Katie Rowe
From:
Oklahoma
Oklahoma Writers' Project
Ex-Slaves
[HW: (photo)]
[Date stamp: AUG 16 1937]
KATIE ROWE
Age 88 yrs.
Tulsa, Oklahoma
I can set on de gallery, whar de sunlight shine bright, and sew a
powerful fine seam when my grandchillun wants a special purty dress
for de school doings, but I ain't worth much for nothing else I
reckon.
These same old eyes seen powerful lot of tribulations in my time, and
when I shets 'em now I can see lots of l'il chillun jest lak my
grandchillun, toting hoes bigger dan dey is, and dey pore little black
hands and legs bleeding whar dey scratched by de brambledy weeds, and
whar dey got whuppings 'cause dey didn't git out all de work de
overseer set out for 'em.
I was one of dem little slave gals my own self, and I never seen
nothing but work and tribulations till I was a grown up woman, jest
about.
De niggers had hard traveling on de plantation whar I was born and
raised, 'cause old Master live in town and jest had de overseer on de
place, but iffen he had lived out dar hisself I speck it been as bad,
'cause he was a hard driver his own self.
He git biling mad when de Yankees have dat big battle at Pea Ridge and
scatter de 'Federates all down through our country all bleeding and
tied up and hungry, and he jest mount on his hoss and ride out to de
plantation whar we all hoeing corn.
He ride up and tell old man Saunders--dat de overseer--to bunch us all
up round de lead row man--dat my own uncle Sandy--and den he tell us
de law!
"You niggers been seeing de 'Federate soldiers coming by here looking
purty raggedy and hurt and wore out," he say, "but dat no sign dey
licked!
"Dem Yankees ain't gwine git dis fur, but iffen dey do you all ain't
gwine git free by 'em, 'cause I gwine free you befo' dat. When dey git
here dey going find you already free, 'cause I gwine line you up on de
bank of Bois d' Arc Creek and free you wid my shotgun! Anybody miss
jest one lick wid de hoe, or one step in de line, or one clap of dat
bell, or one toot of de horn, and he gwine be free and talking to de
debil long befo' he ever see a pair of blue britches!"
Dat de way he talk to us, and dat de way he act wid us all de time.
We live in de log quarters on de plantation, not far from Washington,
Arkansas, close to Bois d' Arc Creek, in de edge of de Little River
bottom.
Old Master's name was Dr. Isaac Jones, and he live in de town, whar he
keep four, five house niggers, but he have about 200 on de plantation,
big and little, and old man Saunders oversee 'em at de time of de War.
Old Mistress name was Betty, and she had a daughter name Betty about
grown, and then they was three boys, Tom, Bryan, and Bob, but they was
too young to go to de War. I never did see 'em but once or twice 'til
after de War.
Old Master didn't go to de War, 'cause he was a doctor and de onliest
one left in Washington, and purty soon he was dead anyhow.
Next fall after he ride out and tell us dat he gwine shoot us befo' he
let us free he come out to see how his steam gin doing. De gin box was
a little old thing 'bout as big as a bedstead, wid a long belt running
through de side of de gin house out to de engine and boiler in de
yard. De boiler burn cord wood, and it have a little crack in it whar
de nigger ginner been trying to fix it.
Old Master come out, hopping mad 'cause de gin shet down, and ast de
ginner, old Brown, what de matter. Old Brown say de boiler weak and
it liable to bust, but old Master jump down off'n his hoss and go
'round to de boiler and say, "Cuss fire to your black heart! Dat
boiler all right! Throw on some cordwood, cuss fire to your heart!"
Old Brown start to de wood pile grumbling to hisself and old Master
stoop down to look at de boiler again, and it blow right up and him
standing right dar!
Old Master was blowed all to pieces, and dey jest find little bitsy
chunks of his clothes and parts of him to bury.
De wood pile blow down, and old Brown land way off in de woods, but he
wasn't killed.
Two wagons of cotton blowed over, and de mules run away, and all de
niggers was scared nearly to death 'cause we knowed de overseer gwine
be a lot worse, now dat old Master gone.
