*Interview with Delia Garlic*
--_Margaret Fowler, Fruithurst, Alabama_
_DEM DAYS WAS HELL_
Delia Garlic lives at 43 Stone Street, Montgomery, and insists she is
100 years old. Unlike many of the old Negroes of the South, she has no
good words for slavery days or the old masters, declaring: "Dem days was
hell."
She sat on her front porch and assailed the taking of young children
from mothers and selling them in different parts of the country.
"I was growed up when de war come," she said, "an' I was a mother befo'
it closed. Babies was snatched from dere mother's breas' an' sold to
speculators. Chilluns was separated from sisters an' brothers an' never
saw each other ag'in.
"Course dey cry; you think dey not cry when dey was sold lak cattle? I
could tell you 'bout it all day, but even den you couldn't guess de
awfulness of it.
"It's bad to belong to folks dat own you soul an' body; dat can tie you
up a tree, wid yo' face to de tree an' yo' arms fastened tight aroun'
it; who take a long curlin' whip an' cut de blood ever' lick.
"Folks a mile away could hear dem awful whippings. Dey was a turrible
part of livin'."
Delia said she was born at Powhatan, Virginia, and was the youngest of
thirteen children.
"I never seed none of my brothers an' sisters 'cept brother William,"
she said. "Him an' my mother an' me was brought in a speculator's drove
to Richmon' an' put in a warehouse wid a drove of other niggers. Den we
was all put on a block an' sol' to de highes' bidder.
"I never seed brother William ag'in. Mammy an' me was sold to a man by
de name of Carter, who was de sheriff of de county.
"No'm, dey warn't no good times at his house. He was a widower an' his
daughter kept house for him. I nursed for her, an' one day I was playin'
wid de baby. It hurt its li'l han' an' commenced to cry, an' she whirl
on me, pick up a hot iron an' run it all down my arm an' han'. It took
off de flesh when she done it.
"Atter awhile, marster married ag'in; but things warn't no better. I
seed his wife blackin' her eyebrows wid smut one day, so I thought I'd
black mine jes' for fun. I rubbed some smut on my eyebrows an' forgot to
rub it off, an' she kotched me. She was powerful mad an' yelled: 'You
black devil, I'll show you how to mock your betters.'
"Den she pick up a stick of stovewood an' flails it ag'in' my head. I
didn't know nothin' more 'till I come to, lyin' on de floor. I heard de
mistus say to one of de girls: 'I thought her thick skull and cap of
wool could take it better than that.'
"I kept on stayin' dere, an' one night de marster come in drunk an' set
at de table wid his head lollin' aroun'. I was waitin' on de table, an'
he look up an' see me. I was skeered, an' dat made him awful mad. He
called an overseer an' tol' him: 'Take her out an' beat some sense in
her.'
"I begin to cry an' run an' run in de night; but finally I run back by
de quarters an' heard mammy callin' me. I went in, an' raght away dey
come for me. A horse was standin' in front of de house, an' I was took
dat very night to Richmon' an' sold to a speculator ag'in. I never seed
my mammy any more.
"I has thought many times through all dese years how mammy looked dat
night. She pressed my han' in bofe of hers an' said: 'Be good an' trus'
in de Lawd.'
"Trustin' was de only hope of de pore black critters in dem days. Us
jest prayed fer strength to endure it to de end. We didn't 'spect
nothin' but to stay in bondage 'till we died.
[Illustration: _Delia Garlic, Montgomery, Alabama_]
"I was sol' by de speculator to a man in McDonough, Ga. I don't
ricollect his name, but he was openin' a big hotel at McDonough an'
bought me to wait on tables. But when de time come aroun' to pay for me,
his hotel done fail. Den de Atlanta man dat bought de hotel bought me,
too. 'Fo' long, dough, I was sol' to a man by de name of Garlic, down in
Louisiana, an' I stayed wid him 'till I was freed. I was a regular fiel'
han', plowin' an' hoein' an' choppin' cotton.
"Us heard talk 'bout de war, but us didn't pay no 'tention. Us never
dreamed dat freedom would ever come."
Delia was asked if the slaves ever had any parties or dances on her
plantation.
"No'm," she replied, "us didn't have no parties; nothin' lak dat. Us
didn't have no clothes for goin' 'roun. I never had a undershirt until
jest befo' my first chil' was borned. I never had nothin' but a shimmy
an' a slip for a dress, an' it was made out'en de cheapes' cloth dat
could be bought; unbleached cloth, coarse, but made to las'.
"Us didn't know nothin' 'cept to work. Us was up by three or four in de
mornin' an' everybody got dey somethin' to eat in de kitchen. Dey didn't
give us no way to cook, nor nothin' to cook in our cabins. Soon as us
dressed us went by de kitchen an' got our piece of cornbread. Dey wasn't
even no salt in dem las' years. Dat piece of cornbread was all us had
for breakfus', an' for supper, us had de same.
"For dinner us had boiled vittles; greens, peas an' sometimes beans.
Coffee? No'm, us never knowed nothin' 'bout coffee.
"One mornin' I 'members I had started to de fiel', an' on de way I los'
my piece of bread. I didn't know what to do. I started back to try to
fin' it, an' it was too dark to see. But I walk back raght slow, an' had
a dog dat walked wid me. He went on ahead, an' atter awhile I come on
him lyin' dere guardin' dat piece of bread. He never touched it, so I
gived him some of it.
"Jus' befo' de war I married a man named Chatfield from another
plantation; but he was took off to war an' I never seed him ag'in. Atter
awhile I married a boy on de plantation named Miles Garlic.
"Yas'm, Massa Garlic had two boys in de war. When dey went off de Massa
an' missis cried, but it made us glad to see dem cry. Dey made us cry so
much.
"When we knowed we was free, everybody wanted to git out. De rule was
dat if you stayed in yo' cabin you could keep it, but if you lef', you
los' it. Miles was workin' at Wetumpka, an' he slipped in an' out so us
could keep on livin' in de cabin.
"My secon' baby soon come, an' raght den I made up my min' to go to
Wetumpka where Miles was workin' for de railroad. I went on down dere
an' us settled down.
"Atter Miles died, I lived dere long as I could an' den come to
Montgomery to live wid my son. I'se eatin' white bread now an' havin' de
best time of my life. But when de Lawd say, 'Delia, well done; come up
higher,' I'll be glad to go."