"Our clothes was made new for us in de fall out of cloth wove in looms right dar on de plantation. Top clothes was dyed wid hick'ry bark. De full skirts was gathered to tight fittin' waisties. Underskirts was made de same way. De dresses had done wore thin 'nough for hot weather by de time winter was gone so us wore dem same clothes straight on through de summer, only us left off de underskirts den. Slave chillun didn't never wear no shoes. Our foots cracked open 'til dey looked lak goose foots. Us wore de same on Sunday as evvy day, 'cept dat our clothes was clean, and stiff wid meal starch when us got into 'em on Sunday mornin's.

"Marse Billie Neal was our owner and Miss Peggy was his old 'oman. Dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. Deir two chillun was Marse Tom and Marse Mid. De car'iage driver never had much to do but drive Marse Billy and Miss Peggy 'round and, course he had to see dat de hosses and car'iage was kept clean and shiny. I don't 'member if he tuk de chillun 'round. Chillun didn't stand de show dey does now.

"Oh, no Ma'am, I sho' can't tell nothin' t'all 'bout how big dat old plantation was, but it was one whoppin' big place. Dere was too many slaves on dat plantation for me to count. De overseer got 'em up by 4:00 o'clock and de mens had to be in de fields by sunrise. De 'omans went out 'bout 8:00 o'clock. Dey stopped wuk at sundown and by de time dey et and done de chores for de day it was 10:00 o'clock 'fore dey hit de bed. De cabins was built in a circle and de overseer went de rounds evvy night to see if de slaves was in bed.

"Yes Ma'am, dey whupped de Niggers. My Pappy and grandpa was de wust ones 'bout gittin' licked. Evvy time Pappy runned away Marse Billy sicked dem hounds on his heels and dey was sho' to ketch him and fetch him back. Dey had to keep knives from Pappy or when dem dogs cotch him he would jus' cut 'em up so dey would die. When dey got him back to de house, dey would buckle him down over a barrel and larrup him wid a plaited whup. 'Omans warn't whupped much. My grandpa York was so bad 'bout runnin' 'way Marse Billy made him wear long old horns. One Sunday Marse Billy went by our church to see if all his Niggers was dar what was sposen to be dar. And dere grandpa was a-sottin' wid dem horns on his head. Marse Billy told him he could take de horns off his head whilst he was in de meetin' house. At dat grandpa dropped dem horns, and lit a rag to de woods and it tuk de dogs days to find him.

"If one slave kilt another, Marse Billy made de overseer tie dat dead Nigger to de one what kilt him, and de killer had to drag de corpse 'round 'til he died too. De murderers never lived long a-draggin' dem daid ones 'round. Dat jus' pyorely skeered 'em to death. Dere was a guard house on de farm, whar de wust Niggers was kept, and while dey was in dat guard house, dey warn't fed but once a day. It warn't nothin' unusual for Marse Billy to sell slaves, but he never sold his best Niggers. De ones he sold was allus dem he couldn't git no wuk out of.

"Not a Nigger could read or write on Marse Billy's plantation. Dey was all too dumb to larn. Dere was a shackly sort of church house on our plantation and on Sundays atter de Niggers had cleaned deyselfs up, if dey told Marse Billy dey wanted to go to church, he sent 'em on. All I knows 'bout baptizin's is dey jus' tuk 'em to de river and plunged 'em in. Dey sung somepin' 'bout: 'Gwine to de River for to be Baptized.' Us had prayer meetin's on Wednesday nights sometimes.

"Oh, Mussy! Don't ax me 'bout fun'rals. I got de misery in my laigs and I feels too bad dis mornin' to let myself even think 'bout fun'rals. Back den when slave folks died dey jus' put 'em in home-made pine coffins what dey throwed in a wagon and tuk 'em to de graveyard. At dem buryin's, dey used to sing:

'Am I born to die To let dis body down.'

"None of our Niggers ever runned away to de North. Dey was too busy runnin' off to de woods. Jus' to tell de truth dem Niggers on our place was so dumb dey didn't even take in 'bout no North. Dey didn't even know what de war was 'bout 'til it was all over. I don't know whar to start 'bout dem patterollers. Dey was de devil turned a-loose. Dere was a song 'bout 'Run Nigger run, de patteroller git you!' and dey sho' would too, I want to tell you.

"What de slaves done on Saddy night? Dey done anything dey was big 'nough to do. Dere warn't no frolickin' 'cept on Sadday night. Niggers on our place wukked all day Sadday 'cept once a month. Some of de slaves would slip off and stay half a day and de overseer wouldn't miss 'em 'cause dere was so many in de field. It was jus' too bad for any Nigger what got cotched at dat trick. Sadday night, slaves was 'lowed to git together and frolic and cut de buck.

"Christmas Day Marse Billy called us to de big house and give us a little fresh meat and sweet bread, dat was cake. Christmas warn't much diff'unt f'um other times. Jus' more t'eat. Us jus' had dat one day off, and New Year's Day was used as a holiday too.

"Oh, dem cornshuckin's! All day 'fore a cornshuckin' dey hauled corn and put it in great piles as high as dis here house. Us sung all de time us was shuckin' corn. Dere was a lot of dem old shuckin' songs. De one us sung most was: 'Whooper John and Calline all night.' Marse Billy, he give 'em coffee and whiskey all night and dat made 'em git rough and rowdy. Den de shucks did fly. Us had one more grand feast when de last ear of corn had done been shucked. Dere warn't nothin' lackin'.

"Cotton pickin's warn't planned for fun and frolic lak cornshuckin's. If Marse Billy got behind in his crops, he jus' sent us back to de fields at night when de moon was bright and sometimes us picked cotton all night long. Marster give de 'oman what picked de most cotton a day off, and de man what picked de most had de same privilege.

"Old Aunt Martha what nussed de chillun while deir Mammies wukked in de field was de quiltin' manager. It warn't nothin' for 'omans to quilt three quilts in one night. Dem quilts had to be finished 'fore dey stopped t'eat a bit of de quiltin' feast. Marse Billy 'vided dem quilts out 'mongst de Niggers what needed 'em most.

"Dem blue and white beads what de grown 'omans wore was jus' to look pretty. Dey never meant nothin' else. Mammy would skeer us down 'bout Rawhead and Bloody Bones. Us was all time a-lookin' for him, but he never got dar. What skeered us most was painters (panthers) a-howlin' close to our cabins at night. You could hear 'em most any night. When Mammy wanted to make us behave all she had to say was: 'I hears dem painters comin'!' Dat made us jus' shake all over and git mighty still and quiet. De mens tried to run dem painters down, but dey never did ketch one.

"One of de cabins was allus ha'nted atter some of de slaves got kilt in it whilst dey was fightin'. Nobody never could live in dat cabin no more atter dat widout ha'nts gittin' atter 'em. De wust of 'em was a 'oman ha'nt what you could hear sweepin' up leaves in de yard and all dat time you might be lookin' hard and not see a leaf move. In dat cabin you could all time hear ha'nts movin' cheers and knockin' on de wall. Some of dem ha'nts would p'int a gun in your face if you met 'em in de dark. Dem ha'nts was too much for me.

