In a little old rocking chair, sits an old colored "mammy" known to her
friends as "Grandma" Smith, spending the remaining days with her
grandchildren. Small of stature, tipping the scales at about 100 lbs.
but alert to the wishes and cares of her children, this old lady keeps
posted on current events from those around her. With no stoop or bent
back and with a firm step she helps with the housework and preparing of
meals, waiting, when permitted, on others. In odd moments, she like to
work at her favorite task of "hooking" rag rugs. Never having worn
glasses, her eyesight is the envy of the younger generation. She spends
most of the time at home, preferring her rocker and pipe (she has been
smoking for more than eighty year) to a back seat in an automobile.
When referring to Civil War days, her eyes flash and words flow from her
with a fluency equal to that of any youngster. Much of her speech is
hard to understand as she reverts to the early idiom and pronunciation
of her race. Her head, tongue, arms and hands all move at the same time
as she talks.
A note of hesitancy about speaking of her past shows at times when she
realizes she is talking to one not of her own race, but after eight
years in the north, where she has been treated courteously by her white
neighbors, that old feeling of inferiority under which she lived during
slave days and later on a plantation in Kentucky has about disappeared.
Her home is comfortably furnished two story house with a front porch
where, in the comfort of an old rocking chair, she smokes her pipe and
dreams as the days slip away. Her children and their children are
devoted to her. With but a few wants or requests her days a re quiet and
peaceful.
Kentucky with its past history still retains its hold. She refers to it
as "God's Chosen Land" and would prefer to end her days where about
eighty years of her life was spent.
On her 101st birthday (1935) she posed for a picture, seated in her
favorite chair with her closest friend, her pipe.
Abraham Lincoln is as big a man with her today as when he freed her
people.
With the memories of the Civil War still fresh in her mind and and
secret longing to return to her Old Kentucky Home, Mrs. Anna Smith, born
in May of 1833 and better known to her friends as "Grandma" Smith, is
spending her remaining days with her grandchildren, in a pleasant home
at 518 Bishop Street.
On a plantation owned by Judge Toll, on the banks of the Ohio River at
Henderson, Ke., Anna (Toll) Smith was born. From her own story, and
information gathered from other sources the year 1835 is as near a
correct date as possible to obtain.
Anna Smith's parents were William Clarke and Miranda Toll. Her father
was a slave belonging to Judge Toll. It was common practice for slaves
to assume the last name of their owners.
It was before war was declared between the north and south that she was
married, for she claims her daughter was "going on three" when President
Lincoln freed the slaves. Mrs. Smith remembers her father who died at
the age of 117 years.
Her oldest brother was 50 when he joined the confederate army. Three
other brothers were sent to the front. One was an ambulance attendant,
one belonged to the cavalry, one an orderly seargeant and the other
joined the infantry. All were killed in action. Anna Smith's husband
later joined the war and was reported killed.
When she became old enough for service she was taken into the "Big
House" of her master, where she served as kitchen helper, cook and later
as nurse, taking care of her mistress' second child.
She learned her A.B.C.'s by listening to the tutor teaching the children
of Judge Toll.
"Grandma" Smith's vision is the wonder of her friends. She has never
worn glasses and can distinguish objects and people at a distance as
readily as at close range. She occupies her time by hooking rag rugs and
doing housework and cooking. She is "on the go" most of the time, but
when need for rest overtakes her, she resorts to her easy chair, a
pipeful of tobacco and a short nap and she is ready to carry on.
Many instances during those terrible war days are fresh in her mind: men
and boys, in pairs and groups passing the "big house" on their way to
the recruiting station on the public square, later going back in squads
and companies to fight; Yankee soldiers raiding the plantation, taking
corn and hay or whatever could be used by the northern army; and
continual apprehension for the menfolk at the front.
She remembers the baying of blood hounds at night along the Ohio River,
trying to follow the scent of escaping negroes and the crack of firearms
as white people, employed by the plantation owners attempted to halt the
negroes in their efforts to cross the Ohio River into Ohio or to join
the Federal army.
Referring to her early life, she recalls no special outstanding events.
Her treatment from her master and mistress was pleasant, always
receiving plenty of food and clothing but never any money.
