Eugene is 84 years old. He has thin features, trembling lips and a
sparse beard. His skin is a deep brown, lined and veined. His legs
showing over white socks are scaly. His hands are palsied, but his mind
is intelligent. He shows evidences of association with white people in
his manner of speech, which at times is in the manner of white persons,
again reverting to dialect.
Eugene stated that his father was a slave who belonged to Steadman Clark
of Augusta, and acted as porter in Mr. Clark's jewelry store on Broad
Street. His grandmother came from Pennsylvania with her white owners. In
accordance with the laws of the state they had left, she was freed when
she came of age, and married a man named Smith. Her name was Louisa.
Eugene's "Arnt" married a slave. As his mother was free, her children
were free, but Eugene added:
"She had put a Guardian over us, and Captain Crump was our guardian.
Guardians protected the Negro children who belonged to them."
To illustrate that children were considered the property of the mothers'
owners, he added that his uncle went to Columbia County and married a
slave, and that all of her children belonged to her master.
Mr. Clark, who owned Eugene's father, paid him 50¢ a week, and was angry
when Louisa refused to allow her children to work for him.
"He was good in a way," admitted Eugene, "Some masters were cruel to the
colored people, but a heap of white people won't believe it.
"I was too little to do any work before freedom. I just stayed with my
mother, and ran around. She did washing for white folks. We lived in a
rented house. My father's master, Mr. Clark, let him come to see us
sometimes at night. Free colored folks had to pay taxes. Mother had to
pay taxes. Then when they came of age, they had to pay taxes again. Even
in Augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. They had
frolics. Sometimes the white people came and looked at 'em having a good
time. You couldn't go out at night in Augusta after 9 o'clock. They had
a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and
every half hour. There was an uptown market, too, at Broad and McKinne."
Asked about school, Eugene said:
"Going to school wasn't allowed, but still some people would slip their
children to school. There was an old Methodist preacher, a Negro named
Ned Purdee, he had a school for boys and girls going on in his back
yard. They caught him and put him in jail. He was to be put in stocks
and get so many lashes every day for a month. I heard him tell many
times how the man said: 'Ned, I won't whip you. I'll whip on the stock,
and you holler.' So Ned would holler out loud, as if they were whipping
him. They put his feet and hands in the holes, and he was supposed to be
whipped across his back."
"I read in the paper where a lady said slaves were never sold here in
Augusta at the old market, but I saw them selling slaves myself. They
put them up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would
horses or cows. Dey was two men. I kin rekellect. I know one was called
Mr. Tom Heckle. He used to buy slaves, speculating. The other was named
Wilson. They would sell your mother from the children. That was the
reason so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not
knowing until they got to talking about it. One would say, 'I remember
my grandmother,' and another would say, "that's _my_ grandmother," then
they'd find out they were sister and brother.
"Speculators used to steal children," said Eugene. "I saw the wagons.
They were just like the wagons that came from North Carolina with apples
in. Dey had big covers on them. The speculators had plantations where
they kept the children until they were big enough to sell, and they had
an old woman there to tend to those children."
"I was a butler." (A dreamy look came into Eugene's old eyes.) "So I
were young. I saw a girl and fell in love with her, and asked her to
marry me. 'Yes,' she said, 'when I get grown!' I said, 'I am not quite
grown myself.' I was sixteen years old. When I was twenty-one years old
I married her in my father's house. My mother and father were dead then.
I had two sisters left, but my brothers were dead too."
"I quit butling when I got married. They was enlarging the canal here.
It was just wide enough for the big flats to go up with cotton. They
widened it, and I went to work on dat, for $1.25 a day. They got in some
Chinese when it was near finished, but they wasn't any good. The
Irishmen wouldn't work with niggers, because they said they could make
the job last eight years--the niggers worked too fast. They accomplished
it in about four years.
