Chapter VII: Front Matter (7)

"After a little better'n a year after I come, the white man told my father to bring his family and move from Greenhill, Virginia to Patrick County, Virginia to his big farm, and farm dere for him and he would give him one half of all he raised for his share. We went, and did we raise a big crop. He kep' his word all right and we stayed dere till de white man died five years later. Den we went to another farm. We had cleared enough in the five years to buy us a fine pair of oxen and had money besides. So we went to another farm and went to work giving the owner of the farm one third of the crop and kep' two thirds ourselves. We stayed there two years. Then father sold de oxen and went to Sweetville, Virginia and bought $200 worth of land and stayed about five years. We made our crop with a hoe and made good. Den I left home and run about all over, learned how to play a violin and made my livin' with it for a long time.

"I quit dat and railroaded about eight years working on sections and new grading. Den went to Decatur, Alabama and worked with a land company putting down pipings about three months. I quit dat and married Anna Johnson and come to Giles County, Tennessee. We had one son.

"I came to St. Louis from Tennessee more dan forty years ago. I got work right away at Cycle & Harris Steel Plant on 18th Street and worked dere about six months, when I got scalded almost to death on the job. I got a new nose and a new ear from dat accident. All de flesh of my right arm was off to de bone. I was in de hospital eight months from it and I got $500 out of de damage suit. I bought me a horse and wagon out of it and done light hauling, and moved out here in Lincoln Terrace and been out here ever since.

"I landscaped out here for sixteen years until I was disabled to work hard any more. I got a garden but I can't make any money from it, 'cause all de other folks out here got gardens too. I am a deacon in Mt. Zion Baptist Church right here at de corner. Rev. Thomas is my pastor.

"I only went to school three days in my whole life but a colored friend taught me how to spell out of a blue back spelling book. His name was Charlie Snowball. I was learning fine until I got burned. Den my eye sight was poor for a long time, but I see now very good. I only need glasses for to read what little I can read. I can't write at all. My grandfather was 135 years old when he died, and my father lived to be 135.

"De white people in Missouri sure have been mighty good to me since I been here. I have as nice clothes as any man in St. Louis, good clothes what I mean. All been given' to me by white people able to give somethin'. I have not had to buy a hat, shoes or suit of clothes for over twenty-five years, and got far more good clothes dan I can ever wear out till my dying day. I think these 20th century white folks dat have principle are trying to make amends to Negroes to make up for the meanness their foreparents done to us, so I try to forgive 'em all in my heart for the sake of a few good ones now. I've buried two wifes from dis very house. I am now living with my third wife and she is a mighty fine woman. We have been together about sixteen years."

Hannah Jones

*Interview with Hannah Jones,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*
*(Written by Grace E. White,*
*St. Louis, Mo.)*

_Bred Slaves Like Stock_

Hannah Jones was born in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, August 3, about 1850, the daughter of Lottie Oil and Noah Thompson. Her story follows:

"The niggers had three or four wifes before de war, as many as dey could bear chillun by. But after de war dey had to take one woman and marry her. My mother had three chillun by him and de odder wifes had three and four chillun too. Old man, Ben Oil raised my mother. He was an old bachelor but his brothers were all married.

"Ben Oil had 100 niggers. He just raised niggers on his plantation. His brother-in-law, John Cross raised niggers, too. He had 125 niggers. He had a nigger farm. His other brother-in-law we call old man English, had 100 niggers. Dey all jes' had nothin' else but niggers. Before de war broke out, Tom Oil and John Oil come up dah and taken all us niggers but eight and eight acres of land he left for Ben Oil's housekeeper. Old Marse Ben died and after dat Tom carried us all back down der to New Orleans wid him and opened up a nigger pen. Dat's a place like a stock yard where dey auction us off. De old ones was de ones dey was anxious to get shet of. We only know our ages by known' we is born in corn plantin' and cotton pickin' time. We never even knowed de days of de week.

"I had three aunts to die in all dat huddle of niggers. De doctors make us go walking every day 'cause dat was de only exercise we git. One of dem aunts dropped dead on de street while walking. De other two died in de slave pen. My grandmother was a fine seamstress. She sewed all de sewing for de white folks. Three days after her first baby was born dey made her git up and make twelve stiff-front, tucked white shirts for her old mistress' boy who be goin' off to college and she was so sick and weak, some of de stitches was crooked. Old Miss ordered de overseer to take her out and beat her 'bout it. Before he did de doctor looked at her and said 'tain't no use beatin' her she won't do you no more good. She's stone blind, but she can have chillun right on. So dey kept her for dat and she bore twelve more head of chillun after dat.

"My mother was black as a crow and her hair was so long she could sit on it. Dey brought a huddle of niggers over amongst de Indians from all over de south and Maryland and intermarried 'em wid dere own sisters, brothers, cousins, nieces and de like. De niggers didn't know for years dey was any kin. When dey want to raise certain kind a breed of chillun or certain color, dey just mixed us up to suit dat taste, and tell de nigger dis is your wife or dis is your husband and dey take each other and not know no better and raise big families to de white folks liking.

