It would be interesting if I could find out more about why the Negroes
were sent in the box. He seemed not to know all about it. This Negro man
when young was a light mulatto. He is light for his age. He looks and
acts white. Has a spot on one eye.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Lee Guidon
Clarendon, Arkansas
Age: 89
"Yes maam I sho was in the Cibil War. I plowed all day and me and my
sister helped take care of the baby at night. It would cry and me
bumpin' it. [In a straight chair, rocking.] Time I git it to the bed
where its mama was it wake up and start cryin' all over again. I be so
sleepy. It was a puny sort o' baby. Its papa was off at war. His name
was Jim Cowan an' his wife Miss Margaret Brown 'fore she married him.
Miss Lucy Smith give me and my sister to them. Then she married Mr. Abe
Moore. Jim Smith was Miss Lucy's boy. He lay outen the woods all time.
He say no needen him gittin' shot up and killed. He say let the slaves
be free. We lived, seemed lack, on 'bout the line of York an' Union
Counties. He lay out in the woods over in York County. Mr. Jim say all
they fightin' 'bout was jealousy. They caught him several times but ebry
time he got away frum 'em. After they come home Mr. Jim say they never
win no war. They stole and starved out the South.
"They didn't want the slaves talkin' 'bout things. One time I got ruffed
up and I say I was goin' to freedom--the wood whar Mr. Jim be--and I
recollect we was crossin' over a railin' fence. My ma put her hand over
my mouth like dis, and say you don't know anything 'bout what you sain'
boy.
"I neber will forgit Mr. Neel. He was all our overseer. He say 'Lee Good
Boy' plows so good. He never spoke an unkind word in his life to me.
When I haf to go to his house he call me in an' give me hot biscuits or
maybe a potato. I sure love potato [sweet potatoes]. He was a good old
Christian man. The church we all went to was made outer hand hewd
logs--great big things. My pa lived in Union County on the other side
the church.
"He lived to be 103 years old. Ma lost her mind. They both died right
here with me--a piece outer town. He was named Pompey and ma Fannie. Her
name 'foe freedom was Fannie Smith, then she took the name Guidon.
"After freedom a heap of people say they was going to name their selves
over. They named their selves big names then went roaming 'round lack
wild, huntin' cities. They changed up so it was hard to tell who or whar
anybody was. Heap of 'em died an' you didn't know when you hear 'bout it
if he was your folks hardly. Some of the names was Abraham an' some
called their selves Lincum. Any big name 'ceptin' their master's name.
It was the fashion. I herd 'em talking 'bout it one ebenin' an' my pa
say fine folks raise us an' we goiner hold to our own names. That
settled it wid all of us.
"Ma was a sickly woman all her life. They kept her 'round the house to
help cook and sweep the yards. Not a speck of grass, not a weed growd on
her yard. She swep it 'bout two times a week. It was prutty and white.
The sand jes' shined in the sun. Had tall trees in the yard.
"I can't recollect 'bout my papa's master cause I was raised at my
mama's master's place. He said many and many a time Joe Guidon never
had to whoop him. After he growd up he never got no whoopins a tall.
Joe Guidon learned him to plow an' he was boss of the plow hands. His
wife was named Mariah Guidon. He say she was a mighty good easy woman
too.
"Saturday was ration day and Sunday visitin' day. But you must have your
pass if you leave the farm an' go over to somebody elses farm.
"When I was a boy one thing I love to do was go to stingy Tom's still
house. His name was Tom Whiteside. He sure was stingy and the meanest
white man I ever seed. I went to the still house to beat peaches to make
brandy. It was four miles over there and I rode. We always made least
one barrel of peach brandy and one of cider. That would be vinegar
'nough by spring. 'Simmon beer was good in the cole freezin' wether too.
We make much as we have barrels if we could get the persimmons. He had a
son name Bill Whitesides.
"Once an old slave woman lost her mind. Stingy Tom sent her to get a
Bull tongue and she chased after one of the bulls down at the lot try
in' to catch it. She set his barn fire and burned thirteen head of
horses and mules together. Stingy Tom had the sheriff try to get her
tell what white folks put her up to do it. He knowed they all hated him
cause he jes' so mean. The old woman never did tell but they hung her
anyhow. There was a big crowd to see it. Miss Lucy jes' cried and cried.
She say Satan got no use for Stingy Tom he so mean. That the first
person I ever seed hung. They used to hang folks a heap. The biggest
crowds turned out to see it.
