January 11, 1937
DOUGLAS DORSEY
In South Jacksonville, on the Spring Glen Road lives Douglas Dorsey, an ex-slave, born in Suwannee County, Florida in 1851, fourteen years prior to freedom. His parents Charlie and Anna Dorsey were natives of Maryland and free people. In those days, Dorsey relates there were people known as "Nigger Traders" who used any subterfuge to catch Negroes and sel them into slavery. There was one Jeff Davis who was known as a professional "Nigger Trader," his slave boat docked in the slip at Maryland and Jeff Davis and his henchmen went out looking for their victims. Unfortunately, his mother Anna and his father were caught one night and were bound and gagged and taken to Jeff Davis' boat which was waiting in the harbor, and there they were put into stocks. The boat stayed in port until it was loaded with Negroes, then sailed for Florida where Davis disposed of his human cargo.
Douglas Dorsey's parents were sold to Colonel Louis Matair, who had a large plantation that was cultivated by 85 slaves. Colonel Matair's house was of the pretentious southern colonial type which was quite prevalent during that period. The colonel had won his title because of his participation in the Indian War in Florida. He was the typical wealthy southern gentleman, and was very kind to his slaves. His wife, however was just the opposite. She was exceedingly mean and could easily be termed a tyrant.
There were several children in the Matair family and their home and plantation were located in Suwannee County, Florida.
Douglas' parents were assigned to their tasks, his mother was house-maid and his father was the mechanic, having learned this trade in Maryland as a free man. Charlie and Anna had several children and Douglas was among them. When he became large enough he was kept in the Matair home to build fires, assist in serving meals and other chores.
Mrs. Matair being a very cruel woman, would whip the slaves herself for any misdemeanor. Dorsey recal s an incident that is hard to obliterate from his mind, it is as fol ows: Dorsey's mother was cal ed by Mrs.
Matair, not hearing her, she continued with her duties, suddenly Mrs.
Matair burst out in a frenzy of anger over the woman not answering. Anna explained that she did not hear her cal , thereupon Mrs. Matair seized a large butcher knife and struck at Anna, attempting to ward off the blow, Anna received a long gash on the arm that laid her up for for some time. Young Douglas was a witness to this brutal treatment of his mother and he at that moment made up his mind to kill his mistress. He intended to put strychnine that was used to kill rats into her coffee that he usual y served her. Fortunately freedom came and saved him of this act which would have resulted in his death.
He relates another incident in regard to his mistress as fol ows: To his mother and father was born a little baby boy, whose complexion was rather light. Mrs. Matair at once began accusing Colonel Matair as being the father of the child. Naturally the colonel denied, but Mrs. Matair kept harassing him about it until he final y agreed to his wife's desire and sold the child. It was taken from its mother's breast at the age of eight months and auctioned off on the first day of January to the highest bidder. The child was bought by a Captain Ross and taken across the Suwannee River into Hamilton County. Twenty years later he was located by his family, he was a grown man, married and farming.
Young Douglas had the task each morning of carrying the Matair children's books to school. Willie, a boy of eight would teach Douglas what he learned in school, final y Douglas learned the alphabet and numbers. In some way Mrs. Matair learned that Douglas was learning to read and write. One morning after breakfast she cal ed her son Willie to the dining room where she was seated and then sent for Douglas to come there too. She then took a quill pen the kind used at that time, and began writing the alphabet and numerals as far as ten. Holding the paper up to Douglas, she asked him if he knew what they were; he proudly answered in the affirmative, not suspecting anything. She then asked him to name the letters and numerals, which he did, she then asked him to write them, which he did. When he reached the number ten, very proud of his learning, she struck him a heavy blow across the face, saying to him
"If I ever catch you making another figure anywhere I'll cut off your right arm." Natural y Douglas and also her son Willie were much surprised as each thought what had been done was quite an achievement.
She then cal ed Mariah, the cook to bring a rope and tying the two of them to the old colonial post on the front porch, she took a chair and sat between the two, whipping them on their naked backs for such a time, that for two weeks their clothes stuck to their backs on the lacerated flesh.
To ease the soreness, Willie would steal grease from the house and together they would slip into the barn and grease each other's backs.
As to plantation life, Dorsey said that the slaves lived in quarters especially built for them on the plantation. They would leave for the fields at "sun up" and remain until "sun-down," stopping only for a meal which they took along with them.
