The rambling, one-story frame building where William McWhorter makes his
home with his cousin, Sarah Craddock, houses several families and is
proudly referred to by the neighbors as "de 'partment house."
William, better known as "Shug," is a very black man of medium build. He
wore a black slouch hat pulled well down over tangled gray hair, a dingy
blue shirt, soiled gray pants, and black shoes. The smile faded from his
face when he learned the nature of the visit. "I thought you was de
pension lady 'comin' to fetch me some money," he said, "and 'stid of dat
you wants to know 'bout slavery days. I'se disapp'inted.
"Mistess, it's been a long time since I was born on Marse Joe
McWhorter's plantation down in Greene County and I was jus' a little
fellow when slavery was done over wid. Allen and Martha McWhorter was my
ma and pa. Pa, he was de carriage driver, and ma, she was a field hand.
Dey brought her here from Oingebug (Orangeburg), South Carolina, and
sold her to Marse Joe when she was jus' a little gal. Me and Annie,
Ella, Jim, and Tom was all de chillun in our fambly, and none of us
warn't big enough to do no wuk to speak of 'fore de end of de big war.
You see, Mistess, it was lak dis; Marse Joe, he owned a old 'oman what
didn't do nothin' 'cept stay at de house and look atter us chillun, and
dat was one of dem plantations whar dere was sho a heap of slave
chillun.
"'Bout our houses? Mistess, I'se gwine to tell you de trufe, dem houses
slaves had to live in, dey warn't much, but us didn't know no better
den. Dey was jus' one-room log cabins wid stick and dirt chimblies. De
beds for slaves was home-made and was held together wid cords wove evvy
which away. If you didn't tighten dem cords up pretty offen your bed was
apt to fall down wid you. Suggin sacks was sewed together to make our
mattress ticks and dem ticks was filled wid straw. Now, don't tell me
you ain't heared of suggin sacks a-fore! Dem was coarse sacks sort of
lak de guano sacks us uses now. Dey crowded jus' as many Niggers into
each cabin as could sleep in one room, and marriage never meant a thing
in dem days when dey was 'rangin' sleepin' quarters for slaves. Why, I
knowed a man what had two wives livin' in de same cabin; one of dem
'omans had all boys and t'other one didn't have nothin' but gals. It's
nigh de same way now, but dey don't live in de same house if a man's got
two famblies.
"I 'members dat my pa's ma, Grandma Cindy, was a field hand, but by de
time I was old 'nough to take things in she was too old for dat sort of
wuk and Marster let her do odd jobs 'round de big house. De most I seed
her doin' was settin' 'round smokin' her old corncob pipe. I was named
for Grandpa Billy, but I never seed him.
"Mistess, does you know what you'se axin'? Whar was slaves to git money
whilst dey was still slaves? Dere warn't but a few of 'em dat knowed
what money even looked lak 'til atter dey was made free.
"Now, you is talkin' 'bout somepin sho 'nough when you starts 'bout dem
victuals. Marse Joe, he give us plenty of sich as collards, turnips and
greens, peas, 'taters, meat, and cornbread. Lots of de cornbread was
baked in pones on spiders, but ashcakes was a mighty go in dem days.
Marster raised lots of cane so as to have plenty of good syrup. My pa
used to 'possum hunt lots and he was 'lowed to keep a good 'possum hound
to trail 'em wid. Rabbits and squirrels was plentiful and dey made
mighty good eatin'. You ain't never seed sich heaps of fish as slaves
used to fetch back atter a little time spent fishin' in de cricks and de
river.
"De kitchen was sot off from de big house a little piece, but Old
Marster had a roof built over de walkway so fallin' weather wouldn't
spile de victuals whilst dey was bein' toted from de kitchen in de yard
to de dinin' room in de big house. I don't reckon you ever seed as big a
fireplace as de one dey cooked on in dat old kitchen. It had plenty of
room for enough pots, skillets, spiders, and ovens to cook for all de
folks on dat plantation. No, mam, slaves never had no gardens of deir
own; dey never had no time of deir own to wuk no garden, but Old Marster
fed 'em from his garden and dat was big enough to raise plenty for all.
