"Oh, yes ma'am, I believe in all the old signs.
"You can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore
shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that
bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel--I know what
I'm talkin' 'bout now--and you tote that in your pocket night and
day--sleep with it--and it brings you good luck. But the last one I had
got burnt up when my house burnt down and I been goin' back ever since.
"And these here frizzly chicken are good luck. If you have a black
frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your
yard, they'll scratch it up."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Jeff Davis
1100 Texas Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 85
[May 31 1938]
"What's my name? I got a good name. Name's Jeff Davis. Miss Mary Vinson
was some of my white folks.
"Oh Lord yes, I was here in slavery times--runnin' around like you
are--ten years old. I'm eighty-five even.
"Soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. Blue coats was what they
called 'em. And the Rebs was Gray.
"Yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. Had cannon-balls
weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds.
"I'm a musician--played the fife. Played it to a T. Had two kinds of
drums. Had different kinds of brass horns too. I 'member one time they
was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till I took it.
"Had plenty to eat. Old master fed us plenty.
"Oh, I used to do a heap of work in a day.
"I was 'bout ten when freedom come. Yes ma'am."
Interviewer: Watt McKinney
Person interviewed: Jeff Davis
R.F.D. five miles south, Marvell, Arkansas
Age: 78
"I'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. I was borned
in de Tennessee Valley not far from Huntsville, Alabama. Right soon
atter I was borned my white folks, de Welborns, dey left Alabama an'
come right here to Phillips County, Arkansas, an' brung all the darkies
with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. I is been here
all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every
since I been old enough. I is seen good times an' hard times, Boss, all
endurin' of those years followin' de War, but de worst times I is ever
seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck.
"How-some-ever I is got 'long first rate I reckon 'cause you know I owns
my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all
such like. I really ain't suffered any for nothin'. Still they has been
times when I ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime,
but I is made it out somehow. Us old darkies what come up with de
country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there
wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long
on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. Couldn't mind a panic
bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration.
"You see, I was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free.
An' course I can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my
mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times.
"Like I first said, us belonged to de Welborns an' dey was powerful
loyal to de Souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey
sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in
Tennessee an' Georgia. Dat's what my mammy tole me an' I know dey done
dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout Mr. Jefferson Davis, de fust an' only
President of de Confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name I got.
Yas suh, dat is how come me named 'Jeff Davis.' An' I always has been
proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what I is named after.
"My pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. I knows he
bound to been 'cause I is too bright to not have no white blood in me.
My mammy, she named 'Mary Welborn'. She say dat my pappy was a white man
name 'Bill Ward' what lived back in Alabama. Dat's all my mammy ever
told me about my pappy. She never say iffen he work for de Welborns er
no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. I don't know nothin' 'bout him
scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'Bill Ward'. My steppappy, he
was name John Sanders, an' he married my mammy when I 'bout four year
old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage.
"My steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he
want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with.
I riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was
built through Marvell from Helena to Clarendon. He made dem culberts
outen logs what would be split half in two. Then he would hew out de two
halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. Dey
would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de
water to run through.
"There was several white mens dat I knowed in dis part of de county what
raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. I will say this
for them mens though. Whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem
what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care
of de whole gang. I riccolect one white man in particular, an' I knows
you is heered of him too. How-some-ever, I won't call no names. He lived
down on de ribber on de island. Dis white man, he was a overseer for a
widder woman what lived in Helena an' what owned de big place dat dis
man oberseer was on. Dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de
longest. She have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals.
"After a while dis man, he got him a place up close to Marvell where he
moved to. He brought his nigger fambly with him. He built dem a good
house on his farm where he kept them. He give dat woman an' dem chillun
dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. Then he
married him a nice white woman after he moved close to Marvell. He built
him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap
of chillun too by dis same man. So dis man, he had a white fambly an' a
half nigger fambly before. De most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in
this county right now.
