Mrs. A. (Adrianna) W. Kerns is a sister to Charles Green Dortch. Cross
reference; see his story.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: George Key,
Forrest City, Arkansas
Age: 70 plus
"I was born in Fayette County, Tennessee. My mother was Henrietta
Hair. She was owned by David Hair. He had a gang of children. I was
her only child. She married just after the surrender she said. She
married Henry Key.
"One thing I can tell you she told me so often. The Yankees come by
and called her out of the cabin at the quarters. She was a brown girl.
They was going out on a scout trip--to hunt and ravage over the
country. They told her to get up her clothes, they would be by for
her. She was grandma's and grandpa's owners' nurse girl. She told them
and they sent her on to tell the white folks. They sent her clear off.
She didn't want to leave. She said her master was plumb good to her
and them all. They kept her hid out. The Yankees come slipping back to
tole her off. They couldn't find her nowhere. They didn't ax about
her. They was stealing her for a cook she thought. She couldn't cook
to do no good she said. She wasn't married for a long time after then.
She said she was scared nearly to death till they took her off and hid
her.
"I have voted but not for a long time. I'm too old to get about and
keep too sick to go to the polls to vote. I got high blood pressure.
"Times is fair. If I was a young man I would go to work. I can't
grumble. Folks mighty nice to me. I keeps in line with my kin folks
and men my age.
"The young age folks don't understand me and I don't know their ways
neither. They may be all right, but I don't know."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Lucy Key,
Forrest City, Arkansas
Age: 70 plus
"I was born in Marshall County, Mississippi. I seen Yankees go by in
droves. I was big enough to recollect that. Old mis', Ellis Marshall's
mother, named all the colored children on the place. All the white and
colored children was named for somebody else in the family. Aunt Mary
Marshall stayed in the house wid old mis'.
"Old mis' had a polly parrot. That thing got bad 'bout telling on us.
Old mis' give us a brushing. Her son was a bachelor. He lived there.
He married a girl fourteen or fifteen years old and Lawrence Marshall
is their son. His sister was in Texas. They said old man Marshall was
so stingy he would cut a pea in two. Every time we'd go in the orchard
old polly parrot tell on us. We'd eat the turning fruit. One day Aunt
Mary (colored) scared polly with her dress and apron till he took bad
off sick and died. Mr. Marshall was rough. If he'd found that out he'd
'bout whooped Aunt Mary to death. He didn't find it out. He'd have
crazy spells and they couldn't handle him. They would send for Wallace
and Tite Marshall (colored men on his place). They was all could do
anything wid 'em. He had plenty money and a big room full of meat all
the time.
"I recollect what we called after the War a 'Jim Crow.' It was a
hairbrush that had brass or steel teeth like pins 'ceptin' it was
blunt. It was that long, handle and all (about a foot long). They'd
wash me and grease my legs with lard, keep them from looking ashy and
rusty. Then they'd come after me with them old brushes and brush my
hair. It mortally took skin, hair, and all.
"The first shoe I ever wore had a brass toe. I danced all time when I
was a child. We wore cotton dresses so strong. They would hang you if
you got caught on 'em. We had one best dress.
"One time I went along wid a colored girl to preaching. Her fellar
walked home wid 'er. I was coming 'long behind. He helped her over the
rail fence. I wouldn't let him help me. I was sorter bashful. He
looked back and I was dangling. I got caught when I jumped. They got
me loose. My homespun dress didn't tear.
"I liked my papa the best. He was kind and never whooped us. He belong
to Master Stamps on another place. He was seventy-five years old when
he died.
"I milked a drove of cows. They raised us on milk and they had a
garden. I never et much meat. I went to school and they said meat
would make you thick-headed so you couldn't learn.
"I think papa was in the War. We cut sorghum cane with his sword what
he fit wid.
"Stamps was a teacher. He started a college before the War. It was a
big white house and a boarding house for the scholars. He had a
scholar they called Cooperwood. He rode. He would run us children.
Mama went to Master Stamps and he stopped that. He was the teacher. I
think that was toreckly after the War. Then we lived in the boarding
house. Four or five families lived in that big old house. It had
fifteen rooms. That was close to Marshall, Mississippi.
