CORDELIA THOMAS, Age 80
130 Berry Street
Athens, Ga.
Written by:
Grace McCune [HW: (white)]
Athens
Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens
Leila Harris
Augusta
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
A long, hot walk over rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to
Cordelia's place just after the noon hour of a sweltering July day, and
the shade of the tall water oaks near the little cabin was a most
welcome sight. The house stood only a few feet from a spur of railroad
track but the small yard was enclosed by a luxurious green hedge. Roses
predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the
otherwise drab premises.
A dilapidated porch across the front of the residence had no roof and
the floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to
walk from the steps to the front door where Cordelia stood waiting.
"Come right in, Missy," she invited, "but be keerful not to fall through
dat old porch floor." The tall, thin Negress was clad in a faded but
scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headcloth
crowned by a shabby black hat. Black brogans completed her costume.
Cordelia led the way to the rear of a narrow hall. "Us will be cooler
back here," she explained. Sunlight poured through gaping holes in the
roof, and the coarse brown wrapping paper pasted on the walls was
splattered and streaked by rain. The open door of Cordelia's bedroom
revealed a wooden bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the
Victorian period. A rocker, two straight chairs, a small table, and a
trunk completed the furnishings of the room and left but little space
for its occupant to move about.
"I'se jus' a mite tired," Cordelia stated, "'cause I jus' got back from
de courthouse whar dem welfare 'omans done gimme a sack o' flour and
some other bundles what I ain't opened up yit, but I knows dey's got
somepin in 'em to holp me, 'cause dem folks is sho' been mighty good to
me since my rheumatiz is been so bad I couldn't wuk enough to make a
livin'. De doctor, he say I got de blood presser. I don't rightly know
jus' what dat is, but it looks lak somepin's a-pressin' right down in my
haid 'til I feels right foolish, so I reckon he's right 'bout it a-bein
de blood presser. When I gits down on my knees it takes a long time for
me to git straight up on my feet again. De Lord, He's done been wid me
all dese years, and old Cordelia's goin' to keep right on kneelin' 'fore
Him and praisin' Him often 'til He 'cides de time has come for her to go
home to Heben.
"I was borned on Marse Andrew Jackson's plantation down in 'Conee
(Oconee) County, twixt here and High Shoals. Marse Andy, he owned my
Mammy, and she was named Em'ly Jackson. Bob Lowe was my Daddy, and he
b'longed to Marse Ike Lowe. The Lowe plantation was nigh whar Marse
Andy's was, down der in 'Conee County. 'Cause neither one of deir
marsters wouldn't sell one of 'em to de other marster, Mammy had to stay
on de Jackson plantation and Daddy was kept right on wukin' on de Lowe
place atter dey had done got married. Marse Bob, he give Daddy a ticket
what let him go to see Mammy evvy Wednesday and Sadday night, and dem
patterollers couldn't bother him long as he kept dat ticket. When dey
did find a slave off his marster's plantation widout no ticket, it was
jus' too bad, for dat meant a beatin' what most kilt him. Mammy said dey
didn't never git my Daddy, 'cause he allus had his ticket to show.
"I don't ricollect much 'bout days 'fore de big war ended 'cause I was
so little den, but many's de time I heared Mammy and Daddy and de other
old folks tell 'bout dem times. Us chillun had de bestes' time of
anybody dem days, 'cause dey didn't 'low us to do nothin' but jus' eat
all us could and play de rest of de time. I don't know how it was on
other places, but dat was de way us was raised on our old marster's
plantation.
"De cracks of de log cabins whar de slaves lived was chinked wid red mud
to keep out de cold and rain. Dere warn't no glass in de windows, dey
jus' had plank shutters what dey fastened shut at night. Thin slide
blocks kivvered de peepholes in de rough plank doors. Dey had to have
dem peepholes so as dey could see who was at de door 'fore dey opened
up. Dem old stack chimblies what was made out of sticks and red clay,
was all time gittin' on fire. Dem old home-made beds had high posties
and us called 'em 'teesters.' To take de place of springs, what hadn't
never been seen 'round dar in dem days, dey wove heavy cords lengthways
and crostways. Over dem cords dey laid a flat mat wove out of white oak
splints and on dat dey put de homespun bed ticks stuffed wid wheat
straw. Dey could have right good pillows if dey was a mind to pick de
scrap cotton and fix it up, but dere warn't many of 'em keered dat much
'bout no pillows.
"Slaves didn't do no cookin' on our place 'cause Marster fed evvybody up
at de big house. Missy, I ain't never gwine to forgit dat big old
fireplace up dar. Dey piled whole sticks of cord wood on it at one time,
wid little sticks crossways under 'em and, let me tell you, dat was a
fire what would cook anything and evvything. De pots hung on swingin'
racks, and dere was big ovens, little ovens, long-handled fryin' pans,
and heavy iron skillets wid tight, thick lids. It sho' was a sight de
way us chillun used to make 'way wid dem ash-roasted 'taters and dat
good, fresh butter. Us chillun had to eat supper early 'cause all
chillun had to be in bed 'fore dark. It warn't lak dese days. Why Missy,
chilluns now stays up 'most all night runnin' 'round dese parts.
"Marster was sho' good 'bout seein' dat his Niggers had plenty to eat
and wear. For supper us et our bread and milk wid wooden spoons out of
wooden bowls, but for dinner dey give us veg'ables, corn pone, and
'taters. Marster raised all de sorts of veg'ables what dey knowed
anything 'bout in dem days, and he had big old fields of wheat, rye,
oats, and corn, 'cause he 'lowed dat stock had to eat same as folkses.
Dere was lots of chickens, turkeys, cows, hogs, sheep, and some goats on
dat plantation so as dere would allus be plenty of meat for evvybody.
"Our Marster evermore did raise de cotton--lots of it to sell, and
plenty for clothes for all de folkses, white and black, what lived on
his place. All de cloth was home-made 'cept de calico for de best Sunday
dresses. Chillun had to spin de thread and deir mammies wove de cloth.
