This Georgia African American's autobiographical
sketch was published in the Independent magazine in 1904.
I am a negro and was born some time during the
war in Elbert County, Ga, and I reckon by this time I must be a little
over forty years old My mother was not married when I was born, and I never
knew who my father was or anything about him. Shortly after the war my
mother died, and I was left to the care of my uncle. All this happened
before I was eight years old, and so I can't remember very much about it.
When I was about ten years old my uncle hired me out to Captain. I had
already learned how to plow, and was also a good hand at picking cotton.
I was told that the Captain wanted me for his house-boy, and that later
on he was going to train me to be his coachman. To be a coachman in those
days was considered a post of honor, and, young as I was, I was glad of
the chance. But I had not been at the Captain's a month before I was put
to work on the farm, with some twenty or thirty other negroes -- men, women
and children. From the beginning the boys had the same tasks as the men
and women. There was no difference. We all worked hard during the week,
and would frolic on Saturday nights and often on Sundays. And everybody
was happy. The men got $3 a week and the women $2. I don't know what the
children got. Every week my uncle collected my money for me, but it was
very little of it that I ever saw. My uncle fed and clothed me, gave me
a place to sleep, and allowed me ten or fifteen cents a week for "spending
change," as he called it. I must have been seventeen or eighteen years
old before I got tired of that arrangement, and felt that I was man enough
to be working for myself and handling my own wages. The other boys about
my age and size were "drawing" their own pay, and they used to laugh at
me and call me "Baby" because my old uncle was always on hand to "draw"
my pay. Worked up by these things, I made a break for liberty. Unknown
to my uncle or the Captain I went off to a neighboring plantation and hired
myself out to another man. The new landlord agreed to give me forty cents
a day and furnish me one meal. I though that was doing fine. Bright and
early one Monday morning I started for work, still not letting the others
know anything about it. But they found it out before sundown. The Captain
came over to the new place and brought some kind of officer of the law.
The officer pulled out a long piece of paper from his pocket and read it
to my new employer. When this was done I heard my new boss say "I beg your
pardon, Captain. I didn't know this nigger was bound out to you, or I wouldn't
have hired him."
"He certainly is bound out to me," said the Captain.
"He belongs to me until he is twenty-one, and I'm going to make him know
his place."
So I was carried back to the Captain's. That night
he made me strip off my clothing down to my waist, had me tied to a tree
in his backyard ordered his foreman to give me thirty lashes with a buggy
whip across my bare back, and stood by until it was done. After that experience
the Captain made me stay on his place night and day, -- but my uncle still
continued to "draw" my money.
I was a man nearly grown before I knew how to
count from one to one hundred I was a man nearly grown before I ever saw
a colored school teacher. I never went to school a day in my life. To-day
I can't write my own name, tho I can read a little. I was a man nearly
grown before I ever rode on a railroad train, and then I went on an excursion
from Elberton to Athens. What was true of me was true of hundreds of other
negroes around me -- way off there in the country, fifteen or twenty miles
from the nearest town.
When I reached twenty-one the Captain told me
I was a free man, but he urged me to stay with him. He said he would treat
me right, and pay me as much as anybody else would The Captain's son and
I were about the same age, and the Captain said that, as he had owned my
mother and uncle during slavery, and as his son didn't want me to leave
them (since I had been with them so long), he wanted me to stay with the
old family. And I stayed I signed a contract -- that is, I made my mark
-- for one year. The Captain was to give me $3.50 a week, and furnish me
a little house on the plantation -- a one-room log cabin similar to those
used by his other laborers.
During that year I married Mandy. For several
years Mandy had been the house-servant for the Captain, his wife, his son
and his three daughters, and they all seemed to think a good deal of her.
As an evidence of their regard they gave us a suit of furniture, which
cost about $25, and we set up housekeeping in one of the Captain's two
room shanties. I thought I was the biggest man in Georgia. Mandy still
kept her place in the "Big House" after our marriage. We did so well for
the first year that I renewed my contract for the second year, and for
the third fourth and fifth year I did the same thing. Before the end of
the fifth year the Captain had died, and his son, who had married some
two or three years before, took charge of the plantation. Also, for two
or three years, this son had been serving at Atlanta in some big office
to which he had been elected I think it was in the Legislature or something
of that sort -- anyhow, all the people called him Senator. At the end of
the fifth year the Senator suggested that I sign up a contract for ten
years; then, he said, we wouldn't have to fix up papers every year. I asked
my wife about it; she consented; and so I made a ten-year contract.
