mill. I remember in my early days, we used cattle for teams to haul,

start at four o'clock in de morning, drive all day, stay over night and grind de next day. Sometimes de crowd ahead of us was so big we had to stay over for three or four days. Sometimes we would be until eleven or twelve at night getting home. Gone at least two days and one night. I had to make trips like dis many times.

"Sometimes we could take a couple of bushel of corn and go horseback, but twice a year, Spring and Fall, we would take eight or ten bushel of wheat, six and eight bushel of corn or according to what we needed and take de cattle and a old wooden axle wagon, walking and driving de cattle all de way there and back. We drove or led dem with only a rope around dem.

"De last trip I made millin', I drove for Bill Fannins, a yoke of young three-year old cattle. Wasn't even broke. Went twenty-five miles, drove all de way, walking, while he sat up in de wagon. Sometimes de wagon dragged in de mud, de old wooden axle burying so deep we couldn't hardly get it out, going through timber and dodging brush. Some folks went even further dan dat. Sometimes a mill might be four or five miles from you but dey got out of fix and you would have to go to another one. Maybe twenty-five miles or more.

"There was not many good doctors in those days, but my grandfather was an old fashioned herb doctor. I remember him well. I was about twenty-five years old when he died. Everybody knew him in dat country and he doctored among de white people, one of de best doctors of his kind. He went over thirty miles around to people who sent for him. He was seldom at home. Lots of cases dat other doctors gave up, he went and raised them. He could cure anything.

"When I was sick one time, I was den about eighteen or nineteen years old, my folks had Dr. Boles, from Lane's Prairie and Dr. Mayweather from Vichey, to come and tend me. Dey both gave me up. I had typhoid and pneumonia. Dese doctors were de best to be found but dey could do nothing and said I was as good as dead. My grandfather was gone, had come to Rolla, doctoring Charley Stroback's child whose clothes had caught fire and he was burned badly. Grandfather could 'blow out' fire.

"He got home about four o'clock in de morning after de doctors had done give me up. He felt my pulse and said he didn't know whether I was dead or alive. No pulse but he said I felt warm. He asked my grandmother if she had any light bread baked. She said yes and got it for him. He told her to butter it and lay the butter side down over my mouth and if it melted I was still living. She did this and soon she said, 'Yes, he is still alive. Now go to work and get a little whiskey and butter and beat it together good and drop just two drops in his mouth, and in four hours drop two more.'

"He sat beside me, layed his hands on my breast and about ten o'clock de next day I began to come around. I realized he was there and he asked me if I knew him which I did.

"In 'blowing fire', my grandfather simply blew on de burn and de fire and pain was gone. It was a secret charm, handed down from generation to generation. He said only one could be told. He told my Aunt Harriet and she could 'blow fire' de same as my grandfather.

"I remember one good old doctor in dis part of de country. Old Dr. Stark. He was as good a doctor, de finest we had in those days. He could chew tobacco and spit enough to drown a hog. A lot of de old herb remedies my grandfather used, I can still remember. He used one called 'white root'. It is a bush dat grows here. In de spring of de year, when its leaves bloom out, in de morning hours, when de sun shines on it, it looks just like bright tin. It has an awful bitter taste. It was used for mighty near any ailment. He had another herb, he used, called 'remedy weed'. It is a bright green looking weed dat grows around springs. It is also used for many ailments. Another one was sarsaparilla root. It grows here, lots of it. He went to de woods and gathered it all hisself getting wild cherry bark, ditney, penny royal, and camomile root. Others he gathered and dried some to make teas and others to put in whiskey.

"Dogwood buds, some kind of a medicine used as a laxative. Ginseng was another remedy. I do not know what it was used for, but it was powerful good, and one remedy he used was called 'spicewood'. It was also a healthful drink, like store tea. You gather it in de fall, using de stem or stocky part, break it up and dry it. I used it all de time while I worked on de river, at de tourist camps. It has a fine flavor and it's good for you.

"Indian turnip grows by de thousands in de woods here. Great places of it, looks like turnips, grows in big bunches and bright red. Colored folks used to use de Indian turnip in slave times. Dey would take dis and dry it, pulverize it and tie it in big quantities around their feet to keep off de trail of bloodhounds. No bloodhound could trail a bit further after smelling it. It was strong like red pepper, burns like everything and colored folks running away use it all de time.

"Grandfather also used 'butter nut root', some call it white walnut. You take one dose of dis and it will cure de worst case of chills, no matter how bad. Take two tablespoons for a dose. It is as severe as croton oil. By golly, it won't leave a thing in you, clears you out and one dose does de work. Oh, man, but it is bitter.

"He used golden seal, a medicine found in places here, very costly, worth $7 to $8 a pound now. I don't know what he used dem all for, but I do remember of him getting dem in their proper season, and kept dem always on hand.

"For sore throat or quinsy, he had some sort of tea. He used onion tea, too. He took an onion, roasted it in its hull in ashes, squeezed out de juice and added a little sugar and gave it to de patient. For rheumatism, he used poke root, dried it and put it in whiskey. De only thing dat is good for rheumatics. There were many more remedies, but I can't recall them now."