In a grove not far from the plantation home, the slaves from the nearby
estates meet on Sunday for worship. Here under the spreading branches
they gathered for religious worship and to exchange news.
When President Lincoln issued his proclamation freeing the slaves, and
the news reached the plantation, she went to her master to learn if she
was free. On learning it was true she returned to her parents who were
living on another plantation.
She has been living with her grandchildren for the past nine years,
contented but ready to go when the "Good Lord calls her."
Sarah Probst, Reporter
Audrey Meighen, Author-Editor
Jun 9, 1937
Folklore
Meigs County, District Three
[HW: Middeport]
NAN STEWART
Age 87
"I'se bawned Charl'stun, West Virginia in February 1850."
"My mammy's name? Hur name wuz Kath'run Paine an' she wuz bawned down
Jackson County, Virginia. My pappy wuz John James, a coopah an' he wuz
bawned at Rock Creek, West Virginia. He cum'd ovah heah with Lightburn's
Retreat. Dey all crossed de ribah at Buffington Island. Yes, I had two
bruthahs and three sistahs. Deir wuz Jim, Thomas, he refugeed from
Charl'stun to Pum'roy and it tuk him fo' months, den de wuz sistah Adah,
Carrie an' Ella. When I rite young I wurked as hous' maid fo' numbah
quality white folks an' latah on I wuz nurs' fo' de chilluns in sum
homes, heah abouts."
"Oh, de slaves quartahs, dey wuz undah de sam' ruf with Marse Hunt's big
hous' but in de back. When I'se littl' I sleeped in a trun'l bed. My
mammy wuz mighty 'ticlar an' clean, why she made us chilluns wash ouah
feets ebry night fo' we git into de bed."
"When Marse Hunt muved up to Charl'stun, my mammy and pappy liv' in log
cabin."
"My gran' mammy, duz I 'member hur? Honey chile, I shure duz. She wuz my
pappy's mammy. She wuz one hun'erd and fo' yeahs ol' when she die rite
in hur cheer. Dat mawhin' she eat a big hearty brekfast. One day I
'member she sezs to Marse Hunt, 'I hopes you buys hun'erds an' hun'erds
ob slaves an' neber sells a one. Hur name wuz Erslie Kizar Chartarn."
"Marse an' missus, mighty kind to us slaves. I lurned to sew, piece
quilts, clean de brass an' irons an' dog irons. Most time I set with de
ol' ladies, an' light deir pipes, an' tote 'em watah, in gourds. I us'
tu gether de turkey eggs an' guinea eggs an' sell 'em. I gits ten cents
duzen fo' de eggs. Marse and Missus wuz English an' de count money like
dis--fo' pence, ha' penny. Whut I do with my money? Chile I saved it to
buy myself a nankeen dress."
"Yes mam we always had plenty to eat. What'd I like bes' to eat,
waffl's, honey and stuffed sausage, but I spise possum and coon. Marse
Hunt had great big meat hous' chuck full all kinds of meats. Say, do you
all know Marse used to keep stuffed sausage in his smoke hous' fo' yeahs
an' it wuz shure powahful good when it wuz cooked. Ouah kitchin wuz big
an' had great big fiah place whur we'd bake ouah bread in de ashes. We
baked ouah corn pone an' biskets in a big spidah. I still have dat
spidah an' uses it."
"By the way you knows Squire Gellison wuz sum fishahman an' shure to
goodness ketched lots ob fish. Why he'd ketch so many, he'd clean 'em,
cut 'em up, put 'em in half barrels an' pass 'em 'round to de people on
de farms."
"Most de slaves on Marse Hunt's place had dir own garden patches.
Sumtimes dey'd have to hoe the gardens by moonlight. Dey sell deir
vegetables to Marse Hunt."
"In de summah de women weah dresses and apruns made ob linen an' men
weah pants and shurts ob linen. Linsey-woolsey and jean wuz woven on de
place fo' wintah clothes. We had better clothes to weah on Sunday and we
weahed shoes on Sunday. The' shoes and hoots wuz made on de plantashun."
