everywhere, jus' like de big factory. Every one to he job, some
a-whistlin', some a-singin'. Dey sings diff'rent songs and dis am one
when deys gwine to work:
"'Old cotton, old corn, see you every morn,
Old cotton, old corn, see you since I's born.
Old cotton, old corn, hoe you till dawn,
Old cotton, old corn, what for you born?'
"Yes, suh, everybody happy on massa's place till war begin. He have two
sons and Willie am 'bout 18 and Dave am 'bout 17. Dey jines de army and
after 'bout a year, massa jine too, and, course, dat make de missy awful
sad. She have to 'pend on de overseer and it warn't like massa keep
things runnin'.
"In de old days, if de niggers wants de party, massa am de big toad in
de puddle. And Christmas, it am de day for de big time. A tree am fix,
and some present for everyone. De white preacher talk 'bout Christ. Us
have singin' and 'joyment all day. Den at night, de big fire builded and
all us sot 'round it. Dere am 'bout hundred hawg bladders save from hawg
killin'. So, on Christmas night, de chillen takes dem and puts dem on de
stick. Fust dey is all blowed full of air and tied tight and dry. Den
de chillen holds de bladder in de fire and purty soon, 'B A N G,'
dey goes. Dat am de fireworks.
"Dat all changed after massa go to war. Fust de 'federate sojers come
and takes some mules and hosses, den some more come for de corn. After
while, de Yankee sojers comes and takes some more. When dey gits
through, dey ain't much more tookin' to be done. De year 'fore
surrender, us am short of rations and sometime us hongry. Us sees no
battlin' but de cannon bang all day. Once, dey bang two whole days
'thout hardly stoppin'. Dat am when missy go tech in de head, 'cause
massa and de boys in dat battle. She jus' walk 'round de yard and twist
de hands and say, 'Dey sho' git kilt. Dey sho' dead.' Den when extra
loud noise come from de cannon, she scream. Den word come Willie am
kilt. She gits over it, but she am de diff'rent woman. For her, it am
trouble, trouble and more trouble.
"She can't sell de cotton. Dey done took all de rations and us couldn't
eat de cotton. One day she tell us, 'De war am on us. De sojers done
took de rations. I can't sell de cotton, 'cause of de blockade.' I don't
know what am dat blockade, but she say it. 'Now,' she say, 'All you
cullud folks born and raise here and us allus been good to you. I can't
holp it 'cause rations am short and I'll do all I can for you. Will yous
be patient with me?' All us stay dere and holp missy all us could.
"Den massa come home and say, 'Yous gwine be free. Far as I cares, you
is free now, and can stay here and tough it through or go where you
wants. I thanks yous for all de way yous done while I's gone, and I'll
holp you all I can.' Us all stay and it sho' am tough times. Us have
most nothin' to eat and den de Ku Klux come 'round dere. Massa say not
mix with dat crowd what lose de head, jus' stay to home and work. Some
dem niggers on other plantations ain't keep de head and dey gits whupped
and some gits kilt, but us does what massa say and has no trouble with
dem Klux.
"It 'bout two year after freedom mammy gits marry and us goes and works
on shares. I stays with dem till 1875 and den marries Navasota Robert
Grice and us live by farmin' till he die, nine year since. 'Bout 20 year
since us come here from Georgia and works de truck farm. I has two
chillen but dey dead. De way I feels now, 'twon't be long 'fore I goes,
too. My friends is good to me and lets me stay with dem.
420107
[Illustration: Mandy Hadnot]
MANDY HADNOT, small and forlorn looking, as she lies in a huge,
old-fashioned wooden bed, appears very black in contrast to the
clean white sheets and a thick mop of snowy wool on her head. She
does not know her age, but from her appearance and the details she
remembers of her years as slave in the Slade home, near Cold
Springs, Texas, she must be very old. She lives in Woodville,
Texas, with her husband, Josh, to whom she has been married 13
years.
"I's too small to 'member my father, 'cause he die when I jus' a baby.
Dey was my mudder and me and de ole mistus and marster on de plantation.
It were mo' jus' a farm, but dey raise us all we need to eat and feed de
cows and hosses.
"De earlies' 'membrance I hab is when de ole marster drive into de town
for supplies every two weeks. Us place was right near Col' Springs. He
was a good man. He treat dis lil' darky jus' like he own chile, 'cause
he never hab any chillen of his own. I know 'bout de time he comin' home
when he go to town and I wait down by de big gate. Purty soon I see de
big ox comin' and see de smoke from de road dust flyin'. Den I know he
almos' home and I holler and wave my han' and he holler and wave he han'
right back. He allus brung me somethin', jus' like I he own little gal.
