ever'thing gwine come out all right. I's lived a long life an' will soon
be a hund'ed, I guess. I's glad dat slav'ry is over, 'cause de Bible
don't say nothin' 'bout it bein right. I's a good Christian. I gits
sort-a res'less mos' o' de time an' has to keep busy to keep from
thinkin' too much."
Pet Franks, Ex-Slave, Monroe County
FEC
Mrs. Richard Kolb
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes
PET FRANKS
Aberdeen, Mississippi
Uncle Pet, 92 year old ex-slave, is the favorite of Ackers' Fishing
Lodge which is situated 14 miles north of Aberdeen, Monroe County. He is
low and stockily built. His ancestry is pure African. Scarcely topping
five feet one inch, he weighs about 150 pounds. Though he walks with the
slightest limp, he is still very active and thinks nothing of cooking
for the large groups who frequent the lodge. He has his own little
garden and chickens which he tends with great care.
"I knows all 'bout slav'ry an' de war. I was right dere on de spot when
it all happened. I wish to goodness I was back dere now, not in de war,
but in de slav'ry times. Niggers where I lived didn' have nothin' to
worry 'bout in dem days. Dey aint got no sense now-a-days. All dey
b'lieves in now is drinkin' an' carousin'. Dey aint got no use for
nothin' but a little corn likker an' a fight. I dont b'lieve in no such
gwine-on, no sir-ree. Dat's de reason I stays out here by myse'f all de
time. I don't want to have nothin' to do wid 'em. I goes to town 'bout
once a mont' to git s'pplies, but I don' never fool 'roun' wid dem
Niggers den. I gits 'long wid my white folks, too. All da mens an'
wimmens what comes out to de club is pow'ful good to me.
"I was born up near Bartley's Ferry right on de river. De way I
cal'clates my age makes me 'bout 92 years old. My firs' Marster was name
Mr. Harry Allen. He died when I was a boy an' I don't 'member much 'bout
him. De Mistis, dat was his wife, married ag'in an' dat husband's name
was Marse Jimmy Tatum. Dey was sho' good white folks. My mammy an' pappy
was name Martha an' Martin Franks. Marse Harry brung 'em down from
Virginny, I thinks. Or else he bought 'em from Marse Tom Franks in West
Point. Anyways dey come from Virginny an' I don't know which one of 'em
brought 'em down here. Dey did b'long to Marse Tom. I knows dat.
"Bartley's used to be some place. My folks had a big hotel down on de
river bank. Dey was a heap of stores right on de bank, too. De river
done wash' em all 'way now. Dey aint nothin' lef'. But Lawdy! When I was
a kid de boats used to come a-sailin' up de river 'bout once a week an'
I used to know de names o' all de big ones. Dey would stop an' pick up a
load o' cotton to carry to Mobile. When dey come back dey would be
loaded wid all kin' o' gran' things.
"Us chillun had a big time playin' roun' de dock. Us played 'Hide de
Switch' an' 'Goose and Gander' in de day time. Den at nighttime when de
moon was shinin' big an' yaller, us'd play 'Ole Molly Bright.' Dat was
what us call de moon. Us'd make up stories 'bout her. Dat was de bes'
time o' all. Sometimes de old folks would join in an' tell tales too.
Been so long I forgits de tales, but I know dey was good'ns.
"When I got big 'nough to work I he'ped 'roun' de lot mostly. Fac' is
I'se worked right 'roun' white folks mos' all my days. I did work in de
fiel' some, but us had a good overseer. His name was Marse Frank Beeks
an' he was good as any white man dat ever lived. I don't never 'member
him whippin' one o' de slaves, leastways not real whippin's. I do
'member hearin' 'bout slaves on other places gittin' whipped sometimes.
I guess Niggers lak dat wished dey was free, but I didn' want to leave
my white folks, ever.
"Us had preachin' an' singin'. Dey was some mighty good meetin's on de
place. Old Daddy Young was 'bout de bes' preacher us ever had. Dey was
plenty o' Niggers dere, 'cause it was a powerful big place. Old Daddy
could sho' make 'em shout an' roll. Us have to hol' some of 'em dey'd
git so happy. I knowed I had 'ligion when I got baptized. Dey took me
out in de river an' it took two of 'em to put me under. When I come up I
tol' 'em, 'turn me loose, I b'lieve I can walk right on top o' de
water.' Dey don' have no 'ligion lak dat now-a-days.