Not long afterward the Senator had a long, low
shanty built on his place. A great big chimney, with a wide, open fireplace,
was built at one end of it, and on each side of the house, running lengthwise,
there was a row of frames or stalls just large enough to hold a single
mattress. The places for these mattresses were fixed one above the other,
so that there was a double row of these stalls or pens on each side. They
looked for all the world like stalls for horses. Since then I have seen
cabooses similarly arranged as sleeping quarters for railroad laborers.
Nobody seemed to know what the Senator was fixing for. All doubts were
put aside one bright day in April when about forty able-bodied negroes,
bound in iron chains, and some of them handcuffed were brought out to the
Senator's farm in three big wagons. They were quartered in the long, low
shanty, and it was afterward called the stockade. This was the beginning
of the Senator's convict camp. These men were prisoners who had been leased
by the Senator from the State of Georgia at about $200 each per year, the
State agreeing to pay for guards and physicians, for necessary inspection,
for inquests, all rewards for escaped convicts, the cost of litigation
and all other incidental camp expenses. When I saw these men in shackles,
and the guards with their guns, I was scared nearly to death I felt like
running away, but I didn't know where to go. And if there had been any
place to go to, I would have had to leave my wife and child behind. We
free laborers held a meeting. We all wanted to quit. We sent a man to tell
the Senator about it. Word came back that we were all under contract for
ten years and that the Senator would hold us to the letter of the contract,
or put us in chains and lock us up the same as the other prisoners. It
was made plain to us by some white people we talked to that in the contracts
we had signed we had all agreed to be locked up in a stockade at night
or at any other time that our employer saw fit; further, we learned that
we could not lawfully break our contract for any reason and go and hire
ourselves to somebody else without the consent of our employer, and, more
than that, if we got mad and ran away, we could be run down by bloodhounds,
arrested without process of law, and be returned to our employer, who,
according to the contract, might beat us brutally or administer any other
kind of punishment that he thought proper. In other words, we had sold
ourselves into slavery -- and what could we do about it? The white folks
had all the courts, all the guns, all the hounds, all the railroads, all
the telegraph wires, all the newspapers, all the money, and nearly all
the land -- and we had only our ignorance, our poverty and our empty hands.
We decided that the best thing to do was to shut our mouths, say nothing,
and go back to work. And most of us worked side by side with those convicts
during the remainder of the ten years.
But this first batch of convicts was only the
beginning. Within six months another stockade was built, and twenty or
thirty other convicts were brought to the plantation, among them six or
eight women! The Senator had bought an additional thousand acres of land,
and to his already large cotton plantation he added two great big saw-mills
and went into the lumber business. Within two years the Senator had in
all nearly 200 negroes working on his plantation -- about half of them
free laborers, so-called, and about half of them convicts. The only difference
between the free laborers and the others was that the free laborers could
come and go as they pleased, at night -- that is, they were not locked
up at night, and were not, as a general thing, whipped for slight offenses.
The troubles of the free laborers began at the close of the ten-year period
To a man, they all wanted to quit when the time was up. To a man, they
all refused to sign new contracts -- even for one year, not to say anything
of ten years. And just when we thought that our bondage was at an end we
found that it had really just begun. Two or three years before, or about
a year and a half after the Senator had started his camp, he had established
a large store, which was called the commissary. All of us free laborers
were compelled to buy our supplies -- food, clothing, etc. -- from that
store. We never used any money in our dealings with the commissary, only
tickets or orders, and we had a general settlement once each year, in October.
In this store we were charged all sorts of high prices for goods, because
every year we would come out in debt to our employer. If not that, we seldom
had more than $5 or $10 coming to us -- and that for a whole year's work.
Well, at the close of the tenth year, when we kicked and meant to leave
the Senator, he said to some of us with a smile (and I never will forget
that smile... I can see it now):
"Boys, I.m sorry you're going to leave me. I
hope you will do well in your new places -- so well that you will be able
to pay me the little balances which most of you owe me."
Word was sent out for all of us to meet him at
the commissary at 2 o'clock. There he told us that, after we had signed
what he called a written acknowledgment of our debts, we might go and look
for new places. The storekeeper took us one by one and read to us statements
of our accounts. According to the books there was no man of us who owed
the Senator less than $100; some of us were put down for as much as $200.
