John Barker

John Barker, age 84, was born on a plantation close to Cincinnati, Ohio, the property of the Barker family, who took him and his grandparents to Sedalia, Missouri, to another plantation, later to Texas where they continued farming, close to Houston. After the slaves were freed, he stayed with the Barkers several years before going to work for himself. His first marriage took place in Galveston, and after the death of his wife, he went back to Missouri to work. He married there, but was divorced and returned to Texas. Marrying again, he took his wife to the Seminole camp near Brackettville. They worked for the army officers at Fort Clark until they procured employment at a private residence in Brackettville, where they have worked the last twenty-three years.

"I was a slave, yes, mam, an' I was bo'n a slave in Cincinati, Ohio. I aint one of these Seminoles; I am a 'Malagasser' nigger. I seen lots o' slave times up dere. We went to Sedalia, Mo. from there and den to Texas. Settled clost to Houston at a place dey called Stafford Point. But my mother, she died on de bed when I was about two mont's old. De Barkers was my white folks and brought me to Texas an' brought me up. I'm still goin' by dat name. Mis' Barker was like my own mother; I wouldn' knowed no diffunce but she brought me up tellin' me she wasn't my own mother but she would have to be my mother from now on.

"Yes'm, I 'member all about dem times. I 'member de old people well. I would ride de ol' long-eared mules when I was a little kid and we would shell co'n by de sacks and t'row it on de mule an' I would have to go as fuh as from heah to Spofford to mill. Dat was in Cincinati, Ohio, an' I wish it was so she could kept me in Cincinati, Ohio, today.

"Talk about times! De blood houn's on deir trail! Dey had what you call de common houn's and when you couldn' get 'em by de common houn's, you put de blood hous dat don't make no racket atall on deir trail. Dey run my gran'fadder ovah one hun'erd miles and never caught 'im till about t'ree or fo' days an' nights an' dey found 'im under a bridge. What dey put on him was e-nuf. I have seen 'em whip 'em till de blood run down deir backs and den dey would put common salt in de places where dey whipped 'em an' dey would have to go right on nex' mawnin' and do deir tasks dey puts on 'em. I've seen 'nuf o' dat! Yes, mam, dat was up in Ohio I seen all dat. Oh, yes'm, dey had slaves up dere too, Maybe dey puts you on a task dis mawnin' and dat dare task got to be finished by seben o'clock dis evenin' an' if it ain't, dey whip you. I have seen many a nig - person go out in de mawnin' and deir backs cut jus' like it was cut wid a knife. De overseer was a white man an' he rode hossback and wo' (wore) dese big, tall beaver hats an' had a wide strap hangin' down from de saddle, wide as yo' han'. Jus' like a belt 'round yo' waist, only wider, you know. No, it didn' have no holes in it, but it raised a blister, jes' de same, an' cut yo' back like a knife. "I wasn't old 'nough an' big 'nuf to be a slave like my mother an' gran'mother. I know my gran'mother had been whipped lotsa times. In dese days an' times you see dese hawned toads dat runs ovah de worl'. My gran'father would gather dese toads and lay 'em up in de fireplace till dey dried an' den roll 'em wid bottles till dey get jes' like ashes an' den dey take it an' nub it on de bottom of de shoes. Dey take dat powder and t'row it as fuh (far) as dey could jump an' den jump ovah it, an' do dis, again till dey use all de powder, den when dey make de last jump, dey is gone. Dat would t'row de common houn's off de trail all togedder. But when dey put de 'hell houn's' on de