Texas Slave Narratives

Texas Slave Narrative

  Josephine Howard

Josephine Howard was born in slavery on the Walton plantation near Tuscaloosa, Alabama. She does not know her age, but when Mr. Walton moved to Texas, before the Civil War, she was old enough to work in the fields. Josephine is blind and very feeble. She lives with a daughter at 1520 Arthur St., Houston, Texas.

Lawd have mercy, I been here a thousand year, seems like. 'Course I ain't been here so long, but it seems like it when I gits to thinkin' back. It was long time since I was born, long 'fore de war. Mammy's name was Leonora and she was cook for Marse Tim Walton what had de plantation at Tuscaloosa. Dat am in Alabamy. Papa's name was Joe Tatum and he lived on de place 'jinin' ourn. Course, papa and mamy wasn't married like folks now, 'cause dem times de white folks jes' put slave men and women together like hosses or cattle. Day allus done tell us it am wrong to lie and steal, but why did de white folks steal my mammy and her mammy? Dey lives clost to some water, somewheres over in Africy, and de man come in a little boat to de sho' and tell dem he got presents on de big boat. Most de men am out huntin' and my mammy and her mammy gits took out to dat big boat and dey locks dem in a black hole what mammy say so black you can't see nothin'. Dat de sinfulles' stealin' day is. De captain keep dem locked in dat black hole till dat boat gits to Mobile and dey is put on de block and sold. Mammy is 'bout twelve year old and dey an sold to Marse Tim, but grandma dies in a month and dey puts her in de slave graveyard. Mammy am nuss gal till she git older and den cook, and den old Marse Tim puts her and papa together and she has eight chillen. I reckon Marse Tim warn't no worser dan other white folks. De nigger driver sho' whip us, with de reason and without de reason. You never knowed. If dey done took de notion dey jes' lays it on you and you can't do nothin'. One mornin' we is all herded up and mammy am cryin' and say dey gwine to Texas, but can't take papa. He don't 'long to den. Dat de lastes' time we ever seed papa. Us and de women am put in wagons but de men slaves an chained together and has to walk. Marse Tim done git a big farm up by Marshall but only live a year dere and his boys run de place. Day jes' like day papa, work us and work us. Lawd have mercy, I hear dat call in de mornin' like it jes' yesterday, 'All right, everybody out, and you better git out iffen you don't want to feel dat bullwhip 'cross you back.' My gal I live a with don't like me to talk 'bout dem times. She say it ain't no more and it ain't good to think 'bout it. But when you has live in slave times you ain't gwine forgit dem, no, suh! I's old and blind and no 'count, but I's alive, but in slave times I'd be dead long time ago, 'cause white folks didn't have no use for old niggers and git shut of dem one way or t'other. It ain't till de sojers comes we is free. Dey wants us to git in de pickin', so my folks and some more stays. Dey didn't know no place to go to. Mammy done took sick and die and I hires out to cook for Missy Howard , and marries her coachman, what am Woodson Howard . We farms and comes to Houston nigh sixty year ago. Dey has mule cars den. Woodson gits a job drawin' and 'fore he dies we raises three boys and seven gals, but all 'cept two gals am dead now. Dey takes care of me, and dat all I know 'bout myself.


Josephine Howard , living with her daughter at 1520 Arthur St., Houston, Tex., was born in slavery on the plantation of Tim Walton near Tuscaloosa, AL She does not know her exact age, but says she was "'bout six or mebbe seven when de stars fall". Neither does she recall her age when brought to Texas with her mother, but says she was put to work in the field with the other slaves of Mr. Walton, and that it was before the Civil War. In addition to being totally blind, she is rather feeble, but her voice raises to a high pitch when recalling the treatment accorded slaves by their owners. Lord have mercy, I'se been here a t'sound years seems like. 'Course I ain't been here dat long, but it seems like I has sometimes when I gets to thinkin' back. Dat was a long time ago when I was born, long 'fore de Civil War. Mamma's name was Leonora an' she was cook for Mr. Tim Walton what had de plantation back at Tuscaloosa in Al'bama. Papa's name was Joe Tatum an' he belong to Mr. Tatum what has de 'jinin' place to old Mr. Tim . Course mamma an' papa wasn't married like folks is now, 'cause back den de white folks jes' put de slave men an' women together jes' like dey is horses or cattle. Lord have mercy, it sure was awful de way black folks was done. Dey wasn't nothin' de whites don't do to 'em, work em like dey was mules an' treat 'em jes' like dey don't have no feelin'. Yes suh, dat's de truth 'cause I know.

Humph, old Mr. Tim an' de Nigger Drivers', dat's what dey calls de overseers, all de time tellin' de black folks it wrong to lie an' steal, but de white folks do plenty lyin' an' stealin', an' dat's de truth. Why, didn't white folks steal my mamma an' gran'ma? I's heard mamma tell 'bout it lots of times. You see mamma an' gran'ma live close to some water somewhar over in Africa, an' one day a boat comes to whar dey live, an' de captain come in a little boat to de shore an' tell gran'ma an' some more black folks what come down to see de boat, dat he's got some presents for 'em on de big boat, an' he'll take 'em out an' give de presents to 'em an' den mebbe do some tradin' does dey want to. I 'members mamma sayin' most of de men folks was out huntin' or somethin', but she an' gran'ma an' some more get in an' de white folks take 'em out to de boat, an' when dey gets 'em on it dey locks 'em up in a black hole what mamma say was so black you can't see nothin'. De white folks had lied 'bout givin' 'em presents so dey could get 'em on de boat an' bring 'em here an' sell 'em, an' dat's de sinfullest stealin' dey is. Yes suh, de captain keep 'em locked up in dat black hole 'til de boat gets to Mobile, an' dey is put on de block an' sold.

