Dora Roberts was born in 1849 and was a slave of Joseph Maxwell of
Liberty County. The latter owned a large number of slaves and
plantations in both Liberty and Early Counties. During the war "Salem"
the plantation in Liberty County was sold and the owner moved to Early
County where he owned two plantations known as "Nisdell" and "Rosedhu".
Today, at 88 years of age, Aunt Dora is a fine specimen of the fast
disappearing type of ante-bellum Negro. Her shrewd dark eyes glowing, a
brown paper sack perched saucily on her white cottony hair, and puffing
contentedly on an old corn cob pipe, the old woman began her recital
what happened during plantation days.
"Dey is powerful much to tell ob de days ob slabry, chile, an' it come
to me in pieces. Dis story ain't in no rotation 'cause my mind it don't
do dat kinda function, but I tell it as it come ta me. De colored folks
had dey fun as well as dey trials and tribulations, 'cause dat Sat'day
nigh dance at de plantation wuz jist de finest ting we wanted in dem
days. All de slabes fum de udder plantation dey cum ta our barn an' jine
in an' if dey had a gal on dis plantation dey lob, den dat wuz da time
dey would court. Dey would swing to de band dat made de music. My
brother wuz de captain ob de quill band an' dey sure could make you
shout an' dance til you quz [TR: wuz?] nigh 'bout exhausted. Atta
findin' ya gal ta dat dance den you gits passes to come courtin' on
Sundays. Den de most ob dom dey wants git married an' dey must den git
de consent fum de massa ceremonies wuz read ober dem and de man git
passes fo' de week-end ta syat [TR: stay?] wid his wife. But de slabes
dey got togedder an' have dem jump over de broom stick an' have a big
celebration an' dance an' make merry 'til morning and it's time fo' work
agin.
"We worked de fields an' kep' up de plantation 'til freedom. Ebry
Wednesday de massa come visit us an look ober de plantation ta see dat
all is well. He talk ta de obersheer an' find out how good de work is.
We lub de massa an' work ha'd fo' him.
"Ah kin 'member dat Wednesday night plain as it wuz yesterday. It seems
lak de air 'round de quarters an' de big house filled wid excitement;
eben de wind seem lak it wuz waitin' fo' som'ting. De dogs an' de
pickaninnies dey sleep lazy like 'gainst de big gate waitin' fo' de
crack ob dat whip which wuz de signal dat Julius wuz bringin' de master
down de long dribe under de oaks. Chile, us all wuz happy knowin' date
de fun would start.
"All of a sudden you hear dem chilluns whoop, an' de dogs bark, den de
car'age roll up wid a flourish, an' de coachman dressed in de fines' git
out an' place de cookie try on de groun'. Den dey all gadder in de
circle an' fo' dey git dey supply, dey got ta do de pigeon wing.
"Chile, you ain't neber seen sich flingin' ob de arms an' legs in yo'
time. Dem pickaninnies dey had de natural born art ob twistin' dey body
any way dey wish. Dat dere ting dey calls truckin' now an' use to be
chimmy, ain't had no time wid de dancin' dem chilluns do. Dey claps dey
hands and keep de time, while dat old brudder ob mine he blows de
quills. Massa he would allus bring de big tray ob 'lasses cookies fo'
all de chilluns. Fast as de tray would empty, Massa send ta de barrel
fo' more. De niggers do no work dat day, but dey jist celebrate.
"Atta de war broke out we wuz all ca'yhed up to de plantation in Early
County to stay 'til atta de war. De day de mancipation wuz read dey wuz
sadness an' gladness. De ole Massa he call us all togedder an' wid tears
in his eyes he say--'You is all free now an' you can go jist whar you
please. I hab no more jurisdiction ober you. All who stay will be well
cared for.' But de most ob us wanted to come back to de place whar we
libed befo'--Liberty County.
"So he outfitted de wagons wid horses an' mules an' gib us what dey wuz
ob privisions on de plantation an' sent us on our way ta de ole
plantation in Liberty County. Dare wuz six horses ta de wagons. 'Long de
way de wagons broke down 'cause de mules ain't had nothin' ta eat an'
most ob dem died. We git in sich a bad fix some ob de people died. When
it seem lak we wuz all gwine die, a planter come along de road an' he
stopped ta find out what wuz de matter. Wan he heard our story an' who
our master wuz he git a message to him 'bout us.
"It seem lak de good Lord musta answered de prayers ob his chillun fo'
'long way down de road we seed our Massa comin' an' he brung men an'
horses to git us safely ta de ole home. When he got us dare, I neber see
him no more 'cause he went back up in Early County an' atta I work dere
at de plantation a long time den I come ta de city whyah my sister be
wid one ob my master's oldest daughters--a Mrs. Dunwodies[TR: ?? first
letter of name not readable], who she wuz nursin' fo'.
"An' dat's 'bout all dey is ta tell. When I sits an' rocks here on de
porch it all comes back ta me. Seems sometimes lak I wuz still dere on
de plantation. An' it seem lak it's mos' time fo' de massa ta be comin'
ta see how tings are goin'."
