Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews Part 1

Slave Narratives.

Charlie Aarons

*Personal contact with Uncle Charlie Aarons* *Oak Grove, Alabama* -_Written by Mary A. Poole_

_HE LOVED YOUNG MARSTER JOHN_

Some friends driving to Oak Grove, Ala., gave the writer the opportunityon August 4th to interview an old ex-slave, Charlie Aarons, who is quitevenerable in appearance, and who, when asked his age, replied:"Madam I don't know but I sure been 'round here long time", and whenasked how old he was at the time of the Surrender he answered:"I was a man able to do a man's work so I 'spects I was eighteen ortwenty years old."Uncle Charlie, as he is known among his own color and the white peoplewho know him, told the writer he was born at Petersburg Va., and hisparents, Aaron and Louisa, were owned by a Mr. J.H. White, who had astore in the city, but no plantation. His parents had three children,two boys and one girl, and when Uncle Charlie was about ten years of.a.ge, he was sold by Mr. White to a speculator named Jones who broughthim to Mobile. He recalled being placed on the block, at the slave marton Royal and State streets, and the anxiety of hearing the differentpeople bidding for him, and being finally sold to a Mr. Jason Harris,who lived near Newton Station in Jasper County, Miss.Uncle Charlie never saw or heard of his parents or brother and sisteragain and never knew what became of them.Uncle Charlie said Mr. Harris was a pretty rough master, and somewhatclose. All rations were weighed out and limited. He had a white overseerand a negro driver, who was the meanest of all.Mr. Jason Harris had about sixty slaves, and a large plantation of ahundred acres, the men and women worked in the fields from six to six,except on Sat.u.r.day, when they had half day holiday to clean upgenerally.The home of the Harris family was a large two story house and thequarters were the regular log cabins with clay chimneys. They cooked intheir cabins, but during the busy season in the fields their dinnerswere sent out to them each slave having his own tin pail marked with hisname. Water would be sent out in a barrel mounted on an ox cart.The old men and women looked after the children of the slaves whiletheir parents worked in the fields.When the writer asked Uncle Charlie, if his master or mistress evertaught him to read or write, he smiled and said:"No, Madam, only to work".When asked if they had any special festivities at Christmas or any otherholiday, he replied:"No, we had no special jolifications".Sat.u.r.day nights they would sing and dance in the quarters and haveprayer meetings, then on some Sundays, they would hitch up the mules toa big wagon and all go to the white folks church: and again there wouldbe camp meetings held and the slaves from all the surroundingplantations would attend, going to same in these large wagons, sometimeshaving four mules to a wagon. They then would have a jolly time alongthe way, singing and calling to one another, and making friends.Uncle Charlie, said, he drove many a load of cotton in the large mulewagons from Newton Station to Enterprise, Mississippi.When asked if that wasn't a chance to run away, he replied:"Git away, why Madam, those n.i.g.g.e.r dogs would track you and all you gotwas a beating."Uncle Charlie seemed to look off in the distance and said: "You know,Madam, I never saw a slave rebuked until I came to Mississippi," and Ijust couldn't understand at first, but he grinned and said: "Lordy,Madam, some of those n.i.g.g.e.rs were onery, too, and a n.i.g.g.e.r driver was adriver sure enough."When the Master's son John Harris went to war, Charlie went with him ashis body guard, and when asked what his duties were, he replied:"I looked after Marster John, tended the horses and the tents. I recallswell, Madam, the siege of Vicksburg."The writer then asked him if he wasn't afraid of the shot and sh.e.l.l allaround him."No, Madam," he replied, "I kept way in the back where the camp was, forI didn't like to feel the earth trembling 'neath my feet, but you see,Madam, I loved young Marster John, and he loved me, and I just had towatch over that boy, and he came through all right."Uncle Charlie said when they were told the Yankees were coming throughfrom their headquarters in Meridian, Mississippi, and warned of theirraids, they all made to the swamps and staid until they had pa.s.sed on,but that the Yankees did not disturb the Jason Harris plantation.After the Surrender Charlie came to Mobile and worked at the YankeeCamp, living in the quarters located in Holly's Garden. He drove theirwagons and was paid $14.00 a month and his keep.

After his discharge heworked on steamboats and followed different lines of work, beingemployed for several years at Mr. M.L. Davis' saw mill, and is atpresent living on the Davis place at Oak Grove, Ala., an old Southernhome, with quarters originally built for the employees of the mill andstill known as the "quarters", and like other ante-bellum homes theyhave their private burying ground on the place.Uncle Charlie was married four times, but now a widower. He had fourchildren, two boys who are dead, and two girls, one Carrie Johnson, awidow, living in Kushla, Ala., and the other, Ella Aarons, a gra.s.swidow, living in Mobile, Ala.Uncle Charlie says he saw Jeff. Davis as an old man, after the war atMississippi City, Miss., and then his face lit up, and he said; "Wait aminute, Madam, I saw another president, let me think,-Yes, Madam I sawPresident Grant. He came through Mobile from New Orleans, and my! therewas a big parade that day."When asked about Abraham Lincoln, Uncle Charlie thought awhile, andanswered:"According to what was issued out in the Bible, there was a time forslavery, people had to be punished for their sin, and then there was atime for it not to be, and the Lord had opened a good view to Mr.Lincoln, and he promoted a good idea."When he was asked about Booker T. Washington he replied:"It was traversed out to him until the white folks took part with himand helped him carry on."Uncle Charlie thinks the present day folks are bad and wicked, and dontrealize anything like the old folks.Charlie is a Baptist, became one when he sought the Lord and thinks allpeople should be religious.Anthony Abercrombie *Interview with Anthony Abercrombie* -_Susie R. O'Brien, Uniontown, Alabama__OLD JOE CAN KEEP HIS TWO BITS_Uncle Ant'ny sat dozing in the early morning sunshine on his ricketyfront porch. He is a thin little old man with patches of white wool hereand there on his bald head, and an expression of kindness and gentlenesson his wrinkled old face.As I went cautiously up the steps, which appeared none too safe, hiscane which had been leaning against his chair, fell to the floor with aclatter. He awoke with a start and began fumbling around for it with histrembling and bony hands."Uncle Ant'ny, you don't see so well, do you?" I asked as I recoveredthe stick for him. "No ma'am, I sho' don't," he replied. "I ain't seednone outen one of my eyes in near 'bout sixty years, and de doctor say Igot a catalac on de yuther one; but I knows you is white folks.