Ann Stokes

*Interview with "Aunt" Ann Stokes,* *91 Years old, Caruthersville, Missouri.*

One of the most interesting characters of all Pemiscot County today is an old negro called "Aunt" Ann Stokes. She was born a slave "out hyar at Cottonwood Pint in 1844, a year of high water". Nineteen thirty-six brings her to her ninety third year; all of which have been spent in Pemiscot County, except for an occasional visit to relatives. In the early years of her life she was known as "a good hard workin' nigger". Now she takes things more quietly, especially since she has lost her eyesight and can only hear when you shout very loudly. All day long she does very little, just "sits and rocks." For a very old woman she is certainly fine looking. Most old people are usually wrinkled. Aunt Ann looks to be only in her sixties.

A sort of creepy feeling comes to one in the presence of this old negro. She always leans close to you as she speaks, lays her hand on your arm, now and then pointing her finger. Once and awhile she smiles showing her few remaining teeth in Graiae fashion. She speaks slowly in a high voice not at all shaky. Every story she tells is glorified and exaggerated. She is anxious to talk and likes to have visitors. Never does she fail to mention her first "schoolin'"; she tells, "I learnt my alphabet in de middle ob a field unnerneath a 'simmon tree. My cousin teached me, you know we weren't 'lowed to hab books in dem days. They didn't want us to know nothin'". When you mention the War Between the States, you have hit a favorite subject of hers. Especially, does she pride herself on her war stories.

At Cottonwood Point she remembers standing on the bank of the river to "see transpots goin' south. Done busted through up north here. Fom de steam ob de boats we was uz wet us if we'z a-standin' in a shower ob rain. Sa many soldiers dat dey wuz all standin aroun de pilot houses. Dey wuz goin' to Fort Pillar on a hill in Tennessee. Sech a shootin' as day was when dey turn dem cannons loose. Ize tol dat fur three mile down de river you couldn't tell if it's blood or water.

"An ol' soldier tol' me how dey capture Vicksburg. Dey put a man on a ol' skint-up mule an send him to de fort to spy. When he got thar he say he's a-runnin' way fom de Yankees. He's so pitiful lookin' an' so naked he couldn't hide his nakedness: so dey took him in. He stay aroun' de fort fur three days lookin' at everthing. He seen how it wuz all fixed. Den one mornin' he come up missin' and dey try to git on de track ob him. But it warn't no use 'cause one mornin' de man who'd been on de ol' skint-up mule come back wid sum Yanks an' took de fort."

----

"You cud allas hyar de Yankees at Kennett or Hornersville wen day's aroun'. One day I'ze over to see Melindy and I say: 'Melindy, does you all hyar sompin? Soun' like de Yankees, look out de winder and see if you sees anything.'

"She say, 'I don' see nothin'. Dey ain't no Yankees aroun' hyar.'

"Well, I jest sit thar 'till I caint stan' it no more. I gets up and looks out de winder myself. Thar dey come down de road and I knows theys Yanks 'cause I see de blue ob de coats. Pretty soon dey ride up to de house. Dey yell out: 'You all got any Gurrillers aroun' hyar?'

"Me an' Melindy stan' in de doah. I say, 'Melindy you go out dar an tell 'em.'

"Melindy start across de yard when de leader yell, 'I don' want you! De truf ain't in your yaller body.' (Melindy was a mulatto girl) 'Hey! you, you other girl, come hyar!'

"'Yes suh,' I say an' walk out de doah in de yard.

"'Got any Gurrillers aroun' hyar?', he yell.

"'No suh!' sez I, 'Taint non aroun' hyar.'

"'Know Mr. Douglass?', he say pointin' his finger to a house 'cross de prairie.

"'Yes suh,' siz I, 'I knows him wen I sees him.'

"'Has he got any Gurrillers thar?'

"'I don't know, suh.'

"'Wal, thars a collad girl thar ain't they?'

"'Yes suh, but I don' go round her no mo. We ain't speakin'. Reckon I ain't been on Mr. Douglasses place foah six month. I don't know nothin' 'bout it. You all better go see fur youshsevs.'

"He leab den an ride ovah to Douglasses place. I seen Bud come out in de yard. He call Bud ovah to de fence and talk to him. 'Bout dat time I see men comin' out de back ob de house an chargin' ovah de fence into de thicket whar warn't nothin' but lots ob trees, tare blanket, an blackberry bushes. Right den and dare dey had a scrummage. De Yanks set fire to ever' buildin' on de place. De blaze wuz a-goin' up to de elements! Not a thing did they take out ob de house ceptin' feather bed for a wounded Yankee.

"Mr. Douglass, he hear about de shootin'. He tuk to de woods an stay fur a spell."

----

"I ain't had nothin' scare me so bad as one time I went down to de lot to feed. A big ol' black cat run right in font ob me and jump up on de corn. Dar he sat, sech a big cat, good big twice! Wal, it scairt me so I started to bleedin' at de nose. I come back home as fas as I could. The ol' Doc he couldn't stop it, I couldn't stop it, seem like nobody can stop it. My blood bled so much it look de color ob sassafras tea. De second day Emma, she my daughter say, 'De black cat done gone. I cain't fin' it nowhere.'

"Den my nose stop bleedin!'"

----

"What's a cure fur Rheumitize you say? They's jus one cure for dat, I knows! Ain't I had it so bad I couln't raise up to step ovah a fence ral? Take a raw irish potato and pack it in your pocket. One day I'ze walkin' down de street an I meets Mr. Huffman. I say, 'Mr. Huffman, how's your Rheumatize?'

