Chapter 2

"I'se had 'ligion all my born days. (I never learnt to read de Bible an' 'terpet de Word 'til I was right smart size, but I mus' o' b'lieved in de Lawd since 'way back.) I'se gwine a-go right 'long an' keep a-trustin' de good Lawd an' I knows ever'thing gwine a-come out all right.

"'Twixt de Lawd an' de good white folks I know I's gwine always have somethin' t'eat. President Roosevelt done 'tended to de roof over my head."

JOHN CAMERON Jackson, Mississippi

John Cameron, ex-slave, lives in Jackson. He was born in 1842 and was owned by Howell Magee. He is five feet six inches tall, and weighs about 150 pounds. His general coloring is blackish-brown with white kinky hair. He is in fairly good health.

"I'se always lived right here in Hinds County. I's seen Jackson grow from de groun' up.

"My old Marster was de bes' man in de worl'. I jus' wish I could tell, an' make it plain, jus' how good him an' old Mistis was. Marster was a rich man. He owned 'bout a thousand an' five hund'ed acres o' lan' an' roun' a hund'ed slaves. Marster's big two-story white house wid lightning rods standin' all 'bout on de roof set on top of a hill.

"De slave cabins, 'cross a valley from de Big House, was built in rows. Us was 'lowed to sing, play de fiddles, an' have a good time. Us had plenty t' eat and warm clo'es an' shoes in de winter time. De cabins was kep' in good shape. Us aint never min' workin' for old Marster, cause us got good returns. Dat meant good livin' an' bein' took care of right. Marster always fed his slaves in de Big House.

"De slaves would go early to de fiel's an work in de cotton an' corn. Dey had different jobs.

"De overseers was made to un'erstan' to be 'siderate of us. Work went on all de week lak dat. Dey got off from de fiel's early on Satu'd'y evenin's, washed up an' done what dey wanted to. Some went huntin' or fishin', some fiddled an' danced an' sung, while de others jus' lazed roun' de cabins. Marse had two of de slaves jus' to be fiddlers. Dey played for us an' kep' things perked up. How us could swing, an' step-'bout by dat old fiddle music always a-goin' on. Den old Marster come 'roun' wid his kin'ly smile an' jov'al sp'rits. When things went wrong he always knowed a way. He knowed how to comfort you in trouble.

"Now, I was a gardner or yard boy. Dat was my part as a slave. I he'ped keep de yard pretty an' clean, de grass cut, an' de flowers' tended to an' cut. I taken dat work' cause I lak's pretty flowers. I laks to buil' frames for 'em to run on an' to train 'em to win' 'roun'. I could monkey wid 'em all de time.

"When folks started a-comin' through talkin' 'bout a-freein' us an' a-givin' us lan' an' stuff, it didn' take wid Marster's slaves. Us didn' want nothin' to come 'long to take us away from him. Dem a tellin' de Niggers dey'd git lan' an' cattle an' de lak of dat was all foolis'ness, nohow. Us was a-livin' in plenty an' peace.

"De war broke out spite o' how Marster's Niggers felt. When I seen my white folks leave for war, I cried myself sick, an' all de res' did too. Den de Yankees come through a-takin' de country. Old Marster refugeed us to Virginny. I can't say if de lan' was his'n, but he had a place for us to stay at. I know us raised 'nough food stuff for all de slaves. Marster took care o' us dere 'til de war ended.

"Den he come to camp late one evenin' an tol' us dat us was free as he was; dat us could stay in Virginny an work or us could come to Mississippi wid him. Might nigh de whole passel bun'led up an' come back, an' glad to do it, too. Dar us all stayed 'til de family all died. De las' one died a few years ago an' lef' us few old darkies to grieve over 'em.

"I don' know much 'bout de Klu Klux Klan an' all dat. Dey rode 'bout at night an' wore long white ghos'-lak robes. Dey whup folks an' had meetin's way off in de woods at midnight. Dey done all kinds o' curious things. None never did bother 'bout Marster's place, so I don' know much 'bout 'em.

