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ELLA LASSITER - LIFE AND
SONGS IN SLAVERY
(Florida)
WPA WRITERS PROJECT OF FLORIDA
FOLKLORE 19; FOLKLORE. FLORIDA
INFORMANT'S NAME Ella Lassiter, centenarian, col
INFORMANT'S ADDRESS Tangerine St. Sebring, Fla.
DATE OF INTERVIEW March [?] & [?]; April 14, 1940
NAME OF INTERVIEWER Barbara B. Darsey
FORM C
TEXT OF INTERVIEW (UNEDITED)
STATE FLORIDA
NAME OF WORKER Barbara B. Darsey
ADDRESS 33 South Commerce Aven. Sebring, Florida
DATE April [18-21?]; May [?], 6-[?], 1940
SUBJECT LIFE AND SONGS IN SLAVERY
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT Ella Lassiter, Tangerine St., Sebring, Fla.
I had already planned my visit to Mother Lassiter, through her daughter
Annie Mae Warren, whom I met in town on Saturday. Annie Mae stated that
her Mother was as well as usual and would indeed be glad to see me. Said
she in her precise manner.
"Mothah she suah do love to talk, and to tell of her early life it suah do
give her joy." So I told Annie Mae that I would plan to call the first of
the week and I asked her to request her Mother to be thinking particularly
of her early life in anticipation of my visit.
The day was dark and gloomy, for the sun had been hiding and sulking most
of the day behind dark clouds. There was a piercing wind too, which swept
the streets bare and sent the dust about in great clouds, and angrily
scattered leaves and trash everywhere. I drew my coat about me securely as
I started out about one-thirty to walk to the Quarters to visit Mother
Ella. Lemon Street was almost deserted and presented thus a most unusual
appearance for usually it teems with life. Today however the cold wind had
driven almost everyone in doors. On Tangerine Street the dust was thick as
fog and I was glad indeed when I reach Mother's home.
When I knocked on the door a voice called "Come in" and I immediately
accepted and tried to open the door. It sagged against the floor but soon
I opened it sufficiently to crowd into the hall. This hall was dark and
narrow, but light showed from an open door at the right and so I made my
way there. Mother Ella was struggling to arise from her large rocking
chair, but when I appeared she fell back relieved. Recently she fell and
hurt her hip so that now she does not move with her accustomed ease.
This room proved to be the living room, or as Mother Ella called it "de
sittinroom" and here with her sat another aged darkie Aunt Ella Grant. I
know them both quite well and am always glad to see them but on this
particular time I would have preferred to talk to Mother Ella alone as I
usually find better results obtainable that way. I thought of postponing
the purpose of my visit but found that they had been expecting me and I
was reluctant to disappoint them for they are quite sensitive. Then too it
occurred to me that perhaps Mother Ella would be moved to do her best in
order to impress Aunt Ella with her days of past grandeur.
Mother was sitting near the little stove which was full of wood and
humming merrily as it warmed the room. Her snuff box was near at hand and
a tin can on the floor at side of her chair served as a cuspidor. Said
she:
"Lawsy me, Mistis, suah am glad to see you. Annie Mae she done tole me you
a-coming," and a smile went over her face, "she say you want to know bout
mah life and de songs whut us sanged in de Slavery time, hee-e-e-, a ole
niggah like me," and she giggled happily.
She did indeed seemed pleased that I had called on her. Aunt Ella sat
looking rather glum, jealous of course, until I told her that I would soon
be asking her for her life story too, then she became pleasant and
interested. Mother spoke again: "Yessum, I suah kin tell you a lot, Mistis,
an I spect I member lots a songs too."
Aunt Ella looked at me with a wide toothless grim and mumbled: "Us jus a-sittin
heah a-wishin you would come so us could sing songs fo you." She smoothed
her skirt and then reached for the tin-can-cuspidor, for she too is
addicted to snuff.
"Now, Mistis," said Mother, "you want dem songs fust, but I best tell you
sumthin bout de Slavery days fust, den de songs dey come to me," her
gentle old voice trailed off as she became engaged in deep thought.
I was eager for the story of her life along with the songs so I tried to
gently start her off by asking a few questions. She responded readily and
soon was voluble.
"I wus borned in Georgia, on de McMullin Plantation near Forsythe way back
in de year 1839. Dat make me hundred, don't hit, Mistis?" She remarked
more than question so I made no comment
"Ed Mann McMullen, he wus mah pappy. Guess mebbe he belong nother massa
once fur he had de name a Mann an he proud ob hit an allus kep hit. My
mammy, she Rachel McMullen."
Then she looked at me and explained earnestly: "You know, Mistis, marriage
didn't make no diffrunce dem names, cause dey both had de same already,
hee-e-e-e," she laughed. "Yessum, dey both McMullens all de time. Den my
Gran-mammy she name Mary, an Gran-Pappy, he name Isiah, an dey bofe
McMullens too." Again she became engaged in thought and mumbled to
herself, then said: "I declare, does I ricollec, or not, was dey on my
pappy or my mammy side, just caint tell now, Mistis, been so long ago."
Here Aunt Ella piped in her shrill voice: "Huh, You allus a-talkin bout
your Gran-Mammy, do look lak you cud tell which side de famlby she belong
on." But Mother couldn't remember and seemed to feel quite bad about it
for a moment.
Quickly her spirits revived, however, and she said:
"We live dere on de plantation when I jus a little girl. Den our Massa
sold us to nother Massa an he brang us splang to Floridy. We live way up
in de noth part bout Monticello, I reckon hit was.
"Never tooked de name o Martin, tho that our new Massa name. We proud o
bein McMullen niggah, an Massa he proud o buyin such, so we allus called 'dem
McMullen niggahs' an proud o hit. Both our Massas wuz good men an rich
too, dey suah had plenty o slaves. Dem was good days too, wisht dey wuz
back heah, deed Ah does."
