"After freedom grandpa named himself Spencer Scott. He buried his money. He made a truck garden and had patches in slavery both in South Carolina and at Magnolia. He told me he had rusty dollars never been turned over since they made him came here. He left some money buried back there. We found his money on his place at Magnolia when he died. He tole us where it was.

"One night he was going across a bridge and taking a sack of melons to Magnolia to sell in slavery times. A bear met him. He jumped at the bear and said 'boo'. The bear growled and run on its way. He said he was so scared he was stiff. They let them work some patches at night and sell some things to make a little money. The ole master give them some money if they went to the city. That was about twice a year papa said. He never seen a city till years after freedom. His pa and grandpa got to go every now and then. Magnolia was no city in them days.

"It is hard to raise children in this day and time. When I went on the Betzner place (near Biscoe, Arkansas) my son was eight years old. He growed up along side Brooks (Betzner). I purt nigh talked my tongue out of my head and Brooks' (white boy) mother did the same thing. Every year when we would lay by, me and my husband (white Negro) would go on a camp. Brooks would ask me if he could go. We took the two of them. (The Hawkens boy is said to be a dark mulatto—ed.) He's a smart boy, a good farmer down in Lee County now. He married when he was nineteen years old. It is hard to raise a boy now. There is boxing and prize fighting and pool halls and that's not right! Times are not improving as I can see in that way. Worse than I have ever seen them."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Becky Hawkins 717 Louisiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 75

"Yes'm, I was born in slave times but my mammy was sucklin' me. Don't know much bout slavery but just come up free.

"My mammy's old master was Calvin Goodloe in Alabama, Pulaski County, near Tuscumbia. I heered my uncle say old master favored his niggers.

"Mammy told me bout em gettin' whippin's, but she never let the overseer whip her—she'd go to old master.

"My grandmama's hair was straight but she was black. She was mixed Indian. My mammy's father was Indian and she say he fought in the Revolution. She had his pistol and rocks. When he died he was the oldest man around there.

"I tell you what I remember. I 'member my mammy had a son named Enoch and he nussed me in slave days when mammy was workin' in the field. They didn't low em to go to the house but three times a day—that was the women what had babies. But I was so sickly mammy had Enoch bring me to the fence so she could suckle me.

"I went to school down here in Arkansas in Lincoln County. I got so I could read in McGuffy's Fourth Reader. I member that story bout the white man chunkin' the boy down out of the apple tree.

"That was a government school on the railroad—notch house. Just had one door and one window. They took the nigger cabins and made a schoolhouse.

"After freedom my mammy stayed on old master's place—he didn't drive em away. My mammy spinned the raw cotton and took it to Tuscumbia and got it wove. Some of it she dyed. I know when I was a gal I wore a checked dress with a white apron. And my first Sunday dress was striped cotton. After she worked enough she bought me a red worsted dress and trimmed it and a sailor hat. We went to church and they led me by the hand. After church I had to take off my dress and hang it up till next Sunday. Had a apron made of cross barred muslin. Don't see any of that now. It was made with a bodice and had ruffles round the neck. Wore brass toed shoes and balmoral stockin's in my gal time. When my husband was courtin' me, my dress was down to my shoe top. He never saw my leg!

"My fust work was nussin'. I went to Hot Springs with the white folks. I nussed babies till I got against nussin' babies. I stayed right in the house and slep on a sofa with a baby in my arms. In my time they lowed you off half a day on Sunday.

"Chile, I washed and ironed and washed and ironed and washed and ironed till I married. I married when I was seventeen. My mother was dead and I'd rather been married than runnin' loose—I might a stepped on a snake.

"My daddy was a ex-soldier. I don't know what side he fought on but my mammy got bounty when he died. That's what she bought that land with down here in Lincoln County from her old master Goodloe.

"I tell you—I'm a old christian and I think this younger generation is growin' up like Christ said—they is gettin' weaker and wiser.

"My mother's sister, Patience Goodloe, lived in Pulaski County, Alabama and I went back there after I was married and stayed two months. I went up and down the fields where my daddy and mommy worked. I went out to the graveyard where my little brother was buried but they had cotton and corn planted on the old slavetime graveyard.

"I like that country lots better than this here Arkansas. Don't have no springs or nothin' here."



#733 Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: G. W. Hawkins 1114 Appianway, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 73

"I was born in Lamar County, Vernon, Alabama, January 1, 1865. I was a slave only four months.

"My father was Arter Hawkins and my mother was named Frances. My grandmother on my mother's side was Malvina. I forget the name of my great-grandmother, but I believe it was Elizabeth. She was one hundred nine years old and I was twelve years old then. Her mind was just like a little sparrow floating in the air. That was my great-grandmother on my mother's side. My grandfather on my father's side was named Alec Young. My mother's father was named Eliza Wright.

"My mother's people were the Hawkins, and my father's were the Yanceys.

"My father and mother were farmers, and ran whiskey stills. There wasn't any revenue on whiskey then. The first revenue ever paid on whiskey was ten cents. The reason I remember that so well was that a fellow named John Hayman ran a still after the revenue was put on the stuff. Finally they caught him. They fined him.

"My folks farmed right after freedom and they farmed in slavery time. They didn't raise no cotton. They raised corn and wheat and such as that in Alabama. Alabama is good for cotton, corn, wheat, tobacco, or anything you want to grow. It is the greatest fruit country in the world.

"Right after freedom, my folks continued to farm till they all played out."

[HW: Insert on P. 9]

"I came out here after I got grown. I just took a notion to go somewhere else. I have been in Arkansas forty-eight years. I first lived in Forrest City. Stayed there six years and did carpenter work. I have been a carpenter all my life—ever since I was about sixteen years old. I went to Barton, Arkansas and stayed there two years and then came here. I have supported myself by carpenter work ever since I came here. I helped build the Frisco Road from Potts Camp to the Alabama River. That is the other side of Jefferson County in Alabama.

"I haven't asked for the old folks pension—can't get no one to believe that I am old enough for one thing. Can't get it nohow. It is for destitute people. I can't get under the security because they say I am too old for that. I'm too much of a worker to get old age assistance and too old to be allowed to put up tax to become eligible for old age pension.

"I never went to school. I just got an old blue back speller and taught myself how to read and write with what I picked up here and there from people I watched. That's one way a man never fails to learn—watching people. That's the only way our forefathers had to learn. I learned arithmetic the same way. I never considered I was much at figuring but I took a contract from a man who had all kinds of education and that man said I could do arithmetic better than he could.

"I belong to the A. M. E. Church. I have been a member of it for forty-one years.

"I have three boys living and one stepdaughter. But she feels like she is my own. I don't make any difference. I never have whipped my children. I had one child—a girl—that died when she was eight months old. I taught all my boys the carpenter trade, and they all work and stay right here at home with me."

Living Conditions during and Immediately after Slavery

"There are two quarters that I used to visit with my grandmother when I was a little boy. The boss's house was built so that he could stand on the porch of his house and see anything on the place, even in the slave quarters. The houses were all built out of logs. The roof was put on with what they called rib poles. They built the cable and cut each beam shorter than the other. They laid the boards across them and put a big log on top of them to weight them down, so that the wind couldn't blow the planks off. They were home-made planks. They didn't have no nails. They had nothing but dirt floors.

"Where the men folks were thrifty when they wanted to, they would go out at night and split the logs into slabs and then level them as much as they could and use those for floors. All the colored folks' were split log floors if there were any floors at all. There was no lumber then. The planks were made with whipsaws and water-mills. I was a grown man before I ever saw a steam mill. The quarters that I saw were those that were built in slave time.

"If cracks were too big, they would put a pole in the crack and fill up the rest of it with mud—that is what they called chink and dob. The doors were hung on wooden hinges. They would bore a hole through the hinge and through the door and put a wooden pin in it in place of screws. There wasn't a nail or a screw in the whole house when it was finished. They did mortise and tenon joints—all frame houses. Where we use nails now, if they had to, they would bore a hole and drive in a pin—wooden pin."

Furniture

"The colored folks would put a post out from the corner and bore a hole and put the other end in it. They wouldn't have any slats but would just lay boards across the side and put wheat or oat straw on the boards. The women made all the quilts. What I mean, they carded the rolls, spun the thread—spun it on an old hand-turned wheel—and then they would reel it off of the broach onto the reel and make hanks out of it. Then they would run it off on what they called quills. Then it would go 'round a big pin and come out with the threads separated. Then they would run through something like a comb and that would make the cloth.

