Chapter VII: Part 7

My name before I wus married wus Fannie Sessoms an' mother wus named Della Sessoms. We belonged to Dr. Isaac Sessoms an' our missus wus named Hanna. My father wus named Perry Vick, after his marster who wus named Perry Vick. My missus died durin' de war an' marster never married anymore.

I don't 'member much 'bout missus but mother tole me she wus some good woman an' she loved her. Marster wus mighty good to us an' didn't allow patterollers to whip us none. De slave houses wus warm and really dey wus good houses, an' didn't leak neither.

I don't 'member much 'bout my grandparents, just a little mother tole me 'bout 'em. Grandma 'longed to de Sessoms an' Dr. Isaac Sessoms brother wus mother's father. Mother tole me dat. Look at dat picture, mister, you see you can't tell her from a white woman. Dats my mother's picture. She wus as white as you wid long hair an' a face like a white woman. She been dead 'bout twenty years. My mother said dat we all fared good, but course we wore homemade clothes an' wooden bottomed shoes.

We went to the white folks church at Red Oak an' Rocky Mount Missionary Baptist Churches. We were allowed to have prayer meetings at de slave houses, two an' three times a week. I 'members goin' to church 'bout last year of de war wid mother. I had a apple wid me an' I got hungry an' wanted to eat it in meetin' but mother jest looked at me an' touched my arm, dat wus enough. I didn't eat de apple. I can 'member how bad I wanted to eat it. Don't 'member much 'bout dat sermon, guess I put my mind on de apple too much.

Marster had about twenty slaves an' mother said dey had always been allowed to go to church an' have prayer meetings 'fore I wus born. Marster had both white an' colored overseers but he would not allow any of his overseers to bulldoze over his slaves too much. He would call a overseer down for bein' rough at de wrong time. Charles Sessoms wus one of marster's colored overseers. He 'longed to marster, an' mother said marster always listened to what Charles said. Dey said marster had always favored him even 'fore he made him overseer. Charles Sessoms fell dead one day an' mother found him. She called Marster Sessoms an' he come an' jest cried. Mother said when Marster come he wus dead shore enough, dat marster jest boohooed an' went to de house, an' wouldn't look at him no more till dey started to take him to de grave. Everybody on de plantation went to his buryin' an' funeral an' some from de udder plantation dat joined ourn.

I 'members but little 'bout my missus, but 'members one time she run me when I wus goin' home from de great house, an' she said, 'I am goin' to catch you, now I catch you'. She pickin' at me made me love her. When she died mother tole me 'bout her bein' dead an' took me to her buryin'. Next day I wanted to go an' get her up. I tole mother I wanted her to come home an' eat. Mother cried an' took me up in her arms, an' said, 'Honey missus will never eat here again.' I wus so young I didn't understand.

Dr. Sessoms an' also Dr. Drake, who married his daughter, doctored us when we wus sick. Dr. Joe Drake married marster's only daughter Harriet an' his only son David died in Mississippi. He had a plantation dere.

I been married only once. I wus married forty years ago to Sidney Dunn. I had one chile, she's dead.

From what I knows of slavery an' what my mother tole me I can't say it wus a bad thing. Mister, I wants to tell de truth an' I can't say its bad 'cause my mother said she had a big time as a slave an' I knows I had a good time an' wus treated right.

LE

N. C. District: No. 2 [320187] Worker: Mary A. Hicks No. Words: 382 Subject: JENNYLIN DUNN Person Interviewed: Jennylin Dunn Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt

[TR: No Date Stamp]

JENNYLIN DUNN Ex-Slave Story

An interview with Jennylin Dunn 87, of 315 Bledsoe Avenue, Raleigh, N. C.

I wuz borned hyar in Wake County eighty-seben years ago. Me an' my folks an' bout six others belonged ter Mis' Betsy Lassiter who wuz right good ter us, do' she sho' did know dat chilluns needs a little brushin' now an' den.

My papa wuz named Isaac, my mammy wuz named Liza, an' my sisters wuz named Lucy, Candice an' Harriet. Dar wuz one boy what died 'fore I can 'member an' I doan know his name.

We ain't played no games ner sung no songs, but we had fruit ter eat an' a heap of watermillions ter eat in de season.

I seed seberal slabe sales on de block, front of de Raleigh Cou't house, an' yo' can't think how dese things stuck in my mind. A whole heap o' times I seed mammies sold from dere little babies, an' dar wuz no'min' den, as yo' knows.

De patterollers wuz sumpin dat I wuz skeerd of. I know jist two o' 'em, Mr. Billy Allen Dunn an' Mr. Jim Ray, an' I'se hyard of some scandelous things dat dey done. Dey do say dat dey whupped some of de niggers scandelous.

When dey hyard dat de Yankees wuz on dere way ter hyar dey says ter us dat dem Yankees eats little nigger youngins, an' we shore stays hid.

I jist seed squeamishin' parties lookin' fer sumpin' ter eat, an' I'se hyard dat dey tuck ever'thing dey comes 'crost. A whole heap of it dey flunged away, an' atterwards dey got hongry too.

One of 'em tried ter tell us dat our white folks stold us from our country an' brung us hyar, but since den I foun' out dat de Yankees stole us dereselves, an' den dey sold us ter our white folkses.

Atter de war my pappy an' mammy brung us ter Raleigh whar I'se been libin' since dat time. We got along putty good, an' de Yankees sont us some teachers, but most o' us wuz so busy scramblin' roun' makin' a livin' dat we ain't got no time fer no schools.