"He say, 'Aunt Ann, 'taint no better. I thinks I go down to Hot Springs fur a spell.'

"'Humph,' says I, 'Don' you go way down dar to git well. You don't hab to do dat. You git you a raw Irish potato and carry it wid you all de time. Wen you change yoah pants, change dat potato ober to de clean pants. Wen de potato git dry clean through, you won't hev no more Rheumatize.'

"Nex' time I see him he say hez fine. Now ain't dat proof enough dat potatoes cure Rheumitizm?"

----

"One mawnin' I gets up to make a fish in de stobe. It's fearful cold an de moon is still a-shinin'. I put on my coat an start to work. While de stove am heatin' up I looks out de winder. I see sompin' queer lookin' out in de garden, sompin' standin' 'bout knee high all bright and shiny. I wonder what kin' ob a ghost has got loose now. I takes a broom an sneaks out de doah. Kinda haf shets may eyes kaze I'ze scairt to death. Wham! I hits dat ting an scatters it all ovah de place. Warn't nothin' but an ol' cabbage, a po frozen cabbage!"

----

"Does I know Ol' Mexico Cole? Yessum, I reckon I do. He us a dawk man, a tolable dawk man, wid black hair an dawk eyes. He us what you say a medium built man. Yessah, Ol' Mexico Cole! He wuz a doctah. I 'member de night he wuz on his way home wen de storm cum up. De lighten lightened an de thunder thundered! Sho' wuz a powful storm! He'z a-ridin' along on his hoss wen all ob a sudden a big lim' done fall off a tree an smash him flat. Dat's mighty bad, I tell yo, mighty bad. Yessuh, ol' Mexico Cole, I 'members him.

"One time he walk on a tradin' boat an he see a bottle full ob sompin' he don't know what. He picks it up an smell a deep breaf. Dat really frowed him out fur a spell. Dey had to give 'em a half a bottle ob melted grease! Yessum, I 'members Ol' Mexico Cole."

Two of Aunt Ann's favorite songs are:

I

"By'm by don' you griebe atter me (This line repeated four times)

II

Wen I'm gone don' you griebe atter me " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " By'm by don' you griebe atter me.

III

De Lawd has prepared de way an has carried my soul away (This line repeated three times) By'm by don' you griebe atter me.

IV

Wen I'm dead don' you griebe atter me (This line repeated three times) By'm by don' you griebe atter me."

The second song is sung by a "mighty clevah woman" to her lover. The negro woman is at home rocking her baby, her husband is sitting not far away. A weird little whistle is heard. The negro woman sings to warn her lover of danger.

"Oh, de win's in de wes', An' de cuckoo's in de nes', No lodgin' hyar foah you, By you baby by yoo.

Oh, de devil's in de man, Cain't you unnerstan', No lodgin' hyar foah you, By you baby by yoo.

(Repetition of the first verse.)"

Edward Taylor

*Interview with Edward Taylor,* *St. Louis, Missouri.* *(Written by Grace E. White,* *St. Louis, Mo.)*

_Born "Around 1812"_

The subject of this sketch is Edward Taylor, exact age not known, but he is positive he is over 115 years old. He lives in a two room frame cottage in the rear of 8013 Dale Avenue, St. Louis County, Missouri, with his wife of less than twelve months and says she is in her 50's.

Taylor is a tall, slender, almost erect old man, looks well for his age, very hard of hearing, his hair well mingled with gray. He believes God has called him to preach holiness to the world, and it is a hard matter to keep his mind on an interview for his ex-slave experiences instead of preaching to his interviewer. His story follows:

"I was born in Cheneyville, Louisiana. I guess around 1812. But I don't know. I do know, I was owned by Marse William Chaney. He was a rich old slave owner. I thought in dem days white folks was God, didn't know no better.

"I 'member well when de stars fell, I saw 'em twixt midnight and day and tried to ketch some of 'em. I was grown, too, most. I wasn't scared 'cause I thought long as I staid where de white folks was, dey would protect me from all harm, even de stars in de elements, storms, or what not, just stay near de white folks and I had nothing to worry about. I thought white folks made de stars, sun and everything on de earth. I knowed nothing but to be driven and beat all de time. I seed em take de bottom rail out of de rail fences and stick de nigger's head in de hole den jam de balance of de fence down on his neck, and beat him till he's stiff. Den I seed 'em put 40 or 50 slaves in stock and as high as 300 at a time and punish 'em, till some of 'em died. It was terrible. Chaney done his slaves so bad when he taken down sick, he just suffered till de skin dropped off his bones. Nobody do any thing for him but me, everybody, even his own folks was scared of him, didn't want to touch him he looked and smelt so bad. But I just stuck hard by him till he died. I took care of Jeff Davis for years, long fore he ever got president of des United States. Yes sir, I did. When de stars fell people all runnin' and hollerin' judgment done come. I didn't see no need in all dat 'citement, as long as de white folks livin' I thought they could keep us niggers livin'.

"I used to hear de white folks readin' de paper 'bout de war, and readin' de Yankees beaten 'em, and I wondered what de world is Yankees. I thought dey talking 'bout birds of de air or sumpin'. After while Essex Gun Boat got all de South to Vicksburg. I found out den what Yankees was. Yes, sir, I did. My slave owners would make de blacksmith make buck horns and fasten 'em like a crown on de slave women's heads and brad 'em on dere so dey would know 'em by dat mark. Dey was so tight and heavy for dem women to carry around dey often times swell up dere head so dey couldn't hardly see out dere eyes.

