Martin Jackson
From:
Texas
MARTIN JACKSON, who calls himself a "black Texan", well deserves to
select a title of more distinction, for it is quite possible that
he is the only living former slave who served in both the Civil War
and the World War. He was born in bondage in Victoria Co., Texas,
in 1847, the property of Alvy Fitzpatrick. This self-respecting
Negro is totally blind, and when a person touches him on the arm to
guide him he becomes bewildered and asks his helper to give verbal
directions, up, down, right or left. It may be he has been on his
own so long that he cannot, at this late date, readjust himself to
the touch of a helping hand. His mind is uncommonly clear and he
speaks with no Negro colloquialisms and almost no dialect.
Following directions as to where to find Martin Jackson, "the most
remarkable Negro in San Antonio," a researcher made his way to an old
frame house at 419 Center St., walked up the steps and through the house
to an open door of a rear room. There, on an iron bed, lay a long, thin
Negro, smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in a woolen undershirt and
black trousers and his beard and mustache were trimmed much after the
fashion of white gallants of the Gay Nineties. His head was remarkably
well-shaped, with striking eminences in his forehead over his brows.
After a moment the intruder spoke and announced his mission. The old
Negro, who is stone blind, quickly admitted that he was Martin Jackson,
but before making any further comment he carried on an efficient
interview himself; he wanted to know who the caller was, who had
directed the visit, and just what branch of the Federal service happened
to be interested in the days of slavery. These questions satisfactorily
answered, he went into his adventures and experiences, embellishing the
highlights with uncommon discernment and very little prodding by the
researcher.
* * * * *
"I have about 85 years of good memory to call on. I'm ninety, and so I'm
not counting my first five years of life. I'll try to give you as clear
a picture as I can. If you want to give me a copy of what you are going
to write, I'll appreciate it. Maybe some of my children would like to
have it.
"I was here in Texas when the Civil War was first talked about. I was
here when the War started and followed my young master into it with the
First Texas Cavalry. I was here during reconstruction, after the War. I
was here during the European World War and the second week after the
United States declared war on Germany I enlisted as cook at Camp Leon
Springs.
"This sounds as if I liked the war racket. But, as a matter of fact, I
never wore a uniform--grey coat or khaki coat--or carried a gun, unless
it happened to be one worth saving after some Confederate soldier got
shot. I was official lugger-in of men that got wounded, and might have
been called a Red Cross worker if we had had such a corps connected with
our company. My father was head cook for the battalion and between times
I helped him out with the mess. There was some difference in the food
served to soldiers in 1861 and 1917!
"Just what my feelings was about the War, I have never been able to
figure out myself. I knew the Yanks were going to win, from the
beginning. I wanted them to win and lick us Southerners, but I hoped
they was going to do it without wiping out our company. I'll come back
to that in a minute. As I said, our company was the First Texas Cavalry.
Col. Buchell was our commander. He was a full-blooded German and as fine
a man and a soldier as you ever saw. He was killed at the Battle of
Marshall and died in my arms. You may also be interested to know that my
old master, Alvy Fitzpatrick, was the grandfather of Governor Jim
Ferguson.
"Lots of old slaves closes the door before they tell the truth about
their days of slavery. When the door is open, they tell how kind their
masters was and how rosy it all was. You can't blame them for this,
because they had plenty of early discipline, making them cautious about
saying anything uncomplimentary about their masters. I, myself, was in a
little different position than most slaves and, as a consequence, have
no grudges or resentment. However, I can tell you the life of the
average slave was not rosy. They were dealt out plenty of cruel
suffering.
"Even with my good treatment, I spent most of my time planning and
thinking of running away. I could have done it easy, but my old father
used to say, 'No use running from bad to worse, hunting better.' Lots of
colored boys did escape and joined the Union army, and there are plenty
of them drawing a pension today. My father was always counseling me. He
said, 'Every man has to serve God under his own vine and fig tree.' He
kept pointing out that the War wasn't going to last forever, but that
our forever was going to be spent living among the Southeners, after
they got licked. He'd cite examples of how the whites would stand
flatfooted and fight for the blacks the same as for members of their own
family. I knew that all was true, but still I rebelled, from inside of
me. I think I really was afraid to run away, because I thought my
conscience would haunt me. My father knew I felt this way and he'd rub
my fears in deeper. One of his remarks still rings in my ears: 'A clear
conscience opens bowels, and when you have a guilty soul it ties you up
and death will not for long desert you.'
