Federal Writers’ Project: Slave Narrative Project
I usually write history from a secondhand point of view. Luckily for us, the people who lived in those times left a written record of what it was like. There is no one alive today who was born in the 1800s. As a matter of fact, the last person born in the 1800s died on April 15, 2017. Her name was Emma Morano. She was born on May 13, 1899. Well, she was the last verified person who was born in the 1800s. She was 118 years of age.
The person we are getting ready to talk about was born in 1812. She was formerly enslaved and died in 1937 at the age of 121 years of age. Her story along with hundreds of other former enslaved black people has been archived in the Library of Congress under the Federal Writers’ Project: (En)Slaved Narrative Project. I did do some editing so that the narrative would be readable, but kept it as close to the original as possible. For those who would rather read the Queens English version, I’ve supplied that also. So, without further ado, here is the narrative of Sarah Gudger.
Sarah Gudger
Small in stature, about five feet tall, Aunt Sarah is rathered rounded in face and body.
Her milk-chocolate face is surmounted by short, sparse hair, almost milk white.
She is somewhat deaf but understands questions asked her, responding with animation.
She walks with one crutch, being lame in the right leg.
On events of the long ago her mind is quite clear.
Recalling the Confederate “sojers, marchin to the drums, she beat a tempo on the floor with her crutch,
as she described how the hands of slaves were tied before they were whipped for infractions… she crossed her wrists.
Owen Gudger, Asheville postmaster (1913-21), member of the Buncombe County’Historical Association, now engaged in the real estate business, says he has been acquainted with Aunt Sarah all his life; that he has, on several occasions, talked to her about her age and early associations, and that her responses concerning members of the Gudger and Hemphill families coincide with known facts of the two families.
Interviewed by a member of the Federal Writers1 Project, Aunt Sarah seemed eager to talk, and needed but little prompting.
SARAH GUDGER
Interview with Bars. Marjorie Jones, -May 5, 1937
Life on the Plantation
I wah bo’n *bout two mile fum Ole Fo*t on de Ole Mo’ganton Road.
I sho has had a hald life.
I nebbah know no thin but wok.
Jes wok, an’ wok, an’ wok.
Mah boss he wah Ole Man Andy
He had a la’ge plantation in de valley.
Plenty ob (wok) Added wok
All kine ob stock: hawgs, cows, mules, an’ hosses.
“I was born about two miles from Old Fort on the Ole Mo’ganton Road.
I sure had a hard life.
I never knew nothing but work.
Just work and work and work.
My boss he was Old Man Andy
He had a large plantation in the valley.
Plenty of wok.
All kinds of stock, hogs, cows, mules and horses.“
*****************
When Marse Andy die I go lib wif he son, William Hemphill.
I nebbah fo’git when Marse Andy die.
He wah a good ole man, and de Missie she wah good, too.
She usta read de Bible t’ us chillun afoah she pass away.
Mah pappy, he lib wif Joe Gudgah (Gudger).
He ole an’ feeble, I ‘membahs thin foah him.
“When Mister Andy die, I go live with his son, William Hemphill
I never forget when Marse Andy die.
He was a good old man and the Missy, she was good too.
She used to read the bible to us children before she passed away.
My Pappy, he live with Joe Gudger.
He was old and feeble. I remember (this) for him.”
**************
He ‘pend on mah pappy t’ see aftah ebbah body.
He allus trust mah pappy.
One mo’nin he foll-lah pappy to de field.
Pappy he stop hes wok and ole Marse Joe, he say: ‘Well, Smart (pappy, he name Smart), I’s tard, worried, an’ xrubble’. (troubled… I think)
All dese yeahs I wok foah mah chillun. Ah do de right thing.
Bey wurries me, Smart.
I’s a good mind t’ put mahself away right heah. Dey nev- I tell yo, Smart,
I’s good mind t drown mah- (self?) I tebble wurried, Smart.
He depended on my pappy to see after everybody.
He always trust my pappy.
One morning, he followed pappy to the field.
