Various - "Scientific American Supplement, No. 385, May 19, 1883"

Laura Lee Hope - "The Bobbsey Twins on Blueberry Island"

Various - "Scientific American Supplement, No. 303"

Charles Bennett - "The Frog Who Would A Wooing Go"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Slave Narratives, Oklahoma

V >> Various >> Slave Narratives, Oklahoma




I was born in slavery, and I belonged to a Baptist preacher. Until I
was fifteen years old I was taught that I was his own chattel-property,
and he could do with me like he wanted to, but he had been taught that
way too, and we both believed it. I never did hold nothing against him
for being hard on Negroes sometimes, and I don't think I ever would of
had any trouble even if I had of growed up and died in slavery.

The young Negroes don't know nothing 'bout that today, and lots of
them are rising up and amounting to something, and all us Negroes is
proud of them. You see, it's because they been taught that they got as
good a show to be something as anybody, if they tries hard.

Well, this old Negro knows one thing: they getting somewheres 'cause
the young whitefolks is letting them and helping them to do it, 'cause
the whitefolks has been taught the same way, and I praise God its
getting to be that way, too. But it all go to show, people do like
they been taught to do.

Like I say, my master was a preacher and a kind man, but he treated
the Negroes jest like they treated him. He been taught that they was
jest like his work hosses, and if they act like they his work hosses
they git along all right. But if they don't--Oh, oh!

Like the Dixie song say, I was born "on a frosty mornin'" at the
plantation in Clarke County, Mississippi, in the fall of 1850 they
tell me. The old place looked the same all the time I was a child,
clean up to when we pull out and leave the second year of the War.

I can shet my eyes and think about it and it seem to come right up in
front of me jest like it looked. From my Pappy's cabin the Big House
was off to the west, close to the big road, and most of the fields
stretched off to the north. They was a big patch of woods off to the
east, and no much open land between us and the Chickasawhay River. Off
to the southwest a few miles was the Bucatunna Creek, and the
plantation was kind of in the forks between them, a little ways east
of Quitman, Mississippi.

Old Master's people been living at that place a mighty long time, and
most the houses and barns was old and been repaired time and time
again, but it was a mighty pretty place. The Big House was built long,
with a lot of rooms all in a row and a long porch, but it wasn't fine
like a lot of the houses we seen as we passed by when we left that
place to go to Louisiana.

Old Master didn't have any overseer hired, but him and his boys looked
after the place and had a Negro we called the driver. We-all shore
hated that old black man, but I forget his name now. That driver never
was allowed to think up nothing for the slaves to do, but jest was
told to make them work hard at what the master and his boys told them
to do. Whitefolks had to set them at a job and then old driver would
whoopity and whoopity around, and egg them and egg them until they
finish up, so they can go at something else. He worked hard hisself,
though, and set a mighty hard pattern for the rest to keep up with.
Like I say, he been taught he didn't know how to think, so he didn't
try.

Old Mistress name was Mary, and they had two daughters, Levia and
Betty. Then they had three sons. The oldest was named Bill Junior, and
he was plumb grown when I was a boy, but the other two, Jedson and
Jim, was jest a little older then me.

Old Master didn't have but two or three single Negroes, but he had
several families, and most of them was big ones. My own family was
pretty good size, but three of the children was born free. Pappy's
name was William and Mammy's was Lucy. My brother Joe was the oldest
child and then come Adeline, Harriet, and Texana and Betty before the
surrender, and then Henry, Mattie and Louisa after it.

When the War come along old Master jest didn't know what to do. He
always been taught not to raise his hand up and kill nobody--no matter
how come--and he jest kept holding out against all them that was
talking about fighting, and he wouldn't go and fight. He been taught
that it was all right to have slaves and treat them like he want to,
but he been taught it was sinful to go fight and kill to keep them,
and he lived up to what he been taught.

They was some Choctaw people lived 'round there, and they flew up and
went right off to the War, and Mr. Trot Hand and Mr. Joe Brown that
had plantations on the big road towards Quitman both went off with
their grown boys right at the start, but old Master was a preacher and
he jest stayed out of it. I remember one day I was sent up to the Big
House and I heard old Master and some men out at the gate 'xpounding
about the War. Some of the men had on soldier clothes, and they acted
like they was mad. Somebody tell me later on that they was getting up
a home guard because the yankees done got down in Alabama not far
away, but old Master wouldn't go in with them.