"Me and the Norfleet children drove the old mule gin together. There
was Mary, Nell, Grace. Miss Cora was the oldest. Miss Cora Marshall
married the old bachelor I told you about. She didn't play much.
"When the first yellow fever broke out, Master George Stamps sent papa
to Colliersville from Germantown. The officers stayed there. While he
was waiting for meat he would stay in the bottoms. He'd bring meat
back. Master George had a great big heavy key to the smokehouse. He'd
cut meat and give it out to his Negroes. That meat was smuggled from
Memphis. He'd go in a two-horse wagon. I clem up and look through the
log cracks at him cutting up the meat fer the hands on his place.
"I had the rheumatism but I cured it. I cupped my knee. Put water in a
cup, put a little coal oil (kerosene) on top, strike a match to it and
slap the cup to my knee. It drawed a clear blister. I got it well and
the rheumatism was gone. I used to rub my legs from my waist down'ards
with mule water. They say that is mighty good for rheumatism. I don't
have it no more.
"No sir-ree-bob, I ain't never voted and I don't aim to long as I'm in
my mind.
"Times ain't hard as they was when I was coming on. (Another Negro
woman says Aunt Lucy Key will wash or do lots of things and never take
a cent of pay for it--ed.) Money is scarce but this generation don't
know how to work. My husband gets relief 'cause he's sick and wore
out. My nephew gives us these rooms to live in. He got money. (We saw
a radio in his room and modern up-to-date furnishings--ed.) He is a
good boy. I'm good to him as I can be. Seems like some folks getting
richer every day, other folks getting worse off every day. Times look
dark that way to me.
"I been in Arkansas eight years. I tries to be friendly wid
everybody."
Interviewer: Bernice Bowden.
Person interviewed: Anna King (c)
Home: 704 West Fifth, Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 80
"Yes honey, I was here in slavery times. I'se gittin' old too, honey.
I was nine years old goin' on ten when the war ceasted. I remember
when they was volunteerin'. I remember they said it wasn't goin' to be
nothin' but a breakfus' spell.
"My fust marster was Nichols Lee. You see I was born in slavery
times--and I was sold away from my mother. My mother never did tell us
nothin' 'bout our ages. My white people told me after freedom that I
was 'bout nine or ten.
"When the white chillun come of age they drawed for the colored folks.
Marse Nichols Lee had a girl named Ann and she drawed me. She didn't
keep me no time though, and the man what bought me was named Leo
Andrew Whitley. He went to war and died before the war ceasted. Then I
fell to his brother Jim Whitley. He was my last marster. I was with
him when peace was declared. Yes mam, he was good to me. All my white
folks mighty good to me. Co'se Jim Whitley's wife slap my jaws
sometimes, but she never did take a stick to me.
"Lord honey, its been so long I just can't remember much now. I'se
gittin' old and forgitful. Heap a things I remember and heap a things
slips from me and is gone.
"Well honey, in slavery times, a heap of 'em didn't have good owners.
When they wanted to have church services and keep old marster from
hearin', they'd go out in the woods and turn the wash-pot upside down.
You know that would take up all the sound.
"I remember Adam Heath--he was called the meanest white man. I
remember he bought a boy and you know his first marster was good and
he wasn't used to bein' treated bad.
One day he asked old Adam Heath for a chew of tobacco, so old Adam
whipped him, and the boy ran away. But they caught him and put a bell
on him. Yes mam, that was in slavery times. Honey, I had good owners.
They didn't believe in beatin' their niggers.
"You know my home was in North Carolina. I was bred and born in
Johnson County.
"I remember seein' the soldiers goin' to war, but I never seed no
Yankee soldiers till after freedom.
"When folks heard the Yankees was comin' they run and hide their
stuff. One time they hide the meat in the attic, but the Yankees found
it and loaded it in Everett Whitley's wife's surrey and took it away.
She died just 'fore surrender.
"And I remember 'nother time they went to the smokehouse and got
something to eat and strewed the rest over the yard. Then they went in
the house and jest ramshacked it.
