Chapter II: Part 2

"Got nuthin' at freedum en wuz not lookin' fuh nuthin'. Ef marster had lived he might hab gib us sump'in. He wuz a good man en good ter us. Eber since mah freedum, I'se wuk'd as a laundress. Wuk'd fer one fam'ly ober 21 y'ars. 'Bout two y'ars ago I lefted a tub, en hurt mahself. I'se not able ter wuk now. I hab bin ma'ied twice en I'se voted three times."

"I went ter schul at Fisk, a short time, w'en hit wuz on 12th Avenue, but I diden' git ter go long 'nuff ter git en edj'cation."

"Jis 'fore de Civil War I members de comet. Hit wuz lak a big sta'r wid a long tail. Eve'body said hit wuz a sign ob Judgement Day."

"Bad luck signs: Ef'n a picture falls, hit's a sign ob de'th--bad luck ter step ovuh a broom--ef a clock stop runnin' en later hit strike, dat means de'th."

"Sum ob de young peeple terday ez good but sum ob dem don't wan'ter be nuthin'. De last war ruined mos' ob de white en de black."

"I b'leeves in de Baptist 'ligion en 'longs ter de Baptist Church, 9th Avenue N. on Cedar Street. De white 'oman I wuk'd fuh wan'ed me ter join de Christian (colored) chuch. Only song I now members ez "On Jordans Banks I Stand." "Don't think dis marrin' ob whites wid blacks should be 'lowed en think eve'y culor should stay ter hits-sef."

"I don't member now 'bout any stories tole back in ole times. Our white folks wuz Christians en tried ter teach us right en dey diden' tek up much time tellin' stories."

INTERVIEW PATSY HYDE 504 9th Avenue N. Nashville, Tennessee

"Dunno how ole I ez. I wuz bawn in slavery en b'longs ter de Brown family. Mah Missis wuz Missis Jean R. Brown en she wuz kin ter Abraham Lincoln en I useter y'ar dem talkin' 'bout 'im livin' in a log cabin en w'en he d'ed she had her house draped in black. Marster Brown wuz also good ter his slaves. De Missis promus Marster Brown on his de'th bed nebber ter let us be whup'd en she kep her wud. Sum ob de oberseers on urthur plantations would tie de slaves ter a stake en gib dem a good whup'in fer sump'in dey ought not ter done."

"All cul'ed people wore cotton goods en de younger boys run 'round in der shurt tails. Mah Missis nit all de white chilluns stockin' en she made me sum. I had ter hold de yarn on mah hans w'en she wuz nittin'. I members one time I wuz keepin' flies off de table usin' a bunch ob peacock feathers en I went ter sleep standin' up en she tole me ter go back ter de kitchen." "I went en finish mah nap."

"One day ole Uncle Elick woke Marster Brown fum his atter-noon nap tellin' 'im dat de prettiest men dat I ever seed wuz passin' by on de road. He went ter de winder en said, "Good Gawd, hit's dem damn Yankees." Mah white folks had a pretty yard en gyarden. Soldiers kum en camped dere. I'd slip ter de winder en lissen ter dem." "W'en dey wuz fightin' at Fort Negley de cannons would jar our house. De soldier's ban' play on Capitol Hill, en play "Rally 'roun' de Flag Boys, Rally 'roun de Flag."

"De slaves would tek dere ole iron cookin' pots en turn dem upside down on de groun' neah dere cabins ter keep dere white folks fum hearin' w'at dey wuz sayin'. "Dey claimed dat hit showed dat Gawd wuz wid dem."

"In slavery time peeples b'leeved in dreams. I members one nite I dreamed dat a big white thing wuz on de gatepost wida haid. I tole mah mammy en she said, "Gawd wuz warning us." De ma'rige cer'mony in de days ob slavery wuz by de man en 'oman jumpin' ovuh a broom handle tergedder."

"I don' member much 'boud de Ku Klux Klan, but I does member seein' dem parade one time in Nashville." (She evidently refers to the Klan's last parade in 1869 in Nashville, immediately preceeding the disbandment of the Klan at Fort Negley.)

"I members dat de northern soldier's ban' would play Union Ferever, Rally 'roun de Flag, en Down Wid de Traitors en up Wid de Sta's en Stripes."

"De songs I members ez:

I'se a Soldier ob de Cross. Follow de Lamb. I would not Live Allus. I Axs not ter Stay."

"I member w'en de stars fell. Hit wuz so dark en eberbody wuz skeered, en I member a comet dat looked lak a big red ball en had sump'in lak a tail on hit. Eber one wuz skeered en wuz 'feard hit would hit de groun' en burn de worl' up. I member de fust street lites in Nashville. W'en de lamp mans would kum 'round en lite de lamps dey would yell out "all ez well" en I also members de Southern money goin' out en Yankee money kum'n in, en also w'en dere wuzn't any coal 'yer en eve'ythin' wuz wood en mos' ob dis town wuz in de woods."

"De slaves wuz tole dey would git forty ak'rs ob groun' en a mule w'en dey wuz freed but dey nebber got hit. W'en we wuz free we wuz tuned out widout a thing. Mah grandmammy wuz an "Ole mammie" en de Missis kep her. Atter freedum a lot ob Yankee niggah gals kum down 'yer en hire out."

"W'en I wuz a young girl hund'eds ob people went ter de wharf at de foot ob Broadway on de fust Sunday in May ob eber'y year fer de annual baptizin' ob new members inter de Baptist (culored) churches ob de city. Thousands ob white people would crowd both sides ob de Cumberland Riber, Broadway en de Sparkman Street Bridge ter witnus de doin's. On leavin' de chuches de pastor would lead de parade ter de wharf. Dey would sing en chant all de way fum de chuch ter de river en sum ob de members would be ovuhkum wid 'ligious feelin' en dey would hop up en down, singin' en shoutin' all de time, or may be dey would start ter runnin' down de street en de brethern would hab ter run dem down en bring dem back."

