THIS ASSIGNMENT IS DUE MARCH 9TH AT 11:59 EST. Read the 3 pdf articles (in attachments) and cite information from the material AND offer your personal reflections. Must be 400-500 words!! I need finished by tonight 2/16/21 at 11:59 PM EST

1

Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on
Slavery

Over 2300 former slaves were interviewed during the Great Depression of the 1930s by members of the Federal Writers’ Project, a New

Deal agency in the Works Progress Administration (WPA).

Note: Selections from the narratives are presented as transcribed. Black interviewees often referred to themselves with terms that in some uses are considered

offensive. In the WPA narratives, some white interviewers, despite project guidelines, used stereotypical patterns of representing black speech.

Talk about hard times! We see’d ’em in dem days, durin’ the war and most specially after de

surrender. Folks dese days don’t know what trouble looks like. We was glad to eat ash-cakes and drink

parched corn and rye ’stead o’ coffee. I’ve seed my grandmother go to de smoke house, and scrape up de

dirt whar de meat had dropped, and take it to de house for seasonin’. You see, both armies fed off’n de

white folks, and dey cleaned out dey barns and cellars and smoke houses when dey come.

ANDREW MOSS, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Tennessee, ca. 193

7

Well when they started off fightin at Murfreesboro [Tennessee], it was a continual roar. The tin

pans in the cubbard rattle all time. It was distressful. The house shakin’ all time. All our houses jar. The

earth quivered. It sound like the judgment. Nobody felt good. Both sides foragin’ one as bad as the other,

hungry, gittin’ everything you put way to live on. That’s “war.” I found out all bout what it was. Lady it

ain’t nothin’ but hell on dis earth.

HAMMETT DELL, enslaved in Tennessee, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

Member the war? ’Course I does. I ’member how some them march off in their uniforms, lookin’ so

grand, and how some of them hide out in the wood to keep from lookin’ so grand. They was lots of talkin’

’bout fighting, and rubbing and scrubbing the old shotgun. The oldes’ niggers was settin’ round the fire late in

the night, stirrin’ the ashes with the poker and takin’ out the roast ’taters. They’s smokin’

the old corn cob pipe and homemade tobacco and whisperin’ right low and quiet like what they’s gwineter

[going to] do and whar they’s gwinter to when Mister Lincoln, he turn them free.

The more they talk, the more I git scared that the niggers is going to git sot free and wondering what I’s

gwine to do if they is.

ABRAM SELLS, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

I was too little to know much about de war but, little as I was, dere’s one thing dat’s still as fresh in my

memory now as den, and dat’s how people watched and waited to hear dat old Georgia train come in. Not

many folks was able to take de papers den, and de news in ’em was from one to two weeks old when dey got
here. All de men dat was able to fight was off at de front and de folks at home was anxious for news. De way

dat old train brought ’em de news was lak dis: if de southern troops was in de front, den dat old whistle jus’

blowed continuously, but if it was bad news, den it was jus’ one short sharp blast. In dat way, from de time it

got in hearin’, evvybody could tell by de whistle if de news was good or bad and, believe me, evvybody sho’

did listen to dat train. . . .

Dem Yankees brought de smallpox here wid ’em and give it to all de Athens folks, and dat was somepin

awful. Folks jus’ died out wid it so bad. Dey built a hospital what dey called de “pest house” out whar de

stockade is now. It was rough and small but I reckon it holped some.

IKE DERRICOTTE, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Georgia, ca. 1937

2

During the war mistis had one room all fixed up to take care of sick soldiers. They would come

stragglin’ in, all sick or shot, an’ sometimes we had a room full of ’em. Mistis had one young boy to do nothin’

but look after ’em and many’s the night I got up and helt the candle for ’em to see they way to the room.

Oh my Gawd, I saw plenty wounded soldiers. We was right on the road to Wrightsboro, and plenty of ’em

pass by. That Confed’rate War was the terriblest, awfullest thing.

ELLEN CLAIBOURN, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Georgia, ca. 1937

When massa and the other mens on the place went off to war, he called me and said, “Cato, you’s allus

been a ’sponsible man, and I leave you to look after the women and the place. If I don’t come back, I want you

to allus stay by Missie Adeline!” I said, “’Fore Gawd, I will, Massa Oll.” He said, “Then I can go away

peaceable.”

We thought for a long time the sojers had the Fed’rals [Union] whupped to pieces, but there was plenty bad
times to go through. I carried a gun and guarded the place at nighttime. . . .

The young mens in grey uniforms [Confederates] used to pass so gay and singin’ in the big road. Their

clothes was good and we used to feed them the best we had on the place. Missie Adeline would say, “Cato,

they is our boys and give them the best this place ’fords.” We taken out the hams and the wine and kilt

chickens for them. That was at first.

Then the boys and mens in blue [Yankees] got to comin’ that way, and they was fine lookin’ men, too.

Missie Adeline would cry and say, “Cato, they is just mens and boys and we got to feed them, too.” We had a

pavilion built in the yard, like they had at picnics, and we fed the Fed’rals in that. Missie Adeline set in to

cryin’ and says to the Yankees, “Don’t take Cato. He is the only nigger man I got by me now. If you take Cato,

I just don’t know what I’ll do.” I tells them sojers I got to stay by Missie Adeline so long as I live. The Yankee

mens say to her, “Don’t ’sturb youself, we ain’t gwine to take Cato or harm nothin’ of yours.” The reason

they’s all right by us, was ’cause we prepared for them, but with some folks they was rough somethin’ terr’ble.

They taken off their hosses and corn.

CATO CARTER, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

De firs’ thing dat I ’member hearin’ ’bout de war was one day when Marse George come in de house

an’ tell Miss Emmaline dat dey’s gwine have a bloody war. He say he feared all de slaves ’ud be took away.

She say if dat was true she feel lak jumpin’ in de well. I hate to hear her say dat, but from dat minute I started

prayin’ for freedom. All de res’ o’ de women done de same.

De war started pretty soon after dat an’ all de men folks went off an’ lef’ de plantation for de women an’

de Niggers to run. Us seen de sojers pass by mos’ ever’day. Once de Yankees come an’ stole a lot o’de horses

an’ somp’in t’eat. Dey even took de trunk full o’ ’Federate money dat was hid in de swamp. How dey foun’ dat

us never knowed. . . .

When de war was over, my brother Frank slipped in de house where I was still a-stayin’. He tol’ me us was

free an’ for me to come out wid de res’. ’Fore sundown dere warnt one Nigger lef’ on de place. I hear tell later

dat Mistis an’ de gals had to git out an’ work in de fiel’s to he’p gather in de crop.

DORA FRANKS, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Mississippi, ca. 1937

Us heard talk ’bout de war, but us didn’t pay no ’tention. Us never dreamed dat freedom would ever

come. . . .

Yas’m, Massa Garlic had two boys in de war. When dey went off de Massa and missus cried, but it made

us glad to see dem cry. Dey made us cry so much.

DELIA GARLIC, enslaved in Virginia, interviewed in Alabama, ca. 1937

3

When Gen’ral Sherman come ’cross de Savannah River in South Carolina, some of he sojers come

right ’cross us plantation. All de neighbors have brung dey cotton and stack it in de thicket on de

Lipscomb place. Sherman men find it and sot it on fire. Dat cotton stack was big as a little courthouse

and it took two months’ burnin’.

My old massa run off and stay in de woods a whole week when Sherman men come through. He didn’t

need to worry, ’cause us took care of everythin’. Dey a funny song us make up ’bout his runnin’ off in de

woods. I know it was make up, ’cause my uncle have a hand in it. It went like dis:

“ White folks, have you seed old massa Up de road, with he mustache on?

He pick up he hat and he leave real sudden And I ’lieve he’s up and gone.

(Chorus)

“ Old Massa run away

And us darkies stay at home.

It mus’ be now dat Kingdom’s comin’ And de year of Jubilee.

“ He look up de river and he seed dat smoke Where de Lincoln gunboats lay.

He big ’nuff and he old ’nuff and he orter [ought to] know better, But he gone and run away.

“ Now dat overseer want to give trouble And trot us ’round a spell,

But we lock him up in de smokehouse cellar, With de key done throwed in de well.”

Right after dat I start to be boy what run mail from camp to camp for de sojers. One time I capture by a

bunch of deserters what was hidin’ in de woods ’long Pacolet River. Dey didn’t hurt me, though, but dey mos’

scare me to death. Dey parolees and turn me loose.

