Chapter IV: Part 4

"Me and Rosa Barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a mighty fine supper. I don't ricollect what she had on, but I'se tellin' you she looked pretty and sweet to me. Our two boys and three gals is done growed up and I'se got three grandchillun now. Rosa, she died out 'bout 2 months ago and I'se gwine to marry agin soon as I finds somebody to take keer of me.

"I was happier de day I jined de church at Sander's Chapel, dan I'se been since. It was de joyfullest day of all my life, so far. Folks ought to git ready for a better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished on dis earth, and I'se sho glad our Good Lord saw fit to set us free from sin end slavery. If he hadn't done it, I sho would have been dead long ago. Yistidday I picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and it laid me out. I can't wuk no more. I don't know how de Blessed Lord means to provide for me but I feels sho He ain't gwine to let me perish."

[HW: Dist. 6: Ex-Slave #72]

Henrietta Carlisle Alberta Minor Re-search Workers

MOLLIE MALONE--EX-SLAVE Route B, Griffin, Georgia Interviewed

September 16, 1936 [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Mollie was born on a plantation owned by Mr Valentine Brook, near Locust Grove, Georgia. Mr. Brook died before the War and his wife, "the widder Brock", ran the plantation.

Slaves not needed on the home plantation were "hired out" to other land owners for from $200.00 to $300.00 a year. This was done the first of each year by an auction from a "horse block". When Mollie was seven months old her mother, Clacy Brock, was "hired out" and she was taken care of by two old Negroes, too old to work, and who did nothing but care for the little "Niggers". Mollie grew up with these children between the "big house" and the kitchen. When she was old enough she was "put to mind" the smaller children and if they did'nt behave she pinched them, but "when the 'ole Miss found it out, she'd sure 'whup me'", she said. These children were fed cornbread and milk for breakfast and supper, and "pot licker" with cornbread for dinner. They slept in a large room on quilts or pallets. Each night the larger children were given so many "cuts" to spin, and were punished if all weren't finished. The thread was woven into cloth on the loom and made into clothes by the slaves who did the sewing. There were no "store bought" clothes, and Mollie was free before she ever owned a pair of shoes. Clothes had to be furnished by the owner for the slaves he "hired out".

Mr. and Mrs. Brock had two daughters, Margaret and Mary Anne, who led very quiet secluded lives. Mollie remembers visits of the traveling preacher, who conducted services in a nearby church once a month. The slaves walked behind the White folks' carriages to and from the church, where they were seated in the rear during the services. If there were baptisms, the Whites were baptized first, then the Darkies.

On this plantation the Negroes were not allowed to engage in any frolics or attend social gatherings. They only knew Christmas by the return of the hired out slaves, who came home for a week before the next auction.

The young lady daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Brock wore "drag tail" dresses, and Mollie says the little Negroes had to hold these long skirts off the ground whenever they were out doors, then spread them as they went into the house so they could "strut."

The children were not allowed any education other than the "old Miss" reading them the Bible on Sunday afternoons.

The older Negroes were not allowed to visit on other plantations often, but when they did go they had to have passes from their masters or the "patarolers" would whip them--if they were caught.

Hoar-hound and penny-royal were used for minor ailments, and "varnish" was put on cuts by the "ole Miss". Mollie doesn't remember ever seeing a doctor, other than a mid-wife, on the plantation. Home made remedies for "palpitation of the heart" was to wear tied around the neck a piece of lead, pounded into the shape of the heart, and punched with nine holes, or to get some one "not kin to you", to tie some salt in a small bag and wear it over your heart. Toothache was cured by smoking a pipe of "life everlasting", commonly called "rabbit tobacco". Headaches were stopped by beating the whites of an egg stiff, adding soda and putting on a cloth, then tying around the head.

Mr. Brock died before the War, consequently not having any men to go from the plantation, Mollie knew very little about it. She remembers Confederate soldiers "practicin" at Locust Grove, the nearest town, and one time the Yankees came to the plantation and "took off" a horse Mrs. Brock had hidden in the swamp, also all the silver found buried.

Mollie knew nothing of the freedom of the slaves until her mother came to get her. For two years they "hired out" on a farm in Butts County, where they worked in the fields. Several times in later years Mollie returned to the Brock plantation to see "the ole Miss" and the young Misses. Mrs. Brock and her daughters, who had never married, died on the plantation where they had always lived.

Mollie's family "knocked around awhile", and then came to Griffin where they have since made their home. She became a familiar figure driving an ox-cart on the streets and doing odd jobs for White families and leading a useful life in the community. Besides her own family, Mollie has raised fifteen orphaned Negro children. She is approximately ninety years old, being "about growd" when the War ended.

District Two EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

AUNT CARRIE MASON Milledgeville, Georgia (Baldwin County)

Written By: Mrs. Estelle G. Burke Research Worker Federal Writers' Project Milledgeville, Georgia

Edited By: John N. Booth Asst. District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

July 7, 1937 [Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]

"Howdy, Miss, Howdy. Come on in. George is poly today. My grandchillun is doin' a little cleanin' up fer me 'cause us thinks George ain't got long on this earth an' us don' want de place ter be dirty an' all when he's gone."

