Chapter III: Part 3

"There was a big gourd hanging up by the well. We kept it there. There was a bucket full up. He said, 'Give me water.' I handed over the gourd full. He done something with it. He kept me handing him water. He said, 'Hold my crown and draw me up another bucket full.' I was so scared I lit out hard as I could run. It was dark enough to hide me when I got a piece out of his way.

"The owners was pretty good to mother to be slavery. She had clothes and enough to eat all the time. I used to go back to see all our white folks in Kentucky. They are about all dead now I expect. Mother was glad to be free but for a long time her life was harder.

"After we got up larger she got along better. I worked on a steamboat twelve or thirteen years. I was a roustabout and freight picker. I was on passenger boats mostly but they carried freight. I went to school some. I always had colored teachers. I farmed at Hughes and Madison ever since excepting one year in Mississippi.

"I live alone. I get $8 and commodities from the Sociable Welfare.

"The young folks would do better, work better, if they could get work all time. It is hard at times to get work right now. The times is all right. Better everything but work. I know colored folks is bad managers. That has been bad on us always.

"I worked on boats from Evansville, St. Louis, Memphis to New Orleans mostly. It was hard work but a fine living. I was stout then."

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Jesse Meeks 707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 76 Occupation: Minister

"I am seventy-six. 'Course I was young in slavery times, but I can remember some things. I remember how they used to feed us. Put milk and bread or poke salad and corn-meal dumplin's in a trough and give you a wooden spoon and all the children eat together.

"We stayed with our old master fourteen years. They were good folks and treated us right. My old master's name was Sam Meeks--in Longview, Drew County, Arkansas, down here below Monticello.

"I got a letter here about a month ago from the daughter of my young mistress. I wrote to my young mistress and she was dead, so her daughter got the letter. She answered it and sent me a dollar and asked me was I on the Old Age Pension list.

"As far as I know, I am the onliest one of the old darkies living that belonged to Sam Meeks.

"I remember when the Ku Klux run in on my old master. That was after the War. He was at the breakfast table with his wife. You know in them days they didn't have locks and keys. Had a hole bored through a board and put a peg in it, and I know the Ku Klux come up and stuck a gun through the auger hole and shot at old master but missed him. He run to the door and shot at the Ku Klux. I know us children found one of 'em down at the spring bathin' his leg where old master had shot him.

"Oh! they were good folks and treated us right."

FOLKLORE SUBJECTS Name of Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Subject: Superstitions Story:--Information

This information given by: Jesse Meeks Place of residence: 707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Occupation: Minister Age: 76 [TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]

"I remember there was on old man called Billy Mann lived down here at Noble lake. He said he could 'give you a hand.' If you and your wife wasn't gettin' along very well and you wanted to get somebody else, he said he could 'give you a hand' and that would enable you to get anybody you wanted. That's what he said.

"And I've heard 'em say they could make a ring around you and you couldn't get out.

"I don't believe in that though 'cause I'm in the ministerial work and it don't pay me to believe in things like that. That is the work of the devil."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Jeff Metcalf R.F.D., Brinkley, Arkansas Age: 73

"My mother's name was Julia Metcalf and my father's name was Jim Metcalf. They belong to an old bachelor named Bill Metcalf. I think I was born in Lee County, Mississippi. They did not leave when the war was over. They stayed on the Bill Metcalf place till they died. I reckon I do remember him.

"I can't tell you 'bout the war nor slavery. I don't know a thing 'bout it. I heard but I couldn't tell you it been so long ago. They didn't expect nothing but freedom. They got along in the Reconstruction days about like they had been getting along. Seemed like they didn't know much about the war. They heard they was free. I don't remember the Ku Klux Klan. I heard old folks talk 'bout it.

"I don't know if my father ever voted but I guess he did. I have voted but I don't vote now. In part I 'proves of the women votin'. I think the men outer vote and support his family fur as he can.

"I come here in 1914 from Mississippi. I got busted farmin'. I knowed a heap o' people said they was doing so well I come too. I come on the train.

"I ain't got no home, no land. I got a hog. No garden. Two times in the year now is hard--winter and simmer. In some ways times is better. In some ways they is worser. When a trade used to be made to let you have provisions, you know you would not starve. Now if you can't get work you 'bout starve and can't get no credit. Crops been good last few years and prices fair fur it. But money won't buy nothin' now. Everything is so high. Meat is so high. Working man have to eat meat. If he don't he get weak.

"The young folks do work. They can't save much farmin'. If they could do public work between times it be better. I had a hard time in July and August. I got six children, they grown and gone. My wife is 72 years old. She ain't no 'count for work no more. The Government give me an' her $10 a month between us two. Her name is Hannah Metcalf.

"I wish I did know somethin' to tell you, lady, 'bout the Civil War and the slavery times. I done forgot 'bout all I heard 'em talkin'. When you see Hannah she might know somethin'."

