John Evans on the street and in this Office.
Residence changes frequently.
[TR: Date Stamp "SEP--1937"]
Story of John Evans
Born in Slavery.
I was born August 15th, 1859. I am 78 years old. Dat comes out right,
don't it? My mother's name was Hattie Newbury. I don't never remember
seein' my Pa. We lived on Middle Sound an' dat's where I was born. I
knows de room, 'twas upstairs, an' when I knowed it, underneath,
downstairs dat is, was bags of seed an' horse feed, harness an' things,
but it was slave quarters when I come heah.
Me an' my mother stayed right on with Mis' Newberry after freedom, an'
never knowed no diffunce. They was jus' like sisters an' I never knowed
nothin' but takin' keer of Mistus Newberry. She taught me my letters an'
the Bible, an' was mighty perticler 'bout my manners. An' I'm tellin'
you my manners is brought me a heap more money than my readin'--or de
Bible. I'm gwine tell you how dat is, but fust I want to say the most I
learned on Middle Sound was' bout fishin' an' huntin'. An' dawgs.
My! But there sho' was birds an' possums on de Sound in dem days.
Pa'tridges all over de place. Why, even me an' my Mammy et pa'tridges
fer bre'kfust. Think of dat now! But when I growed up my job was
fishin'. I made enough sellin' fish to the summer folks all along
Wrightsville and Greenville Sounds to keep me all winter.
My Mammy cooked fer Mis' Newberry. After a while they both died. I never
did'nt git married.
I don't know nothin' 'bout all the mean things I hear tell about slaves
an' sich. We was just one fam'ly an' had all we needed. We never paid no
'tention to freedom or not freedom. I remember eve'ybody had work to do
in slavery an' dey gone right on doin' it sence. An' nobody don't git
nowheres settin' down holdin' their han's. It do'n make so much diffunce
anyhow what you does jes so's you does it.
One time when I was carryin' in my fish to "Airlie" [TR: difficult to
read] Mr. Pem Jones heard me laff, an' after I opened dis here mouf of
mine an' laffed fer him I didn't have to bother 'bout fish no mo'.
Lordy, dose rich folks he used to bring down fum New Yo'k is paid me as
much as _sixty_ dollars a week to laff fer 'em. One of 'em was named Mr.
_Fish_. Now you know dat tickled _me_. I could jes laff an' laff 'bout
dat. Mr. Pem give me fine clo'es an' a tall silk hat. I'd eat a big
dinner in de kitchen an' den go in' mongst de quality an' laff fer' em
an' make my noise like a wood saw in my th'oat. Dey was crazy 'bout dat.
An' then's when I began to be thankful 'bout my manners. I's noticed if
you has nice manners wid eve'ybody people gwine to be nice to you.
Well, (with a long sigh) I don't pick up no sich money nowadays; but
my manners gives me many a chance to laff, an' I never don't go hungry.
John has been a well known character for fifty years among the summer
residents along the sounds and on Wrightsville Beach. He was a fisherman
and huckster in his palmy days, but now John's vigor is on the wane, and
he has little left with which to gain a livelihood except his unusually
contagious laugh, and a truly remarkable flow of words. "Old John" could
give Walter Winchel a handicap of twenty words a minute and then beat
him at his own game. His mouth is enormous and his voice deep and
resonant. He can make a noise like a wood saw which he maintains for 2
or 3 minutes without apparent effort, the sound buzzing on and on from
some mysterious depths of his being with amazing perfection of
imitation.
Any day during the baseball season John may be seen sandwiched between
his announcement boards, a large bell in one hand, crying the ball game
of the day. "Old John" to the youngsters; but finding many a quarter
dropped in his hand by the older men with memories of gay hours and
hearty laughter.
District: No. 3 [320198]
Worker: Daisy Whaley
Subject: EX-SLAVE
Storyteller: Lindsay Faucette
Ex-Slave
Church Street,
Durham, N. C.
[TR: Date Stamp "JUL 2 1937"]
LINDSEY FAUCETTE, 86 Yrs.
Ex-slave.
Yes, Mis', I wuz bawn in 1851, de 16th of November, on de Occoneechee
Plantation, owned by Marse John Norwood an' his good wife, Mis' Annie.
An' when I say 'good' I mean jus dat, for no better people ever lived
den my Marse John an' Mis' Annie.