I alwaysis been puny, but I reckon I does purty well considerin' I is a hundredyears old.""How do you know you are that old?" I inquired of him. Withouthesitation he answered, "I knows I's dat old 'cause my mistis put itdown in de Bible. I was born on de fourth day and I was a full growedman when de war come on in '61."Ya.s.sum, my mind kinder comes and goes, but I can always 'member 'boutslave'y time. Hits de things what happen in dese days dat's so easy forme to disremember. I b'longed to Marster Jim Abercrombie. His plantationwas 'bout sixteen miles north of Marion in Bibb county. When his son,young Jim, ma'ied, old Ma.r.s.e Jim give me to him and he fetched me toPerry county."No'm, old marster didn't go to war 'ca'se he was corrupted; he was deafin bofe ears and couldn't see good nuther. But he didn't care much 'boutme 'caze I was puny like and warn't much 'count in de field."My mistis, Miss Lou, was raisin' me up to be a carriage driver, an' shewas jes' as good to me as she could be. She useta dose me up wid castoroil, jimson root, and dogwood tea when I'd be feelin' po'ly, and she'dalways take up for me when Ma.r.s.e Jim get in behind me 'bout somep'n. Ireckon though I was a purty worrisome n.i.g.g.e.r in dem days; always gettin'in some kind of mischief."O ya.s.sum, I useta go to meetin'. Us n.i.g.g.e.rs didn't have no meetin'house on de plantation, but Ma.r.s.e Jim 'lowed us to build a brush arbor.Den two years atter de surrender I took consideration and j'ined up widde Lawd. Dat's how come I live so long. De Lawd done told me, 'Antn'y,you got a hundred and twenty miles to trabel. Dat mean you gwine to livea hundred and twenty years, if you stay on de straight an' narrow road.But if you don't, you gotter go jes' de same as all de yuthers.'""Tell me something about your master's slaves and his overseers," Iasked of him."Well," he said, "Ma.r.s.e Jim had 'bout three hundred slaves, and he hedone mighty bad overseer. But he got killed down on de bank of de creekone night. Dey never did find out who killed him, but Ma.r.s.e Jim alwaysb'lieved de field han's done it. 'Fore dat us n.i.g.g.e.rs useta go down tode creek to wash ourselves, but atter de overseer got killed down dar,us jes' leave off dat washin', 'cause some of 'em seed de overseer'sha'nt down dar floatin' over de creek."Dar was another ha'nt on de plantation, too. Ma.r.s.e Jim had some troublewid a big double-j'inted n.i.g.g.e.r named Joe. One day he turn on Ma.r.s.e Jimwid a fence rail, and Ma.r.s.e Jim had to pull his gun an' kill him. Well,dat happen in a skirt of woods what I get my lightwood what I use tostart a fire. One day I went to dem same woods to get some 'simmons.Another n.i.g.g.e.r went wid me, and he clumb de tree to shake de 'simmonsdown whilst I be pickin' 'em up. 'Fore long I heared another treeshakin' every time us shake our tree, dat other tree shake too, and downcame de 'simmons from it. I say to myself, 'Dat's Joe, 'cause he likes'simmons too.' Den I grab up my basket and holler to de boy in de tree,'n.i.g.g.e.r turn loose and drap down from dar, and ketch up wid me if youcan. I's leavin' here right now, 'cause Old Joe is over dar gettin''simmons too.'"Den another time I was in de woods choppin' lightwood. It was 'boutsundown, and every time my ax go 'whack' on de lightwood knot, I hearanother whack 'sides mine. I stops and lis'ens and don't hear nothin'.Den I starts choppin' ag'in I hears de yuther whacks. By dat time myhoun' dog was crouchin' at my feets, wid de hair standin' up on his backand I couldn't make him git up nor budge."Dis time I didn' stop for nothin'. I jes' drap my ax right dar, an' meand dat houn' dog tore out for home lickety split. When us got dar Ma.r.s.eJim was settin' on de porch, an' he say: 'n.i.g.g.e.r, you been up to somep'nyou got no business. You is all outen breath. Who you runnin' from?' DenI say: 'Ma.r.s.e Jim, somebody 'sides me is choppin' in yo' woods, an' Ican't see him. And Ma.r.s.e Jim, he say: 'Ah, dat ain't n.o.body but Ole Joe.Did he owe you anythin'?' An' I say: 'Ya.s.sah, he owe me two-bits forhelpin' him shuck corn.' 'Well,' Ma.r.s.e Jim say, 'don't pay him no mind:it jes' Old Joe come back to pay you.'"Anyhow, I didn' go back to dem woods no mo'. Old Joe can jes' have detwo-bits what he owe me, 'cause I don't want him follerin' 'roun' atterme. When he do I can't keep my mind on my business."Molly Ammond (Ammonds)

*Interview with Molly Ammond (Ammonds)* -_Gertha Couric__JESUS HAS MY CHILLUN COUNTED_I walked along a dusty road under the blazing sun. In the shade of awillow tree a Negro man was seated with his legs drawn up and his armscrossed upon his knees. His head rested face downward upon his arms, ashe had the aspect of one in deep slumber. Beside him munching on a fewstraggly weeds, a cantankerous mule took little notice of hissurroundings."Can you tell me where Aunt Molly Ammonds lives?" I asked in a loudvoice. The Negro stirred slowly, finally raising his head, anddisplaying three rabbit teeth, he accompanied his answer with a slightgesture of his hand."Ya.s.suh, dar her house raght across de road; de house wid de climbin'roses on hit.""Thank you," I said."Ya.s.suh," was the drawled response, and the Negro quickly resumed hisformer posture.Aunt Molly Ammonds is as gentle as a little child. Her voice is soft andeach phrase measured to the slow functionings of her aged mind.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Molly Ammond (Ammonds), Eufaula, Alabama_]"Honey," she said, "you ain't gwineter believe dis, but I is de mammy ofthirty chilluns. Jesus got 'em counted an' so is me. I was born in a logcabin dat had a loft, an' it was on Ma.r.s.e Lee Cato's plantation fivemiles wes' of Eufaula. My pappy's name was Tobe Cato an' my mammy's wa.s.sophia. I had one sister, Marthy, an' two brothers, Bong and Toge. Mypappy made all de furniture dat went in our house an' it were might'good furniture too. Us useta cook on de fiahplace. Us would cook ashcakes. Dey was made outen meal, water and a little pinch of lard; onSundays dey was made outen flour, b.u.t.termilk an' lard. Mammy would rakeall de ashes out de fiahplace, den kivver de cake wid de hot ashes an'let it cool till it was done."Yas Missy," she continued, "I recollects dat I was 'bout twelve orfo'teen when de s'render come, kaze a little atter dat I ma'ied PastorAmmonds. We walked ober to Georgetown an' it was de fus' time I eber hadshoes, and I got dem fum ole Ma.s.sa. I remembers dat I ma'ied in astriped calico dress.""Aunt Molly," I said, "you're getting a little ahead of your story, tellme something about your plantation life before the war.""Well, honey, Ma.s.sa Lee's place was 'bout three miles long an' two mileswide, and we raised cotton, cawn, 'taters and all sorts of vegetables.We had a mean oberseer dat always wanted to whup us, but ma.s.sa wouldn't'llow no whuppin'. Sometimes de ma.s.sa whould ride over de place on ahoss, an' when he come up on de oberseer a-fussin' at a n.i.g.g.e.r, Ma.s.sasay, 'Don't talk rough to dat n.i.g.g.e.r when he doin' de bes' he can.'"My pappy had a little garden of his own back of his cabin, an' heraised some chickens for us to eat, an' we had aigs nearly ev'y mornin'."De only work I done on de plantation was to nuss some little n.i.g.g.e.rswhen dere mammy an' pappy was in de fiel's. Twarn't hard."Nawsuh! I ain't never seed no slave in chains. Ma.s.sa Lee was a goodman. He had a church built called de brush house, dat had a flo' andsome seats, an' a top made outen pine boughs, an' ma.s.sa's pa, Mr. Cato,would preach eve'y Sunday. We sung songs lak 'I Heered De Voice of JesusSay,' an' 'I'se Gwine to Die no Mo.' We was all babtized in de creek,but none of us was taught to read or write."No-suh, I ain't never seed no slave run away. Us was treated fine. Ourfolks was quality. We had plenty som'n t'eat, but dem slaves hadda workpowerful hard though. Atter dey come home fum de fiel's dey was so tireddat dey go raght to sleep, except when de ma.s.sa had barbecues. Christmaswas de big time; dere was several days to res' an' make merryin' an'lots of dem no count n.i.g.g.e.rs got drunk."When us slaves was sick, Ma.s.sa Lee would send to Eufaula to fetch Dr.

Thornton to give us some medicine. We had de bes' treatment ever."Ya.s.suh, white folks, dem days is long ago. All my chilluns done died orwandered away an' my ole man been dead goin' on twenty years. I beenhere a long time by myself.""Aunt Molly," I interrupted. "There's one thing I've always been wantingto ask one of you ex-slaves, and that is: what you thought of peoplelike Abraham Lincoln, Jefferson Davis and Booker T. Washington."A puzzled expression came of the face of the old Negro. "White folks,"she said after a moments deliberation, "I don't believes I is had depleasure of meetin' dem gent'mens."Charity Anderson *Interview with Charity Anderson* -_Ila B. Prine_Charity Anderson, who believes she is 101 years old, was born at Bell'sLanding on the Alabama River, where her owner, Leslie Johnson, operateda wood-yard, which supplied fuel to the river steamers, and a tavernwhere travelers whiled away the delays of a dubious riverboat schedule.Rheumatic and weak, she no longer ventures from her house inToulminville, on the outskirts of Mobile, but sits, with her turbanedhead and bespectacled eyes, rocking the long hours away in a creaky oldchair and knitting or sewing, or just gazing into a past painted by thecrackling flames in the fireplace.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Charity Anderson, Toulminville, Alabama_]"I has so much trouble gittin' up and down de steps and ober de groun',I jist makes myself happy heah, cause-thank de Lawd-I'se on Zion'sMarch," is her resigned comment."Missy, peoples don't live now; and n.i.g.g.e.rs ain't got no manners, anddoan' know nothin' 'bout waitin' on folks. I kin remember de days w'en Iwas one of de house servants. Dere was six of us in de ole Ma.s.sa'shouse-me, Sarai, Lou, Hester, Jerry and Joe. Us did'n' know nothin' butgood times den. My job was lookin' atter de corner table whar nothin'but de desserts set. Joe and Jerry, dey was de table boys. Dey nebertetched nothin' wid dere han's, but used de waiter to pa.s.s things wid."My ole Ma.s.sa was a good man. He treated all his slaves kind, and tookgood kere of 'em. But, honey, all de white folks wan't good to dereslaves. I's seen po' n.i.g.g.e.rs 'mos' tore up by dogs and whupped 'tell deybled w'en dey did'n' do lak de white folks say. But, thank de Lawd, Ihad good white folks and dey sho' did trus' me, too. I had charge of allde keys to de house, and I waited on de Missis' and de chillun. I laidout all de clo'se on Sat'dy night, and den Sunday mawnin's I'd pick upall de dirty things. Dey did'n' have a thing to do. Us house servantshad a hahd job keepin' de pickaninnies out'er de dinin' room whar oleMa.s.sa et, cause w'en dey would slip in and stan' by his cheer, w'en hefinished eatin' he would fix a plate for 'em and let 'em set on thehearth."No mam, Missy, I ain't neber worked in de fields. Ole Ma.s.sa he neberplanted no cotton, and I ain't seen none planted 'tell after I was free.But, honey, I could sho 'nuff wash, iron and knit and weave. Sometimes Iweaved six or seven yahds of cloth, and do my house work too. I lerntthe chillun how to weave, and wash, and iron, and knit too, and I'swaited on de fo'th generation of our fambly.

