Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves Georgia Narratives, Part 4 / Work Projects Administration

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery
in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves, by Work Projects Administration

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves
       Georgia Narratives, Part 4

Author: Work Projects Administration

Release Date: June 1, 2006 [EBook #18485]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES: A FOLK ***




Produced by Robert Fry and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Library of Congress, Manuscript Division)







[TR: ***] = Transcriber Note
[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note



SLAVE NARRATIVES

A Folk History of Slavery in the United States
From Interviews with Former Slaves

TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY
THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
1936-1938
ASSEMBLED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT
WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS

Illustrated with Photographs


WASHINGTON, 1941




VOLUME IV

GEORGIA NARRATIVES

PART 4




Prepared by
the Federal Writers' Project of
the Works Progress Administration
for the State of Georgia



INFORMANTS

Telfair, Georgia                        1
Thomas, Cordelia                       11
Thomas, Ike                            25
Toombs, Jane Mickens                   29
Town, Phil                             37
  [TR: In the interview, he's named Phil Towns.]

Upson, Neal                           48

Van Hook, John F.                      71
Vinson, Addie                          97
Virgel, Emma                          115

Walton, Rhodus                        123
Ward, William                         128, 132
Washington, Lula                      134
Willbanks, Green                      136
Williamson, Eliza                     148
Willingham, Frances                   151
Willis, Adeline                       161
Willis, Uncle                         168
  [TR: Willis Bennefield in combined interview.]
Winfield, Cornelia                    176
Womble, George                        179
  [TR: Also called Wombly in the interview.]
Wright, Henry                         194

Young, Dink Walton                    205


COMBINED INTERVIEWS

[Excerpts from Slave Interviews]
Adeline                               212
Eugene                                213
Mary                                  215
Rachel                                216
Laura                                 216
Matilda                               217
Easter                                218
Carrie                                219
Malinda                               219
Amelia                                220

[Four Slaves Interviewed by Maude Barragan, Edith Bell Love,
 Ruby Lorraine Radford]
Ellen Campbell                        221
Rachel Sullivan                       226
Eugene Wesley Smith                   230
Willis Bennefield                     235
  [TR: Uncle Willis in individual interview.]

[Folklore]
Emmaline Heard                        245
Rosa and Jasper Millegan              251
Camilla Jackson                       254
Anna Grant                            255
Emmaline Heard                        256


COMPILATIONS [Richmond County]

Folklore                              261
Conjuration                           269
Folk Remedies and Superstitions       282
Mistreatment of Slaves                290
Slavery                               308
Work, Play, Food, Clothing,
     Marriage,  etc.                  355



Transcriber's Notes:

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

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

[TR: In general, typographical errors have been left in place to match
the original images. In the case where later editors have hand-written
corrections, simple typographical errors have been silently corrected.]




PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE

GEORGIA TELFAIR, Age 74
Box 131, R.F.D. #2
Athens, Ga.

Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens, Ga.

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens, Ga.

and
Mrs. Leila Harris
Augusta, Ga.
[Date Stamp: APR 29 1938]


"Yes chile, I'll be glad to tell you de story of my life, I can't tell
you much 'bout slav'ry 'cause I wuz jus' six months old when freedom
come, but I has heared quite a lot, and I will tell you all I kin
'member 'bout everythin." Said old "Aunt" Georgia Telfair, who lives
with her son to whom her devotion is quite evident. Both "Aunt" Georgia
and the little home show the excellent care that is given them.

"My pa," she said, "wuz Pleasant Jones, an' he b'longed to Marse Young
L.G. Harris. Dey lived at de Harris place out on Dearing Street. Hit wuz
all woods out dar den, an' not a bit lak Dearing Street looks now.

"Rachel wuz my ma's name. Us don' know what her las' name wuz 'cause she
wuz sold off when she wuz too little to 'member. Dr. Riddin' (Redding)
bought her an' his fambly always jus' called her Rachel Riddin'. De
Riddin' place wuz whar Hancock Avenue is now, but it wuz all in woods
'roun' dar, jus' lak de place whar my pa wuz. Atter dey wuz married ma
had to stay on wid de Riddin' fambly an' her chilluns b'longed to de
Riddin's 'cause dey owned her. Miss Maxey Riddin' wuz my brudder's young
Missus, an' I wuz give to her sister, Miss Lula Riddin', for to be her
own maid, but us didn't git to wuk for 'em none 'cause it wuz jus' at
dis time all de slaves got sot free. Atter dat my pa tuk us all wid him
an' went to farm on de old Widderspoon (Witherspoon) place.

"It wuz 'way off in de woods. Pa cut down trees an' built us a log
cabin. He made de chimbly out of sticks an' red mud, an' put iron bars
crost de fireplace to hang pots on for to bile our vittuls an' made
ovens for de bakin'. De bes' way to cook 'tatoes wuz to roas' 'em in de
ashes wid de jackets on. Dey ain' nothin' better tastin' dan ash-roasted
'tatoes wid good home-made butter to eat wid 'em. An 'us had de butter,
'cause us kep' two good cows. Ma had her chickens an' tukkeys an' us
raised plenty of hogs, so we nebber wuz widout meat. Our reg'lar Sunday
breakfas' wuz fish what pa cotch out of de crick. I used to git tired
out of fish den, but a mess of fresh crick fish would sho' be jus' right
now.

"Us always kep' a good gyardan full of beans, corn, onions, peas an'
'taters, an' dey warn't nobody could beat us at raisin' lots of greens,
'specially turnips an' colla'd greens. Us saved heaps of dry peas an'
beans, an' dried lots of peaches an' apples to cook in winter. When de
wind wuz a howlin an' de groun' all kivvered wid snow, ma would make
dried fruit puffs for us, dat sho' did hit de spot.

"When I wuz 'bout eight years old, dey sont me to school. I had to walk
from Epps Bridge Road to Knox School. Dey calls it Knox Institute now. I
toted my blue back speller in one han' and my dinner bucket in de other.
Us wore homespun dresses wid bonnets to match. De bonnets wuz all made
in one piece an' had drawstrings on de back to make 'em fit, an' slats
in de brims to make 'em stiff an' straight. Our dresses wuz made long to
keep our legs warm. I don't see, for to save me, how dey keeps dese
young-uns from freezin' now since dey let 'em go 'roun' mos' naked.

"Our brush arbor church wuz nigh whar Brooklyn Mount Pleasant Church is
now, an' us went to Sunday School dar evvy Sunday. It warn't much of a
church for looks, 'cause it wuz made out of poles stuck in de groun' an'
de roof wuz jus' pine limbs an' brush, but dere sho' wuz some good
meetin's in dat old brush church, an' lots of souls foun' de way to de
heb'enly home right dar.

"Our reg'lar preacher wuz a colored man named Morrison, but Mr. Cobb
preached to us lots of times. He wuz a white gemman, an' he say he could
a sot all night an' lissen long as us sung dem old songs. Some of 'em I
done clar forgot, but de one I lak bes' goes sorter lak dis:

  'I want to be an angel
   An' wid de angels stan'
   A crown upon my forehead
   And a harp widin my han'.'

"Another tune wuz 'Roll, Jordan Roll.' Little chillun wuz larnt to sing,
'How Sweetly do de Time Fly, When I Please my Mother,' an' us chillun
sho' would do our best a singin' dat little old song, so Preacher Cobb
would praise us.

"When I jined de church dere wuz 35 of us baptized de same day in de
crick back of de church. While Preacher Brown wuz a baptizin' us, a big
crowd wuz standin' on de bank a shoutin' an' singin', 'Dis is de healin'
Water,' an', 'Makin' for de Promise Lan! Some of 'em wuz a prayin' too.
Atter de baptizin' wuz done dey had a big dinner on de groun's for de
new members, but us didn't see no jugs dat day. Jus' had plenty of good
somethin' t'eat.

"When us warn't in school, me an' my brudder wukked in de fiel' wid pa.
In cotton plantin' time, pa fixed up de rows an' us drap de seeds in
'em. Nex' day us would rake dirt over 'em wid wooden rakes. Pa made de
rakes hisse'f. Dey had short wooden teef jus' right for to kivver de
seed. Folkses buys what dey uses now an' don't take up no time makin'
nothin' lak dat.

"In dem days 'roun' de house an' in de fiel' boys jus' wo' one piece of
clo'es. It wuz jus' a long shirt. Dey didn't know nothin' else den, but
I sho' would lak to see you try to make boys go 'roun' lookin' lak dat
now.

"Dey hired me out to Mr. Jack Weir's fambly when I wuz 'bout fo'teen
years old to do washin', ironin', an' cleanin' up de house, an' I wukked
for 'em 'til I married. Dey lemme eat all I wanted dere at de house an'
paid me in old clo'es, middlin' meat, sirup, 'tatoes, an' wheat flour,
but I never did git no money for pay. Not nary a cent.

"Us wukked mighty hard, but us had good times too. De bigges' fun us had
wuz at candy pullin's. Ma cooked de candy in de wash pot out in de yard.
Fust she poured in some home-made sirup, an' put in a heap of brown
sugar from de old sirup barrel an' den she biled it down to whar if you
drapped a little of it in cold water it got hard quick. It wuz ready den
to be poured out in greasy plates an' pans. Us greased our han's wid
lard to keep de candy from stickin' to 'em, an' soon as it got cool
enough de couples would start pullin' candy an' singin'. Dat's mighty
happy music, when you is singin' an' pullin' candy wid yo' bes' feller.
When de candy got too stiff an' hard to pull no mo', us started eatin',
an' it sho' would evermo' git away from dar in a hurry. You ain't nebber
seed no dancin', what is dancin', lessen you has watched a crowd dance
atter dey et de candy what dey done been pullin'.

"Quiltin's wuz a heap of fun. Sometimes two or three famblies had a
quiltin' together. Folkses would quilt some an' den dey passed 'roun' de
toddy. Some would be cookin' while de others wuz a quiltin' an' den when
supper wuz ready dey all stopped to eat. Dem colla'd greens wid cornpone
an' plenty or gingercakes an' fruit puffs an' big ole pots of coffee wuz
mighty fine eatin's to us den.

"An' dere warn't nothin' lackin' when us had cornshuckin's. A gen'ral of
de cornshuckin' wuz appointed to lead off in de fun. He sot up on top of
de big pile of corn an' hysted de song. He would git 'em started off
singin' somethin' lak, 'Sallie is a Good Gal,' an' evvybody kept time
shuckin' an' a singin'. De gen'ral kept singin' faster an' faster, an'
shucks wuz jus' flyin'. When pa started passin' de jug 'roun' dem
Niggers sho' nuff begun to sing loud an' fas' an' you wuz 'bliged for to
'low Sallie mus' be a Good Gal, de way de shucks wuz comin' off of dat
corn so fas'. Dey kep' it up 'til de corn wuz all shucked, an' ma
hollered, 'Supper ready!' Den dey made tracks for de kitchen, an' dey
didn't stop eatin' an' drinkin' dat hot coffee long as dey could
swallow. Ain't nobody fed 'em no better backbones, an' spareribs, turnip
greens, 'tato pies, an' sich lak dan my ma set out for 'em. Old time
ways lak dat is done gone for good now. Folkses ain't lak dey used to
be. Dey's all done got greedy an' don't keer 'bout doin' nothin' for
nobody else no more.

"Ma combed our hair wid a Jim Crow comb, or cyard, as some folkses
called 'em. If our hair wuz bad nappy she put some cotton in de comb to
keep it from pullin' so bad, 'cause it wuz awful hard to comb.

"Evvybody tried to raise plenty of gourds, 'cause dey wuz so handy to
use for dippers den. Water wuz toted from de spring an' kept in piggins.
Don't spec' you ebber did see a piggin. Dats a wooden bucket wid wire
hoops 'roun' it to keep it from leakin'. De wash place wuz nex' to de
spring. Pa fixed us up a big old stump whar us had to battle de clo'es
wid a battlin' stick. It tuk a sight of battlin' to git de dirt out
sometimes.

"If you turned a chunk over in de fire, bad luck wuz sho' to come to
you. If a dog howled a certain way at night, or if a scritch owl come in
de night, death wuz on de way to you, an' you always had to be keerful
so maybe bad spirits would leave you alone.

"Pa built us a new kitchen, jus' lak what de white folkses had dem days.
It sot out in de back yard, a little piece of a way from our house. He
made it out of logs an' put a big old chimbly wid a big fireplace at one
end. Benches wuz built 'roun' de sides for seats. Dere warn't no floor
in it, but jus' dirt floor. Dat wuz one gran' kitchen an' us wuz mighty
proud of it. [HW: p.4]

"My w'ite folkses begged me not to leave 'em, when I told 'em I wuz
gwine to marry Joe Telfair. I'd done been wukkin' for 'em nigh on to six
years, an' wuz mos' twenty years old. Dey gimme my weddin' clo'es, an'
when I seed dem clo'es I wuz one proud Nigger, 'cause dey wuz jus' lak I
wanted. De nightgown wuz made out of white bleachin' an' had lots of
tucks an' ruffles an' it even had puff sleeves. Sho' 'nough it did! De
petticoat had ruffles an' puffs plum up to de wais' ban'. Dere wuz a
cosset kiver dat wuz cut to fit an' all fancy wid tucks an' trimmin',
an' de drawers, dey sho' wuz pretty, jus' full of ruffles an' tucks
'roun' de legs. My dress wuz a cream buntin', lak what dey calls serge
dese days. It had a pretty lace front what my ma bought from one of de
Moss ladies. When I got all dressed up I wuz one mo' gran' lookin'
bride.

"Us got married in de new kitchen an' it wuz plum full, 'cause ma had
done axed 76 folkses to de weddin'. Some of 'em wuz Joe's folkses, an'
us had eight waiters: four gals, an' four boys. De same Preacher Brown
what baptized me, married us an' den us had a big supper. My Missus,
Lula Weir, had done baked a great big pretty cake for me an' it tasted
jus' as good as it looked. Atter us et all us could, one of de waiters
called de sets for us to dance de res' of de night. An' sich dancin' as
us did have! Folkses don't know how to dance dat good no mo'. Dat wuz
sho' nuff happy dancin'. Yes Ma'am, I ain't nebber gonna forgit what a
gran' weddin' us had.

