Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

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SLAVE NARRATIVES

_A Folk History of Slavery in the United States_

_From Interviews with Former Slaves_

TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY

THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT

1936-1938

ASSEMBLED BY

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT

WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION

FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS

_Illustrated with Photographs_

WASHINGTON 1941

VOLUME X

MISSOURI NARRATIVES

Prepared by the Federal Writers' Project of

the Works Progress Administration

for the State of Missouri

[HW:] Handwritten note

[TR:] Transcriber's note

INFORMANTS

- James Monroe Abbot
- Betty Abernathy
- Hannah Allen
- W.C. Parson Allen
- Charles Gabriel Anderson
- Jane Baker
- Mary A. Bell
- William Black
- George Bollinger
- Annie Bridges
- Betty Brown
- Steve Brown
- Richard Bruner
- Robert Bryant
- Alex Bufford
- Harriet Casey
- Joe Casey
- Lula Chambers
- Emmaline Cope
- Peter Corn
- Ed Craddock
- Isabelle Daniel [TR: Mrs. Eli Daniel]
- Henry Dant
- Lucy Davis
- Mary Divine
- Mary Douthit
- John Estell
- Smoky Eulenberg
- Ann Ulrich Evans
- James Goings
- Rachael Goings
- Sarah Frances Shaw Graves (Aunt Sally)
- Emily Camster Green
- Lou Griffin
- Louis Hamilton
- Fil Hancock
- Dave Harper
- Clara McNeely Harrell
- Joe Higgerson
- Delia Hill
- Louis Hill
- Rhody Holsell
- Henry Johnson
- Hannah Jones
- Emma Knight
- Harriet Lee
- Mattie Lee [HW: Head]
- Wes Lee
- Perry McGee
- John McGuire
- Eliza Madison
- Drucilla and Richard Martin
- Hattie Matthews
- Letha Taylor Meeks
- Wylie Miller
- Lewis Mundy
- Malinda Murphy
- Margaret Nickens
- Eliza Overton
- Delicia Ann Wiley Patterson (Lucinda)
- Marilda Pethy
- Susan Rhodes
- Charlie Richardson
- Madison Frederick Ross
- Alice Sewell
- Perry Sheppard
- Frank Sides
- Mollie Renfro Sides
- Jane Simpson
- Clay Smith
- Gus Smith
- Ann Stokes
- Edward Taylor
- Tishey Taylor
- Louis Thomas
- Jane Thompson
- Sarah Waggoner
- Minksie (Minksy) Walker
- James Wilson
- Mintie Gilbert Wood
- Ellaine Wright
- Sim Younger

*ILLUSTRATIONS*

Sarah Frances Shaw Graves Drucilla and Richard Martin

James Monroe Abbot

*Interview with James Monroe Abbot,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"I's born on December 25, 1854. My muthuh wuz Allie Ann Lane. Aftuh 'mancipation I tuk my daddies name Abbot--he wuz Anthony Abbot, an' belonged to Ole' Joe Abbot, a neighbor. Our Mastuh wuz Joe Lane an' our Missus wuz Jane Knox Lane. Dey had a girl, Barbara Ellen, an' two boys, Tom en' Ed. Latuh years dey had more boys but I nevuh knowd dem.

"De white folks house wuz big, wid porches, an flowers all aroun', an sweet locust trees in de do' yard. Dis wuz up in Perry County, a few miles fum Seventy Six Landing.

"When Ole Mastuh died, dat wuz de fathuh ob young Mastuh Joe--he war sick a long time. Dar he lay fum openin' o' spring, 'bout de time flies cum, 'til wheat-sowin' time in de fall. An' it's de God's trufe, all dat time he made me stan' side o' his bed--keepin' de flies offen him, I wuz jes seben year ole but dere I had tuh stan, day en night, night en day. Co'se I'd sleep sumtimes wen he wuz sleepin'. Sumtimes when I'd doze, my bresh ud fall on he's face, den he'd take he's stick an' whack me a few across de haid an' he'd say, 'Now I dare you to cry.' I cried, but he didden see me do it.

"But at las' he died. Jane came in an' said, 'He's daid. You can go out to play now James.' She ustah come in to Ole Mastuh an say, 'Why don' you let him go out tuh play an' let someone else stan' here?' But Ole Mastuh say, 'No! I want James.' So now I runs outside--I meets ma sister an I says: 'By God, he's daid.' I didden know I wus cussin', she say 'I gonna tell Muthuh on you,' but I's so glad to be out, I runs till I meet Uncle Rube an' I says, 'By God, he's daid,' den I runs an meets ma Muthuh, an' I tells her 'By God, he's daid.' She jes kinda turned her back tuh me an' I cud see her shakin'. She war laffin'!

"Aftuh de buryin' was over, Young Joe an' Jane stood dar on de porch an' dey call de darkies up one at a time. Fust dey calls ma Grampa an' young Joe says, 'Yo ole Mastuh's daid. Now I's you' Mastuh, an' Miss Jane here is your Missus. Do you unnerstand dat?' Grampa say 'Yessir' an pass on. Nex' he call Lucy, den Aunt Hanna. To each one he says de same, 'I's yore Mastuh and Miss' Jane here is yore New Missus'--sum ob' em says 'Yessir', sum ob' em jes kinda bows dey haid an' pass on. Wen he call mah Muthuh up an' say de same tuh her--she look at him a minit den she say, 'I know'd yuh all dese year as Joe an' her as Jane, an' I ain't gonna start now callin' you Mastuh or Missus. I'll call you Joe an' Jane like I allus done,' an' she walked away.

