Name: Thomas, Cordelia

Address: 130 Berry Street, Athens, Georgia

Age: 80

Written by: Grace McCune (White) Athens

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

Citation: Federal Writers' Project: Slave Narrative Project, Vol. 4, Part 4, Telfair-Young (1936), Library of Congress, Manuscript/Mixed Material. http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.mss/mesn.044

Interview

A long, hot walk over rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to Cordelia's place
just after the noon hour of a sweltering July day, and the shade of the tall water oaks near
the little cabin was a most welcome sight. The house stood only a few feet from a spur of
railroad track but the small yard was enclosed by a luxurious green hedge. Roses
predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the otherwise drab
premises.

A dilapidated porch across the front of the residence had no roof and the
floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to walk from the steps to
the front door where Cordelia stood waiting. "Come right in, Missy," she invited, "but be
keerful not to fall through dat old porch floor." The tell, thin Negress was cled in a faded
but scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headcloth crowned by a
shabby black hat. Black brogans completed her costume. Cordelia led the way to the rear
of a narrow hall. "Us will be cooler back here," she explained. Sunlight poured through
gaping holes in the roof, and the coarse brown wrapping paper pasted on the walls was
splattered and streaked by rain. The open door of Cordelia's bedroom revealed a wooden
bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the Victorian period. A rocker, two
straight chairs, a small table, and a trunk completed the furnishings of the room and left
but little space for its occupant to move about.

"I'se jus' a mite tired," Cordelia stated, "'cause I jus' got back from de courthouse
whar dem welfare 'omans done gimme a sack o' flour and some other bundles what I ain't
opened up yit, but I knows dey's got somepin in 'em to holp me, 'cause dem folks is sho'
been mighty good to me since my rheumatiz is been so bad I couldn't wuk enough to
make a livin'. De doctor, he say I got de blood presser. I don't rightly know jus' what dat
is, but it looks lak somepin's apressin' right down in my haid 'til I feels right foolish, so I
reckon he's right 'bout it a-bein de blood presser. When I gits down on my knees it takes a
long time for me to git straight up on my feet again. De Lord, He's done been wid me all
dese years, and old Cordelia's goin' to keep right on kneelin' 'fore Him and praisin' Him
often 'til He 'cides de time has come for her to go home to Heben.

"I was borned on Marse Andrew Jackson's plantation down in 'Conee (Oconee)
County, twixt here and High Shoals. Marse Andy, he owned my Mammy, and she was
named Em'ly Jackson. Bob Lowe was my Daddy, and he b'longed to Marse Ike Lowe.
The Lowe plantation was nigh whar Marse Andy's was, down dar in 'Conee County.
'Cause neither one of deir marsters wouldn't sell one of 'em to de other marster, Mammy
had to stay on de Jackson plantation and Daddy was kept right on wukin' on de Lowe
place atter dey had done got married. Marse Bob, he give Daddy a ticket what let him go
to see Mammy evvy Wednesday and Sadday night, and dem patterollers couldn't bother
him long as he kept dat ticket. When dey did find a slave off his marster's plantation
widout no ticket, it was jus' too bad, for dat meant a beatin' what most kilt him. Mammy
said dey didn't never git my Daddy, 'cause he allus had his ticket to show.

"I don't ricollect much 'bout days 'fore de big war ended 'cause I was so little den,
but many's de time I heared Mammy and Daddy and de other old folks tell 'bout dem
times. Us chillun had de bestes' time of anybody dem days, cause dey didn't 'low us to do
nothin' but jus' eat all us could and play de rest of de time. I don't know how it was on
other places, but dat was de way us was raised on our old marster's plantation.

"De cracks of de log cabins whar de slaves lived was chinked wid red mud to
keep out de cold and rain. Dere warn't no glass in de windows, dey jus had plank shutters
what dey fastened shut at night. Thin slide blocks kivvered de peepholes in de rough
plank doors. Dey had to have dem peepholes so as dey could see who was at de door 'fore
dey opened up. Dem old stack chimblies what was made out of sticks and red clay, was
all time gittin' on fire. Dem old home-made beds had high posties and us called 'em
'teesters.' To take de place of springs, what hadn't never been seen 'round dar in dem
days, dey wove heavy cords lengthways and crostways. Over dem cords dey laid a flat
mat wove out of white oak splints and on dat dey put de homespun bed ticks stuffed wid
wheat straw. Dey could have right good pillows if dey was a mind to pick de scrap cotton
and fix it up, but dere warn't many of 'em keered dat much 'bout no pillows.

