*Interview with George Young*
--_Ruby Pickens Tartt, Livingston, Alabama_
_PETER HAD NO KEYS 'CEPIN' HIS'N_
"De Lawd wouldn' trusted Peter wid no keys to Heaven," in the opinion of
George Young, of Livingston, Alabama, born into slavery ninety-one years
ago. George knew the rigors of slavery under an absentee landlord and
brutal overseers, according to the story he tells.
"I was born on what was knowed as de Chapman Place, five miles nor'wes'
of Livingston, on August 10th, 1846," George began his tale. My name was
George Chapman an' I had five brothers, Anderson, Harrison, William,
Henry an' Sam, an' three Sisters, Phoebe, Frances and Amelia. My
mother's name was Mary Ann Chapman an' my father's name was Sam Young,
but he b'longed to Mr. Chapman. Us all belonged to Governor Reuben
Chapman of Alabama.
"The overseer's name was Mr. John Smith, an' anudder's name was Mr.
Lawler. He was dere de year I was born, an' dey called hit "Lawler
year." Bofe of 'em was mean, but Lawler, I hear tell, was de meanes'.
Dey had over three hund'ed slaves, caze dey had three plantations, one
at Bodke, one in Huntsville and dis yere one. I can't say Marsa Chapman
wasn't good to us, caze he was all de time in Huntsville an' jes' come
now an' den an' bring his family to see 'bouten' things. But de
overseers was sho' mean.
"I seed slaves plenty times wid iron ban's 'roun' dey ankles an' a hole
in de ban' an' a iron rod fasten to hit what went up de outside of dey
leg to de wais' an' fasten to another iron ban' 'roun' de waist. Dis
yere was to keep 'em from bendin' dey legs an' runnin' away. Dey call
hit puttin' de stiff knee on you, an' hit sho' made 'em stiff! Sometimes
hit made 'em sick, too, caze dey had dem iron ban's so tight roun' de
ankles, dat when dey tuck 'em off live things was under 'em, an' dat's
whut give 'em fever, dey say. Us had to go out in de woods an' git
May-apple root an' mullen weed an' all sich to bile for to cyore de
fever. Miss, whar was de Lord in dem days? Whut was He doin'?
"But some of 'em runned away, anyhow. My brother Harrison was one, an'
dey sot de "nigger dogs" on him lack fox houn's run a fox today. Dey
didn't run him down till 'bout night but finely dey cotched him, an' de
hunters feched him to de do' an' say: "Mary Ann, here' Harrison." Den
dey turned de dogs loose on him ag'in, an' sich a screamin' you never
hyared. He was all bloody an' Mammy was a-hollerin', 'Save him, Lord,
save my chile, an' don' let dem dogs eat him up.' Mr. Lawler said, 'De
Lord ain't got nothin' do wid dis here, an' hit sho' look lack He
didn't, 'caze dem dogs nigh 'bout chewed Harrison up. Dem was hard
times, sho'.
"Dey didn't l'arn us nothin' an' didn't 'low us to l'arn nothin'. Iffen
dey ketch us l'arnin' to read an' write, dey cut us han' off. Dey didn't
'low us to go to church, neither. Sometimes us slip off an' have a
little prayer meetin' by usse'ves in a ole house wid a dirt flo'. Dey'd
git happy an' shout an' couldn't nobody hyar 'em, 'caze dey didn't make
no fuss on de dirt flo', an' one stan' in de do' an' watch. Some folks
put dey head in de wash pot to pray, an' pray easy, an' somebody be
watchin' for de overseer. Us git whupped fer ev'ything iffen hit was
public knowed.
"Us wasn't 'lowed visit nobody from place to place, an' I seed Jim
Dawson, dis here same Iverson Dawson' daddy; I seed him stobbed out wid
fo' stobs. Dey laid him down on his belly an' stretch his han's out on
bofe sides an' tie one to one stob, an' one to de yuther. Bofe his feet
was stretch out an' tied to dem stobs. Den dey whupped him wid a whole
board whut you kiver a house wid. De darkies had to go dere in de night
an' take him up in a sheet an' carry him home, but he didn't die. He was
'cused of gwine over to de neighbor's plantation at night. Nine o'clock
was de las' hour us had to be closed in. Head man come out an' holler,
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Ev'ybody in an' do's locked." An' iffen you wan't,
you got whupped.