"I never can forget one Sunday morning de rebels come into Cape Girardeau. De old Miss what raised me had just killed two hogs and put 'em in de smoke house. I got up bright and early dat Sunday morning. I looked out toward de smoke house and seed two white men out dere dressed in blue clothes and dey just went in Old Miss' smoke house and help dem selves. I run right fast and told old Miss what was going on out der in her smoke house. But dere wasn't no men folks around so we couldn't help ourselves. Dey told us dey was 300 strong and just den some others come over de hill and told 'em come on, hurry up so dey climbed de hill in a hurry leaving dere. They had three gun boats and dey turned one of dem things loose up der as dey was goin' and Lawd child dat thing destroyed property for miles around.

"Some of dem rebels had ball bats, some had sticks, some riding and some walking. Dey killed three of us niggers in our camp dat morning. All de nigger men been taken away just leaving us nigger women and chillun. Dey burned down frame and log huts just de same. My mother lived to be 115 years old, two uncles lived to be 100, one sister over 60. I use glasses when I read but am blind in one eye. My husband has been dead 37 years. He was an old soldier so Uncle Sam gives me a pension.

"I had 15 head of chillun. I have now seven grandchillun and four great grandchillun. I has been in St. Louis 17 years and lives with my daughter Nancy McDonald, 2804 Dayton Street."

Emma Knight

*Interview with Emma Knight,*
*Hannibal, Missouri.*

_Emma Was Really Rough_

Emma Knight, living at 924 North Street, Hannibal, Missouri, was born in slavery on the farm of Will and Emily Ely, near Florida, Monroe County. The following is her story as she told it:

"We lived on a Creek near Florida. We belonged to Will Ely. He had only five slaves, my father and mother and three of us girls. I was only eight or nine years old. De Elys had eight children. Dere was Paula, Ann, Sarah, Becky, Emily, Lizzie, Will, Ike, and Frank. Lizzie was de oldest girl and I was to belong to her when she was married.

"De master of de house was better to us dan de mistress. We didn't have to work none too hard, 'cause we was so young, I guess. We cut weeds along de fences, pulled weeds in de garden and helped de mistress with de hoeing. We had to feed de stock, sheep, hogs, and calves, because de young masters wouldn't do de work. In de evenings we was made to knit a finger width and if we missed a stitch would have to pull all the yarn out and do it over. De master's girls learned us to read and write. We didn't have hardly no clothes and most of de time dey was just rags. We went barefoot until it got real cold. Our feet would crack open from de cold and bleed. We would sit down and bawl and cry because it hurt so. Mother made moccasins for our feet from old pants. Late in de fall master would go to Hannibal or Palmyra and bring us shoes and clothes. We got dem things only once a year. I had to wear de young master's overalls for underwear and linseys for a dress.

"My father was took away. My mother said he was put on a block and sold 'cause de master wanted money to buy something for de house. My mother told me she come from Virginia or down south some place. Dey brought her in a box car with lots of other colored people. Dere was several cars full, with men in one car, women in another, and de younger ones in another, and de babies in another with some of the women to care for dem. Dey brought dem to Palmyra and sold dem. Master Ely bought my mother. I don't know where my father come from.

"Mistress always told us dat if we run away somebody would catch us and kill us. We was always scared when somebody strange come. De first we knew dere was a war was when some soldiers come through. We was sure scared den. Once a man come and we thought he was a patroller but he asked for something to eat. Mother took him to de mistress. She gave him something to eat wrapped in a paper and told him to get off de place.

"Some Union soldiers come and told us that we was free like dey was and told us not to be afraid, dey wouldn't hurt us. Dey told us de war was over. De master told mother not to go away, dat if she stayed a while he would give her a couple hundred dollars. We stayed a while but she never got no money.

"We come to Hannibal in an ox wagon. We put up at de barracks and den mother went to live with Hiram Titchner. He lived right where de postoffice is now. I hired out to Mrs. James across de street for my clothes and schooling. Mrs. James had two girls. One of dem learned me not to be such a tomboy and not to be so rough. I tell you I was a bad girl when I was young. I could climb every tree on de master's farm and my clothes was always in rags from being so rough. My mother used to whip me most every day with a broom stick and even hit me with chairs. I guess I was bad. If I had a dollar for every broom handle that was laid across my back I would have lots of money. I tell you we was raised plenty tuff dem days.

"De young folks can't stand such raising dese days. Dey just couldn't go through what we was through. The young folks now just couldn't do it at all. We never was 'lowed on the street after nine o'clock. We sure run for home when the church bell done rung on de hill at nine o'clock. Now-a-days de young folks stays out half de night and dey steal and even kill each other over triflin' things. I know it 'cause I see them do dese things. I 'spose dere parents are a lot to blame.

