*Interview with Joe Higgerson,*
*Sedalia, Missouri.*
*(Written by Geo. K. Bartlett, Kansas City,*
*from F.C. of Kathleen Williams.)*
_How Did Uncle Joe Get Home?_
Living at 410 West Pettis Street, Sedalia, is Joseph Higgerson, a
pensioned Negro soldier of the Civil War, who can look back through the
long vista of years and visualize slave life in Missouri, when the
institution of slavery was at its most thriving period.
He was born a slave on a farm near Boonville, Missouri, in 1845 if his
claim of being 92 years old in the summer of 1937, is correct.
He is somewhat bent and withered and his appearance of great age is
accentuated by white patriarchal whiskers below the chin, while his
cheeks are clean shaven; a style much in vogue during the life time of
Horace Greeley.
His home, a little, four room, frame cottage, with its tiny front porch
set close against the picket fence enclosing the lot, mirrors somewhat
the deterioration age has placed upon its occupant. Both house and fence
are weather beaten, gray from age and lack of paint.
"Could you and would you tell about slavery days?" he was asked.
"Yes Ma'am," he courteously and smiling replied, the smile revealing
big, strong teeth. "Yes, indeed. Would you all step in the house and
set? I am so happy to have company."
He selected the dining room, which is also the comfortably furnished
living room, as the place to "set and talk". In this room is an oak
dining table, chairs and a china closet, through the glass doors of
which may be seen attractively decorated dishes, some of them of very
old pattern. There is also an old fashioned combination desk and book
case, and a chest of drawers. The windows are adorned with curtains and
drapes of good quality.
The clean condition of the interior was a revelation of a 92 year old
Negro man's desire and ability to keep house, and keep it clean. He
lives alone, his wife having died many years ago.
There is in the appearance of this ancient Negro with shoulders now
bowed; the dark brown skin, extending across the bald head; the large
nose; immense teeth; shaven cheeks below which a mat of white whiskers
encircle the throat, like the ruff on a condor's neck; there is in his
appearance that which stamps him at once as the living bridge between
the present day's civilization and a dim past; the knowledge of which
exists today in the memories of but few persons.
As he talked, strange sights, scenes and cultures were told, sometimes
with words that have changed much in meaning.
As his mind pictured the scenes of those old days, this primitive
blending of both Indian and Negro races, at times unconsciously reverted
to the primitive sing song recitative chant of his ancestors,
particularly when narrating his outstanding pleasant memories.
This is his story:
"Old man Higgerson was my mastar. We lived on a farm and dere was a big
family of us. I is the only one left. The farm laid just below the
Lamine and Missouri Rivers, and I can't tell exactly where it was.
Everybody called us 'free niggahs'--cause Higgerson slaves was treated
so good. Yes, ma'am. My mammy lived to be 80 years old--and didn't have
a gray hair in her haid. She was part Black Hawk Indian,--and I show it
in me too."
Then as his thoughts raced back to slavery days, the pictures of youth
crowded thick and fast, and he burst forth into a half chanted
description of the panorama of his memories. "I've seen hundreds of
Indians pass thru the country, on foot. Boss man let' em have a shack
overnight. Next mawnin dey set out on foot, and take up de road, one
behind the othar. Yes, suh! Just wrapped in a blanket one behind the
othar. Winter and summer, and barefoot too!"
Then he told of game and game ways.
"Yes suh! I done seen wild deer hop ovar fences, and hundreds of wild
turkeys. We used to build turkey pens and dig a trench, put feed in dere
and covar it ovar wid bresh and de turkeys would come to feed, and we
would trap' em. Yes, ma'am, an I done seen 100 to 150 wild turkeys in a
flock. I has dat! Lots of wild pigeons, too. I has seen a thousand geese
flyin' over in the early mornin'. Then I've trapped quail too, in rail
pens, built ten feet square. Yes, suh!
"But listen!--slaves couldn't shoot; was a law agin it in slaves times;
no slave could own or shoot a gun. We couldn't shoot game. An' dat come
dis way. President Jackson say, 'Keep books and guns outa slaves' hands
if you want to keep 'em slaves'."