The home of Aunt Carrie and Uncle George Mason, a two-room cabin surrounded by a dirty yard, stands in a clearing. Old tin cans, bottles, dusty fruit jars, and piles of rat-tail cotton from gutted mattresses littered the place. An immense sugarberry tree, beautifully proportioned, casts inviting shade directly in front of the stoop. It is the only redeeming feature about the premises. Aunt Carrie, feeble and gray haired, hobbled out in the yard with the aid of a stick.

"Have a seat, Miss. Dat cheer is all right. It won't fall down. Don't git yo' feet wet in dat dirty water. My grandchillun is scourin' terday. Effen yer want to, us'll set under de tree. Dey's a cool breeze dar all de time.

"You wants to fin' out my age an' all? Law Miss, I don' know how ole I is. George is nigh 'bout 90. I 'members my mammy said I wuz bawn a mont' or two 'fore freedom wuz 'clared. Yas'um I rekymembers all 'bout de Yankees. How cum I 'members 'bout dem an' de war wuz over den? I cain't tell yer dat, but I knows I 'members seein' 'em in de big road. It mought not uv been Mister Sherman's mens but mammy said de Yankees wuz in de big road long after freedom wuz 'clared, and dey wuz down here gettin' things straight. Dey wuz sho' in er mess atter de war! Evvythin' wuz tore up an' de po' niggers didn't know which away to turn.

"My mammy's name wuz Catherine Bass an' my pappy wuz Ephriam Butts. Us b'longed ter Mars' Ben Bass an' my mammy had de same name ez marster twell she ma'ied pappy. He b'longed ter somebody else 'til marster bought him. Dey had ten chillun. No, mam, Mammy didn't have no doctor," Aunt Carrie chuckled, "Didn't nobody hardly have a doctor in dem days. De white folks used yarbs an' ole 'omans to he'p 'em at dat time. Mammy had er ole 'oman whut lived on de place evvy time she had a little 'un. She had one evvy year too. She lost one. Dat chile run aroun' 'til she wuz one year ole an' den died wid de disentery.

"Us had er right hard time in dem days. De beds us used den warn't like dese here nice beds us has nowadays. Don't you laugh, Berry, I knows dese beds us got now is 'bout to fall down," Aunt Carrie admonished her grandson when he guffawed at her statement, "You chilluns run erlong now an' git thoo' wid dat cleanin'." Aunt Carrie's spirits seemed dampened by Berry's rude laugh and it was several minutes before she started talking again. "Dese young folks don't know nuthin' 'bout hard times. Us wukked in de ole days frum before sunup 'til black night an' us knowed whut wuk wuz. De beds us slep' on had roun' postes made outen saplins of hickory or little pine trees. De bark wuz tuk off an' dey wuz rubbed slick an' shiny. De sprangs wuz rope crossed frum one side uv de bed to de udder. De mattress wuz straw or cotton in big sacks made outen osnaberg or big salt sacks pieced tergether. Mammy didn't have much soap an' she uster scrub de flo' wid sand an' it wuz jes ez white. Yas mam, she made all de soap us used, but it tuk a heap. We'uns cooked in de ashes an' on hot coals, but de vittals tasted a heap better'n dey does nowadays. Mammy had to wuk in de fiel' an' den cum home an' cook fer marster an' his fambly. I didn' know nuthin' 'bout it 'till atter freedom but I hyearn 'em tell 'bout it.

"Mammy an' pappy stayed on Marster's plantation 'til a year or mo' atter dey had dey freedom. Marster paid 'em wages an' a house ter stay in. He didn't hav' many slaves, 'bout 20, I reckon. My brothers wuz Berry, Dani'l, Ephriam, Tully, Bob, Lin, an' George. De yuthers I disremembers, caze dey lef' home when dey wuz big enough to earn dey livin' an' I jes don't recollec'.

"Conjur' woman! Law miss, I aims ter git ter Hebem when I dies an' I show don't know how ter conjur' nobody. No mam, I ain't never seed no ghost. I allus pray to de Lord dat He spar' me dat trouble an' not let me see nary one. No good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey leave here de fus time. Go 'way, dog."

A spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under Aunt Carrie's chair. It was a still summer day and the flies droned ceaselessly. A well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool drink. Aunt Carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to her story.

"Effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from Marster, I ain't heered tell uv it, but Mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched an' whupped by de overseer. Effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. Er big S wuz put on dey face somewhars. S stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. Marster din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself.

"Why is George so white? 'Cause his marster wuz er white genemun named Mister Jimmie Dunn. His mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' Frances Mason an' his marster wuz his paw. Yas mam, I see you is s'prised, but dat happ'ned a lots in dem days. I hyeared tell of er white man what would tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo' slaves.' Yas mam, when George wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er white man an' he made George his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf ter boss de yuther slaves. I wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none."

Aunt Carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. After lighting it she puffed quietly and seemed to be meditating. Finally she took it from her mouth and continued.

"I ain't had no eddication. I 'tended school part of one term but I wuz so skairt of my teacher that I couldn't larn nuthin'. He wuz a ole white man. He had been teachin' fer years an' years, but he had a cancer an' dey had done stopped him frum teachin' white chillun'. His name wuz Mister Bill Greer. I wuz skairt 'cause he was a white man. No mam, no white man ain't never harmed me, but I wuz skairt of him enyhow. One day he says to me, 'chile I ain't goin to hurt yer none 'cause I'm white.' He wuz a mighty good ole man. He would have larned us mo' but he died de nex' year. Mammy paid him ten cents a mont' a piece fer all us chillun. De boys would wuk fer dey money but I wuz the onliest gal an' Mammy wouldn't let me go off de plantation to make none. Whut I made dar I got, but I didn't make much 'til atter I ma'ied.

