Chapter X: Front Matter (10)

*Interview with Jane Simpson,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*

_She Was Sold 6 Times_

The subject of this sketch is Jane Simpson, familiarly known in her neighborhood as Aunt Jane. She is more than 90 years old but her exact age is not certain. She lives at 2712-1/2 Clark Avenue with her niece and family.

In a very poorly furnished old 3-room brick apartment, seated in the front bed room, was Jane Simpson, frail and slender, very light complexion with beautiful long white hair, well combed and neatly dressed. Owing to a recent illness, she was not able to do any housework. Jane very feebly tells the following story of her life:

"I was born more than 90 years ago down in Burkesville, Kentucky. My memory's not so good, 'cause I been sick more than 20 years, and just got up less than a week ago from a very bad spell. But I might tell my story scatterin' like. I'll do the best I can. I been sold six times in my life, first to Chris Ellis, second, to John Emerson and my third owner was Jessie Cook.

"I wasn't old enough to be much help, till I 'come the property of Marse Cook. Den I was big enough to pick up chunks in de field, set brush heap afire, burn up rubbish, pull weeds and de like. He sold me to Dr. Hart around de age of ten to be his house girl. De doctor kept me till de Civil War was in de air and dey started running de slaves to Texas 'cause dey thought de Yankees couldn't make it plum to Texas, but dey did. By de time we got as far as Crowley's Ridge, peace was declared. My father's owner was old Bill Cuington, de meanest slave owner in de county. Dey made him go to war, so when he come back, he told my papa dat he was as free as him now, and he could go if he wanted to, or stay, he didn't care which, but if he stayed he wouldn't git nothing for his work. So a white neighbor friend heard Marse Bill say it. He told my father to come to his place with him down de road apiece where he was clearing up land, but if he got caught, don't ever tell he helped him get away 'cause some of the land he was clearing up was owned by Cuington, and Cuington would fire him if he knowed he helped one of his ex-slaves in anyway.

"So papa taken my mother and us 4 children de route dis white friend helped him to go, to Clarington, Arkansas. He got us a job on a farm owned by his friend, Jerry Diles. Our whole family went to work on Mr. Diles farm and we made a good crop. Mama milked, I cooked, de rest of de family farmed and we stayed there more'n 4 years. When we left we had money enough to buy us a farm and stock of our own. I 'member well when I was a child how dey wouldn't 'low us chillun nothin' to eat but pumpkin and mush. We didn't own no clocks dem days. We just told de time by de sun in de day and de stars at night. If it was clouded we didn't know what time it was. De white folks didn't want to let de slaves have no time for der self, so de old folks used to let us chillun run and play at night, while de white folks sleep and dey watch de stars to tell about what time to call us in and put us to bed, 'fore de white folks know we was out.

"I been sold six times in my life, but, I never got more dan three or four whippings, but dey cut de blood out of me every one of dem times. If old miss got mad about something, just anything at all, she'd have you whipped, when maybe you had not done a thing, just to satisfy her spite feeling. I never can forget, I was sitting upstairs in old miss house quilting when de first Yankee army boat went to Vicksburg, Mississippi. Old miss made me git right up and go git her children out of school and bring 'em right home. She's scared to death most, but de boat went right on. It didn't even stop. I had to take her children back and forth to school every day. Dey was mighty nice children. Dem very white children taught me to read and write, but I been sick so bad and so long I done forgot every bit of it. My first old master never was married and he only bought 2 slaves in his whole life and had between 50 and 100 slaves, all kin folks. Dey raised children on his plantation worse dan flies. I never had a child in my life but I raised a host of other folks' chillun.

"Old master was a drunkard. He got drunk one night and fell off a rock and broke his hip. He died from dat fall. Before he died he told papa, he knew he was goin' to die, and he had been so mean to his old slaves dat he wanted to do somethin' for 'em, and no one never knew where he kept his money. My grandpapa, Meridie and grandmother, Juda, was de only 2 slaves he ever bought and all de rest come from dem 2. Old marse Chris told grandfather before he died, there was a keg buried at de foot of de cliff with all his money in it, for he was very rich. My old grandfather told de overseer 'bout it. Dey wouldn't dare to dig and find anything on de owner's plantation without de overseer let em, specially when de boss is dead, and de overseer of course said he looked for de keg and didn't find nothing.

