No amount of coaxing availed to make her sing the whole of the song, or to tell any more of the words.

"When slaves run away, dey always put de blood-hounds on de tracks. Marster always kep' one hound name' Rock. I can hear 'im now when dey was on de track, callin', 'Hurrah, Rock, hurrah, Rock! Ketch 'im!'

"Dey always send Rock to fetch 'im down when dey foun' 'im. Dey had de dogs trained to keep dey teef out you till dey tole 'em to bring you down. Den de dogs 'ud go at yo' th'oat, and dey'd tear you to pieces, too. After a slave was caught, he was brung home and put in chains.

"De marsters let de slaves have little patches o' lan' for deyse'ves. De size o' de patch was 'cordin' to de size o' yo' family. We was 'lowed 'bout fo' acres. We made 'bout five hundred pounds o' lint cotton, and sol' it at Warrenton. Den we used de money to buy stuff for Chris'man."

"Did you have big times at Christmas, Aunt Ferebe?"

"Chris'man—huh!—Chris'man warn't no diffunt from other times. We used to have quiltin' parties, candy pullin's, dances, corn shuckin's, games like thimble and sich like."

Aunt Ferebe refused to sing any of the old songs. "No, mam, I ain't go'n' do dat. I th'oo wid all dat now. Yes, mam, I 'members 'em all right, but I ain't go'n' sing 'em. No'm, nor say de words neither. All dat's pas' now.

"Course dey had doctors in dem days, but we used mostly home-made medicines. I don't believe in doctors much now. We used sage tea, ginger tea, rosemary tea—all good for colds and other ail-ments, too.

"We had men and women midwives. Dr. Cicero Gibson was wid me when my fus' baby come. I was twenty-five years old den. My baby chile seventy-five now."

"Auntie, did you learn to read and write?"

"No, mam, I'd had my right arm cut off at de elbow if I'd a-done dat. If dey foun' a nigger what could read and write, dey'd cut yo' arm off at de elbow, or sometimes at de shoulder."

In answer to a query about ghosts, she said—"No, mam, I ain't seed nuttin' like dat. Folks come tellin' me dey see sich and sich a thing. I say hit's de devil dey see. I ain't seed nuttin' yit. No'm, I don't believe in no signs, neither."

"Do you believe a screeeh owl has anything to do with death?"

"Yes, mam, 'fo' one my chillen died, squinch owl come to my house ev'ey night and holler. After de chile die he ain't come no mo'. Cows mooin' or dogs howlin' after dark means death, too.

"No, man, I don't believe in no cunjurs. One cunjur-man come here once. He try his bes' to overcome me, but he couldn't do nuttin' wid me. After dat, he tole my husband he couldn't do nuttin' to me, 'cause I didn't believe in him, and dem cunjur-folks can't hurt you less'n you believes in 'em. He say he could make de sun stan' still, and do wonders, but I knowed dat warn't so, 'cause can't nobody stop de sun 'cep' de man what made hit, and dat's God. I don't believe in no cunjurs.

"I don't pay much 'tention to times o' de moon to do things, neither. I plants my garden when I gits ready. But bunch beans does better if you plants 'em on new moon in Ap'il. Plant butterbeans on full moon in Ap'il—potatoes fus' o' March.

"When de war broke out de damn Yankees come to our place dey done eve'ything dat was bad. Dey burn eve'ything dey couldn't use, and dey tuck a heap o' corn. Marster had a thousand bushels de purtiest shucked corn, all nice good ears, in de pen at de house. Dey tuck all dat. Marster had some corn pens on de river, dough, dey didn't find. I jes' can't tell you all dey done.

"How come I live so long, you say?—I don't know—jes' de goodness o' de Lawd, I reckon. I worked hard all my life, and always tried to do right."



[HW: Dist. 1 Ex-Slave #92]

HENRY ROGERS of WASHINGTON-WILKES by Minnie Branham Stonestreet Washington-Wilkes Georgia [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Henry Rogers of Washington-Wilkes is known by almost every one in the town and county. To the men around town he is "Deacon", to his old friends back in Hancock County (Georgia) where he was born and reared, he is "Brit"; to everybody else he is "Uncle Henry", and he is a friend to all. For forty-one years he has lived in Washington-Wilkes where he has worked as waiter, as lot man, and as driver for a livery stable when he "driv drummers" around the country anywhere they wanted to go and in all kinds of weather. He is proud that he made his trips safely and was always on time. Then when automobiles put the old time livery stables out of business he went to work in a large furniture and undertaking establishment where he had charge of the colored department. Finally he decided to accept a job as janitor and at one time was janitor for three banks in town. He is still working as janitor in two buildings, despite his seventy-three years.

Uncle Henry's "book learning" is very limited, but he has a store of knowledge gathered here and there that is surprising. He uses very little dialect except when he is excited or worried. He speaks of his heart as "my time keeper". When he promises anything in the future he says, "Please the Lord to spare me", and when anyone gets a bit impatient he bids them, "Be paciable, be paciable". Dismal is one of his favorite words but it is always "dism". When he says "Now, I'm tellin' yer financially" or "dat's financial", he means that he is being very frank and what he is saying is absolutely true.

Regarded highly as the local weather prophet, Uncle Henry gets up every morning before daybreak and scans the heavens to see what kind of weather is on its way. He guards all these "signs" well and under no consideration will he tell them. They were given to him by someone who has passed on and he keeps them as a sacred trust. If asked, upon making a prediction, "How do you know?" Uncle Henry shakes his wise old head and with a wave of the hand says, "Dat's all right, you jess see now, it's goin' ter be dat way". And it usually is!

Seventy-three years ago "last gone June" Uncle Henry was born in the Mt. Zion community in Hancock county (Georgia), seven miles from Sparta. His mother was Molly Navery Hunt, his father, Jim Rogers. They belonged to Mr. Jenkins Hunt and his wife "Miss Rebecca". Henry was the third of eight children. He has to say about his early life:

"Yassum, I wuz born right over there in Hancock county, an' stayed there 'til the year 1895 when Mrs. Riley come fer me to hep' her in the Hotel here in Washington an' I been here ev'ry since. I recollects well living on the Hunt plantation. It wuz a big place an' we had fifteen or twenty slaves"—(The "we" was proudly possessive)—"we wuz all as happy passel o' niggers as could be found anywhere. Aunt Winnie wuz the cook an' the kitchen wuz a big old one out in the yard an' had a fireplace that would 'commodate a whole fence rail, it wuz so big, an' had pot hooks, pots, big old iron ones, an' everything er round to cook on. Aunt Winnie had a great big wooden tray dat she would fix all us little niggers' meals in an' call us up an' han' us a wooden spoon apiece an' make us all set down 'round the tray an' eat all us wanted three times ev'ry day. In one corner of the kitchen set a loom my Mother use to weave on. She would weave way into the night lots of times.

"The fust thing I 'members is follerin' my Mother er 'round. She wuz the housegirl an' seamstress an' everywhere she went I wuz at her heels. My father wuz the overseer on the Hunt place. We never had no hard work to do. My fust work wuz 'tendin' the calves an' shinin' my Master's shoes. How I did love to put a Sunday shine on his boots an' shoes! He called me his nigger an' wuz goin' ter make a barber out o' me if slavery had er helt on. As it wuz, I shaved him long as he lived. We lived in the Quarters over on a high hill 'cross the spring-branch from the white peoples' house. We had comfortable log cabins an' lived over there an' wuz happy. Ole Uncle Alex Hunt wuz the bugler an' ev'ry mornin' at 4:00 o'clock he blowed the bugle fer us ter git up, 'cept Sunday mornin's, us all slept later on Sundays.

"When I wuz a little boy us played marbles, mumble peg, an' all sich games. The little white an' black boys played together, an' ev'ry time 'Ole Miss' whipped her boys she whipped me too, but nobody 'cept my Mistess ever teched me to punish me.

"I recollects one Sadday night ole Uncle Aaron Hunt come in an' he must er been drinkin' or sumpin' fer he got ter singin' down in the Quarters loud as he could 'Go Tell Marse Jesus I Done Done All I Kin Do', an' nobody could make him hush singin'. He got into sich er row 'til they had ter go git some o' the white folks ter come down an' quiet him down. Dat wuz the only 'sturbance 'mongst the niggers I ever 'members.

"I wuz so little when the War come on I don't member but one thing 'bout it an' that wuz when it wuz over with an' our white mens come home all de neighbors, the Simpsons, the Neals, the Allens all living on plantations 'round us had a big dinner over at my white peoples', the Hunts, an' it sho wuz a big affair. Ev'rybody from them families wuz there an' sich rejoicin' I never saw. I won't forgit that time.

"I allus been to Church. As a little boy my folks took me to ole Mt Zion. We went to the white peoples' Church 'til the colored folks had one of they own. The white folks had services in Mt Zion in the mornings an' the niggers in the evenin's."

When a colored person died back in the days when Uncle Henry was coming on, he said they sat up with the dead and had prayers for the living. There was a Mr. Beman in the community who made coffins, and on the Hunt place old Uncle Aaron Hunt helped him. The dead were buried in home-made coffins and the hearse was a one horse wagon.

"When I wuz a growin' up" said Uncle Henry, "I wore a long loose shirt in the summer, an' in the winter plenty of good heavy warm clothes. I had 'nits an' lice' pants an' hickory stripe waists when I wuz a little boy. All these my Mother spun an' wove the cloth fer an' my Mistess made. When I wuz older I had copperas pants an' shirts."

Uncle Henry has many signs but is reluctant to tell them. Finally he was prevailed upon to give several. What he calls his "hant sign" is: "If you runs into hot heat sudden, it is a sho sign hants is somewheres 'round."

When a rooster comes up to the door and crows, if he is standing with his head towards the door, somebody is coming, if he is standing with his tail towards the door, it is a sign of death, according to Uncle Henry. It is good luck for birds to build their nests near a house, and if a male red bird comes around the woodpile chirping, get ready for bad weather for it is on its way.

Uncle Henry is a pretty good doctor too, but he doesn't like to tell his remedies. He did say that life everlasting tea is about as good thing for a cold as can be given and for hurts of any kind there is nothing better than soft rosin, fat meat and a little soot mixed up and bound to the wound. He is excellent with animals and when a mule, dog, pig or anything gets sick his neighbors call him in and he doctors them and usually makes them well.

As for conjuring, Uncle Henry has never known much about it, but he said when he was a little fellow he heard the old folks talk about a mixture of devil's snuff and cotton stalk roots chipped up together and put into a little bag and that hidden under the front steps. This was to make all who came up the steps friendly and peacable even if they should happen to be coming on some other mission.

