"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen none of them. They was hot over there in South Carolina in some spots.

"I'm able by the grace of God to make my own humble living. Sometime I may like a little help but I ain't asked foe none yet.

"I heard this here about the Ku Klux in Forrest City. I heard different ones say. They was having a revival out here at Lane Chapel and the captain of the Ku Klux come in and they followed in their white clothes and he give the colored minister a letter. He opened it and it had some money for him. They went on off on their horses. I don't know when that was. I didn't see it, I heard about it."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Hannah Hancock [HW: Biscoe, Arkansas?] Age: Past 80

"I was born in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. My mother's name was Chloa. We lived on Hardy Sellers plantation. She was the white folks cook. I et in the white folks kitchen sometimes and sometimes wid the other children at maw's house. Show my daddy was livin. But he lived on another man's farms. His master's name was Billy Hancock and his name was Dave. Der was a big family of us but dey all dead now but three of us. Ize got two sisters and a brother still livin, I reckon. I ain't seed them in a long time. Mrs. Sellers had several children but they were all married when I come along and she was a widow. Joe Pete was her son and he lived close, about a mile across the field, but it was farther around the road. Billy Hancock married Mrs. Sellers daughter. My mistress didn't do much. Miss Becky Hancock wove cloth for people. You could get the warp ready and then run in the woof. She made checked dresses and mingledy looking cloth. They colored the cloth brown and purple mostly. Mrs. Sellers get a bolt of cloth and have it all made up into dresses for the children. Sometimes all our family would have a dress alike. Yesm, we did like dot. Granny made de dresses on her fingers. She was too old to go to de field an she tote water from the big spring and sometimes she water de hands when dey be hoeing. She would cut and dry apples and peaches. Nobody knowed how to can. They dried de beef. It show was good. It was jess fine. No maam, Granny didn't have no patterns. She jess made our dresses lack come in her haid. We didn't get many dresses and we was proud of em and washed and ironed and took care of em.

"I recollects hearing de men talking about going off to war and em going. No jess de white men left from Mrs. Sellers place. De children didn't set around and hear all that was said. They sent us off to play in the play houses. We swept a clean place and marked it off and had our dolls down there. We put in anything we could get, mostly broken dishes. Yes maam, I had rag dolls and several of them. No wars real close but I could hear the guns sometimes.

"Mrs. Sellers had two large carriage horses. The colored boys took them down in the bottoms and took off a lot of the meat and groceries and hid them 'fo the Yankees come along. They didn't nebber fin them things. Mrs. Sellers was awful good and the men jess looked after her and took care of her. Me or maw stayed at the house with her all the time, day and night. When anybody got sick she sent somebody to wait on them and went to see what they needed and sometimes she had 'em brought up to the house and give 'em the medicine herself. She didn't have no foman. Uncle Sam and uncle John was the oldest and uncle Henry. They was the men on the farm and they went right on with the work. Folks had bigger families than they do now. They show did work, but de field work don't last all de time. They cleared land and fixed up the rail fences in the winter. A rail fence was on each side of a long lane that led down to the pasture. The creek run through the pasture. It was show a pretty grove. Had corn shuckings when it was cold. We played base down there. We always had meat and plenty milk, collards and potatoes. Old missus would drip a barrel of ashes and make corn hominy in the wash pot nearly every week and we made all the soap we ever did see. If you banked the sweet potatoes they wouldn't rot and that's where the seed come from in the spring. In the garden there was an end left to go to seed. That is the way people had any seed. Times show have changed. I can't tell what to think. They ain't no more like than if they was another kind of folks. So much different. I jess look and live. I think they ought to listen to what you say. Say anything to them they say 'Kaint run my business.' I don't know if they spected anything from freedom. Seemed like they thought they wouldn't have to work if dey was free and dey wouldn't have no boss. Missus let a lot of her land grow up in pine trees. Said she had no money to pay people to work for her. Some of de families staid on. My maw and paw went on a farm on share not far from Mrs. Sellers. When she was going to have company or she got sick she sent for my maw. My maw washed and ironed for her till they moved plum off. They said somebody told them it was freedom. When dey picked up and moved off de missus show didn't give em nothing. They didn't vote. They didn't know how. I heard a lot about the Ku Klux Klan but I wasn't scared. I never did see none.

"De younger generation jess lives today and don't know what he'll do tomorrow or where he'll be. I ain't never voted and I don't know if my boys do or not.

"I never heard of uprisings. De paddyroll was to see after dot and Mrs. Sellers didn't have none. Uncle Sam and uncle John made em mind.

"Sing—I say dey did sing. Sing about the cooking and about the milking and sing in de field.

"I never did see nobody sold. But I heard them talk about selling em. They took em off to sell em. That was the worst part about slavery. The families was broke up. I never lived nowhere 'cept in South Carolina and Prairie County (Arkansas). My folks come here and they kept writing for me to come, and I come on the train. Mrs. Sellers son, Joe Sellers, killed himself, shot himself, one Sunday evening. Didn't know how come he done it. I was too little to know what they expected from the war. The colored folks didn't have nothing to do with it 'cept they expected to get freed. A heap of people went to the cities, some of them died. After freedom things got pretty scarce to eat and there was no money. I worked as a house girl, tended to the children, brushed the flies off the table and the baby when it slept and swept the house and the yard too. After I come here (to Arkansas) I married and I worked on the farms. We share cropped. I raised my children, had chickens, geese, a cow and hogs. When the cotton was sold we got some of it. Yes maam, I show had rether be out there if I could jess work. We lived on Mr. Dick Small's place till he sold out. We come to town a year and went back and made enough in one year to buy dis place. It cost $300. Jess my two sons and me. The others were married. My husband died on the farm. I come in town and done one or two washings a week. Yes maam I walked here and back. That kept me in a little money. It was about two miles. I washed for Mr. L. Hall and part of the time for Mrs. Kate Hazen. I guess they treated us right about the crop settlement. We thought they did. We knowed how much was made and how much we got. The cheatin come at the stores where the trading was done.

"I lives with my son and his wife. Sometimes I do my cooking and sometimes I eat in there. I get $8.00 from the RFC and prunes, rice, and a little dried milk. I buys my meal and sugar and lard and little groceries with the money. It don't buy what I used to have on the farm.

"I don't remember much about the war. I was so little. I heard them talk a lot about it and the way they killed folks. I thought it was awful. My hardest time is since I got old and can't work."



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

Little Rock District Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson Subject: Spells—Voodoo— Story—Information (If not enough space on this page add page)

I asked her if she believed anyone could harm her and she said not not unless they could get her to eat or drink something. Then they might. She said a Gypsy was feeling her and slipped a dollar and a quarter tied up in her handkerchief from her and she never did know when or how she got it. Said she never believed their tales or had her fortune told. She didn't believe anyone could put anything under the door and because you walked over it you would get a "spell". She said some people did. She didn't know what they put under the doors. She never was conjured that she knew of and she doesn't believe in it. Said she had to work too hard to tell tales to her children but she used to sing. She can't remember the songs she sang. She can't read or write.

The old woman is blind and gray, wears a cap. Her Mistress was Mrs. Mary and her Master was Mr. Hardy Sellers in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. Her husband died and left her with six children. Her brother came with a lot of other fellows to Arkansas. "Everybody was coming either here or to Texas". Mr. David Gates at DeValls Bluff sent her a ticket to come to his farm. Her brother was working for Mr. Gates Wattensaw plantation and that is where she has been till a few years ago she moved to Hazen and lives with her son and his wife. She remembered when the Civil War soldiers took all their food, mules and hitched Mrs. Sellers driving horses to the surry and drove off. Her Mistress cried and cried. She said she had a hard time after she left Mr. and Mrs. Sellers, they was sure good to them and always had more than she had ever had since. She wanted to go back to South Carolina to see the ones she left but never did have the money. Said they lived on Mr. Dick Small's place and he was so good to her and her children but he is dead too now.

This information given by: Hannah Hancock Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas Occupation: Work in the cotton field—Cook and wash. Age: 90 She is blind. She gets $8.00 pension, she is proud to tell.



Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Julia E. Haney 1320 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 78

"I was born in Gallatin, Tennessee, twenty-six miles north of Nashville, September 18, 1859. Willard Blue and Mary Blue were my master and my mistress.

"I wanted to put in for a pension and didn't want to tell a story about my age. In reading the Gazette, I found out that William Blue got shot by an insurance man in Dallas, Texas over a stenographer. I found out where my young master was and after allowing him time to get over his grief, I wrote to him about my age. He wrote me that Andrew was the oldest and he didn't know, so he sent my letter to Tacoma, Tennessee, to Henry Blue. Henry wrote to him and told him to look in the bottom of the wardrobe in the old family Bible. He looked there and found the Bible and sent my age to me. They wrote to me and sent me some money and were awful nice to me. They said that I was the only one of the slaves living."

Good Masters

"Our masters were awful good to us. They didn't treat us like we were slaves. My mother carried the keys to everything on the place. They lived in the city. They didn't live in the country. I came here in 1869."