"The old woman's son he went to the woods he so hurt cause they going to
hang his ma.
"The Missouri soldiers were worse than the Yankees. They waste an' steal
your corn and take your horses. They brought a little girl they stole
and let Stingy Tom have her. He kept her and treated her so mean. They
thrash out wheat and put it on big heavy sheets to dry. The little girl
had to sit outen the sun an' keep the chickens offen it. I seed him find
her 'sleep and hit hard as he could in the face wid big old brush. It
was old dogwood brush wid no leaves on it. He wouldn't let that little
girl have no biskit on Sunday mornin'. Everybody had all the hot biskit
they could eat on Sunday mornin'. Well after freedom, long time, her
aunt heard she was down there and come an' got her. She grow up to be a
nice woman. Them same Missouri soldiers took Henry Guidon (younger
brother of Lee Guidon) off. Stole him from the master--stole his mule.
They was so mean. They found out when they shoot, the mule so scared it
would throw Henry. They kept it up and laughed. Course it hurt Henry.
Liable to kill him. They say they making a Yankee soldier outen him that
way. One night before they got too fur gone he rode off home. They burn
whole cribs corn. Could smell it a long ways off. They was mean to
eberybody.
"I recken I do know 'bout the Ku Kluck. I knowed a man named Alfred
Owens. He seemed all right but he was a Republican. He said he was not
afraid. He run a tan yard and kept a heap of guns in a big room. They
all loaded. He married a southern woman. Her husband either died or was
killed. She had a son living wid them. The Ku Kluck was called Upper
League. They get this boy to unload all the guns (16 shooters). Then the
white men went there. The white man give up and said, 'I ain't got no
gun to defend myself wid. The guns all unloaded an' I ain't got no
powder and shot.' But the Ku Kluck shot in the houses and shot him up
like lace work. He sold fine harness, saddles, bridles--all sorts of
leather things. The Ku Kluck shure run them outen their country. They
say they not going to have them 'round and they shure run them out, back
where they came from.
"Charles Good had a blacksmith. They [the Missouri soldiers] opened a
fence gap when they came through. They took him, tied him to a tree and
shot him in the face with little shot. He suffered there till Wednesday
when he was still living. They tied him to the tree wid his own
gallowses. They was doubled and strong. Then some of them went down
there and finished up the job beating him over the head with the guns
till he was dead. The Ku Kluck broke up every gun they could find. They
sure better not ketch a gun at the quarters of colored folks. They whoop
him and break up the gun. Ask him where he got that gun and start more
bad trouble.
"They packed a two-story jail so full of men they had orders to turn 'em
out. Then they built a high fence 'bout eight foot tall and put 'em in
it. They had lights and guards all 'round it. They kept 'em right out in
the hot sun in that pen. That's where the Yankees put the Ku Klucks.
Then they had trials and some was sent to Albany for three years and
eight years and the like. They made glass at Albany. Them Yankees
wouldn't let 'em have no bonds. Then the white folks told them they
needn't settle among them. They owned all the land and wouldn't sell
them a foot for nuthing. A heap of lawyers and doctors got in it. That
fence was iron and bob wire. The Ku Kluck killed good men, but
Republicans.
"We stayed on like we were 'cause we done put in the crop and the Ku
Kluck never did bother us. We made a prutty good crop. Then we took our
freedom. Started workin' fer money and part of the crop.
"I married in 1871. Me and Emma went to bed. Somebody lam on the door.
Emma say 'You run they won't hurt me.' I say 'They kill me sure.' We
stayed and opened the door. They pull the cover offen her looking. They
lifted up a cloth from over a barrel behind the bed in the corner. I say
that are a hog. He say we right from hell we ain't seen no meat. Then
they soon gone. The moon shining so bright that night. They were lookin'
for my wife's brother I heard 'em say. They say he done something or
another.
"Charleston was the nearest a army ever come to me but I seed a heap of
soldiers on the roads. One road was the Rock Hill road.
"One man I heard 'em talk cheap about had the guns and powder. They shot
holes in the walls. He climbed up in the fireplace chimney and stood up
there close to the brick. It was dark and they couldn't see him. They
looked up the chimney but didn't see him. It was a two-story chimney.
Lady if you ain't never seen one I can't tell you just how it was. But
they shot the house full of holes and never harmed him.
