Charles Grandy was born February 19, 1842, in Mississippi. While still
an infant, he was brought to Norfolk. When the family arrived in Norfolk
his father was arrested on some pretentious charge, and the whole
family was placed in prison. After their release, they were taken to a
plantation near Hickory Ground, Virginia, and sold. Slaves, at this
time, were often taken to rural districts in carts, and sold to owners
of plantations, as they were needed. Family life, friendships, and love
affairs were often broken up; many times never to be united.
Following the general routine of slaves, the Grandy family was given a
shanty; food and clothing was also issued to them, and had to last until
the master decided to give out another supply. Usually, he issued them
their allowance of food weekly. Often the supply was insufficient for
their needs.
Charles played around the plantation "big house", doing small errands
until he reached the age of five, then his play days ended. While
playing on the wood pile one morning, his master called him, "boy do you
see this grass growing along the side of the fence? Well pull it all
[SP: al] up." When his first task was finished, he was carried to the
field to pull the grass from the young cotton and other growing crops.
This work was done by hand because he was still too young to use the
farm implements. Now he went to his task daily; from early in the
morning until late in the evening. The long toilsome days completely
exhausted the youngster. Often he would fall asleep before reaching home
and spend a good portion of the night on the bare ground. Awakening, he
would find it quite a problem to locate his home in the darkness of
night.
From the stage of grass pulling by hand, he grew strong enough, in a
few years, to use the hoe rake and sickle. While attempting to carry
out his master's orders to cut corn tassels with a large sharp knife,
his elbow was seriously cut. He was taken to the house and treated,
the application being chimney soot, to stop the bleeding. After this
treatment the arm was placed in a sling, and eventually became deformed
from insufficient care. He was sent back to the fields to pick cotton,
with one free hand and his teeth, while painfully carrying the other
hand in the sling. Failing to obey this command, he would have been
given a whipping, or sent to the southlands. Sending slaves to the
plantations of Mississippi and other southern states was a type of
punishment all slaves feared.
Slaves were not allowed much freedom of worship. The Yankee soldiers
and officers played a great part in the slave's moral training, and
religious worship. They secretly instructed small gatherings of slaves,
at night. The points stressed most were, obedience and the evils of
stealing. There were some sections where masters were liberal in their
views toward their slaves, and permitted them to worship openly.
Slaves were allowed to have small quantities of whiskey, even during the
days of their worship, to use for medicinal purposes. It was a common
occurrence to see whiskey being sold at the foot of the hill near the
churchyard.
The news of war, and the possibility of Negroes enlisting as soldiers
was truly a step closer to the answering of their prayers for freedom.
Upon hearing of this good news Grandy joined a few of the others in this
break for freedom. One night, he and a close friend packed a small
quantity of food in a cloth and set out about midnight to join the
northern army. Traveling at night most of the time, they were constantly
confronted with the danger of being recaptured. Successfully eluding
their followers, they reached Portsmouth after many narrow escapes. From
Portsmouth they moved to Norfolk. Arriving in Norfolk, Grandy and his
friend decided to take different roads of travel. Several days and
nights found him wandering about the outskirts of Norfolk, feeding on
wild berries, etc. While picking berries along a ditch bank, he was
hailed by a Yankee soldier, who having come in contact with run away
slaves before, greeted him friendly, and questioned him of his home and
of his knowledge of work. He was taken to camp and assigned as cook. At
first, he was not very successful in his job, but gradually improvement
was shown. He was asked what wages he would accept. It was such a
pleasure to know that he had escaped the clutches of slavery, he did not
ask for wages; but instead, he was willing to work for anything they
would give him, no matter how small, as long as he didn't have to return
to slavery.
Within a short period he was given a uniform and gun; was fully enlisted
as a soldier, in the 19th regiment of Wisconsin, Company E. Here he
remained in service until November, 1862, after which time he returned
to Norfolk to spend some time with his mother, who was still living.