Family

"My mother married a Thompson. Her married name was Margaret Thompson and her name before she married was Margaret Berth. Her master before she married was Berth. Her last master was Blue. Her mother's name was Cordelia Lowe. Her maiden name was Berth. When the old man Berth died, he made his will and Bullard Berth didn't want any slaves because he wanted to train his children to work. Willard, my mother's master, should have been a Berth because he was old man Berth's son, but he called himself Blue. It might have been that old man Berth was his stepfather. Anyway he went by the name of Willard Blue. He was an undertaker.

"My father's name was Oliver Thompson. I don't remember any of my father's people. His people were in Nashville, Tennessee, and my mother's people were in Gallatin, Tennessee. We were separated in slavery."

Separation of Parents

"I don't know how my mother and father happened to get together. They didn't belong to the same master. My father belonged to Thompson and lived in Nashville and my mother belonged to Blue in Gallatin. They were not together when freedom came and never did get together after freedom. They only had one child to my knowledge. I don't know how they happened to be separated. It was when I was too small. Nashville is twenty-six miles from Gallatin. Perhaps one family or the other moved away."

Patrollers

"I have heard my mother speak about the pateroles. I don't know whether they were pateroles or not. They had guards out to see if the slaves had passes and they would stop them when they would be going out for anything. They would stop my mother when she would be going out to get the cows to see if she had a pass."

Jayhawkers

"I never heard my mother speak of jayhawkers, but I have heard her say that they used to catch the slaves when they were out. I don't know whether it was jayhawkers or not. I don't know what they done with them after they caught them. I have heard other people speak of jayhawkers. My people were very good to us. They never bothered my mother. She could go and come when she pleased and they would give her a pass any time she told them she wanted one."

Really Scared to Death

"I know one thing my ma told me. When the soldiers came through, there was an old rebel eating breakfast at our place. He was a man that used to handcuff slaves and carry them off and sell them. He must have stolen them. When he heard that the Yankees were marching into town with all them bayonets shining, it scared him to death. He sat right there at the breakfast table and died. I don't know his name, but he lived in Tennessee."

Mother's Work

"My mother was a cook and she knitted. She molded candles and milked the cows, and washed and ironed. She and her children were the only slaves they owned. They never whipped my mother at all. I stayed in the house. They kept me there. I never had to do anything but keep the flies off the table when they were eating."

Schooling

"My grandfather gave me my schooling after I came here. I had come here in 1869. I went to school in Capitol Hill and Union Schools. Mrs. Hoover (white) was one of the teachers at Union School when I was there. She was a good teacher. Miss Lottie Andrews—she is a Stephens now—was another one of my teachers."

How Freedom Came

"My master came right on the back porch and called my mother out and told her she was free, that he wasn't going in no war. That was at the beginning when they were mustering in the soldiers to fight the War. And he didn't go neither. She stayed with him till after emancipation. She was as free as she could be and he treated her as nice as anybody could be treated. She had the keys to everything."

House, Furniture, and Food

"My mother had a little house back in the yard joined to the back porch and connected with the kitchen. It had one room. She did all cooking in his kitchen. Her room was just a bedroom.

"The furniture was a bed with high posters. It didn't have slats, it had ropes. It was a corded bed. They had boxes for everything else—for bureaus, chairs, and things."

Further Details about Schooling

"I went to school as far as the eighth grade. Professor Hale, Professor Mason, and Professor Kimball were some of the teachers that taught me. They all said I was one of the brightest scholars they had."

Later Life

"I married Cado Haney in 1882. He is dead now. He's been dead nearly forty years. We didn't live together but fifteen years before he died. We never had no children. After he died I laundried for a living until I got too old to work. Now I get old age assistance."

Interviewer's Comment

A mighty sweet old lady to talk to.



Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson Person interviewed: Rachel Hankins El Dorado, Arkansas Age: 88

"I was born in Alabama. My old mistress and master told me that I was born in 1850. Get that good—1850! That makes me about 88 but I can't member the day and month. I was a girl about twelve or fourteen years old when the old darkies was set free. My old mistress and master did not call us niggers; they called us darkies. I can't recollect much about slavery and I can recollect lots too at times. My mind goes and comes. I tell you children you all is living a white life nowdays. When I was coming up I was sold to a family in Alabama by the name of Columbus. They was poor people and they did not own but a few slaves and it was a large family of them and that made us have to work hard. We lived down in the field in a long house. We ladies and girls lived in a log cabin together. Our cabin had a stove room made on the back and it was made of clay and grass with a hearth made in it and we cooked on the hearth. We got our food from old mistress's and master's house. We raised plenty of grub such as peas, greens, potatoes. But our potatoes wasn't like the potatoes is now. They was white and when you eat them they would choke you, especially if they was cold. And sorghum molasses was the only kind there was. I don't know where all these different kinds of molasses come from.

"They issued our grub out to us to cook. They had cows and we got milk sometimes but no butter. They had chickens and eggs but we did not. We raised cotton, sold part and kept enough to make our clothes out of. Raised corn. And there wasn't no grist mills then so we had a pounding rock to pound the corn on and we pound and pound until we got the corn fine enough to make meal, then we separated the husk from the meal and parched the husk real brown and we used it for coffee. We used brown sugar from sorghum molasses. We spun all our thread and wove it into cloth with a hand loom. The reason we called that cloth home-spun is because it was spun at home. Splitting rails and making rail fences was all the go. Wasn't no wire fences. Nothing but rail fences. Bushing and clearing was our winter jobs. You see how rough my hands is? Lord have mercy! child, I have worked in my life.

"Master Columbus would call us niggers up on Sunday evening and read the Bible to us and tell us how to do and he taught us one song to sing and it was this 'Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning' and he'd have us to sing it every Sunday evening and he told us that that song meant to do good and let each other see our good. When it rained we did not have meeting but when it was dry we always had meeting.

"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned to count money after I was grown and married.

"My feet never saw a shoe until I was fourteen. I went barefooted in ice and snow. They was tough. I did not feel the cold. I never had a cold when I was young. If we had ep-p-zu-dit we used different things to make tea out of, such as shucks, cow chips, hog hoofs, cow hoofs. Ep-p-zu-dit then is what people call flu now.

"When war broke out I was a girl just so big. All I can recollect is seeing the soldiers march and I recollect them having on blue and gray jackets. Some would ride and some would walk and when they all got lined up that was a pretty sight. They would keep step with the music. The Southern soldiers' song was 'Look Away Down in Dixie' and the Northern soldiers' song was 'Yankee Doodle Dandy.' So one day after coming in from the field old master called his slaves and told us we was free and told us we could go or stay. If we stayed he would pay us to work. We did not have nothing to go on so we stayed and he paid us. Every 19th of June he would let us clean off a place and fix a platform and have dancing and eating out there in the field. The 19th of June 1865 is the day we thought we was freed but they tell me now that we was freed in January 1865 but we did not know it until June 19, 1865. Never got a beating the whole time I was a slave.

"I came to north Arkansas forty years ago and I been in Union County a short while. My name is Rachel Hankins."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Jane Hardridge 1501 West Barraque St., Pine Bluff, Ark. Age: 85

"Oh don't ask me that, honey. Yes, I was here in slavery days. I reckon I was here before the Civil War; I was born in '58. I'm right now in my birth county about four miles from this city.

"I can remember my young masters that went to war. One was named Ben and one Chris. Old master's name was James Scull. He was kinda mixed up—he wasn't the cruelest one in the world. I've heard of some that was worse than he was. I never suffered for nothin' to eat.

"I can tell you about myself as far back as I can remember. I know I was about thirteen or fourteen when the war ended.

"My father's birth home was in Virginia. His name was Flem Price and his father was a doctor and a white man. Mother's name was Mary Price and she was half Indian. You can tell that by looking at her picture. She was born in Arkansas.

"I can remember seeing the soldiers. I had to knit socks for them. Used to have to knit a pair a week. Yes ma'm I used to serve them. I had it to do or get a whippin'. I nursed and I sewed a little. My mother was a great seamstress. We did it by hand too. They didn't have no sewing machines in them times.

"When my white folks went on summer vacations—they was rich and traveled a great deal—mama always went along and she just left us children on the plantation just like a cow would leave a calf. She'd hate to do it though. I remember she went off one time and stayed three months and left me sick in the white folks house on a pallet. I know I just hollered and cried and mama cried too. There was another old colored lady there and she took me to her house. We lived right on the river where the boat landed and I remember the boat left at high noon and I cried all the rest of the afternoon.

"I remember the first Yankee I ever saw. They called him Captain Hogan. I had a white chile in my arms. He set there and asked the boss how many Negroes did he have and the boss said what was the news. He come out to let the Negroes know they was as free as he was and told Marse Jim to bring all of them back from Texas. I know I run and told mama and she said 'You better hush, you'll get a whippin'.'

"They sho didn't burn up nothin'—Just took the mules and horses. Now I remember that—they didn't burn up nothin' where I lived.

"I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen any. We was expectin' 'em though at all times.

"My grandmother belonged to Creed Taylor and after freedom mama got her and she lived there with the Sculls two years. My mother and father was paid a salary and they paid me too—four dollars a month. And I remember mama never would let me have it—just give me what she wanted me to have. They treated us better than they did before the war. Cose they was a little rough, but they couldn't whip you like they did. They could threaten it though.

