Chapter VIII: Part 8

"Jus' befo' dat war am over, some soldiers marches through de farm and kilt all de cows and stock and burns de barn, Marse beg dem not to burn he house, so dey didn't. Some dem niggers quits when dey freed, without no supper, but not dis nigger! I stays sev'ral years, den gits a job snakin' logs in a sawmill. Den I marries and has seven chillen and I stays with first one, den 'nother. I holps dem all I can. I been patchin' up some fishin' tackle today."

James G. Woorling

*James G. Woorling, of Fort Worth, Texas, tells the story of Uncle Dave, one of the slaves that belonged to Mr. Woorling's father, who owned a large plantation near Point, in Rains County, Texas. The story relates how Uncle Dave provided for his family after they were freed, and is valuable as an example of how many ex-slaves managed to secure a foothold in a world for which slavery had not prepared them.*

"During pre-war days my father owned a plantation near Point, in Rains County, as well as a large number of slaves, including one Uncle Dave. After the Negroes were emancipated, my father placed a large number of them on tracts of land within the plantation and furnished them with a mule team, a few sheep, some chickens, and the implements needed to cultivate the land. The Negroes were privileged to occupy the land for seven years and to keep whatever they made during that time. After the expiration of the seven years they were to pay in money or percentage of crops for the use of the land. This plan was followed by a number of plantation owners.

"Uncle Dave was an exceptional Negro. He was a natural mechanic, but could do carpenter work, blacksmithing, shoemaking and many other things equally well. He was a good manager, frugal and industrious, and it is doubtful if he paid out $50.00 in a year's time for food, clothing and other necessities during the seven years that he lived on the seventy-five acres on our plantation.

"He never bought a horsecollar, but made them himself, shaping them to prevent galling and packing them with corn husks. He made the hames from oak timber and made the metal accessories.

"The shoes for Dave's family he made from hides of animals slaughtered for the meat supply. About the only farm implements he bought were those that required high grade steel.

"Aunt Julia, his wife, did her part. She was adept at cooking and preserving, and knew how to cure meat. Salt and spices were purchased, but they raised barley and roasted it, to use in the place of tea or coffee. They raised sugar and ribbon cane and made their own sugar and molasses. Aunt Julia told father that eggs were traded for any articles of food that could not be obtained from the farm.

"Following the Civil War the production of cloth by power driven machines enabled manufacturers to sell cloth at a price that did not warrant continuance of the hand method. But that did not interest Dave and Julia. They had a spinning wheel and a loom made by Uncle Dave himself, and they made all the cloth needed by the family, dying it with the bark of blackoak, cherry or other trees.

"When the seven year period ended, my father thought that Uncle Dave would stay on the land. He had cleared it, built a house and barn and other structures, which all belonged to my father under the agreement. But Uncle Dave was not interested in renting the land. He had saved enough money to buy a thousand acres between the towns of Point and Emory. He built a house and barn and moved his family.

"Uncle Dave came home one day from a trip to town with a load of cotton. He had a ten gallon keg, which he painted black. He cut a slit in the side of the keg and made a plug for the hole and told Julia the keg was to hold his surplus cash.

"Uncle Dave hid the keg and during the next twenty years refused to tell his wife, children or anyone else where it was. It is obvious that all the money he received for his crops, except a small sum, was surplus. Julia often asked Uncle Dave to tell her where the keg was, and told my father that Uncle Dave had not been well and she feared the possibility of his dying without disclosing the secret. Not long after, Uncle Dave was found dead one morning. Money was needed for funeral expenses, but the keg could not be found and Julia had to borrow the required amount.

"The family searched first in the more likely locations, then made a minute search of the whole place, but the keg was never found. On Uncle Dave's farm a fortune is cached. The keg must have long ago disintegrated, but the gold and silver money, the savings of twenty years, remain in their hiding place."

