This old woman lives in among the white population and rents the house
next to her own to a white family. The lady down at the corner store
said she tells white people, the younger ones, to call her Mrs. Krump.
She didn't pull that on me. She once told this white lady storekeeper
to call her Mrs. No one told me about her, because the lady said they
all know she is impudent talking. She is old, black, wealthy, and
arrogant. I passed her house and spied her.
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
[HW: Ex-slave, Texarkans Dist.]
Name of Interviewer: Mrs. W. M. Ball
Subject: Folk Tales.
Information given by: Preston Kyles
Place of Residence: 800 Block. Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark.
Occupation: Minister. (Age) 81
[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]
One of the favorite folk songs sung to the children of a half century
ago was "Run Nigger Run, or the Patty Roll Will Get You." Few of the
children of today have ever heard this humorous ditty, and would,
perhaps, be ignorant of its meaning. To the errant negro youths of
slave times, however, this tune had a significant, and sometimes
tragic, meaning. The "patty rolls" were guards hired by the
plantations to keep the slaves from running away. The following story
is told by an ex-slave:
"When I wuz a boy, dere wuz lotsa Indians livin' about six miles frum
de plantation on which I wuz a slave. De Indians allus held a big
dance ever' few months, an' all de niggers would try to attend. On one
ob dese osten'tious occasions about 50 of us niggers conceived de idea
of goin', without gettin' permits frum de Mahster. As soon as it gets
dark, we quietly slips outen de quarters, one by one, so as not to
disturb de guards. Arrivin' at de dance, we jined de festivities wid a
will. Late dat nite one ob de boys wuz goin' down to de spring fo' to
get a drink ob water when he notice somethin' movin' in de bushes.
Gettin' up closah, he look' again when--Lawd hab mersy! Patty rollers!
A whole bunch ob 'em! Breathless, de nigger comes rushin' back, and
broke de sad news. Dem niggers wuz scared 'mos' to death, 'cause dey
knew it would mean 100 lashes for evah las' one ob dem effen dey got
caught. After a hasty consultation, Sammy, de leader, suggested a plan
which wuz agreed on. Goin' into de woods, we cuts several pieces of
grape vine, and stretches it across de pathway, where we knowed de
patty rollers would hab to come, tien' it to trees on both sides. One
ob de niggers den starts down de trail whistlin' so as to 'tract de
patty rollers 'tention, which he sho did, fo' here dey all cum,
runnin' jus' as hard as dey could to keep dem niggers frum gettin'
away. As de patty rollers hit de grape vine, stretched across de
trail, dey jus' piles up in one big heap. While all dis commotion wuz
goin' on, us niggers makes fo' de cotton fiel' nearby, and wends our
way home. We hadn' no more'n got in bed, when de mahster begin
knockin' on de door. "Jim", he yell, "Jim, open up de doah!" Jim gets
up, and opens de doah, an de mahster, wid several more men, comes in
de house. "Wheres all de niggers?" he asks. "Dey's all heah," Jim
says. De boss walks slowly through de house, countin' de niggers, an'
sho' nuf dey wuz all dere. "Mus' hab been Jim Dixon's negroes," he
says finally.
"Yes, suh, Cap'n, dey wuz a lot happen in dem times dat de mahsters
didn't know nuthin' about."
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
[HW: Ex-slave, Texarkana Dist., 9/5/31]
Name of Interviewer: Cecil Copeland
Subject: Apparition and Will-o'-the-Wisp.
Story--Information:
Information given by: Preston Kyles / Occupation: Minister
Place of Residence: 800 Block, Laurel St., Texarkana, Ark. (Age) 81
[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]
The negro race is peculiarly susceptible to hallucinations. Most any
old negro can recall having had several experiences with "de spirits."
Some of these apparitions were doubtless real, as the citizens during
Reconstruction Days employed various methods in keeping the negro in
subjection. The organizers of the Ku Klux Klan, shortly after the
Civil War, recognized and capitalized on the superstitious nature of
the negro. This weakness in their character doubtless prevented much
bloodshed during this hectic period.
