Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

"When I was growing up and wanted a nice wool dress we would shear the sheep, wash the wool, card it, spin it, and weave it. If we wanted it striped we used two threads, we would color one by using herbs and barks. We sometimes had it carded at a mill and sometimes we carded it ourselves but when we did it the threads were short which caused us to have to tie the thread often making more knots in the dress. In planting corn in them days they broke up the ground, one layed off the rows, one would go along and drop the corn or grain and if they wanted to plant beans in with the corn one would go along and drop the seed. They covered it over with a hoe and they cut the stalks with the hoe and stacked up the stalks. The way they raised the corn after it came up they took one horse and went on each side of a row and in the middle of every row to plow the corn. It took three rounds on every row to get it plowed. They used oxen sometimes to plow and nearly always used oxen to plow up the ground. They cut the grain with the cradle and bound it with their hands and shocked it up. They thrashed the grain with a hickory stick by beating it out. Many times I have carried three big buckets of water from one place to another, one in each hand and one balanced on my head. My Master was not as bad as some Masters was to their slaves. One time when I had over worked my Master said, "You have not had a currying down for a long time, come over here," and he whipped me with a cat-o'-nine-tails. This cat was made of nine small pieces of leather fastened on to the end of the whip. Lots of times when they hit with the cat it left nine stripes of blood. Mama's Master whipped his slaves for past-time. I have got many whippings for being blamed for doing things the Master's children did and I was blamed for it. One time when a couple was married, me and other members of the family were walking down the road and I was very careful not to kick up any dirt and to be very nice to the couple but when we got home one of the Master's daughters told that I was mean and that I kicked up dirt so that dust would get on the lady's dress and I got the worst whipping I ever got in my life by the Mistress and I still have the marks on my body, and when the Master came I was carrying the vitales from the kitchen to the dining room which was the living and bed room and when I went in I took the bread and when I came back he was standing in the door and he told me what they told him about me and I said I did not do it and if "Puss" said I did she is a "Damned lying devil" and he dropped the switch and went and talked to his daughter and gave her a whipping for telling the untruth. That was the only time I ever swore. In a few days the bride came over visiting and told them they had the sweetest little colored girl she was so lovely and kind. We were never allowed to be idle, always doing something and my work often was choring around to say I was doing something. I have gathered the wool off the fences where it had been caught off the sheep and washed it and used it to make mittens. I never was sold and my Mama was sold only once but she was hired out many times. We slept on what they called a bed, a tick filled with straw on the bed. My Mama's Master had a child near my age and my Mama always left me at the house with the Mistress and I nursed the Mistress, Mrs. Crowdes, as well as her own child until one day the curtain, which was used as a partition around a bed on which I lay near, caught on fire and then my Mama always took me to the field with her and would lay me on a pallet near the fence while she plowed the corn or worked in the field. Stepfather and Mama often tended to their own tobacco and grain in the moonlight which they could sell and have the money. One thing we could go to church which was held in the school house. Sometimes they would let me go out and play with the other children after the noon dishes were washed and there wasn't anything else to do then. I often sewed strips of cloth together to make carpet rags, there was always something to do. Mama worked in the field and in the house too. They nearly always kept a girl in the house. We did not have many mills and sometimes we could not get to the mill and we would punch holes in a piece of tin and rub the ear of corn across it to grate it for our use. Many times Mama would work in the field all day and in the evening she would grate enough corn for the family use the next day. The Masters had stores and you had to go to that store and get your needs and when the month was up you had nothing as it took all you earned to pay your bill."

Emily Camster Green

*Interview with Emily Camster Green,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"My mammy wuz Celie Camster en my daddy wuz Jack McGuire. We lived out in Bollinger County an' belonged to Massa George Camster. De white folks had a big house, made o' logs, wid chinkins in 'tween en 'nen dobbed over. Us cullud folks had little cabins an' we had good livin' dar. Ole Massa an' Missus Patsy wuz mighty good to us. Eatin's? Lawd we had everthin'--not de mess we has to make out wid now.

"I fell to young Missie Janie an' wuz her maid an' when Missie Janie married Mista Bradley I went with 'em down to Cha'leston in Mississippi County.

"Missie Janie an' her Mista Bradley rode in a buggy an' I sits behind. I 'member de fust time I seed de big ribber. Dar wuz a boat on it. I ain't nebber seed a boat befo' an' I says, 'Oh! Miss Janie dat house gonna sink.' She laf at me an' say dat a boat. Pore Miss Janie--dat Mista Bradley made her believe he had a big plantation an lots o' money an when we gits dar he warn't nuthin' but a overseer on de Joe Moore place. Pore Missie Janie! she wuz so purty an' she had lotsa beaux--she coulda' married rich but she jes tuk de wrong one.

