"We had everybody shouting and jumping, and my father and mother shouted along with the others. Everybody was happy."
Janie Satterwhite's memories were very vivid about freedom. "Oh yas'm," she said, "my brudder comed fer me. He say, 'Jane, you free now. You wanna go home and see Papa?' But old Mars say, 'Son, I don' know you and you don' know me. You better let Jane stay here a while.' So he went off, but pretty soon I slip off. I had my little black bonnet in my hand, and de shoes Papa give me, and I started off 'Ticht, ticht; crost dat bridge.
"I kept on till I got to my sister's. But when I got to de bridge de river wus risin'. And I hadder go down de swamp road. When I got dere, wus I dirty? And my sister say, 'How come you here all by yourself?' Den she took off my clo'es and put me to bed. And I remember de next mornin' when I got up it wus Sunday and she had my clo'es all wash and iron. De fus' Sunday atter freedom."
FOLK LORE
As most of the ex-slaves interviewed were mere children during the slavery period they remembered only tales that were told them by their parents. Two bits of folk lore were outstanding as they were repeated with many variations by several old women. One of these stories may be a relic of race memory, dating back to the dawn of the race in Africa. Several negroes of the locality gave different versions of this story of the woman who got out of her skin every night. Hannah Murphy, who was once a slave and now lives in Augusta gives this version:
"Dere was a big pon' on de plantation, and I yeared de ole folks tell a story 'bout dat pon', how one time dere was a white Mistis what would go out ev'y evenin' in her cay'age and mek de driver tak her to de pon'. She would stay out a long time. De driver kep' a wonderin' whut she do here. One night he saw her go thu' de bushes, and he crep' behin' her. He saw her step out o' her skin. Da skin jus' roll up and lay down on de groun', and den de Mistis disappear. De driver wus too skeered to move. In a little while he yeared her voice sayin', 'Skinny, Skinny, don't you know me? Den de skin jump up and dere she wus again, ez big as life. He watch her like dat for a lot o' nights, and den he went and tole de Marster. De Marster wus so skeered o' her he run away frum de plantation and quit her."
Laura Stewart, who was born a slave in Virginia, gives this verson of the same story:
"Dey always tole me de story 'bout de ole witch who git out her skin. I ain't know it all. In dem days I guess dose kinder things went on. Dey said while she was out ridin' wid de ole witch she lef' her skin behind her, and when she come back, de other woman had put salt and pepper on it; and whan she say, 'Skinny, Skinny, don't you know me?' de ole skin wouldn't jump up, so she ain't had no skin a-tall."
"Granny," Laura's granddaughter called to her, "tell the ladies about the Mistis what got bury."
"Oh yes," Laura recalled, "dey didn' bury her so far. A bad man went dere to git her gold ring off her finger. She make a sound like 'Shs' like her bref comin' out, and de man got skeered. He run off. She got up direckly and come to de house. Dey was skeered o' dat Mistis de res' o' her life and say she were a hant."