Note: The biography of Richard H. Cain is published in the Biographical Directory of the American Congress.
MARY KINCHEON EDWARDS says she was born on July 8, 1810, but she has nothing to substantiate this claim. However, she is evidently very old. Her memory is poor, but she knows she was reared by the Kincheons, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and that she spoke French when a child. The Kincheons gave her to Felix Vaughn, who brought her to Texas before the Civil War. Mary lives with Beatrice Watters, near Austin, Texas.
"When I's a li'l gal my name Mary Anne Kincheon and I's born on the eighth of July, in 1810. I lives with de Kincheon family over in Louisiana. Baton Rouge am de name of dat place. Dem Kincheons have plenty chillen. O, dey have so many chillen!
"I don't 'member much 'bout dem days. I's done forgot so many things, but I 'members how de stars fell and how scared us was. Dem stars got to fallin' and was out 'fore dey hits de ground. I don't knew when dat was, but I's good size den.
"I get give to Massa Felix Vaughn and he brung me to Texas. Dat long 'fore de war for freedom, but I don't know de year. De most work I done for de Vaughns was wet nuss de baby son, what name Elijah. His mammy jes' didn't have 'nough milk for him.
"Den I knit de socks and wash de clothes and sometimes I work in de fields. I he'ped make de baskets for de cotton. De man git white-oak wood and we lets it stay in de water for de night and de nex' mornin' and it soft and us split it in strips for makin' of de baskets. Everybody try see who could make de bes' basket.
"Us pick 'bout 100 pound cotton in one basket. I didn't mind pickin' cotton, 'cause I never did have de backache. I pick two and three hunnert pounds a day and one day I picked 400. Sometime de prize give by massa to de slave what pick de most. De prize am a big cake or some clothes. Pickin' cotton not so bad, 'cause us used to it and have de fine time of it. I gits a dress one day and a pair shoes 'nother day for pickin' most. I so fast I take two rows at de time.
"De women brung oil cloths to de fields, so dey make shady place for de chillen to sleep, but dem what big 'nough has to pick. Sometime dey sing
"'O—ho, I's gwine home,
And cuss de old overseer.'
"Us have ash-hopper and uses drip-lye for make barrels soap and hominy. De way us test de lye am drap de egg in it and if de egg float de lye ready to put in de grease for makin' de soap. Us throwed greasy bones in de lye and dat make de bes' soap. De lye eat de bones.
"Us boil wild sage and make tea and it smell good. It good for de fever and chills. Us git slippery elm out de bottom and chew it. Some chew it for bad feelin's and some jes' to be chewin'.
"Sometimes us go to dances and missy let me wear some her jewl'ry. I out dances dem all and folks didn't know dat not my jewl'ry. After freedom I stays with de Vaughns and marries, but I forgit he name. Dat 'fore freedom. After freedom I marries Osburn Edwards and has five chillen. Dey all dead now. I can still git 'round with dis old gnarly cane. Jes' you git me good and scared and see how fast I can git 'round!"
LUCINDA ELDER, 86, was born a slave of the Cardwell family, near Concord Deport, Virginia. She came to Texas with Will Jones and his wife, Miss Susie, in 1860, and was their nurse-girl until she married Will Elder, in 1875. Lucinda lives at 1007 Edwards St., Houston, Texas.
"You chilluns all go 'way now, while I talks to dis gen'man. I 'clares to goodness, chilluns nowadays ain't got no manners 'tall. 'Tain't like when I was li'l, dey larnt you manners and you larnt to mind, too. Nowadays you tell 'em to do somethin' and you is jes' wastin' you breath, 'less you has a stick right handy. Dey is my great grandchilluns, and dey sho' is spoilt. Maybe I ain't got no patience no more, like I use to have, 'cause dey ain't so bad.
"Well, suh, you all wants me to tell you 'bout slave times, and I'll tell you first dat I had mighty good white folks, and I hope dey is gone up to Heaven. My mama 'long to Marse John Cardwell, what I hear was de riches' man and had de bigges' plantation round Concord Depot. Dat am in Campbell County, in Virginny. I don't 'member old missy's name, but she mighty good to de slaves, jes' like Marse John was.
"Mama's name was Isabella and she was de cook and born right on de plantation. Papa's name was Gibson, his first name was Jim, and he 'long to Marse Gibson what had a plantation next to Marse John, and I knows papa come to see mama on Wednesday and Sat'day nights.
"Lemme see, now, dere was six of us chilluns. My mem'ry ain't so good no more, but Charley was oldes', den come Dolly and Jennie and Susie and me and Laura. Law me, I guess old Dr. Bass, what was doctor for Marse John, use to be right busy with us 'bout once a year for quite a spell.
"Dem times dey don't marry by no license. Dey takes a slave man and woman from de same plantation and puts 'em together, or sometime a man from 'nother plantation, like my papa and mama. Mamma say Marse John give 'em a big supper in de big house and read out de Bible 'bout obeyin' and workin' and den dey am married. Course, de nigger jes' a slave and have to do what de white folks say, so dat way of marryin' 'bout good as any.
"But Marse John sho' was de good marse and we had plenty to eat and wear and no one ever got whipped. Marse John say iffen he have a nigger what oughta be whipped, he'd git rid of him quick, 'cause a bad nigger jes' like a rotten 'tater in a sack of good ones—it spoil de others.
"Back dere in Virginny it sho' git cold in winter, but come September de wood gang git busy cuttin' wood and haulin' it to de yard. Dey makes two piles, one for de big house and de bigges' pile for de slaves. When dey git it all hauled it look like a big woodyard. While dey is haulin', de women make quilts and dey is wool quilts. Course, dey ain't made out of shearin' wool, but jes' as good. Marse John have lots of sheep and when dey go through de briar patch de wool cotch on dem briars and in de fall de women folks goes out and picks de wool off de briars jes' like you picks cotton. Law me, I don't know nothin' 'bout makin' quilts out of cotton till I comes to Texas.
