Jerry Boykins

Jerry Boykins , spry and jolly at the age of 92, lived with his aged wife in their own cabin at 1015 Plum St., Abilene, Texas. He was born a slave to John Thomas Boykin , Troupe Co., Georgia, 80 miles from Lagrange, Ga. His master was a very wealthy plantation owner, working 1,000 slaves. "I been well taken care of durin' my life. When I was young I lived right in de big house with my marster. I was houseboy. My mother's name was Betsy Ann Boykin and she was cook for Old Missus. My grandpa was blacksmith. I slept on a pallet in de kitchen and in winter time on cold nights I 'members how cold I would get. I'd wake up and slip in by marsters bed and den I'd say. 'Marster John , I's about to freeze.' He'd say. 'You ought to freeze, you little black devil. What you standin' dere for?' I'd say. 'Please, marster John . jes' lot me crawl in by your feet.' He'd say. 'Well, I will dis one time,' and dat's de way I'd do every cold night. "I was full of mischief and I'd tu'n de mules out of de lot, jus' to see de stableboy git a lickin'. One time I wanted a fiddle a white man named Cocoanut Harper kep' tryin' to sell me for $7.50. I didn' never have any money. 'cept a little the missie give me, so I kep' teasin' her to buy de fiddle for me. She was allus on my side, so she tol' me to take some co'n from de crib and trade in for de fiddle. In de night I slips out and hitch up de mules and fetched de co'n to old Harper's house and traded for dat fiddle. Dan I hides out and play it, so's marster wouldn' fin' out, but he did and he whip all de daylight outta me. When de missie try to whip me. I jes' wrap up in her big skirts and she never could hurt me much. "I allus ate my meals in de house at de white folks table. after dey done et. Iffen I couldn' sit in de marster's chair, I'd swell up like a toad. "De marster done all de whippin', 'cause dey had been two overseers killed on de plantation for whippin' slaves till de blood run out dey body. "Was I bovered with haints and spooks? I been meetin' up with 'em all my life. When I was younger I was such an old scratch I'd meet 'em right in de road, some without heads. I'd take to my heels and then I'd stop and look 'round and they'd be gone. "I wore home-weaved shirts till I was grown, then I had some pants and dey was homemade, too. The women gathered womack leaves to dye de goods black. "I well rec'lects when my marster went to war. He called all us in de kitchen and telled us he had to go over dere and whip those sons-or-bitches and would be back 'fore breakfast. He didn' return for two years. I says. 'Marster, we sho' would have waited breakfast on you a long time.' He said. 'Yes; days de hardes' sons-of-bitches to whip I ever had dealins with.' "When war was over, he called us together and tol' us we were free. He said, 'Now, I'm goin' to give you a big day and after that you can stay and work for pay or you can go.' So he rolled out two barrels of whiskey and killed hogs and spread a big day. "I wants to tell you 'bout how we killed hogs in my day. We digged a deep pit in de groun' and heated big rocks red hot and filled up de pit with water and dropped dem not rocks in and got de water not; den we stuck de hogs and rolled 'em in dat pit "Soon after I's free a man come for me from Louisville to hire me as foreman in his cotton mule barn. So I went there and I worked in Kentucky for 18 year. Fifty-one years ago I married my ol' woman, Rachel Taylor , at Corsicana, Texas, and I think she's jes' as fine as the day I married her. We has six chillen and all works hard for a livin' and we got one lil' grandbaby 10 years ol'. She lives here at our house and we're educatin' her. "I knows I's goin' to live to be over 100 years ol'. 'cause my marster done tol' me so."

