*Interview with Billy Abraham Longslaughter*
--_F.L. Diard, [HW: Mobile?]_
_HE CANED A CHAIR FOR PRESIDENT BUCHANNAN_
On a bright April afternoon, while strolling along the Louisville and
Nashville banana wharf and watching the crisp breezes from the gulf make
small waves lick at the pilings, I met an old Negro man who was fishing
for croakers off the pier. He had, sitting beside him, a basket
containing wicker canes for making and repairing chairs. In the course
of our conversation, I asked him his age.
"I'se eighty year old, white folks," he replied.
"Well," I said, "you must have been a slave back in the days before the
war."
"Yassuh, boss. I were eight year old when Gen'l Grant freed de niggers."
He spoke the words in a clear, strong voice and with a slight rolling
motion of his gray bristly head.
"But General Grant didn't free the slaves, Uncle," I protested.
"Oh, yassuh he did too, white folks," he said respectfully; fo' I was
right dere when de gen'l come into Richmond and sot us free."
"What about Abraham Lincoln?" I asked.
"Well, I guess he done a part of it, but he didn't do no fightin', kaze
he hadda 'tend to de business in de White House. He lef' de freein' part
to Gen'l Grant. I don' guess Mr. Abe lived long enough ter help us
niggers much. He went to de Ford's Circus and got hisse'f shot."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Billy Abraham Longslaughter. De niggers all calls me Billy, but ole
Massa Longslaughter afore he died called me William."
"Where were you born, Uncle Billy?"
"On ole Massa Longslaughter's plantation near Richmond Virginny."
"Can you read and write?"
"Dey neber teach me no readin' and writin' kaze I had to work in de
fields." His rusty hand rubbed across his woolly head, as my questions
continued with the regularity of a metronome; nevertheless, Uncle Billy
seemed always glad to answer them. I couldn't help but notice with what
ease he moved about. He had the agility of a man twenty years his
Junior, though his face, being caverned with wrinkles, gave him the
appearance of great age.
"Where is your home now, Uncle Billy?" I continued.
"Most any place I goes, white folks. Ma wife, she died 'bout forty year
ago in Virginny, and I been a trabelin' eber since."
"What do you do for a living besides fish?" I asked.
"Oh," he said, "I canes a few chairs," pointing to his basket of
chair-canes beside him on the stringer of the wharf. "You see, white
folks, when all dis repression came on an' dere war'n't no work fo' de
people tuh do, jes lak all de young scallawags I hops me a train and
goes on a trip."
"Where do you go next, Uncle Billy?"
"Well, I guess I mought run ober to New Orleens if I can catch me a
freight train a goin' dat away."
"About your fixing chairs," I said. "Have you ever repaired any for well
known people?"
"Lor', white folks, I caned a chair oncet fo' President Buchanan and he
used it ter sit on in de White House. I'se made many a chair fo' famous
people as I trabeled about. I guess I jus' keep on a goin' as long as
I'se able, and when I goes on dat last trip across de quiet riber, I'se
goin' ter make one for ole Gabriel, so's he can res' hisself in between
times he blows on dat hawn."