PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE
ADDIE VINSON, Age 86 653 Dearing Street Athens, Georgia
Written By: Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby Athens, Georgia
Edited By: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall Athens, Georgia
and
John N. Booth WPA Residency No. 6 & 7
August 23, 1938 "A frog went courtin' And he did ride Uh hunh With a sword and pistol By his side Uh hunh. "Old uncle Rat laughed, Shook his old fat side; He thought his niece Was going to be the bride. Uh hunh, uh hunh "Where shall the wedding be? Uh hunh Where shall the wedding be? Uh hunh "Way down yonder In a hollow gum tree. Uh hunh, un hunh, uh hunh. "Who shall the waiters be? Uh hunh Granddaddy Louse and a Black-eyed flea. Uh hunh, uh hunh, uh hunh." Laney reminded him of a song he used to sing when their child was a baby. "It is hard for me to formulate its words in my mind. I just cannot seem to get them," he answered, "but I thought of this one the other night and promised myself I would sing it for you sometime. It's Old Granny Mistletoe . "Old Granny Mistletoe, Lyin' in the bed, Out the window She poked her head. "She says, 'Old Man, The gray goose's gone, And I think I heard her holler, King-cant-you-O, King-cant-you-O!' "The old fox stepped around, A mighty fast step. He hung the old gray goose Up by the neck. "Her wings went flip-flop Over her back, And her legs hung down. Ding-downy-O, ding-downy-O. "The old fox marched On to his den. Out come his young ones, Some nine or ten. "Now we will have Some-supper-O, some-summer-O. Now we will have Some-supper-O, some-supper-O." "The only riddle I remember is the one about: 'What goes around the house, and just makes one track?' I believe they said it was a wheelbarrow. Mighty few people in that settlement believed in such things as charms. They were too intelligent for that sort of thing. "Old man Dillard Love didn't know half of his slaves. They were called 'Love's free niggers.' Some of the white folks in that settlement would get after their niggers and say 'who do you think you are, you must think you are one of Dillard Love's free niggers the way you act.' Then the slave was led to the whipping post and brushed down, and his marster would tell him, 'now you see who is boss.' "Marse Dillard often met a darkey in the road, he would stop and inquire of him, 'Who's nigger is you?' The darkey would say 'Boss I'se your nigger.' If Marse Dillard was feeling good he would give the darkey a present. Heaps of times he gave them as much as five dollars, 'cording to how good he was feeling. He treated his darkies mighty good. "My grandfather belonged to Marse Dillard Love, and when the war was declared he was too old to go. Marse George Sellars went and was wounded. You know all about the blanket rolls they carried over their shoulders. Well, that bullet that hit him had to go all the way through that roll that had I don't know how many folds, and its force was just about spent by the time it got to his shoulder; that was why it didn't kill him, otherwise it would have gone through him. The bullet was extracted, but it left him with a lame shoulder. "Our Mr. Tommy Angel went to the war, and he got so much experience shooting at the Yankees that he could shoot at a target all day long, and then cover all the bullet holes he made with the palm of one hand. Mr. Tommy was at home when the Yankees come though. "Folks around our settlement put their darkies on all their good mules and horses, and loaded them down with food and valuables, then sent them to the nearby mountains and caves to hide until the soldiers were gone. Mr. Angel himself told me later that lots of the folks who came around pilfering after the war, warn't northerners at all, but men from just anywhere, who had fought in the war and came back home to find all they had was gone, and they had to live some way. "One day my father and another servant were laughing fit to kill at a greedy little calf that had caught his head in the feed basket. They thought it was just too funny. About that time a Yankee, in his blue uniform coming down the road, took the notion the men were laughing at him. 'What are you laughing at?' he said, and at that they lit out to run. The man called my father and made him come back, 'cause he was the one laughing so hard. Father thought the Yankee vas going to shoot him before he could make him understand they were just laughing at the calf. "When the war was over, Mr. Love called his slaves together and told them they had been set free. He explained everything to them very carefully, and told them he would make farming arrangements for all that wanted to stay on there with him. Lots of the darkies left after they heard about folks getting rich working on the railroads in Tennessee and about the high wages that were being paid on those big plantations in Mississippi. Some of those labor agents were powerful smart about stretching the truth, but those folks that believed them and left home found out that it's pretty much the same the world over, as far as folks and human nature is concerned. Those that had even average common sense got along comfortable and all right in Tennessee and Mississippi, and those that suffered out there were the sort that are so stupid they would starve in the middle of a good apple pie. My brother that went with the others to Tennessee never came back, and we never saw him again. "My father did not want me to leave our home at Franklin, North Carolina, and come to Georgia, for he had been told Georgia people were awful mean. There was a tale told us about the Mr. Oglethorpe, who settled Georgia, bringing over folks from the jails of England to settle in Georgia and it was said they became the ruling class of the State. Anyway, I came on just the same, and pretty soon I married a Georgia girl, and have found the people who live here are all right." Laney eagerly took advantage of the pause that followed to tell of her mother's owner. "Mother said that he was an old, old man and would set in his big armchair 'most all day. When he heard good news from the