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Interview with Mrs. Celia Henderson, aged 88, Bown Hardin County Kentucky in 1849
"Mah mammy were Tulia Dittoe, an pappy, he were name Willis Dittoe. Dey live at Louisville till mammy were sold fo' her marster's debt. She were a powefful good cook, mammy were-an she were sol' fo to pay dat debt."
"She tuk us four chillen 'long wid her, an pappy an th' others staid back in Louieville. Dey tuk us all on a boat de Big Ribber-evah heah ob de big ribber? Mississippi its name-but we calls it de big ribber."
"Natchez on de hill- dats whaah de tuk us to. Natchez-on-de-hill dis side of N' Or'leans. Mammy she have eleven chillen. No 'em, don't 'member all dem names no mo'. No 'em, nevah see pappy no moah." Im 'member mammy cryin' goin' down on de boat, and us chillen a cryin' too, but de place we got us was a nice place, nicer den what we left. Family 'o name of GROHAGEN it was dat got us. Yas'em dey was nice to mammy fo' she was a fine cook, mammy wus. A fine cook.'"
"Me? Go 'Long! I ain't no sech cook as my mammy was." But mah boy, he were a fine cook. I ain't nothin' of a cook. Yas'em, I cook fo Mis Gallagher, an fo 4 o' de sheriffs here, up at de jail. But de fancy cookin' I ain't much on, no'em I ain't. But Mah boy an mammy now, dey was fine.'" Mah boy cook at hotels and wealthy homes in Louieville "til he died."
"dey was cotton down dere in Natchez, but no tobacco like up here. No 'em, I nevah wuk in cotton fields. I he'p mammy tote water, hunt chips, hunt aigs, get things outa de col' house. Dat way, I guess I went to wuk when I was about 7 or 8 yeahs ol'. Chillen is sma't now, an dey haf to be taught to wuk, but dem days us culled chillen wuk; an we had a good time wukin' fo dey want no shows, no playthings lak dey have now to take up day time, no'em."
"Nevah no church fo' cullud people does I 'member in Natchez. One time dey was a drouth, an de water we hauls from way ovah to de rivah. Now dat was down right wuk, a haulin dat water! Dey was an ol' man, he were powerful in prayer, an gather de darkies unda a big tree, an we all kneels down whilse he pray fo de po' beasts what needs good clean water fo to drink. Dat was a putty sight, dat church meetin' under de big tree, I alus member dat, an how, dat day he foun a spring wid he ol' cane, jes' like a miracle after prayer. It were a putty sight to see mah cows an all de cattle a trottin' fo dat water. De mens dey dug out a round pond fo' de water to run up into outa de spring, an it was good watah dat wudn't make de beastes sick, an we-all was sho' happy."
"Yes'em, I'se de only one of mammy's chillen livin'. She had 11th 1llen, Mah gran'ma on pappy's side, she live to be one hundred an ten yeah's ol'; powerful ol' ev'y body say, an she were part Indian, gran'ma were, an dat made her live to be ol'.
"Me? I had two husband an three chillen. Mah firs' husban die an lef' me wid three little chillens, an mah secon' husban', he die 'bout six yeahs ago. Ah cum heah to Hebanon about forty yeahs ago, because mah mammy were heah, an she wanted me to come. When ah was little, we live nine yeahs in Natchez on de hill. Den when de wah were ovah Mammy she want go back to (Miriam Logan, Lebanon Ohio., page 2-Cel a Henderson)
Louieville fo her folks was all theah. Ah live in Louieville til ah cum to Lebanon. All ah 'members bout de close o'de wah, was dat white folks was broke up an po' down dere at Natchez; and de fus time ah hears de KNANICAPTION read out dey was a lot o' prancin 'roun, an a big time."
"Ah seen soldiers in blue down there in Natchez on de hill, oncet ah seen dem cumin down de road when ah were drivin mah cows up de road. Ah was scared sho, an' ah hid in de bushes side o' de road til dy wont by, don' member dat mah cows was much scared though." Mammy say 'bottch hide when you sees sojers a-marchin by, so dat time a whole line o den cum along and I hide."