"We had good times fore we lef' de ole place, fore Ole Massa died. We usta git together in de ebenin's. Dey'd say 'I's gon'a step over to de udder cabin'--en word ud git aroun' an 'for' you knowd it dey'd be a crowd. We allus said 'jest step over' no matter how far it wuz. Den some er de women ud put in a quilt an' some ud git to cookin' an' bakin. Mmm! de lassus cakes we used to have! An' den wen de quilt wuz finished an de eatin done dey'd clean out de room an dance. Dem sho wuz good times. But I 'members de las' dance we had. Ole Massa wuz sick. We's habbin' de dance an' Aunt Mary wuz dar. She wuz a spiritualis' woman--you knows whut a spiritualis is, don' you? Well, everybody wuz dancin' an' habbin' a good time--Aunt Mary say, 'Hush! I's gonna ask is Ole Massa gonna git well.' Den she say--'If Ole Massa gonna die, rap three times.' Den in a minnit comes a loud blam! blam! blam! right across de house. Den we all cry an' go home 'cause we knows Ole Massa's gonna die!

"'Bout dat time my daddy die too an my mammy marry Levi Wilson. He belong to Nelson Ellis an' when Ole Massa Ellis's daughter married Beverly Parrot dey went to Texas an' tuk my step-daddy along. 'Cose he never 'spected to see my mammy again an' he married a young woman down dar. Atter de war, dey comes back up dar an' he seed my mammy but she says, 'Go way. I libbed wid you sebben year an' nebber had no chillun by you. Now you got a young woman an' she got chillun. You stay with her. I won't bother you none.'

"My mammy allus stayed wid Ole Missus Patsy. Ole Tom Johnson, de nigger trader tuk her two brothers an' sent um to New Orleans. He usta libe in dat big house dat wuz war de postoffice is now, an' he usta keep de slaves he buy dar at he's house till he can send um down de ribber on de boat.

"One time a slave at a neighbor farm was workin' in de feel' an when he comes in, in de ebenin's he's wife wuz gone an' de cradle wuz emty. He's Massa done sold 'em. De ole man fell down on he's knees an' he begin prayin' an he pray an' he holler 'Oh! nobody know but Jesus! Nobody know but Jesus!' An' he kep' dat up a prayin' an a hollerin like dat. His ole Massa hear him, an' it made him feel bad. De ole darky keep on a prayin' an a hollerin, 'Nobody know but Jesus.' Ole Massa keep on a hearin' it, till atter awhile, he git right down der on de flo' wid de darky an' he' fess religion.

"After Ole Massa George died, Ole Missus Patsy married Woodson Parrot and went to his place in Scott County. Dey had a nice big home der an he were a good man. When he lay dyin he wuz sick a long time an' dey wuz allus some lodge men roun' him an my mammy wuz skeered of de men. De nite he died, Ole Missus Patsy had been up wid him so much she wuz sleepin--an he call out, 'Oh! Patsy! Oh! Patsy! Oh! Patsy!' three times jes like dat. Mammy wuz skeered o' dem men an she wouldn't go in an wake Ole Missus Patsy. Den ole Massa Parrot say, 'Oh! Patsy, I ain't nebber made a prayer in my life an' here I'se dyin.' Ole Missus Patsy nebber did forgive my mammy for not wakin' her till de day she died.

"Miss Janie allus had to live on rented places. Mista Bradley warn't smart an' he didn't have nuthin but she stayed with him an' done de bes' she could.

"We seed lotsa sojers cum by durin' de war, but dey nebber bothered us much. De Ku Kluxers cum roun' sometimes but mostly to see dat darkies stay whar dey belong. When de war wuz over I wanted to stay wif Missie Janie but my mammy cum an' got me. We worked for a German family livin on Jackson Hill.

"I cud a been a spiritualis woman if I'd had a little education. I allus had visions an' ud see thing but I nebber know'd whut dey mean. When I tell my mammy she allus say, 'Hush chile, you allus a see'in things.'

"My mammy's daid now a long time but she offen comes to see me. One night I seed her carryin a bright light. She allus comes to see me when I'se in trouble but I ain't seen her now for a long time."

Lou Griffin

*Interview with Mrs. Lou Griffin,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*

Mrs. Lou Griffin, a daughter of Minnie and William Gibson, is something over ninety years old. She does not know her exact age. She tells the writer she is one of a family of thirteen children and that her grandmother had twenty-one children. She lives with a great nephew at 2935 Easton Avenue, St. Louis. She tells her story as follows:

"People tells me not to tell nothing 'bout myself to folks like you what asks me, 'cause you ain't going to give me nothing for it nohow, but somebody somewhere pays you to gather up this stuff. So I's just gonna tell you dis much, sister. Sure 'nough I was slave born. 'Fore I was big enough to do nothing us chillun used to run about in de woods while de old folks was working on de plantation. We git stole away by white folks what wasn't our owners and sold I reckon, nobody knowed where de chillun gone nor who got 'em. We know dis much, we didn't never see 'em any more.

"We just be out in de woods picking fruit and flowers. I know this though, sister, after while, de Rebels got a heap of us. I heard 'em say dey some times get fifty dollars for some of de black folks dey sold and some big healthy ones brought one-hundred dollars. Course I don't know how much money dey brought, I just know 'bout it. We use to go to de church house. If we suited de overseer he let us go. If we didn't we got lashed plenty. Dey lash you till you was forced to pray den dey whip you like anything for prayin'. But God done stopped all that now. Dis heah old Abe Lincoln come through our town. I guess you done heard 'bout him, is you, honey? If you ain't, I'll tell you. He just come 'round to see how de Rebs do de slaves. I gets so full thinkin' how de good Lawd fix it for us. He come 'round when nobody's lookin' for him. Bye and bye he says, fight for your freedom in de Yankee army instead of standing 'round here being sold and treated like beasts.

