Paul Smith
From:
Georgia
EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
with
PAUL SMITH, Age 74
429 China Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
Mrs. Leila Harris
Augusta
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia
Paul Smith's house stands on China Street, a narrow rutted alley
deriving its name from the large chinaberry tree that stands at one end
of the alley.
Large water oaks furnish ample shade for the tidy yard where an old
well, whose bucket hanging from a rickety windlass frame, was supplying
water for two Negro women, who were leaning over washtubs. As they
rubbed the clothes against the washboards, their arms kept time to the
chant of Lord I'se Comin' Home. Paul and two Negro men, barefooted and
dressed in overalls rolled to their knees, were taking their ease under
the largest tree, and two small mulatto children were frolicking about
with a kitten.
As the visitor approached, the young men leaped to their feet and
hastened to offer a chair and Paul said: "Howdy-do, Missy, how is you?
Won't you have a cheer and rest? I knows you is tired plumb out. Dis old
sun is too hot for folkses to be walkin' 'round out doors," Turning to
one of the boys he continued: "Son, run and fetch Missy some fresh
water; dat'll make her feel better. Jus' how far is you done walked?"
asked Paul. Then he stopped one of the women from the washing and bade
her "run into the house and fetch a fan for Missy."
Paul is a large man, and a fringe of kinky white hair frames his face.
His manner is very friendly for, noticing that the visitor was looking
with some curiosity at the leather bands that encircled his wrists, the
old man grinned. "Dem's jus' to make sho' dat I won't have no
rheumatiz," he declared. "Mind if I cuts me a chaw of 'baccy? I'se jus'
plumb lost widout no 'baccy."
Paul readily agreed to give the story of his life. "I can't git over it,
dat you done walked way out here from de courthouse jus' to listen to
dis old Nigger talk 'bout dem good old days.
"Mammy belonged to Marse Jack Ellis, and he owned de big old Ellis
Plantation in Oglethorpe County whar I was borned. Marse Jack give mammy
to his daughter, young Miss Matt, and when her and Marse Nunnally got
married up, she tuk my mammy 'long wid her. Mistess Hah'iet (Harriet)
Smith owned my daddy. Him and mammy never did git married. My granddaddy
and grandmammy was owned by Marse Jim Stroud of Oconee County, and I dug
de graves whar bofe of 'em's buried in Mars Hill graveyard.
"All I knows 'bout slavery time is what I heared folkses say, for de war
was most over when I was borned, but things hadn't changed much, as I
was raised up.
"I warn't but 'bout 2 years old when young Miss Matt tuk my mammy off,
and she put me out 'cause she didn't want me. Missy, dey was sho good to
me. Marse Jack's wife was Mistess Lizzie. She done her best to raise me
right, and de ways she larnt me is done stayed wid me all dese years;
many's de time dey's kept old Paul out of trouble. No Mam, I ain't never
been in no jailhouse in all my days, and I sho ain't aimin' to de
nothin' to make 'em put me dar now.
"In dem days, when chillun got big enough to eat, dey was kept at de big
house, 'cause deir mammies had to wuk off in de fields and Old Miss
wanted all de chillun whar she could see atter 'em. Most times dere was
a old slave 'oman what didn't have nothin' else to do 'cept take keer of
slave chillun and feed 'em. Pickaninnies sho had to mind too, 'cause dem
old 'omans would evermore lay on de switch. Us et out of wooden trays,
and for supper us warn't 'lowed nothin' but bread and milk.
"Long as us was little, us didn't have to wuk at nothin' 'cept little
jobs lak pickin' up chips, bringin' in a little wood, and sometimes de
biggest boys had to slop de hogs. Long 'bout de fust of March, dey tuk
de pants 'way from all de boys and give 'em little shirts to wear from
den 'til frost. Yes Mam, dem shirts was all us boys had to wear in
summer 'til us was big enough to wuk in de fields. Gals jus' wore one
piece of clothes in summertime too; dey wore a plain cotton dress. All
our clothes, for summer and winter too, was made right dere on dat
plantation. Dey wove de cloth on de looms; plain cotton for summer, and
cotton mixed wid a little wool for winter. Dere was a man on de
plantation what made all our brogans for winter. Marster made sho us had
plenty of good warm clothes and shoes to keep us warm when winter come.
