behind the big house. The big old fireplace in that kitchen held a
four-foot log, and when you was little you could set on one end of that
log whilst it was a-burnin' on t'other. They biled in pots hangin' from
hooks on a iron bar that went all the way 'cross the fireplace, and the
bakin' was done in skillets and ovens, but sometimes bread was wropt up
in cabbage or collard leaves and baked in hot ashes; that was ashcake.
Thick iron lids fitted tight on them old skillets, and most of 'em had
three legs so hot coals could be raked under 'em. The ovens sot on
trivets over the coals.
"Our clothes warn't nothin' to talk about. In summer boys wore just one
piece and that looked lak a long nightshirt. Winter clothes was jean
pants and homespun shirts; they was warm but not too warm. Thar warn't
no sich things as Sunday clothes in them days, and I never had a pair of
shoes on my foots in slavery time, 'cause I warn't big enough to wuk.
Grown Negroes wore shoes in winter but they never had none in summer.
"Marse Robert Trammell and his wife, Miss Martha, was our marster and
mistess. Miss Ada, Miss Emma, and Miss Mary 'Liza was the young misses,
and the young marsters was named George Washin'ton and William Daniel.
Marse Robert and his fambly lived in a log and plank house with a rock
chimbly. He was buildin' a fine rock house when the war came on, but he
never got it finished.
"Robert Scott, one of the slaves, was made foreman atter Marse Robert
turned off his overseer. Gilbert was the carriage driver and 'sides
drivin' the fambly 'round, he tuk Marse Robert's ma, Miss Betsey, to her
church at Powder Springs. Miss Betsey was a Hardshell Baptist, and Marse
Robert and his wife wouldn't go to church with her.
"That old plantation was a large place all right enough; I 'spects thar
was 'bout four or five hunderd acres in it. Marse Robert warn't no big
slave holder and he didn't have so awful many slaves. His foreman had
'em out in the fields by daylight and wuked 'em 'til dark. The women had
a certain stint of thread to spin and cloth to weave 'fore they could go
to bed at night. The menfolks had to shuck corn, mend horse-collars,
make baskets, and all sich jobs as that at night, and they had to holp
the women with the washin' sometimes. Most of that kind of thing was
done on days when the weather was too hot for 'em to work in the fields.
"Marse Robert done his own whippin' of his slaves and, let me tell you,
they didn't have to do much for him to whip 'em; he whipped 'em for most
anything. They was tied, hand and foots, to a certain tree, and he beat
'em with a heavy leather strop. I'se seed him whip 'em heaps of times,
and it was 'most allus in the mornin's 'fore they went to wuk. Thar
warn't no jailhouse nigh whar us lived and Marse Robert never had no
place to lock slaves up when they got too bad, so he just beat the
meanness out of 'em. Thar was one slave he never tetched; that was his
foreman and his name was Robert too, lak I done told you.
"I never seed no slaves sold on the block or auctioned off, and if any
droves of slaves for sale passed our plantation I'se done forgot about
it. No, mam, a slave warn't 'lowed to take no book in his hand to larn
nothin'; it was agin' the law to permit slaves to do that sort of thing.
If us went to any churches at all it had to be our white folks'
churches, 'cause thar warn't no churches for Negroes 'til the war was
over. Not a slave on our place could read a word from the Bible, but
some few could repeat a verse or two they had cotch from the white folks
and them that was smart enough made up a heap of verses that went 'long
with the ones larned by heart. Us went to Poplar Springs Baptist church
with Marse Robert's fambly; that church was 'bout 3 miles from whar us
lived. Miss Betsey, she tuk Grandma Ca'line with her to the Hardshell
Baptist church about 10 miles further down the road. Sometimes Grandma
Ca'line would go by herself when Marse Robert's ma didn't go. Us just
had church once a month.