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Hardy Miller 702-1/2 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 85 Occupation: Yardman

"Mistress, I'll tell you what my mother said. She said she birthed me on Christmas morning in 1852 in Sumpter County, Georgia. It was on her old master's place. Bright Herring was his name. Old mistress' name was Miss Lizzie. My father belonged to a different owner.

"Mac McClendon and John Mourning was two nigger traders and they brought my mother and sister Nancy and sister Liza and my sister Anna and Hardy Miller--that's me--out here on the train from Americus, Georgia to Memphis and put us on a steamboat and brought us here to Pine Bluff and sold me to Dr. Pope. He was a poor white man and he wanted a pair of niggers. He bought me and Laura Beckwith. In them days a doctor examined you and if your heart was sound and your lungs was sound and you didn't have no broken bones--have to pay one hundred dollars for every year you was old. That was in 1862 and I was ten years old so they sold me for one thousand dollars and one thousand dollars for Laura cause she was sound too. Carried us down to Monticello and when I got free my mammy come after me.

"Fore I left Georgia, my daddy belonged to a man named Bill Ramsey. You see niggers used the name of their masters.

"I can remember when I was a boy Bill Ramsey set my father free and give him a free pass and anybody hire him have to pay just like they pay a nigger now. My daddy hired my mammy from her master. My mammy was her master's daughter by a colored woman.

"My daddy had a hoss named Salem and had a cart and he would take me and my mammy and my sister Liza and go to Americus and buy rations for the next week.

"I member when the war started in 1861 my mammy hired me out to Mrs. Brewer and she used to git after me and say, 'You better do that good or I'll whip you. My husband gone to war now on account of you niggers and it's a pity you niggers ever been cause he may get killed and I'll never see him again.'

"I member seein' General Bragg's men and General Steele and General Marmaduke. Had a fight down at Mark's Mill. We just lived six miles from there. Seen the Yankees comin' by along the big public road. The Yankees whipped and fought em so strong they didn't have time to bury the dead. We could see the buzzards and carrion crows. I used to hear old mistress say, 'There goes the buzzards, done et all the meat off.' I used to go to mill and we could see the bones. Used to got out and look at their teeth. No ma'm, I wasn't scared, the white boys was with me.

"Dr. Pope was good to me, better to me than he was to Master Walter and Master Billy and my young Miss, Aurelia, cause me and Laura was scared of em and we tried to do everything they wanted.

"When the war ended in 1865 we was out in the field gettin' pumpkins. Old master come out and said, 'Hardy, you and Laura is free now. You can stay or you can go and live with somebody else.' We stayed till 1868 and then our mammies come after us. I was seventeen.

"After freedom my mammy sent me to school. Teacher's name was W.H. Young. Name was William Young but he went under the head of W.H. Young.

"I went to school four years and then I got too old. I learned a whole lot. Learned to read and spell and figger. I done pretty good. I learned how to add and multiply and how to cancel and how to work square root.

"What I've been doin' all my life is farmin' down at Fairfield on the Murphy place.

"Vote? Good lord! I done more votin'. Voted for all the Presidents. Yankees wouldn't let us vote Democrat, had to vote Republican. They'd be there agitatin'. Stand right there and tell me the ones to vote for. I done quit votin'. I voted for Coolidge--we called him College--that's the last votin' I did. One of my friends, Levi Hunter, he was a colored magistrate down at Fairfield.

"Ku Klux? What you talkin' about? Ku Klux come to our house. My sister Ellen's husband went to war on the Yankee side durin' the war--on the Republican side and fought the Democrats.

"After the war the Ku Klux came and got the colored folks what fought and killed em. I saw em kill a nigger right off his mule. Fell off on his sack of corn and the old mule kep' on goin'.

"Ku Klux used to wear big old long robe with bunches of cotton sewed all over it. I member one time we was havin' church and a Ku Klux was hid up in the scaffold. The preacher was readin' the Bible and tellin' the folks there was a man sent from God and say an angel be here directly. Just then the Ku Klux fell down and the niggers all thought 'twas the angel and they got up and flew.

"Ku Klux used to come to the church well and ask for a drink and say, 'I ain't had a bit of water since I fought the battle of Shiloh.'

"Might as well tell the truth--had just as good a time when I was a slave as when I was free. Had all the hog meat and milk and everything else to eat.

"I member one time when old master wasn't at home the Yankees come and say to old mistress, 'Madam, we is foragin'.' Old mistress say, 'My husband ain't home; I can't let you.' Yankees say, 'Well, we're goin' to anyway.' They say, 'Where you keep your milk and butter?' Old mistress standin' up there, her face as red as blood and say, 'I haven't any milk or butter to spare.' But the Yankees would hunt till they found it.

"After a battle when the dead soldiers was layin' around and didn't have on no uniform cause some of the other soldiers took em, I've heard the old folk what knowed say you could tell the Yankees from the Rebels cause the Yankees had blue veins on their bellies and the Rebels didn't.

