"My name's James Singleton. I'se a Baptist preacher. I was born in 1856, but I doan know zactly what date. My mammy was Harr'et Thompson. Her marster was Marse Daniel Thompson over in Simpson County on Strong River at a place called Westville. My pappy, he come from South Ca'lina—Charleston—an' was give to do old folks' darter. His name was John Black an' he was owned by Mr. Frank Smith over in Simpson. He was brought down frum South Ca'lina in a wagon 'long wid lots mo'.
"Me, I was sol' to Marse Harrison Hogg over in Simpson when I was 'bout six years old, and Marse Hogg, he turn right 'roun', and sol' me an' sister Harr'et an' brother John nex' day for fo' thousan'. Two thousan' fo' John, 'cause he's older an' bigger, an' a thousan' fo' Harr'et an' me. Miss Annie an' Marse Elbert Bell bought us.
"Marse Elbert had three mo' sides us—makin' six. Us slep' on pallets on de flo', an' all lived in one long room made out of logs, an' had a dirt flo' an' dirt chimbly. There was a big old iron pot hangin' over de hearth, an' us had 'possum, greens, taters, and de lak cooked in it. Had coon sometimes, too.
"Marse Elbert, he lived in jes a plain wood house made Califo'nia style, wid a front room an' a shed room where de boys slep'. Dey had two boys, Jettie an' William.
"I reckin dere was 'bout a hun'erd an' sixty acres planted in taters an' corn, an' dey made whiskey too. Yessum, dey had a 'stillery[FN: distillery] hid down in de woods where dey made it.
"My mammy an' pappy was fiel' han's, an' I was mighty little to do so much. I jes minded de cow pen, made fires in de Big House, an' swep' de house. When I made de fires, iffen dere wa'nt any live coale lef', we had to use a flint rock to git it sta'ted.
"Dere was a bell ringin' every mornin' 'bout fo' 'clock, fer to call de slaves tar git up an' go to de fiel's. Day wuked 'til sundown. Dey was fed in de white folks' kitchen, and Cook cooked fer us jes lak she done fer de whites. De kitchen was built off a piece frum de hous', y'know.
"Marse never did whup any of us li'l chullun. Miss Annie, she tried once to whup me 'cause I chunked rocks at her li'l chickens, but mighty little whuppin' she done. Dere wa'nt no overseer.
"Chris'mas time, we had two or three days to play, an' had extry food.
"I seen 'pattyrollers' ridin' 'bout to keep de darkies from runnin' 'roun' widout passes. I never seen 'em whup none but dey tol' us we'd git twen'y-nine licks iffen we got caught by 'em. I seen darkies git whuppin's on other plantations—whup 'em half a day sometimes, gen'ly when dey tried to run away.
"We didn' have no dancin' dat I 'member, but had plen'y log rollin's. Had fiddlin', an' all would jine in singin' songs, lak, "Run nigger run, pattyrollers ketch you, run nigger run, it's breakin' days." I still fiddle dat chune[FN: tune]. Well, you see, dey jes rolled up all de old dead logs an' trees in a big pile, and burned it at night.
"I seen de Yankee sojers when dey passed our house but dey didn' bother us none. None didn' even stop in. Dey was wearin' blue jackets an' had gold buttons on caps an' jackets. But when de Confed'rate sojers come along, dey stopped an' killed a fat cow er two, an' taken de fat hoss an' lef' a lean one, an' taken ever'thing else dey seen dey wanted.
"No'm, didn' none of de slaves run off wid dem dat I knows of, an' de Yankees didn' try to bother us none. Well, afte' de War, Marse Elbert tol' us dat we was free now, an' pappy come an' got us an' taken us to live wid de cook on Mr. Elisha Bishop's place, an' he paid Mr. Barren Bishop to teach us. He taught us out of Webster's Blue Back Spellin' Book.
"My pappy, he had a stolen ejucation—'at was cause his mistress back in South Ca'Line hoped him to learn to read an' write 'fo he lef' there. You see, in dem days, it was ag'inst de law fer slaves to read.
"I was glad to be free 'cause I don't b'lieve sellin' an' whuppin' peoples is right. I certainly does think religion is a good thing, 'cause I'se a Baptist preacher right now, and I live 'bout six miles from Crystal Springs. I farm too.
"Uncle Berry" Smith is five feet two or three inches tall. He is scrupulously neat. He is very independent for his age, which is calculated at one hundred and sixteen years. He believes the figure to be correct. His mind is amazingly clear.
"I was born an' bred in Sumpter County, Alabama, in de prairie lan', six miles from Gainesville. Dat's where I hauled cotton. It was close to Livingston, Alabama, where we lived.
"I was twelve years old when de stars fell. Dey fell late in de night an' dey lighted up de whole earth. All de chaps was a-runnin' 'roun' grabbin' for 'em, but none of us ever kotched[FN: caught] one. It's a wonder some of' em didn' hit us, but dey didn'. Dey never hit de groun' atall.
"When dey runned de Injuns out de country, me an' another chap kotched one o' dem Injun's ponies an hung him up[FN: tied him up] in de grape vines. He said it was his pony an' I said it was mine.
"Marse Bob's boy tol' us his daddy was gwine a-whup us for stealin' dat pony, so we hid out in de cane for two nights. Marse Bob an' his brother whupped us' til we didn' want to see no more Injuns or dey ponies, neither.