Caroline Wright

*Caroline Wright, about 90 years old, was born near Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Dr. Warren Wortham owned her parents and their 14 children. Caroline was 12 when they were freed. Her father, Robert Vaughn, moved to Texas, [HW: with master, p.2, para. 4 & 5] where he prospered and bought more than 300 acres of Tehuacana bottom land in McLennan County. Caroline and her husband now live at 59 Grant St., Waco, in a little house they bought after their family was grown.*

"I was bo'ned in Louisiana on Jones Creek, by Baton Rouge, 'bout 90 years ago. I disremember the year. My pappy was Bob Vaughn and my mammy was Rose Ann. Dey was bo'ned by Baton Rouge. I had six sisters, Betsy Ann, Lydia, Nancy, Paga and Louisan; and three brothers, Horace, Robert and Tom. We was all owned by Dr. Warren Wortham and his wife, Annie. Mr. Bob, de doctor's brother, had us in charge, and he hired us out to Hays White, who owned a sugar plantation on de Mississippi River by Baton Rouge. Us all stayed at his place two year. Dere was sugar cane, co'n, peas and tomatoes raised on de farm. We lived in a log cabin made of pine logs and our beds was made outta pine timber with co'n shucks tacked on de bed, and our kivers was feather beds.

"In Clinton, in Louisiana, we was all put on de block and valued. I was six year old and I was valued at $1,500. But our family wasn' sold to anyone. I was given to Miss Muriel, Dr. Wortham's daughter. Me and my sisters was made house slaves and my mammy and pappy and brothers was made fiel' slaves.

"Our marster, Dr. Wortham, sho' was a fine doctor. He never whip us. De young missus learned us our A B C's 'cause dere was no school for de slaves. Dere wasn' no church on de plantation, but us all went 'casionally to a big log cabin and camp shed. Sometime a white would preach and sometime a cullud preacher.

"I only 'member one slave who ran away. He was so worthless, he came back when he got ready. He wasn' punished, 'cause he wasn' mean, just lazy. I never saw no jail for slaves and never saw any whipped. We allus had from Friday noon to Monday mornin' off.

"On Christmas, the white folks allus give us presents and plenty to eat, and us allus had a big dance five or six time a year. Dr. Wortham lived in a great big log house made from cedar logs.

"One day, I seen a lot of men and I asked de missus what dey was doin'. She tol' me dey come to fit in de war. De war got so bad dat Mr. Bob tol' us we was all gwine to Texas. Us all started out on Christmas Day of de firs' year of Lincoln's war. We went in ox wagons and us had mules to ride.

"On de trip to Texas, one evenin' a big storm come up and Mr. Bob, he asked a man to let us use a big, empty house. Dey put me by de door to sleep 'cause I was de lightes' sleeper. Some time in de night, I woked up and dere stood de bigges' haint I ever saw. He was ten feet high and had on a big beaver coat. I hollers to my pappy, 'Pappy, wake up, dere's a haint.' Nex' mornin' we got up and dey was nothin' outta place. No, ma'am, we didn' cotch de haint, a haint jus' can't be cotched.

"Nex' mornin' we started agin on our journey, and some time in March we reach Texas. They took us all 'cross de Brazos on a ferryboat, jus' 'bout where de 'spension bridge is now.

"De doctor took us all on de farm on de other side of where Bosque is now. On de farm us raised all kinds vegetables and grain and sugar cane to make sorghum, but no cotton. We all lived in one and two room log cabins, made out of cedar posts. Us didn' make any money for ourselves, but us had plenty of hog meat, beef, butter, milk, cornbread and vegetables to eat, lots mo' dan us have dese days. Us did all de cookin' in de fireplaces. Us sho' did have plenty of possum, and rabbit, and us cotched lots of fish outta de Bosque River.

"De women slaves, eleven of us, had our own gardens and us spun all our own clothes. In de summer us all wore cotton stripe and in de winter, linsey dresses. On Sunday us had lawn dresses and us sho' did come out looking choicesome.

"Dr. Wortham had Si for an overseer. It was a big farm and had forty or fifty slaves to work it. Us got up 'bout four in de mornin' and ate breakfas' 'bout nine o'clock. All de slaves had to work from sun to sun, and when us was sick, de marster treated us.

"When I was 'bout 16, I married William Wright. He was bo'n a slave near Rapid Pass, Kentucky. When he was eight year old, his family's owner died, and he went to the daughter, Mrs. Richard Mason, on Black River, in Louisiana, as "heir property." He was raised dere, but when he's freed he comes to Texas and works for Ganey Mason, seven mile east of Waco. He's 105 year old now and you cain't ha'dly unnerstan' what he's talkin' 'bout. We was married on the 23d day of December, in 1869. Will and me sho' did have a fine weddin'. De women cooked for three days and we danced and ate. My weddin' dress was elegant. It was white lawn with blue ribbons. Will and me had 12 chillen and raised 9, and us has 14 grandchildren.

