FOLKLORE SUBJECTS

Little Rock District

Name of Interviewer: Irene Robertson Subject: Spells—Voodoo— Story—Information (If not enough space on this page add page)

I asked her if she believed anyone could harm her and she said not not unless they could get her to eat or drink something. Then they might. She said a Gypsy was feeling her and slipped a dollar and a quarter tied up in her handkerchief from her and she never did know when or how she got it. Said she never believed their tales or had her fortune told. She didn’t believe anyone could put anything under the door and because you walked over it you would get a “spell”. She said some people did. She didn’t know what they put under the doors. She never was conjured that she knew of and she doesn’t believe in it. Said she had to work too hard to tell tales to her children but she used to sing. She can’t remember the songs she sang. She can’t read or write.

The old woman is blind and gray, wears a cap. Her Mistress was Mrs. Mary and her Master was Mr. Hardy Sellers in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. Her husband died and left her with six children. Her brother came with a lot of other fellows to Arkansas. “Everybody was coming either here or to Texas”. Mr. David Gates at DeValls Bluff sent her a ticket to come to his farm. Her brother was working for Mr. Gates Wattensaw plantation and that is where she has been till a few years ago she moved to Hazen and lives with her son and his wife. She remembered when the Civil War soldiers took all their food, mules and hitched Mrs. Sellers driving horses to the surry and drove off. Her Mistress cried and cried. She said she had a hard time after she left Mr. and Mrs. Sellers, they was sure good to them and always had more than she had ever had since. She wanted to go back to South Carolina to see the ones she left but never did have the money. Said they lived on Mr. Dick Small’s place and he was so good to her and her children but he is dead too now.

This information given by: Hannah Hancock Place of Residence: Hazen, Arkansas Occupation: Work in the cotton field—Cook and wash. Age: 90 She is blind. She gets $8.00 pension, she is proud to tell.

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor Person interviewed: Julia E. Haney 1320 Pulaski Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 78

“I was born in Gallatin, Tennessee, twenty-six miles north of Nashville, September 18, 1859. Willard Blue and Mary Blue were my master and my mistress.

“I wanted to put in for a pension and didn’t want to tell a story about my age. In reading the Gazette, I found out that William Blue got shot by an insurance man in Dallas, Texas over a stenographer. I found out where my young master was and after allowing him time to get over his grief, I wrote to him about my age. He wrote me that Andrew was the oldest and he didn’t know, so he sent my letter to Tacoma, Tennessee, to Henry Blue. Henry wrote to him and told him to look in the bottom of the wardrobe in the old family Bible. He looked there and found the Bible and sent my age to me. They wrote to me and sent me some money and were awful nice to me. They said that I was the only one of the slaves living.”

Good Masters

“Our masters were awful good to us. They didn’t treat us like we were slaves. My mother carried the keys to everything on the place. They lived in the city. They didn’t live in the country. I came here in 1869.”

Family

“My mother married a Thompson. Her married name was Margaret Thompson and her name before she married was Margaret Berth. Her master before she married was Berth. Her last master was Blue. Her mother’s name was Cordelia Lowe. Her maiden name was Berth. When the old man Berth died, he made his will and Bullard Berth didn’t want any slaves because he wanted to train his children to work. Willard, my mother’s master, should have been a Berth because he was old man Berth’s son, but he called himself Blue. It might have been that old man Berth was his stepfather. Anyway he went by the name of Willard Blue. He was an undertaker.

“My father’s name was Oliver Thompson. I don’t remember any of my father’s people. His people were in Nashville, Tennessee, and my mother’s people were in Gallatin, Tennessee. We were separated in slavery.”

Separation of Parents

“I don’t know how my mother and father happened to get together. They didn’t belong to the same master. My father belonged to Thompson and lived in Nashville and my mother belonged to Blue in Gallatin. They were not together when freedom came and never did get together after freedom. They only had one child to my knowledge. I don’t know how they happened to be separated. It was when I was too small. Nashville is twenty-six miles from Gallatin. Perhaps one family or the other moved away.”

