Chapter III: Part 3

"I had did up Miss Lizzie's parlor curtains dat very day an' de boy was puttin' up de mouldin' frame 'roun' 'em when us hear dat trompin' soun'. It didn' soun' lak no ever'day marchin'. It soun' lak Judgement Day. De boy fell off de ladder an' run an' hid b'hind de flour barrel in de pantry. Miss Lizzie was peepin' out 'twixt dem white lace curtains an' I was right b'hin' 'er. I 'spec' Seventh Street was lined wid wimmin-folks doin' jus' what us doin', 'cause dey husban's, sons, an' sweethearts was out dere in dat march-line.

"Well, dat night ended all de troubles. De line done stop at Mr. Theodore Sturges' house' fore it git out far as us. 'Course, ever'body know Mr. Theodore an' Miss Allie was sho' 'nough folks, but dey was bound to have dat Yankee brother o' his'n.

"De yard was plumb full o' white men ready to burn de house right down on Miss Allie's head lessen dey'd give up dat Yankee Mayor. Mr. Theodore come to de door an' say, 'Gent'mun, he aint here.' Aint nobody believe dat. Dey was a-fixin' to bus' on in anyhow, when Miss Allie come out. She come right down dem steps 'mongst all dem mad folks an' say, calm an' lady-lak, 'Gent'mun, my brother-in-law is here, cert'ny. Where would he go for safety 'cepn to his brother's house? But I give you my word dat he gwine stay right here 'till you put him on de firs' train headin' nawth. Den no mo' blood will be spilled.' An' dat's what dey done.

"Yes'm it was all mighty bad, but plenty good things done happen in Mer-ree-dian, too. I'se seen dis town grow frum nothin'. When us come here 'fore de War, dey was hitchin' dey horses to little oak bushes right in de middle o' town where de bigges' stores is now. I was a grown girl by den an' could make horsemint tea for chills an' mullen leaves for fever good as anybody; an' horehound tea for colds, bitter as gall. I jus' now caught up how to cook an' sew.

"I married when I was nineteen years old. I had nine chillun an' five of 'em's still livin'. Dey looks after me right nice, too. My son in Chicago gimme dis house an' I lives here by myse'f. I keeps it nice an' clean jus' lak I learnt how to do frum de white folks where I used to work. I aint never work for no common folks. I tries to live lak a Christian an' do jus' lak Old Mistis say. Den when I die I can go to Heaven."

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies Smith Hodges, Ex-Slave, Pike County FEC Mrs. W.F. Holmes

[FANNY SMITH HODGES Berglundtown, Mississippi]

Fanny Smith Hodges lives in Berglundtown, in the northern part of town, in the only Negro settlement within the corporate limits of McComb.

"My name's Fanny Hodges. I was Fanny Smith befo' I was mar'ied. My mammy was Jane Weathersby, an' she b'long ter old man Weathersby in Amite County. He was de meanes' man what ever lived. My pappy was sol' befo' I was born. I doan know nothin' 'bout him. I had one sister--her name was Clara--and one brudder--his name was Jack. Dey said my pappy's name was George. I doan know.

"Mammy said when I was jes big 'nough to nuss an' wash leetle chulluns, I was sol' to Marse Hiram Cassedy an' dat man give me ter his darter, Miss Mary, to be her maid. De Cassedys sho' was good people. I was big 'nough to draw water, an' put it in a tub an' wash Miss Mary, Miss Annie, an' Miss July. I had to keep 'em clean. I had to comb dey hair an' dey would holler an' say I pulled. I was tol' not to let anything hurt dem chulluns.

"I slep' in de Quarters wid de other niggers. Befo' sunup I had to git to de Big House ter dress dem chulluns. I doan' member whut kind of bed I had, but reckin' it was good. I et in de kitchen. Dey fed fine. I et whut de white folks lef', an' sometimes dey had 'possum an' taters. Dey was good.

"Marse Cassedy was a big Judge. He went to all de cou'ts, an' rode in a fine carri'ge with two big horses hitched ter it, an' a driver. He wore fine clo'es an' ever'body said he was a mighty big man. He had lots an' lots of money. I doan know how many acres in his plantation, but he had more'n 50 slaves.

"When Marse Cassedy was gone, his oberseer would be hard on de slaves, but Marse Cassedy would tell him not to be too hard. He never 'lowed his driver to draw de blood when dey whupped. He fed his slaves. Dey all had gardens and he tuk care of us. He had money in every one of us. De oberseers was white men workin' fer wages.

"I was never whupped afte' I went to Marse Cassedy. Slaves was whupped when dey wouldn't work right. Sometimes dey was lazy. De oberseer blowed a horn every mornin' and de slaves knowed to git up, an' when dat horn blowed agin, dey knowed dey must go to de fiel'. Dey blowed de horn at dinner an' night. Afte' supper, we set 'bout an' sing an go places. Sometimes de men would steal off an' go ter other plantations, an' when kotched dey got a whuppin'. If de pataroller got em, dey sho' kotched it. Dey was whupped an' brung back.

"De white folks had big dances in de Big House and de niggers played de fiddle. Dey was fine times. Dey had good things ter eat, an' I allus got some of whut was lef'. Christmas time de slaves had dances. I could sho' shuffle my feet. Shucks, folks doan dance like dat any more.

"When slaves was sick, dey went to de woods and got roots an' herbs ter doctor 'em wid. If dey had runnin' off of de bowels, dey got red oak barks an' boiled it an' made 'em drink it. It's de best thing right now to cure runnin' off of de bowels. If young gals had pains in dey stomachs dey made tea out'n gum bark and dat would bring 'em 'round. When babies was born, dey had good midwives to wait on 'em. Dat was good money.

