Large pecan trees shaded the small, well-kept yard that led to Nellie
Smith's five-room frame house. The front porch of her white cottage was
almost obscured by a white cloud of fragrant clematis in full blossom,
and the yard was filled with roses and other flowers.
A small mulatto woman sat in the porch swing, a walking stick across her
lap. Her straight, white hair was done in a prim coil low on the neck,
and her print dress and white apron were clean and neat. In answer to
the visitor's inquiry, she smiled and said: "This is Nellie Smith. Won't
you come in out of the hot sun? I just knows you is plumb tuckered out.
Walkin' around in this hot weather is goin' to make you sick if you
don't be mighty careful.
"'Scuse me for not gittin' up. I can't hardly make it by myself since I
fell and got hurt so bad. My arm was broke and it looks lak my old back
never will stop hurtin' no more. Our doctor says I'll have to stay
bandaged up this way two or three weeks longer, but I 'spects that's on
account of my age. You know old folks' bones don't knit and heal quick
lak young folks' and, jus' let me tell you, I've done been around here a
mighty long time. Are you comfortable, Child? Wouldn't you lak to have a
glass of water? I'll call my daughter; she's back in the kitchen."
Nellie rapped heavily on the floor with her walking stick, and a tall,
stout, mulatto in a freshly laundered house frock made her appearance.
"This is my daughter, Amanda," said Nellie, and, addressing her
off-spring, she continued: "Bring this lady a drink of water. She needs
it after walkin' 'way out here in this hot sun." Ice tinkled in the
glass that the smiling Amanda offered as she inquired solicitously if
there was anything else she could do. Amanda soon went back to her work
and Nellie began her narrative.
"Lordy, Honey, them days when I was a child, is so far back that I don't
s'pect I can 'member much 'bout 'em. I does love to talk about them
times, but there ain't many folks what keers anything 'bout listening to
us old folks these days. If you don't mind we'll go to my room where
it'll be more comfortable." Amanda appeared again, helped Nellie to her
room, and placed her in a large chair with pillows to support the broken
arm. Amanda laughed happily when she noticed her mother's enthusiasm for
the opportunity to relate her life story. "Mother likes that," she said,
"and I'm so glad you asked her to talk about those old times she thinks
so much about. I'll be right back in the kitchen ironing; if you want
anything, just call me."
Nellie now began again: "I was born right near where the Coordinate
College is now; it was the old Weir place then. I don't know nothin'
'bout my Daddy, but my Mother's name was Harriet Weir, and she was owned
by Marster Jack Weir. He had a great big old plantation then and the
homeplace is still standin', but it has been improved and changed so
much that it don't look lak the same house. As Marse Jack's sons married
off he give each one of 'em a home and two slaves, but he never did sell
none of his slaves, and he told them boys they better not never sell
none neither.
"Slaves slept in log cabins what had rock chimblies at the end. The
rocks was put together with red clay. All the slaves was fed at the big
house kitchen. The fireplace, where they done the cookin', was so big it
went 'most across one end of that big old kitchen. It had long swingin'
cranes to hang the pots on, and there was so many folks to cook for at
one time that often there was five or six pots over the fire at the same
time. Them pots was large too--not lak the little cookin' vessels we use
these days. For the bakin', they had all sizes of ovens. Now Child, let
me tell you, that was good eatin'. Folks don't take time enough to cook
right now; They are always in too big a hurry to be doin' something else
and don't cook things long enough. Back in dem days they put the
vegetables on to cook early in the mornin' and biled 'em 'til they was
good and done. The biggest diffunce I see is that folks didn't git sick
and stay sick with stomach troubles then half as much as they does now.
When my grandma took a roast out of one of them old ovens it would be
brown and juicy, with lots of rich, brown gravy. Sweet potatoes baked
and browned in the pan with it would taste mighty fine too. With some of
her good biscuits, that roast meat, brown gravy, and potatoes, you had
food good enough for anybody. I just wish I could taste some more of it
one more time before I die.
"Why, Child, two of the best cake-makers I ever knew used them old ovens
for bakin' the finest kinds of pound cakes and fruit cakes, and evvybody
knows them cakes was the hardest kinds to bake we had in them days. Aunt
Betsey Cole was a great cake-baker then. She belonged to the Hulls, what
lived off down below here somewhere but, when there was to be a big
weddin' or some 'specially important dinner in Athens, folks 'most
always sent for Aunt Betsey to bake the cakes. Aunt Laura McCrary was a
great cake-maker too; she baked the cake for President Taft when he was
entertained at Mrs. Maggie Welch's home here.
"In them days you didn't have to be runnin' to the store evvy time you
wanted to cook a extra good meal; folks raised evvything they needed
right there at home. They had all the kinds of vegetables they knowed
about then in their own gardens, and there was big fields of corn, rye,
and wheat. Evvy big plantation raised its own cows for plenty of milk
and butter, as well as lots of beef cattle, hogs, goats, and sheep.
'Most all of 'em had droves of chickens, geese, and turkeys, and on our
place there were lots of peafowls. When it was goin' to rain them old
peafowls set up a big holler. I never knew rain to fail after them
peafowls started their racket.
"All our clothes and shoes was home-made, and I mean by that they growed
the cotton, wool, and cattle and made the cloth and leather on the
plantation. Summer clothes was made of cotton homespun, and cotton and
wool was wove together for winter clothin'. Marse Jack owned a man what
he kept there to do nothin' but make shoes. He had another slave to do
all the carpenterin' and to make all the coffins for the folks that died
on the plantation. That same carpenter made 'most all the beds the white
folks and us slaves slept on. Them old beds--they called 'em
teesters--had cords for springs; nobody never heard of no metal springs
them days. They jus' wove them cords criss-cross, from one side to the
other and from head to foot. When they stretched and sagged they was
tightened up with keys what was made for that purpose.
"Jus' look at my room," Nellie laughed. "I saw you lookin' at my bed. It
was made at Wood's Furniture Shop, right here in Athens, and I've had it
ever since I got married the first time. Take a good look at it, for
there ain't many lak it left." Nellie's pride in her attractively
furnished room was evident as she told of many offers she has had for
this furniture, but she added: "I want to keep it all here to use myself
jus' as long as I live. Shucks, I done got plumb off from what I was
tellin' you jus' ravin' 'bout my old furniture and things.
"My Mother died when I was jus' a little girl and she's buried in the
old family graveyard on the Weir place, but there are several other
slaves buried there and I don't know which grave is hers. Grandma raised
me, and I was jus' gittin' big enough to handle that old peafowl-tail
fly brush they used to keep the flies off the table when we were set
free.