"It was the rule in slave time to card one hundred rolls. Sometimes they would be up till after twelve o'clock at night. They carded that in one night and spun it the next night. Start with old cotton just like it come from the gin. Card it one night and spin it the next. Done wool and cotton the same way. One hundred rolls carded gave enough threads to make a yard of cloth.

"In them days they tasked everybody to the limit."

Stoves

"For stoves they used an iron pot on a big fire. In the kitchen, they had a fireplace built ten feet wide. They had things they called pot racks hung down from the chimney, and they would hang pots on them. They put the pots on those hooks and not on the logs. When they baked bread they would use iron skillets—North Carolina people called them spiders. They would put an iron lid on them and put fire over the top and underneath the skillet and bake good bread. I mean that old-time bread was good bread. They baked the light bread the same way. They baked biscuits once a week. Sunday mornings was about the only time you ever got them."

Food in General (Slaves)

"In slavery times they had all kinds of meat—more than they have now—, vegetables and fruits too. They raised them themselves. There wasn't no food issued. Didn't need to be. One cook cooked it all in one kitchen and they all sat around the same big old long table long as a house. All the hands ate at the same table and in the same room and at the same time.

"The way they fed the children, they took pot-liquor or bean soup or turnip liquor or the juice from anything they boiled and poured it out in a great big wooden bowl and let all the children get 'round it like so many cats and they would just tip their hands in it and eat what they wanted. Of course they had all the milk they wanted because everybody raised cows. I didn't have to undergo this myself, but this was what they had to undergo at the places where my grandmother took me to visit."

Clothes

"A colored boy had to be more than twelve years old before he wore a pair of pants. He wore nothing but a long shirt that come down to his knees. The hands in slave time wore homemade shirts. All clothes were homemade—pants and coats and dresses and stockings and everything. The shoes were made out of harness leather. Tanned and made right by hand at home. I have seen tanning vats and yards two blocks square."

Patrollers

"You had to get a pass from owners to go out at night. If you had a pass and the pateroles found you, it was all right if you hadn't overstayed the time that was written on it. If you didn't have a pass or if you had overstayed your time, it was still all right if you could outrun the pateroles. That held before freedom and it held a long time after freedom. The pateroles were still operating when I was old enough to remember those old quarters. They didn't break them up for a long time. I remember them myself. I don't mean the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux was a different thing altogether. The Ku Klux didn't exist before the War. I don't know where they got the name from—I don't know whether they give it to themselves or the people give it to them. But the Ku Klux came after the War and weren't before it."

Ku Klux Influence on Negroes

"The Ku Klux Klan weren't just after Negroes. They got after white folks and Negroes both. I didn't think they were so much after keeping the Negro from voting as some other things.

"There was one colored fellow in Alabama—I think his name was Egbert Bondman—that wasn't influenced. He was a politician and they got after him one time. He lived about six miles south of Vernon in Lamar County, Alabama. He went down to the hole where they watered their horses and stretched an old cable wire across the road just high enough to trip up their horses. He hid in the woods and cut down on them with his shotgun when they came up. I hear there was one more scramble when those horses commenced stumbling, and those men started running through the forest to get away from that shot.

"I remember one night my mother woke me up, and I looked out and there was a lot of the Ku Klux riding down the road. They had on long white robes and looked like a flock of geese in the dark.

"The main thing the Ku Klux seemed to try to do, it seemed to me, was to try to keep the colored folks obedient to their former masters and to keep the white folks from giving them too much influence. And they wanted to stop the white men that ran after colored women.

"But they didn't last long. They whipped a fellow named Huggins in the early seventies, and he was a government man. After that government men camped on their trail, and they didn't amount to much."

Slave Breeding

"The thing they were fighting began in slavery. There were slave men kept that forced slave women to do what they wanted to do. And if the slave women didn't do it, the masters or the overseers whipped them till they did. The women were beat and made to go to them. They were big fine men, and the masters wanted the women to have children by them. And there were some white men, too, who forced the slave women to do what they wanted to. Some of them didn't want to stop when slavery stopped."

Slave Tasks and Hours of Work

"I've told you the slaves were tasked to the limit. The hours of the slave hands—if it was summer time—he must be in the field when the sun rose. And he must come home and eat his dinner and get back in the field and stay till the sun went down. In the winter time he must be out there by the time it was light enough to see the work and stay out till it was just too dark to see the work with just enough time out to stop and eat his dinner. This was just after slavery that I remember. But the hours were the same then. The average on cotton picking was two hundred pounds a day. Pulling fodder was a hundred bundles. Gathering corn and such as that was all they could do."

Wages just after Freedom

"The average wage that a man got for twenty-six days' work—twenty-six days were counted a working month—was eight dollars and board for the month. That was the average wage for work like that. That is the way they worked then."

This Matter of Slave Clothes Again

"Clothes!!! They didn't know nothing 'bout underclothes. They didn't wear them just after the War, and I know they didn't before the War—not in my part of Alabama. That's the reason why they say the Negro is cold natured. He didn't have anything on. I have seen many a boy picking and chopping cotton on a cold autumn day with nothing on but his shirt. In his bare feet too. He got one pair of shoes a year and he didn't get no more. When he wore them out, he didn't have any till the next year.

"When I was a boy I have seen many a young lady walk to church with her shoes flung over her shoulders and wait till she got nearly there before she would put them on. She didn't want to wear them out too soon.

"I didn't have to undergo this myself.

"When I was ten years old, my job was to drive a [HW: ox] team twenty-six miles, and it took me two days to go and two days to come and one day to load and unload—five days. The team was loaded with cotton going and anything coming back. We used to get salt from some place near New Orleans. We would drive ox teams down there, put in on order, wait till they dipped the water out of the lake, boiled the salt out of it, and packed it up. There was no such thing as mining salt like they do now. It would take from August first till about the middle of September to get it. Ox team won't make more than about twelve miles a day. The people would make up a wagon train and go and come together. People in those days didn't believe a horse would pull anything but a buggy, so they used steers mostly for heavy pulling. They ran all gins and thrashers by horse power and the running gear was all made out of wood. A lot of people say you couldn't make a wooden cotton press that would pack a bale of cotton. You can make a wooden press that will break a bale in two. Of course the gin was made out of metal. But they made the press out of wood."

Slave Schooling

"The slaves were not allowed to learn anything. Sometimes one would be shrewd enough to get in with the white children and they would teach him his a-b-c's, and after he learnet to spell he would steal books and get out and learn the rest for himself."

How Freedom Came

"The way I heard it the owners called their slaves up and told them they was free. They give them their choice of leaving or staying. Most of them stayed."

First Crop after Freedom

"In 1865, when the slaves were freed, they acknowledged they were free in May in Alabama. All that was free and would stay and help them make their crops, they give them one-tenth. That is, one-tenth went to all the hands put together. Of course if they had a lot of hands that wouldn't be much. Then again, it might be a good deal. I know about that by hearing the old people talk about it."

Opinions

"I'll tell you my opinions some other time. I think the young people are beyond control. I don't have any trouble with mine. I never have had any trouble with them."



Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Eliza Hays 2215 W. Twentieth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 77 or more

"On the fourth of August, my birthday, and directly after the colored people were set free, all the white people gave a great big dinner to the slaves. All the white people at my home came together and gave a big dinner to us. It was that way all over the United States. My mother told me I was four years old at that big dinner. They went to a great big book and throwed it open and found my birthday in it. I never will forget that. You can figure from that exactly how old I am. (Seventy-seven or seventy-eight—ed.)

"My mother's name was Elizabeth Tuggle and my father's name was Albert Tuggle. My mother was the mother of sixteen children. They were some of them born in freedom and some born in slavery. They are all dead but three. My mother was married twice.

"Old Tom Owens was my mother's master. I just do remember him. My father's master was named Tom Tuggle. My mother and my father got together by going different places and meeting. They went together till freedom and weren't married except in the way they married in slavery. During slavery times, old master gave you to some one and that was all of it. My father asked my mother's old master if he could go with my mother and old man Owens said yes. Then father went to her cabin to see her. When freedom came, he taken her to his place and married her accordin' to the law.

"Aunt Mariny Tuggle was my father's mother. I don't know anything about his father. She has been dead! She died when I was young. I can remember her well, though.