"When a slave died evvybody on our plantation quit wuk 'til atter the
buryin'. The home-made coffins was made of unpainted planks and they was
lined with white cloth. White folks' coffins was made the same way, only
theirs was stained, but they never tuk time to stain the ones they
buried slaves in. Graves was dug wide at the top and at the bottom they
was just wide enough to fit the coffin. They laid planks 'crost the
coffins and they shovelled in the dirt. They never had larnt to read the
songs they sung at funerals and at meetin'. Them songs was handed down
from one generation to another and, far as they knowed, never was writ
down. A song they sung at the house 'fore they left for the graveyard
begun:
'Why do we mourn departed friends,
Or shake at death's alarm.'"
At the grave they sung, =Am I Born to Die, To Lay this Body Down?=
"Slaves on our plantation never thought about runnin' off to no North.
Marse Robert allus treated 'em fair and square, and thar warn't no need
for 'em to run nowhar. That foreman of his, Robert Scott, did go off and
stay a few days once. Marse Robert had started to whip his wife and he
had jumped 'twixt 'em; that made Marse Robert so mad he run to the house
to git his gun, so the foreman he got out of the way a day or two to
keep from gittin' shot. When he come back, Marse Robert was so glad to
git him back he never said a word to him 'bout leavin'.
"On Saddays the women wuked in the field 'til dinnertime, but the
menfolks wuked on 'til a hour 'fore sundown. The women spent that time
washin', cleanin' up the cabins, patchin', and gittin' ready for the
next week. Oh! How they did frolic 'round Sadday night when they could
git passes. Sundays they went to church but not without a pass for, if
they ever was cotch out without one, them paterollers would beat 'em up
something terrible.
"Sho, Christmastime was when slaves had their own fun. Thar warn't
nothin' extra or diffunt give 'em, only plenty to eat and drink; Marse
Robert allus made lots of whiskey and brandy. He give his slaves six
days holiday and 'lowed 'em to have passes. They frolicked, danced, and
visited 'round and called it havin' a good time. Wuk begun again on New
Year's Day and thar warn't no more holidays 'til the next Christmas. No,
mam, not many slave chillun knowed what Santa Claus was or what
Christmas was meant to celebrate 'til they got some schoolin' atter the
war was over.
"Sho, sho, us had cornshuckin's, all right enough. Sometimes Marse
Robert raised so much corn us had to have more than one cornshuckin' to
git it all shucked. The neighbors was 'vited and such a time as us did
have atter the wuk was done. I was too little to do so much eatin',
drinkin', and cuttin' the buck as the older ones done. 'Cuttin' the
buck' is what I calls the kind of frolics they had atter they got full
of liquor.
"Yes, mam, they had dances all right. That's how they got mixed up with
the paterollers. Negroes would go off to dances and stay out all night;
it would be wuk time when they got back, and they went to the field and
tried to keep right on gwine, but the Good Lord soon cut 'em down. You
couldn't talk to folks that tried to git by with things lak that; they
warn't gwine to do no diffunt, nohow. When they ain't 'cepted at St.
Peter's gate, I'se sho they's gwine to wish they had heeded folks that
talked to 'em and tried to holp 'em.
"Weddin's? Didn't you know slaves didn't have sho'nough weddin's? If a
slave man saw a girl to his lakin' and wanted her to make a home for
him, he just axed her owner if it was all right to take her. If the
owner said 'yes' then the man and girl settled down together and behaved
theyselves. If the girl lived on one plantation and the man on another
that was luck for the girl's marster, 'cause the chillun would belong to
him.
"Right now I can't call to mind nothin' us played when I was a chap but
marble games. Us made them marbles out of clay and baked 'em in the sun.
Grown folks used to scare chillun 'bout Raw Head and Bloody Bones, but
that was mostly to make chillun git still and quiet at night. I ain't
never seed no ghost in my life, but I has heared a heap of sounds and
warn't able to find out what made them noises.