After the War the Rogers family moved from the Hunts' to the Alfriend plantation adjoining. As the Alfriends were a branch of the Hunt family they considered they were still owned as in slavery by the same "white peoples". They lived there until Uncle Henry moved to Washington-Wilkes in 1895.

Christmas was a great holiday on the plantation. There was no work done and everybody had a good time with plenty of everything good to eat. Easter was another time when work was laid aside. A big Church service took place Sunday and on Monday a picnic was attended by all the negroes in the community.

There were Fourth of July celebrations, log rollings, corn shuckings, house coverings and quilting parties. In all of these except the Fourth of July celebration it was a share-the-work idea. Uncle Henry grew a bit sad when he recalled how "peoples use ter be so good 'bout hep'in' one 'nother, an' now dey don't do nothin' fer nobody lessen' dey pays 'em." He told how, when a neighbor cleared a new ground and needed help, he invited all the men for some distance around and had a big supper prepared. They rolled logs into huge piles and set them afire. When all were piled high and burning brightly, supper was served by the fire light. Sometimes the younger ones danced around the burning logs. When there was a big barn full of corn to be shucked the neighbors gladly gathered in, shucked the corn for the owner, who had a fiddler and maybe some one to play the banjo. The corn was shucked to gay old tunes and piled high in another barn. Then after a "good hot supper" there was perhaps a dance in the cleared barn. When a neighbor's house needed covering, he got the shingles and called in his neighbors and friends, who came along with their wives. While the men worked atop the house the women were cooking a delicious dinner down in the kitchen. At noon it was served amid much merry making. By sundown the house was finished and the friends went home happy in the memory of a day spent in toil freely given to one who needed it.

All those affairs were working ones, but Uncle Henry told of one that marked the end of toil for a season and that was the Fourth of July as celebrated on the Hunt and Alfriend plantations. He said: "On the evenin' of the third of July all plows, gear, hoes an' all sich farm tools wuz bro't in frum the fields an' put in the big grove in front o' the house where a long table had been built. On the Fo'th a barbecue wuz cooked, when dinner wuz ready all the han's got they plows an' tools, the mules wuz bro't up an' gear put on them, an' den ole Uncle Aaron started up a song 'bout the crops wuz laid by an' res' time had come, an' everybody grabbed a hoe er sumpin', put it on they shoulder an' jined the march 'round an' round the table behind Uncle Aaron singin' an' marchin', Uncle Aaron linin' off the song an' ev'ry body follerin' him. It wuz a sight to see all the han's an' mules er goin' 'round the table like that. Den when ev'ry body wuz might nigh 'zausted, they stopped an' et a big barbecue dinner. Us use ter work hard to git laid by by de Fo'th so's we could celebrate. It sho' wuz a happy time on our plantations an' the white peoples enjoyed it as much as us niggers did.

"Us use ter have good times over there in Hancock County", continued Uncle Henry. Ev'rybody wuz so good an' kind ter one 'nother; 't'ain't like that now—no mam, not lak it use ter be. Why I 'members onst, when I fust growed up an' wuz farmin' fer myself, I got sick way long up in the Spring, an' my crop wuz et up in grass when one evenin' Mr. Harris—(he wuz overseein' fer Mr. Treadwell over on the next plantation to the Alfriends)—come by. I wuz out in the field tryin' ter scratch 'round as best I could, Mr. Harris say: 'Brit, you in de grass mighty bad.' I say: 'Yassir, I is, but I been sick an' couldn't hep' myself, that's how come I so behind.' He say: 'Look lak you needs hep'.' 'Yassir,' I says, 'but I ain't got nobody to work but me.' Dat's all he said. Well sir, the nex' mornin' by times over comes Mr. Harris wid six plows an' eight hoe han's an' they give me a whole day's work an' when they finished that evenin' they want a sprig of grass in my crop; it wuz clean as this floor, an' I'se tellin' yer the truth. Dat's the way peoples use ter do, but not no mo'—everybody too selfish now, an' they think ain't nobody got responsibilits (responsibilities) but them."

Speaking of his early life Uncle Henry continued: "When I growed up I broke race horses fer white mens an' raced horses too, had rooster fights an' done all them kind o' things, but I 'sought 'ligion an' found it an' frum that day to this I ain't never done them things no mo'. When I jined the Church I had a Game rooster named 'Ranger' that I had won ev'ry fight that I had matched him in. Peoples come miles ter see Ranger fight; he wuz a Warhorse Game. After I come to be a member of the Church I quit fightin' Ranger so Mr. Sykes come over an' axed me what I would take fer him, I told him he could have him—I warn't goin' to fight wid him any mo'. He took him an' went over three states, winnin' ev'ry fight he entered him in an' come home wid fifteen hundred dollars he made on Ranger. He give me fifty dollars, but I never wanted him back. Ranger wuz a pet an' I could do anything wid 'im. I'd hold out my arm an' tell him to come up an' he'd fly up on my arm an' crow. He'd get on up on my haid an' crow too. One rainy day 'fore I give him away he got in the lot an' kilt three turkeys an' a gobbler fer my Mistess. She got mighty mad an' I sho wuz skeered 'til Marse took mine an' Ranger's part an' wouldn't let her do nothin' wid us."

Forty-seven years ago Uncle Henry married Annie Tiller of Hancock County. They had four children, three of whom are living. About his courtship and marriage he has to say: "I wuz at Sunday School one Sunday an' saw Annie fer the fust time. I went 'round where she wuz an' wuz made 'quainted with her an' right then an' there I said to myself, 'She's my gal'. I started goin' over to see her an' met her folks. I liked her Pa an Ma an' I would set an' talk with them an' 'pear not to be payin' much 'tention to Annie. I took candy an' nice things an' give to the family, not jest to her. I stood in with the ole folks an' 't'warn't long 'fore me an' Annie wuz married." Uncle Henry said he took Annie to Sparta to his Pastor's home for the marriage and the preacher told him he charged three dollars for the ceremony. "But I tole him I warnt goin' to give him but er dollar an' a half 'cause I wuz one of his best payin' members an' he ought not to charge me no more than dat. An' I never paid him no mo' neither, an' dat wuz er plenty."

Though he is crippled in his "feets" he is hale and hearty and manages to work without missing a day. He is senior Steward in his church and things there go about like he says even though he isn't a preacher. All the members seem to look to him for "consulation an' 'couragement". In all his long life he has "never spoke a oath if I knows it, an' I hates cussin'." He speaks of his morning devotions as "havin' prayers wid myself". His blessing at mealtime is the same one he learned in his "white peoples'" home when he was a little boy:

"We humbly thank Thee, our Heavenly Father, for what we have before us."

Uncle Henry says: "I loves white peoples an' I'm a-livin' long 'cause in my early days dey cared fer me an' started me off right—they's my bes' frien's."



[HW: Dist. 5 E.F. Driskell 12/30/36

JULIA RUSH, Ex-Slave 109 years old]

[TR: The beginning of each line on the original typewritten pages for this interview is very faint, and some words have been reconstructed from context. Questionable entries are followed by [??]; words that could not be deciphered are indicated by [—].]

Mrs. Julia Rush was born in 1826 on Saint Simons Island, Georgia. Mrs. Rush, her mother, and three sisters were the property of a Frenchman named Colonel De Binien, a very wealthy land owner. Mrs. Rush does not remember her father as he was sold away from his family when she was a baby.

As a child Mrs. Rush served as playmate to one of the Colonel's daughters and so all that she had to do was to play from morning till night. When she grew older she started working in the kitchen in the master's house. Later she was sent to the fields where she worked side by side with her mother and three sisters from sunup until sundown. Mrs. Rush says that she has plowed so much that she believes she can "outplow" any man.

Instead of the white overseer usually found on plantations the Colonel used one of the slaves to act as foreman of the field hands. He was known to the other slaves as the "Nigger Driver" and it was he who awakened all every morning. It was so dark until torch lights had to be used to see by. Those women who had babies took them along to the field in a basket which they placed on their heads. All of the hands were given a certain amount of work to perform each day and if the work was not completed a whipping might be forthcoming. Breakfast was sent to the field to the hands and if at dinner time they were not too far away from their cabins they were permitted to go home[??]. At night they prepared their own meals in their individual cabins.

All food on the colonel's plantation was issued daily from the corn house. Each person was given enough corn to make a sufficient amount of bread for the day when ground. Then they went out and dug their potatoes from the colonel's garden. No meat whatsoever was issued. It was up to the slaves to catch fish, oysters, and other sea food for their meat supply. All those who desired to were permitted to raise chickens, watermelons and vegetables. There was no restriction on any as to what must be done with the produce so raised. It could be sold or kept for personal consumption.

Colonel De Binien always saw that his slaves had sufficient clothing. In the summer months the men were given two shirts, two pairs of pants, and two pairs of underwear. All of these clothes were made of cotton and all were sewed on the plantation. No shoes were worn in the summer. The women were given two dresses, two underskirts, and two pairs of underwear. When the winter season approached another issue of clothes was given. At this time shoes were given. They were made of heavy red leather and were known as "brogans".

The slave quarters on the plantation were located behind the colonel's cabin[??]. All were made of logs. The chinks in the walls were filled with mud to keep the weather out. The floors were of wood in order to protect the occupants from the dampness. The only furnishings were a crude bed and several benches. All cooking was done at the large fireplace in the rear of the one room.

When Colonel De Binion's [TR: earlier, De Binien] wife died he divided his slaves among the children. Mrs. Rush was given to her former playmate who was at the time married and living in Carrollton, Georgia. She was very mean and often punished her by beating her on her forearm for the slightest offence. At other times she made her husband whip her (Mrs. Rush) on her bare back with a cowhide whip. Mrs. Rush says that her young Mistress thought that her husband was being intimate with her and so she constantly beat and mistreated her. On one occasion all of the hair on her head (which was long and straight) was cut from her head by the young mistress.

For a while Mrs. Rush worked in the fields where she plowed and hoed the crops along with the other slaves. Later she worked in the master's house where she served as maid and where she helped with the cooking. She was often hired out to the other planters in the vicinity. She says that she liked this because she always received better treatment than she did at her own home. These persons who hired her often gave her clothes as she never received a sufficient amount from her own master.

The food was almost the same here as it had been at the other plantation. At the end of each week she and her fellow slaves were given a "little bacon, vegetables, and some corn meal."[HW: ?] This had to last for a certain length of time. If it was all eaten before the time for the next issue that particular slave had to live as best he or she could. In such an emergency the other slaves usually shared with the unfortunate one.