"Will and me has been married 'bout 75 year and is still married. It's disrespectful how de young folks treats marriage nowadays.

"Ten year after our chillen's growed, we swaps what land we has for dis little house, but we had to pay some money, too. Will was more'n 90 years old and I was eighty some years old, but we got this house and we is happy. We can sit under that big china-berry tree in de fron' yard and look at de big trees over dere on Waco Creek, and one of our sons lives with us."

Sallie Wroe

*Sallie Wroe, 81, was born a slave on Mike Burdette's plantation near Austin. Her parents were field workers. In 1874 Sallie married John Wroe and they raised eleven children. Sallie owns a small farm on the outskirts of Austin. One of her daughters lives with her.*

"Befo' I's married, I's Sallie Burdette. De white folks tell me I's born eighty-one years ago. I reckon I's dat old. I know I's born on Massa Mike Burdette's cotton plantation at Burdette Prairie, right close to Austin, and mammy's name was Het Burdette. She chopped and picked cotton and been dead long time. John Burdette was my pappy and he was jes' a reg'lar fieldman, too. Pappy been dead, mercy, so long!

"Massa Burdette had a overseer and he sho' rough. I think his name must be Debbil, he so rough. My sister, Mollie, was weaver at de loom, and iffen she didn't git out 'nough for de day she am tied up in sittin' form and whipped hard. She had stripes all over de shoulders.

"Dere was a whole row of log cabins close to de big house and de roofs was made of clapboards. It didn't rain in none. De only openin' was de door, no windows. Dere was mud and stick chimnies and a dirt floor. It wasn't no better dan a corncrib but purty warm in winter, 'cause de holes chinked with mud.

"Massa Burdette 'low us nigger chillen come to de big house at night and his chillen larn us to read. Dey had blue-back spellers, but I didn't cotch on much and can't read or write now.

"Pappy a purty good man, 'siderin' he a slave man. One day pappy and Uncle Paul and Uncle Andy and Uncle Joe was takin' bales of cotton on ox wagons down to de Rio Grande. Each man was drivin' a ox wagon down to Brownsville, where dey was to wait to meet Massa Burdette. But pappy and de others left de wagons 'long de river bank and rolled a bale of cotton in de river and all four of dem gits on dat bale and rows with sticks 'cross over into Mexico. Dis was durin' de war. Pappy come back to us after freedom and say he done git 'long fine with Mexico. He larnt to talk jes' like dem.

"Me and mammy stays on at Massa Burdette's place de whole time pappy am gone. It was on June 19 we was made free and Massa Burdette say iffen we stays on his place and gather de crops, he give each of us a free eggnog. We ain't never got no eggnog befo' so it sound purty good and we stays and gathers de crops. But dat eggnog made me sick.

"My cousin Mitchell come and got us and brung us to Chapel Hill. He done rent him a farm dere and looks out for us till pappy comes back. He brung some money back from Mexico and taken us all to Brenham and buyed us some clothes. Den he moved us up to Austin and done any work he could git. I stayed home till 1874 and den married John Wroe, and he rented land and farmed and died in 1927.

"We raises eleven chillen and dey all good and 'haved. All my grandchillen calls me 'Big Mama,' but I's so li'l now dey ought to call me 'Li'l Mama.' I owns dis li'l farm. John saved 'nough money to buy it befo' he died. I gits a li'l pension and my daughter works and when she's workin' my grandchil' takes care of me."

Fannie Yarbrough

*Fannie Yarbrough, blind and bedridden, was born a slave of the McKinney family, near Egypt, Kaufman Co., Texas. She was about six when the Civil War started. At that time her job was to herd sheep. After "freedom" she, her mother and sister, stayed with the McKinney's for a time. Fannie married Green Yarbrough in Hunt Co., Texas and they now live in a little cabin at 843 Plum St., Abilene, Texas.*

"Ole Marster had a world of sheeps. Every day we take dem sheeps and watch 'em. The wolves was mean. We'd git to playin', all us little niggers, and forgit them sheeps and nex' thing you know an old wolf would have himse'f a sheep.

