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EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW: EMMALINE KILPATRICK,
Age 74
Born a slave on the plantation of Judge William Watson Moore, White
Plains, (Greene County) Georgia
BY: SARAH H. HALL ATHENS, GA. MAY 8 1937
One morning in October, as I finished planting hyacinth
bulbs on my cemetery lot, I saw an old negro woman approaching. She was
Emmaline Kilpatrick, born in 1863, on my grandfather's plantation.
"Mawnin' Miss Sarah," she began, "Ah seed yer out hyar
in de graveyard, en I cum right erlong fer ter git yer ter read yo'
Aunt Willie's birthday, offen her toomstone, en put it in writin' fer
me."
"I don't mind doing that for you, Emmaline," I replied,
"but why do you want to know my aunt's birthday?"
"Well," answered the old ex-slave, "I can't rightly tell
mah age no udder way. My mammy, she tole me, I wuz bawned de same night
ez Miss Willie wuz, en mammy allus tole me effen I ever want ter know
how ole I is, jes' ask my white folks how ole Miss Willie is."
When I had pencilled the birthdate on a scrap of paper
torn from my note book and she had tucked it carefully away in a pocket
in her clean blue checked gingham apron, Emmaline began to talk of the
old days on my grandfather's farm.
"Miss Sarah, Ah sho did love yo' aunt Willie. We wuz
chilluns growin' up tergedder on Marse Billie's place. You mought not
know it, but black chilluns gits grown heap faster den white chilluns,
en whilst us played 'round de yard, en orchards, en pastures out dar, I
wuz sposed ter take care er Miss Willie en not let her git hurt, er
nuthin' happen ter her."
"My mammy say dat whan Marse Billie cum hom' frum de
War, he call all his niggers tergedder en tell 'am dey is free, en doan
b'long ter nobody no mo'. He say dat eny uf 'um dat want to, kin go
'way and live whar dey laks, en do lak dey wanter. Howsome ebber, he do
say effen enybody wants ter stay wid him, en live right on in de same
cabins, dey kin do it, effen dey promise him ter be good niggers en
mine him lak dey allus done."
"Most all de niggers stayed wid Marse Billie, 'ceppen
two er thee brash, good fer nuthin's."
Standing there in the cemetery, as I listened to old
Emmaline tell of the old days, I could see cotton being loaded on
freight cars at the depot. I asked Emmaline to tell what she could
remember of the days whan we had no railroad to haul the cotton to
market.
"Well," she said, "Fore dis hyar railroad wuz made, dey
hauled de cotton ter de Pint (She meant Union Point) en sold it dar. De
Pint's jes' 'bout twelve miles fum hyar. Fo' day had er railroad thu de
Pint, Marse Billie used ter haul his cotton clear down ter Jools ter
sell it. My manny say dat long fo' de War he used ter wait twel all de
cotton wuz picked in de fall, en den he would have it all loaded on his
waggins. Not long fo' sundown he wud start de waggins off, wid yo'
unker Anderson bossin' 'em, on de all night long ride towards Jools.
'Bout fo' in de mawnin' Marse Billie en yo' grammaw, Miss Margie, 'ud
start off in de surrey, driving de bays, en fo' dem waggins git ter
Jools Marse Billie done cotch up wid em. He drive er head en lead em on
ter de cotton mill in Jools, whar he sell all his cotton. Den him en
Miss Margie, dey go ter de mill sto' en buy
white sugar en udder things dey doan raise on de plantation, en load
'em on de waggins en start back home."
"But Emmaline," I interrupted, "Sherman's army passed
through Jewels and burned the houses and destroyed the property there.
How did the people market their cotton then?"
