Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume XI, North Carolina Narratives, Part 1
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Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume XI, North Carolina Narratives, Part 1
Author: United States. Work Projects Administration
Release date: October 12, 2007 [eBook #22976]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Marcia Brooks, and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES: A FOLK HISTORY OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES FROM INTERVIEWS WITH FORMER SLAVES, VOLUME XI, NORTH CAROLINA NARRATIVES, PART 1 ***
Produced by Marcia Brooks, 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)
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
[Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected. In some
instances Transcriber's notes (TR) are included with each individual
interview, as well as some Handwritten Notes (HW) from the original were
maintained but as notation only. In addition, punctuation and formatting
have been made consistent, particularly the use of quotation marks.
Added two lines to list of illustrations missing from original.]
VOLUME XI
NORTH CAROLINA NARRATIVES
PART I
Prepared by
the Federal Writers' Project of
the Works Progress Administration
for the State of North Carolina
INFORMANTS
Adams, Louisa 1
Adkins, Ida 8
Allen, Martha 13
Anderson, Joseph 16
Anderson, Mary 19
Andrews, Cornelia 27
Anngady, Mary 32
Arrington, Jane 44
Augustus, Sarah Louis 50
Austin, Charity 58
Baker, Blount 63
Baker, Lizzie 66
Baker, Viney 70
Barbour, Charlie 73
Barbour, Mary 78
Baugh, Alice 82
Beckwith, John 87
Bectom, John C. 91
Bell, Laura 99
Blalock, Emma 103
Blount, David 110
Bobbit, Clay 117
Bobbitt, Henry 120
Bogan, Herndon 125
Boone, Andrew 130
Bost, W. L. 138
Bowe, Mary Wallace 147
Brown, Lucy 152
Burnett, Midge 155
Cannady, Fanny 159
Cofer, Betty 165
Coggin, John 176
Coverson, Mandy 179
Cozart, Willie 182
Crasson, Hannah 187
Crenshaw, Julia 194
Crowder, Zeb 196
Crump, Adeline 203
Crump, Bill 207
Crump, Charlie 212
Curtis, Mattie 216
Dalton, Charles Lee 223
Daniels, John 229
Daves, Harriet Ann 232
Davis, Jerry 237
Debnam, W. S. 241
Debro, Sarah 247
Dickens, Charles W. 254
Dickens, Margaret E. 259
Dowd, Rev. Squire 263
Dunn, Fannie 270
Dunn, Jennylin 275
Dunn, Lucy Ann 278
Durham, Tempie Herndon 284
Eatman, George 291
Edwards, Doc 295
Evans, John 298
Faucette, Lindsey 302
Flagg, Ora M. 307
Foster, Analiza 311
Foster, Georgianna 314
Freeman, Frank 318
Gill, Addy 323
Glenn, Robert 328
Green, Sarah Anne 340
Griffeth, Dorcas 346
Gudger, Sarah 350
Hall, Thomas 359
Hamilton, Hecter 363
Harris, George W. 370
Harris, Sarah 375
Hart, Cy 379
Haywood, Alonzo 382
Haywood, Barbara 385
Henderson, Isabell 389
Henry, Essex 393
Henry, Milly 399
Hews, Chaney 405
High, Joe 409
High, Susan 417
Hill, Kitty 422
Hinton, Jerry 427
Hinton, Martha Adeline 433
Hinton, Robert 436
Hinton, William George 441
Hodges, Eustace 446
Huggins, Alex 449
Hunter, Charlie H. 453
Hunter, Elbert 457
ILLUSTRATIONS
_Facing page_
Louisa Adams 1
Viney Baker 70
John Beckwith 87
Clay Bobbit 117
Henry Bobbitt 120
Herndon Bogan 125
W. L. Bost 138
John Coggin 176
Hannah Crasson 187
Bill Crump 207
Charlie Crump and Granddaughter 212
Harriet Ann Daves 232
Charles W. Dickens 254
Margaret E. Dickens 259
Rev. Squire Dowd 263
Jennylin Dunn 275
Tempie Herndon Durham 284
George Eatman 291
John Evans 298
Sarah Gudger 350
Sarah Harris 375
Essex Henry 393
Milly Henry 399
Joe High 409
Elbert Hunter 457
N. C. District: No. 2 [320152]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1384
Subject: Louisa Adams
Person Interviewed: Louisa Adams
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUL 7 1937"]
LOUISA ADAMS
My name is Louisa Adams. I wuz bawned in Rockingham, Richmond County,
North Carolina. I wuz eight years old when the Yankees come through. I
belonged to Marster Tom A. Covington, Sir. My mother wuz named Easter,
and my father wuz named Jacob. We were all Covingtons. No Sir, I don't
know whur my mother and father come from. Soloman wuz brother number
one, then Luke, Josh, Stephen, Asbury. My sisters were Jane, Frances,
Wincy, and I wuz nex'. I 'members grandmother. She wuz named Lovie Wall.
They brought her here from same place. My aunts were named, one wuz
named Nicey, and one wuz named Jane. I picked feed for the white folks.
They sent many of the chillun to work at the salt mines, where we went
to git salt. My brother Soloman wuz sent to the salt mines. Luke looked
atter the sheep. He knocked down china berries for 'em. Dad and mammie
had their own gardens and hogs. We were compelled to walk about at night
to live. We were so hongry we were bound to steal or parish. This trait
seems to be handed down from slavery days. Sometimes I thinks dis might
be so. Our food wuz bad. Marster worked us hard and gave us nuthin. We
had to use what we made in the garden to eat. We also et our hogs. Our
clothes were bad, and beds were sorry. We went barefooted in a way.
What I mean by that is, that we had shoes part of the time. We got one
pair o' shoes a year. When dey wored out we went barefooted. Sometimes
we tied them up with strings, and they were so ragged de tracks looked
like bird tracks, where we walked in the road. We lived in log houses
daubed with mud. They called 'em the slaves houses. My old daddy partly
raised his chilluns on game. He caught rabbits, coons, an' possums. We
would work all day and hunt at night. We had no holidays. They did not
give us any fun as I know. I could eat anything I could git. I tell you
de truth, slave time wuz slave time wid us. My brother wore his shoes
out, and had none all thu winter. His feet cracked open and bled so bad
you could track him by the blood. When the Yankees come through, he got
shoes.
I wuz married in Rockingham. I don't 'member when Mr. Jimmie
Covington, a preacher, a white man, married us. I married James Adams
who lived on a plantation near Rockingham. I had a nice blue wedding
dress. My husband wuz dressed in kinder light clothes, best I
rickerlect. It's been a good long time, since deen [HW: den] tho'.
I sho do 'member my Marster Tom Covington and his wife too, Emma. Da
old man wuz the very nick.[HW correction: Nick] He would take what we
made and lowance us, dat is lowance it out to my daddy after he had
made it. My father went to Steven Covington, Marster Tom's brother, and
told him about it, and his brother Stephen made him gib father his meat
back to us.
My missus wuz kind to me, but Mars. Tom wuz the buger. It wuz a mighty
bit plantation. I don't know how many slaves wuz on it, there were a lot
of dem do'. Dere were overseers two of 'em. One wuz named Bob Covington
and the other Charles Covington. They were colored men. I rode with
them. I rode wid 'em in the carriage sometimes. De carriage had seats
dat folded up. Bob wuz overseer in de field, and Charles wuz carriage
driver. All de plantation wuz fenced in, dat is all de fields, wid
rails; de rails wuz ten feet long. We drawed water wid a sweep and pail.
De well wuz in the yard. De mules for the slaves wuz in town, dere were
none on the plantation. Dey had 'em in town; dey waked us time de
chicken crowed, and we went to work just as soon as we could see how to
make a lick wid a hoe.
Lawd, you better not be caught wid a book in yor han'. If you did, you
were sold. Dey didn't 'low dat. I kin read a little, but I can't write.
I went to school after slavery and learned to read. We didn't go to
school but three or four week a year, and learned to read.
Dere wuz no church on the plantation, and we were not lowed to have
prayer meetings. No parties, no candy pullings, nor dances, no sir, not
a bit. I 'member goin' one time to the white folkses church, no
baptizing dat I 'member. Lawd have mercy, ha! ha! No. De pateroller were
on de place at night. You couldn't travel without a pas.
We got few possums. I have greased my daddy's back after he had been
whupped until his back wuz cut to pieces. He had to work jis the same.
When we went to our houses at night, we cooked our suppers at night, et
and then went to bed. If fire wuz out or any work needed doin' around de
house we had to work on Sundays. They did not gib us Christmas or any
other holidays. We had corn shuckings. I herd 'em talkin' of cuttin de
corn pile right square in two. One wud git on one side, another on the
other side and see which out beat. They had brandy at the corn shuckin'
and I herd Sam talkin' about gittin' drunk.
I 'member one 'oman dying. Her name wuz Caroline Covington. I didn't go
to the grave. But you know they had a little cart used with hosses to
carry her to the grave, jist a one horse wagon, jist slipped her in
there.
Yes, I 'member a field song. It wuz 'Oh! come let us go where pleasure
never dies. Great fountain gone over'. Dat's one uv 'em. We had a good
doctor when we got sick. He come to see us. The slaves took herbs dey
found in de woods. Dat's what I do now, Sir. I got some 'erbs right in
my kitchen now.
When the Yankees come through I did not know anything about 'em till
they got there. Jist like they were poppin up out of de ground. One of
the slaves wuz at his master's house you know, and he said, 'The Yankees
are in Cheraw, S. C. [HW correction: South Carolina] and the Yankees are
in town'. It didn't sturb me at tall. I wuz not afraid of de Yankees. I
'member dey went to Miss Emma's house, and went in de smoke house and
emptied every barrel of 'lasses right in de floor and scattered de
cracklings on de floor. I went dere and got some of 'em. Miss Emma wuz
my missus. Dey just killed de chickens, hogs too, and old Jeff the dog;
they shot him through the thoat. I 'member how his mouth flew open when
dey shot him. One uv 'em went into de tater bank, and we chillun wanted
to go out dere. Mother wouldn't let us. She wuz fraid uv 'em.
Abraham Lincoln freed us by the help of the Lawd, by his help. Slavery
wuz owin to who you were with. If you were with some one who wuz good
and had some feelin's for you it did tolerable well; yea, tolerable
well.
We left the plantation soon as de surrender. We lef' right off. We went
to goin' towards Fayetteville, North Carolina. We climbed over fences
and were just broke down chillun, feet sore. We had a little meat, corn
meal, a tray, and mammy had a tin pan. One night we came to a old house;
some one had put wheat straw in it. We staid there, next mornin', we
come back home. Not to Marster's, but to a white 'oman named Peggy
McClinton, on her plantation. We stayed there a long time. De Yankees
took everything dey could, but dey didn't give us anything to eat. Dey
give some of de 'omen shoes.
I thinks Mr. Roosevelt is a fine man and he do all he can for us.
District No: 3 [320278]
Worker: Travis Jordan
No. Words: 1500
Title: Ida Adkins Ex-slave
Interviewed: Ida Adkins
County Home, Durham, N. C.
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 1 1937"]
IDA ADKINS
Ex-slave 79 years.
[TR note: Numerous hand written notations and additions in the following
interview (i.e. wuz to was; er to a; adding t to the contractions.)
Made changes where obvious without comment. Additions and comments were
left as notation, in order to preserve the flow of the dialect.]
I wuz bawn befo' de war. I wuz about eight years ole when de Yankee mens
come through.
My mammy an' pappy, Hattie an' Jim Jeffries belonged to Marse Frank
Jeffries. Marse Frank come from Mississippi, but when I wuz bawn he an'
Mis' Mary Jane wuz livin' down herr near Louisburg in North Carolina
whare dey had er big plantation an' [HW addition: I] don' know how many
niggers. Marse Frank wuz good to his niggers, 'cept [HW addition: that]
he never give dem ernough to eat. He worked dem hard on half rations,
but he didn' believe in all de time beatin' an' sellin' dem.
My pappy worked at de stables, he wuz er good horseman, but my mammy
worked at de big house helpin' Mis' Mary Jane. Mammy worked in de
weavin' room. I can see her now settin' at de weavin' machine an' hear
de pedals goin' plop, plop, as she treaded dem wid her feets. She wuz a
good weaver. I stayed 'roun' de big house too, pickin' up chips,
sweepin' de yard an' such as dat. Mis' Mary Jane wuz quick as er
whippo'-will. She had black eyes dat snapped, an' dey seed everythin'.
She could turn her head so quick dat she'd ketch you every time you
tried to steal a lump of sugar. I liked Marse Frank better den I did
Mis' Mary Jane. All us little chillun called him Big Pappy. Every time
he went [HW correction: come back] to Raleigh he brung us niggers back
some candy. He went to Raleigh erbout twice er year. Raleigh wuz er far
ways from de plantations--near 'bout sixty miles. [HW notation:
check--appears to be about 40 miles only.] It always took Marse Frank
three days to make de trip. A day to go, er' day to stay in town, an' a
day to come back. Den he always got home in de night. Ceptn' [HW
addition: when] he rode ho'se back 'stead of de carriage, [HW addition:
an'] den sometimes he got home by sun down.
Marse Frank didn' go to de war. He wuz too ole. So when de Yankees come
through dey foun' him at home. When Marse Frank seed de blue coats
comin' down de road he run an' got his gun. De Yankees was on horses. I
ain't never seed so many men. Dey was thick as hornets comin' down de
road in a cloud of dus' [HW: correction "dust"]. Dey come up to de house
an' tied de horses to de palin's; [HW correction: dey was so many dey
was stan] 'roun' de yard [HW addition: fence]. When dey seed Marse Frank
standin' on de po'ch [HW correction: porch] wid de gun leveled on dem,
dey got mad. Time Marse Frank done shot one time [HW correction: "once
a"] a bully Yankee snatched de gun away an' tole Marse Frank to hold up
his hand. Den dey tied his hands an' pushed him down on de floor 'side
de house an' tole him dat if he moved [HW addition: a inch] dey would
shoot him. Den dey went in de house.
I wuz skeered near 'bout to death, but I run in de kitchen an' got a
butcher knife, an' when de Yankees wasn' lookin', I tried to cut de rope
an' set Marse Frank free. But one of dem blue debils seed me an' come
runnin'. He say:
'Whut you doin', you black brat! you stinkin' little alligator bait!' He
snatched de knife from my hand an' told me to stick out my tongue, dat
he wuz gwine to cut it off. I let out a yell an' run behin' de house.
Some of de Yankees was in de smoke house gettin' de meat, some of dem
wuz at de stables gettin' de ho'ses, an' some of dem wuz in de house
gettin' de silver an' things. I seed dem put de big silver pitcher an'
tea pot in a bag. Den dey took de knives an' fo'ks an' all de candle
sticks an' platters off de side board. Dey went in de parlor an' got de
gol' clock dat wuz Mis' Mary Jane's gran'mammy's. Den dey got all de
jewelry out of Mis' Mary Jane's box.
Dey went up to Mis' Mary Jane, an' while she looked at dem wid her black
eyes snappin', dey took de rings off her fingers; den dey took her gol'
bracelet; dey even took de ruby ear rings out of her ears an' de gol'
comb out of her hair.
I done quit peepin' in de window an' wuz standin' 'side de house when de
Yankees come out in de yard wid all de stuff dey wuz totin' off. Marse
Frank wuz still settin' on de po'ch [HW correction: porch] floor wid his
han's tied an' couldn' do nothin'. 'Bout dat time I seed de bee gums in
de side yard. Dey wuz a whole line of gums. Little as I wuz I had a
notion. I run an' got me a long stick an' tu'ned over every one of dem
gums. Den I stirred dem bees up wid dat stick 'twell [HW correction:
'till] dey wuz so mad I could smell de pizen. An' bees! you ain't never
seed de like of bees. Dey wuz swarmin' all over de place. Dey sailed
into dem Yankees like bullets, each one madder den de other. Dey lit on
dem ho'ses 'twell [HW correction: till] dey looked like dey wuz live [HW
correction: alive] wid varmints. De ho'ses broke dey bridles an' tore
down de palin's an' lit out down de road. But dey [HW correction: dar]
runnin' wuzn' nothin' to what dem Yankees done. Dey bust out cussin',
but what did a bee keer about cuss words! Dey lit on dem blue coats an'
every time dey lit dey stuck in a pizen sting. De Yankee's forgot all
about de meat an' things dey done stole; dey took off down de road on er
[HW correction: a] run, passin' de horses. De bees was right after dem
in a long line. Dey'd zoom an' zip, an' zoom an' zip, an' every time
dey'd zip a Yankee would yell.
When dey'd gone Mis' Mary Jane untied Marse Frank. Den dey took all de
silver, meat an' things de Yankees lef' behin' an' buried it so if dey
come back dey couldn' fin' it.
Den day called ma an' said:
'Ida Lee, if you hadn't tu'ned [HW correction: turned] over dem bee gums
dem Yankees would have toted off near 'bout everythin' fine we got. We
want to give you somethin' you can keep so' you'll always remember dis
day, an' how you run de Yankees away.'
Den Mis' Mary Jane took a plain gold ring off her finger an' put it on
mine. An' I been wearin' it ever since.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320276]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 402
Subject: Ex-Slave Story
Person Interviewed: Martha Allen
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 7 1937"]
[HW: good short sketch]
EX-SLAVE STORY
An interview with Martha Allen, 78, of 1318 South Person Street,
Raleigh.
I wuz borned in Craven County seventy eight years ago. My pappa wuz
named Andrew Bryant an' my mammy wuz named Harriet. My brothers wuz John
Franklin, Alfred, an' Andrew. I ain't had no sisters. I reckon dat we is
what yo' call a general mixture case I am part Injun, part white, an'
part nigger.
My mammy belonged ter Tom Edward Gaskin an' she wuzn't half fed. De
cook nussed de babies while she cooked, so dat de mammies could wuck in
de fiel's, an' all de mammies done wuz stick de babies in at de kitchen
do' on dere way ter de fiel's. I'se hyard mammy say dat dey went ter
wuck widout breakfast, an' dat when she put her baby in de kitchen she'd
go by de slop bucket an' drink de slops from a long handled gourd.
De slave driver wuz bad as he could be, an' de slaves got awful
beatin's.
De young marster sorta wanted my mammy, but she tells him no, so he
chunks a lightwood knot an' hits her on de haid wid it. Dese white mens
what had babies by nigger wimmens wuz called 'Carpet Gitters'. My
father's father wuz one o' dem.
Yes mam, I'se mixed plenty case my mammy's grandmaw wuz Cherokee
Injun.
I doan know nothin' 'bout no war, case marster carried us ter Cedar
Falls, near Durham an' dar's whar we come free.
I 'members dat de Ku Klux uster go ter de Free Issues houses, strip all
de family an' whup de ole folkses. Den dey dances wid de pretty yaller
gals an' goes ter bed wid dem. Dat's what de Ku Klux wuz, a bunch of
mean mens tryin' ter hab a good time.
I'se wucked purty hard durin' my life an' I done my courtin' on a steer
an' cart haulin' wood ter town ter sell. He wuz haulin' wood too on his
wagin, an' he'd beat me ter town so's dat he could help me off'n de
wagin. I reckon dat dat wuz as good a way as any.
I tries ter be a good christian but I'se got disgusted wid dese young
upstart niggers what dances in de chu'ch. Dey says dat dey am truckin'
an' dat de Bible ain't forbid hit, but I reckin dat I knows dancin' whar
I sees hit.
N. C. District: No. 2 [ ]
Worker: Mrs. Edith S. Hibbs
No. Words: 275
Subject: Story of Joseph Anderson
Interviewed: Joseph Anderson
113 Rankin St., Wilmington, N. C.
Edited: Mrs. W. N. Harriss
[TR: No Date Stamp]
[HW: Unnumbered]
STORY OF JOSEPH ANDERSON
1113 Rankin Street
Wilmington, N. C.
Yes'm I was born a slave. I belong to Mr. T. C. McIlhenny who had a big
rice plantation "Eagles Nest" in Brunswick County. It was a big place.
He had lots of slaves, an' he was a good man. My mother and father died
when I was fourteen. Father died in February 1865 and my mother died of
pneumonia in November 1865. My older sister took charge of me.
Interviewer: "Can you read and write?"
Joseph: "Oh yes, I can write a little. I can make my marks. I can write
my name. No'm I can't read. I never went to school a day in my life. I
just "picked up" what I know."
I don't remember much about slave times. I was fourteen when I was
freed. After I was freed we lived between 8th and 9th on Chestnut. We
rented a place from Dan O'Connor a real estate man and paid him $5 a
month rent. I've been married twice. First time was married by Mr. Ed
Taylor, magistrate in Southport, Brunswick County. I was married to my
first wife twenty years and eight months. Then she died. I was married
again when I was seventy-five years old. I was married to my second wife
just a few years when she died.
I was on the police force for a year and a half. I was elected April 6,
1895. Mr. McIlhenny was an ole man then an' I used to go to see him.
I was a stevedore for Mr. Alexander Sprunt for sixty years.
Joseph is now buying his house at 1113 Rankin Street. Rents part of it
for $8.50 a month to pay for it. He stays in one room.
NOTE: Joseph's health is none too good, making information sketchy and
incoherent.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320086]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1905
Subject: MARY ANDERSON
Person Interviewed: Mary Anderson
Editor: G. L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 23 1937"]
MARY ANDERSON
86 years of age. 17 Poole Road, R. F. D. #2. Raleigh, N. C.
My name is Mary Anderson. I was born on a plantation near Franklinton,
Wake County, N. C. May 10, 1851. I was a slave belonging to Sam Brodie,
who owned the plantation at this place. My missus' name was Evaline. My
father was Alfred Brodie and my mother was Bertha Brodie.
We had good food, plenty of warm homemade clothes and comfortable
houses. The slave houses were called the quarters and the house where
marster lived was called the great house. Our houses had two rooms each
and marster's house had twelve rooms. Both the slave and white folks
buildings were located in a large grove one mile square covered with oak
and hickory nut trees. Marster's house was exactly one mile from the
main Louisburg Road and there was a wide avenue leading through the
plantation and grove to marster's house. The house fronted the avenue
east and in going down the avenue from the main road you traveled
directly west.
The plantation was very large and there were about two hundred acres of
cleared land that was farmed each year. A pond was located on the place
and in winter ice was gathered there for summer use and stored in an ice
house which was built in the grove where the other buildings were. A
large hole about ten feet deep was dug in the ground; the ice was put in
that hole and covered. [TR: HW note in left margin is illegible.]
A large frame building was built over it. At the top of the earth there
was an entrance door and steps leading down to the bottom of the hole.
Other things besides ice were stored there. There was a still on the
plantation and barrels of brandy were stored in the ice house, also
pickles, preserves and cider.
Many of the things we used were made on the place. There was a grist
mill, tannery, shoe shop, blacksmith shop, and looms for weaving cloth.
There were about one hundred, and sixty-two slaves on the plantation
and every Sunday morning all the children had to be bathed, dressed, and
their hair combed and carried down to marster's for breakfast. It was a
rule that all the little colored children eat at the great house every
Sunday morning in order that marster and missus could watch them eat so
they could know which ones were sickly and have them doctored.