All four my young massas go to war, all but Elias. He too old. Smith, he kilt at Manassas Junction

[Virginia]. Nathan, he git he finger shot at de first round at Fort Sumter. But when Billy was wounded at

Howard Gap in North Carolina and dey brung him home with he jaw split open, I so mad I could have kilt all

de Yankees. I say I be happy iffen I could kill me jes’ one Yankee. I hated dem ’cause dey hurt my white

people. Bill was disfigure when he jaw split and he teeth all shine through he cheek.

After war was over, old massa call us up and told us we free but he ‘vise not leave de place till de crop was

through. Us all stay. Den us select us homes and move to it. Us folks move to Sam Littlejohn’s, north of

Thicketty Creek, where us stay two year.

LORENZA EZELL, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

If de slaves could get as near as East St. Louis and Ohio without getting caught, dey would join de

Yankees and help fight for freedom. But the Rebs wouldn’t think of giving slaves any guns, as mean as

they had been to us.

Dey knew too well, we would shoot dem first thing.

LOUIS THOMAS, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Missouri, ca. 1937

Do you want to hear how I runned away and jined the Yankees? You know Abraham Lincoln ’claired

freedom in ’63, first day of January. In October ’63, I runned away and went to Pine Bluff

[Arkansas] to get to the Yankees. . . The young boy what cut the whips ⎯ he named Jerry ⎯ he come along
wif me, and we wade the stream for long piece. Then we hide in dark woods. It was cold, frosty weather. Two

days and two nights we traveled. That boy, he so cold and hongry he want to fall out by the way, but I drug

him on.

When we gets to the Yankee camp all our troubles was over. We gets all the contraband [food taken by

Union troops] we could eat. Was they more runaways there? Oh, Lordy, yessum. Hundreds, I reckon. Yes-

sum, the Yankees feeds all them refugees on contra-band.

4

They made me a driver of a team in the quarter-master’s department. I was always keerful to do

everything they telled me. They telled me I was free when I gets to the Yankee camp, but I couldn’t go outside

much. Yessum, iffen you could get to the Yankees’ camp you was free right now.

BOSTON BLACKWELL, enslaved in Georgia and Arkansas, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

I went to Virginia with Dr. H. E. Bissell in the Army; he was a surgeon. A camp of negroes went

ahead to prepare the roads; pioneers, they called them. I remember Capt. Colcock (he mentioned several other

officers), Honey Hill ⎯ terrible fighting ⎯ fight and fight! had to “platoon” it. I was behind the fighting with
Dr. Bissell. I held arms and legs while he cut them off, til after a while I didn’t mind it. Hard times came to the

Army; only corn to eat.

AMOS GADSDEN, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

I’s born in 1850 in Vicksburg and belonged to Missy Martha Gibbs. Her place was on Warner Bayou

and the old battlefield was right there in her field. . . .

Dr. Gibbs was a powerful man in Vicksburg. He was the ’casion of them Yanks takin’ ’vantage of

Vicksburg like they done. ’Fore the war he’d say to missy, “Darling, you ought not whip them poor, black

folks so hard. They is gwine be free like us some day.” Missy say, “Shut up. Sometimes I ’lieve you is a

Yankee, anyway.”

Some folks say Dr. Gibbs was workin’ for the North all the time ’fore the war, and when he doctored for

them durin’ the war, they say they knowed it. . . .

I seed the Yankee gunboats when they come to Vicksburg. All us niggers went down to the river to see

’em. They told us to git plumb away, ’cause they didn’t know which way they was gwine to shoot. Gen. Grant

come to Vicksburg and he blowed a horn and them cannons began to shoot and jus’ kept shootin’. When the

Yankees came to Vicksburg, a big, red flag was flyin’ over the town. Five or six hours after them cannons

started shootin’ they pulled it down and histed a big, white one. We saw it from the [slave] quarters.
LITT YOUNG, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Texas, 1937

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 [1914-1918] 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 luggerin 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 [military dining hall or tent]. 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 [Missouri] 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

5

cruel suffering.

MARTIN JACKSON, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, 1937

I was a grown-up man wid a wife an’ two chillun when de War broke out. You see, I stayed wid de

folks ’til ’long come de Yanks.

Dey took me off an’ put me in de War. Firs’, dey shipped me on a gunboat an’, nex’, dey made me

he’p dig a canal at Vicksburg. I was on de gunboat when it shelled de town. It was turrible, seein’ folks a-tryin’

to blow each other up. Whilst us was bull-doggin’ Vicksburg in front, a Yankee army slipped in behin’ de

Rebels an’ penned ’em up. I fit [fought] at Fort Pillow an’ Harrisburg an’ Pleasant Hill an’ ’fore I was ha’f

through wid it I was in Ba’timore an’ Virginny.

I was on han’ when Gen’l Lee handed his sword to Gen’l Grant. You see, miss, dey had him all hemmed in

an’ he jus’ natchelly had to give up. I seen him stick his sword up in de groun’.

Law! It sho’ was terrible times. Dese old eyes o’ mine seen more people crippled an’ dead. I’se even seen

’em saw off legs wid hacksaws. I tell you it ain’t right, Miss, what I seen. It ain’t right atall.

JAMES LUCAS, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Mississippi, ca. 1937

I was born in slavery [in 1850] and I enlisted in the Union Army, January 1, 1864, at Oberlin, Ohio,

and according to the National Tribune, I was one of the youngest soldiers in the ranks.

I was present at the battle of Petersburg, Virginia, July 30, 1864; one of the disasters to the Northern forces

of the war, and present on June 15, 1864, at the initiatory battle of Deep Bottom, and also at Cold Harbor.

I was in the Ninth Army Corps, under Burnside, and was transferred around, in front of Richmond,

Virginia.

General Butler went down to Fort Fisher [North Carolina] and failed, which was the last open port of the

Confederacy. Another expedition was organized and General Terry given command. We embarked on the

night of December 31, 1864; landed the morning of January 13, 1865, on the peninsula. On the night of

January 15, 1854, we captured Fort Fisher.

We had a terrible, terrible time landing! There was an awful storm! I was told to jump overboard, and oh

my! I swallowed a good deal of the Atlantic. . . .

I want to tell you of one of the tragic things that happened during the war, and I was there and saw it.

It was at the Southside railroad, at Petersburg, on September 27, 1864.1 I was put on picket duty. The “Rebs”

had built a fire and the wind was driving it toward us. They began to holler and cheer, very happy over the fact.

All at once we could hear someone coming toward us. The pickets opened fire on what they thought were

“Rebs,” and found out to their distress that it was a bunch of recruits from our own lines. Many were killed. . . .

If I could choose my weapons for the next war, I would choose doughnuts, to be thrown at each other

across the Atlantic.

SIM YOUNGER, enslaved in Missouri, interviewed in Missouri, 1937

I remember the Yankees. I will remember seein’ them till I die. I will never forgit it. I thought it was

the last of me. The white folks had told me the Yahkees would kill me or carry me off, so I thought

when I saw them coming it was the last of me. I hid in the woods while they were there. They tore up

some things but they did not do much damage.

ELIAS THOMAS, enslaved in North Carolina, interviewed in North Carolina, ca. 1937

1
The WPA Interviewer typed 1865 in error. The Richmond-Petersburg campaign occurred from June 1864 to March 1865; the war ended in April 1865. (The
two ellipses in this excerpt represent deleted transitional comments by the interviewer.]

6

I ’member well when the war was on. I used to turn the corn sheller and sack the shelled corn for

the Confederate soldiers. They used to sell some of the corn, and I guess they gave some of it to the

soldiers. Anyway the Yankees got some that they didn’t intend them to get.

It was this way:

The Wheeler Boys were Confederates, They came down the road as happy as could be, a-singin’:

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Hurrah for the Broke Brook boys. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Hurrah for the Broke Brook boys of South Car-o-li-ne-ah!”

So of course we thought they were our soldiers singin’ our songs, Well, they come and tol’ our

boss that the Yankees were coming and we had better hide our food and valuable things for they’d take

everything they wanted.

So they helped our Massy hide the things. They dug holes and buried the potatoes and covered

them over with cotton seed. Then our Massy gave them food for their kindness and set out with two of the

girls to take them to a place of safety, and before he could come back for the Missus THE YANKEES

WERE UPON US!

But before they got there, our Missus had called us together and told us what to say.

Now you beg for us! You can save our lives. If they ask you if we are good to you, you tell them

“YES”!

If they ask you if we give you meat, you tell them “YES”!

Now the rest didn’t get any meat, but I did ’cause I worked in the house, so I didn’t tell a lie, for I

did get meat, but the rest didn’t get it.

