"My pa uster come two or three times a week to our plantashun, an' just so he was back by sun-up for work, nobody didn't say nothin' to him. He just lived 'bout three or four miles way from us.

"Yes ma'am we went to church, and the white preachers preached for us. We sat in the back of the church just like we sits in the back of the street cars now-days. Some of the house servants would go one time and some another. All the hands could go but ev'rybody had to has a pass, to sho' who they b'long to.

"Yes ma'am, the slaves was whipped if they didn't do they taskwork, or if they steal off without a pass, but if our marster found a overseer whipped the slaves overmuch he would git rid of him. We was always treated good and kind and well cared for, and we was happy.

"No ma'am, no overseer ever went to marster's table, or in the house 'cept to speak to marster. Marster had his overseers' house and give 'em slaves to cook for 'em and wait on 'em, but they never go anywhere with the fam'ly.

"The house servants' houses was better than the fiel'-hands'—and Marster uster buy us cloth from the 'Gusta Fact'ry in checks and plaids for our dresses, but all the fiel'-hands clothes was made out of cloth what was wove on mistis' own loom. Sometime the po' white folks in the neighborhood would come an' ask to make they cloth on mistis' loom, and she always let 'em.

"Yes, ma'am, we had seamsters to make all the clothes for everybody, and mistis had a press-room, where all the clothes was put away when they was finished. When any body needed clothes mistis would go to the press-room an' get 'em.

"During the war mistis had one room all fixed up to take care of sick soldiers. They would come stragglin' in, all sick or shot, an' sometimes we had a room full of 'em. Mistis had one young boy to do nothin' but look after 'em and many's the night I got up and helt the candle for 'em to see the way to the room.

"Oh my Gawd, I saw plenty wounded soldiers. We was right on the road to Brightsboro, and plenty of 'em pass by. That Confed'rate war was the terriblest, awfullest thing.

"Nobody but me knowed where mistis buried her gold money and finger rings and ear-rings and breat-pins. [TR: breast-pins?] I helt the candle then, too. Mistis and marster, (he was home then) an' me went down back of the grape arbor to the garden-house. Marster took up some planks, an' dug a hole like a grabe and buried a big iron box with all them things in it; then he put back the planks. Nobody ever found 'em, and after the war was over we went and got 'em.

"Yes, ma'am, everybody did they own work. De cook cooked, and the washer, she didn't iron no clothes. De ironer did that. De housemaid cleaned up, and nurse tended the chilrun. Then they was butlers and coachmen. Oh, they was a plenty of us to do eve'ything.

"We didn't have a stove, just a big fire place, and big oven on both sides, and long-handle spiders. When we was fixin' up to go to Camp Meeting to the White Oak Camp meeting grounds, they cooked chickens and roasted pigs, and put apples in they mouth and a lot of other food—good food too. De food peoples eat these days, you couldn't have got nobody to eat. Camp Meetin' was always in August and September. It was a good Methodis' meetin', and eve'ybody got religion. Sometimes a preacher would come to visit at the house, an' all the slaves was called an' he prayed for 'em. Sometimes the young ones would laugh, an' then marster would have 'em whipped.

"My young mistis had a sister older than her. She married Mr. Artie Boyd, an' they had a big weddin' but she loved her home and her mother and father so much she wouldn't leave home. She just stayed on living there. When her baby come she died, and I tell you, ma'am, her fun'al was most like a weddin', with so many people an' so many flowers. All the people from the plantashun came to the house, an' the wimmen had they babies in they arms. One the ladies say, "How come they let all these niggers and babies come in the house?" But marster knowed all us loved mistis, and he call us in. Marse Artie he wrote a long letter an' all the things he got from mistis he give back to her fam'ly an' all his own things he give to his brother, an' then he died. Some say his heart strings just broke 'cause mistis died, and some say he took something.

"No, ma'am, I wasn't married till after freedom. I was married right here in 'Gusta by Mr. Wharton, the First Baptist Church preacher, an' I lived and worked here ever since."



[HW: Dist. 7 Ex-Slave #19] Adella S. Dixon District 7

BERRY CLAY OLD SLAVE STORY [MAY 8 1937]

Telfair County was the home of some colored people who never were slaves, but hired their services for wages just as the race does today. Berry Clay, half Indian, half white, was the son of Fitema Bob Britt, a full blood Indian, who died shortly after his son's birth. His mother later married William Clay, whose name was taken by the children as well as the mother. The family then moved to Macon.

Clay, next [TR: 'to the' scratched out] oldest of five children was 89 years old on August 5, 1936, and while he was never a slave, remembers many incidents that took place then. Not many years after his mother remarried, she became very ill and he recalls being lifted by his step-father to kiss her good bye as she lay dying. After her death, the family continued to live in South Macon where the father was employed as overseer for a crew at the Railroad yard.

This position often called for the punishment of slaves but he was too loyal to his color to assist in making their lives more unhappy. His method of carrying out orders and yet keeping a clear conscience was unique—the slave was taken to the woods where he was supposedly laid upon a log and severely beaten. Actually, he was made to stand to one side and to emit loud cries which were accompanied by hard blows on the log. The continuation of the two sounds gave any listener the impression that some one was severely beaten. It is said that Clay, the father, wore out several huge leather straps upon logs but that he was never known to strike a slave.

Mr. Wadley, by whom he was employed, was a well-known Macon citizen who served as President of the Central of Georgia Railroad for many years. A monument on Mulberry Street nearly opposite the Post Office is a constant reminder of the esteem in which he was held. His plantation was a huge one extending from the Railroad yard as far as the present site of Mercer University. A day of rest was given the slaves about once every three months in addition to the regular holidays which are observed today. On holidays, "frolics" at which square dances were the chief form of entertainment (by the music of a banjo or fiddle) were enjoyed. Ring games were played by the children. The refreshments usually consisted of ash cakes and barbecue. The ash cake was made by wrapping corn pones in oak leaves and burying the whole in hot ashes. When the leaves dried, the cake was usually done and was carefully moved to prevent its becoming soiled. [HW: A] skillful cook could produce cakes that were a golden brown and not at all ashy.

The membership of the local church was composed of slaves from several plantations. It was an old colored church with a white minister who preached the usual doctrine of the duty of a slave to his master. The form of service was the same as that of the white church. One unusual feature of the plantation was its Sunday School for the Negro children.

Courtships were very brief for as soon as a man or woman began to manifest interest in the opposite sex, the master busied himself to select a wife or husband and only in rare cases was the desire of the individual considered. When the selection was made, the master read the ceremony and gave the couple a home. He always requested, or rather demanded, that they be fruitful. A barren woman was separated from her husband and usually sold.

Very little money was handled by these people. The carriage drivers were more fortunate than the regular workers for they smuggled things to town when they drove the master and mistress and sold them while the family shopped or went visiting. At rare intervals, the field hands were able to earn small sums of money in this manner.

Food was provided by the owners and all families cooked for themselves whether they were many or one. The weekly allotments of meal, meat, etc., were supplemented through the use of vegetables which could always be obtained from the fields. On special days chicken or beef was given and each one had a sufficient amount for his needs. Hunting and fishing were recreations in which the slaves were not allowed to participate although they frequently went on secret excursions of this nature. All food stuff as well as cloth for garments was produced at home.

Clay is very superstitious, still believing in most of the signs commonly believed in those days, because he has "watched them and found that they are true". He stated that the screeching of the owl may be stopped by placing a poker in the fire and allowing it to remain until it becomes red hot. The owl will then leave, but death will invariably follow its visit.

The attitudes of the two races in the South regarding the war were directly opposite. The whites beheld it as something horrible and dreaded the losses that would necessarily be theirs. Sons and fathers had property to be considered, but they were generous in their contributions to the soldiers. On the other hand, the slaves rejoiced as they looked forward to their freedom when the war was over. There were, however, a few who were devoted to their masters to the extent that they fought in their stead in the Confederate Army. Others remained at home and skillfully ran the plantation and protected the women and children until the end of the war.

When Sherman made his famous "March to Sea", one phalanx of his army wrought its destruction between this city and Griswoldville. A gun factory and government shoe factory were completely destroyed. Although the citizens gave the invaders everything they thought they desired, the rest was destroyed in most instances. They tried to ascertain the attitudes of the land owners toward his servants and when for any reason they presumed that one was cruel, their vengeance was expressed through the absolute destruction of his property. In nearly every instance smoke houses were raided and the contents either destroyed or given away. Barrels of syrup flowing through the yard was a common sight.

At the end of the war, the South was placed under military rule. The presence of the Yankee guardsmen had a psychological effect upon the Southerners and they were very humble.

Before the terrors of the war had subsided a new menace sprang up—the Klu Klux Klan. While its energy was usually directed against ex-slaves, a white man was sometimes a victim. One such occasion was recalled by Clay. The group planned to visit a man who for some reason became suspicious and prepared to outwit them if they came. He heated a huge pot of water and when a part of his door was crashed in he reached through the opening and poured gourds of boiling water upon his assailants. They retreated, [HW: and] while they were away, he made his way to Atlanta.

Another group which began its operations shortly after the close of the war was a military clan organized for the purpose of giving the ex-slaves a knowledge of drilling and war tactics. An order to disband was received from the "Black Horse Calvary" by the leader of the group. His life was threatened when he failed to obey so he prepared for a surprise visit. He fortified his house with twenty-five men on the inside and the same number outside. When the approaching calvarymen reached a certain point, the fifty hidden men fired at the same time. Seven members of the band were killed and many others wounded. There was no further interference from this group.

