Brother Gillespie has a story turned in previously. Evidently he is
making eyes at the old lady; but the romance is not likely to bud. She
has lost the sight of one eye apparently through a cataract which has
spread over the larger part of the iris. Nevertheless, she is more
active than he is, and apparently more competent, and she isn't
figuring on making her lot any harder than it is.
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Mary Jones
509 E. 23rd Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 78
[Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]
"I was born three weeks 'fore Christmas in South Carolina.
"I 'member one time the Yankees come along and I run to the door. I
know ma made me go back but I peeped out the window. You know how
children is. They wore great big old hats and blue coats.
"'Nother time we saw them a comin' and said, 'Yonder come the Yankees'
and we run. Ma said, 'Don't run, them's the Yankees what freed you.'
"Old mis' was named Joanna Long and old master was Joe Long. I can't
remember much, I just went by what ma said.
"I went to school now and then on account we had to work.
"We had done sold out in South Carolina and was down at the station
when some of the old folks said if we was goin' to the Mississippi
bottoms where the panthers and wolves was we would never come back. We
thought we was comin' to Arkansas but when we found out we was in the
Mississippi bottoms. We stayed there and made two crops, then we come
to Arkansas.
"The way the younger generation is livin' now, the Lord can't bless
'em. They know how to do right but they won't do it. Yes ma'am."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Nannie Jones
1601 Saracen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 81
"Good morning. Come in. I sure is proud to see you. Yes ma'am, I sure
is.
"I was born in Chicot County. I heerd Dr. Gaines say I was four years
old in slavery times. I know I ain't no baby. I feels my age, too--in
my limbs.
"I heerd 'em talk about a war but I wasn't big enough to know about
it. My father went to war on one side but he didn't stay very long. I
don't know which side he was on. Them folks all dead now--I just can
remember 'em.
"Dr. Gaines had a pretty big crew on the place. I'm gwine tell you
what I know. I can't tell you nothin' else.
"Now I want to tell it like mama said. She said she was sold from
Kentucky. She died when I was small.
"I remember when they said the people was free. I know they jumped up
and down and carried on.
"Dr. Gaines was so nice to his people. I stayed in the house most of
the time. I was the little pet around the house. They said I was so
cute.
"Dr. Gaines give me my age but I lost it movin'. But I know I ain't no
baby. I never had but two children and they both livin'--two girls.
"Honey, I worked in the field and anywhere. I worked like a man. I
think that's what got me bowed down now. I keeps with a misery right
across my back. Sometimes I can hardly get along.
"Honey, I just don't know 'bout this younger generation. I just don't
have no thoughts for 'em, they so wild. I never was a rattlin' kind of
a girl. I always was civilized. Old people in them days didn't 'low
their children to do things. I know when mama called us, we'd better
go. They is a heap wusser now. So many of 'em gettin' into trouble."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Reuben Jones
Ezell Quarters, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 85
"Well, I'm one of em. I can tell you bout it from now till sundown.
"I was born at Senatobia, Mississippi, this side of Jackson. Born in
'52 on April the 16th. That's when I was born.
"Old man Stephen Williams was my master in time of the war and before
the war, too. He was pretty good to me. Give me plenty of something to
eat, but he whipped me. Oh, I specked I needed it. Put me in the field
when I was five years old. Put a tar cap on my head. I was so young
the sun made my hair come out so they put that tar cap on my head.
"I member when they put the folks on blocks as high as that house and
sell em to the highest bidder. No ma'm, I wasn't sold cause my mother
had three or four chillun and boss man wouldn't sell dem what had
chillun cause dem chillun was hands for him.
"They made me hide ever'thing they had from the Yankees. Yes'm, I seen
em come out after the fodder and the corn. We hid the meat and the
mules and the money. Drove the mules in the cave. Kept em der till the
Yankees left. We dug the hole for the meat but old marse dug the hole
for the money.
"I used to help put timbers on the bridge to keep the Yankees out but
dey come right on through just the same. Took the ox wagon but dey
sent it back.
"Couldn't go nowhere without a pass. Had a whippin' block right at the
horse trough. Yes ma'm, they'd eat you up. I mean they'd whip you, but
they give you plenty of somethin' to eat.
"My mother was the weaver and they had a tanyard on the place.
"In slavery days couldn't go see none of your neighbors without a
pass. People had meetin' right at the house. Dey'd have prayer and
singin'. I went to em. I could sing--Lord yes. I used to know a lot of
old songs--'Am I A Soldier of the Cross?'.
