child, a little boy, would fight because it
appeared to one that the other was receiving more attention from Mrs.
Moore than the other. As she grew older she was kept in the house as a
playmate to the Moore children so she never had to work in the field a
single day.

She stated that they all wore good clothing and that all of it was made
on the plantation with one exception. The servants spun the thread and
Mrs. Moore and her daughters did all of the weaving as well as the
making of the dresses that were worn on this particular plantation. "The
way they made this cloth", she continued, "was to wind a certain amount
of thread known as a "cut" onto a reel. When a certain number of cuts
were reached they were placed on the loom. This cloth was colored with a
dye made from the bark of trees or with a dye that was made from the
indigo berry cultivated on the plantation. The dresses that the women
wore on working days were made of striped or checked materials while
those worn on Sunday were usually white."

She does not know what the men wore on work days as she never came in
contact with them. Stockings for all were knitted on the place. The
shoes, which were the one exception mentioned above, were made by one
Bill Jacobs, an elderly white man who made the shoes for all the
plantations in the community. The grown people wore heavy shoes called
"Brogans" while those worn by the children were not so heavy and were
called "Pekers" because of their narrow appearance. For Sunday wear, all
had shoes bought for this purpose. Mr. Moore's mother was a tailoress
and at times, when the men were able to get the necessary material, she
made their suits.

There was always enough feed for everybody on the Moore plantation. Mrs.
Moore once told Jennie's mother to always see that her children had
sufficient to eat so that they would not have to steal and would
therefore grow up to be honorable. As the Grandmother did all of the
cooking, none of the other servants ever had to cook, not even on
Sundays or other holidays such as the Fourth of July. There was no stove
in this plantation kitchen, all the cooking was done at the large
fireplace where there were a number of hooks called potracks. The pots,
in which the cooking was done, hung from these hooks directly over the
fire.

The meals served during the week consisted of vegetables, salt bacon,
corn bread, pot liquor, and milk. On Sunday they were served milk,
biscuits, vegetables, and sometimes chicken. Jennie Kendricks ate all of
her meals in the master's house and says that her food was even better.
She was also permitted to go to the kitchen to get food at any time
during the day. Sometimes when the boys went hunting everyone was given
roast 'possum and other small game. The two male slaves were often
permitted to accompany them but were not allowed to handle the guns.
None of the slaves had individual gardens of their own as food
sufficient for their needs was raised in the master's garden.

The houses that they lived in were one-roomed structures made of heavy
plank instead of logs, with planer [HW: ?] floors. At one end of this
one-roomed cabin there was a large chimney and fireplace made of rocks,
mud, and dirt. In addition to the one door, there was a window at the
back. Only one family could live in a cabin as the space was so limited.
The furnishings of each cabin consisted of a bed and one or two chairs.
The beds were well constructed, a great deal better than some of the
beds the ex-slave saw during these days. Regarding mattresses she said,
"We took some tick and stuffed it with cotton and corn husks, which had
been torn into small pieces and when we got through sewing it looked
like a mattress that was bought in a store."

Light was furnished by lightwood torches and sometimes by the homemade
tallow candles. The hot tallow was poured into a candle mold, which was
then dipped into a pan of cold water, when the tallow had hardened, the
finished product was removed.

Whenever there was sickness, a doctor was always called. As a child
Gussie was rather sickly, and a doctor was always called to attend to
her. In addition to the doctor's prescriptions there was heart leaf tea
and a warm remedy of garlic tea prepared by her grandmother.

If any of the slaves ever pretended sickness to avoid work, she knows
nothing about it.

As a general rule, slaves were not permitted to learn to read or write,
but the younger Moore children tried to teach her to spell, read, and
write. When she used to stand around Mrs. Moore when she was sewing she
appeared to be interested and so she was taught to sew.

Every Sunday afternoon they were all permitted to go to town where a
colored pastor preached to them. This same minister performed all
marriages after the candidates had secured the permission of the master.

There was only one time when Mr. Moore found it necessary to sell any of
his slaves. On this occasion he had to sell two; he saw that they were
sold to another kind master.

The whipping on most plantation were administered by the [HW: over]seers
and in some cases punishment was rather severe. There was no overseer on
this plantation. Only one of Mr. Moore's sons told the field hands what
to do. When this son went to war it became necessary to hire an
overseer. Once he attempted to whip one of the women but when she
refused to allow him to whip her he never tried to whip any of the
others. Jennie Kendricks' husband, who was also a slave, once told her
his master was so mean that he often whipped his slaves until blood ran
in their shoes.

There was a group of men, known as the "Patter-Rollers", whose duty it
was to see that slaves were not allowed to leave their individual
plantations without passes which [HW: they] were supposed to receive
from their masters. "A heap of them got whippings for being caught off
without these passes," she stated, adding that "sometimes a few of them
were fortunate enough to escape from the Patter-Rollers". She knew of
one boy who, after having outrun the "Patter-Rollers", proceeded to make
fun of them after he was safe behind his master's fence. Another man
whom the Patter-Rollers had pursued any number of times but who had
always managed to escape, was finally caught one day and told to pray
before he was given his whipping. As he obeyed he noticed that he was
not being closely observed, whereupon he made a break that resulted in
his escape from them again.

The treatment on some of the other plantations was so severe that slaves
often ran away, Jennie Kendricks told of one man [HW: who was] [TR:
"being" crossed out] lashed [HW: and who] ran away but was finally
caught. When his master brought him back he was locked in a room until
he could be punished. When the master finally came to administer the
whipping, Lash had cut his own throat in a last effort to secure his
freedom. He was not successful; his life was saved by quick action on
the part of his master. Sometime later after rough handling Lash finally
killed his master [HW: and] was burned at the stake for this crime.

Other slaves were more successful at escape, some being able to remain
away for as long as three years at a time. At nights, they slipped to
the plantation where they stole hogs and other food. Their shelters were
usually caves, some times holes dug in the ground. Whenever they were
caught, they were severely whipped.

A slave might secure his freedom without running away. This is true in
the case of Jennie Kendricks' grandfather who, after hiring his time out
for a number of years, was able to save enough money with which to
purchase himself from his master.

Jennie Kendricks remembers very little of the talk between her master
and mistress concerning the war. She does remember being taken to see
the Confederate soldiers drill a short distance from the house. She says
"I though it was very pretty, 'course I did'nt know what was causing
this or what the results would be". Mr. Moore's oldest sons went to war
[HW: but he] himself did not enlist until the war was nearly over. She
was told that the Yankee soldiers burned all the gin houses and took all
live stock that they saw while on the march, but no soldiers passed near
their plantation.

After the war ended and all the slaves had been set free, some did not
know it, [HW: as] they were not told by their masters. [HW: A number of
them] were tricked into signing contracts which bound them to their
masters for several years longer.

As for herself and her grandmother, they remained on the Moore property
where her grandmother finally died. Her mother moved away when freedom
was declared and started working for someone else. It was about this
time that Mr. Moore began to prosper, he and his brother Marvin gone
into business together.

According to Jennie Kendricks, she has lived to reach such a ripe old
age because she has always been obedient and because she has always
been a firm believer in God.




[HW: Dist 1
Ex-Slave #62]

EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW:
EMMALINE KILPATRICK, Age 74
Born a slave on the plantation of
Judge William Watson Moore,
White Plains, (Greene County) Georgia

BY: SARAH H. HALL
ATHENS, GA.
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


One morning in October, as I finished planting hyacinth bulbs on my
cemetery lot, I saw an old negro woman approaching. She was Emmaline
Kilpatrick, born in 1863, on my grandfather's plantation.

"Mawnin' Miss Sarah," she began, "Ah seed yer out hyar in de graveyard,
en I cum right erlong fer ter git yer ter read yo' Aunt Willie's
birthday, offen her toomstone, en put it in writin' fer me."

"I don't mind doing that for you, Emmaline," I replied, "but why do you
want to know my aunt's birthday?"

"Well," answered the old ex-slave, "I can't rightly tell mah age no
udder way. My mammy, she tole me, I wuz bawned de same night ez Miss
Willie wuz, en mammy allus tole me effen I ever want ter know how ole I
is, jes' ask my white folks how ole Miss Willie is."

When I had pencilled the birthdate on a scrap of paper torn from my note
book and she had tucked it carefully away in a pocket in her clean blue
checked gingham apron, Emmaline began to talk of the old days on my
grandfather's farm.

"Miss Sarah, Ah sho did love yo' aunt Willie. We wuz chilluns growin' up
tergedder on Marse Billie's place. You mought not know it, but black
chilluns gits grown heap faster den white chilluns, en whilst us played
'round de yard, en orchards, en pastures out dar, I wuz sposed ter take
care er Miss Willie en not let her git hurt, er nuthin' happen ter her."

"My mammy say dat whan Marse Billie cum hom' frum de War, he call all
his niggers tergedder en tell 'am dey is free, en doan b'long ter nobody
no mo'. He say dat eny uf 'um dat want to, kin go 'way and live whar dey
laks, en do lak dey wanter. Howsome ebber, he do say effen enybody wants
ter stay wid him, en live right on in de same cabins, dey kin do it,
effen dey promise him ter be good niggers en mine him lak dey allus
done."

"Most all de niggers stayed wid Marse Billie, 'ceppen two er thee brash,
good fer nuthin's."

Standing there in the cemetery, as I listened to old Emmaline tell of
the old days, I could see cotton being loaded on freight cars at the
depot. I asked Emmaline to tell what she could remember of the days whan
we had no railroad to haul the cotton to market.

"Well," she said, "Fore dis hyar railroad wuz made, dey hauled de cotton
ter de Pint (She meant Union Point) en sold it dar. De Pint's jes' 'bout
twelve miles fum hyar. Fo' day had er railroad thu de Pint, Marse Billie
used ter haul his cotton clear down ter Jools ter sell it. My manny say
dat long fo' de War he used ter wait twel all de cotton wuz picked in de
fall, en den he would have it all loaded on his waggins. Not long fo'
sundown he wud start de waggins off, wid yo' unker Anderson bossin' 'em,
on de all night long ride towards Jools. 'Bout fo' in de mawnin' Marse
Billie en yo' grammaw, Miss Margie, 'ud start off in de surrey, driving
de bays, en fo' dem waggins git ter Jools Marse Billie done cotch up wid
em. He drive er head en lead em on ter de cotton mill in Jools, whar he
sell all his cotton. Den him en Miss Margie, dey go ter de mill sto' en
buy white sugar en udder things dey doan raise on de plantation, en load
'em on de waggins en start back home."

"But Emmaline," I interrupted, "Sherman's army passed through Jewels and
burned the houses and destroyed the property there. How did the people
market their cotton then?"

Emmaline scratched her head. "Ah 'members somepin 'bout dat," she
declared. "Yassum, I sho' does 'member my mammy sayin' dat folks sed
when de Fed'rals wuz bunnin' up evvy thing 'bout Jools, dey wuz settin'
fire ter de mill, when de boss uv dem sojers look up en see er sign up
over er upstairs window. Hit wuz de Mason's sign up day, kaze dat wuz de
Mason's lodge hall up over de mill. De sojer boss, he meks de udder
sojers put out de fire. He say him er Mason hisself en he ain' gwine see
nobuddy burn up er Masonic Hall. Dey kinder tears up some uv de fixin's
er de Mill wuks, but dey dassent burn down de mill house kaze he ain't
let 'em do nuthin' ter de Masonic Hall. Yar knows, Miss Sarah, Ah wuz
jes' 'bout two years ole when dat happen, but I ain't heered nuffin'
'bout no time when dey didden' take cotton ter Jools ever year twel de
railroad come hyar."

"Did yer ax me who mah'ed my maw an paw? Why, Marse Billie did, cose he
did! He wuz Jedge Moore, Marse Billie wuz, en he wone gwine hev no
foolis'mant 'mongst 'is niggers. Fo' de War en durin' de War, de niggers
went ter de same church whar dare white folks went. Only de niggers, dey
set en de gallery."

"Marse Billie made all his niggers wuk moughty hard, but he sho' tuk
good keer uv 'em. Miss Margie allus made 'em send fer her when de
chilluns wuz bawned in de slave cabins. My mammy, she say, Ise 'bout de
onliest slave baby Miss Margie diden' look after de bawnin, on dat
plantation. When any nigger on dat farm wuz sick, Marse Billie seed dat
he had medicine an lookin' atter, en ef he wuz bad sick Marse Billie had
da white folks doctor come see 'bout 'im."

"Did us hev shoes? Yas Ma'am us had shoes. Dat wuz all ole Pegleg wuz
good fer, jes ter mek shoes, en fix shoes atter dey wuz 'bout ter give
out. Pegleg made de evvy day shoes for Marse Billie's own chilluns,
'cept now en den Marse Billie fetched 'em home some sto' bought shoes
fun Jools."

"Yassum, us sho' wuz skeered er ghosts. Dem days when de War won't long
gone, niggers sho' wus skert er graveyards. Mos' evvy nigger kep' er
rabbit foot, kaze ghosties wone gwine bodder nobuddy dat hed er lef'
hind foot frum er graveyard rabbit. Dem days dar wuz mos' allus woods
'round de graveyards, en it uz easy ter ketch er rabbit az he loped
outer er graveyard. Lawsy, Miss Sarah, dose days Ah sho' wouldn't er
been standin' hyar in no graveyard talkin' ter ennybody, eben in wide
open daytime."

"En you ax wuz dey enny thing else uz wuz skert uv? Yassum, us allus did
git moughty oneasy ef er scritch owl hollered et night. Pappy ud hop
right out er his bed en stick de fire shovel en de coals. Effen he did
dat rat quick, an look over 'is lef' shoulder whilst de shovel gittin'
hot, den maybe no no nigger gwine die dat week on dat plantation. En us
nebber did lak ter fine er hawse tail hair en de hawse trough, kaze us
wuz sho' ter meet er snake fo' long."

"Yassum, us had chawms fer heap er things. Us got 'em fum er ole Injun
'oman dat lived crost de crick. Her sold us chawms ter mek de mens lak
us, en chawms dat would git er boy baby, er anudder kind er chawms effen
yer want er gal baby. Miss Margie allus scold 'bout de chawns, en mek us
shamed ter wear 'em, 'cept she doan mine ef us wear asserfitidy chawms
ter keep off fevers, en she doan say nuffin when my mammy wear er nutmeg
on a wool string 'round her neck ter keep off de rheumatiz.

"En is you got ter git on home now, Miss Sarah? Lemme tote dat hoe en
trowel ter yer car fer yer. Yer gwine ter take me home in yer car wid
yer, so ez I kin weed yer flower gyarden fo' night? Yassum, I sho' will
be proud ter do it fer de black dress you wo' las' year. Ah gwine ter
git evvy speck er grass outer yo' flowers, kaze ain' you jes' lak yo'
grammaw--my Miss Margie."




[HW: Dist 6
Ex Slave #65]

J.R. Jones

FRANCES KIMBROUGH, EX-SLAVE
Place of birth: On Kimbrough plantation, Harries County,
near Cataula, Georgia
Date of birth: About 1854
Present residence: 1639-5th Avenue, Columbus, Georgia
Interviewed: August 7, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 --]


"Aunt Frances" story reveals that, her young "marster" was Dr. Jessie
Kimbrough--a man who died when she was about eighteen years of age. But
a few weeks later, while working in the field one day, she saw "Marse
Jessie's" ghost leaning against a pine "watchin us free Niggers wuckin."

When she was about twenty-two years of age, "a jealous Nigger oman"
"tricked" her. The "spell" cast by this "bad oman" affected the victim's
left arm and hand. Both became numb and gave her great "misery". A
peculiar feature of this visitation of the "conjurer's" spite was: if a
friend or any one massaged or even touched the sufferer's afflicted arm
or hand, that person was also similarly stricken the following day,
always recovering, however, on the second day.

Finally, "Aunt" Frances got in touch with a "hoodoo" doctor, a man who
lived in Muscogee County--about twenty-five miles distant from her. This
man paid the patient one visit, then gave her absent treatment for
several weeks, at the end of which time she recovered the full use of
her arm and hand. Neither ever gave her any trouble again.

For her old-time "white fokes", "Aunt" Frances entertains an almost
worshipful memory. Also, in her old age, she reflects the superstitious
type of her race.

Being so young when freedom was declared, emancipation did not have as
much significance for "Aunt" Frances as it did for the older colored
people. In truth, she had no true conception of what it "wuz all about"
until several years later. But she does know that she had better food
and clothes before the slaves were freed than she had in the years
immediately following.

She is deeply religious, as most ex-slaves are, but--as typical of the
majority of aged Negroes--associates "hants" and superstition with her
religion.




[HW: Dist 6
Ex-Slave #64]

Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker

CHARLIE KING--EX-SLAVE
Interviewed
435 E. Taylor Street, Griffin, Georgia
September 16, 1936


Charlie was born in Sandtown, (now Woodbury) Meriwether County, Georgia,
eighty-five or six years ago. He does not know his exact age because his
"age got burned up" when the house in which his parents lived was burned
to the ground.

The old man's parents, Ned and Ann King, [TR: "were slaves of" crossed
out] Mr. John King, who owned a big plantation near Sandtown [TR: "also
about two hundred slaves" crossed out]. [TR: HW corrections are too
faint to read.]

Charlie's parents were married by the "broom stick ceremony." The Master
and Mistress were present at the wedding. The broom was laid down on the
floor, the couple held each other's hands and stepped backward over it,
then the Master told the crowd that the couple were man and wife.

This marriage lasted for over fifty years and they "allus treated each
other right."

Charlie said that all the "Niggers" on "ole Master's place" had to work,
"even chillun over seven or eight years of age."

The first work that Charlie remembered was "toting cawn" for his mother
"to drap", and sweeping the yards up at the "big house". He also recalls
that many times when he was in the yard at the "big house", "Ole Miss"
would call him in and give him a buttered biscuit.

The Master and Mistress always named the Negro babies and usually gave
them Bible names.

When the Negroes were sick, "Ole Master" and "Ole Miss" did the
doctoring, sometimes giving them salts or oil, and if [HW: a Negro]
refused it, they used the raw hide "whup."

When a member of a Negro family died, the master permitted all the
Negroes to stop work and go to the funeral. The slave was buried in the
slave grave yard. Sometimes a white minister read the Bible service, but
usually a Negro preacher [HW: "officiated"].

The Negroes on this plantation had to work from sun up till sun down,
except Saturday and Sunday; those were free.

The master blew on a big conch shell every morning at four o'clock, and
when the first long blast was heard the lights "'gin to twinkle in every
"Nigger" cabin." Charlie, chuckling, recalled that "ole Master" blowed
that shell so it could-a-been heard for five miles." Some of the
"Niggers" went to feed the mules and horses, some to milk the cows, some
to cook the breakfast in the big house, some to chop the wood, while
others were busy cleaning up the "big house."

When asked if he believed in signs, Charlie replied: "I sho does for dis
reason. Once jest befo my baby brother died, ole screech owl, he done
come and set up in the big oak tree right at the doah by de bed and fo'
the next twelve hours passed, my brother was dead. Screech owls allus
holler 'round the house before death."

The slaves always had plenty to eat and wear, and therefore did not know
what it was to be hungry.

The Master planted many acres of cotton, corn, wheat, peas, and all
kinds of garden things. Every "Nigger family was required to raise
plenty of sweet potatoes, the Master giving them a patch." "My 'ole
Master' trained his smartest 'Niggers' to do certain kinds of work. My
mother was a good weaver, and [HW: she] wove all the cloth for her own
family, and bossed the weaving of all the other weavers on the
plantation."

Charlie and all of his ten brothers and sisters helped to card and spin
the cotton for the looms. Sometimes they worked all night, Charlie often
going to sleep while carding, when his mother would crack him on the
head with the carder handle and wake him up. Each child had a night for
carding and spinning, so they all would get a chance to sleep.

Every Saturday night, the Negroes had a "breakdown," often dancing all
night long. About twelve o'clock they had a big supper, everybody
bringing a box of all kinds of good things to eat, and putting it on a
long table.

On Sunday, all the darkies had to go to church. Sometimes the Master had
a house on his plantation for preaching, and sometimes the slaves had to
go ten or twelve miles to preaching. When they went so far the slaves
could use 'ole' Master's' mules and wagons.

Charlie recalls very well when the Yankees came through. The first thing
they did when they reached 'ole Master's' place was to break open the
smokehouse and throw the best hams and shoulders out to the darkies, but
as soon as the Yankees passed, the white folks made the "Niggers" take
"all dey had'nt et up" back to the smokehouse. "Yes, Miss, we had plenty
of liquor. Ole Master always kept kegs of it in the cellar and big
'Jimmy-john's' full in the house, and every Saturday night he'd give us
darkies a dram, but nobody nevah seed no drunk Nigger lak dey does now."

Charlie's mother used to give her "chillun" "burnt whiskey" every
morning "to start the day off." This burnt whiskey gave them "long
life".

Another thing that Charlie recalls about the Yankees coming through, was
that they took the saddles off their "old sore back horses", turned them
loose, and caught some of Master's fine "hosses", threw the saddles over
them and rode away.

Charlie said though "ole Marster" "whupped" when it was necessary, but
he was not "onmerciful" like some of the other "ole Marsters" were, but
the "paterolers would sho lay it on if they caught a Nigger off his home
plantation without a pass." The passes were written statements or
permits signed by the darkies' owner, or the plantation overseer.

Charlie is very feeble and unable to work. The Griffin Relief
Association [TR: "furnishes him his sustenance" crossed out, "sees to
him" or possibly "supports him" written in.]




PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE

NICEY KINNEY, Age 86
R.F.D. #3
Athens, Ga.

Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Proj.
Res. 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.