"All de Niggers on de Tatum place had dey own patches where dey could
plant what ever day wanted to. Dey'd work 'em on Satu'd'ys. When dey
sol' anything from dey patch Mistis 'ud let 'em keep de money. When de
boats went down to Mobile us could sen' down for anything us want to
buy. One time I had $10.00 saved up an' I bought lots o' pretties wid
it. Us always had plenty t'eat, too. All de greens, eggs, wheat, corn,
meat, an' chitlins dat anybody'd want. When hog killin' time come us
always have some meat lef' over from de year befo'. Us made soap out of
dat.
"When da war broke out I went right wid de Marster up to Corinth. I
stayed up dere in de camp for de longes' time a-waitin' on de sojers an'
nussing de sick ones. I never seen much o' de real fightin'. But I heard
de cannons roar an' I waited on de sojers what got wounded.
"After dey moved camp de Marster sont me back home to he'p look after de
Mistis an' chillun. De 'Federates had some cattle hid 'way in us pasture
an' I looked after 'em. One night when I was comin' home I met 'bout a
hund'ed Yankees comin' over a hill. Dey saw de cattle an' took 'bout
ha'f of 'em. I skidooed. Dey aint kotched me yet.
"After de war de Yankees called deyse'ves 'Publicans. Dey come down here
an' wanted all de Niggers to vote de 'Publican ticket. Den, lemme tell
you, I went to work for my white folks. Dey was a-holdin' big meetin's
an' speakin's, but I was workin', too. On 'lection day I brung in 1500
Niggers to vote de Democrat ticket. De folks what saw us comin' over de
hill say us look like a big black cloud. I reckon us sounded lak one wid
all dat hollerin' an' shoutin'.
"All my folks was dead soon, an' I went 'bout lak I was in a trance for
awhile. I went firs' one place an' den 'nother.
"When I was on de Cox place I met Dora an' us married. Dat was a big
weddin' an' a big feas'. Den us moved over to de Troup place an' stayed
dere for a long spell. While us was dere I 'member de Klu Kluxers an'
all de carryin' on. Dey would dress up in white sheets an' come 'roun'
an' scare all de Niggers. Dey'd whip de bad ones. Some of 'em would git
cow horns an' put on dey heads. One time dey chased a Nigger plumb under
de house jus' a-playin' wid 'im. Dey was a-bellowin' jus' lak bulls.
"I can't read an' write. I aint got much use for a Nigger wid a little
education. I went to school twict. De firs' teacher I had, dey come an'
carried to de pen for signin' his old Marster's name. De nex' teacher,
dey put in jail for stealin'. So I jus' 'cided twas jus' better for me
not to know how to read'n write, less'n I might git in some kinda
trouble, too.
"Dora an' me is got three out o' eight chillun livin'. Dora an' me don'
live together no more. She likes to stay in town an' I aint got no
patience wid city slickers an' dey ways. She stays wid us gal, Nanny. I
stays out here. I goes in to see her 'bout once a mont'.
"I don't git lonesome. Lawdee, no'm! I's got my two dogs. Den de white
folks is always a-comin' out here. Dey is good to me. Dey is one right
pert Nigger woman what lives down de road a-piece. Her name is Katie,
an' I goes down dere when I gits tired o' eatin' my own cookin'. She
sets a plumb good table, too."
NETTIE HENRY
Meridian, Mississippi
Nettie Henry, ex-slave, 19th Street, Meridian, Lauderdale County, is 82
years old. She is five feet tall and weighs one hundred pounds.
"De Chil's place was at Livingston, Alabama, on Alamucha Creek. Dat's
where I was born, but I jus' did git borned good when Miss Lizzie--she
was Marse Chil's girl--married Marse John C. Higgins an' moved to
Mer-ree-dian. Me an' my mammy an' my two sisters, Liza an' Tempe, was
give to Miss Lizzie.
"I aint no country Nigger; I was raised in town. My mammy cooked an'
washed an' ironed an' done ever'thing for Miss Lizzie. She live right
where Miss Annie--she was Miss Lizzie's daughter--live now. But den de
house face Eighth Street 'stead o' Seventh Street, lak it do now. Day
warnt any other houses in dat block. 'Fore de Surrender, dey turnt de
house to face Seventh Street 'cause de town was growin' an' a heap o'
folks was buildin' houses. I tell you somp'in' 'bout Seventh Street in a
minute. Couldn' nobody dat lived in Mer-ree-dian right after de
Surrender ever forgit Seventh Street an' where it head to.