Written by Ruth Chitty
Research Worker
District #2
Rewritten by Velma Bell
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW: AUNT FEREBE ROGERS
Baldwin County
Milledgeville, Ga.
More than a century lies in the span of memory of "Aunt Ferebe" Rogers.
The interviewers found her huddled by the fireside, all alone while her
grandaughter worked on a WPA Project to make the living for them both.
In spite of her years and her frail physique, her memory was usually
clear, only occasionally becoming too misty for scenes to stand out
plainly. Her face lighted with a reminiscent smile when she was asked to
"tell us something about old times."
"I 'members a whole heap 'bout slav'ey times. Law, honey, when freedom
come I had five chillen. Five chillen and ten cents!" and her crackled
laughter was spirited.
"Dey says I'm a hundred and eight or nine years old, but I don't think
I'm quite as old as dat. I knows I'se over a hundred, dough.
"I was bred and born on a plantation on Brier Creek in Baldwin County.
My ole marster was Mr. Sam Hart. He owned my mother. She had thirteen
chillen. I was de oldest, so I tuck devil's fare.
"My daddy was a ole-time free nigger. He was a good shoe-maker, and
could make as fine shoes and boots as ever you see. But he never would
work till he was plumb out o' money--den he had to work. But he quit
jes' soon as he made a little money. Mr. Chat Morris (he had a regular
shoe shop)--he offered him studdy work makin' boots and shoes for him.
Was go'n' pay him $300. a year. But he wouldn't take it. Was too lazy.
De ole-time free niggers had to tell how dey make dey livin', and if dey
couldn't give satisfaction 'bout it, dey was put on de block and sold to
de highest bidder. Most of 'em sold for 3 years for $50. My daddy
brought $100. when he was sold for three or four years.
"I was on de block twice myself. When de old head died dey was so many
slaves for de chillen to draw for, we was put on de block. Mr. John
Baggett bought me den; said I was a good breedin' 'oman. Den later, one
de young Hart marsters bought me back.
"All de slaves had diff'unt work to do. My auntie was one de weavers.
Old Miss had two looms goin' all de time. She had a old loom and a new
loom. My husband made de new loom for Old Miss. He was a carpenter and
he worked on outside jobs after he'd finished tasks for his marster. He
use to make all de boxes dey buried de white folks and de slaves in, on
de Hart and Golden Plantations. Dey was pretty as you see, too.
"I was a fiel' han' myself. I come up twix' de plow handles. I warn't de
fastes' one wid a hoe, but I didn't turn my back on nobody plowin'. No,
_mam_.
"My marster had over a thousand acres o' land. He was good to us. We had
plenty to eat, like meat and bread and vegetables. We raised eve'ything
on de plantation--wheat, corn, potatoes, peas, hogs, cows, sheep,
chickens--jes' eve'ything.
"All de clo'es was made on de plantation, too. Dey spun de thread from
cotton and wool, and dyed it and wove it. We had cutters and dem dat
done de sewin'. I still got de fus' dress my husband give me. Lemme show
it to you."
Gathering her shawl about her shoulders, and reaching for her stick, she
hobbled across the room to an old hand-made chest.
"My husband made dis chis' for me." Raising the top, she began to search
eagerly through the treasured bits of clothing for the "robe-tail
muslin" that had been the gift of a long-dead husband. One by one the
garments came out--her daughter's dress, two little bonnets all faded
and worn ("my babies' bonnets"), her husband's coat.
"And dat's my husband's mother's bonnet. It use to be as pretty a black
as you ever see. It's faded brown now. It was dyed wid walnut."
The chest yielded up old cotton cards, and horns that had been used to
call the slaves. Finally the "robe-tail muslin" came to light. The soft
material, so fragile with age that a touch sufficed to reduce it still
further to rags, was made with a full skirt and plain waist, and still
showed traces of a yellow color and a sprigged design.
"My husband was Kinchen Rogers. His marster was Mr. Bill Golden, and he
live 'bout fo' mile from where I stayed on de Hart plantation."
"Aunt Ferebe, how did you meet your husband?"
"Well, you see, us slaves went to de white folks church a-Sunday.
Marster, he was a prim'tive Baptis', and he try to keep his slaves from
goin' to other churches. We had baptisin's fust Sundays. Back in dem
days dey baptised in de creek, but at de windin' up o' freedom, dey dug
a pool. I went to church Sundays, and dat's where I met my husband. I
been ma'ied jes' one time. He de daddy o' all my chillen'. (I had
fifteen in all.)"
"Who married you, Aunt Ferebe. Did you have a license?"
"Who ever heered a nigger havin' a license?" and she rocked with
high-pitched laughter.
"Young marster was fixin' to ma'y us, but he got col' feet, and a
nigger by name o' Enoch Golden ma'ied us. He was what we called a
'double-headed nigger'--he could read and write, and he knowed so much.
On his dyin' bed he said he been de death o' many a nigger 'cause he
taught so many to read and write.