"After de War it took a mighty long time to git things a-goin' smooth. Folks an' de Gov'ment, too, seem lak dey was all up-set an' threatened lak. For a long time it look lak things gwine bus' loose ag'in. Mos' ever'thing was tore up an' burned down to de groun'. It took a long time to build back dout no money. Den twant de gran' old place it was de firs' time.

"I married when I was a young man. I was lucky 'nough to git de nex' bes' woman in de worl'. (Old Mis' was de bes'.) Dat gal was so good 'til I had to court 'er mos' two years 'fore she'd say she'd have me.

"Us had six chillun. Three of 'em's still livin'. I can't say much for my chillun. I don' lak to feel hard, but I tried to raise my chillun de bes' I could. I educated 'em; even bought 'em a piano an' give em' music. One of 'em is in Memphis, 'nother'n in Detroit, an' de other'n in Chicago. I writes to 'em to he'p me, but don' never hear from 'em. I's old an' dey is forgot me, I guess.

"Dat seems to be de way of de worl' now. Ever'thing an' ever'body is too fas' an' too frivoless[FN: frivilous] dese here times. I tell you, folks ought to be more lak old Marster was.

"I's a Christian an' loves de Lawd. I expects to go to him 'fore long. Den I know I's gwine see my old Marstar an' Mistis ag'in."

BIBLIOGRAPHY

John Cameron: Jackson, Mississippi.

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies

[GUS CLARK Howison, Mississippi]

Uncle Gus Clark and his aged wife live in a poverty-stricken deserted village about an eighth of a mile east of Howison.

Their old mill cabin, a relic of a forgotten lumber industry, is tumbling down. They received direct relief from the ERA until May, 1934, when the ERA changed the dole to work relief. Uncle Gus, determined to have a work card, worked on the road with the others until he broke down a few days later and was forced to accept direct relief. Now, neither Gus nor Liza is able to work, and the only help available for them is the meager State Old Age Assistance. Gus still manages to tend their tiny garden.

He gives his story:

"I'se gwine on 'bout eighty-five. 'At's my age now. I was born at Richmond, Virginny, but lef' dare right afte' de War. Dey had done surrendered den, an' my old marster doan have no mo' power over us. We was all free an' Boss turned us loose.

"My mammy's name was Judy, an' my pappy was Bob. Clark was de Boss's name. I doan 'member my mammy, but pappy was workin' on de railroad afte' freedom an' got killed.

"A man come to Richmond an' carried me an' pappy an' a lot of other niggers ter Loos'anna ter work in de sugar cane. I was little but he said I could be a water boy. It sho' was a rough place. Dem niggers quar'l an' fight an' kills one 'nother. Big Boss, he rich, an' doan 'low no sheriff ter come on his place. He hol' cou't an' settle all 'sputes hisself. He done bury de dead niggers an' put de one what killed him back to work.

"A heap of big rattlesnakes lay in dem canebrakes, an' dem niggers shoot dey heads off an' eat 'em. It didn' kill de niggers. Dem snakes was fat an' tender, an' fried jes lak chicken.

"Dere in Loos'anna we doan get no pay 'til de work is laid by. Den we'se paid big money, no nickels. Mos' of de cullud mens go back to where dey was raised.

"Dat was afte' freedom, but my daddy say dat de niggers earn money on Old Boss' place even durin' slav'ry. He give 'em every other Sat'dy fer deyse'ves. Dey cut cordwood fer Boss, wimmens an' all. Mos' of de mens cut two cords a day an' de wimmens one. Boss paid 'em a dollar a cord. Dey save dat money, fer dey doan have to pay it out fer nothin'. Big Boss didn' fail to feed us good an' give us our work clo'es. An' he paid de doctor bills. Some cullud men saved enough to buy deyse'ves frum Boss, as free as I is now.

