Chapter VI: Part 6

"Massa Bias refugees me and my mammy to Mansfield, in Louisiana when I's jus' a baby. They come in wagons and was two months on the way, and the big boys and men rode hossback, but all the niggers big 'nough had to walk. Massa Bias opens a farm twelve mile from Mansfield. My mammy plowed and hoed and chopped and picked cotton and jus' as good as the menfolks. I allus worked in the house, nussin' the white chillen and spinnin' and housework. Me and my brother, Frank, slep' in Missy Bias house on a pallet. No matter how cold it was we slep on that pallet without no cover, in front the fireplace.

"Old man Tom never give us no money and half 'nough clothes. I had one dress the year round, two lengths of cloth sewed together, and I didn't know nothin' 'bout playin' neither. If I made too much fuss they put me under the bed. My white folks didn't teach us nothin' 'cept how they could put the whip on us. I had to put on a knittin' of stockin's in the mornin' and if I didn't git it out by night, Missy put the lash on me.

"My mammy was sceered of old Tom Bias as if he was a bear. She worked in the field all day and come in at night and help with the stock. After supper they made her spin cloth. Massa fed well 'nough, but made us wear our old lowel clothes till they most fell off us. We was treated jus' like animals, but some owners treated they stock better'n old Tom Bias handled my folks. I still got a scar over my right eye where he put me in the dark two months. We had a young cow and when she had her first calf they sent me to milk her, and she kicked me and run me round a li'l pine tree, fightin' and tryin' to hook me. Massa and missy standin' in the gate all the time, hollerin' to me to make the cow stand still. I got clost to her and she kicked me off the stool and I run to the gate, and massa grab me and hit me 'cross the eye with a leather strap and I couldn't see out my right eye for two months. He am dead now, but I's gwine tell the truth 'bout the way we was treated.

"I could hear the guns shootin' in the war. It sound like a thunder storm when them cannons boomin'. Didn't nary one our menfolks go to war. I know my brother say, 'Annie, when them cannons stops boomin' we's gwine be all freed from old Massa Tom's beatin's.

"But massa wouldn't let us go after surrender. My mammy pretends to go to town and takes Frank and goes to Mansfield and asks the Progoe Marshal what to do. He say we's free as old man Tom and didn't have to stay no more. Frank stays in town and mammy brings a paper from the progoe, but she's sceered to give it to Massa Tom. Me and James out in the yard makin' soap. I's totin' water from the spring and James fetchin' firewood to put round the pot. Mammy tells James to keep goin' next time he goes after wood and her and me come round 'nother way and meets him down the road. That how we got 'way from old man Bias. Me and mammy walks off and leaves a pot of soap bilin' in the backyard. We sot our pails down at the spring and cuts through the field and meets James down the big road. We left 'bout ten o'clock that mornin' and walks all day till it starts to git dark.

"Then we comes to a white man's house and asks could we stay all night. He give us a good supper and let us sleep in his barn and breakfast next mornin' and his wife fixes up some victuals in a box and we starts to Mansfield. We was sceered most to death when we come to that man's house, fear he'd take us back to old man Bias. But we had to have somethin' to eat from somewheres. When mammy tells him how we left old man Bias, he says, 'That damn rascal ought to be Ku Kluxed.' He told us not to be 'fraid.

"We come to Mansfield and finds Frank and mammy hires me and James out to a white widow lady in Mansfield, and she sho' a good, sweet soul. She told mammy to come on and stay there with us till she git a job. We stayed with her two years.

"Then old man Charlie Stewart brung us to Marshall, and when I's eighteen I marries and lives with him twenty-six years. He worked on the railroad and helped move the shops from Hallsville to Marshall. He laughed and said the first engine they run from here to Jefferson had a flour barrel for a smokestack. He died and I married Tom Osborne, but he's dead eight years.

"I raises a whole passel chillen and got a passel grandchillen. They allus brings me a hen or somethin'. My boy is cripple and lives with me, and my gal's husband works for Wiley College. Old man Bias' son got in jail and sent for me. He say, 'Annie, you is my sister, and help me git out of jail.' I told him I didn't help him in and wouldn't help him out. I washed and ironed and now gits $9.00 pension. My boy got his leg cut off by the railroad. He can't do much."

Horace Overstreet

*Horace Overstreet was born in Harrison Co., Texas, in 1856, a slave of M.J. Hall. He was brought to Beaumont when a youth and still lives there.*

"I born near Marshall what was de county seat and my master was call' Hall. My mother name Jennie and my father's name Josh. He come back from de 'federate War and never got over it. He in de army with he young massa.

"Dat old plantation must have been 'bout 200 acres or even mo', and 'bout 500 head of slaves to work it. Massa Hall, he big lawyer and bought more niggers every year. He kep' a overseer what was white and a nigger driver. Sometime dey whip de slaves for what dey call dis'bedjonce. Dey tie 'em down and whip 'em. But I was raise' 'round de house, 'cause I a fav'rite nigger.

"De niggers didn't have no furniture much in dere houses, maybe de bedstead nail up to de side de house, and some old seats and benches. De rations was meat and meal and syrup 'lasses. Dey give 'em de shirt to wear, made out of lowers. Dat what dey make de cotton sack out of. De growed people has shoes, but de chillen has no need.