"I was married when I was young, less dan twenty I reckon. I had one girl but she is dead now. Her boy lives with me. I gets a pension, seven dollars a month, for about a year now. This little old shack belongs to me. I go to de Baptist Church over on Center Street when ever I can. We used to go to church on de corner 'cross from de postoffice. Dere is a big store dere now."

Harriet Lee

*Interview with Harriet Lee,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"Mah mammy tole me ah wuz jes fo' year ole wen de war end, so ah don' 'member much 'bout fo' de war. Ole Massa wuz Buckner Caldwell an' ole Missus, we a'ways call Miss Coon, dat de only name ah knows huh by, jes Miss Coon. He war a fine ole man but she war a hard one. Ah wuz name aftuh young Missie Harriet.

"De white folks had a fine house, a very large house standin' high up on a bluff 'bout a mile an three quawterhs fum Cumbuhlain' Rivuh. Dat wuz in Smith County, Tennessee.

"Ah don rightly 'member 'bout how many slaves dey had, but dere war sev'ral cabins whut us cullud folks live in.

"Mah mammy and daddy wuz Sarah an Bob Tadwell. Mammy wuz raised in Vuhginyuh an' when she wuz sixteen yeah ole she wuz put on de block an' sold in Nashville.

"Mah mammy wuz a seamstress. She nevuh work in de fiel', an' she don' know nuthin' 'bout cookin', but she do fine sewin'. When dey put her on de block dey has some o' huh work dar tuh show what fine sewin' she kin do. Yuh know all de sewin war done by han' an mah mammy'd sew sometime till huh finguhs nearly drap off. She sew de fines' tucks an' she make all dem fine tuck bosom shurts fo' de men.

"One time a man come an' wunna buy mammy an me. Miss Coon wuz gonna sell us unbeknownst to ole Massa. Ole Massa wouldn' sell none o' his people, but Miss Coon ahways try to put things ovuh on him an' he couldn' do nuthin 'bout it but go git drunk. Ole Miss Coon put de price on us a way up high--'cause mammy sech a fine seamstress an' ah wuz ahways a buxum chile, nevuh sick er nuthin. But he say dat too much an' he go on home. Aftuh while wen dey so much talk 'bout freein' de niggers Miss Coon sont him word dat she come way down on de price but he sont back word dat he got ez much sense as she got.

"We lef' thar when we wus free. My mammy ahways got work a sewin'. Ah stayed wuth one white woman fifteen year.

"Yessum de Ku Kluxes cum aroun' right smaht. De woman ah stayed wuth wouldn' 'low no foolishness roun' her place an' dey nevuh bothuh huh none, but dey beat up some o' de neighbors. One ole man dey beat till he die."

Mattie Lee [HW: Head]

*Interview with Mrs. Mattie Lee,*
*aged 78, Fredericktown, Missouri.*
*Interviewed by J. Tom Miles.*

"My mother was a slave in Franklin Parish, Louisiana, 'bout 200 miles from New-Orleans. I was born in 1862. My mother's name was Caroline Head by marriage. She was born in slavery. Her home was in Mississippi first and she emigrated to Louisiana 'cause de land was worn out. I had seven brothers and sisters and all are gone but me. My mother was separated from my father two times. My mother was married three times due to being moved around. My brother's father was sent into a free state under some consideration. Bush Baker was my mother's boss. De boss had two plantations. De morning I was going to be born de overseer began to fight my mother and a colored man took a hoe and said if the man hit her again he would knock his brains out. The overseer had been at this place for four years and had not been paid. Mother was confined in de field and dey got her to de house. If Baker had been thar he would have killed de overseer. Three men came up to kill de overseer with guns for beatin' my mother and de overseer had to leave. My mother never did get over her troubles dat morning. Mrs. Baker said it would be better for mother to work in de field 'cause mother could then take better care of her children.

"Mrs. Baker was kind and tended de children when dey was sick. Mrs. Baker took us to Texas during de war 'cause she was afraid the Union soldiers would take her slaves away from her. After peace was declared de soldiers came and told de white people dat de slaves was free. But we never did leave Mrs. Baker's place. After de war was over Mrs. Baker took us back to Louisiana. We traveled with a team of oxen and three teams of mules with wagons. Some of Mrs. Baker's slaves staid in Texas and never did come back from Texas. Dis was in 1865.

"I can 'member de home place. De county road went close to de front gate. Mrs. Eliza Baker had a beautiful yard and after de war she would have us come and stay in de yard to be protected from de jay-hawkers. De high water would come past de fence and we would play in de water. One time a jay-hawker come and git one of de children in a skiff and den we yelled and de mastah come out with his pistol and hit de jay-hawker over de head. So de jay-hawker turned de child over again. So we did not play down in de water no more.