Sept. 28, 1938


A narrow path under large water oaks led through a well-kept yard where
a profusion of summer flowers surrounded Nicey Kinney's two-story frame
house. The porch floor and a large portion of the roof had rotted down,
and even the old stone chimney at one end of the structure seemed to
sag. The middle-aged mulatto woman who answered the door shook her head
when asked if she was Nicey Kinney. "No, mam," she protested, "but dat's
my mother and she's sick in bed. She gits mighty lonesome lyin' dar in
de bed and she sho does love to talk. Us would be mighty proud if you
would come in and see her."

Nicey was propped up in bed and, although the heat of the September day
was oppressive, the sick woman wore a black shoulder cape over her thick
flannel nightgown; heavy quilts and blankets were piled close about her
thin form, and the window at the side of her bed was tightly closed. Not
a lock of her hair escaped the nightcap that enveloped her head. The
daughter removed an empty food tray and announced, "Mammy, dis lady's
come to see you and I 'spects you is gwine to lak her fine 'cause she
wants to hear 'bout dem old days dat you loves so good to tell about."
Nicey smiled. "I'se so glad you come to see me," she said, "'cause I
gits so lonesome; jus' got to stay here in dis bed, day in and day out.
I'se done wore out wid all de hard wuk I'se had to do, and now I'se a
aged 'oman, done played out and sufferin' wid de high blood pressur'.
But I kin talk and I does love to bring back dem good old days a-fore de
war."

Newspapers had been pasted on the walls of Nicey's room. In one corner
an enclosed staircase was cut off from the room by a door at the head of
the third step; the space underneath the stair was in use as a closet.
The marble topped bureau, two double beds, a couple of small tables, and
some old chairs were all of a period prior to the current century. A pot
of peas was perched on a pair of "firedogs" over the coals of a wood
fire in the open fireplace. On a bed of red coals a thick iron pan held
a large pone of cornbread, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee drew
attention to a steaming coffeepot on a trivet in one corner of the
hearth. Nicey's daughter turned the bread over and said, "Missy, I jus'
bet you ain't never seed nobody cookin' dis way. Us is got a stove back
in de kitchen, but our somepin t'eat seems to taste better fixed dis
'way; it brings back dem old days when us was chillun and all of us was
at home wid mammy." Nicey grinned. "Missy," she said, "Annie--dat's dis
gal of mine here--laughs at de way I laks dem old ways of livin', but
she's jus' as bad 'bout 'em as I is, 'specially 'bout dat sort of
cookin'; somepin t'eat cooked in dat old black pot is sho good.

"Marse Gerald Sharp and his wife, Miss Annie, owned us and, Child, dey
was grand folks. Deir old home was 'way up in Jackson County 'twixt
Athens and Jefferson. Dat big old plantation run plumb back down to de
Oconee River. Yes, mam, all dem rich river bottoms was Marse Gerald's.

"Mammy's name was Ca'line and she b'longed to Marse Gerald, but Marse
Hatton David owned my daddy--his name was Phineas. De David place warn't
but 'bout a mile from our plantation and daddy was 'lowed to stay wid
his fambly most evvy night; he was allus wid us on Sundays. Marse Gerald
didn't have no slaves but my mammy and her chillun, and he was sho
mighty good to us.

"Marse Gerald had a nice four-room house wid a hall all de way through
it. It even had two big old fireplaces on one chimbly. No, mam, it
warn't a rock chimbly; dat chimbly was made out of home-made bricks.
Marster's fambly had deir cookin' done in a open fireplace lak evvybody
else for a long time and den jus' 'fore de big war he bought a stove.
Yes, mam, Marse Gerald bought a cook stove and us felt plumb rich 'cause
dere warn't many folks dat had stoves back in dem days.

"Mammy lived in de old kitchen close by de big house 'til dere got to be
too many of us; den Marse Gerald built us a house jus' a little piece
off from de big house. It was jus' a log house, but Marster had all dem
cracks chinked tight wid red mud, and he even had one of dem
franklin-back chimblies built to keep our little cabin nice and warm.
Why, Child, ain't you never seed none of dem old chimblies? Deir backs
sloped out in de middle to throw out de heat into de room and keep too
much of it from gwine straight up de flue. Our beds in our cabin was
corded jus' lak dem up at de big house, but us slept on straw ticks and,
let me tell you, dey sho slept good atter a hard days's wuk.

"De bestest water dat ever was come from a spring right nigh our cabin
and us had long-handled gourds to drink it out of. Some of dem gourds
hung by de spring all de time and dere was allus one or two of 'em
hangin' by de side of our old cedar waterbucket. Sho', us had a cedar
bucket and it had brass hoops on it; dat was some job to keep dem hoops
scrubbed wid sand to make 'em bright and shiny, and dey had to be clean
and pretty all de time or mammy would git right in behind us wid a
switch. Marse Gerald raised all dem long-handled gourds dat us used
'stid of de tin dippers folks has now, but dem warn't de onliest kinds
of gourds he growed on his place. Dere was gourds mos' as big as
waterbuckets, and dey had short handles dat was bent whilst de gourds
was green, so us could hang 'em on a limb of a tree in de shade to keep
water cool for us when us was wukin' in de field durin' hot weather.

"I never done much field wuk 'til de war come on, 'cause Mistess was
larnin' me to be a housemaid. Marse Gerald and Miss Annie never had no
chillun 'cause she warn't no bearin' 'oman, but dey was both mighty fond
of little folks. On Sunday mornin's mammy used to fix us all up nice and
clean and take us up to de big house for Marse Gerald to play wid. Dey
was good christian folks and tuk de mostest pains to larn us chillun how
to live right. Marster used to 'low as how he had done paid $500 for
Ca'line but he sho wouldn't sell her for no price.

"Evvything us needed was raised on dat plantation 'cept cotton. Nary a
stalk of cotton was growed dar, but jus' de same our clothes was made
out of cloth dat Mistess and my mammy wove out of thread us chillun
spun, and Mistess tuk a heap of pains makin' up our dresses. Durin' de
war evvybody had to wear homespun, but dere didn't nobody have no better
or prettier dresses den ours, 'cause Mistess knowed more'n anybody 'bout
dyein' cloth. When time come to make up a batch of clothes Mistess would
say, 'Ca'line holp me git up my things for dyein',' and us would fetch
dogwood bark, sumach, poison ivy, and sweetgum bark. That poison ivy
made the best black of anything us ever tried, and Mistess could dye the
prettiest sort of purple wid sweetgum bark. Cop'ras was used to keep de
colors from fadin', and she knowed so well how to handle it dat you
could wash cloth what she had dyed all day long and it wouldn't fade a
speck.

"Marster was too old to go to de war, so he had to stay home and he sho
seed dat us done our wuk raisin' somepin t'eat. He had us plant all our
cleared ground, and I sho has done some hard wuk down in dem old bottom
lands, plowin', hoein', pullin' corn and fodder, and I'se even cut
cordwood and split rails. Dem was hard times and evvybody had to wuk.

"Sometimes Marse Gerald would be away a week at a time when he went to
court at Jefferson, and de very last thing he said 'fore he driv off
allus was, 'Ca'line, you and de chillun take good care of Mistess.' He
most allus fetched us new shoes when he come back, 'cause he never kept
no shoemaker man on our place, and all our shoes was store-bought. Dey
was jus' brogans wid brass toes, but us felt powerful dressed up when us
got 'em on, 'specially when dey was new and de brass was bright and
shiny. Dere was nine of us chillun, four boys and five gals. Us gals had
plain cotton dresses made wid long sleeves and us wore big sunbonnets.
What would gals say now if dey had to wear dem sort of clothes and do
wuk lak what us done? Little boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts in
summertime, but come winter evvybody had good warm clothes made out of
wool off of Marse Gerald's own sheep, and boys, even little tiny boys,
had britches in winter.

"Did you ever see folks shear sheep, Child? Well, it was a sight in dem
days. Marster would tie a sheep on de scaffold, what he had done built
for dat job, and den he would have me set on de sheep's head whilst he
cut off de wool. He sont it to de factory to have it carded into bats
and us chillun spun de thread at home and mammy and Mistess wove it into
cloth for our winter clothes. Nobody warn't fixed up better on church
days dan Marster's Niggers and he was sho proud of dat.

"Us went to church wid our white folks 'cause dere warn't no colored
churches dem days. None of de churches 'round our part of de country had
meetin' evvy Sunday, so us went to three diffunt meetin' houses. On de
fust Sunday us went to Captain Crick Baptist church, to Sandy Crick
Presbyterian church on second Sundays, and on third Sundays meetin' was
at Antioch Methodist church whar Marster and Mistess was members. Dey
put me under de watchkeer of deir church when I was a mighty little gal,
'cause my white folks sho b'lieved in de church and in livin' for God;
de larnin' dat dem two good old folks gimme is done stayed right wid me
all through life, so far, and I aims to live by it to de end. I didn't
sho 'nough jine up wid no church 'til I was done growed up and had left
Marse Gerald; den I jined de Cedar Grove Baptist church and was baptized
dar, and dar's whar I b'longs yit.

"Marster was too old to wuk when dey sot us free, so for a long time us
jus' stayed dar and run his place for him. I never seed none of dem
Yankee sojers but one time. Marster was off in Jefferson and while I was
down at de washplace I seed 'bout 12 men come ridin' over de hill. I was
sho skeered and when I run and told Mistess she made us all come inside
her house and lock all de doors. Dem Yankee mens jus' rode on through
our yard down to de river and stayed dar a little while; den dey turned
around and rid back through our yard and on down de big road, and us
never seed 'em no more.

"Soon atter dey was sot free Niggers started up churches of dey own and
it was some sight to see and hear 'em on meetin' days. Dey would go in
big crowds and sometimes dey would go to meetin's a fur piece off. Dey
was all fixed up in deir Sunday clothes and dey walked barfoots wid deir
shoes acrost deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dirty. Jus' 'fore
dey got to de church dey stopped and put on deir shoes and den dey was
ready to git together to hear de preacher.

"Folks don't know nothin' 'bout hard times now, 'specially young folks;
dey is on de gravy train and don't know it, but dey is headed straight
for 'struction and perdition; dey's gwine to land in dat burnin' fire if
dey don't mind what dey's about. Jus' trust in de Lord, Honey, and cast
your troubles on Him and He'll stay wid you, but if you turns your back
on Him, den you is lost, plumb gone, jus' as sho as shelled corn.

"When us left Marse Gerald and moved nigh Athens he got a old Nigger
named Egypt, what had a big fambly, to live on his place and do all de
wuk. Old Marster didn't last long atter us was gone. One night he had
done let his farm hands have a big cornshuckin' and had seed dat dey had
plenty of supper and liquor to go wid it and, as was de custom dem days,
some of dem Niggers got Old Marster up on deir shoulders and toted him
up to de big house, singin' as dey went along. He was jus' as gay as dey
was, and joked de boys. When dey put him down on de big house porch he
told Old Mistess he didn't want no supper 'cept a little coffee and
bread, and he strangled on de fust bite. Mistess sont for de doctor but
he was too nigh gone, and it warn't long 'fore he had done gone into de
glory of de next world. He was 'bout 95 years old when he died and he
had sho been a good man. One of my nieces and her husband went dar atter
Marse Gerald died and tuk keer of Mistess 'til she went home to glory
too.

"Mammy followed Old Mistess to glory in 'bout 3 years. Us was livin' on
de Johnson place den, and it warn't long 'fore me and George Kinney got
married. A white preacher married us, but us didn't have no weddin'
celebration. Us moved to de Joe Langford place in Oconee County, but
didn't stay dar but one year; den us moved 'crost de crick into Clarke
County and atter us farmed dar 9 years, us moved on to dis here place
whar us has been ever since. Plain old farmin' is de most us is ever
done, but George used to make some mighty nice cheers to sell to de
white folks. He made 'em out of hick'ry what he seasoned jus' right and
put rye split bottoms in 'em. Dem cheers lasted a lifetime; when dey got
dirty you jus' washed 'em good and sot 'em in de sun to dry and dey was
good as new. George made and sold a lot of rugs and mats dat he made out
of plaited shucks. Most evvybody kep' a shuck footmat 'fore deir front
doors. Dem sunhats made out of shucks and bulrushes was mighty fine to
wear in de field when de sun was hot. Not long atter all ten of our
chillun was borned, George died out and left me wid dem five boys and
five gals.

"Some old witch-man conjured me into marryin' Jordan Jackson. Dat's de
blessed truth, Honey; a fortune-teller is done told me how it was done.
I didn't want to have nothin' to do wid Jordan 'cause I knowed he was
jus' a no 'count old drinkin' man dat jus' wanted my land and stuff.
When he couldn't git me to pay him no heed hisself, he went to a old
conjure man and got him to put a spell on me. Honey, didn't you know dey
could do dat back in dem days? I knows dey could, 'cause I never woulda
run round wid no Nigger and married him if I hadn't been witched by dat
conjure business. De good Lord sho punishes folks for deir sins on dis
earth and dat old man what put dat spell on me died and went down to
burnin' hell, and it warn't long den 'fore de spell left me.

"Right den I showed dat no 'count Jordan Jackson dat I was a good 'oman,
a powerful sight above him, and dat he warn't gwine to git none of dis
land what my chillun's daddy had done left 'em. When I jus' stood right
up to him and showed him he warn't gwine to out whack me, he up and left
me and I don't even use his name no more 'cause I don't want it in my
business no way a t'all. Jordan's done paid his debt now since he died
and went down in dat big old burnin' hell 'long wid de old witch man dat
conjured me for him.

"Yes, Honey, de Lord done put it on record dat dere is sho a burnin'
place for torment, and didn't my Marster and Mistess larn me de same
thing? I sho does thank 'em to dis day for de pains dey tuk wid de
little Nigger gal dat growed up to be me, tryin' to show her de right
road to travel. Oh! If I could jus' see 'em one more time, but dey can
look down from de glory land and see dat I'se still tryin' to follow de
road dat leads to whar dey is, and when I gits to dat good and better
world I jus' knows de Good Lord will let dis aged 'oman be wid her dear
Marster and Mistess all through de time to come.

"Trust God, Honey, and He will lead you home to glory. I'se sho enjoyed
talkin' to you, and I thanks you for comin'. I'se gwine to ax Him to
take good keer of you and let you come back to cheer up old Nicey
again."




PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE

JULIA LARKEN, Age 76
693 Meigs Street
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia


Julia's small three-room cottage is a servant house at the rear of a
white family's residence. A gate through an old-fashioned picket fence
led into a spacious yard where dense shade from tall pecan trees was
particularly inviting after a long walk in the sweltering heat.

An aged mulatto woman was seated on the narrow porch. Her straight white
hair was arranged in braids, and her faded print dress and enormous
checked apron were clean and carefully patched. A pair of dark colored
tennis shoes completed her costume. She arose, tall and erect, to greet
her visitor. "Yessum, dis here's Julia Larken," she said with a friendly
smile. "Come right in, Chile, and set here and rest on my nice cool
porch. I knows you's tired plumb out. You shouldn't be out walkin'
'round in dis hot sun--It ain't good for you. It'll make you have brain
fever 'fore you knows it."

When asked for the story of her life, Julia replied: "Lordy, Chile, did
you do all dis walkin', hot as it is today, jus' to hear dis old Nigger
talk? Well, jus' let me tell you, dem days back yonder 'fore de war was
de happiest time of my whole life.

"I don't know much 'bout slavery, 'cause I was jus' a little gal when de
war ended. I was borned in war times on Marse Payton Sails' plantation,
way off down in Lincoln County. My Ma was borned and bred right dar on
dat same place. Marster bought my Daddy and his Mammy from Captain
LeMars, and dey tuk de name of Sails atter dey come to live on his
place. Mammy's name was Betsy Sails and Daddy was named Sam'l. Dey was
married soon atter Marster fetched Daddy dar.

"Dere ain't no tellin' how big Marster's old plantation was. His house
set right on top of a high hill. His plantation road circled 'round dat
hill two or three times gittin' from de big road to de top of de hill.
Dere was a great deep well in de yard whar dey got de water for de big
house. Marster's room was upstairs and had steps on de outside dat come
down into de yard. On one side of his house was a fine apple orchard, so
big dat it went all de way down de hill to de big road.

"On de other side of de house was a large gyarden whar us raised
evvything in de way of good veg'tables; dere was beans, corn, peas,
turnips, collards, 'taters, and onions. Why dey had a big patch of
nothin' but onions. Us did love onions. Dere was allus plenty of good
meat in Marster's big old smokehouse dat stood close by de well.
Marster, he believed in raisin' heaps of meat. He had cows, hogs, goats,
and sheep, not to mention his chickens and turkeys.

"All de cloth for slaves' clothes was made at home. Mammy was one of de
cooks up at de big house, and she made cloth too. Daddy was de shoe man.
He made de shoes for all de folks on de plantation.

"De log cabins what de slaves lived in was off a piece from de big
house. Dem cabins had rock chimblies, put together wid red mud. Dere
warn't no glass in de windows and doors of dem cabins--jus' plain old
home-made wooden shutters and doors." Julia laughed as she told of their
beds. "Us called 'em four posters, and dat's what dey was, but dey was
jus' plain old pine posties what one of de men on de plantation made up.
Two posties at de head and two at de foot wid pine rails betwixt 'em was
de way dey made dem beds. Dere warn't no sto'-bought steel springs dem
days, not even for de white folks, but dem old cord springs went a long
ways towards makin' de beds comfortable and dey holped to hold de bed
together. De four poster beds de white folks slept on was corded too,
but deir posties warn't made out of pine. Dey used oak and walnut and
sometimes real mahogany, and dey carved 'em up pretty. Some of dem big
old posties to de white folkses beds was six inches thick.

"Slaves all et up at de big house in dat long old kitchen. I kin jus'
see dat kitchen now. It warn't built on to de big house, 'cept it was at
de end of a big porch dat went from it to de big house. A great big
fireplace was 'most all de way 'cross one end of dat kitchen, and it had
racks and cranes for de pots and pans and ovens but, jus' let me tell
you, our Marster had a cookstove too. Yessum, it was a real sho' 'nough
iron cookstove. No'm, it warn't 'zactly lak de stoves us uses now. It
was jus' a long, low stove, widout much laigs, jus' flat on top wid eyes
to cook on. De oven was at de bottom. Mammy and Grandma Mary was mighty
proud of dat stove, 'cause dere warn't nobody else 'round dar what had a
cookstove so us was jus' plumb rich folks.

"Slaves didn't come to de house for dinner when dey was wukin' a fur
piece off in de fields. It was sont to 'em, and dat was what kilt one of
my brothers. Whilst it was hot, de cooks would set de bucket of dinner
on his haid and tell him to run to de field wid it fore it got cold. He
died wid brain fever, and de doctor said it was from totin' all dem hot
victuals on his haid. Pore Brudder John, he sho' died out, and ever
since den I been skeered of gittin' too hot on top of de haid.

"Dere was twelve of Mammy's chillun in all, countin' Little Peter who
died out when he was a baby. De other boys was John, Tramer, Sam'l,
George, and Scott. De only one of my brothers left now is George,
leastwise I reckon he's livin' yet. De last 'count I had of him he was
in Chicago, and he must be 'bout a hundred years old now. De gals was me
and Mary, 'Merica, Hannah, Betsy, and Emma.

"'Fore Grandma Mary got too old to do all de cookin', Mammy wuked in de
field. Mammy said she allus woke up early, and she could hear Marster
when he started gittin' up. She would hurry and git out 'fore he had
time to call 'em. Sometimes she cotch her hoss and rid to the field
ahead of de others, 'cause Marster never laked for nobody to be late in
de mornin'. One time he got atter one of his young slaves out in de
field and told him he was a good mind to have him whupped. Dat night de
young Nigger was tellin' a old slave 'bout it, and de old man jus'
laughed and said: 'When Marster pesters me dat way I jus' rise up and
cuss him out.' Dat young fellow 'cided he would try it out and de next
time Marster got atter him dey had a rukus what I ain't never gwine to
forgit. Us was all out in de yard at de big house, skeered to git a good
breath when us heared Marster tell him to do somepin, 'cause us knowed
what he was meanin' to do. He didn't go right ahead and mind Marster lak
he had allus been used to doin'. Marster called to him again, and den
dat fool Nigger cut loose and he evermore did cuss Marster out. Lordy,
Chile, Marster jus' fairly tuk de hide off dat Nigger's back. When he
tried to talk to dat old slave 'bout it de old man laughed and said:
'Shucks, I allus waits 'til I gits to de field to cuss Marster so he
won't hear me.'

"Marster didn't have but two boys and one of 'em got kilt in de war. Dat
sho'ly did hurt our good old Marster, but dat was de onliest diffunce de
war made on our place. When it was over and dey said us was free, all de
slaves stayed right on wid de Marster; dat was all dey knowed to do.
Marster told 'em dey could stay on jus' as long as dey wanted to, and
dey was right dar on dat hill 'til Marster had done died out and gone to
Glory.

"Us chillun thought hog killin' time wes de best time of all de year. Us
would hang 'round de pots whar dey was rendin' up de lard and all day us
et dem good old browned skin cracklin's and ash roasted 'taters. Marster
allus kilt from 50 to 60 hogs at a time. It tuk dat much meat to feed
all de folks dat had to eat from his kitchen. Little chillun never had
nothin' much to do 'cept eat and sleep and play, but now, jus' let me
tell you for sho', dere warn't no runnin' 'round nights lak dey does
now. Not long 'fore sundown dey give evvy slave chile a wooden bowl of
buttermilk and cornpone and a wooden spoon to eat it wid. Us knowed us
had to finish eatin' in time to be in bed by de time it got dark.

"Our homespun dresses had plain waisties wid long skirts gathered on to
'em. In hot weather chillun wore jus' one piece; dat was a plain slip,
but in cold weather us had plenty of good warm clothes. Dey wove cotton
and wool together to make warm cloth for our winter clothes and made
shoes for us to wear in winter too. Marster evermore did believe in
takin' good keer of his Niggers.