"Me and my husband couldn't live together till after freedom 'cause we
had diffunt marsters. When freedom come, marster wanted all us niggers
to sign up to stay till Chris'man. Bless, yo' soul, I didn't sign up. I
went to my husband! But he signed up to stay wid his marster till
Chris'man. After dat we worked on shares on de Hart plantation; den we
farmed fo'-five years wid Mr. Bill Johnson."
"Aunt Ferebe, are these better times, or do you think slavery times were
happier?"
"Well, now, you ax me for de truth, didn't you?--and I'm goin' to tell
yo' de truth. I don't tell no lies. Yes, mam, dese has been better times
to me. I think hit's better to work for yourself and have what you make
dan to work for somebody else and don't git nuttin' out it. Slav'ey days
was mighty hard. My marster was good to us (I mean he didn't beat us
much, and he give us plenty plain food) but some slaves suffered awful.
My aunt was beat cruel once, and lots de other slaves. When dey got
ready to beat yo', dey'd strip you' stark mother naked and dey'd say,
'Come here to me, God damn you! Come to me clean! Walk up to dat tree,
and damn you, hug dat tree! Den dey tie yo' hands 'round de tree, den
tie yo' feets; den dey'd lay de rawhide on you and cut yo' buttocks
open. Sometimes dey'd rub turpentine and salt in de raw places, and den
beat you some mo'. Oh, hit was awful! And what could you do? Dey had all
de 'vantage of you.
"I never did git no beatin' like dat, but I got whuppin's--plenty o'
'em. I had plenty o' devilment in me, but I quit all my devilment when I
was ma'ied. I use to fight--fight wid anything I could git my han's on.
"You had to have passes to go from one plantation to 'nother. Some de
niggers would slip off sometime and go widout a pass, or maybe marster
was busy and dey didn't want to bother him for a pass, so dey go widout
one. In eve'y dee-strick dey had 'bout twelve men dey call patterollers.
Dey ride up and down and aroun' looking for niggers widout passes. If
dey ever caught you off yo' plantation wid no pass, dey beat you all
over.
"Yes'm, I 'member a song 'bout--
'Run, nigger, run, de patteroller git you,
Slip over de fence slick as a eel,
White man ketch you by de heel,
Run, nigger run!'"
No amount of coaxing availed to make her sing the whole of the song, or
to tell any more of the words.
"When slaves run away, dey always put de blood-hounds on de tracks.
Marster always kep' one hound name' Rock. I can hear 'im now when dey
was on de track, callin', 'Hurrah, Rock, hurrah, Rock! Ketch 'im!'
"Dey always send Rock to fetch 'im down when dey foun' 'im. Dey had de
dogs trained to keep dey teef out you till dey tole 'em to bring you
down. Den de dogs 'ud go at yo' th'oat, and dey'd tear you to pieces,
too. After a slave was caught, he was brung home and put in chains.
"De marsters let de slaves have little patches o' lan' for deyse'ves. De
size o' de patch was 'cordin' to de size o' yo' family. We was 'lowed
'bout fo' acres. We made 'bout five hundred pounds o' lint cotton, and
sol' it at Warrenton. Den we used de money to buy stuff for Chris'man."
"Did you have big times at Christmas, Aunt Ferebe?"
"Chris'man--huh!--Chris'man warn't no diffunt from other times. We used
to have quiltin' parties, candy pullin's, dances, corn shuckin's, games
like thimble and sich like."
Aunt Ferebe refused to sing any of the old songs. "No, mam, I ain't
go'n' do dat. I th'oo wid all dat now. Yes, mam, I 'members 'em all
right, but I ain't go'n' sing 'em. No'm, nor say de words neither. All
dat's pas' now.
"Course dey had doctors in dem days, but we used mostly home-made
medicines. I don't believe in doctors much now. We used sage tea, ginger
tea, rosemary tea--all good for colds and other ail-ments, too.
"We had men and women midwives. Dr. Cicero Gibson was wid me when my
fus' baby come. I was twenty-five years old den. My baby chile
seventy-five now."
"Auntie, did you learn to read and write?"
"No, _mam_, I'd had my right arm cut off at de elbow if I'd a-done dat.
If dey foun' a nigger what could read and write, dey'd cut yo' arm off
at de elbow, or sometimes at de shoulder."
In answer to a query about ghosts, she said--"No, mam, I ain't seed
nuttin' like dat. Folks come tellin' me dey see sich and sich a thing. I
say hit's de devil dey see. I ain't seed nuttin' yit. No'm, I don't
believe in no signs, neither."
"Do you believe a screeeh owl has anything to do with death?"
"Yes, mam, 'fo' one my chillen died, squinch owl come to my house ev'ey
night and holler. After de chile die he ain't come no mo'. Cows mooin'
or dogs howlin' after dark means death, too.
"No, man, I don't believe in no cunjurs. One cunjur-man come here once.
He try his bes' to overcome me, but he couldn't do nuttin' wid me. After
dat, he tole my husband he couldn't do nuttin' to me, 'cause I didn't
believe in him, and dem cunjur-folks can't hurt you less'n you believes
in 'em. He say he could make de sun stan' still, and do wonders, but I
knowed dat warn't so, 'cause can't nobody stop de sun 'cep' de man what
made hit, and dat's God. I don't believe in no cunjurs.