"Law honey, does yer want to know 'bout my ma'ige? Well, I wuz 15 years ole an' I had a preacher to ma'y me. His name wuz Andrew Brown. In dem days us allus waited 'til de time of year when us had a big meetin' or at Christmus time. Den effen one of us wanted ter git mai'ed, he would perform de weddin' atter de meetin' or atter Chris'mus celebratin'. I had er bluish worsted dress. I mai'ed in Jannywerry, right atter Chris'mus. At my mai'ge us had barbecue, brunswick stew, an' cake. De whole yard wuz full uv folks.

"Mammy wuz a 'ligous 'oman an' de fust day of Chris'mus she allus fasted ha'f a day an' den she would pray. Atter dat evvybody would hav' eggnog an' barbecue an' cake effen dey had de money to buy it. Mammy said dat when dey wuz still slaves Marster allus gived 'em Chris'mus, but atter dey had freedom den dey had ter buy dey own rations. Us would have banjer playin' an' dance de pijen-wing and de shuffle-toe.

"No mam, George's pa didn' leave him no lan' when he died. Us went ter another farm an' rented when de mai'ge wuz over. George's pa warn't dead, but he didn't offer to do nuthin' fer us.

"Yas'um, I'se had eight chilluns of my own. Us ain' never had no lan' us could call our'n. Us jes moved from one farm ter another all our days. This here lan' us is on now 'longs ter Mr. Cline. My son an' his chillun wuks it an' dey give us whut dey kin spare. De Red Cross lady he'ps us an' us gits along somehow or nother."

Works Progress Administration Harry L. Hopkins, Administrator Ellen S. Woodward, Assistant Administrator Henry S. Alsberg, Director of the Federal Writers' Project

PLANTATION LIFE

Interview with: SUSAN MATTHEWS, Age 84 Madison Street, Macon, Georgia

Written by: Ruth H. Sanford, Macon, Georgia

Edited by: Annie A. Rose, Macon, Georgia

Susan Matthews is an intelligent old negress, very tall and weighing close to two hundred pounds. Her eyes were bright, her "store-bought" teeth flashed in a smile as she expressed her willingness to tell us all she remembered "'bout ole times." In a tattered, faded print dress, a misshapen hat and ragged shoes, she sat enjoying the sunshine on the porch while she sewed on an underskirt she was making for herself from old sugar sacks. Her manner was cheerful; she seemed to get genuine enjoyment from the interview and gave us a hearty invitation to come to see her again.

"I was jes a chile" she began, "when de white folks had slaves. My ma an her chillen wuz the onliest slaves my marster and mistis had. My pa belonged to some mo white folks that lived 'bout five miles from us. My marster and mistis were poor folks. They lived in a white frame house; it wuz jes a little house that had 'bout five rooms, I reckon. The house had a kitchen in the backyard and the house my ma lived wuz in the back yard too, but I wuz raised in my mistis' house. I slept in her room; slep' on the foot of her bed to keep her feets warm and everwhere my mistis went I went to. My marster and mistis wuz sho good to us an we loved 'em. My ma, she done the cooking and the washing fer the family and she could work in the fields jes lak a man. She could pick her three hundred pounds of cotton or pull as much fodder as any man. She wuz strong an she had a new baby mos' ev'y year. My marster and Mistis liked for to have a lot of chillen 'cause that helped ter make 'em richer."

I didn't have much time fer playin' when I wus little cause I wuz allus busy waitin' on my mistis er taking care of my little brothers and sisters. But I did have a doll to play with. It wuz a rag doll an my mistis made it fer me. I wuz jes crazy 'bout that doll and I learned how to sew making clothes fer it. I'd make clothes fer it an wash an iron 'em, and it wasn't long 'fo I knowed how to sew real good, an I been sewing ever since.

My white folks wern't rich er tall but we always had plenty of somep'n to eat, and we had fire wood to keep us warm in winter too. We had plenty of syrup and corn bread, and when dey killed a hog we had fine sausage an chitlin's, an all sorts of good eating. My marster and the white an collored boys would go hunting, and we had squirrels an rabbits an possums jes lots of time. Yessum, we had plenty; we never did go hongry.

"Does I remember 'bout the Yankees coming?, Yes ma'am, I sho does. The white chillen an us had been looking fer 'em and looking fer 'em. We wanted 'em to come. We knowed 'twould be fun to see 'em. And sho 'nuf one day I was out in de front yard to see and I seed a whole passel of men in blue coats coming down de road. I hollered "Here come de Yankees". I knowed 'twuz dem an my mistis an my ma an ev'y body come out in the front yard to see 'em. The Yankees stopped an the leading man with the straps on his shoulders talked to us an de men got water outen de well. No'm, they didn't take nothing an they hurt nothing. After a while they jes went on down the road; they sho looked hot an dusty an tired.

