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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 IV GEORGIA NARRATIVES PART 2
Prepared by the Federal Writers' Project of the Works Progress
Administration for the State of Georgia
INFORMANTS
Garey, Elisha Doc 1
Garrett, Leah 11
Gladdy, Mary 17
Gray, Sarah 28
Green, Alice 31, 38
Green, Isaiah (Isaac) 48, 57
Green, Margaret 60
Green, Minnie 64
Gresham, Wheeler 66
Griffin, Heard 72
Gullins, David Goodman 78
Hammond, Milton 91
Harmon, Jane Smith Hill 97
Harris, Dosia 103
Harris, Henderson 115
Harris, Shang 117
Hawkins, Tom 126
Heard, Bill 136
Heard, Emmaline 147, 154, 160
Heard, Mildred 165
Heard, Robert 170
Henderson, Benjamin 173
Henry, Jefferson Franklin 178
Henry, Robert 194
Hill, John 200
Hood, Laura 208
Hudson, Carrie 211
Hudson, Charlie 220
Huff, Annie 233
Huff, Bryant 238
Huff, Easter 244
Hunter, Lina 252
Hurley, Emma 273
Hutcheson, Alice 281
Jackson, Amanda 289
Jackson, Camilla 294
Jackson, Easter 299
Jackson, Snovey 303
Jake, Uncle 310
Jewel, Mahala 315
Johnson, Benjamin 322
Johnson, Georgia 327
Johnson, Manuel 337
Johnson, Susie 343
Jones, Estella 345
Jones, Fannie 351
Jones, Rastus 356
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|[TR:] = Transcriber Note |
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|[HW:] = Handwritten Note |
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|Every effort was made to faithfully reflect the distinctive character of|
|this document. Some obvious typographic errors have been corrected. The |
|above notes are placed inline, to cover all other unusual comments. |
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PLANTATION LIFE as viewed by ex-slave
ELISHA DOC GAREY
258 Lyndon Avenue
Athens, Georgia
Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby
Athens --
Edited by: Sarah H. Hall
Athens --
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Res. 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.
Asked for the story of his early life and his recollections of slavery,
Elisha replied: "Yes Ma'am, 'deed I'll tell you all I knows 'bout dem
days." His next words startled the interviewer. "I knowed you was comin'
to write dis jedgment," he said. "I seed your hand writin' and long
'fore you got here I seed you jus' as plain as you is now. I told dese
folks what I lives wid, a white 'oman was comin' to do a heap of
writin'.
"I was born on de upper edge of Hart County, near Shoal Crick. Sarah
Anne Garey was my Ma and I was one of dem shady babies. Dere was plenty
of dat kind in dem times. My own sister was Rachel, and I had a half
sister named Sallie what was white as anybody. John, Lindsay, David, and
Joseph was my four brothers.
"What did us chillun do? Us wukked lak hosses. Didn't nobody eat dar
'less dey wukked. I'se been wukkin' ever since I come in dis world.
"Us lived in log huts. Evvy hut had a entry in de middle, and a mud
chimbly at each end. Us slep' in beds what was 'tached to de side of de
hut, and dey was boxed up lak wagon bodies to hold de corn shucks and de
babies in. Home-made rugs was put on top of de shucks for sheets, and de
kivver was de same thing.
"I still 'members my grandma Rachel. De traders fotched her here f'um
Virginny, and she never did learn to talk plain. Grandma Sallie Gaines
was too old for field wuk, so she looked atter de slave babies whilst
deir Ma's was wukkin' in de field. Grandpa Jack Gaines was de
shoemaker.
"Most of de time I was up at de big house waitin' on our white folks,
huntin' eggs, pickin' up chips, makin' fires, and little jobs lak dat.
De onliest way I could find to make any money in dem days was to sell
part'idges what I cotched in traps to dem Yankees what was allus passin'
'round. Dey paid me ten cents apiece for part'idges and I might have
saved more of my money if I hadn't loved dat store boughten pep'mint
candy so good.
"What I et? Anything I could git. Peas, green corn, 'tatoes, cornbread,
meat and lye hominy was what dey give us more dan anything else. Bakin'
was done in big old ovens what helt three pones of bread and in skillets
what helt two. Big pots for bilin' was swung over de coals in de
fireplace. Dey was hung on hooks fastened to de chimbly or on cranes
what could be swung off de fire when dey wanted to dish up de victuals.
Hit warn't nothin' for us to ketch five or six 'possums in one night's
huntin'. De best way to tote 'possums is to split a stick and run deir
tails thoo' de crack--den fling de stick crost your shoulders and tote
de 'possums 'long safe and sound. Dat way dey can't bite you. Dey's bad
'bout gnawin' out of sacks. When us went giggin' at night, us most allus
fotched back a heap of fishes and frogs. Dere was allus plenty of fishes
and rabbits. Our good old hound dog was jus' 'bout as good at trailin'
rabbits in de daytime as he was at treein' 'possums at night. I was
young and spry, and it didn't seem to make no diff'unce what I et dem
days. Big gyardens was scattered over de place whar-some-ever Marster
happened to pick out a good gyarden spot. Dem gyardens all b'longed to
our Marster, but he fed us all us wanted out of 'em.
"All dat us chillun wore in summer was jus' one little shirt. It was a
long time 'fore us knowed dere was folks anywhar dat put more dan one
piece of clothes on chillun in summer. Grandpa Jack made de red shoes us
wore widout no socks in winter. Our other winter clothes was cotton
shirts and pants, and coats what had a little wool in 'em. Summer times
us went bar headed, but Unker Ned made bullrush hats for us to wear in
winter. Dere warn't no diff'unt clothes for Sunday. Us toted our shoes
'long in our hands goin' to church. Us put 'em on jus' 'fore us got dar
and tuk 'em off again soon as us got out of sight of de meetin' house on
de way back home.