"I went to school just a little after freedom. Mama and papa wasn't able to send me. Wasn't no colored teachers competent to teach then and we had to pay the white teacher a dollar a month.

"I had very strict parents and was made to mind. When I went out I knew when I was comin' in. I had one daughter who died when she was eight years old and if I could bring her back now, I wouldn't do it cause I know she would worry me to death.

"I used to sew a lot for people in Pine Bluff but I am too old now. I own my home and I have some rooms rented to three young men students and I get a little help from the Welfare so I manage to get along.

"Well good-bye—I'm glad you come."



#748 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Jane Hardrige 1501 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 79

"Well, I don't believe in signs much. My sister was sick about a year once. They said she had the T. B. (tuberculosis). One day I was there and she said, 'Sis, do you hear that peckerwood? He's drivin' a nail in my coffin.' And sure enough she died not long after.

"But let me tell you I had a peculiar dream yesterday morning just before day. There's a little child here. His mother died and left him, the baby child. I dreamt his mother brought him to me. She said, 'I brought my boy here and I want you to keep him.' I thought he come to me just as naked as he could be. He kept sayin', 'Come on, Mrs. Hardrige, and let's go home, I'm cold.' He didn't have a garment on. His mother was with him and she's dead you know.

"I mentioned it to one of my neighbors and she said it was a sign of some woman's death.

"I was very much devoted to the child. I love him, and that dream stayed with me all day. I don't know but I've always heard if you dream of the dead it's goin' to rain.

"I ain't four miles from where I was born. I was born across the river. We belonged to Jim Scull. I've lived all my life in Jefferson County."



Interviewer: Pernella Anderson Person Interviewed: O. C. Hardy El Dorado, Ark. Age: 69

"O. C. Hardy is my name and I is 69 years old. I like [HW: lack? KWF] a lot of being a real old time slave, but I tell you I am a slave now, and ain't no 1800 slave. I was born way down in Louisiana. We lived on a plantation with some white people by the name of Chick Johnson. That is the first place I remember we ever stayin' on. My ma and pa slave for them folks. All of the children worked like slaves. What I mean by working like slaves—we didn't stop to get our breath until night. I was slavin' for just the white folks then and since I got grown and married I've been slavin' for my wife and children and the white folks. My mama and papa went in the name of their mistress and master's name and so did I, so we was all Hardys.

"Sixty-nine years ago the time wasn't like it is now. Everything was different. There was no cars, no airplanes, a few buggies, no trains. The go was ox teams and stage coaches. People used ox teams in place of mule and horse teams. Sometimes you would see ox teams with twelve and fourteen oxen. The ox wore yokes that sometime weigh a hundred or more pounds. The reason of that, they were so mean they had to wear them yokes to hold em down. One yoke would go across two oxen's heads. They could pull—oh my!—as much as some big trucks. We made much better crops back in the 1800s than we do now. The winters was much harder and you know the harder the winter the better the crop year you have. We always plowed and turned our ground over in the hard of winter—that was in order for the cold to kill all insect and germs in the ground. You see, worms eats up your seed and plant, and germs do your seed and plant just like they would do your body. So we got rid of them little hinderings. In January we was ready to get our corn ground ready for planting, and man! we raised some crops. I recollect one year way back yonder we had what they called a centennial snow—that was the biggest snow that's ever been and the best crop year I ever knowed. I started plowing when I was about eight. Before then all I can remember doin' was bushing. After gathering crops we split rails and built fences. We played on Sunday evening. Our sport was huntin', fishin', and bird thrashin' and trap settin'. To catch fish easy we baited snuff and tobacco on the hook. We used to be bad about stealin' watermelons, eggs, chickens and sweet potatoes and slippin' way down in the woods and cookin'.

"Wasn't no such things as screen windows and doors. That is some of this 1900 stuff to my knowing. Flies and mosquitos was plentiful. Our cooking was plain boiled or fried cause we cooked on fireplaces. Wasn't no stoves. We used all brown sugar from syrup that turned to sugar. White sugar is about forty years old to my knowings. My ma used to cook the best old syrup cake and syrup potatoes pudding. She knitted all our socks and sweaters for you couldn't buy things like that because stores was few and she spun and wove for the white folks and knitted too."



#658 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Rosa Hardy Biscoe, Arkansas Age: ?

"I was born in Brownsville, Tennessee. My mother died when I was real young, and I had no father. Pike Sutton was mother's master. He was my old grandfather. He owned a big farm. Tove Sutton was his son and my father. Mother was light but not as light as I am. I had a sister older than I am I lived with. I never lived among white folks except in a town with them. I don't know a thing about my people to tell. I don't know my age. I give myself a birthday. I don't know the day nor month I was born. But I'm old. I can count back enough to tell that.

"I work in the sewing room. I'm the oldest woman in there at De Valls Bluff. I get twenty-one dollars and this month I am to get twenty-seven.

"If you don't have work times are not good. I know that. I don't hardly know the young generation. Of course I see them but that is all. They hurrying their way and I'm going my way."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Ida Harper 819 West Pullen Street; Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 93

"Now what you want with me? I was born in Mississippi. I come here tollable young. I'se ninety-three now.

"My old master mean to us. We used to watch for him to come in the big gate, then we run and hide. He used to come to the quarters and make us chillun sing. He make us sing Dixie. Sometimes he make us sing half a day. Seems like Dixie his main song. I tell you I don't like it now. But have mercy! He make us sing it. Seems like all the white folks like Dixie. I'se glad when he went away to war.

"But they used to feed you. Heap better meat than you get now. I tell you they had things to eat in them days.

"I 'member when the soldiers was comin' through and runnin' the white folks both ways. Law chile—you don't know nothin'! We used to hide in the cistern. One time when the Yankees come in a rush my brother and me hide in the feather bed.

"When the war ended, white man come to the field and tell my mother-in-law she free as he is. She dropped her hoe and danced up to the turn road and danced right up into old master's parlor. She went so fast a bird could a sot on her dress tail. That was in June. That night she sent and got all the neighbors and they danced all night long.

"I never went to school a day in my life. I wish I could read but they ain't no use wishin' for spilt milk.

"How long I been in Arkansas? Let me see how many chillun I had since I been to Arkansas. Let me see—I fotch four chillun with me and I'se the mother of ten.

"Yes'm I sho' has worked hard. I worked in the field and cooked and washed and ironed. But oh Lord I likes my freedom.

"I couldn't tell you what I think of this present generation. They is just like a hoss on the battle field—white and black. They say 'Grandma, you just an old fogy.'

"I think they is another slave-time gal down in the next block. You want me to show you?"



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Subject: Signs and Superstitions Story—Information (If not enough space on this page, add page)

"In slavery times you used to carry a rabbit foot in your pocket to keep old massa from whippin' you."

This information given by: Eda Harper Place of residence: 819 W. Pullen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Occupation: Age: 90



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Subject: Games of Pre-War Days Story—Information (If not enough space on this page, add page)

"We used to play a game called 'Once Over.' Throw a ball over the house and if they caught it on the other side, they'd run around and try to catch you.

"Then we used to play 'Hide the Switch.' And if you found it, the others all run to keep from bein' hit. Oh Lawd, that's been a long time."

This information given by: Eda Harper Place of residence: 819 W. Pullen, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Occupation: None Age: 90



#776 Interviewer: Watt McKinney Person Interviewed: Abram Harris Marvell, Arkansas, (6 miles west) Age: 93

Abram Harris, an ex-slave, just past ninety-three years of age lives with his daughter, Hannah, 70 years old, on the farm of Mrs. Alice Davison a few miles west of Marvell, Arkansas. The two of them have just completed, within the last few days, the harvesting of a small crop of cotton and corn, and Abram was found in a small thicket not far from their cabin where he was busily engaged in cutting some firewood for their winter use. A small tree had been felled and the old man was swinging his axe with the strength and enthusiasm of one far younger than he as the wood was being cut to the proper length for his heater. Interrupted at my approach, Abram laid aside the axe and greeted me with that courtesy so characteristic of an ex-slave. After stating the purpose of my visit, the old negro apparently pleased at this opportunity afforded him to rest and talk, sat on the body of the newly cut tree and told me the following story:

"Yes sir, Cap'n, my name is Abram Harris and I is jist past ninety-three year old. En cose I knows dat I don't look dat old en all de folks sey dat I acts er heap younger dan my age iffen I really is old as I claims, en I kin still wuk bettern heap dese young uns, kase I is always knowed how ter wuk. My old Boss Man teach me de tricks. He war er wukker he-self, en eberybody hed ter roll roun Old Marster. He neber low no lazy pussen ter stay wid him. Yes sir, Cap'n, I sho has kept up wid my age eber since dat time when Old Marster tole me how ole I is. Yo kin see dat I is er old nigger, kase dese here whiskers so white en de hair on my haid so white too. When ye see dat on er nigger yo kin know dat he er old pussen right off. I gwine ter tell yo, how cum dat I sho knows how old I is. Er heap er niggers, dey tell yo dat dey is so en so year old when dey aint no sich er thing en dey don't know dey age, but I does, en hit wus jes dis er way.

