“You know how long I went to school? Three days. No ma’m I had to work, darlin’.
“I was born down here on Saline River at Selma. I done forgot what month.”
“What kinda work have I done? Oh, honey, I done farmed myself to death, darlin’. You know Buck Couch down here at Noble Lake? Well, I hoped pick out eight bales of cotton for him.
“I wish I had the dollars I had workin’ for R.A. Pickens down here at Walnut Lake. Yes, honey, I farmed for him bout fifteen or twenty years steady.
“And he sure was nice and he was mischievous. He called all of us his chillun. He use to say, ‘Now you must mind your papa!’ And we’d say ‘Now Mr. Pickens, you know you ain’t got no nigger chillun’. He use to say to me ‘Sallie, you is a good woman but you ain’t got no sense’. Them was fine white folks.
“Honey, these white folks round here what knows me, knows they ain’t a lazy bone in my body.
“I’se cooked and washed and ironed and I’se housecleaned. Yes’m, I certainly was a good cook.
“I belongs to the Palestine Baptist Church. Yes ma’m. I don’t know what I’d do if twasn’t for the good Master. I talks to Him all the time.
“I goes to this here government school. A man teaches it. I don’t know what his name is, we just calls him Professor.
“Well, chile, I’ll tell you the truf. These young folks is done gone. And some o’ these white headed women goes up here truckin’. It’s a sin and a shame. I don’t know what’s gwine come of ’em.”
Interviewer’s Comment
This woman lives with her daughter Angelina Moore who owns her home.
Mother and daughter both attend government school. Both were neatly dressed. The day was warm so we sat on the front porch during the interview.
Personal History of Informant
1. Ancestry–Grandfather, Ned Peeples; grandmother, Sally Peeples; Mother, Dorcas Peeples; Father, Josh Allen.
2. Place and date of birth–On Saline River, Selma, Arkansas. No date.
3. Family–Two daughters and granddaughter.
4. Places lived in, with dates–Desha County, Walnut Lake, Noble Lake, (Arkansas) Poplar Bluff, Missouri. No dates.
5. Education, with dates–Three days, “after freedom”. Attends government school now.
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates–Farmwork, cooking, laundry work until 1936.
7. Special skills and interests–Cooking.
8. Community and religious activities–Member of Palestine Baptist Church.
9. Description of informant–Medium height, plump, light complexion and gray hair.
10. Other points gained in interview–Injured in auto wreck seven years ago.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Roberta Shaver, West Memphis, Arkansas Age: 50
“I was born close to Natchez, Mississippi. Grandma was sold at Wickerson County, Mississippi. They took her in a wagon to Jackson, Tennessee. She was mother of two children. They took them. She was part Indian. She was a farm woman. Her name was Dicy Jackson. They sold her away from the Jacksons to Dobbins. She was a house woman in Jackson, Tennessee. She said they was good to her in Tennessee. Grandma never was hit a lick in slavery. Grandpa was whooped a time or two. He run off to the woods for weeks and come back starved. He tended to the stock and drove Master Clayton around. He was carriage driver when they wanted to go places.
“After freedom grandma set out to get back to grandpa. Walked and rode too I reckon. She brought her children back. After a absence of five years she and grandpa went back together. They met at Natchez, Mississippi. Mama was born after freedom.
“The way grandma said she was sold was, a strange man come there one day and the master had certain ones he would sell stand in a line and this strange man picked out the ones he wanted and had them get their belongings and put them in the wagon and took them on off. She never seen grandpa for five years.”
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Mary Shaw
1118 Palm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 77
Occupation: Laundry work
“I was born in Bolivar County, Mississippi. My mother didn’t know how old I was but after freedom I went by Miss Ann Blanchet’s–that was my mother’s old missis–and she said I was born in 1861.
“But I don’t know nothin’ ’bout slavery or the War. I was born and bred in the desert and my mother said it was a long time after freedom ‘fore she knowed anything about it. She said there was just lots of the folks said, to their knowin’, they had been free three years ‘fore they knowed anything about it.
“My husband brought me to Arkansas when I was 35 and I been workin’ in the same family, Captain Jeter’s family, ever since-forty odd years.
“I always have worked hard. I’ve had the flu only reason I’m sittin’ here now. If I had to sit and hold my hands very long, they’d have to take me to Little Rock.
“I been married twice. My last husband was Sam Shaw. He was a great whiskey man and when whiskey went out, he went to bootleggin’ and they got behind him and he left.
“He wrote me once and said if I’d borrow some money on my home and send it to him, he’d come back. I wrote and told him just like I’m tellin’ you that after I had worked night and day to pay for this house while he was off tellin’ some other woman lies just like he told me, I wasn’t goin’ to send him money. So I ain’t seen him since.
“I ain’t never been to school much. When schools got numerous in Mississippi they had me behind a plow handle.
“Mrs. Jeter made me mad once and I quit. My first husband was a porter on the railroad and I got on the train and went to Memphis with him.
“One time he come back from a trip to Pine Bluff and handed me a little package. I opened it and it was a note from Mrs. Jeter and a piece of corn bread. She said, ‘Now, Mary, you see what I’ve had to eat. I want you to come back.’ So I went back and stayed ’til she died. And now I’m workin’ for her daughter, Mrs. McEwen. Mrs. Jeter used to say, ‘Mary, I know you’re not a Arkansas woman ’cause you ain’t got a lazy bone in your body.'”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Violet Shaw, West Memphis, Arkansas Age: 50
“I heard Grandma Katie Williams say she was put up on a high stump and auctioned off. She told how great-grandma cried and cried and never seen her no more. Grandma come from Oakland, Tennessee to Mississippi. Grandma took the two young children and left the other two with great-grandma. They took her from her husband. She never seen none of them again.
“After freedom she didn’t know how to find them. She never could get trace of them. She tried. She never married no more. I was born at Clarksdale, Mississippi. I have seen Tom Pernell (white), the young master, come and spend the night with Henry Pernell. Henry had once been Tom’s father’s slave and carriage driver. I was too small to know the cause but I remember that several times mighty well. They fixed him up a clean bed by hisself. Henry lived in town. But he might have been drunk. I never seen no misbehavior out of him. It was strange to me to see that.
“Freedom–Aunt Mariah Jackson was freed at Dublin, Mississippi. She said she was out in the field working. A great big white man come, jumped up on a log and shouted, ‘Freedom! Freedom!’ They let the log they was toting down; six, three on a side, had holt of a hand stick toting a long heavy log. They was clearing up new ground. He told them they was free. They went to the house. They cooked and et and thanked God. Some got down and prayed, some sung. They had a time that day. They got the banjo and fiddle and set out playing. Some got in the big road just walking. She said they had a time that day.”
Texarkana District
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Cecil Copeland Subject: Ex-Slave
This information given by: Frederick Shelton Place of Residence: Dump Section, Texarkana, Arkansas Occupation: None
Age: 81
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]
In an humble cabin on the outskirts of the city lives a venerable old negro ex-slave. Although bent with rheumatism and age, he still retains his mental faculties to a remarkable degree.
An inquiry as to his health elicited the following reply: “I’se a willful mind but a weak body. Just like an old tree–de limbs are withered and almost dead. I’se been here a long tins, ovah 81 years, and am ready to go any time de good Lawd says de word. Dat’s de trouble wid de people nowadays–dey ain’t prepared. Back when I wuz a young man, dey wuzn ‘t so much meaness, and such goings on as dey are nowadays. De young-peple know as much as de old folks. Yas, suh, de worl’ am goin’ to de dogs.”
Asked about life in pioneer days, the old negro replied; “We had lots ob good times in dem days. Log rollings wuz lots ob fun to me as I wuz strong den, an’ I could “show off” befo’ de odder niggers. Dey wuzn’t much rollin’ to it, mostly carrying. I mind de time when I lifted de end ob a log, an’ four men tried at different times to lift de odder, but dey couldn’t do it. Three of dese men went to an early grave from trying to lift dis log–all tore up inside. Maybe dat’s whut ails me.
“You had to be careful den, when traveling through de woods, or de varmints would git you, especially at night. I mind de time when a negro wuz comin’ through de woods one nite, when he seed a panther about to spring on him.
“Dis nigger dropped in his tracks lack he wuz dead. De panther came up to him and smelled ob him, but de nigger held his breath, and de panther thought he wuz dead. De panther covered him wid leaves an’ went about one hundred yards into de woods to call his friends to de feast. No sooner had he left when de nigger jumped up and climbed a tree, first rutting an old chunk of wood in de place where he wuz buried. De nigger could hear de panther out in de woods as he called for his friends, and pretty soon, here dey come, about five of ’em. Slowly circling aroun’ de place where de nigger had been, all of a sudden dey all jumped. Findin’ nothin’ but de old chunk of wood, dem panthers got real mad. Wid angry growls, dey jumped on de one whut had called dem, and ate him up.”
