Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson.
Person interviewed: Emmett Augasta Byrd, Marianna, Arkansas
Age: 83
"I was born in Washington County, Missouri. I'm eighty-three years old.
Mother's owner was William Byrd. He got killed in a dispute over a
horse. A horse trader shot him. His name was Cal Dony.[TR: There is a
mark that may be a line over the 'o' or a tilde over the 'n'.] Father's
owner was Byrd too. Mother was Miss Harriett Byrd's cook. Yes, I knowed
her very well. I was nine years old when I was stole.
"Me and my older brother was both stole. His name was Hugh Byrd. We was
just out. It was in September. A gang out stealing horses stole us. It
was when Price made his last raid to Missouri. It was some of the
soldiers from his gang. We was playing about. They overtook us and let
us ride, then they wouldn't let us git off. They would shot us if we
had. In a few days we was so far off. We cried and worried a heap.
"It was eighteen years before I see my mother. The old snag I was riding
give out and they was leading so they changed me. I cried two or three
days. They didn't pay my crying no 'tention. They had a string of nigger
men and boys, no women, far as from me 'cross to that bank. I judge it
is three hundred yards over there.
"After the battle of Big Blue River my man got killed and another man
had charge of me and somebody else went off with my brother. I never
seen him. That battle was awful, awful, awful! Well, I certainly was
scared to death. They never got out of Missouri with my brother. In 1872
he went to St. Louis to my mother. She was cooking there. My father went
with the Yankees and was at Jefferson Barracks in the army during the
War. He was there when we got stole but she went later on before he
died. He was there three months. He took pneumonia. They brought me in
to Kansas and back by Ft. Smith.
"Talking about hard times, war times is all the hard times I ever seen.
No foolin'! It was really hard times. We had no bread, shoot down a cow
and cut out what we wanted, take it on. We et it raw. Sometimes we would
cook it but we et more raw than cooked. When we got to Ft. Smith we
struck good times. Folks was living on parched corn and sorghum
molasses. They had no mills to grind up the corn. Times was hard they
thought. Further south we come better times got. When we landed at
Arkadelphia we stayed all night and I was sold next day. Mr. Spence was
the hotel keeper. He bought me. He give one hundred fifty dollars and a
fine saddle horse for me. I never heard the trade but that is what I
heard 'em say afterwards. Mr. Spence was a cripple man. John Merrican
left me. He been mean to me. He was rough. Hit me over the head, beat
me. He was mean. He lived down 'bout Warren, down somewhere in the
southern part of the state. I never seen him no more. Mr. Spence was
good to me since I come to think about it but then I didn't think so. We
had plenty plain victuals at the hotel. He meant to be good to me but I
expected too much I reckon. Then it being a public place I heard lots
what was said around. I come to think I ought to be treated good as the
boarders. Now I see it different. Mr. Spence walked on a stick and a
crutch. He couldn't be very cruel to me if he had wanted to. He wasn't
mean a bit. I was the bellboy and swept 'round some and gardened.
"In 1866, in May, I run off. I went to Dallas County across Ouachita
River. I stayed there with Matlocks and Russells and Welches till I was
good and grown. Mr. Spence never tried to find me. I hoped he would.
They wasn't so bad but I had to work harder. They never give me nothing.
I seen Mr. Spence twice after I left but he never seen me. If he did he
never let on. I never seen his wife no more after I left her. I didn't
see him for four years after I left, then in three more years I seen him
but the hotel had burned.
Freedom
"Mr. Spence told me I was free. I didn't leave. I didn't have sense to
know where to go. I didn't know what freedom was. So he went to the free
mens' bureau and had me bound to him till I was twenty-one years old. He
told me what he had done. He was to clothe me, feed me, send me to
school so many months a year, give me a horse and bridle and saddle and
one hundred fifty dollars when I was twenty-one years old. That would
have been eight or nine years. Seemed too long a time to wait. I thought
I could do better than that. I never done half that good. I never went
to school a day in my life. I was sorry I run off after it was too late.
"I heard too much talking at the hotel. They argued a whole heap more
than they do now. They set around and talk about slavery and freedom and
everything else. It made me restless and I run off. I was ashamed to be
seen much less go back. Folks used to have shame.
Ku Klux
"In 1868 I lived with John Welch one year. I seen the going out and
coming in. I heard what they was doing. I wasn't afraid of them then. I
lived with one of 'em and I wasn't afraid of 'em. I learned a good deal
about it. They called it uprising and I found out their purpose was to
hold down the nigger. They said they wanted to make them submissive.
They catch 'em and beat 'em half to death. I heard they hung some of
'em. No, I didn't see it. I knew one or two they beat. They took some of
the niggers right out of the cotton patch and dressed them up and
drilled 'em. When they come back they was boastful. Then they had to
beat it out of 'em. Some of 'em didn't want to go back to work. Since I
growed up I thought it out that Mr. Spence was reasonably good to me but
I didn't think so then. It was a restlessness then like it is now 'mong
the young class of folks. The truth is they don't know what they want
nor what to do and they don't do nothing much no time.
"I went to see my mother. I wrote and wrote, had my white folks write
till I found my folks. I went back several times. Mother died in 1902.
We used to could beat rides on freight trains--that was mighty
dangerous. We could work our way on the boats. I got to rambling trying
to do better. I come to Phillips County. They cut it up, named it Lee. I
got down in here and married. I was jus' rambling 'round. I been in Lee
County sixty-one years. I married toreckly after I come here. I been
married twice, both wives dead. I was about twenty-three years old when
I married. I had four children. My last child got killed. A limb fell on
him twenty years ago in April. He was grown and at work in the timber.
"I farmed all my life--seventy years of it. I like it now and if I was
able I would not set up here in town a minute. Jus' till I could get out
there is all time it would take for me to get back to farming. I owned
two little places. I sold the first fifty acres when my wife was sick so
I could do for her. She died. My last wife got sick. I was no 'count and
had to quit work. Mr. Dupree built that little house for me, he said for
all I had done for 'im. He said it would be my home long as I live. He
keeps another old man living out there the same way. Mr. Dupree is
sick--in bad health--skin disease of some sort. We lives back behind
this house. Mr. Dupree is in this house now. (Mr. Dupree has eczema.) I
used to work for him on the farm and in the store.
"I never was a drunkard. That is ruining this country. It is every
Saturday night trade and every day trade with some of them. No, but I
set here and see plenty.
"The present times is better than it used to be 'cause people are
cleverer and considerate in way of living. A sixteen-year-old boy knows
a heap now. Five-year-old boy knows much as a ten-year-old boy used to
know. I don't think the world is going to pieces. It is advancing way I
see it. The Bible says we are to get weaker and wiser. Young folks not
much 'count now to do hard work. Some can.
"I get eight dollars and I work about this place all I am able. It keeps
us both going."