Mattie Curtis
From:
North Carolina
N. C. District: No. 2 [320050]
Worker: Mary Hicks
No. Words: 10,018
Subject: BEFORE AND AFTER THE WAR
Story Teller: MATTIE CURTIS
Editor: George L. Andrews
[HW: 8/31/37]
BEFORE AND AFTER THE WAR
An interview with Mattie Curtis, 98 years old, of Raleigh,
North Carolina, Route # 4.
I wus borned on de plantation of Mr. John Hayes in Orange County
ninety-eight years ago. Seberal of de chilluns had been sold 'fore de
speculator come an' buyed mammy, pappy an' we three chilluns. De
speculator wus named Bebus an' he lived in Henderson, but he meant to
sell us in de tobacco country.
We come through Raleigh an' de fust thing dat I 'members good wus goin'
through de paper mill on Crabtree. We traveled on ter Granville County
on de Granville Tobacco path till a preacher named Whitfield buyed us.
He lived near de Granville an' Franklin County line, on de Granville
side.
Preacher Whitfield, bein' a preacher, wus supposed to be good, but he
ain't half fed ner clothed his slaves an' he whupped 'em bad. I'se seen
him whup my mammy wid all de clothes offen her back. He'd buck her down
on a barrel an' beat de blood outen her. Dar wus some difference in his
beatin' from de neighbors. De folks round dar 'ud whup in de back yard,
but Marse Whitfield 'ud have de barrel carried in his parlor fer de
beatin'.
We ain't had no sociables, but we went to church on Sunday an' dey
preached to us dat we'd go ter hell alive iffen we sassed our white
folks.
Speakin' 'bout clothes, I went as naked as Yo' han' till I wus fourteen
years old. I wus naked like dat when my nature come to me. Marse
Whitfield ain't carin', but atter dat mammy tol' him dat I had ter have
clothes.
Marse Whitfield ain't never pay fer us so finally we wus sold to Mis'
Fanny Long in Franklin County. Dat 'oman wus a debil iffen dar eber wus
one. When I wus little I had picked up de fruit, fanned flies offen de
table wid a peafowl fan an' nussed de little slave chilluns. De las' two
or three years I had worked in de fiel' but at Mis' Long's I worked in
de backer factory.
Yes mam, she had a backer factory whar backer wus stemmed, rolled an'
packed in cases fer sellin'. Dey said dat she had got rich on sellin'
chawin' terbacker.
We wus at Mis' Long's when war wus declared, 'fore dat she had been
purty good, but she am a debil now. Her son am called ter de war an' he
won't go. Dey comes an' arrests him, den his mammy tries ter pay him
out, but dat ain't no good.
De officers sez dat he am yaller an' dat day am gwine ter shoot his
head off an' use hit fer a soap gourd. De Yankees did shoot him down
here at Bentonville an' Mis' Long went atter de body. De Confederates
has got de body but dey won't let her have it fer love ner money. Dey
laughs an' tells her how yaller he am an' dey buries him in a ditch like
a dog.
Mis' Long has been bad enough fore den but atter her son is dead she
sez dat she am gwine ter fight till she draps dead. De nex' day she
sticks de shot gun in mammy's back an' sez dat she am gwine ter shoot
her dead. Mammy smiles an' tells her dat she am ready ter go. Mis' Long
turns on me an' tells me ter go ter de peach tree an' cut her ten limbs
'bout a yard long, dis I does an' atter she ties dem in a bundle she
wears dem out on me at a hundret licks. Lemmie tell yo', dar wus pieces
of de peach tree switches stickin' all in my bloody back when she got
through.
Atter dat Mis' Long ain't done nothin' but whup us an' fight till she
shore nuff wore out.
De Yankee captain come ter our place an tol' us dat de lan' was goin'
ter be cut up an' divided among de slaves, dey would also have a mule
an' a house apiece.
I doan know how come hit but jist 'fore de end of de war we come ter
Moses Mordicia's place, right up de hill from here. He wus mean too,
he'd get drunk an' whup niggers all day off' an' on. He'd keep dem tied
down dat long too, sometimes from sunrise till dark.
Mr. Mordicia had his yaller gals in one quarter ter dereselves an' dese
gals belongs ter de Mordicia men, dere friends an' de overseers. When a
baby wus born in dat quarter dey'd sen' hit over ter de black quarter
at birth. Dey do say dat some of dese gal babies got grown an' atter
goin' back ter de yaller quarter had more chilluns fer her own daddy or
brother. De Thompson's sprung from dat set an' dey say dat a heap of dem
is halfwits fer de reason dat I has jist tol' yo'. Dem yaller wimen wus
highfalutin' too, dey though [HW correction: thought] dey wus better dan
de black ones.
Has yo' ever wondered why de yaller wimen dese days am meaner dan black
ones 'bout de men? Well dat's de reason fer hit, dere mammies raised dem
to think 'bout de white men.
When de Yankees come dey come an' freed us. De woods wus full of Rebs
what had deserted, but de Yankees killed some of dem.
Some sort of corporation cut de land up, but de slaves ain't got none
of it dat I ever heard about.
I got married before de war to Joshua Curtis. I loved him too, which is
more dam most folks can truthfully say. I always had craved a home an' a
plenty to eat, but freedom ain't give us notin' but pickled hoss meat
an' dirty crackers, an' not half enough of dat.
Josh ain't really care 'bout no home but through dis land corporation I
buyed dese fifteen acres on time. I cut down de big trees dat wus all
over dese fields an' I milled out de wood an' sold hit, den I plowed up
de fields an' planted dem. Josh did help to build de house an' he worked
out some.
All of dis time I had nineteen chilluns an' Josh died, but I kep' on
an' de fifteen what is dead lived to be near 'bout grown, ever one of
dem.
Right atter de war northern preachers come around wid a little book
a-marrying slaves an' I seed one of dem marry my pappy an' mammy. Atter
dis dey tried to find dere fourteen oldest chilluns what wus sold away,
but dey never did find but three of dem.
But you wants ter find out how I got along. I'll never fergit my first
bale of cotton an' how I got hit sold. I wus some proud of dat bale of
cotton, an' atter I had hit ginned I set out wid hit on my steercart fer
Raleigh. De white folks hated de nigger den, 'specially de nigger what
wus makin' somethin' so I dasen't ax nobody whar de market wus.
I thought dat I could find de place by myself, but I rid all day an'
had to take my cotton home wid me dat night 'case I can't find no place
to sell hit at. But dat night I think hit over an' de nex' day I goes'
back an' axes a policeman 'bout de market. Lo an' behold chile, I foun'
hit on Blount Street, an' I had pass by hit seberal times de day
before.
I done a heap of work at night too, all of my sewin' an' such an' de
piece of lan' near de house over dar ain't never got no work 'cept at
night. I finally paid fer de land. Some of my chilluns wus borned in de
field too. When I wus to de house we had a granny an' I blowed in a
bottle to make de labor quick an' easy.
Dis young generation ain't worth shucks. Fifteen years ago I hired a
big buck nigger to help me shrub an' 'fore leben o'clock he passed out
on me. You know 'bout leben o'clock in July hit gits in a bloom. De
young generation wid dere schools an dere divorcing ain't gwine ter git
nothin' out of life. Hit wus better when folks jist lived tergether.
Dere loafin' gits dem inter trouble an' dere novels makes dem bad
husban's an' wives too.
EH
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