"Ole Jeff Davis was a Rebel and he rode a fine horse. Abe Lincoln come there, wid a mule. De slaves made up a song 'bout how old Abe Lincoln got hold of Jeff Davis in de army and Abe Lincoln took and rode Jeff Davis' big fine horse and Jeff Davis had to ride de mule. Abe Lincoln was United States president and Jeff Davis was de fool. We often hear tell of dem Yankees coming to our town a long time 'fore dey get there. We know when dey reached us, 'cause dey run dem Rebs way from their own place and take 'em themselves. I been all down in Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina and everywhere, being hiked around by dem Valentines, dat's de name of my mother's owners and mine too, for that. I 'haved so I didn't git licked like some more did, yes indeed I did. De bells would ring for day, sissy, and we had to get up and start right in working, yes mam. I use to love to see 'em drill dem soldiers. Sure did. I thank God it is all over now. I ain't going to tell you no more. Like to have you stay awhile, but if you want just come back."

Louis Hamilton

*Interview with Louis Hamilton,*
*Fredericktown, Missouri.*

_Never Sold His Vote_

"I is 90 years old and was born right dere in Whittenburg, Cape Girardeau County, Missouri, across de creek. We was stayin' with Greenvilles den. My father was named Nathan and my mother was Mary. She died right after de war was over. My grandmother was born in West Virginia and I had three brothers and three sisters. Dey is all dead but me. My father drove an old ox team around dere hauling coal. He fought in de war and come back and went right to work and den bought him a farm back of Whittenburg and lived dere until he died.

"De first work I done was on de farm. Den I worked at Mine la Motte, and Buck Eye. Was a tie inspector and also worked in de car shop at Madison, Illinois. On de farm I got $1 a day. In de mines I got $12 a week. In de car shop I made about 40 cents a hour. I bought dis property here with my money and have been on it for 18 years. I give $450 for dis property. I've paid $11 taxes for eight or nine years and now pay $5 a year. De master had a big farm of two or three hundred acres and had four or five slaves. Sometimes my father would take me down dere in de woods to a white picnic. After my father's first wife died he did not let us run around much. We used to fight with de white kids but had no trouble with de old folks. At Christmas time, man dey treated us with fun; eats of all kinds, dat you could pack home.

"When de war was over we moved across de creek to ourselves and my father bought 25 or 30 acres. I felt like a new man when de war was over. I stayed with my grandfather until I was 21 and got married in Perry County when I was 32. I had 4 children and dey is all dead. My wife has been dead about 14 years. I've lived 25 years in Fredericktown. De young Negroes ain't no account as compared to when I was a boy. De parents nowadays don't make dem work hard enough. Dey can sleep all day if dey want to. Some of de young Negroes around here work in de shoe factory. Some load ties.

"Once when I was a baby, my sister was sitting by de fireplace rocking me and she fell asleep and let me fall in de fireplace and I was burned on de hand. Four of my fingers was burned and have never come out straight. When I was a boy I did not know what a stove looked like. We had dese old corded beds. Dere used to be a lot of wild hogs around dere and dey would eat anything dey got hold of. We would put up ice from de Mississippi River. It was over a foot thick. We wore home-made clothes and did not buy no clothes. We wore copper-toed shoes called brogans. De first time I voted was for Teddy Roosevelt. I been voting ever since. Lots of dem have told me how to vote but I never sold my vote."

Fil Hancock

*Interview with Fil Hancock,*
*Rolla, Missouri.*

_"Uncle" Fil Hancock_

The following interview, bristling with facts and vivid recollections covering more than three quarters of a century was obtained recently by a worker employed by the Federal Writers' Project in Missouri from "Uncle" Fil Hancock, eighty-six year old Negro, living at Rolla, Missouri. The old man's story, told as nearly as possible in his own dialect runs thus:

"I was born 1851, de 28th day of February. My granny come here with her missus-Hancock--when dey brung de Cherokee Indian tribe here from middlin' Tennessee, de time dey moved de Missouri Indians back to Oklahoma, what dey called Indian Territory way back 'bout 135 or 140 years ago. Our old missus maiden name was Riggs. My old master was Scotch-Irish. A big, red faced man wid sandy hair, mostly baldheaded. Us little niggers was scairt of him and run and hid when we see him coming. He weren't 'lowed to whip us, 'cause he didn't own us. Our old missus had eleven of us and he had twenty-one niggers of his own. And our old missus wouldn't let him tech us.

"We had to mind him though. But she done de whipping. My own mammy whipped us good and proper--She used a razor strop, and shore poured it on us. She was puny and sick most all de time. Dey said she had consumption, now-days dey calls it T.B. But it was plain old consumption in dem days. I 'member, she were so sick dat she were not able to hold us an' whip us, and she made one of us little niggers push de other one up to her bed while she whipped us. We took our turns in gittin' a whipping. Poor old mammy, she loved us and wanted us to do right. We never got a whipping 'ceptin' we needed it. Old granny, my mammy's mother and old missus whipped us a little, an only wid buckbresh, jes' a little 'roun' de ankles. All us little niggers was jes' like stairsteps, one after de other. I got whipped plenty, but I needed it.