"When Miss July got mar'ied dey had two cooks in de kitchen makin' pound cake fer more'n a week, an' pies, an' chicken pie, an' dey killed a hog. Dey had ever'body in de country savin' butter an' eggs fer a long time. I didn' see de weddin' but de yard was full and we had ever'thing to eat.

"My folks was rich. Marse Cassedy went to de War an' he was a big man dere. He was gone a long time. Dey kep' tellin' us de Yankees was comin' and Miss Fanny had her silver put in a bag and hid. Dey had de money put in a wash pot and buried, an' dey ain't found dat money yet. Oh, dey had _more_ money! Didn' I tell you dey was rich? No mam, dey wasn't po' when war was over. Dey had ever'thing. When de Yankees come, dey carried off all de meat in de smokehouse, an' de blanket an' quilts, an' every thing dey wanted, dey he'ped deyse'ves. None of de slaves went wid' em.

"When Marse Cassedy come home he had de oberseer blow de horn 'bout ten o'clock and tol' 'em all dey was freed. He said he'd work 'em fer wages, an' nearly everyone of 'em stayed fer wages. I stayed wid Miss Mary 'bout ten years. Den I mar'ied. No, Jake an' me rid horse back an' went to Magnolia an' got mar'ied. I doan know who mar'ied us--somebody in de cou't house.

"Me an' Jake went to Summit ter live'. We had to work mighty hard. Sometimes I plowed in de fiel' all day; sometimes I washed an' den I cooked, an' afte' 'while, we moved down to de new town. I come here when dis town fust started. I cooked fer Mrs. Badenhauser, while he was mayor of de town. Dey worked me hard. Me'n Jake's had some hard ups an' downs. I had fo' chullun, none of dem livin' dat I know of. I might have some grandchulluns but if I do, dey live up North.

"I'm old an' can hardly git about. I'se got a cancer. De doctor done cut my lef' brest clear offen me, but dat hurts me somtimes yit.

"I niver jined any church 'til 'bout 20 year ago, right here in Berglundtown. My church is Flowery Mount Baptist Church, an' my Brudder Washin'ton is my pastor, an' he is de best preacher what ever lived. No, Marse Cassedy didn't have no church fer de slaves. Dey went to de white folks' church.

"How do I live? Well I gits a pension of fo' dollars a month, an' I try to wash a leetle fer de colored folks, an' den I beg. I can't stay here long but God won't low me to starve. Bless God, he's comin' fer me some day."

Wayne Holliday, Ex-slave Monroe County Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies FEC Mrs. Richard Kolb

[WAYNE HOLLIDAY Aberdeen, Mississippi]

"I was born an' raised in Aberdeen an' I'se been a railroad nigger fo' mos' of my days. I'se retired now 'cause dey say I too old to work any longer, but shucks, I ain't half dead yet. I was born in 1853 right here close to whar I live now. My folks b'longed to de Hollidays--you know de grand folks of Miss Maria Evans? An' we stayed right dere in de lot whar de white folks lived.

"My pa an' my ma was named Frank an' Sarah Holliday an' de Cunel brung dem wid him frum North Car'lina. Dey was lot niggers an' never worked in de fiel' or lived in de Quarters. My pa was one of de best carpenters in de country. I was too young to work much but sometime I he'ped him 'roun' de house but mos' of de time, I jes played wid my brudders an' sisters an' de white chullun what lived aroun'. We played marbles, ridin' de stick hoss, an' play house jes lak de chullun do now days, but I think we had mo' fun. Dey was fo'teen of us in our family an' we allus had somebody to play wid. An' den li'l Marse Ben, he wa'nt much older dan us.

"Our marster's name was Cunel John Holiday. He got dat title in a war before de slav'ry war. He was too old to fight in dat one, or I spect he'd got another title, lak Gen'ral or somethin'. He an' Miss Julia--dat was his wife--was mighty good to us an' so was Marse Tom and Marse Ben, an' Miss Maria an' all. When de Cunel fust come to Mississippi he bought a plantation in de prairies an' lived dere for a while. But later he 'cided to build him a house in town so he got my pa to he'p him build it an' it was one of de purtiest houses in Aberdeen. It look jes lak it allus did to me now. Co'se dey is worked on it several times since den, but dey ain't changed it at all.

"My mammy did de cookin' for de white folks dere. Dey all thought a lot of her. I never knowed much what slav'ry was 'bout, to tell de truf. De folks never treated us wrong an' chullun in dem days didn' get to run aroun' lak dey do today an' we didn' get to hear no gossip 'bout de other niggers. Since we didn' live in no quarters we didn' hear nothin. Our folks never said nothin' 'cause dey was very well satisfied lak dey was. We never hear of no whuppin's, or runaways either, 'til afte' de War an' when we got older.

"I 'member de War tho'. Marse Tom, he went fust, wid de Van Dorns. He was made a capt'in or somethin' 'cause he was so brave. He fought long wid de fust an' was one of de fust to get hit. Dey brung his body all de way from Richmond, or Virginny, I fergit which, and lawzy, if de Cunel an' de Miss didn' take on somethin' awful. Dey sho' loved dat boy an' so did all of de niggers. Afte' dey buried him dey took his sword an' hung it on de wall of de parlor. I reckin it still dar.

"Marse Ben went afte' dat. He was jes old 'nough to go but he went an' fought jes de same. He come back when de war was over an' dey was sho' some rejoicin'.

"Time wa'nt much diffrunt den dan it was 'fo de War. We stayed on wid our folks for a long time. Den my pa started gettin' a li'l work here an' dar an' purty soon he got all his chullun started out purty well. We all went to de colored school what dey had down whar de railroad crossin' is now, an' dat was whar I l'arned to read an' write. I didn' marry for a good while an' den I went to work on de I.C. Railroad. I was fust a coal heaver an' den a coach porter. I was faithful to my job an' made good money an' soon built me a house of my own whar I raised my family. I sent all my chullun to school an' dey is doin' well. My wife worked right 'long wid me. She died 'bout two years ago.