"Slaves didn't do no cookin' on cur place 'cause Marster fed evvybody up at de big
house. Missy. I ain't never gwine to forgit dat big old fireplace up dar. Dey piled whole
sticks of cord wood on it at one time, wid little sticks crossways under 'em and, let me tell
you, dat was a fire what would cook anything and evvything. De pots hung on swingin'
racks, and dere was big ovens, little ovens, long-handled fryin' pans, and heavy iron
skillets wid tight, thick lids. It sho' was a sight de way us chillun used to make 'way wid
dem ash-roasted 'taters and dat good, fresh butter. Us chillun had to eat supper early
cause all chillun had to be in bed 'fore dark. It warn't lak dese days. Why Missy, chilluns
now stays up 'most all night runnin' 'round dese parts.

"Marster was sho' good 'bout seein' dat his Niggers had plenty to eat and wear.
For supper us et our bread and milk wid wooden spoons out of wooden bowls, but for
dinner dey give us veg'ables, corn pone, and 'taters. Marster raised all de sorts of
veg'ables what dey knowed anything 'bout in dem days, and he had big old fields of
wheat, rye, oats, and corn, 'cause he 'lowed dat stock had to eat same as folkses. Dere was
lots of chickens, turkeys, cows, hogs, sheep, and some goats on dat plantation so as dere
would allus be plenty of meat for evvybody.

"Our Marster evermore did raise de cotton - lots, of it to sell, and plenty for
clothes for all de folkses, white and black, what lived on his place. All de cloth was
home-made 'cept de calico for de best Sunday dresses. Chillun had to spin de thread and
deir mammies wove de cloth. 'Fore de end of de war, whilst I was still so little I had to
stand on a box to reach de spinnin' wheel good, I could spin six reels a day.

"Chillun was happy when hog-killin' time come. Us warn't 'lowed to help none,
'cept to fetch in de wood to keep de pot bilin' whar de lard was cookin'. Our Mist'ess allus
had de lard rendered in de bigges' washpot, what dey sot on rocks in de fireplace. Us
didn't mind gittin' de wood for dat, 'cause when dem cracklin's got done, dey let us have
all us could eat and, jus' let me tell you, Missy, you ain't never had nothin' good 'less you
has et a warm skin cracklin' wid a little salt. One time when dey was renderin' lard, all us
chillun was crowdin' 'round close as us could git to see which one could git a cracklin'
fust. Mist'ess told us to stand back 'fore somebody got burnt; den Mammy said she was
gwine to take de hides off our backs 'bout gittin' so close to dat fire, and 'bout dat time
somebody 'hind me gimme a quick push; and in de fire I went. Marster grabbed me 'most
time I hit dem red coals, but one hand and arm was burnt so bad I had to wear it in a sling
for a long time. Den Marster laid down de law and told us what he would do if he cotch
us chillun hangin' 'round de fire whar dey was cookin' lard again.

"Folkses said our Marster must have a powerful sweet tooth on account of he kept
so many bee hives. When bees swarmed folkses rung bells and beat on tin pans to git 'em
settled. Veils was tied over deir heads to keep de bees from gittin' to deir faces when dey
went to rob de hives. Chillun warn't never 'lowed to be nowhar nigh durin' dat job. One
day I sneaked out and got up close to see how dey done it, and dem bees got all over me.
Dey stung me so bad I couldn't see for days and days. Marster, he jus' fussed and said dat
gel, Cordelia, she was allus whar she didn't b'long. Missy, I ain't never wanted to fool wid
no more bees, and I don't even lak honey no more.

"Slaves all went to church wid deir white folkses 'cause dere warn't no Nigger
churches dem days. All de preachin' was done by white preachers. Churches warn't nigh
and convenient den days lak dey is now and dey was such a fur piece from de plantations
dat most of de folkses stayed all day, and dem meetin' days was big days den. De cooks
was told to fix de bestes' dinners dey could git up, and chillun was made to know dey had
better mind what dey was 'bout when dey was in de meetin' house or it was gwine to be
made mighty not for 'em when dey got back home. Dat was one thing our Marster didn't
'low no foolin' 'bout. His Niggers had to be-have deyselfs at de meetin' house. 'Long 'bout
August when craps was laid by, dey had brush arbor meetin's. White folks brought deir
slaves and all of 'em listened to a white preacher from Watkinsville named Mr. Calvin
Johnson. Dere was lots of prayin' and shoutin' at dem old brush arbor 'vival meetin's.

"Dey had campmeetin's too. De old Freeman place was whar dey had some of
dem fust campmeetin's, and Hillshore, Mars Hill, and Bethabara was some of de other
places whar Marster tuk us to campmeetin's. Missy, you jus' don't know nothin' 'bout
citement if you ain't never been to one of dem old-time campmeetin's. When folkses
would git 'ligion dey would holler and shout a-testifyin' for de Lord. Atter de meetin' dey
dammed up de crick and let it git deep enough for de baptizin'. Dey dipped de white
folkses fust, and den de Niggers. You could hear 'em singin' a mile away dem old songs
lak: On Jordan's Stormy Banks I Stand, - Rell, Jordan Roll, - All God's Chilluns is a-goin'
Home, and - Whar de Livin' Waters Flow. I jus' can't 'member half of dem good old
songs 'cause my mem'ry ain't good as it used to be." Here Cordelia paused. She seemed
oblivious to all around her for several minutes, and then she suddenly smiled. "Lordy,
Missy," she began, "if I could jus' call back dem days wid our good old Marster to look
atter us and see dat us had what us needed to eat and wear and a good comf'table cabin to
live in, wouldn't dis be a happy old 'oman? Lots of de other old folks would lak it too,
'cause our white folkses day sho' did take good keer of deir slaves.