I reckon dat hit wuz better dat de slaves wuz freed, but I still loves my white folkses, an' dey loves me.

N. C. District: No. 2 [320125] Worker: Mary A. Hicks No. Words: 1119 Subject: AUNT LUCY'S LOVE STORY Person Interviewed: Lucy Ann Dunn Editor: G. L. Andrews

[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 1 1937"]

AUNT LUCY'S LOVE STORY

An interview with Lucy Ann Dunn, 90 years old, 220 Cannon Street, Raleigh, N. C.

My pappy, Dempsey, my mammy, Rachel an' my brothers an' sisters an' me all belonged ter Marse Peterson Dunn of Neuse, here in Wake County. Dar wus five of us chilluns, Allen, Charles, Corina, Madora an' me, all borned before de war.

My mammy wus de cook, an' fur back as I 'members almost, I wus a house girl. I fanned flies offen de table an' done a heap of little things fer Mis' Betsy, Marse Peterson's wife. My pappy worked on de farm, which wus boun' ter have been a big plantation wid two hundert an' more niggers ter work hit.

I 'members when word come dat war wus declared, how Mis' Betsy cried an' prayed an' how Marse Peter quarreled an' walked de floor cussin' de Yankees.

De war comes on jist de same an' some of de men slaves wus sent ter Roanoke ter hep buil' de fort. Yes mam, de war comes ter de great house an' ter de slave cabins jist alike.

De great house wus large an' white washed, wid green blinds an' de slave cabins wus made of slabs wid plank floors. We had plenty ter eat an' enough ter wear an' we wus happy. We had our fun an' we had our troubles, lak little whuppin's, when we warn't good, but dat warn't often.

Atter so long a time de rich folkses tried ter hire, er make de po' white trash go in dere places, but some of dem won't go. Dey am treated so bad dat some of dem cides ter be Ku Kluxes an' dey goes ter de woods ter live. When we starts ter take up de aigs er starts from de spring house wid de butter an' milk dey grabs us an' takes de food fer dereselbes.

Dis goes on fer a long time an' finally one day in de spring I sets on de porch an' I hear a roar. I wus 'sponsible fer de goslins dem days so I sez ter de missus, 'I reckin dat I better git in de goslins case I hear hit a-thunderin'.

'Dat ain't no thunder, nigger, dat am de canon', she sez.

'What canon', I axes?

'Why de canon what dey am fightin' wid', she sez.

Well dat ebenin' I is out gittin' up de goslins when I hears music, I looks up de road an' I sees flags, an' 'bout dat time de Yankees am dar a-killin' as dey goes. Dey kills de geese, de ducks, de chickens, pigs an' ever'thing. Dey goes ter de house an' dey takes all of de meat, de meal, an' ever'thing dey can git dere paws on.

When dey goes ter de kitchen whar mammy am cookin' she cuss dem out an' run dem outen her kitchen. Dey shore am a rough lot.

I aint never fergot how Mis' Betsy cried when de news of de surrender come. She aint said nothin' but Marse Peter he makes a speech sayin' dat he aint had ter sell none of us, dat he aint whupped none of us bad, dat nobody has ever run away from him yet. Den he tells us dat all who wants to can stay right on fer wages.

Well we stayed two years, even do my pappy died de year atter de surrender, den we moves ter Marse Peter's other place at Wake Forest. Atter dat we moves back ter Neuse.

Hit wus in de little Baptist church at Neuse whar I fust seed big black Jim Dunn an' I fell in love wid him den, I reckons. He said dat he loved me den too, but hit wus three Sundays 'fore he axed ter see me home.

We walked dat mile home in front of my mammy an' I wus so happy dat I aint thought hit a half a mile home. We et cornbread an' turnips fer dinner an' hit wus night 'fore he went home. Mammy wouldn't let me walk wid him ter de gate. I knowed, so I jist sot dar on de porch an' sez good night.

He come ever' Sunday fer a year an' finally he proposed. I had told mammy dat I thought dat I ort ter be allowed ter walk ter de gate wid Jim an' she said all right iffen she wus settin' dar on de porch lookin'.

Dat Sunday night I did walk wid Jim ter de gate an' stood under de honeysuckles dat wus a-smellin' so sweet. I heard de big ole bullfrogs a-croakin' by de riber an' de whipper-wills a-hollerin' in de woods. Dar wus a big yaller moon, an' I reckon Jim did love me. Anyhow he said so an' axed me ter marry him an' he squeezed my han'.

I tol' him I'd think hit ober an' I did an' de nex' Sunday I tol' him dat I'd have him.

He aint kissed me yet but de nex' Sunday he axes my mammy fer me. She sez dat she'll have ter have a talk wid me an' let him know.

Well all dat week she talks ter me, tellin' me how serious gittin' married is an' dat hit lasts a powerful long time.

I tells her dat I knows hit but dat I am ready ter try hit an' dat I intends ter make a go of hit, anyhow.

On Sunday night mammy tells Jim dat he can have me an' yo' orter seed dat black boy grin. He comes ter me widout a word an' he picks me up outen dat cheer an' dar in de moonlight he kisses me right 'fore my mammy who am a-cryin'.

De nex' Sunday we wus married in de Baptist church at Neuse. I had a new white dress, do times wus hard.

