Chapter VIII: Part 4 (8)

She invited us into her tiny cabin. The little porch had recently been repaired, while the many flowers about the yard and porch gave evidence of constant and loving care to this place which had been bought for her long ago by a grandson who drove a "hack." When she took us into the crowded, but clean room, she showed us proudly the portrait of this big grandson, now dead. All the walls were thickly covered with framed pictures of different members of her family, most of whom are now dead. In their midst was a large picture of Abraham Lincoln.

"Dere's all my chillun. I had fo' daughter and three 'grands', but all gone now but one niece. I deeded de place to her. She live out north now, but she send back de money fer de taxes and insurance and to pay de firemens."

Then she proudly pointed out a framed picture of herself when she was young.

"Why Auntie, you were certainly nice looking then."

Her chest expanded and her manner became more sprightly as she said, "I wus de pebble on de beach den!"

"And I suppose you remember about slavery days?"

"Yes ma'm, I'm ninety years old--I wus a grown 'oman when freedom come. I 'longed to Mr. William Eve. De plantachun was right back here--all dis land was fields den, slap down to Bolzes'."

"So you remember a lot about those times?"

She laughed delightedly. "Yas'm. I 'longed to Miss Eva Eve. My missus married Colonel Jones. He got a boy by her and de boy died."

"You mean Colonel Jones, the one who wrote books?"

"Yas'm. He a lawyer, too, down to de Cote House. My missus was Mrs. Carpenter's mother, but she didn't brought her here."

"You mean she was her step-mother?"

"Yas'm, dat it. I go to see dem folks on de hill sometime. Dey good to me, allus put somepen in mah hands."

"What kind of work did you do on the plantation?"

"When I wus 'bout ten years old dey started me totin' water--you know ca'in water to de hands in de field. 'Bout two years later I got my first field job, 'tending sheep. When I wus fifteen my old Missus gib me to Miss Eva--you know she de one marry Colonel Jones. My young missus wus fixin' to git married, but she couldn't on account de war, so she brought me to town and rented me out to a lady runnin' a boarding house. De rent was paid to my missus. One day I wus takin' a tray from de out-door kitchen to de house when I stumbled and dropped it. De food spill all over de ground. De lady got so mad she picked up a butcher knife and chop me in de haid. I went runnin' till I come to de place where my white folks live. Miss Eva took me and wash de blood out mah head and put medicine on it, and she wrote a note to de lady and she say, 'Ellen is my slave, give to me by my mother. I wouldn't had dis happen to her no more dan to me. She won't come back dere no more.'"

"Were you ever sold during slavery times, Aunt Ellen?"

"No'm. I wa'nt sold, but I knows dem whut wus. Jedge Robinson he kept de nigger trade office over in Hamburg."

"Oh yes, I remember the old brick building."

"Yas'm, dat it. Well, all de colored people whut gonner be sold was kept dere. Den dey brung 'em over to de market and put 'em up fer sale. Anybody fixin' to buy 'em, 'zamines 'em to see if dey all right. Looks at de teef to tell 'bout de age."

"And was your master good to you, Auntie?"

"I'll say dis fer Mr. William Eve--he de bes' white man anywhere round here on any dese plantachuns. Dey all own slaves. My boss would feed 'em well. He wus killin' hogs stidy fum Jinury to March. He had two smoke-houses. Dere wus four cows. At night de folks on one side de row o' cabins go wid de piggins fer milk, and in de mawnin's dose on de odder side go fer de piggins o' milk."

"And did you have plenty of other things to eat?"

"Law, yas'm. Rations wus given out to de slaves; meal, meat and jugs o' syrup. Dey give us white flour at Christmas. Every slave family had de gyrden patch, and chickens. Marster buy eggs and chickens fum us at market prices."

"Did the overseers ever whip the slaves or treat them cruelly?"

"Sometimes dey whup 'em--make 'em strip off dey shirt and whup 'em on de bare skin. My boss had a white overseer and two colored men dey call drivers. If dey didn't done right dey dus whup you and turn you loose."

"Did the Eves have a house on the plantation, too?"

"No'm, dey live in town, and he come back and fo'th every day. It warn't but three miles. De road run right fru de plantachun, and everybody drive fru it had to pay toll. Dat toll gate wus on de D'Laigle plantachun. Dey built a house fer Miss Kitty Bowles down by de double gate where dey had to pay de toll. Dat road where de Savannah Road is."

When asked about war times on the plantation Ellen recalled that when the Northern troops were around Waynesboro orders were sent to all the masters of the nearby plantations to send ten of their best men to build breastworks to hold back the northern advance.

"Do you remember anything about the good times or weddings on the plantation?"

She laughed delightedly. "Yas'm. When anybody gwine be married dey tell de boss and he have a cake fix. Den when Sunday come, atter dey be married, she put on de white dress she be married in and dey go up to town so de boss see de young couple."

"Den sometimes on Sadday night we have a big frolic. De nigger frum Hammond's place and Phinizy place, Eve place, Clayton place, D'Laigle place all git togedder fer big dance and frolic. A lot o' de young white sports used to come dere and push de nigger bucks aside and dance wid de wenches."