"Our white folks was good as dey knowed how to be when us got sick. I don't 'member dat dey ever had a doctor for de slaves, but dey give us all kinds of home-brewed teas. Pinetops, mullein and fat light'ood splinters was biled together and de tea was our cure for diff'unt ailments. Scurvy grass tea mixed wid honey was good for stomach troubles, but you sho' couldn't take much of it at a time. It was de movin'est medicine! Round our necks us wore asafetida sacks tied on strings soaked in turpentine. Dat was to keep diseases off of us.

"What does I 'member 'bout de war? Well, it was fit to fetch our freedom. Marse Billy had a fine stallion. When de sojers was comin', he sont Pappy to de woods wid dat stallion and some gold and told him not to let dem yankees find 'em. Dat stallion kept squealin' 'til de yankees found him, and dey tuk him and de gold too. Grandma was a churnin' away out on de back porch and she had a ten dollar gold piece what she didn't want dem sojers to steal, so she drapped it in de churn. Dem yankees poured dat buttermilk out right dar on de porch floor and got grandma's money. Marse Billy hid hisself in a den wid some more money and other things and dey didn't find him. Dey tuk what dey wanted of what dey found and give de rest to de slaves. Atter de sojers left, de Niggers give it all back to Marster 'cause he had allus been so good to 'em.

"Us stayed on wid Marse Billy for sev'ral years atter de war. He paid us $10 a month and he 'lowanced out de rations to us evvy week; most allus on Monday 'cause Sundays us had 'nough company to eat it all at one time. He give us three pounds of fat meat, a peck of meal, a peck of flour, 25c worth of sugar, and a pound of coffee. Dat had to last a whole week.

"I didn't take in nothin' 'bout Abraham Lincoln, Jefferson Davis and dat dar Booker T. Washin'ton man, but I heared folks say dey was all right.

"What is you talkin' 'bout Miss? I didn't need to have no big weddin' when I married Lige Elder. It was a big 'nough thing to git a man lak what I got. What did I want to have a big weddin' for when all I was atter was my man? Us had done been married 25 years 'fore us had no chillun. Dis here Cornelia what I lives wid was our first chile. She ain't got no chillun. Isaac, my boy, has got four chillun. My old man died 'bout two years ago.

"I j'ined de church 'cause I was happy and wanted de world to know I had done got 'ligion. I think evvybody ought to git 'ligion. God says if us do right he will give us all a home in His Heaven.

"I'd rather have de days as dey is now in some ways. But one thing I does lak to do is eat and us had a plenty of good eatin' den and never had to worry none 'bout whar it was a-comin' f'um. Miss, ain't you through axin' me questions yet? I'm tired of talkin'. I done let de fire go out under my washpot twice. Dem white folks ain't gwine to lak it if dey has to wait for deir clothes, and dis misery in my laigs, it sho' does hurt me bad dis mornin'."



MARTHA EVERETTE, EX-SLAVE Hawkinsville, Georgia

(Interviewed By Elizabeth Watson—1936) [JUL 20 1937]

Born in Pulaski County about 1848, the daughter of Isaac and Amanda Lathrop, Martha Everette has lived all her life near where she was born.

Prior to freedom, her first job was "toting in wood", from which she was soon "promoted" to waiting on the table, house cleaning, etc. She make no claims to have ever "graduated" as a cook, as so many old before-the-war Negresses do.

"Aunt" Martha's owner was a kind man: he never whipped the slaves, but the overseer "burnt 'em up sometimes." And her mother was a "whipper, too"—a woman that "fanned" her children religiously, so to speak, not overlooking Martha. All the Watson slaves attended the (White) Baptist church at Blue Springs.

Rations were distributed on Sunday morning of each week, and the slaves had plenty to eat. The slaves were also allowed to fish, thus often adding variety to their regular fare.

Negro women were taught to sew by the overseers' wives, and most of the slaves' clothes were made from cloth woven on the plantation. The Yankees visited the Lathrop plantation in '65, asked for food, received it, and marched on without molesting anything or any body. Truly, these were well-behaved Yankees!

"Aunt" Martha says that she remembers quite well when the Yankees captured Jefferson Davis. She and other slave children were in the "big house" yard when they heard drums beating, and soon saw the Yankees pass with Mr. Davis.

"Aunt" Martha, now old and decrepit, lives with one of her sons, who takes care of her. This son is a gardener and a carpenter and, being thrifty, fares much better than many Negroes of his generation.



[HW: Dist. 5 Ex-Slave #30] By E. Driskell Typed by A.M. Whitley 1-29-37

FIRST COPY OF ARTICLE ENTITLED: "AN INTERVIEW WITH LEWIS FAVOR," EX-SLAVE [MAY 8 1937]

[TR: informant also referred to as Favors in this document.]

Among Atlanta's few remaining ex-slaves is one Lewis Favors. When he fully understood this worker's reasons for approaching him he consented to tell what he had seen and experienced as a slave. Chewing slowly on a large wad of tobacco he began his account in the following manner: "I was born in Merriweather County in 1855 near the present location of Greenville, Georgia. Besides my mother there were eight of us children and I was elder than all of them with one exception. Our owner was Mrs. Favors, but she was known to everybody as the "Widow Favors." My father was owned by a Mr. Darden who had a plantation in this same county. When the "Widow's" husband died he left her about one-hundred acres of land and a large sum of money and so she was considered as being rich. She didn't have many slaves of her own and so her son (also a plantation owner) used to send some of his slaves over occasionally to help cultivate her crops, which consisted of cotton, corn, and all kinds of vegetables."

In regard to her treatment of the slaves that she held Mr. Favors says: "She wasn't so tight and then she was pretty tight too."

Those slaves who were field hands were in the field and at work by the time it was light enough to see. They plowed, hoed, and then later in the season gathered the crops. After the harvesting was over the fences were repaired and rails were split. In rainy weather nobody had to work out of doors, instead they shelled the peas and corn and sometimes ginned the cotton. At night the women were required to spin and to weave. In the winter season no work was required at night unless they had not spun as much thread as was required. At such times they had to work at night until the amount set had been reached.

Mr. Favor's mother was the cook for the "Widow Favors" and her two neices who lived with her. The Favors had paid the owner of a hotel Four hundred dollars to have the hotel cook teach her (Mr. Favors mother) to prepare all kinds of fancy dishes. His father was a field hand on the Darden plantation. In addition to this he repaired all the shoes when this was necessary.

As a child Mr. Favors was not very strong physically and because of this the "Widow" made him her pet. He never had to do any work other than that of waiting on the mistress while she ate her meals. Even in this he had to get up at four o'clock in the morning and help his mother in the kitchen. Sometimes he would sweep the yards if he felt like doing so. When he grew older he was given the task of picking the seed out of the cotton at night.

On Sundays all the servants were free to do as they pleased, that is, with the exception of Mr. Favors, his mother, and the two women who serve as maids to the "Widow's" two neices. At other times if a task was done before the day was over with they were given the remaining time to do as they pleased. However, everybody had a one week holiday at Christmas.

Mr. Favors made the following statement in regard to the clothing: "Everybody wore the homespun cotton clothes that were made on the plantation by the slave women. The women wore striped ausenberg dresses while the men wore ausenberg pants and shirts that had been made into one garment. My clothes were always better than the other little fellows, who ran around in their shirttails because I was always in the house of the "Widow." They used red clay to do the dyeing with. In the winter time cracked feet were common. The grown people wore heavy shoes called brogans while I wore the cast-off shoes of the white ladies. We all wrapped our feet in bagging sacks to help them to keep warm. We were given one complete outfit of clothes each year and these had to last until the time for the next issue."