Patrollers

“I have heard my mother speak about the pateroles. I don’t know whether they were pateroles or not. They had guards out to see if the slaves had passes and they would stop them when they would be going out for anything. They would stop my mother when she would be going out to get the cows to see if she had a pass.”

Jayhawkers

“I never heard my mother speak of jayhawkers, but I have heard her say that they used to catch the slaves when they were out. I don’t know whether it was jayhawkers or not. I don’t know what they done with them after they caught them. I have heard other people speak of jayhawkers. My people were very good to us. They never bothered my mother. She could go and come when she pleased and they would give her a pass any time she told them she wanted one.”

Really Scared to Death

“I know one thing my ma told me. When the soldiers came through, there was an old rebel eating breakfast at our place. He was a man that used to handcuff slaves and carry them off and sell them. He must have stolen them. When he heard that the Yankees were marching into town with all them bayonets shining, it scared him to death. He sat right there at the breakfast table and died. I don’t know his name, but he lived in Tennessee.”

Mother’s Work

“My mother was a cook and she knitted. She molded candles and milked the cows, and washed and ironed. She and her children were the only slaves they owned. They never whipped my mother at all. I stayed in the house. They kept me there. I never had to do anything but keep the flies off the table when they were eating.”

Schooling

“My grandfather gave me my schooling after I came here. I had come here in 1869. I went to school in Capitol Hill and Union Schools. Mrs. Hoover (white) was one of the teachers at Union School when I was there. She was a good teacher. Miss Lottie Andrews—she is a Stephens now—was another one of my teachers.”

How Freedom Came

“My master came right on the back porch and called my mother out and told her she was free, that he wasn’t going in no war. That was at the beginning when they were mustering in the soldiers to fight the War. And he didn’t go neither. She stayed with him till after emancipation. She was as free as she could be and he treated her as nice as anybody could be treated. She had the keys to everything.”

House, Furniture, and Food

“My mother had a little house back in the yard joined to the back porch and connected with the kitchen. It had one room. She did all cooking in his kitchen. Her room was just a bedroom.

“The furniture was a bed with high posters. It didn’t have slats, it had ropes. It was a corded bed. They had boxes for everything else—for bureaus, chairs, and things.”

Further Details about Schooling

“I went to school as far as the eighth grade. Professor Hale, Professor Mason, and Professor Kimball were some of the teachers that taught me. They all said I was one of the brightest scholars they had.”

Later Life

“I married Cado Haney in 1882. He is dead now. He’s been dead nearly forty years. We didn’t live together but fifteen years before he died. We never had no children. After he died I laundried for a living until I got too old to work. Now I get old age assistance.”

Interviewer’s Comment

A mighty sweet old lady to talk to.

Interviewer: Pernella M. Anderson Person interviewed: Rachel Hankins El Dorado, Arkansas Age: 88

“I was born in Alabama. My old mistress and master told me that I was born in 1850. Get that good—1850! That makes me about 88 but I can’t member the day and month. I was a girl about twelve or fourteen years old when the old darkies was set free. My old mistress and master did not call us niggers; they called us darkies. I can’t recollect much about slavery and I can recollect lots too at times. My mind goes and comes. I tell you children you all is living a white life nowdays. When I was coming up I was sold to a family in Alabama by the name of Columbus. They was poor people and they did not own but a few slaves and it was a large family of them and that made us have to work hard. We lived down in the field in a long house. We ladies and girls lived in a log cabin together. Our cabin had a stove room made on the back and it was made of clay and grass with a hearth made in it and we cooked on the hearth. We got our food from old mistress’s and master’s house. We raised plenty of grub such as peas, greens, potatoes. But our potatoes wasn’t like the potatoes is now. They was white and when you eat them they would choke you, especially if they was cold. And sorghum molasses was the only kind there was. I don’t know where all these different kinds of molasses come from.

