it too late? Well, that's how it was with us. If every mother's son of a
black had thrown 'way his hoe and took up a gun to fight for his own
freedom along with the Yankees, the war'd been over before it began. But
we didn't do it. We couldn't help stick to our masters. We couldn't no
more shoot 'em than we could fly. My father and me used to talk 'bout
it. We decided we was too soft and freedom wasn't goin' to be much to
our good even if we had a education."
The old Negro was growing very tired, but, at a request, he instantly
got up and tapped his way out into the scorching sunshine to have his
photograph taken. Even as he did so, he seemed to smile with those
blurred, dead eyes of his. Then he chuckled to himself and said:
"'Warmth of the wind
And heat of the South,
And ripe red cherries
For a ripe, red mouth.'"
"Land sakes, Felix!" came through the window from sister Ella. "How you
carries on! Don't you be a-mindin' him, mister."
420096
[Illustration: Phoebe Henderson]
PHOEBE HENDERSON, a 105 year old Negro of Harrison Co., was born a
slave of the Bradley family at Macon, Georgia. After the death of
her mistress, Phoebe belonged to one of the daughters, Mrs. Wiley
Hill, who moved to Panola County, Texas in 1859, where Phoebe lived
until after the Civil War. For the past 22 years she has lived with
Mary Ann Butler, a daughter, about five miles east of Marshall, in
Enterprise Friendship Community. She draws a pension of $16.00 a
month.
"I was bo'n a slave of the Bradley family in Macon, Georgia. My father's
name was Anthony Hubbard and he belonged to the Hubbard's in Georgia. He
was a young man when I lef' Georgia and I never heard from him since. I
'member my mother; she had a gang of boys. Marster Hill brought her to
Texas with us.
"My ole missus name was Bradley and she died in Tennessee. My lil'
missus was her daughter. After dey brought us to Texas in 1859 I worked
in the field many a day, plowin' and hoein', but the children didn't do
much work 'cept carry water. When dey git tired, dey'd say dey was sick
and the overseer let 'em lie down in de shade. He was a good and kindly
man and when we do wrong and go tell him he forgave us and he didn't
whip the boys 'cause he was afraid they'd run away.
"I worked in de house, too. I spinned seven curts a day and every night
we run two looms, makin' large curts for plow lines. We made all our
clothes. We didn't wear shoes in Georgia but in this place the land was
rough and strong, so we couldn't go barefooted. A black man that worked
in the shop measured our feet and made us two pairs a year. We had good
houses and dey was purty good to us. Sometimes missus give us money and
each family had their garden and some chickens. When a couple marry, the
master give them a house and we had a good time and plenty to wear and
to eat. They cared for us when we was sick.
"Master Wiley Hill had a big plantation and plenty of stock and hawgs,
and a big turnip patch. He had yellow and red oxen. We never went to
school any, except Sunday school. We'd go fishin' often down on the
creek and on Saturday night we'd have parties in the woods and play ring
plays and dance.
"My husband's name was David Henderson and we lived on the same place
and belonged to the same man. No, suh, Master Hill didn't have nothin'
to do with bringin' us together. I guess God done it. We fell in love,
and David asked Master Hill for me. We had a weddin' in the house and
was married by a colored Baptist preacher. I wore a white cotton dress
and Missus Hill give me a pan of flour for a weddin' present. He give us
a house of our own. My husband was good to me. He was a careful man and
not rowdy. When we'd go anywhere we'd ride horseback and I'd ride behin'
him.
"I's scared to talk 'bout when I was freed. I 'member the soldiers and
that warrin' and fightin'. Toby, one of the colored boys, joined the
North and was a mail messenger boy and he had his horse shot out from
under him. But I guess its a good thing we was freed, after all.
420007
[Illustration: Albert Hill]
ALBERT HILL, 81, was born a slave of Carter Hill, who owned a
plantation and about 50 slaves, in Walton Co., Georgia. Albert
remained on the Hill place until he was 21, when he went to
Robinson Co., Texas. He now lives at 1305 E. 12th St., Fort Worth,
Texas, in a well-kept five-room house, on a slope above the Trinity
River.