"Slav'ry was better in some ways 'an things is now. We allus got plen'y ter eat, which we doan now. We can't make but fo' bits a day workin' out now, an' 'at doan buy nothin' at de sto'. Co'se Boss only give us work clo'es. When I was a kid I got two os'berg[FN: Osnaberg: the cheapest grade of cotton cloth] shirts a year. I never wo' no shoes. I didn' know whut a shoe was made fer, 'til I'se twelve or thirteen. We'd go rabbit huntin' barefoot in de snow.

"Didn' wear no Sunday clo'es. Dey wa'nt made fer me, 'cause I had nowhere ter go. You better not let Boss ketch you off'n de place, less'n he give you a pass to go. My Boss didn' 'low us to go to church, er to pray er sing. Iffen he ketched us prayin' er singin' he whupped us. He better not ketch you with a book in yo' han'. Didn' 'low it. I doan know whut de reason was. Jess meanness, I reckin. I doan b'lieve my marster ever went to church in his life, but he wa'nt mean to his niggers, 'cept fer doin' things he doan 'low us to. He didn' care fer nothin' 'cept farmin'.

"Dere wa'nt no schools fer cullud people den. We didn' know whut a school was. I never did learn to read.

"We didn' have no mattresses on our beds like we has now. De chullun slep' under de big high beds, on sacks. We was put under dem beds 'bout eight o'clock, an' we'd jes better not say nothin' er make no noise afte' den. All de cullud folks slep' on croker sacks full of hay er straw.

"Did I ever see any niggers punished? Yessum, I sho' has. Whupped an' chained too. Day was whupped 'til de blood come, 'til dey back split all to pieces. Den it was washed off wid salt, an' de nigger was put right back in de fiel'. Dey was whupped fer runnin' away. Sometimes dey run afte' 'em fer days an nights with dem big old blood houn's. Heap o' people doan b'lieve dis. But I does, 'cause I seed it myse'f.

"I'se lived here forty-five years, an' chipped turpentine mos' all my life since I was free.

"I'se had three wives. I didn' have no weddin's, but I mar'ied 'em 'cordin to law. I woan stay with one no other way. My fust two wives is dead. Liza an' me has been mar'ied 'bout 'leven years. I never had but one chile, an' 'at by my fust wife, an' he's dead. But my other two wives had been mar'ied befo', an' had chullun. 'Simon here,' pointing to a big buck of fifty-five sitting on the front porch, 'is Liza's oldest boy.'"

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies

[JAMES CORNELIUS Magnolia, Mississippi]

James Cornelius lives in Magnolia in the northwestern part of the town, in the Negro settlement. He draws a Confederate pension of four dollars per month. He relates events of his life readily.

"I does not know de year I was borned but dey said I was 15 years old when de War broke out an' dey tell me I'se past 90 now. Dey call me James Cornelius an' all de white folks says I'se a good 'spectable darkey.

"I was borned in Franklin, Loos'anna. My mammy was named Chlo an' dey said my pappy was named Henry. Dey b'longed to Mr. Alex Johnson an' whil'st I was a baby my mammy, my brudder Henry, an' me was sol' to Marse Sam Murry Sandell an' we has brung to Magnolia to live an' I niver remember seein' my pappy ag'in.

"Marse Murry didn' have many slaves. His place was right whar young Mister Lampton Reid is buildin' his fine house jes east of de town. My mammy had to work in da house an' in de fiel' wid all de other niggers an' I played in de yard wid de little chulluns, bofe white an' black. Sometimes we played 'tossin' de ball' an' sometimes we played 'rap-jacket' an' sometimes 'ketcher.' An' when it rained we had to go in de house an' Old Mistess made us behave.

"I was taught how to work 'round de house, how to sweep an' draw water frum de well an' how to kin'le fires an' keep de wood box filled wid wood, but I was crazy to larn how to plow an' when I could I would slip off an' get a old black man to let me walk by his side an' hold de lines an' I thought I was big 'nouf to plow.

"Marse Murry didn' have no overseer. He made de slaves work, an' he was good an' kind to 'em, but when dey didn' do right he would whip 'em, but he didn' beat 'em. He niver stripped 'em to whip 'em. Yes ma'm, he whipped me but I needed it. One day I tol' him I was not goin' to do whut he tol' me to do--feed de mule--but when he got through wid me I _wanted_ to feed dat mule.