"My second marster never had no wife. He was courtin' a girl, but when
the war come, he volunteered. Then he took sick and died at Manassas
Gap. Yes'm, that's what they told me.
"My furst marster had a whiskey still. Now let me see, he had three
girls and one boy and they each had two slaves apiece. Ann Lee drawed
me and my grandmother.
"No mam, I never did go to school. You better _not_ go to school. You
better not ever be caught with a book in your hand. Some of 'em
slipped off and got a little learnin'. They'd get the old Blue Back
book out. Heap of 'em got a little learnin', but I didn't.
"When I fell to Jim Whitley's wife she kept me right in the house with
her. Yes mam, she was one good mistis to me when I was a child. She
certainly did feed me and clothe me. Yes mam!
"How long I been in Arkansas? Me? Let me see, honey, if I can give you
a guess. I been here about forty years. I remember they come to the
old country (North Carolina) and say, if you come to Arkansas you wont
even have to cook. They say the hogs walkin' round already barbecued.
But you know I knowed better than that.
"We come to John M. Gracie's plantation and some to Dr. Blunson
(Brunson). I remember when we got off the boat Dr. Blunson was sittin'
there and he said "Well, my crowd looks kinda puny and sickly, but I'm
a doctor and I'll save 'em." I stayed there eight years. We had to pay
our transportation which was fifty dollars, but they sure did give you
plenty of somethin' to eat--yes mam!
"No'm my hair ain't much white. My set o'folks don't get gray much,
but I'm old enough to be white. I done a heap a hard work in my life.
I hope clean up new ground and I tells folks I done everything 'cept
Maul rails.
"Lord honey, I don't know chile. I don't know _what_ to think, about
this here younger generation. Now when they raised me up, I took care
of myself and the white folks done took care of me.
"Yes mam, honey, I seed the Ku Klux. I remember in North Carolina when
the Ku Klux got so bad they had to send and get the United States
soldiers. I remember one come and joined in with the Ku Klux till he
found out who the head man was and then he turned 'em up and they
carried 'em to a prison place called Gethsemane. No mam! They never
come back. When they carried you to Gethsemane, you never come back.
"I say the Lord blest me in my old age. Even though I can't see, I set
here and praise the Lord and say, Lord, you abled me to walk and hear.
Yes, honey, I'm sure glad you come. I'm proud you thought that much of
me.
"Good bye, and if you are ever passin' here again, stop and see me."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Anna King
704 W. Fifth (rear), Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 82
"I used to 'member lots but you know, my remembrance got short.
"I was bred and born in Johnston County, North Carolina. I was sold
away from my mother but after freedom I got back. I had a brother was
sold just 'fore I was. My mother had two boys and three girls and my
oldest sister was sold.
"And then you know, in slavery times, when the white children got
grown, their parents give 'em so many darkies. My young Missis drawed
me.
"My fust master was such a drinker. Named Lee. Lawd a mercy, I knowed
his fust name but I can't think now. Young Lee, that was it.
"He sold me, and Leo Andrew Whitley bought me. Don't know how
much--all I know is I was sold.
"After freedom I scrambled back to the old plantation and that's the
way I found my mother.
"My last master never married. He had what they called a northern
trotter.
"Wish I was able to get back to the old country and find some of my
kin folks. If they ain't none of the old head livin', the young folks
is. I got oceans of kin folks in Sampson County.
"My husband was a preacher and he come to the old country from this
here Arkansas. He always said he was going to bring me out to this
country. He was always tellin' me 'bout Little Rock and Hot Springs.
So I was anxious to see this country. So after he died and when they
was emigratin' the folks here, I come. I 'member Dr. Blunson counted
us out after we got off the boat and he said, 'Well, my crowd looks
kinda sickly, but I'm a doctor and I'll save you.' Lawd, they
certainly come a heap of 'em. When the train uncoupled at Memphis,
some went to Texas, some to Mississippi, and some to Louisiana and
Arkansas. People hollerin' 'Goodbye' made you feel right sad.
