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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| I. Inconsistent punctuation and capitalisation has been |
| silently corrected throughout the book. |
| |
| II. Clear spelling mistakes have been corrected however, |
| inconsistent language usage (such as 'day' and 'dey') has |
| been maintained. Inconsistent spelling of place names and |
| personal names has also been retained. A list of corrections |
| is included at the end of the book. |
| |
| III. Handwritten corrections have been incorporated within |
| the text. Exceptions are notes which were just question |
| marks or were followed by question marks: these have been |
| explicitly included as 'Handwritten Notes'. |
| |
| IV. The numbers at the start of each interview were stamped |
| into the original work and refer to the number of the |
| published interview in the context of the entire Slave |
| Narratives project. |
| |
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SLAVE NARRATIVES
_A Folk History of Slavery in the United States
from Interviews with Former Slaves_
TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY
THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
1936-1938
ASSEMBLED BY
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT
WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
_Illustrated with Photographs_
WASHINGTON 1941
VOLUME XVI
TEXAS NARRATIVES
PART 2
Prepared by the Federal Writers' Project of the Works Progress
Administration for the State of Texas
INFORMANTS
Easter, Willis 1
Edwards, Anderson and Minerva 5
Edwards, Ann J. 10
Edwards, Mary Kincheon 15
Elder, Lucinda 17
Ellis, John 21
Ezell, Lorenza 25
Farrow, Betty 33
Finnely, John 35
Ford, Sarah 41
Forward, Millie 47
Fowler, Louis 50
Franklin, Chris 55
Franks, Orelia Alexie 60
Frazier, Rosanna 63
Gibson, Priscilla 66
Gilbert, Gabriel 68
Gilmore, Mattie 71
Goodman, Andrew 74
Grant, Austin 81
Green, James 87
Green, O.W. 90
Green, Rosa 94
Green, William (Rev. Bill) 96
Grice, Pauline 98
Hadnot, Mandy 102
Hamilton, William 106
Harper, Pierce 109
Harrell, Molly 115
Hawthorne, Ann 118
Hayes, James 126
Haywood, Felix 130
Henderson, Phoebe 135
Hill, Albert 137
Hoard, Rosina 141
Holland, Tom 144
Holman, Eliza 148
Holt, Larnce 151
Homer, Bill 153
Hooper, Scott 157
Houston, Alice 159
Howard, Josephine 163
Hughes, Lizzie 166
Hursey, Moses 169
Hurt, Charley 172
Ingram, Wash 177
Jackson, Carter J. 180
Jackson, James 182
Jackson, Maggie 185
Jackson, Martin 187
Jackson, Nancy 193
Jackson, Richard 195
James, John 198
Johns, Thomas 201
Johns, Mrs. Thomas 205
Johnson, Gus 208
Johnson, Harry 212
Johnson, James D. 216
Johnson, Mary 219
Johnson, Mary Ellen 223
Johnson, Pauline,
and Boudreaux, Felice 225
Johnson, Spence 228
Jones, Harriet 231
Jones, Lewis 237
Jones, Liza 241
Jones, Lizzie 246
Jones, Toby 249
Kelly, Pinkie 253
Kilgore, Sam 255
Kinchlow, Ben 260
Kindred, Mary 285
King, Nancy 288
King, Silvia 290
ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing page
Anderson and Minerva Edwards 5
Ann J. Edwards 10
Mary Kincheon Edwards 15
John Ellis 21
Lorenza Ezell 25
Betty Farrow 33
Sarah Ford 41
Louis Fowler 50
Orelia Alexie Franks 60
Priscilla Gibson 66
Andrew Goodman 74
Austin Grant 81
James Green 87
O.W. Green and Granddaughter 90
William Green, (Rev. Bill) 96
Pauline Grice 98
Mandy Hadnot 102
William Hamilton 106
Felix Haywood 130
Phoebe Henderson 135
Albert Hill 137
Eliza Holman 148
Bill Homer 153
Scott Hooper 157
Alice Houston 159
Moses Hursey 169
Charley Hurt 172
Wash Ingram 177
Carter J. Jackson 180
James Jackson 182
Martin Jackson 187
Richard Jackson 195
John James 198
Gus Johnson 208
James D. Johnson 216
Mary Ellen Johnson 223
Pauline Johnson and Felice Boudreaux 225
Spence Johnson 228
Harriet Jones 231
Harriet Jones
with Daughter and Granddaughter 231
Lewis Jones 237
Lizzie Jones 246
Sam Kilgore 255
Ben Kinchlow 260
Mary Kindred 285
EX-SLAVE STORIES
(Texas)
420285
WILLIS EASTER, 85, was born near Nacogdoches, Texas. He does not
know the name of his first master. Frank Sparks brought Willis to
Bosqueville, Texas, when he was two years old. Willis believes
firmly in "conjuremen" and ghosts, and wears several charms for
protection against the former. He lives in Waco, Texas.
"I's birthed below Nacogdoches, and dey tells me it am on March 19th, in
1852. My mammy had some kind of paper what say dat. But I don't know my
master, 'cause when I's two he done give me to Marse Frank Sparks and he
brung me to Bosqueville. Dat sizeable place dem days. My mammy come
'bout a month after, 'cause Marse Frank, he say I's too much trouble
without my mammy.
"Mammy de bes' cook in de county and a master hand at spinnin' and
weavin'. She made her own dye. Walnut and elm makes red dye and walnut
brown color, and shumake makes black color. When you wants yallow color,
git cedar moss out de brake.
"All de lint was picked by hand on our place. It a slow job to git dat
lint out de cotton and I's gone to sleep many a night, settin' by de
fire, pickin' lint. In bad weather us sot by de fire and pick lint and
patch harness and shoes, or whittle out something, dishes and bowls and
troughs and traps and spoons.
"All us chillen weared lowel white duckin', homemake, jes' one garment.
