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Old Slave Story Pulaski County
On the porch of a little Negro shanty in Hawkinsville, Georgia, sat an old Negro woman. According to her figure and color, she was a typical old Negro mammy, but one who had served her day, for she seemed too old to do much work of any kind. Her black face fairly beamed as she saw us come to the door.
"We've come, Aunt Elsie," I said, "to have you tell us something about your life when you were young and lived on your master's plantation. Begin by telling us in what county you and your parents were born."
"I don't know nuthin' 'bout whar they's born," she replied. "I don't eben 'member my mother. She died when I was too little to 'member. But I heard fokes say that she come frum Virginny an' was sold to our Marster in Houston County. That's whar me an' my sister was born. My mother had some mo' chillun whar she come frum but lef' 'em up thar an' I never did know 'em. I was the younges' child. My daddy's name was Jack Moreland."
Her master, Isaac Moreland, she said, owned a large plantation near the little village of Hayneville in Houston County. He and his family lived in a large two-story white house whose hospitable doors were constantly open to welcome guests. The slaves lived in quarters behind the house and, although Elsie could not estimate the number he owned, there were "a lot uv 'em" she said.
A cook, several housemaids, and waitresses served in the master's home. As many other planters in that section, Mr. Moreland raised such crops as cotton, corn, peanuts, oats and peas, so the majority of the Negroes worked in the fields. The master owned a little store in the village, where he stocked all the necessities that could not be raised on the farm. He hauled his crops to Macon which was about thirty-five miles away.
"My daddy was a carpenter," said Elsie. "Marster hired him out ter other fokes. Sometimes he'd eben go 'way down ter Savannah, so I never saw him much. I'd stay 'round at nights in other nigger cabins an' Granny'd look after me in the day time. Granny'd keep all the little nigger chillun ever'day while they fokes worked in the fields.
"I was a little gal, 'bout six or eight years old, when they put me ter sweepin' yards. Then I'd drive the cows ter the pasture. When I got bigger I toted water ter the field hands an' when they's ginnin' cotton, I driv' the gin with fo' mules hitched ter it. My sister, she was a waitress in the white house."
"Was your master kind to you?" I asked.
"Law, Yes'm," she answered. "I 'member when I'se real little I'd set right at his feet an' he'd feed me. He whipped me when I got in ter mischief but I needed it. All chillun do. He had overseers on the place ter whip the grown niggers ef they's bad but ole Miss wudn't let 'em tech us little 'uns. Her er marster'd 'tend ter us. They was kind an' good ter ever' body. I got erlong a lot better then than I do now. They never mistreated nobody.
"The slaves had a lot uv what they called frolics. When they got through workin' at night they'd all meet in one uv they cabins an' dance an' pat an' sing. 'Course I was little but I 'member sump'n 'bout it. Lots o' time the white fokes'd give 'em sump'n good ter eat after they'd danced. Sometimes the slaves'd have corn shuckin's."
"Did you have a holiday on Christmas and the Fourth of July?" I asked.
"Yes'm," she replied. "We had a big day on the Fourth of July. The white fokes give us a big dinner spread on long tables in they back yard. We'd sho have sump'n good ter eat; chicken, turkey, barbeque, cakes an' pies. Then we'd dance an' play games after dinner. At Christmas time the marster'd allus give us presents. I 'member he'd give the women an' girls new dresses an' the men an' boys new suits."
A smile flashed across her face as though she was remembering some pleasant incident.
"What church did you attend?" I asked presently.
"Marster was a Methodist so that's whar we went," she answered. "We never lived far frum the church so we'd all walk. Thar was a place back uv the white fokes whar we sot."
"That was the only place a slave cud go th'out a pass. They never give me no pass, they made me stay in the yard. But the grown uns'd haf ter have a pass ef they wanted ter visit. The patterrollers sho' wud git 'em of they caught 'em wid out a pass. The niggers'd do some fast runnin' ter git away frum them patterrollers kaze ef they got home marster wudn't let 'em be teched."