Sheets for the beds were also made out of homespun material while the heavier cover such as the quilts, etc., were made from the dresses and the other clothing that was no longer fit for wear.

As a general rule all of the slaves on this plantation had enough food to keep them well and healthy. At the end of each week the field hands were given enough food to last them seven days. For most of them the week's supply consisted of three and one-half pounds of pork or fat meat, one peck of meal, flour, and black molasses. The only meals that they had to prepare from the above mentioned articles were breakfast and supper. Dinner was cooked in the plantation kitchen by one of the women who was too old for work in the fields. For this particular meal the slaves had some different type of vegetable each day along with the fat meat, corn bread, and the pot liquor which was served every day. They were allowed to come in from the fields to the house to be served. Breakfast usually consisted of fat meat, molasses, and corn bread while supper consisted of pot-liquor, bread, and milk. The only variation from this diet was on Sunday when all were allowed to have bisquits instead of corn bread. Mr. Favors was asked what happened if anyone's food was all eaten before it was time for the weekly issue and he answered: "It was just too bad for them 'cause they would have to do the best they could until the time came to get more." When such a thing happened to anyone the others usually helped as far as their limited supplies would permit.

Mr. Favors says that he, his mother, and the two maids ate the same kind of food that the "Widow," and her nieces were served. After he had seen to the wants of all at the table he had to take a seat at the table beside his owner where he ate with her and the others seated there.

There were two one-roomed cabins located directly behind the four-roomed house of the "Widow," the entire lot of them were built out of logs. These two cabins were for the use of those servants who worked in the house of their owner. At one end of each cabin there was a wide fireplace which was made of sticks, stones, and dried mud. Instead of windows there were only one or two small holes cut in the back wall of the cabin. The beds were made out of heavy planks and were called "Georgia Looms," by the slaves. Wooden slats were used in the place of bed springs while the mattresses were merely large bags that had been stuffed to capacity with hay, wheat straw, or leaves. The only other furnishings in each of these cabins were several benches and a few cooking utensils. Mr. Favors says: "We didn't have plank floors like these on some of the other plantations; the plain bare ground served as our floor." As he made this statement he reminded this worker that he meant his mother and some of the other house servants lived in these cabins. He himself always lived in the house with the "Widow Favors," who had provided a comfortable bed along with a small chair for his use. These slaves who worked in the fields lived in several cabins that were somewhat nearer to their fields than the other two cabins mentioned above.

The remaining buildings on the Favors' plantation were the smokehouse and the cook house where in addition to the cooking the younger children were cared for by another old person. The woman who cared for these children had to also help with the cooking.

Whenever any of the slaves were sick the doctor was called if conditions warranted it, otherwise a dose of castor oil was prescribed. Mr. Favors stated that after freedom was declared the white people for whom they worked gave them hog-feet oil and sometimes beef-oil both of which had the same effect as castor oil. If any were too ill to work in the field one of the others was required to remain at the cabin or at some other convenient place so as to be able to attend to the wants of these so indisposed.

When Mr. Favors was asked if the servants on this plantation ever had the chance to learn how to read or to write he answered: "They was all afraid to even try because they would cut these off," and he held up his right hand and pointed to his thumb and forefinger. At any rate the "Widow," nieces taught him to read a few months before the slaves were set free.

On Sunday all were required to attend the white church in town. They sat in the back of the church as the white minister preached and directed the following text at them: "Don't steal your master's chickens or his eggs and your backs won't be whipped." In the afternoon of this same day when the colored minister was allowed to preach the slaves heard this text: "Obey your masters and your mistresses and your backs won't be whipped." All of the marriages ware performed by the colored preacher who read a text from the Bible and then pronounced the couple being married as man and wife.

Although nobody was ever sold on the Favors plantation Mr. Favors has witnessed the selling of others on the auction block. He says that the block resembled a flight of steps. The young children and those women who had babies too young to be separated from them were placed on the bottom step, those in their early teens on the next, the young men and women on the next, and the middle-aged and old ones on the last one. Prices decreased as the auctioneer went from the bottom step to the top one, that is, the younger a slave was the more money he brought if he was sold.

Sometimes there were slaves who were punished by the overseer because they had broken some rule. Mr. Favors says that at such times a cowhide whip was used and the number of lashes that the overseer gave depended on the slave owner's instructions. He has seen others whipped and at such times he began praying. The only punishment that he ever received was as a little boy and then a switch was used instead of the whip. If the "Patter-Roller" caught a slave out in the streets without a pass from his master they proceeded to give the luckless fellow five lashes with a whip called the cat-o-nine-tails. They gave six lashes if the slave was caught out at night regardless of whether he had a pass or not.

As none of the slaves held by the "Widow" or her son ever attempted to run away there was no punishment for this. However, he has heard that on other plantations blood hounds were used to trail those who ran away and if they were caught a severe beating was administered.

Sometime after the civil war had begun the "Widow Favors" packed as many of her belongings as possible and fled to LaGrange, Georgia. He and his mother along with several other slaves (one of whom was an old man) were taken along. He never heard any of the white people say anything about the war or its possible results. At one time a battle was being fought a few miles distant and they all saw the cannon balls fall on the plantation. This was when the journey to LaGrange was decided upon. Before leaving the "Widow" had the slaves to bury all the meat, flour, and other food on the plantation so that the Yankee soldiers would not get it. Mr. Favors was given about two thousand dollars in gold currency to keep and protect for his owner. At various intervals he had to take this money to the "Widow". so that she might count it. Another one of the slaves was given the son's gold watch to keep on his person until the Yanks left the vicinity.

Before freedom was declared Mr. Favors says that he prayed all of the time because he never wanted to be whipped with the cowhide, like others he had seen. Further he says that it was a happy day for him when he was told that he could do as he pleased because he realized then that he could do some of the things that he had always wanted to do.

When freedom was declared for the slaves the Favors family freed slaves valued at one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The live stock that they sold represented a like sum. Mr. Favors and his mother remained with the "Widow," who gave him his board in return for his services and paid his mother twenty-five dollars per year for hers as cook.

"Even after the war things were pretty tough for us" stated Mr. Favors. "The plantation owners refused to pay more than thirty or forty cents to a person for a days work in the fields. Some of them would not allow an ex-slave to walk in the streets in front of their homes but made them take to the out-of-the-way paths through the woods to reach their various destinations. At other times white men cut the clothes from the backs of the ex-slaves when they were well dressed. If they didn't beg hard enough when thus accosted they might even be cut to death!" After the first three years following the war conditions were somewhat better, he continued.

Mr. Favors says that his old age is due to the fact that he has always taken good care of himself and because he has always refrained from those habits that are known to tear a person's health down.



[HW: Dist. 6 Ex-Slave #28]

THE STORY OF AUNT MARY FERGUSON, EX-SLAVE 1928 Oak Street Columbus, Georgia December 18, 1936

"Aunt" Mary Ferguson, nee Mary Little, nee Mary Shorter, was born somewhere in Maryland; the exact locality being designated by her simply as "the eastern shore" of that state. She was born the chattel of a planter named Shorter, so her first name, of course, was Mary Shorter.

For many years she has resided with a daughter and a granddaughter, at 1928 Oak Avenue, Columbus, Georgia.

