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Allen, Ruth
SOME OF THE THINGS MOTHER ALLEN TOLD ME.
From notes gathered.
Mother Allen was the offspring of a slave woman and her white master. She is perfectly white, with hair that was a light brown, but is now white and perfectly straight. She has blue eyes. And the only way that one could come to suspect her of having Negro or southern blood in her veins would be to hear her talk. She has a fairly good education, as far as reading and writing is concerned, and can talk good if she wants to, though most of the time she simply slaughters the English language. And yet, though I have known her an awful long time, I've never known her to have any trouble making one understand her every meaning.
In relating the facts concerning her birth and origin, she says:
"People look at me an' say 'aint you white?' I tell 'em naw. My mother was a slave, an' me daddy, the 01' devil was her ol' white master. My mammy didin' have any more to say about what they did with her than the rest of the slaves in them days.
"An' when I was born, they kept mu mammy and me 'til I was 'bout three years old, an' then when they saw I was goin 'a be much whiter and even better lookin' than his own chilern by his own wife, they sold me and my mammy, an' got rid of us for good.
"Ah tell you, there was some mighty funny things done them days, an' twas n't all the white masters that was mean to their slaves.
"I used to know a family of brothers and sisters down there in Missouri, that was awful mixed up. There was nine of 'em. Two of the boys an' three of the girls was children of a slave, an' one boy an' three girls was from his own wife.
"The way it happened, ya see, in those days, they use to have auction blocks where one day they would come to buy the slaves and then the next day they would come an' hire 'em. So, as I was saying this man used to come ever' spring o' the year, and hire a certain girl, an' keep her all summer, then let her go back in the fall. He started doing that when she was about nine years old.
"When she was seventeen, she had a baby by 'im, then the next year he bought her and the baby too. He put her in a house an' kep' her there workin' and bearin' children, 'til as I say, she had five. When right after that he went to California; that was when gold minin' was a boomin' out there. An' his people, I reckon, not likin' her any to well, make her work hard an' in all kinds of weather til she took sick, I think she musta had pneumonia, an' died. He came back a week before she died, an' my mammy said he sat right by her bed side all the time 'til she went.
"He promised her then, he'd take care of the childern, and he KEPT that promise.
"His own wife died that same year, an' he saw ev'ry one of them nine childern grown an' on farms of their own. But the ones he had by his wife never had nothin' to do with the others, 'though they wan no better. All o' the colored ones was fair.
"One of the boys from his slave wife, wanted to marry me, an' he tol' my mammy he'd give me riches but I tol' 'im I wasn't a marryin' for money, I was a marryin' for love.
"I can remember when we didin have no stove, but we didin' miss 'em 'cause we had ev'ry thing mighty handy. We had great big fire places, an' iron pieces across the inside too, then iron rods hung from them, an' iron pots an' kettles hung on them. We thought that was somethin'.
"I saw my first stove after I was quite a big girl. "Twas in the white folks kitchen. I tell you, it was grand to see that frying and boiling on that stove. Then fin'ly my mamma got one, an' one day while she was at the white folks, I slipped and tried to make biscuits, while she was at the white folks.
"Course I didin know nothin' about it, an' you ought saw the mess I made up an' burnt up. An' you ought seen me gettin rid o' it.
"The ash cakes we used to make, before we got the stoves, was mighty good. They was made with jus' corn meal an' water an' salt, an' made jus' stiff enough to pat together with your hands. An' when you fixed it right with them finger prints where they belonged, an', ah tall you 'twas good.
