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                       Memories of Childhood's
                             Slavery Days



                                  By


                           Annie L. Burton




                                BOSTON

                       ROSS PUBLISHING COMPANY


                                 1909




RECOLLECTIONS OF A HAPPY LIFE


The memory of my happy, care-free childhood days on the plantation,
with my little white and black companions, is often with me. Neither
master nor mistress nor neighbors had time to bestow a thought upon
us, for the great Civil War was raging. That great event in American
history was a matter wholly outside the realm of our childish
interests. Of course we heard our elders discuss the various events of
the great struggle, but it meant nothing to us.

On the plantation there were ten white children and fourteen <DW52>
children. Our days were spent roaming about from plantation to
plantation, not knowing or caring what things were going on in the
great world outside our little realm. Planting time and harvest time
were happy days for us. How often at the harvest time the planters
discovered cornstalks missing from the ends of the rows, and blamed
the crows! We were called the "little fairy devils." To the sweet
potatoes and peanuts and sugar cane we also helped ourselves.

Those slaves that were not married served the food from the great
house, and about half-past eleven they would send the older children
with food to the workers in the fields. Of course, I followed, and
before we got to the fields, we had eaten the food nearly all up. When
the workers returned home they complained, and we were whipped.

The slaves got their allowance every Monday night of molasses, meat,
corn meal, and a kind of flour called "dredgings" or "shorts." Perhaps
this allowance would be gone before the next Monday night, in which
case the slaves would steal hogs and chickens. Then would come the
whipping-post. Master himself never whipped his slaves; this was left
to the overseer.

We children had no supper, and only a little piece of bread or
something of the kind in the morning. Our dishes consisted of one
wooden bowl, and oyster shells were our spoons. This bowl served for
about fifteen children, and often the dogs and the ducks and the
peafowl had a dip in it. Sometimes we had buttermilk and bread in our
bowl, sometimes greens or bones.

Our clothes were little homespun cotton slips, with short sleeves. I
never knew what shoes were until I got big enough to earn them myself.

If a slave man and woman wished to marry, a party would be arranged
some Saturday night among the slaves. The marriage ceremony consisted
of the pair jumping over a stick. If no children were born within a
year or so, the wife was sold.

At New Year's, if there was any debt or mortgage on the plantation,
the extra slaves were taken to Clayton and sold at the court house. In
this way families were separated.

When they were getting recruits for the war, we were allowed to go to
Clayton to see the soldiers.

I remember, at the beginning of the war, two <DW52> men were hung in
Clayton; one, Caesar King, for killing a blood hound and biting off an
overseer's ear; the other, Dabney Madison, for the murder of his
master. Dabney Madison's master was really shot by a man named
Houston, who was infatuated with Madison's mistress, and who had hired
Madison to make the bullets for him. Houston escaped after the deed,
and the blame fell on Dabney Madison, as he was the only slave of his
master and mistress. The clothes of the two victims were hung on two
pine trees, and no <DW52> person would touch them. Since I have grown
up, I have seen the skeleton of one of these men in the office of a
doctor in Clayton.

After the men were hung, the bones were put in an old deserted house.
Somebody that cared for the bones used to put them in the sun in
bright weather, and back in the house when it rained. Finally the
bones disappeared, although the boxes that had contained them still
remained.

At one time, when they were building barns on the plantation, one of
the big boys got a little brandy and gave us children all a drink,
enough to make us drunk. Four doctors were sent for, but nobody could
tell what was the matter with us, except they thought we had eaten
something poisonous. They wanted to give us some castor oil, but we
refused to take it, because we thought that the oil was made from the
bones of the dead men we had seen. Finally, we told about the big
white boy giving us the brandy, and the mystery was cleared up.

Young as I was then, I remember this conversation between master and
mistress, on master's return from the gate one day, when he had
received the latest news: "William, what is the news from the seat of
war?" "A great battle was fought at Bull Run, and the Confederates
won," he replied. "Oh, good, good," said mistress, "and what did Jeff
Davis say?" "Look out for the blockade. I do not know what the end
may be soon," he answered. "What does Jeff Davis mean by that?" she
asked. "Sarah Anne, I don't know, unless he means that the <DW65>s
will be free." "O, my God, what shall we do?" "I presume," he said,
"we shall have to put our boys to work and hire help." "But," she
said, "what will the <DW65>s do if they are free? Why, they will
starve if we don't keep them." "Oh, well," he said, "let them wander,
if they will not stay with their owners. I don't doubt that many
owners have been good to their slaves, and they would rather remain
with their owners than wander about without home or country."

