Chapter II: Part 2

"My mother's father was a free Indian named Washington. Her mother was a slave. I don't know my father's father. He moved about so much and was sold so many times he never did tell me his father. He got his name from the white folks. When you're a slave you have to go by your owner's name.

"My master's mother took me to the house after my mother died. And the first thing I remember doing was cleaning up. Bringing water, putting up mosquito-bars, cooking. My master's mother was Susan Reed. I have done everything but saw. I never sawed in my life. The hardest work I did was after slavery. I never did no hard work during slavery. I used to pack water for the plow hands and all such as that. But when my mother died, my mistress took me to the house.

"But Lawd! I've seen such brutish doin's--runnin' niggers with hounds and whippin' them till they was bloody. They used to put 'em in stocks. When they didn't put 'em in stocks, used to be two people would whip 'em--the overseer and the driver. The overseer would be a man named Elijah at our house. He was just a poor white man. He had a whip they called the BLACK SNAKE.

"I remember one time they caught a man named George Tinsley. They put the dogs on him and they bit 'im and tore all his clothes off of 'im. Then they put 'im in the stocks. The stocks was a big piece of timber with hinges in it. It had a hole in it for your head. They would lift it up and put your head in it. There was holes for your head, hands and feet in it. Then they would shut it up and they would lay that whip on you and you couldn't do nothin' but wiggle and holler, 'Pray, master, pray!' But when they'd let that man out, he'd run away again.

"They would make the slaves work till twelve o'clock on Sunday, and then they would let them go to church. The first time I was sprinkled, a white preacher did it; I think his name was Williams.

"The preacher would preach to the white folks in the forenoon and to the colored folks in the evening. The white folks had them hired. One of them preachers was named Hackett; another, Williams; and another, Gowan. There was five of them but I just remember them three. One man used to hold the slaves so late that they had to go to the church dirty from their work. They would be sweaty and smelly. So the preacher 'buked him 'bout it. That was old man Bill Rose.

"The niggers didn't go to the church building; the preacher came and preached to them in their quarters. He'd just say, 'Serve your masters. Don't steal your master's turkey. Don't steal your master's chickens. Don't steal your master's hawgs. Don't steal your master's meat. Do whatsomeever your master tells you to do.' Same old thing all the time.

"My father would have church in dwelling houses and they had to whisper. My mother was dead and I would go with him. Sometimes they would have church at his house. That would be when they would want a real meetin' with some real preachin'. It would have to be durin' the week nights. You couldn't tell the difference between Baptists and Methodists then. They was all Christians. I never saw them turn nobody down at the communion, but I have heard of it. I never saw them turn no pots down neither; but I have heard of that. They used to sing their songs in a whisper and pray in a whisper. That was a prayer-meeting from house to house once or twice--once or twice a week.

"Old Phipps whipped me once. He aimed to kill me but I got loose. He whipped me about a colored girl of his'n that he had by a colored woman. Phipps went with a colored woman before he married his wife. He had a girl named Martha Ann Phipps. I beat Martha 'bout a pair of stockings. My mistress bought me a nice pair of stockings from the store. You see, they used to knit the stockings. I wore the stockings once; then I washed them and put them on the fence to dry. Martha stole them and put them on. I beat her and took them off of her. She ran and told her father and he ran me home. He couldn't catch me, and he told me he'd get me. I didn't run to my father. I run to my mistress, and he knew he'd better not do nothin' then. He said, 'I'll get you, you little old black some thin'.' Only he didn't say 'somethin'.' He didn't get me then.

"But one day he caught me out by his house. I had gone over that way on an errand I needn't have done. He had two girls hold me. They was Angeline and Nancy. They didn't much want to hold me anyhow. Some niggers would catch you and kill you for the white folks and then there was some that wouldn't. I got loose from them. He tried to hold me hisself but he couldn't. I got away and went back to my old mistress and she wrote him a note never to lay his dirty hands on me again. A little later her brother, Johnson Chatman, came there and ran him off the place. My old mistress' name was Susan Chatman before she married. Then she married Toliver. Then she married Reed. She married Reed last--after Toliver died.

"One old lady named Emily Moorehead runned in and held my mother once for Phipps to whip her. And my mother was down with consumption too. I aimed to git old Phipps for that. But then I got religion and I couldn't do it. Religion makes you forgit a heap of things.

"Susan Reed, my old mistress, bought my father and paid fifteen hundred dollars for him and she hadn't never seen 'im. Advertising. He had run away so much that they had to advertise and sell 'im. He never would run away from Miss Susan. She was good to him till she got that old nigger beater Phipps. Her husband, Reed, was called a nigger spoiler. My father was an old man when Phipps was on overseer and wasn't able to fight much then.

