Chapter X: Part 10

"My original name was not Brown. It was Pope. I became Brown after the War was over. I moved on the old Barnes' farm. When the soldiers were mustered out in the end of the War, a lot of soldiers worked on that place. Peter Brown, an old colored soldier mustered out from Memphis, met my mother, courted her, and married her. All the other children that were born to her were called Brown, and the people called her Brown, and just called all the other children Brown too, including me. And I just let it go that way. But my father was named Harrison Pope. He died in the Confederate army out there somewheres around Little Rock. He had violated some of the military laws, and they put him in that thing they had to punish them by, and when they taken him out, he contracted pneumonia and died. I don't know where he is buried. I would to God I did! You know when these Southern armies went along they carried colored stevedores to do the work for them.

Patrollers

"I was a little fellow in the time of the pateroles. If the slaves wanted to go out anywhere, they had to get a pass and they had to be back at a certain time. If they didn't get back, it would be some kind of punishment. The pateroles was a mighty bad thing. If they caught you when you were out without a pass, they would whip you unmercifully, and if you were out too late they would whip you. Wherever colored people had a gathering, them pateroles would be there looking on to see if they could find anybody without a pass. If they did find anybody that couldn't show a pass, they would take him right out and whip him then and there.

Ku Klux

"I know the Ku Klux must have been in use before the War because I remember the business when I was a little bit of a fellow. They had a place out there on Crowley's Ridge they used to meet at. They tried to make the impression that they would be old Confederate soldiers that had been killed in the battle of Shiloh, and they used to ride down from the Ridge hollering, 'Oh! Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!' They would have on those old uniforms and would call for water. And they would have some way of pouring the water down in a bag or something underneath their uniforms so that it would look like they could drink four or five gallons.

"One night when they come galloping down on their horses hollering 'Oh! Lordy, Lordy' like they used to, some Yankee soldiers stationed nearby tied ropes across the road and killed about twenty-five of the horses and broke legs and arms of about ten or fifteen. They never used the ridge any more after that.

Parents

"My father's master was Shep Pope and his wife was named Julia Pope. I can't remember where my father was born but my mother was born in Tuscaloosa County, Alabama. I don't know the names of my grandfather and grandmother on either side.

Slave Houses

"The old slave house was a log house built out of hewed logs. The logs were scalped on each side to give it the appearance of a box house. And they said the logs would fit together better, too. They would chink up the cracks with grass and dirt--what they called 'dob'. That is what they called chinking to keep the wind and rain out.

"I was born in a one-room hut with a clapboard room on one side for the kitchen and storeroom. They would go out in the woods and split out the clapboards. My mother had eight of we children in that room at one time.

Furniture

"As to furniture, well, we had benches for chairs. They were made out of punching four holes in a board and putting sticks in there for legs. That is what we sat on. Tables generally were nailed up with two legs out and with the wall to support the other side. The beds were made in a corner with one leg out and the two walls supporting the other sides. They called that bed the 'Georgia Horse'. We had an old cupboard made up in a corner.

Food

"Food was generally kept in the old cupboard my mother had. When she had too much for the cupboard, she put it in an old chist.

Right After the War

"My mother had eight children to feed. After the emancipation she had to hustle for all of them. She would go up to work--pick cotton, pull corn, or what not, and when she came home at night she had on old dog she called 'Coldy'. She would go out and say, 'Coldy, Coldy, put him up.' And a little later, we would hear Coldy bark and she would go out and Coldy would have something treed. And she would take whatever he had-'possum, coon, or what not-and she would cook it, and we would have it for breakfast the next morning.

"Mother used to go out on neighboring farms and they would give her the scraps when they killed hogs and so on. One night she was coming home with some meat when she was attacked by wolves. Old Coldy was along and a little yellow dog. The dogs fought the wolves and while they were fighting, she slipped home. Next morning old Coldy showed up cut almost in two where the wolves had bitten him. We bandaged him up and took care of him. And he lived for two or more years. The little yellow dog never did show up no more. Mother said that the wolves must have killed and eaten him.

Schooling

"I put in about one month schooling when I was a boy about six or seven years old. Then I moved into St. Francis County and went two weeks to a subscription school a few miles below Forrest City. Later I went back and took the examination in Cross County and passed it, and taught for a year. I got the bulk of my education by lamp light reading. I have done some studying in other places--three years in Shorter College where I got the degreee of B.D. and D.D. at the age of fifty-five. I have preached for fifty-seven years and actually pastored for forty-four years. I followed farming in my early days. When I first married my wife, we farmed there for ten or twelve years before I entered the ministry. I have been married fifty-seven years.

