"I ain't able to do much of anything now. I used to make a good living
as a dressmaker. I can't sew now because of my eyes. I used to make many
a dollar before my eyes got to failing me. Make pants, dresses,
anything. When you get old, you fail in what you been doing. I don't get
anything from the government. They don't give me any kind of help."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: John Peterson, 1810 Eureka Street,
Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 80
"I was small but I can remember some 'bout slavery days. I was born down
here in Louisiana.
"I seed dem Yankees come through. Dey stopped dere and broke up all de
bee gums. Just tore 'em up. And took what dey could eat and went on. Dey
was doin' all dey _could_ do. No tellin' what dey _didn't_ do. People
what owned de place just run off and left. Yankees come dere in de
night. I 'member dat. Had ever'thing excited, so my white folks just
skipped out. Oh, yes, dey come back after the Yankees had gwine on.
"You could hear dem guns shootin' around. I heered my mother and father
say de Yankees was fightin' to free slavery.
"Run off? Oh Lawd, yes ma'am, I heered 'em say dey was plenty of 'em run
off.
"George Swapsy was our owner. I know one thing, dey beat me enough. Had
me watchin' de garden to keep de chickens out. And sometimes I'd git to
playin' and fergit and de chickens would git in de garden, and I'd pay
for it too. I can 'member dat. Yes'm, dat was before freedom. Dey was
whippin' all de colored people--and me too.
"Yes'm, dey give us plenty to eat, but dey didn't give us no clothes. I
was naked half my time. Dat was when I was a little fellow.
"We all belonged to de same man. Dey never did 'part us. But my mother
was sold away from her people--and my father, too. He come from
Virginia.
"No ma'am, dey didn't have a big plantation--just a little place cleared
up in the woods.
"He didn't have no wife--just two grown sons and dey bof went to the
war.
"Mars George died 'fore peace declared. He was a old fellow--and mean as
he could be.
"I never went to school till I was sixteen or seventeen years old. Dere
was a colored fellow had a little learnin' and we hired him two nights
in de week for three dollars a month. Did it for three years. I can read
a little and write my own name and sort of 'tend to my own business.
"Yes'm, I used to vote after I got grown. Yes'm, I did vote Republican.
But de white people stopped us from votin'. Dat was when Seymour and
Blair was runnin', and I ain't voted none since--I just quit. I've known
white people to go to the polls wif der guns and keep de colored folks
from votin'.
"Oh, dey was plenty of Ku Klux. I've known 'em to ketch people and whip
'em and kill 'em. Dey didn't bother me--I didn't give 'em a chance. Ku
Klux--I sure 'member dem.
"Younger generation? Well, Miss, you're a little too hard for me. Hard
to tell what'll become of 'em. I know one thing--dey is wiser. Oh, my
Lawd! A chile a year old know more'n I did when I was ten. We didn't
have no chance. Didn't have nobody to learn us nothin'. People is just
gittin' wuss ever' day. Killin' 'em up ever' day. Wuss now than dey was
ten years ago."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Louise Pettis, Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 59
"My mama was born at Aiken, South Carolina. She was Frances Rotan. I was
born at Elba, South Carolina, forty miles below Augusta, Georgia. My
papa was born at Macon, Georgia. Both my parents was slaves. He farmed
and was a Baptist preacher. Mama was a cook.
"Mama was owned by some of the Willis. There was three; Mike, Bill, and
Logie Willis, all brothers, and she lived with them all but who owned
her I don't know. She never was sold. Papa wasn't either. Mama lived at
Aiken till papa married her. She belong to some of the Willis. They
married after freedom. She had three husbands and fifteen children.
"Mama had a soldier husband. He took her to James Island. She runned off
from him. Got back across the sea to Charleston to Aunt Anette's. She
was mama's sister. Mama sent back to Aiken and they got her back to her
folks. Aunt Anette had been sold to folks at Charleston.
"Grandma was Rachel Willis. She suckled some of the Willis children.
Mama suckled me and Mike Willis together. His mama got sick and my mama
took him and raised him. She got well but their names have left me. When
we got sick the Willis women would send a hamper basket full of
provisions, some cooked and some to be cooked. I used to sweep their
yards. They was white sand and not a sprig of grass nor a weed in there.