"Some of 'em stayed in Memphis but I wouldn't stay 'cause dat's the
meanest place in the world.
"John M. Gracie had paid out his money for us and I believe in doin'
what's right. That was a plantation as sure as you bawn."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Mose King,
Lexa, Arkansas
Age: 81
"I was born in Richmond, Virginia. My master was Ephriam Hester. He
had a wife and little boy. We called her mistress. I forgot their
names. It's been so long ago.
"My parents named Lizzie Johnson and Andrew Kent. I had seven sisters
and there was two of us boys. When mistress died they sold mother and
my eldest sister and divided the money. I don't know her master's name
in Virginia. Mother was a cook at Ephriam Hester's. Sister died soon
as they come 'way from Virginia. I heard her talk like she belong to
Nathan Singleterry in Virginia. They put mother and Andrew Kent
together. After the surrender she married Johnson. I heard her say my
own father was 'cross the river in a free state.
"There was two row of houses on the side of a road a quarter mile long
and that is the place all the slaves lived. Ephriam Hester had one
hundred acres of wheat. Mother was the head loom. He wasn't cruel but
he let the overseers be hard. He said he let the overseers whoop 'em,
that what he hired 'em for. They had a whooping stock. It was a table
out in the open. They moved it about where they was working. They put
the heads and hands and feet in it. I seen a heap of 'em get mighty
bad whoopings. I was glad freedom come on fer that one reason. Long as
he lived we had plenty to eat, plenty to wear. We had meal, hogs,
goat, sheep and cows, molasses, corn hominy, garden stuff. We did have
potatoes. I said garden stuff.
"Ephriam Hester come to a hard fate. A crowd of cavalrymen from
Vicksburg rode up. He was on his porch. He went in the house to his
wife. One of the soldiers retched in his pocket and got something and
throwed it up on top of the house. The house burned up and him and her
burned up in it. The house was surrounded. That took place three miles
this side of Natchez, Mississippi. They took all his fine stock, all
the corn. They hauled it off. They took all the wagons. They sot all
they didn't take on fire and let it burn up. They burnt the gin and
some cotton. They burnt the loom house, the wheat house; they robbed
the smokehouse and burned it. We never got nothing. We come purt nigh
starving after then. After that round we had no use fer the Yankees. I
was learned young two wrongs don't make a right. That was wrong. They
done more wrong than that. I heard about it. We stayed till after
freedom. It was about a year. It was hard times. Seemed longer. We
went to another place after freedom. We never got a chance to get
nothing. Nothing to get there.
"In slavery times they had clog dances from one farm to another.
Paddyrollers run 'em in, give them whoopings. They had big nigger
hounds. They was no more of them after the War. The Ku Klux got to
having trouble. They would put vines across the narrow roads. The
horses run in and fell flat. The Ku Klux had to quit on that account.
"We didn't know exactly when freedom was. I went to school at
Shaffridge, two miles from Clarks store. That was what is Clarksdale,
Mississippi now. He had a store, only store in town. Old man Clark run
it. He was old bachelor and a all right fellow, I reckon. I thought
so. I went to colored teachers five or six months. I learned in the
Blue Back books. I stopped at about 'Baker (?)'.
"I farmed all my life. I got my wife and married her in 1883. We got a
colored preacher, Parson Ward. I had four children. They all dead but
one. I got two lots and a house gone back to the state. I come to see
'bout 'em today. I going to redeem 'em if I can. I made the money to
buy it at the round house. I worked there ten or twelve years. I got
two dollars ninety-eight cents a day. I hates to loose it. I have a
hard time now to live, Miss.
"I votes Republican mostly. I have voted on both sides. I tries to
live like this. When in Rome, do as Romans. I want to be peaceable wid
everybody.
"The present times is hard. I can't get a bit of work. I tries. Work
is hard fer some young folks to get yet.
"I love to be around young folks. Fer as I know they do all right. The
world looks nicer 'an it used to look. All I see wrong, times is
hard."
Interviewer: Zillah Cross Peel
Information given by: Aunt Susie King, Ex-slave.
Residence: Cane Hill, Arkansas. Washington County.