This old negro reserves all of the heroic roles for others. Asked if he had had any experience with the “varmints”, as he termed them he said: “Yas, suh. De worst scared I ever got wuz frum a wolf. Walkin’ down a trail one day, I spied a wolf not more than ten feet away. Man, I wuz so scared dat I seemed to freeze in my tracks, and couldn’t move. I tried to holler but all I could do wuz croak. Den I tried to whistle but de only sound I could make wuz a hiss. After standing for whut seemed hours, wid his ears sticking straight up, de wolf finally turned around and trotted away.”
The conversation drifted to other topics, and finally to ghosts and spirits. The old negro said he had never seen a ghost, and didn’t believe in those things. No sooner had he said this when his wife, who had been listening in on the conversation from the inside of the door exclaimed: “I does! Seein’ is believin’ aint it? Well suh, about two years ago de negro dat lived next door died. A few weeks after he died I wuz settin’ out on de porch when I see dis negro come out of de house, and walk slowly to de corner of mah yard where he vanished into de air. A few nights later de same thing happened again. No suh, dat nigger didn’t go to Heaven and he didn’t go to Hell. He’s still around heah. He wuz a wicked negro and wuz scared to go.”
Circumstances of interview
STATE–Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER–Samuel S. Taylor
ADDRESS–Little Rock, Arkansas
DATE–December, 1938
SUBJECT–Ex-slave
[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]
1. Name and address of informant–Laura Shelton, 1518 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas.
2. Date and time of interview interview–
3. Place of interview–1518 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas.
4. Name and address of person, if any who put you in touch with informant–
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you–
Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.–
Personal History of Informant
1. Ancestry–mother, Susan Barnett; father, Ben Bearden; grandfather, Harvey Barnett.
2. Place and date of birth–Arkansas, 1878
3. Family–Three children.
4. Education, with dates–
5. Places lived in with dates–Jerome, Arkansas and Little Rock. No dates.
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates–Farmed, wash and iron.
7. Special skills and interests–
8. Community and religious activities–Belongs to Baptist Church.
9. Description of informant–
10. Other points gained in interview–
Text of Interview (Unedited)
“My mother used to sit down and talk to us and tell us about slavery. If she had died when I was young I wouldn’t have known much. But by her living till I was old, I learned a lot.
“My mother’s old master was Tom Barnett, so she said. No, not ‘so she said’ because I have seed him. He give her her age and all at that time. I have it in my Bible. He said that she was twelve years old the Christmas before the surrender. The surrender was in May, wasn’t it?
“My mother’s name was Susan Bearden. She married Ben Bearden. She worked in Tom Barnett’s house. She milked and churned and ‘tended to the children and all such as that. He never allowed her to go to the field. Neither her mother, my grandmother. She was the cook. My mother’s name before she married was Susan Barnett.
“An old colored lady that they had there seed after the colored children. She looked after my mother too. She was so old she couldn’t do nothin’ so they had her to look after the children. My grandmother was kept busy because she had the white folks to cook for and she had all the colored folks to cook for too.
“There is an old lady down on Spring Street that can give you a lot of information about slavery times.
“A boy was telling her that somebody was going ’round asking questions about slavery and she said she wished he would come and see her.
“My mother never had any chance to go to school before freedom and she never had any chance to go afterwards because she didn’t have any money. When they turned them loose the white folks didn’t give ’em anything, so they had to work. They didn’t allow them to pick up a piece of paper in slave time for fear they would learn.
“My mother remembered the pateroles. She said they used to catch and whip the colored men and women when they would get out.
“My mother’s old master was the one that told mama she was free. He told her she was free as he was. After they learned that they were free, they stayed on till Christmas.
“After Christmas, they went to another plantation. My gran’pa, he come and got them all to come. My gran’pa’s name was Harvey Barnett. His old master’s son had married and he had been staying with him. That made him be on another place. There was a good many of the children in my grandmother’s family. Mama had a sister named Lucy, one named Lethe, one named Caroline, one named Annie, and one named Jane. She had two boys–one named Jack, and one named Barnett. She had another sister named–I don’t remember her name.
“After freedom, we sharecropped for a number of years up until my father died. He died about twenty-four years ago.
“After that mama washed and ironed for about ten or twelve years. Then she got too old to work and we took care of her. My mother died last March on the ninth day. She always had good health for an old lady. Never got so she couldn’t get up and do her light work such as dress herself, cooking, sweeping, and so on. She would even do her own washing and ironing if we would let her. She would hide from us and pick cotton till we stopped her.
“She was sick only one week and the doctor said she died of old age. He said it was just her time. She didn’t have nothin’ the matter with her but jus’ old age he said so far as he could find. Dr. Fletcher was our doctor. She died in Jerome, Arkansas about sixteen miles from the Louisiana line. Leastwise, they tell me it’s about sixteen miles from the line. She always told us that she had her business fixed with the Lord and that when she taken sick, It wouldn’t be long. And sure ‘nough, it wasn’t.
“I farmed until my mother and brother died. Then I came up here with my sister as I had no children living. I jus’ wash and iron now whenever I can get somethin’ to do.
“I have been married once. I had three children. All of them are dead. My children are dead and my husband is dead.
“I belong to the Baptist church down on Spring Street. I always unite with the church whenever I go to a place. I don’t care whether I stay there or not.
“My mama’s master was good as far as white folks generally be in slavery times. He never whipped my grandmother nor my mother. He was good to the field hands too. He never whipped them. He would feed them too. He had right smart of field hands but I don’t know just how many. I don’t think he ever sold any of his slaves. I think he come by them from his father because I have heard them say that his father told him before he died never to ‘part with Black Mammy. That was what he called her. And he kept them altogether jus’ like his father told him to. His father said, ‘I you to keep all my Negroes together and Black Mammy I don’t want you let her be whipped because she nursed all of you.’ She said she never was whipped ‘cept once when she got a cockle berry up her nose and he got it out and gave her a little brushing–not as much as grandma would have given her.
“He kept them all in good shoes and warm clothes and give them plenty to eat. So many of the slaves on other plantations didn’t have half enough to eat and were half naked and barefooted all the time.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Mahalia Shores, Marianna, Arkansas Age: 77
“I was born in Greene County, Georgia. My owner was Jim Jackson. He bought my mother’s father. She was raised on Jim Jackson’s place. I rec’collect a right smart about slavery times. He made us dress up and let the nigger traders see what little niggers I got. We thought it was nice. What fine limbs we had. Aunt Judy–some called her ‘big mamma’–lived down under the hill. She was old and seen after the children. The biggest children took care and nursed the little ones. On Wednesday and Saturday the cook made ginger cakes for the little children. The house girl called us. She was Aunt Teena’s girl. Aunt Teena was a housemaid. See little niggers coming from every direction to get our cakes.
“Jim Jackson’s wife was named Mariah. They lived in a big fine white house. When it was freedom a soldier come, brought a paper and Massa Jim was settin’ on the porch. Tom Chapman was his overseer. They rung the big farm bell and had the oldest niggers stand in a line and us little ones in front so we could all see. Tom Chapman read the paper and stood by the soldier. He had two big plantations. Massa Jim got sick that day and vomited and vomited. He lived a week or two weeks. They sent for Dr. Ducham but he couldn’t do him no good. He died. Massa Jim told them they could take the teams and go to town, all he ax of ’em was to feed and take care of ’em. Every one of the grown folks went and left us at home. Aunt Judy seen ’bout us like she been doing all the time. They went over to Greensboro to celebrate. They all come back. They was all ready fer their breakfastes. It was twelve miles from Greensboro. Then the next day Massa Jim or Tom Chapman, one called the grown folks to the house and told them, ‘You can stay and I will pay you or you can go. I pay no more doctor bills. I don’t feed you no more nor give you no more clothes.’ Some moved and some hired to him. Some went to his father-in-law’s place and some to his brothers’ place and around. His wife was rich. She was Dave Butler’s gal. No, I mean Massa Jim’s wife–Miss Mariah. That big place was what her pa give her. Massa Jim had five hundred little niggers on that place and lots more on the big plantation. He had about two thousand little niggers. We went in droves is right.
“I never went to a table in slavery time. We had our plates and cup and took it to the pot and they put some victuals in ’em, then we went and et where we pleased. We had all the meat we could eat and all the milk we could drink all the time. Aunt Teena sewed and grandma would weave cloth. They made white aprons. My hair was nice and old mistress would tell Aunt Judy to curl my hair. They rolled it up on cloth and on little light cobs. If they wet it, it would stay curled.
“Massa Jim sold his niggers when he wanted to. He sold my grandpa and Uncle Steve. Grandma wanted him to sell her and he wouldn’t do it. I don’t know what become of grandpa. After freedom Uncle Steve come back to us all. Grandpa was crying. He come to our house and said he had to go. We never seen him no more.
“Some of the slaves wouldn’t be whooped by Tom Chapman. I heard them say since I got grown he ‘tacked ’em. It caused trouble. He couldn’t whoop ’em then. Old master whooped some of ’em. Some would say, ‘I take ten licks offen you and that is all.’ Then he would sell them the first chance. They would go to the woods if he beat them too much. He didn’t abuse his niggers. He said his niggers was his property. Aunt Sarah tended to the cows and Aunt Clarisa raised geese, turkeys, chickens, ducks, and churned.