"Course I never done no work, 'cause Marse John won't work no one till dey is fifteen years old. Den dey works three hours a day and dat all. Dey don't work full time till dey's eighteen. We was jes' same as free niggers on our place. He gives each slave a piece of ground to make de crop on and buys de stuff hisself. We growed snap beans and corn and plant on a light moon, or turnips and onions we plant on de dark moon.
"When I gits old 'nough Marse John lets me take he daughter, Nancy Lee, to school. It am twelve miles and de yard man hitches up old Bess to de buggy and we gits in and no one in dat county no prouder dan what I was.
"Marse John lets us go visit other plantations and no pass, neither. Iffen de patterroller stop us, we jes' say we 'long to Marse John and dey don't bother us none. Iffen dey comes to our cabin from other plantations, dey has to show de patterroller de pass, and iffen dey slipped off and ain't got none, de patterroller sho' give a whippin' den. But dey waits till dey off our place, 'cause Marse John won't 'low no whippin' on our place by no one.
"Well, things was jes' 'bout de same all de time till jes' 'fore freedom. Course, I hears some talk 'bout bluebellies, what dey call de Yanks, fightin' our folks, but dey wasn't fightin' round us. Den one dey mamma took sick and she had hear talk and call me to de bed and say, 'Lucinda, we all gwine be free soon and not work 'less we git paid for it.' She sho' was right, 'cause Marse John calls all us to de cookhouse and reads de freedom papers to us and tells us we is all free, but iffen we wants to stay he'll give us land to make a crop and he'll feed us. Now I tells you de truth, dey wasn't no one leaves, 'cause we all loves Marse John.
"Den, jus' three weeks after freedom mama dies and dat how come me to leave Marse John. You see, Marse Gibson what owns papa 'fore freedom, was a good marse and when papa was sot free Marse Gibson gives him some land to farm. 'Course, papa was gwine have us all with him, but when mamma dies, Marse Gibson tell him Mr. Will Jones and Miss Susie, he wife, want a nurse girl for de chilluns, so papa hires me out to 'em and I want to say right now, dey jes' as good white folks as Marse John and Old Missy, and sho' treated me good.
"Law me, I never won't forgit one day. Mr. Will say, 'Lucinda, we is gwine drive you over to Appomatox and take de chilluns and you can come, too.' Course, I was tickled mos' to pieces but he didn't tell what he gwine for. You know what? To see a nigger hung. I gettin' long mighty old now, but I won't never forgit dat. He had kilt a man, and I never saw so many people 'fore, what dere to see him hang. I jes' shut my eyes.
"Den Mr. Will he take me to de big tree what have all de bark strip off it and de branches strip off, and say, 'Lucinda, dis de tree where Gen. Lee surrendered.' I has put dese two hands right on dat tree, yes, suh, I sho' has.
"Miss Susie say one day, 'Lucinda, how you like to go with us to Texas?' Law me, I didn't know where Texas was at, or nothin', but I loved Mr. Will and Miss Susie and de chilluns was all wrop up in me, so I say I'll go. And dat how come I'm here, and I ain't never been back, and I ain't see my own sisters and brother and papa since.
"We come to New Orleans on de train and takes de boat on de Gulf to Galveston and den de train to Hempstead. Mr. Will farm at first and den he and Miss Susie run de hotel, and I stays with dem till I gets married to Will Elder in '75, and I lives with him till de good Lawd takes him home.
"I has five chilluns but all dead now, 'ceptin' two. I done served de Lawd now for 64 years and soon he's gwine call old Lucinda, but I'm ready and I know I'll be better off when I die and go to Heaven, 'cause I'm old and no 'count now.
JOHN ELLIS, was born June 26, 1852, a slave of the Ellis family in Johnson County near Cleburne, Texas. He remained with his white folks and was paid by the month for his labor for one year after freedom, when his master died and his mistress returned to Mississippi. He worked as a laborer for many years around Cleburne, coming to San Angelo, Texas in 1928. He now lives alone and is very active for his age.
John relates:
"My father and mother, John and Fannie Ellis, were sold in Springfield, Missouri, to my marster, Parson Ellis, and taken away from all their people and brought to Johnson County, Texas.
"My marster, he was a preacher and a good man. None of de slaves ever have better white folks den we did.
"We had good beds and good food and dey teaches us to read and write too. De buffalo and de antelope and de deer was mos' as thick as de cattle now, and we was sent out after dem, so we would always have plenty of fresh meat. We had hogs and cattle too. Any of dem what was not marked was just as much ours as iffen we had raised dem, 'cause de range was all free.
"Some of de fish we would catch out of dat Brazos River would be so big dey would pull us in but finally we would manage to gits dem out. De rabbits and de 'possum was plentiful too and wid de big garden what our marster had for us all, we sho' had good to eat.
"I's done all kinds of work what it takes to run a fa'm. My boss he had only fourteen slaves and what was called a small fa'm, compared wid de big plantations. After our days work was done we would set up at night and pick de seed out of de cotton so dey could spin it into thread. Den we goes out and gits different kinds of bark and boils it to git dye for de thread 'fore it was spinned into cloth. De chillun jes' have long shirts and slips made out of dis home spun and we makes our shoes out of rawhide, and Lawdy! Dey was so hard we would have to warm dem by de fire and grease dem wid tallow to ever wear dem 'tall.
"We had good log huts and our boss had a bigger log house. We never did work long into de night and long 'fore day like I hear tell some did. We didn' have none of dem drivers and when we done anything very bad old marster he whoop us a little but we never got hurt.
