That Mr. Jamison is a vigerous preacher is attested by other ministers who say they never knew a man of his age to preach like he does.

Mr. Jamison lives with his daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth Cookes, whose husband is a WPA worker. Also living in the house is the daughter's son, employed as a laborer, and his wife. Between them all, a rent of $28.00 a month is paid for the house of six rooms. The house at 424 S. Seventh Street, Steubenville, is in a respectable part of the city and is of the type used by poorer classes of laborers.

Mr. Jamison's wife died June 4, 1928, and since then he has lived with his daughter. In his conversation he gives indication of a latent oratory easily called forth.



K. Osthimer, Author

Folklore: Stories From Ex-Slaves Lucas County, Dist. 9 Toledo, Ohio

The Story of MRS. JULIA KING of Toledo, Ohio.

Mrs. Julia King resides at 731 Oakwood Avenue, Toledo, Ohio. Although the records of the family births were destroyed by a fire years ago, Mrs. King places her age at about eighty years. Her husband, Albert King, who died two years ago, was the first Negro policeman employed on the Toledo police force. Mrs. King, whose hair is whitening with age, is a kind and motherly woman, small in stature, pleasing and quiet in conversation. She lives with her adopted daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth King Kimbrew, who works as an elevator operator at the Lasalle & Koch Co. Mrs. King walks with a limp and moves about with some difficulty. She was the first colored juvenile officer in Toledo, and worked for twenty years under Judges O'Donnell and Austin, the first three years as a volunteer without pay.

Before her marriage, Mrs. King was Julia Ward. She was born in Louisville, Kentucky. Her parents Samuel and Matilda Ward, were slaves. She had one sister, Mary Ward, a year and a half older than herself.

She related her story in her own way. "Mamma was keeping house. Papa paid the white people who owned them, for her time. He left before Momma did. He run away to Canada on the Underground Railroad.

"My mother's mistress—I don't remember her name—used to come and take Mary with her to market every day. The morning my mother ran away, her mistress decided she wouldn't take Mary with her to market. Mamma was glad, because she had almost made up her mind to go, even without Mary.

"Mamma went down to the boat. A man on the boat told Mamma not to answer the door for anybody, until he gave her the signal. The man was a Quaker, one of those people who says 'Thee' and 'Thou'. Mary kept on calling out the mistress's name and Mamma couldn't keep her still.

"When the boat docked, the man told Mamma he thought her master was about. He told Mamma to put a veil over her face, in case the master was coming. He told Mamma he would cut the master's heart out and give it to her, before he would ever let her be taken.

"She left the boat before reaching Canada, somewhere on the Underground Railroad—Detroit, I think—and a woman who took her in said: 'Come in, my child, you're safe now.' Then Mama met my father in Windsor. I think they were taken to Canada free.

"I don't remember anything about grandparents at all.

"Father was a cook.

"Mother's mistress was always good and kind to her.

"When I was born, mother's master said he was worth three hundred dollars more. I don't know if he ever would have sold me.

"I think our home was on the plantation. We lived in a cabin and there must have been at least six or eight cabins.

"Uncle Simon, who boarded with me in later years, was a kind of overseer. Whenever he told his master the slaves did something wrong, the slaves were whipped, and Uncle Simon was whipped, too. I asked him why he should be whipped, he hadn't done anything wrong. But Uncle Simon said he guessed he needed it anyway.

"I think there was a jail on the plantation, because Mamma said if the slaves weren't in at a certain hour at night, the watchman would lock them up if he found them out after hours without a pass.

"Uncle Simon used to tell me slaves were not allowed to read and write. If you ever got caught reading or writing, the white folks would punish you. Uncle Simon said they were beaten with a leather strap cut into strips at the end.

"I think the colored folks had a church, because Mamma was always a Baptist. Only colored people went to the church.

"Mamma used to sing a song:

"Don't you remember the promise that you made, To my old dying mother's request? That I never should be sold, Not for silver or for gold. While the sun rose from the East to the West?

"And it hadn't been a year, The grass had not grown over her grave. I was advertised for sale. And I would have been in jail, If I had not crossed the deep, dancing waves.

"I'm upon the Northern banks And beneath the Lion's paw, And he'll growl if you come near the shore.

"The slaves left the plantation because they were sold and their children were sold. Sometimes their masters were mean and cranky.

"The slaves used to get together in their cabins and tell one another the news in the evening. They visited, the same as anybody else. Evenings, Mamma did the washing and ironing and cooked for my father.

"When the slaves got sick, the other slaves generally looked after them. They had white doctors, who took care of the families, and they looked after the slaves, too, but the slaves looked after each other when they got sick.

"I remember in the Civil War, how the soldiers went away. I seen them all go to war. Lots of colored folks went. That was the time we were living in Detroit. The Negro people were tickled to death because it was to free the slaves.

"Mamma said the Ku Klux was against the Catholics, but not against the Negroes. The Nightriders would turn out at night. They were also called the Know-Nothings, that's what they always said. They were the same as the Nightriders. One night, the Nightriders in Louisville surrounded a block of buildings occupied by Catholic people. They permitted the women and children to exscape, but killed all the men. When they found out the men were putting on women's clothes, they killed everything, women and children, too. It was terrible. That must have been about eighty years ago, when I was a very little girl.

"There was no school for Negro children during slavery, but they have schools in Louisville, now, and they're doing fine.

"I had two little girls. One died when she was three years old, the other when she was thirteen. I had two children I adopted. One died just before she was to graduate from Scott High School.

"I think Lincoln was a grand man! He was the first president I heard of. Jeff Davis, I think he was tough. He was against the colored people. He was no friend of the colored people. Abe Lincoln was a real friend.

"I knew Booker T. Washington and his wife. I belonged to a society that his wife belonged to. I think it was called the National Federation of Colored Women's Clubs. I heard him speak here in Toledo. I think it was in the Methodist church. He wanted the colored people to educate themselves. Lots of them wanted to be teachers and doctors, but he wanted them to have farms. He wanted them to get an education and make something of themselves. All the prominent Negro women belonged to the Club. We met once a year. I went to quite a few cities where the meetings were held: Detroit, Cleveland, and Philadelphia.

"The only thing I had against Frederick Douglass was that he married a white woman. I never heard Douglass speak.

"I knew some others too. I think Paul Lawrence Dunbar was a fine young man. I heard him recite his poems. He visited with us right here several times.

"I knew Charles Cottrell, too. He was an engraver. There was a young fellow who went to Scott High. He was quite an artist; I can't remember his name. He was the one who did the fine picture of my daughter that hangs in the parlor.

"I think slavery is a terrible system. I think slavery is the cause of mixing. If people want to choose somebody, it should be their own color. Many masters had children from their Negro slaves, but the slaves weren't able to help themselves.

"I'm a member of the Third Baptist Church. None join unless they've been immersed. That's what I believe in. I don't believe in christening or pouring. When the bishop was here from Cleveland, I said I wanted to be immersed. He said, 'We'll take you under the water as far as you care to go.' I think the other churches are good, too. But I was born and raised a Baptist. Joining a church or not joining a church won't keep you out of heaven, but I think you should join a church."

(Interview, Thursday, June 10, 1937.)



Story and Photo by Frank M. Smith

Ex-Slaves Mahoning County, Dist. #5 Youngstown, Ohio

The Story of MRS. ANGELINE LESTER, of Youngstown, Ohio.



Mrs. Angeline Lester lives at 836 West Federal Street, on U.S. Route #422, in a very dilapidated one story structure, which once was a retail store room with an addition built on the rear at a different floor level.

Angeline lives alone and keeps her several cats and chickens in the house with her. She was born on the plantation of Mr. Womble, near Lumpkin, Stewart County, Georgia about 1847, the exact date not known to her, where she lived until she was about four years old. Then her father was sold to a Dr. Sales, near Brooksville, Georgia, and her mother and a sister two years younger were sold to John Grimrs[HW:?], who in turn gave them to his newly married daughter, the bride of Henry Fagen, and was taken to their plantation, near Benevolence, Randolph County, Georgia.

When the Civil War broke out, Angeline, her mother and sister were turned over to Robert Smith, who substituted for Henry Fagen, in the Confederate Army.

Angeline remembers the soldiers coming to the plantation, but any news about the war was kept from them. After the war a celebration was held in Benevolence, Georgia, and Angeline says it was here she first tasted a roasted piece of meat.

The following Sunday, the negroes were called to their master's house where they were told they were free, and those who wished, could go, and the others could stay and he would pay them a fair wage, but if they left they could take only the clothing on their back. Angeline said "We couldn't tote away much clothes, because we were only given one pair of shoes and two dresses a year."

Not long after the surrender Angeline said, "My father came and gathered us up and took us away and we worked for different white folks for money". As time went on, Angeline's father and mother passed away, and she married John Lester whom she has outlived.

Angeline enjoys good health considering her age and she devotes her time working "For De Laud". She says she has "Worked for De Laud in New Castle, Pennsylvania, and I's worked for De Laud in Akron". She also says "De Laud does not want me to smoke, or drink even tea or coffee, I must keep my strength to work for De Laud".

After having her picture taken she wanted to know what was to be done with it and when told it was to be sent to Columbus or maybe to Washington, D.C. she said "Lawsy me, if you had tol' me befo' I'd fixed up a bit."



Betty Lugabill, Reporter [TR: also reported as Lugabell] Harold Pugh, Editor R.S. Drum, Supervisor Jun 9, 1937

Folklore: Ex-Slaves Paulding Co., District 10

KISEY McKIMM Ex-Slave, 83 years

Ah was born in Bourbon county, sometime in 1853, in the state of Kaintucky where they raise fine horses and beautiful women. Me 'n my Mammy, Liza 'n Joe, all belonged to Marse Jacob Sandusky the richest man in de county. Pappy, he belonged to de Henry Young's who owned de plantation next to us.

Marse Jacob was good to his slaves, but his son, Clay was mean. Ah remembah once when he took mah Mammy out and whipped her cauz she forgot to put cake in his basket, when he went huntin'. But dat was de las' time, cauz de master heard of it and cussed him lak God has come down from Hebbin.