“The Ku Klux come to our house, called Uncle Billy–that was my papa. They got him up out of bed. One man said, ‘I ain’t had no water since the battle of Shiloah.’ He had pa draw water till daybreaking. He had a horn he poured the water in. We was all scared half to death. Next morning there was a branch from the well done run off. Something took place about a well. Uncle Neel Anderson and Uncle Cush dug wells for their living. They come after them. Aunt Mandy had a baby. They pitied her and Uncle Neel got so scared he run upstairs in his shirt tail and stuck his head in the cotton. They found him that way. Uncle Cush said, ‘Come on, Neel, and go with me.’ They whooped Uncle Cush in his shirt tail. If you didn’t open the door they would break it in.
“I worked in the field in Georgia and Arkansas both. I cooked since I was twelve years old. I married when I was twenty years old. I cooked here in Marianna eighteen years and I have cooked three Sunday dinners on Saturday and Sunday together. I would make three dollars when I done that. I had five children and I raised one boy. I washed and ironed. I get some help from the Welfare but I saved and my good old man saved so we would have plenty when we got old. Folks burnt up two of my houses. I got three more not fitten to live in till they are covered. I got good property in Stuttgart but couldn’t pay the tax on it and ’bout to loose it. I tried to get a loan and never could. We niggers have a hard time.”
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Rosa Simmons
823 West 13th Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85?
“Yes mam, I was here during that Civil War. I was fifteen years old then. I was born In Tennessee.
“My boss man carried all the best hands to Texas and carried the scrub hands across Cypress Creek here in Arkansas, and that’s where I come. I was fifteen when the Yankees come in on my boss man’s place, so you know now I ain’t no baby. I thank God that He left me here to get old.
“Before the war. I nussed two babies–my mistress’ baby and her sister’s baby. Yes’m we had a good master and mistress. We didn’t suffer for nothin’ and we didn’t have no overseer over us. Colonel Maples was my master. No’m he wasn’t no soldier–that was the name his mother give him.
“When my folks first come to Arkansas we lived in a cabin that just had a balin’ sack hangin’ in the door and one night a bear come in and my brother and I broke a board off the side and fell right out in the cane. We all hollered so some folks come down and shot the bear. I ain’t never seed a bear before and I didn’t know what it was.
“I ‘member when the Yankees come to my boss man’s place. They wanted to shake hands but he was scared to death and wouldn’t do it. Another time the Yankees captured him and kept him three months. They took his horse and he finally come home on a mule that didn’t have but three legs. I guess the Yankees give him the mule. He turned the old mule loose and said he never wanted to see another Yankee. If he saw any kind of a white man comin’ down the road he run in the house and hid between the feather bed and the mattress.
“One time the Yankees come and drunk the sweet milk and took all the butter, turkeys and hogs and then broke the powder horn against the maple tree.
“The cook say ‘I’m gwine tell Marse Joe you drink all this milk.’ The Yankees say, ‘Let the damn fool alone–here we are tryin’ to free her and she ain’t got no sense.’ They said there wouldn’t be any more hard times after the war.
“But I sure have seen some hard times. I have washed and cooked and done ’bout everything.
“When I get up in the morning I got the limburger (lumbago) in my back so I ain’t able to do much. Sometimes I have something to eat and sometimes I don’t.”
Mrs. Carol Graham
Mrs. Mildred Thompson
El Dorado District
Fannie Sims.
Customs.
“How ole is ah? Ise about 78. Yes’m ah wuz live durin de wah. Mah ole moster wuz Mistuh Jake Dumas we lived near de Ouachita rivuh bout five miles fum El Dorado landin. Ah membush dat we washed at de spring way, way fum de house. What dat yo say? Does ah know Ca’line. Ca’line, lawsy, me yes. Ca’line Washington we use tuh call huh, she wuz one uv Mr. Dumas niggers. We washed fuh de soldiers. Had tuh carry day clo’es tuh dem aftuh dark. Me an Ca’line had tuh carry dem. We had tuh hide de horse tuh keep de soldiers fum gittin him. When we would take de horse tuh de plum orchard we would stay dah all day to dark wid “Blackie”. Dat wuz de horse’s name. Mah job mostly wuz tuh watch de chillun an feed mah mistress chickens.
“Ah kin recollect when dey took us an started tuh Texas an got as fur as El Dorado and found out dat us niggers wuz free. We went back an grandma’s mistress’s son took us home wid him fuh stretches and stretches. We lived on de ole Camden road.
“In mah days ah’ve done plenty uv work but ah don’ do nothing now but piece quilts. Dat’s whut ah’ve been doing fuh mah white fokes since ah been heah. Ah jes finished piecing and quiltin two uv em. De Glove[TR:?] and de Begger. Mah husban’ been dead 31 years dis pas’ August. No, ah counts is by dose twins ah raised. One uv em lives in dis heah place right heah. Ah aint much count now. Sometime mah laig gets so big ah jes had tuh sloop mah foot erlong.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Jerry Sims (Indian and Negro) Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: Born 1859
“I was born in 1859 close to Natchez, Mississippi. Chief Sims was my grandpa. He was Indian, full blood. His wife was a Choctaw Indian. Grandpa was a small red Indian. They kept my pa hid out with stock nearly all time of the Civil War. Both my mas’ parents was nearly all Indian too but they was mixed. I’m more Indian than anything else. I heard pa talk about staying in the cane brakes. Mighty few cane brakes to be found now. I come with my grandpa and grandma to Arkansas when I was five years old.
“My ma belong to Quill and Sely Whitaker. I et and slept with Hattie and Bud and Rob Whitaker. Quill Whitaker was a Union surgeon in the Civil War.
“I don’t think any of my folks was ever sold. They was of a porer class and had to have a living and sorter become slaves for a living. I never heard ma say how she got in bondage. Pa stayed with John Rob bout like a slave.
“I am a farmer. I am not on the PWA. Times for me is hard. You see some has so much and others hardly can live atall.
“It is not for me to say about the young generation. I have mighty little to do with any of them.
“I have voted but not lately. I never did understand voting.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Victoria Sims, Helena, Arkansas Age: 76
“I was born in Limestone County, Alabama. It was on a river. Where I was born they called it Elks Mouth. Our owners was Frank Martin and Liza Martin. They raised papa. Their daughter aired (heired) him. Her name was Miss (Mrs.) Betty Hansey. Papa’s name was Ed Martin. I stood on a stool and churned for papa’s young mistress. The churn was tall as I was. I loved milk so good and they had plenty of it–all kinds. Soon as ever I get through, they take up the butter. I’d set ’round till they got it worked up so I could get a piece of bread and fresh butter and a big cup of that fresh milk. They always fixed it for me.
“Mama was Minthy Martin. She cooked on another place. She was a nurse. Her papa belong to one person and her mother to somebody else. Mama was Minthy Bridgeforth but I don’t have her owner’s name. I guess she was sold. I heard her say the Bridgeforth’s was good to her. Some white man whooped on her once. I never heard her say much about it. Papa’s owners was good to him. They was crazy about him. I knowed papa’s owners the best and I lived there heap the most. I was born a slave but I don’t know who I belong to. I’ve studied that over myself. I used to go back to see papa’s owners. They owned lots of slaves and lots of land. Papa done a lot of different things. He fed and farmed and cleaned off the yards and slopped the pigs. He done what they said do, well as I can recollect. I wasn’t with mama till after freedom. Mama said her white folks was treated mighty mean during the War. Once the soldiers come and mama was so scared she took the baby and run got in the cellar. They throwed out everything they had to eat. They took off barrels of things to eat and left them on starvation. One soldier come one time and wanted mama to go to the camps. She was scared not to go, scared he’d shoot her down. She told him she’d go the next day soon as she could get up her things and tell her folks she had gone. He agreed to that. Soon as he left she and some other young women on the place put out to the cane brakes and caves. She said they nearly starved. The white folks sent them baskets of victuals several times. Mama said she had some pretty beads she wore. Somebody had made her a present of them. She loved ’em. I think she said they was red. Mama’s mistress told her to hide her beads, the soldiers would take them. She hid them up in the loft of their house on a nail. One day a gang come scouting and they rummaged the whole house and place. When the soldiers left she thought about her beads and went to see and they was gone. She cried and cried about them. That was before she went to the canebrakes.
“When freedom come on, the owners told them they was free. They didn’t leave and then they made a way for them to stay on. They stayed on.
“I was grown when we come to this state but we lived in Tennessee a few years. Mama had had nine children by that time. All was dead, but us two girls and my brother. We come to Arkansas with our parents. We heard the land was new and rich. I wasn’t married then.
“I’ve worked hard in the field all my life till last year or so. I still do work.
“Times is tough here I tell you. I get a little help, six dollars.
“Some of the young folks won’t work, some not able to work. If anybody saving a thing I don’t hear about it.”
