mother and two boys. He brought us from Mississippi, but I don' 'member
what part they come from. We settled down here at Gonzeles, on Peach
Creek, and he farmed one year there. Then he moved out here to Medina
County, right here on Hondo Creek. I dont 'member how many acres he had,
but he had a big farm. He had at least eight whole slave families. He
sold 'em when he wanted money.
"My mother's name was Mary Harper and my father's name was Ike Harper,
and they belonged to the Harpers, too. You know, after they was turned
loose they had to name themselves. My father named himself Grant and his
brother named himself Glover, and my grandfather was Filmore. They had
some kin' of law you had to git away from your boss' name so they named
themselves.
"Our house we had to live in, I tell you we had a tough affair, a picket
concern, you might say no house a-tall. The beds was one of your own
make; if you knowed how to make one, you had one, but of course the
chillen slept on the floor, patched up some way.
"We went barefooted in the summer and winter, too. You had to prepare
that for yourself, and if you didn' have head enough to prepare for
yourself, you went without. I don' see how they done as well as they
done, 'cause some winters was awful cold, but I always said the Lawd was
with 'em.
[Handwritten Note: 'used']
"We didn' have no little garden, we never had no time to work no garden.
When you could see to work, you was workin' for him. Ho! You didn' know
what money was. He never paid you anything, you never got to see none.
Some of the Germans would give the old ones a little piece of money, but
the chillen, pshaw! They never got to see nothin.'
"He was a pretty good boss. You didn' have to work Sunday and part of
Saturday and in the evenin', you had that. He fed us good. Sometimes, if
you was crowded, you had to work all day Saturday. But usually he give
you that, so you could wash and weave cloth or such. He had cullud women
there he kep' all the time to weave and spin. They kep' cloth made.
"On Saturday nights, we jes' knocked 'round the place. Christmas? I don'
know as I was ever home Christmas. My boss kep' me hired out. The slaves
never had no Christmas presents I know of. And big dinners, I never was
at nary one. They didn' give us nothin, I tell you, but a grubbin' hoe
and axe and the whip. They had co'n shuckin's in them days and co'n
shellin's, too. We would shuck so many days and so many days to shell it
up.
"We would shoot marbles when we was little. It was all the game the
niggers ever knowed, was shootin' marbles.
"After work at nights there wasn't much settin' 'round; you'd fall into
bed and go to sleep. On Saturday night they didn' git together, they
would jes' sing at their own houses. Oh, yes'm, I 'member 'em singin'
'Run, nigger, run,' but it's too far back for me to 'member those other
songs. They would raise up a song when they was pickin' cotton, but I
don' 'member much about those songs.
"My old boss, I'm boun' to give him praise, he treated his niggers
right. He made 'em work, though, and he whipped 'em, too. But he fed
good, too. We had rabbits and possums once in awhile. Hardly ever any
game, but you might git a deer sometimes.
"Let 'em ketch you with a gun or a piece of paper with writin' on it and
he'd whip you like everything. Some of the slaves, if they ever did git
a piece of paper, they would keep it and learn a few words. But they
didn' want you to know nothin', that's what, nothin' but work. You would
think they was goin' to kill you, he would whip you so if he caught you
with a piece of paper. You couldn' have nothin' but a pick and axe and
grubbin' hoe.
"We never got to play none. Our boss hired us out lots of times. I don'
know what he got for us. We farmed, cut wood, grubbed, anything. I
herded sheep and I picked cotton.
"We got up early, you betcha. You would be out there by time you could
see and you quit when it was dark. They tasked us. They would give us
200 or 300 pounds of cotton to bring in and you would git it, and if you
didn' git it, you better, or you would git it tomorrow, or your back
would git it. Or you'd git it from someone else, maybe steal it from
their sacks.
"My grandfather, he would tell us things, to keep the whip off our
backs. He would say, 'Chillen, work, work and work hard. You know how
you hate to be whipped, so work hard!' And of course we chillen tried,
but of course we would git careless sometimes.