Besides doin' all de cookin' 'n she was de best in de county, mah Mammy had to help do de chores and milk fifteen cows. De shacks of all de slaves was set at de edge of a wood, an' Lawse, honey, us chillun used to had to go out 'n gatha' all de twigs 'n brush 'n sweep it jes' lak a floor.

Den de Massa used to go to de court house in Paris 'n buy sheep an' hogs. Den we use to help drive dem home. In de evenin' our Mammy took de old cloes of Mistress Mary 'n made cloes fo' us to wear. Pappy, he come ovah to see us every Sunday, through de summer, but in de winter, we would only see him maybe once a month.

De great day on de plantation, was Christmas when we all got a little present from de Master. De men slaves would cut a whole pile of wood fo' de fiah place 'n pile it on de porch. As long as de whole pile of wood lasted we didn't hab to work but when it was gone, our Christmas was ovah. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons, we would go to de Master's honey room 'n he would gib us sticks of candied honey, an' Lawd chile was dem good. I et so much once, ah got sick 'nough to die.

Our Master was what white folks call a "miser". I remembah one time, he hid $3,000, between de floor an' de ceilin', but when he went fur it, de rats had done chewed it all up into bits. He used to go to de stock auction, every Monday, 'n he didn't weah no stockings. He had a high silk hat, but it was tore so bad, dat he held de top n' bottom to-gether wid a silk neckerchief. One time when ah went wid him to drive de sheep home, ah heard some of de men wid kid gloves, call him a "hill-billy" 'n make fun of his clothes. But he said, "Don't look at de clothes, but look at de man".

One time, dey sent me down de road to fetch somethin' 'n I heerd a bunch of horses comin', ah jumped ovah de fence 'n hid behind de elderberry bushes, until dey passed, den ah ran home 'n tol' 'em what ah done seen. Pretty soon dey come to de house, 125 Union soldiers an' asked fo' something to eat. We all jumped roun' and fixed dem a dinnah, when dey finished, dey looked for Master, but he was hid. Dey was gentlemen 'n didn't botha or take nothin'. When de war was ovah de Master gave Mammy a house an' 160 acre farm, but when he died, his son Clay tole us to get out of de place or he'd burn de house an' us up in it, so we lef an' moved to Paris. After I was married 'n had two children, me an my man moved north an' I've been heah evah since.



WPA in Ohio Federal Writers' Project Bishop & Isleman Reporter: Bishop July 7, 1937

Topic: Ex-Slaves. Jefferson County, District #5 [HW: Steubenville]

THOMAS McMILLAN, Ex-Slave (Does not know age)

I was borned in Monroe County, Alabam. I do not know de date. My father's name was Dave McMillan and my mothers name was Minda. Dey cum from Old Virginny and he was sold from der. We lived in a log house. De beds hed ropes instead of slats and de chillun slept on de floor.

Dey put us out in de garden to pick out weeds from de potatoes. We did not get any money. We eat bread, syrup and potatoes. It wuz cooked in pots and some was made in fire, like ash cakes. We hed possum lots of times and rabbit and squirrel. When dey go fishin' we hed fish to eat. I liked most anything they gave us to eat.

In de summer we wore white shirt and pants and de same in de winter. We wore brogans in de winter too.

De Massa name wuz John and his wife died before I know her. He hed a boy named John. He lived in a big house. He done de overseeing himself.

He hed lots of acres in his plantation and he hed a big gang of slaves. He hed a man to go and call de slaves up at 4 o'clock every morning. He was good to his slaves and did not work them so late at night. I heard some of de slaves on other plantations being punished, but our boss take good care of us.

Our Massa learn some of us to read and write, but some of de udder massas did not.

We hed church under a arbor. De preacher read de bible and he told us what to do to be saved. I 'member he lined us up on Jordan's bank and we sung behind him.

De partrollers watch de slaves who were out at night. If dey have a pass dey were alright. If not dey would get into it. De patrollers whip dem and carry dem home.

On Saturday afternoon dey wash de clothes and stay around. On Sunday dey go to church. On Christmas day we did not work and dey make a nice meal for us. We sometimes shuck corn at night. We pick cotton plenty.

When we were chillun me other brudders and five sisters played marbles together.

I saw de blue jackets, dat's what we called de Yankee soldiers. When we heard of our freedom we hated it because we did not know what it was for and did not know where to go. De massa say we could stay as long as we pleased.

De Yankee soldier asked my father what dey wuz all doing around der and that dey were free. But we did not know where to go. We stayed on wid de massa for a long time after de war wuz over.

De Klu Klux Klan wuz pretty rough to us and dey whip us. Der was no school for us colored people.

I wuz nearly 20 when I first took up with my first woman and lived with her 20 years den I marry my present wife. I married her in Alabama and Elder Worthy wuz de preacher. We had seven chillun, all grandchillun are dead. I don't know where dey all are at excepting me daughter in Steubenville and she is a widow. She been keepin' rooms and wash a little for her living.

I didn't hear much bout de politics but I think Abraham Lincoln done pretty well. I reckon Jefferson Davis did the best he knowed how. Booker T. Washington, I nebber seen him, but he wuz a great man.

Religion is all right; can't find no fault with religion. I think all of us ought to be religious because the dear Lord died for us all. Dis world would be a better place if we all were religious.

Word Picture of MR. MCMILLAN

Thomas McMillan, 909 Morris Ave., Steubenville, Ohio. He lives with his wife, Toby who is over 50 years old. He makes his living using a hand cart to collect junk. He is 5'6" tall and weighs 155 pounds. His beard is gray and hair white and close cropped. He attends Mt. Zion Baptist Church and lives his religion. He is able to read a little and takes pleasure in reading the bible and newspaper.

He has seven children. He has not heard of them for several years except one daughter who lives in Steubenville and is a widow.

His home is a three room shack and his landlord lets him stay there rent free. The houses in the general surrounding are in a run down condition.



Wilbur Ammon, Editor George Conn, Writer C.R. McLean, District Supervisor June 16, 1937

Folklore Summit County, District #9

SARAH MANN

Mrs. Mann places her birth sometime in 1861 during the first year of the Civil War, on a plantation owned by Dick Belcher, about thirty miles southwest of Richmond, Virginia.

Her father, Frederick Green, was owned by Belcher and her mother, Mandy Booker, by Race Booker on an adjoining plantation. Her grandparents were slaves of Race Booker.

After the slaves were freed she went with her parents to Clover Hill, a small hamlet, where she worked out as a servant until she married Beverly Mann. Rev. Mike Vason, a white minister, performed the ceremony with, only her parents and a few friends present. At the close of the ceremony, the preacher asked if they would "live together as Isaac and Rebecca did." Upon receiving a satisfactory reply, he pronounced them man and wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Mann were of a party of more than 100 ex-slaves who left Richmond in 1880 for Silver Creek where Mr. Mann worked in the coal mines. Two years later they moved to Wadsworth where their first child was born.

In 1883 they came to Akron. Mr. Mann, working as laborer, was able to purchase two houses on Furnace Street, the oldest and now one of the poorer negro sections of the city. It is situated on a high bluff overlooking the Little Cuyahoga River.

Today Mrs. Mann, her daughter, a son-in-law and one grandchild occupy one of the houses. Three children were born to Mr. and Mrs. Mann, but only one is living. Mr. Mann, a deacon in the church, died three years ago. Time has laid its heavy hand on her property. It is the average home of colored people living in this section, two stories, small front yeard, enclosed with wooden picket fence. A large coal stove in front room furnishes heat. In recent years electricity has supplanted the overhead oil lamp.

Most of the furnishings were purchased in early married life. They are somewhat worn but arranged in orderly manner and are clean.

Mrs. Mann is tall and angular. Her hair is streaked with gray, her face thin, with eyes and cheek bones dominating. With little or no southern accent, she speaks freely of her family, but refrains from discussing affairs of others of her race.

She is a firm believer in the Bible. It is apparent she strives to lead a religious life according to her understanding. She is a member of the Second Baptist Church since its organization in 1892.

Having passed her three score and ten years she is "ready to go when the Lord calls her."



WPA in Ohio Federal Writers' Project Bishop & Isleman Reporter: Bishop (Revision) July 8, 1937

Topic: Ex-Slaves Jefferson County, District #5

JOHN WILLIAMS MATHEUS Ex-Slave, 77 years

"My mothers name was Martha. She died when I was eleven months old. My mother was owned by Racer Blue and his wife Scotty. When I was bout eleven or twelve they put me out with Michael Blue and his wife Mary. Michael Blue was a brother to Racer Blue. Racer Blue died when I was three or four. I have a faint rememberance of him dying suddenly one night and see him laying out. He was the first dead person I saw and it seemed funny to me to see him laying there so stiff and still."

"I remember the Yankee Soldier, a string of them on horses, coming through Springfield, W. Va. It was like a circus parade. What made me remember that, was a colored man standing near me who had a new hat on his head. A soldier came by and saw the hat and he took it off the colored man's head, and put his old dirty one on the colored man's head and put the nice new one on his own head."

"I think Abraham Lincoln the greatest man that ever lived. He belonged to no church; but he sure was Christian. I think he was born for the time and if he lived longer he would have done lots of good for the colored people."

"I wore jeans and they got so stiff when they were wet that they would stand up. I wore boots in the winter, but none in the summer."

"When slavery was going on there was the 'underground railway' in Ohio. But after the surrender some of the people in Ohio were not so good to the colored people. The old folks told me they were stoned when they came across the river to Ohio after the surrender and that the colored people were treated like cats and dogs."

"Mary Blue had two daughters, both a little older than me and I played with them. One day they went to pick berries. When they came back they left the berries on the table in the kitchen and went to the front room to talk to their mother. I remember the two steps down to the room and I came to listen to them tell about berry pickin'. Then their mother told me to go sweep the kitchen. I went and took the broom and saw the berries. I helped myself to the berries. Mary wore soft shoes, so I did not hear her coming until she was nearly in the room. I had berries in my hand and I closed my hand around the handle of the broom with the berries in my hand. She says, 'John, what are you doin'? I say, 'nothin'. Den she say, 'Let me see your hand! I showed her my hand with nothin' in it. She say, 'let me see the other hand! I had to show her my hand with the berries all crushed an the juice on my hand and on the handle of the broom."