"Phipps sure was a bad man. He wasn't so bad neither; but the niggers was scared of him. You know in slave times, sometimes when a master would git too bad, the niggers would kill him--tote him off out in the woods somewheres and git rid of him. Two or three of them would git together and scheme it out, and then two or three of them would git him way out and kill 'im. But they didn't nobody ever pull nothin' like that on Phipps. They was scared of him.

"One time I saw the Yankees a long way off. They had on blue uniforms and was on coal black horses. I hollered out, 'Oh, I see somethin'.' My mistress said, 'What?' I told her, and she said, 'Them's the Yankees.' She went on in the house and I went with her. She sacked up all the valuables in the house. She said, 'Here,' and she threw a sack of silver on me that was so heavy that I went right on down to the ground. Then she took hold of it and holp me up and holp me carry it out. I carried it out and hid it. She had three buckskin sacks--all full of silver. That wasn't now; that was in slavery times. During the War, Jeff Davis gave out Confederate money. It died out on the folks' hands. About twelve hundred dollars of it died out on my father's hands. But there wasn't nothin' but gold and silver in them sacks.

"I heard them tell the slaves they were free. A man named Captain Barkus who had his arm off at the elbow called for the three near-by plantations to meet at our place. Then he got up on a platform with another man beside him and declared peace and freedom. He p'inted to a colored man and yelled, 'You're free as I am.' Old colored folks, old as I am now, that was on sticks, throwed them sticks away and shouted.

"Right after freedom I stayed with that white woman I told you about. I was with her about four years. I worked for twelve dollars a month and my food and clothes. Then I figured that twelve dollars wasn't enough and I went to work in the field. It was a mighty nice woman. Never hit me in her life. I never have been whipped by a white woman. She was good to me till she died. She died after I had my second child--a girl child.

"I have been living in this city fifteen years. I come from Chicot County when I come here. We come to Arkansas in slavery times. They brought me from Copiah County when I was six or eight years old. When Mrs. Toliver married she came up here and brought my mother. My mother belonged to her son and she said, 'Agnes (that was my mother's name), will you follow me if I buy your husband?' Her husband's name was John Beasley. She said, 'Yes.' Then her old mistress bought Beasley and paid fifteen hundred dollars to get my mother to come with her. Then Peachy went to war and was shot because he come home of a furlough and stayed too long. So when he went back they killed him. My mother nursed him when he was a baby. Old man Toliver said he didn't want none of us to be sold; so they wasn't none of us sold. Maybe there would have been if slavery had lasted longer; but there wasn't.

"Mother really belonged to Peachy, but when Peachy died, then she fell to her mistress.

"I have been a widow now for thirty years. I washed and ironed and plowed and hoed--everything. Now I am gittin' so I ain't able to do nothin' and the Relief keeps me alive. I worked and took care of myself and my last husband and he died, and I ain't married since. I used to take a little boy and make ten bales of cotton. I can't do it now. I used to be a woman in my day. I am my mother's seventh child.

"I don't buy no hoodoo and I don't believe in none, but a seventh child can more or less tell you things that are a long way off. If you want to beat the devil you got to do right. God's got to be in the plan. I tries to do right. I am not perfect but I do the best I can. I ain't got no bottom teeth, but my top ones are good. I have a few bottom ones. The Lawd's keepin' me here for somepin. I been with 'im now seventy-three years."

Interviewer's Comment

I'll bet the grandest moment in the life of Sister Alexander's mother was when her mistress said, "Agnes, will you follow me if I buy your husband?" Fifteen hundred dollars to buy a rebellious slave in order to unite a slave couple. It's epic.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Ed Allen, Des Arc, Ark. Age: ?

"I know that after freedom they took care of my pa and ma and give em a home long as they lived. Ma died wid young mistress here in Des Arc.

"The present generation is going to the bad. Have dealings wid em, not good to you. Young folks ain't nice to you like they used to be.

"White boys and colored boys, whole crowd of us used to go in the river down here all together, one got in danger help him out. They don't do it no more. We used to play base ball together. All had a good time. We never had to buy a ball or a bat. Always had em. The white boys bought them. I don't know as who to blame but young folk changed."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Lucindy Allison, Marked Tree, Arkansas With children at Biscoe, Arkansas Age: 61

"Ma was a slave in Arkansas. She said she helped grade a hill and help pile up a road between Wicksburg and Wynne. They couldn't put the road over the hill, so they put all the slaves about to grade it down. They don't use the road but it's still there to show for itself.

"She was a tall rawbony woman. Ma was a Hillis and pa's name was Adam Hillis. He learned to trap in slavery and after freedom he followed that for a living. Ma was a sure 'nough field hand. Mama had three sets of children. I don't know how many she did have in all. I had eleven my own self. Grandma was named Tempy and I heard them tell about when she was sold. She and mama went together. They used to whoop the slaves when they didn't work up peart.