"I'se thankful I ain't got no sad mem'ries 'bout slav'ry times an' dat I an' my folks is done as well as dey have. T'is de work of de Lawd."

Wayne Holliday, who lived in slavery times, and whose father was a slave, is 84 years old, a dried-up looking Negro of light tan color, approximately 5 feet three inches high and weighing about 130 pounds, he is most active and appears much younger than he really is. He is slightly bent; his kinky hair is intermingled white and gray; and his broad mouth boasts only one visible tooth, a particularly large one in the extreme center of his lower gum.

Wayne has the manner of a Negro of the old South and depicts, in his small way, the gallantry of an age gone by.

Prince Johnson, Ex-slave, Coahoma County FEC Mrs. Carrie Campbell Rewrite, Pauline Loveless Edited, Clara E. Stokes

PRINCE JOHNSON Clarksdale, Mississippi

"Yes mam, I sho' can tell you all 'bout it 'cause I was dere when it all happened. My gran'pa, Peter, gran'ma, Millie, my pa, John, an' my ma, Frances, all come from Alabama to Yazoo County to live in de Love fam'ly. Dey names was Dennis when day come, but, after de custom o' dem days, dey took de name of Love from dey new owner. Me an' all o' my brothers an' sisters was born right dere. Dey was eleven head o' us. I was de oldes'. Den come Harry, John, William, Henry, Phillis, Polly, Nellie, Virginny, Millie, an' de baby, Ella.

"Us all lived in de quarters an' de beds was home made. Dey had wooden legs wid canvas stretched 'crost 'em. I can't 'member so much 'bout de quarters 'cause 'bout dat time de young miss married Colonel Johnson an' moved to dis place in Carroll County. She carried wid her over one hund'ed head o' darkies.

"Den us names was changed from Love to Johnson. My new marster was sure a fine gent'man. He lived in a big two-story white house dat had big white posts in front. De flowers all' roun' it jus' set it off.

"Marster took me for de house boy. Den I sho' carried my head high. He'd say to me, 'Prince does you know who you is named for?' An' I'd say to him, 'Yes sir. Prince Albert.' An' den he'd say to me, 'Well, always carry yo'se'f lak he did.' To dis good day I holds myse'f lak Marster said.

"On certain days o' de week one o' de old men on de place took us house servants to de fiel' to learn us to work. Us was brought up to know how to do anything dat come to han'. Marster would let us work at odd times for outsiders an' us could use de money for anything us pleased. My gran'ma sol' 'nough corn to buy her two feather beds.

"Us always had plenty t'eat. De old folks done de cookin' for all de fiel' han's, 'cept on Sund'y when ever' fam'ly cooked for dey ownse'fs. Old Mis' 'ud come over ever' Sund'y mornin' wid sugar an' white flour. Us 'ud mos' ingen'ally have fish, rabbits, 'possums, or coons. Lord, chil'! Dem 'possums was good eatin'. I can tas' 'em now.

"Folks dese days don't know nothin' 'bout good eatin'. My marster had a great big garden for ever'body an' I aint never seen such 'taters as growed in dat garden. Dey was so sweet de sugar 'ud bus' right th'ough de peelin' when you roasted 'em in de ashes.

"Old Aunt Emily cooked for all de chillun on de place. Ha'f a hour by de sun, dey was all called in to supper. Dey had pot likker an' ash cake an' such things as would make 'em grow.

"Chillun den didn' know nothin' 'bout all de fancy ailments what chillun have now. Dey run an' played all day in dey shirt tails in de summer time. When winter come dey had good warm clo'es[FN: clothes] same as us older ones.

"One day Marster's chillun an' de cullud chillun slipped off to de orchard. Dey was jus' a-eatin' green apples fas' as dey could when 'long come de master, hisse'f. He lined 'em all up, black an' white alike, an' cut a keen switch. Twant a one in dat line dat didn' git a few licks. Den he called de old doctor woman an' made 'er give 'em ever' one a dose o' medicine. Dey didn' a one of' em git sick.

"Marster an' Old Mis' had five chillun. Dey is all dead an' gone now, an' I's still here. One o' his sons was a Supreme Judge 'fore he died.

"My folks was sho' quality. Marster bought all de little places 'roun' us so he wouldn' have no po' white trash neighbors. Yes sir! He owned 'bout thirty-five hund'ed acres an' at leas' a hund'ed an' fifty slaves.

"Ever' mornin' 'bout fo' 'clock us could hear dat horn blow for us to git up an' go to de fiel'. Us always quit work 'fore de sun went down an' never worked at night. De overseer was a white man. His name was Josh Neighbors, but de driver was a cullud man, 'Old Man Henry.' He wasn't 'lowed to mistreat noboby. If he got too uppity dey'd call his han', right now. De rule was, if a Nigger wouldn' work he mus' be sol'. 'Nother rule on dat place was dat if a man got dissati'fied, he was to go to de marster an' ask him to put 'im in his pocket.' Dat meant he wanted to be sol' an' de money he brought put in de marster's pocket. I aint never known o' but two askin' to be 'put in de pocket.' Both of 'em was sol'.

"Dey had jails in dem days, but dey was built for white folks. No cullud person was ever put in one of 'em 'til after de war. Us didn' know nothin' 'bout dem things.

"Course, Old Mis' knowed 'bout 'em, 'cause she knowed ever'thing. I recollec' she tol' me one day dat she had learnin' in five diffe'ent languages.