It was de long shirt. You couldn't tell gals from boys on de yard.
"I's twelve when us am freed and for awhile us lived on Marse Bob
Wortham's place, on Chalk Bluff, on Horseshoe Bend. After de freedom
war, dat old Brazos River done change its course up 'bove de bend, and
move to de west.
"I marries Nancy Clark in 1879, but no chilluns. Dere plenty deer and
bears and wild turkeys and antelopes here den. Dey's sho' fine eatin'
and wish I could stick a tooth in one now. I's seed fifty antelope at a
waterin' hole.
"Dere plenty Indians, too. De Rangers had de time keepin' dem back. Dey
come in bright of de moon and steals and kills de stock. Dere a ferry
'cross de Brazos and Capt. Ross run it. He sho' fit dem Indians.
"Dem days everybody went hossback and de roads was jes' trails and
bridges was poles 'cross de creeks. One day us went to a weddin'. Dey
sot de dinner table out in de yard under a big tree and de table was a
big slab of a tree on legs. Dey had pewter plates and spoons and chiny
bowls and wooden dishes. Some de knives and forks was make out of bone.
Dey had beef and pork and turkey and some antelope.
"I knows 'bout ghostes. First, I tells you a funny story. A old man
named Josh, he purty old and notionate. Every evenin' he squat down
under a oak tree. Marse Smith, he slip up and hear Josh prayin, 'Oh,
Gawd, please take pore old Josh home with you.' Next day, Marse Smith
wrop heself in a sheet and git in de oak tree. Old Josh come 'long and
pray, 'Oh, Gawd, please come take pore old Josh home with you.' Marse
say from top de tree, 'Poor Josh, I's come to take you home with me.'
Old Josh, he riz up and seed dat white shape in de tree, and he yell,
'Oh, Lawd, not right now, I hasn't git forgive for all my sins.' Old
Josh, he jes' shakin' and he dusts out dere faster den a wink. Dat
broke up he prayin' under dat tree.
"I never studied cunjurin', but I knows dat scorripins and things dey
cunjures with am powerful medicine. Dey uses hair and fingernails and
tacks and dry insects and worms and bat wings and sech. Mammy allus tie
a leather string round de babies' necks when dey teethin', to make dem
have easy time. She used a dry frog or piece nutmeg, too.
"Mammy allus tell me to keep from bein' cunjure, I sing:
"'Keep 'way from me, hoodoo and witch,
Lend my path from de porehouse gate;
I pines for golden harps and sich,
Lawd, I'll jes' set down and wait.
Old Satan am a liar and cunjurer, too--
If you don't watch out, he'll cunjure you.'
"Dem cunjuremen sho' bad. Dey make you have pneumony and boils and bad
luck. I carries me a jack all de time. It em de charm wrop in red
flannel. Don't know what am in it. A bossman, he fix it for me.
"I sho' can find water for de well. I got a li'l tree limb what am like
a V. I driv de nail in de end of each branch and in de crotch. I takes
hold of each branch and iffen I walks over water in de ground, dat limb
gwine turn over in my hand till it points to de ground. Iffen money am
buried, you can find it de same way.
"Iffen you fills a shoe with salt and burns it, dat call luck to you. I
wears a dime on a string round de neck and one round de ankle. Dat to
keep any conjureman from sottin' de trick on ma. Dat dime be bright
iffen my friends am true. It sho' gwine git dark iffen dey does me
wrong.
"For to make a jack dat am sho' good, git snakeroot and sassafras and a
li'l lodestone and brimstone and asafoetida and resin and bluestone and
gum arabic and a pod or two red pepper. Put dis in de red flannel bag,
at midnight on de dark of de moon, and it sho' do de work.
"I knowed a ghost house, I sho' did. Everybody knowed it, a red brick
house in Waco, on Thirteenth and Washington St. Dey calls it de Bell
house. It sho' a fine, big house, but folks couldn't use it. De white
folks what owns it, dey gits one nigger and 'nother to stay round and
look after things. De white folks wants me to stay dere. I goes. Every
Friday night dere am a rustlin' sound, like murmur of treetops, all
through dat house. De shutters rattles--only dere ain't no shutters on
dem windows. Jes' plain as anything, I hears a chair, rockin', rockin'.
Footsteps, soft as de breath, you could hear dem plain. But I stays and
hunts and can't find nobody nor nothin' none of dem Friday nights.
"Den come de Friday night on de las' quarter de moon. Long 'bout
midnight, something lift me out de cot. I heared a li'l child sobbin',
and dat rocker git started, and de shutters dey rattle softlike, and dat
rustlin', mournin' sound all through dat house. I takes de lantern and
out in de hall I goes. Right by de foot de stairs I seed a woman, big as
life, but she was thin and I seed right through her. She jes' walk on
down dat hall and pay me no mind. She make de sound like de beatin' of
wings. I jes' froze. I couldn't move.
"Dat woman jes' melted out de window at de end of de hall, and I left
dat place!
420054
[Illustration: Anderson and Minerva Edwards]
ANDERSON AND MINERVA EDWARDS, a Negro Baptist preacher and his
wife, were slaves on adjoining plantations in Rusk County, Texas.
Anderson was born March 12, 1844, a slave of Major Matt Gaud, and
Minerva was born February 2, 1850, a slave of Major Flannigan. As a
boy Andrew would get a pass to visit his father, who belonged to
Major Flannigan, and there he met Minerva. They worked for their
masters until three years after the war, then moved to Harrison
County, married and reared sixteen children. Andrew and Minerva
live in a small but comfortable farmhouse two miles north of
Marshall. Minerva's memory is poor, and she added little to
Anderson's story.