"My mastah wuz Marse Harley Hunt an' his wife wuz Miss Maria Sanders
Hunt. Marse and Miss Hunt didn't hab no chilluns of der own but a nephew
Marse Oscar Martin and niece Miss Mary Hunt frum Missouri lived with
'em. Dey's all kind to us slaves. De Hous' wuz great big white frame
with picket fence all 'round de lot. When we lived Charl'stun Marse Hunt
wuz a magistrate. Miss Hunt's muthah and two aunts lived with 'em."
"No mam, we didn't hab no ovahseeah. Marse Hunt had no use fo'
ovahseeahs, fact is he 'spise 'em. De oldah men guided de young ones in
deir labors. The poor white neighbahs wurn't 'lowed to live very close
to de plantashun as Marse Hunt wanted de culured slave chilluns to be
raised in propah mannah."
"I duzn't know how many acres in de plantashun. Deir wuz only 'bout
three or fo' cabins on de place. Wurk started 'bout seben clock 'cept
harvest time when ebrybudy wuz up early. De slaves didn't wurk so hard
nor bery late at night. Slaves wuz punished by sendin' 'em off to bed
early.
"When I'se livin' at Red House I seed slaves auctioned off. Ol' Marse
Veneable sold ten or lebin slaves, women and chilluns, to niggah tradahs
way down farthah south. I well 'members day Aunt Millie an' Uncl' Edmund
wuz sold--dir son Harrison wuz bought by Marse Hunt. 'Twuz shure sad an'
folks cried when Aunt Millie and Uncl' Edmund wuz tuk away. Harrison
neber see his mammy an' pappy agin. Slaves wuz hired out by de yeah fo'
nine hundred dollahs."
"Marse Hunt had schools fo' de slaves chilluns. I went to school on
Lincoln Hill, too."
"Culured preachahs use to cum to plantashun an' dey would read de Bible
to us. I 'member one special passage preachahs read an' I neber
understood it 'til I cross de riber at Buffinton Island. It wuz, 'But
they shall sit every man under his own vine and under his fig tree; and
none shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of Hosts hath
spoken it." Micah 4:4. Den I knows it is de fulfillment ob dat promis;
'I would soon be undah my own vine an' fig tree' and hab no feah of
bein' sold down de riber to a mean Marse. I recalls der wuz Thorton
Powell, Ben Sales and Charley Releford among de preachahs. De church wuz
quite aways frum de hous'. When der'd be baptizins de sistahs and
brethruns would sing 'Freely, freely will you go with me, down to the
riber'. 'Freely, freely quench your thirst Zion's sons and daughtahs'."
"How wells I 'member when I wuz converted. I'd thought 'bout 'ligion a
lot but neber wunce wuz I muved to repent. One day I went out to cut sum
wood an' begin thinkin' agin and all wunce I feeled so relieved an' good
an' run home to tell granny an' de uthahs dat I'd cum out at last."
"No, we didn't wurk on Saturday aftahnoons. Christmas wuz big time at
Marse Hunts hous'. Preparations wuz made fo' it two weeks fo' day cum.
Der wuz corn sings an' big dances, 'ceptin' at 'ligious homes. Der wuz
no weddins' at Marse Hunts, cause dey had no chilluns an' de niece and
nephew went back to own homes to git married."
"We played sich games as marbles; yarn ball; hop, skip, an' jump; mumble
peg an' pee wee. Wunce I's asked to speak down to white chilluns school
an' dis is what I speak:
'The cherries are ripe,
The cherries are ripe,
Oh give the baby one,
The baby is too little to chew,
The robin I see up in the tree,
Eating his fill and shaking his bill,
And down his throat they run.'
Another one:
'Tobacco is an Indian weed,
And from the devil doth proceed
It robs the pocket and burns the clothes
And makes a chimney of the nose.'
"When de slaves gits sick, deir mammies luked af'er em but de Marse
gived de rem'dies. Yes, dere wuz dif'runt kinds, salts, pills, Castah
orl, herb teas, garlic, 'fedia, sulphah, whiskey, dog wood bark,
sahsaparilla an' apple root. Sometimes charms wuz used.
"I 'member very well de day de Yankees cum. De slaves all cum a runnin'
an' yellin': "Yankees is cumin', Yankee soljers is comin', hurrah". Bout
two or three clock, we herd bugles blowing' an' guns on Taylah Ridge.