soldiers he would drum his fingers on his chair and pat his feet, whilst he tried to sing, 'Te Deum, Te Deum. Good news today! We won today!' Whenever he heard the southern armies were losing, he would lie around moaning and crying out loud. Nobody could comfort him then." John was delighted to talk about religion. "Yes, mam, after the war, darkies used to meet at each others' houses for religious services until they got churches of their own. Those meetings were little more than just prayermeetings. Our white folks were powerful careful to teach their slaves how to do the right thing, and long after we were free Mr. Tommy would give long talks at our meetings. We loved to listen to him and have him interested in us, for we had never been treated mean like heaps of the slaves in that neighborhood had. "One white man in our county needed the help of the Lord. His name was Boney Ridley and he just couldn't keep away from liquor. He was an uncle of that famous preacher and poet, Mr. Caleb Ridley. One day when Mr. Boney had been drinking hard and kind of out of his head, he was stretched out on the ground in a sort of stupor. He opened his eyes and looked at the buzzards circling low over him and said, sort of sick and fretful-like, 'Git on off, buzzards; I ain't dead yet.'" "The Reverend Doctor George Truett was a fine boy and he has grown into a splendid man. He is one of God's chosen ones. I well remember the first time I heard him speak. I was a janitor at the State Normal School when he was a pupil there in 1887. I still think he is about the greatest orator I ever listened to. In those days, back in 1887, I always made it convenient to be doing something around the school room when time came for him to recite or to be on a debate. After he left that school he went on to the Seminary at Louisville and he has become known throughout this country as a great Christian. "I started teaching in old field schools with no education but just what our white folks had taught me. They taught me to read and write, and I must say I really was a mighty apt person, and took advantage of every opportunity that came my way to learn. You know, teaching is a mighty good way to learn. After I had been teaching for some time I went back to school, but most of my knowledge was gotten by studying what books and papers I could get hold of and by watching folks who were really educated; by listening carefully to them, I found I could often learn a good deal that way." Laney could be quiet no longer. "My husband," she said, "is a self-made man. His educated brother, Claude, that graduated from Maryville School in Tennessee, says that he cannot cope with my husband." John smiled indulgently and continued: "We were in sad and woeful want after the war. Once I asked my father why he let us go so hungry and ragged, and he answered: 'How can we help it? Why, even the white folks don't have enough to eat and wear now.' "Eleven years ago I rented a little farm from. Mr. Jasper Thompson, in Jackson County. After the boll-weevil got bad I came to the other side of the river yonder, where I stayed 7 years. By this time most of the children by my first two wives had grown up and gone off up north. My first wife's children were Robert, Ella, the twins, Julius and Julia Anne, (who died soon after they were grown-up), and Charlie, and Dan. Robert is in Philadelphia, Ella in Cincinnati, and Dan is dead. "Fred, George, and Johnny, my second wife's children are all living, but are scattered in far-off places. "Everybody was powerful sorry to hear about Lincoln's assassination. At that time Jefferson Davis was considered the greatest man that ever lived, but the effect of Lincoln's life and deeds will live on forever. His life grows greater in reputation with the years and his wisdom more apparent. "As long as we were their property our masters were mighty careful to have us doctored up right when there was the least sign of sickness. There was always some old woman too old for field work that nursed the sick on the big plantations, but the marsters sent for regular doctors mighty quick if the patient seemed much sick. "After the war we were slower to call in doctors because we had no money, and that's how I lost my good right eye. If I had gone to the doctor when it first got hurt it would have been all right now. When we didn't have money we used to pay the doctor with corn, fodder, wheat, chickens, pork, or anything we had that he wanted. "We learned to use lots of herbs and other home-made remedies during the war when medicine was scarce at the stores, and some old folks still use these simple teas and poultices. Comfrey was a herb used much for poultices on risings, boils, and the like, and tea made from it is said to be soothing to the nerves. Garlic tea was much used for worms, but it was also counted a good pneumonia remedy, and garlic poultices helped folks to breathe when they had grippe or pneumonia. Boneset tea was for colds. Goldenrod was used leaf, stem, blossom, and all in various ways, chiefly for fever and coughs. Black snake root was a good cure for childbed fever, and it saved the life of my second wife after her last child was born. Slippery ellum was used for poultices to heal burns, bruises, and any abrasions, and we gargled slippery ellum tea to heal sore throats, but red oak bark tea was our best sore throat remedy. For indigestion and shortness of the breath we chewed calamus root or drank tea made from it. In fact, we still think it is mighty useful for those purposes. It was a long time after the war before there were any darkies with enough medical education to practice as doctors. Dr. Doyle in Gainesville was the first colored physician that I ever saw. "The world seems to be gradually drifting the wrong way, and it won't get any better 'til all people put their belief—and I mean by that—simple faith, in the Bible. What they like of it they are in the habit of quoting, but they distort it and try to make it appear to mean whatever will suit their wicked convenience. They have got to take the whole Bible and live by it, and they must remember they