"For them what stayed on like they were Reconstruction times 'bout like
times before dat 'ceptin' the Yankees stole out an' tore up a scanlus
heap. They tell the black folks to do something and then come white
folks you live wid and say Ku Kluck whoop you. They say leave and white
folks say better not listen to them old Yankees. They'll git you too fur
off to come back and you freeze. They done give you all the use they got
fer you. How they do? All sorts of ways. Some stayed at their cabins
glad to have one to live in an' farmed on. Some runnin' 'round beggin',
some hunting work for money an' nobody had no money 'ceptin' the Yankees
and they had no homes or land and mighty little work fer you to do. No
work to live on. Some goin' every day to the city. That winter I heard
'bout them starving and freezing by the wagon loads.
"I never heard nuthing 'bout votin' till freedom. I don't think I ever
voted till I come to Mississippi. I votes Republican. That's the party
of my color and I stick to them long as they do right. I don't dabble in
white folk's buzness an' that white folks votin' is their buzness. If I
vote I go do it and go on home.
"I been plowin' all my life and in the hot days I cuts and saws wood.
Then when I gets outer cotton pickin' I put each boy on a load of wood
an' we sell wood. Then we clear land till next spring. I don't find no
time to be loafing. I never missed a year farming till I got the Brights
disease an' it hurt me to do hard work. The last years we got $3 a cord.
Farmin' is the best life there is when you are able.
"I come to Holly Springs in 1850, stopped to visit. I had six children
and $90 in money. We come on the train. My parents done come on from
South Carolina to Arkansas. Man say this ain't no richer land than you
come from. I tried it seven years. I drove from there, ferried the
rivers. It took a long time. We made the best crop I ever seed in 1888.
I had eight children, my wife. I cut and hauled wood all winter. I soon
had three teams haulin' wood to Clarendon. Some old men, [white men]
mean things! Learned one of my boys to play craps. They done it to git
his money.
"When I owned most I had six head mules and five head horses. I rented
140 acres of land. I bought this house and some other land about. The
anthrax killed nearly all my horses and mules. I got one big fine mule
yet. Its mate died. I lost my house. My son give me one room and he
paying the debt off now. It's hard for colored folks to keep anything.
Somebody gets it frum 'em if they don't mind.
"The present times is hard. Timber is scarce. Game is about all gone.
Prices higher. Old folks cannot work. Times is hard for younger folks
too. They go to town too much and go to shows. They going to a tent show
now. Circus coming they say. They spending too much money for
foolishness. It's a fast time. Folks too restless. Some of the colored
folks work hard as folks ever did. They spends too much. Some folks is
lazy. Always been that way.
"I signed up to the Governmint but they ain't give me nuthin' 'ceptin'
powdered milk and rice what wasn't fit to eat. It cracked up and had
black somethin' in it. A lady said she would give me some shirts that
was her husbands. I went to get them but she wasn't home. These heavy
shirts give me heat. They won't give me the pension an' I don't know
why. It would help me buy my salts and pills and the other medicines
like Swamp Root. They won't give it to me."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Linley Hadley
Madison, Arkansas
Age: 77
"I was born the very day the Civil War started, April 12, 1861. I was
born in Monroe County close to Aberdeen, Mississippi. My papa was named
Dave Collins. He was born far back as 1832. He was a carriage driver.
"Mama was born same year as papa. She was a field hand and a cook. She
could plough good as any man. She was a guinea woman. She weighed
ninety-five pounds. She had fourteen children. She did that. Had six or
seven after freedom. She had one slave husband. Her owners was old
Master Wylie Collins and Mistress Jane. We come 'way from their place in
1866.
"I can recollect old Master Collins calling up all the niggers to his
house. He told them they was free. There was a crowd of them, all mixes.
Why all this took place now I don't know. Most of the niggers took what
all they have on their heads and walked off. He told mama to move up in
the loom house, if she go off he would kill her. We moved to the loom
house till in 1866.
"One night some of the niggers what had been Collins' slaves come and
stole all mama's children, toted us off on their backs at night. Where
we come to cross the river, Uncle George Tunnel was the ferryman. He had
raised mama at his cabin at slavery. He took us to his white folks. We
lived with them a year and then mama moved on Bill Cropton's place and
we lived there forty years. All the Croptons dead now.
"We come to Arkansas in 1891 close to Cotton Plant. 1898, I come to
Madison. Been here ever since.