"I kin ricollect dat 'fore dere was any churches right in our
neighborhood, slaves would walk 8 and 10 miles to church. Dey would git
up 'way 'fore dawn on meetin' day, so as to git dar on time. Us wouldn't
wear our shoes on dem long walks, but jus' went barfoots 'til us got
nearly to de meetin' house. I jus' kin 'member dat, for chillun warn't
'lowed to try to walk dat fur a piece, but us could git up early in de
mornin' and see de grown folks start off. Dey was dressed in deir best
Sunday go-to-meetin' clothes and deir shoes, all shined up, was tied
together and hung over deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dust on
'em. [HW in margin: Sunday clothing] Men folks had on plain homespun
shirts and jeans pants. De jeans what deir pants was made out of was
homespun too. Some of de 'omans wore homespun dresses, but most of 'em
had a calico dress what was saved special for Sunday meetin' wear.
'Omans wore two or three petticoats all ruffled and starched 'til one or
dem underskirts would stand by itself. Dey went barfoots wid deir shoes
hung over deir shoulders, jus' lak de mens, and evvy 'oman pinned up her
dress and evvy one of her petticoats but one to keep 'em from gittin'
muddy. Dresses and underskirts was made long enough to touch de ground
dem days. Dey allus went off singin', and us chillun would be wishin'
for de time when us would be old enough to wear long dresses wid
starched petticoats and go to meetin'. Us chillun tried our best to stay
'wake 'til dey got home so us could hear 'em talk 'bout de preachin' and
singin' and testifyin' for de Lord, and us allus axed how many had done
jined de church dat day.

"Long 'fore I was old enough to make dat trip on foot, dey built a
Baptist church nearby. It was de white folkses church, but dey let deir
own Niggers join dar too, and how us chillun did love to play 'round it.
No'm, us never broke out no windows or hurt nothin' playin' dar. Us
warn't never 'lowed to throw no rocks when us was on de church grounds.
De church was up on top of a high hill and at de bottom of dat hill was
de creek whar de white folks had a fine pool for baptizin'. Dey had
wooden steps to go down into it and a long wooden trough leadin' from de
creek to fill up de pool whenever dere was baptizin' to be done. Dey had
real sermons in dat church and folks come from miles around to see dem
baptizin's. White folks was baptized fust and den de Niggers. When de
time come for to baptize dem Niggers you could hear 'em singin' and
shoutin' a long ways off.

"It jus' don't seem lak folks has de same sort of 'ligion now dey had
dem days, 'specially when somebody dies. Den de neighbors all went to de
house whar de corpse was and sung and prayed wid de fambly. De coffins
had to be made atter folks was done dead. Dey measured de corpse and
made de coffin 'cordin'ly. Most of 'em was made out of plain pine wood,
lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de
outside. Dey didn't have no 'balmers on de plantations so dey couldn't
keep dead folks out long; dey had to bury 'em de very next day atter dey
died. Dey put de corpse in one wagon and de fambly rode in another, but
all de other folks walked to de graveyard. When dey put de coffin in de
grave dey didn't have no sep'rate box to place it in, but dey did lay
planks 'cross de top of it 'fore de dirt was put in. De preacher said a
prayer and de folks sung _Harps from de Tomb_. Maybe several months
later dey would have de funeral preached some Sunday.

"Us had all sorts of big doin's at harvest time. Dere was cornshuckin's,
logrollin's, syrup makin's, and cotton pickin's. Dey tuk time about from
one big plantation to another. Evvy place whar dey was a-goin' to
celebrate tuk time off to cook up a lot of tasty eatments, 'specially to
barbecue plenty of good meat. De Marsters at dem diffunt places allus
seed dat dere was plenty of liquor passed 'round and when de wuk was
done and de Niggers et all dey wanted, dey danced and played 'most all
night. What us chillun laked most 'bout it was de eatin'. What I 'member
best of all is de good old corn risin' lightbread. Did you ever see any
of it, Chile? Why, my Mammy and Grandma Mary could bake dat bread so
good it would jus' melt in your mouth.

"Mammy died whilst I was still little and Daddy married again. I guess
his second wife had a time wid all of us chillun. She tried to be good
to us, but I was skeered of her for a long time atter she come to our
cabin. She larnt me how to make my dresses, and de fust one I made all
by myself was a long sight too big for me. I tried it on and was plumb
sick 'bout it bein' so big, den she said; 'Never mind, you'll grow to
it.' Let me tell you, I got dat dress off in a hurry 'cause I was 'most
skeered to death for fear dat if I kept it on it would grow to my skin
lak I thought she meant. [HW in margin: Humor] I never put dat dress on
no more for a long time and dat was atter I found out dat she jus' meant
dat my dress would fit me atter I had growed a little more.

"All us chillun used to pick cotton for Marster, and he bought all our
clothes and shoes. One day he told me and Mary dat us could go to de
store and git us a pair of shoes apiece. 'Course us knowed what kind of
shoes he meant for us to git, but Mary wanted a fine pair of Sunday
shoes and dat's what she picked out and tuk home. Me, I got brass-toed
brogans lak Marster meant for us to git. 'Bout half way home Mary put on
her shoes and walked to de big house in 'em. When Marster seed 'em he
was sho' mad as a hornet, but it was too late to take 'em back to de
store atter de shoes had done been wore and was all scratched up.
Marster fussed: 'Blast your hide, I'm a good mind to thrash you to
death.' Mary stood dar shakin' and tremblin', but dat's all Marster ever
said to her 'bout it. Us heared him tell Mist'ess dat dat gal Mary was a
right smart Nigger.

"Marster had a great big old bull dat was mighty mean. He had real long
horns, and he could lift de fence railin's down one by one and turn all
de cows out. Evvy time he got out he would fight us chillun, so Marster
had to keep him fastened up in de stable. One day when us wanted to play
in de stable, us turned Old Camel (dat was de bull) out in de pasture.
He tuk down rails enough wid his horns to let de cows in Marster's fine
gyarden and dey et it all up. Marster was wuss dan mad dat time, but us
hid in de barn under some hay 'til he went to bed. Next mornin' he
called us all up to git our whuppin', but us cried and said us wouldn't
never do it no more so our good old Marster let us off dat time.

"Lak I done said before, I stayed on dar 'til Marster died, den I
married Matthew Hartsfield. Lordy, Chile, us didn't have no weddin'. I
had on a new calico dress and Matthew wore some new blue jeans breeches.
De Reverend Hargrove, de white folks preacher, married us and nobody
didn't know nothin' 'bout it 'til it was all over. Us went to Oglethorpe
County and lived dar 19 years 'fore Matthew died. I wuked wid white
folks dar 'til I married up wid Ben Larken and us come on here to Athens
to live. I have done some wuk for 'most all de white folks 'round here.
Ben's grandpappy was a miller on Potts Creek, nigh Stephens, and
sometimes Ben used to have to go help him out wid de wuk, atter he got
old and feeble.

"Dey's all gone now and 'cept for some nieces, I'm left all alone. I kin
still mind de chillun and even do a little wuk. For dat I do give thanks
to de Good Lord--dat he keeps me able to do some wuk.

"Goodbye Chile," said Julia, when her visitor arose to leave. "You must
be more keerful 'bout walkin' 'round when de sun is too hot. It'll make
you sick sho'. Folks jus' don't know how to take de right sort of keer
of deyselves dese days."




[HW: Dist. 5
Ex-Slave #67
E.F. Driskell
12/31/36]

[HW: GEORGE LEWIS]
[Date Stamp: MAY 2- --]


Mr. George Lewis was born in Pensacola, Florida December 17, 1849. In
addition to himself and his parents, Sophie and Charles Lewis, there
were thirteen other children; two of whom were girls. Mr. Lewis (Geo.)
was the third eldest child.

Although married Mr. Lewis' parents belonged to different owners.
However, Dr. Brosenhan often allowed his servant to visit his wife on
the plantation of her owner, Mrs. Caroline Bright.

In regard to work all of the members of the Lewis clan fared very well.
The father, who belonged to Dr. Brosenhan, was a skilled shipbuilder and
he was permitted to hire himself out to those needing his services. He
was also allowed to hire [HW: out] those children belonging to him who
were old enough to work. He was only required to pay his master and the
mistress of his children a certain percent of his earnings. On the
Bright plantation Mrs. Lewis served as maid and as part of her duties
she had to help with the cooking. Mr. Lewis and his brothers and sisters
were never required to do very much work. Most of their time was spent
in playing around in the yard of the big house.

In answer to a query concerning the work requirements of the other
slaves on this particular plantation Mr. Lewis replied "De sun would
never ketch dem at de house. By de time it wus up dey had done got to de
fiel'--not jes gwine. I've known men to have to wait till it wus bright
enough to see how to plow without "kivering" the plants up. Dey lef' so
early in de mornings dat breakfus' had to be sent to dem in de fiel'. De
chillun was de ones who carried de meals dere. Dis was de first job dat
I had. All de pails wus put on a long stick an' somebody hold to each
end of de stick. If de fiel' hands was too far away fum de house at
dinner time it was sent to dem de same as de breakfus'".

All of the slaves on the plantation were awakened each morning by a
bugle or a horn which was blown by the overseer. The same overseer gave
the signal for dinner hour by blowing on the same horn. All were usually
given one hour for dinner. None had to do any work after leaving the
fields unless it happened to be personal work. No work other than the
caring for the stock was required on Sundays.

A few years before the Civil War Mrs. Bright married a Dr. Bennett
Ferrel and moved to his home in Georgia (Troupe County).

Mr. Lewis states that he and his fellow slaves always had "pretty fair"
food. Before they moved to Georgia the rations were issued daily and for
the most part an issue consisted of vegetables, rice, beans, meat
(pork), all kinds of fish and grits, etc.

"We got good clothes too says Mr. Lewis. All of 'em was bought. All de
chillun wore a long shirt until dey wus too big an' den dey was given
pants an' dresses. De shoes wus made out of red leather an' wus called
brogans. After we moved to Georgia our new marster bought de cloth an'
had all de clothes made on de plantation. De food wus "pretty fair" here
too. We got corn bread an' biscuit sometimes--an' it was sometimes
too--bacon, milk, all kinds of vegetables an' sicha stuff like dat. De
flour dat we made de biscuits out of was de third grade shorts."

The food on Sunday was almost identical with that eaten during the week.
However, those who desired to were allowed to hunt as much as they
pleased to at night. They were not permitted to carry guns and so when
the game was treed the tree had to be cut down in order to get it. It
was in this way that the family larder was increased.

"All in all", says Mr. Lewis, "we got everything we wanted excep' dere
wus no money comin' for our work an' we couldn't go off de place unless
we asked. If you wus caught off your plantation without a permit fum
marster de Paddy-Rollers whupped you an' sent you home."

The slaves living quarters were located in the rear of the "big house"
(this was true of the plantation located in Pensacola as well as the one
in Georgia). All were made of logs and, according to Mr. Lewis, all were
substantially built. Wooden pegs were used in the place of nails and the
cracks left in the walls were sealed with mud and sticks. These cabins
were very comfortable and only one family was allowed to a cabin. All
floors were of wood. The only furnishings were the beds and one or two
benches or bales which served as chairs. In some respects these beds
resembled a scaffold nailed to the side of a house. Others were made of
heavy wood and had four legs to stand upon. For the most part, however,
one end of the bed was nailed to the wall. The mattresses were made out
of any kind of material that a slave could secure, burlap sacks,
ausenberg, etc. After a large bag had been made with this material it
was stuffed with straw. Heavy cord running from side to side was used
for the bed springs. The end of the cord was tied to a handle at the end
of the bed. This pemitted the occupant to tighten the cord when it
became loosened. A few cooking utensils completed the furnishings. All
illumination was secured by means of the door and the open fire place.

All of the slaves on the plantation were permitted to "frolic" whenever
they wanted to and for as long a time as they wanted to. The master gave
them all of the whiskey that they desired. One of the main times for a
frolic was during a corn shucking. At each frolic there was dancing,
fiddling, and eating. The next morning, however all had to be prepared
to report as usual to the fields.

All were required to attend church each Sunday. The same church was used
by the slave owners and their slaves. The owners attended church in the
morning at eleven o'clock and the slaves attended at three o'clock. A
white minister did all of the preaching. "De bigges' sermon he
preached", says Mr. Lewis, "was to read de Bible an' den tell us to be
smart an' not to steal chickens, eggs, an' butter, fum our marsters."
All baptising was done by this selfsame minister.

When a couple wished to marry the man secured the permission of his
intended wife's owner and if he consented, a broom was placed on the
floor and the couple jumped over it and were then pronounced man and
wife.

There was not a great deal of whipping on the plantation of Dr. Ferrel
but at such times all whippings were administered by one of the
overseers employed on the plantation. Mr. Lewis himself was only whipped
once and then by the Doctor. This was just a few days before the slaves
were freed. Mr. Lewis says that the doctor came to the field one morning
and called him. He told him that they were going to be freed but that
before he did free him he was going to let him see what it was like to
be whipped by a white man, and he proceeded to paddle him with a white
oak paddle.

When there was serious illness the slaves had the attention of Dr.
Ferrel. On other occasions the old remedy of castor oil and turpentine
was administered. There was very little sickness then according to Mr.
Lewis. Most every family kept a large pot of "Bitters" (a mixture of
whiskey and tree barks) and each morning every member of the family took
a drink from this bucket. This supposedly prevented illness.

When the war broke out Mr. Lewis says that he often heard the old folks
whispering among themselves at night. Several times he saw the Northern
troops as well as the Southern troops but he dos'nt know whether they
were going or coming from the scene of the fighting. Doctor Ferrel
joined the army but on three different occasions he deserted. Before
going to war Dr. Ferrel called Mr. Lewis to him and after giving him his
favorite horse gave him the following "charge" "Don't let the Yankees
get him". Every morning Mr. Lewis would take the horse to the woods
where he hid with him all day. On several occasions Dr. Ferrel slipped
back to his home to see if the horse was being properly cared for. All
of the other valuables belongings to the Ferrels were hidden also.

All of the slaves on the plantation were glad when they were told that
they were free but there was no big demonstration as they were somewhat
afraid of what the Master might do. Some of them remained on the
plantation while others of them left as soon as they were told that they
were free.

Several months after freedom was declared Mr. Lewis' father was able to
join his family which he had not seen since they had moved to Georgia.

When asked his opinion of slavery and of freedom Mr. Lewis said that he
would rather be free because to a certain degree he is able to do as he
pleases, on the other hand he did not have to worry about food and
shelter as a slave as he has to do now at times.




INTERVIEW WITH:
MIRRIAM McCOMMONS, Age 76
164 Augusta Avenue
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Research Worker
Athens, Georgia

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Augusta, Georgia
[Date Stamp: APR 29 1938]


It was a bright sunny day when the interviewer stopped at the home of
Aunt Merry, as she is called, and found her tending her old-fashioned
flower garden. The old Negress was tired and while resting she talked of
days long passed and of how things have changed since she was "a little
gal."

"My pa wuz William Young, and he belonged to old Marse Wylie Young and
later to young Marse Mack Young, a son of old marster. Pa wuz born in
1841, and he died in 1918.

"Ma wuz Lula Lumpkin, and she belonged to Marse Jack Lumpkin. I forgits
de year, but she wuz jus' 38 years old when she died. Ma's young mistis
wuz Miss Mirriam Lumpkin, and she wuz sho' good ter my ma. I 'members,
'cause I seed her lots of times. She married Marse William Nichols, and
she ain't been dead many years.

"I wuz born at Steebens (Stephens), Georgia, in 1862 at seben 'clock in
de mornin' on de 27th day of April. Yassum, I got here in time for
breakfast. Dey named me Mirriam Young. When I wuz 'bout eight years old,
us moved on de Bowling Green road dat runs to Lexin'ton, Georgia. Us
stayed dar 'til I wuz 'bout 10 years old, den us moved to de old
Hutchins place. I wukked in de field wid my pa 'til I wuz 'bout 'leben
years old. Den ma put me out to wuk. I wukked for 25 dollars a year and
my schoolin'. Den I nussed for Marse George Rice in Hutchins, Georgia. I
think Marse George and his twin sister stays in Lexin'ton now. When I
wuz twelve, I went to wuk for Marse John I. Callaway. Ma hired me for de
same pay, 25 dollars a year and my schoolin'.

"Missus Callaway sho' wuz good to me. Sha larnt me my books--readin' and
writin'--and sewin', knittin', and crochetin'. I still got some of de
wuk dat she larnt me to do." At this point Aunt Merry proudly displayed
a number of articles that she had crocheted and knitted. All were
fashioned after old patterns and showed fine workmanship. "Mistis larnt
me to be neat and clean in evvything I done, and I would walk 'long de
road a-knittin' and nebber miss a stitch. I just bet none of dese young
folkses now days could do dat. Dey sho' don't do no wuk, just run 'round
all de time, day and night. I don't know what'll 'come of 'em, lessen
dey change deir ways.

"Whilst I wuz still nussin' Missis' little gal and baby boy dey went
down to Buffalo Crick to stay, and dey give me a pretty gray mare. She
wuz all mine and her name wuz Lucy.

"I tuk de chillun to ride evvy day and down at de crick, I pulled off
dey clo'es and baptized 'em, in de water. I would wade out in de crick
wid 'em, and say: 'I baptizes you in de name of de Fadder and de Son and
de Holy Ghost.' Den I would souse 'em under de water. I didn't know
nobody wuz seein' me, but one mornin' Missis axed me 'bout it and I
thought she mought be mad but she just laughed and said dat hit mought
be good for 'em, 'cause she 'spect dey needed baptizin', but to be
keerful, for just on t'other side of de rock wuz a hole dat didn't have
no bottom.

"Dere wuz just two things on de place dat I wuz 'fraid of, and one wuz
de big registered bull dat Marster had paid so much money for. He sho'
wuz bad, and when he got out, us all stayed in de house 'til dey cotched
'im. Marster had a big black stallion dat cost lots of money. He wuz bad
too, but Marster kept 'im shut up most of de time. De wust I ever wuz
skeert wuz de time I wuz takin' de baby to ride horseback. When one of
de Nigger boys on de place started off on Marster's horse, my mare
started runnin' and I couldn't stop 'er. She runned plumb away wid me,
and when de boy cotched us, I wuz holdin' de baby wid one hand and de
saddle wid t'other.

"I sho' did have a big time once when us went to Atlanta. De place whar
us stayed wuz 'bout four miles out, whar Kirkwood is now, and it
belonged to Mrs. Robert A. Austin. She wuz a widder 'oman. She had a gal
name' Mary and us chillun used to play together. It wuz a pretty place
wid great big yards, and de mostes' flowers. Us used to go into Atlanta
on de six 'clock 'commodation, and come home on de two 'clock
'commodation, but evvythings changed now.

"At de Callaway place us colored folks had big suppers and all day
dinners, wid plenty to eat--chicken, turkey, and 'possum, and all de
hogs us wanted. But dere warnt no dancin' or fightin', 'cause old Missis
sho' didn't 'low dat.

"I married when I wuz sebenteen. I didn't have no weddin'. I wuz just
married by de preacher to Albert McCommons, at Hutchins. Us stayed at
Steebens 'bout one year after us married and den come to Athens, whar I
stays now. I ain't never had but two chillun; dey wuz twins, one died,
but my boy is wid me now.

"I used to nuss Miss Calline Davis, and she done got married and left
here, but I still hears from 'er. She done married one of dem northern
mens, Mr. Hope. I 'members one time whilst dey wuz visitin' I stayed wid
'em to nuss deir baby. One of Mr. Hope's friends from New York wuz wid
'em. When dey got to de train to go home, Miss Calline kissed me
good-bye and de yankee didn't know what to say. Miss Calline say de
yankees 'low dat southern folks air mean to us Niggers and just beat us
all de time. Dey just don't know 'cause my white folkses wuz all good to
me, and I loves 'em all."

As the interviewer left, Aunt Merry followed her into the yard asking
for a return visit and promising to tell more, "bout my good white
folkses."




PLANTATION LIFE

As viewed by
ED McCREE, Age 76
543 Reese Street
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Sadie B. Hornsby [HW: (White)]
Athens

Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens

Leila Harris
Augusta

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7


Ed McCree's home was pointed out by a little albino Negro girl about 10
years old. The small front yard was gay with snapdragons, tiger lilies,
dahlias, and other colorful flowers, and the two-story frame house,
painted gray with white trimmings seemed to be in far better repair than
the average Negro residence.

Chewing on a cud of tobacco, Ed answered the knock on his front door.
"Good evenin' Lady," he said. "Have a cheer on de porch whar it's cool."
Ed is about five feet, six inches in height, and on this afternoon he
was wearing a blue striped shirt, black vest, gray pants and black
shoes. His gray hair was topped by a soiled gray hat.

Nett, his wife, came hobbling out on the porch and sat down to listen to
the conversation. At first the old man was reluctant to talk of his
childhood experiences, but his interest was aroused by questioning and
soon he began to eagerly volunteer his memories. He had just had his
noon meal and now and then would doze a little, but was easily aroused
when questions called him back to the subject.

"I was borned in Oconee County," he said, "jus' below Watkinsville. My
Ma and Pa was Louisa and Henry McCree, but Old Marster called Pa 'Sherm'
for short. Far as I ever heared, my Ma and Pa was borned and brung up
right dar in Oconee County. Dere was six of us chillun: Silas, Lumpkin,
Bennie, Lucy, Babe, and me. Babe, she was borned a long time atter de
war.

"Little Niggers, what was too young to wuk in de fields, toted water to
de field hands and waited on de old 'omans what was too old to wuk in de
craps. Dem old 'omans looked atter de babies and piddled 'round de
yards.