"What happened, Auntie, if a slave from one plantation wanted to marry a slave from another?"

She laughed significantly. "Plenty. Old Mr. Miller had a man name Jolly and he wanner marry a woman off anudder plantachun, but Jolly's Marster wanna buy de woman to come to de plantachun. He say, 'Whut's fair fer de goose is fair fer de gander.' When dey couldn't come to no 'greement de man he run away to de woods. Den dey sot de bloodhounds on 'im. Dey let down de rail fence so de hounds could git fru. Dey sarch de woods and de swamps fer Jolly but dey neber find him.

"De slaves dey know whar he is, and de woman she visit him. He had a den down dere and plenty o' grub dey take 'im, but de white folks neber find him. Five hundred dollars wus what Miller put out for whomsover git him."

"And you say the woman went to visit him?"

"Yes, Ma'm. De woman would go dere in de woods wid him. Finally one night when he was outer de swamp he had to lie hidin' in de ditch all night, cross from de nigger hospital. Den somebody crep' up and shot him, but he didn't die den. Dey cay'ed his [TR: sic] crost to de hospital and he die three days later."

"What about church? Did you go to church in those days?"

"Yas'm, we used to go to town. But de padderolas wus ridin' in dem days, and you couldn't go off de plantachun widout a pass. So my boss he build a brick church on de plantachuhn, and de D'Laigles build a church on dere's."

"What happened if they caught you off without a pass?"

"If you had no pass dey ca'y you to de Cote House, and your marster hadder come git you out."

"Do you remember anything about the Yankees coming to this part of the country?"

At this her manner became quite sprightly, as she replied, "Yas'm, I seen 'em comin' down de street. Every one had er canteen on he side, a blanket on his shoulder, caps cocked on one side de haid. De cavalry had boots on and spurros on de boots. First dey sot de niggers free on Dead River, den dey come on here to sot us free. Dey march straight up Broad Street to de Planters' Hotel, den dey camped on Dead River, den dey camped on de river. Dey stayed here six months till dey sot dis place free. When dey campin' on de river bank we go down dere and wash dey clo'es fer a good price. Dey had hard tack to eat. Dey gib us de hard tack and tell us to soak it in Water, and fry it in de meat gravy. I ain't taste nothing so good since. Dey say, 'Dis hard tack whut we hadder lib on while we fightin' to sot you free."

RACHEL SULLIVAN, 1327 Reynolds Street, Augusta, Ga., Born 1852.

We found Rachel Sullivan sitting on the porch of a two room house on Reynolds Street. She is a large, fleshy woman. Her handmade yellow homespun was baggy and soiled, and her feet were bare, though her shoes were beside her rocker.

We approached her cautiously. "Auntie, we heard you were one of the slaves who used to live on Governor Pickens' place over near Edgefield."

"Yas'm, Yas'm. I shore wus. He gin us our chu'ch--de one over yonder on de Edgefield road. No'm you can't see it fum de road. You has to cross de creek. Old Marster had it pulled out de low ground under de brush arbor, and set it dere."

"And what did you do on the plantation, Auntie?"

"I wus a nu's gal, 'bout 'leben years old. I nu'sed my Auntie's chillun, while she nu'sed de lady's baby whut come from Russia wid de Marster's wife--nu'sed dat baby fum de breas's I mean. All de white ladies had wet nusses in dem days. Her master had just returned from Russia, where he had been ambassador. Her baby had the czarina for a godmother."

"And so you used to look after you aunt's children?"

"Yas'm. I used to play wid 'em in de big ground wid de monuments all around."

"Miss Lucy Holcome was Governor Pickens' second wife, wasn't she?"

"Musta wus, ma'm."

"And were you born on the plantation at Edgefield?"

"I wus born at Ninety-six. Log Creek place was Marster's second place. Oh, he had plantachuns everywhere, clear over to Alabama. He had overseers on all de places, ma'm."

"Did the overseers whip you or were they good?"

"Overseers wus good. Dey better been good to us, Marster wouldn't let 'em been nothin' else. And Marster wus good. Lawdy, us had de bes' Marster in de world. It wus great times when he come to visit de plantachun. Oh Lord, when de Governor would come--dey brung in all de sarvants. Marster call us 'sarvants', not 'niggers.' He say 'niggers wuk down in de lagoons.' So when de Governor come dey brung in all de sarvants, and all de little chillun, line 'em's up whar Marster's cai'age gwine pass. And Marster stop dere in de lane and 'zamine us all to see is us all right. He de bes' Marster in de world. I love his grave!"

"Den he'd talk to de overseer. Dere was Emmanuel and Mr. DeLoach. He gib 'em a charge. Dey couldn't whup us or treat us mean."

"How many slaves did your Master have, Auntie?"

"Oh, I don't know 'xactly--over a thousand in all I reckon. He had plantachuns clear over to Alabama. Marster wus a world manager! Lordy, I luv my Marster. Dere wus 'bout seventy plower hands, and 'bout a hunnard hoe hands."