"The master had a 'black snake'--some called it a 'bull whip,' and he
knew how to use it. He whipped, but I don' 'member now whether he
brought any blood on me, but he cut the blood outta the grown ones. He
didn' tie 'em, he always had a whippin' block or log to make 'em lay
down on. They called 500 licks a 'light breshin,' and right on your
naked back, too. They said your clothes wouldn' grow but your hide
would. From what I heered say, if you run away, then was when they give
you a whippin,' prob'bly 1500 or 2000 licks. They'd shore tie you down
then, 'cause you couldn' stan' it. Then you'd have to work on top of all
that, with your shirt stickin' to your back.
"The overseer woke us up. Sometimes he had a kin' of horn to blow, and
when you heered that horn, you'd better git up. He would give you a good
whippin' iffen he had to come and wake you up. He was the meanest one on
the place, worse'n the boss man.
"The boss man had a nice rock house, and the women didn' work at all.
"I never did see any slaves auctioned off, but I heered of it. My boss
he would take 'em there and sell 'em.
"They had a church this side of New Fountain and the boss man 'lowed us
to go on Sunday. If any of the slaves did join, they didn' baptize them,
as I know of.
"When one of the slaves would die, they would bury 'em on the land
there. Reg'lar little cemetery there. Oh, yes, they would have doctors
for 'em. If anybody died, they would tell some of the other slaves to
dig the grave and take 'em out there and bury 'em. They jes' put 'em in
a box, no preachin' or nothin.' But, of course, if it was Sunday the
slaves would follow out there and sing. No, if they didn' die on Sunday,
you couldn' go; you went to that field.
"If you wanted to go to any other plantation you had to git a pass to go
over there, and if you didn' and got caught, you got one of the worst
whippins'. If things happened and they wanted to tell 'em on other
plantations, they would slip out at night and tell 'em.
"We never heered much about the fightin' or how it was goin.' When the
war finally was over, our old boss called us all up and had us to stand
in abreast, and he stood on the gallery and he read the verdict to 'em,
and said, 'Now, you can jes' work on if you want to, and I'll treat you
jes' like I always did.' I guess when he said that they knew what he
meant. The' wasn't but one family left with 'im. They stayed about two
years. But the rest was just like birds, they jes' flew.
"I went with my father and he hired me out for two years, to a man named
Riley, over on the Seco. I did most everythin', worked the field and was
house rustler, too. But I had a good time there. After I left 'im, I
came to D'Hanis. I worked on a church house they was buildin'. Then I
went back to my father and worked for him a long time, freightin' cotton
to Eagle Pass. I used horses and mules and hauled cotton and flour and
whiskey and things like that.
"I met my wife down on Black Creek, and I freighted two years after we
was married. We got married so long ago, but in them days anything would
do. You see, these days they are so proud, but we was glad to have
anything. I had a black suit to be married in, and a pretty long shirt,
and I wore boots. She wore a white dress, but in them days they didn'
have black shoes. Yes'm, they had a dance, down here on Black Creek.
Danced half the night at her house and two men played the fiddle. Eat?
We had everythin' to eat, a barbecued calf and a hog, too, and all kinds
of cakes and pies. Drink? Why, the men had whiskey to drink and the
women drank coffee. We married about 7 or 8 in the evenin' at her house.
My wife's name was Sarah Ann Brackins.
"Did I see a ghost? Well, over yonder on the creek was a ghost. It was a
moonlight night and it passed right by me and it never had no head on it
a-tall. It almost breshed me. It kep' walkin' right by side of me. I
shore saw it and I run like a good fellow. Lots of 'em could see
wonnurful sights then and I heered lots of noises, but that's the only
ghost I ever seen.
"No, I never knowed nothing 'bout charms. I've seen 'em have a rabbit
heel or coon heel for good luck. I seen a woman one time that was
tricked, or what I'd call poisoned. A place on her let, it was jes' the
shape of these little old striped lizards. It was somethin' they called
'trickin it,' and a person that knowed to trick you would put it there
to make you suffer the balance of your days. It would go 'round your leg
clear to the hip and be between the skin and the flesh. They called it
the devil's work."