I jes' wish I could telldese young chillun how to do. Iffen dey would only suffer me to talk todem, I'd tell dem to be more 'spectful to dere mammies and to dere whitefolks and say 'yes mam' and 'no mam', instid of 'yes' and 'no' lek deydo now."All dis generation thinks of is 'mus.e.m.e.nt. I neber had seen a show inmy whole life 'tell jes' dis pas' yeah when one of dem carnival thingswid de swings, and lights, and all de doin's dey have stop right infront of our house heah."And I ain't neber been in no trouble in all my life-ain't been in nolawsuits, and ain't been no witness eben. I allus treat ebrybody as goodas I kin, and I uses my manners as good as I knows how, and de Lawd sho'has took good keer of me. Why, w'en my house burnt up, de white folkshelped me so dat in no time you couldn't tell I ebber los' a thing."But, honey, de good ole days is now gone foreber. De ole days wasrailly de good times. How I wish I could go back to de days w'en welived at Johnson's landing on de riber, when de folks would come toketch de steamboats and we neber knowed how many to put on breakfas',dinner or supper fo', cause de boats mought be behin' times. I ain'tneber had to pay a fare to ride a steamboat needer. I was a good lookin'yaller gal in dem days and rid free wherever I wanted to go."But whut's de use dreamin' 'bout de ole times? Dey's gone, and de worldis gettin' wicked'er and wicked'er, sin grows bolder and bolder, and'ligion colder and colder."Gus Askew *Interview with Gus Askew* -_Gertha Couric_"Dat was one time when de ban' was playin' and flags was flyin' dat uslil' n.i.g.g.e.rs didn't get no joy outen it." Gus Askew smiled at thethought of the occasion as he sat on the sunny steps of his comfortablehouse in Eufaula. Gus was telling about the investment of Eufaula duringthe War between the States."Gen'l Grierson and his men marched right through town," Gus went onwith his story of his boyhood. "Mr. Lincoln done said we was free, butus lil' n.i.g.g.e.rs was too skeered to lissen to any ban' music, even iffenthe so'jers had come to set us free. 'Pears like us was allus gittin' insomebody's way in dem days and gittin' skeered of somepin'. But we wenton away from the so'jers and had a good time 'mongst ourselves like wealways done when there wasn't any cotton pickin'. Cotton pickin' timewas when we didn't have any chance to do any playin'."After the surrender I didn't have to do any more cotton pickin' and Iwent blacksmithin' for Joe Sturgis. He was the first blacksmith in dishere town. I was the second. Now my son done took on de work. They ain'tso much sence all dese here automobiles done got so plentiful and might'nigh ruint de business. But for seventy years I riz wid de sun and wentto dat blacksmith shop. I's enjoying a little misery now; so I's takin'my rest."[Ill.u.s.tration: _Gus Askew, Eufaula, Alabama_]Gus Askew was born a slave of the Edwards family in Henry County in1853. He was brought to Eufaula just before the close of the war andstayed on as a blacksmith after he was freed. In his seventy years ofhard work he saved enough to buy his home and some property whichmaintains him and his wife since age and infirmity forced him to turnover the work to his son. He has been married 54 years, numbers hiswhite friends by the hundreds and is held in great respect by his ownrace.Tom Baker *Interview with Tom Baker* -_Susie R. O'Brien_"Sho, I recollects about de slabery days," said uncle Tom as he whittledshavings from a soft piece of white pine. "I lived on a plantation downin Perry County an' I remembers a story bout somp'n dat happen to me away back dar."I was a water boy for fifty fiel' han's dat worked in de sun all daylong, an' I hadda carry many a bucket from de spring dat was one fiel'ober from where most of dem was workin'. De spring run down between somewillow trees an' it was powerful cool down dere in de shade.

I use' tolie on de moss an' let my bare belly git cool an' put my face in deoutlet of de spring an' let de water trickle over my haid. Jus' about detime I gits a little rest one of dem n.i.g.g.e.rs would call: 'Water boy!Bring dat bucket!' Den I grab up de bucket an' run back out in de hotsun."One day, on my las' trip, I was mighty tired an' I flop down on datmoss wid de sweat a-drippin' from my body, an' 'fo' I knowed it I donefell slap to sleep. When I woke up, it was almos' dark, an' I couldn'thear de slaves a-singing' in de fiel's, so I knowed dat dey had gonehome. I shake my haid, an' look about me, an' my eyes came to res' on alittle black bear cub a-drinkin' outen de spring. He so was a cutelittle boogar an' I made up my mind right den to try an' kotch him. Iwas jus' a little n.i.g.g.e.r 'bout ten year old an' didn't have no sense,but I sho' wanted dat little bear. He ain't seed me a-settin' dere, so Isnuck up real cautious like, an' afore he knowed it I had dat littledebil a-squealin' in my han's. I was jus' about to start home wid him,when I hears a rustlin' in de bushes an' afore I went ten feets, herecome a big, black bear a-lopin' along right outen dem willow trees. Idrop dat little critter 'caze I knowed dat was his mammy an' she wasravin' mad. When I let de little feller fall it must have hurt himsomp'n awful caze he howl mo' dan eber, an' went a limpin' up to hismammy. Well, suh, dat ole woman she got so mad she made fo' me lak twobolts of lightnin', but dese here feets of mine begin a-doin' derestuff. I knowed she was a-gainin' on me so I lets out a whoop for help.She chased me 'cross dat empty field an' 'bout dat time I seen big Jima-comin' through a row of cawn. 'Hurry Big Jim,' I calls, 'a bear isatter me!' Big Jim was de biggest n.i.g.g.e.r on our place. He must haveweighed as much as half a bale of cotton. I was jus' 'bout gittin' to deaidge of de cawn when dat bear ketched me. He give me a slap wid his pawan' I goes down wid my mouf a-scoopin' up de dus'. My back felt likesomebody done put a hot iron on it. Dat bear was a mean one. I was.e.xpectin' her to chaw me up an' I drawed my body up in a knot andkivered my haid wid my hands an' waited. But dat bear neber touch meagin'. I kinda snuck my eye aroun' an' I saw big Jim havin' it out widher. Jim, he had a long knife an' dey was a-tumblin' an' a-rollin' in dedust, while I sot dere wid my eyes a-poppin' outen my haid an' my backfeelin' like it was broke. Jim he wrap his legs roun' dat bear an' 'foreyou knowed it he had done stuck dat ole critter a dozen times wid datknife."About fifteen minutes later me an' Jim was a-walkin' back through decawn fiel' an' I guess we looked a sight, 'caze I was all tore up an'Jim he looked like he done mess up wid a fambly of wildcats. He wasbleedin' from haid to foot. When we walked into de big house to git sometreatments an' medicine for our hurts, Mistis was a-standin' dere, andwhen she seed me an' Jim, she almost faint. She say: 'Whut done happento my n.i.g.g.e.rs?'"Atter me an' Jim got fixed up I was jus' as happy, kaze I done seed debes' fight dere eber was, an' I had me a little orphan bear cub."Henry Barnes *Interview with Henry Barnes* -_Ila B. Prine, Mobile__HE MISSES DEM 'SET-DOWN HAWGS'_In Prichard, a suburb of Mobile, lives an old, blind Negro, "UncleHenry" Barnes, who says he was born in 1858, near Suggsville, ClarkeCounty, Alabama."Cose I was borned a slave, but I don't 'member much 'bout hit, 'caze Iwas li'l. Dere is one t'ing I does 'member, an' dat was when dey cut.w.a.termelons at de oberseer's house an' dey want us li'l n.i.g.g.e.rs runraces to git our piece. I jes wouldn't run an' my mammy she whup me'caze I so stubborn an' when I git my piece o' melon, I fly down de lanewhar our log cabins was. Dem cabins was daubed wid clay, an' dechimbleys was built outten clay an' stick. Our beds was homemade an' hadt'ree legs wid de yuther side nail to de wall.