"After de war wuz over my pa, he comed up to our house an got my ma an all us chillen an carries us down to his marster's place. I didn't want ter go cause I loved my mistis an she cried when we left. My pa's ole marster let him have some land to work on shares. My pa wuz a hard worker an we helped him an in a few years he bought a little piece of land an he owned it till he died. 'Bout once er twice a year we'd all go back ter see our mistis. She wuz always glad to see us an treated us fine.

"After de war a white woman started a school fer nigger chillen an my pa sent us. This white lady wuz a ole maid an wuz mighty poor. She an her ma lived by dereselves, I reckon her pa had done got kilt in de war. I don't know 'bout that but I knows they wuz mighty poor an my pa paid her fer teaching us in things to eat from his farm. We didn't never have no money. I loved to go to school; I had a blue back speller an I learned real quick but we didn't get ter go all the time. When there wuz work ter do on the farm we had ter stop an do it.

"Times warn't no better after de war wuz over an dey warnt no wuss. We wuz po before de war an we wuz po after de war. But we allus had somep'n to wear and plenty to eat an we never had no kick coming.

"I never did get married. I'se a old maid nigger, an they tells me you don't see old maid niggers. How come I ain't married I don't know. Seems like when I was young I seed somep'n wrong with all de mens that would come around. Then atter while I wuz kinder ole an they didn't come around no mo. Jes' last week a man come by here what used to co't me. He seed me settin here on the porch an I says 'Come on in an set a while', an he did. So maybe, I ain't through co'tin, maybe I'll get married yet." Here she laughed gleefully.

When asked which she preferred freedom or slavery she replied, "Well, being free wuz all right while I wuz young but now I'm old an I wish I b'longed to somebody cause they would take keer of me an now I ain't got nobody to take keer of me. The government gives me eight dollars a month but that don't go fer enough. I has er hard time cause I can't git around an work like I used to."

[HW: DIST. 6 Ex-slave #77]

Alberta Minor Re-search Worker

EMILY MAYS East Solomon Street, Griffin, Georgia Interviewed [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Emily was born in 1861 on the Billy Stevens plantation in Upson County. Her mother, Betsy Wych, was born at Hawkinsville, Georgia, and sold to Mr. Billy Stevens. The father, Peter Wych, was born in West Virginia. A free man, he was part Indian and when driving a team of oxen into Virginia for lime, got into the slave territory, was overtaken by a "speculator" and brought to Georgia where he was sold to the Wyches of Macon. He cooked for them at their Hotel, "The Brown House" for a number of years, then was sold "on the block" to Mr. Stevens of Upson County. Betsy was sold at this same auction. Betsy and Peter were married by "jumping the broomstick" after Mr. Stevens bought them. They had sixteen children, of which Emily is the next to the last. She was always a "puny", delicate child and her mother died when she was about seven years old. She heard people tell her father that she "wasn't intented to be raised" 'cause she was so little and her mother was "acomin' to get her soon." Hearing this kind of remarks often had a depressing effect upon the child, and she "watched the clouds" all the time expecting her mother and was "bathed in tears" most of the time.

After the war, Peter rented a "patch" from Mr. Kit Parker and the whole family worked in the fields except Emily. She was not big enough so they let her work in the "big house" until Mrs. Parker's death. She helped "'tend" the daughter's babies, washed and ironed table napkins and waited on them "generally" for which she can't remember any "pay", but they fed and clothed her.

Her older sister learned to weave when she was a slave, and helped sew for the soldiers; so after freedom she continued making cloth and sewing for the family while the others worked in the fields. [Buttons were made from dried gourds.] They lived well, raising more on their patch than they could possibly use and selling the surplus. For coffee they split and dried sweet potatoes, ground and parched them.

The only education Emily received was at the "Sugar Hill" Sunday School. They were too busy in the spring for social gatherings, but after the crops were harvested, they would have "corn shuckings" where the Negroes gathered from neighboring farms and in three or four days time would finish at one place then move on to the next farm. It was quite a social gathering and the farm fed all the guests with the best they had.

The Prayer Meetings and "singings" were other pleasant diversions from the daily toil.

After Mrs. Parker's death Emily worked in her father's fields until she was married to Aaron Mays, then she came to Griffin where she has lived ever since. She is 75 years old and has cooked for "White folks" until she was just too old to "see good", so she now lives with her daughter.

INTERVIEW WITH LIZA MENTION BEECH ISLAND, S.C.

Written and Edited By: Leila Harris and John N. Booth

Federal Writers' Project Augusta, Georgia

March 25, 1938

"Come right in. Have a seat. I'll be glad to tell you anything I can 'bout dem early days", said Liza Mention. "Course I warn't born till de second year atter freedom, so I don't 'member nothin' 'bout all dat fightin' durin' de war. I'se sho' glad I warn't born in slavery from what I heared 'em tell 'bout dem patterollers ketchin' and beatin' up folks." Liza's house, a 2-room hut with a narrow front porch, stands in a peaceful spot on the edge of the Wilson plantation at Beech Island, South Carolina. A metal sign on the door which revealed that the property is protected by a theft insurance service aroused wonder as to what Liza had that could attract a burglar. The bedroom was in extreme disorder with clothing, shoes, bric-a-brac, and just plain junk scattered about. The old Negress had been walking about the sunshiny yard and apologized for the mess by saying that she lived alone and did as she pleased. "Folks says I oughtn't to stay here by myself," she remarked, "but I laks to be independent. I cooked 25 years for de Wilson fambly and dey is gonna let me have dis house free 'til I die 'cause I ain't able to do no work."