"Den she say; 'You done two sins'. 'You stole the berries!, I don't mind you having the berries, but you should have asked for them. 'You stole them and you have sinned. 'Den you told a lie! She says, 'John I must punish you, I want you to be a good man; don't try to be a great man, be a good man then you will be a great man! She got a switch off a peach tree and she gave me a good switching. I never forgot being caught with the berries and the way she talked bout my two sins. That hurt me worse than the switching. I never stole after that."

"I stayed with Michael and Mary Blue till I was nineteen. They were supposed to give me a saddle and bridle, clothes and a hundred dollars. The massa made me mad one day. I was rendering hog fat. When the crackling would fizzle, he hollo and say 'don't put so much fire.' He came out again and said, 'I told you not to put too much fire,' and he threatened to give me a thrashing. I said, 'If you do I will throw rocks at you.'"

"After that I decided to leave and I told Anna Blue I was going. She say, 'Don't do it, you are too young to go out into the world.' I say, I don't care, and I took a couple of sacks and put in a few things and walked to my uncle. He was a farmer at New Creek. He told me he would get me a job at his brothers farm until they were ready to use me in the tannary. He gave me eight dollars a month until the tanner got ready to use me. I went to the tanner and worked for eight dollars a week. Then I came to Steubenville. I got work and stayed in Steubenville 18 months. Then I went back and returned to Steubenville in 1884."

Word Picture of JOHN WILLIAM MATHEUS

Mr. John William Matheus is about 5'4" and weighs about 130 pounds. He looks smart in his bank messenger uniform. On his sleeve he wears nine stripes. Each stripe means five years service. Two years were served before he earned his first strip, so that gives him a total of 47 years service for the Union Savings Bank and Trust Company, Steubenville, Ohio. He also wears a badge which designates him as a deputy sheriff of Jefferson County.

Mr. Matheus lives with his wife at 203 Dock Street. This moderate sized and comfortable home he has owned for over 40 years. His first wife died several years ago. During his first marriage nine children came to them. In his second marriage one child was born.

His oldest son is John Frederick Matheus. He is a professor at [Charleston] [HW: West Virginia] State College Institute. He was born in Steubenville and graduated from Steubenville High School. Later he studied in Cleveland and New York. He speaks six languages fluently and is the author of many published short stories.

Two other sons are employed in the post office, one is a mail carrier and the other is a janitor. His only daughter is a domestic servant.

Mr. Matheus attended school in Springfield, W. Va., for four years. When he came to Steubenville he attended night school for two winters. Mr. Dorhman J. Sinclair who founded the Union Savings Bank and Trust Co., employed Mr. Matheus from the beginning and in recognition of his loyal service bequeated to Mr. Matheus a pension of fifty dollars per month.

Mr. Matheus is a member of the office board of the Quinn Memorial A.M.E. He has been an elder of that church for many years and also trustee and treasure. He frequently serves on the jury. He is well known and highly respected in the community.



Sarah Probst, Reporter Audrey Meighen, Author-Editor

Folklore: Ex-Slaves Meigs County, District Three

MR. WILLIAM NELSON Aged 88

"Whar's I bawned? 'Way down Belmont Missouri, jes' cross frum C'lumbus Kentucky on de Mississippi. Oh, I 'lows 'twuz about 1848, caise I wuz fo'teen when Marse Ben done brung me up to de North home with him in 1862."

"My Pappy, he wuz 'Kaintuck', John Nelson an' my mammy wuz Junis Nelson. No suh, I don't know whar dey wuz bawned, first I member 'bout wuz my pappy buildin' railroad in Belmont. Yes suh, I had five sistahs and bruthahs. Der names—lets see—Oh yes—der wuz, John, Jim, George, Suzan and Ida. No, I don't member nothin' 'bout my gran'parents."

"My mammy had her own cabin for hur and us chilluns. De wuz rails stuck through de cracks in de logs fo' beds with straw on top fo' to sleep on."

"What'd I do, down dar on plantashun? I hoed corn, tatahs, garden onions, and hepped take cair de hosses, mules an oxen. Say—I could hoe onions goin' backwards. Yessuh, I cud."

"De first money I see wuz what I got frum sum soljers fo' sellin' dem a bucket of turtl' eggs. Dat wuz de day I run away to see sum Yankee steamboats filled with soljers."

"Marse Dick, Marse Beckwith's son used to go fishin' with me. Wunce we ketched a fish so big it tuk three men to tote it home. Yes suh, we always had plenty to eat. What'd I like best? Corn pone, ham, bacon, chickens, ducks and possum. My mammy had hur own garden. In de summah men folks weah overalls, and de womins weah cotton and all of us went barefooted. In de winter we wore shoes made on de plantashun. I wuzn't married 'til aftah I come up North to Ohio."

"Der wuz Marse Beckwith, mighty mean ol' devel; Miss Lucy, his wife, and de chilluns, Miss Manda, Miss Nan, and Marse Dick, and the other son wuz killed in der war at Belmont. Deir hous' wuz big and had two stories and porticoes and den Marse Beckwith owned land with cabins on 'em whar de slaves lived."

"No suh, we didn't hab no driver, ol' Marse dun his own drivin'. He was a mean ol' debel and whipped his slaves of'n and hard. He'd make 'em strip to the waist then he's lash 'em with his long blacksnake whip. Ol' Marse he'd whip womin same as men. I member seein' 'im whip my mammy wunce. Marse Beckwith used the big smoke hous' for de jail. I neber see no slaves sold but I have seen 'em loaned and traded off."

"I member one time a slave named Tom and his wife, my mammy an' me tried to run away, but we's ketched and brung back. Ol' Marse whipped Tom and my mammy and den sent Tom off on a boat."

"One day a white man tol' us der wuz a war and sum day we'd be free."

"I neber heard of no 'ligion, baptizing', nor God, nor Heaven, de Bible nor education down on de plantashun, I gues' dey didn't hab nun of 'em. When Marse Ben brung me North to Ohio with him wuz first time I knowed 'bout such things. Marse Ben and Miss Lucy mighty good to me, sent me to school and tole me 'bout God and Heaven and took me to Church. No, de white folks down dar neber hepped me to read or write."

"The slaves wus always tiahed when dey got wurk dim in evenins' so dey usually went to bed early so dey'd be up fo' clock next mornin'. On Christmas Day dey always had big dinna but no tree or gifts."

"How'd I cum North? Well, one day I run 'way from plantashun and hunted 'til I filled a bucket full turtl' eggs den I takes dem ovah on river what I hears der's sum Yankee soljers and de soljers buyed my eggs and hepped me on board de boat. Den Marse Ben, he wuz Yankee ofser, tol 'em he take cair me and he did. Den Marse Ben got sick and cum home and brung me along and I staid with 'em 'til I wuz 'bout fo'ty, when I gets married and moved to Wyllis Hill. My wife, was Mary Williams, but she died long time 'go and so did our little son, since dat time I've lived alone."

"Yessuh, I'se read 'bout Booker Washington."

"I think Abraham Lincoln wuz a mighty fine man, he is de 'Saint of de colured race'."

"Good day suh."



WPA in Ohio Federal Writers' Project Bishop & Isleman Jun 9, 1937

Topic: Ex-Slaves Jefferson County, District #2

MRS. CATHERINE SLIM Ex-slave, 87 years, 939 N. 6th St., Steubenville

I wuz born in Rockingham, Virginny; a beautiful place where I cum from. My age is en de courthouse, Harrisonburg, Virginny. I dunno de date of my birth, our massa's wouldn't tell us our age.

My mother's name wuz Sally. She wuz a colored woman and she died when I wuz a little infant. I don't remember her. She had four chillun by my father who wuz a white man. His name wuz Jack Rose. He made caskets for de dead people.

My mother had six chillun altogether. De name of de four by my father wuz, Frances de oldest sister, Sarah wuz next, den Mary. I am de baby, all three are dead cept me. I am very last one livin'.

I had two half-brudders, dey were slaves too, John and Berwin. Berwin wuz drowned in W. Va. He wuz bound out to Hamsburger and drowned just after he got free. Dey did not sold infant slaves. Den dey bound out by de court. John got free and went to Liberia and died after he got there. He wuz my oldest brudder.

I wuz bound out by de court to Marse Barley and Miss Sally. I had to git up fore daylight and look at de clock wid de candle. I held up de candle to de clock, but couldn't tell de time. Den dey ask me if de little hand wuz on three mark or four mark. Dey wouldn't tell me de time but bye and bye I learned de time myself.

I asked de mistress to learn me a book and she sez, "Don't yo know we not allowed to learn you niggers nothin', don't ask me dat no more. I'll kill you if you do." I wuzn't goin' to ask her dat anymore.

When I wuz ten years old I wuz doin' women's work. I learned to do a little bit of eberthin'. I worked on de farm and I worked in de house. I learned to do a little bit of eberthin'. On de farm I did eberthin' cept plow.

I lived in a nice brick house. En de front wuz de valley pike. It wuz four and three-quarter miles to Harrisonburg and three and three-quarter miles to Mt. Crawford. It wuz a lobley place and a fine farm.

I used to sleep in a waggoner's bed. It wuz like a big bed-comfort, stuffed with wool. I laid it on de floor and sleep on it wid a blanket ober me, when I get up I roll up de bed and push it under de mistress's bed.

I earned money, but nebber got it. Dey wuz so mean I run away. I think dey wuz so mean dat dey make me run away and den dey wouldn't heb to pay de money. If I could roll up my sleeve I could show you a mark that cum from a beatin' I had wid a cow-hide whip. Dey whip me for nothin'.

After I run away I had around until the surrender cum. Eberybody cum to life then. It wuz a hot time in de ole place when dey sezs freedom. The colored ones jumped straight up and down.

De feed us plenty. We had pork, corn, rabbit, dey hed eberythin' nice. Dey made us stan' up to eat. Dey no low us sit down to eat. Der wuz bout twenty or thirty slaves on de farm an some ob dem hed der own gardens. Anythin' dey gib us to eat I liked. Dey had bees and honey.