We saw the Yankees coming. They never stopped for nothing. Their horses would jump the worm

rail fences and they’d come right across the fiel’s an’ everything.

They came to the house first and bound our Missus up stairs so she couldn’t get away, they they

came out to the sheds and asked us all kind of questions.

We begged for our Missus and we say:

“Our Missus is good. Don’t kill her!” “Don’t take our meat away from us! “Don’t hurt our

Missus!”

“Don’t burn the house down!”

We begged so hard that they unloosened her, but they took some of the others for refugees and

some of the slaves volunteered and went off with them.

They took potatoes and all the hams they wanted, but they left our Missus ’cause we save her life.

RIVANA BOYNTON, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in Florida, 1936

The Yankees burnt Boss Henry’s father’s fine house, his [cotton] gin, his grist mill, and fifty or

sixty bales of cotton and took several fine horses. They took him out in his shirt tail and beat him, and

whooped his wife, trying to make them tell where the money was. He told her to tell. He had it buried in a

pot in the garden. They went and dug it up. Forty thousand dollars in gold and silver. Out they lit then. I

seen that. . . . Every colored person on the place knowed where the pot was buried. Some of them planted

it. They wouldn’t tell.

MACK BRANTLEY, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

I ’members lak yesterday, de Yankees comin’ ’long. Marster tried to hide the best stuff on de

plantation but some of de slaves dat helped him hide it, showed de Yankee soldiers just where it was, when

they come dere. They say: “Here is de stuff, hid here, ’cause us put it dere.” Then de soldiers went straight

to de place where de valuables was hid and dug them out and took them, it sho’ set old marster down. Us

7

slaves was sorry dat day for marster and mistress. They was gittin’ old, and now they had lost all they had,

and more than dat, they knowed their slaves was set free. De soldiers took all de good hosses, fat cattle,

chickens, de meat in de smoke house, and then burnt all empty houses. They left de ones dat folks lived in.

De Yankees ’pear to me, to be lookin’ for things to eat, more than anything else.
SAMUEL BOULWARE, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

When I used to hear de older niggers talking ’bout de Yankees coming, I was scared, ’cause I

thought it was some kind of animal they was talking ’bout. My old aunty was glad to hear ’bout de Yankees

coming. She just set and talk ’bout what a good time we was going to have after de Yankees come. She’d

say: “Child we going to have such a good time a-settin’ at de white folks table, a-eating off de white folks

table, and a-rocking in de big rocking chair.”

Something awful happen to one of de slaves though, when de Yankees did come. One of de young

gals tell de Yankees where de missus had her silver, money and jewelry hid, and they got it all. What you

think happen to de poor gal? She’d done wrong I know, but I hated to see her suffer so awful for it. After de

Yankees had gone, de missus and massa had de poor gal hung ’til she die. It was something awful to see.

De Yankees took everything we had ’cept a little food, hardly ’nough to keep us alive.

MARGARET HUGHES, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

After dat the Yankees come a swoopin’ down on us. My own pappy took off wid ’em. He j’ined a

comp’ny what ’fit [fought] at Vicksburg. I was plenty big ’nough to fight, but I didn’ hanker to tote no gun.

I stayed on de plantation an put in a crop.

It was pow’ful oneasy times after dat. But what I care ’bout freedom? Folks what was free was in

misery firs’ one way an’ den de

other.

I was on de plantation closer to town, den. It was called “Fish Pond Plantation.” De white folks

come an’ tol’ us we mus’ burn all de cotton so de enemy couldn’ git it. Us piled it high in de fiel’s lak great

mountains. It made my innards hurt to see fire ’tached to somethin’ dat had cost us Niggers so much labor

an’ hones’ sweat.
CHARLIE DAVENPORT, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Mississippi, ca. 1937

I never done anything fer myself in all my life. I always wurked fer de Rebels. I stuck right to ’em.

Didn’t have no sense fer doin’ dat I guess. . . .

I was a great big boy [about 18] when de Yankees come through. . . De Yankees took jes’ what dey

wanted an’ nothin’ stopped ’em, cause de surrender had come. Before de surrender de slave owners begun

to scatter de slaves ’bout from place to place to keep de Yankees from gittin’ ’em. If de Yankees took a

place de slaves nearby wus moved to a place further off.

All I done wus fer de Rebels. I wus wid ’em an’ I jes’ done what I wus tole. I wus afraid of de

Yankees ’cause de Rebels had told us dat de Yankees would kill us. Dey tole us dat de Yankees would bore

holes in our shoulders an’ wurk us to carts. Dey tole us we would be treated a lot worser den dey wus

treating us. Well, de Yankees got here but they treated us fine.

ANDREW BOONE, enslaved in North Carolina, interviewed in North Carolina, ca. 1937

When de Yankees come, what they do? They did them things they ought not to have done and they

left undone de things they ought to have done. Yes, dat just ’bout tells it. One thing you might like to hear.

Mistress got all de money, de silver, de gold and de jewels, and got de well digger to hide them in

de bottom of de well. Them Yankees smart. When they got dere, they asked for de ve’y things at de bottom

of de well. Mistress wouldn’t tell. They held a court of ’quiry in de yard; called slaves up, one by one, good

many.

8

Must have been a Judas ’mongst us. Soon a Yankee was let down in de well, and all dat money,

silver, gold, jewelry, watches, rings, brooches, knives and forks, butter-dishes, waters, goblets, and cups

was took and carried ’way by a army dat seemed more concerned ’bout stealin’, than they was ’bout de

Holy War for de liberation of de poor African slave people. They took off all de hosses, sheeps, cows,

chickens, and geese, took de seine [net] and de fishes they caught, corn in crib, meat in smoke-house and

everything. Marse General Sherman said war was hell. It sho’ was. Mebbe it was hell for some of them

Yankees when they come to die and give account of de deed they done in Sumter and Richland Counties.

HENRY JENKINS, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

The Master went to the War and stayed ’til it was most over. He was a mighty sick man when he

come back to the old place, but I was there waiting for him just like always. All the time he was away

I take care around the house. That’s what he say for me to do when he rides away to fight the

Yankees. Lots of talk about the War but the slaves goes right on working just the same, raising cotton and

tobacco.

The slaves talk a heap about Lincoln and some trys to run away to the North. Don’t hear much

about Jeff Davis, mostly Lincoln. He give us slaves the freedom but we was better off as we was.

The day of freedom come around just like any other day, except the Master say for me to bring up

the horses, we is going to town. That’s when he hears about the slaves being free. We gets to the town and

the Master goes into the store. It’s pretty early but the streets was filled with folks talking and I wonder

what makes the Master in such a hurry when he comes out of the store.

He gets on his horse and tells me to follow fast. When we gets back to the plantation he sounds the

horn calling the slaves. They come in from the fields and meet ’round back of the kitchen building that

stood separate from the Master’s house. They all keeps quiet while the Master talks! “You-all is free now,

and all the rest of the slaves is free too. Nobody owns you now and nobody going to own you anymore!”

That was good news, I reckon, but nobody know what to do about it.

WILLIAM HUTSON, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Oklahoma, 1937

De massa had three boys to go to war, but dere wuzn’t one to come home. All the chillun he had

wuz killed. Massa, he los’ all his money and de house soon begin droppin’ away to nothin’. Us niggers one

by one lef’ de ole place and de las’ time I seed de home plantation I wuz standin’ on a hill. I looked back on

it for de las’ time through a patch of scrub pines and it look’ so lonely. Dere warn’t but one person in sight,

de massa. He was a-settin’ in a wicker chair in de yard lookin’ ober a small field of cotton and cawn. Dere

wuz fo’ crosses in de graveyard in de side lawn where he wuz a-settin’. De fo’th one wuz his wife. I lost

my ole woman too 37 years ago, and all dis time, I’s been a carrin’ on like de massa ⎯ all alone.

WILLIAM COLBERT, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Alabama, 1937

I was in the field when I first heard of the Civil War. The woman who looked after Henry Hall and

myself (both slaves) told me she heard marster say old Abraham Lincoln was trying to free the niggers.

Marster finally pulled me up and went and joined the Confederate Army. Kentucky split off and part joined

the North and part the South. The war news kept slipping through of success for first one side then the

other.

Sometimes marster would come home, spend a few days and then go again to the war. . . .