"Folkses raised deir livin', all of it, at home den. Dey growed all
sorts of gyarden truck sech as corn, peas, beans, sallet, 'taters,
collards, ingons, and squashes. Dey had big fields of grain. Don't
forgit dem good old watermillions; Niggers couldn't do widout 'em.
Marster's old smokehouse was plumb full of meat all de time, and he had
more cows, hogs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and de lak, dan
I ever larnt how to count. Dere warn't no runnin' off to de sto' evvy
time dey started cookin' a company meal.
"Dem home-made cotton gins was mighty slow. Us never seed no fast
sto'-bought gins dem days. Our old gins was turned by a long pole what
was pulled around by mules and oxen, and it tuk a long time to git de
seeds out of de cotton dat way. I'se seed 'em tie bundles of fodder in
front of de critters so dey would go faster tryin' to git to de fodder.
Dey grez dem gins wid homemade tar. De big sight was dem old home-made
cotton presses. When dem old mules went round a time or two pullin' dat
heavy weight down, dat cotton was sho pressed.
"Us chillun sho did lak to see 'em run dat old gin, 'cause 'fore dey
ever had a gin Marster used to make us pick a shoe-full of cotton seeds
out evvy night 'fore us went to bed. Now dat don't sound so bad, Missy,
but did you ever try to pick any seeds out of cotton?
"Course evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days, and dat was whar us
picked out dem cotton seeds, 'round dat big old fireplace in de kitchen.
All de slaves et together up dar at de big house, and us had some mighty
good times in dat old kitchen. Slave quarters was jus' little one room
log cabins what had chimblies made of sticks and red mud. Dem old
chimblies was all de time a-ketchin' on fire. De mud was daubed 'twixt
de logs to chink up de cracks, and sometimes dey chinked up cracks in de
roof wid red mud. Dere warn't no glass windows in dem cabins, and dey
didn't have but one window of no sort; it was jus' a plain wooden
shutter. De cabins was a long ways off from de big house, close by de
big old spring whar de wash-place was. Dey had long benches for de
wash-tubs to set on, a big old oversize washpot, and you mustn't leave
out 'bout dat big old battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de
clothes. Dem Niggers would sing, and deir battlin' sticks kept time to
de music. You could hear de singin' and de sound of de battlin' sticks
from a mighty long ways off.
"I ain't never been to school a day in all my life. My time as chillun
was all tuk up nussin' Mistess' little chillun, and I sho didn't never
git nary a lick 'bout dem chillun. Mistess said dat a white 'oman got
atter her one time 'bout lettin' a little Nigger look atter her chillun,
and dat 'oman got herself told. I ain't never uneasy 'bout my chillun
when Paul is wid 'em,' Mistess said. When dey started to school, it was
my job to see dat dey got dere and when school was out in de evenin', I
had to be dere to fetch dem chillun back home safe and sound. School
didn't turn out 'til four o'clock den, and it was a right fur piece from
dat schoolhouse out to our big house. Us had to cross a crick, and when
it rained de water would back up and make it mighty bad to git from one
side to t'other. Marster kept a buggy jus' for us to use gwine back and
forth to school. One time atter it had done been rainin' for days, dat
crick was so high I was 'fraid to try to take Mistess' chillun crost it
by myself, so I got a man named Blue to do de drivin' so I could look
atter de chillun. Us pulled up safe on de other side and den dere warn't
no way to git him back to his own side. I told him to ride back in de
buggy, den tie de lines, and de old mule would come straight back to us
by hisself. Blue laughed and said dere warn't no mule wid dat much
sense, but he soon seed dat I was right, cause dat old mule come right
on back jus' lak I said he would.
"Us chillun had good times back den, yes Mam, us sho did. Some of our
best times was at de old swimmin' hole. De place whar us dammed up de
crick for our swimmin' hole was a right smart piece off from de big
house. Us picked dat place 'cause it had so many big trees to keep de
water shady and cool. One Sunday, when dere was a big crowd of white and
colored chillun havin' a big time splashin' 'round in de water, a white
man what lived close by tuk all our clothes and hid 'em way up at his
house; den he got up in a tree and hollered lak evvything was atter him.