Two, three days after that, it seems like, old Master come down to the
quarters and say git everything bundled up and in the wagons for a
long trip. The Negroes all come in and everybody pitch in to help pack
up the wagons. Then old Master look around and he can't find Andy.
Andy was one Negro that never did act like he been taught, and old
Master's patience about wore out with him anyways.

We all know that Andy done run off again, but we didn't know where to.
Leastwise all the Negroes tell old Master that. But old Master soon
show us we done the work and he done the thinking! He jest goes ahead
and keeps all the Negroes busy fixing up the wagons and bundling up
the stuff to travel, and keeps us all in his sight all the time, and
says nothing about Andy being gone.

Then that night he sends for a white man name Clements that got some
blood hounds, and him and Mr. Clements takes time about staying awake
and watching all the cabins to see nobody slips out of them. Everybody
was afraid to stick their head out.

Early next morning we has all the wagons ready to drive right off, and
old Master call Andy's brother up to him. He say, "You go down to that
spring and wait, and when Andy come down to the spring to fill that
cedar bucket you stole out'n the smokehouse for him to git water in
you tell him to come on in here. Tell him I know he is hiding out way
down the branch whar he can come up wading the water clean up to the
cornfield and the melon patch, so the hounds won't git his scent, but
I'm going to send the hounds down there if he don't come on in right
now." Then we all knowed we was for the work and old Master was for
the thinking, 'cause pretty soon Andy come on in. He'd been right whar
old Master think he is.

About that time Mr. Sears come riding down the big road. He was a
deacon in old Master's church, and he see us all packed up to leave
and so he light at the big gate and walk up to whar we is. He ask old
Master where we all lighting out for, and old Master say for
Louisiana. We Negroes don't know where that is. Then old deacon say
what old Master going to do with Andy, 'cause there stood Mr. Clements
holding his bloodhounds and old Master had his cat-o-nine-tails in his
hand.

Old Master say just watch him, and he tell Andy if he can make it to
that big black gum tree down at the gate before the hounds git him he
can stay right up in that tree and watch us all drive off. Then he
tell Andy to git!

Poor Andy jest git hold of the bottom limbs when the blood hounds grab
him and pull him down onto the ground. Time old Master and Mr.
Clements git down there the hounds done tore off all Andy's clothes
and bit him all over bad. He was rolling on the ground and holding his
shirt up 'round his throat when Mr. Clements git there and pull the
hounds off of him.

Then old Master light in on him with that cat-o-nine-tails, and I
don't know how many lashes he give him, but he jest bloody all over
and done fainted pretty soon. Old Deacon Sears stand it as long as he
can and then he step up and grab old Master's arm and say, "Time to
stop, Brother! I'm speaking in the name of Jesus!" Old Master quit
then, but he still powerful mad. I don't think he believe Andy going
to make that tree when he tell him that.

Then he turn on Andy's brother and give him a good beating too, and we
all drive off and leave Andy setting on the ground under a tree and
old Deacon standing by him. I don't know what ever become of Andy, but
I reckon maybe he went and live with old Deacon Sears until he was
free.

When I think back and remember it, it all seems kind of strange, but
it seem like old Master and old Deacon both think the same way. They
kind of understand that old Master had a right to beat his Negro all
he wanted to for running off, and he had a right to set the hounds on
him if he did, but he shouldn't of beat him so hard after he told him
he was going let him off if he made the tree, and he ought to keep his
word even if Andy was his own slave. That's the way both them white
men had been taught, and that was the way they both lived.

Old Master had about five wagons on that trip down into Louisiana, but
they was all full of stuff and only the old slaves and children could
ride in them. I was big enough to walk most of the time, but one time
I walked in the sun so long that I got sick and they put me in the
wagon for most the rest of the way.

We would come to places where the people said the Yankees had been and
gone, but we didn't run into any Yankees. They was most to the north
of us I reckon, because we went on down to the south part of
Mississippi and ferried across the big river at Baton Rouge. Then we
went on to Lafayette, Louisiana, before we settled down anywhere.

All us Negroes thought that was a mighty strange place. We would hear
white folks talking and we couldn't understand what they said, and
lots of the Negroes talked the same way, too. It was all full of
French people around Lafayette, but they had all their menfolks in the
Confederate Army just the same. I seen lots of men in butternut
clothes coming and going hither and yon, but they wasn't in bunches.
They was mostly coming home to see their folks.