"Next day us moved right here an' I done been here ever since. Dis place
b'longed to Joe's gran'ma, an' she willed it to him. Us had 15 chillun,
but ain't but five of 'em livin' now, an' Joe he's been daid for years.
Us always made a good livin' on de farm, an' still raises mos' of what
us needs, but I done got so po'ly I can't wuk no more.

"I'se still tryin' to live right an' walk de narrow way, so as I kin go
to Heb'en when I dies. I'se gwine to pray for you an' ax de Lawd to
bless you, for you has been so good an' patient wid me, an' I'se sho'
thankful my son sont you to see me. You done helped me to feel lots
better. Good-bye, an' God bless you, an' please Ma'am, come back to see
me again."




PLANTATION LIFE

CORDELIA THOMAS, Age 80
130 Berry Street
Athens, Ga.

Written by:
Grace McCune [HW: (white)]
Athens

Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens

Leila Harris
Augusta

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7


A long, hot walk over rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to
Cordelia's place just after the noon hour of a sweltering July day, and
the shade of the tall water oaks near the little cabin was a most
welcome sight. The house stood only a few feet from a spur of railroad
track but the small yard was enclosed by a luxurious green hedge. Roses
predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the
otherwise drab premises.

A dilapidated porch across the front of the residence had no roof and
the floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to
walk from the steps to the front door where Cordelia stood waiting.
"Come right in, Missy," she invited, "but be keerful not to fall through
dat old porch floor." The tall, thin Negress was clad in a faded but
scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headcloth
crowned by a shabby black hat. Black brogans completed her costume.
Cordelia led the way to the rear of a narrow hall. "Us will be cooler
back here," she explained. Sunlight poured through gaping holes in the
roof, and the coarse brown wrapping paper pasted on the walls was
splattered and streaked by rain. The open door of Cordelia's bedroom
revealed a wooden bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the
Victorian period. A rocker, two straight chairs, a small table, and a
trunk completed the furnishings of the room and left but little space
for its occupant to move about.

"I'se jus' a mite tired," Cordelia stated, "'cause I jus' got back from
de courthouse whar dem welfare 'omans done gimme a sack o' flour and
some other bundles what I ain't opened up yit, but I knows dey's got
somepin in 'em to holp me, 'cause dem folks is sho' been mighty good to
me since my rheumatiz is been so bad I couldn't wuk enough to make a
livin'. De doctor, he say I got de blood presser. I don't rightly know
jus' what dat is, but it looks lak somepin's a-pressin' right down in my
haid 'til I feels right foolish, so I reckon he's right 'bout it a-bein
de blood presser. When I gits down on my knees it takes a long time for
me to git straight up on my feet again. De Lord, He's done been wid me
all dese years, and old Cordelia's goin' to keep right on kneelin' 'fore
Him and praisin' Him often 'til He 'cides de time has come for her to go
home to Heben.

"I was borned on Marse Andrew Jackson's plantation down in 'Conee
(Oconee) County, twixt here and High Shoals. Marse Andy, he owned my
Mammy, and she was named Em'ly Jackson. Bob Lowe was my Daddy, and he
b'longed to Marse Ike Lowe. The Lowe plantation was nigh whar Marse
Andy's was, down der in 'Conee County. 'Cause neither one of deir
marsters wouldn't sell one of 'em to de other marster, Mammy had to stay
on de Jackson plantation and Daddy was kept right on wukin' on de Lowe
place atter dey had done got married. Marse Bob, he give Daddy a ticket
what let him go to see Mammy evvy Wednesday and Sadday night, and dem
patterollers couldn't bother him long as he kept dat ticket. When dey
did find a slave off his marster's plantation widout no ticket, it was
jus' too bad, for dat meant a beatin' what most kilt him. Mammy said dey
didn't never git my Daddy, 'cause he allus had his ticket to show.

"I don't ricollect much 'bout days 'fore de big war ended 'cause I was
so little den, but many's de time I heared Mammy and Daddy and de other
old folks tell 'bout dem times. Us chillun had de bestes' time of
anybody dem days, 'cause dey didn't 'low us to do nothin' but jus' eat
all us could and play de rest of de time. I don't know how it was on
other places, but dat was de way us was raised on our old marster's
plantation.

"De cracks of de log cabins whar de slaves lived was chinked wid red mud
to keep out de cold and rain. Dere warn't no glass in de windows, dey
jus' had plank shutters what dey fastened shut at night. Thin slide
blocks kivvered de peepholes in de rough plank doors. Dey had to have
dem peepholes so as dey could see who was at de door 'fore dey opened
up. Dem old stack chimblies what was made out of sticks and red clay,
was all time gittin' on fire. Dem old home-made beds had high posties
and us called 'em 'teesters.' To take de place of springs, what hadn't
never been seen 'round dar in dem days, dey wove heavy cords lengthways
and crostways. Over dem cords dey laid a flat mat wove out of white oak
splints and on dat dey put de homespun bed ticks stuffed wid wheat
straw. Dey could have right good pillows if dey was a mind to pick de
scrap cotton and fix it up, but dere warn't many of 'em keered dat much
'bout no pillows.

"Slaves didn't do no cookin' on our place 'cause Marster fed evvybody up
at de big house. Missy, I ain't never gwine to forgit dat big old
fireplace up dar. Dey piled whole sticks of cord wood on it at one time,
wid little sticks crossways under 'em and, let me tell you, dat was a
fire what would cook anything and evvything. De pots hung on swingin'
racks, and dere was big ovens, little ovens, long-handled fryin' pans,
and heavy iron skillets wid tight, thick lids. It sho' was a sight de
way us chillun used to make 'way wid dem ash-roasted 'taters and dat
good, fresh butter. Us chillun had to eat supper early 'cause all
chillun had to be in bed 'fore dark. It warn't lak dese days. Why Missy,
chilluns now stays up 'most all night runnin' 'round dese parts.

"Marster was sho' good 'bout seein' dat his Niggers had plenty to eat
and wear. For supper us et our bread and milk wid wooden spoons out of
wooden bowls, but for dinner dey give us veg'ables, corn pone, and
'taters. Marster raised all de sorts of veg'ables what dey knowed
anything 'bout in dem days, and he had big old fields of wheat, rye,
oats, and corn, 'cause he 'lowed dat stock had to eat same as folkses.
Dere was lots of chickens, turkeys, cows, hogs, sheep, and some goats on
dat plantation so as dere would allus be plenty of meat for evvybody.

"Our Marster evermore did raise de cotton--lots of it to sell, and
plenty for clothes for all de folkses, white and black, what lived on
his place. All de cloth was home-made 'cept de calico for de best Sunday
dresses. Chillun had to spin de thread and deir mammies wove de cloth.
'Fore de end of de war, whilst I was still so little I had to stand on a
box to reach de spinnin' wheel good, I could spin six reels a day.

"Chillun was happy when hog-killin' time come. Us warn't 'lowed to help
none, 'cept to fetch in de wood to keep de pot bilin' whar de lard was
cookin'. Our Mist'ess allus had de lard rendered in de bigges' washpot,
what dey sot on rocks in de fireplace. Us didn't mind gittin' de wood
for dat, 'cause when dem cracklin's got done, dey let us have all us
could eat and, jus' let me tell you, Missy, you ain't never had nothin'
good 'less you has et a warm skin cracklin' wid a little salt. One time
when dey was renderin' lard, all us chillun was crowdin' 'round close as
us could git to see which one could git a cracklin' fust. Mist'ess told
us to stand back 'fore somebody got burnt; den Mammy said she was gwine
to take de hides off our backs 'bout gittin' so close to dat fire, and
'bout dat time somebody 'hind me gimme a quick push; and in de fire I
went. Marster grabbed me 'most time I hit dem red coals, but one hand
and arm was burnt so bad I had to wear it in a sling for a long time.
Den Marster laid down de law and told us what he would do if he cotch us
chillun hangin' 'round de fire whar dey was cookin' lard again.

"Folkses said our Marster must have a powerful sweet tooth on account of
he kept so many bee hives. When bees swarmed folkses rung bells and beat
on tin pans to git 'em settled. Veils was tied over deir haids to keep
de bees from gittin' to deir faces when dey went to rob de hives.
Chillun warn't never 'lowed to be nowhar nigh durin' dat job. One day I
sneaked out and got up close to see how dey done it, and dem bees got
all over me. Dey stung me so bad I couldn't see for days and days.
Marster, he jus' fussed and said dat gal, Cordelia, she was allus whar
she didn't b'long. Missy, I ain't never wanted to fool wid no more bees,
and I don't even lak honey no more.

"Slaves all went to church wid deir white folkses 'cause dere warn't no
Nigger churches dem days. All de preachin' was done by white preachers.
Churches warn't nigh and convenient dem days lak dey is now and dey was
such a fur piece from de plantations dat most of de folkses stayed all
day, and dem meetin' days was big days den. De cooks was told to fix de
bestes' dinners dey could git up, and chillun was made to know dey had
better mind what dey was 'bout when dey was in de meetin' house or it
was gwine to be made mighty hot for 'em when dey got back home. Dat was
one thing our Marster didn't 'low no foolin' 'bout. His Niggers had to
be-have deyselfs at de meetin' house. 'Long 'bout August when craps was
laid by, dey had brush arbor meetin's. White folks brought deir slaves
and all of 'em listened to a white preacher from Watkinsville named Mr.
Calvin Johnson. Dere was lots of prayin' and shoutin' at dem old brush
arbor 'vival meetin's.

"Dey had campmeetin's too. De old Freeman place was whar dey had some of
dem fust campmeetin's, and Hillsboro, Mars Hill, and Bethabara was some
of de other places whar Marster tuk us to campmeetin's. Missy, you jus'
don't know nothin' 'bout 'citement if you ain't never been to one of dem
old-time campmeetin's. When folkses would git 'ligion dey would holler
and shout a-testifyin' for de Lord. Atter de meetin' dey dammed up de
crick and let it git deep enough for de baptizin'. Dey dipped de white
folkses fust, and den de Niggers. You could hear 'em singin' a mile away
dem old songs lak: _On Jordan's Stormy Banks I Stand_,--_Roll, Jordan
Roll_,--_All God's Chilluns is a-goin' Home_, and--_Whar de Livin'
Waters Flow_. I jus' can't 'member half of dem good old songs 'cause my
mem'ry ain't good as it used to be." Here Cordelia paused. She seemed
oblivious to all around her for several minutes, and then she suddenly
smiled. "Lordy, Missy," she began, "if I could jus' call back dem days
wid our good old Marster to look atter us and see dat us had what us
needed to eat and wear and a good comf'table cabin to live in, wouldn't
dis be a happy old 'oman? Lots of de other old folks would lak it too,
'cause our white folkses day sho' did take good keer of deir slaves.

"Did you ever hear of dem logrollin's? On our place dey spent 'bout two
whole days cookin' and gittin' ready. Marster axed evvybody from fur and
nigh, and dey allus come 'cause dey knowed he was gwine to give 'em a
good old time. De way dey rolled dem logs was a sight, and de more good
corn liquor Marster passed 'round, de faster dem logs rolled. Come
night-time, Marster had a big bonfire built up and sot lots of pitchpine
torches 'round so as dere would be plenty of light for 'em to see how to
eat dat fine supper what had done been sot out for 'em. Atter supper,
dey danced nigh all de rest of de night. Mammy used to tell us 'bout de
frolics next day, 'cause us chillun was made to go to bed at sundown.
Come day, go day, no matter what might happen, growin' chillun had to be
in bed at deir reg'lar time, but Mammy never forgot to tell us all 'bout
de good times next day.

"Mammy said dem cornshuckin's meant jus' as much fun and jollification
as wuk. Dey gathered Marster's big corn crap and 'ranged it in long,
high piles, and sometimes it tuk sev'ral days for dem cornshuckers to
git it all shucked, but evvybody stayed right dar on de job 'til it was
finished. At night, dey wukked by de light of big fires and torches, den
dey had de big supper and started dancin'. Dey stopped so often to swig
dat corn liquor Marster pervided for 'em dat 'fore midnight folkses
started fallin' out and drappin' down in de middle of de dance ring. De
others would git 'em by de heels and drag 'em off to one side 'til dey
come to and was ready to drink more liquor and dance again. Dat was de
way dey went on de rest of de night.

"Corpses! Buryin's! Graveyards! Why, Miss, dere warn't nigh so many
folkses a-dyin' all de time dem days as dere is now. Folkses lived right
and was tuk better keer of and dere warn't so much reason for 'em to die
out den. When somebody did die, folkses come from miles and miles around
to de buryin'. Dey give de slaves de same sort of funerals de white
folkses had. De corpses was washed good all over wid hot water and
home-made soap, den dey was dressed and laid out on de coolin' boards
'til de cyarpenter man had time to make up de coffins. Lordy, Missy,
ain't you never seed no coolin' board? I 'spects dey is all gone now
though. Dey looked a good deal lak ironin' boards, only dey had laigs to
stand on. Lots of times dey didn't dress de corpses, but jus' wropped
'em in windin' sheets. Dem home-made, pine coffins didn't look so bad
atter dey got 'em painted up and lined nice. Dey driv de wagon what had
de corpse on it right slow to de graveyard. De preacher talked a little
and prayed; den atter de mourners had done sung somepin on de order of
_Harps [HW: Hark?] From De Tomb_, dey shovelled in de dirt over de
coffin whilst de preacher said comfortin' words to de fambly of de daid.
Evvy plantation had its own graveyard wid a fence around it, and dere
was a place in it for de slaves 'nigh whar deir white folks was buried.

"Honey, didn't you never hear tell of Dr. Frank Jackson? He was sho' a
grand doctor. Dr. Jackson made up his own medicines and toted 'em 'round
wid him all de time. He was close kin to our Marse Andy Jackson's
fambly. All dem Jacksons down in 'Conee was good white folks.