"Aunt" Mary was about thirteen years old when, in 1860, she was sold and brought South. The story of which, as told in her own words is as follows:

"In 1860 I wuz a happy chile. I had a good ma an a good paw; one older bruther an one older suster, an a little bruther an a baby suster, too. All my fambly wucked in de fields, 'ceptin me an de two little uns, which I stayed at home to mind. (mind—care for).

"It wuz durin' cotton chopping time dat year (1860), a day I'll never fergit, when de speckulataws bought me. We come home from the fiel' 'bout haf atter 'leven dat day an cooked a good dinner, I hopin her. O, I never has forgot dat last dinner wid my fokes! But, some-ow, I had felt, all de mawnin, lak sumpin was gwineter hapin'. I could jes feel it in my bones! An' sho nough, bout de middle of the even', up rid my young Marster on his hoss, an' up driv two strange white mens in a buggy. Dey hitch dere hosses an' cum in de house, which skeered me. Den one o' de strangers said, 'git yo clothers, Mary; we has bought you frum Mr. Shorter." I c'menced cryin' an' beggin' Mr. Shorter to not let 'em take me away. But he say, 'yes, Mary, I has sole yer, an' yer must go wid em.'

"Den dese strange mens, whose names I ain't never knowed, tuk me an' put me in de buggy an' driv off wid me, me hollerin' at de top o' my voice an' callin' my Ma! Den dem speckulataws begin to sing loud—jes to drown out my hollerin.'

"Us passed de very fiel whar paw an' all my fokes wuz wuckin, an' I calt out as loud as I could an', as long as I could see 'em, 'good-bye, Ma!' 'good-bye, Ma!' But she never heared me. Naw, nah, daz white mens wuz singin' so loud Ma could'n hear me! An' she could'n see me, caze dey had me pushed down out o' sight on de floe o' de buggy.

"I ain't never seed nor heared tell o' my Ma an' Paw, an' bruthers, an' susters from dat day to dis.

"My new owners tuck me to Baltymore, whar dey had herded tergether two two-hoss wagon loads o' Niggers. All o' us Niggers wuz den shipped on a boat to Savannah, an' frum dar us wuz put on de cyars an' sont to Macon.

"In Macon, us wuz sold out, and Doctor (W.R.) Little, of Talbotton, bought me at oxion (auction) an' tuck me home wid 'im. Den I wuz known as Mary Little, instid of Mary Shorter."

In the continuation of her narrative, "Aunt" Mary said that the Littles trained her to be a nurse. Before the war ended, she was inherited by Mr. Gus (the late Hon. W.A.) Little.

She remembers that all the "quality", young white men who went to the war from Talbotton took Negro men-servants (slaves) along with them. These were usually called body-servants, and it was a body-servant's duty to cook, wash, and do general valet service for his master. In a pinch, he was also supposed to raid a hen roost, or otherwise rustle food for his "white fokes".

According to "Aunt" Mary, the Little Negroes were very religious and given to much loud praying and singing, which often so disturbed Dr. Little that he gave orders for them to stop it, and also ordered that all lights in the slave quarters be out at 9 o'clock each night.

"So us tuck to slippin' off to a big gully in de pastur to sing and pray whar de white fokes couldn' hear us.

"My fust baby wuz bawned in 1862, during de secon' year o' de war. I has had several husbants, my las' un, he died 'bout seventeen years ago.

"I ain't never seed but one hant in my life, an' I didn' know it wuz a hant 'til Aunt Peggy (an old slave woman) tole me so. Dis hant was in de shape o' a duck, an' it followed me one day frum de big house kitchen ter de hawg pen whar I wuz gwine ter slop de hawgs. When I got back, I said, 'Aunt Peggy, dar's a strange duck done tuck up wid us!' And she say, 'hush, chile, dat's a hant!' I been seein' 'im fur severrel years! An' dat sholy skeert me!"

When asked if she had ever been whipped when a slave, "Aunt" Mary replied, "Yes, and thank God fur it, fur ole Miss taught me to be hones' an' not to steal." She admitted that being whipped for stealing made her an honest woman.

"Aunt" Mary's oldest child is now a man of 74. Her hair is as white as cotton and her eye sight is dim, but she is still mentally alert. She says that colored people are naturally religious and that they learned all their "devilment" from the Whites. She deplores the wickedness into which the world has drifted, but thanks God that slavery ended when it did.

She has never had any particular love for the Yankees, and thinks that they treated the Southern white folks "most scandalously" after the war, yet feels that she owes them a debt of gratitude for freeing her people. She admits that her awful hatred of slavery was born of her sad experience as a girl when she was so unceremoniously separated from her loved ones, as previously told. She is also of the firm opinion the those "speculataws" who brought her from Maryland to Georgia in 1860 are "brilin in hell fur dey sin" of seperating her from her people.

Must Jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free? No, there is a cross for every one; there's a cross for me; This consecrated cross I shall bear til death shall set me free, And then go home, my crown to wear; there is a crown for me.

Sung for interviewer by Mary Ferguson, ex-slave, December 18, 1936.



FOLKLORE INTERVIEW

CARRIE NANCY FRYER 415 Mill Street Augusta, Georgia

Written by: Miss Maude Barragan Federal Writers' Project Residency #13 Augusta, Georgia

An angular, red-skinned old Negro women was treading heavily down the dusty sidewalk, leaning on a gnarled stick and talking to a little black girl. A "sundown" hat shaded a bony face of typical Indian cast and her red skin was stretched so tight over high cheek bones that few wrinkles showed.

"Auntie," she was asked, "have you time to tell me something about slavery times?" "No'm, I sorry," she answered, "but I gwine to see a sick lady now, and I gots to 'tend to somepin'." "May I come back to see you at your house?" "Yas'm, any time you wants. I live in de lil' house on de canal, it has a ellum tree in front. I riz it from sapling. I name dat lil' tree 'Nancy' so when I gone, folks kin come by and bow and say 'Howdy, Nancy.'"

She seated herself on a stone step and spread her many skirts of gray chambray, hand-sewed with big white stitches. An old woman came by, her shining black face puckered with anxiety, dressed in a starched white uniform and a battered black hat, well brushed.

"Morning, Nancy," she said. "You look mighty peak-ked dis morning."

"Hunh!" grunted Nancy, "I oughter. I bin to see de mayor. I say 'Mr. Mayor, here I is. I ain' got nuttin' to eat—it ain' right for a woman my age to beg food. Now what yer gwine do 'bout it?' De mayor say: 'Auntie, you go right down to de welfare office at de Court House and tell de lady I sont you to git somepin' to eat.' I done dat—dey promise to send a lady, but I ain' see no lady yit." A heavy sigh rolled out. "I didn' lef' skin of meat in my house or a piece of cornpone. But I didn' take nuttin' to heart 'cause de Lord is my helper."

The old woman sighed too. "Yeah, Nancy, das de way dey does. I ain' gwine keep nasty house for nobody. But white people's funny. Dey think if you got clean house and bleachin' sheets you mus' have somepin' to eat inside." She clenched her fist, and her voice rose. "I tells you right now—I gwine keep my house neat jus' like I bin taught, ef I never gits no somepin' t'eat and ain' got cornpone in de oven."

"A poor creeter come to my house today to beg for somepin' to eat," said Nancy, "I ain' got nuttin' and I tell her so. She say she gwine to de court-house too."

"T'won't do no good," answered the other woman. "Come over here, Nancy. I wants to talk to you."