"One time 'fore dat she puddin near kill young Joe. She wuh hoeing corn in de field an he cum ridin'--I spect he war jes tryin' to be smaht but he tells her to swallow dat tobbaccy she got in huh mouth. She don' pay him no mind an' he tell her agin. Den she say, 'You chewing tobaccy? Whyn't yuh swaller dat?' Dat make him mad and he take a double rope en whack her cross de sholders. Den she grab huh fingers roun' his throat, an his face wuh all black es my own 'fore dey pulls her offen him. Den Ole Mastuh try tuh whup her, but he couldn' by hisself, so he sends fo' three nigger-buyers dat's close by. When one o' em tells muthuh to put her han's togedder so he tie em, she grab him by de collar an' de seat o' he's pants an knock's his haid agin a post like a battern' ram. Den Ole Mastuh say, 'Men, yo' better go on home. I don' want my cullud folks to git hurt.' He said it like dat.

"My Muthuh wuz big an' strong. She nevuh worked in de house none but dey warn't nothin' on de place dat she couldn' do. She cud cut down a big tree en chop off a rail length an' use a wedge an' maul an' make rails as good as anybody. Pore Muthuh, she shore did have a hard time. Dey warn't never nuthin' for her but work hard all de time, she neveh came in fum de fiel' 'til dark, den had to feed wid a lantern.

"George Swan, a neighbor used tuh whup ole Felix with a cat-o'-nine-tails til we'd hear him holler over at our place.

"I 'member one time de snow wuz a foot deep an I had tuh gathuh corn. I wuz barefooted an' barehanded. Mah feet hurt so bad an' mah hands got so stiff I couldn' work mah fingers, but ah had tuh keep on breakin' off de corn. Dat night mah feet crack open an' nex' mahnin' when I had tuh make de fires I lef' a track o' blood across de' flo.' Dey shore wuz mean to us but God Bless you, dey's all daid an' gone an' de Lawd has spared me.

"Wen de war cum, lots o' cullud men went off to fight fo de Government. Young Mastuh Joe nevuh went but whenever de sojers cum aroun' Mastuh Joe couldn' nevuh be foun.'

"One time a passel a' sojers cum to de place, dey didden go to de big house, but dat night dey spread straw fum de straw pile on de flo ob our cabin--an' slep dar. We slep in de loft. Nex' mornin' dey went to de barn an' took de bran' new wagon an' de bes' team o' mules an' dey went to de smoke house an' hep deysefs. Dar wuz one man standin' on de wagon cuttin' down de hams an' side meat an' de udder packin' it in de wagon. Jane cum out on de porch an' start raisin' a ruccus 'bout 'em takin' her meat. De sojer whut wuz cuttin' down de meat pull out he's gun an' say 'Whut dat she say?' Jane run in de house quick--but he got mad de way she talk an' den' he take _all_ a de meat an' cans o' lard, an a barrel of molasses. We ain't nevuh seed dat wagon agin an' it wuz bran' new.

"Dey wuz a battle a few mile away an' dey said you couldn' walk on de groun' wifout steppin on daid men.

"Wen de war wuz over dey didden want us to know 'bout it. Dey want to keep us es long es dey could. But it cum out in de papers dat de Guvment men wuz gonna cum round an' see so dey had tuh turn us loose.

"Abe Lincoln wuz de honestest President we evuh had. Ef it warn't fo' him we'd still be in bondage.

"If you puts two hoss-shoes above youh door--one up an' one down--it'll shore catch de wiches if dey tries tuh come through.

"One time it wuz in de evenin' I wuz puttin hay in de pen fo de hosses at night, an I see a big white light a-cummin' up de lane jes a little above de top o' de fence. It wuz big an' shiny white. I wuzn' rightly skeered but I stood dere watchin' it. It cum up an followed de' fence to de road. I watched to see did it go to de graveyard, an' shure nuf it did. It meant sumpin' but I don' know whut. An den one day, 'bout noon I seed sumpin. I wuz out side dar an a little dog cum towards me. It wo' a bright collar, shinin' like, an' pretty. I ain't nevuh seed nuthin' like it. I goes to it an calls, 'Heah puppy, heah puppy.' It stan dere n' look at me fir a minit den turn an' jump ovuh dat ten rail fence an' is lost in de tall weeds. Now you know no natchel puppy could jump ovuh a ten-rail fence. I goes in an tells Hanna de cook 'bout it an' she say, 'Lawd ha' mercy! dat's a token fo' sumpin. I don' know whut--mebby somebody gonna die, but it sho' is a token.'"

Betty Abernathy

*Interview with Betty Abernathy,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"My muthuh brought me to Cape Girardeau in 1862, an' I was 'bout ten yeah ol' at dat time. Huh name was Malissa Abernathy an' she tole' me that 'Ole Massa' John Abernathy was mah daddy. 'Ole Massa' was mean to his cullud folks and so was 'Ole Missis Willie'.