"Mama and papa was both slavery niggers and they spoke mighty well of
their owners.
"Papa said in slavery times about two nights in a week they would have a
dance. He would slip off and go. Sometimes he would get a pass. He was a
figger caller till he 'fessed religion. One time the pattyrollers come
in. They said, 'All got passes tonight.' When they had about danced down
my daddy got a shovelful of live coals and run about scattering it on
the floor. All the niggers run out and he was gone too. It was a dark
night. A crowd went up the road and here come the pattyrollers. One run
into grapevines across the road and tumbled off his horse. The niggers
took to the woods then. Pa tole us about how he studied up a way to get
himself and several others outer showing their passes that night. Master
never found that out on him.
"During the War they sent a lot of the meat to feed the soldiers on and
kept the skins and sides. They tole them if the Yankees ask them if they
had enough to eat say, 'See how greasy and slick I is.' They greased
their legs and arms to make them shine and look fat. The dust made the
chaps look rusty.
"Papa saved his young mistress' life. His master was gone to war. He had
promised with others to take care of her. The Yankees come and didn't
find meat. It was buried. They couldn't find much. They got mad and
burned the house. Pa was a boy. He run up there and begged folks not to
burn the house; they promised to take care of everything. Papa begged to
let him get his mistress and three-day-old baby. They cursed him but he
run in and got her and the baby. The house fell in before they got out
of the yard. He took her to the quarters. Papa was overstrained carrying
a log and limped as long as he lived.
"Pa was hired out and they was goner whoop him and he run off and got
back to the master. Ma nor pa was never sold.
"We had a reason to come out here to Arkansas. A woman had a white
husband and a black one too. The black husband told the white husband
not come about there no more. He come on. The black man killed the white
man at his door. They lynched six or seven niggers. They sure did kill
him. That dissatisfied all the niggers. That took place in Barnwell
County, South Carolina. Three train loads of us left. There was fifteen
in our family. We was doing well. My pa had cattle and money. They
stopped the train befo' and behind us--the train we was on. Put the
Arkansas white man in Augusta jail. They stopped us all there. We got to
come on. We was headed for Pine Bluff. We got down there 'bout Altheimer
and they was living in tents. Pa said he wasn't goiner tent, he didn't
run away from South Carolina and he'd go straight back. Mr. Aydelott got
eight families on track at Rob Roy to come to Biscoe. We got a house
here. Pa was old and they would listen at what he said. He made a speech
at Rob Roy and told them let's come to Biscoe. Eleven families come. He
had two hundred or three hundred dollars then in his pocket to rattle.
He could get more. He grieved for South Carolina, so he went back and
took us but ma wanted to coma back. They stayed back there a year or
two. We made a crop. Pa was the oldest boss in his crowd. We all come
back. There was more room out here and so many of us.
"The schools was better out there. I went to Miss Scofield's College.
All the teachers but three was colored. There was eight or ten colored
teachers. It was at Aiken, South Carolina. Miss Criley was our sewing
mistress. Miss Criley was white and Miss Scofield was too. I didn't have
to pay. Rich folks in the North run the school. No white children went
there. I think the teachers was sent there.
"I taught school out here at Blackton and Moro and in Prairie County
about. I got tired of it. I married and settled down.
"We owns my home here. My husband was a railroad man. We lives by the
hardest.
"I don't know what becoming of the young generation. They shuns the
field work. Times is faster than I ever seen them. I liked the way times
was before that last war (World War). Reckon when will they get back
like that?"
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Henry C. Pettus, Marianna, Arkansas
Age: 80
"I was born in Wilkes County, near Washington, Georgia. My mother's
owners was Dr. Palmer and Sarah Palmer. They had three boys; Steve,
George, and Johnie. They lived in Washington and the farm I lived on was
five miles southeast of town. It was fifty miles from Augusta, Georgia.
He had another farm on the Augusta Road. He had a white man overseer.
His name was Tom Newsom and his nephew, Jimmie Newsom, helped. He was
pretty smooth most of the time. He got rough sometimes. Tom's wife was
named Susie Newsom.
