Chapter II: Part 2

"I got a son named Albert Heard. He is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave. I wuz living in town then, and Albert and his wife wuz living in the country with their two chillun. Well, Albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn't do him any good. I wuz worried ter death cause I had ter run backards and for'ards and it wuz a strain on me. He wuz suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn't even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it wuz so bad he couldn't even button up his pants. A 'oman teached school out there by the name of Mrs. Yancy; she's dead now but she lived right here on Randolph Street years ago. Well, one day when I wuz leaving Albert's house I met her on the way from her school. 'Good evening, Mrs. Heard,' she says. 'How is Mr. Albert?' I don't hardly know, I says, cause he don't get no better. She looked at me kinda funny and said, don't you believe he's hurt?' Yes mam, I said, I sho do. 'Well,' says she, 'I been wanting to say something to you concerning this but I didn't know how you would take it. If I tell you somewhere ter go will you go, and tell them I sent you?' Yes mam, I will do anything if Albert can get better. 'All right then', she says. 'Catch the Federal Prison car and get off at Butler St.' In them days that car came down Forrest Ave. 'When you get to Butler St.', she says, 'walk up to Clifton St. and go to such and such a number. Knock on the door and a 'oman by the name of Mrs. Hirshpath will come ter the door. Fore she let you in she go ask who sent you there; when you tell 'er, she'll let you in. Now lemme tell you she keeps two quarts of whisky all the time and you have ter drink a little with her; sides that she cusses nearly every word she speaks; but don't let that scare you; she will sho get your son up if it kin be done.' Sho nuff that old 'oman did jest lak Mrs. Yancy said she would do. She had a harsh voice and she spoke right snappy. When she let me in she said, sit down. You lak whisky?' I said, well, I take a little dram sometimes. 'Well, here take some of this', she said. I poured a little bit and drank it kinda lak I wuz afraid. She cursed and said 'I ain't go conjure you. Drink it.' She got the cards and told me to cut 'em, so I did. Looking at the cards, she said: 'You lak ter wait too long; they got him marching to the cemetery. The poor thing! I'll fix those devils. (A profane word was used instead of devils). He got a knot on his side, ain't he?' Yes, Mam, I said. That 'oman told me everything that was wrong with Albert and zackly how he acted. All at once she said; 'If them d----d things had hatched in him it would a been too late. If you do zackly lak I tell you I'll get him up from there.' I sho will, I told her. 'Well, there's a stable sets east of his house. His house got three rooms and a path go straight to the stable. I see it there where he hangs his harness. Yes, I see it all, the devils! Have you got any money?' Yes, mam, a little, I said. 'All right then,' she said. 'Go to the drug store and get 5¢ worth of blue stone; 5¢ wheat bran; and go ter a fish market and ask 'em ter give you a little fish brine; then go in the woods and get some poke-root berries. Now, there's two kinds of poke-root berries, the red skin and the white skin berry. Put all this in a pot, mix with it the guts from a green gourd and 9 parts of red pepper. Make a poultice and put to his side on that knot. Now, listen, your son will be afraid and think you are trying ter do something ter him but be gentle and persuade him that its fer his good.' Child, he sho did act funny when I told him I wanted to treat his side. I had ter tell him I wuz carrying out doctors orders so he could get well. He reared and fussed and said he didn't want that mess on him. I told him the doctor says you do very well till you go ter the horse lot then you go blind and you can't see. He looked at me. 'Sho nuff, Ma, he said, 'that sho is the trufe. I have ter always call one of the chillun when I go there cause I can't see how ter get back ter the house.' Well, that convinced him and he let me fix the medicine for him. I put him ter bed and made the poultice, then I put it ter his side. Now this 'oman said no one wuz ter take it off the next morning but me. I wuz suppose ter fix three, one each night, and after taking each one off ter bury it lak dead folks is buried, east and west, and ter make a real grave out of each one. Well, when I told him not ter move it the next morning, but let me move it, he got funny again and wanted to know why. Do you know I had ter play lak I could move it without messing up my bed clothes and if he moved it he might waste it all. Finally he said he would call me the next morning. Sho nuff, the next morning he called me, ma! ma! come take it off. I went in the room and he wuz smiling. I slept all night long he said, and I feel so much better. I'm so glad, I said, and do you know he could reach down and fasten up his shoe and it had been a long time since he could do that. Later that day I slipped out and made my first grave under the fig bush in the garden. I even put up head boards, too. That night Albert said, 'Mama, fix another one. I feel so much better.' I sho will, I said. Thank God you're better; so fer three nights I fixed poultices and put ter his side and each morning he would tell me how much better he felt. Then the last morning I wuz fixing breakfast and he sat in the next room. After while Albert jumped up and hollered, Ma! Ma!' What is it,' I said. 'Mama, that knot is gone. It dropped down in my pants.' What! I cried. Where is it? Chile, we looked but we didn't find anything, but the knot had sho gone. Der 'oman had told me ter come back when the knot moved and she would tell me what else ter do. That same day I went ter see her and when I told her she just shouted, 'I fixed 'em, The devils! Now, says she, do you [TR: know?] where you can get a few leaves off a yellow peachtree. It must be a yellow peach tree, though. Yes, mam, I says to her. I have a yellow peachtree right there in my yard. Well, she says, get a handful of leaves, then take a knife and scrape the bark up, then make a tea and give him so it will heal up the poison from that knot in his side, also mix a few jimson weeds with it. I come home and told him I wanted ter give him a tea. He got scared and said, what fer, Ma? I had ter tell him I wuz still carrying out the doctor's orders. Well, he let me give him the tea and that boy got well. I went back to Mrs. Hirshpath and told her my son was well and I wanted to pay her. Go on, she said, keep the dollar and send your chillun ter school. This sho happened ter me and I know people kin fix you. Yes sir."