"I was born on Massa Carter Hill's plantation, in Georgia, and my name
am Albert Hill. My papa's name was Dillion, 'cause he taken dat name
from he owner, Massa Tom Dillion. He owned de plantation next to Massa
Hill's, and he owned my mammy and us 13 chillen. I don't know how old I
is, but I 'members de start of de war, and I was a sizeable chile den.
"De plantation wasn't so big and wasn't so small, jus' fair size, but it
am fixed first class and everything am good. We has good quarters made
out of logs and lots of tables and benches, what was made of split logs.
We has de rations and massa give plenty of de cornmeal and beans and
'lasses and honey. Sometimes we has tea, and once in a while we gits
coffee. And does we have de tasty and tender hawg meat! I'd like to see
some of dat hawg meat now.
"Massa am good but he don't 'low de parties. But we kin go to Massa
Dillion's place next to us and dey has lots of parties and de dances. We
dances near all night Saturday night, but we has to stay way in de back
where de white folks can't hear us. Sometimes we has de fiddle and de
banjo and does we cut dat chicken wing and de shuffle! We sho' does.
"I druv de ox, and drivin' dat ox am agitation work in de summer time
when it am hot, 'cause dey runs for water every time. But de worst
trouble I ever has is with one hoss. I fotches de dinner to de workers
out in de field and I use dat hoss, hitched to de two-wheel cart. One
day him am halfway and dat hoss stop. He look back at me, a-rollin' de
eye, and I knows what dat mean--'Here I stays, nigger.' But I heered to
tie de rope on de balky hosses tail and run it 'twixt he legs and tie to
de shaft. I done dat and puts some cuckleburrs on de rope, too. Den I
tech him with de whip and he gives de rear back'ards. Dat he best rear.
When he do dat it pull de rope and de rope pull de tail and de burrs
gits busy. Dat hoss moves for'ard faster and harder den what he ever
done 'fore, and he keep on gwine. You see, he am trying git 'way from he
tail, but de tail am too fast. Course, it stay right behin' him. Den I's
in de picklement. Dat hoss am runnin' away and I can't stop him. De
workers lines up to stop him but de cart give de shove and dat pull he
tail and, lawdy whoo, dat hose jump for'ard like de jackrabbit and go
through dat line of workers. So I steers him into de fence row, and
dere's no more runnin', but an awful mix-up with de hoss and de cart and
de rations. Dat hoss so sceered him have de quavers. Massa say, 'What
you doin'?' I says, 'Break de balk.' He say, 'Well, yous got everything
else broke. We'll see 'bout de balk later.'
Massa has de daughter, Mary, and she want to marry Bud Jackson, but
massa am 'gainst it. Bud am gwine to de army and dat give dis boy work,
'cause I de messenger boy for him and Missy Mary. Dey keeps company
unbeknownst and I carry de notes. I puts de paper in de hollow stump.
Once I's sho' I's kotched. Dere am de massa and he say, 'Where you been,
nigger?' I's sho' skeert and I says, 'I's lookin' for de squirrels.' So
massa goes 'way and when I tells you I's left, it ain't de proper word
for to 'splain, 'cause I's flew from here.' I tells Missy Mary and she
say, 'You sho' am de Lawd's chosen nigger.'
"De 'federate soldiers comes and dey takes de rations, but de massa has
dug de pit in de pasture and buried lots of de rations, so de soldiers
don't find so much. De clostest battle was Atlanta, more dan 25 mile
'way.
"When de war come over, Bud Jackson he come home. De massa welcome him,
to de sprise of everybody, and when Bud say he want to marry Missy Mary,
massa say, 'I guesses you has earnt her.'