While sitting in the doorway one day, with his Mother, he was again
confronted with the proposition of reenlisting. He agreed to do so for
one year, to serve as guard at Fortress Monroe. He remained there until
the close of the War, offering brave and faithful services.
Mr. Grandy is now ninety-five [SP: ninty-five] years old, residing at
609 Smith Street, Norfolk, Virginia. He is still able to attend the
various conventions of Civil War Veterans. He can read, write, and has a
fair knowledge of the Bible. His main interest is the organization of
Negroes into strong groups. He enjoys talking about religion and is
quite an interesting and intelligent person to talk with.
450005
Interview of Mrs. Della Harris
2 E. Byrne Street
Petersburg, Virginia
By--Susie Byrd
February 5, 1937
"I don't know just how old I is. Muma sent me to private school wid
white chillun fo' one week. I was 13 years old at de time uh Lee's
surrender. I belong to Peter or Billy Buck Turnbull Warrenton, N.C. _Put
this down._ My mother and family all belong to Peter Buck as his slaves.
We didn't work until after the war; then we came to Petersburg. I went
to dancing school wid the white folks and can dance any kind of dance
sets. My father was a musicianer. He belonged to John Carthan, in
Warrenton, N.C. In dem days you had to take your Moster's and Mistess'
name. In slavery time when a slave married he had to ask his Moster and
Mistess.
"We never went to church. We used to hear de bells ringing loud, baby,
yes, clear and strong. No, never seen [HW: no] Sunday school, and the
first time I went in a church I looked all around, and baby, I thought
dat I was in heaven. It wasn't long, Miss Sue, before I got 'ligeon,
and, yes, I jined [HW: de] church, 15 years old I wuz. Never will forget
the time, or dat place. Den I lived here with an ant, muma's sister, who
was named Kate Williams. Her husband wuz my uncle, and he worked and
died at de White House in Washington City.
"I don't know de name of de President he worked for, but you can find
dat out on dem books. You know you young folks calls um records.
"Yes child I'm proud of my age never gave no body no trouble.
"I have 8 children dead and now only one son living. Peter Turnbull was
good to all his slaves, as far as I know. Mama was a cook in slavery
time. She died in Petersburg, yes, right here in dis hole.
"No muma never owned any thing, always rented and aint never owned
nothing but a passel of children.
"My muma was a genuine [SP: geniune] Indian. Some people say you can't
own Indians. I don't know how cum, but I do know she was owned by these
people, but she surely was an Indian. Every body knows me all over
Virginia.
"When I use to be in dining room service I would hear de white folks
talk, and, do you know, Miss Sue you can hear a lot that way?
"Moster said he couldn't sell me 'cause I was so little. Just kept me
fur to wait on de little chillun in de house.
"Miss Sue, you'll have to give me something for telling you all dis
here, if it ain nothing but a horse cake.
"I've seen lots of dis world in travel. Done bin to Baltimore City; done
bin to Philidelphia.
"I aint gwine give you no more, gal.
"Yes, to Lynchburg, den I worked at Mont Royal School, Baby, where Mrs
McDaniel was manager.
"The man gwine say, 'dat woman bin some where.' If I stayed long enough
I mighta got some learning but I stayed only one year. Got tired of that
place. From one season to another is a year, aint it? Ah! Lord!
"Young folks now adays are just fur a good time, and a good time too
they have. Yes, Siree Bob!
"Gwine stop now, Miss Sue, aint gwine give you no mo'. Man gwine say,
Miss Sue, where in the devil did you get this stuff? Gal, you are a
mess. You gonna write most all dat book about Della. Go on now, dats
nough.
"In dem days chillun were chillun, now every body is grown. Chillun then
were seen and not heard. When old persons came around muma sent us out
and you better not be seen. Now every body [HW: act] grown. Make the man
laugh.