There was very little illness on the plantation where Mrs. Rush lived. Practically the only medicine ever used was castor oil and turpentine. Some of the slaves went to the woods and gathered roots and herbs from which they made their own tonics and medicines.

According to Mrs. Rush the first of the month was always sale day for slaves and horses. She was sold on one of those days from her master in Carrollton to one Mr. Morris, who lived in Newman, Ga. Mr. Morris paid $1100.00 for her. She remained with him for a short while and was later sold to one Mr. Ray who paid the price of $1200.00. Both of these masters were very kind to her, but she was finally sold back to her former master, Mr. Archibald Burke of Carrollton, Ga.

Mrs. Rush remembers that none of the slaves were allowed away from their plantation unless they held a pass from their master. Once when she was going to town to visit some friends she was accosted by a group of "Paddle-Rollers" who gave her a sound whipping when she was unable to show a pass from her master.

Mrs. Rush always slept in her masters' houses after leaving Colonel De Binien. When she was in Carrollton her young mistress often made her sleep under the house when she was angry with her.

After the war was over with and freedom was declared Mr. Burke continued to hold Mrs. Rush. After several unsuccessful attempts she was finally able to escape. She went to another part of the state where she married and started a family of her own.

Because of the cruel treatment that she received at the hands of some of her owners[??] Mrs. Rush says that the mere thought of slavery makes her blood boil. Then there are those, under whom she served, who treated her with kindness, whom she holds no malice against.

As far as Mrs. Rush knows the war did very little damage to Mr. Burke. He did not enlist as a soldier.



[HW: Dist. 1 Ex-Slave #96]

[HW: Good ghost story on page 4.] [HW: "revolution drummer" parts very good.]

EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW NANCY SETTLES, Ex-slave, Age 92 2511 Wheeler Road (Richmond County) Augusta, Georgia

By: (Mrs.) MARGARET JOHNSON Augusta, Georgia [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Nancy Settles was born 15 miles from Edgefield in South Carolina on the plantation of Mr. Berry Cochran.

Until about five months ago, Nancy had been bed-ridden for three years. Her speech is slow, and at times it is difficult to understand her, but her mind is fairly clear. Her eyes frequently filled with tears, her voice becoming so choked she could not talk. "My Marster and Missis, my husban' and eight of my chaps done lef me. De Lawd mus be keepin' me here fur some reason. Dis here chile is all I got lef'." The "Chile" referred to was a woman about 69. "My fust chap was born in slavery. Me and my husband lived on diffunt plantashuns till after Freedom come. My Ma and my Pa lived on diffunt places too. My Pa uster come evy Sadday evenin' to chop wood out uv de wood lot and pile up plenty fur Ma till he come agin. On Wensday evenin', Pa uster come after he been huntin' and bring in possum and coon. He sho could get 'em a plenty.

"Ma, she chop cotton and plow, and I started choppin' cotton when I wuz twelve years old. When I was a gal I sure wuz into plenty devilment."

"What kind of devilment?"

"Lawdy Miss, evy time I heayd a fiddle, my feets jes' got to dance and dancin' is devilment. But I ain't 'lowed to dance nothin' but de six-handed reel.

"I uster take my young Misses to school ev'y day, but de older Misses went to boadin' school and come home ev'y Friday an' went back on Monday. No ma'am, I never learn to read and write but I kin spell some."

"Nancy, did you go out at night and were you ever caught by the patrol?"

"No, ma'am, I never wuz caught by de patterol; my Pa wuz the one I was scart uv."

"Did you always have enough to eat, and clothes to wear?"

"Yes ma'am, Marster put out a side uv meat and a barrul o' meal and all uv us would go and git our rations fur de week."

"Suppose some one took more than his share, and the supply ran short."

"Lawd Ma'am, we knowed better'n to do dat kinder thing. Eve'ybody, had er garden patch an' had plenty greens and taters and all dat kinder thing. De cloth fur de slave close wuz all made on the place and Missis see to mekkin' all de close we wear."

"My Missis died endurin' of de war, but Marster he live a long time. Yes, Ma'am, we went to Church an to camp meetin' too. We set up in de galley, and ef dey too many uv us, we set in de back uv de church. Camp meetin' wuz de bes'. Before Missis died I wuz nussin' my young miss baby, and I ride in de white foke's kerrage to camp meetin' groun' and carry de baby. Lawdy, I seen de white folks and de slaves too shoutin' an gittin' 'ligion plenty times."

"Nancy, were the slaves on your place ever whipped?"

"Yes'm sometimes when de wouldn' mine, but Marster allus whip 'em hissef, he ain't let nobody else lay er finger on his slaves but him. I heayd 'bout slaves been whipped but I tink de wuz whipped mostly cause de Marsters could whip 'em."

"Nancy do you know any ghost stories, or did you ever see a ghost?"

"No, Ma'am, I ain't never see a ghos' but I heayd de drum!"

"What drum did you hear—war drums?"

"No, ma'am de drum de little man beats down by Rock Crick. Some say he is a little man whut wears a cap and goes down the crick beating a drum befo' a war. He wuz a Revolushun drummer, and cum back to beat the drum befo' de war. But some say you can hear de drum 'most any spring now. Go down to the Crick and keep quiet and you hear Brrr, Brrr, Bum hum, louder and louder and den it goes away. Some say dey hav' seen de little man, but I never seen him, but I heayd de drum, 'fo de war, and ater dat too. There was a white man kilt hisself near our place. He uster play a fiddle, and some time he come back an play. I has heayd him play his fiddle, but I ain't seen him. Some fokes say dey is seen him in the wood playin' and walkin' 'bout."

"Nancy I am glad you are better than you were the last time I came to see you."

"Yes, Ma'am, I is up now. I prayed to God and tell Him my trouble and he helped me get about again. This po chile uv mine does what she kin to pay de rent and de Welfare gives us a bit to eat but I sho do need er little wood, cause we is back on de rent and my chile jes scrap 'bout to pick up trash wood and things to burn."



PLANTATION LIFE as viewed by ex-slave

WILL SHEETS, Age 76 1290 W. Broad Street Athens, Georgia

Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby Athens

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens

Leila Harris and John N. Booth District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Augusta, Georgia [Date Stamp: MAY 13 1938]

Old Will Sheets readily complied with the request that he tell of his experiences during slavery days. "No'm I don't mind, its been many a long day since anybody axed me to talk 'bout things dat far back, but I laks to have somebody to talk to 'cause I can't git 'bout no more since I los' both of my footses, and I gits powerful lonesome sometimes.

"I was borned in Oconee County, not far f'um whar Bishop is now. It warn't nothin' but a cornfield, way back in dem times. Ma was Jane Southerland 'fore she married my pa. He was Tom Sheets. Lawsy Miss! I don't know whar dey cone f'um. As far as I knows, dey was borned and raised on deir Marsters' plantations. Dar was seven of us chilluns. I was de oldes'; James, Joe, Speer, Charlie, and Ham was my brudders, and my onlies' sister was Frances.

"You ax me 'bout my gram'ma and gram'pa? I can't tell you nothin' t'all 'bout 'em. I jus' knows I had 'em and dat's all. You see Ma was a house gal and de mos' I seed of her was when she come to de cabin at night; den us chilluns was too sleepy to talk. Soon as us et, us drapped down on a pallet and went fast asleep. Niggers is a sleepyheaded set.

"I was a water boy, and was 'spected to tote water f'um de spring to de house, and to de hands in de fiel'. I helped Mandy, one of de colored gals, to drive de calves to de pasture and I toted in a little wood and done little easy jobs lak dat. Lawsy Miss! I never seed no money 'til atter de War. If I had a had any money what could I have done wid it, when I couldn't leave dat place to spend it?

"Dare ain't much to tell 'bout what little Nigger chillun done in slavery days. Dem what was big enough had to wuk, and dem what warn't, played, slep' and scrapped. Little Niggers is bad as game chickens 'bout fightin'. De quarters whar us lived was log cabins chinked wid mud to keep out de rain and wind. Chimblies was made out of fiel' rock and red clay. I never seed a cabin wid more dan two rooms in it.

"Beds warn't fancy dem days lak dey is now; leastwise I didn't see no fancy ones. All de beds was corded; dey had a headboard, but de pieces at de foot and sides was jus' wide enough for holes to run de cords thoo', and den de cords was pegged to hold 'em tight. Nigger chillun slep' on pallets on de flo'.

"Marse Jeff Southerland was a pore man, but he fed us all us could eat sich as turnips, cabbages, collards, green corn, fat meat, cornbread, 'taters and sometimes chicken. Yes Ma'am, chicken dinners was sorter special. Us didn't have 'em too often. De cookin' was all done at de big house in a open fireplace what had a rack crost it dat could be pulled out to take de pots off de fire. 'Fore dey started cookin', a fire was made up ready and waitin'; den de pots of victuals was hung on de rack and swung in de fireplace to bile. Baking was done in skillets. Us cotched rabbits three and four at a time in box traps sot out in de plum orchard. Sometimes us et 'em stewed wid dumplin's and some times dey was jus' plain biled, but us laked 'em bes' of all when dey was fried lak chickens.

"Oh! dem 'possums! How I wisht I had one right now. My pa used to ketch 40 or 50 of 'em a winter. Atter dey married, Ma had to stay on wid Marse Jeff and Pa was 'bliged to keep on livin' wid Marster Marsh Sheets. His marster give him a pass so dat he could come and stay wid Ma at night atter his wuk was done, and he fetched in de 'possums. Dey was baked in de white folkses kitchen wid sweet 'tatoes 'roun' 'em and was barbecued sometimes. Us had fishes too what was mighty good eatin'. Dere warn't but one gyarden on de plantation.

"Slave chillun didn't wear nothin' in summer but shirts what looked lak gowns wid long sleeves. Gals and boys was dressed in de same way when dey was little chaps. In winter us wore shirts made out of coarse cloth and de pants and little coats was made out of wool. De gals wore wool dresses." He laughed and said: "On Sunday us jus' wore de same things. Did you say shoes? Lawsy Miss! I was eight or nine 'fore I had on a pair of shoes. On frosty mornin's when I went to de spring to fetch a bucket of water, you could see my feet tracks in de frost all de way dar and back.

"Miss Carrie, my Mist'ess, was good as she knowed how to be. Marse and Mist'ess had two gals and one boy, Miss Anna, Miss Callie, and Marster Johnny.