Clay and his father ran a grocery store just after Emancipation. He did not like this type of work and apprenticed himself to a painter to learn the trade. He is still considered an excellent painter though he does not receive much work.

He has always taken care of himself and never "ran about" at night. He boasts that his associates never included a dancing woman. As he has used tobacco for sixty-five years, he does not consider it a menace to health but states that worry will kill anyone and the man who wants to live a long time must form the habit of not worrying. His Indian blood—the high cheek bones, red skin and straight black hair now tinged with grey make this unmistakable—has probably played a large part in the length of his life.



[HW: Dist. 7 Ex-Slave #22] Adella S. Dixon District 7

PIERCE CODY OLD SLAVE STORY [HW: About 88] [MAY 8 1937]

Pierce Cody was the eldest son of Elbert and Dorothy Cody. His father was born in Richmond, Virginia, his mother in Warren County. When the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, he, the eldest child in a large family, was in his early teens. This group lived on the place owned by Mr. Bob Cody, [HW: whose] family was a group of ardent believers in the Hardshell Baptist faith. So firm was their faith that a church of this denomination was provided for the slaves and each one required to become a member. A white minister invariably preached the then worn out doctrine of a slave's duty to his master, the reward of faithfulness and the usual admonition against stealing.

The members of this church were required to fast on one day of the week, the fast lasting all day until seven in the evening. The small boys, both white and colored, resenting the abstinence from food, usually secured a reserve supply which was cached during the week and secretly enjoyed on fast day. Fish were plentiful in all the streams and they sometimes sneaked away to the river and after enjoying the sport, cooked their catch on the banks of the stream.

Groups of ministers—30 to 40—then traveled from one plantation to another spreading the gospel, and were entertained as they traveled. On one occasion the group arrived at the Cody estate on fast day. The boys having been on one of their secret fishing trips had caught so many perch that they were not able to consume them on the banks, so had smuggled them to the kitchen, coaxed the cook to promise to prepare them, and had also sworn her to absolute secrecy regarding their origin. Although the kitchen was not directly connected with the "big house", the guests soon detected the aroma of fresh fish and requested that they be allowed to partake of this delicacy. When the boys, as well as the servants, heard this, they became panicky for they feared the wrath of the master. But the catch was so heartily relished that instead of the expected punishment, they were commended and allowed to fish on the next day of fasting.

As was characteristic of many others, the planter's home was near the center of a vast estate and in this instance had a tall lookout on the roof from which the watchman might see for miles around. The "quarters" were nearby and the care-free children who played in the large yard were closely watched as they were often stolen by speculators and later sold at auctions far away. The land was divided into many fields each of which was used to cultivate a particular product. Each field had its special crew and overseer.

Cody's father was [HW: one of the] feeders [HW: who] arose at least two hours before sunrise, to feed the stock. A large number of horses and more than two hundred head of cattle had to be fed by sunrise when they were to be turned into the pastures or driven to the field to begin the day's work. After sunrise, his father's duty [HW: as] foreman for plowers began. Other workers were hoe hands, additional foremen, cooks, weavers, spinners, seamstresses, tailors, shoemakers, etc. As everything used was grown and made on the estate there was plenty of work for all and in many instances [HW: slaves] learned trades which they liked and which furnished a livelihood when they were set free.

[HW: When he entered his teens] Cody's first duties began [HW: as] a plowhand who broke "newground." As all of this land was to be plowed, a lack of skill in making straight furrows did not matter, so beginners were preferably used. Shortly after he began plowing he was made foreman of one of the groups. Thus encouraged by his master's faith in his ability to do a man's work, he assumed a "grown up" attitude under the stimulus of his new responsibilities and was married shortly after.

At this time marriages resulted from brief courtships. After the consent of the girl was obtained, it was necessary to seek permission from the master, whether she lived on the same or an adjoining plantation. In the latter case, the marriage rites were performed by her master. The minister was not used in most instances—the ceremony [HW: being] read from a testament by the owner of the bride. Marriages were nearly always performed out of doors in the late afternoon. The bride's wedding dress was fashioned of cloth made on the plantation from a pattern of her own designing. Attendants at marriages were rare. After the ceremony, the guests danced far into the night by music from the fiddle and banjo. Refreshments consisting of ginger cakes, barbecue, etc., were served. Such a couple, belonging to two different masters, did not keep house. The [HW: husband] was allowed to visit his wife on Wednesday night and Saturday when he might remain through Sunday. All marriage unions were permanent and a barren wife was considered the only real cause for separation.

Church services for this group were held jointly with the white members, the two audiences being separated by a partition. Gradually, the colored members became dissatisfied with this type of service and withdrew to form a separate church. The desire for independence in worship must necessarily have been strong, to endure the inconveniences of the "brush arbor" churches that they resorted to. As a beginning, several trees were felled, and the brush and forked branches separated. Four heavy branches with forks formed the framework. Straight poles were laid across these to form a crude imitation of beams and the other framework of a building. The top and sides were formed of brush which was thickly placed so that it formed a solid wall. A hole left in one side formed a doorway from which beaten paths extended in all directions. Seats made from slabs obtained at local sawmills completed the furnishing. In inclement weather, it was not possible to conduct services here, but occasionally showers came in the midst of the service and the audience calmly hoisted umbrellas or papers and with such scant protection, the worship continued.

Sunday afternoons were quietly spent, visiting being the only means of recreation. One of the favorite stay at home pastimes was the inspection of heads. The pediculous condition made frequent treatment necessary for comfort. The young white men liked to visit the "quarters" and have the slaves search their heads. They would stretch full length upon the cabin floors and rest their heads upon a pillow. Usually they offered a gift of some sort if many of the tiny parasites were destroyed, so the clever picker who found a barren head simply reached into his own and produced a goodly number. There existed on this plantation an antagonistic feeling toward children (born of slave parents) with a beautiful suit of hair, and this type of hair was kept cropped very short.

Gossip, stealing, etc. was not tolerated. No one was ever encouraged to "tattle" on another. Locks were never used on any of the cabin doors or on the smokehouse. Food was there in abundance and each person was free to replenish his supply as necessary. Money was more or less a novelty as it was only given in 1c pieces at Christmas time. As food, clothing, and shelter were furnished, the absence was not particularly painful. Connected with nearly every home were those persons who lived "in the woods" in preference to doing the labor necessary to remain at their home. Each usually had a scythe and a bulldog for protection. As food became scarce, they sneaked to the quarters in the still of the night and coaxed some friend to get food for them from the smokehouse. Their supply obtained, they would leave again. This was not considered stealing.

Medical care was also free. Excellent physicians were maintained. It was not considered necessary to call a physician until home remedies—usually teas made of roots—had had no effect. Women in childbirth were cared for by grannies,—Old women whose knowledge was broad by experience, acted as practical nurses.

Several cooks were regularly maintained. Some cooked for the men who had no families, others for the members of the big house and guests. The menus varied little from day to day. A diet of bread—called "shortening bread,"—vegetables and smoked meat were usually consumed. Buttermilk was always plentiful. On Sundays "seconds" (flour) were added to the list and butter accompanied this. Chickens, fresh meat, etc., were holiday items and were seldom enjoyed at any other time.

Not only were the slaves required to work but the young men of the "big house" also had their duties. In the summer they went fishing. While this sport was enjoyed, it was done on an extremely large scale in order that everyone should have an adequate supply of fish. The streams abounded in all kinds of fish, and nets were used to obtain large quantities necessary. In winter hunting was engaged in for this same purpose. Rabbits, squirrels, etc., were the usual game, but in addition the trapping of wild hogs was frequently indulged in. The woods contained many of these animals which were exceptionally vicious. The hunters, however, trapped them in much the same way that rabbits are now caught, without injury to the flesh [TR: 'making the meat more delicious' marked out]. Deer were also plentiful and venison enjoyed during its season. Horned snakes were the greatest impediments to more abundant hunting.

Knowledge of the war was kept from the slaves until long after its beginning. Most of them had no idea what "war" meant and any news that might have been spread, fell on deaf ears. Gradually this knowledge was imparted by Yankee peddlers who came to the plantation to sell bed-ticking, etc. When the master discovered how this information was being given out, these peddlers were forbidden to go near the quarters. This rule was strictly enforced.

Eventually, the Confederate soldiers on their way to and from camp began to stop at the house. Food and everything available was given to them. Three of Mr. Cody's sons were killed in battle. As the Northern soldiers did not come near the home, the loss of property was practically negligible [TR: '—six cents being all' marked out].

When the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, the slaves were called to the "big house" in a group to receive the news that they were free. Both old and young danced and cheered when this information was given out. Many of the families remained there for a year or two until they were able to find desirable locations elsewhere.

Cody attributes his ability to reach a ripe old age to the excellent care he took of himself in his youth. He has used tobacco since he was a small boy and does not feel that it affects his health. Distilled liquor was plentiful in his young days and he always drank but never to an excess.



EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

WILLIS COFER, Age 78 548 Findley Street Athens, Georgia

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

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens, Ga.

and Leila Harris John N. Booth Augusta, Georgia [MAY 6 1938]

Willis was enjoying the warm sunshine of an April morning as he sat on his small porch. Apparently, he was pleased because someone actually wanted to hear him talk about himself. His rheumatism had been painful ever since that last bad cold had weakened him, but he felt sure the sunshine would "draw out all the kinks." Having observed the amenities in regard to health and weather, the old man proceeded with his story:

"Eden and Calline Cofer was my pa and ma and us all lived on de big old Cofer plantation 'bout five miles from Washin'ton, Wilkes. Pa b'longed to Marse Henry Cofer and ma and us chillun wuz de property of Marse Henry's father, Marse Joe Cofer.