"Yas suh, Boss, I is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. In my
young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. There
wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. De houses an' barns was
most all made of logs, but I is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers
an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey
does at dis time. De white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more
confidence in each other seems like in dem days. I don't know how 'twas
in de other states after de War, but right here in Phillips County de
white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. Dey helped dem
to git it. Dey sure done dat. Mr. Marve Carruth, dat was really a good
white man. He helped me to get dis very place here dat I is owned for
fifty years. An' then I tell you dis too, Boss, when I was coming up, de
folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. A good hand then
naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as
dey do now. Seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and
down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey
orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home.
"Yas suh, I riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs
in de courthouse in Helena, but I is never took no part in that votin'
business an' I allus kept out of dem arguments. I left it up to de white
folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers.
"De darkies what was in de courthouse dat I riccolect was: Bill Gray, he
was one of de clerks; Hense Robinson, Dave Ellison, an' some more dat I
don't remember. Bill Gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was
just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. Bill Gray, he
used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. He was
sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. The
captain used to let him git some eddycation. Darkies, dey never last
long in de courthouse. Dey soon git 'em out.
"I gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since I was
comin' up. Dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't
believe in no more. Yet de same signs is still here, an' I sure does
believe in 'em 'cause I done seen 'em work for all dese years. De Lawd
give de peoples a sign for all things. De moon an' de stars, dey is a
sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de
cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. De screech owls, dey give er
warnin' dat some one gwine to die. About de best sign dat some person
gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin'
constant in de middle of de night. Dat is a sign I hardly is ever seen
fail an' I seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old Aunt Dinah
died up de road. I heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin'
back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past
Aunt Dinah's cabin. I say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to
take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin'
de sign just right. Dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' Aunt
Dinah, she plumb well at de time. About er week from then Aunt Dinah,
she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she
died. I knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still I didn't
know who it was to be. I tell you, Boss, I is gittin' uneasy an'
troubled de last day or two, 'cause I is done heered another cow a
lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. She keeps a walkin' back
an' forth past my house out there in de road. I is really troubled
'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. We is both way up in
years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, Aunt Dinah was too.
Dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat I done noticed mighty
nigh allus comes true."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Jordan Davis
306 Cypress Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 86
"I was a boy in the house when the war started and I heard the mistress
say the abolitionists was about to take the South. Yes ma'm. That was in
Natchez, Mississippi. I was about nine or ten.
"Mistress' name was Eliza A. Hart and master's name was Dave A. Hart.
"I guess they _was_ good to me. I lived right there in the house with
then. Mistress used to send me to Sunday School and she'd say 'Now,
Jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with
them nigger chillun on the streets.'
"My daddy belonged to a man named Davis way down the river in the
country and after the war he came and got me. Sure did. Carried me to
Davis Bend. I was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. He took me
to Mrs. Leas Hamer and you know I was a good-sized boy when she put me
in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. Yes'm, I sure can cook. She
kept me right in the house with her children. I did her cooking and
cleaned up the house. I never got any money for it, or if I did I done
forgot all about it. She kept me in clothes, she sure did. I didn't need
any money. I stayed five or six years with her, sure did. I thought a
lot of her and her children--she was so kind to me.
"Yes ma'm, I went to school one or two years in Mississippi.
"When I come here to Arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in
Pine Bluff, there was a white man standin' there named Burks. He kept
lookin' at me and directly he said 'Can you cook?' I was married then
and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me
out to his house. His wife kept a first-class boarding house. Just
first-class white folks stayed there. After the madam found out I had a
good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things
over to me.
"Miss, it's been so long, I don't study 'bout that votin' business. I
have never bothered 'bout no Republican or votin' business--I never
cared about it. I know one thing, the white people are the only ones
ever did me any good.
"Mrs. J.B. Talbot has been very good to me. My wife used to work for her
and so did I. She sure has been a friend to me. Mrs. J.B. Talbot has
certainly stuck to me.
"Oh I think the colored folks ought to be free but I know some of 'em
had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too.
"Ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. I see 'em goin' down the
street singin' and dancin' and half naked--ain't nothin' to 'em.
"My wife's been dead five or six years and I live here alone. Yes ma'm!
