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As a girl, my name was Betty Robertson, and I was bawn about 85 years ago, in Arkansas. I don' know whut
county-----all that I kin tell yo' is Arkansas.
My mothaw was Violet Robertson, but she died a Milam. My fathaw was John Robertson, and he died two years
after emancipation.
My fathaw was a great big man, with a mustache, and he looked lak a preachah, but he wasn't. I had the sweetest
daddy that ever broke bread. My mothaw was a small woman, but later in life she fleshened up. She died about ten
years ago.
We stayed on the Will Robertson plantation in Arkansas until five years befo' emancipation. Then Mawster
Robertson brought us to Texas.
I was too small to do much field work. Mawster Robertson was a good man, and he allowed no overseer on his
place. Mawster Robertson was jes' lak a brothaw to us. He even allowed us to go everywhere without a pass, and he
let the other folks know that nobody was to bother "Robertson's fue niggers," and that he knowed they was out.
Mawster Robertson brought us to Texas jes' befo' the wah. We had a big plantation on the San Antonio Post Road,
about seben miles south of Austin.
At this place, I had to help in the house. I had to do house work and pittle aroun'. We always called Mawster
Robertson "Pa"; but we didn't call ole Mistress "Mama". Nawsuh! We called her Mistress Dellie. She sure would
use a cowhide on us. There was times when Mis Dellie was cowhidin' me, and I'd make a big noise, and Mawster
would come in and say:
"Say, Dellie, whut in the world are yo' doin' with my niggers? Why don' yo' leave 'em alone?"
When Mis Dellie would cowhide me, she wouldn't whoop hard, but Id cut up somethin' awful, and that woman was
hardly beatin' me. I was so full of mischief. There was little Victoria, Mawster Robertson's baby girl. She learned
me how to "snuff", and I was so full of mischief, that I had to keep her box of snuff until she got back f'um school.
Her folks didn't know that she used snuff.
I remembah how three white slave-drivers once come by on the Post Road in a wagon. They had two slaves drivin'
the hosses. The slave-drivers was out buyin' up slaves, and they was on their way to San Antonio. One of the slave
boys had been whooped so much, that my mothaw, grandmothaw and grandfathaw had to soak his shirt off'n his
back.
Those slave-drivers stayed on the plantation that night, and when Mawster Robertson learned nex' mawnin' how the
slave boy had been whooped, he stahted to chewin' and spittin' his tobakker, and said:
"By golly!"
And he sure was mad. "By golly" was his high cu'sin', and was as far as he would go.
We had good houses to live in. They might of been logs, but I remembah they was boa'ded up nice. We had good
food.
Mothaw was a cook on the place. The white folks had their dinin' room, and the slaves had theirs. Sometimes there
was okra on the table, and fathaw would say:
"Git this slop off'n the table!"
But I liked okra. Grandfathaw would say:
"John, yo' don' know whuts good."
But, of co'se, they wouldn't take it off'n the table jes' 'cause fathaw said to.
My fathaw was jes' a fahmer on the place. He was a gay ole feller. I remembah how he wore shoes that had wooden
soles. One night the patrol chased him, and I could hear him runnin' up that 'dobe hill. I said:
"Mama, I hear fathaw runnin' with his ole wooden shoes!"
Mothaw said:
"You go on to sleep, 'cause yo' ain't heard nothin'."
But about that time fathaw come in. Mothaw asked:
"John, whut's wrong with yo'?"
He said: "Whew! the patrols was after me. But, I give 'em a wahm reception, and then I give 'em plenty of
heel-dust."
This plantation had plenty of cotton. I didn't have to pick cotton, but I helped move the baskets down the rows. I
would say, "I'l be glad when yo'-all staht pullin' cawn------don' have to lift baskets."
Fathaw tol' me: "Aw, go and sit down over there in the shade. You never was no-account, anyhow." But, I was the
smartes' youngster that he had. I was sich a little woman.
I remembah how my fat sistah Mary had the tizziks---we call it asthma now---and she would keep us awake at
night, 'cause she groaned so, and we had to rub her. We had to rub hot tallow and snuff on her chest. That would
loosen the stuff, so it would come out.
I kin remembah that I was sich a little woman, that I ruled Mary, who was older than me. I would be at the wash-pot
and say:
"Nigger, put some wood under that pot!"
Mary would jes' keep pittlin' aroun' until I slapped her one. She'd run and tell mothaw. Befo' long, mothaw'd come
down and ask:
"Whut'd yo' hit Mary fo'?"
I said: "Mama, I hit her jes' one lick." Then I pointed to the pot, and said: "Look at that pot. That soap should of
been melted already, and that clothes should of been boiled."
She'd look at the pot and see that I was right. So, as I said:
"Mama, take sistah Mary with yo'."
But sistah Mary was made to come back to the pot. Mama soon found out that I had the blood of my fathaw. Folks
used to say: "Don' git John's blood stahted!"
One early mawnin', Mawster Robertson come to our cabin door, and said with much sadness:
"John and Uncle Jeff, I've come to tell you all somethin'. Yo'-all is as free today as I am."
Then he broke down and cried. My folks also broke down. Fathaw tol' Mawster Robertson:
"Well, I don' know whut we're a-goin' to do."
When he was able to talk, Mawster Robertson said: "Well, John, I'll give yo'-all half of all the food we got, till
yo'-all git a job; and, now, when yo'-all go out and work fo' somebody, don' work fo' nothin', 'cause yo'-all is as free
as anybody. Yo'-all kin stay here until yo' find a job."
About this time, Mrs. Dellie come up. Mothaw said: "Mrs. Dellie, whut yo' goin to do fo' a cook?"
Mrs. Dellie fell on Mama and cried. It was somethin' pitiful. She said: "Violet, I don' know whut I'm goin' to do."
I didn't know whut had turned loose, but I knowed a key was loose somewhere.
We stayed with Mawster Robertson about a month and a half, befo' we got a job. Fathaw hired out to other fahmers.
I remembah how later I found out I was free, and whut it meant. I told mothaw: "Mrs. Dellie kain't whoop me no
mo'e."
But, mama then took up the whoopin'! The folks always called me "Crazy Calico," 'cause I could never keep a good
dress. When a dress had a hole in it, I would stick my fingah in it and rip it all the way down. Thats' why folks
called me "Crazy Calico."
I never did learn to read and write, and kain't read and write to this day.
It was quite a numbah of years after slavery---I don' know when ---that I married Joe Coleman. He was a preachah.
We went to chu'ch, got married, and come on home. Joe had a home fo' me, when we got married. He had our home
out in Decker.
We had twelve chillun---two sets of twins---six boys and six girls. There is three boys and three girls---exackly
half---livin': Eliza, George, Melinda, Andrew, Lonnie, and Hattie. Andrew lives in Dallas; Hattie is in San Antonio;
and the others live here in Austin.
Why, one of my boys got mo'e grey hair than I got. That makes me mad, 'cause I want white hair lak my mothaw
had. Thats' her picture up there on the wall. She looks lak me, doesn't she? That one up there is my husband, who
was a preachah. He was sich a good man, that all other men has seemed o'dinary to me. A lot of widowers has come
aroun', but I tell 'em to git out! You tell the world fo' me that I've been married twice: Once to Joe Coleman, and
now to Christ.
(B. E. Davis Madisonville, Texas Dist. #8 1-6-38 (Yes)