"We useter hav' dem champ meetin's en dey wuz "honeys," en I enjoy dem too. We wore bandanna handkerchiefs on our haids en long shawls ovuh our shoulders. At deze meetin's dey had all kinds ob good things ter eat en drink."

"Atter mah freedum I dun washin' en Ironin' fer white families. Neber ma'ried but I neber worries no matter w'at happens en dat's may be cause ob mah livin' so long."

"Things ter day ez mighty bad. Not lak de ole days. Worl' ez gwin ter end soon."

"Atter I got ter feeble ter do washin' en ironin' fer mah livin', I went ter de Relief Office ter git dem ter he'ps me, but dey wouldn't do a thing. I had no place ter go er no money ter do wid. Dis culid 'oman tuk me in en does all she can fer me but now she ez disable ter wuk en I dunno w'at ter do. Ef'n I could git a small grocer order each week til I git de ole Age Pension hit would he'p lots."

INTERVIEW ELLIS KEN KANNON 328 5th Avenue N. St. Mary's Church Nashville, Tennessee

"I dunno jes how ole I ez. I wuz bawn in Tennessee as a slave. Mah mammy kum frum Virginia. Our marster wuz Ken Kannon."

"Our Mistress wouldn't let us slaves be whup'd but I member mah daddy tellin' 'bout de Overseer whuppin' 'im en he run 'way en hid in a log. He tho't de blood hounds, he heered 'bout a half mile 'way, on his trail could heer 'im breathe but de hounds nebber fin' 'im. Atter de hounds pas' on, mah daddy lef' de log hidin' place en w'en he got ter a blacksmith shop, he se'ed a white man wid a nigger who had handcuffs on en w'en de white man tuk off de handcuffs, de nigger axed mah daddy whar he wuz gwine en he tole 'im back ter mah Mistress en de nigger sezs I ez too. Mah daddy slipped 'way fum 'im en went home."

"W'en I wuz a young boy, I didn't wear nothin' but a shirt lak all urthur boys en hit wuz a long thing lak a slip dat kum ter our knees. Our Mistress had a big fier place en w'en we would kum in cole she would say ain't you all cole. (You all was always used in the plural and not singular as some writers have it). W'ile we wuz warmin' she often played de organ fer us ter heer."

"I waited on mah Marster 'til he d'ed. Dey let me stay rite wid de body. Mah Mistress, Mammy ob de Marster, wuz in bad health at dat time, en 'fore we sta'ted ter de graveyard, I put a feather bed in de car'age en got a pitcher ob water ready en 'fore we git dere she got awful sick."

"Durin' slavery de slaves hadder keep quiet en dey would turn a kittle upside down ter keep de white folks 'yearin dere prayers en chants. W'en a slave wanted ter go ter 'nother plantation he had ter hab a pass. Ef' dey disobeyed dey got a whuppin, en ef dey had a pass widout de Marsters signature dey got a whuppin. _Ef'n dey had ter hab passes now dere wouldin' be no meaness_."

"I member de Klu Klux Klan kumin ter mah daddy's home axin fer water en dey would keep us totin' water ter dem fer fifteen ter twenty minutes. Dey didn't whup er hurt any ob us. I also member 'yearin mah mammy en daddy tellin' us 'bout de sta'rs fallin'. I member de comet. Hit wuz a big ball en had a long tail."

"I hab 'yerd dem tell 'bout Mr. Robertson. He wuz mean ter his slaves en dey sezs dey could see a ball ob fier rollin' on de fence en w'en dey would git ter de spring, a big white thing lak a dog would crawl under de rock. De slaves wuz natur'ally superstitious en b'leeved in dreams, ole sayings en signs. I hab mahse'f se'ed things dat I ain't onderstan'. Hab almost seen de things dat (apostle) John seed."

"Dunno nuthin 'bout any ob de ex-slaves voting er de Nat Turner 'Bellion."

"Atter freedum mos' ob de slaves wuk'd fer dere livin' jes as I ez. De men in de fiel's, de 'omen in de house. I wuk'd at a hotel in McMinnville en one day, I wuz keepin' de flies off de table wid a brush made frum fine strips ob papah en de string broke en hit fell on de table. One man jumped up grabbed a cheer sayin' ah'll knock you down wid dis cheer."

"De slave 'pected ter git 40 akers ob land en a mule but nobody eber got hit as fur as I know. We didn't git nuthin. Our white peeple wuzzent able ter gib us anyting. Eve'ythin' dey had wuz tuk durin' de wah. Dey wuz good ter us an stuck wid us en mah peeple stayed wid mah Mistress."

"Dis young gineratshun ob niggers, I 'clare dey ez jes 'bout gon'. Dey won't wuk, all's stealin' en mabe wuk long 'nuff ter git a few clothes ter strut 'round in. I may be wrong but dat ez mah hones' pinion."

"De songs--I member ez:

De Ole Ship ob Zion. Do You Think You'll be Able ter tek me Home."

"I has bin 'yer fifteen y'ars en hab wuked onder two Priests en now wukin under de third. Dey hab all bin nice ter me. Hab neber had any trubble wid white peeple en you'd be sprized how good dey ez ter me. Dey don't treat me lak a nigger."

"Eber since I got mah freedum en 'fore I got dis chuch job, I dun all kinds ob odd jobs, waited on tables, pressin' clothes en anyting else dat kum 'long, but sum jobs wuz small pay but hit kep me 'live."

"Don't member any slave uprisin's. Our peeple wuz good ter us."

INTERVIEW SCOTT MARTIN 438 Fifth Ave., No.

"I'se 90 y'ars ole and wuz bawn in slavery in Sumner County, Tennessee and I b'long to Marster Dr. Madison Martin an' mah Misses Mary. And I wuk'd wid de stock an' wuz de houseman."