"I come to live wid Marse Murry 'fo dar was a town here. Dar was only fo' houses in dis place when I was a boy. I seed de fust train dat come to dis here town an' it made so much noise dat I run frum it. Dat smoke puffed out'n de top an' de bell was ringin' an' all de racket it did make made me skeered.

"I heered dem talkin' 'bout de war but I didn' know whut dey meant an' one day Marse Murry said he had jined de Quitman Guards an' was goin' to de war an' I had to go wid him. Old Missus cried an' my mammy cried but I thought it would be fun. He tuk me 'long an' I waited on him. I kept his boots shinin' so yer could see yer face in 'em. I brung him water an' fed an' cur'ied his hoss an' put his saddle on de hoss fer him. Old Missus tol' me to be good to him an' I was.

"One day I was standin' by de hoss an' a ball kilt[FN: killed] de hoss an' he fell over dead an' den I cried like it mout[FN: might] be my brudder. I went way up in Tennessee an' den I was at Port Hudson. I seed men fall dawn an' die; dey was kilt like pigs. Marse Murry was shot an' I stayed wid him 'til dey could git him home. Dey lef' me behin' an' Col. Stockdale an' Mr. Sam Matthews brung me home.

"Marse Murry died an' Old Missus run de place. She was good an' kind to us all an' den she mar'ied afte' while to Mr. Gatlin. Dat was afte' de war was over.

"Whil'st I was in de war I seed Mr. Jeff Davis. He was ridin' a big hoss an' he looked mighty fine. I niver seed him 'ceptin he was on de hoss.

"Dey said old man Abe Lincoln was de nigger's friend, but frum de way old Marse an' de sojers talk 'bout him I thought he was a mighty mean man.

"I doan recollec' when dey tol' us we was freed but I do know Mr. Gatlin would promise to pay us fer our work an' when de time would come fer to pay he said he didn' have it an' kep' puttin us off, an' we would work some more an' git nothin' fer it. Old Missus would cry an' she was good to us but dey had no money.

"'Fo de war Marse Murry would wake all de niggers by blowin' a big 'konk' an' den when dinner time would come Old Missus would blow de 'konk' an' call dem to dinner. I got so I could blow dat 'konk' fer Old Missus but oh! it tuk my wind.

"Marse Murry would 'low me to drive his team when he would go to market. I could haul de cotton to Covin'ton an' bring back whut was to eat, an' all de oxen could pull was put on dat wagon. We allus had good eatin afte' we had been to market.

"Every Chris'mus would come I got a apple an' some candy an' mammy would cook cake an' pies fer Old Missus an' stack dem on de shelf in de big kitchen an' we had every thing good to eat. Dem people sho' was good an' kind to all niggers.

"Afte de war de times was hard an' de white an' black people was fightin' over who was to git de big office, an' den dere was mighty leetle to eat. Dar was plen'y whiskey, but I'se kep' 'way frum all dat. I was raised right. Old Missus taught me ter 'spect white folks an' some of dem promised me land but I niver got it. All de land I'se ever got I work mighty hard fer it an' I'se got it yit.

"One day afte' Mr. Gatlin said he couldn' pay me I run 'way an' went to New Orleans an' got a job haulin' cotton, an' made my 50 cents an' dinner every day. I sho' had me plen'y money den. I stayed dere mighty close on to fo' years an' den I went to Tylertown an' hauled cotton to de railroad fer Mr. Ben Lampton. Mr. Lampton said I was de bes' driver of his team he ever had caze I kep' his team fat.

"Afte I come back to Miss'ssippi I mar'ied a woman named Maggie Ransom. We stayed together 51 years. I niver hit her but one time. When we was gittin' mar'ied I stopped de preacher right in de ceremony an' said to her, 'Maggie, iffen you niver call me a liar I will niver call you one' an' she said, 'Jim, I won't call you a liar.' I said, 'That's a bargain' an' den de preacher went on wid de weddin'. Well, one day afte' we had been mar'ied' bout fo' years, she ast[FN: asked] me how come I was so late comin' to supper, an' I said I found some work to do fer a white lady, an' she said, that's a lie,' an' right den I raised my han' an' let her have it right by de side of de head, an' she niver called me a liar ag'in. No ma'm, dat is somethin' I won't stand fer.