Mother heaved a sigh and rocking gently she gazed off into space as the
old days unfolded in her mind. "Us all lived in a clearin off fum de big
house. Us had nice little cabins too, all white washed. Ours had two room,
one big room with the bigges fiah place in hit you evah saw. Us cooked on
hit too an we eat in de big room an mah pappy an mammy slept in hit too.
Den we had a little shed room where was me an my sister slept."
The wind continued to howl in fury and rattle the windows in an attempt to
enter the room. The room was growing chill too, and I noticed the fire was
dying down so I offered to put wood in the stove. This disturbed Mother
Ella who felt that I shouldn't have that to do. But, neither of the two
old darkies were equal to it, so I insisted, and soon had the little stove
roaring contentedly again.
Mother Ella rocked quietly in her huge chair and Aunt Ella sat with hands
folded over the sewing in her lap, both, apparently in deep thought.
"Yes, Mistis, us had de good times in dem days Hit wasnt all hard wuk
neither. Us had plenty to eat, en to wear, yes maam, plenty o wearin
closes too an shoeses when us needed dem. Caint say we allus have dat much
dose days atter de Wah.
"Come Crismus time, whee-e-e, dat such de big day!" exclaimed Mother
happily. "Early on Crismus mawnin, Massa George, he give all de ole
niggahs a aig-nog an it allus had plenty a likker in hit too, whee-e-e"
literally shouted Mother. "Hit make em all feel might good too. Sometimes
he give us chilluns a taste too," she licked her lips in enjoyment of past
egg-nogs.
Missy Mary, she suah good to us too. She knit evah one e us a pair of
socks or stockings fur Crismus. Sometimes dey wuz red wool, sometimes
grey. Wisht I had a pair o em right now."
Mother Ella paused again and sighed wistfully:
"Come Crismus we all sings and dances, an sings an dances," exclaimed
she," don't have to wuk dat day, an don't have to wuk no hard de nex day
to make hit up nuther."
Here Aunt Ella spoke again: "You-all dun talk so much bout Crismus, huceum
you caint member de song bout hit lak you-all tole me onst?" She looked at
Mother Ella with suspicion as if she were with holding information on the
song. Poor old Mother could not remember though the effort was visible in
her kind old face. She shook her head sadly:
"Jus haint no use. I been a-tryin recollec, but hit scapes mah mind." She
then returned to the Christmas theme.
"Sometimes Massa George, he let us all go right up to de big house to see
de Crismus tree. Hit so bright an pretty. Us niggahs, big an little, we
stan aroun de room an just look an look, fill our eyes full of de beauty
of de tree. An we nevah say a word, we jus look." Mother shaded her eyes
with her hand and really seemed to be peering into the past on Christmas
Day. "Sometimes Missy Mary gives us all a hanful o nuts an raisins, hee-e-e-e-,
an is we proud. I nevah eat all mine right up I keep em awhile I be so
proud o em," she sighed wistfully.
Suddenly Mother Ella sat erect and a look of excitement flashed in her
dark eyes. "Jus a minut now, dat song hit suah a comin in mah mind," she
exclaimed. "Hit don't mean nuthin us chillen uster git up early an jine
hands an dance roun de big fish in de clearin an sing hit," explained
Mother. Then she rocked rapidly and with lifted hand beat time as she
appeared to be listening to faraway voices of the Christmas of long ago.
In a big tremulous voice and began to sing:
"Come de Crismus morn
Heah de Crismus bell
A ringin u-ooo, u-ooo-o
A ringin u-ooo, u-ooo-o
Chillen open de doah
Let in de Crismus morn
A singin u-ooo, u-ooo-u-o
A singin u-ooo, u-ooo-u-o
Heah de Crismus Spirut
A callin on de wind
A callin u-ooo, u-ooo-o-o-o
A callin u-ooo, u-ooo-o-o-o
See de Crismus Spirut
A ridin en de cloud
A ridin u-ooo, u-ooo, u-o-u-o-u-o-u
A ridin u-ooo, u-ooo, u-o-u-o-u-o-u."
At the end of each verse the repetition grew more prolonged as I have
endeavored to show. It was almost a wail, but was rather musical and quite
interesting. At this song Mother seemed tired and rested for a moment with
eyes closed. No one spoke until she shook her head and opened her eyes: "Hee-e-e,
how you like dat, Mistis?" she asked, and I told her that it pleased me
very much. I then asked if she were tired and would want to rest but she
said: "No ma'am, hit don't nevah tire me to talk bout de ole days, I loves
hit!"
Then she spoke again of life in slavery.
"Us had good clothes dem days too. Mebbe not so fancy as what dey got now,
an not so flimsy nuther. Our closes dey wuz made fur wearin an dey suah
did las too. Us spun de cotton an weave our clothes. Sometimes we dye em
with yurbs an berries, dey wuz fur our bestes dresses us did dat. Mostly
dey jus grey dey made full and to our shoe tops. Mostly us went barefoots
but we had shoeses when us need em."
She paused and lifted up the tin-can-cuspidor, then she placed a pinch of
snuff in her cheek, then carefully wiped her lips with her gay
handkerchief. After that she folded the handkerchief lovingly and tucked
it back in the front of her dress so that its gay border made a bright
splash of color on the grey calico.
"Us allus wanted store shoes, we heard a lot o em, an we saw them Missy
Mary had. Den once when I got to be a-workin in de big house, Massa he
brung me a pair o real store shoes, yes, Mistis, real shoes. Misey Mary,
she say I was too good a girl not to have a pair," she continued
seriously, "an Mistis, dey wuz jus as shiny as a lookinglass, dey suah wuz,
hee, hee, hee," and Mother giggled like a girl.