"It wasn't long after the War when the Yankees come to Athens. Folks had
to bury or hide evvything they could, for them Yankees jus' took
anything they could git their hands on, 'specially good food. They would
catch up other folks' chickens and take hams from the smokehouses, and
they jus' laughed in folks' faces if they said anything 'bout it. They
camped in the woods here on Hancock Avenue, but of course it wasn't
settled then lak it is now. I was mighty scared of them Yankees and they
didn't lak me neither. One of 'em called me a little white-headed devil.
"One of my aunts worked for a northern lady that they called Mrs.
Meeker, who lived where the old Barrow home is now. Evvy summer when she
went back up North she would leave my aunt and uncle to take care of her
place. It was right close to the Yankees' camp, and the soldiers made my
aunt cook for them sometimes. I was livin' with her then, and I was so
scared of 'em that I stayed right by her. She never had to worry 'bout
where I was them days, for I was right by her side as long as the
Yankees was hangin' 'round Athens. My uncle used to say that he had seen
them Yankees ride to places and shoot down turkeys, then make the folks
that owned them turkeys cook and serve 'em. Folks used to talk lots
'bout the Yankees stoppin' a white 'oman on the street and takin' her
earrings right out of her ears to put 'em on a Negro 'oman; I never saw
that, I jus' heard it.
"After the war was over Grandpa bought one of the old slave cabins from
Marse Jack and we lived there for a long time; then we moved out to Rock
Spring. I was about eight or nine years old then, and they found out I
was a regular tomboy. The woods was all 'round Rock Spring then, and I
did have a big time climbin' them trees. I jus' fairly lived in 'em
durin' the daytime, but when dark come I wanted to be as close to
Grandpa as I could git.
"One time, durin' those days at Rock Spring, I wanted to go to a Fourth
of July celebration. Those celebrations was mighty rough them days and
Grandpa didn't think that would be a good place for a decent little
girl, so he didn't want me to go. I cried and hollered and cut up
something awful. Grandma told him to give me a good thrashin' but
Grandpa didn't lak to do that, so he promised me I could go to ride if I
wouldn't go to that celebration. That jus' tickled me to death, for I
did lak to ride. Grandpa had two young mules what was still wild, and
when he said I could ride one of 'em Grandma tried hard to keep me off
of it, for she said that critter would be sure to kill me, but I was so
crazy to go that nobody couldn't tell me nothin'. Auntie lent me her
domino coat to wear for a ridin' habit and I sneaked and slipped a pair
of spurs, then Grandpa put a saddle on the critter and helped me to git
up on him. I used them spurs, and then I really went to ride. That mule
showed his heels straight through them woods and way on out in the
country. I couldn't stop him, so I jus' kept on kickin' him with them
spurs and didn't have sense to know that was what was makin' him run. I
thought them spurs was to make him mind me, and all the time I was I
lammin' him with the spurs I was hollerin': 'Stop! Oh, Stop!' When I got
to where I was too scared to kick him with the spurs or do nothin' 'cept
hang on to that saddle, that young mule quit his runnin' and trotted
home as nice and peaceable as you please. I never did have no more use
for spurs.
"Grandpa used to send me to Phinizy's mill to have corn and wheat
ground. It would take all day long, so they let me take a lunch with me,
and I always had the best sort of time when I went to mill. Uncle Isham
run the mill then and he would let me think I was helpin' him. Then,
while he helped me eat my lunch, he would call me his little 'tomboy
gal' and would tell me about the things he used to do when he was 'bout
my age.
"My first schoolin' was in old Pierce's Chapel that set right spang in
the middle of Hancock Avenue at Foundry Street. Our teacher was a Yankee
man, and we were mighty surprised to find out that he wasn't very hard
on us. We had to do something real bad to git a whippin', but when we
talked or was late gittin' to school we had to stand up in the back of
the schoolroom and hold up one hand. Pierce's chapel was where the
colored folks had preachin' then--preachin' on Sunday and teachin' on
week days, all in the same buildin'. A long time before then it had been
the white folks' church, and Preacher Pierce was the first one to preach
there after it was built, so they named it for him. When the white folks
built them a new church they gave the old chapel to the colored folks,
and, Honey, there was some real preachin' done in that old place. Me, I
was a Methodist, but I was baptized just lak the Baptists was down there
in the Oconee River.
"Me and my first husband was too young to know what we was doin' when we
got married, but our folks give us a grand big weddin'. I think my
weddin' cake was 'bout the biggest one I ever saw baked in one of them
old ovens in the open fireplace. They iced it in white and decorated it
with grapes. A shoat was cooked whole and brought to the table with a
big red apple in his mouth. You know a shoat ain't nothin' but a young
hog that's done got bigger than a little pig. We had chicken and pies
and just evvything good that went to make up a fine weddin' supper.
"Our weddin' took place at night, and I wore a white dress made with a
tight-fittin' waist and a long, full skirt that was jus' covered with
ruffles. My sleeves was tight at the wrists but puffed at the shoulders,
and my long veil of white net was fastened to my head with pretty
flowers. I was a mighty dressed up bride. The bridegroom wore a real
dark-colored cutaway coat with a white vest. We did have a swell weddin'
and supper, but there wasn't no dancin' 'cause we was all good church
folks.
"We was so young we jus' started out havin' a good time and didn't miss
nothin' that meant fun and frolic. We was mighty much in love with each
other too. It didn't seem long before we had three children, and then
one night he was taken sick all of a sudden and didn't live but a little
while. Soon as he was taken sick I sent for the doctor, but my husband
told me then he was dyin' fast and that he wasn't ready to die. He said:
'Nellie, here we is with these three little children and neither one of
us had been fit to raise 'em. Now I've got to leave you and you will
have to raise one of 'em, but the other two will come right on after
me.'"
For several moments Nellie was still and quiet; then she raised her head
and said: "Honey, it was jus' lak he said it would be. He was gone in
jus' a little while and it wasn't two weeks 'fore the two youngest
children was gone lak their daddy. I worried lots after my husband and
babies was taken. I wanted to be saved to raise my little girl right,
and I was too proud to let anybody know how troubled I was or what it
was all about, so I kept it to myself. I lost weight, I couldn't sleep,
and was jus' dyin' away with sin. I would go to church but that didn't
git me no relief.
"One day a dear, good white lady sent for me to come to the hotel where
she was stayin'. She had been a mighty good friend to me for a long,
long time, and I had all the faith in the world in her. She told me that
she had a good job for me and wanted me to take it because it would let
me keep my little girl with me. She said her best friend's maid had died
and this friend of hers needed someone to work for her. 'I want you to
go there and work for her,' said the white lady, 'for she will be good
to you and your child. I've already talked with her about it.'
"I took her advice and went to work for Mrs. R.L. Bloomfield whose
husband operated the old check mill. Honey, Mrs. Bloomfield was one of
God's children and one of the best folks I have ever known. Right away
she told her cook: 'Amanda, look after Nellie good 'cause she's too
thin.' It wasn't long before Mrs. Bloomfield handed me a note and told
me to take it to Dr. Carlton. When he read it he laughed and said; 'Come
on Nellie, I've got to see what's wrong with you.' I tried to tell him I
wasn't sick, but he examined me all over, then called to see Mrs.