"Lord yes, ma'm, don't talk! When the soldiers come out where we was I
could hear the guns. Had a battle right in town. Rebels just as scared
of the Yankees as if twas a bear. I seed one or two of em come to town
and scare the whole business.
"I never knowed but one man run off and jined the Yankees. Carried his
master's finest ridin' hoss and a mule. He always had a fine hoss and
Yankees come and took it. When the Yankees come out the last time, my
owners cleaned out the smoke house and buried the meat.
"I helped gin cotton when I wasn't big enough to stand up to the
breast. Stood upon a bench and had a lantern hung up so I could see
fore daylight. Yes ma'm, great big gin house. Yes ma'm, I sho has
worked--all kinds and plowin'.
"Now my old boss called me Tony--that's what he called me.
"When peace come, we had done gathered our crop and we left there a
week later. You know people usually hunts their kinfolks and we went
to Hernando. Come to Arkansas in '77. Got offin de boat right der at
de cotehouse. Pine Bluff wasn't nothin' when I come here.
"I used to vote. I aimed to vote the Republican ticket--I don't know.
"Oh yes ma'm, I seed the Ku Klux, yes ma'm. They're bad, too. Lord I
seed a many of them. They come to my house. I went to the door and
that's as far as I went. That was in Hernando. I went back to my old
home in Hernando bout three months ago. Went where I was bred and born
but I didn't know the place it was tore up so.
"This younger generation whole lot different from when I was comin'
up. Yes'm, it's a whole lot different. They ain't doin' so well. I
have always tended to my own business. Cose I been arrested for
drivin' mules with sore shoulders. Didn't put me in jail, but the
officers come up. That was when I was workin' on the Lambert place. I
told em they wasn't my mules so they let me go.
"I can't tell you bout the times now. I hope it'll get better--can't
get no wusser."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Vergil Jones,
Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 70
"My parents was Jane Jones and Vergil Jones. Their owner was Colonel
Jones in Alabama. Papa went to the war and served four years. He got a
$30 a month Union pension long as he lived. He was in a number of
places. He fought as a field man. He had a long musket he brought home
from the war. He told us a heap of things long time ago. Seem lack
folks set down and talked wid their children more'n they do nowdays.
"Papa come to this State after the surrender. He married here. I am
the oldest of seven children. Mama was in this State before the war.
She was bought when she was a girl and brought here. I don't know if
Colonel Jones owned her or if papa had seen her somewhere else. He
come to her and they married. My mama was a house girl some and she
washed and ironed for Miss Fannie Lambert. They had a big family and a
big farm. Their farm was seven miles this side of Indian Bay, eight
miles to Clarendon. They had thirteen in family and mama had seven
children made nine in her family. She had a bed piled full of starched
clothes white as snow. Lamberts had three sets of twins. Our family
lived with the Lamberts 23 or 24 years. We started working for Mr. B.
J. Lambert and Miss Fannie (his wife). Mama nursed me and R. T. from
the same breast. We was raised up grown together and I worked for R.
T. till he died. We played with J. L. Black too till he was grown. He
was county judge and sheriff of this county (Monroe).
"Folks that helped me out is about all dead. I pick cotton but I can't
pick very much. Now I don't have no work till chopping cotton times
comes on. It is hard now. I would do jobs but I don't hear of no jobs
to be done. I asked around but didn't find a thing to do.
"I heard about the Ku Kluxes. My papa used to dodge the Ku Kluxes. He
lay out in the bushes from them. It was bad times. Some folks would
advise the black folks to do one way and then the Ku Kluxes come and
make it hot for them. One thing the Ku Kluxes didn't want much big
gatherings among the black folks. They break up big gatherings. Some
white folks tell them to do one thing and then some others tell them
to do some other way. That is the way it was. The Ku Kluxes was hot
headed. Papa wasn't a bad man but he was afraid they did do so much.
He was on the lookout and dodged them all the time.
"I haven't voted for a long time. I couldn't keep my taxes up.
"I don't own a home. I pay $4 rent for it. It is a cold house--not so
good. I have farmed all my life. I still farm. Times got so that
nobody would run you (credit you) and I come here to get jobs between
farming. I still farm. They hire mostly by the day--day labor. Them
two things and my dis'bility is making it mighty hard for me to live.