"Now you want me to tell you bout this young nigger generation? I never thought I'd live to see this young generation come out and do as well as they is doin'. I'm goin' tell you the truth. When I was young, boys and girls used to wear long white shirt come down to their ankles, cause it would shrink, with a hole cut out for their head. I think they is doin' a whole lot better. Got better clothes. Almost look as well as the white folks. I just say the niggers dressin' better than the white folks used to.

"Then I see some niggers got automobiles. Just been free bout seventy-two years and some of em actin' just like white folks now.

"Well, good-bye--if I don't see you again I'll meet you in Heaven."

Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg Person interviewed: [HW: Henry Kirk] H.K. Miller 1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 86

"No ma'am, it will not bother me one bit if you want to have a long visit with me.... Yes, I was a little busy, but it can wait. I was getting my dishes ready for a party tomorrow night.

"Yes ma'am, I was born during slavery. I was born at a little place called Fort Valley in Georgia, July 25, 1851. Fort Valley is about 30 miles from Macon. I came to Little Rock in 1873. My old mistress was a widow. As well as I can remember she did not have any slaves but my father and mother and the six children. No ma'am, her name was not Miller, it was Wade.... Where did I get my name, then? It came from my grandfather on my father's side.... Well, now, Miss, I can't tell you where he got that name. From some white master, I reckon.

"We got free in Georgia June 15, 1865. I'll never forget that date. What I mean is, that was the day the big freedom came. But we didn't know it and just worked on. My father was a shoemaker for old mistress. Only one in town, far as I recollect. He made a lot of money for mistress. Mother was houseworker for her. As fast as us children got big enough to hire out, she leased us to anybody who would pay for our hire. I was put out with another widow woman who lived about 20 miles. She worked me on her cotton plantation. Old mistress sold one of my sisters; took cotton for pay. I remember hearing them tell about the big price she brought because cotton was so high. Old mistress got 15 bales of cotton for sister, and it was only a few days till freedom came and the man who had traded all them bales of cotton lost my sister, but old mistress kept the cotton. She was smart, wasn't she? She knew freedom was right there. Sister came right back to my parents.

"Just give me time, miss, and I'll tell you the whole story. This woman what had me hired tried to run away and take all her slaves along. I don't remember just how many, but a dozen or more. Lots of white folks tried to run away and hide their slaves until after the Yankee soldiers had been through the town searching for them what had not been set free. She was trying to get to the woods country. But she got nervous and scared and done the worst thing she could. She run right into a Yankee camp. Course they asked where we all belonged and sent us where we belonged. They had always taught us to be scared of the Yankees. I remember just as well when I got back to where my mother was she asked me: "Boy, why you come here? Don't you know old mistress got you rented out? You're goin' be whipped for sure." I told her, no, now we got freedom. That was the first they had heard. So then she had to tell my father and mother. She tole them how they have no place to go, no money,--nothing to start life on; they better stay on with her. So my father and mother kept on with her; she let them have a part of what they made; she took some for board, as was right. The white ladies what had me between them fixed it up that I would serve out the time I was rented out for. It was about six months more. My parents saved money and we all went to a farm. I stayed with them till I was 19 years old. Of course they got all the money I made. I married when I was 20, still living in Georgia. We tried to farm on shares. A man from Arkansas came there, getting up a colony of colored to go to Arkansas to farm. Told big tales of fine land with nobody to work it. Not half as many Negroes in Arkansas as in Georgia. Me and my wife joined up to go.

"Well, ma'am, I didn't get enough education to be what you call a educated man. My father paid for a six months night course for me after peace. I learned to read and write and figure a little. I have used my tablespoon full of brains ever since, always adding to that start. I learned everything I could from the many white friends I have had. Any way, miss, I have known enough to make a good living all these years.

"Now I'll get on with the story. First work I got in Arkansas was working on a farm; me and her both; we always tried to stay together. We could not make anything on the Garner farm, and it was mighty unhealthy down in Fourche bottoms. I carried her back to Little Rock and I got work as house man in the Bunch home. From there I went to the home of Dudley E. Jones and stayed there 28 years. That was the beginning of my catering. I just naturally took to cooking and serving. White folks was still used to having colored wait on them and they liked my style. Mr. Jones was so kind. He told his friends about how I could plan big dinners and banquets; then cook and serve them. Right soon I was handling most of the big swell weddings for the society folks. Child, if I could call off the names of the folks I have served, it would be mighty near everybody of any consequence in Little Rock for more than 55 years. Yes ma'am, I'm now being called on to serve the grandchildren of my first customers.