"Down dere mammy done her cookin' outa doors, wid a big oven. Yo gits yo fiah goin' jes so under de oven, den you shovels some fish up on top de oven fo to get you bakin jes right. Dey was big black kettles wid hooks an dey run up an down like on pulleys ovah de oven stove. Ben dere was de co'thouse. No 'lectric ice box lak now, but a house under groun' wheah things was kept jest as col' as a ice box. No'em don't 'member jes how it were fix inside."
"Yas'em we comes back to Louieville. Yes'em mah chillen goes to school, lak ah nevah did. Gulled teachers in de culled school. Yes'em mah chillen went far as dey could take 'em."
"Medicin? My ol' mammy were great fo herb doctorin' an I holds by dat too a good deal, yas'em. Now-a-days you gets a rusty nail in yo foot an has lockjaw. But ah member mammy-she put soot mix wid bacon fryin's on mah foot when ah run a big nail inter it, an mah foot get well as nice.'"
"Long time ago ah cum heah to see mammy. Ah got a terrible misery. An was asleep a dreamin bout it, an a sayin, "Mammy yo reckon axel grease goin' to he'p it?" Den ah wake up an go to her wheahs she's sleepin an say it.
"What fo axel grease goin to hep? -en I tol her, an she say:
"Axel grease put on hot, wid red flannel goin'to tak it away chile."
Ah were an ol' woman mahse'f dan-bout fifty, but mammy she climb outs bad an go out in de yard where deys an ol' wagon, an she scrapes dat axel off, an heat it up an put it on wid red flannel. Den ah got easy! Ah sho was thankful when dat grease an flannel got to wukin on me! "You try it sometime when you gets one o' dem col' miseries in de winter time. But go 'long! Folks is too sma't nowadays to use dem good ol' medicines. Dey jes' calls de Doctor an he come an cut'em wide open fo de 'pendycitis-he sho do! Yas'em ah has de doctor, ef ah needs him. Ah has de rheumatism, no pain-ah jes gets stiffer, an' stiffer right along."
Mah sight sho an poor now. Ah cain't wuk no mo. Ah done ironing aftah ah quit cookin-washin an ironin, ah likes a nice wash an iron the bes fo wuk. But las' year mah eyes done give out on me, an dey tell me not to worry dey go into give me a pension. De man goes to a heap o' wuk to get dem papers fix jes right."
"Yes 'em, I'se de on'y one o' mammy's chillen livin. Mah, gran'ma on pappy's side, she live to be one hundred and ten yeah's ol-powerful ol eve'ybody say. She were part Indian, gran'ma were, an dat made her to be ol."
"Yes 'em, -mos' I evah earn were five dollars a week. Ah gets twenty dollars now, an pays eight dollars fo rent. We is got no mo'-ah figgers -a wukin fo ourself den what we'd have was we slaves, fo dey gives you a log house, an clothes, an yo eats all yo want to, an when you buys things, maybe you doesn't make enough to git you what you needs, wukin sun-up to sun down. No'em 'course ah isn't wukin now when you gits be de hour-wukin people does now; but ah don't know nothin 'bout that way o' doin."
"We weahs cotton cloths when ah were young. Jes plain weave it were; no collar nor cuffs, n' belt like store clothes. Den men's jes have a kinds clothes like...well, like a chemise, den some pantaloons wid a string run through at de knees. Bare feet-yes 'em, no shoes. Nevah need no coat down so Natchez, no 'em."
"When we comes back to Louieville on de boat, we sleeps in de straw on de flo' o' de boat. It gits colder 'n colder! Come big chunks o' ice down de river. De sky am dark, an hit col' an spit snow. Ah wish ah were back dere in Natchez dat time after de war were ovah! Yes 'em, ah members dat much."
"Ah wuk along wid mammy til ah were married, den ah gits on by mahsef. Mammy she come heah to Lebanon wid de Suttons-she married Sam. Sutton's pappy. Yes 'em dey was about 12 o'de fambly cum heah, an ah come to see mammy,.... den ah gits me wuk, an ah stays."