The slave children all carried a mussel shell in their hands to eat
with. The food was put on large trays and the children all gathered
around and ate, dipping up their food with their mussel shells which
they used for spoons. Those who refused to eat or those who were ailing
in any way had to come back to the great house for their meals and
medicine until they were well.
Marster had a large apple orchard in the Tar River low grounds and up
on higher ground and nearer the plantation house there was on one side
of the road a large plum orchard and on the other side was an orchard of
peaches, cherries, quinces and grapes. We picked the quinces in August
and used them for preserving. Marster and missus believed in giving the
slaves plenty of fruit, especially the children.
Marster had three children, one boy named Dallas, and two girls, Bettie
and Carrie. He would not allow slave children to call his children
marster and missus unless the slave said little marster or little
missus. He had four white overseers but they were not allowed to whip a
slave. If there was any whipping to be done he always said he would do
it. He didn't believe in whipping so when a slave got so bad he could
not manage him he sold him.
Marster didn't quarrel with anybody, missus would not speak short to a
slave, but both missus and marster taught slaves to be obedient in a
nice quiet way. The slaves were taught to take their hats and bonnets
off before going into the house, and to bow and say, 'Good morning
Marster Sam and Missus Evaline'. Some of the little negroes would go
down to the great house and ask them when it wus going to rain, and when
marster or missus walked in the grove the little Negroes would follow
along after them like a gang of kiddies. Some of the slave children
wanted to stay with them at the great house all the time. They knew no
better of course and seemed to love marster and missus as much as they
did their own mother and father. Marster and missus always used gentle
means to get the children out of their way when they bothered them and
the way the children loved and trusted them wus a beautiful sight to
see.
Patterollers were not allowed on the place unless they came peacefully
and I never knew of them whipping any slaves on marster's place. Slaves
were carried off on two horse wagons to be sold. I have seen several
loads leave. They were the unruly ones. Sometimes he would bring back
slaves, once he brought back two boys and three girls from the slave
market.
Sunday wus a great day on the plantation. Everybody got biscuits
Sundays. The slave women went down to marsters for their Sunday
allowance of flour. All the children ate breakfast at the great house
and marster and missus gave out fruit to all. The slaves looked forward
to Sunday as they labored through the week. It was a great day. Slaves
received good treatment from marster and all his family.
We were allowed to have prayer meetings in our homes and we also went
to the white folks church.
They would not teach any of us to read and write. Books and papers were
forbidden. Marster's children and the slave children played together. I
went around with the baby girl Carrie to other plantations visiting. She
taught me how to talk low and how to act in company. My association with
white folks and my training while I was a slave is why I talk like white
folks.
Bettie Brodie married a Dr. Webb from Boylan, Virginia. Carrie married
a Mr. Joe Green of Franklin County. He was a big southern planter.
The war was begun and there were stories of fights and freedom. The
news went from plantation to plantation and while the slaves acted
natural and some even more polite than usual, they prayed for freedom.
Then one day I heard something that sounded like thunder and missus and
marster began to walk around and act queer. The grown slaves were
whispering to each other. Sometimes they gathered in little gangs in the
grove. Next day I heard it again, boom, boom, boom. I went and asked
missus 'is it going to rain?' She said, 'Mary go to the ice house and
bring me some pickles and preserves.' I went and got them. She ate a
little and gave me some. Then she said, 'You run along and play.' In a
day or two everybody on the plantation seemed to be disturbed and
marster and missus were crying. Marster ordered all the slaves to come
to the great house at nine o'clock. Nobody was working and slaves were
walking over the grove in every direction. At nine o'clock all the
slaves gathered at the great house and marster and missus came out on
the porch and stood side by side. You could hear a pin drap everything
was so quiet. Then marster said, 'Good morning,' and missus said, 'Good
morning, children'. They were both crying. Then marster said, 'Men,
women and children, you are free. You are no longer my slaves. The
Yankees will soon be here.'
Marster and missus then went into the house got two large arm chairs
put them on the porch facing the avenue and sat down side by side and
remained there watching.
In about an hour there was one of the blackest clouds coming up the
avenue from the main road. It was the Yankee soldiers, they finally
filled the mile long avenue reaching from marster's house to the main
Louisburg road and spread out over the mile square grove. The mounted
men dismounted. The footmen stacked their shining guns and began to
build fires and cook. They called the slaves, saying, 'Your are free.'
Slaves were whooping and laughing and acting like they were crazy.
Yankee soldiers were shaking hands with the Negroes and calling them
Sam, Dinah, Sarah and asking them questions. They busted the door to the
smoke house and got all the hams. They went to the ice-house and got
several barrels of brandy, and such a time. The Negroes and Yankees were
cooking and eating together. The Yankees told them to come on and join
them, they were free. Marster and missus sat on the porch and they were
so humble no Yankee bothered anything in the great house. The slaves
were awfully excited. The Yankees stayed there, cooked, eat, drank and
played music until about night, then a bugle began to blow and you never
saw such getting on horses and lining up in your life. In a few minutes
they began to march, leaving the grove which was soon as silent as a
grave yard. They took marster's horses and cattle with them and joined
the main army and camped just across Cypress Creek one and one half
miles from my marster's place on the Louisburg Road.
When they left the country, lot of the slaves went with them and soon
there were none of marster's slaves left. They wandered around for a
year from place to place, fed and working most of the time at some
other slave owner's plantation and getting more homesick every day.
The second year after the surrender our marster and missus got on their
carriage and went and looked up all the Negroes they heard of who ever
belonged to them. Some who went off with the Yankees were never heard of
again. When marster and missus found any of theirs they would say,
'Well, come on back home.' My father and mother, two uncles and their
families moved back. Also Lorenza Brodie, and John Brodie and their
families moved back. Several of the young men and women who once
belonged to him came back. Some were so glad to get back they cried,
'cause fare had been mighty bad part of the time they were rambling
around and they were hungry. When they got back marster would say, 'Well
you have come back home have you, and the Negroes would say, 'Yes
marster.' Most all spoke of them as missus and marster as they did
before the surrender, and getting back home was the greatest pleasure of
all.
We stayed with marster and missus and went to their church, the Maple
Springs Baptist church, until they died.
Since the surrender I married James Anderson. I had four children, one
boy and three girls.
I think slavery was a mighty good thing for mother, father, me and the
other members of the family, and I cannot say anything but good for my
old marster and missus, but I can only speak for those whose conditions
I have known during slavery and since. For myself and them, I will say
again, slavery was a mighty good thing.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320280]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 789
Subject: Cornelia Andrews
Story Teller: Cornelia Andrews
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 7 1937"]
CORNELIA ANDREWS
An interview on May 21, 1937 with Cornelia Andrews of
Smithfield, Johnston County, who is 87 years old.
De fust marster dat I 'members wuz Mr. Cute Williams an' he wuz a good
marster, but me an' my mammy an' some of de rest of 'em wuz sold to
Doctor McKay Vaden who wuz not good ter us.
Doctor Vaden owned a good-sized plantation, but he had just eight
slaves. We had plank houses, but we ain't had much food an' clothes. We
wored shoes wid wooden bottom in de winter an' no shoes in de summer. We
ain't had much fun, nothin' but candy pullin's 'bout onct a year. We
ain't raised no cane but marster buyed one barrel of 'lasses fer candy
eber year.
Yo' know dat dar wuz a big slave market in Smithfield dem days, dar wuz
also a jail, an' a whippin' post. I 'members a man named Rough somethin'
or other, what bought forty er fifty slaves at de time an' carried 'em
ter Richmond to re-sell. He had four big black horses hooked ter a cart,
an' behind dis cart he chained de slaves, an' dey had ter walk, or trot
all de way ter Richmond. De little ones Mr. Rough would throw up in de
cart an' off dey'd go no'th. Dey said dat der wuz one day at Smithfield
dat three hundret slaves wuz sold on de block. Dey said dat peoples came
from fer an' near, eben from New Orleans ter dem slave sales. Dey said
dat way 'fore I wuz borned dey uster strip dem niggers start naked an'
gallop' em ober de square so dat de buyers could see dat dey warn't
scarred nor deformed.
While I could 'member dey'd sell de mammies 'way from de babies, an'
dere wuzn't no cryin' 'bout it whar de marster would know 'bout it
nother. Why? Well, dey'd git beat black an' blue, dat's why.
Wuz I eber beat bad? No mam, I wuzn't.
(Here the daughter, a graduate of Cornell University, who was in the
room listening came forward. "Open your shirt, mammy, and let the lady
judge for herself." The old ladies eyes flashed as she sat bolt upright.
She seemed ashamed, but the daughter took the shirt off, exposing the
back and shoulders which were marked as though branded with a plaited
cowhide whip. There was no doubt of that at all.)
"I wuz whupped public," she said tonelessly, "for breaking dishes an'
'bein' slow. I wuz at Mis' Carrington's den, an' it wuz jist 'fore de
close o' de war. I wuz in de kitchen washin' dishes an' I draps one. De
missus calls Mr. Blount King, a patteroller, an' he puts de whuppin' yo'
sees de marks of on me. My ole missus foun' it out an' she comed an' got
me."
A friend of the interviewer who was present remarked, "That must have
been horrible to say the least."
"Yo' 'doan know nothin," the old Negro blazed. "Alex Heath, a slave wuz
beat ter death, hyar in Smithfield. He had stold something, dey tells
me, anyhow he wuz sentenced ter be put ter death, an' de folkses dar in
charge 'cided ter beat him ter death. Dey gib him a hundret lashes fer
nine mornin's an' on de ninth mornin' he died."
"My uncle Daniel Sanders, wuz beat till he wuz cut inter gashes an' he
wuz tu be beat ter death lak Alex wuz, but one day atter dey had beat
him an' throwed him back in jail wid out a shirt he broke out an' runned
away. He went doun in de riber swamp an' de blow flies blowed de gashes
an' he wuz unconscious when a white man found him an' tuk him home wid
him. He died two or three months atter dat but he neber could git his
body straight ner walk widout a stick; he jist could drag."
"I 'specks dat I doan know who my pappy wuz, maybe de stock nigger on de
plantation. My pappy an' mammy jist stepped ober de broom an' course I
doan know when. Yo' knows dey ain't let no little runty nigger have no
chilluns. Naw sir, dey ain't, dey operate on dem lak dey does de male
hog so's dat dey can't have no little runty chilluns."
"Some of de marsters wuz good an' some of dem wuz bad. I wuz glad ter be
free an' I lef' der minute I finds out dat I is free. I ain't got no
kick a-comin' not none at all. Some of de white folkses wuz slaves, ter
git ter de United States an' we niggers ain't no better, I reckons."
N. C. District: No. 2 [320026]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 22,289
Subject: A SLAVE STORY
(Princess Quango Hennadonah Perceriah).
Reference: MARY ANNGADY [HW: 80 years]
Editor: George L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "OCT 25 1937"]
MARY ANNGADY
(Princess Quango Hennadonah Perceriah)
1110 Oakwood Avenue, Raleigh, North Carolina.
I was eighteen years old in 1875 but I wanted to get married so I gave
my age as nineteen. I wish I could recall some of the ole days when I
was with my missus in Orange County, playing with my brothers and other
slave children.
I was owned by Mr. Franklin Davis and my madam was Mrs. Bettie Davis. I
and my brother used to scratch her feet and rub them for her; you know
how old folks like to have their feet rubbed. My brother and I used to
scrap over who should scratch and rub her feet. She would laugh and tell
us not to do that way that she loved us both. Sometimes she let me sleep
at her feet at night. She was plenty good to all of the slaves. Her
daughter Sallie taught me my A B C's in Webster's Blue Back spelling
Book. When I learned to Spell B-a-k-e-r, Baker, I thought that was
something. The next word I felt proud to spell was s-h-a-d-y, shady, the
next l-a-d-y, lady. I would spell them out loud as I picked up chips in
the yard to build a fire with. My missus Bettie gave me a blue back
spelling book.
My father was named James Mason, and he belonged to James Mason of
Chapel Hill. Mother and I and my four brothers belonged to the same man
and we also lived in the town. I never lived on a farm or plantation in
my life. I know nothing about farming. All my people are dead and I
cannot locate any of marster's family if they are living. Marster's
family consisted of two boys and two girls--Willie, Frank, Lucy and
Sallie. Marster was a merchant, selling general merchandise. I remember
eating a lot of brown sugar and candy at his store.
My mother was a cook. They allowed us a lot of privileges and it was
just one large happy family with plenty to eat and wear, good sleeping
places and nothing to worry about. They were of the Presbyterian faith
and we slaves attended Sunday school and services at their church. There
were about twelve slaves on the lot. The houses for slaves were built
just a little ways back from marster's house on the same lot. The Negro
and white children played together, and there was little if any
difference made in the treatment given a slave child and a white child.
I have religious books they gave me. Besides the books they taught me,
they drilled me in etiquette of the times and also in courtesy and
respect to my superiors until it became a habit and it was perfectly
natural for me to be polite.
The first I knew of the Yankees was when I was out in my marster's yard
picking up chips and they came along, took my little brother and put him
on a horse's back and carried him up town. I ran and told my mother
about it. They rode brother over the town a while, having fun out of
him, then they brought him back. Brother said he had a good ride and was
pleased with the blue jackets as the Yankee soldiers were called.
We had all the silver and valuables hid and the Yankees did not find
them, but they went into marster's store and took what they wanted. They
gave my father a box of hardtack and a lot of meat. Father was a
Christian and he quoted one of the Commandments when they gave him
things they had stolen from others. 'Thou shalt not steal', quoth he,
and he said he did not appreciate having stolen goods given to him.
I traveled with the white folks in both sections of the country, north
and south, after the _War Between the States_. I kept traveling with them
and also continued my education. They taught me to recite and I made
money by reciting on many of the trips. Since the surrender I have
traveled in the north for various Charitable Negro Societies and
Institutions and people seemed very much interested in the recitation I
recited called "When Malinda Sings".
The first school I attended was after the war closed. The school was
located in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and was taught by a Yankee white
woman from Philadelphia. We remained in Chapel Hill only a few years
after the war ended when we all moved to Raleigh, and I have made it my
home ever since. I got the major part of my education in Raleigh under
Dr. H. M. Tupper[1] who taught in the second Baptist Church, located on
Blount Street. Miss Mary Lathrop, a colored teacher from Philadelphia,
was an assistant teacher in Dr. Tupper's School. I went from there to
Shaw Collegiate Institute, which is now Shaw University.
I married Aaron Stallings of Warrenton, North Carolina while at Shaw.
He died and I married Rev. Matthews Anngady of Monrovia, west coast of
Africa, Liberia, Pastor of First Church. I helped him in his work here,
kept studying the works of different authors, and lecturing and
reciting. My husband, the Rev. Matthews Anngady died, and I gave a lot
of my time to the cause of Charity, and while on a lecture tour of
Massachusetts in the interest of this feature of colored welfare for
Richmond, Va., the most colorful incident of my eventful life happened
when I met Quango Hennadonah Perceriah, an Abyssinian Prince, who was
traveling and lecturing on the customs of his country and the habits of
its people. Our mutual interests caused our friendship to ripen fast and
when the time of parting came, when each of us had finished our work in
Massachusetts, he going back to his home in New York City and I
returning to Richmond, he asked me to correspond with him. I promised to
do so and our friendship after a year's correspondence became love and
he proposed and I accepted him. We were married in Raleigh by Rev. J. J.
Worlds, pastor of the First Baptist Church, colored.
P. T. Barnum had captured my husband when he was a boy and brought him
to America from Abyssinia, educated him and then sent him back to his
native country. He would not stay and soon he was in America again. He
was of the Catholic faith in America and they conferred the honor of
priesthood upon him but after he married me this priesthood was taken
away and he joined the Episcopal Church. After we were married we
decided to go on an extensive lecture tour. He had been a headsman in
his own country and a prince. We took the customs of his people and his
experiences as the subject of our lectures. I could sing, play the
guitar, violin and piano, but I did not know his native language. He
began to teach me and as soon as I could sing the song _How Firm A
Foundation_ in his language which went this way:
Ngama i-bata, Njami buyek
Wema Wemeta, Negana i
bukek diol, di Njami,
i-diol de Kak
Annimix, Annimix hanci
Bata ba Satana i-bu butete
Bata ba Npjami i bunanan
Bata be satana ba laba i wa--
Bata ba Njami ba laba Munonga
We traveled and lectured in both the north and the south and our life,
while we had to work hard, was one of happiness and contentment. I
traveled and lectured as the Princess Quango Hennadonah Perceriah, wife
of the Abyssinian Prince. I often recited the recitation written by the
colored poet, Paul Lawrence Dunbar _When Malinda Sings_ to the delight of
our audiences.
* * * * *
The following incidents of African life were related to me by my husband
Quango Hennadonah Perceriah and they were also given in his lectures on
African customs while touring the United States.
The religion of the Bakuba tribe of Abyssinia was almost wholly Pagan
as the natives believed fully in witchcraft, sorcery, myths and
superstitions. The witch doctor held absolute sway over the members of
the tribe and when his reputation as a giver of rain, bountiful crops or
success in the chase was at stake the tribes were called together and
those accused by the witch doctor of being responsible for these
conditions through witchery were condemned and speedily executed.
The people were called together by the beating of drums. The witch
doctor, dressed in the most hellish garb imaginable with his body
painted and poisonous snake bone necklaces dangling from his neck and
the claws of ferocious beasts, lions, leopards and the teeth of vicious
man-eating crocodiles finishing up his adornment, sat in the middle of
a court surrounded by the members of the tribe. In his hand he carried a
gourd which contained beads, shot, or small stones. He began his
incantations by rattling the contents of the gourd, shouting and making
many weird wails and peculiar contortions. After this had gone on for
sometime until he was near exhaustion his face assumed the expression of
one in great pain and this was the beginning of the end for some poor
ignorant savage. He squirmed and turned in different directions with his
eyes fixed with a set stare as if in expectancy when suddenly his gaze
would be fixed on some member of the tribe and his finger pointed
directly at him. The victim was at once seized and bound, the doctor's
gaze never leaving him until this was done. If one victim appeased his
nervous fervor the trial was over but if his wrought-up feelings desired
more his screechings continued until a second victim was secured. He had
these men put to death to justify himself in the eyes of the natives of
his tribe for his failing to bring rain, bountiful crops and success to
the tribe.
The witch doctor who sat as judge seemed to have perfect control over
the savages minds and no one questioned his decisions. The persons were
reconciled to their fate and were led away to execution while they
moaned and bade their friends goodbye in the doleful savage style.
Sometimes they were put on a boat, taken out into the middle of a river
and there cut to pieces with blades of grass, their limbs being
dismembered first and thrown into the river to the crocodiles. A drink
containing an opiate was generally given the victim to deaden the pain
but often this formality was dispensed with. The victims were often cut
to pieces at the place of trial with knives and their limbs thrown out
to the vultures that almost continuously hover 'round the huts and
kraals of the savage tribes of Africa.
In some instances condemned persons were burned at the stake. This form
of execution is meted out at some of the religious dances or festivities
to some of their pagan gods to atone and drive away the evil spirits
that have caused pestilences to come upon the people. The victims at
these times are tortured in truly savage fashion, being burned to death
by degrees while the other members of the tribe dance around and go wild
with religious fervor calling to their gods while the victim screeches
with pain in his slowly approaching death throes. Young girls, women,
boys and men are often accused of witchcraft. One method they used of
telling whether the victim accused was innocent or guilty was to give
them a liquid poison made from the juice of several poisonous plants. If
they could drink it and live they were innocent, if they died they were
guilty. In most cases death was almost instantaneous. Some vomited the
poison from their stomachs and lived.
The Bakubas sometimes resorted to cannibalism and my husband told me
of a Bakuba girl who ate her own mother. Once a snake bit a man and he
at once called the witch doctor. The snake was a poisonous one and the
man bitten was in great pain. The witch doctor whooped and went through
several chants but the man got worse instead of better. The witch doctor
then told the man that his wife made the snake bite him by witchery and
that she should die for the act. The natives gathered at once in
response to the witch doctor's call and the woman was executed at once.
The man bitten by the snake finally died but the witch doctor had
shifted the responsibility of his failure to help the man to his wife
who had been beheaded. The witch doctor had justified himself and the
incident was closed.
The tribe ruled by a King has two or more absolute rules. The Kings
word is law and he has the power to condemn any subject to death at any
time without trial. If he becomes angry or offended with any of his
wives a nod and a word to his bodyguard and the woman is led away to
execution. Any person of the tribe is subject to the King's will with
the exemption of the witch doctor. Executions of a different nature than
the ones described above are common occurrences. For general crimes the
culprit after being condemned to death is placed in a chair shaped very
much like the electric chairs used in American prisons in taking the
lives of the condemned. He is then tied firmly to the chair with thongs.
A pole made of a green sapling is firmly implanted in the earth nearby.
A thong is placed around the neck of the victim under the chin. The
sapling is then bent over and the other end of the thong tied to the end
of the sapling pole. The pole stretches the neck to its full length and
holds the head erect. Drums are sometimes beaten to drown the cries of
those who are to be killed. The executioner who is called a headsman
then walks forward approaching the chair from the rear. When he reaches
it he steps to the side of the victim and with a large, sharp,
long-bladed knife lops off the head of the criminal. The bodies of men
executed in this manner are buried in shallow holes dug about two feet
deep to receive their bodies.
The rank and file of the savage tribes believe explicitly [HW
correction: implicitly] in the supernatural powers of the witch doctor
and his decisions are not questioned. Not even the King of the tribe
raises a voice against him. The witch doctor is crafty enough not to
condemn any of the King's household or any one directly prominent in the
King's service. After an execution everything is quiet in a few hours
and the incident seems forgotten. The African Negroes attitude towards
the whole affair seems to be instinctive and as long as he escapes he
does not show any particular concern in his fellowman. His is of an
animal instinctive nature.
The males of the African tribes of savages have very little respect for
a woman but they demand a whole lot of courtesies from their wives,
beating them unmercifully when they feel proper respect has not been
shown them. The men hunt game and make war on other tribes and the women
do all the work. A savage warrior when not engaged in hunting or war,
sleeps a lot and smokes almost continuously during his waking hours.
Girls are bought from their parents while mere children by the payment
of so many cows, goats, etc. The King can take any woman of the tribe
whether married or single he desires to be his wife. The parents of
young girls taken to wife by the King of a tribe feel honored and fall
on their knees and thank the King for taking her.
The prince of a tribe is born a headsman and as soon as he is able to
wield a knife he is called upon to perform the duty of cutting off the
heads of criminals who are condemned to death by the King for general
crimes. Those condemned by the witch doctor for witchcraft are executed
by dismemberment or fire as described above.
* * * * *
My husband was a cannibal headsman and performed this duty of cutting
off persons heads when a boy and after being civilized in America this
feature of his early life bore so heavily upon his mind that it was
instrumental in driving him insane. By custom a prince was born a
headsman and it was compulsory that he execute criminals. He died in an
insane ward of the New Jersey State Hospital.
