Part 9

"Dey was a white man--I aint lyin'--I know him an' I seen him. He had Nigger houn's an' he made money a-huntin' runaway Niggers. His own Niggers kilt 'im. Dey hung 'em for it. Two was his Niggers an' one b'long to somebody else.

"My young marster used to work in de fiel' wid us. He'd boss de Niggers. Dey called 'im Bud, but us all called 'im 'Babe.' Honey, I sho' did love dat boy.

"When de war come dey used to tease him an' say, 'Bud, why don't you go to de war?' Dey laughed an' teased 'im when he went. But twant no laughin' when he come home on a furlough an' went back. Dey was cryin' den. An' well dey mought[FN: might] cry, 'cause he never come back no more'. He was kilt in de war.

"Endurin' de war, de white folks made dey clo'es same as de Niggers. Old Mis' made dye an' dyed de thread. She made pretty cloth.

"My ma was de firs' to leave de plantation after de surrender. All de other Niggers had a contrac' to stay, but she didn'. She went to Newton County an' hired out. She never wanted to stay in one place, nohow. If she had a crop ha'f made an' somebody made her mad, she'd up an' leave it an' go some'r's else.

"You know, dey was mighty strict, 'bout den, wid cullud folks, an' white people, too. De Kloo Kluxes was out nights. I hear'd tell 'bout 'em whuppin' people. But dey never bothered me.

"Dey was speakers gwine aroun', tellin' de Niggers what dey was gwine a-git. Dey never got nothin' to my knowledge, 'cept de gov'ment let 'em homestead lan'. My ma homesteaded a place close to Enterprise, Scott County, but she got mad an' lef' it like she always done.

"She was a-gittin' long in years afore she got 'ligion. (She was good to me after dat.) She couldn' learn de Lawd's Prayer, but she used to pray, 'Our Father, which are in Heaven; Hallowed be Thy name. Thy mercy, Lawd, You've showed to others; That mercy show to me. Amen.' She went to res' in it, too.

"I went to Enterprise, den to Meridian, nussin' (wet-nussin' when I could) an' workin' out. I never worked in de fiel', if I could he'p it. (Old Mis' hired me out as a nuss firs' when I was eight year old.)

"When I come to Meridian, I cut loose. I's tellin' de truf! I's a woman, but I's a prodigal. I used to be a old drunkard. My white folks kep' tellin' me if I got locked up one more time dey wouldn' pay my fine. But dey done it ag'in an' ag'in.

"De Niggers called me 'Devil.' I was a devil 'til I got 'ligion. I warnt baptized 'til 1887. Den I foun' peace. I had a vision. I tol' it to a white lady an' she say, 'Susie, dat's 'ligion a-callin' you.' (But you know, honey, white folks' 'ligion aint like Niggers' 'ligion. I know a woman dat couldn' 'member de Lawd's Prayer, an' she got 'ligion out o' prayin', 'January, February, March'.) I didn' join de church 'til 1891, after I had a secon' vision. I's a member in good standin' now. I done put all my badness b'hin' me, 'cept my temper. I even got dat under more control.

"I didn' used to be scared o' cunjers. I's scared now, 'cause I had it done to me. I want to bed well an' healthy an' de nex' nornin' I couldn' git up atall. I's tellin de truf. A cullud man done it. He was a crippled man, an' mean as he could be. I was good to him, too. He tol' me' bout it, hisse'f:

"'He went to de graveyard an' got some o' de meanes' dirt he could fin' (I don't know how he knowed which was de meanes' grave) an' put it under my doorsill.' He sho' fix' me. I ask him how come he done it to me an' I been so good to him. He smile kinda tickle-lak an' say, 'It's a good thing you was good to me, 'cause, if you hadn' a-been you'd a-been dead an' in yo' grave by now.'

"I aint got nary soul what's kin to me dat I knows of. I don't want none of 'em comin' to me now an' a-sayin', 'Don't you 'member yo' own cousin?' My white folks he'p me when I needs it.

"Dese young folks. Shucks! Chile, dey's worse'n what I was, only dey's more slyer. Dat's all.