"Christmas time and Fourth July dey have de dance, jus' a reg'lar old breakdown dance. Some was dancin' Swing de Corner, and some in de middle de floor cuttin' de chicken wing. Dey has banjo pickers. Seem like my folks was happy when dey starts dancin'. Iffen dey start without de permit, de patterroles run up on dem and it 150 lashes. Law, dem niggers sho' scatter when de patterroles comes. Jus' let a nigger git de start and de patterrole sho' got to git a move on hisse'f to git dat nigger, 'cause dat nigger sho' move 'way from dat place!

"When de war comes, I seed plenty soldiers and if dey have de uniform I could tell it jus' in spots, for dey so dirty. Dey was Yankee soldiers and some stops in Marshall and takes charge of de court martial.

"Fore long time come to go up and hear de freedom. We has to go up and hear dat we's free. Massa Hall, he say we kin stay and he pay us for de work. We didn' have nothin' so most of us stays, gatherin' de crop. Some of dem gits de patch of land from massa and raises a bale of cotton. Massa buy dat cotton and den he sell it.

"After 'while they slips away, some of 'em works for de white folks and some of 'em goes to farmin' on what they calls de shares. I works nearly everywhere for de white folks and makes 'nough to eat and git de clothes. It was harder'n bein' de slave at first, but I likes it better, 'cause I kin go whar I wants and git what I wants.

"Dey was conjure men and women in slavery days and dey make out dey kin do things. One of 'em give a old lady de bag of sand and told her it keep her massa from shippin' her. Dat same day she git too uppity and sass de masaa, 'cause she feel safe. Dat massa, he whip dat nigger so hard he cut dat bag of sand plumb in two. Dat ruint de conjure man business."

Mary Overton

*Mary Overton, 117 W. Heard St., Cleburne, Texas, was born in Tennessee, but moved when very young to Carroll Co., Arkansas, where her parents belonged to Mr. Kennard. Mary does not know her age.*

"I'se born in Tennessee but I don' 'member where, and I don' know how ole I is. I don' 'member what de marster's name was dere. My mother's name was Liza and my father's name was Dick. When I was 'bout four year ole, my marster and mistis give me to dere daughter, who married a Dr. James Cox and dey come to Texas and brought me with 'em. The marster in Arkansas, which give me to his daughter, was named Kennard. I never seed him but one time. Dat when he was sick and he had all his little niggers dressed up and brought in to see him.

"Dr. Cox and his wife and me come to Fort Graham, in Hill County, Texas, from Arkansas. We was 'bout two weeks comin'. Fort Graham wasn' no reg'lar fort. Dere was jus' some soldiers campin' dere and dere was a little town. Lots of Indians come in to trade. Den de doctor got a farm on Nolan river, not far from whar Cleburne is now, and we went there.

"While we was on de farm, I got married. My husban' was Isaac Wright. I had seven chillen by him. My second husban' was Sam Overton. Him and me had two chillen. I wasn't married to Isaac by a preacher. De slaves wasn' jin'rally married dat way. Dey jus' told dey marsters dey wanted to be husban' and wife and if dey agreed, dat was all dere was to it, dey was said to be married. I heered some white folks had weddin's for dere niggers, but I never did see none.

"My marster had 'bout four slaves. He sold and bought slaves sev'ral times, but he couldn' sell me, 'cause I belonged to de mistis, and she wouldn' let him sell me. I cooked and washed and ironed and looked after de chillen, mostly. Dey had three chillen, but de mistis died when the least one was 'bout six months ole and I raised de two older ones. Dey was two boys, and dey was 'bout grown when I lef' after freedom.

"We slaves had good 'nuf houses to live in. We didn' have no garden. I wore cotton dresses in summer and linsey dresses and a shawl in de winter. I had shoes most of de time. My white folks was pretty good to keep me in clothes. I gen'rally went to church wid mistis.

"Didn' have no special clothes when I got married. I slep' in de kitchen gen'rally, and had a wooden bed, sometimes with a cotton mattress and sometimes it was a shuck mattress.

"My mistis teached me to read and write, but I wouldn' learn. I never went to school neither. She would read de Bible to us.

"I didn' know no songs when I was in slavery. I didn' know 'bout no baptizin'. I didn' play no certain games, jus' played roun' de yard.

"I wasn' at no sale of slaves, but saw some bein' tuk by in chains once, when we lived at Reutersville. Dey was said to be 'bout 50 in de bunch. Dey was chained together, a chain bein' run 'tween 'em somehow, and dey was all man and women, no chillen. Dey was on foot. Two white men was ridin' hosses and drivin' de niggers like dey was a herd of cattle.

"Lots of slaves run away, but I don' know how dey got word 'round 'mong de niggers.

"I don' 'member much 'bout de war. Dere wasn' no fightin' whar we was, on de farm on Nolan river. On de day we was made free, de marster come and called us out one at a time and tol' us we was free. He said to me, 'Mary, you is free by de law. You don' belong to me no more. You can go wherever you wan' to. I ain't got no more to say 'bout you.' He tol' us if we'd stay awhile he'd treat us good and maybe we'd better stay, as de people was pretty much worked up. De rest of 'em stayed 'bout a week, den dey went off, and never come back, 'cept Isaac. I didn' go, but I stayed a long time after we was made free. I didn' care nothin' 'bout bein' free. I didn' have no place to go and didn' know nothin' to do. Dere I had plenty to eat and a place to stay and dat was all I knowed 'bout.