420118
[Illustration: James Green]
JAMES GREEN is half American Indian and half Negro. He was born a
slave to John Williams, of Petersburg, Va., became a "free boy",
then was kidnapped and sold in a Virginia slave market to a Texas
ranchman. He now lives at 323 N. Olive St., San Antonio, Texas.
"I never knowed my age till after de war, when I's set free de second
time, and then marster gits out a big book and it shows I's 25 year old.
It shows I's 12 when I is bought and $800 is paid for me. That $800 was
stolen money, 'cause I was kidnapped and dis is how it come:
"My mammy was owned by John Williams in Petersburg, in Virginia, and I
come born to her on dat plantation. Den my father set 'bout to git me
free, 'cause he a full-blooded Indian and done some big favor for a big
man high up in de courts, and he gits me set free, and den Marster
Williams laughs and calls me 'free boy.'
"Then, one day along come a Friday and that a unlucky star day and I
playin' round de house and Marster Williams come up and say, 'Delia,
will you 'low Jim walk down de street with me?' My mammy say, 'All
right, Jim, you be a good boy,' and dat de las' time I ever heared her
speak, or ever see her. We walks down whar de houses grows close
together and pretty soon comes to de slave market. I ain't seed it
'fore, but when Marster Williams says, 'Git up on de block,' I got a
funny feelin', and I knows what has happened. I's sold to Marster John
Pinchback and he had de St. Vitus dance and he likes to make he niggers
suffer to make up for his squirmin' and twistin' and he the bigges'
debbil on earth.
"We leaves right away for Texas and goes to marster's ranch in Columbus.
It was owned by him and a man call Wright, and when we gits there I's
put to work without nothin' to eat. Dat night I makes up my mind to run
away but de nex' day dey takes me and de other niggers to look at de
dogs and chooses me to train de dogs with. I's told I had to play I
runnin' away and to run five mile in any way and then climb a tree. One
of de niggers tells me kind of nice to climb as high in dat tree as I
could if I didn't want my body tore off my legs. So I runs a good five
miles and climbs up in de tree whar de branches is gettin' small.
"I sits dere a long time and den sees de dogs comin'. When dey gits
under de tree dey sees me and starts barkin'. After dat I never got
thinkin' of runnin' away.
"Time goes on and de war come along, but everything goes on like it did.
Some niggers dies, but more was born, 'cause old Pinchback sees to dat.
He breeds niggers as quick as he can, 'cause dat money for him. No one
had no say who he have for wife. But de nigger husbands wasn't de only
ones dat keeps up havin' chillen, 'cause de marsters and de drivers
takes all de nigger gals dey wants. Den de chillen was brown and I seed
one clear white one, but dey slaves jus' de same.
"De end of dat war comes and old Pinchback says, 'You niggers all come
to de big house in de mornin'. He tells us we is free and he opens his
book and gives us all a name and tells us whar we comes from and how old
we is, and says he pay us 40 cents a day to stay with him. I stays 'bout
a year and dere's no big change. De same houses and some got whipped but
nobody got nailed to a tree by de ears, like dey used to. Finally old
Pinchback dies and when he buried de lightnin' come and split de grave
and de coffin wide open.
"Well, time goes on some more and den Lizzie and me, we gits together
and we marries reg'lar with a real weddin'. We's been together a long
time and we is happy.
"I 'members a old song like dis:
"'Old marster eats beef and sucks on de bone,
And give us de gristle--
To make, to make, to make, to make,
To make de nigger whistle.'
"Dat all de song I 'member from dose old days, 'ceptin' one more:
"'I goes to church in early morn,
De birds just a-sittin' on de tree--
Sometimes my clothes gits very much worn--
'Cause I wears 'em out at de knee.
"'I sings and shouts with all my might,
To drive away de cold--
And de bells keep ringin' in gospel light,
Till de story of de Lamb am told.'"