"Cookin'? Yes 'em, way meat is-so high now, ah likes groundhog. Ground hog is good eatin. A peddler was by wid groun' hog fo ten cents apiece. Ground hog is good as fried chicken any day. You cleans de hog, an boils it in salt water til its tender. Den you makes flour gravy, puts it on after de water am drain off; you puts it in de oven wif de lid on an bakes hit a nice brown. No'em, don' like fish so well, nor coon, nor possums, dey is too greasy. Likes chicken, groundhog an pork." wid de wild meat you wants plain boiled potatoes, yes'em Irish potatoes. Sho enough! ah heard o' eatin skunk, and muskrat, but ah a in fit cookin em. But ah tells you dat groun' hog is good eatin.
"Ah were Baptized by a white minister in Louieville, an' ah been a Baptist fo' sixty yeahs now. Yes'em dey is plenty o'colored churches in Louisville now, but when I were young, de white folks has to see to it dat we is Baptised an knows Bible verses an' hymns. Dere want no smart culled preachers like Reverend Williams,..an dey ain't so many now."
"Up to Xenia is de culled school, an dey is mo's smart culled folks, ol' ones too-dat could give you-all a real story if you finds dem. But me, ah cain't read, nor write, and don't member's nuthin fo de War no good."
Celia is very black as to complexion; tall spare; has small grey eyes. In three long interviews she has tried very hard to remember for us from her youth and back through the years; it seems to trouble her that she cannot remember more. Samuel Sutton's father married her mother. Neither she or Samuel had the kind of a story to tell that I was expecting to hear from what little I know about colored people. I may have tried to get them on the songs and amusements of their youth too often, but it seems that most that they know was work; did not sing or have a very good time. Of course I thought they would say that slavery was terrible, but was surprised there too. Colored people here are used to having white people come for them to work as they have no telephones, and most white people only hire colored help by the day or as needed. Celia and Samuel, old age pensioners, were very apoligetic because they are no longer able to work.
Henderson, Celia -- Additional Interview
"Mah mammy were name Julia Dittoe, an' pappy, he were name Willie Dittoe. Dey lives at Louisville, 'til mammy were sold fo' her marster's debt."
"She tuk us four chillen 'long wid her, and pappy an th' others staid in Louisville. Dey tuk us all on a boat down de big rivah - evah see de big river? Mississippi its name - but we all calls it De Big River."
"Natchez on de hill, dats weah de tuk us to - Natchez on de hill, dis side of N'Orleans.... Mammy she have eleven chillen. No'em don't 'member all dem names no mo' ... No'em, nevah see pappy no moah."
"I 'Member Mammy cryin' going down on de boat, an' us chillen too. But de place we got to was nice - family named Gohagan it was dat got us --- yes'em dey was nice to mammy, an' she was a fine cook, mammy was a fine cook.
"Me? Go-along, I ain't no such cook as my mammy was. My boy, he was a fine cook, but I ain't nothin' of a cook. Yes'em I cook fo' Miss Gallagher, an fo' four of de Sheriffs at de jail --- but fancy cookin', I ain't much on - no 'em. But Mammy an' my boy was fine - mah boy cook at Louisville till he died. Fine families an' hotels too, he cook for 'til he died there."
"I 'members a drove a soldiers cumin' up de road.... weahing blue cloes. Ah was drivin' mah cows down, an ah was scared...ah ran an' hid in de hedge 'til dey got by. Dat's all ah members about de wah."
"Nevah no church fo culled people I 'members in Natchez. One time dey was droth, de wells and spring run dry, an' de water we had to haul from way down de rivah. Now dat was down right wuk, haulin' dat water! But de cattle were perishin'.... Dey was an ol' culled man powerful in prayer. He have all the culled folks get together undhah a tree an' down on dere knees an' pray fo' water fo' dat po' cattle. Dat ol' man he found a spring in de groun', an' he open it up an' dey git out a hole fo' de water to be in - an my cows, an' others dey comes trotting fo' miles. An' it was hot, an' it was happy to see 'em comin' fo' to drink, yes'em it sho was." "I 'members. It were just lak a miracle after prayer."