"When freedom am here, massa call all us together and tells us 'bout de
difference 'tween freedom and hustlin' for ourselves and dependin' on
someone else. Most of de slaves stays, and massa pays them for de work,
and I stays till I's 21 year old, and I gits $7.00 de month and de
clothes and de house and all I kin eat. De massa have died 'fore dat,
and dere am powerful sorrow. Missy Mary and Massa Bud has de plantation
den, and dey don't want me to go to Texas. But dey goes on de visit and
while dey gone I takes de train for Robinson County, what am in Texas.
"I works at de pavin' work and at de hostlin' work and I works on de
hosses. Den I works for de Santa Fe railroad, handlin' freight, and I
works till 'bout three year ago, when I gits too old for to work no
more.
"But I tells you 'bout de visit back to de old plantation. I been gone
near 40 year and I 'cides to go back, so I reaches de house and dere am
Missy Mary peelin' apples on de back gallery. She looks at me, and she
say, 'I got whippin' waiting for yous, 'cause you run off without
tellin' us.' Dere wasn't no more peelin' dat day, 'cause we sits and
talks 'bout de old times and de old massa. Dere sho' am de tears in dis
nigger's eyes. Den we talks 'bout de nigger messenger I was, and we
laughs a little. All day long we talks a little, and laughs and cries
and talks. I stays 'bout two weeks and seed lots of de folks I knowed
when I was young, de white folks and de niggers, too.
"I's too old to make any more visits, but I would like to go back to Old
Georgia once more. If Missy Mary was 'live, I'd try, but she am dead, so
I tries to wait for old Gabriel blow he horn. When he blow he horn, dis
nigger say, 'Louder, Gabriel, louder!'
420308
ROSINA HOARD does not know just where she was born. The first thing
she remembers is that she and her parents were purchased by Col.
Pratt Washington, who owned a plantation near Garfield, in Travis
County, Texas. Rosina, who is a very pleasant and sincere person,
says she has had a tough life since she was free. She receives a
monthly pension of fourteen dollars, for which she expresses
gratitude. Her address is 1301 Chestnut St., Austin, Tex.
"When I's a gal, I's Rosina Slaughter, but folks call me Zina. Yes, sar.
It am Zina dat and Zina dis. I says I's born April 9, 1859, but I 'lieve
I's older. It was somewhere in Williamson County, but I don't know the
massa's name. My mammy was Lusanne Slaughter and she was stout but in
her last days she got to be a li'l bit of a woman. She died only last
spring and she was a hunerd eleven years old.
"Papa was a Baptist preacher to de day of he death. He had asthma all
his days. I 'member how he had de sorrel hoss and would ride off and
preach under some arbor bush. I rid with him on he hoss.
"First thing I 'member is us was bought by Massa Col. Pratt Washington
from Massa Lank Miner. Massa Washington was purty good man. He boys,
George and John Henry, was de only overseers. Dem boys treat us nice.
Massa allus rid up on he hoss after dinner time. He hoss was a bay, call
Sank. De fields was in de bottoms of de Colorado River. De big house was
on de hill and us could see him comin'. He weared a tall, beaver hat
allus.
"De reason us allus watch for him am dat he boy, George, try larn us our
A B C's in de field. De workers watch for massa and when dey seed him
a-ridin' down de hill dey starts singin' out, 'Ole hawg 'round de
bench--Ole hawg 'round de bench.'
"Dat de signal and den everybody starts workin' like dey have something
after dem. But I's too young to larn much in de field and I can't read
today and have to make de cross when I signs for my name.
"Each chile have he own wood tray. Dere was old Aunt Alice and she done
all de cookin' for de chillen in de depot. Dat what dey calls de place
all de chillen stays till dere mammies come home from de field. Aunt
Alice have de big pot to cook in, out in de yard. Some days we had beans
and some day peas. She put great hunks of salt bacon in de pot, and bake
plenty cornbread, and give us plenty milk.
"Some big chillen have to pick cotton. Old Junus was de cullud overseer
for de chillen and he sure mean to dem. He carry a stick and use it,
too.
"One day de blue-bellies come to de fields. Dey Yankee sojers, and tell
de slaves dey free. Some stayed and some left. Papa took us and move to
de Craft plantation, not far 'way, and farm dere.