Marriage

"I was married January 15, 1882. I am now in the fifty-seventh year of marriage. My wife was named Mary Ellen Stubbs. She was from Baldwyn, Mississippi. They moved from Mississippi about the winter of 1880 and they made one crop in Arkansas before we married. They stopped in our county and attended our church. I met her in that way. The most remarkable thing was that during the time I was acquainted with her our pastor became incapacitated and I took charge of the church. I ran a revival and she was converted during the revival. But she joined the C.M.E. Church. I belong to the A.M.E.

Slave Sales

"I remember my mother carrying the children from the Bill Neely place to the Pope place. That Saturday evening after we got there, there came along some slave traders. They had with them as I remember some ten or twelve boys and girls and some old folks that were able to work. They had them chained. I asked my mother what they were going to do with them and she said they were carrying them to Louisiana to work on a cane farm. One boy cried a lot. The next morning they put those slaves in the road and drove them down to Wittsbarg the same as you would drive a drove of cattle, Wittsburg was where they caught the boat to go down to Louisiana. That was the best mode of travel in those days.

Opinions

"In a few words, my opinion of the present is that our existence as Democrats and Republicans is about played out.

"If Mr. Roosevelt is elected for a third term, I think we will go into a dictatorship just as Russia, Germany, and Italy have already done. I think we are nearer to that now than we heve ever been before. I do not think that Mr. Roosevelt will become a dictator, but I do believe that his being elected a third time will cause some one else to become dictator. My opinion is that he is neither Democrat nor Republican.

"Our young people are advancing from a literary point of view, but I claim that they are losing out along moral lines. I don't believe that we value morals as well as the people did years ago who didn't know so much. I believe that the whole nation, white and black, is losing moral stamina. They do not think it is bad to kill a man, take another man's wife or rob a bank, or anything else. They desecrate the churches by carrying anything into the church. There is no sacred place now. Carnivals and everything else are carried to the church.

"If Mr. Roosevelt is not reelected again, the country is going to have one of the bloodiest wars it has ever had because we have so many European doctrines coming into the United States. I have been living seventy-eight years, and I never thought that I would live to see the day when the government would reach out and take hold of things like it has done--the WPA, the FERA, and the RFC, and other work going on today. We are headed for communism and we are going to get in a bloody war. There are hundreds of men going 'round who believe in communism but who don't want it to be known now."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Maggie Broyles. Forrest City. Arkansas Age: About 80?

"I was born in Decatur, Tennessee. Mother was sold on the block at public auction in St. Louis. Master Bob Young bought a boy and a girl. My father was a full-blood Irishman. His name was Lassiter. She didn't have no more children by him. He was hired help on Bob Young's place.

"Bob Young had one thousand five hundred acres of land. He had several farms. Little Hill and Creek farms. They had a rock walk from the kitchen to the house. I slept in a little trunnel bed under my mother's mistress' bed. The bed was corded and had a crank. They used no slats in them days. We called Master Bob Young's wife Miss Nippy; her name was Par/nel/i/py. They was good old people. His boys was rough. They drunk and wasted the property.

"The white folks had feather beds and the slaves had grass beds. We'd pull grass and cure it. It made a'good bed. Miss Nippy learnt us to work. I know how to do near 'bout anything now. She kept an ash hopper dripping all the time. We made all our soap and lye hominy by the washpots full. Mother cooked and washed and kept house. She took the lead wid the house-work. Miss Nippy ride off when she got ready. Mother went right on wid the work. I took care of the chickens and took the cows to the pasture. I helped to wash clothes. I stood on a block to turn meat. We had a brick stove and a grill to fry meat on. We had good clothes and good to eat. After I was grown I'd go back to see Miss Nippy. She raised me. She say, 'I thought so much of your mama. I love you. I hope you live a long time.' Mama had a hard time and Miss Nippy knowd all about it.

"After Bob Young bought mother he went back and bought Aunt Sarah. They growed up together. They could dance with a glass of water on their heads and never spill a drap.

"Ma said when she married they had a corn shucking and a big dinner four o'clock in the morning. Her name was Luiza. She had two children by him. Aunt Jane on Welches place took him away from her. He quit mother cold to go wid her. After freedom she married Ben Pitts. The way she married at the corn shucking, they jumped over the broom back'ards and Master Bob Young 'nounced it. She was killed no time after freedom, but she had had six children. Miss Nippy kept me. She was good to me and trained me to read. We all never left after freedom. I never left till I was good and grown.

"I always thought Master Bob Young buried his money during the War. Children wasn't allowed to watch and ask questions. I was standing in the chimney corner and seen him bury a box of something in the flower garden. I was in Miss Nippy's room. I never did know if it was money or what. He had a old yaller dog followed him all the time. Truman was a speckled dog set about on the front porch to bark.

"Sam, the boy that was bought when I was in St. Louis, was hard to control. Bob Young beat him. He died. They said he killed him. They buried him in the white folks' cemetery.

