"The pateroles got after a slave named Ben Holmes once and run him clean to our place. He got under the bed and hid. But they found him and dragged him out and beat him.

Work

"I had three aunts in the field. They could handle a plow and roll logs as well as any man. Trees would blow down and trees would have to be carried to a heap and burned.

"I been whipped many a time by my mistress and overseer. I'd get behind with my work and he would come by and give me a lick with the bull whip he carried with him.

"At first when the old folks cut wood, me and Viney would pick up chips and burn up brush. We had to pick dry peas in the fall after the crops had been gathered. We picked two large basketsful a day.

"When we got larger we worked in the field picking cotton and pulling corn as high as we could reach. You had to pull the fodder first before you could pull the corn. When we had to come out of the field on account of rain, we would go to the corn crib and shuck corn if we didn't have some weaving to do. We got so we could weave and spin. When master caught us playing, he would set us to cutting jackets. He would give us each two or three switches and we would stand up and whip each other. I would go easy on Viney but she would try to cut me to pieces. She hit me so hard I would say, 'Yes suh, massa.' And she would say, 'Why you sayin' "Yes suh, massa," to me? I ain't doin' nothin' to you.'

"My mother used to say that Lincoln went through the South as a beggar and found out everything. When he got back, he told the North how slavery was ruining the nation. He put different things before the South but they wouldn't listen to him. I heard that the South was the first one to fire a shot.

"Lemme tell you how freedom came. Our master came out where we was grubbing the ground in front of the house. My father was already in Little Rock where they were trying to make a soldier out of him. Master came out and said to mother, 'Martha, they are saying you are free but that ain't goin' to las' long. You better stay here. Reuben is dead.'

"Mother then commenced to fix up a plan to leave. She got the oxen yoked up twice, but when she went to hunt the yoke, she couldn't find it. Negroes were all going through every which way then. Peace was declared before she could get another chance. Word came then that the government would carry all the slaves where they wanted to go. Mother came to Little Rock in a government wagon.

"She left Cordelia. Cordelia was her daughter by Archie Hays. Cordelia was supposed to join us when the government wagon came along but she went to sleep. One colored woman was coming to get in the wagon and her white folks caught her and made her go back. Them Yankees got off their horses and went over there and made them turn the woman loose and let her come on. They were rough and they took her on to Little Rock in the wagon.

"The Yankees used to come looking for horses. One time Master Archie had sent the horses off by one of the colored slaves who was to stay at his wife's house and hide them in the thicket. During the night, mother heard Archie Hays hollering. She went out to see what was the matter. The Yankees had old Archie Hays out and had guns poked at his breast. He was hollering, 'No sir. I don't.' And mother came and said, 'Reuben, get up and go tell them he don't know where the horses is.' Father got up and did a bold thing. He went out and said, 'Wait, gentlemen, he don't know where the horses is, but if you'll wait till tomorrow morning, he'll send a man to bring them in.' I don't know how they got word to him but he brought them in the next morning and the Yankees taken them off.

"Once a Rebel fired a shot at a Yankee and in a few minutes, our place was alive with them. They were working like ants in a heap all over the place. They took chickens and everything on the place.

Master Archie didn't have no sons large enough for the army. If he had, they would have killed him because they would have thought that he was harboring spies."

Interviewer's Comment

Mrs. A. (Adrianna) W. Kerns is a sister to Charles Green Dortch. Cross reference; see his story.



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: George Key, Forrest City, Arkansas Age: 70 plus

"I was born in Fayette County, Tennessee. My mother was Henrietta Hair. She was owned by David Hair. He had a gang of children. I was her only child. She married just after the surrender she said. She married Henry Key.

"One thing I can tell you she told me so often. The Yankees come by and called her out of the cabin at the quarters. She was a brown girl. They was going out on a scout trip—to hunt and ravage over the country. They told her to get up her clothes, they would be by for her. She was grandma's and grandpa's owners' nurse girl. She told them and they sent her on to tell the white folks. They sent her clear off. She didn't want to leave. She said her master was plumb good to her and them all. They kept her hid out. The Yankees come slipping back to tole her off. They couldn't find her nowhere. They didn't ax about her. They was stealing her for a cook she thought. She couldn't cook to do no good she said. She wasn't married for a long time after then. She said she was scared nearly to death till they took her off and hid her.

"I have voted but not for a long time. I'm too old to get about and keep too sick to go to the polls to vote. I got high blood pressure.

"Times is fair. If I was a young man I would go to work. I can't grumble. Folks mighty nice to me. I keeps in line with my kin folks and men my age.

"The young age folks don't understand me and I don't know their ways neither. They may be all right, but I don't know."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Lucy Key, Forrest City, Arkansas Age: 70 plus

"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. I seen Yankees go by in droves. I was big enough to recollect that. Old mis', Ellis Marshall's mother, named all the colored children on the place. All the white and colored children was named for somebody else in the family. Aunt Mary Marshall stayed in the house wid old mis'.

"Old mis' had a polly parrot. That thing got bad 'bout telling on us. Old mis' give us a brushing. Her son was a bachelor. He lived there. He married a girl fourteen or fifteen years old and Lawrence Marshall is their son. His sister was in Texas. They said old man Marshall was so stingy he would cut a pea in two. Every time we'd go in the orchard old polly parrot tell on us. We'd eat the turning fruit. One day Aunt Mary (colored) scared polly with her dress and apron till he took bad off sick and died. Mr. Marshall was rough. If he'd found that out he'd 'bout whooped Aunt Mary to death. He didn't find it out. He'd have crazy spells and they couldn't handle him. They would send for Wallace and Tite Marshall (colored men on his place). They was all could do anything wid 'em. He had plenty money and a big room full of meat all the time.

"I recollect what we called after the War a 'Jim Crow.' It was a hairbrush that had brass or steel teeth like pins 'ceptin' it was blunt. It was that long, handle and all (about a foot long). They'd wash me and grease my legs with lard, keep them from looking ashy and rusty. Then they'd come after me with them old brushes and brush my hair. It mortally took skin, hair, and all.

"The first shoe I ever wore had a brass toe. I danced all time when I was a child. We wore cotton dresses so strong. They would hang you if you got caught on 'em. We had one best dress.

"One time I went along wid a colored girl to preaching. Her fellar walked home wid 'er. I was coming 'long behind. He helped her over the rail fence. I wouldn't let him help me. I was sorter bashful. He looked back and I was dangling. I got caught when I jumped. They got me loose. My homespun dress didn't tear.

"I liked my papa the best. He was kind and never whooped us. He belong to Master Stamps on another place. He was seventy-five years old when he died.

"I milked a drove of cows. They raised us on milk and they had a garden. I never et much meat. I went to school and they said meat would make you thick-headed so you couldn't learn.

"I think papa was in the War. We cut sorghum cane with his sword what he fit wid.

"Stamps was a teacher. He started a college before the War. It was a big white house and a boarding house for the scholars. He had a scholar they called Cooperwood. He rode. He would run us children. Mama went to Master Stamps and he stopped that. He was the teacher. I think that was toreckly after the War. Then we lived in the boarding house. Four or five families lived in that big old house. It had fifteen rooms. That was close to Marshall, Mississippi.

"Me and the Norfleet children drove the old mule gin together. There was Mary, Nell, Grace. Miss Cora was the oldest. Miss Cora Marshall married the old bachelor I told you about. She didn't play much.

"When the first yellow fever broke out, Master George Stamps sent papa to Colliersville from Germantown. The officers stayed there. While he was waiting for meat he would stay in the bottoms. He'd bring meat back. Master George had a great big heavy key to the smokehouse. He'd cut meat and give it out to his Negroes. That meat was smuggled from Memphis. He'd go in a two-horse wagon. I clem up and look through the log cracks at him cutting up the meat fer the hands on his place.

"I had the rheumatism but I cured it. I cupped my knee. Put water in a cup, put a little coal oil (kerosene) on top, strike a match to it and slap the cup to my knee. It drawed a clear blister. I got it well and the rheumatism was gone. I used to rub my legs from my waist down'ards with mule water. They say that is mighty good for rheumatism. I don't have it no more.

"No sir-ree-bob, I ain't never voted and I don't aim to long as I'm in my mind.

"Times ain't hard as they was when I was coming on. (Another Negro woman says Aunt Lucy Key will wash or do lots of things and never take a cent of pay for it—ed.) Money is scarce but this generation don't know how to work. My husband gets relief 'cause he's sick and wore out. My nephew gives us these rooms to live in. He got money. (We saw a radio in his room and modern up-to-date furnishings—ed.) He is a good boy. I'm good to him as I can be. Seems like some folks getting richer every day, other folks getting worse off every day. Times look dark that way to me.

"I been in Arkansas eight years. I tries to be friendly wid everybody."