"My ol' missus Hancock named me herself--called me Filmore Taylor Hancock, after two presidents who took der seats in 1850. Ol' Colonel Hancock was our master an' he was de richest man in Greene County, Missouri, and owned more slaves than any man in Missouri. His wife, old missus was born in 1804. My own granny on my mammy's side was born in 1805. My granny was given to missus, as her own de day she was born. 'Course old missus was only a year old den. Der was thirty-two of us slaves on our old missus place, and eleven of us sprung from old granny.

"We had five young missus. My young missus names were Winnie, Elizabeth, Lucinda, Luella, and Tennessee. Dey was so rich and proud, dey wouldn't look at any body to marry. Only two of 'em ever married. Dey was fine ladies, but dey shore had me plumb spilt. Some of dem whipped me three or four times, but I 'member how dey jes' breshed me a little roun' de legs, and turn away and laugh a little. I can see now I needed more'n I got. If I told a lie I got whipped for it, and old missus poured it on if we lied.

"I and de other two gals, my sisters and a brudder of mine--well, when our mammy died, old missus took us down to her house, away from our cabin, so she could look after us. Our old granny was de white folk's cook. She helped look after us. We got to eat what de white folk did. Up to de cabins where de other niggers was, had salt meat, cabbage, 'taters, and shortnin' bread three times a day. We all had plenty vegetables we raised ourselves. Every Sunday mornin' our missus sent us up a big tray 'bout three feet long, made of sycamore--and it full of flour. Once a week we had hot biscuits. But me and Squire, my brudder and my sisses, Mary and Margot had it a little better, we had what our old missus had. I was ten years an' six months old when de war come up.

"In '61, I see General Lyons, when he passed right by our house. All de Union sojers had to pass by our house time of de war. We lived on the main wagon road from Rolla to Springfield. Well child, Lordy me! dat's funny for me to tell you how General Lyon look. It was a sight to see him with them 'purties'! And we asked old missus what dat was, them 'purties' he had on his shoulders. She says to us chillun: 'He is de general. All dem odder men got to mind him'. He was killed in dat battle of Wilson Creek. Dey kept him in an icehouse in a spring, owned by a man named Phelps. He lived west of Springfield. Dey keep General Lyon two weeks, 'fore they brung him down dis-a-way. Dey shipped him out of Rolla to Connecticut--dat's what I hear de ol folks says. Dat man Phelps was our neighbor and later he got to be governor of Missouri in 1876. Crittenden was first de Democratic governor in '73.

"Old missus called us little darkies all up--and carried us down to de wagon General Lyon's body was in, when dey was bringin' him back here. And we looked at him and asked what was de matter. Old missus said 'He was killed.' He was packed in ice in de wagon and de wagon had four mules hitched to it. I wanted to know if he was de man who had dem 'purties' on his shoulders. She said 'Yes'.

"I said, 'Did marse Bill and marse George and marse Jeff Hancock hep kill him?' She said: 'Yes'. Marse Bill, marse George an' marse Jeff was my young bosses, my old master's sons. Old missus didn't seem glad or anything, jes' looked kinda sad. We asked her would he ever fight again. She said, 'No'. I won't ever forget how General Lyon looked. He rode a kinda gray-white horse when I first see him and looked so tall and proud like.

"De rebels held Springfield from 1861 till 1862, when General Freemont come in and took it. Marmaduke and Price had de biggest armies of de southerners, Freemont come sneaking in, wrapped his wagon wheels with old blankets so dey wouldn't hear him coming, and he had a body guard of three hundred. Marmaduke and Price was den in Springfield. Freemont come 'bout daybreak, and started shooting de town up. He got de town and held it.

"Marmaduke and Price drifted 'round to de Southeast part of de State and went into Arkansas. Later dey had a three hour scrummage at Pea Ridge, Arkansas. Either 62 or 63, I kaint 'member much, I was too little and scairt to know. Being only ten or eleven years old. Dey was a man named Finis McCrae, a rebel in de Marmaduke and Price Army, in de infantry. He took sick some place in Arkansas. Dey brung him to us, we being rebels, and keep him two weeks in our up-stairs, not letting any one know he was dere. We kept him till he got better and he went back into de army and fit some more.

"I seen Marmaduke in person, when he was making his campaign for governor, down in Cuba, Missouri. All de Union sojers stopped at our house to get water. We had a runnin' stream that never did go dry. They filled their canteens there. All us chillun fussed 'bout 'em takin' our milk and butter outen de spring-house. Old missus keep all her milk and butter and cheese in dere to keep it cool. When de Union sojers come by our house to Rolla dey took so much of de water to fill dere canteens it nearly took our spring dry. Took every thing we had in de spring-house--milk, butter--everything.

"I don't 'member how dey was dressed, but dey all had on sumpin' blue. Uniforms I guess. Me and four more little darkies was one-half mile offen de big road when dey passed, and got scared and run back to old missus house and hid in de old barn loft all dat night. Old missus asked us what we did for sumpin' to eat. We told her we bent de rye down in de field and rubbed de grain out wid our hands and eat dat. She took us to de house and give us sompin' to eat. De sojers was still passing de house den.