Kids wuz playin' an' all 'cited. Sumone sed: "Kathrun, sumthin' awful
gwine happen", an' sumone else sez; "De' is de Yankees". De Yankee mens
camp on ouah farm an' buyed ouah buttah, milk an' eggs. Marse Hunt, whut
you all call 'bilionist [HW: abolitionist] an' he wuz skeered of suthern
soljers an' went out to de woods an' laid behind a log fo' seben weeks
and seben days, den he 'cided to go back home. He sez he had a dream an'
prayed, "I had bettah agone, but I prayed. No use let des debils take
you, let God take you." We tote food an' papahs to Marse while he wuz a
hidin'."
"One ob my prized possessions is Abraham Lincoln's pictures an' I'se
gwine to gib it to a culured young man whose done bin so kind to me,
when I'se gone. Dat's Bookah T. Washington's picture ovah thar."
"I'se married heah in Middeport by Preachah Bill, 1873. My husban' wuz
Charles Stewart, son of Johnny Stewart. Deir wuz hous' full my own
folks, mammy, pappy, sistahs, bruthas, an' sum white folks who cumed in
to hep dress me up fo' de weddin'. We kep de weddin' a secrut an' my
aunt butted hur horns right off tryin' to fin' out when it wuz. My
husban' had to leave right away to go to his job on de boat. We had
great big dinnah, two big cakes an' ice cream fo' desurt. We had fo'teen
chilluns with only two livin'. I has five gran' sons an' two great gran'
daughters."
"Goodbye--cum back agin."
Miriam Logan, Lebanon, Ohio
Warren County, Dist. 2
July 2, 1937
Interview with SAMUEL SUTTON, Ex Slave.
Born in Garrett County, Kentucky, in 1854
(drawing of Sutton) [TR: no drawing found]
"Yes'em, I sho were bo'n into slavery. Mah mothah were a cook--(they was
none betteah)--an she were sold four times to my knownin'. She were part
white, for her fathah were a white man. She live to be seventy-nine
yeahs an nine months old."
"Ah was bo'n in Garrett County, but were raised by ol' Marster Ballinger
in Knox County, an' ah don remember nothin 'bout Garrett County." When
Lincoln was elected last time, I were about eight yeahs ol'."
"Ol' Marster own 'bout 400-acres, n' ah don' know how many slaves--maybe
30. He'd get hard up fo money n' sell one or two; then he'd get a lotta
work on hands, an maybe buy one or two cheap,--go 'long lak dat you
see." He were a good man, Ol' Mars Ballinger were--a preacher, an he wuk
hisse'f too. Ol' Mis' she pretty cross sometime, but ol' Mars, he
weren't no mean man, an ah don' 'member he evah whip us. Yes'em dat ol'
hous is still standin' on the Lexington-Lancaster Pike, and las time I
know, Baby Marster he were still livin."
"Ol' Mars. tuk us boys out to learn to wuk when we was both right little
me and Baby Mars. Ah wuz to he'p him, an do what he tol' me to--an first
thing ah members is a learnin to hoe de clods. Corn an wheat Ol' Mars.
raised, an he sets us boys out fo to learn to wuk. Soon as he lef' us
Baby Mars, he'd want to eat; send me ovah to de grocery fo sardines an'
oysters. Nevah see no body lak oyster lak he do! Ah do n' lak dem. Ol
Mars. scold him--say he not only lazy hese'f, but he make me lazy too."
"De Wah? Yes'em ah sees soldiers, Union Calvary [HW: Cavalry] goin' by,
dressed fine, wid gold braid on blue, an big boots. But de Rebels now, I
recollect dey had no uniforms fo dey wuz hard up, an dey cum in jes
common clothes. Ol' Mars., he were a Rebel, an he always he'p 'em.
Yes'em a pitched battle start right on our place. Didn't las' long, fo
dey wuz a runnin fight on to Perryville, whaah de one big battle to take
place in de State o' Kentucky, tuk place."