cannot leave out those wise old laws of the Old Testament that God gave for men everywhere to live by." Laney had quietly left the room, but as the visitors were taking their departure she returned with a small package. "This," she explained, "is some calamus root that I raised and dried myself, and I hope it comes in handy whenever you ladies need something for the indigestion." "Next time you come, I hope to have more songs remembered and written down for you," promised John. PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE ADDIE VINSON, Age 86 653 Dearing Street Athens, Georgia Written By: Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby Athens, Georgia Edited By: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall Athens, Georgia and John N. Booth WPA Residency No. 6 & 7 August 23, 1938 Perched on an embankment high above the street level is the four-room frame cottage where Addie Vinson lives with her daughter. The visitor scrambled up the steep incline to the vine covered porch, and a rap on the front door brought prompt response. "Who dat?" asked a very black woman, who suddenly appeared in the hall. "What you want?... Yassum, dis here's Addie, but dey calls me Mammy, 'cause I'se so old. I s'pects I'se most nigh a hunnert and eight years old." The old Negress is very short and stout. Her dark blue calico dress was striped with lines of tiny polka dots, and had been lengthened by a band of light blue outing flannel with a darker blue stripe, let in just below the waist line. Her high-topped black shoes were worn over grey cotton hose, and the stocking cap that partially concealed her white hair was crowned by a panama hat that flopped down on all sides except where the brim was fastened up across the front with two conspicuous "safety-first" pins. Addie's eyesight is poor, and she claims it was "plum ruint by de St. Vitus's dance," from which she has suffered for many years. She readily agreed to tell of her early life, and her eyes brightened as she began: "Lawsy, Missy! Is dat what you come 'ere for? Oh, dem good old days! I was thinkin' 'bout Old Miss jus' t'other day. "I was borned down in Oconee County on Marse Ike Vinson's place. Old Miss was Marse Ike's mother. My Mammy and Pappy was Peter and 'Nerva Vinson and dey was both field hands. Marse Ike buyed my Pappy from Marse Sam Brightwell. Me and Bill, Willis, Maze, Harrison, Easter, and Sue was all de chillun my Mammy and Pappy had. Dere warn't but four of us big enough to wuk when Marse Ike married Miss Ann Hayes and dey tuk Mammy wid 'em to dey new home in town. I stayed dar on de plantation and done lots of little jobs lak waitin' on table; totin' Old Miss' breakfast to her in her room evvy mornin', and I holped 'tend to de grainery. Dey says now dat folkses is livin' in dat old grainery house. "Dat was a be-yootiful place, wid woods, cricks, and fields spread out most as fur as you could see. De slave quarters would'a reached from here to Milledge Avenue. Us lived in a one-room log cabin what had a chimbly made out of sticks and mud. Dem homemade beds what us slep' on had big old high posties wid a great big knob on de top of each post. Our matt'esses was coarse home-wove cloth stuffed wid field straw. You know I laked dem matt'esses 'cause when de chinches got too bad you could shake out dat straw and burn it, den scald de tick and fill it wid fresh straw, and rest in peace again. You can't never git de chinches out of dese cotton matt'esses us has to sleep on now days. Pillows? What you talkin' 'bout? You know Niggers never had no pillows dem days, leaseways us never had none. Us did have plenty of kivver dough. Folkses was all time a-piecin' quilts and having quiltin's. All dat sort of wuk was done at night. "Pappy's Ma and Pa was Grandma Nancy and Grandpa Jacob. Day was field hands, and dey b'longed to Marse Obe Jackson. Grandma Lucy and Grandpa Toney Murrah was owned by Marse Billy Murrah. Marse Billy was a preacher what sho could come down wid de gospel at church. Grandma Lucy was his cook. Miss Sadie LeSeur got Grandma Lucy and tuk her to Columbus, Georgy, and us never seed our grandma no more. Miss Sadie had been one of de Vinson gals. She tuk our Aunt Haley 'long too to wait on her when she started out for Europe, and 'fore dey got crost de water, Aunt Haley, she died on de boat. Miss Sarah, she had a time keepin' dem boatsmens from th'owing Aunt Haley to de sharks. She is buried in de old country somewhar. "Now Missy, how was Nigger chillun gwine to git holt of money in slavery time? Old Marse, he give us plenty of somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed, but he sho kep' his money for his own self. "Now 'bout dat somepin t'eat. Sho dat! Us had plenty of dem good old collards, turnips, and dem sort of oatments, and dar was allus a good chunk of meat to bile wid 'em. Marse Ike, he kep' plenty of evvy sort of meat folkses knowed about dem days. He had his own beef cattle, lots of sheep, and he killed more'n a hunnert hogs evvy year. Dey tells me dat old bench dey used to lay de meat out on to cut it up is standin' dar yet. "'Possums? Lawd, dey was plentiful, and dat ain't all dere was on dat plantation. One time a slave man was 'possum huntin' and, as he was runnin' 'round in de bresh, he looked up and dar was a b'ar standin' right up on his hind laigs grinnin' and ready to eat dat Nigger up. Oh, good gracious, how dat Nigger did run! Dey fetched in 'possums in piles, and dere was lots of rabbits, fixes, and coons. Dem coon, fox and 'possum hounds sho knowed deir business. Lawsy, I kin jus' smell one of dem good old 'possums roastin' right now, atter all dese years. You parbiled de 'possum fust, and den roasted him in a heavy iron skillet what had a big old thick lid. Jus' 'fore de 'possum got done, you peeled ash-roasted 'taters and put 'em all 'round da 'possum so as day would soak up some of dat good old gravy, and would git good and brown. Is you ever et any good old ashcake? You wropped de raw hoecake in cabbage or collard leafs and roasted 'em in de ashes. When dey got done, you had somepin fit for a king to eat. "De