Elsie stopped speaking for a few minutes and her fat sides shook with laughter at the thought of the slaves trying to escape punishment. She continued to laugh when I asked her about her courting days.
"I never did no courtin' then," she said. "I was too little but I 'member 'bout my sister. She had two fella's comin' ter see her an' I know they brung her candy kaze I got some uv it. She never had no preacher ter marry her; she an' the man jest lived tergether kaze that's the way they done in them days. It was a long time after freedom 'fo' I married."
"Did your master ever allow you any spending money?" I asked.
"Not me," she replied. "I sho' don' 'member it ef he did. But he give the grown niggers patches uv corn er cotton an' they cud have what they made. If they's smart an' had a good crop they had some money ter spend."
Then she told me how kind the mistress was to the slaves who were sick. She saw to it that they had the right kind of medicine and nourishment. She made a tea of herbs to give to those who had fever. If a slave was seriously ill, she called a doctor.
"I 'member one time when I was sick," said Elsie, "Ole Miss gimme some 'lobelia'. It sho' was bitter but I had ter take it kaze it kep' off the fever."
"Did your mistress name the babies?" I asked.
"I dunno nuthin' 'bout that, either," was the reply. "I jest know they was good ter us."
"Tell me who cooked for the slaves," I said.
"Rations was give out ever' Monday night," she answered. "They was 'sposed ter last a week but some uv 'em'd eat 'em up quick an' go back an' git some mo'. Thar was allus plenty ter eat so they cud git it most any time. Granny fed us little niggers. On fair days she'd take the dinner on trays out in the yard an' we'd eat under the trees. But thar was a reg'lar room fer us ter eat in ef it rained. We had greens, peas, meat, bread and plenty milk all the time. On Sundays they give us biscuit, chicken and cake. It was enuff fer anybody. Ever' thing we et was raised on the farm 'cep' sugar an' coffee. The niggers cud go huntin' an' fishin' right thar on the place any night they wanted to."
"Who made the clothes?" I asked.
"Thar was some nigger woman on the place that'd weave the cloth an' make the clothes," she replied. "Thar was a house fer the weaving an' one whar clothes was made. Ole Miss kinder looked after it. But they never fit no clothes on us kaze thar was too many. They'd make a dress fer me an' tell me ter git."
Elsie began to laugh again when I asked her about the signs and superstitions and she believed them all. To hear a screech owl, or a dog howling, or a cow bellowing after dark, all mean death to her. Sneezing while eating also means death. Then I asked if she stopped the clock and hung clothes over the mirror when there was a death in the house; she answered that she did but she was just following the example of the old people who had gone before her. If a dish cloth falls to the floor, she believes someone will come hungry and she tries not to see the new moon first through the trees for fear of bad luck. If a rooster crows in the door she believes a stranger will come and if the bottom of her foot itches she believes she will walk on strange land.
There seemed to be very little about the war that she remembered. Only one of the four sons of her master was old enough to enlist and he came back unharmed. She remembered hearing the big guns from a distance for there were no battles fought near the plantation. Her master sent food and supplies to the soldiers all during the war. Neither Confederate nor Yankee soldiers visited the plantation.
"Did your master or the Yankee soldiers free you after the war?" I asked.
"The marster did," was the reply. "But we all stayed with him 'till after Christmas. Then some of the niggers moved away an' some rented land from him an' stayed right thar. Me an' my daddy stayed with him 'bout a year after freedom an' then my daddy got work some whar else an' I had ter go wid him."
She lives now in a small rented house all alone. Though she is eighty-five years of age she still manages to have enough washing to pay her house rent and buy a little food. Her white and colored friends help her some, also. She seems very cheerful and is very appreciative even though she has so little.
I asked her why she supposed she had been given such a long life and she replied, "Prayin' ter de Lawd done it; livin' up ter date ter de Lawd; givin' him prayer, good prayer."
Elsie Moreland (Elizabeth Watson Interviewer)
Elsie Morland "Aunt Elsie""
