Texas Slave Narratives

Texas Slave Narrative

  Bettie White Irby

Bettie White Irby , 80, was born a slave on April 18, 1857, on the farm of her master, Moss White , near Chriesman, Burleson County. Bettie's mother was Celie White , who was a cook and field worker on the farm. Celie was the mother of twelve children, most of whom died while infants. Bettie says her father was a Scotch-Irishman, by the name of Harper . Her step-father, Fielding White , was a slave. She says her master, Moss White , and her mistress, Cynthia White , were good to her. She was twice married, and had seven children, two of whom still are living. Bettie is a light colored negro. She owns her small home at 2100 Alamo Street, Austin, and receives a monthly pension of six dollars from the state.

When it comes to talkin' about my parents, I couldn't tell yo' much about my fathaw, 'cause I never did git to see him. My father was a Scotch-Irishman and his name, as fur as I kin recollect, was Harper . Dat's about all dat I kin tell about my fathaw. Mothaw's name was Celie White . She wasn't tall, but she sure was fleshy, and weighed about two hunnert pounds. Mothaw and her sistah, my aunt Lizzie , was brought to Texas f'om Mississippi. I think dat dey come by wagon, and camped along de way. In Texas, mothaw's mawster was Moss White , a mighty good white man. He had a fahm of about one hunnert acres near Chriesman, Burleson County. He didn't have many slaves, about three men and three wimmen, and some chillun. Mothaw had twelb chillun, and most of dem died when dey was very young. I was her first child, and her youngest was my step-brothaw, William White . He still lives near Chriesman, and most everybody calls him Bud . Today me and Bud is de only ones of de fambly still livin'. Bud is de youngest of de fambly but today he's old enough to git a old-age pension. Yo' kin tell by dat, dat I'm old.

It was mothaw's job to cook fo' de folks in de slave quarters. Sometimes she'd help in de kitchen up at de big-house. De reason mothaw never had to do much field work was 'cause Mawster White never had no cotton. He raised cawn, wheat, peas, and potaters. Mistress Cynthia always called me Bett . I was bawn on April 18, in de year of 1857, on Mawster White's fahm, near Chriesman, Burleson County. I know dat I am about eighty years old. Durin' slavery I had to do house work, and run errands fo' Mistress Cynthia . I had to run errands sich as take messages f'om Mistress to other folks. Bett , come here and do so and so,' she'd say. And I would go and do it fo' her. Anywhere Mistress Cynthia went, I could go along. Mistress was a good woman but she whooped me at times. She wasn't bad, and I'd say dat she was very good to me. One time, after freedom, I got about my biggest whoopin'. We was still on de place, and I told de ex-slaves one day dat Mistress Cynthia was listenin' to whut dey was sayin'. She jes' whooped me wid a little switch. Yo' see Mistress Cynthia never did want to lose me. She always said dat she wanted to train me to be her house nigger. Durin' slavery I slept right at her bed. I had a little mattress dat was layin' on a sheepskin. Dere was slave chillun on de place, and all of de chillun was fed f'om a laghe tin pan. Sometimes us kids would jes' put dat pan on de ground, git our brass spoons, and eat our bread and milk dat way. One day a nigger girl, Grace , stuck her foot into dat pan of milk and bread. I reckon dat it was a accident, but I sure wouldn't eat none of dat after she had stuck her foot into it. Mistress Cynthia ,' I say, 'I didn't have no dinner.' No dinner. Why didn't yo' have no dinner, Bett ?' Cause Grace done stuck her foot into de pan.' Mistress Cynthia's cook in de big house was old Aunt Jane Deere . She den told Aunt Jane dat I was to eat in de kitchen. I've always been light-colored, and folks said dat when I was young and had black curly hair dat I was nice lookin'. Well Bett ,' Aunt Jane say one day, 'Yo' must think dat yo' is white, eatin' here in de kitchen at de big house.' I never did forgit dat sayin'. It struck me dat it was funny dat she said dat. I never said a word, 'cause I never was a sassy child. I had good eats in dis kitchen: fried ham, butter, milk, cawnbread, biscuits, and near everything else dat de white folks had to eat.

Mawster White never had no overseer on his place, and he wouldn't allow no patrols to bother his niggers. I won't allow nobody to whoop my niggers,' he'd say. ' If dere is to be any whoopin' to be done, I reckon I kin do it. But nobody else is goin' to do it. But one day somebody whooped Uncle Arch . Mawster White found it out. He got up f'om de dinner table, took his rifle, and stahted to lookin' fo' de man whut done de whoopin'. But peace was made and dere was no shootin', and no more whoopin's. Dere was times when some of de mawster's slaves wouldn't mind, and dey got a little whoopin'. But dey didn't seem to mind it, 'cause de mawster was always so good to 'em. Where yo' been?' One of the slaves asked. Oh, down to de mawster's mournin' bench.' Dat's whut dey would call gittin' a whoopin'. Dey'd jes' make fun of it. Mawster White never was rough wid 'em. My mothaw got married den to Fielding White . My mothaw and step-fathaw lived in a one-room log cabin at de slave quarters. Dere was one cabin dat was used jes' fo' cookin'. In dis cabin was big, long-handles black skillets, and long black pots to cook in. Cakes and puddin's and biscuits was cooked in de skillets. Meats and other things was cooked in de pots. I remembah one thing dat we used to cook - potater-puddin'. Yo' peeled and cut your potaters, and den mixed de eggs, spices, sugar, and grease in. Yo' put dis in de skillet, and placed it among de coals in de big fire-place. Den dere was times when 'possums and 'coons was roasted. De men folks would go on 'possum hunts at night. Dey'd take lanterns, and de light would spy out de animals' eyes. Dem 'possums and 'coons was cleaned lak little pigs. Den dey was hung up outside all night, so de animal scent would git out. De next day de 'possums and 'coons was put in de skillets, and sliced bacon, red peppers, and peeled sweet potaters was laid around 'em. Dis sure did taste good. Dat wasn't all dat de hunters would git at night. Dere was times when dey would hear de stompin's of a deer. Dey'd sneak up on it, hold de lanterns up, and dey'd see de deer's eyes shinin' in de dark. In dat way, dey got deer meat. Dere was times when dey'd run into a lot of tukkeys roostin' on de limbs of trees. Sometimes dey could jes' reach up and grab de tukkeys by dere legs.