Everybody was scared all the time, and two--three times when old
Master hired his Negroes out to work the man that hired them quit his
place and went on west before they got the crop in. But old Master
got a place and we put in a cotton crop, and I think he got some money
by selling his place in Mississippi. Anyway, pretty soon after the
cotton was all in he moves again and goes to a place on Simonette Lake
for the winter. It aint a bit cold in that place, and we didn't have
no fire 'cepting to cook, and sometimes a little charcoal fire in some
crock pots that the people left on the place when they went on out to
Texas.

The next spring old Master loaded up again and we struck out for
Texas, when the Yankees got too close again. But Master Bill didn't go
to Texas, because the Confederates done come that winter and made him
go to the army. I think they took him to New Orleans, and old Master
was hopping mad, but he couldn't do anything or they would make him go
too, even if he was a preacher.

I think he left out of there partly because he didn't like the people
at that place. They wasn't no Baptists around anywheres, they was all
Catholics, and old Master didn't like them.

About that time it look like everybody in the world was going to
Texas. When we would be going down the road we would have to walk
along the side all the time to let the wagons go past, all loaded with
folks going to Texas.

Pretty soon old Master say git the wagons loaded again, and this time
we start out with some other people, going north. We go north a while
and then turn west, and cross the Sabine River and go to Nachedoches,
Texas. Me and my brother Joe and my sister Adeline walked nearly all
the way, but my little sister Harriet and my mammy rid in a wagon.
Mammy was mighty poorly, and jest when we got to the Sabine bottoms
she had another baby. Old Master didn't like it 'cause it was a girl,
but he named her Texana on account of where she was born and told us
children to wait on Mammy good and maybe we would get a little brother
next time.

But we didn't. Old Master went with a whole bunch of wagons on out to
the prairie country in Coryell County and set up a farm where we just
had to break the sod and didn't have to clear off much. And the next
baby Mammy had the next year was a girl. We named her Betty because
Mistress jest have a baby a little while before and its name was
Betty.

Old Master's place was right at the corner where Coryell and McLennan
and Bosque Counties come together, and we raised mostly cotton and
jest a little corn for feed. He seem like he changed a lot since we
left Mississippi, and seem like he paid more attention to us and
looked after us better. But most the people that already live there
when we git there was mighty hard on their Negroes. They was mostly
hard drinkers and hard talkers, and they work and fight jest as hard
as they talk, too!

One day Old Master come out from town and tell us that we all been set
free, and we can go or stay jest as we wish. All of my family stay on
the place and he pay us half as shares on all we make. Pretty soon the
whitefolks begin to cut down on the shares, and the renters git only a
third and some less, and the Negroes begin to drift out to other
places, but old Master stick to the halves a year or so after that.
Then he come down to a third too.

It seem like the white people can't git over us being free, and they
do everything to hold us down all the time. We don't git no schools
for a long time, and I never see the inside of a school. I jest grow
up on hard work. And we can't go 'round where they have the voting,
unless we want to ketch a whipping some night, and we have to jest
keep on bowing and scraping when we are 'round white folks like we did
when we was slaves. They had us down and they kept us down. But that
was the way they been taught, and I don't blame them for it none, I
reckon.

When I git about thirty years old I marry Betty Sadler close to Waco,
and we come up to the Creek Nation forty years ago. We come to
Muskogee first, and then to Tulsa about thirty seven years ago.

We had ten children but only seven are alive. Three girls and a boy
live here in Tulsa and we got one boy in Muskogee and one at
Frederick, Oklahoma.

I sells milk and makes my living, and I keeps so busy I don't think
back on the old days much, but if anybody ask me why the Texas Negroes
been kept down so much I can tell them. If they set like I did on the
bank at that ferry across the Sabine, and see all that long line of
covered wagons, miles and miles of them, crossing that river and going
west with all they got left out of the War, it aint hard to
understand.

Them whitefolks done had everything they had tore up, or had to run
away from the places they lived, and they brung their Negroes out to
Texas and then right away they lost them too. They always had them
Negroes, and lots of them had mighty fine places back in the old
states, and then they had to go out and live in sod houses and little
old boxed shotguns and turn their Negroes loose. They didn't see no
justice in it then, and most of them never did until they died. The
folks that stayed at home and didn't straggle all over the country had
their old places to live on and their old friends around them, but
them Texans was different.

