Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

He selected the dining room, which is also the comfortably furnished living room, as the place to "set and talk". In this room is an oak dining table, chairs and a china closet, through the glass doors of which may be seen attractively decorated dishes, some of them of very old pattern. There is also an old fashioned combination desk and book case, and a chest of drawers. The windows are adorned with curtains and drapes of good quality.

The clean condition of the interior was a revelation of a 92 year old Negro man's desire and ability to keep house, and keep it clean. He lives alone, his wife having died many years ago.

There is in the appearance of this ancient Negro with shoulders now bowed; the dark brown skin, extending across the bald head; the large nose; immense teeth; shaven cheeks below which a mat of white whiskers encircle the throat, like the ruff on a condor's neck; there is in his appearance that which stamps him at once as the living bridge between the present day's civilization and a dim past; the knowledge of which exists today in the memories of but few persons.

As he talked, strange sights, scenes and cultures were told, sometimes with words that have changed much in meaning.

As his mind pictured the scenes of those old days, this primitive blending of both Indian and Negro races, at times unconsciously reverted to the primitive sing song recitative chant of his ancestors, particularly when narrating his outstanding pleasant memories.

This is his story:

"Old man Higgerson was my mastar. We lived on a farm and dere was a big family of us. I is the only one left. The farm laid just below the Lamine and Missouri Rivers, and I can't tell exactly where it was. Everybody called us 'free niggahs'--cause Higgerson slaves was treated so good. Yes, ma'am. My mammy lived to be 80 years old--and didn't have a gray hair in her haid. She was part Black Hawk Indian,--and I show it in me too."

Then as his thoughts raced back to slavery days, the pictures of youth crowded thick and fast, and he burst forth into a half chanted description of the panorama of his memories. "I've seen hundreds of Indians pass thru the country, on foot. Boss man let' em have a shack overnight. Next mawnin dey set out on foot, and take up de road, one behind the othar. Yes, suh! Just wrapped in a blanket one behind the othar. Winter and summer, and barefoot too!"

Then he told of game and game ways.

"Yes suh! I done seen wild deer hop ovar fences, and hundreds of wild turkeys. We used to build turkey pens and dig a trench, put feed in dere and covar it ovar wid bresh and de turkeys would come to feed, and we would trap' em. Yes, ma'am, an I done seen 100 to 150 wild turkeys in a flock. I has dat! Lots of wild pigeons, too. I has seen a thousand geese flyin' over in the early mornin'. Then I've trapped quail too, in rail pens, built ten feet square. Yes, suh!

"But listen!--slaves couldn't shoot; was a law agin it in slaves times; no slave could own or shoot a gun. We couldn't shoot game. An' dat come dis way. President Jackson say, 'Keep books and guns outa slaves' hands if you want to keep 'em slaves'."

Joe Higgerson chuckled a little with a glint of humor in his eyes and changed the subject.

"Everybody made whiskey in dem days, had little 'stilleries all over the country, made apple and peach brandy. Good too. One day I was sent to a neighbor's for brandy. I took a little taste and walked on. Den I took anoder little taste, and walked on. Den I took anoder little taste and sot down de jug. Den I took anoder little taste, and so on and so on. Pretty soon I looked up, and I nevar did know how I got to whar I'se gwin ter. Nobody ever say anything about it or tell me nuffin! I guess somebody carry me whar I'se gwin ter."

He was asked if he ever remembered seeing slaves sold at Boonville.

"Yes, ma'am!" he exclaimed. "Why down at Boonville, woman and a baby was put up to be sold, and de buyer he want de woman, but he don't want de baby, so they separated 'em, and was gettin' ready to put 'em on de boat for Noo Orleans, and ship 'em down de river, and de woman she ran back to kiss de baby goodbye, and de tradar picked up a whip and cracked it and shouts, 'A bellerin' cow will soon forget its calf'. She was sold down de river and nevar saw de baby again. Now dat was sad." He paused and then resumed.

"One tradar, name of Henry Moore, he used to handcuff all the niggahs together till time to put 'em on de boat for Noo Orleans. Dey always carried whips and they'd crack dem to see how far de darkies could jump. Yes, Suh!! Yes, Suh!!! Deed they did!!!"

This reminiscence tickled him mightily and he laughed heartily at thoughts of the capers the negroes cut when the whip cracked.

"An I remembers one boat load. Boat load got as far as Cairo, Illinois, and lots of de darkies jumped overboard and was drowned."

"Were the overseers on the plantations Negroes or whites?"

"Overseahs, white," Higgerson replied, "Overseahs white. A darky was the niggah driver. Darkies didn't ever get to go to the big house where the planter lived. De niggah driver reported to the overseah, and the overseah reported to the boss.