"Us stayed on wid Old Marster for a little while atter de war was over,
and den right away Mammy died and Daddy hired me out to Mrs. Sidney
Rives (Reaves?). I 'spects one reason she was so mighty good to me was
'cause I was so little den. I was nigh grown when I left her to wuk for
Dr. Palmer's fambly. All his chillun was little den and I was deir nuss.
One of de best of his chillun was little Miss Eunice. She is done growed
to be a school teacher and dey tells me she is still a-teachin'. It
warn't long atter my Daddy died dat I left de Palmers and started
wukkin' for Mr. Dock Dorsey's fambly. If dere ever was a good Christian
'oman in dis here old world it was Miss Sallie Dorsey, Mr. Dock Dorsey's
wife. She had been Miss Sallie Chappell 'fore she married Mr. Dorsey.
Miss Sallie tried to git evvybody what stayed 'round her to live right
too, and she wanted all her help to go to church reg'lar. If Miss Sallie
and Marse Dock Dorsey was livin' now, dey would pervide for Old 'Delia
jus' lak dey used to do. All deir chillun was nice. Miss Fannie and Miss
Sue, dey was extra good gals, but somehow I jus' can't call back de
names of dem other ones now. Dey all had to be good wid de sort of mammy
and daddy dey had. Miss Sallie, she was sick a long time 'fore she died,
and dey let me wait on her. Missy, I tell you de gospel truth, I sho'
did love dat 'oman. Not long 'fore she passed on to Heben, she told her
husband dat atter she was gone, she wanted him to marry up wid her
cousin, Miss Hargrove, so as he would have somebody to help him raise up
her chillun, and he done 'zactly what she axed him to. All of my own
white folkses has done died out, and Old 'Delia won't be here much
longer. One of de Thorntons here--I forgits which one--married up wid my
young Mist'ess, Rebecca Jackson. Her gal got married up wid Dr. Jago, a
horse-doctor. A insurance man named Mr. Speer married into de Jackson
fambly too. He moved his fambly from here to de mountains on account of
his son's health, and I jus' los' track of 'em den.

"Lordy, Chile! What you want to know 'bout my weddin' for, nowhow? Dere
ain't never gwine to be no more weddin's lak dey had back dere in dem
times 'cause folkses thinks dey got to have too much nowadays. When
folkses got married den dey was a-thinkin' 'bout makin' sho' 'nough
homes for deyselfs, and gittin' married meant somepin sort of holy.
Mammy said dat most times when slaves got married dey jus' jumped
backwards over a broomstick whilst deir Marster watched and den he
pernounced dat dey was man and wife. Now dey is got to go to de
courthouse and pay out good money for a license and den go git a
preacher or somebody lak a jestice jedge to say de marriage words over
'em.

"Me and Solomon Thomas had to go buy us a license too, but us didn't
mind 'bout 'puttin out 'dat money cause us was so much in love. I wore a
pretty white dress and a breakfast shawl, and atter us had done went to
de preacher man's house and got married, us come right on here to dis
very house what had b'longed to Solomon's daddy 'fore it was Solomon's.
Us built two more rooms on de house, but all de time Solomon lived us
tried to keep de place lookin' a good deal lak it was de day us got
married.

"Atter Solomon died, I sold off most of de land to de railroad for de
right of way for dat dere track what you sees out dere, and it sho' has
made plenty of wuk for me to keep dat soot what dem engines is all time
a-spittin' out cleaned off my things in de house. It draps down through
dem big holes overhead, and I can't git hold of no money to have de roof
patched up.

"Me and Solomon, us had 11 chillun, but dey is all daid out but three.
One of my boys is in Baltimore and another boy lives in Louisiana
somewhar. My gal, Delia, she stays over in de Newtown part of Athens
here. She would love to help her old Mammy, but my Delia's got chillun
of her own and she can't git nothin' to do 'cept a little washin' for de
white folkses, and she ain't able to pervide what her own household
needs to eat. Dem boys of mine is done got so fur off dey's done forgot
all 'bout deir old Mammy.

"When us fust got married, Solomon wukked at Mr. Orr's cotton house, and
he stayed dere a long time 'fore he went to wuk for Mr. Moss and Mr.
Levy. All dem white folks was good to me and Solomon. I kept on wukkin'
for de Dorseys 'til us had so many chillun I had to stay home and look
atter 'em. Solomon got sick and he lay dere sufferin' a long, long time,
but Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy seed dat he didn't want for nothin'. Even
atter Solomon died dem good white mens kept on comin' out now and den to
see if me and Solomon's chillun had what us needed.

"Solomon, my Solomon, he went out of dis here world, in dat dere room
whar you sees dat old bed, and dat is perzactly whar I wants to be when
de Blessed Lord lays his hands on me and tells me to come on Home to
Glory. I wants to be toted out of dat room, through dis hall and on out
to de graveyard jus' lak my man was. I knows dat evvything would be done
nice jus' lak I wants it if Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy was a-livin' 'cause
dey was both Masons, and members of de Masons is all done swore a oath
to look atter deir own folkses. Dey said Solomon and his fambly was lak
deir own folkses, Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy did. Most of de folkses, both
white and black, dat I has knowed and loved has done gone on over de
Jordan, out of dis world of trouble, and it will be happy days for all
of us when us meets again in de place 'of many mansions' whar dere won't
be nothin' for none of us to pester ourselfs 'bout no more.

"All of my life, I'se had a great desire to travel, jus' to go evvywhar,
but atter all dese years of busy livin' I 'spects all de trav'lin' I'll
ever do will be on de road to Glory. Dat will be good enough for me
'cause I got so many more of 'em I loves over dar dan is left here."

As the visitor passed out of earshot of Cordelia's cabin the last words
she heard from the old Negress were: "Good-bye again, Missy. Talkin' to
you has been a heap of consolation to me."



[HW: Dist-2
Ex Slave #105]
Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker

FOLKLORE
EX-SLAVE--IKE THOMAS
Heidt Bridges Farm near Rio Georgia
Interviewed

September 4, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

[TR: This interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was
transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.]


Ike Thomas was born near Monticello in Jasper County on the Thomas
plantation. His mother and father were sold when he was a little boy,
and "Missus" Thomas, in picking her house boy, took Ike to raise for a
carriage boy. She picked her little niggers by the way they wore their
hats. If they set them on the back of their heads, they grew up to be
"high-minded", but if they pulled them over their eyes, they'd grow up
to be "sneaky and steal".

Mrs. Thomas let him sleep on a trundle bed pulled out at night and put
under her bed in the day and fed him under the table. She'd put a piece
of meat in a biscuit and hand it down to him and warned him if they had
company not to holler when he was thru so he'd touch her on the knee but
his mouth was so big and he'd eat so fast that he "jes kep' on teching
her on the knee."

During the war, when they got word the Yankees were coming, Mrs. Thomas
would hide her "little niggers" sometimes in the wardrobe back of her
clothes, sometimes between the mattresses, or sometimes in the cane
brakes. After the Yankees left, she'd ring a bell and they would know
they could come out of hiding. (When they first heard the slaves were
free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their "white
folks".) [HW: Transpose to page 3.]

If the negroes were mean or ran away, they would be chased by hounds and
brought back for punishment.

When still a young man, Ike ran away with a negro couple coming in a
buggy to Blanton Mill near Griffin and worked for Mr. William Blanton
until he died. After he had been here a while, he got married. His
wife's people had the wedding supper and party. He was a fiddler so had
to fiddle most all night then the next day his "white folks" gave him
the food for the wedding dinner that he had at his own house.

Ike says every seven [HW: 7] years the locusts come and its sure to be
a short crop that "God sends all sorts of cusses" (curses) sometimes
its the worms that eat the cotton or the corn or the bugs that eat the
wheat. He doesn't believe in "hants" or "conjurin'". It seems Sid
Scott was a "mean nigger", [HW: and] everyone was afraid of [HW: him].
He was cut in two by the saw mill and after his funeral whenever
anyone pass his house at night that could hear his "hant" going
"rat-a-tat-tat-bang, bang, bang" like feet running.

One night when Ike was coming home from "fiddlin'" at a white folks
party, he had to pass Scott's house. Now they kept the cotton seed in
half of the house and the other half was empty. When Ike got close, he
made a racket and sure enough the noise started. "The moon was about an
hour up" and he saw these funny white things run out from under the
house and scatter. It scared him at first but he looked and looked and
saw they were sheep that [HW: having] found a hole into the cotton seed
would go in at night to eat.

Before the war the negroes had a big celebration on the 4th of July, a
big barbecue, ball game, wrestling matches, lots of music and singing.
They had to have a pass from their Masters to attend and pay to get in.
The "patta-roll" came by to see your pass and if you didn't have one,
they'd whip you and send you home. [HW: When the Negroes first heard
that they were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with
their white folks.]

After he came to Blanton's, the Negroes could come and go as they
pleased for they were free. Ike has been a member of several "Societies"
but something has always happened to the President and Secretary or they
ran off with the money so now he just has a sick and accident policy.

Ike will be 94 years old next month. His hair is white, his eyes blurred
with age, but he's quite active tho' he does walk with a stick.




[HW: Dist 1
Ex-Slave #107]

JANE MICKENS TOOMBS OF WASHINGTON-WILKES
Age approx. 82

by
Minnie Branham Stonestreet
Washington-Wilkes
GEORGIA
[Date Stamp: JAN 26 1937]
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]


A story of happiness and contentment on a big plantation where there
were "a heap of us slaves" is told by Jane Mickens Toombs who said she
was "five er six years ole when de Wah come on (1860), or maby a lit'le
ol'er."

She is a bright old woman, well and spry despite the fact she "wuz
conjured onst when I wuz young an' dat lef' me lame an' dis eye plum'
out an' de t'other bad."

When asked about the conjuring she said: "No'm, I don't 'zackly know how
t'wuz, but enyhow somebody whut knowed how ter 'wu'k roots' got me lame
on dis side, an' my eye out, jess kase I wuz a decent, nice lookin' gal,
an' went on 'tendin' ter my business an' payin' dem no mind. Dat's de
way dey done in dem days, jess jealous of nice colored niggers. Yassum,
I wuz sick fer nigh on ter two years an' de doctuhs never knowed what
ailed me. Dey done everything dey could, but I wuz conjured an' dey
couldn't hep' me. A doctuh-man frum up yander in New Yalk cum down here
ter see his folks, an' he tried to kure [HW: cyore] me, but doctuhs
kain't [HW: kaan't] kure [HW: cyore] conjured folks, so I had ter lay
an' suffer 'til de conjure wore out. Dem whut done dat knowed dey done
me wrong, but I kep' trustin' in my Lawd, an' now dey's gone an' I'se er
stumblin' roun' yit. No mam, I never knowed jess whut dey done ter me,
but hit wuz bad, I kin tell yer dat, hit might nigh kilt me."

Aunt Jane was born on the Gullatt Plantation on the line of Wilkes and
Lincoln counties. Her Mother was Liza Gullatt and her father John
Mickens who belonged to Mr. Augustus McMekin. "Yassum, my Pa wuz John
'Mickens an' his Marster bought him in Alabamy. All de slaves whut
belonged to de McMekins called dey selves 'Mickens. I wuz one of fifteen
chillun an' cum er long in betweenst de oldest 'uns an' de youngest
sum'ers. I wuz named fer my Mistess Jane Gullatt whut died. Young Marse
George Gullatt choosed me out, dough, an' I'd er been his'en ef Freedom
hadn't er come. You know dat's de way dey use ter do back in slavery
time, de young Mistesses an' Marsters choosed out de little niggers dey
wanted fer their'n."

This is another case where the father and mother belonged to different
families. The father had a pass to go and come as he pleased, although
his family lived a little distance away. Jane said her father's master
would have bought her mother if the War hadn't come on and they were set
free.

Jane told of the log cabins in the Quarters where all the negroes lived.
She said they were all in a row "wid er street in de front, er wide
street all set thick wid white mulberry trees fer ter mak' shade fer de
chillun ter play in." They never had any punishment only [HW: except]
switchings by their Mistess, and that was not often. They played dolls,
"us had home-made rag dolls, nice 'uns, an' we'd git dem long grass
plumes (Pampas grass) an' mak' dolls out'n dem too. Us played all day
long every day. My Mistess' chillun wuz all growed up so jess us little
niggers played tergether.

"My Mother spun an' wove de cloth, an' dyed hit, but our Mistess made
our clothes. My Grandma, Nancy, wuz de cook an' she fed all de little
'uns in de big ole kitchen whut sot out in de yard. She had a tray she
put our victuals on an Uh, Uh, whut good things we had ter eat, an' er
plenty of everything! Us et jess whut our white folks had, dey didn't
mak' no difference in us when hit cum ter eatin'. My Grandaddy looked
atter de meat, he done everything 'bout dat, an' he sho' knowed how ter
fix it, too.

"De fust thing I recollects is bein' round in de kitchen when dey wuz
makin' ginger cakes an' my Mistess givin' me de pan she made 'em in fer
me ter sop hit out. Dey ain't nothin' whut smells good lak' de cookin'
in dem days, I kain't smell no victuals lak' dat now. Everything wuz
cooked on a big ole open fire place in one end of de kitchen. Dem good
ole days done gone now. Folkes done got wiser an' wickeder--dey ain't
lak' dey use ter be."

At Christmas Santa Claus found his way to the Quarters on the Gollatt
plantation and each little slave had candy, apples, and "sich good
things as dat." Aunt Jane gave a glowing description of the preparation
for the Christmas season: "Lawdy, how de folks wu'ked gittin' ready fer
Chris'mus, fer three er fo' days dey stayed in de kitchen er cookin' an'
er bakin'--daye wuz de bes' light bread--great big loaves baked on de
fire place, an' cakes an' mo' good ginger cakes. Dey wuz plenty cooked
up to las' er long time. An' another thing, dare want no cookin' on
Sunday, no mam, no wu'k of no kind. My Mistess had de cook cookin' all
day Fridays an' Saddays so when Sunday come dare wuz hot coffee made an'
dat wuz all, everything else wuz cooked up an' cold. Everybody went to
Church, de grown folks white and black, went to de preachin' an' den all
de little niggers wuz called in an de Bible read an' 'splained ter dem.