"When I lef' I hired out as cook. I got ten dollars a month and all my food and clothes and a place to sleep. I didn' spend but one dime of my pay for eight months. I bought candy wid dat dime, like a walkin' stick.

"I sure wish I knew how old I is, but I ain' sure. I don' even know my birthday!" (According to some white persons who have known Mary for a long time, calculated from information Mary had given them as to her younger days, when her memory was better than it is now, she is probably more than one hundred years old.)

George Owens

*George Owens, medium in height and weight, seated comfortably under the shade of an old oak tree, was clad in a blue shirt and overalls, and brogan shoes with a few slits cut in them to prevent hurting his feet. He has kinky gray hair, a bit of gray hair on his chin and a nicely trimmed mustache on his upper lip. George's right eye is completely closed from an injury which he received while in railroad service. Born near Marshall, Texas, the slave of Dave Owens, he told his story with great interest and enjoyed the opportunity to tell about the old days.*

"I was bo'n right close to de ol' powder mill up in Marshall, Texas, where dey uster mek powder. Understan'? Dey call it Mills Quarters. I was a right sizeable boy twel' year' ol' when freedom come."

"Dave Owens, dat was my ol' marster' name, and dat was my daddy' name too. My name' George William David Owen. I use dat William 'cause one of dem other Owens uster git my mail."

"Ol' marster he had a big farm plantation. Dey uster raise cotton, and co'n and 'taters and sich like. My daddy was de shoemaker for de plantation."

"One day me and my daddy was talkin'. Dat was de fus' Crismus atter freedom. He say to me, 'Son, does you know how ol' you is?' I say, 'No, suh.' He say, 'Well, you is 12 year' ol'.' I 'member dat and dat was de fus' Crismus atter freedom."

"Williams was my fus' marster but he sel' us to Owens. He live in Marshall, but he hab a plantation 'bout t'ree or fo' mile' out. Atter dat Owens he buy out Mills Quarters from Williams."

"My wuk was jis' de odds and en's 'roun' de yard. When ol' mistus call me and tell me to pick up chips, or pull up weeds or bring in weed and sich, I hafter do it. You knew how wimmen is, allus havin' you do fus' one t'ing and den anudder. I neber did wuk in de fiel'."

"It was a big plantation. Dey was in de neighborhood of 25 or 30 slaves on de place. Us had a good marster and I 'speck us was pretty lucky. Ol' marster see to it dat us have plenty to eat. Dey feed us milk and 'taters and peas, and bread and meat. No sir, we didn' sit down at no trough for to eat. Dey had tables in de slaves' houses. Us sit down to us meals like human bein's. My mammy was de cook on de place. Her name was Sarah Owens."

"Dey give de little ones what couldn' come to de table, a pan and spoon for dem to have at meal time. Dem what so little dey can't eat outer a pan, dey have suck bottles for dem."

"Dey milk 'bout 12 or 14 head of cow' on de place. Dey had plenty of milk and butter. Dey had a big safe what dey put de milk and butter in to keep it fresh. Dere was a trough wid water in it and dey set de milk and butter in it in de summer time. Dey had a peg of wood in a hole at de en', and when dey want to change de water dey pull out de peg and dreen de water out and put some cool fresh water in."

"When I was a boy us uster play wid spools, and puppies and stick hosses. Us uster have bows and arrers. Sometime us go out in de wood huntin' wid de bows and arrers. Us shoot at birds and sich, but us neber did had no luck at it."

"De grown up folks uster go huntin' at night and kill deers and 'possums. Dey had to have a permit transfer iffen dey go huntin' or go from one plantation to annuder. Iffen dey didn' have a permit de patterrollers would git 'em."

"De patterrollers neber git me. I see 'em chase slaves. When dey ketch 'em dey whip 'em, and tell 'em nex' time be sho' to have a pass from ol' marster."

"I neber see ol' marster beat nobody. What whippin' he done he done it wid his mout'. He mighty keen speakin' den, but when he speak rough to a nigger he need it."

"De kind of chu'ch dey have in dem days on dat place was fence-corner chu'ch. Dey go off down in de fence corner and sing and pray. Dey feerd for anybody to see 'em."

"Dey was some cullud preacher' 'roun' but dey warn't on us plantation. I jine' de Baptis' Chu'ch but dat was way atter slavery. I uster be pro tem deacon."

"De fus' money I earn' was wukkin' on the T&P Railroad. I jis' blow it in, you know like boys do. I los' dis eye railroadin'. I was spikin' on a col' frosty mornin'. I hit dat spike and it broke up in t'ree piece' and de middle piece hit me in de eye and put it out."

"Seems like I 'members de sojers. I couldn' specify wedder dey was Yankees or not. You know dat ol' battle fo't (fort) was dere at Marshall, two or t'ree mile' from Mills Quarters."

"Dem sojers had on long blue overcoats wid brass buttons on 'em. Dey was a eagle on dem button. De way I 'member dat, I find one in de road like it was tore off and I pick it up and make me a play toy outer it."

"Dey uster keep two cannons at de co't house and dey shoot dem cannon eb'ry Friday. I 'member dey uster stick a rod in 'em and el'vate 'em. Dey had a U.S. flag on de mas'-pole and dey shoot de cannon when dey tek down de flag."