"Marse Joe Glover was a good man and he never whupped his Niggers much.
His wife, our Miss Julia, was all right too--dat she was. Deir three
chilluns was Miss Sue, Miss Puss, and Marster Will. Marse Joe done all
his own overseein'. He used to tuck his long white beard inside his
shirt and button it up.
"Dat was a fine lookin' turn-out of Marse Joe's--dat rock-a-way car'iage
wid bead fringe all 'round de canopy, a pair of spankin' black hosses
hitched to it, and my brother, David, settin' so proud lak up on de high
seat dey put on de top for de driver.
"Dere warn't no slave, man or 'oman, livin' on dat plantation what
knowed how many acres was in it. I 'spects dere was many as 500 slaves
in all. Marster 'pinted a cullud boy to git de slaves up 'fore day, and
dey wukked f'um sunup to sundown.
"Jails? Yes Ma'am, dere was sev'ral little houses dat helt 'bout two or
three folks what dey called jails. White folks used to git locked up in
'em but I never did see no Niggers in one of dem little jailhouses. I
never seed no Niggers sold, but I did see 'em in wagons gwine to
Mississippi to be sold. I never seed no slave in chains.
"Some few slaves could read and write, and dem what could read was most
allus called on by de others for preachin'. Charlie McCollie was de fust
cullud preacher I ever seed. White folks 'lowed slaves to make brush
arbors for churches on de plantations, and Nigger boys and gals done
some tall courtin' at dem brush arbors. Dat was de onliest place whar
you could git to see de gals you lakked de best. Dey used to start off
services singin', 'Come Ye Dat Loves De Lawd.' Warn't no pools in de
churches to baptize folks in den, so dey tuk 'em down to de crick. Fust
a deacon went in and measured de water wid a stick to find a safe and
suitable place--den dey was ready for de preacher and de canidates.
Evvybody else stood on de banks of de crick and jined in de singin'.
Some of dem songs was: 'Lead Me to de Water for to be Baptized,' 'Oh,
How I love Jesus,' and 'Oh, Happy Day dat Fixed my Choice.'
"I hates to even think 'bout funerals now, old as I is. 'Course I'se
ready to go, but I'se a thinkin' 'bout dem what ain't. Funerals dem days
was pretty much lak dey is now. Evvybody in de country would be dar. All
de coffins for slaves was home-made. Dey was painted black wid smut off
of de wash pot mixed wid grease and water. De onliest funeral song I
'members f'um dem days is:
'Oh, livin' man
Come view de ground
Whar you must shortly lay.'
"How in de name of de Lawd could slaves run away to de North wid dem
Nigger dogs on deir heels? I never knowed nary one to run away.
Patterollers never runned me none, but dey did git atter some of de
other slaves a whole lot. Marse Joe Allus had one pet slave what he sont
news by.
"When slaves come in f'um de fields at night, dey was glad to jus' go to
bed and rest deir bones. Dey stopped off f'um field wuk at dinner time
Saddays. Sadday nights us had stomp down good times pickin' de banjo,
blowin' on quills, drinkin' liquor, and dancin'. I was sho' one fast
Nigger den. Sunday was meetin' day for grown folks and gals. Boys
th'owed rocks and hunted birds' nests dat day.
"Chris'mas mornin's us chillun was up 'fore squirrels, lookin' up de
chimbly for Santa Claus. Dere was plenty to eat den--syrup, cake, and
evvything.
"New Year's Day de slaves all went back to wuk wid most of 'em clearin'
new ground dat day. Dere was allus plenty to do. De only other holidays
us had was when us was rained out or if sleet and snow drove us out of
de fields. Evvybody had a good time den a frolickin'. When us was
trackin' rabbits in de snow, it was heaps of fun.
"Marse Joe had piles and piles of corn lined up in a ring for de corn
shuckin's. De gen'ral pitched de songs and de Niggers would follow,
keepin' time a-singin' and shuckin' corn. Atter all de corn was shucked,
dey was give a big feast wid lots of whiskey to drink and de slaves was
'lowed to dance and frolic 'til mornin'.
"If a neighbor got behind in geth'rin' his cotton, Marse Joe sont his
slaves to help pick it out by moonlight. Times lak dem days, us ain't
never gwine see no more.
"I ain't never seed no sich time in my life as dey had when Marse Will
Glover married Miss Moorehead. She had on a white satin dress wid a veil
over her face, and I 'clare to goodness I never seed sich a pretty white
lady. Next day atter de weddin' day, Marse Will had de infare at his
house and I knows I ain't never been whar so much good to eat was sot
out in one place as dey had dat day. Dey even had dried cow, lak what
dey calls chipped beef now. Dat was somepin' brand new in de way of
eatin's den. I et so much I was skeered I warn't gwine to be able to go
'long back to Marse Joe's plantation wid de rest of 'em.
"Old Marster put evvy foot forward to take care of his slaves when dey
tuk sick, 'cause dey was his own property. Dey poured asafiddy
(asafetida) and pinetop tea down us, and made us take tea of some sort
or another for 'most all of de ailments dere was dem days. Slaves wore a
nickel or a copper on strings 'round deir necks to keep off sickness.
Some few of 'em wore a dime; but dimes was hard to git.
"One game us chillun played was 'doodle.' Us would find us a doodle hole
and start callin' de doodle bug to come out. You might talk and talk but
if you didn't promise him a jug of 'lasses he wouldn't come up to save
your life. One of de songs us sung playin' chilluns games was sorter lak
dis:
"Whose been here
Since I been gone?
A pretty little gal
Wid a blue dress on."