"Did your master ever sell any of the slaves off his plantation?"

"No'm--not 'less dey did wrong. Three of 'em had chillun by de overseer, Mr. Whitefield, and Marster put 'em on de block. No ma'm he wouldn't tolerate dat. He say you keep de race pure. Lawdy, he made us lib right in dem time."

"And what did he do to the overseer?"

"He sont him off--he sont him down to de low place."

"I guess you had plenty to eat in those good old days?"

"Oh, yes ma'm--dey's kill a hunnard hogs."

"And what kind of houses did you have?"

"Des like dis street--two rows facin' each odder, only dey wus log houses."

"Did they have only one room?"

"Yas'm. But sometimes dey drap a shed room down if dere wus heap o' chullun.'

"Did you have a good time at Christmas?"

"Oh yas'm. No matter where Marster wus--crost de water er ennywhere he send us a barrel o' apples, and chestnuts--dey had chestnuts in dem days--and boxes o' candy. He sont 'em to 'Manuel and Mr. DeLoach to gib out."

"So your master would sometimes be across the water?"

"Lawdy, yas'm, he be dere somewhere in de back part o' de world. You see he wus gov'nur. He knowed all de big people--Mr. Ben Tillman and all--he was senetra."

"Auntie do you remember seeing any of the soldiers during the war?"

"Does I? Law honey! Dey come dere to de plantachun 'bout ten o'clock after dey surrender. Oh and dey wus awful, some of 'em wid legs off or arms off. De niggers took all de mules and put 'em down in de sand field. Den dey took all de wimmens and put 'em in de chillun's house. And dey lef' a guard dere to stand over 'em, and tell him not to git off de foot. You know dey didn't want put no temptation in de way o' dem soldiers."

"What kind of work did some of the slave women do?"

"Everything. I had a one-legged auntie--she was de seamster. She sew fum one year end to de odder. Anodder auntie wus a loomer."

"And where did you go to church?"

"We went to de Salem Chu'ch. Yas'm we all go to chu'ch. Marster want us to go to chu'ch. We sit on one side--so--and dey sit over dere. Dey wus Methodis'. My mother was Methodis', but dey gib her her letter when freedom come."

"How about dances, Auntie? Did they have dances and frolics?"

"Yassum, on Sadday night. But boys had to git a pass when dey go out or de Padderola git 'em."

"So you had a happy time in those days, eh?"

"Lawdy, yas'm. If de world would done now like dey did den de world wouldn't be in such a mess. I gwine on eighty-five, but I wish de young ones wus raise now like I was raise. Marster taught us to do right."

"How many children have you?"

"I had 'leben--seben livin now." Then she laughed. "But I wus ole maid when I git married."

"I wus twenty years old! In dem days all dey hadder do to git married wus step over de broom."

"Step over the broom. Didn't your master have the preacher come and marry you?"

"Lawdy, no'm. De broom wus de law!" Then she laughed. "Jus' say you wanner be married and de couple git together 'fore witnesses and step ober de broom."

"Do you remember when freedom came?"

"Lawdy yas'm. Mr. DeLoach come riding up to de plantachun in one o' dem low-bellied ca'yages. He call to Jo and James--dem de boys what stay round de house to bring wood and rake de grass and sich--he sont Jo and Jim down to all de fields to tell all de hands to come up. Dey unhitch de mules fum de plows and come wid de chains rattlin', and de cotton hoers put dey hoes on dey shoulders--wid de blades shinin' in de sun, and all come hurrying to hear what Mr. DeLoach want wid'em. Den he read de freedom warrant to 'em. One man so upset he start runnin' and run clear down to de riber and jump in."

EUGENE WESLEY SMITH, 1105 Robert Street, Augusta, Ga., Born 1852

Eugene is 84 years old. He has thin features, trembling lips and a sparse beard. His skin is a deep brown, lined and veined. His legs showing over white socks are scaly. His hands are palsied, but his mind is intelligent. He shows evidences of association with white people in his manner of speech, which at times is in the manner of white persons, again reverting to dialect.

Eugene stated that his father was a slave who belonged to Steadman Clark of Augusta, and acted as porter in Mr. Clark's jewelry store on Broad Street. His grandmother came from Pennsylvania with her white owners. In accordance with the laws of the state they had left, she was freed when she came of age, and married a man named Smith. Her name was Louisa. Eugene's "Arnt" married a slave. As his mother was free, her children were free, but Eugene added:

"She had put a Guardian over us, and Captain Crump was our guardian. Guardians protected the Negro children who belonged to them."

To illustrate that children were considered the property of the mothers' owners, he added that his uncle went to Columbia County and married a slave, and that all of her children belonged to her master.

Mr. Clark, who owned Eugene's father, paid him 50¢ a week, and was angry when Louisa refused to allow her children to work for him.

"He was good in a way," admitted Eugene, "Some masters were cruel to the colored people, but a heap of white people won't believe it.