Bloomfield and told her that I didn't need nothin' but plenty of rest
and to eat enough good food. Bless her dear old heart, she done
evvything she could for me, but there wasn't no medicine, rest, or food
that could help the trouble that was wearin' me down then.
"Soon they started a revival at our church. One night I wanted to go,
but Aunt Amanda begged me not to, for she said I needed to go to bed and
rest; later she said she would go along with me to hear that preachin'.
Honey, I never will forgit that night. The text of the sermon was: 'Come
unto me all you weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' When
they began callin' the mourners to come up to the mourners' bench
something seemed to be jus' a-pullin' me in that direction, but I was
too proud to go. I didn't think then I ever could go to no mourners'
bench or shout. After a while they started singin' _Almost Persuaded_,
and I couldn't wait; I jus' got up and run to that blessed mourners'
bench and I prayed there. Honey, I shouted too, for I found the Blessed
Lord that very night and I've kept Him right with me ever since. I don't
aim to lose Him no more. Aunt Amanda was most nigh happy as I was and,
from that night when the burden was lifted from my heart, I begun
gittin' better.
"I worked on for Mrs. Bloomfield 'til I got married again, and then I
quit work 'cept for nursin' sick folks now and then. I made good money
nursin' and kept that up 'til I got too old to work outside my own
family.
"My second husband was Scott Smith. We didn't have no big, fancy weddin'
for I had done been married and had all the trimmin's one time. We jus'
had a nice quiet weddin' with a few close friends and kinfolks invited.
I had on a very pretty, plain, white dress. Again I was blessed with a
good husband. Scott fixed up that nice mantelpiece you see in this room
for me, and he was mighty handy about the house; he loved to keep things
repaired and in order. Best of all, he was jus' as good to my little
girl as he was to the girl and boy that were born to us later. All three
of my children are grown and married now, and they are mighty good to
their old mother. One of my daughters lives in New York.
"Soon after we married, we moved in a big old house called the old White
place that was jus' around the corner from here on Pope Street. People
said it was haunted, and we could hear something walkin' up and down the
stairs that sounded lak folks. To keep 'em from bein' so scared, I used
to try to make the others believe it was jus' our big Newfoundland dog,
but one night my sister heard it. She got up and found the dog lyin'
sound asleep on the front porch, so it was up to me to find out what it
was. I walked up the stairs without seein' a thing, but, Honey, when I
put my foot on that top step such a feelin' come over me as I had never
had before in all my life. My body trembled 'til I had to hold tight to
the stair-rail to keep from fallin', and I felt the hair risin' up all
over my head. While it seemed like hours before I was able to move, it
was really only a very few seconds. I went down those stairs in a hurry
and, from that night to this day, I have never hunted ghosts no more and
I don't aim to do it again, never.
"I've been here a long time, Honey. When them first street lights was
put up and lit, Athens was still mostly woods. Them old street lights
would be funny to you now, but they was great things to us then, even if
they wasn't nothin' but little lanterns what burned plain old lamp-oil
hung out on posts. The Old Town Hall was standin' then right in the
middle of Market (Washington) Street, between Lumpkin and Pulaski
Streets. The lowest floor was the jail, and part of the ground floor was
the old market place. Upstairs was the big hall where they held court,
and that was where they had so many fine shows. Whenever any white folks
had a big speech to make they went to that big old room upstairs in Town
Hall and spoke it to the crowd.
"You is too young to remember them first streetcars what was pulled by
little bitsy Texas mules with bells around their necks. Hearing them
bells was sweet music to us when they meant we was goin' to git a ride
on them streetcars. Some folks was too precise to say 'streetcars'; they
said 'horsecars', but them horsecars was pulled through the streets by
mules, so what's the diffunce? Sometimes them little mules would mire up
so deep in the mud they would have to be pulled out, and sometimes, when
they was feelin' sassy and good, they would jus' up and run away with
them streetcars. Them little critters could git the worst tangled up in
them lines." Here Nellie laughed heartily. "Sometimes they would even
try to climb inside the cars. It was lots of fun ridin' them cars, for
you never did know what was goin' to happen before you got back home,
but I never heard of no real bad streetcar accidents here."
Nellie now began jumping erratically from one subject to another. "Did
you notice my pretty flowers and ferns on the front porch?" she asked.
"I jus' know you didn't guess what I made them two hangin' baskets out
of. Them's the helmets that my son and my son-in-law wore when they was
fightin' in the World War. I puts my nicest flowers in 'em evvy year as
a sort of memorial to the ones that didn't git to fetch their helmets
back home. Yes Mam, I had two stars on my service flag and, while I
hated mighty bad that there had to be war, I wanted my family to do
their part.
"Honey, old Nellie is gittin' a little tired, but jus' you listen to
this: I went to meetin' one night to hear the first 'oman preacher that
ever had held a meetin' in this town. She was meanin' to preach at a
place out on Rock Spring Street, and there was more folks there than
could git inside that little old weather-boarded house. The place was
packed and jammed, but me and Scott managed to git in. When I saw an old
Hardshell Baptist friend of mine in there, I asked her how come she was
at this kind of meetin'. 'Curiosity, my child,' she said, 'jus' plain
old curiosity.' The 'oman got up to preach and, out of pure devilment,
somebody on the outside hollered; 'The house is fallin' down.' Now
Child, I know it ain't right to laugh at preachin's of any sort, but
that was one funny scene. Evvybody was tryin' to git out at one time;
such cryin', prayin', and testifyin' to the Lord I ain't never heard
before. The crowd jus' went plumb crazy with fright. I was pushed down
and trampled over in the rush before Scott could git me out; they mighty
near killed me." The old woman stopped and laughed until the tears
streamed down her face. "You know, Honey," she said, when she could
control her voice sufficiently to resume her story, "Niggers ain't got
no sense at all when they gits scared. When they throwed one gal out of
a window, she called out: 'Thank you, Lord,' for the poor thing thought
the Lord was savin' her from a fallin' buildin'. Poor old Martha
Holbrook,"--The sentence was not finished until Nellie's almost
hysterical giggles had attracted her daughter who came to see if
something was wrong--"Martha Holbrook," Nellie repeated, "was climbin'
backwards out of a window and her clothes got fastened on a nail. She
slipped on down and there she was with her legs kickin' around on the
outside and the rest of her muffled up in her clothes. It looked lak her
clothes was jus' goin' to peel off over her head. It took the menfolks a
long time to git her uncaught and out of that predicament in the window.