"I can remember my mother's mother. Her name was Eliza Whitelow. Her husband was named Jack Whitelow. They was my grandfather and my grandmother on my mother's side. They old people. I can remember seeing them.

"I never saw my grandfather on my father's side. That was way back in slavery time. I used to hear them say he was a guinea man. He was short. My own father was small too. But my father's father was short as I am. I am about four and a half feet tall. (I stopped here and measured her, and she was exactly four feet six inches tall—ed.) I never heard nobody say where he came from. My father's sisters were part Indian. Their hair was longer than that ruler you got in your hand there. It came down on their shoulders. They was a shade brighter than I am.

"My father's mother was small too. His sisters were not whole sisters; their daddy was Indian."

Occupation

"My father and his father and mother were all farmers. My mother and her mother were farmers too. All my people were long-lived. Grandpa, grandma, and all of them. I reckon there about a hundred children scattered back there in Tennessee. Brother's children and sister's children. I believe my folks would take care of me if they knew about my condition. These folks here are mean. Them folks would take care of me if I were home."

Slave Houses

"The slaves lived in old log houses; just one room, one door, one window, one everything. They had any kind of furniture they could git. Some of them had old homemade beds and some of them one thing and another. You know the white folks wasn't goin' to give them no furniture.

"They had plenty of meat and bread and milk to eat. Coarse food—the commonest kind of food they could get 'hold of! When I knowed anything, I was in the big house eating the bes' with the white folks. Some of them could live well then. My mama gave me to the Owenses—her old mistress. I was raised on a pallet in the house. I was in the house from the time I was large enough to be taken from my mother. I didn't never do any work till I was married. Old mistress wouldn't let me work. Just keep by her and hand her a drink of water, and on like that. She's dead now—dead, dead, dead! They didn't leave but two children, they was 'round in the country somewheres then I left there.

"After I married I went to her husband's first wife's child. She had about nine or ten boys and one girl. I raised part of them. But most of them was great big children—big enough for me to throw a glass of milk at their heads. I would fight. Sometimes they used to hear them hollering and come out, and I would be throwing a glass at one and jumping across the table at the other. But when them boys grew up, they loved me just the same as anybody. Nobody in town could touch me, right or wrong."

Mean Masters

"My mother's masters used to tie her down before the dairy door and have two men beat her. She has told me that they used to beat her till the blood ran down on the bricks. Some white people in slavery times was good to the niggers. But those were mean, that's the reason I ain't got no use for white folks. I'm glad I was not old in that time. I sure would have killed anybody that treated me that way. I don't know that my father's people beat him up. I think his people were kinder and sorter humored him because he was so small."

Marriage

"They tell me some of them would have a big supper and then they would hug and kiss each other and jump over the broomstick and they were supposed to be married."

Amusement and Recreation

"They used to go out and dance and carry on for amusement, and they would go to church too. It was just about like it is now. Dancing and going to church is about all they do now, isn't it? They got a gambling game down there on the corner. They used to do some of that too, I guess."

Breeders

"I have heard my mother say many times that a woman would be put up on the block and sold and bring good money because she was known to be a good and fast breeder."

Ku Klux, Patrollers, Robbers

"I've heard of the pateroles and Ku Klux. I thought they said the Ku Klux was robbers. I think the Ku Klux came after the War. But there was some during the War that would come 'round and ask questions. 'Where's yo' old master?' 'Where's his money hid?' 'Where's his silverware?' And on like that. Then they would take all the money and silver and anything else loose that could be carried away. And some of them used to steal the niggers theirselves 'specially if they were little childrens. They was scared to leave the little children run 'round because of that."

Opinions

"I don't know. I better keep my 'pinions to myself. You just have to go on and be thankful and look to the Lord."

Support and Later life

"I haven't done a day's work for seven years. I haven't been able. I have a son, but he has a family of his own to support and can't do nothin' for me. I have another son but he is now out of work himself. He can't get anything to do. I just have to git along on what little I can turn up myself, and what little I get from my friends.

"My husband died about seven years ago. I have lost two boys inside of seven years. After they died, I went right on down. I ain't been no good since. The youngest one, Mose, got killed on a Sunday night. I felt it on Saturday night and screamed so that people had to come 'round me and hold me and comfort me. Then on Sunday night Mose got shot and I went crazy. He was my baby boy and he and his brother were my only support. My other boy got sick and died at the hospital. When the man stepped on the porch to tell me he was dead, I knew it when I heard him step up before he could say a word. I can't git to see his wife now. She was the sweetest woman ever was. She was sure good to my son. She treated him like he was a baby. She was devoted to him and his last request to her was to see to me. I don't know just where she is now, but she's in the city somewheres. She would help me I know if I could get to her.

"My husband was a preacher. He pastored the St. John Baptist Church for fifteen years. He lived here over thirty years before he died. I left a good home in Brownsville, Tennessee. That's where we were married. I have been married twice. I lived with my first husband, George Shaver, a year. I married him about 1876. I was single for two years. After that I married Rev. Hays. I lived with Rev. Hays about twenty-one years in Brownsville, Tennessee. We bought a house and lot there. We were gettin' along fine when we decided to come here. He was a shoemaker then. He made shoes after he came here, too. I ran a restaurant in Brownsville. I guess we lived together more then fifty years in all. He died seven years ago.

"I rent these two rooms in this little shack. They won't give me no help at the Welfare."



—- 1- 1937 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Tom Haynes 1110 W. Second Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age:

"I was six years old when the war ended—the day we was set free. My old mistress, Miss Becky Franks, come in and say to my mother 'Addie, you is free this morning' and commenced cryin'. She give my mother some jerked beef for us.

"I know I run out in the yard where there was eighty Yankee soldiers and I pulled out my shirt tail and ran down the road kickin' up the dust and sayin', 'I'm free, I'm free!' My mother said, 'You'd better come back here!'

"I never knew my mother to get but one whippin'. She put out her mouth against old mistress and she took her out and give her a breshin'.

"I can remember away back. I can remember when I was three years old. One day I was out in the yard eatin' dirt and had dirt all over my face. Young master Henry come out and say 'Stick out your tongue, I'm goin' to cut it off.' I was scared to death. He said 'Now you think you can quit eatin' that dirt?' I said 'Yes' so he let me go.

"One time the Yankee soldiers took young Master Henry and hung him up by the thumbs and tried to make him tell where the money was. Master Henry's little brother Jim and me run and hid. We thought they was goin' to hang us too. We crawled under the house just like two frogs lookin' out.

"Old master had about thirty-five hands but some of em run away to war. My father run away too, but the war ended before he could get into it.

"I went to school a little while, but my father died and my mother bound me out to a white man.

"When we was first freed I know those eighty soldiers took us colored folks to the county band in Monticello. There was forty soldiers in the back and forty in front and we was in the swing.

"I learned to read after I was grown. I worked for the railroad in the freight office fifteen years and learned to check baggage.

"I was a house mover when I was able, but I'm not able to work now. I own this house here and I'm livin' on the relief.

"My father was a blacksmith and shoemaker—made all our shoes. I've lived in town all my life.

"The people are better off free if they had any sense. They need a leader. When they had a chance if they had bought property, but no—they wanted to get in office and when they got in they didn't know how to act. And the young people don't use their education to help themselves."



#782 Interviewer: Bernice Bowden Person Interviewed: Joe Haywood 2207 West Eleventh Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 76

"I was born the first day of January, 1862 Born in Mississippi, Yazoo County. My mother said I was a New Year's present. A. M. Payne was our owner.

"I just do 'member seein' the soldiers and that's all. I 'member the brim of slavery and that's all.

"I member Henry Dixon. He was a Klu Klux. He was Klu Klukin round breakin' up the benevolent societies. He was a real bad man. He just went round with his crowd and broke 'em up. My owner was a good man—good man. They all give him a good name.

"Our folks stayed there till I was plumb grown.

"I've farmed, carpentered, and all kinds of work on the plantation. I've been a engineer in a gin and gettin' out crops every year.

"After I left Mississippi I just roved around. Went through Louisiana to Texas. I lived in Texas. I reckon, from 1893 to '96. Then I started to rove again. I roved from Texas back home to Mississippi in 1902. Stayed there till 1932, then I roved over here to Arkansas. I done got too old to rove now.