“They issued our grub out to us to cook. They had cows and we got milk sometimes but no butter. They had chickens and eggs but we did not. We raised cotton, sold part and kept enough to make our clothes out of. Raised corn. And there wasn’t no grist mills then so we had a pounding rock to pound the corn on and we pound and pound until we got the corn fine enough to make meal, then we separated the husk from the meal and parched the husk real brown and we used it for coffee. We used brown sugar from sorghum molasses. We spun all our thread and wove it into cloth with a hand loom. The reason we called that cloth home-spun is because it was spun at home. Splitting rails and making rail fences was all the go. Wasn’t no wire fences. Nothing but rail fences. Bushing and clearing was our winter jobs. You see how rough my hands is? Lord have mercy! child, I have worked in my life.

“Master Columbus would call us niggers up on Sunday evening and read the Bible to us and tell us how to do and he taught us one song to sing and it was this ‘Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning’ and he’d have us to sing it every Sunday evening and he told us that that song meant to do good and let each other see our good. When it rained we did not have meeting but when it was dry we always had meeting.

“I never went to school a day in my life. I learned to count money after I was grown and married.

“My feet never saw a shoe until I was fourteen. I went barefooted in ice and snow. They was tough. I did not feel the cold. I never had a cold when I was young. If we had ep-p-zu-dit we used different things to make tea out of, such as shucks, cow chips, hog hoofs, cow hoofs. Ep-p-zu-dit then is what people call flu now.

“When war broke out I was a girl just so big. All I can recollect is seeing the soldiers march and I recollect them having on blue and gray jackets. Some would ride and some would walk and when they all got lined up that was a pretty sight. They would keep step with the music. The Southern soldiers’ song was ‘Look Away Down in Dixie’ and the Northern soldiers’ song was ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’ So one day after coming in from the field old master called his slaves and told us we was free and told us we could go or stay. If we stayed he would pay us to work. We did not have nothing to go on so we stayed and he paid us. Every 19th of June he would let us clean off a place and fix a platform and have dancing and eating out there in the field. The 19th of June 1865 is the day we thought we was freed but they tell me now that we was freed in January 1865 but we did not know it until June 19, 1865. Never got a beating the whole time I was a slave.

“I came to north Arkansas forty years ago and I been in Union County a short while. My name is Rachel Hankins.”

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Jane Hardridge 1501 West Barraque St., Pine Bluff, Ark. Age: 85

“Oh don’t ask me that, honey. Yes, I was here in slavery days. I reckon I was here before the Civil War; I was born in ’58. I’m right now in my birth county about four miles from this city.

“I can remember my young masters that went to war. One was named Ben and one Chris. Old master’s name was James Scull. He was kinda mixed up—he wasn’t the cruelest one in the world. I’ve heard of some that was worse than he was. I never suffered for nothin’ to eat.

“I can tell you about myself as far back as I can remember. I know I was about thirteen or fourteen when the war ended.

“My father’s birth home was in Virginia. His name was Flem Price and his father was a doctor and a white man. Mother’s name was Mary Price and she was half Indian. You can tell that by looking at her picture. She was born in Arkansas.

“I can remember seeing the soldiers. I had to knit socks for them. Used to have to knit a pair a week. Yes ma’m I used to serve them. I had it to do or get a whippin’. I nursed and I sewed a little. My mother was a great seamstress. We did it by hand too. They didn’t have no sewing machines in them times.

“When my white folks went on summer vacations—they was rich and traveled a great deal—mama always went along and she just left us children on the plantation just like a cow would leave a calf. She’d hate to do it though. I remember she went off one time and stayed three months and left me sick in the white folks house on a pallet. I know I just hollered and cried and mama cried too. There was another old colored lady there and she took me to her house. We lived right on the river where the boat landed and I remember the boat left at high noon and I cried all the rest of the afternoon.

