Name: Kinney, Nicey

Address: R.F.D.#3

Age: 86

Written by: Miss Grace McCune (Athens)

Edited by: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall (Athens) and John N. Booth (District Supervisor Federal Writers' Proj. Res. 6 & 7 Augusta, Ga.)

Citation: Federal Writers' Project: Slave Narrative Project, Vol. 4, Part 3, Kendricks-Styles (1936), Library of Congress, Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn043/

Interview

A narrow path under large water oaks led through a well-kept yard where a
profusion of summer flowers surrounded Nicey Kinney's two-story frame house. The
porch floor and a large portion of the roof had rotted down, and even the old stone
chimney at one end of the structure seemed to sag. The middle-aged mulatto woman who
answered the door shook her head when asked if she was Nicey Kinney. "No, mam," she
protested, "but dat's my mother and she's sick in bed. She gits mighty lonesome lyin' dar
in de bed and she sho does love to talk. Us would be mighty proud if you would come in
and see her."

Nicey was propped up in bed and, although the heat of the September day was
oppressive, the sick woman wore a black shoulder cape over her thick flannel nightgown;
heavy quilts and blankets were piled close about her thin form, and the window at the
side of her bed was tightly closed. Not a lock of her hair escaped the nightcap that
enveloped her head. The daughter removed an empty food tray and announced, "Mammy,
dis lady's come to see you and I 'spects you is gwine to lak her fine 'cause she wants to
hear 'bout dem old days dat you loves so good to tell about." Nicey smiled. "I'se so glad
you come to see me," she said, "'cause I gits so lonesome; jus' got to stay here in dis bed,
day in and day out. I'se done wore out wid all de hard wuk I'se had to do, and now I'se a
aged 'oman, done played out and sufferin' wid de high blood pressur'. But I kin talk and I
does love to bring back dem good old days a-fore de war."

Newspapers had been pasted on the walls of Nicey's room. In one corner an
enclosed staircase was cut off from the room by a door at the head of the third step; the
space underneath the stair was in use as a closet. The marble topped bureau, two double
beds, a couple of small tables, and some old chairs were all of a period prior to the
current century. A pot of peas was perched on a pair of "firedogs" over the coals of a
wood fire in the open fireplace. On a bed of red coals a thick iron pan held a large pone
of cornbread, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee drew attention to a steaming coffeepot
on a trivet in one corner of the hearth. Nicey's daughter turned the bread over and said,
"Missy, I jus' bet you ain't never seed nobody cookin' dis way. Us is got a stove back in
de kitchen, but our somepin t'eat seems to taste better fixed dis 'way; it brings back dem
old days when us was chillun and all of us was at home wid mammy." Nicey grinned.
"Missy," she said, "Annie - dat's dis gal of mine here - laughs at de way I laks dem old
ways of livin', but she's jus' as bad 'bout 'em as I is, 'specially 'bout dat sort of cookin';
somepin t'eat cooked in dat old black pot is sho good.

"Marse Gerald Sharp and his wife, Miss Annie, owned us and, Child, dey was
grand folks. Deir old home was 'way up in Jackson County 'twixt Athens and Jefferson.
Dat big old plantation run plumb back down to de Oconee River. Yes, mam, all dem rich
river bottoms was Marse Gerald's.

"Mammy's name was Ca'line and she b'longed to Marse Gerald, but Marse Hatton
David owned my daddy - his name was Phineas. De David place warn't but 'bout a mile
from our plantation and daddy was 'lowed to stay wid his fambly most evvy night; he was
allus wid us on Sundays. Marse Gerald didn't have no slaves but my mammy and her
chillun, and he was sho mighty good to us.

"Marse Gerald had a nice four-room house wid a hall all de way through it. It
even had two big old fireplaces on one chimbly. No, mam, it warn't a rock chimbly; dat
chimbly was made out of home-made bricks. Marster's fambly had deir cookin' done in a
open fireplace lak evvybody else for a long time and den jus' 'fore de big war he bought a
stove. Yes, mam, Marse Gerald bought a cook stove and us felt plumb rich 'cause dere
warn't many folks dat had stoves back in dem days.

"Mammy lived in de old kitchen close by de big house 'til dere got to be too many
of us; den Marse Gerald built us a house jus' a little piece off from de big house. It was
jus' a log house, but Marster had all dem cracks chinked tight wid red mud, and he even
had one of dem franklin-back chimblies built to keep our little cabin nice and warm.
Why, Child, ain't you never seed none of dem old chimblies? Deir backs sloped out in de
middle to throw out de heat into de room and keep too much of it from gwine straight up
de flue. Our beds in our cabin was corded jus' lak dem up at de big house, but us slept on
straw ticks and, let me tell you, dey sho slept good atter a hard days's wuk.