"I was too little to do any work before freedom. I just stayed with my mother, and ran around. She did washing for white folks. We lived in a rented house. My father's master, Mr. Clark, let him come to see us sometimes at night. Free colored folks had to pay taxes. Mother had to pay taxes. Then when they came of age, they had to pay taxes again. Even in Augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. They had frolics. Sometimes the white people came and looked at 'em having a good time. You couldn't go out at night in Augusta after 9 o'clock. They had a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and every half hour. There was an uptown market, too, at Broad and McKinne."

Asked about school, Eugene said:

"Going to school wasn't allowed, but still some people would slip their children to school. There was an old Methodist preacher, a Negro named Ned Purdee, he had a school for boys and girls going on in his back yard. They caught him and put him in jail. He was to be put in stocks and get so many lashes every day for a month. I heard him tell many times how the man said: 'Ned, I won't whip you. I'll whip on the stock, and you holler.' So Ned would holler out loud, as if they were whipping him. They put his feet and hands in the holes, and he was supposed to be whipped across his back."

"I read in the paper where a lady said slaves were never sold here in Augusta at the old market, but I saw them selling slaves myself. They put them up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would horses or cows. Dey was two men. I kin rekellect. I know one was called Mr. Tom Heckle. He used to buy slaves, speculating. The other was named Wilson. They would sell your mother from the children. That was the reason so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not knowing until they got to talking about it. One would say, 'I remember my grandmother,' and another would say, "that's _my_ grandmother," then they'd find out they were sister and brother.

"Speculators used to steal children," said Eugene. "I saw the wagons. They were just like the wagons that came from North Carolina with apples in. Dey had big covers on them. The speculators had plantations where they kept the children until they were big enough to sell, and they had an old woman there to tend to those children."

"I was a butler." (A dreamy look came into Eugene's old eyes.) "So I were young. I saw a girl and fell in love with her, and asked her to marry me. 'Yes,' she said, 'when I get grown!' I said, 'I am not quite grown myself.' I was sixteen years old. When I was twenty-one years old I married her in my father's house. My mother and father were dead then. I had two sisters left, but my brothers were dead too."

"I quit butling when I got married. They was enlarging the canal here. It was just wide enough for the big flats to go up with cotton. They widened it, and I went to work on dat, for $1.25 a day. They got in some Chinese when it was near finished, but they wasn't any good. The Irishmen wouldn't work with niggers, because they said they could make the job last eight years--the niggers worked too fast. They accomplished it in about four years.

"After working on the canal, I left there and helped dig the foundations of Sibley Mill. The raceway, the water that run from canal to river, I helped dig that. Then after that, I went to Mr. Berckmans and worked for him for fifty years. All my children were raised on his place. That's how come my boy do garden work now. I worked for 50¢ a day, but he give me a house on the place. He 'lowed me to have chickens, a little fence, and a garden. He was very good to us. That was Mr. P.J. Berckmans. I potted plants all day long. I used to work at night. I wouldn't draw no money, just let them keep it for me. After they found out I could read and write and was an honest fellow, they let me take my work home, and my children helped me make the apple grass and plum grass, and mulberry grass. A man come and told me he would give me $60 a month if I would go with him, but I didn't I couldn't see hardly at all then--I was wearing glasses. Now, in my 84th year, I can read the newspaper, Bible and everything without glasses. My wife died two years ago." (Tears came into Eugene's eyes, and his face broke up) "We lived together 62 years!"

Asked if his wife had been a slave, Eugene answered that she was but a painful effort of memory did not reveal her owner's name.

"I do remember she told me she had a hard time," he went on slowly. "Her master and misses called themselves 'religious people' but they were not good to her. They took her about in the barouche when they were visiting. She had to mind the children. They had a little seat on the back, and they'd tie her up there to keep her from falling off. Once when they got to a big gate, they told her to get down and open it for the driver to go through, not knowing the hinges was broken. That big gate fell on her back and she was down for I don't know how long. Before she died, she complained of a pain in her back, and the doctor said it must have been from a lick when she was a child.

"During the war there were some Southern soldiers went through. I and two friends of mine were together. Those soldiers caught us and made us put our hands down at our knees, and tied 'em, and run the stick through underneath.

"It was wintertime. They had a big fire. They pushed us nearer and nearer the fire, until we hollered. It was just devilment. They was having fun with us, kept us tied up about a half hour. There was a mulatto boy with us, but they thought he was white, and didn't bother him. One time they caught us and throwed us up in blankets, way up, too--I was about 11 years old then."

Asked about church, Eugene said:

"We went to bush meetings up on the Sand Hill out in the woods. They didn't have a church then."

Eugene's recollections were vivid as to the ending of the war:

"The Northern soldiers come to town playing Yankee Doodle. When freedom come, they called all the white people to the courthouse first, and told them the darkies was free. Then on a certain day they called all the colored people down to the parade ground. They had built a big stand, and the Yankees and some of our leading colored men got up and spoke, and told the Negroes:

"You are free now. Don't steal. Now work and make a living. Do honest work, make an honest living to support yourself and children. No more masters. You are free."

