Texas Slave Narratives

Texas Slave Narrative

  Fannie Yarbrough

Fannie Yarbrough , blind and bedridden, was born a slave of the McKinney family near Egypt, Kaufman County, Texas. She was about 6 years old when war was declared. At that time her chief job was helping herd sheep. After the slaves were freed her mother with her two children stayed with the McKinney's family, then worked for other white people. Fannie married Green Yarbrough in Hunt County, Texas. She now lives with her aged husband who is also of slavery days, in a little cabin at 843 Plum Street, Abilene, Texas.

Ole Marster had a worl' ob sheeps. Ebery day we take dem sheeps and watch 'em. The wolves were mean. We'd get to playin', all us little niggers and fergit those sheeps and next thing you know an old wolf 'ud have himself a sheep. Den we'd keep playin' out so late dat it was dark 'fore we knowed it and we'd start runnin' those sheeps home. Ol' Marster would be at de big gate to let us in. He sez, "Now, chillun you didn't get back with all those sheep." We say, "Old wolf got 'em." But he know'd ole wulf didn't get all the ones missin' and he'd say, 'you're storyin'.' Then purty soon some of those little stray ones would come home. Then he know'd we'd run um home and he'd say he spose he'd have to lick us but he never did. Those were sweet times! Ole Marster so good. He gib us more to eat than you eber saw. Hog meat ebery day and sweet potatoes so big we'd have to cut um up with an ax. After we et our supper we had to spin a broach of thread ebery night before we went to bed. I learned all 'bout spinnin' and weavin' when I was little and by the time I was ten I could make pretty striped cloth. How we played and played. On Sundays we'd strike out fo' the big woods. We'd gather our dresses full ob hickory nuts, walnuts and berries and a sour apple called maypop. We'd kill snakes and dance and sing that ole song 'bout Hurroh! Mr. blue coat, toodle lo! Oh, dat ladies beatin' you! This meant his pa'dner was beatin' him dancin'. I was jest layin' here dreamin' 'bout how we use to go to the woods ebery spring an' dig the maypop roots, then we'd bring 'em home and wash 'em good, then dry 'em--but now mind you not in the sun!--then all us chillun would sit 'round and pound dem roots, tied up in little bags of coarse cloth, 'til it was powder, then we'd take a little flour and jest enough water to make it stick and we'd make pills to take when we got sick--and work you! Lawd amighty! when we tuk dat stuff we'd haf to keep tendin' to de dress tailWe went over to Flat Rock to church, and de singin' was gran'. All day long we'd be at preachin' and singin'. Singin' dat good ole spiritual song about You shan't be slaves no more since Christ has made you free! I lay here yesterday and heard all those foolish songs and jubilee songs that came over the radio--then some of those good ole time spirituals came and it jest made me feel like I was in ole times. I went back ebery year to see my ole Marster as long as he lib. Now it won't be long 'til I see him agin, some day.


Fannie Yarbrough , blind and bedridden, was born a slave of the McKinney family, near Egypt, Kaufman Co., Texas. She was about six when the Civil War started. At that time her job was to hard sheep. After "freedom" she, her mother and sister, stayed with the McKinney's for a time, Fannie married Green Yarbrough in Egynt Co., Texas and they now live in a little cabin at 843 Plum St., Abilene, Texas. Ole Marster had a world of sheeps. Every day we take dem sheeps and watch 'em. The wolves was mean. We'd git to playin'. all us little niggers, and forgit them sheeps and nex' thing you know an old wolf would have himse'f a sheep.

Sometimes we'd keep playin' so late it was dark 'fore we knowed it and we'd start runnin' them sheeps home. Ol' Marster would be at de big gate to let us in. He says. 'Now, chillen, you didn' git back with all the sheep.' We'd say. 'Ol' wolf got 'em.' But he knowed ol' wolf didn' git all de ones missin' and he'd say. 'You're storyin'. Then purty soon some of the little stray ones come home. Then he knowed we'd run the Sheep home and he'd say. 'I 'spose I'll have to whip you,' but he never did. Those were sweet times! OL' Marster was so good, and he give us more to eat than you ever saw. Hog meat every day and sweet 'tatoes so big we'd have to cut 'en with an ax. After we et our supper, we had to spin a broach of thread every night 'fore we went to bed. I larned all 'bout spinnin' and weavin' when I was little and by time I's 10 I'd make pretty striped cloth. How we played and played! On Sundays we'd strike out for the big woods and we'd gather our dresses full of hickory nuts, walnuts and berries and a sour apple called 'maypop.' We'd kill snakes and dance and sing that ol' song 'bout. 'Hurrah! Mister Bluecoat, Toodle-O.' 'O, Dat Lady's Beatin' You.' It meant his pardner was beatin' him dancin.' I was jes' lyin' here dreamin' 'bout how we use to go to the woods every spring and dig the maypop roots, then bring 'em none and wash 'ex good and dry 'am - but, mind you, not in the sun - then all us chillen would sit 'round and poun' dem roots, tied up in little bags of coarse cloth, till it was powder. Then we'd take a little flour and jes' enough water to make it stick, and we'd make pills to take when we got sick. And work you? Lawd almighty! When we took dat stuff we had to keep tendin' to de dress tail! We went over to Flat Rock to church and de singin' was gran.' All day long we'd be at preachin' and singin'. Singin' dat good ol' spiritual song 'bout. 'You shan't be Slaves no More, since Christ have made you free.' I lay here yes' day and heared all them foolish songs and jubilee songs that comes over the radio, and den some of them ol' time spirituals come and it jes' made no feel like I was in ol' times. I went back every year to see my ol' marster, as long as he lived. Now it won' be long till I sees him agin, some day.


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