“I don’t know how old I is. I am old. I been here so long. I feel my age now right smart. I want to do things and give out. I know I’m old. I look old. I was born in Alabama.
“Mother was sold to Bud Walls at Holly Grove. Papa bought her and brought us to this state. My father died seven months before I was born my mother told me. She married ag’in. She was the mother of ten children. We all lived and do better than we do now. Mother was light. She worked in the field ever since I come to know ’bout things. Her name was Martha Foster. I don’t know my father’s name but Foster. The rest of the family was called Walls. Whether they wanted to be called that, they was called Walls’ niggers ’fore and after freedom both.
“My husband is living. My daughter died first day of March. It sorter addled me.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Molly Horn
Holly Grove, Arkansas
Age: 77
“My ma and pa belong to the same white folks. I was born in North Carolina. Ma and pa had six children. I don’t know how many owners they ever had in North Carolina. Ma and pa was named Sarah and Jad Nelson.
“When I was a baby Rubin Harriett bought me and mama. His wife was Becky Harriett. Ma was too old to sell without me. They didn’t want to sell me but they couldn’t sell her widout me. I am the baby of our family. Papa didn’t get to come to Arkansas. That parted them. After freedom her other children came. I heard ma say how they kept papa dodged round from the Yankees. The white folks kept him dodged round. He was a field hand. Ma was a cook and house girl. She never did work in the field till she come out here. She said white folks didn’t whoop him; he wouldn’t take it. I don’t know why they thought he wouldn’t be whooped.
“I could walk when I first seed the Yankees. I run out to see em good. Then I run back and told Miss Becky. I said, ‘What is they?’ She told ma to put all us under the bed to hide us from the soldiers. One big Yankee stepped inside and says to Miss Becky, ‘You own any niggers?’ She say, ‘No.’ Here I come outen under the bed and ask her fer bread. Then the Yankee lieutenant cursed her. He made the other four come outen under the bed. They all commenced to cryin’ and I commenced to cry. We never seed nobody lack him fore. We was scared to deaf of him. He talked so loud and bad. He loaded us in a wagon. Mama too went wid him straight to Helena. He put us in a camp and kept us. Mama cooked fer the Yankees six or seven months. She heard em—the white soldiers—whisperin’ round bout freedom. She told em, ‘You ain’t goiner keep me here no longer.’ She took us walkin’ back to her old master and ax him for us a home. Then she married man on the place. He was real old. I had five half brothers and sisters then. I was a good size girl then.
“They had run him and some more men to Texas. They went in a wagon and walked. They made one crop there. He said fifteen or sixteen families what belong to different owners went out there. They heard some people talking—overheard it was free times. They picked up and left there at night. They dodged round in the woods and traveled at night. When he got back he made terms to work as a share cropper.
“Master, he didn’t give us nuthin’. I didn’t hear they would give em anything. Truth of it was they didn’t have much to keep less givin’ the niggers something. We all had little to eat and wear and a plenty wood to burn and a house to shelter us. The work didn’t slack up none. The fences down, the outhouses had to have more boards tack on. No stock cept a scrub or so. We had no garden seed cept what be borrowed round and raised. Times was hard. We had biscuits bout once a week, lucky if we got that.