Pretty soon the folks began to come to their senses and they found there
wasn't nothin' wrong with the house 'cept that some doors and windows
had been torn out by the crowd. They sho did git mad, but nobody seemed
to know who started that ruction. My old Hardshell Baptist friend came
up then and said: 'Curiosity brought us here, and curiosity like to have
killed the cat.'"
Seeing that Nellie was tired, the visitor prepared to leave. "Goodbye
and God bless you," were the old woman's farewell words. At the front
door Amanda said: "I haven't heard my Mother laugh that way in a long,
long time, and I jus' know she is goin' to feel more cheerful after
this. Thank you for givin' her this pleasure, and I hope you can come
back again."
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
with
PAUL SMITH, Age 74
429 China Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
Mrs. Leila Harris
Augusta
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia
Paul Smith's house stands on China Street, a narrow rutted alley
deriving its name from the large chinaberry tree that stands at one end
of the alley.
Large water oaks furnish ample shade for the tidy yard where an old
well, whose bucket hanging from a rickety windlass frame, was supplying
water for two Negro women, who were leaning over washtubs. As they
rubbed the clothes against the washboards, their arms kept time to the
chant of _Lord I'se Comin' Home_. Paul and two Negro men, barefooted and
dressed in overalls rolled to their knees, were taking their ease under
the largest tree, and two small mulatto children were frolicking about
with a kitten.
As the visitor approached, the young men leaped to their feet and
hastened to offer a chair and Paul said: "Howdy-do, Missy, how is you?
Won't you have a cheer and rest? I knows you is tired plumb out. Dis old
sun is too hot for folkses to be walkin' 'round out doors," Turning to
one of the boys he continued: "Son, run and fetch Missy some fresh
water; dat'll make her feel better. Jus' how far is you done walked?"
asked Paul. Then he stopped one of the women from the washing and bade
her "run into the house and fetch a fan for Missy."
Paul is a large man, and a fringe of kinky white hair frames his face.
His manner is very friendly for, noticing that the visitor was looking
with some curiosity at the leather bands that encircled his wrists, the
old man grinned. "Dem's jus' to make sho' dat I won't have no
rheumatiz," he declared. "Mind if I cuts me a chaw of 'baccy? I'se jus'
plumb lost widout no 'baccy."
Paul readily agreed to give the story of his life. "I can't git over it,
dat you done walked way out here from de courthouse jus' to listen to
dis old Nigger talk 'bout dem good old days.
"Mammy belonged to Marse Jack Ellis, and he owned de big old Ellis
Plantation in Oglethorpe County whar I was borned. Marse Jack give mammy
to his daughter, young Miss Matt, and when her and Marse Nunnally got
married up, she tuk my mammy 'long wid her. Mistess Hah'iet (Harriet)
Smith owned my daddy. Him and mammy never did git married. My granddaddy
and grandmammy was owned by Marse Jim Stroud of Oconee County, and I dug
de graves whar bofe of 'em's buried in Mars Hill graveyard.
"All I knows 'bout slavery time is what I heared folkses say, for de war
was most over when I was borned, but things hadn't changed much, as I
was raised up.
"I warn't but 'bout 2 years old when young Miss Matt tuk my mammy off,
and she put me out 'cause she didn't want me. Missy, dey was sho good to
me. Marse Jack's wife was Mistess Lizzie. She done her best to raise me
right, and de ways she larnt me is done stayed wid me all dese years;
many's de time dey's kept old Paul out of trouble. No Mam, I ain't never
been in no jailhouse in all my days, and I sho ain't aimin' to de
nothin' to make 'em put me dar now.
"In dem days, when chillun got big enough to eat, dey was kept at de big
house, 'cause deir mammies had to wuk off in de fields and Old Miss
wanted all de chillun whar she could see atter 'em. Most times dere was
a old slave 'oman what didn't have nothin' else to do 'cept take keer of
slave chillun and feed 'em. Pickaninnies sho had to mind too, 'cause dem
old 'omans would evermore lay on de switch. Us et out of wooden trays,
and for supper us warn't 'lowed nothin' but bread and milk.
"Long as us was little, us didn't have to wuk at nothin' 'cept little
jobs lak pickin' up chips, bringin' in a little wood, and sometimes de
biggest boys had to slop de hogs. Long 'bout de fust of March, dey tuk
de pants 'way from all de boys and give 'em little shirts to wear from
den 'til frost. Yes Mam, dem shirts was all us boys had to wear in
summer 'til us was big enough to wuk in de fields. Gals jus' wore one
piece of clothes in summertime too; dey wore a plain cotton dress. All
our clothes, for summer and winter too, was made right dere on dat
plantation. Dey wove de cloth on de looms; plain cotton for summer, and
cotton mixed wid a little wool for winter. Dere was a man on de
plantation what made all our brogans for winter. Marster made sho us had
plenty of good warm clothes and shoes to keep us warm when winter come.
"Folkses raised deir livin', all of it, at home den. Dey growed all
sorts of gyarden truck sech as corn, peas, beans, sallet, 'taters,
collards, ingons, and squashes. Dey had big fields of grain. Don't
forgit dem good old watermillions; Niggers couldn't do widout 'em.
Marster's old smokehouse was plumb full of meat all de time, and he had
more cows, hogs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and de lak, dan
I ever larnt how to count. Dere warn't no runnin' off to de sto' evvy
time dey started cookin' a company meal.
"Dem home-made cotton gins was mighty slow. Us never seed no fast
sto'-bought gins dem days. Our old gins was turned by a long pole what
was pulled around by mules and oxen, and it tuk a long time to git de
seeds out of de cotton dat way. I'se seed 'em tie bundles of fodder in
front of de critters so dey would go faster tryin' to git to de fodder.
Dey grez dem gins wid homemade tar. De big sight was dem old home-made
cotton presses. When dem old mules went round a time or two pullin' dat
heavy weight down, dat cotton was sho pressed.
"Us chillun sho did lak to see 'em run dat old gin, 'cause 'fore dey
ever had a gin Marster used to make us pick a shoe-full of cotton seeds
out evvy night 'fore us went to bed. Now dat don't sound so bad, Missy,
but did you ever try to pick any seeds out of cotton?
"Course evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days, and dat was whar us
picked out dem cotton seeds, 'round dat big old fireplace in de kitchen.
All de slaves et together up dar at de big house, and us had some mighty
good times in dat old kitchen. Slave quarters was jus' little one room
log cabins what had chimblies made of sticks and red mud. Dem old
chimblies was all de time a-ketchin' on fire. De mud was daubed 'twixt
de logs to chink up de cracks, and sometimes dey chinked up cracks in de
roof wid red mud. Dere warn't no glass windows in dem cabins, and dey
didn't have but one window of no sort; it was jus' a plain wooden
shutter. De cabins was a long ways off from de big house, close by de
big old spring whar de wash-place was. Dey had long benches for de
wash-tubs to set on, a big old oversize washpot, and you mustn't leave
out 'bout dat big old battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de
clothes. Dem Niggers would sing, and deir battlin' sticks kept time to
de music. You could hear de singin' and de sound of de battlin' sticks
from a mighty long ways off.