"Joy was on de way when us heared 'bout freedom, if us did have to
whisper. Marse Joe had done been kilt in de war by a bomb. Mist'ess, she
jus' cried and cried. She didn't want us to leave her, so us stayed on
wid her a long time, den us went off to Mississippi to wuk on de
railroad.
"Dem Yankees stole evvything in sight when dey come along atter de
surrender. Dey was bad 'bout takin' our good hosses and corn, what was
$16 a bushel den. Dey even stole our beehives and tuk 'em off wropt up
in quilts.
"My freedom was brought 'bout by a fight dat was fit 'twixt two men, and
I didn't fight nary a lick myself. Mr. Jefferson Davis thought he was
gwine beat, but Mr. Lincoln he done de winnin'. When Mr. Abraham Lincoln
come to dis passage in de Bible: 'My son, therefore shall ye be free
indeed,' he went to wuk to sot us free. He was a great man--Mr. Lincoln
was. Booker Washin'ton come 'long later. He was a great man too.
"De fust school I went to was de Miller O. Field place. Cam King, de
teacher, was a Injun and evvywhar he went he tuk his flute 'long wid
him.
"Me and my fust wife, Essie Lou Sutton, had a grand weddin', but de
white folks tuk her off wid 'em, and I got me a second wife. She was
Julia Goulder of Putman County. Us didn't have no big doin's at my
second marriage. Our onliest two chillun died whilst dey was still
babies."
Asked about charms, ghosts and other superstitions, he patted himself on
the chest, and boasted: "De charm is in here. I just dare any witches
and ghosties to git atter me. I can see ghosties any time I want to.
"Want me to tell you what happened to me in Gainesville, Georgia? I was
out in de woods choppin' cordwood and I felt somepin' flap at me 'bout
my foots. Atter while I looked down, and dere was one of dem deadly
snakes, a highland moccasin. I was so weak I prayed to de Lawd to gimme
power to kill dat snake, but he didn't. De snake jus' disappeared. I
thought it was de Lawd's doin', but I warn't sho'. Den I tuk up my axe
and moved over to a sandy place whar I jus' knowed dere warn't no
snakes. I started to raise my axe to cut de wood and somepin' told me to
look down. I did, and dere was de same snake right twixt my foots again.
Den and dere I kilt him, and de Sperrit passed th'oo me sayin': 'You is
meaner dan dat snake; you kilt him and he hadn't even bit you.' I knowed
for sho' den dat de Lawd was speakin'.
"I was preachin' in Gainesville, whar I lived den, on de Sunday 'fore de
tornado in April 1936. Whilst I was in dat pulpit de Sperrit spoke to me
and said: 'Dis town is gwine to be 'stroyed tomorrow; 'pare your folks.'
I told my congregation what de Sperrit done told me, and dem Niggers
thought I was crazy. Bright and early next mornin' I went down to de
depot to see de most of my folks go off on de train to Atlanta on a
picnic. Dey begged me to go along wid 'em, but I said: 'No, I'se gwine
to stay right here. And 'fore I got back home dat tornado broke loose. I
was knocked down flat and broke to pieces. Dat storm was de cause of me
bein' hitched up in dis here harness what makes me look lak de devil's
hoss.
"Tuther night I was a-singin' dis tune: 'Mother how Long 'fore I'se
Gwine?' A 'oman riz up and said: 'You done raised de daid.' Den I
laughed and 'lowed: 'I knows you is a Sperrit. I'se one too.' At dat she
faded out of sight.
"I think folks had ought to be 'ligious 'cause dat is God's plan, and so
I jined de church atter Christ done presented Hisself to me. I'se fixin'
now to demand my Sperrit in de Lawd.
"Yes Ma'am, Miss, I knowed you was a-comin'. I had done seed you,
writin' wid dat pencil on dat paper, in de Sperrit."
RICHMOND COUNTY EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
LEAH GARRETT
Written by: Louise Oliphant
Federal Writers' Project
Augusta, Georgia
Edited By: John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia
Leah Garrett, an old Negress with snow-white hair leaned back in her
rocker and recalled customs and manners of slavery days. Mistreatment at
the hands of her master is outstanding in her memory.
"I know so many things 'bout slavery time 'til I never will be able to
tell 'em all," she declared. "In dem days, preachers wuz just as bad and
mean as anybody else. Dere wuz a man who folks called a good preacher,
but he wuz one of de meanest mens I ever seed. When I wuz in slavery
under him he done so many bad things 'til God soon kilt him. His wife or
chillun could git mad wid you, and if dey told him anything he always
beat you. Most times he beat his slaves when dey hadn't done nothin' a
t'all. One Sunday mornin' his wife told him deir cook wouldn't never fix
nothin' she told her to fix. Time she said it he jumped up from de
table, went in de kitchen, and made de cook go under de porch whar he
always whupped his slaves. She begged and prayed but he didn't pay no
'tention to dat. He put her up in what us called de swing, and beat her
'til she couldn't holler. De pore thing already had heart trouble; dat's
why he put her in de kitchen, but he left her swingin' dar and went to
church, preached, and called hisself servin' God. When he got back home
she wuz dead. Whenever your marster had you swingin' up, nobody
wouldn't take you down. Sometimes a man would help his wife, but most
times he wuz beat afterwards.
"Another marster I had kept a hogshead to whup you on. Dis hogshead had
two or three hoops 'round it. He buckled you face down on de hogshead
and whupped you 'til you bled. Everybody always stripped you in dem days
to whup you, 'cause dey didn't keer who seed you naked. Some folks'
chillun took sticks and jobbed (jabbed) you all while you wuz bein'
beat. Sometimes dese chillun would beat you all 'cross your head, and
dey Mas and Pas didn't know what stop wuz.