"After working on the canal, I left there and helped dig the foundations
of Sibley Mill. The raceway, the water that run from canal to river, I
helped dig that. Then after that, I went to Mr. Berckmans and worked for
him for fifty years. All my children were raised on his place. That's
how come my boy do garden work now. I worked for 50¢ a day, but he give
me a house on the place. He 'lowed me to have chickens, a little fence,
and a garden. He was very good to us. That was Mr. P.J. Berckmans. I
potted plants all day long. I used to work at night. I wouldn't draw no
money, just let them keep it for me. After they found out I could read
and write and was an honest fellow, they let me take my work home, and
my children helped me make the apple grass and plum grass, and mulberry
grass. A man come and told me he would give me $60 a month if I would go
with him, but I didn't I couldn't see hardly at all then--I was wearing
glasses. Now, in my 84th year, I can read the newspaper, Bible and
everything without glasses. My wife died two years ago." (Tears came
into Eugene's eyes, and his face broke up) "We lived together 62 years!"
Asked if his wife had been a slave, Eugene answered that she was but a
painful effort of memory did not reveal her owner's name.
"I do remember she told me she had a hard time," he went on slowly. "Her
master and misses called themselves 'religious people' but they were not
good to her. They took her about in the barouche when they were
visiting. She had to mind the children. They had a little seat on the
back, and they'd tie her up there to keep her from falling off. Once
when they got to a big gate, they told her to get down and open it for
the driver to go through, not knowing the hinges was broken. That big
gate fell on her back and she was down for I don't know how long. Before
she died, she complained of a pain in her back, and the doctor said it
must have been from a lick when she was a child.
"During the war there were some Southern soldiers went through. I and
two friends of mine were together. Those soldiers caught us and made us
put our hands down at our knees, and tied 'em, and run the stick through
underneath.
"It was wintertime. They had a big fire. They pushed us nearer and nearer
the fire, until we hollered. It was just devilment. They was having fun
with us, kept us tied up about a half hour. There was a mulatto boy with
us, but they thought he was white, and didn't bother him. One time they
caught us and throwed us up in blankets, way up, too--I was about 11
years old then."
Asked about church, Eugene said:
"We went to bush meetings up on the Sand Hill out in the woods. They
didn't have a church then."
Eugene's recollections were vivid as to the ending of the war:
"The Northern soldiers come to town playing Yankee Doodle. When freedom
come, they called all the white people to the courthouse first, and told
them the darkies was free. Then on a certain day they called all the
colored people down to the parade ground. They had built a big stand,
and the Yankees and some of our leading colored men got up and spoke,
and told the Negroes:
"You are free now. Don't steal. Now work and make a living. Do honest
work, make an honest living to support yourself and children. No more
masters. You are free."
Eugene said when the colored troops come in, they sang:
"Don't you see the lightning?
Don't you hear the thunder?
It isn't the lightning,
It isn't the thunder,
But its the button on
The Negro uniforms!
"The slaves that was freed, and the country Negroes that had been run
off, or had run away from the plantations, was staying in Augusta in
Guv'ment houses, great big ole barns. They would all get free provisions
from the Freedmen's Bureau, but people like us, Augusta citizens, didn't
get free provisions, we had to work. It spoiled some of them. When the
small pox come, they died like hogs, all over Broad Street and
everywhere."
WILLIS BENNEFIELD, HEPHZIBAH, GA., Born 1835.
[TR: "Uncle Willis" in individual interviews.]
"Uncle Willis" lives with his daughter Rena Berrian, who is 74 years
old. "I his baby," said Rena, "all dead but me, and I ain't no good for
him now 'cause I can't tote nothin'."
When asked where Uncle Willis was, Rena looked out over the blazing
cotton field and called:
"Pap! Oh--pappy! Stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. Dey's some
ladies wants to see you."
Uncle Willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, set in the middle of the
cotton patch. He wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. His small,
regular features had high cheekbones. There was a tuft of curly white
hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat.
"Mawnin," he said, "I bin sick. So I thought I might git some cotton
terday."