So I says, when they done us the way they did they was jest doing the
way they was taught. I don't blame them, because anybody will do that.

Whitefolks mighty decent to me now, and I always tried to teach my
children to be respectful and act like they think the whitefolks they
dealing with expects them to act. That the way to git along, because
some folks been taught one way and some been taught another, and folks
always thinks the way they been taught.




Oklahoma Writers' Project
Ex-Slaves

BOB MAYNARD, AGE 79
23 East Choctaw
Weleetka, Oklahoma.


I was born near what is now Marlin, Texas, Falls County. My father was
Robert Maynard and my mother was Chanie Maynard, both born slaves. Our
Master, Gerard Branum, was a very old man and wore long white
whiskers. He sho' was a fine built man, and walked straight and tall
like a young man.

I was too little to do much work so my job was to carry the key basket
for old Mistress. I sho' was proud of that job. The basket held the
keys to the pantry, the kitchen, the linen closet, and extra keys to
the rooms and smokehouse. When old Mistress started out on her rounds
every morning she'd call to me to get de basket and away we'd go. I'd
run errands for all the house help too, so I was kept purty busy.

The "big house" was a fine one. It was a big two-story white house
made of pine lumber. There was a big porch or veranda across the front
and wings on the east and west. The house faced south. There was big
round white posts that went clean up to the roof and there was a big
porch upstairs too. I believe the house was what you'd call colonial
style. There was twelve or fifteen rooms and a big wide stairway. It
was a purty place, with a yard and big trees and the house that set in
a walnut and pecan grove. They was graveled walks and driveways and
all along by the driveway was cedars. There was a hedge close to the
house and a flower garden with purty roses, holly hocks and a lot of
others I don't know the name of.

Back to the right of the house was the smokehouse, kept full of meat,
and further back was the big barns. Old Master kept a spanking pair of
carriage horses and several fine riding horses. He kept several pairs
of mules, too, to pull the plow. He had some ox teams too.

To the left and back of the "big house" was the quarters. He owned
about two thousand acres of land and three hundred slaves. He kept a
white overseer and the colored overlooker was my uncle. He sho' saw
that the gang worked. He saw to it that the cotton was took to the
gin. They used oxen to pull the wagons full of cotton. There was two
gins on the plantation. Had to have two for it was slow work to gin a
bale of cotton as it was run by horse power.

Old Master raised hundreds of hogs; he raised practically all the food
we et. He gave the food out to each family and they done their own
cooking except during harvest. The farm hands was fed at the "big
house." They was called in from the farm by a big bell.

Sunday was our only day for recreation. We went to church at our own
church, and we could sing and shout jest as loud as we pleased and it
didn't disturb nobody.

During the week after supper we would all set round the doors outside
and sing or play music. The only musical instruments we had was a jug
or big bottle, a skillet lid or frying pan that they'd hit with a
stick or a bone. We had a flute too, made out of reed cane and it'd
make good music. Sometimes we'd sing and dance so long and loud old
Master'd have to make us stop and go to bed.

The Patrollers, Ku Kluxers or night riders come by sometimes at night
to scare the niggers and make 'em behave. Sometimes the slaves would
run off and the Patroller would catch 'em and have 'em whipped. I've
seen that done lots of times. They was some wooden stocks (a sort of
trough) and they'd put the darky in this and strap him down, take off
his clothers and give him 25 to 50 licks, 'cording to what he had
done.

I reckon old Master had everything his heart could wish for at this
time. Old Mistress was a fine lady and she always went dressed up. She
wore long trains on her skirts and I'd walk behind her and hold her
train up when she made de rounds. She was awful good to me. I slept on
the floor in her little boy's room, and she give me apples and candy
just like she did him. Old Master gave ever chick and child good warm
clothes for winter. We had store boughten shoes but the women made our
clothes. For underwear we all wore 'lowers' but no shirts.

After the war started old Master took a lot of his slaves and went to
Natchez, Mississippi. He thought he'd have a better chance of keeping
us there I guess, and he was afraid we'd be greed [TR: freed?] and he
started running with us. I remember when General Grant blowed up
Vicksburg. I had a free born Uncle and Aunt who sometimes visited in
the North and they'd till us how easy it was up there and it sho' made
us all want to be free.