"I've always enjoyed good health. Never had a Doctor in my life, not
even when my chillun wuz born. Dis rubbing when people got pain just
rubs it in. Eating so much and late hours is cause you young folks
dying. All muma's chillun wuz healthy.
"[HW: Real] food in dem days, yes, muma fed us good vituals from white
folks. I tell you, we had good owners. I didn't see sun set when I wuz
a child. Always went to bed early, child, I wish I could call back dem
days. Muma said people lived so much longer because they took care of
themselves.
"All dis here education an' people just now got it."
[HW: Question:] Do you think, Mrs. Harris, education has helped our
race?
"Well, child, I don' know. Folks are so indifferent now I am afraid to
say. Pshaw.... Colored folks now. Some are messy [HW: an'] don't know
how to be polite.
"Talking about lightning days. Its lightning at every bodys house. Lord
have mercy on dese here young folks and deliber me from the plantation,
I pray.
"Courting dem days wuz like everything I reckon you all do now adays.
You promise to 'bey the man, but before you finish its cussing, Honey.
"In olden days husbands loved. Sho God did tend to wife and took care of
them and they had to stay home cause it wuz always a new baby. I tell
you, Miss Sue, man ought not never had you to find history 'cause you
gwine tell it all. As I said, we loved. Is de young folks marrying fur
love? Dey don't stay together long enough to warm hands. We went to
church together and praised God; led prayer meetings and, yes siree,
would feel good.
"Now you all done start opening theatres on Sunday. Miss Sue, all dat
stuff you putting down will sure make the man laugh."
450004
Interview of Mrs. Marriah Hines
E. Avenue R.F.D. 1.
Oakwood Norfolk, Virginia
By--David Hoggard
March 26, 1937
Mrs. Marriah Hines--Born July 4, 1835, South Hampton County Virginia, a
slave on James Pressmans plantation. Now residing on E. Avenue, Oakwood,
Norfolk, Virginia R.F.D. 1.
[HW: Insert last paragraph] [TR: appropriate paragraph inserted here]
Marriah is about four feet and a half tall and weighs about one hundred
pounds. She has a pretty head of white hair covering her round brown
face. Her memory of her mother and father is very vague, due to their
death when she was young. She is able to dress herself practically
without help, and to get about from place to place alone, enjoying
talking about religion and [HW: what she knows about] the world
[HW: of] today.
Even though the general course of slavery was cruel, Marriah Hines was
fortunate enough, not to have to endure its severities. James Pressman
was one of the few slave masters that looked upon the slave with a
certain degree of compassion, to whom Marriah was fortunate, to be owned
by. Although slavery in its self was cruel; but the fact that Mr.
Pressman was generous and kind to the slaves that he owned, because of
necessity in the process of his farming, should not be overlooked. It is
quite true that slave masters near him did not grant their slaves such
priviliges as he did. I do not wish to impress the idea that Mr.
Pressman did not approve of slavery, but only his general attitude
toward his slaves was different from the majority of the slaves holders.
From the following story of Marriah's life in slavery, it may be clearly
seen that her master was an exception.
[HW struck out: Upon interviewing her, she relates her life story as
follows--]
"I lived with good people, my white folks treated us good. There was
plenty of 'em that didn't fare as we did. Some of the poor folks almost
starved to death. Why the way their masters treated them was scandalous,
treated them like cats and dogs. We always had plenty of food, never
knowed what it was to want food bad enough to have to steal it like a
whole lot of 'em. Master would always give us plenty when he give us our
rations. Of course we slaves were given food and clothing and just
enough to keep us goin good. Why master would buy cloth by the loads and
heaps, shoes by the big box full; den he'd call us to the house and give
each on 'us our share. Plenty to keep us comfortable, course it warn't
silk nor satin, no ways the best there was, but 'twas plenty good 'nough
for us, and we was plenty glad to git it. When we would look and see
how the slaves on the 'jining farm was fareing, 'twould almost make us
shed tears. It made us feel like we was gitting 'long most fine. Dat's
why we loved 'spected master; 'course he was so good to us.