"When slaves got sick Marse Robert was good enough to 'em; he treated
'em right, and allus sont for a doctor, 'specially when chillun was
borned. Oil, turpentine, and salts was the medicines the doctors give
the most of to slaves. 'Fore they was sick enough to send for the
doctor the homefolks often give sick folks boneset and life-everlastin'
teas, and 'most evvybody wore a little sack of asafetida 'round their
necks to protect 'em from diseases.
"When freedom come I was down in the lower end of Clarke County on Marse
George Veal's plantation whar Marse Robert had done sont Miss Martha and
the chillun and part of the slaves too. My white folks was fleein' from
the Yankees. Marse Robert couldn't come 'long 'cause he had done been
wounded in battle and when they sont him home from the war he couldn't
walk. I don't know what he said to the slaves that was left thar to
'tend him, but I heared tell that he didn't tell 'em nothin' 'bout
freedom, leastwise not for sometime. Pretty soon the Yankees come
through and had the slaves come together in town whar they had a
speakin' and told them Negroes they was free, and that they didn't
belong to nobody no more. Them Yankees said orders for that
pernouncement had come from the President of the United States, Mr.
Abraham Lincoln, and they said that Mr. Lincoln was to be a father to
the slaves atter he had done freed 'em.
"It warn't long then 'fore Marse Robert sont my pa to fetch Miss Martha
and her chillun, and the slaves too, back to the old plantation. Pa
wuked for him 'til June of the next year and then rented a farm on
shares.
"I heared 'bout night-riders, but I never seed none of 'em. It was said
they tuk Negroes out of their cabins and beat 'em up jus' 'cause they
belonged to the Negro race. Negroes was free but they warn't 'lowed to
act lak free people. Three months atter the war, schools was opened up
here for Negroes and they was in charge of Yankee teachers. I can't call
back the name of the Yankee woman that taught me.
"It was several years before no Negroes was able to buy land, and thar
was just a few of 'em done it to start with. Negroes had to go to school
fust and git larnin' so they would know how to keep some of them white
folks from gittin' land 'way from 'em if they did buy it.
"Slavery time customs had changed a good bit when I married Ella
Strickland. Us had a common little home affair at her ma's house. I
never will forgit how Ella looked that day in her dove-colored weddin'
dress; it was made with a plain, close-fittin' waist that had pretty
lace 'round the neck and sleeves. Her skirt was plaited, and over it was
draped a overskirt that was edged with lace. The Good Lord gave us seven
children, but three of 'em He has taken from the land of the livin'. Us
still has two boys and two girls. Sam wuks at a big clubhouse in
Washington, D.C., and his four chillun are the onliest grandchillun me
and Ella's got, so far as us knows. Charlie's job is at the Pennsylvania
Station. Both of our daughters is teachers; one of 'em teaches at the
Union Baptist School, here in Athens, and the other's at a school in
Statesboro, Georgia. Yes, mam, Ella's still livin', but she is bad off
with her foots. If the Lord lets us both live 'til this comin' December,
us will celebrate our 53rd. Weddin' anniversary.
"Now that its all been over more than 70 years and us is had time to
study it over good, I thinks it was by God's own plan that President
Abraham Lincoln sot us free, and I can't sing his praises enough. Miss
Martha named me for Jeff Davis, so I can't down him when I'se got his
name; I was named for him and Benjamin Franklin too. Oh! Sho, I'd ruther
be free and I believes the Negroes is got as much right to freedom as
any other race, 'deed I does believe that.
"Why did I jine the church? 'Cause I was converted by the power of the
Holy Spirit. I thinks all people ought to be 'ligious, to be more lak
Christ; He is our Saviour. I'se been in the church 53 years and 'bout 52
of them years I'se been a-preachin'. I went one year to the Atlanta
Baptist College to git my trainin' for the ministry, and I would have
gone back, but me and Ella got married. I'se been pastor of the
Friendship Baptist Church 48 years. In all, I'se been pastor of eight
churches; I'se got three regular churches now."