"De mistress had a long table out in de front yard under de smokehouse shed and here all us children had our food. It was good food. Mrs. Baker had a fig nursery in de front yard and we would go and pick washtubs of figs. Some were dried and others were put up. Mrs. Baker had a plantation of 1,800 acres. On week ends we would dance and they would always be getting married. We had a colored man on de place who could read and he did de marrying. De only school I ever went to was to a night school here fer a short time. Dey would tell me a story 'bout 'de bear an de Grand-ma' an 'bout 'little Riden' Hood'. Dey use to tell us some awful yarns. Dey would kill over 100 head of hogs every year and cure it, and I can't get used to buyed meat today. Mrs. Baker would take anyone in de wagon to church dat wanted to go. My aunt went to church but would not be baptized.

"I 'member when de Ku Klux Klan started out when dey would dress up in white and dey had a noise like 'O-O' 'O-O'. But we were not 'fraid of dem 'cause we knew dey would be killed if dey come on de place. I think a lot of Abe Lincoln. I have often thought how hard it was to give up his life, fer de United States. But Christ died for to save de world and Lincoln died to save de United States. And Lincoln died more Christ like den any other man dat ever lived.

"Dere was an old colored man on de place and he would drive Jeff Davis 'round and would keep Davis in his house and feed him. This was when Jeff Davis was a boy, and a orphan. Jeff Davis gave dis colored man, Montgomery, a lot of land. It's a good thing dat slavery is over. Anything wants a privilege outside and not in a coop. Slaves could not be natural when they was dis way. Everybody wants to do somethin' with demselves.

"I staid in Louisiana till 1875 and got mad and left and went to Madison Parish, Louisiana. It was not de white people dat made me leave here but it was my father. Den I went to Vicksburg for seven months, den to St. Louis on a mail boat. It cost me $8.50 to come from Vicksburg to St. Louis. I found work in St. Louis in a little while. Never did have to worry 'bout where I was going to sleep. I left Madison Parish 'cause we had a flood when de levee broke.

"I came to St. Louis in 1883 and did all kinds of house work. I got a dollar a day. Den I came to Fredericktown 'cause I wanted to own a home. You were never sure dat you could have a sure claim to land in St. Louis. It was a 'quick Claim'. We lived one mile above Fredericktown and had seven or eight acres. I married in Fredericktown and have no children. My husband has been dead since 1908. I made my way fine by washin' and ironing an made $18 a week since my husband died. I paid $985 for dis house."

Wes Lee

*Interview with Wes Lee,*
*Cape Girardeau, Missouri.*

"My mastuh's name was Peter Burns and we lived out in Cape County, close to the Houck place. My daddy's name was Charles Lee. Mammy's name was 'Lizabeth, and old mastuh bought her from de Catholic priests. Old mastuh had a big white frame house and it had lots of trees 'round it. There was a saw-mill jes' across de road.

"I was just a little feller during de war, but I can remember dat when de Rebel sojers come by our place old mastuh had de table set for 'em, and treat 'em fine--'cause he's a rebel--den when de 'Yankees' come along he give dem de bes' he had, and treat 'em fine 'cause he's a 'Yankee'. Old Jedge Ranney live on de next place and he and old mastuh was good friends--but he was such a hot southerner he couldn't stand old mastuh to act like dat. In a way I guess old mastuh was right for none of de sojers never bother nuthin' on de place.

"One time de blue-coats was coming by de jedge's place. De jedge had lots of turkeys and dey was roosting up in de trees. I don't think de sojers was bothering nuthin', but something must've skeered dem turkeys for dey commenced making a awful racket. Den de jedge, he come out, ask what dey doing to his turkeys--and he raise a big fuss. So den de sojers druv' into de barn--dey was a great big barn with a drive through de middle. Dey jes' drove in de wagons, loaded 'em with corn and hay--and dey caught some chickens and dey take all de jedge's best hosses. De jedge jes' stand there and watch 'em. He can't do nuthing 'cause de more he say de more dey takes. But dey never bother old mastuh's place none--'cause he make friends with both sides.

"One time de Rebel sojers was there. Old mastuh had de table all set with everything fine to eat. And de Rebels was jes' getting ready to eat when we hear de big guns from de forts, at de Cape, and word come dat de Yanks was coming. I can jes' see dem Rebel sojers yet--how dey rolled out of there. Most of 'em was a-wearin' coonskin caps with de tail a-hangin' down. And how dey did go! Dat was de time Mahmaduke was a-tryin' to take de Cape. I hear de Yanks overtook him about Allenville and had a skirmish there.

"No'm I don't much believe in ghosts and de like--and yet one time out there by Benton Hill--you know dey always say Benton Hill's ha'nted--well I was comin' along there one evening 'bout dark--and from across de road come two men--dey was dressed in kind of white suits and had big, floppy hats on. Dey didn't say nothing and cross de road, right in front of me--with dey heads hanging down. When I gets a little past 'em I thinks--wonder where dey's going? So I looks back and sees 'em start up dat hill and then jest plum disappear. I studies 'bout that, and next morning when I goes back, I goes to look and see where de tracks go. De clay on dat hillside were so soft if you'd put your hand down it would leave a track, but dey warn't a sign of a track whar I seed dem men walk up dar and disappear. After dat I always carry me a lantern when I goes by dar, at night, and when folks tells me 'bout spirits dey seen I don't never tell 'em I don't believe 'em."