Lawsy, Miss, us chillun all come out of dat crick skeered plumb stiff
and run for our clothes. Dey was all gone, but dat never stopped us for
long. Us lit out straight for dat man's house. He had done beat us
gitting dar, and when us come runnin' up widout no clothes on, he
laughed fit to kill at us. Atter while he told us he skeered us to keep
us from stayin' too long in de crick and gittin' drownded, but dat
didn't slow us up none 'bout playing in de swimmin' hole.
"Talkin' 'bout being skeered, dere was one time I was skeered I was
plumb ruint. Missy, dat was de time I stole somepin' and didn't even
know I was stealin'. A boy had come by our place dat day and axed me to
go to de shop on a neighbor's place wid him. Mistess 'lowed me to go,
and atter he had done got what he said he was sont atter, he said dat
now us would git us some apples. He was lots bigger dan me, and I jus'
s'posed his old marster had done told him he could git some apples out
of dat big old orchard. Missy, I jus' plumb filled my shirt and pockets
wid dem fine apples, and us was havin' de finest sort of time when de
overseer cotch us. He let me go, but dat big boy had to wuk seven long
months to pay for dat piece of foolishment. I sho didn't never go nowhar
else wid dat fellow, 'cause my good old mistess said he would git me in
a peck of trouble if I did, and I had done larn't dat our mistess was
allus right.
"Times has sho done changed lots since dem days; chillun warn't 'lowed
to run 'round den. When I went off to church on a Sunday, I knowed I had
to be back home not no later dan four o'clock. Now chillun jus' goes all
de time, whar-some-ever dey wants to go. Dey stays out most all night
sometimes, and deir mammies don't never know whar dey is half de time.
'Tain't right, Missy, folkses don't raise deir chillun right no more;
dey don't larn 'em to be 'bejient and don't go wid 'em to church to hear
de Word of de Lawd preached lak dey should ought to.
"Fore de war, colored folkses went to de same church wid deir white
folkses and listened to de white preacher. Slaves sot way back in de
meetin'-house or up in a gallery, but us could hear dem good old
sermons, and dem days dey preached some mighty powerful ones. All my
folkses jined de Baptist Church, and Dr. John Mell's father, Dr. Pat
Mell, baptized evvy one of 'em. Course I growed up to be a Baptist too
lak our own white folkses.
"Slaves had to wuk hard dem days, but dey had good times too. Our white
folkses looked atter us and seed dat us had what-some-ever us needed.
When talk come 'round 'bout havin' separate churches for slaves, our
white folkses give us deir old meetin'-house and built deyselfs a new
one, but for a long time atter dat it warn't nothin' to see white
folkses visitin' our meetin's, cause dey wanted to help us git started
off right. One old white lady--us called her Aunty Peggy--never did stop
comin' to pray and sing and shout wid us 'til she jus' went off to sleep
and woke up in de better world. Dat sho was one good 'oman.
"Some of dem slaves never wanted no 'ligion, and dey jus' laughed at us
cause us testified and shouted. One day at church a good old 'oman got
right 'hind a Nigger dat she had done made up her mind she was gwine to
see saved 'fore dat meetin' ended. She drug 'im up to de mourner's
bench. He 'lowed he never made no prep'ration to come in dis world and
dat he didn't mean to make none to leave it. She prayed and prayed, but
dat fool Nigger jus' laughed right out at her. Finally de 'oman got mad.
'Laugh if you will,' she told dat man, 'De Good Lawd is gwine to purge
out your sins for sho, and when you gits full of biles and sores you'll
be powerful glad to git somebody to pray for you. Dat ain't all; de same
Good Lawd is gwine to lick you a thousand lashes for evvy time you is
done made fun of dis very meetin'.' Missy, would you believe it, it
warn't no time 'fore dat man sickened and died right out wid a cancer in
his mouf. Does you 'member dat old sayin' 'De ways of de Lawd is slow
but sho?'
