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(Archive of Folk Song, Library of Congress, May 25, 1937)
"I'se sure I musta bean grown when de War commence; as grown as I ever been. I guess I was 'bout sebenteen, but I can't make dat conjuration. I could plow as well as any fiel' han' Massa had and putt de harness on besides." Aunt Clussey spoke the words in a slow, soft drawl while she fumbled with a potato vine that was running rampant over strings that she had put there to support them on her front porch.
"Ole Massa an' Mistis had twelve chilluns --- one boy an' 'leben girls an' dere was fifty of us colored folks. We all lived in Etowah County.
"I reckelect well when de young massa went off to de war. Befo' dat time Mistis had always been so laughing-like and gay, but atter de war commence, it were a long while befo' she laugh any mo'. Us did de bes' we could 'roun' de plantation a-plowin' and a-hoein', an' we managed to get somp'm t'eat somehow."
"But de bes' time of my life, white folks, was befo' de war. All us niggers was treated lak us belong raght in de white fa'mbly. We had plenty somp'm t'eat an' all we needed to wear; Mistis done de sewin' for all us, white an' cullud, but her an' de massa believed in learnin' folks to work. All de chillun had to learn how to do eve'ything ---even to work in de fiel' --- Massa seem to sense dat de war was a-comin' for he always say 'You better learn to work kaze soon you gwine hadda do it!"
"As I say, white folks, we lived a plentiful life. Eve'y Sadday we killed a pig or calf or some kind of fresh meat, an' it neber spoilt. Dere was always plenty folks to eat it up. But dere was a white man who had a plantation next to ourn an' he neber give his slaves 'nough' t'eat. Sometimes dey actually go hungry. Eve'y once and a while, Massa would make us cook up a lot of vittles an' ax dem ober to eat wid us."
"When we got through with our work 'roun' de place, we could hire out to udder white families to hoe or pick cotton an' have some money for ourselves, but we always saved dat kaze we neber had to buy nothin'.
"Our big house was up on a little hill. De house was jus' as white as cotton an' it was all on one flo'. Warn't no second story to it. De kitchen an' dining room was off to dereselves, wid a walkway an' a shelter ober it a-landin' fum dem to de big house. Out to one side was a big room where de white folks entertained dere company. Dey called it a 'villion, an' dances was given dere. De white peoples 'ud come for miles aroun' in dere kerriges, surreys an' buggies, n' some eben come on horseback. De women 'ud come ridin' up to de horse block in dem long ridin' habits dat dey wore in dem days, an' dey would slip dey foot outin' de stirrup into de han' of de man dat was a ridin' wid dem. An' den a little black boy would take de hoss an' hitch to a pos', an' de lady she go to one of de gues' rooms an' putt on her dress wid all dem ruffles an laces ober de wide hoops. Den she would go out to de 'villion where de udder ladies an' some mens was dancing. De fiddles would make music dat tuk your heart out, and de ladies an' gentmans glided 'roun' de flo' till long atter de fust rooster crow at midnight."
"We had a big yard dat stretched out all aroun' de house,
an' down to de road in front. We didn't have many flowers but lots of trees, an' cool green grass, an' down across de road was de house for de cullud folks. Dey had two big rooms wid a chimney at each end an' a hall between an' two families lived in each house; one in each room."
"My auntie was de cook up at de big house, an' my ma was de oberseer of de han's. Sometimes dey would ax pappy what dey was supposed to do nex' an' he tells 'em: "Ax de boss --- dere she ober yondah."
"Ol' massa neber libed to see de s'render. He died a year befo' de war was ober. We drape de mirrors an' de pi'tchers when he died, kaze iffen de spirit dat is goin' outten his body was to see itself in a mirror dere will sho be anoder death in de house.
"A white man come down fum de north to visit on a plantation that was a good way off fum ourn an' one day he was a huntin' an' somebody shot him. His mistis wouldn't let 'em hang nothin' over de mirrors or drape 'em on de flo'. De nex' day she was foun' daid herself. De doctors said dat it was her heart but we knowed whut it was. It was de spirits.
"I don't believe in conjurin', but some folks does. I heered about a women who always chewed de bark of a tree while she was a walkin' along under dem trees, an' when she got sick, she was conjured and flying antses come out de pores of her skin."
"Yassuh, white folks, I has seed a lot in my days, an' I ain't a forgittin' none of it. I recalls de days befo' de war when us niggers sat out in back of de house in de moonlight an' young massa played his fiddle an' us'd sing, "Swing Low Sweet Chariot." I remembers de way de shadows of de moon fell across our house; de call of de whip-poor-will ober de ridge at night an' de song of de thrush early in de mornin'. I remembers de way de slaves looked when dey walked fum de cabins at de break of day while it was still dark an' dere figures moved slowly down de cawn furrows. I can see raght now dem niggers a-sweatin' in de fiel's an' de roustabouts a-loadin' cotton. I can hear de voices of de tired folks a comin' home singing atter de sun done sunk behin' de mountain. I remembers de look in my mistis' eyes when we all gathered 'roun' Christmas time --- Dem was de days, white folks, dem was de days. Peoples don't forgits de things dey wants to remember."
(Wash. Copy, 5/19/37, L. H.)