I wore little calico dress in de summer, white, red, and blue. Some hed flowers and some hed strips. We went barefooted until Christmas. Den dey gabe us shoes. De shoes were regular ole common shoes; not eben calfskin. Dey weaved linen and made us our clothes. Dey hab sleeves, plain body and little skirt. I hed two of dem for winter.

I hab seen lots of slaves chained together, goin' south, some wuz singin' and some wuz cryin'. Some hed dey chillun and some didn't.

Dey took me to church wid dem and dey put me behind de door. Dey tole me to set der till dey cum out. And when I see dem cumin' out to follow behind and get into de carrage. I dursent say nothin'. I wuz like a petty dog.



INTERVIEW OF EX-SLAVE FROM VIRGINIA Reported by Rev. Edward Knox Jun. 9, 1937

Topic: Ex-slaves Guernsey County, District #2

JENNIE SMALL Ex-slave, over 80 years of age

I was born in Pocahontas County, Virginia in the drab and awful surroundings of slavery. The whipping post and cruelty in general made an indelible impression in my mind. I can see my older brothers in their tow-shirts that fell knee-length which was sometimes their only garment, toiling laborously under a cruel lash as the burning sun beamed down upon their backs.

Pappy McNeal (we called the master Pappy) was cruel and mean. Nothing was too hard, too sharp, or too heavy to throw at an unfortunate slave. I was very much afraid of him; I think as much for my brothers' sakes as for my own. Sometimes in his fits of anger, I was afraid he might kill someone. However, one happy spot in my heart was for his son-in-law who told us: "Do not call Mr. McNeal the master, no one is your master but God, call Mr. McNeal, mister." I have always had a tender spot in my heart for him.

There are all types of farm work to do and also some repair work about the barns and carriages. It was one of these carriages my brother was repairing when the Yankees came, but I am getting ahead of my story.

I was a favorite of my master. I had a much better sleeping quarters than my brothers. Their cots were made of straw or corn husks. Money was very rare but we were all well-fed and kept. We wore tow-shirts which were knee-length, and no shoes. Of course, some of the master's favorites had some kind of footwear.

There were many slaves on our plantation. I never saw any of them auctioned off or put in chains. Our master's way of punishment was the use of the whipping post. When we received cuts from the whip he put soft soap and salt into our wounds to prevent scars. He did not teach us any reading or writing; we had no special way of learning; we picked up what little we knew.

When we were ill on our plantation, Dr. Wallace, a relative of Master McNeal, took care of us. We were always taught to fear the Yankees. One day I was playing in the yard of our master, with the master's little boy. Some Yankee Soldiers came up and we hid, of course, because we had been taught to fear the soldiers. One Yankee soldier discovered me, however, and took me on his knee and told me that they were our friends end not our enemies; they were here to help us. After that I loved them instead of fearing them. When we received our freedom, our master was very sorry, because we had always done all their work, and hard labor.



Geo. H. Conn, Writer Wilbur C. Ammon, Editor C.R. McLean, District Supervisor June 11, 1937

Folklore Summit County, District #5

ANNA SMITH

In a little old rocking chair, sits an old colored "mammy" known to her friends as "Grandma" Smith, spending the remaining days with her grandchildren. Small of stature, tipping the scales at about 100 lbs. but alert to the wishes and cares of her children, this old lady keeps posted on current events from those around her. With no stoop or bent back and with a firm step she helps with the housework and preparing of meals, waiting, when permitted, on others. In odd moments, she like to work at her favorite task of "hooking" rag rugs. Never having worn glasses, her eyesight is the envy of the younger generation. She spends most of the time at home, preferring her rocker and pipe (she has been smoking for more than eighty year) to a back seat in an automobile.

When referring to Civil War days, her eyes flash and words flow from her with a fluency equal to that of any youngster. Much of her speech is hard to understand as she reverts to the early idiom and pronunciation of her race. Her head, tongue, arms and hands all move at the same time as she talks.

A note of hesitancy about speaking of her past shows at times when she realizes she is talking to one not of her own race, but after eight years in the north, where she has been treated courteously by her white neighbors, that old feeling of inferiority under which she lived during slave days and later on a plantation in Kentucky has about disappeared.

Her home is comfortably furnished two story house with a front porch where, in the comfort of an old rocking chair, she smokes her pipe and dreams as the days slip away. Her children and their children are devoted to her. With but a few wants or requests her days a re quiet and peaceful.

Kentucky with its past history still retains its hold. She refers to it as "God's Chosen Land" and would prefer to end her days where about eighty years of her life was spent.

On her 101st birthday (1935) she posed for a picture, seated in her favorite chair with her closest friend, her pipe.

Abraham Lincoln is as big a man with her today as when he freed her people.

With the memories of the Civil War still fresh in her mind and and secret longing to return to her Old Kentucky Home, Mrs. Anna Smith, born in May of 1833 and better known to her friends as "Grandma" Smith, is spending her remaining days with her grandchildren, in a pleasant home at 518 Bishop Street.

On a plantation owned by Judge Toll, on the banks of the Ohio River at Henderson, Ke., Anna (Toll) Smith was born. From her own story, and information gathered from other sources the year 1835 is as near a correct date as possible to obtain.

Anna Smith's parents were William Clarke and Miranda Toll. Her father was a slave belonging to Judge Toll. It was common practice for slaves to assume the last name of their owners.

It was before war was declared between the north and south that she was married, for she claims her daughter was "going on three" when President Lincoln freed the slaves. Mrs. Smith remembers her father who died at the age of 117 years.

Her oldest brother was 50 when he joined the confederate army. Three other brothers were sent to the front. One was an ambulance attendant, one belonged to the cavalry, one an orderly seargeant and the other joined the infantry. All were killed in action. Anna Smith's husband later joined the war and was reported killed.

When she became old enough for service she was taken into the "Big House" of her master, where she served as kitchen helper, cook and later as nurse, taking care of her mistress' second child.

She learned her A.B.C.'s by listening to the tutor teaching the children of Judge Toll.

"Grandma" Smith's vision is the wonder of her friends. She has never worn glasses and can distinguish objects and people at a distance as readily as at close range. She occupies her time by hooking rag rugs and doing housework and cooking. She is "on the go" most of the time, but when need for rest overtakes her, she resorts to her easy chair, a pipeful of tobacco and a short nap and she is ready to carry on.

Many instances during those terrible war days are fresh in her mind: men and boys, in pairs and groups passing the "big house" on their way to the recruiting station on the public square, later going back in squads and companies to fight; Yankee soldiers raiding the plantation, taking corn and hay or whatever could be used by the northern army; and continual apprehension for the menfolk at the front.

She remembers the baying of blood hounds at night along the Ohio River, trying to follow the scent of escaping negroes and the crack of firearms as white people, employed by the plantation owners attempted to halt the negroes in their efforts to cross the Ohio River into Ohio or to join the Federal army.

Referring to her early life, she recalls no special outstanding events. Her treatment from her master and mistress was pleasant, always receiving plenty of food and clothing but never any money.

In a grove not far from the plantation home, the slaves from the nearby estates meet on Sunday for worship. Here under the spreading branches they gathered for religious worship and to exchange news.

When President Lincoln issued his proclamation freeing the slaves, and the news reached the plantation, she went to her master to learn if she was free. On learning it was true she returned to her parents who were living on another plantation.

She has been living with her grandchildren for the past nine years, contented but ready to go when the "Good Lord calls her."



Sarah Probst, Reporter Audrey Meighen, Author-Editor Jun 9, 1937

Folklore Meigs County, District Three [HW: Middeport]

NAN STEWART Age 87

"I'se bawned Charl'stun, West Virginia in February 1850."

"My mammy's name? Hur name wuz Kath'run Paine an' she wuz bawned down Jackson County, Virginia. My pappy wuz John James, a coopah an' he wuz bawned at Rock Creek, West Virginia. He cum'd ovah heah with Lightburn's Retreat. Dey all crossed de ribah at Buffington Island. Yes, I had two bruthahs and three sistahs. Deir wuz Jim, Thomas, he refugeed from Charl'stun to Pum'roy and it tuk him fo' months, den de wuz sistah Adah, Carrie an' Ella. When I rite young I wurked as hous' maid fo' numbah quality white folks an' latah on I wuz nurs' fo' de chilluns in sum homes, heah abouts."

"Oh, de slaves quartahs, dey wuz undah de sam' ruf with Marse Hunt's big hous' but in de back. When I'se littl' I sleeped in a trun'l bed. My mammy wuz mighty 'ticlar an' clean, why she made us chilluns wash ouah feets ebry night fo' we git into de bed."

"When Marse Hunt muved up to Charl'stun, my mammy and pappy liv' in log cabin."

"My gran' mammy, duz I 'member hur? Honey chile, I shure duz. She wuz my pappy's mammy. She wuz one hun'erd and fo' yeahs ol' when she die rite in hur cheer. Dat mawhin' she eat a big hearty brekfast. One day I 'member she sezs to Marse Hunt, 'I hopes you buys hun'erds an' hun'erds ob slaves an' neber sells a one. Hur name wuz Erslie Kizar Chartarn."

"Marse an' missus, mighty kind to us slaves. I lurned to sew, piece quilts, clean de brass an' irons an' dog irons. Most time I set with de ol' ladies, an' light deir pipes, an' tote 'em watah, in gourds. I us' tu gether de turkey eggs an' guinea eggs an' sell 'em. I gits ten cents duzen fo' de eggs. Marse and Missus wuz English an' de count money like dis—fo' pence, ha' penny. Whut I do with my money? Chile I saved it to buy myself a nankeen dress."

"Yes mam we always had plenty to eat. What'd I like bes' to eat, waffl's, honey and stuffed sausage, but I spise possum and coon. Marse Hunt had great big meat hous' chuck full all kinds of meats. Say, do you all know Marse used to keep stuffed sausage in his smoke hous' fo' yeahs an' it wuz shure powahful good when it wuz cooked. Ouah kitchin wuz big an' had great big fiah place whur we'd bake ouah bread in de ashes. We baked ouah corn pone an' biskets in a big spidah. I still have dat spidah an' uses it."