. . . A big army of Yankees came through a few months later and soon we heard of the surrender. A

few days after this marster told me to catch two horses that we had to go to Dickenson which was the

County seat of Webster County [Kentucky]. On the way to Dickenson he said to me “Bob, did you know

you are free and Lincoln has freed you? You are as free as I am.” We went to the Freedmen’s Bureau and

went into the office. A Yankee officer looked me over and asked marster my name, and informed me I was

9

free, and asked me whether or not I wanted to keep living with Moore. I did not know what to do, so I told

him yes. A fixed price of seventy-five dollars and board was then set as the salary I should receive per year

for my work. The Yankee told me to let him know if I was not paid as agreed.

I went back home and stayed a year. During the year I hunted at lot at night and thoroughly

enjoyed being free. I took my freedom by degrees and remained obedient and respectful, but still

wondering and thinking what the future held for me. After I retired at night I made plan after plan and built

aircastles as to what I would do. At this time I formed a great attachment for the white man, Mr. Atlas

Chandler, with whom I hunted. He bought my part of the game we caught and favored me in other ways.

Mr Chandler had a friend Mr. Dewitt Yarborough, who was an adventurer, and trader, and half brother to

my ex-marster, Mr. Moore, with whom I was then staying. He is responsible for me taking myself into my

own hands and getting out of feeling I was still under obliga- tions to ask my marster or missus when I

desired to leave the premises.

ROBERT GLENN, enslaved in North Carolina and Kentucky, interviewed in North Carolina, ca. 1937
(26)

10

Attributions

(26)

Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Slavery

from the
Works Progress Administration is in the Public Domain.

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/emancipation/text5/warslaveswpa

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_domain

Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Slavery
Attributions
• (26) Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Slavery from the Works Progress Administration is in the Public Domain.

4

Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on

Being a Civil War Soldier

Over 2300 former slaves were interviewed during the Great Depression of the 1930s by members of the Federal Writers’ Project,

a New

Deal agency in the Works Progress Administration (WPA).

Note: Selections from the narratives are presented as transcribed. Black interviewees often referred to themselves with terms that in some uses are considered

offensive. In the WPA narratives, some white interviewers, despite project guidelines, used stereotypical patterns of representing black speech.

I was born in slavery [in 1850] and I enlisted in the Union Army, January 1, 1864, at Oberlin,

Ohio, and according to the National Tribune, I was one of the youngest soldiers in the ranks.

I was present at the battle of Petersburg, Virginia, July 30, 1864; one of the disasters to the

Northern forces of the war, and present on June 15, 1864, at the initiatory battle of Deep Bottom, and also

at Cold Harbor.

I was in the Ninth Army Corps, under Burnside, and was transferred around, in front of Richmond,

Virginia.

General Butler went down to Fort Fisher [North Carolina] and failed, which was the last open port

of the Confederacy. Another expedition was organized and General Terry given command. We embarked

on the night of December 31, 1864; landed the morning of January 13, 1865, on the peninsula. On the night

of January 15, 1854, we captured Fort Fisher.

We had a terrible, terrible time landing! There was an awful storm! I was told to jump overboard,

and oh my! I swallowed a good deal of the Atlantic. . . .

I want to tell you of one of the tragic things that happened during the war, and I was there and saw

it.

It was at the Southside railroad, at Petersburg, on September 27, 1864.1 I was put on picket duty.

The “Rebs” had built a fire and the wind was driving it toward us. They began to holler and cheer, very

happy over the fact.

All at once we could hear someone coming toward us. The pickets opened fire on what they

thought were “Rebs,” and found out to their distress that it was a bunch of recruits from our own lines.

Many were killed. . . .

If I could choose my weapons for the next war, I would choose doughnuts, to be thrown at each

other across the Atlantic.

SIM YOUNGER, Union army: Ninth Army Corps; enslaved in Missouri, interviewed in Missouri, 1937

Do you want to hear how I runned away and jined the Yankees? You know Abraham Lincoln

’claired freedom in ’63, first day of

January. In October ’63, I runned away and went to Pine Bluff [Arkansas] to get to the Yankees. . .

The young boy what cut the whips

he named Jerry he come along wif me, and we wade the stream for long piece. Then we hide in

dark woods. It was cold, frosty weather. Two days and two nights we traveled. That boy, he so cold and

hongry he want to fall out by the way, but I drug him on.

When we gets to the Yankee camp all our troubles was over. We gets all the contraband [food

taken by the troops] we could eat. Was they more runaways there? Oh, Lordy, yessum. Hundreds, I reckon.

Yessum, the Yankees feeds all them refugees on contraband. They made me a driver of a team in the

1
The WPA Interviewer typed 1865 in error. The Richmond-Petersburg campaign occurred from June 1864 to March 1865; the war ended in April 1865. (The
two ellipses in this excerpt represent deleted transitional comments by the interviewer.)

5

quarter-master’s department. I was always keerful to do everything they telled me. They telled me I was

free when I gets to the Yankee camp, but I couldn’t go outside much. Yessum, iffen you could get to the

Yankees’ camp you was free right now.

BOSTON BLACKWELL, Union army; enslaved in Georgia & Arkansas, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 193

7

When I wuz twenty one, me and one of my brothers run away to fight wif the Yankees. Us left

Souf Hampton county and went to Petersburg. Dere we got some food. Den us went to Fort Hatton where

we met some more slaves who had done run away. When we got in Fort Hatton, us had to cross a bridge to

git to de Yankees. Dey give us food and clothes. . . .

Yer know, I was one of de first colored cavalry soljers, and I fought in Company “K.” I fought for

three years and a half. Sometimes I slept out doors, and sometimes I slept in a tent. De Yankees always

give us plenty of blankets.

During the war some un us had to always stay up nights and watch fer de rebels. Plenty of nights I

has watched, but de rebels never ’tacked us when I was on.

Not only wuz dere men slaves dat run to de Yankees, but some un de women slaves followed dere

husbands. Dey use to help by washing and cooking.

One day when I was fighting, de rebels shot at me, and dey sent a bullet through my head. I wuz

lucky not to be kilt. Look. See how my hand is? . . But dat didn’t stop me, I had it bandaged and kept on

fighting.

The uniform dat I wore wuz blue wif brass buttons; a blue cape, lined wif red flannel, black leather

boots and a blue cap. I rode on a bay color horse. In fact every body in Company “K” had bay color horses.

I tooked my knap-sack and blankets on de horse back. In my knap-sack I had water, hard tacks and other

food.

When de war ended, I goes back to my mastah and he treated me like his brother. Guess he wuz

scared of me ’cause I had so much ammunition on me. My brother, who went wif me to de Yankees,

caught rheumatism doing de war. He died after de war ended.

ALBERT JONES, Union army: Ninth Cavalry, Company K; enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Virginia, ca. 1937

Thomas Cole escaped from his Alabama slaveholder and served with the Union army in the Battle of Chickamauga.2

I helps sot dem cannons on dis Chickamauga Mountain, in hidin’ places. I has to go with a man

and wait on him and dat cannon. First thing I knows, bang, bang, boom, things has started, and guns am

shootin’ faster dan you can think . . .

White folks, dere was men layin’ and wantin’ help, wantin’ water, with blood runnin’ out dem and

de top or side dere heads gone, great big holes in dem. I jes’ promises de good

Lawd if he jes’ let me git out dat mess, I wouldn’t run off no more, but I didn’t know den he wasn’t

gwine let me out with jes’ dat battle. He gwine give me plenty more, but dat battle ain’t over yet, for nex’

mornin’ de Rebels ’gins shootin’ and killin’ lots of our men, and Gen. Woods ain’t come, so Gen.
Rosecrans3 orders us to ’treat, and didn’t have to tell me what he said, neither. De Rebels come after us,

shootin’, and we runs off and leaves dat cannon what I was with settin’ on de hill, and I didn’t want dat

thing nohow.

We kep’ hotfootin’ till we gits to Chattanooga and dere is where we stops. Here comes one dem

Rebel generals with de big bunch of men and gits right on top of Look Out Mountain, right clost to

Chattanooga, and wouldn’t let us out. I don’t know jes’ how long, but a long time. Lots our hosses and

mules starves to death and we eats some de hosses. We all like to starve to death ourselves. Chattanooga is

in de bend de Tennessee River and on Look Out Mountain, on de east, am dem Rebels could keep up with

everything we done. After a long time Gen. Thomas4 gits in some way. He finds de rough trail or wagon

road round de mountain ’long de river and supplies and men come by boat up de river to dis place and

2
Battle of Chickamauga {south central Tennessee and northwestern Georgia),18-20 September 1863; Confederate victory.

3
Brigadier General Thomas Wood; General William Rosecrans.

6

4
General George Thomas.

comes on into Chattanooga. More Union men kep’ comin’ and I guess maybe six or eight generals and dey

gits ready to fight. It am long late in Fall or early winter.