Emmaline scratched her head. "Ah 'members somepin 'bout
dat," she declared. "Yassum, I sho' does 'member my mammy sayin' dat
folks sed when de Fed'rals wuz bunnin' up evvy thing 'bout Jools, dey
wuz settin' fire ter de mill, when de boss uv dem sojers look up en see
er sign up over er upstairs window. Hit wuz de Mason's sign up day,
kaze dat wuz de Mason's lodge hall up over de mill. De sojer boss, he
meks de udder sojers put out de fire. He say him er Mason hisself en he
ain' gwine see nobuddy burn up er Masonic Hall. Dey kinder tears up
some uv de fixin's er de Mill wuks, but dey dassent burn down de mill
house kaze he ain't let 'em do nuthin' ter de Masonic Hall. Yar knows,
Miss Sarah, Ah wuz jes' 'bout two years ole when dat happen, but I
ain't heered nuffin' 'bout no time when dey didden' take cotton ter
Jools ever year twel de railroad come hyar."
"Did yer ax me who mah'ed my maw an paw? Why, Marse
Billie did, cose he did! He wuz Jedge Moore, Marse Billie wuz, en he
wone gwine hev no foolis'mant 'mongst 'is niggers. Fo' de War en durin'
de War, de niggers went ter de same church whar dare white folks went.
Only de niggers, dey set en de gallery."
"Marse Billie made all his niggers wuk moughty hard, but
he sho' tuk good keer uv 'em. Miss Margie allus made 'em send fer her
when de chilluns wuz bawned in de slave cabins. My mammy, she say, Ise
'bout de onliest slave baby Miss Margie diden' look after de bawnin, on
dat plantation. When any nigger on dat farm wuz sick, Marse Billie seed dat he had medicine an lookin' atter, en
ef he wuz bad sick Marse Billie had da white folks doctor come see
'bout 'im."
"Did us hev shoes? Yas Ma'am us had shoes. Dat wuz all
ole Pegleg wuz good fer, jes ter mek shoes, en fix shoes atter dey wuz
'bout ter give out. Pegleg made de evvy day shoes for Marse Billie's
own chilluns, 'cept now en den Marse Billie fetched 'em home some sto'
bought shoes fun Jools."
"Yassum, us sho' wuz skeered er ghosts. Dem days when de
War won't long gone, niggers sho' wus skert er graveyards. Mos' evvy
nigger kep' er rabbit foot, kaze ghosties wone gwine bodder nobuddy dat
hed er lef' hind foot frum er graveyard rabbit. Dem days dar wuz mos'
allus woods 'round de graveyards, en it uz easy ter ketch er rabbit az
he loped outer er graveyard. Lawsy, Miss Sarah, dose days Ah sho'
wouldn't er been standin' hyar in no graveyard talkin' ter ennybody,
eben in wide open daytime."
"En you ax wuz dey enny thing else uz wuz skert uv?
Yassum, us allus did git moughty oneasy ef er scritch owl hollered et
night. Pappy ud hop right out er his bed en stick de fire shovel en de
coals. Effen he did dat rat quick, an look over 'is lef' shoulder
whilst de shovel gittin' hot, den maybe no no nigger gwine die dat week
on dat plantation. En us nebber did lak ter fine er hawse tail hair en
de hawse trough, kaze us wuz sho' ter meet er snake fo' long."
"Yassum, us had chawms fer heap er things. Us got 'em
fum er ole Injun 'oman dat lived crost de crick. Her sold us chawms ter
mek de mens lak us, en chawms dat would git er boy baby, er anudder
kind er chawms effen yer want er gal baby. Miss Margie allus scold
'bout de chawns, en mek us shamed ter wear 'em, 'cept she doan mine ef
us wear asserfitidy chawms ter keep off fevers, en she doan say nuffin
when my mammy wear er nutmeg on a wool
string 'round her neck ter keep off de rheumatiz.
"En is you got ter git on home now, Miss Sarah? Lemme
tote dat hoe en trowel ter yer car fer yer. Yer gwine ter take me home
in yer car wid yer, so ez I kin weed yer flower gyarden fo' night?
Yassum, I sho' will be proud ter do it fer de black dress you wo' las'
year. Ah gwine ter git evvy speck er grass outer yo' flowers, kaze ain'
you jes' lak yo' grammaw—my Miss Margie."