'Fore de end of de war, whilst I was still so little I had to stand on a
box to reach de spinnin' wheel good, I could spin six reels a day.
"Chillun was happy when hog-killin' time come. Us warn't 'lowed to help
none, 'cept to fetch in de wood to keep de pot bilin' whar de lard was
cookin'. Our Mist'ess allus had de lard rendered in de bigges' washpot,
what dey sot on rocks in de fireplace. Us didn't mind gittin' de wood
for dat, 'cause when dem cracklin's got done, dey let us have all us
could eat and, jus' let me tell you, Missy, you ain't never had nothin'
good 'less you has et a warm skin cracklin' wid a little salt. One time
when dey was renderin' lard, all us chillun was crowdin' 'round close as
us could git to see which one could git a cracklin' fust. Mist'ess told
us to stand back 'fore somebody got burnt; den Mammy said she was gwine
to take de hides off our backs 'bout gittin' so close to dat fire, and
'bout dat time somebody 'hind me gimme a quick push; and in de fire I
went. Marster grabbed me 'most time I hit dem red coals, but one hand
and arm was burnt so bad I had to wear it in a sling for a long time.
Den Marster laid down de law and told us what he would do if he cotch us
chillun hangin' 'round de fire whar dey was cookin' lard again.
"Folkses said our Marster must have a powerful sweet tooth on account of
he kept so many bee hives. When bees swarmed folkses rung bells and beat
on tin pans to git 'em settled. Veils was tied over deir haids to keep
de bees from gittin' to deir faces when dey went to rob de hives.
Chillun warn't never 'lowed to be nowhar nigh durin' dat job. One day I
sneaked out and got up close to see how dey done it, and dem bees got
all over me. Dey stung me so bad I couldn't see for days and days.
Marster, he jus' fussed and said dat gal, Cordelia, she was allus whar
she didn't b'long. Missy, I ain't never wanted to fool wid no more bees,
and I don't even lak honey no more.
"Slaves all went to church wid deir white folkses 'cause dere warn't no
Nigger churches dem days. All de preachin' was done by white preachers.
Churches warn't nigh and convenient dem days lak dey is now and dey was
such a fur piece from de plantations dat most of de folkses stayed all
day, and dem meetin' days was big days den. De cooks was told to fix de
bestes' dinners dey could git up, and chillun was made to know dey had
better mind what dey was 'bout when dey was in de meetin' house or it
was gwine to be made mighty hot for 'em when dey got back home. Dat was
one thing our Marster didn't 'low no foolin' 'bout. His Niggers had to
be-have deyselfs at de meetin' house. 'Long 'bout August when craps was
laid by, dey had brush arbor meetin's. White folks brought deir slaves
and all of 'em listened to a white preacher from Watkinsville named Mr.
Calvin Johnson. Dere was lots of prayin' and shoutin' at dem old brush
arbor 'vival meetin's.
"Dey had campmeetin's too. De old Freeman place was whar dey had some of
dem fust campmeetin's, and Hillsboro, Mars Hill, and Bethabara was some
of de other places whar Marster tuk us to campmeetin's. Missy, you jus'
don't know nothin' 'bout 'citement if you ain't never been to one of dem
old-time campmeetin's. When folkses would git 'ligion dey would holler
and shout a-testifyin' for de Lord. Atter de meetin' dey dammed up de
crick and let it git deep enough for de baptizin'. Dey dipped de white
folkses fust, and den de Niggers. You could hear 'em singin' a mile away
dem old songs lak: _On Jordan's Stormy Banks I Stand_,--_Roll, Jordan
Roll_,--_All God's Chilluns is a-goin' Home_, and--_Whar de Livin'
Waters Flow_. I jus' can't 'member half of dem good old songs 'cause my
mem'ry ain't good as it used to be." Here Cordelia paused. She seemed
oblivious to all around her for several minutes, and then she suddenly
smiled. "Lordy, Missy," she began, "if I could jus' call back dem days
wid our good old Marster to look atter us and see dat us had what us
needed to eat and wear and a good comf'table cabin to live in, wouldn't
dis be a happy old 'oman? Lots of de other old folks would lak it too,
'cause our white folkses day sho' did take good keer of deir slaves.
"Did you ever hear of dem logrollin's? On our place dey spent 'bout two
whole days cookin' and gittin' ready. Marster axed evvybody from fur and
nigh, and dey allus come 'cause dey knowed he was gwine to give 'em a
good old time. De way dey rolled dem logs was a sight, and de more good
corn liquor Marster passed 'round, de faster dem logs rolled. Come
night-time, Marster had a big bonfire built up and sot lots of pitchpine
torches 'round so as dere would be plenty of light for 'em to see how to
eat dat fine supper what had done been sot out for 'em. Atter supper,
dey danced nigh all de rest of de night. Mammy used to tell us 'bout de
frolics next day, 'cause us chillun was made to go to bed at sundown.
Come day, go day, no matter what might happen, growin' chillun had to be
in bed at deir reg'lar time, but Mammy never forgot to tell us all 'bout
de good times next day.
"Mammy said dem cornshuckin's meant jus' as much fun and jollification
as wuk. Dey gathered Marster's big corn crap and 'ranged it in long,
high piles, and sometimes it tuk sev'ral days for dem cornshuckers to
git it all shucked, but evvybody stayed right dar on de job 'til it was
finished. At night, dey wukked by de light of big fires and torches, den
dey had de big supper and started dancin'. Dey stopped so often to swig
dat corn liquor Marster pervided for 'em dat 'fore midnight folkses
started fallin' out and drappin' down in de middle of de dance ring. De
others would git 'em by de heels and drag 'em off to one side 'til dey
come to and was ready to drink more liquor and dance again. Dat was de
way dey went on de rest of de night.