"Slave quarters was lots of log cabins wid chimlies of criss-crossed
sticks and mud. Pore white folks lived in houses lak dat too. Our bed
was made wid high posties and had cords, what run evvy which a-way, for
springs. 'Course dey had to be wound tight to keep dem beds from fallin'
down when you tried to git in 'em. For mattresses, de 'omans put wheat
straw in ticks made out of coarse cloth wove right dar on de plantation,
and de pillows was made de same way. Ole Miss, she let her special
favorite Niggers, what wuked up at de big house, have feather mattresses
and pillows. Dem other Niggers shined dey eyes over dat, but dere warn't
nothin' dey could do 'bout it 'cept slip 'round and cut dem feather beds
and pillows open jus' to see de feathers fly. Kivver was 'lowanced out
evvy year to de ones what needed it most. In dat way dere was allus good
kivver for evvybody.

"Grandma Liza b'longed to Marse Calvin Johnson long 'fore Marse John
McCree buyed her. She was cook at de big house. Grandpa Charlie, he
b'longed to Marse Charlie Hardin, but atter him and Grandma married, she
still went by de name of McCree.

"Lawdy Miss! Who ever heared of folks payin' slaves to wuk? Leastwise, I
never knowed 'bout none of 'em on our place gittin' money for what dey
done. 'Course dey give us plenty of somepin' t'eat and clothes to wear,
and den dey made us keep a-humpin' it. I does 'member seein' dem paper
nickels, dimes, and quarters what us chillun played wid atter de war. Us
used to pretend us was rich wid all dat old money what warn't no good
den.

"'Bout dem eatments, Miss, it was lek dis, dere warn't no fancy victuals
lak us thinks us got to have now, but what dere was, dere was plenty of.
Most times dere was poke sallet, turnip greens, old blue head collards,
cabbages, peas, and 'taters by de wholesale for de slaves to eat and,
onct a week, dey rationed us out wheat bread, syrup, brown sugar, and
ginger cakes. What dey give chillun de most of was potlicker poured over
cornbread crumbs in a long trough. For fresh meat, outside of killin' a
shoat, a lamb, or a kid now and den, slaves was 'lowed to go huntin' a
right smart and dey fotch in a good many turkles (turtles), 'possums,
rabbits, and fish. Folks didn't know what iron cookstoves was dem days.
Leastwise, our white folks didn't have none of 'em. All our cookin' was
done in open fireplaces in big old pots and pans. Dey had thick iron
skillets wid heavy lids on 'em, and dey could bake and fry too in dem
skillets. De meats, cornbread, biscuits, and cakes what was cooked in
dem old skillets was sho' mighty good.

"De cotton, flax, and wool what our clothes was made out of was growed,
spun, wove, and sewed right dar on our plantation. Marse John had a
reg'lar seamster what didn't do nothin' else but sew. Summertime us
chillun wore shirts what looked lak nightgowns. You jus' pulled one of
dem slips over your haid and went on 'cause you was done dressed for de
whole week, day and night. Wintertime our clothes was a heap better. Dey
give us thick jeans pants, heavy shirts, and brogan shoes wid brass
toes. Summertime us all went bar'foots.

"Old Marster John McCree was sho' a good white man, I jus' tells you de
truf, 'cause I ain't in for tellin' nothin' else. I done jus' plum
forgot Ole Miss' fust name, and I can't git up de chilluns' names no
way. I didn't play 'round wid 'em much nohow. Dey was jus' little young
chillun den anyhow. Dey lived in a big old plank house--nothin' fine
'bout it. I 'members de heavy timbers was mortised together and de other
lumber was put on wid pegs; dere warn't no nails 'bout it. Dat's all I
ricollects 'bout dat dere house right now. It was jus' a common house,
I'd say.

"Dere was a thousand or more acres in dat old plantation. It sho' was a
big piece of land, and it was plumb full of Niggers--I couldn't say how
many, 'cause I done forgot. You could hear dat bugle de overseer blowed
to wake up de slaves for miles and miles. He got 'em up long 'fore sunup
and wuked 'em in de fields long as dey could see how to wuk. Don't talk
'bout dat overseer whuppin' Niggers. He beat on 'em for most anything.
What would dey need no jail for wid dat old overseer a-comin' down on
'em wid dat rawhide bull-whup?

"If dey got any larnin', it was at night. Dere warn't no school 'ouse or
no church on dat plantation for Niggers. Slaves had to git a pass when
dey wanted to go to church. Sometimes de white preacher preached to de
Niggers, but most of de time a Nigger wid a good wit done de preachin'.
Dat Nigger, he sho' couldn't read nary a word out of de Bible. At de
baptizin's was when de Nigger boys shined up to de gals. Dey dammed up
de crick to make de water deep enough to duck 'em under good and, durin'
de service, dey sung: _It's de Good Old Time Religion_.

"When folks died den, Niggers for miles and miles around went to de
funeral. Now days dey got to know you mighty well if dey bothers to go a
t'all. Dem days folks was buried in homemade coffins. Some of dem
coffins was painted and lined wid cloth and some warn't. De onliest song
I ricollects 'em singin' at buryin's was: _Am I Born to Lay Dis Body
Down_? Dey didn't dig graves lak dey does now. Dey jus' dug straight
down to 'bout five feet, den dey cut a vault to fit de coffin in de side
of de grave. Dey didn't put no boards or nothin' over de coffins to keep
de dirt off.

"'Bout dem patterollers! Well, you knowed if dey cotched you out widout
no pass, dey was gwine to beat your back most off and send you on home.
One night my Pa 'lowed he would go to see his gal. All right, he went.
When he got back, his cabin door was fastened hard and fast. He was
a-climbin' in de window when de patterollers got to him. Dey 'lowed:
'Nigger, is you got a pass?' Pa said: 'No Sir.' Den dey said: 'Us can't
beat you 'cause you done got home on your marster's place, but us is
sho' gwine to tell your Marster to whup your hide off. But Old Marster
never tetched him for dat.

"Atter dey come in from de fields, dem Niggers et deir supper, went to
deir cabins, sot down and rested a little while, and den dey drapped
down on de beds to sleep. Dey didn't wuk none Sadday atter dinner in de
fields. Dat was wash day for slave 'omans. De mens done fust one thing
and den another. Dey cleant up de yards, chopped wood, mended de
harness, sharpened plow points, and things lak dat. Sadday nights, Old
Marster give de young folks passes so dey could go from one place to
another a-dancin' and a-frolickin' and havin' a big time gen'ally. Dey
done most anything dey wanted to on Sundays, so long as dey behaved
deyselfs and had deir passes handy to show if de patterollers bothered
'em.

"Yessum, slaves sho' looked forward to Christmas times. Dere was such
extra good eatin's dat week and so much of 'em. Old Marster had 'em kill
a plenty of shoats, lambs, kids, cows, and turkeys for fresh meat. De
'omans up at de big house was busy for a week ahead cookin' peach puffs,
'tater custards, and plenty of cakes sweetened wid brown sugar and
syrup. Dere was plenty of home-made candy for de chilluns' Santa Claus
and late apples and peaches had done been saved and banked in wheat
straw to keep 'em good 'til Christmas. Watermelons was packed away in
cottonseed and when dey cut 'em open on Christmas Dey, dey et lak fresh
melons in July. Us had a high old time for a week, and den on New Year's
Day dey started back to wuk.

"Come winter, de mens had big cornshuckin's and dere was quiltin's for
de 'omans. Dere was a row of corn to be shucked as long as from here to
Milledge Avenue. Old Marster put a gang of Niggers at each end of de row
and it was a hot race 'tween dem gangs to see which could git to de
middle fust. Dere was allus a big feast waitin' for 'em when de last ear
of corn was shucked. 'Bout dem quiltin's!" Now Lady, what would a old
Nigger man know 'bout somepin' dat didn't nothin' but 'omans have
nothin' to do wid?

"Dem cotton pickin's was grand times. Dey picked cotton in de moonlight
and den had a big feast of barbecued beef, mutton, and pork washed down
wid plenty of good whiskey. Atter de feast was over, some of dem Niggers
played fiddles and picked banjoes for de others to dance down 'til dey
was wore out.

"When slaves got sick, our white folks was mighty good 'bout havin' 'em
keered for. Dey dosed 'em up wid oil and turpentine and give 'em teas
made out of hoarhound for some mis'ries and bone-set for other troubles.
Most all the slaves wore a sack of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir
necks all de time to keep 'em from gittin' sick.

"It was a happy day for us slaves when news come dat de war was over and
de white folks had to turn us 'loose. Marster called his Niggers to come
up to de big house yard, but I never stayed 'round to see what he had to
say. I runned 'round dat place a-shoutin' to de top of my voice. My
folks stayed on wid Old Marster for 'bout a year or more. If us had
left, it would have been jus' lak swappin' places from de fryin' pan to
de fire, 'cause Niggers didn't have no money to buy no land wid for a
long time atter de war. Schools was soon scattered 'bout by dem Yankees
what had done sot us free. I warn't big enough den to do nothin' much
'cept tote water to de field and chop a little cotton.

"Me and Nettie Freeman married a long time atter de war. At our weddin'
I wore a pair of brown jeans pants, white shirt, white vest, and a
cutaway coat. Nettie wore a black silk dress what she had done bought
from Miss Blanche Rutherford. Pears lak to me it had a overskirt of blue
what was scalloped 'round de bottom."

At this point, Nettie, who had been an interested listener, was
delighted. She broke into the conversation with: "Ed, you sho' did take
in dat dress and you ain't forgot it yit."

"You is right 'bout dat, Honey," he smilingly replied, "I sho' ain't and
I never will forgit how you looked dat day."

"Miss Blanche give me a pair of white silk gloves to wear wid dat
dress," mused Nettie.

"Us didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'," continued Ed. "Us jus' went off
to de preacher man's house and got married up together. I sho' is glad
my Nett is still a-livin', even if she is down wid de rheumatiz."

"I'm glad I'm livin' too," Nettie said with a chuckle.

Ed ignored the question as to the number of their children and Nettie
made no attempt to take further part in the conversation. There is a
deep seated idea prevalent among old people of this type that if the
"giver'ment folks" learn that they have able-bodied children, their
pensions and relief allowances will be discontinued.

Soon Ed was willing to talk again. "Yessum," he said. "I sho' had ruther
be free. I don't never want to be a slave no more. Now if me and Nett
wants to, us can set around and not fix and eat but one meal all day
long. If us don't want to do dat, us can do jus' whatsomever us pleases.
Den, us had to wuk whether us laked it or not.

"Lordy Miss, I ain't never jined up wid no church. I ain't got no reason
why, only I jus' ain't never had no urge from inside of me to jine.
'Course, you know, evvybody ought to lissen to de services in de church
and live right and den dey wouldn't be so skeered to die. Miss, ain't
you through axin' me questions yit? I is so sleepy, and I don't know no
more to tell you. Goodbye."




[HW: Dist. 1
Ex Slave #68]

EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW:
LUCY McCULLOUGH, Age 79

BY: SARAH H. HALL
ATHENS, GA.
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

[TR: This first half of this interview was edited by hand to change many
'er' sounds to 'uh', for example, 'der' to 'duh', 'ter' to 'tuh'; as a
single word, 'er' was also changed to 'a'.]


"Does Ah 'member 'bout war time, en dem days fo' de war? Yassum, Ah sho'
does. Ah blong ter Marse Ned Carter in Walton county."

"Whut Ah 'members mos' is duh onliest beatin' Ah ebber got fum de
overseer on Marse Ned's place. De hawgs wuz dyin' moughty bad wid
cholry, en Marse Ned hed 'is mens drag evvy dead hawg off in de woods
'en bun 'em up ter keep de cholry fum spreadin' mongst de udder hawgs.
De mens wuz keerless 'bout de fire, en fo' long de woods wuz on fire, en
de way dat fire spread in dem dry grape vines in de woods mek it 'peer
lak jedgment day tuh us chilluns. Us run 'bout de woods lookin' at de
mens fight de fire, en evvy time we see uh new place a-blaze we run dis
way en dat way, twel fus' thing us knows, we is plum off Marse Ned's
plantation, en us doan rightly know whar us is. Us play 'roun' in de
woods en arter while Marse Ned's overseer cum fine us, en he druv us
back tuh de big house yahd en give evvy one uv us uh good beaten'. Ah
sho' wuz black en blue, en Ah nebber did fuhgit en run offen Marse Ned's
lan' no mo' lessen I hed uh pass."

"Mah mammy, she wuz cook at duh big house, en Ah wuz raised dah in de
kitchen en de back yahd at de big house. Ah wuz tuh be uh maid fer de
ladies in de big house. De house servants hold that dey is uh step
better den de field niggers. House servants wuz niggah quality folks."

Ah mus' not a been mo' en thee uh fo' yeahs ole when Miss Millie cum out
in de kitchen one day, en 'gin tuh scold my mammy 'bout de sorry way
mammy done clean de chitlins. Ah ain' nebber heard nobuddy fuss et my
mammy befo'. Little ez Ah wuz, Ah swell up en rar' back, en I sez tuh
Miss Millie, "Doan you no' Mammy is boss uh dis hyar kitchen. You cyan'
cum a fussin' in hyar." "Miss Millie, she jus laff, but Mammy grab a
switch en 'gin ticklin' my laigs, but Miss Millie mek her quit it." "Who
wuz Miss Millie? Why, she wuz Marse Ned's wife."

"Whilst Marse Ned wuz 'way at de war, bad sojer mens cum thoo de
country. Miss Millie done hyar tell dey wuz on de way, an she had de
mens haul all Marse Ned's cotton off in de woods en hide it. De waggins
wuz piled up high wid cotton, en de groun' wuz soft atter de rain. De
waggins leff deep ruts in de groun', but none us folks on de plantation
pay no heed ter dem ruts. When de sojer mens cum, dey see dem ruts en
trail 'em right out dar in de woods ter de cotton. Den dey sot fire ter
de cotton en bun it all up. Dey cum back ter de big house en take all de
sweet milk in de dairy house, en help 'emselfs ter evvy thing in de
smoke houses. Den dey pick out de stronges' er Marse Ned's slave mens en
take 'em 'way wid 'em. Dey take evvy good horse Marse Ned had on de
plantation. No Ma'am, dey diden' bun nuffin ceppen' de cotton."

"Us wuz mo' skeered er patter-rollers den any thing else. Patter-rollers
diden' bodder folks much, lessen dey caught 'em offen dar marsters
plantations en dey diden' hab no pass. One night en durin' de war, de
patter-rollers cum ter our cabin, en I scrooge down under de kiver in de
bed. De patter-roller man tho' de kiver offen mah face, en he see me
blong dar, en he let me be, but Ah wuz skeered plumb ter death. Courtin'
folks got ketched en beat up by de patter-rollers mo' den enny buddy
else, kazen dey wuz allus slippen' out fer ter meet one er nudder at
night."

"When folks dat lived on diffunt plantations, en blonged ter diffunt
marsters wanted ter git married, dey hed ter ax both dar marsters fus'.
Den effen dar marsters 'gree on it, dey let 'em marry. De mans marster
'ud give de man er pass so he cud go see his wife et night, but he sho'
better be back on his own marsters farm when de bell ring evvy morning.
De chilluns 'ud blong ter de marster dat own de 'oman."

"Black folks wuz heap smarter den dey is now. Dem days de 'omans knowed
how ter cyard, en spin, en weave de cloff, en dey made de close. De mens
know how ter mek shoes ter wear den. Black folks diden' hev ter go cole
er hongry den, kaze dey marsters made 'em wuk en grow good crops, en den
der marsters fed 'em plenty en tuk keer uv 'em."

"Black folks wuz better folks den dey is now. Dey knowed dey hed ter be
good er dey got beat. De gals dey diden't sho' dare laigs lak dey do
now. Cloff hed ter be made den, en hit wuz er heap mo' trouble ter mek
er yahd er cloff, den it is ter buy it now, but 'omans en gals, dey
stayed kivvered up better den. Why, Ah 'member one time my mammy seed me
cummin' crost de yahd en she say mah dress too short. She tuk it offen
me, en rip out de hem, en ravel at de aig' er little, en den fus' thing
I knows, she got dat dress tail on ter de loom, en weave more cloff on
hit, twel it long enuf, lak she want it."

"Long 'bout dat time dey wuz killin' hawgs on de plantation, en it wuz
er moughty cole day. Miss Millie, she tell me fer ter tote dis quart er
brandy out dar fer ter warm up de mens dat wuz er wukkin in de cole
win'. 'Long de way, Ah keep er sippin' dat brandy, en time Ah got ter de
hawg killin' place Ah wuz crazy drunk en tryin' ter sing. Dat time
'twon't no overseer beat me. Dem slave mens beat me den fo' drinkin' dat
likker."

"Mah folks stayed on en wukked fo' Marse Ned long atter de war. When Ah
wuz mos' grown mah fam'ly moved ter Logansville. No, Ma'am, I ain't
nebber been so free en happy es when I diden' hev ter worry 'bout whar
de vittles en close gwine cum fum, en all Ah had ter do wuz wuk evvy day
lak mah whitefolks tole me."




[HW: Dist. 5 (Driskell)
Ex Slave #69]

AMANDA MCDANIEL, 80 yrs old
Ex-slave
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Among these few remaining persons who have lived long enough to tell of
some of their experiences during the reign of "King Slavery" in the
United States is one Mrs. Amanda McDaniel.

As she sat on the porch in the glare of the warm October sun she
presented a perfect picture of the old Negro Mammy commonly seen during
the days of slavery. She smiled as she expectorated a large amount of
the snuff she was chewing and began her story in the following manner:
"I was born in Watsonville, Georgia in 1850. My mother's name was
Matilda Hale and my father was Gilbert Whitlew. My mother and father
belonged to different master's, but the plantations that they lived on
were near each other and so my father was allowed to visit us often. My
mother had two other girls who were my half-sisters. You see--my mother
was sold to the speculator in Virginia and brought to Georgia where she
was sold to Mr. Hale, who was our master until freedom was declared.
When she was sold to the speculator the two girls who were my
half-sisters had to be sold with her because they were too young to be
separated from their mother. My father, Gilbert Whitlew, was my mother's
second husband.

"Mr. Hale, our master, was not rich like some of the other planters in
the community. His plantation was a small one and he only had eight
servants who were all women. He wasn't able to hire an overseer and all
of the heavy work such as the plowing was done by his sons. Mrs. Hale
did all of her own cooking and that of the slaves too. In all Mr. Hale
had eleven children. I had to nurse three of them before I was old
enough to go to the field to work."

When asked to tell about the kind of work the slaves had to do Mrs.
McDaniel said: "Our folks had to get up at four o'clock every morning
and feed the stock first. By the time it was light enough to see they
had to be in the fields where they hoed the cotton and the corn as well
as the other crops. Between ten and eleven o'clock everybody left the
field and went to the house where they worked until it was too dark to
see. My first job was to take breakfast to those working in the fields.
I used buckets for this. Besides this I had to drive the cows to and
from the pasture. The rest of the day was spent in taking care of Mrs.
Hale's young children. After a few years of this I was sent to the
fields where I planted peas, corn, etc. I also had to pick cotton when
that time came, but I never had to hoe and do the heavy work like my
mother and sisters did." According to Mrs. McDaniel they were seldom
required to work at night after they had left the fields but when such
occasions did arise they were usually in the form of spinning thread and
weaving cloth. During the winter months this was the only type of work
that they did. On days when the weather was too bad for work out of
doors they shelled the corn and peas and did other minor types of work
not requiring too much exposure. Nobody had to work on Saturday
afternoons or on Sundays. It was on Saturdays or at night that the
slaves had the chance to do their own work such as the repairing of
clothing, etc.

On the Hale plantation clothing was issued two times each year, once at
the beginning of summer and again at the beginning of the winter season.
On this first issue all were given striped dresses made of cotton
material. These dresses were for wear during the week while dresses made
of white muslin were given for Sunday wear. The dye which was necessary
in order to color those clothes worn during the week was made by boiling
red dirt or the bark of trees in water. Sometimes the indigo berry was
also used. The winter issue consisted of dresses made of woolen
material. The socks and stockings were all knitted. All of this wearing
apparel was made by Mrs. Hale. The shoes that these women slaves wore
were made in the nearby town at a place known as the tan yards. These
shoes were called "Brogans" and they were very crude in construction
having been made of very stiff leather. None of the clothing that was
worn on this plantation was bought as everything necessary for the
manufacture of clothing was available on the premises.

As has been previously stated, Mrs. Hale did all of the cooking on the
plantation with the possible exception of Sundays when the slaves cooked
for themselves. During the week their diet usually consisted of corn
bread, fat meat, vegetables, milk, and potliquor. The food that they ate
on Sunday was practically the same. All the food that they ate was
produced in the master's garden and there was a sufficient amount for
everyone at all times.

There were two one-room log cabins in the rear of the master's house.
These cabins were dedicated to slave use. Mrs. McDaniel says: "The
floors were made of heavy wooden planks. At one end of the cabin was the
chimney which was made out of dried mud, sticks, and dirt. On the side
of the cabin opposite the door there was a window where we got a little
air and a little light. Our beds were made out of the same kind of wood
that the floors were and we called them "Bed-Stilts." Slats were used
for springs while the mattresses were made of large bags stuffed with
straw. At night we used tallow candles for light and sometimes fat pine
that we called light-wood. As Mrs. Hale did all of our cooking we had
very few pots and pans. In the Winter months we used to take mud and
close the cracks left in the wall where the logs did not fit close
together."

According to Mrs. McDaniel all the serious illnesses were handled by a
doctor who was called in at such times. At other times Mr. or Mrs. Hale
gave them either castor oil or salts. Sometimes they were given a type
of oil called "lobelia oil." At the beginning of the spring season they
drank various teas made out of the roots that they gathered in the
surrounding woods. The only one that Mrs. McDaniel remembers is that
which was made from sassafras roots. "This was good to clean the
system," says Mrs. McDaniel. Whenever they were sick they did not have
to report to the master's house each day as was the case on some of the
other plantations. There were never any pretended illnesses to avoid
work as far as Mrs. McDaniel knows.