"We lived up in Perry County. The white folk had a nice big house an' they was a number of poor little cabins fo' us folks. Ours was one room, built of logs, an' had a puncheon floor. 'Ole 'Massa' had a number of slaves but we didden' have no school, 'ner church an' mighty little merry-makin'. Mos'ly, we went barefooted the yeah 'round.

"My muthuh an' some of the othuh women done the weavin' an' sewin'. I learned to spin, I could fill broaches and spin as good as any of 'em. One time 'Ole' Tom Johnson, the 'nigger-buyer' come up frum Little Rock. He was go'in to buy muthuh an' her family, and take us to Arkansas, but 'bout that time they was so much talk 'bout freein' the slaves, he was 'fraid to.

"Mostly we had right fair eatin's. We didn't go into the big house much, jes' on cleanin' days an' such like.

"Ole Massa' often hired his cullud folks out to neighbuh farmuh an' he didden' care how they was treated. One time my two brothers was hired out an' in the evenin' they came an' tole muthuh they was goin' to run away 'cause they's treated so mean. She begged 'em not to come there to hide 'cause they'd find 'em 'shore, an' most likely kill 'em right before her eyes. They got away an' 'Ole Massa' come to the cabin to search fo' 'em. When muthuh tole him she didn't know where they was, he tied a rope 'round huh neck, an' tied the other end to the raftuhs. Then he beat her to make her tell.

"Aftuh this we was treated so mean that a neighbor helped us escape. We-all got in a big wagon, 'bout ten or twelve of us, an' druv us to the Cape, where they's sojers who'd protect us.

"I remembuh when we got there, they put us in a long, low, frame house, that stood on the cornuh where Mr. Hecht now lives. Here we lived fo' a long time. Muthuh an' I had no trouble findin' work to do. She hired me out fo' twenty-five cents a week an' I was so proud to be earnin' money that I nevuh thought 'bout learnin' to read or write."

Hannah Allen

*Interview with "Aunt" Hannah Allen,*
*Fredericktown, Missouri.*

_God Got A Hold On Her_

One of the oldest ex-slaves encountered in Missouri is "Aunt" Hannah Allen of Fredericktown, who claims she is 107 years old. According to Madison County records, Aunt Hannah gave her age as 82 when she made application for a marriage license in Fredericktown in 1912.

In spite of her extreme age, Aunt Hannah is able to do all of the work around her house and she frequently walks up town and back, a distance of several blocks. Her eyesight is very good and even at her advanced age she does not have to wear glasses. She claims her grandfather was a white man and she attributes her unusual health to several causes. She was well treated as a slave during her younger years when she was under the ownership of a family named Bollinger. She is childless and has been content to live on the same spot during the last 71 years. Being a Negro, she naturally does not take life seriously but as she expresses it "jes' lives it like it comes".

In reviewing the incidents which she was able to recall on the occasion of the writer's recent visit to her home, she outlined her story as follows:

"Down in Pocahontas, Arkansas, a man had 400 slaves and de boss would allow an old colored man to have meetins every Saturday night and of a Friday night dey would have a class meeting. Several of dem got religion right out in de field and would kneel down in de cornfield. De boss went home and told his wife he thought de slaves was losin' their minds 'cause dey was all kneeling down in de field. De boss' daughter also got religion and went down to de mourners' bench. De colored church finally made de boss and his whole family get religion. De old white mistress would sing and pray while she washed dishes, milked de cows, and made biscuits. So dey called de doctor and he come and said dat God had got a hold on her.

"One of de darkies had a baby out in de field about eleven o'clock one morning. De doctor come out there to her. She was sick a long time 'cause she got too hot before de chile was born. After dis happened de boss got to be a better man. Dis old boss at first would not let the darkies have any church meetins.

"On Sunday dere at home de colored folks could get all de water dat ran from de maple trees. De slaves would get through their work for de boss and den dere would sometimes be three days when dey could work for themselves. Den dey would get paid for working for others and den buy clothes. Dey had de finest boots.

"Dey did not want de mistress to tell me when we was free 'cause dere was only two of us slaves left there. De other slaves already done run off. I did not want to leave. When I was a slave I learned to do a job right or do it over. I learned to sew, cook, and spin. We set by de fireside and picked a shoe full of cotton and den we could go to bed. But you did a lot before you got dat shoe full of cotton when it was pressed down. Dis was almost enough to pad a quilt with. De white children would be getting their lessons den and dey used a pine torch for a light to see by.

"I was paid nothin' after slavery but just stayed with de boss and dey gave me things like a calf, clothes, and I got to go to church with dem and to camp meetings and picnics. Dey would have big basket meetings with pies, hogs, sheep and de like. Dey did not allow me to go with other colored girls if dey had no character. We all set down and ate at de same table with de white folks and tended de sick together. Today if de parents would make their children do like dey did in slavery, den we would have a better race. I was better off dan de free people. I think dat slavery taught me a lot.