[Footnote 1: [HW: ]Dr. Henry M. Tupper, a Union Army chaplain, who
helped to start Shaw University in 1865.]
N. C. District: No. 2 [320126]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1051
Subject: JANE ARRINGTON
Story Teller: Jane Arrington
Editor: Geo. L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 4 1937"]
JANE ARRINGTON
84 years old
302 Fowle Street
Raleigh, N. C.
I ort to be able to tell sumpin cause I wus twelve years old when dey
had de surrender right up here in Raleigh. If I live to see dis coming
December I will be eighty five years old. I was born on the 18th of
December 1852.
I belonged to Jackson May of Nash County. I wus born on de plantation
near Tar River. Jackson May never married until I wus of a great big
girl. He owned a lot of slaves; dere were eighty on de plantation before
de surrender. He married Miss Becky Wilder, sister of Sam Wilder. De
Wilders lived on a jining plantation to where I wus borned.
Jackson May had so many niggers he let Billy Williams who had a
plantation nearby have part of 'em. Marster Jackson he raised my father
and bought my mother. My mother wus named Louisa May, and my father wus
named Louis May. My mother had six chilluns, four boys and two girls.
The boys were Richard, Farro, Caeser, and Fenner. De girls Rose and
Jane. Jane, dats me.
We lived in log houses with stick an' dirt chimleys. They called 'em
the slave houses. We had chicken feather beds to sleep on an' de houses
wus good warm comfortable log houses. We had plenty of cover an' feather
pillows.
My grandmother on my mother's side told me a lot of stories 'bout
haints and how people run from 'em. Dey told me 'bout slaves dat had
been killed by dere marster's coming back and worryin' 'em. Ole Missus
Penny Williams, before Jackson May bought mother, treated some of de
slaves mighty bad. She died an' den come back an' nearly scared de
slaves to death. Grandmother told all we chillun she seed her an' knowed
her after she been dead an' come back.
John May a slave wus beat to death by Bill Stone an' Oliver May. Oliver
May wus Junius May's son. Junius May wus Jackson May's Uncle. John May
come back an' wurried both of 'em. Dey could hardly sleep arter dat. Dey
said dey could hear him hollerin' an' groanin' most all de time. Dese
white men would groan in dere sleep an' tell John to go away. Dey would
say, 'Go way John, please go away'. De other slaves wus afraid of 'em
cause de ghost of John wurried 'em so bad.
I wurked on de farm, cuttin' corn stalks and tendin' to cattle in
slavery time. Sometimes I swept de yards. I never got any money for my
work and we didn't have any patches. My brothers caught possums, coons
and sich things an' we cooked 'em in our houses. We had no parties but
we had quiltin's. We went to the white folks church, Peach Tree Church,
six miles from de plantation an' Poplar Springs Church seven miles away.
Both were missionary Baptist Churches.
There were no overseers on Jackson May's plantation. He wouldn't have
nary one. Billy Williams didn't have none. Dey had colored slave
foremen.
After wurkin' all day dere wus a task of cotton to be picked an' spun
by 'em. Dis wus two onces of cotton. Some of de slaves run away from
Bill Williams when Marster Jackson May let him have 'em to work. Dey run
away an' come home. Aunt Chaney runned away an' mother run away. Marster
Jackson May kept 'em hid cause he say dey wus not treated right. He
wouldn't let 'em have 'em back no more.
I never saw a grown slave whupped or in chains and I never saw a slave
sold. Jackson May would not sell a slave. He didn't think it right. He
kept 'em together. He had eighty head. He would let other white people
have 'em to wurk for 'em sometimes, but he would not sell none of 'em.
If dey caught a slave wid a book you knowed it meant a whuppin', but de
white chillun teached slaves secretey sometimes. Ole man Jake Rice a
slave who belonged to John Rice in Nash County wus teached by ole John
Rice's son till he had a purty good mount of larnin'.
We did not have prayer meeting at marster's plantation or anywhur.
Marster would not allow dat.
When I wus a child we played de games of three handed reels, 'Old Gray
Goose', 'All Little Gal, All Little Gal, All Little Gal remember me'. We
took hold of hands an' run round as we sang dis song.
We sang 'Old Dan Tucker'. Git outen de way, ole Dan Tucker, Sixteen
Hosses in one stable, one jumped out an' skined his nable an' so on.
Dr. Mann and Dr. Sid Harris and Dr. Fee Mann and Dr. Mathias looked
arter us when we wus sick. Mother and de other grown folks raised herbs
dat dey give us too. Chillun took a lot of salts.
Jackson May wus too rich to go to de war. Billy Williams didn't go, too
rich too, I reckons. I remember when dey said niggers had to be free. De
papers said if dey could not be freedom by good men dere would be
freedom by blood. Dey fighted an' kept on fightin' a long time. Den de
Yankees come. [HW correction: New paragraph] I heard dem beat de drum.
Marster tole us we wus free but mother an' father stayed on with
Marster. He promised 'em sumptin, but he give 'em nothin'. When de crop
wus housed dey left.
Father and mother went to Hench Stallings plantation and stayed there
one year. Then they went to Jim Webbs farm. I don't remember how long
they stayed there but round two years. They moved about an' about among
the white folks till they died. They never owned any property. They been
dead 'bout thirty years.
I married Sidney Arrington. He has been dead six years las' September.
I am unable to do any kind of work. My arm is mighty weak.
I know slavery wus a bad thing. I don't have to think anything about
it. Abraham Lincoln wus the first of us bein' free, I think he wus a man
of God. I think Roosevelt is all right man. I belongs to the
Pentecostal Holiness Church.
AC
N. C. District: No. 2 [320031]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1,426
Subject: SARAH LOUISE AUGUSTUS
Source: Sarah Louise Augustus
Editor: George L. Andrews
[TR: No Date Stamp]
SARAH LOUISE AUGUSTUS
Age 80 years
1424 Lane Street
Raleigh, North Carolina
I wus born on a plantation near Fayetteville, N. C., and I belonged to
J. B. Smith. His wife wus named Henrietta. He owned about thirty slaves.
When a slave was no good he wus put on the auction block in Fayetteville
and sold.
My father wus named Romeo Harden and my mother wus named Alice Smith.
The little cabin where I wus born is still standing.
There wus seven children in marster's family, four girls and two boys.
The girls wus named Ellen, Ida, Mary and Elizabeth. The boys wus named
Harry, Norman and Marse George. Marse George went to the war. Mother had
a family of four girls. Their names wus: Mary, Kate, Hannah and myself,
Sarah Louise. I am the only one living and I would not be living but I
have spent most of my life in white folk's houses and they have looked
after me. I respected myself and they respected me.
My first days of slavery wus hard. I slept on a pallet on the floor of
the cabin and just as soon as I wus able to work any at all I wus put
to milking cows.
I have seen the paterollers hunting men and have seen men they had
whipped. The slave block stood in the center of the street, Fayetteville
Street, where Ramsey and Gillespie Street came in near Cool Springs
Street. The silk mill stood just below the slave market. I saw the
silkworms that made the silk and saw them gather the cocoons and spin
the silk.
They hung people in the middle of Ramsey Street. They put up a gallows
and hung the men exactly at 12 o'clock.
I ran away from the plantation once to go with some white children to
see a man hung.
The only boats I remember on the Cape Fear wus the Governor Worth, The
Hurt, The Iser and The North State. Oh! Lord yes, I remember the stage
coach. As many times as I run to carry the mail to them when they come
by! They blew a horn before they got there and you had to be on time
'cause they could not wait. There wus a stage each way each day, one up
and one down.
Mr. George Lander had the first Tombstone Marble yard in Fayetteville
on Hay Street on the point of Flat Iron place. Lander wus from Scotland.
They gave me a pot, a scarf, and his sister gave me some shells. I have
all the things they gave me. My missus, Henrietta Smith, wus Mr.
Lander's sister. I waited on the Landers part of the time. They were
hard working white folks, honest, God fearing people. The things they
gave me were brought from over the sea.
I can remember when there wus no hospital in Fayetteville. There wus a
little place near the depot where there wus a board shanty where they
operated on people. I stood outside once and saw the doctors take a
man's leg off. Dr. McDuffy wus the man who took the leg off. He lived on
Hay Street near the Silk Mill.
When one of the white folks died they sent slaves around to the homes
of their friends and neighbors with a large sheet of paper with a piece
of black crepe pinned to the top of it. The friends would sign or make a
cross mark on it. The funerals were held at the homes and friends and
neighbors stood on the porch and in the house while the services were
going on. The bodies were carried to the grave after the services in a
black hearse drawn by black horses. If they did not have black horses to
draw the hearse they went off and borrowed them. The colored people
washed and shrouded the dead bodies. My grandmother wus one who did
this. Her name wus Sarah McDonald. She belonged to Capt. George
McDonald. She had fifteen children and lived to be one hundred and ten
years old. She died in Fayetteville of pneumonia. She wus in Raleigh
nursing the Briggs family, Mrs. F. H. Briggs' family. She wus going home
to Fayetteville when she wus caught in a rain storm at Sanford, while
changing trains. The train for Fayetteville had left as the train for
Sanford wus late so she stayed wet all night. Next day she went home,
took pneumonia and died. She wus great on curing rheumatism; she did it
with herbs. She grew hops and other herbs and cured many people of this
disease.
She wus called black mammy because she wet nursed so many white
children. In slavery time she nursed all babies hatched on her marster's
plantation and kept it up after the war as long as she had children.
Grandfather wus named Isaac Fuller. Mrs. Mary Ann Fuller, Kate Fuller,
Mr. Will Fuller, who wus a lawyer in Wall Street, New York, is some of
their white folks. The Fullers were born in Fayetteville. One of the
slaves, Dick McAlister, worked, saved a small fortune and left it to
Mr. Will Fuller. People thought the slave ought to have left it to his
sister but he left it to Mr. Will. Mr. Fuller gives part of it to the
ex-slaves sister each year. Mr. Will always helped the Negroes out when
he could. He was good to Dick and Dick McAlister gave him all his
belongings when he died.
The Yankees came through Fayetteville wearing large blue coats with
capes on them. Lots of them were mounted, and there were thousands of
foot soldiers. It took them several days to get through town. The
Southern soldiers retreated and then in a few hours the Yankees covered
the town. They busted into the smokehouse at marstar's, took the meat,
meal and other provisions. Grandmother pled with the Yankees but it did
no good. They took all they wanted. They said if they had to come again
they would take the babies from the cradles. They told us we were all
free. The Negroes begun visiting each other in the cabins and became so
excited they began to shout and pray. I thought they were all crazy.
We stayed right on with marster. He had a town house and a big house on
the plantation. I went to the town house to work, but mother and
grandmother stayed on the plantation. My mother died there and the
white folks buried her. Father stayed right on and helped run the farm
until he died. My uncle, Elic Smith, and his family stayed too.
Grandfather and grandmother after a few years left the plantation and
went to live on a little place which Mrs. Mary Ann Fuller gave them.
Grandmother and grandfather died there.
I wus thirty years old when I married. I wus married in my missus'
graduating dress. I wus married in the white folks' church, to James
Henry Harris. The white folks carried me there and gave me away. Miss
Mary Smith gave me away. The wedding wus attended mostly by white
folks.
My husband wus a fireman on the Cape Fear river boats and a white man's
Negro too. We had two children, both died while little. My husband and I
spent much of our time with the white folks and when he wus on his runs
I slept in their homes. Often the children of the white families slept
with me. We both tried to live up to the standards of decency and
honesty and to be worthy of the confidence placed in us by our white
folks.
My husband wus finally offered a job with a shipping concern in
Deleware and we moved there. He wus fireman on the freighter
Wilmington. He worked there three years, when he wus drowned. After his
death I married David Augustus and immediately came back to North
Carolina and my white folks, and we have been here ever since. I am a
member of several Negro Lodges and am on the Committee for the North
Carolina Colored State Fair.
There are only a few of the old white folks who have always been good
to me living now, but I am still working with their offspring, among
whom I have some mighty dear friends. I wus about eight years old when
Sherman's Army came through. Guess I am about eighty years of age now.
AC
N. C. District: No. 2 [320261]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 908
Subject: A Slave Story
Story Teller: Charity Austin
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 26 1937"]
CHARITY AUSTIN
507 South Bloodworth Street, Raleigh, N. C.
I wus borned in the year 1852, July 27. I wus born in Granville County,
sold to a slave speculator at ten years old and carried to Southwest,
Georgia. I belonged to Samuel Howard. His daughter took me to Kinston,
North Carolina and I stayed there until I wus sold. She married a man
named Bill Brown, and her name wus Julia Howard Brown. My father wus
named Paul Howard and my mother wus named Chollie Howard. My old missus
wus named Polly Howard.
John Richard Keine from Danville, Virginia bought me and sent me to a
plantation in Georgia. We only had a white overseer there. He and his
wife and children lived on the plantation. We had slave quarters there.
Slaves were bought up and sent there in chains. Some were chained to
each other by the legs, some by the arms. They called the leg chains
shackles. I have lived a hard life. I have seen mothers sold away from
their babies and other children, and they cryin' when she left. I have
seen husbands sold from their wives, and wives sold from their husbands.
Abraham Lincoln came through once, but none of us knew who he wus. He
wus just the raggedest man you ever saw. The white children and me saw
him out at the railroad. We were settin' and waitin' to see him. He said
he wus huntin' his people; and dat he had lost all he had. Dey give him
somethin' to eat and tobacco to chew, and he went on. Soon we heard he
wus in de White House then we knew who it wus come through. We knowed
den it wus Abraham Lincoln.
We children stole eggs and sold 'em durin' slavery. Some of de white
men bought 'em. They were Irishmen and they would not tell on us. Their
names were Mulligan, Flanagan and Dugan. They wore good clothes and were
funny mens. They called guns flutes.
Boss tole us Abraham Lincoln wus dead and we were still slaves. Our
boss man bought black cloth and made us wear it for mourning for Abraham
Lincoln and tole us that there would not be freedom. We stayed there
another year after freedom. A lot o' de niggers knowed nothin' 'cept
what missus and marster tole us. What dey said wus just de same as de
Lawd had spoken to us.
Just after de surrender a nigger woman who wus bad, wus choppin' cotton
at out plantation in Georgie. John Woodfox wus de main overseer and his
son-in-law wus a overseer. Dey had a colored man who dey called a nigger
driver. De nigger driver tole de overseer de woman wus bad. De overseer
came to her, snatched de hoe from her and hit her. The blow killed her.
He was reported to de Freedman's Bureau. Dey came, whupped de overseer
and put him in jail. Dey decided not to kill him, but made him furnish
de children of de dead woman so much to live on. Dere wus a hundred or
more niggers in de field when this murder happened.
We finally found out we were free and left. Dey let me stay with Miss
Julia Brown. I was hired to her. She lived in Dooley County, Georgia. I
next worked with Mrs. Dunbar after staying with Mrs. Brown four years.
Her name wus Mrs. Winnie Dunbar and she moved to Columbia, South
Carolina takin' me with her. I stayed with her about four years. This
wus the end of my maiden life. I married Isaac Austin of Richmond
County, Georgia. He wus a native of Warrenton County and he brought me
from his home in Richmond County, Georgia to Warrenton and then from
Warrenton to Raleigh. I had two brothers and thirteen sisters. I did
general house work, and helped raise children during slavery, and right
after de war. Then you had to depend on yourself to do for children. You
had to doctor and care for them yourself. You just had to depend on
yourself.
Dey had 320 acres o' cleared fields in Georgia and then de rice fields,
I just don't know how many acres. I have seen jails for slaves. Dey had
a basement for a jail in Georgia and a guard at de holes in it.
No, No! you better not be caught tryin' to do somethin' wid a book. Dey
would teach you wid a stick or switch. De slaves had secret prayer
meetin's wid pots turned down to kill de soun' o' de singin'. We sang a
song, 'I am glad salvation's free.' Once dey heard us, nex' mornin' dey
took us and tore our backs to pieces. Dey would say, 'Are you free? What
were you singin' about freedom?' While de niggers were bein' whupped
they said, 'Pray, marster, pray.'
The doctor came to see us sometimes when we were sick, but not after.
People just had to do their own doctorin'. Sometimes a man would take
his patient, and sit by de road where de doctor travelled, and when he
come along he would see him. De doctor rode in a sully drawn by a horse.
He had a route, one doctor to two territories.
When de white folks were preparing to go to de war they had big dinners
and speakin'. Dey tole what dey were goin' to do to Sherman and Grant. A
lot of such men as Grant and Sherman and Lincoln came through de South
in rags and were at some o' dese meetings, an' et de dinners. When de
white folks foun' it out, dere wus some sick folks. Sometimes we got two
days Christmas and two days July. When de nigger wus freed dey didn't
know where to go and what to do. It wus hard, but it has been hard
since. From what de white folks, marster and missus tole us we thought
Lincoln wus terrible. By what mother and father tole me I thought he wus
all right. I think Roosevelt wus put in by God to do the right things.
EH
N. C. District: No. 2 [320012]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 367
Subject: BLOUNT BAKER
Person Interviewed: Blount Baker
Editor: G. L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "SEP 10 1937"]
BLOUNT BAKER
An interview with Blount Baker, 106 Spruce Street, Wilson, North
Carolina.
Yes'um, I 'longed ter Marse Henry Allen of Wilson County an' we always
raise terbacker. Marse Henry wus good ter us so we had a heap of prayer
meetin's an' corn shuckin's an' such.
I 'members de big meetin's dat we'd have in de summer time an' dat good
singin' we'd have when we'd be singin' de sinners through. We'd stay
pretty nigh all night to make a sinner come through, an' maybe de week
atter de meetin' he'd steal one of his marster's hogs. Yes'um, I'se had
a bad time.
You know, missy, dar ain't no use puttin' faith in nobody, dey'd fool
you ever time anyhow. I know once a patteroller tol' me dat iffen I'd
give him a belt I found dat he'd let me go by ter see my gal dat night,
but when he kotch me dat night he whupped me. I tol' Marse Henry on him
too so Marse Henry takes de belt away from him an' gives me a possum fer
hit. Dat possum shore wus good too, baked in de ashes like I done it.
I ain't never hear Marse Henry cuss but once an' dat wus de time dat
some gentlemens come ter de house an' sez dat dar am a war 'twixt de
north an' de south. He sez den, 'Let de damn yaller bellied Yankees come
on an' we'll give 'em hell an' sen' dem a-hoppin' back ter de north in a
hurry.'
We ain't seed no Yankees 'cept a few huntin' Rebs. Dey talk mean ter us
an' one of dem says dat we niggers am de cause of de war. 'Sir,' I sez,
'folks what am a wantin' a war can always find a cause'. He kicks me in
de seat of de pants fer dat, so I hushes.
I stayed wid Marse Henry till he died den I moved ter Wilson. I has
worked everwhere, terbacker warehouses an' ever'thing. I'se gittin' of
my ole age pension right away an' den de county won't have ter support
me no mo', dat is if dey have been supportin' me on three dollars a
month.
LE
N. C. District: No. 2 [320244]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 745
Subject: LIZZIE BAKER
Person Interviewed: Lizzie Baker
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
LIZZIE BAKER
424 Smith Street
I was born de las' year o' de surrender an'course I don't remember
seein' any Yankee soldiers, but I knows a plenty my mother and father
tole me. I have neuritis, an' have been unable to work any fer a year
and fer seven years I couldn't do much.
My mother wus named Teeny McIntire and my father William McIntire.
Mammy belonged to Bryant Newkirk in Duplin County. Pap belonged to
someone else, I don't know who.
Dey said dey worked from light till dark, and pap said dey beat him so
bad he run away a lot o' times. Dey said de paterollers come to whare
dey wus havin' prayer meetin' and beat 'em.
Mammy said sometimes dey were fed well and others dey almost starved.
Dey got biscuit once a week on Sunday. Dey said dey went to de white
folks's church. Dey said de preachers tole 'em dey had to obey dere
missus and marster. My mammy said she didn't go to no dances 'cause she
wus crippled. Some o' de help, a colored woman, stole something when she
wus hongry. She put it off on mother and missus made mother wear
trousers for a year to punish her.
Mammy said dey gave de slaves on de plantation one day Christmas and
dat New Years wus when dey sold 'em an' hired 'em out. All de slaves wus
scared 'cause dey didn't know who would have to go off to be sold or to
work in a strange place. Pap tole me 'bout livin' in de woods and 'bout
dey ketchin' him. I 'member his owner's name den, it wus Stanley. He run
away so bad dey sold him several times. Pap said one time dey caught him
and nearly beat him to death, and jest as soon as he got well and got a
good chance he ran away again.
Mammy said when de Yankees come through she wus 'fraid of 'em. De
Yankees tole her not to be 'fraid of 'em. Dey say to her, 'Do dey treat
you right', Mammy said 'Yes sir', 'cause ole missus wus standin' dere,
an' she wus 'fraid not to say yes. Atter de war, de fust year atter de
surrender dey moved to James Alderman's place in Duplin County and
stayed dere till I wus a grown gal.
Den we moved to Goldsboro. Father wus a carpenter and he got a lot of
dat work. Dat's what he done in Goldsboro. We come from Goldsboro to
Raleigh and we have lived here every since. We moved here about de year
o' de shake and my mother died right here in Raleigh de year o' de
shake. Some of de things mother tole me 'bout slavery, has gone right
out of my min'. Jes comes and goes.
I remember pap tellin' me' bout stretchin' vines acrost roads and paths
to knock de patterollers off deir horses when dey were tryin' to ketch
slaves. Pap and mammy tole me marster and missus did not 'low any of de
slaves to have a book in deir house. Dat if dey caught a slave wid a
book in deir house dey whupped 'em. Dey were keerful not to let 'em
learn readin' and writin'.
Dey sold my sister Lucy and my brother Fred in slavery time, an' I have
never seen 'em in my life. Mother would cry when she was tellin' me
'bout it. She never seen 'em anymore. I jes' couldn't bear to hear her
tell it widout cryin'. Dey were carried to Richmond, an' sold by old
marster when dey were chillun.
We tried to get some news of brother and sister. Mother kept 'quiring
'bout 'em as long as she lived and I have hoped dat I could hear from
'em. Dey are dead long ago I recons, and I guess dare aint no use ever
expectin' to see 'em. Slavery wus bad and Mr. Lincoln did a good thing
when he freed de niggers. I caint express my love for Roosevelt. He has
saved so many lives. I think he has saved mine. I want to see him face
to face. I purely love him and I feel I could do better to see him and
tell him so face to face.
LE
N. C. District: No. 2 [320182]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 339
Subject: VINEY BAKER
Story Teller: Viney Baker
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
VINEY BAKER
Ex-Slave Story
An interview with Viney Baker 78 of S. Harrington Street, Raleigh.
My mammy wuz Hannah Murry an' so fur as I know I ain't got no father,
do' I reckon dat he wuz de plantation stock nigger. I wuz borned in
Virginia as yo' mought say ter my marster Mr. S. L. Allen.
