ONE day while I was plowing in a field in Terrell county, a boy whose name I have forgotten, hid himself in the hollow of a tree not very far from where I was plowing near a road, and waited there until a man by the name of Fletcher came along. When he sprang from the tree, shot the man and killed him. I had worked there all day and did not know any one was near, and when I saw that he had killed the man I was certainly scared, and did not know what to do or where to go. Mr. Fletcher had about fifteen or twenty men with him. They were bridge builders, and one of the shots hit the saw that one of the colored men had in his arm.
After he had killed the man the boy rambled all night, and the next day, but did not get more than five miles from where he had done the killing, so he was found and brought back and put in jail. He was kept there for a year or more, so one night, the jailer ran out in town and shot and reported that a mob had overpowered him and opened the jail, and cut the boy's throat. The boy was there lying on the floor handcuffed, with his throat cut, and it was always supposed the jailer killed him.
The jailer then moved to Texas and lived there for a year or more. While there he was taken sick, and while lying on his death bed he confessed to killing the boy for one thousand ($1,000) dollars, but it was never known who gave him the money to do the killing.
In 1870 there was a big show in Terrell county, Dawson, Georgia, and while the ticket agent was engaged hi selling tickets as show folks do, they had a woman for door keeper and a man there for protection. Two men who started in had been drinking and the man pushed them back. They then began shooting. The door keeper, one of the ring masters and one of the men were killed. One of the men killed was an Oxford, some relation to the Oxfords that live up here now.
There were some mighty wealthy and high toned people at the show. They had their drivers to drive the hack right up to the tent door and spread down carpets for them to walk on to keep from getting in the mud, but when the shooting began they split the mud and made doors in all parts of the tent. That was a sad and bad act, but old corn liquor was the cause of it all.
In 1903 I saw a show man shot and killed in Dalton, Georgia, Whitfield county.
In 1908 I saw a gallows built in Spring Place, Georgia, (Murray county) to hang a man by the name of Harper who killed Mr. Ben Keith, sheriff of Murray county, but he wasn't hanged and I do not know whatever became of the gallows or the man Harper, either.
I saw a young man shot in Spring Place by the name of Mr. Gus Keister. Some folks believe whatever is to be will be, and I believe that, too. Of course that is hardshell doctrine, but I am that way and this is my reason for believing that: I saw two men in Spring Place, both had a pistol and both snapped their guns, but neither of the guns fired. One of the men was Charlie Williams and the other was Captain Gibbs. They were both as brave as could be. I was in about ten feet of one of them, and was so sure they were going to get killed I shut my eyes to keep from seeing them killed, but neither one was hurt.
I believe in dreams. In 1870 I dreamed that a rattle snake bit me twice. The next night I got cut twice. I never like to dream of wasps, because whenever I dream of them I am always confused afterwards. It seems that something good always follows when I dream of honeybees, and when I dream of watermelons I always receive money.
My Mistress told me that the negroes were brought from Africa so that they could be enlightened and that they may be taught to serve God. That may be so, but I hardly know what to think of it. I had a colored friend who is now dead, who always argued with me that negroes were brought from Africa to be enlightened. It seems that the negroes do not stick to one another as the white people do. If one negro has money the others will stick to him, but if he has no money they are all down on him.
The negro race is a peculiar race, so far as color and mind is concerned. Some are black, some dark black, some are dark brown and some light brown, some are yellow and some are nearly white. To me they resemble Joseph's coat. They all have many different minds. I believe the North Georgia negroes had better treatment and were more enlightened than the South Georgia negroes.
Once upon a time Major Jackson and I carried a drove of mules that belonged to Mr. Sam Carter to South Georgia. The white man in South Georgia to whom we carried the mules, said he did not allow negroes in his house. I said to him, "I was reared in white folks' house." He said, "the negroes here would steal if they had to steal the dish rag." This white gentleman treated us very nice. Some of those negroes down in South Georgia said they wished Mr. Carter would bring them a sack of flour, because they had had no biscuits since last Christmas and it was almost Christmas again.
The old colored folks in South Georgia told me that the negro foremen were as hard again on them as their owners were. One old negro in South Georgia told me that they had to steal or perish because the white folks did not give them enough to eat.
I thank the Good Lord that my master always gave me plenty to eat and treated me like I was a human being.
The grandchildren and great grandchildren of Mr. Edmondson seem to think a lots of me and my wife. Always when they come from South Georgia and from places in the north they would bring me and my wife something nice to eat and wear. It seems that they cannot come to North Georgia without coming to see "Uncle Boisey" and "Aunt Amanda."
Once I was working for a man who was building a railroad from Albany, Georgia to Cuthbert. The contractor had over a hundred mules and carts and lots of work hands. The place where the work hands camped looked like a little village. The tents used for shelter were made of poles were covered with pine top, sand and bark. Once upon a time a hard rain came and the sand over the tent gave way and killed a family of two. The people had to dig to find them.
The contractor paid the hands in money called "Kimbel and Bulloch", which was in no smaller pieces than a dollar and no larger than two dollars. I do not know what became of Bulloch, but I suppose there is a Kimball house in Atlanta. I lost over a hundred dollars of Bulloch money because it went dead.
I used to belong to an insurance company, a twenty year payment. At the end of the twentieth year the company paid me off. The amount was $1100.00. I put the money in the Georgia State Bank. A white man named Mr. John Cole told me to take the money out of the bank and pay it on my place. He said if I lacked any he would lend me some. I took out the money as he advised me to do and within two months after I took it out the bank failed, and I lost $50.01. Some white man asked me what would I have done if I had lost my $1100? I told him I suppose I would have died.
Memoirs Of A Slave