"I ain't never been to school a day in all my life. My time as chillun
was all tuk up nussin' Mistess' little chillun, and I sho didn't never
git nary a lick 'bout dem chillun. Mistess said dat a white 'oman got
atter her one time 'bout lettin' a little Nigger look atter her chillun,
and dat 'oman got herself told. I ain't never uneasy 'bout my chillun
when Paul is wid 'em,' Mistess said. When dey started to school, it was
my job to see dat dey got dere and when school was out in de evenin', I
had to be dere to fetch dem chillun back home safe and sound. School
didn't turn out 'til four o'clock den, and it was a right fur piece from
dat schoolhouse out to our big house. Us had to cross a crick, and when
it rained de water would back up and make it mighty bad to git from one
side to t'other. Marster kept a buggy jus' for us to use gwine back and
forth to school. One time atter it had done been rainin' for days, dat
crick was so high I was 'fraid to try to take Mistess' chillun crost it
by myself, so I got a man named Blue to do de drivin' so I could look
atter de chillun. Us pulled up safe on de other side and den dere warn't
no way to git him back to his own side. I told him to ride back in de
buggy, den tie de lines, and de old mule would come straight back to us
by hisself. Blue laughed and said dere warn't no mule wid dat much
sense, but he soon seed dat I was right, cause dat old mule come right
on back jus' lak I said he would.
"Us chillun had good times back den, yes Mam, us sho did. Some of our
best times was at de old swimmin' hole. De place whar us dammed up de
crick for our swimmin' hole was a right smart piece off from de big
house. Us picked dat place 'cause it had so many big trees to keep de
water shady and cool. One Sunday, when dere was a big crowd of white and
colored chillun havin' a big time splashin' 'round in de water, a white
man what lived close by tuk all our clothes and hid 'em way up at his
house; den he got up in a tree and hollered lak evvything was atter him.
Lawsy, Miss, us chillun all come out of dat crick skeered plumb stiff
and run for our clothes. Dey was all gone, but dat never stopped us for
long. Us lit out straight for dat man's house. He had done beat us
gitting dar, and when us come runnin' up widout no clothes on, he
laughed fit to kill at us. Atter while he told us he skeered us to keep
us from stayin' too long in de crick and gittin' drownded, but dat
didn't slow us up none 'bout playing in de swimmin' hole.
"Talkin' 'bout being skeered, dere was one time I was skeered I was
plumb ruint. Missy, dat was de time I stole somepin' and didn't even
know I was stealin'. A boy had come by our place dat day and axed me to
go to de shop on a neighbor's place wid him. Mistess 'lowed me to go,
and atter he had done got what he said he was sont atter, he said dat
now us would git us some apples. He was lots bigger dan me, and I jus'
s'posed his old marster had done told him he could git some apples out
of dat big old orchard. Missy, I jus' plumb filled my shirt and pockets
wid dem fine apples, and us was havin' de finest sort of time when de
overseer cotch us. He let me go, but dat big boy had to wuk seven long
months to pay for dat piece of foolishment. I sho didn't never go nowhar
else wid dat fellow, 'cause my good old mistess said he would git me in
a peck of trouble if I did, and I had done larn't dat our mistess was
allus right.
"Times has sho done changed lots since dem days; chillun warn't 'lowed
to run 'round den. When I went off to church on a Sunday, I knowed I had
to be back home not no later dan four o'clock. Now chillun jus' goes all
de time, whar-some-ever dey wants to go. Dey stays out most all night
sometimes, and deir mammies don't never know whar dey is half de time.
'Tain't right, Missy, folkses don't raise deir chillun right no more;
dey don't larn 'em to be 'bejient and don't go wid 'em to church to hear
de Word of de Lawd preached lak dey should ought to.
"Fore de war, colored folkses went to de same church wid deir white
folkses and listened to de white preacher. Slaves sot way back in de
meetin'-house or up in a gallery, but us could hear dem good old
sermons, and dem days dey preached some mighty powerful ones. All my
folkses jined de Baptist Church, and Dr. John Mell's father, Dr. Pat
Mell, baptized evvy one of 'em. Course I growed up to be a Baptist too
lak our own white folkses.
"Slaves had to wuk hard dem days, but dey had good times too. Our white
folkses looked atter us and seed dat us had what-some-ever us needed.
When talk come 'round 'bout havin' separate churches for slaves, our
white folkses give us deir old meetin'-house and built deyselfs a new
one, but for a long time atter dat it warn't nothin' to see white
folkses visitin' our meetin's, cause dey wanted to help us git started
off right. One old white lady--us called her Aunty Peggy--never did stop
comin' to pray and sing and shout wid us 'til she jus' went off to sleep
and woke up in de better world. Dat sho was one good 'oman.
"Some of dem slaves never wanted no 'ligion, and dey jus' laughed at us
cause us testified and shouted. One day at church a good old 'oman got
right 'hind a Nigger dat she had done made up her mind she was gwine to
see saved 'fore dat meetin' ended. She drug 'im up to de mourner's
bench. He 'lowed he never made no prep'ration to come in dis world and
dat he didn't mean to make none to leave it. She prayed and prayed, but
dat fool Nigger jus' laughed right out at her. Finally de 'oman got mad.
'Laugh if you will,' she told dat man, 'De Good Lawd is gwine to purge
out your sins for sho, and when you gits full of biles and sores you'll
be powerful glad to git somebody to pray for you. Dat ain't all; de same
Good Lawd is gwine to lick you a thousand lashes for evvy time you is
done made fun of dis very meetin'.' Missy, would you believe it, it
warn't no time 'fore dat man sickened and died right out wid a cancer in
his mouf. Does you 'member dat old sayin' 'De ways of de Lawd is slow
but sho?'
"Corpses was washed good soon atter de folkses died and deir clothes put
on 'em, den dey was laid on coolin' boards 'til deir coffins was made
up. Why Missy, didn't you know dey didn't have no sto'-bought coffins
dem days? Dey made 'em up right dere on de plantation. De corpse was
measured and de coffin made to fit it. Sometimes dey was lined wid black
calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. Dere warn't
no undytakers den, and dere warn't none of dem vaults to set coffins in
neither; dey jus' laid planks crost de top of a coffin 'fore de dirt was
piled in de grave.
"When dere was a death 'round our neighborhood, evvybody went and paid
deir 'spects to de fambly of de dead. Folkses set up all night wid de
corpse and sung and prayed. Dat settin' up was mostly to keep cats offen
de corpse. Cats sho is bad atter dead folks; I'se heared tell dat dey
most et up some corpses what nobody warn't watchin'. When de time come
to bury de dead, dey loaded de coffin on to a wagon, and most times de
fambly rode to de graveyard in a wagon too, but if it warn't no fur
piece off, most of de other folkses walked. Dey started singin' when dey
left de house and sung right on 'til dat corpse was put in de grave.
