Name: Smith, Paul

Address: 429 China Street Athens, Georgia

Age: 74

Written by: Mrs. Sarah H. Hall (Athens)

Edited by: Mrs. Leila Harris (Augusta) and John N. Booth (District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7 Augusta, Georgia)

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

Paul Smith's house stands on China Street, a narrow rutted alley deriving its name
from the large chinaberry tree that stands at one end of the alley.

Large water oaks furnish ample shade for the tidy yard where an old well, whose
bucket hanging from a rickety windlass frame, was supplying water for two Negro
women, who were leaning over washtubs. As they rubbed the clothes against the
washboards, their arms kept time to the chant of Lord I'se Comin' Home. Paul and two
Negro men, barefooted and dressed in overalls rolled to their knees, were taking their
ease under the largest tree, and two small mulatto children were frolicking about with a
kitten.

As the visitor approached, the young men leaped to their feet and hastened to
offer a chair and Paul said: "Howdy-do, Missy, how is you? Won't you have a cheer and
rest? I knows you is tired plumb out. Dis old sun is too hot for folkses to be walkin'
'round out doors." Turning to one of the boys he continued: "Son, run and fetch Missy
some fresh water; dat'll make her feel better. Jus' how far is you done walked?" asked
Paul. Then he stopped one of the women from the washing and bade her"run into the
house and fetch a fan for Missy."

Paul is a large man, and a fringe of kinky white hair frames his face. His manner
is very friendly for, noticing that the visitor was looking with some curiosity at the leather
bands that encircled his wrists, the old man grinned. "Dem's jus' to make sho' dat I won't
have no rheumatiz," he declared. Mind if I cuts me a chaw of 'baccy? I'se jus' plumb lost
widout no 'baccy."

Paul readily agreed to give the story of his life. "I can't git over it, dat you done
walked way out here from de courthouse jus' to listen to dis old Nigger talk 'bout dem
good old days.

"Mammy belonged to Marse Jack Ellis, and he owned de big old Ellis Plantation
in Oglethorpe County whar I was borned. Marse Jack give mammy to his daughter,
young Miss Matt, and when her and Marse Nunnally got married up, she tuk my mammy
'long wid her. Mistess Hah'iet (Harriet) Smith owned my daddy. Him and mammy never
did git married. My granddaddy and grandmammy was owned by Marse Jim Stroud of
Oconee County, and I dug de graves whar bofe of 'em's buried in Mars Hill graveyard.

"All I knows 'bout slavery time is what I heared folkses say, for de war was most
over when I was borned, but things hadn't changed much as I was raised up.

"I warn't but 'bout 2 years old when young Miss Matt tuk my mammy off, and she
put me out 'cause she didn't want me. Missy, dey was sho good to me. Marse Jack's wife
was Mistess Lizzie. She done her best to raise me right, and de she larnt me is done
stayed wid me all dese years; many's de time dey's kept old Paul out of trouble. No Mam,
I ain't never been in no jailhouse in all my days, and I she ain't aimin' to de nothin' to
make 'em put me dar now.

"In dem days, when chillun got big enough to eat, dey was kept at de big house,
'cause deir mammies had to wuk off in de fields and Old Miss wanted all de chillun whar
she could see atter 'em. Most times dere was a old slave 'oman what didn't have nothin'
else to do 'cept take keer of slave chillun and feed 'em. Pickaninnies she had to mind too,
'cause dem old 'omans would evermore lay on de switch. Us et out of wooden trays, and
for supper us warn't 'lowed nothin' but bread and milk.

"Long as us was little, us didn't have to wuk at nothin' 'cept little jobs lak pickin'
up chips, bringin' in a little wood, and sometimes de biggest boys had to slop de hogs.
Long 'bout de fust of March, dey tuk de pants 'way from all de boys and give 'em little
shirts to wear from den 'til frost. Yes Mam, dem shirts was all us boys had to wear in
summer 'til us was big enough to wuk in de fields. Gals jus' wore one piece of clothes in
summertime too; dey wore a plain cotton dress. All our clothes, for summer and winter
too, was made right dere on dat plantation. Dey wove de cloth on de looms; plain cotton
for summer, and cotton mixed wid a little wool for winter Dere was a man on de
plantation what made all our brogans for winter. Marster made sho us had plenty of good
warm clothes and shoes to keep us warm when winter come.

"Folkses raised deir livin', all of it, at home den. Dey growed all sorts of gyarden
truck sech as corn, peas, beans, sallet, 'taters, collards, ingons, and squashes. Dey had big
fields of grain. Don't forgit dem good old watermillions; Niggers couldn't do widout 'em.
Marster's old smokehouse was plumb full of meat all de time, and he had more cows,
hogs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and de lak, dan I ever larnt how to count.
Dere warn't no runnin' off to de sto' evvy time dey started cookin' a company meal.
"Dem home-made cotton gins was mighty slow. Us never seed no fast sto'-bought
gins dem days. Our old gins was turned by a long pole what was pulled around by mules
and oxen, and it tuk a long time to git de seeds out of de cotton dat way. I'se seed 'em tie
bundles of fodder in front of de critters so dey would go faster tryin' to git to de fodder.
Dey grez dem gins wid home-made tar. De big sight was dem old home-made cotton
presses. When dem old mules went round a time or two pullin' dat heavy weight down,
dat cotton was she pressed.

"Us chillun she did lak to see 'em run dat old gin, 'cause 'fore dey ever had a gin
Marster used to make us pick a shoe-full of cotton seeds out evvy night 'fore us went to
bed. Now dat don't sound so bad, Missy, but did you ever try to pick any seeds out of
cotton?

"Course evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days, and dat was whar us
picked out dem cotton seeds, 'round dat big old fireplace in de kitchen. All de slaves et
together up dar at de big house, and us had some mighty good times in dat old kitchen.
Slave quarters was jus' little one room log cabins what had chimblies made of sticks and
red mud. Dem old chimblies was all de time a-ketchin' on fire. De mud was daubed 'twixt
de logs to chink up de cracks, and sometimes dey chinked up cracks in de roof wid red
mud. Dere warn't no glass windows in dem cabins, and dey didn't have but one window
of no sort; it was jus' a plain wooden shutter. De cabins was a long ways off from de big
house, close by de big old spring whar de wash-place was. Dey had long benches for de
washtubs to set on, a big old oversize washpot, and you mustn't leave out 'bout dat big old
battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de clothes. Dem Niggers would sing, and deir
battlin' sticks kept time to de music. You could hear de singin' and de sound of de battlin'
sticks from a mighty long ways off.

"I ain't never been to school a day in all my life. My time as chillun was all tuk up
nussin' Mistess' little chillun, and I she didn't never git nary a lick 'bout dem chillun.
Mistess said dat a white 'oman got atter her one time 'bout lettin' a little Nigger look atter
her chillun, and dat 'oman got herself told. 'I ain't never uneasy 'bout my chillun when
Paul is wid 'em,' Mistess said. When dey started to school, it was my job to see dat dey
got dere and when school was out in de evenin', I had to be dere to fetch dem chillun back
home safe and sound. School didn't turn out 'til four o'clock den, and it was a right fur
piece from dat schoolhouse out to our big house. Us had to cross a crick, and when it
rained de water would back up and make it mighty bad to git from one side to t'other.
Marster kept a buggy jus' for us to use gwine back and forth to school. One time atter it
had done been rainin' for days, dat crick was so high I was 'fraid to try to take Mistess'
chillun crost it by myself, so I got a man named Blue to do de drivin' so I could look atter
de chillun. Us pulled up safe on de other side and den dere warn't no way to git him back
to his own side. I told him to ride back in de buggy, den tie de lines, and de old mule
would come straight back to us by hisself. Blue laughed and said dere warn't no mule wid
dat much sense, but he soon seed dat I was right, cause dat old mule come right on back
jus' lak I said he would.

"Us chillun had good old times back den, yes Mam, us she did. Some of our best
times was at de old swimmin' hole. De place whar us dammed up de crick for our
swimmin' hole was a right smart piece off from de big house. Us picked dat place 'cause
it had so many big trees to keep de water shady and cool. One sunday, when dere was a
big crowd of white and colored chillun havin' a big time splashin' 'round in de water, a
white man what lived close by tuk all our clothes and hid 'em way up at his house; den he
got up in a tree and hollered lak evvything was atter him. Lawsy, Miss, us chillun all
come out of dat crick skeered plumb stiff and run for our clothes. Dey was all gone, but
dat never stopped us for long. Us lit out straight for dat man's house. He had done beat us
gitting dar, and when us come runnin' up widout no clothes on, he laughed fit to Kill at
us. Atter while he told us he skeered us to keep us from stayin' too long in de crick and
gittin' drownded, but dat didn't slow us up none 'bout playing in de swimmin' hole.

"Talkin' 'bout being skeered, dere was one time I was skeered I was plumb ruint.
Missy, dat was de time I stole somepin' and didn't even know I was stealin'. A boy had
come by our place dat day and axed me to go to de shop on a neighbor's place wid him.
Mistess 'lowed me to go, and atter he had done got what he said he was sont atter, he said
dat now us would git us some apples. He was lots bigger dan me, and I jus' s'posed his
old marster had done told him he could git some apples out of dat big old orchard. Missy,
I jus' plumb filled my shirt and pockets wid dem fine apples, and us was havin' de finest
sort of time when de overseer cotch us. He let me go, but dat big boy had to wuk seven
long months to pay for dat piece of foolishment. I she didn't never go nowhar else wid dat
fellow, 'cause my good old mistess said he would

"Times has she done changed lots since dem days; chillun warn't 'lowed to run
'round den. When I went off to church on a Sunday, I knowed I had to be back home not
no later dan four o'clock. Now chillun jus' goes all de time, whar-some-ever dey wants to
go. Dey stays out most all night sometimes, and deir mammies don't never know whar
dey is half de time. 'Tain't right, Missy, folkses don't raise deir chillun right no more; dey
don't larn 'em to be 'bejient and don't go wid 'em to church to hear de Word of de Lawd
preached lak dey should ought to.

"Fore de war, colored folkses went to de same church wid deir white folkses and
listened to de white preacher. Slaves sot way back in de meetin'-house or up in a gallery,
but us could hear dem good old sermons, and dem days dey preached some mighty
powerful ones. All my folkses jined de Baptist Church, and Dr. John Mell's father, Dr.
Pat Mell, baptized evvy one of 'em. Course I growed up to be a Baptist too lak our own
white folkses.

"Slaves had to wuk hard dem days, but dey had good times too. Our white folkses
looked atter us and seed dat us had what-some-ever us needed. When talk come 'round
'bout havin' separate churches for slaves, our white folkses give us deir old meetin'-house
and built deyselfs a new one, but for a long time atter dat it warn't nothin' to see white
folkses visitin' our meetin's, cause dey wanted to help us git started off right. One old
white lady - us called her Aunty Peggy - never did stop comin' to pray and sing and shout
wid us 'til she jus' went off to sleep and woke up in de better world. Dat she was one good
'oman.

"Some of dem slaves never wanted no 'ligion, and dey jus' laughed at us cause us
testified and shouted. One day at church a good old 'oman got right 'hind a Nigger dat she
had done made up her mind she was gwine to see saved 'fore dat meetin' ended. She drug
'im up to de mourner's bench. He 'lowed he never made no prep'ration to come in dis
world and dat he didn't mean to make none to leave it. She prayed and prayed, but dat
fool Nigger jus' laughed right out at her. Finally de 'oman got mad. 'Laugh if you will,'
she told dat man, 'De Good Lawd is gwine to purge out your sins for she, and when you
gits full of biles and sores you'll be powerful glad to git somebody to pray for you. Dat
ain't all; de same Good Lawd is gwine to lick you a thousand lashes for evvy time you is
done made fun of dis very meetin'.' Missy, would you believe it, it warn't no time 'fore dat
man sickened and died right out wid a cancer in his mouf. Does you 'member dat old
sayin' 'De ways of de Lawd is slow but sho?'

"Corpses was washed good soon atter de folkses died and deir clothes put on 'em,
den dey was laid on coolin' boards 'til deir coffins was made up. Why Missy, didn't you
know dey didn't have no sto'-bought coffins dem days? Dey made 'em up right dere on de
plantation. De corpse was measured and de coffin made to fit it. Sometimes dey was
lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. Dere warn't
no undytakers den, and dere warn't none of dem vaults to set coffins in neither; dey jus'
laid planks crost de top of a coffin 'fore de dirt was piled in de grave.

"When dere was a death 'round our neighborhood, evvybody went and paid deir
'spects to de fambly of de dead. Folksea sot up all night wid de corpse and sung and
prayed. Dat settin' up was mostly to keep cats offen de corpse. Cats sho is bad atter dead
folks; I'se heared tell dat dey most et up some corpses what nobody warn't watchin'.
When de time come to bury de dead, dey loaded de coffin on to a wagon, and most times
de fambly rode to de graveyard in a wagon too, but if it warn't no fur piece off, most of
de other folkses walked. Dey started singin' when dey left de house and sung right on 'til
dat corpse was put in de grave. When de preacher had done said a prayer, dey all sung:
I'se Born to Die and Lay Dis Body Down. Dat was 'bout all dere was to de buryin', but
later on dey had de funeral sermon preached in church, maybe six months atter de
buryin'. De white folkses had all deir funeral sermons preached at de time of de buryin'.

"Yes Mam, I 'members de fust money I ever wuked for. Marster paid me 50 cents
a day when I got big enough to wuk, and dat was plumb good wages den. When I got to
whar I could pick more'n a hunnerd pounds of cotton in one day he paid me more. I
thought I was rich den. Dem was good old days when us lived back on de plantation. I
'members dem old folkses what used to live 'round lexin'ton, down in Oglethorpe County.

"When us warn't out in de fields, us done little jobs 'round de big house, de
cabins, barns, and yards, Us used to holp de older slaves git out whiteoak splits, and dey
larnt us to make cheer bottoms and baskets out of dem splits. De best cheer bottoms what
lasted de longest was dem what us made wid red allum withes. Dem old shuck bottoms
was fine too; dey plaited dem shucks and wound 'em 'round for cheer bottoms and
footsmats. De 'omans made nice hats out of shucks and wheat straw. Dey plaited de
shucks and put 'em together wid plaits of wheat straw. Dey warn't counted much for
Sunday wear, but dey made fine sun hats.

"Whilst us was all a-wukin' away at house and yard jobs, de old folkses would tell
us 'bout times 'fore us was borned. Dey said slave dealers used to come 'round wid a big
long line of slaves a-marchin' to whar dere was gwine to be a big slave sale. Sometimes
dey marched em here from as fur as Virginny. Old folkses said dey had done been
fetched to dis country on boats. Dem boats was painted red, real bright red, and dey went
plumb to Africa to git de niggers. When dey got dere, dey got off and left de bright red
boats empty for a while. Niggers laks red, and dey would git on dem boats to see what
dem red things was. When de boats was full of dem foolish Niggers, de slave dealers
would sail off wid 'em and fetch 'em to dis country to sell 'em to folkses what had
plantations. Dem slave sales was awful bad in some ways, 'cause sometimes dey sold
mammies away from deir babies and famblies got scattered. Some of 'em never knowed
what 'comed of deir brudders and sisters and daddies and mammies.

"I seed dem Yankees when dey come, but I was too little to know much about
what dey done. Old folkses said dey give de Athens people smallpox and dat dey died out
right and left, jus' lots of 'em. 'Fore dey got rid of it, dey had to burn up beds and clothes
and a few houses. Dey said dey put Lake Brown and Clarence Bush out in de swamp to
die, but dey got well, come out of dat swamp, and lived here for years and years.

"Granddaddy told us 'bout how some slaves used to rum off from deir marsters
and live in caves and dugouts. He said a man and a 'oman run away and lived for years in
one of dem places not no great ways from de slave quarters on his marster's place. Atter a
long, long time, some little white chillun was playin' in de woods one day and clumb up
in some trees. Lookin' out from high up in a tree one of 'em seed two little pickaninnies
but he couldn't find whar dey went. When he went back home and told 'bout it, evvybody
went to huntin' 'em, s'posin' dey was lost chillun. Dey traced 'em to a dugout, and dere
dey found dem two grown slaves what had done run away years ago, and dey had done
had two little chillun born in dat dugout. Deir marster come and got 'em and tuk 'em
home, but de chillun went plumb blind when dey tried to live out in de sunlight. Dey had
done lived under ground too long, and it warn't long 'fore bofe of dem chillun was daid.

"Dem old slavery-time weddin's warn't lak de way folkses does when dey gits
married up now; dey never had to buy no license den. When a slave man wanted to git
married up wid a gal he axed his marster, and if it was all right wid de marster den him
and de gal come up to de big house to jump de broomstick 'fore deir white folkses. De gal
jumped one way and de man de other. Most times dere was a big dance de night dey got
married.

"If a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal what didn't live on dat same
plantation he told his marster, den his marster went and talked to de gal's marster. If bofe
deir marsters 'greed den dey jumped de broomstick; if neither one of de marsters wouldn't
sell to de other one, de wife jus' stayed on her marster's place and de husband was 'lowed
a pass what let him visit her twict a week on Wednesday and Sadday nights. If he didn't
keep dat pass to show when de patterollers cotch him, dey was more'n apt to beat de skin
right off his back. Dem patterollers was allus watchin' and dey was awful rough. No
Mam, dey never did git to beat me up. I out run 'em one time, but I evermore did have to
make tracks to keep ahead of 'em.

"Us didn't know much 'bout folkses bein' kilt 'round whar us stayed. Sometimes
dere was talk 'bout devilment a long ways off. De mostest troubles us knowed 'bout was
on de Jim Smith plantation. Dat sho was a big old place wid a heap of slaves on it. Dey
says dat fightin' didn't 'mount to nothin'. Marse Jim Smith got to be mighty rich and he
lived to be an old man. He died out widout never gittin' married. Folkses said a nigger
boy dat was his son was willed heaps of dat propity, but folkses beat him out of it and, all
of a sudden, he drapped out of sight. Some says he was kilt, but I don't know nothin' 'bout
dat.

"Now Missy, how come you wants to know 'bout dem frolics us had dem days?
Most of 'em ended up scandlous, plumb scandlous. At harvest season dere was
cornshuckin's, wheat-thrashin's syrup-cookin's, and logrollin's. All dem frolics come in
deir own good time. Cornshuckin's was de most fun of 'em all. Evvybody come from
miles around to dem frolics. Soon atter de wuk got started, marster got out his little
brown jug, and when it started gwine de rounds de wuk would speed up wid sich singin'
as you never heared, and dem Niggers was wuking in time wid de music. Evvy red ear of
corn meant an extra swig of liquor for de Nigger what found it. When de wuk was done
and dey was ready to go to de tables out in de yard to eat dem big barbecue suppers, dey
grabbed up deir marster and tuk him to de big house on deir shoulders: When de supper
was et, de liquor was passed some more and dancin' started, and sometimes it lasted all
night. Folkses sometimes had frolics what dey called fairs; dey lasted two or three days.
Wid so much dancin', eatin', and liquor drinkin' gwine on for dat long, lots of fightin' took
place. It was awful. Dey cut on one another wid razors and knives jus' lak dey was outtin'
on wood. I 'spects I was bad as de rest of 'em 'bout dem razor fights, but not whar my
good old mist'ess could larn 'bout it. I never did no fightin' 'round de meetin'-house. It
was plumb sinful de way some of dem Niggers would git in ruckuses right in meetin' and
break up de services.

"Brudder Bradberry used to come to our house to hold prayermeetin's, but
Lawsey, Missy, dat man could eat more dan any Nigger I ever seed from dat day to dis.
When us knowed he was a-comin' Mistess let us cook up heaps of stuff, enough to fill dat
long old table plumb full, but dat table was allus empty when he left. Yes Mam, he
prayed whilst he was dere, but he et too. Dem prayers must'a made him mighty weak.

"Marster Joe Campbell, what lived in our settlemant, was sho a queer man. He
had a good farm and plenty of most evvything. He would plant his craps evvy year and
den, Missy, he would go plumb crazy evvy blessed year. Folkses would jine in and wuk
his craps out for him and, come harvest time, dey had to gather 'em in his barns, cause he
never paid 'em no mind atter dey was planted. When de wuk was all done for him,
Marster Joe's mind allus come back and he was all right 'til next crap-time. I told my
good old marster dat white man warn't no ways crazy; he had plumb good sense, gittin'
all dat wuk done whilst he jus' rested. Marster was a mighty good man, so he jus' grinned
and said 'Paul, us mustn't jedge nobody.'

"When marster moved here to Athens I come right 'long wid 'im. Us started us a
wuk-shop down on dis same old Oconee River, close by whar Oconee Street is now. Dis
was mostly jus' woods. Dere warn't none of dese new-fangled stock laws den, and folkses
jus' fenced in deir gyardens and let de stock run evvywhar. Dey marked hogs so
evvybody would know his own; some out notches in de ears, some out off de tails or
marked noses, and some put marks on de hoof part of de foots. Mr. Barrow owned 'bout
20 acres in woods spread over Oconee Hill, and de hogs made for dem woods whar dey
jus' run wild. Cows run out too and got so wild dey would fight when dey didn't want to
come home. It warn't no extra sight den to see folkses gwine atter deir cows on mules.
Chickens run out, and folkses had a time findin' de aigs and knowin' who dem aigs
b'longed to. Most and gen'ally finders was keepers far as aigs was consarnt but, in spite of
all dat, us allus had plenty, and Mistess would find somepin' to give folkses dat needed to
be helped.

"When us come to Athens de old Georgy Railroad hadn't never crost de river to
come into town. De depot was on de east side of de river on what dey called Depot Street.
Daddy said he helped to build dat fust railroad. It was way back in slavery times. Mist'ess
Hah'iet Smith's husband had done died out, and de 'minstrator of de 'state hired out most
all of Mist'ess' slaves to wuk on de railroad. It was a long time 'fore she could git 'em
back home.

"Missy, did you know dat Indians camped at Skull Shoals, down in Greene
County, a long time ago? Old folkses said dey used to be 'round here too, 'specially at
Cherokee Corners. At dem places, it was a long time 'fore dey stopped plowin' up bones
whar Indians had done been buried. Right down on dis old river, nigh Mr. Aycock's
place, dey says you kin still see caves whar folkses liven when de Indians owned dese
parts. If high waters ain't washed 'em all away, de skeletons of some of dem folkses what
lived dar is still in dem caves. Slaves used to hide in dem same caves when dey was
runnin' off from deir marsters or tryin' to keep out of de way of de law. Dat's how dem
caves was found; by white folkses huntin' runaway slaves.

"Now Missy, you don't keer nothin' 'bout my weddin'. To tell de trufe, I never had
no weddin'; I had to steal dat gal of mine. I had done axed her mammy for her, but she
jus' wouldn't 'gree for me to have Mary, so I jus' up and told her I was gwine to steal dat
gal. Dat old 'oman 'lowed she would see 'bout dat, and she kept Mary in her sight day and
night, inside de house mos'ly. It looked lak I never was gwine to git a chance to steal my
gal, but one day a white boy bought my license for me and I got Brudder Bill Mitchell to
go dar wid me whilst Mary's ma was asleep. Us went inside de house and got married
right dar in de room next to whar she was sleepin'. When she waked up dere was hot
times 'round dat place for a while, but good old Brudder Mitchell stayed right dar and
helped us through de trouble. Mary's done been gone a long time now and I misses her
mighty bad, but it won't be long now 'fore de Lawd calls me to go whar she is.

"I done tried to live right, to keep all de laws, and to pay up my jus' and honest
debts, cause mist'ess larnt me dat. I was up in Virginny wukin' on de railroad a few years ago. De boss man called
me aside one day and said: 'Paul, you ain't lak dese other Niggers. I kin tell dat white
folks raised you.' It sho made me proud to hear him say dat, for I knows dat old Miss up
yonder kin see dat de little Nigger she tuk in and raised is still tryin' to live lak she larnt
him to do."

When the visitor arose to leave, old Paul smiled and said "Goodby Missy. I'se had
a good time bringin' back dem old days. Goodby, and God bless you."

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