This is a second interview with Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah Douglas. The
first was sent to your office in September 1936 from interview by Mrs.
Mildred Thompson, El Dorado, Arkansas. Mrs. Thompson is not now with the
Project. Mrs. Carol Graham made the second interview.
_Tom Douglas--Ex-slave_. I was a slave boy till I was eighteen. Was born
in 1847, 'mancipated in '65. No, my master did not give me forty acres
of land and a mule. When we was 'mancipated my master came took us
outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "You are free
to work for anybody you want to." We set there a while then we went
whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and
finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. The next year
we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five
years. 'F we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in
money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over.
My ol' master was S.B. [TR: in two previous interviews, B.B. Thomas]
Thomas. The young master was Emmett Thomas. Mr. Emmett was his son. Dey
was near Marion, Louisiana, then I worked fuh his brother-in-law 'Lias
George. His wife was Susan George. I tell you the fact, these times is
much bettuh than slave times. If I'm hungry an' naked, I'm free. I'm
crazy 'bout liberty.
I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan but never did see none of 'em. Have seen
where they is been but nevuh did see 'em.
We voted several years. Was considered citizens--voted an' all that sort
of thing. I think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes
makes us citizens don' it? I used to be a big politics man--lost all I
had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. I was tol'
one day that the Ku Kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' I got
on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. I was a big
politics man then--lost all I had and quit politics. I'm ninety years
old and fifteenth of next September. Looks like the old might get
pensions if old has anything to do with it I ought to get a pension but
us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin'
to eat they say don' get none.
I come to El Dorado January 3, 1893. This place was in the woods then. I
bought 120 acres from Mr. Dave Armstrong at five dollars per acre and in
nine years I had it all paid for. It was after I got tired of workin' on
the halves that I bought me a place.
Worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in 1897 or 98. Than I jobbed
aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. Carried $25
with me when I moved to town and brought $28 back with me. Cleared $1 a
year an' got tired of that.
Am livin' off my land. Have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times
is hard and folks can't pay. I takes in from $18 to $25 per month.
The young folks is gone to destruction. Aint nothin' but destruction.
You is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was
ten years back. Young folks is goin' to destruction. Me, I'm goin' home.
Goin' back 80 years an comin' up to day I is seen a mighty big change.
Me, I'm goin' home. Don't know what you young folks going to see eighty
years from now. Everybody is trying to get something for nothing.
We use to sing "Gimme this Old Time Religion, It's Good enough for me".
An' we sung "I'm a Soldier of the Cross" an lots of others. We don' live
right now, don' serve God. Pride, formality an love of money keeps folks
from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. You know that ol'
sayin: "Preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; All for your money
an' none for your soul." Seems like its true now days.
You ask does I have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times?
No maam. I was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard
with the little white chillun. You says Sarah told you that las' year?
Missy you mus' be mistaken. I was whipped once or twice but I needed it
then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no
stripes on me. My old master was good to all his niggers and I'm tellin
you I was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to
me. All we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every
Sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. No maam my
old master was always good to his niggers.
(Above is as exactly told by Tom Douglas with the exception that he used
the word Marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for I and
other quaint expressions--these were omitted because of instruction in
Bulletin received August 7th, 1937.)
Taken down word for word. August 11, 1937.
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Sebert Douglas
610 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 82
"I was born in Lebanon, Kentucky. Gover Hood was my old master. His
wife's name was Ann Hood.
"I 'member Morgan's Raid. I don't 'member what year it was but I 'member
a right smart about it. Cumberland Gap was where they met.
"The Rebs and Yankees both come and took things from old master. I
'member three horses they taken well. Yankees had tents in the yard.
They was right in the yard right in front of the Methodist church.
"My mother was Mrs. Hood's slave, and when she married she took my
mother along and I was born on her place.
"I was the carriage boy in slave times. My father did the driving and I
was the waitin' boy. I opened the gates.
"I 'member Billy Chandler and Lewis Rodman run off and j'ined the
Yankees but they come back after the War was over.
"Paddyrollers was about the same as the Ku Klux. The Ku Klux would take
the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make
'em go back where they come from.