I work at any jobs I can get.
"I signed up for the Old Age Pension. They said I couldn't work, I was
too old. I wanted to work on the government work. I never got nothing.
I don't get no kind of help. I thought I didn't know how to get into
the Old Age Pension reason I didn't get it. It would help keep in wood
this wet weather when work is scarce."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Walter Jones,
Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 72
"My father run away scared of the Yankees. He got excited and left. My
mother didn't want him to leave her. She was crying when he left. My
father belong to the Wilsons. Mother was sold on the block in
Richmond, Virginia when she was twelve years old and never seen her
mother again. Mother belong to Charles Hunt. Her name was Lucy Hunt.
She married three times. Charles Hunt went to market to buy slaves. We
lived in Hardeman County, Tennessee when I was born but he sent us to
Mississippi. She worked in the field then but before then she was a
house girl. No, she was black. We are all African.
"I got eight children. When my wife died they finished scattering out.
I come here from Grand Junction, Mississippi. I eat breakfast on
Christmas day 1883 at Forrest City and spent the day at Hazen. I come
with friends. We paid our own ways. We come on the train and boat and
walked some.
"No, I don't take stock in voting. I never did. I have voted so long
ago I forgot it all.
"The biggest thing I can tell you ever happened to us more than I told
you was in 1878 I had yellow fever. Dr. Milton Pruitt come to see me.
The next day his brother come to see me. Dr. Milton died the next day.
I got well. At Grand Junction both black and white died. Some of both
color got well. A lot of people died.
"How am I making a living? I don't make one. Mr. Ashly lets me live in
a house and gives me scrap meat. I bottom chairs or do what I can. I
past heavy work. The Welfare don't help me. I farmed, railroaded
nearly all my life. Public work this last few years."
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Oscar Felix Junell
1720 Brown Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 60
"My father's name was Peter Junell, Peter W. Junell. I don't know what
the W. was for. He was born in Ouachita County near Bearden, Arkansas.
Bearden is an old town. It is fourteen miles from Camden. My dad was
seventy-five years old when he died. He died in 1924. He was very
young in the time of slavery. He never did do very much work.
"His master was named John Junell. That was his old master. He had a
young master too, Warren Junell. His old master given him to his young
master, Warren. My father's mother and father both belonged to the
Junells. His mother's name was Dinah, and his father's name was
Anthony. All the slaves took their last names after their owners. They
never was sold, not in any time that my father could remember.
"As soon as my father was large enough to go to walkin' about, his old
master given him to his son, Master Warren Junell. Warren would carry
him about and make him rassle (wrestle). He was a good rassler. As far
as work was concerned, he didn't do nothing much of that. He just
followed his young master all around rasslin.
"His masters was good to him. They whipped slaves sometimes, but they
were considered good. My father always said they was good folks. He
never told me how he learnt that he was free.
"Pretty well all the slaves lived in log cabins. Even in my time,
there was hardly a board house in that county. The food the slaves ate
was mostly bread and milk--corn bread. Old man Junell was rich and
had lots of slaves. When he went to feed his slaves, he would feed
them jus like hogs. He had a great long trough and he would have bread
crumbled up in it and gallons of milk poured over the bread, and the
slaves would get round it and eat. Sometimes they would get to
fighting over it. You know, jus like hogs! They would be eatin and
sometimes one person would find somethin and get holt of it and
another one would want to take it, and they would get to fightin over
it. Sometimes blood would get in the trough, but they would eat right
on and pay no 'tention to it.
"I don't know whether they fed the old ones that way or not. I jus
heered my father tell how he et out of the trough hisself.
"I have heered my father talk about the pateroles too. He talked about
how they used to chase him. But he didn't have much experience with
them, because they never did catch him. That was after the war when
the slaves had been freed, but the pateroles still got after them. My
father remember how they would catch other slaves. One night they went
to an old man's house. It was dark and the old man told them to come
on in. He didn't have no gun, but he took his ax and stood behind the
door on the hinge side. It was after slavery. When he said for them to
come in, they rushed right on in and the old man killed three or four
of them with his ax. He was a old African, and they never had been
able to do nothin' with him, not even in slavery time. I never heard
that they did nothin' to the old man about it. The pateroles was
outlaws anyway.
"I heard my father say that in slavery time, they took the finest and
portlies' looking Negroes--the males--for breeding purposes. They
wouldn't let them strain themselves up nor nothin like that. They
wouldn't make them do much hard work."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Sam Keaton,
Brinkley, Ark.