On Sunday all of the slaves on the Hale plantation were permitted to
dress in their Sunday clothes and go to the white church in town. During
the morning services they sat in the back of the church where they
listened to the white pastor deliver the sermon. In the afternoon they
listened to a sermon that was preached by a colored minister. Mrs.
McDaniel hasn't the slightest idea of what these sermons were about.
She remembers how marriages were performed, however, although the only
one that she ever witnessed took place on one of the neighboring
plantations. After a broom was placed on the ground a white minister
read the scriptures and then the couple in the process of being married
jumped over this broom. They were then considered as man and wife.

Whippings were very uncommon the the Hale plantation. Sometimes Mr. Hale
had to resort to this form of punishment for disobedience on the part of
some of the servants. Mrs. McDaniel says that she was whipped many times
but only once with the cowhide. Nearly every time that she was whipped a
switch was used. She has seen her mother as well as some of the others
punished but they were never beaten unmercifully. Neither she or any of
the other slaves on the Hale plantation ever came in contact with the
"Paddie-Rollers," whom they knew as a group of white men who went around
whipping slaves who were caught away from their respective homes without
passes from their masters. When asked about the buying and the selling
of slaves Mrs. McDaniel said that she had never witnessed an auction at
which slaves were being sold and that the only thing she knew about this
was what she had been told by her mother who had been separated from her
husband and sold in Georgia. Mr. Hale never had the occasion to sell any
of those slaves that he held.

Mrs. McDaniel remembers nothing of the talk that transpired between the
slaves or her owners at the beginning of the war. She says: "I was a
little girl, and like the other children then, I didn't have as much
sense as the children of today who are of the age that I was then. I do
remember that my master moved somewhere near Macon, Georgia after
General Wheeler marched through. I believe that he did more damage than
the Yanks did when they came through. When my master moved us along with
his family we had to go out of the way a great deal because General
Wheeler had destroyed all of the bridges. Besides this he damaged a
great deal of the property that he passed." Continuing, Mrs. McDaniel
said: "I didn't see any of the fighting but I did hear the firing of the
cannons. I also saw any number of Confederate soldiers pass by our
place." Mr. Hale didn't join the army although his oldest son did.

At the time that the slaves were freed it meant nothing in particular to
Mrs. McDaniel, who says that she was too young to pay much attention to
what was happening. She never saw her father after they moved away from
Watsonville. At any rate she and her mother remained in the service of
Mr. Hale for a number of years after the war. In the course of this time
Mr. Hale grew to be a wealthy man. He continued to be good to those
servants who remained with him. After she was a grown woman Mrs.
McDaniel left Mr. Hale as she was then married.

Mrs. McDaniel says that she has reached such an old age because she has
always taken care of herself, which is more than the young people of
today are doing, she added as an after thought.




Dist. 7
Ex. Slave #74

TOM McGRUDER, 102 years old
Ex-Slave

By Elizabeth Watson, Hawkinsville, Georgia
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Tom McGruder, one of the oldest living ex-slaves in Pulaski County, was
sitting on the porch of his son's home when we went in to see him. His
grizzled old head began to nod a "Good morning" and his brown face
became wreathed in smiles when he saw us.

He looked very small as he sat in a low straight chair by the door. His
shirt and overalls were ragged but spotlessly clean. On his feet were
heavy shoes that were kept free from dirt. His complexion was not black
as some of the other members of his race but was a light brown. There
were very few wrinkles in his face considering the fact that he was one
hundred and two years old in June. He spoke in a quiet voice though
somewhat falteringly as he suffers greatly from asthma.

"Were you born in this county, Uncle Tom?" we asked.

"No mam, Missus," he replied. "Me and my mother and sister wuz brought
from Virginia to this state by the speculators and sold here. I was only
about eighteen or twenty and I was sold for $1250. My mother was given
to one of Old Marster's married chillun.

"You see, Missus," he spoke again after a long pause. "We wuz put on the
block just like cattle and sold to one man today and another tomorrow. I
wuz sold three times after coming to this state."

Tom could tell us very little about his life on the large plantations
because his feeble old mind would only be clear at intervals. He would
begin relating some incident but would suddenly break off with, "I'd
better leave that alone 'cause I done forgot." He remembered, however,
that he trained dogs for his "whie folks," trained them to be good
hunters as that was one of the favorite sports of the day.

The last man to whom Tom was sold was Mr. Jim McGruder, of Emanuel
County. He was living in a small cabin belonging to Mr. McGruder, when
he married. "I 'members", said Tom, "That Old Marster and Missus fixed
up a lunch and they and their chillun brought it to my cabin. Then they
said, 'Nigger, jump the broom' and we wuz married, 'cause you see we
didn't know nothing 'bout no cer'mony."

It was with Mr. McGruder that Tom entered the army, working for him as
his valet.

"I wuz in the army for 'bout four years," Tom said. "I fought in the
battles at Petersburg, Virginia and Chattanooga, Tennessee. I looked
after Old Marster's shoes and clothes. Old Marster, what he done he done
well. He was kind to me and I guess better to me sometimes than I
deserved but I had to do what he told me."

"Do you remember any of the old songs you used to sing?" we asked.
"Missus, I can't sing no mo'," he replied. But pausing for a few minutes
he raised his head and sang in a quiet voice, the words and melody
perfectly clear;

  "Why do you wait, dear brother,
     Oh, why do you tarry so long?
   Your Saviour is waiting to give you
     A place in His sanctified throng."




PLANTATION LIFE as viewed by ex-slave

SUSAN McINTOSH, Age 87
1203 W. Hancook Avenue
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Sadie B. Hornsby
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Ga.

Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens

John N. Booth
Augusta

Leila Harris
Augusta

April 28, 1938
[Date Stamp: MAY 6 1938]


A driving rain sent the interviewer scurrying into the house of Susan
McIntosh who lives with her son, Dr. Andrew Jones, at the corner of
Hancock Avenue and Billups Street.

Susan readily gave her story: "They tell me I was born in November
1851," she said, "and I know I've been here a long time 'cause I've seen
so many come and go. I've outlived 'most all of my folks 'cept my son
that I live with now. Honey, I've 'most forgot about slavery days. I
don't read, and anyway there ain't no need to think of them times now. I
was born in Oconee County on Judge William Stroud's plantation. We
called him Marse Billy. That was a long time before Athens was the
county seat. Ma's name was Mary Jen, and Pa was Christopher Harris. They
called him Chris for short. Marster Young L.G. Harris bought him from
Marster Hudson of Elbert County and turned him over to his niece, Miss
Lula Harris, when she married Marster Robert Taylor. Marse Robert was a
son of General Taylor what lived in the Grady house before it belonged
to Mr. Henry Grady's mother. Pa was coachman and house boy for Miss
Lula.

"Marse Billy owned Ma, and Marse Robert owned Pa, and Pa, he come to see
Ma about once or twice a month. The Taylor's, they done a heap of
travellin' and always took my Pa with 'em. Oh! there was thirteen of us
chillun, seven died soon after they was born, and none of 'em lived to
git grown 'cept me. Their names was Nanette and Ella, what was next to
me; Susan--thats me; Isabelle, Martha, Mary, Diana, Lila, William, Gus,
and the twins what was born dead; and Harden. He was named for a Dr.
Harden what lived here then.

"Marse Billy bought my gran'ma in Virginia. She was part Injun. I can
see her long, straight, black hair now, and when she died she didn't
have gray hair like mine. They say Injuns don't turn gray like other
folks. Gran'ma made cloth for the white folks and slaves on the
plantation. I used to hand her thread while she was weavin'. The lady
what taught Gran'ma to weave cloth, was Mist'ess Gowel, and she was a
foreigner, 'cause she warn't born in Georgia. She had two sons what run
the factory between Watkinsville and Athens. My aunt, Mila Jackson, made
all the thread what they done the weavin' with. Gran'pa worked for a
widow lady what was a simster (seamstress) and she just had a little
plantation. She was Mist'ess Doolittle. All Gran'pa done was cut wood,
'tend the yard and gyarden. He had rheumatism and couldn't do much.

"There ain't much to tell about what we done in the slave quarters,
'cause when we got big enough, we had to work: nussin' the babies,
totin' water, and helpin' Gran'ma with the weavin', and such like. Beds
was driv to the walls of the cabin; foot and headboard put together with
rails, what run from head to foot. Planks was laid crossways and straw
put on them and the beds was kivvered with the whitest sheets you ever
seen. Some made pallets on the floor.

"No, Ma'am, I didn't make no money 'til after freedom. I heard tell of
ten and fifteen cents, but I didn't know nothing 'bout no figgers. I
didn't know a nickel from a dime them days.

"Yes, Ma'am, Marse Billy 'lowed his slaves to have their own gyardens,
and 'sides plenty of good gyarden sass, we had milk and butter, bread
and meat, chickens, greens, peas, and just everything that growed on the
farm. Winter and summer, all the food was cooked in a great big
fireplace, about four feet wide, and you could put on a whole stick of
cord wood at a time. When they wanted plenty of hot ashes to bake with,
they burnt wood from ash trees. Sweet potatoes and bread was baked in
the ashes. Seems like vittuls don't taste as good as they used to, when
we cooked like that. 'Possums, Oh! I dearly love 'possums. My cousins
used to catch 'em and when they was fixed up and cooked with sweet
potatoes, 'possum meat was fit for a king. Marse Billy had a son named
Mark, what was a little bitty man. They said he was a dwarf. He never
done nothing but play with the children on the plantation. He would take
the children down to the crick what run through the plantation and fish
all day. We had rabbits, but they was most generally caught in a box
trap, so there warn't no time wasted a-huntin' for 'em.

"In summer, the slave women wore white homespun and the men wore pants
and shirts made out of cloth what looked like overall cloth does now. In
winter, we wore the same things, 'cept Marse Billy give the men woolen
coats what come down to their knees, and the women wore warm wraps what
they called sacks. On Sunday we had dresses dyed different colors. The
dyes were made from red clay and barks. Bark from pines, sweetgums, and
blackjacks was boiled, and each one made a different color dye. The
cloth made at home was coarse and was called 'gusta cloth. Marse Billy
let the slaves raise chickens, and cows, and have cotton patches too.
They would sell butter, eggs, chickens, brooms, made out of wheat straw
and such like. They took the money and bought calico, muslin and good
shoes, pants, coats and other nice things for their Sunday clothes.
Marse Billy bought leather from Marster Brumby's tanyard and had shoes
made for us. They was coarse and rough, but they lasted a long time.

"My Marster was father-in-law of Dr. Jones Long. Marse Billy's wife,
Miss Rena, died long before I was born. Their six children was all grown
when I first knowed 'em. The gals was: Miss Rena, Miss Selena, Miss
Liza, and Miss Susan. Miss Susan was Dr. Long's wife. I was named for
her. There was two boys; Marse John and Marse Mark. I done told you
'bout Marse Mark bein' a dwarf. They lived in a big old eight room
house, on a high hill in sight of Mars Hill Baptist Church. Marse Billy
was a great deacon in that church. Yes, Ma'am, he sho' was good to his
Negroes. I heard 'em say that after he had done bought his slaves by
working in a blacksmith shop, and wearin' cheap clothes, like mulberry
suspenders, he warn't goin' to slash his Negroes up. The older folks
admired Mist'ess and spoke well of her. They said she had lots more
property than Marse Billy. She said she wanted Marse Billy to see that
her slaves was give to her children. I 'spose there was about a hundred
acres on that plantation and Marse Billy owned more property besides.
There was about fifty grown folks and as to the children, I just don't
know how many there was. Around the quarters looked like a little town.

"Marse Billy had a overseer up to the time War broke out, then he picked
out a reliable colored man to carry out his orders. Sometimes the
overseer got rough, then Marse Billy let him go and got another one. The
overseer got us up about four or five o'clock in the morning, and dark
brought us in at night.

"Jails! Yes, Ma'am, I ricollect one was in Watkinsville. No, Ma'am, I
never saw nobody auctioned off, but I heard about it. Men used to come
through an buy up slaves for foreign states where there warn't so many.

"Well, I didn't have no privilege to learn to read and write, but the
white lady what taught my gran'ma to weave, had two sons what run the
factory, and they taught my uncles to read and write.

"There warn't no church on the plantation, so we went to Mars Hill
Church. The white folks went in the mornings from nine 'til twelve and
the slaves went in the evenings from three 'till about five. The white
folks went in the front door and slaves used the back door. Rev. Bedford
Lankford, what preached to the white folks helped a Negro, named Cy
Stroud, to preach to the Negroes. Oh! Yes, Ma'am, I well remembers them
baptizings. I believe in church and baptizing.

"They buried the slaves on the plantation, in coffins made out of pine
boards. Didn't put them in two boxes lak dey does now, and dey warn't
painted needer.

"Did you say patterollers? Sho' I seen 'em, but they didn't come on our
plantation, 'cause Marse Billy was good to his Negroes and when they
wanted a pass, if it was for a good reason, he give 'em one. Didn't none
of Marse Billy's slaves run off to no North. When Marse Billy had need
to send news somewhere, he put a reliable Negro on a mule and sent him.
I sho' didn't hear about no trouble twixt white folks and Negroes.

"I tell you, Honey, when the days work was over them slaves went to bed,
'cep' when the moon was out and they worked in their own cotton patches.
On dark nights, the women mended and quilted sometimes. Not many worked
in the fields on Saturday evenin's. They caught up on little jobs aroun'
the lot; a mending harness and such like. On Saturday nights the young
folks got together and had little frolics and feasts, but the older
folks was gettin' things ready for Sunday, 'cause Marse Billy was a
mighty religious man: we had to go to church, and every last one of the
children was dragged along too.

"We always had one week for Christmas. They brought us as much of good
things to eat as we could destroy in one week, but on New Year's Day we
went back to work. No, Ma'am, as I ricollect, we didn't have no corn
shuckings or cotton pickings only what we had to do as part of our
regular work.

"The white folks mostly got married on Wednesday or Thursday evenin's.
Oh! they had fine times, with everything good to eat, and lots of
dancing too. Then they took a trip. Some went to Texas and some to
Chicago. They call Chicago, the colored folks' New York now. I don't
remember no weddings 'mongst the slaves. My cousin married on another
plantation, but I warn't there.

"Where I was, there warn't no playing done, only 'mongst the little
chillun, and I can't remember much that far back. I recall that we sung
a little song, about:

  'Little drops of water
   Little grains of sand,
   Make the mighty ocean
   And the pleasant land.'

"Oh! Yes, Ma'am, Marse Billy was good to his slaves, when they got sick.
He called in Dr. Jones Long, Dr. Harden, and Dr. Lumpkin when they was
real sick. There was lots of typhoid fever then. I don't know nothing
about no herbs, they used for diseases; only boneset and hoarhound tea
for colds and croup. They put penrile (pennyroyal) in the house to keep
out flies and fleas, and if there was a flea in the house he would shoo
from that place right then and there.

"The old folks put little bags of assfiddy (assafoetida) around their
chillun's necks to keep off measles and chickenpox, and they used
turpentine and castor oil on chillun's gums to make 'em teethe easy.
When I was living on Milledge Avenue, I had Dr. Crawford W. Long to see
about one of my babies, and he slit that baby's gums so the teeth could
come through. That looked might bad to me, but they don't believe in old
ways no more."

She laughed and said: "No, Ma'am, I don't know nothing about such low
down things as hants and ghosts! Rawhead and Bloody Bones, I just
thought he was a skelerpin, with no meat on him. Course lots of Negroes
believe in ghosts and hants. Us chillun done lots of flightin' like
chillun will do. I remember how little Marse Mark Stroud used to take
all the little boys on the plantation and teach 'em to play Dixie on
reeds what they called quills. That was good music, but the radio has
done away with all that now.

"I knowed I was a slave and that it was the War that sot me free. It was
'bout dinner time when Marse Billy come to the door and called us to the
house. He pulled out a paper and read it to us, and then he said: 'You
all are free, as I am.' We couldn't help thinking about what a good
marster he always had been, and how old, and feeble, and gray headed he
looked as he kept on a-talkin' that day. 'You all can stay on here with
me if you want to,' he 'lowed, 'but if you do, I will have to pay you
wages for your work.'

"I never saw no Yankees in Athens, but I was in Atlanta at Mrs.
Winship's on Peachtree Street, when General Sherman come to that town
'parin' his men for to go home. There was about two thousand in all,
white and black. They marched up and down Marietta Street from three
o'clock in the evening 'til seven o'clock next morning. Then they left.
I remember well that there warn't a house left standing in Atlanta, what
warn't riddled with shell holes. I was scared pretty nigh to death and I
never want to leave home at no time like that again. But Pa saw 'em soon
after that in Athens. They was a marching down Broad Street on their way
to Macon, and Pa said it looked like a blue cloud going through.

"Ma and me stayed on with Marse Billy 'bout six months after the War
ended before we come to town to live with Pa. We lived right back of
Rock College and Ma took in washin' for the folks what went to school
there. No, Ma'am I never saw no Ku Kluxers. Me and Ma didn't leave home
at night and the white folks wouldn't let 'em git Pa.

"Major Knox brought three or four teachers to teach in a school for
Negroes that was started up here the first year after the War. Major
Knox, he was left like a sort of Justice of Peace to get things to going
smooth after the War. I went to school there about three months, then Ma
took sick, and I didn't go no more. My white teacher was Miss Sarah, and
she was from Chicago.

"Now and then the Negroes bought a little land, and white folks gave
little places to some Negroes what had been good slaves for 'em.

"I didn't take in about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. A long time after the War,
I heard 'em say he got killed. I knowed Mr. Jeff. Davis was President of
the Confederacy. As for Booker Washington, I never saw him, but I heard
his son whan he was here once and gave a musical of some sort at the
Congregational Church.

"I was a old gal when I married 'bout thirty or forty years after the
War. I married George McIntosh. Wedding clothes!" she chuckled, and
said: "I didn't have many. I bought 'em second hand from Mrs. Ed. Bond.
They was nice though. The dress I married in was red silk. We had a
little cake and wine; no big to do, just a little fambly affair. Of our
four chillun, two died young, and two lived to git grown. My daughter
was a school teacher and she has been dead sometime. I stays wid my only
living child. My husban' died a long time ago.

"I cooked and washed for Mr. Prince Hodgson for thirty years. Miss Mary
Franklin used to tell me 'bout all them strange places she had been to
while she was paintin'. There never was nobody in this town could paint
prettier pictures than Miss Mary's.

"I'm glad slavery is over. I'm too old to really work anymore, but I'm
like a fish going down the crick and if he sees a bug he will catch him
if he can.

"I joined the church 'cause I believe in the Son of God. I know he is a
forgiving God, and will give me a place to rest after I am gone from the
earth. Everybody ought to 'pare for the promised land, where they can
live always after they are done with this world."

After the interview, she said: "Honey, this is the most I have talked
about slavery days in twelve years; and I believe what I told you is
right. Of course, lots has faded from my mind about it now."




District #7
Adella S. Dixon, Macon, Georgia

MATILDA McKINNEY
100 Empire Avenue, Macon, Georgia
[Date Stamp: JUL 28 1937]


Matilda McKinney was born in Texas but was brought to southwest Georgia,
near Albany, at an early age. Her mother, Amy Dean, had eight children,
of which Aunt Matilda is the eldest. The plantation on which they lived
was owned by Mr. Milton Ball, and it varied little in size or
arrangement from the average one of that time. Here was found the usual
two-story white house finished with high columns and surrounded by
trees.

Most of the Negro mothers did field work, so it was necessary for others
to care for the children. Mr. Ball handled this problem in the usual
way. He established what would today be called a day nursery. Each
mother brought her offspring to the home of an elderly woman before
leaving for her day's work. Here, they were safely kept until their
parents returned. The midday meal for everyone was prepared at the Big
House and the slaves were served from huge tubs of vegetables and pots
of meat. "Aunt" Julia was responsible for the children's noon meal.

When "Aunt" Matilda was old enough to do a little work, she was moved
into the house where she swept floors, waited on the table, and fanned
flies while a meal was being served. The adult females who lived in the
house did most of the weaving and sewing. All the summer, garments were
made and put away for winter use. Two dresses of osnaburg were then
given each person.

The field hands, always considered an inferior group by the house
servants, worked from sunup to sundown. When they returned from the
fields they prepared supper for their families and many times had to
feed the children in the dark, for a curfew horn was blown and no lights
could be lighted after its warning note had sounded. There was very
little visiting to or from the group which dwelt here, as the curfew
hour was early.

Saturday varied a little from the other week days. The field work was
suspended in the afternoon to allow the mothers time to wash their
clothing. With sunset came the preparations for the weekly frolic. A
fiddler furnished music while the dancers danced numerous square dances
until a late hour.

Home remedies for illness were used much more extensively than any
doctor's medicine. Teas, compounded from sage, boneset, tansy, and
mullen, usually sufficed for any minor sickness, and serious illness was
rare.

Food was distributed on Sunday morning. Two-and-a-half pounds of meat, a
quantity of syrup, and a peck of meal were given each adult for the
week. A special ration for Sunday alone was potatoes, buttermilk, and
material for biscuits. Each family had its own garden from which a
supply of vegetables could always be obtained in season. The smaller
children had additional delicacies, for they early learned that the
house where produce was kept had holes in the floor which yielded
peanuts, etc, when punched with a stick.

"Aunt" Matilda was unable to give any information regarding the war, but
remembers that her family remained at her former owner's plantation for
some time after they were freed. She now lives with her granddaughter
who takes excellent care of her. Her long life is attributed to her
habit of going to bed early and otherwise caring for herself properly.




PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE

WILLIAM McWHORTER, Age 78
383 W. Broad Street
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby
Athens

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers'
Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.

Sept. 30, 1938


The rambling, one-story frame building where William McWhorter makes his
home with his cousin, Sarah Craddock, houses several families and is
proudly referred to by the neighbors as "de 'partment house."

William, better known as "Shug," is a very black man of medium build. He
wore a black slouch hat pulled well down over tangled gray hair, a dingy
blue shirt, soiled gray pants, and black shoes. The smile faded from his
face when he learned the nature of the visit. "I thought you was de
pension lady 'comin' to fetch me some money," he said, "and 'stid of dat
you wants to know 'bout slavery days. I'se disapp'inted.

"Mistess, it's been a long time since I was born on Marse Joe
McWhorter's plantation down in Greene County and I was jus' a little
fellow when slavery was done over wid. Allen and Martha McWhorter was my
ma and pa. Pa, he was de carriage driver, and ma, she was a field hand.
Dey brought her here from Oingebug (Orangeburg), South Carolina, and
sold her to Marse Joe when she was jus' a little gal. Me and Annie,
Ella, Jim, and Tom was all de chillun in our fambly, and none of us
warn't big enough to do no wuk to speak of 'fore de end of de big war.
You see, Mistess, it was lak dis; Marse Joe, he owned a old 'oman what
didn't do nothin' 'cept stay at de house and look atter us chillun, and
dat was one of dem plantations whar dere was sho a heap of slave
chillun.

"'Bout our houses? Mistess, I'se gwine to tell you de trufe, dem houses
slaves had to live in, dey warn't much, but us didn't know no better
den. Dey was jus' one-room log cabins wid stick and dirt chimblies. De
beds for slaves was home-made and was held together wid cords wove evvy
which away. If you didn't tighten dem cords up pretty offen your bed was
apt to fall down wid you. Suggin sacks was sewed together to make our
mattress ticks and dem ticks was filled wid straw. Now, don't tell me
you ain't heared of suggin sacks a-fore! Dem was coarse sacks sort of
lak de guano sacks us uses now. Dey crowded jus' as many Niggers into
each cabin as could sleep in one room, and marriage never meant a thing
in dem days when dey was 'rangin' sleepin' quarters for slaves. Why, I
knowed a man what had two wives livin' in de same cabin; one of dem
'omans had all boys and t'other one didn't have nothin' but gals. It's
nigh de same way now, but dey don't live in de same house if a man's got
two famblies.

"I 'members dat my pa's ma, Grandma Cindy, was a field hand, but by de
time I was old 'nough to take things in she was too old for dat sort of
wuk and Marster let her do odd jobs 'round de big house. De most I seed
her doin' was settin' 'round smokin' her old corncob pipe. I was named
for Grandpa Billy, but I never seed him.

"Mistess, does you know what you'se axin'? Whar was slaves to git money
whilst dey was still slaves? Dere warn't but a few of 'em dat knowed
what money even looked lak 'til atter dey was made free.

"Now, you is talkin' 'bout somepin sho 'nough when you starts 'bout dem
victuals. Marse Joe, he give us plenty of sich as collards, turnips and
greens, peas, 'taters, meat, and cornbread. Lots of de cornbread was
baked in pones on spiders, but ashcakes was a mighty go in dem days.
Marster raised lots of cane so as to have plenty of good syrup. My pa
used to 'possum hunt lots and he was 'lowed to keep a good 'possum hound
to trail 'em wid. Rabbits and squirrels was plentiful and dey made
mighty good eatin'. You ain't never seed sich heaps of fish as slaves
used to fetch back atter a little time spent fishin' in de cricks and de
river.

"De kitchen was sot off from de big house a little piece, but Old
Marster had a roof built over de walkway so fallin' weather wouldn't
spile de victuals whilst dey was bein' toted from de kitchen in de yard
to de dinin' room in de big house. I don't reckon you ever seed as big a
fireplace as de one dey cooked on in dat old kitchen. It had plenty of
room for enough pots, skillets, spiders, and ovens to cook for all de
folks on dat plantation. No, mam, slaves never had no gardens of deir
own; dey never had no time of deir own to wuk no garden, but Old Marster
fed 'em from his garden and dat was big enough to raise plenty for all.

"De one little cotton shirt dat was all chillun wore in summertime den
warn't worth talkin' 'bout; dey called it a shirt but it looked more lak
a long-tailed nightgown to me. For winter, our clothes was made of wool
cloth and dey was nice and warm. Mistess, slaves never knowed what
Sunday clothes was, 'cept dey did know dey had to be clean on Sunday. No
matter how dirty you went in de week-a-days, you had to put on clean
clothes Sunday mornin'. Uncle John Craddock made shoes for all de grown
folks on our plantation, but chillun went barfoots and it never seemed
to make 'em sick; for a fact, I b'lieves dey was stouter den dan dey is
now.

"Marse Joe McWhorter and his wife, Miss Emily Key, owned us, and dey was
jus' as good to us as dey could be. Mistess, you knows white folks had
to make slaves what b'longed to 'em mind and be-have deyselfs in dem
days or else dere woulda been a heap of trouble. De big fine house what
Marse Joe and his fambly lived in sot in a cedar grove and Woodville was
de town nighest de place. Oh! Yes, mam, dey had a overseer all right,
but I'se done forgot his name, and somehow I can't git up de names of
Marse Joe's chillun. I'se been sick so long my mem'ry ain't as good as
it used to be, and since I lost my old 'oman 'bout 2 months ago, I don't
'spect I ever kin reckomember much no more. It seems lak I'se done told
you my pa was Marse Joe's carriage driver. He driv de fambly
whar-some-ever dey wanted to go.

"I ain't got no idee how many acres was in dat great big old plantation,
but I'se heared 'em say Marse Joe had to keep from 30 to 40 slaves, not
countin' chillun, to wuk dat part of it dat was cleared land. Dey told
me, atter I was old enough to take it in, dat de overseer sho did drive
dem slaves; dey had to be up and in de field 'fore sunup and he wuked
'em 'til slap, black dark. When dey got back to de big house, 'fore dey
et supper, de overseer got out his big bull whip and beat de ones dat
hadn't done to suit him durin' de day. He made 'em strip off deir
clothes down to de waist, and evvywhar dat old bull whip struck it split
de skin. Dat was awful, awful! Sometimes slaves dat had been beat and
butchered up so bad by dat overseer man would run away, and next day
Aunt Suke would be sho to go down to de spring to wash so she could
leave some old clothes dar for 'em to git at night. I'se tellin' you,
slaves sho did fare common in dem days.

"My Aunt Mary b'longed to Marse John Craddock and when his wife died and
left a little baby--dat was little Miss Lucy--Aunt Mary was nussin' a
new baby of her own, so Marse John made her let his baby suck too. If
Aunt Mary was feedin' her own baby and Miss Lucy started cryin' Marse
John would snatch her baby up by the legs and spank him, and tell Aunt
Mary to go on and nuss his baby fust. Aunt Mary couldn't answer him a
word, but my ma said she offen seed Aunt Mary cry 'til de tears met
under her chin.

"I ain't never heared nothin' 'bout no jails in slavery time. What dey
done den was 'most beat de life out of de Niggers to make 'em be-have.
Ma was brung to Bairdstown and sold on de block to Marse Joe long 'fore
I was borned, but I ain't never seed no slaves sold. Lordy, Mistess,
ain't nobody never told you it was agin de law to larn a Nigger to read
and write in slavery time? White folks would chop your hands off for dat
quicker dan dey would for 'most anything else. Dat's jus' a sayin',
'chop your hands off.' Why, Mistess, a Nigger widout no hands wouldn't
be able to wuk much, and his owner couldn't sell him for nigh as much as
he could git for a slave wid good hands. Dey jus' beat 'em up bad when
dey cotched 'em studyin' readin' and writin', but folks did tell 'bout
some of de owners dat cut off one finger evvy time dey cotch a slave
tryin' to git larnin'. How-some-ever, dere was some Niggers dat wanted
larnin' so bad dey would slip out at night and meet in a deep gully whar
dey would study by de light of light'ood torches; but one thing sho, dey
better not let no white folks find out 'bout it, and if dey was lucky
'nough to be able to keep it up 'til dey larned to read de Bible, dey
kept it a close secret.

"Slaves warn't 'lowed to have no churches of dey own and dey had to go
to church wid de white folks. Dere warn't no room for chillun in de
Baptist church at Bairdstown whar Marse Joe tuk his grown-up slaves to
meetin', so I never did git to go to none, but he used to take my ma
along, but she was baptized by a white preacher when she jined up wid
dat church. De crick was nigh de church and dat was whar dey done de
baptizin'.

"None of our Niggers never knowed enough 'bout de North to run off up
dar. Lak I done told you, some of 'em did run off atter a bad beatin',
but dey jus' went to de woods. Some of 'em come right on back, but some
didn't; Us never knowed whar dem what didn't come back went. Show me a
slavery-time Nigger dat ain't heared 'bout paterollers! Mistess, I 'clar
to goodness, paterollers was de devil's own hosses. If dey cotched a
Nigger out and his Marster hadn't fixed him up wid a pass, it was jus'
too bad; dey most kilt him. You couldn't even go to de Lord's house on
Sunday 'less you had a ticket sayin': 'Dis Nigger is de propity of Marse
Joe McWhorter. Let him go.'

"Dere warn't never no let-up when it come to wuk. When slaves come in
from de fields atter sundown and tended de stock and et supper, de mens
still had to shuck corn, mend hoss collars, cut wood, and sich lak; de
'omans mended clothes, spun thread, wove cloth, and some of 'em had to
go up to de big house and nuss de white folks' babies. One night my ma
had been nussin' one of dem white babies, and atter it dozed off to
sleep she went to lay it in its little bed. De child's foot cotch itself
in Marse Joe's galluses dat he had done hung on de foot of de bed, and
when he heared his baby cry Marse Joe woke up and grabbed up a stick of
wood and beat ma over de head 'til he 'most kilt her. Ma never did seem
right atter dat and when she died she still had a big old knot on her
head.

"Dey said on some plantations slaves was let off from wuk when de dinner
bell rung on Saddays, but not on our'n; dere warn't never no let-up 'til
sundown on Sadday nights atter dey had tended to de stock and et supper.
On Sundays dey was 'lowed to visit 'round a little atter dey had 'tended
church, but dey still had to be keerful to have a pass wid 'em. Marse
Joe let his slaves have one day for holiday at Christmas and he give 'em
plenty of extra good somepin t'eat and drink on dat special day. New
Year's Day was de hardest day of de whole year, for de overseer jus'
tried hisself to see how hard he could drive de Niggers dat day, and
when de wuk was all done de day ended off wid a big pot of cornfield
peas and hog jowl to eat for luck. Dat was s'posed to be a sign of
plenty too.

"Cornshuckin's was a mighty go dem days, and folks from miles and miles
around was axed. When de wuk was done dey had a big time eatin',
drinkin', wrestlin', dancin', and all sorts of frolickin'. Even wid all
dat liquor flowin' so free at cornshuckin's I never heared of nobody
gittin' mad, and Marse Joe never said a cross word at his cornshuckin's.
He allus picked bright moonshiny nights for dem big cotton pickin's, and
dere warn't nothin' short 'bout de big eats dat was waitin' for dem
Niggers when de cotton was all picked out. De young folks danced and cut
up evvy chanct dey got and called deyselfs havin' a big time.

"Games? Well, 'bout de biggest things us played when I was a chap was
baseball, softball, and marbles. Us made our own marbles out of clay and
baked 'em in de sun, and our baseballs and softballs was made out of
rags.

"Does I know anything 'bout ghosties? Yes, mam, I sees ha'nts and
ghosties any time. Jus' t'other night I seed a man widout no head, and
de old witches 'most nigh rides me to death. One of 'em got holt of me
night 'fore last and 'most choked me to death; she was in de form of a
black cat. Mistess, some folks say dat to see things lak dat is a sign
your blood is out of order. Now, me, I don't know what makes me see 'em.

"Marse Joe tuk mighty good keer of sick slaves. He allus called in a
doctor for 'em, and kept plenty of castor ile, turpentine, and de lak on
hand to dose 'em wid. Miss Emily made teas out of a heap of sorts of
leaves, barks, and roots, sich as butterfly root, pine tops, mullein,
catnip and mint leaves, feverfew grass, red oak bark, slippery ellum
bark, and black gum chips. Most evvybody had to wear little sacks of
papaw seeds or of assyfizzy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off
diseases.

"Dey used to say dat a free Nigger from de North come through de South
and seed how de white folks was treatin' his race, den he went back up
der and told folks 'bout it and axed 'em to holp do somepin' 'bout it.
Dat's what I heared tell was de way de big war got started dat ended in
settin' slaves free. My folks said dat when de Yankee sojers come
through, Miss Emily was cryin' and takin' on to beat de band. She had
all her silver in her apron and didn't know whar to hide it, so atter
awhile she handed it to her cook and told her to hide it. De cook put it
in de woodpile. De Yankee mens broke in de smokehouse, brought out meat
and lard, kilt chickens, driv off cows and hosses, but dey never found
Miss Emily's silver. It was a long time 'fore our fambly left Marse
Joe's place.

"Marse Joe never did tell his Niggers dey was free. One day one of dem
Yankee sojers rid through de fields whar dey was wukin' and he axed 'em
if dey didn't know dey was as free as deir Marster. Dat Yankee kept on
talkin' and told em dey didn't have to stay on wid Marse Joe 'less dey
wanted to, end dey didn't have to do nothin' nobody told 'em to if dey
didn't want to do it. He said dey was deir own bosses and was to do as
dey pleased from de time of de surrender.

"Schools was sot up for slaves not long atter dey was sot free, and a
few of de old Marsters give deir Niggers a little land, but not many of
'em done dat. Jus' as de Niggers was branchin' out and startin' to live
lak free folks, dem nightriders come 'long beatin', cuttin', and
slashin' 'em up, but I 'spects some of dem Niggers needed evvy lick dey
got.

"Now, Mistess, you knows all Niggers would ruther be free, and I ain't
no diffunt from nobody else 'bout dat. Yes, mam, I'se mighty glad Mr.
Abraham Lincoln and Jeff Davis fit 'til dey sot us free. Dat Jeff Davis
ought to be 'shamed of hisself to want Niggers kept in bondage; dey says
dough, dat he was a mighty good man, and Miss Millie Rutherford said
some fine things 'bout him in her book what Sarah read to me, but you
can't 'spect us Niggers to b'lieve he was so awful good.

"Me and Rosa Barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a mighty fine supper.
I don't ricollect what she had on, but I'se tellin' you she looked
pretty and sweet to me. Our two boys and three gals is done growed up
and I'se got three grandchillun now. Rosa, she died out 'bout 2 months
ago and I'se gwine to marry agin soon as I finds somebody to take keer
of me.

"I was happier de day I jined de church at Sander's Chapel, dan I'se
been since. It was de joyfullest day of all my life, so far. Folks ought
to git ready for a better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished
on dis earth, and I'se sho glad our Good Lord saw fit to set us free
from sin end slavery. If he hadn't done it, I sho would have been dead
long ago. Yistidday I picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and
it laid me out. I can't wuk no more. I don't know how de Blessed Lord
means to provide for me but I feels sho He ain't gwine to let me
perish."




[HW: Dist. 6:
Ex-Slave #72]

Henrietta Carlisle
Alberta Minor
Re-search Workers

MOLLIE MALONE--EX-SLAVE
Route B, Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed

September 16, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Mollie was born on a plantation owned by Mr Valentine Brook, near Locust
Grove, Georgia. Mr. Brook died before the War and his wife, "the widder
Brock", ran the plantation.

Slaves not needed on the home plantation were "hired out" to other land
owners for from $200.00 to $300.00 a year. This was done the first of
each year by an auction from a "horse block". When Mollie was seven
months old her mother, Clacy Brock, was "hired out" and she was taken
care of by two old Negroes, too old to work, and who did nothing but
care for the little "Niggers". Mollie grew up with these children
between the "big house" and the kitchen. When she was old enough she was
"put to mind" the smaller children and if they did'nt behave she pinched
them, but "when the 'ole Miss found it out, she'd sure 'whup me'", she
said. These children were fed cornbread and milk for breakfast and
supper, and "pot licker" with cornbread for dinner. They slept in a
large room on quilts or pallets. Each night the larger children were
given so many "cuts" to spin, and were punished if all weren't finished.
The thread was woven into cloth on the loom and made into clothes by the
slaves who did the sewing. There were no "store bought" clothes, and
Mollie was free before she ever owned a pair of shoes. Clothes had to be
furnished by the owner for the slaves he "hired out".

Mr. and Mrs. Brock had two daughters, Margaret and Mary Anne, who led
very quiet secluded lives. Mollie remembers visits of the traveling
preacher, who conducted services in a nearby church once a month. The
slaves walked behind the White folks' carriages to and from the church,
where they were seated in the rear during the services. If there were
baptisms, the Whites were baptized first, then the Darkies.

On this plantation the Negroes were not allowed to engage in any frolics
or attend social gatherings. They only knew Christmas by the return of
the hired out slaves, who came home for a week before the next auction.

The young lady daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Brock wore "drag tail" dresses,
and Mollie says the little Negroes had to hold these long skirts off the
ground whenever they were out doors, then spread them as they went into
the house so they could "strut."

The children were not allowed any education other than the "old Miss"
reading them the Bible on Sunday afternoons.

The older Negroes were not allowed to visit on other plantations often,
but when they did go they had to have passes from their masters or the
"patarolers" would whip them--if they were caught.

Hoar-hound and penny-royal were used for minor ailments, and "varnish"
was put on cuts by the "ole Miss". Mollie doesn't remember ever seeing a
doctor, other than a mid-wife, on the plantation. Home made remedies for
"palpitation of the heart" was to wear tied around the neck a piece of
lead, pounded into the shape of the heart, and punched with nine holes,
or to get some one "not kin to you", to tie some salt in a small bag and
wear it over your heart. Toothache was cured by smoking a pipe of "life
everlasting", commonly called "rabbit tobacco". Headaches were stopped
by beating the whites of an egg stiff, adding soda and putting on a
cloth, then tying around the head.

Mr. Brock died before the War, consequently not having any men to go
from the plantation, Mollie knew very little about it. She remembers
Confederate soldiers "practicin" at Locust Grove, the nearest town, and
one time the Yankees came to the plantation and "took off" a horse Mrs.
Brock had hidden in the swamp, also all the silver found buried.

Mollie knew nothing of the freedom of the slaves until her mother came
to get her. For two years they "hired out" on a farm in Butts County,
where they worked in the fields. Several times in later years Mollie
returned to the Brock plantation to see "the ole Miss" and the young
Misses. Mrs. Brock and her daughters, who had never married, died on the
plantation where they had always lived.

Mollie's family "knocked around awhile", and then came to Griffin where
they have since made their home. She became a familiar figure driving an
ox-cart on the streets and doing odd jobs for White families and leading
a useful life in the community. Besides her own family, Mollie has
raised fifteen orphaned Negro children. She is approximately ninety
years old, being "about growd" when the War ended.




District Two
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

AUNT CARRIE MASON
Milledgeville, Georgia
(Baldwin County)

Written By:
Mrs. Estelle G. Burke
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Milledgeville, Georgia

Edited By:
John N. Booth
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia

July 7, 1937
[Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]


"Howdy, Miss, Howdy. Come on in. George is poly today. My grandchillun
is doin' a little cleanin' up fer me 'cause us thinks George ain't got
long on this earth an' us don' want de place ter be dirty an' all when
he's gone."

The home of Aunt Carrie and Uncle George Mason, a two-room cabin
surrounded by a dirty yard, stands in a clearing. Old tin cans, bottles,
dusty fruit jars, and piles of rat-tail cotton from gutted mattresses
littered the place. An immense sugarberry tree, beautifully
proportioned, casts inviting shade directly in front of the stoop. It is
the only redeeming feature about the premises. Aunt Carrie, feeble and
gray haired, hobbled out in the yard with the aid of a stick.

"Have a seat, Miss. Dat cheer is all right. It won't fall down. Don't
git yo' feet wet in dat dirty water. My grandchillun is scourin' terday.
Effen yer want to, us'll set under de tree. Dey's a cool breeze dar all
de time.

"You wants to fin' out my age an' all? Law Miss, I don' know how ole I
is. George is nigh 'bout 90. I 'members my mammy said I wuz bawn a mont'
or two 'fore freedom wuz 'clared. Yas'um I rekymembers all 'bout de
Yankees. How cum I 'members 'bout dem an' de war wuz over den? I cain't
tell yer dat, but I knows I 'members seein' 'em in de big road. It
mought not uv been Mister Sherman's mens but mammy said de Yankees wuz
in de big road long after freedom wuz 'clared, and dey wuz down here
gettin' things straight. Dey wuz sho' in er mess atter de war! Evvythin'
wuz tore up an' de po' niggers didn't know which away to turn.

"My mammy's name wuz Catherine Bass an' my pappy wuz Ephriam Butts. Us
b'longed ter Mars' Ben Bass an' my mammy had de same name ez marster
twell she ma'ied pappy. He b'longed ter somebody else 'til marster
bought him. Dey had ten chillun. No, mam, Mammy didn't have no doctor,"
Aunt Carrie chuckled, "Didn't nobody hardly have a doctor in dem days.
De white folks used yarbs an' ole 'omans to he'p 'em at dat time. Mammy
had er ole 'oman whut lived on de place evvy time she had a little 'un.
She had one evvy year too. She lost one. Dat chile run aroun' 'til she
wuz one year ole an' den died wid de disentery.