"Sometimes we'd keep playin' so late it was dark 'fore we knowed it and we'd start runnin' them sheeps home. Ol' Marster would be at de big gate to let us in. He says, 'Now, chillen, you didn' git back with all the sheep.' We'd say, 'Ol' wolf got 'em.' But he knowed ol' wolf didn' get all de ones missin' and he'd say, 'You're storyin'. Then purty soon some of the little stray ones come home. Then he knowed we'd run the sheep home and he'd say, 'I 'spose I'll have to whip you,' but he never did. Those were sweet times! Ol' Marster was so good, and he give us more to eat than you ever saw. Hog meat every day and sweet 'tatoes so big we'd have to cut 'em with an ax.

After we et our supper, we had to spin a broach of thread every night 'fore we went to bed. I larned all 'bout spinnin' and weavin' when I was little and by time I's 10 I'd make pretty striped cloth.

"How we played and played! On Sundays we'd strike out for the big woods and we'd gather our dresses full of hickory nuts, walnuts and berries and a sour apple called 'maypop.' We'd kill snakes and dance and sing that ol' song 'bout, 'Hurrah! Mister Bluecoat, Toodle-O.' 'O, Dat Lady's Beatin' You.' It meant his pardner was beatin' him dancin.'

"I was jes' lyin' here dreamin' 'bout how we use to go to the woods every spring and dig the maypop roots, then bring 'em home and wash 'em good and dry 'em--but, mind you, not in the sun--then all us chillen would sit 'round and poun' dem roots, tied up in little bags of coarse cloth, till it was powder. Then we'd take a little flour and jes' enough water to make it stick, and we'd make pills to take when we got sick. And work you? Lawd a'mighty! When we took dat stuff we had to keep tendin' to de dress tail!

"We went over to Flat Rock to church and de singin' was gran.' All day long we'd be at preachin' and singin'. Singin' dat good ol' spiritual song 'bout, 'You shan't be Slaves no More, since Christ have made you free.' I lay here yes'day and heared all them foolish songs and jubilee songs that comes over the radio, and den some of them ol' time spirituals come and it jes' made me feel like I was in ol' times.

"I went back every year to see my ol' marster, as long as he lived. Now it won' be long till I sees him agin, some day."

Litt Young

*Litt Young was born in 1850, in Vicksburg, Miss., a slave of Martha Gibbs, on whose property the old battleground at Vicksburg was located. Litt was freed in 1865, in Vicksburg, and was refugeed by his owner to Harrison Co., Texas. He was freed again on June 19, 1866, and found work as a sawmill hand, a tie cutter and a woodcutter during the construction of the Texas & Pacific Railroad from Marshall to Texarkana. The remainder of his life, with the exception of five years on a farm, has been spent as a section hand. Litt lives alone on the Powder Mill Road, two and a half miles north of Marshall, and is supported by a $12.00 monthly pension from the government.*

"I's born in 1850 in Vicksburg, and belonged to Missy Martha Gibbs. Her place was on Warner Bayou and the old battlefield was right there in her field. She had two husbands, one named Hockley and he died of yellow fever. Then she marries a Dr. Gibbs, what was a Yankee, but she didn't know it till after the war.

"Massa Hockley bought my daddy from a nigger trader up north somewheres, but my mammy allus belonged to the Gibbs family. I had a sister and two brothers, but the Gibbs sold them to the Simmons and I never seed 'em any more.

"Old Missy Gibbs had so many niggers she had to have lots of quarters. They was good houses, weatherboarded with cypress and had brick chimneys. We'd pull green grass and bury it awhile, then bile it to make mattresses. That made it black like in auto seats. Missy was a big, rich Irishwoman and not scared of no man. She lived in a big, fine house, and buckled on two guns and come out to the place most every morning. She out-cussed a man when things didn't go right. A yellow man driv her down in a two-horse avalanche. She had a white man for overseer what live in a good house close to the quarters. It was whitewashed and had glass windows. She built a nice church with glass windows and a brass cupola for the blacks and a yellow man preached to us. She had him preach how we was to obey our master and missy if we want to go to Heaven, but when she wasn't there, he come out with straight preachin' from the Bible.

"Good gracious, what we had to eat. They give us plenty, turnip greens and hog-jowl and peas and cornbread and milk by the barrels. Old women what was too old to work in the field done the cookin' and tended the babies. They cooked the cornbread in a oven and browned it like cake. When they pulled it out, all the chillen was standin' round, smackin' they lips. Every Christmas us got a set white lowell clothes and a pair brogan shoes and they done us the whole year, or us go naked.