Dey starts climbin’ dis steep mountain and when us gits three-fourths de way up it am foggy and

you couldn’t see no place. Everything wet and de rocks am slick and dey ’gins fightin’. I ’spect some

shoots dere own men, ’cause you couldn’t see nothin’, jes’ men runnin’ and de guns roarin’. Fin’ly dem

Rebels fled and we gits on Look Out Mountain and takes it. . . .

I never did git to where I wasn’t scart when we goes into de battle. Dis de last one I’s in and I’s

sho’ glad, for I never seed de like of dead and wounded men. We picks dem up, de Rebels like de Unions,

and doctors dem de bes’ we could. When I seed all dat sufferin, I hopes I never lives to see ’nother war.

Dey say de World War am worse but I’s too old to go.

THOMAS COLE, Union army; enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Texas, 1937

When the war started, my master sent me to work for the Confederate army. I worked most of the

time for three years off and on, hauling cannons, driving mules, hauling ammunition and provisions. The

Union army pressed in on us and the Rebel army moved back. I was sent home. When the Union army

came close enough I ran away and joined the Union army. There I drove six-mule team and worked at

wagon work, driving ammunition and all kinds of provisions until the war ended. Then I returned home to

my old master, who had stayed there with my mother. My master owned about four hundred acres of good

land, and had had ten slaves, Most of the slaves stayed at home. My master hired me to work for him.

BILL SIMMS, Confederate & Union armies; enslaved in Missouri, interviewed in Kansas, ca. 1937

One day Marster Bob comes to me and says, “Jim, how you like to jine de army?” You see, de war

had started. I says to him “What does I have to do?” And he says, “Tend hosses and ride ’em.” I was young

den and thought it would be lots of fun, so I says I’d go. So de first thing I knows, I’s in de army away off

east from here, somewhar dis side of St. Louis and in Tennessee and Arkansas and other places. I goes in

de army ’stead of Dr. Carroll.5

After I gits in de army, it wasn’t so much fun, ’cause tendin’ hosses and ridin’ wasn’t all I done.

No, sar, I has to do shootin’ and git shooted at! One time we stops de train, takes Yankee money and lots of

other things off dat train. Dat was way up de other side of Tennessee.

You’s heard of de battle of Independence?6 Dat’s whar we fights for three days and nights. I’s not

tendin’ hosses dat time. Dey gives me a rifle and sends me up front fightin’, when we wasn’ runnin’. We

does a heap of runnin’ and dat suits dis nigger. I could do dat better’n advance. When de order comes to

’treat, I’s all ready.

I gits shot in de shoulder in dat fight and lots of our soldiers gits killed and we loses our supply.

JAMES CAPE, Confederate army; enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

Then de war came and we all went to fight the Yankees. I was a body servant to the master, and

once a bullet took off his hat. We all thought he was shot but he wasn’t, and I was standin’ by his side all

the time.

I remember Stonewall Jackson. He was a big man with long whiskers, and very brave. We all

fought wid him until his death.

We wan’t beaten. We wuz starved out! Sometimes we had parched corn to eat and sometimes we

didn’t have a bite o’ nothin’, because the Union mens come and tuck all the food for their selves. I can still

remember part of my ninety years. I remembers we fought all de way from Virginia and winded up in
Manassah’s Gap.

5
Dr. Carroll was not Cape’s slaveholder; he is unidentified in the narrative. Many enslaved men were sent to the Confederate army in the place of white

men. The WPA interviewer writes in the introductory note that Cape “was wounded and has an ugly shoulder scar.”
6
Probably the Second Battle of Independence (Missouri), 21-22 October 1864; Confederate victory.

7

When time came for freedom most of us wuz glad. We liked the Yankees. They was good to us. “You is

all now free.” “You can stay on the plantation or you can go.” We all stayed there until old massa died. Den I

worked on de Seaboard Airline [Railroad] when it come to Birmingham. I have been here ever since.

In all de years since de war I cannot forget old massa. He was good and kind. He never believed in

slavery but his money was tied up in slaves and he didn’t want to lose all he had.

I knows I will see him in heaven and even though I have to walk ten miles for a bite of bread I can still

be happy to think about the good times we had then. I am a Confederate veteran but my house burned up wid

de medals and I don’t get a pension.

GUS BROWN, Confederate army; enslaved in Virginia, interviewed in Alabama, 1937

It was this way, Boss, how come me to be in de War. You see, they ’quired all of de slaveowners to

send so many niggers to de army to work diggin’ de trenches an’ throwin’ up de breastworks an’ repairin’

de railroads what de Yankees done ’stroyed. Every mars [master] was ’quired to send one nigger for every

ten dat he had.

Iffen you had er hundred niggers, you had to send ten of dem to de army. I was one of dem dat my

mars ’quired to send. Dat was de worst times dat dis here nigger ever seen an’ de way dem white men drive

us niggers, it was something awful. De strap, it was goin’ from ’fore day till ’way after night. De niggers,

heaps of ’em just fall in dey tracks give out an’ them white men layin’ de strap on dey backs without

ceastin’. Dat was zackly way it was wid dem niggers like me what was in de army work. I had to stand it,

Boss, till de War was over.

TINES KENDRICKS, Confederate army; enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

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 [Confederate State of America]. I was here

during reconstruction, after the War. I was here during the European World War [1914-1918] 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 [military dining hall or tent]. 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. Buchel was our commander. He was a full-blooded German

and as fine a man and a soldier as you ever saw. . . .

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 uncompliment-

ary 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. . . .

It was in the Battle of Marshall, in Louisiana, that Col. Buchel got shot.7 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

7
Colonel Augustus Carl Buchel died in April 1864 after being mortally wounded in the Battle of Mansfield/Pleasant Hill in Louisiana (Confederate victory).
Perhaps Jackson incorrectly recalled the battle name after seven decades, or the interviewer typed Marshall for Mansfield. (The First Texas Cavalry [CSA]
did not fight in the 1863 Battle of Marshall in Missouri.)

8

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.

Buchel 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.

MARTIN JACKSON, Confederate army: First Texas Cavalry; enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, 1937
(28)

9

Attributions

(28) Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Being a Civil

War Soldier from the Works Progress Administration is in the Public Domain.

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/emancipation/text6/warsoldierswpa

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/emancipation/text6/warsoldierswpa

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_domain

• Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Being a Civil War Soldier

Attributions

• (28) Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Being a Civil War Soldier from the Works Progress Administration is in the Public Domain.

1

Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on
Emancipation

Over 2300 former slaves were interviewed during the Great Depression of the 1930s by members of the Federal Writers’ Project, a

New Deal agency in the Works Progress Administration (WPA).

Note: Selections from the narratives are presented as transcribed. Black interviewees often referred to themselves with terms that in some uses are

considered offensive. In the WPA narratives, some white interviewers, despite project guidelines, used stereotypical patterns of representing black

speech.

The end of the war, it come jus’ like that ⎯ like you snap your fingers. “How did you know
the end of the war had come?” asked the interviewer. How did we know it? Hallelujah broke out ⎯

“Abe Lincoln freed the nigger With the gun and the trigger;

And I ain’t goin’ to get whipped any more.

I got my ticket, Leavin’ the thicket,

And I’m a-headin’ for the Golden Shore!”

Soldiers, all of a sudden, was everywhere ⎯ comin’ in bunches, crossin’ and walkin’
and ridin’.

Everyone was a-singin. We was all walkin’ on golden clouds. Hallejujah!

“Union forever, Hurrah, boys, hurrah

Although I may be poor,

I’ll never be a slave ⎯
Shoutin’ the battle cry of freedom!”

Everybody went wild. We all felt like heroes and nobody had made us that way but ourselves. We

was free. Just like that, we was free. It didn’t seem to make the whites mad, either. They went right on

giving us food just the same. Nobody took our homes away, but right off colored folks started on the

move. They seemed to want to get closer to freedom, as they’d know what it was ⎯ like it was a place
or a city. . . .

We knowed freedom was on us, but we didn’t know what was to come with it. We thought we

was goin’ to git rich like the white folks. We thought we was goin’ to be richer than the white folks,

’cause we was stronger and knowed how to work, and the whites didn’t and they didn’t have us to

work for them anymore. But it didn’t turn out that way. We soon found out that freedom could make

folks proud but it didn’t make them rich.