"I was born a slave to Old Marse Jim Harper an' I fell to Marse Bob. Marse Jim bought my pa an' ma from a man by de name o' Smith, an' Pa kep' de name. Dat's how come I is Berry Smith.
"Dey didn' have no schools for us an' didn' teach us nothin' but work. De bull-whip an' de paddle was all de teachin' we got. De white preachers used to preach to de Niggers sometimes in de white folks' church, but I didn' go much.
"We had fun in dem days in spite o' ever'thing. De pranks we used to play on dem paterollers! Sometimes we tied ropes 'crost de bridge an' de paterollers'd hit it an' go in de creek. Maybe we'd be fiddlin' an' dancin' on de bridge (dat was de grown folks, but de chaps 'ud come, too) an' dey'd say, 'Here come de paterollers!' Den we'd put out. If we could git to de marster's house, we was all right. Marse Bob wouldn' let no pateroller come on his place. Marse Alf wouldn', neither. Dey said it was all right if we could git home widout bein' kotched, but we have to take dat chance.
"At de Big House dey had spinnin' wheels an' a loom. Dey made all de clo'es[FN: clothes] on de place. Homespun was what dey called de goods. My ma used to spin an' weave in de loom room at de Big House.
"Dey was two plantations in de marster's lan' an' dey worked a heap o' Niggers. I was a house boy an' didn' go to de fiel' much.
"We had overseers on de place, but dey was jus' hired men. Dey was po' white folks an' only got paid 'bout three or fo' hund'ed dollars a year.
"When we lef' Alabama we come to Mississippi. We went to de Denham place near Garlandsville. We brought eighteen Niggers. We walked a hund'ed miles an' it took five days an' nights. De women an' little chaps rid[FN: rode] on de wagons (dey had five mules to de wagon) an' de men an' de big chaps walked. My pa an' ma come along.
"We stayed on de Denham place 'bout three years. Den we moved to Homewood an' stayed five years. I hung de boards for Marse Bob's house in Homewood.
"Den we come to Forest. Dey brought all de fam'ly over here—all my brothers an' sisters. Dey was five of' em—Wash an' East is de two I 'members. All o' us b'longed to de Harper fam'ly. Marse Bob owned us. My ma an' pa both died here in Forest.
"I he'ped to build dis house for Marse Bob. I cleaned de lan' an' lef de trees where he tol' me. He lived in a little old shack whilst we built de Big House.
"Mr. M.D. Graham put up de firs' store here an' de secon' was put up by my marster.
"I worked in de fiel' some, but mos'ly I was a house servant. I used to go all over de country a-huntin' eggs an' chickens for de fam'ly on' count dey was so much comp'ny at de house.
"A heap o' white folks was good to dey Niggers, jus' as good as dey could be, but a heap of' em was mean, too. My mistis was good to us an' so was Marse Jim Harper. He wouldn' let de boys 'buse us while he lived, but when he died dey was wild an' cruel. Dey was hard taskmasters. We was fed good three times a day, but we was whupped too much. Dat got me. I couldn' stan' it. De old marster give us good dinners at Chris'mus, but de young ones stopped all dat.
"De firs' train I ever seen was in Brandon. I went dere to carry some horses for my marster. It sho' was a fine lookin' engine. I was lookin' at it out of a upstairs window an' when it whistled I'd a-jumped out dat window if Captain Harper hadn' a-grabbed me.
"I didn' see no fightin' in de war. When Gen'l Sherman come th'ough here, he come by Hillsboro. Marse Bob didn' go to de war. He 'listed[FN: enlisted], but he come right back an' went to gittin' out cross ties for de railroad. He warnt no sojer. Colonel Harper, dat was Marse Alf, he was de sojer. He warnt scared o' nothin' or nobody.
"De Yankees ask me to go to de war, but I tol' 'em, 'I aint no rabbit to live in de woods. My marster gives me three good meals a day an' a good house an' I aint a-goin'.' Marse Bob used to feed us fine an' he was good to us. He wouldn' let no overseer touch his Niggers, but he whupped us, hisse'f.
"Den de Yankees tol' me I was free, same as dey was. I come an' tol' Marse Bob I was a-goin'. He say, 'If you don't go to work, Nigger, you gwine a-git whupped.' So I run away an' hid out in de woods. De nex' day I went to Meridian. I cooked for de sojers two months, den I come back to Forest an' worked spikin' ties for de railroad.
"I hear'd a heap of talk 'bout Jeff Davis an' Abe Lincoln, but didn' know nothin' 'bout 'em. We hear'd 'bout de Yankees fightin' to free us, but we didn' b'lieve it 'til we hear'd 'bout de fightin' at Vicksburg.
"I voted de 'publican ticket after de surrender, but I didn' bother wid no politics. I didn' want none of 'em.
"De Kloo Kluxers[FN: Ku Klux's] was bad up above here, but I never seen any. I hear'd tell of 'em whuppin' folks, but I don't know nothin' 'bout it, much.
"Mos' all de Niggers dat had good owners stayed wid 'em, but de others lef'. Some of 'em come back an' some didn'.
"I hear'd a heap o' talk 'bout ever' Nigger gittin forty acres an' a mule. Dey had us fooled up 'bout it, but I never seen nobody git nothin'.