Pappy, he stopped his work and old Marse Joe he say:
Well Smart, I am tired, worried and troubled.
All these years, I worked for my children. I do the right thing.
They worries me Smart.
I have a good mind to put myself away right here.
He depended on my pappy to see after everybody.
He always trust my pappy.
One morning, he followed pappy to the field.
Pappy, he stopped his work and old Marse Joe he say:
Well Smart, I am tired, worried and troubled.
All these years, I worked for my children. I do the right thing.
They worries me Smart.
I have a good mind to put myself away right here.
They never… I tell you Smart.
I have a good mind to drown myself.
I’m terribly worried Smart..
***********
Pappy he take hole Ole Marse Joe an1 lead him t’ de house.
^Now Marse Joe, I wudden talk sich talk effen I’s yo’.
Yo’ ben good t’ yo’ fambly. Jest yo’ content yo’self an’ rest.’*
But a few days aftah dat, Ole Marse Joe wah found ahangin*
in de ba*n by de bridle. Ole Marse had put he self away.
Pappy, he take ahold of Old Marse Joe and lead him to the house.
“Now Mister Joe I wouldn’t talk such talk if I was you.”
You have been good to your family, just you content yourself and rest.
But a few days after that, Old Marse Joe was found hanging in the barn by the bridle.
Old Marse had put himself away.
**************
This part talks about enslaved people being sold off the plantation.
No’m, I nebbah knowed whut it wah t rest.
time f’om mawnin’ till late at night.
wah t’ do on de outside. I jes wok all de(y) I had t’ do ebbathin (in 1) dey,
Wok in de field, chop wood, hoe cawn, (?)
till sometime I feels lak mah back sholy break.
I done ebbathin’ cept split rails. Yo’ know, dey split rails back in dem days.
Well, I nevah did split no rails.
Ole Marse strop us good effen we did anythin* he didn’ lak.
Sometime he get hes dandah up an’ den we dassent look roun’ at
him.
Slse he tie yo’ hands afoah yo’ body an* whup yo’, jes lak yo a mule.
Lawdy, honey, I’s tuk a thousand lashins in mah day.
Sometimes mah poah ole body be soah foah a week.
Ole Boss he send us niggahs out in any kine ob weathah, rain
o’ snow, it nebbah mattah.
“No Mam, I never knew what it was to rest.
Time from morning until night.
What to do on the outside?
I just work all day. I had to do everything in one day.
Work in the field, chopping wood and hoe corn,
till sometimes I feels like my back surly break.
I done everything except split rails.
You know they split rails back in them days.
Well, I never did split rails.
Old Marse strap us good if we did anything he didn’t like.
Sometimes he gets his dander up and then we doesn’t look around at him.
Else he ties your hands before your body and whip you. Just like you a mule.
Lawdy honey, I took a thousand lashes in my day.
Sometimes my poor old body be sore for a week.
Old Boss he sends us ni*gers out in any kind of weather, rain or snow.
It never matters.“
****************
We had t’ go t’ de mountings, cut wood an’ drag it down t’ de house.
Many de time we come in wif ouh does(?) stuck t’ ouh.
poah ole cold bodies, but ‘twarn’t no use t try t’ git ’em dry.
Ef de Ole Boss o’ de Ole Missie see us dey yell: “Git on out ob heah yo’ black thin’,
an’ git yo’ wok outen de way!”
An’ Law-dy honey, we knowed t’ git, else we git de lash.
Dey did’n cah how ole o’ how young yo’ wah,
yo’ nebbah too big t’ git de lash.
De rich white folks nebbah did no wok; dey had da’kies t’ do it foah dem.
We had to go to the mountains, cut wood and drag down to the house.
Many times we come in with our gloves stuck to us.
Poor old cold bodies, but it wasn’t no use to try and get them dry.
If the Boss or the Old Missie see us they yell,
“Get on out of here you black thing and get your work out of the way.”
And lawdy, we knew to get, else we get the lash.