"Corpses was washed good soon atter de folkses died and deir clothes put
on 'em, den dey was laid on coolin' boards 'til deir coffins was made
up. Why Missy, didn't you know dey didn't have no sto'-bought coffins
dem days? Dey made 'em up right dere on de plantation. De corpse was
measured and de coffin made to fit it. Sometimes dey was lined wid black
calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. Dere warn't
no undytakers den, and dere warn't none of dem vaults to set coffins in
neither; dey jus' laid planks crost de top of a coffin 'fore de dirt was
piled in de grave.
"When dere was a death 'round our neighborhood, evvybody went and paid
deir 'spects to de fambly of de dead. Folkses set up all night wid de
corpse and sung and prayed. Dat settin' up was mostly to keep cats offen
de corpse. Cats sho is bad atter dead folks; I'se heared tell dat dey
most et up some corpses what nobody warn't watchin'. When de time come
to bury de dead, dey loaded de coffin on to a wagon, and most times de
fambly rode to de graveyard in a wagon too, but if it warn't no fur
piece off, most of de other folkses walked. Dey started singin' when dey
left de house and sung right on 'til dat corpse was put in de grave.
When de preacher had done said a prayer, dey all sung: I'se Born to Die
and Lay Dis Body Down. Dat was 'bout all dere was to de buryin', but
later on dey had de funeral sermon preached in church, maybe six months
atter de buryin'. De white folkses had all deir funeral sermons preached
at de time of de buryin'.
"Yes Mam, I 'members de fust money I ever wuked for. Marster paid me 50
cents a day when I got big enough to wuk, and dat was plumb good wages
den. When I got to whar I could pick more'n a hunnerd pounds of cotton
in one day he paid me more. I thought I was rich den. Dem was good old
days when us lived back on de plantation. I 'members dem old folkses
what used to live 'round Lexin'ton, down in Oglethorpe County.
"When us warn't out in de fields, us done little jobs 'round de big
house, de cabins, barns, and yards. Us used to holp de older slaves git
out whiteoak splits, and dey larnt us to make cheer bottoms and baskets
out of dem splits. De best cheer bottoms what lasted de longest was dem
what us made wid red ellum withes. Dem old shuck bottoms was fine too;
dey plaited dem shucks and wound 'em 'round for cheer bottoms and
footsmats. De 'omans made nice hats out of shucks and wheat straw. Dey
plaited de shucks and put 'em together wid plaits of wheat straw. Dey
warn't counted much for Sunday wear, but dey made fine sun hats.
"Whilst us was all a-wukin' away at house and yard jobs, de old folkses
would tell us 'bout times 'fore us was borned. Dey said slave dealers
used to come 'round wid a big long line of slaves a-marchin' to whar
dere was gwine to be a big slave sale. Sometimes dey marched 'em here
from as fur as Virginny. Old folkses said dey had done been fetched to
dis country on boats. Dem boats was painted red, real bright red, and
dey went plumb to Africa to git de niggers. When dey got dere, dey got
off and left de bright red boats empty for a while. Niggers laks red,
and dey would git on dem boats to see what dem red things was. When de
boats was full of dem foolish Niggers, de slave dealers would sail off
wid 'em and fetch 'em to dis country to sell 'em to folkses what had
plantations. Dem slave sales was awful bad in some ways, 'cause
sometimes dey sold mammies away from deir babies and famblies got
scattered. Some of 'em never knowed what 'comed of deir brudders and
sisters and daddies and mammies.
"I seed dem Yankees when dey come, but I was too little to know much
about what dey done. Old folkses said dey give de Athens people smallpox
and dat dey died out right and left, jus' lots of 'em. 'Fore dey got rid
of it, dey had to burn up beds and clothes and a few houses. Dey said
dey put Lake Brown and Clarence Bush out in de swamp to die, but dey got
well, come out of dat swamp, and lived here for years and years.
"Granddaddy told us 'bout how some slaves used to rum off from deir
marsters and live in caves and dugouts. He said a man and a 'oman run
away and lived for years in one of dem places not no great ways from de
slave quarters on his marster's place. Atter a long, long time, some
little white chillun was playin' in de woods one day and clumb up in
some trees. Lookin' out from high up in a tree one of 'em seed two
little pickaninnies but he couldn't find whar dey went. When he went
back home and told 'bout it, evvybody went to huntin' 'em, s'posin' dey
was lost chillun. Dey traced 'em to a dugout, and dere dey found dem two
grown slaves what had done run away years ago, and dey had done had two
little chillun born in dat dugout. Deir marster come and got 'em and tuk
'em home, but de chillun went plumb blind when dey tried to live out in
de sunlight. Dey had done lived under ground too long, and it warn't
long 'fore bofe of dem chillun was daid.
