Name: McIntosh, Susan

Address: 1203 W. Hancock Avenue Athens, Georgia

Age: 87

Written by: Sadie B. Hornsby (Federal Writers' Project Athens, Ga.)

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall (Athens), John N. Booth (Augusta), and Leila Harris (Augusta)

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 driving rain sent the interviewer scurrying into the house of Susan McIntosh
who lives with her son, Dr. Andrew Jones, at the corner of Hancock Avenue and Billups
Street.

Susan readily gave her story: "They tell me I was born in November 1851," she
said, "and I know I've been here a long time 'cause I've seen so many come and go. I've
outlived 'most all of my folks 'cept my son that I live with now. Honey, I've 'most forgot
about slavery days. I don't read, and anyway there ain't no need to think of them times
now. I was born in Oconee County on Judge William Stroud's plantation. We called him
Marse Billy. That was a long time before Athens was the county seat. Ma's name was
Mary Jen, and Pa was Christopher Harris. They called him Chris for short. Marster
Young L. G. Harris bought him from Marster Hudson of Elbert County and turned him
over to his niece, Miss Lula Harris, when she married Marster Robert Taylor. Marse
Robert was a son of General Taylor what lived in the Grady house before it belonged to
Mr. Henry Grady's mother. Pa was coachman and house boy for Miss Lula.

"Marse Billy owned Ma, and Marse Robert owned Pa, and Pa, he come to see Ma
about once or twice a month. The Taylor's, they done a heap of travellin' and always took
my Pa with 'em. Oh! there was thirteen of us chillun, seven died soon after they was born,
and none of 'em lived to git grown 'cept me. Their names was Nanette and Ella, what was
next to me; Susan - thats me; Isabells, Martha, Mary, Diana, Lila, William, Gus, and the
twins what was born dead; and Harden. He was named for a Dr. Harden what lived here
then.

"Marse Billy bought my gran'ma in Virginia. She was part Injun. I can see her
long, straight, black hair now, and when she died she didn't have gray hair like mine.
They say Injuns don't turn gray like other folks. Gran'ma made cloth for the white folks
and slaves on the plantation. I used to hand her thread while she was weavin'. The lady
what taught Gran'ma to weave cloth, was Mist'ess Gowel, and she was a foreigner, 'cause
she warn't born in Georgia. She had two sons what run the factory between Watkinsville
and Athens. My aunt, Mila Jackson, made all the thread what they done the weavin' with.
Gran'pa worked for a widow lady what was a simster (seamstress) and she just had a little
plantation. She was Mist'ess Doolittle. All Gran'pa done was cut wood, 'tend the yard and
gyarden. He had rheumatism and couldn't do much.

"There ain't much to tell about what we done in the slave quarters, 'cause when we
got big enough, we had to work: nussin' the babies, totin' water, and helpin' Gran'ma with
the weavin', and such like. Beds was driv to the walls of the cabin; foot and headboard
put together with rails, what run from head to foot. Planks was laid crossways and straw
put on them and the beds was kivvered with the whitest sheets you ever seen. Some made
pallets on the floor.

"No, Ma'am, I didn't make no money 'til after freedom. I heard tell of ten and
fifteen cents, but I didn't know nothing 'bout no figgers. I didn't know a nickel from a
dime them days.

"Yes, Ma'am, Marse Billy 'lowed his slaves to have their own gyardens, and 'sides
plenty of good gyarden sass, we had milk and butter, bread and meat, chickens, greens,
peas, and just everything that growed on the farm. Winter and summer, all the food was
cooked in a great big fireplace, about four feet wide, and you could put on a whole stick
of cord wood at a time. When they wanted plenty of hot ashes to oake with, they burnt
wood from ash trees. Sweet potatoes and bread was baked in the ashes. Seems like vittuls
don't taste as good as they used to, when we cooked like that. 'Possums, Oh! I dearly love
'possums. My cousins used to katch 'em and when they was fixed up and cooked with
sweet potatoes, 'possum meat was fit for a king. Marse Billy had a son named Mark, that
was a little bitty man. They said he was a dwarf. He never done nothing but play with the
children on the plantation. He would make the children down to the crick what run
through the plantation and fish all day. We had rabbits, but they was most generally
caught in a box trap, so there warn't no time wasted a-huntin' for 'em.

