Southern Secrets

I’ve known him all my life—in fact, when I was a slave he owned me—heart, body and soul.  I admired his gallant looks—how he rode up high on his brown bay mare.  I was aware that I caught his eye when I was only 15.  Right away I knew I was special to him because of the nature of my chores. 

Then the war came.  I knew I could count on his protection, because of his ability to see we slaves through the great floods and the plagues of illness.  But the war was different.  I think his spirit was totally broken.  The treatment by occupying forces plus the destruction of his property was devastating—even we slaves felt sorrow in our hearts.  Being of a somewhat forgiving nature, along with my natural affection and respect for all people, this created within me a sense of responsibility for him.  I helped nurse his war wounds and tried to keep things running on the plantation.  The loss of the leg plus his broken spirit moved me to a point where I did not choose to go North with the rest of my family.  My freedom was very important to me, and my strengths were beginning to surpass his.

As time passed, we became common law man and wife.  The old dog that helped guard his property and chase down runaway slaves also became toothless and docile.

And I now have become the protector of both of them.  Here we are now, he in his old age, me in my prime.

Madame from Fruitvale and Her Dog

Her appearance did not always reflect a figure of wealth and substance.  Beneath her physical trappings she reveals the worst and best of herstories.

From her early years she was curious about her past, for somehow the treatment of others of her race was very different from her experience.  Her grandmother spoke to her about a place far away when as a child she was taken by men with European and African features and marched off to unknown places where half of those she traveled with perished from maltreatment and a variety of strange diseases. 

Her youthful years were spent in slavery.  She was a house servant because of her mixed blood and good looks.  Her owners treated their slaves a little better than most, but still she was awakened by the sounds of dogs pursuing human beings through the swamplands of the Delta country. 

Here she stands in the year 1880 living on the land she inherited from her mistress who taught her the sewing crafts. This lead her to become the top seamstress in the state, preparing luxurious gowns for royalty and the wealthy, both Black and White.  It is said that the large dog that accompanies her on walks through the town was once a slave-catching brute that lost its paw to an alligator while pursuing a runaway slave.  Her walks are brief, for dangers exist in the form of slave catchers still practicing their hunting skills these many years after freedom. 

War Secrets

Clemmie Yvonne Boykin came up on a very large plantation.  In her early life, which was spent in and around the stately Greek revival mansion, most of the negative aspects of slave life were hidden from her. Although she had a variety of duties, she was primarily a playmate and companion to the white children in the household.  She even shared in their lessons, and was quite a good student.  She felt she was the equal of her playmates until, one day, she was punished for stepping out of her place by speaking in an inappropriate manner to one of the children within earshot of the mistress. She never forgot the beating she received that day from her grandmother, nor the rebuke from the lady of the house.

As she began to develop into a stunning young woman, she started to receive attention from some of the guests who arrived at the plantation for the summer galas.  Her grandmother, the cook, understood the dangers awaiting the child, who was fourteen at the time, and she tried to keep her working inside the kitchen.  But her grace and her manners caused the mistress to insist that she serve in the dining room. The men would sidle up and whisper things to her as she carried trays of food and drink from the kitchen. 

One evening, during a rare quiet moment when she paused outside the kitchen door for a breath of fresh air, a hand covered her mouth, she was grasped tightly by the arm, and was pulled into the maze-like hedge garden where she and the other children used to play.  There she was struck fiercely and raped by one of the guests. 

Never having experienced such brutality, she was dazed and somewhat confused, and did not tell even her grandmother what had taken place.  The next evening and five other nights during the fortnight the guest was in residence he repeated his vicious attack. By the second time, her bewilderment at his treatment of her had changed to shame, and although she resisted him with all her energy, she felt that she, rather than the man, was the guilty party.

Although she was treated essentially as a member of the family, and certainly as a valued member of the household, she did not discover until years after the War that this was in large part because the plantation owner was her father.  Despite her relatively high status, accusing a white man of violence against her would have been a very dangerous act.  No one asked about her change in demeanor, and no one was surprised by her becoming pregnant.  The family assumed the father was the young coachman—but whoever the father was, another birth only added to the wealth of the plantation, and was viewed in a positive light.

She realized that revealing her attacker could cause her to be “sold down the river” to Mississippi, away from her family to a place where the treatment of slaves was much harsher, even if it was believed that she was taken against her will.  The familiar areas of the maze, the yard, and even the dining room, once so welcoming and comfortable, became inhospitable and sinister.

