Early in the spring of 1847, we reached the Perkinson farm in Virginia,
where we found our master, whom we had not seen for nearly three years,
and his son Willie, as he was then called, with hired slaves cultivating
the old farm. My older brothers, James and Calvin, were at once hired to
Mr. Hawkins, a brickmaker, at Farmville, Prince Edward County, Virginia.
In as much as it was not the custom in that state to put slaves at work
in the field before they had reached thirteen years of age, I, being
less, was allowed to eat, play and grow, and I think the happiest days
of my boyhood were spent here. There were seven or eight boys about my
age belonging to Mrs. Perkinson, living less than a mile distant on
adjoining farms, who also enjoyed the same privileges, and there were
four or five hounds which we could take out rabbit hunting when we
wished to do so. It was grand sport to see five or six hounds in line on
a trail and to hear the sweet music of these trained fox hounds. To us,
at least, it was sweet music. We roamed over the neighboring lands
hunting and often catching rabbits, which we brought home. During the
fishing season we often went angling in the creeks that meandered
through these lands to the millpond which furnished the water for the
mill near by, which was run by Uncle Radford, an old trustworthy slave
belonging to Mrs. Prudence Perkinson. He was the lone miller, and
ground wheat and corn for the entire neighborhood.
There were several orchards of very fine fruit on these farms. We were
allowed to enjoy the apples, peaches, cherries and plums, to our heart’s
content. Besides, there were large quantities of wild berries and nuts,
especially chinquapins. When we had nothing else to do in the way of
enjoyment we played the game of “shinney”--a game that gave great
pleasure to us all. I was playmate and guardian for Willie Perkinson,
and in addition to this I had a standing duty to perform, which was to
drive up three cows every afternoon. At this time Willie was old enough
to attend the school which was about two miles away, and I had to go
with him in the forenoon and return for him in the afternoon. He usually
went with me after the cows.
I had been taught the alphabet while in Missouri and could spell
“baker,” “lady,” “shady,” and such words of two syllables, and Willie
took great pride in teaching me his lessons of each day from his books,
as I had none and my mother had no money to buy any for me. This
continued for about a year before the boy’s aunt, Mrs. Prudence
Perkinson, who had cared for Willie while we were in Missouri, found it
out, and I assure you, dear reader, she raised a great row with our
master about it. She insisted that it was a crime to teach a Negro to
read, and that it would spoil him, but our owner seemed not to care
anything about it and did nothing to stop it, for afterward I frequently
had him correct my spelling. In after years I learned that he was glad
that his Negroes could read, especially the Bible, but he was opposed
to their being taught writing.
But my good time ended when I was put to the plow in the Spring of 1848.
The land was hilly and rocky. I, being of light weight, could not hold
the plow steadily in the ground, however hard I tried. My master was my
trainer and slapped my jaws several times for that which I could not
prevent. I knew then as well as I know now, that this was unjust
punishment. But after the breaking season and planting the crop of corn
and tobacco was over, I was given a lighter single horse plow and
enjoyed the change and the work. Compared with some of his neighbors,
our master was not a hard man on his slaves, because we enjoyed many
privileges that other slaves did not have. Some slave owners did not
feed well, causing their slaves to steal chickens, hogs and sheep from
them or from other owners. Bacon and bread with an occasional meal of
beef was the feed through the entire year; but our master gave us all we
could eat, together with such vegetables as were raised on the farm. My
mother was the cook for the families, white and black, and of course I
fared well as to food.
Willie Perkinson had become as one of us and regarded my mother as his
mother. He played with the colored boys from the time he got home from
school till bedtime, and again in the morning till time to go to school,
and every Saturday and Sunday. Having learned to spell I kept it up, and
took lessons from Willie as often as I could. My younger brother, B. K.
Bruce (now Ex-Senator) had succeeded me as playmate and guardian of
Willie, and being also anxious to learn, soon caught up with me, and by
Willie’s aid went ahead of me and has held his place during all the
years since.
Mrs. Prudence Perkinson and her son Lemuel, lived about one mile from
our place, and they owned about fifty field hands, as they were called.
They also had an overseer or negro-driver whose pay consisted of a
certain percentage of the crop.
The larger the crop the larger his share would be, and having no money
interest in the slaves he drove them night and day without mercy. This
overseer was a mean and cruel man and would, if not checked by her, whip
some one every day. Lemuel Perkinson, was a man who spent his time in
pleasure seeking, such as fox-hunting, fishing, horse racing and other
sports, and was away from home a great deal, so much so that he paid
little attention to the management of the farm. It was left to the care
of his mother and the overseer. Mrs. Sarah Perkinson, wife of Lemuel
Perkinson, was a dear good woman and was beloved by all her slaves as
long as I knew her, and I am informed that she is living now and is
still beloved by her ex-slaves. Mrs. Prudence Perkinson would not allow
her overseer to whip a grown slave without her consent, because I have
known of cases where the overseer was about to whip a slave when he
would break loose and run to his old mistress. If it was a bad case she
would punish the slave by taking off her slipper and slapping his jaws
with it. They were quite willing to take that rather than be punished by
the overseer who would often have them take off the shirt to be whipped
on their bare backs.