The next story was told to Mrs. Heard by Mrs. Hirshpath, the woman who cured her son.

I used to go see that 'oman quite a bit and even sent some of my friends ter her. One day while I wuz there she told me about this piece of work she did.

"There was a young man and his wife and they worked fer some white folks. They had jest married and wuz trying ter save some money ter buy a home with. All at onct the young man went blind and it almost run him and his wife crazy cause they didn't know what in the world ter do. Well, somebody told him and her about Mrs. Hirshpath, so they went ter see her. One day, says Mrs. Hirshpath, a big fine carriage drew up in front of her door and the coachman helped him to her door. She asked him who sent him and he told her. She only charged 50¢ for giving advice and after you wuz cured it wuz up ter you to give her what you wanted to. Well, this man gave her 50¢ and she talked ter him. She says, boy, you go home and don't you put that cap on no more. What cap? he says. That cap you wears ter clean up the stables with, cause somebody done dressed that cap fer you, and every time you perspire and it run down ter your eyes it makes you blind. You jest get that cap and bring it ter me. I'll fix 'em; they's trying ter make you blind, but I go let you see. The boy was overjoyed, and sho nuff he went back and brought her that cap, and it wuzn't long fore he could see good as you and me. He brought that 'oman $50, but she wouldn't take but $25 and give the other $25 back ter him.

"What I done told you is the trufe, every word of it; I know some other things that happened but you come back anudder day fer that."

PLANTATION LIFE

GEORGIA BAKER, Age 87 369 Meigs Street Athens, Georgia

Written by: Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby [HW: (White)] Athens

Edited by: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall Athens

and John N. Booth Dist. Supvr. Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7 Augusta, Ga.

August 4, 1938

Georgia's address proved to be the home of her daughter, Ida Baker. The clean-swept walks of the small yard were brightened by borders of gay colored zinnias and marigolds in front of the drab looking two-story, frame house. "Come in," answered Ida, in response to a knock at the front door. "Yessum, Mammy's here. Go right in dat dere room and you'll find her."

Standing by the fireplace of the next room was a thin, very black woman engaged in lighting her pipe. A green checked gingham apron partially covered her faded blue frock over which she wore a black shirtwaist fastened together with "safety first" pins. A white cloth, tied turban fashion about her head, and gray cotton hose worn with black and white slippers that were run down at the heels, completed her costume.

"Good mornin'. Yessum, dis here's Georgia," was her greeting. "Let's go in dar whar Ida is so us can set down. I don't know what you come for, but I guess I'll soon find out."

Georgia was eager to talk but her articulation had been impaired by a paralytic stroke and at times it was difficult to understand her jumble of words. After observance of the amenities; comments on the weather, health and such subjects, she began:

"Whar was I born? Why I was born on de plantation of a great man. It was Marse Alec Stephens' plantation 'bout a mile and a half from Crawfordville, in Taliaferro County. Mary and Grandison Tilly was my Ma and Pa. Ma was cook up at de big house and she died when I was jus' a little gal. Pa was a field hand, and he belonged to Marse Britt Tilly.

"Dere was four of us chillun: me, and Mary, and Frances, and Mack," she counted on the fingers of one hand. "Marse Alec let Marse Jim Johnson have Mack for his bodyguard. Frances, she wuked in de field, and Mary was de baby--she was too little to wuk. Me, I was 14 years old when de war was over. I swept yards, toted water to de field, and played 'round de house and yard wid de rest of de chillun.

"De long, log houses what us lived in was called "shotgun" houses 'cause dey had three rooms, one behind de other in a row lak de barrel of a shotgun. All de chillun slept in one end room and de grown folkses slept in de other end room. De kitchen whar us cooked and et was de middle room. Beds was made out of pine poles put together wid cords. Dem wheat-straw mattresses was for grown folkses mostly 'cause nigh all de chillun slept on pallets. How-some-ever, dere was some few slave chillun what had beds to sleep on. Pillows! Dem days us never knowed what pillows was. Gals slept on one side of de room and boys on de other in de chilluns room. Uncle Jim, he was de bed-maker, and he made up a heap of little beds lak what dey calls cots now.

"Becky and Stafford Stephens was my Grandma and Grandpa. Marse Alec bought 'em in Old Virginny. I don't know what my Grandma done 'cause she died 'fore I was borned, but I 'members Grandpa Stafford well enough. I can see him now. He was a old man what slept on a trundle bed in the kitchen, and all he done was to set by de fire all day wid a switch in his hand and tend de chillun whilst dere mammies was at wuk. Chillun minded better dem days dan dey does now. Grandpa Stafford never had to holler at 'em but one time. Dey knowed dey would git de switch next if dey didn't behave.

