for treats. But you better not git drunk. No-sir-ree! Den on Chris'mus
Eve dey was a big dance an' de white folks would come an' see de one
what dance de bes'. Marster an' Mistis laugh fit to kill at de capers us
cut. Den sometimes dey had big weddin's an' de young white ladies
dressed de brides up lak dey was white. Sometimes dey sont to N'awleans
for a big cake. De preacher married' em wid de same testimony[FN:
ceremony] dey use now. Den ever'body'd have a little drink an' some
cake. It sho' was larrupin'[FN: very good][HW:?]. Den ever'body'd git
right. Us could dance near 'bout all night. De old-time fiddlers played
fas' music an' us all clapped han's an' tromped an' sway'd in time to de
music. Us sho' made de rafters ring.
"Us slaves didn' pay no 'tention to who owned us, leastways de young
ones didn'. I was raised by a marster what owned a heap o' lan's. Lemme
see, dey is called Artonish, Lockdale, an' Lockleaven. Dey is
plantations 'long de river in Wilkinson County, where I was raised. Dey
is all 'long together.
"I's sho' my firs' marster was Marse Jim Stamps an' his wife was Miss
Lucindy. She was nice an' sof'-goin'. Us was glad when she stayed on de
plantation.
"Nex' thing I knowed us all b'longed to Marse Withers. He was from de
nawth an' he didn' have no wife. (Marsters wid-out wives was de debbil.
I knows a-plenty what I oughtn' tell to ladies. Twant de marsters whut
was so mean. Twas dem po' white trash overseers an' agents. Dey was
mean; dey was meaner dan bulldogs. Yes'm, wives made a big diffe'nce.
Dey was kin' an' went 'bout mongst de slaves a-lookin' after 'em. Dey
give out food an' clo'es an' shoes. Dey doctered de little babies.) When
things went wrong de wimmins was all de time puttin' me up to tellin' de
Mistis. Marse D.D. Withers was my young marster. He was a little man,
but ever'body stepped when he come 'roun'.
"Don' rightly know how it come 'bout. Lemme see! De bes' I 'member my
nex' Marster was Pres'dent Jefferson Davis hisse'f. Only he warnt no
pres'dent den. He was jus' a tall quiet gent'man wid a pretty young wife
what he married in Natchez. Her name was Miss Varina Howell, an' he sho'
let her have her way. I spec I's de only one livin' whose eyes ever seed
'em bofe. I talked wid her when dey come in de big steamboat. 'Fore us
got to de big house, I tol' her all 'bout de goins'-on on de
plantations. She was a fine lady. When I was a boy 'bout thirteen years
old dey took me up de country toward Vicksburg to a place call
Briarsfield. It mus'-a been named for her old home in Natchez what was
called 'de Briars.' I didn' b'long to Marse Jeff no great while, but I
aint never fo'git de look of 'im. He was always calm lak an' savin' on
his words. His wife was jus' de other way. She talked more dan a-plenty.
"I b'lieves a bank sol' us nex' to Marse L.Q. Chambers. I 'members him
well. I was a house-servant an' de overseer dassent hit me a lick.
Marster done lay de law down. Mos' planters lived on dey plantations
jus' a part o' de year. Dey would go off to Saratogy an' places up
nawth. Sometimes Marse L.Q. would come down to de place wid a big wagon
filled wid a thousan' pair o' shoes at one time. He had a nice wife. One
day whilst I was a-waitin' on de table I see old Marse lay his knife
down jus' lak he tired. Den he lean back in his chair, kinda still lak.
Den I say, 'What de matter wid Marse L.Q.?' Den dey all jump an' scream
an', bless de Lawd, if he warnt plumb dead.
"Slaves didn' know what to 'spec from freedom, but a lot of 'em hoped
dey would be fed an' kep' by de gov'ment. Dey all had diffe'nt ways o'
thinkin' 'bout it. Mos'ly though dey was jus' lak me, dey didn' know
jus' zackly what it meant. It was jus' somp'n dat de white folks an'
slaves all de time talk 'bout. Dat's all. Folks dat ain' never been free
don' rightly know de _feel_ of bein' free. Dey don' know de meanin' of
it. Slaves like us, what was owned by quality-folks, was sati'fied an'
didn' sing none of dem freedom songs. I recollec' one song dat us could
sing. It went lak dis:
'Drinkin' o' de wine, drinkin' o' de wine,
Ought-a been in heaven three-thousan' yeahs
A-drinkin' o' dat wine, a-drinkin' o' dat wine.'