"I wuz borned in 1860, and at one time I had three brudders, but Cato and John died. My oldest brudder, Ben Cofer, is still livin' and a-preachin' de Gospel somewhar up Nawth.

"Chilluns did have de bestes' good times on our plantation, 'cause Old Marster didn't 'low 'em to do no wuk 'til dey wuz 12 years old. Us jus' frolicked and played 'round de yard wid de white chilluns, but us sho' did evermore have to stay in dat yard. It wuz de cook's place to boss us when de other Niggers wuz off in de fields, and evvy time us tried to slip off, she cotch us and de way dat 'oman could burn us up wid a switch wuz a caution.

"Dere warn't no schools for us to go to, so us jes' played 'round. Our cook wuz all time feedin' us. Us had bread and milk for breakfas', and dinner wuz mos'ly peas and cornbread, den supper wuz milk and bread. Dere wuz so many chilluns dey fed us in a trough. Dey jes' poured de peas on de chunks of cornbread what dey had crumbled in de trough, and us had to mussel 'em out. Yessum, I said mussel. De only spoons us had wuz mussel shells what us got out of de branches. A little Nigger could put peas and cornbread away mighty fast wid a mussel shell.

"Boys jes' wore shirts what looked lak dresses 'til dey wuz 12 years old and big enough to wuk in de field. Den dey put 'em on pants made open in de back. Dem britches would look awful funny now, but dey wuz all us had den, and all de boys wuz mighty proud when dey got big enough to wear pants and go to wuk in de fields wid grown folkses. When a boy got to be a man enough to wear pants, he drawed rations and quit eatin' out of de trough.

"All de slave quarters wuz log cabins and little famblies had cabins wid jes' one room. Old Marster sho' did want to see lots of chilluns 'round de cabins and all de big famblies wuz 'lowed to live in two-room cabins. Beds for slaves wuz made by nailing frames, built out of oak or walnut planks to de sides of de cabins. Dey had two or three laigs to make 'em set right, and de mattresses wuz filled wid wheat straw. Dere warn't no sto'-bought stoves den, and all our cookin' wuz done in de fireplace. Pots wuz hung on iron cranes to bile and big pones of light bread wuz cooked in ovens on de hearth. Dat light bread and de biscuits made out of shorts wuz our Sunday bread and dey sho' wuz good, wid our home-made butter. Us had good old corn bread for our evvyday bread, and dere ain't nothin' lak corn bread and buttermilk to make healthy Niggers. Dere wouldn't be so many old sick Niggers now if dey et corn bread evvyday and let all dis wheat bread and sto'-bought, ready-made bread alone 'cept on Sunday.

"Dere wuz four or five acres in Marster's big old gyarden, but den it tuk a big place to raise enough for all de slaves and white folkses too in de same gyarden. Dere wuz jus' de one gyarden wid plenty of cabbage, collards, turnip greens, beans, corn, peas, onions, 'taters, and jus' evvything folkses laked in de way of gyarden sass. Marster never 'lowed but one smokehouse on his place. It wuz plumb full of meat, and evvy slave had his meat rations weighed out reg'lar. Dere wuz jes' one dairy house too whar de slaves got all de milk and butter dey needed. Marster sho' did b'lieve in seeing dat his Niggers had a plenty to eat.

"Marster raised lots of chickens and de slaves raised chickens too if dey wanted to. Marster let 'em have land to wuk for deyselves, but dey had to wuk it atter dey come out of his fields. All dey made on dis land wuz deir own to sell and do what dey wanted to wid. Lots of 'em plowed and hoed by moonlight to make deir own crops.

"Us used to hear tell of big sales of slaves, when sometimes mammies would be sold away off from deir chilluns. It wuz awful, and dey would jes' cry and pray and beg to be 'lowed to stay together. Old Marster wouldn't do nothin' lak dat to us. He said it warn't right for de chilluns to be tuk away from deir mammies. At dem sales dey would put a Nigger on de scales and weigh him, and den de biddin' would start. If he wuz young and strong, de biddin' would start 'round $150 and de highest bidder got de Nigger. A good young breedin' 'oman brung $2,000 easy, 'cause all de Marsters wanted to see plenty of strong healthy chillun comin' on all de time. Cyarpenters and bricklayers and blacksmiths brung fancy prices from $3,000 to $5,000 sometimes. A Nigger what warn't no more'n jes' a good field hand brung 'bout $200.

"Dem bricklayers made all de bricks out of de red clay what dey had right dar on most all de plantations, and de blacksmith he had to make all de iron bars and cranes for de chimblies and fireplaces. He had to make de plow points too and keep de farm tools all fixed up. Sometimes at night dey slipped off de place to go out and wuk for money, a-fixin' chimblies and buildin' things, but dey better not let demselves git cotched.

"Mammy wove de cloth for our clothes and de white folkses had 'em made up. Quilts and all de bed-clothes wuz made out of homespun cloth.

"De fus' Sadday atter Easter wuz allus a holiday for de slaves. Us wuz proud of dat day 'cause dat wuz de onlies' day in de year a Nigger could do 'zactly what he pleased. Dey could go huntin', fishin' or visitin', but most of 'em used it to put in a good days wuk on de land what Marster 'lowed 'em to use for deyselves. Some of 'em come to Athens and help lay bricks on a new buildin' goin' up on Jackson Street. No Ma'am, I done forgot what buildin' it wuz.

"Us Niggers went to de white folkses churches. Mr. Louis Williams preached at de Baptist Church on de fust Sundays, and Meferdiss (Methodist) meetin's wuz on de second Sundays. Mr. Andy Bowden and Mr. Scott Cowan wuz two of de Meferdiss preachers. Me and pa jined de Baptis' Church. Ma wuz jes' a Meferdiss, but us all went to church together. Dey had de baptizin's at de pool and dere wuz sho' a lot of prayin' and shoutin' and singin' goin' on while de preacher done de dippin' of 'em. De onliest one of dem baptizin' songs I can ricollect now is, Whar de Healin' Water Flows. Dey waited 'til dey had a crowd ready to be baptized and den dey tuk a whole Sunday for it and had a big dinner on de ground at de church.

"De sho' 'nough big days wuz dem camp meetin' days. White folkses and Niggers all went to de same camp meetin's, and dey brung plenty 'long to eat—big old loafs of light bread what had been baked in de skillets. De night before dey sot it in de ovens to rise and by mawnin' it had done riz most to de top of de deep old pans. Dey piled red coals all 'round de ovens and when dat bread got done it wuz good 'nough for anybody. De tables wuz loaded wid barbecued pigs and lambs and all de fried chicken folkses could eat, and all sorts of pies and cakes wuz spread out wid de other goodies.

"Evvy plantation gen'ally had a barbecue and big dinner for Fourth of July, and when sev'ral white famblies went in together, dey did have high old times tryin' to see which one of 'em could git deir barbecue done and ready to eat fust. Dey jus' et and drunk all day. No Ma'am, us didn't know nuffin' 'bout what dey wuz celebratin' on Fourth of July, 'cept a big dinner and a good time.

"When slaves got married, de man had to ax de gal's ma and pa for her and den he had to ax de white folkses to 'low 'em to git married. De white preacher married 'em. Dey hold right hands and de preacher ax de man: 'Do you take dis gal to do de bes' you kin for her?' and if he say yes, den dey had to change hands and jump over de broomstick and dey wuz married. Our white folkses wuz all church folkses and didn't 'low no dancin' at weddin's but dey give 'em big suppers when deir slaves got married. If you married some gal on another place, you jus' got to see her on Wednesday and Sadday nights and all de chilluns b'longed to de gal's white folkses. You had to have a pass to go den, or de patterollers wuz sho' to git you. Dem patterollers evermore did beat up slaves if dey cotched 'em off dey own Marster's place 'thout no pass. If Niggers could out run 'em and git on deir home lines dey wuz safe.

"On our place when a slave died dey washed de corpse good wid plenty of hot water and soap and wropt it in a windin' sheet, den laid it out on de coolin' board and spread a snow white sheet over de whole business, 'til de coffin wuz made up. De windin' sheet wuz sorter lak a bed sheet made extra long. De coolin' board wuz made lak a ironin' board 'cept it had laigs. White folkses wuz laid out dat way same as Niggers. De coffins wuz made in a day. Dey tuk de measurin' stick and measured de head, de body, and de footses and made de coffin to fit dese measurements. If it wuz a man what died, dey put a suit of clothes on him before dey put him in de coffin. Dey buried de 'omans in da windin' sheets. When de Niggers got from de fields some of 'em went and dug a grave. Den dey put de coffin on de oxcart and carried it to de graveyard whar dey jus' had a burial dat day. Dey waited 'bout two months sometimes before dey preached de fun'ral sermon. For the fun'ral dey built a brush arbor in front of de white folkses church, and de white preacher preached de fun'ral sermon, and white folkses would come lissen to slave fun'rals. De song most sung at fun'rals wuz Hark from de Tomb. De reason dey had slave fun'rals so long atter de burial wuz to have 'em on Sunday or some other time when de crops had been laid by so de other slaves could be on hand.