We moved when I wuz little ter Durham County whar we fared bad. We
ain't had nothin' much ter eat an' ter w'ar. He had a hundert slaves an'
I reckon five hundert acres o' lan'. He made us wuck hard, de little
ones included.
One night I lay down on de straw mattress wid my mammy, an' de nex'
mo'nin' I woked up an' she wuz gone. When I axed 'bout her I fin's dat a
speculator comed dar de night before an' wanted ter buy a 'oman. Dey had
come an' got my mammy widout wakin' me up. I has always been glad
somehow dat I wuz asleep.
Dey uster tie me ter a tree an' beat me till de blood run down my back,
I doan 'member nothin' dat I done, I jist 'members de whuppin's. Some
of de rest wuz beat wuser dan I wuz too, an' I uster scream dat I wuz
sho' dyin'.
Yes'um I seed de Yankees go by, but dey ain't bodder us none, case dey
knows dat 'hind eber' bush jist about a Confederate soldier pints a gun.
I warn't glad at de surrender, case I doan understand hit, an' de
Allen's keeps me right on, an' whups me wuser den dan eber.
I reckon I wuz twelve years old when my mammy come ter de house an'
axes Mis' Allen ter let me go spen' de week en' wid her. Mis' Allen
can't say no, case Mammy mought go ter de carpet baggers so she lets me
go fer de week-en'. Mammy laughs Sunday when I says somethin' 'bout
goin' back. Naw, I stayed on wid my mammy, an' I ain't seed Mis' Allen
no mo'.
AC
District: No. 2 [320151]
No. Words: 733
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
Subject: EX-SLAVE STORY
Story Teller: Charlie Barbour
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 7 1937"]
[HW: A (circled)]
EX-SLAVE STORY
An interview on May 20, 1937 with Charlie Barbour, 86 of Smithfield, N. C.
Johnston County.
I belonged ter Mr. Bob Lumsford hyar in Smithfield from de time of my
birth. My mammy wuz named Candice an' my pappy's name wuz Seth. My
brothers wuz Rufus, William an' George, an' my sisters wuz Mary an'
Laura.
I 'minds me of de days when as a youngin' [HW correction: youngun'] I
played marbles an' hide an' seek. Dar wuzn't many games den, case nobody
ain't had no time fer 'em. De grown folkses had dances an' sometimes
co'n shuckin's, an' de little niggers patted dere feets at de dances an'
dey he'p ter shuck de co'n. At Christmas we had a big dinner, an' from
den through New Year's Day we feast, an' we dance, an' we sing. De fust
one what said Christmas gift ter anybody else got a gif', so of cou'se
we all try ter ketch de marster.
On de night 'fore de first day of Jinuary we had a dance what lasts all
night. At midnight when de New Year comes in marster makes a speech an'
we is happy dat he thanks us fer our year's wuck an' says dat we is
good, smart slaves.
Marster wucked his niggers from daylight till dark, an' his thirteen
grown slaves had ter ten' 'bout three hundred acres o' land. Course dey
mostly planted co'n, peas an' vege'ables.
I can 'member, do' I wuz small, dat de slaves wuz whupped fer
disobeyin' an' I can think of seberal dat I got. I wuz doin' housewuck
at de time an' one of de silber knives got misplaced. Dey 'cused me of
misplacin' it on purpose, so I got de wust beatin' dat I eber had. I wuz
beat den till de hide wuz busted hyar an' dar.
We little ones had some time ter go swimmin' an' we did; we also
fished, an' at night we hunted de possum an' de coon sometimes. Ole
Uncle Jeems had some houn's what would run possums or coons an' he uster
take we boys 'long wid him.
I 'members onct de houn's struck a trail an' dey tree de coon. Uncle
Jeems sen's Joe, who wuz bigger den I wuz, up de tree ter ketch de coon
an' he warns him dat coons am fightin' fellers. Joe doan pay much mind
he am so happy ter git der chanct ter ketch de coon, but when he ketched
dat coon he couldn't turn loose, an' from de way he holler yo' would
s'pose dat he ain't neber wanted ter ketch a coon. When Joe Barbour wuz
buried hyar las' winter dem coon marks wuz still strong on his arms an'
han's an' dar wuz de long scar on his face.
I 'members onct a Yankee 'oman from New York looks at him an' nigh
'bout faints. 'I reckon', says she, dat am what de cruel slave owner or
driver done ter him'.
Yes mam, I knows when de Yankees comed ter Smithfield. Dey comed wid de
beatin' of drums an' de wavin' of flags. Dey says dat our governor wuz
hyar makin' a speech but he flewed 'fore dey got hyar. Anyhow, we libed
off from de main path of march, an' so we ain't been trouble so much
'cept by 'scootin' parties, as my ole missus call' em.
Dey am de darndest yo' eber seed, dey won't eat no hog meat 'cept hams
an' shoulders an' dey goes ter de smoke house an' gits 'em 'thout no
permission. Dey has what dey calls rammin' rods ter dere guns an' dey
knock de chickens in de haid wid dat. I hyard dem say dat dar warn't no
use wastin' powder on dem chickens.
Dey went ober de neighborhood stealin' an' killin' stock. I hyard 'bout
'em ketchin' a pig, cuttin' off his hams an' leave him dar alive. De
foun' all de things we done hid, not dat I thinks dat dey am witches,
but dat dey has a money rod, an' 'cides dat some of de slaves tol' 'em
whar marster had hid de things.
Yes 'um, I reckon I wuz glad ter git free, case I knows den dat I won't
wake up some mornin' ter fin' dat my mammy or some ob de rest of my
family am done sold. I left de day I hyard 'bout de surrender an' I
fared right good too, do' I knows dem what ain't farin' so well.
I ain't neber learn ter read an' write an' I knows now dat I neber
will. I can't eben write a letter ter Raleigh 'bout my ole man's
pension.
I 'members de days when mammy wored a blue hankerchief 'round her haid
an' cooked in de great house. She'd sometimes sneak me a cookie or a
cobbler an' fruits. She had her own little gyardin an' a few chickens
an' we w'oud ov been happy 'cept dat we wuz skeered o' bein' sold.
I'se glad dat slavery am ober, case now de nigger has got a chanct ter
live an' larn wid de whites. Dey won't neber be as good as de whites but
dey can larn ter live an' enjoy life more.
Speakin' 'bout de Ku Klux dey ain't do nothin' but scare me back in
'69, but iffen we had some now I thinks dat some of dese young niggers
what has forgot what dey mammies tol' 'em would do better.
MH:EH
N. C. District: No. 2 [320249]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 678
Subject: MARY BARBOUR
Person Interviewed: Mary Barbour
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
MARY BARBOUR
Ex-Slave Story
An interview with Mary Barbour 81 of 801 S. Bloodworth Street, Raleigh,
N. C.
I reckon dat I wuz borned in McDowell County, case dat's whar my mammy,
Edith, lived. She 'longed ter Mr. Jefferson Mitchel dar, an' my pappy
'longed ter er Mr. Jordan in Avery County, so he said.
'Fore de war, I doan know nothin' much 'cept dat we lived on a big
plantation an' dat my mammy wucked hard, but wuz treated pretty good.
We had our little log cabin off ter one side, an' my mammy had sixteen
chilluns. Fas' as dey got three years old de marster sol' 'em till we
las' four dat she had wid her durin' de war. I wuz de oldes' o' dese
four; den dar wuz Henry an' den de twins, Liza an' Charlie.
One of de fust things dat I 'members wuz my pappy wakin' me up in de
middle o' de night, dressin' me in de dark, all de time tellin' me ter
keep quiet. One o' de twins hollered some an' pappy put his hand ober
its mouth ter keep it quiet.
Atter we wuz dressed he went outside an' peeped roun' fer a minute den
he comed back an' got us. We snook out o' de house an' long de woods
path, pappy totin' one of de twins an' holdin' me by de han' an' mammy
carryin' de udder two.
I reckons dat I will always 'member dat walk, wid de bushes slappin' my
laigs, de win' sighin' in de trees, an' de hoot owls an' whippoorwills
hollerin' at each other frum de big trees. I wuz half asleep an' skeered
stiff, but in a little while we pass de plum' thicket an' dar am de
mules an' wagin.
Dar am er quilt in de bottom o' de wagin, an' on dis dey lays we
youngins. An' pappy an' mammy gits on de board cross de front an' drives
off down de road.
I wuz sleepy but I wuz skeered too, so as we rides 'long I lis'ens ter
pappy an' mammy talk. Pappy wuz tellin' mammy 'bout de Yankees comin'
ter dere plantation, burnin' de co'n cribs, de smokehouses an' 'stroyin'
eber'thing. He says right low dat dey done took marster Jordan ter de
Rip Raps down nigh Norfolk, an' dat he stol' de mules an' wagin an'
'scaped.
We wuz skeerd of de Yankees ter start wid, but de more we thinks 'bout
us runnin' way frum our marsters de skeerder we gits o' de Rebs. Anyhow
pappy says dat we is goin' ter jine de Yankees.
We trabels all night an' hid in de woods all day fer a long time, but
atter awhile we gits ter Doctor Dillard's place, in Chowan County. I
reckons dat we stays dar seberal days.
De Yankees has tooked dis place so we stops ober, an' has a heap o' fun
dancin' an' sich while we am dar. De Yankees tells pappy ter head fer
New Bern an' dat he will be took keer of dar, so ter New Bern we goes.
When we gits ter New Bern de Yankees takes de mules an' wagin, dey
tells pappy something, an' he puts us on a long white boat named Ocean
Waves an' ter Roanoke we goes.
Later I larns dat most o' de reffes[2] is put in James City, nigh New
Bern, but dar am a pretty good crowd on Roanoke. Dar wuz also a ole
Indian Witch 'oman dat I 'members.
Atter a few days dar de Ocean Waves comes back an' takes all ober ter
New Bern. My pappy wuz a shoemaker, so he makes Yankee boots, an' we
gits 'long pretty good.
I wuz raised in New Bern an' I lived dar till forty years ago when me
an' my husban' moved ter Raleigh an' do' he's been daid a long time I
has lived hyar ober [TR: eber] since an' eben if'en I is eighty-one
years old I can still outwuck my daughter an' de rest of dese young
niggers.
[Footnote 2: refugees]
N. C. District: No. 2 [320162]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 927
Subject: Plantation Times
Person Interviewed: Alice Baugh
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 1 1937"]
PLANTATION TIMES
An Interview on May 18, 1937 with Alice Baugh, 64, who remembers hearing
her mother tell of slavery days.
My mammy Ferbie, an' her brother Darson belonged ter Mr. David Hinnant
in Edgecombe County till young Marster Charlie got married. Den dey wuz
drawed an' sent wid him down hyar ter Wendell. De ole Hinnant home am
still standin' dar ter dis day.
Marster Charlie an' Missus Mary wuz good ter de hundred slaves what
belonged ter' em. Dey gib 'em good houses, good feed, good clothes an'
plenty uv fun. Dey had dere co'n shuckin's, dere barn dances, prayer
meetin's an' sich like all de year, an' from Christmas till de second
day o' January dey had a holiday wid roast oxes, pigs, turkey an' all de
rest o' de fixin's. From Saturday till Monday de slaves wuz off an' dey
had dere Sunday clothes, which wuz nice. De marster always gib 'em a
paper so's de patterollers won't git 'em.
Dey went up de riber to other plantations ter dances an' all dem
things, an' dey wuz awful fond uv singin' songs. Dat's whut dey done
atter dey comes ter dere cabins at de end o' de day. De grown folkses
sings an' somebody pickin' de banjo. De favorite song wuz 'Swing Low
Sweet Chariot' an' 'Play on yo' Harp Little David'. De chilluns uster
play Hide an' Seek, an' Leap Frog, an' ever'body wuz happy.
Dey had time off ter hunt an' fish an' dey had dere own chickens, pigs,
watermillons an' gyardens. De fruits from de big orchard an' de honey
from de hives wuz et at home, an' de slave et as good as his marster et.
Dey had a whole heap o' bee hives an' my mammy said dat she had ter
tell dem bees when Mis' Mary died. She said how she wuz cryin' so hard
dat she can't hardly tell 'em, an' dat dey hum lak dey am mo'nin' too.
My mammy marry my pappy dar an' she sez dat de preacher from de
Methodis' Church marry 'em, dat she w'ar Miss Mary's weddin' dress, all
uv white lace, an' dat my pappy w'ar Mr. Charlie's weddin' suit wid a
flower in de button hole. Dey gived a big dance atter de supper dey had,
an' Marster Charlie dance de first [HW correction: fust] set wid my
mammy.
I jist thought of a tale what I hyard my mammy tell 'bout de Issue
Frees of Edgecombe County when she wuz a little gal. She said dat de
Issue Frees wuz mixed wid de white folks, an' uv cou'se dat make 'em
free. Sometimes dey stay on de plantation, but a whole heap uv dem, long
wid niggers who had done runned away from dere marster, dugged caves in
de woods, an' dar dey lived an' raised dere families dar. Dey ain't
wored much clothes an' what dey got to eat an' to w'ar dey swiped from
de white folkses. Mammy said dat she uster go ter de spring fer water,
an' dem ole Issue Frees up in de woods would yell at her, 'Doan yo'
muddy dat spring, little gal'. Dat scared her moughty bad.
Dem Issue Frees till dis day shows both bloods. De white folkses won't
have 'em an' de niggers doan want 'em but will have ter have 'em
anyhow.
My uncle wuz raised in a cave an' lived on stold stuff an' berries. My
cousin runned away 'cause his marster wuz mean ter him, but dey put de
blood hounds on his trail, ketched him. Atter he got well from de
beatin' dey gib him, dey sold him.
I'se hyard ole lady Prissie Jones who died at de age of 103 las' winter
tell 'bout marsters dat when dere slaves runned away dey'd set de
bloodhounds on dere trail an' when dey ketched 'em dey'd cut dere haids
off wid de swords.
Ole lady Prissie tole 'bout slaves what ain't had nothin' ter eat an'
no clothes 'cept a little strip uv homespun, but my mammy who died four
months ago at de age 106 said dat she ain't knowed nothin' 'bout such
doin's.
When de Yankees come, dey come a burnin' an' a-stealin' an' Marster
Charlie carried his val'ables ter mammy's cabin, but dey found 'em. Dey
had a money rod an' dey'd find all de stuff no matter whar it wuz.
Mammy said dat all de slaves cried when de Yankees come, an' dat most uv
'em stayed on a long time atter de war. My mammy plowed an' done such
work all de time uv slavery, but she done it case she wanted to do it
an' not 'cause dey make her.
All de slaves hate de Yankees an' when de southern soldiers comed by
late in de night all de niggers got out of de bed an' holdin' torches
high dey march behin' de soldiers, all of dem singin', 'We'll Hang Abe
Lincoln on de Sour Apple Tree.' Yes mam, dey wuz sorry dat dey wuz free,
an' dey ain't got no reason to be glad, case dey wuz happier den dan
now.
I'se hyard mammy tell 'bout how de niggers would sing as dey picked de
cotton, but yo' ain't hyard none uv dat now. Den dey ain't had to worry
'bout nothin'; now dey has ter study so much dat dey ain't happy nuff
ter sing no mo'.
"Does yo' know de cause of de war?" Aunt Alice went to a cupboard and
returned holding out a book. "Well hyar's de cause, dis _Uncle Tom's
Cabin_ wuz de cause of it all; an' its' de biggest lie what ever been
gived ter de public."
N. C. District: No. 2 [320157]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 341
Subject: WHEN THE YANKEES CAME
Story Teller: John Beckwith
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
WHEN THE YANKEES CAME
An Interview with John Beckwith 83, of Cary.
I reckon dat I wuz 'bout nine years old at de surrender, but we warn't
happy an' we stayed on dar till my parents died. My pappy wuz named
Green an' my mammy wuz named Molly, an' we belonged ter Mr. Joe Edwards,
Mr. Marion Gully, an' Mr. Hilliard Beckwith, as de missus married all of
'em. Dar wuz twenty-one other slaves, an' we got beat ever' onct in a
while.
When dey told us dat de Yankees wuz comin' we wuz also told dat iffen
we didn't behave dat we'd be shot; an' we believed it. We would'uv
behaved anyhow, case we had good plank houses, good food, an' shoes. We
had Saturday an' Sunday off an' we wuz happy.
De missus, she raised de nigger babies so's de mammies could wuck. I
'members de times when she rock me ter sleep an' put me ter bed in her
own bed. I wuz happy den as I thinks back of it, until dem Yankees
come.
Dey come on a Chuesday; an' dey started by burnin' de cotton house an'
killin' most of de chickens an' pigs. Way atter awhile dey fin's de
cellar an' dey drinks brandy till dey gits wobbly in de legs. Atter dat
dey comes up on de front porch an' calls my missus. When she comes ter
de do' dey tells her dat dey am goin' in de house ter look things over.
My missus dejicts, case ole marster am away at de war, but dat doan do
no good. Dey cusses her scan'lous an' dey dares her ter speak. Dey robs
de house, takin' dere knives an' splittin' mattresses, pillows an' ever'
thing open lookin' fer valerables, an' ole missus dasen't open her
mouth.
Dey camped dar in de grove fer two days, de officers takin' de house
an' missus leavin' home an' goin' ter de neighbor's house. Dey make me
stay dar in de house wid 'em ter tote dere brandy frum de cellar, an'
ter make 'em some mint jelup. Well, on de secon' night dar come de wust
storm I'se eber seed. De lightnin' flash, de thunder roll, an' de house
shook an' rattle lak a earthquake had struck it.
Dem Yankees warn't supposed ter be superstitious, but lemmie tell yo',
dey wuz some skeered dat night; an' I hyard a Captain say dat de witches
wuz abroad. Atter awhile lightnin' struck de Catawba tree dar at de side
of de house an' de soldiers camped round about dat way marched off ter
de barns, slave cabins an' other places whar dey wuz safter dan at dat
place. De next mornin' dem Yankees moved frum dar an' dey ain't come
back fer nothin'.
We wuzn't happy at de surrender an' we cussed ole Abraham Lincoln all
ober de place. We wuz told de disadvantages of not havin' no edercation,
but shucks, we doan need no book larnin' wid ole marster ter look atter
us.
My mammy an' pappy stayed on dar de rest of dere lives, an' I stayed
till I wuz sixteen. De Ku Klux Klan got atter me den' bout fightin' wid
a white boy. Dat night I slipped in de woods an' de nex' day I went ter
Raleigh. I got a job dar an' eber' since den I'se wucked fer myself, but
now I can't wuck an' I wish dat yo' would apply fer my ole aged pension
fer me.
I went back ter de ole plantation long as my pappy, mammy, an' de
marster an' missus lived. Sometimes, when I gits de chanct I goes back
now. Course now de slave cabins am gone, ever' body am dead, an' dar
ain't nothin' familiar 'cept de bent Catawba tree; but it 'minds me of
de happy days.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320163]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1,566
Subject: JOHN C. BECTOM
Story Teller: John C. Bectom
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 1 1937"]
[HW: N. C.]
JOHN C. BECTOM
My name is John C. Bectom. I was born Oct. 7, 1862, near Fayetteville,
Cumberland County, North Carolina. My father's name was Simon Bectom. He
was 86 years of age when he died. He died in 1910 at Fayetteville, N. C.
My mother's name was Harriet Bectom. She died in 1907, May 23, when she
was seventy years old. My brother's were named Ed, Kato and Willie. I
was third of the boys. My sisters were Lucy, Anne and Alice. My father
first belonged to Robert Wooten of Craven County, N. C. Then he was sold
by the Wootens to the Bectoms of Wayne County, near Goldsboro, the
county seat. My mother first belonged to the McNeills of Cumberland
County. Miss Mary McNeill married a McFadden, and her parents gave my
mother to Mis' Mary. Mis' Mary's daughter in time married Ezekial King
and my mother was then given to her by Mis' Mary McFadden, her mother.
Mis' Lizzie McFadden became a King. My grandmother was named Lucy
Murphy. She belonged to the Murpheys. All the slaves were given off to
the children of the family as they married.
My father and mother told me stories of how they were treated at
different places. When my grandmother was with the Murpheys they would
make her get up, and begin burning logs in new grounds before daybreak.
They also made her plow, the same as any of the men on the plantation.
They plowed till dusk-dark before they left the fields to come to the
house. They were not allowed to attend any dances or parties unless they
slipped off unknowin's. They had candy pullings sometimes too. While
they would be there the patterollers would visit them. Sometimes the
patterollers whipped all they caught at this place, all they set their
hands on, unless they had a pass.
They fed us mighty good. The food was well cooked. They gave the slaves
an acre of ground to plant and they could sell the crop and have the
money. The work on this acre was done on moonshiny nights and holidays.
Sometimes slaves would steal the marster's chickens or a hog and slip
off to another plantation and have it cooked. We had plenty of clothes,
and one pair o' shoes a year. You had to take care of them because you
only got one pair a year. They were given at Christmas every year. The
clothes were made on the plantation.
There were corn mills on the plantation, and rice mills, and threshing
machines. The plantation had about 300 acres in farm land. The enclosure
was three miles. My marster lived in a fine house. It took a year to
build it. There were about 16 rooms in it. We slaves called it the great
house. Some of the slaves ran away and finally reached Ohio. There was
no jail on the plantation. Sometimes the overseer would whip us.
The Kings had no overseers. King beat his slaves with a stick. I
remember seeing him do this as well as I can see that house over there.
He became blind. An owl scratched him in the face when he was trying to
catch him, and his face got into sich a fix he went to Philadelphia for
treatment, but they could not cure him. He finally went blind. I have
seen him beat his slaves after he was blind. I remember it well. He beat
'em with a stick. He was the most sensitive man you ever seed. He ran a
store. After he was blind you could han' him a piece of money and he
could tell you what it was.
There were no churches on the plantation but prayer meeting' were held
in the quarters. Slaves were not allowed to go to the white folk's
church unless they were coach drivers, etc. No sir, not in that
community. They taught the slaves the Bible. The children of the marster
would go to private school. We small Negro children looked after the
babies in the cradles and other young children. When the white children
studied their lessons I studied with them. When they wrote in the sand I
wrote in the sand too. The white children, and not the marster or
mistress, is where I got started in learnin' to read and write.
We had corn shuckings, candy pullings, dances, prayer meetings. We went
to camp meetin' on Camp Meeting days in August when the crops were laid
by. We played games of high jump, jumping over the pole held by two
people, wrestling, leap frog, and jumping. We sang the songs, 'Go tell
Aunt Patsy'. 'Some folks says a nigger wont steal, I caught six in my
corn field' 'Run nigger run, the patteroller ketch you, Run nigger run
like you did the other day'.
When slaves got sick marster looked after them. He gave them blue mass
and caster oil. Dr. McDuffy also treated us. Dr. McSwain vaccinated us
for small pox. My sister died with it. When the slaves died marster
buried them. They dug a grave with a tomb in it. I do not see any of
them now. The slaves were buried in a plain box.