Us could shout dat one.
"I was a grown-up man wid a wife an' two chillun when de War broke out.
You see, I stayed wid de folks til 'long cum de Yanks. Dey took me off
an' put me in de War. Firs', dey shipped me on a gunboat an', nex', dey
made me he'p dig a canal at Vicksburg. I was on de gunboat when it
shelled de town. It was turrible, seein' folks a-tryin' to blow each
other up. Whilst us was bull-doggin' Vicksburg in front, a Yankee army
slipped in behin' de Rebels an' penned 'em up. I fit[FN: fought] at Fort
Pillow an' Harrisburg an' Pleasant Hill an' 'fore I was ha'f through wid
it I was in Ba'timore an' Virginny.
"I was on han' when Gin'l Lee handed his sword to Gin'l Grant. You see,
Miss, dey had him all hemmed in an' he jus' natchelly had to give up. I
seen him stick his sword up in de groun'.
"Law! It sho' was turrible times. Dese old eyes o' mine seen more people
crippled an' dead. I'se even seen 'em saw off legs wid hacksaws. I tell
you it aint right, Miss, what I seen. It aint right atall.
"Den I was put to buryin' Yankee sojers. When nobody was lookin' I
stript de dead of dey money. Sometimes dey had it in a belt a-roun' dey
bodies. Soon I got a big roll o' foldin' money. Den I come a-trampin'
back home. My folks didn' have no money but dat wuthless kin'. It was
all dey knowed 'bout. When I grabbed some if it an' throwed it in de
blazin' fiah, dey thought I was crazy, 'til I tol' 'em, 'dat aint money;
it's no 'count!' Den I give my daddy a greenback an' tol' him what it
was.
"Aftah de War was over de slaves was worse off dan when dey had
marsters. Some of 'em was put in stockades at Angola, Loosanna[FN:
Louisiana], an' some in de turrible corral at Natchez. Dey warnt used to
de stuff de Yankees fed 'em. Dey fed' em wasp-nes' bread, 'stead o'
corn-pone an' hoe cake, an' all such lak. Dey caught diseases an' died
by de hund'eds, jus' lak flies. Dey had been fooled into thinkin' it
would be good times, but it was de wors' times dey ever seen. Twant no
place for 'em to go; no bed to sleep on; an' no roof over dey heads. Dem
what could git back home set out wid dey min's made up to stay on de
lan'. Mos' of dey mistis' took 'em back so dey wuked de lan' ag'in. I
means dem what lived to git back to dey folks was more'n glad to wuk!
Dey done had a sad lesson. Some of 'em was worse'n slaves after de War.
"Dem Ku Kluxes was de debbil. De Niggers sho' was scared of 'em, but dey
was more after dem carpet-baggers dan de Niggers. I lived right in
'mongst 'em, but I wouldn' tell. No Ma'm! I knowed 'em, but I dasn'
talk. Sometimes dey would go right in de fiel's an' take folks out an'
kill 'em. Aint none of 'em lef' now. Dey is all dead an' gone, but dey
sho' was rabid den. I never got in no trouble wid 'em, 'cause I tended
my business an' kep' out o' dey way. I'd-a been kilt if I'd-a run 'roun'
an' done any big talkin'.
"I never knowed Marse Linc'um, but I heard he was a pow'ful good man. I
'members plain as yesterd'y when he got kilt an' how all de flags hung
at ha'f mas'. De Nawth nearly went wil' wid worryin' an' blamed
ever'body else. Some of 'em even tried to blame de killin' on Marse
Davis. I fit wid de Yankees, but I thought a mighty heap o' Marse Davis.
He was quality.
"I guess slav'ry was wrong, but I 'members us had some mighty good
times. Some marsters was mean an' hard but I was treated good all time.
One thing I does know is dat a heap of slaves was worse off after de
War. Dey suffered 'cause dey was too triflin' to work widout a boss. Now
dey is got to work or die. In dem days you worked an' rested an' knowed
you'd be fed. In de middle of de day us rested an' waited for de horn to
blow to go back to de fiel'. Slaves didn' have nothin' turrible to worry
'bout if dey acted right. Dey was mean slaves de same as dey was mean
marsters.
"Now-a-days folks don' live right. In slav'ry times when you got sick a
white docter was paid to git you well. Now all you gits is some no-count
paten' medicine. You is 'fraid to go to de horspital, 'cause de docters
might cut on yo' stummick. I think slav'ry was a lot easier dan de War.