We lived tergether fifty-five years an' we always loved each other. He aint never whup ner cuss me an' do we had our fusses an' our troubles we trusted in de Lawd an' we got through. I loved him durin' life an' I love him now, do he's been daid now fer twelve years.

The old lady with her long white hair bowed her head and sobbed for a moment then she began again unsteadily.

We had eight chilluns, but only four of dem are livin' now. De livin' are James, Sidney, Helen an' Florence who wus named fer Florence Nightingale.

I can't be here so much longer now case I'se gittin' too old an' feeble an' I wants ter go ter Jim anyhow. The old woman wiped her eyes, 'I thinks of him all de time, but seems lak we're young agin when I smell honeysuckles er see a yaller moon.

LE

N. C. District: No. 3 [320271] Worker: Travis Jordan Subject: Tempie Herndon Durham Ex-Slave 103 Years Old 1312 Pine St., Durham, N. C.

[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 23 1937"]

TEMPIE HERNDON DURHAM EX-SLAVE 103 YEARS OLD 1312 PINE ST., DURHAM, N. C.

I was thirty-one years ole when de surrender come. Dat makes me sho nuff ole. Near 'bout a hundred an' three years done passed over dis here white head of mine. I'se been here, I mean I'se been here. 'Spects I'se de olest nigger in Durham. I'se been here so long dat I done forgot near 'bout as much as dese here new generation niggers knows or ever gwine know.

My white fo'ks lived in Chatham County. Dey was Marse George an' Mis' Betsy Herndon. Mis Betsy was a Snipes befo' she married Marse George. Dey had a big plantation an' raised cawn, wheat, cotton an' 'bacca. I don't know how many field niggers Marse George had, but he had a mess of dem, an' he had hosses too, an' cows, hogs an' sheeps. He raised sheeps an' sold de wool, an' dey used de wool at de big house too. Dey was a big weavin' room whare de blankets was wove, an' dey wove de cloth for de winter clothes too. Linda Hernton an' Milla Edwards was de head weavers, dey looked after de weavin' of de fancy blankets. Mis' Betsy was a good weaver too. She weave de same as de niggers. She say she love de clackin' soun' of de loom, an' de way de shuttles run in an' out carryin' a long tail of bright colored thread. Some days she set at de loom all de mawnin' peddlin' wid her feets an' her white han's flittin' over de bobbins.

De cardin' an' spinnin' room was full of niggers. I can hear dem spinnin' wheels now turnin' roun' an' sayin' hum-m-m-m, hum-m-m-m, an' hear de slaves singin' while dey spin. Mammy Rachel stayed in de dyein' room. Dey wuzn' nothin' she didn' know' bout dyein'. She knew every kind of root, bark, leaf an' berry dat made red, blue, green, or whatever color she wanted. Dey had a big shelter whare de dye pots set over de coals. Mammy Rachel would fill de pots wid water, den she put in de roots, bark an' stuff an' boil de juice out, den she strain it an'put in de salt an' vinegar to set de color. After de wool an' cotton done been carded an' spun to thread, Mammy take de hanks an' drap dem in de pot of bollin' dye. She stir dem' roun' an' lif' dem up an' down wid a stick, an' when she hang dem up on de line in de sun, dey was every color of de rainbow. When dey dripped dry dey was sent to de weavin' room whare dey was wove in blankets an' things.

When I growed up I married Exter Durham. He belonged to Marse Snipes Durham who had de plantation 'cross de county line in Orange County. We had a big weddin'. We was married on de front po'ch of de big house. Marse George killed a shoat an' Mis' Betsy had Georgianna, de cook, to bake a big weddin' cake all iced up white as snow wid a bride an' groom standin' in de middle holdin' han's. De table was set out in de yard under de trees, an' you ain't never seed de like of eats. All de niggers come to de feas' an' Marse George had a dram for everybody. Dat was some weddin'. I had on a white dress, white shoes an' long white gloves dat come to my elbow, an' Mis' Betsy done made me a weddin' veil out of a white net window curtain. When she played de weddin ma'ch on de piano, me an' Exter ma'ched down de walk an' up on de po'ch to de altar Mis' Betsy done fixed. Dat de pretties' altar I ever seed. Back 'gainst de rose vine dat was full or red roses, Mis' Betsy done put tables filled wid flowers an' white candles. She done spread down a bed sheet, a sho nuff linen sheet, for us to stan' on, an' dey was a white pillow to kneel down on. Exter done made me a weddin' ring. He made it out of a big red button wid his pocket knife. He done cut it so roun' an' polished it so smooth dat it looked like a red satin ribbon tide 'roun' my finger. Dat sho was a pretty ring. I wore it 'bout fifty years, den it got so thin dat I lost it one day in de wash tub when I was washin' clothes.