"I had an uncle who was buying his freedom from marse Chris and was almost paid out when marse Chris died, but he didn't know nothing 'bout keeping receipts so he was put on the auction block and sold again. My mama and daddy had 13 children and they is everyone dead but me. My papa's name was Dave Bedford. He was 103 years old when he died in Holly Grove, Arkansas. My sister died and left 9 children and I raised everyone of dem. One boy is deaf and dumb, and lives in Little Rock, Arkansas and is one of the best paper hangers down there. My husband was a farmer. He has been dead so long, I can't tell when he died. My grand niece said he been dead 22 years, I don't know. My children I raised and my friends have been taking care of me, ever since my husband died, 'cause I can't take care of myself.

"While my husband lived we farmed all de time and lived well. When he died I had $4000 in de bank at Mound Bayou, Mississippi. De bank went down and I been a beggar every since. Never did get one penny of dat money. I been here in St. Louis so long, I don't know how long I been here.

"A Democrat offered my husband 80 acres of land if he would vote a Democrat ticket and get his friends to change from Republicans to Democrats and my husband told him he would suffer his right arm to be cut off before he would do that, and he didn't change either. I only voted once in my life dat was for a Republican President, I don't remember which one. De niggers didn't 'spect nothing from de white folks when dey got set free. Dey was so glad to get set free dey just glad to be loose.

"I never even heerd of white folks giving niggers nothing. Most of de time dey didn't even give 'em what dey 'spose to give 'em after dey was free. Dey was so mad 'cause dey had to set 'em free, dey just stayed mean as dey would 'low 'em to be anyhow, and is yet most of 'em. I used to hear old slaves pray and ask God when would de bottom rail be de top rail, and I wondered what on earth dey talkin' 'bout. Dey was talkin' 'bout when dey goin' to git from under bondage. Course I know now. I don't hardly know what to say 'bout dis new generation. Dey ain't nothing like when I come along, nor nothing like when you come along.

"You can just look at a person and tell whether dey is late day folks or not. Dey is de worse, ill mannered, biggody generation I ever heard of. Dey don't care for folks' feelings and jest as lazy and good for nothing as dey can be. Instead of being better 'cause der opportunities is better, dey is worse, and I feel so sorry about it. De old folks wanted to be free so bad dey use to sing a song named 'Free, Free My Lord, March on De Heavenly Way.' I can't remember none de other songs. I been sick so much. I wish I could go back to de Arkansas country where my mama and papa died. Dere is 11 children down dere right now what I raised and lot of my relatives, too. Dey would take care of me if I could get there, I would not have to live like I living here. I see better without glasses dan I do with dem, I don't read any way. I belong to de St. Paul A.M.E. Church, but haven't been able to go for six years but twice. I don't git no help from de relief and we need help de worst way. My grandniece tries to work when she can get it, but she is sick, too.

Clay Smith

*Interview with Clay Smith,*
*Hannibal, Missouri.*

_Clay Has Vivid Memory_

Clay (Carrie) Smith, now living at 612 Butler Street, Hannibal, Missouri, was born in slavery shortly before the Civil War on the farm of Joe Maupin about five miles west of Hannibal. Her present residence on Butler Street is part of the way up the hill overlooking Mark Twain Avenue (formerly Palmyra Avenue) and facing Cardiff Hill. Her mother's home was on Palmyra Avenue. Her mother's name was Luckett. Following is Clay's story as she told it:

"I was borned right here in Marion County. Dere was ten of us children in de family. We belonged to Joe Maupin and Sarah Ann Maupin. We called Mrs. Maupin 'Miss Spatsie'. Mother was brought here by de Maupins from Virginia. Father was born near New London in Ralls County. He belonged to de preacher priest. He was one of dose hardshelled, ironsides Baptists. Father run away to Illinois during de war and we ain't never saw him again.

"Three of my sisters was bound out to de Maupin children when dey was married and dey done moved somewhere in Monroe County. I knowed of only one slave in our family dat was sold, and dat was my Aunt Harriet. She was sold on de block down on Fourth Street right here in Hannibal. I was only five or six years old den.

"After de war my mother worked for Mr. Maupin for three years. Mother bought a house on Palmyra Avenue here in Hannibal den, and Mr. Maupin would help mother to make de payments by giving her work.

"Dere was only a few houses down on Palmyra Avenue den. Old Mrs. Vail had a hotel, or tavern dey called it in dem days, over across de street. Beyond de hill (Cardiff Hill) was all woods and we could see bears and deers and tigers over dere. (Of course this is untrue. That was Mark Twain's playground years before.)