"Grandma belong to Master Rogers where we knowed George Tunnel. Mama,
named Harriett, and Aunt Miller was sold. A man in Texas bought Aunt
Miller. We never could hear a word from her. After freedom we tried and
tried. Master Collins was mean. You couldn't lay your hand on mama's
back without laying it on marks where she had been beat. All his niggers
was glad to leave him. They stripped mama's clothes down to her waist
and whooped her, beat the blood out with cowhides. Master Collins 'lowed
his niggers to steal, then his girls come take some of it to their house
to eat. Master Collins didn't have no boys.
"Papa was a little chunky man. He'd steal flour and hogs. He could tote
a hog on his back. My papa went on off when freedom come. They was so
happy they had no sense. Mama never seen him no more. I didn't neither.
Mama didn't care so much about him. He was her mate give to her. I
didn't worry 'bout him nor nobody then.
"Master Collins did give us plenty to wear and eat too. When I left
there we all worked. Mama married ag'in. We kept on farming. I farmed
all my life.
"I got a boy what works. We own our house and all this place (one-half
acre). I don't get no help from nowhere. Seem like them what works and
tries ought to be the ones to get help and not them what don't never pay
no taxes. Fast generation it is now. But they don't bother me. I got a
good boy. Times is hard. Everything you have to buy is high."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Anna Hall (mulatto)
Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 68
"I don't know nuthin' cept what I heard folks talk 'bout when I was a
child. I was born good while after that war. My folks lived in Scott
County near Jackson, Mississippi when I was little and in slavery times
too. My mother's mistress was Miss Dolly Cruder. She was a widow and run
her own farm. I don't remember her. She give her own children a cotton
patch apiece and give the women hands a patch about and they had to work
it at night. If the moon didn't give light somebody had to hold a literd
(lantern) not fur from 'em so they could see to hoe and work it out. I
think she had more land then hands, what they made was to be about a
bale around for extra money. It took all the day time working in the big
field for Miss Dolly. I heard 'em say how tired they would be and then
go work out their own patches 'fore they go to bed. I don't remember how
they said the white girls got their cotton patches worked. And that is
about all I remembers good 'nough to tell you.
"They didn't expect nothing but freedom out the war. The first my mother
heard she was working doing something and somebody say, 'What you
working fur don't you know you done free?' That the first she knowed she
was free. They just passed the word round; that's how they heard it and
the soldiers started coming in to their families. Some of them come back
by themselves and some come riding several of them together.
"I know they didn't give my mother nothing after the war. She washed and
ironed 'bout all her life.
"The young generation is doing better than we old folks is. If there is
any work to get they gets it in preference to us. Education is helping
some of 'em here in Brinkley. Some of the young ones gets good money.
They teaches and cooks. Times is hard for some.
"I live wid my son. Yes he own his house. I gets $8 from the relief. We
has 'bout 'nough to live on and dat is all."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Ellie Hamilton (male)
Clarendon, Arkansas
Age:
"I was born about near Holly Springs, Mississippi. My parents' masters'
name William and Mary Ellen Jefferies. I don't know much 'bout them. My
parents' name Neely and Amos Hamilton. I judge that was pa's master's
name. They had eight children. Three of us living yet.
"I been farmin' and workin' 'round Clarendon ever since I was a chap. I
work 'round hotels and stores and farm too.
"I votes when we have a leader for our party. It don't do no good. I
never seed no good come outen the colored race votin' yet.
"Some ways times is much better, much better! Some ways they is worser.
The people is educated better'n I had a chance at.
"Work wages is a heap better. I has worked for $7 a month. Now some can
get $18 to $20 a week. But the young generation throwin' it away. They
ain't going to save a bit of it. The present condition is worse morally.
They used to could depend on a man. You can't hardly depend on the
younger generation. They is so tricky. Folks going too much. I recollect
when I was a child I went to town one or two times a year. I didn't want
all I seen there then neither. Seems lack folks spends so much money
foolishly.
"I own a home, no cow, no hog, no land. Get $10 a month from the PWA.
[HW: [WPA?]]
"I come to Arkansas to farm. It is a fine farmin' country, Miss. My
father died and left my mother wid seven children to raise. She come on
out here to make a livin'.