"Most likely story I remembers to tell you 'bout were somepin made me
mad an I allus remember fo' dat. Ah had de bigges' fines' watermellon an
ah wuz told to set up on de fence wid de watermellon an show 'em, and
sell 'em fo twenty cents. Along cum a line o' soldiers."
"Heigh there boy!... How much for the mellon?" holler one at me.
"Twenty cents sir!" Ah say jes lak ah ben tol' to say; and he take dat
mellon right out o' mah arms an' ride off widout payin' me. Ah run after
dem, a tryin' to get mah money, but ah couldn't keep up wid dem soldiers
on hosses; an all de soldiers jes' laf at me."
"Yes'em dat wuz de fines' big mellon ah evah see. Dat wuz right mean in
him--fine lookin gemman he were, at the head o' de line."
"Ol' Marster Ballinger, he were a Rebel, an he harbors Rebels. Dey wuz
two men a hangin' around dere name o' Buell and Bragg."
"Buell were a nawtherner; Bragg, he were a Reb."
"Buell give Bragg a chance to get away, when he should have found out
what de Rebs were doin' an a tuk him prisoner ah heard tell about dat."
"Dey wuz a lotta spyin', ridin' around dere fo' one thing and another,
but ah don' know what it were all about. I does know ah feels sorry fo
dem Rebel soldiers ah seen dat wuz ragged an tired, an all woe out, an
Mars. He fell pretty bad about everything sometimes, but ah reckon dey
wuz mean Rebs an southerners at had it all cumin' to em; ah allus heard
tell dey had it comin' to em."
"Some ways I recollect times wuz lots harder after de War, some ways dey
was better. But now a culled man ain't so much better off 'bout votin'
an such some places yet, ah hears dat."
"Yes'em, they come an want hosses once in awhile, an they was a rarin'
tarin' time atryin to catch them hosses fo they would run into the woods
befo' you could get ahold of 'em. Morgan's men come fo hosses once, an
ol Mars, get him's hosses, fo he were a Reb. Yes'em, but ah thinks them
hosses got away from the Rebels; seem lak ah heard they did."
"Hosses? Ah wishes ah had me a team right now, and ah'd make me my own
good livin! No'em, don't want no mule. They is set on havin they own
way, an the contrariest critters! But a mule is a wuk animal, an eats
little. Lotsa wuk in a mule. Mah boy, he say, 'quit wukin, an give us
younguns a chance,' Sho nuf, they ain't the wuk they use to be, an the
younguns needs it. Ah got me a pension, an a fine garden; ain't it fine
now?"
"Yes'em, lak ah tells you, the wah were ovah, and the culled folks had a
Big Time wid speakin'n everything ovah at Dick Robinsen's camp on de
4th. Nevah see such rejoicin on de Fourth 'o July since,-no'em, ah
ain't."
"Ah seen two presidents, Grant an Hayes. I voted fo Hayes wen I wuz
twenty-two yeahs old. General Grant, he were runnin against Greeley when
ah heard him speak at Louieville. He tol what all Lincoln had done fo de
culled man. Yes'em, fine lookin man he were, an he wore a fine suit.
Yes'em ah ain't miss an election since ah were twenty-two an vote fo
Hayes. Ah ain't gonto miss none, an ah vote lak the white man read outa
de Emanicaption Proclamation, ah votes fo one ob Abe Lincoln's men ev'y
time--ah sho do."
"_Run a way slaves?_ No'em nevah know ed of any. Mars. Ballinger
neighbor, old Mars. Tye--he harbor culled folks dat cum ask fo sumpin to
eat in winter--n' he get 'em to stay awhile and do a little wuk fo him.
Now, he did always have one or two 'roun dere dat way,--dat ah
recollects--dat he didn't own. Maybe dey was runaway, maybe dey wuz just
tramps an didn't belong to noboddy. Nevah hear o' anybody claimin'
dem--dey stay awhile an wuk, den move on--den mo' cum, wuk while then
move on. Mars. Tye--he get his wuk done dat way, cheap.
"No'em, don't believe in anything lak dat much. We use to sprinkle salt
in a thin line 'roun Mars. Ballinger's house, clear 'roun, to ward off
quarellin an arguein' an ol' Miss Ballinger gettin a cross spell,--dat
ah members, an then too;--ah don believe in payin out money on a Monday.