Perry McGee

*Interview with Perry McGee,*
*Festus, Missouri.*

_Perry Is Right At 87_

"I was born near Fayette, Missouri, not far from New Florence on September 2, 1850. Dat makes me right at 87 years old. My father's name was Stephen Estol and Mother's was Agnes Swiney. My grandfather's name was Albert McGee and he was borned in Virginia. He was a carpenter. My grandmother's name was Emily and she was a slave in Glasgow, Howard County, Missouri. I was born just three miles northwest of Glasgow. My boss den is now a banker in Kansas City. His name is James Alwald Swiney. Once he was a preacher in St. Louis and I saw him preachin' dere once. He seen me going along de street one day. I never would have knowed him, only he said: 'Hey boy, where you from? Where did you hail from?' I said: 'I hails from Howard County.' He said: 'Come in.'

"I went in and stayed dere mighty near all day and ate dinner with dem. He come out on de porch and told me not to call him master but to call him Mr. Swiney. We talked all evening and he told me to be a good boy and to be truthful.

"You know Abraham Lincoln offered $300 a head before de war for all de slaves but de people would not sell any more dan you would cut your shade tree down in your yard. So dey elected Jefferson Davis President. A man by de name of Grigsby was a slave buyer. It was like you would want a hog or cow and dey would put slaves on de block and 'cry them off'. You have got to make profit on de deal. A good strong man would sell for $300 and some for $100. A house slave was worth more dan a field slave.

"Dey wouldn't sell my mother. De old mistress would not allow my mother to be sold. I had only one sister and two brothers. One brother died when I was a baby. De Rebel soldiers taken me. I was a waiter. When Price's raid come they took me off de farm. After dey left Pilot Knob dey come up through Missouri and fired on Glasgow and only 900 militia and regular soldiers could not fight 90,000 rebels. So dese 900 ran and blew up de powder magazine and it sounded just like thunder and looked like a black cloud. De rebels went on across de river and said dey was going to make de niggers smell hell. De soldier said, 'Hey, little nigger, we want you to go with us and wait on de Captain.' I was light as a feather almost and dey boosted me up on a horse behind one of de soldiers and took me to Glasgow to a eatin' place. Dey had hard tack made without any salt or any shortnin' about em. There was plenty springs up there. I had to clean off de horse, and played marbles and turned handsprings and dey had me for a monkey. I could walk on my hands. Lots of times dey would chip in and pay me a little. When I left and was free I had $18 in nickels and dimes and had only one piece as big as a quarter. I was as 'fraid of a Union soldier as of a rattle snake. Horace Swiney come to town and begged de soldiers to let me come back so he brought me back on his horse. I was in Glasgow about three days.

"One day young Swiney come out and told us we was free and for us to call him Mr. Swiney and not master. Dere was only one colored family who left the farm here of 800 acres. All de rest of us stayed right dere. He had about 70 slaves. De old man made a talk and said dey was plenty of land dere and we could all stay and work as we had been. After de freedom dey paid me 10 cents a day or $3 a month and board. Man, I done everything. I carried water on my head. See! my head is flat and I ain't got no sense. I had to carry water in 'piggins', something like a well bucket with one handle so you could catch it with one hand and set it up on your head. Dese buckets was made out of wood on de place dere by a good carpenter. De piggins would hold 2 gallons of water.

"I've had 12 children and I was married 55 years when my wife died. I only got 6 children livin' now, 4 boys and 2 girls. One of my girls, Alice, is a teacher in de college in St. Louis. She went to four colleges, at Champaign, Illinois; Lincoln University, Jefferson City; University of Chicago and at Honolulu University where she is dis summer. She has been teaching about 5 or 6 years. She teaches geography and mathematics. I went naked, barefooted, and hungry and send my daughter to school. She went to grade school right here in Festus. Alice is 42 now and she wants to marry and have four children. Bessie is my other daughter, and she has taught school for 18 years. She is a graduate of Lincoln University and taught at Cape Girardeau 4 years, at Lost Creek in Washington County 2 years, in Festus for 6 years, and in Appleton, Missouri, too. Bessie is married now and she don't have any children. I stays right here with her.

"My son, Granville McGee, lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, and works on de Northern Pacific Railroad and is a waiter between Chicago and Seattle. He's been with dem 17 years. His is a six day run and he has 6 children. Another son, W.C. McGee, lives in Lansing, Michigan. He is a Democrat. When de Democrats is in power I is a Democrat and when de Republicans is in power I'se a Republican. Dat's de way it generally goes. My son up in Lansing is editor of the Lansing Eye Opener, and has been editor for several years. He is another one who had a pretty good education and is a graduate of Lincoln University, too. He was a porter for a railroad before he was a editor. You got to have a pretty fair education to be a porter now. My oldest son, 61, lives in Rockford, Illinois. He was born in Crystal City and when he was here he was an inspector in de sand mines. He is a furnace man over at Rockford in a glass factory. He has been working for de glass company ever since he was big enough to walk. He is married and has one child. My son, Oscar, is a railroader and lives in St. Louis and is a porter on a train what runs between St. Louis and down in Mexico. He is married and has no children and never will have none. His wife had a accident.