"When white folkses died deir fun'rals wuz preached before dey wuz buried. Dat wuz de onliest diff'unce in de way dey buried de whites and de Niggers. Warn't nobody embalmed dem days and de white folkses wuz buried in a graveyard on de farm same as de Niggers wuz, and de same oxcart took 'em all to de graveyard.

"Our Marster done de overseein' at his place hisself, and he never had no hired overseer. Nobody never got a lickin' on our plantation lessen dey needed it bad, but when Marster did whup 'em dey knowed dey had been whupped. Dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' on our place and us all knowed better'n to take what didn't b'long to us, 'cause Old Marster sho' did git atter Niggers what stole. If one Nigger did kill another Nigger, dey tuk him and locked him in da jailhouse for 30 days to make his peace wid God. Evvy day de preacher would come read de Bible to him, and when de 30 days wuz up, den dey would hang him by de neck 'til he died. De man what done de hangin' read de Bible to de folkses what wuz gathered 'round dar while de murderer wuz a-dyin'.

"Its de devil makes folkses do bad, and dey all better change and serve God-a-Mighty, so as he kin save 'em before its too late. I b'lieve folkses 'haved better dem days dan dey does now. Marstar made 'em be good 'round his place.

"When us turned Marster's watch dogs loose at night, dey warn't nothin' could come 'round dat place. Dey had to be kept chained up in de daytime. Sometimes Marster let us take his dogs and go huntin' and dey wuz de best 'possum trailers 'round dem parts. When dey barked up a 'simmon tree, us allus found a 'possum or two in dat tree. Sometimes atter us cotched up lots of 'em, Marster let us have a 'possum supper. Baked wid plenty of butter and 'tatoes and sprinkled over wid red pepper, dey is mighty good eatments. My mouf's jus' a-waterin' 'cause I'm thinkin' 'bout 'possums.

"Yes Ma'am, us had corn shuckin's, and dey wuz big old times. Evvybody from plantations miles 'round would take time out to come. Sometimes de big piles of corn would make a line most a half a mile long, but when all de Niggers got at dat corn de shucks sho' would fly and it wouldn't be so long before all de wuk wuz done and dey would call us to supper. Dere wuz barbecue and chickens, jus' a plenty for all de Niggers, and corn bread made lak reg'lar light bread and sho' enough light bread too, and lots of 'tato pies and all sorts of good things.

"Atter da War wuz over, dey jus' turned de slaves loose widout nothin'. Some stayed on wid Old Marster and wukked for a little money and dey rations.

"Pa went down on the Hubbard place and wukked for 40 dollars a year and his rations. Ma made cloth for all de folkses 'round 'bout. Dey fotched deir thread and she wove de cloth for 50 cents a day. If us made a good crop, us wuz all right wid plenty of corn, peas, 'tatoes, cabbage, collards, turnip greens, all de hog meat us needed, and chickens too. Us started out widout nothin' and had to go in debt to de white folkses at fust but dat wuz soon paid off. I never had no chance to go to school and git book larnin'. All de time, us had to wuk in de fields.

"Ku Kluxers went 'round wid dem doughfaces on heaps atter de War. De Niggers got more beatin's from 'em dan dey had ever got from deir Old Marsters. If a Nigger sassed white folkses or kilt a hoss, dem Kluxers sho' did evermore beat him up. Dey never touched me for I stayed out of deir way, but dey whupped my pa one time for bein' off his place atter dark. When dey turned him loose, he couldn't hardly stand up. De Yankees jus' about broke up de Ku Kluxers, but day sho' wuz bad on Niggers while dey lasted.

"I wuz 'bout 21 years old when us married. Us never had no chillun and my wife done been daid for all dese long years, I don't know how many. I can't wuk and I jus' has to stay hyar wid my daid brother's chillun. Dey is mighty good to me, but I gits awful lonesome sometimes.

"No Ma'am, I ain't never seed but one ghost. Late one night, I wuz comin' by de graveyard and seed somethin' dat looked lak a dog 'ceppin' it warn't no dog. It wuz white and went in a grave. It skeered me so I made tracks gittin' 'way from dar in a hurry and I ain't never bean 'round no more graveyards at night.

"When I passes by de old graveyard on Jackson Street, I 'members lots of folkses whats buried dar, bofe white folkses and slaves too, for den white folkses put dey slaves whar dey aimed to be buried deyselves. Dat sho' used to be a fine graveyard.

"Us all gwine to git together someday when us all leaves dis old world. I'm ready to go; jus' a-waitin' for de Lord to call me home, and I ain't skeered to face de Lord who will judge us all de same, 'cause I done tried to do right, and I ain't 'fraid to die."

Uncle Willis was tired and sent a little boy to the store for milk. As the interviewer took her departure he said: "Good-bye Missy. God bless you. Jus' put yourself in de hands of de Lord, for dey ain't no better place to be."



PLANTATION LIFE

MARY COLBERT, Age 84 168 Pearl Street Athens, Georgia

Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby [HW: (White)] Athens

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens

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

(NOTE: This is the first story we have had in which the client did not use any dialect. Mary Colbert's grammar was excellent. Her skin was almost white, and her hair was quite straight.

None of us know what a "deep" slave was. It may have the same meaning as outlandish Negro. The "outlandish Negroes" were those newly arrived Negroes who had just come in from any country outside of the United States of America, and were untrained. They were usually just from Africa.

Sarah H. Hall)

With the thermometer registering 93 degrees in the shade on a particularly humid July day, the visitor trudged up one steep, rocky alley and down another, hesitantly negotiated shaky little bridges over several ravines, scrambled out of a ditch, and finally arrived at the address of Mary Colbert. It was the noon hour. A Negro man had tied his mule under an apple tree in one corner of Mary's yard. The animal was peacefully munching hay while his master enjoyed lunch from a battered tin bucket. Asked if Mary was at home, the man replied: "Yessum, jus' call her at de door."

A luxuriant Virginia creeper shaded the front porch of Mary's five-room frame house, where a rap on the front door brought the response: "Here I am, honey! Come right on through the house to the back porch." The aged mulatto woman was hanging out clothes on a line suspended between two peach trees. To the inquiry for Mary, she answered: "Yes, Honey, this is Mary. They say I am old, childish, and hellish; anyway, this is Mary."

"Dear, let's go in my parlor," she suggested in a cultured voice. "I wouldn't dare go out on the front porch wearing this dirty dress. It simply isn't my way of living." Mary is about five feet tall and wears her straight, snowy-white hair in a neat knot low on the back of her head. The sparkle in her bright brown eyes bespeaks a more youthful spirit than her wrinkled and almost white face would indicate. She was wearing a soiled print dress, brown cotton hose, and high-topped black shoes. In remarkably good English for one of her race she told that her daughter's family lives with her, "so that I won't be right by myself." Then she began her story:

"Honey, what is it you want me to tell you. Where was I born? Oh, my child! I was born right here in dear old hilly Athens. Yes, that's where I was born. Polly Crawford was my mother, and she belonged to Major William H. Crawford before he gave her to his son, Marse John Crawford. Now about my father, that is the dream. He died when I was just a little child. They said he was Sandy Thomas and that he was owned by Marster Obadiah Thomas, who lived in Oglethorpe County. All I can remember about my grandparents is this: When I found my grandma, Hannah Crawford, she was living on Major Crawford's plantation, where Crawford, Georgia, is now. Grandma was a little, bitty woman; so little that she wore a number one shoe. She was brought here from Virginia to be a field hand, but she was smart as a whip, and lived to be 118 years old. I used to tell my mother that I wished I was named Hannah for her, and so Mother called me Mary Hannah.

"I can't bring my grandfather to mind very clearly. I do remember that my mother took me to Penfield to see him, and told me if I wasn't a good little girl he would surely whip me. They called him 'Uncle Campfire', because he had such a fiery temper. For a living, after he got to be an old man, he made cheers (chairs), but for the life of me I don't know who he belonged to, because Major Crawford sold him before I was born.

"There were five of us children: Nat, Solomon, Susannah, Sarah, and myself. Marse John gave Solomon to his daughter, Miss Fannie, when she married Marse William H. Gerdine. Susannah belonged to Miss Rosa Golden, and Sarah and I belonged to the other Miss Fannie. She was Marse John's sister. Nat was Marse John's house boy, and our mother was his cook. We children just played around the yard until we were large enough to work.

"Yes, my dear, I was born in Marse John's back yard. He lived in a two-story frame house on Dougherty Street, back of Scudder's School. The two slave houses and the kitchen were set off from the house a little piece out in the yard. It was the style then to have the kitchen built separate from the dwelling house.

"Lord bless your life, Honey! We didn't live in log cabins, as you call them. There were two slave houses. The one Aggie lived in was two-story, the other one had just one story and they were both weatherboarded like Marse John's own house. The grown folks slept on beds made with tall oak posts. There were no metal springs then and the beds were corded instead. The straw-stuffed mattress ticks were made with plain and striped material, and pillows were filled with cotton. We children slept on trundle beds, which were pushed up under the big beds in the daytime, and pulled out for us to sleep on at night.