"De one little cotton shirt dat was all chillun wore in summertime den
warn't worth talkin' 'bout; dey called it a shirt but it looked more lak
a long-tailed nightgown to me. For winter, our clothes was made of wool
cloth and dey was nice and warm. Mistess, slaves never knowed what
Sunday clothes was, 'cept dey did know dey had to be clean on Sunday. No
matter how dirty you went in de week-a-days, you had to put on clean
clothes Sunday mornin'. Uncle John Craddock made shoes for all de grown
folks on our plantation, but chillun went barfoots and it never seemed
to make 'em sick; for a fact, I b'lieves dey was stouter den dan dey is
now.
"Marse Joe McWhorter and his wife, Miss Emily Key, owned us, and dey was
jus' as good to us as dey could be. Mistess, you knows white folks had
to make slaves what b'longed to 'em mind and be-have deyselfs in dem
days or else dere woulda been a heap of trouble. De big fine house what
Marse Joe and his fambly lived in sot in a cedar grove and Woodville was
de town nighest de place. Oh! Yes, mam, dey had a overseer all right,
but I'se done forgot his name, and somehow I can't git up de names of
Marse Joe's chillun. I'se been sick so long my mem'ry ain't as good as
it used to be, and since I lost my old 'oman 'bout 2 months ago, I don't
'spect I ever kin reckomember much no more. It seems lak I'se done told
you my pa was Marse Joe's carriage driver. He driv de fambly
whar-some-ever dey wanted to go.
"I ain't got no idee how many acres was in dat great big old plantation,
but I'se heared 'em say Marse Joe had to keep from 30 to 40 slaves, not
countin' chillun, to wuk dat part of it dat was cleared land. Dey told
me, atter I was old enough to take it in, dat de overseer sho did drive
dem slaves; dey had to be up and in de field 'fore sunup and he wuked
'em 'til slap, black dark. When dey got back to de big house, 'fore dey
et supper, de overseer got out his big bull whip and beat de ones dat
hadn't done to suit him durin' de day. He made 'em strip off deir
clothes down to de waist, and evvywhar dat old bull whip struck it split
de skin. Dat was awful, awful! Sometimes slaves dat had been beat and
butchered up so bad by dat overseer man would run away, and next day
Aunt Suke would be sho to go down to de spring to wash so she could
leave some old clothes dar for 'em to git at night. I'se tellin' you,
slaves sho did fare common in dem days.
"My Aunt Mary b'longed to Marse John Craddock and when his wife died and
left a little baby--dat was little Miss Lucy--Aunt Mary was nussin' a
new baby of her own, so Marse John made her let his baby suck too. If
Aunt Mary was feedin' her own baby and Miss Lucy started cryin' Marse
John would snatch her baby up by the legs and spank him, and tell Aunt
Mary to go on and nuss his baby fust. Aunt Mary couldn't answer him a
word, but my ma said she offen seed Aunt Mary cry 'til de tears met
under her chin.
"I ain't never heared nothin' 'bout no jails in slavery time. What dey
done den was 'most beat de life out of de Niggers to make 'em be-have.
Ma was brung to Bairdstown and sold on de block to Marse Joe long 'fore
I was borned, but I ain't never seed no slaves sold. Lordy, Mistess,
ain't nobody never told you it was agin de law to larn a Nigger to read
and write in slavery time? White folks would chop your hands off for dat
quicker dan dey would for 'most anything else. Dat's jus' a sayin',
'chop your hands off.' Why, Mistess, a Nigger widout no hands wouldn't
be able to wuk much, and his owner couldn't sell him for nigh as much as
he could git for a slave wid good hands. Dey jus' beat 'em up bad when
dey cotched 'em studyin' readin' and writin', but folks did tell 'bout
some of de owners dat cut off one finger evvy time dey cotch a slave
tryin' to git larnin'. How-some-ever, dere was some Niggers dat wanted
larnin' so bad dey would slip out at night and meet in a deep gully whar
dey would study by de light of light'ood torches; but one thing sho, dey
better not let no white folks find out 'bout it, and if dey was lucky
'nough to be able to keep it up 'til dey larned to read de Bible, dey
kept it a close secret.