PLANTATION LIFE AS VIEWED BY EX-SLAVE
WILLIAM McWHORTER, Age 78
383 W. Broad Street Athens, Georgia
Written
by: Mrs. Sadie B. Hornsby Athens Edited by: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall Athens
and John N. Booth Sept. 30, 1938
The rambling, one-story frame building where William
McWhorter makes his home with his cousin, Sarah Craddock, houses
several families and is proudly referred to by the neighbors as "de
'partment house."
William, better known as "Shug," is a very black man of
medium build. He wore a black slouch hat pulled well down over tangled
gray hair, a dingy blue shirt, soiled gray pants, and black shoes. The
smile faded from his face when he learned the nature of the visit. "I
thought you was de pension lady 'comin' to fetch me some money," he
said, "and 'stid of dat you wants to know 'bout slavery days. I'se
disapp'inted.
"Mistess, it's been a long time since I was born on
Marse Joe McWhorter's plantation down in Greene County and I was jus' a
little fellow when slavery was done over wid. Allen and Martha
McWhorter was my ma and pa. Pa, he was de carriage driver, and ma, she
was a field hand. Dey brought her here from Oingebug (Orangeburg),
South Carolina, and sold her to Marse Joe when she was jus' a little
gal. Me and Annie, Ella, Jim, and Tom was all de chillun in our fambly,
and none of us warn't big enough to do no wuk to speak of 'fore de end
of de big war. You see, Mistess, it was lak dis; Marse Joe, he owned a
old 'oman what didn't do nothin' 'cept stay at de house and look atter us chillun, and dat was one of
dem plantations whar dere was sho a heap of slave chillun.
"'Bout our houses? Mistess, I'se gwine to tell you de
trufe, dem houses slaves had to live in, dey warn't much, but us didn't
know no better den. Dey was jus' one-room log cabins wid stick and dirt
chimblies. De beds for slaves was home-made and was held together wid
cords wove evvy which away. If you didn't tighten dem cords up pretty
offen your bed was apt to fall down wid you. Suggin sacks was sewed
together to make our mattress ticks and dem ticks was filled wid straw.
Now, don't tell me you ain't heared of suggin sacks a-fore! Dem was
coarse sacks sort of lak de guano sacks us uses now. Dey crowded jus'
as many Niggers into each cabin as could sleep in one room, and
marriage never meant a thing in dem days when dey was 'rangin' sleepin'
quarters for slaves. Why, I knowed a man what had two wives livin' in
de same cabin; one of dem 'omans had all boys and t'other one didn't
have nothin' but gals. It's nigh de same way now, but dey don't live in
de same house if a man's got two famblies.
"I 'members dat my pa's ma, Grandma Cindy, was a field
hand, but by de time I was old 'nough to take things in she was too old
for dat sort of wuk and Marster let her do odd jobs 'round de big
house. De most I seed her doin' was settin' 'round smokin' her old
corncob pipe. I was named for Grandpa Billy, but I never seed him.
"Mistess, does you know what you'se axin'? Whar was
slaves to git money whilst dey was still slaves? Dere warn't but a few
of 'em dat knowed what money even looked lak 'til atter dey was made
free.
"Now, you is talkin' 'bout somepin sho 'nough when you
starts 'bout dem victuals. Marse Joe, he give us plenty of sich as
collards, turnips and greens, peas, 'taters, meat, and cornbread. Lots
of de cornbread was baked in pones on spiders, but ashcakes was a
mighty go in dem days. Marster raised lots of cane so as to have plenty
of good syrup. My pa used to 'possum hunt lots and he was 'lowed to
keep a good 'possum hound to trail 'em wid. Rabbits and squirrels was
plentiful and dey made mighty good eatin'. You ain't never seed sich
heaps of fish as slaves used to fetch back atter a little time spent
fishin' in de cricks and de river.