Age: 78
"I was born close to Golden Hill down in Arkansas County. My parents
names was Louana and Dennis Keaton. They had ten children. Their
master was Mr. Jack Keaton and Miss Martha. They had four boys. They
all come from Virginia in wagons the second year of the war--the Civil
War. I heard 'em tell about walking. Some of em walked, some rode
horse back and some in wagons. I don't know if they knowed bout slave
uprisings or not. I know they wasn't in em because they come here wid
Mr. Jack Keaton. It was worse in Virginia than it was down here wid
them. Mr. Keaton didn't give em nothing at freedom. They stayed on
long as they wanted to stay and then they went to work for Mr. Jack
Keaton's brother, Mr. Ben Keaton. They worked on shares and picked
cotton by the hundred. My parents staid on down there till they died.
I been working for Mr. Floria for thirty years.
"My father did vote. He voted a Republican ticket. I haven't voted for
fifty years. They that do vote in the General election know very
little bout what they doing. If they could vote in the Primary they
would know but a mighty little about it. The women ain't got no
business voting. Their place is at home. They cain't keep their houses
tidied up and like they oughter be and go out and work regularly.
That's the reason I think they oughter stay at home and train the
children better than it being done.
"I think that the young generation is going to be lost. They killing
and fighting. They do everything. No, they don't work much as I do.
They don't save nothing! They don't save nothing! Times is harder than
they used to be some. Nearly everybody wants to live in town. My age
is making times heap harder for me. I live with my daughter. I am a
widower. I owns 40 acres land, a house, a cow. I made three bales
cotton, but I owe it bout all. I tried to get a little help so I could
get out of debt but I never could get no 'sistance from the Welfare."
Interviewer: Watt McKinney
Person interviewed: Tines Kendricks,
Trenton, Arkansas
Age: 104
"My name is Tines Kendricks. I was borned in Crawford County, Georgia.
You see, Boss, I is a little nigger and I really is more smaller now
dan I used to be when I was young 'cause I so old and stooped over. I
mighty nigh wore out from all these hard years of work and servin' de
Lord. My actual name what was give to me by my white folks, de
Kendricks, was 'Tiny'. Dey called me dat 'cause I never was no size
much. Atter us all sot free I just changed my name to 'Tines' an' dats
what I been goin' by for nigh on to ninety years.
"'Cordin' to what I 'member 'bout it, Boss, I is now past a hundred
and four year old dis past July de fourth two hours before day. What I
means is what I 'member 'bout what de old mars told me dat time I
comed back to de home place atter de War quit an' he say dat I past
thirty then. My mammy, she said I born two hours before day on de
fourth of July. Dat what dey tole me, Boss. I is been in good health
all my days. I ain't never been sick any in my life 'scusin' dese last
years when I git so old and feeble and stiff in de joints, and my teef
'gin to cave, and my old bones, dey 'gin to ache. But I just keep on
livin' and trustin' in de Lord 'cause de Good Book say, 'Wherefore de
evil days come an' de darkness of de night draw nigh, your strength,
it shall not perish. I will lift you up 'mongst dem what 'bides wid
me.' Dat is de Gospel, Boss.
"My old mars, he was named Arch Kendricks and us lived on de
plantation what de Kendricks had not far from Macon in Crawford
County, Georgia. You can see, Boss, dat I is a little bright an' got
some white blood in me. Dat is 'counted for on my mammy's side of de
family. Her pappy, he was a white man. He wasn't no Kendrick though.
He was a overseer. Dat what my mammy she say an' then I know dat
wasn't no Kendrick mixed up in nothin' like dat. Dey didn't believe in
dat kind of bizness. My old mars, Arch Kendricks, I will say dis, he
certainly was a good fair man. Old mis' an' de young mars, Sam, dey
was strickly tough an', Boss, I is tellin' you de truth dey was cruel.
De young mars, Sam, he never taken at all atter he pa. He got all he
meanness from old mis' an' he sure got plenty of it too. Old mis', she
cuss an' rare worse 'an a man. Way 'fore day she be up hollerin' loud
enough for to be heered two miles, 'rousin' de niggers out for to git
in de fields even 'fore light. Mars Sam, he stand by de pots handin'
out de grub an' givin' out de bread an' he cuss loud an' say: 'Take a
sop of dat grease on your hoecake an' move erlong fast 'fore I lashes
you.' Mars Sam, he was a big man too, dat he was. He was nigh on to
six an' a half feet tall. Boss, he certainly was a chile of de debbil.
