*Interview with Theodore Fontaine Stewart*
--_Gertha Couric, [HW: Eufaula]_
_US GWINE 'ER WALK DEM GOLD STREETS_
"De years are mighty long widout Lottie, Massa. She done gone on to de
promise; but I knows she wid Jesus. And us gwine 'er walk dem golden
streets together holdin' hands."
Uncle Theodore Fontaine Stewart lives alone in a weather-beaten,
one-room Eufaula shanty. It is clean and surrounded by flowers. In the
rear is a small garden; and there you will find Uncle Stewart when the
dawn is fresh or the dusk is coolly approaching.
"Lottie been gone away nigh onto twenty-two year now, Massa. Her was a
good woman; one of de best de Lord ever sont to de earth."
He paused to think when the interviewer asked his age.
"It hard fer me to tell 'bout dat," he said, "but I knows I'se well past
de ninety mark. I guess I'se gwine on a hundred, caze I was borned 'fore
de war an' was a right peart boy at de surrender."
"What about slavery times, Uncle Stewart?"
He mused a moment, his black fingers gently caressing the buttons on his
rust-colored old vest.
"I 'members all 'bout dem times," he said, "an' de Lord know dey was
better times den we got now, for white or black. Nobody was hongry den,
Massa, and peoples didn't git in de devilment dey gits in now. Folks
went to de church an' 'haved demselves in dose days.
"Who was my Ol' Marster?" He looked at the interviewer a moment,
answered proudly, "Why, he was de riches' man in Georgy. I knows you has
heard of Marse Theodore Fontaine. He had three big plantations and mo'
niggers dan he could count. He moved clost to Florence, an' his three
places was so big you couldn't see 'crost de littlest field.
"Ol' Marster he lib in a big house, bigger dan any meetin'-house in
Eufaula. He had a gang of fine horses, an' when company was dar he had
horse races on his own track. His horses could beat all de horses
brought dar, an' dat's de direc' trufe."
Uncle Stewart filled a blackened old corncob pipe with tobacco,
continued:
"Ol' Marster, he didn't go to de war. He too ol' to go, so he stay home
an' make corn an' fodder an' oats an' sen' dem to de soldiers what
killin' Yankees. One day de Yankees come along an' burnt up everything
on de place, 'cept de nigger cabins. Dey took all de horses and
everything us had to eat.
"Ol' Marster went off somewhar when dey come; I don't 'member where; an'
when he come back he had to live in one of de nigger cabins 'twel he
could build a house. But de new one wasn't big lak de old one.
"My pappy was a fiel' han' 'twel one time Ol' Marster put him on a horse
to ride in a race, an' pappy beat de other horse so far Ol' Marster was
tickled pink. He said a nigger what could ride lak dat had no bizness in
de fiel', so he made a stable boy outen pappy.
[Illustration: _Theodore Fontaine Stewart, Eufaula, Alabama_]
"Ol' Marster didn't have no Ol' Mistus. He say he so big all de little
ladies look funny 'side of him. When company was dar his sisters, Mistus
Mary an' Mistus Lucy, come an' kep' house; but dey lef' when de company
did.
"My pappy was name Ed Stewart, caze Ol' Marster buy him from a Stewart.
Atter de war dey call pappy's chilluns Stewart; but us is Fontaines by
right, bet yo' life on dat.
"Ol' Marster was good to de niggers, but his overseers was mean. Ol'
Marster fired dem atter awhile an' got some good overseers. He didn't
'low dem to whip a nigger 'cept when he say, an' he didn't say so much.
"My mammy was name' Sarah, an' her an' pappy stayed right wid Ol'
Marster when de surrender come. Dey was right in de room when Ol'
Marster died, an' dey cried something awful. Us all stayed dar 'twel
pappy an' mammy die; den us chilluns split up an' went everywhere.
"Mammy an' pappy had ten head o' chilluns sides me, but I don' know whar
dey at now. Mammy raise all her chilluns right, an', long as I knowed
dem, none of dem ever got in a jailhouse.
"Mammy didn't 'low her chilluns to steal. Her was Ol' Marster's house
cook, an' when she kotch any of us takin' things from de kitchen, she
sho' did tan us hides wid a brush.
"Me an' Carlotta; us calls her Lottie; was married in de ol' Mount Maria
church, whar all de niggers went to meetin' every Sunday. Us had fo'
chillun, two gals an' two boys; but dey all dead now 'cept de las' boy,
an I ain't heard frum him since 'fore his mammy died.
"Yes, Massa, her was a good woman. It won't be long now 'fore us will
walk dem golden streets han' in han'."