"My father was Sandy Flannigan and he had run off from his first master
in Maryland, on the east shore, and come to Texas, and here a slave
buyer picked him up and sold chances on him. If they could find his
Maryland master he'd have to go back to him and if they couldn't the
chances was good. Wash Edwards in Panola County bought the chance on
him, but he run off from him, too, and come to Major Flannigan's in Rusk
County. Fin'ly Major Flannigan had to pay a good lot to get clear title
to him.
"My mammy was named Minerva and her master was Major Gaud, and I was
born there on his plantation in 1866. You can ask that tax man at
Marshall 'bout my age, 'cause he's fix my 'xemption papers since I'm
sixty. I had seven brothers and two sisters. There was Frank, Joe, Sandy
and Gene, Preston and William and Sarah and Delilah, and they all lived
to be old folks and the younges' jus' died last year. Folks was more
healthy when I growed up and I'm 93 now and ain't dead; fact is, I feels
right pert mos' the time.
"My missy named Mary and she and Massa Matt lived in a hewed log house
what am still standin' out there near Henderson. Our quarters was 'cross
the road and set all in a row. Massa own three fam'lies of slaves and
lots of hosses and sheep and cows and my father herded for him till he
was freed. The government run a big tan yard there on Major Gaud's place
and one my uncles was shoemaker. Jus' 'bout time of war, I was piddlin'
'round the tannery and a government man say to me, 'Boy, I'll give you
$1,000 for a drink of water,' and he did, but it was 'federate money
that got kilt, so it done me no good.
"Mammy was a weaver and made all the clothes and massa give us plenty to
eat; fact, he treated us kind-a like he own boys. Course he whipped us
when we had to have it, but not like I seed darkies whipped on other
place. The other niggers called us Major Gaud's free niggers and we
could hear 'em moanin' and cryin' round 'bout, when they was puttin' it
on 'em.
"I worked in the field from one year end to t'other and when we come in
at dusk we had to eat and be in bed by nine. Massa give us mos' anything
he had to eat, 'cept biscuits. That ash cake wasn't sich bad eatin' and
it was cooked by puttin' cornmeal batter in shucks and bakin' in the
ashes.
"We didn't work in the field Sunday but they have so much stock to tend
it kep' us busy. Missy was 'ligious and allus took us to church when she
could. When we prayed by ourse'ves we daren't let the white folks know
it and we turned a wash pot down to the ground to cotch the voice. We
prayed a lot to be free and the Lord done heered us. We didn't have no
song books and the Lord done give us our songs and when we sing them at
night it jus' whispering to nobody hear us. One went like this:
"'my knee bones am aching,
my body's rackin' with pain,
i 'lieve i'm a chile of god,
and this ain't my home,
'cause heaven's my aim.'
"Massa Gaud give big corn shuckin's and cotton pickin's and the women
cook up big dinners and massa give us some whiskey, and lots of times we
shucked all night. On Saturday nights we'd sing and dance and we made
our own instruments, which was gourd fiddles and quill flutes. Gen'rally
Christmas was like any other day, but I got Santa Claus twict in
slavery, 'cause massa give me a sack of molasses candy once and some
biscuits once and that was a whole lot to me then.
"The Vinsons and Frys what lived next to massa sold slaves and I seed
'em sold and chained together and druv off in herds by a white man on a
hoss. They'd sell babies 'way from the mammy and the Lord never did
'tend sich as that.
"I 'lieve in that hant business yet. I seed one when I was a boy, right
after mammy die. I woke up and seed it come in the door, and it had a
body and legs and tail and a face like a man and it walked to the
fireplace and lifted the lid off a skillet of 'taters what sot there and
came to my bed and raised up the cover and crawled in and I hollers so
loud it wakes everybody. I tell 'em I seed a ghost and they say I crazy,
but I guess I knows a hant when I sees one. Minerva there can tell you
'bout that haunted house we lived in near Marshall jus' after we's
married." (Minerva says, 'Deed, I can,' and here is her story:)
"The nex' year after Anderson and me marries we moves to a place that
had 'longed to white folks and the man was real mean and choked his
wife to death and he lef' the country and we moved in. We heered
peculiar noises by night and the niggers 'round there done told us it
was hanted but I didn't 'lieve 'em, but I do now. One night we seed the
woman what died come all 'round with a light in the hand and the
neighbors said that candle light the house all over and it look like it
on fire. She come ev'ry night and we left our crop and moved 'way from
there and ain't gone back yit to gather that crop. 'Fore we moved in
that place been empty since the woman die, 'cause nobody live there. One
night Charlie Williams, what lives in Marshall, and runs a store out by
the T. & P. Hospital git drunk and goes out there to sleep and while he
sleepin' that same woman come in and nigh choked him to death. Ain't
nobody ever live in that house since we is there."
Anderson then resumed his story: "I 'member when war starts and massa's
boy, George it was, saddles up ole Bob, his pony, and lef'. He stays six
months and when he rid up massa say, 'How's the war, George?' and massa
George say, 'It's Hell. Me and Bob has been runnin' Yankees ever since
us lef'.' 'Fore war massa didn't never say much 'bout slavery but when
he heered us free he cusses and say, 'Gawd never did 'tend to free
niggers,' and he cussed till he died. But he didn't tell us we's free
till a whole year after we was, but one day a bunch of Yankee soldiers
come ridin' up and massa and missy hid out. The soldiers walked into the
kitchen and mammy was churnin' and one of them kicks the churn over and
say, 'Git out, you's jus' as free as I is.' Then they ramsacked the
place and breaks out all the window lights and when they leaves it look
like a storm done hit that house. Massa come back from hidin' and that
when he starts on a cussin' spree what lasts as long as he lives.
"'bout four year after that war pappy took me to Harrison County and
I've lived here ever, since and Minerva's pappy moves from the Flannigan
place to a jinin' farm 'bout that time and sev'ral years later we was
married. It was at her house and she had a blue serge suit and I wore a
cutaway Prince Albert suit and they was 'bout 200 folks at our weddin'.
