Name: Hill, John

Address: 1525 Broad Street Athens, Georgia

Age: 74

Written by: Grace McCune (Research Worker, Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia)

Edited by: Leila Harris (Editor, Federal Writers' Project Augusta, Georgia)

Citation: Federal Writers' Project: Slave Narrative Project, Vol. 4, Part 2, Garey-Jones (1936), Library of Congress, Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn042/

Interview

John Hill, an old Negro about 74 years old, was seated comfortably on the front
porch of his little cabin enjoying the sunshine. He lives alone and his pleasure was
evident at having company, and better still an appreciative audience to whom he could
relate the story of his early days.

"My pa was George Washin'ton Hill. His old Marster was Mr. Aubie Hill, an' dey
all lived on de Hill plantation, in de Buncombe district, nigh whar Monroe, Georgia is
now. My ma was Lucy Annie Carter, an' she b'longed to de Carter fambly down in
Oglethorpe County, 'til she was sold on de block, on de ole Tuck plantation, whar dey
had a regular place to sell 'em. Dey put 'em up on a big old block, an' de highest bidder
got de Nigger. Marse George Hill bought my ma, an' she come to stay on de Hill
plantation. Dar's whar my pa married her, an' dar's whar I was borned.

"When I was just a little tike, I toted nails for 'em to build de jailhouse. Dey got
'bout two by four planks, nailed 'em crossways, an' den dey drived nails in, 'bout evvy
inch or two apart, just lak a checkerboard. When dey got it done, dat jail would evermo'
keep you on de inside. Dere was a place wid a rope to let down, when de jailbirds would
need somethin', or when somebody wanted to send somethin' up to 'em. No Ma'am, dat
warn't de rope dey used to hang folkses wid.

"My pa stayed on wid old Marster 'bout ten years atter de War, den us moved to
de farm wid de Walker's at Monroe, Georgia. Dat was Governor Walker's pa. Dere was a
red clay bank on de side of de crick whar us chilluns had our swimmin' hole, an' us didn't
know when us was a frolickin' an' rollin' young Marse Clifford down dat bank, dat
someday he would be gov'ner of Georgia. He evermo' was a sight, kivered wid all dat red
mud, an' Mist'ess, she would fuss an' say she was goin' to whup evvyone of us, but us just
stayed out of de way an' she never cotched us. Den she would forgit 'til de nex' time.

"When I was 'bout eight years old, dey 'lowed it was high time I was a larnin'
somethin', an' I was sont to de little log schoolhouse down in de woods. De onliest book I
had was just a old blue back speller. Us took corn an' 'tatoes 'long an' cooked 'em for
dinner, for den us had to stay all day at school. Us biled de corn an' roasted 'tatoes in
ashes, an' dey tasted mighty good.

"Us had corn pone to eat all de time, an' on de fust Sunday in de month us had
cake bread, 'cause it was church day. Cake bread was made out of shorts, but dem
biscuits was mighty good if dey was dark, 'stead of bein' white.

"Us had big gyardens, an' raised all sorts of vegetables: corn, peas, beans, 'tatoes,
colla'ds, an' turnip greens. Us had plenty of milk an' butter all de time. An' Marster made
us raise lots of cows, hogs, sheep, an' chickens, an' tukkeys.

"Dey warn't no ready made clo'es or no vittuls in cans at de sto'keepers' places, an'
us didn't have no money to spend, if dey had a been dar. Us didn't have nothin' what us
didn't raise an' make up. Cotton had to be picked offen de seed, an' washed an' cyarded,
den ma spun de thread an' wove de cloth an' sometimes she dyed it wid ink balls, 'fore it
was ready to make clo'es out of. De ink Marster used to write wid was made out of ink
balls.

"I was still little when my ma died. De white folks' preacher preached her fun'ral
from de tex' of Isaiah fifth chapter: fust verse, an' dey sung de old song, "Goin' Home to
Die no Mo'." Den dey buried her on de place, an' built a rail fence 'roun' de grave, to keep
de stock from trompin' on it. Sometimes several owners got together an' had one place to
bury all de slaves, an' den dey built a rail fence all 'roun' de whole place.

"Hit was just lak bein' in jail, de way us had to stay on de place, 'cause if us went
off an' didn't have no ticket de paddy-rollers would always git us, an' dey evermore did
beat up some of de Niggers.

"I 'members de Klu Klux Klan good. Dey kept Niggers skeered plum to death, an'
when dey done sumpin' brash dey sho' got beat up if de Kluxers cotched 'em.

"One time de Kluxers come by our place on de way to beat a old Nigger man. I
begged 'em to lemme go wid 'em, an' atter a while dey said I could go. Dere was horns on
de mask dey kivvered up my head wid an' I was mighty skeered but I didn't say nothin'.
Atter us got dar, dey tied de old man up by his hands to de rafters in his house. He was
beggin' 'em to let him off an' yellin' 'O Lordy, have mussy!' Dere was a little gal dar an' I
wanted to skeer her, so I started atter her, an' de old man tole her to hit me on de head.
She picked up a shovel an' th'owed it an' cut my leg so wide open de blood just spilt
down on de floor. I got so bad off dey had to take me back to old Marster, an' he fix me
up. Hit was six months 'fore I could use dat leg good, an' I nebber did wanter go wid dem
Kluxers no more.