"Now this is the way with me," Higgerson continued. "My father, who was also my boss, he kept a store, and I went to de store to take care of de children, cause de boss done send for me. Well, one time when the wah was on, some Federal soldiers come and done scared me so bad I forgot all about de chile and run home, and de soldiers burned de bridge, you had to cross befo' you got to de store. So after dat de ole man run a boat across."

Hoping to get some idea of how Christmas was celebrated among the Negroes on the farms and plantations the aged man was asked what he remembered of Christmas, in slavery times.

"One Christmas I never goin' to forget", he replied.

"Jes before Christmas lots of people came to de store to buy and de groun' was all covered wid snow. An de man what run de store was getting ready to close up, cause it was getting dark, and close at dark a man come and wanted in and de store keeper wouldn't let him in. An it got later and later, and by an by Joseph, dats me, was sent to de store to find why de storekeeper ain't come home yet and Joseph went to de store, and looked in and saw de old man on his back, his throat cut wid de blood runnin' all over de floor and $1,400 dey knowed he had--gone. Dere was whiskey and blood runnin' all over de floor. Whiskey was cheap dem days; good whiskey, too.

"When they set the niggahs free, the boss man come out and read de papers to 'em sayin' dey was free. And I went to Boonville and joined de Union Army, November 23, 1863. I served in de 25th Corps, Second Division under General Whitsell. I was in de last battle of de war at Palmetto Ranch, Texas, on de Rio Grande, just 36 miles from de Gulf. When I was discharged from de army to go home, I thought--why I have no home, where shall I go? Den I decided to go back to Boonville. All my family was scattered.

"But I was lucky. Someone had started to build a shack, and had not finished it. I got permission to finish it and picked up building material here and dere, and made it into a home. I never been without a home since. My wife and I lived together 61 years. She is gone now."

Delia Hill

*Interview with Delia Hill,*
*St. Louis County, Missouri.*
*(Written by Grace E. White,*
*St. Louis, Mo.)*

_Smoked 'Em Upside Down_

The subject of this sketch is Delia Hill, over 90 years old. She lives at 1338 Argus Street, St. Louis County, Missouri.

Delia Hill is a good natured, well preserved old lady. She is quite tall, medium in size, dark complexion and her hair is almost entirely white. She is very neat in her quaint, frame three room cottage. She shares her home with a widowed companion who appears to be well in her 50's but is able to work. Delia Hill's story follows:

"I was born in Cold Water, Mississippi more dan 90 years ago but don't know jes' how old I is. My first owner's name was Marse John Hawkins and he had a big mill. He had me and my mother with 14 other chillen, Aunt Ellen and her 8 chillen, and Aunt Tilda with all her chillen. I don't know how many Aunt Tilda had. Anyhow Marse John owned every one of us. Later on he sold me to Marse Dave Stafford, a circuit rider. I got a scar on my eye today whar de ole overseer throwed a fork at me cross de table, 'cause I went to sleep, I was so tired while fanning flies off him while he's eatin'. I had to fan flies every meal time with a fly brush. They worked me so hard, I'd just go on to sleep standin' up. Dat old overseer was a mean old devil any how. Well when old Marse come home from de circuit ridin' I told him 'bout it, and he fired dat overseer right then and told him if my eye went out, he would look him up and kill him. I never seed him anymore.

"Dey sold us niggahs so bad down dere where I come from, dat when I was little I got sold from my mother and she never found me till after de war in 1871. Was we glad to see each other? I say we was. I was raised up hard, honey. I can count de winters I ever even had shoes on my poor feet. When Marse Dave bought my mother he only bought her and 6 us chillun. He was fairly nice to niggahs, but he didn't have as big a drove of 'em as de other plantation owners, but child we could hear niggahs hollen' every night on different plantations all around us from lashings dey gittin' from dere old overseers and masters too, for dat matter.

"My owner raised mostly cotton and corn, my mother wove all de clothes we wore, she even done all de spinning. During de Civil War, my old Miss use to hide us niggahs in de woods to keep de Yankees from seein' us. Dey pass through our place and got most all our stock just de same and all dey wanted to eat besides. But dey never found a one of us. After dey pass by we all go on back home.

"Dey sent us to church reglar and de preacher say to us, any you all see anybody stealin' old Miss chickens or eggs, go straight to old Miss and tell her who 'tis and all about it. Any one steal old Marse hogs or anything belong to old Marse, go straight to him and tell him all about it. Den he ask us, what your daddy bring home to you when he come, and what he feed you chillun at night. We scared to death to tell anything 'cause, honey, if we did de niggah get a killin, and our mammy tie up our feet and hang us upside down by our feet, build a fire under us and smoke us, scare us plum to death. We swear mammy goin' to burn us up. Lord, child, dat was an awful scare. Yes, mam, it was. De old preacher told us go on work hard, tell old Miss and old Master de truth and when we die God going let us in heaven's kitchen and sit down and rest from all dis work we doin' down here.