"Dey didn't raise children den like dey does now. Dey don't mind at all now. When we was across de street and didn't mind we got a whippin' so dat we would fall over in de brush and when we come home we got another whippin',--we always got two whippins. Nowadays de youngsters runs 'round all over de town and dey don't pay no mind to nobody.

"Over on dat hill was a pes' house where dey took people with smallpox. Dey died thick and dey hauled 'em away at night. Dey carried torches and hauled 'em in wagons. When dey took someone by to the pes' house, old Man Cogner would go ahead and holler, 'Smallpox!' We would all run and hide 'cause we was scared. Dat was five or six years after we moved here.

"Dere was no houses 'round here den, but now I look out and see what de Lord has done. De Bible say de new would take place of de old and things would be changed.

"I worked in de old hotel down dere 'cross from de depot. It was de Ketrens Hotel den, for about fourteen years, and den I worked for de Claytons for about thirteen years. I can't do nothin' now, 'cause I is too old. I gets a small pension. Dis is my house, but dey is a mortgage on it and dey might come and take it away from me. I belongs to de Baptist Church on Center Street, but I don't go very often no more. My brother lives with me. He is dat one-legged man you sees in de City Park most of de time. He gets a pension, too. My oldest brother died last week. He was blind."

Gus Smith

*Interview with Gus Smith,*
*Rolla, Missouri.*

_Slaves Were Well Fed_

"I was born in 1845, on de fourth of July, near Rich Fountain, Osage County, Mo., not far from Jefferson City. My father's name was Jim Messersmith, and my mother's maiden name was Martha Williams. I was called August Messersmith until I was old enough to vote, den I changed it to plain 'Gus Smith'. My friends nick-named me 'Chinie' and I am called dat today.

"My master's name was Bill Messersmith and he called hisself a Pennsylvania Dutchman. His father settled in Missouri, near Jefferson City many years before de war. He owned 1,500 acres of land. The old man, my master's father, had a good many slaves but de chillun didn't have so many after de old man died. Rufus, the old man's son and my master's brother took one of de Negro boys; his sister, Manisee, took a Negro girl. These two, Rufus and Manisee never married and lived with my master. Zennie, another sister, took a girl and a boy. She married a man by de name of Goodman and my master took my father and my mother.

"My master's father, before he died, told his chillun, dat at his death he wanted each child to put their slaves out to work until dey earned $800 a piece, to earn their own freedom, in dat way each slave paid it dem selves. He did not believe it was right to keep dem in slavery all their lives. But de war came and dey were free without having to work it out.

"We all wore home-spun clothes, made of wool mostly. Mother carded, spun and wove all our clothes. My master let us come and go pretty much as we pleased. In fact we had much more freedom dan de most of de slaves had in those days. He let us go to other places to work when we had nothing to do at home and we kept our money we earned, and spent it to suit ourselves. We had it so much better dan other slaves dat our neighbors would not let their slaves associate with us, for fear we would put devilment in their heads, for we had too much freedom. My father and mother had their own cabin to live in, with their family, but de rest of de slaves stayed with our mistress. My father's relation lived within ten miles of us. Dey came to see us but dat was about all de company we had.

"We used to sing all the old plantation songs, but my father and mother were not such good singers. We all had good times along with de work. During Christmas time, and de whole month of January, it was de rulin' to give de slaves a holiday in our part of de country. A whole month, to go and come as much as we pleased and go for miles as far as we wanted to, but we had better be back by de first of February. If we wanted to go through a territory where it was hard to travel, or get by, we got a pass from our master.

"We had quiltins, dancin', makin' rails, for days at a time. My goodness! We don't have nothin' to eat now like we did then. All kinds of game, wild ducks, geese, squirrels, rabbits, 'possum, pigeons and fried chicken. My! women in those days could cook. Great big 'pound cakes' a foot and a half high. You don't see such things, now-a-days.

"I remember my father shooting so many pigeons at once that my mother just fed dem to de hogs. Just shoot the game from our back yard. I have seen de wild pigeons so thick dey looked like storm clouds coming. I've seen dem so thick dey broke tree limbs down. Ducks and geese de same way. We could kill dem by tow sacks full, with clubs. White folks and colored folks came to these gatherings, from miles around, sat up all night dancin', eatin', and drinkin'. People kept whiskey by de barrel in those days. You see, Miss, in those days dey just loaded up ten or twelve bushel of corn, took it to de 'still-house' and traded it for a barrel of whiskey. Not much selling in those days, everything was traded, even to labor. Our folks would tell us to go and help so-and-so and we done it.