"They celebrated Christmas visiting and big parties. We would have eggnog and ten or fifteen cakes. Master Bob Young was a consumptive. He had it thirty-five years. They all died out with it. They kept a big ten or fifteen gallon demijohn with willow woven around the bottom full of whiskey, all the time upstairs. They kept the door locked.

"I stole miny ah drink. Find the door unlocked. I got too much one time. It made me sick. I thought I had a chill. She thought I been upstairs. They was particular with the children, both black and white then. They put the children to bed by sundown and they would set around the fire and talk. She raised Elnora and the baby Altona after mother got killed. She give them good clothes and good to eat. Their papa took the boy. He left after mother got killed. We took a pride in the place like it was our own. We didn't know but what it was our very own.

"We had a acre in garden. We raised everything. We had three or four thousand pounds of meat and three cribs of corn. I ketched it when I left them. I made thirty-three crops in my life. My children all grown and gone. My son-in-law died. He had dropsy eight months. He had a dead liver. I've wanted since he died. I've had a hard time since he died. He was a worker and so good to us all.

"Mother worked with a white woman. Mother was full-blood Indian herself. The woman's husband got to dealing with his daughter. She had three babies in all. They said they put them up in the ceiling, up in a loft. This old man got mad with Bob Young and burnt his gin. Mother seen him slipping around. They ask her but she wouldn't tell on him, for she didn't see him set it on fire. They measured the tracks. He got scared mother would tell on him. One night a colored man on the place come over. Her husband was gone somewhere and hadn't got home. She was cooking supper. They heard somebody but thought it was a pig come around. Hogs run out all time. The step was a big limestone rock. She opened the door and put the hot lid of the skillet on it to cool. Stood it up sideways. Then they heard a noise at that door. It was pegged. So she went along with the cooking. It wasn't late. He found a crack at the side of the stick and dirt chimney, put the muzzle of the gun in there and shot her through her heart. The man flew. She struggled to the edge of the bed and fell. The children was asleep and I was afraid to move. The moon come up. I couldn't get her on the bed. I put a pillow under her head and a quilt over her, but I didn't think she was dead. The baby cried in the night. I was so scared I put the eight-months-old baby down under there to nurse. It nursed. She was dead then, I think now. When four o'clock come it was daylight. The little brother said, 'I know what's the matter, our mama's dead.' I went up to Mr. Bob Young's. He brought the coroners. I was so young I was afraid they was going to take us to jail. I asked little brother what they said they was going to do. He said, 'They are going to bury mama in a heep (deep) hole. They set out after her husband and chased him clear off. They thought he shot her by him not coming home that night and her cooking supper for him.

"This white man left and went to Texas. His wife said the best woman in Decatur had been killed. They put him on the gallows for killing his daughter's babies, three of them and put them in the loft. He told how he killed mother. He had murdered four. He was afraid mother would tell about him. She knowd so much. She didn't tell. Indians don't tell. She was with his girl when the first baby was born, but she thought it died and she thought the girl come home visiting, so his wife said she had told her to keep her from telling. It was a bad disgrace. His wife was a good, humble, kind woman.

"Master Bob Young sent for Ben Pitts after they'd run him off, and he let him have his pick of us. He took the boy and lived on the place. Her other husband come and got his two children. Miss Nippy took our baby girl and the other little girl. I was raised up at her house, so she kept me on. Kept us all till we married off.

"I'd feel foolish to go try to vote. I'm too old now.

"I don't get help from the government yet. We are having a hard time to scratch around and not go hungry."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Ida Bryant, Hazea. Arkansas (Very very black Negro woman) Age: 61

"My mother was Hulda Williams. Grandpa was Jack Williams. Her mistress was a widow woman in slavery times. They lived in Louisiana. I was born close to Bastrop in Morehouse Parish. My father died when I was ten years old. He was old. I was a child. Things look different to you then you know. Grandpa was Hansen Terry, grandma Aggie Terry. They called pa Major Terry but he belong to Bill Talbot. Hansen Terry was a free man. _He molded his own money._ He died in South Carolina. Pa come from Edgefield, South Carolina to Alabama. Stayed there awhile then come on to Louisiana. He slipped off from his master. Between South Carolina and Louisiana he walked forty miles. He rode all the other time. My folks always farmed.

"Times have been getting some better all along since I was a chile. Times is a heap better now than I ever seen in my life. The young men depends on their wives to cook and make a living. They don't work much--none of em. We old niggers doin' the wash in' and the young women doin' cookin' and easy jobs. None of the men ain't workin' to do no good! A few months in the year ain't no workin'.