When de preacher had done said a prayer, dey all sung: _I'se Born to Die
and Lay Dis Body Down_. Dat was 'bout all dere was to de buryin', but
later on dey had de funeral sermon preached in church, maybe six months
atter de buryin'. De white folkses had all deir funeral sermons preached
at de time of de buryin'.
"Yes Mam, I 'members de fust money I ever wuked for. Marster paid me 50
cents a day when I got big enough to wuk, and dat was plumb good wages
den. When I got to whar I could pick more'n a hunnerd pounds of cotton
in one day he paid me more. I thought I was rich den. Dem was good old
days when us lived back on de plantation. I 'members dem old folkses
what used to live 'round Lexin'ton, down in Oglethorpe County.
"When us warn't out in de fields, us done little jobs 'round de big
house, de cabins, barns, and yards. Us used to holp de older slaves git
out whiteoak splits, and dey larnt us to make cheer bottoms and baskets
out of dem splits. De best cheer bottoms what lasted de longest was dem
what us made wid red ellum withes. Dem old shuck bottoms was fine too;
dey plaited dem shucks and wound 'em 'round for cheer bottoms and
footsmats. De 'omans made nice hats out of shucks and wheat straw. Dey
plaited de shucks and put 'em together wid plaits of wheat straw. Dey
warn't counted much for Sunday wear, but dey made fine sun hats.
"Whilst us was all a-wukin' away at house and yard jobs, de old folkses
would tell us 'bout times 'fore us was borned. Dey said slave dealers
used to come 'round wid a big long line of slaves a-marchin' to whar
dere was gwine to be a big slave sale. Sometimes dey marched 'em here
from as fur as Virginny. Old folkses said dey had done been fetched to
dis country on boats. Dem boats was painted red, real bright red, and
dey went plumb to Africa to git de niggers. When dey got dere, dey got
off and left de bright red boats empty for a while. Niggers laks red,
and dey would git on dem boats to see what dem red things was. When de
boats was full of dem foolish Niggers, de slave dealers would sail off
wid 'em and fetch 'em to dis country to sell 'em to folkses what had
plantations. Dem slave sales was awful bad in some ways, 'cause
sometimes dey sold mammies away from deir babies and famblies got
scattered. Some of 'em never knowed what 'comed of deir brudders and
sisters and daddies and mammies.
"I seed dem Yankees when dey come, but I was too little to know much
about what dey done. Old folkses said dey give de Athens people smallpox
and dat dey died out right and left, jus' lots of 'em. 'Fore dey got rid
of it, dey had to burn up beds and clothes and a few houses. Dey said
dey put Lake Brown and Clarence Bush out in de swamp to die, but dey got
well, come out of dat swamp, and lived here for years and years.
"Granddaddy told us 'bout how some slaves used to rum off from deir
marsters and live in caves and dugouts. He said a man and a 'oman run
away and lived for years in one of dem places not no great ways from de
slave quarters on his marster's place. Atter a long, long time, some
little white chillun was playin' in de woods one day and clumb up in
some trees. Lookin' out from high up in a tree one of 'em seed two
little pickaninnies but he couldn't find whar dey went. When he went
back home and told 'bout it, evvybody went to huntin' 'em, s'posin' dey
was lost chillun. Dey traced 'em to a dugout, and dere dey found dem two
grown slaves what had done run away years ago, and dey had done had two
little chillun born in dat dugout. Deir marster come and got 'em and tuk
'em home, but de chillun went plumb blind when dey tried to live out in
de sunlight. Dey had done lived under ground too long, and it warn't
long 'fore bofe of dem chillun was daid.
"Dem old slavery-time weddin's warn't lak de way folkses does when dey
gits married up now; dey never had to buy no license den. When a slave
man wanted to git married up wid a gal he axed his marster, and if it
was all right wid de marster den him and de gal come up to de big house
to jump de broomstick 'fore deir white folkses. De gal jumped one way
and de man de other. Most times dere was a big dance de night dey got
married.
"If a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal what didn't live on dat
same plantation he told his marster, den his marster went and talked to
de gal's marster. If bofe deir marsters 'greed den dey jumped de
broomstick; if neither one of de marsters wouldn't sell to de other one,
de wife jus' stayed on her marster's place and de husband was 'lowed a
pass what let him visit her twict a week on Wednesday and Sadday nights.
If he didn't keep dat pass to show when de patterollers cotch him, dey
was more'n apt to beat de skin right off his back. Dem patterollers was
allus watchin' and dey was awful rough. No Mam, dey never did git to
beat me up. I out run 'em one time, but I evermore did have to make
tracks to keep ahead of 'em.
"Us didn't know much 'bout folkses bein' kilt 'round whar us stayed.
Sometimes dere was talk 'bout devilment a long ways off. De mostest
troubles us knowed 'bout was on de Jim Smith plantation. Dat sho was a
big old place wid a heap of slaves on it. Dey says dat fightin' didn't
'mount to nothin'. Marse Jim Smith got to be mighty rich and he lived to
be an old man. He died out widout never gittin' married. Folkses said a
nigger boy dat was his son was willed heaps of dat propity, but folkses
beat him out of it and, all of a sudden, he drapped out of sight. Some
says he was kilt, but I don't know nothin' 'bout dat.
"Now Missy, how come you wants to know 'bout dem frolics us had dem
days? Most of 'em ended up scandlous, plumb scandlous. At harvest season
dere was cornshuckin's, wheat-thrashin's, syrup-cookin's, and
logrollin's. All dem frolics come in deir own good time. Cornshuckin's
was de most fun of 'em all. Evvybody come from miles around to dem
frolics. Soon atter de wuk got started, marster got out his little brown
jug, and when it started gwine de rounds de wuk would speed up wid sich
singin' as you never heared, and dem Niggers was wuking in time wid de
music. Evvy red ear of corn meant an extra swig of liquor for de Nigger
what found it. When de wuk was done and dey was ready to go to de tables
out in de yard to eat dem big barbecue suppers, dey grabbed up deir
marster and tuk him to de big house on deir shoulders. When de supper
was et, de liquor was passed some more and dancin' started, and
sometimes it lasted all night. Folkses sometimes had frolics what dey
called fairs; dey lasted two or three days. Wid so much dancin', eatin',
and liquor drinkin' gwine on for dat long, lots of fightin' took place.
It was awful. Dey cut on one another wid razors and knives jus' lak dey
was cuttin' on wood. I 'spects I was bad as de rest of 'em 'bout dem
razor fights, but not whar my good old mist'ess could larn 'bout it. I
never did no fightin' 'round de meetin'-house. It was plumb sinful de
way some of dem Niggers would git in ruckuses right in meetin' and break
up de services.