"We believe dat den. We didn't know no better, honest we didn't, honey. Our old Miss used to tell us, I want all my niggers to always tell de truth. If dey kill you, die telling de truth. But bless your soul, our mammy done smoked 'nough of us up side down, to not tell dem white folks nothin', a lie, nor the truth. No sir'ree. Who want to get smoked up likely to burn up hanging there as not. Now ain't dat so? No, sir, tell dem white folks, dey find out anything, they jes' find out by themselves, dat's it. I never did read or write. I been married three times. My last husband I married October 31, 1901 and moved right out here in dis house November 6, 1901, been here ever since. My husband been dead now 18 years. My children all died while dey was babies. I had six children. I wear glasses sometimes, but I praise God I can see good without glasses.

"De government gives me a pension and I git along fairly middlin'. Since peace been declared I made my living doing laundry work and cooking. I nursed right smart in Memphis. My mother died in 1893 here in St. Louis. Her name was Eliza Mullin, but I never did know how old she was. She didn't neither. I am a Baptist and go to church reglar as I kin, but I suffer so hard with indigestion. I can't go no place much. Guess dat's 'bout all I can remember worth 'membering, hope it helps de book out."

Louis Hill

*Interview with Louis Hill,*
*age 78, Farmington, Missouri.*

"I's borned on October 13, 1858 on the southeast side of Farmington, Missouri. My muthuh, Rose Hill, was borned in Virginia. She kum ta Missouri as a girl an frum dat time on she wuz a slabe fur John Hill, our boss. She worked thar till our freedom. Our family had three boys, Peter, William, and me an two girls, Sallie and Malinda. We bunked up in a cabin with one room. All us kids ate on da flo frum da same plate an da biggest dog got da mos. We generally wore a straight slip like a nightgown an hit fastened round the neck. (In the old South boys were dressed in this fashion until about ten years old and were called "shirttail boys".) Tak dis off an we war naked.

"The ole lady, the wife ob da Boss was da devil's sister. Her name was 'Whip'. She beat da ole folks mor'n tha kids. She used tha cowhide an we got a lickin' whether we did anythin' or not. We had ta git up early an after given supper we war put ta bed an did not 'pilfer' round. We had ta go on Sunday ta the Boss' Church, tha Carmelite or Christian Church. Ma muthuh wuz no han ta tell big yarns an so I know no ghost stories. We wuz raised very sensible. Tha white folks did not help us ta read an write. I learned that after we war free. I never did go ta school. Our games was 'Wolf on tha Bridge', an 'King-Kong-Ko.' We always had ta be doin' somethin', even if it war pickin' up kindlin'.

"I member when Price's army kum thro here in '64 or '65 on their way ta Pilot Knob. I wuz 'bout six or seben years ole. I an ma sister had bin down ta the white childr'n school ta take them dinner. We had ta bring tha basket bak an we sat down in tha corner ob da graveyard ta eat whut wuz left in da basket. Da graveyard was nex to da Fredericktown road and jus across frum our house. All at onc't I heard the mos' turrible noise an saw soldiers kum up da road. We war sure scared. We jumped up, ran cross da road, jumped over da fence an begun ta tak out fur da house. Da soldiers laughed an said somethin. One soldier on a horse kum up ta de fence, tore off da top rail, an with his horse jumped ober da fence, an took out after us, but he nebber cud catch us. We wuz sho runnin'. I wuz carryin' da basket and if I had a throwed it down we would a showed that soldier some runnin'. Da soldier turned his horse round but we went straight to da house to da Missus. She say dat dey was only havin' a good time an would not hurt us. We stood at da house an looked, an it took 'bout all afternoon fur da soldiers to pass. Thar war horses, wagons and cannons. Da soldiers durin' da war took all da Boss' horses away an he had only a yoke ob oxen lef.

"After da freedom we all had ta get out an work. We had a big family. I work'd at da lead smelter at Mine La Motte in 1872 an work'd thar fur six years. I made $2.50 a day an dat was good wages then. I batched thar. I larned ta read at Mine La Motte when a white man taught me in evenin's at da mine between shifts. Afterwards I work'd in Bonne Terre at da smelter but got lead colic an quit thar.

"I think slavery wuz a curse on human nature. I believe in nobody bein' in bondage ob no kind. Da Almighty wuz not a goin' ta let slavery las' much longer. You know whut He did about da people in Egypt."

(Note--Louis Hill lives in a very nice home. He is a quiet negro, and except for a short time, has spent his entire life in Farmington. He receives an Old Age Pension. I did not inquire about his marriage, for, from knowledge I have gained, he lives with a colored woman to whom he is not married.)

*Interview with Louis Hill,*
*Farmington, Missouri.*

_He Swapped Liquor For Lessons_

How he traded liquor for lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic is one of the interesting facts of his younger life recalled in an interview recently obtained from Louis Hill, an ex-slave, now living in Farmington, Missouri.