Uncle Edmond Kirby married us. He was de nigger preacher dat preached at de plantation church. After Uncle Edmond said de las' words over me an' Exter, Marse George got to have his little fun: He say, 'Come on, Exter, you an' Tempie got to jump over de broom stick backwards; you got to do dat to see which one gwine be boss of your househol'.' Everybody come stan' 'roun to watch. Marse George hold de broom 'bout a foot high off de floor. De one dat jump over it backwards an' never touch de handle, gwine boss de house, an' if bof of dem jump over widout touchin' it, dey won't gwine be no bossin', dey jus' gwine be 'genial. I jumped fus', an' you ought to seed me. I sailed right over dat broom stick same as a cricket, but when Exter jump he done had a big dram an' his feets was so big an' clumsy dat dey got all tangled up in dat broom an' he fell head long. Marse George he laugh an' laugh, an' tole Exter he gwine be bossed 'twell he skeered to speak less'n I tole him to speak. After de weddin' we went down to de cabin Mis' Betsy done all dressed up, but Exter couldn' stay no longer den dat night kaze he belonged to Marse Snipes Durham an' he had to back home. He lef' de nex day for his plantation, but he come back every Saturday night an' stay 'twell Sunday night. We had eleven chillun. Nine was bawn befo' surrender an' two after we was set free. So I had two chillun dat wuzn' bawn in bondage. I was worth a heap to Marse George kaze I had so manny chillun. De more chillun a slave had de more dey was worth. Lucy Carter was de only nigger on de plantation dat had more chillun den I had. She had twelve, but her chillun was sickly an' mine was muley strong an' healthy. Dey never was sick.

When de war come Marse George was too ole to go, but young Marse Bill went. He went an' took my brother Sim wid him. Marse Bill took Sim along to look after his hoss an' everything. Dey didn' neither one get shot, but Mis' Betsy was skeered near 'bout to death all de time, skeered dey was gwine be brung home shot all to pieces like some of de sojers was.

De Yankees wuzn' so bad. De mos' dey wanted was sumpin' to eat. Dey was all de time hungry, de fus' thing dey ax for when dey came was sumpin' to put in dey stomach. An' chicken! I ain' never seed even a preacher eat chicken like dem Yankees. I believes to my soul dey ain' never seed no chicken 'twell dey come down here. An' hot biscuit too. I seed a passel of dem eat up a whole sack of flour one night for supper. Georgianna sif' flour 'twell she look white an' dusty as a miller. Dem sojers didn' turn down no ham neither. Dat de onlies' thing dey took from Marse George. Dey went in de smoke house an' toted off de hams an' shoulders. Marse George say he come off mighty light if dat all dey want, 'sides he got plenty of shoats anyhow.

We had all de eats we wanted while de war was shootin' dem guns, kaze Marse George was home an' he kep' de niggers workin'. We had chickens, gooses, meat, peas, flour, meal, potatoes an' things like dat all de time, an' milk an' butter too, but we didn' have no sugar an' coffee. We used groun' pa'ched cawn for coffee an' cane 'lasses for sweetnin'. Dat wuzn' so bad wid a heap of thick cream. Anyhow, we had enough to eat to 'vide wid de neighbors dat didn' have none when surrender come.

I was glad when de war stopped kaze den me an' Exter could be together all de time 'stead of Saturday an' Sunday. After we was free we lived right on at Marse George's plantation a long time. We rented de lan' for a fo'th of what we made, den after while be bought a farm. We paid three hundred dollars we done saved. We had a hoss, a steer, a cow an' two pigs, 'sides some chickens an' fo' geese. Mis' Betsy went up in de attic an' give us a bed an' bed tick; she give us enough goose feathers to make two pillows, den she give us a table an' some chairs. She give us some dishes too. Marse George give Exter a bushel of seed cawn an some seed wheat, den he tole him to go down to de barn an' get a bag of cotton seed. We got all dis den we hitched up de wagon an' th'owed in de passel of chillun an' moved to our new farm, an' de chillun was put to work in de fiel'; dey growed up in de fiel' kaze dey was put to work time dey could walk good.

Freedom is all right, but de niggers was better off befo' surrender, kaze den dey was looked after an' dey didn' get in no trouble fightin' an' killin' like dey do dese days. If a nigger cut up an' got sassy in slavery times, his Ole Marse give him a good whippin' an' he went way back an' set down an' 'haved hese'f. If he was sick, Marse an' Mistis looked after him, an' if he needed store medicine, it was bought an' give to him; he didn' have to pay nothin'. Dey didn' even have to think' bout clothes nor nothin' like dat, dey was wove an' made an' give to dem. Maybe everybody's Marse an' Mistis wuzn' good as Marse George an' Mis' Betsy, but dey was de same as a mammy an' pappy to us niggers.

N. C. District: No. 2 [320160] Worker: Mary A. Hicks No. Words: 466 Subject: EX-SLAVE STORY Story Teller: George Eatman Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt

[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 1 1937"]

EX-SLAVE STORY

An Interview on May 18, 1937 with George Eatman, 93, of Cary, R. #1.

I belonged ter Mr. Gus Eatman who lived at de ole Templeton place on de Durham highway back as fer as I can 'member. I doan r'member my mammy an' pappy case dey wuz sold 'fore I knowed anything. I raised myself an' I reckon dat I done a fair job uv it. De marster an' missus wuz good to dere twenty-five slaves an' we ain't neber got no bad whuppin's.

I doan 'member much playin' an' such like, but I de 'members dat I wuz de handy boy 'round de house.

De Confederate soldiers camp at Ephesus Church one night, an' de nex' day de marster sent me ter de mill on Crabtree. Yo' 'members where ole Company mill is, I reckon? Well, as I rode de mule down de hill, out comes Wheeler's Calvalry, which am as mean as de Yankees, an' dey ax me lots uv questions. Atter awhile dey rides on an' leaves me 'lone.

While I am at de mill one uv Wheeler's men takes my mule an' my co'n, an' I takes de ole saddle an' starts ter walkin' back home. All de way, most, I walks in de woods, case Wheeler's men am still passin'.