"Did you ever hear of dem logrollin's? On our place dey spent 'bout two whole
days cookin' and gittin' ready-Marster axed evvybody from fur and nigh, and dey allus
come 'cause dey knowed he was gwine to give 'em a good old time. De way dey rolled
dem logs was a sight, and de more good corn liquor Marster passed 'round, de faster dem
logs rolled. Come night-time, Marster had a big bonfire built up and sot lots of pitchpine
torches 'round so as dere would be plenty of light for 'em to see how to eat dat fine supper
what had done been sot out for 'em. Atter supper, dey danced nigh all de rest of de night.
Mammy used to tell us 'bout de frolics next day, 'cause us chillun was made to go to bed
at sundown. Come day, go day, no matter what might happen, growin' chillun had to be
in bed at deir reg'lar time, but Mammy never forgot to tell us all 'bout de good times next
day.

"Mammy said dem cornshuckin's meant jus' as much fun and jollification as wuk.
Dey gathered Marster's big corn crap and 'ranged it in long, high piles, and sometimes it
tuk sev'ral days for dem cornshuckers to git it all shucked, but evvybody stayed right dar
on de job 'til it was finished. At night, dey wukked by de light of big fires and torches,
den dey had de big supper and started dancin'. Dey stopped so often to swig dat corn
liquor Marster pervided for 'em dat 'fore midnight folkses started fallin' out and drappin'
down in de middle of de dance ring. De others would git 'em by de heels and drag 'em off
to one side 'til dey come to and was ready to drink more liquor and dance again. Dat was
de way dey went on de rest of de night.

"Corpses! Buryin's! Graveyards! Why, Miss, dere wern't nigh so many folkses adyin'
all de time dem days as dere is now. Folkses lived right and was tuk better keer of
and dere warn't so much reason for 'em to die out den. When somebody did die, folkses
come from miles and miles around to de buryin'. Dey give de slaves de same sort of
funerals de white folkses had. De corpses was washed good all over wid hot water and
home-made soap, den dey was dressed and laid out on de coolin' boards 'til de cyarpenter
man had time to make up de coffins. Lordy, Missy, ain't you never seed no coolin' board?
I 'spects dey is all gone now though. Dey looked a good deal lak ironin' boards, only dey
had laigs to stand on. Lots of times dey didn't dress de corpses, but jus' wropped 'em in
windin' sheets. Dem home-made, pine coffins didn't look so bad atter dey got 'em painted
up and lined nice. Dey driv de wagon what had de corpse on it right slow to de graveyard.
De preacher talked a little and prayed; den atter de mourners had done sung somepin on
de order of Harps Hark?From De Tomb, dey shovelled in de dirt over de coffin whilst de
preacher said comfortin' words to de fambly of de daid. Evvy plantation had its own
graveyard wid a fence around it, and dere was a place in it for de slaves nigh whar deir
white folks was buried.

"Honey, didn't you never hear tell of Dr. Frank Jackson? He was sho' a grand
doctor. Dr. Jackson made up his own medicines and toted 'em 'round wid him all de time.
He was close kin to our Marse Andy Jackson's fambly. All dem Jacksons down in 'Conee
was good white folks.