"We stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we
went to the country and farmed for ourselves.
"I went to school just long enough to read and write. I never seed no
use for figgers till I married and went to farmin'.
"Since I been in Pine Bluff I done mill work. I was a sash and door man.
"I used to vote every election till Hoover, but I never held any office.
"The younger generation is bad medicine. Can't tell what's gwine come of
'em!"
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Henry Doyl, Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: Will be 74
Feb. 2, 1938
"I was born in Hardeman County near Bolivar, Tennessee. My mother's
moster was Bryant Cox and his wife was Miss Neely Cox. My mother was
Dilly Cox. Two things I remembers tinctly that took place in my
childhood: that was when my mother married George Doyl. I was raised by
a stepfather. Miss Neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put
me in her pocket. She told her that more'n one time. I recollect that.
"My oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. My mother was a
field hand. She was at work in the field. When she come to the house,
the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. That grieved her mighty
bad and when Miss Neely tell her soon as I got big nough she was goner
sell me mighty near break her heart.
"The first year after the surrender my father, Buck Rogers, left my
mother in her bad condition. She said she followed him crying and
begging him not to leave her to Montgomery Bridge, in Alabama. The last
she seen him he was on Montgomery Bridge.
"They just expected freedom. My mother left her mistress and moved to
the Doyl place. She didn't get nothing but her few clothes. I was born
at the Doyl place. She worked for Moster Bob Doyl, a young man. They
share cropped. We had a plenty I reckon of what we raised and a little
money.
"I worked on Colonel Nuckles place when I got up grown. I worked on the
Lunatic Asylum at Bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the I.C.
Railroad a long time.
"I don't recollect that the Ku Klux ever bothered us.
"My stepfather voted Republican ticket. I haven't voted for a good many
years--not since Garfield or McKinley was our President.
"I come to Arkansas in 1887. I married in Arkansas. I heard that
Arkansas was a rich country. My mother was dead. My stepfather had been
out here. I come on the train, paid my own way. Come to Palestine the
first night then on to Brinkley. I been close to Brinkley ever since.
"The old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. I still work
on the place. Everybody don't know how to walk levies. It will kill an
old man. Your feet stay wet and cold all time. I do wear hip boots but
my feet stay cold and damp. I got down with the rheumatism and jes' now
got so I can walk.
"I got a wife and three living children. They all married and gone.
"Times is hard for old folks and changed so much. Children used to get
jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. They can't
take care of themselves no more it look like. I don't know how to take
the young generation. They are drifting along with the fast times.
"I applied but don't get no pension."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Willie Doyld (male), Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 78
[-- -- 1938]
"I was born in Grenada, Mississippi. My parents belong to the same
family of white folks. My moster was Jim Doyld. His wife was Mistress
Karoline Doyld. Well as I recollect they had four childen. My parent's
name was Hannah and William Doyld. I'm named for em. They was three of
us childen. They belong to same family of white folks for a fact. I
heard em say Moster Jim bought em offen the block at the same time. He
got em at Galveston, Texas. He kept five families of slaves on his place
well as I recollect.
"My pa was Moster Jim's ox driver. He drove five or six yokes at a time.
He walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. He toted a long cowhide
whoop. He toted it over his shoulder. When he'd crack it you could hear
his whoop half a mile. Knowed he was comin' on up to the house. Them
oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. He'd
be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. He
nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the
front wagon an' ride a piece.
"He was a very good moster I recken far as I knows. They go up there,
get sompin' to eat. He give em a midlin' meat. He give us clothes. Folks
wore heep of clothes then. They got whoopin's if they not do lack they
tole em to do--plenty whoopin's! He kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs.
They hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. Them dogs died wid black
tongue. Every one of em died.
"We et at home mostly. We was lounced wid the rations but had a big
plenty. We got the rations every Saturday mornin'. One fellow cut and
weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git
it in. Sometimes we et up at the house. Mama bring a big bucket milk and
set it down, give us a tin cup. We eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop.
