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Never having attended school a day in her 86 years of life has not cramped the style of Alice Sewell, one of St. Louis' former Negro slaves. Alice lives with a married daughter, Mattie Hill, and a grandson, Henry Morse, at 329 South Ewing Avenue.
Spotlessly dressed, much after the fashion of a nurse, and weighing less than 100 pounds, Alice presents a pleesing picture as she chats interestingly with visitors. Her mind is keenly alive to what is going on in the world. She is much annoyed by the roistering younger folks, as she outlines in her observations in the following chat:
"I was born in Montgomery, Alabama, November 13, 1851, the daughter of Rhoda and Edmond Carey. I have three brothers and two sisters dead. I am the only child living. I ain't never been in a school house in my life and I never did learn how to read or write. I recollect three of my overseers. The first one's name Elik Clayton, the second one named Mofield and the third one named Pierson. I was 13 years old time de third one got me and de war had started, so we had to pack all de cotton up in bales, and in sun face houses and sun face cribs to be out of the weather. The seed cotton was kept in de gin house, 'cause dey didn't had no tire to fool wid dat. Den dey up and bought spinning wheels and cards, so us women could spin it to make cloth, and make clothes at home, and would not have to go to de factory to buy clothes.
"Dey had to keep de money to care for de families de soldiers left behind, and send corn by de loads to de battlefield to feed de horses. Dey stopped raising cotton after de war started, and just raised food stuff cause dey had to send food to de battlefield for de soldiers. De poor white folks what lived up in de hilly country, too poor to own slaves, while de war was going on, had to come down out of de hilly country. Dey lived on government land and dey had to have food for dem and der children. Der men folks was taken away from dem to war. Dey was called counterscript soldiers, and if dey refused to go to war dey got shot down like a dog. So de most of 'em rather go on and take chances of de war missing 'em dan get shot widout a doubt. Dey use to say dey had to go and fight a rich man's war but dey couldn't help demselves no better'n us slaves could.
"My owner was very rich. He owned four plantetions of slaves. He had two plantations on de Calopoosa River, one named Jedkins upper ferry plantation and de other Jedkins Mill Place and the third plantation was called The Bradshaw Place. It was out from de river and de fourth one was called De High Log Plantation. He was always fairly kind to his slaves. He didn't believe in abusing dem less he couldn't help it, and when he'd find out de overseers beat 'em widout a cause, he'd fire 'em right away, and git somebody else. Dat's why he so prosperous, cause he was fair. He never even 'lowed overseers on his plantation what had grown boys, to be runnin' round 'mongst his slaves neither, no he didn't. He didn't believe in dat intermingling, 'deed he didn't. Dey didn't 'low us to sing on our plantation 'cause if we did we just sing ourselves happy and git to shouting and dat would settle de work, yes mam.
"Dey did 'low us to go to church on Sunday about two miles down de public road, and dey hired a white preacher to preach to us. He never did tell us nothing but be good servants, pick up old marse and old misses' things about de place, and don't steal no chickens or pigs and don't lie 'bout nothing. Den dey baptize you and call dat, you got religion. Never did say nothing 'bout a slave dying and going to heaven. When we die, dey bury us next day and you is just like any of de other cattle dying on de place. Dat's all 'tis to it and all 'tis of you. You is jest dead dat's all. De old lady dat raised my mother, she was a black mammy. She done all de burying of de niggers, said de funeral sayings by herself. She knew it by heart. Dey swapped my grandmother away 'cause she didn't bear children like dey wanted her to, so de man dey swapped her off to come back two months later and told our owner dat grandmamma was heavy with child. Den he wanted to buy her back 'cause she was a good worker, but her new owner would not let him have her back and she had thirteen children after dat. Our old owner surely was sick of dat swap. My mother was only three years old when dey sold her mother to another master and she never saw her agin 'till she had all dem thirteen children.