"During the 28 years I lived in Mr. Jones' family I was serving banquets, big public dinners, all kinds of big affairs. I have had the spring and fall banquets for the Scottish Rite Masons for more than 41 years. I have served nearly all the Governor's banquets, college graduation and reunion parties; I took care of President Roosevelt--not this one, but Teddy----. Served about 600 that day. Any big parties for colored people?... Yes ma'am! Don't you remember when Booker T. Washington was here?... No ma'am. White folks didn't have a thing to do with it, excepting the city let us have the new fire station. It was just finished but the fire engines ain't moved in yet. I served about 600 that time. Yes ma'am, there was a lot of white folks there. Then, I have been called to other places to do the catering. Lonoke, Benton, Malvern, Conway--a heap of places like that.

"No miss, I didn't always have all the catering business; oh, no. There was Mr. Rossner. He was a fine man. White gentleman. I used to help him a lot. But when he sold out to Bott, I got a lot of what business Mr. Rossner had had, Mr. Bott was a Jew. All that time my wife was my best helper. I took a young colored fellow named Freeling Alexander and taught him the business. He never been able to make it go on his own, but does fine working on salary. He has a cafeteria now.

"Well thank you miss, speaking about my home like that. Yes ma'am, I sure do own it. Fifty-two years I been living right here. First I bought the lot; it took me two years to pay for it. Next I build a little house. The big pin oak trees out front was only saplings when I set them out. Come out in the back yard and see my pecan tree.... It is a giant, ain't it? Yes ma'am, it was a tiny thing when I set it out fifty-two years ago. Our only child was born in this house,--a dear daughter--and her three babies were born here too. After my wife and daughter died, me and the children kept on trying to keep the home together. I have taught them the catering business. Both granddaughters are high school graduates. The boy is in Mexico. Before he went he signed his name to a check and said: "Here, grandpa. You ain't going to want for a thing while I'm gone. If something happens to your catering business, or you get so you can't work, fill this in for whatever you need." But thank the good Lord, I'm still going strong. Nobody has ever had to take care of H.K. Miller. Now let me tell you something else about this place. For more than ten years I have been paying $64.64 every year for my part of that asphalt paving you see out in front. Yes ma'am, the lot is 50 foot front, and I am paying for only half of it; from my curb line to the middle of the street. Maybe if I live long enough I'll get it paid for sometime.

"I haven't tried to lay by much money. I don't suppose there is any other colored man--uneducated like me--what has done more for his community. I have given as high as $80 and $100 at one time to help out on the church debt or when they wanted to build. I always help in times of floods and things like that. I've helped many white persons in my lifetime.

"Well, now, I'll tell you what I think about the voting system. I think this. Of course we are still in subjection to the white people; they are in the majority and have most of the government on their side. But I think that, er,--er,--well I'll tell you, while it is all right for them to be at the head of things, they ought to do what is right. Being educated, they ought to know right from wrong. I believe in the Bible, miss. Look here. This little book--Gospel of St. John--has been carried in my pocket every day for years and years. And I never miss a day reading it. I don't see how some people can be so unjust. I guess they never read their Bible. The reason I been able to make my three-score years and ten is because I obeys what the Good Book says.

"Now, let me see. I can remember that I been voting mighty near ever since I been here. I never had any trouble voting. I have never been objected from voting that I remember of.

"Now you ask about what I think of the young people. Well, I tell you. I think really that the young people of today had better begin to check up, a little. They are going too fast. They don't seem to have enough consideration. When I see so many killed in automobile accidents, and know that drinking is the cause of so many car accidents,--well, yes ma'am, drinking sure does have a lot to do with it. I think they should more consider the way they going to make a living. Make a rule to look before they act. Another thing--the education being given them--they are not taking advantage of it. If they would profit by what they learn they could benefit theirselves. A lot of them now spend heap of time trying to get to be doctors and lawyers and like that. That is a mistake. There is not enough work among colored people to support them. I know. Negroes do not have confidence in their race for this kind of business. No ma'am. Colored will go for a white doctor and white lawyer 'cause they think they know more about that kind of business. I would recommend as the best means of making a living for colored young people is to select some kind of work that is absolutely necessary to be done and then do it honestly. The trades, carpentering, paper hanging, painting, garage work. Some work that white people need to have done, and they just as soon colored do it as white. White folks ain't never going to have Negro doctors and lawyers, I reckon. That's the reason I took up catering--even that long ago. Fifty-five years ago I knew to look around and find some work that white folks would need done. There's where your living comes from.