They didn’t care how old or how young you were
You never to big to get the lash.
The rich white folks never did no work.
They had darkies do it for them.
*****************
In de summah we had t’ wok outdoo’s, in de wintah in de house.
I had t* ceard an’ spin till ten o’clock.
Nebbah git much rest, had t’ git up at foah de nex’ mawnin’ an’ sta’t agin.
Didn’ get much t’ eat, nuthah, jes a lil’ cawn bread an’ ‘lasses.
Lawdy, honey, yo caint know whut a time I had.
I aint tellin* no lies. All cold n* hungry. It de gospel truf. It sho is. No*m,
In the summer we had to work outdoors, in the winter in the house.
I had to serve and spin till ten o’clock.
Never get much rest, had to get up before the next morning and start again.
Didn’t get much to eat neither, just a little corn bread and molasses.
Lawdy honey, you can’t know what a time I had.
I ain’t telling no lies. All cold and hungry.
It’s the gospel truth. It sure is mam.
***********
Selling Enslaved People To Others
I 'merabah well how I use t' lie 'wake till all de folks wah
sleepin', den creep outen de do(or) and walk barfoot in de snow,
bout two mile t' mah ole Auntie's house.
I knowed when I git dar she fix hot cawn pone wif slice o' meat an' some milk foah me t* eat.
Auntie wah good t'us da'kies.
I nebbah sleep on a bedstead till aftah freedom,
no'm till 7* aftah freedom.
Jes' an ole pile o' rags in de conah.
Ha'dly 'riuf (enough) t keep us from freezin.
"Mean da'kies wah treated.t us'na."
"I remember well how I use to lie awake until all the folks was sleeping.
Then I'd creep out the doors and walk barefoot in the snow about two miles to my old Auntie's house.
I know when I get there, she fix hot cornpone with a slice of meat and some milk for me to eat.
Auntie was good to us darkies. I never sleep on a bed stead until after freedom.
No Mam, until after freedom.
Just an old pile of rags in the corner.
hardly enough to keep us from freezing.
Mean darkies was treated..." (Not sure what she is saying here.)
*********
Law, chile, nobuddy knows how
Wy, dey wah bettah t' de animals den
Mah fust Ole Marse wah a good ole man, but de las'n,
he wah rapid
he sho wah rapid.
Wy, chile, times aint no mo'
lak dey usta be den de day an night am lak.
all de folks woked.
In mah day an' time
Effen dey had no niggahs dey woked demselves.
Effen de chillun wah too small tun hoe, dey pull weeds.
Mow de big bottom ob de Swannano (Swannanoa) dat usta grow hunners bushels ob grain am jest a playground.
I lak t' see de chillun in de field.
"Lord child, nobody knows how.. why they was better to the animals then.
My first Old Massa was a good old man, but the last one, he was rapid..
He sure was rapid.
Why child, times ain't no more like the use to be..
Then day and night am like.
All the folks worked.
In my day and time
Even they didn't have no nig*ers, they worked themselves.
Even the children was too small to hoe, they pull weeds.
Mow the big bottom of the Swannano, that use to grow a hundred bushels of grain.
Am just a playground... (?)
I like to see children in the field."
*********
Wy, now dey fight yo lak wilecat effen it ebben talk-ed 'bout.
Dat's de reason times so ha'd. No fahmin'.( No farming)
Wy, I c'n 'membah Ole Missie she say: "Dis gene'ation'll pass away and a
new gene'ation'll cum 'long."
Dat's jes' it, ebbah gene'ation
gits weakah an' weakah. '
Den dey talk 'bout goin' back t' ole
times.
Dat time done gone, dey nebbah meet dat time agin.
Wahn't none o' de slaves offen ouh plantation ebbah sold,
but de ones on de othah plantation ob Marse William wah.
wah a tebble time I.
All de slaves be in de field, plowin', hoein',
singin' in de boilin' sun.
Ole Marse he cum t'ru de field wif a man call de specalater.
Day walk round jes' lookin', jes'looking.