420064
[Illustration: O.W. Green and Granddaughter]
O.W. Green, son of Frank and of Mary Ann Marks, was born in slavery
at Bradly Co., Arkansas, June 26, 1859. His owners, the Mobley
family, owned a large plantation and two or three thousand slaves.
Jack Mobley, Green's young master, was killed in the Civil War, and
Green became one of the "orphan chillen." When the Ku Klux Klan
became active, the "orphan chillen" were taken to Little Rock, Ark.
Later on, Green moved to Del Rio, Texas, where he now lives.
"I was bo'ned in Arkansas. Frank Marks was my father and Mary Ann Marks
my mother. She was bo'n on the plantation. I had two brothers.
"I don' 'member de quarters, but dey mus' of had plenty, 'cause dey was
two, three thousand slaves on de plantation. All my kin people belonged
to Massa Mobley. My grandfather was a millman and dey had one de bigges'
grist mills in de country.
"Our Massa was good and we had plenty for to eat. Dere was no jail for
slaves on our place but not far from dere was a jail.
"De Ku Klux Klan made everything pretty squally, so dey taken de orphan
chillen to Little Rock and kep' 'em two, three years. Dere was lots of
slaves in dat country 'round Rob Roy and Free Nigger Bend. Old
Churchill, who used to be governor, had a plantation in dere.
"When I was nine years ol' dey had de Bruce and Baxter revolution. 'Twas
more runnin' dan fightin'. Bruce was 'lected for governor but Baxter
said he'd be governor if he had to run Brooks into de sea.
"My young Massa, Jack Mobley, was killed in de war, is how I come to be
one of de orphan chillen.
"While us orphan chillen was at Little Rock dere come a terrible
soreness of de eyes. I heard tell 'twas caused from de cholera. Every
little child had to take turns about sittin' by de babies or totin'
them. I was so blind, my eyes was so sore, I couldn't see. The doctor's
wife was working with us. She was tryin' to figure up a cure for our
sore eyes, first using one remedy and den another. An old herb doctor
told her about a herb he had used on de plantations to cure de slaves'
sore eyes. Dey boiled de herb and put hit on our eyes, on a white cloth.
De doctor's wife had a little boy about my age. He would play with me,
and thought I was about hit. He would lead me around, then he would run
off and leave me and see if I could see. One day between 'leven and
twelve o'clock--I never will fergit hit--he taken me down to de mess
room. De lady was not quite ready to dress my eyes. She told me to go on
and come back in a little while. When I got outside I tore dat old rag
off of my eyes and throwed hit down. I told the little boy, 'O, I can
see you!' He grabbed me by de arm and ran yellin' to his mammy, 'Mama,
he can see! Mama, Owen can see!' I neva will fo'git dat word. Dey were
all in so a rejoicin', excitable way. I was de first one had his eyes
cured. Dey sent de lady to New York and she made plenty of money from
her remedy.
"Things sure was turrible durin' de war. Dey just driv us in front of de
soldiers. Dere was lots of cholera. We was just bedded together lak
hogs. The Ku Klux Klan come behind de soldiers, killin' and robbin'.
"After two or three years in de camp with de orphans, my kin found me
and took me home.
"My grandfather and uncle was in de fightin'. My grandfather was a wagon
man. De las' trip he made, he come home bringin' a load of dead soldiers
to be buried. My grandfather told de people all about de war. He said
hit sure was terrible.
"When de war was over de people jus' shouted for joy. De men and women
jus' shouted for joy. 'Twas only because of de prayers of de cullud
people, dey was freed, and de Lawd worked through Lincoln.
"My old masta was a doctor and a surgeon. He trained my grandmother; she
worked under him thirty-seven years as a nurse. When old masta wanted
grandmother to go on a special case he would whip her so she wouldn't
tell none of his secrets. Grandmother used herbs fo' medicine--black
snake root, sasparilla, blackberry briar roots--and nearly all de
young'uns she fooled with she save from diarrhea.