"No, sir, I haven't had any education. I should have had one, though. My
old missus was sorry, after the War, that she didn't teach me. Her name,
before she married my old master, was Mrs. Long. She lived in New York
City and had three sons. When my old master's wife died, he wrote up to
a friend of his in New York, a very prominent merchant named C.C.
Stewart. He told this friend he wanted a wife and gave him
specifications for one. Well, Mrs. Long, whose husband had died, fitted
the bill and she was sent down to Texas. She became Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
She wasn't the grandmother of Governor Ferguson. Old Fitzpatrick had two
wives that preceded Mrs. Long. One of the wives had a daughter named
Fanny Fitzpatrick and it was her that was the Texas' governor's mother.
I seem to have the complicated family tree of my old master more clear
than I've got my own, although mine can be put in a nutshell: I married
only once and was blessed in it with 45 years of devotion. I had 13
children and a big crop of grandchildren.
"My earliest recollection is the day my old boss presented me to his
son, Joe, as his property. I was about five years old and my new master
was only two.
"It was in the Battle of Marshall, in Louisiana, that Col. Buchell got
shot. I was about three miles from the front, where I had pitched up a
kind of first-aid station. I was all alone there. I watched the whole
thing. I could hear the shooting and see the firing. I remember standing
there and thinking the South didn't have a chance. All of a sudden I
heard someone call. It was a soldier, who was half carrying Col. Buchell
in. I didn't do nothing for the Colonel. He was too far gone. I just
held him comfortable, and that was the position he was in when he
stopped breathing. That was the worst hurt I got when anybody died. He
was a friend of mine. He had had a lot of soldiering before and fought
in the Indian War.
"Well, the Battle of Marshall broke the back of the Texas Cavalry. We
began straggling back towards New Orleans, and by that time the War was
over. The soldiers began to scatter. They was a sorry-lookin' bunch of
lost sheep. They didn't know where to go, but most of 'em ended up
pretty close to the towns they started from. They was like homing
pigeons, with only the instinct to go home and, yet, most of them had no
homes to go to.
"No, sir, I never went into books. I used to handle a big dictionary
three times a day, but it was only to put it on a chair so my young
master could sit up higher at the table. I never went to school. I
learned to talk pretty good by associating with my masters in their big
house.
"We lived on a ranch of about 1,000 acres close to the Jackson County
line in Victoria County, about 125 miles from San Antonio. Just before
the war ended they sold the ranch, slaves and all, and the family, not
away fighting, moved to Galveston. Of course, my father and me wasn't
sold with the other blacks, because we was away at war. My mother was
drowned years before when I was a little boy. I only remember her after
she was dead. I can take you to the spot in the river today where she
was drowned. She drowned herself. I never knew the reason behind it, but
it was said she started to lose her mind and preferred death to that."
At this point in the old Negro's narrative the sound of someone singing
was heard. A moment later the door to the house slammed shut and in
accompaniment to the tread of feet in the kitchen came this song:
"I sing because I'm happy,
And I sing because I'm free--
His eyes is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me."
The singer glanced in the bedroom and the song ended with both
embarrassment and anger:
"Father! Why didn't you say you had callers?"
It was not long, however, before the singer, Mrs. Maggie Jackson,
daughter-in-law of old Martin Jackson, joined in the conversation.
"The master's name was usually adopted by a slave after he was set free.
This was done more because it was the logical thing to do and the
easiest way to be identified than it was through affection for the
master. Also, the government seemed to be in a almighty hurry to have us
get names. We had to register as someone, so we could be citizens. Well,
I got to thinking about all us slaves that was going to take the name
Fitzpatrick. I made up my mind I'd find me a different one. One of my
grandfathers in Africa was called Jeaceo, and so I decided to be
Jackson."
After this clear-headed Negro had posed for his photograph, the
researcher took his leave and the old blind man bade him a gracious
"good-bye." He stood as if watching his new friend walking away, and
then lighted a cigarette.
"How long have you been smoking, Martin?" called back the researcher.
"I picked up the deadly habit," answered Martin, "over seventy-five
years ago."
Next:
Nancy Jackson
Previous:
Maggie Jackson
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