"No Ma'm, there was never any money given to me in slavery time. Remember, Dear, when the yankees came through here, I was only ten years old. Misses Fannie and Ann Crawford were Major Crawford's daughters, and they kept house for Marse John. That morning in May I was wearing a sleeveless apron, and they (Miss Fannie and Miss Ann) put a bag of gold and silver, and some old greenback Confederate money in my apron and told me to hold on to it. Miss Fannie and Miss Ann, both of them, patted me on the head and said: 'Now, be a good little girl and don't move.' On came the Blue Coats: they went all over the house searching everything with their guns and swords shining and flashing. I was so scared the sweat was running down my face in streams. Bless your life! When they came to the bedroom where I was standing by a bed, holding that money inside my apron, they didn't even glance at me the second time. Little did they think that little slave girl had the money they were hunting for. After the yankees were gone, I gave it all back to Miss Fannie, and she didn't give me the first penny. If any of the money was given to my mother she didn't tell me about it.

"I am going to tell you the truth about what we had to eat, so listen now. It was egg bread, biscuits, peas, potatoes—they they were called 'taters then—artichoke pickles, tea cakes, pies, and good old healthy lye hominy. There was plenty of meat served, but I was not allowed to eat that, as I was never a very strong child. I was a fool about stale bread, such as biscuit, cornbread, and light bread. Mother was a fine cook and her battercakes would just melt in your mouth. Of course, you know we had no stoves in those days and the cooking was done in open fireplaces, in ovens and pots. Oh yes! We had a garden. There was only one on the place and enough was raised in it to feed all of the people living there.

"I don't remember eating 'possums, rabbits, squirrels and fish until I went to Jackson, Mississippi, with Miss Rosa. There were plenty of those meats in Mississippi and I was then getting old enough and healthy enough to be allowed to eat them."

At this point, Mary insisted on serving lunch for her visitor, saying that she had lived with white people and knew how to cook. After a polite refusal, the story was continued:

"I was laughing at myself just the other day about those homespun dresses and sleeveless aprons I wore as a child. I reckon that was a sign you were coming to ask me about those things. I kept one of those dresses of mine until my own baby girl wore it out, and now I am sorry I let her wear it, for it would be so nice to have it to show you. We wore just a one piece costume in summer and had calico and muslin dresses for Sunday. Wintertime, I wore a balmoral petticoat, osnaburg drawers, and er-r-r. Well, Jacob! I never thought I would live to see the day I'd forget what our dresses were called. Anyway they were of woolen material in a checked design, and were made with a full skirt gathered on to a deep yoke. Uncle Patrick Hull—he was a deep slave belonging to Mr. A.L. Hull—made all the shoes for Marse John's slaves. We all wore brass-toed brogans.

"Oh, good! I should smile! A better man than Marse John never lived. Nobody better not beat his slaves. Marse John was the postmaster. He married Miss Sallie Eden, and everybody said she was mighty good, but I never knew her for she died when I was a baby. Marse John and his wife, Miss Sallie, had three children. They were: Miss Fannie, Miss Rosa and Marse Allie. Miss Annie Crawford, who teaches in the school here, is Marse Allie's daughter. She don't know me so well, but I know mighty well who she is. I think I have already told you that Misses Fannie and Rosa kept house for their brother, Marse John, after their mother died.

"Darling, please get this right: the plantation is a dream to me. If I should try to tell you about it, I am sure it would be only what my mother told me about it in the years long after the surrender. Whether the plantation was the property of Marse John or his father, William H. Crawford, I don't know, but I am sure there was an overseer, and I am quite sure it was a very large plantation. You know the town of Crawford was named for my white folks. The only thing I can be sure of, from my own memory, is of the things that took place here in Athens.

"Breakfast had to be served promptly at 7:30. When that 9:00 o'clock bell sounded at night, God bless your soul! You had to be in your house, and you had to be in bed by 10:00 o'clock. Marse John never punished but just two of his slaves that I can remember, but I have seen them get several good whippings. They were Ned and William, Aggie's and Lucy's boys, and Marse John cowhided them for misbehaving.

"There were jails during slavery time, but Marse John kept his slaves straight himself and did not allow any of them to be taken to jail. I have never seen slaves sold, but I have seen droves of them marching by, being taken to Watkinsville to be sold.

"No! No! Oh! No! You had better not dare let white people know that you could read, in those days. I remember one colored man, Alfred Evans, who used to read the Bible during slavery time. All the learning I have, I got after we were made free. There were two colored churches in Athens; one was Baptist and the other was Methodist. Yankee ladies came down from the North and taught us to read and write. I have often considered writing the history of my life and finally decided to undertake it, but I found that it was more of a job than I had expected it to be, and then too, I would have to tell too much, so I thought best to leave it alone.

"I went to church but very little during slavery time. However, I dearly loved to go to Sunday school, and never missed an opportunity of attending. One of our Sunday school songs was worded something like this:

'I want to be an angel, And with the angels stand.'

"My favorite song began:

'Around the Throne in Heaven, Ten Thousand children stand.'

"OO! Yes, I know how they buried folks in slavery time. For caskets they used straight, white pine boxes that they called coffins. They didn't have funerals like they do now. A preacher would say a few words at the grave and then he prayed, and after that everybody sang something like: 'I will arise and go to Jesus.' I was a singer in my younger days.

"All I remember 'bout Negroes going off to the North was when their masters took them along on trips to wait on them. Bless your life! That was one time when the ones that could read and write had the advantage. They were usually chosen to go along so if anything happened to the Marster on the trip, they could write back home. I never saw patrollers, but I heard that they used to beat up Negroes who were caught away from home without a pass. Marse John kept his slaves supplied with passes at all necessary times.

"Not all the slaves had to work on Saturday afternoons. This was their time of the week to get together and have a little fun around their quarters. Sunday mornings they went to church, as a rule, and on Sunday nights they visited each other and held prayer meetings in their homes. Don't get me wrong. They had to have passes to go visiting and attend those prayer meetings.

"Christmas time was a holiday season for slaves, and they had everything good you could want to eat. Listen, Child, I am telling you the truth. They even had pumpkin pie. Oh, yes! Santa Claus came to see slave children. Once I got too smart for my own good. Miss Fannie and Miss Ann had told us to go to bed early. They said if we weren't asleep when Santa Claus got there, he would go away and never come back. Well, that night I made up my mind to stay awake and see Santa Claus. Miss Fannie and Miss Ann slipped into our quarters right easy and quiet and were filling up stockings with candy, dolls, and everything you can imagine. While they were doing that, they turned around and saw me with my eyes wide open. Right there my Santa Claus ended. We didn't have any special observance of New Year's Day. It was the same as any other day.

"Mother said they had cornshuckings, quiltings, and cotton pickings on the plantation. She told me a good deal about the cornshuckings: about how they selected a general, whose job was to get up on top of the corn pile and holler at the top of his voice, leading the cornshucking song, while the others all shucked the corn and sang. After the corn was all shucked there were always fine eats. I can remember the quiltings myself. The women went from one house to another and quilted as many as 12 quilts in one night sometimes. After the quilts were all finished they had a big spread of good food too. Now it takes a whole month to quilt one quilt and nothing to eat.

"What games did we play? Let me see. Oh! yes, one of them was played to the rhyme:

'Chickimy, chickimy, Craney Crow I went to the well to wash my toe, When I got back my chicken was gone What time, Old Witch?'

"Then we would run and chase each other. Another game was played to the counting-out by the rhyme that started:

'Mollie, Mollie Bright, three-score and ten.'

"Honey, there is no use to ask me about Raw Head and Bloody Bones. When folks started talking about that, I always left the room. It is a shame how folks do frighten children trying to make them get quiet and go to sleep. I don't believe in ha'nts and ghosts. Since I have been grown, I have been around so many dead folks I have learned that the dead can't harm you; its the living that make the trouble.

"When his slaves were taken sick, Marse John always called in a doctor. An old woman, who was known as 'Aunt Fannie,' was set aside to nurse sick slaves. Dr. Joe Carlton was Marse John's doctor. What I am going to tell you is no fairy tale. Once I was so sick that Marse John called in Dr. Carlton, Dr. Richard M. Smith, Dr. Crawford Long, and Dr. James Long, before they found out what was wrong with me. I had inflammatory rheumatism and I wore out two and a half pairs of crutches before I could walk good again. Now, Dr. Crawford Long is a great and famous man in history, but it is sure true that he doctored on this old Negro many years ago.

"Honey, don't flatter me. Don't you know a little girl 10 years old can't remember everything that went on that far back. A few things they dosed the slaves with when they were sick was horehound tea, garlic mixed with whiskey, and the worm-few (vermifuge?) tea that they gave to Negro children for worms. That worm-few dose was given in April. Asafetida was used on us at all times and sage tea was considered a splendid medicine.

"When news came that Negroes had been freed there was a happy jubilee time. Marse John explained the new freedom to his slaves and we were glad and sorry too. My mother stayed with Marse John until he died. I was still a child and had never had to do anything more than play dolls, and keep the children in the yard. Lord, Honey! I had a fine time those days.

"It wasn't so long after the surrender before schools for Negroes were opened. It looked like they went wild trying to do just like their white folks had done. As for buying homes, I don't know where they would have gotten the money to pay for homes and land.

"At the time I married I was a washerwoman for the white folks. My first husband was Isaac Dixon, who came from some place in Alabama and had been owned by Dr. Lipscomb, the chancelor of the university. Dr. Lipscomb married us in the colored Methodist Church, and that night the church was crowded to overflowing. I wore a white dress made with a long train; that was the style then. After the ceremony, my mother served cake and wine at her house. Our six children were prettier than you, but only three of them lived to get grown. Our white friends named our children. My first husband died and then I married Jones Colbert, who belonged to Marse Fletcher Colbert of Madison County. We just went around to the preacher's house and got married. Jones was an old man when I married him. He was a preacher. He is dead now and so are all my children except one. I have one grandson, and this is the shameful part about him; his mother won't married when he was born, but of course she married later.