A Negro boy came to the door and asked Jeff to tell him about some work.
As Jeff arose he said: "If you is through with me, I'll have to go now
and holp this boy. I'se 'titled to one of them books with my story in it
free, 'cause I'se a preacher, and I knows I'se give you the best story
you has wrote up yit."
SUBJECT: [HW: Robert Henry]--EX-SLAVE
DISTRICT: W.P.A. NO. 1
RESEARCH WORKER: JOSEPH E. JAFFEE
EDITOR: JOHN N. BOOTH
SUPERVISOR: JOSEPH E. JAFFFEE (ASST.)
PLANTATION LIFE, AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE
Uncle Robert Henry, an active 82, now lives with his daughter on Billups
Street in Athens. At the time of our visit he was immaculate in dark
trousers, a tweed sack coat, and a gayly striped tie. Naturally the
question came to mind as to whether he found life more pleasant in his
daughter's neat little cottage, with its well kept yards, or in the
quarters on "Ole Marster's plantation." He seemed delighted to have an
opportunity to talk about "slave'y days"; and although he could not have
been more than 11 years old at the time, he has a very vivid
recollection of the "year de war broke and freedom came."
[Illustration]
His parents, Robert and Martha Henry, were born in Oglethorpe County and
were later purchased by P.W. Sayles, who owned a 1,000-acre plantation
about 18 miles from Washington, in Wilkes County. Ga. "Marster
didn't have many niggers, not more'n 70," he stated.
Uncle Robert was the oldest of 8 children, 5 boys and 3 girls. "Pa wuz
de butler at de big house," he declared with pride in his voice; and he
went on to tell how his mother had been the head seamstress on the
plantation and how, at the tender age of 8, his father had begun
training him to "wait on Marster's table".
The picture of "Old Marster's" household, as the old man unfolds it to
his listeners, is one of almost idyllic beauty. There was the
white-pillared "big house" in a grove of white oaks on the brow of a
hill with a commanding view of the whole countryside. A gravelled
driveway led down to the dusty public road where an occasional
stagecoach rattled by and which later echoed with the hoofbeats of
Confederate Cavalry.
The master's house contained twelve rooms, each about 16 x 16 feet. The
kitchen was in the back yard and food was carried to the dining room in
the high basement to the big house by means of an underground passage.
Two servants stood guard over the table with huge fans made of peacock
feathers which they kept in continuous motion during meals to "shoo de
flies away."
The slave quarters were on the banks of a creek down the hill behind the
big house. Nearby were the overseer's cottage, the stables, and the
carriage houses.
In the family were: "Marster, Mistis, Mis' Fannie, Mis' Sally, Mars'
Thomas, Mars' Hickey, and Mars' Wyatt. Dey all 'tended a school on de
plantation." Two of the boys went to the war but only one of them came
back.
After the war the "Yanks" came by and took nearly all the stock that the
servants hadn't hidden in the swamps and all the silver that "Ole
Mistis" hadn't buried under the currant bushes.
Yes, in spite of the hard work required, life was very pleasant on the
plantations. The field hands were at work at sun-up and were not allowed
to quit until dark. Each slave had an acre or two of land which he was
allowed to farm for himself. He used Saturday morning to cultivate his
own crop and on Saturday afternoon he lolled around or went fishing or
visiting. Saturday nights were always the time for dancing and
frolicking. The master sometimes let them use a barn loft for a big
square dance. The musical instruments consisted of fiddles; buckets,
which were beaten with the hands; and reeds, called "blowing quills,"
which were used in the manner of a flute.
There were two churches on the plantation, "one for de white folks and
one fer de niggers." The same preacher held forth in both congregations.
When there were services in the white church there was no negro
meetings; but negroes were allowed to sit in the gallery of the "white
folk'" church.