"I's glad I'se got 'ligion, 'cause when I dies I's gwine to de 'Good Place.'"

Isaac Stier, Ex-slave, Lauderdale County FEC Edith Wyatt Moore Rewrite, Pauline Loveless Edited, Clara E. Stokes

ISAAC STIER Natchez, Mississippi

"Miss, my name is Isaac Stier, but folks calls me 'Ike.' I was named by my pappy's young Marster an' I aint never tol' nobody all o' dat name. It's got twenty-two letters in it. It's wrote but in de fam'ly Bible. Dat's how I knows I'll be one hund'ed years old if I lives 'til de turn o' de year. I was born in Jefferson County 'tween Hamburg an' Union Church. De plantation joined de Whitney place an' de Montgomery place, too. I b'longed to Marse Jeems Stowers. I don't rightly 'member how many acres my Marster owned, but 'twas a big plantation wid eighty or ninety head o' grown folks workin' it. No tellin' how many little black folks dey was.

"My mammy was Ellen Stier an' my pappy was Jordon Stier. He was bought to dis country by a slave dealer from Nashville, Tennessee. Dey traveled all de way through de Injun Country on afoot. Dey come on dat Trace road. Twant nothin' but a Injun Trail.

"When dey got to Natchez de slaves was put in de pen 'tached to de slave markets. It stood at de forks o' St. Catherine Street an' de Liberty road. Here dey was fed an' washed an' rubbed down lak race hosses. Den dey was dressed up an' put through de paces dat would show off dey muscles. My pappy was sol' as a twelve year old, but he always said he was nigher twenty.

"De firs' man what bought him was a preacher, but he only kep' 'im a little while. Den he was sol' to Mr. Preacher Robinson. He was a Methodis'.

"De slaves was well treated when dey got sick. My Marster had a standin' doctor what he paid by de year. Dey was a horspital building near de quarters an' a good old granny woman to nuss de sick. Dey was five or six beds in a room. One room was for mens an' one for wimmins. Us doctor was name Richardson an' he tended us long after de war. He sho' was a gent'man an' a powerful good doctor.

"Us had a overseer on de place, but he warnt mean lak I'se heard o' other folks havin'. He was Mr. William Robinson. He was good to ever'body, both white an' cullud. Folks didn' min' workin' for him, 'cause, he spoke kin'. But dey dassen' sass 'im. He was poor. My pappy b'longed to his pa, Mr. John Robinson. Dat was a nice fam'ly wid sho' 'nough 'ligion. Whilst dey warnt rich, dey had learnin'.

"As a little tike I wore long slip-lak shirts. When dey sont me to town I put on britches an' stuffed de tail o' my slip in 'em so's it pass' for a shirt. I always lived in de Big House an' played wid de white chillun. I sorta looked after' em. I carried 'em to school. Den whilst dey was in school I roamed de woods a-huntin'. Sometimes I'd git a big bag o' game, mos'ly used to feed de slaves.

"My mistis was Miss Sarah Stowers an' she teached me how to read. She teached me how to be mannerly, too. On church days I driv'[FN: drove] de carriage. I was proud to take my folks to meetin'. I always set in de back pew an' heard de preachin' de same as dey did.

"De bes' times I can 'member always come 'roun' de Fourth o' July. Dat was always de beginnin' o' camp-meetin'. Aint nothin' lak dat in dese days.

"Ever'body what had any standin' went. Dey cooked up whole trunks full o' good things t'eat an' driv' over to de camp groun's. De preacher had a big pavilion covered wid sweet-gum branches an' carpeted wid sawdust. Folks had wagons wid hay an' quilts whar de men-folks slep'. De ladies slep' in little log houses an' dey took dey feather beds wid' em. I always driv' de carriage for my white folks. Whilst dey was a-worshipin' I'd slip 'roun' an' tas' out o' dey basket. Ever' day I'd eat 'til I was ready to bus'. One day I got so sick I thought I'd pop wide open. I crawled down to de spring an' washed my face in col' water, but I kep' gittin' worse an' worse. Den somebody called out: 'Captain Stier, yo' Nigger's a-dyin'!' My marster called de doctor. He sho' was shamed in public, 'cause, he knowed pos'tive I'd been a-pilferin' in dem baskets. Dem sho' was good old days. I'd love to live' em over ag'in.