"Another way marster had to whup us wuz in a stock dat he had in de
stables. Dis wuz whar he whupped you when he wuz real mad. He had logs
fixed together wid holes for your feet, hands, and head. He had a way to
open dese logs and fasten you in. Den he had his coachman give you so
many lashes, and he would let you stay in de stock for so many days and
nights. Dat's why he had it in de stable so it wouldn't rain on you.
Everyday you got dat same number of lashes. You never come out able to
sit down.
"I had a cousin wid two chillun. De oldest one had to nuss one of
marster's grandchildren. De front steps wuz real high, and one day dis
pore chile fell down dese steps wid de baby. His wife and daughter
hollered and went on turrible, and when our marster come home dey wuz
still hollerin' just lak de baby wuz dead or dyin'. When dey told him
'bout it, he picked up a board and hit dis pore little chile 'cross de
head and kilt her right dar. Den he told his slaves to take her and
throw her in de river. Her ma begged and prayed, but he didn't pay her
no 'tention; he made 'em throw de chile in.
"One of de slaves married a young gal, and dey put her in de "Big House"
to wuk. One day Mistess jumped on her 'bout something and de gal hit her
back. Mistess said she wuz goin' to have Marster put her in de stock and
beat her when he come home. When de gal went to de field and told her
husband 'bout it, he told her whar to go and stay 'til he got dar. Dat
night he took his supper to her. He carried her to a cave and hauled
pine straw and put in dar for her to sleep on. He fixed dat cave up just
lak a house for her, put a stove in dar and run de pipe out through de
ground into a swamp. Everybody always wondered how he fixed dat pipe,
course dey didn't cook on it 'til night when nobody could see de smoke.
He ceiled de house wid pine logs, made beds and tables out of pine
poles, and dey lived in dis cave seven years. Durin' dis time, dey had
three chillun. Nobody wuz wid her when dese chillun wuz born but her
husband. He waited on her wid each chile. De chillun didn't wear no
clothes 'cept a piece tied 'round deir waists. Dey wuz just as hairy as
wild people, and dey wuz wild. When dey come out of dat cave dey would
run everytime dey seed a pusson.
"De seven years she lived in de cave, diffunt folks helped keep 'em in
food. Her husband would take it to a certain place and she would go and
git it. People had passed over dis cave ever so many times, but nobody
knowed dese folks wuz livin' dar. Our Marster didn't know whar she wuz,
and it wuz freedom 'fore she come out of dat cave for good.
"Us lived in a long house dat had a flat top and little rooms made like
mule stalls, just big enough for you to git in and sleep. Dey warn't no
floors in dese rooms and neither no beds. Us made beds out of dry grass,
but us had cover 'cause de real old people, who couldn't do nothin'
else, made plenty of it. Nobody warn't 'lowed to have fires, and if dey
wuz caught wid any dat meant a beatin'. Some would burn charcoal and
take de coals to deir rooms to help warm 'em. Every pusson had a tin
pan, tin cup, and a spoon. Everybody couldn't eat at one time, us had
'bout four different sets. Nobody had a stove to cook on, everybody
cooked on fire places and used skillets and pots. To boil us hung pots
on racks over de fire and baked bread and meats in de skillets.
"Marster had a big room right side his house whar his vittals wuz
cooked. Den de cook had to carry 'em upstairs in a tray to be served.
When de somethin' t'eat wuz carried to de dinin' room it wuz put on a
table and served from dis table. De food warn't put on de eatin' table.
"De slaves went to church wid dey marsters. De preachers always preached
to de white folks first, den dey would preach to de slaves. Dey never
said nothin' but you must be good, don't steal, don't talk back at your
marsters, don't run away, don't do dis, and don't do dat. Dey let de
colored preachers preach but dey give 'em almanacs to preach out of. Dey
didn't 'low us to sing such songs as 'We Shall Be Free' and 'O For a
Thousand Tongues to Sing'. Dey always had somebody to follow de slaves
to church when de colored preacher was preachin' to hear what wuz said
and done. Dey wuz 'fraid us would try to say something 'gainst 'em."
MARY GLADDY,
EX-SLAVE
Place of birth: On the Holt plantation, in Muscogee
County, near Columbus, Georgia.
Date of birth: About 1853.
Present residence: In rear of 806-1/2 - 6th Avenue, Columbus,
Georgia.
Interviewed: July 30, 1936.
Her story: "I was a small girl when the Civil War broke out, but I
remember it distinctly. I also remember the whisperings among the
slaves--their talking of the possibility of freedom.
"My father was a very large, powerful man. During his master's absence,
in '63 or '64, a colored foreman on the Hines Holt place once undertook
to whip him; but my father wouldn't allow him to do it. This foreman
then went off and got five big buck Negroes to help him whip father, but
all six of them couldn't 'out-man' my daddy! Then this foreman shot my
daddy with a shot-gun, inflicting wounds from which he never fully
recovered.
"In '65, another Negro foreman whipped one of my little brothers. This
foreman was named Warren. His whipping my brother made me mad and when,
a few days later, I saw some men on horseback whom I took to be Yankees,
I ran to them and told them about Warren--a common Negro slave--whipping
my brother. And they said, 'well, we will see Warren about that.' But
Warren heard them and took to his heels! Yes, sir, he flew from home,
and he didn't come back for a week! Yes, sir, I sholy scared that Negro
nearly to death!
"My father's father was a very black, little, full-blooded, African
Negro who could speak only broken English. He had a son named Adam, a
brother of my father, living at Lochapoka, Ala. In 1867, after freedom,
this granpa of mine, who was then living in Macon, Georgia, got mad with
his wife, picked up his feather bed and toted it all the way from Macon
to Lochapoka! Said he was done with grandma and was going to live with
Adam. A few weeks later, however, he came back through Columbus, still
toting his feather bed, returning to grandma in Macon. I reckon he
changed his mind. I don't believe he was over five feet high and we
could hardly understand his talk.
