Part 14

"I 'members white folks sayin' war was startin' 'bout keepin' slaves and then I seed 'em mendin' the harness and wagons to go and fight. I was the houseboy for the Witts durin' the war and 'bout time it was over I enlisted at Alexandria as a soldier and they sent me to Mansfield. The Yanks had done won the victory when our reg'ment got there. They turned us loose to git home the best we could. I come back to the Witts and master calls up all the slaves and says we was free, but if we stayed and worked for him we'd have plenty to eat and wear, and if we left, it'd be root, hawg or die. Most of 'em left but I stayed a year. You'd ought to seed 'em pullin' off them croaker-sack clothes when master says we's free.

"I come to Marshall with my mother and the whole state was under United States law. The 8th Regiment of Illinois was at Marshall for two years after the war, and no man, black, white or red or what is you, darsn't git cotched after dark without a pass. When they'd stop you, if you couldn't give the U.S. sign, 'Grant's Friend,' they'd shoot the devil out of you. You didn't pass 'less you knowed the sign.

"The Confederates had a big gun powder mill on Mill's Creek, two and a half miles north of Marshall and it stayed operatin' two or three years. But Gen. Atichon and Capt. Bishop and Lt. Rives and a bunch of Yanks tried to capture it and the Confederates blowed it up.

"When I was 'bout sixteen my mother hires me out to a Mr. Acorns, who was refugeed from Georgia to Marshall. Ole man Acorns was a mile of hell anywhere you met him and he nearly beat me to death and I run away. His son and him and 'nother man starts after me and I has to light a shuck. We sho' had some race down that hill over where the new water tower is in Sunny South, but they didn't cotch me. The white folks round here didn't 'lieve us niggers was free then.

"Then I goes to work for Mr. Edmond Key, Sr., and stays with him till I'm growed. I used to help chase rabbits where the court house is now. I recalls the Buzzard Roost Hotel and some stores was on that square then.

"I cooks for the old Capitol Hotel eighteen years, then I quit and tries railroadin', but it didn't take long to decide to go back to the cook apron. I allus made a livin' from cookin' and preachin', and I've preached forty-five years. The only times I voted was for high sheriff once and for President Garfield and President Grant.

"I marries in 1915 and my wife is still with me. I'm too stove up with rhumatis' now to work and her and me gits $15.00 a month from the government."

Ruben Woods

*Ruben Woods, hale and strong despite his 84 years, was born a slave of the John Woods family in Taladiga County, Alabama. He served as houseboy in their home until he was 21, then came to Tyler, Texas, with one of his master's children. He now lives in El Paso, Texas.*

"I'se de oldest of seven chillen. My father was John Woods, mother Laura Woods. She was a cook for de marster's family on de plantation. We lived in a log house, logs was hewed in de woods. De marster's house was plastered inside. He had 1,000 acres plantation and 96 slaves. He took good care of 'em. Onct a week dey would come and dey allowanced 'em out pervisions. Not fine stuff; no, dey didn' gib 'em nothin' like dat ham and such. Dey would gib you enough flour for biscuit for Sunday mornin' and dey gib potatoes. I tell you how dey done dat; ev'ry family, he had a basket and when dey blow de ho'n in de evenin' ev'ry chile dat was big enough come and he know his basket and take it home.

"De quarters was all in rows. You had to have a pass frum de massa to go from one place to anudder or the pateroller would ketch you and whop you. Overseers whopped 'em, too.

"You worked frum time you could see 'till dark. You couldn' git outta dat, no suh, time you coul' see de stuff in de fiel', you was out workin.'

"Ole man Woods was a powerful good man. He wouldn' raise cotton for sale, only jus' enough for de women to make clothes. He raised hogs and cattle. I 'member Ben Averit; he had a big plantation over on de island. Took boatloads of slaves and work 'em hard. We'd hear de boats go over, clop-clop.

"We'd take two yoke of oxen with co'n and wheat to de mill, stay all day, den bring it back to give ev'rybody. I go to mill lots of times and allus drive oxen. In hot weather, dey run off to de creek. What you talkin' erbout, when it gits hot and dey smell dat water, dey travel!

"I 'member stagecoach. Had erbout six or eight hosses to 'em. Driver'd blow bugle for stops jus' like trains. Dey didn' have much trains dem days.