The marsters married the slaves without any papers. All they did was to
say perhaps to Jane and Frank, 'Frank, I pronounce you and Jane man and
wife.' But the woman did not take the name of her husband, she kept the
name of the family who owned her.
I remember seeing the Yankees near Fayetteville. They shot a bomb shell
at Wheeler's Calvary, and it hit near me and buried in the ground.
Wheeler's Calvary came first and ramsaked the place. They got all the
valuables they could, and burned the bridge, the covered bridge over
Cape Fear river, but when the Yankees got there they had a pontoon
bridge to cross on,--all those provision wagons and such. When they
passed our place it was in the morning. They nearly scared me to death.
They passed right by our door, Sherman's army. They began passing, so
the white folks said, at 9 o'clock in the mornin'. At 9 o'clock at night
they were passin' our door on foot. They said there were two hundred and
fifty thousan' o' them passed. Some camped in my marster's old fiel'. A
Yankee caught one of my marster's shoats and cut off one of the hind
quarters, gave it to me, and told me to carry and give it to my mother.
I was so small I could not tote it, so I drug it to her. I called her
when I got in hollering distance of the house and she came and got it.
The Yankees called us Johnnie, Dinah, Bill and other funny names. They
beat their drums and sang songs. One of the Yankees sang 'Rock a Bye
Baby'. At that time Jeff Davis money was plentiful. My mother had about
$1000. It was so plentiful it was called Jeff Davis shucks. My mother
had bought a pair of shoes, and had put them in a chest. A Yankee came
and took the shoes and wore them off, leaving his in their place. They
tol' us we were free. Sometimes the marster would get cruel to the
slaves if they acted like they were free.
Mat Holmes, a slave, was wearing a ball and chain as a punishment for
running away. Marster Ezekial King put it on him. He has slept in the
bed with me, wearing that ball and chain. The cuff had embedded in his
leg, it was swollen so. This was right after the Yankees came through.
It was March, the 9th of March, when the Yankees came through. Mat
Holmes had run away with the ball and chain on him and was in the woods
then. He hid out staying with us at night until August. Then my mother
took him to the Yankee garrison at Fayetteville. A Yankee officer then
took him to a black smith shop and had the ball and chain cut off his
leg. The marsters would tell the slaves to go to work that they were not
free, that they still belonged to them, but one would drop out and
leave, then another. There was little work done on the farm, and
finally most of the slaves learned they were free.
Abraham Lincoln was one of the greatest men that ever lived. He was the
cause of us slaves being free. No doubt about that. I didn't think
anything of Jeff Davis. He tried to keep us in slavery. I think slavery
was an injustice, not right. Our privilege is to live right, and live
according to the teachings of the Bible, to treat our fellowman right.
To do this I feel we should belong to some religious organization and
live as near right as we know how.
The overseers and patterollers in the time of slavery were called poor
white trash by the slaves.
On the plantations not every one, but some of the slave holders would
have some certain slave women reserved for their own use. Sometimes
children almost white would be born to them. I have seen many of these
children. Sometimes the child would be said to belong to the overseer,
and sometimes it would be said to belong to the marster.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320118]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 610
Subject: AUNT LAURA
Story Teller: LAURA BELL
Editor: Geo. L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 6 1937"]
AUNT LAURA
An interview with Laura Bell, 73 years old, of 2 Bragg Street, Raleigh,
North Carolina.
Being informed that Laura Bell was an old slavery Negro, I went
immediately to the little two-room shack with its fallen roof and shaky
steps. As I approached the shack I noticed that the storm had done great
damage to the chaney-berry tree in her yard, fallen limbs litterin' the
ground, which was an inch deep in garbage and water.
The porch was littered with old planks and huge tubs and barrels of
stagnant water. There was only room for one chair and in that sat a tall
Negro woman clad in burlap bags and in her lap she held a small white
flea-bitten dog which growled meaningly.
When I reached the gate, which swings on one rusty hinge, she bade me
come in and the Carolina Power and Light Company men, who were at work
nearby, laughed as I climbed over the limbs and garbage and finally
found room for one foot on the porch and one on the ground.
"I wus borned in Mount Airy de year 'fore de Yankees come, bein' de
fourth of five chilluns. My mammy an' daddy Minerva Jane an' Wesley
'longed ter Mr. Mack Strickland an' we lived on his big place near Mount
Airy."
"Mr. Mack wus good ter us, dey said. He give us enough ter eat an'
plenty of time ter weave clothes fer us ter wear. I've hearn mammy tell
of de corn shuckin's an' dances dey had an' 'bout some whuppin's too."
"Marse Mack's overseer, I doan know his name, wus gwine ter whup my
mammy onct, an' pappy do' he ain't neber make no love ter mammy comes up
an' takes de whuppin' fer her. Atter dat dey cou'ts on Sadday an' Sunday
an' at all de sociables till dey gits married."
"I'se hearn her tell' bout how he axed Marse Mack iffen he could cou't
mammy an' atter Marse Mack sez he can he axes her ter marry him."
"She tells him dat she will an' he had 'em married by de preacher de nex'
time he comes through dat country."
"I growed up on de farm an' when I wus twelve years old I met Thomas
Bell. My folks said dat I wus too young fer ter keep company so I had
ter meet him 'roun' an' about fer seberal years, I think till I wus
fifteen."
"He axed me ter marry him while he wus down on de creek bank a fishin'
an' I tol' him yes, but when he starts ter kiss me I tells him dat der's
many a slip twixt de cup an' de lip an' so he has ter wait till we gits
married."
"We runned away de nex' Sadday an' wus married by a Justice of de Peace
in Mount Airy."
"Love ain't what hit uster be by a long shot," de ole woman reflected,
"'Cause dar ain't many folks what loves all de time. We moved ter
Raleigh forty years ago, an' Tom has been daid seberal years now. We had
jest one chile but hit wus borned daid."
"Chilluns ain't raised ter be clean lak we wus. I knows dat de house
ain't so clean but I doan feel so much lak doin' nothin', I jest went on
a visit 'bout seben blocks up de street dis mo'nin' an' so I doan feel
lak cleanin' up none."
I cut the interview short thereby missing more facts, as the odor was
anything but pleasant and I was getting tired of standing in that one
little spot.
"Thank you for comin'", she called, and her dog growled again.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320111]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1153
Subject: EMMA BLALOCK
Story Teller: Emma Blalock
Editor: Geo. L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 6 1937"]
EMMA BLALOCK
88 years old
529 Bannon Avenue
Raleigh, N. C.
I shore do 'member de Yankees wid dere blue uniforms wid brass buttons
on 'em. I wus too small to work any but I played in de yard wid my
oldes' sister, Katie. She is dead long ago. My mother belonged to ole
man John Griffith an' I belonged to him. His plantation wus down here at
Auburn in Wake County. My father wus named Edmund Rand. He belonged to
Mr. Nat Rand. He lived in Auburn. De plantations wus not fur apart. Dere
wus about twenty-five slaves on de plantation whur mother an' me
stayed.
Marse John used ter take me on his knee an' sing, 'Here is de hammer,
Shing ding. Gimme de Hammer, shing ding.' Marster loved de nigger
chilluns on his plantation. When de war ended father come an' lived with
us at Marse John's plantation. Marster John Griffith named me Emmy. My
grandfather on my fathers side wus named Harden Rand, an' grandmother
wus named Mason Rand. My grandfather on my mother's side wus named Antny
Griffiths an' grandmother wus named Nellie.
Our food wus a plenty and well cooked. Marster fed his niggers good. We
had plenty of homespun dresses and we got shoes once a year, at
Christmas Eve. I ken 'member it just as good. We got Christmas Holidays
an' a stockin' full of candy an' peanuts. Sometimes we got ginger snaps
at Christmas. My grandmother cooked' em. She wus a good cook. My
mother's missus wus Miss Jetsy Griffith and my father's missus wus Lucy
Rand. Dey wus both mighty good women. You know I am ole. I ken 'member
all dem good white folks. Dey give us Fourth July Holidays. Dey come to
town on dat day. Dey wore, let me tell you what dey wore, dey wore
dotted waist blouses an' white pants. Dat wus a big day to ever'body, de
Fourth of July. Dey begun singing at Auburn an' sung till dey reached
Raleigh. Auburn is nine miles from Raleigh. Dere wus a lot of lemonade.
Dey made light bread in big ovens an' had cheese to eat wid it. Some
said just goin' on de fofe to git lemonade an' cheese.
In the winter we had a lot of possums to eat an' a lot of rabbits too.
At Christmas time de men hunted and caught plenty game. We barbecued it
before de fire. I 'members seein' mother an' grandmother swinging
rabbits 'fore de fire to cook 'em. Dey would turn an' turn 'em till dey
wus done. Dey hung some up in de chimbly an' dry 'em out an' keep 'em a
long time an' dat is de reason I won't eat a rabbit today. No Sir! I
won't eat a rabbit. I seed 'em mess wid 'em so much turned me 'ginst
eatin' 'em.
I don't know how much lan' Marster John owned but, Honey, dat wus some
plantation. It reached from Auburn to de Neuse River. Yes Sir, it did,
'cause I been down dere in corn hillin' time an' we fished at twelve
o'clock in Neuse River. Marster John had overseers. Dere wus six of 'em.
Dey rode horses over de fields but I don't 'member dere names.
I never seen a slave whupped but dey wus whupped on de plantation an' I
heard de grown folks talkin' 'bout it. My uncles Nat an' Bert Griffiths
wus both whupped. Uncle Nat would not obey his missus rules an' she had
him whupped. Dey whupped Uncle Bert 'cause he stayed drunk so much. He
loved his licker an' he got drunk an' cut up bad, den dey whupped him.
You could git plenty whiskey den. Twon't like it is now. No sir, it
won't. Whiskey sold fur ten cents a quart. Most ever' body drank it but
you hardly ever seed a man drunk. Slaves wus not whupped for drinkin'.
Dere Marsters give 'em whiskey but dey wus whupped for gittin' drunk.
Dere wus a jail, a kind of stockade built of logs, on de farm to put
slaves in when dey wouldn't mind. I never say any slave put on de block
an' sold, but I saw Aunt Helen Rand cryin' because her Marster Nat Rand
sold her boy, Fab Rand.
No Sir, no readin' an' writin'. You had to work. Ha! ha! You let your
marster or missus ketch you wid a book. Dat wus a strict rule dat no
learnin' wus to be teached. I can't read an' write. If it wus not fur my
mother wit don't know what would become of me. We had prayer meetings
around at de slave houses. I 'member it well. We turned down pots on de
inside of de house at de door to keep marster an' missus from hearin' de
singin' an' prayin'. Marster an' his family lived in de great house an'
de slave quarters wus 'bout two hundred yards away to the back of de
great house. Dey wus arranged in rows. When de war ended we all stayed
on wid de families Griffiths an' Rands till dey died, dat is all 'cept
my father an' me. He lef' an' I lef'. I been in Raleigh forty-five
years. I married Mack Blalock in Raleigh. He been dead seven years.
My mother had two boys, Antny an' Wesley. She had four girls, Katie,
Grissie, Mary Ella an' Emma. I had three chilluns, two are livin' yet.
They both live in Raleigh.
We had big suppers an' dinners at log rollin's an' corn shuckin's in
slavery time ha! ha! plenty of corn licker for ever'body, both white an'
black. Ever'body helped himself. Dr. Tom Busbee, one good ole white man,
looked after us when we got sick, an' he could make you well purty
quick, 'cause he wus good an' 'cause he wus sorry fer you. He wus a
feelin' man. Course we took erbs. I tell you what I took. Scurrey grass,
chana balls dey wus for worms. Scurrey grass worked you out. Dey give us
winter green to clense our blood. We slaves an' a lot of de white folks
drank sassafras tea in de place of coffee. We sweetened it wid brown
sugar, honey, or molasses, just what we had in dat line. I think slavery
wus a right good thing. Plenty to eat an' wear.
When you gits a tooth pulled now it costs two dollars, don't it? Well
in slavery time I had a tooth botherin' me. My mother say, Emma, take
dis egg an' go down to Doctor Busbee an' give it to him an' git your
tooth pulled. I give him one egg. He took it an' pulled my tooth. Try
dat now, if you wants to an' see what happens. Yes, slavery wus a purty
good thing.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320165]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 1430
Subject: Days on the Plantation
Person Interviewed: Uncle David Blount
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 1 1937"]
[HW: N. C. Good general story--]
[HW: Good story
Hates the Yankees
boy beaten by overseer who is later discharged;
slaves make pact with Yankees]
DAYS ON THE PLANTATION
As told by Uncle David Blount, formerly of Beaufort County, who did not
know his age. "De Marster" he refers to was Major Wm. A. Blount, who
owned plantations in several parts of North Carolina.
Yes mam, de days on de plantation wuz de happy days. De marster made us
wuck through de week but on Sadays we uster go swimmin' in de riber an'
do a lot of other things dat we lak ter do.
We didn't mind de wuck so much case de ground wuz soft as ashes an' de
marster let us stop and rest when we got tired. We planted 'taters in de
uplan's and co'n in de lowgroun's nex' de riber. It wuz on de Cape Fear
an' on hot days when we wuz a-pullin' de fodder we'd all stop wuck 'bout
three o'clock in de ebenin' an' go swimmin'. Atter we come out'n de
water we would wuck harder dan eber an' de marster wuz good to us, case
we did wuck an' we done what he ast us.
I 'members onct de marster had a oberseer dar dat wuz meaner dan a mean
nigger. He always hired good oberseers an' a whole lot of times he let
some Negro slave obersee. Well, dis oberseer beat some of de half grown
boys till de blood run down ter dar heels an' he tole de rest of us dat
if we told on him dat he'd kill us. We don't dasen't ast de marster ter
git rid of de man so dis went on fer a long time.
It wuz cold as de debil one day an' dis oberseer had a gang of us
a-clearin' new groun'. One boy ast if he could warm by de bresh heap. De
oberseer said no, and atter awhile de boy had a chill. De oberseer don't
care, but dat night de boy am a sick nigger. De nex' mornin' de marster
gits de doctor, an' de doctor say dat de boy has got pneumonia. He tells
'em ter take off de boys shirt an' grease him wid some tar, turpentine,
an' kerosene, an' when dey starts ter take de shirt off dey fin's dat it
am stuck.
Dey had ter grease de shirt ter git it off case de blood whar de
oberseer beat him had stuck de shirt tight ter de skin. De marster wuz
in de room an' he axed de boy how come it, an' de boy tole him.
De marster sorta turns white an' he says ter me, 'Will yo' go an' ast
de oberseer ter stop hyar a minute, please?'
When de oberseer comes up de steps he axes sorta sassy-like, 'What yo'
want?'
De marster says, 'Pack yo' things an' git off'n my place as fast as yo'
can, yo' pesky varmit.'
De oberseer sasses de marster some more, an' den I sees de marster
fairly loose his temper for de first time. He don't say a word but he
walks ober, grabs de oberseer by de shoulder, sets his boot right hard
'ginst de seat of his pants an' sen's him, all drawed up, out in de
yard on his face. He close up lak a umbrella for a minute den he pulls
hisself all tergether an' he limps out'n dat yard an' we ain't neber
seed him no more.
No mam, dar wuzent no marryin' on de plantation dem days, an' as one
ole 'oman raised all of de chilluns me an' my brother Johnnie ain't
neber knowed who our folkses wuz. Johnnie wuz a little feller when de
war ended, but I wuz in most of de things dat happen on de plantation
fer a good while.
One time dar, I done fergit de year, some white mens comes down de
riber on a boat an' dey comes inter de fiel's an' talks ter a gang of us
an' dey says dat our masters ain't treatin' us right. Dey tells us dat
we orter be paid fer our wuck, an' dat we hadn't ort ter hab passes ter
go anywhar. Dey also tells us dat we ort ter be allowed ter tote guns if
we wants 'em. Dey says too dat sometime our marsters was gwine ter kill
us all.
I laughs at 'em, but some of dem fool niggers listens ter 'em; an' it
'pears dat dese men gib de niggers some guns atter I left an' promised
ter bring 'em some more de nex' week.
I fin's out de nex' day 'bout dis an' I goes an' tells de marster. He
sorta laughs an' scratches his head, 'Dem niggers am headed fer trouble,
Dave, 'he says ter me, 'an I wants yo' ter help me.'
I says, 'Yas sar, marster.'
An' he goes on, 'Yo' fin's out when de rest of de guns comes Dave, an'
let me know.'
When de men brings back de guns I tells de marster, an' I also tells
him dat dey wants ter hold er meetin'.
'All right,' he says an' laughs, 'dey can have de meetin'. Yo' tell
'em, Dave, dat I said dat dey can meet on Chuesday night in de pack
house.'
Chuesday ebenin' he sen's dem all off to de low groun's but me, an' he
tells me ter nail up de shutters ter de pack house an' ter nail 'em up
good.
I does lak he tells me ter do an' dat night de niggers marches in an'
sneaks dar guns in too. I is lyin' up in de loft an' I hyars dem say dat
atter de meetin' dey is gwine ter go up ter de big house an' kill de
whole fambly.
I gits out of de winder an' I runs ter de house an tells de marster.
Den me an' him an' de young marster goes out an' quick as lightnin', I
slams de pack house door an' I locks it. Den de marster yells at dem,
'I'se got men an' guns out hyar, he yells, 'an' if yo' doan throw dem
guns out of de hole up dar in de loft, an' throw dem ebery one out I'se
gwine ter stick fire ter dat pack house.'
De niggers 'liberates for a few minutes an' den dey throws de guns out.
I knows how many dey has got so I counts till dey throw dem all out, den
I gathers up dem guns an' I totes 'em off ter de big house.
Well sar, we keeps dem niggers shet up fer about a week on short
rations; an' at de end of dat time dem niggers am kyored for good. When
dey comes out dey had three oberseers 'stid of one, an' de rules am
stricter dan eber before; an' den de marster goes off ter de war.
I reckon I was 'bout fifteen or sixteen den; an' de marster car's me
'long fer his pusonal sarvant an' body guard an' he leabes de rest of
dem niggers in de fiel's ter wuck like de dickens while I laughs at dem
Yankees.
Jim belonged to Mr. Harley who lived in New Hanover County during de
war, in fac' he was young Massa Harley's slave; so when young Massa Tom
went to de war Jim went along too.
Dey wuz at Manassas, dey tells me, when Massa Tom got kilt, and de
orders wuz not to take no bodies off de field right den.
Course ole massa down near Wilmington, doan know 'bout young Massa Tom,
but one night dey hears Jim holler at de gate. Dey goes runnin' out; an'
Jim has brung Massa Tom's body all dat long ways home so dat he can be
buried in de family burian ground.
De massa frees Jim dat night; but he stays on a time atter de war, an'
tell de day he died he hated de Yankees for killing Massa Tom. In fact
we all hated de Yankees, 'specially atter we hear 'bout starve dat first
winter. I tried ter make a libin' fer me an' Johnnie but it was bad
goin'; den I comes ter Raleigh an' I gits 'long better. Atter I gits
settled I brings Johnnie, an' so we done putty good.
Dat's all I can tell yo' now Miss, but if'n yo'll come back sometime
I'll tell yo' de rest of de tales.
Shortly after the above interview Uncle Dave who was failing fast was
taken to the County Home, where he died. He was buried on May 4th, 1937,
the rest of the tale remaining untold.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320185]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 459
Subject: Ex-Slave Story
Person Interviewed: Clay Bobbit
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 17 1937"]
EX-SLAVE STORY
An interview with Clay Bobbit, 100 of S. Harrington Street, Raleigh,
N. C., May 27, 1937.
I wuz borned May 2, 1837 in Warren County to Washington an' Delisia
Bobbit. Our Marster wuz named Richard Bobbit, but we all calls him Massa
Dick.
Massa Dick ain't good ter us, an' on my arm hyar, jist above de elbow
am a big scar dis day whar he whupped me wid a cowhide. He ain't whupped
me fer nothin' 'cept dat I is a nigger. I had a whole heap of dem
whuppin's, mostly case I won't obey his orders an' I'se seed slaves beat
'most ter deff.
I wuz married onct 'fore de war by de broom stick ceremony, lak all de
rest of de slaves wuz but shucks dey sold away my wife 'fore we'd been
married a year an' den de war come on.
I had one brother, Henry who am wuckin' fer de city, an' one sister
what wuz named Deliah. She been daid dese many years now.
Massa Dick owned a powerful big plantation an' ober a hundert slaves,
an' we wucked on short rations an' went nigh naked. We ain't gone
swimmin' ner huntin' ner nothin' an' we ain't had no pleasures 'less we
runs away ter habe 'em. Eben when we sings we had ter turn down a pot in
front of de do' ter ketch de noise.
I knowed some pore white trash; our oberseer wuz one, an' de shim
shams[3] wuz also nigh 'bout also. We ain't had no use fer none of 'em
an' we shorely ain't carin' whe'her dey has no use fer us er not.
De Ku Kluxes ain't done nothin' fer us case dar ain't many in our
neighborhood. Yo' see de Yankees ain't come through dar, an' we is
skeerd of dem anyhow. De white folks said dat de Yankees would kill us
if'en dey ketched us.
I ain't knowed nothin' 'bout de Yankees, ner de surrender so I stays on
fer seberal months atter de wahr wuz ober, den I comes ter Raleigh an'
goes ter wuck fer de city. I wucks fer de city fer nigh on fifty years,
I reckon, an' jis' lately I retired.
I'se been sick fer 'bout four months an' on, de second day of May. De
day when I wuz a hundert years old I warn't able ter git ter de city
lot, but I got a lot uv presents.
Dis 'oman am my third lawful wife. I married her three years ago.[4]
[Footnote 3: Shim Sham, Free Issues or Negroes of mixed blood.]
[Footnote 4: The old man was too ill to walk out on the porch for his
picture, and his mind wandered too much to give a connected account of
his life.]
N. C. District: No. 2 [320190]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 793
Subject: Ex-Slave Story
Story Teller: Henry Bobbitt
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
EX-SLAVE STORIES
An interview with Henry Bobbitt, 87 of Raleigh, Wake County N. C. May 13,
1937 by Mary A. Hicks.
I wuz borned at Warrenton in Warren County in 1850. My father wuz named
Washington, atter General Washington an' my mamma wuz named Diasia atter
a woman in a story. Us an' 'bout forty or fifty other slaves belonged
ter Mr. Richard Bobbitt an' we wucked his four hundred acres o' land fer
him. I jist had one brother named Clay, atter Henry Clay, which shows
how Massa Dick voted, an' Delilah, which shows dat ole missus read de
Bible.
We farmed, makin' tobacco, cotton, co'n, wheat an' taters. Massa Dick
had a whole passel o' fine horses an' our Sunday job wuz ter take care
of 'em, an' clean up round de house. Yes mam, we wucked seben days a
week, from sunup till sundown six days, an' from seben till three or
four on a Sunday.