"Since freedom, I have lived in Mississippi and other places, but most
of my life has been spent right in and around Columbus. I have had one
husband and no children. I became a widow about 35 years ago, and I have
since remained one because I find that I can serve God better when I am
not bothered with a Negro man."
Mary Gladdy claims to have never attended school or been privately
taught in her life. And she can't write or even form the letters of the
alphabet, but she gave her interviewer a very convincing demonstration
of her ability to read. When asked how she mastered the art of reading,
she replied: "The Lord revealed it to me."
For more than thirty years, the Lord has been revealing his work, and
many other things, to Mary Gladdy. For more than twenty years, she has
been experiencing "visitations of the spirit". These do not occur with
any degree of regularity, but they do always occur in "the dead hours of
the night" after she has retired, and impel her to rise and write in an
unknown hand. These strange writings of her's now cover eight pages of
letter paper and bear a marked resemblance to crude shorthand notes.
Off-hand, she can "cipher" (interpret or translate) about half of these
strange writings; the other half, however, she can make neither heads
nor tails of except when the spirit is upon her. When the spirit eases
off, she again becomes totally ignorant of the significance of that
mysterious half of her spirit-directed writings.
"Aunt" Mary appears to be very well posted on a number of subjects. She
is unusually familiar with the Bible, and quotes scripture freely and
correctly. She also uses beautiful language, totally void of slang and
Negro jargon, "big" words and labored expressions.
She is a seventh Day Adventist; is not a psychic, but is a rather
mysterious personage. She lives alone, and ekes out a living by taking
in washing. She is of the opinion that "we are now living in the last
days"; that, as she interprets the "signs", the "end of time" is drawing
close. Her conversion to Christianity was the result of a hair-raising
experience with a ghost--about forty years ago, and she has never--from
that day to this--fallen from grace for as "long as a minute".
To know "Aunt" Mary is to be impressed with her utter sincerity and, to
like her. She is very proud of one of her grandmothers, Edie Dennis,
who lived to be 110 years old, and concerning whom a reprint from the
Atlanta Constitution of November 10, 1900, is appended. Her story of
Chuck, and the words of two spirituals and one slave canticle which
"Aunt" Mary sang for her interviewer, are also appended.
AUNT EDIE DENNIS HAS
REACHED GOOD OLD AGE
--SPECIAL--
(FROM ATLANTA CONSTITUTION,
NOVEMBER 10, 1900.)
Quite a remarkable case of longevity is had in the person of Edie
Dennis, a colored woman of Columbus, who has reached the unusual
age of 109 years of age and is still in a state of fair health.
Aunt Edie lives with two of her daughters at No. 1612 Third Avenue,
in this city. She has lived in three centuries, is a great-great
grandmother and has children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren
and great-great-grandchildren, aggregating in all over a hundred
persons. She lives with one of her "young" daughters, sixty-six.
Edie Dennis is no doubt one of the oldest persons living in the
United States. Cases are occasionally reported where 105 years is
reached, but 109 years is an age very seldom attained. A wonderful
feature of this case is that this old woman is the younger sister
of another person now living. Aunt Edie has a brother living at
Americus, Georgia, who is 111 years old.
Notwithstanding her great age, Aunt Edie is in fairly good health.
She is naturally feeble and her movements are limited. Even in her
little home, from which she never stirs. Although she is feeble,
her faculties seem clear and undimmed and she talked interestingly
and intelligently to a Constitution reporter who called upon her
recently.
Aunt Edie was born in 1791, just eight years before the death of
George Washington occurred. She was a mother when the war of 1812
took place. The establishment of Columbus as a city was an event of
her mature womanhood. The Indian War of the thirties she recalls
very distinctly. She was getting old when the Mexican War took
place. She was an old woman when the great conflict between the
states raged. She was seventy-five years of age when she became
free.
It is quite needless to say that Aunt Edie was a slave all her life
up to the year 1866. She was born in Hancock County, Georgia,
between Milledgeville and Sparta. She was the property of Thomas
Schlatter. She came to Columbus just after the town had been laid
off, when she was a comparatively young woman. She became the
property of the family of Judge Hines Holt, the distinguished
Columbus lawyer. She says that when she first came here there was
only a small collection of houses. Where her present home was
located was then nothing but swamp land. The present location of
the court house was covered with a dense woods. No event in those
early years impressed itself more vividly upon Aunt Edie's mind
than the Indian War, in the thirties. She was at the home of one of
the Indians when she first heard of the uprising against the
whites, and she frankly says that she was frightened almost to
death when she listened to the cold-blooded plots to exterminate
the white people. Not much attention was paid to her on account of
her being a Negro. Those were very thrilling times and Aunt Edie
confesses that she was exceedingly glad when the troubles with the
red men were over. Another happening of the thirties which Aunt
Edie recalls quite distinctly is the falling of the stars. She says
quaintly that there was more religion that year in Georgia than
there ever was before or has been since. The wonderful manner in
which the stars shot across the heavens by the thousands, when
every sign seemed to point to the destruction of the earth, left a
lasting impression upon her brain.
Aunt Edie says that she was kindly treated by her masters. She says
that they took interest in the spiritual welfare of their slaves
and that they were called in for prayer meeting regularly. Aunt
Edie was such an old woman when she was freed that the new
condition meant very little change in life for her, as she had
about stopped work, with the exception of light tasks about the
house.
There seems to be no doubt that Aunt Edie is 109 years old. She
talks intelligently about things that occurred 100 years ago. All
her children, grandchildren, etc., asserts that her age is exactly
as stated. Indeed, they have been the custodians of her age, so to
speak, for nearly half a century. It was a matter of great interest
to her family when she passed the 100 mark.