"In Fredericktown I worked for my mistress' sister and made $10 a month. My father told me to always keep myself clean and nice and to comb my hair. When I lived in Fredericktown de people I worked for always tried to keep me from going out with de low class. After I washed de supper dishes, I would have to go upstairs and cut out quilts and I did not like it but it was good for me.

"My first husband gave $50 for dis lot I am living on. Dat was just at de end of de war. He hauled de logs and chinked and white-washed dem and we had two rooms and a hall. It was a good, nice, warm house. He was a carpenter. About twenty-five years later my husband built him a frame house here and dug him a well. He had 4 dozen chickens, 15 head of hogs, 2 horses, 2 wagons, and a buggy to go back and forth to de church at Libertyville, New Tennessee, or Pilot Knob. We lived together fifty years before he died. He left me dis home, three horses, 3 milk cows and three hogs.

"We had no children but 'dopted a little boy. He was my husband's sister's child. De boy's mother took a notion that she wanted to work out and she was just a young girl so we took de boy at about de age of three and he was with us about six years. He went to a colored school den but a white teacher taught him. We adopted a girl too from Marquand. De girl's father was a colored man and de mother was a white woman. De woman den married a white man in Marquand and her husband did not want de child so we took her at about three years old. We did not have her no time 'til she died. We have helped to raise about a dozen children. But I have quit doing dat now. I now has my second husband; he always liked to have children around but we ain't had none of our own.

"When my first husband died, he did not owe fifteen cents. He just would not go in debt to nobody. He attended de Masonic lodge. After he died I went to work. I brought wood, washed, ironed, and cooked. I have made as high as $15 a week and keep. I took care of a man's children after him and his wife separated. We have had two houses burn down right here. One of our houses was a little too close to Saline Creek and it was condemned and we tore it down and built de one we have now, thirteen years ago. Harry Newberry has a mill and he give us de lumber to build dis house.

"We have a lot in de colored graveyard. I have no insurance but Mr. Allen has some kind of insurance, so if he gets hurt traveling he will get something. We is getting, together, $25 in pensions a month and we is living pretty well right now. Some months we spend from seven to eight dollars on food. Almost everything is cash for us. I been going barefoot about ten years. I come mighty near going barefoot in de winter time. We been getting a pension about two years and we was on relief for two or three years before dat. Our biggest debt is a doctor bill of about $60.

"Some of de colored folks is better off now and some is worser. De young race says we who was slaves is ten times worse off den dey 'cause we had bosses and couldn't read or write. But I say de young race is got all dis to go by and dey ought to be much better off dan dey is. We is better off in one sense dan de young race 'cause about half of dem don't know how to raise their children and dey don't know how to do nothing. I think our folks has just as good a chance now as de white folks but dey don't get cultivated. Dey say today dat I don't know nothing 'cause I was a slave and all I learned was what de master learnt me. But I know enough to keep out of devilment. I think all dis speed shows dat people ain't got no sense at all."

*Interview with Aunt Hannah Allen,*
*aged 107, Fredericktown, Mo.*
*Interviewed by J. Tom Miles.*

"I's born in 1830 on Castor River 'bout fourteen miles east of Fredericktown, Mo. My birthday is December 24. Yes, sir, I is 107 years old dey say and dey got de records up there in de court house to prove it. De first time I married Adam Wringer in 1866 and was married by Squire Addison in Fredericktown. In 1912 on August 11 me and de parson was married in de Methodist church here and dis was de largest one in Fredericktown. 'Bout six or seven hundred come for de celebration. I guess I is 'bout de oldest person in Madison County.

"My father come from Perry County. He was named Abernathy. My father's father was a white man. My white people come from Castor and dey owned my mother and I was two years old when my mother was sold. De white people kept two of us and sold mother and three children in New Orleans. Me and my brother George was kept by de Bollingers. This was in 1832. De white people kept us in de house and I took care of de babies most of de time but worked in de field a little bit. Dey had six boys.

"Our house joined on to de house of de white folks. Many times I slept on de floor in front of de fireplace near de mistress. Dey got hold of a big buffalo rug and I would sleep on it. De Bollinger boy, Billy Bollinger, would go to de cabin and sleep with George, my brother. Dey thought nothing of it. Old man Bollinger sent some colored folks up to his farm in Sabula and Billy cried to go long with dem. He let Billy go. I stayed with old Aunt Betsy on Castor River.

"Before de Civil War broke out we were at Sabula and a Mr. Schafer and Mr. Bollinger started to take de slaves to Texas. Dey got as far as Rockport, near Hot Springs. A man by de name of John Higdon from Colorado married Olive Bollinger and he was injured in de arm in de Battle of Fredericktown. Den John Higdon went to Rockport after he was shot and had taken de oath of allegiance. Higdon's wife died in Rockport and she had a child two years old. I took de baby to care for. De wife was to be buried back home so dey took de body in a wagon with just a sheet over it towards Little Rock. I was sitting in de wagon holding de two year old baby. On de way 'bout ten miles out we were captured by Federal soldiers and took back to Rockport. De body was put in a room for two weeks and den placed in a vault above de ground and stayed dar for 'bout eight years before Mr. Higdon took it back home to bury.