"I wus borned en raised in South Carolina not fur from Greenville en my Old Marster whut I belonged ter, wus Marse Hodges Brown, en my young Marster he wus Marse Hampton, en me en Marse Hampton wus sho born in de same mont en de same year, en de mont, hit wus October, en dats zackly whut Old Marster tole me, en Marse Hampton sed dat same thing. Us wus boys togedder, me en Marse Hampton, en wus jist er bout de same size, en Marse Hampton, he claimed me, en I gwine ter be his property when bofe us grown. Dat is iffen de war not cum on en Marse Hampton hadn't er got kilt in de battle. When de war fust brake out, Marse Hampton he too young den ter jine de troops, how-sum-eber he went ter jine up den when he older brudder, Marse Thad, jine up, but Old Mis she wud'nt hear ter Marse Hampton gwine off den, kase he not old enuf, en den, he Old Mis' baby chile. Marse Thad, he bout two er three year older dan Marse Hampton en he jine de troops at de fust muster en went off ter de war en fit de Yankees night bout two years when de ball shot him in de shoulder, en he wounded den en hab ter cum bak home fer ter git well ergin. Atter Marse Thad cum home en stay fer er mont er sich time fer he wound ter heal up, den he ready ter go bak ter de company, en Marse Hampton gwine ter be eighteen year old pretty soon den, so dey swade Old Mis ter let Marse Hampton go wid Marse Thad bak ter de war, so Old Mis en Old Marster, dey gib in en Marse Hampton lef wid Marse Thad ter jine up wid him in de same company whut he in when de ball hit him. Now dat wuz in de spring when Marse Hampton jine up wid de troops, en him en me gwine ter be eighteen dat fall in October, but hit twarnt as awful long fore Marse Hampton got kilt in de big battle, en Marse Thad too. Dey wuz bofe kilt in de charge, right dar on de bres-wuks, wid dey guns in dey hans, dem two young Marsters er mine, right dar in dat Gettysburg battle, dats whut Old Marster en Old Mis bofe tole me er meny er time, en I wus eighteen in dat October atter dat big fight whut Mars Thad en Marse Hampton git kilt in, en Marse Hodges writ hit down fer me on er paper, en ebery October since den I gits sumbody whut kin figger ter tell me how old I is so's I kin know en tell folks when dey ax me, en jes last mont, my gal Hannah figgered hit out er gin en she sey dat I is now ninety-three past, so dat is de way dat I gits at hit Cap'n. Now is dat right?

"My white folks wus sho good ter all dey niggers. Dere wus nigh bout no whippin er tall, least Old Marster neber did whip his slaves ter do no good, en he mos ginerally tole us mammies er pappies ter do de whippin er de chillun en de older boys en gals. He hab whip me do en he whip Marse Hampton too when us wus boys. Old Marster start in wid dat hickry en mek out lak he gwine ter frail us out, but atter he done landed er few licks on us, en den us commence hollerin lak he hirtin bad, den he quit whippin, dat de way Old Marster wus. He neber want ter hurt nobody.

"My pa wus name, Jake, en my Mammy wus named, Fanny, Old Marster bought dem from sum-whar, but I wus borned right dar, me en Delia en all de res er de chillun.

"Cap'n, wud ye lak fer me ter tell ye bout dat time dat me en Delia wuz stole? Well, we sho wux stole. De Speckle-ladies (speculators or traders) stole us er way frum Old Marster when us wus chillun, bout twelve er thirteen year old. Hit happened in de night, when dar warnt nobody dar in de quarters but de wimmin. Old Marster en all de men wus down on de ribber dat night, er floatin logs er cuttin timber er sum sich wuk es dat, when dese hear folks cum er stealin chillun. Delia en me wus de fust ones dat dey grab en de onliest ones dat dey git frum Old Marster, but dey sho got us. I 'members dat stealin good. Dem folks tuk us off ter de woods whar dey tied us up ter er tree fer er whole night en day, en tell us dat iffen we cry er holler dat dey gwine ter kills us sho. Den dey cum en tuk us er way en ganged us up wid er lot mo nigger boys en gals whut dey done stole sum whars else. Dey yoked us togedder en walked us clean ter Georgia whar dey sole us. Dey sho pushed dem chillun hard ober de rocks en de hard places till our feets wud bleed frum de sores whar de rocks en de thorns scratch.

"Dey sole me en Delia ter er young white man en he wife whut ain't been married long en ain't got no start er niggers yit. Us stayed dar fer mo dan er year I rekkin, en dem wus good white folks en wus good ter us. De Mis teach Delia ter be er house gal en de Marster teach me ter handle stock en plow wid him eber day. Us wus skeered ter tell dem white folks whut bought us whar us home wus en who us Marsters used ter be, kase we skeered dat de speckle-ladies mout cum bak en steal us sum mo, en tek us er way sum mo. I don't know how hit wus dat Old Marster Hodges Brown cum ter fine out whar we wus, but he sho learnt er bout hit sum sich er way, en one mornin early here cum Old Marster Hodges Brown wid two mo white mens cumin atter me en Delia. Atter dey thru dentifyin us, Old Marster tuk us on bak home wid him, en we sho wus glad ter go. Now Cap'n, dat is de truf I am tellin you bout dat stealin, when me en Delia wus stole.

"My pappy wus named, Jake, en he wus de wagoner fer Marster till he daid, den Marster tuk me en trained me fer de wagoner atter den. My Marster warnt no big, rich man lak er heap er de white folks in dem slabery times, yit en still, he sho hed er plenty er ebery-thing, en de bes of all he fed he niggers good en wus always good ter tem. Marster used ter peddle er heap in Columbia en Greenville bofe atter I git ter be de wagoner fer him. Us wud tek big loads er taters en truck ter dem towns whar Marster wud sell em ter de folks dar. Sumtimes he wud tek er bout twenty beeves ter one er dem towns en rent him er yard whar he wud butcher er bout one beef ebery day en peddle out de meat. Marster neber hed many niggers lak lots de white folks. He jes hed er bout er dozen in all. He sey dat all he want, er got eny use fer.

"Marster hed er big fruit orchard. Jes all kines er fruit wud be in dat orchard, en when dey ripe, Marster send loads dem apples en peaches down ter de still whar he had dem made up in ter Brandy en put in de kegs en barrels en brought bak home when hit done. Heap er times dat I 'members he call de folks up ter de bak gallery en sey, 'Cum on up here folks en git yo all er dram'. Dats whut he say.

"Whilst our Marster wus good ter all he niggers, dar wus heap er de marsters in dem slabery times whut wus mean, en dat whut mek de niggers run off en hide in de woods, en dats when dey git de nigger hounds on em en track em down jes lak ye do er coon. My pappy, Jake, he owned by er mean white man, fore old Marster bought him in. I 'members bout him tellin us chillun when he used ter run off en hide in de cane thickets fer days en days kase he marster so mean en beat him up so bad, en dat he git so hungry dat he slip bak in close ter de house in de night, en dat sum de wimmins slip him sum meat en bread. He sey dat he used ter sleep wid de dogs under de crib on cold nights so de togs cud keep him warm.

"Dar warnt none er de white folks in dem slabery times whut wud let dey niggers hab any learnin. Yo sho better not be cotch er tryin ter learn no readin er writin. Our Marster neber eben lowed dat, en iffen er nigger wus ter be foun whut cud write, den right straight dey wud chop his fore finger offen dat han whut he write wid. Dar warnt no sich er thing es no schools fer de niggers till atter de surrender.

"Endurin er de war, dar warnt no fightin tuk place roun whar us libed, en de onliest Yankees dat I eber seed wus in Greenville atter de surrender. I sho wus sprized when I seed dem Yankees, kass I neber knowed whut sort er lookin thing dat er Yankee wus. No Sir, Cap'n, I neber knowed dat er Yankee wus er man jes lak my white folks till I seed dem in Greenville, but yo know Cap'n er Yankee looks jes lak yo is, only he do talk funny en fast, mo so dan de kine er white folks dat I is always been er roun.

"Dar warnt nary one er old Marsters niggers whut lef him eben when dey set free, dat is dey did'n lebe him fer two er three years eny way, but atter den sum of em started ter driftin er roun en hirin er roun er bout. When de surrender cum, Old Marster tole em all dat dey free en kin go iffen dey want ter go, en effen dey want ter go dat he gib em sum grub ter go on. Marster wus er good man en iffen he war libin ter day, I wud sho quit dis place en go on wid him, whar-sum-eber he want me ter go.

"No Sir, Cap'n, de niggers dey did'n know what de war wus gwine on fer, en dey did'n know dat dey free till dere marsters tole em, whilst dey wus wantin ter be free all right. Atter us wus free, de white folks hab ter teach us jes lak yo teach er chile.

"Dem Klu Klux whut dey brought on atter de surrender wus sho pizen. Dey wus white mens. Dats whut dey wus, en all dressed up in dem long white garments wid er red cross on em en ridin er big hoss. Dey wus atter dem niggers whut dey claim is mean en zerted dey marsters en went en tuk up wid de Yankees. When dem Klu Klux fust cum in operation de niggers think dat dey is hants er spirits, till dey fine out dat dey warnt nuthin but white mens wid dem garments on em. Dem Klux wud cotch er nigger dat dey want en pin he haid down ter de groun wid er forked stick en one wud hold him whilst de others whip im wid er strop er a lash. Yes sir, Cap'n, dem Klu Klux sho did dis-encourage de niggers er heap.