"Us uster sing a little song bout shoeses too, now lemme see dose I
ricollec hit. Yessum, it go dis-a-way:
"O good Massa, o,o,o,
Bring my shoeses, o,o,o,
Nice soft shoeses, o,o,o,
Bring me shoeses, o,o,o,
Den mah feets feel good, o,o,o
Wif dem shoeses, o,o,o,"
Another song this in a high voice also and with more of a singsong without
emphasis. After this effort she shook her skirts and settled herself more
comfortably in her chair. Then a soft peeping arouse and Mother started
guiltily. She fumbled around with one foot and finally pushed forward from
under her voluminous skirt a small box covered with a soft white cloth.
This cloth moved gently and then I picked up the box and placed it in
Mother's lap, knowing fairly well what it held. Mother lifted the cloth
and up popped six downy yellow heads with beady black eyes. Mother talked
to the chicks in a low crooning voice and covered them with her hands and
them immediately became quiet.
"Dat ole hen," said Mother scornfully, "she not finish her wuk dis mawnin,
so Annie Mae she brung in dese biddies fuh me to keep till de hen finish."
She held the box on her lap while she continued to talk.
"Mah goodness, chile, us had plenty to eat in dem days. Collard greens
with corn bread and side meat, whoo-e-e whuts bettern dat. We cook on de
hearth, an make de corn pone an cook hit right dere too in de ashes. Hit
git hard an brown an de out side but when you bus it open hit just as
mealy an sweet. Mek me hungry right now a-talkin o hit," by this time we
were all rather hungry for Mother's description and her manner, both, were
graphic.
"Us had plenty o fresh pork too, an sometimes us had beef-meat, but us
nevah like hit as we did de pork. Den dey wuz surup. Nevah had no sugar,
but whut us need hit fuh when us got de syrup!" she queried indignantly.
I had brought a small sack of candy, soft jelly drops, fer Mother Ella,
thinking it might help her to talk, but I hesitated about presenting it
for I had nothing for old Aunt Ella and well I knew how sensitive she was.
So, those I sat grasping the sack of candy and trying to decide what to do
about it, and at the same time hungrily thinking of salt pork and collard
greens and corn pone cooked over an open fire.
"When us wore shoeses," resumed Mother, "us had to wipe em off fust, den
rub grease into em an roll em up in a cloth an keep em good when we took
em off. Iffen we didn't wear out a pair dey went on to nother chile whut
needed em.
"Us had a Church bout a mile off fum de clearin but us didn't hab no
preacher much, hit too fur to come regular. Us allus pray an sing, an pray
an sing. Niggahs right on de plantation built dat Church too outer logs.
Hit were a good one too," said Mother gently.
"When folks died or git married sometimes dey had to wait fur a long time
fore de services held. Jus go right on an bury em, or dey git married, den
mebbe long time after de preacher come an preach de ceremony. Mostest de
couples jus jump over de broom stick, den dey married. Us all come out in
de clearin an sing and pray an shout, den Uncle Caleb, he bring outen de
broom an hole it fur de niggahs to jump, den dey married an later iffen a
preacher come dey git him to give em a ceremony too.
"Coffins made right on de plantation
too, nuthing fancy like dey have now, but dey good an strong an keep out
de bugs an de eatin animiles," said Mother Ella. "To de weddins an de
funerls us allus weah our shoeses too jus as keerful like."
"Now den heah am a song we uster allus sing at de weddin or de funeral,
didnt make no diffurnce which." Said Mother, and then she swayed her body
sideways, or from left to right, and waved both hands in time.
"OH, NO. FATHER, you outer be dere
To carry de ARMY ovah
OH, NO, Brothah, you outer be dere
To carry de ARMY o-o-vah
OH, NO, Sister, YOU OUTER BE DERE
To carry de ARMY ovah
OH, NO, MY MOTHAH, YOU outer be dere
To carry de Army O-o-Vah
OH, NO, bring ALL DE FAMILY
Help carry de ARMY o-v-a-h."
Mother Ella sung this with vigor and emphasis. Certain parts she
emphasized particularly as I have endeavored to show with capital letters.
Aunt Ella seemed at one time about to join in the song, but after a gulp
or two she gave up the struggle and merely kept time with hands and feet.
As Mother paused a knock was heard at the back door, then the door was
opened and a small darkie boy came in. He looked startled when he saw me,
but stood his ground and finally blurted:
"W-h-h--whut kin I do fuh you Gramma-ma?"
Mother Ella smiled kindly and replied: "Now fust thing you fill de wood
box and en tend up de fiah. Den I tells you whut else." So then the little
boy set quietly about his work, and Mother resumed her life story.
"I wuz raised a Baptist, lek us all were cause our Massa and Missy, dey
Baptist an we follered em. But now I belong to de Sanctified Christian
Church an I mos happy dere." She looked around at the window as if longing
for a glimpse of her Church.
"Sometimes Massa George, he let us niggahs come to de big house when a
preacher come dere. Let us right in de big room what had de bigges organ
you ever saw. Missy Mary she could play hit too an make de sweetest
music," said Mother reverently. "Us allus be so still, till once Uncle
Caleb, he got so happy he jus get a-shoutin an he couldn't stop. Us all
thought dat Massa be mighty mad, but he jus laught at Uncle Caleb, an
gived him a big hat wid a red and yeller hat ribbon to hit too, an wuz
Uncle Caleb proud den, who e-e-e-, he wuz," exclaimed Mother, who seemed
quite happy herself at the pleasant recollection.
Just then Bubba, as the little Negro's name proved to be, reported that he
had completed his work. Mother then told him: "Now you fill all de watah
buckets on de back poach, an den dis here pitcher, an den you goes home."
Then she continued, "Massa tuk good care o all his slaves, Mistis. He like
em all be well, whut good wuz a sick niggah to him? He had us to wuk, so
he giv us plenty to eat an wear, an Missy Mary she come roun de cabins
often an give us all a dose o castor oil," said Mother Ella with a wry
face. "Iffen onney de chillens be ailin she gived dem de oil an sometimes
calomel too. Hee, hee, hee, sometimes us little niggah tries git well foah
she git dere wid at castor oil, but hit done wuk. Iffen dey been sick dey
suah take de oil," laughed Mother.