The nex' day they give us an infair and a big dinner. We raises sixteen
chillen to be growed and six of the boys is still livin' and workin' in
Marshall.
"I been preachin' the Gospel and farmin' since slavery time. I jined the
church mos' 83 year ago when I was Major Gaud's slave and they baptises
me in the spring branch clost to where I finds the Lord. When I starts
preachin' I couldn't read or write and had to preach what massa told me
and he say tell them niggers iffen they obeys the massa they goes to
Heaven but I knowed there's something better for them, but daren't tell
them 'cept on the sly. That I done lots. I tells 'em iffen they
keeps prayin' the Lord will set 'em free. But
since them days I's done studied some and I preached all over Panola and
Harrison County and I started the Edward's Chapel over there in Marshall
and pastored it till a few year ago. It's named for me.
"I don't preach much now, 'cause I can't hold out to walk far and I got
no other way to go. We has a $14.00 pension and lives on that and what
we can raise on the farm.
420219
[Illustration: Ann J. Edwards]
ANN J. EDWARDS, 81, was born a slave of John Cook, of Arlington
County, Virginia. He manumitted his slaves in 1857. Four years
later Ann was adopted by Richard H. Cain, a colored preacher. He
was elected to the 45th Congress in 1876, and remained in
Washington, D.C., until his death, in 1887. Ann married Jas. E.
Edwards, graduate of Howard College, a preacher. She now lives with
her granddaughter, Mary Foster, at 804 E. 4th St., Fort Worth,
Texas.
"I shall gladly relate the story of my life. I was born a slave on
January 27th, 1856, and my master's name was John J. Cook, who was a
resident of Arlington County, Virginia. He moved to Washington, D.C.,
when I was nearly two years old and immediately gave my parents their
freedom. They separated within a year after that, and my mother earned
our living, working as a hairdresser until her death in 1861. I was then
adopted by Richard H. Cain, a minister of the Gospel in the African
Methodist Church.
"I remember the beginning of the war well. The conditions made a deep
impression on my mind, and the atmosphere of Washington was charged with
excitement and expectations. There existed considerable need for
assistance to the Negroes who had escaped after the war began, and Rev.
Cain took a leading part in rendering aid to them. They came into the
city without clothes or money and no idea of how to secure employment. A
large number were placed on farms, some given employment as domestics
and still others mustered into the Federal Army.
"The city was one procession of men in blue and the air was full of
martial music. The fife and drum could be heard almost all the time, so
you may imagine what emotions a colored person of my age would
experience, especially as father's church was a center for congregating
the Negroes and advising them. That was a difficult task, because a
large majority were illiterate and ignorant.
"The year father was called to Charleston, South Carolina, to take
charge of a church, we became the center of considerable trouble. It was
right after the close of the war. In addition to his ministerial duties,
father managed a newspaper and became interested in politics. He was
elected a delegate to the Constitutional Convention of South Carolina in
1868. He was also elected a Republican member of the State Senate and
served from 1868 to 1872. Then he became the Republican candidate for
the United States Representative of the Charleston district, was elected
and served in the 45th Congress from March 4, 1877 to March 3, 1879.
"You can imagine the bitter conflict his candidacy brought on. A Negro
running for public office against a white person in a Southern state
that was strong for slavery does not seem the sensible thing for a man
to do, but he did and was, of course, successful. From the moment he
became delegate to the Constitutional Convention a guard was necessary
night and day to watch our home. He was compelled to have a bodyguard
wherever he went. We, his family, lived in constant fear at all times.
Many times mother pleaded with him to cease his activities, but her
pleadings were of no avail.
"In the beginning the resentment was not so pronounced. The white
people were shocked and dejected over the outcome of the war, but
gradually recovered. As they did, determination to establish order and
prosperity developed, and they resented the Negro taking part in public
affairs. On the other side of the cause was the excess and obstinate
actions of some ignorant Negroes, acting under ill advice. Father was
trying to prevent excesses being done by either side. He realized that
the slaves were unfit, at that time, to take their place as dependable
citizens, for the want of experience and wisdom, and that there would
have to be mental development and wisdom learned by his race, and that
such would only come by a gradual process.
"He entered the contest in the interest of his own race, primarily, but
as a whole, to do justice to all. No one could change his course. He
often stated, 'It is by the Divine will that I am in this battle.'
"The climax of the resentment against him took place when he was chosen
Republican candidate to the House of Representatives. He had to maintain
an armed guard at all times. Several times, despite these guards,
attempts were made to either burn the house or injure some member of the
family. If it had not been for the fact that the officials of the city
and county were afraid of the federal government, which gave aid in
protecting him, the mob would have succeeded in harming him.
"A day or two before election a mob gathered suddenly in front of the
house, and we all thought the end had come. Father sent us all upstairs,
and said he would, if necessary, give himself up to the mob and let them
satisfy their vengeance on him, to save the rest of us.
"While he was talking, mother noticed another body of men in the alley.
They were certainly sinister looking. Father told us to prepare for the
worst, saying, 'What they plan to do is for those in front to engage
the attention of ourselves and the guard, then those in the rear will
fire the place and force us out.' He was calm throughout it all, but
mother was greatly agitated and I was crying.
"The chief of the guard called father for a parley. The mob leader
demanded that father come out for a talk. Then the sheriff and deputies
appeared and he addressed the crowd of men, and told them if harm came
to us the city would be placed under martial law. The men then
dispersed, after some discussion among themselves.
"Father moved to Washington, took the oath of office and served until
March 4th, 1879. He then received the appointment of Bishop of the
African Methodist Church and served until his death in Washington, on
Jan. 18th, 1887.