"When that big bell rung at four o'clock you'd better get up, 'cause the overseer was standin' there with a whippin' strap if you was late. My daddy got a sleepin' most every morning for oversleeping. Them mules was standin' in the field at daylight, waitin' to see how to plow a straight furrow. If a nigger was a 500 pound cotton picker and didn't weigh up that much at night, that was not gitting his task and he got a whipping. The last weighin' was done by lightin' a candle to see the scales.

"Us have small dances Saturday nights and ring plays and banjo and fiddle playin' and knockin' bones. There was fiddles make from gourds and banjoes from sheep hides. I 'member one song, 'Coffee grows on white oak trees, River flows with brandy-o.' That song was started in Vicksburg by the Yankee soldiers when they left to go home, 'cause they so glad war was over.

"Missy have a big, steam sawmill there on Warner Bayou, where the steamboats come up for lumber. It was right there where the bayou empties in the Mississippi. I 'member seein' one man sold there at the sawmill. He hit his massa in the head with a singletree and kilt him and they's fixin' to hang him, but a man promised to buy him if he'd promise to be good. He give $500 for him.

"Dr. Gibbs was a powerful man in Vicksburg. He was the 'casion of them Yanks takin' 'vantage of Vicksburg like they done. 'Fore the war he'd say to missy, 'Darling, you oughtn't whip them poor, black folks so hard. They is gwine be free like us some day.' Missy say, 'Shut up. Sometimes I 'lieve you is a Yankee, anyway.'

"Some folks say Dr. Gibbs was workin' for the North all the time 'fore the war, and when he doctored for them durin' the war, they say they knowed it. The 'Federates have a big camp there at Vicksburg and cut a big ditch out at the edge of town. Some say Gen. Grant was knowin' all how it was fixed, and that Dr. Gibbs let him know.

"The Yankees stole the march on the 'Federates and waited till they come out the ditch and mowed 'em down. The 'Federates didn't have no chance, 'cause they didn't have no cannon, jus' cap and ball rifles. The main fight started 'bout four in the morning and held on till 'bout ten. Dead soldiers was layin' thick on the ground by then. After the fight, the Yanks cut the buttons off the coats of them that was kilt.

"I seed the Yankee gunboats when they come to Vicksburg. All us niggers went down to the river to see 'em. They told us to git plumb away, 'cause they didn't know which way they was gwine to shoot. Gen. Grant come to Vicksburg and he blowed a horn and them cannons began to shoot and jus' kept shootin'. When the Yankees come to Vicksburg, a big, red flag was flyin' over the town. Five or six hours after them cannons started shootin' they pulled it down and histed a big, white one. We saw it from the quarters.

"After surrender the Yanks arrested my old missy and brought her out to the farm and locked her up in the black folks church. She had a guard day and night. They fed her hard-tack and water for three days 'fore they turned her a-loose. Then she freed all her niggers. 'Bout that time Massa Gibbs run out of corn to feed he stock and he took my daddy and a bunch of niggers and left to buy a boatload of corn. Missy seized a bunch us niggers and starts to Texas. She had Irishmen guards, with rifles, to keep us from runnin' 'way. She left with ten six-mule teams and one ox cook wagon. Them what was able walked all the way from Vicksburg to Texas. We camped at night and they tied the men to trees. We couldn't git away with them Irishmen havin' rifles. Black folks nat'rally scart of guns, anyway. Missy finally locates 'bout three miles from Marshall and we made her first crop and on June 19th, the next year after 'mancipation, she sot us free.

"Dr. Gibbs followed her to Texas. He said the Yanks captured his niggers and took his load of corn as they was comin' down the Tennessee River, where it jines the Mississippi. Me and mammy stayed in Texas, and never did see daddy 'gain. When us freed the last time us come to Marshall and I works in a grist mill and shingle mill. I cut ties for 15c apiece. I cut wood for the first engines and they paid me $1.25 a cord. I got where I cut three cords a day. I helped clear all the land where Texarkana is now. When the railroads quit using wood, I worked as section hand for $1.25 a day. I farmed five years and never made a cent and went back to the railroad.

"I marries in Marshall so long ago I done forgot. I raises six gals and has three sets grandchillen. They's all livin' 'cept one. Since my wife died and I's too ailing to work, I's been kept by the pension.

"They had provost law in Marshall when us come to Texas. I allus voted when they let us. These young niggers ain't like what us was. Penitentiaries was made for the white folks, but the young niggers is keepin' 'em full."