"Sometimes my Mammy she go out in de woods in dig de yurbs an she bile em
up an we all take dat. Hit such a bittah dose but hit help us. Wouldn't be
so ailin mahself now could I git to de woods an fine dem yurbs an fix em
up. Whut kind o yurbs wuz dey? Well now I cant zacly remember ceptin de
sassafras root. But dey wuz others an my Mammy she bile em all up
together." Mother carefully explained.
"Some ob de niggahs allus hab de haid-ache. Nothin much to do bout that
cause dey done throwed out dey hair where de birds fine hit an line a
nest, no wunder dem niggahs haids ache, Done nevah do dat, Mistis," Mother
cautioned me seriously.
"Lot o times we know a visitor comin cause de ole roosters dey walk roun
de house an crow. Iffen one o em stan on de front step an crow jus at
daylight den we know bad-luck an trouble is a comin in a hurry. Caint do
nuthin neither jus be a watchin an a waitin. Some de niggahs say to burn a
little grease, hog grease, or better, butter iffen you kin git hit, right
on de stove an de smoke scars de bad luck away, but my Mammy she say dat
dont do no good, but us allus try hit when de ole rooster crow on de step
at daylight."
Mother paused, reached for the cuspidor, then took another pinch of snuff.
I asked about the War, and at its mention she was instantly alert:
"Whut dey wanter make dat Wah fur? All us niggahs happy an had good care.
Bettern whut we had since dat time. Dat Wah hit comed an ruint everything.
Massa George he went, and Little Massa George, he went. He got shot though
an atter while he comed home to stay fur he so thin an weak an sick an a-spittin
blood where de Yankee shot him in de side, he caint hardly go."
She paused and her eyes flashed, "Jus fore Ole Massa lef, he tole Missy
Mary, 'Done let dem Yankee sogers git de chillen. Lock em all up, black an
white, cause dem sogers suah take on iffem dey see em' I's a big girl den
but hit suah scared me, us all thought dem Yankee sogers eat de chillen,
hee, hee, hee.
"One day a whole band of Yankee sogers rode right up to de gate. Missy
done hid de bes silver under de fo smoke house, but us all scaired. Des
right nice mens and polite too. Dey said dey hungry an ask Missy Mary foah
food. So she tell em she feed em, an den she went to de kitchen an tole
Aunt Jimpsy to cook a lot o biscuit an fry ham an aigs. Aunt Jimpsy she
mad as a wet hen an say she wont do hit. Nevah did talk like dat to Missy
befoah an dat scaired us too. Den Missy Mary she get mad too an said, 'You
want us all kilt, you do whut I tells you right now.' Den pore ole Aunt
Jimpsy she cried an she grumble but she go ahaid an cook foah dem Yankee
sogers.
"When de meal ready, Missy Mary, said to em jus as polite: 'Wont you
gemmuns come into de dinin room?' Dey all come in wif dey caps off an dey
suah did eat. After dey eat all dey want dey thanked Missy Mary an rode
away." Mother sighed and a
[MISSING PAGE?]
"Us uster sing a little song durin de Wah bout de Yankee sogas, les see
now iffen I can recollec hit," she mumbled to herself for a few moments,
made several false starts, then she sang:
"Be good chile,
O de Yankee git you
Whup, de whup, de hup
Whup, de whup, de hup
He got hoofs an horns
Catch you suah you borned
Whup, de whup, de hup
Whup, de whup, de hup
See he ridin down de big road
Catch you suah you borned
Whup, de whup, de hup
Whup, de whup, de hup
Be good chile
O de Yankee git you.
Whup, de whup, de hup
Whup, de whup, de hup."
"Dat allus scare de chillens an make em behave dey self," explained Mother
Ella proudly. "Dem maynt be all de zac words, but dey mighty neah like
hit."
After a minute or two Mother Ella resumed her story. All this while Aunt
Ella had been sitting spell-bound apparently, and had even forgotten the
sewing in her hands.
"Massa George come home sometimes durin de Wah. He allus be so tired and
look so thin an hungry, an his cloes so ragged, hit allus make Missy Mary
cry. Massa George say Missy Mary makin out fine wid de plantation while he
away. Sometimes he sit out on de gallery an all us niggahs walk by an bow
an scrape befoah him an dat please him too.
"When de Wah wuz ovah, he comed home an tole us we is all free niggahs an
can go where we please, or we kin sta with him. Most of us stayed right
there, where else we go, we got no other home," exclaimed Mother. "Jus
bout de close ob de Wah, I got married an went back up in Georgy to live.
Missy Mary say I Make a good wife cause I a good girl an learnt whut she
wanted me to. I learnt to sew real neat and good, an to cook an clean
house, den too I took care o Missy Mary, an brush her hair till hit shine,
an fix up her close an hep her dress too. She cried when I married and
moved away an she say, 'Elly,' she allus call me Elly, 'member now chile
you allus got a home heah long as I lives. Iffen it so be dat dat dere
Jives done treat you right you come right back heah,' I laugh an tell her
'Yessum' but I knew Jives an he a good niggah too. He died after we
married awhile and den I married, now lemme see, had so many, caint member
whichun next," said Mother with laughter. "Oh yes, den I married Louie
Davis, an den Ed Brown," she counted them solemnly on her slim brown
fingers. "Ed, he was a suah nuff good niggah, but atter awhile us jus
couldn't git long so he went off. No, wait, now I got dat wrong, next to
Louie, I married Henderson Martin, he a long tall black man with a face
what nevah laughed none, but he was a fair husband alright. Den I married
Ed Brown, an after he went off along came dat wuthless Sherman Lassiter,
an course I married him," said Mother.