"Slaves warn't 'lowed to have no churches of dey own and dey had to go
to church wid de white folks. Dere warn't no room for chillun in de
Baptist church at Bairdstown whar Marse Joe tuk his grown-up slaves to
meetin', so I never did git to go to none, but he used to take my ma
along, but she was baptized by a white preacher when she jined up wid
dat church. De crick was nigh de church and dat was whar dey done de
baptizin'.
"None of our Niggers never knowed enough 'bout de North to run off up
dar. Lak I done told you, some of 'em did run off atter a bad beatin',
but dey jus' went to de woods. Some of 'em come right on back, but some
didn't; Us never knowed whar dem what didn't come back went. Show me a
slavery-time Nigger dat ain't heared 'bout paterollers! Mistess, I 'clar
to goodness, paterollers was de devil's own hosses. If dey cotched a
Nigger out and his Marster hadn't fixed him up wid a pass, it was jus'
too bad; dey most kilt him. You couldn't even go to de Lord's house on
Sunday 'less you had a ticket sayin': 'Dis Nigger is de propity of Marse
Joe McWhorter. Let him go.'
"Dere warn't never no let-up when it come to wuk. When slaves come in
from de fields atter sundown and tended de stock and et supper, de mens
still had to shuck corn, mend hoss collars, cut wood, and sich lak; de
'omans mended clothes, spun thread, wove cloth, and some of 'em had to
go up to de big house and nuss de white folks' babies. One night my ma
had been nussin' one of dem white babies, and atter it dozed off to
sleep she went to lay it in its little bed. De child's foot cotch itself
in Marse Joe's galluses dat he had done hung on de foot of de bed, and
when he heared his baby cry Marse Joe woke up and grabbed up a stick of
wood and beat ma over de head 'til he 'most kilt her. Ma never did seem
right atter dat and when she died she still had a big old knot on her
head.
"Dey said on some plantations slaves was let off from wuk when de dinner
bell rung on Saddays, but not on our'n; dere warn't never no let-up 'til
sundown on Sadday nights atter dey had tended to de stock and et supper.
On Sundays dey was 'lowed to visit 'round a little atter dey had 'tended
church, but dey still had to be keerful to have a pass wid 'em. Marse
Joe let his slaves have one day for holiday at Christmas and he give 'em
plenty of extra good somepin t'eat and drink on dat special day. New
Year's Day was de hardest day of de whole year, for de overseer jus'
tried hisself to see how hard he could drive de Niggers dat day, and
when de wuk was all done de day ended off wid a big pot of cornfield
peas and hog jowl to eat for luck. Dat was s'posed to be a sign of
plenty too.
"Cornshuckin's was a mighty go dem days, and folks from miles and miles
around was axed. When de wuk was done dey had a big time eatin',
drinkin', wrestlin', dancin', and all sorts of frolickin'. Even wid all
dat liquor flowin' so free at cornshuckin's I never heared of nobody
gittin' mad, and Marse Joe never said a cross word at his cornshuckin's.
He allus picked bright moonshiny nights for dem big cotton pickin's, and
dere warn't nothin' short 'bout de big eats dat was waitin' for dem
Niggers when de cotton was all picked out. De young folks danced and cut
up evvy chanct dey got and called deyselfs havin' a big time.
"Games? Well, 'bout de biggest things us played when I was a chap was
baseball, softball, and marbles. Us made our own marbles out of clay and
baked 'em in de sun, and our baseballs and softballs was made out of
rags.
"Does I know anything 'bout ghosties? Yes, mam, I sees ha'nts and
ghosties any time. Jus' t'other night I seed a man widout no head, and
de old witches 'most nigh rides me to death. One of 'em got holt of me
night 'fore last and 'most choked me to death; she was in de form of a
black cat. Mistess, some folks say dat to see things lak dat is a sign
your blood is out of order. Now, me, I don't know what makes me see 'em.