You is liable to be a spendin an a losin' all week if you do. Den ah
don' want see de new moon (nor ol' moon either) through, de branches o'
trees. Ah know' a man dat see de moon tru de tree branches, an he were
lookin' tru de bars 'a jail fo de month were out--an fo sumpin he nevah
done either,--jus enuf bad luck--seein a moon through bush."
"Ah been married twice, an had three chillens. Mah oles' are Madge
Hannah, an she sixty yeah ol' an still a teachin' at the Indian School
where she been fo twenty-two yeahs now. She were trained at Berea in
High School then Knoxville; then she get mo' learnin in Nashville in
some course."
"Mah wife died way back yonder in 1884. Then when ah gets married again,
mah wife am 32 when ah am 63. No'am, no mo' chillens. Ah lives heah an
farms, an takes care ob mah sick girl, an mah boy, he live across the
lane thah."
"No'em, no church, no meetin hous fo us culled people in Kentucky befo'
de wah. Dey wuz prayin folks, and gets to meetin' at each othah's houses
when dey is sumpin a pushin' fo prayer. No'em no school dem days, fo
us." "Ol Mars., he were a preacher, he knowed de Bible, an tells out
verses fo us--dats all ah members. Yes'em Ah am Baptist now, and ah sho
do believe in a havin church."
"Ah has wuked on steam boats, an done railroad labor, an done a lotta
farmin, an ah likes to farm best. Like to live in Ohio best. Ah can
_vote_. If ah gits into trouble, de law give us a chance fo our
property, same as if we were white. An we can vote lak white, widout no
shootin, no fightin' about it--dats what ah likes. Nevah know white men
to be so mean about anythin as dey is about votin some places--No'em, ah
don't! Ah come heah in 1912. Ah was goin on to see mah daughter Madge
Hannah in Oklahoma, den dis girl come to me paralized, an ah got me work
heah in Lebanon, tendin cows an such at de creamery, an heah ah is evah
since. Yes'em an ah don' wanto go no wheres else."
"No'em, no huntin' no mo. Useto hunt rabbit until las yeah. They ain't
wuth the price ob a license no mo." No'em, ah ain't evah fished in
Ohio."
"No'em, nevah wuz no singer, no time. Not on steamboats, nor nowheres.
Don't member any songs, except maybe the holler we useto set up when dey
wuz late wid de dinner when we wuked on de steamboat;--Dey sing-song lak
dis:"
'Ol hen, she flew
Ovah de ga-rden gate,
Fo' she wuz dat hungrey
She jes' couldn't wait.'
--but den dat ain't no real song."
"Kentucky river is place to fish--big cat fish. Cat fish an greens is
good eatin. Ah seen a cat fish cum outa de Kentucky river 'lon as a man
is tall; an them ol' fins slap mah laig when ah carries him ovah mah
shoulder, an he tail draggin' on mah feet.--Sho nuf!"
"No'em, ah jes cain't tell you all no cryin sad story 'bout beatin' an a
slave drivin, an ah don' know no ghost stories, ner nuthin'--ah is jes
dumb dat way--ah's sorry 'bout it, but ah Jes--is."
Samuel Sutton lives in north lane Lebanon, just back of the French
Creamery. He has one acre of land, a little unpainted, poorly furnished
and poorly kept. His daughter is a huge fleshy colored woman wears a
turban on her head. She has a fixed smile; says not a word. Samuel talks
easily; answers questions directly; is quick in his movements. He is
stooped and may 5'7" or 8" if standing straight. He wears an old
fashioned "Walrus" mustache, and has a grey wooley fringe of hair about
his smooth chocolate colored bald head. He is very dark in color, but
his son is darker yet. His hearing is good. His sight very poor. Being
so young when the Civil War was over, he remembers little or nothing
about what the colored people thought or expected from freedom. He just
remembers what a big time there was on that first "Free Fourth of July."
Ruth Thompson, Interviewing
Graff, Editing
Ex-Slave Interviews
Hamilton Co., District 12
Cincinnati
RICHARD TOLER
515 Poplar St.,
Cincinnati, O.
