For Christmas everyone was given a special Sunday suit to wear to
church. The slaves did not have a separate church of their own but were
allowed to attend the white church and occupy the balcony. Mrs. Jackson
began to laugh outright over the memory of a funny yet serious incident
that occurred in church one Sunday. She had a little white girl friend
with whom she played every day. One Sunday she looked over the balcony
and saw her in the audience below. They both began a little game of
looking and snatching back their heads. Finally she leaned over too far
and fell over the balcony into the white audience below. She hurt
herself pretty badly and cried so much that the service was broken up
for that day. Dr. Hoyle carried her home and administered the proper
treatment. After this incident she didn't look over balconies anymore.
Before she could learn anything definite the Civil War had begun and she
began to see soldiers going here and there dressed in their uniforms.
One event stands out clearly in her memory and that was the time the
master took all of his slaves and as many of his possession as he could
and went to Camp Ground, Georgia, to dodge the Yankee soldiers. After
the attack on Decatur, they returned to find all of the slave quarters
torn down. The master's house, which had 13 rooms, was still standing.
Most of the slaves had to stay in the "big house" until their homes
could be rebuilt. Many were still living in the master's house when the
papers were read telling them they were free. Dr. Hoyle asked his slaves
to remain and he would pay them for their services. Her family remained
with Dr. Hoyle's family one year after freedom. Afterwards they moved to
Atlanta, where she has lived practically all of her life. She married
immediately after freedom and proudly spoke of being the first person to
wed in the old "Big Bethel Church". She is now alone without sister,
brother, or child; but even at her old age she is unusually optimistic
and continues to enjoy life. She believes in serving God and living a
clean honest life. She has just one desire, and that is to enter the
Kingdom of Heaven someday.
[TR: date stamp MAY 8 1937]
Life Story as Told by Aunt Easter Jackson
Ex-Slave
It was during the height of slavery days that Frances Wilkerson and one
child came to make their home in Troup County, having been bought by Mr.
Tom Dix from a Mr. Snow, of Virginia. Frances, being an unusually
intelligent slave, able to weave, spin, and do all kinds of sewing, cost
Mr. Dix $1500.00. She received excellent care, never once being allowed
to do any field work, and was kept at the "Big House" to do the sewing
for the household.
Frances' husband, Silas Wilkerson, was bought by the Wilkerson Family,
who were neighbors.
It was here on the Dix plantation, located about one mile from what is
now the Court Square, that another child, Easter, was born, a few years
before the Civil War. It is with a smile of tenderness that she
described her life on the old plantation.
"Yes, chile, I can see Mistus now a-ridin' up on her grey horse, "Pat",
wid er basket on her arm plum full of biscuit! Yes, chile, white
biscuits! and ain't no short cake ever been made what could hold a light
to dem biscuits. Mistus would say, 'Where's dem chillun, Mammy?'
"Lawdy, you never seed so many little niggers pop up in all yo'
life--just 'peared lak de come right out o' de groun'. Sometimes dere
'ud be so many chillun, she'd have to break de biscuits to make 'em go
'roun' and sometimes when she's have an extry big basket, she'd say,
'Bring on de milk, and less feed dese chullun.' A big bucket o' milk
would be brung and po'd in little troughs and de'd lay down on dey
little stommacks, and eat jest lak pigs! But de wuz jest as slick and
fat as yer please--lots fatter an us is now! And clean too. Old Mustus
would say, 'Mammy, you scrub dese chillun and use dat "Jim-Crow."' Lawd,
chile! I done fergot you doan know what a "Jim-Crow" wus--dat's a little
fine com' what'll jest natchully take the skin plum off yo' haid 'long
wid de dirt.
"Dem was good old days, plenty ter eat and a cabin o' sticks and dirt to
call yo' own. Had good times too, 'specially on de 4th of July and
Christmas, when old Marster Tom allus let de niggers have pigs to kill
for de feas'; why chile, you should er seen de pot we cooked dem pigs
in, it wus so big an' heavy, it took two to put the i'on led on. And
sech music! Music played on harps, saws, and blowin' quills. Ever'body
had a good time; even de "white folks" turned out for de dance which
went 'way into de night.