"Mother was de cook in those days at our place. De hewed log house we lived in was very big, about five or six rooms. In times of our holidays, we always had our own musicians. Sometimes we sent ten or twelve miles for a fiddler. He'd stay a week or so in one place and den he would go on to de next farm, maybe four or five miles away, and dey had a good time for a week. When we didn't have much work, we would get up about five o'clock every morning, but in busy season we had to be up and ready to work at daybreak. There was plenty of work for every one den, even to de little darkies, if only to pull weeds. We raised wheat, corn, cotton, tobacco, cabbage, potatoes, sheep, hogs and cattle. Had plenty of everything to eat.

"Our closest neighbors was de Thorntons. Ol' man Thornton did not allow his slaves to go no place. He was a rough man, a low heavy set fellow, weighed about one hundred and sixty pounds. He was mean to his slaves. He whupped dem all de time. I've seen their clothes sticking to their backs, from blood and scabs, being cut up with de cowhide. He just whupped dem because he could. He use to say he allus give his niggers a 'breakfast spell ever' mornin'! Dat is he whupped dem every morning. I remember he had a nigger woman about seventy years old on his place. De Thorntons did not feed their slaves, dey was nearly starved. One night that ol' woman was so hungry she stole a chicken from her master, ol' Thornton, and was cooking it in her cabin. He found it out some way and started to her cabin, and caught her, while she had it on boiling. He was so mad, he told her to get a spoon and eat every bite before she stopped. It was scalding hot but he made her do it. She died right away; her insides were burned.

"Why, ol' Thornton was dat mean dat he killed his own son. He just beat him to death with de whip-stock of dat cowhide, a whip made of buckskin. It was like dis. De boy had a girl he was courtin' in another town. He started to see her on Saturday noon. His daddy told him to be back by Sunday night. But de boy did not get back before Monday morning, ten o'clock. His father was in de field working and saw him coming down de road. He went to meet him and met him at de gate. He asked why he did not get back sooner and lit into beating him with de whip stock, de part dat should be de whip handle. He beat him so hard dat de boy died in about ten hours. It aroused de neighborhood and dey began to plan a lynching party. He got wind of it some way and got all his slaves together and pulled out. He left dat place and no one ever knowed where he went. Dat happened before de end of de war.

"There was a lot of run-a-way slaves in those days. I never saw any of dem but I heard de folks talk about dem. Many passed through our part of de country. In time of slavery, people were sold like cattle or hogs. There was no sale bills dat we seen, because folks in dem days was usually honest and did not have a lot of red tape in buying and selling. Our master would not sell any of us. He did not believe in separating us, and tried to keep us together. He didn't have any trouble with his slaves at all. He was as good a man as ever lived and we did pretty much as we pleased.

"He married before de war, but his first wife died a few months later. He married a year after his wife died. He went to Pennsylvania and came back and went to California for about a year. Before he left he made my father boss. My father stayed on de place and took care of everything. He was boss all during de war.

"When the battle of Wilson Creek was fought up near Springfield, most all de soldiers passed by our house. After dey passed den came de bushwhackers. Dey stole all de niggers dey could, running dem down south to sell. Dey came to our place in de morning; it must have been about 1862-63. De whole family of colored folks was home, 'cepting my father.

"Dey looked across de road and seen another house and asked us whose house it was. We told dem it was our master's house. Dey saw we had a mare in de yard and told us to saddle her up. And told my oldest brother to be ready to go with dem when dey come back. Dey went half way to my master's house and for some reason wheeled and came back. My mother looked out de door and seen them coming and said: 'Here they come.'

She said to my oldest brother, 'Get under dat puncheon floor, maybe dey won't take August,' meaning me. I was about 12 or 13 years old den. We had a great big hearth, de rocks and puncheon came right up to it. My mother raised de one end of a puncheon and my brother hid there under de floor. De bushwhackers came back to de house and searched everyplace, failed to find him, even raised de floor and looked under, but my brother had crawled so far up in de corner dey did not see him. Dey asked my mother where he was and said, 'By God! We want to know.' Mother answered and said she sent him down to de field to get some corn for de hogs and told me to run down there and look for him.