“I remember the first Yankee I ever saw. They called him Captain Hogan. I had a white chile in my arms. He set there and asked the boss how many Negroes did he have and the boss said what was the news. He come out to let the Negroes know they was as free as he was and told Marse Jim to bring all of them back from Texas. I know I run and told mama and she said ‘You better hush, you’ll get a whippin’.’

“They sho didn’t burn up nothin’—Just took the mules and horses. Now I remember that—they didn’t burn up nothin’ where I lived.

“I heard of the Ku Klux but I never seen any. We was expectin’ ’em though at all times.

“My grandmother belonged to Creed Taylor and after freedom mama got her and she lived there with the Sculls two years. My mother and father was paid a salary and they paid me too—four dollars a month. And I remember mama never would let me have it—just give me what she wanted me to have. They treated us better than they did before the war. Cose they was a little rough, but they couldn’t whip you like they did. They could threaten it though.

“I went to school just a little after freedom. Mama and papa wasn’t able to send me. Wasn’t no colored teachers competent to teach then and we had to pay the white teacher a dollar a month.

“I had very strict parents and was made to mind. When I went out I knew when I was comin’ in. I had one daughter who died when she was eight years old and if I could bring her back now, I wouldn’t do it cause I know she would worry me to death.

“I used to sew a lot for people in Pine Bluff but I am too old now. I own my home and I have some rooms rented to three young men students and I get a little help from the Welfare so I manage to get along.

“Well good-bye—I’m glad you come.”

#748

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Mary Jane Hardrige 1501 W. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 79

“Well, I don’t believe in signs much. My sister was sick about a year once. They said she had the T. B. (tuberculosis). One day I was there and she said, ‘Sis, do you hear that peckerwood? He’s drivin’ a nail in my coffin.’ And sure enough she died not long after.

“But let me tell you I had a peculiar dream yesterday morning just before day. There’s a little child here. His mother died and left him, the baby child. I dreamt his mother brought him to me. She said, ‘I brought my boy here and I want you to keep him.’ I thought he come to me just as naked as he could be. He kept sayin’, ‘Come on, Mrs. Hardrige, and let’s go home, I’m cold.’ He didn’t have a garment on. His mother was with him and she’s dead you know.

“I mentioned it to one of my neighbors and she said it was a sign of some woman’s death.

“I was very much devoted to the child. I love him, and that dream stayed with me all day. I don’t know but I’ve always heard if you dream of the dead it’s goin’ to rain.

“I ain’t four miles from where I was born. I was born across the river. We belonged to Jim Scull. I’ve lived all my life in Jefferson County.”

Interviewer: Pernella Anderson Person Interviewed: O. C. Hardy El Dorado, Ark. Age: 69

“O. C. Hardy is my name and I is 69 years old. I like a lot of being a real old time slave, but I tell you I am a slave now, and ain’t no 1800 slave. I was born way down in Louisiana. We lived on a plantation with some white people by the name of Chick Johnson. That is the first place I remember we ever stayin’ on. My ma and pa slave for them folks. All of the children worked like slaves. What I mean by working like slaves—we didn’t stop to get our breath until night. I was slavin’ for just the white folks then and since I got grown and married I’ve been slavin’ for my wife and children and the white folks. My mama and papa went in the name of their mistress and master’s name and so did I, so we was all Hardys.