"I worked naked most my time I didn't know nothing 'bout pride. Dey had looms some places to make hemp coats and jackets. I had to make rails, drive wagons, and make cross tires in a blacksmith shop. We had to have a pass to go any place. De patrollers would git us and make us show our pass, and we got to be in our cabin by 9 o'clock. I got one pound of fat meat a week. If you got sick de doctor tell you to not lie to the old Marse or old Miss and you git all right. After de war was over I had to cut two cords of wood at night and work all day for one penny, and we could buy a ginger cake long as I was tall nearly and it last us all week. You could git it for a penny and we called it a stage plank. It was long and thin. I never kin forgit when old Marse William Chaney died. We fell to his brother Marse George Chaney. De wife I married belonged to de same people owned me. Marse George chained a host of dem niggers together and sold 'em, and bought some more. He bought four wid my wife at one time but he sold 'em in droves. Marse William owned us by de hundreds. I 'member I was 30 years old when I married. My wife had two chillin but dey dead long ago. I don't know how old my wife was when I married her though. I know dis here wife I got now since she was a baby. We jes' been married less dan a year. I am de first colored man to own a piece a ground in Lincoln Terrace, and de oldest man, white or black, to ever apply for a marriage license in the State of Missouri. I owns dis whole block from Dale to Harter Avenue and am taking care of four families living on my property, dat don't pay me a penny, and haven't for years. I never been to school a day in my life. Just trustin' God for my gittin along, and my understandin'. An automobile run over me two years ago and I had another accident in Jefferson City, Missouri one year ago, but am still able to go and preach the word of God.

Tishey Taylor

*Interview with Mrs. Tishey Taylor,* *age 77, Poplar Bluff, Missouri.*

"I wusn't very old during slave time but I worked, yes sir, I did, and my por 'mammy chile', it wus from daylight ta' dark, and on good light nights it wus way up in the night. Mah mammy's name was 'Katie', Katie-Cherry, an ma father wus William Walturf, or somethin' like 'at, never did know good 'cause he never stayed wif us in our cabin no how and we never knowed him much.

"Shap Phillips wus our marster and he brought my parents 'fore I wus bawn, frum Frank Parker, (we jus said 'Ol Parker',) and brought us from Woofalton to New Madrid County. 'Ol Man Shap', (that what we call him,) had two sons, one name 'Amos' and one name 'Little Murry'. I took care 'Little Murry' fer ma, 'Task' and I warn't much biggner him but did I let him git hurt? Not me chile!

"'Ole Man Shap' owned 'bout two, three hundred us slaves and he had cabins built all over and around his plantation. This house is por nuf' but then we jes had one little room and 'irt floos and no windas, sometime jus holes out.

"Some them slaves cooks in their cabin, not what they wanted but what 'Marse' gibd 'em, most times wus beans an' 'tators and corn bred and milk, and some times 'round hog killin' time he pass out the 'jowl meat'.

"I jest don' 'member but it seems we did eat three times a day. I wus allays so glad to hear dat bell ring else a horn blow. Youse seed that kind of shell like calded 'Konk horn'--and could that 'nigger' blow lowd!

"Mammy cooked in the big house for 'Marse', and then som' time when her work was done in there she was took to the fields and lef' me and my brother and sister by our selves 'till she come and som' time when she did com' she would run in scared-like and lock de door and motion us quiet and say, 'Dey will think I'se sleep'. I didn't understand all that stuff den but fore long I did understan' what I'se tellin yu.

"'Nother thing our beds wus poor stuff, but mammy said she wus allays 'dog tired' and could 'a slep on the ground. They wus straw ticks and hard. Law no, chile, we didn't known what springs wus.

"One day I 'member bad, 'Ol Man Shap' sol' granma, she was mammy's mammy and all we ever hear, she was sol' down souf. We knowed not to do no takin' on for if'n we did the hide would got tooken off us.

"Mammy used to card wool and cotton and spin, then she would weave goods. I 'member one time, I wus little, I played 'rat under de loom'. I would crawl up and grab mammy and say 'e-e-e-k', and pinch her. She say, 'I'll puts a stop to that "rat" bothering me when I got work to do!' That didn' stop me but she sho' make me wish it had the nex' time I do it.

"I never knowed Sunday from Monday, 'cept on Sunday the white man come and we are called out under the brush arbor, didn' have no work in the fiel' at day, and he stand up 'fore us and preach out a little green-back book; I didn't know what it was then, but I knows now it was a Bible. I 'member every 'preach day' he say, 'Mind you not to steal from Missis or Marster'. He was plenty strong on that part.

"Well do I 'member dat 'nigger' overseer, big, 'smart aleck'; he wus called de 'nigger driver'. He say 'hurry up there, you get the hide split on you lazy back'. I wusn't hardly big enouf but the bigger ones when they wus gib a task to do, they better do it in a hurry else they would get the 'hide split' and some time salt put on.

"I never had no book larnin' 'cept two, three times when Miss Fanny La Forge, she wus the white school teacher, and she tried to larn me, she didn' have much time and couldn' do much with it. But I allays says, 'Give me good ol' common horse sense', and not braggin, Miss, but I have got that; always did have. Mos' these educated ones are smarty, big head, smarty, and I never did want to be that way 'tall.