"My pappy didn' go wid us to Mer-ree-dian. He b'longed to one set o'
white people, you see, an' my mammy b'longed to another. He'd come to
see us till de War started, den his folks jus' kinda went to Texas. I
don' know why zackly 'cep' maybe it warnt so healthy for 'em 'roun'
Livingston. Dey didn' go to de War or nothin'. I 'spec' nice white folks
talked 'bout 'em an' wouldn' have nothin' to do wid 'em. So dey took an'
went to Texas an' took my pappy wid 'em. But after de War he come back
to us, walked mos' all de way frum Texas. He rented some lan' frum Mr.
Ragsdale. My pappy built us a shack on dat lan'. It's tore down now, but
it was built good. Us all he'ped. I pulled a cross-cut saw an' toted de
boards up on de roof on a ladder. De chimley was built out o' mud an'
rocks. Den us moved in an' started growin' us somp'in t'eat. Us didn'
have no horse an' plow; Yankees done carried off all de horses an' mules
an' burnt up ever'dthing lak plows. Us dug up de groun' wide a grubbin'
hoe an' raised pun-kins an' plenty o' chickens an' ever'thing.
"Us lived nice. My people was smart. My white people was good white
people. Dey warnt brutish; never whupped us or nothin' lak dat. I don'
know nothin' 'bout no meanness.
"Mr. Higgins he died pretty soon an' Miss Lizzie went to teachin'
school. Her chillun--Miss Annie an' dem--would try to teach us. Den us
carried Blue Back Spellers to Sund'y school an' a old Baptist cullud
preacher would teach us out o' it. He say, 'de same words is in dis book
what's in de Bible. You chillun learn 'em de way dey is fixed for you to
learn 'em in dis here Blue Back Speller, den de firs' thing you know you
can read de Bible.' Use went to de white folk's church endurin' o' de
War an' right after. Any o' de white folks can tell you 'bout Mr.
Preacher Hamlin. He was a preacher an' a school teacher mixed. He had de
firs' boardin' school for young white ladies. It's standin' right dare
on Eighth [HW: No 7] Street right now. I 'members de firs' one to
gragurate[FN: graduate] frum it. Well, Mr. Hamlin 'nitiated my pappy
right dare in de white folks's church, de Firs' Baptis' Church; it burnt
up long time ago. My pappy was Isam Allbrook. He was de firs' cullud
deacon ordained in Mer-ree-dian.
"I was ten years old at de Surrender, but I took notice. Dem was scarey
times an' when you is scared you takes trigger-notice. It was nex' to de
las' year o' de War 'fore Sherman got to Mer-ree-dian--not Sherman
hisse'f but his sojers. Dey burnt up dat big house on Eighth Street hill
an' built camps for de sojers in de flower garden. De cap'ns went an'
live at Marse Greer's house. Marse Greer had done sunk all de silver in
de duck pond an' hid out de horses an' cows in de big cane-brake what
used to be on dis side o' Sowashee Creek. But, Lor!, it didn' do no
good. Sherman done caught on by dat time 'bout how to fin' things. Dey
got ever'thing an' burned Marse Greer's barn. Day lef' de house an'
didn' bother de fam'ly 'cause dey called deyse'fs company. De good Lord
knows Marse Greer didn' 'vite 'em! But de Cap'ns bein' dere kep' de
rip-rap[FN: riff-raff] sojers frum tearin' up ever'thing.
"When word come dat dey was comin', it soun' lak a moanin' win' in de
quarter. Ever'body was a-sayin', 'De Yankees is comin'! De Yankees is
comin'!' Us chullun was scared, but it was lak Sund'y, too,--nobody
doin' nothin'. Us march' 'roun' de room an' sorter sing-lak, 'De Yankees
is comin'! De Yankees is comin'!' Dey wouldn' let us out in de big road.
Well, dey come. Dey burn up seventy houses an' all de stores. Dey tore
up de railroad tracks an' toted off ever'thing dey couldn' eat. I don'
un'erstan' nothin' 'bout how come dey act lak dat. Us aint done nothin'
to 'em.
"Well things kep' gittin' worse an' worse. After de Surrender Niggers
got mighty biggity. Mos' of 'em was glad jus' to feel free. Dey didn'
have no better sense. Dey forgot wouldn' be nobody to take care of 'em.