With a dignified excuse, Nancy creaked to her long length and moved deliberately to the edge of the sidewalk. Whisperings followed, the voices of the two old women rising in their excitement.

"I ain' gwine into somepin' I don't know nuttin' about."

"Nobody gwine 'swade me either."

"My husband didn' put no composin' on me. If I don't git but one meal a day, I ain' gwine dirty. I didn' have mouthful t'eat in my house."

The interested eavesdropper decided that the welfare office had talked social security to the women instead of direct relief, and they were worried and suspicious about the matter. The old black woman was getting angrier and angrier.

"If any of 'em lookin' for me to have nasty old tore-up house, I ain' gwine did it. You dunno when sickness come. When my boy got his leg broke up, soon as dey could, dey put him off on me. Miz' Powell say: 'Steve, if you don't be good to your ma, de Lord gwine take your blessing from you.' Dey paid Steve $137.00, Nancy, and he ain't gimmie a nickle! He spent it on a woman in Edgefield. But my gal is diffunt. If she ain' got but one mouthful she gwine give me half."

Nancy nodded: "Dat like my gal too."

The old woman took up her complaint again: "Um got daughter. When you walk in her house, you think dey is a white person's house. When I was workin and able, I put down as many bleachin' sheets as any white 'oman."

Nancy's ponderous sigh rolled out. She was very "peaked" indeed on this hot September morning. "If sister got a hoecake of bread, she gwine give it to me. Ain' nobody else to help now—de Lord done come along and got ev'y one of my mother's chillun but me."

Seeing that present necessities were too important to permit an interview, the visitor said: "Nancy, I'll see you tomorrow." A preoccupied goodbye followed the interviewer, and the excited conversation rose again.

Three days later Nancy was found on the cluttered back porch of her house by the canal. She was moving heavily about, picking up behind a white boy and her bright-faced grandchild. Her face was still worried, but her manner was warm and friendly.

"I knowed you'd be comin'," she said, smiling, "but I looked for you yesterday." She sat down and settled herself for conversation, her long hands, still nice looking in spite of rheumatism, moving nervously over her gray chambray lap. "Dis las' gone August I was 72 years old," she began, "my sister say I older dan dat, but I know I born las' year of de war. I was born on governor Pickens' place, de Grove place fur out, and my mother was Lizbeth Cohen. Must have was my father a Indian, he brighter dan me, but redder. I kin' member Miss Dooshka Pickens, de one what went to Europe. Dey put all de lil' chillun in a row for her to look at, and she sittin' up on her lil' pony lookin' at us chillun. She was a pretty thing, yeah, I knowed her well. After de war my mother and father rented land, paid de rent. We liveded well. I would go to school three months when we first gether all de krep (crop). We had a colored teacher in de Baptist Church where dey taught school. De name was Spring Grove.

"My father died and mother, she moved over in Ca-lina on General Butler's place. She work in de fields. I wouldn' go to school but three months in de year. When I growed up I work for Colonel Doctor McKie in de house. He de fines' doctor I ever knowed. I got married to General Butler's place where my mother was. I done had six chillun before I come to Augusta. I nused to work for Dr. Sam Litchenstein, 17 years. He moved to Louisville and dat thow me out anything to do. He tried to git me to go down dere wid him but I fell in bad health. Den my daughter and dis yere grandchild, I couldn' bear to leave dem. I cried when Dr. Sam lef', he was good to me. I nused to carry dis grandchild to his house wid me all de time."

As Nancy's plantation recollections seemed vague, she was prompted to talk about remedies and cures and on these her mind worked with speed and decision.

"I had high blood pressure so bad I couldn' walk right. My head nused to spin, laying down all night, couldn' res. One night I doze off in my sleep and a lady's spirit come to me. Her and my mother was two friends, her name was Cyndie Gardenigh. She say: 'Honey, in de morning when you git up, you git you some jimpson weed and put it wid cookin' salt and bind it on your head.' I done det. I nused to have long hair to my shoulder. Jimpson weed done cut my hair off, but it cured my blood pressure. Mus' did kill 'em!"

Asked how she treated her rheumatism, Nancy replied:

"Git a pint glass wid a pint of kerosene in it, and a block of camphor. Cut up de camphor and mix it round in de kerosene. Pat it on when de pain come. When I got up dis morning, dis yere hand I couldn' move, and now it feel a heap better. Lord, I done work so hard thoo' life, and all done tuk from me!"

A moment's silence brought shadows to Nancy's face. A twinge in her knee reminded her of rheumatism cures. She rubbed the painful spot and resumed: "You know what I am wearin' on my leg now? I made me two lil' bags and put a Irish potato in it, and when it drawed up jus' as hard as a log it done me good. But you got to steal two Irish potatoes, and put around both legs jus' below de knee. I just' be leanin' back stiff all de time, couldn' walk. A old white man told me about dat. He see me walkin' along crooked and he say: 'Auntie, what's de matter?' I told him. He say: 'Now, I'll tell you what cure me. I was off in a furn (foreign) country, and a man say; me walking cripple, and he told me to steal two Irish potatoes and wear 'em, and when dey git hard you burn 'em up.' I specked I bin crooked up all kind of fashion if I ain't done dat: I always bind a piece of brass around my leg. Das' good like gold."

The eager grandchild was hanging over Nancy's shoulder, listening and smiling. The white boy edged up, and Nancy laughed. "Hunh! I spects dese chillun kin 'member tomorrow every word I tells you today. Dey knows everything." Her bony arm encircled the Negro child. "Jooroosalom oak—we got some and give it to dis lil' thing for worms. She went off in a trance and never come out until 2 o'clock nex' day. I think we got de wrong thing and give her root instead of seed. I never fool wid it no more it skeered me so. Thought we had killed de child."

Nancy was asked what her methods were in raising children.

"Bin so long I mos' forgot," she said. "All my babies growed straight 'cause I swep' 'em 9 times for 9 mornings from de knees down on out, dataway, and bathed 'em wid pot liquor and dish water. I ain' nused no root cep' sassafax roots to make tea outten das good to purge your blood in de spring of de year. Drinkin' water from a horse trough, I hearn' tell das good for whoopin' cough and all lika-dat."

"Dat daughter of mine, she had a wen on her neck big as a apple. An old lady come to me. 'I come to git my child today,' she say, 'a lady died dis morning and I wants to take her dere.' Well I didn' want my child gwine to de death house but she take her. De corpse ain' cold yit. She put her 9 times across, nine times straight, and dat child was cured. Yas'm, she got jus' as pretty face now! Ain' no use talkin', she straighten my child, her and de Lord! De wen went and jus' pass away. You got to do it before de corpse git cold, jus' after de breaf' pass out of de body."

"I done mark three of my chillun. Yas'm, I ruin't three of 'em. I was een de country and I was gwine thoo' de orchard, and de cherries was scarce. I looked up in de man's cherry tree, and one tree was full of fruit. Dey jus' as pretty! I say: 'Jim, please sir, give me one of dem cherries.' Jim say: 'No!' I stood dere wishin' for dem cherries, scratchin' my wrist, and my child born wid cherry on his wrist, right where I scratch! I took de baby and showed him to old man Jim, and he cry and pray over dat cherry and told me to forgive him and he never would do it no more. But he done it den."