Mama cooked for old mistress. She bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last
us two or three days at er time. Papa could cook when he be round the
house too. I recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. They come from
Georgia. Moster Jim muster bought them too but I don't know if he got em
all at the same time down at Galveston, Texas.
"Moster Jim show did drink liquor--whiskey. I recken he would. When he
got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he
sober up. Miss Karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and
white.
"My grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. The balance of my
kin was pure nigger.
"I kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. Papa went off
to war wid Jack Hoskins. He was goin' to be his waitin' man. He stayed a
good while fore he got home. Jack Hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast
one mornin'. That all I heard him say. I recken he helped bury him but I
never heard em say.
"The plainest thing I recollect was a big drove of the Yankee
soldiers--some ridin', some walkin'--come up to the moster's house. He
was sorter old man. He was settin' in the gallery. He lived in a big log
house. He was readin' the paper. He throwed back his head and was dead.
Jes' scared to death. They said that was what the matter. In spite of
that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. All the
niggers scared to death not to go. There lay old Moster Jim stretched
dead in his chair. They was backed up to the smoke house door and the
horses makin' splinters of the door. It was three planks thick, crossed
one another and bradded together wid iron nails. They throwed the stuff
out an' say, 'Come an' git it. Take it to your houses.' They took it. It
was ours and we didn't want it wasted. Soon as they gone they got mighty
busy bringing it back. They built nother door an' put it up. Old Miss
Karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. They buried Moster
Jim at Water Valley, Mississippi. Miss Karoline broke up and went back
to Virginia. My grandma got her feather bed and died on it. Bout two
years after that the Yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down.
We all had good log houses down close together. They didn't bother us.
"I don't recollect the Ku Klux.
"Our folks never knowed when freedom come on. Some didn't believe they
was free at all. They went on farmin' wid what left. What they made they
got it. My folks purty nigh all died right there.
"I lives alone. I got two childern in Lulu, Mississippi. I had three
childern. My wife come here wid me. She dead.
"I had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. It went for debts. White
folks got it. I ain't made nuthin' since.
"I ain't no hand at votin' much. I railly never understood nuthin' bout
the run of politics.
"I hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get
by widout it. They take it, if they can, outen the old folks. I used to
didn't ask folks no diffrunce. I worked right long.
"I gets commodities wid this old woman. I come here to build her fires
and see after er. I don't git no check."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Wade Dudley, Moro, Ark.
Age: 73
"Bill Kidd and Miss Nancy Kidd owned my parents. I was born close to
Okalona, Chickasha County, Mississippi, about the last year of the Civil
War. Mr. Bill was Miss Nancy's boy. He was a nigger trader. They said
the overseers treated em pretty rough. They made em work in nearly a
run. When Miss Nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got
down pretty low. He married. Course I knowd em. I been through his
house. He had a fine house. My mother said she was born in Virginia. She
belong to Addison and Duley. Her mother come wid her. They sold them but
didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. She walked or come
in a ox wagon part of the way. She was with a _drove_. My father come
from North Carolina. His father was free. My father weighed out rations.
He was bright color. He worked round the house and then durin' the war
he run a refugee wagon. The Yankees got men, mules, meat from Mr. Bill
Kidd. My father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one
place to another to keep the Yankees from starving em all to death. My
mother had nine boys. They all belong to Mr. Miller. He died, his widow
married Mr. Owen then Mr. Owen sold them to Mrs. Kidd. That was where
they was freed. My parents stayed about Mrs. Kidd's till she died. They
worked for a third some of the time, I don't know how long. When I was a
boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the
government was going to give em something. I was ten years old when they
left Mrs. Kidd's. They thought the government was going to give em 40
acres and a mule or some kind of a start. I don't know where they got
the notion. My father voted down in Mississippi. I vote. I was working
in the car shops in St. Louis in 1923. Me and my wife both voted then. I
worked there two years. I come back to Arkansas where I could farm. The
land was better here than in Mississippi. I walked part of the way and
rode part of the way when I come here from Mississippi. I vote a
Republican ticket. Bout all I owns is two little pigs and a few
chickens. I did have a spring garden. We work in the field and make a
little to eat and wear.