Things warnt healthy an' my mammy an' me kep' close to de white folks.
'Course, Tempe she was grown an' could do what she please. She sho' done
somp'in' when she married Cal. Dat was de meanes' Nigger! He nail up a
board over de gate pos' what say, 'No visitors allowed'. Sho' 'nough
didn' no visitors want to go to his house!
"I don' know how come things got so unnatchel after de Surrender.
Niggers got to bein all kin' o' things what de Lawd didn' inten' 'em
for, lak bein' policemen an' all lak dat. It was scan'lous! 'Course, it
was de Yankees what done it. Dey promise to give ever'body forty acres
o' lan' an' a mule. A lot of 'em didn' have no better sense dan to
believe 'em. Dey'd go 'head an' do what de Yankees 'ud tell 'em. Well,
dey didn' give' em nothin', not even a rooster. Didn' give 'em _nothin'_
but trouble.
"I don' know how come Mr. Theodore Sturges' brother was a Yankee. But
after de Surrender he come to Mer-ree-dian an' got to be Mayor. Didn'
none o' de white folks lak dat. Mr. Theodore didn' lak it hisse'f, but
nothin' he could do 'bout it. Things got so bad de Kloo-Kluxes[FN: Klu
Klux] started ridin' at night an' sposin'[FN: disposing] o' bad Niggers.
Den one Satu'd'y night Mr. Theodore's big sto' got set fiah to an' de
Mayor he tried to blame it on de Kloo-Kluxes. 'Course ever'body knowed
de Yankees done it. You see de Yankees was a-tryin' to git de Gov'nor to
run de Kloo-Kluxes out. Dat was one awful fiah. Near 'bout de whole town
burnt up down town an' ever' nice white man was down dare a-fightin' de
fiah.
"Plenty o' Niggers was out, too, doin' devlishment. Three of 'em got
'rested an' dey had de trial Monday. In de meantime, all de
Yankee-lovin' Niggers had a big meetin' an' de loudes' mouf dere was dat
big buck Nigger Bill. He all time call hisse'f Dennis when he don' call
hisse'f Clopton. Here dey goes, all het up frum makin' speeches an'
a-drinkin', an' packs de courtroom full. When Mr. Patton got up on de
stan' an' say, he sho' done hear Bill Dennis say somp'in', Bill he
holler out, 'Dat's a lie!' Only he say a bad word dat I wouldn' say. Den
Mr. Patton raise up his walkin' stick an' start toward Bill. 'Bout den
Bill jerk out his pistol an' shoot at Mr. Patton. He miss Mr. Patton an'
hit Judge Bramlette. Yes'm, kilt him corpse-dead right dere on his high
pulpit chair!
"'Bout dat time ever'thing bus' loose. Near 'bout all de white gent'mun
in de court room take a shot at Bill. He falls, but he aint dead yet.
Dey put him in de sheriff's office an' lef two white men wid him. But
things was a-happenin' so fas' by dat time dey couldn' stan' it. Dey
th'owed Bill out of dat two-story window an' run down to git in de
fight. De white folks was plumb wo' out by dat time wid all de
devilishment o' de Yankees an' de fool Niggers. Even a mean Nigger got
sense 'nough to know when he done gone too far. Dey all git away as fas'
as dey could an' scatter over town, den after dark dey come a-creepin'
back to de quarters. Dat was sho' de wronges' thing to do. Dat night,
all de sho' 'nough white men came a-marchin' out Seventh Street on dey
way to de quarters.
"I had did up Miss Lizzie's parlor curtains dat very day an' de boy was
puttin' up de mouldin' frame 'roun' 'em when us hear dat trompin' soun'.
It didn' soun' lak no ever'day marchin'. It soun' lak Judgement Day. De
boy fell off de ladder an' run an' hid b'hind de flour barrel in de
pantry. Miss Lizzie was peepin' out 'twixt dem white lace curtains an' I
was right b'hin' 'er. I 'spec' Seventh Street was lined wid wimmin-folks
doin' jus' what us doin', 'cause dey husban's, sons, an' sweethearts was
out dere in dat march-line.
"Well, dat night ended all de troubles. De line done stop at Mr.
Theodore Sturges' house' fore it git out far as us. 'Course, ever'body
know Mr. Theodore an' Miss Allie was sho' 'nough folks, but dey was
bound to have dat Yankee brother o' his'n.