"If they wus jails then fo us slaves I never seed one, jes whippin' fo' punishin', some one wus gittin' it all the time.

"'Ole Parker' like mammy and all her people and he tol' 'Ol Man Shap' if'n he lashed my mammy and her family he would com' and take us back, 'cause we wus good and didn't need no punishment but that was the only reason that we wusn't lashed like the rest of them.

"I was tellin' you about Sunday meetin', none of us had a Bible 'cept the white man, and I don't know where he got it from. I never did have one 'cept once and it burned up in my house in Advance. I liked to look through it but I didn't know a word it said.

"Times it seems I can hear them sing, I didn't sing much at the meetin' 'cause I was too little, but the others sang, 'Hark From the Tomb', and 'I am a Soldier of the Cross'. When the preacher man shook he haid and stomp his feet and yell, I say to mammy: 'What that man mammy? What he doin?' And she say: 'Hush', and put her hand over my mouf. I knowed plenty well to stay hushed too. Any babtising went on I never seed any of it, never knowed nothin' 'bout anything lak that then.

"The older ones had some fun too about that time, maybe once week or more some one get 'mission' from his Marster and gib a 'hoe down!' (calls dance now.) Any one that went from all the close plantations got 'mission' from the Marster or overseer to go but they had to be home at a certain time or they would wish they hadn't went and some time they would slip off and go out mission', if ever they wus caught they got 'it', and plenty of it. I heard sister say, 'Mammy I would like to go to the hoedown tonight'. Mammy say: 'Think you can come back in time?' Sister say, 'Don' know mammy,' then mammy say, 'Better save your sef chile'. Then sister say, 'Well, I better go to bed then'. But you could hear the fiddle and the hollerin' all over, and 'twas hard to stay 'way.

"At Christmas time we knowd 'bout that and both of mammy's owners gib her a good time. 'Ol Man Shap' alluys gib us a pair of stockings and some candy and apples. For the men folks they sometimes get whiskey. New Year's was 'bout the same and I don' 'member no other holidays.

"When we got sick they was a white doctor way off somewhere that would come, if he wus sent fo', but mos' de time 'Old Uncle Nee John' and 'Uncle Jake' would conjure us; they was called 'Voo-Doo's'. One time sister stepped up in the meat house do'r and hurt her foot, don' know how, Mammy tell Marster and he say, 'Tell Jake he come', an' I wus allus' 'fraid of him and he say to sister, 'Gal, get up and walk'. She say: 'I cain't.' He set back down and go 'M-m-m-m-m', for a longtime and than say: 'Gal, I say get up and walk'. She say: 'I can't'. I was so scared and mammy say to me, 'Set still there Gal, he ain't gwine to hurt you no how', but he look so wild and mean and the next time he mumble words over her foot she get up and walk. He have us wear a dime around our necks fo' somethin'; don' know what tho'. I was allus such a fool 'bout money. I just liked to wear it and didn' care.

"When some one died we didn't know what wus don' with 'em but sometime they wus took out in the night and I heard some wus hauled off in a little push-thing and throwed in the river and some wus put in a hole with their clothes on.

"'Bout that time we begin to hear stories of bein' set free. The slaves sang at their work all day.

"'Thank God Almity, I'll be free some day', (there are 'bout all the words I can 'member). They sang this over and over and made a pretty song too. Nearer time for us to be freed, the owners get meaner all the time. Some took their slaves down in the cane brakes and hid them; others wus kept working. 'Ol Man Shap' tell some, 'When you get free I give you home and pay you for your work'. I guess he would too if'n he had stayed there.

"Them 'Blue Coats' (Northern Soldiers), wus lots meaner than the 'Brown Coats (Gray), in the South. Them 'Blue Coats' come in and steal your chickens and cook them over your fireplace and eat them right 'fore your eyes. I 'member one time the 'Brown Coats' come and wanted sister. I squalled like a panther. During and after the war, them 'Guerillas' was a sight, dey steal, kill, and tear up, everywhere. The 'K.K.K.' was a powerful, mean, bunch and dey would com' ater night and take people out and whip them; ah didn't know what for.

"I well 'member the day we wus freed, every one sang, 'Thank God Almity, I'm free at last, free at last, free at last, thank God _Almity_, I'm free at last, I'm free at last.'

"'Ol Man Shap' was mad and he whipped some of his slaves and de took him to de town jail, last I seed of him he wus sittin' in the town jail winder, maybe died there, I don' know. After we wus free there wus plenty of work, they couldn't whip nobody and had to pay us for the work. Mammy cooked for Mr. Hunter and 'Riley' and 'Dalton'. She kept me with her 'till I got 'old 'nouf to cook and then I lef' and got a job away from der somewhere.

"I got married 'bout 40-50 years ago to 'Baltimore' here. He is 105 years old now. He tells me his old Miz' thought he was an '_Angle_' and he wus almost 36 years old when the war broke out. He wus from Lotterville County, Tennessee. He tell me people just thought bountiful of him and they seemed to be a welcome all over the world for him.

