*Interview with Alice Sewell,*
*St. Louis, Missouri.*
_She Never Attended School_
Never having attended school a day in her 86 years of life has not
cramped the style of Alice Sewell, one of St. Louis' former Negro
slaves. Alice lives with a married daughter, Mattie Hill, and a
grandson, Henry Morse, at 329 South Ewing Avenue.
Spotlessly dressed, much after the fashion of a nurse, and weighing less
than 100 pounds, Alice presents a pleasing picture as she chats
interestingly with visitors. Her mind is keenly alive to what is going
on in the world. She is much annoyed by the roistering younger folks, as
she outlines in her observations in the following chat:
"I was born in Montgomery, Alabama, November 13, 1851, the daughter of
Rhoda and Edmond Carey. I have three brothers and two sisters dead. I am
the only child living. I ain't never been in a school house in my life
and I never did learn how to read or write. I recollect three of my
overseers. The first one's name Elik Clayton, the second one named
Mofield and the third one named Pierson. I was 13 years old time de
third one got me and de war had started, so we had to pack all de cotton
up in bales, and in sun face houses and sun face cribs to be out of the
weather. The seed cotton was kept in de gin house, 'cause dey didn't had
no time to fool wid dat. Den dey up and bought spinning wheels and
cards, so us women could spin it to make cloth, and make clothes at
home, and would not have to go to de factory to buy clothes.
"Dey had to keep de money to care for de families de soldiers left
behind, and send corn by de loads to de battlefield to feed de horses.
Dey stopped raising cotton after de war started, and just raised food
stuff 'cause dey had to send food to de battlefield for de soldiers. De
poor white folks what lived up in de hilly country, too poor to own
slaves, while de war was going on, had to come down out of de hilly
country. Dey lived on government land and dey had to have food for dem
and der children. Der men folks was taken away from dem to war. Dey was
called counterscript soldiers, and if dey refused to go to war dey got
shot down like a dog. So de most of 'em rather go on and take chances of
de war missing 'em dan get shot widout a doubt. Dey use to say dey had
to go and fight a rich man's war but dey couldn't help demselves no
better'n us slaves could.
"My owner was very rich. He owned four plantations of slaves. He had two
plantations on de Tallapoosa River, one named Jedkins upper ferry
plantation and de other Jedkins Mill Place and the third plantation was
called The Bradshaw Place. It was out from de river and de fourth one
was called De High Log Plantation. He was always fairly kind to his
slaves. He didn't believe in abusing dem less he couldn't help it, and
when he'd find out de overseers beat 'em widout a cause, he'd fire 'em
right away, and git somebody else. Dat's why he so prosperous, 'cause he
was fair. He never even 'lowed overseers on his plantation what had
grown boys, to be runnin' round 'mongst his slaves neither, no he
didn't. He didn't believe in dat intermingling, 'deed he didn't. Dey
didn't 'low us to sing on our plantation 'cause if we did we just sing
ourselves happy and git to shouting and dat would settle de work, yes
mam.
"Dey did 'low us to go to church on Sunday about two miles down de
public road, and dey hired a white preacher to preach to us. He never
did tell us nothing but be good servants, pick up old marse and old
misses' things about de place, and don't steal no chickens or pigs and
don't lie 'bout nothing. Den dey baptize you and call dat, you got
religion. Never did say nothing 'bout a slave dying and going to heaven.
When we die, dey bury us next day and you is just like any of de other
cattle dying on de place. Dat's all 'tis to it and all 'tis of you. You
is jest dead dat's all. De old lady dat raised my mother, she was a
black mammy. She done all de burying of de niggers, said de funeral
sayings by herself. She knew it by heart. Dey swapped my grandmother
away 'cause she didn't bear children like dey wanted her to, so de man
dey swapped her off to come back two months later and told our owner dat
grandmamma was heavy with child. Den he wanted to buy her back 'cause
she was a good worker, but her new owner would not let him have her back
and she had thirteen children after dat. Our old owner surely was sick
of dat swap. My mother was only three years old when dey sold her mother
to another master and she never saw her agin 'till she had all dem
thirteen children.