"Dem old slavery-time weddin's warn't lak de way folkses does when dey
gits married up now; dey never had to buy no license den. When a slave
man wanted to git married up wid a gal he axed his marster, and if it
was all right wid de marster den him and de gal come up to de big house
to jump de broomstick 'fore deir white folkses. De gal jumped one way
and de man de other. Most times dere was a big dance de night dey got
married.
"If a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal what didn't live on dat
same plantation he told his marster, den his marster went and talked to
de gal's marster. If bofe deir marsters 'greed den dey jumped de
broomstick; if neither one of de marsters wouldn't sell to de other one,
de wife jus' stayed on her marster's place and de husband was 'lowed a
pass what let him visit her twict a week on Wednesday and Sadday nights.
If he didn't keep dat pass to show when de patterollers cotch him, dey
was more'n apt to beat de skin right off his back. Dem patterollers was
allus watchin' and dey was awful rough. No Mam, dey never did git to
beat me up. I out run 'em one time, but I evermore did have to make
tracks to keep ahead of 'em.
"Us didn't know much 'bout folkses bein' kilt 'round whar us stayed.
Sometimes dere was talk 'bout devilment a long ways off. De mostest
troubles us knowed 'bout was on de Jim Smith plantation. Dat sho was a
big old place wid a heap of slaves on it. Dey says dat fightin' didn't
'mount to nothin'. Marse Jim Smith got to be mighty rich and he lived to
be an old man. He died out widout never gittin' married. Folkses said a
nigger boy dat was his son was willed heaps of dat propity, but folkses
beat him out of it and, all of a sudden, he drapped out of sight. Some
says he was kilt, but I don't know nothin' 'bout dat.
"Now Missy, how come you wants to know 'bout dem frolics us had dem
days? Most of 'em ended up scandlous, plumb scandlous. At harvest season
dere was cornshuckin's, wheat-thrashin's, syrup-cookin's, and
logrollin's. All dem frolics come in deir own good time. Cornshuckin's
was de most fun of 'em all. Evvybody come from miles around to dem
frolics. Soon atter de wuk got started, marster got out his little brown
jug, and when it started gwine de rounds de wuk would speed up wid sich
singin' as you never heared, and dem Niggers was wuking in time wid de
music. Evvy red ear of corn meant an extra swig of liquor for de Nigger
what found it. When de wuk was done and dey was ready to go to de tables
out in de yard to eat dem big barbecue suppers, dey grabbed up deir
marster and tuk him to de big house on deir shoulders. When de supper
was et, de liquor was passed some more and dancin' started, and
sometimes it lasted all night. Folkses sometimes had frolics what dey
called fairs; dey lasted two or three days. Wid so much dancin', eatin',
and liquor drinkin' gwine on for dat long, lots of fightin' took place.
It was awful. Dey cut on one another wid razors and knives jus' lak dey
was cuttin' on wood. I 'spects I was bad as de rest of 'em 'bout dem
razor fights, but not whar my good old mist'ess could larn 'bout it. I
never did no fightin' 'round de meetin'-house. It was plumb sinful de
way some of dem Niggers would git in ruckuses right in meetin' and break
up de services.
"Brudder Bradberry used to come to our house to hold prayermeetin's, but
Lawsey, Missy, dat man could eat more dan any Nigger I ever seed from
dat day to dis. When us knowed he was a-comin' Mistess let us cook up
heaps of stuff, enough to fill dat long old table plumb full, but dat
table was allus empty when he left. Yes Mam, he prayed whilst he was
dere, but he et too. Dem prayers must'a made him mighty weak.