I don't want nobody here with me."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Mary Jane Drucilla Davis
1612 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 73
"'Little baby's gone to heaven
To try on his robe
Oh, Lord, I'm most done toiling here
Little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.'
"Oh, it was so mournful. And let me tell you what they'd do. They'd all
march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on
their shoulder and sing that song. That's the first song I remember. I
was three years old and now I'm seventy-three and crippled up with
rheumatism.
"My mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard
and I thought they was buryin' it in the garden. That was in Georgia.
"In the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all
night, but they don't do that now.
"I was married young. I don't love to tell how old but I was fifteen and
when I was seventeen I was a widow. I tried and tried to get another
husband as good as my first one but I couldn't. I didn't marry then till
I was thirty some.
"My parents brought me from Georgia when I was five years old and now I
ain't got no blood kin in Pine Bluff.
"Do I believe in signs? Well, let me tell you what I do know. Before my
house burned in 1937, I was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and
sister come up to my house. They come a distance to the steps and went
around the house. They was both dead but I could see 'em just as plain.
And do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. I think
that vision was a sign of bad luck.
"And another time when I was havin' water put in my house, I dreamed
that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign
a contract and I didn't know there was a contract. And that next day a
man come out for me to sign a contract and I said, 'No.' He wanted to
know why and finally I told him, and he said, 'You're just like my
mother.' It was two days 'fore I'd sign. The men had quit work waitin'
for me to sign. But let me tell you when they put the water in and when
they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. The ground was too low and I
never could use the commode. Now don't you think that dream was a
warning?
"Just before I had this spell of sickness I dreamed my baby--he's
dead--come and knocked and said. 'Mama.' And I said, 'Yes, darlin', God
bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's
comin'. I really thought I was goin' to die. I got up and looked in the
glass. You know you can see death in the eyes, but I didn't see any sign
of death and I haven't gone yet.
"Last Saturday I was prayin' to God not to let me get out of the heart
of the people. You see, I have no kin people and I wanted people to come
to my rescue. The next day was Sunday and more people come to see me and
brought me more things.
"I been in the church fifty-seven years. I'm the oldest member in St.
John's. I joined in May 1881.
"I went to school some. I went as far as the fourth grade."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Minerva Davis, Biscoe, Arkansas
Age: 56
"My father was sold in Richmond, Virginia when he was eighteen years old
to the nigger traders. They had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and
horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. Papa said
he traveled to Tennessee. His job was to wash their faces and hands and
fix their hair--comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be
auctioned off. They sold a lot of children from Virginia all along the
way and he was put up in Tennessee and auctioned off. He was sold to the
highest bidder. Bill Thomas at Brownsville, Tennessee was the one bought
him. Papa was a large strong man.
"He run off and went to war. He had learned to cook and he was one-eyed
and couldn't fight. All the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. Then
he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and
he never got a pension because of that. He said he come home pretty
often and mama was expecting a baby. He thought he was needed at home
worse. He was so tired of war. He didn't know it would be valuable to
him in his old days. He was sorry he didn't stay till they got him
mustered out. He said it was harder in the war than in slavery. They was
putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to
death all the time. Never did know when they would be shot and killed.
"Mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. A drove of folks
come by. It was the nigger traders. She had pulled up her two or three
buckets. She carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. They
said, 'Draw me up some water to drink.' She was so smart they bragged on
her. They said, 'She such a smart little thing.' They went to see her
owner and bought her on the spot. They took her away from her people and
she never heard tell of none of them no more. She said there was a big
family of them. They brought her to Brownsville, Tennessee and Johnny
Williams bought her. That was my grandma.
"Mother was born there on Johnny Williams' place and she was heired by
his daughter. His daughter married Bill Thomas, the one what done bought
my papa. Her young mistress was named Sallie Ann Thomas. Mama got
married when she was about grown. She said after she married she'd have
a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. Mama had twelve
children and raised eleven to be grown. Four of us are living yet. My
sister was married when I was born. White folks married young and
encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. Mama
died when I was a year old but papa lived on with Johnny Williams where
he was when she died. I lived with my married sister. I was the baby and
she took me and raised me with her children.
