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McCallum, SamSlave narratives from the Library of Congress.
Subject: Ex-Slave Sam Mcallum While this old Negro may be mistaken at some points (the universal failing of witnesses), his impressions are certainly not more involved than the welter of local records. Mrs. Currie states that if Sam said he saw a thing happen thus, it may be depended upon that he is telling exactly what he really saw. Sam McAllum, ex-slave, lives in Meridian, Lauderdale County. Sam is five feet three inches tall and weighs 140 pounds. "De firs' town I ever seen were DeKalb in Kemper County. De Stephenson Plantation where I were born warnt but 'bout thirteen miles north o' DeKalb. I were born de secon' o' September in 1842. My mammy b'longed to de Stephensons an' my pappy b'longed to Marster Lawis Barnes. His plantation wasn't so very far from Stephenson. De Stephensons an' Barneses were kin' white people. My pappy were a old man when I were born - I were de baby chil'. After he died, my mammy marry a McAllun Nigger. "Dey were 'bout thirty slaves at Stephenson. My mammy worked in de fiel', an' her mammy, Lillie, were de yard-woman. She looked after de little cullud chillun.
"I don't recollec' any playthings us had 'cept a ball my young marster
gimme. He were Sam Lewis Stephenson, 'bout my age. De little cullud chillun
'ud play 'Blin' Man', 'Hidin'',an' jus' whatever come to han'. "I stayed wid him special, but I waited on all de white folk's chillun at Stephenson. I carried de foot tub in at night an' washed dey foots, an' I'd pull de trun'le bed out from under de other bed. All de boys slep' in de same room. "Den I were a yard boy an' waited on de young marster an' mistis. Hadn' been to de fiel' den - hadn' worked yet. "Mr. Stephenson were a surveyor an' he fell out wid Mr. McAllun an' had a lawsuit. He had to pay it in darkies. Mr.McAllun had de privilege o' takin' me an' my mammy, or another woman an' her two. He took us. So us come to de McAllun plantation to live. It were in Kemper, too, 'bout eight miles from Stephenson. Us come dere endurin' of de war. Dat were when my mammy marry one o' de McAllun Niggers. My new pappy went to de war wid Mr. McAllun an' were wid 'in when he were wounded at Mamassas Gab Battle. He brung 'im home to die - an' he done it. "Den de Yankees come th'ough DeKalb huntin' up cannons an' guns an' mules. Dey sho' did eat a heap. Us hid all de bes' things lak silver, an' drove' de stook to de swamp. Dey didn' burn nothin', but us hear'd tell o' burnin's in Scooba an' Meridian. I were a-plowin' a mule an' de Yankees made me take him out. De las' I seen o' dat mule, he were headed for Scooba wid three Yanks a-straddle of 'im. "Times were tight - not a grain o' coffee an' not much else. When us clo'es were plumb wore out, de mistis an' de Nigger winmins made us some out o' de cotton us had raised. My granny stayed de loom-room all de time. De other wimmins done de spinnin' an' she done de weavin'. She were a 'good'n'. "De M&O(Mobile & Ohio Railroad) were a-burnin' wood, den. Dey couldn' git coal. Dey used taller pots 'stead o' oil. De engineer had to climb out on de engine hisse'f an' 'tend to dem taller pots. Dey do diffe'nt now. "Dey were such a sca'city o' men, dey were a-puttin' 'em in de war at sixty-five. But de war end 'fore dey call dat list. "Mistis didn' have nobody to he'p her endurin' de war. She had to do de bes' she could. "When she hear'd de Niggers talkin' 'bout bein' free, she wore 'em out wid a cowhide. She warnt a pow'ful-built woman, neither. She had to do it herse'f, 'cause twant nobody to do it for 'er. Dey warnt nothin' a Nigger could do but stan' up an' take it. "Some folks treated dey slaves mighty bad - put Nigger dogs on 'em. All my white folks were good to dey slaves, 'cordin' to how good de Niggers b'haved deyse'fs. Course, you couldn' leave no plantation widout a pass, or de pateroller'd git you. I aint countin' dat, 'cause dat were somthin' ever'body knowed 'forehan'.