"I get commodities. I owns this house now. I bout paid it out. I washes three washin's a week. The rest of the time I pieces up quilts for myself. I need cover."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Belle Buntin, Marianne, Arkansas Age: Up in 80's

"I never was sold. I was born in Oakland, Mississippi. My master said he wanted all he raised. He never sold one. He bought my mother in Lexington County. She was a field hand. Our owners was Master Johnson Buntin and Mistress Sue Buntin. They had two children--Bob and Fannie. He had a big plantation and four families of slaves. Charlotte was the cook. Myra worked at the house and in the field. He had seven little colored boys and two little colored girls. I spent most of my time up at the house playing with Bob and Fannie. When mistress whooped one she whooped all three. She would whoop us for stealing her riding horse out. We would bridle it and all three ride and ride. We got several whoopings about that.

"I have seen colored folks sold at Oakland. They had a block and nigger traders come. One trader would go and see a fine baby. He keep on till he got it. I've seen them take babies from the mother's arm and if the mother dare cry, they would git a beatin'. They look like they bust over their grief.

"If you was out after seven o'clock the patrollers git you. They would beat and take you home. Some masters say to them, 'You done right,' and some say, 'You bring my hands home; I'll whoop them myself.'

"The patrollers caught one of Gaddises women and whooped her awful for coming to town on Sunday. I never did know why she went to town that way.

"That selling was awful and crowds come to see how they sell. They acted like it was a picnic. Some women was always there, come with their husbands. Some women sold slaves and some bought them.

"I never did see none sell naked. I seen men took from their wives and mothers and children. Let me tell you they didn't have no squalling around or they would get took off and a beating.

"Master Alex Buntin was Dr. Buntin. He said, 'I worked like one of my slaves and bought my slaves with what I made and I am not going to have them 'bused by the patrollers. George and Kit and Johnson was his cousins. Kit wasn't so good to his slaves.

"It was my job to brush the flies off the table. I had a fly brush. I would eat out of Bob's and Fannie's plates. Miss Sue say, 'Bell, I'm going to whoop you.' I say, 'Miss Sue, please don't, I'm hungry too.' She say, 'You stop playing and eat first next time.' Then she'd put some more on their plates. We sat on a bench at the table. We et the same the white folks did all cooked up together.

"One time Dr. Buntin got awful mad. The dogs found some whiskey in a cave one of his slaves had hid there. They would steal and hide it in a cave. He got a beating and they washed it in salt water to keep them from getting sore and stiff.

"Some folks kept dogs trained to hunt runaway niggers. They was fat, and you better not hit one or hurt it if it did bite or you would git a awful beating.

"Master Alex was a legislator. He had to leave when the Yankees come through. They killed all the legislators. I loved him. He run a store and we three children went to the store to see him nearly every day. He took us all three on his knees at the some time. I loved him. When he was gone, I said, 'Miss Sue, where is Master Alex?' She say, 'Maybe he be back pretty soon.' While he was gone they had a battle in a little skirt of woods close by. We hung to Miss Sue's skirt tail. I seen the Yankees run by on horses and some walking. Mr. Jordan, a southern soldier, was shot in his ribs. Mr. Buford was shot in his knee. Some of the other southern soldiers drug them up to our house. Miss Sue nursed them. I think they got well and went home.

"Three days before Master Alex left they sent all the stock off and put the turkeys and geese under the house, and chickens too. It was dark so they kept pretty quiet. When the Yankees got there they stripped the smoke-house. We had a lots of meat and they busted the storehouse open and strowed (strewed) meat and flour all along the road. They hired Mammy (Charlotte) to cook a big meal for them. She told the man she was 'fraid Miss Sue whoop her. He said, 'Whooping time near 'bout out.' He asked her 'bout some chickens but she wasn't goin' to tell him 'cause it was her living too for them to waste up. They never found the geese, turkeys, and chickens. They rambled all through the house looking for Master Alex and went through every drawer and closet upstairs and down. It was scandalous. They had Miss Sue walking and crying and us three children clinging to her skirt tail scared to death and crying too. When they left, the big lieutenant rode off ahead on a fine gray horse. They come back when we just got the table sot and et every crumb of our dinner. They was a lively gang. I hate 'em. I was hungry. Rations was scarce. They wasted the best we had. Master Alex hod three stores and he kept the middle one.

Freedom

"Mistress told all Master Alex's slaves they had been freed. The men all left. My mother left and took me. I got mad and went back and lived there till I married. Master Alex come back after two weeks. My mother soon died after the surrender. She died at Batesville, Mississippi. Lots of the slaves died. Their change of living killed lots of 'em. My father lived on Sam Bronoy's (Branough's) place. Master Alex wanted to buy him but he took him on to Texas before I was born. I never did see him.

"I been farming, cooking, wash and iron along. I been in Arkansas twelve or fourteen years.

"How am I supported? I'm not much supported. My boy don't have work much of the time. I don't get the pension. I trusts in the Lord. I belong to New Bethel Baptist Church down here.