"'Cause master was good and kind to us, some of the other white folks
used to call him 'nigger lover.' He didn't pay dat no mind though. He
was a true Christian man, and I mean he sho' lived up to it. He never
did force any of us to go to church, if we didn't want to, dat was left
to us to 'cide. If you wanted to you could, if you didn't you didn't
have to, but he'd always tell us, you ought to go.
"Not only was master good but his whole family was too. When the weather
was good we worked in the fields and on other little odd jobs that was
needed done. We slaves would eat our breakfast, and go to the fields,
dare wont no hurry-scurry. Lots o'times when we got in the fields the
other slaves had been in the field a long time. Dar was times though we
had to git to it early, too, 'pecially if it had been rainy weather and
the work had been held up for a day or so. Master didn't make us work a
'tall in bad weather neither when it got real cold. The men might have
to git in fire wood or sumpin' of that sort but no all day work in the
cold--just little odd jobs. We didn't even have to work on Sundays not
even in the house. The master and the preacher both said dat was the
Lord's day and you won't spose to work on that day. So we didn't. We'd
cook the white folks victuals on Saturday and lots o'times dey eat cold
victuals on Sundays. Master would sometimes ask the preacher home to
dinner. 'You plenty welcome to go home with me for dinner, but you'll
have to eat cold victuals 'cause there aint no cooking on Sundays at my
house.' Lots of times we slaves would take turns on helping 'em serve
Sunday meals just 'cause we liked them so much. We hated to see Missie
fumbling 'round in the kitchen all out 'a'her place. We didn't have to
do it, we just did it on our own free will. Master sometimes gives us a
little money for it too, which made it all the better. Master and Missus
was so good to us we didn't mind working a little on Sundays, in the
house. Master had prayer with the whole family every night, prayed for
us slaves too. Any of the slaves that wanted to jine him could. Or if
they wanted to pray by dem selves they could. Sundays we went to church
and stayed the biggest portion of the day. No body had to rush home. On
our plantation we had general prayer meeting every Wednesday night at
church. 'Cause some of the masters didn't like the way we slaves carried
on we would turn pots down, and tubs to keep the sound from going out.
Den we would have a good time, shouting singing and praying just like we
pleased. The paddarollers didn't pay us much 'tention coused they knew
how master let us do. Dey would say nasty things 'bout master 'cause he
let us do like we did.
"We had plenty time to ourselves. Most of the time we spent singing and
praying 'cause master was sich a good Christian and most of us had
'fessed religion. Evenings we would spin on the old spinning wheel,
quilt make clothes, talk, tell jokes, and a few had learned to weave a
little bit from Missus. We would have candy pulls, from cooked molasses,
and sing in the moonlight by the tune of an old banjo picker. Chillen
was mostly seen, not heard, different from youngens of today talking
backward and foward cross their mammies and pappies. Chillen dat did dat
den would git de breath slapped out on 'em. Your mammies didn't have to
do it either; any old person would, and send you home to git another
lickin'. We slaves had two hours off for dinner, when we could go home
and eat before we finished work 'bout sun down. We aint had no colored
overseers to whip us nor no white ones. We just went 'long so and did
what we had to, wid out no body watching over us. Every body was just
plum crazy 'bout master. Doing the day you could see him strutting down
the field like a big turkey gobbler to see how the work was going on.
Always had a smile and a joke wid you. He allu's tell us we was doing
fine, even sometimes when we want. We'd always catch up our work, so he
wouldn't have to fuss. We loved Misses and the chillen so much we
wouldn't even let 'em eat hardly. Missus didn't have to do nothing,
hardly. Dare was always some of us round the house.
"'Bout a year fore we heard 'bout freedom, master took sick and the
slaves wouldn't'er looked sadder if one of their own youngens had been
sick. Dey 'spected him to die, and he kept calling for some cabbage.