"Brudder Bradberry used to come to our house to hold prayermeetin's, but
Lawsey, Missy, dat man could eat more dan any Nigger I ever seed from
dat day to dis. When us knowed he was a-comin' Mistess let us cook up
heaps of stuff, enough to fill dat long old table plumb full, but dat
table was allus empty when he left. Yes Mam, he prayed whilst he was
dere, but he et too. Dem prayers must'a made him mighty weak.
"Marster Joe Campbell, what lived in our settlement, was sho a queer
man. He had a good farm and plenty of most evvything. He would plant his
craps evvy year and den, Missy, he would go plumb crazy evvy blessed
year. Folkses would jine in and wuk his craps out for him and, come
harvest time, dey had to gather 'em in his barns, cause he never paid
'em no mind atter dey was planted. When de wuk was all done for him,
Marster Joe's mind allus come back and he was all right 'til next
crap-time. I told my good old marster dat white man warn't no ways
crazy; he had plumb good sense, gittin' all dat wuk done whilst he jus'
rested. Marster was a mighty good man, so he jus' grinned and said
'Paul, us mustn't jedge nobody.'
"When marster moved here to Athens I come right 'long wid 'im. Us
started us a wuk-shop down on dis same old Oconee River, close by whar
Oconee Street is now. Dis was mostly jus' woods. Dere warn't none of
dese new-fangled stock laws den, and folkses jus' fenced in deir
gyardens and let de stock run evvywhar. Dey marked hogs so evvybody
would know his own; some cut notches in de ears, some cut off de tails
or marked noses, and some put marks on de hoof part of de foots. Mr.
Barrow owned 'bout 20 acres in woods spread over Oconee Hill, and de
hogs made for dem woods whar dey jus' run wild. Cows run out too and got
so wild dey would fight when dey didn't want to come home. It warn't no
extra sight den to see folkses gwine atter deir cows on mules. Chickens
run out, and folkses had a time findin' de aigs and knowin' who dem aigs
b'longed to. Most and gen'ally finders was keepers far as aigs was
consarnt but, in spite of all dat, us allus had plenty, and Mistess
would find somepin' to give folkses dat needed to be holped.
"When us come to Athens de old Georgy Railroad hadn't never crost de
river to come into town. De depot was on de east side of de river on
what dey called Depot Street. Daddy said he holped to build dat fust
railroad. It was way back in slavery times. Mist'ess Hah'iet Smith's
husband had done died out, and de 'minstrator of de 'state hired out
most all of Mist'ess' slaves to wuk on de railroad. It was a long time
'fore she could git 'em back home.
"Missy, did you know dat Indians camped at Skull Shoals, down in Greene
County, a long time ago? Old folkses said dey used to be 'round here
too, 'specially at Cherokee Corners. At dem places, it was a long time
'fore dey stopped plowin' up bones whar Indians had done been buried.
Right down on dis old river, nigh Mr. Aycock's place, dey says you kin
still see caves whar folkses lived when de Indians owned dese parts. If
high waters ain't washed 'em all away, de skeletons of some of dem
folkses what lived dar is still in dem caves. Slaves used to hide in dem
same caves when dey was runnin' off from deir marsters or tryin' to keep
out of de way of de law. Dat's how dem caves was found; by white folkses
huntin' runaway slaves.
"Now Missy, you don't keer nothin' 'bout my weddin'. To tell de trufe,
I never had no weddin'; I had to steal dat gal of mine. I had done axed
her mammy for her, but she jus' wouldn't 'gree for me to have Mary, so I
jus' up and told her I was gwine to steal dat gal. Dat old 'oman 'lowed
she would see 'bout dat, and she kept Mary in her sight day and night,
inside de house mos'ly. It looked lak I never was gwine to git a chance
to steal my gal, but one day a white boy bought my license for me and I
got Brudder Bill Mitchell to go dar wid me whilst Mary's ma was asleep.
Us went inside de house and got married right dar in de room next to
whar she was sleepin'. When she waked up dere was hot times 'round dat
place for a while, but good old Brudder Mitchell stayed right dar and
holped us through de trouble. Mary's done been gone a long time now and
I misses her mighty bad, but it won't be long now 'fore de Lawd calls me
to go whar she is.
"I done tried to live right, to keep all de laws, and to pay up my jus'
and honest debts, cause mist'ess larnt me dat. I was up in Virginny
wukin' on de railroad a few years ago. De boss man called me aside one
day and said; 'Paul, you ain't lak dese other Niggers. I kin tell dat
white folks raised you.' It sho made me proud to hear him say dat, for I
knows dat old Miss up yonder kin see dat de little Nigger she tuk in and
raised is still tryin' to live lak she larnt him to do."
When the visitor arose to leave, old Paul smiled and said "Goodby Missy.
I'se had a good time bringin' back dem old days. Goodby, and God bless
you."
[HW: Dist. 1
Ex-Slave 102]
SUBJECT: EMELINE STEPNEY, A DAUGHTER OF SLAVERY
DISTRICT: W.P.A. NO. 1
RESEARCH WORKER: JOSEPH E. JAFFEE
EDITOR: JOHN N. BOOTH
SUPERVISOR: JOSEPH E. JAFFEE (ASST.)
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
Emeline Stepney, as she came into the office that July day, was a
perfect vignette from a past era. Over 90 years old, and unable to walk
without support, she was still quick witted and her speech, although
halting, was full of dry humor. Emeline was clad in a homespun dress
with high collar and long sleeves with wristbands. On her feet she wore
"old ladies' comforts." She was toothless and her hands were gnarled and
twisted from rheumatism and hard work.
Emeline's father, John Smith, had come from Virginia and belonged to
"Cap'n Tom Wilson." Her mother, Sally, "wuz a Georgia borned nigger" who
belonged to "Mars Shelton Terry." The two plantations near Greensboro,
in Greene County, were five miles apart and the father came to see his
family only on Wednesday and Saturday nights. The arrangement evidently
had no effect in the direction of birth control for Emeline was the
second of thirteen children.
Life on the Terry place was a fairly pleasant existence. The master was
an old bachelor and he had two old maid sisters, Miss Sarah and Miss
Rebecca. The plantation was in charge of two overseers who were
reasonably kind to the Negroes.
No crops of any kind were sold and consequently the plantation had to be
self-sustaining. Cotton was spun into clothing in the master's own
spinning room and the garments were worn by the master and slaves alike.
A small amount of flax was raised each year and from this the master's
two sisters made household linens. Food crops consisted of corn, wheat
(there was a mill on the plantation to grind these into flour and meal),
sweet potatoes, and peas. In the smoke house there was always plenty of
pork, beef, mutton, and kid. The wool from the sheep was made into
blankets and woolen garments.