Willis thinks he is 101 years old. He said, "I was 35 years old when
freedom delcared." He belonged to Dr. Balding Miller, who lived on Rock
Creek plantation. Dr. Miller had three or four plantations, Willis said
at first, but later stated that the good doctor had five or six places,
all in Burke County.
"I wuk in de fiel'," he went on, "and I drove de doctor thirty years. He
owned 300 slaves. I never went to school a day in my life, 'cept Sunday
school, but I tuk de doctor's sons fo' miles ev'y day to school. Guess
he had so much business in hand he thought the chillun could walk. I
used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. I got way up in
de alphabet by listenin', but when I went to courtin' I forgot all dat."
Asked what his regular duties were, Willis answered with pride:
"Marster had a cay'age and a buggy too. My father driv' de cay'age and I
driv de doctor. Sometimes I was fixing to go to bed, and had to hitch up
my horse and go five or six miles. I had a regular saddle horse, two
pairs for cay'age. Doctor were a rich man. Richest man in Burke County.
He made his money on his farm. When summertime come, I went wid him to
Bath, wheh he had a house on Tena Hill. We driv' down in de cay'age.
Sundays we went to church when Dr. Goulding preach. De darkies went in
de side do'. I hear him preach many times."
Asked about living conditions on Rock Creek plantation, Willis replied:
"De big house was set in ahalf acre yard. 'Bout fifty yards on one side
was my house, and fifty yards on de udder side was de house of granny, a
woman that tended de chillun and had charge of de yard when we went to
Bath," Willis gestured behind him, "and back yonder was de quarters, a
half mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. When
any of 'em got sick, Marster would go round to see 'em all."
Asked about church and Bible study, Willis said:
"I belongst to Hopeful Church. Church people would have singin' and
prayin', and de wicked would have dancin' and singin'. At dat time I was
a regular dancer" Willis chuckled. "I cut de pigeon wing high enough!
Not many cullud people know de Bible in slavery time. We had dances, and
prayers and sing too," he went on, "and we sang a song, 'On Jordan's
stormy banks I stand, and cast a wishful eye.'"
"How about marriages?" he was asked.
"Colored preacher marry 'em. You had to get license and give it to the
preacher, and he marry 'em. Then de men on our plantation had wives on
udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives."
"Did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked.
"I went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till I marry her."
As to punishment, Willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed
it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping.
"When darky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, he had to
cay'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush
'em. Why, de darkies would whip de overseer!"
Willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use,
and replied:
"Dey made dey own money. In slavery time, if you wanted four or five
acres of land to plant anything on, marster give it to you, and whatever
dat land make, it belong to you. You could take dat money and spend it
any you wanted to. Still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you,
but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money
yours."
Willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly
wounded," he said. "Dey tell me dere ain't nobody living in it now. It
seven miles from Waynesboro, south."
"When de soldiers come thoo'," continued Willis, "dey didn't burn dat
place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'thing dey want, and give it
to de cullud people. Dey kep' it till dey got free. De soldiers tuk Dr.
Millers horses and carry 'em off. Got in de crib and tuk de corn. Got in
de smoke'ouse and tuk de meat out. Old Marssa bury his money and silver
in a iron chist. Dey tuk it 300 yards away to a clump of trees and bury
it. It tuk fo' men to ca'y it. Dere was money without mention in dat
chist! After de soldiers pass thoo, de went down and got it back."
"What did you do after freedom was declared?"
Willis straightened up.
"I went down to Augusta to de Freedmen's Bureau to see if twas true we
wuz free. I reckon dere was, over a hundred people dere. The man got up
and stated to de people, "you is jus' as free as I am. You ain't got no
mistis and no marster. Work wheh you want." On Sunday morning old
Marster sent de house girl and tell us to all come to de house. He said:
"What I want to send for you all, is to tell you you are free. You hab
de privilege to go anywhere you want, but I don't want none of you to
leave me now. I wants you-all to stay right wid me. If you stay, you you
mus' sign to it' I asked him: "What you want me to sign for?, I is
free." 'Dat will hold me to my word, and hold you to yo' word,' he say.