"I hope dey won't be no more war in my time. Dat one was turrible. Dey can all go dat wants to, but I aint a-goin'.
"I seen Gen'l Grant at Vicksburg after de war. (He was a little short man.) All de Niggers went dere for somethin'—me 'mongst 'em. I don't know what we went for.
"I took to steamboatin' at Vicksburg 'cause I could cut[FN: place for storage or shipment] cotton so good. (I could cut cotton now wid a cotton hook if I warnt so old.)
"I steamboated twixt New Orleans an' St. Louis on de 'Commonwealth,' a freight packet, way up yonder in St. Louis. I don't know what country dat was in. But de rousters had a big fight one night in New Orleans, shootin' an' cuttin', so I lef'. When I got back to Vicksburg, I quit.
"I picked cotton in de Delta awhile, but de folks, white an' black, is too hard. Dey don't care 'bout nothin! I was in Greenville when de water come. I hear'd a noise like de wind an' I asked dem Niggers, 'Is dat a storm?' Dey said, 'No, dat's de river comin' th'ough an' you better come back 'fore de water ketch[FN: catch] you.' I say, 'If it ketch me it gwine a-ketch me on my way home.' I aint been back since.
"Den I come back here an' went to farmin' an' I been here ever since. I bought forty-seven acres an' a nice little house. De house burnt down, but de white folks built me a better one. Dey's good an' kin' to me. Dey say I's a good man.
"My wife was six year old at de surrender. She b'longed to Marse Alf, but we was free when we married. We had sixteen chillun. Mos' of 'em lives 'roun 'here. Some in Newton, some in Scott, an' some in Texas. My wife died two years ago las' March.
"Marse Bob died right here in dis here house. He died a po' man. If my old mistis had a-been here she wouldn' a-let' em treat him like dey done. If I'd a-been here I wouldn' a-let' em done like dat, neither.
"I been a-livin' by myse'f since my wife died. My son, Oscar, lives on de lan' an' rents it from me.
"I don't know what's gwine a-happen to de young folks now-a-days. Dey know better, but dey's wild an' don't care 'bout nothin'. I aint got no time to fool wid 'em. Looks like dey don't care 'bout workin' at nothin'.
"I been a-workin' all my life, an' I'se seen good times an' bad times. I loves to work yet. I's gwine out now soon's I git my dinner an' he'p finish pickin' dat patch o' cotton. I can pick two hund'ed pounds a day an' I's one hund'ed an' sixteen year old. I picks wid both han's an' don't have to stoop much. My back don't never ache me atall. My mammy teached me to pick cotton. She took a pole to me if I didn' do it right. I been a-pickin ever since. I'd ruther pick cotton dan eat, any day.
"But I'se seen enough. I's jus' a-waitin' for de call to meet all my folks in Heaven. Dey's a better place dan dis an' I's a-tryin' to treat ever'body right so's I can git to go to it.
"I's listenin' hard for dat call an' I know it won't be long a-comin'."
"Aunt Sue" Snow, a rather small and profusely wrinkled 87-year-old ex-slave, lives in the Negro quarters of the South Side in Meridian.
In spite of her wild escapades, her reputation for honesty and reliability is high and she carries and exhibits with pride numerous letters attesting that fact.
She often finds it necessary to stand and act the story she is telling. Her memory is amazing and she turns with equal readiness to copious quotations from the Scripture and other pious observations to amusing but wholly unprintable anecdotes of her somewhat lurid past.
"I was born in Wilcox County, Alabama, in 1850. W.J. Snow was my old marster. He bought my ma from a man named Jerry Casey. Venus was her name, but dey mos'ly called her 'Venie.'
"I's workin' now for one o' my old folks. I can't work much—jus' carries things to 'er an' such. She's my old mistis' own daughter an' she's got gran'chillun grown an' married. All de chillun dat's livin' is older'n me.
"When her pa bought my mammy, I was a baby. Her pa owned a heap o' Niggers. I's de only one still hangin' aroun'.
"My ma was a black African an' she sho' was wild an' mean. She was so mean to me I couldn' b'lieve she was my mammy. Dey couldn' whup her widout tyin' her up firs'. Sometimes my marster would wait 'til de nex' day to git somebody to he'p tie her up, den he'd forgit to whup 'er. Dey used to say she was a cunger an' dey was all scared of 'er. But my ma was scared o' cungers, too.
"All de Niggers on de place was born in de fam'ly an' was kin, 'cept my ma. She tol' me how dey brought her from Africa. You know, like we say 'President' in dis country, well dey call him 'Chief' in Africa. Seem like de Chief made 'rangements wid some men an' dey had a big goober grabbin' for de young folks. Dey stole my ma an' some more an' brung 'em to dis country.
"I don't 'member nothin' 'bout havin' no pa. You know, honey, in dem days husbands an' wives didn' b'long to de same folks. My ma say her husband was so mean dat after us lef' Alabama she didn' want to marry no more.
"A man didn' git to see his wife 'cept twict a week. Dat was Wednesday an' Satu'd'y night.
"De women had to walk a chalk line. I never hear'd tell o' wives runnin' 'roun' wid other men in dem days.
"I was raised in Jasper County. Marster bought lan' from ever'body 'roun' 'til he had a big plantation. He had Niggers, horses, mules, cows, hogs, an' chickens. He was a rich man, den.