"De kitchen was sot off from de big house a little
piece, but Old Marster had a roof built over de walkway so fallin'
weather wouldn't spile de victuals whilst dey was bein' toted from de
kitchen in de yard to de dinin' room in de big house. I don't reckon
you ever seed as big a fireplace as de one dey cooked on in dat old
kitchen. It had plenty of room for enough pots, skillets, spiders, and
ovens to cook for all de folks on dat plantation. No, mam, slaves never
had no gardens of deir own; dey never had no time of deir own to wuk no garden, but Old Marster fed 'em from his
garden and dat was big enough to raise plenty for all.
"De one little cotton shirt dat was all chillun wore in
summertime den warn't worth talkin' 'bout; dey called it a shirt but it
looked more lak a long-tailed nightgown to me. For winter, our clothes
was made of wool cloth and dey was nice and warm. Mistess, slaves never
knowed what Sunday clothes was, 'cept dey did know dey had to be clean
on Sunday. No matter how dirty you went in de week-a-days, you had to
put on clean clothes Sunday mornin'. Uncle John Craddock made shoes for
all de grown folks on our plantation, but chillun went barfoots and it
never seemed to make 'em sick; for a fact, I b'lieves dey was stouter
den dan dey is now.
"Marse Joe McWhorter and his wife, Miss Emily Key, owned
us, and dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. Mistess, you knows
white folks had to make slaves what b'longed to 'em mind and be-have
deyselfs in dem days or else dere woulda been a heap of trouble. De big
fine house what Marse Joe and his fambly lived in sot in a cedar grove
and Woodville was de town nighest de place. Oh! Yes, mam, dey had a
overseer all right, but I'se done forgot his name, and somehow I can't
git up de names of Marse Joe's chillun. I'se been sick so long my
mem'ry ain't as good as it used to be, and since I lost my old 'oman
'bout 2 months ago, I don't 'spect I ever kin reckomember much no more.
It seems lak I'se done told you my pa was Marse Joe's carriage driver. He driv de fambly
whar-some-ever dey wanted to go.
"I ain't got no idee how many acres was in dat great big
old plantation, but I'se heared 'em say Marse Joe had to keep from 30
to 40 slaves, not countin' chillun, to wuk dat part of it dat was
cleared land. Dey told me, atter I was old enough to take it in, dat de
overseer sho did drive dem slaves; dey had to be up and in de field
'fore sunup and he wuked 'em 'til slap, black dark. When dey got back
to de big house, 'fore dey et supper, de overseer got out his big bull
whip and beat de ones dat hadn't done to suit him durin' de day. He
made 'em strip off deir clothes down to de waist, and evvywhar dat old
bull whip struck it split de skin. Dat was awful, awful! Sometimes
slaves dat had been beat and butchered up so bad by dat overseer man
would run away, and next day Aunt Suke would be sho to go down to de
spring to wash so she could leave some old clothes dar for 'em to git
at night. I'se tellin' you, slaves sho did fare common in dem days.
"My Aunt Mary b'longed to Marse John Craddock and when
his wife died and left a little baby—dat was little Miss Lucy—Aunt Mary
was nussin' a new baby of her own, so Marse John made her let his baby
suck too. If Aunt Mary was feedin' her own baby and Miss Lucy started
cryin' Marse John would snatch her baby up by the legs and spank him,
and tell [097] Aunt Mary to go on and
nuss his baby fust. Aunt Mary couldn't answer him a word, but my ma
said she offen seed Aunt Mary cry 'til de tears met under her chin.
"I ain't never heared nothin' 'bout no jails in slavery
time. What dey done den was 'most beat de life out of de Niggers to
make 'em be-have. Ma was brung to Bairdstown and sold on de block to
Marse Joe long 'fore I was borned, but I ain't never seed no slaves
sold. Lordy, Mistess, ain't nobody never told you it was agin de law to
larn a Nigger to read and write in slavery time? White folks would chop
your hands off for dat quicker dan dey would for 'most anything else.