Liza's close-fitting hat pinned her ears to her head. She wore a dress that was soiled and copiously patched and her worn out brogans were several sizes too large. Ill health probably accounts for this untidiness for, as she expressed it, "when I gits up I hate to set down and when I sets down, I hates to git up, my knees hurts me so," however, her face broke into a toothless grin on the slightest provocation.

"I wuz born up on de Reese's place in McDuffie County near Thomson, Georgia. When I wuz chillun us didn't know nothin' 'bout no wuk," she volunteered. "My ma wuz a invalis (invalid) so when I wuz 6 years old she give me to her sister over here at Mr. Ed McElmurray's place to raise. I ain't never knowed who my pa wuz. Us chaps played all de time wid white chillun jus' lak dey had all been Niggers. Chillun den didn't have sense lak dey got now; us wuz satisfied jus' to play all de time. I 'members on Sundays us used to take leaves and pin 'em together wid thorns to make usselves dresses and hats to play in. I never did go to school none so I don't know nothin' 'bout readin' and writin' and spellin'. I can't spell my own name, but I think it begins wid a M. Hit's too late to study 'bout all dat now 'cause my old brain couldn't learn nothin'. Hit's done lost most all of what little I did know.

"Back in dem times, folkses cooked on open fireplaces in winter time and in summer dey built cook stands out in de yard to set de spiders on, so us could cook and eat outdoors. Dere warn't no stoves nowhar. When us wuz hard up for sompin' green to bile 'fore de gyardens got goin' good, us used to go out and git wild mustard, poke salad, or pepper grass. Us et 'em satisfactory and dey never kilt us. I have et heaps of kinds of diffunt weeds and I still eats a mess of poke salad once or twice a year 'cause it's good for you. Us cooked a naked hunk of fat meat in a pot wid some corn dumplin's.

"De grown folks would eat de meat and de chilluns would sit around on de floor and eat de potlikker and dumplin's out of tin pans. Us enjoyed dat stuff jus' lak it had been pound cake.

"Dances in dem days warn't dese here huggin' kind of dances lak dey has now. Dere warn't no Big Apple nor no Little Apple neither. Us had a house wid a raised flatform (platform) at one end whar de music-makers sot. Dey had a string band wid a fiddle, a trumpet, and a banjo, but dere warn't no guitars lak dey has in dis day. One man called de sets and us danced de cardrille (quadrille) de virginia reel, and de 16-hand cortillion. When us made syrup on de farm dere would always be a candy pullin'. Dat homemade syrup made real good candy. Den us would have a big time at corn shuckin's too.

"I don't believe in no conjuration. Ain't nobody never done nothin' to me but I have seed people dat other folks said had been hurt. If somebody done somethin' to me I wouldn't know whar to find a root-worker to take it off and anyways I wouldn't trust dem sort of folks 'cause if dey can cyore you dey can kill you too.

"I'se a member of de Silver Bluff Baptist Church, and I been goin' to Sunday School dar nearly ever since I can 'member. You know dey say dat's de oldest Nigger church in de country. At fust a white man come from Savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves. Later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built another house so de niggers could have de old one. When dat ole church wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat house and den in a brush arbor.

"Some folks calls it de Dead River Church 'cause it used to be near Dead River and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. I wuz baptised dar myself and I loves de old spot of ground. I has tried to be a good church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime for preacher money now."

When asked if people in the old days got married by jumping over a broom she made a chuckling sound and replied: "No, us had de preacher but us didn't have to buy no license and I can't see no sense in buyin' a license nohow, 'cause when dey gits ready to quit, dey just quits."

Liza brought an old Bible from the other room in which she said she kept the history of the old church. There were also pictures from some of her "white folks" who had moved to North Carolina. "My husband has been daid for 40 years," she asserted, "and I hasn't a chile to my name, nobody to move nothin' when I lays it down and nobody to pick nothin' up. I gets along pretty well most of de time though, but I wishes I could work so I would feel more independent."

District Two EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW

AUNT HARRIET MILLER Toccoa, Georgia (Stephens County)

Written By: Mrs. Annie Lee Newton Research Worker Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

Edited By: John N. Booth Asst. District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia

July 15, 1937

Aunt Harriet Miller, a chipper and spry Indian Half-breed, thinks she is about 100 years old. It is remarkable that one so old should possess so much energy and animation. She is tall and spare, with wrinkled face, bright eyes, a kindly expression, and she wears her iron grey hair wound in a knob in the manner of a past generation. Aunt Harriet was neatly dressed as she had just returned from a trip to Cornelia to see some of her folks. She did not appear at all tired from the trip, and seemed glad to discuss the old days.

"My father," said Aunt Harriet, "was a Cherokee Indian named Green Norris, and my mother was a white woman named Betsy Richards. You see, I am mixed. My mother give me to Mr. George Naves when I was three years old. He lived in de mountains of South Carolina, just across de river. He didn't own his home. He was overseer for de Jarretts, old man Kennedy Jarrett. Honey, people was just like dey is now, some good and some bad. Mr. Naves was a good man. Dese here Jarretts was good to deir slaves but de ----s was mean to deirs. My whitefolks tried to send me to school but de whitefolks wouldn't receive me in deir school on account of I was mixed, and dere warn't no colored school a t'all, nowhere. Some of de white ladies taught deir slaves. Yes'm, some of 'em did. Now, Miss Sallie Jarrett, dat was Mrs. Bob Jarrett's daughter, used to teach 'em some.