"Marse Jeff was a good man; he never whupped and slashed his Niggers. No Ma'am, dere warn't nobody whupped on Marse Jeff's place dat I knows 'bout. He didn't have no overseer. Dere warn't no need for one 'cause he didn't have so many slaves but what he could do de overseein' his own self. Marse Jeff jus' had 'bout four mens and four 'oman slaves and him and young Marse Johnny wukked in de fiel' 'long side of de Niggers. Dey went to de fiel' by daybreak and come in late at night.

"When Marse Jeff got behind wid his crop, he would hire slaves f'um other white folkses, mostly f'um Pa's marster, dat's how Pa come to know my Ma.

"Dere was 'bout a hunderd acres in our plantation countin' de woods and pastures. Dey had 'bout three or four acres fenced in wid pine poles in a plum orchard. Dat's whar dey kep' de calves.

"Dere was a jail at Watkinsville, but Marse Jeff never had none of his slaves put in no jail. He didn't have so many but what he could make 'em behave. I never seed no slaves sold, but I seed 'em in a wagon passin' by on deir way to de block. Marse Jeff said dey was takin' 'em a long ways off to sell 'em. Dat's why dey was a-ridin'.

"Miss Anna larned Ma her A.B.C's. She could read a little, but she never larned to write.

"Slaves went to de white folkses church if dey went a t'all. I never could sing no tune. I'se lak my Ma; she warn't no singer. Dat's how come I can't tell you 'bout de songs what dey sung den. I 'members de fus' time I seed anybody die; I was 'bout eight years old, and I was twelve 'fore I ever seed a funeral. No Ma'am, us chilluns didn't go to no baptizin's—Ma went, but us didn't.

"Didn't none of Marse Jeff's Niggers run off to no North, but I heared of a Nigger what did on de place whar my Pa was at. De only thing I knowed what might a made him run to de North was dat Niggers thought if dey got dar dey would be in Heb'en. Dem patterollers was somepin' else. I heared folkses say dey would beat de daylights mos' out of you if dey cotched you widout no pass. Us lived on de big road, and I seed 'em passin' mos' anytime. I mos' know dere was plenty trouble twixt de Niggers and de white folkses. Course I never heared tell of none, but I'm sho' dere was trouble jus' de same," he slyly remarked.

"Marse Jeff wukked dem few Niggers so hard dat when dey got to deir cabins at night dey was glad to jus' rest. Dey all knocked off f'um wuk Sadday at 12 o'clock. De 'omans washed, patched, and cleaned up de cabins, and de mens wukked in dey own cotton patches what Marse Jeff give 'em. Some Niggers wouldn't have no cotton patch 'cause dey was too lazy to wuk. But dey was all of 'em right dar Sadday nights when de frolickin' and dancin' was gwine on. On Sundays dey laid 'round and slep'. Some went to church if dey wanted to. Marster give 'em a pass to keep patterollers f'um beatin' 'em when dey went to church.

"Us chilluns was glad to see Chris'mas time come 'cause us had plenty to eat den; sich as hogshead, backbones, a heap of cake, and a little candy. Us had apples what had been growed on de place and stored away special for Chris'mas. Marse Jeff bought some lallahoe, dat was syrup, and had big old pones of lightbread baked for us to sop it up wid. What us laked best 'bout Chris'mas was de good old hunk of cheese dey give us den and de groundpeas. Don't you know what groundpeas is? Dem's goobers (peanuts). Such a good time us did have, a-parchin' and a-eatin' dem groundpeas! If dere was oranges us didn't git none. Marse Jeff give de grown folkses plenty of liquor and dey got drunk and cut de buck whilst it lasted. New Year's Day was de time to git back to wuk.

"Marse Jeff was sich a pore man he didn't have no corn shuckin's on his place, but he let his Niggers go off to 'em and he went along hisself. Dey had a big time a-hollerin' and singin' and shuckin' corn. Atter de shuckin' was all done dere was plenty to eat and drink—nothin' short 'bout dem corn shuckin's.

"When slaves got sick, dey didn't have no doctor dat I knowed 'bout. Miss Carrie done de doctorin' herself. Snake root tea was good for colds and stomach mis'ries. Dey biled rabbit tobacco, pine tops, and mullein together; tuk de tea and mixed it wid 'lasses; and give it to us for diffunt ailments. If dey done dat now, folkses would live longer. Ma put asafiddy (asafetida) sacks 'round our necks to keep off sickness.

"Ma said us was gwine to be free. Marse Jeff said us warn't, and he didn't tell us no diffunt 'til 'bout Chris'mas atter de War was done over wid in April. He told us dat us was free, but he wanted us to stay on wid him, and didn't none of his Niggers leave him. Dey all wukked de same as dey had before dey was sot free only he paid 'em wages atter de War.

"I 'members dem Yankees comin' down de big road a-stealin' as dey went 'long. Dey swapped deir bags of bones for de white folkses good fat hosses. I never seed so many pore hosses at one time in my life as dey had. Dem Yankees stole all da meat, chickens, and good bedclothes and burnt down de houses. Dey done devilment aplenty as dey went 'long. I 'members Marse Jeff put one of his colored mens on his hoss wid a coffeepot full of gold and sont him to de woods. Atter dem Yankees went on he sont for him to fetch back de gold and de fine hoss what he done saved f'um de sojer mens.

"I heared tell of dem Ku Kluxers, but I never seed 'em. Lawsy Miss! What did Niggers have to buy land wid 'til atter dey wukked long enough for to make some money? Warn't no schoolin' done 'round whar us lived. I was 10 years old 'fore I ever sot foots in a schoolhouse. De nearest school was at Shady Grove.

"It was a long time atter de War 'fore I married. Us didn't have no weddin'; jus' got married. My old 'oman had on a calico dress—I disremembers what color. She looked good to me though. Us had 16 chilluns in all; four died. I got 22 grandchillun and one great grandchild. None of 'em has jobs to brag 'bout; one of 'em larned to run a store.

"I think Mr. Lincoln was a great man, 'cause he sot us free. When I thinks back, it warn't no good feelin' to be bound down lak dat. Mr. President Davis wanted us to stay bound down. No Ma'am, I didn't lak dat Mr. Davis atter I knowed what he stood for. 'Course dere is plenty what needs to be bound down hard and fast so dey won't git in no trouble. But for me I trys to behave myself, and I sho' had ruther be free. I guess atter all it's best dat slavery days is over. 'Bout dat Booker Washin'ton man, de Niggers what tuk him in said he done lots of good for his race, and I reckon he did.

"Somepin' 'nother jus' made me jine de church. I wanted to do better'n what I was doin'. De Lord says it's best for folkses to be 'ligious.

"No Ma'am, I don't 'spect to live as long as my Ma lived, 'cause dese legs of mine since I done los' both of my footses wid blood pizen atter gangreen sot in, sho' gives me a passel of trouble. But de Lord is good to me and no tellin' how long I'se gwine to stay here. Miss, you sho' tuk me way back yonder, and I laks to talk 'bout it. Yes, Ma'am, dat's been a long time back."



ROBERT SHEPHERD, Age 91 386 Arch Street Athens, Georgia

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

Robert lives in a small house so old and in such bad repair that a strong wind would no doubt tumble it down. Large holes in the roof can be plainly seen from the gateway. The neat yard, filled with old-fashioned flowers, is enclosed by a makeshift fence of rusty wire sagging to the ground in places, and the gate rocks on one hinge. There was some evidence that a porch had extended across the front of the cottage, but it is entirely gone now and large rocks serve as steps at the doorway.

Knocks and calls at the front of the house were unanswered and finally Robert was found working in his garden behind the house. He is a tiny old man, and his large sun hat made him seem smaller than he actually was. He wore a clean but faded blue shirt and shabby gray pants much too large for him. His shoes, bound to his feet with strips of cloth, were so much too large that it was all he could do to shuffle along. He removed his hat and revealed white hair that contrasted with his black face, as he smiled in a friendly way. "Good morning, Missy! How is you?" was his greeting. Despite his advanced age, he keeps his garden in excellent condition. Not a blade of grass was to be seen. Asked how he managed to keep it worked so efficiently he proudly answered: "Well Miss, I jus' wuks in it some evvy day dat comes 'cept Sundays and, when you keeps right up wid it dat way, it ain't so hard. Jus' look 'round you! Don't you see I got de bestest beans and squashes, 'round here, and down under dem 'tater vines, I kin tell you, dem roots is jus' full of 'taters. My Old Marster done larnt me how to gyarden. He allus made us raise lots of gyarden sass such as: beans, peas, roas'in' ears, collards, turnip greens, and ingons (onions). For a fact, dere was jus' 'bout all de kinds of veg'tables us knowed anything 'bout dem days right dar in our Marster's big old gyarden. Dere was big patches of 'taters, and in dem wheatfields us growed enough to make bread for all de folks on dat dere plantation. Us sho' did have plenty of mighty good somepin t'eat.

"I would ax you to come in and set down in my house to talk," he said, "but I don't 'spect you could climb up dem dere rocks to my door, and dem's all de steps I got." When Robert called to his daughter, who lived next door, and told her to bring out some chairs, she suggested that the interview take place on her porch. "It's shady and cool on my porch," she said, "and Pa's done been a-diggin' in his garden so long he's plum tuckered out; he needs to set down and rest." After making her father comfortable, she drew up a bucket of water from the well at the edge of the porch and, after he had indulged in a long drink of the fresh water, he began his story.

"I was borned on Marster Joe Echols' plantation in Oglethorpe County, 'bout 10 miles from Lexin'ton, Georgy. Mammy was Cynthia Echols 'fore she married up wid my daddy. He was Peyton Shepherd. Atter Pappy and Mammy got married, Old Marse Shepherd sold Pappy to Marse Joe Echols so as dey could stay together.

"Marse Joe, he had three plantations, but he didn't live on none of 'em. He lived in Lexin'ton. He kept a overseer on each one of his plantations and dey had better be good to his Niggers, or else Marse Joe would sho' git 'em 'way from dar. He never 'lowed 'em to wuk us too hard, and in bad or real cold weather us didn't have to do no outside wuk 'cept evvyday chores what had to be done, come rain or shine, lak milkin', tendin' de stock, fetchin' in wood, and things lak dat. He seed dat us had plenty of good somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed. Us was lots better off in dem days dan us is now.

"Old Marster, he had so many Niggers dat he never knowed 'em all. One day he was a-ridin' 'long towards one of his plantations and he met one of his slaves, named William. Marse Joe stopped him and axed him who he was. William said: 'Why Marster, I'se your Nigger. Don't you know me?' Den Marster, he jus' laughed and said: 'Well, hurry on home when you gits what you is gwine atter.' He was in a good humor dat way most all de time. I kin see him now a-ridin' dat little hoss of his'n what he called Button, and his little fice dog hoppin' 'long on three legs right side of de hoss. No Ma'am, dere warn't nothin' de matter wid' dat little dog; walkin' on three legs was jus' his way of gittin' 'round.