"When de war comes, we had soldiers. I se'ed 'em drillin' and marchin'. I se'ed dem hep-hep-hep! Yes, ma'am, when de Yanks come we was a runnin' and a squattin' like partridges a hidin'. Dem guns was a firin' and shootin' dem cannon, spoilin' fiel's and killin' hawgs. Wasn't no fun. Drums a beatin'. It was excitable, yes, ma'am. We had to run and hide. We all run up to whut dey call a cave and down in dat cave we had eats. All come what could git in dere. De soldiers try to roun' 'em up, but not dem niggers. All run from one place to anudder.

"I learned to read and write after freedom. Dey not allow you no book larnin'. Obey your marster and missus, dat's all.

"I 'member jist as well as dat I'se sittin' here, when freedom come. Marster had 'em all come near de gate and he say, 'You all is free as I am now.' He hollered and cried. It tickled me to see him cry. And den he say, 'But now iffen you want to, all kin stay and finish up de crop. I'll feed you.' Some, dey go to de neighbors. Dey didn' know whut to do. Dey hadn' been taught to do for demselves. But dey couldn' whop 'em no more. I stayed 'till I was 21.

"No, ma'am, I never coul' sing, but I 'member one song. It went dis way:

'1821--Jesus work is jus' begun; 1822--Jesus brought de sinner through; 1823--Jesus sot de prisoner free; 1824--Jesus preached 'mong de poor; 1825--Jesus brought de dead to life; 1826--Jesus had all things fixed; 1827--Jesus rose and went to Heben; 1828--Jesus made de plain way straight; 1829--Jesus turned de blood to wine.'

"We played hide-a-hoop. And hide-a-switch. We do dis; you'se huntin' switch and gittin' hot, gittin' col', dey take after you, dey have a base to go to. Den if dey ketch dem dey whop 'em.

"We played 'Anthony Over,' wid thread balls. We throw dat ball over de house. If dey don' ketch it, dey's out. Dat's de way dey had de sport."

Willis Woodson

*Willis Woodson does not know his age, but looks very aged. He was born in Whiterock, but he does not know its location, except that it was somewhere east of the Mississippi River. Willis now lives in Tyler, Texas.*

"I'm borned at a place called Whiterock, but don't rightly 'member no other name, but it was a long, long way from here, though. I was the prop'ty of Marse Richards, but he sold me and my maw and a lot of darkies to Marse Ike Isom. Maw said Marse Ike done pay $500 for me, cheap 'cause I's purty little and couldn't do much work.

"Marse Isom moved to Texas and everybody holped load de wagons, and we starts real early in a cold mornin'. De old womens and little chillens rode in de wagons, but de men walked. We traveled real slow, though, and it wasn't no worse'n plowin' all day. One Marse Isom's sons rid behind on a big, white hoss, and seed none of the darkies runned off. At night we fixes a supper and goes to bed and all de niggers is chained together and slept on straw beds. The white men tooked turns guardin' dem with guns.

"We gits to de new farm, long ways from where we lives befo', and starts clearin' land. When we gits settled, Old Miss picks me to be nuss to her chillen. Maw didn't work in de field. She say she done been hurt when she got a whippin' when she ain't growed, and her back ain't good no more. Old Miss say, 'Eva, you come in de kitchen and make some chittlin's, and iffen you cooks good, you can work in my kitchen.' Maw, she make dem chitlin's and dey's damn good, so she gits to cook den.

"Marse and Old Miss lives in de big house, with boards outside, 'steadin' logs. It have big rooms, lots of dem, and a big fireplace all 'cross de side one room. Me and 'nother boy has to bring in logs to build de fire, him totin' one end and me totin' one end. I stays in de house, so I gits good clothes and shoes, too. Some dem niggers didn't have hardly no clothes, though,

"De mostest fun I ever got was when Marse Isom 'lows me to be footman. He gits me a uniform, most like a sojer's, 'ceptin' mine am red with black stripes down de pants. I 'member it jist like yesterday, de first time I puts it on. Marse give a cel'bration at he house and de doorman am sick, so I has to be it. He give me dat suit and say to hurry put it on. Den he make me come to de front door and let him in over and over, so as to git de hang of it. He told me to take his hat and cane and put dem up, and to say, 'Thank you,' and 'Dis way, please,' and not to say no more to nobody, and I didn't. After dat night I opens de door lots of times, but mostest I wears dat suit when I takes de white folks to church, while dey listens to preachin' and I holds de hosses.