"I hab neber been in any truble, neber 'rested en neber bin in jail. I knows how ter behave, but de young peeples ob terday ain' dun rite en dey don' 'mounts ter much. Dar am a few dat am all rite. In de ole days dey wer' bettuh dan dey ez terday. De white and black ougher not ma'rie."

"I has voted two times, but I disremembers who I voted fer. Neber hadney frens in office en I nebr met any of de Klu Klux men. I didn' go out much en I neber wuz kotched w'en I did git out. I heered lots 'bout nigger uprisin' but dey wuz away off."

"I b'long ter de Missionary Baptist chuch an' I useter preach in mah chuch 'ouse en udders w'en called. Once a y'ar I wud be at de Cumberland Riber wha'f en' baptiz' culled peeples all da'. We useter hab camp meetin' in de ole days en hab good things ter eat en I would preach all day. I went ter schul two sessions en den I went to wuk."

"I member de fust street kar line that run on East side of Cumberland Riber ter East end ob de ole wood bridge dat de 'arly settlers build. De kars wer' pulled by hosses en' mules. De whites en blacks mixed tergedder en den de law made de whites rid' in frunt en the blacks in de rearuh. I think dat wuz rite, but sum ob mah race wuz mad 'bout hit. I wuz on a kar one day and mules run'd 'way en de ole red mule got loose frum de kar en run'd ober a mile 'fore dey ketched him en dey brot 'im ba'k en de kar' pas' on. I members de ole L & N Railroad on de East side. W'en my folks wud ride de train dey had 'ter hold me tite or I wuld git 'way frum dem en run en hide 'hind sum logs. I wuz scar'et ter ride on de kars."

"Atter freedum de slaves had'n no truble ter go whar dey wan'. Menny lef' but menny stay wid der ole marsters. I stay wid my marster tell he d'ed. I den kum an' lib wid mah daddy on Lebanon Road. Atter dat I libed on Gallatin Road an' den I kum ter Nashville, an' wuk wid pic' and shovel on streets, sewers an' udder jobs. I heered dem sez dat de slaves wud git lan', hoss, money er sumpin' but I neber heerd ob nobody gittin nuthin'. Dere wuz not slave 'raisings eroun' whar I wuz."

"De fallin' st'ars wuz 'fore mah time, but I'se heer'd mah daddy tole 'bout hit. I se'd de comet wid hit shinnin' tail an' I fust b'leevd sumbody put hit up dere."

"Good luck sign wuz w'en a stray cat kum ter yo' house an' stay dere. Bad luck sign wuz a black kat crossin' yo' path in frunt ob yer. Ter ke'p frum havin' de bad luck yo' back up pas' whar hit crossed yer path en den spit an' yer hab no bad luck."

"Dem air ships luk nice but dey ez spoke 'boud in de Holy Bible, dat sum day dere wud be flyin' things in de air'h an' I think dat dese things am it. De otomobeels kiver nuder passag' in de Bible which seze de peeple 'll rid' on de streets widout hosses en mules."

"Mah fav'rite songs am "I Gwine to Jine de Gideon Band," and "Keep Yo' Lits Bunnin'."

"Ter ole now ter wuk an' mah haid don' se'm ter be tergedder an' I'se gits he'ps frum de Welfare."

INTERVIEW ANN MATTHEWS 719 9th Ave. South Nashville, Tennessee

"I wuz bawn in Murfreesboro on Stones River. I dunno how ole I ez en hit meks me 'shamed ter tell peeple dat, but mah mammy would hit me in de mouth w'en I'd ax how ole I wuz. She say I wuz jes' tryin' ter be grown."

"Mah mammy's name wuz Frankie en mah daddy wuz Henry Ken Kannon. Don' member much 'bout mah mammy 'cept she wuz a sho't fat Indian 'oman wid a turrible tempah. She d'ed, durin' de war, wid black measles."

"Mah daddy wuz part Indian en couldn't talk plain. W'en he go ter de store he'd hab ter put his han' on w'at he want ter buy. He d'ed eight months 'fore de Centennial."

"Our marster en missis wuz Landon en Sweenie Ken Kannon. Dey wuz good ter us, en we had'n good things ter eat."

"I member de Yankee en Southern soldiers. One day me en mah young missis, en sum chilluns went up ter de road en we se'ed sum Yankee soldiers kumin', I clum'ed on de fence, de urthurs run 'way en hid. One ob de soldiers sezs ter me, 'Lettle girl who wuz dat wid you,' en I sezs, 'Hit wuz Miss Puss en sum chilluns.' He laughed en sezs, 'You ez brave ain' you?'"

"Our missis let us go ter chuch. I 'long ter de chuch ob Christ."

"I dunno ob but one slave dat got lan' er nothin' w'en freedum wuz 'clared. We didn't git nuthin at freedum. Mah daddy went back in de woods en built us a saplin house en dobbed hit wid mud. Atter freedum mah daddy went 'way, en we chilluns staid in dat house in de woods by oursel's. Dere wuz two weeks we didn't see a bit ob bre'd. I went up w'at ez called de nine mile cut neah Tullahoma, en axed a 'oman ef she would let us hab sum bre'd. She gib me sum meat en bre'd, en tole me ter kum back. I went back home en we et sump'in, en I went back ter de 'oman's house, she gib me a sack ob flour en a big piece ob midlin' meat. We wuz skeered, bein' dere 'lone so I would set up wile mah br'ers slep', den I'd sleep in de daytime. One nite sumbody knocked at de do'er en hit wuz mah daddy en he had two sacks ob food, en de urthur chilluns got up en we et a big meal."

"I useter 'yer de folks talk 'bout de sta'rs fallin', but dat happen' 'fore I wuz bawn."

"I didn't go ter schul, mah daddy wouldin' let me. Said he needed me in de fiel wors den I needed schul. I wuz allus sassy en stubbun. I run 'way fum mah daddy en kum ter Nashville. I stayed at a schul on Franklin Pike, run by Mrs. McGathey. I wuz de only cul'ed person dere. Dey wuz good ter me en eve'y Chrismus I would git a big box ob clothes en things."