Me? Ah had two husbands an' 3 chillen - mah firs' husban' he died an lef' me wid three little chillens, an' my secon' husban' he died about six yeahs ago. Ah comes heah to Lebanon 'bout forty years ago, 'cause mah Mammy were here, an' wanted me to. Wen ah was little we live nine yeahs at Natchez on de hill, an den in Louisville, an' den Lebanon. Ah were married when ah was nineteen an' mah husban' was twenty one. Ah likes Lebanon best.
"Ah cain't wuk no mo, count of mah eyes. Jes' last yeah ah haid to quit. Cookin', an' washin' an' ironin' ah done for mah living, --- yes 'em. Ah likes a nice wash --- every thing to look nice an' white, an' ruffles to iron nice. Ah likes a nice ironin' bettah than cookin'. Yes'em I do."
"But las' yeah mah eyes done give clear out on me, fo' washin' or cookin'."
"Ah's eighty-eight years ol' and they tell me not to worry, fo' dey goin' to gib me a pension. Dey go to a heap of wuk to get all dem papers fix right."
"Ah has reheumatism, but no pains --- des gettin' stiffer an' stiffer. Medicine ain't goin' to do much good, but ah takes it."
"I'se de only one of mammy's chillen living. She had eleven chillen. Mah gran mammy on pappy's side, she lives to be one hundred an' ten years ol' - powerful ol' they say!
She were part Indian, an' dat made her live to be ol'."
"My Mammy was great fo' herb doctering. I hols by it, too, yes, 'em. Nowadays you gets a rusty nail in yo' foot, an' has lockjaw - but I 'member Mammy she put soot from the chimney with bacon grease when I run a big nail in mah foot, an' she had to pull it out."
"Ah 'members ah come to see Mammy here in Lebanon a long time ago, an' ah had a terrible misery; ah was so miserable dat ah was soun asleep a dreamin; bout it - an' saying 'Mammy you' recon axel grease goin' to hep'?
"Ah woke up des feelin' awful, an' I went to my Mammy --- an' ol' woman mahself(ah was, about 50 yeahs ol') but ah went to Mammy an' woke her up an' ah says, jes' lak ah dream o' sayin': 'Mammy you recon axel grease is goin' to hep me?'
"What fo' is you wantin' axel grease to hep?" An' I told her. She say: "Axel grease hot, put on wid red flannel goin' to take it away chile." An' out of bed she climbed in de col night, an get some axel grease out n'de yard offa an ol' wagon settin' dere' she heat it up wid dat red flannel she slap it on me. Den ah got easy - sho was thankful wen dat/axel grease 'n red flannel got wukin on me! But you gotta have red flannel - white stuff won't do. If you gets on' o' dem col miseries in de winter try it an' see. But go 'long! Folks is too sma't fo' dem medicines nowadays."
COOKING Yes 'em! way meat is, high an all, why give me ground hog, yes'em ground hog is good eatin' an' a peddler was bye with ground hog fo ten cents apiece. Its good as fried chicken any day, ground hog is. You boils the ground hog in salted water 'til its well done, den you make a flour gravey to pour ovah, den sets it into de oven to brown nice. No 'em ah doesn't care fo' possum or coon, dey is too greasy." "Ah can eat 'em wid potatoes, but ground hog ah likes. Potatoes plain with wild meats, you wants.
"Yes'em ah members Mammy's kitchen in Natchez on de hill. De big oven was outa doors. Dey was hooks, an' de pots rode up an' down to de stove lak one of dese here pulley things rides up and down. Big iron pots dey was. Mammy would put hot fiah o'wood under dat oven. Den she take red-hot coals from it an' put it on top de oven to make it cook des right all round." "Yes'em de main cookin' was outa doors dem days. An' dey want no ice boxes. Dey was de cold house dug outa de groun'. Ah don't remember how it was fix, but it was always cold in dere.