"I been married three time. First to Peter Collinsworth. I quit him.
Second to George Hoard. We stayed togedder till he die, and have five
chillen. Den I marries he brother, Jim Hoard. I tells you de truth, Jim
never did work much. He'd go fishin' and chop wood by de days, but not
many days. He suffered with de piles. I done de housework and look after
de chillen and den go out and pick two hunerd pound cotton a day. I was
a cripple since one of my boys birthed. I git de rheumatis' and my knees
hurt so much sometime I rub wed sand and mud on dem to ease de pain.
"We had a house at Barton Springs with two rooms, one log and one box. I
never did like it up dere and I told Jim I's gwine. I did, but he come
and got me.
"Since freedom I's been through de toughs. I had to do de man's work,
chop down trees and plow de fields and pick cotton. I want to tell you
how glad I is to git my pension. It is sure nice of de folks to take
care of me in my old age. Befo' I got de pension I had a hard time. You
can sho' say I's been through de toughs.
420286
TOM HOLLAND was born in Walker County, Texas, and thinks he is
about 97 years old. His master, Frank Holland, traded Tom to
William Green just before the Civil War. After Tom was freed, he
farmed both for himself and for others in the vicinity of his old
home. He now lives in Madisonville, Texas.
"My owner was Massa Frank Holland, and I's born on his place in Walker
County. I had one sister named Gena and three brothers, named George and
Will and Joe, but they's all dead now. Mammy's name was Gena and my
father's named Abraham Holland and they's brung from North Carolina to
Texas by Massa Holland when they's real young.
"I chopped cotton and plowed and split rails, then was a horse rider. In
them days I could ride the wildest horse what ever made tracks in Texas,
but I's never valued very high 'cause I had a glass eye. I don't 'member
how I done got it, but there it am. I'd make a dollar or fifty cents to
ride wild horses in slavery time and massa let me keep it. I buyed
tobacco and candy and if massa cotch me with tobacco I'd git a whippin',
but I allus slipped and bought chewin' tobacco.
"We allus had plenty to eat, sich as it was them days, and it was good,
plenty wild meat and cornbread cooked in ashes. We toasted the meat on a
open fire, and had plenty possum and rabbit and fish.
"We wore them loyal shirts open all way down the front, but I never seed
shoes till long time after freedom. In cold weather massa tanned lots of
hides and we'd make warm clothes. My weddin' clothes was a white loyal
shirt, never had no shoes, married barefooted.
"Massa Frank, he one real good white man. He was awful good to his
Negroes. Missis Sally, she a plumb angel. Their three chillen stayed
with me nearly all the time, askin' this Negro lots of questions. They
didn't have so fine a house, neither, two rooms with a big hall through
and no windows and deer skins tacked over the door to keep out rain and
cold. It was covered with boards I helped cut after I got big 'nough.
"Massa Frank had cotton and corn and everything to live on, 'bout three
hundred acres, and overseed it himself, and seven growed slaves and five
little slaves. He allus waked us real early to be in the field when
daylight come and worked us till slap dark, but let us have a hour and a
half at noon to eat and rest up. Sometimes when slaves got stubborn he'd
whip them and make good Negroes out of them, 'cause he was real good to
them.
"I seed slaves sold and auctioned off, 'cause I's put up to the highest
bidder myself. Massa traded me to William Green jus' 'fore the war, for
a hundred acres land at $1.00 a acre. He thought I'd never be much
'count, 'cause I had the glass eye, but I'm still livin' and a purty
fair Negro to my age. All the hollerin' and bawlin' took place and when
he sold me it took me most a year to git over it, but there I was,
'longin' to 'nother man.
"If we went off without a pass we allus went two at a time. We slipped
off when we got a chance to see young folks on some other place. The
patterrollers cotched me one night and, Lawd have mercy on me, they
stretches me over a log and hits thirty-nine licks with a rawhide loaded
with rock, and every time they hit me the blood and hide done fly. They
drove me home to massa and told him and he called a old mammy to doctor
my back, and I couldn't work for four days. That never kep' me from
slippin' off 'gain, but I's more careful the next time.