"De bestest water dat ever was come from a spring right nigh our cabin and us
had long-handled gourds to drink it out of. Some of dem gourds hung by de spring all de
time and dere was allus one or two of 'em hangin' by de side of our old cedar
waterbucket. Sho', us had a cedar bucket and it had brass hoops on it; dat was some job to
keep dem hoops scrubbed wid sand to make 'em bright and shiny, and dey had to be clean
and pretty all de time or mammy would git right in behind us wid a switch. Marse Gerald
raised all dem long-handled gourds dat us used 'stid of de tin dippers folks has now, but
dem warn't de onliest kinds of gourds he growed on his place. Dere was gourds mos' as
big as waterbuckets, and dey had short handles dat was bent whilst de gourds was green,
so us could hang 'em on a limb of a tree in de shade to keep water cool for us when us
was wukin' in de field durin' hot weather.

"I never done much field wuk 'til de war come on, 'cause Mistess was larnin' me
to be a housemaid. Marse Gerald and Miss Annie never had no chillun 'cause she warn't
no bearin' 'oman, but dey was both mighty fond of little folks. On Sunday mornin's
mammy used to fix us all up nice and clean and take us up to de big house for Marse
Gerald to play wid. Dey was good christian folks and tuk de mostest pains to larn us
chillun how to live right. Marster used to 'low as how he had done paid $500 for Ca'line
but he sho wouldn't sell her for no price.

"Evvything us needed was raised on dat plantation 'cept cotton. Nary a stalk of
cotton was growed dar, but jus' de same our clothes was made out of cloth dat Mistess
and my mammy wove out of thread us chillun spun, and Mistess tuk a heap of pains
makin' up our dresses. Durin' de war evvybody had to wear homespun, but dere didn't
nobody have no better or prettier dresses dan ours, 'cause Mistess knowed more'n
anybody 'bout dyein' cloth. When time come to make up a batch of clothes Mistess would
say, 'Ca'line holp me git up my things for dyein',' and us would fetch dogwood bark,
sumach, poison ivy, and sweetgum bark. That poison ivy made the best black of anything
us ever tried, and Mistess could dye the prettiest sort of purple wid sweetgum bark.
Cop'ras was used to keep de colors from fadin', and she knowed so well how to handle it
dat you could wash cloth what she had dyed all day long and it wouldn't fade a speck.

"Marster was too old to go to de war, so he had to stay home and he sho seed dat
us done our wuk raisin' somepin t'eat. He had us plant all our cleared ground, and I sho
has done some hard wuk down in dem old bottom lands, plowin', hoein', pullin' corn and
fodder, and I'se even cut cordwood and split rails. Dem was hard times and evvybody had
to wuk.

"Sometimes Marse Gerald would be away a week at a time when he went to court
at Jefferson, and de very last thing he said 'fore he driv off allus was, 'Ca'line, you and de
chillun take good care of Mistess.' He most allus fetched us new shoes when he come
back, 'cause he never kept no shoemaker man on our place, and all our shoes was storebought.
Dey was jus' brogans wid brass toes, but us felt powerful dressed up when us got
'em on, 'specially when dey was new and de brass was bright and shiny. Dere was nine of
us chillun, four boys and five gals. Us gals had plain cotton dresses made wid long
sleeves and us wore big sunbonnets. What would gals say now if dey had to wear dem
sort of clothes and do wuk lak what us done? Little boys didn't wear nothin' but long
shirts in summertime, but come winter evvybody had good warm clothes made out of
wool off of Marse Gerald's own sheep, and boys, even little tiny boys, had britches in
winter.

"Did you ever see folks shear sheep, Child? Well, it was a sight in dem days.
Marster would tie a sheep on de scaffold, what he had done built for dat job, and den he
would have me set on de sheep's head whilst he cut off de wool. He sont it to de factory
to have it carded into bats and us chillun spun de thread at home and mammy and Mistess
wove it into cloth for our winter clothes. Nobody warn't fixed up better on church days
dan Marster's Niggers and he was sho proud of dat.

"Us went to church wid our white folks 'cause dere warn't no colored churches
dem days. None of de churches 'round our part of de country had meetin' evvy Sunday, so
us went to three diffunt meetin' houses. On de fust Sunday us went to Captain Crick
Baptist church, to Sandy Crick Presbyterian church on second Sundays, and on third
Sundays meetin' was at Antioch Methodist church whar Marster and Mistess was
members. Dey put me under de watchkeer of deir church when I was a mighty little gal,
'cause my white folks sho b'lieved in de church and in livin' for God; de larnin' dat dem
two good old folks gimme is done stayed right wid me all through life, so far, and I aims
to live by it to de end. I didn't sho 'nough jine up wid no church 'til I was done growed up
and had left Marse Gerald; den I jined de Cedar Grove Baptist church and was baptized
dar, and dar's whar I b'longs yit.

"Marster was too old to wuk when dey sot us free, so for a long time us jus' stayed
dar and run his place for him. I never seed none of dem Yankee sojers but one time.
Marster was off in Jefferson and while I was down at de washplace I seed 'bout 12 men
come ridin' over de hill. I was sho skeered and when I run and told Mistess she made us
all come inside her house and lock all de doors. Dem Yankee mens jus' rode on through
our yard down to de river and stayed dar a little while; den dey turned around and rid
back through our yard and on down de big road, and us never seed 'em no more.