Dat was de debbil's own business. Folks what hankers for war don' know
what dey is askin' for. Dey ain' never seen no bloodshed. In war-times a
man was no more dan a varmint.
"When my white folks tol' us us was free, I waited. When de sojers come
dey turnt us loose lak animals wid nothin'. Dey had no business to set
us free lak dat. Dey gimme 160 acres of lan', but twant no 'count. It
was in Mt. Bayou, Arkansas, an' was low an' swampy. Twant yo' lan' to
keep lessen you lived on it. You had to clear it, dreen it, an' put a
house on it.
"How I gwine-a dreen an' clear a lot o' lan' wid nothin' to do it wid?
Reckon somebody livin' on my lan' now.
"One of de rights of bein' free was dat us could move 'roun' and change
bosses. But I never cared nothin' 'bout dat.
"I hear somebody say us gwine-a vote. What I wanta vote for? I don' know
nothin' 'bout who is runnin'.
"I draws a Federal pension now. If I lives' til nex' year I'll git $125
a mont'. It sho' comes in handy. I paid $800 for my house an', if I'd-a
thought, I'd-a got one wid mo' lan'. I don' wan' to plant nothin'. I do
want to put a iron fence a-roun' it an' gild it wid silver paint. Den
when I's gone, dar it will be.
"Yes'm. I'se raised a big fambly. Dem what aint dead, some of' em looks
as old as I does. I got one gran-chil' I loves jus' lak my own chillun.
I don' rightly 'member dis minute how many chillun I had, but I aint had
but two wives. De firs' one died long 'bout seventeen years ago, an' I
done what de Good Book say. It say, 'when you goes to de graveyard to
bury yo' firs' wife, look over de crowd an' pick out de nex' one.'
"Dat's jus' what I done. I picked Janie McCoy, 'cause she aint never
been married b'fore. She's a good cook, even if she does smoke a pipe,
an' don' know much' bout nothin'.
"I sho' don' live by no rules. I jus' takes a little dram when ever I
wants it, an' I smokes a pipe 'ceptin when de Mistis give me a
seegar[FN: cigar]. I can't chew tobacco on 'count my teeth is gone. I
aint been sick in bed but once in seventy years.
"I is five feet, five inches tall. I used to weigh 150 pounds, but dis
old carcass o' mine done los' fifty pounds of meat.
"Now-a-days I has a heap of misery in my knee, so I can't ride 'roun' no
mo'. Durin' de War I got a muskit ball in my hip an' now dat my meat's
all gone, it jolts a-roun' an' hurts me worse. I's still right sprightly
though. I can jump dat drainage ditch in front of de house, an' I sho'
can walk. Mos' every day I walks to de little sto' on Union Street. Dar
I rests long enough to pass de time-o-day wid my neighbors. My eyes is
still good, but I wears glasses for show an' for seein' close.
"De longer I lives de plainer I see dat it ain' right to want mo' dan
you can use. De Lawd put a-plenty here for ever'body, but shucks! Us
don' pay no min' to his teachin'. Sometimes I gits lonesome for de
frien's I used to know, 'cause aint nobody lef' but me. I's sho' been
lef a fur piece[FN: long way] b'hin'. De white folks say, 'Old Jim is de
las' leaf on de tree,' an' I 'spec dey's 'bout right."
Sam McAllum, Ex-slave, Lauderdale County
FEC
Marjorie Woods Austin
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes
SAM McALLUM
Meridian, Mississippi
To those familiar with the history of "Bloody Kemper" as recorded, the
following narrative from the lips of an eye-witness will be heresy. But
the subject of this autobiography, carrying his ninety-five years more
trimly than many a man of sixty, is declared sound of mind as well as of
body by the Hector Currie family, prominent in Mississippi, for whom he
has worked in a position of great trust and responsibility for fifty
years or more.
While this old Negro may be mistaken at some points (the universal
failing of witnesses), his impressions are certainly not more involved
than the welter of local records. Mrs. Currie states that if Sam said he
saw a thing happen thus, it may be depended upon that he is telling
exactly what he really saw.
Sam McAllum, ex-slave, lives in Meridian, Lauderdale County. Sam is five
feet three inches tall and weighs 140 pounds.
"De firs' town I ever seen were DeKalb in Kemper County. De Stephenson
Plantation where I were born warnt but 'bout thirteen miles north o'
DeKalb. I were born de secon' o' September in 1842. My mammy b'longed to
de Stephensons an' my pappy b'longed to Marster Lewis Barnes. His
plantation wasn't so very far from Stephenson. De Stephensons an'
Barneses were kin' white people. My pappy were a old man when I were
born--I were de baby chil'. After he died, my mammy marry a McAllum
Nigger.