"Dare wuz preachin' down in de Quarters, but dat wuz at night an' wuz
led by de colored preachers. I recollects one night dare wuz a service
gwine on in one of de cabins an' all us wuz dare an' ole Uncle Alex
Frazier wuz up a linin' off a hymn 'bout

  'Broad is de road dat leads ter Death
   An' there an' here we travel.'

when in come some mens atter a colored feller whut had stole some sheep
an' hogs. Dey kotch 'im, but sho broke up de meetin'. In de hot summer
time Uncle George Gullatt use ter preach ter de slaves out under de
trees. Uncle George waz a kind of er preacher.

"My Pa didn't 'low his chillun ter go 'roun'. No'm, he kep' us home
keerful lak. Young folks in dem days didn't go all over de country lak
dey does now, dey stayed at home, an' little chillun wuz kep' back an'
dey didn' know no badness lak de chillun do terday. Us never even heared
de ole folks talk nothin' whut we oughtn't ter hear. Us jess played an'
stayed in a child's place. When we wuz sick de white folks seed dat we
wuz 'tended to. Dey use ter mak Jerusalem Oak candy an' give us. Dey
took de leaves of dat bush an' boiled 'em an' den use dat water dey wuz
boiled in an' put sugar 'nough in hit ter mak candy. An dey used plenty
of turpentine on us too--plenty ov hit, an' I believes in dat terday,
hit's er good medicine."

When asked about the War, Aunt Jane said she didn't remember much about
it. "But dare's one thing 'bout hit I sho' does 'member, an' dat's my
young Mistess Beckie's husband, Mr. Frazier, being off fightin' in de
Wah, an' she gittin' er letter frum him sayin' he wuz comin' home sich
an' sich er day. She wuz so happy she had all de grown slaves wu'kin'
gittin' ready fer him. Den dey brung her er letter sayin' he had been
kilt, an' she wuz in de yard when she read hit an' if dey hadn't er
kotch her she'd ov fell. I 'members de women takin' her in de house an'
gittin' her ter bed. She wuz so up sot an' took hit so hard. Dem wuz
sho' hard times an' sad 'uns too. 'Course I wuz too small ter know much
whut wuz gwine on, but I could tell hit wuz bad frum de way de older
folks looked.

"I recollects when dey say Freedom had cum. Dare wuz a speakin' fer de
slaves up here in town in Barnett's Grove. Dat mornin' Ole Miss sont all
de oldes' niggers to de speakin' an' kep' us little 'uns dat day. She
kep' us busy sweepin' de yards an' sich as dat. An' she cooked our
dinner an' give hit to us herself. I 'members de grown folks leavin'
early dat mornin' in a great big waggin.

"A while after de Wah, Pa took us over to de McMekins place an' we lived
dare fer a long time. He died an' lef' us an' den us had ter do de bes'
we could. Col. Tolbert hired me fer ter nuss his chillun an' I went over
ter his place ter live."

Aunt Jane said she isn't superstitious, but likes to see the new moon
clear and bow to it for good luck. She said it is better to show it a
piece of money, but as she doesn't always have money handy, she "jess
bows to hit nice an' polite". She keeps up with the weather by her
rheumatism and the cat: "Ef I has de reumatics I knows hit's gwine ter
rain, an' when de cat comes 'round an' sets washin' her face, look fer
rain, kase hit's er comin'. I've heared folks say dat hit's bad luck ter
stump yo' lef' foot, but I don't know boud dat. But I tell yer, when I
meets er cat I allus turns er round 'fore I goes on, dat turns de bad
luck er way."

When 19 years of age Jane married Albert Toombs. He belonged to the
Toombs family of Wilkes county. Aunt Jane said Albert brought her many
gifts while he was courting: "He warnt much on bringin' candy an'
nothin' lak dat ter eat, but he brung me shawls an' shoes--sumpin' I
could wear." They had four children, but only one is living.

"When I wuz a growin' up", said Aunt Jane, "folks had ter wu'k." She
worked on the farm, spun, wove, "done seamster wu'k" and knitted
stockings, sox and gloves. She said she carded too, "an' in dem times ef
a nigger wanted ter git de kinks out'n dey hair, dey combed hit wid de
cards. Now dey puts all kinds ov grease on hit, an' buy straightenin'
combs. Sumpin' dat costs money, dat's all dey is, old fashion cards'll
straighten hair jess as well as all dis high smellin' stuff dey sells
now."

Aunt Jane likes to tell of those days of long ago. Her memory is
excellent and she talks well. She says she is living out her Miss Jane's
time. "Yassum, my Miss Jane died when she wuz so young, I specks I jess
livin' out her days kase I named fer her. But I does miss dem good ole
days whut's gone. I'se hungry fer de sight ov a spinnin' wheel--does you
know whare's one? Things don't look lak' dey use ter, an' as fer whut we
has ter eat, dare ain't no victuals ever smelled an' et as good as dem
what dey use ter have on de plantation when I wuz a comin' on. Yassum,
folkes has got wiser an' know mo' dan dey did, but dey is wickeder--dey
kills now 'stid er conjurin' lak' dey did me."




[HW: Dist. 7
Ex-slave #108]
District 7
Adella S. Dixon

PHIL TOWNS
OLD SLAVE STORY
[Date Stamp: -- 8 1937]

[TR: This interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was
transposed, meaning was significantly changed, or the edit could not be
clearly read, it has been noted.]


On June 25, 1824, a son was born to Washington and Clara Towns who
resided in Richmond, Virginia. This was the fourth child in a family
which finally numbered thirteen. Phil, as he was called, does not recall
many incidents on this estate as the family moved when he was in his
teens. His grandfather and grandmother were brought here from Africa and
their description of the cruel treatment they received is his most vivid
recollection. His grandmother, Hannah, lived to be 129 years of age.

Mr. George Towns, called "Governor" by all of his slaves as well as his
intimate friends, moved to Georgia and settled at Reynolds in Taylor
County. Here he purchased a huge tract of land--1350 acres--and built
his new home upon this level area on the Flint River. The "big house," a
large unpainted structure which housed a family of eighteen, was in the
midst of a grove of trees near the highway that formed one of the
divisions of the plantation. It was again divided by a local railway
nearly a mile from the rear of the house. Eighty-eight slaves were
housed in the "quarters" which were on each side of the highway a little
below the planter's home.

These "quarters" differed from those found in the surrounding territory
as the size of the houses varied with the number in the family. The
interiors were nicely furnished and in most instances the families were
able to secure any furniture they desired. Feather mattresses, trundle
beds and cribs were common and in families where there were many
children, large fireplaces--some as many as eight feet wide--were
provided so that every one might be [TR: 'able to keep' crossed out]
comfortable in winter. A variety of cooking utensils were given and
large numbers of waffle irons, etc., then considered luxuries, were
found here.

To consider only the general plan of operation, this plantation was no
different from the average one in pre-civil war days but there was a
phase of the life here which made it a most unusual home. "Governor" was
so exceptionally kind to his slaves that they were known as "Gov. Towns'
free negroes" to those on the neighboring farms. He never separated
families, neither did he strike a slave except on rare occasions. Two
things which might provoke his anger to this extent, were: to be told a
lie, and to find that a person had allowed some one to take advantage of
him. They were never given passes but obtained verbal consent to go
where they wished and always remained as long as they chose.

Phil Towns' father worked in the field and his mother did light work in
the house, such as assisting in spinning. Mothers of three or more
children were not compelled to work, as the master felt that their
children needed care. From early childhood boys and girls were given
excellent training. A boy who robbed a bird's nest or a girl who
frolicked in a boisterous manner was severely reprimanded. Separate
bedrooms for the two sexes were maintained until they married. The girls
passed thru two stages--childhood, and at sixteen they became "gals".
Three years later they might marry if they chose but the husband had to
be older--at least 21. Courtships differed from those of today because
there were certain hours for visiting and even though the girl might
accompany her sweetheart away from home she had to be back at that hour.
They had no clocks but a "time mark" was set by the sun. A young man was
not allowed to give his girl any form of gift, and the efforts of some
girls to secretly receive gifts which they claimed to have "found", were
in vain, for these were taken from them. After the proposal, the
procedure was practically the same as is observed today. The consent of
the parent and the master was necessary. Marriages were mostly held at
night and no pains were spared to make them occasions to be remembered
and cherished. Beautiful clothes--her own selections--were given the
bride, and friends usually gave gifts for the house. These celebrations,
attended by visitors from many plantations, and always by the Towns
family, ended in gay "frolics" with cakes, wine, etc., for refreshments.

During the first year of married life the couple remained with the
bride's mother who instructed her in the household arts. Disputes
between the newlyweds were not tolerated and punishment by the parents
was the result of "nagging". At the end of a year, another log cabin was
added to the quarters and the couple began housekeeping. The moral code
was exceedingly high; the penalty for offenders--married or single,
white or colored--was to be banished from the group entirely. Thus
illegitimate children were rare enough to be a novelty.

Young Phil was in his teens when he began his first job--coach driver
for "Gov." Towns. This was just before they moved to Georgia. He
traveled with him wherever he went, and as the Gov. purchased a
plantation in Talbot County, (the house still stands), and a home in
Macon, (the site of Mt. De Sales Academy), a great deal of his time was
spent on the road. Phil never did any other work except to occasionally
assist in sweeping the large yard. The other members of this group split
rails, did field work, spinning, tailoring and any of the many things
that had to be done. Each person might choose the type of work he liked
best.

Opportunities to make cash money were plentiful. Some made baskets and
did hand work which was sold and the money given the maker. A man or
woman who paid Gov. Towns $150.00 might hire himself to the Gov. for a
year. When this was done he was paid cash for all the work he did and
many were able to clear several hundred dollars in a year. In addition
to this opportunity for earning money, every adult had an acre of ground
which he might cultivate as he chose. Any money made from the sale of
this produce was his own.

Recreation was not considered important so no provision was made in the
regular routine. It was, however, possible to obtain "time off" at
frequent intervals and these might be termed irregular vacation periods.
Evening entertainment at which square dancing was the main attraction,
were common. Quill music, from a homemade harmonica, was played when
banjoes were not available. These instruments were made by binding with
cane five to ten reeds of graduated lengths. A hole was cut in the upper
end of each and the music obtained by blowing up and down the scale.
Guests came from all neighboring farms and engaged in the "Green Corn"
dance which was similar to what is now called Buck dancing. Near the end
of such a hilarious evening, the guests were served with persimmon beer
and ginger cakes,--then considered delicacies.

"Gov." Towns was interested in assisting any one [HW: wanting to learn].
[TR: Original reads 'desirous of learning.'] The little girls who
expressed the desire to become "ladies" were kept in the "big house" and
very carefully trained. The tastes of these few were developed to the
extent that they excelled the ordinary "quarter" children and were the
envy of the group at social affairs.

Sunday was a day of Reverence and all adults were required to attend
religious services. The trip was usually made in wagons, oxcarts, etc.,
although the young women of the big house rode handsome saddle horses.
At each church there was placed a stepping block by which they descended
from their steeds. White and colored worshipped at the same church,
constructed with a partition separating the two parts of the
congregation but not extending to the pulpit. Professions of faith were
accepted at the same altar while Baptismal services ware held at a local
creek and all candidates were baptized on the same day. Regular clothing
was worn at this service. Children were not allowed to attend church,
and christenings were not common. Small boys, reared entirely apart from
strict religious observances, used to slip away and shoot marbles on
Sunday.

The health problem was not acute as these people were provided with
everything necessary for a contented mind and a robust body. [TR:
original line: The health problem was not a very acute one as these
people were provided with everything conducive to a contented mind which
plays a large part in maintaining a robust body.] However, a Doctor who
lived nearby cared for the sick. Two fees were set--the larger one being
charged if the patient recovered. Home remedies were used for minor
ills--catnip tea for thrash, tea from Samson Snakeroot for cramps,
redwood and dogwood bark tea [HW: and horehound candy] for worms, [HW:
many] root teas used [HW: medicinally] by this generation. Peach brandy
was given to anyone suspected of having pneumonia,--if the patient
coughed, it was certain that he was a victim of the disease.

In these days, a mother named her children by a name [TR: unreadable]
during pregnancy. [TR: original line: In these days, it was always
thought best for the mother to name her children if the proper name for
the babe was theoretically revealed to her during pregnancy.] If another
name was given the child, the correct one would be so firmly implanted
in his subconscious mind that he would never be able to resist the
impulse to turn his head when that name was called. The seventh child
was always thought to be exceptionally lucky, and [TR: unreadable HW
replaces 'the bond of affection between the parents and this child was
greater']. This belief persists today in many localities.

Every family was given a weekly supply of food but this was more for
convenience than anything else as they were free to eat anything their
appetites called for. They killed chickens, ate vegetables, meats, etc.
at any time. The presence of guests at the "quarters" roused Mrs. Towns
to activity and she always helped to prepare the menu. One of her
favorite items was chicken--prepared four different ways, in pie, in
stew, fried, and baked. She gave full directions for the preparation of
these delicacies to unskilled cooks. Pound cake was another favorite and
she insisted that a pound of butter and a dozen eggs be used in each
cake. When the meal was nearly ready, she usually made a trip to the
cabin to see if it had been well prepared. The hostess could always tell
without any comment whether she had satisfied her mistress, for if she
had, a serving was carried back to the big house. Fishing was a form of
remunerative recreation enjoyed by all. Everyone usually went on
Saturday afternoon, but if only a few made the trip, the catch was
shared by all.

Sewing was no easy job as there were few small women among the servants.
The cloth made at home, was plentiful, however, and sufficient clothing
was made for all. Some persons preferred making their own clothes and
this privilege was granted; otherwise they were made in a common sewing
room. Ten yards was the average amount of cloth in a dress, homespun and
gingham, the usual materials. The men wore suits of osnaburg and jeans.
This was dyed to more durable colors through the use of [HW: with]
indigo [HW: (blue)] and a dye made from railroad bark (brown).

Phil believes that the screeching of an owl, the bellowing of a cow, and
the howling of a dog after dark are signs of death because the [HW:
immediate] death of a human being is revealed to animals, which [TR:
illegible. 'in turn'?] warn humans. Though we may find some way to rid
ourselves of the fear of the warning--the death will occur just the
same.