One thing dat made our Marse an' Mistis so good wuz de way dey brought
up us niggers. We wuz called to de big house an' taught de Bible an' dey
wuz Bible readin's every day. We wuz taught to be good men an' women an'
to be hones'. Marse never sold any of us niggers. But when his boys and
girls got married he would give dem some of us to take with dem.
Marse never allowed us to be whipped. One time we had a white overseer
an' he whipped a fiel' han' called Sam Norwood, til de blood come. He
beat him so bad dat de other niggers had to take him down to de river
an' wash de blood off. When Marse come an' foun' dat out he sent dat
white man off an' wouldn' let him stay on de plantation over night. He
jus' wouldn' have him roun' de place no longer. He made Uncle Whitted de
overseer kase he wuz one of de oldest slaves he had an' a good nigger.
When any of us niggers got sick Mis' Annie would come down to de cabin
to see us. She brung de best wine, good chicken an' chicken soup an'
everything else she had at de big house dat she thought we would like,
an' she done everything she could to get us well again.
Marse John never worked us after dark. We worked in de day an' had de
nights to play games an' have singin's. We never cooked on a Sunday.
Everything we ett on dat day was cooked on Saturday. Dey wuzn' lighted
in de cook stoves or fire places in de big house or cabins neither.
Everybody rested on Sunday. De tables wuz set an' de food put on to eat,
but nobody cut any wood an' dey wuzn' no other work don' on dat day.
Mammy Beckie wuz my gran'mammy an' she toted de keys to de pantry an'
smoke house, an' her word went wid Marse John an' Mis' Annie.
Marse John wuz a great lawyer an' when he went to Pittsboro an' other
places to practice, if he wuz to stay all night, Mis' Annie had my mammy
sleep right in bed wid her, so she wouldn' be 'fraid.
Marse an Mistis had three sons an' three daughters,--De oldest son wuz
not able to go to war. He had studied so hard dat it had 'fected his
mind, so he stayed at home. De secon' son, named Albert, went to war an'
wuz brought back dead with a bullet hole through his head. Dat liked to
have killed Marse John an' Mis' Annie. Dey wuz three girls, named, Mis'
Maggie, Mis' Ella Bella and Mis' Rebena.
I wuz de cow-tender. I took care of de cows an' de calves. I would have
to hold de calf up to de mother cow 'til de milk would come down an' den
I would have to hold it away 'til somebody done de milkin'. I tended de
horses, too, an' anything else dat I wuz told to do.
When de war started an' de Yankees come, dey didn' do much harm to our
place. Marse had all de silver an' money an' other things of value hid
under a big rock be de river an' de Yankees never did fine anything dat
we hid.
Our own sojers did more harm on our plantation den de Yankees. Dey
camped in de woods an' never did have nuff to eat an' took what dey
wanted. An' lice! I ain't never seed de like. It took fifteen years for
us to get shed of de lice dat de sojers lef' behind. You jus' couldn'
get dem out of your clothes les' you burned dem up. Dey wuz hard to get
shed of.
After de war wuz over Marse John let Pappy have eighteen acres of land
for de use of two of his boys for a year. My pappy made a good crop of
corn, wheat an' other food on dis land. Dey wuz a time when you couldn'
find a crust of bread or piece of meat in my mammy's pantry for us to
eat, an' when she did get a little meat or bread she would divide it
between us chillun, so each would have a share an' go without herself
an' never conplained.
When pappy wuz makin' his crop some of de others would ask him why he
didn' take up some of his crop and get somethin' to eat. He would answer
an' say dat when he left dat place he intended to take his crop with him
an' he did. He took plenty of corn, wheat, potatoes an' other food, a
cow, her calf, mule an' hogs an' he moved to a farm dat he bought.
Later on in years my pappy an mammy come here in Durham an' bought a
home. I worked for dem' til I wuz thirty-two years old an' give dem what
money I earned. I worked for as little as twenty-five cents a day. Den I
got a dray an' hauled for fifteen cents a load from de Durham depo' to
West Durham for fifteen years. Little did I think at dat time dat I
would ever have big trucks an' a payroll of $6,000.00 a year. De good
Lawd has blest me all de way, an' all I have is His'n, even to my own
breath.