The Terry household was not like other menages of the time. There were
only one or two house servants, the vast majority being employed in the
fields. Work began each morning at eight o'clock and was over at
sundown. No work was done on Saturday, the day being spent in
preparation for Sunday or in fishing, visiting, or "jes frolickin'". The
master frequently let them have dances in the yards on Saturday
afternoon. To supply the music they beat on tin buckets with sticks.
On Sunday the Negroes were allowed to attend the "white folks' church"
where a balcony was reserved for them. Some masters required their
"people" to go to church; but Emeline's master thought it a matter for
the individual to decide for himself.
Emeline was about 15 when her first suitor and future husband began to
come to see her. He came from a neighboring farm and had to have a pass
to show the "patty rollers" or else he would be whipped. He never stayed
at night even after they were married because he was afraid he might be
punished.
The slaves were never given any spending money. The men were allowed to
use tobacco and on rare occasions there was "toddy" for them. Emeline
declares SHE never used liquor and ascribes her long life partly to this
fact and partly to her belief in God.
She believes in signs but interprets them differently [HW: ?] from most
of her people. She believes that if a rooster crows he is simply
"crowin' to his crowd" or if a cow bellows it is "mos' likely bellowin'
fer water." If a person sneezes while eating she regards this as a sign
that the person is eating too fast or has a bad cold. She vigorously
denies that any of these omens foretells death. Some "fool nigger"
believe that an itching foot predicts a journey to a strange land; but
Emeline thinks it means that the foot needs washing.
Aunt Emeline has some remedies which she has found very effective in the
treatment of minor ailiments. Hoarhound tea and catnip tea are good for
colds and fever. Yellow root will cure sore throat and a tea made from
sheep droppings will make babies teethe easily. "I kin still tas'e dat
sassafras juice mammy used to give all de chilluns." She cackled as she
was led out the door.
[HW: Atlanta
Dist. 5
Ex-Slave #103]
2-4-37
Whitley
SEC.
Ross
[HW: AMANDA STYLES]
On November 18, 1936 Amanda Styles ex-slave, was interviewed at her
residence 268 Baker Street N.E. Styles is about 80 years of age and
could give but a few facts concerning her life as a slave. Her family
belonged to an ordinary class of people neither rich nor poor. Her
master Jack Lambert owned a small plantation; and one other slave
besides her family which included her mother, father and one sister. The
only event during slavery that impressed itself on Mrs. Styles was the
fact that when the Yanks came to their farm they carried off her mother
and she was never heard of again.
Concerning superstitions, signs, and other stories pertaining to this
Mrs. Styles related the following signs and events. As far as possible
the stories are given in her exact words. "During my day it was going
ter by looking in the clouds. Some folks could read the signs there. A
'oman that whistled wuz marked to be a bad 'oman. If a black cat crossed
your path you sho would turn round and go anudder way. It was bad luck
to sit on a bed and when I wuz small I wuz never allowed to sit on the
bed."
Following are stories, related by Mrs. Styles, which had their origin
during slavery and immediately following slavery.
"During slavery time there was a family that had a daughter and she
married and ebby body said she wuz a witch cause at night dey sed she
would turn her skin inside out and go round riding folks horses. Der
next morning der horses manes would be tied up. Now her husband didn't
know she was a witch so somebody tole him he could tell by cutting off
one of her limbs so one night the wife changed to a cat and the husband
cut off her forefinger what had a ring on it. After that der wife would
keep her hand hid cause her finger wuz cut off; and she knowed her
husband would find out that she wuz the witch.
My mother sed her young mistress wuz a witch and she too married but her
husband didn't know that she wuz a witch; and she would go round at
night riding horses and turning the cows milk into blood. Der folks
didn't know what ter do instead of milk they had blood. So one day a old
lady came there and told em that a witch had been riding the cow, and to
cast off the spell, they had to take a horse shoe and put it in the
bottom of the churn and then the blood would turn back ter milk and
butter. Sho nuff they did it and got milk.
Anudder man had a wife that wuz accused of being a witch so he cut her
leg off and it wuz a cats' leg and when his wife came back her leg was
missing.
They say there wuz a lot of conjuring too and I have heard 'bout a lot
of it. My husband told me he went to see a 'oman once dat had scorpions
in her body. The conjurer did it by putting the blood of a scorpion in
her body and this would breed more scorpions in her. They had to get
anudder conjurer to undo the spell.
There wuz anudder family that lived near and that had a daughter and
when she died they say she had a snake in her body.
My husband sed he wuz conjured when he wuz a boy and had ter walk with
his arms outstretched he couldn't put em down at all and couldn't even
move 'em. One day he met a old man and he sed "Son whats der matter wid
you?" "I don't know," he sed. "Den why don't you put your arms down?" "I
can't." So the old man took a bottle out of his pocket and rubbed his
arms straight down 'till they got alright.
He told me too bout a 'oman fixing her husband. This 'oman saw anudder
man she wonted so she had her husband fixed so he would throw his arms
up get on his knees and bark just like a dog. So they got some old man
that wuz a conjurer to come and cure him. He woulda died if they hadn't
got that spell off him.
My father told me that a 'oman fixed anudder one cause she married her
sweetheart she told her he nebber would do her any good and sho nuff she
fixed her so dat she would have a spell ebby time she went to church.
One day they sent fer her husband and asked him what wuz the matter with
her and he told them that this other 'oman fixed her with conjure. They
sent for a conjurer and he came and rubbed some medicine on her body and
she got alright.
During slavery time the master promised ter whip a nigger and when he
came out ter whip him instead he just told him "Go on nigger 'bout your
business." Der Nigger had fixed him by spitting as for as he could spit
so the master couldn't come any nearer than that spit.
I know a Nigger that they sed wuz kin ter the devil. He told me that he
could go out hind the house and make some noise and the devil would come
and dance with him. He sed the devil learned him to play a banjo and if
you wanted to do anything the devil could do, go to a cross road walk
backwards and curse God. But don't nebber let the devil touch any of
your works or anything that belonged to you or you would lose your
power.
The nearest I ebber came ter believing in conjure wuz when my step
mother got sick. She fell out with an 'oman that lived with her daughter
cause this 'oman had did something ter her daughter; and so she called
her a black kinky head hussy and this 'oman got fightin mad and sed ter
her. "Nebber mind you'll be nappy and kinky headed too when I git
through wid you." My Ma's head turned real white and funny right round
the edge and her mind got bad and she used to chew tobacco and spit in
her hands and rub it in her head; and very soon all her hair fell out.
She even quit my father after living with him 20 years saying he had
poisoned her. She stayed sick a long time and der doctors nebber could
understand her sickness. She died and I will always believe she wuz
fixed.
After relating the last story my interview with Mrs. Styles came to an
end. I thanked her and left, wondering over the strange stories she had
told me.