"I find the present times is hard for old folks. Some young folks is
doing well I guess. They look like it. I made application twice for help
but I ain't never got on. I don't know what to think bout the young
folks. If they can get a living they have a good time. They don't worry
bout the future. A little money don't buy nothin' much now. It seem like
everything is to buy. Money is hard to get."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Isabella Duke
Little Rock, Arkansas (towards Benton)
Visiting in Hazen
Age: 62
[HW: Father Wore a Bonnet]
"My own dear mother was born at Faithville, Alabama. She belong to Sam
Norse. His wife was Mistress Mai Jane. They moved to Little Rock years
after my mother had come there. After seberal months they got trace of
one another. I seed two of the Norse girls and a boy. Master Norse was a
farmer in Alabama. Mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. She was a
field hand. She had a tough time during slavery.
"Pa said he had a good time. 'Bout all he ever done was put on old
mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. He built and
chunked up the fires. Old mistress raised him and he had to wear a
bonnet. He was real light. He said the worse whoopings he ever got was
when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. The hands
on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'Old mis' thinks
he's white sure as de worl'.' The hands on the place sent him to the big
house squalling many a time.
"After he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. He was part
French. He talked Frenchy and acted Frenchy. Every one who knowd him in
Little Rock called him Pa Frazier and called my mother Ma Frazier, but
she was dark. Pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he
didn't. She raised him about like her own boy.
"Mother had a hard time. Alex Norse bought my mother and a small brother
from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years
old. Her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. But
there had been an older boy sold to some folks near Norse's place before
she was sold. The brother that was two years old died. There were other
older children sold. My mother never saw her mother after she was sold.
She heard from her mother in 1910. She was then one hundred and one
years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. Her baby boy six
months old when mother was sold come to visit us. Mother wanted to go
back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. Mother had
good sight when she died in 1920. She was eighty-seven years old and
didn't have to wear glasses to see. Mother's father was on another
place. He was said to be part or all Indian.
"Mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. Her older
brother John lived on a place close to the Norse place. John told the
peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. But John was the one
got the goods mind out. The peddler reported it to Master Norse. He give
my mother a terrible beating. After that it come out on John. He had
stole the piece of cloth. John then took sick, lay sick a long time.
Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh John. She knowd when he died and
the day he was to be buried. Master Norse wouldn't let her go nigh
there, not even look like she wanted to cry.
"Mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. Then after
freedom she married my father. My parents named Clara and George
Frazier. She had twelve children. Pa was a cripple man. He was a
soldier. He said he never was shot and never shot no one. He was on a
horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the
shooting) all time. A horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army.
After that he limped. He drew a pension. I limps but I'm better as I got
grown. I'm marked after him. One of my children I named after him what
died was cripple like him. My little George died when he was ten. He was
marked at birth after his grandpa. I had ten, jus' got five living
children.
"My husband's father's father was in the Civil War. He didn't want to go
out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his
fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. His eye went out. He
hurt it too near the sight. He said he was sorry the rest of his life he
done that. He got a pension too. He was blind and always was sorry for
his disobedience. He said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then
as go into the battlefield.
"In some ways times is better. People are no better. Children jus'
growing up wild. Their education is of the head and not their heart and
hands.
"I was raised around Little Rock is about right. I gets a pension. I'm
sixty-two years old but I was down sick with nerve trouble several
years. I'm better now. I've been gradually coming on up for over a year
now.
"Mr. Ernest Harper of Little Rock takes out truckloads of black folks to
work on his place in the country every day. They can get work that way
if they can work."
Interviewer: Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: "Wash" Dukes
2217 E. Barraque
Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 83
"Yes'm, Wash Dukes is my name. My mother liked Washington so well, she
named me General Washington Dukes, but I said my name was Wash Dukes.
I'm the oldest one and I'm still here. Me? I was born in the state of
Georgia, Howson County. Perry, Georgia was my closest place. I was born
and raised on the Riggins place. I was born in 1855, you understand. The
first day of March is my birthday. We had it on the Bible, four boys and
four girls, and I was the oldest. House caught fire and burned up the
Bible, but I always say I'm as old as a hoss.