"I live in de country. I come to town where a white man was down here on McKinne Street makin' dat soft white candy. I stood up and wished for it. It did look so pretty and I wanted some so bad and I didn' have no money. I was cryin', scratchin' my forehead over my right eye near de hair. He didn' give me none. When my gal born, she had white mark right on her forehead in de place I scratched."

"My sister-in-law made me ruin't my other child. Twas an old man coming along. He was ruptured. He had on a white ap'on, and she bus' out laughin' and say: 'Look at dat!' I jus' young gal, ain' be thinkin' and I bus' out laughin' too, he did look funny. I ruin't my boy. He was in de same fix and when I look at him I feel so bad, and think 'dat didn' have to be.'"

"Dis kin happen: anybody see another person wid pretty hair and rub dey hair down, dat child gwine have mustee hair too. A old black 'oman had a baby. She seen somebody wid dat mustee hair (das what we calls black folks wid smooth straight hair) and when her child born, everybody say: 'Look what dis baby got! Long black hair!"

Asked about persons born with cauls, Nancy grunted:

"Hunh! My mother said it cover my head, shoulders and all! I kin see ghosts. Was a man lived right dere in dat house yonder. His name was Will Beasley but we call 'im Bee. De fus' time he got sick he had a stroke, den he git up. De doctor told him to be careful but he would go out. One night about 8 o'clock I see him go. I stay sittin' here on dis porch, and about 10 o'clock here come Bee out of his house, in his night clothes out de open door and cross de yard. He go behind dat house. I call out: 'Bee, I thought you was gone off? He didn' notice me no more dan I never spoke. I got worried about him bein' sick and when he come out from behind de house I say: 'Bee, you bes' be gwine indorrs, dress lika-dat. You git sick again.' He walk straight back in de house. Pretty soon here come Bee down de street, all dressed up in his brown pants and white shirt! I grab de bannister just' a-tremblin' and de hair rizzed up on my head. I knowed den he ain' got long for here. He come on by and say: 'Nancy, how you feelin'?' I say: 'Bee, how long you bin out?' He say: 'Why, I bin gone since 8 o'clock.' I didn't say nuttin' but I knowed I seed his spirit and it was his death. He tooken sick two or three weeks later jus' before Labor Day, and died all paralyzed up. A woman come to my house and say: 'Nancy, give dis to Bee.' I didn' want to see him if he dyin' but I went on over. I call: 'Bee! Bee!' He say: 'Who dat, you, Miz' Nancy?' I say: 'Here's a bottle of medicine Miss Minnie sont you.' He say: 'I can't move my right side.' He was: laying wid his leg and arm in the air: stiff as a board. He say: 'Miz Nancy?' I say: 'Hunh?' He say: 'Go down de canal bank and tell my Minnie please come and rub me 'cause she know how. I want my Minnie.' Das de 'oman he bin livin' wid since his wife lef' him. I wait till de King Mill boys come along and call 'em. 'Tell Miz' Minnie dat Will Bee want her to come and rub him.' But she never did come till 12 o'clock and he was dead before she come.

"I did had a niece what died. She was about 20 years old and a good boy. Twas a year in August. I went on so over him, his mother say: 'Don't you know his last words was, 'I'm on my way to heaven and I ain' gwine turn back?' Don't worry, Nancy.' But I did worry. Dat night he come to me in spirit. He stand dere and look at me and smile, and he say: 'Aunt, I am all right. Aunt, I am all right,' over and over. Den it went off. I was jus' as satisfy den, and I never worry no more."

Nancy said she saw ghosts all through her childhood. She did not characterize them as "hants" but spoke of them throughout as ghosts.

"I seed 'em when I was chillun," she said, "me and my sister one night was comin' from spring. Twas in de winter time and jus' as cold, twas dark and I had de light. Sister say: 'Babe, don't let dat light go out.' Jus' den I seed it—a horse's head all spread out in fore! A big ball of fire! I yelled: 'Oh, sister, look at de horse wid a head of fire!' She knock me out for dead! She grab dat light and run home and lef' me in de wood. When I come to I run to my mother crying and she say: 'Now Nancy, you know you kin see 'em but you ought not to tell de other chillun and skeer 'em. You mus' keep it to yourself.' Ever since den, I won't tell nobody what I kin see. Yas'm, I wake up in de nighttime and see 'em standin' all 'bout dis house. I ain' skeered—when you born wid de veil it jus' be natchel to see 'em. Why, I sees 'em on de canal bank when de fog sprangles through de trees and de shape forms on de ground'.

"I hears de death alarm too. One kind of call comes from out de sky, a big howlin' noise, loud like singin'—a regular tune. De other kind goes 'hummmmmmm' like somebody moanin'. I was settin' down and de bull bat come in de house. Me and de chillun done all we could to git him out de house. A woman nex' door was name Rachel. I say: 'Rachel! Dere's a bull bat in here and we can't get him out.' You know what she done? She turn her pocket inside out and dat bat went out de door jus' like it come in! Dat a simple thing to do, ain' it? But it done de work. Dat was on Thursday night. Saturday morning I got de news that my babiest sister was dead. One of my boys was wid her. I was settin' down wid my head bowed, prayin', and a white man dressed in a white robe come in de house and stood before me and say: 'Oh, yeah! I gwine take your sister! Den what your child gwine do?' I sot down and studied and I said: 'Lord, I'll do de bes' I kin.' And Miss you know I had to take dat child back!

"Before I los' my husband ev'y time he go out to work I couldn' hear nuttin' but knockin'—ever he step out de house somebody come to de door and knock four slow knocks. If he go off in de night it wouldn' stop till he git back. I wouldn' tell him 'cause I knowed twould worry him. I say: 'Sam, les' us move.' He say: 'Honey, we ain' long bin move here.' But us 'cided to move anyway. Twas a big show in town. I let all de chillun go to de show. Time I got my things fix up to move and went to cook my dinner come de knockin' four times. I knowed he'd be took sick pretty soon. He didn' 'low me to work. Dat was a good husband! I had six chillun. He say: 'Honey, no! I workin' makin' enough to support you. All I want you to do is keep dis house clean and me and my chillun, and I will pay you de five dollars every week de white lady would pay you.' And he done dat, gimme five dollars every week for myself.

"A white lady was crazy about my work, jus' her and her husband. I got up soon one morning, time he left, and runned up dere and washed her clothes and ironed dem. Den I started back home 'bout noon. I heared somethin' walkin' behind me. 'Bip! Bip!' I look round and didn' see nuttin'. I kep' a lookin' back and den I heard a voice moanin' and kind of singing: 'Oh, yeah! I bin here and done took your mother. I bin here and done took your sister! Now I'm a-comin' to take your husband!' Talking to me like-dat in de broad open daytime! I say: 'No, you won't! No, you won't!' I commence a runnin', cryin' inside. When I got home I thow myself on de bed shiverin' and shakin'. Twas no dinner done dat day. When he come home dat night he tooken sick and never got up again. He knock on de head of de bed jus' like de knocks come at de door, when he want me to go to him! He never lived but two weeks and went on to de judgment!

"One night dey was givin' my husband toddy. He drink some and wanted me to finish it. I told him no, I ain' drinkin' after no sick folks 'cause it mean death. His first cousin tooked it and drank it. He was a fine looking man in two months he was gone too!