"The Ku Klux wanted to whoop my papa. They all called him Dan. They said
he was mean. His white folks protected him. They said he worked well.
They wouldn't let him be whooped by them Ku Kluxes.
"Miss Sallie Ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the
children and to help the cook where she visited. They was there a right
smart while from the way papa said. The pattyrollers whooped somebody on
that farm while she was over there. They wasn't many slaves on her place
and they was good to them. That whooping was right smart a curiosity to
mama the way papa told us about it.
"When mama and papa married, Johnny Williams had a white preacher to
read out of a book to them. They didn't jump over no broom he said.
"They was the biggest kind of Methodist folks and when mama was five
years old Johnny Williams had all his slaves baptized into that church
by his own white preacher. Papa said some of them didn't believe niggers
had no soul but Johnny Williams said they did. (The Negroes must have
been christened--ed.)
"Papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about
freedom. Mama was working for Miss Sallie Ann and done something wrong.
Miss Sallie Ann says, 'I'm a good mind to whoop you. You ain't paying
'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' Mama says, 'Miss Sallie
Ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care
what I do.' When Bill come home he say, 'How come you to sass my wife?
She so good to you.' Mama say, 'Master Bill, them soldiers say I'm
free.' He slapped her. That the first time he laid hands on her in his
life. In a few days he said, 'We going to town and see is you free. You
leave the baby with Sallie Ann.' It was the courthouse. They questioned
her and him both. Seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to
be and mama didn't neither. Then papa took mama on Johnny Williams'
place. He come out to Arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then
he moved his children all out here.
"Uncle Albert and grandpa take nights about going out. Uncle Albert was
courting.
"They put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm
ready to eat. The fire popped out on mama. She was in a light blaze. Not
a bit of water in the house. Her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on
her to put out the fire. Her stomach was burned and scarred. They was
all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. Miss
Sallie Ann took her and cured her and when Miss Sallie Ann was going to
marry, her folks didn't want to give her Minerva. She tended (contended)
out and got her and Agnes both. Agnes died at about emancipation.
"I'm named for my mother. I'm her youngest child.
"I recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back
to olden times the older he got to be. When folks would run down slavery
he would say it wasn't so bad with them--him and mama. He never seen
times bad as times is got to be now. Then he sure would wanted slavery
back some more. He was a strong hard laboring man. He was a provider for
his family till he got so no 'count.
"Times is changing up fast. Folks is worse about cutting up and
carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. I ain't
old so speaking."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Rosetta Davis, Marianna, Arkansas
Age: 55
"I was born in Phillips County, Arkansas. My folks' master was named Dr.
Jack Spivy. Grandma belong to him. She was a field woman. I don't know
if he was a good master er not. They didn't know it was freedom till
three or four months. They was at work and some man come along and said
he was going home, the War was over. Some of the hands asked him who win
and he told them the Yankees and told them they was free fer as he
knowed. They got to inquiring and found out they done been free. They
made that crap I know and I don't recollect nothing else.
"I farmed at Foreman, Arkansas for Taylor Price, Steve Pierce, John
Huey. I made a crap here with Will Dale. I come to Arkansas twenty-nine
years ago. I come to my son. He had a cleaning and pressing shop here
(Marianna). He died. I hired to the city to work on the streets. I never
been in jail. I owned a house here in town till me and my wife
separated. She caused me to lose it. I was married once.
"I get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment.
"The present time is queer. I guess I could git work if I was able to do
it. I believe in saving some of what you make along. I saved some along
and things come up so I had to spend it. I made so little.
"Education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. Education is good
fer some folks and not good fer some. Some folks git spoilt and lazy. I
think it helped to do it to the people of today."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Virginia (Jennie) Davis
Scott Street, Forrest City, Arkansas
Age: 45 or 47
"This is what my father, Isaac Johnson, always told us:
'I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina. Mama died and left three of us
children and my papa. He was a blacksmith.' I don't recollect grandpa's
name now.