I think Abe Lincoln was next to de Lawd. He done all he could for de
slaves; he set 'em free. People in the South knowed they'd lose their
slaves when he was elected president. 'Fore the election he traveled
all over the South and he come to our house and slept in old Mistress'
bed. Didn't nobody know who he was. It was a custom to take strangers
in and put them up for one night or longer, so he come to our house
and he watched close. He seen how the niggers come in on Saturday and
drawed four pounds of meat and a peck of meal for a week's rations. He
also saw 'em whipped and sold. When he got back up north he writ old
Master a letter and told him he was going to have to free his slaves,
that everybody was going to have to, that the North was going to see
to it. He also told him that he had visited at his house and if he
doubted it to go in the room he slept in and look on the bedstead at
the head and he'd see where he'd writ his name. Sho' nuff, there was
his name: A. Lincoln.

Didn't none of us like Jeff Davis. We all liked Robert E. Lee, but we
was glad that Grant whipped him.

When the War was over, old Master called all the darkies in and lined
'em up in a row. He told 'em they was free to go and do as they
pleased. It was six months before any of us left him.

Darkies could vote in Mississippi. Fred Douglas, a colored man, came
to Natchez and made political speeches for General Grant.

After the war they was a big steam boat line on the Mississippi River
known as the Robert E. Lee Line. They sho' was fine boats too.

We used to have lots of Confederate money. Five cent pieces, two bit
pieces, half dollar bills and half dimes. During the war old Master
dug a long trench and buried all de silver ware, fine clothes, jewelry
and a lot of money. I guess he dug it up, but I don't remember.

Master died three years after the War. He took it purty good, losing
his niggers and all. Lots of men killed theirselves. Old Master was a
good old man.

I'm getting old, I reckon. I've been married twice and am the father
of 19 chillun. The oldest if 57 and my youngest is two boys, ten and
twelve. I has great grandchillun older than them two boys.




Oklahoma Writers' Project
Ex-Slaves
[Date stamp: AUG 19 1937]

JANE MONTGOMERY
Age 80 yrs.
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma


I was born March 15, 1857, in Homer, Louisiana. I claim to be 75 years
old, but that's jest my way of counting. My mother was Sarah Strong
and my father was Edmond Beavers. We lived in a log cabin that had
jest one door. I had two sisters named Peggy and Katie. Mammy was
bought from the Strong family and my pappy was bought from Beavers by
Mister Eason.

We slept on wooden slabs which was jest make-shift beds. I didn't do
no work in slave times 'cause I was too little. You jest had to be
good and husky to work on that place. I listened and told mammy
everything I heerd. I ate right side dat old white woman on the flo'.
I was a little busy-body. I don't recollect eating in our quarters on
Sunday and no other time.

I don't remember no possums and rabbits being on our place, 'cause
when white folks killed a chicken for their selves, dey killed one for
the niggers. My pappy never ate no cornbread in all his put-together.
Meat was my favorite food. I never ate no dry bread without no meat.

We wore homespun clothes. My first pair of shoes was squirrel skin.
Mammy had 'em made. We wore clothes called linsey that was wool and
cotton mixed.

My father was the onliest overseer. It was sho' a great big old place.
My master jest seen the place on Sundays. They was jest seven Niggers
on our plantation. No working late at night but we had to git up at
daylight. When our day's work was done, we went to bed, but sometimes
they sung. Sadday was a holiday from working on the plantation. You
had Sadday to wash for yourself. We didn't do nothing on Christmas and
all holidays.

Mistress never whip us and iffen master would start, mistress would
git a gun and make him stop. She said, "Let ever bitch whip her own
chillun." I never seen no patrollers, I jest heerd of 'em. They never
come on our place. I guess they was scared to. The Klu Klux whipped
niggers when so never they could catch 'em. They rid at night mostly.

I am a Baptist. I belong to Calvary Baptist Church. I was baptized in
a creek. Our favorite hymn was "Dark Was the Night an' Cold the
Ground." Our favorite revival hymn was "Lord I'd Come to Thee, a
Sinner Undefiled." Our favorite funeral song was "Hark From the Tomb."

My family didn't believe in conjure an' all that stuff, 'though they's
a heap of it was going on and still is for that matter. They had
"hands" that was made up of all kinds of junk. You used 'em to make
folks love you more'n they did. We used asafetida to keep off smallpox
and measles. Put mole foots round a baby's neck to make him teethe
easy. We used to use nine red ants tied in a sack round they neck to
make 'em teethe easy and never had no trouble with 'em neither.

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