*Interview with Mingo White*
--_Levi D. Shelby, Jr., Tuscumbia, Alabama_
_JEFF DAVIS USED TO CAMOUFLAGE HIS HORSE_
Mingo White lives at Burleson in Franklin County, Alabama, and though he
doesn't know his age he remembers that he was a big boy when the War
between the States began. His reminiscences of slavery days, when he was
a field hand, are an incongruous combination of stories of severe
cruelty and free Saturday afternoons, Sunday holidays and happy
festivals of cornshucking and community cotton picking. He talks of
punishments visited on recalcitrant slaves beyond human endurance and of
tasks saddled on one person that would take half a dozen to accomplish.
Mingled with these perhaps fogged memories of the nonagenarian are
interesting sidelights of "drivers," paterollers," Ku Kluxers and
share-cropping in reconstruction days.
"I was born in Chester, South Carolina, but I was mos'ly raised in
Alabama," Mingo said. "When I was 'bout fo' or five years old, I was
loaded in a wagon wid a lot mo' people in 'hit. Whar I was boun' I don't
know. Whatever become of my mammy an' pappy I don' know for a long time.
"I was tol' there was a lot of slave speculators in Chester to buy some
slaves for some folks in Alabama. I 'members dat I was took up on a
stan' an' a lot of people come 'roun' an' felt my arms an' legs an'
chist, an' ast me a lot of questions. Befo' we slaves was took to de
tradin' post Ol' Marsa Crawford tol' us to tell eve'ybody what ast us if
we'd ever been sick to tell 'em dat us'd never been sick in our life. Us
had to tell 'em all sorts of lies for our Marsa or else take a beatin'.
"I was jes' a li'l thang; tooked away from my mammy an' pappy, jes' when
I needed 'em mos'. The only caren' that I had or ever knowed anything
'bout was give to me by a frein' of my pappy. His name was John White.
My pappy tol' him to take care of me for him. John was a fiddler an'
many a night I woke up to find myse'f 'sleep 'twix' his legs whilst he
was playin' for a dance for de white folks. My pappy an' mammy was sold
from each yuther too, de same time as I was sold. I use' to wonder if I
had any brothers or sisters, as I had always wanted some. A few years
later I foun' out I didn't have none.
"I'll never forgit de trip from Chester to Burleson. I wouldn't 'member
so well I don't guess, 'cepin' I had a big ol' sheep dog name Trailer.
He followed right in back of de wagon dat I was in. Us had to cross a
wide stream what I tuk to be a ribber. When we started 'crost, ol'
Trailer never stop followin'. I was watchin' him clost so if he gived
out I was goin' to try to git him. He didn't giv' out, he didn't even
hab to swim. He jes' walked 'long an' lapped de water lack a dog will.
"John took me an' kep' me in de cabin wid him. De cabin didn' hab no
furniture in hit lack we has now 'days. De bed was a one-legged, hit was
made in de corner of de room, wid de leg settin' out in de middle of de
flo'. A plank was runned 'twix' de logs of de cabin an' nailed to de
post on de front of de bed. Across de foot an' udder plank was runned
into de logs an' nail' to de leg. Den some straw or cornshucks was piled
on for a mattress. Us used anythang what we could git for kivver. De
table had two legs, de legs set out to de front whilst de back part was
nail' to de wall. Us didn't hab no stove. Thar was a great big fireplace
whar de cookin' was done. Us didn't hab to cook, though, lessen us got
hungry after supper been served at de house.
"I warn't nothin' but a chile endurin' slavery, but I had to wuk de same
as any man. I went to de fiel' and hosed cotton, pulled fodder and
picked cotton wid de res' of de han's. I kep' up too, to keep from
gittin' any lashes dat night when us got home. In de winter I went to de
woods wid de men folks to ho'p git wood or to git sap from de trees to
make turpentine an' tar. Iffen us didn't do dat we made charcoal to run
de blacksmif shop wid.
"De white folks was hard on us. Dey would whup us 'bout de leas' li'l
thang. Hit wouldn't a been so bad iffen us had a had comforts, but to
live lack us did was 'nouf to make anybody soon as be dead. De white
folks tol' us dat us born to work for 'em an' dat us was doin' fine at
dat.