"In Manchester de Klu Klux Klan wore big high hats, red handkerchiefs on dere faces en red covers on dere hosses. Dey tuk two niggers out ob jail en hung dem ter a chestnut tree."

"One nite w'en I wuz gwine wid mah daddy fum de fiel' home, we met sum ob de K.K.K. en dey said, 'Ain't you out late Henry? En who ez dat gal wid you?' Mah daddy said, 'We ez gwine home fum wuk, en dis ez mah daughter.' Dey said, 'Whar has she bin, we ain't nebber se'ed her.' He told dem, 'I'd bin in Nashville.' Dey said dey'd be back dat nite but we didn't see dem."

"W'en I wuz in Manchester I promus de Lawd I wouldin' dance. But one nite I wuz on de ball floor, dancin' fum one end ob de room ter de urthur en sump'in sezs go ter de do'er. I didn't go right den en 'gin hit sezs you ez not keepin' yo promus. I went ter de do'er en you could pick a pin off de groun' hit wuz so light. In de sky wuz de prettiest thing you ebber se'ed, so many culors, blue, white, green, red en yellow."

"Since freedum I'se wuked wid diff'ent peeple, cookin' en keepin' house. I'se de mammy ob three chilluns. Two ob dem ez 'way fum 'yer, en I live 'yer wid mah daughter."

"Old songs, I member ez:

Dark wuz de Nite. I'll Live wid Gawd Forever, Bye en Bye. Fum dis Earth I go, Oh Lawd, W'at Will 'kum ob Me."

"So yer wan't me ter tell you de truf? I think de young peeple ez nothin'. Dey think dey ez smaht. Most ob de ex-slaves I'se knowed has cooked en nussed, done laundry wuk; wuked in fiel's en diff'ent things."

"I'se neber voted en hab neber paid any 'tention ter de niggers gittin' ter vote. Don't hab any frens in political office. Can't member any tales er signs."

"I don't b'leeve in dese mixed white and black families en hit shouldn't be 'lowed."

"Durin' slavery de white folks didn't want de niggahs ter sing en pray, but dey would turn a pot down en meet at de pot in de nite en sing en pray en de white folks wouldn't 'yer dem."

"Ef a slave died de white folks wouldn't let nobody set up wid de body 'cept de niggers ob dat plantation, but urthur slaves would slip in atter dark, set up en den slip back ter dere plantation 'fore day."

"W'en I useter go ter camp meetin' dey had big dinnahs en spread hit on de groun'. Dey preached, sung, shouted en eve'ybody had a good time."

"Fum de camp meetin's dey would go ter de wharf en baptize. Dey would tie handkerchiefs 'roun dere haids. W'en dey wuz dipped under de water sum ob dem would kum up shoutin'."

A TALE

One time de preacher wuz in de river fixin' ter baptize a man. Eve'ybody wuz singin' ole time 'ligion. A 'oman sung, "I don' lak dat thing 'hind you." Bout dat time de pahson en de udder man se'd an alligator. De parson sezs, "No-By-God I Don't Either." He turned de man loose en dey both run 'way.

INTERVIEW REV. JOHN MOORE 809 7th Avenue So. Nashville, Tennessee

"I wuz bawn in Georgia (exact time not known) en mah mammy wuz half Indian en mah daddy a slave. Both ob dem owned by William Moore. Sum time atter dat Marster Moore sold mah daddy en den de Moore Sistuhs looked atter me en wuz allus good ter me. "Lawdy, dey wuz good white folks."

"Durin' slavery times de slaves would hab ter git fum dere marster a pas' 'fore dey could visit dere own people on de uther plantations. Ef'n you had no pass you would git in trouble ef caught wid out one which allus ment a good whuppin' w'en dey returned. At dat time menny slaves would run 'way en hide in caves en menny ob dem would go by de "ondergroun' railroad" ter Canada whar slavery wuz not recognized." (The underground railroad consisted of hiding places throughout the states to Canada and the slaves would make the trip under cover from station to station.)

"De slaves would slip out at nite ter private meetin's en turn a pot bottom up on de groun' en leave a little hole under hit so de sound ob dere talkin' would go onder de pot en no one would 'year whut dey wuz talkin' 'bout."

"De ex-slaves ob de better class did vote en de white peeple stuck wid de good cul'ed folks. I don' member now 'bout de Nat Turner 'Bellion."

"Atter freedum de slaves wuz 'lowed ter stay on de plantation en 'lowed ter farm en gib half dey made. Atter slavery I useter wuk fer fifty cents en git a peck ob meal, three pounds ob bacon en a quart ob syrup which would las' a week."

"De Ku Klux Klan's plan wuz ter whup all white er cul'ed people dat didn't stay at home en support dere families but would run 'roun en live a bad life. W'en de Klan would be passin' through de slaves would call dem ghostus."

"One nite mah br'er en me wuz sleepin' in de dining room. Sumpin woke us an we seed sumpin' dat kum through de yard en got hold ob sum blocks. Dat thing didn't hab no haid en didn't hab no tale en looked lak hit wuz backin' up on all four legs. Nex mawnin' we could fin' no tracks ob whuteber hit wuz en de gate wuz also fasened."

"Dis young peoples 'cordin' ter de Bible ez on de broad road ter ruin. Dey think dey ez as good as de white people but dey ez classed as niggahs in mah eyes."

"Caint member any ob de ole songs now."

SUBJECT--EX-SLAVE STORIES

Andrew Moss #88 Auburn Streets Knoxville, Tennessee

"One ting dat's all wrong wid dis world today," according to Andrew Moss, aged negro, as he sits through the winter days before an open grate fire in his cabin, with his long, lean fingers clasped over his crossed knees, "is dat dey ain no 'prayer grounds'. Down in Georgia whar I was born,--dat was 'way back in 1852,--us colored folks had prayer grounds. My Mammy's was a ole twisted thick-rooted muscadine bush. She'd go in dar and pray for deliverance of de slaves. Some colored folks cleaned out knee-spots in de cane breaks. Cane you know, grows high and thick, and colored folks could hide de'seves in dar, an nobody could see an pester em."