"After I was free I come to St. Louis and done a little of everything and worked for my step-father and worked harder for him dan for my master. I sawed wood and drove a cart. We had a coal and wood yard. I did not get paid but could eat. I worked for him until one day I met my father's sister on de street and she asked me some questions on Morgan Street in St. Louis.

"Den I went with Uncle Jim McGee to live and he took me down to Greenville, Mississippi and picked cotton and worked as a porter at de hotel dere. I got $12 a month and board. I didn't stay down dere very long and come back to St. Louis and worked at Billing's Bank dat was a saloon and was paid $18 a month and made extra about $25 on tips. I worked for him for about two years plumb 'till I come down in Jefferson County. I worked 30 years over in the plate glass factory in Crystal City and had to quit dere on account of my eyes. I was firing in de furnace. I sometimes made $4 a day and board at de factory. Den I worked for 27 years for de Festus Mercantile Company and done a little bit of everything. I gets $11 a month now as an old age pension.

"I was 21 or 2 when I first voted. My first vote was for U.S. Grant for President at Hematite, Missouri. My last vote was for F.D. Roosevelt. Lots of dem wanted to pay me to vote a certain way but I never paid any attention to dem. I'm a Democrat now. I don't think a man ought to be allowed to vote unless dey know what dey doin'.

"I'se went to school only three days in my life. De missus learned me my A, B, C's and all de rest I learned myself. I paid $1.50 a month to go to night school in St. Louis for three months and learned to read and spell, but I just can't write. If I had de chance dat de young folks have now I would go as high as you could go. I can talk some German 'cause I worked for a Dutchman once. De young generation of colored people ain't goin' to amount to nothin'. Dey don't want to work, but one out of a thousand might do something. Dey all think dey know too much and don't want to learn no more. My other boys will never know what my son knows. De young ones don't appreciate their advantages. Booker T. Washington had a hard time. We will never have no more like him. Some of de slave holders treated de slaves better than dey is today. De young generation is about at their best now. Dey think too much about their pleasure. Dey don't have enough work to do. I used to work 16 hours a day. Now dey is got it down to 6 hours a day. I think it was good for some of de colored people to be slaves.

"I think it would be better if some of the ones now were slaves and it would teach dem to work. My young mistress treated me good and I went with her right behind a horse called Andrew. She thought a heap of me and I thought a heap of her.

"Dere ain't but two classes of people, good and bad, and dey been tryin' to separate de black people from de white people but de line has already been cut. Colored women is havin' white children. I think dat is wrong. Dey ought not to mix dem up, but I ain't goin' to try to separate 'em. Dat is de reason I voted for de Lincoln Bill. If people do wrong let 'em be punished accordin' to law no matter what color.

"Slavery hurt de men who owned de slaves. De Negro was only de shade tree. De master would set back in de shade and tell de Negro what to do. I hear so many say, 'I'm free!' But there is only one person who is free and he or she is de one dat God has set free. God set forth in de heart of Abraham Lincoln dat every man should earn his bread by de sweat of his brow. Man is his own free agent. De masters measured out bad measure and dey got worser in de end dan de slaves.

"What is ruinin' dis country is de love for money. God is goin' to rule dis world."

John McGuire

*Interview with John McGuire,*
*Herculaneum, Missouri.*

_Bondage Was Great Burden_

"I was born in Valle Mines in the northern part of St. Francois County. My mother's name was Sophie McGuire. She was a slave of Henry Bisch and my father was named Philip McGuire and was owned by John McGuire. I lives here in Herculaneum and am 74 years old. My father worked in de mines and my mother worked in and around de house and cooked. She was more of a house girl. I had three brothers and seven sisters. All my sisters is dead 'cept two. One of dem lives in De Soto and de other in St. Louis. One of my brothers lives at Crystal City and one has worked for over 20 years for de St. Joe Company here at Herculaneum.

"I'se heard my mother and father talk about what a hard time dey had when dey was set free and went to housekeeping. First dey moved in a house dat was already built and den dey built a log cabin. My father dug de zinc and lead ore to make a living at Valle Mines. He would get so much a ton and would sometimes make $2 a day and den sometimes he would not make anything. I lived at Valle Mines till I come of age and den moved to St. Louis where I worked for 30 years. I worked in a boiler room, in de steel works, and drove a team. I hauled sand, cinders, lumber, dirt, etc. I got about $1.50 a day when I worked in St. Louis. I was married for about 35 years and my wife is dead and didn't have any children. When I left St. Louis I worked in de mines at Fletcher and den came over here and have been 'scalawaggin' around since I been here.