"Dey were a heap o' talk 'bout de Yankees a-givin' ever' Nigger forty acres an' a mule. I don't know how us come to hear 'bout it. It jus' kinda got
aroun'. I picked out my mule. All o' us did. "Dey were so many slaves at McAllum's, dey had to thin 'em out. Mistis put/hired us out. She sent me to Mr. Scott close to Scooba. I were mos' a grown boy by den an' could plow pretty good. Come de surrender, Mr. Scott say, 'Sambo, I don't have to pay yo' mistis for you no more. I have to pay you if you stay. Niggers is free. You is free.' I didn' b'lieve it. I worked dat crop out, but I didn' ask for no pay. Dat didn' seem right. I didn' un'erstan' 'bout freedom, an' I went home to my old mistis. She say, 'Sembo, you don't b'long to me now.' "Dey bound us young Niggers out. Dey sent me an' my brother to a man dat were goin' to give us some learnin' 'long wid farmin'. His name were Overstreet. Us worked dat crop out, but us aint never seen no speller, nor nothin". "Den us went back to Stephenson's, where us were born, to git us age. Old mistis say, 'Sembo, you aint twenty-one yet.' "She cried, 'cause I had to go back to Mr. Overstreet. But I didn'. My mammy an' me went back to McAllum's an' stayed until a man give us a patch in turn for us he'pin' him on his farm. "I know 'bout de Kloo Kluxers. I seen 'em. 'Bout de firs' time I seen 'em were de las'. Aint nobody know zackly 'bout dem Kloo Kluxes. Some say it were a sperrit dat hadn' had no water since de war. One rider would drink fo' or five gallons at one time - kep' us a-totin' buckets fas' as us could carry 'em. It were a sperrit, a evil sperrit. "But folks dat aint acted right liable to be found mos' anytime tied up some'r's: De Niggers were a-havin' a party one Satu'd'y night on Hampton's plantation. Come some men on horses wid some kin' o' scare-fare on 'em. Dey were all wropped up, disguised. De horses were kivered up, too. Dey call for Miler Hampton. He were one o' de Hampton Niggers. He been up to somethin'. I don't know what he done, but dey say he done somethin' bad. Dey didn' have no trouble gittin' him, 'cause us were all skeered us'd git kilt, too. Dey carried 'im off wid 'em an' kilt him dat very night.
"Us went to DeKalb nex' day in a drove an' ask de white folks to he'p us. Us buy all de ammunition us could git to take de
sperrit, 'cause us were a-havin' 'nother party de nex' week. Dey
didn' come to dat party. "Den I go to work for Mr. Ed McAllun in DeKalb - when I aint workin' for de Gullies. Mr. Ed were my young marster, you know, an' now he were de jailor in DeKalb.
"I knowed de Chisolms, too. Dat's how come I seen all I seen an' know what aint never been
tol'. I couldn' tell you dat. Maybe I's de only one still
livin' dat were grown an' right dere an' seen it happen. I aint scared now
nothin' 'ud happen to me for tellin' - Mr. Currie'd see to dat - I jus' aint never
tol'. Dem dat b'longed to my race were scared to tell. Maybe it were all for de
bes'. Dat were a long time ago. Dey give out things den de way dey wanted
'em to soun', an' dat's de way dey done come down. 'De Chisolms warnt Yankees, but dey warnt white democratic people. Dey do say de Chisolms an' folks lak 'em used to run 'roun' wid de Yankees. Maybe dat's how come dey was diffe'nt. Even 'fore de Yankees come a-tall, when Mr. Chisolm were on us side, he were loud moufed 'bout it. Mr. John Gully he'p Mr. Chisolm git to be judge, but he turnt out to be worse dan dem he had to judge. Mr. Gully an' de others made 'im resign. I reckon maybe dat's why he quit bein' a Democratic an' started ructions wid Mr. Gully.
' Come de surrender, Mr. Chisolm, he got to be a big leader on de other side. An' he seen to it dat a lot o' de white democratic men got ke'p from
votin' an' a lot o' Niggers step up an' vote lak he tol' 'em( Hey were soared not to). So de Chisolms
kep' gittin' all de big places.
Den Mr. Chisolm's brother got hisse'f * p'inted sheriff an' make Mr. Chisolm deputy. Dat's when he started
runnin' things, sho' 'nough. Nex' thing you know, Mr. Chisolm is de
sho' 'nough sheriff, hisse'f. Afore de 'lection come in November (it mus' a-been in '75) de Niggers had been a-votin' an' doin' ever'thing de Chisolms say. Dey were still a-harpin' back to dat forty acres an' a mule dey were promised what dey aint never got. It were turnin' out to be jus' de same wid ever'thing else Mr. Chisolm had been a-promisin' to give 'em. Dey aint never got none of it. De white democratic folks won dat 'lection. Soon Mr. Chisolm run for somthin' or 'nother an' got beat bad. Den he were mad sho' 'nough. He went to Jackson to see de Gov'nor 'bout it. Soon a heap o' white democratic men in Kemper got arrested for somethin' or nother. Den Mr. John Gully got shot an' ever'body were sho' de Chisolms done it. Ever'body were dat mad. Chisolm an' dem had to go to court. But dey were slippery as eels an' Walter Riley's name come out. (He were a Nigger.) Dey give out at de trial dat Walter were hired to shoot 'im by de Chisolm folks. Dat were not de reason, but dey was blood 'fore folks' eyes by dat time. It got worse dat Satu'd'y when Mr. Gully were buried. Folks all over Kenper done hear'd 'bout it by now, an' by nine o'clock Sund'y mornin', people were a-comin' in over ever' road dat led to DeKalb. Dey all had loaded guns. It were on a Sund'y when all de killin' happened - I mean, de windin'-up killin'. I were dere 'fore a gun were fired. I were dere when de firs' man were wounded. De cullud people had gathered in DeKalb at de Methodis' Church. Dey hadn' a gun fired yet. Mr. Henry Gully goes to de cullud people's church. He walked in at de front door an' took his hat off his head. Dey were a-packed in de house for preachin'. He walked down de aisle 'til he got in front o' de preacher an' he turn sideways an' speak: "I want to ask you to dismiss yo' congregation. Dey is goin' to be some trouble take place right here in DeKalb an' I don't want any cullud person to git hurt." De preacher rise to his feet, ever' Nigger in de house were up, an' he dismiss 'em. (Mr. Henry Gully were Mr. John Gully's brother an' a leadin' man o' de right.)