"You see it was jes like dis. Durin' de war, an befo de war too, white folks make a heap o fun of de colored folks for alltime prayin. Sometime, say, you was a slave en you git down to pray in de field or by de side of de road. White Marster come 'long and see a slave on his knees. He say, 'What you prayin' 'bout?' An you say, 'Oh, Marster I'se jes prayin' to Jesus cause I wants to go to Heaven when I dies.' An Marster say, 'Youse my negro. I git ye to Heaven. Git up off'n your knees.' De white folks what owned slaves thought that when dey go to Heaven de collored folk's would be dar to wait on em. An ef'n it was a Yank come 'long, he say too, 'What you prayin' 'bout?' You gives de same 'sponse. An he say, 'We'se gwine save you. We goin' to set you free. You wants to be free, dont you?' 'Yessir, Boss!' 'Well den, Yank say, come go 'long wid me.' Ain no use keep sayin' 'Please sir Boss, I'll have to arsk my Master.' Yank say, 'what you mean, Marster? You aint got no Marster. We's settin' you free.'"

"Sometimes dey takes a' tie a rope 'round you, and they starts ridin' off but dey dont go too fas' so you walks behind. Sometimes 'long comes another Yank on a horse an he arsk, 'Boy ain you tired?' 'Yessir Boss.' 'Well den you git up here behind me and ride some.' Den he wrop de rope all 'round de saddle horn. Wrops and wrops, but leaves some slack. But he keeps you tied, so's you wont jump down and run away. An many's de time a prayin' negro got took off like dat, and want never seen no more."

"'Course ef'n you goes wid em, you 'member your trainin' and 'fore you leaves de field, you stacks your hoe nice, like you was quittin' de days work. Dey learned the little'uns to do dat, soon's dey begins to work in de fields. Dey had little hoes, handles 'bout de size of my arm, for de little fellers. I've walked many a mile, when I was a little feller, up and down de rows, followin' de grown folks, an chopping wid de hoe 'round de corners whar de earth was soft so de little uns could hoe easy. Whoopee! Let dat dinner horn blow, and evy body stacks dey hoes, nince, neat stacks standin up, and starts to run. Some eats in dey own cabins, but dem what eats at de big house, sets down at a long table, and gets good grub too! Evy night, our Marster give us evy one a glass o whiskey. Dat's to keep off decease. Mornins' we had to all drink tar water for de same purpose. Dat want so tasty."

"My Marster's name was George Hopper. Dat man paid taxes on more'n two-thousand acres of land in two counties. I lived in dem two counties. Was born in Wilkes and raised in Lincoln County, Georgia. We called it de middle-south. My Marster he never did marry. Lots of folks didnt, dey jes took up wid one another. Marster Hopper had five children by my grandmother. She was his house woman, dat's what he call 'er. An when he died he willed her and all dem chilluns a house, some land, and a little money. He'd of left em a heap more money and ud been one of the richest men in the country, ef'n de war hadn't broke out. When it was over he had a barrel full of 'Federate greenbacks. But t'want no count. He done broke den. One day my uncle, he was the colored overseer, he went to Danbury, six miles from whar we lived at, and he paid $5 for a pound of coffee. Dat was befo de North whupped de South, and dey had'n killed-down de money value for de South."

"Talk about hard times! We see'd em in dem days, durin' de war and most specially after de Surrender. Folks dese days dont know what trouble looks like. We was glad to eat ash-cakes and drink parched corn and rye 'stead o coffee. I've seed my grandmother go to de smoke house, and scrape up de dirt whar de meat had drapped, and take it to de house fer seasonin. You see, both armies fed off'n de white folks, and dey cleaned out dey barns and cellars and smoke houses when dey come. One time, when de Yanks was on de way to Augusta, I was picking up chips to make the supper fire, when I see'd em comin'. I hit it out from dar and hide behind two little hills down by de big spring. After awhile my brother find me and he tell me to come on back to the house and see dem white mens dance. De Yanks kep' comin' and dey eat all night. By daylight they was through marchin past."

"An den come de Rebels. When dey come we had five-thousand bushel of corn, one-hundred head o hogs, three-hundred and fifty galons of syrup 'en sech. When dey left, they took an set fire to evything, to keep it away from the Yanks, aimin to starve em out o dat country. Dat's what dey done. Some of dem Rebs was mean as the Yanks. And dat was bein' mean. Some called de Yanks, 'de Hornets', 'cause dey fight so. Take a Yank an he'd fight acrost a buzz saw and it circlin' fifty mile a minute."

"Dat time when the Yanks was goin' to Augusta, an I went to black my Marster's boot,--he'd give us a two-cent peice, big as a quarter--for boot blackin, I say, 'Marster who is dem soldiers?' An he say to me, 'Dey's de Yankees, come to try to take you awy from me.' An I say, 'Looks like to me Marster, ef'n dey wants to take us dey'd arsk you fer us.' Marster laughed and say, 'Boy! Dem fellers dont axes wid words. Dey does all dey talkin' wid cannons.' Did you know that a white woman shot de first cannon dat was ever fired in de state o Georgia? She was a Yankee Colonel's wife, dey say, named Miss Anna, I dunno the rest o her name. She wants to be de first to fire a cannon she say, to set the negroes free. Dat was befo' de war, begin. De roar of dat cannon was in folkes ears for more'n five days and nights."