"In summer, the slave women wore white homespun and the men wore pants and
shirts made out of cloth what looked like overall cloth does now. In winter, we wore the
same things, 'cept Marse Billy give the men woolen coats what come down to their knees,
and the women wore warm wraps what they called sacks. On Sunday we had dresses
dyed different colors. The dyes were made from red clay and barks. Bark from pines,
sweetguns, and blackjacks was boiled, and each one made a different color dye. The cloth
made at home was coarse and was called 'gusta cloth. Marse Billy let the slaves raise
chickens, and cows, and have cotton patches too. They would call butter, eggs, chickens,
brooms, made out of wheat straw and such like. They took the money and bought calico,
muslin and good shoes, pants, coats and other nice things for their Sunday clothes. Marse
Billy bought leather from Marster Brumby's tanyard and had shoes made for us. They
was coarse and rough, but they lasted a long time.

"My Marster was father-in-law of Dr. Jones Long. Marse Billy's wife, Miss Rena,
died long before I was born. Their six children was all grown when I first knowed 'em.
The gals was: Miss Rena, Miss Selena, Miss Liza, and Miss Susan. Miss Susan was Dr.
Long's wife. I was named for her. There was two boys; Marse John and Marse Mark. I
done told you 'bout Marse Mark bein' a dwarf. They lived in a big old eight room house,
on a high hill in sight of Mars Hill Baptist Church. Marse Billy was a great deacon in that
church. Yes, Ma'am, he sho' was good to his Negroes. I heard 'em say that after he had
done bought his slaves by working in a blacksmith shop, and wearin' cheap clothes, like
mulberry suspenders, he warn't goin' to slash his Negroes up. The older folks admired
Mist'ess and spoke well of her. They said she had lots more property than Marse Billy.
She said she wanted Marse Billy to see that her slaves was give to her children. I 'spose
there was about a hundred acres on that plantation and Marse Billy owned more property
besides. There was about fifty grown folks and as to the children, I just don't know how
many there was. Around the quarters looked like a little town.

"Marse Billy had a overseer up to the time War broke out, then he picked out a
reliable colored man to carry out his orders. Sometimes the overseer got rough, then
Marse Billy let him go and got another one. The overseer got us up about four or five
o'clock in the morning, and dark brought us in at night.

"Jails! Yes, Ma'am, I ricollect one was in Watkinsville. No, Ma'am, I never saw
nobody auctioned off, but I heard about it. Men used to come through an buy up slaves
for foreign states where there warn't so many.

"Well, I didn't have no privilege to learn to read and write, but the white lady
what taught my gran'ma to weave, had two sons what run the factory, and they taught my
uncles to read and write.

"There warn't no church on the plantation, so we went to Mars Hill Church. The
white folks went in the mornings from nine 'til twelve and the slaves went in the evenings
from three 'till about five. The white folks went in the front door and slaves used the back
door. Rev. Bedford Lankford, what preached to the white folks helped a Negro, named
Cy Stroud, to preach to the Negroes. Oh! Yes, Ma'am, I well remembers them baptizings.
I believe in church and baptizing.

"They buried the slaves on the plantation, in coffins made out of pine boards.
Didn't put them in two boxes lak dey does now, and dey warn't painted needer.

"Did you say patterollers? Sho' I seen 'em, but they didn't come on our plantation,
'cause Marse Billy was good to his Negroes and when they wanted a pass, if it was for a
good reason, he give 'em one. Didn't none of Marse Billy's slaves run off to no North.
When Marse Billy had need to send news somewhere, he put a reliable Negro on a mule
and sent him. I sho' didn't hear about no trouble twixt white folks and Negroes.

"I tell you, Honey, when the days work was over them slaves went to bed, 'cep'
when the moon was out and they worked in their own cotton patches. On dark nights, the
women mended and quilted sometimes. Not many worked in the fields on Saturday
evenin's. They caught up on little jobs aroun' the lot; a mending harness and such like. On
Saturday nights the young folks got together and had little frolics and feasts, but the older
folks was gettin' things ready for Sunday, 'cause Marse Billy was a mighty religious man:
we had to go to church, and every last one of the children was dragged along too.

"We always had one week for Christmas. They brought us as much of good things
to eat as we could destroy in one week, but on New Year's Day we went back to work.
No, Ma'am, as I ricollect, we didn't have no corn shuckings or cotton pickings only what
we had to do as part of our regular work.

"The white folks mostly got married on Wednesday or Thursday evenin's. Oh!
they had fine times, with everything good to eat, and lots of dancing too. Then they took
a trip. Some went to Texas and some to Chicago. They call Chicago, the colored folks'
New York now. I don't remember no weddings 'mongst the slaves. My cousin married on
another plantation, but I warn't there.

"Where I was, there warn't no playing done, only 'mongst the little chillun, and I
can't remember much that far back. I recall that we sung a little song, about:

'Little drops of water
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land.'