"I don't pay much 'tention to times o' de moon to do things, neither. I
plants my garden when I gits ready. But bunch beans does better if you
plants 'em on new moon in Ap'il. Plant butterbeans on full moon in
Ap'il--potatoes fus' o' March.
"When de war broke out de damn Yankees come to our place dey done
eve'ything dat was bad. Dey burn eve'ything dey couldn't use, and dey
tuck a heap o' corn. Marster had a thousand bushels de purtiest shucked
corn, all nice good ears, in de pen at de house. Dey tuck all dat.
Marster had some corn pens on de river, dough, dey didn't find. I jes'
can't tell you all dey done.
"How come I live so long, you say?--I don't know--jes' de goodness o' de
Lawd, I reckon. I worked hard all my life, and always tried to do
right."
[HW: Dist. 1
Ex-Slave #92]
HENRY ROGERS of WASHINGTON-WILKES
by Minnie Branham Stonestreet
Washington-Wilkes
Georgia
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
Henry Rogers of Washington-Wilkes is known by almost every one in the
town and county. To the men around town he is "Deacon", to his old
friends back in Hancock County (Georgia) where he was born and reared,
he is "Brit"; to everybody else he is "Uncle Henry", and he is a friend
to all. For forty-one years he has lived in Washington-Wilkes where he
has worked as waiter, as lot man, and as driver for a livery stable when
he "driv drummers" around the country anywhere they wanted to go and in
all kinds of weather. He is proud that he made his trips safely and was
always on time. Then when automobiles put the old time livery stables
out of business he went to work in a large furniture and undertaking
establishment where he had charge of the colored department. Finally he
decided to accept a job as janitor and at one time was janitor for three
banks in town. He is still working as janitor in two buildings, despite
his seventy-three years.
Uncle Henry's "book learning" is very limited, but he has a store of
knowledge gathered here and there that is surprising. He uses very
little dialect except when he is excited or worried. He speaks of his
heart as "my time keeper". When he promises anything in the future he
says, "Please the Lord to spare me", and when anyone gets a bit
impatient he bids them, "Be paciable, be paciable". Dismal is one of his
favorite words but it is always "dism". When he says "Now, I'm tellin'
yer financially" or "dat's financial", he means that he is being very
frank and what he is saying is absolutely true.
Regarded highly as the local weather prophet, Uncle Henry gets up every
morning before daybreak and scans the heavens to see what kind of
weather is on its way. He guards all these "signs" well and under no
consideration will he tell them. They were given to him by someone who
has passed on and he keeps them as a sacred trust. If asked, upon making
a prediction, "How do you know?" Uncle Henry shakes his wise old head
and with a wave of the hand says, "Dat's all right, you jess see now,
it's goin' ter be dat way". And it usually is!
Seventy-three years ago "last gone June" Uncle Henry was born in the Mt.
Zion community in Hancock county (Georgia), seven miles from Sparta. His
mother was Molly Navery Hunt, his father, Jim Rogers. They belonged to
Mr. Jenkins Hunt and his wife "Miss Rebecca". Henry was the third of
eight children. He has to say about his early life:
"Yassum, I wuz born right over there in Hancock county, an' stayed there
'til the year 1895 when Mrs. Riley come fer me to hep' her in the Hotel
here in Washington an' I been here ev'ry since. I recollects well living
on the Hunt plantation. It wuz a big place an' we had fifteen or twenty
slaves"--(The "we" was proudly possessive)--"we wuz all as happy passel
o' niggers as could be found anywhere. Aunt Winnie wuz the cook an' the
kitchen wuz a big old one out in the yard an' had a fireplace that would
'commodate a whole fence rail, it wuz so big, an' had pot hooks, pots,
big old iron ones, an' everything er round to cook on. Aunt Winnie had a
great big wooden tray dat she would fix all us little niggers' meals in
an' call us up an' han' us a wooden spoon apiece an' make us all set
down 'round the tray an' eat all us wanted three times ev'ry day. In one
corner of the kitchen set a loom my Mother use to weave on. She would
weave way into the night lots of times.
"The fust thing I 'members is follerin' my Mother er 'round. She wuz the
housegirl an' seamstress an' everywhere she went I wuz at her heels. My
father wuz the overseer on the Hunt place. We never had no hard work to
do. My fust work wuz 'tendin' the calves an' shinin' my Master's shoes.
How I did love to put a Sunday shine on his boots an' shoes! He called
me his nigger an' wuz goin' ter make a barber out o' me if slavery had
er helt on. As it wuz, I shaved him long as he lived. We lived in the
Quarters over on a high hill 'cross the spring-branch from the white
peoples' house. We had comfortable log cabins an' lived over there an'
wuz happy. Ole Uncle Alex Hunt wuz the bugler an' ev'ry mornin' at 4:00
o'clock he blowed the bugle fer us ter git up, 'cept Sunday mornin's, us
all slept later on Sundays.