Uncle Andrew gave a little grunt as he lifted himself out of his chair. His little frame seemed lost in the broad-shouldered lumber jacket that he wore. He had laid aside the paper sack from which he had been eating, when the visitor came, and removed an old stocking cap from his head. When the visitor suggested that he keep it on, as he might catch cold he replied, "I dont humor myself none." The sunlight fell upon his head and shoulders as he stood, to steady himself on his feet. Traces of his ancestry of Indian blood,--one of his grandfathers was a Cherokee Indian,--were evident in his features. His skin is jet-black, but his forehead high and his nose straight, with nostrils only slightly full. There was dignity in his bearing and beauty in his face, with its halo of cotton-white hair and beard, cut short and neatly parted in the middle of his chin.

Walking about the room, he called the visitor's attention to family portraits on the walls. Some were colored crayons, and a few were enlarged snap-shots. Proudly he pointed to the photograph of a huge-sized Negro man, apparently in his thirties, and said, "He was our first comins'. Reckon he took after his great granddaddy, who was eight feet tall and weighed twe-hundred and fifty pounds. That man's arms was so long, when dey hung down by his side, his fingers was below his knees. Dis grandfather was free-born. My father, Dave Moss, he was sold three times. He had twenty-five children. But he had two wives. As I aforesaid, folks didn't always marry in dem days, jes took up wid one another. My mother was his title-wife. By her, he jes had me and my two full-brothers an one sister. My mother died two years after de war. My father give my sister to my grandmother. Jes give 'er to 'er."

"How come I live in Knoxville, I was a young man, when I started off from Georgia, aimin to go over de mountains to Kentucky whar I heard dey pay good wages. I stopped in Campbell country, Tennessee wid another feller, an' I see'd a pretty gal workin' in de field. An I say's, I'm goin' to marry dat gal. Sho 'nough me an her was married in less dan six months. Her Marster build us a log house and we lived dar 'till we come to Knoxville, Tennessee. Now, all o my boys is dead. Evy one o em worked for Mr. Peters (Peters and Bradley Flour Mills, of Knoxville)--and dey all died workin' fer him. So Mister Willie, he say he gwine let me live here, in de company house, the rest o my days."

The four room frame house stands near a creek at the dead end of an alley on which both whites and negroes live. The huge double bed, neatly made, stands between two windows from which there is an unobstructed view of the highway traversing north and south through northern Knoxville, several blocks away from Andrew's home. "I jes lay down on dat bed nights and watch them autimobiles flyin by. Dey go Blip! Blip! and Blip! An I say to my self, 'Watch them fools!' Folkes ain got de sense dey's born wid. Ain smart like dey used to be. An times ain good like dey was. Ef'n it hadnt been for some of dem crazy fools, actin up and smarty, me an my wife'd be gittin maybe a hun'ered an' more dollars a month, 'stead o the fifteen we gits 'tween us for ole' age help. They'd ought to let Rosevelt alone. An its his own folks as is fitin' 'im. He is a big man even ef he is a Democrat. I'm a Republican though. Voted my first time for Blaine."

"Yes I votes sometimes now, when dey come gits me. An befo I got sick, I would ride the street car to town. An I goes down to de Court House, and when I see dem cannons in deyard I cain keep from cryin'. My wife arsk me what make me go look at dem cannon ef'n dey makes me cry. An I tells her I cry 'bout de good and de bad times dem cannon bringed us. But no cannons or nothin' else, seems like going to bring back de good old times. But I dont worry 'bout all dese things much. Accordin' to de Good Book's promise, weepin' may endure for a night, den come joy in de mornin. An I knows dat de day's soon come when I goes to meet my folks and my Lord an Marster in his Heaven, whar dey ain no more weepin.'"

SUBJECT--EX-SLAVE STORIES

Aunt Mollie Moss # 88- Auburn Street, Knoxville, Tennessee

There is no street sign or a number on any of the ramshackled frame cottages that seemingly lean with the breezes, first one direction, then another, along the alley that wind's through the city's northernmost boundary and stops its meanderings at the doorstep of "Uncle Andrew Moss" and his wife, "Aunt Mollie."

The City Directory of Knoxville, Tennessee officially lists the Moss residence as # 88 Auburn Street. It rests upon its foundations more substantially, and is in better kept condition than its neighbors. In lieu of a "reg'lar" house number, the aged negro couple have placed a rusty automobile lisence tag of ancient vintage conspicuously over their door. It is their jesture of contempt for their nearest white neighbors who "dont seem to care whedder folkses know whar dey lib an maybe don wants em to."

As for Aunt Mollie, she holds herself superior to all of her neighbors. She "Ain got no time for po white trash noway." She shoo'ed two little tow-headed white girls from her doorstep with her broom as she stood in her door and watched a visitor approach. "G'wan way frum here now, can be bodder wid you chillun messin ups my front yard. Take yo tings an go on back to yo own place!"

"Dats way dey do," she mummled as she lead the visitor inside the cottage, through the dining-room and kitchen into the living-room and bedroom. "Don know what I gwine do when come summer time. Keeps me all time lookin out for dem chilluns. Dey's dat troublesome. Brings trash in on my flo what I jes scoured, an musses 'roun, maybe tryin to steal sumpin an me watchin em too. Dey wasnt teached manners and 'havior in odder folkses houses like what I war."

When Aunt Mollie learned that it was to hear her story of how she was trained in manners end behaviorism, that the visitor had come, and to hear something of her recollections of slave days, her belligerent mood vanished. The satisfied manner in which she drew up chairs before the fire, took a pinch of snuff and settled her skirts, indicated that was going to be quite a session. She leaned her elbows on her knees, held her head between the palms of her hands and fumbled in her cloudy memory to gather a few facts to relate.

Uncle Andrew, the more intelligent of the two, and quick to seize upon his opportunity, began his reminiscences immediately, saying "Honey, wait now," when his wife thought herself well organized to talk, and frequently broke into his narrative. "Wait untell I gits through. Den you can talk." Aunt Mollie would frown and grunt, mumble to herself as she rocked back and forth in her chair. She pulled the two long braids of brown silky hair, streaked with white, and tied at the ends with cotton strings. She spat vigorously into the fire, kept muttering and shuffling her feet, which were encased in men's shoes.