"Den dere wus de prayer meetin's, once a week, first on one of the
plantations den a nother; when all de niggers would meet and worshup,
singin' praises unto the Lord; I can hear 'em now, dere voices soundin'
fur away. Yes sir! Folks had religun in dem days, the "Old Time
Religun." Our white folks belonged to the First Baptis' Church in
LaGrange, and all de slaves went to de same church. Our services wus in
de basement.
"But t'wasn' long 'fore de war broke out, and den things wuz turrible;
de niggers would huddle 'roun' de "Big House" scared ter death o' de
orful tales that wus told er bout de war! It wusn't but er bout a year
til young Marster Tom, John, and Bee wus called to de war. Albert and
Scott Dix, two young slaves, went with Marster Tom and John and stayed
by them 's close as de could, cookin' and gettin' good for de camp. But
t'wus a sad day when de word come dat Marster Tom wus dyin'. Old Mistus
left right straight, all us slaves goin' down to de train wid her, an'
when she got on, she wave her han' an' said, 'I want all o' you, white
and black, to take keer o' my baby.'
"When she got dere 'twuz a two-story house where they had Marster
Tom--the blood had run down de stairs.
"Ole Mistus had stood so much she couldn't stan' no mo',--the next
mornin' she wus dead in de bed! One o' de slaves, Albert, and her son,
John, carried her on dere shoulders for five miles, but the war bein' so
bad dey couldn't carry her no further, so dey buried her by de road and
after de war wus over, de took her to de fam'ly graveyard.
"Den de word spread lak wild fire: "The Niggers wuz free". That night
all the slaves went up to the "Big House", wurried an' askin' 'Young
Marster Tom, where is we goin'? What is we goin' to do?' Young Marster
Tom said, "Go on back to your cabins and go to bed, dey are your homes
and you can stay on here as long as you want to.""
* * * * *
According to Aunt Easter's statement, life for the slaves on the Dix
plantation changed very little after the war. She later was married to
John Henry Jackson, whose mother also came from Virginia. Aunt Easter
had fourteen children, six of them are now living in Troup County and
have good jobs. She has made her home with her children and has the
respect of all the "white folks", and she often boasts that "her white
folks" will care for her till she dies. She now lives on West Haralson
Street, LaGrange, Troup County, Georgia.
[TR: date stamp MAY 8 1937]
SLAVERY DAYS AS RELATED BY:
=SNOVEY JACKSON=
Ruth A. Chitty--Research Worker
Aunt Snovey Jackson, crippled and bent with rheumatism, lives in a cabin
set in the heart of a respectable white neighborhood. Surrounded by
white neighbors, she goes her serene, independent way. The years have
bequeathed her a kindly manner and a sincere interest in the fairness
and justice of things. Wisdom and judgment are tempered with a sense of
humor.
"My name is Snovey Jackson--S-n-o-v-e-y, dat's the way I spells it. D'
ain't nary 'nother Snovey Jackson in de South. I was bawned in
Clarksville, Va., and owned by one Captain Williams of Virginia. I don'
know jes' 'zackly how old I is, but I must be 'bout 80.
"I was jes' a small chap 'bout three or fo' years old when my folks
'cided to come to Georgia to raise cotton. You see we didn't raise no
cotton in Virginia--nutten' 'cept wool and flax. De people in Virginia
heerd 'bout how cotton was growed down here and how dey was plenty o'
labor and dey come by the hund'eds to Georgia. Back in dem days dey
warn't no trains, and travel was slow, so dey come in gangs down here.
Jes' like dey had de boom down in Florida few years back, dat's de way
people rushed off to Georgia to git rich quick on cotton.
"When they got here it warn't nutten' like dey thought it was go'n be.