"Higdon took me and his child to 'bout eight miles from Hot Springs to a hotel he had bought. Once he come up to de hotel with two government horses and put me and de child on a horse and we were on de way to Little Rock. We rode dat way for 'bout two weeks and was captured again near Benton. Higdon had on a Union cape. De soldiers asked us all 'bout de horses, guns, child, etc. De soldiers let him keep his gun 'cause dey said it wouldn't kill a flea. But dey cut de buttons off de coat, and took de spurs off of his heels and said he could not go any further. Dey took me and de baby and made us sit on de ground. De soldiers took Higdon to de river. It was late in de day. Dey said dey was going to transfer him back to Missouri and sell de horses. Higdon had papers from Col. Lowe and Chambers. De soldiers were Masons and after a while dey all come back just a-laughing and shaking hands.

"We were put on a boat at Little Rock going toward St. Louis. De child took de small pox from a lady on de boat. When we got on de boat dey were firing at the wheels of de boat from across de river. I was feeding de baby and de chamber-maid come out and said, 'I would drown him'. I said, 'If you do dat you will have to drown me too'. Dey had Higdon locked up on de boat and he did not get to see de baby for two weeks when we got to St. Louis. Just as we got to St. Louis, two white ladies saw de baby who was so sick and dey went out and got some clothes for it. De doctor come on de boat and vaccinated me. De sores on the baby were as big as half dollars.

"Den after we got to St. Louis we went to Whitworth's in Ironton, Missouri. Higdon was on de back porch and a soldier shot at him and took him to headquarters dat night. Whitworth had some soldiers take us to Sabula, twenty-five miles away. De soldiers den took Higdon back to Ironton until de war was over. Higdon married three times.

"John, the baby, was raised by his grandmother and step-mother in St. Louis. John married the daughter of a county clerk in Luxemburg, Missouri. And he became county clerk for thirty years in dis county. John died 'bout two years ago this July.

"I 'member how dey would treat one slave. De master took two boards and tied one to de feet and another to de hands and tied her back with ropes and whipped her with a cat-o'-nine-tails till she bled and den took salt and pepper and put in de gashes. I can 'member when I was in Iron County de soldiers stole de boss' horse and de boss had to go to Patton to git it. Once de soldiers made me get up in de smoke house and throw down some ham. De authorities 'gaged de soldiers for stealing from de people. I had to carry some stuff out for Sam Hildebrand to eat.

"I've been living here since de Civil War. Dis is de third house that I built on dis spot. What I think 'bout slavery? Well we is gettin' 'long purty well now and I believe it's best to not agitate."

W.C. Parson Allen

*Interview with W.C. Parson Allen,*
*aged 78, Fredericktown, Mo.*
*Interviewed by J. Tom Miles.*

"I's born in Harrison County, in 1859 and was raised in Georgetown, Scott County. Yes, I was born a slave. My boss was John McWiggin, a Scotch-Irishman, who raised hogs, sheep, hemp, and darkies. He had 'bout 230 darkies on de place. We lived in log cabins. Dey had slip doors for de windows. Man, what you talkin' 'bout? We never saw a window glass. Had 'bout fourteen cabins and dey was placed so dat de old master could sit on his porch and see every one of dem. My mistress was Alice McWiggin.

"I was kep' busy shooin' flies off de table with a pea-fowl brush, watching de chickens, and gettin' de maple sugar from de root of de trees. We made a pocket at de base of de tree and dipped out de sugar water with a bucket. Had 'bout 40 or 50 trees along de road. Had all kinds of berries. We never got no whippin', only a little boxin'. In church we sat on one side and de whites on de other. De white preacher always read a special text to de darkies, and it was this, 'Servants, obey your master.'

"John McWiggin was a son of a Federal. His brother, Keenie, was a Confederate. When de Confederate army come Keenie took de silver goblets down to de creek and gave de soldiers water to drink. Den when de other soldiers come Johnie would help his crowd. De soldiers took Mac's iron-gray saddle hosses to Lexington, and de boss had to pay $500 to get de hosses back. He got some of his mules back. De bushwackers and nightriders were here. But de boss got 'round it this way. He had de slaves dig trenches 'cross de road and tie grape vines over it. Den have de darkies go up on de hill and sing corn songs. Den de nightriders come a-rushing and sometimes dey would get four or five whites in these raids. It would kill de men and horses too, when dey fell into de trench. On Saturday night we had a shindig. We would eat chicken and pound cake and of course whiskey made in Kentucky. De jail was called de watch-house.

"After de war de government instituted religious trainin' 'mong de colored people and gave dem white teachers. I was in Lexington, Ky., when I learned my letters. Just how dese latter-day children learn to read without de letters is a mystery to me.

"I's one of de preachers of de church here and am a deacon, too. I studied at de University of Louisville, where I was a theological student, and was one of de main orators in de school.

"I've married a lot of 'em, in Poplar Bluff, Kennett, Farmington, and Fredericktown, and have preached quite a few funerals. Have preached some brush arbor sermons and stood under a arbor when we was married. I baptized 42 in Pennsylvania.

"I ain't eligible enough to express 'bout slavery. I ain't sayin' nothing."

Charles Gabriel Anderson

*Interview with*
*Charles Gabriel Anderson,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*

_Hale And Hearty At 119_

Charles Gabriel Anderson, 119 years old, lives at 1106 Biddle Street in St. Louis alone. He is 5 feet, 3 inches in height, has mixed gray hair and weighs 145 pounds.

