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(Rural Route, Grand Bay, AL. Marked "Ex-Slave Tale." Ila B. Prine, Mobile, AL. March 24, 1939)
Following a narrow winding road through the woods I came to a clearing, in which stood a newly painted white house. The house was built adjacent to an old house that was nearly falling down. Both houses were surrounded by an old board fence that is badly dilapidated Many large oak and pecan trees, as well as fig, cedar and numerous shrubs and flowers were in the yard.
The owner, who is a tall thin woman, with grey hair and brown eyes, was standing at the front gate talking to a man and woman who were in a Chevrolet car, when I came up. As I approached them the man and woman in the car turned and left, and when I asked if she was Miss Georgiana Cassibry, she replied in the affirmative. I then introduced myself and remarked, "Do you live alone?" She said, "No, God lives with me."
She then invited me to come in, and as she opened the old gate, four collie dogs came up and begun to sniff.
Miss Georgiana spoke to the dogs, calling one Judy, saying: "Now, Judy, you know that's not polite. Stop that."
As we walked into the yard, she said: "Excuse me, but I've got a hen that is setting, and I've just turned her out to dust awhile and get some water."
She went over to an old house in the yard and looked in to see if the hen had gone back to her nest, then turning to me she said: "See that japonica tree over there? Isn't it beautiful? That grew from a cutting that I rooted myself, and just look at it now,
it is tall enough for me to stand under. You must go stand under it and look up, for it looks like pink stars, for there are hundreds of flowers on it. It blooms from January until way up in April, and it sure is a pretty sight. You see, I've been living at this old place every since I was born, in fact, I was born right here on this place. Pa was living in Bayou La Batre and the doctors told him he wouldn't live long if he didn't go way out in the woods and live near a good spring and drink its water. When he come out here in 1856, he was brought on a cot, but after being here three or four weeks and drinking this water, he was able to get up and walk. The doctor told him when he got able to get around he was going to give him a pair of pigs, to start on the farm. That old house there at the end of mine, is the one Pa built soon after coming here in 1856. Course, part of it is gone; the old kitchen was separate, and it fell down a long time ago. Now just listen at me talking so much and not asking you to come in and set down. Do come on in."
As we started up on the low porch, she said: "Don't mind the dogs, they just want to be petted, especially Judy. They are all registered dogs, and these three are Judy's puppies. I used to not keep her puppies, but she looked like she got so lonesome with nobody but me and her here, I decided to keep these last three, of course it takes more to feed the dogs than it does me, but I cook up a plenty of corn bread and grits for them, but I don't care, for I'm like Pa was. He loved dogs, his old dog Barney lived eight or nine years after he died, and I give Barney a regular funeral.
Now you take that chair, and I'll sit here in this rocker. You'll have to excuse everything for I haven't had a chance to clean up this morning, for just as I got up a neighbor lady came over with a woman from up North, who wanted to see the old place, and especially the old spring, and that japonica tree. Just as they left the man and woman who were out in that car came up. He was peddling fish, but gracious! he was high; he wanted ten cents a pound for them. I told him he never would build up a trade out here in the country with such high prices. I told him I never paid over seven and a half cents a pound for mullett. Oh, well, I guess he'll find out for himself."
She sat and rocked for a few seconds, then turning to me she said: "Do you speak French? You look like you ought to. In thinking of this old place it reminded me of what they call it in French, meaning, 'the little corner of the turkey swamp'. Pa had the four quarters of land, and this swamp run through it, and in years gone by, it was full of wild turkey and deer. There would be crowds of men who would come out and hunt. They always had a race to see who would kill the first gobbler. There's plenty of squirrel, rabbits and birds on the place now; but I don't let nobody hunt on it. Guess you saw that sign down on the road? But I guess I'll have to let somebody kill some of the squirrels next year, because if I don't they'll eat all my pecans.