Eugene said when the colored troops come in, they sang:

"Don't you see the lightning?
Don't you hear the thunder?
It isn't the lightning,
It isn't the thunder,
But its the button on
The Negro uniforms!

"The slaves that was freed, and the country Negroes that had been run off, or had run away from the plantations, was staying in Augusta in Guv'ment houses, great big ole barns. They would all get free provisions from the Freedmen's Bureau, but people like us, Augusta citizens, didn't get free provisions, we had to work. It spoiled some of them. When the small pox come, they died like hogs, all over Broad Street and everywhere."

WILLIS BENNEFIELD, HEPHZIBAH, GA., Born 1835.

[TR: "Uncle Willis" in individual interviews.]

"Uncle Willis" lives with his daughter Rena Berrian, who is 74 years old. "I his baby," said Rena, "all dead but me, and I ain't no good for him now 'cause I can't tote nothin'."

When asked where Uncle Willis was, Rena looked out over the blazing cotton field and called:

"Pap! Oh--pappy! Stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. Dey's some ladies wants to see you."

Uncle Willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, set in the middle of the cotton patch. He wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. His small, regular features had high cheekbones. There was a tuft of curly white hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat.

"Mawnin," he said, "I bin sick. So I thought I might git some cotton terday."

Willis thinks he is 101 years old. He said, "I was 35 years old when freedom delcared." He belonged to Dr. Balding Miller, who lived on Rock Creek plantation. Dr. Miller had three or four plantations, Willis said at first, but later stated that the good doctor had five or six places, all in Burke County.

"I wuk in de fiel'," he went on, "and I drove de doctor thirty years. He owned 300 slaves. I never went to school a day in my life, 'cept Sunday school, but I tuk de doctor's sons fo' miles ev'y day to school. Guess he had so much business in hand he thought the chillun could walk. I used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. I got way up in de alphabet by listenin', but when I went to courtin' I forgot all dat."

Asked what his regular duties were, Willis answered with pride:

"Marster had a cay'age and a buggy too. My father driv' de cay'age and I driv de doctor. Sometimes I was fixing to go to bed, and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six miles. I had a regular saddle horse, two pairs for cay'age. Doctor were a rich man. Richest man in Burke County. He made his money on his farm. When summertime come, I went wid him to Bath, wheh he had a house on Tena Hill. We driv' down in de cay'age. Sundays we went to church when Dr. Goulding preach. De darkies went in de side do'. I hear him preach many times."

Asked about living conditions on Rock Creek plantation, Willis replied:

"De big house was set in ahalf acre yard. 'Bout fifty yards on one side was my house, and fifty yards on de udder side was de house of granny, a woman that tended de chillun and had charge of de yard when we went to Bath," Willis gestured behind him, "and back yonder was de quarters, a half mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. When any of 'em got sick, Marster would go round to see 'em all."

Asked about church and Bible study, Willis said:

"I belongst to Hopeful Church. Church people would have singin' and prayin', and de wicked would have dancin' and singin'. At dat time I was a regular dancer" Willis chuckled. "I cut de pigeon wing high enough! Not many cullud people know de Bible in slavery time. We had dances, and prayers and sing too," he went on, "and we sang a song, 'On Jordan's stormy banks I stand, and cast a wishful eye.'"

"How about marriages?" he was asked.

"Colored preacher marry 'em. You had to get license and give it to the preacher, and he marry 'em. Then de men on our plantation had wives on udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives."

"Did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked.

"I went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till I marry her."

As to punishment, Willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping.

"When darky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, he had to cay'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush 'em. Why, de darkies would whip de overseer!"

Willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use, and replied:

"Dey made dey own money. In slavery time, if you wanted four or five acres of land to plant anything on, marster give it to you, and whatever dat land make, it belong to you. You could take dat money and spend it any you wanted to. Still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you, but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money yours."

Willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly wounded," he said. "Dey tell me dere ain't nobody living in it now. It seven miles from Waynesboro, south."

"When de soldiers come thoo'," continued Willis, "dey didn't burn dat place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'thing dey want, and give it to de cullud people. Dey kep' it till dey got free. De soldiers tuk Dr. Millers horses and carry 'em off. Got in de crib and tuk de corn. Got in de smoke'ouse and tuk de meat out. Old Marssa bury his money and silver in a iron chist. Dey tuk it 300 yards away to a clump of trees and bury it. It tuk fo' men to ca'y it. Dere was money without mention in dat chist! After de soldiers pass thoo, de went down and got it back."

"What did you do after freedom was declared?"

Willis straightened up.