The master regarded his slaves as [HW: deleted: a] valuable [HW:
deleted: piece of] property and they received treatment as such. When
they were ill the doctor would be sent for or "Old Mistis" would come to
the cabins bringing her basket of oil, pills, and linament.
Food was always given out to the slaves from the commissary and the
smokehouse. There was flour and corn meal, dried beans and other
vegetables, and cured pork and beef in the winter. In season the
servants had access to the master's vegetable garden and they were
always given as much milk as they could use.
Life [HW: deleted: had indeed been; added: was] was very pleasant in
those times; but Uncle Robert, at ease in a comfortable rocker, would
not agree that it was more to his liking than this present-day
existence.
When the subject of signs and omens was broached he waxed voluble in
denying that he believed in any such "foolishment." However, he agreed
that many believed that a rooster crowing in front of the door meant
that a stranger was coming and that an owl screeching was a sign of
death. He suggested that a successful means of combatting the latter
omen is to tie knots in the bed sheets or to heat a poker in the fire.
In case of death, Uncle Robert says, to be on the safe side and prevent
another death in the family, it is wise to stop the clock and turn its
face to the wall and to cover all the mirrors in the house with white
cloths. Uncle Robert's highly educated daughter smiled indulgently on
him while he was giving voice to these opinions and we left him
threatening her with dire punishment if she should ever fail to carry
out his instructions in matters of this nature.
[HW: Robert Henry Ex-slave]
FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
W.P.A. OFFICE
787 COBB STREET
ATHENS, GEORGIA
OCTOBER 16, 1936
Mr. John L. Peters, Director
W.P.A. District No. 2
708 Telfair Street
Augusta, Georgia
=Attention:=
Mrs. Carolyn P. Dillard
State Director
Federal Writers' Projects
Atlanta, Georgia
Dear Mr. Peters:
Attaching herewith story of an ex-slave prepared by Mr. John Booth from
my notes and is in accordance with the instructions contained in your
letter of October 13. The snap-shots are by Jaffee.
We have located a former slave of Dr. Crawford W. Long in Jackson county
and we plan to interview the 'darky' in the very near future. We are
anxious to get a very intimate picture of Dr. Crawford W. Long from the
eyes of one of his personal servants.
Very truly yours,
[HW: Joseph E. Jaffee]
Joseph E. Jaffee
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
W.P.A. District No. 1
JEJ:H
JOHN HILL
1525 Broad Street
Athens, Georgia
PLANTATION LIFE, AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE
Written By:
Grace McCune
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
Edited By:
Leila Harris
Editor
Federal Writers' Project
Augusta, Georgia
JOHN HILL
Ex-Slave, Age 74
1525 W. Broad St.
Athens, Georgia
John Hill, an old Negro about 74 years old, was seated comfortably on
the front porch of his little cabin enjoying the sunshine. He lives
alone and his pleasure was evident at having company, and better still
an appreciative audience to whom he could relate the story of his early
days.
"My pa wuz George Washin'ton Hill. His old Marster wuz Mr. Aubie Hill,
an' dey all lived on de Hill Plantation, in de Buncombe district, nigh
whar Monroe, Georgia is now. My ma wuz Lucy Annie Carter, an' she
b'longed to de Carter fambly down in Oglethorpe County, 'til she wuz
sold on de block, on de ole Tuck plantation, whar dey had a regular
place to sell 'em. Dey put 'em up on a big old block, an' de highest
bidder got de Nigger. Marse George Hill bought my ma, an' she come to
stay on de Hill plantation. Dar's whar my pa married her, an' dar's whar
I wuz borned.
"When I wuz just a little tike, I toted nails for 'em to build de
jailhouse. Dey got 'bout two by four planks, nailed 'em crossways, an'
den dey drived nails in, 'bout evvy inch or two apart, just lak a
checkerboard. When dey got it done, dat jail would evermo' keep you on
de inside. Dere wuz a place wid a rope to let down, when de jailbirds
would need somethin', or when somebody wanted to send somethin' up to
'em. No Ma'am, dat warn't de rope dey used to hang folkses wid.