FELIX HAYWOOD, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, ca. 193

7

I think ⎯ now I don’t know, but I think I was bout six or seven when they surrendered. . . . When
we went down to the gate to see the soldiers, I heard Miss Judy say (she was old mistress’ sister), I

heard her say, “Well, you let ’em beat you” and started cryin’. I cried too and ma ma said, “What you

cryin’ for?” I said, “Miss Judy’s cryin’.” Mama said, “You fool, you is free!” I didn’t know what

freedom was, but I know the soldiers did a lot of devil-ment. Had guards but they just run over them

guards.

I think Abraham Lincoln wanted to give the people some land after they was free, but they didn’t

give ’em nothin’ ⎯ just turned em loose.

Course we ought to be free ⎯ you know privilege is worth everything.

SUSA LAGRONE, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

2

I was living in Bartow County in north Georgia when freedom came, I don’t remember how the

slaves found it out. I remember them saying, “Well, they’s all free.” And that is all I remember. And I

remember some one saying — asking a question, “You got to say master?” And somebody answered

and said, “Naw.” But they said it all the same. They said it for a long time. But they learned better

though.

SARAH JANE PATTERSON, enslaved in Georgia,
interviewed in Arkansas, ca. 1937

When the war ended mother went to old marster and told him she was goin’ to leave. He told her

she could not feed all her children, pay house rent, and buy wood, to stay on with him. Marster told

father and mother they could have the house free and wood free, an’ he would help them feed the

children, but mother said, “No, I am goin’ to leave. I have never been free and I am goin’ to try it. I

am goin’ away and by my work and the help of the Lord I will live somehow.” Marster then said,

“Well stay as long as you wish, and leave when you get ready, but wait until you find a place to go,

and leave like folks.” Marster allowed her to take all her things with her when she left. The white

folks told her goodbye.

HANNAH PLUMMER, enslaved in North Carolina, interviewed in North Carolina, ca. 1937

When President Lincoln issued his proclamation, freeing the negroes, I remember that my father

and most all of the other younger slave men left the farms t o join the Union army. We had hard times

then for awhile and had lots of work to do. I don’t remember just when I first regarded myself as

“free” as many of the negroes didn’t understand just what it was all about.

MARY CRANE, enslaved in Kentucky, interviewed in Indiana, ca. 1937

Yes sir, I was ’bout fourteen years old when President Lincoln set us all free in 1863. The war

was still goin’ on and I’m tellin’ you right when I say that my folks and friends round me did not

regardfreedom as a unmixed blessin’.

We didn’t know where to go or what to do, and so we stayed right where we was, and there

wasn’t much difference to our livin’, ’cause we had always had a plenty to eat and wear. I ’member

my ma mmy tellin’ me that food was gittin’ scarce, and any bla ck folks beginnin’ to scratch for

themselves would suffer, if they take their foot in their hand and ramble ’bout the land lak a wolf.

DANIEL WARING, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

You ain’t gwine [going] to believe dat de slaves on our plantation didn’t stop workin’ for old

marster, even when they was told dat they was free. Us didn’t want no more freedom than us was

gittin’ on our plantation already. Us knowed too well dat us was w ell took care of, wid a plenty of

vittles to eat and tight log and board houses to live in. De slaves, where I lived, knowed after de war

dat they had abundance of dat somethin’ called freedom, what they could not eat, wear, and sleep in.

Yes, sir, they soon found out dat freedom ain’t nothin’, ’less you is got somethin’ to live on and a

place to call home. Dis livin’ on liberty is lak young folks livin’ on love after they gits married. It just

don’t work. No, sir, it las’ so long and not a bit longer. Don’ t tell me! It sho’ don’t hold good when

you has to work, or when you gits hongry. You knows dat poor white folks and niggers has got to

work to live, regardless of liberty, love, and all them things.

3

EZRA ADAMS, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in South Carolina, ca. 1937

The Master he says we are all free, but it don’t mean we is white. And it don’t mean we is equal.

Just equal for to work and earn our own living and not depend on him for no more meats and clothes.

GEORGE KING, enslaved in South Carolina, interviewed in Oklahoma, ca. 1937

The day of freedom come around just [like] any other day, except the Master say for me to bring

up the horses, we is going to town. That’s when he hears about the slaves being free. We gets to the

town and the Master goes into the store. It’s pretty early but the streets was filled with folks talking

and I wonder what makes the Master in such a hurry when he comes out of the store.

He gets on his horse and tells me to follow fast. When we gets back to the plantation he sounds

the horn calling the slaves. They come in from the fields and meet ’round back of the kitchen building

that stood separate from the Master’s house. They all keeps quiet while the Master talks! “You -all is

free now, and all the rest of the slaves is free too. Nobody owns you now and nobo dy going to wup

you anymore!” That was good news, I reckon, but nobody know what to do about it.

The crops was mostly in and the Master wants the folks to stay ’til the crop is finished. They talk

about it the rest of that day. They wasn’t no celebration ’round the place, but they wasn’t no work

after the Master tells us we is free. Nobody leave the place though. Not ’til in the fall when the work

is through. Then some of us go into the town and gets work ’cause everybody knows the Allison

slaves was the right kind of folks to have around.

That was the first money I earn and then I have to learn how to spend it. That was the hardest part

’cause the prices was high and the wages was low.

WILLIAM HUTSON, enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Oklahoma, 1937

Marse Bob knowed me better’n most the slaves, ’cause I was round the house more. One day he

called all the slaves to the yard. He only had sixty-six then, ’cause he had [di]’vided with his son and

daughter when they married. He made a little speech. He sa id, “I’m going to a war, but I don’t think

I’ll be gone long, and I’m turnin’ the overseer off and leavin’ Andrew in charge of the place, and I

wants everything to go on, just like I was here. Now, you all mind what Andrew says, ’cause if you

don’t, I’ll make it rough on you when I come back home.” He was jokin’, though, ’cause he wouldn’t

have done nothing to them.

Then he said to me, “Andrew, you is old ’nough to be a man and look after things. Take care of

Missus and see that none the niggers wants [lacks for anything], and try to keep the place going.”

We didn’t know what the war was ’bout, but master was gone four years. When Old Missus heard

from him, she’d call all the slaves and tell us the news and read us his letters. Little parts of it she

wouldn’t read. We never heard of him gittin’ hurt none, but if he had, Old Missus wouldn’t tell us,

’cause the niggers used to cry and pray over him all the time. We never heard tell what the war was

’bout.

When Marse Bob come home, he sent for all the slaves. He was sittin’ in a yard chair, all tuckered

out, and shuck hands all round, and said he’s glad to see us. Then he said, “I got something to tell

you. You is jus’ as free as I is. You don’t ’long to nobody but you’selves. We went to the war and

fought, but the Yankees done whup us, and they say the niggers is free. You can go where you wants

to go, or you can stay here, jus’ as you likes.” He couldn’t help but cry.

4

The niggers cry and don’t know much what Marse Bob means. They is sorry ’bout the freedom,

’cause they don’t know where to go, and they’s allus ’pend [always depend] on Old Marse to look

after them. Three fa milies went to get farms for theyselves, but the rest just stay on for hands on the

old place.

The Federals has been comin’ by, even ’fore Old Marse come home. They all come by, carryin’

they little budgets [pouches], and if they was walkin’ they’d look in the stables for a horse or mule,

and they jus’ took what they wanted of corn or livestock. They done the same after Marse Bob come

home. He jus’ said, “Let them go they way, ’cause that’s what they’re going to do, anyway.” We was

scareder of them than we was of the debbil. But they spoke right kindly to us cullud folks. They said,

“If you got a good master and want to stay, well, you can do that, but now you can go where you want

to, ’cause ain’t nobody going to stop you.”

The niggers can’t hardly git used to the idea. When they wants to leave the place, they still go up

to the big house for a pass. They jus’ can’t understand ’bout the freedom. Ol d Marse or Missus say,

“You don’t need no pass. All you got to do is jus’ take you foot in you hand and go.”

ANDREW GOODMAN, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

Massa, he tell us when freedom come, and some of stays ’round awhile, ’caus e whar is we’uns

goin’?

We didn’ know what to do and we didn’ know how to keep ourselves, and what was we to do to

get food and a place to live? Dose was ha’d times, ’cause de country tore up and de business bad.