At last it came Aunt Mollie's turn to talk war-times. Uncle Andrew, well pleased with his recital, retired to his corner by the hearth and listened "mannerdly"--after first warning the visitor in a gentle undertone, that "My wife she ain got much mem'ry an she don hear good." Aunt Mollie's rambling reminiscences backed up his statement. She began.

"Reckon I mus be 'bout eighty-two, three year old. I dunno exactly. Ef I knowed whar to find em, deys some my white folkes lib in dis town. Seem like I can 'member dey names. I b'longed to Marster Billy Cain, and was raised on his farm in Campbell county, Tennessee. Oh, 'bout six, seven mile from Jacksboro. Wish I could go back dar some time. Ain been dar sence me an Moss married an live eight, ten or some more years in a log cabin he built for us. We was married March 7, de day atter Cleveland was 'lected presi-dent. In 1885 did you say? Well, reckon you're right. I ain had no schoolin an I can 'member lots o tings I used to know."

"Billy Cain worked me in de fields. An his wife Miss Nancy say she gwine stop it, 'cause I was so pretty she fraid somebody come steal me." Aunt Mollie buried her face in her apron and had a good laugh. "Dey said I was de pretties' girl anywhars about. Had teeth jes like pearls. Whoops! Look at em now. Ain got 'nuff left to chaw wid. You notices how light-complected I is? My own father was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian. De Yanks captured him an killed him."

"I was hoein in de field dat time Moss com 'long and see me and say he gwine marry me. An, jes like he tell you, we was married in less dan six months. We been livin togedder evy since and we gits along good. We have had blessins' and got a lot to be thankful for. Could have more to eat sometimes, but we gits along someways. I am a good cook. Miss Nancy she teached me all kinds o cookin, puttin up berries, makin pickles and bakin bread and cake an evy'ting. Her ole man Cain give us good grub dem days. Monday mornins' we go to de Cains to git rations for de week. Dey gib us three pounds wheat, a peck o meal, a galon o molasses, two pound o lard, two pound o brown sugar, rice an evy'ting. I use to have plates an china white folks gib me. White woman come one day, say she wan buy 'em. Took plum nigh all I had. Did'n pay me much o nothin' either."

"Yes, Lord. I does 'member 'bout de war. I've see'd de blue an I've see'd de grey. In 1862 I see'd de soldiers formin' in line. I was a great big girl. Dem swords glisen' like stars. Can' member whar dey was goin dat time. But I ain forgit de times soldiers come foragin. Dey got all dey wanted, too. Hep' dey sef's an dont pay for it, never. Soldier see a chicken go under de house, he plop down and shoot, and den call me to crawl under de house and fetch it out." Aunt Mollie buried her head in her apron again and laughed like a child. "Lordy how scared I was of de old gander dat blowed at me, whilst I was tryin' to drag 'em out alive, when I see'd de soldiers comin'."

"Billy Cain, he was brudder-in-law to Old Townslee, who lived on a plantation in Alabama. How come my mother was give to Cain an come to Tennessee, was one mornin' Old Townslee rode his horse out under a tree to blow up de slaves. Blow de horn you know, to call 'em to work. Somebody shot 'im. Right off his horse. It was so dark, 'fore daylight, an' couldnt see and dey never did find out who shot 'im. Heap o white folks had enemies dem days. So de slaves he owned was divided munxt his chilluns. My mother was one of nine dat come to Billy Cain dat way."

"Talk 'bout your shootin jest for devilment. Lemme tell you 'bout old men John Wynn. He live down dar 'bout ten mile from whar Moss lived when he was a boy. I've heard em tell it many a time. Dey say John Wynn had 185 slaves. Evy time it come George Washington's birthday, Old Wynn he had a feast and invite all de slaves! He celebratin! he say. He seta a long table wid all kind good tings to eat. An he count de slaves, so's to be sure dey all come. An' den he'd take an pick out one and shoot him! Den he say, "Now youse all can go 'head an eat. Throw dat nigger 'side an we bury im in mornin'." And he walks off to de big house. No! He wasn't drunk. Jes de debil in 'im. Well, he shot ten, twelve, maybe thirty dat way. An den de white folks hanged 'im to a tree. Hanged im t'well he was good and dead, dey did."

"Now folkes can 'joy dey victuals wid sech goin's on. De slaves git so's dey scared to hear de bell ring. Don' know what it mean. Maybe death, maybe fire, maybe nudder sale o some body. Gwine take 'em way. But when de bell ring dey had to come. Let dat ole bell ring and de woods was full o negroes. Maybe 500 hundred come from all over date county."

Aunt Mollie was beginning to ramble and babble incoherently, her memories of her own and the experiences of others all confused in her mind. When she had about finished a story about how one of the slave women, "bust de skull" of the head of her marster,'" 'cause she was nussin a sick baby an' he tell her she got to git out in dat field an hoe" and the gory details of what the shovel did to the white marster's head, it was time for the visitors to close the interview.

Both Uncle Andrew and Aunt Mollie followed the visitor to the front door, and wished her "All de luck in de world. An thank you for comin'. An come see us agin, nudder time."

INTERVIEW ANDY ODELL 1313 Pearl Street Nashville, Tennessee

"I wuz bawn east ob Spring Hill, Tennessee. I dunno in w'at y'ar, but I wuz a ful' grown man w'en I wuz freed. (This will make him about 96 years old.). I wuz an onlies' chile en I nebber knowed mah daddy. Mah mammy wuz sold 'way fum me. She ma'ied a man named Brown en dey had seven chillun."