"My old masta was good, but when he found you shoutin' he burnt your
hand. My grandmother said he burnt her hand several times. Masta
wouldn't let de cullud folks have meetin', but dey would go out in de
woods in secret to pray and preach and shout.
"I jist picked up enough readin' to read my bible and scratch my name. I
went to school one mo'ning and didn't git along wid de teacher so I
didn't go no mo'.
"I 'member my folks had big times come Christmas. Dey never did work on
Sundays, jist set around and rest. Dey never worked in bad weather. Dey
never did go to de field till seven o'clock.
"I married in 1919. I have two step-daughters and one step-son. My
step-son lives in San Antonio. I have six step-grandchillen. I was a
member of de Baptist church befo' you was bo'n, lady.
420394
Dibble, Fred
Beaumont, Jefferson Co. Dist. #3
ROSA GREEN, 85 years old, was born at Ketchi, Louisiana, but as
soon as she was old enough became a housegirl on the plantation of
Major "Bob" Hollingsworth at Mansfield, Louisiana. To the best of
her knowledge, she was about 13 when the "freedom papers" were
read. She had had 13 children by her two husbands, both deceased,
and lives with her youngest daughter in Beaumont. Their one-room,
unpainted house is one of a dozen unprepossessing structures
bordering an alleyway leading off Pine Street. Rosa, a spry little
figure, crowned with short, snow-white pigtails extending in
various directions, spends most of her time tending her small
flowerbeds and vegetable garden. She is talkative and her memory
seems quite active.
"When de w'ite folks read de freedom paper I was 13 year old. I jes'
lean up agin de porch, 'cause I didn' know den what it was all about. I
war'nt bo'n in Texas, I was bo'n in Ketchi, but I was rais' in Manfiel'.
Law, yes, I 'member de fight at Manfiel'. My ol' marster tuk all he
niggers and lef' at night. Lef' us little ones; say de Yankees could git
us effen day wan' to, 'cause we no good no way, and I wouldn' care if
dey did git us. Dey put us in a sugar hogshead and give us a spoon to
scrape out de sugar. 'Bout de ol' plantation, I work a little w'ile in
de fiel'. I didn' know den like I see now. Dese chillen bo'n wid mo'
sense now dan we was den. Dey was 'bout ten cullud folks on de place. My
ol' marster name Bob Hollingsworth, but dey call 'im Major, 'cause he
was a major in de war, not de las' one, but de one way back yonder. Ol'
missus work de little ones roun' de house and under de house and kep'
ev'yt'ing clean as yo' han'. The ol' marster I thought was de meanes'
man de Lawd ever made. Look like he cuss ev'y time he open he mouth. De
neighbor w'ite folks, some good, some bad. My work was cleanin' up 'roun
de house and nussin' de chillen. Only times I went to church when day
tuk us long to min' de chillen. When de battle of Manfiel' was, we didn'
git out much. When de Yankees was comin' to Gran' Cane, my w'ite folks
dig a big pit and put der meat and flour and all in it and cover it over
wid dirt and put wagon loads of pine straw over it. It was 'bout five or
six mile to Manfield and 'bout 49 or 50 mile to Shreveport. My ol'
marster tuk all he niggers and went off somweres, dey called it Texas,
but I didn' know where. De ol'er ones farm. Dey rais' ev'yt'ing dey
could put in de groun', dey did. My pa was kirrige(carriage) driver for
my ol' missus. He was boss nigger fo' de cullud men when marster wan't
right dere. My father jis' stay dere. See, dey free our people in July.
Dat leave de whole crop stanin' dere in de fiel'. Dey had to stay dere
and take care of de crop. After dat dey commence makin' contraks and
bargins. I was 22 years ol' when I marry de fus' time. Both my husban's
dead. I had 13 chillen in all.
"De fus' time I went to church, missus tuk me and another gal to min' de
chillen. I never heared a preacher befo'. I 'member how de preacher word
de hymn:
'Come, ye sinners, po' and needy.
Weak and wounded, sick and so'.'
"I couldn' understan' it, but now when I look down on it I sees it now.