GEORGE SIMMONS, enslaved in Alabama and Texas, interviewed in Texas, 1937

Old Marster was too old to go to the war. He had one son was a soldier, but he never come home

again. I never seen a soldier till the war was over and they begin to come back to the farms. We half –

grown niggers had to work the farm, because all the farmers had to give ⎯ I believe it was a tenth ⎯ of
their crops to help feed the soldiers. So we didn’t know nothing about what was going on, no more

than a hog. It was a long time before we knowed we was free. Then one night Old Marster come to

our house and he say he wants to see us all before breakfast tomorrow morning and to come on over

to his house.

He got something to tell us.

Next morning we went over there. . . I just spoke sassy -like and say, “Old Marster, what you got

to tell us?” My mother said, “Shut your mouth, fool. He’ll whip you!” And Old Marster say, “No I

won’t whip you. Never no more, Sit down thar all of you and listen to what I got to tell you. I hates to

do it but I must. You all ain’t my niggers no more. You is free. Just as free as I am. He re I have raised

you all to work for me, and now you are going to leave me. I am an old man, and I can’t get along

without you. I don’t know what I am going to do.” Well sir, it killed him. He was dead in less than ten

months.

Everybody left right now, but me and my brother and another fellow. Old Marster fooled us to

believe we was duty-bound to stay with him till we was all twenty-one. But my brother, that boy was

stubborn.

Soon he say he ain’t going to stay there. And he left. In about a year, maybe less , he come back

and he told me I didn’t have to work for Old Goforth. I was free, sure enough free, and I went with

him and he got me a job railroading. . . .

I remember so well how the roads was full of folks walking and walking along when the niggers

were freed. Didn’t know where they was going. Just going to see about something else somewhere

else. Meet a body in the road and they ask,” Where you going?” “Don’t know.” “What you going to

5

do?” “Don’t know.” And then sometimes we would meet a white man and h e would say, “How you

like to come work on my farm?” And we say, “I don’t know.” And then maybe he say, “If you come

work for me on my farm, when the crops is in I give you five bushels of corn, five gallons of

molasses, some ha m- meat, and all your clothes and vittals while you works for me.” Alright! That’s

what I do. And then something begins to work up here (touching his forehead with his fingers). I

begins to think and to know things. And I know then I could make a living for my own self, and I

never had to be a slave no more.

ROBERT FALLS, enslaved in North Carolina, interviewed in Tennessee, ca. 1937

After the War, Master Colonel Sims went to git the mail and so he call Daniel Ivory, the overseer,

and say to him, “Go round to all the quarters and tell all the niggers to come up, I got a paper to read

to ’em. They’re free now, so you kin git you another job, ’cause I ain’t got no more niggers which is

my own.” Niggers come up from the cabins nappy-headed, jest lak they gwine to the field. Master

Colonel Sims say, “Caroline (that’s my ma mmy), you is free as me. Pa said bring you back and I’se

gwina do jest that. So you go on and work and I’ll pay you and your three oldest chillun $10.00 a

month a head and $4.00 fer Harriet,” that’s me, and then he turned to the rest and say “Now all

you’uns will receive $10.00 a head till the crops is laid by.” Don’t you know before he got half way

thoo’, over half them niggers was gone.
HARRIET ROBINSON, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Oklahoma, 1937

Now do you know why dey [Confederate regiment] raised dat white flag? Well, honey, dat white

flag wuz a token dat Lee had surrendered. Glory! Glory! yes, child the Negroes are free, an’ when

they knew dat dey were free dey, Oh! Baby! began to sing:

“Mamy don’t yo’ cook no mo’,

Yo’ ar’ free, yo’ ar’ free.

Rooster don’t yo’ crow no mo’, Yo’ ar’ free, yo’ ar’ free.

Ol’ hen, don’t yo’ lay no mo’ eggs, Yo’ free, yo’ free.

Sech rejoicing an’ shoutin’, you never he’rd in you’ life.”

FANNIE BERRY, enslaved in Virginia, interviewed in Virginia, 1937

[After freedom was declared] I went down to Augusta [Georgia] to de Freedman’s Bureau to see

if twas true we wuz free. I reckon dere was over a hundred people dere. De man got up and st ated to

de people: “You all is jus’ as free as I am. You ain’t got no mistis and no marster. Work when you

want.” On Sunday morning Old Marster sont de house gal and tell us to all come to de house. He

said: “What I want to send for you all is to tell you dat you are free. You hab de privilege to go

anywhah you want, but I don’t want none o’ you to leave me now. I wants you-all to stay right wid

me. if you stay, you must’ sign to it.”

I asked him: “What you want me to sign for? I is free.”

“Dat will hold me to my word and hold you to yo’ word,” he say.

All my folks sign it, but I wouldn’t sign. Marster call me up and say: “Willis, why wouldn’t you

sign? I say: “If I is already free, I don’t need to sign no paper. If I was workin’ for you and doin’ for

you befo’ I got free, I kin do it still, if you wants me to stay wid you.”

6

My father and mother tried to git me to sign, but I wouldn’t sign. My mother said: “You oughter

sign.

How you know Marster gwine pay?” I say: “Den I kin go somewhere else.”

Marster pay first class hands $14.00 a month, other hands $10.00, and den on down to five and

six dollars. He give rations like dey always have. When Christmas come, all come up to be paid off.

Den he calls me. Ask whar is me? I was standin’ roun’ de corner of de house. “Come up here,

Willis,” he say. “You didn’t sign dat paper but I reckon I hab to pay you too.” He paid me and my

wife $180.00. I said, “Well, you-all thought he wouldn’t pay me, but I got my money too.”

“UNCLE WILLIS” [no surname given in records], enslaved in Georgia, interviewed in Georgia, ca. 1937

I ’lieve they ought to have gived us somethin’ when we was freed, but they turned us out to graze

or starve. Most of the white people turned the Negroes slam loose. We stayed a year with missis and

then she married and her husband had his own workers and told us to git out. We worked for twenty

and thirty cents a day then, and I fin’ly got a place with Dr. L. J. Conroe. But after the war the Negro

had a hard struggle, ’cause he was turned loose jus’ like he came into the world and no education or

’sperience.

TOM HOLLAND, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

The war was begun and there were stories of fights and freedom. The news went from plantation

to plantation and while the slaves acted natural and some even more polite than usual, they prayed for

freedom. Then one day I heard something that sounded like thunder and missus and marster

began to walk around and act queer. The grown slaves were whispering to each other. Sometime s

they gathered in little gangs in the grove. Next day I heard it again, boom, boom, boom. I went and

asked missus “is it going to rain?” She said, “Mary, go to the ice house and bring me some pickles

and preserves.” I went and got them. She ate a little a nd gave me some. Then she said, “You run

along and play.”

In a day or two everybody on the plantation seemed to be disturbed and marster and missus were

crying. Marster ordered all the slaves to come to the great house at nine o’clock. Nobody was

working and slaves were walking over the grove in every direction. At nine o’clock all the slaves

gathered at the great house and marster and missus came out on the porch and stood side by side. You

could hear a pin drop everything was so quiet. Then marster said, “Good morning,” and missus said,

“Good morning, children.” They were both crying. Then marster said, “Men, women and children,

you are free. You are no longer my slaves. The Yankees will soon be here.”

Marster and missus then went into the house, got two l arge arm chairs, put them on the porch

facing the avenue, and sat down side by side and remained there watching. In about an hour there was

one of the blackest clouds coming up the avenue from the main road. It was the Yankee soldiers, they

finally filled the mile long avenue reaching from marster’s house to the main Louisburg road and

spread out over the mile square grove. The mounted men dismounted. The footmen stacked their

shining guns and began to build fires and cook. They called the slaves, saying “Y ou are free.” Slaves

were whooping and laughing and acting like they were crazy. Yankee soldiers were shaking hands

with the Negroes and calling them Sa m, Dinah, Sarah, and asking them questions. They busted the

door to the smoke house and got all the hams. They went to the icehouse and got several barrels of

brandy, and such a time. The Negroes and Yankees were cooking and eating together. The Yankees

told them to come on and join them, they were free.

Marster and missus sat on the porch and they were so h umble no Yankee bothered anything in the

great house. The slaves were awfully excited. The Yankees stayed there, cooked, eat, drank and

7

played music until about night, then a bugle began to blow and you never saw such getting on horses

and lining up in your life. In a few minutes they began to march, leaving the grove which was soon

silent as a grave yard. They took marster’s horses and cattle with them and joined the main army and

camped just across Cypress Creek . . .

When they left the country [area], lot of the slaves went with them and soon there were none of

marster’s slaves left. They wandered around for a year from place to place, fed and working most of

the time at some other slave owner’s plantation and getting more homesick every day.