All de cookin' in dem days was done in pots hangin' on de pot racks.
Dey never had no stoves endurin' de times what I is tellin' you 'bout.
At times dey would give us enough to eat. At times dey wouldn't--just
'cordin' to how dey feelin' when dey dishin' out de grub. De biggest
what dey would give de field hands to eat would be de truck what us
had on de place like greens, turnips, peas, side meat, an' dey sure
would cut de side meat awful thin too, Boss. Us allus had a heap of
corn-meal dumplin's an' hoecakes. Old mis', her an' Mars Sam, dey real
stingy. You better not leave no grub on your plate for to throw away.
You sure better eat it all iffen you like it or no. Old mis' and Mars
Sam, dey de real bosses an' dey was wicked. I'se tellin' you de truth,
dey was. Old mars, he didn't have much to say 'bout de runnin' of de
place or de handlin' of de niggers. You know all de property and all
the niggers belonged to old mis'. She got all dat from her peoples.
Dat what dey left to her on their death. She de real owner of
everything.
"Just to show you, Boss, how 'twas with Mars Sam, on' how contrary an'
fractious an' wicked dat young white man was, I wants to tell you
'bout de time dat Aunt Hannah's little boy Mose died. Mose, he sick
'bout er week. Aunt Hannah, she try to doctor on him an' git him well
an' she tell old mis' dat she think Mose bad off an' orter have de
doctor. Old mis', she wouldn't git de doctor. She say Mose ain't sick
much, an' bless my Soul, Aunt Hannah she right. In a few days from
then Mose is dead. Mars Sam, he come cussin' an' tole Gabe to get some
planks an' make de coffin an' sont some of dem to dig de grave over
dere on de far side of de place where dey had er buryin'-groun' for de
niggers. Us toted de coffin over to where de grave was dug an' gwine
bury little Mose dar an' Uncle Billy Jordan, he was dar and begun to
sing an' pray an' have a kind of funeral at de buryin'. Every one was
moanin' an' singin' an' prayin' and Mars Sam heard 'em an' come
sailin' over dar on he hoss an' lit right in to cussin' an' rarein'
an' say dat if dey don't hurry an' bury dat nigger an' shut up dat
singin' an' carryin' on, he gwine lash every one of dem, an' then he
went to cussin' worser an' 'busin' Uncle Billy Jordan. He say iffen he
ever hear of him doin' any more preachin' or prayin' 'round 'mongst de
niggers at de grave-yard or anywheres else, he gwine lash him to
death. No suh, Boss, Mars Sam wouldn't even 'low no preachin' or
singin' or nothin' like dat. He was wicked. I tell you he was.
"Old mis', she ginrally looked after de niggers when dey sick an' give
dem de medicine. An' too, she would get de doctor iffen she think dey
real bad off 'cause like I said, old mis', she mighty stingy an' she
never want to lose no nigger by dem dyin'. How-some-ever it was hard
some time to get her to believe you sick when you tell her dat you
was, an' she would think you just playin' off from work. I have seen
niggers what would be mighty near dead before old mis' would believe
them sick at all.
"Before de War broke out, I can 'member there was some few of de white
folks what said dat niggers ought to be sot free, but there was just
one now an' then that took that stand. One of dem dat I 'member was de
Rev. Dickey what was de parson for a big crowd of de white peoples in
dat part of de county. Rev. Dickey, he preached freedom for de niggers
and say dat dey all should be sot free an' gived a home and a mule.
Dat preachin' de Rev. Dickey done sure did rile up de folks--dat is de
most of them like de Kendricks and Mr. Eldredge and Dr. Murcheson and
Nat Walker and such as dem what was de biggest of the slaveowners.
Right away atter Rev. Dickey done such preachin' dey fired him from de
church, an' 'bused him, an' some of dem say dey gwine hang him to a
limb, or either gwine ride him on a rail out of de country. Sure
enough dey made it so hot on dat man he have to leave clean out of de
state so I heered. No suh, Boss, they say they ain't gwine divide up
no land with de niggers or give them no home or mule or their freedom
or nothin'. They say dey will wade knee deep in blood an' die first.