"My husband come to me in spirit any time I git worried up. When I git in trouble he'll come and stand over me wid his arms folded behind him. He told me one night: 'You must pray, Nancy. You must pray! Um gwine help, and de Lord gwine help you too.' Missy, how you reckon he gwine help me if he dead? I ask de Lord and beg him to take me too, beg him to please carry me home."

Nancy was becoming more and more doleful, and to take her mind from the thought of her dead husband, she was asked about remedies.

"When us had de mumps mother git sardines and take de oil out and rub us jaws and dat cure us good. Sassafax for measles, to run de numor (humor) out de blood. When de fever gone, she would grease us wid grease from skin of meat. Git fat light'ood, make fire, cut de skin off bacon meat, broil it over flame and let grease drip into a pan, den rub us all over for de rash. Couldn' wash us you see, 'cep' under de arms a little 'cause water musn' tech us. For a sty in de eye we nused to say: 'Sty! Lie!' You see dat call 'em a lie and dey go on off. 'Um got a sty! Sty! Lie!' When witches ride me I took a sifter. An old lady told me de nex' time dey come, 'you put de sifter in de bed.' I done dat and dey ain' bother me since. A basin of water under de bed is good too."

Nancy had an experience with a gold digger. He came to board, and had an inconvenient habit of staying up all night. "I nused to have a old man stay here wid me. One night I couldn' lay down it was so cold, so I sit up and wrop in a blanket. He say: 'Nancy, see yonder! In de corner of your yard is a pot of gold.' Now I knows if you go and git de money what de dead done bury, you don't see no peace, so I told him he couldn' dig in my yard. I made him move. A 'oman say he went to stay wid her and when she got up one morning he had dug a hole in de yard big as a well, so she runned him off too. He had all de implee-ments but he wouldn' let nobody see him digging in de night. Well Miss, I knowed dat gold was truly in my yard, because I got up one night and looked out dere, and a white 'oman was standin' right where de old man say twas gold pot. I look at de white lady, a high white lady, and she kep' her eye down in dat corner guardin' de gold what she bury! Den I seed her go on off thoo' de gate and I knowed twas de spirit of de woman what bury it."

Nancy did not remember any stories about witches, booger-men or animals, but she did give a version of the story of the mistress who was buried alive.

"Dat really did happen in Edgefield," she said. "Marster los' his daughter and den his butler went to de cemetery and dugged her up. He was gittin' de jewelries off of her finger when she moan; 'Oh, you hurtin' my finger!' He runned back to de house and she got up out of de coffin and went to de Big House. She knock on de door and her father went, and he fainted. Her mother went, and she fainted. Everyone went to de door fainted. But her father come to himself and he was so happy to have his daughter back, he said God let de man dig her up and git her out alive. He made dat nigger rich. Gin him a whole plantation and two big carriage horses and a great big carriage and I dunno how much gold and silver. Told him he didn' want him to do anything but sit down and live off of what he gin him de res' of his life."

Nancy asked her visitor to write a postcard to her "dear doctor" in Louisville and tell him she was having a hard time. She insisted that the card be signed: "Your Carrie Fryer what used to work for you, with love."

"Come back and see me some more," she begged wistfully, "I bin callin' you in my mind all week."



PLANTATION LIFE

ANDERSON FURR, Age 87 298 W. Broad Street Athens, Georgia

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

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens

Leila Harris Augusta

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

Anderson Furr's address led the interviewer to a physician's residence on Broad Street, where she was directed to a small frame house on the rear of the lot. The little three-room cottage has a separate entrance from Pulaski Street. Three stone steps lead from the street to the narrow yard which is enclosed by a low rock coping. Anderson rents only one room and the remainder of the house is occupied by Annie Sims and her husband, George, who works at the Holman Hotel.

Reclining comfortably in a cane-backed chair, with his walking stick conveniently placed across his knees, Anderson was enjoying the shade of a wide spread oak tree in the tidy yard. His costume consisted of a battered old black felt hat, a dingy white shirt, dark gray pants, and scuffed black shoes. Asked if he remembered the days when the North was fighting the South for his freedom, Anderson replied: "'Member fightin'! Why, Lady! Dey ain't never stopped fightin' yit. Folks has been a-fightin' ever since I come in dis world, and dey will be fightin' long atter I is gone.

"I dis'members what was de name of de town whar I was borned, but it was in Hall County. Lydia and Earl Strickland was my Ma and Pa. All of deir chillun is daid now 'cept me and Bob. De others was: Abe, Bill, Jim, and Sarah. Dere ain't much to tell 'bout what us done dem days, 'cept play and eat. Dem what was big 'nough had to wuk.

"Lordy, Miss! It's lak dis: I is a old Nigger, and I done been here for many years, but dese last few years I sho' has been a sick man, and now I can't git things straight in my mind lak dey was den. I knows us lived in log houses what had great big chimblies made out of sticks and mud. Why, dem fireplaces was 'bout eight feet wide, and you could put a whole stick of cord wood on de fire. Us slept on high-up old timey beds what had big posties and instead of springs, dey had stout cords wove 'cross to hold de mattress. De last time I slept on one of dem sort of beds was when I was a little boy, sleepin' wid my Ma. Pa and Ma was both field hands. Ma's mammy was de onliest one of my grandmas I ever seed. Her name was Ca'line and she lived wid Grandpa Abe on another plantation. Ma's sister, my aunt Ca'line was cook up at our Old Marster's big house.

"Money? Yessum! Dey gimme a little money now and den for totin' water to de field, sweepin' de yards, and a million other things dey used to make me do. De most dey ever gimme was 50 cents. I never spent none of it, but jus' turned it over to my Ma. Chillun warn't 'lowed to spend money den lak dey does now, 'cause dey had evvything dey needed anyhow. Old Marster, he give us plenty somepin t'eat, such as it was. Dere was lots of cornbread, a little meat now and den, collards, whip-poor-will peas and dem unknown peas what was most big as a dime, and black 'lasses—dat was lallyho.

"Us cotch lots of 'possums, but mighty few of 'em us Niggers ever got a chance to eat, or rabbits neither. Dey made Niggers go out and hunt 'em and de white folks et 'em. Our mouths would water for some of dat 'possum but it warn't often dey let us have none. I don't know nothin' 'bout no fishin' bein' done dem days. Yessum, slaves had deir own gyardens, and dey better wuk 'em good if dey wanted any gyarden sass to eat. Cookin' was done in dem big open fireplaces, mostly in pots and thick iron skillets what had lids on 'em.

"Boys wore long blue striped shirts in summer and nothin' else a t'all. Dem shirts was made jus' lak mother hubbards. Us wore de same thing in winter only dem shirts was made new for winter. By summer dey had done wore thin. When de weather got too cold, Marster give us old coats, what grown folks had done most wore out, and us warn't none too warm den wid de wind a-sailin' under our little old shirt tails. Our shoes was rough old brogans what was hard as rocks, and us had to put rags inside 'em to keep 'em from rubbin' de skin off our foots. Us didn't know what socks and stockin's was dem.

"Marse Earl Strickland owned us. Miss Sarah was his old 'oman and dey was sho' mighty good to deir slaves. White folks was heap better folks den dan dey is now anyhow. Now-a-days dey will knock you up right now, and won't be long 'bout it. I can't git up no ricollections 'bout 'em havin' no chillun a t'all. Seems lak I know for sho' dey didn't have none. Dey never had no fine house neither; jus' a plain common house wid a chimbly at both ends.