Mamma is 'bout twelve years old an' gran'ma an' her is sold to old Tim Walton , but gran'ma die 'bout a month after she is sold an' dey buries her in de slave graveyard on de plantation, jes' dig a hole an' put her in a box an' buries her without no preachin'. Mamma is nurse girl 'til she gets older, den she is de cook, an' den old Tim an' Tatum put her an' papa together. She has eight children but three died whilst dey was babies, an' I don't know iffen any of my sisters or brother is alive 'cause I ain't seen none of 'em since I get married. I 'members some 'bout old Tim's plantation whar I was born, but not much 'cause I wasn't very big when he bring us to Texas. I 'members when de stars fall, yes suh, I sure 'member dat. 'Course I was little, jes' 'bout six or mebbe seven year when de stars fall. Lord have mercy, we thought de world was endin' sure 'nough. It got all red-like, an' whar de stars fall it scotched de ground 'jes' burnt up de bresh whar dey hit an' make de ground all black-like. In de mornin' folks look for de stars what fall in de night but dey don't find none, an' nobody knows all 'bout it yet. I reckon old Tim wasn't no worse'n other white folks what owned slaves. But dey wasn't no good white folks what owned slaves, 'cause dey all give us bad treatment. Old Tim don't do no whippin' hisself much, but de 'Nigger Drivers' what work de slaves sure whip us, an' it don't make no dif'fence if dey has a reason for it or not, if dey takes de notion to whip, why dey jes' lays it on you an' dey ain't nothin' you can do 'bout it. Old Tim sometimes make us childen dance out in de yard. Dey ain't no drums nor music, someone jes' take up a old pan an' stick an' keep time dat way. Old Tim comes up to us childen an' puts sand on our head an' den makes us dance, an' when de sand drap down an' get under de dress an' get you all scratchy, he jes' sit an' laff an' laff seein' de squirmin' we does, 'cause when de sand get to de skin you sure goin' to squirm. Bout de only work I 'members doin' back dere 'fore we comes to Texas is helpin' mamma, an' goin' down to de cow lot an' shooin' de calves 'way from de cows so dey don't use up all de milk. One mornin' we is all herded up, jes' like dey herd cattle, an' mamma is cryin' an' says dey is takin' us to Texas, but dey ain't takin' papa 'long 'cause he don't belong to old Tim. Dat was de last time we see papa, but I hears after freedom he died back dere. De women folks an' us childen is put in wagons, but some of de men folks what dey is 'fraid will run 'way, is chained together an' has to walk. I don't 'member how long it take us to get up dere in East Texas, but I knows it was a long time, mebbe a month. Old Tim he's got a big farm up near whar Marshall is at, an' dat's whar we go, but he only live a year after we get here an' den de place is run by his boys, Mr. John an' Mr. Billy . Old Tim's wife died when I was jes' a baby so I didn't know nothin' 'bout her, but de boys was jes' de same like old Tim , jes' work de slaves from 'fore it was jes' light 'nough to see 'til most dark. Lord have mercy, I hear dat call in de mornin' like it was jes' yestiddy  'all right, everybody out', an' you better get out too iffen you don't want to feel dat old bull-whip 'cross your back. Course my daughter what I lives with don't like me to talk 'bout slave times, says dey ain't goin' to be no more times like dat was an' it ain't good for me to think 'bout sech things, but when you has lived in slave times, you ain't goin' to forget 'em, no suh. Why jes' look at me. I's old an' blind an' no 'count for nothin', but I's alive. But iffen it was slave times, I'd be dead long ago, 'cause white folks den didn't have no use for black folks when dey gets too old to work good, an' dey gets shet of 'em one way or t'other. Yes suh, I's tellin' de truth, white folks sure give us bad treatment. Why dey don't even give us freedom when dey oughter, an' twan't till de sojers come to de place an' tell us we is free as de white folks an' not to work fo 'em 'less we gets paid for it, dat we know we is free. Mr Billy an' Mr. John want all of us to stay an' get in de pickin', an' dey say dey give us provisions for de winter, an' dey won't be no whippin' by de 'Nigger Drivers', so my folks an' some more stayed, 'cause we didn't have no places' special we could go to. dat winter, mamma took sick an' die, an' dat break up our family 'cause we is growed up, an' fust one an' nother of us childen hire out.

I hires out to cook for old Missus Howard , an' when her an' her husband move to Hempstead, I goes 'long too, 'cause Woodson Howard what was a colored man what belonged to de Howards in slave times, was dere coachman, an' we was goin' to get married. We gets married in Hempstead by de preacher, an' we goes to farmin' an' does dat 'til we moves to Houston 'bout sixty years ago. I 'members dey has mule cars when we come here. Dat was 'fore dey has de 'lectric cars. My husband gets a job drayin', an' 'fore he died we raised three boys and seven girls, but all 'cept two of my girls is dead now an' dey takes care of me, an' dat's 'bout all I know 'bout myself.


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