"When de War start to break out, Mars Sam listed in de troops and was
sent to Virginny. There he stay for de longest. I hear old mis'
tellin' 'bout de letters she got from him, an' how he wishin' they
hurry and start de battle so's he can get through killin' de Yankees
an' get de War over an' come home. Bless my soul, it wasn't long
before dey had de battle what Mars Sam was shot in. He writ de letter
from de hospital where they had took him. He say dey had a hard fight,
dat a ball busted his gun, and another ball shoot his cooterments
(accouterments) off him; the third shot tear a big hole right through
the side of his neck. The doctor done sew de wound up; he not hurt so
bad. He soon be back with his company.
"But it wasn't long 'fore dey writ some more letters to old mis' an'
say dat Mars Sam's wound not gettin' no better; it wasn't healin' to
do no good; every time dat they sew de gash up in his neck it broke
loose again. De Yankees had been puttin' poison grease on the bullets.
Dat was de reason de wound wouldn't get well. Dey feared Mars Sam
goin' to die an' a short time atter dat letter come I sure knowed it
was so. One night just erbout dusk dark, de screech owls, dey come in
er swarm an' lit in de big trees in de front of de house. A mist of
dust come up an' de owls, dey holler an' carry on so dat old mars get
he gun an' shot it off to scare dem erway. Dat was a sign, Boss, dat
somebody gwine to die. I just knowed it was Mars Sam.
"Sure enough de next day dey got de message dat Mars Sam dead. Dey
brung him home all de way from Virginny an' buried him in de
grave-yard on de other side of de garden wid his gray clothes on him
an' de flag on de coffin. That's what I'se telling you, Boss, 'cause
dey called all de niggers in an' 'lowed dem to look at Mars Sam. I
seen him an' he sure looked like he peaceful in he coffin with his
soldier clothes on. I heered atterwards dat Mars Sam bucked an' rared
just 'fore he died an' tried to get outen de bed, an' dat he cussed to
de last.
"It was this way, Boss, how come me to be in de War. You see, they
'quired all of de slaveowners to send so many niggers to de army to
work diggin' de trenches an' throwin' up de breastworks an' repairin'
de railroads what de Yankees done 'stroyed. Every mars was 'quired to
send one nigger for every ten dat he had. Iffen you had er hundred
niggers, you had to send ten of dem to de army. I was one of dem dat
my mars 'quired to send. Dat was de worst times dat dis here nigger
ever seen an' de way dem white men drive us niggers, it was something
awful. De strap, it was goin' from 'fore day till 'way after night. De
niggers, heaps of 'em just fall in dey tracks give out an' them white
men layin' de strap on dey backs without ceastin'. Dat was zackly way
it was wid dem niggers like me what was in de army work. I had to
stand it, Boss, till de War was over.
"Dat sure was a bad war dat went on in Georgia. Dat it was. Did you
ever hear 'bout de Andersonville prison in Georgia? I tell you, Boss,
dat was 'bout de worstest place dat ever I seen. Dat was where dey
keep all de Yankees dat dey capture an' dey had so many there they
couldn't nigh take care of them. Dey had them fenced up with a tall
wire fence an' never had enough house room for all dem Yankees. They
would just throw de grub to 'em. De mostest dat dey had for 'em to eat
was peas an' the filth, it was terrible. De sickness, it broke out
'mongst 'em all de while, an' dey just die like rats what been
pizened. De first thing dat de Yankees do when dey take de state 'way
from de Confedrits was to free all dem what in de prison at
Andersonville.
"Slavery time was tough, Boss. You Just don't know how tough it was. I
can't 'splain to you just how bad all de niggers want to get dey
freedom. With de 'free niggers' it was just de same as it was wid dem
dat was in bondage. You know there was some few 'free niggers' in dat
time even 'fore de slaves taken outen bondage. It was really worse on
dem dan it was with dem what wasn't free. De slaveowners, dey just
despised dem 'free niggers' an' make it just as hard on dem as dey
can. Dey couldn't get no work from nobody. Wouldn't airy man hire 'em
or give 'em any work at all. So because dey was up against it an'
never had any money or nothin', de white folks make dese 'free
niggers' sess (assess) de taxes. An' 'cause dey never had no money for
to pay de tax wid, dey was put up on de block by de court man or de
sheriff an' sold out to somebody for enough to pay de tax what dey say
dey owe. So dey keep these 'free niggers' hired out all de time most
workin' for to pay de taxes. I 'member one of dem 'free niggers'
mighty well. He was called 'free Sol'. He had him a little home an' a
old woman an' some boys. Dey was kept bounded out nigh 'bout all de
time workin' for to pay dey tax. Yas suh, Boss, it was heap more
better to be a slave nigger dan er free un. An' it was really er
heavenly day when de freedom come for de race.