"I didn' see no slaves sold. Dat was done, I hear, but not so much in Texas. I never did see no jails nor chains nor nothin' like dat either, but I hears 'bout dem.
"We never worked Sat'days and de colored went to church wid de whites and jine de church too, but dey never baptized dem so far as I knows.
"We had lots to eat and big times on Christmas, mos' as big as when de white folks gits married. Umph, um! One of de gi'ls got married once and she had such a long train on dat weddin' gown 'til me and my sister, we have to walks along behind her and carry dat thing, all of us a-walkin' on a strip of nice cloth from de carriage to de church. We sho' have de cakes and all dem good eats at dem weddin' suppers.
"I nev'r hear tell of many colored weddin's. We jes' jumps over de broom an' de bride she has to jump over it backwards and iffen she couldn' jump it backwards she couldn't git married. Dat was sho' funny, seein' dem colored gi'ls a tryin' to jump dat broom.
"Our boss, he tells us 'bout bein' free and he say he hire us by de month and we stays dere a year and he dies, den ole miss she go back to Mississippi and we jes' scatter 'round, some a workin' here and some a workin' yonder, mos' times for our victuals and clothes. I couldn' tell much difference myself 'cause I had good people to live wid and when it was dat way de whites and de colored was better off de way I sees it den dey is now, some of dem.
"I seem jes' punyin' away, de doctors don' know jes' what's wrong wid me but I never was use to doctors anyway, jes' some red root tea or sage weed and sheep waste tea for de measles am all de doctoring we gits when we was slaves and dat done jes' as well.
"My wife she been dead all dese years an' I jes' lives here alone.
"Chillun? No mam, I never had no chillun 'fore I was married an' I only had twelve after I was married; yes mam, jes' nine boys and three girls, but I prefers to live here by myself, 'cause I gits along alright."
LORENZA EZELL, Beaumont, Texas, Negro, was born in 1850 on the plantation of Ned Lipscomb, in Spartanburg County, South Carolina. Lorenza is above the average in intelligence and remembers many incidents of slavery and Reconstruction days. He came to Brenham, Texas, in 1882, and several years later moved to Beaumont, where he lives in a little shack almost hidden by vines and trees.
"Us plantation was jes' east from Pacolet Station on Thicketty Creek, in Spartanburg County, in South Carolina. Dat near Little and Big Pacolet Rivers on de route to Limestone Springs, and it jes' a ordinary plantation with de main crops cotton and wheat.
"I 'long to de Lipscombs and my mama, Maria Ezell, she 'long to 'em, too. Old Ned Lipscomb was 'mongst de oldest citizens of dat county. I's born dere on July 29th, in 1850 and I be 87 year old dis year. Levi Ezell, he my daddy, and he 'long to Landrum Ezell, a Baptist preacher. Dat young massa and de old massa, John Ezell, was de first Baptist preacher I ever heered of. He have three sons, Landrum and Judson and Bryson. Bryson have gif' for business and was right smart of a orator.
"Dey's fourteen niggers on de Lipscomb place. Dey's seven of us chillen, my mamma, three uncle and three aunt and one man what wasn't no kin to us. I was oldest of de chillen, and dey called Sallie and Carrie and Alice and Jabus and Coy and LaFate and Rufus and Nelson.
"Old Ned Lipscomb was one de best massa in de whole county. You know dem old patterrollers, dey call us 'Old Ned's free niggers,' and sho' hate us. Dey cruel to us, 'cause dey think us have too good a massa. One time dey cotch my uncle and beat him most to death.
"Us go to work at daylight, but us wasn't 'bused. Other massas used to blow de horn or ring de bell, but massa, he never use de horn or de whip. All de man folks was 'lowed raise a garden patch with tobaccy or cotton for to sell in de market. Wasn't many massas what 'lowed dere niggers have patches and some didn't even feed 'em enough. Dat's why dey have to git out and hustle at night to git food for dem to eat.
"De old massa, he 'sisted us go to church. De Baptist church have a shed built behind de pulpit for cullud folks, with de dirt floor and split log seat for de women folks, but most de men folks stands or kneels on de floor. Dey used to call dat de coop. De white preacher back to us, but iffen he want to he turn 'round and talk to us awhile. Us mess up songs, 'cause us couldn't read or write. I 'member dis one:
'De rough, rocky road what Moses done travel,
I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd;
It's a mighty rocky road but I mos' done travel,
And I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd.'
"Us sing 'Sweet Chariot,' but us didn't sing it like dese days. Us sing:
'Swing low, sweet chariot,
Freely let me into rest,
I don't want to stay here no longer;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
When Gabriel make he las' alarm
I wants to be rollin' in Jesus arm,
'Cause I don't want to stay here no longer.'
Us sing 'nother song what de Yankees take dat tune and make a hymm out of it. Sherman army sung it, too. We have it like dis:
'Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
But us souls go marchin' home.'
"Befo' de war I jes' big 'nough to drap corn and tote water. When de little white chillen go to school 'bout half mile, I wait till noon and run all de way up to de school to run base when dey play at noon. Dey sev'ral young Lipscombs, dere Smith and Bill and John and Nathan, and de oldest son, Elias.
"In dem days cullud people jes' like mules and hosses. Dey didn't have no last name. My mamma call me after my daddy's massa, Ezell. Mamma was de good woman and I 'member her more dan once rockin' de little cradle and singin' to de baby. Dis what she sing:
"Milk in de dairy nine days old,
Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Frogs and skeeters gittin' mighty bol!
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
(Chorus)
Keemo, kimo, darro, wharro,
With me hi, me ho;
In come Sally singin'
Sometime penny winkle,
Lingtum nip cat,
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Dere a frog live in a pool,
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
Sure he was de bigges' fool,
Sing-song Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
For he could dance and he could sing
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?