Interviewer: Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Virginia Sims
1121 N. Magnolia
Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 93
Occupation: Retired Midwife
“I was born in 1844. I was twenty when peace was declared. I was born in Virginia. Yes ma’am, but I was sold, put up on a stump just like you sell hogs to the highest speculator. I was sold with my mother from a man named Joe Poindexter and bought by Tom Murphy and brought to Arkansas. My God, every Murphy round here knows me. Yes’m, my mother and me was sold. Papa wasn’t sold, but he come here the second year after surrender.
“I was old enough to spin twelve cuts a day–had it to do. And I could weave cloth just like they do now.
“Had seven brothers and I’m the onliest girl.
“I can recollect when Miss Mary Poindexter died. They said I was two.
“My mistis in Arkansas was Mrs. Susan Murphy. That was out on the plantation, we didn’t live in no city–my God, no!
“The way my people acts now, they looks foolish. I never heard a person curse till I come up here. I was a grown young lady nineteen years old when our master lowed us to get out and cote. You better not. The first husband I married I was nineteen goin’ on twenty. My husband fought on the Southern side. His master sent him as a substitute.
“My master put good clothes on me, I’d say. ‘Master. I wants a dress like so and so, and I wants a pair of shoes.’ Yes ma’am, and he got em for me. I was forty-three and married to a nigger fore I knowed what twas to cry for underwear.
“I member they was a white man called Dunk Hill and he said, ‘Virginia, who freed the niggers?’ I said, ‘God freed the niggers.’ He said, ‘Now, Virginia, you goin’ be just as free as I am some day!’
“General Shelby’s troops was comin’ on this side the ribber. That’s one time I was scared. Never seed so many men in my life. They wanted something to eat. Mama cooked all night. They was nine hundred and somethin’. I toted canteens all night long.
“I member when they had that Marks Mill battle. My husband was there and he sent word for me to come cause he had the measles and they had went in on him. I had to put on boots and wade mud. Young folks now ain’t got no sense. I see so many folks now with such dull understanding. Marks Mill was the onliest part of the war I was in.
“General Shelby and Captain Blank, they whetted their swords together when peace was declared. Captain said, ‘General, I’m not crazy and neither am I a coward. I looked up and seem like a man was comin’ out the clouds, and so I’m goin’ to surrender.’
“Them cavalry men–they’d say, ‘Ride!’ and how they’d go.
“I seen em when they was enlistin’. Said they was goin’ to whip the Yankees and be back for breakfast in the morning.
“Marse Ben was goin’ and Miss Susan say, ‘Virginia, if you think he ain’t goin’ come back you ought to kiss him goodbye.’ I said, ‘I ain’t goin’ to kiss no white man.’
“Miss Fanny went up the ladder and sot rite on the roof and watched the soldiers goin’ by. Yes’m. Old master whipped me with a little peach stick cause I let Frankie–we called her Frankie–go up the ladder. I said I couldn’t stop her cause she said if I told her papa, she and Becky goin’ to whip me. He whipped Miss Fanny. Old miss come in and say, ‘Ain’t you goin’ whip this nigger?’ She was mean as the devil. Oh, God, yes. She so mean she didn’t know what to do. But old master kep her down. You know some of these redheaded women, they just as devilish as they can be. We had some neighbors, Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Daniels and old miss would be out there on the lawn quarrelin’ till it was just like a fog. Us niggers would be out there listenin’.
“But I was always treated good. You know if I had been beat over the head I couldn’t recollect things now. My head ain’t been cracked up. Nother thing. I always been easy controlled.
“I never went to school a day. After we was freed we stayed right on the Murphy place. They paid us and we worked on the shares. That’s the reason I say I done better when I was a slave.”
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Senya Singfield 1613 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 74
“I was born in Washington, Virginia right at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My mother was sold when I was a babe in her arms. She was sold three times. I know one time when she had four children she was sold and one of my brothers was sold away unbeknownst to her. Her old master sold her away from her mistress. She was a cook and never was mistreated.
“I ain’t never been to school. When I got big enough, my mother was a widow and I had to start out and make a living. I’ve always been a cook. Used to keep a boarding house, up until late years. I’ve washed and ironed, sewed a right smart and quilted quilts. I’ve done anything I could to turn an honest living. Oh I’ve been through it but I’m still here. I’ve been a widow over forty years.
“I think the folks nowdays are about run out. They are goin’ too fast. When I was comin’ up, I had to have some manners. My mother didn’t low me to ‘spute nobody.”
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Peggy Sloan
2450 Howard Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: About 80, or more
Occupation: Farming
“I was born in Arkansas in Tulip, in Dallas County I think it is, isn’t it?
“Charlotte Evans was mother’s name and my father’s name was Lige Evans. Gran’daddy David was my mother’s father, and Cheyney was my mother’s mother.
“Mr. Johnnie Sumner was the name of my young master, and the old man was Mr. Judge Sumner. The old people are all dead now. Mr. Judge Sumner was Johnnie Sumner’s father. Me and Mr. Johnnie suckled together. Mr. Johnnie came to Fordyce they say looking for the old slaves. I didn’t know about it then. I never would know him now. That is been so long ago. I sure would like to see ‘im.
“My mother ain’t told me much about herself in slave times. She was a nurse. She lived in a log cabin. You know they had cabins for all of them. The colored lived in log houses. The white people had good houses. Them houses was warmer than these what they got now.
“My grandma could cut a man’s frock-tail coat. These young people don’t know nothin’ ’bout that. Grandma was a milliner. She could make anything you used a needle to make.
“Lige Evans was the name my father took after the surrender. He wasn’t named that before the surrender–in the olden times. My mother had fifteen children. She was the largest woman you ever seen. She weighed four hundred pound. She was young Master Johnnie’s nurse. Mr. Johnnie said he wanted to come and see me. I heard he lives way on the other side of Argenta somewheres.
“I was my mama’s seventh girl, and I got a seventh girl living. I had fifteen children. My mother’s children were all born before the surrender.
“Mr. Judge Sumner and his son were both good men. They never whipped their slaves.
“They didn’t feed like they do now. I et corn bread then, and I eat it now. Some people say they don’t. They would give them biscuits on Sundays. They had a cook to cook for the hands. She got all their meals for them.
“They had a woman to look after the little colored children, and they had one to look after the white children. My mother was a nurse for the white children. My mother didn’t have nothing to do with the colored children.
“I didn’t never have no trouble with the pateroles. Sometimes they would come down the lane running the horses. When I would hear them, I would run and git under the bed. I was the scaredest soul you ever seen. I think that’s about all I can remember.
“I was the mother of fifteen children. I had one set of twins, a boy and a girl. The doctor told me you never raise a boy and a girl twin. My boy is dead. All of my children are dead but two.
“I was raised on the farm. I want a few acres of ground now so bad.
“I never was married but once. My husband’s name was David Sloan. I don’t know exactly how long he and me were married. It was way over twenty years. My license got burnt up.
“You know I couldn’t be nothin’ but a Christian.”
Interviewer’s Comment
Peggy Sloan’s memory is going. She is not certain of the number of children her mother had although she knows there were more than seven because she was the seventh.
She remembers nothing about her age, but she knows definitely that all of her mother’s children were born before the War–that is before the end of the War. Since the War ended seventy-three years ago and she was the seventh child with possibly seven behind her, I feel that she could not be younger than eighty. She remembers definitely running at the approach of men she calls pateroles during “slavery time.”
Her mind may be fading, but it is a long way from gone. She questioned me closely about my reason for getting statements from her. She had to be definitely satisfied before the story could be gotten.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Arzella Smallwood Hazen R.F.D., Green Grove, Arkansas Age: 60 Doesn’t know exact age
“I was born about eight miles from Williston, South Carolina. After freedom my mother married Lee Ballinger and she had six children. He died when I was real small. My mother was named Hester McCrary. Old Master McCrary bought grandma and my mother in Virginia. One sister my mother never did run across after freedom. She was older and sold to other people. I think at freedom my mother left and I think grandma did too. My grandpa was half Indian, but I never did see him to remember what he looked like. Our young master is a doctor. He waited on my mother before she died. Grandma was blind and she lived with us. Our young master may still be living. Old mistress was named Sylvania and she sent for my mother to come wait on her when she got sick to die. I think they had pretty fair treatment there. My mother was to be a house girl and cook. I think grandma was a cook and field woman both.
“I heard them say the white folks took them to church to learn to pray, then they didn’t allow them to pray for freedom. But I don’t think they wanted freedom. After they was set free they died up so scand’lous. Grandma said they had to work harder. My mother brought a good price because she was real light color and sharp to learn. She had six children and we was all darker than she was a whole lots. She and grandma was both good on giving advice. Seem like they could see how things would turn out every time.
“I married a man with a roving nature. We come here. He left me, come back for me to look after before he died. I married again. I left him. He told me how I could do five washings a week and take care of us both. I didn’t aim to do it. I mighter got some washings but I didn’t aim to keep him.
“I get a little commodities along to help out. I’m picking berries now twenty-five cents a gallon for the first picking. Fifteen and twenty cents is the regular prices.
“I haven’t got children and I don’t know what they ought to do. I reckon they do the best they can.
“Times is hard on me. It takes me all the time to make a living.”