The following is a story as told by a venerable ex-slave in regard to
the "spirits":
"One day, when I wuz a young man, me an' a nigger, by de name ov
Henry, wuz huntin' in an' old field. In dem days bear, deer, turkey,
and squirrels wuz plentiful an' 'twant long befo' we had kilt all we
could carry. As we wuz startin' home some monstrous thing riz up right
smack dab in front ov us, not more'n 100 feet away. I asked Henry:
"Black Boy, does yo' see whut I see?" an' Henry say, "Nigger I hopes
yo' don't see whut I see, 'cause dey ain't no such man." But dere it
stood, wid its sleeves gently flappin' in de wind. Ovah 8 feet tall,
it wuz, an' all dressed in white. I yells at it, "Whut does yo' want?"
but it didn't say nuthin'. I yells some mo' but it jus' stands there,
not movin' a finger. Grabbin' de gun, I takes careful aim an' cracks
down on 'em, but still he don't move. Henry, thinkin' maybe I wuz too
scared to shoot straight, say: "Nigger, gib me dat gun!" I gibs Henry
de gun but it don't take but one shot to convince him dat he ain't
shootin' at any mortal bein'. Throwin' down de gun, Henry say,
"Nigger, lets get away frum dis place," which it sho' didn't take us
long to do."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Susa Lagrone
25th and Texas Streets, Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 79
"I don't know exactly how old I am but I know I was here at surrender.
I was born in Mississippi. I seen the soldiers after they come home.
They camped right there at our gate.
"I think--now I don't know, but I think I was bout six or seven when
they surrendered. I went down to the gate with Miss Sally and the
children. Old mistress' name was Sally Stanton. She was a widow woman.
"I learned to knit durin' the war. They'd give me a task to do, so
much to do a day, and then I'd have all evenin' to play.
"My father was a mechanic. He laid brick and plaster. You know in them
days they plastered the houses. He belonged to old man Frank Scott. He
was such a good worker Mr. Scott would give him all the work he could
after he was free. That was in Mississippi.
"I went to school right smart after freedom. Fore freedom the white
folks learned me my ABC's. My mistress was good and kind to me.
"When we went down to the gate to see the soldiers, I heard Miss Judy
say (she was old mistress' sister), I heard her say, 'Well, you let em
beat you' and started cryin'. I cried too and mama said, 'What you
cryin' for?' I said, 'Miss Judy's cryin'.' Mama said, 'You fool, you
is _free_!' I didn't know what freedom was, but I know the soldiers
did a lot of devilment. Had guards but they just run over them
guards.
"I think Abraham Lincoln wanted to give the people some land after
they was free, but they didn't give em nothin'--just turned em loose.
"Course we ought to be free--you know privilege is worth everything.
"After surrender my mother stayed with old mistress till next year.
She thought there wasn't nobody like my mother. When she got sick old
mistress come six miles every day to see her and brought her things
till she died.
"My mother learned to weave and spin and after we was free the white
folks give her the loom. I know I made a many a yard of cloth after
surrender. My mother was a seamstress and she learned me how to sew.
"I never did hire out--just worked at home. My mother had six boys and
six girls and they're all dead but me and my sister.
"Somebody told me I was twenty-five when I married. Had three
children--all livin'.
"I used to see the white folks lookin' at a map to see where the
soldiers was fightin' and I used to wonder how they could tell just
lookin' at that paper.
"Old mistress said after freedom, 'Now, Susa, I don't want you to
suffer for nothin.' I used to go up there and stay for weeks at a
time.
"I just got down with rheumatism here bout three or four years ago,
and you know it goes hard with me--I always been used to workin' all
my life."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Barney A. Laird
Brinkley, (near Moroe) Arkansas
Age: 79
"I was born in Pinola County, Mississippi. I remembers one time
soldiers come by on all black horses and had a bundle on one shoulder
strapped around under the other arm. They wore blue jackets. Their
horses was trained so they marched good as soldiers. They camped not
far from our house. There was a long string of soldiers. It took them
a long time to go by.
"One time they had a dinner in a sorter grove on a neighbor's farm.
All us children went up there to see if they left anything. We et up
the scraps. I say it was good eating. The fust Yankee crackers I ever
et was there that day. They was fine for a fact.
"Our owner was Dr. Laird. When I come to know anything his wife was
dead but his married daughter lived with him. Her husband's name was
John Balentine. My parents worked in the field and I stayed up at the
house with my old grandpa and grandma. Their house was close to the
white folks. Our houses was about on the farm. Some of the houses was
pole houses, some hewed out. The fireplace in our house burned long
wood and the room what had the fireplace was a great big room. We had
shutters at the windows. The houses was open but pretty stout and
good. We had plenty wood.
"My parents both lived on the same farm. They had seven children. My
mother's name was Caroline and my father's name was Ware A. Laird.
Mother never told us if she was ever sold. Father never was sold. He
never talked much.