And make de woods aroun' him ring
Sing-song, Kitty, can't you ki-me-o?'
"Old massa didn't hold with de way some mean massas treat dey niggers. Dere a place on our plantation what us call 'De old meadow.' It was common for runaway niggers to have place 'long de way to hide and res' when dey run off from mean massa. Massa used to give 'em somethin' to eat when dey hide dere. I saw dat place operated, though it wasn't knowed by dat den, but long time after I finds out dey call it part of de 'Underground railroad.' Dey was stops like dat all de way up to de north.
"We have went down to Columbia when I 'bout 11 year old and dat where de first gun fired. Us rush back home, but I could say I heered de first guns of de war shot, at Fort Sumter.
"When Gen'ral Sherman come 'cross de Savannah River in South Carolina, some of he sojers come right 'cross us plantation. All de neighbors have brung dey cotton and stack it in de thicket on de Lipscomb place. Sherman men find it and sot it on fire. Dat cotton stack was big as a little courthouse and it took two months' burnin'.
"My old massa run off and stay in de woods a whole week when Sherman men come through. He didn't need to worry, 'cause us took care of everythin'. Dey a funny song us make up 'bout him runnin' off in de woods. I know it was make up, 'cause my uncle have a hand in it. It went like dis:
'White folks, have you seed old massa
Up de road, with he mustache on?
He pick up he hat and he leave real sudden
And I 'lieve he's up and gone.
(Chorus)
'Old massa run away
And us darkies stay at home.
It mus' be now dat Kingdom's comin'
And de year of Jubilee.
'He look up de river and he seed dat smoke
Where de Lincoln gunboats lay.
He big 'nuff and he old 'nuff and he orter know better,
But he gone and run away.
'Now dat overseer want to give trouble
And trot us 'round a spell,
But we lock him up in de smokehouse cellar,
With de key done throwed in de well.'
"Right after dat I start to be boy what run mail from camp to camp for de sojers. One time I capture by a bunch of deserters what was hidin' in de woods 'long Pacolet River. Dey didn't hurt me, though, but dey mos' scare me to death. Dey parole me and turn me loose.
"All four my young massas go to de war, all but Elias. He too old. Smith, he kilt at Manassas Junction. Nathan he git he finger shot at de first round at Fort Sumter. But when Billy was wounded at Howard Gap in North Carolina and dey brung him home with he jaw split open, I so mad I could have kilt all de Yankees. I say I be happy iffen I could kill me jes' one Yankee. I hated dem 'cause dey hurt my white people. Billy was disfigure awful when he jaw split and he teeth all shine through he cheek.
"After war was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he 'vise not leave de place till de crop was through. Us all stay. Den us select us homes and move to it. Us folks move to Sam Littlejohn's, north of Thickettty Creek, where us stay two year. Den us move back to Billy Lipscomb, de young massa, and stay dere two more year. I's right smart good banjo picker in dem day. I kin 'member one dem songs jes' as good today as when I pick it. Dat was:
'Early in de mornin'
Don't you hear de dogs a-barkin'?
Bow, wow, wow!
(Chorus)
'Hush, hush, boys
Don't make a noise,
Massa's fast a-sleepin'.
Run to de barnyard
Wake up de boys
Let's have banjo pickin.'.
'Early in de mornin'
Don't you hear dem roosters crowin'?
Cock-a-doodle-do.
"I come in contac' with de Klu Klux. Us lef' de plantation in '65 or '66 and by '68 us was havin' sich a awful time with de Klu Klux. First time dey come to my mamma's house at midnight and claim dey sojers done come back from de dead. Dey all dress up in sheets and make up like spirit. Dey groan 'round and say dey been kilt wrongly and come back for justice. One man, he look jus' like ordinary man, but he spring up 'bout eighteen feet high all of a sudden. Another say he so thirsty he ain't have no water since he been kilt at Manassas Junction. He ask for water and he jes' kept pourin' it in. Us think he sho' must be a spirit to drink dat much water. Course he not drinkin' it, he pourin' it in a bag under he sheet. My mama never did take up no truck with spirits so she knowed it jes' a man. Dey tell us what dey gwine do iffen we don't all go back to us massas and us all 'grees and den dey all dis'pear.
"Den us move to New Prospect on de Pacolet River, on de Perry Clemmons' place. Dat in de upper edge of de county and dat where de second swarm of de Klu Klux come out. Dey claim dey gwine kill everybody what am Repub'can. My daddy charge with bein' a leader 'mongst de niggers. He make speech and 'struct de niggers how to vote for Grant's first 'lection. De Klu Klux want to whip him and he have to sleep in a holler log every night.
"Dey's a old man name Uncle Bart what live 'bout half mile from us. De Klu Klux come to us house one night, but my daddy done hid. Den I hear dem say dey gwine go kill old man Bart. I jump out de window and cut short cut through dem wood and warn him. He git out de house in time and I save he life. De funny thing, I knowed all dem Klu Klux. Spite dey sheets and things, I knowed dey voices and dey saddle hosses.
"Dey one white man name Irving Ramsey. Us play fiddle together lots of time. When de white boys dance dey allus wants me to go to play for dey party. One day I say to dat boy, 'I done knowed you last night.' He say, 'What you mean?' I say, 'You one dem Klu Klux.' He want to know how I know. I say, 'Member when you go under de chestnut tree and say, "Whoa, Sont, whoa, Sont, to your hoss?" He say, 'Yes,' and I laugh and say, 'Well, I's right up in dat tree.' Dey all knowed I knowed dem den, but I never told on dem. When dey seed I ain't gwineter tell, dey never try whip my daddy or kill Uncle Bart no more.
