George Arnold was married to an Evansville Woman, but two years ago he became a widower when death claimed his mate.  He is now lonely, but were it not for a keg of Holland gin his old age would be spent in peace and happiness.  “Beware of strong drink,” said Uncle George, “It causes trouble.”

Emery Turner
District #5
Lawrence County
Bedford, Indiana

Reminiscences of two ex-slaves
Thomas ash, Mitchell, Ind. 
Mrs. Mary Crane, Warren St., Mitchell, Ind.

[Thomas Ash]

I have no way of knowing exactly how old I am, as the old Bible containing a record of my birth was destroyed by fire, many years ago, but I believe I am about eighty-one years old.  If so, I must have been born sometime during the year, 1856, four years before the outbreak of the War Between The States.  My mother was a slave on the plantation, or farm of Charles Ash, in Anderson county, Kentucky, and it was there that I grew up.

I remember playing with Ol’ Massa’s (as he was called) boys, Charley, Jim and Bill.  I also have an unpleasant memory of having seen other slaves on the place, tied up to the whipping post and flogged for disobeying some order although I have no recollection of ever having been whipped myself as I was only a boy.  I can also remember how the grown-up negroes on the place left to join the Union Army as soon as they learned of Lincoln’s proclamation making them free men.

Ed. Note—­Mr. Ash was sick when interviewed and was not able to do much talking.  He had no picture of himself but agreed to pose for one later on. [TR:  no photograph found.]

[Mrs. Mary Crane]

[Illustration:  Mrs. Mary Crane]

I was born on the farm of Wattie Williams, in 1855 and am eighty-two years old.  I came to Mitchell, Indiana, about fifty years ago with my husband, who is now dead and four children and have lived here ever since.  I was only a girl, about five or six years old when the Civil War broke out but I can remember very well, happenings of that time.

My mother was owned by Wattie Williams, who had a large farm, located in Larue county, Kentucky.  My father was a slave on the farm of a Mr. Duret, nearby.

In those days, slave owners, whenever one of their daughters would get married, would give her and her husband a slave as a wedding present, usually allowing the girl to pick the one she wished to accompany her to her new home.  When Mr. Duret’s eldest daughter married Zeke Samples, she choose my father to accompany them to their home.

Zeke Samples proved to be a man who loved his toddies far better than his bride and before long he was “broke”.  Everything he had or owned, including my father, was to be sold at auction to pay off his debts.

In those days, there were men who made a business of buying up negroes at auction sales and shipping them down to New Orleans to be sold to owners of cotton and sugar cane plantations, just as men today, buy and ship cattle.  These men were called “Nigger-traders” and they would ship whole boat loads at a time, buying them up, two or three here, two or three there, and holding them in a jail until they had a boat load.  This practice gave rise to the expression, “sold down the river.”