When I gits ter de Morgan place I hyars de cannons a-boomin', ahh--h I ain't neber hyar sich a noise, an' when I gits so dat I can see dar dey goes, as thick as de hairs on a man's haid. I circles round an' gits behin' dem an' goes inter de back uv de-house. Well, dar stan's a Yankee, an' he axes Missus Mary fer de smokehouse key. She gibes it ter him an' dey gits all uv de meat.

One big can uv grease am all dat wuz saved, an' dat wuz burried in de broom straw down in de fiel'.

Dey camps roun' dar dat night an' dey shoots ever chicken, pig, an' calf dey sees. De nex' day de marster goes ter Raleigh, an' gits a gyard, but dey has done stole all our stuff an' we am liven' mostly on parched co'n.

De only patterollers I knowed wuz Kenyan Jones an' Billy Pump an' dey wuz called po' white trash. Dey owned blood houn's, an' chased de niggers an' whupped dem shamful, I hyars. I neber seed but one Ku Klux an' he wuz sceered o' dem.

Atter de war we stayed on five or six years case we ain't had no place else ter go.

We ain't liked Abraham Lincoln, case he wuz a fool ter think dat we could live widout de white folkses, an' Jeff Davis wuz tryin' ter keep us, case he wuz greedy an' he wanted ter be de boss dog in politics.

District: No. 3. [320121] Worker: Daisy Whaley Subject: Ex-slave Story. Interviewed: Doc Edwards, Ex-slave. 84 Yrs Staggville, N. C.

[HW: Capital A--circled]

[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 6 1937"]

DOC EDWARDS EX-SLAVE, 84 Yrs.

I was bawn at Staggville, N. C., in 1853. I belonged to Marse Paul Cameron. My pappy was Murphy McCullers. Mammy's name was Judy. Dat would make me a McCullers, but I was always knowed as Doc Edwards an' dat is what I am called to dis day.

I growed up to be de houseman an' I cooked for Marse Benehan,--Marse Paul's son. Marse Benehan was good to me. My health failed from doing so much work in de house an' so I would go for a couple of hours each day an' work in de fiel' to be out doors an' get well again.

Marse Paul had so many niggers dat he never counted dem. When we opened de gate for him or met him in de road he would say, "Who is you? Whare you belong?" We would say, "We belong to Marse Paul." "Alright, run along" he'd say den, an' he would trow us a nickel or so.

We had big work shops whare we made all de tools, an' even de shovels was made at home. Dey was made out of wood, so was de rakes, pitchforks an' some of de hoes. Our nails was made in de blacksmith shop by han' an' de picks an' grubbin' hoes, too.

We had a han' thrashing machine. It was roun' like a stove pipe, only bigger. We fed de wheat to it an' shook it' til de wheat was loose from de straw an' when it come out at de other end it fell on a big cloth, bigger den de sheets. We had big curtains all roun' de cloth on de floor, like a tent, so de wheat wouldn' get scattered. Den we took de pitchfork an' lifted de straw up an' down so de wheat would go on de cloth. Den we moved de straw when de wheat was all loose Den we fanned de wheat wid big pieces of cloth to get de dust an' dirt outen it, so it could be taken to de mill an' groun' when it was wanted.

When de fall come we had a regular place to do different work. We had han' looms an' wove our cotton an' yarn an' made de cloth what was to make de clothes for us to wear.

We had a shop whare our shoes was made. De cobbler would make our shoes wid wooden soles. After de soles was cut out dey would be taken down to de blacksmiyh an' he would put a thin rim of iron aroun' de soles to keep dem from splitting. Dese soles was made from maple an' ash wood.

We didn' have any horses to haul wid. We used oxen an' ox-carts. De horse and mules was used to do de plowin'.

When de Yankees come dey didn' do so much harm, only dey tole us we was free niggers. But I always feel like I belong to Marse Paul, an' i still live at Staggville on de ole plantation. I has a little garden an' does what I can to earn a little somethin'. De law done fixed it so now dat I will get a little pension, an' I'll stay right on in dat little house 'til de good Lawd calls me home, den I will see Marse Paul once more.

N. C. District: No. 11 [320001] Worker: Mrs. W. N. Harriss No. Words: 658 Subject: John Evans Born in Slavery Editor: Mrs. W. N. Harriss

Interviewed

John Evans on the street and in this Office. Residence changes frequently.

[TR: Date Stamp "SEP--1937"]

Story of John Evans Born in Slavery.

I was born August 15th, 1859. I am 78 years old. Dat comes out right, don't it? My mother's name was Hattie Newbury. I don't never remember seein' my Pa. We lived on Middle Sound an' dat's where I was born. I knows de room, 'twas upstairs, an' when I knowed it, underneath, downstairs dat is, was bags of seed an' horse feed, harness an' things, but it was slave quarters when I come heah.

Me an' my mother stayed right on with Mis' Newberry after freedom, an' never knowed no diffunce. They was jus' like sisters an' I never knowed nothin' but takin' keer of Mistus Newberry. She taught me my letters an' the Bible, an' was mighty perticler 'bout my manners. An' I'm tellin' you my manners is brought me a heap more money than my readin'--or de Bible. I'm gwine tell you how dat is, but fust I want to say the most I learned on Middle Sound was' bout fishin' an' huntin'. An' dawgs.

My! But there sho' was birds an' possums on de Sound in dem days. Pa'tridges all over de place. Why, even me an' my Mammy et pa'tridges fer bre'kfust. Think of dat now! But when I growed up my job was fishin'. I made enough sellin' fish to the summer folks all along Wrightsville and Greenville Sounds to keep me all winter.