"I dunno nuthin' 'bout conjur' men. I see people sick or cripple' and dey say conjure' man done it, but I dunno. I ain't neber see no ghos' needer. People try to show 'em to me but I ain't see 'em. One time I see sumpin' white in de wood and I go up to see what it was and it warn't nuthin' 'cep'n' a pillow what somebody lef' in a swing 'tween two tree'. Iffen I hadn' had a li'l "coffee" in me I don' guess I'd been brave 'nuff to go see what it was."

"I allus pronounced de patterrollers and de Klu Kluxers 'bout de same. Fur as seein' 'em, I ain't. I t'ink dey done good to de country. Dey didn' bodder nobody 'cep'n' dem what was out of dere place. Iffen dey had some now it mought do good."

"If you all keep on you gwineter hab a book outer my testimony."

"Dey had a gin on de plantation and dey mek de clo's on a spinnin' wheel and loom. I see my mammy mek many a bolt of clo'f on a loom befo' she die."

"It mighter slip' my 'membrance how dey tol' us we free, but I 'members my daddy say we free. Us stay on ol' marster's place a while den he buy a li'l place de other side of Marshall. He do odd jobs 'roun', too."

"Fus' time I marry Mary Harper at Gilmer. Dey was two darters, Gettys and Alice Owens. I lef' her and I marry my secon' wife, Betty Cheatham in 1913. I been 'roun' dese parts 'bout 46 or 47 year' and I been in Kountze 25 year'."

"I don't t'ink I commit to mem'ry anyt'ing else. I ain't gwine to tell no mo' 'cause I ain't to make statement and testify 'bout sumpin' I ain't know 'bout."

Mary Anne Patterson

*Mary Anne Patterson, who now lives with her daughter, Elizabeth Lee, in Austin, Texas, was born in Louisiana, but she does not know exactly where. She is between 97 and 102 years old. Mary and her mother belonged to Col. Aaron Burleson of Rogers' Hill, Travis County, Texas.*

"Way back yonder my name was Mary Anne Burleson and I's born in Louisiana somewhere. I knows I's told dey brung me and my mammy to Texas when I's eighteen months old, and dat Massa Turner what brung us, sold us to Col. Aaron Burleson. Massa Burleson buy both of us, 'cause he a good man and didn't 'lieve in separatin' a chile from de mammy. I do think dat man gone to Heaven.

"When I growed up it was my job to wet nuss Rufe Burleson, 'cause he mammy didn't have 'nough milk for him. Beside dat, I helped in de loom room and have to spin five cuts de day, but I's fast 'nough to make eight cuts.

"Durin' cotton pickin' time I larns to count a little, 'cause I picks de cotton, brung it to de wagon and listen to 'em countin' on dem scales. Purty soon I could of counted my own cotton.

"Massa Burleson good to we'uns and when a woman have a chile and no husband to take care of her, he make a man go out and chop wood for her, and dat slave had better act like he wants to. Massa so good to us he have lumber hauled clear from de Bastrop pineries and builds us good wood dwellin's. He have de plantation on Rogers' Hill what am east of Austin.

"Now, let me tell you 'bout de cooks. Massa Burleson have de cook for de big house and de cook for de slaves. Dere a kitchen in de big house for de white folks and dere a kitchen with a long table for de hands. We had purty good victuals and I 'member we have so much hawg meat we'd throw de hog's head and feet 'way. Massa raised he own hawgs and everythin' he et, we had it, too. Sometimes we et deer meat and dere times we had bear meat and honey, 'cause Massa Burleson have he own bees, too.

"I 'member how at sweet 'tater time my mammy'd sneak out to de patch and scratch up some sweet 'taters. When Massa Burleson finds de 'taters gone, he jes' say, 'Now, I know nobody done dis but de Lawd!'

"I seed many a Injun and seed 'em in droves. Dem Injuns never bothered us. A old Injun call Placedo and he son come on down to massa's place and he give 'em plenty food. When de Injuns come near de cattle'd bellow and cut up, 'cause dey knowed it was Injuns 'round.

"When I's 'bout 20 years old I marries Alex Patterson and he was brung from Tennessee to Texas and owned by Massa Joshua Patterson. After freedom we rents land from Massa Patterson and lives dere and farms 'bout seven years.

"Me and Alex has 15 chillen and six of dem is still livin'. Dere is two here in Texas and two in California and one in Oklahoma and one in Kansas. My husband am dead now and I's alone.

"I owns a little farm of 36 acres out near Rogers' Hill and I gits sixty dollars de year for de rentin' of dat land and now de folks wants me to sell it. But my husband bought dat place and I wants to keep it. I don't git no pension. I know dis much, I's worked harder since after freedom den I ever worked befo' freedom."

Martha Patton

*Martha Patton was born 91 years ago in Alabama, slave to the Lott family, who came to Texas about 1847 and settled near Goliad. After marrying and bearing two children, surviving a famine and scarcity of water, she was freed. She, her husband and others of her family leased farm land on the San Antonio River near La Bahia Mission, at Goliad.*

"Yes'm, I was bo'n befo' de war. Best I kin remember, I'll be 91 years old come June 15, 1937. I was bo'n in Alabama, but was brought to Texas when I was nine months old. My folks stopped at Goliad, on de creek near to Goliad.

"I 'member seein' de soldiers, but t'weren't no fightin' 'round us no closer den Corpus Christi. One day one of my uncles went to Corpus Christi. He say, 'Dey done tol' all de women and chillen to git outta town.' We done heard 'em shootin' bombs. De smoke was so thick it looked like it were cloudy. De soldiers come through and took anything dey wanted outta de stores. Pretty soon nothin' was left in de stores and dey couldn' git no more.