"Oh, Lord! Marster never had no overseer; no car'iage driver neither; didn't even have no car'iage yit. He did have a surrey what he hitched mules to and driv for hisself. Warn't no hoss on dat plantation, nothin' 'cept mules.

"How big was dat plantation? Good Granny! it was so big I never did git all de way over it, and dere must a been 15 or 20 slaves. Old Marster got us up 'bout sunrise and fetched us in at sundown. He was all time knockin' on his Niggers 'bout somepin. He 'lowed dey didn't do dis, or dat, or somepin else right—he allus had to have some 'scuse to knock 'em 'round."

A little Negro boy, possibly five years old, came up to Anderson with a peach in his hand and said: "Look, Uncle Anderson, C.T. done gimme dis peach what he stole off dat dar wagon." The old man reached out his hand. "Boy, you gimme dat peach," he commanded. "You knows I lak peaches. Give it to me, I say. I do declar', nigger chillun jus' got to steal anyhow. Run git yourself 'nother peach off dat wagon, but don't you let dat man see you git it. Put dat peach under your shirt 'til you gits in dis yard, and if you leave dis yard 'gain I'll buss your haid wide open. Does you hear me, Boy?

"What was dat you was a-axin' 'bout jails, Miss? Yessum, us had 'em. Niggers would git too rowdy-lak, drinkin' liquor and fightin', and dat was when de white folks slapped 'em in de gyardhouse, widout a bite to eat. Gyardhouses is called jails dese days. I'se lak my Ma. I'se a fighter. Ma would jump on anybody what looked at her twice. De onliest time I ever got in de gyardhouse was a long time atter de end of de big War. A man owed me some money, and when I axed him for it, he got mad and knocked me down. I got right up and knocked him out, and right den and dar I was sont to de gyardhouse.

"Good Lord, Miss! Slave folks warn't 'lowed no time for to larn readin' and writin'. Deir time was all tuk up in de field at wuk. Slaves went to de white folks' church, but one thing sho' dey couldn't read de Bible for deirselfs and couldn't write none. Jus' to tell de truth, I didn't take in what dey sung at church, but I ain't forgot dem baptizin's. I'se been to so many of 'em. Evvybody went in dem days. Dere warn't no place in de church houses for to be ducked dem days, so de white folks had a pool dug out by de branch for de baptizin's, and white folks and slaves was ducked in de same pool of water. White folks went in fust and den de Niggers. Evvybody what come dar sung a song 'bout 'My Sins has all been Washed Away, and I is White as Snow.'

"Slave fun'rels was mournful sights, for sho'. Dem home-made coffins was made out of pine planks, and dey warn't painted or lined or nothin'. And slave coffins warn't no diffunt from de ones de white folks used. Our Marster sot aside a spot in his own buryin' grounds for de slaves' graveyard. When dey was a-buryin' folks dey sung a song what went somepin lak dis: 'Oh, Lord! Us takes 'em to de Graveyard, Never to fetch 'em Back.'

"If slaves did run off to de North, I never heared nothin' 'bout it. Oh, Lord! I jus' can't talk 'bout dem patterollers, for it looked lak all de white folks tried to jine up wid 'em. How dey did beat up us pore Niggers! Us had to git a pass for dis and a pass for dat, and dere jus' warn't nothin' us could do widout dem patterollers a-beatin' us up. Dey beat you wid a cowhide lash what cut a gash in your back evvy time it struck you. Yessum, white folks and Niggers was all time quar'ellin' and fightin'.

"When slaves got in from de fields dey et deir somepin t'eat and went to bed. Dey didn't have to wuk on Saddays atter dinnertime. When our old Marster turned us loose, he turned us loose; and when he wuked us, us sho' was wuked. De young folks had deir big times on Sadday nights. Dey danced and frolicked 'round sort of lak dey does now. Evvybody went to de meetin' house on Sunday, and dere's whar Niggers had a good time a-courtin'.

"Christmas was de time when old Marster let us do pretty much as us pleased. Us had all kinds of good things t'eat, and atter us drunk a lot of liquor it warn't long 'fore dere was a Nigger fight goin' on. Yessum, us had cornshuckin's, cotton pickin's, quiltin's, log rollin's, and all sich as dat. Wid plenty t'eat and good liquor to drink on hand, Niggers would shuck corn or pick cotton all night. It was de big eats and lots of liquor dat made slaves lak dem things.

"Little slave boys played wid sun-baked marbles, made of mud, and old rag balls, what was sho' a heap diffunt from what chilluns thinks dey has got to have dese days 'fore dey kin have a good time.

"Marster had mighty good keer tuk of his slaves when dey got sick. Dere warn't many doctors dem days. Dey jus' used home-made medicines, mostly teas made out of yarbs (herbs). I jus' can't git up no ricollection of what yarbs dey did put in dem teas. I does 'member dat chillun had to live wid bags of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off ailments. Ma give me and Bob, each one, a block of dat assfiddy for good luck. I throwed my block 'way a few years ago, and I ain't had nothin' but bad luck ever since. Dat's why I can't git up de things you wants to know 'bout. My mind jus' don't wuk right no more.

"Dem yankees was on de go all de time. One of 'em come to old Marster's house and axed one of my uncles to go off wid him. Uncle was old and skeered and he thought de yankees might kill him or somepin lak dat. When de War was done over, old Marster told us 'bout how things was. He said us was free and would have to do de best us could for ourselfs. Dem was happy days for Niggers. Dey sho' didn't take no more foolishment off of white folks atter dat, and dey don't pay 'em no mind now. Niggers got so bad atter dey got deir freedom dat de Ku Kluxers come 'round and made 'em be'have deirselfs. One of dem Kluxers come to our house and set down and talked to us 'bout how us ought to act, and how us was goin' to have to do, if us 'spected to live and do well. Us allus thought it was our own old Marster, all dressed up in dem white robes wid his face kivvered up, and a-talkin' in a strange, put-on lak, voice. None of Marster's Niggers never left him for 'bout two or three years. Dere warn't no way for Niggers to buy no land 'til atter dey could make and save up some money. Marster jus' paid up his Niggers once a year, at de end of crap time. It warn't long atter de War was over 'fore dere was some few schools for Niggers scattered 'round 'bout.

"When did I git married? Lordy, Miss! Such things de giverment do want to know 'bout pore old Niggers! It warn't 'til ten years atter us was freed, dat me and Martha Freeman got married up together. Dat was one sho' 'nough fine weddin' what Miss Sallie Morton and our other white friends give us. Dey give us evvything us had at dat big old feast. Dere was three tables full, one for de white folks, and two for de Niggers, and dem tables was jus' loaded down wid good things. Willie and Ida was de onliest chillun me and Martha had, and dey never lived to git grown. Martha died out and den I married up wid Mamie White. Us didn't have no chillun and Mamie's daid now. Dey's all daid 'cept me.

"I thinks it was a good thing Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Davis did set us free, and I sho hopes de giverment won't never fetch slavery back no more.

"I never will forgit de day I jined up wid Morton's Baptist Church. I had done helped my Pa build it from a brush arbor to a sho' 'nough church house. De reason I jined up was 'cause de Marster had done changed me from nature to Grace. I thinks evvybody ought to jine up in de church 'cause it's de Lord's will.

"Miss, I done told you all I knows and I'se a sick man, so go 'long wid you and let me take my rest."

THE END