"Yes, miss, my business is slack--falling off, as you say. Catering is not what it used to be. You see, 30 or 40 years ago, people's homes were grand and big; big dining rooms, built for parties and banquets. But for the big affairs with 500 or 600 guests, they went to the hotels. Even the hotels had to rent my dishes, silver and linens.... Oh, lord, yes, miss. I always had my own. It took me ten years to save enough money to start out with my first 500 of everything.... You want to see them?... Sure, I keep them here at home.... Look. Here's my silver chests, all packed to go. I have them divided into different sizes. This one has fifty of every kind of silver, so if fifty guests are to be provided for. I keep my linens, plates of different sizes, glasses and everything the same way. A 200-guest outfit is packed in those chests over there. No, ma'am, I don't have much trouble of losing silver, because it all has my initials on; look: H.K.M. on every piece. Heap of dishes are broken every time I have a big catering. I found one plate yesterday--the last of a full pattern I had fifteen years ago. About every ten years is a complete turnover of china. Glassware goes faster, and of course, the linen is the greatest overhead. Yes ma'am, as I was telling you, catering is slack because of clubs. So many women take their parties to clubs now. Another thing, the style of food has changed. In those old days, the table was loaded with three four meats, fish, half dozen vegetable dishes, entrees, different kinds of wine, and an array of desserts. Now what do they have? Liquid punch, frozen punch and cakes. In June I had a wedding party for 400, and that's all they served. I had to have 30 punch bowls, but borrowed about half from my white friends.

"You have got that wrong about me living with my grandchildren. No ma'am! They are living with me. They make their home with me. I don't expect ever to marry again. I'm 86. In my will I am leaving everything I have to my three grandchildren.

"Well, miss, you're looking young and blooming. Guess your husband is right proud of you? Say you're a widow? Well, now, my goodness. Some of these days a fine man going to find you and then, er--er, lady, let me cater for the wedding?"

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Henry Kirk Miller [HW: Same as H.K. Miller] 1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age 87 [HW: 86]

"I am eighty-six years old-eighty-six years and six months. I was born July 25, 1851. I was a slave. Didn't get free till June 1865. I was a boy fifteen years old when I got free.

"I have been living in this house fifty years. I have been living in Arkansas ever since 1873. That makes about sixty-five years.

"The engineer who got killed in that wreck the other day (a wreck which occurred February 7, 1938, Monday morning at three and in which the engineer and five other people were killed) came right from my town, Fort Valley, Georgia. I came here from there in 1873. I don't know anybody living in Fort Valley now unless it's my own folks. And I don't 'spect I'd know them now. When I got married and left there, I was only twenty-one years old.

Parents and Relatives

"My mother and father were born in South Carolina. After their master and missis married they came to Georgia. Back there I don't know. When I remember anything they were in Georgia. They said they came from South Carolina to Georgia. I don't know how they came. Both of my parents were Negroes. They came to Arkansas ahead of me. I have their pictures." (He carried me into the parlor and showed me life-sized bust portraits of his mother and father.)

"There were eighteen of us: six boys and twelve girls. They are all dead now but myself and one sister. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia. I am older than she is.

Occupation

"I am a caterer. I have been serving the Scottish Rite Masons in their annual reunion every six months for forty-one years. We are going to the Seventh Street Entrance this Friday. One of the orders will have a dinner and I am going down to serve it. I served the dinner for Teddy Roosevelt there, thirty years ago. This Roosevelt is a cousin of his.

Masters

"My parents' master was named Wade. When he died, I was so little that they had to lift me up to let me see into the coffin so I could look at him. I went to his daughter. My name is after my father's father. My grandfather was named Miller. I took his name. He was a white man.

"Wade's daughter was named Riley, but I keep my grandfather's name. My mother and father were then transferred to the Rileys too, and they took the name of Riley. It was after freedom that I took the name Miller from my original people. Haven Riley's father was my brother." (Haven Riley lives in Little Rock and was formerly an instructor at Philander Smith College. Now he is a public stenographer and a private teacher.)

"Wade owned all of my brothers and sisters and parents and some of my kin--father's sister and brother. There might have been some more I can't remember. Wade was a farmer.

"I remember once when my mother and father were going to the field to work, I went with them as usual. That was before Wade died and his daughter drew us.

"My wife died six years ago. If she had lived till tomorrow, she would have been married to me sixty years. She died on the tenth of February and we were married on the sixth. We just lacked five years of being married sixty years when she died.

Food

"For food, I don't know anything more than bread and meat. Meal, meat, molasses were the only rations I saw. In those times the white people had what was known as the white people's house and then what was known as nigger quarters. The children that weren't big enough to work were fed at the white people's house. We got milk and mush for breakfast. When they boiled cabbage we got bread and pot-liquor. For supper we got milk and bread. They had cows and the children were fed mostly on milk and mush or milk and bread. We used to bake a corn cake in the ashes, ash cake, and put it in the milk.

"The chickens used to lay out in the barn. If we children would find the nests and bring the eggs in our missis would give us a biscuit, and we always got biscuits for Christmas.

Houses in the Negro Quarters

"In the nigger quarters there were nothing but log houses. I don't remember any house other than a log house. They'd just go out in the woods and get logs and put up a log house. Put dirt and mud or clay in the cracks to seal it. Notch the logs in the end to hitch them at corners. Nailed planks at the end of the logs to make a door frame.

"My people all ate and cooked and lived in the same room. Some of the slaves had dirt floors and some of them had plank floors.