On nearly all plantations there were some slaves who, trying to escape
work, hid themselves in the woods. [TR: original line: On nearly all
plantations there were some slaves who did not wish to work,
consequently, for this, or similar reasons, hid themselves in the
woods.] They smuggled food to their hiding place by night, and remained
away [HW: lost] in some instances, many months. Their belief in
witchcraft caused them to resort to most ridiculous means of avoiding
discovery. Phil told the story of a man who visited a conjurer to obtain
a "hand" for which he paid fifty dollars in gold. The symbol was a
hickory stick which he used whenever he was being chased, and in this
manner warded off his pursuers. The one difficulty in this procedure was
having to "set up" at a fork or cross roads. Often the fugitive had to
run quite a distance to reach such a spot, but when the stick was so
placed human beings and even bloodhounds lost his trail. With this
assistance, he was able to remain in the woods as long as he liked.

Snakes ware frequent visitor in the cabins of the "quarters". One
morning while Betty, a cook, was confined to bed, she sent for Mrs.
Towns to tell her that a snake had lain across her chest during the
previous night and had tried to get under the cover where her young baby
lay asleep. Mrs. Towns was skeptical about the size and activities of
the reptile but sent for several men to search the house. They had given
up the search when one chanced to glance above the sick woman's bed and
there lay the reptile on a shelf. The bed was roped and moved to another
part of the room and preparations made to shoot him. Quilts were piled
high on the bed so that the noise of the gun would not frighten the
baby. When all was ready Mrs. Towns asked the old man with the gun--

"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"

"Yessum, mistress," he replied.

"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"

"Yessum, mistress."

"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"

"Yessum, mistress."

"Shoot!!"

He took careful aim and fired. The huge reptile rolled to the floor.

When the men returned to the yard to work near the woodpile, the mate
was discovered by one of the dogs that barked until a log was moved and
the second snake killed.

[HW: In those days] small snakes were not feared and for several years
it was customary for women to carry a tiny green snake in their bosoms.
This fad was discontinued when one of the women was severely injured
through a bite on her chest.

Phil remembers when the stars fell in 1833. "They came down like rain,"
he said. When asked why he failed to keep some, he replied that he was
afraid to touch them even after they became black.

[TR: The following paragraphs contain many crossouts replaced by
unreadable handwritten edits, and will be indicated by: 'deleted words'
replaced by ??.]

Freedom was discussed on the plantation [TR: ??] for many years before
the Civil War began. As contented as [TR: 'they' replaced by ??] were
[TR: 'there was something to look forward to when they thought of'
replaced by ??] being absolutely free. An ex-slave's description of the
real cause of the Civil War, deserves a place here. It seems that
Lincoln had sent several messages to Davis requesting that he free the
slaves. No favorable response was received. Lincoln had a conference
with Mr. Davis and to this meeting he carried a Bible and a gun. He
tried in vain to convince Davis that he was wrong according to the
Bible, so he finally threw the two upon the table and asked Davis to
take his choice. He chose the gun. Lincoln grasped the Bible and rushed
home. Thus Davis _began_ the war but Lincoln had God on his side and so
he _ended_ it.

One of Gov. Towns' sons went to the army and Phil was sent to care for
him while he was there; an aristocratic man never went to the war
without his valet. His [HW: Phil's] duty was to cook for him, keep his
clothes clean, and to bring the body home if he was killed. Poor
soldiers were either buried [HW: where they fell] or left lying on the
field for vultures to consume. Food was not so plentiful in the [TR:
'army' replaced by ??] and their diet of flapjacks and canned goods was
varied only by coffee and whiskey given when off duty. All cooking was
done between two battles or during the lull in a battle. John Towns was
soon sent back home as they [HW: the officers] felt he was too [TR:
'valuable a Southerner' crossed out] important to be killed in battle,
and his services were needed at home.

Near the close of the war, Sherman made a visit to this vicinity. As was
his usual habit, he had [TR: 'obtained' replaced by 'learned'?] the
reputation of Gov. Towns before he arrived. He found conditions so ideal
[TR: 'that not one thing was touched' replaced by ??]. He talked with
[HW: slaves and owners, he] went [TR: 'gaily' deleted] on his way. Phil
was so impressed by Sherman that he followed him and camped with the
Yankees about where Central City Park is now. He thought that anything a
Yankee said was true. [HW: When] One [HW: of them] gave him a knife and
told him to go and cut the first man he met, he followed instructions
even though he knew the man. [HW: Later] Realizing how foolishly he had
acted, he readily apologized and explained why. [HW: The Yankee soldiers
robbed beehives barehanded and were never stung, they] seemed to fear
nothing but lizards. Never having seen such reptiles they would run in
terror at the sight of one. The Confederates never discovered this.

After the close of the war they [HW: federal soldiers] were stationed in
the towns to keep order. Union flags were placed everywhere, and a
Southerner was accused of not respecting the flag if he even passed
under one without bowing. Penalties for this offense were, to be hung up
by the thumbs, to carry greasy [HW: greased] poles for a certain time,
and numerous other punishments which caused a deal of discomfort to the
victims but sent the soldiers and ex-slaves into peals of laughter. The
sight of a Yankee soldier sent a Confederate one into hysteria.

[HW: Phil says his fellow] slaves laughed when told they were free, but
Gov. Towns was almost indifferent. His slaves, he said, were always
practically free, so a little legal form did not [TR: 'add' replaced by
??] much to them. Nearly every one remained there and worked for wages.

For the past thirty-five years, Phil Towns has been almost totally
disabled. Long life seems no novelty to him for he says everyone used to
live longer when they honored their elders more. He has eighty-four
relatives in Virginia--all older than he, but states that friends who
have visited there say he looks more aged than any of them. His great
desire is to return to Virginia, as he believes he will be able to find
the familiar landmarks in spite of the changes that have taken place.

Mr. Alex Block, of Macon, makes no charges for the old shack in which
Phil lives; his food furnished by the Department of Public Welfare is
supplemented by interested friends.




PLANTATION LIFE

NEAL UPSON, Age 81
450 4th Street
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Miss Grace McCune [HW: (White)]
Athens

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.

August 5, 1938


Alternate rain and sunshine had continued for about 10 days and the
ditches half filled with water, slippery banks of red clay, and the
swollen river necessitating a detour, added to the various difficulties
that beset the interviewer as she trudged through East Athens in search
of Neal Upson's shabby, three-room, frame house. A magnificent water oak
shaded the vine-covered porch where a rocking chair and swing offered a
comfortable place to rest.

"Good mornin', Miss," was the smiling greeting of the aged Negro man who
answered a knock on the front door. "How is you? Won't you come in? I
would ax you to have a cheer on the porch, but I has to stay in de house
cause de light hurts my eyes." He had hastily removed a battered old
felt hat, several sizes too large for him, and as he shuffled down the
hall his hair appeared almost white as it framed his black face. His
clean, but faded blue overalls and shirt were patched in several places
and heavy brogans completed his costume. The day was hot and humid and
he carefully placed two chairs where they would have the advantage of
any breeze that might find its way through the open hallway.

"Miss, I'se mighty glad you come today," he began, "cause I does git so
lonesome here by myself. My old 'oman wuks up to de court'ouse, cookin'
for de folkses in jail, and it's allus late when she gits back home.
'Scuse me for puttin' my old hat back on, but dese old eyes jus' can't
stand de light even here in the hall, less I shades 'em."

When asked to tell the story of his life, he chuckled. "Lawsy, Missy,"
he said. "Does you mean dat you is willin' to set here and listen to old
Neal talk? 'Tain't many folkses what wants to hear us old Niggers talk
no more. I jus' loves to think back on dem days 'cause dem was happy
times, so much better'n times is now. Folkses was better den. Dey was
allus ready to holp one another, but jus' look how dey is now!

"I was borned on Marster Frank Upson's place down in Oglethorpe County,
nigh Lexin'ton, Georgy. Marster had a plantation, but us never lived dar
for us stayed at de home place what never had more'n 'bout 80 acres of
land 'round it. Us never had to be trottin' to de sto' evvy time us
started to cook, 'cause what warn't raised on de home place, Marster had
'em raise out on de big plantation. Evvything us needed t'eat and wear
was growed on Marse Frank's land.

"Harold and Jane Upson was my Daddy and Mammy; only folkses jus' called
Daddy 'Hal.' Both of 'em was raised right der on de Upson place whar dey
played together whilst dey was chillun. Mammy said she had washed and
sewed for Daddy ever since she was big enough, and when dey got grown
dey jus' up and got married. I was deir only boy and I was de baby
chile, but dey had four gals older'n me. Dey was: Cordelia, Anna,
Parthene, and Ella. Ella was named for Marse Frank's onliest chile,
little Miss Ellen, and our little Miss was sho a good little chile.

"Daddy made de shoes for all de slaves on de plantation and Mammy was
called de house 'oman. She done de cookin' up at de big 'ouse, and made
de cloth for her own fambly's clothes, and she was so smart us allus had
plenty t'eat and wear. I was little and stayed wid Mammy up at de big
'ouse and jus' played all over it and all de folkses up der petted me.
Aunt Tama was a old slave too old to wuk. She was all de time cookin'
gingerbread and hidin' it in a little trunk what sot by de fireplace in
her room. When us chillun was good Aunt Tama give us gingerbread, but if
us didn't mind what she said, us didn't git none. Aunt Tama had de
rheumatiz and walked wid a stick and I could git in dat trunk jus' 'bout
anytime I wanted to. I sho' did git 'bout evvything dem other chillun
had, swappin' Aunt Tama's gingerbread. When our white folkses went off,
Aunt Tama toted de keys, and she evermore did make dem Niggers stand
'round. Marse Frank jus' laughed when dey made complaints 'bout her.

"In summertime dey cooked peas and other veg'tables for us chillun in a
washpot out in de yard in de shade, and us et out of de pot wid our
wooden spoons. Dey jus' give us wooden bowls full of bread and milk for
supper.

"Marse Frank said he wanted 'em to larn me how to wait on de white
folkses' table up at de big 'ouse, and dey started me off wid de job of
fannin' de flies away. Mist'ess Serena, Marse Frank's wife, made me a
white coat to wear in de dinin' room. Missy, dat little old white coat
made me git de onliest whuppin' Marse Frank ever did give me." Here old
Neal paused for a hearty laugh. "Us had comp'ny for dinner dat day and I
felt so big showin' off 'fore 'em in dat white coat dat I jus' couldn't
make dat turkey wing fan do right. Dem turkey wings was fastened on long
handles and atter Marster had done warned me a time or two to mind what
I was 'bout, the old turkey wing went down in de gravy bowl and when I
jerked it out it splattered all over de preacher's best Sunday suit.
Marse Frank got up and tuk me right out to de kitchen and when he got
through brushin' me off I never did have no more trouble wid dem turkey
wings.

"Evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days. Dey had swingin' racks
what dey called cranes to hang de pots on for bilin'. Dere was ovens for
bakin' and de heavy iron skillets had long handles. One of dem old
skillets was so big dat Mammy could cook 30 biscuits in it at one time.
I allus did love biscuits, and I would go out in de yard and trade Aunt
Tama's gingerbread to de other chilluns for deir sheer of biscuits. Den
dey would be skeered to eat de gingerbread 'cause I told 'em I'd tell on
'em. Aunt Tama thought dey was sick and told Marse Frank de chilluns
warn't eatin' nothin'. He axed 'em what was de matter and dey told him
dey had done traded all deir bread to me. Marse Frank den axed me if I
warn't gittin' enough t'eat, 'cause he 'lowed dere was enough dar for
all. Den Aunt Tama had to go and tell on me. She said I was wuss dan a
hog atter biscuits, so our good Marster ordered her to see dat li'l Neal
had enough t'eat.

"I ain't never gwine to forgit dat whuppin' my own daddy give me. He had
jus' sharpened up a fine new axe for hisself, and I traded it off to a
white boy named _Roar_ what lived nigh us when I seed him out tryin' to
cut wood wid a sorry old dull axe. I sold him my daddy's fine new axe
for 5 biscuits. When he found out 'bout dat, he 'lowed he was gwine to
give me somepin to make me think 'fore I done any more tradin' of his
things. Mist'eas, let me tell you, dat beatin' he give me evermore was
a-layin' on of de rod.

"One day Miss Serena put me in de cherry tree to pick cherries for her,
and she told me not to eat none 'til I finished; den I could have all I
wanted, but I didn't mind her and I et so many cherries I got sick and
fell out of de tree. Mist'ess was skeered, but Marse Frank said: 'It's
good enough for him, 'cause he didn't mind.'

"Mammy never did give me but one whuppin' neither. Daddy was gwine to de
circus and I jus' cut up 'bout it 'cause I wanted to go so bad. Mist'ess
give me some cake and I hushed long as I was eatin', but soon as de last
cake crumb was swallowed I started bawlin' again. She give me a stick of
candy and soon as I et dat I was squallin' wuss dan ever. Mammy told
Mist'ess den det she knowed how to quiet me and she retch under de bed
for a shoe. When she had done finished layin' dat shoe on me and put it
back whar she got it, I was sho willin' to shet my mouth and let 'em all
go to de circus widout no more racket from me.

"De fust school I went to was in a little one-room 'ouse in our white
folkses' back yard. Us had a white teacher and all he larnt slave
chillun was jus' plain readin' and writin'. I had to pass Dr.
Willingham's office lots and he was all de time pesterin' me 'bout
spellin'. One day he stopped me and axed me if I could spell 'bumble bee
widout its tail,' and he said dat when I larnt to spell it, he would
gimme some candy. Mr. Sanders, at Lexin'ton, gimme a dime onct. It was
de fust money I ever had. I was plumb rich and I never let my Daddy have
no peace 'til he fetched me to town to do my tradin'. I was all sot to
buy myself a hat, a sto-bought suit of clothes, and some shoes what
warn't brogans, but Missy, I wound up wid a gingercake and a nickel's
wuth of candy. I used to cry and holler evvy time Miss Serena went off
and left me. Whenever I seed 'em gittin' out de carriage to hitch it up,
I started beggin' to go. Sometimes she laughed and said; 'All right
Neal.' But when she said, 'No Neal,' I snuck out and hid under de
high-up carrigge seat and went along jus' de same. Mist'ess allus found
me 'fore us got back home, but she jus' laughed and said: 'Well, Neal's
my little nigger anyhow.'