kitchen was sot off a piece from de big house, and our white folkses wouldn't eat deir supper 'fore time to light de lamps to save your life; den I had to stan' 'hind Old Miss' cheer and fan her wid a turkey-feather fan to keep de flies off. No matter how rich folkses was dem days dere warn't no screens in de houses. "I never will forgit pore old Aunt Mary; she was our cook, and she had to be tapped evvy now and den 'cause she had de drapsy so bad. Aunt Mary's old man was Uncle Harris, and I 'members how he used to go fishin' at night. De udder slaves went fishin' too. Many's de time I'se seed my Mammy come back from Barber's Crick wid a string of fish draggin' from her shoulders down to de ground. Me, I laked milk more'n anything else. You jus' oughta seed dat place at milkin' time. Dere was a heap of cows a fightin', chillun hollerin', and sich a bedlam as you can't think up. Dat old plantation was a grand place for chillun, in summertime 'specially, 'cause dere was so many branches and cricks close by what us chillun could hop in and cool off. "Chillun didn't wear nothin' but cotton slips in summer, but de winter clothes was good and warm. Under our heavy winter dresses us wore quilted underskirts dat was sho nice and warm. Sunday clothes? Yes Mar'm, us allus had nice clothes for Sunday. Dey made up our summertime Sunday dresses out of a thin cloth called Sunday-parade. Dey was made spenser fashion, wid ruffles 'round de neck and waist. Our ruffled petticoats was all starched and ironed stiff and slick, and us jus' knowed our long pantalettes, wid deir scalloped ruffles, was mighty fine. Some of de 'omans would wuk fancy eyelets what dey punched in de scallops wid locust thorns. Dem pantalettes was buttoned on to our drawers. Our Sunday dresses for winter was made out of linsey-woolsey cloth. White ladies wore hoopskirts wid deir dresses, and dey looked lak fairy queens. Boys wore plain shirts in summer, but in winter dey had warmer shirts and quilted pants. Dey would put two pair of britches togedder and quilt 'em up so you couldn't tell what sort of cloth dey was made out of. Dem pants was called suggins. "All de Niggers went barfoots in summer, but in winter us all wore brogans. Old Miss had a shoe shop in de cellar under de big house, and when dem two white 'omans dat she hired to make our shoes come, us knowed wintertime was nigh. Dem 'omans would stay 'til day had made up shoes enough to last us all winter long, den dey would go on to de next place what dey s'pected to make shoes. "Marse Ike Vinson was sho good to his Niggers. He was de hanger, 'cept he never hung nobody. Him and Miss Ann had six chillun. Dey was Miss Lucy, Miss Myrt, Miss Sarah, Miss Nettie, Marse Charlie, and Marse Tom. Marse Ike's ma, Old Miss, wouldn't move to town wid him and Miss Ann; she stayed on in de big house on de plantation. To tell de truf I done forgot Old Miss' name. De overseer and his wife was Mr. Edmond and Miss Betsey, and dey moved up to de big house wid old Miss atter Marse Ike and Miss Ann moved to town. Stiles Vinson was de carriage driver, and he fotched Marse Ike out to de plantation evvy day. Lord! Gracious alive! It would take a week to walk all over dat plantation. Dere was more'n a thousand acres in it and, countin' all de chillun, dere was mighty nigh a hunnert slaves. "Long 'fore day, dat overseer blowed a bugle to wake up de Niggers. You could hear it far as High Shoals, and us lived dis side of Watkinsville. Heaps of folkses all over dat part of de country got up by dat old bugle. I will never forgit one time when de overseer said to us chillun, 'You fellows go to do field and fetch some corn tops.' Mandy said: 'He ain't talkin' to us 'cause us ain't fellows and I ain't gwine.' Bless your sweet life, I runned and got dem corn tops, 'cause I didn't want no beatin'. Dem udder 'chillun got deir footses most cut off wid dem switches whan dat overseer got to wuk to sho 'em dey had to obey him. Dat overseer sho did wuk de Niggers hard; he driv' 'em all de time. Dey had to go to de field long 'fore sunup, and it was way atter sundown 'fore dey could stop dat field wuk. Den dey had to hustle to finish deir night wuk in time for supper, or go to bed widout it. [HW sidenote: Beating] "You know dey whupped Niggers den. Atter dey had done wukked hard in de fields all day long, de beatin' started up, and he allus had somepin in mind to beat 'em about. When dey beat my Aunt Sallie she would fight back, and once when Uncle Randall said somepin he hadn't oughta, dat overseer beat him so bad he couldn't wuk for a week. He had to be grez all over evvy day wid hoalin' ointment for a long time 'fore dem gashes got well. "Rita and Retta was de Nigger 'omans what put pizen in some collards what dey give Aunt Vira and her baby to eat. She had been laughin' at a man 'cause his coattail was a-flappin' so funny whilst he was dancin', and dem two Jezebels thought she was makin' fun of dem. At de graveyard, 'fore dey buried her, dey cut her open and found her heart was all decayed. De overseer driv dem 'omans clear off de plantation, and Marster, he was mighty mad. He said he had done lost 'bout $2,000. If he had kotched dem 'omans he woulda hung 'em, cause he was de hanger. In 'bout two weeks dat overseer left dar, and Old Marse had to git him anudder man to take his place. "Sho! Dere was a jail for slaves and a hangin' place right in front of de jail, but none of Old Marster's Niggers warn't never put in no jailhouse. Oh God! Yes, dey sold slaves. My own granddaddy was made to git up on dat block, and dey sold him. One time I seed Old Marse buy four boys." At this point the narrative ceased when Addie suddenly remembered that she must stop to get supper for the daughter, who would soon be returning from work. The visitor called early in the morning of the following day, and found Addie bent over her washtubs in the back yard. "Have dat cheer," was the greeting as the old Negress lifted a dripping hand to point out a chair under the spreading branches of a huge oak tree, "You knows you don't want to hear no more 'bout dat old stuff," she said, "and