"Now dere you is axin' 'bout dat somepin' t'eat us had dem days! Ida, ain't dere a piece of watermelon in de ice box?" Georgia lifted the lid of a small ice box, got out a piece of melon, and began to smack her thick lips as she devoured it with an air of ineffable satisfaction. When she had tilted the rind to swallow the last drop of pink juice, she indicated that she was fortified and ready to exercise her now well lubricated throat, by resuming her story:

"Oh, yessum! Marse Alec, had plenty for his slaves to eat. Dere was meat, bread, collard greens, snap beans, 'taters, peas, all sorts of dried fruit, and just lots of milk and butter. Marse Alec had 12 cows and dat's whar I learned to love milk so good. De same Uncle Jim what made our beds made our wooden bowls what dey kept filled wid bread and milk for de chillun all day. You might want to call dat place whar Marse Alec had our veg'tables raised a gyarden, but it looked more lak a big field to me, it was so big. You jus' ought to have seed dat dere fireplace whar dey cooked all us had to eat. It was one sho 'nough big somepin, all full of pots, skillets, and ovens. Dey warn't never 'lowed to git full of smut neither. Dey had to be cleant and shined up atter evvy meal, and dey sho was pretty hangin' dar in dat big old fireplace.

"George and Mack was de hunters. When dey went huntin' dey brought back jus' evvything: possums, rabbits, coons, squirrels, birds, and wild turkeys. Yessum, wild turkeys is some sort of birds I reckon, but when us talked about birds to eat us meant part'idges. Some folkses calls 'em quails. De fishes us had in summertime was a sight to see. Us sho et good dem days. Now us jus' eats what-some-ever us can git.

"Summertime us jus' wore what us wanted to. Dresses was made wid full skirts gathered on to tight fittin' waisties. Winter clothes was good and warm; dresses made of yarn cloth made up jus' lak dem summertime clothes, and petticoats and draw's made out of osnaburg. Chillun what was big enough done de spinnin' and Aunt Betsey and Aunt Tinny, dey wove most evvy night 'til dey rung de bell at 10:00 o'clock for us to go to bed. Us made bolts and bolts of cloth evvy year.

"Us went bar'foots in summer, but bless your sweet life us had good shoes in winter and wore good stockin's too. It tuk three shoemakers for our plantation. Dey was Uncle Isom, Uncle Jim, and Uncle Stafford. Dey made up hole-stock shoes for de 'omans and gals and brass-toed brogans for de mens and boys.

"Us had pretty white dresses for Sunday. Marse Alec wanted evvybody on his place dressed up dat day. He sont his houseboy, Uncle Harris, down to de cabins evvy Sunday mornin' to tell evvy slave to clean hisself up. Dey warn't never give no chance to forgit. Dere was a big old room sot aside for a wash-room. Folkses laughs at me now 'cause I ain't never stopped takin' a bath evvy Sunday mornin'.

"Marse Lordnorth Stephens was de boss on Marse Alec's plantation. Course Marse Alec owned us and he was our sho 'nough Marster. Neither one of 'em ever married. Marse Lordnorth was a good man, but he didn't have no use for 'omans--he was a sissy. Dere warn't no Marster no whar no better dan our Marse Alec Stephens, but he never stayed home enough to tend to things hisself much 'cause he was all de time too busy on de outside. He was de President or somepin of our side durin' de war.

"Uncle Pierce went wid Marse Alec evvy whar he went. His dog, Rio, had more sense dan most folkses. Marse Alec, he was all de time havin' big mens visit him up at de big house. One time, out in de yard, him and one of dem 'portant mens got in a argyment 'bout somepin. Us chillun snuck up close to hear what dey was makin' such a rukus 'bout. I heared Marse Alec say: 'I got more sense in my big toe dan you is got in your whole body.' And he was right--he did have more sense dan most folkses. Ain't I been a-tellin' you he was de President or somepin lak dat, dem days?

"Ma, she was Marse Alec's cook and looked atter de house. Atter she died Marse Lordnorth got Mrs. Mary Berry from Habersham County to keep house at de big house, but Aunt 'Liza, she done de cookin' atter Miss Mary got dar. Us little Niggers sho' did love Miss Mary. Us called her "Mammy Mary" sometimes. Miss Mary had three sons and one of 'em was named Jeff Davis. I 'members when dey come and got him and tuk him off to war. Marse Lordnorth built a four-room house on de plantation for Miss Mary and her boys. Evvybody loved our Miss Mary, 'cause she was so good and sweet, and dere warn't nothin' us wouldn't have done for her.

"No Lord! Marse Lordnorth never needed no overseer or no carriage driver neither. Uncle Jim was de head man wat got de Niggers up evvy mornin' and started 'em off to wuk right. De big house sho was a pretty place, a-settin' up on a high hill. De squirrels was so tame dar dey jus' played all 'round de yard. Marse Alec's dog is buried in dat yard.

"No Mam, I never knowed how many acres dere was in de plantation us lived on, and Marse Alec had other places too. He had land scattered evvywhar. Lord, dere was a heap of Niggers on dat place, and all of us was kin to one another. Grandma Becky and Grandpa Stafford was de fust slaves Marse Alec ever had, and dey sho had a passel of chillun. One thing sho Marse Lordnorth wouldn't keep no bright colored Nigger on dat plantation if he could help it. Aunt Mary was a bright colored Nigger and dey said dat Marse John, Marse Lordnorth's brother, was her Pa, but anyhow Marse Lordnorth never had no use for her 'cause she was a bright colored Nigger.