"By the way you knows Squire Gellison wuz sum fishahman an' shure to goodness ketched lots ob fish. Why he'd ketch so many, he'd clean 'em, cut 'em up, put 'em in half barrels an' pass 'em 'round to de people on de farms."

"Most de slaves on Marse Hunt's place had dir own garden patches. Sumtimes dey'd have to hoe the gardens by moonlight. Dey sell deir vegetables to Marse Hunt."

"In de summah de women weah dresses and apruns made ob linen an' men weah pants and shurts ob linen. Linsey-woolsey and jean wuz woven on de place fo' wintah clothes. We had better clothes to weah on Sunday and we weahed shoes on Sunday. The' shoes and hoots wuz made on de plantashun."

"My mastah wuz Marse Harley Hunt an' his wife wuz Miss Maria Sanders Hunt. Marse and Miss Hunt didn't hab no chilluns of der own but a nephew Marse Oscar Martin and niece Miss Mary Hunt frum Missouri lived with 'em. Dey's all kind to us slaves. De Hous' wuz great big white frame with picket fence all 'round de lot. When we lived Charl'stun Marse Hunt wuz a magistrate. Miss Hunt's muthah and two aunts lived with 'em."

"No mam, we didn't hab no ovahseeah. Marse Hunt had no use fo' ovahseeahs, fact is he 'spise 'em. De oldah men guided de young ones in deir labors. The poor white neighbahs wurn't 'lowed to live very close to de plantashun as Marse Hunt wanted de culured slave chilluns to be raised in propah mannah."

"I duzn't know how many acres in de plantashun. Deir wuz only 'bout three or fo' cabins on de place. Wurk started 'bout seben clock 'cept harvest time when ebrybudy wuz up early. De slaves didn't wurk so hard nor bery late at night. Slaves wuz punished by sendin' 'em off to bed early.

"When I'se livin' at Red House I seed slaves auctioned off. Ol' Marse Veneable sold ten or lebin slaves, women and chilluns, to niggah tradahs way down farthah south. I well 'members day Aunt Millie an' Uncl' Edmund wuz sold—dir son Harrison wuz bought by Marse Hunt. 'Twuz shure sad an' folks cried when Aunt Millie and Uncl' Edmund wuz tuk away. Harrison neber see his mammy an' pappy agin. Slaves wuz hired out by de yeah fo' nine hundred dollahs."

"Marse Hunt had schools fo' de slaves chilluns. I went to school on Lincoln Hill, too."

"Culured preachahs use to cum to plantashun an' dey would read de Bible to us. I 'member one special passage preachahs read an' I neber understood it 'til I cross de riber at Buffinton Island. It wuz, 'But they shall sit every man under his own vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of Hosts hath spoken it." Micah 4:4. Den I knows it is de fulfillment ob dat promis; 'I would soon be undah my own vine an' fig tree' and hab no feah of bein' sold down de riber to a mean Marse. I recalls der wuz Thorton Powell, Ben Sales and Charley Releford among de preachahs. De church wuz quite aways frum de hous'. When der'd be baptizins de sistahs and brethruns would sing 'Freely, freely will you go with me, down to the riber'. 'Freely, freely quench your thirst Zion's sons and daughtahs'."

"How wells I 'member when I wuz converted. I'd thought 'bout 'ligion a lot but neber wunce wuz I muved to repent. One day I went out to cut sum wood an' begin thinkin' agin and all wunce I feeled so relieved an' good an' run home to tell granny an' de uthahs dat I'd cum out at last."

"No, we didn't wurk on Saturday aftahnoons. Christmas wuz big time at Marse Hunts hous'. Preparations wuz made fo' it two weeks fo' day cum. Der wuz corn sings an' big dances, 'ceptin' at 'ligious homes. Der wuz no weddins' at Marse Hunts, cause dey had no chilluns an' de niece and nephew went back to own homes to git married."

"We played sich games as marbles; yarn ball; hop, skip, an' jump; mumble peg an' pee wee. Wunce I's asked to speak down to white chilluns school an' dis is what I speak:

'The cherries are ripe, The cherries are ripe, Oh give the baby one, The baby is too little to chew, The robin I see up in the tree, Eating his fill and shaking his bill, And down his throat they run.'

Another one:

'Tobacco is an Indian weed, And from the devil doth proceed It robs the pocket and burns the clothes And makes a chimney of the nose.'

"When de slaves gits sick, deir mammies luked af'er em but de Marse gived de rem'dies. Yes, dere wuz dif'runt kinds, salts, pills, Castah orl, herb teas, garlic, 'fedia, sulphah, whiskey, dog wood bark, sahsaparilla an' apple root. Sometimes charms wuz used.

"I 'member very well de day de Yankees cum. De slaves all cum a runnin' an' yellin': "Yankees is cumin', Yankee soljers is comin', hurrah". Bout two or three clock, we herd bugles blowing' an' guns on Taylah Ridge. Kids wuz playin' an' all 'cited. Sumone sed: "Kathrun, sumthin' awful gwine happen", an' sumone else sez; "De' is de Yankees". De Yankee mens camp on ouah farm an' buyed ouah buttah, milk an' eggs. Marse Hunt, whut you all call 'bilionist [HW: abolitionist] an' he wuz skeered of suthern soljers an' went out to de woods an' laid behind a log fo' seben weeks and seben days, den he 'cided to go back home. He sez he had a dream an' prayed, "I had bettah agone, but I prayed. No use let des debils take you, let God take you." We tote food an' papahs to Marse while he wuz a hidin'."

"One ob my prized possessions is Abraham Lincoln's pictures an' I'se gwine to gib it to a culured young man whose done bin so kind to me, when I'se gone. Dat's Bookah T. Washington's picture ovah thar."

"I'se married heah in Middeport by Preachah Bill, 1873. My husban' wuz Charles Stewart, son of Johnny Stewart. Deir wuz hous' full my own folks, mammy, pappy, sistahs, bruthas, an' sum white folks who cumed in to hep dress me up fo' de weddin'. We kep de weddin' a secrut an' my aunt butted hur horns right off tryin' to fin' out when it wuz. My husban' had to leave right away to go to his job on de boat. We had great big dinnah, two big cakes an' ice cream fo' desurt. We had fo'teen chilluns with only two livin'. I has five gran' sons an' two great gran' daughters."

"Goodbye—cum back agin."



Miriam Logan, Lebanon, Ohio Warren County, Dist. 2 July 2, 1937

Interview with SAMUEL SUTTON, Ex Slave. Born in Garrett County, Kentucky, in 1854

(drawing of Sutton) [TR: no drawing found]

"Yes'em, I sho were bo'n into slavery. Mah mothah were a cook—(they was none betteah)—an she were sold four times to my knownin'. She were part white, for her fathah were a white man. She live to be seventy-nine yeahs an nine months old."

"Ah was bo'n in Garrett County, but were raised by ol' Marster Ballinger in Knox County, an' ah don remember nothin 'bout Garrett County." When Lincoln was elected last time, I were about eight yeahs ol'."

"Ol' Marster own 'bout 400-acres, n' ah don' know how many slaves—maybe 30. He'd get hard up fo money n' sell one or two; then he'd get a lotta work on hands, an maybe buy one or two cheap,—go 'long lak dat you see." He were a good man, Ol' Mars Ballinger were—a preacher, an he wuk hisse'f too. Ol' Mis' she pretty cross sometime, but ol' Mars, he weren't no mean man, an ah don' 'member he evah whip us. Yes'em dat ol' hous is still standin' on the Lexington-Lancaster Pike, and las time I know, Baby Marster he were still livin."

"Ol' Mars. tuk us boys out to learn to wuk when we was both right little me and Baby Mars. Ah wuz to he'p him, an do what he tol' me to—an first thing ah members is a learnin to hoe de clods. Corn an wheat Ol' Mars. raised, an he sets us boys out fo to learn to wuk. Soon as he lef' us Baby Mars, he'd want to eat; send me ovah to de grocery fo sardines an' oysters. Nevah see no body lak oyster lak he do! Ah do n' lak dem. Ol Mars. scold him—say he not only lazy hese'f, but he make me lazy too."

"De Wah? Yes'em ah sees soldiers, Union Calvary [HW: Cavalry] goin' by, dressed fine, wid gold braid on blue, an big boots. But de Rebels now, I recollect dey had no uniforms fo dey wuz hard up, an dey cum in jes common clothes. Ol' Mars., he were a Rebel, an he always he'p 'em. Yes'em a pitched battle start right on our place. Didn't las' long, fo dey wuz a runnin fight on to Perryville, whaah de one big battle to take place in de State o' Kentucky, tuk place."

"Most likely story I remembers to tell you 'bout were somepin made me mad an I allus remember fo' dat. Ah had de bigges' fines' watermellon an ah wuz told to set up on de fence wid de watermellon an show 'em, and sell 'em fo twenty cents. Along cum a line o' soldiers."

"Heigh there boy!... How much for the mellon?" holler one at me.

"Twenty cents sir!" Ah say jes lak ah ben tol' to say; and he take dat mellon right out o' mah arms an' ride off widout payin' me. Ah run after dem, a tryin' to get mah money, but ah couldn't keep up wid dem soldiers on hosses; an all de soldiers jes' laf at me."

"Yes'em dat wuz de fines' big mellon ah evah see. Dat wuz right mean in him—fine lookin gemman he were, at the head o' de line."

"Ol' Marster Ballinger, he were a Rebel, an he harbors Rebels. Dey wuz two men a hangin' around dere name o' Buell and Bragg."

"Buell were a nawtherner; Bragg, he were a Reb."

"Buell give Bragg a chance to get away, when he should have found out what de Rebs were doin' an a tuk him prisoner ah heard tell about dat."

"Dey wuz a lotta spyin', ridin' around dere fo' one thing and another, but ah don' know what it were all about. I does know ah feels sorry fo dem Rebel soldiers ah seen dat wuz ragged an tired, an all woe out, an Mars. He fell pretty bad about everything sometimes, but ah reckon dey wuz mean Rebs an southerners at had it all cumin' to em; ah allus heard tell dey had it comin' to em."