anyhow, is you gittin' paid for doin' dis?" When the visitor admitted that these interviews were part of her salaried work, Addie quickly asked: "What is you gwine to give me?" When the last piece of wash had been hung on the line and Addie had turned a large lard can upside down for a stool, she settled down and began to talk freely. "No Ma'm, dey didn't low Niggers to larn how to read and write. I had to go wid de white chillun to deir school on Hog Mountain road evvy day to wait on 'em. I toted water for 'em kep' de fire goin', and done all sorts of little jobs lak dat. Miss Martha, de overseer's daughter, tried to larn me to read and write, but I wouldn't take it in. "No Ma'm dere warn't no churches for Niggers in slavery time, so slaves had to go to deir white folkses churches. Us went to church at Betty Berry (Bethabara) and Mars Hill. When time come for de sermon to de Niggers, sometimes de white folkses would leave and den again dey would stay, but dat overseer, he was dar all de time. Old man Isaac Vandiver, a Nigger preacher what couldn't read a word in de Bible, would git up in dat pulpit and talk from his heart. You know dere's heaps of folkses what's got dat sort of 'ligion—it's deep in deir hearts. De Reverend Freeman was de white folkses' preacher. I laked him best, for what he said allus sounded good to me. "At funerals us used to sing Hark From De Tomb A Doleful Sound . I never went to no funerals, but Old Marster's and Aunt Nira's, 'fore de end of de war. "When Old Marster went off to de war, he had all his slaves go to de musterin' ground to see him leave. He was captain of his company from Oconee County, and 'fore he left he had de mens in dat company bury deir silver and gold, deir watches, rings, and jus' anything dey wanted to keep, on Hog Mountain. Ha lef' a guard to watch de hidin' place so as dey would have somepin when dey come back home, den dey marched back to de musterin' ground dat was twixt de Hopkins' plantation and Old Marster's place. Uncle Solomon went along to de war to tote Marster's gun, cook for him, and sich lak. It warn't long 'fore old Marse was kilt in dat war, and Uncle Solomon fetches him back in a coffin. All de slaves dat went to de buryin' jus' trembled when guns was fired over Old Marster's grave. Dat was done to show dat Old Marster had been a powerful high-up man in de army. "Good Gracious! Dere didn't nary a Nigger go off from our place to de North, 'cause us was skeered of dem Yankees. Dere was a white slave-trader named McRaleigh what used to come to Old Marster's plantation to buy up Niggers to take 'em to de Mississippi bottoms. When us seed him comin' us lit out for de woods. He got Aunt Rachel; you could hear her hollerin' a mile down de road. "Oh! Good Lord! Dem patterollers was awful. Folkses what dey cotched widout no paper, dey jus' plum wore out. Old man John was de fiddler on our place, and when de patterollers cotched him dey beat him up de wust of all, 'cause him and his fiddle was all de time drawin' Niggers out to do dances. "If Old Marster wanted to send a massage he sont Uncle Randall on a mule named Jim. Sometimes dat old mule tuk a notion he didn't want to go; den he wouldn't budge. I ricollects one time dey tuk a bundle of fodder and tied it to Old Jim's tail, but still he wouldn't move. Old Marster kep' a special man to fetch and carry mail for de plantation in a road cyart, and nobody warn't 'lowed to go nigh dat cyart. "When slaves got in from de fields at night dey cooked and et deir supper and went to bed. Dey had done been wukin' since sunup. When dere warn't so much to do in de fields, sometimes Old Marster let his Niggers lay off from wuk atter dinner on Saddays. If de chinches was most eatin' de Niggers up, now and den de 'omans was 'lowed to stay to de house to scald evvything and clear 'em out, but de menfolkses had to go on to de field. On Sadday nights de 'omans patched, washed, and cut off peaches and apples to dry in fruit season. In de daytime dey had to cut off and dry fruit for Old Miss. When slaves got smart wid deir white folkses, deir Marsters would have 'em beat, and dat was de end of de matter. Dat was a heap better'n dey does now days, 'cause if a Nigger gits out of place dey puts him on de chaingang. [TR: 'Whipping' written in margin.] "Sunday was a day off for all de slaves on our plantation. Cause, de mens had to look atter de stock in de lot right back of de cabins. De 'omans cooked all day for de next week. If dey tuk a notion to go to church, mules was hitched to wagons made lak dippers, and dey jigged off down de road. Us had four days holiday for Christmas. Old Miss give us lots of good things to eat dem four days; dere was cake, fresh meat, and all kinds of dried fruit what had been done stored away. All de Niggers tuk dat time to rest but my Mammy. She tuk me and went 'round to de white folkses' houses to wash and weave. Dey said I was a right smart, peart little gal, and white folkses used to try to hire me from Old Miss. When dey axed her for me, Old Miss allus told 'em: 'You don't want to hire dat gal; she ain't no 'count.' She wouldn't let nobody hire her Niggers, 'cept Mammy, 'cause she knowed Mammy warn't gwine to leave her nohow. On New Year's Day, if dere warn't too much snow on de ground, de Niggers burnt brush and cleared new ground. "When Aunt Patience led de singin' at cornshuckin's, de shucks sho'ly did fly. Atter de corn was shucked, dey fed us lots of good things and give us plenty of liquor. De way cotton pickin' was managed was dis: evvybody dat picked a thousand pounds of cotton in a week's time was 'lowed a day off. Mammy picked her thousand pounds evvy week. "Dances? Now you's talkin' 'bout somepin' sho' 'nough. Old John, de fiddler man, was right dere on our plantation. Niggers dat had done danced half de night would be so sleepy when de bugle sounded dey wouldn't have time to cook breakfast. Den 'bout de middle of de mawnin' dey would complain 'bout bein' so weak and hongry dat de overseer would fetch 'em in and have 'em fed. He let 'em rest 'bout a hour and a half; den he marched 'em back to de field