"None o' us didn' have no learnin' atall. Dat is us didn' have no book learnin'. Twant no teachers or anything lak dat, but us sho' was taught to be Christians. Ever'thing on dat place was a blue stockin' Presbyterian. When Sund'y come us dressed all clean an' nice an' went to church. Us went to de white folks' church an' set in de gal'ry.

"Us had a fine preacher. His name was Gober. He could sho' give out de words o' wisdom. Us didn' have big baptisins lak was had on a heap o' places, 'cause Presbyterians don't go down under de water lak de Baptis' do. If one o' de slaves died he was sho' give a gran' Christian fun'al. All o' us mourners was on han'. Services was conducted by de white preacher.

"Old Mis' wouldn' stan' for no such things as voodoo an' ha'nts. When she 'spected[FN: inspected] us once a week, you better not have no charm 'roun' yo' neck, neither. She wouldn' even 'low[FN: allow] us wear a bag o' asfittidy[FN: asafetida]. Mos' folks b'lieved dat would keep off sickness. She called such as dat superstition. She say us was 'lightened Christian Presbyterians, an' as such us mus' conduc' ourse'fs.

"Nobody worked after dinner on Satu'd'y. Us took dat time to scrub up an' clean de houses so as to be ready for 'spection Sund'y mornin'. Some Satu'd'y nights us had dances. De same old fiddler played for us dat played for de white folks. An' he sho' could play. When he got dat old fiddle out you couldn' keep yo' foots still.

"Christ'mus was de time o' all times on dat old plantation. Dey don't have no such as dat now. Ever' chil' brought a stockin' up to de Big House to be filled. Dey all wanted one o' de mistis' stockin's, 'cause now she weighed nigh on to three hund'ed pounds. Candy an' presents was put in piles for ever' one. When dey names was called dey walked up an' got it. Us didn' work on New Year's Day. Us could go to town or anywhere us wanted to.

"De mos' fun was de corn shuckin'. Dey was two captains an' each one picked de ones he wanted on his side. Den de shuckin' started. You can't make mention o' nothin good dat us didn' have t'eat after de shuckin'. I still studies' bout dem days now.

"Dey was big parties at de white folks' house, me, all dressed up wid taller[FN: tallow] on my face to make it shine, a-servin' de gues'es[FN: guests].

"One time, jus' when ever'thing was a-goin' fine, a sad thing happened. My young mistis, de one named for her ma, ups an' runs off wid de son o' de Irish ditch digger an' marries 'im. She wouldn' a-done it if dey'd a-let 'r marry de man she wanted. Dey didn' think he was good 'nough for her. So jus' to spite' em, she married de ditch digger's son.

"Old Mis' wouldn' have nothin' more to do wid 'er, same as if she warnt her own chil'. But I'd go over to see 'er an' carry milk an' things out o' de garden.

"It was pitiful to see my little miss poor. When I couldn' stan' it no longer I walks right up to Old Mis' an' I says, 'Old Mis', does you know Miss Farrell aint got no cow.' She jus' act lak she aint hear'd me, an' put her lips together dat tight. I couldn' do nothin' but walk off an' leave her. Pretty soon she called, 'Prince!' I says, 'Yes mam.' She says, 'Seein' you is so concerned 'bout Miss Farrell not havin' no cow, you better take one to 'er.' I foun' de rope an' carried de bes' cow in de lot to Miss Farrell.

"Shortly after dat I lef' wid Old Marster to go to North Carolina. Jus' 'fore de war come on, my marster called me to' im an' tol' me he was a-goin' to take me to North Carolina to his brother for safe keepin'. Right den I knowed somethin' was wrong. I was a-wishin' from de bottom o' my heart dat de Yankees 'ud stay out o' us business an' not git us all 'sturbed in de min'.

"Things went on at his brother's place 'bout lak dey done at home. I stayed dere all four years o' de war. I couldn' leave 'cause de men folks all went to de war an' I had to stay an' pertec' de women folks.

"De day peace was declared wagon loads o' people rode all th'ough de place a-tellin' us 'bout bein' free. De old Colonel was killed in battle an' his wife had died. De young marster called us in an' said it was all true, dat us was free as he was, an' us could leave whenever us got ready. He said his money warnt no good anymore an' he dida' have no other to pay us wid.

"I can't recollec' if he got new money an' paid us or not, but I do 'member ever' las' one o' us stayed.

"I never lef' dat place' til my young marster, Mr. Jim Johnson, de one dat was de Supreme Judge, come for me. He was a-livin' in South Carolina den. He took us all home wid 'im. Us got dere in time to vote for Gov'nor Wade Hamilton. Us put 'im in office, too. De firs' thing I done was join de Democrat Club an' hoped[FN: helped] 'em run all o' de scalawags away from de place. My young marster had always tol' me to live for my country an' had seen 'nought of dat war to know jus' what was a-goin' on.

"I'se seen many a patrol in my lifetime, but dey dassent come on us place. Now de Kloo Kluxes[FN: Ku Kluxes] was diff'ent. I rid[FN: rode] wid' em many a time. 'Twas de only way in dem days to keep order.

"When I was 'bout twenty-two year old, I married Clara Breaden. I had two chilluns by her, Diana an' Davis. My secon' wife's name was Annie Bet Woods. I had six chillun by her: Mary, Ella, John D., Claud William, an' Prince, Jr. Three boys an' two gals is still livin'. I lives wid my daughter, Claud, what is farmin' a place 'bout five miles from Clarksdale. I has' bout fifteen head o' gran'chillun an' ever' las' one of 'em's farmers.

"Things is all peaceful now, but de worl' was sho' stirred up when Abraham Lincoln was 'lected. I 'member well when dey killed 'im. Us had a song' bout 'im dat went lak dis:

'Jefferson Davis rode de milk white steed,
Lincoln rode de mule.
Jeff Davis was a mighty fine man,
An' Lincoln was a fool.'