"I began my schooling in Charleston and continued in Washington, where I
entered Howard College, but did not continue until graduation. I met
James E. Edwards, another student, who graduated in 1881, and my heart
overruled my desire for an education. We married and he entered the
ministry and was called to Dallas, Texas. He remained two years, then we
were called to Los Angeles. The Negroes there were privileged to enter
public eating establishments, but a cafe owner we patronized told us the
following:
"'After a time, I was compelled to refuse service to Negroes because
they abused the privilege. They came in in a boisterous manner and
crowded and shoved other patrons. It was due to a lack of wisdom and
education.'
"That was true. The white people tried to give the Negro his rights and
he abused the privilege because he was ignorant, a condition he could
not then help.
"My husband and I were called to Kansas City in 1896 and from there to
many other towns. Finally we came to Waco, and he had charge of a church
there when he died, in 1927. We had a pleasant married life and I tried
to do my duty as a pastor's wife and help elevate my race. We were
blessed with three children, and the only one now living is in Boston,
Massachusetts.
"I now reside with my granddaughter, Mary Foster, and this shack is the
best her husband can afford. In fact, we are living in destitute
circumstances. It is depressing to me, after having lived a life in a
comfortable home. It is the Lord's will and I must accept what is
provided. There is a purpose for all things. I shall soon go to meet my
Maker, with the satisfaction of having done my duty--first, to my race,
second, to mankind.
* * * * *
Note: The biography of Richard H. Cain is published in the
Biographical Directory of the American Congress.
420008
[Illustration: Mary Kincheon Edwards]
MARY KINCHEON EDWARDS says she was born on July 8, 1810, but she
has nothing to substantiate this claim. However, she is evidently
very old. Her memory is poor, but she knows she was reared by the
Kincheons, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and that she spoke French
when a child. The Kincheons gave her to Felix Vaughn, who brought
her to Texas before the Civil War. Mary lives with Beatrice
Watters, near Austin, Texas.
"When I's a li'l gal my name Mary Anne Kincheon and I's born on the
eighth of July, in 1810. I lives with de Kincheon family over in
Louisiana. Baton Rouge am de name of dat place. Dem Kincheons have
plenty chillen. O, dey have so many chillen!
"I don't 'member much 'bout dem days. I's done forgot so many things,
but I 'members how de stars fell and how scared us was. Dem stars got to
fallin' and was out 'fore dey hits de ground. I don't knew when dat was,
but I's good size den.
"I get give to Massa Felix Vaughn and he brung me to Texas. Dat long
'fore de war for freedom, but I don't know de year. De most work I done
for de Vaughns was wet nuss de baby son, what name Elijah. His mammy
jes' didn't have 'nough milk for him.
"Den I knit de socks and wash de clothes and sometimes I work in de
fields. I he'ped make de baskets for de cotton. De man git white-oak
wood and we lets it stay in de water for de night and de nex' mornin'
and it soft and us split it in strips for makin' of de baskets.
Everybody try see who could make de bes' basket.
"Us pick 'bout 100 pound cotton in one basket. I didn't mind pickin'
cotton, 'cause I never did have de backache. I pick two and three
hunnert pounds a day and one day I picked 400. Sometime de prize give by
massa to de slave what pick de most. De prize am a big cake or some
clothes. Pickin' cotton not so bad, 'cause us used to it and have de
fine time of it. I gits a dress one day and a pair shoes 'nother day for
pickin' most. I so fast I take two rows at de time.
"De women brung oil cloths to de fields, so dey make shady place for de
chillen to sleep, but dem what big 'nough has to pick. Sometime dey sing
"'O--ho, I's gwine home,
And cuss de old overseer.'
"Us have ash-hopper and uses drip-lye for make barrels soap and hominy.
De way us test de lye am drap de egg in it and if de egg float de lye
ready to put in de grease for makin' de soap. Us throwed greasy bones in
de lye and dat make de bes' soap. De lye eat de bones.
"Us boil wild sage and make tea and it smell good. It good for de fever
and chills. Us git slippery elm out de bottom and chew it. Some chew it
for bad feelin's and some jes' to be chewin'.
"Sometimes us go to dances and missy let me wear some her jewl'ry. I out
dances dem all and folks didn't know dat not my jewl'ry. After freedom I
stays with de Vaughns and marries, but I forgit he name. Dat 'fore
freedom. After freedom I marries Osburn Edwards and has five chillen.
Dey all dead now. I can still git 'round with dis old gnarly cane. Jes'
you git me good and scared and see how fast I can git 'round!"
420266
LUCINDA ELDER, 86, was born a slave of the Cardwell family, near
Concord Deport, Virginia. She came to Texas with Will Jones and his
wife, Miss Susie, in 1860, and was their nurse-girl until she
married Will Elder, in 1875. Lucinda lives at 1007 Edwards St.,
Houston, Texas.
"You chilluns all go 'way now, while I talks to dis gen'man. I 'clares
to goodness, chilluns nowadays ain't got no manners 'tall. 'Tain't like
when I was li'l, dey larnt you manners and you larnt to mind, too.
Nowadays you tell 'em to do somethin' and you is jes' wastin' you
breath, 'less you has a stick right handy. Dey is my great
grandchilluns, and dey sho' is spoilt. Maybe I ain't got no patience no
more, like I use to have, 'cause dey ain't so bad.
"Well, suh, you all wants me to tell you 'bout slave times, and I'll
tell you first dat I had mighty good white folks, and I hope dey is gone
up to Heaven. My mama 'long to Marse John Cardwell, what I hear was de
riches' man and had de bigges' plantation round Concord Depot. Dat am in
Campbell County, in Virginny. I don't 'member old missy's name, but she
mighty good to de slaves, jes' like Marse John was.
"Mama's name was Isabella and she was de cook and born right on de
plantation. Papa's name was Gibson, his first name was Jim, and he 'long
to Marse Gibson what had a plantation next to Marse John, and I knows
papa come to see mama on Wednesday and Sat'day nights.
"Lemme see, now, dere was six of us chilluns. My mem'ry ain't so good no
more, but Charley was oldes', den come Dolly and Jennie and Susie and me
and Laura. Law me, I guess old Dr. Bass, what was doctor for Marse John,
use to be right busy with us 'bout once a year for quite a spell.