"Well I did. I run down in dat field and am going yet. I stayed out in dat woods for four days and nights with nothing to eat but what wild grapes and hazel nuts I could find. I knew better dan to go back dere, but I did not know where to go. I fell on a plan to go to my young missus, Zennie. Dey lived off de main road, two miles from where we lived. When I got to her home, it was in de evening about four o'clock. I saw my cousin, Melie, fifteen or sixteen years old, but was afraid to speak to her. I saw her out a piece from de barn, but I wouldn't let her see me. I stayed all night in de barn, but I wouldn't let her see me. I stayed all night in de barn and next morning I peeped out de window and saw her again. She was picking beans. I hollered and she recognized me and asked me if I wasn't August. I said yes. She told me to come on out and go with her, dat my mother and all of dem was at their house den. My oldest brother, Jim, was there too. He was four years older dan me.

"Den I went down to de house and dey soon fixed me something to eat. But only a little because dey were afraid it might make me sick. My mother told me to stay with Miss Zennie. Miss Zennie had married de second time to a man by de name of George McGee. Her first husband, Dave Goodman, was killed right at de start of de war by a gang of robbers something like de bushwhackers, who went in gangs of ten and fifteen, stealing niggers or anything else dey could get their hands on.

"George McGee and my brother Jim hid out in de bluffs at Rollin's Ferry, a place where ferry boats ran. George McGee hid because he did not want to go in de army. So he takes my brother and hides in de bluffs. Dey both came to de house for provisions about twelve o'clock dat night and took me with dem. We camped out dat night and next morning dey said to me: 'You stay here. Dey is out of meat at de house.' So dey went back to de house and killed and dressed a young heifer and came back at night to get me. We had a good time, eating supper and playing. Along in de night I heard something like horses hoofs hitting de ground. I told my mother and she said, 'You don't hear nothin'.'

"George McGee, de young master said, 'Wait, he is right. I hears someting, too!'

"We jumped up and went out and down a steep holler and made it back to our camp dat night yet. Next morning we wondered who it could have been dat we heard. Dat night we went back to see how de folks was getting on and found out it was my own father and our own master who had come a hunting for us. If we had known, we would not have run.

"My master told his sister, Miss Zennie to keep us hid out of de way, that we were doing all right. I stayed in dat bluff about two years, until de close of de war, I never saw my father and master for over a year. I saw my mother every time I went to de house for something to eat, about twelve o'clock at night. My father had to hide out, too. He kept de stock out in de bushes, watching after de master's affairs while he was away.

"We stayed hid until dey took General Lee. Den we went back to ol' master's house and it was not long until peace was declared. Our house was about a quarter of a mile from de master's, on a farm he had bought from an old Dutchman, about one hundred and sixty acres. One morning, ol' master come over early and said: 'Jim, by God! You are a free man dis morning, as free as I am. I can't hold you any longer. Now take your family and go over on dat hundred and sixty acres I bought and go to work.' He was giving us all a chance to pay out de farm for ourselves a home. My father said: 'There's nothing to go with it to help clear it and live.' To which ol' master answered: 'There's de smoke-house, take all you want and I'll furnish you with everything else you need for a year, until you get a start.' He allowed us to use anything to work with, he had on his place.

"Den we went to work. Ol' master said, 'I've got all de land my heart could wish but none of it is cleared off. Go down dere with your boys and I'll send two men, both white (Irishmen, Jim and Tom Norman) and all of you clear off dat land. I'll give you five years lease to clear all you can. All you clear, you can have half." Well, we cleared fifty acres dat winter. We made rails, fenced it and put it all in corn dat first year. There was six of us to do dis, my cousin joined my father, brother, and myself, and de two white men.

"We had it cleared by the first of March--all ready to plow in 1865. My father raised his own sheep and cotton, and from dis my mother made our clothes. Father cleared thirty acres on his place de same year and sowed it all in wheat. De first year we got 817 bushel of wheat and 1500 bushel of corn, it was all new land. Corn really growed in dem days. We hoed it by hand. You don't see corn like dat now. We worked out every little weed. Every little darkey worked in dem days.