"Us slaves mos'ly sung hymns an' sa'ms.[TR: footnote indicated but none found] But I' member one song' bout a frog pond an' one 'bout 'Jump, Mr. Toad.' I's too wordless to sing 'em now, but dey was funny. Us danced plenty, too. Some o' de men clogged an' pidgeoned, but when us had dances dey was real cotillions, lak de white folks had. Dey was always a fiddler an', on Chris'mus an' other holidays, de slaves was' lowed to' vite dey sweethearts from other plantations. I use to call out de figgers: 'Ladies, sasshay, Gents to de lef, now all swing.' Ever'body lak my calls an' de dancers sho' moved smooth an' pretty. Long after de war was over de white folks would 'gage me to come' roun' wid de band an' call de figgers at all de big dances. Dey always paid me well.

"Old Mis' 'ud let us cook a gran' supper an' Marse 'ud slip us some likker. Dem suppers was de bes' I ever et. Sometimes dey'd be wil' turkey, fried fish, hot corn pone, fresh pork ham, baked yams, chitlins, pop corn, apple pie, pound cake, raisins, an' coffee. Law, Miss! de folks now-a-days don't know nothin' 'bout good eatin', nowhow.

"When de big war broke out I sho' stuck by my marster. I fit[FN: fought] de Yankees same as he did. I went in de battles 'long side o' him an' both fit under Marse Robert E. Lee. I reckon ever'body has heard 'bout him. I seen more folks dan anybody could count. Heaps of 'em was all tore to pieces an' cryin' to God to let 'em die. I toted water to dem in blue de same as dem in gray. Folks wouldn' b'lieve de truf if I was to tell all I knows 'bout dem ungodly times.

"Fore de war I never knowed what it was to go empty. My marster sho' set a fine table an' fed his people de highes'. De hongriest I ever been was at de Siege o' Vicksburg. Dat was a time I'd lak to forgit. De folks et up all de cats an' dogs an' den went to devourin' de mules an' hosses. Even de wimmin an' little chillun was a-starvin'. Dey stummicks was stickin' to dey backbones. Us Niggers was sufferin' so us took de sweaty hoss blankets an' soaked 'em in mudholes where de hosses tromped. Den us wrung' em out in buckets an' drunk dat dirty water for pot-likker. It tasted kinda salty an' was strength'nin', lak weak soup.

"I tell you, dem Yankees took us by starvation. Twant a fair fight. Dey called it a vict'ry an' bragged 'bout Vicksburg a-fallin', but hongry folks aint got no fight lef' in 'em. Us folks was starved into surrenderin'.

"De slaves spected a heap from freedon dey didn' git. Dey was led to b'lieve dey would have a easy time--go places widout passes--an have plenty o' spendin' money. But dey sho' got fooled. Mos' of 'em didn' fin' deyse'ves no better off. Pussonally, I had a harder time after de war dan I did endurin' slav'ry.

"De Yankees passed as us frien's. Dey made big promises, but dey was poor reliance. Some of' em meant well towards us, but dey was mistol' 'bout a heap o' things. Dey promised us a mule an' forty acres o' lan'. Us aint seen no mule yet. Us got de lan' all right, but twant no service. Fac' is, 'twas way over in a territory where nothin' 'ud grow. I didn' know nothin' 'bout farmin', nowhow, I'd always been a coachman an' play companion to de white chillun.

"De war was over in May 1865, but I was captured at Vicksburg an' hel' in jail 'til I 'greed to take up arms wid de Nawth. I figgered dat was 'bout all I could do, 'cause dey warnt but one war at Vicksburg an' dat was over. I was all de time hopin' I could slip off an' work my way back home, but de Yankees didn' turn me loose 'til 1866.

"Den I worked in a saloon in St. Louis. Dat was 'bout all I knowed to do. All de time I was a-cravin' to come back to Mississippi. It sho' suits my tas' better'n anywhere I'se ever been.