Interviewer: Bernice Bowden. Person interviewed: Anna King (c) Home: 704 West Fifth, Pine Bluff, Ark. Age: 80

"Yes honey, I was here in slavery times. I'se gittin' old too, honey. I was nine years old goin' on ten when the war ceasted. I remember when they was volunteerin'. I remember they said it wasn't goin' to be nothin' but a breakfus' spell.

"My fust marster was Nichols Lee. You see I was born in slavery times—and I was sold away from my mother. My mother never did tell us nothin' 'bout our ages. My white people told me after freedom that I was 'bout nine or ten.

"When the white chillun come of age they drawed for the colored folks. Marse Nichols Lee had a girl named Ann and she drawed me. She didn't keep me no time though, and the man what bought me was named Leo Andrew Whitley. He went to war and died before the war ceasted. Then I fell to his brother Jim Whitley. He was my last marster. I was with him when peace was declared. Yes mam, he was good to me. All my white folks mighty good to me. Co'se Jim Whitley's wife slap my jaws sometimes, but she never did take a stick to me.

"Lord honey, its been so long I just can't remember much now. I'se gittin' old and forgitful. Heap a things I remember and heap a things slips from me and is gone.

"Well honey, in slavery times, a heap of 'em didn't have good owners. When they wanted to have church services and keep old marster from hearin', they'd go out in the woods and turn the wash-pot upside down. You know that would take up all the sound.

"I remember Adam Heath—he was called the meanest white man. I remember he bought a boy and you know his first marster was good and he wasn't used to bein' treated bad.

One day he asked old Adam Heath for a chew of tobacco, so old Adam whipped him, and the boy ran away. But they caught him and put a bell on him. Yes mam, that was in slavery times. Honey, I had good owners. They didn't believe in beatin' their niggers.

"You know my home was in North Carolina. I was bred and born in Johnson County.

"I remember seein' the soldiers goin' to war, but I never seed no Yankee soldiers till after freedom.

"When folks heard the Yankees was comin' they run and hide their stuff. One time they hide the meat in the attic, but the Yankees found it and loaded it in Everett Whitley's wife's surrey and took it away. She died just 'fore surrender.

"And I remember 'nother time they went to the smokehouse and got something to eat and strewed the rest over the yard. Then they went in the house and jest ramshacked it.

"My second marster never had no wife. He was courtin' a girl, but when the war come, he volunteered. Then he took sick and died at Manassas Gap. Yes'm, that's what they told me.

"My furst marster had a whiskey still. Now let me see, he had three girls and one boy and they each had two slaves apiece. Ann Lee drawed me and my grandmother.

"No mam, I never did go to school. You better not go to school. You better not ever be caught with a book in your hand. Some of 'em slipped off and got a little learnin'. They'd get the old Blue Back book out. Heap of 'em got a little learnin', but I didn't.

"When I fell to Jim Whitley's wife she kept me right in the house with her. Yes mam, she was one good mistis to me when I was a child. She certainly did feed me and clothe me. Yes mam!

"How long I been in Arkansas? Me? Let me see, honey, if I can give you a guess. I been here about forty years. I remember they come to the old country (North Carolina) and say, if you come to Arkansas you wont even have to cook. They say the hogs walkin' round already barbecued. But you know I knowed better than that.

"We come to John M. Gracie's plantation and some to Dr. Blunson (Brunson). I remember when we got off the boat Dr. Blunson was sittin' there and he said "Well, my crowd looks kinda puny and sickly, but I'm a doctor and I'll save 'em." I stayed there eight years. We had to pay our transportation which was fifty dollars, but they sure did give you plenty of somethin' to eat—yes mam!

"No'm my hair ain't much white. My set o'folks don't get gray much, but I'm old enough to be white. I done a heap a hard work in my life. I hope clean up new ground and I tells folks I done everything 'cept Maul rails.

"Lord honey, I don't know chile. I don't know what to think, about this here younger generation. Now when they raised me up, I took care of myself and the white folks done took care of me.

"Yes mam, honey, I seed the Ku Klux. I remember in North Carolina when the Ku Klux got so bad they had to send and get the United States soldiers. I remember one come and joined in with the Ku Klux till he found out who the head man was and then he turned 'em up and they carried 'em to a prison place called Gethsemane. No mam! They never come back. When they carried you to Gethsemane, you never come back.

"I say the Lord blest me in my old age. Even though I can't see, I set here and praise the Lord and say, Lord, you abled me to walk and hear. Yes, honey, I'm sure glad you come. I'm proud you thought that much of me.

"Good bye, and if you are ever passin' here again, stop and see me."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Anna King 704 W. Fifth (rear), Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 82

"I used to 'member lots but you know, my remembrance got short.

"I was bred and born in Johnston County, North Carolina. I was sold away from my mother but after freedom I got back. I had a brother was sold just 'fore I was. My mother had two boys and three girls and my oldest sister was sold.

"And then you know, in slavery times, when the white children got grown, their parents give 'em so many darkies. My young Missis drawed me.

"My fust master was such a drinker. Named Lee. Lawd a mercy, I knowed his fust name but I can't think now. Young Lee, that was it.

"He sold me, and Leo Andrew Whitley bought me. Don't know how much—all I know is I was sold.

"After freedom I scrambled back to the old plantation and that's the way I found my mother.

"My last master never married. He had what they called a northern trotter.

"Wish I was able to get back to the old country and find some of my kin folks. If they ain't none of the old head livin', the young folks is. I got oceans of kin folks in Sampson County.

"My husband was a preacher and he come to the old country from this here Arkansas. He always said he was going to bring me out to this country. He was always tellin' me 'bout Little Rock and Hot Springs. So I was anxious to see this country. So after he died and when they was emigratin' the folks here, I come. I 'member Dr. Blunson counted us out after we got off the boat and he said, 'Well, my crowd looks kinda sickly, but I'm a doctor and I'll save you.' Lawd, they certainly come a heap of 'em. When the train uncoupled at Memphis, some went to Texas, some to Mississippi, and some to Louisiana and Arkansas. People hollerin' 'Goodbye' made you feel right sad.

"Some of 'em stayed in Memphis but I wouldn't stay 'cause dat's the meanest place in the world.

"John M. Gracie had paid out his money for us and I believe in doin' what's right. That was a plantation as sure as you bawn."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Mose King, Lexa, Arkansas Age: 81

"I was born in Richmond, Virginia. My master was Ephriam Hester. He had a wife and little boy. We called her mistress. I forgot their names. It's been so long ago.

"My parents named Lizzie Johnson and Andrew Kent. I had seven sisters and there was two of us boys. When mistress died they sold mother and my eldest sister and divided the money. I don't know her master's name in Virginia. Mother was a cook at Ephriam Hester's. Sister died soon as they come 'way from Virginia. I heard her talk like she belong to Nathan Singleterry in Virginia. They put mother and Andrew Kent together. After the surrender she married Johnson. I heard her say my own father was 'cross the river in a free state.

"There was two row of houses on the side of a road a quarter mile long and that is the place all the slaves lived. Ephriam Hester had one hundred acres of wheat. Mother was the head loom. He wasn't cruel but he let the overseers be hard. He said he let the overseers whoop 'em, that what he hired 'em for. They had a whooping stock. It was a table out in the open. They moved it about where they was working. They put the heads and hands and feet in it. I seen a heap of 'em get mighty bad whoopings. I was glad freedom come on fer that one reason. Long as he lived we had plenty to eat, plenty to wear. We had meal, hogs, goat, sheep and cows, molasses, corn hominy, garden stuff. We did have potatoes. I said garden stuff.

"Ephriam Hester come to a hard fate. A crowd of cavalrymen from Vicksburg rode up. He was on his porch. He went in the house to his wife. One of the soldiers retched in his pocket and got something and throwed it up on top of the house. The house burned up and him and her burned up in it. The house was surrounded. That took place three miles this side of Natchez, Mississippi. They took all his fine stock, all the corn. They hauled it off. They took all the wagons. They sot all they didn't take on fire and let it burn up. They burnt the gin and some cotton. They burnt the loom house, the wheat house; they robbed the smokehouse and burned it. We never got nothing. We come purt nigh starving after then. After that round we had no use fer the Yankees. I was learned young two wrongs don't make a right. That was wrong. They done more wrong than that. I heard about it. We stayed till after freedom. It was about a year. It was hard times. Seemed longer. We went to another place after freedom. We never got a chance to get nothing. Nothing to get there.

"In slavery times they had clog dances from one farm to another. Paddyrollers run 'em in, give them whoopings. They had big nigger hounds. They was no more of them after the War. The Ku Klux got to having trouble. They would put vines across the narrow roads. The horses run in and fell flat. The Ku Klux had to quit on that account.

"We didn't know exactly when freedom was. I went to school at Shaffridge, two miles from Clarks store. That was what is Clarksdale, Mississippi now. He had a store, only store in town. Old man Clark run it. He was old bachelor and a all right fellow, I reckon. I thought so. I went to colored teachers five or six months. I learned in the Blue Back books. I stopped at about 'Baker (?)'.