"He says he was called one of the finest barbers in the world, all was a natural gift and 'man out of sight'; he barbered thousands and thousands. His mother wus from Georgia and her name was 'Liza' and she married Jim Taylor. Me and 'Baltimore' had eleven children since we been married. They was Charlie, he dead, Martha, living, and not got any kids, and Tony, dead, and Louisa and Gussie, dead. How many that--five? Rosie dead, and left six children, part of them are here, 'Little Baltimore' and Henry are dead, Roosevelt is living and here at home and Robert is in a C.C. Camp, but David works in a fine hotel in St. Louis, don' know what one the name is.

"'Ol Man Abe Lincoln' was a fine ol' man, and I liked him, he never freed us; but tol' us how. But 'Booker', and Jefferson Davis wusn't no friend to the colored man that I knowed anything 'bout.

"It is best to be free if you carry your self right you'll be free all you days. I belongs to the Saints Church, t'aint the 'Holy Roller' and I allys wus 'ligious but I don' know much 'bout stuff, never put no study on it.

"Ise just a poor old 'nigger' slave that is waitin' for the Good Lord to come and take me home and it won't be long chile; no, 'Granny' ain't got long."

Louis Thomas

*Interview with Louis Thomas,* *St. Louis, Missouri.*

_Slave Hitched To Plow_

The subject of this sketch is Louis Thomas, 93 years of age who lives at 3007 Clark Avenue with his oldest daughter, Laura Richardson and family.

In the middle room of a 3-room brick apartment laid Louis Thomas, confined to his bed, with a severe cold, but kind enough to be interviewed by the writer. The old man was clean and quite composed and said he had been interviewed so often it was a common thing to him. He was 6 feet tall and weighed 174 when taken sick. The home was very poorly furnished but clean. He is of dark complexion with white hair. He said:

"I was born in Pickens County, Alabama, May 9, 1844. My mother's name was Tama and my father's was Thomas Windom. Our owner was Levy Windom. I had 2 sisters and 2 brothers. I married Caroline Windom. She was owned by the same folks I was, we had 11 children but only 2 is living. The oldest one, Laura Richardson, I am living with. The other daughter's name is Evergreen Richardson, living at 3100 Clark Avenue. Dey are both Richardson's but dere husbands are not related.

"I been living in St. Louis since 1923. When I was a slave, I had to plow barefooted, hooked to a double horse plow. For 8 or 10 years of dat time we had a white overseer in de summer. I did not only plow barefooted but naked as well. In de winter dey allowed me a few clothes but not many. I worked from daylight until dark, I didn't know nothing 'bout time.

"Making and gathering crop was my biggest task. We made 500 bales of cotton a year, besides growing wheat, potatoes and other vegetables for the hands. I stayed on de plantation till way after de Civil War was fought. If de slaves could get as near as East St. Louis and Ohio with out getting caught, dey would join de Yankees and help fight for freedom. But the Rebs wouldn't think of giving slaves any guns, as mean as they had been to us.

"Dey knew too well, we would shoot dem first thing. I remember well I was in Tuscaloosa, Alabama and dere was a speech made dere by General Forest on a Sunday. He said, 'Dere ain't a Yankee in 500 miles of Tuscaloosa, Alabama.' So de Rebs was so happy 'bout dat, dey started early de very next morning putting de flooring back in de bridge dey done took out so de Yankees couldn't cross and get to them.

"The following Tuesday night, de very next day I mean, don't you know, dem Yankees come in our town cross dat very bridge. That same night old Marse made us hitch up all his horses and git up all de flour, meat and everything we done raised, and carry it up Tom Bilby River. It was a swamp, to hide it from de Yankees. But, honey, dat didn't do a bit of good, dem Yankees got all our stuff and us, too, and destroyed everything he had. Us slaves was so mad at Old Marse, we helped 'em git rid of everything, den went on back home, we had no where else to go, and de war wasn't over and we hadn't nary a penny of money, child. No we didn't.

"I made my last crop in 1867 on dat very plantation where I lived all my days. Of course we was free den or supposed to be free. Dey promised to pay us, but we never got nothin', least not yet, Marse ain't paid me, and he's dead now. In March 1868 dey sent to de field for all us hands to come up to de house to sign a contract. We all went. We was so used to minding old Marse when he sent for us we just mind right on like it was still slavery. So I had always been mighty handy 'bout most things so he wanted me 'bove de others, so he took my hand, put it on his pen and held it right dere and signed my name hisself. I got mad as a wet hen 'bout dat agreement he read to me. So he tried to make me feel good saying he was goin' to give me half. I knowed better.

"I felt dere was going to be some trouble up to de house, so I had a pistol in my pocket, that had been dropped by the Yankees on purpose to help us slaves shoot our way out. So I just told my old boss I ain't goin' to do it, and when he raised up at me I just whipped out dat pistol and everything in sight got out of my way. I was mad a plenty, and I already always had plenty of temper. So while I had everybody scared and excited I left and never did go back. I went to Columbus, Mississippi, and stayed until 1923. All dat time I done share cropping farming and made good. When I left dere I came to St. Louis and have not worked since. I was too old for a job, but sister, I worked many a day for two bits a day and churned all day to get milk to drink 'cause I couldn't get no other food. I cut grass--mowed after share cropping days were over.

"I never had any schooling. What learning I got I picked up hearing the children. I have 22 grandchildren, 9 great grandchildren. The first 3 years in St. Louis I lived with my daughter Evergreen Richardson at 3100 Clark Avenue. I am a member of The Church of God in Christ, on Leffingwell and Bernard Street."