"Marse Lordnorth never had no certain early time for his slaves to git up nor no special late time for 'em to quit wuk. De hours dey wuked was 'cordin' to how much wuk was ahead to be done. Folks in Crawfordville called us 'Stephens' Free Niggers.'

"Us minded Marse Lordnorth--us had to do dat--but he let us do pretty much as us pleased. Us never had no sorry piece of a Marster. He was a good man and he made a sho 'nough good Marster. I never seed no Nigger git a beatin', and what's more I never heared of nothin' lak dat on our place. Dere was a jail in Crawfordville, but none of us Niggers on Marse Alec's place warn't never put in it.

"No Lord! None of us Niggers never knowed nothin' 'bout readin' and writin'. Dere warn't no school for Niggers den, and I ain't never been to school a day in my life. Niggers was more skeered of newspapers dan dey is of snakes now, and us never knowed what a Bible was dem days.

"Niggers never had no churches of deir own den. Dey went to de white folkses' churches and sot in de gallery. One Sunday when me and my sister Frances went to church I found 50¢ in Confederate money and showed it to her. She tuk it away from me. Dat's de onliest money I seed durin' slavery time. Course you knows dey throwed Confederate money away for trash atter de war was over. Den us young chaps used to play wid it.

"I never went to no baptizin's nor no funerals neither den. Funerals warn't de style. When a Nigger died dem days, dey jus' put his body in a box and buried it. I 'members very well when Aunt Sallie and Aunt Catherine died, but I was little den, and I didn't take it in what dey done bout buryin' 'em.

"None of Marse Alec's slaves never run away to de North, 'cause he was so good to 'em dey never wanted to leave him. De onliest Nigger what left Marse Alec's place was Uncle Dave, and he wouldn't have left 'cept he got in trouble wid a white 'oman. You needn't ax me her name 'cause I ain't gwine to tell it, but I knows it well as I does my own name. Anyhow Marse Alec give Uncle Dave some money and told him to leave, and nobody never seed him no more atter dat.

"Oh yessum! Us heared 'bout 'em, but none of us never seed no patterollers on Marse Alec's plantation. He never 'lowed 'em on his land, and he let 'em know dat he kept his slaves supplied wid passes whenever dey wanted to go places so as dey could come and go when dey got good and ready. Thursday and Sadday nights was de main nights dey went off. Uncle Stafford's wife was Miss Mary Stephen's cook, Uncle Jim's wife lived on de Finley place, and Uncle Isom's belonged to de Hollises, so dey had regular passes all de time and no patterollers never bothered 'em none.

"Whenever Marse Alec or Marse Lordnorth wanted to send a message dey jus' put George or Mack on a horse and sont 'em on but one thing sho, dere warn't no slave knowed what was in dem letters.

"Marse Alec sho had plenty of mules. Some of 'em was named: Pete, Clay, Rollin, Jack, and Sal. Sal was Allen's slow mule, and he set a heap of store by her. Dere was a heap more mules on dat place, but I can't call back dere names right now.

"Most times when slaves went to deir quarters at night, mens rested, but sometimes dey holped de 'omans cyard de cotton and wool. Young folkses frolicked, sung songs, and visited from cabin to cabin. When dey got behind wid de field wuk, sometimes slaves wuked atter dinner Saddays, but dat warn't often. But, Oh, dem Sadday nights! Dat was when slaves got together and danced. George, he blowed de quills, and he sho could blow grand dance music on 'em. Dem Niggers would jus' dance down. Dere warn't no foolishment 'lowed atter 10:00 o'clock no night. Sundays dey went to church and visited 'round, but folks didn't spend as much time gaddin' 'bout lak dey does now days.

"Christmas Day! Oh, what a time us Niggers did have dat day! Marse Lordnorth and Marse Alec give us evvything you could name to eat: cake of all kinds, fresh meat, lightbread, turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese, and all kinds of wild game. Dere was allus plenty of pecans, apples, and dried peaches too at Christmas. Marse Alec had some trees what had fruit dat looked lak bananas on 'em, but I done forgot what was de name of dem trees. Marse Alec would call de grown folkses to de big house early in de mornin' and pass 'round a big pewter pitcher full of whiskey, den he would put a little whiskey in dat same pitcher and fill it wid sweetened water and give dat to us chillun. Us called dat 'toddy' or 'dram'. Marse Alex allus had plenty of good whiskey, 'cause Uncle Willis made it up for him and it was made jus' right. De night atter Christmas Day us pulled syrup candy, drunk more liquor, and danced. Us had a big time for a whole week and den on New Year's Day us done a little wuk jus' to start de year right and us feasted dat day on fresh meat, plenty of cake, and whiskey. Dere was allus a big pile of ash-roasted 'taters on hand to go wid dat good old baked meat. Us allus tried to raise enough 'taters to last all through de winter 'cause Niggers sho does love dem sweet 'taters. No Mam, us never knowed nothin' 'bout Santa Claus 'til atter de war.

"No Mam, dere warn't no special cornshuckin's and cotton pickin's on Marse Alec's place, but of course dey did quilt in de winter 'cause dere had to be lots of quiltin' done for all dem slaves to have plenty of warm kivver, and you knows, Lady, 'omens can quilt better if dey gits a passel of 'em together to do it. Marse Alec and Marse Lordnorth never 'lowed dere slaves to mix up wid other folkses business much.