"Ever' Nigger had a house o' his own. My ma never would have no board floor like de res' of' em, on' count she was a African—only dirt. (Dey say she was 108 year old when she died.)
"Us went to church wid de white folks if us wanted to. Dey didn' make us. I didn' go much, 'cause I didn' have 'ligion, den. Us didn' have no schoolin'. Us could go to school wid de white chillun if us wanted to, but didn' nobody teach us. I's educated, but I aint educated in de books. I's educated by de licks an' bumps I got.
"My white folks was good people an' didn' whup nobody, 'less dey needed it. Some o' de Niggers was sho' 'nough bad. Dey used to take de marster's horses out at night an' ride 'em down. One Nigger, Sam, got dat mad at a mule for grabbin' at cotton he cut his tongue out. Course, Marster whupped him, but when he went to look for 'im 'bout a hour after, he foun' 'im soun' asleep. Said he ought to kill 'im, but he didn'.
"When we was sick dey had a doctor for us jus' like dey done for deyse'ves. Dey called 'im in to 'scribe for us. I was snake-bit when I was eight year old. Dey used to be a medicine named 'lobelia.' De doctor give me dat an' whiskey. My ma carried me up to de Big House ever' mornin' an' lef' me, an' carried me home at night. Old Mis' 'ud watch over me in de day time.
"My young marster tol' me dat when I got to be ten year old, I'd have a snake coiled up on my liver. Dat scared me mos' to death 'til I was past ten year old.
"Dey made all de Niggers' clo'es[FN: clothes] on de place. Homespun, dey called it. Dey had spinnin' wheels an' cards an' looms at de Big House. All de women spinned in de winter time.
"I never knowed what it was to wear more dan one garment, 'til I was mos' grown. I never had a pair o' shoes o' my own. Old Mis' let me wear her'n sometimes. Dey had shoes for de old folks, but not for de chillun.
"I got more whuppin's dan any other Nigger on de place, 'cause I was mean like my mammy. Always a-fightin' an' scratchin' wid white an' black. I was so bad Marster made me go look at de Niggers dey hung to see what dey done to a Nigger dat harm a white man.
"I's gwine tell dis story on myse'f. De white chillun was a-singin' dis song:
I was mad anyway, so I hopped up an' sung dis one:
"Old Mis' was a-standin' right b'hin' me. She grabbed up de broom an' laid it on me. She made me submit. I caught de feathers, don't you forgit it.
"I didn' know it was wrong. I'd hear'd de Niggers sing it an' I didn' know dey was a-singin' in dey sleeves. I didn' know nothin' 'bout Abe Lincoln, but I hear'd he was a-tryin' to free de Niggers an' my mammy say she want to be free.
"De young folks used to make up a heap o' songs, den. Dey'd decompose[FN: compose] dey own songs an' sing' em. I never will forgit one song dey sung when dey buried anybody. It made Old Marster, Mistis, an' all of' em cry. Us chillun cried, too. It went like dis:
"Old Aunt Hannah fell to my marster from his daddy. She had twelve chillun a-workin' on de place. De oldes' was named Adam an' de littlest was named Eve. She had two twins what was named Rachel an' Leah. Dey nussed my mistis' two twins. Dey kep' one a-nussin' mos' all de time.
"My ma was de cause o' my marster a-firin' all de overseers. (Dey blamed ever'thing on her 'cause she was de only bought Nigger.) Marster say she was a valuable Nigger, but she was so mean he was afraid dey'd kill her. He say, 'She'll work widout no watchin' an' overseers aint nothin', nohow.'
"Dey was a white man—I aint lyin'—I know him an' I seen him. He had Nigger houn's an' he made money a-huntin' runaway Niggers. His own Niggers kilt 'im. Dey hung 'em for it. Two was his Niggers an' one b'long to somebody else.
"My young marster used to work in de fiel' wid us. He'd boss de Niggers. Dey called 'im Bud, but us all called 'im 'Babe.' Honey, I sho' did love dat boy.
"When de war come dey used to tease him an' say, 'Bud, why don't you go to de war?' Dey laughed an' teased 'im when he went. But twant no laughin' when he come home on a furlough an' went back. Dey was cryin' den. An' well dey mought[FN: might] cry, 'cause he never come back no more'. He was kilt in de war.
"Endurin' de war, de white folks made dey clo'es same as de Niggers. Old Mis' made dye an' dyed de thread. She made pretty cloth.
"My ma was de firs' to leave de plantation after de surrender. All de other Niggers had a contrac' to stay, but she didn'. She went to Newton County an' hired out. She never wanted to stay in one place, nohow. If she had a crop ha'f made an' somebody made her mad, she'd up an' leave it an' go some'r's else.
"You know, dey was mighty strict, 'bout den, wid cullud folks, an' white people, too. De Kloo Kluxes was out nights. I hear'd tell 'bout 'em whuppin' people. But dey never bothered me.
"Dey was speakers gwine aroun', tellin' de Niggers what dey was gwine a-git. Dey never got nothin' to my knowledge, 'cept de gov'ment let 'em homestead lan'. My ma homesteaded a place close to Enterprise, Scott County, but she got mad an' lef' it like she always done.
"She was a-gittin' long in years afore she got 'ligion. (She was good to me after dat.) She couldn' learn de Lawd's Prayer, but she used to pray, 'Our Father, which are in Heaven; Hallowed be Thy name. Thy mercy, Lawd, You've showed to others; That mercy show to me. Amen.' She went to res' in it, too.