"Marster never let none of de slave chillun on his plantation do no wuk 'til dey got fifteen—dat was soon 'nough, he said. On all of his plantations dere was one old 'oman dat didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter and cook for de nigger chillun whilst dey mammies was at wuk in de fields. Aunt Viney tuk keer of us. She had a big old horn what she blowed when it was time for us to eat, and us knowed better dan to git so fur off us couldn't hear dat horn, for Aunt Viney would sho' tear us up. Marster had done told her she better fix us plenty t'eat and give it to us on time. Dere was a great long trough what went plum 'cross de yard, and dat was whar us et. For dinner us had peas or some other sort of veg'tables, and cornbread. Aunt Viney crumbled up dat bread in de trough and poured de veg'tables and pot-likker over it. Den she blowed de horn and chillun come a-runnin' from evvy which away. If us et it all up, she had to put more victuals in de trough. At nights, she crumbled de cornbread in de trough and poured buttermilk over it. Us never had nothin' but cornbread and buttermilk at night. Sometimes dat trough would be a sight, 'cause us never stopped to wash our hands, and 'fore us had been eatin' more dan a minute or two what was in de trough would look lak de red mud what had come off of our hands. Sometimes Aunt Viney would fuss at us and make us clean it out.

"Dere was a big sand bar down on de crick what made a fine place to play, and wadin' in de branches was lots of fun. Us frolicked up and down dem woods and had all sorts of good times—anything to keep away from Aunt Viney 'cause she was sho' to have us fetchin' in wood or sweepin' de yards if us was handy whar she could find us. If us was out of her sight she never bothered 'bout dem yards and things. Us was skeered to answer dat horn when us got in Marster's 'bacco. He raised lots of 'bacco and rationed it out to mens, but he never 'lowed chillun to have none 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. Us found out how to git in his 'bacco house and us kept on gittin' his 'bacco 'fore it was dried out 'til he missed it. Den he told Aunt Viney to blow dat horn and call up all de chillun. I'se gwine to whup evvy one of 'em, he would 'clare. Atter us got dere and he seed dat green 'bacco had done made us so sick us couldn't eat, he jus' couldn't beat us. He jus' laughed and said: 'It's good enough for you.'

"Aunt Martha, she done de milkin' and helped Aunt Nancy cook for de slaves. Dey had a big long kitchen up at de big house whar de overseer lived. De slaves what wuked in de field never had to do deir own cookin'. It was all done for 'em in dat big old kitchen. Dey cooked some of de victuals in big old washpots and dere was sho' a plenty for all. All de cookin' was done in big fireplaces what had racks made inside to hang pots on and dey had big old ovens for bakin', and thick iron skillets, and long-handled fryin' pans. You jus' can't 'magine how good things was cooked dat way on de open fire. Nobody never had no better hams and other meat dan our Marster kept in dem big old smokehouses, and his slaves had meat jus' lak white folks did. Dem cooks knowed dey had to cook a plenty and have it ready when it was time for de slaves to come in from de fields. Miss Ellen, she was the overseer's wife, went out in de kitchen and looked over evvything to see that it was all right and den she blowed de bugle. When de slaves heared dat bugle, dey come in a-singin' from de fields. Dey was happy 'cause dey knowed Miss Ellen had a good dinner ready for 'em.

"De slave quarters was long rows of log cabins wid chimblies made out of sticks and red mud. Dem chimblies was all de time ketchin' fire. Dey didn't have no glass windows. For a window, dey jus' cut a openin' in a log and fixed a piece of plank 'cross it so it would slide when dey wanted to open or close it. Doors was made out of rough planks, beds was rough home-made frames nailed to de side of de cabins, and mattresses was coarse, home-wove ticks filled wid wheat straw. Dey had good home-made kivver. Dem beds slept mighty good.

"Dere warn't many folks sick dem days, 'specially 'mongst de slaves. When one did die, folks would go 12 or 15 miles to de buryin'. Marster would say: 'Take de mules and wagons and go but, mind you, take good keer of dem mules.' He never seemed to keer if us went—fact was, he said us ought to go. If a slave died on our place, nobody went to de fields 'til atter de buryin'. Marster never let nobody be buried 'til dey had been dead 24 hours, and if dey had people from some other place, he waited 'til dey could git dar. He said it warn't right to hurry 'em off into de ground too quick atter dey died. Dere warn't no undertakers dem days. De homefolks jus' laid de corpse out on de coolin' board 'til de coffin was made. Lordy Miss! Ain't you never seed one of dem coolin' boards? A coolin' board was made out of a long straight plank raised a little at de head, and had legs fixed to make it set straight. Dey wropt 'oman corpses in windin' sheets. Uncle Squire, de man what done all de wagon wuk and buildin' on our place, made coffins. Dey was jus' plain wood boxes what dey painted to make 'em look nice. White preachers conducted de funerals, and most of de time our own Marster done it, 'cause he was a preacher hisself. When de funeral was done preached, dey sung Harps From De Tomb, den dey put de coffin in a wagon and driv slow and keerful to de graveyard. De preacher prayed at de grave and de mourners sung, I'se Born To Die and Lay Dis Body Down. Dey never had no outside box for de coffin to be sot in, but dey put planks on top of de coffin 'fore dey started shovellin' in de dirt.

"Fourth Sundays was our meetin' days, and evvybody went to church. Us went to our white folks' church and rid in a wagon 'hind deir car'iage. Dere was two Baptist preachers—one of 'em was Mr. John Gibson and de other was Mr. Patrick Butler. Marse Joe was a Methodist preacher hisself, but dey all went to de same church together. De Niggers sot in de gallery. When dey had done give de white folks de sacrament, dey called de Niggers down from de gallery and give dem sacrament too. Church days was sho' 'nough big meetin' days 'cause evvybody went. Dey preached three times a day; at eleven in de mornin', at three in de evenin', and den again at night. De biggest meetin' house crowds was when dey had baptizin', and dat was right often. Dey dammed up de crick on Sadday so as it would be deep enough on Sunday, and dey done de baptizin' 'fore dey preached de three o'clock sermon. At dem baptizin's dere was all sorts of shoutin', and dey would sing Roll Jordan, Roll, De Livin' Waters, and Lord I'se Comin' Home.

"When de craps was laid by and most of de hardest wuk of de year done up, den was camp-meetin' time, 'long in de last of July and sometimes in August. Dat was when us had de biggest times of all. Dey had great big long tables and jus' evvything good t'eat. Marster would kill five or six hogs and have 'em carried dar to be barbecued, and he carried his own cooks along. Atter de white folks et dey fed de Niggers, and dere was allus a plenty for all. Marster sho' looked atter all his Niggers good at dem times. When de camp-meetin' was over, den come de big baptizin': white folks fust, den Niggers. One time dere was a old slave 'oman what got so skeered when dey got her out in de crick dat somebody had to pull her foots out from under her to git her under de water. She got out from dar and testified dat it was de devil a-holdin' her back.

"De white ladies had nice silk dresses to wear to church. Slave 'omans had new calico dresses what dey wore wid hoopskirts dey made out of grapevines. Dey wore poke bonnets wid ruffles on 'em and, if de weather was sort of cool, dey wore shawls. Marster allus wore his linen duster. Dat was his white coat, made cutaway style wid long tails. De cloth for most all of de clothes was made at home. Marse Joe raised lots of sheep and de wool was used to make cloth for de winter clothes. Us had a great long loom house whar some of de slaves didn't do nothin' but weave cloth. Some cyarded bats, some done de spinnin', and dere was more of 'em to do de sewin'. Miss Ellen, she looked atter all dat, and she cut out most of de clothes. She seed dat us had plenty to wear. Sometimes Marster would go to de sewin' house, and Mist'ess would tell him to git on 'way from dar and look atter his own wuk, dat her and Aunt Julia could run dat loom house. Marster, he jus' laughed den and told us chillun what was hangin' round de door to jus' listen to dem 'omans cackle. Oh, but he was a good old boss man.

"Us had water buckets, called piggens, what was made out of cedar and had handles on de sides. Sometimes us sawed off little vinegar kegs and put handles on 'em. Us loved to drink out of gourds. Dere was lots of gourds raised evvy year. Some of 'em was so big dey was used to keep eggs in and for lots of things us uses baskets for now. Dem little gourds made fine dippers.

"Dem cornshuckin's was sho' 'nough big times. When us got all de corn gathered up and put in great long piles, den de gittin' ready started. Why dem 'omans cooked for days, and de mens would git de shoats ready to barbecue. Marster would send us out to git de slaves from de farms 'round about dar.

"De place was all lit up wid light'ood-knot torches and bonfires, and dere was 'citement a-plenty when all de Niggers got to singin' and shoutin' as dey made de shucks fly. One of dem songs went somepin lak dis: 'Oh! my haid, my pore haid, Oh! my pore haid is 'fected.' Dere warn't nothin' wrong wid our haids—dat was jus' our way of lettin' our overseer know us wanted some likker. Purty soon he would come 'round wid a big horn of whiskey, and dat made de 'pore haid' well, but it warn't long 'fore it got wuss again, and den us got another horn of whiskey. When de corn was all shucked den us et all us could and, let me tell you, dat was some good eatin's. Den us danced de rest of de night.

"Next day when us all felt so tired and bad, Marster he would tell us 'bout stayin' up all night, but Mist'ess tuk up for us, and dat tickled Old Marster. He jus' laughed and said: 'Will you listen to dat 'oman?' Den he would make some of us sing one of dem songs us had done been singin' to dance by. It goes sort of lak dis: 'Turn your pardner 'round! Steal 'round de corner, 'cause dem Johnson gals is hard to beat! Jus' glance 'round and have a good time! Dem gals is hard to find!' Dat's jus' 'bout all I can ricollect of it now.

"Us had big 'possum hunts, and us sho' cotched a heap of 'em. De gals cooked 'em wid 'taters and dey jus' made your mouth water. I sho' wish I had one now. Rabbits was good too. Marster didn't 'low no huntin' wid guns, so us jus' took dogs when us went huntin'. Rabbits was kilt wid sticks and rocks 'cept when a big snow come. Dey was easy to track to dey beds den, and us could jus' reach in and pull 'em out. When us cotch 'nough of 'em, us had big rabbit suppers.