Sometime he brung me a whistle or some candy or doll or somethin'.
"One Easter he brung me de purties' lil' hat I ever did see. My ole
mistus took me to Sunday school with her and I spruce up in dat hat.
"Every Christmas 'fore ole marster die he fix me up a tree out de woods.
Dey put popco'n on it to trim it and dey give me sometime a purty dress
or shoes and plenty candy and maybe a big, red apple. Dey hab a big san'
pile for me to play in, but I never play with any other chillen. My
mammy, Emily Budle, she cook and clean up mistus log house cabin. After
de ole marster die dey both work in de fiel' and raise plenty vegetables
to can and eat. My task was to shell peas and watch and stir de big
cookin' pots on de fireplace.
"My mistus hav lots of company. When she come in and say, 'Mandy, shine
up de knife and fork and put de polish on de pianny, I allus happy,
'cause I lub to see folks come. Us hab chicken and all kinds of good
things. De preacher, he was big, jolly man, he come to de house 'bout
one Sunday in every month. Sometime dey brung lil' white chillen to
dinner. Den us play
'Rabbit, rabbit.
Jump fru' de crack.'
and
'Kitty, kitty,
In de corner,
Meow, meow,
Run, kitty, run.'
"De ole marster pick me out a lil', gentle hoss named Julie and dat was
my very own hoss. It was jus' a common lil' hoss. I uster sneak sugar
out de barrel to feed Julie. Dey had a big smokehouse on de farm where
dey kep' all kin's of good things like sugar and sich. Dey had fruits of
all kin's put up.
"Every mornin' de ole mistus took out de big Bible and hab prayer
meetin' for jus' us three. Us never learn read much, tho' she try teach
me some. When I's 'bout nine year ole she buy me a purty white dress
and took me to jine de church. She was a little, white-hair' woman, what
never los' her temper 'bout nothin'. She use' to let me bump on her
pianny and didn' say nothin'. She couldn' play de pianny but she kinder
hope maybe I could, but I never did learn how.
"When freedom come my mudder and me pay no 'tention to it. Us stay right
on de place. Purty soon my mudder die and I jus' took up her shoes. One
day I's makin' a bonfire in de yard and ketch my dress on fire. De whol
side of my lef' leg mos' bu'n off. Mistus was so lil' she couldn' lif'
me but she fin'ly git me to bed. Dere I stay for long, long time, and
she wait on me han' and feet. She make linseed poultice and kep' de bu'n
grease good. Mos' time she leave all de wo'k stan' in de middle of de
floor and read de Bible and pray for me to git heal up and not suffer.
She cry right 'long with me when I cry, 'cause I hurt so.
"When I's 16 year ole I want to hab courtin'. Mistus 'low me to hab de
boy come right to de big house to see me. He come two mile every Sunday
and us go to Lugene Baptist church. Den she hav nice Sunday dinner for
both us. She let me go to ice cream supper, too. Dey didn' hab no
freezer den, jus' a big pan in some ice. De boys and girls took tu'ns
stirrin' de cream. It never git real ha'd but stay kinder slushy. Dey
serve cake. Us hav pie supper, too. Whoever git de girl's pie eat it
with her.
"My ole mistus she pay me money right 'long after freedom but I too
close to spen' any. Den when I 'cide to marry Bob Thomas, she he'p me
fix a hope ches'. I buys goods for sheets and table kivers and one nice
Sunday set dishes.
"Us marry right in de parlor of de mistus house. De white man preacher
marry us and mistus she give me 'way. Ole mistus he'p me make my weddin'
dress outta white lawn. I hab purty long, black hair and a veil with a
ribbon 'round de fron'. De weddin' feas' was strawberry ice cream and
yaller cake. Ole mistus giv me my bedstead, one of her purtiest ones,
and de set dishes and glasses us eat de weddin' dinner outta. My husban'
gib me de trabblin' dress, but I never use dat dress for three weeks,
though, 'cause ole mistus cry so when I hafter leave dat I stay for
three weeks after I marry.
"She all 'lone in de big house and I think it break her heart. I ain'
been gone to de sawmill town very long when she sen' for me. I go to see
her and took a peach pie, 'cause I lub her and I know dat's what she
like better'n anything. She was sick and she say, 'Mandy, dis de las'
time us gwineter see each other, 'cause I ain' gwineter git well. You be
a good girl and try to git through de worl' dat way.' Den she make me
say de Lord Prayer for her jus' like she allus make me say it for a
night prayer when I lil' gal. I never see her no mo'.