"Times--I don't know what to think. My race is the under folks and I don't never say nothing to harm 'em. I'm one of 'em. Times is hardest in my life. I have to sit. I can't walk a step--creeping paralysis."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Parson interviewed: Jeff Burgess, Clarendon, Arkansas Age: Born in 1664 or 1865, forgot which

"I was born in Granville, Texas. My master was Strathers Burgess and mistress Polly Burgess. My master died 'fore I was born. He died on the way to Texas, trying to save his slaves. Keep them from leaving him and from going into the war. They didn't want to fight. His son was killed in the war. My folks didn't know they was free till three years after the war was over. They come back to Caloche Bay, the old home place. There was a bureau at De Valls Bluff. They had to let the slaves go and they was citizens then. My folks wasn't very anxious to leave the white owners because times was so funny and they didn't have nowhere to go. The courts was torn up powerful here in Arkansas.

"Heap of meanness going on right after the war. One man tell you do this and another man say you better not do that you sho get in trouble. It was hard to go straight. They said our master was a good man but awful rough wid his slaves and the hands overseeing too. Guess he was rough wid his family too.

"Times is hard with me, I gits $10 pension every month. I got no home now. I got me three hogs. I lives three miles from here (Clarendon).

"If I wasn't so old and no account I'd think the times the best ever. It's bad when you get old. I jess sees the young folks. I don't know much about them. Seems lack they talk a lot of foolish chat to me. I got a lot and a half in town. They tore down my house and toted it off for fire wood. It was rented. Then they moved out and wouldn't pay no rent. They kept doing that way. I never had a farm of my own.

"I was good with a saw and axe. I cleared land and farmed. Once I worked on the railroad they was building. I drove pile mostly. Farming is the best job and the best place to make a living. I found out that myself."

Interviewer: Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Norman Burkes 2305 West Eleventh Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 78

"I didn't quite make slavery. Me and freedom came here together.

"I was born in Union County, Arkansas. My mother was born in Virginia and my father was an Alabamian.

"I've heered 'em say how they done in slavery times. Whupped 'em and worked 'em and didn't feed 'em much. Said they'd average about three pounds of meat a week and a peck of meal, a half gallon of molasses. That was allowed the hands for a week. No sugar and no coffee. And they'd issue flour on Saturday so they could have Sunday morning biscuits.

"My father was sold to Virginia and he and my mother was married there and they moved with their white people here to Arkansas.

"They called their owner old Master. Yes'm, I can remember him. Many times as he whipped me I ought to remember him. I never will forget that old man. They claimed he was pretty good to 'em. He didn't whup 'em much, I don't think.

"If my mother was livin' she could tell you everything about Virginia. She was one hundred and two when she died. My folks is long livers.

"My oldest brother was sold in Virginia and shipped down into Texas about ten years before I was born and I ain't never seen him.

"They sold wives from their husbands and children from their parents and they couldn't help it. Just like this war business. Come and draft 'em and they couldn't help it.

"I think the way things is now, they're goin to build up another war."

Extra Comment

I was interviewing this man on the front porch and at this point, he got up and went into the house, so the interview was ended as far as he was concerned.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertaon Person interviewed: Will Burks, Sr. Pine City, Ark.--5 mi. from Holly Grove Age: 75

"My parents names was Katherine Hill and Bill Burks. They had five boys and three girls. Their owners fur as I knows was Frank and Polly Burks. They had a heap of slaves. They was good white folks. My folks stayed on two or three years. They was both field hands. They had to go to the house and Master Frank Burks told em they was free. In 1880 Judge Scott paid their way and I come wid them to Forrest City. There was a crowd. He bought em out here to farm. We come Christmas 1880. I never will forgit that. It was jes different in a new country and left some of our folks an all that.

"I was born close to Columbia, Tennessee. I used to see the soldiers pass long the big road, both sides. Seem lack theyd be in strings a mile long. I never heard much bout the war. They wouldn't let white nor black children set round and hear what they was talkin' bout. Why they send em off to play--build playhouses outer rocks and hay, leaves, any little thing they throw way we take it to play house. White children played together then cause it was a long ways between white folks house, and colored children raised up wid em. I don't see none that now.

"One thing I done a long time was stay at the toll gate. They had a heap of em when I was a boy. The fences was rock or rail and big old wooden gates round and on it marked, "Toll Gate." I'd open and shut the gate. Walkers go free. Horseback riders--fifteen cents. Buggies--twenty-five cents. Wagons--fifty cents. The state broke that up and made new roads. Some they changed a little and used. After that I stand 'bout on roads through fields--short ways folks went but where the farmers had to keep closed up on count of the crops. I open and shut the gate. They'd throw me a nickel. That was first money I made--stayin' at toll gates about Columbia, Tennessee.

