Green Cumby

Green Cumby , 86, was born a slave of the Robert H. Cumby family, in Henderson, Texas. He was about 14 at the close of the Civil War. He stayed with his old master four years after he was freed, then married and settled in Tyler, Texas, where he worked for the compress 30 years. He lives with his daughter at 749 Mesquite St., Abilene, Texas.

Durin' slavery I had purty rough times. My grandfather, Tater Cumby , was cullud overseer for forty slaves and he called us at four in de mornin' and we worked from sun to sun. Most of de time we worked on Sunday, too "De white overseers whupped us with straps when we didn't do right. I seed niggers in chains lots of times, 'cause there wasn't no jails and they jus' chained 'em to trees. another, to suction 'em at de market places. De women would be carryin' l'il ones in dere arms and at night dey bed 'em down jus' like cattle right on de ground 'side of de road. Lots of l'il chillun was sold 'way from de mammy when dey seven or eight, or even smaller. Dat's why us cullud folks don't know our kinfolks to dis day. "De best times was when de corn shuckin' was at hand. Den you didn't have to bother with no pass to leave de plantation, and de patter rolls didn't bother you. If de patter rolls cotch you without de pass any other time, you better wish you dead, 'cause you would have yourself some trouble. "But de corn shuckin', dat was de gran' times. All de marsters and dere black boys from plantations from miles 'round would be dere. Den when we got de corn pile high as dis house, de table was spread out under de shade. All de boys dat 'long to old marster would take him on de packsaddle 'round de house, den dey bring him to de table and sit by he side; den all de boys dat 'long to Marster Bevan from another plantation take him on de packsaddle 'round and 'round de house, allus singin' and dancin', den dey puts him at de other side de table, and dey all do de same till everybody at de table, den dey have de feast. "To see de runaway slaves in de woods scared me to death. They'd try to snatch you and hold you, so you couldn't go tell. Sometimes dey cotched dem runaway niggers and dey be like wild animals and have to be tamed over 'gain. Dere was a white man call Henderson had 60 bloodhounds and rents 'em out to run slaves. I well rec'lect de hounds run through our place one night, chasin' de slave what kilt his wife by runnin' de harness needle through her heart. Dey cotch him and de patter rolls took him to Henderson and hangs him. "De patter rolls dey chases me plenty times, but I's lucky, 'cause dey never cotched me. I slips off to see de gal on de nex' plantation and I has no pass and they chases me and was I scairt! You should have seed me run through dat bresh, 'cause I didn't dare go out on de road or de path. It near tore de clothes off me, but I goes on and gits home and slides under de house. But I'd go to see dat gal every time, patter rolls or no patter rolls, and I gits trained so's I could run 'most as fast as a rabbit. "De white chillun larned us to read and write at night, but I never paid much 'tention, but I kin read de testament now. Other times at night de slaves gathers round de cabins in little bunches and talks till bedtime. Sometimes we'd dance and someone would knock out time for us by snappin' de fingers and slappin' de knee. We didn't have nothin' to make de music on. "We mos'ly lived on corn pone and salt bacon de marster give us. We didn't have no gardens ourselves, 'cause we wouldn't have time to work in dem. We worked all day in de fields and den was so tired we couldn't do nothin' more. My mammy doctored us when we was feelin' bad and she'd take dogfenley, a yaller lookin' weed, and brew tea, and it driv de chills and de fever out of us. Sometimes she put horse mint on de pallet with us to make us sweat and driv de fever 'way. For breakfast she'd make us sass'fras tea, to clear our blood. "My marster and his two step-sons goes to de war. De marster was a big gen'ral on de southern side. I didn't know what dey fightin' 'bout for a long time, den I heered it 'bout freedom and I felt like it be Heaven here on earth to git freedom, 'spite de fac' I allus had de good marster. He  was good to us, but you knows dat ain't de same as bein' free.

Green Cumby , eighty-six years old, was born a slave of the Robert H. Cumby family, in Henderson, Rusk County, Texas. He was about fourteen years old at close of Civil War. After the slaves were freed, he worked on with his grandfather for about four years on the Cumby plantation. When eighteen years of age, he married Katherine Goodman and a while later he farmed on rented land. He finally went to Tyler, Texas to work for thirty years. He is the father of ten children. He now lives with his daughter at 749 Mesquite Street, Abilene, Texas.