Dey thought dey could make cotton 'dout no trouble, and dey'd rake in de
money. My folks lef' me in Virginia 'cause I was too li'l' to be any
help, and dey thought dey could get plenty o' cheap labor here. (I'se
talkin' 'bout fo' de war broke out.) Of course Virginia was a slave
breedin' state, and niggers was sold off jes' like stock. Families was
all broke up and never seed one 'nother no mo'.
"I don't even know who my mother and father was. I never knowed what
'come of 'em. Me and my two little brothers was lef' in Virginia when
Captain Williams come to Georgia. De specalators got hol' o' us, and dey
refugeed us to Georgia endurin' o' de war. Niggers down here used to be
all time axin' me where my folks was, and who dey was--I jes' tell 'em
de buzzards laid me and de sun hatch me.
"After we was brought to Georgia Mr. James Jackson bought me. I never
knowed what 'come of my brothers. The specalators had tried to keep us
together, but we got all separated. I ain't got no kin in the world
today dat I knows 'bout.
"De Jacksons owned a plantation in Baldwin County, but dey sold it and
moved to LaGrange, Georgia. We lived dere 'til after de war was on, den
dey move back to Baldwin County. Old Miss lost her son-in-law, and later
her husband died, den her daughter died. She had a little grandchild, a
boy, her daughter's child, to raise. She used to say she had two pets,
one pet black child and one pet white child. She was good to me. I never
got no punishin's.
"Old Miss had a lot of kin folks here--high class folks. Dey was stomp
down Virginians, too. Dey use to call me dey kin. Miss Kizzie Weiderman
was a niece o' old Miss Jackson's, and she used to come down the street
and say, 'Look here, ain't dat some o' my kin?--Come shake hands wid
me.' Miss Kizzie was a sight. She alluz say when she die she want all
her nigger kin to come and look on her dead body.
"Finally old Miss got dissatisfied and she 'cided de best thing for her
to do was to sell her home and farm here and go to Chicago to live wid
her son. Dat lef' me to seek 'nother home, 'cause I didn't want to go
off up dere. So we parted.
"I come to town den (it was in 1877) and found work wid de Agent o' the
Central o' Georgia Railroad here in Milledgeville. My Mistis den was
Mrs. Ann Bivins. She was good to me, and when they went away, she say,
'Snovey, ef'n I had the money, nuttin' but death could separate me and
you.' Den the Nesbits was made de Agent, and I work fifty years at dat
Central depot. I used to get up eve'y mawnin' and cook breakfas' for all
de section hands, den I'd go to de house and cook for de family. Child,
I jes' worked myself to death. All my folks gone away now. De Nesbits
live in Florida. I sends 'em a bag o' nuts eve'y Christmas, and dey
sends me a box o' oranges. Sometime dey comes here to see me.
"I mus' tell you how de Yankees done when dey come th'ough here. I was
wid old Miss Jackson at dat time. We live over de river. I was a small
chap not big enough to do nothing much 'cept nuss old Miss. We heard de
Yankees was comin', and did dey ruin eve'thing! Why Milledgeville was
jes' tore up; twon't nuttin mo'n a cow pasture when de Yankees got
th'ough wid it. Dey tuck all de stock and cattle what folks had, and
burned and 'stroyed eve'ything. After de war was breakin' up, we heerd
de soldiers was comin' through here and was go'n pass Town Creek on de
way to Sparta, and on from Sparta to Warrenton, and from Warrenton to
Augusta. I lost record after dat. Some said it was go'n be 15,000
soldiers passing th'ough. We all wanted to see them. I axed old Miss to
lemme go to Sand Town to see 'em. She lemme go. Hit was a crowd of us
went in a big wagon. We did see 'bout 5,000 soldiers. I was 'bout 8 or 9
years old. I 'members jes' as well how dey looked--some of 'em had
canteens. Dey was tryin' to git back home. Dey seemed all bewildered
like. I had alluz been skeered o' soldiers, but after I seen dem I
warn't skeered no mo'.