"Us went to de white folkses church, but onct a year on de fust Sunday in Augus'
de white folkses let de Niggers have dat day for camp meetin'. Dey fixed good dinners for
us, an' let us go off in de woods an' stay all day. Dem chicken pies an' dem good old 'tato
custards, 'bout one an' a half inches thick, made wid sea sugar, dey make your mouf water
just to talk 'bout 'em. What was sea sugar? Why it was dat crawly, kind of grayish, lookin'
sugar us used den. I was grown 'fore I ever seed no sho' 'nough white sugar.

"My pa hired me out to Mr. Ray Kempton to tote cotton to de gin on his
plantation, when I was 'bout 16 years old. I was wukkin' dar when de fust railroad was
laid, an' dey named de place Kempton Station fer Marse Rav Kempton. I was paid five
dollars a month an' board for my wuk, an' I stayed dar 'til I married.

"I was 'bout eighteen when I rode on de train for de fust time. Us rode from Social
Circle to Washin'ton, Wilkes, to see my ma's folkses. Ma tuk a heap of ginger cakes an'
fried chicken along for us to eat on de train, an' de swingin' an' swayin' of dat train made
me so sick I didn't want to ride no more for a long time.

"Soon atter I was twenty years old, I married a gal from Washin'ton, Wilkes, an'
us moved to Athens, an' I been livin' right here ever since. Us got here de last day de old
whiskey house was open. Dey closed it down dat night. I wukked a long time wid de
Allgood boys in de horse tradin' business an' den I wukked for Mr. an' Mrs. Will Peeples
'bout ten years. Dey runned a boardin' house, an' while I was dar, Dr. Walker come to
board, an' I was mighty glad to wait on him, 'cause he was from Monroe an' had done
been livin' on de old Walker place dat I stayed at when us was down dar.

"My uncle, Ambus Carter, was a preacher on Marse Jim Smith's place. He
b'longed to Marse Jim durin' de War, an' he never did leave him. Atter freedom come,
most of Marse Jim's Niggers lef' him, an' den he had what dey called chaingang slaves.
He paid 'em out of jail for 'em to wuk for him. An' he let 'em have money all de time se
dey didn't never git out of debt wid him. Dey had to stay dar an' wuk all de time, an' if
dey didn't wuk he had 'em beat. He evermore did beat 'em if dey got lazy, but if dey
wukked good, he was good to 'em. Sometimes dey tried to run away. Dey had dogs to
trail 'em wid so dey always cotched 'em, an' den de whippin' boss beat 'em mos' to death.
It was awful to hear 'em hollerin' an' beggin' for mussy. If dey hollered, 'Lord have
mussy!' Marse Jim didn't hear 'em, but if dey cried, 'Marse Jim have mussy!' den he made
'em stop de beatin'. He say, 'De Lord rule Heb'en, but Jim Smith ruled de earth.

"One time he cotched some Niggers down at de Seaboard Station, what had
runned away from his place. He got de police, an' brung 'em back 'cause he 'lowed dey
still owed him money, I was mighty sorry for 'em, for I knowed what dey was goin' to git
when he done got 'em back on his place. Dat whippin' boss beat 'em 'til dey couldn't stan'
up.

"But he was good to my uncle, an' treated him just lak one of de fambly. He
helped him wid all his sermons, an' told him to always tell 'em to be observant an' obejent
to de boss man. He provided good fer his help an' dey always had plenty to eat. He used
to try to git me to come an' stay wid him, but I didn't want to stay on dat place.

"Marse Jim used to have big 'possum hunts for his Niggers, an' he would sen' me
word, an' I most always went, 'cause dem was good times den, when dey cooked de coons
an' 'possums, an' eat an' drunk mos' of de night. Coon meat is most as good as lamb if you
is careful to take out de musk sacs when you dress 'em to cook."
Smithsonia, the Jim Smith plantation, covered thousands of acres, but the words
of the feeble old Negro showed that he could not imagine it possible for any farmer to
own more than one hundred acres.

"Marse Jim had a hund'ud acre farm, an' he had to keep plenty of Niggers to look
atter dat place, but I was 'fraid to go car to stay, for it was sho' just lak de jailhouse.

"Dey ain't but four of our nine chilluns livin' now an' dey's all up Nawf. Dey done
sont atter me when deir ma died, an' tried to git me to stay wid 'em, but its too cold up dar
for dis old Nigger, so I just stays on here by myself. It don't take much for me to live on.
In crop times I wuks in de fiel' a choppin' cotton, an' I picks cotton too. I'll just wait on
here an' de waitin' won't be much longer, 'cause I'se a living right, an', 'Praise de Lawd,'
I'se a gwine to Heb'en w'en I die."

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