Louis believes that the government should have made some provision for the aid of the Negroes during the early struggle following their emancipation.

Regarding the part which he takes in politics, Louis declares that his invariable rule is to "look over de field and vote for what he thinks is de best timber."

The story of his experiences as given to the interviewer is told as closely as possible in his own words which follow:

"I was too young to know what to expect from freedom. My mother picked up and left de white folks in de night and took us kids with her. Dat was after we was free but dey wouldn't let her get away in de daytime very handy. Dey did not pay my mother anything after she was free. In dem days kids didn't question de old folks like they does now, so I didn't find out much. Dere was two sisters, two brothers and myself what left dat night with my mother. We all had some bundles, and when we left de old mistress in de dark we went to some neighbors several blocks away. We didn't have to go far away 'cause dey could not force you to go back after we was free. But my mother did go back and work for de mistress a good while but she got paid den. We stayed here for quite awhile and den went up to Valle Mines.

"I piddled around and hired out for first one and den another and did what a kid could do. When you earned any money dem days you had to give it to your mother and didn't know what she done with it. About de first work I done was for Mr. Boyer, a Frenchman, up in Valle Mines in de diggin's. I dug mineral, zinc, etc. I got 50 cents a day. He did all de diggin and I 'coached' it from de head of the drift to de shaft. I had a little car on wheels dat run on a wooden track. I reckon I worked for him 'bout two years. My mother would go out to de big dirt pile called 'scrappin' and would pick out de zinc and lead chunks and little pieces.

"Purt near every Saturday we would take de ore down to Furnace Town and get it weighed and get a check for it. Den we come back to Farmington after several years and lived with my sister's husband and worked around at a little bit of everything. I was gettin' to be a pretty good sized boy and went to Mine La Motte and worked on de furnace. My first work at dat place was at $2 a day and later on I became a 'charger' and got $2.50 a day. I stayed with dem six or seven years. After I left dere I went to Bonne Terre and got married and got mine sickness or lead colic from workin' in de furnace and had to quit. I come back to Farmington and is been here ever since. Den I worked at sawing wood, chopping wood, and at a soda factory and beer depot and peddled ice and delivered soda and beer to Knob Lick, Syenite, Graniteville and Bonne Terre. I worked here for a long time.

"I'se had four children and two is livin. De boy is in Los Angeles, California and the girl is in Seattle, Washington. My boy is a chauffeur for an old, rich feller by de name of Clark and he has been in de same job for 16 years. He gets $100 a month, room and board. He's been wanting to quit but de old man won't let him. My son's daughter does de cooking for dis rich guy. My son is 56 years old now.

"My daughter is 54 and is married. What she does is more dan I can tell you. Her husband was a soldier in de regular army, in de 10th Cavalry, and was in de Philippines, and Cuba and so my daughter is been around some. She been away from here for about 23 or 24 years.

"I think de young Negroes need settling down and have more education and not so much good time. I didn't have much of a chance. We was turned loose barefooted and had no schools den and when dey had schools I had to work. But in Mine La Motte a Mr. McFarland would come over to our cabin and teach me readin', writin' and 'rithmetic. He was an awful drinker but was smart. I would give him a little something to drink for teachin' me. I took lessons for 'bout a year. I sure do like to read de newspapers now and can write letters. The young generation thinks too much about goin' and having a good time. A little 'task master' wouldn't hurt de young people. I wasn't in de slavery long enough for it to hurt me none. I was free when I was 5 years old. My mother, however, was worked like an old horse and de best part of her life was spent in bondage.

"I believe de government should have made some provision for de slaves when dey turned dem loose. De government could have compelled slaveholders to give slaves a little track of land, a cow and a horse and give 'em a start. De slave had made what de white man had. I actually believe de Negroes would be better off today if they had done dis. My old mistress just had oodles of land. Of course de white folks was not used to work and dere was plenty for de Negroes to do if dey wanted to work.

"I voted as soon as I got a chance. De first time I voted was in 1880. I'se had 'em try to pay me to vote but I told dem my vote was not for sale. You know you ain't dictated to unless you is 'wishy washy'. Once, a feller asked me how I voted. I said, 'Just to suit myself.' I generally look over de field and vote for what I think is de best timber. Dey is goin' to have a hot time in 1940, for dem that lives to see it. It's a free country and a man should not have to own property in order to vote. Dey ought not to oppress anyone."

Rhody Holsell

*Interview with "Aunt" Rhody Holsell,*
*Fredericktown, Missouri.*

_Slaves Happy To Be Free_

"Aunt" Rhody Holsell, 89 years old, of Fredericktown, is one of the interesting ex-slaves in Missouri. According to her story she was 17 years old when the Civil War ended. Her mother and father were slaves and both of them had died before the beginning of the conflict. She believes that she is part Indian as her great grandmother is believed to have been an Indian squaw.