Aunt Edie is religious and she delights in discussing scriptural
matters. She has practical notions, however, and while she is
morally sure she will go to a better world when she dies, she
remarks, "That we know something about this world, but nothing
about the next."
Perhaps this is one reason why Aunt Edie has stayed here 109 years.
* * * * *
NOTE: Mary Gladdy (806-1/2 - Sixth Avenue, Columbus, Georgia). A
grand-daughter of Edie Dennis, states that her grandmother died in
1901, aged 110.
THE STORY OF CHUCK, AS
TOLD BY MARY GLADDY.
Chuck was a very intelligent and industrious slave, but so religious
that he annoyed his master by doing so much praying, chanting, and
singing.
So, while in a spiteful mood one day, this master sold the Negro to an
infidel. And this infidel, having no respect for religion whatsoever,
beat Chuck unmercifully in an effort to stop him from indulging in his
devotions. But, the more and the harder the infidel owner whipped Chuck,
the more devout and demonstrative the slave became.
Finally, one day, the infidel was stricken ill unto death; the wicked
man felt that his end was near and he was afraid to die. Moreover, his
conscience rebuked him for his cruel treatment of this slave. The family
doctor had given the infidel up: the man apparently had but a few hours
to live. Then, about 8 o'clock at night, the dying man asked his wife to
go down in the slave quarter and ask Chuck if he would come to his
bedside and pray for him.
The white lady went, as requested, and found Chuck on his knees, engaged
in prayer.
"Chuck", she called, "your master is dying and has sent me to beg you to
come and pray for him."
"Why, Maddom", replied Chuck, "I has been praying fer Marster
tonight--already, and I'll gladly go with you."
Chuck then went to his Master's bed side and prayed for him all night,
and the Lord heard Chuck's prayers, and the white man recovered, was
converted, joined the church, and became an evangelist. He also freed
Chuck and made an evangelist of him. Then the two got in a buggy and,
for years, traveled together all over the country, preaching the gospel
and saving souls.
NOTE: Mary Gladdy believes this to be a true story, though she knew
neither the principals involved, nor where nor when they lived and
labored. She says that the story has been "handed down", and she once
saw it printed in, and thus confirmed by, a Negro publication--long
after she had originally heard it.
KEEP THE FIRE BURNING WHILE YOUR SOUL'S FIRED UP.
Fire, fire, O, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up.
O, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up;
Never mind what satan says while your soul's fired up.
You ain't going to learn how to watch and pray,
Less you keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up.
Old Satan is a liar and a cunjorer, too;
If you don't mind, he'll cunjor you;
Keep the fire burning while your =soul's fired up=.
Never mind what satan says while, your soul's fired up.
Sung for interviewer by:
Mary Gladdy, Ex-slave,
806-1/2 - Sixth Avenue,
Columbus, Georgia.
December 17, 1936.
THE GOSPEL TRAIN
Never seen the like since I've been born,
The people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone;
Too late, too late, the train's done gone,
Too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone;
Never seen the like since I've been born,
The people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone;
Too late, too late, the train's done gone.
Went down into the valley to watch and pray,
My soul got happy and I stayed all day;
Too late, too late, the train's done gone;
Too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone;
Never seen the like since I've been born,
The people keep a-coming and the train's done gone.
Too late, too late, the train's done gone.
Sung for interviewer by:
Mary Gladdy, ex-slave,
806-1/2 - 6th Avenue,
Columbus, Georgia,
December 17, 1936
OLD SLAVE CANTICLE.
My sister, I feels 'im, my sister I feels 'im;
All night long I've been feelin 'im;
Jest befoe day, I feels 'im, jest befoe day I feels 'im;
The sperit, I feels 'im, the sperit I feels 'im!
My brother, I feels 'im, my brother, I feels 'im;
All night long I've been feelin 'im,
Jest befoe day, I feels 'im, jest befoe day, I feel 'im;
The sperit, I feels 'im!
According to Mary Gladdy, ex-slave, 806-1/2 - 6th Avenue, Columbus,
Georgia, it was customary among slaves during the Civil War period to
secretly gather in their cabins two or three nights each week and hold
prayer and experience meetings. A large, iron pot was always placed
against the cabin door--sideways, to keep the sound of their voices from
"escaping" or being heard from the outside. Then, the slaves would sing,
pray, and relate experiences all night long. Their great, soul-hungering
desire was freedom--not that they loved the Yankees or hated their
masters, but merely longed to be free and hated the institution of
slavery.
Practically always, every Negro attendant of these meetings felt the
spirit of the Lord "touch him (or her) just before day". Then, all would
arise, shake hands around, and begin to chant the canticle above quoted.
This was also a signal for adjournment, and, after chanting 15 or 20
minutes, all would shake hands again and go home--confident in their
hearts that freedom was in the offing for them.
A SHORT TALK
WITH SARAH GRAY--
EX-SLAVE
A paper submitted
by Minnie B. Ross
Revision of original copy
and typing by
J. C. Russell
1/25/37
Talk with ex-slave
SARAH GRAY
M. B. Ross
Sarah Gray is an aged ex-slave, whose years have not only bent her body
but seem to have clouded her memory. Only a few facts relating to
slavery could, therefore, be learned from her. The events she related,
however, seemed to give her as much pleasure as a child playing with a
favorite toy.
The only recollection Sarah has of her mother is seeing her as she lay
in her coffin, as she was very young when her mother died. She remembers
asking her sisters why they didn't give her mother any breakfast.
Sarah's master was Mr. Jim Nesbit, who was the owner of a small
plantation in Gwinnett County. The exact number of slaves on the
plantation were not known, but there were enough to carry on the work of
plowing, hoeing and chopping the cotton and other crops. Women as well
as men were expected to turn out the required amount of work, whether it
was picking cotton, cutting logs, splitting rails for fences or working
in the house.