"I had alluz wanted to own a little piece of land, and have me a one
room hut like other niggers had. After I started to cookin' for de white
folks at de Central depot, I 'cided I'd buy me a home. So I got my eyes
on a piece of property I wanted and I started to 'vestigatin' it. It
seemed like a heap o' money and me making sech a li'l' bit. I found out
Mrs. Ann duBignon owned de square I wanted, so I went to see her son, de
lawyer. He say, 'Snovey, you can't buy dat lot. You ain't got a chance
in de world to pay for it.'
"I warn't satisfied wid dat, so I walked out to where old Miss Ann lived
at Scottsboro, and I talked to her. She say she was anxious to git a
buyer, but she didn't want to worry wid small payments on it, and if I
could finance it, she'd sell. Well, I studied and studied, and I
figgered and figgered, and my little wages for a whole year, even if I
didn't spend a penny for nuttin', was mighty little. So I went down to
see Mr. Samuel Walker. He owned jes' 'bout all de land in Baldwin County
what he had got by loans to people dat give de land as security and
never could pay off. So we talked things over, and he let me have de
money to pay Miss for de square. Mind you dis here was all jes' a field
and woods den. Look at it now!" She proudly pointed out the modern homes
and streets.
"At de end of dat fus' year, here come Mr. Walker. 'Well, Snovey, how
you gittin' 'long?' he say.
"'I'se gittin' 'long fine Mr. Walker.'
"'Well, what you go'n' do 'bout dis land?'
"I was ready for him. He thought he was go'n' come down and take de
land, 'cause he knowed I didn't have de money to pay off. But I was
waitin' fer him.
"'I'se ready, Mr. Walker, to settle up.' Was he surprised! He sho' was
disappointed. Lot o' folks has wanted my property. Finally Judge Allen
persuaded me to sell him enough to build his home. Den Mr. Bone come
'long, and he wanted to build here. So you see I done sold off several
lots, and I still owns part o' my square. Dis here old nigger been de
foundation of dem homes you see dere.
"I could be a grand counselor now. If I could live my days over I'd show
'em all sumpin'. Like a rollin' stone, up and down, so de world go'n'
move on. I been a heap o' help to folks in my day. I done made a way out
o' no way.
"I ain't never married, never had no chillun, and de niggers says I
alluz been a house-bird. I suffers a heap wid rheumatism now. Dat's de
reason you see me all bent over disaway. I can't hardly raise up from my
waist. I looks mighty feeble but I done out-lived a lot o' 'em. Some
years ago when dey was buildin' dat fine home up dere on de lot they
bought from me, de contractor boarded right across dere from me wid Mrs.
Sims, and he used to say, 'Aunt Snovey, how 'bout sellin' me dis corner
lot to build me a marble house on? You might not be here much longer,
and I sho' love to have dis corner lot.'
"I used to laugh and tell him I might eat de goose dat ate de grass dat
growed on his grave. Sho' 'nough, he died here some years ago."
"Aunt Snovey, what are you going to do with all your property--you have
no family and no relatives?"
"Well, dis property was here when I come here."
"Haven't you made a will?"
"Me? No mam. Some fellow'll git it. I can't say who'll git it. I better
not say."
"Aunt Snovey, I would like so much to have these old chairs you have
here--how about selling them to me?"
"Child, I can't tell you de folks is wanted dem chairs. I has to have
sumpin' to use. Folks done traded me out o' fust one thing then another.
You see dat table? Mrs. Bone up here swapped me one she had for one I
had she wanted. I ain't worrying about what's go'n' become o' things
when I'se gone. It was all here when I come here, and it'll be here when
I die.
"I'se a old-fashioned Missionary Baptis'. I used to go to de white
folks' church. Dat's where I got my dip. We fared a heap better back in
dem times dan we does now."
"Aunt Snovey do you have any pet superstitions?"
"Go on way from here, child, I ain't got nuttin' to do wid
superstitions. My old Miss never 'lowed me to believe in no signs and
sech like. I could dig up a lot of sorrow in my life, but dat wouldn't
do no good.