"We'd go and fall right in at the door of the quarters at night, so
massa and the patterrollers thinks we's real tired and let us alone and
not watch us. That very night we'd be plannin' to slip off somewheres to
see a Negro gal or our wife, or to have a big time, 'specially when the
moon shine all night so we could see. It wouldn't do to have torch
lights. They was 'bout all the kind of lights we had them days and if we
made light, massa come to see what we're doin', and it be jus' too bad
then for the stray Negro!
"That there war brung suffrin' to lots of people and made a widow out of
my missis. Massa William, he go and let one them Yankees git him in one
of them battles and they never brung him home. Missis, she gits the
letter from his captain, braggin' on his bravery, but that never helped
him after he was kilt in the war. She gits 'nother letter that us
Negroes is free and she tells us. We had no place to go, so we starts to
cry and asks her what we gwine do. She said we could stay and farm with
her and work her teams and use her tools and land and pay her half of
what we made, 'sides our supplies. That's a happy bunch of Negroes when
she told us this.
"Late in that evenin' the Negroes in Huntsville starts hollerin' and
shoutin' and one gal was hollerin' loud and a white man come ridin' on a
hoss and leans over and cut that gal nearly half in two and a covered
wagon come along and picks her up and we never heared nothin' more.
"I married Imogene, a homely weddin' 'fore the war. We didn't have much
to-do at our weddin'. I asks missis if I could have Imogene and she says
yes and that's all they was to our weddin'. We had three boys and three
gals, and Imogene died 'bout twenty years ago and I been livin' with one
child and 'nother. I gits a little pension from the gov'ment and does
small jobs round for the white people.
"I 'lieve they ought to have gived us somethin' when we was freed, but
they turned us out to graze or starve. Most of the white people turned
the Negroes slam loose. We stayed a year with missis and then she
married and her husband had his own workers and told us to git out. We
worked for twenty and thirty cents a day then, and I fin'ly got a place
with Dr. L.J. Conroe. But after the war the Negro had a hard struggle,
'cause he was turned loose jus' like he came into the world and no
education or 'sperience.
"If the Negro wanted to vote the Klu Kluxes was right there to keep him
from votin'. Negroes was 'fraid to git out and try to 'xert they
freedom. They'd ride up by a Negro and shoot him jus' like a wild hawg
and never a word said or done 'bout it.
"I's farmed and makin' a livin' is 'bout all. I come over here in
Madison County and rents from B.F. Young, clost to Midway and gits me a
few cows. I been right round here ever since. I lives round with my
chillen now, 'cause I's gittin' too old to work.
"This young bunch of Negroes is all right some ways, but they won't tell
the truth. They isn't raised like the white folks raised us. If we
didn't tell the truth our massa'd tear us all to pieces. Of course, they
is educated now and can get 'most any kind of work, some of them, what
we couldn't.
420052
[Illustration: Eliza Holman]
ELIZA HOLMAN, 82, was born a slave of the Rev. John Applewhite,
near Clinton, Mississippi. In 1861 they came to Texas, settling
near Decatur. Eliza now lives at 2507 Clinton Ave., Fort Worth,
Texas.
"Talk 'bout de past from de time I 'members till now, slave days and
all? Dat not so hard. I knows what de past am, but what to come, dat am
different. Dey says, 'Let de past be de guide for de future,' but if you
don't know de future road, hows you gwine guide? I's sho' glad to tell
you all I 'members, but dat am a long 'memberance.
"I know I's past 80, for sho', and maybe more, 'cause I's old 'nough to
'member befo' de war starts. I 'members when de massa move to Texas by
de ox team and dat am some trip! Dey loads de wagon till dere ain't no
more room and den sticks we'uns in, and we walks some of de time, too.