The following is her own version of events which played a part in her life during her slave days and since that time:

"When dey turned me loose I was naked, barefoot, and didn't have nothin' to start out on. They turned us loose without a thing and we had to kinda pick ourselves up. We would go out of a Sunday and dig ginseng and let it dry for a week and sell it to de store. We would make about a dollar every Sunday dat way, and den we'd get our goods at de store. The master and all de boys was killed in de war and de mistress married some 'hostle jostle' who helped to kill the boss. I was jus' not goin' to stand dat so dis was when I left home.

"Abraham Lincoln done put a piece in de paper saying dat all de slaves was free and if dey whipped any of de slaves after dey was set free dey would prosecute them. Me and another little old woman done some shoutin' and hollerin' when we heard 'bout de freedom. We tore up some corn down in de field. De old missus was right there on de fence but wouldn't dare touch us den. Once de mistress struck me after we was freed and I grabbed her leg and would have broke her neck. She wanted to apologize with me de way she had treated me but I would not let her. They thought it was awful dat dey could not whip de slaves any longer.

"I den worked from one farm to another. I would stay a year or two each place. Dey wanted me to stay. Dey said I was de best plow boy dey had. I would cut de old roots and dey would pop but dey paid me nothin' and dey didn't give you no clothes. We got so much in de share of de cropping but dey would not share with me so I would leave. So I come to Fredericktown to try to find my mother's people but when I got here dey done told me dey was gone to Illinois.

"I den come right out of de field and went right into the dining room. I was never turned off from any of my work. I would just work 'till I got tired and quit. Talk about bein' happy! We was sure 'nough some happy people when dey done took dat yoke offen our necks. Before I was free we had to shuck three wagon loads of corn a day. De wagon would hold 40 bushels. I'd come home and my fingers would be twisted from so much work. De oxen would slobber all over de corn before we picked it. It was cold out dere in de field an' I would wrap my feet up in my dress and wait till de wagon would drive up. I had no shoes on. Man, I don't know how I'm here today. It just was de mercy of God that took care of me. When my mother was dying she done asked God to look over us and it must have been her prayer dat helped me to still be here.

"When my mother was sick once de doctor come and brought his wife. De wife always come with de doctor. De doctor would not allow de family to give de medicine, 'cause he said de family would give in to de sick person. De wife of de doctor would give de medicine when de doctor was asleep. I never seen de family give medicine till I come up here. De doctors always come and stay till de sick person was out of danger and de wife always come with him.

"Lord, people nowadays don't know nothing 'bout nothin'. Child, I spun backwards and forwards to de wheel till I wore my feet out till de balls of my feet was wore to de blood.

"Lots of slaves went to Illinois after freedom, but I never been out of de State. I don't go to frolics of any kind. I just come here and settled down and never rambled 'round. I've lived in dis house 55 years and have buried purty near all my family right out of dis house. I ain't never had a fuss with any of my neighbors, and I done took de bitter with de sweet. I ride in an automobile only to funerals. I ain't been on a train but once or twice and dat was 'bout 40 years ago. I'm interested in church now, can sit and listen to preachin' and singin' all day, but I sets right here while dey has all dis other excitement. It's been seventy years since I done been to Farmington to a picnic. I don't want de pension so much to roam around but to be protected in my old age and to have a few more days of peace. I don't care nothin' about clothes.

"I been votin' at that thing ever since it started. Dey would take me a free ride when votin' time comes. You can't turn around for dey wants to take you to vote. But after de voting dey won't pay no attention to me. I never did vote only a straight ticket and I always went my own way. Dey would sometimes tell me how to vote but I didn't pay them no mind. My husband did not believe in women voting and he said it would tear up de country. He said he wanted to be in heaven when de women voted. Garfield was de first president I ever voted for.

"I believe it would been better to have moved all de colored people way out west to dem selves. Abraham Lincoln wanted to do dis. It would have been better on both races and dey would not have mixed up. But de white people did not want de 'shade' taken out of de country. Many of de bosses after de freedom couldn't stand it and went in de house and got a gun and blew out his brains. If Lincoln had lived he would have separated us like dey did de Indians. We would not have been slaughtering, burning, hanging, and killin' if we had been put to ourselves, and had our own laws. Many a person is now in torment because of dis mixup. God give us a better principle and we could have had thousands of whites slaughtered but we didn't after the freedom.