"Dem old cord beds was a sight to look at, but dey slept good. Us
cyarded lint cotton into bats for mattresses and put 'em in a tick what
us tacked so it wouldn't git lumpy. Us never seed no iron springs dem
days. Dem cords, criss-crossed from one side of de bed to de other, was
our springs and us had keys to tighten 'em wid. If us didn't tighten 'em
evvy few days dem beds was apt to fall down wid us. De cheers was
homemade too and de easiest-settin' ones had bottoms made out of rye
splits. Dem oak-split cheers was all right, and sometimes us used cane
to bottom de cheers but evvybody laked to set in dem cheers what had
bottoms wove out of rye splits.

"Marster had one of dem old cotton gins what didn't have no engines. It
was wuked by mules. Dem old mules was hitched to a long pole what dey
pulled 'round and 'round to make de gin do its wuk. Dey had some gins in
dem days what had treadmills for de mules to walk in. Dem old treadmills
looked sorter lak stairs, but most of 'em was turned by long poles what
de mules pulled. You had to feed de cotton by hand to dem old gins and
you sho had to be keerful or you was gwine to lose a hand and maybe a
arm. You had to jump in dem old cotton presses and tread de cotton down
by hand. It tuk most all day long to gin two bales of cotton and if dere
was three bales to be ginned us had to wuk most all night to finish up.

"Dey mixed wool wid de lint cotton to spin thread to make cloth for our
winter clothes. Mammy wove a lot of dat cloth and de clothes made out of
it sho would keep out de cold. Most of our stockin's and socks was knit
at home, but now and den somebody would git hold of a sto-bought pair
for Sunday-go-to-meetin' wear.

"Colored folkses went to church wid deir own white folkses and sot in de
gallery. One Sunday us was all settin' in dat church listenin' to de
white preacher, Mr. Hansford, tellin' how de old debbil was gwine to git
dem what didn't do right." Here Neal burst into uncontrollable laughter.
His sides shook and tears ran down his face. Finally he began his story
again: "Missy, I jus' got to tell you 'bout dat day in de meetin' 'ouse.
A Nigger had done run off from his marster and was hidin' out from one
place to another. At night he would go steal his somepin t'eat. He had
done stole some chickens and had 'em wid him up in de church steeple
whar he was hidin' dat day. When daytime come he went off to sleep lak
Niggers will do when dey ain't got to hustle, and when he woke up
Preacher Hansford was tellin' 'em 'bout de debbil was gwine to git de
sinners. Right den a old rooster what he had stole up and crowed so loud
it seemed lak Gabriel's trumpet on Judment Day. Dat runaway Nigger was
skeered 'cause he knowed dey was gwine to find him sho, but he warn't
skeered nuffin' compared to dem Niggers settin' in de gallery. Dey jus'
knowed dat was de voice of de debbil what had done come atter 'em. Dem
Niggers never stopped prayin' and testifyin' to de Lord, 'til de white
folkses had done got dat runaway slave and de rooster out of de steeple.
His marster was der and tuk him home and give him a good, sound
thrashin'.

"Slaves was 'lowed to have prayermeetin' on Chuesday (Tuesday) and
Friday 'round at de diffunt plantations whar deir marsters didn't keer,
and dere warn't many what objected. De good marsters all give deir
slaves prayermeetin' passes on dem nights so de patterollers wouldn't
git 'em and beat 'em up for bein' off deir marster's lands. Dey 'most
nigh kilt some slaves what dey cotch out when dey didn't have no pass.
White preachers done de talkin' at de meetin'houses, but at dem Chuesday
and Friday night prayermeetin's, it was all done by Niggers. I was too
little to 'member much 'bout dem meetin's, but my older sisters used to
talk lots 'bout 'em long atter de war had brung our freedom. Dere warn't
many slaves what could read, so dey jus' talked 'bout what dey had done
heared de white preachers say on Sunday. One of de fav'rite texties was
de third chapter of John, and most of 'em jus' 'membered a line or two
from dat. Missy, from what folkses said 'bout dem meetin's, dere was sho
a lot of good prayin' and testifyin', 'cause so many sinners repented
and was saved. Sometimes at dem Sunday meetin's at de white folkses'
church dey would have two or three preachers de same dey. De fust one
would give de text and preach for at least a hour, den another one would
give a text and do his preachin', and 'bout dat time another one would
rise up and say dat dem fust two brudders had done preached enough to
save 3,000 souls, but dat he was gwine to try to double dat number. Den
he would do his preachin' and atter dat one of dem others would git up
and say: 'Brudders and Sisters, us is all here for de same and only
purpose--dat of savin' souls. Dese other good brudders is done preached,
talked, and prayed, and let the gap down; now I'm gwine to raise it. Us
is gwine to git 'ligion enough to take us straight through dem pearly
gates. Now, let us sing whilst us gives de new brudders and sisters de
right hand of fellowship. One of dem old songs went sort of lak dis:

  'Must I be born to die
   And lay dis body down?'

"When dey had done finished all de verses and choruses of dat dey
started:

  'Amazin' Grace, How sweet de sound
   Dat saved a wretch lak me.'

"'Fore dey stopped dey usually got 'round to singin':

  'On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
   And cast a wishful eye,
   To Canaan's fair and happy land
   Whar my possessions lie.'

"Dey could keep dat up for hours and it was sho' good singin', for dat's
one thing Niggers was born to do--to sing when dey gits 'ligion.

"When old Aunt Flora come up and wanted to jine de church she told 'bout
how she had done seed de Hebenly light and changed her way of livin'.
Folkses testified den 'bout de goodness of de Lord and His many
blessin's what He give to saints and sinners, but dey is done stopped
givin' Him much thanks any more. Dem days, dey 'zamined folkses 'fore
dey let 'em jine up wid de church. When dey started 'zaminin' Aunt
Flora, de preacher axed her: 'Is you done been borned again and does you
believe dat Jesus Christ done died to save sinners?' Aunt Flora she
started to cry; and she said: 'Lordy, Is He daid? Us didn't know dat. If
my old man had done 'scribed for de paper lak I told him to, us would
have knowed when Jesus died?" Neal giggled. "Missy," he said, "ain't dat
jus' lak one of dem old-time Niggers? Dey jus' tuk dat for ign'ance and
let her come on into de church.

"Dem days it was de custom for marsters to hire out what slaves dey had
dat warn't needed to wuk on deir own land, so our marster hired out two
of my sisters. Sis' Anna hired to a fambly 'bout 16 miles from our
place. She didn't lak it dar so she run away and I found her hid out in
our 'tater 'ouse. One day when us was playin' she called to me right low
and soft lak and told me she was hongry and for me to git her somepin
t'eat but not to tell nobody she was dar. She said she had been dar
widout nothin' t'eat for several days. She was skeered Marster might
whup her. She looked so thin and bad I thought she was gwine to die, so
I told Mammy. Her and Marster went and brung Anna to de 'ouse and fed
her. Dat pore chile was starved most to death. Marster kept her at home
for 3 weeks and fed her up good, den he carried her back and told dem
folkses what had hired her dat dey had better treat Anna good and see
dat she had plenty t'eat. Marster was drivin' a fast hoss dat day, but
bless your heart, Anna beat him back home dat day. She cried and tuk on
so, beggin' him not to take her back dar no more dat he told her she
could stay home. My other sister stayed on whar she was hired out 'til
de war was over and dey give us our freedom.

"Daddy had done hid all Old Marster's hosses when de yankees got to our
plantation. Two of de ridin' hosses was in de smokehouse and another
good trotter was in de hen 'ouse. Old Jake was a slave what warn't right
bright. He slep' in de kitchen, and he knowed whar Daddy had hid dem
hosses, but dat was all he knowed. Marster had give Daddy his money to
hide too, and he tuk some of de plasterin' off de wall in Marster's room
and put de box of money inside de wall. Den he fixed dat plasterin' back
so nice you couldn't tell it had ever been tore off. De night dem
yankees come, Daddy had gone out to de wuk 'ouse to git some pegs to fix
somepin (us didn't have no nails dem days). When de yankees rid up to de
kitchen door and found Old Jake right by hisself, dat pore old fool was
skeered so bad he jus' started right off babblin' 'bout two hosses in de
smoke'ouse and one in de hen 'ouse, but he was tremblin' so he couldn't
talk plain. Old Marster heared de fuss dey made and he come down to de
kitchen to see what was de matter. De yankees den ordered Marster to git
'em his hosses. Marster called Daddy and told him to git de hosses, but
Daddy, he played foolish lak and stalled 'round lak he didn't have good
sense. Dem sojers raved and fussed all night long 'bout dem hosses, but
dey never thought 'bout lookin' in de smoke'ouse and hen 'ouse for 'em
and 'bout daybreak dey left widout takin' nothin'. Marster said he was
sho proud of my Daddy for savin' dem good hosses for him.

[TR: 'Horses saved' written in margin.]

"Marster had a long pocketbook what fastened at one end wid a ring. One
day when he went to git out some money he dropped a roll of bills dat he
never seed, but Daddy picked it up and handed it back to him right away.
Now my Daddy could have kept dat money jus' as easy, but he was a
'ceptional man and believed evvbody ought to do right.

"Aunt Tama's old man, Uncle Griff, come to live wid her on our place
atter de war was over. 'Fore den he had belonged to a man named
Colquitt.[HW: !!] Marster pervided a home for him and Aunt Tama 'til dey
was both daid. When dey was buildin' de fust colored Methodist church in
dat section Uncle Griff give a whole hundred dollars to de buildin'
fund. Now it tuk a heap of scrimpin' for him to save dat much money
'cause he never had made over $10 a month. Aunt Tama had done gone to
Glory a long time when Uncle Griff died. Atter dey buried him dey come
back and was 'rangin' de things in his little cabin. When dey moved dat
little trunk what Aunt Tama used to keep gingerbread in, dey found jus'
lots of money in it. Marster tuk keer of dat money 'til he found Uncle
Griff's own sister and den he give it all to her.

"One time Marster missed some of his money and he didn't want to 'cuse
nobody, so he 'cided he would find out who had done de debbilment. He
put a big rooster in a coop wid his haid stickin' out. Den he called all
de Niggers up to de yard and told 'em somebody had been stealin' his
money, and dat evvybody must git in line and march 'round dat coop and
tetch it. He said dat when de guilty ones tetched it de old rooster
would crow. Evvybody tetched it 'cept one old man and his wife; dey jus'
wouldn't come nigh dat coop whar dat rooster was a-lookin' at evvybody
out of his little red eyes. Marster had dat old man and 'oman sarched
and found all de money what had been stole.

"Mammy died about a year atter de war, and I never will forgit how
Mist'ess cried and said: 'Neal, your mammy is done gone, and I don't
know what I'll do widout her.' Not long atter dat, Daddy bid for de
contract to carry de mail and he got de place, but it made de white
folkses mighty mad, 'cause some white folkses had put in bids for dat
contract. Dey 'lowed dat Daddy better not never start out wid dat mail,
'cause if he did he was gwine to be sorry. Marster begged Daddy not to
risk it and told him if he would stay dar wid him he would let him have
a plantation for as long as he lived, and so us stayed on dar 'til Daddy
died, and a long time atter dat us kept on wukin' for Old Marster.

"White folkses owned us back in de days 'fore de war but our own white
folkses was mighty good to deir slaves. Dey had to larn us 'bedience
fust, how to live right, and how to treat evvybody else right; but de
best thing dey larned us was how to do useful wuk. De onliest time I
'member stealin' anything 'cept Aunt Tama's gingerbread was one time
when I went to town wid Daddy in de buggy. When us started back home a
man got in de seat wid Daddy and I had to ride down in de back of de
buggy whar Daddy had hid a jug of liquor. I could hear it slushin'
'round and so I got to wantin' to know how it tasted. I pulled out de
corncob stopper and tuk one taste. It was so good I jus' kep' on tastin'
'til I passed out, and didn't know when us got home or nuffin else 'til
I waked up in my own bed next day. Daddy give me a tannin' what I didn't
forgit for a long time, but dat was de wussest drunk I ever was. Lord,
but I did love to follow my Daddy.

"Folkses warn't sick much in dem days lak dey is now, but now us don't
eat strong victuals no more. Us raked out hot ashes den and cooked good
old ashcakes what was a heap better for us dan dis bread us buys from de
stores now. Marster fed us plenty ashcake, fresh meat, and ash roasted
'taters, and dere warn't nobody what could out wuk us.

"A death was somepin what didn't happen often on our plantation, but
when somebody did die folkses would go from miles and miles around to
set up and pray all night to comfort de fambly of de daid. Dey never
made up de coffins 'til atter somebody died. Den dey measured de corpse
and made de coffin to fit de body. Dem coffins was lined wid black
calico and painted wid lampblack on de outside. Sometimes dey kivvered
de outside wid black calico lak de linin'. Coffins for white folkses was
jus' lak what dey had made up for deir slaves, and dey was all buried in
de same graveyard on deir own plantations.

"When de war was over dey closed de little one-room school what our good
Marster had kept in his back yard for his slaves, but out young Miss
Ellen larnt my sister right on 'til she got whar she could teach school.
Daddy fixed up a room onto our house for her school and she soon had it
full of chillun. Dey made me study too, and I sho did hate to have to go
to school to my own aister for she evermore did take evvy chance to lay
dat stick on me, but I s'pects she had a right tough time wid me. When
time come 'round to celebrate school commencement, I was one proud
little Nigger 'cause I never had been so dressed up in my life before.
I had on a red waist, white pants, and a good pair of shoes; but de
grandest thing of all 'bout dat outfit was dat Daddy let me wear his
watch. Evvybody come for dat celebration. Dere was over 300 folks at dat
big dinner, and us had lots of barbecue and all sorts of good things
t'eat. Old Marster was dar, and when I stood up 'fore all dem folks and
said my little speech widout missin' a word, Marster sho did laugh and
clap his hands. He called me over to whar he was settin' and said: 'I
knowed you could larn if you wanted to.' _Best of all, he give me a
whole dollar._ [TR: 'for reciting a speech' written in margin.] I was
rich den, plumb rich. One of my sisters couldn't larn nothin'. De only
letters she could ever say was 'G-O-D.' No matter what you axed her to
spell she allus said 'G-O-D.' She was a good field hand though and a
good 'oman and she lived to be more dan 90 years old.