"One thing I know is: My wife's pa was sold, Squire Lester, so him and
Adeline could be on the same farm. Them my wife's parents. They never
put him on no block, jes' told him to get his belongings and where to
go. I never seen nobody sold.
"Dr. Laird was good to his darkies. My whole family stayed on his
place till he died. I don't know how long. I don't know if I ever
knowed when freedom come on. We had a hard time durin' the Civil War.
That why I hate to hear about war. The soldiers tore down houses,
burnt houses. They burnt up Dr. Laird's gin. I think it burned some
cotton. They tore down fences and hauled em off to make fires at their
camps. That let the stock out what they maybe did leave an old snag.
Fust cussin' I ever heard done was one of them soldiers. I don't know
what about but he was going at it. I stopped to hear what he saying. I
never heard nobody cuss so much over nothing as ever I found out. They
had cleaned us out. We didn't have much to eat nor wear then. We did
have foe then from what they told us. The old folks got took care of.
That don't happen no more.
"I never seen a Ku Klux. I heard tell of them all my life.
"Dr. Laird was old man and John Balentine was a peaceable man. He
wanted his farm run peaceable. He was kind as could be.
"I been farming all my life. I still be doing it. I do all I can. It
is the young boys' place to take the plough handle--the making a man
out of their young strength. They don't want to do it. Some do and
some won't stay on the farm. Go to town is the cry. I got a wife and
two boys. They got families. They are on the farm. I tell them to
stay.
"I get help from the Welfare if I'm able to come get what they give
me.
"I used to pay my taxes and vote. Now if I have a dollar I have to buy
something to eat. Us darkies satisfied with the best the white folks
can do. Darkies good workers but poor managers is been the way I seen
it all my life. One thing we don't want no wars."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Arey Lamar
612 E. 14th Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 78
[Date Stamp: MAY 31 1938]
"Yes'm, I was born in slavery days but I don't know what day. But you
know I been hustlin' 'round here a long time.
"My mother said I was a great big girl when surrender come.
"I was born in Greenville, Mississippi but I was raised down at Lake
Dick.
"I was a servant in Captain Will Nichols' house. I got a cup here now
that was Captain Nichols' cup. Now that was away back there. That's a
slavery time cup. After the handle got broke my mother used it for her
coffee cup.
"My mother's name was Jane Condray. After everything was free, a lot
of us emigrated from the old country to Arkansas. When we come here we
come through Memphis and I know I saw a pair of red shoes and cried
for mama to buy 'em for me, but she wouldn't do it.
"After I was grown and livin' in Little Rock, I bought me a pair of
red shoes. I know I wore 'em once and I got ashamed of 'em and blacked
'em.
"My brother run away when they was goin' to have that Baxter-Brooks
War and ain't been seen since.
"I was the oldest girl and never did get a education, and I hate it. I
learned to work though.
"I don't know 'bout this younger generation. It looks like they're
puttin' the old folks in the background. But I think it's the old
christian people is holdin' the world together today."
Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson.
Person interviewed: Solomon Lambert,
Holly Grove, Ark., R.F.D.
Age: 89
Subject: EX-SLAVERY
Story:
"My parents belong to Jordon and Judy Lambert. They (the Jordon
family) had a big family. They never was sold. I heard 'em say that.
They hired their slaves out. Some was hired fer a year. From New Year
day to next New Year day. That was a busy day. That was the day to set
in workin' overseers and ridin' bosses set in on New Year day. My
parents' name was Fannie and Ben Lambert. They had eight children.
"How did they marry? They say they jump the broomstick together! But
they had brush brooms so I reckon that whut they jumped. Think the
moster and mistress jes havin' a little fun outen it then. The brooms
the sweep the floor was sage grass cured like hay. It grows four or
five feet tall. They wrap it with string and use that for a handle.
(Illustration-- [TR: not finished] The way they married the man ask
his moster then ask her moster. If they agree it be all right. One of
'em would 'nounce it 'fore all the rest of the folks up at the house
and some times they have ale and cake. If the man want a girl and ther
be another man on that place wanted a wife the mosters would swop the
women mostly. Then one announce they married. That what they call a
double weddin'. Some got passes go see their wife and family 'bout
every Sunday and some other times like Fourth er July. They have a
week ob rest when they lay by the crops and have some time not so busy
to visit Christmas.
"I never seen no Ku Klux. There was Jay Hawkers. They was folks on
neither side jess goin' round, robbin' and stealin', money, silver,
stock or anything else they wanted. We had a prutty good time we have
all the hands on our place at some house and dance. We made our music.