"Dis is how mother found grandmother. Our owner bought a slave what come off of a plantation dat my grandmother was on. She was turned over to dis slave owner to satisfy a gambling debt left unpaid by de dead husband. So she told my mother all about de deal and all de children mother had never seen. My mother had three children of her own, at dat time. De slave dat brought de news name was Elsie. So Elsie had lots of relatives on dis plantation she was sold off of. Well she had to have a pass everytime she want to go visit her folks. So she tells my mother next time I git a pass to go see my people, you ask old boss for you one too so you can go see you manma and sisters and brothers you never seen. Mamma did and when mamma got to old John Beasley's plantation on Lime Creek mother didn't know grandmother Sallie and grandmother Sallie didn't know her daughter Rhoda till Elsie introduced 'em to each other. Dey was so glad dey just hugged and kissed plenty. De war was going on den and dey fought four years and two months.
"De first year after de war my father and mother kept us children and stayed right on with our old owner and done share cropping till father was able to buy stock of his own, but he did not buy no property. When I got 18 years old I married, but I stayed right on with my mother and father just de same and my children buried both my mother and father. My mother lived to be 100 years old and my father was between 80 and 90 when he died.
"I left Montgomery, Alabama de last of 1902 when Louis was only 11 years old and came to Morouse, Alabama and stayed five years after dat. I moved to Arkansas, stayed quite a while, don't know how long. All dat time I made my living washing and ironing and picking cotton from farm to farm. My husband died 28 years ago last March. I been in St. Louis now between 12 and 13 years.
"We used to slip off in de woods in de old slave days on Sunday evening way down in de swamps to sing and pray to our own liking. We prayed for dis day of freedom. We come from four and five miles away to pray together to God dat if we don't live to see it, do please let our chillun live to see a better day and be free, so dat dey can give honest and fair service to de Lord and all mankind everywhere. And we'd sing 'Our little meetins 'bout to break, chillun we must part. We got to part in body, but hope not in mind. Our little meetin's bound to break.' Den we used to sing 'We walk about and shake hands, fare you well my sisters I am going home.'
"I never did hear nothing 'bout what de niggers specked from de white folks. We was so glad to get loose, we didn't speck nothing but git out of bondage. Dey didn't even give us time off to wash our clothes. We had to wash 'em at night when we ought to been resting our old backs what was so tired. We liked to go to de field clean in de mornings. Dat's de only way we had of doing it. I never been on relief in my life. I got my first pension last month. It was $17.50 old age pension. I sure was proud of dat.
"I never had no interest in politics till last year, dey come and got me and told me to vote de Republican ticket. I did what dey said do, but dey didn't git it after all. My oldest grandson works at a bakery where he been working nine years and takes care of me, his mother and brother. I think de biggest run of this late generation is ignorant. 'Course dey goes to school alright, but dey don't make no good of it. De people wid de bible and God education is much better folks dan dis ignorant book learned fools. Dat's all dey is honey. Dey don't respect derself, God nor de devil. Dey jes' act like something wild raised, turned loose in de swamps. Dere schooling makes me wish I could walk de strasts wid my ears stopped up and eyes blindfolded so I couldn't even hear nor see dis educated generation. Bless your soul honey, I don't care a scrap 'bout schooling dat don't teach decency or common respect. De knee way is all de education dat mounts to nothing no way. God's way is de only way. It makes you treat everybody in de world like you want to be treated by other folks and dat's right, and everything elsc's wrong by dat.
"But de time's on de way here, daughter, when we all be one people like Cod intended black and white de same. Course de end will be at hand when dat happens but its sure coming. Den God will bless us all alike und everything we put our hands to will prosper. God's will is fast fullfilling and He is true to His word. We will walk with God some day, I won't be hers I don't speck. But I am walking with God myself right now. I am a member of Southern Mission Church.
"I owned a nice home in Warren, Arkansas. I sold it to come up hers. De folks down dere said dey would sure miss seeing me walking around down der wid my white apron on but I believed in immigration like de bible said. So I just immigrated from de South up here to de North. God said de plantations would grow up and de hoot owls would have 'em and dey is doin it. Growin' up into wilderness. God planned dem slave prayers to free us like he did de Israelites, and dey did."