Durin' slavery I had purty rough times. My grandfather, Tater Cumby , was de culled overseer fo' forty slaves. He called us at four o'clock in de mornin' an' we worked from sun to sun. I picked cotton an' cleared land, burned brush. Mos' de time I had to work on Sunday too minded de mules on graze.  De white overseers whupped us wif straps when we didn't do right. Ise seen niggers in chains many times. Dey had no jails dere so dey jest chained 'em to trees. I wore a long homespun shirt an' no shoes 'til I was growed up, den my uncle made me a pair of heavy red shoes.  Spec'lators on horses drove big bunches of slaves jest like cattle through the country from one place to 'nother to auction 'em at de market places. De wimmen would be carrin' de little uns in dere arms. At night dey bed 'em down jest lak cattle right on de groun' 'side de road. Lots of little chillun when 'bout seven or eight years ol', were sold 'way from der mammy, an' carried hundreds of miles and never see der folks again. Yes, mam'! dey was sholy hard times! Dats why us culled people don't know all our kinfo'ks dis day. De bes' times was when de co'n shuckin' was at han'. Den we didn't hab to bothah wif no pass. De pass was yo' pahmission to leave yo' plantation. An' ifen you ain't got no pass, den when de patterols come 'round, he sez, "Boy, where yo' pass?" listen, you bettah wish youse dead ifen you ain't got none, cuz then you would have yo' self some trouble. But, I sez you don't bother wif no pass at de co'n chuckin. Den all de marsters an' der black boys from all de plantations fo' miles 'round would be dere. Den when we got de co'n pile high as des house, de table would be spread out undah de shade. All de boys dat belong to ol' marster would take him on a pack-saddle around de house den dey bring him to de table and sit on hes side den all de boys dat belong to Mister Beven from dat odder plantation take him on de pack-saddle 'round and 'round de house always singin' an' a dancin', den dey puts him at de udder side and sits down by hes side and each marster an' all hes boys dat was dere at the shuckin' do de same 'til ebberbody was at de table, den we'd hab a feast. "To see a run-a-way slave in de woods scared me to def. They would try to snatch yo' an' hol' yo' so yo' couldn't go tell. Sometimes dey would catch dem run'a'way niggers an' dey would be lak wild animals and haf to be tamed over again. Der finger nails would be lak claws dey was so long. Dere was a white man in Henderson owned sixty blood hounds an' rented 'em out to hunt run'a'way slaves. I well recollect de hounds ran through our place one night after a slave who killed his wife by runnin' a harness needle through her heart. They caught him too, an' the patteroles carried him to Henderson and hung him. That was the first man I seen hung. "The patteroles have chased me lots of times. One night dey caught me when I had been out late at night searchin' fo' stray mules. "Our white chillun taught us slaves how to read an' write at night. I never paid much 'tention but I can read my Testament now, but I can't write to do no good. At night the slaves would gather roun' the cabins in little bunches and talk 'til bed time. Some times we'd dance while some would knock out time for us by snappin' de finger and slappin' de knee. We didn't have nothin' to make music on."We mostly jest live on co'n pone and bacon the marster gib us. We didn't have no garden patches. At night some feller would scream out he saw a haint, den we'd all see it, and go runnin' to de big house to tell that somethin' was after us. The marster would jest shoo us away an' say it was nothin' but ol' 'maginations. My mammy doctored us when we was feelin' bad. She'd take dog-fenley, a yaller lookin' weed an' brew tea, then we's hab to drink dat bitter stuff. It drove de chills an' fevers out ob yo'. Sometimes she'd put horse mint on de pallet wif us to make us sweat and drive de fever 'way. For breakfast she'd make us sas'fras tea, to clear our blood."My marster and his two step sons went to war and took my young uncle as body guard. My marster was a big general on de southe'n side. I didn't know what dey was fightin' 'bout fo' a long time. Den I heerd it was about freedom. I felt lak it would be hebben here on earth to get freedom. We didn't talk much 'bout it cuz it wasn't good fo' yo' to be heerd talkin' 'bout it. After the surrender I was big nuf to haul cotton to Shrevesport. I drove six oxen to a wagon.