"Slaves had half a day off on Saturday. Dey had frolics at night, quiltings, dances, corn-shuckings, and played de fiddle. Dey stayed in de quarters Sunday or went to church. Dey belonged to de same church wid de whitefolks. I belonged to Old Liberty Baptist Church. De back seats was whar de slaves set. Dey belonged to de same church just like de whitefolks, but I wasn't with 'em much." As a child, Aunt Harriet associated with white people, and played with white children, but when she grew up, had to turn to negroes for companionship.

"If slaves stayed in deir places dey warn't never whipped or put in chains. When company come I knowed to get out doors. I went on to my work. I was treated all right. I don't remember getting but three whippings in my life. Old Mistis had brown sugar, a barrel of sugar setting in de dinin' room. She'd go off and she'd come back and ask me 'bout de sugar. She'd get after me 'bout it and I'd say I hadn't took it, and den when she turned my dress back and whipped me I couldn't hardly set down. She whipped me twice 'bout the sugar and den she let me alone. 'Twasn't de sugar she whipped me 'bout, but she was trying to get me to tell de truth. Yes'm, dat was de best lesson dat ever I learned, to tell de truth, like David.

"I had a large fambly. Lets see, I had ten chillun, two of 'em dead, and I believes 'bout 40 grand-chillun. I could count 'em. Last time I was counting de great-grandchillun dere was 37 but some have come in since den. Maggie has 11 chillun. Maggie's husband is a farmer and dey lives near Eastonallee. Lizzie, her husband is dead and she lives wid a daughter in Chicago, has 5 chillun. Den Media has two. Her husband, Hillary Campbell, works for de Govemint, in Washington. Lieutenant has six; he farms. Robert has six; Robert is a regular old farmer and Sunday School teacher. Davey has four, den Luther has seven, and dat leaves Jim, my baby boy. He railroads and I lives wid him. Jim is 37. He ain't got no chillun. My husband, Judge Miller, been dead 37 years. He's buried at Tugalo. Dis old lady been swinging on a limb a long time and she going to swing off from here some time. I'm near about a hundred and I won't be here long, but when I go, I wants to go in peace wid everybody.

"I don't know. I'd be 'feard to say dere ain't nothing in voo-doo. Some puts a dime in de shoe to keep de voo-doo away, and some carries a buckeye in de pocket to keep off cramp and colic. Dey say a bone dey finds in de jawbone of a hog will make chillun teethe easy. When de slaves got sick, de whitefolks looked after 'em. De medicines for sickness was nearly all yerbs. Dey give boneset for colds, made tea out of it, and acheing joints. Butterfly root and slippery elm bark was to cool fever. Willow ashes is good for a corn, poke root for rheumatism, and a syrup made of mullein, honey, and alum for colds. Dey use barks from dogwood, wild cherry, and clack haws, for one thing and another. I'll tell you what's good for pizen-oak, powdered alum and sweet cream. Beat it if it's lump alum, and put it in sweet cream, not milk, it has to be cream. Dere's lots of other remedies and things, but I'm getting so sap-skulled and I'm so old I can't remember. Yes'm, I've got mighty trifling 'bout my remembrance.

"Once some Indians camped on de river bottoms for three or four years, and we'd go down; me, and Anne, and Genia, nearly every Saturday, to hear 'em preach. We couldn't understand it. Dey didn't have no racket or nothing like colored folks. Dey would sing, and it sounded all right. We couldn't understand it, but dey enjoyed it. Dey worked and had crops. Dey had ponies, pretty ponies. Nobody never did bother 'em. Dey made baskets out of canes, de beautifulest baskets, and dey colored 'em wid dyes, natchel dyes.

"Indian woman wore long dresses and beads. Deir hair was plaited and hanging down de back, and deir babyes was tied on a blanket on de back. Mens wore just breeches and feathers in deir hats. I wish you could have seen 'em a cooking. Dey would take corn dough, and den dey'd boil birds, make sort of long, not round dumplings, and drop 'em in a pot of hot soup. We thought dat was terrible, putting dat in de pot wid de birds. Dey had blow-guns and dey'd slip around, and first thing dey'd blow, and down come a bird. Dey'd kill a squirrel and ketch fish wid deir blow guns. Dem guns was made out of canes 'bout eight feet long, burned out at de j'ints for de barrel. Dey put in a arrow what had thistles on one end to make it go through quick and de other end sharp.

"Yes honey, I believes in hants. I was going 'long, at nine o'clock one night 'bout the Denham fill and I heard a chain a rattling 'long de cross-ties. I couldn't see a thing and dat chain just a rattling as plain as if it was on dis floor. Back, since the war, dere was a railroad gang working 'long by dis fill, and de boss, Captain Wing, whipped a convict. It killed him, and de boss throwed him in de fill. I couldn't see a thing, and dat chain was just rattling right agai' de fill where dat convict had been buried. I believes de Lord took keer of me dat night and I hope he keeps on doing so."

