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The American Slave: A Composite Autobiography, George P. Rawick,
General Editor, with A Comprehensive Name Index for The American
Slave, compiled by Howard E. Potts and Subject Index, from Index
to The American Slave, edited by Donald M. Jacobs, assisted by
Steven Fershleiser
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Sample Narratives
The following narratives are from Volume 11
of the first series of volumes published by George Rawick.
The narrative of Ann Ulrich Evans, interviewed
in St. Louis, Missouri, is from part 11B, containing the Missouri
narratives. The second interview is excerpted from part 7 of the
Arkansas collection contained in Volume 11A. Although the precise
date of the interviews is not known, each was apparently influenced
by instructions such as those contained in Henry Alsberg's 1937
memorandum.
Note: When reading the narratives, it is important
to remember their context. Although the language used in the interviews
can be offensive or disturbing, they are a reflection of the attitudes
of their time and place. For more information on the interviews,
read George Rawick's introduction
to the collection, and the Writers' Project frontmatter
on the subject.
Read the text of Ann Ulrich
Evan's interview, interviewer unknown. A PDF
version is also available.
Read the text of Mrs. Bernice Bowden's interview
of Tom Windham. A PDF version
is also available.
Narrator: Ann Ulrich
Evans
County and State: Mobile, AL
Year of birth: 1843
Age at time of interview: 94
Masters: Dr. Odem, Ulrich, Gilbert Faulkner
FWP Interviewer: unknown
View the PDF version of the
narrative.
WED FOR ECONOMIC REASONS
Although 94 years of living have dimmed her
eyes a bit and the burdens she's packed through the years have bent
her wiry frame Ann Ulrich Evans, a former slave, is still able to
carry on. She lives in a rear apartment of the slum district at
1405 North Eighth Street with her daughter, Eliza Grant.
Ann declares she's had eleven children of her
own and that from them have sprung so many grand children and great
grand children that she's entirely lost count of them. The story
of the incidents that have filled her life but have still left her
able to love mankind and smile follows substantially in her own
words:
"I was born March 10, 1843 on Dolphin Street,
Mobile, Alabama. My mother's name was Charlotte Ulrich and my father's
was Peter Pedro Ulrich. I am the mother of 11 children and we has
over 100 grandchildren. Dere is so many great grandchildren and
great great grandchildren we jes' quit countin' when we comes to
dem. I has four generations, and dey give me a party three years
ago, and so many of my off spring come der wasn't any room for half
of 'em and even dat me not de beginning of de lot of 'em. I got
a gang of 'em I never did see, and never will see, I don't reckon.
Dey just write and tell us dey got 'em.
"My father was owned by a rich old boss named
Captain Bullmay. He owned a raft of boats, and my father was a cook
on one of dem boats. Mama only raised two of her children. De Ulriches
sold me when I was a girl to Dr. Odem in de same county, and I worked
in his field, spun thread to make cloth, pulled fodder, put de spinning
in, and after a while, I don't know how long, he swapped me off
for two boys. My new owner was Gilbert Faulkner. He was a railroad
section man. I worked in de field for him until we was sot free.
I had some good times and some bad times both. De man I married
worked on the railroad for him. His name was Moses Evans. Dat was
in Helena, Arkansas. My husband's been dead more dan 30 years now.
I got four daughters and three sons living and a host of grand and
great grand, and great great grandchildren living. Since my husband
died, I just live from one child to the other and some time de grandchildren
takes care of me, I haven't done no kind of work since my children
got big enough to work. Dey been pretty good to me all my days.
"Bout a year ago de government done started
giving me a pension, $11 a month. It helps some, but don't very
much, every things so high, honey. 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 and 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 names he could think of and drove me out like a dog. I didn't
know what to do, or where to go, so I sauntered off to a nearby
plantation where a colored slave kept house for her bachelor slave
owner and she let me stay with her, and her boss drove me off after
two days, because I kept company with a nigger who worked for a
man he didn't like. I was barefooted, so I asked Moses Evans, to
please buy me some shoes, my feet was so sore and I didn't have
no money nor no home neither. So he said for me to wait till Saturday
night and he'd buy me some shoes. Sure 'nough when Saturday night
come, he buyed me some shoes, and handkerchiefs and a pretty string
of beads and got an old man neighbor named Rochel to let me stay
at his house. Den in a few weeks me and him got married, and I was
mighty glad to marry him to git a place to stay. Yes I was. 'Cause
I had said, hard times as I was having if I seed a man walking with
two sticks and he wanted me for a wife I'd marry him to git a place
to stay. Yes I did and I meant just dat. In all my born days I never
knowed of a white man giving a black man nothing, no I ain't.