"He wus no good, nothin but a tramp so I glad when he run off and lef me."
Mother looked at me with mischief showing in her eyes and the quirk of her
mouth, and explained with a loud sigh: "Suah hopes to git me nutter one
fore I leaves dis hear worl!" That was too much for Aunt Ella, who dropped
her work stamped her feet and shouted: "Praise de Lawd," with much vigor.
Having finally decided to divide the candy between the two old crones, but
to wait until I was about ready to leave before presenting it, I slipped
some leaves from my note book and wrapped a small portion of the candy
with them. I think Mother Ella saw me do this but she made no comment.
Aunt Ella was again intent upon her sewing. The wind continued to howl
angrily about the house and the day was growing darker as the afternoon
advanced. I thought perhaps Mother was really more tired than she would
admit, even though she did not look at all fatigued, so I decided to give
the candy then as it might rest and refresh her to eat it. So I presented
each with their little package, and each old darkie solemnly accepted it,
wrapped it carefully in handkerchiefs and placed it carefully in the front
of their dresses. Then each thanked me kindly, and Mother resumed her
talk:
"Spect I done tole you all I kin think bout right now Mistis, iffen I ken
think up enny more songs an sich, I'll suah send Annie Mae in to tell you
so you kin come an heah dem. Hee, hee, hee, de idea you interested in de
life eb a ole niggah lak me," and again she laughed delightedly.
I thanked Mother Ella most sincerely for her kindness, then I made plans
to call on Aunt Ella soon for her life history. I had risen from my chair
and was about to leave when Mother spoke again:
"Chile," said she in evident excitement. I got nuther song in my haid. Sit
down now iffen you wanter heah hit." Of course I was glad, and got out my
note book again.
"Now dis one us uster sing a-wukin in de field an I believe hit went jus
this way:"
"A hoein' in de cahn field
A row-o-er, a hoe-o-er
Whoop-pa-la-hup, o-er
A choppin in de cotton
A chop-o-er, a hoe-o-er
Whoop-pa-la-hup, o-er."
This little song, conveyed in Mother's sweet old high voice had a
bird-like quality of tone that was pleasing. No part was particularly
accented but the letters as separated were long drawn out.
After this effort, Mother really did seem tired. She yawned hugely and
sighed deeply, but begged me to return soon to see her.
"I be a thinkin up dem songs, and de life when I was a slave, to tell you
Mistis," said she.
Then, after making sure that the little stove had wood and that the two
old darkies were comfortable, I left them, colorful reminders of that long
lost era of our Southland, and made my way out into the wind and dust of
the late afternoon to wend my way homeward eager to transcribe my notes on
this interesting Life and Songs of Slavery.
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WPA WRITERS PROJECT OF FLORIDA
FOLKLORE, [L9?]: FOLKLORE, FLORIDA
INFORMANT'S NAME Ella Lassiter, col.
INFORMANT'S ADDRESS Tangerine St., Sebring, Fla.
DATE OF INTERVIEW 3/26-28 & 4/4/1940
NAME OF INTERVIEWER Barbara B. Darsey
FORM D.
EXTRA COMMENT
STATE FLORIDA
NAME OF WORKER Barbara B. Darsey
ADDRESS 33 South Commerce Avenue, Sebring, Florida
DATE Typing completed on manuscript, May 9, 1940
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT Ella Lassiter, centenarian, colored
Tangerine St., Sebring, Florida
SUBJECT LIFE AND SONGS OF SLAVERY
INTERMEDIARY:
No intermediary was required as worker had known Mother Ella for a number
of years. However as Mother has not been real well for some time, worker
first questioned her daughter, Annie Mae Warren, regarding the feasibility
of interviewing Mother. Annie Mae was pleased that her Mother was
considered of such importance and stated that her Mother would be happy to
see worker. Then a definite time was set for the calls.
TEXT OF INTERVIEWS:
Text is given verbatim. Three calls were made, the last two were of minor
importance with regard to text, being merely the recheck on dates and
other points for accuracy, therefore subject matter is treated as one
interview, without reference to the minor calls.
Songs are written just as they were sung, with an attempt at realistic
spelling of syllables as they sounded when sung and which were used in
songs in place of some words. To show emphasis, capital letters are used,
also hyphens to indicate a slurring or long drawn out sound of letters.
Worker had endeavored to use true Negro dialect, just as Mother Ella
spoke. This is rather hard to transcribe at times, therefore if any doubt
or misunderstanding should arive over words as spelled here in LIFE AND
SONGS OF SLAVERY, worker will be glad to give additional information in
order to clarify matters. Mother Ella offered to think over her life and
to have ready soon other experiences and songs therefore it might be well
to follow up this case with a call at a later date.
........
WPA FLORIDA WRITERS' PROJECT
First Form C. submitted 5/10/40
ADDENDA:
FOLKLORE, 19: FOLKLORE, FLORIDA
INFORMANT'S NAME Ella Lassiter, centenarian. col.
INFORMANT'S ADDRESS Tangerine St., Sebring, Florida
DATE OF INTERVIEW June 18, 1940
NAME OF INTERVIEWER Barbara B. Darsey.
FORM C.
ADDENDA: Form C Previously submitted.
TEXT OF INTERVIEW (Unedited)
STATE FLORIDA
NAME OF WORKER Barbara B. Darsey
ADDRESS 33 S. Commerce Ave., Sebring, Florida.
DATE June 18, 19, 20, 1940
SUBJECT ADDENDA: LIFE AND SONGS IN SLAVERY
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT Ella Lassiter, Tangerine St., Sebring, Fla.
On the occasion of my previous interviews with Mother Ella she had
promised to "mind" other songs, stories, and experiences of her life in
slavery, and as she took much an interest in my work of recording her life
story, and much pride in her life in slavery I felt that perhaps sometime
when I saw her again she might have something in mind. Several other
informants have so promised, but when I called upon them again could not
recall anything therefore I had not hastened to visit Mother Ella for this
purpose, though her interesting personality and colorful history are often
in my mind.