My Mammy cooked fer Mis' Newberry. After a while they both died. I never did'nt git married.

I don't know nothin' 'bout all the mean things I hear tell about slaves an' sich. We was just one fam'ly an' had all we needed. We never paid no 'tention to freedom or not freedom. I remember eve'ybody had work to do in slavery an' dey gone right on doin' it sence. An' nobody don't git nowheres settin' down holdin' their han's. It do'n make so much diffunce anyhow what you does jes so's you does it.

One time when I was carryin' in my fish to "Airlie" [TR: difficult to read] Mr. Pem Jones heard me laff, an' after I opened dis here mouf of mine an' laffed fer him I didn't have to bother 'bout fish no mo'. Lordy, dose rich folks he used to bring down fum New Yo'k is paid me as much as _sixty_ dollars a week to laff fer 'em. One of 'em was named Mr. _Fish_. Now you know dat tickled _me_. I could jes laff an' laff 'bout dat. Mr. Pem give me fine clo'es an' a tall silk hat. I'd eat a big dinner in de kitchen an' den go in' mongst de quality an' laff fer' em an' make my noise like a wood saw in my th'oat. Dey was crazy 'bout dat. An' then's when I began to be thankful 'bout my manners. I's noticed if you has nice manners wid eve'ybody people gwine to be nice to you.

Well, (with a long sigh) I don't pick up no sich money nowadays; but my manners gives me many a chance to laff, an' I never don't go hungry.

John has been a well known character for fifty years among the summer residents along the sounds and on Wrightsville Beach. He was a fisherman and huckster in his palmy days, but now John's vigor is on the wane, and he has little left with which to gain a livelihood except his unusually contagious laugh, and a truly remarkable flow of words. "Old John" could give Walter Winchel a handicap of twenty words a minute and then beat him at his own game. His mouth is enormous and his voice deep and resonant. He can make a noise like a wood saw which he maintains for 2 or 3 minutes without apparent effort, the sound buzzing on and on from some mysterious depths of his being with amazing perfection of imitation.

Any day during the baseball season John may be seen sandwiched between his announcement boards, a large bell in one hand, crying the ball game of the day. "Old John" to the youngsters; but finding many a quarter dropped in his hand by the older men with memories of gay hours and hearty laughter.

District: No. 3 [320198] Worker: Daisy Whaley Subject: EX-SLAVE Storyteller: Lindsay Faucette Ex-Slave Church Street, Durham, N. C.

[TR: Date Stamp "JUL 2 1937"]

LINDSEY FAUCETTE, 86 Yrs. Ex-slave.

Yes, Mis', I wuz bawn in 1851, de 16th of November, on de Occoneechee Plantation, owned by Marse John Norwood an' his good wife, Mis' Annie. An' when I say 'good' I mean jus dat, for no better people ever lived den my Marse John an' Mis' Annie.

One thing dat made our Marse an' Mistis so good wuz de way dey brought up us niggers. We wuz called to de big house an' taught de Bible an' dey wuz Bible readin's every day. We wuz taught to be good men an' women an' to be hones'. Marse never sold any of us niggers. But when his boys and girls got married he would give dem some of us to take with dem.

Marse never allowed us to be whipped. One time we had a white overseer an' he whipped a fiel' han' called Sam Norwood, til de blood come. He beat him so bad dat de other niggers had to take him down to de river an' wash de blood off. When Marse come an' foun' dat out he sent dat white man off an' wouldn' let him stay on de plantation over night. He jus' wouldn' have him roun' de place no longer. He made Uncle Whitted de overseer kase he wuz one of de oldest slaves he had an' a good nigger.

When any of us niggers got sick Mis' Annie would come down to de cabin to see us. She brung de best wine, good chicken an' chicken soup an' everything else she had at de big house dat she thought we would like, an' she done everything she could to get us well again.

Marse John never worked us after dark. We worked in de day an' had de nights to play games an' have singin's. We never cooked on a Sunday. Everything we ett on dat day was cooked on Saturday. Dey wuzn' lighted in de cook stoves or fire places in de big house or cabins neither. Everybody rested on Sunday. De tables wuz set an' de food put on to eat, but nobody cut any wood an' dey wuzn' no other work don' on dat day. Mammy Beckie wuz my gran'mammy an' she toted de keys to de pantry an' smoke house, an' her word went wid Marse John an' Mis' Annie.

Marse John wuz a great lawyer an' when he went to Pittsboro an' other places to practice, if he wuz to stay all night, Mis' Annie had my mammy sleep right in bed wid her, so she wouldn' be 'fraid.

Marse an Mistis had three sons an' three daughters,--De oldest son wuz not able to go to war. He had studied so hard dat it had 'fected his mind, so he stayed at home. De secon' son, named Albert, went to war an' wuz brought back dead with a bullet hole through his head. Dat liked to have killed Marse John an' Mis' Annie. Dey wuz three girls, named, Mis' Maggie, Mis' Ella Bella and Mis' Rebena.

I wuz de cow-tender. I took care of de cows an' de calves. I would have to hold de calf up to de mother cow 'til de milk would come down an' den I would have to hold it away 'til somebody done de milkin'. I tended de horses, too, an' anything else dat I wuz told to do.

When de war started an' de Yankees come, dey didn' do much harm to our place. Marse had all de silver an' money an' other things of value hid under a big rock be de river an' de Yankees never did fine anything dat we hid.