"Plenty er de white mens whut wus mustered in ter de war wud tek er nigger wid em ter wait on em en ter tend ter de hosses en de sich eber whut dey want done, en I sho did want ter go wid Marse Hampton, en mebbe dat I cud tek care of im. Marse Hampton want me ter go wid him too en try ter swade Old Marster ter let me go, but Old Marster sey dat he hab ter hab me dar at home ter help mek de crops so's dat he kin send corn en meat ter de sojers. De day dat Marse Hampton lebe, he cum down ter de quarters fer ter tell all de niggers good-bye, en he sey ter me 'Abe,' he called me Abe, 'I gwine off ter dat war en kill out dat whole crowd er Yankees, en den I'se cumin bak en gwine ter Georgia en buy me er farm whar I kin git rich mekin cotton en terbakker. Yo know yo is my nigger en yo gwine ter Georgia wid me, when I goes'. Hit sho did hurt me when Marse Hampton got kilt kase I lubed dat white man. He wus good ter me.

"In my dreams at night I kin yit see Marse Hampton, en er heap er times in de day when I is by myself er hoein de cotton he talks ter me plain so's I kin understand, en he ax me iffin I is yit en still er good nigger, en tell me ter not be dis-encouraged. Cap'n de Bible is right when hit sey dat, 'De young mens dream dreams en de old uns see de visions'.

"I kin jes natchally feel spirits, Cap'n, I sho don't spute dat. I is skeered ter spute hit. When yo is gwine long de road en feel sum warm air, den dat is whar de spirits hes jes been. De wings er de daid has done fanned dat air till hits hot, en when I is gwine er long en hits dat hot air, den I knows dat sum spirit er hant hes been er long dat same route, kase hit sho is hants in dis worl, yit en still dey don't walk en act lak natchal people.

"Yes Sir, Cap'n, I kin tell yo sum er dem old songs whut de niggers used ter sing in de slabery times. Dis is sum of em:"

Black Judy wus er good gal, En Black Judy wus er bad gal too.

Mus Jesus bear de cross alone and all de worl go free? Oh Brother don't stay away Oh Blackslider, don't stay away.

My old Mistis promised me dat when she died, she gwine set me free, But she lived so long en got so po dat she lef me diggin wid er garden ho.

Wheel er bout en do er bout en jump Jim Crow. Ebery time I do er bout I do jes so.

Yo can't do wrong en git by no matter how hard yo try. Yo kin do lak you please en feel at yo ease But you can't do wrong en git by.



MAY 31 1938 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Betty Harris Brinkley, Arkansas Age: About 45 or 50?

"My parents wus both in the Civil War. He was Levi Berthy and she was Misson Berthy. Mid Hill was mother's owner. She said he was better to them than most owners. He never whooped 'em. Mother was real light and father was dark. I was born in Pinola County, Mississippi. I had a stroke five years ago. I can't walk a step for two years now. My parents didn't let us hear them talk, they sent us out to play, then they died before they got old. I never heard much of their own lives. I live with my daughter and her husband. I don't get Welfare aid."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Harris 713 N. Plum Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 82

"I was born right here in Arkansas and I remember they was havin' somethin'. I remember when they taken this town (Pine Bluff). The people what owned me was the parson of the Methodist church—Parson Walsh. Yes ma'm I knowed the Union soldiers was dressed in blue and the Secessors was called Greybacks. My father was with the Yankee soldiers. I don't know how he got with em but I know he was gone away from this town three years. He come back here after he was mustered out in Vicksburg.

"I remember the Yankee soldiers come and took the colored folks away if they wanted to go. That was after surrender. They carried us to the 'county band' and fed us.

"I know the day the Yankees taken Pine Bluff; it was on Sunday and Marse Jesse went to services. The Secessor soldiers left Pine Bluff. Of course I didn't understand what it was all about cause in them times people didn't enlighten children like they does now. They know everything now, ain't no secrets.

"Most work I've done is washin' and ironin' since I been a full-grown, married woman. I was twenty some odd when I was married. I know I was out of my teens.

"I went to school a good while after the war. My first teacher was Mr. Todd from the North.

"I used to do right smart sewing. I did sewing before machines come to this town. The frocks they used to make had from five to ten yards.

"We is livin' now in a time of worry. What they is doin' is told about in the scripture."



DEC 21 1937 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Rachel Harris 8161/2 E. Fifth, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 90

"I reekolect when the war started. I was big enuf to be totin' water, sweepin', feedin' chickens. I was a big chap when it started. I went with the white chillun and watched the soldiers marchin'. The drums was playin' and the next thing I heered, the war was gwine on. You could hear the guns just as plain. The soldiers went by just in droves from soon of a mornin' till sundown. They said they was goin' to head off the Yankees. Dis fore the war ended I heered en say they was gwine to free the colored folks. That was in Mississippi.

"My old master was Jim Smith and old mistress' name was Louisa Smith.

"I had many a whip put on me. When they wasn't whippin' me the chillun was. They whipped my mother and everybody.

"My brother Lewis went plum through the war till surrender. He waited on a Rebel soldier—cooked and washed for him. I never did see no white Yankee soldiers but I seed the colored soldiers with the blue suits. I stood out many a night and day and heered them guns.

"Jim Smith had near bout a hundred head of colored folks on his place. He didn't go to war—he just seed that all the white women had plenty to eat while their men folks was away.

"My mother was sold away from my father long 'fore I was born. He used to come to visit, but a little while 'fore I was born they stopped him and wouldn't let him come no more.

"After surrender one of my brothers come home and say the war was over.

"We stayed there three years after surrender. They paid my mother and stepfather but they wouldn't pay us chillun nothin', so my mother sent me to town to live with my sister.

"I hired out as a nurse girl and them white folks just as good to me as could be. She paid me $3 a month and give me all my clothes. I was young and didn't have no sense, but all I didn't spend on candy I sent to my mother.

"In slavery times the white folks had a servant to comb the hair and lift up the dress. Yes ma'm, they had servants. I sho was glad they had that war and freed me.

"Yes, Jesus, I seen them Ku Klux. I member once we had a big ball. We was cuttin' a dash that night. The Ku Klux come and made out they was dead. Some of the folks run they was so scared, but one woman come out and said she knowed every one of the men. She knowed em by their hosses. Next mornin' we went by old Purvis Newman's house and it looked like they was a hundred saddles layin' out in the yard. I was a young woman then and sparkin' fit to kill. Yes ma'm I member all about it. I reekolect it just as well as I can walk out that door.

"My son wrote me bout eight years ago and say, 'Mama, you is might near a hunderd.' My daughter, my baby chile, is bout sixty-three.

"About this younger generation, I don't know what to think. Some say the devil loose 'for a season.' I say if he ain't loose, he tied mighty slack."



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

Little Rock District Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson Subject: TALES [HW: Superstitions and Charms] Story—Information (If not enough space on this page add page)

When she was a child she remembered white children and colored playing "No Boogerman Tonight." One would catch the others as they ran from behind big trees. Then whoever he caught would be the boogerman, till he caught somebody else.

* * * * *

They made ash cakes and put black walnuts in it. It was just as good as crackling bread which was made from rendering lard. They made molasses candy and pulled it at the Master's house during Christmas.

* * * * *

Mothers combed their children's hair Sunday and wrapped it, sometimes had dyed string.

The Master had a mule named Beck. Only one on the farm could tend old Beck. He would buck and kick. Sometimes he would run and he would lope if you "hitched" him to a buggy. When freedom came the master studied who would tend old Beck so he gave him to Jack. Jack felt so free as he rode from the farm out into the big world all his own and no place to go. In about a year Jack sent a letter back by somebody to the Master. "I want you to send me $2.00 of your own money. My wife has gone raving destracted. My mule is dead. I am pestered and bothered. I bound you."

* * * * *

Will said there used to be witches when somebody got mad with somebody they would bewitch the cows. You couldn't get the butter to come no matter how long you churned and sometimes a bewitched cow would come up and give bloody milk. If you keep plenty salt around in the troughs the witches wouldn't come about so much.

* * * * *

If you carry a rabbit foot in your pocket it will bring you good luck. If you find anything pointed with point toward you, that is a sign of good luck. If you put your shirt or dress on wrong side out, don't change it. Thats good luck for the day.

* * * * *

Don't start to sew a piece of goods on Friday unless you are sure you can get it done before night for that is bad luck.

* * * * *

This information given by: Rachel Harris Place of Residence: Green Grove, Hazen, Arkansas Occupation: Field.—Lives with her daughter. AGE: 80



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person Interviewed: William Harris DeValls Bluff, Ark. Age: 75 or 80

"I was born in Chetam County close to Nashville, Tennessee. Our master was named Joe Harris. His wife was Miss Sallie Harris. They had eight children. I knowed Newt, Tom and Kittie. My mother had nine children. Her name was Julia. My papa's name was Isom Harris. I think they belong to the same family of white folks. Granny was old woman looked after white children. See if any of em got sick. She seen after little nigger children too. Mama was a field hand like papa. After war Plummer Harris went on off. He was cruel to his wife and grown folks but good to the children. We had good houses and plenty wood but the feed was light.