[HW: Dist. 6 Ex-Slave #75]

Folklore Alberta Minor Re-search Worker

MOLLIE MITCHELL, Ex Negro Slave 507 East Chappell Street Griffin, Georgia

August 31, 1936 [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Mollie Mitchell, a white haired old darkey, 85 years old was born on the Newt Woodard plantation. It is the old Jackson Road near Beulah Church. Until she was 7 years old she helped about the house running errands for her "Missus", "tendin' babies", "sweeping the yard", and "sich." At 7 she was put in the fields. The first day at work she was given certain rows to hoe but she could not keep in the row. The Master came around twice a day to look at what they had done and when it was not done right, he whipped them. "Seems like I got whipped all day long," she said. One time when Mollie was about 13 years old, she was real sick, the master and missus took her to the bathing house where there was "plenty of hot water." They put her in a tub of hot water then took her out, wrapped her in blankets and sheets and put her in cold water. They kept her there 4 or 5 days doing that until they broke her fever. Whenever the negroes were sick, they always looked after them and had a doctor if necessary. At Christmas they had a whole week holiday and everything they wanted to eat. The negroes lived a happy carefree life unless they "broke the rules." If one lied or stole or did not work or did not do his work right or stayed out over the time of their pass, they were whipped. The "pass" was given them to go off on Saturday. It told whose "nigger" they were and when they were due back, usually by 4 o'clock Sunday afternoon or Monday morning. "The patta-roll" (patrol) came by to see your pass and if you were due back home, they would give you a whippin'!"

Mollie was 15 years old when the master came out in the fields and told them they were as free as he was. Her family stayed with him. He gave them a horse or mule, their groceries and a "patch to work", that they paid for in about three years time. Before the war whenever his slaves reached 70 years, the master set them free and gave them a mule, cow and a "patch". Mollie can remember her grandmother and grandfather getting theirs. When Mollie married (17 years old), she moved to her husband's farm. She had 9 children. She had to "spin the cloth" for their clothes, and did any kind of work, even the men's work too. Out of herbs she made syrup for worms for her children. With the barks of different trees she made the spring tonic and if their "stomachs was wrong", she used red oak bark. When she was younger, she would "dream a dream" and see it "jes' as clear" next morning and it always came true, but now since she's aged her dreams are "gone away" by next morning. When she was a little girl, they made them go to Sunday School and taught them out of a "blue back speller". After freedom, they were sent to day school "some". The "little missus" used to teach her upstairs after they were supposed to be in bed. She's been a member of the Methodist Church since she was 17 years old. Mollie's husband was always a farmer and he always planted by the moon. Potatoes, turnips and things that grow under the ground were planted in the dark of the moon while beans and peas and things that develope on top the ground were planted in the light of the moon.

She said she couldn't remember many superstitions but she knew a rabbit's foot was tied round your neck or waist for luck and a crowing hen was bad luck, so bad that they killed them and "put 'em in the pot" whenever they found one. When you saw a cat washing its face, it was going to rain sure.

Mollie is quite wrinkled, has thinning white hair, very bad teeth but fairly active physically and her mind is moderately clear.

Elizabeth Watson

BOB MOBLEY, Ex-Slave, Aged about 90 Pulaski County, Georgia (1937) [Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]

When recently interviewed, this aged colored man--the soul of humbleness and politeness--and long a resident of Pulaski County, sketched his life as follows (his language reconstructed):

"I was the seventh child of the eleven children born to Robert and Violet Hammock, slaves of Mr. Henry Mobley of Crawford County. My parents were also born in Crawford County.

My master was well-to-do: he owned a great deal of land and many Negroes.

Macon was our nearest trading town--and Mr. Mobley sold his cotton and did his trading there, though he sent his children to school at Knoxville (Crawford County).

My mother was the family cook, and also superintended the cooking for many of the slaves.

We slaves had a good time, and none of us were abused or mistreated, though young Negroes were sometimes whipped--when they deserved it. Grown Negro men, in those days, wore their hair long and, as a punishment to them for misconduct (etc.), the master cut their hair off.

I was raised in my master's house--slept in his room when I was a small boy, just to be handy to wait on him when he needed anything.

If a slave became sick, a doctor was promptly called to attend him. My mother was also a kind of doctor and often rode all over the plantation to dose ailing Negroes with herb teas and home medicines which she was an adept in compounding. In cases of [HW: minor] illness, she could straighten up the sick in no time.

Before the war started, I took my young master to get married, and we were certainly dressed up. You have never seen a Nigger and a white man as dressed up as we were on that occasion.

An aunt of mine was head weaver on our plantation, and she bossed the other women weavers and spinners. Two or three seamstresses did all the sewing.

In winter time we slaves wore wool, which had been dyed before the cloth was cut. In summer we wore light goods.

We raised nearly every thing that we ate, except sugar and coffee, and made all the shoes and clothes worn on the place, except the white ladies' silks, fine shawls, and slippers, and the men's broadcloths and dress boots.

My young master went to the war, but his father was too old to go. When we heard that the Yankees were coming, old mister refugeed to Dooly County--where he bought a new farm, and took his Negroes with him. But the new place was so poor that, right after the war closed, he moved back to his old plantation. I stayed with Mr. Henry for a long time after freedom, then came to Hawkinsville to work at the carpenter's trade. And I did pretty well here until I fell off a house several years ago, since which time I haven't been much good--not able to do hardly any work at all."