"Now I am going to tell you the truth as I see it. Abraham Lincoln was an instrument of God sent to set us free, for it was God's will that we should be freed. I never did hitch my mind on Jeff Davis; like the children of Israel, he had his time to rule. Booker T. Washington! Well, now I didn't give him a thought. He had to do his part. His mistress had taught him to read.

"Why did I join the church? Well, when the white folks sent their help off to Mississippi trying to keep them slaves, my sister and I went with Miss Rosa Crawford to Jackson. Before I left home my mother gave me an alabaster doll and told me to be a good girl and pray every night. Well, I never saw so many slave-houses in my life as I saw in Mississippi. Every night when I heard a colored man named Ben praying in his room that made me think of what my mother had told me and I grew more and more homesick for her. Finally one night I crept into Uncle Ben's room and asked him to tell me about God, and he did. After that, every night I went into his room and we prayed together. Yes, Honey, I found God in Jackson, Mississippi, and I joined the church just as soon as I could after I got back to my mother and dear old Athens.

"Yes, Honey, I was raised and loved by my own white folks and, when I grew to be old enough and large enough, I worked for them. I have been with, or worked for, white folks all my life and, just let me tell you, I had the best white folks in the world, but it was by God's plan that the Negroes were set free."



[HW: Dist. 1 Ex. Slave #21 (with Photograph)]

[HW: "JOHN COLE"]

Subject: A SLAVE REMEMBERS District: No. 1 W.P.A Editor: Edward Ficklen Supervisor: Joseph E. Jaffee [MAY 8 1937]

A SLAVE REMEMBERS

The front door of a little vine-clad cottage on Billups Street, in Athens, Georgia quaked open and John Cole, ex-slave confronted a "gov'mint man."



Yes, he was the son of Lucius Cole and Betsy Cole, was in his 86th year, and remembered the time "way back" when other gov'mint men with their strange ways had descended on Athens.

And far beyond that, back to the time when they had tried him out as a scullion boy in the big town house where his mother was the cook, but it seemed that the trays always escaped his clumsy young hands.

So "Marse Henry" had put him on the 200 acre Oglethorpe plantation as apprentice to training of the farm horses whose large unmanageableness he found more manageable than the dainty china of the banker's house. He simply had followed more after his father, the carriage driver than his mother, the cook.

Of course, all fifteen of the hands worked from sun-up to sun-down, but his aunt was the plantation cook, and it was not so bad there.

The night brought no counsel, but it brought better. Stretch cow-hides over cheese-boxes and you had tambourines. Saw bones from off a cow, knock them together, and call it [HW: a drum]. Or use broom-straws, on fiddle-strings, and you had your entire orchestra.

Grow older, and get by the gates with a pass (you had to have a pass or the paddle-rollers would get you,) and you had you a woman. If the woman wasn't willing, a good, hard-working hand could always get the master to make the girl marry him—whether or no, willy-nilly.

If a hand were noted for raising up strong black bucks, bucks that would never "let the monkey get them" while in the high-noon hoeing, he would be sent out as a species of circuit-rider to the other plantations—to plantations where there was over-plus of "worthless young nigger gals". There he would be "married off" again—time and again. This was thrifty and saved any actual purchase of new stock.

Always on Saturday afternoon you would have till "first dark" for base-ball, and from first dark till Sunday-go-to meeting for drinking and dancing. Sunday you could go to the colored church (with benefit of white clergy) or you could go to the white church just like real class except you sat in the rear.

No, it was not a bad life.

You usually weren't sick, but if you were sick, it afforded you the luxury of tea. Turpentine and caster oil composed the entire materia medica. Turpentine was used for sore throats, cuts and bruises. Castor oil was used for everything else except a major fracture which called for the master sending in a doctor to the quarters.

Yes, the gov'mint men with the blue uniforms and the shiny brass buttons had descended from the North on Athens—descended in spite of the double-barrelled cannon that the little master and the little master's men had tried on them. The blue clad invaders had come in despite of the quick breast-works, and the new-fangled cannon, and Bob Toombs boast that he "could beat the damn Yankees with corn-stalks before breakfast". (If only they had fought that way—if only they had [HW: not] needed grape-shot had enough to invent cannon mouths that spoke at the same time and were meant to mow down men with a long chain—if only they had not been able to fight long after Bull Run, and after breakfast!)

Yes, the Yankees had come over the classic hills of Athens (Athens that had so many hills that she would have been named Rome except for her first land-grant college,) had left, and had come again to stay, and to bring freedom to John Cole and his kind.

This was six months after Lee and his palandins had laid down the sword—the gallant, the unstained (but, alas, claimed Meade's batteries) the unconstitutional sword. Six months had gone and freedom had come.

But John Cole, slave of Henry Hull, the banker, found that his freedom was the freedom of "the big oak"—Athens famed tree-that-owns-itself. He was free, but he had no way to go anywhere. He was rooted in the soil and would stay fast rooted. He worked on with his master for 20 years, without pay.

Did he believe, back in slavery time in "signs" and in "sayings"—that the itching foot meant the journey to new lands—that the hound's midnight threnody meant murder?

No, when he was a young buck and had managed the bad horses, he had had no such beliefs. No, he was not superstitious. If the foot itched something ought to be put on it (or taken off it)—and as to the hounds yelping, nobody ever knew what dark-time foolishness a hound-dog might be up to.

But he was old, now. Death always comes in the afternoon. He does believe in things that have been proved. He does believe that a squinch-owl's screeching ("V-o-o-o-d-o-o! W-h-o-o-o? Y-ou-u!") is a sure sign of death. Lowing of a cow in afternoon Georgia meadows means death mighty close. If death come down to a house, better stop clock and put white cloth on mirrors. No loud talking permitted. Better for any nigger to bow low down to death....

To what factors did he attribute his long life, queried the gov'mint man.

Long living came from leaving off smoking and drinking.

Would he have a nickle cigar?

He would.

Yes, he was feeling quite tol'able, thank you. But he believed now in the owl and the cow and the clock.

In the morning-time one lives, but death always come in the afternoon. Better for any nigger, anywhere, to bow low down to death.



PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE

JULIA COLE, Age 78 169 Yonah Avenue Athens, Georgia

Written by: Corry Fowler Athens

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens

Leila Harris Augusta

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

A knock on the door of the comfortable little frame house which Julia Cole shares with her daughter, Rosa, brought the response, "Who dat?" Soon Rosa appeared. "Come in Honey and have a cheer," was her greeting and she added that Julia had "stepped across de street to visit 'round a little." Soon the neighborhood was echoing and reverberating as the call, "Tell Aunt Julia somebody wants to see her at her house," was repeated from cabin to cabin. A few moments later Julia walked in. Yellowish gingercake in color, and of rather dumpy figure, she presented a clean, neat appearance. She and her daughter, who cooks for a dentist's family, take much pride in their attractively furnished home. Julia was of pleasant manner and seemed anxious to tell all that she could. It is doubtful if Rosa made much progress with her ironing in an adjoining room, for every few minutes she came to the door to remind her mother of some incident that she had heard her tell before.

Julia began her story by saying: "I was born in Monroe, Georgia and b'longed to Marster John Grant. My Mamma was Mittie Johnson, and she died de year 'fore de war ended. I don't 'member my Pa. Mamma had four chillun. Richard and Thomas Grant was my brothers, but me and my sister Hattie was Johnsons. Marse John had a big plantation and a heap of slaves. Dey was rich, his folks was. Dey is de folks dat give Grant's Park to Atlanta.

"Dey called my grandpa, 'Uncle Abram.' Atter he had wukked hard in de field all day, he would jus' lay down on a bench at night and sleep widout pullin' off his clothes. Us had home-made beds in de cabins widout no paint on 'em. Evvything slaves had was home-made, jus' wooden-legged things. Even de coffins was made at home out of pine wood. Now me, I didn't sleep in de cabin much. I slept on a little trundle bed up at de big house. In de daytime my bed was pushed back up under one of de big beds.

"Marse John's son, Marse Willie Grant, blowed de bugle in de mornin's by 4 o'clock to git de slaves up in time to be in de fields by daybreak. When slaves got too old to wuk, dey took keer of de chillun in a house down below de kitchen. Mamma wukked in de field when she was able. Nobody on our place had to wuk in de fields on Sadday evenin's. Dat was de time de 'omans washed deir clothes and cleaned up.

"Chillun didn't have much to do. Us loved to hunt for turkey nests 'cause dey give us a teacake for evvy turkey egg us fetched in. Chillun et in de yard at de big house, whar dey give us plenty of meat and cornbread wid good vegetables for dinner. For breakfast and supper, us had mostly buttermilk and cornbread. On Sundays us had bread made from wheat flour and sopped good old syrup wid it. Sometimes Marse John would give us 'mission to kill little pigs at night and broil 'em over de coals in our yards, and how us did enjoy 'em! I ain't never suffered for nothin' in all my life, 'cause de Grants was mighty good white folks. De old White home on Prince Avenue was deir summer home. When dey built it, woods was all 'round and dere warn't many houses in dat section.

"Us had plenty of clothes made out of homespun checks, and Marse John give us brass-toed shoes. Our dresses was well sewed and made wid belts to 'em. Nobody went 'bout half naked on our plantation lak some of de old folks f'um other farms talks 'bout. Us had good well-made clothes, even if dey was made out of common cloth.