Mrs. Prudence Perkinson was a kind hearted woman, but when angry and
under the excitement of the moment would order a servant whipped, but
before the overseer could carry it out would change her mind. I recall a
case where her cook, Annica, had sauced her and refused to stop talking
when told to do so. She sent for the overseer to come to the Great House
to whip her (Annica). He came and called her out; she refused to obey.
He then pulled her outside and struck her two licks with his whip, when
her “old mistress” promptly stopped him and abused him, and drove him
out of the Great House yard for his brutality. She went to Annica, spoke
kindly to her and asked her if she was hurt.
I write of this as I saw it. I can recall only one or two instances
where our master whipped a grown person, but when he had it to do or
felt that it should be done, he did it well.
Our owner had one serious weakness which was very objectionable to us,
and one in which he was the exception and not the rule of the master
class. It was this: He would associate with “poor white trash,” would
often invite them to dine with him, and the habit remained with him
during his entire life.
There lived near our farm two poor white men, better known at the South
as “poor white trash,” named John Flippen and Sam Hawkins. These men
were too lazy to do steady work and made their living by doing chores
for the rich and killing hawks and crows at so much a piece, for the
owner of the land on which they were destroyed. These men would watch us
and report to our master everything they saw us do that was a violation
of rules. I recall one instance in which I was whipped on account of a
lie told by Sam Hawkins. The facts in the case are as follows: I was
sent one Saturday afternoon to Major Price’s place after some garden
seed and was cautioned not to ride the mare hard, and I did not
therefore take her out of a walk or a very slow trot as it was not to my
interest to do otherwise, for the distance was but two miles and if I
came back before sundown I would have to go into the field to work
again. I got back about sundown, but had met Sam Hawkins on the road as
I went, and he was at our house when I returned. He was invited to
supper, and while at the table told my master that I had the mare in a
gallop when he met me. Coffee was very costly at that time, too high for
the “poor white trash;” none but the rich could afford it, and the only
chance these poor whites had to get a cup of coffee was when so invited.
It was always a Godsend to them, not only the good meal, but the honor
of dining with the “BIG BUGS.” Being illiterate their conversation could
not exceed what they had seen and heard, and to please their masters,
for such they were to these poor whites almost as much as to their
slaves, they told everything they had seen the slaves do, and oftener
more.
After supper that evening my master sent for me. When I came, he had a
switch in his hand and proceeded to explain why he was going to whip me.
I pleaded innocence and positively disputed the charge. At this he then
became angry and whipped me. When he stopped he said it was not so much
for the fast riding that he had punished me as it was for disputing a
white man’s word. Fool that I was then, for I would not have received
any more whipping at that time, but knowing that I was not guilty I said
so again and he immediately flogged me again. When he stopped he asked
me in a loud tone of voice, “Will you have the impudence to dispute a
white man’s word again?” My answer was “No sir.” That was the last
whipping he ever gave me, and that on account of the lie told by a poor
white man. But I lived not only to dispute the word of these poor whites
in their presence, but in after years abused and threatened to punish
them for trespassing upon his lands.
Other ex-slaves can relate many such cases as the Hawkins’ case and such
instances, in my opinion, have been the cause of the intense hatred of
slaves against the poor whites of the South, and I believe that from
such troubles originates the term “poor white trash.” In many ways this
unfortunate class of Southern people had but a few more privileges than
the slaves. True, they were free, could go where they pleased without a
“pass,” but they could not, with impunity, dispute the word of the rich
in anything, and obeyed their masters as did the slaves. It has been
stated by many writers, and I accept it as true, that the Emancipation
Proclamation issued by President Lincoln, not only freed the slaves, but
the poor whites of the South as well, for they occupied a condition
nearly approaching that of slavery.
They were nominally free, but that freedom was greatly restricted on
account of the prejudice against them as a class. They were often
employed by the ruling class to do small jobs of work and while so
engaged were not allowed, even to eat with them at the same table,
neither could they in any way associate or intermarry with the upper
classes. Of course this unfortunate class of people had a vote, but it
was always cast just as the master class directed, and not as the voter
desired, if he had a desire. I recall very clearly the fact, that at
each County, State or National election the poor white people were
hauled to the voting places in wagons belonging to the aristocratic
class. They also furnished a prepared ballot for each man and woe unto
that poor white man who failed to vote that ticket or come when sent
for. Each one of the master class kept a strict lookout for every poor
white man in his neighborhood and on election days sent his wagons and
brought each one of these voters to the polls.
When the war of the Rebellion broke out this class of men constituted
the rank and file of the Confederate army and rendered good service for
their masters, who had only to speak a kind word to them when they would
take the oath and obediently march to the front, officered by the
aristocratic class. These poor people contributed their full share to
the death roll of the Southern Army.
True to his low instinct, the poor white man is represented at the South
as the enemy of the Colored people to-day, just as he was before the
war, and is still as illiterate as he was then. He is not far enough up
the scale to see the advantage of education, and will not send his
children to school, nor allow the Colored child to go, if it is in his
power to prevent it. It is this class who burn the school houses in the
Southland to-day. The aristocracy and the Colored people of the South
would get along splendidly, were it not for these poor whites, who are
the leaders in all the disorders, lynchings and the like. The South will
be the garden spot, the cradle of liberty, the haven of America, when
the typical poor whites of that section shall have died off, removed, or
become educated, and not till then.