"I farmed all my life. I got my wife and married her in 1883. We got a colored preacher, Parson Ward. I had four children. They all dead but one. I got two lots and a house gone back to the state. I come to see 'bout 'em today. I going to redeem 'em if I can. I made the money to buy it at the round house. I worked there ten or twelve years. I got two dollars ninety-eight cents a day. I hates to loose it. I have a hard time now to live, Miss.

"I votes Republican mostly. I have voted on both sides. I tries to live like this. When in Rome, do as Romans. I want to be peaceable wid everybody.

"The present times is hard. I can't get a bit of work. I tries. Work is hard fer some young folks to get yet.

"I love to be around young folks. Fer as I know they do all right. The world looks nicer 'an it used to look. All I see wrong, times is hard."



Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel Information given by: Aunt Susie King, Ex-slave. Residence: Cane Hill, Arkansas. Washington County. Age: about 93.

Across the Town Branch, in what is dubbed "Tin-cup" lives one of the oldest ex-slaves in Washington county, "Aunt Susie" King, who was born at Cane Hill, Arkansas about 1844.

"Aunt Susie" doesn't know just how old she is, but she thinks she is over ninety, just how much she doesn't know. Perhaps the most accurate way to get near her age would be go to the county records where one can find the following bill of sale:

"State of Arkansas, County of Washington, for and in consideration of natural affection that I have for my daughter, Rebecca Rich, living in the county aforesaid above mentioned, and I do hereby give and bequath unto her one negro woman named Sally and her children namely Sam, and Fill, her lifetime thence to her children her lawful heirs forever and I do warrant and forever defend said negro girl and her children against all lawful claims whatsoever.

July, 1840. Tom Hinchea Barker, Witness, J. Funkhouser.

Filed for record, Feb. 16, 1841.

When this bill of sale was read to "Aunt Susie" she said with great interest,

"Yes'm, yes'm that sure was my Ma and my two brothers, Sam and Fill, then come a 'nother brother, Allan, and then Jack and then I'm next then my baby sister Milly Jane. Yes'm we's come 'bout every two years."

"Yes'm, ole Missy was rich; she had lots of money, lots of lan'. Her girl, she jes' had one, married John Nunley, Mister Ab, he married Miss Ann Darnell, Mister Jack he married Miss Milly Holt, and Mister Calvin he married Miss Lacky Foster. Yes'm they lived all 'round 'bout us. Some at Rhea's Hill and some at Cane Hill," and to prove the keenness of this old slave's mind, as well as her accuracy, one need only to go to the county deed records where in 1849, Rebecca Rich deeded several 40 acres tracts of land to her sons, James, Calvin, William Jackson and Absaolum. This same deed record gives the names of the wives of these sons just as "Aunt Susie" named them. However, Miss Lacky Foster was "Kelika Foster."

Then Aunt Susie started remembering:

"Yes'm, my mother's name was Sally. She'd belonged to Mister Tom H. Barker and he gived her to Miss Becky, his daughter. I think of them all lots of days. I know a heap of folks that some times I forgot. When the War came, we lived in a big log house. We had a loom room back of the kitchen. I had a good mother. She wove some. We all wove mos' all of the blankets and carpets and counterpans and Old Missey she loved to sit down at the loom and weave some", with a gay chuckle Aunty Susie said, "then she'd let me weave an' Old Missey she'd say I takes her work and the loom away from her. I did love to weave, all them bright colores, blue and red and green and yellow. They made all the colors in the back yard in a big kettle, my mother, Sally did the colorin'".

"We had a heap of company. The preacher came a lot of times and when the War come Ole Missey she say if we all go with her, she'd take us all to Texas. We's 'fraid of the Yankees; 'fraid they get us.

"We went in wagons. Ole Missey in the carriage. We never took nothin' but a bed stead for Ole Missey. They was a great drove of we darkies. Part time we walked, part time we rode. We was on the road a long time. First place we stopped was Collins County, and stayed awhile I recollect. We had lots of horses too. Some white folks drove 'long and offered to take us away from Ole Missey but we wouldn't go. We didn't want to leave Ole Missey, she's good to us. Oh Lord, it would a nearly kilt her effen any body'd hit one of her darkies; I'd always stay in the house and took care of Ole Miss. She was pretty woman, had light hair. She was kinda punny tho, somethin' matter with her mos' all the time, headache or toothache or something'."

"Mister Rich went down to the river swimmin' one time I heard, and got drowned."

"Yes'm, they was good days fo' the War."

"Yes'm we stayed in Texas until Peace was made. We was then at Sherman, Texas. Peace didn't make no difference with us. We was glad to be free, and we com'd back to Arkansas with Ole Missey. We didn't want to live down there. Me and my man, Charlie King, was married after the War, and we went to live on Mister Jim Moores place. Ole Miss giv'd my ma a cow. I made my first money in Texas, workin' for a woman and she giv'd me five dollars."

"Yes'm after Peace the slaves all scattered 'bout."

"The colored folks today lak a whole heap bein' like they was fo' the War. They's good darkies, and some aint so good." Me and my man had seven children all dead but two, Bob lives with me. I don't worry 'bout food. We ain't come no ways starvin'. I have all I want to eat. Bob he works for Missus Wade every mornin' tendin' to her flowers and afternoons works for him self. She owns this house, lets us live in it. She's good all right, good woman."

"I like flowers too, but ain't got no water, no more. Water's scarce. Someone turned off the hydrant."

"I belong to the Baptist church a long while."

"Do you know Gate-eye Fisher?" When I said "yes, I went down to talk to him last week," she said, "well, law me, Gate-eye ain't no fool. He's the best cook as ever struck a stove. He married my baby sister, Milly Jane's child. Harriet Lee Ann, she's my niece. She left him, said she'd never go back no more to him. She's somewhere over in Oklahoma."

"And did you see Doc Flowers? Yes'm, I was mos' a mother to him.

"One time my man and me heard a peckin' at the do'. We's eatin' supper. I went to the do' and there was Doc. He and his step-pa, Ole Uncle Ike, had a fight and Doc come to us and stayed 'bout three years. He started cryin'."

"Yes'm my Pa and Ma had belonged to Mister John Barker, before he giv'd my Ma to Miss Becky, my Pa was a leather worker. He could make shoes, and boots and slippers."

"Yes'm, Good bye. Come back again honey. Yes'm I'd like a little snuff—not the sweet kind. It makes my teeth feel better to have snuff. I ain't got much but snags, and snuff, a little mite helps them."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: William Kirk 1910 W. Sixth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 84

"I been here ever since 1853—yes ma'm! Cose I 'member the war! I tell you I've seen them cannon balls goin' up just like a balloon. I wasn't big enough to work till peace was declared but they had my mammy and daddy under the lash. One good thing 'bout my white folks, they give the hands three months' schoolin' every year. My mammy and daddy got three months' schoolin' in the old country. Some said that was General Washington's proclamation, but some of 'em wouldn't hear to it. When peace was declared, some of the niggers had as good education as the white man. That was cause their owners had 'lowed it to 'em.

"They used to put us in cells under the house so the Yankees couldn't get us. Old master's name was Sam Kirk and he had overseers and nigger dogs (bloodhounds) that didn't do nothin' but run them niggers.

"I 'member one time when they say the Yankees was comin' all us chillun, boys and girls, white and black, got upon the fence and old master come out and say 'Get in your holes!'

"The war went on four years. Them was turrible times. I don't never want to see no more war. Them that had plenty, time the regiment went by they didn't have nothin'. Old mistress had lots a turkeys and hogs and the Yankees just cleaned 'em out. Didn't have time to pick 'em—just skinned 'em. They had a big camp 'bout as long as from here to town.

"They burned up the big house as flat as this floor. They wasn't nothin' left but the chimneys. Oh the Yankees burned up plenty. They burned Raleigh and they burned Atlanta—that was the southern capital. I've seen the Yankees go right out in people's fields and make 'em take the horses out. Then they'd saddle 'em and ride right off.

"General Grant had ten thousand nigger soldiers outside of the Irishmen and the Dutchmen. I know General Grant looked fearful when he come by. After surrender he had a corps pass through and notify the people that the war was over.

"Abraham Lincoln was a war captain. He was a man that believed in right. He was seven feet four inches high.

"I was born in North Carolina and I come here in 'sixty seven. I worked too!"



