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

by United States. Work Projects Administration

Transcriber's Notes:

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

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

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[HW: Dist 5
Ex-Slave #63]
Whitley,
1-22-36
Driskell
EX SLAVE
JENNIE KENDRICKS
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist 1
Ex-Slave #62]
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW:
EMMALINE KILPATRICK, Age 74
Born a slave on the plantation of
Judge William Watson Moore,
White Plains, (Greene County) Georgia
BY: SARAH H. HALL
ATHENS, GA.
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist 6
Ex Slave #65]
J.R. Jones
FRANCES KIMBROUGH, EX-SLAVE
Place of birth: On Kimbrough plantation, Harries County,
near Cataula, Georgia
Date of birth: About 1854
Present residence: 1639-5th Avenue, Columbus, Georgia
Interviewed: August 7, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 --]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist 6
Ex-Slave #64]
Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker
CHARLIE KING—EX-SLAVE
Interviewed
435 E. Taylor Street, Griffin, Georgia
September 16, 1936

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE
NICEY KINNEY, Age 86
R.F.D. #3
Athens, Ga.
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Proj.
Res. 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.
Sept. 28, 1938

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE
JULIA LARKEN, Age 76
693 Meigs Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 5
Ex-Slave #67
E.F. Driskell
12/31/36]
[HW: GEORGE LEWIS]
[Date Stamp: MAY 2- --]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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INTERVIEW WITH:
MIRRIAM McCOMMONS, Age 76
164 Augusta Avenue
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Research Worker
Athens, Georgia
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Augusta, Georgia
[Date Stamp: APR 29 1938]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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PLANTATION LIFE
As viewed by
ED McCREE, Age 76
543 Reese Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Sadie B. Hornsby [HW: (White)]
Athens
Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens
Leila Harris
Augusta
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 1
Ex Slave #68]
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW:
LUCY McCULLOUGH, Age 79
BY: SARAH H. HALL
ATHENS, GA.
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

[HW: Dist. 5 (Driskell)
Ex Slave #69]
AMANDA MCDANIEL, 80 yrs old
Ex-slave
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Dist. 7
Ex. Slave #74
TOM McGRUDER, 102 years old
Ex-Slave
By Elizabeth Watson, Hawkinsville, Georgia
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

PLANTATION LIFE as viewed by ex-slave
SUSAN McINTOSH, Age 87
1203 W. Hancook Avenue
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Sadie B. Hornsby
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Ga.
Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens
John N. Booth
Augusta
Leila Harris
Augusta
April 28, 1938
[Date Stamp: MAY 6 1938]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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District #7
Adella S. Dixon, Macon, Georgia
MATILDA McKINNEY
100 Empire Avenue, Macon, Georgia
[Date Stamp: JUL 28 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE
WILLIAM McWHORTER, Age 78
383 W. Broad Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers'
Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.
Sept. 30, 1938

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

[HW: Dist. 6:
Ex-Slave #72]
Henrietta Carlisle
Alberta Minor
Re-search Workers
MOLLIE MALONE—EX-SLAVE
Route B, Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed
September 16, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

District Two
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
AUNT CARRIE MASON
Milledgeville, Georgia
(Baldwin County)
Written By:
Mrs. Estelle G. Burke
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Milledgeville, Georgia
Edited By:
John N. Booth
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
July 7, 1937
[Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Works Progress Administration
Harry L. Hopkins, Administrator
Ellen S. Woodward, Assistant Administrator
Henry S. Alsberg, Director of the Federal Writers' Project
PLANTATION LIFE
Interview with:
SUSAN MATTHEWS, Age 84
Madison Street,
Macon, Georgia
Written by:
Ruth H. Sanford,
Macon, Georgia
Edited by:
Annie A. Rose,
Macon, Georgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

[HW: DIST. 6
Ex-slave #77]
Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker
EMILY MAYS
East Solomon Street,
Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

INTERVIEW WITH LIZA MENTION
BEECH ISLAND, S.C.
Written and Edited By:
Leila Harris
and
John N. Booth
Federal Writers' Project
Augusta, Georgia
March 25, 1938

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'se a member of de Silver Bluff Baptist Church, and I been goin' to Sunday School dar nearly ever since I can 'member. You know dey say dat's de oldest Nigger church in de country. At fust a white man come from Savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves. Later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built another house so de niggers could have de old one. When dat ole church wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat house and den in a brush arbor. "Some folks calls it de Dead River Church 'cause it used to be near Dead River and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. I wuz baptised dar myself and I loves de old spot of ground. I has tried to be a good church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime for preacher money now."

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

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

---

District Two
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
AUNT HARRIET MILLER
Toccoa, Georgia
(Stephens County)
Written By:
Mrs. Annie Lee Newton
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
Edited By:
John N. Booth
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
July 15, 1937

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #75]
Folklore
Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker
MOLLIE MITCHELL, Ex Negro Slave
507 East Chappell Street
Griffin, Georgia
August 31, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #79]
Folklore
Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker
FANNY NIX—Ex-Slave
Interviewed
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 6
Ex-Slave #80]
Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker
HENRY NIX—Ex-Slave
808 E. Slaton Ave.
Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed
September 24, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[HW: Dist. 6]
Mary A. Crawford
Re-Search Worker
LEWIS OGLETREE—Ex-Slave
501 E. Tinsley Street
Griffin, Georgia
August 21, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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