"Dis is how mother found grandmother. Our owner bought a slave what come
off of a plantation dat my grandmother was on. She was turned over to
dis slave owner to satisfy a gambling debt left unpaid by de dead
husband. So she told my mother all about de deal and all de children
mother had never seen. My mother had three children of her own, at dat
time. De slave dat brought de news name was Elsie. So Elsie had lots of
relatives on dis plantation she was sold off of. Well she had to have a
pass everytime she want to go visit her folks. So she tells my mother
next time I git a pass to go see my people, you ask old boss for you one
too so you can go see you mamma and sisters and brothers you never seen.
Mamma did and when mamma got to old John Beasley's plantation on Lime
Creek mother didn't know grandmother Sallie and grandmother Sallie
didn't know her daughter Rhoda till Elsie introduced 'em to each other.
Dey was so glad dey just hugged and kissed plenty. De war was going on
den and dey fought four years and two months.
"De first year after de war my father and mother kept us children and
stayed right on with our old owner and done share cropping till father
was able to buy stock of his own, but he did not buy no property. When I
got 18 years old I married, but I stayed right on with my mother and
father just de same and my children buried both my mother and father. My
mother lived to be 100 years old and my father was between 80 and 90
when he died.
"I left Montgomery, Alabama de last of 1902 when Louis was only 11 years
old and came to Morouse, Alabama and stayed five years after dat. I
moved to Arkansas, stayed quite a while, don't know how long. All dat
time I made my living washing and ironing and picking cotton from farm
to farm. My husband died 28 years ago last March. I been in St. Louis
now between 12 and 13 years.
"We used to slip off in de woods in de old slave days on Sunday evening
way down in de swamps to sing and pray to our own liking. We prayed for
dis day of freedom. We come from four and five miles away to pray
together to God dat if we don't live to see it, do please let our
chillun live to see a better day and be free, so dat dey can give honest
and fair service to de Lord and all mankind everywhere. And we'd sing
'Our little meetin's 'bout to break, chillun we must part. We got to
part in body, but hope not in mind. Our little meetin's bound to break.'
Den we used to sing 'We walk about and shake hands, fare you well my
sisters I am going home.'
"I never did hear nothing 'bout what de niggers specked from de white
folks. We was so glad to get loose, we didn't speck nothing but git out
of bondage. Dey didn't even give us time off to wash our clothes. We had
to wash 'em at night when we ought to been resting our old backs what
was so tired. We liked to go to de field clean in de mornings. Dat's de
only way we had of doing it. I never been on relief in my life. I got my
first pension last month. It was $17.50 old age pension. I sure was
proud of dat.
"I never had no interest in politics till last year, dey come and got me
and told me to vote de Republican ticket. I did what dey said do, but
dey didn't git it after all. My oldest grandson works at a bakery where
he been working nine years and takes care of me, his mother and brother.
I think de biggest run of this late generation is ignorant. 'Course dey
goes to school alright, but dey don't make no good of it. De people wid
de Bible and God education is much better folks dan dis ignorant book
learned fools. Dat's all dey is honey. Dey don't respect derself, God
nor de devil. Dey jes' act like something wild raised, turned loose in
de swamps. Dere schooling makes me wish I could walk de streets wid my
ears stopped up and eyes blindfolded so I couldn't even hear nor see dis
educated generation. Bless your soul honey, I don't care a scrap 'bout
schooling dat don't teach decency or common respect. De knee way is all
de education dat mounts to nothing no way. God's way is de only way. It
makes you treat everybody in de world like you want to be treated by
other folks and dat's right, and everything else's wrong by dat.
"But de time's on de way here, daughter, when we all be one people like
God intended black and white de same. Course de end will be at hand when
dat happens but it's sure coming. Den God will bless us all alike and
everything we put our hands to will prosper. God's will is fast
fulfilling and He is true to His word. We will walk with God some day, I
won't be here I don't speck. But I am walking with God myself right now.
I am a member of Southern Mission Church.
"I owned a nice home in Warren, Arkansas. I sold it to come up here. De
folks down dere said dey would sure miss seeing me walking around down
der wid my white apron on but I believed in immigration like de Bible
said. So I just immigrated from de South up here to de North. God said
de plantations would grow up and de hoot owls would have 'em and dey is
doin it. Growin' up into wilderness. God planned dem slave prayers to
free us like he did de Israelites, and dey did."