"One o' de little gals was a-singin' dat song one day an' she mixed dem names up. She had it dat Marse Davis was de fool. I'se laughed 'bout dat many a time. When Mistis finished wid' er she had sho' broke her from suckin' eggs.

"I knows all 'bout what slave uprisin's is, but never in my life has I seen anything lak dat. Never! Never! Where I was brought up de white man knowed his place an' de Nigger knowed his'n[FN: his]. Both of' em stayed in dey place. We aint never had no lynchin's, neither.

"I know all 'bout Booker T. Washington. He come to de state o' Mississippi once an' hel' a meetin' in Jackson. He made a gran' talk. He made mention 'bout puttin' money in de bank. Lots o' darkies made 'membrance o' dat an' done it. He tol' us de firs' thing us had to learn was to work an' dat all de schoolin' in de worl' wouldn' mean nothin' if us didn' have no mother wit[FN: energy & common sense]. It's a pity us aint got more folks lak him to guide us now dat us aint got no marster an' mistis to learn us.

"I's a Nigger what has been prosperous. I made a-plenty cotton an' I teached my chillun to be good blue stockin' Presbyterians. All 'roun' de country I was knowed an' ever'body b'lieved in me.

"Maybe things is better lak dey is today. Mos' folks says so anyway. But if Old Marster were a-livin' I'd be better off. I know dat to be so.

"I can hear 'im say to me new, 'Prince Albert, who is you named for? Well den hol' yo' head high so folks can see you is quality.'"

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies

[HAMP KENNEDY Mahned, Mississippi]

Uncle Hamp Kennedy, a farmer, 78 years old, weighs about 135 pounds, and is about 5 feet 9 inches high. His head is bald with a little gray fuzz over his ears and growing low toward the nape of his neck. He does not wear spectacles nor smoke a pipe. His face is clean shaven.

Physically active, he does not use a crutch or cane and his hearing, eyesight, and mind appear alert. The old Negro cannot read or write, but he has a remarkable memory. He seems very happy in his little cabin where he and his wife live alone, and his eyes beam with interest when he remembers and discusses slavery times.

"I was jes a little nigger when de War broke out--'bout fo' years ol', my white folks say. I had a sister an' three brudders. My mammy an' pappy was Mary Kennedy an' Lon Kennedy. My mammy was Mary Denham befo' she mar'ied. I was born an' raised at Mahned, Mississippi. Old Miss Bill Griffin was my missus.

"De Yankees sho' come to our house--yes sir, dey did. De fust time dey kotched our hogs an' cut off de hind part an' take hit wid' em. De front part dey lef' in de fiel'. Dey carries corn in de saddle bags an' throwed hit out to de chickens. Den when de chickens come up to eat dey kotched 'em by de head an' wring hit off an' take all de chickens wid 'em.

"Our white folks buried all dey silver in de groun' an' hid dey hosses in de deep gullies near de plantation. Even dey clo'es an' meat dey hide, an' de soljers didn' find nothin' 'cepin' de hosses, an' dey lef' dey tired ones an' tuk our fresh ones wid' em. Dey burned de fiel's an' orchards so our white folks couldn' he'p feed our soljers none.

"One time I 'member when Aunt Charity an' Winnie McInnis, two niggers on our plantation, tried to swim some of our hosses cross de riber to save 'em frum de soljers an' dey rode 'cross in a little boat. Well, when de hosses got in de middle of de water, up comes a' gator[FN: alligator], grabs one hoss by de ear, an' we ain't neber seed him no mo'.

"When niggers run 'way frum de plantation dey was whupped, but dey had to go to da sheriff to be whupped. De sheriff, he would tie de nigger to a tree an' whup him till de blood run out.

"'Bout de only recr'ation us niggers had in dem days was candy pullin's. We all met at one house an' tol' ghost stories, sung plantation songs, an' danced de clog while de candy was cookin'. Dem was de good old days. Dey don't do dem things no mo'.

"When a nigger died, we had a wake an' dat was diffrunt too frum whut 'tis today. Dey neber lef' a dead nigger 'lone in de house, but all de neighbors was dere an' hoped[FN: helped]. Dey turned de mirrors to de wall 'cause dey say once a long time ago, a nigger died an' three days afte'wards his people looked in a mirror an' dere dey see da dead nigger plain as day in de mirror.

"At da wake we clapped our han's an' kep' time wid our feet--_Walking Egypt_, dey calls hit--an' we chant an' hum all night 'till de nigger was _funeralized_.

"If we heerd a little old shiverin' owl[FN: screech owl] we'd th'ow salt in de fire an' th'ow a broom 'cross de do' fer folks say dat 'twas a sign of bad luck, an' a charm had to be worked fas' to keep sumpin' terrible frum happenin', an' if a _big owl_ hollered, we wasn't 'lowed to say one word.

"Fire was 'bout de hardes' thing fer us to keep. Dere wa'nt no matches in dem days, an' we toted fire frum one plantation to 'nother when hit burned out. We put live coals in pans or buckets an' toted it home.

"Sometimes we put heavy waddin' in a old gun an' shot hit out into a brush heap an' then blowed the sparks' til de fire blazed. Ever'body had flint rocks too, but few niggers could work 'em an' de ones dat could allus had dat job to do.

"My gran'mammy come frum South Ca'lina an' libed fust at New Augusta, Mississippi. She used to pick big Catawba leaves an' roll her dough in 'em an' bake hit in a log heap, pilin' ashes over hit. Some called hit ash cakes an' hit sho' was good. Nothin' lak hit dese days--no sir.

"We had plen'y to eat--smoke sausage, beef, home made lard, an'--yes sir, possum when we wanted hit.