"I ain't never been to school but I jes' picked up readin'. With some my first money I ever earn I buy me a old blue-back Webster. I carry dat book wherever I goes. When I plows down a row I stop at de end to rest and den I overlook de lesson. I 'member one de very first lessons was, 'Evil communications 'rupts good morals.' I knowed de words 'evil' and 'good' and a white man 'splain de others. I been done use dat lesson all my life.
"After us left de Pacolet River us stay in Atlanta a little while and den I go on to Louisiana. I done lef' Spartanburg completely in '76 but I didn't git into Texas till 1882. I fin'lly git to Brenham, Texas and marry Rachel Pinchbeck two year after. Us was marry in church and have seven chillen. Den us sep'rate. I been batching 'bout 20 year and I done los' track mos' dem chillen. My gal, Lula, live in Beaumont, and Will, he in Chicago.
"Every time I tells dese niggers I's from South Carolina dey all say, 'O, he bound to make a heap.' I could be a conjure doctor and make plenty money, but dat ain't good. In slavery time dey's men like dat 'garded as bein' dangerous. Dey make charms and put bad mouth on you. De old folks wears de rabbit foot or coon foot and sometime a silver dime on a fishin' string to keep off de witches. Some dem old conjure people make lots of money for charm 'gainst ruin or cripplin' or dry up de blood. But I don't take up no truck with things like dat.
BETTY FARROW, 90, now living with a son on a farm in Moser Valley, a Negro settlement ten miles northeast of Fort Worth on Texas Highway No. 15, was born a slave to Mr. Alex Clark, plantation owner in Patrick Co., Virginia.
"I's glad to tell what I knows, but yous have to 'scuse me, 'cause my 'collection am bad. I jus' don' 'member much, but I's bo'n on Masta Alex Clark's plantation in Patrick County, Virginny, on June 28th, 1847. Dat's what my mammy tol' me. You see, we cullud folks have no schoolin' dem days and I can't read or write. I has to depen' on what folks tells me.
"Masta Clark has right smart plantation in ole Virginny and he owns 'bout twenty other slaves dat wo'ked de big place. He had three girls and four boys and when I's a chile we'uns played togedder and we'uns 'tached to each other all our lives.
"In mammy's family dere was five boys and four girls. I don' 'member my pappy. When I's 'bout ten, I's set to work, peddalin' 'round de house.
"'bout three years 'fore de war marster sol' his plantation for to go to Texas. I 'members de day we'uns started in three covered wagons, all loaded. 'Twas celebration day for us chillun. We travels from daylight to dark, 'cept to feed and res' de mules at noon. I don' rec'lec' how long we was on de way, but 'twas long time and 'twarn't no celebration towards de las'. After while we comes to Sherman, in Texas, to our new farm.
"When we was dere 'bout a year, dere am heaps of trouble. Dere was a neighbor, Shields, he's drivin' wood to town and goes n'cross masta's yard and dey have arg'ments. One day we chillen playin' and masta settin' on de front porch and Shields come up de road. Masta stops him when he starts to cross de yard and de fust thing we knows, we hears 'bang' and dat Shields shoot de masta and we sees him fall. Dey sen's young Alex for de doctor and he makes dat mule run like he never run 'fore. De doctor comes in de house and looks at de masta, and listens to his heart and says, 'He am dead.' Dere was powerful sorrow in dat home.
"After dat, Masta Alex takes charge, and in 'bout one year, he says, 'We'uns goin' to Fort Worth.' So we goes, and if I rec'lec's right, dat year de war started. After dat, dere was times dere wasn' enough to make de clothes, but we'uns allus had plenty to eat, and we gives lots of feed to de army mans.
"I don' 'member bein' tol' I's free. We'uns stayed right dere on de farm 'cause it was de only home we knew and no reason to go. I stays dere till I's twenty-seven years ole, den I marries and my husban' rents land. We'uns has ten chillun and sometimes we has to skimp, but we gets on. When my husban' dies fifteen years ago, I comes here. I's allus been too busy tendin' to my 'sponsibilities for to git in de debilmen' and now I's happy, tendin' to my great gran'chile.
JOHN FINNELY, 86, was born a slave to Martin Finnely, in Jackson Co., Alabama. During the Civil War ten slaves escaped from the Finnely plantation. Their success led John to escape. He joined the Federal Army. John farmed from 1865 until 1917, then moved to Fort Worth, Tex., and worked in packing plants until 1930. He now lives at 2812 Cliff St., Fort Worth, his sole support a $17.00 monthly pension.
"Alabama am de state where I's born and dat 86 year ago, in Jackson County, on Massa Martin Finnely's plantation, and him owns 'bout 75 other slaves 'sides mammy and me. My pappy am on dat plantation but I don't know him, 'cause mammy never talks 'bout him 'cept to say, 'He am here.'
"Massa run de cotton plantation but raises stock and feed and corn and cane and rations for de humans sich as us. It am diff'rent when I's a young'un dan now. Den, it am needful for to raise everything yous need, 'cause dey couldn't 'pend on factory made goods. Dey could buy shoes and clothes and sich, but we'uns could make dem so much cheaper.
"What we'uns make? 'Low me to 'collect a li'l. Let's see, we'uns make shoes, and leather and clothes and cloth and grinds de meal. And we'uns cures de meat, preserves de fruit and make 'lassas and brown sugar. All de harness for de mules and de hosses is make and de carts for haulin'. Am dat all? Oh, yes, massa make peach brandy and him have he own still.
"De work am 'vided 'twixt de cullud folks and us allus have certain duties to do. I's am de field hand and befo' I's old 'nough for to do dat, dey has me help with de chores and errands.