"I seen the Yankees riding through the country. They looked pretty, 'specially them on white horses. My papa and mama left. Mama died with pneumonia. Papa died, too. We had a mighty hard time after freedom and before too. Papa worked about on shares—hired out on jobs.

"When freedom come on we went on and they didn't think to give us nothing. When the hands all left they had the land and nobody to work. They was land pore. It was tore up. Fences down, houses down, and nothing to be raised to eat in the winter.

"When I got bigger I helped build the North Western Railroad into Nashville. I made right smart of money. I was building up the track bed. I farmed, worked on the section. I delivered here till my feet got in bad fix.

"I got thirteen children in all. Some in Tennessee by my first wife and some here and some grandchildren.

"Folks won't work like I used to work. It ain't no use to be 'larmed bout the times—they been changing since the world started—still changing. If you able it is best to go hunt work and be at a job working.

"I heard about the Ku Klux, they never troubled us. I seen em. I was scared of em.

"I get commodities and a check for us three old folks. My wife washes and irons.

"I got a bunion on one foot and raw sores on top of my toes. It won't cure up. Both feet in bad shape. My wife had both her legs broke. We doing very well."



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: William H. Harrison Forrest City, Arkansas Age: Over 100

"I was born March 4, 1832 in Richmond, Virginia. Master Anderson Harrison was a cousin to Benjamin Harrison, the twenty-third President of the United States. Master Anderson Harrison was my owner. I was a personal attendant of his young son and when I reached manhood I was the carriage boy. I did all the driving on all the trips the young people of the family took. My memories of slave days was my easiest days. Slavery was pleasant for me. My owner's wife was named Ann. The son was Gummel L. Harrison. I went with him to war. I was his servant in the battle-field till we fought at Gettysburg and Manassas Gap. Then I was captured at Bulls Gap and brought to Knoxville, Tennessee and made a soldier. I was in the War three and one half years. They had us going to school. They had Yankee teachers in the army. All the schooling I ever got. I was mustered out at Chattanooga, Tennessee.

"My parents was Julia Ann Hodge and Cairo Hodge. I don't know my mother's last owners. When I was about eight years old I was sold to Ben Cowen. When I was thirteen years old I was sold to Master Anderson Harrison. My brothers Sam and Washington never were sold. Me and Sam Hodge, my brother, was in the War together. We struck up and knowed one another. A man bought mama that lived at Selma, Alabama. I never seen her ag'in to know her. After I was mustered out I went to Birmingham where she was drove and sold in search of her. I heard she was taken to Selma. I went there. I give out hunting for her. It was about dusk. I saw a woman standing in the door. I asked her to tell me where I could stay. She said, 'You can stay here tonight.' I went in, hung my overcoat up. I started to the saloon. I met her husband with a basket on his arm coming home. I told him who I was. We went to get a drink. I offered him sherry but he took whiskey. I got a pint of brandy, two apples, two oranges, for his wife and two little boys. I spent two nights there and two and a half days there, with my own mother but neither of us knew it then.

"Fourteen years later Wash wrote to me giving me the address. I told him about this and he said it was mama. He told her about it. She jumped up and shouted and fell dead. I never seen her but that one time after I was sold the first time. I was about eight years old then. She had eighteen of us boys and one girl, Diana, and then the half-brothers I seen at Selma. I had eleven brothers took off in a drove at one time and sold. They was older than I was. I don't know what become of them. I never seen my papa after I was sold. Diana died in Knoxville, Tennessee after freedom. I seen better times in slavery than I've ever seen since but I don't believe in slave traffic—that being sold.

"I was with my young master till my capture. That was my part in freedom. I was forced to fight by the Yankees then in the Union army. I was with General Grant when Lee surrendered at Appomattox. That was freedom. After the War I come to Arkansas and settled at Madison. My hardships started. I got married the first thing.

"This is how good my owners was to me. He sent me to Hendersonville, North Carolina (Henderson?) to learn to fiddle. I was so afraid of the old colored teacher I learned in a month about all he could play. I played for parties in eight states in slavery. All up in the North. They trained children to dance then. I took Martha Jane, Easter Ann, Jane Daniel, my young mistresses and their mother's sisters, Emma and Laura, to parties and dances all time. We went to Ashville, North Carolina to a big party. While they was having fine victuals after the dance they sent me out a plate of turnip greens and turnips, fat meat and corn bread. I took it and set it down. When Miss Martha Jane got in sight I took her to our carriage. She said, 'Empty it to the dogs,' and give me one dollar fifty cents and told me to go to town and buy my supper. I was treated same as kin folks. I et and drunk same as they had to use. After freedom I fixed up twice to move back to my young master. Once he sent me three hundred fifty dollars to move on. Betty fell off the porch and broke her thigh. That ended my hopes of going back. Betty was my first wife. I had seven children by her and one by my second wife and this wife ain't had none. She's been married twice though.

"I got one boy in Virginia seventy-three years old and one boy sixty-eight years old. My boys are scattered. One lives here. I don't hear from them now.

"After the War I come to Madison. It was a thriving little river town surrounded on all sides by wilderness. There were thousands of Indians camped in the neighboring woods. There was nothing but wooded hills where Forrest City now stands.

"When General Nathan Bedford Forrest built the cut between Forrest City and Madison for the road, I was his cook and the first fireman to make the run through the cut. I used to drive a stagecoach over the Old Military Road through Pine Tree on the stage run from Memphis to Little Rock.

"Game was the nicest thing the country afforded. I killed bear and other wild game on sites where Marianna, Wynn, and Jonesboro now stand. Where this house now is was a lake then. (West part of town on north side of the railroad track.) They caught fish in it then.

"When I heard Benjamin Harrison had been elected President of the United States, I asked Mr. George Lewis to write to him for me. I was working for him then. I handled freight at the depot for him. He was dubious of me knowing such a person but wrote it to please me. A few weeks a reply come to our letter and a ticket.

"I got my fiddle and went and visited two weeks. I et at the same table with the President. I slept in the White House. We et out of skillets together when I was a little boy and drunk out of the same cups. Me and him and Gummel raised up together. I played for the President and his Cabinet.

"Twice more I went and it cost me nothing. I played for big balls. My young master sent me my gold name plate. (It is heart shaped with his name, birth and birthplace—ed.) I been wearing it on my watch chain a long time. It is my charm. Mr. Lewis was so glad when I got my letter and ticket. He was good to me.

"I have voted. I voted a Republican ticket because it hope the party out that freed my race. Some white men told me they burnt up a lot of our votes. I never seen it done. I can't see to fool with voting.

"The colored folks are seeing a worse time now than in slavery times. There is two sides to it. The Bible say they get weaker and wiser. I did read before I got blind. I get a Federal pension of one hundred dollars a month. I'm thankful for it."

Interviewer's Comment

He has trouble talking. One lung is affected. He is deaf. He is blind. He said he was wounded caused his lung trouble. Seems to me old age. He isn't very feeble in the house. Their house was clean and he and his wife, also born in slavery, looked clean.



Interviewer: Bernice Bowden Person Interviewed: Laura Hart Eleventh & Orange St., Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85

"I just can't tell you when I was born cause I don't know. My mother said I was born on Christmas Eve morning. I'm a old woman. I was big enough to work in slave times.

"Yes ma'am. I member when the war started. I was born in Arkansas. I'm a Arkansas Hoosier. You know I had to have some age on me to work in slave times.

"I pulled corn, picked cotton and drive the mule at the gin. Just walked behind him all day. I've pulled fodder, pulled cotton stalks, chopped down corn stalks. I never worked in the house when I was a child while I was under the jurisdiction of the white folks.

"My old master was Sam Carson and his wife was named Phoebe Carson, boy named Andrew and a daughter named Mary and one named Rosie.

"We had plenty to eat and went to church on Sunday. After the white folks had their services we went in. The church was on his place right across the river. That's where I was when freedom taken place.

"When the war started—I remember that all right—cause when they was gettin' started old master sent a colored man to take his son's place in the war.

"I was born up here at Fort Smith and brought here to Jefferson County and sold—my mother and three chillun.

"Now wait—I'm goin' to give you the full history. My father's mother was a white woman from the North and my father was a colored man. Her folks run her here to Arkansas and she stayed with her brother till my father was nine months old and then she went back North and my papa stayed with his uncle.

"When his uncle died he willed my papa his place. He had it recorded at the cotehouse in Little Rock that my papa was a free man. But he couldn't stay in Arkansas free, so he just rambled 'till he found old man Carson and my mother. He offered to buy my mother but old master wouldn't sell her so he stayed with old man Carson till they was all free.

"My white folks was tollable fair—they didn't beat up the people.

"My mother was as bright as you are. She could sit on her hair. Her mother was a Creole and her father was a Frenchman. After freedom they would a killed my father if it hadn't been for old Sam Carson, cause they thought my mother was a white woman, she was so bright.

"Ku Klux? The Lord have mercy! I remember them. They came and surrounded the house, hundreds of em. We had a loose plank in the floor and we'd hide under the floor with the dogs and stay there, too, till they'd gone.

"My father was a gambler. He gambled and farmed. My mother was a Christian woman. When I got big enough to know anything, she was a Christian woman.