"Oh Lord! Us never played no games in slavery times, 'cept jus' to run around in a ring and pat our hands. I never sung no songs 'cause I warn't no singer, and don't talk 'bout no Raw Head and Bloody Bones or nothin' lak dat. Dey used to skeer us chillun so bad 'bout dem sort of things dat us used to lay in bed at night a-shakin' lak us was havin' chills. I've seed plenty of ha'nts right here in Athens. Not long atter I had left Crawfordville and moved to Athens, I had been in bed jus' a little while one night, and was jus' dozin' off to sleep when I woke up and sot right spang up in bed. I seed a white man, dressed in white, standin' before me. I sho didn't say nothin' to him for I was too skeered. De very last time I went to a dance, somepin got atter me and skeered me so my hair riz up 'til I couldn't git my hat on my haid, and dat cyored me of gwine to dances. I ain't never been to no more sich doin's.

"Old Marster was powerful good to his Niggers when dey got sick. He had 'em seed atter soon as it was 'ported to him dat dey was ailin'. Yessum, dere warn't nothin' short 'bout our good Marsters, 'deed dere warn't! Grandpa Stafford had a sore laig and Marse Lordnorth looked atter him and had Uncle Jim dress dat pore old sore laig evvy day. Slaves didn't git sick as often as Niggers does now days. Mammy Mary had all sorts of teas made up for us, 'cordin' to whatever ailment us had. Boneset tea was for colds. De fust thing dey allus done for sore throat was give us tea made of red oak bark wid alum. Scurvy grass tea cleant us out in the springtime, and dey made us wear little sacks of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round our necks to keep off lots of sorts of miseries. Some folkses hung de left hind foot of a mole on a string 'round deir babies necks to make 'em teethe easier. I never done nothin' lak dat to my babies 'cause I never believed in no such foolishment. Some babies is jus' natchelly gwine to teethe easier dan others anyhow.

"I 'members jus' as good as if it was yesterday what Mammy Mary said when she told us de fust news of freedom. 'You all is free now,' she said. 'You don't none of you belong to Mister Lordnorth nor Mister Alec no more, but I does hope you will all stay on wid 'em, 'cause dey will allus be jus' as good to you as dey has done been in de past.' Me, I warn't even studyin' nothin' 'bout leavin' Marse Alec, but Sarah Ann and Aunt Mary, dey threwed down deir hoes and jus' whooped and hollered 'cause dey was so glad. When dem Yankees come to our place Mammy Mary axed 'em if dey warn't tired of war. 'What does you know 'bout no war?' Dey axed her right back. 'No, us won't never git tired of doin' good.'

"I stayed on wid my two good Marsters 'til most 3 years atter de war, and den went to wuk for Marse Tye Elder in Crawfordville. Atter dat I wuked for Miss Puss King, and when she left Crawfordville I come on here to Athens and wuked for Miss Tildy Upson on Prince Avenue. Den I went to Atlanta to wuk for Miss Ruth Evage (probably Elliott). Miss Ruth was a niece of Abraham Lincoln's. Her father was President Lincoln's brother and he was a Methodist preacher what lived in Mailpack, New York. I went evvywhar wid Miss Ruth. When me and Miss Ruth was in Philadelphia, I got sick and she sont me home to Athens and I done been here wid my daughter ever since.

"Lawdy, Miss! I ain't never been married, but I did live wid Major Baker 18 years and us had five chillun. Dey is all daid but two. Niggers didn't pay so much 'tention to gittin' married dem days as dey does now. I stays here wid my gal, Ida Baker. My son lives in Cleveland, Ohio. My fust child was borned when I warn't but 14 years old. De war ended in April and she was borned in November of dat year. Now, Miss! I ain't never told but one white 'oman who her Pa was, so you needn't start axin' me nothin' 'bout dat. She had done been walkin' evvywhar 'fore she died when she was jus' 10 months old and I'm a-tellin' you de truth when I say she had more sense dan a heap of white chillun has when dey is lots older dan she was. Whilst I was off in New York wid Miss Ruth, Major, he up and got married. I reckon he's daid by now. I don't keer nohow, atter de way he done me. I made a good livin' for Major 'til he married again. I seed de 'oman he married once.

"Yes Mam," there was strong emphasis in this reply. "I sho would ruther have slavery days back if I could have my same good Marsters 'cause I never had no hard times den lak I went through atter dey give us freedom. I ain't never got over not bein' able to see Marse Alec no more. I was livin' at Marse Tye Elder's when de gate fell on Marse Alec, and he was crippled and lamed up from dat time on 'til he died. He got to be Governor of Georgia whilst he was crippled. When he got hurt by dat gate, smallpox was evvywhar and dey wouldn't let me go to see 'bout him. Dat most killed me 'cause I did want to go see if dere was somepin' I could do for him.