and wuked 'em 'til slap black dark. Aunt Sook was called de lead wench. If de moon warn't out, she put a white cloth 'round her shoulders and led 'em on. "Didn't none of Old Marsters chillun marry in slavery time, but Old Miss, she let us see a Nigger gal named Frances Hester git married. When I sot down to dat weddin' supper I flung de chicken bones over my shoulder, 'cause I didn't know no better. I don't 'member what gals played when I was little, but boys played ball all day long if dey was 'lowed to. One boy, named Sam, played and run so hard he tuk his bed Monday and never got up no more. "I heared tell of Raw Haid and Bloody Bones. Old folkses would skeer us most nigh to death tellin' us he was comin'. Mankind! Us made for de house den. Missy, please mam, don't ax me 'bout dem ha'nts. I sees 'em all de time. Atter she had done died out, Old Miss used to come back all de time. She didn't lak it 'cause day wropped her in a windin' sheet and buried her by de doorsteps, but I reckon dey done fixed her by now, 'cause she don't come back no more. Dere's a house in Athens, called de Bell House, dat nobody kin live in, 'cause a man run his wife from home and atter she died, she come back and ha'nted dat house. "Lawd have mercy! Look here, don't talk lak dat. I ain't told you before but part o' dis here yard is conjured. A man comes here early evvy mornin' and dresses dis yard down wid conjuration. Soon as I sot down here to talk to you, a pain started in my laigs, and it is done gone all over me now. I started to leave you and go in de house. Come on. Let's leave dis yard right now. Hurry!" On reaching the kitchen Addie hastily grasped the pepper box and shook its contents over each shoulder and on her head, saying: "Anything hot lak dis will sho drive dis spell away. De reason I shakes lak I does, one day I was in de yard and somepin cotch me. It helt fast to my footses, den I started to shake all over, and I been shakin' ever since. A white 'oman gimme some white soap, and evvy mornin' I washes myself good wid dat soap 'fore I puts on my clothes." Leaving the kitchen, Addie entered the front room which serves as a bedroom. "Lawdy, Missy!" she exclaimed, "Does you smell dat funny scent? Oh, Good Lawd! Jus' look at dem white powders on my doorstep! Let me git some hot water and wash 'em out quick! Now Missy, see how dese Niggers 'round here is allus up to deir meanness? Dere's a man in de udder room bilin' his pizen right now. I has to keep a eye on him all de time or dis here old Nigger would be in her grave. I has to keep somepin hot all de time to keep off dem conjure spells. I got three pids of pepper most ready to pick, and I'se gwine to tie 'em 'round my neck, den dese here spells folkses is all de time tryin' to put on me won't do me no harm." Addie now lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "I found a folded up piece of white paper under our back doorstep dis very mornin'. Bless your life, I got a stick from de kitchen quick and poked it in a crack in de steps and got it out 'fore I put my foots down on dem steps. I sho did." Here Addie reverted to her story of the plantation. "Old Marster was mighty good to his Niggers," she said. When any of 'em got sick Old Miss sont to town for him, and he allus come right out and fetched a doctor. Old Miss done her very best for Pappy when he was tuk sick, but he died out jus' de same. Pappy used to drive a oxcart and, when he was bad off sick and out of his haid, he hollered out: 'Scotch dat wheel! Scotch dat wheel!' In his mind, he was deep in de bad place den, and didn't know how to pray. Old Miss, she would say: 'Pray, Pete, Pray.' Old Miss made a heap of teas from diff'unt things lak pennyroyal, algaroba wood, sassafras, flat tobacco, and mullein. Us wore rabbits foots, little bags of asfiddy (asafetida), and garlic tabs 'round our necks to keep off mis'ries. I wishes I had a garlic tab to wear 'round my neck now. "One day Old Miss called us togedder and told us dat us was free as jay birds. De Niggers started hollerin': 'Thank de Lawd, us is free as de jay birds.' 'Bout dat time a white man come along and told dem Niggers if he heared 'em say dat again he would kill de last one of 'em. Old Miss axed us to stay on wid her and dar us stayed for 'bout three years. It paid us to stay dere 'stead of runnin' off lak some udder Niggars dat played de fool done. T'warn't long 'fore dem Yankees come 'long, and us hustled off to town to see what dey looked lak. I never seed so many mens at one time in my life before. When us got back to de plantation de overseer told us not to drink no water out of de well, 'cause somebody had done put a peck of pizen in dar. He flung a whole bushel of salt in de well to help git rid of de pizen. "Atter de end of de war, I went to wuk as a plow-hand. I sho did keep out of de way of dem Ku Kluxers. Folkses would see 'em comin' and holler out: 'De Ku Kluxers is ridin' tonight. Keep out of deir way, or dey will sho kill you.' Dem what was skeered of bein' cotched and beat up, done deir best to stay out of sight. "It was a long time atter de war was done over 'fore schools for Niggers was sot up, and den when Nigger chillun did git to go to school dey warn't 'lowed to use de old blue-back spellin' book 'cause white folkses said it larn't 'em too much. "It was two or three years atter de war 'fore any of de Niggers could save up enough money to start buyin' land, and den, if dey didn't watch dey steps mighty keerful, de white folkses would find a way to git dat land back from de Niggers. "What! Is I got to tell you 'bout dat old Nigger I got married up wid? I don't want to talk 'bout dat low down, no 'count devil. Anyhow, I married Ed Griffeth and, sho dat, I had a weddin'. My weddin' dress was jus' de purtiest thing; it was made out of parade cloth, and it had a full skirt wid ruffles from de knees to de hem. De waist fitted tight and it was cut lowneck wid three ruffles 'round de shoulder. Dem puff sleeves was full from de elbow to de hand. All dem ruffles was aidged wid lace and, 'round my waist I wore a wide pink sash. De underskirt was trimmed