"When I wuz a little boy us played marbles, mumble peg, an' all sich
games. The little white an' black boys played together, an' ev'ry time
'Ole Miss' whipped her boys she whipped me too, but nobody 'cept my
Mistess ever teched me to punish me.
"I recollects one Sadday night ole Uncle Aaron Hunt come in an' he must
er been drinkin' or sumpin' fer he got ter singin' down in the Quarters
loud as he could 'Go Tell Marse Jesus I Done Done All I Kin Do', an'
nobody could make him hush singin'. He got into sich er row 'til they
had ter go git some o' the white folks ter come down an' quiet him down.
Dat wuz the only 'sturbance 'mongst the niggers I ever 'members.
"I wuz so little when the War come on I don't member but one thing 'bout
it an' that wuz when it wuz over with an' our white mens come home all
de neighbors, the Simpsons, the Neals, the Allens all living on
plantations 'round us had a big dinner over at my white peoples', the
Hunts, an' it sho wuz a big affair. Ev'rybody from them families wuz
there an' sich rejoicin' I never saw. I won't forgit that time.
"I allus been to Church. As a little boy my folks took me to ole Mt
Zion. We went to the white peoples' Church 'til the colored folks had
one of they own. The white folks had services in Mt Zion in the mornings
an' the niggers in the evenin's."
When a colored person died back in the days when Uncle Henry was coming
on, he said they sat up with the dead and had prayers for the living.
There was a Mr. Beman in the community who made coffins, and on the Hunt
place old Uncle Aaron Hunt helped him. The dead were buried in home-made
coffins and the hearse was a one horse wagon.
"When I wuz a growin' up" said Uncle Henry, "I wore a long loose shirt
in the summer, an' in the winter plenty of good heavy warm clothes. I
had 'nits an' lice' pants an' hickory stripe waists when I wuz a little
boy. All these my Mother spun an' wove the cloth fer an' my Mistess
made. When I wuz older I had copperas pants an' shirts."
Uncle Henry has many signs but is reluctant to tell them. Finally he was
prevailed upon to give several. What he calls his "hant sign" is: "If
you runs into hot heat sudden, it is a sho sign hants is somewheres
'round."
When a rooster comes up to the door and crows, if he is standing with
his head towards the door, somebody is coming, if he is standing with
his tail towards the door, it is a sign of death, according to Uncle
Henry. It is good luck for birds to build their nests near a house, and
if a male red bird comes around the woodpile chirping, get ready for bad
weather for it is on its way.
Uncle Henry is a pretty good doctor too, but he doesn't like to tell his
remedies. He did say that life everlasting tea is about as good thing
for a cold as can be given and for hurts of any kind there is nothing
better than soft rosin, fat meat and a little soot mixed up and bound to
the wound. He is excellent with animals and when a mule, dog, pig or
anything gets sick his neighbors call him in and he doctors them and
usually makes them well.
As for conjuring, Uncle Henry has never known much about it, but he said
when he was a little fellow he heard the old folks talk about a mixture
of devil's snuff and cotton stalk roots chipped up together and put into
a little bag and that hidden under the front steps. This was to make all
who came up the steps friendly and peacable even if they should happen
to be coming on some other mission.
After the War the Rogers family moved from the Hunts' to the Alfriend
plantation adjoining. As the Alfriends were a branch of the Hunt family
they considered they were still owned as in slavery by the same "white
peoples". They lived there until Uncle Henry moved to Washington-Wilkes
in 1895.
Christmas was a great holiday on the plantation. There was no work done
and everybody had a good time with plenty of everything good to eat.
Easter was another time when work was laid aside. A big Church service
took place Sunday and on Monday a picnic was attended by all the negroes
in the community.
There were Fourth of July celebrations, log rollings, corn shuckings,
house coverings and quilting parties. In all of these except the Fourth
of July celebration it was a share-the-work idea. Uncle Henry grew a bit
sad when he recalled how "peoples use ter be so good 'bout hep'in' one
'nother, an' now dey don't do nothin' fer nobody lessen' dey pays 'em."
He told how, when a neighbor cleared a new ground and needed help, he
invited all the men for some distance around and had a big supper
prepared. They rolled logs into huge piles and set them afire. When all
were piled high and burning brightly, supper was served by the fire
light. Sometimes the younger ones danced around the burning logs. When
there was a big barn full of corn to be shucked the neighbors gladly
gathered in, shucked the corn for the owner, who had a fiddler and maybe
some one to play the banjo. The corn was shucked to gay old tunes and
piled high in another barn. Then after a "good hot supper" there was
perhaps a dance in the cleared barn. When a neighbor's house needed
covering, he got the shingles and called in his neighbors and friends,
who came along with their wives. While the men worked atop the house the
women were cooking a delicious dinner down in the kitchen. At noon it
was served amid much merry making. By sundown the house was finished and
the friends went home happy in the memory of a day spent in toil freely
given to one who needed it.