"Lordy Mussy, Miss! I had a time jinin' up wid de church. I was in Mailpack, New York, wid Miss Ruth when I had de urge to jine up. I told Miss Ruth 'bout it and she said: 'Dere ain't no Baptist church in 10 miles of here.' 'Lord, have mussy!' I said. 'Miss Ruth, what I gwine do? Dese is all Methodist churches up here and I jus' can't jine up wid no Methodists.' 'Yes you can,' she snapped at me, 'cause my own Pa's a-holdin a 'vival in dis very town and de Methodist church is de best anyhow.' Well, I went on and jined de Reverend Lincoln's Methodist church, but I never felt right 'bout it. Den us went to Philadelphia and soon as I could find a Baptist church dar, I jined up wid it. Northern churches ain't lak our southern churches 'cause de black and white folkses all belong to de same church dar and goes to church together. On dat account I still didn't feel lak I had jined de church. Bless your sweet life, Honey, when I come back to de South, I was quick as I could be to jine up wid a good old southern Baptist church. I sho didn't mean to live outdoors, 'specially atter I dies." Georgia's eyes sparkled and her flow of speech was smooth as she told of her religious experiences. When that subject was exhausted her eyes dimmed again and her speech became less articulate.

Georgia's reeking pipe had been laid aside for the watermelon and not long after that was consumed the restless black fingers sought occupation sewing gay pieces for a quilt. "Miss, I warn't born to be lazy, I warn't raised dat way, and I sho ain't skeered to die.

"Good-bye, Honey," said Georgia, as the interviewer arose and made her way toward the street. "Hurry back and don't forgit to fetch me dat purty pink dress you is a-wearin'. I don't lak white dresses and I ain't never gwine to wear a black one nohow."

[TR: Return Visit]

Georgia was on the back porch washing her face and hands and quarrelling with Ida for not having her breakfast ready at nine-thirty when the interviewer arrived for a re-visit.

"Come in," Georgia invited, "and have a cheer. But, Miss I done told you all I knows 'bout Marse Alec and dem deys when I lived on his plantation. You know chillun den warn't 'lowed to hang 'round de grown folks whar dey could hear things what was talked about."

About this time Ida came down from a second-floor kitchen with her mother's breakfast. She was grumbling a little louder on each step of the rickety stairway. "Lord, have mussy! Ma is still a-talkin' 'bout dat old slavery stuff, and it ain't nothin' nohow." After Ida's eyes had rested on the yellow crepe frock just presented Georgia in appreciation of the three hours she had given for the first interview, she became reconciled for the story to be resumed, and even offered her assistance in rousing the recollections of her parent.

"Did I tell you" Georgia began, "dat de man what looked atter Marse Alec's business was his fust cousin? He was de Marse Lordnorth I'se all time talkin' 'bout, and Marse John was Marse Lordnorth's brother. Dere warn't no cook or house gal up at de big house but Ma 'til atter she died, and den when Miss Mary Berry tuk charge of de house dey made Uncle Harry and his wife, Aunt 'Liza, house boy and cook.

"Marse Alec growed all his corn on his Googer Crick plantation. He planned for evvything us needed and dere warn't but mighty little dat he didn't have raised to take keer of our needs. Lordy, didn't I tell you what sort of shoes, holestock shoes is? Dem was de shoes de 'omans wore and dey had extra pieces on de sides so us wouldn't knock holes in 'em too quick.

"De fust time I ever seed Marse Alec to know who he was, I warn't more'n 6 years old. Uncle Stafford had went fishin' and cotched de nicest mess of fish you ever seed. He cleant 'em and put 'em in a pan of water, and told me to take 'em up to de big house to Marse Alec. I was skeered when I went in de big house yard and axed, what looked lak a little boy, whar Marse Alec was, and I was wuss skeered when he said: 'Dis is Marse Alec you is talkin' to. What you want?' I tole him Uncle Stafford sont him de fishes and he told me: 'Take 'em to de kitchen and tell 'Liza to cook 'em for me.' I sho ain't never gwine to forgit dat.

"One day dey sont me wid a bucket of water to de field, and I had to go through de peach orchard. I et so many peaches, I was 'most daid when I got back to de house. Dey had to drench me down wid sweet milk, and from dat day to dis I ain't never laked peaches. From den on Marse Alec called me de 'peach gal.'

"Marse Alec warn't home much of de time, but when he was dar he used to walk down to de cabins and laugh and talk to his Niggers. He used to sing a song for de slave chillun dat run somepin lak dis:

'Walk light ladies
De cake's all dough,
You needn't mind de weather,
If de wind don't blow.'"

Georgia giggled when she came to the end of the stanza. "Us didn't know when he was a-singin' dat tune to us chillun dat when us growed up us would be cake walkin' to de same song.

"On Sundays, whenever Marse Alec was home, he done lots of readin' out of a great big old book. I didn't know what it was, but he was pow'ful busy wid it. He never had no parties or dancin' dat I knows 'bout, but he was all time havin' dem big 'portant mens at his house talkin' 'bout de business what tuk him off from home so much. I used to see Lawyer Coombs dere heaps of times. He was a big, fine lookin' man. Another big lawyer was all time comin' dar too, but I done lost his name. Marse Alec had so awful much sense in his haid dat folkses said it stunted his growin'. Anyhow, long as he lived he warn't no bigger dan a boy.

"When Uncle Harry's and Aunt 'Liza's daughter what was named 'Liza, got married he was in Washin'ton or some place lak dat. He writ word to Marse Linton, his half-brother, to pervide a weddin' for her. I knows 'bout dat 'cause I et some of dat barbecue. Dat's all I 'members 'bout her weddin'. I done forgot de name of de bridegroom. He lived on some other plantation. Aunt 'Liza had two gals and one boy. He was named Allen.

