Henri Necaise
From:
Mississippi
Henri Necaise, Ex-Slave, Pearl River County
FEC
Mrs. C.E. Wells
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes
HENRI NECAISE
Nicholson, Mississippi
Henri Necaise, ex-slave, 105 years old, lives a half-mile south of
Nicholson on US 11. Uncle Henri lives in a small plank cabin enclosed by
a fence. He owns his cabin and a small piece of land. He is about five
feet ten inches tall and weighs 120 pounds. His sight and hearing are
very good.
"I was born in Harrison County, 19 miles from Pass Christian, 'long de
ridge road from de swamp near Wolf River. My Marster was Ursan Ladnier.
De Mistis' name was Popone. Us was all French. My father was a white
man, Anatole Necaise. I knowed he was my father, 'cause he used to call
me to him an' tell me I was his oldes' son.
"I never knowed my mother. I was a slave an' my mother was sol' from me
an' her other chilluns. Dey tol' me when dey sol' 'er my sister was
a-holdin' me in her arms. She was standin' behin' da Big House peekin'
'roun' de corner an' seen de las' of her mother. I seen her go, too. Dey
tell me I used to go to de gate a-huntin' for my mammy. I used to sleep
wid my sister after dat.
"Jus' lemme study a little, an' I'll tell you 'bout de Big House. It
was 'bout 60 feet long, built o' hewed logs, in two parts. De floors was
made o' clay dey didn' have lumber for floors den. Us lived right close
to de Big House in a cabin. To tell de truf, de fac' o' de business is,
my Marster took care o' me better'n I can take care o' myse'f now.
"When us was slaves Marster tell us what to do. He say, 'Henri, do dis,
do dat.' An' us done it. Den us didn' have to think whar de nex' meal
comin' from, or de nex' pair o' shoes or pants. De grub an' clo'es give
us was better'n I ever gits now.
"Lemme think an' counts. My Marster didn' have a lot o' slaves. Dere was
one, two, three, fo', yes'm, jus' fo' o' us slaves. I was de
stockholder. I tended de sheep an' cows an' such lak. My Marster didn'
raise no big crops, jus' corn an' garden stuff. He had a heap o' cattle.
Dey could run out in de big woods den, an' so could de sheeps. He sol'
cattle to N'awlins[FN: New Orleans] an' Mobile, where he could git de
bes' price. Dat's de way folks does now, aint it? Dey sells wherever dey
can git de mos' money.
"Dey didn' give me money, but, you see, I was a slave. Dey sho' give me
ever'thing else I need, clo'es an' shoes. I always had a-plenty t'eat,
better'n I can git now. I was better off when I was a slave dan I is
now, 'cause I had ever'thing furnished me den. Now I got to do it all
myse'f.
"My Marster was a Catholic. One thing I can thank dem godly white folks
for, dey raise' me right. Dey taught me out o' God's word, 'Our Father
which art in Heaven.' Ever'body ought-a know dat prayer."
(Note. In this Wolf River territory in Harrison County, where Uncle
Henri was born and raised, all the settlers were French Catholics, and
it was the scene of early Catholic missions.)
"I was rais' a Catholic, but when I come here twant no church an' I
joined de Baptis' an' was baptised. Now de white folks lemme go to dey
church. Dey aint no cullud church near 'nough so's I can go. I spec' its
all right. I figgers dat God is ever'where.
"My Mistis knowed how to read an' write. I don' know 'bout de Marster.
He could keep sto' anyway. Us all spoke French in dem days. I near 'bout
forgit all de songs us used to sing. Dey was all in French anyway, an'
when you don' speak no French for 'bout 60 years, you jus' forgit it.
"I'se knowed slaves to run away, an' I'se seen 'em whupped. I seen good
marsters an' mean ones. Dey was good slaves an' mean ones. But to tell
de truf, if dey tol' a slave to do anything, den he jus' better do it.
"I was big' nough in de Civil War to drive five yoke o' steers to Mobile
an' git grub to feed de wimmins an' chilluns. Some o' de mens was
a-fightin' an' some was a-runnin' an' hidin'. I was a slave an' I had to
do what dey tol' me. I carried grub into de swamp to men, but I never
knowed what dey was a-hidin' from."