"Dem times dey don't marry by no license. Dey takes a slave man and
woman from de same plantation and puts 'em together, or sometime a man
from 'nother plantation, like my papa and mama. Mamma say Marse John
give 'em a big supper in de big house and read out de Bible 'bout
obeyin' and workin' and den dey am married. Course, de nigger jes' a
slave and have to do what de white folks say, so dat way of marryin'
'bout good as any.
"But Marse John sho' was de good marse and we had plenty to eat and wear
and no one ever got whipped. Marse John say iffen he have a nigger what
oughta be whipped, he'd git rid of him quick, 'cause a bad nigger jes'
like a rotten 'tater in a sack of good ones--it spoil de others.
"Back dere in Virginny it sho' git cold in winter, but come September de
wood gang git busy cuttin' wood and haulin' it to de yard. Dey makes two
piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. When dey
git it all hauled it look like a big woodyard. While dey is haulin', de
women make quilts and dey is wool quilts. Course, dey ain't made out of
shearin' wool, but jes' as good. Marse John have lots of sheep and when
dey go through de briar patch de wool cotch on dem briars and in de fall
de women folks goes out and picks de wool off de briars jes' like you
picks cotton. Law me, I don't know nothin' 'bout makin' quilts out of
cotton till I comes to Texas.
"Course I never done no work, 'cause Marse John won't work no one till
dey is fifteen years old. Den dey works three hours a day and dat all.
Dey don't work full time till dey's eighteen. We was jes' same as free
niggers on our place. He gives each slave a piece of ground to make de
crop on and buys de stuff hisself. We growed snap beans and corn and
plant on a light moon, or turnips and onions we plant on de dark moon.
"When I gits old 'nough Marse John lets me take he daughter, Nancy Lee,
to school. It am twelve miles and de yard man hitches up old Bess to de
buggy and we gits in and no one in dat county no prouder dan what I was.
"Marse John lets us go visit other plantations and no pass, neither.
Iffen de patterroller stop us, we jes' say we 'long to Marse John and
dey don't bother us none. Iffen dey comes to our cabin from other
plantations, dey has to show de patterroller de pass, and iffen dey
slipped off and ain't got none, de patterroller sho' give a whippin'
den. But dey waits till dey off our place, 'cause Marse John won't 'low
no whippin' on our place by no one.
"Well, things was jes' 'bout de same all de time till jes' 'fore
freedom. Course, I hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de
Yanks, fightin' our folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. Den one dey
mamma took sick and she had hear talk and call me to de bed and say,
'Lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not work 'less we git paid for
it.' She sho' was right, 'cause Marse John calls all us to de cookhouse
and reads de freedom papers to us and tells us we is all free, but iffen
we wants to stay he'll give us land to make a crop and he'll feed us.
Now I tells you de truth, dey wasn't no one leaves, 'cause we all loves
Marse John.
"Den, jus' three weeks after freedom mama dies and dat how come me to
leave Marse John. You see, Marse Gibson what owns papa 'fore freedom,
was a good marse and when papa was sot free Marse Gibson gives him some
land to farm. 'Course, papa was gwine have us all with him, but when
mamma dies, Marse Gibson tell him Mr. Will Jones and Miss Susie, he
wife, want a nurse girl for de chilluns, so papa hires me out to 'em and
I want to say right now, dey jes' as good white folks as Marse John and
Old Missy, and sho' treated me good.
"Law me, I never won't forgit one day. Mr. Will say, 'Lucinda, we is
gwine drive you over to Appomatox and take de chilluns and you can come,
too.' Course, I was tickled mos' to pieces but he didn't tell what he
gwine for. You know what? To see a nigger hung. I gettin' long mighty
old now, but I won't never forgit dat. He had kilt a man, and I never
saw so many people 'fore, what dere to see him hang. I jes' shut my
eyes.
"Den Mr. Will he take me to de big tree what have all de bark strip off
it and de branches strip off, and say, 'Lucinda, dis de tree where Gen.
Lee surrendered.' I has put dese two hands right on dat tree, yes, suh,
I sho' has.
"Miss Susie say one day, 'Lucinda, how you like to go with us to Texas?'
Law me, I didn't know where Texas was at, or nothin', but I loved Mr.
Will and Miss Susie and de chilluns was all wrop up in me, so I say I'll
go. And dat how come I'm here, and I ain't never been back, and I ain't
see my own sisters and brother and papa since.
"We come to New Orleans on de train and takes de boat on de Gulf to
Galveston and den de train to Hempstead. Mr. Will farm at first and den
he and Miss Susie run de hotel, and I stays with dem till I gets married
to Will Elder in '75, and I lives with him till de good Lawd takes him
home.
"I has five chilluns but all dead now, 'ceptin' two. I done served de
Lawd now for 64 years and soon he's gwine call old Lucinda, but I'm
ready and I know I'll be better off when I die and go to Heaven, 'cause
I'm old and no 'count now.
420024
[Illustration: John Ellis]
JOHN ELLIS, was born June 26, 1852, a slave of the Ellis family in
Johnson County near Cleburne, Texas. He remained with his white
folks and was paid by the month for his labor for one year after
freedom, when his master died and his mistress returned to
Mississippi. He worked as a laborer for many years around Cleburne,
coming to San Angelo, Texas in 1928. He now lives alone and is very
active for his age.
John relates:
"My father and mother, John and Fannie Ellis, were sold in Springfield,
Missouri, to my marster, Parson Ellis, and taken away from all their
people and brought to Johnson County, Texas.
"My marster, he was a preacher and a good man. None of de slaves ever
have better white folks den we did.