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Betty Krump, Helena, Arkansas Age: — [Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]

"Mother come to Helena, Arkansas from Lake Charles, Louisiana. I was born here since freedom. She had twelve children, raised us two. She jus' raised me en my sister. She lives down the street on the corner. She was a teacher here in Helena years and years. I married a doctor. I never had to teach long as he lived, then I was too old. I never keered 'bout readin' and books. I rather tomboy about. Then I set up housekeepin'. I don't know nothin' 'bout slavery. I know how they come here. Two boats named Tyler and Bragg. The Yankees took 'em up and brought 'em up to their camps to pay them to wait on them. They come. Before 'mancipation my mammy and daddy owned by the very same old fellar, Thomas Henry McNeil. He had a big two-story stone house and big plantation. Mother said she was a field hand. She ploughed. He treated 'em awful bad. He overworked 'em. Mother said she had to work when she was pregnant same as other times. She said the Yankees took the pantry house and cleaned it up. They broke in it. I'm so glad the Yankees come. They so pretty. I love 'em. Whah me? I can tell 'em by the way they talk and acts. You ain't none. You don't talk like 'em. You don't act like 'em. I watched you yeste'd'y. You don't walk like 'em. You act like the rest of these southern women to me.

"Mother said a gang of Yankees came to the quarters to haul the children off and they said, 'We are going to free you all. Come on.' She said, 'My husband in the field.' They sent for 'im. He come hard as he could. They loaded men and all on them two gunboats. The boat was anchored south of Tom Henry McNeill's plantation. He didn't know they was gone. When they got here old General Hindman had forty thousand back here in the hills. They fired in. The Yankees fired! The Yankees said they was goin' to drive 'em back and they scared 'em out of here and give folks that brought in them gunboat houses to live in. Mammy went to helping the Yankees. They paid her. That was 'fore freedom. I loves the Yankees. General Hindman's house was tore down up there to build that schoolhouse (high school). The Yankees said they was goin' to water their horses in the Mississippi River by twelve o'clock or take hell. I know my mammy and daddy wasn't skeered 'cause the Yankees taking keer of 'em and they was the ones had the cannons and gunboats too. I jus' love the Yankees fer freeing us. They run white folks outer the houses and put colored folks in 'em. Yankees had tents here. They fed the colored folks till little after 'mancipation. When the Yankees went off they been left to root hog er die. White folks been free all der lives. They got no need to be poor. I went to school to white teachers. They left here, folks didn't do 'em right. They set 'em off to theirselves. Wouldn't keep 'em, wouldn't walk 'bout wid 'em. They wouldn't talk to 'em. The Yankees sont 'em down here to egercate us up wid you white folks. Colored folks do best anyhow wid black folks' children. I went to Miss Carted and to Mrs. Mason. They was a gang of 'em. They bo'ded at the hotel, one of the hotels kept 'em all. They stayed 'bout to theirselves. 'Course the white folks had schools, their own schools.

"Ku Klux—They dressed up and come in at night, beat up the men 'bout here in Helena. Mammy washed and ironed here in Helena till she died. I never did do much of that kinder work. I been housekeeping purty near all my days.

"Mammy was Fannie Thompson in Richmond, Virginia. She was took to New Orleans on a boat and sold. Sold in New Orleans. She took up wid Edmond Clark. Long as you been going to school don't you know folks didn't have no marryin' in slavery times? I knowed that. They never did marry and lived together all their lives. Preacher married me—colored preacher. My daddy, Edmond Clark, said McNeil got him at Kentucky.

"I done told you 'nough. Now what are you going to give me? The gover'ment got so many folks doin' so much you can't tell what they after. Wish I was one of 'em.

"The present times is tough. We ain't had no good times since dem banks broke her. Three of 'em. Folks can't get no credit. Times ain't lack dey used to be. No use talking 'bout this young generation. One day I come in my house from out of my flower garden. I fell to sleep an' I had $17.50 in little glass on the table to pay my insurance. It was gone when I got up. I put it in there when I lay down. I know it was there. It was broad open daytime. Folks steals and drinks whiskey and lives from hand to mouth now all the time. I sports my own self. Ain't nobody give me nothin' since the day I come here. I rents my houses and sells flowers."

Interviewer's Comment

This old woman lives in among the white population and rents the house next to her own to a white family. The lady down at the corner store said she tells white people, the younger ones, to call her Mrs. Krump. She didn't pull that on me. She once told this white lady storekeeper to call her Mrs. No one told me about her, because the lady said they all know she is impudent talking. She is old, black, wealthy, and arrogant. I passed her house and spied her.



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Ex-slave, Texarkans Dist.] Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W. M. Ball Subject: Folk Tales.

Information given by: Preston Kyles Place of Residence: 800 Block. Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark. Occupation: Minister. (Age) 81 [TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]

One of the favorite folk songs sung to the children of a half century ago was "Run Nigger Run, or the Patty Roll Will Get You." Few of the children of today have ever heard this humorous ditty, and would, perhaps, be ignorant of its meaning. To the errant negro youths of slave times, however, this tune had a significant, and sometimes tragic, meaning. The "patty rolls" were guards hired by the plantations to keep the slaves from running away. The following story is told by an ex-slave:

"When I wuz a boy, dere wuz lotsa Indians livin' about six miles frum de plantation on which I wuz a slave. De Indians allus held a big dance ever' few months, an' all de niggers would try to attend. On one ob dese osten'tious occasions about 50 of us niggers conceived de idea of goin', without gettin' permits frum de Mahster. As soon as it gets dark, we quietly slips outen de quarters, one by one, so as not to disturb de guards. Arrivin' at de dance, we jined de festivities wid a will. Late dat nite one ob de boys wuz goin' down to de spring fo' to get a drink ob water when he notice somethin' movin' in de bushes. Gettin' up closah, he look' again when—Lawd hab mersy! Patty rollers! A whole bunch ob 'em! Breathless, de nigger comes rushin' back, and broke de sad news. Dem niggers wuz scared 'mos' to death, 'cause dey knew it would mean 100 lashes for evah las' one ob dem effen dey got caught. After a hasty consultation, Sammy, de leader, suggested a plan which wuz agreed on. Goin' into de woods, we cuts several pieces of grape vine, and stretches it across de pathway, where we knowed de patty rollers would hab to come, tien' it to trees on both sides. One ob de niggers den starts down de trail whistlin' so as to 'tract de patty rollers 'tention, which he sho did, fo' here dey all cum, runnin' jus' as hard as dey could to keep dem niggers frum gettin' away. As de patty rollers hit de grape vine, stretched across de trail, dey jus' piles up in one big heap. While all dis commotion wuz goin' on, us niggers makes fo' de cotton fiel' nearby, and wends our way home. We hadn' no more'n got in bed, when de mahster begin knockin' on de door. "Jim", he yell, "Jim, open up de doah!" Jim gets up, and opens de doah, an de mahster, wid several more men, comes in de house. "Wheres all de niggers?" he asks. "Dey's all heah," Jim says. De boss walks slowly through de house, countin' de niggers, an' sho' nuf dey wuz all dere. "Mus' hab been Jim Dixon's negroes," he says finally.

"Yes, suh, Cap'n, dey wuz a lot happen in dem times dat de mahsters didn't know nuthin' about."



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS [HW: Ex-slave, Texarkana Dist., 9/5/31] Name of Interviewer: Cecil Copeland Subject: Apparition and Will-o'-the-Wisp. Story—Information:

Information given by: Preston Kyles / Occupation: Minister Place of Residence: 800 Block, Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark. (Age) 81 [TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]

The negro race is peculiarly susceptible to hallucinations. Most any old negro can recall having had several experiences with "de spirits." Some of these apparitions were doubtless real, as the citizens during Reconstruction Days employed various methods in keeping the negro in subjection. The organizers of the Ku Klux Klan, shortly after the Civil War, recognized and capitalized on the superstitious nature of the negro. This weakness in their character doubtless prevented much bloodshed during this hectic period.

The following is a story as told by a venerable ex-slave in regard to the "spirits":

"One day, when I wuz a young man, me an' a nigger, by de name ov Henry, wuz huntin' in an' old field. In dem days bear, deer, turkey, and squirrels wuz plentiful an' 'twant long befo' we had kilt all we could carry. As we wuz startin' home some monstrous thing riz up right smack dab in front ov us, not more'n 100 feet away. I asked Henry: "Black Boy, does yo' see whut I see?" an' Henry say, "Nigger I hopes yo' don't see whut I see, 'cause dey ain't no such man." But dere it stood, wid its sleeves gently flappin' in de wind. Ovah 8 feet tall, it wuz, an' all dressed in white. I yells at it, "Whut does yo' want?" but it didn't say nuthin'. I yells some mo' but it jus' stands there, not movin' a finger. Grabbin' de gun, I takes careful aim an' cracks down on 'em, but still he don't move. Henry, thinkin' maybe I wuz too scared to shoot straight, say: "Nigger, gib me dat gun!" I gibs Henry de gun but it don't take but one shot to convince him dat he ain't shootin' at any mortal bein'. Throwin' down de gun, Henry say, "Nigger, lets get away frum dis place," which it sho' didn't take us long to do."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Susa Lagrone 25th and Texas Streets, Pine Bluff, Ark. Age: 79

"I don't know exactly how old I am but I know I was here at surrender. I was born in Mississippi. I seen the soldiers after they come home. They camped right there at our gate.