"School? Oh Lord, I went to school all my days till I was grown. They kep' me in school. My mother kep' me in till she died and then my stepmother kep' me in. I got very near through the fifth grade. In my day the fifth grade was pretty good. Wilson's Fifth Reader was a pretty good book. They took me out of Wilson's Fifth Reader and put me in McGuffy's and there's where I quit. Studied the Blue Back Speller.

"I've had some narrow escapes in my life. I had a shot right through here in the breast bone—right over my heart. That was in ninety-six. Me and another fellow was projectin with a gun.

"Then I had a bad accident on the ninth of March, 1914. A 800-foot log came down on me. It near 'bout killed me. I was under a doctor 'bout six or eight months. That's how come I'm crippled now. It broke my leg and it's two inches shorter than the other one. I walked on crutches 'bout five years. Got my jawbone broke too. Couldn't eat? I ain't never stopped eatin'. Ain't no way to stop me from eatin' 'cept to not give it to me.

"I compressed after I got my leg broke. And I was a noble good bricklayer.

"I never have voted. Nobody ever pushed me up to it and I ain't never been bothered 'bout anything like that. Everythin was a satisfaction to me. Just whatever way they went was a satisfaction to me.

"I have never heard my folks give my white folks no 'down the hill'. My daddy was brought from Charleston, South Carolina. He was a ship carpenter. He did all of Payne's carpenter work from my baby days up.

"The last of the Paynes died since I came here to Arkansas. He was a A. M. Payne, too.

"I can 'member the soldiers marchin' by. They wore yellow shirts and navy blue coats. I know the coats had two little knobs right behind, just the color of the coat.

"I don't know what to think of the younger generation. I don't know why and what to think of 'em. Just don't know how to take 'em. Ain't comin' like I did. Lay it to the parents. They have plenty of leaders outside the family.

"I'm lookin' for a better time. God's got His time set for 'em on that.

"I belong to St. James Methodist Episcopal Church."



#737 Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Marie E. Hervey 1520 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 62

"I have heard my father and mother talk over the War so many times. They would talk about how the white people would do the colored and how the Yankees would come in and tear up everything and take anything they could get their hands on. They would tell how the colored people would soon be free. My mama's white folks went out and hid when the Yankees were coming through.

"My father's white people were named Taylor's—old Job Taylor's folks. They lived in Tennessee.

"My mother said they had a block to put the colored people and their children on and they would tell them to tell people what they could do when the people asked them. It would just be a lot of lies. And some of them wouldn't do it. One or two of the colored folks they would sell and they would carry the others back. When they got them back they would lock them up and they would have the overseers beat them, and bruise them, and knock them 'round and say, 'Yes, you can't talk, huh? You can't tell people what you can do?' But they got a beating for lying, and they would uh got one if they hadn't lied, most likely.

"They used to take pregnant women and dig a hole in the ground and put their stomachs in it and whip them. They tried to do my grandma that way, but my grandpa got an ax and told them that if they did he would kill them.

"They never could do anything with him.

"My mother's people were the Hess's. They were pretty good to her. It was them that tried to whip my grandma though.

"You had to call everybody 'Mis'' and 'Mars' in those days. All the old people did it right after slavery. They did it in my time. But we children wouldn't. They sent me and my sister up to the house once to get some meal. We said we weren't goin' to call them no 'Mars' and 'Mis'.' Two or three times we would get up to the house, and then we would turn 'round and go back. We couldn't make up our minds how to get what we was sent after without sayin' 'Mars' and 'Mis'.' Finally old man Nick noticed us and said, 'What do you children want?' And we said, 'Grandma says she wants some meal.' When we got back, grandma wanted to know why we took so long to go and come. We told her all about it.

"People back home still have those old ways. If they meet them on the street, you got to get off and let them by. An old lady just here a few years ago wouldn't get off the sidewalk and they went to her house and beat her up that night. That is in Brownsville, Tennessee in Hayeard [HW: Haywood] County. That's an old rebel place.

"White people were pretty good to the old colored folks right after the War. The white folks were good to my grandfather. The Taylors were. They would give him a hog or something every Christmas. All the old slaves used to go to the big house every Christmas and they would give them a present.

"My husband ran off from his white people. They was in Helena. That's where he taken the boat. He and a man and two women crossed the river on a plank. He pulled off his coat and got a plank and carried them across to the other side. He was goin' to meet the soldiers. He had been told that they were to come through there on the boat at four o'clock that afternoon. The rebels had him and the others taking them some place to keep them from fallin' into the hands of the Yankees, and they all ran off and hid. They laid in water in the swamp all that night. Their bosses were looking for them everywhere and the dogs bayed through the forest, but they didn't find them. And they met some white folks that told them the boat would come through there at four o'clock and the white folks said, 'When it comes through, you run and get on it, and when you do, you'll be free. You'll know when it's comin' by its blowin' the whistle. You'll be safe then, 'cause they are Yankees.'

"And he caught it. He had to cross the river to get over into Helena to the place where the boat would make its landin'. After that he got with the Yankees and went to a whole lot of places. When he was mustered out, they brought him back to Little Rock. The people were Burl Ishman and two women who had their children with them. I forget the names of the women. They followed my husband up when he ran off. My husband's first name was Aaron.

"My husband had a place on his back I'll remember long as I live. It was as long as your forearm. They had beat him and made it. He said they used to beat niggers and then put salt and pepper into their wounds. I used to tell daddy that 'You'll have to forget that if you want to go to heaven.' I would be in the house working and daddy would be telling some white person how they 'bused the slaves, and sometimes he would be tellin' some colored person 'bout slavery.

"They sold him from his mother. They sold his mother and two children and kept him. He went into the house crying and old mis' gave him some biscuits and butter. You see, they didn't give them biscuits then. That was the same as givin' him candy. She said, 'Old mis' goin' to give you some good biscuits and some butter.' He never did hear from his mother until after freedom. Some thought about him and wrote him a letter for her. There was a man here who was from North Carolina and my husband got to talking with him and he was going back and he knew my husband's mother and his brother and he said he would write to my husband if my husband would write him a letter and give it to him to give to his mother. He did it and his mother sent him an answer. He would have gone to see her but he didn't have money enough then. The bank broke and he lost what little he had saved. He corresponded with her till he died. But he never did get to see her any more.

"Nothin' slips up on me. I have a guide. I am warned of everything. Nothin' happens to me that I don't know it before. Follow your first mind. Conscience it is. It's a great thing to have a conscience.

"I was born in Tennessee. I have been in Arkansas about forty-six years. I used to cook but I didn't do it long. I never have worked out much only just my work in the house. My husband has been dead four years this last April. He was a good man. We were married forty years the eleventh of December and he died on the eighth of April."



MAY 11 1938 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Phillis Hicks Edmondson, Arkansas Age: 71

"My mother's owner was Master Priest Gates. He had a son in Memphis. I seen him not long ago. He is an insurance agent. They was rosy rich looking folks. Mama was a yellow woman. She had fourteen living children. Her name was Harriett Gates. Papa named Shade Huggins. They belong to different folks. They was announced married before the War and they didn't have to remarry.

"She said the overseers was cruel to them. They had white men overseers. She was a field hand. I heard her say she was so tired when she come to the house she would take her baby in her arms to nurse and go to sleep on the steps or under a tree and never woke till they would be going to the field. She would get up and go on back. They et breakfast in the field many and many a time. Old people cooked and took care of the children. She never was sold. I don't know if my father was. They come from Alabama to Mississippi and my mother had been brought from Georgia to Alabama.

"She picked geese till her fingers would bleed to make feather beds for old master I reckon. They picked geese jus' so often. The Gates had several big quarters and lots of land. They come to be poor people after the War—land poor. Mother left Gates after the War. They didn't get nothing but good freedom as I ever heard of. My father was a shoemaker at old age. He said he learned his trade in slavery times. He share cropped and rented after freedom.

"I heard 'em say the Ku Klux kept 'em run in home at night. So much stealing going on and it would be laid at the hands of the colored folks if they didn't stay in place. Ku Klux made them work, said they would starve and starve white folks too if they didn't work. They was share cropping then, yes ma'am, all of them. I know that they said they had no stock, no land, no rations, no houses to live in, their clothes was thin. They said it was squally times in slavery and worse after freedom. They wore the new clothes in winter. By summer they was wore thin and by next winter they had made some more cloth to make more new clothes. They wove one winter for the next winter. When they got to share croppin' they had to keep a fire in the fireplace all night to warm by. The clothes and beds was rags. Corn bread and meat was all they had to eat. Maybe they had pumpkins, corn, and potatoes. They said it was squally times.