I bleeve us been here goin' on fo' year' right yere in dis house."
420078
[Illustration: William Green, (Rev. Bill) (A)]
[Illustration: William Green, (Rev. Bill) (B)]
WILLIAM GREEN, or "Reverend Bill", as he is call by the other
Negroes, was brought to Texas from Mississippi in 1862. His master
was Major John Montgomery. William is 87 years old. He has lived in
San Antonio, Texas, for 50 years.
"I is Reverend Bill, all right, but I is 'fraid dat compliment don't
belong to me no more, 'cause I quit preachin' in favor of de young men.
"I kin tell you my 'speriences in savin'--mis'ry dat was, is peace dat
is. I tells you dis 'spite of bein' alone in de world with no chillun.
"I is raised a slave and 'mancipated in June, but I 'members de old
plantation whar I is born. Massa John Montgomery, he owned me, and he
went to de war and git kilt. I knowed 'bout de war, though us slaves
wasn't sposed to know nothin' 'bout it. I was livin' in Texas then,
'cause Massa John moved over here from Mis'sippi. In dat place niggers
was allus wrong, no matter what, but it was better in dis place. We used
to think we was lucky to git over here to Texas, and we used to sing a
song 'bout it:
"'Over yonder is de wild-goose nation,
Whar old missus has sugar plantation--
Sugar grows sweet but de plantation's sour,
'cause de nigger jump and run every hour.
"'I has you all to know, you all to know,
Dare's light on de shore,
Says little Bill to big Bill,
There's a li'l nigger to write and cipher.'
"I don't know what de song meant but we thought we'd git free here in
Texas, and we'd git eddicated, and dat's de meanin' of de talk about
writin' and cipherin'.
"Well, when I is free I isn't free, 'cause de boss wants me and another
boy to stay till we's 21 year old. But old Judge Longworth, he come down
dere and dere was pretty near a fight, and he 'splains to us we was
free.
"'bout five year after dat I takes up preachin' and I preaches for a
long time, and I works on a farm, half and half with de owner. I has a
good life, but now I's too old to preach.
420041
[Illustration: Pauline Grice]
PAULINE GRICE, 81, was born a slave of John Blackshier, who owned
her mother, about 150 slaves, 50 slave children, and a large
plantation near Atlanta, Georgia. Pauline married Navasota Grice in
1875 and they moved to Texas in 1917. Since her husband's death in
1928 Pauline has depended on the charity of friends, with whom she
lives at 2504 Ross Ave., North Fort Worth, Texas.
"White man, dis old cullud woman am not strong. 'Bout all my substance
am gone now. De way you sees me layin' on dis bed am what I has to do
mos' de time. My mem'randum not so good like 'twas.
"De place I am borned am right near Atlanta, in Georgia, and on dat
plantation of Massa John Blackshier. A big place, with 'bout 150 growed
slaves and 'bout 50 pickininnies. I doesn't work till near de surrender,
'cause I's too small. But us don't leave Massa John, us go right on
workin' for him like 'fore.
"Massa John am de kind massa and don't have whuppin's. He tell de
overseer, 'If you can't make dem niggers work without de whup, den you
not de man I wants.' Mos' de niggers 'have theyselves and when dey don't
massa put dem in de li'l house what he call de jail, with nothin' to eat
till deys ready to do what he say. Onct or twict he sell de nigger what
won't do right and do de work.
"Us have de cabin what am made from logs but us only sleeps dere. All us
cookin' done in de big kitchen. Dere am three women what do dat, and
give us de meals in de long shed with de long tables.
"To de bes' of dis nigger's mem'randum, de feed am good. Plenty of
everything and corn am de mostest us have. Dere am cornbread and
cornmeal mush and corn hominy and corn grits and parched corn for drink,
'stead of tea or coffee. Us have milk and 'lasses and brown sugar, and
some meat. Dat all raise on de place. Stuff for to eat and wear, dat am
made by us cullud folks and dat place am what dey calls se'f-s'portin'.
De shoemaker make all de shoes and fix de leather, too.