Misses finally let me cook him some cabbage, and let him have some 'pot
licker' (the water the cabbage was cooked in). He didn't die den but a
few years later he did die. Dat was the first and the last time any
cooking ever was done in that house on Sunday.
"When master told us we was free it didn't take much 'fect on us. He
told us we could go where we pleased and come when we pleased that we
didn't have to work for him any more 'less we wanted to. Most of us
slaves stayed right there and raised our own crops. Master helped us
much as he could. Some of us he gave a cow or a mule or anything he
could spare to help us. Some of us worked on the same plantation and
bought our own little farms and little log cabins, and lived right there
till master dies and the family moved away. Some of us lived there right
on. Master married me to one of the best colored men in the world,
Benjamin F. Hines. I had five chullun by him, four girls and one boy,
two of the girls and the boy are dead. Dey died 'bout 1932 or 33. I stay
with one awhile, den I go and stay awhile wid the other one.
"We didn't have no public schools in dem days 'n time. What little
learning you got it from the white chillen."
450012
[HW: Terms and phrasing to be checked and verified in further
interviews.]
THE STORY OF "UNCLE" MOBLE HOPSON.
(pronounced Mobile)
Interview Saturday, November 28th at his home on the Poquoson River.
(Recorded from memory within 1 hour after "being talked to by him.")
Uncle Moble hobbles unsteadily from his little shade beside the outhouse
into the warm kitchen, leaning heavily on the arm of his niece. He looks
up on hearing my voice, and extends a gnarled and tobacco-stained hand.
He sinks fumblingly into a chair. It is then that I see that Uncle Moble
is blind.
"No, don't mind effen yuh ast me questions. Try tuh answer 'em, I will,
best ways I kin. Don't mind et all, effen yuh tell me whut yuh want to
know. Born'd in fifty-two, I was, yessuh, right here over theer wheer
dat grade big elum tree usta be. Mammy was uh Injun an' muh pappy was uh
white man, least-ways he warn't no slave even effen he was sorta
dark-skinned.
"Ole pappy tole me 'bout how cum the whites an' the blacks an' the
Injuns get all mixed up. Way back 'long in dere it war, he [SP: be]
nevuh tell me jes' what year, dey was a tribe uh Injuns livin 'long dis
ribber. Dey was kin to de Kink-ko-tans, but dey wasn't de same. Dey had
ober on the James de Kink-ko-tans an' dey had dis tribe ober here.
"Well, de white man come. Not fum ober dere. De white man cum cross de
Potomac, an' [HW: den he] cross de York ribber, an' den he cum on cross
de Poquoson ribber into dis place. My pappy tell me jes' how cum dey
cross all uh dose ribbers. He ain't see it, yuh unnerstand, but he hear
tell how et happen.
"Dis whut de white man do. He pick hisself a tall ellum long side de
ribber an' he clumb to de top an' he mark out on de trunk wid he ax uh
section 'long 'bout, oh, 'long 'bout thirty-fo'ty feet. Den he cut de
top off an' den he cut de bottom off so de thick trunk fall right on de
edge uh de ribber. An' den he hollar out dat ellum log tell he make
hisself uh bout an' he skin off de bark so et don't ketch in de weeds.
Den he make hisse'f uh pattle an' dey all makes pattles an' dey floats
dat boat an' pattles cross to de udder side.
"Well, dey cross de Potomac an' dey has tuh fight de Injuns an' dey
cross de York an' fit some more tell dey kilt all de Injuns or run 'em
way. When dey cross de Poquoson dey fine de Injuns ain't aimin' tuh
fight but dey kilt de men an' tek de Injun women fo' dey wives. Coursen
dey warn't no marryin' dem at dat time.
"Well dat's how cum my people started. Ah hear tell on how dey hafta
fight de Injuns now an den, an' den de Britishers come an' dey fit de
British.