Our own sojers did more harm on our plantation den de Yankees. Dey camped in de woods an' never did have nuff to eat an' took what dey wanted. An' lice! I ain't never seed de like. It took fifteen years for us to get shed of de lice dat de sojers lef' behind. You jus' couldn' get dem out of your clothes les' you burned dem up. Dey wuz hard to get shed of.

After de war wuz over Marse John let Pappy have eighteen acres of land for de use of two of his boys for a year. My pappy made a good crop of corn, wheat an' other food on dis land. Dey wuz a time when you couldn' find a crust of bread or piece of meat in my mammy's pantry for us to eat, an' when she did get a little meat or bread she would divide it between us chillun, so each would have a share an' go without herself an' never conplained.

When pappy wuz makin' his crop some of de others would ask him why he didn' take up some of his crop and get somethin' to eat. He would answer an' say dat when he left dat place he intended to take his crop with him an' he did. He took plenty of corn, wheat, potatoes an' other food, a cow, her calf, mule an' hogs an' he moved to a farm dat he bought.

Later on in years my pappy an mammy come here in Durham an' bought a home. I worked for dem' til I wuz thirty-two years old an' give dem what money I earned. I worked for as little as twenty-five cents a day. Den I got a dray an' hauled for fifteen cents a load from de Durham depo' to West Durham for fifteen years. Little did I think at dat time dat I would ever have big trucks an' a payroll of $6,000.00 a year. De good Lawd has blest me all de way, an' all I have is His'n, even to my own breath.

Den one day I went back home to see my old Marse an' I foun' him sittin' in a big chair on de po'ch an' his health wuzn' so good. He sed, "Lindsey, why don' you stop runnin' roun' wid de girls an' stop you cou't 'n? You never will get nowhere makin' all de girls love you an' den you walk away an' make up with some other girl. Go get yourself a good girl an' get married an' raise a family an' be somebody." An' I did. I quit all de girls an' I foun' a fine girl and we wuz married. I sho got a good wife; I got one of de best women dat could be foun' an' we lived together for over forty-five years. Den she died six years ago now, an' I sho miss her for she wuz a real help-mate all through dese years. We raised five chillun an' educated dem to be school teachers an' other trades.

I have tried to live de way I wuz raised to. My wife never worked a day away from home all de years we wuz married. It wuz my raisin an' my strong faith in my Lawd an' Marster dat helped me to get along as well as I have, an' I bless Him every day for de strength He has given me to bring up my family as well as I have. Der is only one way to live an' dat is de right way. Educate your chillun, if you can, but be sho you give dem de proper moral training at home. De right way to raise your chillun is to larn dem to have manners and proper respect for their parents, be good citizens an' God fearin' men an' women. When you have done dat you will not be ashamed of dem in your old age. I bless my Maker dat I have lived so clos' to Him as I have all dese years an' when de time comes to go to Him I will have no regrets an' no fears.

N. C. District: No. 2 [320223] Worker: T. Pat Matthews No. Words: 567 Subject: A SLAVE STORY Story Teller: Ora M. Flagg Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt

[TR: No Date Stamp]

ORA M. FLAGG 811 Oberlin Road

My name is Ora M. Flagg. I wus born in Raleigh near the Professional Building, in the year 1860, October 16. My mother wus named Jane Busbee. Her marster wus Quent Busbee, a lawyer. Her missus wus Julia Busbee. She wus a Taylor before she married Mr. Busbee. Now I tell you, I can't tell you exactly, but the old heads died. The old heads were the Scurlocks who lived in Chatham County. I heard their names but I don't remember them. Their children when they died drawed for the slaves and my mother wus brought to Raleigh when she wus eight years old. She came from the Scurlocks to the Busbees. The Taylors were relatives of the Scurlocks, and were allowed to draw, and Julia Taylor drawed my mother. It wus fixed so the slaves on this estate could not be sold, but could be drawed for by the family and relatives. She got along just middlin' after her missus died. When her missus died, mother said she had to look after herself. Mr. Busbee would not allow anyone to whip mother. He married Miss Lizzie Bledsoe the second time.

I wus only a child and, of course, I thought as I could get a little something to eat everything wus all right, but we had few comforts. We had prayer meeting and we went to the white people's church. I heard mother say that they had to be very careful what they said in their worship. Lots of time dey put us children to bed and went off.

About the time of the surrender, I heard a lot about the patterollers, but I did not know what they were. Children wus not as wise then as they are now. They didn't know as much about things.

Yes sir, I remember the Yankees coming to Raleigh, we had been taken out to Moses Bledsoe's place on Holleman's Road to protect Mr. Bledsoe's things. They said if they put the things out there, and put a family of Negroes there the Yankees would not bother the things. So they stored a lot of stuff there, and put my mother an' a slave man by the name o' Tom Gillmore there. Two Negro families were there. We children watched the Yankees march by.

The Yankees went through everything, and when mother wouldn't tell them where the silver wus hid they threw her things in the well. Mother cried, an' when the Yankee officers heard of it they sent a guard there to protect us. The colored man, Tom Gillmore, wus so scared, he and his family moved out at night leaving my mother alone with her family. The Yankees ate the preserves and all the meat and other things. They destroyed a lot they could not eat.

Mother and me stayed on with marster after the surrender, and stayed on his place till he died. After that we moved to Peck's Place, called Peck's Place because the property wus sold by Louis Peck. It wus also called the 'Save-rent' section, then in later years Oberlin Road.