De town were a-millin' wid folks from ever'where. Chisolm an' dem done got in de jail for safety an' Miss Cornelia Chisolm went back'ards an' for'ards to de jail. Dey thought she were
a-carryin' ammunition in her clo'es to her father. Mr. McClondon - he were one of
'em - were wid her twict. He were on de right-hand side. Some b'lieved he were de one dat killed Mr. John Gully. Dey
tol' 'im dey'd burn his house down if he stay in it, but if he'd go on to jail, dey'd give
'im a fair trial.
Dem outside say, "Boys, it'll never do! Dey aint all in dere yet. Let's
sen' to Scooba an' git Charlie Rosenbaum an' John Gilmore to come help dey
frien's. Dey b'longs to dat Chisolm crowd an' we want dem, too." "I know I aint tol' de sho' 'nough reason Mr. John Gully got killed. Maybe de time done come for de truf to be tol'. Hope won't nobody think hard o' me for tellin'.
Mr. John Gully had a bar-room an' a clerk. A white man by de name o' Bob Dabbs walked
b'hin' dat counter. Dis Nigger, Walter Riley, I was a-tellin' you 'bout awhile ago, were
a-courtin' a yaller woman. (Dey warnt so many of 'em in dem days.) Mr. Dabbs say, "Walter, if I ever kotch you walkin wid (he celled dat yaller woman's name) I'll give you de worst
beatin' ever was." Walter were kotch wid 'er ag'in. Dat Frid'y night he come
a-struttin' into de bar-room. Mr. Dabbs say, "Come he'p move dese boxes here in de
nex' room." Walker walked in lak a Nigger will when you ask 'im to do
somethin', an' Mr. Dabbe turnt de key. "Git 'crost dat goods box," he say. "I'll give you what I promised you." Mr. Dabbs got
'im a piece o' plank an' burnt Walter up. De nex' Frid'y night Walter walked right into dat barroom ag'in. Mr. Dabbs say, "What you doin' here, Nigger?" Walter say, "You 'member what you done to me tonight one week?" An' he say, "Well, what's to it?" Den Walter say, "Well, I come to settle wid you." Mr. Dabbs say, "Let me see if I can't hurry you up some," an' he retch his han' back his han' to his hip. But 'fore he could draw out, Walter done run back to de door. Dey were a chinaberry tree close to de door an' Walter got b'hin' it an' fired a pistol. Mr. Dabbs were hit wid his arm a-layin' 'crost de counter wid his pistol in his han'.
Me an' Mr. El (cause he were de jailor), we put him on a mattress in de room back o' de bar. An' he died dat night. De word jus' kinda got
'roun' dat some o' de Chisolm crowd done killed Mr. Gully's clerk. Den us got on de wagon. (I can see Walter now, standin' dere wid his cap on de back o' his head ready to pull down over his eyes after he git dere.) Dey were a pow'ful crowd 'roun' dat wagon. Den come a rider from Scooba, pull a paper from his pocket, an' han' it to Mr. Sinclair. He read it an' say, "Let de people go on to de gallows. De wagon turn 'roun' an' go back to de jail." De Gov'nor had stopped de hangin' 'til de case were 'vestigated. (De people standin' dare a-waitin' for Walter to be hung didn' know what were de matter.)
Dey placed Walter back in jail an' his coffin 'long wid 'im. De lawyers would visit
'im to git his testimony. Dey'd show 'im his coffin all ready an' ask him did he do dis
killin' or not. Dey want 'im to say he were hired to do it. Dey fixed it all up. Twant nobody to tell jus' how it were.' Mr. Hector tol' me if I'd come an' live wid 'em here, he'd gimme dis house here in de back yard an' paint it an' fix it'all up lak you see it. It's mighty pleasant in de shade. Folks used to always set dey houses in a grove, but now dey outs down more trees dan dey keeps. Us don't out no trees. Us porches is always nice an' shady. I'se got fo' boys livin'. One son were in de big strike in de automobile plant in Detroit an' couldn' come to see me las' Chris'mns. He'll come to see me nex' year if I's still here.
Maybe folks goin' a-think hard o' me for tellin' what aint never been
tol' b'fore. I been asked to tell what I seen an' I done it. (McBee, Lucy Pulliam, from SOURCE MATERIAL FOR MISSISSIPPI HISTORY, Chickasaw County, from microfilm; Historical Research Project, Assignment 13, Subject: Interviews; August 18, 1936, Canvassers: Mabel Calvin, Rubye Cook) |
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