Mattie Gilmore
From:
Texas
MATTIE GILMORE lives in a little cabin on E. Fifth Avenue, in
Corsicana, Texas. A smile came to her lips, as she recalled days
when she was a slave in Mobile, Alabama. She has no idea how old
she is. Her master, Thomas Barrow, brought his slaves to Athens,
Texas, during the Civil War, and Mattie had two children at that
time, so she is probably about ninety.
"I's born in Mobile, Alabama, and I don't have no idea when. My white
folks never did tell me how old I was. My own dear mammy died 'fore I
can remember and my stepma didn't take no time to tell me nothin'. Her
name was Mary Barrow and papa's name was Allison Barrow, and I had
sisters, Rachel and Lou and Charity, and a brother, Allison.
"My master sold Rachel when she was jus' a girl. I sho' did cry. They
put her on a block and sold her off. I heared they got a thousand
dollars for her, but I never seed her no more till after freedom. A man
named Dick Burdon, from Kaufman County, bought her. After freedom I
heared she's sick and brung her home, but she was too far gone.
"We lived in a log house with dirt floors, warm in winter but sho' hot
in summer, no screens or nothin', jus' homemade doors. We had homemade
beds out of planks they picked up around. Mattresses nothin', we had
shuck beds. But, anyway, you takes it, we was better off den dan now.
"I worked in the fields till Rachel was sold, den tooken her place,
doin' kitchen work and fannin' flies off de table with a great, long
limb. I liked dat. I got plenty to eat and not so hot. We had jus' food
to make you stand up and work. It wasn't none the good foolish things we
has now. We had cornbread and blackeyed peas and beans and sorghum
'lasses. Old master give us our rations and iffen dat didn't fill us up,
we jus' went lank. Sometimes we had possum and rabbits and fish, iffen
we cotched dem on Sunday. I seed Old Missy parch coffee in a skittle,
and it good coffee, too. We couldn't go to the store and buy things,
'cause they warn't no stores hardly.
"When dey's hoein' cotton or corn, everybody has to keep up with de
driver, not hurry so fast, but workin' steady. Some de women what had
suckin' babies left dem in de shade while dey worked, and one time a
big, bald eagle flew down by one dem babies and picked it up and flew
away with it. De mama couldn't git it and we never heared of dat baby
'gain.
"I 'member when we come from Mobile to Texas. By time we heared de
Yankees was comin' dey got all dere gold together and Miss Jane called
me and give me a whole sack of pure gold and silver, and say bury it in
de orchard. I sho' was scart, but I done what she said. Dey was more
gold in a big desk, and de Yanks pulled de top of dat desk and got de
gold. Miss Jane had a purty gold ring on her finger and de captain
yanked it off. I said, 'Miss Jane, is dey gwine give you ring back?' All
she said was, 'Shet you mouth,' and dat's what I did.
"Dat night dey digs up de buried gold and we left out. We jus' traveled
at night and rested in daytime. We was scart to make a fire. Dat was
awful times. All on de way to de Mississip', we seed dead men layin'
everywhere, black and white.
"While we's waitin' to go cross de Mississip' a white man come up and
asks Marse Barrow how many niggers he has, and counts us all. While we's
waitin' de guns 'gins to go boom, boom, and you could hear all dat
noise, it so close. When we gits on de boat it flops dis way and dat
scart me. I sho' don't want to see no more days like dat one, with war
and boats.
"We fixes up a purty good house and quarters and gits settled up round
Athens. And it ain't so long 'fore a paper come make us free. Some de
slaves laughin' and some cryin' and it a funny place to be. Marse Barrow
asks my stepma to stay cook and he'd pay her some money for it. We
stayed four or five years. Marse Barrow give each he slaves somethin'
when dey's freed. Lots of master put dem out without a thing. But de
trouble with most niggers, dey never done no managin' and didn't know
how. De niggers suffered from de war, iffen dey did git freedom from it.
"I's already married de slave way in Mobile and had three chillen. My
husband died 'fore war am over and I marries Las Gilmore and never has
no more chillen. I has no livin' kinfolks I knows of. When we come here
Las done any work he could git and bought this li'l house, but I can't
pay taxes on it, but, sho', de white folks won't put me out. I done git
my leg cut off in a train wreck, so I can't work, and I's too old,
noways. I don't has no idea how old I is.
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Andrew Goodman
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Gariel Gilbert
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