"Dey were 'bout thirty slaves at Stephenson. My mammy worked in de
fiel', an' her mammy, Lillie, were de yard-woman. She looked after de
little cullud chillun.
"I don't recollec' any playthings us had 'cept a ball my young marster
gimme. He were Sam Lewis Stephenson, 'bout my age. De little cullud
chillun' ud play 'Blin' Man', 'Hidin'', an' jus' whatever come to han'.
"My young marster learned me out o' his speller, but Mistis whupped me.
She say I didn' need to learn nothin' 'cept how to count so's I could
feed de mules widout colicin' 'em. You give' em ten years[FN: ears] o'
corn to de mule. If you give' em more, it 'ud colic' 'em an' dey'd die.
Dey cos' more'n a Nigger would. Dat were de firs' whuppin' I ever
got--when me an' my young marster were a-spellin'.
"I stayed wid him special, but I waited on all de white folk's chillun
at Stephenson. I carried de foot tub in at night an' washed dey foots,
an' I'd pull de trun'le bed out from under de other bed. All de boys
slep' in de same room.
"Den I were a yard boy an' waited on de young marster an' mistis. Hadn'
been to de fiel' den--hadn' worked yet.
"Mr. Stephenson were a surveyor an' he fell out wid Mr. McAllum an' had
a lawsuit. He had to pay it in darkies. Mr. McAllum had de privilege o'
takin' me an' my mammy, or another woman an' her two. He took us. So us
come to de McAllum plantation to live. It were in Kemper, too, 'bout
eight miles from Stephenson. Us come dere endurin' of de war. Dat were
when my mammy marry one of de McAllum Niggers. My new pappy went to de
war wid Mr. McAllum an' were wid 'im when he were wounded at Mamassas
Gab Battle. He brung 'im home to die--an' he done it.
"Den de Yankees come th'ough DeKalb huntin' up cannons an' guns an'
mules. Dey sho' did eat a heap. Us hid all de bes' things lak silver,
an' driv'[FN: drove] de stock to de swamp. Dey didn' burn nothin', but
us hear'd tell o' burnin's in Scooba an' Meridian. I were a-plowin' a
mule an' de Yankees made me take him out. De las' I seen o' dat mule, he
were headed for Scooba wid three Yankees a-straddle of 'im.
"Times were tight--not a grain o' coffee an' not much else. When us
clo'es[FN: clothes] were plumb wore out, de mistis an' de Nigger wimmins
made us some out o' de cotton us had raised. My granny stayed de
loom-room all de time. De other winmins done de spinnin' an' she done de
weavin'. She were a' good'n'.
"De M & O (Mobile & Ohio Railroad) were a-burnin' wood, den. Dey couldn'
git coal. Dey used taller[FN: tallow] pots 'stead o' oil. De engineer
had to climb out on de engine hisse'f an' 'tend to dam taller pots. Dey
do diffe'nt now.
"Dey were such a sca'city of men, dey were a-puttin' 'em in de war at
sixty-five. But de war end 'fore dey call dat list.
"Mistis didn' have nobody to he'p her endurin' de war. She had to do de
bes' she could.
"When she hear'd de Niggers talkin' 'bout bein' free, she wore 'em out
wid a cowhide. She warnt a pow'ful-built woman, neither. She had to do
it herse'f, 'cause twant nobody to do it for 'er. Dey warnt nothin' a
Nigger could do but stan' up an' take it.
"Some folks treated dey slaves mighty bad--put Nigger dogs on 'em. All
my white folks were good to dey slaves, 'cordin' to how good de Niggers
b'haved deyse'fs. Course, you couldn' leave no plantation widout a pass,
or de pateroller'd git you. I aint countin' dat, 'cause dat were
somthin' ever'body knowed 'forehan'.
"Dey were a heap o' talk 'bout de Yankees a-givin' ever' Nigger forty
acres an' a mule. I don't know how us come to hear 'bout it. It jus'
kinda got aroun'. I picked out my mule. All o' us did.
"Times were mighty tough. Us thought us knowed trouble endurin' de war.
Um-m-m! Us didn' know nothin' 'bout trouble.
"Dey were so many slaves at McAllum's, dey had to thin 'em out. Mistis
put us out[FN: hired us out]. She sent me to Mr. Scott close to Scooba.