All those affairs were working ones, but Uncle Henry told of one that
marked the end of toil for a season and that was the Fourth of July as
celebrated on the Hunt and Alfriend plantations. He said: "On the
evenin' of the third of July all plows, gear, hoes an' all sich farm
tools wuz bro't in frum the fields an' put in the big grove in front o'
the house where a long table had been built. On the Fo'th a barbecue wuz
cooked, when dinner wuz ready all the han's got they plows an' tools,
the mules wuz bro't up an' gear put on them, an' den ole Uncle Aaron
started up a song 'bout the crops wuz laid by an' res' time had come,
an' everybody grabbed a hoe er sumpin', put it on they shoulder an'
jined the march 'round an' round the table behind Uncle Aaron singin'
an' marchin', Uncle Aaron linin' off the song an' ev'ry body follerin'
him. It wuz a sight to see all the han's an' mules er goin' 'round the
table like that. Den when ev'ry body wuz might nigh 'zausted, they
stopped an' et a big barbecue dinner. Us use ter work hard to git laid
by by de Fo'th so's we could celebrate. It sho' wuz a happy time on our
plantations an' the white peoples enjoyed it as much as us niggers did.
"Us use ter have good times over there in Hancock County", continued
Uncle Henry. Ev'rybody wuz so good an' kind ter one 'nother; 't'ain't
like that now--no mam, not lak it use ter be. Why I 'members onst, when
I fust growed up an' wuz farmin' fer myself, I got sick way long up in
the Spring, an' my crop wuz et up in grass when one evenin' Mr.
Harris--(he wuz overseein' fer Mr. Treadwell over on the next plantation
to the Alfriends)--come by. I wuz out in the field tryin' ter scratch
'round as best I could, Mr. Harris say: 'Brit, you in de grass mighty
bad.' I say: 'Yassir, I is, but I been sick an' couldn't hep' myself,
that's how come I so behind.' He say: 'Look lak you needs hep'.'
'Yassir,' I says, 'but I ain't got nobody to work but me.' Dat's all he
said. Well sir, the nex' mornin' by times over comes Mr. Harris wid six
plows an' eight hoe han's an' they give me a whole day's work an' when
they finished that evenin' they want a sprig of grass in my crop; it wuz
clean as this floor, an' I'se tellin' yer the truth. Dat's the way
peoples use ter do, but not no mo'--everybody too selfish now, an' they
think ain't nobody got responsibilits (responsibilities) but them."
Speaking of his early life Uncle Henry continued: "When I growed up I
broke race horses fer white mens an' raced horses too, had rooster
fights an' done all them kind o' things, but I 'sought 'ligion an' found
it an' frum that day to this I ain't never done them things no mo'. When
I jined the Church I had a Game rooster named 'Ranger' that I had won
ev'ry fight that I had matched him in. Peoples come miles ter see Ranger
fight; he wuz a Warhorse Game. After I come to be a member of the Church
I quit fightin' Ranger so Mr. Sykes come over an' axed me what I would
take fer him, I told him he could have him--I warn't goin' to fight wid
him any mo'. He took him an' went over three states, winnin' ev'ry fight
he entered him in an' come home wid fifteen hundred dollars he made on
Ranger. He give me fifty dollars, but I never wanted him back. Ranger
wuz a pet an' I could do anything wid 'im. I'd hold out my arm an' tell
him to come up an' he'd fly up on my arm an' crow. He'd get on up on my
haid an' crow too. One rainy day 'fore I give him away he got in the lot
an' kilt three turkeys an' a gobbler fer my Mistess. She got mighty mad
an' I sho wuz skeered 'til Marse took mine an' Ranger's part an'
wouldn't let her do nothin' wid us."
Forty-seven years ago Uncle Henry married Annie Tiller of Hancock
County. They had four children, three of whom are living. About his
courtship and marriage he has to say: "I wuz at Sunday School one Sunday
an' saw Annie fer the fust time. I went 'round where she wuz an' wuz
made 'quainted with her an' right then an' there I said to myself,
'She's my gal'. I started goin' over to see her an' met her folks. I
liked her Pa an Ma an' I would set an' talk with them an' 'pear not to
be payin' much 'tention to Annie. I took candy an' nice things an' give
to the family, not jest to her. I stood in with the ole folks an'
't'warn't long 'fore me an' Annie wuz married." Uncle Henry said he took
Annie to Sparta to his Pastor's home for the marriage and the preacher
told him he charged three dollars for the ceremony. "But I tole him I
warnt goin' to give him but er dollar an' a half 'cause I wuz one of his
best payin' members an' he ought not to charge me no more than dat. An'
I never paid him no mo' neither, an' dat wuz er plenty."
Though he is crippled in his "feets" he is hale and hearty and manages
to work without missing a day. He is senior Steward in his church and
things there go about like he says even though he isn't a preacher. All
the members seem to look to him for "consulation an' 'couragement". In
all his long life he has "never spoke a oath if I knows it, an' I hates
cussin'." He speaks of his morning devotions as "havin' prayers wid
myself". His blessing at mealtime is the same one he learned in his
"white peoples'" home when he was a little boy:
"We humbly thank Thee, our Heavenly Father,
for what we have before us."
Uncle Henry says: "I loves white peoples an' I'm a-livin' long 'cause in
my early days dey cared fer me an' started me off right--they's my bes'
frien's."