"Ku Klux come to our house and took my papa off wid em. Mama was cryin', she told us children they was goiner hurt him. I recollect all bout it. They thought my papa knowed about some man bein' killed. My papa died wid knots on his neck where they hung him up wid ropes. It hurt him all his life after that. It made him sick what all they done to him tryin' to make him tell who killed somebody. He was laid up a long time. I recollect that. When they found out papa didn't know nothin' bout it, they said they was sorry they done him so mean.

"I vote a Republican ticket lack my papa till I cluded it not the party, it is the man that rules right. I voted fur Mr. Roosevelt. I know he is. (A Democrat) I know'd it when I voted for him. Times is tough but they was worse 'fo he got elected. Things you buy gets higher and higher that makes it bad. We got two hogs, one cow, few chickens and a home. I owns my home for a fact. My wife is 73. I am purty nigh 75 years old. What make it hard on us, we is bout wore out.

"I been farmin' and carpenterin' all my life. Last years I been farmin' wid Mr. L.M. Osborne at Osborne. We work forty acres and made 57 bales. I had a team and he had a team. So I worked it on halves. That was long time ago. In 1929 I believe. Best farmin' I ever done. We got twenty cents pound."

Interviewer: Mrs. Annie L. LaCotts Person interviewed: Adeline Burris, DeWitt, Arkansas Age; 91

Adeline Burris is a little old white-haired wrinkled-faced mulatto or yellow Negro woman who says she was old enough to be working in the fields when the war began. According to her story she must have been about 14 then, which would make her at least 90 years old now. She looks as though she might be a hundred. She is stooped and very feeble but can get around some days by the help of a stout walking stick; at other times she cannot leave her bed for days at a time. She owns nothing and is living in the home of her daughter-in-law who is kind to her and cares for her as best she can. She says she was born in Murry County, Tennessee. Columbia was the county seat. When asked if she was born during slavery time she said, "Yes, honey, my mammy was one of de slaves what belonged to Mr. Billie and Miss Liza Renfroe. Lord bless her heart she was good to my mammy and her chillun! I had two little brothers, twins, and when dey come to dis world I can remember how our old mistress would come every day to see about dem and my mammy. She'd bring things to eat, clothes for the babies and everything else. Yes sir! My mother didn't want for _anything_ as long as she stayed with Miss Liza, not even after de Negroes was _freed_. When I was a little girl I was give to my young mistress, and I stayed with her till my folks was coning to Arkansas and I come too."

"Why did your folks move to Arkansas?"

"Well, you see we heard this was a good country and there was a white man come there to get a lot of niggers to farm for him down on the river and we come with him. He brought a lot of families on a big boat called a flatboat. We were days and nights floating down the river. We landed at St. Charles. I married in about two years and haven't ever lived anywhere else but Arkansas County and I've always been around good white folks. I'd been cold and hungry a lot of times if it wasn't for some of dese blessed white folkes' chillen; dey comes to see me and brings me things to eat and clothes too, sometimes."

"How many tines did you marry, Aunt Add.?"

"Just one time; and I just had four chillen, twins, two times. One child died out of each sit--just left me and Becky and Bob. Bob and Dover, his wife, couldn't get along but I think most of it's his fault, for Dover's just as good to me as she can be. My own child couldn't be better to me den she is.

"I don't know, honey, but looks to me like niggers was better off in dem days den they are now. I know dey was if dey had good white folks like we did. Dey didn't have to worry about rent, clothes, nor sumpin to eat. Dat was there for them. All they had to do was work and do right. Course I guess our master might not of been so good and kind ef we had been mean and lazy, but you know none of us ever got a whippin' in our life.

"Honey, come back to see Aunt Add. sometime. I likes to talk to you."

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Jennie Butler 3012 Short Main Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: Between 103 and 107

[HW: Nurses ? ? ?][TR: Illegible]

"I was born February 10, 1831 in Richmond, Virginia. I was a nurse raised by our white folks in the house with the Adamses. Sue Stanley (white and Indian) was my godmother, or 'nursemother' they called em then. She was a sister-in-law to Jay Goold's wife. She married an Adams. I wasn't raised a little nigger child like they is in the South. I was raised like people. I wasn't no bastard. My father was Henry Crittenden, an Indian full blooded Creek. He was named after his father, Henry Crittenden. My mother's name was Louisa Virginia. Her parents were the Gibsons, same nationality as her husband. My 'nursemother' was a white woman, but she had English and Indian blood in her. My mother and father were married to each other just like young people are nowadays. None of my people were slaves and none of them owned any slaves.

House

"In Richmond, they lived in a little log cabin. Before I had so much trouble I could tell you all about it, but I never forget that little log cabin. That is near Oak Grove where Lincoln and Garfield and Nat Turner met and talked about slavery.