I owed $165, according to the bookkeeper. These debts were not accumulated
during one year, but ran back for three and four years, so we were told
-- in spite of the fact that we understood that we had had a full settlement
at the end of each year. But no one of us would have dared to dispute a
white man's word -- oh, no; not in those days. Besides, we fellows didn't
care anything about the amounts -- we were after getting away; and we had
been told that we might go, if we signed the acknowledgments. We would
have signed anything, just to get away. So we stepped up, we did, and made
our marks. That same night we were rounded up by a constable and ten or
twelve white men, who aided him, and we were locked up, every one of us,
in one of the Senator's stockades. The next morning it was explained to
us by the two guards appointed to watch us that, in the papers we had signed
the day before, we had not only made acknowledgment of our indebtedness,
but that we had also agreed to work for the Senator until the debts were
paid by hard labor. And from that day forward we were treated just like
convicts. Really we had made ourselves lifetime slaves, or peons, as the
laws called us. But, call it slavery, peonage, or what not, the truth is
we lived in a hell on earth what time we spent in the Senator's peon camp.
I lived in that camp, as a peon, for nearly three
years. My wife fared better than I did, as did the wives of some of the
other negroes, because the white men about the camp used these unfortunate
creatures as their mistresses. When I was first put in the stockade my
wife was still kept for a while in the "Big House," but my little boy,
who was only nine years old, was given away to a negro family across the
river in South Carolina, and I never saw or heard of him after that. When
I left the camp my wife had had two children for some one of the white
bosses, and she was living in fairly good shape in a little house off to
herself. But the poor negro women who were not in the class with my wife
fared about as bad as the helpless negro men. Most of the time the women
who were peons or convicts were compelled to wear men's clothes. Sometimes,
when I have seen them dressed like men, and plowing or hoeing or hauling
logs or working at the blacksmith's trade, just the same as men, my heart
would bleed and my blood would boil, but I was powerless to raise a hand.
It would have meant death on the spot to have said a word. Of the first
six women brought to the camp, two of them gave birth to children after
they had been there more than twelve months -- and the babies had white
men for their fathers!
The stockades in which we slept were, I believe,
the filthiest places in the world. They were cesspools of nastiness. During
the thirteen years that I was there I am willing to swear that a mattress
was never moved after it had been brought there, except to turn it over
once or twice a month. No sheets were used, only dark-colored blankets.
Most of the men slept every night in the clothing that they had worked
in all day. Some of the worst characters were made to sleep in chains.
The doors were locked and barred each night, and tallow candles were the
only lights allowed. Really the stockades were but little more than cow
lots, horse stables or hog pens. Strange to say, not a great number of
these people died while I was there, tho a great many came away maimed
and bruised and, in some cases, disabled for life. As far as I remember
only about ten died during the last ten years that I was there, two of
these being killed outright by the guards for trivial offenses.
It was a hard school that peon camp was, but I
learned more there in a few short months by contact with those poor fellows
from the outside world than ever I had known before. Most of what I learned
was evil, and I now know that I should have been better off without the
knowledge, but much of what I learned was helpful to me. Barring two or
three severe and brutal whippings which I received, I got along very well,
all things considered; but the system is damnable. A favorite way of whipping
a man was to strap him down to a log, flat on his back, and spank him fifty
or sixty times on his bare feet with a shingle or a huge piece of plank.
When the man would get up with sore and blistered feet and an aching body,
if he could not then keep up with the other men at work he would be strapped
to the log again, this time face downward, and would be lashed with a buggy
trace on his bare back. When a woman had to be whipped it was usually done
in private, tho they would be compelled to fall down across a barrel or
something of the kind and receive the licks on their backsides.
The working day on a peon farm begins with sunrise
and ends when the sun goes down; or, in other words, the average peon works
from ten to twelve hours each day, with one hour (from 12 o'clock to 1
o'clock) for dinner. Hot or cold, sun or rain, this is the rule. As to
their meals, the laborers are divided up into squads or companies, just
the same as soldiers in a great military camp would be. Two or three men
in each stockade are appointed as cooks. From thirty to forty men report
to each cook. In the warm months (or eight or nine months out of the year)
the cooking is done on the outside, just behind the stockades; in the cold
months the cooking is done inside the stockades. Each peon is provided
with a great big tin cup, a flat tin pan and two big tin spoons. No knives
or forks are ever seen, except those used by the cooks. At meal time the
peons pass in single file before the cooks, and hold out their pans and
cups to receive their allowances. Cow peas (red or white, which when boiled
turn black), fat bacon and old-fashioned Georgia corn bread, baked in pones
from one to two and three inches thick, make up the chief articles of food.
Black coffee, black molasses and brown sugar are also used abundantly.