"I went to Enterprise, den to Meridian, nussin' (wet-nussin' when I could) an' workin' out. I never worked in de fiel', if I could he'p it. (Old Mis' hired me out as a nuss firs' when I was eight year old.)
"When I come to Meridian, I cut loose. I's tellin' de truf! I's a woman, but I's a prodigal. I used to be a old drunkard. My white folks kep' tellin' me if I got locked up one more time dey wouldn' pay my fine. But dey done it ag'in an' ag'in.
"De Niggers called me 'Devil.' I was a devil 'til I got 'ligion. I warnt baptized 'til 1887. Den I foun' peace. I had a vision. I tol' it to a white lady an' she say, 'Susie, dat's 'ligion a-callin' you.' (But you know, honey, white folks' 'ligion aint like Niggers' 'ligion. I know a woman dat couldn' 'member de Lawd's Prayer, an' she got 'ligion out o' prayin', 'January, February, March'.) I didn' join de church 'til 1891, after I had a secon' vision. I's a member in good standin' now. I done put all my badness b'hin' me, 'cept my temper. I even got dat under more control.
"I didn' used to be scared o' cunjers. I's scared now, 'cause I had it done to me. I want to bed well an' healthy an' de nex' nornin' I couldn' git up atall. I's tellin de truf. A cullud man done it. He was a crippled man, an' mean as he could be. I was good to him, too. He tol' me' bout it, hisse'f:
"'He went to de graveyard an' got some o' de meanes' dirt he could fin' (I don't know how he knowed which was de meanes' grave) an' put it under my doorsill.' He sho' fix' me. I ask him how come he done it to me an' I been so good to him. He smile kinda tickle-lak an' say, 'It's a good thing you was good to me, 'cause, if you hadn' a-been you'd a-been dead an' in yo' grave by now.'
"I aint got nary soul what's kin to me dat I knows of. I don't want none of 'em comin' to me now an' a-sayin', 'Don't you 'member yo' own cousin?' My white folks he'p me when I needs it.
"Dese young folks. Shucks! Chile, dey's worse'n what I was, only dey's more slyer. Dat's all.
"I's glad I'se got 'ligion, 'cause when I dies I's gwine to de 'Good Place.'"
"Miss, my name is Isaac Stier, but folks calls me 'Ike.' I was named by my pappy's young Marster an' I aint never tol' nobody all o' dat name. It's got twenty-two letters in it. It's wrote but in de fam'ly Bible. Dat's how I knows I'll be one hund'ed years old if I lives 'til de turn o' de year. I was born in Jefferson County 'tween Hamburg an' Union Church. De plantation joined de Whitney place an' de Montgomery place, too. I b'longed to Marse Jeems Stowers. I don't rightly 'member how many acres my Marster owned, but 'twas a big plantation wid eighty or ninety head o' grown folks workin' it. No tellin' how many little black folks dey was.
"My mammy was Ellen Stier an' my pappy was Jordon Stier. He was bought to dis country by a slave dealer from Nashville, Tennessee. Dey traveled all de way through de Injun Country on afoot. Dey come on dat Trace road. Twant nothin' but a Injun Trail.
"When dey got to Natchez de slaves was put in de pen 'tached to de slave markets. It stood at de forks o' St. Catherine Street an' de Liberty road. Here dey was fed an' washed an' rubbed down lak race hosses. Den dey was dressed up an' put through de paces dat would show off dey muscles. My pappy was sol' as a twelve year old, but he always said he was nigher twenty.
"De firs' man what bought him was a preacher, but he only kep' 'im a little while. Den he was sol' to Mr. Preacher Robinson. He was a Methodis'.
"De slaves was well treated when dey got sick. My Marster had a standin' doctor what he paid by de year. Dey was a horspital building near de quarters an' a good old granny woman to nuss de sick. Dey was five or six beds in a room. One room was for mens an' one for wimmins. Us doctor was name Richardson an' he tended us long after de war. He sho' was a gent'man an' a powerful good doctor.
"Us had a overseer on de place, but he warnt mean lak I'se heard o' other folks havin'. He was Mr. William Robinson. He was good to ever'body, both white an' cullud. Folks didn' min' workin' for him, 'cause, he spoke kin'. But dey dassen' sass 'im. He was poor. My pappy b'longed to his pa, Mr. John Robinson. Dat was a nice fam'ly wid sho' 'nough 'ligion. Whilst dey warnt rich, dey had learnin'.
"As a little tike I wore long slip-lak shirts. When dey sont me to town I put on britches an' stuffed de tail o' my slip in 'em so's it pass' for a shirt. I always lived in de Big House an' played wid de white chillun. I sorta looked after' em. I carried 'em to school. Den whilst dey was in school I roamed de woods a-huntin'. Sometimes I'd git a big bag o' game, mos'ly used to feed de slaves.
"My mistis was Miss Sarah Stowers an' she teached me how to read. She teached me how to be mannerly, too. On church days I driv'[FN: drove] de carriage. I was proud to take my folks to meetin'. I always set in de back pew an' heard de preachin' de same as dey did.
"De bes' times I can 'member always come 'roun' de Fourth o' July. Dat was always de beginnin' o' camp-meetin'. Aint nothin' lak dat in dese days.