"I never did believe in bumpin' 'bout, so dat's why I settled down here
and made up my mind to have me a home. You see dis ain't no fine home,
but it's mine and it's paid for. Some day when I can afford it, I'se
go'n' try to finish de inside o' dis house. I got one room ceiled, and
maybe some day I can finish it. I don't believe in taking on no bigger
load dan I can git up de hill wid. I'se seed folks go th'ough de
machinery o' extravagance, and it'll eat you up sho'. I'se skeerd o'
debts as I is o' a rattlesnake, but debts in de right sense makes you
industrious. And I'se learned dis much--that a line fence and a dog
creates more fuss dan anything in de world."
[HW: DIST. 4 Ex. Slave.] 310 Louise McKinney 100142
[HW: "Uncle Jake"]
"A Vessel Ob De Lawd".
Uncle Jake was a character up in the hills of north Georgia. I can look
back and see him now as he trudged through the snow in the early morning
from his little log cabin down in the field. His new home-made shoes
were being worn for the first time and with every swing of the milk
pail, he limped.
"Whose on de Lawd's side? I's on de Lawd's side!" His thin, cracked
voice rang out clearly, and every other word received special emphasis
as he tried to step lightly with his left foot.
My nose was flattened against the cold, frosty window pane as I watched
the old darky go about his morning chores. Just the afternoon before I
had slipped away to his and Aunt Callie's cabin to talk for a little
while and found him melting tallow in an old bucket over a sputtering
log fire. As he rubbed the smelly drippings over the heavy shoes he kept
glancing toward the sky at the soft gray clouds, then he would say,
"Look at dat smoke up at de big house. It am meeting and mingling and
habin' communion wid dem clouds oberhead. We's goin' hab wedder in de
mornin', and here you is Cissie Ann wid dat 'plexion o' yo's as soft as
a fresh born lam'. Dis wind aint for sweet chile's like you for it
soun's like de pipe what de dibbil play as it whistles roun' dis chimney
corner".
With all of my six years' wide experience, I always learned something new
from Uncle Jake and somehow I enjoyed the musty smell of the dark cabin,
the strings of red pepper draped in festoons, twists of "chawing baccer"
and bunches of onions which hung from the rafters and the soft goose
feather bed which Uncle Jake said warded off dampness and kept him from
having "the misery in his stiff ol' jints". In spite of his protests as
to me remaining longer, I settled myself on a three-legged stool and
with the aid of his fumbling fingers took off my bonnet. My mother
insisted that a bonnet was for protection from wind and sun, so I always
wore mine, but I had to have assistance in removing it because mother
braided my hair near the top of my head and pulled the plait through a
hole in the bonnet left for that purpose, then the top was buttoned
around it so my fingers could not remove it. Uncle Jake always laughed
when he helped me take it off because we had to be rather secretive and
not let mother find out.
Mammy Callie was in the kitchen churning, so I continued to ply Uncle
Jake with questions while I waited for a glass of fresh buttermilk. I
knew that my father was away at war and that Uncle Jake and Mammy Callie
were looking after my grandparents, my mother and me, but they would not
tell what war was like or why I could not go and play with other
children--they always watched me when I played and everything was kept
locked and hidden. It was all so strange and different from what it had
been, but Uncle Jake was just the same and all he would say was, "Dis
ol' worl' am just a vessel ob de Lawd and sometimes de contents of dat
vessel jest don' agree, dey gets bilin' hot like when water am poured on
burning embers, a powerful smoke do rise. So it is now, chile, dis ol'
worl' jest got too hot wid sin and God am trying to cool it off wid
refreshin' showers ob his love, but de dibbil am makin' sech a smoke it
am smartin' God's eyes", and Uncle Jake would pat me on the head and I
would smile and nod as if his explanation had been perfectly clear.