"When the 'Old War' come on and the Yankees come they took everything and the black men folks too. They come by right often. They would drive up at mealtime and come in and rake up every blessed thing was cooked. Have to go work scrape about and find something else to eat. What they keer 'bout you being white or black? Thing they was after was filling theirselves up. They done white folks worse than that. They burned their cribs and fences up and their houses too about if they got mad. Things didn't suit them. If they wanted a colored man to go in camp with them and he didn't go, they would shoot you down like a dog. Ma told about some folks she knowd got shot in the yard of his own quarters.

"Us black folks don't want war. They are not war kind of folks. Slavery wasn't right and that 'Old War' wasn't right neither.

"When my children was all little I kept Aunt Mandy Buford till she died. She was a old slave woman. Me and my husband and the biggest children worked in the field. She would sit about and smoke. My boys made cob pipes and cut cane j'ints for 'er to draw through. Red cob pipes was the prettiest. Aunt Mandy said her master would be telling them what to do in the field and he say to her, 'I talking to you too.' She worked right among the men at the same kind of work. She was tall but not large. She carried children on her right hip when she was so young she dragged that foot when she walked. The reason she had to go with the men to the field like she did was 'cause she wasn't no multiplying woman. She never had a chile in all her lifetime. She said her mother nearly got in bad one time when her sister was carrying a baby. She didn't keep up. Said the riding boss got down, dug a hole with the hoe to lay her in it 'cause she was so big in front. Her mother told him if he put her daughter there in that hole she'd cop him up in pieces wid her hoe. He found he had two to conquer and he let her be. But he had to leave 'cause he couldn't whoop the niggers.

"If I could think of all she tole I'd soon have enough to fill up that book you're getting up. I can't recollect who she belong to, and her old talk comes back to me now and then. She talked so much we'd get up and go on off to keep from hearing her tell things over so many times.

"Folks like me what got children think the way they do is all right. I don't like some of my children's ways but none of us perfect. I tells 'em right far as I knows. Times what makes folks no 'count. Times gets stiff around Biscoe. Heap of folks has plenty. Some don't have much--not enough. Some don't have nothing.

"I don't believe in women voting. That ruined the country. We got along very well till they got to tinkering with the government."

Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson Subject: Early Days in Caledonia--Early days in El Dorado

Name: Josephine Ames Occupation: Domestic Resident: Fordville Age: not given. [TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]

Ah wuz bo'n de first year niggers wuz free. Wuz born in Caledonia at de Primm place. Mah ma belonged tuh George Thompson. After mah ma died ah stayed wid de Wommacks, a while. Aftuh dat mah pa taken me home. Pa's name wuz Jesse Flueur. Ah worked lak er slave. Ah cut wood, sawed logs, picked 400 pounds uv cotton evah day. Ah speck ah married de first time ah wuz about fo'teen years ole. Ah been mahrid three times. All mah husband's is daid. Ole man England and ole man Cullens run business places and ole man Wooley. His name wuz reason Wooley. De Woolies got cemetery uv dey own right dar near de Cobb place. No body is buried in dar but de fambly uv Wooleys. Ole man Allen Hale, he run er store dar too. He is yet livin right dar. He is real ole. De ole Warren Mitchell place whar ah use tuh live is Guvment land. Warren Mitchell, he homesteaded the place. We lived dar and made good crops. De purtiest dar wuz eround, but not hit's growed up. Don lived dar and made good crops. De purtiest dar wuz eround. Dar is whah all mah chillun wuz bo'n. Ah use tuh take mah baby an walk tuh El Dorado to sevice. Ah use tuh come tuh El Dorado wid a oman by de name of Sue Foster. Nothin but woods when dey laid de railroad heah. Dey built dem widh horses and axes. Ah saw em when dey whoop de hosses and oxen till dey fall out working dem when dey laid dat steel. Ah wuz at de first buryin uv de fust pussen buried in Caledonia graveyard. Huh name wuz Joe Ann Polk. We set up wid huh all night and sing and pray. An when we got nearly tuh de church de bells started tolling and de folks started tuh singin. When evah any body died dey ring bells tuh let yo know some body wuz daid. A wuz born on Christmas day, an ah had two chilluns born on Christmas Day. Dey wuz twins and one uv em had two teeth and his hair hung down on her shoulders when hit wuz born but hit did not live but er wek.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Charles Anderson. Helena, Arkansas Age: 77 or 78, not sure

"I was born in Bloomfield, Kentucky. My parents had the same owners. Mary and Elgin Anderson was their names. They was owned by Isaac Stone. Davis Stone was their son. They belong to the Stones as far back as they could remember. Mama was darker than I am. My father was brighter than I am. He likely had a white father. I never inquired. Mama had colored parents. Master Stone walked with a big crooked stick. He nor his son never went to war. Masters in that country never went. Two soldiers were drafted off our place. I saw the soldiers, plenty of them and plenty times. There never was no serious happenings.