Why, now they fight you like wildcats even if it been talked about.
Thats the reason times so hard. No farming.
Why I see and remember Old Missie she say, "This generation will pass away and a new generation will come along."
That's just it., every generation gets weaker and weaker.
Then they talk about going back to old times.
That time done gone, They never meet that time again.
Wasn't none of the slaves off of our plantation sold, but the ones on the other plantation of Marse William was.
What a terrible time.
All the slaves in the field, plowing, hoeing, singing in the boiling sun...
Old Marse he come through the field with a man called a speculator.
They walk around, just looking... just looking...
**********
All de da'kies know whut dis mean.
wok right on.
Dey didn' dare look up, jes'
Den de specalater he see who he want.
He talk to Ole Marse, den dey slaps de han'cuffs on him an' tak him away to
de cotton country.
Oh, dem wah awful times!
When de specalater wah ready to go wif de slaves, effen dey whudn' wanta go,, he thrash em, den tie em 'hind de waggin an' mek em run till
dey fall on de groun', den he thrash em till dey _say dey go 'thout
no trubble.
Sometime some of dem run 'way an cum back t' de plantation, den it wah hardah on dem den befoah.
When de da'kies went' dinnah de ole niggah mammy she say whar am sich an' sich. None ob de othahs wanna tell her.
But when she see dem look down to de groun' she jes' say: "De specalater, de specalater."
All the darkies know what this means.
Work right on.
They didn't dare look up..
Just then, the speculator he see who he wants.
he talks to Old Marse, then they slaps the handcuffs on him and take him away to the cotton country.
Oh, them was awful times.
When the speculator was ready to go with the slaves, even if they wouldn't want to go, he thrashed them. then he tie them behind the wagon and make them run until they fall to the ground.
Then he thrash them till they say they go, without no trouble.
Sometimes some of them run away and come back to the plantation, then it was harder on them then before.
When the darkies went... then the old nig*ger Mammy she say where such and such?
None of the others want to tell her.
But when she sees them look down to the ground, she just says... The Speculator, the Speculator.
*********
Den de teahs roll down huh cheeks, cause mebbe it huh son o' husban' and she
know she nebbah see 'em agin. Be jesr pappy an' mammy.
Mebbe dey leaves babies t* home.
Oh, mah Lawdy, mah ole Boss wah mean, but he nebbah sen' us to de cotton country.
Dey wah ve'y few skules (schools) back in day day an time, ve'y few. We
da'kies didn' dah look at no book, not ebben t' pick it up.
Ole Missie, dat is, mah firs' Ole Missie, she wah a good ole woman.
She read to de niggahs and t' de white chillude watah.
She cum fum cross. She wahn't lak de sma't white folks livin' heah now.
When she come ovah heah she brung darky boy wif huh.
He wah huh pussonal su'vant. Co'se, dey got diffent names foah dem now, but
in dat day dey calls, em ginney niggahs.
She wah good ole woman. Not lak othah white folks.
Niggahs lak Ole Missie.
Then the tears roll down her cheeks because maybe it's her son or husband and she knows she never see them again.
Be just her pappy and mammy.
Maybe they leave babies at home.
Oh, my lawdy, my old boss was mean, but he never sent us to the cotton country.
There was very few schools back in that day and time. very few.
We darkies didn't dare look at no book, not even pick it up.
Old Missie, that is my first old Missie, she was a good old woman.
She read to the nig*gers and to the white children.
She come from across. She wasn't like the smart white folks living here now.
When she come over here she brung darky boy with her.
He was her professional servant. Of course, they got different names for them now, but in that day they calls them "ginny" nig*gers.
She was good old woman. Not like the other white folks.
Nig*gers liked Old Missie.
*********
Life after the War?
When de da'kies git sick, dey wah put in a lil1 ole house
close t de big house, an' one of the othah da'kies waited on 'em.
Dey wah ve'y few doctahs den.
Ony three in de whole section. When dey wanted med'cine dey went t de woods an' gathahed hoahhound, slipperelm foah poltices and all kinds ba'k foah teas.