Louis Young

*Louis Young, 88, was born a slave of Hampton Atkinson, on a small farm in Phillips County, Arkansas. When Louis was twelve, his master sold him and his mother to Tom Young, who took them to Robinson Co., Texas. Louis now lives at 5523 Bonnell St., Fort Worth, Tex.*

"Mammy done put my age in de Bible and I'm eighty-eight years old now. I'm born in 1849. But I can git round. Course, I can't work now, but, shucks, I done my share of work already. I works from time I'm eight years old till I'm eighty past, and I'd be workin' yit if de rheumatis' misery didn't git me in de arms and legs. It make me stiff, so I can't walk good.

"Yes, suh, I starts to work when eight on dat plantation where I'm born. Dat in Arkansaw, and Massa Hampton own me and my mammy and eight other niggers. My pappy am somewhere, but I don't know where or nothin' 'bout him.

"Us all work from light to dark and Sunday, too. I don't know what Sunday am till us come to Texas, and dances and good things, I don't know nothin' 'bout dem till us come to Texas. Massa Hampton, he am long on de work and short on de rations, what he measure out for de week. Seven pounds meat and one peck meal and one quart 'lasses, and no more for de week. If us run out, us am out, dat's all.

"One day us gits sold to Massa Tom Young. He feels mammy's muscles and looks on her for marks of de whip. Massa Young say he give $700, but Massa Hampton say no, he want $1,000. He say, 'Yous takin' dem to Texas, where dey sho' to be slaves, 'spite de war.'

"Finally Massa Young gives $900 for us and off us go to Texas. Dat in 1861, de fall de year, and it am three teams mules and three teams oxen hitch to wagons full of farm things and rations and sich. Us on de road more'n three weeks, maybe a month, befo' us git to Robinson County.

"When us git dere, de work am buildin' de cabins and house and den clear de land, and by Spring, us ready to put in de crops, de corn and cotton. Massa Young am good and give us plenty to eat. He has 'bout twenty slaves and us works reason'ble, and has good time 'pared with befo'. On Saturday night it am dancin' and music and singin', and us never heared of sich befo'.

"One day Massa Young call us to de house and tell us he don't own us no more, and say us can stay and he pay us some money, if us wants. He ask mammy to stay and cook and she does, but I'm strongheaded and runs off to Calvert and goes to work for Massa Brown, and dere I stays till I'm growed. He paid me $10.00 de month and den $15.00.

"When I's twenty-five I marries Addie Easter and us have no chillen and she dies ten years after. Den I drifts 'round, workin' here and yonder and in 1890 I marries dat woman settin' right dere. Den I rents de farm and if de crops am good, de prices am bad, and if de prices am good, de crops am bad. So it go and us lives, and not too good, at dat. I quits in 1925 and comes to Fort Worth and piddles at odd jobs till my rheumatis' git so bad five years ago.

"I done forgit to tell you 'bout de Klux. Dem debbils causes lots of trouble. Dey done de dirty work at night, come and took folks out and whip dem.

"Some cullud folks am whip so hard dey in bed sev'ral weeks and I knowed some hanged by dey thumbs. Maybe some dem cullud folks gits out dere places, but mostest dem I knows gits whip for nothin'. It jus' de orneriness dem Klux. It so bad de cullud folks 'fraid to sleep in dey house or have parties or nothin' after dark. Dey starts for de woods or ditches and sleeps dere. It git so dey can't work for not sleepin', from fear of dem Klux. Den de white folks takes a hand and sojers am brung and dey puts de stop to dem debbils.

"'Bout de livin' now, us jus' can't make it. Us lives on what de pension am and dat $30.00 de month, and it mighty close us has to live to git by on sich. I thinks of Massa Young, and us live better den dan now.

"I never votes, 'cause I can't read and dat make troublement for me to vote. How I gwine make de ticket for dis and dat? For dem what can read, dey can vote."

Teshan Young

*Teshan Young, 86, was born a slave to Buckner Scott, who owned a plantation in Harrison County, Texas, and had over one hundred slaves. Teshan married Moses Young in 1867 and lived near her old home until 1915, when she moved to Fort Worth. She lives in a negro settlement on the outskirts of Stop Six, a suburb of Fort Worth.*

"I'se 86 years ole. Bo'n in Harrison County, Texas. Marster Scott owned me and my parents, one brudder and three sisters. Marster never sold any of we'uns, so dere was no separation of de family long's we lived on de Marster's place. He had awful big plantation, 'bout seven miles long.