Pine Bluff District
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Martin & Barker Subject: Negro Customs
This information given by: Sarah Smiley (Colored) Place of Residence: Humphrey, Arkansas
Age: 76
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]
I was born the 10th of May, 1860. My home was in Charleston, S.C. I was not a slave, but my parents were.
My mother was a seamstress and my father, Edward Barnewill, was butler for their white folks.
I looks the door at sundown, and me and God are all by ourselves, and I am not afraid.
I came to Sherrill when I was a schoolgirl, and married when I was 14. Lived here after I was married. Taught school before I was married.
Had seven children by my first husband. My three husbands were Ike Williams, Eli Treadvan, and Calvin Smiley.
When asked about her books standing on her shelves–namely Golden Gems, arithmetic, and the Bible, also a blue back speller–said she just loved her books.
Young folks of today don’t love like they did in the olden days. Now it is hot love, minute love, free love.
When my first child was born, I begged the midwife not to cut me open to get the baby out. The midwife told me the same place it went in the same place it will come out.
When my breasts began to grow (adolescence) I didn’t want those bumps on me, and tied them down with wide rags.
Cures–I uses gasoline and cedar, soak it and rub on affected places for rheumatism.
I believe that you must not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.
Heaven is a place of rest. If we are faithful to God, you can ride death home.
Hell is below–also here on earth.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Andrew Smith
R.F.D., Forrest City, Arkansas Age: 73
“I was born after the surrender at Oxford, Mississippi. We belong to Master Jim Smith. Mother cooked and father worked in the field. He was on a average being good. They didn’t trouble my mother as I recollect hearing ’em say but they whooped them in the field. Pattyrollers chased papa in sometimes. I heard him talk about it but I couldn’t tell what he said now. Mama had two before freedom, then she married and had three children. He died. She married the second time and had two more children. That made seben in all.
“She said her first marriage was pronounced (announced). My mother said their master refugeed them to Texas till the year of the surrender. They didn’t know nothing ’bout freedom till a while after they got back from Texas. They stayed on that year and longer too not knowing ’bout freedom. My rickerliction is short.
“Frank Houston was a neighbor of our’n. He lived on my folks’ joining plantation close to Houston, Mississippi during slavery. During or before the War come on he put his money in a barrel–hogshead. They said it was gold and silver. I don’t know. It might some been paper. He rolled the barrel down to the river. It was the Tallahassee (?) River eighteen miles northeast of Oxford, Mississippi. He hid his barrel of money in the river. They hunted and hunted it and never could find it. It might sunk in the mud and quick sand. Somebody might er hauled it out and stole it. The whole neighborhood hope him hunt it. They never did find it. I seen the old man and Jim Smith heaps of times.
“I voted in Mississippi. I couldn’t read. They had a big fight in the country at Midway Church where we all voted. It was out a ways from Oxford, Mississippi. I never voted in Arkansas. I pay poll tax. Never ‘lowed to vote.
“I never went to school a day in my life.
“I come to Forrest City fifty-four years ago. Married here. Never had a child. Now my wife dead. I farmed all my life. I bought a farm but they never let me have it. I never got it all paid out. They took it.
“I get Welfare help. I does some work. I’m nearly past hard work now.”
Circumstances of Interview
STATE–Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER–Carol N. Graham
ADDRESS–Rear 456 West Main Street, El Dorado, Arkansas DATE–November 1, 1938
SUBJECT–Ex-slaves
[TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]
1. Name and address of informant–Caroline Smith, Route 1, El Dorado. (Lives with Negroes by name of Green about 1 mile from Smith’s Crossing)
2. Date and time of interview–November 1, 1938, Tuesday morning, 9:30-10:30
3. Place of interview–at the home of some Negroes named Green.
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant–Had previously talked with Caroline.
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you–Mrs. Ethel Depriest, 516 East Miles Street, El Dorado.
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.–a typical Negro farm house.
Personal History of Informant
1. Ancestry–
2. Place and date of birth–Camden, Arkansas? No date.
3. Family–one child.
4. Places lived in, with dates–Camden and El Dorado. No dates.
5. Education, with dates–
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates–None
7. Special skills and interests–
8. Community and religious activities–
9. Description of informant–
10. Other points gained in interview–This slave old enough to remember Civil War.
Text of Interview (Unedited)
“I first remembers living on the plantation of Mr. Jake Dumas near El Dorado Landing. You know it’s Calion now. We lived up towards Camden and it was there that my ma and pa was married and buried. I was a big girl durin’ the war. My job was to card and spin. And I use to carry the children to school. When I would get to the school I would put the children off, git straddle and ride that horse home. When I would get there old mos would say Ca’line did you run him? I’d say naw sir. Then he’d say, ‘Oh, Carryline put the horse in the lot and come out here. I’d say, ‘Master I didn’t run that horse’ but didn’t do no good. He sure would whip me. I’d get down and roll. I would stomp and he would do the same. I wondered how he could tell I’d run that horse. But course he could cause that horse had the thumps (heart beating rapidly).
“I remember seeing the soldiers come through during the war. They come by droves stealing horses, setting the cotton on fire and taking sumpin to eat, too.
“Yes, I does still member the songs we sung durin’ the war but I’ve got the asthmy and ain’t got much wind fur singin’.
“You want to know the reason,
You want to know the reason,
You want to know the reason, I’ll tell you why, We’ll whip them Yankees, whole hog or die.”
“Hooray, Hooray, Hooray for the Southern Girl. Hooray for the homespun dress the Southern ladies wear. My homespun dress is plain I know,
I glory in its name;
Hooray for the homespun dress the Southern ladies wear.”
“I’ve got the asthmy honey and jest caint sing no more.
“You asked ’bout my husband and chillun. I been married fo’ times. My first man’s name was Dick Hagler, the next Frank Bibby, the next Henry Harris and the last one was Tom Smith. That’s where I get my name Ca’line Smith. I never did have but one daughter but she had sixteen chillun. She’s daid now and mah granchillun is scattered.
“I got the asthmy an jes don’ feel like talkin’ no more. Long time ago when I was sick master always had a doctor to me now I have to hire one. And they always fed me good and clothed me but after I was free I would go round and work around to git a little sumpin to eat.”
Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lucy
Person interviewed: Caroline Smith, Russellville, Arkansas Age: 83
“Ca’line Smith’s my name and dey calls me ‘Aunt Ca’line.’ I was born about de year 1855 as I was about dis high (measuring) when de War broke out. I remembers de boys marching away in their grey uniforms just as plain. We chillen would watch dem as dey went away; we could see em as we peeped through de winders and de cracks in de walls.
“I was born in Mississippi close to Columbus on de plantation of my master, John Duncan. And he was a purty strict old master, sure, but sometimes he was kind to us. When we was set free he let us all go wherever we wanted to, but didn’t pay us nothin’.
“All de slaves that I remembers stayed on around in different parts of Mississippi after de War and engaged in farmin’, and workin’ on roads and streets, and other public work. About forty years ago I come to Pope County, Arkansas wid my parents and has lived here ever’ since.
“I don’t remember nothin’ about de Klu Klux Klan or if our folks was ever bothered wid em.
“Yes suh, I keeps workin’ every day and likes to keep up my sewin’. Plenty of it to do all de time–jest like I’m doin’ today. My health is purty good ceptin’ I has a sort of misery in my side.
“I draws a pension of $7.50 a month, but I dunno who sends it.
“I belongs to de Adventist Church, and I sure believes in always tellin’ de trufe and nofin’ but de trufe; we better tell de trufe here, for some of dese days we all gwine where nofin’ but de trufe will be accepted.
“No suh, I ain’t never took any interest in politics and ain’t never voted.
“Dese young’uns today is simply too much for me; I can’t understand em, and I dunno which way dey headed. Some few of em seems to have sound common sense, but–well, I just refuse to talk about em.”
Interviewer: Pernella Anderson
Person Interviewed: Edmond Smith
D Avenue
El Dorado, Ark.
Age: ?
“I was born in Arcadia, Louisiana a long, long time ago. Now my work when I was a child was farmin’. I did not stay a child long, I been grown ever since I was fourteen. My father lived till I was eleven, and I thought since I was the oldest boy I could take his place of bossin’, but my mother would take me down a button hole lower whenever I got too high.
“Before my papa died we had a good livin’. We lived with his mistress’s daughter, and we thought we lived in heaven. My papa made all of the shoes and raised all of the cattle from which he got the hide. We raised all the wool to make our wool clothes and made all of the clothes we wore. And food–we did not know what it was to go to a store to buy. Didn’t have to do that. You see, people now living out of paper sacks. Every time they get ready to cook it’s go to the store. We old timers lived out of our smokehouse.
“In there we had dried beef, cured pork, sugar from syrup, sweet potatoes, onions, Irish potatoes, plenty of dried fruit and canned fruit, peanuts, hickory nuts, walnuts; eggs in the henhouse and chickens on the yard, cows in the pen and milk and butter in the house.