"Us stayed on wid Old Marster for a little while atter de war was over, and den
right away Mammy died and Daddy hired me out to Mrs. Sidney Rives (Reaves ?). I
'spects one reason she was so mighty good to me was 'cause I was so little den. I was nigh
grown when I left her to wuk for Dr. Palmer's fambly. All his chillun was little den and I
was deir nuss. One of de best of his chillun was little Miss Eunice. She is done growed to
be a school teacher and dey tells me she is still a-teachin'. It warn't long atter my Daddy
died dat I left de Palmers and started wukkin' for Mr. Dock Dorsey's fambly. If dere ever
was a good Christian 'oman in dis here old world it was Miss Sallie Dorsey, Mr. Dock
Dorsey's wife. She had been Miss Sallie Chappell 'fore she married Mr. Dorsey. Miss
Sallie tried to git evvybody what stayed 'round her to live right too, and she wanted all
her help to go to church reg'lar. If Miss Sallie and Marse Dock Dorsey was livin' now,
dey would pervide for Old 'Delia jus' lak dey used to do. All deir chillun was nice. Miss
Fannie and Miss Sue, dey was extra good gals, but somehow I jus' can't call back de
names of dem other ones now. Dey all had to be good wid de sort of mammy and daddy
dey had. Miss Sallie, she was sick a long time 'fore she died, and dey let me wait on her.
Missy, I tell you de gospel truth, I sho' did love dat 'oman. Not long 'fore she passed on to
Heben, she told her husband dat atter she was gone, she wanted him to marry up wid her
cousin, Miss Hargrove, so as he would have somebody to help him raise up her chillun,
and he done 'zactly what she axed him to. All of my own white folkses has done died out,
and Old 'Delia won't be here much longer. One of de Thorntons here - I forgits which one
- married up wid my young Mist'ess, Rebecca Jackson. Her gal got married up wid Dr.
Jago, a horse doctor. A insurance man named Mr. Speer married into de Jackson fambly
too. He moved his fambly from here to de mountains on account of his son's health, and I
jus' los' track of 'em den.

"Lordy, Chile! What you want to know 'bout my weddin' for, nowhow? Dere ain't
never gwine to be no more weddin's lak dey had back dere in dem times 'cause folkses
thinks dey got to have too much nowadays. When folkses got married den dey was athinkin'
'bout makin' sho' 'nough homes for deyselfs, and gittin' married meant somepin
sort of hely. Mammy said dat most times when slaves got married dey jus' jumped
backwards over a broomstick whilst deir Marster watched and den he pernounced dat dey
was man and wife. Now dey is got to go to de courthouse and pay out good money for a
license and den go git a preacher or somebody lak a jestice jedge to say de marriage
words over 'em.

"Me and Solomon Thomas had to go buy us a license too, but us didn't mind 'bout
puttin' out dat money 'cause us was so much in love. I wore a pretty white dress and a
breakfast shawl, and atter us had done went to de preacher man's house and got married,
us come right on here to dis very house what had b'longed to Solomon's daddy 'fore it
was Solomon's. Us built two more rooms on de house, but all de time Solomon lived us
tried to keep de place lookin' a good deal lak it was de day us got married.

"Atter Solomon died, I sold of most of de land to de railroad for de right of way
for dat dere track what you sees out dere, and it sho' has made plenty of wuk for me to
keep dat soot what dem engines is all time a-spittin' out cleaned off my things in de
house. It draps down through dem big holes overhead, and I can't git hold of no money to
have de roof patched up.

"Me and Solomon, us had 11 chillun, but dey is all daid out but three. One of my
boys is in Baltimore and another boy lives in Louisiana somewhar. My gal, Delia, she
stays over in de Newtown part of Athens here. She would love to help her old Mammy,
but my Delia's got chillun of her own and she can't git nothin' to do 'cept a little washin'
for de white folkses, and she ain't able to pervide what her own household needs to eat.
Dem boys of mine is done got so fur off dey's done forgot all 'bout deir old Mammy.

"When us fust got married, Solomon wukked at Mr. Orr's cotton house, and he
stayed dere a long time 'fore he went to wuk for Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy. All dem white
folks was good to me and Solomon. I kept on wukkin' for de Dorseys 'til us had so many
chillun I had to stay home and look atter 'em. Solomon got sick and he lay dere sufferin' a
long, long time, but Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy seed dat he didn't want for nothin'. Even
atter Solomon died dem good white mens kept on comin' out now and den to see if me
and Solomon's chillun had what us needed.

"Solomon, my Solomon, he went out of dis here world, in dat dere room whar you
sees dat old bed, and dat is perzactly whar I wants to be when de Blessed Lord lays his
hands on me and tells me to come on Home to Glory. I wants to be toted out of dat room,
through dis hall and on out to de graveyard jus' lak my man was. I knows dat evvything
would be done nice jus' lak I wants it if Mr. Moss and Mr. Levy was a-livin' 'cause dey
was both Masons, and members of de Masons is all done swore a oath to look atter deir
own folkses. Dey said Solomon and his fambly was lak deir own folkses, Mr. Moss and
Mr. Levy did. Most of de folkses, both white and black, dat I has knowed and loved has
done gone on over de Jordan, out of dis world of trouble, and it will be happy days for all
of us when us meets again in de place 'of many mansions' whar dere won't be nothin' for
none of us to pester ourselfs 'bout no more.

"All of my life, I'se had a great desire to travel, jus' to go evvywhar, but atter all
dese years of busy livin' I 'spects all de trav'lin' I'll ever do will be on de road to Glory.
Dat will be good enough for me 'cause I got so many more of 'em I loves over dar dan is
left here."

As the visotor passed out of earshot of Sordelia's cabin the last words she heard
from the old Negress were: "Good-bye again, Missy. Talkin' to you has been a heap of
consolation to me."

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