All my folks sign it, but I wouldn't sign. Marster call me up and say:
'Willis, why wouldn't you sign?' I say: 'If I already is free, I don't
need to sign no paper. If I was working for you, and doing for you befo'
I got free, I can do it still, if you want me to stay wid yo'.' My
father and mother tried to git me to sign, but I wouldn't sign. My
mother said: 'You oughter sign. How you know Marster gwine pay?' I said:
'Den I kin go somewhere else.' Marster pay first class hands $15.00 a
month, other hands $10.00, and den on down to five and six dollars. He
give rations like dey always. When Christmas come, all come up to be
paid off. Den he call me. Ask whar is me? I wus standin' roun' de corner
of de house. 'Come up here,' he say, 'you didn't sign dat paper, but I
reckon I have to pay you too.' He paid me and my wife $180.000. I said:
'Well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but I got my money too.' I
stayed to my marster's place one year after de war den I lef'dere. Nex'
year I decided I wuld quit dere and go somewhere else. It was on account
of my wife. You see, Marster bought her off, as de highes', and she
hadn't seen her mother and father in Waynesboro for 15 years.
When she got free, she went down to see 'em. Waren't willin' to come
back. T'was on account Mistis and her. Dey bofe had chilluns, five-six
years old. De chillun had disagreement. Mistis slap my girl. My wife
sass de Mistis. But my marster, he was as good a man as ever born. I
wouldn't have lef' him for anybody, just on account of his wife and her
fell out."
"What did your marster say when you told him you were going to leave?
Was he sorry?"
"I quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady house, and mek
bargain wid her," said Willis. "I pass right by de do'. Old boss sitting
on de pi-za. He say: 'Hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' I say; 'I 'cided to
go.' I was de fo'man of de plow-han' den. I saw to all de locking up,
and things like dat. He say: 'Hold on dere.' He come out to de gate. 'I
tell you what I give you to stay on here, I give you five acre of as
good land as I got, and $30.00 a month, to stay here and see to my
bizness.'"
Willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting.
"I say," he went on, "I can't, Marster. It don't suit my wife 'round
here, and she won't come back, and I can't stay.' He turn on me den, and
busted out crying. 'I didn't tho't I could raise up a darky that would
talk thataway,' he said to me. Well, I went on off. I got de wagon and
come by de house. Marster says: 'Now you gwone off, but don't forget me,
boy. Remember me as you always done.' I said: 'All right.'"
Willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the
rosemary bush, and resumed his story:
"I went over to dat widow lady's house and work. Along about May I got
sick. She say: 'I going to send for de doctor.' I said: 'Please ma'am,
don't do dat.' I thought maybe he kill me 'cause I lef' him. She say:
'Well, I gwine send fo' him.' I in desprut condition. When I know
anything, he walk up in de do'. I was laying wid my face toward de do'
and I turn over.
"Doctor come up to de bed. 'Boy, how you getting on?' 'I bad off,' I
say. He say: 'I see you is. 'yeh.' Lady say: 'Doctor, what you think of
him?' 'Mistis, it mos' too late,' he say, 'but I do all I kin.' She say:
'Please do all yo' kin, he 'bout de bes' han' I got.'
"Doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. She say: 'Uncle
Will, tek dis med'cine.' I 'fraid to tek it, 'fraid he wuz tryin' to
kill me. Den two men, John and Charles, come in. Lady say: 'Get dis
med'cine in Uncle Will.' One of de men hold my hand, one hold my head,
and dey gagged me and put it in me. Nex few days I kin talk, and ax for
somethin' to eat, so I git better. I say: 'Well, he didn't kill me when
I tuk de Med'cine.'
