and three girls. Their owners fur as I knows was Frank and Polly Burks.
They had a heap of slaves. They was good white folks. My folks stayed on
two or three years. They was both field hands. They had to go to the
house and Master Frank Burks told em they was free. In 1880 Judge Scott
paid their way and I come wid them to Forrest City. There was a crowd.
He bought em out here to farm. We come Christmas 1880. I never will
forgit that. It was jes different in a new country and left some of our
folks an all that.
"I was born close to Columbia, Tennessee. I used to see the soldiers
pass long the big road, both sides. Seem lack theyd be in strings a mile
long. I never heard much bout the war. They wouldn't let white nor black
children set round and hear what they was talkin' bout. Why they send em
off to play--build playhouses outer rocks and hay, leaves, any little
thing they throw way we take it to play house. White children played
together then cause it was a long ways between white folks house, and
colored children raised up wid em. I don't see none that now.
"One thing I done a long time was stay at the toll gate. They had a heap
of em when I was a boy. The fences was rock or rail and big old wooden
gates round and on it marked, "Toll Gate." I'd open and shut the gate.
Walkers go free. Horseback riders--fifteen cents. Buggies--twenty-five
cents. Wagons--fifty cents. The state broke that up and made new roads.
Some they changed a little and used. After that I stand 'bout on roads
through fields--short ways folks went but where the farmers had to keep
closed up on count of the crops. I open and shut the gate. They'd throw
me a nickel. That was first money I made--stayin' at toll gates about
Columbia, Tennessee.
"Ku Klux come to our house and took my papa off wid em. Mama was cryin',
she told us children they was goiner hurt him. I recollect all bout it.
They thought my papa knowed about some man bein' killed. My papa died
wid knots on his neck where they hung him up wid ropes. It hurt him all
his life after that. It made him sick what all they done to him tryin'
to make him tell who killed somebody. He was laid up a long time. I
recollect that. When they found out papa didn't know nothin' bout it,
they said they was sorry they done him so mean.
"I vote a Republican ticket lack my papa till I cluded it not the party,
it is the man that rules right. I voted fur Mr. Roosevelt. I know he is.
(A Democrat) I know'd it when I voted for him. Times is tough but they
was worse 'fo he got elected. Things you buy gets higher and higher that
makes it bad. We got two hogs, one cow, few chickens and a home. I owns
my home for a fact. My wife is 73. I am purty nigh 75 years old. What
make it hard on us, we is bout wore out.
"I been farmin' and carpenterin' all my life. Last years I been farmin'
wid Mr. L.M. Osborne at Osborne. We work forty acres and made 57 bales.
I had a team and he had a team. So I worked it on halves. That was long
time ago. In 1929 I believe. Best farmin' I ever done. We got twenty
cents pound."
Interviewer: Mrs. Annie L. LaCotts
Person interviewed: Adeline Burris, DeWitt, Arkansas
Age; 91
Adeline Burris is a little old white-haired wrinkled-faced mulatto or
yellow Negro woman who says she was old enough to be working in the
fields when the war began. According to her story she must have been
about 14 then, which would make her at least 90 years old now. She looks
as though she might be a hundred. She is stooped and very feeble but can
get around some days by the help of a stout walking stick; at other
times she cannot leave her bed for days at a time. She owns nothing and
is living in the home of her daughter-in-law who is kind to her and
cares for her as best she can. She says she was born in Murry County,
Tennessee. Columbia was the county seat. When asked if she was born
during slavery time she said, "Yes, honey, my mammy was one of de slaves
what belonged to Mr. Billie and Miss Liza Renfroe. Lord bless her heart
she was good to my mammy and her chillun! I had two little brothers,
twins, and when dey come to dis world I can remember how our old
mistress would come every day to see about dem and my mammy. She'd bring
things to eat, clothes for the babies and everything else. Yes sir! My
mother didn't want for _anything_ as long as she stayed with Miss
Liza, not even after de Negroes was _freed_. When I was a little
girl I was give to my young mistress, and I stayed with her till my
folks was coning to Arkansas and I come too."
"Why did your folks move to Arkansas?"
"Well, you see we heard this was a good country and there was a white
man come there to get a lot of niggers to farm for him down on the river
and we come with him. He brought a lot of families on a big boat called
a flatboat. We were days and nights floating down the river. We landed
at St. Charles. I married in about two years and haven't ever lived
anywhere else but Arkansas County and I've always been around good white
folks. I'd been cold and hungry a lot of times if it wasn't for some of
dese blessed white folkes' chillen; dey comes to see me and brings me
things to eat and clothes too, sometimes."