Dey wah ve'y few lawyers den too, but law-sy me, yo' cain't turn round fer dem now.
I 'membahs when mah ole mammy die.
She live on Rims (Reems) Crick with othah Hemphills.
She sick long time. Man cum t' see me.
He say, "Sarah, did yo' know yo.' mammy wah daid?
No,I say, "but I wants to see mah mothah afoah dey puts huh away.
I went t' de house and say t' Ole Missie: "Mah mothah she die
tofay. I wants t' see mah mothah afoah dey puts huh away,* but she
look at me mean and say: Git on outen heah, and git back to yo' wok afoah I wallup yo' good." So I went back t' mah wok, with the tears
streamin' down mah face, jest awringin' mah hands, I wanted t' see
mah mammy so. 'Bout two weeks latah, Ole Missie she git tebble sick,
she j es' lingah * long foah long time, but she nebbah gits up no mo .
Want long afoah dey puts huh away too, jes' lak mah mammy.
I 'membahs de time when mah mammy wah alive, I wah a small chile,
afoah dey tuk huh t' Rims Crick.
ya'd one night.
When the darkies get sick, they was put in a little old house close to the big house and one of the other darkies waited on them.
They was very few doctor then.
Onlt three in the whole section. When they wanted medicine they went to the woods and gathered hoahhound, slipperelm, for poultices and all kinds back for tea.
They was very few lawyers then too, but lawdy me, you can't turn around for them now. I remember when my old Mammie die. She lived on Reems Creek with other Hemphills. She sick long time. Man come to see me. He say, Sarah did you know your Mammy was dead?
No I say, but I wants to see my mother before they puts her away.
I went to the house and say to Old Missie, My mother she die today. I wants to see her before they put her away, but she look at me mean and say, "Get out of here and get back to your work before I wallop you good.
So I went back to my work with tears streaming down my face, just wringing my hands, I wanted to see my mammy so.
About two weeks later, Old Missie she get terribly sick, she just lingered long... for a long time, but she never gets up no more.
Wasn't long before they puts her away too, just like my mommy.
I remember the time when my mammy was alive. I was a small child, before they took her to Reems Creek one night.
******
All us chilluns wah playin* in de Jes' arunnin' an' aplayin' lak chillun will.
sudden maimny cum to de do' all a'sited.
Say... All a "Cum in heah dis minnit she "jes look up at what is ahappenin'", and bless yo' life, honey, de sta' wah fallin' jes' lak rain.*
Mammy wah tebble skeered, but we chillun wa'nt afeard, no, we wa'nt afeard.
Look lak lotta folks gonna die f'om de looks ob dem sta's.
Wa'nt long afoah dey took mah mammy away, and I wah lef alone.
On de plantation wah an ole woman whut de boss bought f'om a
drovah up in Virginny.
De boss he bought huh. f'om one ob de ???
She laff an' tell us: "Some ob dese days yo'all gwine be
free, jes' lak de white folks," but we all laff at huh.
No, we jes slaves, we allus hafta wok and nevah be free.
Den when freedom cum,
She say: Didn't I tell yo . I tole yo'all, now yo' got no larnin*, yo* got no nothin', got no home; but yo' gwine do ?
All us children was playing in the ??? A running around and playing like children will. Suddenly Mammy come to the do all excited.
Say, All come in here this minute. She just looked up at what is happening and bless your life, honey the stars was falling just like rain.
Mammy was terribly scared, but we children wasn't afraid. No we wasn't afraid.
Look like a lot of folks going to die from the look of them stars
Wasn't long before they took my Mammy away and I was left alone.
On the plantation was an old woman what the boss bought from a driver up in Virginia. The boss he bought her from one of the speculators.
She laugh and tell us, so of these days you are going to be free, just like white the folks, but we all laughed at her.
No wejust slaves, we always have to work and never be free.
Then when freedom come, she say, Didn't I tell you. I told y'all.