"When I landed back home my white folks welcome me. After awhile I married a gal what was real smart 'bout farmin' an' chicken raisin'. So us share-cropped an' raised a fam'ly. Somehow us always scrapped along. Sometimes it was by de hardes', but us always had plenty t'eat.

"All de cullud folks what lived to git back home took to de lan' ag'in. If dey marster was dead dey went to his frien's an' offered to share-crop. Dey was all plumb sick o' war. Is sho' is ongodly business. I never will forgit de fearsome sight o' seein' men die 'fore dey time. War sho' is de debbil's own work.

"De Klu Klux Klan didn' bother me none. Course, I was feared of' em at firs', but I soon learnt dat long as I b'haved myse'f an' tended my business dey warnt after me. Dey sho' disastered dem what meddled wid de white folks. Nobody but a smart Alec would a-done dat. Only Niggers huntin' trouble mixed into white folks bus'ness. Onct or twict I seen Klu Klux's ridin' by, but dey always traveled fas' an' I kep' my mouf[FN: mouth] shut.

"After de war my marster come back home. De fences was gone, de cattle was gone, de money an' de Niggers was gone, too. On top o' all dat de whole country was over-run an' plumb took over by white trash. It was cautious times.

"After awhile, robbers an' low down trash got to wearin' robes an' pretendin' dey was Klu Klux's. Folks called dem de 'white caps.' Dey was vicious, an' us was more scared of 'em dan us'd ever been o' de Klan. When dey got likkered up de debbil sho' was turnt loose.

"Mr. Jefferson Davis was pretty good' bout some things. But if he hadn' a-been mulish he could-a 'cepted de proposition Mr. Abe Lincum made 'im. Den slav'ry would-a lasted always. But he flew into a huff an' swore dat he'd whip de Yankees wid corn stalks. Dat made Mr. Lincum mad, so he sot about to free de slaves.

"Mr. Lincum was a good man, but dey tells me he was poor an' never cut much figger in his clothes. Dat's why he never did un'erstan' how us felt' bout us white folks. It takes de quality to un'erstan' such things.

"Right now, I loves my marster an' his wife in de grave. Dey raised me an' showed me kindness all dey lives. I was proud of 'em. At de present time I's under treatment o' young Dr. Stowers, my marster's gran'chil'. I trusts him an' he is sho' good to me.

"I rents a place on Providence Plantation 'bout three miles south o' Natchez. De trip to Natchez in a rickety old wagon is mos' too much in de hot weather. My heart's mos' wore out. I can't las' long, 'cause I's had a heap sposure[FN: exposure].

"I's jus' a bag o' bones now, but onct I stood nearly six feet in my stockings an' weighed 'bout one hundred an' eighty pounds. I was well muscled, too. Now I's gittin' kinda gray an' gittin' bald at de same time. Black folks lak me don't hardly ever git bald.

"I's gittin' real feeble. De doctor say I got a bad heart. Sometimes I jus' has to set on de curb an' res' myse'f a spell. I gits kinda windless when I thinks 'bout all I been through.

"My wife is been dead 'bout seventeen years an' my chillun is so scattered dat I don't know where dey is. De folks I stays wid is powerful good to me an' sees after me same as dey was my own. I reckon I don't need nothin else.

"Dis generation aint got much sense. Dey's tryin' to git somewheres too fas'. None of 'em is sat'fied wid plain livin'. Dey wants too much.

"Nobody needs more dan dey can use, nohow."

JANE SUTTON Gulfport, Mississippi

Jane Sutton, ex-slave, is 84 years old. She is 5 feet, 6 inches tall and weighs 130 pounds. She is what the Negroes themselves call a "brown-skin."

"I was born in Simpson County, near old Westville, on a big farm what b'long to Marse Jack Berry. I was 12 years old when de surrender come, so my ole Mis' say. Her name was 'Mis Ailsey an' all us cullud folks call her 'Ole Mi's. She an' Old Marster had twelve chillun: Marthy, 'Lizabeth, Flavilia, Mary, Jack, Bill, Denson, Pink, Tally, Thomas, Albert, and Frank.