"I remember when Tilden and Hendrick lost and Hayes and Wheeler was
elected. They sung songs 'bout 'em and said 'Carve that possum nigger to
the heart.' It done been so long since we sung them rally songs I forgot
every line of all of them. People used to sing more religious songs
seems like than they do now. They done gone wild over dancin' 'stead of
singin'.
"I farmed for J. P. Cherry at Holly Springs from time I was eight year
old till I was twenty-one year old. That's a long time to stay by one
man ain't it?"
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Josephine Hamilton
Hazen, Arkansas
Age: 77
"I was born near Houston, Mississippi, in 1860. We lived about three
miles north when I can first recollect. My mistress was named Frankie
Hill and my master was Littleton Hill. I had some sisters and brothers
dead but I had four brothers and one sister that got up grown. The first
house I remembers living in was a plank house. Then we lived in a log
house wid a stick-and-dirt chimney. I was wid my old master when he died
of heart trouble. She lack to died too. We setting by de fire one night
and he held the lamp on one knee and reading out loud. It was a little
brass lamp with a handle to hook your finger in. He was a Baptist. He
had two fine horses, a big gray one and a bay horse. Joe drove him to
preaching. Miss Frankie didn't go. He said his haid hurt when dey went
to eat dinner and he slept all the evening. He et supper and was
reading. I was looking at him. He laid his haid back and started
snoring. He had long white hair. I say 'Miss Frankie, he is dieing.'
Cause he turned so pale. He was setting in a high back straight chair.
We got him on the bed. He could walk when we held him up. His brother
was a curious old man. He et morphine a whole heap. He lived by himself.
I run fast as my legs would take me. Soon as I told him he blowed a long
horn. They said it was a trumpet. You never seen such a crowd as come
toreckly. The hands come and the neighbors too. It being dot time er
night they knowed something was wrong. He slept awhile but he died that
night. I stayed up there wid Miss Frankie nearly all de time. It was a
mile from our cabin across the field. Joe stayed there some. He fed and
curried the horses. Nom I don't remember no slave uprisings. They had
overseers on every farm and a paddyroll. I learned to sew looking at the
white folks and my ma showed me about cutting. There wasn't much fit
about them. They were all tollerably loose. We played hiding behind the
trees a heap and played in the moonlight. We played tag. We picked up
scaley barks, chestnuts, and walnuts. Miss Frankie parched big pans of
goobers when it was cold or raining. Some of the white folks was mean.
Once young mistress was sick. She had malaria fever. I was sitting down
in the other room. Young master was lying on de bed in the same room. A
woman what was waiting on her brought the baby in to put a cloth on him.
He was bout two months old, little red-headed baby. He was kicking and I
got tickled at him. Young master slapped me. The blood from my nose
spouted out and I was jess def for a long time. He beat me around till
Miss Polly come in there and said 'You quit beating that little colored
girl. You oughter be ashamed. Your wife in there nearly dead.' 'Yes
maam, she did die.' I never will forgit Miss Polly. I saved one of the
young mistress little girl bout seven or eight years old. Miss Frankie
raised a little deer up grown. It would run at anybody. Didn't belong at
the house. It got so it would run me. It started at the little girl and
I pulled her in on the porch backwards and in a long hall. Her mama show
was proud. Said the deer would paw her to death.
"I remembers everybody shouting and so glad they was free. It was a
joyful time. If they paid my folks for work I didn't know it. We stayed
on with Miss Frankie till I was grown and her son Billy Hill took her to
Houston, Texas to live. Miss Sallie and Miss Fannie had been married a
long time. We always had a house to live in and something to eat.
"I show never did vote. I would not know nothing about it. I think the
folks is getting wiser and weaker. Some of us don't have much as we need
and them that do have wastes it. I always lived on the farm till eight
years ago when my husband died. I wasn't able to farm by myself. I
didn't have no children. I come to Hazen to live wid dese here girls I
raised. (Two girls.) They show is good to me. No maam I ain't never got
no old age pension. They won't give it to me. We come to Arkansas in
1918. We lived down around Holly Grove. We had kin folks wrote about out
here and we wanted to change. Long as I was able I had a good living but
since I been so feeble I have to make out wid what the children bring
me. I don't know if de times is getting any better, don't seem lack the
people training their children a tall. They say they kaint do nothing
wid em. I allus could do something wid dem I raised. I used to look at
them and they minded me. The trouble is they ain't learning to work and
won't do nothing less they going to get big pay. Then they run spend it
fast as they can go for fool-bait."