[HW: Dist. 5
E.F. Driskell
12/30/36
JULIA RUSH, Ex-Slave
109 years old]
[TR: The beginning of each line on the original typewritten pages for
this interview is very faint, and some words have been reconstructed
from context. Questionable entries are followed by [??]; words that
could not be deciphered are indicated by [--].]
Mrs. Julia Rush was born in 1826 on Saint Simons Island, Georgia. Mrs.
Rush, her mother, and three sisters were the property of a Frenchman
named Colonel De Binien, a very wealthy land owner. Mrs. Rush does not
remember her father as he was sold away from his family when she was a
baby.
As a child Mrs. Rush served as playmate to one of the Colonel's
daughters and so all that she had to do was to play from morning till
night. When she grew older she started working in the kitchen in the
master's house. Later she was sent to the fields where she worked side
by side with her mother and three sisters from sunup until sundown.
Mrs. Rush says that she has plowed so much that she believes she can
"outplow" any man.
Instead of the white overseer usually found on plantations the Colonel
used one of the slaves to act as foreman of the field hands. He was
known to the other slaves as the "Nigger Driver" and it was he who
awakened all every morning. It was so dark until torch lights had to be
used to see by. Those women who had babies took them along to the field
in a basket which they placed on their heads. All of the hands were
given a certain amount of work to perform each day and if the work was
not completed a whipping might be forthcoming. Breakfast was sent to the
field to the hands and if at dinner time they were not too far away from
their cabins they were permitted to go home[??]. At night they prepared
their own meals in their individual cabins.
All food on the colonel's plantation was issued daily from the corn
house. Each person was given enough corn to make a sufficient amount of
bread for the day when ground. Then they went out and dug their potatoes
from the colonel's garden. No meat whatsoever was issued. It was up to
the slaves to catch fish, oysters, and other sea food for their meat
supply. All those who desired to were permitted to raise chickens,
watermelons and vegetables. There was no restriction on any as to what
must be done with the produce so raised. It could be sold or kept for
personal consumption.
Colonel De Binien always saw that his slaves had sufficient clothing. In
the summer months the men were given two shirts, two pairs of pants, and
two pairs of underwear. All of these clothes were made of cotton and all
were sewed on the plantation. No shoes were worn in the summer. The
women were given two dresses, two underskirts, and two pairs of
underwear. When the winter season approached another issue of clothes
was given. At this time shoes were given. They were made of heavy red
leather and were known as "brogans".
The slave quarters on the plantation were located behind the colonel's
cabin[??]. All were made of logs. The chinks in the walls were filled
with mud to keep the weather out. The floors were of wood in order to
protect the occupants from the dampness. The only furnishings were a
crude bed and several benches. All cooking was done at the large
fireplace in the rear of the one room.
When Colonel De Binion's [TR: earlier, De Binien] wife died he divided
his slaves among the children. Mrs. Rush was given to her former
playmate who was at the time married and living in Carrollton, Georgia.
She was very mean and often punished her by beating her on her forearm
for the slightest offence. At other times she made her husband whip her
(Mrs. Rush) on her bare back with a cowhide whip. Mrs. Rush says that
her young Mistress thought that her husband was being intimate with her
and so she constantly beat and mistreated her. On one occasion all of
the hair on her head (which was long and straight) was cut from her head
by the young mistress.
For a while Mrs. Rush worked in the fields where she plowed and hoed the
crops along with the other slaves. Later she worked in the master's
house where she served as maid and where she helped with the cooking.
She was often hired out to the other planters in the vicinity. She says
that she liked this because she always received better treatment than
she did at her own home. These persons who hired her often gave her
clothes as she never received a sufficient amount from her own master.
The food was almost the same here as it had been at the other
plantation. At the end of each week she and her fellow slaves were given
a "little bacon, vegetables, and some corn meal."[HW: ?] This had to
last for a certain length of time. If it was all eaten before the time
for the next issue that particular slave had to live as best he or she
could. In such an emergency the other slaves usually shared with the
unfortunate one.
There was very little illness on the plantation where Mrs. Rush lived.
Practically the only medicine ever used was castor oil and turpentine.
Some of the slaves went to the woods and gathered roots and herbs from
which they made their own tonics and medicines.
According to Mrs. Rush the first of the month was always sale day for
slaves and horses. She was sold on one of those days from her master in
Carrollton to one Mr. Morris, who lived in Newman, Ga. Mr. Morris paid
$1100.00 for her. She remained with him for a short while and was later
sold to one Mr. Ray who paid the price of $1200.00. Both of these
masters were very kind to her, but she was finally sold back to her
former master, Mr. Archibald Burke of Carrollton, Ga.
Mrs. Rush remembers that none of the slaves were allowed away from their
plantation unless they held a pass from their master. Once when she was
going to town to visit some friends she was accosted by a group of
"Paddle-Rollers" who gave her a sound whipping when she was unable to
show a pass from her master.
Mrs. Rush always slept in her masters' houses after leaving Colonel De
Binien. When she was in Carrollton her young mistress often made her
sleep under the house when she was angry with her.