"We didn' git any pay fer our work but we had plen'y to eat an' clo'es to wear, our clo'es was coarse but good. Most of 'em was wove on de looms an' our socks an' stockings was knitted by de wimmin. De white folks though, dey wear linen an' fine silk clo'es fer de big times. We made blankets--coverlets, too.

"We had 'bout 60 slaves on our place, an' if a nigger man on one plantation fall in love wid a slave girl on 'nother place, dey jus' come to her plantation an' jump ober de broom an' den dey is mar'ied. De slabes never had preachers lak dey do at weddin's dese days. If de girl didn't love de boy an' he jumped ober de broom an' she didn't, den dey wa'nt mar'ied.

"Dere was no schools in dem days either, an' I can't read an' write today. Some of de white folks taught de younger niggers an' den dey tuk dey lessons an' studied at dey cabin of nights afte' dey had finished work.

"We had prayer meetin's in each others houses durin' de week. One plantation owner built a little church on his place an' de niggers, dey go in de back do' an' sit in de back, an' white folks dey come in de front of de church an' sit. De Presbyterin chu'ch was de only one 'round dere an' dey sprinkled ever'body--jes poured water ober dey heads frum a glass an' den patted hit hit in (demonstrated).

"'Twas funny--one time Joe an' Green, two niggers on our place, et dey supper an' run 'way at night an' afte' dey was kotched, dey tol' us dat when dey was passin' through de woods dat night a great big old gran'daddy owl flopped his wings an' Joe said 'we'd better turn back.' I allus heard hit was bad luck fer to hear a owl floppin' lack dat, but Green said 'twant nothin', jes a old owl floppin', but he jes naturally flopped diffrunt dat night, an' Green walked on 'bout 15 steps an' somebody shot him dead. Joe said he tu'ned back an' run home.

"All our niggers had to have passes to leave de plantation an' when de pataroller kotched 'em wid out'n a pass, de nigger was whupped. Sometimes de plantation owner did hit an' sometimes de sheriff. Dey used a long leather strop cut at de ends.

"We used snake root, hohound weed, life everlastin' weed, horse mint, an' sassafras as medicine.

"When de War was right on us, grub was scarce an' sometimes little niggers only had clabber milk an' dey et it in de trough wid de pigs, an' sometimes dey only had pie crusts an' bread crusts at night when dey et on de cabin flo'. Dem was hard times afte' de War.

"'Nother time one nigger run 'way frum our plantation an' hid by day an' traveled by night so de nigger dogs wouldn't git him an' he hid in a hollow tree. Dere was three cubs down in dat tree an' hit was so slick inside an' so high 'til he couldn't clim' out, an' afte' while de ole bear came back an' throw in half a hog. Den she go 'way an' come ag'in an' throw in de other half. 'Bout a hour later, she came back an' crawl in back'ards herse'f. De nigger inside de tree kotched her by de tail an' pulled hisself out. Hit scared de bear so 'til she run in one direction an' de nigger in 'nother. But de nigger, he run in de direction of his marster's place an' said he'd neber run off again as long as he libed.

"I can't 'member de old songs but dese niggers today can't sing lak dat neither 'cause dey ain't libed back dere, an' dey can't feel hit lak us old folks. Dem was de good old days allright, an' dey was hard days too."

JAMES LUCAS Natchez, Mississippi

James Lucas, ex-slave of Jefferson Davis, lives at Natchez, Adams County. Uncle Jim is small, wrinkled, and slightly stooped. His woolly hair is white, and his eyes very bright. He wears a small grizzled mustache. He is always clean and neatly dressed.

"Miss, you can count up for yo'se'f. I was born on October 11, 1833. My young Marster give me my age when he heired de prope'ty of his uncle, Marse W.B. Withers. He was a-goin' through de papers an' a-burnin' some of 'em when he foun' de one 'bout me. Den he says, 'Jim, dissen's 'bout you. It gives yo' birthday.'

"I recollec' a heap' bout slav'ry-times, but I's all by myse'f now. All o' my frien's has lef' me. Even Marse Fleming has passed on. He was a little boy when I was a grown man.

"I was born in a cotton fiel' in cotton pickin' time, an' de wimmins fixed my mammy up so she didn' hardly lose no time at all. My mammy sho' was healthy. Her name was Silvey an' her mammy come over to dis country in a big ship. Somebody give her de name o' Betty, but twant her right name. Folks couldn' un'erstan' a word she say. It was some sort o' gibberish dey called gulluh-talk, an' it soun' _dat_ funny. My pappy was Bill Lucas.

"When I was a little chap I used to wear coarse lowell-cloth shirts on de week-a-days. Dey was long an' had big collars. When de seams ripped de hide would show through. When I got big enough to wait 'roun' at de Big House an' go to town, I wore clean rough clo'es. De pants was white linsey-woolsey an' de shirts was rough white cotton what was wove at de plantation. In de winter de sewin' wimmins made us heavy clothes an' knit wool socks for us. De wimmins wore linsey-woolsey dresses an' long leggin's lak de sojers wear. Dis was a long narrow wool cloth an' it wropt 'roun' an' 'roun' dey legs an' fas'n at de top wid a string.

"I never went to no church, but on Sund'ys a white man would preach an' pray wid us an' when he'd git through us went on 'bout us own business.

"At Chris'mus de Marster give de slaves a heap o' fresh meat an' whiskey for treats. But you better not git drunk. No-sir-ree! Den on Chris'mus Eve dey was a big dance an' de white folks would come an' see de one what dance de bes'. Marster an' Mistis laugh fit to kill at de capers us cut. Den sometimes dey had big weddin's an' de young white ladies dressed de brides up lak dey was white. Sometimes dey sont to N'awleans for a big cake. De preacher married' em wid de same testimony[FN: ceremony] dey use now. Den ever'body'd have a little drink an' some cake. It sho' was larrupin'[FN: very good][HW:?]. Den ever'body'd git right. Us could dance near 'bout all night. De old-time fiddlers played fas' music an' us all clapped han's an' tromped an' sway'd in time to de music. Us sho' made de rafters ring.