Music is natur'l wid our color. They most all had a juice (Jew's)
harp. They make the fiddle and banjo. White folks had big times too.
They had mo big gatherins than they have now. They send me to Indian
Bay once or twice a week to get the mail. I had no money. They give my
father little money long and give him some 'bout Christmas. White
folks send their darkies wid a order to buy things. I never seen a big
town till I started on that run to Texas. They took the men 450 miles
to Indian Nation to make a crop. We went in May and came back in
October. They hired us out. Mr. Jo Lambert and Mr. Beasley took us.
One of 'em come back and got us. That kept us from goin' to war. They
left the women, children and old men, too old fer war.
"How'd I know 'bout war? That was the big thing they talk 'bout. See
'em. The first I seen was when I was shuckin' corn at the corn pin
(crib) a man come up in gray clothes. (He was a spy). The way he talk
you think he a southern man 'cept his speech was hard and short. I
noticed that to begin wid. They thought other rebels in the corn pin
but they wasn't. Wasn't nobody out there but me. Then here come a man
in blue uniform. After while here come the regiment. It did scare me.
Bob and Tom (white boys) Lambert gone to war then. They fooled round a
while then they galloped off. I show was glad when the last man rid
off!
Moster Lambert then hid the slaves in the bottoms. We carried
provisions and they sent more'long. We stay two or three days or a
week when they hear a regiment comin' through or hear 'bout a scoutin
gang comin' through. They would come one road and go back another
road. We didn't care if they hid us. We hear the guns. We didn't
wanter go down there. That was white man's war. In 1862 and 1863 they
slipped off every man and one woman to Helena. I was yokin' up oxen.
Man come up in rebel clothes. He was a spy. I thought I was gone then
but and a guard whut I didn't see till he left went on. I dodged round
till one day I had to get off to mill. The Yankees run up on me and
took me on. I was fifteen years old. I was mustered in August and let
out in 1864 when it was over. I was in the Yankee army 14 months. They
told me when I left I made a good soldier. I was with the standing
army at Helena. They had a battle before I went in. I heard them say.
You could tell that from the roar and cannons. They had it when I was
in Texas. I wasn't in a battle. The Yankees begin to get slim then
they made the darkies fill up and put them in front. I heard 'em say
they had one mighty big battle at Helena. I had to drill and guard the
camps and guard at the pickets (roads into Helena). They never let me
go scoutin'. I walked home from the army. I was glad to get out. I
expected to get shot 'bout all the time. I aint seen but mighty little
difference since freedom. I went back and stayed 45 years on the
Lambert place. I moved to Duncan. Moster died foe the Civil War. Some
men raised dogs-hounds. If something got wrong they go get the dogs
and use 'em. If some of the slaves try to run off they hunt them with
the dogs. It was a big loss when a hand run off they couldn't ford
that thing. They whoop 'em mostly fer stealin'. They trust 'em in
everything then they whoop 'em if they steal. They know it wrong.
Course they did. The worse thing I ever seen in slavery was when we
went to Texas we camped close to Camden. Camden, Arkansas! On the way
down there we passed by a big house, some kind. I seen mighty little
of it but a big yard was pailened in. It was tall and fixed so they
couldn't get out. They opened the big gate and let us see. It was full
of darkies. All sizes. All ages. That was a _Nigger Trader Yard_ the
worst thing I ever seen or heard tell of in my life. I heard 'em say
they would cry 'em off certain times but you could buy one or two any
time jes by agreement. I nearly fell out wid slavery then. I studied
'bout that heap since then. I never seen no cruelty if a man work and
do right on my moster's place he be honored by both black and white.
Foe moster died I was 9 year old, I heard him say I valued at $900.00.
I never was sold.
"When I was small I minded the calves when they milk, pick up chips to
dry fer to start fires, then I picked up nuts, helped feed the stock,
learned all I could how to do things 'bout the place. We thought we
owned the place. I was happy as a bird. I didn't know no better than
it was mine. All the home I ever knowed. I tell you it was a good
home. Good as ever had since. It was thiser way yo mama's home is your
home. Well my moster's home was my home like dat.
"We et up at the house in the kitchen. We eat at the darkey houses. It
make no diffurence--one house clean as the other. It haft to be so.