Jane Thompson

*Interview with Mrs. Jane Thompson,* *Fredericktown, Missouri.*

"I gets a pension from de Civil War. Wilson Thompson, my husband, fought for seven years. He fought de Indians in de west. I gets $40.00 a month. I have 21 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren. I was de mother of 6.

"My first boss sold my mother and I can remember her climbin' upon de stile block made from de trunk of a gum tree. Dis was down in Zuca, Mississippi, and de trees grew big down there. My boss was my father, they claim. De boss was purty cruel. Our second boss did not believe in slavery but his wife did. One of de daughters of de boss married and I went with her as a slave. Then my boss, Burgess, was a Baptist preacher and he would travel 'round. I would pick cotton, den I did de house work.

"I had two uncles dat ran off and nebber came back. Dey joined de war. De Ku Klux Klan would come and claim dey could drink a bucket of water. That was done so dey could get us to come out to dem. They would be four or five in a gang. I 'member de soldiers comin' and killing chickens and throwing them in de kitchen an having us to cook dem.

"I 'member how de freedom come but we were taught fer a long time not to know anything 'bout slavery. De only thing I knew 'bout it was bad times. Even de boss would not let me stay in de house when he had family prayers. At night before bedtime I would have to seed cotton and I would nod from getting sleepy and den de boss would knock me over de head. But I'm so glad de good Lord let me stay here to do something. I've raised about 30 children. Most of my work as a slave was spent helping de mistress, picking up her hankerchief, cleaning up de house, etc. Sometimes I think slavery was a test dat de lord has us to go through. It was through God dat Lincoln was given de brains and de talent. I would find different friends to take me in after de war. Sometimes I would have only two dresses.

"I tell de old folks dat we is having slavery again. But de depression is not as hard as slavery 'cause de government is helping de people now. After de war we had parched wheat for coffee and corn meal with de husks in it. Old Burgess' children helped me to learn to spell. De Boss would make me spell words backwards. I remember a song, "Let's go down to de water an be baptized", and 'Bound fer de promised land'. My Uncle would play his guitar in his cabin at night. At Christmas dey would have a dance on de plantation. We used to hang up our stockings and get a little candy at Christmas time."

Sarah Waggoner

*Interview with Aunt Sarah Waggoner,* *Savannah, Missouri.* *(Written by G.K. Bartlett of Kansas City Office* *from FC by Dovie Rose.)*

A familiar figure in Savannah, Missouri is that of an aged, bent and withered Negro woman with a little patch of white whiskers on her chin, a cap on her head winter and summer; who is seen almost daily pulling a little red wagon along the streets.

"Aunt Sarah Waggoner", as she is called, lives alone in a small unpainted house, almost a hut, near the right-of-way of the Chicago Great Western Railroad; about three blocks southeast of the courthouse.

The yard as well as the house is cluttered with all kinds of junk, odds and ends which Aunt Sarah has picked up as she meanders through the town. She has been a fixture in Savannah for many years and has the friendship of the white people, who commend her faithfulness and religious fervor.

"How be you?" she asked pleasantly when answering my knock at her door. When it was explained that her recollections about slave life before the war were wanted, she beamed delightedly.

"Yes'm. Come on in an' set, an' soon's I fix the fire I'll tell you everything about slave times. Everything I kin remember."

She wiped off a chair for her visitor, then busied herself at the old wood and coal cook stove, where some vegetables were simmering in an antiquated iron kettle, and "fat meat" was frying in the skillet.

"I was a slave," she stated. "I was born in Kentucky. In Grayson or Hardin County. I don't know which 'zactly, 'cause we lived in both counties; an' I never did think to ask ole Miss Howard who raised me; and I forgot to ask my mother if she knowed, and I don't think she knowed." Sarah paused for a moment, then continued plaintively, "I wish I knowed for sure."

"Who was old Miss Howard?"

"She was white folks. I was raised by de Howards. Mr. and Mrs. Jim Howard. They owned me. We called him Pap, and her Old Miss. My mother's name was Waggoner. She belonged to Mr. Howard too. My father he belonged to another man and lived on a farm near us. No mam, no'm, we was never sold. I'll tell you how 'twas. You see, Mr. Howard's father--he came over from England. He called all his sons to his bedside at de last and gave each of them some of de colored people and told them to take good care of them and never to let them be sold. I had a cousin, June, who was sold here at de courthouse door in Savannah. Him and another boy was sold down South.

"The Howards brought me from Kentucky to Missouri. That was befo' de war. I've been here a long time. I'm 93 years old.

"Sure I know how old I is", she remonstrated.

"I's 93 years old right now (1937). And I knows my birthday too. I knows it for sure. It come on February 17th. I'se sure about dat, for it comes so close to dat of Abe Lincoln. His birthday is February 12th."

Memories of the past surged through Aunt Sarah's mind and awakened emotions. She rose to her feet, and speaking with the enraptured ecstasy of her race when roused by religious fervor, testified.

"I knowed about Abe Lincoln, 'cause his cousin Cap Lincoln; Yes, Cap Lincoln, lived right nigh us in Kentucky. And he sure was a fine man!