"My massa am a preacherman and have jus' three slaves, me and pappy and
mammy. She am cook and housekeeper and I helps her. Pappy am de field
hand and de coachman and everything else what am needed. We have a nice,
two-room log house to live in and it am better den what mos' slaves
have, with de wood floor and real windows with glass in dem.
"Massa am good but he am strict. He don't have to say much when he wants
you to do somethin'. Dere am no honey words round de house from him, but
when him am preachin' in de church, him am different. He am honey man
den. Massa could tell de right way in de church but it am hard for him
to act it at home. He makes us go to church every Sunday.
"But I's tellin' you how we'uns come to Texas. De meals am cook by de
campfire and after breakfast we starts and it am bump, bump, bump all
day long. It am rocks and holes and mudholes, and it am streams and
rivers to cross. We'uns cross one river, musta been de Mississippi, and
drives on a big bridge and dey floats dat bridge right 'cross dat river.
"Massa and missus argues all de way to Texas. She am skeert mos' de time
and he allus say de Lawd take care of us. He say, 'De Lawd am a-guidin'
us.' She say, 'It am fools guidin' and a fool move for to start.' Dat de
way dey talks all de way. And when we gits in de mudhole 'twas a
argument 'gain. She say, 'Dis am some more of your Lawd's calls.' He
say, 'Hush, hush, woman. Yous gittin' sac'ligious.' So we has to walk
two mile for a man to git his yoke of oxen to pull us out dat mudhole,
and when we out, massa say, 'Thank de Lawd.' And missus say, 'Thank de
mens and de oxen.'
"Den one day we'uns camps under a big tree and when we'uns woke in de
mornin' dere am worms and worms and worms. Millions of dem come off dat
tree. Man, man, dat am a mess. Massa say dey army worms and missus say,
'Why for dey not in de army den?'
"After we been in Texas 'bout a year, missy Mary gits married to John
Olham. Missy Mary am massa's daughter. After dat I lives with her and
Massa John and den hell start poppin' for dis nigger. Missy Mary am good
but Massa John am de devil. Dat man sho' am cruel, he works me to death
and whups me for de leas' thing. My pappy say to me, 'You should 'come a
runaway nigger.' He runs 'way hisself and dat de las' time we hears of
him.
"When surrender come I has to stay on with Massa Olham, 'cause I has no
place to go and I's too young to know how to do for myself. I stays
'bout till I's 16 year old and den I hunts some place to work and gits
it in Jacksboro and stays dere sev'ral years. I quits when I gits
married and dat 'bout nine year after de war end.
"I marries Dick Hines at Silver Creek and he am a farmer and a contrary
man. He worked jus' as hard at his contrariness as him did at his
farmin'. Mercy, how distressin' and worryment am life with dat nigger! I
couldn't stand it no longer dan five year till I tooks my getaway. De
nex' year I marries Sam Walker what worked for cattlement here in Fort
Worth and he died 'bout 20 year ago. Den 'twas 'bout 13 year ago I
marries Jack Holman and he died in 1930. I's sho' try dis marrin'
business but I ain't gwine try it no more, no, suh.
"'Twixt all dem husbands and workin' for de white folks I gits 'long,
but I's old and de last few years I can't work. Dey pays me $12.00 de
month from de State and dat's what I lives on. Shucks, I's not worth
nothin' no more. I jus' sets and sets and thinks of de old days and my
mammy. All dat make me sad. I'll tell you one dem songs what 'spresses
my feelin's 'zactly.
"I's am climbin' Jacob's ladder, ladder,
I's am climbin' Jacob's ladder, ladder,
Soldier of de cross; O-h-h-h! Rise and shine,
Give Gawd de glory, glory, glory,
In de year of Jubilee.
I wants to climb up Jacob's ladder, ladder,
Jacob's ladder, till I gits in de new Jerusalem.
"Dat jus' how I feels."
420143
LARNCE HOLT, 79, was born near Woodville, in Tyler County, Texas, a
slave of William Holt. He now lives in Beaumont, Texas.