Furniture

"We had oak furniture. We had a tall bed with a looking glass in the back of it, long bolsters, long pillow cases just like we used to make long infant dresses. There were four rooms in the cabin. It was in the city. The kitchen was a little off from the house. You reached it by going through a little portico.

Food

"We ate bananas, oranges, hazelnuts, apples, fruit for every month in the year for breakfast, batter cakes, egg bread. The mornings we had egg bread we had flesh. For dinner and supper we had milk and butter and some kind of sweetness, and bread, of course. We had a boiled dinner. We raised everything-even peanuts.

Clothes

"We made everything we wore. Raised and made the cloth and the leather, and the clothes and the shoes.

Contacts with Slaves and Slave Owners

"I don't know nothin' about slavery. I didn't have nothin' to do with them folks. We picked em up on our way in our travels and they had been treated like dogs and hadn't been told they were free. We'd tell em they was free and let em go.

Leaving Richmond

"All I can tell you is that we come on down and never stopped until we got to Memphis, and we tarried there twenty-five years. We came through Louisiana and Georgia on our way out here and picked up many slaves who didn't know they was free. They was using these little boats when we came out here. In Louisiana and Georgia when we came out here, they weren't thinkin' bout telling the niggers they were free. And they weren't in Clarksville either. We landed in Little Rock and made it our headquarters.

Occupations

"Christian work has been the banner of my life-labor work, giving messages about the Bible, teaching. Mostly they kept me riding--I mean with the doctors. When we were riding, the doctors didn't go in a mother's room; he sent the rider in. They call em nurses now and handle them indifferently. The doctor jus' stopped in the parlor and made his money jus' sitting there and we women did all the work. In 1912, I gave up my riding license. It was too rough for me in Arkansas. And then they wouldn't allow me anything either.

"Now I have a poor way of making a living because they have taken away everything from me. I prays and lives by the Bible. I can't get nothin' from my husband's endowment. He was an old soldier in the Civil War on the Confederate side and I used to get $30 a month from Pine Bluff. He was freed there. Wilson was President at the time I put in for an increase for him in the days of his sickness. He was down sick thirty years and only got $30 a month. The pension was increased to $60 for about one year. He died in 1917, March 10, and was in his ninetieth year or more from what he told me. The picture shows it too.

Voting

"Paying my taxes was the votin' I ever done. They never could get me to gee nor haw. There wasn't any use voting when you can see what's on the future before you. I never had many colored friends. None that voted. And very few Indians and just a few others. And them that stood by me all the while, they're sleeping.

Thoughts of Young People

"Don't know nothin' bout these young folks today. Don't nothin' spoil a duck but his bill. I have had a hard time. I am heavy and I'm jus' walkin' bout. A little talk with Jesus is all I have. I'll fall on my knees and I'll walk as Jesus says. My heart's bleeding. I know I'm not no more welcome than a dog.

"I pays for this little shack and when you come to see me, you might as well come to that kitchen door. I ain't going to use no deceit with nobody. I'll show you the hole I have to go in."

Interviewer's Comment

I understand that Sister Butler gets a pension of $5 a month. Although her voice is vigorous, her mental powers are somewhat weak. She cannot remember the details of anything at all.

She evidently had heard something about Nat Turner, but it would be hard to tell what. The Nat Turner Rebellion, so called, a fanatical affair which was as much opposed by the Negroes as by the whites, took place in Southampton County, Virginia, in August and September 1831, the same year in which Jennie Butler claims birth. She would naturally hear something about it, but she does not remember what.

She had a newspaper clipping undated and minus the reading matter showing her husband's picture, and another showing herself, February 10, 1938, The Arkansas Democrat.

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: E.L. Byrd 618 N. Cedar, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 76

"I was born in 1862. I just can remember the Yankees. They come through there and got horses and money and anything else they wanted. To my reasoning that's the reason the North has got more now. They got all the money they could find. And they took one fellow belonged to the same man I did.

"My owner's name was Jack Byrd. We stayed with him about a year and then we farmed for ourselves.

"I never went to school much.

"My mother was a widow woman and I had to work. That was in South Carolina.

"I come to Arkansas in 1890. I didn't marry till I was about thirty-seven. I got one child living. That's my daughter; I live with her. She's a bookkeeper for Perry's Undertaking Company.

"When I come to Arkansas I stopped down here in Ashley County. I farmed till I come to Pine Bluff. I been here forty years. I worked at the stave mills. I just worked for three different firms in forty years.

"I used to own this place, but I had to let it go on account of taxes. Then my daughter bought it in.

"I been tryin' to get a pension but don't look like I'm go in' to get it.