I 'member atter I got abig boy, my mammy had a bed made outten lumber an' I slep' in dat bed'twel I was growed an' ma'ed."I 'members us's Ole Mistis, Miss Dell. Miss Dell was a good Mistis an'she useter hab Sunday School ebber' Sund'y mornin' at de Big House an'all us li'l n.i.g.g.e.rs went up dar for her to teach us 'bout de Bible an'Jesus."Ma.r.s.e John was good to all he slaves an' he wouldn't stan' no rush ermeanness to his n.i.g.g.e.rs. Iffen de o'seer got mean, Ole Marster wouldturn him off. Ole Marster allus tuk good keer of he slaves, 'caze whendey got sick, he hab de doctor, jes lak when de white folks got sick.One o' Ma.r.s.e John's boys, Ma.r.s.e Bennie, was a doctor, an' he was a gooddoctor, cep'n' he gin us bad med'cin', but he cyured you."Cose us hab our med'cin' sich lak elderbush tea. Hit was red 'mos' lakwhiskey an' us used hit for feber. Den dere was red sa.s.safrac tea ferspring feber, an' dey made Jerusalem oak candy full o' seeds an' gib tode chilluns to eat so dey could git rid of worms. Den us had mullen an'pine-top tea for colds an' feber. An' when us had a swellin' dey made apoultice of mullen leabes to take de swellin' out."Sometimes I wishes dat I could be back to de ol' place, 'caze us didhab plenty to eat, an' at hog-killin' time us had a mor'n a plenty. OleMarster kill eight or ten set-down hawgs at one time, an' de meat, an'de lard an' de hawgjowl an' de chitt'lin's-m'm' I kin see 'em now."What a set-down hawg? Hit's a hawg what done et so much corn he got sofat dat he feets can't hol' him up an' he jes set on he hin' quartersan' grunts an' eats an' eats an' grunts, 'twell day knock him in dehead."Dem was sho' good times, 'caze us had all us could eat den, an' plentysugar cane to make 'la.s.ses outten. An' dey made up biscuits in de bigwood trays. Dem trays was made outten tupelo gum an' dey was light as afedder. Us had plenty den, all de time, an' at Chris'mus an' when dewhite folks get ma'ed, dey kill hawgs, turkeys, an' chickens an'sometimes a yearlin'. En dey cook de hawgs whole, barbecue 'em an' fix'em up wid a big apple in he mouf. When de big weddin' come off, de cookin big pots, so's to hab 'nough for eber'body. Cose us didn't hab eaten'lak dat all de time, 'caze de reg'lar rations was t'ree pound of meatan' a peck of meal fer eber' han' from Sat'day twell Sat'day."De n.i.g.g.e.rs was 'lowed to hab a li'l patch of dey own, dat dey could wukat night an' Sat'day ebenin'! What dey make on dis patch was dey'n, an'Ole Marster pay 'em money for hit. n.o.body didn't make de n.i.g.g.e.rs wuk deypatches-iffen dey want de gra.s.s to took 'em, dat's all right wid OleMarster. Ole Martser hab a big gyarden, 'mos' big as a fiel', whar deyraise greens an' collards an' turnups fer de whole place."My granpappy was a carpenter an' Ole Marster contrac' him out to deyuther plantations to build dey houses. De grown n.i.g.g.e.rs had to be up'fo' day. De oberseer blow he horn fust to git up by an' de nex' time heblow dey hatter be ready to go to de fiel'."Dere was a ol' 'oman what kep' all de li'l n.i.g.g.e.rs, whilst dey mammieswas in de fiel'. Dis ol' 'oman cooked fer de li'l uns an' fed 'em allday, an' dey mammies tuk 'em at night."Us's clo's was made outten osnaburg cloth an' dyed wid cop'rus an'sometime dey mix terbaccy an' peach tree leabes wid de dye. Us had a bigorchard wid apples an' peaches an' pears, more'n us an' de hawgstogedder could eat up."When a n.i.g.g.e.r died, dey was buried in de graveyard lak dey do now, an'dey shouted an' hollered an' sometime a 'oman she faint an' hab to betote home. De song dey sing mos' at de fun'ral was: Hark from de Toom'."Us sho' did hab plenty singin' o' hymns an' shoutin' at night in decabins. Iffen de men want to break a night res' he go possum huntin' orrabbit huntin' jes' so he git pa.s.s from Ole Marster an' was at de fiel'nex' mornin' on time wid de yuther han's."I knowed Ole Marster went to de war, 'caze I heerd de folks talkin'bout hit an' wonder iffen Ole Marster gwine git kilt. Den I heerd 'emsay de n.i.g.g.e.rs was free, but us didn't leave Ole Marster for 'bout ayear atter de s'render. Den us went to lib on de young mistis' place atBarlow Bend, atter she ma'ed Mr. Bob Flynn. Right dar I stayed twell Iwas grown and ma'ed. Den de fust move to town, us come up de AlabamaRibber to James' Landin'. I members all de big boats on de ribber. Deysho' was fine 'uns.

"Den, I 'members atter I growed up dey tell 'bout how de Yankees comin'here an' how dey pester de white folks an' de n.i.g.g.e.rs, too. Broke in deysmoke-houses, burn 'em up an' t'row t'ings away an' lef' n.o.body nottin'to eat. I don't 'member dat 'caze I was too li'l."Lady, you ax me iffen us knowed anyt'ng 'bout hoodoo? Yes, ma'am deresho' was folkses what could put spells on you. I sho' was skeered o' demkin' too. Atter I was nearly growed, dere was a gal name Penny what beendown sick a long time an' dere was a cunjer doctor wukkin' on her tryin'cyure her, but her wan't 'greeable, so he let her die. Den a boy, nameEd, he had a mis'ry in he foot, an' hit went up he leg an' he cripple.Dere was a hoodoo doctor in de forks o' 'Bigbee Ribber come tend on him,an' he tol' ebber'body git outten de house 'cep'n' him an' Ed an' deDebil. He cyured Ed smack well."My mammy said I was borned wid a 'zernin' eye to see sperits, an' Iseed sump'n lak a cow wid no haid. So mammy made me stir de fresh lardwhen dey was rendin' hit, 'caze dat cyures you of seein' de sperits.Atter I stirred de lard, I didn't see 'em no mo'."One time I was splittin' rails wid a n.i.g.g.e.r what could do anythin', buthe was a bad man an' I was 'feered of him. I tol' him, iffen I had apain or anything hurt me, I sho' would kill him wid my ax. I wudda splitdat n.i.g.g.e.r wide open, jes' lak I split dem rails, iffen he try dathoodoo on me."Talkin' 'bout fishin', I 'members when us would be plowin' down by deribber, when hit come dinner-time an' whilst de mules eatin', us go downto de ribber an' fish. Den eb'ry Sat'day ebenin's us'd fish. Us kotchtrout, gyar, jack an' carp. May was when de carp bite. Dey was so fatden dat you could cook em by deyse'f widout no grease. Den us ketchturkeys in pole pens baited wid corn."Lor' what's de use me talkin' 'bout dem times. Dey all pas' an' gone.Sometimes I gits to studyin' 'bout all de folks mos' is dead, an' I ishere yit, libin' an' blin'; but I 'spec's. .h.i.t won't be long twell I isober de ribber wid de bles'."Nathan Beauchamp *Interview with Nathan Beauchamp* -_Gertha Couric, Eufaula, Alabama__HALF BREED_I walked up a little path bordered with small stones, an atmosphere ofsolitude surrounding me. In the sky, large, white c.u.mulous clouds likegreat bolls of cotton, floated leisurely northward. Far down the road aramshackle buckboard disappeared over a slight hill; directly in frontthe path ran at twenty yards into the dilapidated steps of a Negrocabin, while an old colored man in a vegetable garden to the left to thecabin broke the stillness with the intermittent metallic sounds of hisspade digging into thirsty soil.