Though it was no later than seven oclock in the morning the sun was
already shining and its heat was intense too, when a a rather timid knock
sounded on my door. Opening it I saw a tiny negro boy with ragged cap in
hand. His big brown eyes, as he looked up at me, held fright, nevertheless
he stood his ground stanchly and stammered:
"Mis-sis- d-d-o-orsy, -er-er-er Gram-mer-ma, she s-a-a-y come ovah soon.
s-s-she g-g-got moah songs foah you."
I could not place him as the grandson of any of my old negro friends in
the Quarters and his face was not familiar, so I reluctantly asked him
name. (I say reluctantly because I do not like to ask the negroes their
names it always seems to hurt their feelings that I do not remember all of
them from the days of FERA for they all seem to know me at all times).
This boy's name proved to be Binny but that was as far as we got and it
did me little good. Then I asked his Grandmother's name but all he could
tell me was:
"Jus Gran-mer,ma, maam."
He was so tiny that it did seem incredible that he had been chosen for
such an errand, and still more incredible that he had been able to
successfully make the long trip from the Quarters down Lemon Street and
then through the intricate right-angle and semicircular turns of the other
streets until he reached my apartment on South Commerce and upstairs too.
However here he was and we stood looking at each other in speculative
silence for a few seconds. Then, like a flash, it came to me that on my
last visit to Mother Ella a little boy, somewhat larger had run in asking:
"What kin I do fuh you Grammer-ma?"
and knowing that probably few children knew her name, all would know her
daughter Annie Mae, I asked Binny if Gram-mer-ma had a daughter named
Annie Mae. He grinned from ear to ear with a display of fine large white
teeth and said:
"Yessum she suah hab."
I knew then it was Mother Ella, true to her promise, who had sent for me.
I thanked Binny and gave him a penny which he clasped gratefully and
tightly in a grimy paw and then told him to tell Mother Ella that I would
see her during the afternoon. Binny then turned and ran and almost down
stairs in his haste to spend the penny, I suppose.
Time pressed however for I had several engagements in line of other phases
of my work, and these always require lots of time and much patience for
people rarely are punctilious regarding such appointments. I was indeed
eager to call on Mother Ella for she had promised to "mind" more songs and
stories, and she is indeed an interesting character. The very fact that
she had taken the time and trouble to remember other facts, and to send me
word presaged well for interesting information.
The day indeed dragged, everyone seemed to keep me waiting an illimitable
while, but finally with patience, I found that work accomplished, and then
though it was almost five oclock I made my way over to Mother Ella.
Though the sun was crawling down the western sky, it was still very warm
and Lemon Street was unusually quiet, its length almost deserted. Even the
broad front gallery, of the grocery, at Lemon and Tangerine Streets which
is usually crowded with a good-natured, laughing, singing, throng of
darkies, was empty, save for a couple of negroes intent on entering and
leaving the store. The Quarters, in its entirety seemed hushed, and the
heat hung like a pall or thick blanket everywhere.
As I came near Mother's cottage, I thought of the little front veranda
partly shaded by the great oleander trees and I wondered if it would be
cool there and if Mother would be able to be sitting on the porch.
Involuntarily I quickened my steps despite the heat. As I entered the gate
I saw Mother Ella sitting cool and comfortable on the porch cutting and
fitting quilt squares. She welcomed me gladly and graciously as is her
manner. This time she was able to stand and walk to the screen door of the
porch. She bade me be seated in a comfortable old chair and then resumed
her seat but she laid aside the quilting to talk more readily.
Dressed in her usual costume of stiffly starched grey calico with white
apron and bertha, long full sleeves, and high tight neck, along with heavy
stockings high shoes, and tightly wound faded silk bandanna, one would
think she might have felt the heat. However she really looked cool and she
remarked that she felt the hot weather very very little. Old Mother was
pleased that I came so quickly and she happily opened the small bag of
cookies which I brought her and daintily ate one as she started to talk.
"Hee, hee, hee, Mistis, I told you I 'mind' some moah dem ole songs an
games an de like. Today I been a-sittin right heah on dis gallery a turin
dem times ovah in mah mind, jus lak I did las night too.. Seem lak
sometimes I member dem things happen so long ago bettern whut I does in
dese days."
She rolled her eyes and fluttered her hands. Then she reached over and
ejected a brown stream of tobacco juice straight into the
tin-can-cuspidor.
"I suah am glad Binny foun youh house al right. He say he know where you
liv. I seen him a-runnin by and I called him an axed him to tell you to
come ovah when you could. He come right back too an tole me you be heah
dis afternoon. Whoo-o-e-e, he suah was proud o that penny you give him,
hee, hee, hee," and Mother Ella threw back her head in a peal of silvery
laughter.
Then suddenly serious she said:
"Well now, Mistis, I done thot o a game us uster play in de slavery days.
I [???], it mus be way yonder morein fifty year ago. Here! Whut I talking
about!" She exclaimed, "it morein seventy five year. I wuz jus a little
chile dem days."
Mother Ella seemed slightly bewildered and I wondered if she had forgotten
what she wanted to tell me, but I made no comment, merely waited for her
to speak. She yawned twice, then shook her head sharply as if to rattle
her brain into action, and then she began talking again.
"Dis heah game, I member, wuz called 'Little Chicken.' Us all line up an
chose two cap'ins, den us count all de boys an girls one foah each side.
After dat us all grag a-holt o skirts or shirt-tails and git be hine our
cap'in. Den da two cap'ins day face each other an dey sing: 'I wants a
chick, I wants a chick.' Den de first say:
'I will hab a chick', and de other say,:
'wel you caint hab mine.' Den de fust Cap'in say:
'Well I will hab one.' an den de other say too:
'Well I will hab one.' den dey both say to dey chicks:
'Little chick you heah me
Keep close behine
Nothin kin ketch you
Keep on de line.'