Within the year, she delivered a child with whom she developed a strong bond, and she swore to provide him with a better life than she had.  She continued her duties as a house servant, but as her young mistresses went away to school, she was often hired out to various merchants in town to do bookwork, because of her reading and mathematical skills. 

It has been said that because of her hatred for the institution of slavery, she had offered her abilities to the Union army which had set up offices in the county seat where she worked several days a week. During her unsupervised trips to town, she would smuggle valuable information to the union officers—information that she overheard while serving her master and his guests.  As she walks through town, she passes one more reminder of her status in society.  She barely glances at the lawn jockey, with his hideous grin and bulging eyes, realizing that he is only a symbol of a bygone era.
 

Hog Killin’ Time

Word was, that we was all to be sold down de river, and dis was comin’ sooner than I ‘spec.  We thought we lived a purty easy life hyar in Carolina.  The vittles were good, we got to keep half what we growed, none of us starved to death, and furthermo’, some of us was right fat and sassy.  Ole marse always gave me special treatment, cause I cooked his food.  I always was good at spicin’ the vittles and that made him happy.  I was one of those African peoples, and where we came from we knew all there was about plants for food and medicine.

Dis here talk about us’n  bein’ sold begin to worry me more and more.  I passes it off as jus’ slave quarter talk.  But do you know, then I seed him fatten up the horses and givin’ the walkin’ animals extra feed.  And in the blacksmith shop, the wheelwrights were makin’ new wagon wheels.  Lawd, I ‘spec something’s up. 

Den ole marse comes up to me with a funny ‘spression on his face, his head slightly tilted downward and not looking right at me like he uster do.  Yeah, honey, somethin’s up.  Den he tells me, “Clara, I wants you to kill a hog, make us some salt meat, and get us’ns ready for a long trip we’s about to take.”  And chile, don’cha know that’s when my heart jus’ sink to my stomach.  I knew rat then that my family gonna be split up.  I thought we’d all jus’ grow old and die together on this plantation, full bellies and all. 

Honey chile, I couldn’t sleep a wink dat night.  I walked the floors and wet my sleepin’ gown from cryin’ so.  The next day I gather my self-respec’ and walks back to de kitchen.  That’s when ole marse break de news to me.  He say, “Clara, ahmo have to sell your two boys to some people I know in Mississippi, an’ I’m sho’ dey’ll be happy dar and grow up to be fine young men.  Dere owner be very good to dem.” 

And den he turns and starts to walk away.  Well, my hands wuz already tremblin’ and when I lifts the hog-choppin’ ax way up over my head, my intention was to finish choppin’ up this ole hog.  But somethin’, the devil, I ‘spec, turned my mine toward ole marse as he showed me his back, you see.  I had a twin sister somewhere, and lawd, it jus’ broke my heart when he split us up.  Seems like splittin’ things was all I knowed.  Then I decided to do my last splittin’ job.  Ooo, girl, I took that sharp, heavy ax and brought it down right on top of ole marse’s head, and clean through his body.  Honey chile, I cut that man in two pieces.  And now he be two twins separated.  I jus’ set there waitin’ for ‘em to come get me.  No, I don’t feel no ‘morse.  I jus’ couldn’t take no more separation.
 

Jolly and the Mississippi Flood

Jolly worked in the Big House.  During the high water time he tied himself to the very tree Massa used to whip him and his fellow slaves.  “You black son-of-a-dog, you better save us, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life”, Massa screamed from his perch atop the floating plantation house roof.  Jolly so loved his fatback and his hand-me-down clothes that he tried and tried to save the Massa and his family, ignoring his own relatives in the water, because he had to save Massa first. 

Jolly found an old mule rope and a ring with three hooks on it, which had floated up in the floodwaters.  He tried to hook the house with it, but his hand wouldn’t work.  It was his begging hand—-it only went up and down, and every time he tried to reach out he hit himself in the head and his eyes rolled back.

Jolly had a very special relationship with Missy, Massa’s wife, and she just knew he would do anything to save her because of that.  What that special relationship was, I’m not quite sure.  It was customary for young slaves to sleep on the floor of the plantation owners’ bedrooms, or to be used as footwarmers.  But the odd thing about it, this practice continued even after Jolly became a young man—especially when Massa was gone on his long buying trips.

Missy just clung to that roof with her family, shouting epithets at Jolly.  Jolly stood there tied to that tree with his usual grin plastered on his face, happier to be in the flood than tied to the tree being whipped by Massa.  