"The Federal soldiers would come by, sleep in the yard, take our best horses and leave the broken down ones. Very little money was handled. I never seen much. Master Stone would give us money like he give money to Davis. They prized fine stock mostly. They needed money at wheat harvest time only. When a celebration or circus come through he give us all twenty-five or thirty cents and told us to go. There wasn't many slaves up there like down in this country. The owners from all I've heard was crueler and sold them off oftener here.

"Weaving was a thing the women prided in doing--being a fast weaver or a fine hand at weaving. They wove pretty coverlets for the beds. I see colored spreads now makes me think about my baby days in Kentucky.

"Freedom was something mysterious. Colored folks didn't talk it. White folks didn't talk it. The first I realized something different, Master Stone was going to whip a older brother. He told mama something I was too small to know. She said, 'Don't leave this year, son. I'm going to leave.' Master didn't whip him.

"Master Stone's cousin kept house for him. I remember her well. They were all very nice to us always. He had a large farm. He had twenty servants in his yard. We all lived there close together. My sister and mama cooked. We had plenty to eat. We had beef in spring and summer. Mutton and kid on special occasions. We had hog in the fall and winter. We had geese, ducks, and chickens. We had them when we needed them. We had a field garden. He raised corn, wheat, oats, rye, and tobacco.

"Once a year we got dressed up. We got shirts, a suit, pants and shoes, and what else we needed to wear. Then he told them to take care of their clothes. They got plenty to do a year. We didn't have fine clothes no time. We didn't eat ham and chicken. I never seen biscuit--only sometimes.

"I seen a woman sold. They had on her a short dress, no sleeves, so they could see her muscles, I reckon. They would buy them and put them with good healthy men to raise young slaves. I heard that. I was very small when I seen that young woman sold and years later I heard that was what was done.

"I don't know when freedom came on. I never did know. We was five or six years breaking up. Master Stone never forced any of us to leave. He give some of them a horse when they left. I cried a year to go back. It was a dear place to me and the memories linger with me every day.

"There was no secret society or order of Ku Klux in reach of us as I ever heard.

"I voted Republican ticket. We would go to Jackson to vote. There would be a crowd. The last I voted was for Theodore Roosevelt. I voted here in Helena for years. I was on the petit jury for several years here in Helena.

"I farmed in your state some (Arkansas). I farmed all my young life. I been in Arkansas sixty years. I come here February 1879 with distant relatives. They come south. When I come to Helena there was but one set of mechanics. I started to work. I learned to paint and hang wall paper. I've worked in nearly every house in Helena.

"The present times are gloomy. I tried to prepare for old age. I had a apartment house and lost it. I owned a home and lost it. They foreclosed me out.

"The present generation is not doing as well as I have.

"My health knocked me out. My limbs swell, they are stiff. I have a bad bladder trouble.

"I asked for help but never have got none. If I could got a little relief I never would lost my house. They work my wife to death keeping us from starving. She sewed till they cut off all but white ladies. When she got sixty-five they let her go and she got a little job cooking. They never give us no relief."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Nancy Anderson Street H, West Memphis, Arkansas Age: 66

"I was born at Sanitobia, Mississippi. Mother died when I was a child. I was three months old, they said, when I lost her. Father lived to be very old. My mother was Ella Geeter and my stepmother was Lucy Evans. My father's name was Si Hubbard. My parents married after the War. I remembers Grandma Harriett Hubbard. She said she was sold. She was a cook and she raised my papa up with white folks. Her children was sold with her. Papa was sold too at the same time. Papa fired a steam gin. They ground corn and ginned cotton.

"I stayed with Sam Hall's family. She was good to me. I had a small bed by the fireplace. She kept me with two of her own children. Some of the girls and boys I was raised up with live at Sanitobia now and have fine homes. When we would be playing they would take all the toys from me. Miss Fannie would say, 'Poor Nancy ain't got no toys.' Then they would put them on the floor and we would all play. They had a little table. We all eat at it. We had our own plates. We all eat out of tin plates and had tin cups.

"They couldn't keep me at home when papa married. I slipped off across the pasture. There was cows and hogs in there all the time. I wasn't afraid of them. I would get behind Miss Fannie and hide in her dress tail when they come after me. They let me stay most of the time for about five years. Sam Hall was good to my father and Miss Fannie about raised me after my mother died. She made me mind but she was good to me.

"Grandma lived with papa. She was part Indian. As long as papa lived he share cropped and ginned. He worked as long as he was able to hit a lick. He died four miles east out from Sanitobia on Mr. Hayshaws place. What I told you is what I know. He said he was sold that one time. Hubbards had plenty to eat and wear. He was a boy and they didn't want to stunt the children. Papa was a water boy and filed the hoes for the chopping hands. He carried a file along with them hoeing and would sharpen their hoes and fetch 'em water in their jugs. Aunt Sallie, his sister, took keer of the children.