"I went down to Augusta to de Freedmen's Bureau to see if twas true we wuz free. I reckon dere was, over a hundred people dere. The man got up and stated to de people, "you is jus' as free as I am. You ain't got no mistis and no marster. Work wheh you want." On Sunday morning old Marster sent de house girl and tell us to all come to de house. He said:

"What I want to send for you all, is to tell you you are free. You hab de privilege to go anywhere you want, but I don't want none of you to leave me now. I wants you-all to stay right wid me. If you stay, you you mus' sign to it' I asked him: "What you want me to sign for?, I is free." 'Dat will hold me to my word, and hold you to yo' word,' he say. All my folks sign it, but I wouldn't sign. Marster call me up and say: 'Willis, why wouldn't you sign?' I say: 'If I already is free, I don't need to sign no paper. If I was working for you, and doing for you befo' I got free, I can do it still, if you want me to stay wid yo'.' My father and mother tried to git me to sign, but I wouldn't sign. My mother said: 'You oughter sign. How you know Marster gwine pay?' I said: 'Den I kin go somewhere else.' Marster pay first class hands $15.00 a month, other hands $10.00, and den on down to five and six dollars. He give rations like dey always. When Christmas come, all come up to be paid off. Den he call me. Ask whar is me? I wus standin' roun' de corner of de house. 'Come up here,' he say, 'you didn't sign dat paper, but I reckon I have to pay you too.' He paid me and my wife $180.000. I said: 'Well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but I got my money too.' I stayed to my marster's place one year after de war den I lef'dere. Nex' year I decided I wuld quit dere and go somewhere else. It was on account of my wife. You see, Marster bought her off, as de highes', and she hadn't seen her mother and father in Waynesboro for 15 years.

When she got free, she went down to see 'em. Waren't willin' to come back. T'was on account Mistis and her. Dey bofe had chilluns, five-six years old. De chillun had disagreement. Mistis slap my girl. My wife sass de Mistis. But my marster, he was as good a man as ever born. I wouldn't have lef' him for anybody, just on account of his wife and her fell out."

"What did your marster say when you told him you were going to leave? Was he sorry?"

"I quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady house, and mek bargain wid her," said Willis. "I pass right by de do'. Old boss sitting on de pi-za. He say: 'Hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' I say; 'I 'cided to go.' I was de fo'man of de plow-han' den. I saw to all de locking up, and things like dat. He say: 'Hold on dere.' He come out to de gate. 'I tell you what I give you to stay on here, I give you five acre of as good land as I got, and $30.00 a month, to stay here and see to my bizness.'"

Willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting.

"I say," he went on, "I can't, Marster. It don't suit my wife 'round here, and she won't come back, and I can't stay.' He turn on me den, and busted out crying. 'I didn't tho't I could raise up a darky that would talk thataway,' he said to me. Well, I went on off. I got de wagon and come by de house. Marster says: 'Now you gwone off, but don't forget me, boy. Remember me as you always done.' I said: 'All right.'"

Willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the rosemary bush, and resumed his story:

"I went over to dat widow lady's house and work. Along about May I got sick. She say: 'I going to send for de doctor.' I said: 'Please ma'am, don't do dat.' I thought maybe he kill me 'cause I lef' him. She say: 'Well, I gwine send fo' him.' I in desprut condition. When I know anything, he walk up in de do'. I was laying wid my face toward de do' and I turn over.

"Doctor come up to de bed. 'Boy, how you getting on?' 'I bad off,' I say. He say: 'I see you is. 'yeh.' Lady say: 'Doctor, what you think of him?' 'Mistis, it mos' too late,' he say, 'but I do all I kin.' She say: 'Please do all yo' kin, he 'bout de bes' han' I got.'

"Doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. She say: 'Uncle Will, tek dis med'cine.' I 'fraid to tek it, 'fraid he wuz tryin' to kill me. Den two men, John and Charles, come in. Lady say: 'Get dis med'cine in Uncle Will.' One of de men hold my hand, one hold my head, and dey gagged me and put it in me. Nex few days I kin talk, and ax for somethin' to eat, so I git better. I say: 'Well, he didn't kill me when I tuk de Med'cine.'

"I stayed dere wid her. Nex' yar I move right back in two miles other side wheh I always live, wid anudder lady. I stay dere three years. Got along all right. When I lef' from there, I lef' dere wid $300.00 and plenty corn and hog. Everything I want, and three hundred dollars cash in my pocket!"

(It was plain that in his present status of relief ward, Uncle Willis looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. He thought about it awhile, spat again, and went on:)

"Fourth year I lef' and went down to de John Fryer place on Rock Creek. I stayed dere 33 years in dat one place."

"Uncle Willis, did you ever see the doctor again?"

"He die 'fore I know it," he replied, "I was 'bout fifteen miles from him and be de time I hear of his death, he bury on plantation near Rock Creek."

Willis was asked about superstitions, and answered with great seriousness:

"Eberybody in de worl' have got a spirit what follow 'em roun' and dey kin see diffrunt things. In my sleep I hab vision."

"Pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged Aunt Rena from her post in the doorway, and Willis took up the story with eagerness:

"One night I was gwine to a lady's store, riding a horse. De graveyard was 100 yards from de road I wuz passing. De moon was shining bright as day. I saw somethin' coming out of dat graveyard. It come across de road, right befo' me. His tail were dragging on de ground, a long tail. He had hair on both sides of him, laying down on de road. He crep' up. I pull de horse dis way, he move too. I pull him dat way, he move too. I yell out: 'What in de name o' God is dat?' And it turn right straight 'round de graveyard and went back. I went on to de lady's store, and done my shoppin'. I tell you I was skeered, 'cause I was sho' I would see it going back, but I never saw it. De horse was turrible skeered of it. It looked like a Maryno sheep, and it had a long, swishy tail."

Uncle Willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he answered:

"Dey is people in de worl' got sense to kill out de conjur in anybody, but nobuddy ever conjur me. I year 'um say if a person conjur you, you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you."

Asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, he raised his head with a preaching look and replied:

"I tell you, Missis, 'zactly what I believe. I bin tryin' to serve God ever since I come to be a man of family. I bin trying to serve de Lawd 79 years, and I live by precepts of de word. Until today nobuddy can turn me away from God business. I am a man studying my gospel. I ain't able to go to church, but I still keep serving God."

A week later Uncle Willis was found standing in the cabin door.

"Do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. His vitality was almost too low form to grasp the invitation.

"I'se might weak today," he said in a feeble voice. "I don't feel good for much."

"Where is Aunt Rena?" he was asked. "Do you think she would mind your taking an automobile trip?"

"She gone to town on de bus, to see de Fambly Welfare."

"Have you had breakfast?" His weak appearance indicated lack of food.

"I had some coffee, but I ain't eat 'none."

"Well, come on, Uncle Willis. We'll get you some breakfast, and then we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place where you were born 101 years ago."

Uncle Willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered down the steps. He wore a frayed sweater, with several layers of shirts showing at the cuffs. On the way he recalled the first railroad train that passed through Burke County.

"I kinder scared," he recollected, "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train flyin' long 'thout any horses. De people wuz all afraid."

"Had you hear of airplanes before you saw one, Uncle Willis?"

"Yes, ma'am. I yeared o' them, but you couldn't gimme dis car full of money to fly, they's too high off de ground. I never is gwine in one."

Uncle Willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave cabins to eat his "brekkus," while his kidnappers sought over hill and field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney foundation of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search.

He was posed in front of the cabin, just in front of the clay and brick end chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head up straight so that his white beard stuck out.

The brutal reality of finding the glories of Rock Creek plantation forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man, for several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. Once again at his cabin in the cotton field, his vitality reasserted itself, and he greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement:

"Dey tuk me wheh I was bred and born. I don't ax no better time."

His farewell words were:

"Goo'bye. I hopes you all gits to Paradise."

FOLKLORE

Interviews obtained from: MRS. EMMALINE HEARD, 239 Cain St. NE MRS. ROSA MILLEGAN, 231 Chestnut Ave. NE MR. JASPER MILLEGAN, 231 Chestnut Ave. NE Atlanta, Ga. [Date Stamp: MAY 12 1937]

[MRS. EMMALINE HEARD]

Mrs. Emmaline Heard, who resides at 239 Cain St. NE has proved to be a regular storehouse for conjure and ghost stories. Not only this but she is a firm believer in the practice of conjure. To back up her belief in conjure is her appearance. She is a dark brown-skinned woman of medium height and always wears a dirty towel on her head. The towel which was at one time white gives her the weird look of an old-time fortune teller.

Tuesday, December 8, 1936 a visit was made to her home and the following information was secured:

"There wuz onct a house in McDonough and it wuz owned by the Smiths that wuz slave owners way back yonder. Now, this is the trufe cause it wuz told ter me by old Uncle Joe Turner and he 'spirience it. Nobody could live in this house I don't care how they tried. Dey say this house wuz hanted and anybody that tried to stay there wuz pulled out of bed by a hant. Well, sir, they offered the house and $1,000 to anyone who could stay there over night. Uncle Joe said he decided to try it so sho nuff he got ready one night and went ter this house to stay. After while, says he, something come in the room and started over ter the bed, but fore it got there, he said, "What in the name of the Lord you want with me." It said, 'follow me. There is a pot of gold buried near the chimney; go find it and you won't be worried with me no more.' Der next morning Uncle Joe went out there and begin ter dig and sho nuff he found the gold; and sides that he got the house. Dis here is the trufe. Uncle Joe's house is right there in McDonough now and anybody round there will tell you the same thing cause he wuz well-known. Uncle Joe is dead now.

"Anudder story that happened during slavery time and wuz told ter me by father wuz this; The master had a old man on his plantation named Jimson. Well, Jimson's wife wuz sick and had been fer nearly a year. One day there she wanted some peas, black eyed peas; but old man Harper didn't have none on his plantation, so Jimson planned ter steal off that night and go ter old Marse Daniel's farm, which wuz 4 miles from Marse Harper's farm, and steal a few peas for his wife. Well, between midnight and day he got a sack and started off down the road. Long after while a owl started hootin, sho-o-o are-e-e, who-o-o-o-, and it wounded jest lak someone saying 'who are you.' Jimson got scared, pulled off his cap and run all the way to old man Daniel's farm. As he run he wuz saying, "Sir, dis is me, old Jimson" over and over again. Now, when he got near the farm Old Daniel heard him and got up in the loft ter watch him. Finally old Jimson got dar and started creeping up in the loft. When he got up dar, chile, Marse Daniel grabbed his whip and 'most beat Jimson ter death.