"Us slaves didn' pay no 'tention to who owned us, leastways de young ones didn'. I was raised by a marster what owned a heap o' lan's. Lemme see, dey is called Artonish, Lockdale, an' Lockleaven. Dey is plantations 'long de river in Wilkinson County, where I was raised. Dey is all 'long together.

"I's sho' my firs' marster was Marse Jim Stamps an' his wife was Miss Lucindy. She was nice an' sof'-goin'. Us was glad when she stayed on de plantation.

"Nex' thing I knowed us all b'longed to Marse Withers. He was from de nawth an' he didn' have no wife. (Marsters wid-out wives was de debbil. I knows a-plenty what I oughtn' tell to ladies. Twant de marsters whut was so mean. Twas dem po' white trash overseers an' agents. Dey was mean; dey was meaner dan bulldogs. Yes'm, wives made a big diffe'nce. Dey was kin' an' went 'bout mongst de slaves a-lookin' after 'em. Dey give out food an' clo'es an' shoes. Dey doctered de little babies.) When things went wrong de wimmins was all de time puttin' me up to tellin' de Mistis. Marse D.D. Withers was my young marster. He was a little man, but ever'body stepped when he come 'roun'.

"Don' rightly know how it come 'bout. Lemme see! De bes' I 'member my nex' Marster was Pres'dent Jefferson Davis hisse'f. Only he warnt no pres'dent den. He was jus' a tall quiet gent'man wid a pretty young wife what he married in Natchez. Her name was Miss Varina Howell, an' he sho' let her have her way. I spec I's de only one livin' whose eyes ever seed 'em bofe. I talked wid her when dey come in de big steamboat. 'Fore us got to de big house, I tol' her all 'bout de goins'-on on de plantations. She was a fine lady. When I was a boy 'bout thirteen years old dey took me up de country toward Vicksburg to a place call Briarsfield. It mus'-a been named for her old home in Natchez what was called 'de Briars.' I didn' b'long to Marse Jeff no great while, but I aint never fo'git de look of 'im. He was always calm lak an' savin' on his words. His wife was jus' de other way. She talked more dan a-plenty.

"I b'lieves a bank sol' us nex' to Marse L.Q. Chambers. I 'members him well. I was a house-servant an' de overseer dassent hit me a lick. Marster done lay de law down. Mos' planters lived on dey plantations jus' a part o' de year. Dey would go off to Saratogy an' places up nawth. Sometimes Marse L.Q. would come down to de place wid a big wagon filled wid a thousan' pair o' shoes at one time. He had a nice wife. One day whilst I was a-waitin' on de table I see old Marse lay his knife down jus' lak he tired. Den he lean back in his chair, kinda still lak. Den I say, 'What de matter wid Marse L.Q.?' Den dey all jump an' scream an', bless de Lawd, if he warnt plumb dead.

"Slaves didn' know what to 'spec from freedom, but a lot of 'em hoped dey would be fed an' kep' by de gov'ment. Dey all had diffe'nt ways o' thinkin' 'bout it. Mos'ly though dey was jus' lak me, dey didn' know jus' zackly what it meant. It was jus' somp'n dat de white folks an' slaves all de time talk 'bout. Dat's all. Folks dat ain' never been free don' rightly know de _feel_ of bein' free. Dey don' know de meanin' of it. Slaves like us, what was owned by quality-folks, was sati'fied an' didn' sing none of dem freedom songs. I recollec' one song dat us could sing. It went lak dis:

'Drinkin' o' de wine, drinkin' o' de wine,
Ought-a been in heaven three-thousan' yeahs
A-drinkin' o' dat wine, a-drinkin' o' dat wine.'

Us could shout dat one.

"I was a grown-up man wid a wife an' two chillun when de War broke out. You see, I stayed wid de folks til 'long cum de Yanks. Dey took me off an' put me in de War. Firs', dey shipped me on a gunboat an', nex', dey made me he'p dig a canal at Vicksburg. I was on de gunboat when it shelled de town. It was turrible, seein' folks a-tryin' to blow each other up. Whilst us was bull-doggin' Vicksburg in front, a Yankee army slipped in behin' de Rebels an' penned 'em up. I fit[FN: fought] at Fort Pillow an' Harrisburg an' Pleasant Hill an' 'fore I was ha'f through wid it I was in Ba'timore an' Virginny.

"I was on han' when Gin'l Lee handed his sword to Gin'l Grant. You see, Miss, dey had him all hemmed in an' he jus' natchelly had to give up. I seen him stick his sword up in de groun'.

"Law! It sho' was turrible times. Dese old eyes o' mine seen more people crippled an' dead. I'se even seen 'em saw off legs wid hacksaws. I tell you it aint right, Miss, what I seen. It aint right atall.

"Den I was put to buryin' Yankee sojers. When nobody was lookin' I stript de dead of dey money. Sometimes dey had it in a belt a-roun' dey bodies. Soon I got a big roll o' foldin' money. Den I come a-trampin' back home. My folks didn' have no money but dat wuthless kin'. It was all dey knowed 'bout. When I grabbed some if it an' throwed it in de blazin' fiah, dey thought I was crazy, 'til I tol' 'em, 'dat aint money; it's no 'count!' Den I give my daddy a greenback an' tol' him what it was.

"Aftah de War was over de slaves was worse off dan when dey had marsters. Some of 'em was put in stockades at Angola, Loosanna[FN: Louisiana], an' some in de turrible corral at Natchez. Dey warnt used to de stuff de Yankees fed 'em. Dey fed' em wasp-nes' bread, 'stead o' corn-pone an' hoe cake, an' all such lak. Dey caught diseases an' died by de hund'eds, jus' lak flies. Dey had been fooled into thinkin' it would be good times, but it was de wors' times dey ever seen. Twant no place for 'em to go; no bed to sleep on; an' no roof over dey heads. Dem what could git back home set out wid dey min's made up to stay on de lan'. Mos' of dey mistis' took 'em back so dey wuked de lan' ag'in. I means dem what lived to git back to dey folks was more'n glad to wuk! Dey done had a sad lesson. Some of 'em was worse'n slaves after de War.

"Dem Ku Kluxes was de debbil. De Niggers sho' was scared of 'em, but dey was more after dem carpet-baggers dan de Niggers. I lived right in 'mongst 'em, but I wouldn' tell. No Ma'm! I knowed 'em, but I dasn' talk. Sometimes dey would go right in de fiel's an' take folks out an' kill 'em. Aint none of 'em lef' now. Dey is all dead an' gone, but dey sho' was rabid den. I never got in no trouble wid 'em, 'cause I tended my business an' kep' out o' dey way. I'd-a been kilt if I'd-a run 'roun' an' done any big talkin'.

"I never knowed Marse Linc'um, but I heard he was a pow'ful good man. I 'members plain as yesterd'y when he got kilt an' how all de flags hung at ha'f mas'. De Nawth nearly went wil' wid worryin' an' blamed ever'body else. Some of 'em even tried to blame de killin' on Marse Davis. I fit wid de Yankees, but I thought a mighty heap o' Marse Davis. He was quality.

"I guess slav'ry was wrong, but I 'members us had some mighty good times. Some marsters was mean an' hard but I was treated good all time. One thing I does know is dat a heap of slaves was worse off after de War. Dey suffered 'cause dey was too triflin' to work widout a boss. Now dey is got to work or die. In dem days you worked an' rested an' knowed you'd be fed. In de middle of de day us rested an' waited for de horn to blow to go back to de fiel'. Slaves didn' have nothin' turrible to worry 'bout if dey acted right. Dey was mean slaves de same as dey was mean marsters.

"Now-a-days folks don' live right. In slav'ry times when you got sick a white docter was paid to git you well. Now all you gits is some no-count paten' medicine. You is 'fraid to go to de horspital, 'cause de docters might cut on yo' stummick. I think slav'ry was a lot easier dan de War. Dat was de debbil's own business. Folks what hankers for war don' know what dey is askin' for. Dey ain' never seen no bloodshed. In war-times a man was no more dan a varmint.

"When my white folks tol' us us was free, I waited. When de sojers come dey turnt us loose lak animals wid nothin'. Dey had no business to set us free lak dat. Dey gimme 160 acres of lan', but twant no 'count. It was in Mt. Bayou, Arkansas, an' was low an' swampy. Twant yo' lan' to keep lessen you lived on it. You had to clear it, dreen it, an' put a house on it.

"How I gwine-a dreen an' clear a lot o' lan' wid nothin' to do it wid? Reckon somebody livin' on my lan' now.

"One of de rights of bein' free was dat us could move 'roun' and change bosses. But I never cared nothin' 'bout dat.

"I hear somebody say us gwine-a vote. What I wanta vote for? I don' know nothin' 'bout who is runnin'.

"I draws a Federal pension now. If I lives' til nex' year I'll git $125 a mont'. It sho' comes in handy. I paid $800 for my house an', if I'd-a thought, I'd-a got one wid mo' lan'. I don' wan' to plant nothin'. I do want to put a iron fence a-roun' it an' gild it wid silver paint. Den when I's gone, dar it will be.

"Yes'm. I'se raised a big fambly. Dem what aint dead, some of' em looks as old as I does. I got one gran-chil' I loves jus' lak my own chillun. I don' rightly 'member dis minute how many chillun I had, but I aint had but two wives. De firs' one died long 'bout seventeen years ago, an' I done what de Good Book say. It say, 'when you goes to de graveyard to bury yo' firs' wife, look over de crowd an' pick out de nex' one.'

"Dat's jus' what I done. I picked Janie McCoy, 'cause she aint never been married b'fore. She's a good cook, even if she does smoke a pipe, an' don' know much' bout nothin'.

"I sho' don' live by no rules. I jus' takes a little dram when ever I wants it, an' I smokes a pipe 'ceptin when de Mistis give me a seegar[FN: cigar]. I can't chew tobacco on 'count my teeth is gone. I aint been sick in bed but once in seventy years.

"I is five feet, five inches tall. I used to weigh 150 pounds, but dis old carcass o' mine done los' fifty pounds of meat.

"Now-a-days I has a heap of misery in my knee, so I can't ride 'roun' no mo'. Durin' de War I got a muskit ball in my hip an' now dat my meat's all gone, it jolts a-roun' an' hurts me worse. I's still right sprightly though. I can jump dat drainage ditch in front of de house, an' I sho' can walk. Mos' every day I walks to de little sto' on Union Street. Dar I rests long enough to pass de time-o-day wid my neighbors. My eyes is still good, but I wears glasses for show an' for seein' close.

"De longer I lives de plainer I see dat it ain' right to want mo' dan you can use. De Lawd put a-plenty here for ever'body, but shucks! Us don' pay no min' to his teachin'. Sometimes I gits lonesome for de frien's I used to know, 'cause aint nobody lef' but me. I's sho' been lef a fur piece[FN: long way] b'hin'. De white folks say, 'Old Jim is de las' leaf on de tree,' an' I 'spec dey's 'bout right."

Sam McAllum, Ex-slave, Lauderdale County FEC Marjorie Woods Austin Rewrite, Pauline Loveless Edited, Clara E. Stokes

SAM McALLUM Meridian, Mississippi