"De present generation is a lost condition. If dey don't girdle their lines and pull dem up closer and ask God to help 'em and quit going to dem 'hog holes' and drinkin' it is going to be death and destruction. Dis not only is true of the Negroes but white folks, too. Mother and father think it is alright. Dese undertakers is goin' out all de time, night and day, on the highways and pickin' up de carcass of people. It's sin dat is wrong with de world. De future of the Negro is of the past. We have some good friends among the white folks but de devil is just got so strong dat de good can't hardly stand. We have some good citizens in dis town. I can't read or write but I used to have the white lady read the funny side of the paper when I set down to eat.

"Once during de war de soldiers was around me very thick. I was coming back from carryin' de dinner out in de woods to Sam Hildebrand. I took him a table cloth, napkins and everything first class. I went down to de house and hid de basket in a hollow log and crossed de creek and dey hollered, 'Halt!' De soldiers was cussin' me like a bay steer. Dey said, 'I'll kill you right here and blow your brains out if you don't tell.' I told dem I had been up dere to water de calves so dey give me my pass and let me go on to de house. I would not tell dem nothin' 'bout Sam Hildebrand nor where he was hiding. While Sam et his meal I would stand 'round and watch in de woods. I was de oldest one on de place and I was de only one what had to carry his meals to him.

"I would get up many mornings and hear the bugler blowin'. Das when dey was callin' the pickets in. You would see de pickets come in just a-flyin' and out sent de fresh pickets on duty. I was not scared of dem. Sometimes de soldiers stayed 'round our place for two weeks and camped. Dey was about 500 and de men laid out on de ground under a government wagon and in some houses around about. Dese soldiers would go out with sabers and whack de heads off of de sheep, hogs, and calves and in about five minutes would have dat yearlin' skinned and dash it into de boilin' kettle. Den dey would take a long knife and cut off a big piece of meat with the blood runnin' out. Dey did not cook de meat done and did not put much salt on it. It sure was funny, seein' dem soldiers eatin' a big hunk of meat with de blood runnin' out. Dey always had bread but don't know where dey got it. They was so tired and wore out and their feet was sore and de infantry was almost barefooted. Dey was always dressed in blue. Sometimes we would have 30 or 40 yards of goods on de loom and dey would tear it off and send it home to their family. We was glad enough to get dem to take dis and get out. There would not be a man on de place when these 500 soldiers come. We always managed to bury dat gentleman (money). I can remember the boss took out of his chest his money, enough to fill the table, and put it in a buck skin bag and he went off with another man. I don't know what become of de money and dey was killed and there was no one left to tell de tale.

"I sure had it rough and tumble since de war. Of course I don't have a boss now. I've worked on de farm, as a dining room girl, washin', ironing, and hiring out. I would get about $9 to $10 a week. I was workin' for de railroad people den when de road was runnin' strong here. My husband he died 40 years ago and he done left me with about 15 cents, and the mortgage on dis house was about $130. I had a wagon worth about $40 and old Dr. Newberry took dat for his bill. Den I would do two or three washings before I come home and would come by de undertaker's and leave him some money on de funeral. My daughter is a grass widow and she lives here. Her ex-husband shines shoes down town, but he don't help us none. My daughter has got three children.

"I don't go to church lately. It's embarrassing to go in this hot weather. I know where I want dem to bury me. All the old folks buried out at de old colored cemetery.

"I goes down here to de store and if I can't get de money dey waits till I can, I can get it on a credit. Dey think Aunt Rhody is one of the leadin' persons of de town. Of course I don't run all over town but go to one store. Dey have got used to me and dey know it sometimes takes an hour for me to make up my mind what I want to buy. When I go to de store they kid me and say: 'Why, Aunt Rhody, ain't you dead yet? You is goin' to outlive us all.'

"Slavery learnt me how to work and I wasn't feared of no kind of work. Most of de people around here don't know nothin' 'bout work. A little slavery would do dis young age some good and dey is goin' to get it. Dis young generation is slaughtering our people up, down in de south. Our people don't know what freedom is down there. Better not go down there and talk about freedom. My brother went down there in the south and got back so far from de river dat he never got out. I guess de exposure and the beatin' killed him. Lots of places dey votes down there, but de votes is thrown in de waste basket and dey don't count. These people can't beat up us people and jump up on a bed and close their eyes and die and expect to go to heaven.

"I ain't never heard de Bible read till I was free in Fredericktown. When we was slaves we did not have much time to get out and sin much. Dis generation is goin' to destruction. It's all on account of not minding their parents. Dey is just hard-headed. It's caused by de way de old folks acted and is bein' put on dis present generation. I tell 'em, you don't think dat you can walk these streets and fall dead and never said nothin' to God to move this gulf of sin and den expect to go to Heaven. I'm tryin' to serve God and fightin' all de time against de devil to keep him from knockin' me over. I'm not a person to go on with a lot of nonsense. I talk to de young people all de time around de stores and tell 'em dey is got to get up from there to make it across de river. Dey all talk about me preachin' a sermon around de stores. But de devil's already got de 'bill of sale' on dem. I'm talkin' to de Lord all de time cause my stay is going to be mighty short now."