"Food was kept in the house in a sort of box or chest, built in the wall sometimes. Mostly it was kept on the table.

"In cooking they had a round oven made like a pot only the bottom would be flat. It had an iron top. The oven was a bought oven. It was shaped like a barrel. The top lifted up. Coal was placed under the oven and a little on top.

Tables and Chairs

"Tables were just boards nailed together. Nothing but planks nailed together. I don't remember nothing but homemade benches for chairs. They sometimes made platted or split-bottom chairs out of white oak. Strips of oak were seven feet long. They put them in water so they would bend easily and wove them while they were flexible and fresh. The whole chair bottom was made out of one strip just like in caning. Those chairs were stouter than the chairs they make now."

(To be continued) [TR: No continuation found.]

Interviewer: Mrs. Annie L. LaCotts Person interviewed: Matilda Miller Humphrey, Ark. Age: 79

The day of the interview Matilda, a nice clean-looking Negro woman, was in bed, suffering from some kind of a pain in her head. She lives in a little two-room unpainted boxed house beside the highway in Humphrey. Her house is almost in the shadow of the big tank which was put up recently when the town acquired its water system.

When told that the visitor wanted to talk with her about her early life, Matilda said, "Well, honey, I'll tell you all I can, but you see, I was just a little girl when the war was, but I've heard my mother tell lots of things about then.

"I was born a slave; my mother and daddy both were owned by Judge Richard Gamble at Crockett's Bluff. I was born at Boone Hill--about twelve miles north of DeWitt--and how come it named Boone Hill, that farm was my young mistress's. Her papa give it to her, just like he give me to her when I was little, and after she married Mr. Oliver Boone and lived there the farm always went by the name of 'Boone Hill.' The house is right on top of a hill, you know, it shure was a pretty place when Miss Georgia lived there, with great big Magnolia trees in the front yard. I belonged to Miss Georgia, my young mistress, and when the niggers were freed my mamma staid on with her. She was right there when both of his chillun were born, Mr. John Boone and Miss Mary, too. I nursed _both_ of them chillun. You know who Miss Mary is now, don't you? Yes'um, she's Mr. Lester Black's wife and he's good, too.

"I was de oney child my mother had till twelve years after the surrender. You see, my papa went off with Yankees and didn't come back till twelve years after we was free, and then I had some brothers and sisters. Exactly nine months from the day my daddy come home, I had a baby brother born. My mother said she knew my daddy had been married or took up with some other woman, but she hadn't got a divorce and still counted him her husband. They lived for a long time with our white folks, for they were good to us, but you know after the boys and girls got grown and began to marry and live in different places, my parents wanted to be with them and left the white folks.

"No mam, I didn't see any fighting, but we could hear the big guns booming away off in the distance. I was married when I was 21 to Henry Miller and lived with him 51 years and ten months; he died from old age and hard work. We had two chillun, both girls. One of them lives here with me in that other room. Mamma said the Yankees told the Negroes when they got em freed they'd give em a mule and a farm or maybe a part of the plantation they'd been working on for their white folks. She thought they just told em that to make them dissatisfied and to get more of them 'to join up with em' and they were dressed in pretty blue clothes and had nice horses and that made lots of the Negro men go with them. None of em ever got anything but what their white folks give em, and just lots and lots of em never come back after the war cause the Yankees put them in front where the shooting was and they was killed. My husband Henry Miller died four years ago. He followed public work and made plenty of money but he had lots of friends and his money went easy too. I don't spect I'll live long for this hurtin' in my head is awful bad sometime."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Nathan Miller, Madison, Arkansas Age: Born in 1868

"Lady, I'll tell you what I know but it won't nigh fill your book.

"I was born in 1862 south of Lockesburg, Arkansas. My parents was Marther and Burl Miller.

"They told me their owners come here from North Carolina in 1820. They owned lots of slaves and lots of land. Mother was medium light--about my color. See, I'm mixed. My hair is white. I heard mother say she never worked in the field. Father was a blacksmith on the place. He wasn't a slave. His grandfather willed him free at ten years of age. It was tried in the Supreme Court. They set him free. Said they couldn't break the dead man's will.

"My father was a real bright colored man. It caused some disturbance. Father went back and forth to Kansas. They tried to make him leave if he was a free man. They said I would have to be a slave several years or leave the State. Freedom settled that for me.

"My great grandmother on my mother's side belong to Thomas Jefferson. He was good to her. She used to tell me stories on her lap. She come from Virginia to Tennessee. They all cried to go back to Virginia and their master got mad and sold them. He was a meaner man. Her name was Sarah Jefferson. Mariah was her daughter and Marther was my mother. They was real dark folks but mother was my color, or a shade darker.

"Grandmother said she picked cotton from the seed all day till her fingers nearly bled. That was fore gin day. They said the more hills of tobacco you could cultivate was how much you was worth.