"Me and Bob Thomas and dis husban', Josh, what I marry thirteen year
ago, hab 'bout 10 chillen all togedder. Us been lib here many a year. I
don' care so much 'bout leavin' dis yearthly home, 'cause I knows I
gwineter see de ole mistus up dere and I tell her I allus 'member what
she tell me and try lib dat way all time.
420237
[Illustration: William Hamilton]
WILLIAM HAMILTON belonged to a slave trader, who left him on the
Buford plantation, near Village Creek, Texas. The trader did not
return, so the Buford family raised the child with their slaves.
William now lives at 910 E. Weatherford St., Ft. Worth, Texas.
"Who I is, how old I is and where I is born, I don't know. But Massa
Buford told me how durin' de war a slave trader name William Hamilton,
come to Village Creek, where Massa Buford live. Dat trader was on his
way south with my folks and a lot of other slaves, takin' 'em
somewheres, to sell. He camped by Massa Buford's plantation and asks
him, 'Can I leave dis li'l nigger here till I comes back?' Massa Buford
say, 'Yes,' and de trader say he'll be back in 'bout three weeks, soon
as he sells all the slaves. He mus' still be sellin' 'em, 'cause he
never comes back so far and there I am and my folks am took on, and I is
too li'l to 'member 'em, so I never knows my pappy and mammy. Massa
Buford says de trader comes from Missouri, but if I is born dere I don't
know.
"De only thing I 'members 'bout all dat, am dere am lots of cryin' when
dey tooks me 'way from my mammy. Dat something I never forgits.
"I only 'members after de war, and most de cullud folks stays with Massa
Buford after surrender and works de land on shares. Dey have good times
on dat place, and don't want to leave. Day has dances and fun till de Ku
Klux org'nizes and den it am lots of trouble. De Klux comes to de dance
and picks out a nigger and whups him, jus' to keep de niggers scart, and
it git so bad dey don't have no more dances or parties.
"I 'members seein' Faith Baldwin and Jeb Johnson and Dan Hester gittin'
whupped by de Klux. Dey wasn't so bad after women. It am allus after
dark when dey comes to de house and catches de man and whups him for
nothin'. Dey has de power, and it am done for to show dey has de power.
It gits so bad round dere, dat de menfolks allus eats supper befo' dark
and takes a blanket and goes to de woods for to sleep. Alex Buford don't
sleep in de house for one whole summer.
"No one knowed when de Klux comin'. All a-sudden up dey gallops on
hosses, all covered with hoods, and bust right into de house. Jus'
latches 'stead of locks was used dem days. Dey comes sev'ral times to
Alex' house but never cotches him. I'd hear dem comin' when dey hit de
lane and I'd holler, 'De Klux am comin'.' It was my job, after dark,
listenin' for dem Klux, den I gits under de bed.
"Why dey comes so many times round dere, am 'cause de second time dey
comes, Jane Bensom am dere. Jane am lots of woman, wide as de door and
tall, and weighs 'bout three hunder pounds. I calls, 'Here comes de
Klux,' and makes for under de bed. There am embers in de fireplace and
she fills a pail with dem and when de Klux busts in de door she lets dem
have de embers in de face, and den out de back door she goes. Two of dem
am burnt purty bad. De nex' night back dey comes and asks where Jane am.
She 'longs to Massa John Ditto and am so big everybody knows her, but de
niggers won't tell on her. She leaves de country fin'ly, but dey comes
lookin' for her every night for two months.
"Right over on Massa Ditto's place, am a killin' of a baby by dem Klux.
De baby am in de mammy's arms and a bunch of Klux ridin' by takes a
shot at de mammy, and it hits de baby and kills it.
"Right after de baby killin', sojers with blue coats comes dere and
camps front of Massa Buford's place and pertects de cullud folks. I goes
over to dey camp every day and dey gives me lots of good eats.
"De cullud folks has lots of trouble after de war, 'cause dey am ir'rant
niggers and gits foolishment in de head. They gits de idea de white
folks should give dem land and mules and sich. Over in de valley, Massa
Moses owns lots of land and fifty nigger families, and he gives each
family a deed to 'bout fifty acres. Some dem cullud folks grandchillen
still on dat land, too, de Parkers and Farrows and Nelsons and some
others. Den all de other niggers thinks dey should git land, too, but
dey don't, and it make dem git foolishment and git in trouble.
"In 1897 I marries Effie Coleman and has no chillens, so I is alone in
de world now. I can't do much and lives on de $10.00 de month pension.
De white folks lets me live in dis shack for mowin' de lawn, but I
worries 'bout when I can't do no more work. It am de awful way to spend
you last days.