Meanwhile, Ole Stinky, the rogue alligator, got himself inside the Big House looking for something to eat.  Everyone on the plantation knew Ole Stinky, because anytime something died, he was out of the swamp to eat it, even before the buzzards.  Ole Stinky was trapped in the house, and he was madder than a poke of honeybees.  He thrashed around something terrible, smashing all the pretty things slave craftsmen had made the family over the years as well as the possessions brought from trips across the big water.

The flood waters were coming up around Jolly’s waist.  The catfish were jumping all in his face, yet he felt very safe.  To him, this was a kind of resting place.  Sad thing about it was that Jolly was unable to sacrifice his life for the safety and rescue of Massa, Missy and the family.  They ended up drowning along with all the rats that had sought refuge on the roof of the Big House.
 

Big Lou

When you called her name, there was a certain drama in your voice.

Big Lou she was.  One day Ole Massa decided he was gonna whip Big Lou and cut down on her uppity ways.  You see, Big Lou had the reputation of whipping the hell out of a succession of overseers.  It was believed that she could not be whipped at the slave whipping tree, because no one would dare hold her down, and she was known to reverse the punishment back to those that tried.  Ole Massa was terrified of Big Lou—he would always give her orders through another person. 

Many times he had considered having her sold, but she was too valuable, and he changed his mind in the end.  She was known to place parts of her cotton in the sacks of her relatives, so that they would make their weight for the day.  This did not set well with Ole Massa, and he grew tired of this large, troublesome woman.  He just had to break her.

She was a superb animal handler, but one day as she was hitching up the mules, the animals became unruly, as if there were some evil afoot.  Big Lou was the only one who could handle them.  They glared wildly and screamed sounds she had never heard from them.  They rared and kicked and tossed about something awful.

Moving swiftly behind her, the overseer raised the butt of his rifle and brought it down on the side of her head. 

Big Lou was never the same.  Last we heard of her she was sold down the river to the Deep South, where she spent the rest of her life as a slow-moving dimwit taking care of the children of her new owners.

Queen Esther

My twin sista was still in de slave holdin’ place waiting to be executed for choppin’ her master in half, yeah she did, right down the middle. Hit sho’ was a horrible sight, all that blood and mess.  They say she was butcherin’ a big ol’ hog at de time dis happened.

Here I be now justa totin’ all de wood for de peoples dat own me.

People says me and my sista is de prettiest t’ings on dis earth, look lak African queens and all.  If dat so, why we lives so bad? I mean why’s we treated like animals and t’ings?

Dis kinlin’ so heavy it makes my neck and back ache somethin’ awful.  I cain’t even lay straight at night when I tries to sleep.  I cain’t talk loud ‘bout my trials and tribulations cause I’ll get whipped. 

The Lawd give everyone a way to ‘spress deyselves.  Me, I puts t’ings on me, sewed or tied to the hem of my coattails, jus like a crab dat sticks stuff on him back and makes dat his home.  I speck dat’s me alright, jus’ like dat ol’ crab.

 

Fish Story on Mule Head Island

Big Fish looked up with bloodshot eyes and spied a man wid a gun pullin’ a long rope.  On de other end of the rope, his woman, I ‘spect.  De land dese days don’t cough up nothin’ but trouble.  Big Fish down here in de mud, don’t harm nobody.  Red dirt wid holes torn through it spits fire ever’ once in a while.  Live and dead things heaped up in piles, people comin’ from everywhere and nowhere.  Somewhere else hell be raised. 

Big Fish have hard time of his own, runnin’ from ole gator, who bite tail off many moons ago.  Hush, I hear baby cryin’.  Woman sing “Go to sleep, little baby, do de boogabear get you.”  I cripple swim off to talk to my catfish friend—some say he 90 years old.  But he always tells me if anything bad comin’.  Big Fish look through the water at man’s face.  He swat at me for him dinner.  Heh, heh, cain’t cotch dis fish.  I looks at the pore baby a ‘cryin and sometimes think maybe I let him catch me and eat me so baby grow up and be strong like him daddy.  Man look back every footstep like somebody chasin’ him.  Woman say milk gone.  I wish Big Fish had milk to give baby. 

De dead peoples around here look up from the groun’ and smile.  They say family purty. I wish dey spirit come back to dem so’s dey can say howdy.  I wants to tell dem Brer Snake sunnin’ over on yonder rock cliffs.  Beware his bite, he sho’ mad dese days. 