"My pappy's name was Steve Hutchins. He b'long to de Hutchins what live down near Silver Creek. He jus' come on Satu'd'y night an' us don' see much of 'im. Us call him 'dat man.' Mammy tol' us to be more 'spectful to 'im 'cause he was us daddy, but us aint care nothin' 'bout 'im. He aint never brung us no candy or nothin'.

"My mammy was name Lucy Berry. She always go by de white folks name what she live wid. She aint never marry. She had fo' boys an' three girls. Dey was name Delia, Sarah, Ella, Nathan, Isom, Anderson, an' Pleas. She work in de fiel' an Old Marster say she's de only woman on de place what could plow lak a man.

"I 'members my gran'ma, too. Us always call her 'Granny.' She say dey stole her back in Virginny an' brung 'er to Mississippi an' sol' her to Marse Berry. Her name was Hannah. She was my mammy's Mammy. I don' 'member nothin' 'bout my pappy's folks 'cause I never seen none of' em.

"Old Marster was a rich man for dat day. He had a sawmill, a cotton gin, an' a gris' mill. Us always had plenty t'eat an' wear. Dey spun an' weaved dey own cloth an' made us clo'es out-a it.

"I can jus' see de white folk's house now. It was a big house, nice an' clean, but twant painted. It had a row o' rooms 'cross dis way an' a-nother row dat way wid a hall between. Dey had plenty o' rooms for all dem boys an' gals. Some of 'em was 'bout grown. De quarters[FN: slave quarters] was in de back o' de house. De cook's house was closes' to de Big House, den nex' was Granny's house where us stayed. Den come a long row way down to de back fence.

"Dey didn' have no overseer or driver. Dey was 'nough o' dem boys to look after de work an' Old Marster say he don' need no overseer to look after his slaves.

"My white folks was all Baptis' an' dey made us go to church, too. De church was called de Strong River Church. Dey had big baptisin's. I 'members when I joined de church. De white folks preacher baptised us in de creek what run from Marse Berry's mill pond. I was dressed up in a white lowell slip. When us dress' up in Sund'y clo'es us had caliker[FN: calico] dresses. Dey sho' was pretty. I 'members a dress now dat Old Marster bought for my granny. It was white an' yaller, an' it was de prettiest thing I ever seen.

"Us white folks was good to us. Dey warnt always a-beatin' an' a-knockin' us 'roun'. De truf is you couldn' fin' a scar on nary one o' us. 'Course, some times dey whup us, but dey didn' gash us lak some o' de old marsters did dey Niggers.

"When Old Marster died I didn' know nothin' bout him bein' sick. He took a cramp colic in de night an' was dead 'fore mornin'. I hear somebody a-cryin' at de Big House an' Granny tol' us dat Old Marster done die in de night. Dey had a big fun'al an' all de folks come. De men carried him to de graveyard by de church. Dey didn' have no hearses dem days. Twant far to de graveyard so dey jus' toted de coffin to whar dey buried 'im. Dey put flowers in cups an' vases on de grave, so's dey wouldn' wilt.

"Us was all sorry when Old Marster died, I cried 'cause I said, 'Now us won' git no more candy.' He used to bring us candy whan he went to town. Us'd be lookin' for 'im when he come home. He'd say, 'Whars all my little Niggers?' Den us'd come a-runnin' an' he'd han' it to us out-a his saddle bags. It was mos'ly good stick candy.

"I 'members de paterollers. Whenever de cullud folks would slip off an' have dey frolics dout gittin' a pass from Old Marster de paterollers would come. Lots-a time dey'd come while us was a-dancin' an' a-havin' a big time. Dem paterollers would swarm in de room lak a lot o' bees. Fore anybody knowed it, dey'd begin grabbing at de mens. If dey didn' have dey pass wid 'em dey took 'em down in de woods an' whup 'em for runnin' off wid out asking dey white folks. Dey didn' bother de wimnins much. De wimmins mos' always got away while dey was catchin' de mens.