After the war was over with and freedom was declared Mr. Burke continued
to hold Mrs. Rush. After several unsuccessful attempts she was finally
able to escape. She went to another part of the state where she married
and started a family of her own.
Because of the cruel treatment that she received at the hands of some of
her owners[??] Mrs. Rush says that the mere thought of slavery makes her
blood boil. Then there are those, under whom she served, who treated her
with kindness, whom she holds no malice against.
As far as Mrs. Rush knows the war did very little damage to Mr. Burke.
He did not enlist as a soldier.
[HW: Dist. 1
Ex-Slave #96]
[HW: Good ghost story on page 4.]
[HW: "revolution drummer" parts very good.]
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
NANCY SETTLES, Ex-slave, Age 92
2511 Wheeler Road
(Richmond County)
Augusta, Georgia
By: (Mrs.) MARGARET JOHNSON
Augusta, Georgia
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
Nancy Settles was born 15 miles from Edgefield in South Carolina on the
plantation of Mr. Berry Cochran.
Until about five months ago, Nancy had been bed-ridden for three years.
Her speech is slow, and at times it is difficult to understand her, but
her mind is fairly clear. Her eyes frequently filled with tears, her
voice becoming so choked she could not talk. "My Marster and Missis, my
husban' and eight of my chaps done lef me. De Lawd mus be keepin' me
here fur some reason. Dis here chile is all I got lef'." The "Chile"
referred to was a woman about 69. "My fust chap was born in slavery. Me
and my husband lived on diffunt plantashuns till after Freedom come. My
Ma and my Pa lived on diffunt places too. My Pa uster come evy Sadday
evenin' to chop wood out uv de wood lot and pile up plenty fur Ma till
he come agin. On Wensday evenin', Pa uster come after he been huntin'
and bring in possum and coon. He sho could get 'em a plenty.
"Ma, she chop cotton and plow, and I started choppin' cotton when I wuz
twelve years old. When I was a gal I sure wuz into plenty devilment."
"What kind of devilment?"
"Lawdy Miss, evy time I heayd a fiddle, my feets jes' got to dance and
dancin' is devilment. But I ain't 'lowed to dance nothin' but de
six-handed reel.
"I uster take my young Misses to school ev'y day, but de older Misses
went to boadin' school and come home ev'y Friday an' went back on
Monday. No ma'am, I never learn to read and write but I kin spell some."
"Nancy, did you go out at night and were you ever caught by the patrol?"
"No, ma'am, I never wuz caught by de patterol; my Pa wuz the one I was
scart uv."
"Did you always have enough to eat, and clothes to wear?"
"Yes ma'am, Marster put out a side uv meat and a barrul o' meal and all
uv us would go and git our rations fur de week."
"Suppose some one took more than his share, and the supply ran short."
"Lawd Ma'am, we knowed better'n to do dat kinder thing. Eve'ybody, had
er garden patch an' had plenty greens and taters and all dat kinder
thing. De cloth fur de slave close wuz all made on the place and Missis
see to mekkin' all de close we wear."
"My Missis died endurin' of de war, but Marster he live a long time.
Yes, Ma'am, we went to Church an to camp meetin' too. We set up in de
galley, and ef dey too many uv us, we set in de back uv de church. Camp
meetin' wuz de bes'. Before Missis died I wuz nussin' my young miss
baby, and I ride in de white foke's kerrage to camp meetin' groun' and
carry de baby. Lawdy, I seen de white folks and de slaves too shoutin'
an gittin' 'ligion plenty times."
"Nancy, were the slaves on your place ever whipped?"
"Yes'm sometimes when de wouldn' mine, but Marster allus whip 'em
hissef, he ain't let nobody else lay er finger on his slaves but him. I
heayd 'bout slaves been whipped but I tink de wuz whipped mostly cause
de Marsters _could_ whip 'em."
"Nancy do you know any ghost stories, or did you ever see a ghost?"
"No, Ma'am, I ain't never see a ghos' but I heayd de drum!"
"What drum did you hear--war drums?"
"No, ma'am de drum de little man beats down by Rock Crick. Some say he
is a little man whut wears a cap and goes down the crick beating a drum
befo' a war. He wuz a Revolushun drummer, and cum back to beat the drum
befo' de war. But some say you can hear de drum 'most any spring now. Go
down to the Crick and keep quiet and you hear Brrr, Brrr, Bum hum,
louder and louder and den it goes away. Some say dey hav' seen de little
man, but I never seen him, but I heayd de drum, 'fo de war, and ater dat
too. There was a white man kilt hisself near our place. He uster play a
fiddle, and some time he come back an play. I has heayd him play his
fiddle, but I ain't seen him. Some fokes say dey is seen him in the wood
playin' and walkin' 'bout."
"Nancy I am glad you are better than you were the last time I came to
see you."
"Yes, Ma'am, I is up now. I prayed to God and tell Him my trouble and he
helped me get about again. This po chile uv mine does what she kin to
pay de rent and de Welfare gives us a bit to eat but I sho do need er
little wood, cause we is back on de rent and my chile jes scrap 'bout to
pick up trash wood and things to burn."