"My grandad, Godfry, owned a place called de old Potter's place, near Vichy Springs, Vichy, Missouri, not far from where we lived. He bought it from a man who used to make pottery. Grandfather made his own mill to grind grain for bread. In dose days there was no steam operated mills and few water mills. Sometimes we had to go as much as twenty miles to grind corn a bushel of corn. So grandfather made his own burr to grind corn and wheat. It was as big as any burr in de large mills, but it was turned by hand power. It was made of limestone rock, a great big stone about two and a half foot across. De top burr would probably weigh about three or four hundred pounds. Da bottom case would weigh a thousand pounds or more. There was a hole in de top stone, where de grain flowed freely to de bottom and ground out on the big thick stone below. I ground many a bushel of meal on it myself. I don't know how grandfather got de large stones in place, for it was there as long as I could remember. I just wonder if it isn't some place there yet. I would love to go and find out and see de old burr again.

"People call these hard times, shucks, they don't know what hard times is. Those were hard days, when folks had to go on foot twenty miles to mill. I remember in my early days, we used cattle for teams to haul, start at four o'clock in de morning, drive all day, stay over night and grind de next day. Sometimes de crowd ahead of us was so big we had to stay over for three or four days. Sometimes we would be until eleven or twelve at night getting home. Gone at least two days and one night. I had to make trips like dis many times.

"Sometimes we could take a couple of bushel of corn and go horseback, but twice a year, Spring and Fall, we would take eight or ten bushel of wheat, six and eight bushel of corn or according to what we needed and take de cattle and a old wooden axle wagon, walking and driving de cattle all de way there and back. We drove or led dem with only a rope around dem.

"De last trip I made millin', I drove for Bill Fannins, a yoke of young three-year old cattle. Wasn't even broke. Went twenty-five miles, drove all de way, walking, while he sat up in de wagon. Sometimes de wagon dragged in de mud, de old wooden axle burying so deep we couldn't hardly get it out, going through timber and dodging brush. Some folks went even further dan dat. Sometimes a mill might be four or five miles from you but dey got out of fix and you would have to go to another one. Maybe twenty-five miles or more.

"There was not many good doctors in those days, but my grandfather was an old fashioned herb doctor. I remember him well. I was about twenty-five years old when he died. Everybody knew him in dat country and he doctored among de white people, one of de best doctors of his kind. He went over thirty miles around to people who sent for him. He was seldom at home. Lots of cases dat other doctors gave up, he went and raised them. He could cure anything.

"When I was sick one time, I was den about eighteen or nineteen years old, my folks had Dr. Boles, from Lane's Prairie and Dr. Mayweather from Vichey, to come and tend me. Dey both gave me up. I had typhoid and pneumonia. Dese doctors were de best to be found but dey could do nothing and said I was as good as dead. My grandfather was gone, had come to Rolla, doctoring Charley Stroback's child whose clothes had caught fire and he was burned badly. Grandfather could 'blow out' fire.

"He got home about four o'clock in de morning after de doctors had done give me up. He felt my pulse and said he didn't know whether I was dead or alive. No pulse but he said I felt warm. He asked my grandmother if she had any light bread baked. She said yes and got it for him. He told her to butter it and lay the butter side down over my mouth and if it melted I was still living. She did this and soon she said, 'Yes, he is still alive. Now go to work and get a little whiskey and butter and beat it together good and drop just two drops in his mouth, and in four hours drop two more.'

"He sat beside me, layed his hands on my breast and about ten o'clock de next day I began to come around. I realized he was there and he asked me if I knew him which I did.

"In 'blowing fire', my grandfather simply blew on de burn and de fire and pain was gone. It was a secret charm, handed down from generation to generation. He said only one could be told. He told my Aunt Harriet and she could 'blow fire' de same as my grandfather.

"I remember one good old doctor in dis part of de country. Old Dr. Stark. He was as good a doctor, de finest we had in those days. He could chew tobacco and spit enough to drown a hog. A lot of de old herb remedies my grandfather used, I can still remember. He used one called 'white root'. It is a bush dat grows here. In de spring of de year, when its leaves bloom out, in de morning hours, when de sun shines on it, it looks just like bright tin. It has an awful bitter taste. It was used for mighty near any ailment. He had another herb, he used, called 'remedy weed'. It is a bright green looking weed dat grows around springs. It is also used for many ailments. Another one was sarsaparilla root. It grows here, lots of it. He went to de woods and gathered it all hisself getting wild cherry bark, ditney, penny royal, and camomile root. Others he gathered and dried some to make teas and others to put in whiskey.

"Dogwood buds, some kind of a medicine used as a laxative. Ginseng was another remedy. I do not know what it was used for, but it was powerful good, and one remedy he used was called 'spicewood'. It was also a healthful drink, like store tea. You gather it in de fall, using de stem or stocky part, break it up and dry it. I used it all de time while I worked on de river, at de tourist camps. It has a fine flavor and it's good for you.