"Corpses! Buryin's! Graveyards! Why, Miss, dere warn't nigh so many
folkses a-dyin' all de time dem days as dere is now. Folkses lived right
and was tuk better keer of and dere warn't so much reason for 'em to die
out den. When somebody did die, folkses come from miles and miles around
to de buryin'. Dey give de slaves de same sort of funerals de white
folkses had. De corpses was washed good all over wid hot water and
home-made soap, den dey was dressed and laid out on de coolin' boards
'til de cyarpenter man had time to make up de coffins. Lordy, Missy,
ain't you never seed no coolin' board? I 'spects dey is all gone now
though. Dey looked a good deal lak ironin' boards, only dey had laigs to
stand on. Lots of times dey didn't dress de corpses, but jus' wropped
'em in windin' sheets. Dem home-made, pine coffins didn't look so bad
atter dey got 'em painted up and lined nice. Dey driv de wagon what had
de corpse on it right slow to de graveyard. De preacher talked a little
and prayed; den atter de mourners had done sung somepin on de order of
_Harps [HW: Hark?] From De Tomb_, dey shovelled in de dirt over de
coffin whilst de preacher said comfortin' words to de fambly of de daid.
Evvy plantation had its own graveyard wid a fence around it, and dere
was a place in it for de slaves 'nigh whar deir white folks was buried.
"Honey, didn't you never hear tell of Dr. Frank Jackson? He was sho' a
grand doctor. Dr. Jackson made up his own medicines and toted 'em 'round
wid him all de time. He was close kin to our Marse Andy Jackson's
fambly. All dem Jacksons down in 'Conee was good white folks.
"Us stayed on wid Old Marster for a little while atter de war was over,
and den right away Mammy died and Daddy hired me out to Mrs. Sidney
Rives (Reaves?). I 'spects one reason she was so mighty good to me was
'cause I was so little den. I was nigh grown when I left her to wuk for
Dr. Palmer's fambly. All his chillun was little den and I was deir nuss.
One of de best of his chillun was little Miss Eunice. She is done growed
to be a school teacher and dey tells me she is still a-teachin'. It
warn't long atter my Daddy died dat I left de Palmers and started
wukkin' for Mr. Dock Dorsey's fambly. If dere ever was a good Christian
'oman in dis here old world it was Miss Sallie Dorsey, Mr. Dock Dorsey's
wife. She had been Miss Sallie Chappell 'fore she married Mr. Dorsey.
Miss Sallie tried to git evvybody what stayed 'round her to live right
too, and she wanted all her help to go to church reg'lar. If Miss Sallie
and Marse Dock Dorsey was livin' now, dey would pervide for Old 'Delia
jus' lak dey used to do. All deir chillun was nice. Miss Fannie and Miss
Sue, dey was extra good gals, but somehow I jus' can't call back de
names of dem other ones now. Dey all had to be good wid de sort of mammy
and daddy dey had. Miss Sallie, she was sick a long time 'fore she died,
and dey let me wait on her. Missy, I tell you de gospel truth, I sho'
did love dat 'oman. Not long 'fore she passed on to Heben, she told her
husband dat atter she was gone, she wanted him to marry up wid her
cousin, Miss Hargrove, so as he would have somebody to help him raise up
her chillun, and he done 'zactly what she axed him to. All of my own
white folkses has done died out, and Old 'Delia won't be here much
longer. One of de Thorntons here--I forgits which one--married up wid my
young Mist'ess, Rebecca Jackson. Her gal got married up wid Dr. Jago, a
horse-doctor. A insurance man named Mr. Speer married into de Jackson
fambly too. He moved his fambly from here to de mountains on account of
his son's health, and I jus' los' track of 'em den.
"Lordy, Chile! What you want to know 'bout my weddin' for, nowhow? Dere
ain't never gwine to be no more weddin's lak dey had back dere in dem
times 'cause folkses thinks dey got to have too much nowadays. When
folkses got married den dey was a-thinkin' 'bout makin' sho' 'nough
homes for deyselfs, and gittin' married meant somepin sort of holy.
Mammy said dat most times when slaves got married dey jus' jumped
backwards over a broomstick whilst deir Marster watched and den he
pernounced dat dey was man and wife. Now dey is got to go to de
courthouse and pay out good money for a license and den go git a
preacher or somebody lak a jestice jedge to say de marriage words over
'em.
"Me and Solomon Thomas had to go buy us a license too, but us didn't
mind 'bout 'puttin out 'dat money cause us was so much in love. I wore a
pretty white dress and a breakfast shawl, and atter us had done went to
de preacher man's house and got married, us come right on here to dis
very house what had b'longed to Solomon's daddy 'fore it was Solomon's.
Us built two more rooms on de house, but all de time Solomon lived us
tried to keep de place lookin' a good deal lak it was de day us got
married.
"Atter Solomon died, I sold off most of de land to de railroad for de
right of way for dat dere track what you sees out dere, and it sho' has
made plenty of wuk for me to keep dat soot what dem engines is all time
a-spittin' out cleaned off my things in de house. It draps down through
dem big holes overhead, and I can't git hold of no money to have de roof
patched up.
"Me and Solomon, us had 11 chillun, but dey is all daid out but three.
One of my boys is in Baltimore and another boy lives in Louisiana
somewhar. My gal, Delia, she stays over in de Newtown part of Athens
here. She would love to help her old Mammy, but my Delia's got chillun
of her own and she can't git nothin' to do 'cept a little washin' for de
white folkses, and she ain't able to pervide what her own household
needs to eat. Dem boys of mine is done got so fur off dey's done forgot
all 'bout deir old Mammy.
"When us fust got married, Solomon wukked at Mr. Orr's cotton house, and
he stayed dere a long time 'fore he went to wuk for Mr. Moss and Mr.
Levy. All dem white folks was good to me and Solomon. I kept on wukkin'
for de Dorseys 'til us had so many chillun I had to stay home and look
atter 'em. Solomon got sick and he lay dere sufferin' a long, long time,
but Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy seed dat he didn't want for nothin'. Even
atter Solomon died dem good white mens kept on comin' out now and den to
see if me and Solomon's chillun had what us needed.