I knew at a glance that this was NathanBeauchamp."h.e.l.lo, Uncle Nathan," I called.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Nathan Beauchamp, Eufaula, Alabama_]"Mornin', white folks," he answered, as he discontinued his spading andraised his hand in a friendly gesture.I walked over to where Uncle Nathan was standing and stopped in thelittle furrows of brown earth. Already a thick coat of dust had formedon my shoes."Uncle Nathan," I said, "I'd like to have a brief chat with you aboutslavery days, if you can spare a few minutes from your garden here?""Ya.s.suh, boss," he said, punctuating his reply with a spat of tobaccothat was soon nothing but a dark mark in the parched ground, "glad to beof any 'sistance."We moved to the shade of a large oak where we sat down together on ast.u.r.dy, home-made bench."Well, white folks," he went on after taking a long turn at the dipperhanging on the tree which shades a well. "I'll tell you a story of mymammy an' pappy. Nathan Beauchamp, my pappy, belonged to Ma.s.sa GreenBeauchamp at White Oak Springs, near Eufaula.Ma.s.sa Green was a member of de legislature when de capital was atTuscaloosy. He had many a acre of land an' hund'eds of slaves. Pappy useto dribe de wagon in to Eufaula to git supplies an' on de way he wouldmeet up wid an Injun gal a-carryin' big baskets dat she was a goin' tosell dere. He would ask her iffen she wanted to ride, an' she always sayyes. So one day pappy came to de ma.s.sa and tell him dat dere was anInjun gal on de St. Francis Indian Village dat he wanted fo' a wife, an'de boss say all right so pappy married de Indian gal. Her name was Mimi.So I is half n.i.g.g.e.r an half Injun. My mammy died 'bout five year afterfreedom, but I can remembers dat she had long black hair, and Iremembers de way de sun sparkle on her teeth when she smile. Atter shemarried pappy, she still carried her pretty baskets to Eufaula to sell.Sometime she walk all de way dere and back, twenty fo' miles. I beenlibin' here in Eufaula fifty year or mo', white fo'ks, an' I owns mylittle cabin an' de lan' around it. T'ain't much, but its enough to keepme a-goin', dis wid de little sto' I owns."Oliver Bell *Interview with Oliver Bell* -_Ruby Pickens Tartt, Livingston__DE BES' FRIEND A n.i.g.g.e.r EVER HAD_Oliver Bell says the first thing he remembers was seeing his motherwhipped. He was born in slavery, but most of his knowledge of the evils,as well as the joys of ante-bellum days, is by hearsay only."I was borned on de De Graffenreid Place," he said, "nine miles west ofLivingston-Boyd Road. My mother was Luella De Graffenreid an' my pappywas Edmund De Graffenreid. Den dey changed my name to Bell. I had onebrother, Nat, an' two sisters, Jestina an' Clara. I has 'bout sixteenchilluns, all born on de same place an' most of dem is livin' dere yit.My chillun by my firs' wife are Ed, Jack, Holly, Buck, Clarence, Sally,Liza, Mag an' Luella. Dey ma was Mandy Powell, frum York. Den my secondwife, Bettie Brown, gived me de res' of my chilluns. Le's see, dey isJimmy, J.W. Alfonso Wallace, Henry, Edna an' --" He hesitated,explained, "Dat's as many as I kin' 'member jest now.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Oliver Bell, Livingston, Alabama_]"My gran'ma's name was Cely De Graffenreid an' my gran'pa's name wasPeter. He was a shoemaker fur de place an' made plows, too. He was aworker an' he learnt me how to pull fodder an' chop corn an' cotton whenI was jest a little scamp jes' a little black n.i.g.g.e.r."Us all b'longed to Mr. Tresvan De Graffenreid an' Mistus Rebecca; an'dey was all good to us. Ol' Mistus read de Bible to us an' got usbaptized in de river at Horn's bridge, but dat was atter de surrender.In slavery times dey didn't like for us to sing an play loud in dequarters. Honey, I 'members when us had de big prayer meetin's. Deywould shut de door so de voice won't git out, an' dey would turn dewashpot down de door. Dat was to keep de voice inside, dey tol' me."Oliver mused a moment, recalling the old times."Us chilluns useta have a good time singin' an' a-playin'," he said. "I'members one of our little verses run somethin' lak dis: Shoo, shoo, shoo gander Th'ow yo' feathers 'way yander."Us had ol' corn hollers, too, but I fergits um now.

I does rememberthough you could hear dem n.i.g.g.e.rs holler a whole mile."No'm, it warn't so bad wid us. De white folks was good to us n.i.g.g.e.rs.Us had 'nough to eat, lak greens, frum de big house. Us had our rationsweighted out; peck o' meal, three pounds of meat, half gallon of'la.s.ses, made at home in wodden mills; an' dat was for a week. An'sometimes, on a Sunday us had a little sugar, coffee an' flour. No'm, usdidn't know what rice was."What I seed of slavery was a bad idea, I reckon, but ev'ybody thoughtdey marster was de bes' in de lan'. Us didn't know no better. A man wasgrowed plum' green 'fo he knew de whole worl' didn't belong to his ol'marster."Us didn't have no bought medicine in dem days; jes' whut us got outtade woods lak slippery ellum fer fever an' poke salad root; dey he'p alot. An' May-apple root would he'p you same as castor oil."Didn't n.o.body he'p us learn nothin' much, but mos' of my chilluns wentto Booker T's school. Dey say he's a mighty smart man, an' my chillunsthinks so, too. It's all right; I wish I could read an' write; den I'dtell you things you'd lak to know."His face clouded for the briefest moment."I tell you de fust thing I 'members, an' I don't know whut started it.One day my mammy done sumpin' an' ol' marster made her pull her dressdown 'roun' her waist an' made her lay down 'crost de door. Den he takena leather strop an' whooped her. I 'members dat I started cryin' an'Mistus Beckie said, 'Go git dat boy a biskit.'"I reckerlecks my mammy was a plow han' an' she'd go to work soon an'put me under de shade of a big ol' post-oak tree. Dere I sat all day,an' dat tree was my nurse. It still standin' dere yit, an' I won't letn.o.body cut it down."Mammy say I never did learn to walk; jes' one day she sot me down underde oak, an' fust thing she knowed she look up an' dere I was walkin'down de middle of a cotton row."'Nother thing I 'members when I was a little boy; dat dey was 'vidin'de corn atter de s'render. Dr. DeGraffenreid measured de corn out to allof 'em whut was share han's. He'd take a bushel an' give 'em a bushel.When he mos' through he'd throw a ear of corn to dis one, an' givehimse'f a ear; den he break a ear in two, an' he take part an' give dempart. Dat was close measurin', I tell you."Us lived in de third house frum de big house in de quarter, an' when Iwas a boy it was my job to set out shade trees. An' one day de Ku Kluxcome ridin' by an' dey leader was Mister Steve Renfroe. (Alabama banditof Reconstruction days). He wore long hair an' he call my pappy out an'ax him a heap of questions. While he sittin' dere his horse pull up nigh'bout all de trees I done sot out."Atter talkin' to my pappy, he rode on 'cross Horn's bridge, 'bout twomiles souf of here, an' dere he met Ol' Man Enoch Sledge an' FrankSledge. Dey was darkies whut b'longed to Marsa Simmy Sledge's father,Ol' Doctor Sledge. Slaves on dat plantation was 'lowed pretty goodprivilege atter de s'rrender an' was workin' on halvens. Uncle Enoch an'Frank was in town tradin' some, an' Mr. Renfroe didn't want 'em to haveanything. When dey lef' town, dey pa.s.s de Ku Kluxes raght on de sloughbridge. Mister Renfroe ax Enoch to give him a piece of string to fix hissaddle wid; den shot him. Frank run to de river, but de Ku Kluxescotched him an' shot him, too."De n.i.g.g.e.rs went down to de river dat night an' got de bodies an' buried'em in de ol' Travis graveyard. My mammy an' daddy is buried dere, too."Didn' n.o.body do nothin' 'bout Mister Renfroe 'till he went on an' gotto messin' wid Marsa Simmy Sledge's things; stole a pair of mules an' dewhite folks rambled atter him 'till dey foun' him in Linden. Dey got sohot atter him dat he went to his camp in de flat woods down on BearCreek. Dem was skeery times, 'case dat man never had no mercy forn.o.body."Dey's a cave down by de burial grounds whut de slaves dug when dey runaway, an' Mister Renfroe stayed dere.

