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Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins
Person Interviewed: John Elliott
Age: 80
Home: South Border (property of brother's estate)

As told by: John Elliott

"No, ma'am. I ain't got no folks. They've all died out. My son, he may
be alive. When I last heard from him, he was in Pine Bluff. But I wrote
down lots of times and nobody can't find him. Brother said, that was
before he died, that I could stay on in the place as long as I lived.
His wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way.

The comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. I'm expectin' to hear
if I get the pension, Tuesday. No ma'am, I ain't worked in three years.
Yes, ma'am, I was a slave. I was about 8 years old when they mustered
'em out the last time.

My daddy went along to take care of his young master. He died, and my
daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home.

You see it was this way. My mother was a run-away slave. She was from,
what's that big state off there--Virginia--yes, ma'am, that's it. There
was a pretty good flock of them. They came into North Carolina--Wayne
County was where John Elliott found them. They was in a pretty bad way.
They didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat.
They didn't have nobody to own 'em. They didn't know what to do. My
mother was about 13.

By some means or other they met up with a man named John Elliott. He was
a teacher. He struck a bargain with them. He pitched in and he bought
200 acres of land. He built a big house for Miss Polly and Bunk and
Margaret. Miss Polly was his sister. And he built cabins for the black
folks.

And he says 'You stay here, and you take care of Miss Polly and the
children. Now mind, you raise lots to eat. You take care of the place
too. And if anybody bothers you you tell Miss Polly.' My Uncle Mose, he
was the oldest. He was a blacksmith. Jacob was the carpenter. 'Now look
here, Mose,' says Mister John, 'you raise plenty of hogs. Mind you give
all the folks plenty of meat. Then you take the rest to Miss Polly and
let her lock it in the smokehouse.' Miss Polly carried the key, but Mose
was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse.

They didn't get money to any extreme. But whatever they wanted, Miss
Polly would go along with them and they would buy it. They went to
Goldsboro. That was the biggest town near us. The patrollers never
bothered any of us. Once or twice they tried it. But Miss Polly wrote to
Mr. John. He'd write it all down like it ought to be. Then they didn't
bother us any more.

There was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people.
They never had to go to the hiring ground. Mr. John built a church for
my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. And he
built a school for the children. Some other colored children tried to
come to the school too. They was welcome. But sometimes the white folks
would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried
to come.

Our folks stayed on and on. Mr. John was off teaching school most of the
time. We stayed on and on. Pretty soon there was about 150-200, of us.
Some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that.
Mr. John even put in a mill. A groundhog saw mill, it was. Some white
men put it in. But it was the colored folks who run it. They all stayed
right on on the farm. There wasn't any white folks about at all, except
Miss Polly and Bunk and Margaret.

No, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. We all stayed
on. We worked the place. And when we got a chance, Mr. John let us hire
out and keep the money. And if the folks wouldn't pay us, Mr. John would
write the Federal and the Federal would see that we got our money for
what we had worked. Mr. John was a mighty good man to us.

No ma'am. Nobody got discontented for a long time. Then some men come in
and messed them up. Told us that we could make more money other places.
And it was true too--if they had let us get the money. By that time Mr.
John, had died. Bunk had died too, Miss Margaret had grown up and
married. Her husband was managing the farm. He was good, but he wasn't
like Mr. John. So lots of us moved away.

But about not making money. Take me. I raised 14-16 bales of cotton. The
man who owned the land, I worked on halvers, sold it on the Liverpool
market. But he wouldn't pay me but about 1/3 of what he collected on my
half. And I says to him, 'You gets full price for your half, why can't I
get full price for mine?' And he says, 'It's against the rules.' And I
says, 'It ain't fair! And he says, 'It's the rules.' So after about six
years I quit farming. You can't make no money that way. Yes--you make
it, but you can't get it.

I went to town at Pine Bluff. There I got to mixing concrete. I made
pretty good at it, too. I stayed on for some years. Then I came to Hot
Springs. My brother was along with me. We both worked and after work we
built a house. It took us four years. But it was a good house. It has
six rooms in it. It makes a good home. My brother had the deed. But his
widow says I can stay on. The folks what lives in the rest of the house
are good to me.

When I got to Hot Springs I worked mixing concrete. There was lots of
sidewalks being made along about that time. Then I scatter dirt all
around where the court house is now. Then I worked at both of the very
biggest hotels. I washed. I washed cream pitchers--the little ones with
corners that were hard to clean.

No, I ain't worked in three years. It hard to try to get along. Some
states, they pays good pensions. I can't be here long--don't look like I
can be here long. Seems as if they could take care of me for the few
days I'm going to be on this earth. Seems like they could. 

Interviewer: Mrs. Carol Graham
Person interviewed: Millie Evans
Age:

[Illustration: Millie Evans]

Yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? Well, Miss, I is
one of 'em. Was born in 1849 but I don' know jus' when. My birthday
comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till
bout a hour 'fore I was born. Was born in North Carolina and was a young
lady at the time of surrender.

I don' 'member ol' master's name; all I 'member is that we call 'em ol'
master an ol' mistress. They had bout a hundred niggers and they was
rich. Master always tended the men and mistress tended to us.

Ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git
up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. I can
hear hit now. Hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and I can see 'em
now stirrin in Carolina. I git so lonesome when I thinks bout times we
used to have. Twas better livin back yonder than now.

I stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. My ma had to
work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was
hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. Sometime
she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it.
They had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. They would
fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th'
trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. I
can jus' see myself drinkin' now. Hit was so good. There was so many
black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. Greens was
cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. An'
sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an
we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. When we et our regular meals the
table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on
when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. But we didn'
eat out'n plates. We et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. An' we
had plenty t'eat. Whooo-eee! Jus' plenty t'eat. Ol' master's folks
raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens,
eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat.

Ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy
chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. I can
hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies:

  "Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies
   Way beneath the silver shining moon
   Hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies
   Daddy's little Carolina coons
   Now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies."

When I got big 'nough I nursed my mistress's baby. When de baby go to
sleep in de evenin' I woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de
cradle an go to sleep. I played a heap when I was little. We played
Susannah Gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an
jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. When I got big 'nough to cook, I
cooked den.

The kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we
cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. We had swing pots an would swing
'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. We
call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it.

We had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was Christian
fo'ks an they taught us to be Christianlike too. Ev'y Sunday mornin' ol'
master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an
pray an read de Bible to us all. Ol' master taught us not to be bad; he
taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales
an not to do anythin' that was bad. He said: Yo' will reap what yo' sow,
that you sow it single an' reap double. I learnt that when I was a
little chile an I ain't fo'got it yet. When I got grown I went de
Baptist way. God called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in
de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. On preachin' day ol'
master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him.

We had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they
does in the bricks t'day.

Down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin.
We didn' have no floors in them cabins. Nice dirt floors was de style
then an we used sage brooms. Took a string an tied the sage together an
had a nice broom out'n that. We would gather broom sage fo' our winter
brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. We kep' our dirt
floors swep' as clean an' white. An our bed was big an tall an had
little beds to push under there. They was all little er nough to go
under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one
an make heaps of room. Our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks
an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good.

When the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get
a turn of lider knots. I specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. That was
what we use' fo' light. When our fire went out we had no fire. Didn'
know nothin' bout no matches. To start a fire we would take a skillet
lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. Lay de cotton on th' skillet
lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would
come. Sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would
come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine.

Up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for
lights. We made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. We had
moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to
light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould.

We use to play at night by moonlight and I can recollec' singin wid the
fiddle. Oh, Lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an I can hear it ringin
now. Sometime we would dance in the moonlight too.

Ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an
wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. An we knit all the
stockin's we wo'. They made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark
an leaves an things. Dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up
an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit
out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then
take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. Then
rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make.

I'll tell yo' how to dye. A little beech bark dyes slate color set with
copperas. Hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye;
bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. Pine straw dyes purple,
set color with chamber lye. To dye cloth brown we would take de cloth an
put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then
set the color with apple vinegar. An we dyed blue wid indigo an set the
color wid alum.

We wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our
dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem
petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. They didn'
know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in
dey shirttails. An we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes.

Master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an
took the hide an tanned it. The way they tanned it was to take red oak
bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. Firs'
he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of
leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with
water. After that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. Then
he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. Then the hide
was put to soak in with the red oak bark. It stayed in the water till
the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it
was a purty tan. It didn' have to soak long. Then he would get his
pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. We called 'em
brogans.

They planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. When it got ripe they
gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week
then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of
'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother
week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. We let it set three
or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and the
settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. We cut ours in
little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too.

We made vinegar out of apples. Took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an
put 'em in a sack an let drip. Didn' add no water an when it got through
drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had
some of the bes vinegar ever made.

We had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. We had a block an
battlin' stick. We put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an
lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out
of 'em. We mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the
bes clo'es lines they was.

Ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let
it dry an then put it in lasses. After the lasses dripped off then they
roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun 10 or 12 days. It
sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so
yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit.

The way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet
bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then
we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too.

When there was distressful news master would ring the bell. When the
niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder
what the trouble was. You'd see 'em stirrin' too. They would always ring
the bell at twelve 'clock. Sometime then they would think it was some
thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they
shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner.

The reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn'
have nothin' to do but save it. They made money an raised ev'ything they
used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. Didn' have no banks in them
days an master buried his money.

The floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. We always kep' them
scoured good. We didn' know what it was to use soap. We jus' took oak
ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured
with a corn shuck mop. Then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two
times an let it dry. When it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was.
To make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it
stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. The
way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. We would get down on
our knees an dry it so dry.

I 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married.
That was after I was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some
cookin. Some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so
we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to
cool an some of 'em stole it. This way old master found out who was doin
the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell.

All ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a
neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. He would say to the man:
"Do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "Do yo' want this boy?" Then
he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would
hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump
dis broom and he would say: "Dat's yo' wife." Dey called marryin' like
that jumpin the broom.

Now chile I can't 'member everything I done in them days but we didn'
have ter worry bout nothin. Ol' mistress was the one to worry. Twasn't
then like it is now, no twasn't. We had such a good time an ev'ybody
cried when the Yankees cried out: "Free." Tother niggers say dey had a
hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. If you had a
hard time we don it ourselves.

Ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan'
to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to Arkansas they would
have a chance to keep 'em. So they got on their way. We loaded up our
wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of
horse feed. We traveled bout 15 or 20 miles a day an would stop an camp
at night. We would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. The cows
was drove t'gether. Some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a
time. I mean, dey _had_ a time. While we was on our way ol' master died
an three of the slaves died too. We buried the slaves there but we
camped while ol' master was carried back to North Carolina. When ol'
mistress come back we started on to Arkansas an reached here safe but
when we got here we foun' freedom here too. Ol' mistress begged us to
stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to
Carolina. There wasn' nobody lef' but Miss Nancy an she soon married an
lef' an I los' track of her an Mr. Tom.