Now you got no learning. you got no nothing, got no home, but what you going to do?
*******
I wah gittin along smartly in yeahs when de wah cum.
bah jes' lak yestiddy jes' afoah de wah.
Marse William wah atalkin' t hes brothah
I wah standin* off a piece.
"William, how ole Aunt Sarah now ?"
an' he say: *She gittin' nigh onta fifty.* Ah 'mem- afoah de war.
Marse's brothah, Marse William he look at me
Dat wah jes' a lil while
Dat wah awful time.- Us da'kies didn' know tehut it wah all bout.
Ony one of de boys f'om de plantation go. He Alexander, he bout
twenty-five den. Many de time we git word de Yankees comin'.
We take ouh food an' stock an' hide it till we sho' dey's gone.
We wan't bothahed much.
One day, I nebbah fo'git, we look out an' see
sojers ma'chin'.. look lak de whole valley full ob dem.
I thought: "Poah helpless crlttahs, jes' go in' away t' git kilt.*
De drums wah beatin* an' de fifes aplayin'.
glory, it fcah a sight. Dey wan de foot comp'ny.
I was getting along smartly in years when the war come.
Marse William was talking to his brother.
i was standing off a piece.
William how old Aunt Sarah now?
And he say she getting near on to fifty. I remember just like yesterday, just before the war. Marse brother, Marse William looked at me.
That was just a little while.
Dat was an awful time. Us Darkies didn't know what it was all about.
Only one of the boys from the plantation go. He Alexander. he about twenty- five then. Many the time we get word the Yankees coming.
We take our food and stock and hide it till we are sure they gone.
We weren't bothered much.
One day, I never forget, we look out and see soldiers marching, look like the whole valley full of them.
I thought, poor helpless critters, just going away to get killed.
The drums was beating and the fifes was playing.
Glory it was a sight. They was the foot company.
*******
Oh, sometime dey cum home on furlough. Some- time dey git kilt afoah dey gits th'ough.
Alexander, he cum home a few time afoah freedom.
When de wah was ovah, Marse William he say: "Did yo'all know
yo'all's free ,
Yo' free now.*
I chuckle, 'membahin' whut ole woman tell us 'bout freedom, an* no larnin. Lotta men want me t go t' foreign land, but I tell 'em I go live wif mah pappy, long as he live.
I stay wif de white folks 'bout twelve months, den I stay wif mah pappy, long as he live.
I had two brothahs, dey went t' Califonny, nebbah seed 'em
no mo', no' mah sistah, nuther.
I cain't 'membah sech a lot 'bout it all.
I jes' knows I'se bo'n and bred he all in dese pa'ts,
nebbah been outten it -
I'se well; nebbah take no doctah med'cine.
Jes' ben sick once; dat aftah freedom.
Oh sometimes they come on furlough. Some time they get killed before they get through. Alexander he come home a few times before freedom.
When the war was over, Marse William he say, Did y'all know y'alls free?
Y'alls free now.
I chuckled remembering what old woman tell us about freedom and no learing.
Lots of men want me to go to the foreign land, but I tell them I go live with my pappy, long as he live.
I stay with the white folks about twelve months, then I stay with my pappy long as he live.
I had two brothers, they went to California, never seen them no more, no my sister neither.
I can't remember such a lot about it all.
I just knows I was born and bred in these parts... never been out of it.
I am well. never take no doctors medicine. just been sick once... dat after freedom.
*******
Well, that was quite a story and it was told by a woman who actually was enslaved. Sarah was the oldest of the enslaved people they interviewed. She was a grown woman before the civil war started. I was mesmerized by it, how they sold her mother off, the beatings, the endless hours of toil, the children... I'm telling you right now... I'm getting ready to hoist the black flag outside my house... no I'm not. They wish a Mfer would... around here where I live. So instead I'll keep writing and keep our stories alive.
Ps. There are different formats in this article. I didn't know how to correct it but hopefully you have enjoyed the same reading experience.
G.
Thanks for reading ©Hill1News.
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