He is slightly bent, but does not have to wear glasses, and is able to go anywhere in the city without assistance. He has a good memory, and cheerful attitude. Seated in the church of God in Christ, a store front church, next door to his home, where he attends because of the convenient location, he tells the writer the following story:

"I was born January 5, 1818 in Huntsville, Alabama de son of Sallie McCree and George Bryant. My owner's name was Miss Margaret Tony. She sold me to Edmond Bryant while I was quite young. I sometimes go by de name of Bryant.

"I was just big enough to carry water and help a bit with farming while Miss Tony had me, but I jedge I was 'bout 14 years old when Mr. Bryant got me, 'cause I was old enough to plow and help with de cotton and I done a man's size work in his field. I was his slave when de war broke out. I joined de army in 1864. I used to git a pension of $65 a month, now I only git $56 a month but last month I didn't git no check at all. I don't know why. Wish I could find out 'cause I needs it bad to live on. I used to nurse de white folks children when I was a little boy. I made a better nurse dan most girls, so jest kept on at it till I was old enough to be a field hand.

"I had a hard time till de war broke out. Soon as I got a chance, I run off and went to de army. I served two years and six months. I come out in 1866. 'Course I was in de hospital till '66. I don't know how long I was in der wounded. But I do know when I got better, I was such a good nurse de doctors kept me in de government hospital to help nurse dem other soldiers and dere sure 'nough was a heap of 'em up dere. Dat was in Madison, Wisconsin. After dey turned me loose from de hospital, I went to work in a barber shop up dere. I worked in it one year to learn de trade. After I learned de barber trade I don't remember how much longer I stayed dere. I left dere and went to Dodgeville, Wisconsin and opened a barber shop of my own and run it about two or three years. Den I went to Dubuque, Iowa, and stayed about one year and barbered in a hotel dere.

"I come to St. Louis in 1876 and started being a roust-about and firing on boats. I changed from dat after awhile and went to driving private carriages and done glass cleaning.

"I got what little education I got, 'tending night school here in St. Louis. I got 'nough to git ordained in de Chamber Street Baptist Church for a preacher. Den I come in holiness in Elder Jones, Church of God in Christ on Kennerly Avenue. I pastored the Macedonia Spiritual Church eight years in East St. Louis, Ill. I been married twice and am de father of three children, all dead, and both wifes dead. I don't know how long none of 'em been dead. My mother died while I was in de army and my father got drowned before I was born. I only had two sisters and three brothers, and dey is all dead. My brother, Jim Bryant, died in de army. He enlisted one year before I did, but in a different regiment. I has voted many times in my life time, and always voted Republican till dis last election, I decided I better vote de Democrat ticket and I did, and I don't regret it either.

"I gits my washing done by de neighbors dat do washing and I eat at de restaurant on de corner. De Ku Klux never bothered me none 'cause I stayed up north out of dere reach.

"I 'member de old slaves used to sing: 'Amazing Grace How Sweet De Sound'; 'I want to be a Soldier, Since de Lord has set me Free'; 'Fighting for Liberty'; 'Why Should We Start, and Fear to Die'; 'Death is the Gate to Endless Joy and Yet We Dread to Enter There'; 'The pain, the groan, the dying strife, rights our approaching souls away'; 'Jesus can make a dying bed, soft as downy pillows are, whilst on his breast, I lean my head and breathe our lives out sweetly there'.

"Sister, I just think dis younger generation is gone totally. Dey ain't taught right in de home, and de teachers can't do a thing with 'em. If it wasn't for de prayers goin' up to de throne of grace from all us old saints what's got sense enough to trust in nothin' else but Jesus, de whole business would be gone plum to rack. Dey ain't even got sense enough to know dat. De young folks' mind is on worldly goods and worldly pleasures and dere ain't no good in none of it, just misery and woe, to all it touches. And still dey don't seem to see, and don't want to see and nobody got any sense, can't make' em see. God help dis generation is all dat I can say.

"I figure I lived dis long 'cause in de first place, I obey God, I never did drink liquor or smoke in my whole life. I never wore glasses but precious little and dat was when I did what little reading and writing I knowed how to do; 'cause after my children went to school long enough to read and write for me I just stopped doing dat little bit. Now dey's all dead so I just makes marks, and lets it go at dat. I am a member of The Kennerly Avenue Church of God in Christ."

Jane Baker

*Jane Baker,*
*Farmington, Missouri.*
*Interview with Chas. Baker.*

"Ma muther wuz in a log cab'n east ob Farmington an when Price's soldiers com thru frum Fredericktown, one ob de soldiers climb'd ober de fence an robbed de hen house ob eggs an he put de eggs in his boots. Den when he climb'd ober de fence to git back to de road he mashed de eggs in his boots. De soldier tok off his boots an turned dem upside down to git de broken eggs out an ma muther ran out ta de fence an hollored, 'Goody, goody.'

"Ma muther say dat de worse side ob slabery wuz when de slabes war 'farmed out'. A master or slabe holder wud loan or sublet slabes ta a man fur so many months at so much money. De master agreed ta supply so many clothes. De man who rented de slabes wud treat dem jus lik animals.