"In time of de Civil War we wouldn't come down to Rolla, we went south to do our trading. We wasn't Union and Rolla was Union Headquarters. Old Master was getting old den, he had been a colonel in some army or other way 'fore de Civil War.

"Lincoln issued 'green backs' 'long 'bout '61 or '62, after Stephen A. Douglas goes up to Washington and tell Lincoln, after he got de 'nomination dat if he didn't get Jeff Davis and some of de leaders and prosecute 'em, he was going to have war on his hands. Lincoln tells Douglas to go back and tell Jeff Davis to lay dem guns down, dat in 90 days he would 'low dem so much a head for dere niggers. Dat if dey would free dem dey could be paid for so much a head, by taxation. But Lincoln told dem dey would all have to come back together again same as before like dey was. You see dese folks in de south had done got $8,000,000, all dat ammunition and guns and things from England. Jeff Davis and dem leaders wouldn't give it up.

"De first issue of greenbacks was $175,000,000 and de next issue was $250,000,000. We had been told all dis and I ask old missus if she reckon we could whip dem 'blue bellied yankees'. I says: 'Dey ain't got no money'.

"We called de Union sojers--'Yankees' and our side was called de Gray or de Rebels. It's 75 years, the 10th day of August, 1937, that General Lyon was killed.

"My boss--Hancock was de biggest slave holder in Missouri when de war first come up. He settled four miles east of Springfield, Missouri. He owned close to 1200 or 1500 acres of ground. From Springfield to Strafford--east. We had 375 acres in cultivation--corn, oats, wheat, rye, and clover was our main crops.

"My daddy belonged to a man named Lou Langston. There is a railroad station named for this same Langston. What was known as the 'Gulf Road.' I took my mammy's white folk's name. They were as fine and good as anybody. The first child old missus had was a boy, Bill Hancock. The first child my old granny had (on my mammy's side) was a boy, named Joe. Old missus gave granny's boy Joe, to her boy Bill, as a slave. You see my old missus and my old granny was born a year apart demselves.

"One time my old master Hancock, got mad at my uncle, who was a growed up nigger. Old marse wanted to whip him. He tried to make my uncle put his head twixt his (old marser's) knees. My uncle didn't offer to fight him, but twisted him roun' and roun' trying to get his head out. He gave one twist dat throwed old marse down to de ground. My uncle jumped and run and jumped over de fence. My uncle did not belong to old marse but to his son, Bill. But old marse sure got mad when my uncle run. So he sold him to a man named Dokes--a nigger trader of dat neighborhood. Dokes bought niggers and sold dem on de block in St. Louis. When Dokes took my uncle away, one of our neighbors by de name of Fisher--up near Strafford, gits on his horse and goes to Springfield and tells my young boss, Bill, dat old man Hancock had sold Joe and Jane. Jane belonged to Marse Hancock. Mister Fisher had only one colored man, and he told my young boss, Bill, dat if he would buy both them niggers back, dat he would buy Jane for his (Fisher's) colored man. He didn't have no woman for him.

"Old Dokes was on his way den to St. Louis with 'em. Bill and Fisher started out, rode and caught up with dem near what is now known as Knob View, Missouri. When dey come in sight of Dokes, Bill stopped and dropped back. Fisher goes up to de wagon, stopped Dokes and asked him what he would take for Joe and Jane. They was settin' up in the wagon handcuffed together. I think it was a thousand dollars or fifteen hundred dollars he asked for both. Den Fisher beckoned to Bill Hancock to come on. Bill come up and paid Dokes what he asked. Dokes was to take 'em back, hisself, to dere own neighborhood.

"When marse Bill rode up, my uncle said, 'Take these handcuffs off me'. Mr. Dokes took them off. My uncle jumped out of de wagon and run up to de big mule my young boss was settin' on, he reached up an' took Bill, his marster off dat mule so quick and lay him down on de ground. He commenced to love and kiss him on side of his head. He picked him up and sat marse Bill on his mule again and said, 'I know marse Bill wasn't goin' to let me be sold.' He takes him off his mule again and lay him down two times more and keep lovin' and kissin' him, he was dat happy.

"But old marse Hancock, jes' wouldn't let Joe live on his place again, no more. He was dat mad. It made him so mad to think Joe had turn him over when he had his legs twixt his knees. But young marse Bill took Joe to Springfield and hired him out to a blacksmith by de name of Lehr. He got forty dollars a month for him. Joe stayed dere till de Civil War. Old master let Joe come to de house to see his mother, my old granny, once in a while, but never to live.

"Old man Fisher bought de colored woman from marse Bill, for his colored man, and paid him as he could. Our white folks had plenty of money to get any thing they wanted.

"I first come to Rolla in 1869 and stayed till 1870. Then dere was only one brick house in Rolla, standin' where the Edwin Long Hotel now stands. Den I left and went to Cuba and stayed dere and at Salem til' 1882. I come back to Rolla when de Crandel House was built, where de Rolla Hospital now is located. I started a barber shop here under the Crandel House basement. I have been here and at Salem ever since 1882, Rolla my headquarters.

"If I can leave enough when I die, I want to be buried at the Union Graveyard in Greene County, Missouri, where my mammy is buried since three years before the Civil War. My daddy was buried there in 1863.