"I stayed dere wid her. Nex' yar I move right back in two miles other
side wheh I always live, wid anudder lady. I stay dere three years. Got
along all right. When I lef' from there, I lef' dere wid $300.00 and
plenty corn and hog. Everything I want, and three hundred dollars cash
in my pocket!"
(It was plain that in his present status of relief ward, Uncle Willis
looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. He thought about it
awhile, spat again, and went on:)
"Fourth year I lef' and went down to de John Fryer place on Rock Creek.
I stayed dere 33 years in dat one place."
"Uncle Willis, did you ever see the doctor again?"
"He die 'fore I know it," he replied, "I was 'bout fifteen miles from
him and be de time I hear of his death, he bury on plantation near Rock
Creek."
Willis was asked about superstitions, and answered with great
seriousness:
"Eberybody in de worl' have got a spirit what follow 'em roun' and dey
kin see diffrunt things. In my sleep I hab vision."
"Pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged Aunt Rena from her post in
the doorway, and Willis took up the story with eagerness:
"One night I was gwine to a lady's store, riding a horse. De graveyard
was 100 yards from de road I wuz passing. De moon was shining bright as
day. I saw somethin' coming out of dat graveyard. It come across de
road, right befo' me. His tail were dragging on de ground, a long tail.
He had hair on both sides of him, laying down on de road. He crep' up. I
pull de horse dis way, he move too. I pull him dat way, he move too. I
yell out: 'What in de name o' God is dat?' And it turn right straight
'round de graveyard and went back. I went on to de lady's store, and
done my shoppin'. I tell you I was skeered, 'cause I was sho' I would
see it going back, but I never saw it. De horse was turrible skeered of
it. It looked like a Maryno sheep, and it had a long, swishy tail."
Uncle Willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he
answered:
"Dey is people in de worl' got sense to kill out de conjur in anybody,
but nobuddy ever conjur me. I year 'um say if a person conjur you,
you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you."
Asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, he raised his head
with a preaching look and replied:
"I tell you, Missis, 'zactly what I believe. I bin tryin' to serve God
ever since I come to be a man of family. I bin trying to serve de Lawd
79 years, and I live by precepts of de word. Until today nobuddy can
turn me away from God business. I am a man studying my gospel. I ain't
able to go to church, but I still keep serving God."
A week later Uncle Willis was found standing in the cabin door.
"Do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. His
vitality was almost too low form to grasp the invitation.
"I'se might weak today," he said in a feeble voice. "I don't feel good
for much."
"Where is Aunt Rena?" he was asked. "Do you think she would mind your
taking an automobile trip?"
"She gone to town on de bus, to see de Fambly Welfare."
"Have you had breakfast?" His weak appearance indicated lack of food.
"I had some coffee, but I ain't eat 'none."
"Well, come on, Uncle Willis. We'll get you some breakfast, and then
we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place
where you were born 101 years ago."
Uncle Willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin
door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered
down the steps. He wore a frayed sweater, with several layers of shirts
showing at the cuffs. On the way he recalled the first railroad train
that passed through Burke County.
"I kinder scared," he recollected, "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train
flyin' long 'thout any horses. De people wuz all afraid."
"Had you hear of airplanes before you saw one, Uncle Willis?"
"Yes, ma'am. I yeared o' them, but you couldn't gimme dis car full of
money to fly, they's too high off de ground. I never is gwine in one."
Uncle Willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave
cabins to eat his "brekkus," while his kidnappers sought over hill and
field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney
foundation of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search.
He was posed in front of the cabin, just in front of the clay and brick
end chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head
up straight so that his white beard stuck out.
The brutal reality of finding the glories of Rock Creek plantation
forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man, for
several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. Once again
at his cabin in the cotton field, his vitality reasserted itself, and he
greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement:
"Dey tuk me wheh I was bred and born. I don't ax no better time."
His farewell words were:
"Goo'bye. I hopes you all gits to Paradise."