It's on de river bank an' its dugup. You digs an' starts low an' pushes de dirt out an' digs up an' makesa big room up so de water won't git you. I knows whar dey's two of decaves on de place; my cow fell in one yestidy."When Ol' Marster Amos Travis come out here from Californy, he taken alakin' to me an' wanted me to leave t'other side of de place an' movedown dis side of de big house to take keer of dis swamp an' look atterde han's. But I wanted a big house wid four rooms an' two brickchimneys, an' I had to talk five years to git it. I's got somerosebushes now dat was at de big house raght atter de s'rrender, an'dey's growin' in my yard now."Speakin' 'bout graveyard, I was pa.s.sin' dere one night, ridin' on 'boutmidnight, an' sumpin' come draggin' a chain by me lak a dog. I got downoff'n my horse, but couldn't see nothin' wid no chain, so I got back onde horse an' dere raght in front of me was a Jack-Me-Lantern wid debrightes' light you ever seed. It was tryin' to lead me off, an' ev'ytime I'd git back in de road it would lead me off ag'in. You sho' willgit los' if you follow a Jack-Me-Lantern."One of dem led a man down to de creek by dem double bridges; said hefoun' he was travelin' in de wrong direction, gittin' frum home stidderclo'ster, so he jes' sit down under a tree an' waited 'til daylight. Iain't skeered of nothin' but dem Jack-Me-Lanterns, but dey stirs you upin yo' min' till you can't tell whar you's at; an' dey's so bright deynigh 'bout puts yo' eyes out. Dey is plenty of 'em over by de graveyardraght over yonder whar all my white folks is buried, an' mammy an'pappy, too. Dey's all dere 'cept Marsa Jess Travis; he was de nex' whutcome in line for de place, an' he was de bes' frein' dis here n.i.g.g.e.rever had."Fac' was, dat's whut he call me; 't was 'n.i.g.g.e.r'. He an' Mistus Maglived raght dere in de big house; den dey move into town an' dat's wharhe died. Me an' Marsa Jess made a 'greement an' he said if he was delonges' liver, he'd see me buried, an' if I be de longes' liver, I seehim buried. So dat day I went to his office in de co'thouse an' he sayhe want to talk wid me. He say, 'You 'members us 'greement?' An' I say,'Whut 'greement, Marsa Jess?' An' he say, 'Bout buryin'.' Den I say,sho', 'I 'members dat.'"Den he got up an' give me some papers 'bout some lan', an' I say, 'Whutdo all dis here mean, Ma.r.s.e Jess?' He say, 'nothin', n.i.g.g.e.r, 'cept I'sjes' goin' outta business.' Den I say, 'Goodbye, Ma.r.s.e Jess,' an' hesay, 'Goodbye, n.i.g.g.e.r,' an' I walked on 'crost de street. Den Mr.Killian say, 'Oliver, whut's happened over at de co'thouse?' An I say,'Ain't nothin' as I knows of.' Den he say, 'Yes, dey is; jes' look at depeoples gwine in a hurry.' Den I turn 'roun' an' run back an' dere layMa.r.s.e Jess. Mr. Smith was gettin' him up an' Ma.r.s.e Jess say to me,'Well, n.i.g.g.e.r, I didn't do whut I tended to; I missed it.' An' I say,'Boss, fer G.o.d's sake go to de hospital; I'll go wid you an' stay widyou.' Mistus Mag, she ast me to beg him, but he shuck his head an' say'If I had a-wanted to live I wouldn't of shot myself.' He res' a minit,den say, 'n.i.g.g.e.r, write Miss Calline an' tell her I says to always begood to you as long as you lives.'"Ya.s.sum, I was raght dere, done jes' whut I tol' him I'd do; kep' my'greement an' followed him to de grave. Co'se dat last 'bout Ma.r.s.e Jessain't no slavery tale, but I thought you was atter hearin' all 'bout defamily whut owned dis ol' place; an' Ma.r.s.e Jess was de bes' white frein'a n.i.g.g.e.r ever had; dis n.i.g.g.e.r, anyhow."Nelson Birdsong *Personal interview with Nelson and Virginia Birdsong*

*Summerville, on Front Street* -_Ila B. Prine, Mobile, Alabama__NELSON BIRDSONG REMEMBERS HIS MASTER_Nelson Birdsong, who lives on Front Street in the old suburb ofSummerville, about three miles from Mobile, Alabama, was born a slave. Atall dark Negro man, with white hair and whiskers, he says he was bornat Montgomery Hill, Alabama in Baldwin County, and that his people andhe were owned by Mr. Tom Adkins.Nelson said he was very small at the time of the Surrender, and couldnot tell very much about slavery days. In fact, he adds, "You know,missie, old folks in dem days did'nt 'low chillun to stan' 'roun' whendey was talking. We chillun was lack a shot out of a gun when anybodycome in. We was glad when folks come in 'cause we c'ud run out an' play.Chillun now-a-days knows as much as we did when we was twenty-five yearsold."Nelson does remember his "ma.s.sa" saying he neber was going to 'let datlittle n.i.g.g.e.r work.'He did not remember much about coming to Mobile, but "seemed lack" his"mammy worked for Mrs. Dunn on Monroe street, and later dey moved out inold Napoleonville" (which is now Crichton, Alabama, a suburb of Mobile).He said his "Pa and Mammy den worked fo' gris' mill out dere, and alsoowned a big gris' mill in de fork whar de big fire station is now"(which is located at the intersection of St. Francis street andWashington Avenue, the latter formerly Wilkinson street). This gristmill was burned in the 1870's.Nelson says the first work he remembered doing was "nussing a baby boyof Mr. Bramwell Burden, a gran'son of old man Burden."Nelson has owned his little farm and three-room house until the past twoor three years. He said he scuffled and tried to pay de taxes, but hadgot so old and his "knees had give out on him, and I seed I was agoin'to lose mah place so I turned it over to a man to keep up mah taxes, soI'd have a place to lib. De relief gibes me a little he'p now, an' mean' my wife makes out de bes' we can."The house is the familiar type of two-room Negro house, with a porchacross the front, and a shed room on the back. The bedroom had beenpapered with sc.r.a.ps of wallpaper of varied designs and so old that mostof it had fallen off. The mantel is covered with the colored comicssection, cut in a fancy pattern of scallops. At the entrance of thehouse is a sack nailed to the floor and used for a foot mat, and at thetwo upper corners of the door are horse shoes for good luck. Nelson saidhe is a member of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, and hasbeen a Methodist all his life; that he and his wife Virginia "had onlytwo chillun' and dey were bofe dead."Nelson's wife, Virginia, came from a family of slaves, although she wasnot one herself. She said her folks were owned by Mr. Joe Pickett ofCamden, Wilc.o.x County, Alabama. She said she just can remember Mr. Joetaking her in his buggy, and she called him "Toe-Toe," as she couldn'tsay his name plainly. She also said as she grew older she always spokeof Mr. Joe, as "my Papa," instead of "my master," for "he sho' was goodto me." She remembers her mother being chambermaid on the "OldEleanora," a boat on the Alabama river, and as a small child going backand forth on the boat with her. When they finally settled in Mobile, hermother worked for the family of Dr. Heustis who lived in the cornerhouse now occupied by the new Federal Court House and Custom House, atSt. Louis and St. Joseph streets.Ank Bishop *Interview with Ank Bishop* -_Ruby Pickens Tartt, Livingston, Alabama__GABR'EL BLOW SOF'! GABR'EL BLOW LOUD!_When "Gabr'el take his silver trump," he is going to blow soft for thesaved and loud for the lost souls, according to Ank Bishop who was borninto slavery eighty-nine years ago, and lives in Livingston, Alabama.The days before the war were as good as the present, Ank believes. Hetells of them in the following story of his life:"My name is Ank Bishop, en I was born in 1849, August 16th, at Ward,Alabama. My mother's name was Amy Larken, an' my father was Tom Bishop.I had three brothers, Alf, Volen an' Jim, an' two sisters, Cely an'Matildy. Us belonged to Lady Liza Larkin at Ward, right nigh c.o.ke'sChapel."My mother was brought out from South Car'lina in a speculator drove,an' Lady Liza bought her at de auction at c.o.ke's Chapel. She lef' hermammy an' daddy back dere in South Car'lina an' never did see 'em nomore in dis life. She was bidded off an' Lady Liza got her, jes' her onefrom all her family. She was got fer Lady Liza's house gal. Butsometimes she cooked or was de washer, den ag'in de milker.