They would whoop you foe your nasty habits quick as anything and
quicker. Had plenty clothes and plenty to eat. Folk's clothes made
outer more lastin' cloth than now. They last longer and didn't always
be gettin' more new ones. They washed down at the spring. The little
darkies get in (tubs) soon as they hang out the clothes on the ropes
and bushes. The suds be warm, little darkies race to get washed. Folks
raced to get through jobs then and have fun all time.
"Foe I jined the Yankees I had hoed and I had picked cotton. Moster
Lambert didn't work the little darkies hard to to stunt them. See how
big I am? I been well cared fur and done a sight er work if it piled
up so it could be seen.
(Solomon Lambert is a large well proportioned negro.) In 1870 the
railroad come in here by Holly Grove. That the first I ever seen. The
first cars. They was small.
"I never knowd I oughter recollect what all they talked but she said
they both (mother and father) come from Kentucky to Tennessee, then to
Arkansas in wagons and on boats too I recken. The Lamberts brought
them from Kentucky. For show I can't tell you no more 'bout them. I
heard 'em say they landed at the Bay (Indian Bay).
"Fine reports went out if you jin the army whut all you would get. I
didn't want to be there. I know whut I get soon as ever I got way from
them. Course I was goin' back. I had no other place to go. The
government give out rations at Indian Bay after the war. I didn't need
none. I got plenty to eat. Two or three of us colored folks paid Mr.
Lowe $1.00 a month to teach us at night. We learned to read and
calculate better. I learned to write. We stuck to it right smart
while.
"I been married twice. Joe Yancey (white) married me to my first wife
at the white folks house. The last time Joe Lambert (white) married me
in the church. I had 2 boys they dead now and 1 girl. She is living.
During slavery I had a cart I drove a little mule to. I took a barrel
of water to the field. I got it at the well. I put it close by in the
shade of a tree. Trees was plentiful! Then I took the breakfast and
dinner in my cart. I done whatever come to my lot in Indian Nation.
After the war I made a plowhand. "_Say there_, _from 1864 to 1937 Sol
Lambert farmed._" Course I hauled and cut wood, but my job is farmin'.
I share croppe. I worked fer 1/3 and 1/4 and I have rented. Farmin' is
my talent. That whar all the darkey belong. He is made so. He can
stand the sun and he needs meat to eat. That is where the meat grows.
"I got chickens and a garden. I didn't get the pigs I spoke fer. I got
a fine cow. I got a house--10-1/2 acres of ground. That is all I can
look after. I caint get 'bout much. I rid on a wagon (to town) my mare
is sick I wouldn't work her. I got a buggy. Good nough fer my ridin' I
don't come to town much. I never did.
I get a Federal soldier's pension. I tell you 'bout it. White folks
tole me 'bout it and hope me see 'bout gettin' it. I'm mighty proud of
it. It is a good support for me in my old helpless days. I'm mighty
thankful for it. I'm glad you sent me word to come here I love to help
folks. They so good to me.
"I vote a Republican ticket. I don't vote. I did vote when I was 21
years old. It was stylish then and I voted some since then along. I
don't bother with votin' and I don't know nuthin 'bout how it is done
now. I tried to run my farm and let them hired run the governmint. I
knowed my job like he knowed his job.
I come back to tell you one other thing. My Captain was Edward
Boncrow.
"I told you all I know 'bout slavery less you ask me 'bout somethin' I
might answer: We ask if we could go to white church and they tell us
they wanted certain ones to go today so they could fix up. It was
after the war new churches and schools sprung up. Not fast then.
Prices of slaves run from $1600 to $2000 fer grown to middle age. Old
ones sold low, so did young ones. $1600 was a slow bid. That is whut I
heard.
Name of Interviewer: Martin-Barker
Subject: Ex-Slave
Story--Information (If not enough space on this page add page)
This information given by: Frank Larkin
Place of Residence: RFD #1--Bx. 73
Age --
[TR: Personal information moved from bottom of form.]
I was born a slave, my owner was Mr. Rhodes of Virginia. On a large
plantation, my white folks gave a big to do, and served wine. Had corn
shuckings. Swapped help around harvesting time. I was sold when 6 or 7
years old. Sold to highest bidder. First marster gave my mother to his
white daughter and let her keep me.
I was raised as a house boy. I was always a mean boy. When I was sold
I split another boys head open with an axe. Then I runned off. They
caught me with blood hounds. My master whipped me with a cowhide whip.
He made me take my clothes off and tied me to a tree. He would use the
whip and then take a drink out of a jug and rest awhile, then he would
whip me again.
Sometimes we would set up until midnight pickin' wool. I would get so
sleepy, couldn't hardly pick de wool.