"Solomon, my Solomon, he went out of dis here world, in dat dere room
whar you sees dat old bed, and dat is perzactly whar I wants to be when
de Blessed Lord lays his hands on me and tells me to come on Home to
Glory. I wants to be toted out of dat room, through dis hall and on out
to de graveyard jus' lak my man was. I knows dat evvything would be done
nice jus' lak I wants it if Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy was a-livin' 'cause
dey was both Masons, and members of de Masons is all done swore a oath
to look atter deir own folkses. Dey said Solomon and his fambly was lak
deir own folkses, Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy did. Most of de folkses, both
white and black, dat I has knowed and loved has done gone on over de
Jordan, out of dis world of trouble, and it will be happy days for all
of us when us meets again in de place 'of many mansions' whar dere won't
be nothin' for none of us to pester ourselfs 'bout no more.
"All of my life, I'se had a great desire to travel, jus' to go evvywhar,
but atter all dese years of busy livin' I 'spects all de trav'lin' I'll
ever do will be on de road to Glory. Dat will be good enough for me
'cause I got so many more of 'em I loves over dar dan is left here."
As the visitor passed out of earshot of Cordelia's cabin the last words
she heard from the old Negress were: "Good-bye again, Missy. Talkin' to
you has been a heap of consolation to me."
[HW: Dist-2
Ex Slave #105]
Alberta Minor
Re-search Worker
FOLKLORE
EX-SLAVE--IKE THOMAS
Heidt Bridges Farm near Rio Georgia
Interviewed
September 4, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
[TR: This interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was
transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.]
Ike Thomas was born near Monticello in Jasper County on the Thomas
plantation. His mother and father were sold when he was a little boy,
and "Missus" Thomas, in picking her house boy, took Ike to raise for a
carriage boy. She picked her little niggers by the way they wore their
hats. If they set them on the back of their heads, they grew up to be
"high-minded", but if they pulled them over their eyes, they'd grow up
to be "sneaky and steal".
Mrs. Thomas let him sleep on a trundle bed pulled out at night and put
under her bed in the day and fed him under the table. She'd put a piece
of meat in a biscuit and hand it down to him and warned him if they had
company not to holler when he was thru so he'd touch her on the knee but
his mouth was so big and he'd eat so fast that he "jes kep' on teching
her on the knee."
During the war, when they got word the Yankees were coming, Mrs. Thomas
would hide her "little niggers" sometimes in the wardrobe back of her
clothes, sometimes between the mattresses, or sometimes in the cane
brakes. After the Yankees left, she'd ring a bell and they would know
they could come out of hiding. (When they first heard the slaves were
free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their "white
folks".) [HW: Transpose to page 3.]
If the negroes were mean or ran away, they would be chased by hounds and
brought back for punishment.
When still a young man, Ike ran away with a negro couple coming in a
buggy to Blanton Mill near Griffin and worked for Mr. William Blanton
until he died. After he had been here a while, he got married. His
wife's people had the wedding supper and party. He was a fiddler so had
to fiddle most all night then the next day his "white folks" gave him
the food for the wedding dinner that he had at his own house.
Ike says every seven [HW: 7] years the locusts come and its sure to be
a short crop that "God sends all sorts of cusses" (curses) sometimes
its the worms that eat the cotton or the corn or the bugs that eat the
wheat. He doesn't believe in "hants" or "conjurin'". It seems Sid
Scott was a "mean nigger", [HW: and] everyone was afraid of [HW: him].
He was cut in two by the saw mill and after his funeral whenever
anyone pass his house at night that could hear his "hant" going
"rat-a-tat-tat-bang, bang, bang" like feet running.
One night when Ike was coming home from "fiddlin'" at a white folks
party, he had to pass Scott's house. Now they kept the cotton seed in
half of the house and the other half was empty. When Ike got close, he
made a racket and sure enough the noise started. "The moon was about an
hour up" and he saw these funny white things run out from under the
house and scatter. It scared him at first but he looked and looked and
saw they were sheep that [HW: having] found a hole into the cotton seed
would go in at night to eat.
Before the war the negroes had a big celebration on the 4th of July, a
big barbecue, ball game, wrestling matches, lots of music and singing.
They had to have a pass from their Masters to attend and pay to get in.
The "patta-roll" came by to see your pass and if you didn't have one,
they'd whip you and send you home. [HW: When the Negroes first heard
that they were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with
their white folks.]
After he came to Blanton's, the Negroes could come and go as they
pleased for they were free. Ike has been a member of several "Societies"
but something has always happened to the President and Secretary or they
ran off with the money so now he just has a sick and accident policy.
Ike will be 94 years old next month. His hair is white, his eyes blurred
with age, but he's quite active tho' he does walk with a stick.
[HW: Dist 1
Ex-Slave #107]
JANE MICKENS TOOMBS OF WASHINGTON-WILKES
Age approx. 82
by
Minnie Branham Stonestreet
Washington-Wilkes
GEORGIA
[Date Stamp: JAN 26 1937]
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
A story of happiness and contentment on a big plantation where there
were "a heap of us slaves" is told by Jane Mickens Toombs who said she
was "five er six years ole when de Wah come on (1860), or maby a lit'le
ol'er."
She is a bright old woman, well and spry despite the fact she "wuz
conjured onst when I wuz young an' dat lef' me lame an' dis eye plum'
out an' de t'other bad."
When asked about the conjuring she said: "No'm, I don't 'zackly know how
t'wuz, but enyhow somebody whut knowed how ter 'wu'k roots' got me lame
on dis side, an' my eye out, jess kase I wuz a decent, nice lookin' gal,
an' went on 'tendin' ter my business an' payin' dem no mind. Dat's de
way dey done in dem days, jess jealous of nice colored niggers. Yassum,
I wuz sick fer nigh on ter two years an' de doctuhs never knowed what
ailed me. Dey done everything dey could, but I wuz conjured an' dey
couldn't hep' me. A doctuh-man frum up yander in New Yalk cum down here
ter see his folks, an' he tried to kure [HW: cyore] me, but doctuhs
kain't [HW: kaan't] kure [HW: cyore] conjured folks, so I had ter lay
an' suffer 'til de conjure wore out. Dem whut done dat knowed dey done
me wrong, but I kep' trustin' in my Lawd, an' now dey's gone an' I'se er
stumblin' roun' yit. No mam, I never knowed jess whut dey done ter me,
but hit wuz bad, I kin tell yer dat, hit might nigh kilt me."