'Twas my jobfor to min' de ca'ves. Sometimes I went to Mr. Ed Western's sto' atGaston, three miles from us house, to see iffen was any mail for LadyLiza, but 'twa'n't none."Dey was good to us 'caze Lady Liza's son, Mr. Willie Larkin, was deoverseer for his ma, but co'se sometime dey git among 'em an' thrashed'em out. One time one de n.i.g.g.e.rs runned away, old Caesar Townsy, an' deysarnt for d.i.c.k Peters to come an' bring his "n.i.g.g.e.r dogs." Dem dogs wastrained to ketch a n.i.g.g.e.r same as rabbit dogs is trained to ketch arabbit. So Mr. Willie Larkin told Stuart for to say to old man d.i.c.kPeters when he come, 'I'm gone,' but for him to come on. 'I'm gwineterkeep de road,' he say, 'an' cross 'Bigbee at Moscow landin'.' So ol'd.i.c.k Peters, he kept de road lack he tole him to, an' he cross 'Bigbeeat Moscow landin' over in de cane-brake. But dem n.i.g.g.e.r dogs didn'tnever ketch ol' man Caesar. He stayed right wharever he was at 'twellafter S'render, an' de War done ceased. Den he come out, but iffen hehad a been caught, dey'd a used him up pretty rough, but he stayed hidtwell de time done pa.s.sed."All de women on Lady Liza's place had to go to de fiel' ev'y day an'dem what had suckerlin' babies would come in 'bout nine o'clock in demawnin' an' when de bell ring at twelve an' suckerlin' 'em. One womantended to all of 'em in one house. Her name was Ellie Larkin, an' deycall her 'Mammy Larkin.' She all time sarnt me down in de fiel' for togit 'em come suckle de chillen, 'caze dat made hit hard on her when deygets hongry an' cry."Us didn't get to go to church none, an' us wa'n't larnt nothin'. I'mnigh 'bout ninety an' I can't read a line. I got some chillun kin read;one can't whut is sixty-five, but Henry he fifteen an' he kin. De ma,she go by de name of Pearlie Beasley, she can't read neither, but she'sa good fiel' han' an' she patched dese breeches I'm wearin' an' dis oleshirt. Miss, I ain't got a coat to my name. Can't go to church, so Idoan' know dat dis any better'n slav'y time. Hit's hard, anyway you gotto travel, got yo' nose on de groun' rock all de time. When pay daycome, ain't nothin' pay wid. Come git de rent, den you out do's ag'in.Bred an' bawn in Sumter County, wore out in Sumter County, 'specks todie in Sumter County, an' whut is I got? Ain't got nothin', ain't gotnothin', ain't got nothin'.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Ank Bishop, Livingston, Alabama_]"But I'm a believer, an' dis here voodoo an' hoodoo an' sper'ts ain'tnothin' but a lot of folk's outten Christ. Ha'nts ain't nothin' butsomebody died outten Christ an' his sper't ain't at res', jes' in awand'rin' condition in de world."Dis is de evil sper't what de Bible tells about when hit say a personhas got two sper'ts, a good one an' a evil one. De good sper't goes to aplace of happiness an' rest, an' you doan' see hit no mo', but de evilsper't ain't got no place to go. Hit's dwellin' place done tore downwhen de body died, an' hit's jes' a wand'rin' an a waitin' for Gabr'elto blow his trump, den de worl' gwineter come to an en'. But when G.o.dsay, 'Take down de silver mouf trump an' blow, Gabr'el,' an' Gabr'elsay, 'Lord, how loud sh.e.l.l I blow?' Den de Lord say, 'Blow easy,Gabr'el, en ca'm, not to 'larm my lilies.' De secon' time Gabr'el say,'How loud mus' I blow, Lord?' Den de Lord say, 'Blow hit as loud a.s.seben claps of thunder all added into one echo, so as to wake up demd.a.m.nable sper'ts sleepin' in de grave-ya'ds what ain't never made nopeace wid dey G.o.d, jes' alayin' dere in dey sins.'"But de Christ'en Army, hit gits up wid de fus' trump, an' dem what isdeef is de evil ones what anybody kin see anytime. I ain't skeered of'em, though. I pa.s.ses 'em an' goes right on plowin', but iffen you wants'em to git outten your way, all you gotter do is jes' turn your headleast bit an' look back. Dey gone jes' lack dat! When my fus' wife died'bout thirty years ago, I was goin' up to Gaston to see Sara Drayden,ole Scot Drayden's wife, an' I tuck out through Kennedy bottom 'boutsundown right after a rain. I seed sompin acomin' down de road 'bout dathigh, 'bout size a little black s.h.a.ggy dog, an' I says, 'What's dat Isees commin' down de road? Ain't n.o.body 'roun' here got no black s.h.a.ggydog? Hit kep' a-comin' an' kep' a-gittin' bigger an' bigger an' closeran' closer, an' time hit got right to me 'twas as big as a ha'f growedyearlin', black as a crow. It had four feet an' drop years, jes' lack adog, but 'twa'n't no dog, I knows dat. Den he shy out in de bushes, an'he come right back in de road, an' hit went on de way I was comin' from,so I went on de way hit was comin' from. I ain't never seed dat thing nomo'. But I'ze gotter pretty good notion 'bout who hit 'twas."Siney Bonner