"I can't see as good as I used to--gettin' too old, I reckon.
"Old master and mistis was good to us.
"My mother plowed just like a man. Had a little black mule named Mollie
and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee.
"Old master was a long tall man with black hair.
"You know I was here cause I remember when Lincoln was elected
president. He run against George Washington.
"I seen the Yankees but I never talked to em. I was scared of em. Had
them muskets with a spear on the end. They give my uncle a hoss. When it
thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance--thought twas a
battle. And when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on
him. I say, 'Where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'Yankees give him
to me.'
"I know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. I guess they
shot his hoss. He had plenty money. I tried to get him to give me some
but he wouldn't give me a bit.
"At Oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. They was a
little stream run through it and the Rebels pizened it and killed a lot
of em.
"I was so crazy when I was young. I know one time mama sent me to town
to get a dress pattern--ten yards. She say, 'Now, Wash, when you go
across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin',
but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' But I say, 'I won't hear it.' I
went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'You done been to
town already?' I said, 'Yes, here's your dress pattern.' I went through
there ninety to nothin'. I went so fast my heart hurt me.
"In slave times I remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you
had to have a pass. Paddyrollers nearly got me one night. I was on a
hoss. They was shootin' at me. I know the hoss was just stretched out
and I was layin' right down on his neck.
"I stayed in Georgia till '74. I heared em say the cotton grow so big
here in Arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. I know when I
got here they was havin' that Brooks-Baxter war in Little Rock. I say,
'Press me into the war.' Man say, 'I ain't goin' press no boys.' I say,
'Give me a gun, I can kill em.' I wanted to fight.
"I tell you where I voted--colored folks don't vote now--it was when I
was on the Davis place. I voted once or twice since I been up here. I
called myself votin' Republican. I member since I been up here you know
they had a colored man in the courthouse. When they had a grand jury
they had em mixed, some colored and some white. I say now they ain't got
no privilege. If they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes.
"Up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they
got a 'tition between em.
"When I first went to farmin' I rented the land and the cotton was all
mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'.
"If I keep a livin', I'm goin' away from here. I'm goin' up north. I
won't go fore it gets warm though. I seen the snow knee deep in
Cleveland, Ohio.
"I was workin' up north once. I had a pretty good job in Detroit doin'
piece work, and doin' well, but I come back here cause my wife's mother
was too old to move. If I had stayed I might have done well.
"I own this property but I'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes.
"I got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o'
my mouth. None of em has ever give me a dime in their life. This younger
generation is goin' to nothin'. They got a good education. I got a boy
can write six different kinds a hands. Write enough to get in the pen. I
got him pardoned and he's in Philadelphia now. Never sends me a dime.
"I never went to any school but night school a little. I was the oldest
and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones.
"I preach sometimes. I'm not ordained--I'm a floor preacher, just stands
in front of the altar."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Lizzie Dunn, Clarendon, Arkansas
Age: 88
"I was born close to Hernando, Mississippi. My parents was Cassie
Gillahm and Ely Gillahm. My master was John Gillahm. I fell to John
Gillahm and Tim bought me from him so I could be with my mother. I was a
young baby. Bill Gillahm was our old master. He might had a big farm but
I was raised on a small farm. White folks raised me. They put me to
sewing young. I sewed with my fingers. I could sew mighty nice. My
mistress had a machine she screwed on a table.
"All the Gillahms went to Louisiana in war time and left the women with
youngest white master. They was trying to keep their slaves from
scattering. They were so sure that the War would be lost.
"The Yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt
them. They et them out time and ag'in. I seen the Yankees every day. I
seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. The sound was like eternity
had turned loose. Everything shook like earthquakes day and night. The
light was bright and red and smoke terrible.
"Mother cooked and we et from our master's table.
"We was all scared when the War was on and glad it was over. Mama died
at the close. Me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of
cotton in one year.
"When freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. We all cried.
Miss Mollie was next to our own mother. She raised us. We kept on their
place.
"I cooked for Joe Campbell at Forrest City. He had one boy I help to
raise. They think well of me."