Dat's jus' a sayin', 'chop your hands off.' Why, Mistess, a Nigger
widout no hands wouldn't be able to wuk much, and his owner couldn't
sell him for nigh as much as he could git for a slave wid good hands.
Dey jus' beat 'em up bad when dey cotched 'em studyin' readin' and
writin', but folks did tell 'bout some of de owners dat cut off one
finger evvy time dey cotch a slave tryin' to git larnin'.
How-some-ever, dere was some Niggers dat wanted larnin' so bad dey
would slip out at night and meet in a deep gully whar dey would study
by de light of light'ood torches; but one thing sho, dey better not let
no white folks find out 'bout it, and if dey was lucky 'nough to be
able to keep it up 'til dey larned to read de Bible, dey kept it a
close secret.
"Slaves warn't 'lowed to have no churches of dey own and
dey had to go to church wid de white folks. Dere warn't no room for
chillun in de Baptist church at Bairdstown whar Marse Joe tuk his
grown-up slaves to meetin', so I never did git to go to none, but he
used to take my ma along, but she was baptized by a white preacher when
she jined up wid dat church. De crick was nigh de church and dat was
whar dey done de baptizin'.
"None of our Niggers never knowed enough 'bout de North
to run off up dar. Lak I done told you, some of 'em did run off atter a
bad beatin', but dey jus' went to de woods. Some of 'em come right on
back, but some didn't; Us never knowed whar dem what didn't come back
went. Show me a slavery-time Nigger dat ain't heared 'bout paterollers!
Mistess, I 'clar to goodness, paterollers was de devil's own hosses. If
dey cotched a Nigger out and his Marster hadn't fixed him up wid a
pass, it was jus' too bad; dey most kilt him. You couldn't even go to
de Lord's house on Sunday 'less you had a ticket sayin': 'Dis Nigger is
de propity of Marse Joe McWhorter. Let him go.'
"Dere warn't never no let-up when it come to wuk. When
slaves come in from de fields atter sundown and tended de stock and et
supper, de mens still had to shuck corn, mend hoss collars, cut wood,
and sich lak; de 'omans mended clothes, spun thread, wove cloth, and
some of 'em had to go up to de big house and
nuss de white folks' babies. One night my ma had been nussin' one of
dem white babies, and atter it dozed off to sleep she went to lay it in
its little bed. De child's foot cotch itself in Marse Joe's galluses
dat he had done hung on de foot of de bed, and when he heared his baby
cry Marse Joe woke up and grabbed up a stick of wood and beat ma over
de head 'til he 'most kilt her. Ma never did seem right atter dat and
when she died she still had a big old knot on her head.
"Dey said on some plantations slaves was let off from
wuk when de dinner bell rung on Saddays, but not on our'n; dere warn't
never no let-up 'til sundown on Sadday nights atter dey had tended to
de stock and et supper. On Sundays dey was 'lowed to visit 'round a
little atter dey had 'tended church, but dey still had to be keerful to
have a pass wid 'em. Marse Joe let his slaves have one day for holiday
at Christmas and he give 'em plenty of extra good somepin t'eat and
drink on dat special day. New Year's Day was de hardest day of de whole
year, for de overseer jus' tried hisself to see how hard he could drive
de Niggers dat day, and when de wuk was all done de day ended off wid a
big pot of cornfield peas and hog jowl to eat for luck. Dat was s'posed
to be a sign of plenty too.
"Cornshuckin's was a mighty go dem days, and folks from
miles and miles around was axed. When de wuk was done dey had a big
time eatin', drinkin', wrestlin', dancin', and all sorts of frolickin'.
Even wid all dat liquor flowin' [100] so
free at cornshuckin's I never heared of nobody gittin' mad, and Marse
Joe never said a cross word at his cornshuckin's. He allus picked
bright moonshiny nights for dem big cotton pickin's, and dere warn't
nothin' short 'bout de big eats dat was waitin' for dem Niggers when de
cotton was all picked out. De young folks danced and cut up evvy chanct
dey got and called deyselfs havin' a big time.