"I never did see no niggers whipped, but I done see dat whip hangin' in de barn. It a big, long thing, lots bigger'n a horsewhip, and I know it must have been used, 'cause it all wore out at one end.

"All de fun we has am huntin' and fishin'. We can go any night if we gits a permit from Marse Isom. Sometimes at night, he lets all de big niggers git together 'hind de cabins and make a big bonfire. Den we sings all de songs we knows, till nine o'clock, den Marse rings de bell, to cut out all de noise.

"Jus' befo' dat war am over, some soldiers marches through de farm and kilt all de cows and stock and burns de barn, Marse beg dem not to burn he house, so dey didn't. Some dem niggers quits when dey freed, without no supper, but not dis nigger! I stays sev'ral years, den gits a job snakin' logs in a sawmill. Den I marries and has seven chillen and I stays with first one, den 'nother. I holps dem all I can. I been patchin' up some fishin' tackle today."

James G. Woorling

*James G. Woorling, of Fort Worth, Texas, tells the story of Uncle Dave, one of the slaves that belonged to Mr. Woorling's father, who owned a large plantation near Point, in Rains County, Texas. The story relates how Uncle Dave provided for his family after they were freed, and is valuable as an example of how many ex-slaves managed to secure a foothold in a world for which slavery had not prepared them.*

"During pre-war days my father owned a plantation near Point, in Rains County, as well as a large number of slaves, including one Uncle Dave. After the Negroes were emancipated, my father placed a large number of them on tracts of land within the plantation and furnished them with a mule team, a few sheep, some chickens, and the implements needed to cultivate the land. The Negroes were privileged to occupy the land for seven years and to keep whatever they made during that time. After the expiration of the seven years they were to pay in money or percentage of crops for the use of the land. This plan was followed by a number of plantation owners.

"Uncle Dave was an exceptional Negro. He was a natural mechanic, but could do carpenter work, blacksmithing, shoemaking and many other things equally well. He was a good manager, frugal and industrious, and it is doubtful if he paid out $50.00 in a year's time for food, clothing and other necessities during the seven years that he lived on the seventy-five acres on our plantation.

"He never bought a horsecollar, but made them himself, shaping them to prevent galling and packing them with corn husks. He made the hames from oak timber and made the metal accessories.

"The shoes for Dave's family he made from hides of animals slaughtered for the meat supply. About the only farm implements he bought were those that required high grade steel.

"Aunt Julia, his wife, did her part. She was adept at cooking and preserving, and knew how to cure meat. Salt and spices were purchased, but they raised barley and roasted it, to use in the place of tea or coffee. They raised sugar and ribbon cane and made their own sugar and molasses. Aunt Julia told father that eggs were traded for any articles of food that could not be obtained from the farm.

"Following the Civil War the production of cloth by power driven machines enabled manufacturers to sell cloth at a price that did not warrant continuance of the hand method. But that did not interest Dave and Julia. They had a spinning wheel and a loom made by Uncle Dave himself, and they made all the cloth needed by the family, dying it with the bark of blackoak, cherry or other trees.

"When the seven year period ended, my father thought that Uncle Dave would stay on the land. He had cleared it, built a house and barn and other structures, which all belonged to my father under the agreement. But Uncle Dave was not interested in renting the land. He had saved enough money to buy a thousand acres between the towns of Point and Emory. He built a house and barn and moved his family.

"Uncle Dave came home one day from a trip to town with a load of cotton. He had a ten gallon keg, which he painted black. He cut a slit in the side of the keg and made a plug for the hole and told Julia the keg was to hold his surplus cash.

"Uncle Dave hid the keg and during the next twenty years refused to tell his wife, children or anyone else where it was. It is obvious that all the money he received for his crops, except a small sum, was surplus. Julia often asked Uncle Dave to tell her where the keg was, and told my father that Uncle Dave had not been well and she feared the possibility of his dying without disclosing the secret. Not long after, Uncle Dave was found dead one morning. Money was needed for funeral expenses, but the keg could not be found and Julia had to borrow the required amount.

"The family searched first in the more likely locations, then made a minute search of the whole place, but the keg was never found. On Uncle Dave's farm a fortune is cached. The keg must have long ago disintegrated, but the gold and silver money, the savings of twenty years, remain in their hiding place."