Sarah was a house slave, performing the duties of a maid. She was often
taken on trips with the mistress, and treated more as one of the Nesbit
family than as a slave. She remarked, "I even ate the same kind of food
as the master's family."
The Nesbits, according to Sarah, followed the customary practice of the
other slave owners in the matter of the punishment of slaves. She says,
however, that while there were stories of some very cruel masters, in
her opinion the slave owners of those days were not as cruel as some
people today. She said occasionally slave owners appointed some of the
slaves as overseers, and very often these slave-overseers were very
cruel.
When the war began, the Nesbits and other plantation owners grouped
together, packed their wagons full of supplies, took all of their
slaves, and started on a journey as refugees. They had not gone very far
when a band of Yankee soldiers overtook them, destroyed the wagons, took
seventy of the men prisoners and marched off taking all of the horses,
saying they were on their way to Richmond and when they returned there
would be no more masters and slaves, as the slaves would be freed. Some
of the slaves followed the Yankees, but most of them remained with their
masters' families.
They were not told of their freedom immediately on the termination of
the war, but learned it a little later. As compensation, Mr. Nesbit
promised them money for education. She declares, however, that this
promise was never fulfilled.
Sarah Gray's recollections of slavery, for the most part, seem to be
pleasant. She sums it up in the statement, "In spite of the hardships we
had to go through at times, we had a lot to be thankful for. There were
frolics, and we were given plenty of good food to eat, especially after
a wedding."
The aged ex-slave now lives with a few distant relatives. She is well
cared for by a family for whom she worked as a nurse for 35 years, and
she declares that she is happy in her old age, feeling that her life has
been usefully spent.
PLANTATION LIFE as viewed by Ex-Slave
ALICE GREEN
Athens
Georgia
Written by: Corry Fowler,
Athens --
Edited by: Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Alice Green's supposed address led the interviewer to a cabin with a
padlocked front door. A small Negro girl who was playing in the
adjoining yard admitted, after some coaxing, that she knew where Alice
could be found. Pointing down the street, she said: "See dat house wid
de sheet hangin' out in front. Dat's whar Aunt Alice lives now." A few
moments later a rap on the door of the house designated was answered by
a small, slender Negress.
"Yes Mam, I'm Alice Green," was her solemn response to the inquiry. She
pondered the question of an interview for a moment and then, with
unsmiling dignity, bade the visitor come in and be seated. Only one room
of the dilapidated two-room shack was usable for shelter and this room
was so dark that lamplight was necessary at 10:00 o'clock in the
morning. Her smoking oil lamp was minus its chimney.
A Negro child about two or three years old was Alice's sole companion.
"I takes keer of little Sallie Mae whilst her Mammy wuks at a boardin'
house," she explained. "She's lots of company for me.
"Charles and Milly Green was my daddy and mammy. Daddy's overseer was a
man named Green, and dey said he was a powerful mean sort of man. I
never did know whar it was dey lived when Daddy was borned. Mammy's
marster was a lawyer dat dey called Slickhead Mitchell, and he had a
plantation at Helicon Springs. Mammy was a house gal and she said dey
treated her right good. Now Daddy, he done field work. You know what
field work is, hoein', plowin', and things lak dat. When you was a slave
you had to do anything and evvything your marster told you to. You was
jus' 'bliged to obey your marster no matter what he said for you to do.
If you didn't, it was mighty bad for you. My two oldest sisters was
Fannie and Rena. Den come my brothers, Isaac and Bob, and my two
youngest sisters, Luna and Violet. Dere was seven of us in all.
"Slaves lived in rough little log huts daubed wid mud and de chimblys
was made out of sticks and red mud. Mammy said dat atter de slaves had
done got through wid deir day's work and finished eatin' supper, dey all
had to git busy workin' wid cotton. Some carded bats, some spinned and
some weaved cloth. I knows you is done seen dis here checkidy cotton
homespun--dat's what dey weaved for our dresses. Dem dresses was made
tight and long, and dey made 'em right on de body so as not to waste
none of de cloth. All slaves had was homespun clothes and old heavy
brogan shoes.
"You'll be s'prised at what Mammy told me 'bout how she got her larnin'.
She said she kept a school book hid in her bosom all de time and when de
white chillun got home from school she would ax 'em lots of questions
all 'bout what dey had done larned dat day and, 'cause she was so proud
of evvy little scrap of book larnin' she could pick up, de white chillun
larned her how to read and write too. All de larnin' she ever had she
got from de white chillun at de big house, and she was so smart at
gittin' 'em to larn her dat atter de war was over she got to be a school
teacher. Long 'fore dat time, one of dem white chillun got married and
tuk Mammy wid her to her new home at Butler, Georgia.
"Now my daddy, he was a plum sight sho' 'nough. He said dat when
evvythin' got still and quiet at night he would slip off and hunt him up
some 'omans. Patterollers used to git atter him wid nigger hounds and
once when dey cotch him he said dey beat him so bad you couldn't lay
your hand on him nowhar dat it warn't sore. Dey beat so many holes in
him he couldn't even wear his shirt. Most of de time he was lucky enough
to outrun 'em and if he could jus' git to his marster's place fust dey
couldn't lay hands on him. Yes Mam, he was plenty bad 'bout runnin' away
and gittin' into devilment.
"Daddy used to talk lots 'bout dem big cornshuckin's. He said dat when
dey got started he would jump up on a big old pile of corn and holler
loud as he could whilst he was a snatchin' dem shucks off as fast as
greased lightin'.