We didn't have many tear-downs an' prayer meetin's an' sich, case de
fuss sturbed ole missus who wuz kinder sickly. When we did have sompin'
we turned down a big wash-pot in front of de do', an' it took up de fuss,
an' folkses in de yard can't hyar de fuss. De patterollers would git
you iffen you went offen de premises widout a pass, an' dey said dat dey
would beat you scandelous. I seed a feller dat dey beat onct an' he had
scars as big as my fingers all ober his body.
I got one whuppin' dat I 'members, an' dat wuz jist a middlin' one. De
massa told me ter pick de cotton an' I sot down in de middle an' didn't
wuck a speck. De oberseer come an' he frailed me wid a cotton-stalk; he
wuz a heap meaner ter de niggers dan Massa Dick wuz. I saw some niggers
what wuz beat bad, but I ain't neber had no bad beatin'.
We libed in log houses wid sand floors an' stick an' dirt chimneys an'
we warn't 'lowed ter have no gyarden, ner chickens, ner pigs. We ain't
had no way o' makin' money an' de fun wuz only middlin'. We had ter
steal what rabbits we et from somebody elses [TR correction: else's]
boxes on some udder plantation, case de massa won't let us have none o'
our own, an' we ain't had no time ter hunt ner fish.
Now talkin' 'bout sompin' dat we'd git a whuppin' fer, dat wuz fer
havin' a pencil an' a piece of paper er a slate. Iffen you jist looked
lak you wanted ter larn ter read er write you got a lickin'.
Dar wuz two colored women lived nigh us an' dey wuz called "free
issues," but dey wuz really witches. I ain't really seen 'em do nothin'
but I hyard a whole lot 'bout 'em puttin' spells on folkses an' I seed
tracks whar day had rid Massa Dick's hosses an' eber mo'nin' de hosses
manes an' tails would be all twisted an' knotted up. I know dat dey done
dat case I seed it wid my own eyes. Dey doctored lots of people an' our
folkses ain't neber had no doctor fer nothin' dat happen.
You wuz axin' 'bout de slave sales, an' I want ter tell you dat I has
seen some real sales an' I'se seed niggers, whole bunches of' em, gwin'
ter Richmond ter be sold. Dey wuz mostly chained, case dey wuz new ter
de boss, an' he doan know what ter 'spect. I'se seed some real sales in
Warrenton too, an' de mammies would be sold from deir chilluns an' dare
would be a whole heap o' cryin' an' mou'nin' 'bout hit. I tell you
folkses ain't lak dey uster be, 'specially niggers. Uster be when a
nigger cries he whoops an' groans an' hollers an' his whole body rocks,
an' dat am de way dey done sometime at de sales.
Speakin' 'bout haints: I'se seed a whole lot o' things, but de worst
dat eber happen wuz 'bout twenty years ago when a han'ts hand hit me
side o' de haid. I bet dat hand weighed a hundred pounds an' it wuz as
cold as ice. I ain't been able ter wuck fer seben days an' nights an' I
still can't turn my haid far ter de left as you sees.
I reckon 'bout de funniest thing 'bout our plantation wuz de
marryin'. A couple got married by sayin' dat dey wuz, but it couldn't
last fer longer dan five years. Dat wuz so iffen one of 'em got too
weakly ter have chilluns de other one could git him another wife or
husban'.
I 'members de day moughty well when de Yankees come. Massa Dick he
walked de floor an' cussed Sherman fer takin' his niggers away. All o'
de niggers lef', of course, an' me, I walked clean ter Raleigh ter find
out if I wuz really free, an' I couldn't unnerstan' half of it.
Well de first year I slept in folkses woodhouses an' barns an' in de
woods or any whar else I could find. I wucked hyar an' dar, but de
folkses' jist give me sompin' ter eat an' my clothes wuz in strings'
fore de spring o' de year.
Yo' axes me what I thinks of Massa Lincoln? Well, I thinks dat he wuz
doin' de wust thing dat he could ter turn all dem fool niggers loose
when dey ain't got no place ter go an' nothin' ter eat. Who helped us
out den? Hit wuzn't de Yankees, hit wuz de white folkses what wuz left
wid deir craps in de fiel's, an' wuz robbed by dem Yankees, ter boot. My
ole massa, fur instance, wuz robbed uv his fine hosses an' his feed
stuff an' all dem kaigs o' liquor what he done make hisself, sides his
money an' silver.
Slavery wuz a good thing den, but de world jist got better an'
outgrowed it.
EH
N. C. District: No. 2 [320235]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 863
Subject: HERNDON BOGAN
Story Teller: Herndon Bogan
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
HERNDON BOGAN
Ex-Slave Story
An interview with Herndon Bogan, 76 (?) of State Prison, Raleigh, N. C.
I wus bawned in Union County, South Carolina on de plantation o' Doctor
Bogan, who owned both my mammy Issia, an' my pap Edwin. Dar wus six o'
us chilluns; Clara, Lula, Joe, Tux, Mack an' me.
I doan' member much 'bout slavery days 'cept dat my white folkses wus
good ter us. Dar wus a heap o' slaves, maybe a hundert an' fifty. I
'members dat we wucked hard, but we had plenty ter eat an' w'ar, eben
iffen we did w'ar wood shoes.
I kin barely recolleck 'fore de war dat I'se seed a heap o' cocks
fightin' in pits an' a heap o' horse racin'. When de marster winned he
'ud give us niggers a big dinner or a dance, but if he lost, oh!
My daddy wus gived ter de doctor when de doctor wus married an' dey
shore loved each other. One day marster, he comes in an' he sez dat de
Yankees am aimin' ter try ter take his niggers way from him, but dat dey
am gwine ter ketch hell while dey does hit. When he sez dat he starts
ter walkin' de flo'. 'I'se gwine ter leave yore missus in yore keer,
Edwin,' he sez.
But pa 'lows, 'Wid all respec' fer yore wife sar, she am a Yankee too,
an' I'd ruther go wid you ter de war. Please sar, massa, let me go wid
you ter fight dem Yanks.'
At fust massa 'fuses, den he sez, 'All right.' So off dey goes ter de
war, massa on a big hoss, an' my pap on a strong mule 'long wid de
blankets an' things.
Dey tells me dat ole massa got shot one night, an' dat pap grabs de gun
'fore hit hits de earth an' lets de Yanks have hit.
I 'members dat dem wus bad days fer South Carolina, we gived all o' de
food ter de soldiers, an' missus, eben do' she has got some Yankee folks
in de war, l'arns ter eat cabbages an' kush an' berries.
I 'members dat on de day of de surrender, leastways de day dat we hyard
'bout hit, up comes a Yankee an' axes ter see my missus. I is shakin', I
is dat skeerd, but I bucks up an' I tells him dat my missus doan want
ter see no blue coat.
He grins, an' tells me ter skedaddle, an' 'bout den my missus comes out
an' so help me iffen she doan hug dat dratted Yank. Atter awhile I
gathers dat he's her brother, but at fust I ain't seed no sense in her
cryin' an' sayin' 'thank God', over an' over.
Well sar, de massa an' pap what had gone off mad an' healthy an' ridin'
fine beastes comes back walkin' an' dey looked sick. Massa am white as
cotton, an' so help me, iffen my pap, who wuz black as sin, ain't pale
too.
Atter a few years I goes ter wuck in Spartanburg as a houseboy, den I
gits a job wid de Southern Railroad an' I goes ter Charlotte ter
night-watch de tracks.
I stays dar eighteen years, but one night I kills a white hobo who am
tryin' ter rob me o' my gol' watch an' chain, an' dey gives me eighteen
months. I'se been hyar six already. He wus a white man, an' jist a boy,
an' I is sorry, but I comes hyar anyhow.
I hyard a ole 'oman in Charlotte tell onct 'bout witchin' in slavery
times, dar in Mecklenburg County. She wus roun' ninety, so I reckon she
knows. She said dat iffen anybody wanted ter be a witch he would draw a
circle on de groun' jist at de aidge o' dark an' git in de circle an'
squat down.
Dar he had ter set an' talk ter de debil, an' he mus' say, 'I will have
nothin' ter do wid 'ligion, an' I wants you ter make me a witch.' Atter
day he mus' bile a black cat, a bat an' a bunch of herbs an' drink de
soup, den he wuz really a witch.
When you wanted ter witch somebody, she said dat you could take dat
stuff, jist a little bit of hit an' put hit under dat puson's doorsteps
an' dey'd be sick.
You could go thru' de key hole or down de chimney or through de chinks
in a log house, an' you could ride a puson jist lak ridin' a hoss. Dat
puson can keep you outen his house by layin' de broom 'fore de do' an'
puttin' a pin cushion full of pins side of de bed do', iffen he's a mind
to.
Dat puson can kill you too, by drawin' yore pitcher an' shootin' hit in
de haid or de heart too.
Dar's a heap o' ways ter tell fortunes dat she done tol' me but I'se
done forgot now 'cept coffee groun's an' a little of de others. You
can't tell hit wid 'em do', case hit takes knowin' how, hit shore
does.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320022]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 1,741
Subject: ANDREW BOONE
Story Teller: Andrew Boone
Editor: G. L. Andrews
ANDREW BOONE
age 90 years.
Wake County, North Carolina. Harris Farm.
I been living in dese backer barns fifteen years. I built this little
shelter to cook under. Dey cut me off the WPA cause dey said I wus too
ole to work. Dey tole us ole folks we need not put down our walkin'
sticks to git work cause dey jes' won't goin' to put us on.
Well, I had some tomatoes cooked widout any grease for my breakfast. I
had a loaf of bread yesterday, but I et it. I ain't got any check from
the ole age pension an' I have nothin' to eat an' I am hongry. I jes'
looks to God. I set down by de road thinkin' bout how to turn an' what
to do to git a meal, when you cum along. I thanks you fer dis dime. I
guess God made you give it to me.
I wus glad to take you down to my livin' place to give you my story.
Dis shelter, an ole tobacco barn, is better dan no home at all. I is a
man to myself an' I enjoy livin' out here if I could git enough to eat.
Well de big show is coming to town. It's de Devil's wurk. Yes sir, it's
de Devil's wurk. Why dem show folks ken make snakes an' make 'em crawl
too. Dere wus one in Watson Field in de edge of Raleigh not long ago an'
he made snakes an' made 'em crawl too. All shows is de Devil's wurk.
I never done anything fer myself in all my life. I always wurked fer de
Rebels. I stuck right to 'em. Didn't have no sense fer doin' dat I
guess.
One time a Rebel saw a Yankee wid one eye, one leg an' one arm. De
Yankee wus beggin'. De Rebel went up to him an' give him a quarter. Den
he backed off an' jes' stood a-lookin' at de Yankee, presently he went
back an' give him anudder quarter, den anudder, den he said, 'You take
dis whole dollar, you is de first Yankee I eber seed trimmed up jes' to
my notion, so take all dis, jes' take de whole dollar, you is trimmed up
to my notion'.
I belonged to Billy Boone in Slavery time. He wus a preacher. He lived
on an' owned a plantation in Northampton County. The plantation wus near
woodland. The nearest river to the place wus the Roanoke. My ole missus'
name wus Nancy. When ole marster died I stayed around wid fust one then
another of the chilluns, cause marster tole me jes' fore he died fer me
to stay wid any of 'em I wanted to stay with. All dem ole people done
dead an' gone on.
Niggers had to go through thick an' thin in slavery time, with rough
rations most of de time, wid jes' enough clothin' to make out wid. Our
houses were built of logs an' covered wid slabs. Dey wus rived out of
blocks of trees about 3-6 and 8ft in length. De chimleys wus built of
sticks and mud, den a coat of clay mud daubed over 'em. De cracks in de
slave houses wus daubed wid mud too.
We wurked from sun to sun. If we had a fire in cold weather where we
wus wurkin' marster or de overseer would come an' put it out. We et
frozen meat an' bread many times in cold weather. After de day's wurk in
de fields wus over we had a task of pickin' de seed from cotton till we
had two ounces of lint or spin two ounces of cotton on a spinnin' wheel.
I spun cotton on a spinnin' wheel. Dats de way people got clothes in
slavery time.
I can't read an' write but dey learned us to count. Dey learned us to
count dis way. 'Ought is an' ought, an' a figger is a figger, all for de
white man an' nothin' fer de nigger'. Hain't you heard people count dat
way?
Dey sold slaves jes' like people sell hosses now. I saw a lot of slaves
sold on de auction block. Dey would strip 'em stark naked. A nigger
scarred up or whaled an' welted up wus considered a bad nigger an' did
not bring much. If his body wus not scarred, he brought a good price. I
saw a lot of slaves whupped an' I was whupped myself. Dey whupped me wid
de cat o' nine tails. It had nine lashes on it. Some of de slaves wus
whupped wid a cabbin paddle. Dey had forty holes in' em an' when you wus
buckled to a barrel dey hit your naked flesh wid de paddle an' every
whur dere wus a hole in de paddle it drawed a blister. When de whuppin'
wid de paddle wus over, dey took de cat o' nine tails an' busted de
blisters. By dis time de blood sometimes would be runnin' down dere
heels. Den de next thing wus a wash in salt water strong enough to hold
up an egg. Slaves wus punished dat way fer runnin' away an' sich.
If you wus out widout a pass dey would shore git you. De paterollers
shore looked after you. Dey would come to de house at night to see who
wus there. If you wus out of place, dey would wear you out.
Sam Joyner, a slave, belonged to marster. He wus runnin' from de
paterollers an' he fell in a ole well. De pateroller went after marster.
Marster tole' em to git ole Sam out an' whup him jes' as much as dey
wanted to. Dey got him out of de well an' he wus all wet an' muddy. Sam
began takin' off his shoes, den he took off his pants an' got in his
shirt tail. Marster, he say, 'What you takin' off you clothes fer Sam?'
Sam, he say, 'Marster, you know you all can't whup dis nigger right over
all dese wet clothes.' Den Sam lit out. He run so fas' he nearly flew.
De paterollers got on dere hosses an' run him but dey could not ketch
him. He got away. Marster got Sam's clothes an' carried 'em to de house.
Sam slipped up next morning put his clothes on an' marster said no more
about it.
I wus a great big boy when de Yankees come through. I wus drivin' a two
mule team an' doin' other wurk on de farm. I drove a two hoss wagon when
dey carried slaves to market. I went to a lot of different places.
My marster wus a preacher, Billy Boone. He sold an' bought niggers. He
had fifty or more. He wurked the grown niggers in two squads. My father
wus named Isham Boone and my mother wus Sarah Boone. Marster Boone
whupped wid de cobbin paddle an' de cat o' nine tails an' used the salt
bath an' dat wus 'nough. Plenty besides him whupped dat way.
Marster had one son, named Solomon, an' two girls, Elsie an' Alice. My
mother had four children, three boys an' one girl. The boys were named
Sam, Walter and Andrew, dats me, an' de girl wus Cherry.
My father had several children cause he had several women besides
mother. Mollie and Lila Lassiter, two sisters, were also his women.
Dese women wus given to him an' no udder man wus allowed to have
anything to do wid 'em. Mollie an' Lila both had chilluns by him. Dere
names wus Jim, Mollie, Liza, Rosa, Pete an' I can't remember no more of
'em.
De Yankees took jes' what dey wanted an' nothin' stopped 'em, cause de
surrender had come. Before de surrender de slave owners begun to scatter
de slaves 'bout from place to place to keep de Yankees from gittin' 'em.
If de Yankees took a place de slaves nearby wus moved to a place further
off.
All I done wus fer de Rebels. I wus wid 'em an' I jes' done what I wus
tole. I wus afraid of de Yankees 'cause de Rebels had told us dat de
Yankees would kill us. Dey tole us dat de Yankees would bore holes in
our shoulders an' wurk us to carts. Dey tole us we would be treated a
lot worser den dey wus treating us. Well, de Yankees got here but they
treated us fine. Den a story went round an' round dat de marster would
have to give de slaves a mule an' a year's provisions an' some lan',
about forty acres, but dat was not so. Dey nebber did give us anything.
When de war ended an' we wus tole we wus free, we stayed on wid marster
cause we had nothin' an' nowhere to go.
We moved about from farm to farm. Mother died an' father married Maria
Edwards after de surrender. He did not live wid any of his other slave
wives dat I knows of.
I have wurked as a han' on de farm most of de time since de surrender
and daddy worked most of de time as a han', but he had gardens an'
patches most everywhere he wurked. I wurked in New York City for fifteen
years with Crawford and Banhay in de show business. I advertised for
'em. I dressed in a white suit, white shirt, an' white straw hat, and
wore tan shoes. I had to be a purty boy. I had to have my shoes shined
twice a day. I lived at 18 Manilla Lane, New York City. It is between
McDougall Street and 6th Avenue. I married Clara Taylor in New York
City. We had two children. The oldest one lives in New York. The other
died an' is buried in Raleigh.
In slavery time they kept you down an' you had to wurk, now I can't
wurk, an' I am still down. Not allowed to wurk an' still down. It's all
hard, slavery and freedom, both bad when you can't eat. The ole bees
makes de honey comb, the young bee makes de honey, niggers makes de
cotton an' corn an' de white folks gets de money. Dis wus de case in
Slavery time an' its de case now. De nigger do mos' de hard wurk on de
farms now, and de white folks still git de money dat de nigger's labor
makes.
LE
STATE EDITORIAL IDENTIFICATION FORM [320002]
STATE: North Carolina
RECEIVED FROM: (State office) Asheville
MS: Interview with W. L. Bost, Ex-Slave.
WORDS: 2,000
DATE: Sept. 27, 1937
Interview with W. L. Bost, Ex-slave [HW: 88 years]
63 Curve Street,
Asheville, N. C.
By--Marjorie Jones
My Massa's name was Jonas Bost. He had a hotel in Newton, North
Carolina. My mother and grandmother both belonged to the Bost family. My
ole Massa had two large plantations one about three miles from Newton
and another four miles away. It took a lot of niggers to keep the work a
goin' on them both. The women folks had to work in the hotel and in the
big house in town. Ole Missus she was a good woman. She never allowed
the Massa to buy or sell any slaves. There never was an overseer on the
whole plantation. The oldest colored man always looked after the
niggers. We niggers lived better than the niggers on the other
plantations.
Lord child, I remember when I was a little boy, 'bout ten years, the
speculators come through Newton with droves of slaves. They always stay
at our place. The poor critters nearly froze to death. They always come
'long on the last of December so that the niggers would be ready for
sale on the first day of January. Many the time I see four or five of
them chained together. They never had enough clothes on to keep a cat
warm. The women never wore anything but a thin dress and a petticoat and
one underwear. I've seen the ice balls hangin' on to the bottom of their
dresses as they ran along, jes like sheep in a pasture 'fore they are
sheared. They never wore any shoes. Jes run along on the ground, all
spewed up with ice. The speculators always rode on horses and drove the
pore niggers. When they get cold, they make 'em run 'til they are warm
again.
The speculators stayed in the hotel and put the niggers in the quarters
jes like droves of hogs. All through the night I could hear them
mournin' and prayin'. I didn't know the Lord would let people live who
were so cruel. The gates were always locked and they was a guard on the
outside to shoot anyone who tried to run away. Lord miss, them slaves
look jes like droves of turkeys runnin' along in front of them horses.
I remember when they put 'em on the block to sell 'em. The ones 'tween
18 and 30 always bring the most money. The auctioneer he stand off at a
distance and cry 'em off as they stand on the block. I can hear his
voice as long as I live.
If the one they going to sell was a young Negro man this is what he say:
"Now gentlemen and fellow-citizens here is a big black buck Negro. He's
stout as a mule. Good for any kin' o' work an' he never gives any
trouble. How much am I offered for him?" And then the sale would
commence, and the nigger would be sold to the highest bidder.
If they put up a young nigger woman the auctioneer cry out: "Here's a
young nigger wench, how much am I offered for her?" The pore thing
stand on the block a shiverin' an' a shakin' nearly froze to death. When
they sold many of the pore mothers beg the speculators to sell 'em with
their husbands, but the speculator only take what he want. So meybe the
pore thing never see her husban' agin.
Ole' Massa always see that we get plenty to eat. O' course it was no
fancy rashions. Jes corn bread, milk, fat meat, and 'lasses but the Lord
knows that was lots more than other pore niggers got. Some of them had
such bad masters.
Us pore niggers never 'lowed to learn anything. All the readin' they
ever hear was when they was carried through the big Bible. The Massa say
that keep the slaves in they places. They was one nigger boy in Newton
who was terrible smart. He learn to read an' write. He take other
colored children out in the fields and teach 'em about the Bible, but
they forgit it 'fore the nex' Sunday.
Then the paddyrollers they keep close watch on the pore niggers so they
have no chance to do anything or go anywhere. They jes' like policemen,
only worser. 'Cause they never let the niggers go anywhere without a
pass from his master. If you wasn't in your proper place when the
paddyrollers come they lash you til' you was black and blue. The women
got 15 lashes and the men 30. That is for jes bein' out without a pass.
If the nigger done anything worse he was taken to the jail and put in
the whippin' post. They was two holes cut for the arms stretch up in
the air and a block to put your feet in, then they whip you with cowhide
whip. An' the clothes shore never get any of them licks.
I remember how they kill one nigger whippin' him with the bull whip.
Many the pore nigger nearly killed with the bull whip. But this one die.
He was a stubborn Negro and didn't do as much work as his Massa thought
he ought to. He been lashed lot before. So they take him to the whippin'
post, and then they strip his clothes off and then the man stan' off and
cut him with the whip. His back was cut all to pieces. The cuts about
half inch apart. Then after they whip him they tie him down and put salt
on him. Then after he lie in the sun awhile they whip him agin. But when
they finish with him he was dead.
Plenty of the colored women have children by the white men. She know
better than to not do what he say. Didn't have much of that until the
men from South Carolina come up here and settle and bring slaves. Then
they take them very same children what have they own blood and make
slaves out of them. If the Missus find out she raise revolution. But she
hardly find out. The white men not going to tell and the nigger women
were always afraid to. So they jes go on hopin' that thing won't be that
way always.
I remember how the driver, he was the man who did most of the whippin',
use to whip some of the niggers. He would tie their hands together and
then put their hands down over their knees, then take a stick and stick
it 'tween they hands and knees. Then when he take hold of them and beat
'em first on one side then on the other.
Us niggers never have chance to go to Sunday School and church. The
white folks feared for niggers to get any religion and education, but I
reckon somethin' inside jes told us about God and that there was a
better place hereafter. We would sneak off and have prayer meetin'.
Sometimes the paddyrollers catch us and beat us good but that didn't
keep us from tryin'. I remember one old song we use to sing when we meet
down in the woods back of the barn. My mother she sing an' pray to the
Lord to deliver us out o' slavery. She always say she thankful she was
never sold from her children, and that our Massa not so mean as some of
the others. But the old song it went something like this:
"Oh, mother lets go down, lets go down, lets go down, lets go down.
Oh, mother lets go down, down in the valley to pray.
As I went down in the valley to pray
Studyin' about that good ole way
Who shall wear that starry crown.
Good Lord show me the way."
Then the other part was just like that except it said 'father' instead
of 'mother', and then 'sister' and then 'brother'.