Before de War when Master was a young man de slaves didn't have it so
hard, my mammy tell me. Her name was Fanny and her old mammy name was
Nanny. Grandma Nanny was alive during de War yet.
How she come in de Jones family was dis way: old Mistress was jest a
little girl, and her older brother bought Nanny and give her to her. I
think his name was Little John, anyways we called him Master Little
John. He drawed up a paper what say dat Nanny allus belong to Miss
Betty and all de chillun Nanny ever have belong to her, too, and
nobody can't take 'em for a debt and things like dat. When Miss Betty
marry, old Master he can't sell Nanny or any of her chillun neither.
Dat paper hold good too, and grandmammy tell me about one time it hold
good and keep my own mammy on de place.
Grandmammy say mammy was jest a little gal and was playing out in de
road wid three, four other little chillun when a white man and old
Master rid up. The white man had a paper about some kind of a debt,
and old Master say take his pick of de nigger chillun and give him
back de paper.
Jest as Grandmammy go to de cabin door and hear him say dat de man git
off his hoss and pick up my mammy and put her up in front of him and
start to ride off down de road.
Pretty soon Mr. Little John come riding up and say something to old
Master, and see grandmammy standing in de yard screaming and crying.
He jest job de spur in his hoss and go kiting off down de road after
dat white man.
Mammy say he ketch up wid him jest as he git to Bois d' Arc Creek and
start to wade de hoss across. Mr. Little John holler to him to come
back wid dat little nigger 'cause de paper don't kiver dat child,
'cause she old Mistress' own child, and when de man jest ride on, Mr.
Little John throw his big old long hoss-pistol down on him and make
him come back.
De man hopping mad, but he have to give over my mammy and take one de
other chillun on de debt paper.
Old Master allus kind of techy 'bout old Mistress having niggers he
can't trade or sell, and one day he have his whole family and some
more white folks out at de plantation. He showing 'em all de quarters
when we all come in from de field in de evening, and he call all de
niggers up to let de folks see 'em.
He make grandmammy and mammy and me stand to one side and den he say
to the other niggers, "Dese niggers belong to my wife but you belong
to me, and I'm de only one you is to call Master.
"Dis is Tom, and Bryan, and Bob, and Miss Betty, and you is to call
'em dat, and don't you ever call one of 'em Young Master or Young
Mistress, cuss fire to your black hearts!" All de other white folks
look kind of funny, and old Mistress look 'shamed of old Master.
My own pappy was in dat bunch, too. His name was Frank, and after de
War he took de name of Frank Henderson, 'cause he was born under dat
name, but I allus went by Jones, de name I was born under.
Long about de middle of de War, after old Master was killed, de
soldiers begin coming 'round de place and camping. Dey was Southern
soldiers and dey say dey have to take de mules and most de corn to git
along on. Jest go in de barns and cribs and take anything dey want,
and us niggers didn't have no sweet 'taters nor Irish 'taters to eat
on when dey gone neither.
One bunch come and stay in de woods across de road from de overseer's
house, and dey was all on hosses. Dey lead de hosses down to Bois d'
Arc Creek every morning at daylight and late every evening to git
water. When we going to de field and when we coming in we allus see
dem leading big bunches of hosses.
Dey bugle go jest 'bout de time our old horn blow in de morning and
when we come in dey eating supper, and we smell it and sho' git
hungry!
Before old Master died he sold off a whole lot of hosses and cattle,
and some niggers too. He had de sales on de plantation, and white men
from around dar come to bid, and some traders come. He had a big stump
whar he made de niggers stand while dey was being sold, and de men and
boys had to strip off to de waist to show dey muscle and iffen dey had
any scars or hurt places, but de women and gals didn't have to strip
to de waist.
De white men come up and look in de slave's mouth jest lak he was a
mule or a hoss.