"De big war was 'bout over when dem yankees come by our place and jus' went through evvything. Dey called all de slaves together and told 'em dey was free and didn't b'long to nobody no more, and said de slaves could take all dey wanted from de smokehouses and barns and de big house, and could go when and whar dey wanted to go. Dey tried to hand us out all de meat and hams, but us told 'em us warn't hongry, 'cause Marster had allus done give us all us wanted. When dey couldn't make none of us take nothin', dey said it was de strangest thing dey had done ever seed, and dat dat man Echols must have sho' been good to his Niggers.

"When dem yankees had done gone off Marster come out to our place. He blowed de bugle to call us all up to de house. He couldn't hardly talk, 'cause somebody had done told him dat dem yankees couldn't talk his Niggers into stealin' nothin'. Marster said he never knowed 'fore how good us loved him. He told us he had done tried to be good to us and had done de best he could for us and dat he was mighty proud of de way evvy one of us had done 'haved ourselfs. He said dat de war was over now, and us was free and could go anywhar us wanted to, but dat us didn't have to go if us wanted to stay dar. He said he would pay us for our wuk and take keer of us if us stayed or, if us wanted to wuk on shares, he would 'low us to wuk some land dat way. A few of dem Niggers drifted off, but most of 'em stayed right dar 'til dey died."

A sad note had come into Robert's voice and he seemed to be almost overcome by the sorrow aroused by his reminiscences. His daughter was quick to perceive this and interrupted the conversation: "Please Lady," she said. "Pa's too feeble to talk any more today. Can't you let him rest now and come back again in a day or two? Maybe he will be done 'membered things he couldn't call back today."

The front door was open when Robert's house was next visited, and a young girl answered the knock. "Come in," she said. The little house was as dilapidated in the interior as it was on the outside. Bright June sunshine filtered through the many gaps in the roof arousing wonder as to how the old man managed to remain inside this house during heavy rains. The room was scrupulously clean and neat. In it was a very old iron bed, a dresser that was minus its mirror, two chairs, and a table, all very old and dilapidated. The girl laughed when she called attention to a closet that was padlocked. "Dat's whar Grandpa keeps his rations," she said, and then volunteered the information: "He's gone next door to stay wid Ma, whilst I clean up his house. He can't stand no dust, and when I sweeps, I raises a dust." The girl explained a 12 inch square aperture in the door, with a sliding board fastened on the inside by saying: "Dat's Grandpa's peep-hole. He allus has to see who's dar 'fore he unfastens his door."

Robert was sitting on the back porch and his daughter was ironing just inside the door. Both seemed surprised and happy to see the interviewer and the daughter placed a comfortable chair for her as far as the dimensions of the small porch would permit from the heat of the charcoal bucket and irons. Remembering that his earlier recollections had ended with the close of the Civil War, Robert started telling about the days "atter freedom had done come."

"Me, I stayed right on dar 'til atter Marster died. He was sick a long, long time, and one morning Old Mist'ess, she called to me. 'Robert,' she said, 'you ain't gwine to have no Marster long, 'cause he's 'bout gone.' I called all de Niggers up to de big house and when dey was all in de yard, Mist'ess, she said: 'Robert, you been wid us so long, you kin come in and see him 'fore he's gone for good.' When I got in dat room I knowed de Lord had done laid His hand on my good Old Marster, and he was a-goin' to dat Home he used to preach to us Niggers 'bout, and it 'peared to me lak my heart would jus' bust. When de last breath was done gone, I went back out in de yard and told de other Niggers, and dere was sho' cryin' and prayin' 'mongst 'em, 'cause all of 'em loved Marster. Dat was sho' one big funeral. Mist'ess said she wanted all of Marster's old slaves to go, 'cause he loved 'em so, and all of us went. Some what had done been gone for years come back for Marster's funeral.

"Next day, atter de funeral was over, Mist'ess, she said: 'Robert, I want you to stay on wid me 'cause you know how he wanted his wuk done.' Den Mist'ess' daughter and her husband, Mr. Dickenson, come dar to stay. None of de Niggers laked dat Mr. Dickenson and so most of 'em left and den, 'bout 2 years atter Marster died, Mist'ess went to 'Lanta (Atlanta) to stay wid another of her daughters, and she died dar. When Mist'ess left, I left too and come on here to Athens, and I been here ever since.

"Dere warn't much town here den, and 'most all 'round dis here place was woods. I wuked 'bout a year for Mr. John McCune's fambly on de old Pitner place, den I went to wuk for Mr. Manassas B. McGinty. He was a cyarpenter and built most of de fine houses what was put up here dem days. I got de lumber from him to build my house. Dere warn't but two other houses 'round here den. My wife, Julie, washed for de white folks and helped 'em do deir housewuk. Our chillun used to come bring my dinner. Us had dem good old red peas cooked wid side meat in a pot in de fireplace, and ashcake to go wid 'em. Dat was eatin's. Julie would rake out dem coals and kivver 'em wid ashes, and den she would wrop a pone of cornbread dough in collard or cabbage leaves and put it on dem ashes and rake more ashes over it. You had to dust off de bread 'fore you et it, but ashcake was mighty good, folks what lived off of it didn't git sick lak dey does now a-eatin' dis white flour bread all de time. If us had any peas left from dinner and supper, Julie would mash 'em up right soft, make little cakes what she rolled in corn meal, and fry 'em for breakfast. Dem sausage cakes made out of left-over peas was mighty fine for breakfast.

"When de chillun started out wid my dinner, Julie allus made two of 'em go together and hold hands all de way so dey wouldn't git lost. Now, little chillun jus' a few years old goes anywhar dey wants to. Folks don't look atter dey chillun lak dey ought to, and t'ain't right. Den, when night come, chillun went right off to bed. Now, dey jus' runs 'round 'most all night, and it sho' is a-ruinin' dis young genrayshun (generation). Dey don't take no keer of deirselfs. My own grandchillun is de same way.

"I left Mr. McGinty and went to wuk for Mr. Bloomfield in de mill. Mr. Bill Dootson was our boss, and he was sho' a good man. Dem was good times. I wuked inside de mill and 'round de yard too, and sometimes dey sont me to ride de boat wid de cotton or sometimes wid cloth, whatever dey was sendin'. Dere was two mills den. One was down below de bridge on Oconee Street, and de old check factory was t'other side of de bridge on Broad Street. Dey used boats to carry de cotton and de cloth from one mill to de other.

"Missy, can you b'lieve it? I wuked for 68c a day and us paid for our home here. Dey paid us off wid tickets what us tuk to de commissary to git what us needed. Dey kept jus' evvything dat anybody could want down dar at de comp'ny store. So us raised our nine chillun, give 'em plenty to eat and wear too and a good roof over deir haids, all on 68c a day and what Julie could make wukin' for de white folks. 'Course things warn't high-priced lak dey is now, but de main diff'unce is dat folks didn't have to have so many kinds of things to eat and wear den lak dey does now. Dere warn't nigh so many ways to throw money 'way den.

"Dere warn't so many places to go; jus' church and church spreads, and Sundays, folks went buggy ridin'. De young Niggers, 'specially dem what was a-sparkin', used to rent buggies and hosses from Mr. Selig Bernstein. He kept a big livery stable den and he had a hoss named Buckskin. Dat was de hoss what evvybody wanted 'cause he was so gentle and didn't skeer de 'omans and chilluns. Mr. Bernstein is a-livin' yit, and he is sho' a good man to do business wid. Missy, dere was lots of good white folks den. Most of dem old ones is done passed on. One of de best of 'em was Mr. Robert Chappell. He done passed on, but whilst he lived he was mighty good to evvybody and de colored folks sho' does miss him. He b'lieved in helpin' 'em and he give 'em several churches and tried his best to git 'em to live right. If Mr. Robert Chappell ain't in Heb'en, dere ain't no use for nobody else to try to git dar. His granddaughter married Jedge Matthews, and folks says she is most as good as her granddaddy was."

Robert chuckled when he was asked to tell about his wedding. "Miss," he said, "I didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'. Me and Julie jus' jumped over de broom in front of Marster and us was married. Dat was all dere was to it. Dat was de way most of de slave folks got married dem days. Us knowed better dan to ax de gal when us wanted to git married. Us jus' told our Marster and he done de axin'. Den, if it was all right wid de gal, Marster called all de other Niggers up to de big house to see us jump over de broom. If a slave wanted to git married to somebody on another place, den he told Marster and his Marster would talk to de gal's Marster. Whatever dey 'greed on was all right. If neither one of 'em would sell one of de slaves what wanted to git married, den dey let 'em go ahead and jump over de broom, and de man jus' visited his wife on her Marster's place, mostly on Wednesday and Sadday nights. If it was a long piece off, he didn't git dar so often. Dey had to have passes den, 'cause de patterollers would git 'em sho' if dey didn't. Dat meant a thrashin', and dey didn't miss layin' on de stick, when dey cotch a Nigger.

"Dese days, de boys and gals jus' walks off and don't say nothin' to nobody, not even to dey mammies and daddies. [TR: written in margin: "Elopement"] Now take dis daughter of mine—Callie is her name—she runned away when she was 'bout seventeen. Dat day her mammy had done sont her wid de white folks' clothes. She had on brass-toed brogan shoes, a old faded cotton dress dat was plum up to her knees,—dem days, long dresses was stylish—and she wore a old bonnet. She was totin' de clothes to Mrs. Reese and met up wid dat Davenport boy. Dey traips'd up to de courthouse, got a license, and was married 'fore me and Julie knowed nothin' 'bout it. Julie sho' did light out from hyar to go git Callie. She brung her back and kept her locked up in de house a long time 'fore she would let her live wid dat Nigger.

"Us had our troubles den, but dey warn't lak de troubles us has now. Now, it seems lak dem was mighty good days back when Arch Street was jus' a path through de woods. Julie, she's done been gone a long time, and all of our chillun's daid 'cept three, and two of 'em is done gone up north. Jus' me and my Callie and de grandchillun is all dat's left here. Soon I'se gwine to be 'lowed to go whar Julie is and I'se ready any time, 'cause I done been here long 'nough."

When the visitor arose to take her departure Robert said: "Good-bye Missy, come back to see me and Callie again 'cause us laked your 'pearments (appearance) de fust time you was here. Jus' trust in de Lord, Miss, and He will take keer of you wharever you is."