Then they sing sometime:
"We camp a while in the wilderness, in the wilderness, in the
wilderness.
We camp a while in the wilderness, where the Lord makes me happy
And then I'm a goin' home."
I don't remember much about the war. There was no fightin' done in
Newton. Jes a skirmish or two. Most of the people get everything jes
ready to run when the Yankee sojers come through the town. This was
toward the las' of the war. Cose the niggers knew what all the fightin'
was about, but they didn't dare say anything. The man who owned the
slaves was too mad as it was, and if the niggers say anything they get
shot right then and thar. The sojers tell us after the war that we get
food, clothes, and wages from our Massas else we leave. But they was
very few that ever got anything. Our ole Massa say he not gwine pay us
anything, corse his money was no good, but he wouldn't pay us if it had
been.
Then the Ku Klux Klan come 'long. They were terrible dangerous. They
wear long gowns, touch the ground. They ride horses through the town at
night and if they find a Negro that tries to get nervy or have a little
bit for himself, they lash him nearly to death and gag him and leave him
to do the bes' he can. Some time they put sticks in the top of the tall
thing they wear and then put an extra head up there with scary eyes and
great big mouth, then they stick it clear up in the air to scare the
poor Negroes to death.
They had another thing they call the 'Donkey Devil' that was jes as bad.
They take the skin of a donkey and get inside of it and run after the
pore Negroes. Oh, Miss them was bad times, them was bad times. I know
folks think the books tell the truth, but they shore don't. Us pore
niggers had to take it all.
Then after the war was over we was afraid to move. Jes like tarpins or
turtles after 'mancipation. Jes stick our heads out to see how the land
lay. My mammy stay with Marse Jonah for 'bout a year after freedom then
ole Solomon Hall made her an offer. Ole man Hall was a good man if there
ever was one. He freed all of his slaves about two years 'fore
'mancipation and gave each of them so much money when he died, that is
he put that in his will. But when he die his sons and daughters never
give anything to the pore Negroes. My mother went to live on the place
belongin' to the nephew of Solomon Hall. All of her six children went
with her. Mother she cook for the white folks an' the children make
crop. When the first year was up us children got the first money we had
in our lives. My mother certainly was happy.
We live on this place for over four years. When I was 'bout twenty year
old I married a girl from West Virginia but she didn't live but jes
'bout a year. I stayed down there for a year or so and then I met
Mamie. We came here and both of us went to work, we work at the same
place. We bought this little piece of ground 'bout forty-two years ago.
We gave $125 for it. We had to buy the lumber to build the house a
little at a time but finally we got the house done. Its been a good home
for us and the children. We have two daughters and one adopted son. Both
of the girls are good cooks. One of them lives in New Jersey and cooks
in a big hotel. She and her husband come to see us about once a year.
The other one is in Philadelphia. They both have plenty. But the adopted
boy, he was part white. We took him when he was a small and did the best
we could by him. He never did like to 'sociate with colored people. I
remember one time when he was a small child I took him to town and the
conductor made me put him in the front of the street car cause he
thought I was just caring for him and that he was a white boy. Well, we
sent him to school until he finished. Then he joined the navy. I ain't
seem him in several years. The last letter I got from him he say he
ain't spoke to a colored girl since he has been there. This made me mad
so I took his insurance policy and cashed it. I didn't want nothin' to
do with him, if he deny his own color.
Very few of the Negroes ever get anywhere; they never have no education.
I knew one Negro who got to be a policeman in Salisbury once and he was
a good one too. When my next birthday comes in December I will be
eighty-eight years old. That is if the Lord lets me live and I shore
hope He does.
N. C. District: No. 3 [320279]
Worker: Travis Jordan
Subject: Mary Wallace Bowe
Ex-slave 81 Years
Durham County Home
Durham, N. C.
[HW: Lovely story about Abraham Lincoln]
[TR: This interview was heavily corrected by hand. i.e. wuz to was, er
to a, etc. Changes made without comment.]
MARY WALLACE BOWE
Ex-slave 81 years
My name is Mary Wallace Bowe. I was nine years ole at de surrender.
My mammy an' pappy, Susan an' Lillman Graves, first belonged to Marse
Fountain an' Mis' Fanny Tu'berville, but Marse Fountain sold me, my
mammy an' my brother George to Mis' Fanny's sister, Mis' Virginia
Graves. Mis' Virginia's husban' was Marse Doctor Graves. Dey lived on de
ole Elijah Graves estate not far from Marse Fountain's plantation here
in Durham county, an' Mis' Virginia an' Mis' Fanny seed each other near
'bout every day.
I was little when Marse Fountain an' Marse Doctor went to de war but I
remembers it. I remembers it kaze Mis' Fanny stood on de po'ch smilin'
an' wavin' at Marse Fountain 'til he went 'roun' de curve in de road,
den she fell to de floor like she was dead. I thought she was dead 'till
Mis' Virginia th'owed some water in her face an' she opened her eyes.
De nex day Mis' Virginia took me an' mammy an' we all went over an'
stayed wid Mis' Fanny kaze she was skeered, an' so dey'd be company for
each other. Mammy waited on Mis' Virginia an' he'ped Surella
Tu'berville, Mis' Fanny's house girl, sweep an' make up de beds an'
things. I was little but mammy made me work. I shook de rugs, brung in
de kindlin' an run 'roun' waitin' on Mis' Virginia an' Mis' Fanny, doin'
things like totin' dey basket of keys, bringin' dey shawls and such as
dat. Dey was all de time talkin' about de folks fightin' an' what dey
would do if de Yankees come.
Every time dey talk Mis' Fanny set an' twist her han's an' say: "What is
we gwine do, Sister, what is we gwine do?"
Mis' Virginia try to pacify Mis' Fanny. She say, 'Don' yo' worry none,
Honey, I'll fix dem Yankees when dey come.' Den she set her mouf. When
she done dat I run an' hid behin' Mis' Fanny's chair kaze I done seed
Mis' Virginia set her mouf befo' an' I knowed she meant biznes'.
I didn' have sense enough to be skeered den kaze I hadn' never seed no
Yankee sojers, but 'twaren't long befo' I wuz skeered. De Yankees come
one mornin', an' dey ripped, Oh, Lawd, how dey did rip. When dey rode up
to de gate an' come stompin' to de house, Mis' Fanny 'gun to cry. 'Tell
dem somethin', Sister, tell dem somethin'; she tole Mis' Virginia.
Mis' Virginia she ain' done no cryin'. When she seed dem Yankees comin'
'cross de hill, she run 'roun' an' got all de jewelry. She took off de
rings an' pins she an' Mis' Fanny had on an' she got all de things out
of de jewelry box an' give dem to pappy. "Hide dem, Lillmam" she tole
pappy, 'hide dem some place whare dem thieves won't find dem'.
Pappy had on high top boots. He didn' do nothin but stuff all dat
jewelry right down in dem boots, den he strutted all' roun' dem Yankees
laughin' to heself. Dey cussed when dey couldn' fin' no jewelry a tall.
Dey didn' fin' no silver neither kaze us niggers done he'p Mis' Fanny
an' Mis' Virginia hide dat. We done toted it all down to de cottin gin
house an' hid it in de loose cotton piled on de floor. When dey couldn'
fin' nothin' a big sojer went up to Mis' Virginia who wuz standin' in de
hall. He look at her an' say: 'Yo's skeered of me, ain' yo'?'
Mis' Virginia ain' batted no eye yet. She tole him, "If I was gwine to
be skeered, I'd be skeered of somethin'. I sho ain' of no ugly, braggin'
Yankee."
De man tu'ned red an he say: "If you don' tell me where you done hide
dat silver I'se gwine to make' you skeered."
Mis' Virginia's chin went up higher. She set her mouf an' look at dat
sojer twell he drap his eyes. Den she tole him dat some folks done come
an' got de silver, dat dey done toted it off. She didn' tell him dat it
wuz us niggers dat done toted it down to de cotton gin house.
In dem days dey wuz peddlers gwine 'roun' de country sellin'
things. Dey toted big packs on dey backs filled wid everythin'
from needles an' thimbles to bed spreads an' fryin' pans. One day
a peddler stopped at Mis' Fanny's house. He was de uglies' man
I ever seed. He was tall an' bony wid black whiskers an' black
bushy hair an' curious eyes dat set way back in his head. Dey
was dark an' look like a dog's eyes after you done hit him. He
set down on de po'ch an' opened his pack, an' it was so hot an'
he looked so tired, dat Mis' Fanny give him er cool drink of milk
dat done been settin' in de spring house. All de time Mis' Fanny
was lookin' at de things in de pack an' buyin', de man kept up a
runnin' talk. He ask her how many niggers dey had; how many men
dey had fightin' on de 'Federate side, an' what wuz was she gwine do
if de niggers wuz was set free. Den he ask her if she knowed Mistah
Abraham Lincoln.
'Bout dat time Mis' Virginia come to de door an' heard what he said. She
blaze up like a lightwood fire an' told dat peddler dat dey didn't want
to know nothin' 'bout Mistah Lincoln; dat dey knowed too much already,
an' dat his name wuzn [HW correction: wasn't] 'lowed called in dat [HW
correction: her] house. Den she say he wuzn [HW correction: wasn't]
nothin' but a black debil messin' in other folks biznes' [HW correction:
business], an' dat she'd shoot him on sight if she had half a chance.
De man laughed. "Maybe he [HW correction: Mr. Lincoln] ain't so bad,' he
told her. Den he packed his pack an' went off down de road, an' Mis'
Virginia watched him 'till he went out of sight 'roun' de bend."
Two or three weeks later Mis' Fanny got a letter. De letter was from dat
peddler. He tole her dat he was Abraham Lincoln hese'f; dat he wuz
peddlin' over de country as a spy, an' he thanked her for de res' on her
shady po'ch an' de cool glass of milk she give him.
When dat letter come Mis' Virginia got so hoppin' mad dat she took all
de stuff Mis' Fanny done bought from Mistah Lincoln an' made us niggers
burn it on de ash pile. Den she made pappy rake up de ashes an' th'ow
dem in de creek.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320148]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 377
Subject: Ex-Slave Recollections
Person Interviewed: Lucy Brown
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 7 1937"]
EX-SLAVE RECOLLECTIONS
An interview with Lucy Brown of Hecktown, Durham, Durham County, May 20,
1937. She does not know her age.
I wuz jist a little thing when de war wuz over an' I doan 'member much
ter tell yo'. Mostly what I does know I hyard my mammy tell it.
We belonged to John Neal of Person County. I doan know who my pappy
wuz, but my mammy wuz named Rosseta an' her mammy's name 'fore her wuz
Rosseta. I had one sister named Jenny an' one brother named Ben.
De marster wuz good ter us, in a way, but he ain't 'lowin' no kinds of
frolickin' so when we had a meetin' we had ter do it secret. We'd turn
down a wash pot outside de do', an' dat would ketch de fuss so marster
neber knowed nothin' 'bout hit.
On Sundays we went ter church at de same place de white folkses did. De
white folkses rid an' de niggers walked, but eben do' we wored wooden
bottomed shoes we wuz proud an' mostly happy. We had good clothes an'
food an' not much abuse. I doan know de number of slaves, I wuz so
little.
My mammy said dat slavery wuz a whole lot wuser [HW correction: wusser]
'fore I could 'member. She tol' me how some of de slaves had dere
babies in de fiel's lak de cows done, an' she said dat 'fore de babies
wuz borned dey tied de mammy down on her face if'en dey had ter whup her
ter keep from ruinin' de baby.
She said dat dar wuz ghostes an' some witches back den, but I doan know
nothin' 'bout dem things.
Naw. I can't tell yo' my age but I will tell yo' dat eber'body what
lives in dis block am either my chile or gran'chile. I can't tell yo'
prexackly how many dar is o' 'em, but I will tell you dat my younges'
chile's baby am fourteen years old, an' dat she's got fourteen youngin's
[HW correction: youngun's], one a year jist lak I had till I had
sixteen.
I'se belonged ter de church since I wuz a baby an' I tells dem eber'day
dat dey shore will miss me when I'se gone.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320115]
Worker: Mary Hicks
No. Words: 462
Subject: PLANTATION LIFE IN GEORGIA
Reference: Midge Burnett
Editor: George L. Andrews
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 6 1937"]
PLANTATION LIFE IN GEORGIA
An interview with Midge Burnett, 80 years old, of 1300 S. Bloodworth
Street, Raleigh, North Carolina.
I wus borned in Georgia eighty years ago, de son of Jim an' Henretta
Burnett an' de slave of Marse William Joyner.
I wurked on de farm durin' slavery times, among de cotton, corn, an'
sugar cane. De wurk wusn't so hard an' we had plenty of time ter have
fun an' ter git inter meanness, dat's why Marse William had ter have so
many patterollers on de place.
Marse William had near three hundret slaves an' he kept seben
patterollers ter keep things goin' eben. De slaves ain't run away. Naw
sir, dey ain't, dey knows good things when dey sees dem an' dey ain't
leavin' dem nother. De only trouble wus dat dey wus crazy 'bout good
times an' dey'd shoot craps er bust.
De patterollers 'ud watch all de paths leadin' frum de plantation an'
when dey ketched a nigger leavin' dey whupped him an' run him home. As I
said de patterollers watched all paths, but dar wus a number of little
paths what run through de woods dat nobody ain't watched case dey ain't
knowed dat de paths wus dar.
On moonlight nights yo' could hear a heap of voices an' when yo' peep
ober de dike dar am a gang of niggers a-shootin' craps an' bettin'
eber'thing dey has stold frum de plantation. Sometimes a pretty yaller
gal er a fat black gal would be dar, but mostly hit would be jist men.
Dar wus a ribber nearby de plantation an' we niggers swum dar ever'
Sadday an' we fished dar a heap too. We ketched a big mess of fish ever'
week an' dese come in good an' helped ter save rations ter boot. Dat's
what Marse William said, an' he believed in havin' a good time too.
We had square dances dat las' all night on holidays an' we had a
Christmas tree an' a Easter egg hunt an' all dat, case Marse William
intended ter make us a civilized bunch of blacks.
Marse William ain't eber hit one of us a single lick till de day when
we heard dat de Yankees wus a-comin'. One big nigger jumps up an'
squalls, 'Lawd bless de Yankees'.
Marse yells back, 'God damn de Yankees', an' he slaps big Mose a
sumerset right outen de do'. Nobody else wanted ter git slapped soe
ever'body got outen dar in a hurry an' nobody else dasen't say Yankees
ter de marster.
Eben when somebody seed de Yankees comin' Mose wont go tell de' marster
'bout hit, but when Marster William wus hilt tight twixt two of dem big
husky Yankees he cussed 'em as hard as he can. Dey carries him off an'
dey put him in de jail at Atlanta an' dey keeps him fer a long time.
Atter de surrender we left dar an' we moves ter Star, South Carolina,
whar I still wurks 'roun' on de farm. I stayed on dar' till fifty years
ago when I married Roberta Thomas an' we moved ter Raliegh. We have five
chilluns an' we's moughty proud of 'em, but since I had de stroke we has
been farin' bad, an' I'se hopin' ter git my ole aged pension.
EH
N. C. District: No. 3 [320274]
Worker: Travis Jordan
Subject: Fanny Cannady
Ex-Slave 79 Years
Durham County
[TR No. Words: 1,444]
[TR: No Date Stamp]
FANNY CANNADY
EX-SLAVE 79 years
I don' 'member much 'bout de sojers an' de fightin' in de war kaze I
wuzn' much more den six years ole at de surrender, but I do 'member how
Marse Jordan Moss shot Leonard Allen, one of his slaves. I ain't never
forgot dat.
My mammy an' pappy, Silo an' Fanny Moss belonged to Marse Jordan an'
Mis' Sally Moss. Dey had 'bout three hundred niggahs an' mos' of dem
worked in de cotton fields.
Marse Jordan wuz hard on his niggahs. He worked dem over time an' didn'
give den enough to eat. Dey didn' have good clothes neither an' dey
shoes wuz made out of wood. He had 'bout a dozen niggahs dat didn' do
nothin' else but make wooden shoes for de slaves. De chillun didn' have
no shoes a tall; dey went barefooted in de snow an' ice same as 'twuz
summer time. I never had no shoes on my feets 'twell I wuz pas' ten
years ole, an' dat wuz after de Yankees done set us free.
I wuz skeered of Marse Jordan, an' all of de grown niggahs wuz too 'cept
Leonard an' Burrus Allen. Dem niggahs wuzn' skeered of nothin'. If de
debil hese'f had come an' shook er stick at dem dey'd hit him back.
Leonard wuz er big black buck niggah; he wuz de bigges niggah I ever
seed, an' Burrus wuz near 'bout as big, an' dey 'spized Marse Jordan
wus'n pizen.
I wuz sort of skeered of Mis' Polly too. When Marse Jordan wuzn' 'roun'
she wuz sweet an' kind, but when he wuz 'roun', she wuz er yes, suh,
yes, suh, woman. Everythin' he tole her to do she done. He made her slap
Marmy one time kaze when she passed his coffee she spilled some in de
saucer. Mis' Sally hit Mammy easy, but Marse Jordan say: 'Hit her,
Sally, hit de black bitch like she 'zerve to be hit.' Den Mis' Sally
draw back her hand an' hit Mammy in de face, pow, den she went back to
her place at de table an' play like she eatin' her breakfas'. Den when
Marse Jordan leave she come in de kitchen an' put her arms 'roun' Mammy
an' cry, an' Mammy pat her on de back an' she cry too. I loved Mis'
Sally when Marse Jordan wuzn' 'roun'.
Marse Jordan's two sons went to de war; dey went all dressed up in dey
fightin' clothes. Young Marse Jordan wuz jus' like Mis' Sally but Marse
Gregory wuz like Marse Jordan, even to de bully way he walk. Young Marse
Jordan never come back from de war, but 'twould take more den er bullet
to kill Marse Gregory; he too mean to die anyhow kaze de debil didn'
want him an' de Lawd wouldn' have him.
One day Marse Gregory come home on er furlo'. He think he look pretty
wid his sword clankin' an' his boots shinin'. He wuz er colonel,
lootenent er somethin'. He wuz struttin' 'roun' de yard showin' off,
when Leonard Allen say under his breath, 'Look at dat God damn sojer. He
fightin' to keep us niggahs from bein' free.'
'Bout dat time Marse Jordan come up. He look at Leonard an' say: 'What
yo' mumblin' 'bout?'
Dat big Leonard wuzn' skeered. He say, I say, 'Look at dat God damn
sojer. He fightin' to keep us niggahs from bein' free.'
Marse Jordan's face begun to swell. It turned so red dat de blood near
'bout bust out. He turned to Pappy an' tole him to go an' bring him dis
shot gun. When Pappy come back Mis' Sally come wid him. De tears wuz
streamin' down her face. She run up to Marse Jordan an' caught his arm.
Ole Marse flung her off an' took de gun from Pappy. He leveled it on
Leonard an' tole him to pull his shirt open. Leonard opened his shirt
an' stood dare big as er black giant sneerin' at Ole Marse.
Den Mis' Sally run up again an' stood 'tween dat gun an' Leonard.
Ole Marse yell to pappy an' tole him to take dat woman out of de way,
but nobody ain't moved to touch Mis' Sally, an' she didn' move neither,
she jus' stood dare facin' Ole Marse. Den Ole Marse let down de gun. He
reached over an' slapped Mis' Sally down, den picked up de gun an' shot
er hole in Leonard's ches' big as yo' fis'. Den he took up Mis' Sally
an' toted her in de house. But I wuz so skeered dat I run an' hid in de
stable loft, an' even wid my eyes shut I could see Leonard layin' on de
groun' wid dat bloody hole in his ches' an' dat sneer on his black mouf.
After dat Leonard's brother Burrus hated Ole Marse wus' er snake, den
one night he run away. Mammy say he run away to keep from killin' Ole
Marse. Anyhow, when Ole Marse foun' he wuz gone, he took er bunch of
niggahs an' set out to find him. All day long dey tromped de woods, den
when night come dey lit fat pine to'ches an' kept lookin', but dey
couldn' find Burrus. De nex' day Ole Marse went down to de county jail
an' got de blood houn's. He brung home er great passel of dem yelpin'
an' pullin' at de ropes, but when he turned dem loose dey didn' find
Burrus, kaze he done grease de bottom of his feets wid snuff an' hog
lard so de dogs couldn' smell de trail. Ole Marse den tole all de
niggahs dat if anybody housed an' fed Burrus on de sly, dat he goin' to
shoot dem like he done shot Leonard. Den he went every day an' searched
de cabins; he even looked under de houses.
One day in 'bout er week Mis' Sally wuz feedin' de chickens when she
heard somethin' in de polk berry bushes behin' de hen house. She didn'
go 'roun' de house but she went inside house an' looked through de
crack. Dare wuz Burrus layin' down in de bushes. He wuz near 'bout
starved kaze he hadn' had nothin' to eat since he done run away.
Mis' Sally whisper an' tole him to lay still, dat she goin' to slip him
somethin' to eat. She went back to de house an' made up some more cawn
meal dough for de chickens, an' under de dough she put some bread an'
meat. When she went 'cross de yard she met Marse Jordan. He took de pan
of dough an' say he goin' to feed de chickens. My mammy say dat Mis'
Sally ain't showed no skeer, she jus' smile at Ole Marse an' pat his
arm, den while she talk she take de pan an' go on to de chicken house,
but Ole Marse he go too. When dey got to de hen house Ole Marse puppy
begun sniffin' 'roun'. Soon he sta'ted to bark; he cut up such er fuss
dat Ole Marse went to see what wuz wrong. Den he foun' Burrus layin' in
de polk bushes.
Ole Marse drag Burrus out an' drove him to de house. When Mis' Sally
seed him take out his plaited whip, she run up stairs an' jump in de bed
an' stuff er pillow over her head.
Dey took Burrus to de whippin' post. Dey strip off his shirt, den dey
put his head an' hands through de holes in de top, an' tied his feets to
de bottom, den, Ole Marse took de whip. Dat lash hiss like col' water on
er red hot iron when it come through de air, an' every time it hit
Burrus it lef' er streak of blood. Time Ole Marse finish, Burrus' back
look like er piece of raw beef.
Dey laid Burrus face down on er plank den dey poured turpentine in all
dem cut places. It burned like fire but dat niggah didn' know nothin'
'bout it kaze he done passed out from pain. But, all his life dat black
man toted dem scares on his back.
When de war ended Mis' Sally come to Mammy an' say: 'Fanny, I's sho glad
yo's free. Yo' can go now an' yo' won' ever have to be er slave no
more.'
But Mammy, she ain't had no notion of leavin' Mis' Sally. She put her
arms' roun' her an' call her Baby, an' tell her she goin' to stay wid
her long as she live. An' she did stay wid her. Me an' Mammy bof stayed
Mis' Sally 'twell she died.
N. C. District: No. 3 [320193]
Field Worker: Esther S. Pinnix
Word Total: 3,199
Editor: P. G. Cross
Subject: "Negro Folklore of the Piedmont".