"Papa went to the War. He could blow his bugle and give all the war signals. He got the military training. Him and his friend Charlie Grim used to step around and show us how they had to march to orders. His bugle had four joints. I don't know what went with it. From what they said they didn't like the War and was so glad to get home.

"Between the big farms they had worm fences (rail fences) and gates. You had to get a pass from your master to go visiting. The gates had big chains and locks on them. Some places was tollgates where they traveled over some man's land to town. On them roads the man owned the place charged. He kept some boy to open and shut the gate. They said the gates was tall.

"Some of the slaves that had hard masters run off and stay in the woods. They had nigger dogs and would run them--catch 'em. He said one man (Negro) was hollowing down back of the worm fence close to where they was working. They all run to him. A great long coachwhip snake was wrapped 'round him, his arms and all, and whooping him with its tail. It cut gashes like a knife and the blood poured. The overseer cut the snake's head off with his big knife and they carried him home bleeding. His master didn't whoop him, said he had no business off in the woods. He had run off. His master rubbed salt in the gashes. It nearly killed him. It burnt him so bad. That stopped the blood. They said sut (soot) would stopped the blood but it would left black mark. The salt left white marks on him. The salt helped kill the pison (poison). Some masters and overseers was cruel. When they was so bad marked they didn't bring a good price. They thought they was hard to handle.

"Aunt Jane Peterson, old friend of mine, come to visit me nearly every year after she got so old. She told me things took place in slavery times. She was in Virginia till after freedom. She had two girls and a boy with a white daddy. She told me all about how that come. She said no chance to run off or ever get off, you had to stay and take what come. She never got to marry till after freedom. Then she had three more black children by her husband. She said she was the cook. Old master say, 'Jane, go to the lot and get the eggs.' She was scared to go and scared not to go. He'd beat her out there, put her head between the slip gap where they let the hogs into the pasture from the lot down back of the barn. She say, 'Old missis whip me. This ain't right.' He'd laugh. Said she bore three of his children in a room in the same house his family lived in. She lived in the same house. She had a room so as she could build fires and cook breakfast by four o'clock sometimes, she said. She was so glad freedom come on and soon as she heard it she took her children and was gone, she said. She had no use for him. She was scared to death of him. She learned to pray and prayed for freedom. She died in Cold Water, Mississippi. She was so glad freedom come on before her children come on old enough to sell. Part white children sold for more than black children. They used them for house girls.

"I don't know Ku Klux stories enough to tell one. These old tales leave my mind. I'm 66 and all that was before my time.

"Times is strange--hard, too. But the way I have heard they had to work and do and go I hardly ever do grumble. I've heard so much. I got children and I do the best I can by them. That is all I can do or say."

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: R.B. Anderson Route 4, Box 68 (near Granite) Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 75

[HW: The Brooks-Baxter War]

"I was born in Little Rock along about Seventeenth and Arch Streets. There was a big plantation there then. Dr. Wright owned the plantation. He owned my mother and father. My father and mother told me that I was born in 1862. They didn't know the date exactly, so I put it the last day in the year and call it December 30, 1862.

"My father's name was William Anderson. He didn't go to the War because he was blind. He was ignorant too. He was colored. He was a pretty good old man when he died.

"My mother's name was Minerva Anderson. She was three-fourths Indian, hair way down to her waist. I was in Hot Springs blacking boots when my mother died. I was only about eight or ten years old then. I always regretted I wasn't able to do anything for my mother before she died. I don't know to what tribe her people belonged.

"Dr. Wright was awful good to his slaves.

"I don't know just how freedom came to my folks. I never heard my father say. They were set free, I know. They were set free when the War ended. They never bought their freedom.

"We lived on Tenth and near to Center in a one-room log house. That is the earliest thing I remember. When they moved from there, my father had accumulated enough to buy a home. He bought it at Seventh and Broadway. He paid cash for it--five hundred and fifty dollars. That is where we all lived until it was sold. I couldn't name the date of the sale but it was sold for good money--about three thousand eight hundred dollars, or maybe around four thousand. I was a young man then.

"I remember the Brooks-Baxter War.

"I remember the King White fooled a lot of niggers and armed them and brought them up here. The niggers and Republicans here fought them and run them back where they come from.

"I know Hot Springs when the main street was a creek. I can't remember when I first went there. The government bath-house was called 'Ral Hole', because it was mostly people with bad diseases that went there.

"After the War, my father worked for a rich man named Hunter. He was yardman and took care of the horse. My mother was living then.

"Scipio Jones and I were boys together. We slept on pool tables many a time when we didn't have no other place to sleep. He was poor when he was a boy and glad to get hold of a dime, or a nickel. He and I don't speak today because he robbed me. I had a third interest in my place. I gave him money to buy my place in for me. It was up for sale and I wanted to get possession. He gave me some papers to sign and when I found out what was happening, he had all my property. My wife kept me from killing him."