"Dick Gilbert had a place over back of ours. They sent things to the
still at Dick Gilbert's. Sent peaches and apples and surplus corn. The
still was across the hill from Dr. Palmer's farm. He didn't seem to
drink much but the boys did. All three did. Dr. Palmer died in 1861.
People kept brandy and whiskey in a closet and some had fancy bottles
they kept, one brandy, one whiskey, on their mantel. Some owners passed
drinks around like on Sunday morning. Dr. Palmer didn't do that but it
was done on some places before the Civil War. It wasn't against the law
to make spirits for their own use. That is the way it was made. Meal and
flour was made the same way then.
"Mother lived in Dr. Palmer's office in Warren County. It was a very
nice log house and had a fence to make the front on the road and the
back enclosed like. Inside the fence was a tanyard and house at some
distance and a very nice log house where Mr. Hudson lived. Dr. Palmer
and Mr. Hudson had that place together. The shoemaker lived in
Washington in Dr. Palmer's back yard. He had his office and home all in
the same. Mr. Anthony made all the shoes for Dr. Palmer's slaves and for
white folks in town. He made fine nice shoes. He was considered a high
class shoemaker.
"Mother was a field hand. She wasn't real black. My father never did do
much. He was a sort of a foreman. He rode around. He was lighter than I
am. He was old man Pettus' son. Old man Pettus had a great big
farm--land! land! land! Wiley and Milton Roberts had farms between Dr.
Palmer and old man Pettus' farm. Mother originally belong to old man
Pettus. He give Miss Sarah Palmer her place on the Augusta Road and his
son the place on which his own home was. They was his white children. He
had two. Mother was hired by her young mistress, Dr. Palmer's wife, Miss
Sarah. Father rode around, upheld by the old man Pettus. He never worked
hard. I don't know if old man Pettus raised grandma or not; he never
grandpa. He was a Terral. He died when I was small. Grandpa was a field
hand. He was the only colored man on the place allowed to have a dog. He
was Dr. Palmer's stock man. They raised their own stock; sheep, goats,
cows, hogs, mules, and horses.
"None of us was ever sold that I know of. Mother had three boys and
three girls. One sister died in infancy. One sister was married and
remained in Georgia. Two of my brothers and one sister come to Arkansas.
Mother brought us boys to a new country. Father got shot and died from
the womb. He was a captain in the war. He was shot accidentally. Some of
them was drinking and pranking with the guns. We lived on at Dr.
Palmer's place till 1866. That was our first year in Arkansas. That was
nearly two years. We never was abused. My early life was very favorable.
"The quarters was houses built on each side of the road. Some set off in
the field. They must have had stock law. We had pastures. The houses was
joining the pasture. Mr. Pope had a sawmill on his place. The saw run
perpendicularly up and down. He had a grist mill there too. I like to go
to mill. It was dangerous for young boys. Mr. Pope's farm joined us on
one side. Oxen was used as team for heavy loads. Such a contrast in less
than a century as trucks are in use now. I learned about oxen. They
didn't go fast 'ceptin' when they ran away. They would run at the sight
of water in hot weather. They was dangerous if they saw the river and
had to go down a steep bank, load or no load the way they went. If it
was shallow they would wade but if it was deep they would swim unless
the load was heavy enough to pull them down. Oxen was interesting to me
always.
"Children didn't stay in town like they do now. They was left to think
more for themselves. They hardly ever got to go to town.
"We raised a pet pig. Nearly every year we raised a pet pig. When mother
would be out that pig would get my supper in spite of all I could do.
The pig was nearly as large as I was. I couldn't do anything. We had a
watermelon patch and sometimes sold Dr. Palmer melons. He let us have a
melon patch and a cotton patch our own to work. Mother worked in
moonlight and at odd times. They give that to her extra. We helped her
work it. They give old people potato patches and let the children have
goober rows. Land was plentiful. Dr. Palmer wasn't stingy with his
slaves--very liberal. He was a man willing to live and let live so far
as I can know of him.
"During the Civil War things was quiet like where I was. The soldiers
didn't come through till after the war was over. Then the Union soldiers
took Washington. They come there after the surrender.