"I married when I was fourteen. We lived at a place called 'Wildcat.' Didn't have no school. Nothin' up there but saloons and gambling.

"Then we moved to what they called the Earl Wright place. I had four chillun—three boys and one girl. Most of my work was in the field.

"I been here in Pine Bluff gwine on seventy-one years. You know—I knowed this town when they wasn't but one store and two houses. I'm a old woman—I ain't no baby.

"Honey, I even remember when the Indians was run out o' this town!

"Well, I done telled you all I know. In my comin' up, the colored people didn't have time to study bout the chillun's ages."



#715 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Hatty Haskell 1416 W. Pullen, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85

"Yes'm, I reckon I was about twelve when the Civil War ended. Oh, I could nurse a little.

"No ma'am, I wasn't born in Arkansas. I was born in Tennessee, but I was brought here when I was a baby. Come here before the war. The old master had sold 'em.

"We was bought by Will Nichols. You ever hear of this here Dick Lake? Well, that's the place.

"They taken my father and my sister to Texas and stayed till after freedom. My mother was sick and they didn't carry her and I was too little, so they left me. They was pretty good to us as far as I know.

"I remember when the Yankees come through. Oh, yes'm, I was scared. I used to hide under the bed. I wouldn't give 'em a chance to talk to me.

"Our folks stayed on the Nichols' place about two years. Then they farmed on the shares till he got able to buy him a mule, then he rented.

"After the war the cholera disease come along. My mother and sister died with it.

"Somebody said if you would hang up some beef outdoors between the road and the house, it would stop the disease. I know old master hung up about a half a quarter and it seemed to work. The meat would turn green.

"The Yankees took things to eat but the Rebels would take the women's clothes—and the men's too. I guess they just took 'em 'cause they could.

"Biggest work I've done is farm work.

"My daddy said I was sixteen when I married. I had thirteen children but they ain't all livin'.

"I remember when they said they was free. Some of the folks left the place and never come back and some of 'em stayed.

"Sometimes I had a pretty good time and sometimes pretty tough.

"I'm gettin' along all right now. I stay here with my son part of the time and then I go to the country and stay with my daughter."



#786 Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Matilda Hatchett 424 W. Twenty-Fifth Street, North Little Rock, Arkansas Age: Between 98 and 100

"I was born right here in Arkansas about nine miles from Dardanelles (Dardanelle) in Sevier County. I think it's Sevier. No, it was Yell County. Yell County, that's it. You put the Dardanelles there and if they get that they'll get the Yell part. Can't miss Yell if you get Dardanelles.

"I wish I could get holt of some of my old white folks. Maybe you can find 'em for me. There's one big policeman here looks like them but I don't know whether he is or not. The first white owners that I knowed was Jackie George in South Carolina. That is where I heard them talkin' about him comin' from. I wasn't born there; I was born here. I wasn't born when he come from South Carolina. His wife was named Nealie. He was just like a ole shoe. Never whipped me but one time in my life.

"I'll tell you about it. This is what they whipped me for. Me and my brother, Sam, had to water the horses. I didn't have to go with Sam, but I was big enough to do that. We had one ole horse named John—big ole horse. I would have to git up on a ten-rail fence to git on him. One day I was leading ole John back and I got tired of walking. So when I come to a ten-rail fence, I got up on ole John. I got up on 'im backwards and I didn't have hold of no bridle nor nothin' because I was lookin' at his tail.

"The others got back there before they did. Ole master said to them, 'Where's Tillie?'

"They said to him, 'She's comin', leadin' ole John.'

"Atter a while they saw me comin', an' one of 'em said, 'There's Tillie now.'

"An' 'nother one, 'Man, she's sittin' on the horse backwards.' And ole John was amblin' along nippin' the grass now an' then with his bridle draggin' and me sittin' up on his back facin' his tail and slippin' and slidin' with every step.

"Ole John was gentle. But they were scairt he would throw me off. Ole missis come out the gate and met him herself, 'cause she was 'fraid the others would 'cite him and make him throw me down. She gentled him and led him up to ole master. They was careful and gentle till they got me off that horse, and then ole master turned and lit into me and give me a brushin'.

"That's the only whippin' he ever give me. But that didn't do me no good. Leastwise, it didn't stop me from ridin' horses. I rode ole John ever chance I could git. But I didn't ride him backwards no more."

Dresses

"We used to wear homespun dresses. I have spun a many a yard and wove it. Did you ever see a loom? I used to have a wheel, and my children tore it up some way or 'nother. I still have the cards. We done our own knittin' and spun our own thread and knitted our socks and stockings."

Houses

"The white folks lived in pretty good houses and we did too. They lived in big log houses. The white folks' houses had piazzas between the rooms. That Haney didn't build them houses. His daddy, Tim Haney, built 'em. The Haneys come in by Tim bein' Thad's father. Thad married Jackie George's daughter—Louisa George. George was her daddy and Haney was her husband.

"There were four rooms besides the piazza. On one side, there was a big room built out of lumber. On the other side, there was a big room that a doctor lived in. There was a great big kitchen west of the piazza. The kitchen was about fifteen by fifteen. I know it was that large because we'd all eat at the same time. The old man, Tim, owned about thirty niggers. After he died they were all divided out among the boys. Every boy took his part of the land and his part of the niggers. But I wasn't at his house then. I was livin' with ole Jackie George. The white folks hadn't moved together then.

"But I went to ole Tim Haney's funeral. The old white woman fainted and they rubbed her with camphor and stuff and had her layin' out there. I wasn't old enough to cry over him and wouldn't anyhow because I didn't care nothin' much about him. But I would have cried for my ole master though, because I really loved him."

Soldiers

"I saw the soldiers when they come through our place. The first start of us noticin' them was this. I was always up to the white folks' house. Thad was goin' back to the Rebel army. Ole master tole my dad to go git 'im a hat. He'd got 'im one and was ridin' back with Thad's hat on on top of his'n. Before he could git back, here come a man jus' a ridin'.

"Thad was eatin'. He look out, and then he throwed his head back and said, 'Them's the Federals.'

"Thad finished his breakfast and then he ran on out and got with the Federals. He didn't join 'em. He jus' fooled 'em. The bridge was half a mile from our house and the Yankee army hadn't near finished crossing it when the head of it reached us.

"While they were at the house, pa came ridin' up with the two hats on his head. They took the hats and throwed pa's on the ground and tried Thad's on. They took the mare but they give it back.

"Them folks stood 'round there all day. Killed hogs and cooked them. Killed cows and cooked them. Took all kinds of sugar and preserves and things like that. Tore all the feathers out of the mattress looking for money. Then they put ole miss (Nealie Haney) and her daughter (Louisa Haney) in the kitchen to cookin'.

"Ma got scairt and went to bed. Dreckly the lieutenant come on down there and said, 'Auntie, get up from there. We ain't a goin' to do you no hurt. We're after helpin' you. We are freein' you. Aunt Dinah, you can do as you please now. You're free.'

"She was free!

"They stayed 'round there all night cooking and eatin' and carryin' on. They sent some of the meat in there to us colored folks.

"Next mornin' they all dropped off goin' down to take Dardanelles. You could hear the cannons roarin' next day. They was all night gettin' away. They went on and took Dardanelles. Had all them white folks runnin' and hidin'.

"The Secesh wouldn't go far. They would just hide. One night there'd be a gang of Secesh, and the next one, there'd come along a gang of Yankees. Pa was 'fraid of both of 'em. Secesh said they'd kill 'im if he left his white folks. Yankees said they'd kill 'im if he didn't leave 'em. He would hide out in the cotton patch and keep we children out there with him. Ole mis' made him carry us.

"We was freed and went to a place that was full of people. We had to stay in a church with about twenty other people and two of the babies died there on account of the exposure. Two of my aunts died, too, on account of exposure then.

"The soldiers didn't take anything that night but food. They left all the horses. What they took was what they could eat. But they couldn't catch the turkeys. The lieutenant stayed around all the time to make the soldiers behave themselves. The meals he made my ole mis' and her daughter cook was for the officers.

"Yes Lawd! I have been here so long I ain't forgot nothin'. I can remember things way back. I can remember things happening when I was four years old. Things that happen now I can't remember so well. But I can remember things that happened way back yonder."

Schooling

"I learnt to read a little after peace was declared. A ole lady, Aunt Sarah Nunly, learnt us how to spell and then after that we went to school. I went to school three weeks. I never went to school much.

"Didn't git no chance to learn nothin' in slavery. Sometimes the children would teach the darkies 'round the house their ABC's. I've heard of folks teachin' their slaves to read the Bible. They didn't teach us to read nothin'. I've heard of it, but I've never seen it, that some folks would cut off the first finger of a nigger that could write."

Father's Children Freed Before Emancipation

"My father had some children that were set free. They lived down on the river bottom. Their ole master was named ole Crow. He died and sot his niggers free. He had four slaves. He had five. If any of you know Philo Pointer, his father was one of 'em. They sot him free. His daughter—Crow's daughter—wanted the niggers and they would break the ole man's will. They furnished them a wagon and sot them free. They came by my father's place and he killed his hog and fed them and they put the rest of it in the wagon and went on to the free state. I've got an old piece of a dish them boys give my mama. It's done broke up to a piece now, but I saves that.