"Nobody on our plantation run away to de North, and de paddyrollers didn't git nobody at our place neither. Marse John was too good to evvybody for his slaves to want to cut up and run 'way and do things to make de paddyrollers hunt 'em down. Dey didn't have no jails 'cause dey didn't need none on our place. Sometimes Marse John made a colored man named Uncle Jim Cooper give 'em a good whuppin' when dey needed it.

"When us was sick, dey give us herbs and things of dat sort. In de springtime, dey give us jerusalem oak seed in syrup for nine mornin's and by den us was allus rid of de worms. Dey 'tended to slave chillun so good and dutiful dat dere warn't many of 'em died, and I don't never 'member no doctor comin' to my Mamma's house.

"Old Missus used to teach us in da blue back speller, and when I didn't know my lesson she made me run f'um de house to de gyarden gate for punishment. De more words I missed; de more times I had to run. Us had our own church services on de plantation under home-made brush arbors, and our colored preacher was Uncle Charles Cooper.

"Once some sojers come by our place lookin' for Marse John. He had done hid in de loft of de meat house and told evvybody on de place dey better not tell whar he was. Dey didn't find Marse John, but dey did find his son, Marse Willie, and dey tuk him 'long wid 'em. Marse Willie was de only chile dat Marster and Missus had and it nearly killed 'em for him to be tuk 'way from 'em. When Mr. Lincoln's general got to our place he was a-ridin' a big red hoss dat sho' was a grand animal. Dem sojers went in de smokehouses and stores evvywhar and tuk what dey wanted.

"Not long 'fore de war ended, my Mamma tuk a 'lapse f'um measles and died. 'Fore she died, she sont for Marse John and told him what she wanted done, and he done jus' what she axed. She give him my brothers, Richard and Thomas, and told him to take dem two boys and to make men out of 'em by makin' 'em wuk hard. I jus' lak to have died when my Mamma died. Dey carried her to de graveyard and put her down in de grave and I jus' couldn't help it; I jumped right down in dat grave wid her, and dey had to take me out. My brothers said I was plum crazy dat day.

"Atter de war was over, Marster moved his family to Atlanta on Peachtree Street. His grandson dat was born dat year died not long ago. Dey didn't have no farm in Atlanta and so dey didn't need all deir old servants. My sister Hattie was a baby and Auntie tuk her to Atlanta wid de Grants.

"I don't know what 'come of de others on Marster's farm. I had to git in a covered wagon and come wid my Uncle Jordan Johnson to Athens. I didn't want to leave, and I hid down under our things in de wagon when dey made me come. When us crossed de river, I was sho' us was 'bout to git drownded. One time atter dat us tuk a trip to Madison to see de old breastplates (breastworks) dar.

"My brother Tom got to be captain of a colored troop dat went to de Philippine Islands. Over dar de sojers kilt a big snake and et it all but de head. He had dat thing stuffed and brought it home. Atter he left de army, he got a job in de Atlanta Post Office whar he wukked 'til he was 'tired.

"I was hired out to de Marks family and stayed dar for years and dat was a mighty good place to be hired out. I was married twice. Me and Crit Clayton married at home. I ain't never seed nothin' lak dat pretty flowerdy weddin' dress dat I wore and I had de prettiest hat and things dat I ever seed. My next husband was Andrew Cole—He was Rosa's Pa. I forgits de name of de white preacher dat married us when us went to his house and axed him to. Four of our seven chillun is still livin'.

"Dey tells me our old big house near Monroe is standin' yit, and I sho' do wish I could see it once more 'fore I die, but since I broke my hip a few years ago I jus' don't ride in dem automobiles. No Ma'am, I don't limp. De Lord was good to heal my hip and I ain't takin' no chances on breakin' no more of my bones."



EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

MARTHA COLQUITT, Age 85 190 Lyndon Avenue Athens, Georgia

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

Edited by: John N. Booth District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7 Augusta, Georgia

The aged Negress leaned heavily on her cane as she shuffled about her tiny porch in the waning sunlight of a cold January day. An airplane writing an advertising slogan in letters of smoke high in the sky was receiving but indifferent attention from Aunt Martha. Sha shivered and occasionally leaned against a post until a paroxysm of coughing subsided. "What would you have thought of that if it had suddenly appeared in the sky when you were a child?" she was asked. "It would have scared me plum to death," was the response. "I didn't come out here just to see dat," she continued, "I didn't have nothin' to make no fire wid, and I had to git out in de sunshine 'cause it wuz too cold to stay in de house. It sho' is mighty bad to have to go to bed wid cold feet and cough all night long."

Her visitor could not resist the impulse to say, "Let's make a trade, Aunt Martha! If I give you a little money will you buy wood; then while you enjoy the fire will you think back over your life and tell me about your experiences when I come back tomorrow?" "Bless de Lord! I sho' will be glad to tell you de truf 'bout anything I can 'member," was her quick reply as she reached for the money.

[TR: Return Visit]

The next day Aunt Martha was in bed, slowly eating a bowl of potlicker and turnip greens into which cornbread had been crumbled.

"My ches' hurt so bad I couldn't git up today," was her greeting, "but set right dar by my bed and I can talk all right, long as I don't have to walk 'bout none. Walkin' makes me cough."

Soon the bowl was empty and when she had wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown, Aunt Martha began:

"When I wuz born, my ma b'longed to Marse Billie Glenn and us lived on his big plantation way down below Lexin'ton. My pa wuz Anderson Mitchell. He come from Milledgeville and b'longed to Mr. D. Smith. The Smithies lived close by Marse Billie's place. My ma wuz Healon Mitchell. I don't know what her last name wuz 'fore she married. She wuz born in Virginny, and her and my grandma wuz sold and brought to Georgia when ma wuz a baby. Grandma never did see none of her other chillun or her husband no more, and us never did hear nothin' 'bout 'em.

"Ma had four chillun. Lucy wuz my onlies' sister. Mr. Davenport bought her and she growed up at his place, what wuz called 'De Glade.' It wuz a big fine place at Point Peter, Georgia. Lucy married a Taylor.

"My brother, Isaac, wuz raised at Mr. Hamilton's place at Point Peter. After he growed up, he worked in Atlanta and bought him a home dar. He got in a fight wid a man what had done stobbed his mule, and de man hurt Isaac so bad he went crazy and died in de 'sylum at Milledgeville, but dey took him back and buried him in Atlanta.

"My other brother wuz Anderson Mitchell, and after freedom come he got work in Athens at de compress. His boss man moved to Augusta and took Anderson wid him to work in de compress dar. One day somethin' blowed up and he wuz scalded so bad it paralyzed him. Dey brought him back here, but he soon died.

"Ma's house was right on de edge of Marse Billie's yard, 'cause she was de cook. Grandma lived in de same house wid ma and us chillun, and she worked in de loom house and wove cloth all de time. She wove de checkidy cloth for de slaves clo'es, and she made flannel cloth too, leaseways, it wuz part flannel. She made heaps of kinds of cloth.

"Our beds had big home-made posties and frames, and us used ropes for springs. Grandma brought her feather bed wid her from Virginny, and she used to piece up a heap of quilts outen our ole clo'es and any kind of scraps she could get a holt of. I don't know what de others had in dey cabins 'cause ma didn't 'low her chillun to visit 'round de other folkses none.

"Ma's chillun all had vittals from de white folkses kitchen. After Marse Billie's fambly done et and left de table, de cook wuz s'posed to take what wuz left to feed de house niggers and her own chillun, and us did have sho' 'nuff good vittals. All de other slave folks had day rations weighed out to 'em every week and dey cooked in dey own cabins. When de wheat wuz ground at de mill it made white flour, and shorts, and seconds. Most of de shorts wuz weighed out in rations for de slave folks. Now and den at Christmas and special times dey got a little white flour. Dey liked cornbread for reg'lar eatin'. Dey wuz always lots of hogs on Marse Billie's plantation, and his colored folkses had plenty of side meat. Slaves never had no time to hunt in de day time, but dey sho' could catch lots of 'possums at night, and dey knowed how to git catfish at night too.

"'Cross de road from de Big 'Ouse, Marse Billie had a big gyarden, and he seed dat his help had plenty of somethin' good to bile. Dey won't no separate gyardens. Dey didn't have no time to work no gyardens of dey own.

"In summertime us chillun wore just one piece of clo'es. It wuz a sack apron. In winter grandma made us yarn underskirts and yarn drawers buttoned down over our knees. Ma made our home-knit stockings. Dey called our brass toed shoes 'brogans.' I don't speck you ever seed a brass toed shoe!

"Our Big 'Ouse sho' wuz one grand fine place. Why, it must have been as big as de Mill Stone Baptist Church! It wuz all painted white wid green blinds and had a big old high porch dat went nigh all 'round de house.

"If I ever did hear what Marse Billie's wife wuz named, I done plum clear forgot. Us called her 'Mist'ess' long as she lived and I don't recollect hearin' her called nothin' else. Marster and Mist'ess never had no little chillun whilst I was dar. Miss Lizzie wuz dey youngest child and she wuz most grown when I wuz born.

"Marse Billie's overseer lived in a four-room house up de road a piece from the Big 'Ouse. Nobody thought 'bout none of Marse Billie's overseers as pore white folkses. Every overseer he ever had wuz decent and 'spectable. Course dey won't in de same class wid Marse Billie's fambly, but dey was all right. Dey wuz four or five homes nigh our plantation, but all of 'em b'longed to rich white folkses. If dey wuz any pore white folkses 'round dar, us chillun never heared nothin' of 'em.