trail, dey would come right up to de do' (door) an' take de trail an' you nevah head 'em say a word, dey was quiet, an' dey could pick up dat trail. I ust to ask my gran'father, 'What you gonna do wid dat powder?' an' he say, 'You will know some day when you is old enough. I'm gwine put it on my shoes!' You see, dat stuff don't stick all togedder on de shoes, it stick to dat track. When you make dat jump, you gonna threw dat stuff right in front o' you. "I ust to say dat when I got to be a man, I was goin' to kill ever'body I saw. Oh, I tell you, I saw enough o' dem slave times!"Plantations! I should say! Cotton and co'n. I have seen de time de rows would be fudder dan Mrs. Bitters ' house, yonder (about 250 yards). Dey kep' 'em workin' all de time. I guess dey was about fo'ty or fifty acres in dem plantations. Dey worked, worked, an' wasn't allowed to go to church dem days; not allowed to have no exercise a-tall. Dances nothin'! What did we know about dances in dem times? Dey had no time to go out an' make no money wid nobody. Dey had to be right at dat place where dey had 'em. Some of de people whar I tote water down in de field fo' 'em, dey would give me a nickel, or piece o' money 'bout as big as a dime piece. I would buy candy and stuff like dat till it give out. "My master's an' Missus' house was nice, about like you see aroun' here, but it was a log house. They had big fireplaces dat would hold great big chunks o' wood an' keep a fire all night. An' dey roast dese here old-fashioned sweet potatoes. Dey keep us in de back, little bit o' house no bigger'n a chicken house where you eat and sleep. If my gran'father an' gran'mother wasn't up at a certain time, dey would go and make 'em get up. De overseer was hahd on 'em. He didn't let 'em even give de Lawd thanks in deir own home. Dey couldn't make a garden, no nothin'. Dey was a slave till dey was plumb set free. "We made de kind o' beds we had in dem days. You see dese here posts here? Well, you take t'ree or fo' of 'em put togedder and make a bed out of dat and you take dis bark off trees an' make slats out of dat an' dese here toesacks an' sew 'em togedder. You put shucks in dat to make de mattress an' make de pillows de same way. In dem days an' times, you had dese little trunnel (trundle) beds an' at night, after six o'clock, we wasn't allowed to be up but we was put in dat trunnel bed an' shoved under dat big bed. An' you had to lay dere an' be quiet. "I have knowed girls to work all week, maybe, to get Saturday off in de afternoon to do deir washin' an' ironin'. Didn't know no dressin' like de girls do now. Didn't know what brass toed boots an' shoes was. Dem hoop shirts - you couldn't tell whether dey was a person or not. Dey always give 'em plenty clothes an' shoes an' stockin's, but not jus' like dey have 'em now. No girls nineteen or twenty didn't know what a pair o' fine shoes was den. "I've seen slaves sold up in dere aroun' Cincinati, Ohio. You see dey keep 'em like you see steers yoked togedder and dey would have 'em fixed in a way till dey have to go de same direction an' dey would sell 'em by de pair fo' so much. Maybe sometimes all de way from a thousand to t'ree and fo' thousand dollars. Dey would put 'em up on a auction block, sometimes t'ree and fo' at a time. Dey was biddin' 'em an' whoever make de highest bid, he would get 'em. Probably once a year, or even two years, dey would sell 'em. Dey wasn't allowed to marry. But if dey seen you talkin' to somebody like you was makin' love, whether you love 'em or not, dey make you live wid 'em. Dat was marryin' each other, all right, but you ain't got no papers an' t'ings like dat. Dey wouldn't have no license.