Den us all run and dodge each other, an try to catch de chicks of de other
cap'in. As we catch em we brang em to our cap'in who done mark a big
circle on de groun wif a stick and we put em inde circle an dey hafta stay
there too," exclaimed Mother with a sparkle in her eyes. Here she paused
for a generous pinch of snuff before resuming the game.
"When us catch a chick us sing a little song:
'Chick-ee-e, chic-ee-e, chic-ee-e, chick-e-e-e-
Dis mah chick.
Chick-ee-e, chick-ee-e, chick-ee-e, chick-e-e-e
Ain't yuah chick.'
Den us carry ouah chick to de cap'in and put it in de big ring. After mos
all ben caough, de Capins take a stick and rub on each chick neck and say
dey killin dat chick. De las one to git his head cut off is de new capin
an dey suah wuz a lot o runnin roun in de ring foah every chile want be de
capin. Den us count out again dis de way us count: 'Chickee, one, chickee
two, chickee, three
You my little chickee be.' An whoever de count fall on dat one be de chick
chosen, Fust one capin and den de other count. Den fore us catches chicks
de nex time us all sing:
Chick, Chickee, Chickee-ee
I'll hav me a chickee foah mah dinnah
Chick, chickee, chickee-ee
I'll catch me a chickee foah mah dinnah."
Mother Ella sang this in a sort of sing-song manner almost impossible to
describe, and in a high shrill voice.
"Chillen right heah on dis street try to play dat lak I tell em but dey
done git it right. Dese chillen wont play with de spirit and life lak dey
uster. Guess mebbe dey is hongry. We nevah hongry in dem days. Us allus
had plenty to eat an all de things what a niggah loves too lak corn pone,
an side meat, an syrup, an batter cakes, an collard greens. Lawsy makes me
hongry right now." It had the same effect on me too!
Mother Ella's thoughts quickly returned to play:
"Dont seem like de way we played lak I tel you, Mistis. It heap harder
than I though it would be to tel it right. It right in mah mine, but de
words dont come out right." I hastened to assure her that it was alright
for she seemed really worried.
"Did us uster dance?" she questioned, "Whooe-e-e-e, us suah did dem days.
An dey called me 'dat dancin gal'. When some plantation niggahs give a
frolic day sent de word arounbout three weeks ahaid time so us all be
ready an git Massa to say we kin go. Sometimes us walk fifteen miles to de
frolic but us done min dat. I never git tired, nevah know what it meant
dem days to be tired, often uster wonder how folks felt when dey say dey
is tired." Mother heaved a great sigh as if she might now be tired. Then
she wiped her face with a cloth and ate another cookie. The afternoon was
growing a little cooler and a few children came into the street to play.
"I carry mah shoes ovah mah shoulder with the strings tied I thought too
much of them shoes to walk de road in dem. Den jus fore we gits to de
frolic I put em on an walk into de house an I suah was proud. Didn't weah
em long at de frolic either, suah caint dance in em. Just want de other
niggahs to be jealous, hee, hee, hee," Mother laughed in appreciation of
her own vanity. Then she looked down at her heavy clumsy shoes and hastily
drew her feet back under her chair as if ashamed of them, exclaiming:
Fore goodness! Mistis, I forgit where I is, a minit, an feels lak I'm back
at de frolic ad dese ole shoes, I suah be shamed if I had to wear dem.
Suah had bettah shoes dan dese here in dem days."
Again she sighed deeply but bolstered her feelings with a generous pinch
of snuff.
"Us plaed a dancin game like dis. We all git pahtners at de frolic, ceptin
one or two without no pahtners. Den us line up an de Master O Ceremony, he
call out: 'You-all got pahtners?' an us all stomp our foots an holler: 'Us
all get pahtners.' Den he shout:
'You steel mah pahtner, an I steal back again.' Den us all break hands and
run round de room and git nother pahtner. An always somebody lef that dont
hab one. Den us all swing up an down de room while de fiddle play, den us
swing roun in a circle an stomp our foots and holler:
'Us all got pahtners.' Den de master he calls again:
'You-all got pahtners? Well steal aroun and done slight none.' Den us
break hands again and steal pahtners. An den us swing down de line an roun
an roun while de fiddle play.'
Mother rested a moment, and a dreamy look came into her kind old eyes, as
if she were again at the frolic dancing "up an down de lines an roun an
roun." Children raised shrill voices in the street, a baby screamed
lustily, and we could hear the mother crooning gently to it. A small flock
of chickens crowded in the fence corner and took luxurious dust baths in
the hot sand, idly picking at each other.
After Mother had rested a few minutes she resumed her talk eagerly:
"Suah heap o fun, frolics wus. An sometimes folkes git mad too. Nevah was
no liquor, cause Massa make us stop de frolic if de liquor brought, but
sometimes toes git stomped on, or some pahtner stole dat a boy think a
heap of, den dey is a suah fight. I member once dey is a fight, when we
all dancin in the kitchen at de big house, an us gals all run up to de
back gallery up stairs. Den dey drug a niggah out in de yard dey thought
dead, an de niggah what hit him started to run. De daid niggah (only he
not daid, jus un conshus) be de brother of de fightinest woman I ever did
see. She be most six feet tall and a high yaller niggah, her name Sis
Cally. Then Sis Cally saw her brothah a-layin there like she though suah
graveyard dead, she jump down de stairs an tuk after dat niggah and grab a
fence rail. When she caught up with him she hit him a lick what knock him
out too, hee, hee, hee, an she run back an say: 'I hope I suah kill dat
onery niggah graveyard daid so he never git up agin.' Whoee,ee,ee she suah
wuz mad. Wusnt neither one o em hurt bad an soon dey back at de frolic."