"Soon atter dey was sot free Niggers started up churches of dey own and it was
some sight to see and hear 'em on meetin' days. Dey would go in big crowds and
sometimes dey would go to meetin's a fur piece off. Dey was all fixed up in deir Sunday
clothes and dey walked barfoots wid deir shoes acrost deir shoulders to keep 'em from
gittin' dirty. Jus' 'fore dey got to de church dey stopped and put on deir shoes and den dey
was ready to git together to hear de preacher.

"Folks don't know nothin' 'bout hard times now, 'specially young folks; dey is on
de gravy train and don't know it, but dey is headed straight for 'struction and perdition;
dey's gwine to land in dat burnin' fire if dey don't mind what dey's about. Jus' trust in de
Lord, Honey, and cast your troubles on Him and He'll stay wid you, but if you turns your
back on Him, den you is lost, plumb gone, jus' as sho as shelled corn.

"When us left Marse Gerald and moved nigh Athens he got a old Nigger named
Egypt, what had a big fambly, to live on his place and do all de wuk. Old Marster didn't
last long atter us was gone. One night he had done let his farm hands have a big
cornshuckin' and had seed dat dey had plenty of supper and liquor to go wid it and, as
was de custom dem days, some of dem Niggers got Old Marster up on deir shoulders and
toted him up to de big house, singin' as dey went along. He was jus' as gay as dey was,
and joked de boys. When dey put him down on de big house porch he told Old Mistess he
didn't want no supper 'cept a little coffee and bread, and he strangled on de fust bite.
Mistess sont for de doctor but he was too nigh gone, and it warn't long 'fore he had done
gone into de glory of de next world. He was 'bout 95 years old when he died and he had
sho been a good man. One of my nieces and her husband went dar atter Marse Gerald
died and tuk keer of Mistess 'til she went home to glory too.

"Mammy followed Old Mistess to glory in 'bout 3 years. Us was livin' on de
Johnson place den, and it warn't long 'fore me and George Kinney got married. A white
preacher married us, but us didn't have no weddin' celebration. Us moved to de Joe
Langford place in Oconee County, but didn't stay dar but one year; den us moved 'crost
de crick into Clarke County and atter us farmed dar 9 years, us moved on to dis here
place whar us has been ever since. Plain old farmin' is de most us is ever done, but
George used to make some mighty nice cheers to sell to de white folks. He made 'em out
of hick'ry what he seasoned jus' right and put rye split bottoms in 'em. Dem cheers lasted
a lifetime; when dey got dirty you jus' washed 'em good and sot 'em in de sun to dry and
dey was good as new. George made and sold a lot of rugs and mats dat he made out of
plaited shucks. Most evvybody kep' a shuck footmat 'fore deir front doors. Dem sunhats
made out of shucks and bulrushes was mighty fine to wear in de field when de sun was
hot. Not long atter all ten of our chillun was borned, George died out and left me wid dem
five boys and five gals.

"Some old witch-man conjured me into marryin' Jordan Jackson. Dat's de blessed
truth, Honey; a fortuneteller is done told me how it was done. I didn't want to have
nothin' to do wid Jordan 'cause I knowed he was jus' a no 'count old drinkin' man dat jus'
wanted my land and stuff. When he couldn't git me to pay him no heed hisself, he went to
a old conjure man and got him to put a spell on me. Honey, didn't you know dey could do
dat back in dem days? I knows dey could, 'cause I never woulda run round wid no Nigger
and married him if I hadn't been witched by dat conjure business. De good Lord sho
punishes folks for deir sins on dis earth and dat old man what put dat spell on me died
and went down to burnin' hell, and it warn't long den 'fore de spell left me.

"Right den I showed dat no 'count Jordan Jackson dat I was a good 'oman, a
powerful sight above him, and dat he warn't gwine to git none of dis land what my
chillun's daddy had done left 'em. When I jus' stood right up to him and showed him he
warn't gwine to out whack me, he up and left me and I don't even use his name no more
'cause I don't want it in my business no way a t'all. Jordan's done paid his debt now since
he died and went down in dat big old burnin' hell 'long wid de old witch man dat conjured
me for him.

"Yes, Honey, de Lord done put it on record dat dere is sho a burnin' place for
torment, and didn't my Marster and Mistess larn me de same thing? I sho does thank 'em
to dis day for de pains dey tuk wid de little Nigger gal dat growed up to be me, tryin' to
show her de right road to travel. Oh! If I could jus' see 'em one more time, but dey can
look down from de glory land and see dat I'se still tryin' to follow de road dat leads to
whar dey is, and when I gits to dat good and better world I jus' knows de Good Lord will
let dis aged 'oman be wid her dear Marster and Mistess all through de time to come.

"Trust God, Honey, and He will lead you home to glory. I'se sho enjoyed talkin' to
you, and I thanks you for comin'. I'se gwine to ax Him to take good keer of you and let
you come back to cheer up old Nicey again."

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