"Us have de cabins of logs with one room and one door and one window hole and bunks for sleepin'. But no cookin' am done dere. It am done in de cookhouse by de cooks for all us niggers and we'uns eats in de eatin' shed. De rations am good, plain victuals and dere plenty of it and 'bout twict a week dere somethin' for treat. Massa sho' am 'ticular 'bout feedin', 'specially for de young'uns in de nursery. You see, dere am de nursery for sich what needs care while dere mammies am a-workin'.
"Massa feed plenty and him 'mand plenty work. Dat cause heap of trouble on dat plantation, 'cause whippin's am given and hard ones, too. Lots of times at de end of de day I's so tired I's couldn't speak for to stop de mule, I jus' have to lean back on de lines.
"Dis nigger never gits whupped 'cept for dis, befo' I's a field hand. Massa use me for huntin' and use me for de gun rest. When him have de long shot I bends over and puts de hands on de knees and massa puts his gun on my back for to git de good aim. What him kills I runs and fotches and carries de game for him. I turns de squirrels for him and dat disaway: de squirrel allus go to udder side from de hunter and I walks 'round de tree and de squirrel see me and go to massa's side de tree and he gits de shot.
"All dat not so bad, but when he shoots de duck in de water and I has to fotch it out, dat give me de worryment. De fust time he tells me to go in de pond I's skeert, powe'ful skeert. I takes off de shirt and pants but there I stands. I steps in de water, den back 'gain, and 'gain. Massa am gittin' mad. He say, 'Swim in dere and git dat duck.' 'Yes, sar, massa,' I says, but I won't go in dat water till massa hit me some licks. I couldn't never git use to bein' de water dog for de ducks.
"De worst whuppin' I seed was give to Clarinda. She hits massa with de hoe 'cause he try 'fere with her and she try stop him. She am put on de log and give 500 lashes. She am over dat log all day and when dey takes her off, she am limp and act deadlike. For a week she am in de bunk. Dat whuppin' cause plenty trouble and dere lots of arg'ments 'mong de white folks 'round dere.
"We has some joyments on de plantation, no parties or dancin' but we has de corn huskin' and de nigger fights. For de corn huskin' everybody come to one place and dey gives de prize for findin' de red ear. On massa's place de prize am brandy or you am 'lowed to kiss de gal you calls for. While us huskin' us sing lots. No, no, I's not gwine sing any dem songs, 'cause I's forgit and my voice sound like de bray of de mule.
"De nigger fights am more for de white folks' joyment but de slaves am 'lowed to see it. De massas of plantations match dere niggers 'cording to size and bet on dem. Massa Finnely have one nigger what weighs 'bout 150 pounds and him powerful good fighter and he like to fight. None lasts long with him. Den a new niggers comes to fight him.
"Dat fight am held at night by de pine torch light. A ring am made by de folks standin' 'round in de circle. Deys 'lowed to do anything with dey hands and head and teeth. Nothin' barred 'cept de knife and de club. Dem two niggers gits in de ring and Tom he starts quick, and dat new nigger he starts jus' as quick. Dat 'sprise Tom and when dey comes togedder it like two bulls—kersmash—it sounds like dat. Den it am hit and kick and bite and butt anywhere and any place for to best de udder. De one on de bottom bites knees or anything him can do. Dat's de way it go for half de hour.
"Fin'ly dat new nigger gits Tom in de stomach with he knee and a lick side de jaw at de same time and down go Tom and de udder nigger jumps on him with both feets, den straddle him and hits with right, left, right, left, right, side Tom's head. Dere Tom lay, makin' no 'sistance. Everybody am saysin', 'Tom have met he match, him am done.' Both am bleedin' and am awful sight. Well, dat new nigger 'laxes for to git he wind and den Tom, quick like de flash, flips him off and jump to he feet and befo' dat new nigger could git to he feet, Tom kicks him in de stomach, 'gain and 'gain. Dat nigger's body start to quaver and he massa say, 'Dat 'nough.' Dat de clostest Tom ever come to gittin' whupped what I's know of.
"I becomes a runaway nigger short time after dat fight. De war am started den for 'bout a year, or somethin' like dat, and de Fed'rals am north of us. I hears de niggers talk 'bout it, and 'bout runnin' 'way to freedom. I thinks and thinks 'bout gittin' freedom, and I's gwine run off. Den I thinks of de patter rollers and what happen if dey cotches me off de place without de pass. Den I thinks of some joyment sich as de corn huskin' and de fights and de singin' and I don't know what to do. I tells you one singin' but I can't sing it:
"'De moonlight, a shinin' star,
De big owl hootin' in de tree;
O, bye, my baby, ain't you gwineter sleep,
A-rockin' on my knee?
"'Bye, my honey baby,
A-rockin' on my knee,
Baby done gone to sleep,
Owl hush hootin' in de tree.
"'She gone to sleep, honey baby sleep,
A-rockin' on my, a-rockin' on my knee.'
"Now, back to de freedom. One night 'bout ten niggers run away. De next day we'uns hears nothin', so I says to myself, 'De patters don't cotch dem.' Den I makes up my mind to go and I leaves with de chunk of meat and cornbread and am on my way, half skeert to death. I sho' has de eyes open and de ears forward, watchin' for de patters. I steps off de road in de night, at sight of anything, and in de day I takes to de woods. It takes me two days to make dat trip and jus' once de patters pass me by. I am in de thicket watchin' dem and I's sho' dey gwine search dat thicket, 'cause dey stops and am a-talkin' and lookin' my way. Dey stands dere for a li'l bit and den one comes my way. Lawd A-mighty! Dat sho' look like de end, but dat man stop and den look and look. Den he pick up somethin' and goes back. It am a bottle and dey all takes de drink and rides on. I's sho' in de sweat and I don't tarry dere long.