"I got a place. I rented it out to save it. My brother rents it. I can't hardly pay taxes. I'd like to get some help. I could sew if they would let me on. I can see good. I'm going to chop cotton but it so long till then.

"I washed and ironed in Memphis till washing went out of style. Prices are so high now and cotton cheap. I'm counting on better times.

"Times is close. Young folks is like young folks always been. Some are smart and some lazy. None don't look ahead. They don't think about saving. Guess they don't know how to save. Right smart spends it foolish. I'm a widow and done worked down."



EX-SLAVES

Interviewer: Pernella Anderson [HW: Hicks, Will]

"I was born in Farmerville, La., I don't know what year. I was about three or four years at surrender. I lived with my mother and father. The first work I ever did was plow. I did not work very hard at no time but what ever there was to do I went on and got through with it. All of our work was muscle work. There were no cultivators.

"I stayed at home with my father and mother until I was 32 years of age. I was thirty years old when papa died and mother lived two years longer. About a month after mother died I married. We lived in a real good house. My father bought it after slavery time. We had good furniture that was bought from the hardware. The first stove that we used we bought it and father bought it just after surrender. Never used a homemade broom in my life. Now, Ma just naturally liked ash cakes so she always cooked them in the fireplace. We wore all homespun clothes, and we wore the big bill baily hats. We chaps went barefooted until I was 16 years old then I bought my first pair of shoes. They were brass toe progans. I never been in the school house a day in my life. Can't read neither write nor figure. I went to church. Our first preacher was name Prince Jones. The biggest games I played was ball and card. I was one of the best dancers. We danced the old juland dance, swing your partner, promonate. Danced by fiddling. The fiddlers could beat the fiddlers of today. Get your partners, swing them to the left and to the right, hands up four, swing corners, right hands up four promonate all around all the way, git your partners boys. I shoot dice, drink, I got drunk and broke up church one Sunday night. Me and sister broke up a dinner once because we got drunk. Whiskey been in circulation a long time. There have been bad people ever since I been in the world."

—Will Hicks.



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Bert Higgins 611 Missouri Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 88

"I was born in slavery times. I was thirteen when peace declared. I was workin' in the field.

"No ma'am, I wasn't born in Arkansas. I was born in Macon, Mississippi.

"Marcus Higgins was my old master. He was good to me. He treated me all right.

"He had a good big plantation—had two plantations. One in North Carolina and one in Mississippi.

"Sold? Yes'm, I was put up on the block, but they couldn't quite make it. Had six of us—boys and girls—and he sold one or two I 'member. But that's been a long time.

"Yes'm, I can 'member when I was a boy in slavery. Run off too. Old master ketch me and switch me. Look like the switch would sting so. 'Member the last switchin' I got. Dr. Henderson—I think he was old master's son-in-law. Me? Well, he whipped me 'cause I'd steal his eggs. I don't reckon I would a been so bad but I was raised up a motherless child. My mother died and my stepmother died.

"I can 'member pretty well way back there.

"He'd send me off on a mule to carry the mail to his people around. And I used to tote water. He had a heap a darkies.

"I could do very well now if I could see and if I wasn't so crippled up. I was a hard worker.

"We had a plenty to eat and plenty to wear in slavery times.

"Old master would whip me if I went any further than the orchard. If I did happen to go outside the field, I come in 'fore night. But I hardly ever went outside. Sometimes I run off and when I come back to the house, he'd give me a breshin'.

"I seen the Yankees durin' of the War. I run from 'em and hid. I thought they was tryin' to carry me off. White folks never did tell me nothin'. They'd come in and throw things outdoors and destroy 'em—old master's provisions. And they'd take things to eat too.

"My father belonged to Marcus Higgins when I first could remember.

"After freedom we stayed there till I was grown. I don't never 'member him payin' me, but I got somethin' to eat and a place to stay.

"I never went to school; I had to work. I farmed all my life till I come to the city of Pine Bluff. I worked here 'bout thirty years.

"I've always been well treated by my white folks. I never sassed a white person in my life as I remember of—never did. I think that's the reason I was so well took care of 'cause I never sassed 'em. I've always tried to do what was right.

"I think these here government people have treated us mighty well. They have give us money and other things.

"When we got free old master read it to us out of the paper. We was out in the field and I was totin' water. Some of 'em struck work and went to the house and set around a while but they soon went back to the field. And a few days after that he hired 'em.

"Old master was good. He'd let you stop and rest. He hired a overseer but he didn't do no work. The time run out 'fore he got started.

"I think this younger generation is havin' a heap harder time than the old folks did. Their disbehavior and the way they carry theirselves now'days. So many of 'em will pick up things don't belong to 'em.

"I don't believe in these here superstitions. I tried carryin' a rabbit foot and I know it never brought me no good luck. If you serve the Lord and try to live right, pray and serve the Lord, and whatever you need you'll get it."



#790 FORM A Circumstances of Interview

STATE—Arkansas NAME OF WORKER—Samuel S. Taylor ADDRESS—Little Rock, Arkansas DATE—December, 1938 SUBJECT—Ex-slave

1. Name and address of informant—Annie Hill, 3010 Izard Street, Little Rock.

2. Date and time of interview—

3. Place of interview—3010 Izard Street, Little Rock.

4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant—

5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you—

6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.—

#790 FORM B Personal History of Informant

STATE—Arkansas NAME OF WORKER—Samuel S. Taylor ADDRESS—Little Rock, Arkansas DATE—December, 1938 SUBJECT—Ex-slave NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT—Annie Hill, 3010 Izard Street, Little Rock.

1. Ancestry—father, Richard Hill; mother Hulda Bruce.

2. Place and date of birth—Nashville, Arkansas in 1877.

3. Family—

4. Places lived in, with dates—Nashville, Benton and Little Rock. No dates.

5. Education, with dates—

6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates—Laundry work.

7. Special skills and interests—

8. Community and religious activities—

9. Description of informant—

10. Other points gained in interview—

#790 FORM C Text of Interview (Unedited)

STATE—Arkansas NAME OF WORKER—Samuel S. Taylor ADDRESS—Little Rock, Arkansas DATE—December, 1938 SUBJECT—Ex-slave NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT—Annie Hill, 3010 Izard Street, Little Rock

"My mother lived to be one hundred years old. She died in 1920. Her name is Hulda Bruce. She belonged to a man named Leslie during slavery. I forget his name—his first name. She come from Mississippi. She was sold there when she was eleven years old. That is where all her people were. There might be some of them here and I don't know it. She said she had three sisters but I don't know any of them. The folks raised her—the Leslie white folks. It was the Leslies that brought her and bought her in the old country. I don't know the names of the people that sold her. She wasn't nothing but a kid. I guess she would hardly know.

"The Leslies brought her to Arkansas when she was eleven. That is what she always told us kids. She was eleven years old when they sold her. Just like selling mules.

"I don't know what is the first place they come to here. Benton, Arkansas was the first place I knowed anything about. That is where her folks were and that is where the young generation of them is now. The old ones is dead and gone.

"I was born in Nashville. And she had come from Benton to Nashville. She was living In Benton, Arkansas when she died. She was never able to send me to school when I was young. When the white folks first turned them loose they weren't able to do for them as they are now. Children have a chance now and don't appreciate it. But when I was coming up my folks weren't able. Mother knew she was one hundred eight years old because her white folks told her what it was. When her old white folks died, the young ones hunted it up for her out of the old family Bible and sent it to me. The Bible was so old that the leaves were yellow and you could hardly turn them. They were living in Benton, Arkansas and I guess they are still living there because that is the old home place. That is the kids is still there, 'cause the old folks is dead and gone. One girl is named Cora and one of the boys is called Bud, Buddy. Leslie is the last name of them both.

"I got one of her pictures with her young master's kids—three of 'em—in there with her. Anybody that bothered that picture would git in it with me, 'cause I values it.

"Mother farmed right after the surrender. She married after freedom but went back to her old name when her husband left. He was named Richard Hill. He was supposed to be a bishop down there in Arkadelphia. But he wasn't no bishop with mama. All them Hills in Arkadelphia are kin to me. She had four children—one boy and three girls. The boy died before I was born. She was just married the one time that I know about.