"But den ah is sorry ah ain't remember much from way back den fo' you all --- des dis little bit I 'members. Ah bin heah in Lebanon forty yeahs now. Mammy she was glad to go back to Louisville to her kin folks after de wah. Dey was a lot of excitement among de culled folks 'bout being free after de war. But dats all I 'members. Dey was good to us at Natchez. Yes'em dat ah members fo'sure = maybe ah might member some mo' but ah never tried to befor' an' maybe I cain't"
Celia Henderson, 88 years old, and a recipient of an old age pension lives in a little frame house on the edge of town. She sits on the back porch in a black calico dress made with a very wide old fashioned skirt, old fashioned brocade coat, black and fastened with a safety pin at the collar. She has a coal black face, large hands and feet, with extra long fingers - her hands look as though they had been very strong. She has grey hair, straight braided in two braids. She is cheerful, although she says she has to just sit around all day, and would like to do something. She was along in the house, but I understand she lives with relatives. She has nothing interesting to relate about negro life in Lebanon, and of course remembers nothing about any "Underground" railway activities here - nor does she remember anything about runaway slaves at all.
She cannot describe clothes or what kind of quarters they had for living in Natchez. She is very careful to state that it is NATCHEZ ON THE HILL where she lived, not Natchez proper as I understood it. She is hard to get started on her memories, and is only spurred by very definite questions. She was started on memories lane when I asked her if she was ever any place else than Louisville and Lebanon, and then she remembered about going down the big river -Mississippi River, but if she was in Natchez nine years before the close of the Civil War, she was only three or four years old when her mother was literally "sold down the river."
Henderson, Celia -- Additional Interview
Any day in mild winter, Mrs. Celia Henderson, 88-year old former slave, may be found rocking to and fro on the back porch of her little frame cottage, 422 Mechanic St., in the outskirts of Lebanon. Her straight hair hangs in two grey braids over the collar of a black, broadcloth jacket, so old that it is back in style again, and the voluminous skirt of a black patterned calico dress extends far down over her unusually large feet. Preoccupied with reminiscences, she absent-mindedly allows her strong lean fingers to massage her bony, rheumatic knees which keep "getting stiffer an' stiffer all de time."
"I 'members I come to see Mammy here in Lebanon 'bout 40 years ago, and I had a terrible misery: I was so miserable dat I was sound asleep a-dreaming about it, and saying, 'Mammy, yo reckon axle grease going to he'p?'
I woke up just feeling awful, and I went to my Mammy - a old woman myself, I was, about 50 year old - but I went to Mammy and woke her up, and I says, just like I dream of saying, 'Mammy, yo reckon axle grease is going to he'p me?'
And she say, 'What for is yo wanting axle grease to he'p?
And I told her, and she say, 'Axle grease hot, put on wide red flannel, going to take it away, chile.' And out of bed she climbed in de cold night, and get some axle grease out'n de yard offa a old wagon setting there; she heat it up with dat red flannel, and she slap it on me. Den I got easy. She was thankful when dat axle grease and red flannel got working on me. White stuff won't do. If you gets one of dem cold miseries in de winter, try it and see. But go 'long, folks is too smart for dem medicines nowadays!
But my mammy was great for herb doctoring, and I holds by it, too. Yes'm. Nowadays you gets a rusty nail in yo foot, an has lockjaw - but I 'member, Mammy, sho put soot from the chimney with bacon grease when I run a big nail in my foot, and she had to pull it out."
Squinting her almost sightless eyes in concentration, Mrs. Henderson continued, "I was born in Hardin County, Kentucky, in June, 1849. My mammy were name Julia Dittoe, an pappy, he were name Willie Dittoe.
Dey live at Louisville, till mammy were sold for her master's debt. She were a powerful good cook, mammy were, and she were sold for to pay dat debt. She took us four children long with her, and pappy and the others stayed in Louisville. Never see pappy no more. Dey took us all on a boat down de big river - ever seed de Big River? Mississippi its name - but we-all calls it de Big River.
Mammy she have eleven chillun, don't 'member dem names no more. I 'members mammy crying goin down on de boat, an us chillun too. But de place we got to was a nice family named Gohagen. Natchez-on-de-Hill, dats where they took us to Natchez-on-de-Hill, not Natchez, but Natchez-on-de-Hill. An they was nice to Mammy, and she were a fine cook.
I 'members cotton - big, pretty fields - flat land wid cotton - yes. I 'members that, but no tobacco there. I never work in no fields. I he'p mammy tote water, wood, and chips to keep up de fire, hunt aigs, go after cows, get things out of de cold house for mammy - dat keep me busy. Yes'm, I reckon I was about eight years old working that way. Chillun is smarter now, and dey don't have to be taught to work, but dem days all us colored chillun work, and we had a good time working - dey wa'nt no shows, no playtings like we have now."
