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Sarah Hatley, a mulatress, born about 1860, is a native of Texas. Her mother was brought from Missouri by Preston
Philips and sold to Katney A. Hart of Bastrop. Born in Bastrop, Sarah spent several years after the war with her
mother, living at San Marcos, Florence and Georgetown. At Georgetown she married Monroe Hatley and went to
live on a farm near Florence, where four of her children were born. She and her husband followed her mother to
Brackettville later, where two more children were born. Here she divorced Hatley over forty years ago. She has
earned her living up to now by washing, ironing and cooking.
"My mother was born in Rockport, Missouri. Preston Philips was her first masta. He sold her to Katney A. Hart at
Bastrop. He was her last masta. Her maiden name was Nancy Knox an' my father's name was Watkins (a white
man). My mother married again and her husband's name was Allen Jennin's. They married at San Marcos after she
was freed in Bastrop. I can remember when we moved to San Marcos.
"I was born at Bastrop an' I was goin' on five yeahs old 'Mancipation Day. I guess I was born about 1860, you know
my mother couldn't read or write an' we didn't have no record. My stepfather died at a place called Florence, Texas,
an' we left dere an' came to Georgetown. We was mostly raised in Georgetown. I am de only one of de chillun livin'.
Dey are all dead but me. Dere was fo' of us, three girls an' one boy. Frances Fay, Oscar an' Liza. My mother came
out here wid her las' husban', Bob Lemons. She's been dead twenty yeahs dis gone May. She come out here first, an'
it's been fifty some odd yeahs since I moved out here to Brackettville. I've seen some hard times, too, I'm here to tell
you.
"I lived in Florence, Texas, a long time after I married. I had fo' chillun when I moved here. I been livin' in dis
house right here thuty-seben yeahs. Me an' my husban', Monroe Hatley, come out heah to live, but somehow we
couldn't get along an' he went back to his people. I have been divo'ced ovah fo'ty yeahs; ain't nevah married again. I
had six chillun in all. My nex' oldes' boy is gone. He lef' home an' has been gone ovah twenty yeahs. I ain't got but
two livin' now as I knows of. One of my girls died seben months ago. She belonged to de Tennessee (Insurance Co.)
an' she sho' was buried nice. My mother used to tell me about de times she'd see: sometimes she'd see good times an'
sometimes hard times. She said she nevah had to do no work in de fields; she always stayed in de house an' 'tended
to de chillun. She said dey ust to tie 'em up an' whip 'em, but she nevah did get a whippin'. Ma said on Sunday dey
always had somethin' extry fo' 'em; dat is, somethin' extry fo' deir dinner. Dey treated dem good; better'n lots of 'em
treated deir slaves. She was de youngest one in de family. She come off an' lef' 'em in Missouri an' come to Texas.
Of co'se, I was little when de slaves was freed an' I stayed wid my mother. I was a good-sized girl when I went to
work. My mother hired me out to Cap'n Price in Georgetown. He was a cap'n on a ship. He went crazy when I was
workin' fo' 'im. Dey had 'im up in a cage-like, an' he got so bad dey carried 'im to Austin. He asked a maid one
mornin' if he could take a bath an' she said yes. So he turned de hot water in de tub and jumped in it an' scalded
himself to death.
"My mother lef' me in Georgetown wid another colored lady. I don't remember her name. I worked aroun' fo' dat
one an' dis one till I married. After I married, we went to Florence, Texas, to live. My husband worked on a farm.
We farmed all de time --- farmed fo' ourselves. His mother's young masta gave us de land to work an' we had
ever'thing. We had plenty. His name was Bart Gray.
"When we got married, we didn't have no kind of celebration. We married one week an' went to Florence de nex'
week. Preacher King married us. He was a cullud preacher. We jes' had a little weddin', no dance. I was all in blue
at de weddin'. I guess I was about twenty, twenty-one, or maybe twenty-two, somethin' dat way. De blue dress was a
coat suit. An' I had on black slippers. Oh, I quit 'im several times befo' we married, but he kep' on after me an I fin'ly
married 'im.
"I nevah had no schoolin'. Well, I did go to school about two or three weeks, but I had to quit an' help my mother
take care of de other chillun. I know my a, b, c's all right enough, but I didn't learn to read an' write.
"My stepdaddy ust to take de co'n an' wheat to town an' have it ground on de halvers. We ust to go to de Berry's
Mill on de Gable (San Gabriel) River. We lived between two rivers, de North an' de South Gable. When it got up, it
sho' was bad. We raised co'n an' wheat all de time den. My mother ust to raise lots of chickens an' turkeys. Dey was
lotsa game, too. I remember my stepfather ust to go out an' kill deer an' wild turkey. I believe de people had more
deer up dat way dan dey do down heah. We ust to kill rabbits all de time, oh my! We would go doghuntin' after
rabbits. Dey was cottontails. I sho' love rabbits. If we got 'em in a log or hole, we'd take a stick an' twist 'em out.