"De Yanks am camped nere Bellfound and dere's where I gits to. 'Magine my 'sprise when I finds all de ten runaway niggers am dere, too. Dat am on a Sunday and on de Monday, de Yanks puts us on de freight train and we goes to Stevenson, in Alabama. Dere, us put to work buildin' breastworks. But after de few days, I gits sent to de headquarters at Nashville, in Tennessee.
"I's water toter dere for de army and dere am no fightin' at first but 'fore long dey starts de battle. Dat battle am a 'sperience for me. De noise am awful, jus' one steady roar of de guns and de cannons. De window glass in Nashville am all shoke out from de shakement of de cannons. Dere am dead mens all over de ground and lots of wounded and some cussin' and some prayin'. Some am moanin' and dis and dat one cry for de water and, God A-mighty, I don't want any sich 'gain. Dere am men carryin' de dead off da field, but dey can't keep up with de cannons. I helps bury de dead and den I gits sent to Murphysboro and dere it am jus' de same.
"You knows when Abe Lincoln am shot? Well, I's in Nashville den and it am near de end of de war and I am standin' on Broadway Street talkin' with de sergeant when up walk a man and him shakes hands with me and says, 'I's proud to meet a brave, young fellow like you.' Dat man am Andrew Johnson and him come to be president after Abe's dead.
"I stays in Nashville when de war am over and I marries Tennessee House in 1875 and she died July 10th, 1936. Dat make 61 year dat we'uns am togedder. Her old missy am now livin' in Arlington Heights, right here in Fort Worth and her name am Mallard and she come from Tennessee, too.
"I comes here from Tennessee 51 year ago and at fust I farms and den I works for de packin' plants till dey lets me out, 'cause I's too old for to do 'nough work for dem.
"I has eight boys and three girls, dat make eleven chillen, and dey makin' scatterment all over de country so I's alone in my old age. I has dat $17.00 de month pension what I gits from de State.
SARAH FORD, whose age is problematical, but who says, "I's been here for a long time," lives in a small cottage at 3151 Clay St., Houston, Texas. Born on the Kit Patton plantation near West Columbia, Texas, Aunt Sarah was probably about fifteen years old when emancipated. She had eleven children, the first born during the storm of 1875, at East Columbia, in which Sarah's mother and father both perished.
"Law me, you wants me to talk 'bout slave times, and you is cotched me 'fore I's had my coffee dis mornin', but when you gits old as I is, talk is 'bout all you can do, so 'scuse me whilst I puts de coffee pot on de fire and tell you what I can.
"Now, what I tells you is de truth, 'cause I only told one little lie in my whole life and I got cotched in it and got whipped both ways. Oh, Lawd, I sho' never won't forget dat, mama sho' was mad. Mama sends me over to Sally Ann, the cow woman, to get some milk and onions. I never did like to borrow, so I comes back with the milk and tell mama Sally Ann say she ain't got no onions for no Africans. Dat make mamma mad and she goes tell dat Sally Ann Somethin'. She brung back de onions and say, 'You, Sarah, I'll larn you not to tell no lie.' She sho' give me a hidin'.
"Now, I tells you 'bout de plantation what I's born on. You all knows where West Columbia is at? Well, dat's right where I's born, on Massa Kit Patton's Plantation, dey calls it de Hogg place now." (Owned by children of Gov. Will Hogg.)
"Mamma and papa belongs to Massa Kit and mama born there, too. Folks called her 'Little Jane,' 'cause she's no bigger'n nothing.
"Papa's name was Mike and he's a tanner and he come from Tennessee and sold to Massa Kit by a nigger trader. He wasn't all black, he was part Indian. I heared him say what tribe, but I can't 'lect now. When I's growed mama tells me lots of things. She say de white folks don't let de slaves what works in de field marry none, dey jus' puts a man and breedin' woman together like mules. Iffen the women don't like the man it don't make no diff'rence, she better go or dey gives her a hidin'.
"Massa Kit has two brothers, Massa Charles and Massa Matt, what lives at West Columbia. Massa Kit on one side Varney's Creek and Massa Charles on de other side. Massa Kit have a African woman from Kentucky for he wife, and dat's de truth. I ain't sayin' iffen she a real wife or not, but all de slaves has to call her 'Miss Rachel.' But iffen a bird fly up in de sky it mus' come down sometime, and Rachel jus' like dat bird, 'cause Massa Kit go crazy and die and Massa Charles take over de plantation and he takes Rachel and puts her to work in de field. But she don't stay in de field long, 'cause Massa Charles puts her in a house by herself and she don't work no more.
"If us gits sick us call Mammy Judy. She de cook and iffen you puts a sugar barrel 'long side her and puts a face on dat barrel, you sho' can't tell it from her, she so round and fat. Iffen us git real sick dey calls de doctor, but iffen it a misery in de stomach or jus' de flux, Mammy Judy fix up some burr vine tea or horsemint tea. Dey de male burr vine and de female burr vine and does a woman or gal git de misery, dey gives 'em de female tea, and does a man, or boy chile git it, dey gives him de male vine tea.
"Scuse me while I pours me some coffee. It sho' do fortify me. You know what us drink for coffee in slave times? Parched meal, and it purty good iffen you know's how.
"Us don't have much singin' on our place, 'cepting at church on Sunday. Law me, de folks what works in de fields feels more like cryin' at night. Us chillen used to sing dis:
"'Where you goin', buzzard,
Where you gwine to go?
I's goin' down to new ground,
For to hunt Jim Crow.'