"Marse Joe tuk mighty good keer of sick slaves. He allus called in a
doctor for 'em, and kept plenty of castor ile, turpentine, and de lak on
hand to dose 'em wid. Miss Emily made teas out of a heap of sorts of
leaves, barks, and roots, sich as butterfly root, pine tops, mullein,
catnip and mint leaves, feverfew grass, red oak bark, slippery ellum
bark, and black gum chips. Most evvybody had to wear little sacks of
papaw seeds or of assyfizzy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off
diseases.
"Dey used to say dat a free Nigger from de North come through de South
and seed how de white folks was treatin' his race, den he went back up
der and told folks 'bout it and axed 'em to holp do somepin' 'bout it.
Dat's what I heared tell was de way de big war got started dat ended in
settin' slaves free. My folks said dat when de Yankee sojers come
through, Miss Emily was cryin' and takin' on to beat de band. She had
all her silver in her apron and didn't know whar to hide it, so atter
awhile she handed it to her cook and told her to hide it. De cook put it
in de woodpile. De Yankee mens broke in de smokehouse, brought out meat
and lard, kilt chickens, driv off cows and hosses, but dey never found
Miss Emily's silver. It was a long time 'fore our fambly left Marse
Joe's place.
"Marse Joe never did tell his Niggers dey was free. One day one of dem
Yankee sojers rid through de fields whar dey was wukin' and he axed 'em
if dey didn't know dey was as free as deir Marster. Dat Yankee kept on
talkin' and told em dey didn't have to stay on wid Marse Joe 'less dey
wanted to, end dey didn't have to do nothin' nobody told 'em to if dey
didn't want to do it. He said dey was deir own bosses and was to do as
dey pleased from de time of de surrender.
"Schools was sot up for slaves not long atter dey was sot free, and a
few of de old Marsters give deir Niggers a little land, but not many of
'em done dat. Jus' as de Niggers was branchin' out and startin' to live
lak free folks, dem nightriders come 'long beatin', cuttin', and
slashin' 'em up, but I 'spects some of dem Niggers needed evvy lick dey
got.
"Now, Mistess, you knows all Niggers would ruther be free, and I ain't
no diffunt from nobody else 'bout dat. Yes, mam, I'se mighty glad Mr.
Abraham Lincoln and Jeff Davis fit 'til dey sot us free. Dat Jeff Davis
ought to be 'shamed of hisself to want Niggers kept in bondage; dey says
dough, dat he was a mighty good man, and Miss Millie Rutherford said
some fine things 'bout him in her book what Sarah read to me, but you
can't 'spect us Niggers to b'lieve he was so awful good.
"Me and Rosa Barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a mighty fine supper.
I don't ricollect what she had on, but I'se tellin' you she looked
pretty and sweet to me. Our two boys and three gals is done growed up
and I'se got three grandchillun now. Rosa, she died out 'bout 2 months
ago and I'se gwine to marry agin soon as I finds somebody to take keer
of me.
"I was happier de day I jined de church at Sander's Chapel, dan I'se
been since. It was de joyfullest day of all my life, so far. Folks ought
to git ready for a better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished
on dis earth, and I'se sho glad our Good Lord saw fit to set us free
from sin end slavery. If he hadn't done it, I sho would have been dead
long ago. Yistidday I picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and
it laid me out. I can't wuk no more. I don't know how de Blessed Lord
means to provide for me but I feels sho He ain't gwine to let me
perish."
[HW: Dist. 6:
Ex-Slave #72]
Henrietta Carlisle
Alberta Minor
Re-search Workers
MOLLIE MALONE--EX-SLAVE
Route B, Griffin, Georgia
Interviewed
September 16, 1936
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
Mollie was born on a plantation owned by Mr Valentine Brook, near Locust
Grove, Georgia. Mr. Brook died before the War and his wife, "the widder
Brock", ran the plantation.