"At fust I 'longed ter Marster Jim Caruthers. W'en his daughter ma'ied Fount Odell, I wuz willed ter her en den mah marsters wuz Fount en Albert Odell who wuz br'ers. Mah white folks let us go ter chuch. I b'leeves in de Baptist 'ligion. I nebber knowed any slave dat had ter hide ter sing er pray. I members de comet en hit wuz a sta'r wid a long tail en looked lak hit wuz burnin'. De sta'rs fell 'fore I wuz bawn." (The stars fell in 1833).

"We had ter hab passes en if you didn't hab one, you got whupped. Mah marster let me go ter chuch wid' out a pass. I members de Klu Klux Klan but dey nebber bothered me, tho I 'yeard a lot 'bout dem. Dey called demselves "White Caps" en said dey wuz rite fum de grave. W'en a slave got whupped hit wuz cose dey disobey dere white folks en de overseer whupped dem. I though mah white folks wuz awful mean ter me sumtime."

"I nebber b'leeved in ghos' but hab yeard lots 'bout dem. Lots of peeples did b'leeve in dem back in dem times. Uster sing a lot but I dunno names ob dem now. I dunno w'at ez gwine ter 'kum ob dis young crowd. I sho don't think diff'ent culers oughter ma'rie. De Lawd didn't mean fer hit ter be dun. Dunno ob any slave 'risin's in Virginia er any uther place. Don't member now de tales en sayin' ob de ole times."

"Member well w'en de war broke out en how dey had big dinners en marched 'round ovuh de fiel's, gittin' ready fer de war. I had a br'er kilt in de war en mah mammy got a lettle money fum 'im. Also member dat w'en mah mammy got de money she bought me a hat."

"I don't git nuthin at freedum en I dunno ob any slaves gittin' any land er money. I know dat w'en we wuz freed Marster Albert called us slaves in en said, "You all ez as free as I ez, but you can stay 'yer en wuk fer me ef'n you want ter." I staid wid 'im a good w'ile attar freedum."

"Since freedum I hab plowed, hoed, cut wood, en wuk'd in quarries pecking rock. Hab nebber wuk'd in town fer I dunno de things 'bout town. I hab voted almost eve'y election since freedum 'til dese last few years. I hab had two frens in office but both ez de'd now. I uster think 'omen shouldn't vote, but I guess hit ez alri'te."

INTERVIEW LAURA RAMSEY PARKER 715 Gay St. Nashville, Tennessee

"I'se 87 y'ars ole. Wuz bawn in slavery. Wuz freed w'en de slavery stopped. Mack Ramsey wuz mah marster en he wuz sho good ter his slaves. He treated dem as human bein's. W'en he turned his slaves 'loose he gib dem no money, but gib dem lands, clothin' en food 'til dey could brang in dere fust crop. Mah daddy rented a strip ob land 'til he wuz able ter buy de place. He lived on de same fer menny y'ars."

"W'en I wuz ole er'nuff I wuz taught ter spin en weav. I bucum de nuss ter de marster's onlies' chile. Soon atter I wuz freed, I went ter Wisconsin, but only wuz dere fer a y'ar, den I kum back ter Tennessee en Nashville. I settled in dis house en I'se bin livin' in hit fer ovuh fifty y'ars. Dere wuz no uther houses 'round 'yer at de time. I own de place. Hab wuk'd all mah life seem ter me. At one time I wuz a chambermaid at de Nicholson House now de Tulane en later 'kum a sick nuss, a seamstress, dressmaker but now I pieces en sells bed quilts. I does mah own housekeepin' en washin'."

"I don't member now, very much 'bout de Ku Klux Klan. I do member dat one nite dey passed our home en I grab'ed a shotgun en said dat I wuz gwine ter shoot dem ef dey kum on de place. I members de Battle ob Murfreesboro, but I'se got no membrances ob any slave uprisin'."

"I think very lettle ob de younger ginerashon. Dere's many things ter day dat should be changed, but I'se 'yer en can't do nuthin' ter change hit. I's min'in mah own business. I puts mah faith en trust in Gawd's han's; en treats mah nabers right; en lives honest. I 'longs ter de Christian Chuch, but don't wan'ter be called a "Campbellite."

"De songs I members ez:

Am I a Soldier ob de Cross. Am I Bawn ter Die? 'Tis 'Ligion Dat Can Gib."

INTERVIEW NAISY REECE 710 Overton St. Nashville, Tennessee

"I wuz bawn in slavery, in Williamson County, guess I'se 'bout 80 y'ars ole. Think I wuz fou' w'en de wah started."

"Mah mammy en daddy wuz Mary en Ennock Brown."

"Mah missis en marster wuz Polly en Randall Brown."

"Dunno ob any ob our fam'ly bein' sold. W'en freedum wuz declar' we wuz tu'n loose wid nothin'. Mah daddy tuk us down in de kuntry, raised crops en made us wuk in de fiel'."

"I'se cooked a leetle fer urther peeple, but mos' ob mah wuk has bin laundry. I didn't go ter schul much. I dunno w'at ter say 'bout de younger gineratshun; dere ez sich a diff'unce now ter w'at hit wuz w'en I wuz a girl. Dunno any tales dat I useter 'year."

"Didn't see any Klu Klux Klan, but I alluz got skeered en hid w'en we'd 'year dey wuz kumin'. I 'long ter de Baptist Church. I neber went ter menny camp-meetin's, but went ter a lot ob baptizins."

"Mammy tole us how de sta'rs fell en how skeered eberybody got. I saw de long tail comet."

_Signs_: "Good luck ter git up 'fore day-lite ef'n youer gwin sum place er start sum wuk." "Bad luck ter sweep flo' atter dark en sweep de dirt out."

_Songs_: "I Couldn't Hear Anybody Pray."
"Ole Time 'Ligion."
"Cross De Riber Jordan."

"I'se neber voted, en hab neber had any frens in office. Neber knowed nothin' 'bout de slave mart er de 'structshun days."

INTERVIEW MILLIE SIMPKINS "BLACK MAMIE" 1004 10th Avenue, No. Nashville, Tennessee