"Everything's so different now, you have to be careful who you let come around. Course, in the days when Pa was living you could trust people. My! but those were good times, I remember how all the men would gather here to pen cattle on the eighth of April. We'd cook up lots to eat and Pa would ask the men to eat dinner with him. Poor old Pa got his start in cattle and he would cut down little saplings and build pens to keep them in. He saved the fertilizer from the pens and planted his crops with it. In these days we didn't know anything about commercial fertilizer. Things are so changed, and my goodness! if Ma could come back and see the way this younger generation does and how they dress, guess she wouldn't know what to think. You know this younger generation is to be pitied, for they've got no modesty or principles any more.
"My family were very poor, but they had the highest ideals and principals, don't suppose anybody had any harder time in their life, for Pa would get up early of the morning and take eggs and butter and farm products to Mobile with his little old horse and wagon to sell them. In them days people were real neighbors, even though we lived miles apart, for when anybody butchered a hog, goat or a cow, they'd always send the neighbors some of it. I remember the winter of 1915, just a year before Pa died, we had killed a hog and he went to the barn and saddled the horse and told me to get him a basket, that he was going to carry the neighbors some meat, and he went, too, even though he was ninety-eight years old. He died the following January of 1916, and if he had lived until June he would have been an even hundred. He was a fine man, I just wished you could-a knowed him.
"Didn't you say something about wanting to know about old super-stitions and customs? Well, I'll tell you I heard Ma say something about some places around Bayou La Batre that they thought were haunted, but you know I never believed in such things, so I never paid any attention to them, and don't remember about it. The only Spirit I believe in is the Lord's, and I know He is with me all the time. He is so good to me and takes care of me. Why, He even sent you to see me, for I get so lonesome sometimes here by myself. Yet, I'm happy, because I see God in everything, the trees, flowers and clouds. Why, I live here perfectly content with Him, even though I am eighty years old, and am not able to do much work any more. He just takes care of me. There's something else I want to tell you, when I die I don't want no undertaker putting his hands on me. I believe if one would touch me I believe I'd get up. If you want to see a good show, just go to a big funeral. I don't believe in them. Why, years ago people 'tended to their own dead and bought their coffins and put them in it. I tell you, if an undertaker comes to me, I'll bet you he leaves quicker than he ever left a place before."
Miss Cassibry's home was a small three room house, with porches across the front and back, with part of the back porch enclosed for a wood shed. Her kitchen served as a dining room and living room. In one end was an open brick fire place, with a flue for a small foureyed wood stove. There was a shelf with pots and pans, back of the stove, and a small table on one side with other cooking utensils. There were two windows, one on each side of the fireplace. At the opposite end of the room was a large oblong dining table, that had been covered with linoleum. On this table she had her dishes, and just above the table was a narrow shelf, on which stood six golden colored glasses and a fancy dish. At the other end of the room across from the stove was a sewing machine. There was a narrow shelf above the machine, on which stood a plaque that had the words 'Jesus is Here' on it.
I asked Miss Cassibry if she could remember anything about the Civil War, and she replied: "I can tell you all that I remember about the war, and that ain't much, but I do remember this much. One evening Ma and I and a young brother were sitting on our front porch, and we saw a regiment of blue jackets coming to our front gate. They were riding two or three abreast and one man was leading them, and I'll never forget how independent they acted and looked. This man in the front come up to the gate and called to my younger brother to come open it, but Sam just stood there he was so afraid. So the man came up to the gate and unlatched it and rode in. There was a small log cabin, which was the kitchen, out in the back and one of my older sisters was out there frying batter cakes, and this man rode up to the door and looked in, then turned around and asked mother if there were any horses and mules on the place. When she told him no, he went out of the yard and they all rode off. I remember it as plain as if it were yesterday, even tough I was only about five years old. There's another thing I remember so well, was when they run the Louisville and Nashville Railroad through this country. I was about eleven years old when they laid the track through here. I remember one of our school teachers taking us for a short ride on a work train when the track was first put down. My! My! that's been a long time ago. Just think how far and how fast you can go places now. Well, I guess I'd better go see if the old hen is still on her nest now, but you don't have to leave. Well if you must go, do come back when the dew berries get ripe, for there's a-plenty here.