"My mother was a cook. We chillen brought in wood and water. My uncles had cotton patches. My master sol' dere cotton for dem and dey had money to buy shoes or anything dey needed. We picked cotton and picked peas. We had a spinnin' wheel and a weave(loom). We made cloth, blankets and our own stockin's. We made dye outta live oak bark, mesquite bark, pecan leaves. They made a dark brown and it dyed the cloth and blankets pretty.

"I never saw any slaves whipped, nor any with chains on. Our white people were very good to us. Their name was Lott, Jim Lott, yes'm, me and Jim Lott was chillen together. He sure was a good boy. He died over at Goliad las' yea'.

"We made cotton and wool cloth both, yes'm, we made both. We raised cotton. The sheep were so po' they would die. We would go through de woods and find de dead sheep and pick de wool offen 'em. Then we would wash de wool and spin it into thread and weave it into cloth to make wool clothes.

"My man, he worked in de tan ya'd. He fixed de hides to make us all de shoes we had, and dey made harness and saddles fo' de gov'nment--fo' de soldiers. To make de lime to take de hair off of de hides, dey would burn limestone rocks. Then dey would hew out troughs and soak de hides in lime water till all the hair come off. Den dey would take 'ooze' made from red oak bark and rub the hides till dey were soft and dry.

"Dey sho was hard times after de war, and durin' de war too. Our white folk was good to us, but we had a time to get pervisions. Sometimes we had co'n meal and sometimes we would have flour. We would pa'ch co'n meal and make coffee. When we could git 'em we used pertater peelings, pa'ched, for coffee. Sometimes we drank wild sage tea.

"When we could, we would go over on de Brazos to de molasses mills and get molasses and brown sugar; when we couldn't, we had to do widout de sweetenin'.

"Water sho was sca'ce. We had to tote it about half a mile from de hole. De creeks just dried up, only 'long in holes. De wells was all dried up. There would be dead cows lyin' on t'other side of de hole and grasshoppers thick on de water, but we jist skimmed de water off and went on. Didn't make us sick, lady, 'twas all we had and de good Lo'd took ca'e of us.

"De grasshoppers sho was bad 'long 'bout fo' or five in de ebenin'; dey would be so thick de sun would be cloudy lookin'. Dey was a little speckled grasshopper. Yes'm, red and speckled. De chickens and hawgs et 'em. Dey et so many grasshoppers de meat was bright red. You couldn't eat it.

"Twa'n't no use to send fo' a docta, no'm, 'cause dey didn't have no medicine. My grandmother got out in de woods and got 'erbs. She made sage ba'm (balm). One thing I recomember, she would take co'n shucks--de butt end of de shucks--and boil 'em and make tea. 'Twould break de chills and fever. De Lo'd fixed a way. We used roots for medicine too.

"Dey was salt lakes. De men would get a wagonbed full of salt and take it to town and trade it for flour. De men would take de old ox wagons and go down to Mexico towa'ds Brownsville to git pervisions. Coffee--real coffee--was a dollar a poun'. De men what used terbaccer had to pay a dollar a plug. Cotton cloth was fifty and sixty cents a ya'd.

"Durin' de war de white people had church in their homes. Dey would have church in de mornin' and in de afternoon dey would preach to de slaves.

"After de war, we all leased land on de ribbah fum de white folks--my uncles, my brothers and alls. We leased de land fo' six years. At de end of dat time most of us bought places.

"When de war was over and we moved, de men put up a picket house. Dr. McBride, a soldier, taught school. When de crops was laid by, all de men and women went to school. De chillen went all de time. We had log seats and a dirt flo'. We would have meetin's in de school house. Twasn't fine, but we had good times.

"We lived clost to de old mission, built during Santa Anna's war, I think it were.

"I has ten chillen; seven of them are living. I have fifteen or nineteen grandchillen, but I don't know where dey all are or what dey are doing."

Ellen Payne

*Ellen Payne, 88, was born a slave of Dr. Evans, pioneer physician of Marshall, Texas, and father-in-law of former Governor Clark. She married Nelson Payne when she was twenty-five, and they farmed in Marshall for fifty-two years. Since Nelson's death eleven years ago, Ellen has operated the farm herself and has always made a crop. She lives alone on the Port Caddo Road.*

"My name is Ellen Payne now, but in slave times it was Ellen Evans, and I was born on the old Mauldin place right here at Marshall and belonged to old Dr. Evans. Dr. Evans loans the Bible what had all our ages in it and never got it back, so when he freed us they guessed our ages. My mistress say I was 'bout sixteen years old when surrender come, and my daddy and mammy was Isom and Becky Lewis. Mammy come from Tennessee and they was seventeen of us chillen.

"Master Evans lived in a big brick house on the north side of Marshall and run his farm four miles from town, and I stayed on the farm, but come in town some with my mammy to work for Mistress Nancy. The niggers on other farms had to sleep on 'Damn-it-to Hell' beds, but we didn't have that kind. We had good wood beds and hay mattresses with lowell covers.

"I mostly minded the calves and chickens and turkeys. Master Evans had a overseer but he didn't 'low him to cut and slash his niggers and we didn't have no hard taskmaster. They was 'bout thirty slaves on the farm, but I is the only one livin' now. I loved all my white folks and they was sweet to us.