"How many tines did you marry, Aunt Add.?"
"Just one time; and I just had four chillen, twins, two times. One child
died out of each sit--just left me and Becky and Bob. Bob and Dover, his
wife, couldn't get along but I think most of it's his fault, for Dover's
just as good to me as she can be. My own child couldn't be better to me
den she is.
"I don't know, honey, but looks to me like niggers was better off in dem
days den they are now. I know dey was if dey had good white folks like
we did. Dey didn't have to worry about rent, clothes, nor sumpin to eat.
Dat was there for them. All they had to do was work and do right. Course
I guess our master might not of been so good and kind ef we had been
mean and lazy, but you know none of us ever got a whippin' in our life.
"Honey, come back to see Aunt Add. sometime. I likes to talk to you."
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Jennie Butler
3012 Short Main Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: Between 103 and 107
[HW: Nurses ? ? ?][TR: Illegible]
"I was born February 10, 1831 in Richmond, Virginia. I was a nurse
raised by our white folks in the house with the Adamses. Sue Stanley
(white and Indian) was my godmother, or 'nursemother' they called em
then. She was a sister-in-law to Jay Goold's wife. She married an Adams.
I wasn't raised a little nigger child like they is in the South. I was
raised like people. I wasn't no bastard. My father was Henry Crittenden,
an Indian full blooded Creek. He was named after his father, Henry
Crittenden. My mother's name was Louisa Virginia. Her parents were the
Gibsons, same nationality as her husband. My 'nursemother' was a white
woman, but she had English and Indian blood in her. My mother and father
were married to each other just like young people are nowadays. None of
my people were slaves and none of them owned any slaves.
House
"In Richmond, they lived in a little log cabin. Before I had so much
trouble I could tell you all about it, but I never forget that little
log cabin. That is near Oak Grove where Lincoln and Garfield and Nat
Turner met and talked about slavery.
Furniture
"We had oak furniture. We had a tall bed with a looking glass in the
back of it, long bolsters, long pillow cases just like we used to make
long infant dresses. There were four rooms in the cabin. It was in the
city. The kitchen was a little off from the house. You reached it by
going through a little portico.
Food
"We ate bananas, oranges, hazelnuts, apples, fruit for every month in
the year for breakfast, batter cakes, egg bread. The mornings we had egg
bread we had flesh. For dinner and supper we had milk and butter and
some kind of sweetness, and bread, of course. We had a boiled dinner. We
raised everything-even peanuts.
Clothes
"We made everything we wore. Raised and made the cloth and the leather,
and the clothes and the shoes.
Contacts with Slaves and Slave Owners
"I don't know nothin' about slavery. I didn't have nothin' to do with
them folks. We picked em up on our way in our travels and they had been
treated like dogs and hadn't been told they were free. We'd tell em they
was free and let em go.
Leaving Richmond
"All I can tell you is that we come on down and never stopped until we
got to Memphis, and we tarried there twenty-five years. We came through
Louisiana and Georgia on our way out here and picked up many slaves who
didn't know they was free. They was using these little boats when we
came out here. In Louisiana and Georgia when we came out here, they
weren't thinkin' bout telling the niggers they were free. And they
weren't in Clarksville either. We landed in Little Rock and made it our
headquarters.
Occupations
"Christian work has been the banner of my life-labor work, giving
messages about the Bible, teaching. Mostly they kept me riding--I mean
with the doctors. When we were riding, the doctors didn't go in a
mother's room; he sent the rider in. They call em nurses now and handle
them indifferently. The doctor jus' stopped in the parlor and made his
money jus' sitting there and we women did all the work. In 1912, I gave
up my riding license. It was too rough for me in Arkansas. And then they
wouldn't allow me anything either.
"Now I have a poor way of making a living because they have taken away
everything from me. I prays and lives by the Bible. I can't get nothin'
from my husband's endowment. He was an old soldier in the Civil War on
the Confederate side and I used to get $30 a month from Pine Bluff. He
was freed there. Wilson was President at the time I put in for an
increase for him in the days of his sickness. He was down sick thirty
years and only got $30 a month. The pension was increased to $60 for
about one year. He died in 1917, March 10, and was in his ninetieth year
or more from what he told me. The picture shows it too.
Voting
"Paying my taxes was the votin' I ever done. They never could get me to
gee nor haw. There wasn't any use voting when you can see what's on the
future before you. I never had many colored friends. None that voted.
And very few Indians and just a few others. And them that stood by me
all the while, they're sleeping.