Interviewer's Comment

Occupation: Grocer, bartender, porter, general work

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Sarah Anderson 3815 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 78?

"I don't know when I was born. When the Civil War ended, I was bout four or five years old.

"I jes' remember when the people come back--the soldiers--when the War ended. We chillun run under the house. That was the Yankees.

"I was born in Bibb County, Georgia. That's where I was bred and born.

"I been in Arkansas ever since I was fourteen. That was shortly after the Civil War, I reckon. We come here when they was emigratin' to Arkansas. I'm tellin' you the truth, I been here a long time.

"I member when the soldiers went by and we chillun run under the house. It was the Yankee cavalry, and they made so much noise. Dat's what the old folks told us. I member dat we run under the house and called our self hidin'.

"My master was Madison Newsome and my missis was Sarah Newsome. Named after her? Must a done it. Ma and her chillun was out wallowin' in the dirt when the Yankees come by. Sometimes I stayed in the house with my white folks all night.

"My mother and father say they was well treated. That's what they say.

"Old folks didn't low us chillun round when they was talkin' bout their business, no ma'am.

"We stayed with old master a good while after freedom--till they commenced emigratin' from Georgia to Arkansas. Yes ma'am!

"I'm the mother of fourteen chillun--two pairs of twins. I married young--bout fifteen or sixteen, I reckon. I married a young fellow. I say we was just chaps. After he died, I married a old settled man and now he's dead.

"I been livin' a pretty good life. Seems like the white folks just didn't want me to get away from their chillun.

"All my chillun dead cept one son. He was a twin."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Selie Anderson, Holly Grove, Arkansas Age: 78

"I was born near Decatur, Alabama and lived there till I was fifteen years old. Course I members hearin' em talk bout Mars Newt. I named fur my ma's old mistress--Miss Selie Thompson and Mars Newt Thompson. Pa died when I was three years old. He was a soldier. Ma had seven children. They have bigger families then than they have now. Ma name Emmaline Thompson. Pa name Sam Adair. I can't tell you about him. I heard em say his pa was a white man. He was light skinned. Old folks didn't talk much foe children so I don't know well nough to tell you bout him. Ma was a cook and a licensed midwife in Alabama. She waited on both black and white. Ma never staid at home much. She worked out. I come to Mississippi after I married and had one child. Ma and all come. Ma went to Tom McGehee's to cook after freedom. She married old man named Lewis Chase and they worked on where he had been raised. His name was Lewis Sprangle. He looked after the stock and drove the carriage. Daniel Sprangle had a store and a big farm. He had three girls and three boys, I was their house girl. Mama lived on the place and give me to em cause they could do better part by me than she could. I was six years old when she give me to em. They lernt me to sweep, knit, crochet, piece quilts. She lernt her children thater way sometimes. Miss Nancy Sprangle didn't treat me no different from her own girls. Miss Dora married Mr. Pitt Loney and I was dressed up and held up her train (long dress and veil). I stayed with Miss Dora after she married. One of the girls married Mr. John Galbreth. I married and went home then come to Mississippi. Mrs. Gables, Mr. Gables was old people but they had two adopted boys. I took them boys to the field to work wid my children. She sewed for me and my children. Her girls cooked all we et in busy times. They done work at the house but they didn't work in the field.

"I been married five times. Every time I married I married at home. Mighty little marryin' goin' on now--mighty little. Mama stayed wid Mr. Sprangle till we all got grown. Miss Nancy's girls married so that all the way I knowd how to do. I had a good time. I danced every chance I got. I been well blessed all my life till I'm gettin' feeble now.

"Papa run the gin on Mr. Sprangle's place, then he went to war, come back foe he died. I recken he come home sick cause he died pretty soon.

"I jess can member this Ku Klux broke down our door wid hatchets. It scared us all to death. They didn't do nuthin' to us. They was huntin' Uncle Jeff. He wasn't bout our house. He was ox driver fer Mr. Sprangle. Him and a family of pore white folks got to fussin' bout a bridle. Some of em was dressed up when they come to our house ma said. After that Mr. Kirby killed him close to his home startin' out one mornin' to work. His name was Uncle Jeff Saxon. Ma knowd it was some of the men right on Mr. Sprangle's place whut come to our house.

"I live wid my daughter. I get $8 from the Welfare.

"If they vote for better it be all right. I never seen no poles. I don't know how they vote. I'm too old to start up votin'.

"Lawd you got me now. The times changed and got so fast. It all beyond me. I jes' listens. I don't know whut goner happen to this young generation."

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: W.A. Anderson (dark brown) 3200 W. 18th Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 78 Occupation: House and yard man

[HW: Serves the "Lawd"]

"I don't know nothin' about slavery. You know I wouldn't know nothin' bout it cause I was only four years old when the war ended. All I know is I was born in slavery; but I don't know nothin' bout it.