My mistress often told me that my father was a planter who owned a
plantation about two miles from ours. He was a white man, born in
Liverpool, England. He died in Lewisville, Alabama, in the year 1875.

I will venture to say that I only saw my father a dozen times, when I
was about four years old; and those times I saw him only from a
distance, as he was driving by the great house of our plantation.
Whenever my mistress saw him going by, she would take me by the hand
and run out upon the piazza, and exclaim, "Stop there, I say! Don't
you want to see and speak to and caress your darling child? She often
speaks of you and wants to embrace her dear father. See what a bright
and beautiful daughter she is, a perfect picture of yourself. Well, I
declare, you are an affectionate father." I well remember that
whenever my mistress would speak thus and upbraid him, he would whip
up his horse and get out of sight and hearing as quickly as possible.
My mistress's action was, of course, intended to humble and shame my
father. I never spoke to him, and cannot remember that he ever noticed
me, or in any way acknowledged me to be his child.

My mother and my mistress were children together, and grew up to be
mothers together. My mother was the cook in my mistress's household.
One morning when master had gone to Eufaula, my mother and my mistress
got into an argument, the consequence of which was that my mother was
whipped, for the first time in her life. Whereupon, my mother refused
to do any more work, and ran away from the plantation. For three years
we did not see her again.

Our plantation was one of several thousand acres, comprising large
level fields, upland, and considerable forests of Southern pine.
Cotton, corn, sweet potatoes, sugar cane, wheat, and rye were the
principal crops raised on the plantation. It was situated near the
P---- River, and about twenty-three miles from Clayton, Ala.

One day my master heard that the Yankees were coming our way, and he
immediately made preparations to get his goods and valuables out of
their reach. The big six-mule team was brought to the smoke-house
door, and loaded with hams and provisions. After being loaded, the
team was put in the care of two of the most trustworthy and valuable
slaves that my master owned, and driven away. It was master's
intention to have these things taken to a swamp, and there concealed
in a pit that had recently been made for the purpose. But just before
the team left the main road for the by-road that led to the swamp, the
two slaves were surprised by the Yankees, who at once took possession
of the provisions, and started the team toward Clayton, where the
Yankees had headquarters. The road to Clayton ran past our plantation.
One of the slave children happened to look up the road, and saw the
Yankees coming, and gave warning. Whereupon, my master left
unceremoniously for the woods, and remained concealed there for five
days. The <DW65>s had run away whenever they got a chance, but now it
was master's and the other white folks' turn to run.

The Yankees rode up to the piazza of the great house and inquired who
owned the plantation. They gave orders that nothing must be touched or
taken away, as they intended to return shortly and take possession. My
mistress and the slaves watched for their return day and night for
more than a week, but the Yankees did not come back.

One morning in April, 1865, my master got the news that the Yankees
had left Mobile Bay and crossed the Confederate lines, and that the
Emancipation Proclamation had been signed by President Lincoln.
Mistress suggested that the slaves should not be told of their
freedom; but master said he would tell them, because they would soon
find it out, even if he did not tell them. Mistress, however, said she
could keep my mother's three children, for my mother had now been gone
so long.

All the slaves left the plantation upon the news of their freedom,
except those who were feeble or sickly. With the help of these, the
crops were gathered. My mistress and her daughters had to go to the
kitchen and to the washtub. My little half-brother, Henry, and myself
had to gather chips, and help all we could. My sister, Caroline, who
was twelve years old, could help in the kitchen.

After the war, the Yankees took all the good mules and horses from
the plantation, and left their old army stock. We children chanced to
come across one of the Yankees' old horses, that had "U. S." branded
on him. We called him "Old Yank" and got him fattened up. One day in
August, six of us children took "Old Yank" and went away back on the
plantation for watermelons. Coming home, we thought we would make the
old horse trot. When "Old Yank" commenced to trot, our big melons
dropped off, but we couldn't stop the horse for some time. Finally,
one of the big boys went back and got some more melons, and left us
eating what we could find of the ones that had been dropped. Then all
we six, with our melons, got on "Old Yank" and went home. We also used
to hitch "Old Yank" into a wagon and get wood. But one sad day in the
fall, the Yankees came back again, and gathered up their old stock,
and took "Old Yank" away.

One day mistress sent me out to do some churning under a tree. I went
to sleep and jerked the churn over on top of me, and consequently got
a whipping.

My mother came for us at the end of the year 1865, and demanded that
her children be given up to her. This, mistress refused