Consultants: Mrs. P. G. Cross,
Miss Kate Jones,
Descendants of Dr. Beverly Jones.
Sources of Information: Aunt Betty Cofer--ex-slave of Dr. Beverly Jones
[HW: Cofer]
NEGRO FOLK LORE OF THE PIEDMONT.
* * * * *
The ranks of negro ex-slaves are rapidly thinning out, but, scattered
here and there among the ante-bellum families of the South, may be found
a few of these picturesque old characters. Three miles north of
Bethania, the second oldest settlement of the "Unitas Fratrum" in
Wachovia, lies the 1500 acre Jones plantation. It has been owned for
several generations by the one family, descendants of Abraham Conrad.
Conrad's daughter, Julia, married a physician of note, Dr. Beverly
Jones, whose family occupied the old homestead at the time of the Civil
War.
Here, in 1856, was born a negro girl, Betty, to a slave mother. Here,
today, under the friendly protection of this same Jones family,
surrounded by her sons and her sons' sons, lives this same Betty in her
own little weather-stained cottage. Encircling her house are lilacs,
althea, and flowering trees that soften the bleak outlines of unpainted
out-buildings. A varied collection of old-fashioned plants and flowers
crowd the neatly swept dooryard. A friendly German-shepherd puppy rouses
from his nap on the sunny porch to greet visitors enthusiastically. In
answer to our knock a gentle voice calls, "Come in." The door opens
directly into a small, low-ceilinged room almost filled by two double
beds. These beds are conspicuously clean and covered by homemade
crocheted spreads. Wide bands of hand-made insertion ornament the
stiffly starched pillow slips. Against the wall is a plain oak dresser.
Although the day is warm, two-foot logs burn on the age-worn andirons of
the wide brick fire place. From the shelf above dangles a leather bag
of "spills" made from twisted newspapers.
In a low, split-bottom chair, her rheumatic old feet resting on the warm
brick hearth, sits Aunt Betty Cofer. Her frail body stoops under the
weight of four-score years but her bright eyes and alert mind are those
of a woman thirty years younger. A blue-checked mob cap covers her
grizzled hair. Her tiny frame, clothed in a motley collection of
undergarments, dress, and sweaters, is adorned by a clean white apron.
Although a little shy of her strange white visitors, her innate dignity,
gentle courtesy, and complete self possession indicate long association
with "quality folks."
Her speech shows a noticeable freedom from the usual heavy negro dialect
and idiom of the deep south. "Yes, Ma'am, yes, Sir, come in. Pull a
chair to the fire. You'll have to 'scuse me. I can't get around much,
'cause my feet and legs bother me, but I got good eyes an' good ears an'
all my own teeth. I aint never had a bad tooth in my head. Yes'm, I'm
81, going on 82. Marster done wrote my age down in his book where he
kep' the names of all his colored folks. Muh (Mother) belonged to Dr.
Jones but Pappy belonged to Marse Israel Lash over yonder. (Pointing
northwest.) Younguns always went with their mammies so I belonged to the
Joneses.
"Muh and Pappy could visit back and forth sometimes but they never lived
together 'til after freedom. Yes'm, we was happy. We got plenty to eat.
Marster and old Miss Julia (Dr. Jones' wife, matriarch of the whole
plantation) was mighty strict but they was good to us. Colored folks on
some of the other plantations wasn't so lucky. Some of' em had
overseers, mean, cruel men. On one plantation the field hands had to
hustle to git to the end of the row at eleven o'clock dinner-time
'cause when the cooks brought their dinner they had to stop just where
they was and eat, an' the sun was mighty hot out in those fields. They
only had ash cakes (corn pone baked in ashes) without salt, and molasses
for their dinner, but we had beans an' grits an' salt an' sometimes
meat.
"I was lucky. Miss Ella (daughter of the first Beverly Jones) was a
little girl when I was borned and she claimed me. We played together an'
grew up together. I waited on her an' most times slept on the floor in
her room. Muh was cook an' when I done got big enough I helped to set
the table in the big dinin' room. Then I'd put on a clean white apron
an' carry in the victuals an' stand behind Miss Ella's chair. She'd fix
me a piece of somethin' from her plate an' hand it back over her
shoulder to me (eloquent hands illustrate Miss Ella's making of a
sandwich.) I'd take it an' run outside to eat it. Then I'd wipe my mouth
an' go back to stand behind Miss Ella again an' maybe get another snack.
"Yes'm, there was a crowd of hands on the plantation. I mind 'em all an'
I can call most of their names. Mac, Curley, William, Sanford, Lewis,
Henry, Ed, Sylvester, Hamp, an' Juke was the men folks. The women was
Nellie, two Lucys, Martha, Nervie, Jane, Laura, Fannie, Lizzie, Cassie,
Tensie, Lindy, an' Mary Jane. The women mostly, worked in the house.
There was always two washwomen, a cook, some hands to help her, two
sewin' women, a house girl, an' some who did all the weavin' an'
spinnin'. The men worked in the fields an' yard. One was stable boss an'
looked after all the horses an' mules. We raised our own flax an'
cotton an' wool, spun the thread, wove the cloth, made all the clothes.
Yes'm, we made the mens' shirts an' pants an' coats. One woman knitted
all the stockin's for the white folks an' colored folks too. I mind she
had one finger all twisted an' stiff from holdin' her knittin' needles.
We wove the cotton an' linen for sheets an' pillow-slips an' table
covers. We wove the wool blankets too. I use to wait on the girl who did
the weavin' when she took the cloth off the loom she done give me the
'thrums' (ends of thread left on the loom.) I tied 'em all together with
teensy little knots an' got me some scraps from the sewin' room and I
made me some quilt tops. Some of 'em was real pretty too! (Pride of
workmanship evidenced by a toss of Betty's head.)
"All our spinnin' wheels and flax wheels and looms was hand-made by a
wheel wright, Marse Noah Westmoreland. He lived over yonder. (A thumb
indicates north.) Those old wheels are still in the family'. I got one
of the flax wheels. Miss Ella done give it to me for a present. Leather
was tanned an' shoes was made on the place. 'Course the hands mostly
went barefoot in warm weather, white chillen too. We had our own mill to
grind the wheat and corn an' we raised all our meat. We made our own
candles from tallow and beeswax. I 'spect some of the old candle moulds
are over to 'the house' now. We wove our own candle wicks too. I never
saw a match 'til I was a grown woman. We made our fire with flint an'
punk (rotten wood). Yes'm, I was trained to cook an' clean an' sew. I
learned to make mens' pants an' coats. First coat I made, Miss Julia
told me to rip the collar off, an' by the time I picked out all the
teensy stitches an' sewed it together again I could set a collar right!
I can do it today, too! (Again there is manifested a good workman's
pardonable pride of achievement)
"Miss Julia cut out all the clothes herself for men and women too. I
'spect her big shears an' patterns an' old cuttin' table are over at the
house now. Miss Julia cut out all the clothes an' then the colored girls
sewed 'em up but she looked 'em all over and they better be sewed right!
Miss Julia bossed the whole plantation. She looked after the sick folks
and sent the doctor (Dr. Jones) to dose 'em and she carried the keys to
the store-rooms and pantries. [HW: paragraph mark here.] Yes'm, I'm
some educated. Muh showed me my 'a-b-abs' and my numbers and when I was
fifteen I went to school in the log church built by the Moravians. They
give it to the colored folks to use for their own school and church.
(This log house is still standing near Bethania). Our teacher was a
white man, Marse Fulk. He had one eye, done lost the other in the war.
We didn't have no colored teachers then. They wasn't educated. We
'tended school four months a year. I went through the fifth reader, the
'North Carolina Reader'. I can figger a little an' read some but I can't
write much 'cause my fingers 're--all stiffened up. Miss Julia use to
read the bible to us an' tell us right an' wrong, and Muh showed me all
she could an' so did the other colored folks. Mostly they was kind to
each other.
"No'm, I don't know much about spells an' charms. Course most of the
old folks believed in 'em. One colored man use to make charms, little
bags filled with queer things. He called 'em 'jacks' an' sold 'em to the
colored folks an' some white folks too.
"Yes'm, I saw some slaves sold away from the plantation, four men and
two women, both of 'em with little babies. The traders got 'em. Sold 'em
down to Mobile, Alabama. One was my pappy's sister. We never heard from
her again. I saw a likely young feller sold for $1500. That was my Uncle
Ike. Marse Jonathan Spease bought him and kept him the rest of his life.
"Yes'm, we saw Yankee soldiers. (Stoneman's Cavalry in 1865.) They come
marchin' by and stopped at 'the house. I wasn't scared 'cause they was
all talkin' and laughin' and friendly but they sure was hongry. They
dumped the wet clothes out of the big wash-pot in the yard and filled it
with water. Then they broke into the smokehouse and got a lot of hams
and biled 'em in the pot and ate 'em right there in the yard. The women
cooked up a lot of corn pone for 'em and coffee too. Marster had a
barrel of 'likker' put by an' the Yankees knocked the head in an' filled
their canteens. There wasn't ary drop left. When we heard the soldiers
comin' our boys turned the horses loose in the woods. The Yankees said
they had to have 'em an' would burn the house down if we didn't get 'em.
So our boys whistled up the horses an' the soldiers carried 'em all off.
They carried off ol' Jennie mule too but let little Jack mule go. When
the soldiers was gone the stable boss said,'if ol' Jennie mule once gits
loose nobody on earth can catch her unless she wants. She'll be back!'
Sure enough, in a couple of days she come home by herself an' we worked
the farm jus' with her an' little Jack.
"Some of the colored folks followed the Yankees away. Five or six of our
boys went. Two of 'em travelled as far as Yadkinville but come back. The
rest of 'em kep' goin' an' we never heard tell of' em again.
"Yes'm, when we was freed Pappy come to get Muh and me. We stayed around
here. Where could we go? These was our folks and I couldn't go far away
from Miss Ella. We moved out near Rural Hall (some 5 miles from
Bethania) an' Pappy farmed, but I worked at the home place a lot. When I
was about twenty-four Marse R. J. Reynolds come from Virginia an' set up
a tobacco factory. He fotched some hands with 'im. One was a likely
young feller, named Cofer, from Patrick County, Virginia. I liked 'im
an' we got married an' moved back here to my folks.(the Jones family) We
started to buy our little place an' raise a family. I done had four
chillen but two's dead. I got grandchillen and great-grandchillen close
by. This is home to us. When we talk about the old home place (the Jones
residence, now some hundred years old) we just say 'the house' 'cause
there's only one house to us. The rest of the family was all fine folks
and good to me but I loved Miss Ella better'n any one or anythin' else
in the world. She was the best friend I ever had. If I ever wanted for
anythin' I just asked her an she give it to me or got it for me somehow.
Once when Cofer was in his last sickness his sister come from East
Liverpool, Ohio, to see 'im. I went to Miss Ella to borrow a little
money. She didn't have no change but she just took a ten dollar bill
from her purse an' says 'Here you are, Betty, use what you need and
bring me what's left'.
"I always did what I could for her too an' stood by her--but one time.
That was when we was little girls goin' together to fetch the mail. It
was hot an' dusty an' we stopped to cool off an' wade in the 'branch'.
We heard a horse trottin' an' looked up an' there was Marster switchin'
his ridin' whip an' lookin' at us. 'Git for home, you two, and I'll
'tend to you,' he says, an' we got! But this time I let Miss Ella go to
'the house' alone an' I sneaked aroun' to Granny's cabin an' hid. I was
afraid I'd git whupped! 'Nother time, Miss Ella went to town an' told me
to keep up her fire whilst she was away. I fell asleep on the hearth and
the fire done burnt out so's when Miss Ella come home the room was cold.
She was mad as hops. Said she never had hit me but she sure felt like
doin' it then.
"Yes'm, I been here a right smart while. I done lived to see three
generations of my white folks come an' go, an' they're the finest folks
on earth. There use to be a reg'lar buryin' ground for the plantation
hands. The colored chillen use to play there but I always played with
the white chillen. (This accounts for Aunt Betty's gentle manner and
speech.) Three of the old log cabins (slave cabins) is there yet. One of
'em was the 'boys cabin'. (house for boys and unmarried men) They've got
walls a foot thick an' are used for store-rooms now. After freedom we
buried out around our little churches but some of th' old grounds are
plowed under an' turned into pasture cause the colored folks didn't get
no deeds to 'em. It won't be long 'fore I go too but I'm gwine lie near
my old home an' my folks.
"Yes'm, I remember Marse Israel Lash, my Pappy's Marster. He was a low,
thick-set man, very jolly an' friendly. He was real smart an' good too,
'cause his colored folks all loved 'im. He worked in the bank an' when
the Yankees come, 'stead of shuttin' the door 'gainst 'em like the
others did, he bid 'em welcome. (Betty's nodding head, expansive smile
and wide-spread hands eloquently pantomime the banker's greeting.) So
the Yankees done took the bank but give it back to 'im for his very own
an' he kep' it but there was lots of bad feelin' 'cause he never give
folks the money they put in the old bank. (Possibly this explains the
closing of the branch of the Cape Fear Bank in Salem and opening of
Israel Lash's own institution, the First National Bank of Salem, 1866.)
"I saw General Robert E. Lee, too. After the war he come with some
friends to a meeting at Five Forks Baptist Church. All the white folks
gathered 'round an' shook his hand an' I peeked 'tween their legs an'
got a good look at' im. But he didn't have no whiskers, he was
smooth-face! (Pictures of General Lee all show him with beard and
mustache)
"Miss Ella died two years ago. I was sick in the hospital but the doctor
come to tell me. I couldn't go to her buryin'. I sure missed her.
(Poignant grief moistens Betty's eyes and thickens her voice). There
wasn't ever no one like her. Miss Kate an' young Miss Julia still live
at 'the house' with their brother, Marse Lucian (all children of the
first Beverly Jones and 'old Miss Julia',) but it don't seem right with
Miss Ella gone. Life seems dif'rent, some how, 'though there' lots of my
young white folks an' my own kin livin' round an' they're real good to
me. But Miss Ella's gone!
"Goodday, Ma'am. Come anytime. You're welcome to. I'm right glad to have
visitors 'cause I can't get out much." A bobbing little curtsy
accompanies Betty's cordial farewell.
Although a freed woman for 71 years, property owner for half of them,
and now revered head of a clan of self respecting, self-supporting
colored citizens, she is still at heart a "Jones negro," and all the
distinguished descendants of her beloved Marse Beverly and Miss Julia
will be her "own folks" as long as she lives.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320188]
No. Words: 340
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
Subject: Ex-slave Story
Story Teller: John Coggin
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
JOHN COGGIN.
Ex-Slave Story.
An interview with John Coggin 85, of Method, N. C.
When the interviewer first visited Uncle John he was busy cutting hay
for a white family nearby, swinging the scythe with the vigor of a young
man. In late afternoon he was found sitting on the doorsteps of his
granddaughter's house after a supper which certainly had onions on the
menu and was followed by something stronger than water.
"I was borned on March 1, 1852 in Orange County. My mammy wuz named
Phillis Fenn an' she wuz from Virginia. I ain't neber had no paw an' I
ain't wanted none, I ain't had no brothers nar sisters nother."
"We 'longed ter Doctor Jim Leathers, an' de only whuppin' I eber got wuz
'bout fightin' wid young Miss Agnes, who wuz sommers long' bout my age.
Hit wuz jist a little whuppin' but I' members hit all right."
"We wucked de fiel's, I totin' water fer de six or seben han's that
wucked dar. An' we jist wucked moderate like. We had plenty ter eat an'
plenty ter w'ar, do' we did go barefooted most of de year. De marster
shore wuz good ter us do'."
"I 'members dat de fust I hyard of de Yankees wuz when young marster
come in an' says, 'Lawd pa, de Yankees am in Raleigh.'"
"Dat ebenin' I wuz drawin' water when all of a sudden I looks up de
road, an' de air am dark wid Yankees. I neber seed so many mens, hosses
an' mules in my life. De band wuz playin' an' de soldiers wuz hollerin'
an' de hosses wuz prancin' high. I done what all of de rest o' de slaves
done, I run fer de woods."
"Atter de surrender we moved ter a place nigh Dix Hill hyar in Raleigh
an' my mammy married a Coggin, dar's whar I gits my name. All of us
slaves moved dar an' farmed."
"Way long time atter dat ole Marster Jim come ter visit his niggers, an'
we had a big supper in his honor. Dat night he died, an' 'fore he died
his min' sorta wanders an' he thinks dat hit am back in de slave days
an' dat atter a long journey he am comin' back home. Hit shore wuz
pitiful an' we shore did hate it."
"Yes 'um honey, we got 'long all right atter de war. You knows dat
niggers ain't had no sense den, now dey has. Look at dese hyar seben
chilluns, dey am my great gran'chillun an' dey got a heap mo' sense dan
I has right now."
EH
N. C. District: No. 2 [320150]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 433
Subject: MANDY COVERSON
Story Teller: Mandy Coverson
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 7 1937"]
MANDY COVERSON
Ex-Slave Story
An interview with Mandy Coverson, 78, of 103 South Wilmington Street,
Raleigh.
I wuz borned in Union County to Sarah an' Henderson Tomberlin. My
mother belonged to Mr. Moses Coverson, an' my pappy belonged to Mr.
Jackie Tom Tomberlin. I stayed wid my mammy, of course, an' Marster
Moses wuz good ter me. Dey warn't so good ter my mammy, case dey makes
her wuck frum sunup till sundown in de hot summertime, an' she ain't had
no fun at all. She plowed two oxes, an' if'en yo' has eber been around a
steer yo' knows what aggravatin' things dey is.
De oberseer, whose name I'se plumb forget, wuz pore white trash an' he
wuz meaner dan de meanest nigger. Anyhow I wuz too little ter do much
wuck so I played a heap an' I had a big time.
My mammy, died 'fore I wuz very old an' missus kept me in de house. I
wuz petted by her, an' I reckon spoiled. Yo' knows dat den de niggers
ain't neber eat no biscuits but missus always gimmie one eber meal an'
in dat way she got me interested in waitin' on de table.
I wuzn't old enough ter know much, but I does 'member how de fambly hid
all de valuables 'fore de Yankees come, an' dat Marster Moses in
pickin' up de big brass andirons hurt his back an' dey said dat dat wuz
de cause of his death a little while atterwards. Anyhow de andirons wuz
saved an' dar warn't no trouble wid de Yankees who comed our way, an'
dey ain't hurt nobody dar.
Dey did kill all de things dat dey could eat an' dey stold de rest of
de feed stuff. Dey make one nigger boy draw water fer dere hosses fer a
day an' night. De Yankees wuz mean 'bout cussin', but de southern
soldiers wuz jist as bad. Wheeler's Cavalry wuz de meanest in de whole
bunch, I thinks.
De Ku Kluxes wuz pretty mean, but dey picked dere spite on de Free
Issues. I doan know why dey done dis 'cept dat dey ain't wantin' no
niggers a-favorin' dem nigh by, now dat slavery am ober. Dey done a heap
of beatin' an' chasin' folkses out'n de country but I 'specks dat de
Carpet Bagger's rule wuz mostly de cause of it.
I married Daniel Coverson, a slave on de same plantation I wuz on, an'
forty years ago we moved ter Raleigh. We had a hard time but I'se glad
dat he an' me am free an' doan belong ter two diff'ent famblies.
AC
N. C. District: No. 2 [320212]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
No. Words: 914
Subject: Ex-Slave Story
Story Teller: Willie Cozart
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
EX-SLAVE STORY
An Interview by Mary A. Hicks with Willis Cozart of Zebulon, (Wake Co.
N. C.) Age 92. May 12, 1937.
No mam, Mistress, I doan want ter ride in no automobile, thank you,
I'se done walked these three miles frum Zebulon an' walkin' is what has
kept me goin' all dese years.
Yes'm I'se a bachelor an' I wuz borned on June 11, 1845 in Person
County. My papa wuz named Ed an' my maw wuz named Sally. Dar wuz ten of
us youngins, Morris, Dallas, Stephen, Jerry, Florence, Polly, Lena,
Phillis, Caroline, an' me. Mr. Starling Oakley of Person County, near
Roxboro wuz my master an' as long as him an' ole mistress lived I went
back ter see dem.
He wuz right good to de good niggers an' kinder strick wid de bad ones.
Pusonly he ain't never have me whupped but two or three times. You's
hyard 'bout dese set down strikes lately, well dey ain't de fust ones.
Onct when I wuz four or five years old, too little to wuck in de fiel's,
my master sot me an' some more little chilluns ter wuck pullin' up weeds
roun' de house. Well, I makes a speech and I tells dem le's doan wuck
none so out we sprawls on de grass under de apple tree. Atter awhile ole
master found us dar, an' when he fin's dat I wuz de ring-leader he
gives me a little whuppin'.
Hit wuz a big plantation, round 1,200 acres o' land, I reckon, an' he
had 'bout seventy or eighty slaves to wuck de cotton, corn, tobacco an'
de wheat an' vege'bles. De big house wuz sumpin to look at, but de slave
cabins wuz jist log huts wid sand floors, and stick an' dirt chimneys.
We wuz 'lowed ter have a little patch o' garden stuff at de back but no
chickens ner pigs. De only way we had er' makin' money wuz by pickin'
berries an' sellin' 'em. We ain't had much time to do dat, case we
wucked frum sunup till sundown six days a week.
De master fed us as good as he knowed how, but it wuz mostly on bread,
meat, an' vege'bles.
I 'members seberal slave sales whar dey sold de pappy or de mammy 'way
frum de chillums an' dat wuz a sad time. Dey led dem up one at de time
an' axed dem questions an' dey warn't many what wuz chained, only de bad
ones, an' sometime when dey wuz travelin' it wuz necessary to chain a
new gang.
I'se seed niggers beat till da blood run, an' I'se seed plenty more wid
big scars, frum whuppin's but dey wuz de bad ones. You wuz whupped
'cordin ter de deed yo' done in dem days. A moderate whuppin' wuz
thirty-nine or forty lashes an' a real whuppin' wuz a even hundred; most
folks can't stand a real whuppin'.
Frum all dis you might think dat we ain't had no good times, but we had
our co'n shuckin's, candy pullin's an' sich like. We ain't felt like
huntin' much, but I did go on a few fox hunts wid de master. I uster go
fishin' too, but I ain't been now since 1873, I reckon. We sometimes
went ter de neighborhood affairs if'n we wuz good, but if we wuzn't an'
didn't git a pass de patter-rollers would shore git us. When dey got
through whuppin' a nigger he knowed he wuz whupped too.
De slave weddin's in dat country wuz sorta dis way: de man axed de
master fer de 'oman an' he jist told dem ter step over de broom an' dat
wuz de way dey got married dem days; de pore white folks done de same
way.
Atter de war started de white folks tried ter keep us niggers frum
knowin' 'bout it, but de news got aroun' somehow, an' dar wuz some talk
of gittin' shet of de master's family an' gittin' rich. De plans didn't
'mout to nothin' an' so de Yankees come down.
I 'members moughty well when de
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