"The young people today ain't worth a shit. These young people going to
school don't mean good to nobody. They dance all the night and all the
time, and do everything else. That man across the street runs a whiskey
house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. They
ain't worth nothing."
Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson
Person interviewed: Sarah Douglas
Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas
Age: 82?
[Illustration: Sarah and Sam Douglas]
[TR: The Library of Congress photo archive notes "'Tom' written in
pencil above 'Sam' in title."]
"I was born in Alabama. I don't know when though. I did not find out
when I was born because old miss never told me. My ma died when I was
real small and my old miss raised me. I had a hard time of my life. I
slept on the floor just like a cat--anywhere I laid down I slept. In
winter I slept on rags. If I got sick old miss would give me plenty of
medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. My old
master was name John Buffett and old misses name was Eddie Buffett. She
would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the
floor. I never ate at the table until I was twelve and that was after
freedom.
"To whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken
the cow hide whip and beat me until I couldn't sit down for a week.
Sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree
with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow
hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy!
child, I shouted when I wasn't happy. All I could say was, 'Oh pray,
mistress, pray.' That was our way to say Lord have mercy. The last
whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my Lord! old miss
whipped me that day. That was the worse whipping I ever got in my life.
I cried and bucked and hollered until I couldn't. I give up for dead and
she wouldn't stop. I stop crying and said to her, 'Old miss, if I were
you and you were me I wouldn't beat you this way.' That struck old
miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me
any more.
"I did every kind of work when I was a little slave; split rails,
sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted.
"I remember young master going to war and I remember hearing the first
gun shoot but I did not see it. I saw the smoke though.
"I never went to school a day in my life. The white folks said we did
not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us
with that cow hide whip.
"We went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor.
They allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or
felt that the Lord had forgiven them of their sins. We told our
determination; this is what we said: 'I feel that the Lord have forgiven
me for my sins. I have prayed and I feel that I am a better girl. I
belong to master so and so and I am so old.' The white preacher would
then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they
could see any change. They would get up and say: 'I notice she don't
steal and I notice she don't lie as much and I notice she works better.'
Then they let us join. We served our mistress and master in slavery-time
and not God.
"I recollect miss died just after the War. Old miss was very strict on
us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's
kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left
the print of her hand on her face. That white hand never did go away and
that place was forever haunted after that.
"Now I don't know how to tell you to get after my age but I was twelve
years old two years after surrender."
Interviewer: Carol Graham
Subject: Ex-slaves
Information given by: Sarah Douglas, El Dorado, Arkansas
Mornin' honey. I thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las'
summer an' I looked fuh you the longes' time. I'se plum proud tuh see
you ergin. Dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is
she?
Now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants Aunt Sarah tuh tell huh some
more 'bout slave'y times. John Bufford wuz mah marster's name. I wuz
bo'n in Alabama an' brought to Louisiana by my marster's fambly. Aftuh
de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white
folks from the North fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey
soon learnt bettuh.
I ain't been well lately. The doctuh said I had slamatory rheumatis. I'm
ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. My mistress wuz mammy
in de ol' days.
Aftuh I got up fum mah rheumatism I went down tuh that church you sees,
I give de lan' fuh hit, me and Tom did and I jes felt good and wanted
tuh praise the Lord. I wuz so glad the sperit come once more, I got
happy and I got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "I want to shake
hand wid ever' body in dis house. I wanna stroke yo hand." An' I stood
down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and
two women come down an' shook hands wid me, I jes didn't know whut tuh
think. Yoh know when I wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an'
dey made a noise but not so now. An' tuh think dey couldn't turn
praises.
You say yo' wants tuh talk tuh Tom? Well he's out dar in de back yard
but he aint well and I specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on.
Tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. I'll go back an talk tuh de
lady whuts waitin' in de car.
(The above written just as Sarah Douglas expressed it).
(Taken down word for word.)
(August 11, 1937.)
Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson
Person interviewed: Tom Douglas
Route 2, Box 19-A, El Dorado, Arkansas
Age: 91
"I was born in Marion, Louisiana September 15, 1847 at 8 o'clock in the
morning. I was eighteen years of age at surrender. My master and missus
was B.B. Thomas and Miss Susan Thomas. Old master had a gang of slaves
and we all worked like we were putting out fire. Lord child, wasn't near
like it is now. We went to bed early and got up early. There was a gang
of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a
washwoman. We worked too and didn't mind it. If we acted like we didn't
want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree
or bush and whipped until we bled. They had a whipping post that they
tied us to to whip us.
"We was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. They built
nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. They drove niggers in
there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. The
white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they
could tell how old we were. They had a 'penetenture' for the white folks
when they did wrong. When we done wrong we was tied to that whipping
post and our hide busted open with that cow hide.
"We stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would
allowance our week's rations out to us and Sunday morning we got one
biscuit each. If our week's allowance give out before the week we did
not get any more.
"Cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. We did not have to worry about
our clothes. Old missus looked after everything. We wore brogan shoes
and homespun clothes. There was a bunch of women that did the spinning
and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. I was a shoe
maker. I made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. We had to
go nice and clean. If old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. I
got slavery time scars on my back now. You ought to see my back. Scars
been on my back for seventy-five years.