Now old, feeble, and physically incapacitated, "Uncle" Bob lives with a stepdaughter--a woman of 72--who, herself, is failing fast. Both are supported mainly by Pulaski County and the Federal Government.

[HW: Dist. 6 Ex-Slave #79]

Folklore Mary A. Crawford Re-Search Worker

FANNY NIX--Ex-Slave Interviewed [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

Fanny was born in slavery and was "a great big girl" when the slaves were freed but does not know her exact age, however, she thinks that she was "at least twelve when the War broke out." According to this method of estimating her age, Fanny is about eighty-seven.

The old woman's parents were John Arnold and Rosetta Green, who were married 'away befo de wah' by steppin' over the broom' in the presence of "old Marse," and a lot of colored friends.

Fanny does not know where her parents were born, but thinks that they were born in Upson County near Thomaston, Georgia, and knows that she and her two brothers and other sister were.

Fanny and her family were owned by Judge Jim Green. Judge Green had a hundred or so acres of land Fanny 'reckon', and between twenty-five and seventy-five slaves.

"The Marster was just as good as he could be to all the slaves, and especially to the little chillun." "The Judge did not 'whup' much--and used a peach tree limb and done it hisself. There wuzn't no strop at Marse Green's big house."

Rosetta Green, the mother of Fanny, "cooked and washed for Judge Green for yeahs and yeahs." Fanny "found her mammy a cookin' at the big house the fust thing she knowed."

As Fanny grew up, she was trained by "ole Miss" to be a house girl, and did "sech wuk" as churning, minding the flies "offen de table when de white folks et, gwine backards and forads to de smoke-house for my mammy."

She recalls that when she "minded the flies offen the table she allus got plenty of biscuits and scraps o' fried chicken the white folks left on their plates." "But," Fanny added with a satisfied smile, "Marse Green's darkies never wanted for sumpin t'eat, case he give 'em a plenty, even molasses all dey wanted." Fanny and her mammy always ate in "de Missis kitchen."

"Yes," said Fanny, "I remembers when de Yankees come through, it tickled us chillun and skeered us too! Dey wuz mo'n a hundred, Miss, riding mighty po' ole wore out hosses. All de men wanted wuz sumpin' t'eat and some good hosses. De men poured into de smokehouse and de kitchen (here Fanny had to laugh again) an how dem Yankee mens did cut and hack "Ole Marse's" best hams! After dey et all dey could hol' dey saddled up "ole Marse's" fine hosses an' away dey rid!"

When asked why the white folks did not hide the horses out in the swamps or woods, Fanny replied, "case, dey didn't have time. Dem Yankees pounced down like hawks after chickens!" "Ole Marse jost did have time to 'scape to de woods hisself." The Judge was too old to go to the war.

John Arnold, Fanny's daddy, was owned by Mr. John Arnold on an adjoining plantation to Judge Greene, and when he and Fanny's mother were married, John was allowed to visit Rosetta each week-end. Of course he had to carry a pass from his "Marster."

John and Rosetta "never lived together year in and year out," according to Fanny's statement, "till long after freedom."

Fanny relates that Judge Green's slaves all went to "meetin" every Sunday in the white folks church. The darkies going in the after-noon and the white people going in the forenoon.

The white preacher ministered to both the white and colored people.

If the Negroes were sick and needed mo [HW: den] "old Marse" knowed what to give em, he "sont the white folk's doctor." "You see, Miss," said old Fanny with pride, "I wuz owned by big white folks."

She tells that Judge Green had two young sons (not old enough to fight) and three daughters, 'jest little shavers, so high', (here Fanny indicated from three, to four or five feet at intervals, to indicate small children's height,) then added, "We allus said, 'Little Miss Peggy', 'Little Miss Nancy', and 'Little Missz Jane', and 'Young Marse Jim' and 'Little Marster Bob'". "Did you ever forget to speak to the children in that way?" the interviewer asked. "No, Miss, we sho didn't, we knowed better dan to fergit!"

Fanny is very feeble in every way, voice is weak and her step most uncertain, but she is straight of figure, and was ripping up smoking tobacco sacks with which her daughter is to make 'a purty bed spread'. Fanny and her husband, another ex-slave, live with Fanny's daughter. The daughter supports her mother.

[HW: Dist. 6 Ex-Slave #80]

Mary A. Crawford Re-Search Worker

HENRY NIX--Ex-Slave 808 E. Slaton Ave. Griffin, Georgia Interviewed

September 24, 1936 [Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

[TR: Numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. Where a word appears in brackets after a HW entry, it was replaced by that handwritten entry. All numbers were originally spelled out.]

Henry Nix was born March 15, 1848 in Upson County, about 5 miles from Barnesville, Georgia.

[HW: His] [Henry's] parents were John Nix and Catherine Willis, who were not married, because as Henry reports, John Nix was an overseer on the plantation of Mr. Jasper Willis, "and when Marster found out what kind of man John Nix was he (Nix) had to skip out."

When Henry "was a good sized boy, his mother married a darky man", and 3 other children were born, 2 boys and a girl. Henry loved his mother very much and [HW: says] relates that on her death bed she told him who his father was, and [TR: "also told him" crossed out] how to live so as not to get into trouble, and, [HW: due to her advice] that he has never been in jail nor in any meanness of any kind [TR: "due to what she told him" crossed out].