"When Mammy was converted she jined the white folks church and was
baptized by a white preacher 'cause in dem days slaves all went to de
same churches wid deir marster's famblies. Dere warn't no separate
churches for Negroes and white people den.
"I warn't no bigger dan dis here little Sallie Mae what stays wid me
when de War ended and dey freed de slaves. A long time atter it was all
over, Mammy told me 'bout dat day. She said she was in de kitchen up at
de big house a-cookin' and me and my sisters was out in de yard in de
sandbed a-playin' wid de little white chillun when dem yankee sojers
come. Old Miss, she said to Mammy: 'Milly, look yonder what's a-comin'.
I ain't gwine to have nothin' left, not even a nickels worth, 'cause
dere comes dem yankees.' Dey rid on in de yard, dem sojers what wore dem
blue jackets, and dey jus' swarmed all over our place. Dey even went in
our smokehouse and evvywhar and took whatever dey wanted. Dey said
slaves was all freed from bondage and told us to jus' take anything and
evvything us wanted from de big house and all 'round de plantation whar
us lived. Dem thievin' sojers even picked up one of de babies and
started off wid it, and den Old Miss did scream and cry for sho'. Atter
dey had done left, Old Miss called all of us together and said she
didn't want none of us to leave her and so us stayed wid her a whole
year atter freedom had done come.
"Not many slaves had a chance to git property of deir own for a long
time 'cause dey didn't have no money to buy it wid. Dem few what had
land of deir own wouldn't have had it if deir white folks hadn't give it
to 'em or holp 'em to git it. My uncle, Carter Brown, had a plenty
'cause his white folks holped him to git a home and 'bout evvything else
he wanted. Dem Morton Negroes got ahead faster dan most any of de others
'round here but dey couldn't have done it if deir white folks hadn't
holped 'em so much.
"Soon as I got big enough, I started cookin' for well-off white folks.
Fact is, I ain't never cooked for no white folks dat didn't have jus'
plenty of money. Some of de white folks what has done et my cookin' is
de Mitchells, Upsons, Ruckers, Bridges, and Chief Seagraves' fambly. I
was cookin' for Chief Buesse's mammy when he was jus' a little old
shirttail boy. Honey, I allus did lak to be workin' and I have done my
share of it, but since I got so old I ain't able to do much no more. My
white folks is mighty good to me though.
"Now Honey, you may think it's kind of funny but I ain't never been much
of a hand to run 'round wid colored folks. My mammy and my white folks
dey raised me right and larned me good manners and I'm powerful proud of
my raisin'. I feels lak now dat white folks understands me better and
'preciates me more."
Why, jus' listen to dis! When Mr. Weaver Bridges told me his mother had
done died, he axed me did I want to go to the funeral and he said he was
goin' to take me to de church and graveyard too, and sho' 'nough dey did
come and git me and carry me 'long. I was glad dey had so many pretty
flowers at Mrs. Bridges' funeral 'cause I loved her so much. She was a
mighty sweet, good, kind 'oman.
"All my folks is dead now 'cept me and my chillun, Archie, Lila, and
Lizzie. All three of 'em is done married now. Archie, he's got a house
full of chillun. He works up yonder at de Georgian Hotel. I loves to
stay in a little hut off to myself 'cause I can tell good as anybody
when my chillun and in-laws begins to look cross-eyed at me so I jus'
stays out of deir way.
"I'm still able to go to church and back by myself pretty reg'lar. 'Bout
four years ago I jined Hill's Baptist Church. Lak to a got lost didn't
I? If I had stayed out a little longer it would have been too late, and
I sho' don't want to be lost."
PLANTATION LIFE
Interview with:
ALICE GREEN
156 Willow Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby
Athens --
Edited by: Sarah H. Hall
Athens --
Leila Harris
Augusta --
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7.
ALICE GREEN
Ex-Slave--Age 76
Alice Green's address led to a tumble down shack set in a small yard
which was enclosed by a sagging poultry wire fence. The gate, off its
hinges, was propped across the entrance.
The call, "Alice!" brought the prompt response, "Here I is. Jus' push de
gate down and come on in." When a little rat terrier ran barking out of
the house to challenge the visitor, Alice hobbled to the door. "Come
back here and be-have yourself" she addressed the dog, and turning to
the interviewer, she said: "Lady, dat dog won't bite nothin' but
somepin' t'eat--when he kin git it." Don't pay him no 'tention. Won't
you come in and have a seat?"
Alice has a light brown complexion and bright blue eyes. She wore a
soiled print dress, and a dingy stocking cap partly concealed her white
hair. Boards were laid across the seat of what had been a cane-bottomed
chair, in which she sat and rocked.
Asked if she would talk of her early life the old Negress replied: "Good
Lord! Honey, I done forgot all I ever knowed 'bout dem days. I was born
in Clarke County. Milly and Charley Green was my mammy and pappy and dey
b'longed to Marse Daniel Miller. Mammy, she was born and raised in
Clarke County but my pappy, he come from southwest Georgia. I done
forgot de town whar he was brung up. Dere was seven of us chillun: me
and Viola, Lula, Fannie, Rene, Bob, and Isaac. Chillun what warn't big
'nough to wuk in de fields or in de house stayed 'round de yard and
played in de sand piles wid de white chillun.
"Slaves lived in mud-daubed log huts what had chimblies made out of
sticks and mud. Lordy Honey! Dem beds was made wid big high posties and
strung wid cords for springs. Folks never had no wire bedsprings dem
days. Our mattresses was wheat straw put in ticks made out of coarse
cloth what was wove on de loom right dar on de plantation.
"I don't know nothin' 'bout what my grandmammies done in slav'ry time. I
never seed but one of 'em, and don't 'member much 'bout her. I was jus'
so knotty headed I never tuk in what went on 'cause I never 'spected to
be axed to tell 'bout dem days.