Once in a great while, on Sundays, biscuits would be made, but they would
always be made from the kind of flour called "shorts." As a rule, breakfast
consisted of coffee, fried bacon, corn bread, and sometimes molasses --
and one "helping" of each was all that was allowed. Peas, boiled with huge
hunks of fat bacon, and a hoe-cake, as big as a man's hand, usually answered
for dinner. Sometimes this dinner bill of fare gave place to bacon and
greens (collard or turnip) and pot liquor. Tho we raised corn, potatoes
and other vegetables, we never got a chance at such things unless we could
steal them and cook them secretly. Supper consisted of coffee, fried bacon
and molasses. But, altho the food was limited to certain things, I am sure
we all got a plenty of the things allowed. As coarse as these things were,
we kept, as a rule, fat and sleek and as strong as mules. And that, too,
in spite of the fact that we had no special arrangements for taking regular
baths, and no very great effort was made to keep us regularly in clean
clothes. No tables were used or allowed. In summer we would sit down on
the ground and eat our meals, and in winter we would sit around inside
the filthy stockades. Each man was his own dish washer -- that is to say,
each man was responsible for the care of his pan and cup and spoons. My
dishes got washed about once a week!
To-day, I am told, there are six or seven of
these private camps in Georgia -- that is to say, camps where most of the
convicts are leased from the State of Georgia. But there are hundreds and
hundreds of farms all over the State where negroes, and in some cases poor
white folks, are held in bondage on the ground that they are working out
debts, or where the contracts which they have made hold them in a kind
of perpetual bondage, because under those contracts, they may not quit
one employer and hire out to another, except by and with the knowledge
and consent of the former employer. One of the usual ways to secure laborers
for a large peonage camp is for the proprietor to send out an agent to
the little courts in the towns and villages, and where a man charged with
some petty offense has no friends or money the agent will urge him to plead
guilty, with the understanding that the agent will pay his fine, and in
that way save him from the disgrace of being sent to jail or the chain-gang!
For this high favor the man must sign beforehand a paper signifying his
willingness to go to the farm and work out the amount of the fine imposed.
When he reaches the farm he has to be fed and clothed, to be sure, and
these things are charged up to his account. By the time he has worked out
his first debt another is hanging over his head, and so on and so on, by
a sort of endless chain for an indefinite period, as in every case the
indebtedness is arbitrarily arranged by the employer. In many cases it
is very evident that the court officials are in collusion with the proprietors
or agents, and that they divide the "graft" among themselves. As an example
of this dickering among the whites, every year many convicts were brought
to the Senator's camp from a certain county in South Georgia, way down
in the turpentine district. The majority of these men were charged with
adultery, which is an offense against the laws of the great and sovereign
State of Georgia! Upon inquiry I learned that down in that county a number
of negro lewd women were employed by certain white men to entice negro
men into their houses; and then, on certain nights, at a given signal,
when all was in readiness, raids would be made by the officers upon these
houses, and the men would be arrested and charged with living in adultery.
Nine out of ten of these men, so arrested and so charged would find their
way ultimately to some convict camp, and, as I said, many of them found
their way every year to the Senator's camp while I was there. The low-down
women were never punished in any way. On the contrary, I was told that
they always seemed to stand in high favor with the sheriffs, constables
and other officers. There can be no room to doubt that they assisted very
materially in furnishing laborers for the prison pens of Georgia, and the
belief was general among the men that they were regularly paid for their
work. I could tell more, but I've said enough to make anybody's heart sick.
I am glad that the Federal authorities are taking a hand in breaking up
this great and terrible iniquity. It is, I know, widespread throughout
Georgia and many other Southern States. Since Judge Speer fired into the
gang last November at Savannah, I notice that arrests have been made of
seven men in three different sections of the State -- all charged with
holding men in peonage. Somewhere, somehow, a beginning of the end should
be made.
But I didn't tell you how I got out. I didn't
get out -- they put me out.
When I had served as a peon for nearly three
years -- and you remember that they claimed that I owed them only $165
-- when I had served for nearly three years, one of the bosses came to
me and said that my time was up. He happened to be the one who was said
to be living with my wife. He gave me a new suit of overalls, which cost
about seventy-five cents, took me in a buggy and carried me across the
Broad River into South Carolina, set me down and told me to "git." I didn't
have a cent of money, and I wasn't feeling well but somehow I managed to
get a move on me. I begged my way to Columbia. In two or three days I ran
across a man looking for laborers to carry to Birmingham, and I joined
his gang. I have been here in the Birmingham district since they released
me, and I reckon I'll die either in a coal mine or an iron furnace. It
don't make much difference which. Either is better than a Georgia peon
camp. And a Georgia peon camp is hell itself!