"Ever'body what had any standin' went. Dey cooked up whole trunks full o' good things t'eat an' driv' over to de camp groun's. De preacher had a big pavilion covered wid sweet-gum branches an' carpeted wid sawdust. Folks had wagons wid hay an' quilts whar de men-folks slep'. De ladies slep' in little log houses an' dey took dey feather beds wid' em. I always driv' de carriage for my white folks. Whilst dey was a-worshipin' I'd slip 'roun' an' tas' out o' dey basket. Ever' day I'd eat 'til I was ready to bus'. One day I got so sick I thought I'd pop wide open. I crawled down to de spring an' washed my face in col' water, but I kep' gittin' worse an' worse. Den somebody called out: 'Captain Stier, yo' Nigger's a-dyin'!' My marster called de doctor. He sho' was shamed in public, 'cause, he knowed pos'tive I'd been a-pilferin' in dem baskets. Dem sho' was good old days. I'd love to live' em over ag'in.
"Us slaves mos'ly sung hymns an' sa'ms.[TR: footnote indicated but none found] But I' member one song' bout a frog pond an' one 'bout 'Jump, Mr. Toad.' I's too wordless to sing 'em now, but dey was funny. Us danced plenty, too. Some o' de men clogged an' pidgeoned, but when us had dances dey was real cotillions, lak de white folks had. Dey was always a fiddler an', on Chris'mus an' other holidays, de slaves was' lowed to' vite dey sweethearts from other plantations. I use to call out de figgers: 'Ladies, sasshay, Gents to de lef, now all swing.' Ever'body lak my calls an' de dancers sho' moved smooth an' pretty. Long after de war was over de white folks would 'gage me to come' roun' wid de band an' call de figgers at all de big dances. Dey always paid me well.
"Old Mis' 'ud let us cook a gran' supper an' Marse 'ud slip us some likker. Dem suppers was de bes' I ever et. Sometimes dey'd be wil' turkey, fried fish, hot corn pone, fresh pork ham, baked yams, chitlins, pop corn, apple pie, pound cake, raisins, an' coffee. Law, Miss! de folks now-a-days don't know nothin' 'bout good eatin', nowhow.
"When de big war broke out I sho' stuck by my marster. I fit[FN: fought] de Yankees same as he did. I went in de battles 'long side o' him an' both fit under Marse Robert E. Lee. I reckon ever'body has heard 'bout him. I seen more folks dan anybody could count. Heaps of 'em was all tore to pieces an' cryin' to God to let 'em die. I toted water to dem in blue de same as dem in gray. Folks wouldn' b'lieve de truf if I was to tell all I knows 'bout dem ungodly times.
"Fore de war I never knowed what it was to go empty. My marster sho' set a fine table an' fed his people de highes'. De hongriest I ever been was at de Siege o' Vicksburg. Dat was a time I'd lak to forgit. De folks et up all de cats an' dogs an' den went to devourin' de mules an' hosses. Even de wimmin an' little chillun was a-starvin'. Dey stummicks was stickin' to dey backbones. Us Niggers was sufferin' so us took de sweaty hoss blankets an' soaked 'em in mudholes where de hosses tromped. Den us wrung' em out in buckets an' drunk dat dirty water for pot-likker. It tasted kinda salty an' was strength'nin', lak weak soup.
"I tell you, dem Yankees took us by starvation. Twant a fair fight. Dey called it a vict'ry an' bragged 'bout Vicksburg a-fallin', but hongry folks aint got no fight lef' in 'em. Us folks was starved into surrenderin'.
"De slaves spected a heap from freedon dey didn' git. Dey was led to b'lieve dey would have a easy time—go places widout passes—an have plenty o' spendin' money. But dey sho' got fooled. Mos' of 'em didn' fin' deyse'ves no better off. Pussonally, I had a harder time after de war dan I did endurin' slav'ry.
"De Yankees passed as us frien's. Dey made big promises, but dey was poor reliance. Some of' em meant well towards us, but dey was mistol' 'bout a heap o' things. Dey promised us a mule an' forty acres o' lan'. Us aint seen no mule yet. Us got de lan' all right, but twant no service. Fac' is, 'twas way over in a territory where nothin' 'ud grow. I didn' know nothin' 'bout farmin', nowhow, I'd always been a coachman an' play companion to de white chillun.
"De war was over in May 1865, but I was captured at Vicksburg an' hel' in jail 'til I 'greed to take up arms wid de Nawth. I figgered dat was 'bout all I could do, 'cause dey warnt but one war at Vicksburg an' dat was over. I was all de time hopin' I could slip off an' work my way back home, but de Yankees didn' turn me loose 'til 1866.
"Den I worked in a saloon in St. Louis. Dat was 'bout all I knowed to do. All de time I was a-cravin' to come back to Mississippi. It sho' suits my tas' better'n anywhere I'se ever been.
"When I landed back home my white folks welcome me. After awhile I married a gal what was real smart 'bout farmin' an' chicken raisin'. So us share-cropped an' raised a fam'ly. Somehow us always scrapped along. Sometimes it was by de hardes', but us always had plenty t'eat.
"All de cullud folks what lived to git back home took to de lan' ag'in. If dey marster was dead dey went to his frien's an' offered to share-crop. Dey was all plumb sick o' war. Is sho' is ongodly business. I never will forgit de fearsome sight o' seein' men die 'fore dey time. War sho' is de debbil's own work.