“My mama even made our plow lines. She had a spinning wheel and you know how to spin?–you can make ropes for plow lines too. Just twist the cotton and have it about six inches long and put it in the loom and let it go around and around. You keep puttin’ the twisted cotton in the loom and step on the peddle and no sooner than done, that was worked in a rope. Now, if you don’t know what I am talking about it is useless for me to tell you.
“After papa died that left no one to work but mama and I tell you time brought about a change. A house full of little children–we lived from hand to mouth. Not enough corn to feed one mule. No syrup, no hogs, no cows. Oh! we had a hard time. I remember hearing my mama many a night ask God to help her through the struggle with her children. The more my mama prayed the harder times got with her. Wasn’t no churches around so she had to sing and pray at home. The first Sunday School I remember going to was in 1892. I went to school and got as high as fifth grade, then I ran away from my mama.
“Just becaise I let old bad man overpower me I got grown and mannish. Couldn’t nobody tell me a thing. I would steal, I would fight, I would lie. I remember in 1896 I went to church–that was about the fourth time I had been to church. The preacher began preachin’ and I went outdoors and cut the harness off of his mule and broke one of his buggy wheels. I went down in the woods and cut a cow just for meanness. I stole a gun, and I would shoot anytime and anywhere, and nobody bothered me because they was scared to. I stole chickens, turkeys and anything.
“I got in trouble more times than a little, so the last time I got in trouble some white people got me out and I worked for them to pay my fine out. While working for them I made shoes. They taught me to do carpenter work. They taught me to paint; to paper; to cook; work in the field and do most anything. I came to my senses while working with those people and they made a man out of me. When I left there I was a first class carpenter. Those white people was the cause of me getting independent. I didn’t get no book sense, but if you get with some good white people, that will be worth more than an education.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Emma Hulett Smith; Hazen, Arkansas Age: 66
“I was the first colored baby born here or very near here. There was only three houses in this town (Hazen). I think they muster been log houses.
“My folks belong to Dr. Hazen. He brought families from Tennessee. When the war broke out he took em to Texas. Then he brought em back here. When they was freed I heard my mother say they worked on for him and his boys (Alex and Jim Hazen) and they paid them. He was good to them. They had er plenty always. After the war they lived in good log houses and he give em land and lumber for the church. Same church we got cept a storm tore it down and this one built in place of it. He let em have a school. Same place it stands now. My mother (Mandy Hulett) got a Union pension till she died. She cooked at the first hotel in Hazen for John Lane. She washed and ironed till she died. We girls helped and we wash and iron all we can get now. None of us not on relief (Fannie nor Emma). I can’t wash no more. My hands and arms swell up with rheumatism. I still iron all I can get.
“The present conditions seems awful unsettled; wages low, prices high and work scarce at times. Men can get work in the hay two months and bout two months work in the rice or pickin cotton, either one. Then the work has played clean out till hay time next year.
“How do they live? Some of their _wifes_ cooks for white people and they eat all they make up soon as they get paid. Only way they live.”
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Ervin E. Smith
811 Ringo Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 84
“I have been in this state for forty-nine years. I will be here fifty years on the fifteenth of December.
“I was born in Ebenezer Township, York County, South Carolina, on the twenty-ninth day of April, in 1854. That makes me eighty-four years old on Friday. I was born on Good Friday–on Good Friday at six o’clock in the morning.
“I am telling you what I was instructed all of my life. My father, W.D. Smith, and my mother, Haria, told me these things. My mother carried a nickname, Salina, all her life, but her real name was Haria.
“I’ll tell you how they happened to keep such good records. We had a little advantage over the other people of that day. My father never got any school education, but his brothers instructed him–his half-brothers. They were white. They was good, too. I mean them brothers thought just as much of me as they did of anybody else. So my father got pretty good training. He got it from his brothers and that’s how he learned to keep such good records.
Relatives
“I am told my mother cooked for one family for forty-two years. Her maiden name was Haria Harris. She was three-fourths white. She come from the Indian tribe–old Catawba Indians. Her own daddy was a white man, but her Grand daddy on her mother’s side was an Indian.
“I am told that the old fellow bought my mother when she was fifteen years old. Finally he got hold of both my father and my mother. Both of them put together didn’t have half colored blood. He must have loved them a lot to work so hard to get them together. My father was half white, but his mother was a mulatto woman (Interpreter’s comment–This should make him a quadroon)[TR: sentence lined out.]; and my mother’s great-grandmother was a colored woman.
“I never knew much about race troubles. The best friend I ever had was an old white grandmother. I was carefully shielded from all unpleasant things.
Fort Sumter
“I was looking at the men when they were getting ready to get on the train to go to Fort Sumter. Mr. John White, Captain John White, I knew him personally. He was one of our neighbors. That was in Ebenezer that he was one of our neighbors. The soldiers going to capture Fort Sumter caught the Columbia and Augusta train going to Charleston. Looked like to me there was ten thousand of them. John White was the captain and Beauregard [HW: here Gustave Toutant Beauregard.] was the general.
“I didn’t see the fighting because it was too far away. It was about eighty miles from us where they got on the train to Fort Sumter. They got on the train at Rock Hill. Rock Hill was a city–small city–real close to Ebenezer. We lived near Rock Hill. They was adjoining towns.
Patrollers and Good Masters
“The only patrollers I knew of was some that come on the place once and got hurt. My mother had a brother Hobb and the patroller tried to whip him. Hobb knocked all his front teeth out with a stick. Ches[TR:?] Wood was the name of the patroller. It was like it is now. There were certain white people who didn’t allow any of their niggers to be whipped. I never seen a patroller on my place. I have heard of them in other places, but the only one to come on our place was the one Uncle Hobb beat up. He had to take it, because you couldn’t put anything over on Harris’ plantation. My people was rich people. They didn’t allow anybody to come on their places and interfere with then–their niggers.
“I have heard my mother say that no white man ever struck her in her life. I have had uncles that were struck. Two of them, and both of them killed the men that struck them. Uncle Saul killed Edmund Smith and Uncle George killed Ed McGehee. Uncle George’s full white sister (his half-sister) sent him away and saved him. They electrocuted Uncle Saul–they executed him.
“White men struck them and they wouldn’t take it. They didn’t do nothin’ at all to Hobb Baron. He got to his boss and the white folks was ‘fraid to come there after him. All of this was in slavery. My people ain’t never had no trouble with anybody since freedom; white people would get mad with my uncles and try to do something to them, and they wouldn’t take it.
“There were three races in the neighborhood where I was raised–niggers, Indians, and white folks. They never sent the Indians out until 1876 when I was a grown man. They sent them over there to Utah when it became a state. I had a lot of Indian friends that went along at that time.
“Bad blood was mixed up there and you couldn’t do nothing to anybody and get away with it.
First Pair of Shoes
“I can remember the first pair of shoes my uncle gave me. They had a little brass on the top of the toes to keep you from kicking them out and skinning them up. That was way back yonder in the fifties.
Bible and Church in Slave Time
“White people taught their niggers what Bible they wanted them to know.
“‘Who made you?’
“‘God.’
“‘Why did He make you?’
“‘For his own glory.’
“‘Why ought you to love God?’
“‘Because He made me and takes care of me.’
“That was all the Bible they wanted you to learn. That, and just a few more things. I could state them all.
Education
“In 1866, everybody that was less than sixteen years old in South Carolina had to go to school. The little fellows that had been slaves had to go to school, and they got some education. You will hardly find an old man from South Carolina around my age who can’t read and write. There was one hundred sixty pupils in my school. All boys. I never went to a mixed school–a school where they had boys and girls both.
“The first school I attended was in Ebenezer. I went to high school in Macklenburg. Miss Sallie Good and Miss Mattie Train, Elias Hill, and David G. Wallace–all of these were my teachers. They were all white except Elias Hill. He was the only colored teacher in that section of the country–at that time.
“When I finished high school, I went to Biddle University. Biddle was a boys’ school. It was in Charlotte, North Carolina. They had a girls’ school in Concord, North Carolina. Biddle is still running, but it has another name. Dr. Mattoon was president of Biddle then and Dr. Darling was president of the girls’ school.
Murders
“The first murder ever I saw was Violet Harris killed Warren Fewell. It come over a family quarrel some way. They fell out over something. She was not related to him. It was done right at the fence at her gate. She cut him with a butcher knife–stuck him just once right through the heart. That is the first murder I ever saw. They were both colored. The War was just winding up. It happened in Ebenezer. I don’t recall that they punished her.
“I have seen a white man killed by a white man, and I have seen a colored man killed by a colored man; but I have never seen a colored man killed by a white man or a white man killed by a colored man. I have seen them after they were killed, but I never seen the killing. I have seen both races killing their own, but I have never seen them killing across the races.
“About fifty years ago, I saw a young man come in the church and kill another one. Just come in and shot him. That is been fifty years ago–back in 1881 in Ebenezer.
“Rock Hill, South Carolina, from 1876 to a while later, bore the name ‘Bloody Town.’ They killed a man there every Saturday night in the year–fifty-two times a year they killed a man. They had to send for the Federal troops to bring them down. They didn’t just kill colored people. They killed anybody–about anything.”