"Indian turnip grows by de thousands in de woods here. Great places of it, looks like turnips, grows in big bunches and bright red. Colored folks used to use de Indian turnip in slave times. Dey would take dis and dry it, pulverize it and tie it in big quantities around their feet to keep off de trail of bloodhounds. No bloodhound could trail a bit further after smelling it. It was strong like red pepper, burns like everything and colored folks running away use it all de time.

"Grandfather also used 'butter nut root', some call it white walnut. You take one dose of dis and it will cure de worst case of chills, no matter how bad. Take two tablespoons for a dose. It is as severe as croton oil. By golly, it won't leave a thing in you, clears you out and one dose does de work. Oh, man, but it is bitter.

"He used golden seal, a medicine found in places here, very costly, worth $7 to $8 a pound now. I don't know what he used dem all for, but I do remember of him getting dem in their proper season, and kept dem always on hand.

"For sore throat or quinsy, he had some sort of tea. He used onion tea, too. He took an onion, roasted it in its hull in ashes, squeezed out de juice and added a little sugar and gave it to de patient. For rheumatism, he used poke root, dried it and put it in whiskey. De only thing dat is good for rheumatics. There were many more remedies, but I can't recall them now."

Ann Stokes

*Interview with "Aunt" Ann Stokes,*
*91 Years old, Caruthersville, Missouri.*

One of the most interesting characters of all Pemiscot County today is an old negro called "Aunt" Ann Stokes. She was born a slave "out hyar at Cottonwood Pint in 1844, a year of high water". Nineteen thirty-six brings her to her ninety third year; all of which have been spent in Pemiscot County, except for an occasional visit to relatives. In the early years of her life she was known as "a good hard workin' nigger". Now she takes things more quietly, especially since she has lost her eyesight and can only hear when you shout very loudly. All day long she does very little, just "sits and rocks." For a very old woman she is certainly fine looking. Most old people are usually wrinkled. Aunt Ann looks to be only in her sixties.

A sort of creepy feeling comes to one in the presence of this old negro. She always leans close to you as she speaks, lays her hand on your arm, now and then pointing her finger. Once and awhile she smiles showing her few remaining teeth in Graiae fashion. She speaks slowly in a high voice not at all shaky. Every story she tells is glorified and exaggerated. She is anxious to talk and likes to have visitors. Never does she fail to mention her first "schoolin'"; she tells, "I learnt my alphabet in de middle ob a field unnerneath a 'simmon tree. My cousin teached me, you know we weren't 'lowed to hab books in dem days. They didn't want us to know nothin'". When you mention the War Between the States, you have hit a favorite subject of hers. Especially, does she pride herself on her war stories.

At Cottonwood Point she remembers standing on the bank of the river to "see transpots goin' south. Done busted through up north here. Fom de steam ob de boats we was uz wet us if we'z a-standin' in a shower ob rain. Sa many soldiers dat dey wuz all standin aroun de pilot houses. Dey wuz goin' to Fort Pillar on a hill in Tennessee. Sech a shootin' as day was when dey turn dem cannons loose. Ize tol dat fur three mile down de river you couldn't tell if it's blood or water.

"An ol' soldier tol' me how dey capture Vicksburg. Dey put a man on a ol' skint-up mule an send him to de fort to spy. When he got thar he say he's a-runnin' way fom de Yankees. He's so pitiful lookin' an' so naked he couldn't hide his nakedness: so dey took him in. He stay aroun' de fort fur three days lookin' at everthing. He seen how it wuz all fixed. Den one mornin' he come up missin' and dey try to git on de track ob him. But it warn't no use 'cause one mornin' de man who'd been on de ol' skint-up mule come back wid sum Yanks an' took de fort."

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"You cud allas hyar de Yankees at Kennett or Hornersville wen day's aroun'. One day I'ze over to see Melindy and I say: 'Melindy, does you all hyar sompin? Soun' like de Yankees, look out de winder and see if you sees anything.'

"She say, 'I don' see nothin'. Dey ain't no Yankees aroun' hyar.'

"Well, I jest sit thar 'till I caint stan' it no more. I gets up and looks out de winder myself. Thar dey come down de road and I knows theys Yanks 'cause I see de blue ob de coats. Pretty soon dey ride up to de house. Dey yell out: 'You all got any Gurrillers aroun' hyar?'