PLANTATION LIFE, AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE

TOM SINGLETON, Ex-Slave, Age 94 Athens, Georgia

Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby Research Worker Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

Edited by: Leila Harris Editor Federal Writers' Project Augusta, Georgia [Date Stamp: APR 27 1938]

Uncle Tom lives alone in a one room cabin, about two and one half miles from town, on Loop-de-Loop road, not far from the Brooklyn section of Athens. He states that he lives alone because: "I wuz raised right and de Niggers dis day and time ain't had no raisin'. I just can't be bothered wid havin' 'em 'round me all de time. Dey ain't my sort of folkses." Uncle Tom says he will be 94 years old on May 15th of this year, but many believe that he is much older.

When asked if he felt like talking about his experiences and observances while he was a slave, he said: "I don't know, Missie; I got a pow'ful hurtin' in my chest, and I'm too old to 'member much, but you ax me what you want to know and I'll try to tell you. I wuz born in Lumpkin County on Marster Joe Singleton's place. My ma wuz named Nancy Early, and she belonged to Marster Joe Early what lived in Jackson County. My pa's name wuz Joe Singleton. I don't 'member much 'bout my brothers and sisters. Ma and Pa had 14 chillun. Some of deir boys wuz me and Isaac, Jeff, Moses, and Jack; and deir gals wuz: Celia, Laura, Dilsey, Patsey, Frankie, and Elinor. Dese wuz de youngest chillun. I don't 'member de fust ones. I don't ricollect nothin' t'all 'bout my grandma and grandpa, cause us wuz too busy to talk in de daytime, and at night us wuz so whupped out from hard wuk us just went off to sleep early and never talked much at no time. All I knows 'bout 'em is dat I heared folkses say my gran'pa wuz 107 years old when he died. Folkses don't live dat long now-a-days.

"De slave quarters wuz in rows and had two rooms and a shed. Dey had beds made out of poles fastened together wid pegs and 'cross 'em wuz laid de slats what dey spread de wheat straw on. Us had good kivver 'cause our Marster wuz a rich man and he believed in takin' keer of his Niggers. Some put sheets dat wuz white as snow over de straw. Dem sheets wuz biled wid home-made soap what kept 'em white lak dat. Udder folkses put quilts over de straw. At de end of de slave quarters wuz de barns and cow sheds, and a little beyond dem wuz de finest pasture you ever seed wid clear water a-bubblin' out of a pretty spring, and runnin' thoo' it. Dar's whar dey turned de stock to graze when dey warn't wukkin' 'em."

When Tom was asked if he ever made any money, a mischievous smile illumined his face. "Yes ma'am, you see I plowed durin' de day on old Marster's farm. Some of de white folks what didn't have many Niggers would ax old Marster to let us help on dey places. Us had to do dat wuk at night. On bright moonshiny nights, I would cut wood, fix fences, and sich lak for 'em. Wid de money dey paid me I bought Sunday shoes and a Sunday coat and sich lak, cause I wuz a Nigger what always did lak to look good on Sunday.

"Yes ma'am, us had good clo'es de year 'round. Our summer clothes wuz white, white as snow. Old Marster said dey looked lak linen. In winter us wore heavy yarn what de women made on de looms. One strand wuz wool and one wuz cotton. Us wore our brogan shoes evvy day and Sunday too. Marster wuz a merchant and bought shoes from de tanyard. Howsomever, he had a colored man on his place what could make any kind of shoes.

"Lawdy! Missie, us had evvythin' to eat; all kinds of greens, turnips, peas, 'tatoes, meat and chickens. Us wuz plumb fools 'bout fried chicken and chicken stew, so Marster 'lowed us to raise plenty of chickens, and sometimes at night us Niggers would git together and have a hee old time. No Ma'am, us didn't have no gyardens. Us didn't need none. Old Marster give us all de vittuls us wanted. Missie, you oughta seed dem big old iron spiders what dey cooked in. 'Course de white folkses called 'em ovens. De biscuits and blackberry pies dey cooked in spiders, dey wuz somethin' else. Oh! don't talk 'bout dem 'possums! Makes me hongry just to think 'bout 'em. One night when pa and me went 'possum huntin', I put a 'possum what us cotched in a sack and flung it 'cross my back. Atter us started home dat 'possum chewed a hole in de sack and bit me square in de back. I 'member my pa had a little dog." Here he stopped talking and called a little black and white dog to him, and said: "He wuz 'bout de size of dis here dog, and pa said he could natchelly jus' make a 'possum de way he always found one so quick when us went huntin'." The old man sighed, and looking out across the field, continued: "Atter slav'ry days, Niggers turned dey chilluns loose, an' den de 'possums an' rabbits most all left, and dere ain't so many fishes left in de rivers neither."

Tom could not recall much about his first master: "I wuz four year old when Marster Dr. Joe Singleton died. All I 'members 'bout him; he wuz a big man, and I sho' wuz skeered of him. When he cotch us in de branch, he would holler at us and say: 'Come out of dar 'fore you git sick.' He didn't 'low us to play in no water, and when, he hollered, us lit a rag. Dere wuz 'bout a thousand acres in Marse Joe's plantation, he owned a gold mine and a copper mine too. Old Marster owned 'bout 65 Niggers in all. He bought an' sold Niggers too. When Old Marster wanted to send news, he put a Nigger on a mule an' sont de message.

"Atter Marse Joe died, old Mist'ess run de farm 'bout six years. Mist'ess' daughter, Miss Mattie, married Marster Fred Lucas, an' old Mist'ess sold her share in de plantation den. My pa, my sister, an' me wuz sold on de block at de sheriff's sale. Durin' de sale my sister cried all de time, an' Pa rubbed his han' over her head an' face, an' he said: 'Don't cry, you is gwine live wid young Miss Mattie.' I didn't cry none, 'cause I didn't care. Marse Fred bought us, an' tuk us to Athens to live, an' old Mist'ess went to live wid her chilluns.

"Marse Fred didn't have a very big plantation; jus' 'bout 70 or 80 acres I guess, an' he had 'bout 25 Niggers. He didn't have no overseer. My pa wuz de one in charge, an' he tuk his orders from Marse Fred, den he went out to de farm, whar he seed dat de Niggers carried 'em out. Pa wuz de carriage driver too. It wuz his delight to drive for Marster and Mist'ess.

"Marster and Mist'ess had eight chillun: Miss Mattie, Miss Mary, Miss Fannie, Miss Senie, Mr. Dave, Mr. Joe, Mr. Frank and Mr. Freddy. Dey lived in a big house, weather-boarded over logs, an' de inside wuz ceiled.

"Marster an' Mist'ess sho' wuz good to us Niggers. Us warn't beat much. De onliest Nigger I 'member dey whupped wuz Cicero. He wuz a bad boy. My Marster never did whup me but onct. Mist'ess sont me up town to fetch her a spool of thread. I got to playin' marbles an' 'fore I knowed it, it wuz dinner time. When I got home, Mist'ess wuz mad sno' 'nough. Marster cotch me an' wore me out, but Mist'ess never touched me. I seed Niggers in de big jail at Watkinsville an' in de calaboose in Athens. Yes Ma'am! I seed plenty of Niggers sold on de block in Watkinsville. I ricollects de price of one Nigger run up to $15,000. All de sellin' wuz done by de sheriffs an' de slave Marsters.

"Marster Fred Lucas sold his place whar he wuz livin' in town to Major Cook, an' moved to his farm near Princeton Factory. Atter Major Cook got kilt in de War, Marse Fred come back to town an' lived in his house again.

"No Ma'am, dey warn't no schools for Niggers in slav'ry time. Mist'ess' daughters went to Lucy Cobb. Celia, my sister, wuz deir nurse, an' when all our little missies got grown, Celia wuz de house gal. So when our little missies went to school dey come home an' larnt Celia how to read an' write. 'Bout two years atter freedom, she begun to teach school herself.

"Us had our own churches in town, an' de white folkses furnished our preachers. Once dey baptised 75 in de river below de Check Factory; white folkses fust, and Niggers last.

"Oh! dem patterrollers! Dey wuz rough mens. I heared 'em say dey would beat de stuffin' out of you, if dey cotch you widout no pass.

"Yes Ma'am! dar always wuz a little trouble twixt de white folkses an' Niggers; always a little. Heaps of de Niggers went Nawth. I wuz told some white men's livin' in town hyar helped 'em git away. My wife had six of 'er kinfolkses what got clean back to Africa, an' dey wrote back here from dar.

"Us had parties an' dances at night. Sometimes Mist'ess let Celia wear some of de little missies' clo'es, 'cause she wanted her to outshine de other Nigger gals. Dey give us a week at Christmas time, an' Christmas day wuz a big day. Dey give us most evvythin': a knot of candy as big as my fist, an' heaps of other good things. At corn shuckin's Old Marster fotched a gallon keg of whiskey to de quarters an' passed it 'round. Some just got tipsy an' some got low down drunk. De onliest cotton pickin' us knowed 'bout wuz when us picked in de daytime, an' dey warn't no good time to dat. A Nigger can't even sing much wid his head all bent down pickin' cotton.

"Folkses had fine times at weddin's dem days. Dar wuz more vittuls dan us could eat. Now dey just han' out a little somethin'. De white folkses had a fine time too. Dey let de Niggers git married in deir houses. If it wuz bad weather, den de weddin' wuz most genully in de hall, but if it wuz a pretty day, dey married in de yard.

"I can't 'member much 'bout de games us played or de songs us sung. A few of de games wuz marbles, football, an' town ball. 'Bout dem witches, I don't know nothin'. Some of de folkses wore a mole foot 'roun' dey neck to keep bad luck away: some wore a rabbit's foot fer sharpness, an' it sholy did fetch sharpness. I don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout Rawhead and Bloody Bones, but I heared tell he got atter Mist'ess' chillun an' made 'em be good. Dey wuz pow'ful skeert of 'im.

"Old Marster an' Mist'ess looked atter deir Niggers mighty well. When dey got sick, de doctor wuz sont for straight away. Yes Ma'am, dey looked atter 'em mighty well. Holly leaves an' holly root biled together wuz good for indigestion, an' blackgum an' blackhaw roots biled together an' strained out an' mixed wid whiskey wuz good for diffunt mis'ries. Some of de Niggers wore little tar sacks 'roun' dey necks to keep de fever 'way.

"Yes Ma'am.' I wuz in de War 'bout two years, wid young Marster Joe Lucas. I waited on him, cooked for him, an' went on de scout march wid him, for to tote his gun, an' see atter his needs. I wuz a bugger in dem days!

"I 'members I wuz standin' on de corner of Jackson Street when dey said freedom had come. Dat sho' wuz a rally day for de Niggers. 'Bout a thousand in all wuz standin' 'roun' here in Athens dat day. Yes Ma'am, de fust time de yankees come thoo' dey robbed an' stole all dey could find an' went on to Monroe. Next to come wuz de gyards to take charge of de town, an' dey wuz s'posed to set things to goin' right.