"Now child, let me tell you right here, I was
always a heap more scared of dem Ku Klux dan I was of anything else.
'Cause de war was to help my folks. But dem old Ku Klux never did
mean us no good. Honey, I used to make pallets on de floor after
de war for my children, myself and husband to sleep on, 'cause dem
Ku Klux just come all around our house at night time and shoot in
de doors and windows. Dey never bothered nobody in de day time.
Den some time dey come on in de house, tear up everything on de
place, claim dey was looking for somebody, and tell us dey hungry
'cause dey ain't had nothin' to eat since de battle of Shiloh. Maybe
twenty of 'em at a time make us cook up everything we got, and dey
had false pockets made in dere shirt, and take up de skillet with
de rest and hot grease piping hot and pour it every bit down de
front of dem shirts inside de false pockets and drop de hot bread
right down dere, behind de meat and go on.
"One night dey come to our house after my husband
to kill him, and my husband had a dream dey's coming to kill him.
So he had a lot of colored men friends to be at our house with guns
dat night and time dey seed dem Ku Klux coming over de hill, dey
started shooting just up in de air and about, and dem Ku Klux never
did bother our house no more. I sure glad of dat. I'se so tired
of dem devils. If it hadn't been for dat dey would have killed everyone
of us dat night. I don't know how come dey was so mean to us colored
folks. We never did do nothing to dem.
"Dey go to some of dem niggers' house, and
dey run up de chimney corner to hide and dem low down hounds shoot
'em and kill 'em in de chimney hole. Dey was terrible. Den de next
bad thing happened to us poor niggers after de war was dis. De white
folks would pay niggers to lie to de rest of us niggers to git der
faming done for nothing. He'd tell us come on and go with me, a
man wants a gang of niggers to do some work and he pay you like
money growing on trees. Well we ain't had no money and ain't use
to none, so we glad to hear dat good news. We just up and bundle
up and go with this lying nigger. Dey carried us by de droves to
different parts of Alabama, Arkansas and Missouri. After we got
to dese places, dey put us all to work allright on dem great big
farms. We all light in and work like old horses, thinking now we
making money and going to git some of it, but we never did git a
cent. We never did git out of debt. We always git through with fine
big crops and owed de white man more dan we did when we started
de crop, and got to stay to pay de debt. It was awful. All over
was like dat. Dem lying niggers caused all dat. Yes dey did.
"I don't know what to think of this younger
generation. 'Pears to me like dey jest ain't no good. Dey is too
trifling. I often times tell 'em dere chances today side of mine
in my day. Dey jest say dey wouldn't take what I been through.
"But dey is just a hopeless lot, just plain
no good. All I can say is as you say, some is some good but so few
'ginst de masses, take so long to find 'em, I just don't bother
'bout trying to hunt 'em out.
"I voted once in my life, but dat's been so
long ago I don't 'member who it was for, or where I was living at
de time, I never had no friends in politics to my knowing. All I
'member dey told me to put a cross under de elephant, and I did
dat. I don't know nothin' more' 'bout it dan dat. Don't know what
it meant or nothing. After all I been through, honest chile, I love
everybody in de world, dose dat mistreat me and dose dat didn't.
I don't hold nothing in my heart 'ginst nobody, no I don't. God
going to righten each wrong some day, so I'se going to wait with
love in my heart till dat day come. Den I speck I will feel plenty
sorry, for what's going to happen to dem dat mistreated me and my
people and all other helpless folks. 'Cause I seen white folks in
my day, have 'bout as tough time in a way as black folks, and right
now some of 'em rairing just 'bout like me.