I think slavery wus a bad thing, while it had its good points in building good strong men. In some cases where marsters were bad it wus a bad thing.

Abraham Lincoln wus our friend, he set us free. I don't know much about Booker T. Washington. Mr Roosevelt is all right. Jim Young seemed to be all right. Jeff Davis didn't bother me. I guess he wus all right.

EH

N. C. District: No. 2 [320214] Worker: Mary Hicks No. Words: 361 Subject: Ex-Slave Story Story Teller: Analiza Foster. Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt

[TR: No Date Stamp]

EX-SLAVE STORY

An interview with Analiza Foster, 68 of 1120 South Blount Street, Raleigh, North Carolina.

I wuz borned in Person County ter Tom Line an' Harriet Cash. My mammy belonged ter a Mr. Cash an' pappy belonged ter Miss Betsy Woods. Both of dese owners wuz mean ter dere slaves an' dey ain't carin' much if'en dey kills one, case dey's got plenty. Dar wuz one woman dat I hyard mammy tell of bein' beat clean ter death.

De 'oman wuz pregnant an' she fainted in de fiel' at de plow. De driver said dat she wuz puttin' on, an' dat she ort ter be beat. De master said dat she can be beat but don't ter hurt de baby. De driver says dat he won't, den he digs a hole in de sand an' he puts de 'oman in de hole, which am nigh 'bout ter her arm pits, den he kivers her up an' straps her han's over her haid.

He takes de long bull whup an' he cuts long gashes all over her shoulders an' raised arms, den he walks off an' leabes her dar fer a hour in de hot sun. De flies an' de gnats dey worry her, an' de sun hurts too an' she cries a little, den de driver comes out wid a pan full of vinegar, salt an' red pepper an' he washes de gashes. De 'oman faints an' he digs her up, but in a few minutes she am stone dead.

Dat's de wust case dat I'se eber hyard of but I reckon dar wuz plenty more of dem.

Ter show yo' de value of slaves I'll tell yo' 'bout my gran'ma. She wuz sold on de block four times, an' eber time she brung a thousand dollars. She wuz valuable case she wuz strong an' could plow day by day, den too she could have twenty chilluns an' wuck right on.

De Yankees come through our country an' dey makes de slaves draw water fer de horses all night. Course dey stold eber'thing dey got dere han's on but dat wuz what ole Abraham Lincoln tol' dem ter do.

MH:EH

N. C. District: No. 2 [320088] Worker: T. Pat Matthews No. Words: 570 Subject: A SLAVE STORY Story Teller: Georgianna Foster Editor: George L. Andrews

[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 23 1937"]

GEORGIANNA FOSTER 1308 Poole Road, Route # 2. Raleigh, North Carolina.

I wus born in 1861. I jes' can 'member de Yankees comin' through, but I 'members dere wus a lot of 'em wearin' blue clothes. I wus born at Kerney Upchurch's plantation twelve miles from Raleigh. He wus my marster an' Missus Enny wus his wife. My father wus named Axiom Wilder and my mother wus Mancy Wilder. De most I know 'bout slavery dey tole it to me. I 'members I run when de Yankees come close to me. I wus 'fraid of 'em.

We lived in a little log houses at marsters. De food wus short an' things in general wus bad, so mother tole me. She said dey wus a whole lot meaner den dey had any business bein'. Dey allowed de patterollers to snoop around an' whup de slaves, mother said dey stripped some of de slaves naked an' whupped 'em. She said women had to work all day in de fields an' come home an' do de house work at night while de white folks hardly done a han's turn of work.

Marse Kerney had a sluice of chilluns. I can't think of 'em all, but I 'members Calvin, James, Allen, Emily, Helen, an' I jest can't think of de rest of de chilluns names.

Mother said dey gathered slaves together like dey did horses an' sold 'em on de block. Mother said dey carried some to Rolesville in Wake County an' sold 'em. Dey sold Henry Temples an' Lucinda Upchurch from marster's plantation, but dey carried 'em to Raleigh to sell 'em.

We wore homemade clothes an' shoes wid wooden bottoms. Dey would not allow us to sing an' pray but dey turned pots down at de door an' sung an' prayed enyhow an' de Lord heard dere prayers. Dat dey did sing an' pray.

Mother said dey whupped a slave if dey caught him wid a book in his hand. You wus not 'lowed no books. Larnin' among de slaves wus a forbidden thing. Dey wus not allowed to cook anything for demselves at de cabins no time 'cept night. Dere wus a cook who cooked fur all durin' de day. Sometimes de field han's had to work 'round de place at night after comin' in from de fields. Mother said livin' at marster's wus hard an' when dey set us free we left as quick as we could an' went to Mr. Bob Perry's plantation an' stayed there many years. He wus a good man an' give us all a chance. Mother wus free born at Upchurch's but when de war ended, she had been bound to Wilder by her mother, an' had married my father who wus a slave belongin' to Bob Wilder. Dey did not like de fare at Marster Upchurch's or Marster Wilder's, so when dey wus set free dey lef' an' went to Mrs. Perry's place.

Dey had overseers on both plantations in slavery time but some of de niggers would run away before dey would take a whuppin'. Fred Perry run away to keep from bein' sold. He come back do' an' tole his marster to do what he wanted to wid him. His marster told him to go to work an' he stayed dere till he wus set free. God heard his prayer 'cause he said he axed God not to let him be sold.