"We had good beds and good food and dey teaches us to read and write
too. De buffalo and de antelope and de deer was mos' as thick as de
cattle now, and we was sent out after dem, so we would always have
plenty of fresh meat. We had hogs and cattle too. Any of dem what was
not marked was just as much ours as iffen we had raised dem, 'cause de
range was all free.
"Some of de fish we would catch out of dat Brazos River would be so big
dey would pull us in but finally we would manage to gits dem out. De
rabbits and de 'possum was plentiful too and wid de big garden what our
marster had for us all, we sho' had good to eat.
"I's done all kinds of work what it takes to run a fa'm. My boss he had
only fourteen slaves and what was called a small fa'm, compared wid de
big plantations. After our days work was done we would set up at night
and pick de seed out of de cotton so dey could spin it into thread. Den
we goes out and gits different kinds of bark and boils it to git dye for
de thread 'fore it was spinned into cloth. De chillun jes' have long
shirts and slips made out of dis home spun and we makes our shoes out of
rawhide, and Lawdy! Dey was so hard we would have to warm dem by de fire
and grease dem wid tallow to ever wear dem 'tall.
"We had good log huts and our boss had a bigger log house. We never did
work long into de night and long 'fore day like I hear tell some did. We
didn' have none of dem drivers and when we done anything very bad old
marster he whoop us a little but we never got hurt.
"I didn' see no slaves sold. Dat was done, I hear, but not so much in
Texas. I never did see no jails nor chains nor nothin' like dat either,
but I hears 'bout dem.
"We never worked Sat'days and de colored went to church wid de whites
and jine de church too, but dey never baptized dem so far as I knows.
"We had lots to eat and big times on Christmas, mos' as big as when de
white folks gits married. Umph, um! One of de gi'ls got married once and
she had such a long train on dat weddin' gown 'til me and my sister, we
have to walks along behind her and carry dat thing, all of us a-walkin'
on a strip of nice cloth from de carriage to de church. We sho' have de
cakes and all dem good eats at dem weddin' suppers.
"I nev'r hear tell of many colored weddin's. We jes' jumps over de broom
an' de bride she has to jump over it backwards and iffen she couldn'
jump it backwards she couldn't git married. Dat was sho' funny, seein'
dem colored gi'ls a tryin' to jump dat broom.
"Our boss, he tells us 'bout bein' free and he say he hire us by de
month and we stays dere a year and he dies, den ole miss she go back to
Mississippi and we jes' scatter 'round, some a workin' here and some a
workin' yonder, mos' times for our victuals and clothes. I couldn' tell
much difference myself 'cause I had good people to live wid and when it
was dat way de whites and de colored was better off de way I sees it
den dey is now, some of dem.
"I seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know jes' what's wrong wid me
but I never was use to doctors anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage
weed and sheep waste tea for de measles am all de doctoring we gits when
we was slaves and dat done jes' as well.
"My wife she been dead all dese years an' I jes' lives here alone.
"Chillun? No mam, I never had no chillun 'fore I was married an' I only
had twelve after I was married; yes mam, jes' nine boys and three girls,
but I prefers to live here by myself, 'cause I gits along alright."
420945
[Illustration: Lorenza Ezell]
LORENZA EZELL, Beaumont, Texas, Negro, was born in 1850 on the
plantation of Ned Lipscomb, in Spartanburg County, South Carolina.
Lorenza is above the average in intelligence and remembers many
incidents of slavery and Reconstruction days. He came to Brenham,
Texas, in 1882, and several years later moved to Beaumont, where he
lives in a little shack almost hidden by vines and trees.
"Us plantation was jes' east from Pacolet Station on Thicketty Creek, in
Spartanburg County, in South Carolina. Dat near Little and Big Pacolet
Rivers on de route to Limestone Springs, and it jes' a ordinary
plantation with de main crops cotton and wheat.
"I 'long to de Lipscombs and my mama, Maria Ezell, she 'long to 'em,
too. Old Ned Lipscomb was 'mongst de oldest citizens of dat county. I's
born dere on July 29th, in 1850 and I be 87 year old dis year. Levi
Ezell, he my daddy, and he 'long to Landrum Ezell, a Baptist preacher.
Dat young massa and de old massa, John Ezell, was de first Baptist
preacher I ever heered of. He have three sons, Landrum and Judson and
Bryson. Bryson have gif' for business and was right smart of a orator.
"Dey's fourteen niggers on de Lipscomb place. Dey's seven of us chillen,
my mamma, three uncle and three aunt and one man what wasn't no kin to
us. I was oldest of de chillen, and dey called Sallie and Carrie and
Alice and Jabus and Coy and LaFate and Rufus and Nelson.
"Old Ned Lipscomb was one de best massa in de whole county. You know dem
old patterrollers, dey call us 'Old Ned's free niggers,' and sho' hate
us. Dey cruel to us, 'cause dey think us have too good a massa. One time
dey cotch my uncle and beat him most to death.
"Us go to work at daylight, but us wasn't 'bused. Other massas used to
blow de horn or ring de bell, but massa, he never use de horn or de
whip. All de man folks was 'lowed raise a garden patch with tobaccy or
cotton for to sell in de market. Wasn't many massas what 'lowed dere
niggers have patches and some didn't even feed 'em enough. Dat's why dey
have to git out and hustle at night to git food for dem to eat.
"De old massa, he 'sisted us go to church. De Baptist church have a shed
built behind de pulpit for cullud folks, with de dirt floor and split
log seat for de women folks, but most de men folks stands or kneels on
de floor. Dey used to call dat de coop. De white preacher back to us,
but iffen he want to he turn 'round and talk to us awhile. Us mess up
songs, 'cause us couldn't read or write. I 'member dis one:
'De rough, rocky road what Moses done travel,
I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd;
It's a mighty rocky road but I mos' done travel,
And I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd.'