I were mos' a grown boy by den an' could plow pretty good. Come de
surrender, Mr. Scott say, 'Sambo, I don't have to pay yo' mistis for you
no more. I have to pay you if you stay. Niggers is free. You is free.' I
didn' b'lieve it. I worked dat crop out, but I didn' ask for no pay. Dat
didn' seem right. I didn' un'erstan' 'bout freedom, so I went home to my
old mistis. She say, 'Sambo, you don't b'long to me now.'
"Dey bound us young Niggers out. Dey sent me an' my brother to a man dat
were goin' to give us some learnin' 'long wid farmin'. His name were
Overstreet. Us worked dat crop out, but us aint never seen no speller,
nor nothin'.
"Den us went back to Stephenson's, where us were born, to git us age.
Old mistis say, 'Sambo, you aint twenty-one yet.'
"She cried, 'cause I had to go back to Mr. Overstreet. But I didn'. My
mammy an' me went back to McAllum's an' stayed until a man give us a
patch in turn[FN: return] for us he'pin' him on his farm.
"I know 'bout de Kloo Kluxes[FN: Klu Kluxes]. I seen 'em. 'Bout de firs'
time I seen 'em were de las'. Aint nobody know zackly[FN: exactly] 'bout
dem Kloo Kluxes. Some say it were a sperrit dat hadn' had no water since
de war. One rider would drink fo' or five gallons at one time--kep' us
a-totin' buckets fas' as us could carry 'em. It were a sperrit, a evil
sperrit.
"But folks dat aint acted right liable to be found mos' anytime tied up
some'r's: De Niggers were a-havin' a party one Satu'd'y night on
Hampton's plantation. Come some men on horses wid some kin' o'
scare-face on 'em. Dey were all wropped[FN: wrapped] up, disguised. De
horses were kivered[FN: covered] up, too. Dey call for Miler Hampton. He
were one o' de Hampton Niggers. He been up to somethin'. I don't know
what he done, but dey say he done somethin' bad. Dey didn' have no
trouble gittin' him, 'cause us were all scared us'd git kilt, too. Dey
carried 'im off wid 'em an' kilt him dat very night.
"Us went to DeKalb nex' day in a drove an' ask de white folks to he'p
us. Us buy all de ammunition us could git to take de sperrit, 'cause us
were a-havin' 'nother party de nex' week. Dey didn' come to dat party.
"I don't know why dey don't have no Kloo Kluxes now. De sperrit still
have de same power.
"Den I go to work for Mr. Ed McAllum in DeKalb--when I aint workin' for
de Gullies. Mr. Ed were my young marster, you know, an' now he were de
jailor in DeKalb.
"I knowed de Chisolms, too. Dat's how come I seen all I seen an' know
what aint never been tol'. I couldn' tell you dat. Maybe I's de only one
still livin' dat were grown an' right dere an' seen it happen. I aint
scared now nothin' 'ud happen to me for tellin'--Mr. Currie'd see to
dat--I jus' aint never tol'. Dem dat b'longed to my race were scared to
tell. Maybe it were all for de bes'. Dat were a long time ago. Dey give
out things den de way dey wanted 'em to soun', an' dat's de way dey done
come down:
"'It started wid Mr. John Gully gittin' shot. Now Mr. Gully were a
leadin' man 'mong de white democratic people in Kemper, but dey aint had
much chance for 'bout seven years (I disremember jus' how long) on
'count o' white folks lak de Chisolms runnin' ever'thing. Ever'body were
sho' it were some' o' de Chisolm crowd, but some folks knowed it were
dat Nigger, Walter Riley, dat shot Mr. Gully. (But aint nobody ever tol'
de sho' 'nough reason why Walter shot Mr. John Gully.)
"'De Chisolms warnt Yankees, but dey warnt white democratic people. Dey
do say de Chisolms an' folks lak' em used to run 'roun' wid de Yankees.
Maybe dat's how come dey was diffe'nt. Even 'fore de Yankees come
a-tall, when Mr. Chisolm were on us side, he were loud moufed[FN:
mouthed] 'bout it.
"'Mr. John Gully he'p Mr. Chisolm git to be judge, but he turnt out to
be worse dan dem he had to judge. Mr. Gully an' de others made 'im
resign. I reckon maybe dat's why he quit bein' a Democratic an' started
ructions wid Mr. Gully.
"'Come de surrender, Mr. Chisolm, he got to be a big leader on de other
side. An' he seen to it dat a lot o' de white democratic men got he'p
from votin' an' a lot o' Niggers step up an' vote lak he tol' 'em (dey
were scared not to). So de Chisolms kep' gittin' all de big places.