"Ma muther wuz sole twice. De furst time she wuz 14 years ole. She wuz tak'n 26 miles to de new owner, an hit took all day. She tied all her belongings up in a red bandanna handkerchief an went on horseback. One stream wuz so high dat when dey cross'd hit dey got all wet. Den as soon as she got to de new owner she wuz ship'd de follin' day. One ob ma muther's owners wuz so good ta her dat she wuz treated as one ob de family."

REFERENCE:--The above information was received from Chas. Baker, who is the brother of Dayse Baker, principal of the colored Douglass School in Farmington, Missouri. Thus these facts are concerned with their mother, Mrs. Jane Baker, an Ex-Slave, who died at the age of 103.

Mary A. Bell

*Interview with Mary A. Bell,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*
*(Written by Grace E. White.)*

_She Loves Army Men_

The subject of this sketch is Mary A. Bell, 85 years old, living in a 4-room frame cottage at 1321 Argus Street, St. Louis County, Missouri.

Mary Bell has a very light complexion, light brown eyes, mixed gray hair, very long and straight. She has fine features. She is quite bent, and shows her years, but is cheerful. She is living in the same yard with her daughter who is married and lives next door with her family, Mrs. Virginia Miller and six children. Her story follows:

"I was born in Missouri, May 1, 1852 and owned by an old maid named Miss Kitty Diggs. I had two sisters and three brothers. One of my brothers was killed in de Civil War, and one died here in St. Louis in 1919. His name was Spot. My other brother, four years younger than I, died in October, 1925 in Colorado Springs.

"Slavery was a mighty hard life. Kitty Diggs hired me out to a Presbyterian minister when I was seven years old, to take care of three children.

"I nursed in dat family one year. Den Miss Diggs hired me out to a baker named Henry Tillman to nurse three children. I nursed there two years. Neither family was nice to me. De preacher had a big farm. I was only seven years old so dey put me on a pony at meal time to ride out to de field and call de hands to dinner. After the meals were finished, I helped in de kitchen, gathered the eggs, and kept plenty busy. My father was owned by de Lewis family out in the country, but Miss Diggs owned my mother and all her children. I never attended school until I came to St. Louis. When Abraham Lincoln was assassinated I had never been to school. Dat same year I attended school at Benton Barracks and went about six or seven months with de soldiers. There was no Negro school in St. Louis at dat time. The next school I attended was St. Paul Chapel, 11th and Green Streets. I went dere about six months. De next place I went to school was 18th and Warren. I went there about two years. My next school was 23rd and Morgan, now Delmar Boulevard, in a store building. I went dere between two and three years. I was very apt and learned fast. My father at de time I was going from school to school, was a nurse in Benton Barracks and my mother taken in washing and ironing. I had to help her in de home with de laundry.

"I married at de age of twenty-two and was de mother of seven children, but only have two now living, my daughter dat lives next door and in de same yard with me, and a son in the Philippine Islands. I have eight grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

"I so often think of de hard times my parents had in dere slave days, more than I feel my own hard times, because my father was not allowed to come to see my mother but two nights a week. Dat was Wednesday and Saturday. So often he came home all bloody from beatings his old nigger overseer would give him. My mother would take those bloody clothes off of him, bathe de sore places and grease them good and wash and iron his clothes, so he could go back clean.

"But once he came home bloody after a beating he did not deserve and he run away. He scared my mother most to death because he had run away, and she done all in her power to persuade him to go back. He said he would die first, so he hid three days and three nights, under houses and in the woods, looking for a chance to cross the line but de patrollers were so hot on his trail he couldn't make it. He could see de riders hunting him, but dey didn't see him. After three days and three nights he was so weak and hungry, he came out and gave himself up to a nigger trader dat he knew, and begged de nigger trader to buy him from his owner, Mr. Lewis, because Marse Lewis was so mean to him, and de nigger trader knew how valuable he was to his owner. De nigger trader promised him he would try to make a deal with his owner for him, because de nigger trader wanted him. So when dey brought father back to his owner and asked to buy him, Mr. Lewis said dere wasn't a plantation owner with money enough to pay him for Spot. Dat was my father's name, so of course that put my father back in de hands of Marse Lewis. Lewis owned a large tobacco plantation and my father was de head man on dat plantation. He cured all de tobacco, as it was brought in from the field, made all the twists and plugs of tobacco. His owner's son taught him to read, and dat made his owner so mad, because my father read de emancipation for freedom to de other slaves, and it made dem so happy, dey could not work well, and dey got so no one could manage dem, when dey found out dey were to be freed in such a short time.

"Father told his owner after he found out he wouldn't sell him, dat if he whipped him again, he would run away again, and keep on running away until he made de free state land. So de nigger trader begged my father not to run away from Marse Lewis, because if he did Lewis would be a ruined man, because he did not have another man who could manage de workers as father did. So the owner knew freedom was about to be declared and my father would have de privilege of leaving whether his owner liked it or not. So Lewis knew my father knew it as well as he did, so he sat down and talked with my father about the future and promised my father if he would stay with him and ship his tobacco for him and look after all of his business on his plantation after freedom was declared, he would give him a nice house and lot for his family right on his plantation. And he had such influence over de other slaves he wanted him to convince de others dat it would be better to stay with their former owner and work for him for their living dan take a chance on strangers they did not know and who did not know dem. He pleaded so hard with my father, dat father told him all right to get rid of him. But Lewis had been so mean to father, dat down in father's heart he felt Lewis did not have a spot of good in him. No place for a black man.