"I don't remember nothin' of my parents. Times was all confused and old folks didn't talk before chilun. They didn't have time. Besides, my mother and father were separated.

"I was born in Arkansas and have lived here all my life. But I don't gossip and entertain. I just moved in this house last week. Took a wheelbarrow and brought all these things here myself.

"Those boys out there jus' threw a stone against the house. I thought the house was falling. I work all day and when night comes, I'm tired.

"I don't have no wife, no children, nothin'; nobody to help me out. I don't ask the neighbors nothin' cept to clear out this junk they left here.

"I ain't goin' to talk about the Ku Klux. I got other things to think about. It takes all my time and strength to do my work and live a Christian. Folks got so nowadays they don't care bout nothin'. I just live here and serve the Lawd."

Interviewer's Comments

Anderson is separated from his wife who left him. He lost his home a short time ago. A few months ago, he was so sick he was expected to die. He supports himself through the friendliness of a few white people who give him odds and ends of work to do.

I made three calls on him, helped him set up his stoves and his beds and clear up his house a little bit since he had just moved into it and had a good deal of work to do. His misfortunes have made him unwilling to talk just now, but he will give a good interview later I am certain.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Henry Anthony; R.F.D. #1 Biscoe, Arkansas Age: 84

"I was born at Jackson, North Carolina. My master and mistress named Betsy and Jason Williams but my pa's name was Anthony. My young master was a orderly seargent. He took me wid him to return some mules and wagons. He showed me what he want done an I followed him round wid wagons. The wagons hauled ammunition and provisions. Pa worked for the master and ma cooked. They got sold to Lausen Capert. When freedom come they went back and stayed a month or two at Williams then we all went back to John Odom. We stayed round close and farmed and worked till they died. I married and when I had four or five children I heard ob dis country. I come on immigration ticket to Mr. Aydelott here at Biscoe. Train full of us got together and come. One white man got us all up and brought us here to Biscoe. I farmed for Mr. Aydelott four or five years, then for Mr. Bland, Mr. Scroggin.

"I never went to school a day in my life. I used to vote here in Biseoe right smart. I let the young folks do my votin. They can tell more about it. I sho do not think it is the woman's place to vote an hold all the jobs from the men. Iffen you don't in the Primary cause you don't know nuf to pick out a man, you sho don't know nuthin er tall bout votin in the General lection. In fact it ain't no good to our race nohow.

"The whole world gone past my judgment long ago. I jess sets round to see what they say an do next. It is bad when you caint get work you able to do on that's hard on the old folks. I could saved. I did save right smart. Sickness come on. Sometimes you have a bad crop year, make nuthin, but you have to live on. Young folks don't see no hard times if they keep well an able to work.

"I get commodities and $6 a month. I do a little if I can.

"One time my son bought a place fo me and him. He paid all cept $70. I don't know whut it cost now. It was 47 acres. I worked on it three years. He sold it and went to the sawmill. He say he come out square on it. I didn't wanter sell it but he did."

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Katie Arbery 815 W. Thirteenth, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 80

"I am eighty years old. My name 'fore I was a Arbery was Baxter. My mother was a Baxter. Born in Union County.

"My mother's first people was Baxter and my grandmother was a Baxter and they just went by that name; she never did change her name.

"The boss man--that was what they called our master--his name was Paul McCall. He was married twice. His oldest son was Jim McCall. He was in the War. Yes ma'am, the Civil War.

"Paul McCall raised me up with his chillun and I never did call him master, just called him pappy, and Jim McCall, I called him brother Jim. Just raised us all up there in the yard. My grandmother was the cook.

"There wasn't no fightin' in Union County but I 'member when the Yankees was goin' through and singin'

'The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah
We'll rally 'round the flag, boys,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.'

(She sang this--ed.)

And I 'member this one good:

'Old buckwheat cakes and good strong butter
To make your lips go flip, flip, flutter.
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land.'

"Pappy used to play that on his fiddle and have us chillun tryin' to dance. Used to call us chillun and say, 'You little devils, come up here and dance' and have us marchin'.

"My cousin used to be a quill blower. Brother Jim would cut fishin' canes and plat 'em together--they called 'em a pack--five in a row, just like my fingers. Anybody that knowed how could sure make music on 'em. Tom Rollins, that was my baby uncle, he was a banjo picker.

"I can remember a heap a things that happened, but 'bout slavery, I didn't know one day from another. They treated us so nice that when they said freedom come, I thought I was always free.

"I heered my grandmother talk about sellin' 'em, but I was just a little kid and I didn't know what they was talkin' about. I heered 'em say, 'Did you know they sold Aunt Sally away from her baby?' I heered 'em talkin', I know that much.

"After freedom, our folks stayed right on Paul McCall's place. My grandmother cooked for the McCalls till I was eight or nine years old, then she cooked for the McCrays--they was all relatives--till I was twenty-one. Then I married.