'A man come to buy me. I was a twin. My sisters cried and cried but I
didn't cry. I wanted to ride in the surrey. I was sold and taken to
Montgomery, Alabama.'
"Angeline was his oldest sister and Emmaline was his twin sister. He
never seen any of his people again. He forgot their names. His old
master that bought him died soon after he come back from North Carolina.
"His young master didn't even know his age. He tried to get in the army
and he did get in the navy. They said he was younger than he told his
age. He enlisted for three years. He was in a scrimmage with the Indians
once and got wounded. He got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his
services till he died.
"He wasn't old enough to be in the Civil War. He said he remembered his
mistress crying and they said Lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. His
young master told him he was free. The colored folks was having a
jubilee. He had nowheres to go. He went back to the big house and sot
around. They called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been
sleeping. He had nowheres to go. He stayed there till he joined the
navy. Then he come to Mississippi and married Sallie Bratcher and he
went back to Alabama and taught school. He went to school at night after
the Civil War till he went to the navy. He was a light-brown skin.
"Grandma, Jane Cash, was one brought from Huntingdon, Tennessee in a
gang and sold at auction in Memphis, Tennessee. She said her mother,
father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold,
divided out and separated. Grandma said one of her sisters had a
suckling baby. She couldn't keep it from crying. They stopped and made
her give it away.
"Then grandma fell in the hands of the Walls at Holly Springs,
Mississippi. She was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard.
They wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant.
"Mrs. Walls buried her silver in the front yard. She had an old trusty
colored man to dig a hole and bury it. No one ever found it. The
soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground.
They ransacked her house. Mr. Walls wasn't there.
"My auntie, Eliza Williamson, was half white. She was one of her
master's son's children. Her first master put her and her husband
together. She lives near Conway, Arkansas now and is very old.
"Grandma was living at Menifee, Arkansas, and a man from De Valls Bluff,
Arkansas come to her house. She saw a scar on his arm. He was marked by
gingerbread. She asked him some questions. Epps was his name and he was
older than herself. He told her about the sale in Memphis. He remembered
some things she didn't. He knowd where they all went. Her sister was
Mary Wright at Milan, Tennessee. Grandma was twelve years old when that
sale come off. She shouted and they cried. She couldn't eat for a week.
"She said old man Walls was good to them. When my mama was a little girl
she was short and fat and light color. Old man Walls would call them in
his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. He was proud of
them. He'd give them big dances ever so often. In the evening they had
their own preaching in white folks' church. Grandma was good with the
needle. She sewed for the mistress and her own family too. She had
twelve children I think they said. They said her mistress had a large
family too.
"Grandpa belong to Mike Cash. He give her husband what he made on
Saturday evening. I think grandpa was sold from the Walls to Mike Cash.
He took the Cash name and my mother was a Cash and she married Isaac
Johnson. She was raised in Arkansas. Papa was married twice. I was
raised around Holly Grove, Arkansas. That is where my folks lived in the
last of slavery--that is mama's folks. Papa come to Arkansas at a later
time.
"I think times is queer. I work and makes the best of 'em. (Ten dollars
a month house rent.) I work all the time washing and ironing. (She has
washed for the same families years and years. She is a light
mulatto--ed.)
"Young folks is lost respect for the truth. Not dependable. That is
their very worst fault, I think.
"No-oom, I wouldn't vote no quicker 'en I'd smoke a cigarette. But I
haben never smoked narry one."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Subject: Ex-Slaves
Story:--Information
This information given by: Winnie Davis (C)
Place of residence: 304 E. Twenty-First Street
Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Occupation: None
Age: 100
[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of first page.]
"Katie Butler was my old missis 'fore I married my husband. His name
David Davis. I cooked for Jeff Davis and took care of his daughter,
Winnie. I stayed with old missis, Jeff Davis' wife, till she died. She
made me promise I'd stay with her. That was in Virginia."
(I have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of
Winnie Davis. Her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when
Winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she
gave her name, the clerk said, "Were you named after Jeff Davis'
daughter?" and that Winnie replied, "She must have been named after me
'cause I cooked for Jeff Davis 'fore she was born."