"I knowed about Abe Lincoln befo' he ever run for president. Long befo' he was 'sasinated. You see, I lived neighbor to some of his kin folks. Yes ma'am! Oh, yes, ma'am! Long befo' de war!"

"Yes, Oh Lord! Yes, ma'am!

"Abe Lincoln was jes' next to Jesus Christ.

"Yes, Oh Lord! Yes! Dat he was!

"Jes' next to Jesus Christ!

"I remember when I was freed!"

The exaltation of Aunt Sarah dimmed and faded, and with a quavering subdued voice she whispered:

"I wish I knowed. I wish I knowed. Abe Lincoln was born in Hardin County;[3] in the same month I was; almost the same day. I wish I knowed was I born in the same county he was, but I ain't never goin' to know. Yes ma'am, I was moved with the Howards from Kentucky," she continued, "right up to the Nodaway River, about ten miles from Savannah. It took us about six weeks to come with oxen. I saw the emigrant trains goin' through to Californy.

[3] Abraham Lincoln was born in Larue County, Kentucky, February 12, 1809.

"That was befo' de war. I'se been here a long time. I'm 93 years old. I'se been here since de woods burned, and I'm goin' to be here a long time yet, 'cause my mother was a hundred and fifteen 'fore she died.

"My, but the Indians was thick when I fust come here. And there was buffalo; and there was deer; and there was quail jes' thick. I wasn't skeered none of de Indians, and I ain't skeered of nothin' now. No, ma'am. 'Cause why? 'Cause de white folks put de fust clothes on me, and fed me; and they been doin' it ever since.

"You wants to know what kind of clothes did we wear in them days? I'm gwine to tell yer. I jes' had two dresses. De best one was made out of plain, white muslin. I went out in de woods and got walnut bark to color it brown.

"I allus had to wash it on Saturday, 'cause we all had to go to church on Sunday. Yes'm, I went to de white folks' church, and part of de time I was de only nigger gal there. Then I had another dress and a shirt. I made them jes' like Old Miss taught me. Dat was my work dress. It was made with a cord 'round de bottom, a cord as big as my little finger, so's I couldn't tear it; 'cause I went over fences like a deer.

"De shirt was made like a long petticoat. In de winter old Miss made us stockings out of yarn, and we had brogan shoes. Didn't you never see any brogan shoes?" queried Aunt Sarah. "Don't you know what dey looked like? Huh. Dey was neither lined or bound; and we used a peggin' awl to make holes for the laces. Some of 'em had copper toes."

"Didn't they hurt your feet?"

"Yes'm, but if dey did hurt, we had to wear 'em anyway. Dem old brogans; I'm sure glad they're gone.

"Durin' de war, old Miss keep tellin' me I had to help her put new cloth in de loom and when little Jane, tha's her little girl, wanted me to play, her mother would say, 'Sarey has to work fast now, 'cause she goin' to be free'.

"Oh Lord, Miss, Sarey will never be free. But I was freed. Now I am goin' to tell you about de home life.

"I worked in de house for old Miss, and we had plenty to do and plenty to eat. When de white folks was through eatin', I got a pan and got de grub, and set on de floor and et it. Oh Lordee, but I worked hard since I was twelve years old. But not in de fields. Old Miss she say dere was plenty for me to do in de house, and dere was, sure 'nough.

"I washed and cooked for all of us. And ironed too. I het de irons, great big old irons, in de fireplace. I ironed on a quilt spread out on de floor, and I ironed jes' as nice as anybody. I lived right in de house with de white folks. In summer we slept, my brother Henry and me, in a trundle bed in the kitchen; and in de winter made a pallet beside de fireplace.

"Old Pap was good to us. He kept up a fire all night when it was cold. I never saw a cookin' stove or a lace shoe until I was freed. We jes' had to burn our faces cookin' over de fireplace. I milked eight cows and den put de milk away. Dat took a long time. They didn't have no horses then, much. They had a yoke of oxen. Sometimes some of us was hired out to work but we didn't get no money for dat ourselves. Dey drawed de wages.

"No ma'am, dey didn't have no beauty parlors den. Huh. Old Miss never had her hair curled, or anything like that. We didn't know nothin' about face powder and primpin' up in dem days. Huh. Old Miss never used anything on her face 'ceptin' soap and water.

"Yes indeed. We sure did have good times, too. There was dances, and I liked to dance. Uh-huh. I was a regular king ruler at de dances. Many a time I danced till broad daylight, and den when I worked I was so sleepy I'd nod, and nod. Then old Pap he say: 'Go out dere and make Sarey go to bed'. Yes, indeedy, we had good times, too.

"Did I ever get whopped? I never was whopped--much. Old Miss never whopped me, 'cause Pap did all de whopping. He said if dere was any whopping to be done he'd do it. Anyway dey never whopped me--very often,--'cause I done my work de bes' I could.

"I remember once, when Old Pap started off for St. Joseph, he rode back into de yard and said to old Miss. 'Don't whop Sarey, or let anybody else whop her, or I'll cut the hide off their backs when I gets back.'

"Yes'm, we allus called 'em Pap and Old Miss. Pap wouldn't let me take his name 'cause he was a Republican and believed dat de colored people ought to have their own laws and doctors and all. He was afraid folks would think he was a rebel and de soldiers might kill him. We didn't dare take his name so I took my father's name of Waggoner. He belonged to one of the neighbors in Kentucky and didn't come to Missouri when we