Dey sho' is nice. We ust to kill lotsa ducks an' greese, 'cause we lived right on de river. Dey was lotsa coons an'
'possums, an' my mother could sho' fix 'em good. Fish! We lived on de river an' we would catch great big old cats,
bass an' shad. We'd catch lots of 'em. My stepfather ust to catch 'em an' take 'em to town an' sell 'em.
"All I ust to see 'em drive was ox wagons an' hosses. Sometimes, day would have one yoke o' oxen an' sometimes
two yoke. I ust to see 'em plow a single oxen in de co'n. Dey have 'em hitched like a hoss. Some of de wagons
would have two wheels an' some of 'em fo' wheels. Dem oxen was mostly all dey had to use. Dey would haul co'n
an' wheat in sacks, sacks like dese gunny sacks.
"I nevah seen no stoves till I got up a big young lady. Dey ust to cook in de fireplace an' cook on a skillet an' oven,
what day call de Dutch oven. Dey would cook deir cakes an' pies in pans an' put 'em in dese ovens. Dat was all I
evah seen. Dey was great, big ovens an' skillets, yes ma'am, big enough to cook a turkey. If dey didn't cook in de
fireplace, dey had a fire outdoors.
"I ust to pick my hun'erd an' fifty pounds of cotton a day. Dat would be my dollar-anta-half. We was gettin' a dollar
an' a half a hun'ered. Dat was befo' an' after I married. I quit workin' in town an' went to de cotton patch 'cause we
could make more money. I ain't had my han' on a ball (boll) o' cotton since I been in Brackett. I loved to pick cotton.
Sometimes I went wid my mother's family an' sometimes wid other cullud girls.
"When I was young, we ust to go to the country to quiltin's an' suppers. Dey would get together an' have quiltin's an'
fix suppers fo' de party at night. De men-folks would go to 'em too when dey had a party. De men would always
come about dark an' eat supper an' set aroun' an' laugh an' talk. I nevah did dance in my life till after I come here to
Brackett.
"I cain't remember much about de war 'cause I was too little. Jes' heard 'em tell about it. But, my stepdaddy, Allen
Jennin's, had a blue overcoat an' Ma tol' me dat was de kind of coats de soldiers ust to wear. But I nevah did see a
soldier till I come to Brackett.
"I remember de hoop skirts de women ust to wear when I was little. When dey went to set down, dey had to raise
'em up behind 'cause if dey didn't, dey would hop up in front. I was jes' laughin' an' tellin' my daughter las' night
about dese hoop skirts. You don't nevah see 'em no mo'.
"When I was a child, we ust to go to a neighbor lady's to get milk, an' you know, we had to go right by a graveyard.
One time, my sister grabbed me an' said, 'Law, sister, look at dat woman yonder all wrapped up in a sheet!' I looked
but I couldn't see it. Den ma went down dere an' my sister said, 'Yonder it is!' But Ma said, 'Hush, dey ain't no
ghos'es.' But my sister could see 'em an' we couldn't. She got to where she wouldn't go t'rough dat graveyard atall. I
nevah could see 'em, but dem dat is born wid veils ovah deir faces can see 'em. I know my sister could see ghos'es
an' I tell you she could scare me to death.
"Many a time I have chopped loads of wood, me an' my brother, an' hauled it to town an' sold it. We was young
then. I could chop wood like a boy an' drive hosses better'n some boys. We would get two, three and fo' dollars fo'
dat wood. We ust to help our mother dat way. When we lived in Georgetown, we ust to pick up bottles an' sell 'em.
It would be accordin' to de number of bottles we would get, what dey paid us fo' 'em. Whiskey bottles, you would
get one dollar a dozen an' medicine bottles,
two-bits a dozen an' so on. But you cain't sell nothin' like dat here. I ain't nevah had no work here but washin' an'
ironin' an' cookin'. I've 'tended to chillun some, but dat's too hard on you. Well, I ain't no spring chicken no mo'. If I
wash out fo' or five sheets, I'm played out. I wish my pension check would increase 'cause I jes' ain't able to work
like I ust to. I had lotsa good times an' I tell you, I had lotsa hard times. What do I calls good times? Why, set down
an' have a good dinner. No drinkin' --- maybe a bottle o' beer wid your dinner, but no reg'lar drinkin'. We ust to go
to dances, but I nevah go much now. I go down to my niece's an' watch 'em sometimes an' maybe eat supper. But, I
don't think I could cook suppers an' sell 'em; I'd give 'em all away."
Gauthier, Sheldon F. Tarrant Co., Dist. #7 (9-12-37 (Yes))