Her mind is not very good at times, but the day I took her picture, I
asked who she used to cook for and she said, "Jeff Davis."
She is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around the
house quite well. The neighbors say that she has been a hard worker and
of a very high-strung temperament.
The granddaughter, Mattie Sneed, says her grandmother said she was sold
in Virginia when she was eight years old.)
Interviewer: Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Leroy Day (c)
Age: 80
Home: 123 N. Walnut Street, Pine Bluff, Ark.
"Good Lord yes, lady, I was here in slavery days. I remember my old
marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid.
"I remember when the soldiers--the Yankees--come through, some said they
was takin' things.
"Old Marster, his name was Joe Day, he was good to us. He seemed to be a
Christian man and he was a Judge. They generally called him Judge Day. I
never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. I tell
you if he wasn't a Christian, he looked like one.
"I was born in Georgia and I can remember the first Governor we had
after freedom. His name was Governor Bullock. I heard it said the people
raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money.
That was when Milledgeville was the capital of Georgia.
"I used to vote after freedom. I voted Republican. I went to school a
little after the war and then emigrated to Louisiana and Arkansas.
"Things has got so now everything is in politics. Some votes cause they
want their friends in office and some don't take no interest.
"Some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are
goin' kinda slow. Some is goin' take another growth. The schoolin' they
is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up.
"Yes mam, I use to be strong and I have done a heap of work in my life.
Cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the
money and we had to work to get some of that money.
"I remember when the Ku Klux was right bad in Louisiana. I never did see
any--I didn't _try_ to see 'em. I know I heard that they went to a
school house and broke up a negro convention. They called for a colored
man named Peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man
got killed. They had a right smart little scrummage, and I know the
colored people ran off and went to Kansas.
"The fust man I ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in
another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so
mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other
man. I never did know what the punishment was.
"Since I have become afflicted (I'm ruptured) I can't do no work any
more. I can't remember anything else. If I had time to study I might
think of something else."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Hammett Dell, Brasfield, Arkansas
Age: 90
[-- -- 1937]
[TR: Some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. Letters
surrounded by [] represent long vowels.]
"I was born in Tennessee, 10 miles from Murfreesboro. They call it now
Releford. I was born October 12, 1847. I stayed wid old master till he
died. I was bout thirty-five years old. He lernt me a good trade, brick
layin'. He give me everything I needed and more. After the war he took
me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick--it was made round--and lernt
me outer the Blue Back Speller and Rithmetic. The spelling book had
readin' in it. Lady ain't you seed one yit? Then I lernt outer Rays
Rithmetic and McGuffeys Reader. Old master say it ginst the law to teach
slaves foe the war. Dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a
nigger slave. The white folks schools was pay foe the war.
"My old master had a small farm. His wife died. He never married no
more. I caint member her name. She died when I was a little bitter of a
boy. They had a putty large family. There was Marion, William, Fletcher,
John, Miss Nancy, Miss Claricy, Miss Betsy. I think that all. The older
childern raised up the little ones. My master named Mars Pleasant White.
Long as I stayed wid him I had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to
spend. I had no sense to save a cent for a old day. Mars White was a
good man if ever one lived. He was a good man. Four old darkies all Mars
White had. They was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. My name I would lack
it better White but that is where the Dell part come in; papa b'long to
the Dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. He took his old
master's name. They call him Louis Dell White. He didn't have no
brothers but my mama had two sisters. Her name was Mary White. Them was
happy days b'fo the war. The happiest days in all my life. Bout at the
beginnin' of the war Mama took cole at the loom and died. We all waited
on her, white folks too. She didn't lack for waitin' on. Something white
folks et, we et. We had plenty good grub all time long as Mars White
live.
"How'd I know bout to git in war? I heard white folks talkin' bout it.
One time I heard Mars White talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. We
was happy an' doin' well an' I didn't lack the talk but I didn't know
what "war" was. No mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down
at Murfreesboro. Mars White was a ruptured man. He never left our place.