wid lace, and dere was lace on de bottom of de drawers laigs. Dat was sho one purty outfit dat I wore to marry dat no 'count man in. I had bought dat dress from my young Mist'ess. "Us had seven chillun and ten grandchillun. Most of 'em is livin' off up in Detroit. If Ed ain't daid by now he ought to be; he was a good match for de devil. "I reckon Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Jeff Davis done right as fur as dey knowed how and could. If dem northern folkses hadn't fotched us here, us sho wouldn't never have been here in de fust place. Den dey hauled off and said de South was mean to us Niggers and sot us free, but I don't know no diffunce. De North sho let us be atter dat war, and some of de old Niggers is still mad 'cause dey is free and ain't got no Marster to feed 'em and give 'em good warm clothes no more. "Oh! You gits happy when you jines up wid de church. I sho don't want to go to de bad place. Dere ain't but two places to go to, Heaven and hell, and I'se tryin' to head for Heaven. Folkses says dat when Old Dives done so bad he had to go to de bad place, a dog was sot at his heels for to keep him in dar. No Mam, if it's de Good Lawd's will to let me git to Heaven, I is sho gwine to keep out of hell, if I kin. "Goodbye, Missy. Next time you comes fetch me a garlic tab to keep de conjure spells 'way from me," was Addie's parting request. PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY AN EX-SLAVE EMMA VIRGEL, Age 73 1491 W. Broad Street Athens, Georgia Written by: Grace McCune Athens Edited by: Sarah H. Hall Athens and John N. Booth District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7 Augusta, Ga. [Date Stamp: MAY 13 1938] Hurrying for shelter from a sudden shower, the interviewer heard a cheerful voice singing "Lord I'se Comin' Home," as she rushed up the steps of Aunt Emma's small cabin. Until the song was ended she quietly waited on the tiny porch and looked out over the yard which was attractive with roses and other old-fashioned flowers; then she knocked on the door. Dragging footsteps and the tap, tap of a crutch sounded as Aunt Emma approached the door. "Come in out of dat rain, chile, or you sho' will have de pneumony," she said. "Come right on in and set here by my fire. Fire feels mighty good today. I had to build it to iron de white folkses clothes." Aunt Emma leaned heavily on her crutch as she wielded the iron with a dexterity attainable only by long years of experience. Asked if her lameness and use of a crutch made her work difficult, she grinned and answered: "Lawsy chile, I'se jus' so used to it, I don't never think 'bout it no more. I'se had to wuk all of my life, no matter what was in de way." The comfort, warmth and cheer of the small kitchen encouraged intimate conversation and when Aunt Emma was asked for the story of her childhood days and her recollections of slavery, she replied: "I was too little to 'member much, but I'se heared my Ma tell 'bout dem days. "My Pa and Ma was Louis and Mary Jackson. Dey b'longed to Marse John Montgomery, way down in Oconee County. Marse John didn't have no wife den, 'cause he didn't git married 'til atter de War. He had a big place wid lots of slaves. He was sho' good to 'em, and let 'em have plenty of evvything. De slave quarters was log cabins wid big fireplaces, whar dey done de cookin'. Dey had racks to hang pots on to bile and dey baked in ovens set on de harth (hearth). Dat was powerful good eatin'. Dey had a big old gyarden whar dey raised plenty of corn, peas, cabbages, potatoes, collards, and turnip greens. Out in de fields dey growed mostly corn, wheat, and cotton. Marster kep' lots of chickens, cows, hogs, goats, and sheep; and he fed 'em all mighty good. "Marster let his slaves dance, and my Ma was sho' one grand dancer in all de breakdown's. Dey give 'em plenty of toddy and Niggers is dancers f'um way back yonder while de toddy lasts. "Slaves went to deir Marster's meetin's and sot in de back of de church. Dey had to be good den 'cause Marster sho' didn't 'low no cuttin' up 'mongst his Niggers at de church. Ma said he didn't believe in whuppin' his Niggers lessen it jus' had to be done, but den dey knowed he was 'round dar when he did have to whup 'em. "Ma said when dey had big baptizin's in de river dey prayed and shouted and sung 'Washin' 'way my Sins,'—'Whar de Healin' Water Flows,' and 'Crossin' de River Jerdan.' De white preacher baptized de slaves and den he preached—dat was all dere was to it 'ceppen de big dinner dey had in de churchyard on baptizin' days. "When slaves died, dey made coffins out of pine wood and buried 'em whar de white folkses was buried. If it warn't too fur a piece to de graveyard, dey toted de coffin on three or four hand sticks. Yessum, hand sticks, dat's what day called 'em. Dey was poles what dey sot de coffin on wid a Nigger totin' each end of de poles. De white preacher prayed and de Niggers sung 'Hark f'um de Tomb.' "Ma said she had a grand big weddin'. She wore a white swiss dress wid a bleachin' petticoat, made wid heaps of ruffles and a wreath of flowers 'round her head. She didn't have no flower gals. Pa had on a long, frock tail, jim swinger coat lak de preacher's wore. A white preacher married 'em in de yard at de big house. All de Niggers was dar, and Marster let 'em dance mos' all night. "I was de oldest of Ma's 10 chillun. Dey done all gone to rest now 'ceptin' jus' de three of us what's lef in dis world of trouble. Yessum, dere sho' is a heap of trouble here. "Atter de War, Ma and Pa moved on Mr. Bill Marshall's place to farm for him and dar's whar I was born. Dey didn't stay dar long 'fore dey moved to Mr. Jim Mayne's place away out in de country, in de forks of de big road down below Watkinsville. I sho' was a country gal. Yessum, I sho' was. Mr. Mayne's wife was Mrs. Emma Mayne and she took a lakin' to me 'cause I was named Emma. I stayed wid her chilluns all de time, slep' in de big house, and et dar too, jus' lak one of dem, and when dey bought for dey chillun dey bought for me too. "Us wore homespun dresses and brass toed shoes. Sometimes us would git mighty mad and