"Her white folks were good to her. You know there was so many of them that weren't. And you know they bound to be because they were always good to her. They would be looking for her and sending her something to eat and sending her shoes and clothes and things like that, and she'd go to them and stay with them months at a time so they bound to 've been good to her. All the young kids always called her their Black Mammy. They thought a heap of her. That is since freedom. Since I been born. That is somethin' I seen with my own eyes.

"I spect my mother's white folks is mad at me. They come to see her just before she died and they knew she couldn't live long. They told me to let them know when there was a chance.

"That was about three days before she died. There come a storm. It broke down the wire so we couldn't let them know. My boy was too small; I couldn't send him. He was only nine years old. And you know how it is out in the country, you can't keep them long. You have to put them away. You can't keep no dead person in the country. So I had to bury her without letting 'em know it.

"I do laundry work for a living when I can get any to do. I am living with my boy but I do laundry work to help myself. It is so good, and nice to kinda help yourself. I'll do for self as long as I am able and when I can't, the children can help me more. I have heard and seen so many mothers whose children would do things for them and it wouldn't suit so well up the road. You see me hopping along; I'm trying to work for Annie.

"My mother told me about seein' the pateroles before the War and the Ku Klux Klan afterwards. She knowed them all right. She never talked much about the pateroles. It was mostly the Ku Klux. Neither of them never got after her. She said the Ku Klux used to come in by droves. She said the Ku Klux were dressed all in white—white caps and white hoods over their faces, and long white dresses. They come out mostly at night. They never did bother her, but they bothered others 'round her that she knowed about. Sometimes they would take people out and beat them and do 'round with them. But she never did know just what it was they did and just what they did it for. You see, her white folks was particular and didn't talk much before her. So many colored folks learnt things because they eavesdropped their white folks, but mother didn't do that. She didn't learn nothin' but what they talked before her, and they were careful. But they protected her. They never did allow nobody to bother her no way.

"She was a Baptist. She belonged to the white folks' church before she was freed. Then she joined the Methodist church at Benton because there wasn't no other church there. But she was a full-blood Baptist."



Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Clark Hill 715 E. 17th Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 82

"Good morning. My name is Clark Hill. My name goes by my white folks. I was born in Georgia—in Americus, Georgia. My old master was Will G. Hill and they called my young master Bud. I never did know what his name was—they just called him Bud.

"It was my job to sweep the yard, keep smoke on the meat and fire under the kiln. Yes mam! Old master had a big orchard and he dried all the fruit in the kiln—peaches, apples, and pears. Then he had lots a watermelons too. When they got ripe they'd get all the childun big enough to tote a melon and we'd carry 'em to the house. I would like to be with my white folks now.

"Old master raised pigeons too and it used to be my job to go down to the pigeon house and ketch the squalls (squabs).

"I used to go to church with my white folks too. I was the gate opener. They put me on the little seat at the back of the carriage. When we got there they'd let us childun sit in the back. The preacher would tell us to obey our master and not take anything that belonged to him.

"Oh, my white folks was good to me. He never hit me but once and that was one time when my brother went into the kitchen, went into some peas the cook had and she told on him. Old master come down and told my brother to eat the whole dish full. He never hit him or nothin' but just stood there and made him eat 'em. I thought I'd help him out a little and said to my brother, 'Give me some.' Old master just took his walking stick and hit me over the head, and that's the onliest time he ever hit me.

"When you got big enough to marry and was courtin' a woman on another plantation, you couldn't bring her home with you. Old master would marry you. He'd say 'I give this man to you' and say 'Clark, I give this woman to you and now you is man and wife.' They never had no book of matrimony—if they did I never seen it. Then you could go over to see her every Saturday and stay all night.

"I used to work in the field. They didn't farm then like they do now. They planted one row a cotton and one row a corn. That was to keep the land from gettin' poor.

"I remember when the Yankees was comin' through I got scared because some of the folks said they had horns. I know old master took all his meat and carried it to another plantation.

"When freedom come old master give us all our ages. I think when they say we was free that meant every man was to be his own boss and not be bossed by a taskmaster. Cose old master was good to us but we wanted to have our own way 'bout a heap a things.

"I come to Arkansas the second year of surrender. Yes'm, I voted when Clayton was sheriff and I voted for Governor Baxter. I voted several tickets. I was here when they had the Brooks-Baxter War. They fit not far from where I was livin'.

"Well, that's 'bout all I can remember. My mind ain't so good now and I got the rheumatism in my legs."



#665 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Clark Hill 818 E. Fifteenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 84

"I was workin' 'round the house when freedom come. I was eleven.

"Born in Georgia—Americus, Georgia. Used to go with my young master to Corinth after the mail. We'd ride horseback with me right behind him. He used to carry me to church too on the back seat to open the gates.

"They worked me in the loom room too. Had to hold the broche at the reel. I was glad when my young master called me out to go after the mail. Then they worked me in the smokehouse.

"I never had no schoolin' a tall. What little I know I learned since I married. My wife was a good scholar.

"I thank the Lord he spared me. Eighty-four is pretty old.

"I come here to Pine Bluff in '66. Wasn't no town here then. Just some little shacks on Barraque. And Third Street was called Catfish Street.

"They was fifty carloads come here to Arkansas when I come.

"I've farmed mostly. Then I've cooked four or five years in railroad camps, when they was puttin' in this Cotton Belt track. Then I've cooked on a steamboat.

"Yes ma'am, I've voted. I voted teeth and toe-nail for one man, and he got it and then they shot him down. He was about to get on to the fraud. He was 'testin' the election. That was John M. Clayton. They can do most anything in these here elections. I know 'cause I done been in so many campaigns."



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

#665 Name of interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Subject: Humorous Story Story—Information (If not enough space on this page, add page)

"I heard a story 'bout a old colored man named Tony. It was in slave times and he was prayin' to the Lord to take him out of bondage. He was prayin', 'Oh Lord, come and take poor old Tony away.' Just then somebody started knockin' and Tony says, 'Who'd dat?' 'It's the Lord, I come to take you away.' Then Tony said, 'No! No! Don't take me away. I ain't ready to go.'"

This information given by: Clark Hill (C) Place of residence: 818 E. Fifteenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Occupation: None Age: 84



FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

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

"I've heard if a turkle dove, when the season first starts, comes to your house and starts moanin', it's a sign you is goin' to move out and somebody else goin' move in.

"If a squinch owl starts howlin' 'round your house and if you turn your shoe upside down at the door, they sure will hush. Now I know that's so.

"I used to run myself nearly to death tryin' to get to the end of the rainbow to get the pot of gold.

"And I've heard the old folks say if you start any place and have to go back, you make a circle on the ground and spit in it or you'll have bad luck."

This information given by: Clark Hill (C) Place of residence: 818 E. Fifteenth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Occupation: None Age: 84



Interviewer: Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Elmira Hill 1220 North Willow Pine Bluff, Ark. Age: 97

"I'm one of em. Accordin' to what they tell me, I think I'll be ninety-eight the ninth day of February. I was born in Virginia in Kinsale County and sold from my mother and father to Arkansas.

"The Lord would have it, old man Ed Lindsey come to Virginia and brought me here to Arkansas. I was here four years before the Old War ceasted and I was twelve when I come here.

"I was right there standin' behind my mistis' chair when Abe Lincoln said, 'I 'clare there shall be war!' I was right here in Arkansas—eighteen miles from Pine Bluff when war ceasted. The Lord would have it. I had a good master and mistis. Old master said, 'Fore old Lincoln shall free my niggers, I'll free em myself.' They might as well a been free, they had a garden and if they raised cotton in that garden they could sell it. The Lord bless His Holy Name! We didn't know the difference when we got free. I stayed with my mistis till she went back to Virginia.

"Yes, honey, I was here in all the war. I was standin' right by my mistis' chair. I never heard old master make a oaf in his life, but when they brought the paper freein' the slaves, he said, 'Dad burn it.'

"I member a man called Jeff Davis. I know they sung and said, 'We'll hand old Jeff Davis to the sour apple tree.'

"I been here a long time. Yes, honey, I been in Arkansas so long I say I ain't goin' out—they got to bury me here. Arkansas dirt good enough for me. I say I been here so long I got Arkansas 'stemper (distemper).