"Paul McCall first married in the Baxter family and then he married into the McCray family. I lived on the McCall place till I was grown. They all come from Alabama. Yes'm, they come befo' the war was.

"Chillun in dem days paid attention. People _raised_ chillun in dem days. Folks just feeds 'em now and lets 'em grow up.

"I looks at the young race now and they is as wise as rabbits.

"I never went to school but three months, but I never will forget that old blue back McGuffey's. Sam Porter was our teacher and I was scared of him. I was so scared I couldn't learn nothin'.

"As far as I can remember I have been treated nice everywhere I been. Ain't none of the white folks ever mistreated me.

"Lord, we had plenty to eat in slavery days--and freedom days too.

"One time when my mother was cookin' for Colonel Morgan and my oldest brother was workin' some land, my mother always sent me over with a bucket of milk for him. So one day she say. 'Snooky, come carry your brother's milk and hurry so he can have it for dinner.' I was goin' across a field; that was a awful deer country. I had on a red dress and was goin' on with my milk when I saw a old buck lookin' at me. All at once he went 'whu-u-u', and then the whole drove come up. There was mosely trees (I think she must have meant mimosa--ed.) in the field and I run and climbed up in one of 'em. A mosely tree grows crooked; I don't care how straight you put it in the ground, it's goin' to grow crooked. So I climb up in the mosely tree and begin to yell. My brother heard me and come 'cause he knowed what was up. He used to say, 'Now, Snipe, when you come 'cross that mosely field, don't you wear that old red dress 'cause they'll get you down and tear that dress off you.' I liked the dress 'cause he had give it to me. I had set the milk down at the foot of the tree and it's a wonder they didn't knock it over, but when my brother heard me yell he come a runnin', with a gun and shot one of the deer. I got some of the venison and he give some to Colonel Morgan, his boss man. Colonel Morgan had fought in the war.

"The reason I can't tell you no more is, since I got old my mind goes this and that a way.

"But I can tell you all the doctors that doctored on me. They give me up to die once. I had the chills from the first of one January to the next We had Dr. Chester and Dr. McCray and Dr. Lewis--his name was Perry--and Dr. Green and Dr. Smead. Took quinine till I couldn't hear, and finally Dr. Green said, 'We'll just quit givin' her medicine, looks like she's goin' to die anyway.' And then Dr. Lewis fed me for three weeks steady on okra soup cooked with chicken. Just give me the broth. Then I commenced gettin' better and here I am.

"But I can't work like I used to. When I was young I could work right along with the men but I can't do it now. I wish I could 'cause they's a heap a things I'd like that my chillun and grandchillun can't get for me.

"Well, good-bye, come back again sometime."

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Campbell Armstrong 802 Schiller Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 86

[HW: Boys liked corn shuckings]

"I couldn't tell you when I was born. I was born a good while before freedom. I was a boy about ten years old in the time of the Civil War. That would make me about eighty-five or six years old.

"My father's name was Cy Armstrong. My mother's name was Gracie Armstrong. I don't know the names of my grandparents. They was gone when I got here. My sister died right there in the corner of the next room.

House and Furniture

"I used to live in an old log house. Take dirt and dob the cracks. The floors were these here planks. We had two windows and one door. That was in Georgia, in Houston County, on old Dempsey Brown's place. I know him--know who dug his grave.

"They had beds nailed up to the side of the house. People had a terrible time you know. White folks had it all. When I come along they had it and they had it ever since I been here. You didn't have no chance like folks have nowadays. Just made benches and stools to sit on. Made tables out of planks. I never saw any cupboards and things like that. Them things wasn't thought about then. The house was like a stable then. But them log houses was better than these 'cause the wind couldn't get through them.

Work as a Boy

"I wasn't doin' nothin' but totin' water. I toted water for a whole year when I was a boy about eight years old. I was the water boy for the field hands. Later I worked out in the fields myself. They would make me sit on my mammy's row to help keep her up.

Free Negroes

"You better not say you were free them days. If you did, they'd tell you to get out of there. You better not stop on this side of the Mason Dixie Line either. You better stop on the other side. Whenever a nigger got so he couldn't mind, they'd take him down and whip him. They'd whip the free niggers just the same as they did the slaves.

Marriage

"You see that broom there? They just lay that broom down and step over it. That was all the marriage they knowed about.

Corn Shuckings

"The boys used to just get down and raise a holler and shuck that corn. Man, they had fun! They sure liked to go to those corn shuckings. They danced and went on. They'd give 'em whiskey too. That's all I know about it.

Rations

"They'd weigh the stuff out and give it to you and you better not go back. They'd give you three pounds of meat and a quart of meal and molasses when they'd make it. Sometimes they would take a notion to give you something like flour. But you had to take what they give you. They give out the rations every Saturday. That was to last you a week.

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