"I think—now I don't know, but I think I was bout six or seven when they surrendered. I went down to the gate with Miss Sally and the children. Old mistress' name was Sally Stanton. She was a widow woman.

"I learned to knit durin' the war. They'd give me a task to do, so much to do a day, and then I'd have all evenin' to play.

"My father was a mechanic. He laid brick and plaster. You know in them days they plastered the houses. He belonged to old man Frank Scott. He was such a good worker Mr. Scott would give him all the work he could after he was free. That was in Mississippi.

"I went to school right smart after freedom. Fore freedom the white folks learned me my ABC's. My mistress was good and kind to me.

"When we went down to the gate to see the soldiers, I heard Miss Judy say (she was old mistress' sister), I heard her say, 'Well, you let em beat you' and started cryin'. I cried too and mama said, 'What you cryin' for?' I said, 'Miss Judy's cryin'.' Mama said, 'You fool, you is free!' I didn't know what freedom was, but I know the soldiers did a lot of devilment. Had guards but they just run over them guards.

"I think Abraham Lincoln wanted to give the people some land after they was free, but they didn't give em nothin'—just turned em loose.

"Course we ought to be free—you know privilege is worth everything.

"After surrender my mother stayed with old mistress till next year. She thought there wasn't nobody like my mother. When she got sick old mistress come six miles every day to see her and brought her things till she died.

"My mother learned to weave and spin and after we was free the white folks give her the loom. I know I made a many a yard of cloth after surrender. My mother was a seamstress and she learned me how to sew.

"I never did hire out—just worked at home. My mother had six boys and six girls and they're all dead but me and my sister.

"Somebody told me I was twenty-five when I married. Had three children—all livin'.

"I used to see the white folks lookin' at a map to see where the soldiers was fightin' and I used to wonder how they could tell just lookin' at that paper.

"Old mistress said after freedom, 'Now, Susa, I don't want you to suffer for nothin.' I used to go up there and stay for weeks at a time.

"I just got down with rheumatism here bout three or four years ago, and you know it goes hard with me—I always been used to workin' all my life."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Barney A. Laird Brinkley, (near Moroe) Arkansas Age: 79

"I was born in Pinola County, Mississippi. I remembers one time soldiers come by on all black horses and had a bundle on one shoulder strapped around under the other arm. They wore blue jackets. Their horses was trained so they marched good as soldiers. They camped not far from our house. There was a long string of soldiers. It took them a long time to go by.

"One time they had a dinner in a sorter grove on a neighbor's farm. All us children went up there to see if they left anything. We et up the scraps. I say it was good eating. The fust Yankee crackers I ever et was there that day. They was fine for a fact.

"Our owner was Dr. Laird. When I come to know anything his wife was dead but his married daughter lived with him. Her husband's name was John Balentine. My parents worked in the field and I stayed up at the house with my old grandpa and grandma. Their house was close to the white folks. Our houses was about on the farm. Some of the houses was pole houses, some hewed out. The fireplace in our house burned long wood and the room what had the fireplace was a great big room. We had shutters at the windows. The houses was open but pretty stout and good. We had plenty wood.

"My parents both lived on the same farm. They had seven children. My mother's name was Caroline and my father's name was Ware A. Laird. Mother never told us if she was ever sold. Father never was sold. He never talked much.

"One thing I know is: My wife's pa was sold, Squire Lester, so him and Adeline could be on the same farm. Them my wife's parents. They never put him on no block, jes' told him to get his belongings and where to go. I never seen nobody sold.

"Dr. Laird was good to his darkies. My whole family stayed on his place till he died. I don't know how long. I don't know if I ever knowed when freedom come on. We had a hard time durin' the Civil War. That why I hate to hear about war. The soldiers tore down houses, burnt houses. They burnt up Dr. Laird's gin. I think it burned some cotton. They tore down fences and hauled em off to make fires at their camps. That let the stock out what they maybe did leave an old snag. Fust cussin' I ever heard done was one of them soldiers. I don't know what about but he was going at it. I stopped to hear what he saying. I never heard nobody cuss so much over nothing as ever I found out. They had cleaned us out. We didn't have much to eat nor wear then. We did have foe then from what they told us. The old folks got took care of. That don't happen no more.

"I never seen a Ku Klux. I heard tell of them all my life.

"Dr. Laird was old man and John Balentine was a peaceable man. He wanted his farm run peaceable. He was kind as could be.

"I been farming all my life. I still be doing it. I do all I can. It is the young boys' place to take the plough handle—the making a man out of their young strength. They don't want to do it. Some do and some won't stay on the farm. Go to town is the cry. I got a wife and two boys. They got families. They are on the farm. I tell them to stay.

"I get help from the Welfare if I'm able to come get what they give me.

"I used to pay my taxes and vote. Now if I have a dollar I have to buy something to eat. Us darkies satisfied with the best the white folks can do. Darkies good workers but poor managers is been the way I seen it all my life. One thing we don't want no wars."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Arey Lamar 612 E. 14th Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 78 [Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]

"Yes'm, I was born in slavery days but I don't know what day. But you know I been hustlin' 'round here a long time.

"My mother said I was a great big girl when surrender come.

"I was born in Greenville, Mississippi but I was raised down at Lake Dick.

"I was a servant in Captain Will Nichols' house. I got a cup here now that was Captain Nichols' cup. Now that was away back there. That's a slavery time cup. After the handle got broke my mother used it for her coffee cup.

"My mother's name was Jane Condray. After everything was free, a lot of us emigrated from the old country to Arkansas. When we come here we come through Memphis and I know I saw a pair of red shoes and cried for mama to buy 'em for me, but she wouldn't do it.

"After I was grown and livin' in Little Rock, I bought me a pair of red shoes. I know I wore 'em once and I got ashamed of 'em and blacked 'em.

"My brother run away when they was goin' to have that Baxter-Brooks War and ain't been seen since.

"I was the oldest girl and never did get a education, and I hate it. I learned to work though.

"I don't know 'bout this younger generation. It looks like they're puttin' the old folks in the background. But I think it's the old christian people is holdin' the world together today."



Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson. Person interviewed: Solomon Lambert, Holly Grove, Ark., R.F.D. Age: 89 Subject: EX-SLAVERY Story:

"My parents belong to Jordon and Judy Lambert. They (the Jordon family) had a big family. They never was sold. I heard 'em say that. They hired their slaves out. Some was hired fer a year. From New Year day to next New Year day. That was a busy day. That was the day to set in workin' overseers and ridin' bosses set in on New Year day. My parents' name was Fannie and Ben Lambert. They had eight children.

"How did they marry? They say they jump the broomstick together! But they had brush brooms so I reckon that whut they jumped. Think the moster and mistress jes havin' a little fun outen it then. The brooms the sweep the floor was sage grass cured like hay. It grows four or five feet tall. They wrap it with string and use that for a handle. (Illustration— [TR: not finished] The way they married the man ask his moster then ask her moster. If they agree it be all right. One of 'em would 'nounce it 'fore all the rest of the folks up at the house and some times they have ale and cake. If the man want a girl and ther be another man on that place wanted a wife the mosters would swop the women mostly. Then one announce they married. That what they call a double weddin'. Some got passes go see their wife and family 'bout every Sunday and some other times like Fourth er July. They have a week ob rest when they lay by the crops and have some time not so busy to visit Christmas.

"I never seen no Ku Klux. There was Jay Hawkers. They was folks on neither side jess goin' round, robbin' and stealin', money, silver, stock or anything else they wanted. We had a prutty good time we have all the hands on our place at some house and dance. We made our music. Music is natur'l wid our color. They most all had a juice (Jew's) harp. They make the fiddle and banjo. White folks had big times too. They had mo big gatherins than they have now. They send me to Indian Bay once or twice a week to get the mail. I had no money. They give my father little money long and give him some 'bout Christmas. White folks send their darkies wid a order to buy things. I never seen a big town till I started on that run to Texas. They took the men 450 miles to Indian Nation to make a crop. We went in May and came back in October. They hired us out. Mr. Jo Lambert and Mr. Beasley took us. One of 'em come back and got us. That kept us from goin' to war. They left the women, children and old men, too old fer war.

"How'd I know 'bout war? That was the big thing they talk 'bout. See 'em. The first I seen was when I was shuckin' corn at the corn pin (crib) a man come up in gray clothes. (He was a spy). The way he talk you think he a southern man 'cept his speech was hard and short. I noticed that to begin wid. They thought other rebels in the corn pin but they wasn't. Wasn't nobody out there but me. Then here come a man in blue uniform. After while here come the regiment. It did scare me. Bob and Tom (white boys) Lambert gone to war then. They fooled round a while then they galloped off. I show was glad when the last man rid off!