"My old master in Virginia was Joe Hudson. My father used to ketch oysters and fish. We could look up the Patomac river and see the ships comin' in. In Virginia I lived next to a free state and the runaways was tryin' to get away. At Harper's Ferry—that's where old John Brown was carryin' em across. My old mistis used to take the runaway folks when the dogs had bit their legs, and keep em for a week and cure em up. This time o' year you could hear the bull whip. But I was lucky, they was good to me in Virginia and good to me in Arkansas.

"Yes, chile, I was in Alexandria, Virginia in Kinsale County when they come after me by night. I was hired out to Captain Jim Allen. I had been nursin' for Captain Allen. He sailed on the sea. He was a good man. He was a Christian man. He never whipped me but once and that was for tellin' a story, and I thank him for it. He landed his boat right at the landin' on Saturday. Next day he asked me bout somethin' and I told him a story. He said, 'I'm gwine whip you Monday morning!' He wouldn't whip me on Sunday. He whipped me and I thank him for it. And to this day the Lindsey's could trust me with anything they had.

"I was in Virginia a play-chile when the ships come down to get the gopher wood to build the war ships. Old mistis had a son and a daughter and we all played together and slep together. My white folks learned me my A B C's.

"They come and got me and carried me to Richmond—that's where they sold em. Sold five of us in one bunch. Sold my two brothers in New Orleans—Robert and Jesse. Never seed them no more. Never seed my mother again after I was sold.

"Yes, chile, I was here in Arkansas when the war started, so you know I been here a long time.

"I was here when they fit the last battle in Pine Bluff. They called it Marmaduke's Battle and they fit it on Sunday morning. They took the old cotehouse for a battery and throwed up cotton bales for a breastworks. They fit that Sunday and when the Yankees started firin' the Rebels went back to Texas or wherever they come from.

"When we heard the Yankees was comin' we went out at night and hid the silver spoons and silver in the toilet and buried the meat. After the war was over and the Yankees had gone home and the jayhawkers had went in—then we got the silver and the meat. Yes, honey, we seed a time—we seed a time. I ain't grumblin'—I tell em I'm havin' a wusser time now than I ever had.

"Yankees used to call me a 'know nothin' cause I wouldn't tell where things was hid.

"Yes, chile, I'm this way—I like everbody in this world. I never was a mother, but I raised everbody else's chillun. I ain't nothin' but a old mammy. White and black calls me mamma. I'll answer at the name.

"I was married twice. My last husband and me lived together fifty years. He was a preacher. My first husband, the old rascal—he was so mean to me I had to get rid of him.

"Yes, I been here so long. I think the younger generation is goin' the downward way. They ain't studyin' nothin' but wickedness. Yes, honey, they tell me the future generation is goin' a do this and goin' a do that, and they ain't done nothin'. And God don't like it.

"My white folks comes to see me and say as long as they got bread, I got it.

"I went to school the second year after surrender. I can read but I ain't got no glasses now. I want you to see this letter my mother sent me in 1867. My baby sister writ it. Yes, honey, I keeps it for remembrance.

"Don't know nothin' funny that happened 'ceptin stealin' my old master's company's hoss and runnin' a race. White chillun too. Them as couldn't ride sideways ridin' straddle. Better not ride Rob Roy—that was old master's ridin' hoss and my mistis saddle hoss. That was the hoss he was talkin' bout ridin' to the war when the last battle was fit in Helena. But he was too old to go to war.

"Well, goodbye, honey—if I don't see you no more, come across the Jordan."



#787 Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Gillie Hill 813 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: About 45

"My grandmother told me that they had to chink up the cracks so that the light wouldn't get out and do their washing and ironing at night. When they would hear the overseers or the paterolers coming 'round (I don't know which it was), they would put the light out and keep still till they had passed on. Then they would go right on with the washing and ironing.

"They would have to wash and iron at night because they were working all day.

"She told me how they used to turn pots down at night so that they could pray. They had big pots then—big enough for you to get into yourself. I've seen some of them big old pots and got under 'em myself. You could get under one and pray if you wanted to. You wouldn't have to prop them up to send your voice in 'em from the outside. The thing that the handle hooks into makes them tilt up on one side so that you could get down on your hands and knees and pray with your mouth close to the opening if you wanted to. Anyway, my grandma said they would turn the pots upside down and stick their heads under them to pray.

"My father could make you cry talking about the way they treated folks in slavery times. He said his old master was so mean that he made him eat off the ground with the dogs. He never felt satisfied unless'n he saw a nigger sufferin'."

Interviewer's Comment

Gillie Hill is the daughter of Evelyn Jones already interviewed and reported. The few statements which she hands in make an interesting supplement to her mother's story. The mother, Evelyn Jones, remembered very few things in her interview and had to be constantly prompted and helped by her daughter and son who were present at each sitting. There was considerable difference of opinion among them over a number of things, especially the age of the mother, the daughter showing letters to prove the age of seventy, the mother saying she had been told she was sixty-eight, and the son arguing that the scattering of the ages of her nineteen children showed that she must be well over eighty.

Gillie Hill claims to be somewhat clairvoyant. She gave a brief analysis of my character, stating accurately my regular calling and a few of my personal traits even indicating roughly my bringing-up and where. She is not a professional fortune-teller, and merely ventured a few statements. My impression was that she was an unusually close and alert observer. Like her mother she is somewhat taciturn. I should have said that her mother was reserved as well as forgetful. The mother never ventured a word except in answer to a question, and used monosyllabic answers whenever possible.



Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person Interviewed: Harriett Hill Forrest City, Ark. (Visiting at Brinkley, Ark.) Age: 84

"I was born in Lithonia, Georgia, at the foot of Little Rock Mountain, close to Stone Mountain, Georgia. I been sold in my life twice to my knowing. I was sold away from my dear old mammy at three years old but I can remember it. I remembers it. It lack selling a calf from the cow. Exactly, but we are human beings and ought to be better than do sich. I was too little to remember my price. I was sold to be a nurse maid. They bought me and took me on away that time. The next time they put me up in a wagon and auctioned me off. That time I didn't sell. John George (white man) was in the war; he wanted some money to hire a substitute to take his place fightin'. So he have Jim George do the sellin'. They was brothers. They talked 'fore me some bit 'fore they took me off. They wouldn't take me to Atlanta cause they said some of the people there said they wouldn't give much price—the Negroes soon be set free. Some folks in Atlanta was Yankees and wouldn't buy slaves. They 'cluded the best market to sell me off would be ten or twelve miles from home. I reckon it was to Augusta, Georgia. They couldn't sell me and start on back home. A man come up to our wagon and say he'd split the difference. They made the trade. I sold on that spot for $1400. I was nine or ten years old. I remembers it. Course I do! I never could forget it. Now mind you, that was durin' the war.

"Master Jake Chup owned mammy and me too. He sold me to John George. Jim George sold me to Sam Broadnax. When freedom come on that was my home. Freedom come in the spring. He got some of the slaves to stay to finish up the crops for 1/10 at Christmas. When they got through dividin' up they said they goin' to keep me for a bounty. I been talkin' to Kitty—all I remembers her name Kitty. She been down there at the stream washin'. Some children come told me Kitty say come on. She hung out the clothes. I lit out over the fence and through the field with Kitty and went to Conniars. She left me at the railroad track and went on down the road by myself to Lithonia. I walked all night. I met my brother not long after Kitty left me. He was on a wagon. He knowed me and took me up with him to Mr. Jake Chup's Jr. He was the young man. Then Chups fed me till he come back and took me to mammy. Master Chups sold her to Dr. Reygans. I hadn't seen her since I was three years old. She knowed me. My brother knowed me soon as ever he saw me. I might a not knowed them in a gatherin' but I hadn't forgot them. They hear back and forth where I be but they never could get to see me. I lived with my folks till I married.

"The first man I lived with ten years. The next one I lived with fifty years and some days over. He died. They both died. The man I married was a preacher. We farmed long with his preachin'. We paid $500.00 for forty acres of this bottom land. Cleared it out. I broke myself plum down and it got mortgaged. The Planters Bank at Forrest City took it over. I ain't had nothin' since. I ain't got no home. I ain't had nothin' since then. My husband died two years ago and I has a hard time.