"I have to stay here with these children while my daughter works. It takes all she makes to keep things goin'."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson. Person interviewed: Emmett Augasta Byrd, Marianna, Arkansas Age: 83

"I was born in Washington County, Missouri. I'm eighty-three years old. Mother's owner was William Byrd. He got killed in a dispute over a horse. A horse trader shot him. His name was Cal Dony.[TR: There is a mark that may be a line over the 'o' or a tilde over the 'n'.] Father's owner was Byrd too. Mother was Miss Harriett Byrd's cook. Yes, I knowed her very well. I was nine years old when I was stole.

"Me and my older brother was both stole. His name was Hugh Byrd. We was just out. It was in September. A gang out stealing horses stole us. It was when Price made his last raid to Missouri. It was some of the soldiers from his gang. We was playing about. They overtook us and let us ride, then they wouldn't let us git off. They would shot us if we had. In a few days we was so far off. We cried and worried a heap.

"It was eighteen years before I see my mother. The old snag I was riding give out and they was leading so they changed me. I cried two or three days. They didn't pay my crying no 'tention. They had a string of nigger men and boys, no women, far as from me 'cross to that bank. I judge it is three hundred yards over there.

"After the battle of Big Blue River my man got killed and another man had charge of me and somebody else went off with my brother. I never seen him. That battle was awful, awful, awful! Well, I certainly was scared to death. They never got out of Missouri with my brother. In 1872 he went to St. Louis to my mother. She was cooking there. My father went with the Yankees and was at Jefferson Barracks in the army during the War. He was there when we got stole but she went later on before he died. He was there three months. He took pneumonia. They brought me in to Kansas and back by Ft. Smith.

"Talking about hard times, war times is all the hard times I ever seen. No foolin'! It was really hard times. We had no bread, shoot down a cow and cut out what we wanted, take it on. We et it raw. Sometimes we would cook it but we et more raw than cooked. When we got to Ft. Smith we struck good times. Folks was living on parched corn and sorghum molasses. They had no mills to grind up the corn. Times was hard they thought. Further south we come better times got. When we landed at Arkadelphia we stayed all night and I was sold next day. Mr. Spence was the hotel keeper. He bought me. He give one hundred fifty dollars and a fine saddle horse for me. I never heard the trade but that is what I heard 'em say afterwards. Mr. Spence was a cripple man. John Merrican left me. He been mean to me. He was rough. Hit me over the head, beat me. He was mean. He lived down 'bout Warren, down somewhere in the southern part of the state. I never seen him no more. Mr. Spence was good to me since I come to think about it but then I didn't think so. We had plenty plain victuals at the hotel. He meant to be good to me but I expected too much I reckon. Then it being a public place I heard lots what was said around. I come to think I ought to be treated good as the boarders. Now I see it different. Mr. Spence walked on a stick and a crutch. He couldn't be very cruel to me if he had wanted to. He wasn't mean a bit. I was the bellboy and swept 'round some and gardened.

"In 1866, in May, I run off. I went to Dallas County across Ouachita River. I stayed there with Matlocks and Russells and Welches till I was good and grown. Mr. Spence never tried to find me. I hoped he would. They wasn't so bad but I had to work harder. They never give me nothing. I seen Mr. Spence twice after I left but he never seen me. If he did he never let on. I never seen his wife no more after I left her. I didn't see him for four years after I left, then in three more years I seen him but the hotel had burned.

Freedom

"Mr. Spence told me I was free. I didn't leave. I didn't have sense to know where to go. I didn't know what freedom was. So he went to the free mens' bureau and had me bound to him till I was twenty-one years old. He told me what he had done. He was to clothe me, feed me, send me to school so many months a year, give me a horse and bridle and saddle and one hundred fifty dollars when I was twenty-one years old. That would have been eight or nine years. Seemed too long a time to wait. I thought I could do better than that. I never done half that good. I never went to school a day in my life. I was sorry I run off after it was too late.

"I heard too much talking at the hotel. They argued a whole heap more than they do now. They set around and talk about slavery and freedom and everything else. It made me restless and I run off. I was ashamed to be seen much less go back. Folks used to have shame.

Ku Klux

"In 1868 I lived with John Welch one year. I seen the going out and coming in. I heard what they was doing. I wasn't afraid of them then. I lived with one of 'em and I wasn't afraid of 'em. I learned a good deal about it. They called it uprising and I found out their purpose was to hold down the nigger. They said they wanted to make them submissive. They catch 'em and beat 'em half to death. I heard they hung some of 'em. No, I didn't see it. I knew one or two they beat. They took some of the niggers right out of the cotton patch and dressed them up and drilled 'em. When they come back they was boastful. Then they had to beat it out of 'em. Some of 'em didn't want to go back to work. Since I growed up I thought it out that Mr. Spence was reasonably good to me but I didn't think so then. It was a restlessness then like it is now 'mong the young class of folks. The truth is they don't know what they want nor what to do and they don't do nothing much no time.