"De yard was plumb full o' white men ready to burn de house right down
on Miss Allie's head lessen dey'd give up dat Yankee Mayor. Mr. Theodore
come to de door an' say, 'Gent'mun, he aint here.' Aint nobody believe
dat. Dey was a-fixin' to bus' on in anyhow, when Miss Allie come out.
She come right down dem steps 'mongst all dem mad folks an' say, calm
an' lady-lak, 'Gent'mun, my brother-in-law is here, cert'ny. Where would
he go for safety 'cepn to his brother's house? But I give you my word
dat he gwine stay right here 'till you put him on de firs' train headin'
nawth. Den no mo' blood will be spilled.' An' dat's what dey done.
"Yes'm it was all mighty bad, but plenty good things done happen in
Mer-ree-dian, too. I'se seen dis town grow frum nothin'. When us come
here 'fore de War, dey was hitchin' dey horses to little oak bushes
right in de middle o' town where de bigges' stores is now. I was a grown
girl by den an' could make horsemint tea for chills an' mullen leaves
for fever good as anybody; an' horehound tea for colds, bitter as gall.
I jus' now caught up how to cook an' sew.
"I married when I was nineteen years old. I had nine chillun an' five of
'em's still livin'. Dey looks after me right nice, too. My son in
Chicago gimme dis house an' I lives here by myse'f. I keeps it nice an'
clean jus' lak I learnt how to do frum de white folks where I used to
work. I aint never work for no common folks. I tries to live lak a
Christian an' do jus' lak Old Mistis say. Den when I die I can go to
Heaven."
Mississippi Federal Writers
Slave Autobiographies
Smith Hodges, Ex-Slave, Pike County
FEC
Mrs. W.F. Holmes
[FANNY SMITH HODGES
Berglundtown, Mississippi]
Fanny Smith Hodges lives in Berglundtown, in the northern part of town,
in the only Negro settlement within the corporate limits of McComb.
"My name's Fanny Hodges. I was Fanny Smith befo' I was mar'ied. My mammy
was Jane Weathersby, an' she b'long ter old man Weathersby in Amite
County. He was de meanes' man what ever lived. My pappy was sol' befo' I
was born. I doan know nothin' 'bout him. I had one sister--her name was
Clara--and one brudder--his name was Jack. Dey said my pappy's name was
George. I doan know.
"Mammy said when I was jes big 'nough to nuss an' wash leetle chulluns,
I was sol' to Marse Hiram Cassedy an' dat man give me ter his darter,
Miss Mary, to be her maid. De Cassedys sho' was good people. I was big
'nough to draw water, an' put it in a tub an' wash Miss Mary, Miss
Annie, an' Miss July. I had to keep 'em clean. I had to comb dey hair
an' dey would holler an' say I pulled. I was tol' not to let anything
hurt dem chulluns.
"I slep' in de Quarters wid de other niggers. Befo' sunup I had to git
to de Big House ter dress dem chulluns. I doan' member whut kind of bed
I had, but reckin' it was good. I et in de kitchen. Dey fed fine. I et
whut de white folks lef', an' sometimes dey had 'possum an' taters. Dey
was good.
"Marse Cassedy was a big Judge. He went to all de cou'ts, an' rode in a
fine carri'ge with two big horses hitched ter it, an' a driver. He wore
fine clo'es an' ever'body said he was a mighty big man. He had lots an'
lots of money. I doan know how many acres in his plantation, but he had
more'n 50 slaves.
"When Marse Cassedy was gone, his oberseer would be hard on de slaves,
but Marse Cassedy would tell him not to be too hard. He never 'lowed his
driver to draw de blood when dey whupped. He fed his slaves. Dey all had
gardens and he tuk care of us. He had money in every one of us. De
oberseers was white men workin' fer wages.
"I was never whupped afte' I went to Marse Cassedy. Slaves was whupped
when dey wouldn't work right. Sometimes dey was lazy. De oberseer blowed
a horn every mornin' and de slaves knowed to git up, an' when dat horn
blowed agin, dey knowed dey must go to de fiel'. Dey blowed de horn at
dinner an' night. Afte' supper, we set 'bout an' sing an go places.
Sometimes de men would steal off an' go ter other plantations, an' when
kotched dey got a whuppin'. If de pataroller got em, dey sho' kotched
it. Dey was whupped an' brung back.