Den one day I went back home to see my old Marse an' I foun' him sittin'
in a big chair on de po'ch an' his health wuzn' so good. He sed,
"Lindsey, why don' you stop runnin' roun' wid de girls an' stop you
cou't 'n? You never will get nowhere makin' all de girls love you an' den
you walk away an' make up with some other girl. Go get yourself a good
girl an' get married an' raise a family an' be somebody." An' I did. I
quit all de girls an' I foun' a fine girl and we wuz married. I sho got
a good wife; I got one of de best women dat could be foun' an' we lived
together for over forty-five years. Den she died six years ago now, an'
I sho miss her for she wuz a real help-mate all through dese years. We
raised five chillun an' educated dem to be school teachers an' other
trades.
I have tried to live de way I wuz raised to. My wife never worked a day
away from home all de years we wuz married. It wuz my raisin an' my
strong faith in my Lawd an' Marster dat helped me to get along as well
as I have, an' I bless Him every day for de strength He has given me to
bring up my family as well as I have. Der is only one way to live an'
dat is de right way. Educate your chillun, if you can, but be sho you
give dem de proper moral training at home. De right way to raise your
chillun is to larn dem to have manners and proper respect for their
parents, be good citizens an' God fearin' men an' women. When you have
done dat you will not be ashamed of dem in your old age. I bless my
Maker dat I have lived so clos' to Him as I have all dese years an' when
de time comes to go to Him I will have no regrets an' no fears.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320223]
Worker: T. Pat Matthews
No. Words: 567
Subject: A SLAVE STORY
Story Teller: Ora M. Flagg
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: No Date Stamp]
ORA M. FLAGG
811 Oberlin Road
My name is Ora M. Flagg. I wus born in Raleigh near the Professional
Building, in the year 1860, October 16. My mother wus named Jane Busbee.
Her marster wus Quent Busbee, a lawyer. Her missus wus Julia Busbee. She
wus a Taylor before she married Mr. Busbee. Now I tell you, I can't tell
you exactly, but the old heads died. The old heads were the Scurlocks
who lived in Chatham County. I heard their names but I don't remember
them. Their children when they died drawed for the slaves and my mother
wus brought to Raleigh when she wus eight years old. She came from the
Scurlocks to the Busbees. The Taylors were relatives of the Scurlocks,
and were allowed to draw, and Julia Taylor drawed my mother. It wus
fixed so the slaves on this estate could not be sold, but could be
drawed for by the family and relatives. She got along just middlin'
after her missus died. When her missus died, mother said she had to look
after herself. Mr. Busbee would not allow anyone to whip mother. He
married Miss Lizzie Bledsoe the second time.
I wus only a child and, of course, I thought as I could get a little
something to eat everything wus all right, but we had few comforts. We
had prayer meeting and we went to the white people's church. I heard
mother say that they had to be very careful what they said in their
worship. Lots of time dey put us children to bed and went off.
About the time of the surrender, I heard a lot about the patterollers,
but I did not know what they were. Children wus not as wise then as they
are now. They didn't know as much about things.
Yes sir, I remember the Yankees coming to Raleigh, we had been taken
out to Moses Bledsoe's place on Holleman's Road to protect Mr. Bledsoe's
things. They said if they put the things out there, and put a family of
Negroes there the Yankees would not bother the things. So they stored a
lot of stuff there, and put my mother an' a slave man by the name o' Tom
Gillmore there. Two Negro families were there. We children watched the
Yankees march by.
The Yankees went through everything, and when mother wouldn't tell them
where the silver wus hid they threw her things in the well. Mother
cried, an' when the Yankee officers heard of it they sent a guard there
to protect us. The colored man, Tom Gillmore, wus so scared, he and his
family moved out at night leaving my mother alone with her family. The
Yankees ate the preserves and all the meat and other things. They
destroyed a lot they could not eat.
Mother and me stayed on with marster after the surrender, and stayed
on his place till he died. After that we moved to Peck's Place, called
Peck's Place because the property wus sold by Louis Peck. It wus also
called the 'Save-rent' section, then in later years Oberlin Road.
I think slavery wus a bad thing, while it had its good points in
building good strong men. In some cases where marsters were bad it wus a
bad thing.
Abraham Lincoln wus our friend, he set us free. I don't know much about
Booker T. Washington. Mr Roosevelt is all right. Jim Young seemed to be
all right. Jeff Davis didn't bother me. I guess he wus all right.