"De nex' time dat I saw my mammy I was a great big boy. Dere was a 'oman
on de place what ever'body called mammy, Selina White. One day mammy
called me an' said, Mingo, your mammy is comin'.' I said, 'I thought dat
you was my mammy.' She said 'No I ain't your mammy, yer mammy is 'way
way from here. I couldn't believe dat I had anudder mammy and I never
thought 'bout hit any mo'. One day I was settin' down at de barn when a
wagon come up de lane. I stood 'roun' lack a chile will. When de wagon
got to de house, my mammy got out an' broke and run to me an' th'owed
her arms 'roun' my neck an' hug an' kiss me. I never even put my arms
'roun' her or nothin' of de sort. I jes' stood dar lookin' at her. She
said, 'Son ain't you glad to see your mammy?' I looked at her an' walked
off. Mammy Selina call me an' tol' me dat I had hurt my mammy's
feelin's, and dat dis 'oman was my mammy. I went off an' studied and I
begins to 'member thangs. I went to Selina an' ast her how long it been
sence I seen my mammy. She tol' me dat I had been 'way from her sence I
was jes' a li'l chile. I went to my mammy an' tol' her dat I was sorry I
done what I did an' dat I would lack fer her to fergit an' forgive me
for de way I act when I fust saw her. After I had talked wid my real
mammy, she told me of how de family had been broke up an' dat she hadn't
seed my pappy sence he was sold. My mammy never would of seen me no mo'
if de Lawd hadn' a been in de plan. Tom White's daughter married one of
Mr. Crawford's sons. Dey lived in Virginia. Back den it was de custom
for women to come home whenever dey husbands died or quit 'em. Mr.
Crawford's son died an' dat th'owed her to hab to come home. My mammy
had been her maid, so when she got ready to come home she brung my mammy
wid her.
"Hit was hard back in dem days. Ever' mornin' fo' day break you had to
be up an' ready to git to de fiel'. Hit was de same ever' day in de year
'cep' on Sunday, an' den we was gittin' up earlier dan the folks do now
on Monday. De drivers was hard too. Dey could say what ever dey wanted
to an' you couldn't say nothin' for yourse'f. Somehow or yuther us had a
instinct dat we was goin' to be free. In de even't when de day's wuk was
done de slaves would be foun' lock' in dere cabins prayin' for de Lawd
to free dem lack he did de chillun of Is'ael. Iffen dey didn' lock up,
de Marsa or de driver would of heard 'em an' whupped 'em. De slaves had
a way of puttin' a wash pot in de do' of de cabin to keep de soun' in de
house. I 'members once ol' Ned White was caught prayin'. De drivers took
him de nex' day an' carried him to de pegs, what was fo' stakes drove in
de groun'. Ned was made to pull off ever'thang but his pants an' lay on
his stomach 'tween de pegs whilst somebody stropped his legs an' arms to
de pegs. Den dey whupped him 'twell de blood run from him lack he was a
hog. Dey made all of de han's come an' see it, an' dey said us'd git de
same thang if us was cotched. Dey don't 'low a man to whup a horse lack
dey whupped us in dem days.
"After my mammy come whar I was I ho'ped her wid her work. Her tas' was
too hard for any one person. She had to serve as maid to Mr. White's
daughter, cook for all of de han's, spin an' card four cuts of thread a
day an' den wash. Dere was one hundred an' forty-four threads to de cut.
If she didn't git all of dis done she got fifty lashes dat night. Many a
night me an' her would spin an' card so she could git her task de nex'
day. No matter whut she had to do de nex' day she would have to git dem
fo' cuts of thread, even on wash day. Wash day was on Wednesday. My
mammy would have to take de clo's 'bout three quarters of a mile to de
branch whar de washin' was to be done. She didn't have no wash board
lack dey have now 'days. She had a paddle what she beat de clo's wid.
Ever'body knowed when wash day was 'case dey could hear de paddle for
'bout three or four miles. "Pow-pow-pow," dat's how it sound. She had to
iron de clo's de same day dat she washed an' den git dem four cuts of
thread. Lots of times she failed to git 'em an' got de fifty lashes. One
day when Tom White was whuppin' her she said, 'Lay it on Marsa White
'case I'm goin' to tell de Yankees when dey come.' When mammy got
through spinnin' de cloth she had to dye it. She used shumake berries,
indigo, bark from some trees, and dar was some kind of rock (probably
iron ore) what she got red dye from. De clo's wouldn't fade neither.
"De white folks didn't learn us to do nothin' but wuk. Dey said dat us
warn't 'spose' to know how to read an' write. Dar was one feller name
E.C. White what learned to read an' write endurin' slavery. He had to
carry de chillun's books to school fer 'em an' go back atter dem. His
young marsa taught him to read an' write unbeknowance' to his father an'
de res' of de slaves. Us didn' have nowhar to go 'cep' church an' we
didn' git no pleasure outten it 'case we warn't 'lowed to talk from de
time we lef' home 'twell us got back. If us went to church de drivers
went wid us. Us didn't have no church 'cep' de white folks church.