Thoughts of Young People
"Don't know nothin' bout these young folks today. Don't nothin' spoil a
duck but his bill. I have had a hard time. I am heavy and I'm jus'
walkin' bout. A little talk with Jesus is all I have. I'll fall on my
knees and I'll walk as Jesus says. My heart's bleeding. I know I'm not
no more welcome than a dog.
"I pays for this little shack and when you come to see me, you might as
well come to that kitchen door. I ain't going to use no deceit with
nobody. I'll show you the hole I have to go in."
Interviewer's Comment
I understand that Sister Butler gets a pension of $5 a month. Although
her voice is vigorous, her mental powers are somewhat weak. She cannot
remember the details of anything at all.
She evidently had heard something about Nat Turner, but it would be hard
to tell what. The Nat Turner Rebellion, so called, a fanatical affair
which was as much opposed by the Negroes as by the whites, took place in
Southampton County, Virginia, in August and September 1831, the same
year in which Jennie Butler claims birth. She would naturally hear
something about it, but she does not remember what.
She had a newspaper clipping undated and minus the reading matter
showing her husband's picture, and another showing herself, February 10,
1938, The Arkansas Democrat.
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: E.L. Byrd
618 N. Cedar, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 76
"I was born in 1862. I just can remember the Yankees. They come through
there and got horses and money and anything else they wanted. To my
reasoning that's the reason the North has got more now. They got all the
money they could find. And they took one fellow belonged to the same man
I did.
"My owner's name was Jack Byrd. We stayed with him about a year and then
we farmed for ourselves.
"I never went to school much.
"My mother was a widow woman and I had to work. That was in South
Carolina.
"I come to Arkansas in 1890. I didn't marry till I was about
thirty-seven. I got one child living. That's my daughter; I live with
her. She's a bookkeeper for Perry's Undertaking Company.
"When I come to Arkansas I stopped down here in Ashley County. I farmed
till I come to Pine Bluff. I been here forty years. I worked at the
stave mills. I just worked for three different firms in forty years.
"I used to own this place, but I had to let it go on account of taxes.
Then my daughter bought it in.
"I been tryin' to get a pension but don't look like I'm go in' to get
it.
"I have to stay here with these children while my daughter works. It
takes all she makes to keep things goin'."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson.
Person interviewed: Emmett Augasta Byrd, Marianna, Arkansas
Age: 83
"I was born in Washington County, Missouri. I'm eighty-three years old.
Mother's owner was William Byrd. He got killed in a dispute over a
horse. A horse trader shot him. His name was Cal Dony.[TR: There is a
mark that may be a line over the 'o' or a tilde over the 'n'.] Father's
owner was Byrd too. Mother was Miss Harriett Byrd's cook. Yes, I knowed
her very well. I was nine years old when I was stole.
"Me and my older brother was both stole. His name was Hugh Byrd. We was
just out. It was in September. A gang out stealing horses stole us. It
was when Price made his last raid to Missouri. It was some of the
soldiers from his gang. We was playing about. They overtook us and let
us ride, then they wouldn't let us git off. They would shot us if we
had. In a few days we was so far off. We cried and worried a heap.
"It was eighteen years before I see my mother. The old snag I was riding
give out and they was leading so they changed me. I cried two or three
days. They didn't pay my crying no 'tention. They had a string of nigger
men and boys, no women, far as from me 'cross to that bank. I judge it
is three hundred yards over there.
"After the battle of Big Blue River my man got killed and another man
had charge of me and somebody else went off with my brother. I never
seen him. That battle was awful, awful, awful! Well, I certainly was
scared to death. They never got out of Missouri with my brother. In 1872
he went to St. Louis to my mother. She was cooking there. My father went
with the Yankees and was at Jefferson Barracks in the army during the
War. He was there when we got stole but she went later on before he
died. He was there three months. He took pneumonia. They brought me in
to Kansas and back by Ft. Smith.
"Talking about hard times, war times is all the hard times I ever seen.