Moster Lambert then hid the slaves in the bottoms. We carried provisions and they sent more'long. We stay two or three days or a week when they hear a regiment comin' through or hear 'bout a scoutin gang comin' through. They would come one road and go back another road. We didn't care if they hid us. We hear the guns. We didn't wanter go down there. That was white man's war. In 1862 and 1863 they slipped off every man and one woman to Helena. I was yokin' up oxen. Man come up in rebel clothes. He was a spy. I thought I was gone then but and a guard whut I didn't see till he left went on. I dodged round till one day I had to get off to mill. The Yankees run up on me and took me on. I was fifteen years old. I was mustered in August and let out in 1864 when it was over. I was in the Yankee army 14 months. They told me when I left I made a good soldier. I was with the standing army at Helena. They had a battle before I went in. I heard them say. You could tell that from the roar and cannons. They had it when I was in Texas. I wasn't in a battle. The Yankees begin to get slim then they made the darkies fill up and put them in front. I heard 'em say they had one mighty big battle at Helena. I had to drill and guard the camps and guard at the pickets (roads into Helena). They never let me go scoutin'. I walked home from the army. I was glad to get out. I expected to get shot 'bout all the time. I aint seen but mighty little difference since freedom. I went back and stayed 45 years on the Lambert place. I moved to Duncan. Moster died foe the Civil War. Some men raised dogs-hounds. If something got wrong they go get the dogs and use 'em. If some of the slaves try to run off they hunt them with the dogs. It was a big loss when a hand run off they couldn't ford that thing. They whoop 'em mostly fer stealin'. They trust 'em in everything then they whoop 'em if they steal. They know it wrong. Course they did. The worse thing I ever seen in slavery was when we went to Texas we camped close to Camden. Camden, Arkansas! On the way down there we passed by a big house, some kind. I seen mighty little of it but a big yard was pailened in. It was tall and fixed so they couldn't get out. They opened the big gate and let us see. It was full of darkies. All sizes. All ages. That was a Nigger Trader Yard the worst thing I ever seen or heard tell of in my life. I heard 'em say they would cry 'em off certain times but you could buy one or two any time jes by agreement. I nearly fell out wid slavery then. I studied 'bout that heap since then. I never seen no cruelty if a man work and do right on my moster's place he be honored by both black and white. Foe moster died I was 9 year old, I heard him say I valued at $900.00. I never was sold.

"When I was small I minded the calves when they milk, pick up chips to dry fer to start fires, then I picked up nuts, helped feed the stock, learned all I could how to do things 'bout the place. We thought we owned the place. I was happy as a bird. I didn't know no better than it was mine. All the home I ever knowed. I tell you it was a good home. Good as ever had since. It was thiser way yo mama's home is your home. Well my moster's home was my home like dat.

"We et up at the house in the kitchen. We eat at the darkey houses. It make no diffurence—one house clean as the other. It haft to be so. They would whoop you foe your nasty habits quick as anything and quicker. Had plenty clothes and plenty to eat. Folk's clothes made outer more lastin' cloth than now. They last longer and didn't always be gettin' more new ones. They washed down at the spring. The little darkies get in (tubs) soon as they hang out the clothes on the ropes and bushes. The suds be warm, little darkies race to get washed. Folks raced to get through jobs then and have fun all time.

"Foe I jined the Yankees I had hoed and I had picked cotton. Moster Lambert didn't work the little darkies hard to to stunt them. See how big I am? I been well cared fur and done a sight er work if it piled up so it could be seen.

(Solomon Lambert is a large well proportioned negro.) In 1870 the railroad come in here by Holly Grove. That the first I ever seen. The first cars. They was small.

"I never knowd I oughter recollect what all they talked but she said they both (mother and father) come from Kentucky to Tennessee, then to Arkansas in wagons and on boats too I recken. The Lamberts brought them from Kentucky. For show I can't tell you no more 'bout them. I heard 'em say they landed at the Bay (Indian Bay).

"Fine reports went out if you jin the army whut all you would get. I didn't want to be there. I know whut I get soon as ever I got way from them. Course I was goin' back. I had no other place to go. The government give out rations at Indian Bay after the war. I didn't need none. I got plenty to eat. Two or three of us colored folks paid Mr. Lowe $1.00 a month to teach us at night. We learned to read and calculate better. I learned to write. We stuck to it right smart while.

"I been married twice. Joe Yancey (white) married me to my first wife at the white folks house. The last time Joe Lambert (white) married me in the church. I had 2 boys they dead now and 1 girl. She is living.

During slavery I had a cart I drove a little mule to. I took a barrel of water to the field. I got it at the well. I put it close by in the shade of a tree. Trees was plentiful! Then I took the breakfast and dinner in my cart. I done whatever come to my lot in Indian Nation. After the war I made a plowhand. "Say there, from 1864 to 1937 Sol Lambert farmed." Course I hauled and cut wood, but my job is farmin'. I share croppe. I worked fer 1/3 and 1/4 and I have rented. Farmin' is my talent. That whar all the darkey belong. He is made so. He can stand the sun and he needs meat to eat. That is where the meat grows.

"I got chickens and a garden. I didn't get the pigs I spoke fer. I got a fine cow. I got a house—10-1/2 acres of ground. That is all I can look after. I caint get 'bout much. I rid on a wagon (to town) my mare is sick I wouldn't work her. I got a buggy. Good nough fer my ridin' I don't come to town much. I never did.

I get a Federal soldier's pension. I tell you 'bout it. White folks tole me 'bout it and hope me see 'bout gettin' it. I'm mighty proud of it. It is a good support for me in my old helpless days. I'm mighty thankful for it. I'm glad you sent me word to come here I love to help folks. They so good to me.

"I vote a Republican ticket. I don't vote. I did vote when I was 21 years old. It was stylish then and I voted some since then along. I don't bother with votin' and I don't know nuthin 'bout how it is done now. I tried to run my farm and let them hired run the governmint. I knowed my job like he knowed his job.

I come back to tell you one other thing. My Captain was Edward Boncrow.

"I told you all I know 'bout slavery less you ask me 'bout somethin' I might answer: We ask if we could go to white church and they tell us they wanted certain ones to go today so they could fix up. It was after the war new churches and schools sprung up. Not fast then.

Prices of slaves run from $1600 to $2000 fer grown to middle age. Old ones sold low, so did young ones. $1600 was a slow bid. That is whut I heard.



Name of Interviewer: Martin-Barker Subject: Ex-Slave Story—Information (If not enough space on this page add page)

This information given by: Frank Larkin Place of Residence: RFD #1—Bx. 73 Age — [TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]

I was born a slave, my owner was Mr. Rhodes of Virginia. On a large plantation, my white folks gave a big to do, and served wine. Had corn shuckings. Swapped help around harvesting time. I was sold when 6 or 7 years old. Sold to highest bidder. First marster gave my mother to his white daughter and let her keep me.

I was raised as a house boy. I was always a mean boy. When I was sold I split another boys head open with an axe. Then I runned off. They caught me with blood hounds. My master whipped me with a cowhide whip. He made me take my clothes off and tied me to a tree. He would use the whip and then take a drink out of a jug and rest awhile, then he would whip me again.

Sometimes we would set up until midnight pickin' wool. I would get so sleepy, couldn't hardly pick de wool.

I hung up my stocking at Christmas to get gifts.

When we left de plantation, we had to get a pass to go from one plantation to another.

We went to church, sat on de back seat of the white folks church. It was a Baptist. Baptized in pool. White preacher said: "Obey your master."

When I came to Arkanansas, I was sold to Mr. Larkin.



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Frank Larkin 1126 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 77

"Yes ma'm, I was born in slavery times, right about 1860. I was bred and born in Virginia—belonged to a man named Rhodes. When I was a little fellow, me and my mother was sold separate. My mother was sent to Texas and a man named Larkin bought me.

"I member when people was put upon the block and sold. Man and wife might go together and might not. Yes ma'm, they sho did separate mother and childen.

"Take a little chile, they would be worth a thousand dollars. Why old master would just go crazy over a little boy. They knowed what they would be worth when they was grown, and then they kept em busy.

"I can't remember no big sight in Virginia but I remember when the hounds would run em. Some of the colored folks had mighty rough owners.

"I remember when the Yankees come and took the best hoss my old boss had and left old crippled hoss with the foot evil.

"And they'd get up in a tree with a spyglass and find where old boss had his cotton hid, come down and go straight and burn it and the corn crib and take what meat they wanted and then burn the smoke house. Yes'm, I remember all that. I tell you them Yankees was mean. Used to shake old mistress and try to make her tell where the money was hid. If you had a fat cow, just shoot her down and cook what they wanted. My old boss went to the bottoms and hid. Tried to make old mistress tell where he was.

"Not all the old bosses was alike. Some fed good and some didn't. But they clothed em good—heavy cloth. Old man Larkin was pretty good man. We got biscuits every Sunday morning, other times got shorts. People was really healthier then.

"I was brought up to work. The biggest trainin' we got was the boss told us to go there and come here and we learned to do as we was told. People worked in them days. A deal of em that won't work now.