These thoughts of the afternoon before ran through my mind as I watched
Uncle Jake as he limped through the snow with a big brown shawl wrapped
around his stooped shoulders, a piece of home spun jeans pinned around
his head and a pair of patched jeans trousers supported by heavy bands
of the same material for suspenders. As he returned from milking, I
wondered if he had my gray kitten in his pocket, but suddenly I realized
he was hobbling hurriedly, the milk pail was thrown aside and he seemed
badly frightened. I ran to find out what had occurred to upset Uncle
Jake's usual carefree manner.
"De lock am gone! Dat mule am gone! Dem bushwhackers done tuk it off and
I's done gone atter 'em, right now". His eyes flashed as he shouted
without stopping and he hobbled down to his cabin. Grandfather went down
and tried to convince him that the weather was too cold to attempt to
follow the thief and to wait until later, but the old negro began
quoting scripture as he put on another coat and heavy knit gloves. "De
Lawd say, 'Dey shall not steal', and de white folks is sho' to think I
tuk 'at mule off. Fuddermore, in de 'pistle ob de 'postle, Isaiah, he
say, 'Be a clean vessel ob de Lawd God', and I gonna find out de truf
and prove my position 'fore dese people. Dat low-down scallawag what
come here wid no 'nouncement ob his 'pearance is gwine suffer for dis
here axident. He nebber reckoned wid me". And with that Uncle Jake waded
into the deep snow and was last seen following the creek down through
the meadow as it meandered underneath an icy crust.
Several days passed and anxiety began to show on the faces of those at
home, but one morning Mammy Callie came to get breakfast with her face
aglow. After praying most of the night, she said "The good Lord has
given me a sho sign, for He done showed me a vision of a man up 'fore a
Jedge and den I see Jake wid a bucket of oats and dat mule was toggin'
behin' him".
His spirit was contagious and we lived in an atmosphere of expectancy
during the day and were not surprised when we heard shouts of joy and
praises to "de good Lawd" from Jake as he rode up on the old mule.
He had been unable to locate any tracks, but he had walked miles in the
cold and sneaked around the barns and in the chimney corners to
eavesdrop at the homes of those whom he suspected of being disloyal to
the Confederate cause. While hiding under a haystack late one afternoon,
he heard voices and he recognised his master's mule as it was sold by a
stranger with a decided northern brogue to the owner of the place on
which he was hiding. Uncle Jake almost shouted for joy, but he realised
he was on "alien" territory so he remained out of sight. When the mule
was fed and stabled, he skipped in under cover of darkness and led the
mule away. In the excitement of getting away he forgot that he had
crossed the county line, so no excuse was taken when the sheriff of that
county took him into custody. Uncle Jake was hailed into court the next
morning with the "owner" as witness against him.
"How old are you?" asked the judge in a stern manner.
"I's ol' enuf to know dat am de mule what belongs to Marster. I knows
him by his bray", answered the negro, as he looked over the crowd and
saw and felt no sympathy from any of them.
"You were caught with stolen goods out of your county and from all
appearances you were hurt in the attempt to escape for I see you are
limping. What do you say to that?"
Uncle Jake was trembling as he looked down at his smelly shoes. "No,
sir, Jedge. You is sho' wrong. I jest receibed a commandment from my
heabenly Father to walk in de Truth and I was serbing my white folks by
getting back what is ders. Dis mule was stole by some po' sinner what
don' know de scriptures".
At this point the sheriff from Jake's county, who was a good friend of
our Marlow family, walked into the courtroom to see if he could help
Jake in his difficulties. When the frightened negro saw him, he forgot
the dignity of the court and shouted, "Praise de Lawd. I's been a vessel
ob His for nigh onto sixty years and He's done fill me full ob Grace and
Glory dis very hour".
And without further ado, he left the sheriff to make all explanations.
As he ran to the hitching post the mule began to bray and as Uncle Jake
mounted he shouted, "We're shaking de dust ob dis place from off our
feet and goin' back to our (Fannin) county where we can con-tinue bein'
vessels ob de Lawd and servin' our white folks".