"Us had er right hard time in dem days. De beds us used den warn't like
dese here nice beds us has nowadays. Don't you laugh, Berry, I knows
dese beds us got now is 'bout to fall down," Aunt Carrie admonished her
grandson when he guffawed at her statement, "You chilluns run erlong now
an' git thoo' wid dat cleanin'." Aunt Carrie's spirits seemed dampened
by Berry's rude laugh and it was several minutes before she started
talking again. "Dese young folks don't know nuthin' 'bout hard times. Us
wukked in de ole days frum before sunup 'til black night an' us knowed
whut wuk wuz. De beds us slep' on had roun' postes made outen saplins of
hickory or little pine trees. De bark wuz tuk off an' dey wuz rubbed
slick an' shiny. De sprangs wuz rope crossed frum one side uv de bed to
de udder. De mattress wuz straw or cotton in big sacks made outen
osnaberg or big salt sacks pieced tergether. Mammy didn't have much soap
an' she uster scrub de flo' wid sand an' it wuz jes ez white. Yas mam,
she made all de soap us used, but it tuk a heap. We'uns cooked in de
ashes an' on hot coals, but de vittals tasted a heap better'n dey does
nowadays. Mammy had to wuk in de fiel' an' den cum home an' cook fer
marster an' his fambly. I didn' know nuthin' 'bout it 'till atter
freedom but I hyearn 'em tell 'bout it.

"Mammy an' pappy stayed on Marster's plantation 'til a year or mo' atter
dey had dey freedom. Marster paid 'em wages an' a house ter stay in. He
didn't hav' many slaves, 'bout 20, I reckon. My brothers wuz Berry,
Dani'l, Ephriam, Tully, Bob, Lin, an' George. De yuthers I disremembers,
caze dey lef' home when dey wuz big enough to earn dey livin' an' I jes
don't recollec'.

"Conjur' woman! Law miss, I aims ter git ter Hebem when I dies an' I
show don't know how ter conjur' nobody. No mam, I ain't never seed no
ghost. I allus pray to de Lord dat He spar' me dat trouble an' not let
me see nary one. No good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey
leave here de fus time. Go 'way, dog."

A spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under
Aunt Carrie's chair. It was a still summer day and the flies droned
ceaselessly. A well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to
the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool
drink. Aunt Carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to
her story.

"Effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from Marster, I ain't heered
tell uv it, but Mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched
an' whupped by de overseer. Effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den
dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. Er big S wuz put on dey face somewhars.
S stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. Marster
din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself.

"Why is George so white? 'Cause his marster wuz er white genemun named
Mister Jimmie Dunn. His mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' Frances Mason
an' his marster wuz his paw. Yas mam, I see you is s'prised, but dat
happ'ned a lots in dem days. I hyeared tell of er white man what would
tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo'
slaves.' Yas mam, when George wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er
white man an' he made George his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf
ter boss de yuther slaves. I wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but
since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none."

Aunt Carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it
with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. After lighting it she puffed quietly
and seemed to be meditating. Finally she took it from her mouth and
continued.

"I ain't had no eddication. I 'tended school part of one term but I wuz
so skairt of my teacher that I couldn't larn nuthin'. He wuz a ole white
man. He had been teachin' fer years an' years, but he had a cancer an'
dey had done stopped him frum teachin' white chillun'. His name wuz
Mister Bill Greer. I wuz skairt 'cause he was a white man. No mam, no
white man ain't never harmed me, but I wuz skairt of him enyhow. One day
he says to me, 'chile I ain't goin to hurt yer none 'cause I'm white.'
He wuz a mighty good ole man. He would have larned us mo' but he died de
nex' year. Mammy paid him ten cents a mont' a piece fer all us chillun.
De boys would wuk fer dey money but I wuz the onliest gal an' Mammy
wouldn't let me go off de plantation to make none. Whut I made dar I
got, but I didn't make much 'til atter I ma'ied.

"Law honey, does yer want to know 'bout my ma'ige? Well, I wuz 15 years
ole an' I had a preacher to ma'y me. His name wuz Andrew Brown. In dem
days us allus waited 'til de time of year when us had a big meetin' or
at Christmus time. Den effen one of us wanted ter git mai'ed, he would
perform de weddin' atter de meetin' or atter Chris'mus celebratin'. I
had er bluish worsted dress. I mai'ed in Jannywerry, right atter
Chris'mus. At my mai'ge us had barbecue, brunswick stew, an' cake. De
whole yard wuz full uv folks.

"Mammy wuz a 'ligous 'oman an' de fust day of Chris'mus she allus fasted
ha'f a day an' den she would pray. Atter dat evvybody would hav' eggnog
an' barbecue an' cake effen dey had de money to buy it. Mammy said dat
when dey wuz still slaves Marster allus gived 'em Chris'mus, but atter
dey had freedom den dey had ter buy dey own rations. Us would have
banjer playin' an' dance de pijen-wing and de shuffle-toe.

"No mam, George's pa didn' leave him no lan' when he died. Us went ter
another farm an' rented when de mai'ge wuz over. George's pa warn't
dead, but he didn't offer to do nuthin' fer us.

"Yas'um, I'se had eight chilluns of my own. Us ain' never had no lan' us
could call our'n. Us jes moved from one farm ter another all our days.
This here lan' us is on now 'longs ter Mr. Cline. My son an' his chillun
wuks it an' dey give us whut dey kin spare. De Red Cross lady he'ps us
an' us gits along somehow or nother."




Works Progress Administration
Harry L. Hopkins, Administrator
Ellen S. Woodward, Assistant Administrator
Henry S. Alsberg, Director of the Federal Writers' Project

PLANTATION LIFE

Interview with:
SUSAN MATTHEWS, Age 84
Madison Street,
Macon, Georgia

Written by:
Ruth H. Sanford,
Macon, Georgia

Edited by:
Annie A. Rose,
Macon, Georgia


Susan Matthews is an intelligent old negress, very tall and weighing
close to two hundred pounds. Her eyes were bright, her "store-bought"
teeth flashed in a smile as she expressed her willingness to tell us all
she remembered "'bout ole times." In a tattered, faded print dress, a
misshapen hat and ragged shoes, she sat enjoying the sunshine on the
porch while she sewed on an underskirt she was making for herself from
old sugar sacks. Her manner was cheerful; she seemed to get genuine
enjoyment from the interview and gave us a hearty invitation to come to
see her again.

"I was jes a chile" she began, "when de white folks had slaves. My ma an
her chillen wuz the onliest slaves my marster and mistis had. My pa
belonged to some mo white folks that lived 'bout five miles from us. My
marster and mistis were poor folks. They lived in a white frame house;
it wuz jes a little house that had 'bout five rooms, I reckon. The house
had a kitchen in the backyard and the house my ma lived wuz in the back
yard too, but I wuz raised in my mistis' house. I slept in her room;
slep' on the foot of her bed to keep her feets warm and everwhere my
mistis went I went to. My marster and mistis wuz sho good to us an we
loved 'em. My ma, she done the cooking and the washing fer the family
and she could work in the fields jes lak a man. She could pick her three
hundred pounds of cotton or pull as much fodder as any man. She wuz
strong an she had a new baby mos' ev'y year. My marster and Mistis liked
for to have a lot of chillen 'cause that helped ter make 'em richer."

I didn't have much time fer playin' when I wus little cause I wuz allus
busy waitin' on my mistis er taking care of my little brothers and
sisters. But I did have a doll to play with. It wuz a rag doll an my
mistis made it fer me. I wuz jes crazy 'bout that doll and I learned how
to sew making clothes fer it. I'd make clothes fer it an wash an iron
'em, and it wasn't long 'fo I knowed how to sew real good, an I been
sewing ever since.

My white folks wern't rich er tall but we always had plenty of somep'n
to eat, and we had fire wood to keep us warm in winter too. We had
plenty of syrup and corn bread, and when dey killed a hog we had fine
sausage an chitlin's, an all sorts of good eating. My marster and the
white an collored boys would go hunting, and we had squirrels an rabbits
an possums jes lots of time. Yessum, we had plenty; we never did go
hongry.

"Does I remember 'bout the Yankees coming?, Yes ma'am, I sho does. The
white chillen an us had been looking fer 'em and looking fer 'em. We
wanted 'em to come. We knowed 'twould be fun to see 'em. And sho 'nuf
one day I was out in de front yard to see and I seed a whole passel of
men in blue coats coming down de road. I hollered "Here come de
Yankees". I knowed 'twuz dem an my mistis an my ma an ev'y body come out
in the front yard to see 'em. The Yankees stopped an the leading man
with the straps on his shoulders talked to us an de men got water outen
de well. No'm, they didn't take nothing an they hurt nothing. After a
while they jes went on down the road; they sho looked hot an dusty an
tired.

"After de war wuz over my pa, he comed up to our house an got my ma an
all us chillen an carries us down to his marster's place. I didn't want
ter go cause I loved my mistis an she cried when we left. My pa's ole
marster let him have some land to work on shares. My pa wuz a hard
worker an we helped him an in a few years he bought a little piece of
land an he owned it till he died. 'Bout once er twice a year we'd all go
back ter see our mistis. She wuz always glad to see us an treated us
fine.

"After de war a white woman started a school fer nigger chillen an my pa
sent us. This white lady wuz a ole maid an wuz mighty poor. She an her
ma lived by dereselves, I reckon her pa had done got kilt in de war. I
don't know 'bout that but I knows they wuz mighty poor an my pa paid her
fer teaching us in things to eat from his farm. We didn't never have no
money. I loved to go to school; I had a blue back speller an I learned
real quick but we didn't get ter go all the time. When there wuz work
ter do on the farm we had ter stop an do it.

"Times warn't no better after de war wuz over an dey warnt no wuss. We
wuz po before de war an we wuz po after de war. But we allus had somep'n
to wear and plenty to eat an we never had no kick coming.

"I never did get married. I'se a old maid nigger, an they tells me you
don't see old maid niggers. How come I ain't married I don't know. Seems
like when I was young I seed somep'n wrong with all de mens that would
come around. Then atter while I wuz kinder ole an they didn't come
around no mo. Jes' last week a man come by here what used to co't me. He
seed me settin here on the porch an I says 'Come on in an set a while',
an he did. So maybe, I ain't through co'tin, maybe I'll get married
yet." Here she laughed gleefully.

When asked which she preferred freedom or slavery she replied, "Well,
being free wuz all right while I wuz young but now I'm old an I wish I
b'longed to somebody cause they would take keer of me an now I ain't got
nobody to take keer of me. The government gives me eight dollars a month
but that don't go fer enough. I has er hard time cause I can't git
around an work like I used to."




[HW: DIST. 6
Ex-slave #77]

Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker

EMILY MAYS
East Solomon Street,
Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Emily was born in 1861 on the Billy Stevens plantation in Upson County.
Her mother, Betsy Wych, was born at Hawkinsville, Georgia, and sold to
Mr. Billy Stevens. The father, Peter Wych, was born in West Virginia. A
free man, he was part Indian and when driving a team of oxen into
Virginia for lime, got into the slave territory, was overtaken by a
"speculator" and brought to Georgia where he was sold to the Wyches of
Macon. He cooked for them at their Hotel, "The Brown House" for a number
of years, then was sold "on the block" to Mr. Stevens of Upson County.
Betsy was sold at this same auction. Betsy and Peter were married by
"jumping the broomstick" after Mr. Stevens bought them. They had sixteen
children, of which Emily is the next to the last. She was always a
"puny", delicate child and her mother died when she was about seven
years old. She heard people tell her father that she "wasn't intented to
be raised" 'cause she was so little and her mother was "acomin' to get
her soon." Hearing this kind of remarks often had a depressing effect
upon the child, and she "watched the clouds" all the time expecting her
mother and was "bathed in tears" most of the time.

After the war, Peter rented a "patch" from Mr. Kit Parker and the whole
family worked in the fields except Emily. She was not big enough so they
let her work in the "big house" until Mrs. Parker's death. She helped
"'tend" the daughter's babies, washed and ironed table napkins and
waited on them "generally" for which she can't remember any "pay", but
they fed and clothed her.

Her older sister learned to weave when she was a slave, and helped sew
for the soldiers; so after freedom she continued making cloth and sewing
for the family while the others worked in the fields. [Buttons were made
from dried gourds.] They lived well, raising more on their patch than
they could possibly use and selling the surplus. For coffee they split
and dried sweet potatoes, ground and parched them.

The only education Emily received was at the "Sugar Hill" Sunday School.
They were too busy in the spring for social gatherings, but after the
crops were harvested, they would have "corn shuckings" where the Negroes
gathered from neighboring farms and in three or four days time would
finish at one place then move on to the next farm. It was quite a social
gathering and the farm fed all the guests with the best they had.

The Prayer Meetings and "singings" were other pleasant diversions from
the daily toil.

After Mrs. Parker's death Emily worked in her father's fields until she
was married to Aaron Mays, then she came to Griffin where she has lived
ever since. She is 75 years old and has cooked for "White folks" until
she was just too old to "see good", so she now lives with her daughter.




INTERVIEW WITH LIZA MENTION
BEECH ISLAND, S.C.

Written and Edited By:
Leila Harris
and
John N. Booth

Federal Writers' Project
Augusta, Georgia

March 25, 1938


"Come right in. Have a seat. I'll be glad to tell you anything I can
'bout dem early days", said Liza Mention. "Course I warn't born till de
second year atter freedom, so I don't 'member nothin' 'bout all dat
fightin' durin' de war. I'se sho' glad I warn't born in slavery from
what I heared 'em tell 'bout dem patterollers ketchin' and beatin' up
folks." Liza's house, a 2-room hut with a narrow front porch, stands in
a peaceful spot on the edge of the Wilson plantation at Beech Island,
South Carolina. A metal sign on the door which revealed that the
property is protected by a theft insurance service aroused wonder as to
what Liza had that could attract a burglar. The bedroom was in extreme
disorder with clothing, shoes, bric-a-brac, and just plain junk
scattered about. The old Negress had been walking about the sunshiny
yard and apologized for the mess by saying that she lived alone and did
as she pleased. "Folks says I oughtn't to stay here by myself," she
remarked, "but I laks to be independent. I cooked 25 years for de Wilson
fambly and dey is gonna let me have dis house free 'til I die 'cause I
ain't able to do no work."

Liza's close-fitting hat pinned her ears to her head. She wore a dress
that was soiled and copiously patched and her worn out brogans were
several sizes too large. Ill health probably accounts for this
untidiness for, as she expressed it, "when I gits up I hate to set down
and when I sets down, I hates to git up, my knees hurts me so," however,
her face broke into a toothless grin on the slightest provocation.

"I wuz born up on de Reese's place in McDuffie County near Thomson,
Georgia. When I wuz chillun us didn't know nothin' 'bout no wuk," she
volunteered. "My ma wuz a invalis (invalid) so when I wuz 6 years old
she give me to her sister over here at Mr. Ed McElmurray's place to
raise. I ain't never knowed who my pa wuz. Us chaps played all de time
wid white chillun jus' lak dey had all been Niggers. Chillun den didn't
have sense lak dey got now; us wuz satisfied jus' to play all de time. I
'members on Sundays us used to take leaves and pin 'em together wid
thorns to make usselves dresses and hats to play in. I never did go to
school none so I don't know nothin' 'bout readin' and writin' and
spellin'. I can't spell my own name, but I think it begins wid a M.
Hit's too late to study 'bout all dat now 'cause my old brain couldn't
learn nothin'. Hit's done lost most all of what little I did know.

"Back in dem times, folkses cooked on open fireplaces in winter time and
in summer dey built cook stands out in de yard to set de spiders on, so
us could cook and eat outdoors. Dere warn't no stoves nowhar. When us
wuz hard up for sompin' green to bile 'fore de gyardens got goin' good,
us used to go out and git wild mustard, poke salad, or pepper grass. Us
et 'em satisfactory and dey never kilt us. I have et heaps of kinds of
diffunt weeds and I still eats a mess of poke salad once or twice a year
'cause it's good for you. Us cooked a naked hunk of fat meat in a pot
wid some corn dumplin's.

"De grown folks would eat de meat and de chilluns would sit around on de
floor and eat de potlikker and dumplin's out of tin pans. Us enjoyed dat
stuff jus' lak it had been pound cake.

"Dances in dem days warn't dese here huggin' kind of dances lak dey has
now. Dere warn't no Big Apple nor no Little Apple neither. Us had a
house wid a raised flatform (platform) at one end whar de music-makers
sot. Dey had a string band wid a fiddle, a trumpet, and a banjo, but
dere warn't no guitars lak dey has in dis day. One man called de sets
and us danced de cardrille (quadrille) de virginia reel, and de 16-hand
cortillion. When us made syrup on de farm dere would always be a candy
pullin'. Dat homemade syrup made real good candy. Den us would have a
big time at corn shuckin's too.

"I don't believe in no conjuration. Ain't nobody never done nothin' to
me but I have seed people dat other folks said had been hurt. If
somebody done somethin' to me I wouldn't know whar to find a root-worker
to take it off and anyways I wouldn't trust dem sort of folks 'cause if
dey can cyore you dey can kill you too.

"I'se a member of de Silver Bluff Baptist Church, and I been goin' to
Sunday School dar nearly ever since I can 'member. You know dey say
dat's de oldest Nigger church in de country. At fust a white man come
from Savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves.
Later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built
another house so de niggers could have de old one. When dat ole church
wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat
house and den in a brush arbor.

"Some folks calls it de Dead River Church 'cause it used to be near Dead
River and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. I wuz baptised dar
myself and I loves de old spot of ground. I has tried to be a good
church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime
for preacher money now."

When asked if people in the old days got married by jumping over a broom
she made a chuckling sound and replied: "No, us had de preacher but us
didn't have to buy no license and I can't see no sense in buyin' a
license nohow, 'cause when dey gits ready to quit, dey just quits."

Liza brought an old Bible from the other room in which she said she kept
the history of the old church. There were also pictures from some of her
"white folks" who had moved to North Carolina. "My husband has been daid
for 40 years," she asserted, "and I hasn't a chile to my name, nobody to
move nothin' when I lays it down and nobody to pick nothin' up. I gets
along pretty well most of de time though, but I wishes I could work so I
would feel more independent."




District Two
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

AUNT HARRIET MILLER
Toccoa, Georgia
(Stephens County)

Written By:
Mrs. Annie Lee Newton
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia

Edited By:
John N. Booth
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia

July 15, 1937


Aunt Harriet Miller, a chipper and spry Indian Half-breed, thinks she is
about 100 years old. It is remarkable that one so old should possess so
much energy and animation. She is tall and spare, with wrinkled face,
bright eyes, a kindly expression, and she wears her iron grey hair wound
in a knob in the manner of a past generation. Aunt Harriet was neatly
dressed as she had just returned from a trip to Cornelia to see some of
her folks. She did not appear at all tired from the trip, and seemed
glad to discuss the old days.

"My father," said Aunt Harriet, "was a Cherokee Indian named Green
Norris, and my mother was a white woman named Betsy Richards. You see, I
am mixed. My mother give me to Mr. George Naves when I was three years
old. He lived in de mountains of South Carolina, just across de river.
He didn't own his home. He was overseer for de Jarretts, old man Kennedy
Jarrett. Honey, people was just like dey is now, some good and some bad.
Mr. Naves was a good man. Dese here Jarretts was good to deir slaves but
de ----s was mean to deirs. My whitefolks tried to send me to school but
de whitefolks wouldn't receive me in deir school on account of I was
mixed, and dere warn't no colored school a t'all, nowhere. Some of de
white ladies taught deir slaves. Yes'm, some of 'em did. Now, Miss
Sallie Jarrett, dat was Mrs. Bob Jarrett's daughter, used to teach 'em
some.

"Slaves had half a day off on Saturday. Dey had frolics at night,
quiltings, dances, corn-shuckings, and played de fiddle. Dey stayed in
de quarters Sunday or went to church. Dey belonged to de same church wid
de whitefolks. I belonged to Old Liberty Baptist Church. De back seats
was whar de slaves set. Dey belonged to de same church just like de
whitefolks, but I wasn't with 'em much." As a child, Aunt Harriet
associated with white people, and played with white children, but when
she grew up, had to turn to negroes for companionship.

"If slaves stayed in deir places dey warn't never whipped or put in
chains. When company come I knowed to get out doors. I went on to my
work. I was treated all right. I don't remember getting but three
whippings in my life. Old Mistis had brown sugar, a barrel of sugar
setting in de dinin' room. She'd go off and she'd come back and ask me
'bout de sugar. She'd get after me 'bout it and I'd say I hadn't took
it, and den when she turned my dress back and whipped me I couldn't
hardly set down. She whipped me twice 'bout the sugar and den she let me
alone. 'Twasn't de sugar she whipped me 'bout, but she was trying to get
me to tell de truth. Yes'm, dat was de best lesson dat ever I learned,
to tell de truth, like David.

"I had a large fambly. Lets see, I had ten chillun, two of 'em dead, and
I believes 'bout 40 grand-chillun. I could count 'em. Last time I was
counting de great-grandchillun dere was 37 but some have come in since
den. Maggie has 11 chillun. Maggie's husband is a farmer and dey lives
near Eastonallee. Lizzie, her husband is dead and she lives wid a
daughter in Chicago, has 5 chillun. Den Media has two. Her husband,
Hillary Campbell, works for de Govemint, in Washington. Lieutenant has
six; he farms. Robert has six; Robert is a regular old farmer and Sunday
School teacher. Davey has four, den Luther has seven, and dat leaves
Jim, my baby boy. He railroads and I lives wid him. Jim is 37. He ain't
got no chillun. My husband, Judge Miller, been dead 37 years. He's
buried at Tugalo. Dis old lady been swinging on a limb a long time and
she going to swing off from here some time. I'm near about a hundred and
I won't be here long, but when I go, I wants to go in peace wid
everybody.