*"Aunt Rhody" Holsell,*
*Fredericktown, Missouri.*
*Interviewed by J. Tom Miles.*

"I've lived in Fredericktown ever since de war and only two or three times I've been out of hollering distance of town. I was seventeen years old when de war was over. My boss was Thos. McGee in Wayne County. My mother and father were slaves. My great-grandmother was a Indian squaw. My mother was dead four years 'fore de war and my father was dead three years.

"I sure can 'member 'bout de war. De funniest thing was some soldiers camped at our house. Man, I would pull weeds in de cotton patch, and when I got a little older I was a-carding and spinning and dat wheel was a-singing. I spun all de chain all through de Civil War and I spun all de warp. De boss treated us very good. De boss would know every row of corn we would hoe; sometimes we would break de corn off and den we got a whipping with a weed.

"De boss lost all three of his boys with their shoes on in de war, but dey did not join de army. De boss was also killed. De boss had a race horse and de soldiers found dis out an de boss tried to get de hoss out of de state to New Orleans until after de war. My brother got de race hoss down there all right. My brother got on Knight and rode clear to Cape and his closes were torn off. He get to Cape just as de boat was pulling out. Dey killed de boss when he got on another hoss an he was shot 'cause de soldiers thought he was on de race hoss. Dey killed de boss in August on Monday. De boss was going that day to Greenville to make his will.

"After de war I worked my way to Fredericktown. I started out bareheaded an barefooted. I worked from one farm to another. I worked at one farm for two years and at another for one year. These people paid me a little. It took 'bout five years 'fore I got to Fredericktown. I did anything. I cradled five acres of oats and my husband bound it. I didn't fear no kind of boss. I have ten great grand-children, and one great-great-grandchild.

"I took Sam Hildebrand's dinner to him many times and when Sam was killed in Southern Illinois dey tried to get me to go up to Farmington to identify him. But I would not do it. I told dem dat he had a mark behind his shoulder dat dey could see. I 'member once when Sam Hildebrand was shot and came to our place to have his sore washed out. I held de wash pan for old Tom McGee to wash his wound.

"De old folks had all kinds of tea to heal people. De old mistress took de 'ridicue' [TR: reticule] with her and would be gone for a week going from one sick person to another. My boss caused my mother's death. She was on a wagon of oats and was being pulled by a yoke of oxen. De wagon turned and she fell off on a sapling and it went through her skin and dey had to saw de sapling off and she had to lay with dat snag in her side till de doctor twenty miles away come. It was in August and she died with poison. Her coffin was made right out on de work bench. Dey didn't have anything in de coffin but a winding sheet scolloped nicely and a shroud for de body. It was a miracle to me when I came up here to see how dey dressed up de dead people. When I die just wrap me in a clean sheet. That was what my fore-parents had. It's better to think whar dat soul is. Two wheel carts was mostly used at funerals in those days with oxen. The driver would be walking along beside driving.

"De Boss said one man was treated mean and they could not do anything with him. The old fellow would play his gourd and de snakes would come 'round. Finally dey sent him down to New Orleans and sold him on de block.

"If you move on Saturday you won't stay long. If de boss decides about you on Tuesday or Friday these are hanging days. I can't read or write but I have a little mother sense. We have three spirits, evil spirit in de grave, another spirit which is wandering, and a spirit in heaven.

"I think slavery is good for dem dat understands it. We are all slaves now. We have a rough and tumble business. Slavery was cruel but it's about as bad now. Them days they didn't hang anybody for doing bad things. I may be wrong. I been voting ever since de mess got up. My husband said he wanted to be in heaven when de women would be messin' 'round among de men and voting. I wish we had a whole lot of Abraham Lincolns now. He did a great deed when he took de yoke off us colored people. We will get a little rest anyway."

Henry Johnson

*Interview with Henry Johnson,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*
*(Written by Grace E. White.)*

The subject of this sketch is Henry Johnson, over ninety years of age, living at 1526 Hanley Road, Lincoln Terrace, St. Louis, Missouri. Henry is of dark complexion and has a wealth of long white hair and feminine features.

His eyesight is good. He is in excellent health for his age. The old man admits that his main weakness is chewing tobacco. He was seated in the living room of his 4-room, old fashioned frame cottage which is poorly furnished, but clean, where he lives with his wife, at least twenty-five years younger than himself. His story follows:

"My name is Henry Johnson. I was born in Patrick County, Virginia and was raised all over de state. I was only sold twice. My father's name was Bill Alexander and my mother's name was Fannie, but I didn't know nothin' 'bout my parents till I was past eighteen years old or about that. I never knowed my real age. My owner's name was Billy Johnson in Patrick County so I always carried his name. When I was a little bit 'a fellow, I used to pack water to twenty-five and thirty men in one field, den go back to de house and bring enough water for breakfast de next morning. When I got a little bigger, I had to take a little hoe and dig weeds out of de crop. If our white boss see a little grass we overlooked he would handcuff our feet to a whipping post, den chain the slave around de stomach to de post and strap de chin over de top of de post and place your hands in front of you.