"Wan't nobody 'lowed to co't. Us jes' taken up together an' go ahead,
an' dat thing wan't fixed 'twel atter S'render.
"De Patterolles come frum diffe'nt places, an' de Tank'sleys, de Potts,
de Cock'ells an' de Greg'rys was neighbors. I may of went to dey house
an' dey claim to pertec' me playin' wid dey little nigger chillun, but
iffen de Patterollers ketch me, dey claim dey wan't 'sponsible. One day,
dey tuck out atter me an' I come right here in Livingston, but I was
gwiner run away anyhow, 'caze I had seed ole Uncle Thornton dat mornin'.
See, I was de ca'f nusser an' soon as I lef' de house I met him, an'
here come de overseer, Mr. Smith. He sent atter me an' he said, 'I seed
six niggers in de woods whut run away,' an' asked did I see ole man
Thornton. I said, 'No, I ain't seed nobody.' He said, 'Nev' mine, I make
you tell a better tale'n dat in de mawnin'.' So when I went wid de slop
to dem ca'ves I got to thinkin' 'bout dat whupping so I come right here.
"Mr. Norville had a wood-shop right 'crost de road dere by de white
folks Baptis' church an' I hid in de back of hit dat night. But dey
foun' me an' tuck me back. Den dey stop me from ca'f nussin' an' put me
in de fiel' under de head man. I was glad of dat, 'caze I wanted to be
wid de other han's, but when I foun' out how 'twas, I wanted to be back.
Hit was a harder tas' den when I was nussin' ca'ves an' keepin' 'em from
breakin' in de fiel' an' eatin' up de crop.
"I was a good han' an' obeyed de owners an' de head man an' never had no
'fuse 'bout work. I went one time to Bennet's Station, ten miles b'low
here, wid jes' seven mo' niggers from de Chapman place, an' us driv'
over a thousan' head of cattle to Atlanta, Ga., an' never had no
trouble. I was easy pleased. Give me a piece of candy an' I'd lick hit
'twel my mouf was so'. I reckon hit was all right, but I dunno. All de
nations couldn't rule. Jes' lack hit is now, de stronges' people mus'
rule.
[Illustration: _George Young, Livingston, Alabama_]
"Atter S'render, dey tuck a darky for de probit jedge, but dat nigger
didn't know nothin' an' he couldn't rule. So den dey tuck a white man
name Sanders, an' he done all right. We was under hard task-masters an'
I'm glad dey sot me free, 'caze I was under burden an' boun'. But
ignerrancy can't rule, hit sho' can't. We is darkies, an' white folks
ought to be favorable. Some speaks better words'n others, but ev'ybody
ain't got de same heart, an' dat's all I knows.
"No'm, I dunno nuthin' 'bout no spirits, either, but Christ 'peered to
de 'postles, didn't He, atter he been dead? An' I'se seed folks done
been dead jes' as na'chel in de day as you is now. One day me an' my
wife was pickin' cotton right out yonder on Mr. White's place, an' I
looked up an' seed a man all dressed in black, wid a white shirt bosom,
his hat a-sittin' on one side, ridin' a black hoss.
"I stoop down to pick some cotton, den look up an' he was gone. I said
to my wife--I call her Glover but she go by two names--I said, Glover,
wonder whar dat man went what was ridin' long yonder on dat pacin'
hoss?' She say, 'What pacin' hoss an' what man?' I said, 'He was comin'
down dat bank by dat ditch. Dey ain't no bridge dere, an' no hoss could
jump hit.' Glover said, 'Well, I'm gwine in de house 'caze I don' feel
lack pickin' cotton today.'
"But I ain't skeered of 'em. I gets out de path plenty times to let 'em
by, an' iffen you kin see'em, walk 'roun' 'em. Iffen you can't see 'em,
den dey'll walk 'roun' you. Iffen dey gets too plentiful, I jes' hangs a
hoss shoe upside down over de do', an' don' have no mo' trouble. But
ev'ybody oughter have dat kinder min', to honor God. He 'peered to de
'ciples atter He died, an' he said also, 'Peter, I'll give you de keys
to de kingdom'. But Peter didn't have nobody's keys 'cep'in' his'n.
Don't you know iffen he'd of give Peter all dem keys, dey's a heap of
folks Peter gwineter keep out of dere jes' for spite? God ain't gwineter
do nothin' dat foolish. Peter didn't have nobody's key 'cepin' Peter's!"