[Illustration: Richard Toler]
"Ah never fit in de wah; no suh, ah couldn't. Mah belly's been broke!
But ah sho' did want to, and ah went up to be examined, but they didn't
receive me on account of mah broken stomach. But ah sho' tried, 'cause
ah wanted to be free. Ah didn't like to be no slave. Dat wasn't good
times."
Richard Toler, 515 Poplar Street, century old former slave lifted a bony
knee with one gnarled hand and crossed his legs, then smoothed his thick
white beard. His rocking chair creaked, the flies droned, and through
the open, unscreened door came the bawling of a calf from the building
of a hide company across the street. A maltese kitten sauntered into the
front room, which served as parlor and bedroom, and climbed complacently
into his lap. In one corner a wooden bed was piled high with feather
ticks, and bedecked with a crazy quilt and an number of small,
brightly-colored pillows; a bureau opposite was laden to the edges with
a collection of odds and ends--a one-legged alarm clock, a coal oil
lamp, faded aritifical flowers in a gaudy vase, a pile of newspapers. A
trunk against the wall was littered with several large books (one of
which was the family Bible), a stack of dusty lamp shades, a dingy
sweater, and several bushel-basket lids. Several packing cases and
crates, a lard can full of cracked ice, a small, round oil heating
stove, and an assorted lot of chairs completed the furnishings. The one
decorative spot in the room was on the wall over the bed, where hung a
large framed picture of Christ in The Temple. The two rooms beyond
exhibited various broken-down additions to the heterogeneous collection.
"Ah never had no good times till ah was free", the old man continued.
"Ah was bo'n on Mastah Tolah's (Henry Toler) plantation down in ole
V'ginia, near Lynchburg in Campbell County. Mah pappy was a slave befo'
me, and mah mammy, too. His name was Gawge Washin'ton Tolah, and her'n
was Lucy Tolah. We took ouah name from ouah ownah, and we lived in a
cabin way back of the big house, me and mah pappy and mammy and two
brothahs.
"They nevah mistreated me, neithah. They's a whipping the slaves all the
time, but ah run away all the time. And ah jus' tell them--if they
whipped me, ah'd kill 'em, and ah nevah did get a whippin'. If ah
thought one was comin' to me, Ah'd hide in the woods; then they'd send
aftah me, and they say, 'Come, on back--we won't whip you'. But they
killed some of the niggahs, whipped 'em to death. Ah guess they killed
three or fo' on Tolah's place while ah was there.
"Ah nevah went to school. Learned to read and write mah name after ah
was free in night school, but they nevah allowed us to have a book in
ouah hand, and we couldn't have no money neither. If we had money we had
to tu'n it ovah to ouah ownah. Chu'ch was not allowed in ouah pa't
neithah. Ah go to the Meth'dist Chu'ch now, everybody ought to go. I
think RELIGION MUST BE FINE, 'CAUSE GOD ALMIGHTY'S AT THE HEAD OF IT."
Toler took a small piece of ice from the lard can, popped it between his
toothless gum, smacking enjoyment, swished at the swarming flies with a
soiled rag handkerchief, and continued.
"Ah nevah could unnerstand about ghos'es. Nevah did see one. Lots of
folks tell about seein' ghos'es, but ah nevah feared 'em. Ah was nevah
raised up undah such supastitious believin's.
"We was nevah allowed no pa'ties, and when they had goin' ons at the big
house, we had to clear out. Ah had to wo'k hard all the time every day
in the week. Had to min' the cows and calves, and when ah got older ah
had to hoe in the field. Mastah Tolah had about 500 acres, so they tell
me, and he had a lot of cows and ho'ses and oxens, and he was a big
fa'mer. Ah've done about evahthing in mah life, blacksmith and stone
mason, ca'penter, evahthing but brick-layin'. Ah was a blacksmith heah
fo' 36 yea's. Learned it down at Tolah's.
"Ah stayed on the plantation during the wah, and jes' did what they tol'
me. Ah was 21 then. And ah walked 50 mile to vote for Gen'l Grant at
Vaughn's precinct. Ah voted fo' him in two sessions, he run twice. And
ah was 21 the fust time, cause they come and got me, and say, 'Come on
now. You can vote now, you is 21.' And theah now--mah age is right
theah. 'Bout as close as you can get it.
