*Interview with Mandy McCullough Cosby*
--_Margaret Fowler, Fruithurst, Alabama_
_THEY CALLED US MCCULLOUGH'S FREE NIGGERS_
Mandy McCullough Cosby puffed reflectively at her mellowed corncob pipe
and began her story:
"My Massa, Bryant McCullough, was a Chambers county man. He had so many
slaves I can't tell you de numbah. He didn't know hisself how many he
had. I is now ninety-five years old an' what I remembers mos' is de way
de chillun roll aroun' in de big nurses room." Mandy lives at 1508-Pine
Street, Anniston, Alabama. She was cutting collards for dinner and left
her dishpan and butcher knife to receive her caller.
"Mist' McCullough, he raised niggahs to sell--an' the little black
chillen play aroun' until 'bout sundown, dey is give dey supper. A long
trough out in a cool place in the bak yard is filled wif good, cold
buttermilk an' cornbread crumbed in, an' dey each is give a spoon, an'
dey eats dey fill. Den dey is ready fo' bed. Some of dem jes' fall ovah
on de groun', asleep, and is picked up, and put on dey pallet in de big
chillens room. Dey was old woman called de nurse, look after 'em. Dey
git good care fo' de master expects dey will bring good money.
"Ol' Miss, she don't lak to see dem sold, an' she cry ever' time, she so
tender-hearted. But Mist' McCullough is jes' lak mens is today. He jes'
laugh an' go on.
"But he was good to his black folks. Folks called us 'McCullough's free
niggers.' Wasn't much whippin' went on 'roun' our plantation, but on
some places close to us, they whipped until blood run down. Some places
they even mixed salt an' pepper in water an' bathed 'em with it. The
salt water'd heal, but when the pepper got in there, it burned lak fire,
an' they'd as well get on to work quick, cause they can't be still
nohow.
"One woman, on a plantation not so far from us, was expectin', an' they
tied her up under a hack-a-berry tree, an' whipped her until she died.
Mos' any time at night ef you go 'roun' that tree, you could hear that
baby cry. I 'spect you could hear it yet.
"Everybody said that was murder, an' that something ought to be done
about it, but nothin' ever was.
"Mist' McCullough always give his folks plenty of sumpin' t'eat an' then
he say, 'I's lookin' for plenty uv work.' 'Niggahs fat an' greasy can't
do nothin' but work.
"My mother was a loomer. She didn't do nothin' but weave. We all had
reg'lar stints of spinnin' to do, when we come from the fiel'. We set
down an' eat a good supper, an' ever'night until ten o'clock we spin
cuts of cotton, an' reel the tread, an' nex' day, the rolls is carded
an' packed in a basket to be wove.
"Spinnin' wheels was in every cabin. Dere was so many of us to be tuk
care of, it took lots of spinnin'."