Age: about 93.
Across the Town Branch, in what is dubbed "Tin-cup" lives one of the
oldest ex-slaves in Washington county, "Aunt Susie" King, who was born
at Cane Hill, Arkansas about 1844.
"Aunt Susie" doesn't know just how old she is, but she thinks she is
over ninety, just how much she doesn't know. Perhaps the most accurate
way to get near her age would be go to the county records where one
can find the following bill of sale:
"State of Arkansas, County of Washington, for and in
consideration of natural affection that I have for my
daughter, Rebecca Rich, living in the county aforesaid above
mentioned, and I do hereby give and bequath unto her one negro
woman named Sally and her children namely Sam, and Fill, her
lifetime thence to her children her lawful heirs forever and I
do warrant and forever defend said negro girl and her children
against all lawful claims whatsoever.
July, 1840. Tom Hinchea Barker,
Witness, J. Funkhouser.
Filed for record,
Feb. 16, 1841.
When this bill of sale was read to "Aunt Susie" she said with great
interest,
"Yes'm, yes'm that sure was my Ma and my two brothers, Sam and Fill,
then come a 'nother brother, Allan, and then Jack and then I'm next
then my baby sister Milly Jane. Yes'm we's come 'bout every two
years."
"Yes'm, ole Missy was rich; she had lots of money, lots of lan'. Her
girl, she jes' had one, married John Nunley, Mister Ab, he married
Miss Ann Darnell, Mister Jack he married Miss Milly Holt, and Mister
Calvin he married Miss Lacky Foster. Yes'm they lived all 'round 'bout
us. Some at Rhea's Hill and some at Cane Hill," and to prove the
keenness of this old slave's mind, as well as her accuracy, one need
only to go to the county deed records where in 1849, Rebecca Rich
deeded several 40 acres tracts of land to her sons, James, Calvin,
William Jackson and Absaolum. This same deed record gives the names of
the wives of these sons just as "Aunt Susie" named them. However, Miss
Lacky Foster was "Kelika Foster."
Then Aunt Susie started remembering:
"Yes'm, my mother's name was Sally. She'd belonged to Mister Tom H.
Barker and he gived her to Miss Becky, his daughter. I think of them
all lots of days. I know a heap of folks that some times I forgot.
When the War came, we lived in a big log house. We had a loom room
back of the kitchen. I had a good mother. She wove some. We all wove
mos' all of the blankets and carpets and counterpans and Old Missey
she loved to sit down at the loom and weave some", with a gay chuckle
Aunty Susie said, "then she'd let me weave an' Old Missey she'd say I
takes her work and the loom away from her. I did love to weave, all
them bright colores, blue and red and green and yellow. They made all
the colors in the back yard in a big kettle, my mother, Sally did the
colorin'".
"We had a heap of company. The preacher came a lot of times and when
the War come Ole Missey she say if we all go with her, she'd take us
all to Texas. We's 'fraid of the Yankees; 'fraid they get us.
"We went in wagons. Ole Missey in the carriage. We never took nothin'
but a bed stead for Ole Missey. They was a great drove of we darkies.
Part time we walked, part time we rode. We was on the road a long
time. First place we stopped was Collins County, and stayed awhile I
recollect. We had lots of horses too. Some white folks drove 'long and
offered to take us away from Ole Missey but we wouldn't go. We didn't
want to leave Ole Missey, she's good to us. Oh Lord, it would a nearly
kilt her effen any body'd hit one of her darkies; I'd always stay in
the house and took care of Ole Miss. She was pretty woman, had light
hair. She was kinda punny tho, somethin' matter with her mos' all the
time, headache or toothache or something'."
"Mister Rich went down to the river swimmin' one time I heard, and got
drowned."
"Yes'm, they was good days fo' the War."
"Yes'm we stayed in Texas until Peace was made. We was then at
Sherman, Texas. Peace didn't make no difference with us. We was glad
to be free, and we com'd back to Arkansas with Ole Missey. We didn't
want to live down there. Me and my man, Charlie King, was married
after the War, and we went to live on Mister Jim Moores place. Ole
Miss giv'd my ma a cow. I made my first money in Texas, workin' for a
woman and she giv'd me five dollars."
