Chapter V: Part 5

"The white folks give gifts in the big house and mammy went to the house and the white folks give her the things to put in we nigger chilluns' stockings.

"We hung up our stockings in our house and up at the white house too. 'Fore Christmas, the white folks would tell us if we stole chickens, eggs, ducks and things, or go in the apple orchard, and wuz bad, Santa Claus would not come to us. But if we were good, he would bring gifts to us. 'Fore Christmas, the white folks would make a Santa Claus out of clothes and stuff it, put a pack on his back, and stand him up in the road. Colored chillun feared to go near him.

"I have never been arrested, never been in the jail house or calaboose. Went to school when I could.

"Traveled all over, worked on canal in South America.

"Name of boat I wuz on was the 'Clamshell, No. 4', with Captain Nelson, fum New York."

This Information given by: Peter Hamilton
Place of Residence: Near airport--Pine Bluff, Ark.
Occupation:
Age: 68

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Lawrence Hampton
R.F.D., Forrest City, Arkansas
Age: 78

"I was born in Orangeburg, South Carolina. My parents' names was Drucilla and Peter Hampton. She was the mother of twelve children. They both b'long to John D. Kidd and Texas Kidd. To my knowing they had no children. They was old to me being a child but I don't reckon they be old folks. They had a plantation, some hilly and some bottom land. He had two or three hundred slaves. He was a good, good man. He was a good master. He had some white overseers and some black overseers. Grandpa Peter was one of his overseers. He was proud of his slaves. He was a proud man.

"We all had preaching clothes to wear. He had his slaves be somebody when they got out of the field. They went in washing at the fish pond, duck pond too. It was clear and sandy bottom. Wouldn't be muddy when a lot of them got through washing (bathing). They was black but they didn't stink sweaty. They wore starched clean ironed clothes. They cooked wheat flour and made clothes. When the War come on their clothes was ironed and clean but the wheat was scarce and the clothes got flimsy. John D. Kidd was loved by black and white. He was a good man. Grandpa George had a son sold over close to Memphis. They had twelve children last letter mama had from them. I've never seen any one of them.

"Grandpa Peter was a overseer. After he was made overseer he was paid. That was a honor for being good all his life. When freedom come on he had ten thousand dollars. He was pure African, black as ace of spades. He give papa and the other four boys five hundred dollars a piece to start them farms. Papa died when he was sixty-five and grandma was about a hundred. Mama was seventy-five when she died. Grandpa was eighty-five when he died. They didn't know exactly but that was about their ages. It was a pretty big honor to be a carriage man. They had young men hostlers and blacksmiths.

"Freedom--The boys all stayed around and girls too. They bought places about. They never would charge John D. Kidd for work. They let the girls cook, milk, and set the fowls, long as the old couple lived. They never took no pay. They go in gangs and chop out his crop and big picnic dinners all they ever took from him. We all loved that old man.

"They done some whooping on the place but it was a shame. They got over it and went on dressed up soon as the task was done. Never heard much said about it. I never seen nobody whooped.

"My own folks whooped me. We was free then.

"I heard how easy to farm out in Arkansas. I come to Forrest City in 1884. I was 'bout twenty-five years old then. It was a mud hole is right. I farmed all my life. We made money.

"My color folks don't know how to take care of their money. They can make money but don't handle it long.

"I owns a home and twenty acres of land. I want to keep it. Me and my wife live out there. I had ten children and four of them still living. They all good children and I'm proud to own they mine.

"John D. Kidd had a lot of his wife's brothers that come visiting. I'd find out they be up there. Here I'd go. We'd swim, fish, ride, and I'd love to be around them and hear them talk. That was the kind of good times we had when I was a boy. I missed all that when I come here. It was sich fine farming land. I couldn't go back to stay. I been back numbers of times visiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Masters

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

Family

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

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

Separation of Parents

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

Patrollers

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

Jayhawkers

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

Really Scared to Death

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

Mother's Work

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

Schooling

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

How Freedom Came

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

House, Furniture, and Food

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

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

Further Details about Schooling

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

Later Life

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

Interviewer's Comment

A mighty sweet old lady to talk to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well good-bye--I'm glad you come."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

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

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

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

FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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