An Interview on May 18, 1937 with George Eatman, 93, of Cary, R. #1.
I belonged ter Mr. Gus Eatman who lived at de ole Templeton place on de
Durham highway back as fer as I can 'member. I doan r'member my mammy
an' pappy case dey wuz sold 'fore I knowed anything. I raised myself an'
I reckon dat I done a fair job uv it. De marster an' missus wuz good to
dere twenty-five slaves an' we ain't neber got no bad whuppin's.
I doan 'member much playin' an' such like, but I de 'members dat I wuz
de handy boy 'round de house.
De Confederate soldiers camp at Ephesus Church one night, an' de nex'
day de marster sent me ter de mill on Crabtree. Yo' 'members where ole
Company mill is, I reckon? Well, as I rode de mule down de hill, out
comes Wheeler's Calvalry, which am as mean as de Yankees, an' dey ax me
lots uv questions. Atter awhile dey rides on an' leaves me 'lone.
While I am at de mill one uv Wheeler's men takes my mule an' my co'n,
an' I takes de ole saddle an' starts ter walkin' back home. All de way,
most, I walks in de woods, case Wheeler's men am still passin'.
When I gits ter de Morgan place I hyars de cannons a-boomin', ahh--h I
ain't neber hyar sich a noise, an' when I gits so dat I can see dar dey
goes, as thick as de hairs on a man's haid. I circles round an' gits
behin' dem an' goes inter de back uv de-house. Well, dar stan's a
Yankee, an' he axes Missus Mary fer de smokehouse key. She gibes it ter
him an' dey gits all uv de meat.
One big can uv grease am all dat wuz saved, an' dat wuz burried in de
broom straw down in de fiel'.
Dey camps roun' dar dat night an' dey shoots ever chicken, pig, an'
calf dey sees. De nex' day de marster goes ter Raleigh, an' gits a
gyard, but dey has done stole all our stuff an' we am liven' mostly on
parched co'n.
De only patterollers I knowed wuz Kenyan Jones an' Billy Pump an' dey
wuz called po' white trash. Dey owned blood houn's, an' chased de
niggers an' whupped dem shamful, I hyars. I neber seed but one Ku Klux
an' he wuz sceered o' dem.
Atter de war we stayed on five or six years case we ain't had no place
else ter go.
We ain't liked Abraham Lincoln, case he wuz a fool ter think dat we
could live widout de white folkses, an' Jeff Davis wuz tryin' ter keep
us, case he wuz greedy an' he wanted ter be de boss dog in politics.
District: No. 3. [320121]
Worker: Daisy Whaley
Subject: Ex-slave Story.
Interviewed: Doc Edwards,
Ex-slave. 84 Yrs
Staggville, N. C.
[HW: Capital A--circled]
[TR: Date Stamp "AUG 6 1937"]
DOC EDWARDS
EX-SLAVE, 84 Yrs.
I was bawn at Staggville, N. C., in 1853. I belonged to Marse Paul
Cameron. My pappy was Murphy McCullers. Mammy's name was Judy. Dat would
make me a McCullers, but I was always knowed as Doc Edwards an' dat is
what I am called to dis day.
I growed up to be de houseman an' I cooked for Marse Benehan,--Marse
Paul's son. Marse Benehan was good to me. My health failed from doing so
much work in de house an' so I would go for a couple of hours each day
an' work in de fiel' to be out doors an' get well again.
Marse Paul had so many niggers dat he never counted dem. When we opened
de gate for him or met him in de road he would say, "Who is you? Whare
you belong?" We would say, "We belong to Marse Paul." "Alright, run
along" he'd say den, an' he would trow us a nickel or so.
We had big work shops whare we made all de tools, an' even de shovels
was made at home. Dey was made out of wood, so was de rakes, pitchforks
an' some of de hoes. Our nails was made in de blacksmith shop by han'
an' de picks an' grubbin' hoes, too.
We had a han' thrashing machine. It was roun' like a stove pipe, only
bigger. We fed de wheat to it an' shook it' til de wheat was loose from
de straw an' when it come out at de other end it fell on a big cloth,
bigger den de sheets. We had big curtains all roun' de cloth on de
floor, like a tent, so de wheat wouldn' get scattered. Den we took de
pitchfork an' lifted de straw up an' down so de wheat would go on de
cloth. Den we moved de straw when de wheat was all loose Den we fanned
de wheat wid big pieces of cloth to get de dust an' dirt outen it, so it
could be taken to de mill an' groun' when it was wanted.
When de fall come we had a regular place to do different work. We had
han' looms an' wove our cotton an' yarn an' made de cloth what was to
make de clothes for us to wear.
We had a shop whare our shoes was made. De cobbler would make our shoes
wid wooden soles. After de soles was cut out dey would be taken down to
de blacksmiyh an' he would put a thin rim of iron aroun' de soles to
keep dem from splitting. Dese soles was made from maple an' ash wood.
We didn' have any horses to haul wid. We used oxen an' ox-carts. De
horse and mules was used to do de plowin'.
When de Yankees come dey didn' do so much harm, only dey tole us we was
free niggers. But I always feel like I belong to Marse Paul, an' i still
live at Staggville on de ole plantation. I has a little garden an' does
what I can to earn a little somethin'. De law done fixed it so now dat I
will get a little pension, an' I'll stay right on in dat little house
'til de good Lawd calls me home, den I will see Marse Paul once more.
N. C. District: No. 11 [320001]
Worker: Mrs. W. N. Harriss
No. Words: 658
Subject: John Evans
Born in Slavery
Editor: Mrs. W. N. Harriss