"My folks was livin' in Decatur, Georgia when the Ku Klux was ragin'. We sure was scared of em. Mighty nigh to death. When freedom come on the niggers had to start up their churches. They had nigger preachers. Sometimes a white preacher would come talk to us. When the niggers be havin' preachin' here come the Ku Klux and run em clear out. If they hear least thing nigger preacher say they whoop him. They whooped several. They sure had to be mighty particular what they said in the preachin'. They made some of the nigger preachers dance. There wasn't no use of that and they knowed it. They must of had plenty fun. They rode the country every night for I don't know how long and that all niggers talked bout.

"My mammy had eleven children. I had one boy. He died a baby.

"My pa come and brought his family in 1873. He come with a gang. They didn't allow white men to take em off so a white man come and stay round shy and get nigger man to work up a gang. We all come on a train to Memphis, then we got on a big boat. No, ma'am, we didn't come on no freight train. We got off at White Hall Landing. They got off all long the river. We worked on wages out here. Pa wanted to go to Mississippi. We went and made eighteen bales cotton and got cheated out of all we made. We never got a cent. The man cheated us was Mr. Harris close to Trotter's Landing.

"Mr. Anderson, the poor white man we worked for, jumped in the river and drowned his self. The turns (returns) didn't come in for the first batch we sold at all, then when the turns come they said we done took it up—owed it all. We knowed we hadn't took it up but couldn't get nothin'. We come back to Arkansas.

"I been to Detroit, short time, and been way, but I comes back.

"I forgot to say this: My mammy was born in South Carolina. Marbuts owned her and sold her. My pa lived to be 114 or 115 years old. He died in Arkansas. She did too.

"Of course I don't vote! Women ain't got no business runnin' the government!

"I nursed, worked in the field. When I was a slave they raised a little cotton in Georgia but mostly corn. I chopped cotton and thinned out corn.

"The present times is too fast. Somethin' goin' to happen. The present generation too fast. Folks racin'. Ridin' in cars too fast. They ain't kind no more.

"I rent a house where I can and I get $10.00 from the government. That all the support I got. I farmed in the field mighty hard and lost all we had."



MAY 11 1938 Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Hattie Hill Route 2, Main Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85

"Yes ma'am, I was raised a house gal. Me and another cousin and I was borned in Georgia. My old master's name was Edward Maddox. Yes ma'am.

"I had a good master but I didn't have such a good missis. Her name was Fannie Maddox. We belonged to the old man and he was good to his niggers. He didn't 'low 'em to be cut and slashed about. But when he was gone that's when old mis' would beat on us.

"I've seen a many a one of the soldiers. They used to march by our place.

"I can remember one of my old missis' neighbors. Her name was Miss Phipps. Old mis' would send me there to borry meal. Yes ma'am, I'd go and come. She'd always send me. I met the soldiers a many a time. I'd hide behind a tree and as they'd go by I'd go 'round the tree—I was so scared.

"But thank the Lawd, we is free now.

"I heered old master pray a many a prayer that he would live to see his slaves sot free. And he died the same year they was sot free. He sent for all his hands to come and see him 'fore he died. Even the little chillun. I can remember it jus' as well as if 'twas yesterday. Old mis' died 'fore he did.

"Our folks stayed on the place two years. Old master told 'em he wanted 'em to take care of themselves and said, 'I want you to get you a place of your own.' He said, 'I raised you honest and I want you to stay on the place as long as you live or as long as the boys treat you right.'

"I seed the patrollers all right. I 'member that old song 'Run Nigger Run' and a heap of 'em run too.

"Them Ku Klux was hateful too, but they never bothered my father's house. They beat one man—Steve McLaughlin—till he couldn't get back to the house. They beat him from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

"We had a plenty to eat in slave times. They fed us good. I never did work in the field—I was raised up a house gal.

"After freedom my father had me in the field.

"I used to cut and split a many a hundred rails in a day and didn't mind it neither.

"I used to like to work—would work now if I was able. And I'd rather work in the field any day as work in the house. The people where I lived can tell you how I worked. I didn't make my living by rascality. I worked like my father raised me. Oh, I haven't forgot how my old father raised me.

"Never went to school but one day in my life. I can't read.

"I didn't come to Arkansas till after I was free. I been livin' here so long I can't tell you how many years.

"I married young and I'm the mother of six chillun.

"I think a heap of the colored folks is better off free, but a heap of 'em don't appreciate their freedom.

"Heap of the younger generation is all right and then they's a heap of 'em all wrong.

"I can't remember nothin' else 'cause I was too young then and I'm too old now."



OCT 18 19— Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Oliver Hill 1101 Kentucky Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 94

Oliver Hill is ninety-four years old, erect, walks briskly with the aid of a cane, only slightly hard of hearing and toothless.

He was born and lived in the state of Mississippi on the plantation of Alan Brooks where he said his father was an overseer and not a slave. Said his mother was a full-blooded Indian. (I have never talked to a Negro who did not claim to be part Indian.) He cannot read or write and made rather conflicting statements about the reason why. "White folks wouldn't let us learn." Later on in the conversation he said he went to school about one month when his "eyes got sore and they said he didn't have to go no more."

"I was nineteen years old when de wa' begun. De white folks never tole us nothin' 'bout what it was fo' till after de surrender. Dey tole us then we was free. They didn't give us nothin'."

After the surrender most of the slaves left the plantations and were supported by the Bureau. In the case of Oliver Hill, this lasted five months and then he went back to his former master who gave him one-fifth of what he made working in the field. Alan Brooks grieved for the loss of his slaves but at no time were they under any compulsion to remain slaves. After a long time about half of them came back to work for pay.

The Ku Klux Klan was "de devil", but about all they wanted, according to Oliver, was to "make a Democrat" of the ex-slaves. They were allowed to vote without any trouble, but "de Democrats robbed de vote. Yes'm I knowed they did."

Concerning the present restricted suffrage, he thinks the colored people should be allowed to vote. In general, his attitude toward the white people is one of resentment. Frequent comments were:

"Dey won't let de colored people bury in de same cemetery with de white people."

"Dey don't like it if a colored man speak to a white woman."

"Dey kill a colored man and de law don't do nothin' 'bout it."

"Old Man Brooks" when referring to his former master.

He lived with the Brooks family for five years after freedom, and seems to have been rather a favored one with not much to do but "ride around" and going to dances and parties at night. When Alan Brooks died he left Oliver $600 in cash, a cow and calf, horse, saddle and bridle and two hogs. He went to live with his father taking his wife whom he had married at the age of twenty-one.

As soon as the inheritance was gone, the scene changed. In his words, "I thought it gwine last forever." But it didn't and then he began to hold a succession of jobs—field hand, sorghum maker, basket weaver, gardener and railway laborer—until he was too old to work. Now he is supported by the Welfare Department and the help a daughter and granddaughter can give.

About the younger generation—"I don't know what gwine come of 'em. The whites is as bad as the blacks." He thinks that present conditions are caused by the sinfulness of the people.

There were no slave uprisings but sometimes when they did not work fast enough or do the task right, they were "whupped" by the overseer and given no food until it was done right.

Oliver came to Arkansas in 1910. He has had two wives and "de Lawd took both of 'em." His second wife was "'ligious" and they "got along fine." All in all he had a good time during his active days "and didn't have no trouble with de white folks". He does not believe God ever intended some of the people to be slaves.



MAY 31 1938 Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Rebecca Brown Hill Brinkley, Arkansas Age: 78

"I was born October 18, 1859 in northeast Mississippi in Chickasaw County. It was close to the Fulton Road to Houston, Mississippi. My folks belong to C. B. Baldwin. After 'mancipation papa stop calling himself Jacob Baldwin and called himself Jacob Brown in his own pa's name. Mama was named Catherine Brown. The same man owned them both. They had twelve children. They lost a child born in 1866. I had two brothers sent to Louisiana as refugees. The place they was sent to was taken by the Yankees and they was taken and the Yankees made soldiers out of them. Charlie died in 1922 in Mobile, Alabama and Lewis after the War joined the United States army. I never saw any grandparents. Mama was born in Baltimore and her mother was born there too as I understood them to say. Mama's father was a white Choctaw Indian. He was a cooper by trade. His name was John Abbot. He sold Harriett, my grandma, and kept mama and her brother. Then he married a white woman and had a white family. Her brother died. That left her alone to wait on that white family. They cut her hair off. She hated that. She loved her long straight black hair. Then her papa, John Abbot (Abbott?), died. Her brother run off and was leaving on a ship on the Potomac River. A woman lost her trunk. They was fishing for it and found mama's brother drowned. He had fell overboard too.