"The hands worked from sun to sun and had a task at night. Some spinned or made baskets or chair bottoms or knit socks. Some the young'uns courted and some jest rambled round most all night. On Saturday was the prayer meetin' in one house and a dance in another. On Sunday some went to church and visitin', but not far, 'cause that was in patterroller times.

"They was allus plenty to eat and one nigger didn't do nothin' but raise gardens. They hunted coon and possum and rabbits with dogs and the white folks kilt deer and big game like that. My daddy allus had some money, 'cause he made baskets and chair bottoms and sold them, and Master Evans give every slave a patch to work and they could sell it and keep the money.

"We didn't know nothin' but what went on at the place. Us slaves didn't carry news 'cause they wasn't none to carry and if the white folks want to send news anywhere, they put a boy on a mule to take it.

"Master Evans had a old woman what tended to us when we was sick, and he give us quinine and calomel and castor oil and boneset tea. That tea was 'nough to kill a mule, but it done us good. Some wore esfidity bags round they necks to keep off sickness.

"My young mistress married Master Clark and they lived close, and my mammy and me used to spent part the time workin' for her. Master Clark got to be governor 'bout time war started and moved to Austin. I still got the Bible he give me.

"I 'member the white southern men folks run off to the bottoms to git 'way from war, but I never seed nothin' of the war. When we was freed my old master calls us up and say, 'You is free, and I'm mighty glad, but I'm mighty sad.' We stays on till Christmas, then mammy and me leaves and hires out. I stays workin' with her till I'm twenty-five and then I marries Nelson Payne.

"My young mistress sends me a blue worsted dress to marry in, and we's married at mammy's house and she give us a nice supper. He was a farmer and we kep' on livin' on the farm fifty-two years, till he died. We loved farm life. I raised four boys but none of them is livin' now. When Nelson died first one then 'nother holps me and I has made a crop every year till now. I'm too old now, but I still raises some corn and peas and garden stuff. They gives me a $15.00 month pension, but I likes to be doin' somethin'.

"I still shouts at meetin's. I don't have nothin' to do with it. It hits me jes' like a streak of lightning, and there ain't no holdin' it. I goes now to camp meetin's clost to Karnack and tries to 'have, but when I gits the spirit, I jest can't hold that shoutin' back. The young folks makes fun of me, but I don't mind. Style am crowded all the grace out of 'ligion, today."

Henderson Perkins

*Henderson Perkins, about 85, was born a slave to John Pruitt, near Nashville, Tenn., who owned Henderson's mother and about 20 other slaves. Prior to the Civil War, Mr. Pruitt moved to Centerville, Leon Co., Texas, and sold Henderson and his mother to Tom Garner, of Centerville. When the war began, Henderson was old enough to be trusted with taking grain to the mill and other duties. After they were freed, Henderson and his mother worked in Mr. Garner's tavern until he sold it. He then placed the two on a piece of land and gave them tools to work it. Henderson later married and moved to Waco, where he reared 14 children. After they were grown he moved to Fort Worth and now lives at 610 Penn St.*

"I'se tells you de truth 'bout my age, I'se too ol' for any good, but from what de white folks says, I'se bo'n 'bout 1839 in Ten'see, near Nashville. In dem days, 'twarn't so partic'lar 'bout gettin' married, and my mammy warn't before I'se bo'n, so I'se don' know my father. Dat's one on dis nigger.

"After I'se ol' enough to tote water, pick up kindlin' and sich, Marster Pruitt moves to Texas, near Centerville and sol' me and my mammy to Marster Garner. My mammy gits married seven times after we comes to Texas.

"Marster Garner runs a tavern, dey calls 'em hotels now. My mammy was cook for de tavern. De other nigger's named Gib, and I'se to do de work 'roun de place and take grist to de water mill for to grin'. Marster have de farm, too, and have seven niggers on dat place and sometimes I goes dere for to he'p.

"Well, 'bout treatment, you can say Marster Garner am de bestest man ever lived. I'se jus' says he am O. K. I'se never hears him say one cross word to my mammy. Back in Tennessee, Marster Pruitt was good, too. Hims have him's own still and gives de toddy to we'uns lots of times. I'se gits a few whuppin's, but 'twas my fault. I'se cause de devilment. I tells you 'bout some. I drives de oxen and de two-wheel cart for to go to de water mill and sich. In dem days, it was great insult to say, 'You'uns has bread and rotten egg for supper.' I'se gwine to de mill one day, past de school and I say's dat to de chillens. I thinks de teacher won't let 'em come out, but I makes a mistake, for it am like yellow jackets pourin' outta de hive. Dey throws sticks and stones at we'uns and dat 'sprise de ox and he runs. De road am rough and dat cart have no springs and de co'n made scatterment on de road. Marster whups us for dat. Not hard, just a couple licks.

"Did you's ever drive de ox? Dey's de devil sometimes and de angel sometimes. When dey's gwine home, you can go to sleep and dey takes you dere. If dey's dry and you comes near water, de devil can't stop 'em, dey goes in de water wid de cart and all dat's in it.

"When de war starts Marster's girl gits married to Charles Taylor, and dey have big weddin'. Befo' de war am over, we'uns have hard time. De soldiers comes and takes all de co'n, all de meat, every chicken and all de t'baccy. You couldn' buy t'baccy for a dollar a pound. But we makes it. We takes de leaves and cures dem, den place dem on de board and put honey 'tween 'em. We place a log on top and leave it 'bout a month. White man, dat am t'baccy!