"Ah was close to the battle front, and I seen all dem famous men. Seen
Gen'l Lee, and Grant, and Abe Lincoln. Seen John Brown, and seen the
seven men that was hung with him, but we wasn't allowed to talk to any
of 'em, jes' looked on in the crowd. Jes' spoke, and say 'How d' do.'
[HW: Harper's Ferry is not [TR: rest illegible]]
"But ah did talk to Lincoln, and ah tol' him ah wanted to be free, and
he was a fine man, 'cause he made us all free. And ah got a ole histry,
it's the Sanford American History, and was published in _17_84[HW:18?].
But ah don't know where it is now, ah misplaced it. It is printed in the
book, something ah said, not written by hand. And it says, 'Ah am a ole
slave which has suvved fo' 21 yeahs, and ah would be quite pleased if
you could help us to be free. We thank you very much. Ah trust that some
day ah can do you the same privilege that you are doing for me. Ah have
been a slave for many years.' (Note discrepancy).
"Aftah the wah, ah came to Cincinnati, and ah was married three times.
Mah fust wife was Nannie. Then there was Mollie. They both died, and
than ah was married Cora heah, and ah had six child'en, one girl and fo'
boys. (Note discrepancy) They's two living yet; James is 70 and he is
not married. And Bob's about thutty or fo'ty. Ah done lost al mah
rememb'ance, too ole now. But Mollie died when he was bo'n, and he is
crazy. He is out of Longview (Home for Mentally Infirm) now fo' a while,
and he jes' wanders around, and wo'ks a little. He's not [TR: "not" is
crossed out] ha'mless, he wouldn't hurt nobody. He ain't married
neithah.
"After the wah, ah bought a fiddle, and ah was a good fiddlah. Used to
be a fiddlah fo' the white girls to dance. Jes' picked it up, it was a
natural gif'. Ah could still play if ah had a fiddle. Ah used to play at
our hoe downs, too. Played all those ole time songs--_Soldier's Joy_,
_Jimmy Long Josey_, _Arkansas Traveler_, and _Black Eye Susie_. Ah
remembah the wo'ds to that one."
Smiling inwardly with pleasure as he again lived the past, the old Negro
swayed and recited:
Black Eye Susie, you look so fine,
Black Eye Susie, ah think youah mine.
A wondahful time we're having now,
Oh, Black Eye Susie, ah believe that youah mine.
And away down we stomp aroun' the bush,
We'd think that we'd get back to wheah we could push
Black Eye Susie, ah think youah fine,
Black Eye Susie, Ah know youah mine.
Then, he resumed his conversational tone:
"Befo' the wah we nevah had no good times. They took good care of us,
though. As pa'taculah with slaves as with the stock--that was their
money, you know. And if we claimed a bein' sick, they'd give us a dose
of castah oil and tu'pentine. That was the principal medicine cullud
folks had to take, and sometimes salts. But nevah no whiskey--that was
not allowed. And if we was real sick, they had the Doctah fo' us.
"We had very bad eatin'. Bread, meat, water. And they fed it to us in a
trough, jes' like the hogs. And ah went in may shirt tail till I was 16,
nevah had no clothes. And the flo' in ouah cabin was dirt, and at night
we'd jes' take a blanket and lay down on the flo'. The dog was supe'ior
to us; they would take him in the house.
"Some of the people I belonged to was in the Klu Klux Klan. Tolah had
fo' girls and fo' boys. Some of those boys belonged. And I used to see
them turn out. They went aroun' whippin' niggahs. They'd get young girls
and strip 'em sta'k naked, and put 'em across barrels, and whip 'em till
the blood run out of 'em, and then they would put salt in the raw pahts.
And ah seen it, and it was as bloody aroun' em as if they'd stuck hogs.
"I sho' is glad I ain't no slave no moah. Ah thank God that ah lived to
pas the yeahs until the day of 1937. Ah'm happy and satisfied now, and
ah hopes ah see a million yeahs to come."
Forest H. Lees
C.R. McLean, Supervisor
June 10, 1937
Topic: Folkways
Medina County, District #5