"Me an' Melindy stan' in de doah. I say, 'Melindy you go out dar an tell 'em.'

"Melindy start across de yard when de leader yell, 'I don' want you! De truf ain't in your yaller body.' (Melindy was a mulatto girl) 'Hey! you, you other girl, come hyar!'

"'Yes suh,' I say an' walk out de doah in de yard.

"'Got any Gurrillers aroun' hyar?', he yell.

"'No suh!' sez I, 'Taint non aroun' hyar.'

"'Know Mr. Douglass?', he say pointin' his finger to a house 'cross de prairie.

"'Yes suh,' siz I, 'I knows him wen I sees him.'

"'Has he got any Gurrillers thar?'

"'I don't know, suh.'

"'Wal, thars a collad girl thar ain't they?'

"'Yes suh, but I don' go round her no mo. We ain't speakin'. Reckon I ain't been on Mr. Douglasses place foah six month. I don't know nothin' 'bout it. You all better go see fur youshsevs.'

"He leab den an ride ovah to Douglasses place. I seen Bud come out in de yard. He call Bud ovah to de fence and talk to him. 'Bout dat time I see men comin' out de back ob de house an chargin' ovah de fence into de thicket whar warn't nothin' but lots ob trees, tare blanket, an blackberry bushes. Right den and dare dey had a scrummage. De Yanks set fire to ever' buildin' on de place. De blaze wuz a-goin' up to de elements! Not a thing did they take out ob de house ceptin' feather bed for a wounded Yankee.

"Mr. Douglass, he hear about de shootin'. He tuk to de woods an stay fur a spell."

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"I ain't had nothin' scare me so bad as one time I went down to de lot to feed. A big ol' black cat run right in font ob me and jump up on de corn. Dar he sat, sech a big cat, good big twice! Wal, it scairt me so I started to bleedin' at de nose. I come back home as fas as I could. The ol' Doc he couldn't stop it, I couldn't stop it, seem like nobody can stop it. My blood bled so much it look de color ob sassafras tea. De second day Emma, she my daughter say, 'De black cat done gone. I cain't fin' it nowhere.'

"Den my nose stop bleedin!'"

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"What's a cure fur Rheumitize you say? They's jus one cure for dat, I knows! Ain't I had it so bad I couln't raise up to step ovah a fence ral? Take a raw irish potato and pack it in your pocket. One day I'ze walkin' down de street an I meets Mr. Huffman. I say, 'Mr. Huffman, how's your Rheumatize?'

"He say, 'Aunt Ann, 'taint no better. I thinks I go down to Hot Springs fur a spell.'

"'Humph,' says I, 'Don' you go way down dar to git well. You don't hab to do dat. You git you a raw Irish potato and carry it wid you all de time. Wen you change yoah pants, change dat potato ober to de clean pants. Wen de potato git dry clean through, you won't hev no more Rheumatize.'

"Nex' time I see him he say hez fine. Now ain't dat proof enough dat potatoes cure Rheumitizm?"

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"One mawnin' I gets up to make a fish in de stobe. It's fearful cold an de moon is still a-shinin'. I put on my coat an start to work. While de stove am heatin' up I looks out de winder. I see sompin' queer lookin' out in de garden, sompin' standin' 'bout knee high all bright and shiny. I wonder what kin' ob a ghost has got loose now. I takes a broom an sneaks out de doah. Kinda haf shets may eyes kaze I'ze scairt to death. Wham! I hits dat ting an scatters it all ovah de place. Warn't nothin' but an ol' cabbage, a po frozen cabbage!"

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"Does I know Ol' Mexico Cole? Yessum, I reckon I do. He us a dawk man, a tolable dawk man, wid black hair an dawk eyes. He us what you say a medium built man. Yessah, Ol' Mexico Cole! He wuz a doctah. I 'member de night he wuz on his way home wen de storm cum up. De lighten lightened an de thunder thundered! Sho' wuz a powful storm! He'z a-ridin' along on his hoss wen all ob a sudden a big lim' done fall off a tree an smash him flat. Dat's mighty bad, I tell yo, mighty bad. Yessuh, ol' Mexico Cole, I 'members him.

"One time he walk on a tradin' boat an he see a bottle full ob sompin' he don't know what. He picks it up an smell a deep breaf. Dat really frowed him out fur a spell. Dey had to give 'em a half a bottle ob melted grease! Yessum, I 'members Ol' Mexico Cole."

Two of Aunt Ann's favorite songs are: