Name: Smith, Nancy

Address: 129 Plum Street Athens, Georgia

Age: About 80

Written by: Grace McCune (Athens)

Edited by: Sarah H. Hall (Athens) and John N. Booth (District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7)

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

Nancy Smith was in bed when the interviewer called. The aged Negress appeared
to be quite feeble but, even though she was alone in the house, her head was tied up in a
snowy white cloth and the sickroom was neat and clean. The bowl of fresh flowers on her
bedsids table was no gayer than Nancy's cheerful chuckle as she repeated the doctor's
instructions that she must stay in bed because of a weak heart. "Lawsy Chile," she said, "I
ain't dead yit." Nancy stated that the grandson who lives with her has been preparing
breakfast and cleaning the room since she has been bedridden, and that a niece who lives
nearby comes in occasionally during the day to look after her.

Asked if she felt strong enough to talk about the old plantation days, she
answered: "I jus' loves to talk 'bout old times, and I spends a lot of dis lonesome time
here by myself jus' a-studyin' 'bout dem days. But now listen, Chile, and understand dis. I
warn't no plantation Negro. Our white folks was town folks, dey was. My Mammy and
Daddy was Julia and Jack Carlton. Dey belonged to old Marster, Dr. Joe Carlton, and us
lived right here in town in a big white house dat had a upstairs and a downstairs in it. Our
house stood right whar de courthouse is now. Marster had all dat square and his mother,
Mist'ess Bessie Carlton, lived on de square de other side of Marse Joe's. His office was
on de corner whar de Georgia (Georgian) Hotel is now, and his hoss stable was right
whar de Cain's boardin' house is. Honey, you jus' ought to have seed Marse Joe's hoss
stable for it sho' was a big one.

"No Mam, I don't know 'zactly how old I is. I was born 'fore de war, and Marse
Joe kept de records of all of us and evvything, but somehow dem books got lost. Folks
said I was 'bout de age of Marse Joe's son, Dr. Willie. Marster had three boys: Dr. Joe,
Jr., Dr. Willie, and Dr. Jimmie, and dere was one little Mist'ess. She was Miss Julia. Us
all played 'round in de yard together.

"Daddy, he was de car'iage driver. He driv Marse Joe 'round, 'cept when Mist'ess
wanted to go somewhar. Den Daddy driv de coach for her, and Marse Joe let another boy
go wid him.

"De biggest, bestest fireplace up at de big house was in de kitchen whar Mammy
done de cookin'. It had a great wide hearth wid four big swingin' racks and four big old
pots. Two of de ovens was big and two was little. Dat was better cookin' 'rangements and
fixin's dan most of de other white folks in dis town had den. When dat fire got good and
hot and dere was plenty of ashes, den Marry started cookin' ash cakes and 'taters. One of
Mammy's good ashroasted 'taters would be awful good right now wid some of dat good
old home-made butter to go wid it. Marster allus kept jus' barrels and barrels of good old
home-made 'lasses sirup, 'cause he said dat was what made slave chilluns grow fast and
be strong. Folks don't know how to have plenty of good things to eat lak us had den. Jus'
think of Marse Joe's big old plantation down nigh de Georgia Railroad whar he raised our
somepin' t'eat: vegetables sich as green corn, 'taters, cabhages, onions, collards, turnip greens, beans, peas - more dan I could
think up all day - and dere was plenty of wheat, rye, and corn for our bread.
"Out dar de pastur's was full of cows, hogs and sheep, and dey raised lots of
chickens and turkeys on dat farm. Dey clipped wool from dem sheep to weave wid de
cotton when dey made cloth for our winter clothes.

"Marster had a overseer to look atter his plantation, but us chillun in town sho'ly
did love to be 'lowed to go wid him or whoever went out dar when dey needed somepin'
at de big house from de farm. Dey needed us to open and shut gates and run errands, and
whilest dey was gittin' up what was to be took back to town, us would run 'round seein'
evvything us could.

"Honey, de clothes us wore den warn't lak what folks has now. Little gals jus'
wore slips cut all in one piece, and boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts 'til dey was big
enough to wuk in de fields. Dat was summertime clothes. In winter, dey give us plenty of
warm clothes wid flannel petticoats and brass-toed shoes. Grown-up Negroes had dresses
what was made wid waisties and skirts sewed together. Dey had a few gathers in de
skirts, but not many. De men wore homespun britches wid galluses to hold 'em up. White
folks had lots better clothes. Mist'ess' dresses had full, ruffled skirts and, no foolin', her
clothes was sho'ly pretty. De white menfolks wore plain britches, out dey had bright
colored coats and silk vests dat warn't lak de vests de men wears now. Dem vests was
more lak fancy coats dat didn't have no sleeves. Some folks called 'em 'wescoats.' White
chillun never had no special clothes for Sunday.

"Miss Julia used to make me sweep de yard wid a little brushbroom and I had to
wear a bonnet den to keep dust out of my hair. Dat bonnet was ruffled 'round de front and
had staves to hold de brim stiff, but in de back it didn't have no ruffle; jus' de bottom of
de crown what us called de bonnet tail. Dem bonnets looked good enough in front but
mighty bob-tailed in de back.

"Dey used to have big 'tracted meetin's in Pierce's Chapel nigh Foundry Street and
Hancock Avenue, and us was allus glad for dem meetin' times to come. Through de week
dey preached at night, but when Sunday come it was all day long and dinner on de
ground. Pierce's Chapel was a old fashioned place, but you forgot all 'bout dat when
Brother Thomas got in de pulpit and preached dem old time sermons 'bout how de devil
gwine to git you if you don't repent and be washed in de blood of de Iamb. De call to
come up to de mourner's bench brought dem Negroes jus' rollin' over one another in de
'citement. Soon dey got happy and dere was shoutin' all over de place. Some of 'em jus'
fell out. When de 'tracted meetin' closed and de baptizin' dey come, dat was de happiest
time of all. Most of de time dere was a big crowd for Brother Thomas to lead down into
de river, and dem Negroes riz up out of de water a-singin': Lord, I'm comin' Home, Whar
de Healin' Waters Flow, Roll, Jordan Roll, All God's Chillun Got Wings, and sich lak.
You jus' knowed dey was happy.

"No Mam, I don't 'member much 'bout folks dyin' in dem days 'cause I never did
love to go 'round dead folks. De first corpse I ever seed was Marse Joe's boy, young
Marse Jimmy. I was skeered to go in dat room 'til I had done seed him so peaceful lak
and still in dat pretty white casket. It was a sho' 'nough casket, a mighty nice one; not lak
dem old home-made coffins most folks was buried in. Hamp Thomas, a colored man dat
lived right below us, made coffins for white folks and slaves too. Some of dem coffins
was right nice. Dey was made out of pine mostly, and sometimes he painted 'em and put a
nice linin' over cotton paddin'. Dat made 'em look better dan de rough boxes de porest
folks was buried in. Mammy said dat when slaves died out on de plantation dey wropped
de 'omans in windin' sheets and laid 'em on coolin' boards 'til de coffins was made. Dey
put a suit of homespun clothes on de mens when dey laid 'em out. Dey jus' had a prayer
when dey buried plantation slaves, but when de crops was laid by, maybe a long time
atter de burial, dey would have a white man come preach a fun'ral sermon and de folks
would all sing:Harps (Hark) From De Tomb and Callin' God's Chillun Home.

"Dere warn't no patterollers in town, but slaves had to have passes if dey was out
atter 9:00 o'clock at night or de town marshal would put a fine on 'em if dey couldn't
show no pass.

"De fust I knowed 'bout de war was when Marse Joe's brother, Marse Bennie
Carlton, left wid de other sojers and pretty soon he got kilt. I was little den, and it was de
fust time I had ever seed our Mist'ess cry. She jus' walked up and down in de yard awringin'
her hands and cryin'. 'Poor Benny's been killed,' she would say over and over.