"After ol' Ned got sech a terrible beatin' fer prayin' for freedom he
slipped off an' went to de North to jine de Union Army. After he got in
de army he wrote to Marsa Tom. In his letter he had dose words:
"'I am layin' down, marsa, and gittin' up, marsa;' meaning dat he went
to bed when he felt like it an' got up when he pleased to. He told Tom
White dat iffen he wanted him he was in the army an' dat he could come
after him. After ol' Ned had got to de North, de yuther han's begin to
watch for a chance to slip off. Many a one was cotched an' brung back.
Dey knowed de penalty what dey would have to pay, an' dis cause some of
'em to git desp'rite. Druther dan to take a beatin' dey would choose to
fight hit out 'twell dey was able to git away or die befo' dey would
take de beatin'.
"Lots of times when de patterollers would git after de slaves dey would
have de worse' fight an' sometimes de patterollers would git killed.
After de war I saw Ned, an' he tol' me de night he lef' the patterollers
runned him for fo' days. He say de way he did to keep dem frum ketchin'
him was he went by de woods. De patterollers come in de woods lookin'
for him, so he jes' got a tree on 'em an' den followed. Dey figured dat
he was headin' fer de free states, so dey headed dat way too, and Ned
jes' followed dem for as dey could go. Den he clumb a tree and hid
whilst dey turned 'roun' an' come back. Ned went on widout any trouble
much. De patterollers use ter be bad. Dey would run de folks iffen dey
was caught out after eight o'clock in de night, iffen dey didn' have no
pass from de marsa.
"After de day's wuk was done there warn't anything for de slaves to do
but go to bed. Wednesday night they went to prayer meetin'. We had to be
in de bed by nine o'clock. Ever' night de drivers come 'roun' ter make
sho' dat we was in de bed. I heerd tell of folks goin' to bed an' den
gittin' up an' goin' to yuther plantation. On Sat'day de han's wukked
'twell noon. Dey had de res' of de time to wuk dey gardens. Ever' fambly
had a garden of dere own. On Sat'day nights the slaves could frolic for
a while. Dey would have parties sometimes an' whiskey and home-brew for
de servants. On Sundays we didn't do anything but lay 'roun' an' sleep,
'case we didn' lack to go to church. On Christmas we didn't have to do
no wuk: no more'n feed de stock an' do de li'l wuk 'roun' de house. When
we got through wid dat we had de res' of de day to run 'roun' wharever
we wanted to go. 'Co'se we had to git permission from de marsa.
"De owners of slaves use to giv' cornshuckin' parties, an' invite slaves
from yuther plantations. Dey would have plenty of whiskey an' other
stuff to eat. De slaves would shuck corn an' eat an' drink. Dey use'to
giv' cotton pickin's de same way. All of dis went on at night. Dey had
jack-lights in de cotton patch for us to see by. De lights was made on a
forked stick an' moved from place to place whilst we picked. De corn
shuckin' was done at de barn, an' dey didn' have to have de lights so
dey could move dem frum place to place.
"De only games dat I played when I was young was marbles an' ball. I use
to sing a few songs dat I heard de older folks sing lak:
Cecess ladies thank they mighty grand,
Settin' at de table, coffee pot of rye,
O' ye Rebel union band, have these ladies understan'
We leave our country to meet you, Uncle Sam.
"Dese songs was 'bout de soldiers an' de war. There was one 'bout ol'
General Wise what went:
Ol' General Wise was a mighty man,
And not a wise man either,
It took forty yards of cloth to make a uniform,
To march in de happy land of Canaan.
Chorus:
Ha-ha, ha-ha, de south light is comin',
Charge boys, charge, dis battle we mus' have,
To march us in the happy land of Canaan.
"There was a song 'bout General Roddy too:
Run ol' Roddy through Tuscumbia, through Tuscumbia,
We go marchin' on.
Chorus:
Glory, glory hallelujah, glory, glory hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah as we go marchin' on.
Ol' Roddy's coat was flyin', ol' Roddy's coat flyin' high,
Twell it almost touch de sky, we go marchin' on.