"I don't know. I'd be 'feard to say dere ain't nothing in voo-doo. Some
puts a dime in de shoe to keep de voo-doo away, and some carries a
buckeye in de pocket to keep off cramp and colic. Dey say a bone dey
finds in de jawbone of a hog will make chillun teethe easy. When de
slaves got sick, de whitefolks looked after 'em. De medicines for
sickness was nearly all yerbs. Dey give boneset for colds, made tea out
of it, and acheing joints. Butterfly root and slippery elm bark was to
cool fever. Willow ashes is good for a corn, poke root for rheumatism,
and a syrup made of mullein, honey, and alum for colds. Dey use barks
from dogwood, wild cherry, and clack haws, for one thing and another.
I'll tell you what's good for pizen-oak, powdered alum and sweet cream.
Beat it if it's lump alum, and put it in sweet cream, not milk, it has
to be cream. Dere's lots of other remedies and things, but I'm getting
so sap-skulled and I'm so old I can't remember. Yes'm, I've got mighty
trifling 'bout my remembrance.

"Once some Indians camped on de river bottoms for three or four years,
and we'd go down; me, and Anne, and Genia, nearly every Saturday, to
hear 'em preach. We couldn't understand it. Dey didn't have no racket or
nothing like colored folks. Dey would sing, and it sounded all right. We
couldn't understand it, but dey enjoyed it. Dey worked and had crops.
Dey had ponies, pretty ponies. Nobody never did bother 'em. Dey made
baskets out of canes, de beautifulest baskets, and dey colored 'em wid
dyes, natchel dyes.

"Indian woman wore long dresses and beads. Deir hair was plaited and
hanging down de back, and deir babyes was tied on a blanket on de back.
Mens wore just breeches and feathers in deir hats. I wish you could have
seen 'em a cooking. Dey would take corn dough, and den dey'd boil birds,
make sort of long, not round dumplings, and drop 'em in a pot of hot
soup. We thought dat was terrible, putting dat in de pot wid de birds.
Dey had blow-guns and dey'd slip around, and first thing dey'd blow, and
down come a bird. Dey'd kill a squirrel and ketch fish wid deir blow
guns. Dem guns was made out of canes 'bout eight feet long, burned out
at de j'ints for de barrel. Dey put in a arrow what had thistles on one
end to make it go through quick and de other end sharp.

"Yes honey, I believes in hants. I was going 'long, at nine o'clock one
night 'bout the Denham fill and I heard a chain a rattling 'long de
cross-ties. I couldn't see a thing and dat chain just a rattling as
plain as if it was on dis floor. Back, since the war, dere was a
railroad gang working 'long by dis fill, and de boss, Captain Wing,
whipped a convict. It killed him, and de boss throwed him in de fill. I
couldn't see a thing, and dat chain was just rattling right agai' de
fill where dat convict had been buried. I believes de Lord took keer of
me dat night and I hope he keeps on doing so."




[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #75]

Folklore
Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker

MOLLIE MITCHELL, Ex Negro Slave
507 East Chappell Street
Griffin, Georgia

August 31, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Mollie Mitchell, a white haired old darkey, 85 years old was born on the
Newt Woodard plantation. It is the old Jackson Road near Beulah Church.
Until she was 7 years old she helped about the house running errands for
her "Missus", "tendin' babies", "sweeping the yard", and "sich." At 7
she was put in the fields. The first day at work she was given certain
rows to hoe but she could not keep in the row. The Master came around
twice a day to look at what they had done and when it was not done
right, he whipped them. "Seems like I got whipped all day long," she
said. One time when Mollie was about 13 years old, she was real sick,
the master and missus took her to the bathing house where there was
"plenty of hot water." They put her in a tub of hot water then took her
out, wrapped her in blankets and sheets and put her in cold water. They
kept her there 4 or 5 days doing that until they broke her fever.
Whenever the negroes were sick, they always looked after them and had a
doctor if necessary. At Christmas they had a whole week holiday and
everything they wanted to eat. The negroes lived a happy carefree life
unless they "broke the rules." If one lied or stole or did not work or
did not do his work right or stayed out over the time of their pass,
they were whipped. The "pass" was given them to go off on Saturday. It
told whose "nigger" they were and when they were due back, usually by 4
o'clock Sunday afternoon or Monday morning. "The patta-roll" (patrol)
came by to see your pass and if you were due back home, they would give
you a whippin'!"

Mollie was 15 years old when the master came out in the fields and told
them they were as free as he was. Her family stayed with him. He gave
them a horse or mule, their groceries and a "patch to work", that they
paid for in about three years time. Before the war whenever his slaves
reached 70 years, the master set them free and gave them a mule, cow and
a "patch". Mollie can remember her grandmother and grandfather getting
theirs. When Mollie married (17 years old), she moved to her husband's
farm. She had 9 children. She had to "spin the cloth" for their clothes,
and did any kind of work, even the men's work too. Out of herbs she made
syrup for worms for her children. With the barks of different trees she
made the spring tonic and if their "stomachs was wrong", she used red
oak bark. When she was younger, she would "dream a dream" and see it
"jes' as clear" next morning and it always came true, but now since
she's aged her dreams are "gone away" by next morning. When she was a
little girl, they made them go to Sunday School and taught them out of a
"blue back speller". After freedom, they were sent to day school "some".
The "little missus" used to teach her upstairs after they were supposed
to be in bed. She's been a member of the Methodist Church since she was
17 years old. Mollie's husband was always a farmer and he always planted
by the moon. Potatoes, turnips and things that grow under the ground
were planted in the dark of the moon while beans and peas and things
that develope on top the ground were planted in the light of the moon.

She said she couldn't remember many superstitions but she knew a
rabbit's foot was tied round your neck or waist for luck and a crowing
hen was bad luck, so bad that they killed them and "put 'em in the pot"
whenever they found one. When you saw a cat washing its face, it was
going to rain sure.

Mollie is quite wrinkled, has thinning white hair, very bad teeth but
fairly active physically and her mind is moderately clear.




Elizabeth Watson

BOB MOBLEY, Ex-Slave, Aged about 90
Pulaski County, Georgia
(1937)
[Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]


When recently interviewed, this aged colored man--the soul of humbleness
and politeness--and long a resident of Pulaski County, sketched his life
as follows (his language reconstructed):

"I was the seventh child of the eleven children born to Robert and
Violet Hammock, slaves of Mr. Henry Mobley of Crawford County. My
parents were also born in Crawford County.

My master was well-to-do: he owned a great deal of land and many
Negroes.

Macon was our nearest trading town--and Mr. Mobley sold his cotton and
did his trading there, though he sent his children to school at
Knoxville (Crawford County).

My mother was the family cook, and also superintended the cooking for
many of the slaves.

We slaves had a good time, and none of us were abused or mistreated,
though young Negroes were sometimes whipped--when they deserved it.
Grown Negro men, in those days, wore their hair long and, as a
punishment to them for misconduct (etc.), the master cut their hair off.

I was raised in my master's house--slept in his room when I was a small
boy, just to be handy to wait on him when he needed anything.

If a slave became sick, a doctor was promptly called to attend him. My
mother was also a kind of doctor and often rode all over the plantation
to dose ailing Negroes with herb teas and home medicines which she was
an adept in compounding. In cases of [HW: minor] illness, she could
straighten up the sick in no time.

Before the war started, I took my young master to get married, and we
were certainly dressed up. You have never seen a Nigger and a white man
as dressed up as we were on that occasion.

An aunt of mine was head weaver on our plantation, and she bossed the
other women weavers and spinners. Two or three seamstresses did all the
sewing.

In winter time we slaves wore wool, which had been dyed before the cloth
was cut. In summer we wore light goods.

We raised nearly every thing that we ate, except sugar and coffee, and
made all the shoes and clothes worn on the place, except the white
ladies' silks, fine shawls, and slippers, and the men's broadcloths and
dress boots.

My young master went to the war, but his father was too old to go. When
we heard that the Yankees were coming, old mister refugeed to Dooly
County--where he bought a new farm, and took his Negroes with him. But
the new place was so poor that, right after the war closed, he moved
back to his old plantation. I stayed with Mr. Henry for a long time
after freedom, then came to Hawkinsville to work at the carpenter's
trade. And I did pretty well here until I fell off a house several years
ago, since which time I haven't been much good--not able to do hardly
any work at all."


Now old, feeble, and physically incapacitated, "Uncle" Bob lives with a
stepdaughter--a woman of 72--who, herself, is failing fast. Both are
supported mainly by Pulaski County and the Federal Government.




[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #79]

Folklore
Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker

FANNY NIX--Ex-Slave
Interviewed
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


Fanny was born in slavery and was "a great big girl" when the slaves
were freed but does not know her exact age, however, she thinks that she
was "at least twelve when the War broke out." According to this method
of estimating her age, Fanny is about eighty-seven.

The old woman's parents were John Arnold and Rosetta Green, who were
married 'away befo de wah' by steppin' over the broom' in the presence
of "old Marse," and a lot of colored friends.

Fanny does not know where her parents were born, but thinks that they
were born in Upson County near Thomaston, Georgia, and knows that she
and her two brothers and other sister were.

Fanny and her family were owned by Judge Jim Green. Judge Green had a
hundred or so acres of land Fanny 'reckon', and between twenty-five and
seventy-five slaves.

"The Marster was just as good as he could be to all the slaves, and
especially to the little chillun." "The Judge did not 'whup' much--and
used a peach tree limb and done it hisself. There wuzn't no strop at
Marse Green's big house."

Rosetta Green, the mother of Fanny, "cooked and washed for Judge Green
for yeahs and yeahs." Fanny "found her mammy a cookin' at the big house
the fust thing she knowed."

As Fanny grew up, she was trained by "ole Miss" to be a house girl, and
did "sech wuk" as churning, minding the flies "offen de table when de
white folks et, gwine backards and forads to de smoke-house for my
mammy."

She recalls that when she "minded the flies offen the table she allus
got plenty of biscuits and scraps o' fried chicken the white folks left
on their plates." "But," Fanny added with a satisfied smile, "Marse
Green's darkies never wanted for sumpin t'eat, case he give 'em a
plenty, even molasses all dey wanted." Fanny and her mammy always ate in
"de Missis kitchen."

"Yes," said Fanny, "I remembers when de Yankees come through, it tickled
us chillun and skeered us too! Dey wuz mo'n a hundred, Miss, riding
mighty po' ole wore out hosses. All de men wanted wuz sumpin' t'eat and
some good hosses. De men poured into de smokehouse and de kitchen (here
Fanny had to laugh again) an how dem Yankee mens did cut and hack "Ole
Marse's" best hams! After dey et all dey could hol' dey saddled up "ole
Marse's" fine hosses an' away dey rid!"

When asked why the white folks did not hide the horses out in the swamps
or woods, Fanny replied, "case, dey didn't have time. Dem Yankees
pounced down like hawks after chickens!" "Ole Marse jost did have time
to 'scape to de woods hisself." The Judge was too old to go to the war.

John Arnold, Fanny's daddy, was owned by Mr. John Arnold on an adjoining
plantation to Judge Greene, and when he and Fanny's mother were married,
John was allowed to visit Rosetta each week-end. Of course he had to
carry a pass from his "Marster."

John and Rosetta "never lived together year in and year out," according
to Fanny's statement, "till long after freedom."

Fanny relates that Judge Green's slaves all went to "meetin" every
Sunday in the white folks church. The darkies going in the after-noon
and the white people going in the forenoon.

The white preacher ministered to both the white and colored people.

If the Negroes were sick and needed mo [HW: den] "old Marse" knowed what
to give em, he "sont the white folk's doctor." "You see, Miss," said old
Fanny with pride, "I wuz owned by big white folks."

She tells that Judge Green had two young sons (not old enough to fight)
and three daughters, 'jest little shavers, so high', (here Fanny
indicated from three, to four or five feet at intervals, to indicate
small children's height,) then added, "We allus said, 'Little Miss
Peggy', 'Little Miss Nancy', and 'Little Missz Jane', and 'Young Marse
Jim' and 'Little Marster Bob'". "Did you ever forget to speak to the
children in that way?" the interviewer asked. "No, Miss, we sho didn't,
we knowed better dan to fergit!"


Fanny is very feeble in every way, voice is weak and her step most
uncertain, but she is straight of figure, and was ripping up smoking
tobacco sacks with which her daughter is to make 'a purty bed spread'.
Fanny and her husband, another ex-slave, live with Fanny's daughter. The
daughter supports her mother.




[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #80]

Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker

HENRY NIX--Ex-Slave
808 E. Slaton Ave.
Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed

September 24, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

[TR: Numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. Where a
word appears in brackets after a HW entry, it was replaced by that
handwritten entry. All numbers were originally spelled out.]


Henry Nix was born March 15, 1848 in Upson County, about 5 miles from
Barnesville, Georgia.

[HW: His] [Henry's] parents were John Nix and Catherine Willis, who were
not married, because as Henry reports, John Nix was an overseer on the
plantation of Mr. Jasper Willis, "and when Marster found out what kind
of man John Nix was he (Nix) had to skip out."

When Henry "was a good sized boy, his mother married a darky man", and 3
other children were born, 2 boys and a girl. Henry loved his mother very
much and [HW: says] relates that on her death bed she told him who his
father was, and [TR: "also told him" crossed out] how to live so as not
to get into trouble, and, [HW: due to her advice] that he has never been
in jail nor in any meanness of any kind [TR: "due to what she told him"
crossed out].

Mr. Jasper Willis, [TR: "who was" crossed out] Henry's owner, lived on a
large plantation of about 300 three hundred acres in Upson County, [HW:
and] [Mr. Willis] owned only about 50 or 60 slaves as well as Henry can
remember. The old man considers Mr. Willis "the best marster that a
darky ever had," saying that he "sho" made his darkies work and mind,
but he never beat them or let the patter-role do it, though sometimes he
did use a switch on 'em". Henry recalls that he received "a sound
whuppin onct, 'case he throwed a rock at one o' Marse Jasper's fine cows
and broke her laig!"

When asked if Mr. Willis had the slaves taught to read and write, Henry
hooted at the idea, saying emphatically, "No, Mam, 'Ole Marse' wuz sho
hard about dat. He said 'Niggers' wuz made by de good Lawd to work, and
onct when my Uncle stole a book and wuz a trying to learn how to read
and write, Marse Jasper had the white doctor take off my Uncle's fo'
finger right down to de 'fust jint'. Marstar said he fixed dat darky as
a sign fo de res uv 'em! No, Miss, we wuzn't larned!"

Mr. Willis allowed his slaves from Saturday at noon till Monday morning
as a holiday, and then they always had a week for Christmas. All of the
Negroes went to meeting on Sunday afternoon in the white people's church
and were served by the white minister.

Henry says that they had a "circuit doctor" on his Marster's place and
the doctor came around regularly at least every two weeks, "case Marster
paid him to do so and [HW: he] 'xamined evah darky big and little on dat
plantation."

One time Henry recalls that he "had a turrible cowbunkle" on the back of
his neck and 'marse' had the doctor to cut it open. Henry knowed better
den to holler and cut up, too, when it was done.

The old man remembers going to war with his young master and remaining
with him for the two years he was in service. They were in Richmond when
the city surrendered to Grant and soon after that the young master was
killed in the fight at Tumlin Gap. Henry hardly knows how he got back to
"Ole Marster" but is thankful he did.

After freedom, [HW: al]most all of Mr. Willis' darkies stayed on with
him but Henry "had to act smart and run away." He went over into Alabama
and managed "to keep [TR: "his" crossed out] body and soul together
somehow, for several years and then [TR: "he" crossed out] went back to
"Ole Marster."

Henry is well and rather active for his 87 or 88 years and likes to
work. He has a job now cleaning off the graves at the white cemetery but
he and his wife depend mainly [HW: for support] on their son [TR: "for
support" crossed out], who lives just across the street from them.




[HW: Dist. 6]

Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker

LEWIS OGLETREE--Ex-Slave
501 E. Tinsley Street
Griffin, Georgia

August 21, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

[TR: Numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. Where a
word appears in brackets after a HW entry, it was replaced by that
handwritten entry.]


Lewis Ogletree was born on the plantation of Mr. Fred Crowder of
Spalding County, Georgia [HW: Ga], near Griffin. [HW: He] [Lewis] does
not know exactly when he was born, but says that [TR: "he knows that"
crossed out] he was maybe 17 years old at the end of the war in '65.
This would make him 88 now.

Mr. Crowder was the owner of a large number of slaves and among them
was Lettie Crowder, [TR: "(married an Ogletree) the" crossed out]
housekeeper and head servant in the home of Mr. Fred Crowder. Lettie was
Lewis' mother.

Lewis remembers standing inside the picket fence with a lot of other
little pick-a-ninnies watching for Sherman's Army, and when the Yankees
got close enough to be heard plainly, they hid in the bushes or under
the house.

The Yankees poured into the yard and into the house, making Lettie open
the smoke-house and get them Mr. Crowder's best whiskey and oftentimes
they made her cook them a meal of ham and eggs.

Mr. Crowder, Lettie's master, was ill during the war, having a cancer on
his left hand.

Lewis reports that Mr. Crowder was a very hard master but a good one
saying, "That it wasn't any use for the "patty-role" (the Patrol) to
come to Marse Crowder's, 'cause he would not permit him to "tech one of
his darkies."

Mrs. Crowder, the "ole mistis", had died just before the war broke out
and Mr. Crowder lived alone with his house servants.

There were two young sons in the war. The oldest son, Col. Crowder, was
in Virginia.

Lewis said that his Master whipped him only once and that was for
stealing. One day when the old master was taking a nap, Lewis "minding
off the flies" and thinking his "marster" asleep slipped over to the big
table and snatched some candy. Just as he picked up a lump, (it was
"rock candy,") "Wham! Old [HW: Marster] [mastah] had me, and when he got
through, well, Lewis, didn't steal anymore candy nor nothin'." "Mastah
nevah took no foolishness from his darkies."

Lewis remembers very clearly when Mr. Crowder gave his darkies their
freedom. "Mastah sont me and my mammy out to the cabin to tell all de
darkies to come up to de "big house". When they got there, there were so
many that [HW: they] [some] were up on the porch, on the steps and all
over the yard."

"Mr. Crowder stood up on the porch and said, "You darkies are all free
now. You don't belong to me no more. Now pack up your things and go on
off." My Lord! How them darkies did bawl! And most of them did not leave
ole mastah."




[RICHARD ORFORD, Age around 85]


The following version of slavery was told by Mr. Richard Orford of 54
Brown Avenue in South Atlanta. Mr. Orford is large in statue and
although 85 years of age he has a very active mind as well as a good
sense of humor.

Mr. Orford was born in Pike County, Georgia (near the present site of
Griffin) in 1842. His master's name was Jeff Orford. Mr. Orford
describes him as follows: "Marster wus a rich man an' he had 'bout 250
slaves--'course dat was'nt so many 'cause some of de folks 'round dere
had 400 and 500. He had plenty of land too--I don't know how many acres.
He raised everything he needed on de plantation an' never had to buy
nothing. I 'members when de Yankees come through--ol' marster had 'bout
200 barrels of whiskey hid in de smokehouse--dat wus de fust time I ever
got drunk."

"Besides hisself an' his wife ol' marster had two boys an' nine girls".

Continuing, Mr. Orford said: "My Ma did'nt have many chillun--jus' ten
boys an' nine girls. I went to work in marster's house when I wus five
years old an' I stayed dere 'till I wus thirty-five. De fust work I had
to do wus to pick up chips, feed chickens, an' keep de yard clean. By de
time I wus eight years old I wus drivin' my missus in de carriage."

"All de rest of de slaves wus fiel' hands. Dey spent dere time plowing
an' takin' care of de plantation in general. Dere wus some who split
rails an' others who took care of de stock an' made de harness--de
slaves did everything dat needed to be done on de plantation. Everybody
had to git up 'fore daybreak an' even 'fore it wus light enuff to see
dey wus in de fiel' waitin' to see how to run a furrow. 'Long 'bout nine
o'clock breakfus' wus sent to de fiel' in a wagon an' all of 'em stopped
to eat. At twelve o'clock dey stopped again to eat dinner. After dat dey
worked 'till it wus to dark to see. Women in dem days could pick
five-hundred pounds of cotton a day wid a child in a sack on dere
backs."

"When de weather wus too bad to work in de fiel' de hands cribed an'
shucked corn. If dey had any work of dere own to do dey had to do it at
night".

According to Mr. Orford there was always sufficient food on the Orford
plantation for the slaves. All cooking was done by one cook at the cook
house. In front of the cook house were a number of long tables where the
slaves ate their meals when they came in from the fields. Those children
who were too young to work in the fields were also fed at this house but
instead of eating from the tables as did the grown-ups they were fed
from long troughs much the same as little pigs. Each was given a spoon
at meal time and then all of the food was dumped into the trough at the
same time.

The week day diet for the most part consisted of meats and
vegetables--"sometimes we even got chicken an' turkey"--says Mr. Orford.
Coffee was made by parching meal or corn and then boiling it in water.
None of the slaves ever had to steal anything to eat on the Orford
plantation.

All of the clothing worn on this plantation was made there. Some of the
women who were too old to work in the fields did the spinning and the
weaving as well as the sewing of the garments. Indigo was used to dye
the cloth. The women wore callico dresses and the men wore ansenberg
pants and shirts. The children wore a one piece garment not unlike a
slightly lengthened dress. This was kept in place by a string tied
around their waists. There were at least ten shoemakers on the
plantation and they were always kept bust [TR: busy?] making shoes
although no slave ever got but one pair of shoes a year. These shoes
were made of very hard leather and were called brogans.

In the rear of the master's house was located the slave's quarters. Each
house was made of logs and was of the double type so that two families
could be accommodated. The holes and chinks in the walls were daubed
with mud to keep the weather out. At one end of the structure was a
large fireplace about six feet in width. The chimney was made of dirt.

As for furniture Mr. Orford says: "You could make your own furniture if
you wanted to but ol' marster would give you a 

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