420163
PIERCE HARPER, 86, was born on the Subbs plantation near Snow Hill,
North Carolina. When eight years old he was sold for $1,150
[Handwritten Note: '?'] to the Harper family, who lived in Snow
Hill. After the Civil War, Pierce farmed a small place near Snow
Hill and saw many raids of the Klu Klux Klan. He came to Galveston,
Texas, in 1877. Pierce attended a Negro school after he was grown,
learned to read and write, and is interested in the betterment of
his race.
"When you ask me is I Pierce Harper, you kind of 'sprised me. I reckoned
everybody know old Pierce Harper. Sister Johnson say to me outside of
services last Sunday night, 'Brother Harper, you is de beatines' man I
ever seen. You know everybody and everybody know you.' And I said,
'Sister Johnson, dat's 'cause I keep faith with de Lawd. I love de Lawd
and my neighbors and de Lawd and my neighbors love me.' Dat's what my
old mother told me 'way back in slavery, before I was ever sold. But
here I is talking 'bout myself when you want to hear me talk 'bout
slavery. Let's see, now.
"I was born way back in 1851 in North Carolina, on Mr. Subbs'
plantation, clost to Snow Hill, which was the county seat. My daddy was
a field hand and my mother worked in the fields, too, right 'longside my
daddy, so she could keep him lined up. The master said that Calisy, that
my mother, was the best fieldhand he had, and Calvin, that my daddy, was
the laziest. My mother used to say he was chilesome.
"Then when I was eight years old they sold me. The market place was in
Snow Hill on the public square near the jailhouse. It was jus' a little
stand built out in the open with no top on it, that the slaves stood on
to get sold while the white folks auctioned 'em off. I was too little to
get on the stand, so they had to hold me up and Mr. Harper bought me for
$1,100. [Handwritten Note: '?'] That was cheap for a boy.
"He lived in a brick house in town and had two-three slaves 'sides me. I
run errands and kept the yard clean, things a little boy could do. They
didn't have no school for slaves and I never learned to read and write
till after freedom. After I was sold, they let me go visit my mother
once a year, on Sunday morning, and took me back at night.
"The masters couldn't whip the slaves there. The law said in black and
white no master couldn't whip no slave, no matter what he done. When a
slave got bad they took him to the county seat and had him whipped. One
day I seen my old daddy get whipped by the county and state 'cause he
wouldn't work. They had a post in the public square what they tied 'em
to and a man what worked for the county whipped 'em.
"After he was whipped my daddy run away to the north. Daddy come by when
I was cleanin' the yard and said, 'Pierce, go 'round side the house,
where nobody can't see us.' I went and he told me goodbye, 'cause he was
goin' to run away in a few days. He had to stay in the woods and travel
at night and eat what he could find, berries and roots and things. They
never caught him and after he crossed the Mason-Dixon line he was safe.
"There used to be a man who raised bloodhounds to hunt slaves with. I
seen the dogs on the trail a whole day and still not catch 'em.
Sometimes the slave made friends with the dogs and they wouldn't let on
if they found him. Three dogs followed one slave the whole way up north
and he sold them up there.
"I heered 'em talk about some slaves what run barefooted in cold weather
and you could trail 'em by blood in the snow and ice where they hurt
their feet.
"Most of the time the master gave us castor oil when we were sick. Some
old folks went in the woods for herbs and made medicine. They made tea
out of 'lion's tongue' for the stomach and snake root is good for pains
in the stomach, too. Horse mint breaks the fever. They had a vermifuge
weed.
"I seed a lot of Southern soldiers and they'd go to the big house for
something to eat. Late in '63 they had a fight at a place called
Kingston, only 12 miles from our place, takin' how the jacks go. We
could hear the guns go off when they was fightin'. The Yankees beat and
settled down there and the cullud folks flocked down on them and when
they got to the Yankee lines they was safe. They went in droves of 25 or
50 to the Yankees and they put 'em to work fightin' for freedom. They
fit till the war was over and a lot of 'em got kilt. My mother and
sister run away to the Yankees and they paid 'em big money to wash for
'em.
"When peace come they read the 'mancipation law to the cullud people and
they stayed up half the night at Mr. Harper's, singing and shouting.
They spent that night singin' and shoutin'. They wasn't slaves no more.
The master had to give 'em a half or third of what he made. Our master
parceled out some land to 'em and told 'em to work it their selves and
some done real well. They got hosses that the soldiers had turned loose
to die, and fed them and took good care of 'em and they got good stock
that way. Cotton was twenty and thirty cents a pound then.