"Yes'm after Peace the slaves all scattered 'bout."
"The colored folks today lak a whole heap bein' like they was fo' the
War. They's good darkies, and some aint so good." Me and my man had
seven children all dead but two, Bob lives with me. I don't worry
'bout food. We ain't come no ways starvin'. I have all I want to eat.
Bob he works for Missus Wade every mornin' tendin' to her flowers and
afternoons works for him self. She owns this house, lets us live in
it. She's good all right, good woman."
"I like flowers too, but ain't got no water, no more. Water's scarce.
Someone turned off the hydrant."
"I belong to the Baptist church a long while."
"Do you know Gate-eye Fisher?" When I said "yes, I went down to talk
to him last week," she said, "well, law me, Gate-eye ain't no fool.
He's the best cook as ever struck a stove. He married my baby sister,
Milly Jane's child. Harriet Lee Ann, she's my niece. She left him,
said she'd never go back no more to him. She's somewhere over in
Oklahoma."
"And did you see Doc Flowers? Yes'm, I was mos' a mother to him.
"One time my man and me heard a peckin' at the do'. We's eatin'
supper. I went to the do' and there was Doc. He and his step-pa, Ole
Uncle Ike, had a fight and Doc come to us and stayed 'bout three
years. He started cryin'."
"Yes'm my Pa and Ma had belonged to Mister John Barker, before he
giv'd my Ma to Miss Becky, my Pa was a leather worker. He could make
shoes, and boots and slippers."
"Yes'm, Good bye. Come back again honey. Yes'm I'd like a little
snuff--not the sweet kind. It makes my teeth feel better to have
snuff. I ain't got much but snags, and snuff, a little mite helps
them."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: William Kirk
1910 W. Sixth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 84
"I been here ever since 1853--yes ma'm! Cose I 'member the war! I tell
you I've seen them cannon balls goin' up just like a balloon. I wasn't
big enough to work till peace was declared but they had my mammy and
daddy under the lash. One good thing 'bout my white folks, they give
the hands three months' schoolin' every year. My mammy and daddy got
three months' schoolin' in the old country. Some said that was General
Washington's proclamation, but some of 'em wouldn't hear to it. When
peace was declared, some of the niggers had as good education as the
white man. That was cause their owners had 'lowed it to 'em.
"They used to put us in cells under the house so the Yankees couldn't
get us. Old master's name was Sam Kirk and he had overseers and nigger
dogs (bloodhounds) that didn't do nothin' but run them niggers.
"I 'member one time when they say the Yankees was comin' all us
chillun, boys and girls, white and black, got upon the fence and old
master come out and say 'Get in your holes!'
"The war went on four years. Them was turrible times. I don't never
want to see no more war. Them that had plenty, time the regiment went
by they didn't have nothin'. Old mistress had lots a turkeys and hogs
and the Yankees just cleaned 'em out. Didn't have time to pick
'em--just skinned 'em. They had a big camp 'bout as long as from here
to town.
"They burned up the big house as flat as this floor. They wasn't
nothin' left but the chimneys. Oh the Yankees burned up plenty. They
burned Raleigh and they burned Atlanta--that was the southern capital.
I've seen the Yankees go right out in people's fields and make 'em
take the horses out. Then they'd saddle 'em and ride right off.
"General Grant had ten thousand nigger soldiers outside of the
Irishmen and the Dutchmen. I know General Grant looked fearful when he
come by. After surrender he had a corps pass through and notify the
people that the war was over.
"Abraham Lincoln was a war captain. He was a man that believed in
right. He was seven feet four inches high.
"I was born in North Carolina and I come here in 'sixty seven. I
worked too!"
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Betty Krump,
Helena, Arkansas
Age: --
[Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]
"Mother come to Helena, Arkansas from Lake Charles, Louisiana. I was
born here since freedom. She had twelve children, raised us two. She
jus' raised me en my sister. She lives down the street on the corner.
She was a teacher here in Helena years and years. I married a doctor.