Jerry Boykins , spry and jolly at the age of 92, lives with his aged wife in their own cabin at 1015 Plum Street, Abilene, Texas. He was born a slave to John Thomas Boykin , Troupe County, Georgia, eighty miles from Lagrange, Georgia. His master was a very wealthy plantation owner working 1000 slaves. "I been well taken care of durin' my life. When I was young I lived right in de big house wid my marster. I was the house boy. My mamy's name was Betsy Ann Boykin . She was cook for old missie. My grandpa was the blacksmith. I slept on a pallet in the kitchen. In winter time on cold nights I 'members how cold I would get, I'd wake up and slip in by marster's bed then I say, "Marster John, I's 'bout to freeze." He'd say, "You ought to freeze, you little black devil, what you standin' there for?" I'd say, "Please, Marster John , jest let me crawl in by yo' feet." He'd say, "Well, I will dis one time," and dats the way I'd do ebery cold night. "I was full of mischief when I a boy, I would turn the mules out of the lot, just to see the stable boy get a lickin'. One time I wanted a fiddle that a white man named Coconut Harper kept tryin' to sell to me for $7.50. I didn't neber have no money 'cyptin a little the missie gib me. So I kept teasin' the missie to buy dat fiddle for me. She was mighty good to me, always on my side. So she told me to take some of the co'n in the crib, and trade in fo' the fiddle. In the night I slip out and hitch up the mules and fetched that co'n over to old Hanper's house and traded fo' that fiddle. "Then I hide out and play the fiddle so's old Marster wouldn't find out. But he did find out and he whip all the daylight out of me. When the old missie try to whip me I jest wrop up in her big shirts and she neber could hurt me much. "I always eat my meals in the house at the white folks' table. Ifen I couldn't eat in the marster's chair I'd swell up like a toad. The old Marster done all the whippin' cause they had been two overseers killed on the plantation for whuppin' slaves 'til the blood run out the body. Was I bovered with haints and spooks? I been meetin' up with 'em all my life. When I was younger I was such an old scratch I'd meet 'em right in the road some without heads. I'd take to my heels and then I'd stop and look around and they'd be gone. The wimmen gathered womack leaves to dye the goods black. "All the boys in my time jest wore a home-made shirt hanging loose summer and winter. One day when I was 'bout fo'teen, ol' missie say to Marster when he fix that day to go to town, "See here, I can't stan' the sight of this black boy runnin' 'round in this house without 'nuf clothes to hide his nakedness. You brings him back from town a pair of long pants," and that's how I got my first pants, and after I gits a little bigger I recollect that Marster had a cousin libbin with him. He have good clothes and he just my size. So on nights when I begs a pass to go over to a social to some of the othah plantashuns then I slip in to his room and sneaks out some clothes of hissen and sneak off, all dress up-then I sneaks back and puts his clothes back 'fore he gets up. He nevah cotch me. A big ole brass bell rang every mornin' at four o'clock on the plantashun an' when that bell begin its racket, every darky roll out his bed, don't you forget!-and sometimes when we had been makin' a high time 'til late-it seem lak we no more'n git to sleep 'til we mus' git up agin . Ole Marster made his own liquor and kept it in a cellar down close to the spring. I always slip all I want; I'd bo'ah a hole in the keg and cipher it out with a straw. Ole Marster caught me on the floor one day too drunk to git away, he whupped me 'til I got sober.  "I jest 'membahs one song we use to sing and it went sumpin' lak this: "Feed my hoss six or seven ears o' co'n"; now that was a good song! And my uncle he was the blacksmith he always leads the singin' and we'd sing ebery night when the moon was hangin' in the trees. An' when the nights come cool we make a fire outdoors and sit in a ring aroun' and my mamy would tell us fortunes by the way the coals burn and which way de smoke blow. All the wimmens look at my mamy with a jealous eye, and one of them she-devils poison her one day to git her cookin' job in the house so's she wouldn't have to do the hard field wuk. "My pa was Indian all I knows about him is jest what I heard. Some on our place was part French and that kin' of blood bees alright but, this Indian blood make you live long, see that's why ole Jerry is still hangin' 'round.  "I well reco'lect when my marster went to war. He call all us in the kitchen and tell us he had to go over there and whup those sons-of-bitches and would be back before breakfast. He did not return fo' two years. I sez "Marster we sho would have waited breakfast on you a long time". He said, "Yes, they's the hardest sons-of-bitches to whip that I ever had dealins with".  "When the war was over Marster called us all together and told us we were just as free as he was. He said, "Now I'm goin' to give you a big day, and after today you can stay on with me and work fo' pay or you can go. So we rolled out two barrels of whiskey and killed hogs and spread a big day. I wants to tell you 'bout how we killed hogs in my day. We digged a deep pit in the groun' and heated big rocks red hot and filled up the pit with water and drop them hot rocks in and got the water hot, then we stuck the hogs an' roll 'em in that pit. "Soon after I was free a man came fo' me from Louisville, Kentucky to hire me as fo'man in his cotton mule barn. So I went there. I worked right at that job fo' eighteen year. Fifty-one years ago I married my ole woman, Rachel Taylor at Corsicana, Texas, and I think she's jest as fine as the day I married her. We have six children, all works hard for a livin' and we got one little grand baby ten years ole lives here at our house and we are educatin' her.  "I know I'm goin' to live to be over a hundred years old because my marster done tol' me so."