"During slavery days, colored folks had to go to the same church as the white folks and sit in the back.

"My father died a long time ago. I don't remember anything bout him and I never did see my mother any more after she was sold.

"After the war, old boss brought me to Arkansas when I was bout twelve years old. Biggest education I got, sit down with my old boss and he'd make me learn the alphabet. In those times they used the old Blue Back Speller.

"After we come to Arkansas I worked a great deal on the farm. Farmin'—that was my trade. I staid with him four or five years. He paid me for my work.

"Well, I hope we'll never have another war, we don't need it.

"I never had trouble votin' but one time. They was havin' a big row between the parties and didn't want us to vote unless we voted democratic, but I voted all right. I believe every citizen ought to have the right to vote. I believe in people havin' the right what belongs to em.

"I'm the father of thirteen childen by one woman—seven living somewhere, but they ain't no service to me.

"Younger people not takin' time to study things. They get a little education and think they can do anything and get by with it. And there's a lot of em down here on this Cummins farm now."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Frank Larkin 618 E. Fifteenth, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85

"I was somewhere 'bout twelve years old when the Civil War ended. I was the carriage driver, fire maker, and worked in the field some.

"I was bred and born in Virginia and I was sold; I was sold. My first old boss was a Rhodes and he sold me to a man named Larkin. See, we had to take our names from our boss. Me and my mother both was sold. I was somewhere between seven and eight years old.

"Then old boss give my mother to his daughter and she carried her to Texas and he kept me. Never have seen her since.

"He was good to me sometimes but he worked us night and day. Had a pile of wool as big as this room and we had to pick it and card it 'fore we went to bed. Old boss was sittin' right there by us. Oh, yes'm.

"Old boss was better to me than old missis. She'd want to whip me and he'd say he'd do it; and he'd take me down to the quarters and have a cow-hide whip and he would whip a tree and say, 'Now you holler like I'm whippin' you.' I'd just be a bawlin' too I'm tellin' you but he never hit me nary a lick.

"All the chillun, when they was clearin' up new ground, had to pick up brush and pile it up. Ever'body knowed how much he had to do. Ever' woman knowed how much she had to weave. They made ever'thing—shoes and all.

"Them Yankees sure did bad—burned up the cotton and the corn. I seen one of 'em get up in a tree and take his spyglass and look all around; directly he'd come down and went just as straight to that cotton as a bird to its nest. Oh, yes ma'am, they burned up everything. I was a little scared of 'em but they said they wasn't goin' to hurt us. Old master had done left home and gone to the woods. It was enough to scare you—all them guns stacked up and bayonets that long and just as keen. Come in and have old missis cook for 'em. Sometimes they'd go and leave lots to eat for the colored folks and maybe give 'em a blanket. Wouldn't give old missis anything; try to make her tell where the money was though.

"When they said Vicksburg was captured, old master come out hollerin' and cryin' and said they taken Vicksburg and we was free. Some of 'em stayed and some of 'em left. Me and my grandma and my aunt stayed there after we was freed 'bout two years. They took care of me; I was raised motherless.

"I farmed all my life. Never done public work two weeks in my life. Don't know what it is.

"Old master had them blue back spellers and 'fore freedom sometimes he'd make us learn our ABC's.

"And he'd let you go to church too. He'd ask if you got 'ligion and say, 'Now, when the preacher ask you, go up and give him your hand and then go to the back.' In them days, didn't have any but the white folks' church. But I was pretty rough in them days and I didn't j'ine.

"But I tell you, you'd better not leave the plantation without a pass or them paddyrollers would make you shout. If they kotch you and you didn't have a pass, a whippin' took place right there.

"Oh Lord, that's been a long time. I sits here sometimes and looks back and think it's been a long time, but I'm still livin'.

"I've always tried to keep out of trouble. 'Co'se I've had some pretty tough times. I ain't never been 'rested fer nothin'. I ain't never been inside of a jail house. I've had some kin folks in there though.

"I've been a preacher forty years. Don't preach much now. My lungs done got decayed and I can't hold up. Some people thinks preachin' is an easy thing but it's not.

"Prettiest thing I ever saw when the Yankees was travelin' was the drums and kettledrums and them horses. It was the prettiest sight I ever saw. Them horses knowed their business, too. You couldn't go up to 'em either. They had gold bits in their mouths and looked like their bridles was covered with gold. And Yankees sittin' up there with a sword.

"Old boss had a fine saddle horse and you know the Yankees had a old horse with the footevil and you know they turned him loose and took old boss's saddle horse. He didn't know it though; he was in the woods.

"I believe there is people that can give you good luck. I know a woman that told me that I was goin' to have some good luck and it worked just like she said. She told us I would be the onliest man on the place that would pay out my mule and sure 'nough I was. I cleared forty dollars outside my mule and my corn. She said I was born to be lucky. Told me they would be lots of people work agin me but it wouldn't do no good."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: William Lattimore 606 West Pullen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 78

"Yes'm I was a slave—I was born in 1859 in Mississippi. During the war I wasn't grown but I can remember when the Yankee soldiers come to Canton, Mississippi. We was sittin' out in the yard and the white folks was on the porch when they was bombardin' Jackson. We could hear the cannons. The white people said the Yankees was tryin' to whip the rebellion and set the niggers free. When they got done I didn't know what had happened but I remember the colored people packed up and we all went to Vicksburg. My father ran off and jined the Yankee army. He was in Colonel Zeigler's regiment in the infantry. I knowed General Grant when I seed him. I know when Abraham Lincoln died the soldiers (Yankees) all wore that black band around their arms.

"After my father was mustered out we went to Warren County, Mississippi to live. He worked on the halves with a schoolteacher named Mr. Hannum. He said he was my godfather.

"One time after the war Mr. Lattimore came and wanted my father to live with him but I didn't want him to because before the surrender old master whipped my father over the head with a walking stick 'cause he stayed too long and I was afraid he would whip him again.

"'Did you ever vote?' Me? Yes ma'm I voted. I don't remember who I voted for first—my 'membrance don't serve me—I ain't got that fresh enough in my memory. I served eight years as Justice of the Peace after I come to Arkansas. I remember one time they put one colored man in office and I said that's pluckin' before it is ripe. We elected a colored sheriff in Warren County once. The white men went on his bond, but after awhile the Ku Klux compelled them to get off and then he couldn't make bond. He appealed to the citizens to let him stay in office without bond but they wouldn't do it. When a man is trying to get elected they promise a lot of things but afterwards they is just like a duck—they swim off on the other side.

"I went to school after freedom and kept a goin' till I was married. I was a school director when I was eighteen. I didn't have any children and the superintendent who was very rigid and strict said 'Boy you is not even a patron of the school.' But he let me serve. I used to visit the school 'bout twice a week and if the teacher was not doin' right, I sure did lift my voice against it.

"I lived in Chicot County when I first come to Arkansas and when I moved to Jefferson County, Judge Harry E. Cook sent my reputation up here. I ain't never peeped into a jailhouse or had handcuffs on these hands.

"We've got to do something 'bout this younger generation. You never saw anything sicker. They is degenerating.

"I hold up my right hand, swear to uphold the Constitution and preserve the flag and I don't think justice is being done when they won't let the colored folks vote. We'd like to harmonize things here. God made us all and said 'You is my chillun.'"



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Bessie Lawsom, Helena, Arkansas Age: 76 [Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]

"I was born in Georgia. My mama was brought from Virginia to one of the Carolina states, then to Georgia. She was sold twice. I don't recollect but one of her masters. I heard her speak of Master Bracknell. His wife, now I remember her well. She nursed me. I was sickly and they needed her to work in the crop so bad. She done had a baby leetle older than I was, so I nursed one breast and Jim the other. She raised me and Jim together. Mama was name Sallie and papa Mathew Bracknell. They called him Mat Bracknell. I don't know my master's name. They had other children.

"Me and Jim dug wells out in the yard and buried all the little ducks and chickens and made graves. We had a regular burying ground we made. They treated us pretty good as fur as I knowed. I never heard mama complain. She lived till I was forty years old. Papa died a few years after freedom. He had typhoid fever. He was great to fish. I believe now he got some bad water to drink out fishing. There was six of us and three half children. I'm the onliest one living as I knows of. One sister died in 1923 in Atlanta. She come to see me. She lived with big rich folks there. She was a white man's girl. She never had so much bad luck as we dark skin children the way it was. My papa had to go to war with some of Master Bracknell's kin folks, maybe his wife's kin folks, and they took him to wait on them at the battle-fields. Some soldiers camped by at the last of the war. They stole her out. She went to take something to a sick widow woman for old mistress. She never got back for a week. She said she was so scared and one day when her man, the man that claimed her, went off on a scout trip she asked a man, seemed to be a big boss, could she go to that thicket and get some black gum toothbrushes. He let her ride a little old broken down horse out there. She had a bridle but she was bare back. She come home through the pasture and one of the colored boys took the horse back nearly to the camps and turned him loose. 'Fo'e my own papa got back she had a white chile. Master Bracknell was proud of her. Papa didn't make no difference in her and his children. After the War he bought a whole bolt of cloth when he went to town. Mama would make us all a dress alike. The Yankees whooped mama at their camp. She said she was afraid to try to get away and that come in her mind. Old mistress thought that widow woman was keeping her to wait on her and take care of her small children. She wasn't uneasy and they took care of me.