"When I was young, we didn't know nuthin' 'bout churches. Us kids never got to go no place 'less de old niggers took us. And dey wouldn't take us. De older ones had church out in de brash, under de shade trees.

"I kin 'member one of my cousins carryin' me pick-a-back, one time, three miles to church. Dey only had church in de summer time, or meeting dey called it. It was allus in de woods. We dassen't be ketched wid a book to read or to try to be educated. Course every one wasn't treated dat-a-way. Sometimes de niggers would have dancin', if de bosses or masters gave dem passes. De passes read sumpin' like dis: 'Let my nigger file pass and repass to such and such a place'.

"I 'member once, my missus bought me a pair of high top red boots. My! I was proud. In dem days, we went barefoot most all year round. But my missus tried to make us happy on Christmas. I put dem boots on and I pranced round and round jes' to hear dem squeak. I done thought dat was de purtiest noise I ever heard. I asked old missus, could I go to old Massy's house. He were our neighbor, 'bout half mile--but it were dark. Old missus said, 'Hain't you scared to go?' I say, 'No'. I went up de road, my boots squeaking and squeaking. Didn't have time to be scared--listenin' to dem boots.

"Aunt Rachel, my own aunt, lived at Massy's house. You see Masseys was dere name and dey was white folks but we say Massy's house. I wanted my old aunt to see my new boots. When I got dere I called my aunt to come see my boots. She come and say, 'Hain't you scared to come here all 'lone'. I say, 'no'. I twisted and turn, round and round so she could hear 'em squeak. But when it come time to go home, I got plum' scared. Aunt Rachel had to take me. She took me where I could see our house. My! How old missus laughed when she found I had to be brung home. She say, 'I told you, you be scared to come alone'.

"In dem days no nigger got boots till he was big and able to work for 'em. I was old missus pet and she plum' spilt me. I allus got more'n de odder niggers got. Boys had cotton shirts and de gals had cotton dresses.

"You know it's a funny thing, de white folks took everything from us niggers, even try to take our old songs and have dem on de radio. We niggers say 'De white folks take everything, dis, dat, an' t'other, but what we got is jes' natural borned to us.'

"I knocks a tamborine jes' like de Georgia niggers played a tambourine, 'fore de Civil War. Dem Georgia minstrels was taken over to England to perform 'fore de Queen Victoria, way 'fore Civil War. Folks from way up East got 'em and took 'em. Dey ain't many plays like dem no more."

"Uncle" Fil, as he was familiarly known in Rolla, played for the Folk Festival in Rolla and received so much applause, he had to be helped off the stage. He is exceedingly active. He plays the old tambourine, (he owned so many years) under and over his legs, behind his head, bouncing it and catching it, never losing the rhythm an instant.

He is tall and erect, and has a remarkable memory, especially for dates, names and places. He loves children, and usually has a pocket full of pennies for the babies. His home is a one-room hut (plain shed building) back of the Post Office on Ninth Street, Rolla, Missouri. He lives alone and has no living relatives. The people of Rolla aid him with gifts.

Uncle "Fil's" favorite old spiritual is below. He says: "Dis song, I'm a tellin' you, is de truf."

Dis Is My Buryin' Groun'

Ask my Lord for mercy,
Good Lord, gimme religion,
Good Lord, gimme me a heart to b'lieve,
Dis is de buryin' groun'.
Amen, Hallelujah. Dis is de buryin' groun'.

Tell your mother,
Tell your father,
Dis is de buryin' groun',
Tell all your neighbors,
Tell all your neighbors chillun,
Dis is de buryin' groun'.

Uncle Fil says, "Niggers jes' makes dey own verses, jes' naturally comes to us, and we make our own rhyme as we go."

One of the humorous songs, a favorite of his, goes:

You, by word, now all we go,
In fact we spoke both high and low,
In the house and out of doors,
Ebening in the baby's nose.
When I was young an' in my prime,
I'se a countin' courtin' them gals,
Most all de time.
Now I'm old and you will see,
I'm not as young as I used to be.
Now when the elephant moves aroun'
The music begins to play,
Oh, the boys aroun' dat monkey's cage
I'd better keep away.
Rock the cradle John,
Rock the cradle John,
Many a man is rockin' another man's son
When he thinks he's rockin' his own.

Dave Harper

*Interview with Dave Harper,*
*Montgomery City, Missouri.*

_Dave Is Cardinal Fan_

Dave Harper, a former slave, had just tuned in on the baseball game when the interviewer arrived for he is an ardent Cardinal fan and, although he was extremely courteous, he never missed a play in that game. He was not at all reticent about telling of his life though plainly curious to know the purpose of the interview and just a bit skeptical as to its final use. Dave, who now lives in Montgomery City, Mo., has been a gardener for years, always having the earliest and finest vegetables as well as supplying others with plants for resetting.

"I'll be glad to tell you anything I remember," Dave said in reply to the request for something of his life story. "Col. Harper was my master. We lived northwest of town (Montgomery City). I was born in Montgomery County and lived dere all my life. Col. Harper had 25 or 30 slaves; dere was lots of money wrapped up in dem."

