Texas Slave Narratives

Texas Slave Narrative

  Jack White

Jack White of Holly Springs, is a thrifty old negro past eighty, remarkable for his religion, his health, longevity, and unusual sound sense. He is of medium build, smooth shaven, clean, neat and has a keen sense of humor. Instead of grieving, or becoming hardened by his lack of opportunity, as a slave of Ben Powell , near Jasper, he has made use of night study, and is now able to read for himself. He owns a thirty-two acre farm, and though his wife is dead, his large family has married and settled all around him and he seems pleased to have it so.

Jack White my name an' I's my mudder's ol'es' chile. I was bo'n five mile' sou'f of Jasper on de Ben Powell place in 1857. My daddy' name's Stephen White an' he was bo'n in Mis'sippi. My mammy' name's Manda Powell . She come from Alabama. Atter my daddy die', mammy she marry 'gin. She marry Tom Powell . He done sup'n'  I dunno w'at, an' dey tek him an' put him in de pen (penitentiary). He die' dere befo' his time run out. He hab a son name' Shadrock Powell an' a daughter name' Tempie Powell . Mammy' third husban' was name' Rhodes . Dey hab fo' (four) boys name Lige , an' Alex an' George an' Noah . Us marster' name was Ben Powell , an' us mistress' name, Olivia Powell . I don' 'member my gran' parents. Us quarters was like all de others, mek outer plank' wid beds range' long de wall, an' shuck' or hay mattress'. I was too li'l to wuk much, so I pick up chips, an' dey mek me pick a li'l cotton to train me how to wuk.  I nebber earn' no money 'til atter I was free. Den I hire' out as a nuss to my young marster. I wuk for him a whole year takin' care of a sick man. He was to pay me six dollar' a week, but jis' de day befo' Crissmus, he pay me $49.00, an' dat was all. I spen' some of it myse'f, an' 'vide' some wid mother an' de chillen, but I kep' back ten dollar' of it for 'bout a year, w'en I git my license an' git marry on dat ten dollar'. Mos' of de time, in dem day', us lib on co'n bread, peas, an sweet 'taters. Marster was a Mef'dis' preacher. When he'd go off to preach, mistress hire us to pick cotton for a biscuit apiece. We prize' dat biscuit so, we'd hang it up on a stalk of cotton an' watch it, an' ev'ry now an' den go back an' tek a bite offn' it. Us all git a biscuit Sunday mo'ning, too. Us neber go huntin' for 'possum an' rabbit', like de other niggers did. Marster lib in a fine frame house wid five brick chimbleys. He own' a two-hunnerd acre plantation, an' kep' 'bout fifty or seventy-five slaves. Though Marster was a Mef'dis' preacher, he whip' his slaves, an' den drap pitch an' tuppentine on dem from a bu'nin' to'ch.


"I got all my trainin' atter freedom. He neber sen' us to school, but teach us at night so he wouldn' hatter sen' us to school. Mother an' her younges' fambly neber leabe him, but stay' 'til she die'. We went to Magnolia Church. Marster preach' to de w'ite folks, Sunday mo'nin', den at night, all the marsters 'roun' dat country sen' dey slaves, and he preach to us. He hab two fav'rit tex'es he uster preach from to de slaves. One was, 'Serv'nts, obey your marsters.' He didn' say much 'bout de Master in Hebben, but allus tel' us to obey our yearthly masters. De other tex'es was, 'Thou shalt not steal.' He preach' dat over an' over to de niggers. Dey couldn' read dere Bibles, so dey hatter b'leebe jis' w'at he say.  Since I's got to readin' an' studyin' I see some of de chu'ches is wrong, an' de preachers don' preach jis' like de Bible say. Five year' ago, my wife die'. Rev Harry Shepherd marry us. Us lib togedder fifty-one year'. Us hab fo'teen chillen, an' ten of dem is still libin'. I farm all my life. I owns a li'l farm of thutty-two acres, an' dey gimme five dollar' pension. In slav'ry days hol'days didn' 'mount to much. Dey gib us flour to bake a cake on Crissmus day, an' us hatter jump 'roun' lively befo' han' to git to res' on de Fo'th of July, an' den dat was de w'ite folks' hol'day, it war'n' ours. I 'members a few of de 'hollers.' 'Tea in de tea-kettle nine days ol',' was de startment of one 'holler.' A song 'gin, 'My ole Missis, she promise me, w'en she die, she sot me free.' Another was, 'Ole Lou'siana niggers et hot mush,' Ole Virginny niggers say, 'Good Lawd, hush.' (Dey say de las' line was 'cause de moufs was so full of hot mush dey couldn' talk). 'I's shame' to tell you dese 'cause dey jes' foolishness.' I 'member w'en we hear' de sojers was comin', we buried all de meat in de bottom of de co'n crib, an' dribe all de oxen 'way off down in de woods an' hide dem'. We see lots of sojers wid herds of beefs for to be kill' an' eat.

I 'member w'en we was freed, dey didn't tell us til de nine-teenth of June. The fus' I know' of it, one of de ol' cullud women got to spattin' wid Marster's son, an' she tol' him he couldn' whip her no mo' 'cause she free. I's pas' eighty an' nebber hab a doctor. I feel like de Lawd hab bless' me, an' I tries to lib like de Bible say we orter. I now b'long to de Bible Chu'ch, an' dat's really de only Chu'ch."


BACK TO TEXAS "W" SLAVE NARRATIVE INDEX