"Now, talkin' 'bout frolickin', us really used to dance. What I means,
is sho 'nough old-time break-downs. Sometimes us didn't have no music
'cept jus' beatin' time on tin pans and buckets but most times Old Elice
Hudson played his fiddle for us, and it had to be tuned again atter evvy
set us danced. He never knowed but one tune and he played dat over and
over. Sometimes dere was 10 or 15 couples on de floor at de same time
and us didn't think nothin' of dancin' all night long. Us had plenty of
old corn juice for refreshment, and atter Elice had two or three cups of
dat juice, he could git 'Turkey in de Straw' out of dat fiddle lak
nobody's business.

"One time a houseboy from another plantation wanted to come to one of
our Saddy night dances, so his marster told him to shine his boots for
Sunday and fix his hoss for de night and den he could git off for de
frolic. Abraham shined his marster's boots 'till he could see hisself in
'em, and dey looked so grand he was tempted to try 'em on. Dey was a
little tight but he thought he could wear 'em, and he wanted to show
hisself off in 'em at de dance. Dey warn't so easy to walk in and he was
'fraid he might git 'em scratched up walkin' through de fields, so he
snuck his Marster's hoss out and rode to de dance. When Abraham rid up
dar in dem shiny boots, he got all de gals' 'tention. None of 'em wanted
to dance wid de other Niggers. Dat Abraham was sho sruttin' 'til
somebody run in and told him his hoss had done broke its neck. He had
tied it to a limb and sho 'nough, some way, dat hoss had done got
tangled up and hung its own self. Abraham begged de other Nigger boys to
help him take de deid hoss home, but he had done tuk deir gals and he
didn't git no help. He had to walk 12 long miles home in dem tight
shoes. De sun had done riz up when he got dar and it warn't long 'fore
his Marster was callin': 'Abraham, bring, me my boots.' Dat Nigger would
holler out: 'Yas sah! I'se a-comin'. But dem boots wouldn't come off
'cause his foots had done swelled up in 'em. His marster kept on callin'
and when Abraham seed he couldn't put it off no longer, he jus' cut dem
boots off his foots and went in and told what he had done. His marster
was awful mad and said he was a good mind to take de hide off Abraham's
back. 'Go git my hoss quick, Nigger, 'fore I most kills you,' he yelled.
Den Abraham told him: 'Marster I knows you is gwine to kill me now, but
your hoss is done daid.' Den pore Abraham had to out and tell de whole
story and his marster got to laughin' so 'bout how he tuk all de gals
away from de other boys and how dem boots hurt him dat it looked lak he
never would stop. When he finally did stop laughin' and shakin' his
sides he said: 'Dat's all right Abraham. Don't never let nobody beat
your time wid de gals.' And dat's all he ever said to Abraham 'bout it.

"When my sister got married, us sho did have a grand time. Us cooked a
pig whole wid a shiny red apple in its mouth and set it right in de
middle of de long table what us had built out in de yard. Us had
evvything good to go wid dat pig, and atter dat supper, us danced all
night long. My sister never had seed dat man but one time 'fore she
married him.

"My Daddy and his cousin Jim swore wid one another dat if one died 'fore
de other dat de one what was left would look atter de daid one's fambly
and see dat none of de chillun was bound out to wuk for nobody. It
warn't long atter dis dat Daddy died. I was jus' fourteen, and was
wukin' for a brick mason larnin' dat trade. Daddy had done been sick a
while, and one night de fambly woke me up and said he was dyin'. I run
fast as I could for a doctor but Daddy was done daid when I got back. Us
buried him right side of Mammy in de old graveyard. It was most a year
atter dat 'fore us had de funeral sermon preached. Dat was de way
folkses done den. Now Mammy and Daddy was both gone, but old Marster
said us chillun could live dar long as us wanted to. I went on back to
wuk, 'cause I was crazy to be as good a mason as my Daddy was. In
Lexin'ton dere is a rock wall still standin' 'round a whole square what
Daddy built in slavery time. Long as he lived he blowed his bugle evvy
mornin' to wake up all de folkses on Marse Frank's plantation. He never
failed to blow dat bugle at break of day 'cep on Sundays, and evvybody
on dat place 'pended on him to wake 'em up.

"I was jus' a-wukin' away one day when Cousin Jim sent for me to go to
town wid him. Missy, dat man brung ne right here to Athens to de old
courthouse and bound me out to a white man. He done dat very thing atter
swearin' to my Daddy he wouldn't never let dat happen. I didn't want to
wuk dat way, so I run away and went back home to wuk. De sheriff come
and got me and said I had to go back whar I was bound out or go to jail.
Pretty soon I runned away again and went to Atlanta, and dey never
bothered me 'bout dat no more.

"De onliest time I ever got 'rested was once when I come to town to see
'bout gittin' somebody to pick cotton for me and jus' as I got to a
certain Nigger's house de police come in and caught 'em in a crap game.
Mr. McCune, de policeman, said I would have to go 'long wid de others to
jail, but he would help me atter us got der and he did. He 'ranged it so
I could hurry back home.

"'Bout de best times us had in de plantation days was de corn shuckin's,
log rollin's and syrup cookin's. Us allus finished up dem syrup cookin's
wid a candy pullin'.

"Atter he had all his corn gathered and put in big long piles, Marster
'vited de folkses from all 'round dem parts. Dat was de way it was done;
evvybody holped de others git de corn shucked. Nobody thought of hirin'
folkses and payin' out cash money for extra wuk lak dat. Dey 'lected a
gen'ral to lead off de singin' and atter he got 'em to keepin' time wid
de singin' de little brown jug was passed 'round. When it had gone de
rounds a time or two, it was a sight to see how fast dem Niggers could
keep time to dat singin'. Dey could do all sorts of double time den when
dey had swigged enough liquor. When de corn was all shucked dey feasted
and den drunk more liquor and danced as long as dey could stand up. De
logrollin's and candy pullin's ended de same way. Dey was sho grand good
times.

"I farmed wid de white folkses for 32 years and never had no trouble wid
nobody. Us allus settled up fair and square and in crop time dey never
bothered to come 'round to see what Neal was doin', 'cause dey knowed
dis Nigger was wukin' all right. Dey was all mighty good to me. Atter I
got so old I couldn't run a farm no more I wuked in de white folkses'
gyardens and tended deir flowers. I had done been wukin' out Mrs. Steve
Upson's flowers and when she 'come to pay, she axed what my name was.
When I told her it was Neal Upson she wanted to know how I got de Upson
name. I told her Mr. Frank Upson had done give it to me when I was his
slave. She called to Mr. Steve and dey lak to have talked me to death,
for my Marse Frank and Mr. Steve's daddy was close kinfolkses.

"Atter dat I wuked deir flowers long as I was able to walk way off up to
deir place, but old Neal can't wuk no more. Mr. Steve and his folkses
comes to see me sometimes and I'se allus powerful glad to see 'em.

"I used to wuk some for Miss Mary Bacon. She is a mighty good 'oman and
she knowed my Daddy and our good Old Marster. Miss Mary would talk to me
'bout dem old days and she allus said: 'Neal, let's pray,' 'fore I left.
Miss Mary never did git married. She's one of dem solitary ladies.

"Now, Missy, how come you wants to know 'bout my weddin'? I done been
married two times, but it was de fust time dat was de sho 'nough 'citin'
one. I courted dat gal for a long, long time while I was too skeered to
ax her Daddy for her. I went to see her evvy Sunday jus' 'termined to ax
him for her 'fore I left, and I would stay late atter supper, but jus'
couldn't git up nerve enough to do it. One Sunday I promised myself I
would ax him if it kilt me, so I went over to his house early dat
mornin' and told Lida, dat was my sweetheart's name--I says to her: 'I
sho is gwine to ax him today.' Well, dinnertime come, suppertime come,
and I was gittin' shaky in my jints when her Daddy went to feed his hogs
and I went along wid him. Missy, dis is de way I finally did ax him for
his gal. He said he was goin' to have some fine meat come winter. I axed
him if it would be enough for all of his fambly, and he said: 'How come
you ax dat, boy?' Den I jus' got a tight hold on dat old hog pen and
said: 'Well, Sir, I jus' thought if you didn't have enough for all of
'em, I could take Lida.' I felt myself goin' down. He started laughin'
fit to kill. 'Boy,' he says, 'Is you tryin' to ax for Lida? If so, I
don't keer 'cause she's got to git married sometime.' I was so happy I
left him right den and run back to tell Lida dat he said it was all
right.

"Us didn't have no big weddin'. Lida had on a new calico dress and I
wore new jeans pants. Marster heared us was gittin' married dat day and
he sont his new buggy wid a message for us to come right dar to him. I
told Lida us better go, so us got in dat buggy and driv off, and de rest
of de folkses followed in de wagon. Marster met us in front of old Salem
Church. He had de church open and Preacher John Gibson waitin' der to
marry us. Us warn't 'spectin' no church weddin', but Marster said dat
Neal had to git married right. He never did forgit his Niggers. Lida
she's done been daid a long time, and I'se married again, but dat warn't
lak de fust time."

By now, Neal was evidently tired out but as the interviewer prepared to
leave, Neal said: "Missy, I'se sho got somepin to tell my old 'oman when
she gits home. She don't lak to leave me here by myself. I wish dere was
somebody for me to talk to evvyday, for I'se had sich a good time today.
I don't s'pect it's gwine to be long 'fore old Neal goes to be wid dem I
done been tellin' you 'bout, so don't wait too long to come back to see
me again."




[HW: Georgia]
PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE

JOHN F. VAN HOOK, Age 76
Newton Bridge Road
Athens, Georgia

Written by:
Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby
Area 6
Athens

Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens

and
John N. Booth
Area Supervisor of
Federal Writers'
Project--Areas 6 & 7,
Augusta, Ga.

Dec. 1, 1938


John F. Van Hook was a short, stout man with a shining bald pate, a
fringe of kinky gray hair, kindly eyes, and a white mustache of the Lord
Chamberlain variety. His shabby work clothes were clean and carefully
mended, and he leaned on a cane for support.

John was looking for the "Farm Bureau Office," but he agreed to return
for an interview after he had transacted his business. When he
reappeared a short time later and settled down in a comfortable chair he
gave the story of his early life with apparent enjoyment.

In language remarkably free of dialect, John began by telling his full
name and added that he was well known in Georgia and the whole country.
"Until I retired," he remarked, "I taught school in North Carolina, and
in Hall, Jackson, and Rabun Counties, in Georgia. I am farming now about
five miles from Athens in the Sandy Creek district. I was born in 1862
in Macon County, North Carolina, on the George Seller's plantation,
which borders the Little Tennessee River.

"I don't know anything much, first hand, about the war period, as I was
quite a child when that ended, but I can tell you all about the days of
Reconstruction. What I know about the things that took place during the
war was told me by my mother and other old people.

"My father was Bas Van Hook and he married Mary Angel, my mother. Mother
was born on Marse Dillard Love's plantation, and when his daughter, Miss
Jenny, married Marse Thomas Angel's son, Marse Dillard gave Mother to
Miss Jenny and when Little Miss Jenny Angel was born, Mother was her
nurse. Marse Thomas and Miss Jenny Angel died, and Mother stayed right
there keeping house for Little Miss Jenny and looking after her. Mother
had more sense than all the rest of the slaves put together, and she
even did Little Miss Jenny's shopping.

"My father was the only darkey Old Man Isaac Van Hook owned, and he did
anything that came to hand: he was a good carpenter and mechanic and
helped the Van Hooks to build mills, and he made the shoes for that
settlement. Thomas Aaron, George, James, Claude, and Washington were my
five brothers, and my sisters were Zelia, Elizabeth, and Candace. Why,
Miss, the only thing I can remember right off hand that we children done
was fight and frolic like youngsters will do when they get together.
With time to put my mind on it, I would probably recollect our games and
songs, if we had any.

"Our quarters was on a large farm on Sugar Fork River. The houses were
what you would call log huts and they were scattered about
promiscuously, no regular lay-out, just built wherever they happened to
find a good spring convenient. There was never but one room to a hut,
and they wern't particular about how many darkies they put in a room.

"White folks had fine four-poster beds with a frame built around the top
of the bed, and over the frame hung pretty, ruffled white curtains and a
similar ruffled curtain was around the bottom of the bed; the curtains
made pretty ornaments. Slaves had beds of this general kind, but they
warn't quite as pretty and fine. Corded springs were the go then. The
beds used by most of the slaves in that day and time were called
'Georgia beds,' and these were made by boring two holes in the cabin
wall, and two in the floor, and side pieces were run from the holes in
the wall to the posts and fastened; then planks were nailed around the
sides and foot, box-fashion, to hold in the straw that we used for
mattresses; over this pretty white sheets and plenty of quilts was
spreaded. Yes, mam, there was always plenty of good warm cover in those
days. Of course, it was home-made, all of it.

"My grandfather was a blacksmith and farmhand owned by Old Man Dillard
Love. According to my earliest recollection my grandmother Van Hook was
dead and I have no memories about her. My great, great grandmother,
Sarah Angel, looked after slave children while their mothers were at
work. She was a free woman, but she had belonged to Marse Tommy Angel
and Miss Jenny Angel; they were brother and sister. The way Granny Sarah
happened to be free was; one of the women in the Angel family died and
left a little baby soon after one of Granny's babies was born, and so
she was loaned to that family as wet nurse for the little orphan baby.
They gave her her freedom and took her into their home, because they did
not want her sleeping in slave quarters while she was nursing the white
child. In that settlement, it was considered a disgrace for a white
child to feed at the breast of a slave woman, but it was all right if
the darkey was a free woman. After she got too old to do regular work,
Granny Sarah used to glean after the reapers in the field to get wheat
for her bread. She had been a favored slave and allowed to do pretty
much as she pleased, and after she was a free woman the white folks
continued to look after her every need, but she loved to do for herself
as long as she was able to be up and about.