"When dem yankee sojers come, us warn't much skeered 'cause Marse Joe had
done told us all 'bout 'em and said to spect 'em 'fore long. Sho' 'nough, one day dey come
a-lopin' up in Marse Joe's yard. Dey had dem old blue uniforms on and evvy one of 'em
had a tin can and a sack tied to his saddle. Marster told us dey kept drinkin' water in dem
cans and dey called 'em canteens. De sacks was to carry deir victuals in. Dem fellows
went all through out big house and stole whatever dey wanted. Dey got all of Mist'ess'
best silver cause us didn't have no time to hide it atter us knowed dey was nigh 'round de
place. Dey tuk all de somepin' t'eat dere was in de big house. When dey had done et all
dey wanted and tuk evvything else dey could carry off, dey called us Negroes up 'fore
deir captain, and he said all of us was free and could go any time and anywhar us wanted
to go. Dey left, and us never seed 'em in dat yard no more. Marse Joe said all of us dat
wanted to could stay on wid him. None of us had nowhar else to go and 'sides nobody
wanted to go nowhar else, so evvy one of Marse Joe's Negroes stayed right on wid him
dat next year. Us warn't skeered of dem Kluxers (Ku Klux Klan) here in town, but dey
was right bad out on de plantations.

"Bout de time I was old enough to go to school, Daddy moved away from Marse
Joe's. Us went over to de other side of de river nigh whar de old check mill is. Dey had
made guns dar durin' de war, and us chillun used to go and look all through dat old mill
house. Us played 'long de river banks and went swimmin' in de river. Dem was de good
old days, but us never realized it den.

"I never went to school much, 'cause I jus' couldn't seem to larn nothin'. Our
teachers said I didn't have no talent for book larnin'. School was taught in Pierce's Chapel
by a Negro man named Randolph, and he sho'ly did make kids toe de mark. You had better know dem
lessons or you was gwine to git fanned out and have to stay in atter school. Us got out of
school evvy day at 2:00 o'clock. Dat was 'cause us was town chillun. I was glad I didn't
live in de country 'cause country schools kept de chillun all day long.

"It was sort of funny to be able to walk out and go in town whenever us wanted to
widout gittin' Marster's consent, but dere warn't nothin' much to go to town for 'less you
wanted to buy somepin. A few stores, mostly on Broad Street, de Town Hall, and de Fire
Hall was de places us headed for. Us did love to hang 'round whar dat fire engine was,
'cause when a fire broke out evvybody went, jus' evvybody. Folks would form lines from
de nearest cisterns and wells and pass dem buckets of water on from one to another 'til
dey got to de man nighest de fire.

"Soon as I was big enough, I went to wuk for white folks. Dey never paid me
much in cash money, but things was so much cheaper dan now dat you could take a little
cash and buy lots of things. I wukked a long time for a yankee fambly named Palmer dat
lived on Oconee Street right below de old Michael house, jus' 'fore you go down de hill.
Dey had two or three chillun and I ain't never gwine to forgit de day dat little Miss
Eunice was runnin' and playin' in de kitchen and fell 'gainst de hot stove. All of us was
skeered most to death 'cause it did seem den lak her face was plumb ruint, and for days
folks was 'most sho' she was gwine to die. Atter a long, long time Miss Eunice got well
and growed up to be a fine school teacher. Some of dem scars still shows on her face.

"Me and Sam Smith got married when I was 17. No Chile, us didn't waste no
money on a big weddin' but I did have a right pretty weddin' dress. It was nice and new
and was made out of white silk. My sister was a-cookin' for Mrs. White at dat time, and
dey had a fine two-room kitchen in de back yard set off from de big house. My sister
lived in one of dem rooms and cooked for de Whites in de other one. Mrs. White let us
git married in her nice big kitchen and all de white folks come out from de big house to
see Brother Thomas tie de knot for us. Den me and Sam built dis very same house whar
you is a-settin', and I done been livin' here ever since.

"Us was livin' right here when dey put on dem fust new streetcars. Little bitty
mules pulled 'em 'long and sometimes dey had a right hard time draggin' dem big old cars
through mud and bad weather. Now and den dey got too frisky and run away; dat was
when dem cars would rock and roll and you wished you could git off and walk. Most of
de time dem little mules done good and us was jus' crazy 'bout ridin' on de strsetcars."

When Nancy tired of talking she tactfully remarked: "I spects I better git quiet and
rest now lak de doctor ordered, out I'm mighty glad you come, and I hopes you'll be back
again 'fore long. Most folks don't take up no time wid old wore-out Negroes. Good-bye,
Missy."

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