Here Dave reflected for a moment and shook his head sadly at the amount of cash invested in humans and then continued.

"He bought me when I was six years old. I was born eighty-seven years ago next January, down on Clear Fork, southwest of Danville, near Mineola, 'bout half mile from Capt. Callaway's grave. No'm, it don't seem like dey could have found enough dirt dere to cover his body. It sure is rocky dere. Did you ever read Nat Sharp's history? It says dat one of Capt. Callaway's men was buried down dere across de field.

"I've seen slaves go through Danville in droves like cattle. Dey was chained together and dey walked 'em to St. Louis to de nigger yard. One mother give out. De man in charge made her give her baby away, she couldn't carry it no further. Someone near Danville raised de baby.

"I was sold when I was six years old to Clark Whitesides's father to nurse Clark. My mother was sold down on de Missouri River. I'll tell you 'bout dat. De Fords moved to Danville from Virginia. Dere was several brothers in together in de nigger business. Dey brought my mother to wait on Mrs. Ford and carry her her coffee. She married and had three children. De nigger traders from Virginia run an attachment to get possession of my mother. Den on de way back he took cholera and died. De case was in court when de war come up. Mr. Ben Sharp had de money, he died and dat ended it. I was sold by Thos. J. Powell, de sheriff. Mother was to be sold. Kit Talbot bid on her and de baby. She cried so hard 'cause she wanted to live with me dat Dr. Sharp paid de bid and got her. I used to go to see her real often.

"We was fed just moderate. Dere was fifteen hands. When dey come in at noon, dey ate from de big old kettle where de old colored woman had cooked de food. De next morning after he bought me, de boss carried me to de old woman and told her to take care of me. Dat morning de kettle was full of spare ribs and de people fished dem out with sticks. I didn't see no knives or forks. When dey asked me why I didn't get something to eat, I asked 'bout dem and a table where I could eat. De overseer just cried.

"De old lady took care of de children while de mothers worked. De oldest one never went to de field. She just looked after de little ones. One overseer was colored. He was an uncle of 'Big Nig' dat works at de hotel. We was fanning out wheat and one of de children was raking out de wheat. He talked back to de overseer who struck him. Dere was a singletree under de edge of de cloth. De master picked up de singletree but didn't strike de overseer, he backed off. Col. Harper raised oodles of tobacco. Dere were 16 to 17 hundred pounds to de hogshead. He raised 15 to 20 hogsheads.

"My mother-in-law was from Memphis. One day dey went to church and de Ku Klux Klan came in and beat de people over deir heads with pistols. De people went out de doors and windows. Dey could just blow a horn and de Ku Klux Klan would come from all directions.

"I was sold for $715. When de freedom come, I said, 'Give me $715 and I'll go back.' Col. Harper just gave me a quarter to buy my dinner. After de freedom, I worked in wheat harvest all season for $.75 a day. I worked for a week and my mammy told me to bring her some bacon. When de man paid me, I spent it all for a side of bacon. I felt mighty proud to take dat to her. Bacon was $.50 a pound. I stayed at Dr. Sharp's where mother worked and done chores. Later I made rails. Dey paid me $14 a month for cutting rail timber. I was paid at de postoffice and took de money home and gave it to mammy.

"Col. Harper's wife was Gen. Price's niece and Col. Harper was a recruiting officer for Gen. Price. Young men came dere to join de southern army. Dey could always get a horse. De women stayed dere all de time to make de suits for de soldiers. De Union soldiers tried deir best to kill Col. Harper.

"One time I saved his life. Dey was going to kill him, 'bout 75 or 100 men on horses. I warned de Colonel two hours before dey got dere. Dis is how it happened. Col. Harper gave me de first day of Christmas to go to see my mother. Us children went out in de woods playing and when we come back de yard was all cut up with horses hoofs. Dr. Sharp put me on my horse and told me to tell Col. Harper dis message, dat 'dere was so many soldiers dat you might get hurt, you can come again some other time.' I told Col. Harper and he left. I didn't see him again until I was cutting wheat.

"My mistress lived dere for some time without any menfolks 'round 'cept de slaves. Dere was a horse kept dere on purpose so I could come to town every day for de mail. After a while, my mistress and her daughter went to Jarod Harris's to stay. Den I went to Harris's every morning for de mistress orders and to Montgomery each afternoon for de mail. I took de mail to de camp at night. Dat was Bill Anderson's camp over in Callaway County. Dey moved dat camp pretty often but I found it. One time de bushwhackers came to burn de depot but Col. Harper had it full of tobacco and wheat so dey didn't burn it.

"Young Billy Mathis was a lieutenant. He used to come to see mistress almost every day and bring her messages. Once a gang of blue coats was coming down de road. He got on one of mistress' horses and she told me to go 'long and bring de horse back. We went down through de woods with de bullets whistling through de air and cutting off de limbs of de trees."

Dave had apparently studied about the voodoo doctors and their wiles for a question as to conjure doctors brought a quick response:

"We call dem 'two headed Negroes'. You know dat if he could do any tricks he would keep dem from whipping him or selling him and dey couldn't do dat or dey would have done it long time ago. Tear open a pillow and sometimes dere is a mat of feathers. Sometimes dey puts things under de door step but I don't pay no 'tention to it. Dey is some dat thinks dere is something to it.