"I don't recollect freedom. I heard mama say a drove come by and ask her to come go to Atlanta; they said Yankees give 'em Atlanta. She said she knowed if she went off papa wouldn't know where she was. She told 'em she had two young children she couldn't leave. They went on. She told old mistress and she said she done right not to go.

"The Yankees stole mama's feather bed. Old mistress had great big high feather beds and big pillows. Mama had a bed in a shed room open out on the back piazza. They put them big beds across their horses and some took pillows and down the road they went. It was cold and the ground froze. They made cotton beds then and the Yankees done got all the geese and chickens. They nearly starved. The Yankees took all the cows and stock.

"Master Bracknell was cripple. He had a store at Cross Roads. It was twenty-five miles from Marietta, Georgia. They never troubled him like they did old mistress. She was scared of them. She knowed if they come and caught her gone they would set fire to the house. No, they never burned nothing on our place but they did some in sight. I can remember seeing big fires about at night and day time too.

"We lived on Master Bracknell's place till I was eight years old and my sister five. We come to South, Alabama, then to Mississippi and then up the river to Helena. I married in Jackson, Mississippi. A white boy married us. We lived on his place and he was going to preach. He wasn't a preacher then. Richard Moore was his name. It took him several weeks to learn what to say. He practiced on us. He thought a heap of me and he ask Jesse if he could marry us. He brought us a big fine cake his mother cooked for us when he come. My husband named Jesse Lawsom. He was raised in Louisiana. We lived together till he died. My mother went blind before she died. His mother lived there, then we took care of them and after he died his mother lived with me. Now I lives with this niece here some and my daughter in Jackson. I had fourteen children. I just got one left and grandchildren I go to see. I make the rounds. Some of 'em good and some of them ain't no account at tall.

"I used to take advice. They get up and leave the place. They don't want old folks to advise 'em. If they can't get their price they sit around and go hungry. They won't work for what I used to be glad to get. I keep my girl on the right path and that is all I can do. My niece don't work out but her husband works on the farm all the time. She helps him. They go out and live till the work is done. He is off now ploughing. Times is fast sure as you born, girl. Faster 'an ever I seen."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Henry Lee R.F.D., two and one-half miles, Palestine, Arkansas Age: 87

"I was born close to Huntsville, Alabama during slavery. My master was Tom Laughinghouse and Miss Fannie, his wife. They had two children, Jarman and Mattie. He was Dr. George Laughinghouse's brother. Dr. George lived at Forrest City.

"He brung us to the old Pope place close to Forrest City after 'mancipation. We didn't know we was free. Finally we kept hearing folks talk, then Master Tom told us we was free. We cleared land right on after freedom like we was slaves.

"General Lee, a white man, owned a boat on the Mississippi River. He owned my father. We took on his name way after freedom. Mother was Becky Laughinghouse and father was Willis Lee. They had six children.

"After I come to Arkansas I went to school three days to a white man. He was sont here from the North somewhere.

"My folks was all black pure stock niggers and field folks same as I is.

"Mother's owners was good to her. They give them all day Saturday to wash and iron and cook for her folks. They got a whooping if they went to the field Monday morning dirty. They was very good to us. I can recollect that. They was a reasonable set of white folks. They weighed out everything. They whooped their hands. They had a white overseer but he wasn't hired to whoop Laughinghouse's slaves.

"They 'lowed mother to weave at her home at night. He had seven or eight families on his farm.

"The well was a curiosity to me then and would sure be one now. We had a walled and curbed well. A long forked pole, a short chain and a long rope. We pulled up the water by the long forked pole. Cold! It was good cold water. Beats our water all to pieces.

"The soldiers come up in a drove one day and ask mother for me. She didn't let any of us go.

"Our master got killed over here close to Forrest City. We all picked cotton, then we all went to gin. A coupling pin broke and let a wooden block come down on him. It weighed one thousand pounds I expect. He was spreading a sheet and smoothing the cotton. It mashed and smothered him both. That was first of our scattering.

"The colored folks raised gardens in the fence corners. They raised a heap of stuff that way. We lived a heap better then than now.

"My father died and mother started sharecropping. First, one-half and then, one-third went to us. Things went on very well till the commissary come about. The nigger got figured clean out.

"Nearly all the women of them days wore bonnets or what they called hoods one the other. Boys wore long shirts to calf of their legs.

"We rode oxen to church. Many time rode to church and home in ox wagon.

"Ku Kluxes followed Pattyrollers, then come on White Caps. If the Pattyrollers kilt a slave he had to pay the master the price. The Ku Kluxes rode at night. All of 'em's main business was to keep the slaves at their own places and at work. Iffen the master instructed them to keep offen his place they kept off. They never come on our place. But though I was feared of 'em.

"I needs help and I don't git it. I applied. 'Cause a grandson helps us a little I don't git the welfare pension. I need it and I think I ought to git it. I worked hard, bought this house, paid my taxes—still trying. Still they don't aid me now and I passed aiding my own self. I think I oughten to git lef' out 'cause I help myself when I could. I sure is left out. Been left out.

"A part of the people is accountable for the way the times is going on. Some of them is getting it all and don't give the others no show a tall. Times is powerful hard for some and too easy for others. Some is turned mean and some cowed down and times hard for them what can't work hard."



Interviewer: Miss Sallie C. Miller Person interviewed: Mandy Lee, Coal Hill, Arkansas Age: 85

"Yes'm I was a slave. I been here. I heard the bugles blowing, the fife beat, the drums beat, and the cannons roar. We started to Texas but never got across the river. I don't know what town it was but it was just across the river from Texas. My white folks was good to me. I staid with them till they died. Missy died first, then master died. I never was away from them. They was both good. My mammy was sold but I never was. They said they was surrendered when we come back from Texas. I heard the drums beat at Ft. Smith when we come back but I don't know what they was doing. I worked in the house with the children and in the field too. I help herd the horses. I would card and spin and eat peaches. No, that wasn't all I had to eat. I didn't have enough meat but I had plenty of milk and potatoes. I was born right here in Coal Hill. I ain't never lived anywhere else except when we went South during the war.

"Law woman I can't tell you what I think of the present generation. They are good in their way but they don't do like we did. I never did go naked. I don't see how they stand it.

"I could sing when I was young. We sang everything, the good and bad."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Lee 1308 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 74 [Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]

"I was born in 1864, March the fourth, the year before the Civil War ended. All I know is what they told me and what I read.

"Born in Texas, but my mother and father was both born in Georgia.

"My mother said her white folks was good to her. She was the house girl, she didn't have to work in no field.

"I went to school when I was six or eight. I don't remember which. I had right smart schooling.

"I remember my mother's young missis run off and got married. She was just a young girl, 'bout seventeen. That's been a long time.

"I got a book sent to me a while back. It's a Catholic book—'History of Church and State.' Yes'm, I'm a Catholic. Used to belong to the Methodist church, but I wouldn't be a Methodist no more. I like the Catholics. You would too if you was one of 'em.

"I been here in Arkansas since 1891. That's goin' right on up the road.

"I can't do much work now, my breath gets short.

"I used to make thirty-five dollars a month washin' and ironin'. Oh, that was a long time 'fore the depression.

"I don't think nothin' of this younger generation. All goin' the same way. Oh lord, you better let 'em alone, they won't take no foolishness."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Talitha Lewis 300 E. 21st Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 86 [Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]

"I should say I was born in slavery times! Now if you ask me something I don't know, I couldn't tell you, honey, 'cause I believe in people tellin' the truth.

"In a way I know how old I is. I give what my white folks give me. They told me I was born in 1852. Yes ma'am, my young missis used to set down and work on me. She'd say, 'Get it in your head' 'cause I ain't got no education.

"I 'member my old missis. Know her name as good as I do mine. Name was Maria Whitley. After old master died, his property was divided and Jim Whitley drawed me and my mother and my sister. Yes ma'am, it was my sister.

"Goldsboro, North Carolina is where I was born, in Johnston County.

"Do I 'member anything 'bout peace declared? I should say I do—'member long time 'fore it come.

"I seed so many different regiments of people I didn't know which was which. I know the Yankees called ever'body Dinah. They'd say to me, 'Dinah, hold my horse,' and my hands would be full of bridles. And they'd say, 'You got anything buried?' The white folks had done buried the meat under my mother's house. And say, 'Is they good to you?' If they hadn't a been we wouldn't a known any better than to tell it.