"I 'membered how my mother used to tell about an old colored man who ground her scissors and he ground dem on both sides and dey would not cut anything. Dat sure made her mad. I used to have to turn de old grindstone for my father to get his ax sharp. He like to wore me out. I feel like I growed up with more freedom now since we has no slavery. I believe if de colored people had never been brought to dis country dey would be further developed dan dey is this way. Our people has been under bondage in dis country for over 200 years. Being in de bondage has been a great hardship on our race. Dis condition might have some effect today with some people. Dey might say, 'Well, dis fellow will amount to nothin' 'cause his parents was slaves.'

"I can read and write and went to school in Valle Mines at night and paid for it. It cost $1 a month and I went a part of two terms. I learned to read and write from my father. My father's master would not allow him to have any books, but de master's son would steal a book and when dey was in de mines working I had some free time. My father and de master's son would go off in one side of de mine and dere learn to read and write.

"In some ways I think de young generation is much better off dan I am or was. But, on de other hand, it seems to me like dey is more rude but as de younger ones grows up maybe dey will be better. De younger generation has a greater opportunity, but dey is behind in doing things against the law. You all knows such like as stealing, killin', robbing and swindling is going on now more dan when I was a boy. We have some mighty rude colored children. Dere is several reasons for dis rudeness. It's caused by letting children go as dey wants to go. De parents gets so dey feels dat their child is too good to correct. Another reason is a whole lot de breeding of de children. I think dat since slavery de Negro would have been better off if he had been put on a reservation to hisself. It would have come more natural to civilize de Negro dat way dan de way it is now. Dere is a lot of white men get Negro women and a lot of white women get Negro men. Dat would never have happened if de races had been separated. I'se been down in Southeast Missouri and de colored race is treated pretty bad down dere."

Eliza Madison

*Interview with Eliza Madison,*
*aged 75, Fredericktown, Missouri.*
*Interviewed by J. Tom Miles.*

"I was born in Stoddard County, Missouri. My mother belonged to John Sitzes and my father belonged to Lark Abernathy. I can jes remember how afraid us chillun was of de soldiers. De boss had a big plantation and raised everything dey ate and wore. We had a cabin dat joined on to the house. My mother was jus' like a man and worked in de fiel' and made rails. My aunt wove. I picked up chips. My mother was the type dat they had to treat good. De master had eight children. There was a white school of three months. I did not go to school.

"After de war was over we all worked for twenty-five cents a day but didn't get paid in money but in food. Mother was sold twice, and my father was sold away from my mother. I don't 'member anything 'bout my father. I was 'bout four years old when de war ended. 'Bout all we did on Sunday was to dig ginseng and fish. One of de slaves would go out to a dance and get in in de mornin' and he would get a whippin'.

"After de war some Ku Klux come through our place and de white folks said they could tell who dey were by de walk. After de war was over de soldiers were going to take some of de colored women south, so we hid under de stairway. De soldiers fought to get de slaves to go and my mother had a scar on her shoulder dat dey made. De soldiers took some of de slaves south and sold them somewhar' and we never heard from them again.

"Black root was a purgative medicine as well as goose grease. For whooping-cough dey would use honey and alum.

"At Christmas we'd get candy or a new dress. On one Christmas old Christine or Santa Clause would wrap up in a blanket and this is how we got our presents. Down thar de hickory nuts grew big and it was a funny thing when we found out dat old Christine was giving us our own hickory nuts.

"I can't 'member 'bout any hoodoo business but once a Negro man borrowed a pair of boots from another man and when he returned them thar was a snake's tooth sticking up through de sole of one of de boots."

Drucilla and Richard Martin

*An Interview with Drucilla Martin,*
*age 102, and Richard Martin,*
*age 92, Poplar Bluff, Missouri.*

"I'se half Indian and I look it too, and if I wo' gold rings in my ears and nose I would look just like my mammy did 'cause she was full blooded Indian. I don' know what kind, but she was big and tall and had black hair, she could sit on it and it was as coa'se as a mule's tail. She carried a tom-hawk and eve'y one stepped to one side when they met her on the turn-pike. She wus from Giles County, Tennessee. Giles County, Hear Me! And her name was 'Eirar-Lu Ellen'. My father's name was Spencer Johnson, don't guess I seed much ob him 'cause mammy and him wasn't married.

"We stayed on, for Mars Pinter, (Mr. Pointer), from the time I 'member 'till the war closed, and we wus free; and you had better never let Mars hear you call us slaves. He'd not stand for it; hear me! We didn't farm, 'xactly; Mars Pinter owned the iron works and most of his people worked in there. Best I 'member we did raise our eats and that wus all 'cause the nearest trading post wus Nashville, Tennessee, and that wus a long way, them days.

"I had nine brothers and sisters, and they wus: Monroe Henderson; he wus the House servant, Jefferson, Ida, Felia, Laura, Izora, and I don' 'member the other two; guess they died when they wus babies, but all we was named the same names as Mars Pinter kids; and we played with them, hear me! we played with them.

"Then when I wus big 'nuf I wus put to cardin' wool and cotton, we wusn't paid no money for our work we didn' need none; we had ever'thin' we needed, and plenty of good stuff to eat, and good warm cloths to ware.