Joe Higgerson chuckled a little with a glint of humor in his eyes and
changed the subject.
"Everybody made whiskey in dem days, had little 'stilleries all over the
country, made apple and peach brandy. Good too. One day I was sent to a
neighbor's for brandy. I took a little taste and walked on. Den I took
anoder little taste, and walked on. Den I took anoder little taste and
sot down de jug. Den I took anoder little taste, and so on and so on.
Pretty soon I looked up, and I nevar did know how I got to whar I'se
gwin ter. Nobody ever say anything about it or tell me nuffin! I guess
somebody carry me whar I'se gwin ter."
He was asked if he ever remembered seeing slaves sold at Boonville.
"Yes, ma'am!" he exclaimed. "Why down at Boonville, woman and a baby was
put up to be sold, and de buyer he want de woman, but he don't want de
baby, so they separated 'em, and was gettin' ready to put 'em on de boat
for Noo Orleans, and ship 'em down de river, and de woman she ran back
to kiss de baby goodbye, and de tradar picked up a whip and cracked it
and shouts, 'A bellerin' cow will soon forget its calf'. She was sold
down de river and nevar saw de baby again. Now dat was sad." He paused
and then resumed.
"One tradar, name of Henry Moore, he used to handcuff all the niggahs
together till time to put 'em on de boat for Noo Orleans. Dey always
carried whips and they'd crack dem to see how far de darkies could jump.
Yes, Suh!! Yes, Suh!!! Deed they did!!!"
This reminiscence tickled him mightily and he laughed heartily at
thoughts of the capers the negroes cut when the whip cracked.
"An I remembers one boat load. Boat load got as far as Cairo, Illinois,
and lots of de darkies jumped overboard and was drowned."
"Were the overseers on the plantations Negroes or whites?"
"Overseahs, white," Higgerson replied, "Overseahs white. A darky was the
niggah driver. Darkies didn't ever get to go to the big house where the
planter lived. De niggah driver reported to the overseah, and the
overseah reported to the boss.
"Now this is the way with me," Higgerson continued. "My father, who was
also my boss, he kept a store, and I went to de store to take care of de
children, cause de boss done send for me. Well, one time when the wah
was on, some Federal soldiers come and done scared me so bad I forgot
all about de chile and run home, and de soldiers burned de bridge, you
had to cross befo' you got to de store. So after dat de ole man run a
boat across."
Hoping to get some idea of how Christmas was celebrated among the
Negroes on the farms and plantations the aged man was asked what he
remembered of Christmas, in slavery times.
"One Christmas I never goin' to forget", he replied.
"Jes before Christmas lots of people came to de store to buy and de
groun' was all covered wid snow. An de man what run de store was getting
ready to close up, cause it was getting dark, and close at dark a man
come and wanted in and de store keeper wouldn't let him in. An it got
later and later, and by an by Joseph, dats me, was sent to de store to
find why de storekeeper ain't come home yet and Joseph went to de store,
and looked in and saw de old man on his back, his throat cut wid de
blood runnin' all over de floor and $1,400 dey knowed he had--gone. Dere
was whiskey and blood runnin' all over de floor. Whiskey was cheap dem
days; good whiskey, too.
"When they set the niggahs free, the boss man come out and read de
papers to 'em sayin' dey was free. And I went to Boonville and joined de
Union Army, November 23, 1863. I served in de 25th Corps, Second
Division under General Whitsell. I was in de last battle of de war at
Palmetto Ranch, Texas, on de Rio Grande, just 36 miles from de Gulf.
When I was discharged from de army to go home, I thought--why I have no
home, where shall I go? Den I decided to go back to Boonville. All my
family was scattered.
"But I was lucky. Someone had started to build a shack, and had not
finished it. I got permission to finish it and picked up building
material here and dere, and made it into a home. I never been without a
home since. My wife and I lived together 61 years. She is gone now."