"De Klu Klux Klan didn' bother me none. Course, I was feared of' em at firs', but I soon learnt dat long as I b'haved myse'f an' tended my business dey warnt after me. Dey sho' disastered dem what meddled wid de white folks. Nobody but a smart Alec would a-done dat. Only Niggers huntin' trouble mixed into white folks bus'ness. Onct or twict I seen Klu Klux's ridin' by, but dey always traveled fas' an' I kep' my mouf[FN: mouth] shut.
"After de war my marster come back home. De fences was gone, de cattle was gone, de money an' de Niggers was gone, too. On top o' all dat de whole country was over-run an' plumb took over by white trash. It was cautious times.
"After awhile, robbers an' low down trash got to wearin' robes an' pretendin' dey was Klu Klux's. Folks called dem de 'white caps.' Dey was vicious, an' us was more scared of 'em dan us'd ever been o' de Klan. When dey got likkered up de debbil sho' was turnt loose.
"Mr. Jefferson Davis was pretty good' bout some things. But if he hadn' a-been mulish he could-a 'cepted de proposition Mr. Abe Lincum made 'im. Den slav'ry would-a lasted always. But he flew into a huff an' swore dat he'd whip de Yankees wid corn stalks. Dat made Mr. Lincum mad, so he sot about to free de slaves.
"Mr. Lincum was a good man, but dey tells me he was poor an' never cut much figger in his clothes. Dat's why he never did un'erstan' how us felt' bout us white folks. It takes de quality to un'erstan' such things.
"Right now, I loves my marster an' his wife in de grave. Dey raised me an' showed me kindness all dey lives. I was proud of 'em. At de present time I's under treatment o' young Dr. Stowers, my marster's gran'chil'. I trusts him an' he is sho' good to me.
"I rents a place on Providence Plantation 'bout three miles south o' Natchez. De trip to Natchez in a rickety old wagon is mos' too much in de hot weather. My heart's mos' wore out. I can't las' long, 'cause I's had a heap sposure[FN: exposure].
"I's jus' a bag o' bones now, but onct I stood nearly six feet in my stockings an' weighed 'bout one hundred an' eighty pounds. I was well muscled, too. Now I's gittin' kinda gray an' gittin' bald at de same time. Black folks lak me don't hardly ever git bald.
"I's gittin' real feeble. De doctor say I got a bad heart. Sometimes I jus' has to set on de curb an' res' myse'f a spell. I gits kinda windless when I thinks 'bout all I been through.
"My wife is been dead 'bout seventeen years an' my chillun is so scattered dat I don't know where dey is. De folks I stays wid is powerful good to me an' sees after me same as dey was my own. I reckon I don't need nothin else.
"Dis generation aint got much sense. Dey's tryin' to git somewheres too fas'. None of 'em is sat'fied wid plain livin'. Dey wants too much.
"Nobody needs more dan dey can use, nohow."
Jane Sutton, ex-slave, is 84 years old. She is 5 feet, 6 inches tall and weighs 130 pounds. She is what the Negroes themselves call a "brown-skin."
"I was born in Simpson County, near old Westville, on a big farm what b'long to Marse Jack Berry. I was 12 years old when de surrender come, so my ole Mis' say. Her name was 'Mis Ailsey an' all us cullud folks call her 'Ole Mi's. She an' Old Marster had twelve chillun: Marthy, 'Lizabeth, Flavilia, Mary, Jack, Bill, Denson, Pink, Tally, Thomas, Albert, and Frank.
"My pappy's name was Steve Hutchins. He b'long to de Hutchins what live down near Silver Creek. He jus' come on Satu'd'y night an' us don' see much of 'im. Us call him 'dat man.' Mammy tol' us to be more 'spectful to 'im 'cause he was us daddy, but us aint care nothin' 'bout 'im. He aint never brung us no candy or nothin'.
"My mammy was name Lucy Berry. She always go by de white folks name what she live wid. She aint never marry. She had fo' boys an' three girls. Dey was name Delia, Sarah, Ella, Nathan, Isom, Anderson, an' Pleas. She work in de fiel' an Old Marster say she's de only woman on de place what could plow lak a man.
"I 'members my gran'ma, too. Us always call her 'Granny.' She say dey stole her back in Virginny an' brung 'er to Mississippi an' sol' her to Marse Berry. Her name was Hannah. She was my mammy's Mammy. I don' 'member nothin' 'bout my pappy's folks 'cause I never seen none of' em.
"Old Marster was a rich man for dat day. He had a sawmill, a cotton gin, an' a gris' mill. Us always had plenty t'eat an' wear. Dey spun an' weaved dey own cloth an' made us clo'es out-a it.
"I can jus' see de white folk's house now. It was a big house, nice an' clean, but twant painted. It had a row o' rooms 'cross dis way an' a-nother row dat way wid a hall between. Dey had plenty o' rooms for all dem boys an' gals. Some of 'em was 'bout grown. De quarters[FN: slave quarters] was in de back o' de house. De cook's house was closes' to de Big House, den nex' was Granny's house where us stayed. Den come a long row way down to de back fence.
"Dey didn' have no overseer or driver. Dey was 'nough o' dem boys to look after de work an' Old Marster say he don' need no overseer to look after his slaves.