"After de army took de food, it am scarce for awhile. Short time after de army come, de pigeons goes north. If you's never see dat, it am hard to believe. Dey am so thick and so many dey cuts off de sun like de cloud. We'uns gits lots of 'em and dat helps with de food. I'se sho' glad de army don' come any more, once was 'nuff. I'se seen squirrels travelin' on de groun' so thick it look like de carpet. Dey was all runnin' 'way from de army.

"When freedom comes, some mans--dey says Grant's mans--lines we'uns up side de house and says, 'Yous am now free,' and we'uns is free. I wouldn' leave de Marster, him am sich a gran' man, so I stays with him till he quits runnin' de tavern.

"It am a long time after dat I gits married. We'uns have weddin' supper and sho' am happy den. Den we moves to Waco and has 14 chillen.

"We'uns had good times in slavery, but I likes my freedom. De Marster allus give us a pass on Sunday and some nights when we has dance and sich. But iffen you went out without a pass, den de patterollers--'fore de War--or de Klux--after de War--would come lookin' for you. Dem niggers without de pass sho' makes de scatterment, out de window or up de chimney. But when we'uns is free, we'uns goes anywhere we wants to."

Daniel Phillips

*Daniel Phillips, Sr., 704 Virginia Street, San Antonio, Texas. Born 1854 at Stringtown, five miles south of San Marcos, Texas. Big framed, good natured. Never has worn glasses.*

"I was a slave to Dr. Dailey and his son, Dr. Thomas Dailey. They brought my mother and father from Georgia and I was born in Stringtown just after they arrived, in 1854. I calls him Mr. Tommy. Dey has a plantation at Stringtown and a ranch on de Blanco River. We come from Georgia in wagons.

"Marse Dailey raised cotton and co'n on de plantation. On de ranch dey ketches wild horses and I herds dem. When I'm on de ranch I has to drive de wild horses into de pen. De men cotches de wild horses and I has to drive 'em so's dey won't git wild agin.

"Lots of dem wild horses got colts and I has to brand dem. Marse Dailey he helps to cotch de wild horses but I has to drive 'em. In de mornin' I drives dem out and in de evenin' I drives dem back. Dere's sure a lot of dem wild horses.

"Marse Dailey brings twenty-five slaves from Georgia but he sells some after we comes to San Marcos. No suh, we niver gits paid. We lives in log houses built on de side of a hill. De houses has one room. My mother has a wooden bed with a cotton mattress. My sister Maria was housewoman. My younger sister married a man named Scott.

"We feeds good. Dere's cornbread and beef. Plenty milk, 'cause Marse Dailey's got plenty cows. Dere's gardens with peas, cabbage, beans and beets. We makes de clothes ourself. My father is handy man. He builds a loom and a spinnin' wheel. No suh, we didn't do no huntin'. Marse Dailey didn' let us have guns.

"We's treated all right. My uncle is overseer. When de war's over I didn't know about it. Marse Tommy comes to de ranch when I's herdin' de wild horses. He says, 'Dan, you'se free now.' I say, 'Wha' dat mean, Marse Tommy?' He say, 'Dat mean you can live with you mammy and you pappy, and what you makes you kin keep.'

"And I leaves de wild horses and comes to de plantation. Yas suh, we goes to church. We walks fo' mile to de church. De w'ite folks sits in front and de cullud folks sits back by de do'.

"Yassuh, we's glad de slav'ry is over. My mother would go to milk cows and I was sent to kill a calf. And dere was my mother in de corner of de fence and she was prayin', 'O, Lawd, set us free!'

"I was too young for de army. My brother was a cook in de Confederate Army, and de Yankees run dem 60 miles in one night. And my brother is ridin' one horse and front of him is a pack horse, and he cut de traces of de pack horse and dat horse run so he didn't see him again. Yassuh, my brother was 108 years ole. He died two years ago.

"We gits along better after we's free. Often de Yankees comes down to San Marcos. Dey wants to buy milk.

"One time on de plantation a cullud preacher wants to hold a service. De marster say 'all right'. De preacher must tell how much he collects. Dat so de marster fin' out if we's got any money."

Lee Pierce

*Lee Pierce, 87, was born a slave of Evans Spencer, in Marshall, Texas. Lee was sold to a trader in 1861, and bought by Henry Fowler, of Sulphur Springs, Texas. Lee remained with his master until 1866, then returned to Marshall. When he became too old to work, he went to live with a son, in Jefferson, Tex.*

"My name am Lee Anderson Pierce, borned on the fifteenth of May, in 1850, up in Marshall, and 'longin' to Marse Evans Spencer, what was a surveyor. I never knowed my pappy. He died 'fore I was borned. Mammy was Winnie Spencer and Old Marse's folks fetched her to Texas from Greenwood, what am over in Mississippi.

"When I was 'bout eleven year old, Marse Spencer done got in debt so bad he had to sell me off from mammy. He sold me to a spec'lator named Buckley, and he taken me to Jefferson and drapped me down there with a man called Sutton. I had a hard time there, had to sleep on the floor on hot ashes, to keep warm, in wintertime. I nussed Marse Sutton's kids 'bout a year, den Buckley done got me 'gain and taken me to de nigger trader yard in Marshall. I was put on de block and sold jes' like a cow or horse, to Marse Henry Fowler, what taken me to Sulphur Springs. I lived with him till after surrender.