"In de time of slavery annudder thing what make it tough on de niggers
was dem times when er man an' he wife an' their chillun had to be
taken 'way from one anudder. Dis sep'ration might be brung 'bout most
any time for one thing or anudder sich as one or tudder de man or de
wife be sold off or taken 'way to some other state like Louisiana or
Mississippi. Den when a mars die what had a heap of slaves, these
slave niggers be divided up 'mongst de mars' chillun or sold off for
to pay de mars' debts. Then at times when er man married to er woman
dat don't belong to de same mars what he do, then dey is li'ble to git
divided up an' sep'rated most any day. Dey was heaps of nigger
families dat I know what was sep'rated in de time of bondage dat tried
to find dey folkses what was gone. But de mostest of 'em never git
togedder ag'in even after dey sot free 'cause dey don't know where one
or de other is.
"Atter de War over an' de slaves taken out of dey bondage, some of de
very few white folks give dem niggers what dey liked de best a small
piece of land for to work. But de mostest of dem never give 'em
nothin' and dey sure despise dem niggers what left 'em. Us old mars
say he want to 'range wid all his niggers to stay on wid him, dat he
gwine give 'em er mule an' er piece er ground. But us know dat old
mis' ain't gwine agree to dat. And sure enough she wouldn't. I'se
tellin' you de truth, every nigger on dat place left. Dey sure done
dat; an' old mars an' old mis', dey never had a hand left there on
that great big place, an' all that ground layin' out.
"De gov'ment seen to it dat all of de white folks had to make
contracts wid de niggers dat stuck wid 'em, an' dey was sure strict
'bout dat too. De white folks at first didn't want to make the
contracts an' say dey wasn't gwine to. So de gov'ment filled de jail
with 'em, an' after that every one make the contract.
"When my race first got dey freedom an' begin to leave dey mars', a
heap of de mars got ragin' mad an' just tore up truck. Dey say dey
gwine kill every nigger dey find. Some of them did do dat very thing,
Boss, sure enough. I'se tellin' you de truth. Dey shot niggers down by
de hundreds. Dey jus' wasn't gwine let 'em enjoy dey freedom. Dat is
de truth, Boss.
"Atter I come back to de old home place from workin' for de army, it
wasn't long 'fore I left dar an' git me er job with er sawmill an'
worked for de sawmill peoples for about five years. One day I heered
some niggers tellin' about er white man what done come in dar gittin'
up er big lot of niggers to take to Arkansas. Dey was tellin' 'bout
what a fine place it was in Arkansas, an' how rich de land is, an' dat
de crops grow without working, an' dat de taters grow big as er
watermelon an' you never have to plant 'em but de one time, an' all
sich as dat. Well, I 'cided to come. I j'ined up with de man an' come
to Phillips County in 1875. Er heap er niggers come from Georgia at de
same time dat me an' Callie come. You know Callie, dats my old woman
whats in de shack dar right now. Us first lived on Mr. Jim Bush's
place over close to Barton. Us ain't been far off from dere ever since
us first landed in dis county. Fact is, Boss, us ain't been outen de
county since us first come here, an' us gwine be here now I know till
de Lord call for us to come on home."
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of interviewer: Watt McKinney
Subject: Superstitious beliefs
Story--Information (If not enough space on this page, add page)
This information given by: Tines Kendricks (C)
Place of residence: Trenton, Arkansas
Occupation: None
Age: 104
[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]
There is an ancient and traditional belief among the Southern Negroes,
especially the older ones, that the repeated and intermitted cries of
a whippoorwill near a home in the early evenings of summer and
occurring on successive days at or about the same time and location;
or the appearance of a highly excited redbird, disturbed for no
apparent reason, is indicative of some imminent disaster, usually
thought to be the approaching death of some member of the family.