"I was a pretty big boy when de war broke out. I 'member seein' the
Yankees cross Big Bear creek bridge one day. All of de sojars crossed de
bridge but one. He stayed on de yuther side 'twell all de res' had got
'crost, den he got down offen his horse an' took a bottle of somp'in'
an' strowed it all over de bridge. Den he lighted a match to it an'
followed de res'. In a few minutes the Rebel sojars come to de bridge to
cross but it was on fire an' dey had to swim 'crost to de yuther side. I
went home an' tol' my mammy dat de Rebels was chasin' de Union sojars,
an' dat one of de Unions had poured some water on de bridge an' sot it
afire. She laugh' an' say: 'Son, don't you know dat water don't make a
fire? Dat musta been turpentine or oil?' I 'member one day Mr. Tom was
havin' a big barbecue for de Rebel soldiers in our yard. Come a big
roarin' down de military road, an' three men in blue coats rode up to de
gate an' come on in. Jes' as soon as de Rebels saw 'em de all run to de
woods. In 'bout five minutes de yard was full of blue coats. Dey et up
all de grub what de Rebels had been eatin'. Tom White had to run 'way to
keep de Yankees from gittin' him. 'Fo de Yankees come, de white folks
took all dey clo's an' hung 'em in de cabins. Dey tol' de colored folks
to tell de Yankees dat de clo's was dere'n. Dey tol' us to tell 'em how
good dey been to us an' dat we lacked to live wid 'em.
"All day dat we got news dat we was free, Mr. White called us niggers to
the house. He said: 'You are all free, jes' as free as I am. Now go an'
git yerse'f somewhar to stick your heads.' Jes' as soon as he say dat,
my mammy hollered out: 'Dat's 'nough for a yearlin'. She struck out
'crost de fiel' to Mr. Lee Osborn's to git a place for me an' her to
stay. He paid us seventy-five cents a day, fifty cents to her an' two
bits for me. He gave us our dinner along wid de wages. After the crop
was gathered fer that year, me an' my mammy cut an' hauled wood for Mr.
Osborn. Us lef' Mr. Osborn dat fall an' went to Mr. John Rawlins. Us
made a share crop wid him. Us'd pick two rows of cotton an' he'd pick
two rows. Us'd pull two rows of corn an' he'd pull two rows. He
furnished us wid rations an' a place to stay. Us'd sell our cotton an'
open corn an' pay Mr. John Rawlins for feedin' us. Den we moved wid Mr.
Hugh Nelson an' made a share crop wid him. We kep' movin' an' makin'
share crops 'twell us saved up 'nough money to rent us a place an' make
a crop fer ourse'ves. Us did right well at dis until de Ku Klux got so
bad, us had to move back wid Mr. Nelson for protection. De mens that
took us in was union men. Dey lived here in the south but dey tooken us
part in de slave business. De Ku Klux threat to whup Mr. Nelson 'case he
took up fer de niggers. Heap uv nights we would hear of the Ku Klux
comin' an' leave home. Sometimes us was scared not to go an' scared to
go 'way from home.
"One day I borrowed a gun frum Ed Davis to go squ'el huntin'. When I
taken de gun back I didn't unload hit lack I allus been doin'. Dat night
de Ku Klux called on Ed to whup him. When dey tol' him to open de do',
he heard one of 'em say, 'Shoot him time he gits de do' open. 'Well, he
says to 'em,' wait 'twell I kin light de lamp.' Den he got de gun what I
had lef' loaded, got down on his knees an' stuck hit th'ough a log an'
pull de trigger. He hit Newt Dobbs in de stomach an' kilt him. He
couldn't stay 'roun' Burleson any mo', so he come to Mr. Nelson an' got
'nough money to git to Pine Bluff, Arkansas. The Ku Klux got bad sho'
'nough den and went to killin' niggers an' white folks, too.
"I ma'ied Kizi Drumgoole. Reverend W.C. Northcross perform' de ceremony.
Dere warn't nobody dere but de witness an' me an' Kizi. I had three
sons, but all of 'em is dead 'cepin' one an' dat's Hugh. He get seven
chilluns. He wuks on de relief.
"Abe Lincoln was as nobler man as ever walked. Jeff Davis was as smart
man as you ever wan' to see. Endurin' de war he sheared his horse in
sich a way dat he looked lack he was goin' one way when he'd gwine de de
yuther. Booker T. Washington did one of de greates' things when he fix
it for nigger boys an' girls to learn how to git on in de worl'.
"Slavery wouldn't a been so bad, but folks made it so by selling us for
high prices, an' of co'se folks had to try to git dey money's worth out
of 'em. The chillun of Is'ael was in bondage one time an' God sent Moses
to 'liver 'em. Well I 'spose dat God sent Abe Lincoln to 'liver us."