"Games? Well, 'bout de biggest things us played when I
was a chap was baseball, softball, and marbles. Us made our own marbles
out of clay and baked 'em in de sun, and our baseballs and softballs
was made out of rags.
"Does I know anything 'bout ghosties? Yes, mam, I sees
ha'nts and ghosties any time. Jus' t'other night I seed a man widout no
head, and de old witches 'most nigh rides me to death. One of 'em got
holt of me night 'fore last and 'most choked me to death; she was in de
form of a black cat. Mistess, some folks say dat to see things lak dat
is a sign your blood is out of order. Now, me, I don't know what makes
me see 'em.
"Marse Joe tuk mighty good keer of sick slaves. He allus
called in a doctor for 'em, and kept plenty of castor ile, turpentine,
and de lak on hand to dose 'em wid. Miss Emily made teas out of a heap
of sorts of leaves, barks, and roots, sich as butterfly root, pine
tops, mullein, catnip and mint leaves, feverfew grass, red oak bark,
slippery ellum bark, and black gum chips.
Most evvybody had to wear little sacks of papaw seeds or of assyfizzy
(asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off diseases.
"Dey used to say dat a free Nigger from de North come
through de South and seed how de white folks was treatin' his race, den
he went back up der and told folks 'bout it and axed 'em to holp do
somepin' 'bout it. Dat's what I heared tell was de way de big war got
started dat ended in settin' slaves free. My folks said dat when de
Yankee sojers come through, Miss Emily was cryin' and takin' on to beat
de band. She had all her silver in her apron and didn't know whar to
hide it, so atter awhile she handed it to her cook and told her to hide
it. De cook put it in de woodpile. De Yankee mens broke in de
smokehouse, brought out meat and lard, kilt chickens, driv off cows and
hosses, but dey never found Miss Emily's silver. It was a long time
'fore our fambly left Marse Joe's place.
"Marse Joe never did tell his Niggers dey was free. One
day one of dem Yankee sojers rid through de fields whar dey was wukin'
and he axed 'em if dey didn't know dey was as free as deir Marster. Dat
Yankee kept on talkin' and told em dey didn't have to stay on wid Marse
Joe 'less dey wanted to, end dey didn't have to do nothin' nobody told
'em to if dey didn't want to do it. He said dey was deir own bosses and
was to do as dey pleased from de time of de surrender.
"Schools was sot up for slaves not long atter dey was
sot free, and a few of de old Marsters give deir Niggers a little land,
but not many of 'em done dat. Jus' as de Niggers was branchin' out and
startin' to live lak free folks, dem nightriders come 'long beatin',
cuttin', and slashin' 'em up, but I 'spects some of dem Niggers needed
evvy lick dey got.
"Now, Mistess, you knows all Niggers would ruther be
free, and I ain't no diffunt from nobody else 'bout dat. Yes, mam, I'se
mighty glad Mr. Abraham Lincoln and Jeff Davis fit 'til dey sot us
free. Dat Jeff Davis ought to be 'shamed of hisself to want Niggers
kept in bondage; dey says dough, dat he was a mighty good man, and Miss
Millie Rutherford said some fine things 'bout him in her book what
Sarah read to me, but you can't 'spect us Niggers to b'lieve he was so
awful good.
"Me and Rosa Barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a
mighty fine supper. I don't ricollect what she had on, but I'se tellin'
you she looked pretty and sweet to me. Our two boys and three gals is
done growed up and I'se got three grandchillun now. Rosa, she died out
'bout 2 months ago and I'se gwine to marry agin soon as I finds
somebody to take keer of me.
"I was happier de day I jined de church at Sander's Chapel, dan I'se been since. It was de
joyfullest day of all my life, so far. Folks ought to git ready for a
better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished on dis earth, and
I'se sho glad our Good Lord saw fit to set us free from sin end
slavery. If he hadn't done it, I sho would have been dead long ago.
Yistidday I picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and it laid me
out. I can't wuk no more. I don't know how de Blessed Lord means to
provide for me but I feels sho He ain't gwine to let me perish."