"I 'member how de old slaves use to be workin'
in de field singing 'Am I born to die, And Lay Dis Body Down'. And
dey sing, Dark was de night and cold de ground, on which my Lord
was laid, Great drops of blood like sweat run down, in agony He
prayed. Another song was 'Way over in de promised land my Lord calls
me and I must go'. And 'On Jordan's Stormy Banks I stand, and cast
a wishful eye. To Canaan's fair and happy land, where my possessions
lie. All o'er those wide extended plains, Shines one eternal day;
There God, the son forever reigns, and scatters night away, No chilling
winds, nor pois'nous breath, Can reach that healthful shore; Sickness
and sorrow, pain and death, Are felt and feared no more. When shall
I reach that happy place, And be forever blest? When shall I see
my father's face, And in his bosom rest?" I am Bound for the Promised
Land.'
"I am a member of the Sanctified Church. I
was a Baptist for years."
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Narrator: Tom
Windham
County and State: Fulton, GA; Muskogee, OK
Year of birth: 1845
Age at time of interview: 92
Master: Lewis Butler
FWP Interviewer: Bernice Bowden
View the PDF version of the
narrative.
"I was twenty-one years old when the war was
settled. My mother and my grandmother kep' my age up and after the
death of them I knowed how to handle it myself.
"My old master's name was Butler and he was
pretty fair to his darkies. He give em plenty to eat and wear.
"I was born and raised in Indian Territory
and emigrated from there to Atlanta, Georgia when I was about twelve
or thirteen. We lived right in Atlanta. I cleaned up round the house.
Yes ma'm, that's what I followed. When the Yankees come to Atlanta
they just forced us into the army. After I got into the army and
got used to it, it was fun -- just like meat and bread. Yankees
treated me good. I was sorry when it broke up. When the bugle blowed
we knowed our business. Sometimes, the age I is now, I wish I was
in it. Father Abraham Lincoln was our President. I knowed the war
was to free the colored folks. I run away from my white folks is
how come I was in the Yankee army. I was in the artillery. That
deafened me a whole lot and I lost these two fingers on my left
hand - that's all of my joints that got broke.
"Before the war my white folks was good to
us. I had a better time than I got now.
"My father and mother was sold away from me,
but old mistress couldn't rest without em and went and got em back.
They stayed right there till they died. Us folks was treated well.
I think we should have our liberty cause us ain't hogs or horses
-- us is human flesh.
"When I was with the Yankees, I done some livin'.
"I went to school two months in my life. I
should a gone longer but I found where I could get next to a dollar
so I quit. If I had education now it might a done me some good.
"I used to be in a brass band. I like a brass
band, don't make no difference where I hear it.
"There was one song we played when I was in
the army. It was:
Rasslin Jacob, don't weep
Weepin' Mary, don't weep.
Before I'd be a slave
I'd be buried in my grave,
Go home to my father and be saved.'
"The Rebels was hot after us then. Another
one we used to sing was:
My old mistress promised me
When she die, she'd set me free.'
"After the war I continued to work around the
white folks and yes ma'm, I seen the Ku Klux many a time. They bothered
me sometimes but they soon let me alone. They was a few Yankees
about and they come together and made the Ku Klux stay in their
place.
"One time after the war I went to Ohio and
stayed three months but it was too cold for me. Man I worked for
was named Harper and as good a man as ever broke a piece of bread.
"I come back South and learned how to farm.
I been here in this country of Arkansas a long time. I hoped clean
up this place (Pine Bluff) and make a town of it.
"I got a daughter and two sisters alive in
Africa today -- in Liberia. I went there after we was free. I liked
it. Just the thoughts of bein' where Christ traveled - that's the
good part of it. They furnished us transportation to go to Africa
after the war and a lot of the colored folks went. I come back cause
I had a lot of kin here, but I sent my daughter and two sisters
there and they're alive there today."
[top]
Note: When reading the narratives, it
is important to remember their context. Although the language used
in the interviews could be considered offensive or disturbing at
times, they are a reflection of the attitudes of their time and
place.
Read more about this product in our downloadable
fact sheet (PDF Format). |
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