"My old lady had seven chulluns dat lived to git grown. Two of 'em lived here in Magnolia an' de others gone North. Maggie is daid an' I live wid my boy Walter an' his wife Lena. Dey is mighty good to me. I owns dis here house an' fo' acres but day live wid me an' I gits a Confed'rate pension of fo' dollars a month. Dat gives me my coffee an' 'bacco. I'se proud I'se a old sojer, I seed de men fall when dey was shot but I was not skeered. We et bread when we could git it an' if we couldn' git it we done widout.

"Afte' I lef' Mr. Lampton I'se come here an' went to work fer Mr. Enoch at Fernwood when his mill was jes a old rattletrap of a mill. I work fer him 45 years. At fust I hauled timber out'n de woods an' afte' whil'st I hauled lumber to town to build houses. I sometimes collec' fer de lumber but I niver lost one nickle, an' dem white folks says I sho' was a honest nigger.

"I lived here on dis spot an' rode a wheel to Fernwood every day, an' fed de teams an' hitched 'em to de wagons an' I was niver late an' niver stopped fer anything, an' my wheel niver was in de shop. I niver 'lowed anybody to prank wid it, an' dat wheel was broke up by my gran'chulluns.

"Afte I quit work at de mill I'se come home an' plow gardens fer de white folks an' make some more money. I sho' could plow.

"I jined de New Zion Baptist Church here in Magnolia an' was baptized in de Tanghipoa River one Sunday evenin'. I was so happy dat I shouted, me an' my wife bofe. I'se still a member of dat church but I do not preach an' I'm not no deacon; I'se jes a bench member an' a mighty po' one at dat. My wife was buried frum dat church.

"Doan know why I was not called Jim Sandell, but mammy said my pappy was named Henry Cornelius an' I reckin I was give my pappy's name.

"When I was a young man de white folks' Baptist Church was called Salem an' it was on de hill whar de graveyard now is. It burnt down an' den dey brung it to town, an' as I was goin' to tell yer I went possum huntin' in dat graveyard one night. I tuk my ax an' dog 'long wid me an' de dog, he treed a possum right in de graveyard. I cut down dat tree an' started home, when all to once somethin' run by me an' went down dat big road lak light'ning an' my dog was afte' it. Den de dog come back an' lay down at my feet an' rolled on his back an' howled an' howled, an' right den I knowed it was a sperit an' I throwed down my 'possum an' ax an' beat de dog home. I tell you dat was a sperit--I'se seed plen'y of 'em. Dat ain't de only sperit I ever seed. I'se seen 'em a heap of times. Well, dat taught me niver to hunt in a grave yard ag'in.

"No ma'm, I niver seed a ghost but I tell yer I know dere is sperits. Let me tell yer, anudder time I was goin' by de graveyard an' I seed a man's head. He had no feet, but he kep' lookin' afte' me an' every way I turned he wouldn' take his eye offen me, an' I walked fast an' he got faster an' den I run an' den he run, an' when I got home I jes fell on de bed an' hollered an' hollered an' tol' my old lady, an' she said I was jes' skeered, but I'se sho' seed dat sperit an' I ain't goin' by de grave yard at night by myse'f ag'in.

"An' let me tell yer dis. Right in front of dis house--yer see dat white house?--Well, last Febr'ary a good old cullud lady died in dat house, an' afte' she was buried de rest of de fambly moved away, an' every night I kin look over to dat house an' see a light in de window. Dat light comes an' goes, an' nobody lives dar. Doan I know dat is de sperit of dat woman comin' back here to tell some of her fambly a message? Yes ma'm, dat is her sperit an' dat house is hanted an' nobody will live dar ag'in.

"No ma'm, I can't read nor write."