"My pa stayed on wid old Marster 'bout ten years atter de War, den us
moved to de farm wid de Walkers at Monroe, Georgia. Dat wuz Governor
Walker's pa. Dere wuz a red clay bank on de side of de crick whar us
chilluns had our swimmmin' hole, an' us didn't know when us wuz a
frolickin' an' rollin' young Marse Clifford down dat bank, dat someday
he would be gov'ner of Georgia. He evermo' wuz a sight, kivered wid all
dat red mud, an' Mist'ess, she would fuss an' say she wuz goin' to whup
evvyone of us, but us just stayed out of de way an' she never cotched
us. Den she would forgit 'til de nex' time.
"When I wuz 'bout eight years old, dey 'lowed it wuz high time I wuz a
larnin' somethin', an' I wuz sont to de little log schoolhouse down in
de woods. De onliest book I had wuz just a old blue back speller. Us
took corn an' 'tatoes 'long an' cooked 'em for dinner, for den us had to
stay all day at school. Us biled de corn an' roasted 'tatoes in ashes,
an' dey tasted mighty good.
"Us had corn pone to eat all de time, an' on de fust Sunday in de month
us had cake bread, 'cause it wuz church day. Cake bread wuz made out of
shorts, but dem biscuits wuz mighty good if dey wuz dark, 'stead of
bein' white.
"Us had big gyardens, an' raised all sorts of vegetables: corn, peas,
beans, 'tatoes, colla'ds, an' turnip greens. Us had plenty of milk an'
butter all de time. An' Marster made us raise lots of cows, hogs, sheep,
an' chickens, an' tukkeys.
"Dey warn't no ready made clo'es or no vittuls in cans at de
sto'keepers' places, an' us didn't have no money to spend, if dey had a
been dar. Us didn't have nothin' what us didn't raise an' make up.
Cotton had to be picked offen de seed, an' washed an' cyarded, den ma
spun de thread an' wove de cloth an' sometimes she dyed it wid ink
balls, 'fore it wuz ready to make clo'es out of. De ink Marster used to
write wid wuz made out of ink balls.
"I wuz still little when my ma died. De white folks' preacher preached
her fun'ral from de tex' of Isaiah fifth chapter: fust verse, an' dey
sung de old song, "Goin' Home to Die no Mo'." Den dey buried her on de
place, an' built a rail fence 'roun' de grave, to keep de stock from
trompin' on it. Sometimes several owners got together an' had one place
to bury all de slaves, an' den dey built a rail fence all 'roun' de
whole place.
"Hit wuz just lak bein' in jail, de way us had to stay on de place,
'cause if us went off an' didn't have no ticket de paddyrollers would
always git us, an' dey evermore did beat up some of de Niggers.
"I 'members de Klu Klux Klan good. Dey kept Niggers skeered plum to
death, an' when dey done sumpin' brash dey sho' got beat up if de
Kluxers cotched 'em.
"One time de Kluxers come by our place on de way to beat a old Nigger
man. I begged 'em to lemme go wid 'em, an' atter a while dey said I
could go. Dere wuz horns on de mask dey kivvered up my head wid an' I
wuz mighty skeered but I didn't say nothin'. Atter us got dar, dey tied
de old man up by his hands to de rafters in his house. He wuz beggin'
'em to let him off an' yellin' 'O Lordy, have mussy!' Dere wuz a little
gal dar an' I wanted to skeer her, so I started atter her, an' de old
man tole her to hit me on de head. She picked up a shovel an' th'owed it
an' cut my leg so wide open de blood just spilt down on de floor. I got
so bad off dey had to take me back to old Marster, an' he fix me up. Hit
wuz six months 'fore I could use dat leg good, an', I nebber did wanter
go wid dem Kluxers no more.