After old Master go, de overseer hold one sale, but mostly he jest
trade wid de traders what come by. He make de niggers git on de stump,
through. De traders all had big bunches of slaves and dey have 'em all
strung out in a line going down de road. Some had wagons and de
chillun could ride, but not many. Dey didn't chain or tie 'em 'cause
dey didn't have no place dey could run to anyway.
I seen chillun sold off and de mammy not sold, and, sometimes de mammy
sold and a little baby kept on de place and give to another woman to
raise. Dem white folks didn't care nothing 'bout how de slaves
grieved when dey tore up a family.
Old man Saunders was de hardest overseer of anybody. He would git mad
and give a whipping some time and de slave wouldn't even know what it
was about.
My uncle Sandy was de lead row nigger, and he was a good nigger and
never would tech a drap of likker. One night some de niggers git hold
of some likker somehow, and dey leave de jug half full on de step of
Sandy's cabin. Next morning old man Saunders come out in de field so
mad he was pale.
He jest go to de lead row and tell Sandy to go wid him, and start
toward de woods along Bois d' Arc Creek wid Sandy follering behind. De
overseer always carry a big heavy stick, but we didn't know he was so
mad, and dey jest went off in de woods.
Purty soon we hear Sandy hollering and we know old overseer pouring in
on, den de overseer come back by his self and go on up to de house.
Come late evening he come and see what we done in de day's work, and
go back to de quarters wid us all. Then he git to mammy's cabin, whar
grandmammy live too, he say to grandmammy, "I sent Sandy down in de
woods to hunt a hoss, he gwine come in hungry purty soon. You better
make him a extra hoe cake," and he kind of laugh and go on to his
house.
Jest soon as he gone we all tell grandmammy we think he got a
whipping, and sho' nuff he didn't come in.
De next day some white boys find uncle Sandy whar dat overseer done
killed him and throwed him in a little pond, and dey never done
nothing to old man Saunders at all!
When he go to whip a nigger he make him strip to de waist, and he take
a cat-o-nine tails and bring de blisters, and den bust de blisters
wid a wide strap of leather fastened to a stick handle. I seen de
blood running out'n many a back, all de way from de neck to de waist!
Many de time a nigger git blistered and cut up so dat we have to git a
sheet and grease it wid lard and wrap 'em up in it, and dey have to
wear a greasy cloth wrapped around dey body under de shirt for
three-four days after dey git a big whipping!
Later on in de War de Yankees come in all around us and camp, and de
overseer git sweet as honey in de comb! Nobody git a whipping all de
time de Yankees dar!
Dey come and took all de meat and corn and 'taters dey want too, and
dey tell us, "Why don't you poor darkeys take all de meat and molasses
you want? You made it and it's your's much as anybody's!" But we know
dey soon be gone, and den we git a whipping iffen we do. Some niggers
run off and went wid de Yankees, but dey had to work jest as hard for
dem, and dey didn't eat so good and often wid de soldiers.
I never forget de day we was set free!
Dat morning we all go to de cotton field early, and den a house nigger
come out from old Mistress on a hoss and say she want de overseer to
come into town, and he leave and go in. After while de old horn blow
up at de overseer's house, and we all stop and listen, 'cause it de
wrong time of day for de horn.
We start chopping again, and dar go de horn again.
De lead row nigger holler "Hold up!" And we all stop again. "We better
go on in. Dat our horn," he holler at de head nigger, and de head
nigger think so too, but he say he afraid we catch de devil from de
overseer iffen we quit widout him dar, and de lead row man say maybe
he back from town and blowing de horn hisself, so we line up and go
in.
When we git to de quarters we see all de old ones and de chillun up in
de overseer's yard, so we go on up dar. De overseer setting on de end
of de gallery wid a paper in his hand, and when we all come up he say
come and stand close to de gallery. Den he call off everybody's name
and see we all dar.
Setting on de gallery in a hide-bottom chair was a man we never see
before. He had on a big broad black hat lak de Yankees wore but it
din't have no yaller string on it lak most de Yankees had, and he was
in store clothes dat wasn't homespun or jeans, and dey was black. His
hair was plumb gray and so was his beard, and it come way down here on
his chest, but he didn't look lak he was very old, 'cause his face was
kind of fleshy and healthy looking. I think we all been sold off in a
bunch, and I notice some kind of smiling, and I think they sho' glad
of it.