"An' all uh dat time dere warn't no black blood mixed in 'em, least
wise, not as I heer'd tell uh any. Plenty blacks 'round; ah seen 'em. My
pappy nevuh would have none. My oncle had 'em, ober on dat pasture land
dere was his land.
"Why I usta get right out dere many uh day and watch 'em [HW struck out:
at] workn' [HW: in de 'baccy fields.] Big fellars dey was, wid
cole-black skins ashinin' wid sweat jes' lak dey rub hog-fat ober dere
faces. Ah ain't nevuh bothered 'em but my bruther--he daid now sence
ninety-three he got uh hidin' one day fo' goin' in de field wid de
blacks.
[HW: Insert] "Well we all heer tell uh de was, [HW: an ah listen to de
grown folk talk on et,] but dey ain't paid so much mind to et. Tell one
day de blacks out in de field an' dey ain't no one out dere tuh mek 'em
work. An' dey stand 'round an' laugh an' dey get down an' wait, but dey
don' leave dat field all de mawning. An' den de word cum dat de Yankees
was a comin,' an' all dem blacks start tuh hoopin' an' holl'rin', an'
den dey go on down to deer shacks an' dey don' do no work at all dat
day.
"An' when do Yanks [HW: git heer] dey ain't non uh de slave-holders no
whers round. Dey all cleared out an' de blacks is singin' an' prayin'
an' shoutin' fo' joy cause Marse Lincoln done set em free.
"Well, dey tuk de blacks an' dey march em down de turnpike to Hampton,
an' den dey put em tuh work at de fort. Ah ain't nevuh go ober dere but
ah heer tell how de blacks come dere fum all 'round tell dey git so many
dey ain't got work fo' 'em tuh do, so dey put 'em tuh pilin' up logs an'
teking 'em down agin, an' de Yankees come and go an' new ones come but
dey ain't troublin nothin' much 'ceptin' tuh poach uh hawg or turkey now
an' den.
"Ah was jes' a little shaver gittin' in my teens den but ah 'member
clear as day all ah dat. An' ah heer tell uh uh big battle up Bethel
way an' dey say dey kilt up dere uh bunch uh men, de 'federates an' de
Yankees both. But ah ain't seed it, though Oncle Shep Brown done tole me
all 'bout et.
"Oncle Shep Brown lived down aways on de ribber. 'Long 'fore de Yankees
come he jined up wid de 'federates. He fit in dat battle at Big Bethel
but he ain't get uh scratch. He tell me all 'bout de war when he come
back home. He tell me all 'bout de fall uh Richmond, he did.
"Was one day down [HW: en] de lower woods in de shade he tell me 'bout
Richmond, Oncle Shep did. Why, I remember et jes' lak it was yestiddy.
Was whittlin' uh stick, he was, settin' on uh stump wid his game laig
hunched up ontuh uh bent saplin'. He was whittlin' away fo' uh 'long
time 'thout sayin' much, an' all at once he jump in de air an' de
saplin' sprang up an he start in tuh cussin.
"'Gawdammit, gawdammit, gawdammit,' he kept sayin' tuh hisse'f an'
limpin' round on dat laig game wid de roomatissum. Ah know he gonna tell
me sompin den cause when Oncle Shep git ehcited he always got uh lot
tuh say.
"'Gawdammit,' he say, 'twas de niggahs tak Richmond.'
"'How dey do dat Oncle Shep?' ah ast, though ah knowed he was gonna tell
me anyway.
"'De niggahs done tuk Richmond,' he keep on sayin' an' finally he tell
me how dey tak Richmond.
"'Ah seed et muhse'f,' he say, 'my comp'ny was stationed on de turnpike
close tuh Richmond. We was in uh ole warehouse,' he told me, 'wid de
winders an' de doors all barred up an' packed wid terbaccy bales
awaitin' fo' dem Yanks tuh come. An' we was a-listenin' an' peepin' out
an' we been waitin' dere most all de ev'nin'. An' den we heer [HW: uh]
whistlin' an' uh roarin' like uh big blow an' it kep' gittin' closer.