"After us cullud folks was 'sidered free and turned loose, the Klu Klux
broke out. Some cullud people started to farmin', like I told you, and
gathered the old stock. If they got so they made good money, and had a
good farm, the Klu Klux would come and murder 'em. The gov'ment builded
school houses and the Klu Klux went to work and burned 'em down. They'd
go to the jails and take the cullud men out and knock their brains out
and break their necks and throw 'em in the river.
"There was a cullud man they taken, his name was Jim Freeman. They taken
him and destroyed his stuff and him, 'cause he was making some money.
Hung him on a tree in his front yard, right in front of his cabin.
"There was some cullud young men went to the schools they'd opened by
the gov'ment. Some white woman said someone had stole something of hers
so they put them young men in jail. The Klu Klux went to the jail and
took 'em out and killed 'em. That happened the second year after the
War.
"After the Klu Kluxes got so strong the cullud men got together and made
the complaint before the law. The Gov'nor told the law to give 'em the
old guns in the com'sary, what the Southern soldiers had used, so they
issued the cullud men old muskets and said protect themselves. They got
together and organized the militia and had leaders like reg'lar
soldiers. They didn't meet 'cept when they heered the Klu Kluxes was
coming to get some cullud folks. Then they was ready for 'em. They'd
hide in the cabins and then's when they found out who a lot of them Klu
Kluxes was, 'cause a lot of 'em was kilt. They wore long sheets and
covered the hosses with sheets so you couldn't rec'nize 'em. Men you
thought was your friend was Klu Kluxes and you'd deal with 'em in stores
in the daytime and at night they'd come out to your house and kill you.
I never took part in none of the fights, but I heered the others talk
'bout them, but not where them Klu Klux could hear 'em.
"One time they had 12 men in jail, 'cused of robbin' white folks. All
was white in jail but one, and he was cullud. The Klu Kluxes went to the
jailor's house and got the jail key and got them men out and carried 'em
to the River Bridge, in the middle. Then they knocked their brains out
and threw 'em in the river.
"We was 'fraid of them Klu Kluxes and come to town, to Snow Hill. We
rented a little house and my mother took in washing and ironing. I went
to school and learned to read and write, then worked on farms, and
fin'ly went to Columbia, in South Carolina, and worked in the turpentine
country. I stayed there a while and got married.
"I come to Texas in 1877 and Galveston was a little pen then, a little
mess. I worked for some white people and then went to Houston and it
wasn't nothing but a mudhole. So I messed 'round in South Carolina again
a while and then come back to Galveston.
"The Lawd called me then and I answered and I answered and was preacher
here at the Union Baptist Church, on 11th and K, 'bout 25 years.
"I knowed Wright Cuney well and he held the biggest place a cullud man
ever helt in Galveston. He was congressman and the white people looked
up to him just like he was white.
"Durin' the Spanish-American War I went to Washington, D.C., to see my
sister and got in the soldier business. The gov'ment give me $30.00 a
month for drivin' a four-mule wagon for the army. I druv all through
Pennsylvania and Virginia and South Carolina for the gov'ment. I was
a----what do they call a laborer in the army?
"When war was over I come back here and now I'm too old to work and the
state gives me a pension and me and my granddaughter live on that. The
young folks is makin' their mark now. One thing about 'em, they get
educated, but there's not much for them to do when they get finished
with school but walk the streets now. I been always trying to help my
people to rise 'bove their station and they are rising all the time, and
some day they'll be free."
420298
MOLLY HARRELL was born a slave on the Swanson plantation, near
Palestine, Texas. She was a housegirl, but must have been too small
to do much work. She does not know her age, but thinks she was
about seven when she was freed. Molly lives at 3218 Ave H.,
Galveston, Texas.
"Don't you tell nobody dat I use to be a slave. I 'most forgot it myself
till you got round me jes' den. Course, I ain't blamin' you for it, but
what you done say 'bout all de plantations havin' schools was wrong, so
I jes' had to tell you I been a slave myself. It jes' slip out.
"Like I jes' say, I knows what I's talkin' 'bout, 'cause I use to be a
slave myself and I don't know how to read and write. Dat why I say I
can't see so good. It don't do to let folks know dey's smarter'n you,
'cause den dey got you right where dey wants you. Now, Will, dat de man
I's marry to, am younger'n me but he don't know it. When you git marry,
you don't tell de man how old you is. He wouldn't have you if you did.
'Course, Will ain't so young heself, but he's born after de war and I's
born durin' slavery, so dat make me older.
"Mr. Swanson use to own de big plantation in Palestine. Everybody in dat
part de country knowed him. He use to live in a plain, wood house on de
Palestine road. My mother use to cook and wait on tables. John was my
father.