"Whilst Marse Alec was President or somepin, he got sick and had to come back home, and it wern't long atter dat 'fore de surrender. Allen was 'pinted to watch for de blue coats. When dey come to take Marse Alec off, dey was all over the place wid deir guns. Us Niggers hollered and cried and tuk on pow'ful 'cause us sho thought dey was gwine to kill him on account of his bein' such a high up man on de side what dey was fightin'. All de Niggers followed 'em to de depot when dey tuk Marse Alec and Uncle Pierce away. Dey kept Marse Alec in prison off somewhar a long time but dey sont Pierce back home 'fore long.

"I seed Jeff Davis when dey brung him through Crawfordville on de train. Dey had him all fastened up wid chains. Dey told me dat a Nigger 'oman put pizen in Jeff Davis' somepin t'eat and dat was what kilt him. One thing sho, our Marse Alec warn't pizened by nobody. He was comin' from de field one day when a big old heavy gate fell down on him, and even if he did live a long time atterwards dat was what was de cause of his death.

"I seed Uncle Pierce 'fore he died and us sot and talked and cried 'bout Marse Alec. Yessum, us sho did have de best Marster in de world. If ever a man went to Heaven, Marse Alec did. I sho does wish our good old Marster was livin' now. Now, Miss, I done told you all I can ricollec' 'bout dem days. I thanks you a lot for dat purty yaller dress, and I hopes you comes back to see me again sometime."

ALICE BATTLE, EX-SLAVE Hawkinsville, Georgia

(Interviewed By Elizabeth Watson--1936) [JUL 20, 1937]

During the 1840's, Emanuel Caldwell--born in North Carolina, and Neal Anne Caldwell--born in South Carolina, were brought to Macon by "speculators" and sold to Mr. Ed Marshal of Bibb County. Some time thereafter, this couple married on Mr. Marshal's plantation, and their second child, born about 1850, was Alice Battle. From her birth until freedom, Alice was a chattel of this Mr. Marshal, whom she refers to as a humane man, though inclined to use the whip when occasion demanded.

Followed to its conclusion, Alice's life history is void of thrills and simply an average ex-slave's story. As a slave, she was well fed, well clothed, and well treated, as were her brother and sister slaves. Her mother was a weaver, her father--a field hand, and she did both housework and plantation labor.

Alice saw the Yankee pass her ex-master's home with their famous prisoner, Jeff Davis, after his capture, in '65. The Yankee band, says she, was playing "We'll hang Jeff Davis on a Sour Apple Tree". Some of the soldiers "took time out" to rob the Marshal smokehouse. The Whites and Negroes were all badly frightened, but the "damyankees didn't harm nobody".

After freedom, Alice remained with the Marshals until Christmas, when she moved away. Later, she and her family moved back to the Marshal plantation for a few years. A few years still later, Alice married a Battle "Nigger".

Since the early '70's, Alice has "drifted around" quite a bit. She and her husband are now too old and feeble to work. They live with one of their sons, and are objects of charity.

PLANTATION LIFE

JASPER BATTLE, Age 80 112 Berry St., Athens, Ga.

Written by: Grace McCune [HW: (White)] Athens

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens

Leila Harris Augusta

and John N. Booth District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7

The shade of the large water oaks in Jasper's yard was a welcome sight when the interviewer completed the long walk to the old Negro's place in the sweltering heat of a sunny July afternoon. The old house appeared to be in good condition and the yard was clean and tidy. Jasper's wife, Lula, came around the side of the house in answer to the call for Jasper. A large checked apron almost covered her blue dress and a clean white headcloth concealed her hair. Despite her advanced age, she seemed to be quite spry.

"Jus' come back here whar I'se a-doin' de white folks' washin'," she said. "Jasper's done been powerful sick and I can't leave him by hisself none. I brung him out here in de shade so I could watch him and 'tend to him whilst I wuks. Jasper stepped on a old plank what had two rusty nails in it, and both of 'em went up in his foot a fur ways. I done driv dem nails plumb up to dey haids in de north side of a tree and put jimpson weed poultices on Jasper's foot, but it's still powerful bad off."

By this time we had arrived within sight and earshot of the old rocking chair where Jasper sat with his foot propped high in another chair. His chair had long ago been deprived of its rockers. The injured member appeared to be swollen and was covered with several layers of the jimpson weed leaves. The old man's thin form was clothed in a faded blue shirt and old gray cotton trousers. His clothes were clean and his white hair was in marked contrast to his shining but wrinkled black face. He smiled when Lula explained the nature of the proposed interview. "'Scuse me, Missy," he apologized, "for not gittin' up, 'cause I jus' can't use dis old foot much, but you jus' have a seat here in de shade and rest yourself." Lula now excused herself, saying: "I jus' got to hurry and git de white folks' clothes washed and dried 'fore it rains," and she resumed her work in the shade of another huge tree where a fire was burning brightly under her washpot and a row of sud-filled tubs occupied a long bench.