"Them 'nigger' boys wus so proud to 'long to Mars Pinter that they would break up white rocks and scatter them on the turn-pike, and make nice, white shiny walks for Misses. When the carriage was ordered out for a drive, first mammy walk out with a white cloth, rub it over the carriage--huh; better not find a speck of dirt on the carriage.

"Mammy allus taught all her white and dark children, when interin' the presence of elders, to make your' 'obedience', (bow), and then, sit quiet.

"Men, them days wore long hair too, but sometime they cut it off, if it got too long and hot. They would turn a milk crock down over their haid and even it off some.

"We didn' know nothin' much about the war, we didn't want to leave Marse, and that wus all the difference it made us. I do 'member 'Ol' Jeff Davis, come to 'Marse' and say: 'Gib me them niggers and I will carry them down to Fort Pillow and hide them in the cave until this is over'; then 'Marse' run them off, and said: 'better not put any of my people in a cave, they worked for me and made all my money: I gwine to do right by these people.'

"Where we lived we never heard tell of a 'form school, never needed nothin' lake that; didn't know what one wus.

"One thing I does 'member well, and would like to know if anyone else was there and 'members it. I went with my 'Missie Pinter' to see them hang John Brown, he was a 'Whig'; they brought him from the Culpeper County Court House, in Virginia, and hung him to a beechwood tree, at Harper's Ferry; on the bank of the James River. Now they sing 'Hung him to a sour apple tree', but that ain't right. I saw it and I know.

"I said a while ago we wusn't paid no money, but I did know what it wus 'cause 'Marse' never put lock or key on his cellar-door, and he kept food and his money in small barrels down there and we could play wif it and never once did anyone try and take any of it.

"I learned to iron too, and there wus two women stood there ironing every day, they sho' could make them purty lace 'broidery underskirts stand alone.

"My mammy was in full charge of the house, and all the 'Marse' children, and when they pass her, she say: 'Lif yo' dress', then if'n she see little spot dirt or wrinkle, make dem take off all de clothes and change. Den she say 'Take off you shoe', smell their feet, Huh! She call 'Lisa, bring that foot tub', then she would wash and dry their feet and put on clean stockings. Mammy wus clean as a new pin.

"When I got any size to notice I wus dum-confounded to hear my mammy talk up to the white boys comin' to court 'Missie Pinter's' girls. Mammy meet them at de door and say: 'What you want?' They say: 'I come to call on Mis ----'. She say, 'What you got makes you think got right to call on my fine daughter? What you own? Can you hire her work done? Do you think my daughter is gwin' to marry any' por' white trash, and have to work hard all her life?' Then if'n he couldn' give a good account for himsef, mammy would swing her tom-hawk and yell: 'Be-gone, don' come back'. 'Nother thing a young man had better not come courtin' in his shirt sleeve, better have on his coat or mammy would 'back' in he haid.

"Then after the war wus over, and we wus free, it wusn't hard to find work. I wus allus honest and religious, 'longed to the Southern Babtist Church. I got work among the rich white people and traveled with them. Then I worked as laundress in the U.S. Marine Hospital, in St. Louis, for seven years; when George Washington was President. I worked on the 'Chas. P. Shoto' steamboat as chamber-maid, and made lots of trips to Florida. I was maid for Mrs. Busch, in St. Louis, and they wus powerful rich, they made that beer up there.

"Richard says, he wus bawn May 8, 1845, on the corner of Beale and Main Streets, Memphis, Tenn. And I wus bawn May 8, 1835, in Giles County, Tenn. We neither one had much bad treatment but we is glad slavery is over."

*Interview with Richard and Drucilla Martin,*
*Poplar Bluff, Missouri.*

Called on and talked to Richard and Drucilla Martin, old time negroes, who were slaves. They talked fluently, really enjoying talking about the 'good days' as they put it, as they say their master was good to them.

Richard is rather short and wears a beard, which is snow white. He claims to be something better than ninety years old, he says about ninety-four or five, and Drucilla is ten years older than Richard.

About four or five years ago their home which they owned was destroyed by fire, and having no insurance, they have since been living in a poor substitute for a house made of pieces of tin, wood, and old boxes, built under the branches of a tree.

Richard was in a hurry to go to town and see if their old age pension checks had come yet and invited us to come back some other time.

Drucilla said she was the slave of John Pointer. Her mother who was part Indian wore a ring in her nose and carried a tomahawk, had ten children, and mothered the ten children of her master's wife. Drucilla does not remember much about her father, as he was the slave of another family.

Although Drucilla does not have any education, she can quote verse after verse from the Bible. She told some gruesome stories of how some of the masters treated their slaves. She said there never was a book printed that really told how some, or in fact the majority of the slaves were beaten and abused. To most masters they were not any more than stock. She said some of the young girls were beaten until they would die. Some of the little colored babies that were born out in the field or on the road were left to starve or be eaten up by the hogs.