I never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. Mars White aired
(heired) all us. My papa left and never come back. I d[o]n[o] how he got
through the lines in the army. I guess he did fight wid the Yankees.
"Papa didn't speak plain. Grandma couldn't speak plain. They lisp. They
talk fast. Sound so funny. Mama and auntie speak well. Plain as I do
now. They was up wid Mars White's childern more. Mars White sent his
childern to pay school. It was a log house and they had a lady teacher.
They had a accordion. Mars Marion's neighbor had one too. All of em
could play.
"White women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse
collars. The white women lernt the darkie women. There was no leather
horse collars as ever I seed. I lernt to twist shucks and weave chair
bottoms. Then I lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. I made
all kinds baskets. We had all sizes and kinds of baskets. When they git
old they turn dark. Shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff
an' not so fancy.
"Well when they started off fightin' at Murfreesboro, it was a continual
roar. The tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. It was
distressful. The house shakin' all time. All our houses jar. The earth
quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides
foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to
live on. That's "war". I found out all bout what it was. Lady it ain't
nuthin' but hell on dis erth.
"I tole you I was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how
the cannons shook the earth. There couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor
a year of corn to be found bout our place. It was sich hard times. It
was both sides come git what you had. Whole heap of Yankees come in
their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. They was huntin'
horses. They done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old
mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. Young mistress had
a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house.
"Then when they started to leave, one old Yankee set the corner of the
house on fire. We all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry
in' water ter put it out. We got it out but while we doin' that, mind
out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug
out. One old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. She been so
scared she never come to the house no more. Nobody knowed there was one
on our place. He took his javelin and stuck it through her back. She
started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em,
started runnin' and some of em buckin'. We got the fire bout out. We
couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. I been bustin' I was so mad
cause they tried take old Beck. Three of em horses throwd em. They
struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch
tryin' to head off their horses. Them horses throwd em sprawlin'. That
was the funniest sight I ever seed.
"We got our water out of a cave. It was good cold limestone water. We
had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. We swing the pole
round let it down then pull it back and tie it. They go to the other end
and git the bucket of water. I toted bout all the water to both places
what they used. One day I goin' to the cave after water. I had a habit
of throwin' till I got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. I spied a
hornets nest in a tree long the lane. I knowd them soldiers be long back
fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. It wasn't long show nuff they come back
and went up to the house.
"I got a pile of rocks in my hands. I hid down in the hazel nut bushes.
When they come by gallopin' I throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest.
The way they piled out on them soldiers. You could see em fightin' far
as you could see em wid their blue caps. The horses runnin' and buckin'.
I let out to the house to see what else they carried off.
"I tole Mars White bout how I hit that hornets nest wid the first rock I
throwd. He scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed
me. It scared him. He said don't do no more capers like that. That old
hornets nest soon come down. It was big as a water bucket. Mars White
call me son boy. I tole him what terrible language they used, and bout
some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. It was made outer rails
piled up. Mars White sho was glad they didn't see me. He kept on sayin'
son boy they would killed you right on the spot. Don't do nuthin' to em
to aggravate em.
"It look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the
soldiers couldn't find it. We had a ash hopper settin' all time. We made
our soap and lye hominy. They took all our salt. We couldn't buy none.
We put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. We
hid that. No they didn't find it. Our smoke house was logs dobbed wid
mud and straw. It was good size bout as big as our cabins. It had
somepin in it too. All the time I tell you.
"You ever eat dried beef? It is fine.
"I say I been to corn shuckins. They do that at night. We hurry and git
through then we have a dance in front of Mars White's house. We had a
good time. Mars White pass round ginger bread and hard cider. We wore a
thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. One darkie sit up
on the pile and lead the singin'. Old Dan Tucker was one song we lernt.
I made some music instruments. We had music. Folks danced then more they
do now. Most darkies blowed quills and Jew's harps. I took cane cut four
or six made whistles then I tuned em together and knit em together in a
row like a mouth harp you see.
[TR: there is a drawing of the whistles, something like this:
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[HW: blow]