"Patsy Crow was the name of the girl that was freed, and one of the boys was named Joe Crow, and the others I don't know what it was. I guess it was Jim. Their old master had left a will givin' them the wagon and team because he knew it wouldn't be possible for them to stay there after he died. He said he didn't want his niggers to be under anybody after he died. Wills was wills in them days. His daughter wanted them niggers, but they didn't give them to her. They sot them free and sont them off."

Wants to See Her People

"I nursed three children for Thad Haney and Louisa, his wife. Them girls' names was: the oldest was Julia; the next one was named Emma; and the youngest one was named Virginia. If I can find them and see them again, I'll be so happy. I jus' want to meet them one more time—some of them—all of them if they're livin'; but I know they can't all be living.

"Matilda Haney was my name then, and I nursed Thad's children in slavery time."

Age

"I think I'm between ninety-seven and ninety-eight years old. They had an old-age contest in Reverend Smith's time. They had Reverend Coffee and another man here since Reverend Smith. The pastor we have now is Yates. Our church is Lee Chapel A. M. E. Church. The contest was in 1935 I think and the people all agreed that I was the oldest colored woman in North Little Rock. They said I was ninety-six years old then. That would make me about ninety-eight years old now. But I saw my children afterwards and they said I was a year older. I used to have my age in the family Bible and my husband's too, but it got burnt up. Accordin' to them I oughta be about ninety-nine or a hundred."

Occupation

"My folks didn't raise no cotton. They raised about two bales a year. Didn't have nobody to raise it. Thirty slaves were not enough for that. And they didn't care nothin' about it nohow. They had forty-six acres of land in wheat and lots in corn and potatoes. They raised cows, hogs, horses, turkeys, chickens, and everything else. Even had peafowls. The geese used to run me 'round many a day.

"They ran a cotton gin and my father managed it. That was his job all the time before the War.

"After the War, my father farmed. He worked on shares. They never cheated him that he knew about. If they did, he didn't know it. He owned his horses and cows."



#657 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: John G. Hawkens Biscoe, Arkansas Age: 71

"I was born in Monroe County, Mississippi December 9, 1866. My parents was Frances Hawkens. She was a half white woman. I was told my daddy was a white man, Mr. Young. Mother was a cook and house woman. Grandmother was a field woman. She was dark but had some Indian blood in her. I believe they said it was part Choctaw Indian. I don't remember a grandfather.

"Lamar County, Alabama was across the line from Monroe County, Mississippi. One of the Hawkens girls (white girl) married a man in Mississippi. The master had three boys and one or two girls. Grandmother was sold to the Hawkens and mother was born there in Alabama. There was another woman they owned called Mandy. They was all the slaves they owned that I knowd of.

"When the War come on, the old man Hawkens was dead. His widow had three sons but one was married and off from her home somewhere. All three boys went to war. Her married son died in the War.

"One son went to war but he didn't want to go. He ask his mother if she rather free the Negroes or go to war. She said, 'Go fight till you die, it won't be nothing but a breakfast spell.' He went but come back on a furlough. He spent the rest of the time in a cave he dug down back of the field. He'd slip out and come to the house a little while at night. It was in the back woods and not very near anybody else.

"Aunt Mandy, another old man, grandmother and my mother lived in a house in the yard, two of us was born in slavery. My sister Mandy was fifteen years old when slavery ended.

"The way we first heard about freedom, one of the boys come home to stay but no one knew that when he came. He told sister Mandy cook him a good supper and he would tell her something good. She cooked him a good supper and set the table. He set to eat and she ask him what it was. He told her, 'All the slaves are free now.' From that on it was talked. We left there. My mother and sister Mandy told me I wasn't born. We went to Mississippi then. I was born over there. Some sharecropped and some worked as renters.

"Sister Mandy told so many times about carrying fire in a coffeepot—had a lid and handle—to the son in the cave. She'd go across there, a meadow like and a field, calling the sheep for a blind so if the cavalry spied her they would think she had a little feed for the sheep. The cavalry was close about. It was cold and the young master would nearly freeze in his cave.

"Mother said they was good to them. They never touched them to beat them but they all went from early till late. They all worked and the old mistress too.

"Two of mother's children was slave born. Sister Mandy is dead but my brother George Hawkens is on 1114 Appenway, Little Rock. He can tell you more than I know. Two of us was born after slavery. We all had the same father—Mr. Young. He lived about two miles from Hawkens and had a white wife and family. I carried water to the field where he worked and talked a little with him. I saw him when he was sick. He had consumption. I heard when he died and was buried. He never did one thing for us children. Mr. Young and the Hawkens was partners some way in the farming. Mr. Young died young.

"When her son told my sister Mandy at supper table, 'All the slaves are free now', old mistress jumped up and said, 'It's not recorded! It's not recorded!'

"Mr. Wolf was a man, old, old man on a big plantation. He had one hundred slaves. He didn't know his slaves when he met one of them. He had overseers. He talked with his slaves when he met one about and they would tell him, 'You're my master.' They said during the War the old man had cotton seed boiled down for his slaves to eat. The War was about to starve them all out. Oil mills were unheard of at that time.

"The War brought freedom and starvation both to the slaves. I heard old people say they died in piles from exposure and hunger. There was no let-up to their work after freedom.

"All my family came from Mississippi to Forrest City, Arkansas together. I married the first time there. My wife died. Then I married at Brinkley, Arkansas. We have one boy living in Lee County. He's my only child."

Interviewer's Comment

J. G. Hawkens is the whitest Negro I have ever seen. He has blue eyes and straight hair. He was fishing two days I went to see him.



#656 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Lizzie Hawkens Biscoe, Arkansas Age: 65

"I was born close to Magnolia, Arkansas.

"My mother was Harriett Marshal. Her old mistress was a Marshal. She was a widow woman and had let all her slaves go out to her children but mama. Mama was her husband's chile, what she tole mama. They come here from Atlanta, Georgia visiting her married daughter. They was the Joiners at Magnolia, Arkansas. She brought mama and on her way back home to Atlanta she died. Her daughter brought her back and buried her in Arkansas and kept mama.

"Mama said they was nice to her. They wouldn't let her keep company with no black folks. She was about as white as white folks. She was white as my husband. Her mother was light or half white. My own papa was a black man.

"The Joiners and Scotts visited down at Magnolia among themselves but they didn't want mama to marry in the Scott family (of Negroes). But the white folks was mighty good friends. Mama took care of the children. They was in the orchard one day. Papa spied mama. He picked up a plum and threw at her. She say, 'Where that come from?' He stooped down and seen her under the limbs. They was under another plum tree. Papa got to talk to her that day. The old mistress wouldn't let her out of sight. Papa never could have got her if Mistress Marshal had lived.

"Mama had three or four sisters and brothers in Atlanta, and her mother was in Atlanta. Her parents were Bob and Lucindy Marshal. Bob was Lucindy's master. Mama told old mistress to bring Harriett back and she promised she would. That was one thing made her watch after her so close. She never had been made a slave. She was to look after old mistress.

"After she died mama's young mistress let papa have her. He mustered up courage to ax for her and she said, 'Yes, L (for Elbert), you can have her.' That was all the marrying they ever done. They never jumped over no broom she said. They was living together when she died. But in slavery times mama lived on at Judge Joiner's and papa at Scott's place. One family lived six miles east of Magnolia and the other six miles north of Magnolia. Papa went to see mama twelve miles. They cut through sometimes. It was dense woods. Mama had one boy before freedom. In all she had three boys and four girls.

"The Scott and Joiner white folks told the slaves about freedom. Papa homesteaded a place one mile of the courthouse square. The old home is standing there now.

"Papa said during the Civil War he hauled corn in an ox wagon. The cavalry met him more than once and took every ear and grain he had. He'd have to turn and go back.

"He said when freedom come, some of the people tole the slaves, 'You have to root pig or die poor.'

"My great-grandpa was sold in South Carolina. He said he rather die than be sold. He went up in the mountains and found a den of rattlesnakes to bite him. They was under a stone. Said when he seen them he said, 'Uhher! You can't bite me.' They commenced to rattle like dry butter-beans. He went on and dressed to be sold. Master Scott bought him and brought him on to Arkansas. He had to leave his wife. He never got back to see her.

"Grandpa had to come leave his wife. He married ag'in and had five sons and a girl. They was Glasco, Alex, Hilliard, Elbert, Bill, and Katherine. They belong to Spencers till the Scotts bought them but all these children was his Scott children.

"My uncle's wife belong to white folks not Scotts. Scotts wouldn't sell and her folks wouldn't part from her. They moved down in Louisiana and took her and one chile. Uncle run away to see her. The Scotts put the hounds after him and run him two days and two nights. He was so tired he stopped to rest. The dogs come up around him. He took a pine knot and killed the lead dog, hit him in the head and put him in a rotten knot hole of a hollow tree been burned out and just flew. The dogs scattered and he heard the horns. He heard the dogs howl and the hoofs of the man's horses. The old master was dead. He didn't allow the boys to slash in among his niggers. After he died they was bossy. Uncle said he made his visit and come back. He didn't ever tell them he killed the lead dog nor how close they come up on him. He said they was glad to see him when he come back. His wife was named Georgana.