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Frances Smith
2224 Havis Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 77
“I specs I was born in slavery times. I remember seein’ the Yankees. That was in Mississippi. I’m seventy-seven–that’s my age.
“Spencer Bailey was old master. Just remember the name was ’bout the biggest thing I knowed about. I seen him all right but I didn’t know much about him ‘cept his name.
“Mother belonged to him, yes’m.
“I tell you the truf, what little I used to remember I done forgot it. I just didn’t try to keep up with it. I wasn’t concerned and just didn’t try to keep up with it.
“I know our folks stayed there a while. First place we went to after the War was Tennessee.
“I don’t know how long I been here–I been here a time though.
“Yes’m, I went to school several terms.
“I was married in Arkansas. My folks heard about Arkansas bein’ such a rich country, so they come to Arkansas.
“I farmed a long time and then I done housework.
“Deal a times I don’t know what to think of this younger generation. I sits down sometimes and tries to study ’em out, but I fails.
“Well, what the old folks goin’ to get out of this?”
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Henrietta Evelina Smith 1714 Pine Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age:
“I was born in Louisiana in East Felicie Parish near Baton Rouge on the twenty-eighth day of December. My mother’s name was Delia White. Her maiden name was Delia Early. My father’s name was Henry White. My mother’s father was named Amos Early. My mother’s mother’s name was Julia. My father’s father was named Tom White and his mother was named Susan.
“My father and mother both belonged to the Eason’s. I don’t know how they spelled it. Eason’s daughter married Munday and my uncle bought this white man’s place years after freedom. That is not far from Clinton–about four or five miles. It is three miles from Ethel, Louisiana.
“Amos, my grandfather, was the wagoneer on the old place. Father, he used to drive the wagon too. He’d haul cotton to Baton Rouge and things like that. He would run off and stay five or six months. I have heard them talk about how he used to come back and bring hogs and one thing and another that he had found out in the woods. He would run off because the overseer would whip him. But he was such a good working man that once or twice, the boss man turned off his overseer on account of him. There wasn’t nothing against his work. He just wouldn’t take a blow. Most of the times after he had been out a while the boss man would tell the hands to tell Amos that if he would come on home they wouldn’t whip him for running off.
“My grandmother’s mother on my father’s side was named Melissa. I think that was her name. My father’s mother was named Susan like I told you.
She was part Indian–better work hand never was. But she wouldn’t be conquered neither. When they got ready to whip her, it would be half a day before they could take her. When they did get her, they would whip her so they would have to raise her in a sheet. The last time they whipped her, it took her nearly a year to get over it. So the white man just turned her loose and told her she was free. She went on off and we never did know what became of her.
“The Easons were farmers and they had a large plantation. I don’t know just how many slaves they owned.
“My father and mother were fed like pigs. They had an old woman that did the cooking. She was broke down from work. They would give the slaves greens and the children pot-liquor. My parents were field hands. My mother was too young to carry a row when she was freed, but she worked on an older person’s row. They worked from can till can’t. You know what I mean, from the time they could see till the time they couldn’t. Reb time was something like the penitentiary now. It never got too cold nor too hot to work. And there wasn’t any pay. My parents never were given any chance to earn any money. I heard that my grandpa used to make a little something. He was a wagoneer you know. He would carry a little extra on his load and sell it. His old master never did find it out. People knew he had stole it, but they would buy it just the same.
“The old boss man came down in the quarters and told them they were free when freedom came. Right after freedom they stayed there on the old place for a year or more. My mother wasn’t grown and she and my father married after that. Afterwards they had kind of a fight to get away from the old man. He was carrying them the same way he was going before the War and they had a row (quarrel), and left him. I don’t know just what terms they worked on. I don’t think they did themselves. They took just what they could get and didn’t know just how they was paid.
“If a man made a good crop, they would run him away and make him leave his crops behind.
“My folks continued to farm all their lives. They had trouble with the night riders. They had to vote like they were told. If you voted the wrong way they would get behind you and run you off. There were some folks who would take pay for voting and then vote different, and when the night riders found it out, there would be trouble. I don’t believe in taking money for voting, and I don’t believe in lying.
“My mother and father didn’t get any schooling. That was allowed after slavery, but it wasn’t allowed in slavery time. They learned a little from other people. They would slip and learn to read.
“My great-grandmother was considered pretty when she was young. She had glossy black hair and was a little short. She was brownskin and had big legs. Her master would take her out behind the field and do what he wanted. When she got free, she gave both of her children away. She had two children by him–a boy named Eli and a girl named Anna. She didn’t want them ’round her because they reminded her of him.”
Interviewer’s Comment
The subject did not wish to state her age. It is probably around sixty-five. Her mother was married shortly after freedom. And eight years is probably a liberal allowance for the distance of her birth from emancipation.
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person Interviewed: Henry Smith
702 Virginia, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 79
Occupation: Odd jobs
“Yes mam, I was here in slavery times. I was born in Tennessee on a plantation near Jackson. I was eight years old when peace was declared. All I member is when they beat the folks pit near to death.
“My old master was Tom Smith. Mean? Cose he was mean. Old mistress was sorta good to us but old master was the devil. Used to make the men hold the women while they whipped em. Make em wear old brogan shoes with buckles across the instep. Had the men and women out fore day plowin’. I member they had my mother out many a day so dark they had to feel where the traces was to hitch up the mules.
“My mother worked in the field and I stayed in front and helped her up when she got behind.
“I member when the Yankees had thousands and thousands of bales of cotton in the streets right here in Pine Bluff and take a knife and cut it open and put a match to it, and burn peoples houses and the gin houses and everything. Take the hosses and mules and run em off.
“Old master and mistress carried us to Texas till peace was declared. I member one morning the mail come and old master had a long paper and he called all us colored folks up and told us we was free. He told us we could go or stay. They all wanted to stay so he brought em all back here to Arkansas. He give each one three acres of ground and all they could make on it. That’s the nicest thing he ever done, but he didn’t do that but one year. After that the land fell back to him. Then they worked on the halves.
“When the colored folks went to buy stock and rent land from the whites, it cost five and six dollars a acre. They sho could make some money that way, too.
“I was big enough to do right smart behind a plow. I could do a heap. We got along pretty well.
“I got married when I was bout eighteen and made a home for myself. Me and my wife had twenty-two children. White folks helped us a lot. My wife’s dead and all my children dead ‘cept four.
“I been here in Pine Bluff twenty-two years. I been here a good while–that ain’t no joke. Used to make three dollars a day mowin’ grass. Bought this place with the money. Can’t make that now. They won’t give you nothin’ for your work.
“Oh yes’m, I voted and wouldn’t know what I was votin’ till ’twas too late.
“Never went to school much. Learned to read a little bit. They kep’ me in the field. Yes ma’m, I’ve worked but I’ve never had a doctor to me in my life.
“Ain’t much to this younger generation. The old race can get along a lot better with the white folks than the young race can.
“I’m the head deacon of the Morning Star Church. Read the Bible right smart. I tell you one thing–I like all of it.”
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: J.L. Smith
1215 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 76
“I was born in 1862 in the month of September on the fifteenth. I was born at a place they call Indian Bay on White River down here in Arkansas. My mother was named Emmaline Smith and she was born in Tennessee. I don’t know really now what county or what part of the state. My father’s name was John Smith. He was born in North Carolina. I don’t know nothing about what my grandfather’s name and grandmother’s names were. I never saw them. None of my folks are old aged as I am. My father was sixty years old when he died and my mother was only younger than that.
Experience of Father
“I heard my father say that he helped get out juniper timber in North Carolina. The white man me and my sister worked with after my father died was the man my father worked with in the juniper swamp. His name was Alfred Perry White. As long as he lived, we could do work for him. We didn’t live on his place but we worked for him by the day. He is dead now–died way back yonder in the seventies. There was the Brooks and Baxter trouble in 1874, and my father died in seventy-five. White lived a little while longer.
“My father was married twice before he married my mother. He had two sets of children. I don’t know how many of them there were. He had four children by my mother. He had only four children as far as I can remember.
“I don’t know how my father and my mother met up. They lived in the same plantation and in the same house. They were owned by the same man when freedom came. I don’t know how they got together. I have often wondered about that. One from Tennessee and the other from North Carolina, but they got together. I guess that they must have been born in different places and brought together through being bought and sold.
“My mother was a Murrill. My father was a Cartwright. My father’s brother Lewis was a man who didn’t take nothing much from anybody, and he ‘specially didn’t like to take a whipping. When Lewis’ master wanted to whip him, he would call his mother–the master’s mother–and have her whip him, because he figured Uncle Lewis wouldn’t hit a woman.
“I have six children altogether. Two of them are dead. There are three girls and one boy living. The oldest is fifty-seven; the next, fifty; and the youngest, forty-eight. The youngest is in the hospital for nervous and mental diseases. She has been there ever since 1927. The oldest had an arm and four ribs broken in an auto accident last January on the sixteenth of the month. She didn’t get a penny to pay for her trouble. I remember the man did give her fifteen cents once. The truck struck her at the alley there and knocked her clean across the street. She is fifty-seven years old and bones don’t knit fast on people that old. She ain’t able to do no work yet. All of my daughters are out of work. I don’t know where the boy is. He is somewheres up North.