"'A lot o' widders an' folks lak dat what couldn' he'p deyse'fs los' dey
homes an' ever'thing dey had. De papers de gran' jury make out 'bout it
were stored in de sheriff's office. De sheriff give out dat his office
done been broke open an' all dem papers stole.
"'Den Mr. Chisolm's brother got hisse'f p'inted[FN: appointed] sheriff
an' make Mr. Chisolm deputy. Dat's when he started runnin' things, sho'
'nough. Nex' thing you know, Mr. Chisolm is de sho' 'nough sheriff,
hisse'f.
"'Den he gather all his kin' o' folks 'roun' 'im an' dey make out a
black lis'. De folkses names dat were on it were de ones de Chisolms
didn' need. It were talked 'roun' dat de firs' name on dat lis' were Mr.
John Gully's name. A heap o' Kloo Kluxes' names were on it, too. Mr.
Chisolm send de Kloo Kluxes' names to de Gov'nor an' spec' him to do
somethin' 'bout runnin' 'em out. But, course, he couldn' do nothin'
'bout dat, 'cause it were a sperrit. But ever' now an' den somebody
what's name were on dat lis' 'ud git shot in de back.
"'Afore de 'lection come in November (it mus' a-been in '75) de Niggers
had been a-votin' an' doin' ever'thing de Chisolms say. Dey were still
a-harpin' back to dat forty acres an' a mule dey were promised what dey
aint never got. It were turnin' out to be jus' de same wid ever'thing
else Mr. Chisolm had been a-promisin' to give 'em. Dey aint never got
none of it. De white democratic folks won dat 'lection.
"'Soon Mr. Chisolm run for somthin' or 'nother an' got beat bad. Den he
were mad sho' 'nough. He went to Jackson to see de Gov'nor 'bout it.
Soon a heap o' white democratic men in Kemper got arrested for somethin'
or nother.
"'Den Mr. John Gully got shot an' ever'body were sho' de Chisolms done
it. Ever'body were dat mad. Chisolm an' dem had to go to court. But dey
were slippery as eels an' Walter Riley's name come out. (He were a
Nigger.) Dey give out at de trial dat Walter were hired to shoot 'im by
de Chisolm folks. Dat were not de reason, but dey was blood 'fore folks'
eyes by dat time.
"'It got worse dat Satu'd'y when Mr. Gully were buried. Folks all over
Kemper done hear'd 'bout it by now, an' by nine o'clock Sund'y mornin',
people were a-comin' in over ever' road dat led to DeKalb. Dey all had
loaded guns. It were on a Sund'y when all de killin' happened--I mean,
de windin'-up killin'. I were dere 'fore a gun were fired. I were dere
when de firs' man were wounded.
"'De cullud people had gathered in DeKalb at de Methodis' Church. Dey
hadn' a gun fired yet. Mr. Henry Gully goes to de cullud people's
church. He walked in at de front door an' took his hat off his head. Dey
were a-packed in de house for preachin'. He walked down de aisle 'til he
got in front o' de preacher an' he turn sideways an' speak: "I want to
ask you to dismiss yo' congregation. Dey is goin' to be some trouble
take place right here in DeKalb an' I don't want any cullud person to
git hurt." De preacher rise to his feet, ever' Nigger in de house were
up, an' he dismiss 'em. (Mr. Henry Gully were Mr. John Gully's brother
an' a leadin' man o' de right.)
"'De town were a-millin' wid folks from ever'where. Chisolm an' dem done
got in de jail for safety an' Miss Cornelia Chisolm went back'ards an'
for'ards to de jail. Dey thought she were a-carryin' ammunition in her
clo'es[FN: clothes] to her father. Mr. McClendon--he were one of'
em--were wid her twict. He were on de right-hand side. Some b'lieved he
were de one dat killed Mr. John Gully. Dey tol' 'im dey'd burn his house
down if he stay in it, but if he'd go on to jail, dey'd give 'im a fair
trial.
"'Well, Mr. McClendon were shot down 'side Miss Cornelia. I seen him
when he fell on his face. De man dat fired de gun turn him over an' say,
"Well, us got' im." Miss Cornelia run on to de jail where de bounce[FN:
balance] o' de fam'ly were.
"'Dem outside say, "Boys, it'll never do! Dey aint all in dere yet.
Let's sen' to Scooba an' git Charlie Rosenbaum an' John Gilmore to come
help dey frien's. Dey b'longs to dat Chisolm crowd an' we want dem,
too."