"In de start de slave has been stripped naked, and lashed, often to death. Dey would be left strapped after from twenty-five to fifty lashes every two or three hours to stand dere all night. De next day, de overseer would be back with a heavy paddle full of holes that had been dipped in boiling water and beat until de whole body was full of blisters. Den he'd take a cat-o'-nine-tails dipped in hot salt water to draw out de bruised blood and would open everyone of dem blisters with dat. If de slave did not die from dat torture, he would be unfastened from de whipping post, and made go to de field just as he was. Often times he would die shortly after. Dey did the women de same."

Here he showed the writer scars on his head and shoulders which he said were from those beatings.

"I never knowed what a shirt was until I was past twenty. When my young master went three miles to school, he rode on a horse, I had to walk along side de horse to carry his books, den go home and fetch him a hot dinner for noon and go back after him at night to carry dem books.

"My boss had eleven children. He had one hundred and twenty-five slaves on one of de plantations, two hundred on another. On all his plantations he owned better'n 1500 slaves. He was one of de richest land owners in de state of Virginia. He often told me I was born just one hour before his youngest son. I stayed with dat family until way after de war was fought.

"Dey would take a great string of slaves in de road on Sunday and make us walk to church. Buggies with de white folks in would be in front of us, in de midst of us, and all betwixt and behind us. When we got dat four or five miles we had to sit on a log in de broiling sun, while a white man preached to us. All dey evah would say would be niggers obey your masters and mistress and don't steal from 'em. And lo and behold, honey, de masters would make us slaves steal from each of the slave owners. Our master would make us surround a herd of his neighbor's cattle, round dem up at night, and make us slaves stay up all night long and kill and skin every one of dem critters, salt the skins down in layers in de master's cellar, and put de cattle piled ceilin' high in de smoke house so nobody could identify skinned cattle.

"Den when de sheriff would come around lookin' for all dem stolen critters, our boss would say, 'Sheriff, just go right on down to dem niggahs' cabins and search dem good, I know my niggers don't steal.' Course de sheriff come to our cabins and search, sure we didn't have nothin' didn't belong to us, but de boss had plenty. After de sheriff's search, we had to salt and smoke all dat stolen meat and hang it in old marse smoke house for him. Den dey tell us, don't steal. Dey raised turkeys in de 500 lots and never did give us one. So we wanted one so bad once, I put corn underneath de cabin and a turkey, a great big one, would come under our cabin to eat dat corn. One day when I got a chance I caught dat old gobbler by de neck and him and me went round and round under dat old cabin house. He was de biggest strongest bird I ever see, I was only a boy but finally I beat. I twisted his neck till he died. Den I took out up to de big house, fast as anything, to tell my old miss one of our finest turkeys dead. She said stop cryin' Henry and throw him under de hill. I was satisfied. I run back, picked dat ole bird, taken all his feathers to de river and throwed dem in. Dat night we cooked him, and didn't we eat somethin' good. I had to tell her 'bout dat missin' bird 'cause when dey check up it all had to tally so dat fixed dat.

"My old master told me when de war was being fought and the Yankees was on de way coming through Franklin County, Virginia, 'My little niggah, do you know how old you is?' I said: 'No sah, boss.' He said: 'You are seventeen years old.' I never even saw my mother and father until I was in my twenties. A white man taken me to Danville, Virginia to drive his carriage for him. After I was dere a spell a colored man kept watching me so much I got plum scared. Dis was after de war was over. Den one day, lo and behold, he jumped at me and he grabbed me and asked me where was I staying. I did not know whether to tell him or not, I was so scared. Den he said I am your father and I am goin' to take you to your mother and sisters and brothers down in Greenville, Virginia. When he got me dere, I found two sisters and four brothers. Dey was all so glad to see me dey shouted and cried and carried on so I was so scared I tried to run away, 'cause I didn't know nothin' 'bout none of them. And I thought dat white man what brought me down here ought to have saved me from all dis. I just thought a white man was my God, I didn't know no better.

"Well, when my folks finally stopped rejoicing, my mother only had two chickens. She killed and cooked dem for me. My father and brothers would go to work every day and leave me at home with my mother for over a year. They would not trust me to work, feared I would run off 'cause I didn't no nothin' 'bout them. Hadn't even heard of a mother and father. My brother and father would work all day and only get one peck of corn or one pound of meat or one quart of molasses for a whole day's work from sun up till sun down. We had to grind dat corn for our flour, and got biscuits once a year at Christmas and den only one biscuit apiece.