"I don't know just how many slaves Marse Billie had, but dey sho' was a drove of 'em. Sometimes he had 'em all git together in de back yard at de Big 'Ouse, and dey just filled up de yard.

"De overseer blowed a horn to wake 'em up just 'fore day, so as everybody could cook, eat, and git out to de fields by sunrise. Dey quit nigh sundown, in time for 'em to feed de stock, do de milkin', tend to bringin' in de wood, and all sorts of other little jobs dat had to be done 'fore it got too dark to see. Dey never wuz no work done at night on our plantation.

"If any of Marse Billie's help wuz whipped, I never knowed nothin' 'bout it. Dey used to say dat if any of 'em didn't work right de overseer would take 'em to de workshop. Us chillun never did know what happened when dey took 'em to de workshop. It wuz too fur away for us to hear what happened dar. De workshop was a big lone shed off to itself, whar dey had da blacksmith place, and whar harness wuz mended, and all sorts of fixin' done to de tools and things.

"Us never heared of no jail. Marse Billie bossed his place and us never knowed 'bout no trouble. De workshop wuz de nighest thing to a jail or a court dat anybody on our plantation knowed anything 'bout. Us never seed nobody in chains 'til long atter de War, when us wuz livin' in Lexin'ton, and Mr. Jim Smith come through dar wid some colored folkses all chained up, but us never did know how come dey wuz chained.

"No slave never runned away fron Marse Billie's plantation. Dey never even wanted to try. Dey wuz always 'fraid dey might not be able to take as good keer of deyselves as Marse Billie did for 'em, and dey didn't know what would happen to 'em off de plantation.

"I heared 'em talkin' 'bout paterollers, but I never did see one. Folkses said dey would git you and beat you if dey cotch you off de plantation whar you b'longed 'thout no pass. If any of Marse Billie's slaves got cotched by de paterollers, I never knowed nothin' 'bout it.

"I never heared of no trouble twixt de white folkses and dey colored folkses. Grandma and ma never 'lowed us to go to no other cabins, and us didn't hear 'bout no talk what wuz goin' on 'mongst de others. At night ma always spinned and knit, and grandma, she sewed, makin' clo'es for us chillun. Dey done it 'cause dey wanted to. Dey wuz workin' for deyselves den. Dey won't made to work at night. On Sadday night, ma bathed all her chillun. I don't know what de other famblies done den. Slaves wuz 'lowed to frolic Sadday night, if dey b'haved deyselves. On Sunday nights dey most always had prayer meetings.

"On Christmas mornin' all of us would come up to de yard back of de Big 'Ouse and Marse Billie and de overseer handed out presents for all. Dey wuz a little dram and cake too. Us chillun got dolls, and dresses, and aprons. Them stuffed rag dolls wuz de prettiest things! On New Year's day all de mens would come up to de Big 'Ouse early in de morning and would work lively as dey could a-cuttin' wood and doing all sorts of little jobs 'til de dinner bell rung. Den Marse Billie would come out and tell 'em dey wuz startin' de New Year right a-workin' lively and fast. Den he would say dat dey would be fed good and looked atter good, long as dey worked good. He give 'em a good taste of dram and cake all 'round, and let 'em go back to dey cabins for dinner, and dey could have de rest of de day to frolic.

"Dem cornshuckin's us used to have sho' wuz a sight. Corn would be piled up high as dis house, and de folkses would dance 'round and holler and whoop. Ma 'lowed us chillun to watch 'em 'bout a half hour; den made us come back inside our cabin, 'cause dey always give de corn shuckin' folkses some dram, and things would git mighty lively and rough by de time all de corn wuz shucked.

"On bright moonshiny nights folkses would invite de neighbors to come for cotton pickin's. After the cotton wuz picked dey would eat barbecue, and dance and have a big time.

"I never seed but one weddin' 'fore freedom come, and dat wuz when Marse Billie's daughter, Miss Lizzie Glenn, married Mr. Deadwyler. Dey had everything at dat weddin'. Yes, Ma'am, just everything. Miss Lizzie had on a white silk dress a-trailin' so far behind her dat it took two ladies to tote her train. Her veil wuz floatin' all 'bout her, and she wuz just de prettiest thing I ever did see in my whole life. A long time atter dat, Mr. Deadwyler, he died, and left Miss Lizzie wid two chillun, and she married Mr. Roan.

"I never seed no slave marriage. Ma went to 'em sometimes, but she never 'lowed us to go, 'cause she said us wuz too little. Marse Billie sont atter his own preacher, and de couple would come up to de Big 'Ouse and stand in de parlor door to be married 'fore Marster and Mist'ess. Den de colored folkses would go back down to da cabins and have a weddin' supper and frolic and dance. Dat's what ma told me 'bout 'em.

"Us used to play lots, but us never did have no special name for our playin'. 'Swingin' the Corner,' wuz when us all jined hands in a low row, and de leader would begin to run 'round in circles, and at de other end of de line dey would soon be runnin' so fast dey wuz most flyin'.

"Us all de time heared folkses talkin' 'bout voodoo, but my grandma wuz powerful 'ligious, and her and ma told us chillun voodoo wuz a no 'count doin' of de devil, and Christians wuz never to pay it no 'tention. Us wuz to be happy in de Lord, and let voodoo and de devil alone. None of us liked to hear scritch owls holler, 'cause everybody thought it meant somebody in dat house wuz goin' to die if a scritch owl lit on your chimney and hollered, so us would stir up de fire to make the smoke drive him away. I always runned out and tried to see 'em, but old as I is, nigh 86, I ain't never seed no scritch owl.

"Yes, Ma'am, I sho' does b'lieve in ha'nts, 'cause I done heared one and I seed it too, leasewise I seed its light. It wuz 'bout 30 years ago, and us had just moved in a house whar a white fambly had moved out. The ma had died a few days atter a little baby wuz born, and de baby had died too. One night I heared a strange sound like somebody movin' 'round in de house, and pretty soon a dim light comes a-movin' into my room real slow and atter goin' 'round de room it went out of sight in de closet.

"Next day I went to see de white folkses what had lived dar 'fore us moved in, and de husband tole me not to worry, dat it wuz his wife's ha'nt. He said she wuz huntin' for some money she had hid in de house, 'cause she wanted her chillun what wuz still livin' to have it. I went back home and 'most tore dat house down lookin' for dat money. Long as us lived dar I would see dat light now and den at night, and I always hoped it would lead me to de money but it never did.

"When folkses got sick, Marse Billie had 'em looked atter. Mist'ess would come every day to see 'bout 'em, and if she thought dey wuz bad off, she sont atter Dr. Davenport. Dr. Davenport come dar so much 'til he courted and married Marse Billie's daughter, Miss Martha Glenn. I wuz named for Miss Martha. Dey sho' did take special good keer of de mammies and de babies. Dey had a separate house for 'em, and a granny 'oman who didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter colored babies and mammies. De granny 'oman took de place of a doctor when de babies wuz born, but if she found a mammy in a bad fix she would ax Mist'ess to send for Dr. Davenport.

"Us didn't have no separate church for colored folkses. De white folkses had a big Baptist church dey called Mill Stone Church down at Goosepond, a good ways down de road from Marse Billie's plantation. It sho' wuz a pretty sight to see, dat church, all painted white and set in a big oak grove. Colored folkses had dey place in de gallery. Dey won't 'lowed to jine de church on Sunday, but dey had reg'lar Sadday afternoons for de slaves to come and 'fess dey faith, and jine de church. Us didn't know dey wuz no other church but de Baptist. All de baptizin' wuz done on Sunday by de white preacher. First he would baptize de white folkses in de pool back of de church and den he would baptize de slaves in de same pool.

"My grandma wuz a powerful Christian 'oman, and she did love to sing and shout. Dat's how come Marse Billie had her locked up in de loom room when de Yankee mens come to our plantation. Grandma would git to shoutin' so loud she would make so much fuss nobody in de church could hear de preacher and she would wander off from de gallery and go downstairs and try to go down de white folkses aisles to git to de altar whar de preacher wuz, and dey wuz always lockin' her up for 'sturbin' worship, but dey never could break her from dat shoutin' and wanderin' 'round de meetin' house, atter she got old.

"Dem Yankee sojers rode up in de Big 'Ouse yard and 'gun to ax me questions 'bout whar Marse Billy wuz, and whar everything on de place wuz kept, but I wuz too skeered to say nuthin'. Everything wuz quiet and still as could be, 'cept for Grandma a-singin' and a-shoutin' up in de loom house all by herself. One of dem Yankees tried the door and he axed me how come it wuz locked. I told him it wuz 'cause grandma had 'sturbed de Baptist meetin' wid her shoutin'. Dem mens grabbed de axe from de woodpile and busted de door down. Dey went in and got grandma. Dey axed her 'bout how come she wuz locked up, and she told 'em de same thing I had told 'em. Dey axed her if she wuz hongry, and she said she wuz. Den dey took dat axe and busted down de smokehouse door and told her she wuz free now and to help herself to anything she wanted, 'cause everything on de plantation wuz to b'long to de slaves dat had worked dar. Dey took grandma to de kitchen and told ma to give her some of de white folkses dinner. Ma said 'But de white folkses ain't et yet.' 'Go right on,' de Yankees said, 'and give it to her, de best in de pot, and if dey's anything left when she gets through, maybe us will let de white folkses have some of it.'