Slaves not needed on the home plantation were "hired out" to other land
owners for from $200.00 to $300.00 a year. This was done the first of
each year by an auction from a "horse block". When Mollie was seven
months old her mother, Clacy Brock, was "hired out" and she was taken
care of by two old Negroes, too old to work, and who did nothing but
care for the little "Niggers". Mollie grew up with these children
between the "big house" and the kitchen. When she was old enough she was
"put to mind" the smaller children and if they did'nt behave she pinched
them, but "when the 'ole Miss found it out, she'd sure 'whup me'", she
said. These children were fed cornbread and milk for breakfast and
supper, and "pot licker" with cornbread for dinner. They slept in a
large room on quilts or pallets. Each night the larger children were
given so many "cuts" to spin, and were punished if all weren't finished.
The thread was woven into cloth on the loom and made into clothes by the
slaves who did the sewing. There were no "store bought" clothes, and
Mollie was free before she ever owned a pair of shoes. Clothes had to be
furnished by the owner for the slaves he "hired out".
Mr. and Mrs. Brock had two daughters, Margaret and Mary Anne, who led
very quiet secluded lives. Mollie remembers visits of the traveling
preacher, who conducted services in a nearby church once a month. The
slaves walked behind the White folks' carriages to and from the church,
where they were seated in the rear during the services. If there were
baptisms, the Whites were baptized first, then the Darkies.
On this plantation the Negroes were not allowed to engage in any frolics
or attend social gatherings. They only knew Christmas by the return of
the hired out slaves, who came home for a week before the next auction.
The young lady daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Brock wore "drag tail" dresses,
and Mollie says the little Negroes had to hold these long skirts off the
ground whenever they were out doors, then spread them as they went into
the house so they could "strut."
The children were not allowed any education other than the "old Miss"
reading them the Bible on Sunday afternoons.
The older Negroes were not allowed to visit on other plantations often,
but when they did go they had to have passes from their masters or the
"patarolers" would whip them--if they were caught.
Hoar-hound and penny-royal were used for minor ailments, and "varnish"
was put on cuts by the "ole Miss". Mollie doesn't remember ever seeing a
doctor, other than a mid-wife, on the plantation. Home made remedies for
"palpitation of the heart" was to wear tied around the neck a piece of
lead, pounded into the shape of the heart, and punched with nine holes,
or to get some one "not kin to you", to tie some salt in a small bag and
wear it over your heart. Toothache was cured by smoking a pipe of "life
everlasting", commonly called "rabbit tobacco". Headaches were stopped
by beating the whites of an egg stiff, adding soda and putting on a
cloth, then tying around the head.
Mr. Brock died before the War, consequently not having any men to go
from the plantation, Mollie knew very little about it. She remembers
Confederate soldiers "practicin" at Locust Grove, the nearest town, and
one time the Yankees came to the plantation and "took off" a horse Mrs.
Brock had hidden in the swamp, also all the silver found buried.
Mollie knew nothing of the freedom of the slaves until her mother came
to get her. For two years they "hired out" on a farm in Butts County,
where they worked in the fields. Several times in later years Mollie
returned to the Brock plantation to see "the ole Miss" and the young
Misses. Mrs. Brock and her daughters, who had never married, died on the
plantation where they had always lived.
Mollie's family "knocked around awhile", and then came to Griffin where
they have since made their home. She became a familiar figure driving an
ox-cart on the streets and doing odd jobs for White families and leading
a useful life in the community. Besides her own family, Mollie has
raised fifteen orphaned Negro children. She is approximately ninety
years old, being "about growd" when the War ended.
District Two
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
AUNT CARRIE MASON
Milledgeville, Georgia
(Baldwin County)
Written By:
Mrs. Estelle G. Burke
Research Worker
Federal Writers' Project
Milledgeville, Georgia
Edited By:
John N. Booth
Asst. District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
July 7, 1937
[Date Stamp: JUL 20 1937]
"Howdy, Miss, Howdy. Come on in. George is poly today. My grandchillun
is doin' a little cleanin' up fer me 'cause us thinks George ain't got
long on this earth an' us don' want de place ter be dirty an' all when
he's gone."