I never had to teach long as he lived, then I was too old. I never
keered 'bout readin' and books. I rather tomboy about. Then I set up
housekeepin'. I don't know nothin' 'bout slavery. I know how they come
here. Two boats named Tyler and Bragg. The Yankees took 'em up and
brought 'em up to their camps to pay them to wait on them. They come.
Before 'mancipation my mammy and daddy owned by the very same old
fellar, Thomas Henry McNeil. He had a big two-story stone house and
big plantation. Mother said she was a field hand. She ploughed. He
treated 'em awful bad. He overworked 'em. Mother said she had to work
when she was pregnant same as other times. She said the Yankees took
the pantry house and cleaned it up. They broke in it. I'm so glad the
Yankees come. They so pretty. I love 'em. Whah me? I can tell 'em by
the way they talk and acts. You ain't none. You don't talk like 'em.
You don't act like 'em. I watched you yeste'd'y. You don't walk like
'em. You act like the rest of these southern women to me.
"Mother said a gang of Yankees came to the quarters to haul the
children off and they said, 'We are going to free you all. Come on.'
She said, 'My husband in the field.' They sent for 'im. He come hard
as he could. They loaded men and all on them two gunboats. The boat
was anchored south of Tom Henry McNeill's plantation. He didn't know
they was gone. When they got here old General Hindman had forty
thousand back here in the hills. They fired in. The Yankees fired! The
Yankees said they was goin' to drive 'em back and they scared 'em out
of here and give folks that brought in them gunboat houses to live in.
Mammy went to helping the Yankees. They paid her. That was 'fore
freedom. I loves the Yankees. General Hindman's house was tore down up
there to build that schoolhouse (high school). The Yankees said they
was goin' to water their horses in the Mississippi River by twelve
o'clock or take hell. I know my mammy and daddy wasn't skeered 'cause
the Yankees taking keer of 'em and they was the ones had the cannons
and gunboats too. I jus' love the Yankees fer freeing us. They run
white folks outer the houses and put colored folks in 'em. Yankees had
tents here. They fed the colored folks till little after 'mancipation.
When the Yankees went off they been left to root hog er die. White
folks been free all der lives. They got no need to be poor. I went to
school to white teachers. They left here, folks didn't do 'em right.
They set 'em off to theirselves. Wouldn't keep 'em, wouldn't walk
'bout wid 'em. They wouldn't talk to 'em. The Yankees sont 'em down
here to egercate us up wid you white folks. Colored folks do best
anyhow wid black folks' children. I went to Miss Carted and to Mrs.
Mason. They was a gang of 'em. They bo'ded at the hotel, one of the
hotels kept 'em all. They stayed 'bout to theirselves. 'Course the
white folks had schools, their own schools.
"Ku Klux--They dressed up and come in at night, beat up the men 'bout
here in Helena. Mammy washed and ironed here in Helena till she died.
I never did do much of that kinder work. I been housekeeping purty
near all my days.
"Mammy was Fannie Thompson in Richmond, Virginia. She was took to New
Orleans on a boat and sold. Sold in New Orleans. She took up wid
Edmond Clark. Long as you been going to school don't you know folks
didn't have no marryin' in slavery times? I knowed that. They never
did marry and lived together all their lives. Preacher married
me--colored preacher. My daddy, Edmond Clark, said McNeil got him at
Kentucky.
"I done told you 'nough. Now what are you going to give me? The
gover'ment got so many folks doin' so much you can't tell what they
after. Wish I was one of 'em.
"The present times is tough. We ain't had no good times since dem
banks broke her. Three of 'em. Folks can't get no credit. Times ain't
lack dey used to be. No use talking 'bout this young generation. One
day I come in my house from out of my flower garden. I fell to sleep
an' I had $17.50 in little glass on the table to pay my insurance. It
was gone when I got up. I put it in there when I lay down. I know it
was there. It was broad open daytime. Folks steals and drinks whiskey
and lives from hand to mouth now all the time. I sports my own self.
Ain't nobody give me nothin' since the day I come here. I rents my
houses and sells flowers."