The second year after the surrender our marster and missus got on their carriage and went and

looked up all the Negroes they heard of who ever belonged to them. Some who went off with the

Yankees were never heard of again. When marster and missus found any of theirs t hey would say,

“Well, come on back home.” My father and mother, two uncles and all their families moved back.

Several of the young men and women who once belonged to him came back. Some were so glad to

get back they cried, ’cause fare [food] had been might y bad part of the time they were rambling

around and they were hungry. When they got back marster would say, “Well you have come back

home, have you,” and the Negroes would say, “Yes marster.” Most all spoke of them as missus and

marster as they did before the surrender, and getting back home was the greatest pleasure of all.

MARY ANDERSON, enslaved in North Carolina, interviewed in North Carolina, 1937

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 na mes. 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.

MARTIN JACKSON, enslaved in Texas, interviewed in Texas, 1937

Lawd, Lawd, honey! It seems impossible dat any of us ev’r lived to see dat day of freedom, but

thank God we did.

When ole marster comes down in de cotton patch to tells us ’bout bein’ free, he say, “I hates to

tell you but I knows I’s got to, you is free, jes’ as free as me or anybody else whats white.” We didn’

hardly know what he means. We jes’ sort of huddle ’round together like scared rabbits, but after we

knowed what he mean, didn’ many of us go, ’cause we didn’ know where to of went. Ole marster he

say he give us de woods land and half of what we make on it, and we could clear it and work it or

starve. Well, we didn’ know hardly what to do ’cause he jes’ gives us some ole dull hoes an’ axes to

work with but we all went to work and as we cut down de trees and de poles he tells us to build de

fence ’round de field and we did, and when we plants de co’n and de cotto n we jes’ plant all de fence

corners full too, and I never seen so much stuff grow in all my born days, several ears of co’n to de

stalk and dem big cotton stalks was a layin’ over on de ground. . . we was a gittin’ goin’ now and

’fore long we was a buildin’ better houses and feelin’ kind of happy like.

JENNY PROCTOR, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Texas, ca. 1937

The Yankees didn’t come around our plantation during the war. All we heard was “They’ll kill all

the slaves,” and such hearing was a plenty!

After the war some man come to the plantation and told the field negroes they was free. But he

8

didn’t know about the cabin we lived in and didn’t tell my folks about it. They learned about the

freedom from the old Master.

That was some days after the man left the place. The Master called my mother and father into the

Big House and told them they were free. Free like him. But he didn’t want my folks to leave and they

stayed, stayed there three year after they was free to go anywhere they wanted.

The master paid them $200 a month to work for him and that wasn’t so much if you stop to figure

there was two grown folks and thirteen children who could do plenty of work around the place.

But that money paid for an 89-acre farm my folks bought not far from the old plantation and they

move onto it three year after the freedom come.

MATTIE LOGAN, enslaved in Mississippi, interviewed in Oklahoma, ca. 1937

When the word get to us that the slaves is free, the Mistress says I is free to go anywheres I want.

And I tell her this talk about being free sounds like foolishment to me ⎯ anyway, where can I go? She
just pat me on the shoulder and say I better stay right there with her, and that’s what I do for a long

time. Then I hears about how the white folks down at Dallas pays big money for house girls and there

I goes.

ESTHER EASTER, enslaved in Missouri, interviewed in Oklahoma, ca, 1937

After de war we stayed until old Master died. It broke us all up for we knowed we had lost de best

friend dat we ever had or ever would have. He was sort of father to all of us. Old Mistress went to live

with her daughter and we started wandering ’round. Some folks from de North come down and made

de culled folks move on. I guess dey was afraid dat we’d hep our masters re build dey homes again.

We lived in a sort of bondage for a long time.

De white folks in de South as well as de cullud folks lost de best friend dey had when Able

Lincoln was killed. He was God’s man and it was a great loss when he died.

God created us all free and equal. Somewhere along de road we lost out.

JAMES SOUTHALL, enslaved in Tennessee, interviewed in Oklahoma, 1937

When I was freed I felt like I was goin’ into a new world. It was de daughter of de old mistress

what told me I was as free as dey was. It was dangerous around de house durin’ of de war. So de old

mistress broke up de old place and us boys was given to our godmother. Mary was my godmother and

it was here I was told dat I was free. We was little and didn’t know which way to go. My mi stress

said, “Now Peter, you are free and de first chance we get we are going to send for your aunt to come

and get you.” Dere were four of us brothers bein’ taken’ care of by four sisters, when we was free.

My uncle was in de army and served two years and had come home. He asked my aunt, “Where are

dose boys?” My aunt said, “Dey is still with de white folks.” So my uncle come to get us. When he

come he rid up and we was so glad to see him we run out and met him. He said, “Boys, I’ve come

after you.”

We walked up to de house. Den de white folks was just as glad to see Uncle Julius as if he had

been their brother. Den Uncle Julius said to my godmother, Mary, “Well, Miss Evely, I come after

Pete.” She said, “Julius, I’m awful glad you’ve come to get him, I hat e to give him up, but take him

and take good care of him.”
PETER CORN, enslaved in Missouri, interviewed in Missouri, ca. 1937

9

When freedom come I asked my old owner to please let me stay on wid dem, I didn’t have no

whar to go no how. So he just up a nd said “Ann, you can stay here if you want to, but I ain’t goin to

give you nothing but your victuals and clothes enough to cover your hide, not a penny in money, do

no nigger get from me.” So I up and said, “why boss, dey tells me dat since freedom we git a little

change,” and he cursed me to all de low na mes he could think of and drove me out like a dog.

ANNE ULRICH EVANS, enslaved in Alabama, interviewed in Missouri, ca. 1937

Frank Mason was a young man when de War started, living wid his mother [in Richmond,

Virginia]. Dey had lots of slaves, maybe a hundred, and dey always try to take good care of ’em; even

after de War was over he worried ’bout trying to get us settled so’s we wouldn’t starve. . . .

All de way from Richmond to a place dey call Waco, Texas, we traveled by ox -wagon and boats,

and den de Master figures we all be better off over in Arkansas and goes to Pine Bluff.

What wid all de running ’round de slaves was kept clean and always wid plenty to eat and good

clothes to wear. De Master was a plenty rich man and done what his mother, Mrs. Betsy Mason, told

him when we all left de Big Mansion, way back dere in Richmond. De Mistress said, “Frank, you

watch over dem Negroes cause dey’s good men and women; keep dem clean!” Dat’s what he done,

up until we was freed, and den times was so hard nobody wanted us many Negroes around, and de

work was scarce, too. Hard times!

Folks don’t know what hard times is. . . .

I was at Pine Bluff when de Yankees was shooting all over de place. De fighting got so hot we all

had to leave; dat’s the way it was all de time for us de War ⎯ running away to some place or de next
place, and we was all glad when it stopped and we could settle down in a pl ace.

We was back at Waco when de peace come, but Master Frank was away from home when dat

happen. It was on a Sunday when he got back and called all de slaves up in de yard and counted all of

dem, young and old.

The first thing he said was, “You men and wo men is all free!

I’m going back to my own ma mmy in old Virginia, but I ain’t going back until all de old people is

settled in cabins and de young folks fix up wid tents!”

Den he kinder stopped talking. Seem now like he was too excited to talk, or maybe he was feeling

bad and worried ’bout what he going to do wid all of us. Pretty soon he said, “You men and women,

can’t none of you tell anybody I ain’t always been a good master. Old folks, have I ever treated you

mean?” he asked.

Everybody shout, “No, sir!” And Master Frank smiled; den he told us he was going ’round and

find places for us to live.

He went to see Jim Tinsley, who owned some slaves, about keeping us. Tinsley said he had

cabins and could fix up tents for extra ones, if his own Negroes was willin g to share up with us. Dat

was the way it worked out. We stayed on dere for a while, but times was so hard we finally get dirty

and ragged like all de Tinsley Negroes. But Master Frank figure he done the best he could for us.

After he go back to Virginia we never hear no more of him, but every day I still pray if he has any

folks in Richmond dey will find me someway before I die. Is dere some way I could find dem, you

s’pose?

LIZA SMITH, enslaved in Virginia and Texas, interviewed in Oklahoma, ca. 1937(30)

10

Attributions

(30) Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on

Emancipation by the Works Progress Administration is in the Public Domain.

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/emancipation/text7/emancipationwpa

http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/maai/emancipation/text7/emancipationwpa

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_domain

• Selections from the WPA interviews of formerly enslaved African Americans on Emancipation

Attributions