Aunt Jane was born on the Gullatt Plantation on the line of Wilkes and
Lincoln counties. Her Mother was Liza Gullatt and her father John
Mickens who belonged to Mr. Augustus McMekin. "Yassum, my Pa wuz John
'Mickens an' his Marster bought him in Alabamy. All de slaves whut
belonged to de McMekins called dey selves 'Mickens. I wuz one of fifteen
chillun an' cum er long in betweenst de oldest 'uns an' de youngest
sum'ers. I wuz named fer my Mistess Jane Gullatt whut died. Young Marse
George Gullatt choosed me out, dough, an' I'd er been his'en ef Freedom
hadn't er come. You know dat's de way dey use ter do back in slavery
time, de young Mistesses an' Marsters choosed out de little niggers dey
wanted fer their'n."
This is another case where the father and mother belonged to different
families. The father had a pass to go and come as he pleased, although
his family lived a little distance away. Jane said her father's master
would have bought her mother if the War hadn't come on and they were set
free.
Jane told of the log cabins in the Quarters where all the negroes lived.
She said they were all in a row "wid er street in de front, er wide
street all set thick wid white mulberry trees fer ter mak' shade fer de
chillun ter play in." They never had any punishment only [HW: except]
switchings by their Mistess, and that was not often. They played dolls,
"us had home-made rag dolls, nice 'uns, an' we'd git dem long grass
plumes (Pampas grass) an' mak' dolls out'n dem too. Us played all day
long every day. My Mistess' chillun wuz all growed up so jess us little
niggers played tergether.
"My Mother spun an' wove de cloth, an' dyed hit, but our Mistess made
our clothes. My Grandma, Nancy, wuz de cook an' she fed all de little
'uns in de big ole kitchen whut sot out in de yard. She had a tray she
put our victuals on an Uh, Uh, whut good things we had ter eat, an' er
plenty of everything! Us et jess whut our white folks had, dey didn't
mak' no difference in us when hit cum ter eatin'. My Grandaddy looked
atter de meat, he done everything 'bout dat, an' he sho' knowed how ter
fix it, too.
"De fust thing I recollects is bein' round in de kitchen when dey wuz
makin' ginger cakes an' my Mistess givin' me de pan she made 'em in fer
me ter sop hit out. Dey ain't nothin' whut smells good lak' de cookin'
in dem days, I kain't smell no victuals lak' dat now. Everything wuz
cooked on a big ole open fire place in one end of de kitchen. Dem good
ole days done gone now. Folkes done got wiser an' wickeder--dey ain't
lak' dey use ter be."
At Christmas Santa Claus found his way to the Quarters on the Gollatt
plantation and each little slave had candy, apples, and "sich good
things as dat." Aunt Jane gave a glowing description of the preparation
for the Christmas season: "Lawdy, how de folks wu'ked gittin' ready fer
Chris'mus, fer three er fo' days dey stayed in de kitchen er cookin' an'
er bakin'--daye wuz de bes' light bread--great big loaves baked on de
fire place, an' cakes an' mo' good ginger cakes. Dey wuz plenty cooked
up to las' er long time. An' another thing, dare want no cookin' on
Sunday, no mam, no wu'k of no kind. My Mistess had de cook cookin' all
day Fridays an' Saddays so when Sunday come dare wuz hot coffee made an'
dat wuz all, everything else wuz cooked up an' cold. Everybody went to
Church, de grown folks white and black, went to de preachin' an' den all
de little niggers wuz called in an de Bible read an' 'splained ter dem.
"Dare wuz preachin' down in de Quarters, but dat wuz at night an' wuz
led by de colored preachers. I recollects one night dare wuz a service
gwine on in one of de cabins an' all us wuz dare an' ole Uncle Alex
Frazier wuz up a linin' off a hymn 'bout
'Broad is de road dat leads ter Death
An' there an' here we travel.'
when in come some mens atter a colored feller whut had stole some sheep
an' hogs. Dey kotch 'im, but sho broke up de meetin'. In de hot summer
time Uncle George Gullatt use ter preach ter de slaves out under de
trees. Uncle George waz a kind of er preacher.
"My Pa didn't 'low his chillun ter go 'roun'. No'm, he kep' us home
keerful lak. Young folks in dem days didn't go all over de country lak
dey does now, dey stayed at home, an' little chillun wuz kep' back an'
dey didn' know no badness lak de chillun do terday. Us never even heared
de ole folks talk nothin' whut we oughtn't ter hear. Us jess played an'
stayed in a child's place. When we wuz sick de white folks seed dat we
wuz 'tended to. Dey use ter mak Jerusalem Oak candy an' give us. Dey
took de leaves of dat bush an' boiled 'em an' den use dat water dey wuz
boiled in an' put sugar 'nough in hit ter mak candy. An dey used plenty
of turpentine on us too--plenty ov hit, an' I believes in dat terday,
hit's er good medicine."
When asked about the War, Aunt Jane said she didn't remember much about
it. "But dare's one thing 'bout hit I sho' does 'member, an' dat's my
young Mistess Beckie's husband, Mr. Frazier, being off fightin' in de
Wah, an' she gittin' er letter frum him sayin' he wuz comin' home sich
an' sich er day. She wuz so happy she had all de grown slaves wu'kin'
gittin' ready fer him. Den dey brung her er letter sayin' he had been
kilt, an' she wuz in de yard when she read hit an' if dey hadn't er
kotch her she'd ov fell. I 'members de women takin' her in de house an'
gittin' her ter bed. She wuz so up sot an' took hit so hard. Dem wuz
sho' hard times an' sad 'uns too. 'Course I wuz too small ter know much
whut wuz gwine on, but I could tell hit wuz bad frum de way de older
folks looked.