The home of Aunt Carrie and Uncle George Mason, a two-room cabin
surrounded by a dirty yard, stands in a clearing. Old tin cans, bottles,
dusty fruit jars, and piles of rat-tail cotton from gutted mattresses
littered the place. An immense sugarberry tree, beautifully
proportioned, casts inviting shade directly in front of the stoop. It is
the only redeeming feature about the premises. Aunt Carrie, feeble and
gray haired, hobbled out in the yard with the aid of a stick.
"Have a seat, Miss. Dat cheer is all right. It won't fall down. Don't
git yo' feet wet in dat dirty water. My grandchillun is scourin' terday.
Effen yer want to, us'll set under de tree. Dey's a cool breeze dar all
de time.
"You wants to fin' out my age an' all? Law Miss, I don' know how ole I
is. George is nigh 'bout 90. I 'members my mammy said I wuz bawn a mont'
or two 'fore freedom wuz 'clared. Yas'um I rekymembers all 'bout de
Yankees. How cum I 'members 'bout dem an' de war wuz over den? I cain't
tell yer dat, but I knows I 'members seein' 'em in de big road. It
mought not uv been Mister Sherman's mens but mammy said de Yankees wuz
in de big road long after freedom wuz 'clared, and dey wuz down here
gettin' things straight. Dey wuz sho' in er mess atter de war! Evvythin'
wuz tore up an' de po' niggers didn't know which away to turn.
"My mammy's name wuz Catherine Bass an' my pappy wuz Ephriam Butts. Us
b'longed ter Mars' Ben Bass an' my mammy had de same name ez marster
twell she ma'ied pappy. He b'longed ter somebody else 'til marster
bought him. Dey had ten chillun. No, mam, Mammy didn't have no doctor,"
Aunt Carrie chuckled, "Didn't nobody hardly have a doctor in dem days.
De white folks used yarbs an' ole 'omans to he'p 'em at dat time. Mammy
had er ole 'oman whut lived on de place evvy time she had a little 'un.
She had one evvy year too. She lost one. Dat chile run aroun' 'til she
wuz one year ole an' den died wid de disentery.
"Us had er right hard time in dem days. De beds us used den warn't like
dese here nice beds us has nowadays. Don't you laugh, Berry, I knows
dese beds us got now is 'bout to fall down," Aunt Carrie admonished her
grandson when he guffawed at her statement, "You chilluns run erlong now
an' git thoo' wid dat cleanin'." Aunt Carrie's spirits seemed dampened
by Berry's rude laugh and it was several minutes before she started
talking again. "Dese young folks don't know nuthin' 'bout hard times. Us
wukked in de ole days frum before sunup 'til black night an' us knowed
whut wuk wuz. De beds us slep' on had roun' postes made outen saplins of
hickory or little pine trees. De bark wuz tuk off an' dey wuz rubbed
slick an' shiny. De sprangs wuz rope crossed frum one side uv de bed to
de udder. De mattress wuz straw or cotton in big sacks made outen
osnaberg or big salt sacks pieced tergether. Mammy didn't have much soap
an' she uster scrub de flo' wid sand an' it wuz jes ez white. Yas mam,
she made all de soap us used, but it tuk a heap. We'uns cooked in de
ashes an' on hot coals, but de vittals tasted a heap better'n dey does
nowadays. Mammy had to wuk in de fiel' an' den cum home an' cook fer
marster an' his fambly. I didn' know nuthin' 'bout it 'till atter
freedom but I hyearn 'em tell 'bout it.
"Mammy an' pappy stayed on Marster's plantation 'til a year or mo' atter
dey had dey freedom. Marster paid 'em wages an' a house ter stay in. He
didn't hav' many slaves, 'bout 20, I reckon. My brothers wuz Berry,
Dani'l, Ephriam, Tully, Bob, Lin, an' George. De yuthers I disremembers,
caze dey lef' home when dey wuz big enough to earn dey livin' an' I jes
don't recollec'.