"Marse Fowler worked 'bout a hundred and fifty acres of land and had sev'ral cullud families. He done overseeing hisself, but had a black man for foreman. I seed plenty niggers whopped for not doin' dey tasks. He'd whop 'em for not pickin' so many hundreds of cotton a day, buckle 'em down hawg fashion and whop 'em with a strap. Us never stopped work no day, lessen Sunday, and not then iffen grass in the field or crops sufferin'.

"Most time we et bacon and cornbread and greens. Sometimes we'd git deer meat to eat, 'cause a old man named Buck Thomas am clost friend to Marse Fowler and a big hunter. We got our own fish when we wasn't workin'.

"The first work I done was herdin' sheep. I never done much field work, but I was kep' busy with them sheep and other jobs round the place. The cullud folks had big breakdowns Saturday night and a good time then and on Christmas, but all the res' the time us jus' worked.

"On Christmas we never got nothin but white shorts. Them was for biscuits and they was jus' like cake to the niggers in slavery time. Marse Fowler didn't have too much regard for he black folks. Two families of them was stolen niggers. A spec'lator done stole them in Arkansas and fotch them to Texas.

"I didn't know much 'bout the war, 'cause I'm only ten year old when it starts, and the white folks didn't talk it with us cullud folks. Long 'bout the end of the war a big Yankee camp was at Jefferson right where the courthouse is now, but I wasn't 'lowed to go there and never did know nothin' 'bout it.

"I stayed with Marse Fowler till the Ku Klux got to ragin'. The Yankees run it out of business. That Ku Klux business started from men tryin' to run the niggers back to they farms. They near all left they masters and didn't have nothin' or nowheres to go. The cullud folks was skeered of them Kluxers. They come round the house and had some kind of riggin' so's they could drink sev'ral buckets of water.

"A cullud man at Jefferson, named Dick Walker, got up a cullud militia to keep the Klux off the niggers. The militia met here in the old African Methodist Church. Marse Fowler done git up a bunch of thirty men to break up that cullud militia, and he org'ized his bunch at our place. I holped saddle the hosses the night they went to take the church. Ben Biggerstaff, he was one the main white leaders. They kilt sev'ral of the militia and wounded lots more. That's after the Yankees done leave.

"I hired out to Col. King, a Yankee officer in Sulphur Springs, and works for him one year. I was makin' $25.00 a month. Land was sellin' for twenty-five cents an acre but I wouldn't buy none. That same land am worth a fortune now. But I left and come back to Jefferson.

"I never found my mammy until 1870. She was workin' in a cafe in Terrell. Judge Estes of Jefferson and some white men done been to Dallas and stopped where she was workin'. She asked 'em if they knowed Lee Pierce and the Judge said he did. When she done tell him how long it am since she seed me, he put her on the train and sent her to Jefferson.

"I was here when Jay Gould tried to git them to let him put his railroad through this town and they told him they didn't need a railroad. Then they done somethin' on Red River what done take all the water out of Big Cypress and the town went down to nothin'. Cullud folks run this town 'bout them times. Paul Matthews, a cullud man, was county judge, and Bill Wisham was sheriff.

"I think the younger race of our folks has more 'vantages for prosper'ty than what we had. Most of them am makin' good use of it. Some ain't got no principle or ambition, but lots of them are 'spectable people."

Ellen Polk

*Ellen Polk, born in Gonzales County, Texas. Age, 83. Lives at 724 Virginia Blvd., San Antonio, Texas. Her hair is only slightly grey at the temples and forehead and her eyesight is good.*

"I was a slave to Jim and Hannah Nations, Gonzales County, Texas. Marse Jim was a fine looker, a heavy set man. He and Missis lived in a big lumber house with a shingle roof. Dere was a nice yard with lots of pecan trees and de plantation fields had rail fences aroun' dem. Dere were fields of cotton and co'n and a purty river and all kind of wild flowers.

"Marse Jim sho was good to his slaves, but his foremens twern't. He bought my mudder and some other slaves in Mississippi and dey walked frum Mississippi to de Nations plantation in Gonzales.

"Marse Jim had nigh a hundred slaves. De quarters was built of logs and de roofs was river bottom boards. Some of de houses was built of logs like de columns on dis house.

"It was a fine, big plantation. De young women slaves wukked in de fields and de ole women slaves made de cloth on de spinnin' wheels and de looms. Den de women would go in de woods and take de bark frum de trees and pursley frum de groun' and mix dem wid copperas and put it all in a big iron pot and boil it. Den dey would strain de water off and dye de cloth. De color was brown and, O Lawd, all de slaves wore de same color clothes. Dey even made our socks on de plantation.

"Ole Missy Hannah was sho good to me. I had to feed de children while dere mudders was in de fields. Missy Hannah would have de cooks fix de grub in a big pan and I would take it to de cullud quarters and feed 'em.

"De plantation was on de Guadalupe River and when dere was no meat de slaves went to de river and killed wild hogs and turkeys and ketched fish. We groun' de co'n for cornbread and made hominy. And, O Lawd, de sugar cane, and what good 'lasses we used to make. De slaves had purty good times and de ole boss was awful good to 'em. We drank well water. In dry times we toted de water frum de river for washin'.