(This may be explained by the fact that Uncle Henri was owned by and
lived in a settlement of French People, many of whom probably had no
convictions or feeling of loyalty, one way or the other, during the War
Between the States.)
"My old Marster had fo' sons, an' de younges' one went to de war an' was
killed.
"De Yankees come to Pass Christian, I was dere, an' seen 'em. Dey come
up de river an' tore up things as dey went along.
"I was 31 years old when I was set free. My Marster didn' tell us' bout
bein' free. De way I foun' it out, he started to whup me once an' de
young Marster up an' says, 'You aint got no right to whup him now, he's
free.' Den Marster turnt me loose.
"It was dem Carpetbaggers dat 'stroyed de country. Dey went an' turned
us loose, jus' lak a passel o' cattle, an' didn' show us nothin' or giv'
us nothin'. Dey was acres an' acres o' lan' not in use, an' lots o'
timber in dis country. Dey should-a give each one o' us a little farm
an' let us git out timber an' build houses. Dey ought to put a white
Marster over us, to show us an' make us work, only let us be free 'stead
o' slaves. I think dat would-a been better 'n turnin' us loose lak dey
done.
"I lef' my Marster an' went over to de Jordon River, an' dere I stayed
an' worked. I saved my money an' dat giv' me a start. I never touched
it' til de year was winded up. To tell da truf, de fac's o' de matter
is, it was my Marstars kinfolks I was workin' for.
"I bought me a schooner wid dat money an' carried charcoal to N'awlins.
I done dis for 'bout two years an' den I los' my schooner in a storm off
o' Bay St. Louis.
"After I los' my schooner, I come here an' got married. Dis was in 1875
an' I was 43 years old. Dat was my firs' time to marry. I'se got dat
same wife today. She was born a slave, too. I didn' have no chillun, but
my wife did. She had one gal-chil'. She lives at Westonia an' is de
mammy o' ten chillun. She done better'n us done. I'se got a lot o'
gran'-chillun. What does you call de nex' den? Lemme see, great
gran'-chillun, dat's it.
"I never did b'lieve in no ghos' an' hoodoos an' charms.
"I never did look for to git nothin' after I was free. I had dat in my
head to git me 80 acres o' lan' an' homestead it. As for de gov'ment
making me a present o' anything, I never thought 'bout it. But jus' now
I needs it.
"I did git me dis little farm, 40 acres, but I bought it an' paid for it
myse'f. I got de money by workin' for it. When I come to dis country I
dug wells an' built chimneys on' houses. (Once I dug a well 27 feet an'
come to a coal bed. I went through de coal an' foun' water. Dat was on
de Jordon River.) Dat clay chimney an' dis here house has been built 52
years. I's still livin' in' em. Dey's mine. One acre, I giv' to de Lawd
for a graveyard an' a churchhouse. I wants to be buried dere myse'f.
"A white lady paid my taxes dis year. I raises a garden an' gits de Old
Age 'Sistance. It aint 'nough to buy grub an' clo'es for me an' de old
woman an' pay taxes, so us jus' has to git 'long de bes' us can wid de
white folks he'p.
"It aint none o' my business' bout whether de Niggers is better off free
dan slaves. I dont know 'cept 'bout me, I was better off den. I did earn
money after I was free, but after all, you know money is de root o' all
evil. Dat what de Good Book say. When I was a slave I only had to obey
my Marster an' he furnish me ever'thing. Once in a while he would whup
me, but what was dat? You can't raise nary chile, white or black, widout
chastisin'. De law didn' low dem to dominize over us, an' dey didn' try.
"I's gittin' mighty old now, but I used to be pretty spry. I used to go
60 miles out on de Gulf o' Mexico, as 'terpreter on dem big ships dat
come from France. Dat was 'fore I done forgot my French talk what I was
raised to speak.
"De white folks is mighty good to me. De riches' man in Picayune, he
recognizes me an' gives me two bits or fo' bits. I sho' has plenty o'
good frien's. If I gits out o' grub, I catches me a ride to town, an' I
comes back wid de grub.
"De good Lawd, he don't forgit me."
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