"Onct I slipped off wid another gal an' went to a party dout asking Old Mis'. When dem Night Riders come dat night, de Niggers was a-runnin' an' a-dodgin' an' a-jumpin' out-a winders lak dey was scairt to death. I runs too, me an' dat other gal. I fell down an' tore my dress, but I warnt studyin' dat dress. I knows dat dem white folks had dat strap an' I's gittin' 'way fas' as I could.

"When Miss 'Lizabeth got married to Mr. Ras Laird, dey had a big weddin' an' all dey folks come to see 'em married. Den dey went to live in Rankin County an' took me wid 'em. Old Marster had give me to Miss 'Lizabeth.

"I 'members when de Yankees come to de house. Us heard dey was comin', so us hid all de hams an' shoulders up in de lof' o' de Big House. Dey didn' git much. Dey was so mad dey jus' tore up some of Old Mis' clo'es what was in de wardrobe. Us was sho' scairt of 'em.

"I 'members dey promise to give de cullud folks all kin' o' things. Dey never give 'em nothin' dat I know's about. Us was jus' turnt loose to scratch for us ownse'ves. Us was glad to stay on wid de white folks, 'cause dey was de bes' frien's us had. I don' know nobody what got a thing 'cept what Old Marster an' Old Mis' give 'em.

"After freedom I went back to 'Old Mis'. I walked all de way back from Rankin County. It was a long way, but I wanted to see Old Mis' an' my Mammy an' my brothers an' sisters.

"When de surrender come by pappy come to git me. I didn' wan'-a go. I tol' 'im I's gwine stay wid Old Mis'. So he goes an' gits de sheriff an' takes me anyway. I runned away twict an' come back to Old Mis'. He whupped me de firs' time, but de nex' time I hid from him an' he couldn' catch me. He went back home an' 'lemme 'lone. Den I went wid my mammy to live wid Marse Tally Berry. He was one of Old Marster's sons. Dey used to come an' tell me dat dat old Nigger was gwine kill me if I didn' come wid him. But I jus' stayed hid out till he went away.

"I spec' all my white folks is dead now. I wish I could go back to 'em now. Dey help me. Dey was good to us after de War was over. Dis one would want me to live wid dem, den de other one would want me to live wid dem. Sometimes I quit one an' go live wid de other one. All of 'em sho' did treat me good. I's havin' a heap harder time now dan I ever had in slav'ry times. I sho' is.

"Dey raised de young folks better dem days. Dey learnt 'em to work. Dey didn' min' work. Today dey don' care 'bout nothin' but havin' a good time. Dey ain' studyin' 'bout no hereafter, neither.

"De Relief give me a little somethin' t'eat an' wear one time, but dey aint never give me no money. I's old an' needy, but I's trustin' de Lord an' de good white folks to he'p me now. All de white folks I used to work for has moved away from town now. I don' have nobody to look to but my daughter. She looks after me de bes' she can. Dey is some neighbor wimmins dat comes an' sets wid me sometimes.

"I's gittin' deaf an' I aint got a tooth lef' in my head. I's too feeble to he'p make a livin', but maybe I'll git dat Old Age Pension 'fore I die."

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies

[MOLLIE WILLIAMS Terry, Mississippi]

Mollie Williams, who lives two miles west of Terry, Miss., tells her story:

"Iffen I lives' til nex' September 15, I'll be eighty fo'! I was born 'bout three miles frum Utica on de Newsome place. Me an' brudder Hamp b'longed to Marse George Newsome. Marse George was named afte' George Washington up in Virginny whar he come frum. Miss Margurite was our mistiss. My mammy? Well, I'll have to tell you now 'bout her.

"You see, Marse George come off down here frum Virginny lak young folks venturin' 'bout, an' mar'ied Mis' Margurite an' wanted to start up livin' right over thar near Utica whar I was born. But Marse George was po', an' he sho' foun' out ye can't make no crop wid'out'n a start of darkies, so he writ home to Virginny fer to git some darkies. All dey sont him was fo' mens an' old Aunt Harriet fer to cook.