"I recollects when dey say Freedom had cum. Dare wuz a speakin' fer de
slaves up here in town in Barnett's Grove. Dat mornin' Ole Miss sont all
de oldes' niggers to de speakin' an' kep' us little 'uns dat day. She
kep' us busy sweepin' de yards an' sich as dat. An' she cooked our
dinner an' give hit to us herself. I 'members de grown folks leavin'
early dat mornin' in a great big waggin.
"A while after de Wah, Pa took us over to de McMekins place an' we lived
dare fer a long time. He died an' lef' us an' den us had ter do de bes'
we could. Col. Tolbert hired me fer ter nuss his chillun an' I went over
ter his place ter live."
Aunt Jane said she isn't superstitious, but likes to see the new moon
clear and bow to it for good luck. She said it is better to show it a
piece of money, but as she doesn't always have money handy, she "jess
bows to hit nice an' polite". She keeps up with the weather by her
rheumatism and the cat: "Ef I has de reumatics I knows hit's gwine ter
rain, an' when de cat comes 'round an' sets washin' her face, look fer
rain, kase hit's er comin'. I've heared folks say dat hit's bad luck ter
stump yo' lef' foot, but I don't know boud dat. But I tell yer, when I
meets er cat I allus turns er round 'fore I goes on, dat turns de bad
luck er way."
When 19 years of age Jane married Albert Toombs. He belonged to the
Toombs family of Wilkes county. Aunt Jane said Albert brought her many
gifts while he was courting: "He warnt much on bringin' candy an'
nothin' lak dat ter eat, but he brung me shawls an' shoes--sumpin' I
could wear." They had four children, but only one is living.
"When I wuz a growin' up", said Aunt Jane, "folks had ter wu'k." She
worked on the farm, spun, wove, "done seamster wu'k" and knitted
stockings, sox and gloves. She said she carded too, "an' in dem times ef
a nigger wanted ter git de kinks out'n dey hair, dey combed hit wid de
cards. Now dey puts all kinds ov grease on hit, an' buy straightenin'
combs. Sumpin' dat costs money, dat's all dey is, old fashion cards'll
straighten hair jess as well as all dis high smellin' stuff dey sells
now."
Aunt Jane likes to tell of those days of long ago. Her memory is
excellent and she talks well. She says she is living out her Miss Jane's
time. "Yassum, my Miss Jane died when she wuz so young, I specks I jess
livin' out her days kase I named fer her. But I does miss dem good ole
days whut's gone. I'se hungry fer de sight ov a spinnin' wheel--does you
know whare's one? Things don't look lak' dey use ter, an' as fer whut we
has ter eat, dare ain't no victuals ever smelled an' et as good as dem
what dey use ter have on de plantation when I wuz a comin' on. Yassum,
folkes has got wiser an' know mo' dan dey did, but dey is wickeder--dey
kills now 'stid er conjurin' lak' dey did me."
[HW: Dist. 7
Ex-slave #108]
District 7
Adella S. Dixon
PHIL TOWNS
OLD SLAVE STORY
[Date Stamp: -- 8 1937]
[TR: This interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was
transposed, meaning was significantly changed, or the edit could not be
clearly read, it has been noted.]
On June 25, 1824, a son was born to Washington and Clara Towns who
resided in Richmond, Virginia. This was the fourth child in a family
which finally numbered thirteen. Phil, as he was called, does not recall
many incidents on this estate as the family moved when he was in his
teens. His grandfather and grandmother were brought here from Africa and
their description of the cruel treatment they received is his most vivid
recollection. His grandmother, Hannah, lived to be 129 years of age.
Mr. George Towns, called "Governor" by all of his slaves as well as his
intimate friends, moved to Georgia and settled at Reynolds in Taylor
County. Here he purchased a huge tract of land--1350 acres--and built
his new home upon this level area on the Flint River. The "big house," a
large unpainted structure which housed a family of eighteen, was in the
midst of a grove of trees near the highway that formed one of the
divisions of the plantation. It was again divided by a local railway
nearly a mile from the rear of the house. Eighty-eight slaves were
housed in the "quarters" which were on each side of the highway a little
below the planter's home.
These "quarters" differed from those found in the surrounding territory
as the size of the houses varied with the number in the family. The
interiors were nicely furnished and in most instances the families were
able to secure any furniture they desired. Feather mattresses, trundle
beds and cribs were common and in families where there were many
children, large fireplaces--some as many as eight feet wide--were
provided so that every one might be [TR: 'able to keep' crossed out]
comfortable in winter. A variety of cooking utensils were given and
large numbers of waffle irons, etc., then considered luxuries, were
found here.
To consider only the general plan of operation, this plantation was no
different from the average one in pre-civil war days but there was a
phase of the life here which made it a most unusual home. "Governor" was
so exceptionally kind to his slaves that they were known as "Gov. Towns'
free negroes" to those on the neighboring farms. He never separated
families, neither did he strike a slave except on rare occasions. Two
things which might provoke his anger to this extent, were: to be told a
lie, and to find that a person had allowed some one to take advantage of
him. They were never given passes but obtained verbal consent to go
where they wished and always remained as long as they chose.
Phil Towns' father worked in the field and his mother did light work in
the house, such as assisting in spinning. Mothers of three or more
children were not compelled to work, as the master felt that their
children needed care. From early childhood boys and girls were given
excellent training. A boy who robbed a bird's nest or a girl who
frolicked in a boisterous manner was severely reprimanded. Separate
bedrooms for the two sexes were maintained until they married. The girls
passed thru two stages--childhood, and at sixteen they became "gals".
Three years later they might marry if they chose but the husband had to
be older--at least 21. Courtships differed from those of today because
there were certain hours for visiting and even though the girl might
accompany her sweetheart away from home she had to be back at that hour.
They had no clocks but a "time mark" was set by the sun. A young man was
not allowed to give his girl any form of gift, and the efforts of some
girls to secretly receive gifts which they claimed to have "found", were
in vain, for these were taken from them. After the proposal, the
procedure was practically the same as is observed today. The consent of
the parent and the master was necessary. Marriages were mostly held at
night and no pains were spared to make them occasions to be remembered
and cherished. Beautiful clothes--her own selections--were given the
bride, and friends usually gave gifts for the house. These celebrations,
attended by visitors from many plantations, and always by the Towns
family, ended in gay "frolics" with cakes, wine, etc., for refreshments.