Caroline Wright

*Caroline Wright, about 90 years old, was born near Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Dr. Warren Wortham owned her parents and their 14 children. Caroline was 12 when they were freed. Her father, Robert Vaughn, moved to Texas, [HW: with master, p.2, para. 4 & 5] where he prospered and bought more than 300 acres of Tehuacana bottom land in McLennan County. Caroline and her husband now live at 59 Grant St., Waco, in a little house they bought after their family was grown.*

"I was bo'ned in Louisiana on Jones Creek, by Baton Rouge, 'bout 90 years ago. I disremember the year. My pappy was Bob Vaughn and my mammy was Rose Ann. Dey was bo'ned by Baton Rouge. I had six sisters, Betsy Ann, Lydia, Nancy, Paga and Louisan; and three brothers, Horace, Robert and Tom. We was all owned by Dr. Warren Wortham and his wife, Annie. Mr. Bob, de doctor's brother, had us in charge, and he hired us out to Hays White, who owned a sugar plantation on de Mississippi River by Baton Rouge. Us all stayed at his place two year. Dere was sugar cane, co'n, peas and tomatoes raised on de farm. We lived in a log cabin made of pine logs and our beds was made outta pine timber with co'n shucks tacked on de bed, and our kivers was feather beds.

"In Clinton, in Louisiana, we was all put on de block and valued. I was six year old and I was valued at $1,500. But our family wasn' sold to anyone. I was given to Miss Muriel, Dr. Wortham's daughter. Me and my sisters was made house slaves and my mammy and pappy and brothers was made fiel' slaves.

"Our marster, Dr. Wortham, sho' was a fine doctor. He never whip us. De young missus learned us our A B C's 'cause dere was no school for de slaves. Dere wasn' no church on de plantation, but us all went 'casionally to a big log cabin and camp shed. Sometime a white would preach and sometime a cullud preacher.

"I only 'member one slave who ran away. He was so worthless, he came back when he got ready. He wasn' punished, 'cause he wasn' mean, just lazy. I never saw no jail for slaves and never saw any whipped. We allus had from Friday noon to Monday mornin' off.

"On Christmas, the white folks allus give us presents and plenty to eat, and us allus had a big dance five or six time a year. Dr. Wortham lived in a great big log house made from cedar logs.

"One day, I seen a lot of men and I asked de missus what dey was doin'. She tol' me dey come to fit in de war. De war got so bad dat Mr. Bob tol' us we was all gwine to Texas. Us all started out on Christmas Day of de firs' year of Lincoln's war. We went in ox wagons and us had mules to ride.

"On de trip to Texas, one evenin' a big storm come up and Mr. Bob, he asked a man to let us use a big, empty house. Dey put me by de door to sleep 'cause I was de lightes' sleeper. Some time in de night, I woked up and dere stood de bigges' haint I ever saw. He was ten feet high and had on a big beaver coat. I hollers to my pappy, 'Pappy, wake up, dere's a haint.' Nex' mornin' we got up and dey was nothin' outta place. No, ma'am, we didn' cotch de haint, a haint jus' can't be cotched.

"Nex' mornin' we started agin on our journey, and some time in March we reach Texas. They took us all 'cross de Brazos on a ferryboat, jus' 'bout where de 'spension bridge is now.

"De doctor took us all on de farm on de other side of where Bosque is now. On de farm us raised all kinds vegetables and grain and sugar cane to make sorghum, but no cotton. We all lived in one and two room log cabins, made out of cedar posts. Us didn' make any money for ourselves, but us had plenty of hog meat, beef, butter, milk, cornbread and vegetables to eat, lots mo' dan us have dese days. Us did all de cookin' in de fireplaces. Us sho' did have plenty of possum, and rabbit, and us cotched lots of fish outta de Bosque River.

"De women slaves, eleven of us, had our own gardens and us spun all our own clothes. In de summer us all wore cotton stripe and in de winter, linsey dresses. On Sunday us had lawn dresses and us sho' did come out looking choicesome.

"Dr. Wortham had Si for an overseer. It was a big farm and had forty or fifty slaves to work it. Us got up 'bout four in de mornin' and ate breakfas' 'bout nine o'clock. All de slaves had to work from sun to sun, and when us was sick, de marster treated us.

"When I was 'bout 16, I married William Wright. He was bo'n a slave near Rapid Pass, Kentucky. When he was eight year old, his family's owner died, and he went to the daughter, Mrs. Richard Mason, on Black River, in Louisiana, as "heir property." He was raised dere, but when he's freed he comes to Texas and works for Ganey Mason, seven mile east of Waco. He's 105 year old now and you cain't ha'dly unnerstan' what he's talkin' 'bout. We was married on the 23d day of December, in 1869. Will and me sho' did have a fine weddin'. De women cooked for three days and we danced and ate. My weddin' dress was elegant. It was white lawn with blue ribbons. Will and me had 12 chillen and raised 9, and us has 14 grandchildren.