"My white folks was all Baptis' an' dey made us go to church, too. De church was called de Strong River Church. Dey had big baptisin's. I 'members when I joined de church. De white folks preacher baptised us in de creek what run from Marse Berry's mill pond. I was dressed up in a white lowell slip. When us dress' up in Sund'y clo'es us had caliker[FN: calico] dresses. Dey sho' was pretty. I 'members a dress now dat Old Marster bought for my granny. It was white an' yaller, an' it was de prettiest thing I ever seen.
"Us white folks was good to us. Dey warnt always a-beatin' an' a-knockin' us 'roun'. De truf is you couldn' fin' a scar on nary one o' us. 'Course, some times dey whup us, but dey didn' gash us lak some o' de old marsters did dey Niggers.
"When Old Marster died I didn' know nothin' bout him bein' sick. He took a cramp colic in de night an' was dead 'fore mornin'. I hear somebody a-cryin' at de Big House an' Granny tol' us dat Old Marster done die in de night. Dey had a big fun'al an' all de folks come. De men carried him to de graveyard by de church. Dey didn' have no hearses dem days. Twant far to de graveyard so dey jus' toted de coffin to whar dey buried 'im. Dey put flowers in cups an' vases on de grave, so's dey wouldn' wilt.
"Us was all sorry when Old Marster died, I cried 'cause I said, 'Now us won' git no more candy.' He used to bring us candy whan he went to town. Us'd be lookin' for 'im when he come home. He'd say, 'Whars all my little Niggers?' Den us'd come a-runnin' an' he'd han' it to us out-a his saddle bags. It was mos'ly good stick candy.
"I 'members de paterollers. Whenever de cullud folks would slip off an' have dey frolics dout gittin' a pass from Old Marster de paterollers would come. Lots-a time dey'd come while us was a-dancin' an' a-havin' a big time. Dem paterollers would swarm in de room lak a lot o' bees. Fore anybody knowed it, dey'd begin grabbing at de mens. If dey didn' have dey pass wid 'em dey took 'em down in de woods an' whup 'em for runnin' off wid out asking dey white folks. Dey didn' bother de wimnins much. De wimmins mos' always got away while dey was catchin' de mens.
"Onct I slipped off wid another gal an' went to a party dout asking Old Mis'. When dem Night Riders come dat night, de Niggers was a-runnin' an' a-dodgin' an' a-jumpin' out-a winders lak dey was scairt to death. I runs too, me an' dat other gal. I fell down an' tore my dress, but I warnt studyin' dat dress. I knows dat dem white folks had dat strap an' I's gittin' 'way fas' as I could.
"When Miss 'Lizabeth got married to Mr. Ras Laird, dey had a big weddin' an' all dey folks come to see 'em married. Den dey went to live in Rankin County an' took me wid 'em. Old Marster had give me to Miss 'Lizabeth.
"I 'members when de Yankees come to de house. Us heard dey was comin', so us hid all de hams an' shoulders up in de lof' o' de Big House. Dey didn' git much. Dey was so mad dey jus' tore up some of Old Mis' clo'es what was in de wardrobe. Us was sho' scairt of 'em.
"I 'members dey promise to give de cullud folks all kin' o' things. Dey never give 'em nothin' dat I know's about. Us was jus' turnt loose to scratch for us ownse'ves. Us was glad to stay on wid de white folks, 'cause dey was de bes' frien's us had. I don' know nobody what got a thing 'cept what Old Marster an' Old Mis' give 'em.
"After freedom I went back to 'Old Mis'. I walked all de way back from Rankin County. It was a long way, but I wanted to see Old Mis' an' my Mammy an' my brothers an' sisters.
"When de surrender come by pappy come to git me. I didn' wan'-a go. I tol' 'im I's gwine stay wid Old Mis'. So he goes an' gits de sheriff an' takes me anyway. I runned away twict an' come back to Old Mis'. He whupped me de firs' time, but de nex' time I hid from him an' he couldn' catch me. He went back home an' 'lemme 'lone. Den I went wid my mammy to live wid Marse Tally Berry. He was one of Old Marster's sons. Dey used to come an' tell me dat dat old Nigger was gwine kill me if I didn' come wid him. But I jus' stayed hid out till he went away.
"I spec' all my white folks is dead now. I wish I could go back to 'em now. Dey help me. Dey was good to us after de War was over. Dis one would want me to live wid dem, den de other one would want me to live wid dem. Sometimes I quit one an' go live wid de other one. All of 'em sho' did treat me good. I's havin' a heap harder time now dan I ever had in slav'ry times. I sho' is.
"Dey raised de young folks better dem days. Dey learnt 'em to work. Dey didn' min' work. Today dey don' care 'bout nothin' but havin' a good time. Dey ain' studyin' 'bout no hereafter, neither.
"De Relief give me a little somethin' t'eat an' wear one time, but dey aint never give me no money. I's old an' needy, but I's trustin' de Lord an' de good white folks to he'p me now. All de white folks I used to work for has moved away from town now. I don' have nobody to look to but my daughter. She looks after me de bes' she can. Dey is some neighbor wimmins dat comes an' sets wid me sometimes.
"I's gittin' deaf an' I aint got a tooth lef' in my head. I's too feeble to he'p make a livin', but maybe I'll git dat Old Age Pension 'fore I die."