"Marster Joe Campbell, what lived in our settlement, was sho a queer
man. He had a good farm and plenty of most evvything. He would plant his
craps evvy year and den, Missy, he would go plumb crazy evvy blessed
year. Folkses would jine in and wuk his craps out for him and, come
harvest time, dey had to gather 'em in his barns, cause he never paid
'em no mind atter dey was planted. When de wuk was all done for him,
Marster Joe's mind allus come back and he was all right 'til next
crap-time. I told my good old marster dat white man warn't no ways
crazy; he had plumb good sense, gittin' all dat wuk done whilst he jus'
rested. Marster was a mighty good man, so he jus' grinned and said
'Paul, us mustn't jedge nobody.'
"When marster moved here to Athens I come right 'long wid 'im. Us
started us a wuk-shop down on dis same old Oconee River, close by whar
Oconee Street is now. Dis was mostly jus' woods. Dere warn't none of
dese new-fangled stock laws den, and folkses jus' fenced in deir
gyardens and let de stock run evvywhar. Dey marked hogs so evvybody
would know his own; some cut notches in de ears, some cut off de tails
or marked noses, and some put marks on de hoof part of de foots. Mr.
Barrow owned 'bout 20 acres in woods spread over Oconee Hill, and de
hogs made for dem woods whar dey jus' run wild. Cows run out too and got
so wild dey would fight when dey didn't want to come home. It warn't no
extra sight den to see folkses gwine atter deir cows on mules. Chickens
run out, and folkses had a time findin' de aigs and knowin' who dem aigs
b'longed to. Most and gen'ally finders was keepers far as aigs was
consarnt but, in spite of all dat, us allus had plenty, and Mistess
would find somepin' to give folkses dat needed to be holped.
"When us come to Athens de old Georgy Railroad hadn't never crost de
river to come into town. De depot was on de east side of de river on
what dey called Depot Street. Daddy said he holped to build dat fust
railroad. It was way back in slavery times. Mist'ess Hah'iet Smith's
husband had done died out, and de 'minstrator of de 'state hired out
most all of Mist'ess' slaves to wuk on de railroad. It was a long time
'fore she could git 'em back home.
"Missy, did you know dat Indians camped at Skull Shoals, down in Greene
County, a long time ago? Old folkses said dey used to be 'round here
too, 'specially at Cherokee Corners. At dem places, it was a long time
'fore dey stopped plowin' up bones whar Indians had done been buried.
Right down on dis old river, nigh Mr. Aycock's place, dey says you kin
still see caves whar folkses lived when de Indians owned dese parts. If
high waters ain't washed 'em all away, de skeletons of some of dem
folkses what lived dar is still in dem caves. Slaves used to hide in dem
same caves when dey was runnin' off from deir marsters or tryin' to keep
out of de way of de law. Dat's how dem caves was found; by white folkses
huntin' runaway slaves.
"Now Missy, you don't keer nothin' 'bout my weddin'. To tell de trufe,
I never had no weddin'; I had to steal dat gal of mine. I had done axed
her mammy for her, but she jus' wouldn't 'gree for me to have Mary, so I
jus' up and told her I was gwine to steal dat gal. Dat old 'oman 'lowed
she would see 'bout dat, and she kept Mary in her sight day and night,
inside de house mos'ly. It looked lak I never was gwine to git a chance
to steal my gal, but one day a white boy bought my license for me and I
got Brudder Bill Mitchell to go dar wid me whilst Mary's ma was asleep.
Us went inside de house and got married right dar in de room next to
whar she was sleepin'. When she waked up dere was hot times 'round dat
place for a while, but good old Brudder Mitchell stayed right dar and
holped us through de trouble. Mary's done been gone a long time now and
I misses her mighty bad, but it won't be long now 'fore de Lawd calls me
to go whar she is.
"I done tried to live right, to keep all de laws, and to pay up my jus'
and honest debts, cause mist'ess larnt me dat. I was up in Virginny
wukin' on de railroad a few years ago. De boss man called me aside one
day and said; 'Paul, you ain't lak dese other Niggers. I kin tell dat
white folks raised you.' It sho made me proud to hear him say dat, for I
knows dat old Miss up yonder kin see dat de little Nigger she tuk in and
raised is still tryin' to live lak she larnt him to do."
When the visitor arose to leave, old Paul smiled and said "Goodby Missy.
I'se had a good time bringin' back dem old days. Goodby, and God bless
you."
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Emeline Stepney
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Nellie Smith
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