But we couldn't see nothin' uh comin' de night was so dark. [HW struck
out: But] Dat roarin' kep' a-gittin' louder an' louder an' 'long 'bout
day break there cum fum down de pike sech uh shoutin' an uh yellin' as
nevuh in muh born days ah'd heerd.'
"'An' de men in dat warehouse kept askinkin' away in de darkness widdout
sayin' nothin', cause dey didn't know what debbils de Yankees was
alettin' loose. But ah stayed right there wid dem dat had de courage tuh
face et, cause ah know big noise mean uh little storm.'
"'Dar was 'bout forty of us left in dat ole warehouse ahidin' back of
dem bales uh cotton an terbaccy, an' peepin out thew da cracks.'
"'An' den dey come. Down de street dey come--a shoutin' an' aprancin'
an' a yellin' an' asingin' an' makin' such uh noise like as ef all hell
done been turn't loose. Uh [HW: mob uh] nigguhs. Ah ain't nevuh [SP:
nevub] knowed nigguhs--even all uh dem nigguhs [SP: niggubs]--could mek
sech uh ruckus. One huge sea uh black faces filt de streets fum wall tuh
wall, an' dey wan't nothin' but nigguhs in sight.'
"'Well, suh, dey warn't no usen us firin' on dem cause dey ain't no way
we gonna kill all uh dem nigguhs. An pretty soon dey bus' in de do' uh
dat warehouse, an' we stood dere whilst dey pranced 'rounst us a hoopin'
an' holl'rin' an' not techin' us at all tell de Yankees soljers cum up,
an' tek away our guns, an' mek us prisoners an' perty soon dey march us
intuh town an' lock us up in ole Libby Prison.'
"'Thousings of 'em--dem nigguhs.' he say, 'Yassir--was de nigguhs dat
tuk Richmond. Time de Yankees get dere de nigguhs [SP: niggubs] done had
got de city tuk.'"
[HW: II]
[HW: _Why Uncle Moble is a Negro_]
Uncle Moble is a noble figure. He turns his head toward me at my
questions, just as straight as if he actually is looking at me.
"Yuh wanta know why I'm put with the colored people? [HW: Sure, ah got
white skin, leastwise, was white las' time ah' see et.] Well, ah ain't
white an' ah ain't black, leastwise not so fur as ah know. 'Twas the war
done that. Fo de war dere warn't no question come up 'bout et. Ain't
been no schools 'round here tuh bothuh 'bout. Blacks work in de fields,
an' de whites own de fields. Dis land here, been owned by de Hopson's
sence de fust Hopson cum here, I guess, back fo' de British war, fo' de
Injun war, ah reck'n. Ustuh go tuh de church school wid ole Shep Brown's
chillun, sat on de same bench, ah did.
"But de war changed all dat. Arter de soljers come back home, it was
diff'runt. First dey say dat all whut ain't white, is black. An' [HW:
den] dey tell de Injuns yuh kain't marry no more de whites. An' den dey
tell usen dat we kain't cum no more tuh church school. An' dey won't let
us do no bisness wid de whites, so we is th'own in wid de blacks.
"Some [HW: uh our folk] moved away, but dey warn't no use uh movin'
cause ah hear tell et be de same ev'y wheer. So perty soon et come time
tuh marry, an' dey ain't no white woman fo' me tuh marry so ah marries
uh black woman. An' dat make me black, ah 'spose 'cause ah ben livin'
black ev'y sence.
"But mah bruther couldn't fine no black woman dat suited him, ah reckon,
cause he married his fust cousin, who was a Hopson huhse'f.
"Den dere only chile married hisse'f uh Hopson, and Hopsons been
marryin' Hopsons ev'y sence, ah reck'n."