"On dat plantation de Marster have everything. Hims have de gin and de mill for to grind de meal and feed, de big blacksmith shop and dere was a house whar dey spins de yarn and makes de cloth, de shoes and sich. He have 'bout 30 quarters for de cullud folks back of him's house, and dere am a house for de nursery, wid a big yard dat have swings and sich for de cullud chillens.

"Each cullud family have de cabin for themself. De cabins have bunks for sleeping', fireplace for to cook, bench for to set on--but dat's all de furniture. Marster Scott feeds all us niggers good. We'uns have beans, peas, milk, vegetables, 'lasses and plenty of meat. De marster have hawgs on top of hawgs on dat place, for to make de meat.

"We'uns have all de clothes dat we'uns need for to keep warm. De marster says, 'De nigger mus' have plenty of food and keep wan for to work good. How many hours we'uns work? Dat depen's on de time of de year it am. When its time for de hoein' or de pickin' of de cotton, dey work late. 'Twarn't sich long hours udder times. But de marster makes de cullud folks work and whips 'em when dey don'. I'se 'member one slave dat gits whipped so bad hims never gits up, hims died. We'uns chillens would go roun' whar hims was and look at 'im. De Marster lets we'uns do dat.

"Yes, suh, dey whupped pow'ful hard sometimes. My mammy gits whupped one time 'cause she come from de fiel' for to nuss her baby, and once for de cause she don' keep up her row in de fiel'. My pappy gits shoot in de shoulder by de overseer, 'cause hims runs from de whuppin.' 'Twas dis way, de overseer says, 'Come here, I'se gwine whup you for not workin' like I says.' Dere was a fence dere and my pappy runs for dat and am crawlin' over it when de overseer shoots.

"I'se 'bout 10 year ole when de war starts. It makes no diff'rence, dat I'se 'members, 'cept de Marster jines de army. I'se tend to all de cullud chillen while dey mammies workin' in de fiel'. De Marster am sho' particular 'bout dem chillen. He feeds 'em well, mush, milk, bread, 'lasses, vegetables and sich. De food am put in de long bowl, like de trough. De chillen have wooden spoons and we'uns line dem 'long de bowl. Den de fun starts. I'se have de long switch and keeps walkin' back and forth to make dem debils behave. De Marster comes in sometimes and hims laugh at dem, dey so funny.

"After I'se gits married, I'se has 13 chillen of my own. I'se never calls de doctor for my chillen. I'se goes in de woods and gits de plants and de herbs. For de stomach misery I'se uses de red petals, boils dat and takes de juice. For de cold I'se takes de Kalemas Root, boils dat and takes de juice.

"When de chores am done on Sunday or Christmas, we'uns can have de music, dance and singin'. We'uns have some good ole times. De songs am de ole timers, sich as Swannee River, Ole Black Joe and dere am de fiddles and banjos dat dey play. We'uns sho' cel'brate on Christmas. De women all cooks cakes and cookies and sich. De men saves all de bladders from de hawgs dey kill, blows 'em full of air and lets 'em dry. De young'uns puts dem on sticks and holds 'em over a fire in de yard. Dat makes 'em bust and dey goes 'bang' jus' like a gun. Dat was de fireworks.

"Marster comes back from de war widout gettin' hurt. At de time freedom comes, some cullud folks stays on and works for money. 'Twas de fust money dey ever had, and dey don' know what to do wid it and what its worth. Some of dem are still on dat lan'! Dey rents or have bought. My brudder lives dere, jus' a few yards from de ole quarters. My pappy worked for ole Marster till he died. I'se stays wid him till I marries.

"I'se married in a cullud church and I'se have a pretty pink dress and hat. My husban' have hims own farm, part of de ole plantation. We finally buys it from de Marster. In 1902 my husban' dies and I'se stays dere till 1915. Den I'se comes to Fort Worth. I'se still missin' some but I'se gettin' de pension of nine dollars a month. Dat sho' helps out."

Transcriber's Note

Original spelling has been maintained; e.g. "_stob_--a short straight piece of wood, such as a stake" (American Heritage Dictionary).--The Works Progress Administration was renamed during 1939 as the Work Projects Administration (WPA).

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