Charlie Davenport, Ex-slave, Adams County FEC Edith Wyatt Moore Rewrite, Pauline Loveless Edited, Clara E. Stokes

[CHARLIE DAVENPORT Natchez, Mississippi]

"I was named Charlie Davenport an' encordin'[FN: according] to de way I figgers I ought to be nearly a hund'ed years old. Nobody knows my birthday, 'cause all my white folks is gone.

"I was born one night an' de very nex' mornin' my po' little mammy died. Her name was Lucindy. My pa was William Davenport.

"When I was a little mite dey turnt me over to de granny nurse on de plantation. She was de one dat 'tended to de little pickaninnies. She got a woman to nurse me what had a young baby, so I didn' know no dif'ence. Any woman what had a baby 'bout my age would wet nurse me, so I growed up in de quarters an' was as well an' as happy as any other chil'.

"When I could _tote taters_[FN: sweet potatoes] dey'd let me pick' em up in de fiel'. Us always hid a pile away where us could git' em an' roast' em at night.

"Old mammy nearly always made a heap o' dewberry an' 'simmon[FN: persimmon]. wine.

"Us little tykes would gather black walnuts in de woods an' store 'em under de cabins to dry.

"At night when de work was all done an' de can'les was out us'd set 'roun' de fire an' eat cracked nuts an' taters. Us picked out de nuts wid horse-shoe nails an' baked de taters in ashes. Den Mammy would pour herse'f an' her old man a cup o' wine. Us never got none o' dat less'n[FN: unless] us be's sick. Den she'd mess it up wid wild cherry bark. It was bad den, but us gulped it down, anyhow.

"Old Granny used to sing a song to us what went lak dis:

'Kinky head, whar-fore you skeered? Old snake crawled off, 'cause he's afeared. Pappy will smite 'im on de back Wid a great big club--ker whack! Ker whack!'

"Aventine, where I was born an' bred, was acrost Secon' Creek. It was a big plantation wid 'bout a hund'ed head o' folks a-livin' on it. It was only one o' de marster's places, 'cause he was one o' de riches' an' highes' quality gent'men in de whole country. I's tellin' you de trufe, us didn' b'long to no white trash. De marster was de Honorable Mister Gabriel Shields hisse'f. Ever'body knowed 'bout him. He married a Surget.

"Dem Surgets was pretty devilish; for all dey was de riches' fam'ly in de lan'. Dey was de out-fightin'es', out-cussin'es', fastes' ridin', hardes' drinkin', out-spendin'es' folks I ever seen. But Lawd! Lawd! Dey was gent'men even in dey cups. De ladies was beautiful wid big black eyes an' sof' white han's, but dey was high strung, too.

"De marster had a town mansion what's pictured in a lot o' books. It was called 'Montebella.' De big columns still stan' at de end o' Shields Lane. It burnt 'bout thirty years ago (1937).

"I's part Injun. I aint got no Nigger nose an' my hair is so long I has to keep it wropped[FN: wrapped]. I'se often heard my mammy was redish-lookin' wid long, straight, black hair. Her pa was a full blooded Choctaw an' mighty nigh as young as she was. I'se been tol' dat nobody dast[FN: dared] meddle wid her. She didn' do much talkin', but she sho' was a good worker. My pappy had Injun blood, too, but his hair was kinky.

"De Choctaws lived all 'roun' Secon' Creek. Some of 'em had cabins lak settled folks. I can 'member dey las' chief. He was a tall pow'ful built man named 'Big Sam.' What he said was de law, 'cause he was de boss o' de whole tribe. One rainy night he was kilt in a saloon down in 'Natchez Under de Hill.' De Injuns went wild wid rage an' grief. Dey sung an' wailed an' done a heap o' low mutterin'. De sheriff kep' a steady watch on' em, 'cause he was afeared dey would do somethin' rash. After a long time he kinda let up in his vig'lance. Den one night some o' de Choctaw mens slipped in town an' stobbed[FN: stabbed] de man dey b'lieved had kilt Big Sam. I 'members dat well.