"I don't remember the Ku Klux. They was in my little boy days but they never bothered me.

"All my life I been working hard--steamboat, railroad, farming. Wore clean out now.

"Times is awful hard. I am worn clean out. I am not sick. I'm ashamed to say I can't do a good day's work but I couldn't. I am proud to own I get commodities and $8 from the Relief."

Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lacy Person interviewed: Sam Miller, Morrilton, Arkansas Age: 98

"I is ninety-eight years old, suh. My name's Sam Miller, and I was born in Texas in 1840--don't know de month nor de day. My parents died when I was jes' a little chap, and we come to Conway County, Arkansas fifty years ago; been livin' here ever since. My wife's name was Annie Williamson. We ain't got no chillun and never had none. I don't belong to no chu'ch, but my wife is a Baptis'.

"Can't see to git around much now. No, suh, I can't read or write, neither. My memory ain't so good about things when I was little, away back yonder, but I sure members dem Ku Klux Klans and de militia. They used to ketch people and take em out and whup em.

"Don't rickolleck any of de old songs but one or two--oh, yes, dey used to sing 'Old time religion's good enough for me' and songs like dat.

"De young people! Lawzy, I jest dunno how to take em. Can't understand em at all. Dey too much for me!"

NOTE: The old fellow chuckled and shook his head but said very little more. He could have told much but for his faulty memory, no doubt. He was almost non-committal as to facts of slavery days, the War between the States, and Reconstruction period. Has the sense of humor that seems to be a characteristic of most of the old-time Negroes, but aside from a whimsical chuckle shows little of the interest that is usually associated with the old generation of Negroes.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: W.D. Miller, West Memphis, Arkansas Age: 65?

"Grandpa was sold twice in Raleigh, North Carolina. He was sold twice to the same people, from the Millers to the Robertsons (Robersons, Robinsons, etc.?). He said the Robertsons were not so very good to him but the Millers were. Grandma was washing when a Yank come and told them they had been sot free. They quit washing and went from house to house rejoicing. My parents' names was Jesse and Mary Miller, and Grandma Agnes and Grandpa Peter Miller. The Robertsons was hill wheat farmers. The Millers had a cloth factory. Dan Miller owned it and he raised wheat. Mama was a puny woman and they worked her in the factory. She made cloth and yarn.

"I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina or close by there. My father's uncle John House brought about one hundred families from North Carolina to Quittenden County, Mississippi. I was seven years old. He said they rode mules to pick cotton, it growed up like trees. We come in car boxes. I came to Heath and Helena eleven years ago. Papa stayed with his master Dan Miller till my uncle tolled him away. He died with smallpox soon after we come to Mississippi.

"It is a very good country but they don't pick cotton riding on mules, at least I ain't seed none that way."

El Dorado District FOLKLORE SUBJECTS Name of Interviewer: Pernella Anderson Subject: Slavery Customs Story:--Information

Information given by: Mose Minser--Farmer--Age--78 Place of Residence: 5 miles from El Dorado--Section 8 [TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]

Ah use ter could tawk an tell a thing plum well but ah been broke up by a cah. Cah run ovah mah haid an ah couldn' tawk fuh 30 days. So now ah aint no good fuh nothin. Ah recollect one night ah dream a dream. De dream at ah dreamt, next morning dat dream come true. Jes like ah dreamt hit. Yes hit did. Ah wuz heah in slavery time. Ah membuh when dey freed us niggers. Se here, ah wuz a purty good size kid when dey free us. Ah kin membuh our house. Sot dis way. An ole Marster called all his niggers up. Dey all come along roun in a squad on de porch. Ah did not heah whut he said tuh em. But mah step-pa wuz dere an tole us we wuz free. Ah atter dey freed mah step-pa ah recollect he went on home and fried some aigs (eggs) in de ubben. Know we didn have no stove we cooked on de fiuhplace. As ah said cook dem aigs, gimme some uv hit, an he lef' den. Went east and ah aint nevah seed dat man since. Ah membuhs once ah got a whoopin bout goin tuh de chinquepin tree. Some uv um tole me ole master wuz gwianter let us quit at dinnuh an so in place uv me goin ter dinnuh ah went on by de chinquepin tree tuh git some chanks. Ah had a brothuh wid me. So ah come tuh fine out dat dey gin tuh callin us. Dey hollered tuh come on dat we wuz gointer pick cotton. So in place uv us goin on tuh de house we went on back tuh de fiel'. Our fiel wuz bout a mile fum de house. Ole Moster waited down dere at de gate. He call me when ah got dere an wanted tuh know why ah didn come and git mah dinnah sos ah could pick cotton. So he taken mah britches down dat day. Mah chinks all run out on de groun' an he tole mah brothah tuh pick um up. Ah knocked mah brothuh ovah fuh pickin um up an aftuh ah done dat ole moster taken his red pocket han'cher out and tied hit ovah mah eyes tuh keep me fum seein mah brothuh pick um up.