*Interview with Siney Bonner* -_W.F. Jordan_"Hear dat whistle?" The speaker was Siney Bonner, an ex-slave, nowliving in the Norwood section of Birmingham. She had stopped for a"confab" where a group of other elderly Negroes of the neighborhood hadgathered. "De whistles on dem Big Jacks what pull dese highsteppin' I.C.trains mind me of dem steamboats what used to pull up at de landin' atole Pickensville on de Tombigbee River."'Cose dar wa'n't no railroads dem days an' de onlies' way folks hadtrabbelin' about was de steamboat which pa.s.sed most every week, and destage coach which pa.s.sed twice a week."Lawsy, man, dem was de days, and many de time atter my daddy, whosename was Green Bonner, heard dat steamboat blow below Pickensville, hewould hitch up de mules to de waggin and foller Ma.s.sa John on hossbackdown to de landin' to fetch back de supply of sugar and coffee andplow-tools needed on de plantation. Dey would take me 'long to hold demules and watch de waggin and it was a reglar picnic to me to see de bigshiney boat and watch de goin's on."Ma.s.sa John Bonner sho' did 'pend on my daddy. De ma.s.sa paid a thousandgreen-back dollars for him down to Mobile. 'Nuf green-backs to wrap himup in, he said, so he named him Green Bonner."Yes suh, we was all Baptis'-de deep water kind, and every Sunday deyused to pile us into de waggins and pull out bright and early for BigCreek Church on the Carrollton road. Everybody fetched a big basket ofgrub and, sakes alive! sech another dinner you never see, all spread outon de gra.s.sy grove by de ole graveyard. Mos' all de quality white folksbelonged at Big Creek and when dere slaves got sho' nuff 'ligion, deyhave 'em jine at Big Creek and be baptized at de swimmin' hole. Some ofde n.i.g.g.e.rs want to have dere own meetin's, but Lawd chile, dem n.i.g.g.e.rsget happy and get to shoutin' all over de meadow where dey built a brusharbor. Ma.s.sa John quick put a stop to dat. He say, 'if you gwine topreach and sing you must turn de wash pot bottom up'; meanin', noshoutin'. Dem Baptis' at Big Creek was sho' tight wid dere rules too.Turn you out sho' if you drink too much cawn licker, or dance, or cuss."Ma.s.sa John had a big fine bird dog. She was a mammy dog and one day shefoun' six puppies out in de harness house. Dey was mos' all girl puppiesso ma.s.sa gwine drown 'em. I axed him to give 'em to me and purty soon demissus sent me to de pos'office, so I put de puppies in a basket andtook 'em wid me. Dr. Lyles come by whar I was settin' and he say, 'Wantto sell dem pups, Siney?' I tell him, uh-huh. Den he say, 'What'nomination is dey?'. I tell him, dey's Methodis' dogs. He didn' say nomo'. Bout a week atter dat ole missus sent me to 'de pos'office again,so I took my basket of puppies. Sho' nuff, 'long come Dr. Lyles and hesay, 'Siney, see you still ain't sold dem pups'. I say, 'Naw-suh'. Denhe axed me ag'in what 'nomination dey b'long to. I tole him dey wasBaptis' dogs. He say, 'How come? You tole me las' week dem was Methodis'pups'. Ha-ha! Bless G.o.d!, look like he had me. But I say, 'Yas-suh, butyou see, Doctah, dey got dere eyes open since den!' He laff and go ondown to his newspaper office.[Ill.u.s.tration: _Siney Bonner, Birmingham, Alabama_]"How old is I? Law chile, I don't know. My mammy say I was fifteen yearold time of de surrender. I 'members dat mighty well. Ma.s.sa John callall de n.i.g.g.e.rs on de plantation 'round him at de big house and he say to'em 'Now, you all jes' as free as I is. I ain't your marster no mo'.I'se tried to be good to you and take keer of all of you. You is allwelcome to stay and we'll all wuk togedder and make a livin' somehow. Efyou don' want to stay, dem dat go will jes' have to root, pig, or die.'Some stayed and some lef'. My daddy stayed wid Ma.r.s.e John till he wascalled home to glory. Now dey all gone but Siney, and I'se jes' here,waitin' for 'em to call me."Yas suh, I been 'round Carrollton a heap. Atter Ma.r.s.e John and my daddybofe died, I wuk'd 'round from place to place. Used to wuk for Mrs.Roper at de old Phoenix Hotel. I recollect when de new brick court housewas built. De ole court house had been burned and dey 'rested a n.i.g.g.e.rnamed Bill Burkhalter for settin' it on fire. Dey sent him to de pen'an' some officers started wid him to Montgomery. When dey got to SipseyRiver a mob ketched up wid 'em an' took Bill and hung him dere in theswamp. 'Bout dat time a bad cloud come up. Dey axed Bill did he haveanything to say. He say, 'I ain't burn no court house, an' ef you allkill me, my face gwine always ha'nt you'. Whilst he still hangin' derein dat swamp de lightnin' flash and de thunder an' wind was somp'nawful. Nex' mornin' when de sun come up, bless my soul, right dere on dewinder in de court house tower was a photygraf of de face of de n.i.g.g.e.rdey done hung for burnin' de old court house. Yas suh, I done seen datwid my own eyes an' I speck dat picture still dere."But lawsy me, I got to get goin', kase I'se cookin' me a mess of pokesallet I picked down by de railroad tracks dis mornin'. Dat poke salletand young ernions gwine to be mighty good, and dey sho 'mind me of demgood old days in Pickens county."Jennie Bowen *Interview with Jennie Bowen* -_Mary A. Poole, Mobile__NO BELL BRUNG HIM_Jennie Bowen was surrounded by numerous little colored children as Icame upon her sitting on her front porch. She answered my questionsthrough a mouth void of teeth and with a constant blinking of her browneyes with their muddy whites. Her little grand-child had to act to someextent as an interpreter, as her speech was at times most indistinct."Ya.s.sum, I remembers lots of things dat happened back in de days of deCibil War," she said. "I remembers de place whar I lived. It were deprettiest house you ever seed. It were on a high hill overlooking asmall creek and de flowers 'roun' in de yard was somp'n to see, sho''nuff."I was bawn in 1847 on Ma.s.sa Fisher's and Mistis Fisher's plantationnear Camden, Alabama. Us slaves lived in a row of whitewashed cabins inde rear of de big house. We useta have a mean oberseer, white folks, an'all de time dere was slaves on our place a runnin' away."I acted as nuss for ma.s.sa's three chilluns, an' dey learnt me to readan' write. My pappy was named Burl Fisher an' he come f'um Virginny whenCap'n Fisher brung him. My mammy was named Grace Fisher, an' she was'roun' de big house mos' of de time a weavin' an' a cardin' wool for deslaves, who wo' calico spun in de summer an' wool in de winter."An ole n.i.g.g.e.r man rung a bell for us to get up by, an' to call de fiel'han's in de evenin's. Atter Surrender, dis ole n.i.g.g.e.r stayed right on deplantation an' was a workin' in de fiel's one day when de Fisher boyrung de bell for de n.i.g.g.e.rs to come in. All of 'em came 'cep'n dis oleman an' later on dey ax him why he don't come when dey ring de bell. Heanswer: 'Tain't no mo' bell ringin' for dis n.i.g.g.e.r, 'caze I is free.'[Ill.u.s.tration: _Jennie Bowen, Mobile, Alabama_]"De Fishers was Pres'terians an' dey had dere own church on de place.Eve'ybody had to go on Sunday; de white folks sittin' in de front, decolored folks in de back. De onl'es' holidays us n.i.g.g.e.rs had wasChris'mas an' New Years. On dese days us all exchanged gif's."My pappy an' mammy atter de war farmed on shares wid Cap'n Fisher. Iwas ma'ied 'bout dis time, white folks, to Sam Bowen, who long beendaid. Us had a big weddin' an' de two Mistis Fishers (Ma.s.sa's daughters)baked us a cake an' I sont a piece to all my white frien's for dem todream on. Atter I come to Mobile, I changed my 'ligion to bein' aBabtist.

"I had ten chilluns, but seven of dem is daid. I is even got fo' greatgran' chilluns."Ya.s.sum, us had po' white trash back in dem days of de war. Dey livednear our place, an' some of 'em didn't have no n.i.g.g.e.rs at all. Deyworked deyse'f in de fiel's. Us didn't fool 'long wid dem kinds ofpeople dough, white folks. Us kep' mostly to ourselves."Ya.s.sum, us house n.i.g.g.e.rs et in de kitchens, dat was separated f'um demain buildin' by a walkway, kivered at de top but not at de sides. Allde slave chilluns had a grown n.i.g.g.e.r woman and a young gal 'bout sixteento look atter dem. We-alls had a good time an' us was happy an' secure."Nannie Bradfield *Interview with Nannie Bradfield* -_Susie R. O'Brien, Uniontown, Alabama__WHAT I KEER ABOUT BEIN' FREE?_Nannie Bradfield is a fat little old woman almost as broad as she islong, with a pleasant face and a broad smile which displays white teethstill good at the age of eighty-five. She lives alone in a dilapidatedcabin which rests in a clump of trees by the side of the railroad. Thesagging roof is patched with pieces of rusty tin of many shapes andsizes."Nannie," I said, "aren't you afraid to live here alone?""How come I be skeered? Ain't n.o.body gwine bother me lessen it be aspirit, and dey don't come 'roun' 'cep'n on rainy nights, den all yougot to do is say 'Lawd have mercy! What you want here,' and dey go 'wayand leave you 'lone."Any how I's gittin' pretty old and I won't be here so ve'y much longerso I jes' as well start gittin' 'quainted wid de spirits.""Tell me something about yourself and your family, Nannie," I said."Dere ain't nothin' much to tell 'cep I was born in slav'y times and Iwas 'bout twelve year old in May when 'manc.i.p.ation come. My Pa and Mab'longed to Mars James and Miss Rebecca Chambers. Dey plantation wasjes' on de aidge of town and dat's what I was born. Mars James' sonWilliam was in de war and old Miss would send me to town whar all desojers tents was, to tote sompen good to eat to dem. I don't 'membermuch 'bout de war 'cep de tents and de b.u.m sh.e.l.ls shootin'. I was littleand couldn't do much but I waited on Miss Liz'beth, my young Miss, andwaited on table, toted battie cakes and sich like. No ma'am I don't knownothin' 'tall 'bout de patterollers or de Klu Kluxers but I know all'bout de conjer doctors. Dey sho' kin fix you. Dey kin take yo' garteror yo stockin' top an drap it in runnin' water and make you run de res'of yo' life, you'll be in a hurry all de time, and if dey gits holt of apiece of de seat of yo' draw's dey sprinkles a little conjer powder onit and burns it den you can't never set down in no peace. You jes' likeyou settin' on a coal of fiah 'till you git somebody to take de spelloffen you.""Nannie, were you glad when the war was over and you were free?""What I keer 'bout bein' free? Didn't old Marster give us plenty goodsompin to eat and clo's to wear? I stayed on de plantation 'til Imah'ied. My old Miss give me a brown dress and hat. Well dat dress putme in de country, if you mah'ie in brown you'll live in de country.""'Marry in brown you'll live out of town?'" I quoted. "Dat's it-myremembrance ain't so good and I fergits."No ma'am, I ain't got no chillun, but Bradfield had plenty un um, I washis fouf wife. He died 'bout three years ago and he done well to livedat long wid all dem wimmens to nag him. De Bible say it's better toclimb on top of the house and set, den to live inside wid a naggin''oman."Martha Bradley *Interview with Martha Bradley* -_Mabel Farrior, Montgomery, Alabama__IN SLAVERY TIME_Aunt Martha-as she is known to all her "white folks"-claims to be 100years old. She was a slave to Dr. Lucas of Mt. Meigs neighborhood longbefore the War between the States. Dr. Lucas is one of the well knownLucas family, with whom General LaFayette spent some ti