SUBJECT: EMELINE STEPNEY, A
DAUGHTER OF SLAVERY
RESEARCH WORKER: JOSEPH E. JAFFEE EDITOR:
JOHN N. BOOTH MAY 8 1937
Emeline Stepney, as she came into the office that July
day, was a perfect vignette from a past era. Over 90 years old, and
unable to walk without support, she was still quick witted and her
speech, although halting, was full of dry humor. Emeline was clad in a
homespun dress with high collar and long sleeves with wristbands. On
her feet she wore "old ladies' comforts." She was toothless and her
hands were gnarled and twisted from rheumatism and hard work.
Emeline's father, John Smith, had come from Virginia and
belonged to "Cap'n Tom Wilson." Her mother, Sally, "wuz a Georgia
borned nigger" who belonged to "Mars Shelton Terry." The two
plantations near Greensboro, in Greene County, were five miles apart
and the father came to see his family only on Wednesday and Saturday
nights. The arrangement evidently had no effect in the direction of
birth control for Emeline was the second of thirteen children.
Life on the Terry place was a fairly pleasant existence.
The master was an old bachelor and he had two old maid sisters, Miss
Sarah and Miss Rebecca. The plantation was in charge of two overseers
who were reasonably kind to the Negroes.
No crops of any kind were sold and consequently the
plantation had to be self-sustaining. Cotton was spun into clothing in
the master's own spinning room and the garments were worn by the master
and slaves alike. A small amount of flax was raised each year and from
this the master's two sisters made
household linens. Food crops consisted of corn, wheat (there was a mill
on the plantation to grind these into flour and meal), sweet potatoes,
and peas. In the smoke house there was always plenty of pork, beef,
mutton, and kid. The wool from the sheep was made into blankets and
woolen garments.
The Terry household was not like other menages of the
time. There were only one or two house servants, the vast majority
being employed in the fields. Work began each morning at eight o'clock
and was over at sundown. No work was done on Saturday, the day being
spent in preparation for Sunday or in fishing, visiting, or "jes
frolickin'". The master frequently let them have dances in the yards on
Saturday afternoon. To supply the music they beat on tin buckets with
sticks.
On Sunday the Negroes were allowed to attend the "white
folks' church" where a balcony was reserved for them. Some masters
required their "people" to go to church; but Emeline's master thought
it a matter for the individual to decide for himself.
Emeline was about 15 when her first suitor and future
husband began to come to see her. He came from a neighboring farm and
had to have a pass to show the "patty rollers" or else he would be
whipped. He never stayed at night even after they were married because
he was afraid he might be punished.
The slaves were never given any spending money. The men
were allowed to use tobacco and on rare occasions there was "toddy" for
them. Emeline declares SHE never used liquor and ascribes her long life
partly to this fact and partly to her belief in God.
She believes in signs but interprets them
differently from most of her people. She believes that if a
rooster crows he is simply "crowin' to his crowd" or if a cow bellows
it is "mos' likely bellowin' fer water." If a person sneezes while
eating she regards this as a sign that the person is eating too fast or
has a bad cold. She vigorously denies that any of these omens foretells
death. Some "fool nigger" believe that an itching foot predicts a
journey to a strange land; but Emeline thinks it means that the foot
needs washing.
Aunt Emeline has some remedies which she has found very
effective in the treatment of minor ailiments. Hoarhound tea and catnip
tea are good for colds and fever. Yellow root will cure sore throat and
a tea made from sheep droppings will make babies teethe easily. "I kin
still tas'e dat sassafras juice mammy used to give all de chilluns."
She cackled as she was led out the door.
(Source: Slave Narratives: a Folk History of
Slavery in the
United States From Interviews with Former Slaves, North Carolina
Narratives, Vol. XI, Part 2. Vol. XI, Publ. 1941. The Federal Writer’s
Project, 1936-1938. Library of Congress. Contributed by Kim
Paterson)
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