"De white folks had big dances in de Big House and de niggers played de
fiddle. Dey was fine times. Dey had good things ter eat, an' I allus got
some of whut was lef'. Christmas time de slaves had dances. I could sho'
shuffle my feet. Shucks, folks doan dance like dat any more.
"When slaves was sick, dey went to de woods and got roots an' herbs ter
doctor 'em wid. If dey had runnin' off of de bowels, dey got red oak
barks an' boiled it an' made 'em drink it. It's de best thing right now
to cure runnin' off of de bowels. If young gals had pains in dey
stomachs dey made tea out'n gum bark and dat would bring 'em 'round.
When babies was born, dey had good midwives to wait on 'em. Dat was good
money.
"When Miss July got mar'ied dey had two cooks in de kitchen makin'
pound cake fer more'n a week, an' pies, an' chicken pie, an' dey killed
a hog. Dey had ever'body in de country savin' butter an' eggs fer a long
time. I didn' see de weddin' but de yard was full and we had ever'thing
to eat.
"My folks was rich. Marse Cassedy went to de War an' he was a big man
dere. He was gone a long time. Dey kep' tellin' us de Yankees was comin'
and Miss Fanny had her silver put in a bag and hid. Dey had de money put
in a wash pot and buried, an' dey ain't found dat money yet. Oh, dey had
_more_ money! Didn' I tell you dey was rich? No mam, dey wasn't po' when
war was over. Dey had ever'thing. When de Yankees come, dey carried off
all de meat in de smokehouse, an' de blanket an' quilts, an' every thing
dey wanted, dey he'ped deyse'ves. None of de slaves went wid' em.
"When Marse Cassedy come home he had de oberseer blow de horn 'bout ten
o'clock and tol' 'em all dey was freed. He said he'd work 'em fer wages,
an' nearly everyone of 'em stayed fer wages. I stayed wid Miss Mary
'bout ten years. Den I mar'ied. No, Jake an' me rid horse back an' went
to Magnolia an' got mar'ied. I doan know who mar'ied us--somebody in de
cou't house.
"Me an' Jake went to Summit ter live'. We had to work mighty hard.
Sometimes I plowed in de fiel' all day; sometimes I washed an' den I
cooked, an' afte' 'while, we moved down to de new town. I come here when
dis town fust started. I cooked fer Mrs. Badenhauser, while he was
mayor of de town. Dey worked me hard. Me'n Jake's had some hard ups an'
downs. I had fo' chullun, none of dem livin' dat I know of. I might have
some grandchulluns but if I do, dey live up North.
"I'm old an' can hardly git about. I'se got a cancer. De doctor done cut
my lef' brest clear offen me, but dat hurts me somtimes yit.
"I niver jined any church 'til 'bout 20 year ago, right here in
Berglundtown. My church is Flowery Mount Baptist Church, an' my Brudder
Washin'ton is my pastor, an' he is de best preacher what ever lived. No,
Marse Cassedy didn't have no church fer de slaves. Dey went to de white
folks' church.
"How do I live? Well I gits a pension of fo' dollars a month, an' I try
to wash a leetle fer de colored folks, an' den I beg. I can't stay here
long but God won't low me to starve. Bless God, he's comin' fer me some
day."
Wayne Holliday, Ex-slave Monroe County
Mississippi Federal Writers
Slave Autobiographies
FEC
Mrs. Richard Kolb
[WAYNE HOLLIDAY
Aberdeen, Mississippi]
"I was born an' raised in Aberdeen an' I'se been a railroad nigger fo'
mos' of my days. I'se retired now 'cause dey say I too old to work any
longer, but shucks, I ain't half dead yet. I was born in 1853 right here
close to whar I live now. My folks b'longed to de Hollidays--you know de
grand folks of Miss Maria Evans? An' we stayed right dere in de lot whar
de white folks lived.
"My pa an' my ma was named Frank an' Sarah Holliday an' de Cunel brung
dem wid him frum North Car'lina. Dey was lot niggers an' never worked in
de fiel' or lived in de Quarters. My pa was one of de best carpenters in
de country. I was too young to work much but sometime I he'ped him
'roun' de house but mos' of de time, I jes played wid my brudders an'
sisters an' de white chullun what lived aroun'. We played marbles,
ridin' de stick hoss, an' play house jes lak de chullun do now days, but
I think we had mo' fun. Dey was fo'teen of us in our family an' we allus
had somebody to play wid. An' den li'l Marse Ben, he wa'nt much older
dan us.