My step-fathaw was a great hunter, and he liked nothin' better'n huntin' at night. He had a good time of it. Folks had a better time den den dey do now. When dem slaves had good mawsters and mistresses, dey sure could have a good time, better'n now, whut with meat so high. It used to be dat liver was throwed away. One day Mawster White told his slaves dat dey was free. Some of de folks was choppin' cawn. I know dat I was carryin' a little tin bucket of water to de hands in de field. My Aunt Lizzie was jumpin' up and down and hollerin'. Whut's wrong wid yo' Aunt Lizzie ?' I asked. Oh,' she shouted, 'thank God dat we is free - dat we is free! De yoke of bondage is done off'n our necks.' I looked at her and I couldn't unnerstand. But Aunt Lizzie ,' I say, 'Yo' ain't got no yoke on yo' neck.' Yo' jes' don't know,' she shouted. 'Dat yoke has been took off our necks fo' good. Thank God fo' dat, Oh, thank God!' And she kept on shoutin' and cuttin' up fo' a long time. But yo' could tell dat we had good white folks 'cause dem niggers didn't git up and leave right away. Dey helped mawster gather his crops. My folks stayed on fo' another year. Mawster White give us some land to work on de halves, I think. We made a pretty good crop. Most of it was cawn. My step-fathaw also fooled around wid de raisin' of cattle, hogs and sich. Mothaw raised chickens and tukkeys. Den we all moved to a fahm at Cedar Creek, Burleson County. Here's where we began plantin' cotton. I loved to pick cotton. I didn't mind it at all. Later in life, me and my kids picked enough cotton to buy de home dat I'm in now. I ain't had much of a education. Durin' slavery our Mawster's chillun was good to us and dere was times when dey showed us our A B C's. But after slavery de school was about thutty miles away, and I didn't git to go.

About four years ago I stahted to goin' to night school, and I learned how to write my name and how to figger. I sure did lak to go to night school. I was doin' a lot of sewin' durin' dem days, and de doctah told me dat by stoopin' over so much dat I would git lung-trubble, so I quit. Den I took in washin' of clothes fo' folks. One time I was made de president of de Baptist Missionary Society, and I had to know de Scriptures. Sometimes when I didn't know whut was meant, I'd take my Bible to a teacher, a colored one, and give him a quarter to tell me whut de readin' said. Every week I had a lesson to learn, so when I went to de meetin' I could tell de others whut it meant. I done hard work up to my marriage, plowed in de fields wid oxen, chopped cawn, and picked cotton. I was married to Levert Spivey when I was fifteen years old. Levert was about twenty-five. We had seben chillun, only two of which is still livin'. Levert was a janitor in chu'ches and schools. Den one day he left me and went to Oakland, California. Levert was jes' a flirt, and he didn't care nothin' about his fambly. He never did come back, but he's still livin'. My boy, Leonard , heard f'om him not long ago. He wrote and said dat he needed help. Leonard wrote and told him dat if any help was to be given, dat his mothaw would come first. Den when I was about forty-seben, I married Robert Irby . He jes' done yard work and sich. We had no chillun, and I thank God fo' dat. I was tryin' to make somethin' out of my chillun. I wanted 'em to go to school. But Robert didn't want 'em to go. Dere is plenty of folks dat go to school and work too,' he said. De boys is goin' to college,' I told him. 'I ain't goin' to run my chillun away, and drive 'em to destruction and to de penitentiary. If anybody has to git out, Robert , it'll be yo It wasn't long befo' he left. He was stuck on some other woman anyhow. He wanted a divorce, but he didn't have no excuse fo' gittin' one. But I give him de divorce. Den one day he come back and said, 'Bettie , I'm back. Love me de way lak yo' use to. Take me back.' I didn't take him back. He done proved to me dat he didn't love me, and he tried to cheat me out of dis place, de place dat me and my chillun worked so hard to git. He did take our hosses and wagon, though. Here I am, a old woman dat kin hardly git around and see. Still I do my own washin' and work. And I'm thankful dat I git dat six dollars a month pension. I sure wish dat I would git a little mo'e. Den I'd be all right.


BACK TO TEXAS "I" SLAVE NARRATIVE INDEX