An interview with Essex Henry 83 of 713 S. East Street, Raleigh, N. C.
I wus borned five miles north of Raleigh on de Wendell Road, 83 years
ago. My mammy wus Nancy an' my pappy wus Louis. I had one sister, Mary,
an' one bruder, Louis.
We 'longed ter Mr. Jake Mordecai, an' we lived on his six hundert acres
plantation 'bout a mile from Millbrook. Right atter de war he sold dis
lan' ter Doctor Miller an' bought de Betsy Hinton tract at Milburnie.
Mr. Jake had four or five hundert niggers hyar an' I doan know how many
at de Edgecombe County place.
De wuck wus hard den, I knows case I'se seed my little mammy dig ditches
wid de best of 'em. I'se seed her split 350 rails a day many's de time.
Dat wus her po'tion you knows, an' de mens had ter split 500. I wus too
little ter do much but min' de chickens outen de gyarden, an' so I fared
better dan most of 'em. You see Miss Tempie 'ud see me out at de gate
mornin's as dey wus eatin' breakfas' on de ferander, an' she'ud call me
ter her an' give me butter toasted lightbread or biscuits. She'd give me
a heap in dat way, an' do de rest of de slaves got hungry, I doan think
dat I eber did. I know dat Miss Jenny Perry, on a neighborin'
plantation, 'ud give my mammy food, fer us chilluns.
Mo'nin's we sometimes ain't had nothin' ter eat. At dinner time de cook
at de big house cooked nuff turnip salet, beans, 'taters, er peas fer
all de han's an' long wid a little piece of meat an' a little hunk of
co'nbread de dinner wus sont ter de slaves out in de fiel' on a cart.
De slaves 'ud set roun' under de trees an' eat an' laugh an' talk till
de oberseer, Bob Gravie, yells at 'em ter git back ter wuck. Iffen dey
doan git back right den he starts ter frailin' lef' an' right.
Dar wus a few spirited slaves what won't be whupped an' my uncle wus
one. He wus finally sold fer dis.
Hit wus different wid my gran'mother do'. De oberseer tried ter whup her
an' he can't, so he hollers fer Mr. Jake. Mr. Jake comes an' he can't,
so he hauls off an' kicks granny, mashin' her stomick in. He has her
carried ter her cabin an' three days atterward she dies wid nothin' done
fer her an' nobody wid her.
Mr. Jake orders de coffinmaker ter make de pine box, an' den he fergits
hit. De slaves puts de coffin on de cyart hin' de two black hosses an'
wid six or maybe seben hundert niggers follerin' dey goes ter de Simms'
graveyard an' buries her. All de way ter de graveyard dey sings, 'Swing
Low Sweet Chariot,' 'De Promised Lan', 'De Road ter Jordan,' an' 'Ole
Time Religion.'
Hit's a good thing dat none of de white folkses ain't went to de
funerals case iffen dey had de niggers can't sing deir hymns. Does you
know dat dey warn't no 'ligion 'lowed on dat plantation. Ole lady Betsy
Holmes wus whupped time an' ag'in fer talkin' 'ligion er fer singin'
hymns. We sometimes had prayermeetin' anyhow in de cabins but we'd turn
down de big pot front o' de door ter ketch de noise.
Dey won't gib us no pass hardly, an' iffen we runs 'way de patterollers
will git us. Dey did let us have some dances do' now an' den, but not
offen. Dey let us go possum huntin' too case dat wus gittin' something
ter eat widout Mr. Jake payin' fer hit.
Mr. Henry, Mr. Jake's bruder an' his Uncle Moses uster come a-visitin'
ter de house fer de day. Mr. Henry wus little wid a short leg an' a long
one, an' he had de wust temper dat eber wus in de worl'; an' he loved
ter see slaves suffer, near 'bout much as he loved his brandy. We knowed
when we seed him comin' dat dar wus gwine ter be a whuppin' frolic 'fore
de day wus gone.
Dar wus three niggers, John Lane, Ananias Ruffin an' Dick Rogers what
got de blame fer eber'thing what happens on de place. Fer instance Mr.
Henry 'ud look in de hawg pen an' 'low dat hit 'peared dat he bruder's
stock wus growin' less all de time. Den Mr. Jake sez dat dey done been
stold.
'Why doan you punish dem thievin' niggers, Jake'?
Jake gits mad an' has dese three niggers brung out, deir shirts am
pulled off an' dey am staked down on deir stomichs, an' de oberseer gits
wored out, an' leavin' de niggers tied, dar in de sun, dey goes ter de
house ter git some brandy.
Dey more dey drinks from de white crock de better humor dey gits in. Dey
laughs an' talks an' atter awhile dey think o' de niggers, an' back dey
goes an' beats 'em some more. Dis usually lasts all de day, case hit am
fun ter dem.
Atter so long dey ketched Jack Ashe, a Free Issue, wid one of de pigs,
an' dey whups him twixt drinks all de day, an' at night dey carried him
ter de Raleigh jail. He wus convicted an' sent ter Bald Head Island ter
wuck on de breastworks durin' de war an' he ain't neber come back.
[HW: Asterisk in margin] Dar wus a man in Raleigh what had two blood
houn's an' he made his livin' by ketchin' runaway niggers. His name wus
Beaver an' he ain't missed but onct. Pat Norwood took a long grass sythe
when he runned away, an' as de fust dog come he clipped off its tail, de
second one he clipped off its ear an' dem dawgs ain't run him no more.
De war lasted a long time, an' hit wus a mess. Some of Marster Jake's
[HW: Asterisk] slaves lef' him an' when de Yankees got ter Raleigh dey
come an' tol' 'em 'bout de way Mr. Jake done. Well in a few days hyar
comes de Yankees a-ridin', an' dey sez dat dey had tentions o' hangin'
Mr. Jake on de big oak in de yard iffen he 'uv been dar, but he ain't.
He an' his family had flewed de coop.
Dem Yankees went in de big house an' dey tored an' busted up all dey
pleased, dey eben throwed de clothes all ober de yard.
Dey took two big barns o' corn an' haul hit off an' down Devil's Jump on
Morris Creek dey buried ever so much molasses an' all.
At Rattlesnake Spring de Yankees fin's whar Marster Jake's still had
been, an' dar buried, dey fin's five barrels o' brandy.
Atter de war we stayed on as servants o' Doctor Miller fer seberal
years. I 'members de only time dat I eber got drunk wus long den. De
doctor an' his frien's wus splurgin', an' I went wid another nigger ter
git de brandy from de cellar fer de guests. When I tasted hit, hit drunk
so good, an' so much lak sweetin water dat I drunk de pitcher full. I
wus drunk three days.
I married Milly, an' sixty years ago we moved ter town. We scuffled
along till twenty-eight years ago we buyed dis shack. I hopes dat we can
git de ole age pension, case we shore need hit.
N. C. District: No. 2 [320015]
Worker: Mary A. Hicks
Subject: Ex-Slave Story
Story Teller: Milly Henry
Editor: Daisy Bailey Waitt
[TR: Date Stamp "JUN 26 1937"]