I 'members a drove of soldiers coming up de road wearing blue clothes. I was driving my cows down, and I was scared --- I ran and hid in de hedge till day got by. Dat's all I 'members 'bout de war.
One time dey was drouth; de wells and spring run dry, and de water we had to haul from way down de river. Now dat was down-right work, hauling dat water. But de cattle was perishing. And dey was a ole colored man powerful in prayer. He have all de colored folks get together under a tree, and down on their knees, and pray for water for dat poor cattle. Dat old man, he found a spring in de ground, and he open it up and dey dig out a hole for de water to be in, and my cows, and others, dey come a-trotting for miles. And it was hot, and it was happy to see them coming for to drink, yes'm, it sure was. I 'members, it were just like a miracle after prayer.
I'se de only one of mammy's chillun living. She had eleven. My grandmammy on pappy's side, she live to be 110 years old, powerful old, they say. She were part Indian, and dat made her live to be old."
As her mind searched the years, Celia sat motionless for several minutes, apparently dozing, with head bowed and eyes closed. Suddenly her head jerked up, her eyes popped open, and her story rambled on.
"Yes'm, and I 'members mammy's kitchen in Natchez-on-de-Hill. De big oven was out of doors. Dey was hooks, and de pots rode up and down to de stove like one of dese here pulley-things rides up and down. Big iron pots dey was. Mammy would have hot fire wood under that oven. Den she take red hot coals from it an put on top de oven to make it cook just right all 'round. Yes'm and de main cooking was out of doors dem days. And dey wa'nt no ice boxes. Dey was de cold house dug out of de ground. I don't 'member how it was fix, but it was always cold in there.
Me? I had two husbands and three chillun. My first husband, he died and left me with three little chilluns, and my second husband he died about six years ago. I comes here to Lebanon about forty year ago, 'cause my Mammy were here, and wanted me to. When I was little, we live nine years at Natchez-on-de-Hill, and then in Louisville, and then Lebanon. I were married when I was nineteen, and my husband was twenty-one. I like Lebanon best.
Mammy was sure a fine cook, a fine cook. Me? Go 'long! I ain't no such fine cook as my mammy was. My boy was a fine cook, but I ain't nothing of a cook. Yes'm, I cook for Mis' Gallagher and four sheriffs at de Lebanon jail, but fancy cookin', I ain't much on, no'm. But mammy and my boy was fine, my boy cook at Louisville till he died. Fine families and hotels, too, he cook for till he died there.
Yes'm. Way meat is, high, and all, why give me groundhog. Yes'm, groundhog is good eating, and a peddler was by with groundhog for ten cents apiece. Its good as fried chicken any day, groundhog is! You boils the groundhog in salted water till it's well done, then you makes a flour gravy to pour over, then sets it into the oven to brown nice. No'm, I doesn't care for 'possum or 'coon, they is too greasy. I can eat them with potatoes. But groundhog, I likes. Potatoes plain with all wild meats, you wants.
I cain't work no more, 'count of my eyes. Just last year, I had to quit. Cooking and washing and ironing I done for my living, yes'm. I likes a nice wash, everything to look nice and white, and ruffles to iron nice. I likes a nice ironing better than cooking. Yes'm I do.
But last year my eyes done give clear out on me, for washing and cooking. I is eighty-eight years old, and they told me not to worry, for they going to give me a pension. They go to a heap of work to get all them papers fix right. I had rheumatism, but no pains. Medicine ain't going to do much good, but I takes it.
I is sorry I cain't 'member much from way back then for you-all, just little bit I 'members. I been here in Lebanon forty years now. Mammy she were glad to go back to Louisville to her kin folks after de war. They was a lot of excitement among de colored folks 'bout being free after de war. But dats all I 'members. They was good to us at Natchez, yes'm, dat I 'members for sure. Maybe I might 'member some more, but I never tried to before - and maybe I cain't!"
William P. Hogue 19/3/270 Ex-Slave (District #6 Clark County Racial Group File Copied 1/15/41 B.W.)