No foolin'! It was really hard times. We had no bread, shoot down a cow
and cut out what we wanted, take it on. We et it raw. Sometimes we would
cook it but we et more raw than cooked. When we got to Ft. Smith we
struck good times. Folks was living on parched corn and sorghum
molasses. They had no mills to grind up the corn. Times was hard they
thought. Further south we come better times got. When we landed at
Arkadelphia we stayed all night and I was sold next day. Mr. Spence was
the hotel keeper. He bought me. He give one hundred fifty dollars and a
fine saddle horse for me. I never heard the trade but that is what I
heard 'em say afterwards. Mr. Spence was a cripple man. John Merrican
left me. He been mean to me. He was rough. Hit me over the head, beat
me. He was mean. He lived down 'bout Warren, down somewhere in the
southern part of the state. I never seen him no more. Mr. Spence was
good to me since I come to think about it but then I didn't think so. We
had plenty plain victuals at the hotel. He meant to be good to me but I
expected too much I reckon. Then it being a public place I heard lots
what was said around. I come to think I ought to be treated good as the
boarders. Now I see it different. Mr. Spence walked on a stick and a
crutch. He couldn't be very cruel to me if he had wanted to. He wasn't
mean a bit. I was the bellboy and swept 'round some and gardened.
"In 1866, in May, I run off. I went to Dallas County across Ouachita
River. I stayed there with Matlocks and Russells and Welches till I was
good and grown. Mr. Spence never tried to find me. I hoped he would.
They wasn't so bad but I had to work harder. They never give me nothing.
I seen Mr. Spence twice after I left but he never seen me. If he did he
never let on. I never seen his wife no more after I left her. I didn't
see him for four years after I left, then in three more years I seen him
but the hotel had burned.
Freedom
"Mr. Spence told me I was free. I didn't leave. I didn't have sense to
know where to go. I didn't know what freedom was. So he went to the free
mens' bureau and had me bound to him till I was twenty-one years old. He
told me what he had done. He was to clothe me, feed me, send me to
school so many months a year, give me a horse and bridle and saddle and
one hundred fifty dollars when I was twenty-one years old. That would
have been eight or nine years. Seemed too long a time to wait. I thought
I could do better than that. I never done half that good. I never went
to school a day in my life. I was sorry I run off after it was too late.
"I heard too much talking at the hotel. They argued a whole heap more
than they do now. They set around and talk about slavery and freedom and
everything else. It made me restless and I run off. I was ashamed to be
seen much less go back. Folks used to have shame.
Ku Klux
"In 1868 I lived with John Welch one year. I seen the going out and
coming in. I heard what they was doing. I wasn't afraid of them then. I
lived with one of 'em and I wasn't afraid of 'em. I learned a good deal
about it. They called it uprising and I found out their purpose was to
hold down the nigger. They said they wanted to make them submissive.
They catch 'em and beat 'em half to death. I heard they hung some of
'em. No, I didn't see it. I knew one or two they beat. They took some of
the niggers right out of the cotton patch and dressed them up and
drilled 'em. When they come back they was boastful. Then they had to
beat it out of 'em. Some of 'em didn't want to go back to work. Since I
growed up I thought it out that Mr. Spence was reasonably good to me but
I didn't think so then. It was a restlessness then like it is now 'mong
the young class of folks. The truth is they don't know what they want
nor what to do and they don't do nothing much no time.
"I went to see my mother. I wrote and wrote, had my white folks write
till I found my folks. I went back several times. Mother died in 1902.
We used to could beat rides on freight trains--that was mighty
dangerous. We could work our way on the boats. I got to rambling trying
to do better. I come to Phillips County. They cut it up, named it Lee. I
got down in here and married. I was jus' rambling 'round. I been in Lee
County sixty-one years. I married toreckly after I come here. I been
married twice, both wives dead. I was about twenty-three years old when
I married. I had four children. My last child got killed. A limb fell on
him twenty years ago in April. He was grown and at work in the timber.
"I farmed all my life--seventy years of it. I like it now and if I was
able I would not set up here in town a minute. Jus' till I could get out
there is all time it would take for me to get back to farming. I owned
two little places. I sold the first fifty acres when my wife was sick so
I could do for her. She died. My last wife got sick. I was no 'count and
had to quit work. Mr. Dupree built that little house for me, he said for
all I had done for 'im. He said it would be my home long as I live. He
keeps another old man living out there the same way. Mr. Dupree is
sick--in bad health--skin disease of some sort. We lives back behind
this house. Mr. Dupree is in this house now. (Mr. Dupree has eczema.) I
used to work for him on the farm and in the store.
"I never was a drunkard. That is ruining this country. It is every
Saturday night trade and every day trade with some of them. No, but I
set here and see plenty.
"The present times is better than it used to be 'cause people are
cleverer and considerate in way of living. A sixteen-year-old boy knows
a heap now. Five-year-old boy knows much as a ten-year-old boy used to
know. I don't think the world is going to pieces. It is advancing way I
see it. The Bible says we are to get weaker and wiser. Young folks not
much 'count now to do hard work. Some can.
"I get eight dollars and I work about this place all I am able. It keeps
us both going."