"I guess Massa Charles, what taken us when Massa Kit die, was 'bout de same as all white folks what owned slaves, some good and some bad. We has plenty to eat—more'n I has now—and plenty clothes and shoes. But de overseer was Uncle Big Jake, what's black like de rest of us, but he so mean I 'spect de devil done make him overseer down below long time ago. Dat de bad part of Massa Charles, 'cause he lets Uncle Jake whip de slaves so much dat some like my papa what had spirit was all de time runnin' 'way. And even does your stomach be full, and does you have plenty clothes, dat bullwhip on your bare hide make you forgit de good part, and dat's de truth.
"Uncle Big Jake sho' work de slaves from early mornin' till night. When you is in de field you better not lag none. When its fallin' weather de hands is put to work fixin' dis and dat. De woman what has li'l chillen don't have to work so hard. Dey works 'round de sugar house and come 11 o'clock dey quits and cares for de babies till 1 o'clock, and den works till 3 o'clock and quits.
"Massa Charles have a arbor and dat's where we has preachin'. One day old Uncle Law preachin' and he say, 'De Lawd make everyone to come in unity and on de level, both white and black.' When Massa Charles hears 'bout it, he don't like it none, and de next mornin' old Uncle Jake git Uncle Law and put him out in de field with de rest.
"Massa Charles run dat plantation jus' like a factory. Uncle Cip was sugar man, my papa tanner and Uncle John Austin, what have a wooden leg, am shoemaker and make de shoes with de brass toes. Law me, dey heaps of things go on in slave time what won't go on no more, 'cause de bright light come and it ain't dark no more for us black folks. Iffen a nigger run away and dey cotch him, or does he come back 'cause he hongry, I seed Uncle Jake stretch him out on de ground and tie he hands and feet to posts so he can't move none. Den he git de piece of iron what he call de 'slut' and what is like a block of wood with little holes in it, and fill de holes up with tallow and put dat iron in de fire till de grease sizzlin' hot and hold it over de pore nigger's back and let dat hot grease drap on he hide. Den he take de bullwhip and whip up and down, and after all dat throw de pore nigger in de stockhouse and chain him up a couple days with nothin' to eat. My papa carry de grease scars on he back till he die.
"Massa Charles and Uncle Jake don't like papa, 'cause he ain't so black, and he had spirit, 'cause he part Indian. Do somethin' go wrong and Uncle Big Jake say he gwine to give papa de whippin', he runs off. One time he gone a whole year and he sho' look like a monkey when he gits back, with de hair standin' straight on he head and he face. Papa was mighty good to mama and me and dat de only reason he ever come back from runnin' 'way, to see us. He knowed he'd git a whippin' but he come anyway. Dey never could cotch papa when he run 'way, 'cause he part Indian. Massa Charles even gits old Nigger Kelly what lives over to Sandy Point to track papa with he dogs, but papa wade in water and dey can't track him.
"Dey knows papa is de best tanner 'round dat part de country, so dey doesn't sell him off de place. I 'lect papa sayin' dere one place special where he hide, some German folks, de name Ebbling, I think. While he hides dere, he tans hides on de sly like and dey feeds him, and lots of mornin's when us open de cabin door on a shelf jus' 'bove is food for mama and me, and sometime store clothes. No one ain't see papa, but dere it is. One time he brung us dresses, and Uncle Big Jake heered 'bout it and he sho' mad 'cause he can't cotch papa, and he say to mama he gwine to whip her 'less she tell him where papa is. Mama say, 'Fore God, Uncle Jake, I don't know, 'cause I ain't seed him since he run 'way,' and jus' den papa come 'round de corner of de house. He save mama from de whippin' but papa got de hot grease drapped on him like I told you Uncle Big Jake did, and got put in de stockhouse with shackles on him, and kep' dere three days, and while he in dere mama has de goin' down pains and my sister, Rachel, is born.
"When freedom come, I didn't know what dat was. I 'lect Uncle Charley Burns what drive de buggy for Massa Charles, come runnin' out in de yard and holler, 'Everybody free, everybody free,' and purty soon sojers comes and de captain reads a 'mation. And, Law me, dat one time Massa Charley can't open he mouth, 'cause de captain tell him to shut up, dat he'd do de talkin'. Den de captain say, 'I come to tell you de slaves is free and you don't have to call nobody master no more.' Well, us jus' mill 'round like cattle do. Massa Charley say iffen us wants to stay he'll pay us, all 'cepting my papa. He say, 'You can't stay here, 'cause you is a bad 'fluence.'
"Papa left but come back with a wagon and mules what he borrows and loads mama and my sister and me in and us go to East Columbia on de Brazos river and settles down. Dey hires me out and us have our own patch, too, and dat de fust time I ever seed any money. Papa builds a cabin and a corn crib and us sho' happy, 'cause de bright light done come and dey no more whippin's.
"One night us jus' finish eatin supper and someone holler 'Hello.' You know who it was holler? Old Uncle Big Jake. De black folks all hated him so dey wouldn't have no truck with him and he ask my papa could he stay. Papa didn't like him none, 'cause he done treat papa so bad, but de old devil jus' beg so hard papa takes him out to de corn crib and fix a place for him and he stay most a month till he taken sick and died.
"I stays with papa and mama till I marries Wes Ford and I shows you how de Lawd done give and take away. Wes and I has a cabin by ourselves near papa's and I is jus' 'bout to have my first baby. De wind start blowin' and it git harder and harder and right when its de worst de baby comes. Dat in '75 and whilst I havin' my baby, de wind tear de cabin where mama and papa is to pieces and kilt 'em. My sister Rachel was with me so she wasn't kilt.
"Well, I can't complain, 'cause de Lawd sho' been good to me. Wes and all 'cept four my chillen is dead now. I has six boys and five gals. But de ones what is alive is pore like dey mammy. But I praises de Lawd 'cause de bright light am turned on.