"Mother used to tell a tale 'bout when she was a little girl. Her mother went to frolics but her father went to bed, he was always tired after his day's work. One night my mother saw a woman come to her father's bed and rub her hand over his head. It didn't wake him up. De next day he took sick and soon died. I don't believe in hoodoo doctors but it is like de blood hounds can run and tree a man but if you can't find de goods it don't count.

"I worked in de hay harvest for $.50 a day. Common domestic for shirts was $.50 a yard. It took six yards to make one shirt, dat was a week's work. We lived on chickens. My mother raised a whole camp meeting of chickens. Dere never was a better white man dan Dr. Sharp. When I married I had four head of horses and three mules. I owed for one team of horses. I took typhoid fever in August and was in bed until November. Dr. Sharp and Dr. Bodine knew something was de matter but dey didn't know what it was. When de note come due, I got on a horse and rode to Dr. Sharp's. He wanted to know what I was doing on dat horse. I told him 'bout de note and he said, 'Hum, dat's what's been bothering you. Don't you get off dat horse! I help you den you get back home and go to bed and stay dere!' He just wrote a check for $90, I had already paid $300. After I got well, I sold a span of mules to Joe McCleary and put de check in de bank for Dr. Sharp. Dat was to pay him for de note and taking care of me dat summer and fall.

"I was in de railroad home guards during de war. We had to keep de people from tearing up de railroads. I fought Bill Anderson's men many a time. Seems sort of queer when I used to take dem de mail but we kept dem from burning de railroad bridges. I served for 'bout six months near Macon."

Clara McNeely Harrell

*Interview with Clara McNeely Harrell,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"We libbed way off 'en de backwoods, six mile tuther side o' Jackson, near Fruitland, and Ah's feared dey ain't much Ah ken tell yuh. My ole Massa wuz John McNeely. Ah don' rightly member mah ole Missus McNeely but when she die, ole Massa marry young Missie Harries fum down tow'ds de ribber. De white folks has a fine big white house an we'ens had a little log house. Dey wuz lotsa nut trees roun' dere an in de fall o' de year we'ens usta gather lotsa nuts--hicker' nuts, walnuts, an' dey wuz hazel nuts too.

"My Mammy's name?--les' see now--dey calls her Minnie--yes dat's it, Minnie. Youh see mah mind ain't so clear but when Ah talks 'bout 'em dey kinda comes back tuh me. Mah pappy's name wuz John Mitchell and he belong to a neighbor. I'se little and didn't hab much work to do. Jes chores, like heppin' to carry in wood and sech like, but mos'ly I'se jes' playin' an' tom-boyin' aroun'.

"Ole Massa had three boys at went off to war--Dey wuz Ab, an' Bob' an' Jack. We nebber seed no fightin' roun' our way but sometime we heard de cannon fum Cape. One time dey wuz lotsa sojers cum pass our place an dey had lotsa wagons an' things. Ah ain't nebber seed so many men an' I'se plum scared to death, but dey nebber bother none.

"We had big fields o' wheat an cahn an sich, but mah mammy didden work in de fiel', she spin an she weave. Ah could spin too. Ah's fill de quills and Ah'd hep her thread de loom. De loom stood out on de big porch and Ah kin jes see her sittin dar. She'd push de thread through tuh me an' den Ah'd ketch it and pull it through an han it back tuh her.

"When de war wuz over, Ole Massa call tuh me an' he say 'Clara, you know de war is over'--an Ah say 'Whar wuz it?' Ah nebber know'd nuthin 'bout de war.

"No'm, Ah don' know nuthin 'bout ghosts an sich like, but when Ah dies Ah specks to go to Hebbin an' Lawd! Ah's gonna sit all day an' shout an' sing, and clap mah han's an' stomp mah feet! Oh! Lawd! Dat's gonna be a happy time."

Clara McNeely Harrell, probably 80 or 82 years old lives in hollow--no street number west from Washington School, Cape Girardeau, Mo.

Joe Higgerson

*Interview with Joe Higgerson,*
*Sedalia, Missouri.*
*(Written by Geo. K. Bartlett, Kansas City,*
*from F.C. of Kathleen Williams.)*

_How Did Uncle Joe Get Home?_

Living at 410 West Pettis Street, Sedalia, is Joseph Higgerson, a pensioned Negro soldier of the Civil War, who can look back through the long vista of years and visualize slave life in Missouri, when the institution of slavery was at its most thriving period.

He was born a slave on a farm near Boonville, Missouri, in 1845 if his claim of being 92 years old in the summer of 1937, is correct.

He is somewhat bent and withered and his appearance of great age is accentuated by white patriarchal whiskers below the chin, while his cheeks are clean shaven; a style much in vogue during the life time of Horace Greeley.

His home, a little, four room, frame cottage, with its tiny front porch set close against the picket fence enclosing the lot, mirrors somewhat the deterioration age has placed upon its occupant. Both house and fence are weather beaten, gray from age and lack of paint.

"Could you and would you tell about slavery days?" he was asked.

"Yes Ma'am," he courteously and smiling replied, the smile revealing big, strong teeth. "Yes, indeed. Would you all step in the house and set? I am so happy to have company."