"Some ways I recollect times wuz lots harder after de War, some ways dey was better. But now a culled man ain't so much better off 'bout votin' an such some places yet, ah hears dat."

"Yes'em, they come an want hosses once in awhile, an they was a rarin' tarin' time atryin to catch them hosses fo they would run into the woods befo' you could get ahold of 'em. Morgan's men come fo hosses once, an ol Mars, get him's hosses, fo he were a Reb. Yes'em, but ah thinks them hosses got away from the Rebels; seem lak ah heard they did."

"Hosses? Ah wishes ah had me a team right now, and ah'd make me my own good livin! No'em, don't want no mule. They is set on havin they own way, an the contrariest critters! But a mule is a wuk animal, an eats little. Lotsa wuk in a mule. Mah boy, he say, 'quit wukin, an give us younguns a chance,' Sho nuf, they ain't the wuk they use to be, an the younguns needs it. Ah got me a pension, an a fine garden; ain't it fine now?"

"Yes'em, lak ah tells you, the wah were ovah, and the culled folks had a Big Time wid speakin'n everything ovah at Dick Robinsen's camp on de 4th. Nevah see such rejoicin on de Fourth 'o July since,-no'em, ah ain't."

"Ah seen two presidents, Grant an Hayes. I voted fo Hayes wen I wuz twenty-two yeahs old. General Grant, he were runnin against Greeley when ah heard him speak at Louieville. He tol what all Lincoln had done fo de culled man. Yes'em, fine lookin man he were, an he wore a fine suit. Yes'em ah ain't miss an election since ah were twenty-two an vote fo Hayes. Ah ain't gonto miss none, an ah vote lak the white man read outa de Emanicaption Proclamation, ah votes fo one ob Abe Lincoln's men ev'y time—ah sho do."

"Run a way slaves? No'em nevah know ed of any. Mars. Ballinger neighbor, old Mars. Tye—he harbor culled folks dat cum ask fo sumpin to eat in winter—n' he get 'em to stay awhile and do a little wuk fo him. Now, he did always have one or two 'roun dere dat way,—dat ah recollects—dat he didn't own. Maybe dey was runaway, maybe dey wuz just tramps an didn't belong to noboddy. Nevah hear o' anybody claimin' dem—dey stay awhile an wuk, den move on—den mo' cum, wuk while then move on. Mars. Tye—he get his wuk done dat way, cheap.

"No'em, don't believe in anything lak dat much. We use to sprinkle salt in a thin line 'roun Mars. Ballinger's house, clear 'roun, to ward off quarellin an arguein' an ol' Miss Ballinger gettin a cross spell,—dat ah members, an then too;—ah don believe in payin out money on a Monday. You is liable to be a spendin an a losin' all week if you do. Den ah don' want see de new moon (nor ol' moon either) through, de branches o' trees. Ah know' a man dat see de moon tru de tree branches, an he were lookin' tru de bars 'a jail fo de month were out—an fo sumpin he nevah done either,—jus enuf bad luck—seein a moon through bush."

"Ah been married twice, an had three chillens. Mah oles' are Madge Hannah, an she sixty yeah ol' an still a teachin' at the Indian School where she been fo twenty-two yeahs now. She were trained at Berea in High School then Knoxville; then she get mo' learnin in Nashville in some course."

"Mah wife died way back yonder in 1884. Then when ah gets married again, mah wife am 32 when ah am 63. No'am, no mo' chillens. Ah lives heah an farms, an takes care ob mah sick girl, an mah boy, he live across the lane thah."

"No'em, no church, no meetin hous fo us culled people in Kentucky befo' de wah. Dey wuz prayin folks, and gets to meetin' at each othah's houses when dey is sumpin a pushin' fo prayer. No'em no school dem days, fo us." "Ol Mars., he were a preacher, he knowed de Bible, an tells out verses fo us—dats all ah members. Yes'em Ah am Baptist now, and ah sho do believe in a havin church."

"Ah has wuked on steam boats, an done railroad labor, an done a lotta farmin, an ah likes to farm best. Like to live in Ohio best. Ah can vote. If ah gits into trouble, de law give us a chance fo our property, same as if we were white. An we can vote lak white, widout no shootin, no fightin' about it—dats what ah likes. Nevah know white men to be so mean about anythin as dey is about votin some places—No'em, ah don't! Ah come heah in 1912. Ah was goin on to see mah daughter Madge Hannah in Oklahoma, den dis girl come to me paralized, an ah got me work heah in Lebanon, tendin cows an such at de creamery, an heah ah is evah since. Yes'em an ah don' wanto go no wheres else."

"No'em, no huntin' no mo. Useto hunt rabbit until las yeah. They ain't wuth the price ob a license no mo." No'em, ah ain't evah fished in Ohio."

"No'em, nevah wuz no singer, no time. Not on steamboats, nor nowheres. Don't member any songs, except maybe the holler we useto set up when dey wuz late wid de dinner when we wuked on de steamboat;—Dey sing-song lak dis:"

'Ol hen, she flew Ovah de ga-rden gate, Fo' she wuz dat hungrey She jes' couldn't wait.'

—but den dat ain't no real song."

"Kentucky river is place to fish—big cat fish. Cat fish an greens is good eatin. Ah seen a cat fish cum outa de Kentucky river 'lon as a man is tall; an them ol' fins slap mah laig when ah carries him ovah mah shoulder, an he tail draggin' on mah feet.—Sho nuf!"

"No'em, ah jes cain't tell you all no cryin sad story 'bout beatin' an a slave drivin, an ah don' know no ghost stories, ner nuthin'—ah is jes dumb dat way—ah's sorry 'bout it, but ah Jes—is."

Samuel Sutton lives in north lane Lebanon, just back of the French Creamery. He has one acre of land, a little unpainted, poorly furnished and poorly kept. His daughter is a huge fleshy colored woman wears a turban on her head. She has a fixed smile; says not a word. Samuel talks easily; answers questions directly; is quick in his movements. He is stooped and may 5'7" or 8" if standing straight. He wears an old fashioned "Walrus" mustache, and has a grey wooley fringe of hair about his smooth chocolate colored bald head. He is very dark in color, but his son is darker yet. His hearing is good. His sight very poor. Being so young when the Civil War was over, he remembers little or nothing about what the colored people thought or expected from freedom. He just remembers what a big time there was on that first "Free Fourth of July."



Ruth Thompson, Interviewing Graff, Editing

Ex-Slave Interviews Hamilton Co., District 12 Cincinnati

RICHARD TOLER 515 Poplar St., Cincinnati, O.



"Ah never fit in de wah; no suh, ah couldn't. Mah belly's been broke! But ah sho' did want to, and ah went up to be examined, but they didn't receive me on account of mah broken stomach. But ah sho' tried, 'cause ah wanted to be free. Ah didn't like to be no slave. Dat wasn't good times."

Richard Toler, 515 Poplar Street, century old former slave lifted a bony knee with one gnarled hand and crossed his legs, then smoothed his thick white beard. His rocking chair creaked, the flies droned, and through the open, unscreened door came the bawling of a calf from the building of a hide company across the street. A maltese kitten sauntered into the front room, which served as parlor and bedroom, and climbed complacently into his lap. In one corner a wooden bed was piled high with feather ticks, and bedecked with a crazy quilt and an number of small, brightly-colored pillows; a bureau opposite was laden to the edges with a collection of odds and ends—a one-legged alarm clock, a coal oil lamp, faded aritifical flowers in a gaudy vase, a pile of newspapers. A trunk against the wall was littered with several large books (one of which was the family Bible), a stack of dusty lamp shades, a dingy sweater, and several bushel-basket lids. Several packing cases and crates, a lard can full of cracked ice, a small, round oil heating stove, and an assorted lot of chairs completed the furnishings. The one decorative spot in the room was on the wall over the bed, where hung a large framed picture of Christ in The Temple. The two rooms beyond exhibited various broken-down additions to the heterogeneous collection.

"Ah never had no good times till ah was free", the old man continued. "Ah was bo'n on Mastah Tolah's (Henry Toler) plantation down in ole V'ginia, near Lynchburg in Campbell County. Mah pappy was a slave befo' me, and mah mammy, too. His name was Gawge Washin'ton Tolah, and her'n was Lucy Tolah. We took ouah name from ouah ownah, and we lived in a cabin way back of the big house, me and mah pappy and mammy and two brothahs.

"They nevah mistreated me, neithah. They's a whipping the slaves all the time, but ah run away all the time. And ah jus' tell them—if they whipped me, ah'd kill 'em, and ah nevah did get a whippin'. If ah thought one was comin' to me, Ah'd hide in the woods; then they'd send aftah me, and they say, 'Come, on back—we won't whip you'. But they killed some of the niggahs, whipped 'em to death. Ah guess they killed three or fo' on Tolah's place while ah was there.

"Ah nevah went to school. Learned to read and write mah name after ah was free in night school, but they nevah allowed us to have a book in ouah hand, and we couldn't have no money neither. If we had money we had to tu'n it ovah to ouah ownah. Chu'ch was not allowed in ouah pa't neithah. Ah go to the Meth'dist Chu'ch now, everybody ought to go. I think RELIGION MUST BE FINE, 'CAUSE GOD ALMIGHTY'S AT THE HEAD OF IT."

Toler took a small piece of ice from the lard can, popped it between his toothless gum, smacking enjoyment, swished at the swarming flies with a soiled rag handkerchief, and continued.

"Ah nevah could unnerstand about ghos'es. Nevah did see one. Lots of folks tell about seein' ghos'es, but ah nevah feared 'em. Ah was nevah raised up undah such supastitious believin's.

"We was nevah allowed no pa'ties, and when they had goin' ons at the big house, we had to clear out. Ah had to wo'k hard all the time every day in the week. Had to min' the cows and calves, and when ah got older ah had to hoe in the field. Mastah Tolah had about 500 acres, so they tell me, and he had a lot of cows and ho'ses and oxens, and he was a big fa'mer. Ah've done about evahthing in mah life, blacksmith and stone mason, ca'penter, evahthing but brick-layin'. Ah was a blacksmith heah fo' 36 yea's. Learned it down at Tolah's.

"Ah stayed on the plantation during the wah, and jes' did what they tol' me. Ah was 21 then. And ah walked 50 mile to vote for Gen'l Grant at Vaughn's precinct. Ah voted fo' him in two sessions, he run twice. And ah was 21 the fust time, cause they come and got me, and say, 'Come on now. You can vote now, you is 21.' And theah now—mah age is right theah. 'Bout as close as you can get it.

"Ah was close to the battle front, and I seen all dem famous men. Seen Gen'l Lee, and Grant, and Abe Lincoln. Seen John Brown, and seen the seven men that was hung with him, but we wasn't allowed to talk to any of 'em, jes' looked on in the crowd. Jes' spoke, and say 'How d' do.'

[HW: Harper's Ferry is not [TR: rest illegible]]

"But ah did talk to Lincoln, and ah tol' him ah wanted to be free, and he was a fine man, 'cause he made us all free. And ah got a ole histry, it's the Sanford American History, and was published in 1784[HW:18?]. But ah don't know where it is now, ah misplaced it. It is printed in the book, something ah said, not written by hand. And it says, 'Ah am a ole slave which has suvved fo' 21 yeahs, and ah would be quite pleased if you could help us to be free. We thank you very much. Ah trust that some day ah can do you the same privilege that you are doing for me. Ah have been a slave for many years.' (Note discrepancy).

"Aftah the wah, ah came to Cincinnati, and ah was married three times. Mah fust wife was Nannie. Then there was Mollie. They both died, and than ah was married Cora heah, and ah had six child'en, one girl and fo' boys. (Note discrepancy) They's two living yet; James is 70 and he is not married. And Bob's about thutty or fo'ty. Ah done lost al mah rememb'ance, too ole now. But Mollie died when he was bo'n, and he is crazy. He is out of Longview (Home for Mentally Infirm) now fo' a while, and he jes' wanders around, and wo'ks a little. He's not [TR: "not" is crossed out] ha'mless, he wouldn't hurt nobody. He ain't married neithah.

"After the wah, ah bought a fiddle, and ah was a good fiddlah. Used to be a fiddlah fo' the white girls to dance. Jes' picked it up, it was a natural gif'. Ah could still play if ah had a fiddle. Ah used to play at our hoe downs, too. Played all those ole time songs—Soldier's Joy, Jimmy Long Josey, Arkansas Traveler, and Black Eye Susie. Ah remembah the wo'ds to that one."

Smiling inwardly with pleasure as he again lived the past, the old Negro swayed and recited:

Black Eye Susie, you look so fine, Black Eye Susie, ah think youah mine. A wondahful time we're having now, Oh, Black Eye Susie, ah believe that youah mine.

And away down we stomp aroun' the bush, We'd think that we'd get back to wheah we could push Black Eye Susie, ah think youah fine, Black Eye Susie, Ah know youah mine.

Then, he resumed his conversational tone:

"Befo' the wah we nevah had no good times. They took good care of us, though. As pa'taculah with slaves as with the stock—that was their money, you know. And if we claimed a bein' sick, they'd give us a dose of castah oil and tu'pentine. That was the principal medicine cullud folks had to take, and sometimes salts. But nevah no whiskey—that was not allowed. And if we was real sick, they had the Doctah fo' us.

"We had very bad eatin'. Bread, meat, water. And they fed it to us in a trough, jes' like the hogs. And ah went in may shirt tail till I was 16, nevah had no clothes. And the flo' in ouah cabin was dirt, and at night we'd jes' take a blanket and lay down on the flo'. The dog was supe'ior to us; they would take him in the house.

"Some of the people I belonged to was in the Klu Klux Klan. Tolah had fo' girls and fo' boys. Some of those boys belonged. And I used to see them turn out. They went aroun' whippin' niggahs. They'd get young girls and strip 'em sta'k naked, and put 'em across barrels, and whip 'em till the blood run out of 'em, and then they would put salt in the raw pahts. And ah seen it, and it was as bloody aroun' em as if they'd stuck hogs.

"I sho' is glad I ain't no slave no moah. Ah thank God that ah lived to pas the yeahs until the day of 1937. Ah'm happy and satisfied now, and ah hopes ah see a million yeahs to come."



Forest H. Lees C.R. McLean, Supervisor June 10, 1937

Topic: Folkways Medina County, District #5

JULIA WILLIAMS, ex-slave

Julia Williams, born in Winepark, Chesterfield County near Richmond, Virginia. Her age is estimated close to 100 years. A little more or a little less, it is not known for sure.

Her memory is becoming faded. She could remember her mothers name was Katharine but her father died when she was very small and she remembers not his name.

Julia had three sisters, Charlotte, Rose and Emoline Mack. The last names of the first two, Charlotte and Rose she could not recall.

As her memory is becoming faded, her thoughts wander from one thing to another and her speech is not very plain, the following is what I heard and understood during the interview.

"All de slaves work with neighbors; or like neighbors now-adays. I no work in de fiel, I slave in de house, maid to de mistress."

"After Yankees come, one sister came to Ohio with me."

"The slaves get a whippin if they run away."

"After Yankees come, my ole mother come home and all chillun together. I live with gramma and go home after work each day. Hired out doin maid work. All dis after Yankees come dat I live with gramma."

"Someone yell, 'Yankees are comin',' and de mistress tell me, she say 'You mus learn to be good and hones'.' I tole her, 'I am now'."

"No I nevah get no money foh work."

"I allways had good meals and was well taken care of. De Mrs. she nevah let me be sold."

"Sho we had a cook in de kichen and she was a slave too."

"Plantashun slaves had gahdens but not de house slaves. I allus had da bes clothes and bes meals, anyting I want to eat. De Mrs. like me and she like me and she say effen you want sompin ask foh it, anytime you want sompin or haff to have, get it. I didn suffer for enythin befoh dim Yankees come."

"After de Yankees come even de house people, de white people didn get shoes. But I hab some, I save. I have some othah shoes I didn dare go in de house with. Da had wood soles. Oh Lawde how da hurt mah feet. One day I come down stair too fas and slip an fall. Right den I tile de Mrs. I couldn wear dem big heavy shoes and besides da makes mah feet so sore."

"Bof de Mrs. and de Master sickly. An their chillun died. Da live in a big manshun house. Sho we had an overseer on de plantashun. De poor white people da live purty good, all dat I seed. It was a big plantashun. I can't remember how big but I know dat it was sho big. Da had lots an lots of slaves but I doan no zackly how many. Da scattered around de plantashun in diffren settlements. De horn blew every mohnin to wake up de fiel hans. Da gone to fiel long time foh I get up. De fiel hans work from dawn till dark, but evabody had good eats on holidays. No work jus eat and have good time."

"Da whipp dem slaves what run away."

"One day after de war was over and I come to Ohio, a man stop at mah house. I seem him and I know him too but I preten like I didn, so I say, 'I doan want ter buy nothin today' and he says 'Doan you know me?' Den I laugh an say sho I remember the day you wuz goin to whip me, you run affer me and I run to de Mrs. and she wouldn let you whip me. Now you bettah be careful or I get you."

"Sho I saw slaves sole. Da come from all ovah to buy an sell de slaves, chillun to ole men and women."

"De slaves walk and travel with carts and mules."

"De slaves on aukshun block dey went to highes bidder. One colored woman, all de men want her. She sold to de master who was de highes bidder, and den I saw her comin down de road singin 'I done got a home at las!'. She was half crazy. De maste he sole her and den Mrs. buy her back. They lef her work around de house. I used to make her work and make her shine things. She say I make her shine too much, but she haff crazy, an run away."

"No dey didn help colored folks read and write. Effn dey saw you wif a book dey knock it down on de floor. Dey wouldn let dem learn."

"De aukshun allus held at Richmond. Plantashun owners come from all states to buy slaves and sell them."

"We had church an had to be dere every single Sunday. We read de Bible. De preacher did the readin. I can't read or write. We sho had good prayer meetins. Show nuf it was a Baptis church. I like any spiritual, all of dem."

"Dey batize all de young men and women, colored folks. Dey sing mos any spirtual, none in paticlar. A bell toll foh a funeral. At de baptizen do de pracher leads dem into de rivah, way in, den each one he stick dem clear under. I waz gonna be batize and couldn. Eva time sompin happin an I couldn. My ole mothah tole me I gotta be but I never did be baptize when Ise young in de south. De othah people befoh me all batized."

"A lot of de slaves come north. Dey run away cause dey didn want to be slaves, like I didn like what you do and I get mad, den you get mad an I run away."

"De pattyroller was a man who watched foh de slaves what try to run away. I see dem sneakin in an out dem bushes. When dey fine im de give im a good whippin."

"I nevah seed mush trouble between de whites and blacks when I live dare. Effen dey didn want you to get married, they wouldn let you. Dey had to ask de mastah and if he say no he mean it."

"When de Yankees were a comin through dem fiels, dey sho was awful. Dey take everythin and destroy what ever they could not take. De othah house slave bury the valables in de groun so de soldiers couldn fine em."

"One of the house slaves was allus havin her man comin to see her, so one day affer he lef, when I was makin fun and laughin at her de mistress she say, 'Why you picken on her?' I say, dat man comin here all the time hangin round, why doan he marry her."

"I was nevah lowed to go out an soshiate with de othah slaves much. I was in de house all time."

"I went to prayer meetins every Sunday monin and evenin."

"Sometimes dey could have a good time in de evenin and sometimes day couldn."

"Chrismas was a big time for everyone. In the manshun we allus had roast pig and a big feed. I could have anythin I want. New Years was the big aukshun day. All day hollerin on de block. Dey come from all ovah to Richmond to buy and sell de slaves."

"Butchern day sho was a big time. A big long table with de pigs laid out ready to be cut up."

"Lots of big parties an dances in de manshun. I nevah have time foh play. Mrs, she keep me busy and I work when I jus little girl and all mah life."

"Effen any slaves were sick dey come to de house for splies and medsin. De Mrs. and Master had de doctor if things were very bad."

"I'll nevah forget de soldiers comin. An old woman tole me de war done broke up, and I was settin on de porch. De Mrs. she say, 'Julia you ant stayin eneymore'. She tole me if I keep my money and save it she would give me some. An she done gave me a gold breast pin too. She was rich and had lots of money. After the war I wen home to my mother. She was half sick and she work too hard. On de way I met one slave woman who didn know she was even free."

"The Yankees were bad!"

"I didn get married right away. I worked out foh diffren famlies."

"After de war dare was good schools in de south. De free slaves had land effen dey knowed what to do with. I got married in the south to Richar Williams but I didn have no big weddin. I had an old preacher what knowed all bout de Bible, who married me. He was a good preacher. I was de mothah of eight chillun."

"Lincoln? Well I tell you I doan know. I didn have no thought about him but I seed him. I work in de house all de time and didn hear much about people outside."

"I doan believe in ghosts or hants. As foh dancin I enjoy it when I was young."

"I cant read and I thought to myself I thought there was a change comin. I sense that. I think de Lawd he does everythin right. De Lawd open my way. I think all people should be religious and know about de Lawd and his ways."

Her husband came to Wadsworth with the first group that came from Doylestown. The men came first then they sent for their families. Her husband came first them sent for her and the children. They settled in Wadsworth and built small shacks then later as times got better they bought properties.

This year is the 57th Anniversary of the Wadsworth Colored Baptist Church of which Julia Williams was a charter member. She is very close to 100 years old if not that now and lives at 160 Kyle Street, Wadsworth, Ohio.



Lees Ohio Guide, Special Ex-Slave Stories August 17, 1937

JULIA WILLIAMS (Supplementary Story)

"After de War deh had to pick their own livin' an seek homes.

"Shuah, deh expected de 40 acres of lan' an mules, but deh had to work foh dem."

"Shuah, deh got paht of de lan but de shuah had to work foh it.

"After de war deh had no place to stay an den deh went to so many diffrunt places. Some of dem today don't have settled places to live.

"Those owners who were good gave their slaves lan but de othahs jus turned de slaves loose to wander roun'. Othahs try to fine out where dere people were and went to them.

"One day I seed a man who was a doctor down dere, an' I says, 'You doktah now?' An says 'No, I doan doktah no mow.' I work foh him once when I was slave, few days durin de war. I say, 'Member that day you gonna lick me but you didn', you know I big woman an fight back. Now de war ovah and you can't do dat now'.

"Slaves didn get money unless deh work for it. Maybe a slave he would work long time before he get eny pay."

"Lak you hire me an you say you goin to pay me an then you don't. Lots of them hired slaves aftah de war and worked dem a long time sayin deh gwine pay and then when he ask for money, deh drive him away instead of payin him.

"Yes, some of de slaves were force to stay on de plantation. I see how some had to live." "They had homes for awhile but when deh wasen't able to pay dere rent cause deh weren't paid, deh were thrown out of dere houses." Some of dem didn't know when deh were free till long time after de Wah.

"When I were free, one mornin I seed the mistress and she ask me would I stay with her a couple years. I say, 'No I gonna find mah people an go dere.'

"Anyway, she had a young mister, a son, an he was mean to de slaves. I nebber lak him.

"Once I was sent to mah missys' brother for a time but I wouldn' stay dere: he too rough.

"No, deh didn't want you to learn out of books. My missy say one day when I was free, 'Now you can get your lessons.'

"I allus lowed to do what I wanted, take what I wanted, and eat what I wanted. Deh had lots of money but what good did it do them? Deh allus was sick.

"De poor soldiers had lots to go thru, even after de wah. Deh starvin and beggin and sick.

"De slaves had more meetins and gatherins aftah de war.

"On de plantation where I work dey had a great big horn blow every mornin to get de slaves up to de field, I allus get up soon after it blew, most allways, but this mornin dey blew de horn a long time an I says, 'what foh dey blow dat horn so long?' an den de mastah say, 'You all is free'. Den he says, ter me, 'What you all goin to do now', and I says, 'I'm goin to fine my mother.'

"One day a soldier stop me an says, 'Sister, where do you live?' I tole him, den he says, 'I'm hungry.' So I went an got him sompin to eat.

"One time I was to be sold de next day, but de missy tole the man who cried the block not to sell me, but deh sold my mother and I didn't see her after dat till just befoh de war ovah.

"All dat de slaves got after de war was loaned dem and dey had to work mighty hard to pay for dem. I saw a lot of poor people cut off from votin and dey off right now, I guess. I doan like it dat de woman vote. A woman ain't got no right votin, nowhow.

"Most of de slaves get pensions and are taken care of by their chillun."

"Ah doan know about de generation today, just suit yourself bout dat."

Julia Williams resides at 150 Kyle St., Wadsworth, Ohio.



Miriam Logan Lebanon, Ohio July 8th

Warren County, District 2

Story of REVEREND WILLIAMS, Aged 76, Colored Methodist Minister, Born Greenbriar County, West Virginia (Born 1859)

"I was born on the estate of Miss Frances Cree, my mother's mistress. She had set my grandmother Delilah free with her sixteen children, so my mother was free when I was born, but my father was not.

"My father was butler to General Davis, nephew of Jefferson Davis. General Davis was wounded in the Civil War and came home to die. My father, Allen Williams was not free until the Emancipation."

"Grandmother Delilah belonged to Dr. Cree. Upon his death and the division of his estate, his maiden daughter came into possession of my grandmother, you understand. Miss Frances nor her brother Mr. Cam. ever married. Miss Frances was very religious, a Methodist, and she believed Grandmother Delilah should be free, and that we colored children should have schooling."

"Yes ma'm, we colored people had a church down there in West Virginia, and grandmother Delilah had a family Bible of her own. She had fourteen boys and two girls. My mother had sixteen children, two boys, fourteen girls. Of them—mother's children, you understand,—there were seven teachers and two ministers; all were educated—thanks to Miss Frances and to Miss Sands of Gallipolice. Mother lived to be ninety-seven years old. No, she was not a cook."

"In the south, you understand—there is the COLORED M.E. CHURCH, and the AFRICAN M.E. CHURCH, and the SOUTHERN METHODIST, and METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCHES of the white people. They say there will be UNION METHODIST of both white and colored people, but I don't believe there will be, for there is a great difference in beliefs, even today. SOUTHERN METHODIST do believe, do believe in slavery; while the Methodist to which Miss Frances Cree belonged did not believe in slavery. The Davis family, (one of the finest) did believe in slavery and they were good southern Methodist. Mr. Cam., Miss Frances brother was not so opposed to slavery as was Miss Frances. Miss Frances willed us to the care of her good Methodist friend Miss Eliza Sands of Ohio."

"Culture loosens predijuce. I do not believe in social equality at all myself; it cannot be; but we all must learn to keep to our own road, and bear Christian good will towards each other."

"I do not know of any colored people who are any more superstitious than are white people. They have the advantages of education now equally and are about on the same level. Of course illiterate whites and the illiterate colored man are apt to believe in charms. I do not remember of hearing of any particular superstitious among my church people that I could tell you about, no ma'm, I do not."

"In church music I hold that the good old hymns of John and of Charles Wesley are the best to be had. I don' like shouting 'Spirituals' show-off and carrying on—never did encourage it! Inward Grace will come out in your singing more than anything else you do, and the impression we carry away from your song and, from the singer are what I count." Read well, sing correctly, but first, last, remember real inward Grace is what shows forth the most in a song."

"In New Oreleans where I went to school,—(graduated in 1887 from the Freedman's Aid College)—there were 14 or 15 colored churches (methodist) in my youth. New Oreleans is one third colored in population, you understand. Some places in the south the colored outnumber the whites 30 to 1.

"I pastored St. Paul's church in Louieville, a church of close to 3,000 members. No'ma'm can't say just how old a church it is."

"To live a consecrated life, you'd better leave off dancing, drinking smoking and the movies. I've never been to a movie in my life. When I hear some of the programs colored folks put on the radio sometimes I feel just like going out to the woodshed and getting my axe and chopping up the radio, I do! It's natural and graceful to dance, but it is not natural or good to mill around in a low-minded smoky dance hall."

"I don't hold it right to put anybody out of church, no ma'm. No matter what they do, I don't believe in putting anybody out of church."

"My mother and her children were sent to Miss Eliza Sands at Gallipolis, Ohio after Miss Frances Cree's death, at Miss Frances' request. Father did not go, no ma'm. He came later and finished his days with us."

"We went first to Point Pleasant, then up the river to Gallipolis."

"After we got there we went to school. A man got me a place in Cincinnati when I was twelve years old. I blacked boots and ran errands of the hotel office until I was thirteen; then I went to the FREEDMAN'S AID COLLEGE in N' Orleans; remained until I graduated. Shoemaking and carpentering were given to me for trades, but as young fellow I shipped on a freighter plying between New Orleans and Liverpool, thinking I would like to be a seaman. I was a mean tempered boy. As cook's helper one day, I got mad at the boatswain,—threw a pan of hot grease on him."

The crew wanted me put into irons, but the captain said 'no,—leave him in Liverpool soon as we land—in about a day or two. When I landed there they left me to be deported back to the States according to law."

"Yes, I had an aunt live to be 112 years old. She died at Granville (Ohio) some thirty years ago. We know her age from a paper on Dr. Cree's estate where she was listed as a child of twelve, and that had been one hundred years before."

"About the music now,—you see I'm used to thinking of religion as the working out of life in good deeds, not just a singing-show-off kind."

Some of the Spirituals are fine, but still I think Wesley hymns are best. I tell my folks that the good Lord isn't a deaf old gentleman that has to be shouted up to, or amused. I do think we colored people are a little too apt to want to show off in our singing sometimes."

"I was very small when we went away from Greenbriar County to Point Pleasant, and from there to Gallipolis by wagon. I do remember Mr. Cam. Cree. I was taring around the front lawn where he didn't want me; he was cross. I remember somebody taking me around the house, and thats all,-all that I can remember of the old Virginia home where my folks had belonged for several generations."