De man say, "You darkies know what day dis is?" He talk kind, and
smile.
We all don't know of course, and we jest stand dar and grin. Pretty
soon he ask again and de head man say, No, we don't know.
"Well dis de fourth day of June, and dis is 1865, and I want you all
to 'member de date, 'cause you allus going 'member de day. Today you
is free, Jest lak I is, and Mr. Saunders and your Mistress and all us
white people," de man say.
"I come to tell you", he say, "and I wants to be sho' you all
understand, 'cause you don't have to git up and go by de horn no more.
You is your own bosses now, and you don't have to have no passes to go
and come."
We never did have no passes, nohow, but we knowed lots of other
niggers on other plantations got 'em.
"I wants to bless you and hope you always is happy, and tell you got
all de right and lief [TR: sic] dat any white people got", de man say,
and den he git on his hoss and ride off.
We all jest watch him go on down de road, and den we go up to Mr.
Saunders and ask him what he want us to do. He jest grunt and say do
lak we dam please, he reckon, but git off dat place to do it, less'n
any of us wants to stay and make de crop for half of what we make.
None of us know whar to go, so we all stay, and he split up de fields
and show us which part we got to work in, and we go on lak we was, and
make de crop and git it in, but dey ain't no more horn after dat day.
Some de niggers lazy and don't git in de field early, and dey git it
took away from 'em, but dey plead around and git it back and work
better de rest of dat year.
But we all gits fooled on dat first go-out! When de crop all in we
don't git half! Old Mistress sick in town, and de overseer was still
on de place and he charge us half de crop for de quarters and de mules
and tools and grub!
Den he leave, and we gits another white man, and he sets up a book,
and give us half de next year, and take out for what we use up, but we
all got something left over after dat first go-out.
Old Mistress never git well after she lose all her niggers, and one
day de white boss tell us she jest drap over dead setting in her
chair, and we know her heart jest broke.
Next year de chillun sell off most de place and we scatter off, and I
and mammy go into Little Rock and do work in de town. Grandmammy done
dead.
I git married to John White in Little Rock, but he died and we didn't
have no chillun. Den in four, five years I marry Billy Rowe. He was a
Cherokee citizen and he had belonged to a Cherokee name Dave Rowe, and
lived east of Tahlequah before de War. We married in Little Rock, but
he had land in de Cherokee Nation, and we come to east of Tahlequah
and lived 'til he died, and den I come to Tulsa to live wid my
youngest daughter.
Billy Rowe and me had three chillun, Ellie, John, and Lula. Lula
married a Thomas, and it's her I lives with.
Lots of old people lak me say dat dey was happy in slavery, and dat
dey had de worst tribulations after freedom, but I knows dey didn't
have no white master and overseer lak we all had on our place. Dey
both dead now I reckon, and dey no use talking 'bout de dead, but I
know I been gone long ago iffen dat white man Saunder didn't lose his
hold on me.
It was de fourth day of June in 1865 I begins to live, and I gwine
take de picture of dat old man in de big black hat and long whiskers,
setting on de gallery and talking kind to us, clean into my grave wid
me.
No, bless God, I ain't never seen no more black boys bleeding all up
and down de back under a cat o' nine tails, and I never go by no cabin
and hear no poor nigger groaning, all wrapped up in a lardy sheet no
more!
I hear my chillun read about General Lee, and I know he was a good
man, I didn't know nothing about him den, but I know now he wasn't
fighting for dat kind of white folks.
Maybe dey dat kind still yet, but dey don't show it up no more, and I
got lots of white friends too. All my chillun and grandchillun been to
school, and dey git along good, and I know we living in a better
world, what dey ain't nobody "cussing fire to my black heart!"
I sho' thank de good Lawd I got to see it.
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Harriet Robinson
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