Tines Kendricks, who says that he was born the slave of Arch Kendricks
in Crawford County, Georgia, two hours before day on a certain Fourth
of July, one hundred and four years ago, recalls several instances in
his long and eventful life in which he contends the accuracy of these
forecasts was borne out by subsequent occurrences. The most striking
of these he says was the time his young master succumbed from the
effect of a wound received at the first battle of Manassas after
hovering between life and death for several days. The young master,
Sam Kendricks, who was the only son of his parents, volunteered at the
beginning of the War and was attached to the army in Virginia. He was
a very impetuous, high-spirited young man and chafed much under the
delay occasioned between the time of his enlistment and first battle,
wanting to have the trouble over with and the difficulties settled
which he honestly thought could be accomplished in the first
engagement with that enemy for whom he held such profound contempt.
Sam Kendricks, coming as he did from a long line of slave-owning
forebears, was one of those Southerners who felt that it was theirs to
command and the duty of others to obey. They would brook no
interference with the established order and keenly resented the
attitude and utterances of Northern press and spokesmen on the slavery
question. Tines Kendricks recalls the time his young master took leave
of his home and parents for the war and his remarks on departing that
his neck was made to fit no halter and that he possessed no mite of
fear for Yankee soldier or Yankee steel. Soon after the battle of
Manassas, Arch Kendricks was advised that Sam had suffered a severe
wound in the engagement. It was stated, however, that the wound was
not expected to prove fatal. This sad news of what had befallen the
young master was soon communicated throughout the entire length and
breadth of the great plantation and in the early evening of that day
Tines sitting in the door of his cabin in the slave quarters a short
distance from the master's great house heard the cry of a whippoorwill
and observed that the voice of this night bird seemed to arise from
the dense hedge enclosing the spacious lawn in front of the home.
Disturbed and filled with a sense of foreboding at this sound of the
bird, he earnestly hoped and prayed that the cry would not be repeated
the following evening, but to his great disappointment it was heard
again and nearer the house than before. On each succeeding evening
according to Tines Kendricks the call of the bird came clearly through
the evening's stillness and each time he noticed that the cry came
from a spot nearer the home until at last the bird seemed perched
beneath the wide veranda and early on the morning following, a very
highly excited redbird darted from tree to tree on the front lawn.
The redbird continued these peculiar actions for several minutes after
which it flew and came to rest on the roof of the old colonial mansion
directly above the room formerly occupied by the young master. Tines
was convinced now that the end had come for Sam Kendricks and that his
approaching death had been foretold by the whippoorwill and that each
evening as the bird approached nearer the house and uttered his night
cry just so was the life of young Sam Kendricks slowly nearing its
close and the actions of the redbird the following day was revealing
evidence to Tines that the end had come to his young master which
indeed it had as proven by a message the family received late in the
morning of this same day.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Frank Kennedy,
Holly Grove, Arkansas
Age: 65 or 70?
"My parents' name was Hannah and Charles Kennedy. They b'long to
Master John Kennedy. I was raised round Aberdeen, Mississippi but they
come in there after freedom. I heard em talk but I couldn't tell you
much as where they come from. They said a young girl bout got her
growth would auction off for more than any man. They used em for cooks
and house women. I judge way they talked she be fifteen or sixteen
years old. They brought $1,600 and $2,000. If they was scared up,
where they been beat, they didn't sell off good. I knowed Master John
Kennedy.
"The Ku Klux come round but they didn't bother much. They would bother
if you stole something. Another thing they made em stay close bout
their own places and work. I don't know bout freedom.
"I been farmin' and sawmillin' at Clarendon. I gets jobs I can do on
the farms now. I got rheumatism so I can't get round. I had this
trouble five years or longer now.
"The times is worse, so many folks stealin' and killin'. The young
folks don't work steady as they used to. Used to get figured out all
you raised till now they refuse to work less en the money in sight.
They don't work hard as I allers been workin'.
"I got one girl married. I don't have no land nor home. I works for
all I have yet.
"I have voted--not lately. I think my color outer vote like the white
folks do long as they do right. The women takin' the mens' places too
much it pears like. But they may be honester. I don't know how it will
be."
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Mrs. A. (Adrianna) W. Kerns
800 Victory Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 85
"When they first put me in the field, they put me and Viney to pick up
brush and pile it, to pick up stumps, and when we got through with
that, she worked on her mother's row and I worked on my aunt's row
until we got large enough to have a row to ourselves. Me and Viney
were the smallest children in the field and we had one row each. Some
of the older people had two rows and picked on each row.
"My birthday is on the fourth of November, and I am eighty-five years
old. You can count back and see what year I was born in.