So when he got through wid me and put mah britches back on me ah went on tuh de fiel and went tuh pickin cotton. Dat evenin when us stop pickin cotton ah took mah brothah down and taken mah chinquapins.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Gip Minton, Des Arc, Arkansas Age: 84

"I was born at Jackson, Alabama on the Tennessee River. It was sho a putty river. I never did know my grandfolks. I think my father was a soldier. My master was a soldier, I think. He was in de war. I do remember the Civil War. I remember the last battle at Scottsboro. There was several but one big battle and they got to Belfontain. That is where it seemed they were trying to go. I don't recollect who won the battle. I heard them fighting and saw the smoke and after they went on saw the bodies dead and all that was left was like a cyclone had swept by. There was a big regiment stationed at Scottsboro. It was just like any war fought with guns and they lived in tents. They took everything they could find. Looked like starvation was upon de land.

"I had two sisters and one brother and my mother died when I was a baby. I come out here to Arkansas with my mothers old master and mistress and never did see nor hear of none of them. No I never did hear from none of them. I come out here when I was ten or twelve years old. It was, it was right after the war. I recken I was freed, but I was raised by white folks and I stayed right on wid em. Dat freedom ain't never bothered me.

"My master and mistress names was Master Alfred Minton. Dey call me Gip for him. Gip Minton is what they always called me. My mistress was Miss Annie Minton. I stayed right wid em. They raised me and I come on here wid em. I don't know nothin about that freedom.

"I recken they was good to me. I et in de kitchen when they got through or on a table out in de back yard sometimes. I slept in an outhouse they fixed up mostly, when I got up big.

"We come on the train to Memphis and they come on thater way to Lonoke whar we settled. Don Shirley was the man I come on horseback with from Memphis to Lonoke. He was a man what dealt in horses. Sure he was a white man. He's where we got some horses. I don't remember if he lived at Lonoke or not.

"I have voted, yes ma'am, a heap of times. I don't remember what kind er ticket I votes. I'm a Democrat, I think so. I ain't voted fur sometime now. I don't know if I'll vote any more times or not. I don't know what is right bout votin and what ain't right.

"When I was a boy I helped farm. We had what we made. I guess it was plenty. I had more to eat and I didn't have as many changes of clothes as folks has to have nowdays bout all de difference. They raised lots more. They bought things to do a year and didn't be allus goin to town. It was hard to come to town. Yes mam it did take a long time, sometimes in a ox wagon. The oxen pulled more over muddy roads. Took three days to come to town and git back. I farmed one-half-for-the-other and on shear crop. Well one bout good as the other. Bout all anybody can make farmin is plenty to eat and a little to wear long time ago and nows the same way. The most I reckon I ever did make was on Surrounded Hill (Biscoe) when I farmed one-half-fur-de-udder for Sheriff Reinhardt. The ground was new and rich and the seasons hit just fine. No maam I never owned no farm, no livestock, no home. The only thing I owned was a horse one time. I worked 16 or 17 years for Mr. Brown and for Mr. Plunkett and Son. I drayed all de time fur em. Hauled freight up from the old depot (wharf) down on the river. Long time fore a railroad was thought of. I helped load cotton and hides on the boats. We loaded all day and all night too heap o'nights. We worked till we got through and let em take the ship on.

"The times is critical for old folks, wages low and everything is so high. The young folks got heap better educations but seems like they can't use it. They don't know how to any avantage. I know they don't have as good chances at farmin as de older folks had. I don't know why it is. My son works up at the lumber yard. Yes he owns this house. That's all he owns. He make nough to get by on, I recken. He works hard, yes maam. He helps me if he can. I get $4 a month janitor at the Farmers and Merchants Bank (Des Arc). I works a little garden and cleans off yards. No maam it hurts my rheumatism to run the yard mower. I works when I sho can't hardly go. Nothin matter cept I'm bout wo out. I plied for the old folks penshun but I ain't got nuthin yet. I signed up at the bank fur it agin not long ago. I has been allus self sportin. Didn't pend on no livin soul but myself."

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: A.J. Mitchell 419 E. 11th Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 78 Occupation: Garbage hauler

"I was 'bout seven when they surrendered. I can remember when my old master sold Aunt Susan. She raised me. I seen old master when he was tryin' to whip old Aunt Susan. She was the cook. She said, 'I ain't goin' let you whip me' and I heard my sister say next day he done sold Aunt Susan. I ain't seed her since. I called her ma. My mother died when I was two years old. She was full Injun. My father was black but his hair was straight. His face was so black it shined. Looked like it was greased. My father said he was freeborn and I've seen stripes on his back look like the veins on back of my hand where they whipped him tryin' to make him disown his freedom.

"Old Jack Clifton was my master. Yes ma'm, that was his name.

"I 'member when they had those old looms--makin' cloth and old shuttle to put the thread on. I can see 'em now.