Slave Houses
“I have seen some old log houses that they said the slaves used to live in. I was too young to notice before freedom. I have seen different specimens of houses that they lived in. One log house had a plank house builded on to the end of it. The log end was the one lived in during slavery times and the plank end was built since. That gal there of mine was born in the log end. There were round log houses and sawed log houses. The sawed log houses was built out of logs that had been squared after the tree had been cut down, and the round log houses was built out of logs left just like they was when they was trees. There’s been quite an improvement in the houses since I was a kid.
Food
“I have heard my father and mother talking among themselves and their friends, but they never did tell me nothing about slave times. They never did sit down and talk to me about it. When they’d sit down and start talkin’, it would always be, ‘Now you children run on out and play while we old folks sit here and talk.’ But from time to time, I would be sitting on the floor playing by myself and they would be talking ‘mongst themselves and I would hear them say this or that. But I never heered them say what they et in slave times.
Work
“My father worked in the juniper swamp in North Carolina, like I told you. I think I heard my mother say she cooked. Most I ever heard them say was when they would get with some one else and each would talk about his master.
Cruelties
“I heard my mother say that her mistress used to take a fork and stick it in her head–jog it up and down against her head. I don’t know how hard she punched her. My mother was very gray–all her hair was gray and she wasn’t old enough for that. I reckon that was why.
How Freedom Came
“I don’t remember how freedom came. They were refugeed–I call it that–my father and mother were. My sister was born in Texas, and they were back in Arkansas again when I was born. I was born and raised right here in Arkansas. They were running from one place to the other to keep the Yankees from freeing the slaves. I never even heard them say where they were freed. I don’t know whether it was here or in Texas.
Right After the War
“I have no knowledge of what they did right after the War. The first thing I remember was that they were picking cotton in Pine Bluff or near there. It was a smoky log house I had to stay in while they were out in the field and the smoke used to hurt my eyes awful.
Ku Klux and Patrollers
“I don’t remember nothing about the Ku Klux. I heard old folks say they used to have passes to keep the pateroles from bothering them. I remember that they said the pateroles would whip them if they would catch them out without a pass. When I first heard of the Ku Klux Klan, I thought that it was some kind of beast the folks was talking about. I didn’t hear nothing special they did.
Occupational Experiences
“When I got old enough, I worked a farm–picked cotton, hoed, plowed, pulled corn–all such things. That is about all I ever did–farming. Farming was always my regular occupation. I never did anything else–not for no regular thing.
Marriage
“I married in 1879. My father and mother married each other too after freedom. I remember that. It was when the government was making all those that had been slaves marry. I have been married just the one time. My wife died in April 1927.
Present Condition
“I am not able to do anything now. I don’t even tote a chair across the room, or spade up the ground for a garden, or hoe up the weeds in it. I am ruptured and the doctor says it is the funniest rupture he ever seen. He says that there’s a rupture and fat hanging down in the rupture. They have to keep me packed with ice all the time. The least little thing brings it down. I can’t hold myself nor nothing. Have to wear something under my clothes.
“I don’t get a pension.”
Interviewer’s Comment
Smith is sensitive about his first name–doesn’t like to give it–and about his condition. He doesn’t like to mention it or to have it referred to.
He has an excellent memory for some things and a rather poor one for some others. He got angry when his granddaughter supplied data about his wife which he apparently could not recall.
His physical condition is deplorable and his circumstances extremely straitened.
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: John H. Smith
2602 W. Twelfth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 81
“I reckon I was here, I member seein’ the smoke from the guns look like a cloud.
“I was born in Missouri in 1856. I member _way_ back. Yes’m. I’m old–I’m _old_.
“I member seein’ the soldiers–Yankees–eight or ten in a squad and they asked me did I want to ride with em? Old mistress say, ‘That’s my boy!’ I member way back when they used to put the folks upon a block and sell em. I member one night we was in the cabin and the Ku Klux come up on horses. And I member when they was hollerin’ peace was declared.
“Mama told me I was born in 1856. Mama had all our ages in that big Bible.
“We stayed in St. Louis six years then we went to Chrystal City. Missouri and I went to the glass factory and went to work.
“Did I vote? Me? Yes’m, I voted many a time–Republican. I’m still a Republican–always will be I reckon. I haven’t voted for a long time but I think everybody ought to have the liberty to vote.
“I like to live in the North better cause the white folks treats you better. They treats me all right here cause I don’t do nothin’.
“I member my white folks was good to me.
“I went to school after the war whar I was born. C.N. Douglas, the son of Napoleon Douglas, was my teacher. First teacher we had was Miss Mary Strotter. I know she couldn’t learn us anything so they got C.N. Douglas. He brought that paddle with the little holes and he learned us something. I know my sister was next to me and she couldn’t get her spelling and I’d work my mouf so she could see. C.N. Douglas caught me at it and he whipped me that day. I never worked my mouf again.
“I was the best speller in the school. I won a gold pen and ink stand and George Washington picture.
“Before the war I member the overseer would say, ‘If you don’t have that done tonight, I’ll whip you tomorrow.’ They had one man was pretty bad and I know they give him a thimble and a barrel and told him he had to fill up that barrel, but he couldn’t do it you know and so they whipped him.
“Mama used to whip me. She called me the ‘Devil’s Egg Bag’ for a long time. I used to take a darning needle and punch the eyes out of guineas or chickens just to see em run around. She broke me of that. I know now she never whip me enough, but she made a man of me. I got a good name now. Always been a good worker. Done my work good and that’s what they want to know. Yes ma’m, I’m _old_.”
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Persons interviewed: Maggie Snow and Charlie Snow R.F.D., Brinkley, Arkansas
Ages: 69 and 75
“My parents’ names was Mary and Henderson Kurkendall. They had seven children. Mama died when I was three years old. Papa was a Yankee soldier.
“They belong to the same white folks, Moster Jake and Peggy Kurkendall. They had a big farm.
“My papa told me that one morning they woke up and looked out over the field. The Yankees had pitched their camps far as you could see on Moster Jake’s farm. They come up to his house. Moster Jake had a big house and a big family. The Yankees come up there and throwed out all they had and told the slaves to take it. No, they didn’t; they was scared to take it and it belong to them. They didn’t want it all wasted like they was doing. Papa said they rode their horses up to the house. They took all the soldiers on the place to the camp. They was scared not to go.
“Papa left mama at the old home place and Moster Jake let them work all they could. Papa stayed in the war till after the battle at Vicksburg. Then he come home. They stayed awhile at Moster Jake’s and worked. He got his knee hurt and his health ruined. He never was no count after he got back home. Mama could pick six hundred pounds of cotton a day he said. They worked from daybreak till pitch dark in them days.
“Little Jake Kurkendall is living now Enoch or Harrison Station, Mississippi. He is older than I am. He got a family. But he is all the son old Moster Jake had that I know living now.
“Papa said the Yankees made all the slaves fight they could run across. Some kept hid in the woods. Seem like from way he told bout it they wanted freedom but they didn’t want to go to war.
“When we heard bout Arkansas being so rich and a new country, we wanted to come. Some white and some colored come. We come to Aubrey, Arkansas. We got six living, five dead children. I been here fourteen years (at Brinkley). I hired out to cook in Mississippi but I wash and iron and work in the field till I bout wore out. My husband in a terrible condition. He picked some cotton. He got rheumatism in his legs.
“We own a little home bout a mile from town and a pig. I wish I could get a cow. I ain’t got the money to buy one. Jess can’t get one no way. We had a fine garden. Two of us get $10 and commodities. Times so far this year been good. When it gets cold times may be hard. Times better this year than last or it been for a long time.
“I didn’t know I could vote. Guess my husband done my part of the voting.”
“I am seventy-three years old. There was two boys and two girls of us. My aunts and uncles raised me. My mother died when I was little and fore that my papa went to the army and never come home. They said he got killed or died–they didn’t know. My parents belong to Berry Bruce. He had a family I heard em say. He lived at Louisville, Mississippi.
“I recollect the Ku Klux. I heard em talk a whole lot about em. One time they rode round our house and through the hall of our house. Yes ma’am, it scared us so bad it most paralyzed us all. They went on. We didn’t know what they wanted. We never did find out.
“I don’t vote. I never voted in my life. I don’t recken I ever will. I have been a hard worker all my life. I farmed. I loaded and unloaded on a steamboat with my family farmin’ in the country. The boat I run on went from Memphis to New Orleans.
“My family farmed at Batesville in the country out from there. For a long time I made staves with the Sweeds. They was good workers. We would make 1,000, then load the barge and send or take them to Vicksburg. I got my board and $1 a day.
“The present conditions for the cotton farmer has been better this year than last. When it gets cold and no work, makes it hard on old men. I got no job in view for the winter.
“I would like to have a cow if I could raise the money to get one. I been tryin’ to figure out how to get us a cow to help out. I can’t make it.