fuss over our games and den Miss Emma would make us come in de big house and set down. No Ma'am, she never did whup us. She was good and she jus' talked to us, and told us us never would git to Heb'en lessen us was good chillun. Us played games wid blocks and jumped de rope and, when it was warm, us waded in de crick. Atter I was big 'nough, I tuk de white chillun to Sunday School, but I didn't go inside den—jus' waited on de outside for 'em. I never got a chanct to go to school none, but de white chilluns larnt me some. "Marse Jim was mighty good to de Niggers what wukked for him, and us all loved him. He didn't 'low no patterollers or none of dem Ku Kluxers neither to bother de Niggers on his place. He said he could look atter 'em his own self. He let 'em have dances, and evvy Fourth of July he had big barbecues. Yessum, he kilt hogs, goats, sheep and sometimes a cow for dem barbecues. He believed in havin' plenty to eat. "I 'members dem big corn shuckin's. He had de mostes' corn, what was in great big piles put in a circle. All de neighbors was axed to come and bring deir Niggers. De fus' thing to do was to 'lect a gen'ral to stand in de middle of all dem piles of corn and lead de singin' of de reels. No Ma'am, I don't 'member if he had no shuck stuck up on his hat or not, and I can't ricollec' what de words of de reels was, 'cause us chillun was little den, but de gen'ral he pulled off de fus' shuck. Den he started singin' and den dey all sung in answer to him, and deir two hands a-shuckin' corn kep' time wid de song. As he sung faster, dey jus' made dem shucks more dan fly. Evvy time de gen'ral would speed up de song, de Niggers would speed up deir corn shuckin's. If it got dark 'fore dey finished, us chillun would hold torch lights for 'em to see how to wuk. De lights was made out of big pine knots what would burn a long time. Us felt mighty big when us was 'lowed to hold dem torches. When dey got done shuckin' all de corn, dey had a big supper, and Honey, dem was sho' some good eatments—barbecue of all sorts—jus' thinkin' 'bout dem pies makes me hongry, even now. Ma made 'em, and she couldn't be beat on chicken pies and sweet potato pies. Atter dey done et and drunk all dey wanted, Marse Jim would tell 'em to go to it. Dat was de word for de gen'ral to start up de dancin', and dat lasted de rest of de night; dat is if dey didn't all fall out, for old time corn shuckin' breakdowns was drag-outs and atter all dem 'freshments, hit sho' kept somebody busy draggin' out dem what fell out. Us chillun was 'lowed to stay up long as us wanted to at corn shuckin's, and sometimes us would git out and try to do lak de grown-up Niggers. Hit was de mos' fun. "Dey went huntin' and fishin' and when dey cotch or kilt much, dey had a big supper. I 'members de fus' time I ever cooked 'possum. Ma was sick in de bed, and de mens had done been 'possum huntin'. Ma said I would jus' have to cook dem 'possums. She told me how to fix 'em and she said to fix 'em wid potatoes and plenty of butter and red pepper. Den she looked at me right hard and said dat dey had better be jus' right. Dat skeered me so I ain't never been so I could eat no 'possum since den. Yessum, dey was cooked jus' right, but cookin' 'em jus' once when I was skeered cured me of de taste for eatin' 'possum. "Us chillun didn't git out and go off lak dey does dese days. Us stayed dar on de plantation. In winter us had to wear plenty of clothes, wid flannel petticoats and sich lak, and us stayed in by de fire. Big boys had clothes made out of jeans, but little boys wore homespun shirts. On hot days us jus' wore one piece of clothes, a sort of shirt what was made long and had a yoke in it. "Dey made me use snuff to cure my sore eyes when I was little, and I never could quit usin' it no more. When I was 'bout 15, Ma and Pa moved to Athens and I went to wuk for Mr. Joe Webb's fambly. I wukked for 'em for 30 years and raised all deir chillun. Dey was all mighty good to me and seed dat I had plenty of evvything. I would still be dar, but de old folkses all done died out and gone to dey rest and de younguns done married and lef' here. "I was wukkin' right in de house wid 'em when I 'cided to git married. Yes Ma'am, I sho' done had one swell elegant weddin'. Jus' evvything heart could ask for. I married at my Ma's house, but my white folkses was all right dar, and dey had done fixed de house up pretty wid flowers all over it. Dey give me my white flannel weddin' dress and it was sho' pretty, but dey warn't nothin' lackin' 'bout my second day dress. My white folkses bought dat too,—It was a bottle green silk. Lawsy, but I was sho' one dressed up bride. It was 8 o'clock dat night when de preacher got finished wid tyin' dat knot for me and Sam Virgel. My sister and her fellow stood up wid us and us had a big crowd at our weddin' supper. Dere was one long table full of our white folkses, 'sides all de Niggers, and I jus' never seed so much to eat. My white folkses said dat Emma jus' had to have plenty for her weddin' feast and dey evermore did lay out good things for dat supper, and dem Niggers sho' did hide dat chicken and cake away lak dey hadn't never seed none before. "I wukked on for de Webbs 'til dey was all gone. De old folks is in Heb'en whar I 'spects to see 'em some day when de Lord done called me home. De younguns moved away, but I still loves 'em evvyone, 'cause dey looked atter old Emma so good when dey was here. Us never had no chillun and Sam done been gone to his res' long years ago. I'se jus' a-wukkin and a-waitin 'til I gits called to go too. I don't have plenty all de time now lak I used to, and nobody here looks atter old Emma no more, but I makes out. "I'se mighty glad it rained if dat's what sont you to my door. It's been nice to talk wid white folkses again. I wisht I had somepin' nice for you! Let me cut you a bunch of my flowers?" She carefully placed her iron on the hearth and hobbled out in the yard. The May shower had been followed by sunshine as she handed her guest a huge bouquet of roses, Aunt Emma bowed low. "Good-bye, Missy," she said, "please come back to see me."