"Atter de War I stayed on wid Marse Fred, an' wukked for wages for six years, an' den farmed on halves wid him. Some of de Niggers went on a buyin' spree, an' dey bought land, hand over fist. Some bought eight an' nine hundred acres at a time."

When asked to tell about his wedding, a merry twinkle shone in his eyes: "Lawdy, Missie, dis ole Nigger nebber married 'til long atter de War. Us sho' did cut up jack. Us wuz too old to have any chillun, but us wuz so gay, us went to evvy dance 'til 'bout six years ago. She died den, an' lef' me all by myse'f.

"Dat Mr. Abyham Lincoln wuz a reg'lar Nigger god. Us b'lieved dat Mr. Jeff. Davis wuz all right too. Booker Washin'ton give a speech here onct, an' I wuz dar, but de Niggers made sich a fuss over him I couldn't take in what he said."

Asked what he thinks about slavery, now that it is over, he replied: "I think it is all right. God intended it. De white folks run de Injuns out, but dey is comin' back for sho'. God said every nation shall go to deir own land 'fore de end.

"I just jined de church right lately. I had cut de buck when I wuz a young chap, and God has promised us two places, heb'en an' hell. I thinks it would be scand'lous for anybody to go to hell, so I 'cided to jine up wid de crowd goin' to heb'en."

After the interview, he called to a little Negro boy that had wandered into the house: "Moses! gimme a drink of water! Fotch me a chaw of 'bacco, Missie done tuck me up de crick, down de branch, now she's a gwine 'roun'. Hurry! boy, do as I say, gimme dat water. Nigger chillun, dis day an' time, is too lazy to earn deir bread. I wuz sorry to see you come, Missie 'cause my chest wuz a hurtin' so bad, but now I'se sorry to see you go." Out of breath, he was silent for a moment, then grinned and said: "I wuz just lookin' at de Injun on dis here nickle, you done gimme. He looks so happy! Good-bye, Missie, hurry an' come back! You helped dis old Nigger lots, but my chest sho' do hurt."



[HW: Dist. 6 Ex slave 100]

Mary A. Crawford Re-search Worker

CHARLIE TYE SMITH, Ex-slave East Solomon Avenue, Griffin, Georgia

September 16, 1936 [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Charlie Tye Smith was born in Henry County, near Locust Grove, Georgia, on June 10, 1850 (as nearly as he can tell). His mother kept his age for him and had him tell it to her over and over when he was a little boy. The old fellow is well and rather alert, despite his eighty-six years.

Mr. Jim Smith, of Henry County, was Charlie's owner and according to Charlie's version, "sho wuz a mighty good Marster". Mr. Smith owned a large plantation, and also "around one hundred and fifty, to two hundred Darkies". Charlie recalls that the slaves were well treated, seldom "whupped", and never "onmercifully". "Ole Miss", too, [HW: was] "powerful good" to the darkies, most especially to the "Chillun."

The old man related the following incident in proof of Miss Nancy's goodness. About every two weeks "ole Miss" would have "ole Uncle Jim" bake "a whole passel of ginger cakes and tote 'em down to the cabins and jest pitch 'em out by de handfuls to de chillun!" The old man smiled broadly as he concluded the ginger cake story and said, "Charlie allus got his share. Miss Nancy seed to that, kase I wuz one of ole Miss's best little darkies". The interviewer inquired as to how so many ginger cakes could have been baked so easily, and he replied that "ole Marse" had a big rock-oven down at the spring about like what they boil syrup cane juice in today.

The slaves on "Marse Jim's" place were allowed about four holidays a year, and a week at Christmas, to frolic. The amusements were dancing ("the break-down"), banjo playing, and quill blowing. Sometimes when the "patarol" was in a good humor, he would take about twenty-five or thirty "Niggers" and go fishing at night. This kind of fishing was mostly seining, and usually "they got plenty o' fish".

Charlie, true to his race, is quite superstitious and on many occasions "went into the cow lot on Christmas night and found the cows down on their knees 'a-lowin". He also witnessed the "sun shoutin" on Christmas morning and "made sho" to get up jest in time to see the sun as it first "showed itself." Here Charlie did some very special gesticulating to illustrate.

The Negroes were required to go to Church on Sunday. They called it "gwine to meetin'", often leaving at sun up and walking ten or twelve miles to the meeting house, staying all day and late into the night.

If "ole Marse" happened to be in a good humor on Sunday, he would let the Darkies use the "waggins" and mules. The little "Niggers" never went to meetin' as they were left at home to take care of the house and "nuss" the babies. There were no Sunday Schools in those days. When the grown folks got back late in the night, they often "had to do some tall knocking and banging to get in the house—'cause the chillun were so dead asleep, and layin' all over the floor".

When asked if the slaves wouldn't be awfully tired and sleepy the next morning after they stayed up so late, he replied that they were "sho tired" but they had better turn out at four o'clock when ole Marse "blowed the horn!" They [TR: then?] he added with a chuckle, "the field was usually strowed with Niggers asleep in the cotton rows when they knocked off for dinner".

"No, Miss, the Marster never give us no money (here he laughed), for we didn't need none. There wasn't nothing to buy, and we had plenty to eat and wear".

"Yes, Mr. Jim and Miss Nancy believed in whuppin' and kep the raw hide hanging by the back door, but none o' Mr. Jim's Niggers evah got beat till dey bled".

Charlie Tye recalls vividly when the Yankees passed through and graphically related the following incident. "The Yankees passed through and caught "ole Marse" Jim and made him pull off his boots and run bare-footed through a cane brake with half a bushel of potatoes tied around his neck; then they made him put his boots back on and carried him down to the mill and tied him to the water post. They were getting ready to break his neck when one of Master's slaves, "ole Peter Smith", asked them if they intended to kill "Marse Jim", and when they said "Yes", Peter choked up and said, "Well, please, suh, let me die wid ole Marse! Well, dem Yankees let ole Marse loose and left! Yes, Missy, dat's de truf 'case I've heered my daddy tell it many's the time!"

Charlie is not working at all now as he is too old and is supported by the Griffin Relief Association. For forty-five years he served as janitor in the various public schools of Griffin.



PLANTATION LIFE, AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE

GEORGIA SMITH, Age 87 286 Augusta Ave. Athens, Georgia

Written by: Miss Grace McCune Research Worker Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

Edited by: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall Editor Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

WPA Residency No. 6 April 6, 1938

The cold, rainy, and altogether disagreeable weather on the outside was soon forgotten when the interviewer was admitted to the neat little home of Aunt Georgia Smith and found the old woman enjoying the cheerful warmth of her blazing fire.

Aunt Georgia appeared to be quite feeble. She was not only willing, but eager to talk of her experiences, and explained that her slow and rather indistinct articulation is one of the several bad after effects of her recent stroke of paralysis.

"My pappy was Blackstone Smith, and he b'longed to Marse Jeb Smith. My mammy was Nancy Chappell, owned by Mistus Peggie Chappell.

"I stayed wid my mammy on Mistus Chappell's plantation in Oglethorpe County, near old Antioch Church. W'en I was 'bout five or six years ole my mammy died. Den my pappy done come an' got me, an' I was to stay wid 'im on Marster Smith's place. Dey was good to me dar, but I warn't satisfied, an' I cried for Old Mistus.

"I'd jes' go 'roun' snifflin', an' not eatin' nuffin', an' one day w'en us was pickin' peaches, Marster Smith tole my pappy he better take dat chile back to her old mistus, 'fo' she done git sick fer sho'.

"Hit was de next day w'en dey ax me did I want to see Old Mistus an' I jes' cry an' say, 'yassum.' Den Marster say: 'Blackstone, hitch a mule to dat wagon, an' take dat chile right back to her Old Mistus.' I tell 'em I can walk, but dey made me ride in de wagon, an' I sho' was glad I was goin' back home.

"I seed Old Mistus 'fo' I got dar, an' jumped out of de wagon an' run to 'er. W'en she seed me, she jes' grabbed me, an' I thought she was a laughin', but when I seed dat she was cryin', I tole 'er not to cry, dat I warn't goin' to leave 'er no mo'.

"Mistus sho' was good to me, but she was good to all 'er niggers, an' dey all loved 'er. Us allus had plenny of evvything, she made us wear plenny of good warm clo'es, an' us wo'e flannel petticoats when hit was cole weather. Chillun don't wear 'nuff clo'es dese days to keep 'em warm, an nuffin' on deir legs. Hits a wonder dey doan' freeze.

"I diden' stay at de quarters with de udder niggers. Mistus kep' me in de big 'ouse wid 'er, an' I slep' on a cotton mattress on de floor by de side of 'er bed. She had a stick dat she used to punch me wid w'en she wannid somepin' in de night, an' effen I was hard to wake, she sho' could punch wid dat stick.

"Mistus diden' ever have us niggers whipped 'lessen it jes' had to be done. An' if us chilluns was bad, fussin' an' fightin', Mistus would git 'er a stick, but us would jes' run an' hide, an' Mistus would forgit all 'bout it in jes' a little w'ile.

"Marster was dead, an' us had a overseer, but he was good to us jes' lak' Mistus was. Hit was a big old plantation, wid lots of niggers. W'en de overseer would try to larn de chilluns to plow an' dey diden' want to larn, dey would jes' play 'roun'. Sometimes dey snuck off to de udder side of de fiel' an' hunnid for lizards. Dey would hold a lizard's head wid a stick, an' spit 'bacco juice in 'is mouf an' turn 'im loose. De 'bacco juice would make de lizard drunk, and he would run 'roun' an' 'roun'. Dey would cotch snakes, kill dem an' hang de skins on trees so hit would rain an' dey wouldn't have to wuk in de fiel'.

"De quarters was built away f'um de big 'ouse. Dey was cabins made of logs an' dey all had dey own gardens whar dey raised all kinds of vegetables an' allus had plenny of hog meat. De cookin' was done on a big fireplace an' in brick ovens. 'Taters was baked in de ashes, an' dey sho' was good.

"Dey had big times huntin' an' fishin' w'en de wuk was over. Dey cotch lots of 'possums, an' had big 'possum suppers. De 'possums was roasted with plenny of 'taters, butter an' red pepper. Us would eat an' dance most of de night w'en us had a 'possum supper.

"De rabbits was so bad in de gardens dat dey tuk white rags an' tied 'em on sticks stuck up in de ground. Rabbits woulden' come 'roun' den, cyaze dey was 'fraid of dem white rags flyin' on de sticks.