"So father stayed just six months after dat promise and taken eleven of de best slaves on de plantation, and went to Kansas City and all of dem joined the U.S. Army. Dey enlisted de very night dey got to Kansas City and de very next morning de Pattie owners were dere on de trail after dem to take dem back home, but de officers said dey were now enlisted U.S. Soldiers and not slaves and could not be touched.

"In de county where I was raised de white people went to church in de morning and de slaves went in de afternoon. I was converted at the age of fourteen, and married in 1882. My husband died May 27, 1896 and I have been a widow every since. I do get a pension now, I never started buying dis little old 4-room frame dwelling until I was sixty-four years old and paid for it in full in six years and six months.

"I am a member of St. Peter's A.M.E. Church in North St. Louis. I told you my father's name was Spot, but that was his nickname in slavery. His full name was Spottwood Rice and my son's full name is William A. Bell. He is enlisted in de army in de Philippine Islands. I love army men, my father, brother, husband and son were all army men. I love a man who will fight for his rights, and any person that wants to be something."

William Black

*Interview with William Black,*
*Hannibal, Missouri.*

_He's Quit Having Birthdays_

William Black of 919 South Arch Street, Hannibal, Missouri, is one of the few ex-slaves living in Marion County. He is now about eighty-five years old, and has lived his entire life in Marion, Monroe, and Ralls Counties. In chatting about his life and experiences he says:

"My mother and father come from Virginia. I don't know how old I is, but I have had one birthday and the rest is anniversaries. I think I is about eighty-five. I was born in slavery and when I was eight years old was bonded out to Sam Briggs of New London. Mr. Briggs was a good master and I didn't have a whole lot to do. My job was to take his children to school and go after dem of an evening. In the mean time I just piddled around in de fields.

"In de evening when de work was done we would sit 'round and play marbles and sing songs. We made our songs up as we went along. Sometimes dere would be a corn shuckin' and dat is when we had a good time, but we always shucked a lot of dat corn.

"I did not go to school any and today I do not even have de sense of writing at all. Unless some one guides my hand I cannot make a mark. I wish I wasn't so old now so I could go to school and learn how to read and write.

"I 'member one day when de master was gone, us darkies thought we would have a party. I guess de master knowed we was going to have one, 'cause dat night, when we was all having a good time, my sister said to me, 'Bill, over dere is old master Sam.' He had dressed up to look like us and see what we was up to. Master Sam didn't do anything to us dat time 'cause he had too good a time hisself.

"At the age of thirteen my sister was bonded out to some man who was awful mean, she was a bad girl, too. After we were freed she told me all about her old master. She said, 'One Christmas my master was drunk and I went to wish him a merry Christmas and get some candy. He hit at me and I ducked and run 'round de house so fast I burnt de grass 'round dat house and I know dere ain't no grass growing dere yet.'

"When we was freed our master didn't give us nothing, but some clothes and five dollars. He told us we could stay if we wanted to, but we was so glad to be free dat we all left him. He was a good man though.

"Durin' de war we could not leave de master's house to go to de neighbors without a pass. If we didn't have a pass de paddyrollers would get us and kill us or take us away.

"After de freedom come we could vote, but some of us never done it. To dis day I ain't never voted. De government has been as good to us as dey could. I get ten dollars a month and think I should have more, but I know dey is giving us all dey can and some day dey will give us ex-slaves more.

"I am glad dat we have our churches and schools. We don't have no business being with de good white people. Dey is cultured and we is not, but some day we will be as good and dey will be glad to have us 'round dem more. Just 'cause we is black is no sign that we ain't good niggers.

"I don't like de way de younger generation is doin'. As my neighbors say, 'the devil is gettin' dem and it won't be long 'fore he will come and get dem all.' When I was young we didn't act like dey do now-a-days. We didn't get drunk and stay dat way and kill each other. De good Lord is going to do something to all of dem, mark my word.

"I can't 'member some of the songs we sung, but when we was freed we sang 'Master's Body is Molding in the Grave', and I know some of dem is."

William Black lives by himself in a house owned by his daughter. He is unable to do any kind of manual labor and has not done any kind of work for about five years. He is active in religious affairs and attends church regularly. He is one of the few persons living in Marion County who raises tobacco. His garden plot, five by ten feet, is close to his house.

George Bollinger

*Interview with George Bollinger,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

_He Saw Many "Hants"_

George Bollinger is a typical, old-time Negro who lives in Cape Girardeau. In his younger days he was big and powerful and even now at the age of 84 he is above the average in build. He owns his home and his is the last colored family to remain in this neighborhood which is rapidly being built up with modern homes.

George has little education, unlike his wife who is much younger and uses fairly good English. He sits on his porch and thoroughly enjoys talking of the long ago with those who appreciate listening to his story.