"Oh! Yes, Ma'am, Marse Billy was good to his slaves, when they got sick. He
called in Dr. Jones Long, Dr. Harden, and Dr. Lumpkin when they was real sick. There
was lots of typhoid fever then. I don't know nothing about no herbs, they used for
diseases; only boneset and hoarhound tea for colds and croup. The put penrile
(pennyroyal) in the house to keep out flies and fleas, and if there was a flea in the house
he would shoo from that place right then and there.

"The old folks put little bags of assfiddy (assafoetida) around their chillun's necks
to keep off measles and chickenpox, and they used turpentine and castor oil on chillun's
gums to make 'em teethe easy. When I was living on Milledge Avenue, I had Dr.
Crawford V. Long to see about one of my babies, and he slit that baby's gums so the teeth
could come through. That looked might bad to me, but they don't believe in old ways no
more."

She laughed and said: "No, Ma'am, I don't know nothing about such low down
things as hants and ghosts! Rawhead and Bloody Bones, I just thought he was a
skelerpin, with no meat on him. Course lots of Negroes believe in ghosts and hants. Us
chillun done lots of flightin' like chillun will do. I remember how little Marse Mark
Stroud used to take all the little boys on the plantation and teach 'em to play Dixie on
reeds what they called quills. That was good music, but the radio has done away with all
that now.

"I knowed I was a slave and that it was the War that got me free. It was 'bout
dinner time when Marse Billy come to the door and called us to the house. He pulled out
a paper and read it to us, and then he said: 'You all are free, as I am.' We couldn't help
thinking about what a good marster he always had been, and how old, and feeble, and
gray headed he looked as he kept on a-talkin' that day. 'You all can stay on here with me
if you want to,' he 'lowed, 'out if you do, I will have to pay you wages for your work.'

"I never saw no Yankees in Athens, but I was in Atlanta at Mrs. Winship's on
Peachtree Street, when General Sherman come to that town 'parin' his men for to go
home. There was about two thousand in all, white and black. They marched up and down
Marietta Street from three o'clock in the evening 'til seven o'clock next morning. Then
they left. I remember well that there warn't a house left standing in Atlanta, what warn't
riddled with shell holes. I was scared pretty nigh to death and I never want to leave home
at no time like that again. But Pa saw 'em soon after that in Athens. They was a marching
down Broad Street on their way to Macon, and Pa said it looked like a blue cloud going
through.

"Ma and me stayed on with Marse Billy 'bout six months after the War ended
before we come to town to live with Pa. We lived right back of Rock College and Ma
took in washin' for the folks what went to school there. No, Ma'am I never saw no Ku
Kluxers. Me and Ma didn't leave home at night and the white folks wouldn't let 'em git
Pa.

"Major Knox brought three or four teachers to teach in a school for Negroes that
was started up here the first year after the War. Major Knox, he was left like a sort of
Justice of Peace to get things to going smooth after the War. I went to school there about
three months, then Ma took sick, and I didn't go no more. My white teacher was Miss
Sarah, and she was from Chicago.

"Now and then the Negroes bought a little land, and white folks gave little places
to some Negroes what had been good slaves for 'em.

"I didn't take in about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. A long time after the War, I heard
'em say he got killed. I knowed Mr. Jeff. Davis was President of the Confederacy. As for
Booker Washington, I never saw him, but I heard his son when he was here once and
gave a musical of some sort at the Congregational Church.

"I was a old gal when I married 'bout thirty or forty years after the War. I married
George McIntosh. Wedding clothes!" she chuckled, and said: "I didn't have many. I
bought 'em second hand from Mrs. Ed. Bond. They was nice though. The dress I married
in was red silk. We had a little cake and wine; no big to do, just a little fambly affair. Of
our four chillun, two died young, and two lived to git grown. My daughter was a school
teacher and she has been dead sometime. I stays wid my only living child. My husban'
died a long time ago.

"I cooked and washed for Mr. Prince Hodgson for thirty years. Miss Mary
Franklin used to tell me 'bout all them strange places she had been to while she was
paintin'. There never was nobody in this town could paint prettier pictures than Miss
Mary's.

"I'm glad slavery is over. I'm too old to really work anymore, but I'm like a fish
going down the crick and if he sees a bug he will catch him if he can.

"I joined the church 'cause I believe in the Son of God. I know he is a forgiving
God, and will give me a place to rest after I am gone from the earth. Everybody ought to
'pare for the promised land, where they can live always after they are done with this
world."

After the interview, she said: "Honey, this is the most I have talked about slavery
days in twelve years, and I believe what I told you is right. Of course, lots has faded from
my mind about it now."

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