During the first year of married life the couple remained with the
bride's mother who instructed her in the household arts. Disputes
between the newlyweds were not tolerated and punishment by the parents
was the result of "nagging". At the end of a year, another log cabin was
added to the quarters and the couple began housekeeping. The moral code
was exceedingly high; the penalty for offenders--married or single,
white or colored--was to be banished from the group entirely. Thus
illegitimate children were rare enough to be a novelty.
Young Phil was in his teens when he began his first job--coach driver
for "Gov." Towns. This was just before they moved to Georgia. He
traveled with him wherever he went, and as the Gov. purchased a
plantation in Talbot County, (the house still stands), and a home in
Macon, (the site of Mt. De Sales Academy), a great deal of his time was
spent on the road. Phil never did any other work except to occasionally
assist in sweeping the large yard. The other members of this group split
rails, did field work, spinning, tailoring and any of the many things
that had to be done. Each person might choose the type of work he liked
best.
Opportunities to make cash money were plentiful. Some made baskets and
did hand work which was sold and the money given the maker. A man or
woman who paid Gov. Towns $150.00 might hire himself to the Gov. for a
year. When this was done he was paid cash for all the work he did and
many were able to clear several hundred dollars in a year. In addition
to this opportunity for earning money, every adult had an acre of ground
which he might cultivate as he chose. Any money made from the sale of
this produce was his own.
Recreation was not considered important so no provision was made in the
regular routine. It was, however, possible to obtain "time off" at
frequent intervals and these might be termed irregular vacation periods.
Evening entertainment at which square dancing was the main attraction,
were common. Quill music, from a homemade harmonica, was played when
banjoes were not available. These instruments were made by binding with
cane five to ten reeds of graduated lengths. A hole was cut in the upper
end of each and the music obtained by blowing up and down the scale.
Guests came from all neighboring farms and engaged in the "Green Corn"
dance which was similar to what is now called Buck dancing. Near the end
of such a hilarious evening, the guests were served with persimmon beer
and ginger cakes,--then considered delicacies.
"Gov." Towns was interested in assisting any one [HW: wanting to learn].
[TR: Original reads 'desirous of learning.'] The little girls who
expressed the desire to become "ladies" were kept in the "big house" and
very carefully trained. The tastes of these few were developed to the
extent that they excelled the ordinary "quarter" children and were the
envy of the group at social affairs.
Sunday was a day of Reverence and all adults were required to attend
religious services. The trip was usually made in wagons, oxcarts, etc.,
although the young women of the big house rode handsome saddle horses.
At each church there was placed a stepping block by which they descended
from their steeds. White and colored worshipped at the same church,
constructed with a partition separating the two parts of the
congregation but not extending to the pulpit. Professions of faith were
accepted at the same altar while Baptismal services ware held at a local
creek and all candidates were baptized on the same day. Regular clothing
was worn at this service. Children were not allowed to attend church,
and christenings were not common. Small boys, reared entirely apart from
strict religious observances, used to slip away and shoot marbles on
Sunday.
The health problem was not acute as these people were provided with
everything necessary for a contented mind and a robust body. [TR:
original line: The health problem was not a very acute one as these
people were provided with everything conducive to a contented mind which
plays a large part in maintaining a robust body.] However, a Doctor who
lived nearby cared for the sick. Two fees were set--the larger one being
charged if the patient recovered. Home remedies were used for minor
ills--catnip tea for thrash, tea from Samson Snakeroot for cramps,
redwood and dogwood bark tea [HW: and horehound candy] for worms, [HW:
many] root teas used [HW: medicinally] by this generation. Peach brandy
was given to anyone suspected of having pneumonia,--if the patient
coughed, it was certain that he was a victim of the disease.
In these days, a mother named her children by a name [TR: unreadable]
during pregnancy. [TR: original line: In these days, it was always
thought best for the mother to name her children if the proper name for
the babe was theoretically revealed to her during pregnancy.] If another
name was given the child, the correct one would be so firmly implanted
in his subconscious mind that he would never be able to resist the
impulse to turn his head when that name was called. The seventh child
was always thought to be exceptionally lucky, and [TR: unreadable HW
replaces 'the bond of affection between the parents and this child was
greater']. This belief persists today in many localities.
Every family was given a weekly supply of food but this was more for
convenience than anything else as they were free to eat anything their
appetites called for. They killed chickens, ate vegetables, meats, etc.
at any time. The presence of guests at the "quarters" roused Mrs. Towns
to activity and she always helped to prepare the menu. One of her
favorite items was chicken--prepared four different ways, in pie, in
stew, fried, and baked. She gave full directions for the preparation of
these delicacies to unskilled cooks. Pound cake was another favorite and
she insisted that a pound of butter and a dozen eggs be used in each
cake. When the meal was nearly ready, she usually made a trip to the
cabin to see if it had been well prepared. The hostess could always tell
without any comment whether she had satisfied her mistress, for if she
had, a serving was carried back to the big house. Fishing was a form of
remunerative recreation enjoyed by all. Everyone usually went on
Saturday afternoon, but if only a few made the trip, the catch was
shared by all.
Sewing was no easy job as there were few small women among the servants.
The cloth made at home, was plentiful, however, and sufficient clothing
was made for all. Some persons preferred making their own clothes and
this privilege was granted; otherwise they were made in a common sewing
room. Ten yards was the average amount of cloth in a dress, homespun and
gingham, the usual materials. The men wore suits of osnaburg and jeans.
This was dyed to more durable colors through the use of [HW: with]
indigo [HW: (blue)] and a dye made from railroad bark (brown).
Phil believes that the screeching of an owl, the bellowing of a cow, and
the howling of a dog after dark are signs of death because the [HW:
immediate] death of a human being is revealed to animals, which [TR:
illegible. 'in turn'?] warn humans. Though we may find some way to rid
ourselves of the fear of the warning--the death will occur just the
same.