"We played stick horses an' hoop-horses when we was little an' we make dese swings you know. We would dig holes in de groun' an' play 'button.' We shoot marbles den. I never hardly played many games. De biggest mystery I done was dancin'. I would walk from here to Spofford to a dance an' we danced too. We didn't shottische or waltz an' dem kind o' dances --- we danced! Reg'lar jig dances. You could send me on erns (errands) an' you would see me goin' down dere, all right, but I had to stop an' dance on de way. I fin'ly got back, but myse'f, I had to dance. But I found out dey is more better ways in servin' de Lawd den dancin'. Now, I am a 'black Baptist' an' try to persuade all dem dat wants to dance not to dance. "We ust to eat 'possums. Sho'. An' we had dese old-fashion coons dere too. Dere was rabbits, fish, squirrels, ducks an' wild turkeys --- plenty of 'em. First concern of eatin', outside of squirrel or rabbit, a duck was the onliest kind of meat I would eat. No, I didn't know anything about dese goats till I come to Texas. I've seen 'em kill kid goats fo' picnics and de little tings cry like a child. I don't want to ever see no mo' goats killed wid deir t'roats cut. When I was young, we had lotsa prairie chickens an' dese long-necked t'ings - cranes, too.

"I got my freedom up here on the other side of Houston (Texas), about twenty-five miles from Houston. I was wid de Barkers . You see I never was a slave to be freed like de rest of 'em an' after freedom was declared, I wasn't so large as I was old. I was 'bout eleben years old. De fou'th day of June, my gran'mother was sent notice dey was all freed. Dey said we was free all togedder now. My father lived quite awhile after dat - till I was a good size. I could 'member 'im and notice 'im well. My father an' my mother was Goodmans an' after my mother died, she (Mrs. Barker ) took me to de cou't house an' adopted me. Dey had a plantation down at Houston. Dey was plenty of work and plenty of room. After I got my freedom, I still worked for 'em. Dey kep' me under deir care till after I was twenty-five years old. I could go to dances but dey didn't allow me to get off nowheres by myse'f. I fin'ly went to work for myse'f. Cookin' was my trade. I have cooked in my times at hotels for 150 to 200 people. I went back to Missouri where my mother an' father (the Barkers ) had gone an' stayed wid dem awhile. I worked cookin' back dere for she learned me all de work I ever knew.
"I guess I was about twenty when I married de first time. It was a a big blow-out an' I was scared de whole time. First time I ever tackled marryin'. Dey had a big paper sack o' rice an' t'rowed it all over her an' I. 'Nough rice to last a person t'ree or fo' days - t'rowed away jes' fo' nothin'. I had on a black, alpaca suit wid frock tail coat an' de pants was jes' black. If I ain't mistaken, I had on a right white, white shirt. I know I did. My wife had on a great, white train on her dress an' dem t'ings you call a 'reaf' (wreath) an' about eight or ten bridal maids. We married right in her mama's house. I wo' (wore) de loudes' shoes I could find; what you call de patent leather. She had on what you call dese here ladies' slippers, jes' black shoes."Dis here is my third wife. I was first married in Galveston, Texas. Glara Williams was her name. She wasn't no more dan eighteen or nineteen years old. We had one boy child an' my wife died an' his gran'mother raised 'im. Dat's de onliest one we had, cause my second wife, we separated in Missouri. Her name was Bell Haley . Den I married again an' we come from Eagle Pass up here to de Seminoles here on de reservation an' stayed down dere till my wife an' I got a job ovah in de post wid de officers. When dey got ready to be sent away, dey recommended us to Mr. Peterson an' come ovah dere an told 'im jes' what we was an' we went to work fo' 'im, an' my wife, she has been wid 'im twenty-t'ree years past. "Ghos'es? I 'member de first time I ever come acrost a ghos'. I was takin' care of a white man after he died an' dey had 'im away back in a little room an' de house was a great, long house. Dey puts me to watch de cats off'n 'im. De moon was shinin' dat night an' I watched de room. I don't know what mistake I made, but I looked in dere to see if any cats was dere an' I seen somet'ing about dat high (three feet) all black an' woolly. I nevah seen dat man no mo'. No'm, I didn't run; I couldn't. Dey found me an' de doctah was wid me two or t'ree days. I don't know, I reckin I must a' fainted, but I ain't ever heard of a nigger faintin'. I don't know what dat t'ing was; dey say a dead person's ghos' comes back where he dies. De Seminoles wont stay in de house fo' two or t'ree weeks after one of deir family dies. Dey say dey is still dere. "On dark nights, right up here on dis hill, I see ghos'es but dey don't have no head. You see 'em in diffunt ways an' when you do see 'em wid de heads on, dey look like dey is wild an' dey is all in diffunt performance. I can meet 'em anywheres an' de darker de night is, de better I can see 'em. Like when I am goin' down dat road an' feel a hot steam an' look back ovah my shoulder, an' I can see 'em plain as I can see you-all standin' there. Dey nevah bothers me an' nevah bothers nobody else. Right here, I can look out my bed-room window at nights an' see 'em all dressed in diffunt colors an' I tell my wife, 'Look out here, see dem people?' An' she say 'Where?' But she couldn't see 'em. Some people ain't gifted to see 'em. No'm, I wont drap off befo' you gets back, I hope, if I do, you'll find my ghos' 'round here if you look fo' me!"

One would not guess John Barker to be more than forty years old. His black face is not wrinkled and his black hair does not show the scattered gray. Not until he gets up to walk does one realize his age. His shuffling gait is not springy; rather, it is suggestive of a slight limp caused by rheumatism. He is an undersized, wirey, affable darky, calling himself a "Malagassa nigger," which I interpreted as Madagascar. He and his wife live in a new-looking, painted, well-screened cottage in the northeast part of town, where flowers, fruit trees, turkeys and chickens give it a homey air. One notices, immediately, the utter cleanliness and orderliness of his place. His vegetables in the front yard are in neat rows and beds; his pot plants are freshly watered and blooming; rocks, which he dug out of the yard to make room for growing things, are piled beside the fence neatly; his front porch scrubbed and the garden hose lying in a neat coil on one end of it.