"What did we have to eat then? Why, most everything; ash cakes was a
mighty go then. Cornbread dough was made into little pones and placed on
the hot rocks close to the fire to dry out a little, then hot ashes were
raked out to the front of the fireplace and piled over the ash cakes.
When thoroughly done they were taken out and the ashes washed off; they
were just like cake to us children then. We ate lots of home-made lye
hominy, beans, peas, and all kinds of greens, cooked with fat meat. The
biggest, and maybe the best thing in the way of vegetables that we had
then was the white-head cabbage; they grew large up there in Carolina
where I lived. There was just one big garden to feed all the folks on
that farm.

"Marse George had a good 'possum dog that he let his slaves use at
night. They would start off hunting about 10 o'clock. Darkies knew that
the best place to hunt for 'possums was in a persimmon tree. If they
couldn't shake him out, they would cut the tree down, but the most fun
was when we found the 'possum in a hollow log. Some of the hunters would
get at one end of the log, and the others would guard the other end, and
they would build a fire to smoke the 'possum out. Sometimes when they
had to pull him out, they would find the 'possum in such a tight place
that most of his hair would be rubbed off before they could get him out.
Darkies hunted rabbits, squirrels, coons, all kinds of birds, and
'specially they was fond of going after wild turkeys. Another great
sport was hunting deer in the nearby mountains. I managed to get a shot
at one once. Marse George was right good about letting his darkies hunt
and fish at night to get meat for themselves. Oh! Sure, there were lots
of fish and they caught plenty of 'em in the Little Tennessee and Sugar
Fork Rivers and in the numerous creeks that were close by. Red horse,
suckers, and salmon are the kinds of fish I remember best. They were
cooked in various ways in skillets, spiders, and ovens on the big open
fireplace.

"Now, about the clothes we wore in the days of the war, I couldn't
rightly say, but my Mother said we had good comfortable garments. In the
summer weather, boys and men wore plain cotton shirts and jeans pants.
The home-made linsey-woolsy shirts that we wore over our cotton shirts,
and the wool pants that we wore in winter, were good and warm; they had
brogan shoes in winter too. Folks wore the same clothes on Sundays as
through the week, but they had to be sure that they were nice and clean
on Sundays. Dresses for the women folks were made out of cotton checks,
and they had sunbonnets too.

"Marse George Sellars, him that married Miss Ca'line Angel, was my real
master. They had four children, Bud, Mount, Elizabeth, and, and er; I
just can't bring to recollect the name of their other girl. They lived
in a two-story frame house that was surrounded by an oak grove on the
road leading from Franklin, North Carolina, to Clayton, Georgia. Hard
Sellars was the carriage driver, and while I am sure Marse George must
have had an overseer, I don't remember ever hearing anybody say his
name.

"Really, Miss, I couldn't say just how big that plantation was, but I am
sure there must have been at least four or five hundred acres in it. One
mighty peculiar thing about his slaves was that Marse George never had
more than 99 slaves at one time; every time he bought one to try to make
it an even hundred, a slave died. This happened so often, I was told,
that he stopped trying to keep a hundred or more, and held on to his 99
slaves, and long as he did that, there warn't any more deaths than
births among his slaves. His slaves had to be in the fields when the sun
rose, and there they had to work steady until the sun went down. Oh!
Yes, mam, Marse Tommy Angel was mighty mean to his slaves, but Miss
Jenny, his sister, was good as could be; that is the reason she gave my
mother to her sister, Miss Ca'line Sellars; because she thought Marse
Tommy was too hard on her.

"I heard some talk as to how after the slaves had worked hard in the
field all day and come to the house at night, they were whipped for
mighty small offenses. Marse George would have them tied hand and foot
over a barrel and would beat them with a cowhide, or cat-o'-nine tails
lash. They had a jail in Franklin as far back as I can recollect. Old
Big Andy Angel's white folks had him put in jail a heap of times,
because he was a rogue and stole everything he could get his hands on.
Nearly everybody was afraid of him; he was a great big double jointed
man, and was black as the ace of spades. No, mam, I never saw any slaves
sold, but my father's mother and his sister were sold on the block. The
white folks that bought 'em took them away. After the war was over my
father tried to locate 'em, but never once did he get on the right track
of 'em.

"Oh! Why, my white folks took a great deal of pains teaching their
slaves how to read and write. My father could read, but he never learned
to write, and it was from our white folks that I learned to read and
write. Slaves read the Bible more than anything else. There were no
churches for slaves on Marse George's plantation, so we all went to the
white folks' church, about two miles away; it was called Clarke's
Chapel. Sometimes we went to church at Cross Roads; that was about the
same distance across Sugar Fork River. My mother was baptized in that
Sugar Fork River by a white preacher, but that is the reason I joined
the Baptist church, because my mother was a Baptist, and I was so crazy
about her, and am 'til yet.

"There were no funeral parlors in those days. They just funeralized the
dead in their own homes, took them to the graveyard in a painted
home-made coffin that was lined with thin bleaching made in the loom on
the plantation, and buried them in a grave that didn't have any bricks
or cement about it. That brings to my memory those songs they sung at
funerals. One of them started off something like this, _I Don't Want You
to Grieve After Me_. My mother used to tell me that when she was
baptized they sung, _You Shall Wear a Lily-White Robe_. Whenever I get
to studying about her it seems to me I can hear my mother singing that
song again. She did love it so much.

"No, mam, there didn't none of the darkies on Marse George Sellar's
place run away to the North, but some on Marse Tommy Angel's place ran
to the West. They told me that when Little Charles Angel started out to
run away a bird flew in front of him and led him all the way to the
West. Understand me, I am not saying that is strictly so, but that is
what I heard old folks say, when I was young. When darkies wanted to get
news to their girls or wives on other plantations and didn't want Marse
George to know about it, they would wait for a dark night and would tie
rags on their feet to keep from making any noise that the paterollers
might hear, for if they were caught out without a pass, that was
something else. Paterollers would go out in squads at night and whip any
darkies they caught out that could not show passes. Adam Angel was a
great big man, weighing about 200 pounds, and he slipped out one night
without a pass. When the paterollers found him, he was at his girl's
place where they were out in the front yard stewing lard for the white
folks. They knew he didn't belong on that plantation, so they asked him
to show his pass. Adam didn't have one with him, and he told them so.
They made a dive for him, and then, quick as a flash, he turned over
that pot of boiling lard, and while they were getting the hot grease off
of them he got away and came back to his cabin. If they had caught Adam,
he would have needed some of that spilt grease on him after the beating
they would have give him. Darkies used to stretch ropes and grapevines
across the road where they knew paterollers would be riding; then they
would run down the road in front of them, and when they got to the rope
or vine they would jump over it and watch the horses stumble and throw
the paterollers to the ground. That was a favorite sport of slaves.

"After the darkies got in from the field at night, ate their supper, and
finished up the chores for the day, on nights when the moon shone bright
the men would work in their own cotton patches that Marse George allowed
them; the women used their own time to wash, iron, patch, and get ready
for the next day, and if they had time they helped the men in their
cotton patches. They worked straight on through Saturdays, same as any
other day, but the young folks would get together on Saturday nights and
have little parties.

"How did they spend Sundays? Why, they went to church on Sunday and
visited around, holding prayermeetings at one another's cabins. Now,
Christmas morning! Yes, mam, that was a powerful time with the darkies,
if they didn't have nothing but a little sweet cake, which was nothing
more than gingerbread. However, Marse George did have plenty of good
things to eat at that time, such as fresh pork and wild turkeys, and we
were allowed to have a biscuit on that day. How we did frolic and cut up
at Christmas! Marse George didn't make much special to do on New Year's
Day as far as holiday was concerned; work was the primary object,
especially in connection with slaves.

"Oh-oo-h! Everybody had cornshuckings. The man designated to act as the
general would stick a peacock tail feather in his hat and call all the
men together and give his orders. He would stand in the center of the
corn pile, start the singing, and keep things lively for them. Now and
then he would pass around the jug. They sang a great deal during
cornshuckings, but I have forgotten the words to those songs. Great
excitement was expressed whenever a man found a red ear of corn, for
that counted 20 points, a speckled ear was 10 points and a blue ear 5
points, toward a special extra big swig of liquor whenever a person had
as many as 100 points. After the work was finished they had a big feast
spread on long tables in the yard, and dram flowed plentiful, then they
played ball, tussled, ran races, and did anything they knew how to amuse
themselves.

"Now, Ladies," John said, "please excuse me. I left my wife at home real
sick, and I just must hurry to the drug store and get some flaxseed so I
can make a poultice for her." As he made a hasty departure, he agreed to
complete the story later at his home, and gave careful directions for
finding the place.

A month later, two visitors called on John at his small, unpainted house
in the center of a hillside cotton patch.

A tall, thin Negress appeared in the doorway. "Yes, mam, John Van Hook
lives here. He's down in the field with his hoe, digging 'taters." She
leaned from the porch and called, "Daddy, Daddy! Somebody wants to see
you." Asked if John was her father, she answered "No, mam, he is my
husband. I started calling him Daddy when our child was little, so I've
been calling him that ever since. My name is Laney."

The walls of the room into which John invited his callers were crudely
plestered with newspapers and the small space was crowded with furniture
of various kinds and periods. The ladder-back chairs he designated for
his guests were beautiful. "They are plantation-made," he explained,
"and we've had 'em a mighty long time." On a reading table a pencil and
tablet with a half-written page lay beside a large glass lamp.
Newspapers and books covered several other tables. A freshly whitewashed
hearth and mantel were crowned by an old-fashioned clock, and at the end
of the room a short flight of steps led to the dining room, built on a
higher floor level.

"Now, let's see! Where was I?," John began. "Oh, yes, we were talking
about cornshuckings, when I had to leave your office. Well, I haven't
had much time to study about those cornshucking songs to get all the
words down right, but the name of one was _General Religh Hoe_, and
there was another one that was called, _Have a Jolly Crowd, and a Little
Jolly Johnny_.

"Now you needn't to expect me to know much about cotton pickings, for
you know I have already told you I was raised in North Carolina, and we
were too far up in the mountains for cotton growing, but I have lived in
a cotton growing country for forty-odd years.

"As to parties and frolics, I guess I could have kept those things in
mind, but when I realized that being on the go every night I could get
off, week in and week out, was turning my mind and heart away from
useful living, I tried to put those things out of my life and to train
myself to be content with right living and the more serious things of
life, and that's why I can't remember more of the things about our
frolics that took place as I was growing up. About all I remember about
the dances was when we danced the cotillion at regular old country
break-downs. Folks valued their dances very highly then, and to be able
to perform them well was a great accomplishment. _Turkey in the Straw_
is about the oldest dance tune I can remember. Next to that is _Taint
Gonna Rain No More_, but the tune as well as words to that were far
different from the modern song by that name. _Rabbit Hair_ was another
favorite song, and there were dozens of others that I just never tried
to remember until you asked me about them.

"My father lived in Caswell County and he used to tell us how hard it
was for him to get up in the morning after being out most of the night
frolicking. He said their overseer couldn't talk plain, and would call
them long before crack of dawn, and it sounded like he was saying, 'Ike
and a bike, Ike and a bike.' What he meant was, 'Out and about! Out and
about!'

"Marriage in those days was looked upon as something very solemn, and it
was mighty seldom that anybody ever heard of a married couple trying to
get separated. Now it's different. When a preacher married a couple, you
didn't see any hard liquor around, but just a little light wine to liven
up the wedding feast. If they were married by a justice of the peace,
look out, there was plenty of wine and," here his voice was almost
awe-stricken, "even whiskey too."

Laney interrupted at this stage of the story with, "My mother said they
used to make up a new broom and when the couple jumped over it, they was
married. Then they gave the broom to the couple to use keeping house."
John was evidently embarrassed. "Laney," he said, "that was never
confirmed. It was just hearsay, as far as you know, and I wouldn't tell
things like that.

"The first colored man I ever heard preach was old man Johnny McDowell.
He married Angeline Pennon and William Scruggs, uncle to Ollie Scruggs,
who lives in Athens now. After the wedding they were all dancing around
the yard having a big time and enjoying the wine and feast, and old man
McDowell, sitting there watching them, looked real thoughtful and sad;
suddenly he said: 'They don't behave like they knew what's been done
here today. Two people have been joined together for life. No matter
what comes, or what happens, these two people must stand by each other,
through everything, as long as they both shall live.' Never before had I
had such thoughts at a wedding. They had always just been times for big
eats, dancing, frolicking, and lots of jokes, and some of them pretty
rough jokes, perhaps. What he said got me to thinking, and I have never
been careless minded at a wedding since that day. Brother McDowell
preached at Clarke's Chapel, about five miles south of Franklin, North
Ca'lina, on the road leading from England to Georgia; that road ran
right through the Van Hook place."

Again Laney interrupted her husband. "My mother said they even had
infare dinners the next day after the wedding. The infare dinners were
just for the families of the bride and groom, and the bride had a
special dress for that occasion that she called her infare dress. The
friends of both parties were there at the big feast on the wedding day,
but not at the infare dinner."

"And there was no such a thing as child marriages heard of in those
days," John was speaking again. "At least none of the brides were under
15 or 16 years old. Now you can read about child brides not more than 10
years old, 'most ever' time you pick up a paper.

"I don't remember much, about what I played until I got to be about 10
years old. I was a terrible little fellow to imitate things. Old man
Tommy Angel built mills, and I built myself a little toy mill down on
the branch that led to Sugar Fork River. There was plenty of nice
soapstone there that was so soft you could cut it with a pocket knife
and could dress it off with a plane for a nice smooth finish. I shaped
two pieces of soapstone to look like round millstones and set me up a
little mill that worked just fine.

"We run pretty white sand through it and called that our meal and flour.
My white folks would come down to the branch and watch me run the little
toy mill. I used to make toy rifles and pistols and all sorts of nice
playthings out of that soapstone. I wish I had a piece of that good old
soapstone from around Franklin, so I could carve some toys like I used
to play with for my boy."

"We caught real salmon in the mountain streams," John remarked. "They
weighed from 3 to 25 pounds,