Mother stopped to eat another cookie. How she managed this with all the
snuff she had taken in her lip, I do not know, but she did and gracefully
too.
"Sometimes us all line up roun de room an dey boys or de gals, choose de
pahtners. Dey take a ribbon and go on to de one they choose and sing:
'One yard, O, baby, I l-oo-o-ve you
Two yard, O, baby, I l-oo-o-ve you
Three yard, O, baby, I loo-o-ve you
Teeny dee, teeny dee, teeny dee?.' Den dey rise an dance."
Mother tore off a piece of cloth about a yard long which she grasped at
each end, then held on right shoulder and left hip, then visa versa, as
she sang.
"Us suah lov frolics at Christmas time. We go early on Saturday night an
dance an frolic until good bright daylight Sunday morning. Sometimes us
havin such a good time us shut de doah and windah tight so us not know
when da sun shine an can keep on a-dancin awhile longer. Sometimes dey hav
a big dinnah at de frolic. Our Old Massa, he always let us have food, but
some too didnt. We put all de food on a long table an let everybody march
by and take whut dey want. We have chicken, and ham, and cake, whooee-e-e,
great big cakes too an puddin."
I believe that we both smacked our lips in thinking of such food, and
Mother Ella ate another cookie.
"I could fill a glass clear to de brim with watah and place it on my haid
and dance all roun de room withut spillin drop," said Mother Ella
seriously, and patted her head gently in retrospect, and sighed deeply.
"When us had frolics at ouah plantation often Massa Lindsey who visit our
Massa, he come out an watch us and he always give me a quartah to dance
roun with de glass on mah haid. I nevah git tired I just dance all de
night through, seem lak I nevah git nouf."
She looked at me steadily for a moment then:
'Us dance de ole squah dance too, none of dat foolish prancin lak dey do
nowadays. We had a fiddlah what could call de set wif his bow too, chile,
I mean he could do dat. He just draw his bow and stom his feet. Fust he
stomp real loud, den he draw his bow an just mak dat fiddle talk.
"Us had nice white dresses fo de frolic too. Some niggahs didnt hab good
close, but we did and us took good care o em too. Dey made outer bleachin
or muslin an when us wear em us take em of an bleach em out nice and white
agin an starch em so stiff dey stan alone. When we go to de frolic us
carry dem just like we did our shooes, only us wrop em up careful."
Mother looked about her and even peered out the door as if she expected
trouble then she said in a slightly lowered voice:
"Sometimes when us goin to de frolic on nuther plantation, dere be de pat-ter-role
(patrol) on de road to catch de run-away niggahs. Us McMullins nevah run
away, us too proud an glad to be slaves. De pat-ter-role stop us an ask
who us is, dey knows us McMullins alright but dey ask us all de same, when
when us say:
"Us is McMullin niggahs,' de pat-ter-role say: 'Well do on den.' Sometimes
other niggahs with us make like dey is McMullins too, or de pat-ter-role
catch dem. Den de Pat-ter-role say: 'For de Lawd! Is all de niggahs in de
worl McMullins!' but dey lay dem go long wif us. Dem suah wus de good ole
days, I ruther be a slave with my white folks right now, Mistis, den livin
lak I is. Dem days we had plenty to eat and plenty to wear and nuthin to
worry bout; now all us got is worry, an a few ole rags and a little food.
Sill I be proud an thankful to git what I does, an special so as I done
havta work fur it neither."
Mother again used her tin-can-cuspidor, then wiped her lips daintily on a
quilt scrap and resumed her story:
"Us like to go to Church too an sometimes a preacher come right to our
plantation. Lemme see now," and she crooned to herself a moment and beat
time withhnad and foot, "dis here a song us uster sing:
Some time I'll d--i--e
Some time I feel like, feel like, feel like,
I'm goin, cause I'm ole and worn.
Oum-oum-oum-um-um-um
Keep a preach-i-n
Ole man, he preachin, preachin, preachin,
Make me feel my time aint long.
oum-oum-oum-um-um-um
Keep a roll-i-n
Ole hearse arollin, rollin, rollin, gimme me dat graveyard feelin
Oum-oum-oum-um-um-um
Keep a pull-i-n
Keep a pull-i-n
Ole horse keep a-pullin, pullin, pullin
Somebody down to de graveyard
Oum-oum-oum-um-um-um
Time aint l-oo--o-n-g
Make me feel lak mah time aint long
Then I'll die cause I'm ole and worn
Oum-oum-oum-um-um-um-ooo-ee-ee"
This song closed with a long drawn wail. The entire song was sung in a
deep mournful voice with a dirge-like strain that had a most uncanny
effect.
Said Mother Ella: "Us uster sing dat at all de funerls an in de
Churchhouse all de time. Iffen we didnt have no preacher for de funerl us
sang dat song anyway. Now heahs one more us sang:
Sister Mary done know trouble lak I sent it
No body knows but God
Don't nobody know my trouble, only me and
No body knows but God
all dat I kin tell you, lots o trouble o,
No body knows but God
[?] on I'll try to tell you
No body knows but God
Forget all mah troubles now in religion
No body knows but God
Ride an you'll hear de angels singin
No body knows but God."
As Mother Ella sang she kept time with both hands, and patted her right
foot on the floor. This last song was very sweet but she did not always
keep to the same tune, and though she sung it twice for me, it was
impossible to show much inflection.
After these songs and stories Mother Ella rested again and then spoke:
"Mistis, I did have nother song but it doen scaped mah mine now. I'll try
an mind it soon an git Annie Mae to word it down, den I'll be suah to have
it. I suah do than you foah da cookies, jus what I wanted an like so
much."
I, in turn thanked Mother Ella for her kindness about the songs and
stories, then I told her goodby and left her sitting on her little porch
quietly matching quilt scraps.
Text from: Library of
Congress, Manuscript Division, WPA Federal Writers' Project Collection
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