White bones show demselves to de sun, reachin’ for hebben.  And Lucifer laughs, sayin’ “Stay down here wid me.”  That ole mule dey own don’t have much time on dis here earth. If he die and fall in dis here river, we gonna try to eat him. Me and my catfish friend ursta eat dead things on this yere river bottom. Now dat we got no teeth, we suck on dese here weeds wid all sorts of worms in ‘em.  That’s how we grow so big and fat. Now all we do is lie here watchin’ out for ole gator and looking up through the water to where bad things happen.


 

The Homecoming of Julieanne’s Daughters

In those dark days after the War the resettling of the people of the South was the most important business at hand.

The laws that kept slaves from learning to read were finally struck down.  The hunger for education was at a fever pitch.  The missionaries, abolitionists, and good-hearted white sympathizers could not fulfill the need for teachers fast enough.  There were many educated free people of color living north, and in some cases even within the battered southern states.

Mrs. Julieanne, affectionately known as “Mam”, had four lovely daughters that mysteriously disappeared from Humboldt, Tennessee shortly after the War, and were presumed to have died. 

Although the laws giving freedom to black slaves were loosely in place, they still suffered hostilities from angry whites and the newly formed Ku Klux Klan.

Miraculously, one day the four sisters who were said to be “too pretty to live” appeared as schoolmarms dressed in northern attire, somewhat bedraggled from their trip across the Appalachian Mountains. 

They now stand before a ragged crowd of familiar black and white faces, bewildered and somewhat stunned by their appearance.  Their teamster driver, who preferred to be called “mister”, though she appeared as a wonderfully built “missus”, stood silently cradling her war carbine across her full bosoms.  The sisters received a somewhat grudging display of greetings as the mixed crowd strained to murmur, “Welcome home, ladies.”
 

The Soldier and the Mastiff on Mule Head Island

Julius was his name.  Julius Ward, the grandson of Gregory Ward, who fought in the Revolutionary War.  His story starts as Julius is a prisoner of war, held by the Confederates.   Most of his fellow Negro soldiers were killed right at the spot where they were captured.  The only reason that Julius and his companions’ lives were spared was that Johnny Reb wanted to use them to build fortifications against the Union army.

One day the prisoners were lined up and shot down like dogs.  Julius took four miniballs, two in the leg, one grazing his ear, and the other in his armpit.  The blood flowed from him like water from a sieve.  And soon he was rendered unconscious.  A group of slave gravediggers were brought in to clean up the mess and bury the dead.  The soldiers were carried one by one, all shot up and torn to pieces.  When Julius was lifted up, there was the sound of air rushing from the mouth of this supposed corpse of a man.  The gravedigger handling him was quite shocked to find that there among such carnage, a body still breathed life.  The man took Julius in his arms, and carried him off to his cabin far in the woods, where he was given herbs and food and brought back to his original health.

Julius knew he had to leave this part if the country as soon as he was able.  So he escaped to a place called Mule Head Island.  It was a small spit of land that was only connected to the mainland during low tide.  Soon word got out that someone was living there, because of the fires seen through a spyglass.  Also it was revealed it was a black man, possibly a maroon or army deserter.  The townspeople were afraid to approach the suspect, because too many Negroes were carrying guns in those days.

So they rounded up the meanest dog in the county, which was a mastiff, partly bred with bulldog and bloodhound.  The breed was trained especially for hunting and killing human beings, in particular fugitive slaves.  One low-tide evening, while crabs scuttled sideways across the sand, this huge-footed beast, weighing some 200 pounds, crossed the shallow waters and was unleashed by her handlers.

Immediately, the dog was on the trail of the soldier.  She had acquired non-pack behavior.  Her attack was more quiet and stealthy, like that of a feline.  The mastiff stalked through nocturnal silence, waiting for the moment to pounce.  When Julius decided to take water from a fresh spring, the huge brinnel-striped brute jumped her prey.  Springing upward, she headed for the throat of the soldier.  Flapping jaws and bulging eyes hidden behind lobes of skin, her mouth open and her sharp teeth within powerful jaws flashed in the moonlit night. 

Julius, being a soldier of the great 54th, and being skilled in the ways of Injun fighting, fell completely backwards, but before hitting the ground drew a large Bowie knife from his gunbelt.  As his back struck heavily on the earth he positioned the butt of the knife against a flat piece of rock.  The dog, with all its lunging weight, fell upon the knife, slitting its own belly open.  Julius lay there for a moment, gathering his senses.  He was not aware of the weight of the beast, nor the odor of his furry predator.  He lay there, exhausted and thankful.  Soon he pushed the would-be assassin aside and rose to his feet, standing taller than ever before.  He knew it was time to meet his next challenge—returning to the Union lines.