"This here story happened in Mississippi years ago, but den folks that tell it ter me said it wuz the trufe. 'There wuz a woman that wuz sick; her name wuz Mary Jones. Well, she lingered and lingered till she finally died. In them days folks all around would come ter the settin-up if somebody wuz dead. They done sent some men after the casket. Since they had ter go 30 miles they wuz a good while getting back, so the folkses decided ter sing. After while they heard the men come up on the porch and somebody got up ter let 'em in. Chile, jest as they opened the door that 'oman set straight up on that bed; and sech another runnin and getting out of that house you never heard; but some folks realized she wuzn't dead so they got the casket out der way so she wouldn't see it, cause they wuz fraid she would pass out sho nuff; jest the same they wuz fraid of her, too. The man went off and come back with postols, guns, sticks, and everything; and when this 'oman saw 'em she said, 'don't run, I won't bother you.' but, chile, they left there in a big hurry, too. Well, this here Mary went to her sister's house and knocked on the door, and said: 'Let me in. This is Mary. I want to talk to you and tell you where I've been.' The sister's husband opened the door and let her in. This 'oman told 'em that God had brought her to and that she had been in a trance with the Lord. After that every one wuz always afraid of that 'oman and they wouldn't even sit next ter her in the church. They say she is still living.

"This happened right yonder in McDonough years ago. A gal went to a party with her sweet'art and her ma told her not ter go. Well, she went on anyhow in a buggy; when they got ter the railroad crossing a train hit the buggy and killed the gal, but the boy didn't git hurted at all. Well, while they wuz sittin up with this dead gal, the boy comes long there in his buggy with anudder gal, and do you know that horse stopped right in front uv that house and wouldn't budge one inch. No matter how hard he whip that horse it wouldn't move; instid he rared and kicked and jumped about and almost turned the buggy over. The gal in the buggy fainted. Finally a old slavery time man come along and told him to git a quart of whiskey and pour it around the buggy and the hant would go away. So they done that and the sperit let 'em pass. If a hant laked whisky in they lifetime, and you pour it round where they's at, they will go away."

The following are true conjure stories supposedly witnessed by Mrs. Heard: "There wuz a Rev. Dennis that lived below the Federal Prison. Now, he wuz the preacher of the Hardshell Baptist Church in this community. This man stayed sick about a year and kept gittin different doctors and none uv them did him any good. Well, his wife kept on at him till he decided ter go ter see Dr. Geech. His complaint wuz that he felt something run up his legs ter his thighs. Old Dr. Geech told him that he had snakes in his body and they wuz put there by the lady he had been going wid. Dr. Geech give him some medicine ter take and told him that on the 7th day from then that 'oman would come and take the medicine off the shelf and throw it away. Course Rev. Dennis didn't believe a thing he said, so sho nuff she come jest lak Dr. Geech said and took the medicine away. Dr. Geech told him that he would die when the snakes got up in his arm, but if he would do lak he told him he would get all right. Dis 'oman had put this stuff in some whiskey and he drunk it so the snakes breed in his body. After he quit taking the medicine he got bad off and had ter stay in the bed; sho nuff the morning he died you could see the snake in his arm; the print uv it wuz there when he died. The snake stretched out in his arm and died, too.

"I got a son named Jack Heard. Well, somebody fixed him. I wuz in Chicago when that happened and my daughter kept writing ter me ter come home cause Jack wuz acting funny and she thought maybe he wuz losing his mind. They wuz living in Thomasville then and every day he would go sit round the store and laugh and talk, but jest as soon as night would come and he would eat his supper them fits would come on him. He would squeal jest lak a pig and he would get down on his knees and bark jest lak a dog. Well, I come home and went ter see a old conjure doctor. He says ter me, 'that boy is hurt and when you go home you look in the corner of the mattress and you will find it. 'Sho nuff I went home and looked in the corner of the mattress and there the package wuz. It wuz a mixture of his hair and bluestone wrapped up in red flannel with new needles running all through it. When I went back he says ter me, 'Emmaline, have you got 8 dimes?' No, I said, but I got a dollar. 'Well, get that dollar changed into 10 dimes and take 8 of 'em and give 'em ter me. Then he took Jack in a room, took off his clothes and started ter rubbin him down with medicine; all at the same time he wuz saying a ceremony over him; then he took them 8 dimes, put 'em in a bag and tied them around Jack's chest somewhere so that they would hang over his heart. 'Now, wear them always,' says he ter Jack. Jack wore them dimes a long time but he finally drunk 'em up anyway, that doctor cured him cause he sho would a died."

The following aroma [HW: is a] few facts as related by Mrs. Heard concerning an old conjure doctor known as Aunt Barkas [TR: Darkas throughout rest of story].