“Sixty-nine years ago the time wasn’t like it is now. Everything was different. There was no cars, no airplanes, a few buggies, no trains. The go was ox teams and stage coaches. People used ox teams in place of mule and horse teams. Sometimes you would see ox teams with twelve and fourteen oxen. The ox wore yokes that sometime weigh a hundred or more pounds. The reason of that, they were so mean they had to wear them yokes to hold em down. One yoke would go across two oxen’s heads. They could pull—oh my!—as much as some big trucks. We made much better crops back in the 1800s than we do now. The winters was much harder and you know the harder the winter the better the crop year you have. We always plowed and turned our ground over in the hard of winter—that was in order for the cold to kill all insect and germs in the ground. You see, worms eats up your seed and plant, and germs do your seed and plant just like they would do your body. So we got rid of them little hinderings. In January we was ready to get our corn ground ready for planting, and man! we raised some crops. I recollect one year way back yonder we had what they called a centennial snow—that was the biggest snow that’s ever been and the best crop year I ever knowed. I started plowing when I was about eight. Before then all I can remember doin’ was bushing. After gathering crops we split rails and built fences. We played on Sunday evening. Our sport was huntin’, fishin’, and bird thrashin’ and trap settin’. To catch fish easy we baited snuff and tobacco on the hook. We used to be bad about stealin’ watermelons, eggs, chickens and sweet potatoes and slippin’ way down in the woods and cookin’.

“Wasn’t no such things as screen windows and doors. That is some of this 1900 stuff to my knowing. Flies and mosquitos was plentiful. Our cooking was plain boiled or fried cause we cooked on fireplaces. Wasn’t no stoves. We used all brown sugar from syrup that turned to sugar. White sugar is about forty years old to my knowings. My ma used to cook the best old syrup cake and syrup potatoes pudding. She knitted all our socks and sweaters for you couldn’t buy things like that because stores was few and she spun and wove for the white folks and knitted too.”

#658

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Rosa Hardy Biscoe, Arkansas Age: ?

“I was born in Brownsville, Tennessee. My mother died when I was real young, and I had no father. Pike Sutton was mother’s master. He was my old grandfather. He owned a big farm. Tove Sutton was his son and my father. Mother was light but not as light as I am. I had a sister older than I am I lived with. I never lived among white folks except in a town with them. I don’t know a thing about my people to tell. I don’t know my age. I give myself a birthday. I don’t know the day nor month I was born. But I’m old. I can count back enough to tell that.

“I work in the sewing room. I’m the oldest woman in there at De Valls Bluff. I get twenty-one dollars and this month I am to get twenty-seven.

“If you don’t have work times are not good. I know that. I don’t hardly know the young generation. Of course I see them but that is all. They hurrying their way and I’m going my way.”

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Ida Harper 819 West Pullen Street; Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 93

“Now what you want with me? I was born in Mississippi. I come here tollable young. I’se ninety-three now.

“My old master mean to us. We used to watch for him to come in the big gate, then we run and hide. He used to come to the quarters and make us chillun sing. He make us sing Dixie. Sometimes he make us sing half a day. Seems like Dixie his main song. I tell you I don’t like it now. But have mercy! He make us sing it. Seems like all the white folks like Dixie. I’se glad when he went away to war.

“But they used to feed you. Heap better meat than you get now. I tell you they had things to eat in them days.

“I ’member when the soldiers was comin’ through and runnin’ the white folks both ways. Law chile—you don’t know nothin’! We used to hide in the cistern. One time when the Yankees come in a rush my brother and me hide in the feather bed.

“When the war ended, white man come to the field and tell my mother-in-law she free as he is. She dropped her hoe and danced up to the turn road and danced right up into old master’s parlor. She went so fast a bird could a sot on her dress tail. That was in June. That night she sent and got all the neighbors and they danced all night long.

“I never went to school a day in my life. I wish I could read but they ain’t no use wishin’ for spilt milk.

“How long I been in Arkansas? Let me see how many chillun I had since I been to Arkansas. Let me see—I fotch four chillun with me and I’se the mother of ten.

“Yes’m I sho’ has worked hard. I worked in the field and cooked and washed and ironed. But oh Lord I likes my freedom.

“I couldn’t tell you what I think of this present generation. They is just like a hoss on the battle field—white and black. They say ‘Grandma, you just an old fogy.’

“I think they is another slave-time gal down in the next block. You want me to show you?”