"Us sing 'Sweet Chariot,' but us didn't sing it like dese days. Us sing:
'Swing low, sweet chariot,
Freely let me into rest,
I don't want to stay here no longer;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
When Gabriel make he las' alarm
I wants to be rollin' in Jesus arm,
'Cause I don't want to stay here no longer.'
Us sing 'nother song what de Yankees take dat tune and make a hymm out
of it. Sherman army sung it, too. We have it like dis:
'Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
But us souls go marchin' home.'
"Befo' de war I jes' big 'nough to drap corn and tote water. When de
little white chillen go to school 'bout half mile, I wait till noon and
run all de way up to de school to run base when dey play at noon. Dey
sev'ral young Lipscombs, dere Smith and Bill and John and Nathan, and de
oldest son, Elias.
"In dem days cullud people jes' like mules and hosses. Dey didn't have
no last name. My mamma call me after my daddy's massa, Ezell. Mamma was
de good woman and I 'member her more dan once rockin' de little cradle
and singin' to de baby. Dis what she sing:
"Milk in de dairy nine days old,
Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Frogs and skeeters gittin' mighty bol!
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
(Chorus)
Keemo, kimo, darro, wharro,
With me hi, me ho;
In come Sally singin'
Sometime penny winkle,
Lingtum nip cat,
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Dere a frog live in a pool,
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Sure he was de bigges' fool,
Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
For he could dance and he could sing
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
And make de woods aroun' him ring
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?'
"Old massa didn't hold with de way some mean massas treat dey niggers.
Dere a place on our plantation what us call 'De old meadow.' It was
common for runaway niggers to have place 'long de way to hide and res'
when dey run off from mean massa. Massa used to give 'em somethin' to
eat when dey hide dere. I saw dat place operated, though it wasn't
knowed by dat den, but long time after I finds out dey call it part of
de 'Underground railroad.' Dey was stops like dat all de way up to de
north.
"We have went down to Columbia when I 'bout 11 year old and dat where de
first gun fired. Us rush back home, but I could say I heered de first
guns of de war shot, at Fort Sumter.
"When Gen'ral Sherman come 'cross de Savannah River in South Carolina,
some of he sojers come right 'cross us plantation. All de neighbors have
brung dey cotton and stack it in de thicket on de Lipscomb place.
Sherman men find it and sot it on fire. Dat cotton stack was big as a
little courthouse and it took two months' burnin'.
"My old massa run off and stay in de woods a whole week when Sherman men
come through. He didn't need to worry, 'cause us took care of
everythin'. Dey a funny song us make up 'bout him runnin' off in de
woods. I know it was make up, 'cause my uncle have a hand in it. It went
like dis:
'White folks, have you seed old massa
Up de road, with he mustache on?
He pick up he hat and he leave real sudden
And I 'lieve he's up and gone.
(Chorus)
'Old massa run away
And us darkies stay at home.
It mus' be now dat Kingdom's comin'
And de year of Jubilee.
'He look up de river and he seed dat smoke
Where de Lincoln gunboats lay.
He big 'nuff and he old 'nuff and he orter know better,
But he gone and run away.
'Now dat overseer want to give trouble
And trot us 'round a spell,
But we lock him up in de smokehouse cellar,
With de key done throwed in de well.'
"Right after dat I start to be boy what run mail from camp to camp for
de sojers. One time I capture by a bunch of deserters what was hidin' in
de woods 'long Pacolet River. Dey didn't hurt me, though, but dey mos'
scare me to death. Dey parole me and turn me loose.
"All four my young massas go to de war, all but Elias. He too old.
Smith, he kilt at Manassas Junction. Nathan he git he finger shot at de
first round at Fort Sumter. But when Billy was wounded at Howard Gap in
North Carolina and dey brung him home with he jaw split open, I so mad I
could have kilt all de Yankees. I say I be happy iffen I could kill me
jes' one Yankee. I hated dem 'cause dey hurt my white people. Billy was
disfigure awful when he jaw split and he teeth all shine through he
cheek.
"After war was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he
'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. Us all stay. Den us
select us homes and move to it. Us folks move to Sam Littlejohn's, north
of Thickettty Creek, where us stay two year. Den us move back to Billy
Lipscomb, de young massa, and stay dere two more year. I's right smart
good banjo picker in dem day. I kin 'member one dem songs jes' as good
today as when I pick it. Dat was:
'Early in de mornin'
Don't you hear de dogs a-barkin'?
Bow, wow, wow!
(Chorus)
'Hush, hush, boys
Don't make a noise,
Massa's fast a-sleepin'.
Run to de barnyard
Wake up de boys
Let's have banjo pickin.'.
'Early in de mornin'
Don't you hear dem roosters crowin'?
Cock-a-doodle-do.
"I come in contac' with de Klu Klux. Us lef' de plantation in '65 or '66
and by '68 us was havin' sich a awful time with de Klu Klux. First time
dey come to my mamma's house at midnight and claim dey sojers done come
back from de dead. Dey all dress up in sheets and make up like spirit.
Dey groan 'round and say dey been kilt wrongly and come back for
justice. One man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up 'bout
eighteen feet high all of a sudden. Another say he so thirsty he ain't
have no water since he been kilt at Manassas Junction. He ask for water
and he jes' kept pourin' it in. Us think he sho' must be a spirit to
drink dat much water. Course he not drinkin' it, he pourin' it in a bag
under he sheet. My mama never did take up no truck with spirits so she
knowed it jes' a man. Dey tell us what dey gwine do iffen we don't all
go back to us massas and us all 'grees and den dey all dis'pear.
"Den us move to New Prospect on de Pacolet River, on de Perry Clemmons'
place. Dat in de upper edge of de county and dat where de second swarm
of de Klu Klux come out. Dey claim dey gwine kill everybody what am
Repub'can. My daddy charge with bein' a leader 'mongst de niggers. He
make speech and 'struct de niggers how to vote for Grant's first
'lection. De Klu Klux want to whip him and he have to sleep in a holler
log every night.