"Lula, she has to wuk all de time," Jasper explained, "and she don't never have time to listen to me talk. I'se powerful glad somebody is willin' to stop long enough to pay some heed whilst I talks 'bout somepin. Dem days 'fore de war was good old days, 'specially for de colored folks. I know, 'cause my Mammy done told me so. You see I was mighty little and young when de war was over, but I heared de old folks do lots of talkin' 'bout dem times whilst I was a-growin' up, and den too, I stayed right dar on dat same place 'til I was 'bout grown. It was Marse Henry Jones' plantation 'way off down in Taliaferro County, nigh Crawfordville, Georgy. Mammy b'longed to Marse Henry. She was Harriet Jones. Daddy was Simon Battle and his owner was Marse Billie Battle. De Battle's plantation was off down dar nigh de Jones' place. When my Mammy and Daddy got married Marse Henry wouldn't sell Mammy, and Marse Billie wouldn't sell Daddy, so dey didn't git to see one another but twice a week--dat was on Wednesday and Sadday nights--'til atter de war was done over. I kin still 'member Daddy comin' over to Marse Henry's plantation to see us.

"Marse Henry kept a lot of slaves to wuk his big old plantation whar he growed jus' evvything us needed to eat and wear 'cept sugar and coffee and de brass toes for our home-made, brogan shoes. Dere allus was a-plenty t'eat and wear on dat place.

"Slave quarters was log cabins built in long rows. Some had chimblies in de middle, twixt two rooms, but de most of 'em was jus' one-room cabins wid a stick and mud chimbly at de end. Dem chimblies was awful bad 'bout ketchin' on fire. Didn't nobody have no glass windows. Dey jus' had plain plank shutters for blinds and de doors was made de same way, out of rough planks. All de beds was home-made and de best of 'em was corded. Dey made holes in de sides and foots and haidpieces, and run heavy home-made cords in dem holes. Dey wove 'em crossways in and out of dem holes from one side to another 'til dey had 'em ready to lay de mattress mat on. I'se helped to pull dem cords tight many a time. Our mattress ticks was made of homespun cloth and was stuffed wid wheat straw. 'Fore de mattress tick was put on de bed a stiff mat wove out of white oak splits was laid on top of de cords to pertect de mattress and make it lay smooth. Us was 'lowed to pick up all de old dirty cotton 'round de place to make our pillows out of.

"Jus' a few of de slave famblies was 'lowed to do deir own cookin' 'cause Marster kept cooks up at de big house what never had nothin' else to do but cook for de white folks and slaves. De big old fireplace in dat kitchen at de big house was more dan eight feet wide and you could pile whole sticks of cord-wood on it. It had racks acrost to hang de pots on and big ovens and little ovens and big, thick, iron fryin' pans wid long handles and hefty iron lids. Dey could cook for a hunderd people at one time in dat big old kitchen easy. At one time dere was tables acrost one end of de kitchen for de slaves t'eat at, and de slave chillun et dar too.

"Marster was mighty good to slave chillun. He never sont us out to wuk in de fields 'til us was 'most growed-up, say 12 or 14 years old. A Nigger 12 or 14 years old dem days was big as a white child 17 or 18 years old. Why Miss, Niggers growed so fast, dat most of de Nigger nurses warn't no older dan de white chillun dey tuk keer of. Marster said he warn't gwine to send no babies to de fields. When slave chillun got to be 'bout 9 or 10 years old dey started 'em to fetchin' in wood and water, cleanin' de yards, and drivin' up de cows at night. De bigges' boys was 'lowed to measure out and fix de stock feed, but de most of us chillun jus' played in de cricks and woods all de time. Sometimes us played Injuns and made so much fuss dat old Aunt Nancy would come out to de woods to see what was wrong, and den when she found us was jus' a-havin' fun, she stropped us good for skeerin' her.

"Mammy's job was to make all de cloth. Dat was what she done all de time; jus' wove cloth. Some of de others cyarded de bats and spun thread, but Mammy, she jus' wove on so reg'lar dat she made enough cloth for clothes for all dem slaves on de plantation and, it's a fact, us did have plenty of clothes. All de nigger babies wore dresses made jus' alak for boys and gals. I was sho'ly mighty glad when dey 'lowed me to git rid of dem dresses and wear shirts. I was 'bout 5 years old den, but dat boys' shirt made me feel powerful mannish. Slave gals wore homespun cotton dresses, and dey had plenty of dem dresses, so as dey could keep nice and clean all de time. Dey knitted all de socks and stockin's for winter. Dem gals wore shawls, and dere poke bonnets had ruffles 'round 'em. All de shoes was home-made too. Marster kept one man on de plantation what didn't do nothin' but make shoes. Lordy, Missy! What would gals say now if dey had to wear dem kind of clothes? Dey would raise de roof plumb offen de house. But jus' let me tell you, a purty young gal dressed in dem sort of clothes would look mighty sweet to me right now.

"Us never could eat all de meat in Marster's big old smokehouse. Sometimes he tuk hams to de store and traded 'em for sugar and coffee. Plenty of 'bacco was raised on dat plantation for all de white folks and de growed-up Niggers. Slave chillun warn't sposen to have none, so us had to swipe what 'bacco us got. If our Mammies found out 'bout us gittin' 'bacco, dey stropped us 'til de skin was most off our backs, but sometimes us got away wid a little. If us seed any of de old folks was watchin' us, us slipped de 'bacco from one to another of us whilst dey s'arched us, and it went mighty bad on us if dey found it.