"Will and me has been married 'bout 75 year and is still married. It's disrespectful how de young folks treats marriage nowadays.

"Ten year after our chillen's growed, we swaps what land we has for dis little house, but we had to pay some money, too. Will was more'n 90 years old and I was eighty some years old, but we got this house and we is happy. We can sit under that big china-berry tree in de fron' yard and look at de big trees over dere on Waco Creek, and one of our sons lives with us."

Sallie Wroe

*Sallie Wroe, 81, was born a slave on Mike Burdette's plantation near Austin. Her parents were field workers. In 1874 Sallie married John Wroe and they raised eleven children. Sallie owns a small farm on the outskirts of Austin. One of her daughters lives with her.*

"Befo' I's married, I's Sallie Burdette. De white folks tell me I's born eighty-one years ago. I reckon I's dat old. I know I's born on Massa Mike Burdette's cotton plantation at Burdette Prairie, right close to Austin, and mammy's name was Het Burdette. She chopped and picked cotton and been dead long time. John Burdette was my pappy and he was jes' a reg'lar fieldman, too. Pappy been dead, mercy, so long!

"Massa Burdette had a overseer and he sho' rough. I think his name must be Debbil, he so rough. My sister, Mollie, was weaver at de loom, and iffen she didn't git out 'nough for de day she am tied up in sittin' form and whipped hard. She had stripes all over de shoulders.

"Dere was a whole row of log cabins close to de big house and de roofs was made of clapboards. It didn't rain in none. De only openin' was de door, no windows. Dere was mud and stick chimnies and a dirt floor. It wasn't no better dan a corncrib but purty warm in winter, 'cause de holes chinked with mud.

"Massa Burdette 'low us nigger chillen come to de big house at night and his chillen larn us to read. Dey had blue-back spellers, but I didn't cotch on much and can't read or write now.

"Pappy a purty good man, 'siderin' he a slave man. One day pappy and Uncle Paul and Uncle Andy and Uncle Joe was takin' bales of cotton on ox wagons down to de Rio Grande. Each man was drivin' a ox wagon down to Brownsville, where dey was to wait to meet Massa Burdette. But pappy and de others left de wagons 'long de river bank and rolled a bale of cotton in de river and all four of dem gits on dat bale and rows with sticks 'cross over into Mexico. Dis was durin' de war. Pappy come back to us after freedom and say he done git 'long fine with Mexico. He larnt to talk jes' like dem.

"Me and mammy stays on at Massa Burdette's place de whole time pappy am gone. It was on June 19 we was made free and Massa Burdette say iffen we stays on his place and gather de crops, he give each of us a free eggnog. We ain't never got no eggnog befo' so it sound purty good and we stays and gathers de crops. But dat eggnog made me sick.

"My cousin Mitchell come and got us and brung us to Chapel Hill. He done rent him a farm dere and looks out for us till pappy comes back. He brung some money back from Mexico and taken us all to Brenham and buyed us some clothes. Den he moved us up to Austin and done any work he could git. I stayed home till 1874 and den married John Wroe, and he rented land and farmed and died in 1927.

"We raises eleven chillen and dey all good and 'haved. All my grandchillen calls me 'Big Mama,' but I's so li'l now dey ought to call me 'Li'l Mama.' I owns dis li'l farm. John saved 'nough money to buy it befo' he died. I gits a li'l pension and my daughter works and when she's workin' my grandchil' takes care of me."

Fannie Yarbrough

*Fannie Yarbrough, blind and bedridden, was born a slave of the McKinney family, near Egypt, Kaufman Co., Texas. She was about six when the Civil War started. At that time her job was to herd sheep. After "freedom" she, her mother and sister, stayed with the McKinney's for a time. Fannie married Green Yarbrough in Hunt Co., Texas and they now live in a little cabin at 843 Plum St., Abilene, Texas.*

"Ole Marster had a world of sheeps. Every day we take dem sheeps and watch 'em. The wolves was mean. We'd git to playin', all us little niggers, and forgit them sheeps and nex' thing you know an old wolf would have himse'f a sheep.