On nearly all plantations there were some slaves who, trying to escape
work, hid themselves in the woods. [TR: original line: On nearly all
plantations there were some slaves who did not wish to work,
consequently, for this, or similar reasons, hid themselves in the
woods.] They smuggled food to their hiding place by night, and remained
away [HW: lost] in some instances, many months. Their belief in
witchcraft caused them to resort to most ridiculous means of avoiding
discovery. Phil told the story of a man who visited a conjurer to obtain
a "hand" for which he paid fifty dollars in gold. The symbol was a
hickory stick which he used whenever he was being chased, and in this
manner warded off his pursuers. The one difficulty in this procedure was
having to "set up" at a fork or cross roads. Often the fugitive had to
run quite a distance to reach such a spot, but when the stick was so
placed human beings and even bloodhounds lost his trail. With this
assistance, he was able to remain in the woods as long as he liked.
Snakes ware frequent visitor in the cabins of the "quarters". One
morning while Betty, a cook, was confined to bed, she sent for Mrs.
Towns to tell her that a snake had lain across her chest during the
previous night and had tried to get under the cover where her young baby
lay asleep. Mrs. Towns was skeptical about the size and activities of
the reptile but sent for several men to search the house. They had given
up the search when one chanced to glance above the sick woman's bed and
there lay the reptile on a shelf. The bed was roped and moved to another
part of the room and preparations made to shoot him. Quilts were piled
high on the bed so that the noise of the gun would not frighten the
baby. When all was ready Mrs. Towns asked the old man with the gun--
"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"
"Yessum, mistress," he replied.
"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"
"Yessum, mistress."
"Daddy Luke, can you _kill_ the snake?"
"Yessum, mistress."
"Shoot!!"
He took careful aim and fired. The huge reptile rolled to the floor.
When the men returned to the yard to work near the woodpile, the mate
was discovered by one of the dogs that barked until a log was moved and
the second snake killed.
[HW: In those days] small snakes were not feared and for several years
it was customary for women to carry a tiny green snake in their bosoms.
This fad was discontinued when one of the women was severely injured
through a bite on her chest.
Phil remembers when the stars fell in 1833. "They came down like rain,"
he said. When asked why he failed to keep some, he replied that he was
afraid to touch them even after they became black.
[TR: The following paragraphs contain many crossouts replaced by
unreadable handwritten edits, and will be indicated by: 'deleted words'
replaced by ??.]
Freedom was discussed on the plantation [TR: ??] for many years before
the Civil War began. As contented as [TR: 'they' replaced by ??] were
[TR: 'there was something to look forward to when they thought of'
replaced by ??] being absolutely free. An ex-slave's description of the
real cause of the Civil War, deserves a place here. It seems that
Lincoln had sent several messages to Davis requesting that he free the
slaves. No favorable response was received. Lincoln had a conference
with Mr. Davis and to this meeting he carried a Bible and a gun. He
tried in vain to convince Davis that he was wrong according to the
Bible, so he finally threw the two upon the table and asked Davis to
take his choice. He chose the gun. Lincoln grasped the Bible and rushed
home. Thus Davis _began_ the war but Lincoln had God on his side and so
he _ended_ it.
One of Gov. Towns' sons went to the army and Phil was sent to care for
him while he was there; an aristocratic man never went to the war
without his valet. His [HW: Phil's] duty was to cook for him, keep his
clothes clean, and to bring the body home if he was killed. Poor
soldiers were either buried [HW: where they fell] or left lying on the
field for vultures to consume. Food was not so plentiful in the [TR:
'army' replaced by ??] and their diet of flapjacks and canned goods was
varied only by coffee and whiskey given when off duty. All cooking was
done between two battles or during the lull in a battle. John Towns was
soon sent back home as they [HW: the officers] felt he was too [TR:
'valuable a Southerner' crossed out] important to be killed in battle,
and his services were needed at home.
Near the close of the war, Sherman made a visit to this vicinity. As was
his usual habit, he had [TR: 'obtained' replaced by 'learned'?] the
reputation of Gov. Towns before he arrived. He found conditions so ideal
[TR: 'that not one thing was touched' replaced by ??]. He talked with
[HW: slaves and owners, he] went [TR: 'gaily' deleted] on his way. Phil
was so impressed by Sherman that he followed him and camped with the
Yankees about where Central City Park is now. He thought that anything a
Yankee said was true. [HW: When] One [HW: of them] gave him a knife and
told him to go and cut the first man he met, he followed instructions
even though he knew the man. [HW: Later] Realizing how foolishly he had
acted, he readily apologized and explained why. [HW: The Yankee soldiers
robbed beehives barehanded and were never stung, they] seemed to fear
nothing but lizards. Never having seen such reptiles they would run in
terror at the sight of one. The Confederates never discovered this.
After the close of the war they [HW: federal soldiers] were stationed in
the towns to keep order. Union flags were placed everywhere, and a
Southerner was accused of not respecting the flag if he even passed
under one without bowing. Penalties for this offense were, to be hung up
by the thumbs, to carry greasy [HW: greased] poles for a certain time,
and numerous other punishments which caused a deal of discomfort to the
victims but sent the soldiers and ex-slaves into peals of laughter. The
sight of a Yankee soldier sent a Confederate one into hysteria.
[HW: Phil says his fellow] slaves laughed when told they were free, but
Gov. Towns was almost indifferent. His slaves, he said, were always
practically free, so a little legal form did not [TR: 'add' replaced by
??] much to them. Nearly every one remained there and worked for wages.
For the past thirty-five years, Phil Towns has been almost totally
disabled. Long life seems no novelty to him for he says everyone used to
live longer when they honored their elders more. He has eighty-four
relatives in Virginia--all older than he, but states that friends who
have visited there say he looks more aged than any of them. His great
desire is to return to Virginia, as he believes he will be able to find
the familiar landmarks in spite of the changes that have taken place.
Mr. Alex Block, of Macon, makes no charges for the old shack in which
Phil lives; his food furnished by the Department of Public Welfare is
supplemented by interested friends.