"Conjur' woman! Law miss, I aims ter git ter Hebem when I dies an' I
show don't know how ter conjur' nobody. No mam, I ain't never seed no
ghost. I allus pray to de Lord dat He spar' me dat trouble an' not let
me see nary one. No good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey
leave here de fus time. Go 'way, dog."
A spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under
Aunt Carrie's chair. It was a still summer day and the flies droned
ceaselessly. A well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to
the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool
drink. Aunt Carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to
her story.
"Effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from Marster, I ain't heered
tell uv it, but Mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched
an' whupped by de overseer. Effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den
dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. Er big S wuz put on dey face somewhars.
S stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. Marster
din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself.
"Why is George so white? 'Cause his marster wuz er white genemun named
Mister Jimmie Dunn. His mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' Frances Mason
an' his marster wuz his paw. Yas mam, I see you is s'prised, but dat
happ'ned a lots in dem days. I hyeared tell of er white man what would
tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo'
slaves.' Yas mam, when George wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er
white man an' he made George his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf
ter boss de yuther slaves. I wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but
since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none."
Aunt Carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it
with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. After lighting it she puffed quietly
and seemed to be meditating. Finally she took it from her mouth and
continued.
"I ain't had no eddication. I 'tended school part of one term but I wuz
so skairt of my teacher that I couldn't larn nuthin'. He wuz a ole white
man. He had been teachin' fer years an' years, but he had a cancer an'
dey had done stopped him frum teachin' white chillun'. His name wuz
Mister Bill Greer. I wuz skairt 'cause he was a white man. No mam, no
white man ain't never harmed me, but I wuz skairt of him enyhow. One day
he says to me, 'chile I ain't goin to hurt yer none 'cause I'm white.'
He wuz a mighty good ole man. He would have larned us mo' but he died de
nex' year. Mammy paid him ten cents a mont' a piece fer all us chillun.
De boys would wuk fer dey money but I wuz the onliest gal an' Mammy
wouldn't let me go off de plantation to make none. Whut I made dar I
got, but I didn't make much 'til atter I ma'ied.
"Law honey, does yer want to know 'bout my ma'ige? Well, I wuz 15 years
ole an' I had a preacher to ma'y me. His name wuz Andrew Brown. In dem
days us allus waited 'til de time of year when us had a big meetin' or
at Christmus time. Den effen one of us wanted ter git mai'ed, he would
perform de weddin' atter de meetin' or atter Chris'mus celebratin'. I
had er bluish worsted dress. I mai'ed in Jannywerry, right atter
Chris'mus. At my mai'ge us had barbecue, brunswick stew, an' cake. De
whole yard wuz full uv folks.
"Mammy wuz a 'ligous 'oman an' de fust day of Chris'mus she allus fasted
ha'f a day an' den she would pray. Atter dat evvybody would hav' eggnog
an' barbecue an' cake effen dey had de money to buy it. Mammy said dat
when dey wuz still slaves Marster allus gived 'em Chris'mus, but atter
dey had freedom den dey had ter buy dey own rations. Us would have
banjer playin' an' dance de pijen-wing and de shuffle-toe.
"No mam, George's pa didn' leave him no lan' when he died. Us went ter
another farm an' rented when de mai'ge wuz over. George's pa warn't
dead, but he didn't offer to do nuthin' fer us.
"Yas'um, I'se had eight chilluns of my own. Us ain' never had no lan' us
could call our'n. Us jes moved from one farm ter another all our days.
This here lan' us is on now 'longs ter Mr. Cline. My son an' his chillun
wuks it an' dey give us whut dey kin spare. De Red Cross lady he'ps us
an' us gits along somehow or nother."
Works Progress Administration
Harry L. Hopkins, Administrator
Ellen S. Woodward, Assistant Administrator
Henry S. Alsberg, Director of the Federal Writers' Project