"I never went to school a day in my life. I learned my ABC'S after I was
nineteen years old. I went to night school, then to a teacher by the
name of Nelse Otom. I was the first nigger to join the church on this
side of the Mason and Dixie line. During slavery we all joined the white
folk's church set in the back. After slavery in 1866 they met in
conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. There
was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we
called our preacher and I was the first one to join. Old master asked
our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. We told him old shoes and
clothes. Old master says, 'Well, that's damn poor pay.' Our preacher
says, 'And they got a damn poor preacher.'
"I did not know anything about war. Only I know it began in 1861, closed
in 1865, and I know they fought at Vicksburg. That was two or three
hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table
whenever they shot a bomb. Those bombs would jar the house so hard and
we could see the smoke that far.
"We was allowed to visit Saturday night and Sunday. If you had a wife
you could go to see her Wednesday night and Saturday night and stay with
her until Monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the
patrollers would catch you. That is where the song come from, 'Run
nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' Sometimes a nigger
would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. In slavery white
folks put you together. Just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or
him. You had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not.
"After freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free,
opened a big gate and drove us all out. We didn't know what to do--not a
penny, nowhere to go--so we went out there and set down. In about thirty
minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for
food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and
the next year they gave us half. So ever' since then we people been
working for half.
"Here is one of my boy songs:
'Sadday night and Sunday too,
A pretty girl on my mind
As soon as Monday morning come
The white folks get me gwi-ng.'"
[HW: Regrets End of Slavery]
OLD SLAVE STORIES
[TR: Sarah and Tom Douglas]
[TR: Aunt Sarah Douglas]--Ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. Wuz
twelve years ole at de time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined
de church. In them days when chillun j'ined de church some grown person
had ter speak fuh em an tell if they thought they wuz converted or not.
Now when chillun j'in de church if they is big enough ter talk they take
em in widout grown fokes speaking fuh em a tall.
Slavery times wuz sho good times. We wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to
worry about. Now poar ole niggers go hungry. Sho we wuz whipped in
slavery times. Mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz
whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. Coase hit
did. Hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo
chickens.
Me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no
chillun. Yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. Now
if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole
days. Mah ole man, Tom, is 89 an I'se 82. Poar ole man. Ah does all ah
kin fuh him but I'se ole too. These young niggers is gettin so uppity.
They think they is better than we is. A Darkey jes don' love one another
an stick t'gether like white fokes does. But ah is goin ter stick ter my
ole man. He needs me. He is jes like a little helpless chile widout me
ter look after him. Ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when ah
wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. Ah likes ter go ter
church. See that little white church over de hill? That is Douglas
Chapel, a Baptist church. Me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that
church. We had plenty them days when Douglas was laid out (meaning
Douglas Addition). But now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all
de time. None of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us
somethin' ter eat. White fokes have good hearts but niggers is
grudgeful. De bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an
when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces.
Niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. Ah went to a
missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "Sister
Douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "Amazing
Grace." Sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined
in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when
that sister spoke up an said: "Sister Douglas, don' yo know that is done
gone out of style?" an selected "Fly Away" an den all of them sisters
j'ined in an sung "Fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance
chune.
Yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. We use
ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. An that ole horse is our fambly
horse. Dolly Jane ah calls her. We've had her forty years an she gits
sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time
but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. We has lived
in this house since 1900 but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de
tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. Nobody lef on this side but white
fokes now ceptin us. When de railroad come through down there ah had a
cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton
patch an ruint part of hit. All we got out'n hit wuz damages.
No'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. Mebby ifn yo
all come back he kin talk ter yo then.
(In the meantime we investigated Tom and Sarah Douglas and found that he
has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now
Douglas Addition. In a few days we went back and found Tom sitting on
the porch.)
Uncle Tom Douglas--Yas'm, ah members de wah. Ah wuz fo'teen when de wah
began an eighteen when hit closed. Mah marster wuz B.B. Thomas, Union
Parish, Louisiana, near Marion, Louisiana. Ah saw de fust soldiers go an
saw young marster go. When young marster come back at de close of de wah
he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he
done have ter eat while he wuz in de army.
Ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. They wuz sold
jes like stock. Ah members one fambly. De man wuz a blacksmith, de woman
a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. They wuz put on de block
an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt part
of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. They wuz
sole jes like cows an horses. No'm, ah didn't like slavery days. Ah'd
rather be free an hungry.
(Tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and
we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.)
Yo say tell yo about hants. There is such a thing. Yes mam. Some fokes
calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an Sarah has seed em haint
we Sarah. Here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil?
(After we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we
would not repeat it, they told us the following):
When me an Sarah lived out at de Moore place about three miles east on
the main street road we seed plenty of haints. De graveyard wuz in sight
of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they
would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there
campin. We could see they campfires. We could hear their dishes rattling
an their tincups an knives an forks. An hear em talkin. Den again they
would be diggin with shovels. Sometimes in de graveyard we could see de
sperits doin de things they did befo they died. Some would be plowing,
some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin.
When day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in
de graves. Yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. After we moved
from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de
chimney. An hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen
there.
Yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. They is such thin's as hants. Me an
Sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time.
Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham
Person interviewed: Tom & Sarah Douglas
Resident: El Dorado, Arkansas
Age: 90 and 83.