Instead of having an overseer they had what was called a "driver" by the name of Januray[TR:?]. His duties were to get the slaves together in the morning and see that they went to the fields and assigned them to their tasks. He worked as the other slaves, though, he had more priveliges. He would stop work at any time he pleased and go around to inspect the work of the others, and thus rest himself. Most of the orders from the master were issued to him. The crops consisted of cotton, corn, cane and peas, which was raised in abundance.
When the slaves left the fields, they returned to their cabins and after preparing and eating of their evening meal they gathered around a cabin to sing and moan songs seasoned with African melody. Then to the tune of an old fiddle they danced a dance called the "Green Corn Dance" and "Cut the Pigeon wing." Sometimes the young men on the plantation would slip away to visit a girl on another plantation. If they were caught by the
"Patrols" while on these visits they would be lashed on the bare backs as a penalty for this offense.
A whipping post was used for this purpose. As soon as one slave was whipped, he was given the whip to whip his brother slave. Very often the lashes would bring blood very soon from the already lacerated skin, but this did not stop the lashing until one had received their due number of lashes.
Occasional y the slaves were ordered to church to hear a white minister, they were seated in the front pews of the master's church, while the whites sat in the rear. The minister's admonition to them to honor their masters and mistresses, and to have no other God but them, as "we cannot see the other God, but you can see your master and mistress." After the services the driver's wife who could read and write a little would tel them that what the minister said "was al lies."
Douglas says that he will never forget when he was a lad 14 years of age, when one evening he was told to go and tel the driver to have all the slaves come up to the house; soon the entire host of about 85 slaves were gathered there al sitting around on stumps, some standing. The colonel's son was visibly moved as he told them they were free. Saying they could go anywhere they wanted to for he had no more to do with them, or that they could remain with him and have half of what was raised on the plantation.
The slaves were happy at this news, as they had hardly been aware that there had been a war going on. None of them accepted the offer of the colonel to remain, as they were only too glad to leaver the cruelties of the Matair plantation.
Dorsey's father got a job with Judge Carraway of Suwannee where he worked for one year. He later homesteaded 40 acres of land that he received from the government and began farming. Dorsey's father died in Suwannee County, Florida when Douglas was a young man and then he and his mother moved to Arlington, Florida. His mother died several years ago at a ripe old age.
Douglas Dorsey, aged but with a clear mind lives with his daughter in Spring Glen.
REFERENCE
1. Interview with Douglas Dorsey, living on Spring Glen Road, South Jacksonville, Florida
FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
American Guide, (Negro Writers' Unit)
Martin D. Richardson, Field Worker
Brooksville, Florida
AMBROSE DOUGLASS
In 1861, when he was 16 years old, Ambrose Hilliard Douglass was given a sound beating by his North Carolina master because he attempted to refuse the mate that had been given to him--with the instructions to produce a healthy boy-child by her--and a long argument on the value of having good, strong, healthy children. In 1937, at the age of 92, Ambrose Douglass welcomed his 38th child into the world.
The near-centenarian lives near Brooksville, in Hernando County, on a run-down farm that he no longer attempts to tend now that most of his 38
children have deserted the farm for the more lucrative employment of the cities of the phosphate camps.
Douglass was born free in Detroit in 1845. His parents returned South to visit relatives still in slavery, and were soon reenslaved themselves, with their children. Ambrose was one of these.
For 21 years he remained in slavery; sometimes at the plantation of his original master in North Carolina, sometimes in other sections after he had been sold to different masters.
"Yassuh, I been sold a lot of times", the old man states. "Our master didn't believe in keeping a house, a horse or a darky after he had a chance to make some money on him. Mostly, though, I was sold when I cut up".
"I was a young man", he continues, "and didn't see why I should be anybody's slave. I'd run away every chance I got. Sometimes they near killed me, but mostly they just sold me. I guess I was pretty husky, at that."
"They never did get their money's worth out of me, though. I worked as long as they stood over me, then I ran around with the gals or sneaked off to the woods. Sometimes they used to put dogs on me to get me back.
"When they finally sold me to a man up in Suwannee County--his name was Harris--I thought it would be the end of the world. We had heard about him all the way up in Virginia. They said he beat you, starved you and tied you up when you didn't work, and killed you if you ran away.
"But I never had a better master. He never beat me, and always fed all of us. 'Course, we didn't get too much to eat; corn meal, a little piece of fat meat now and then, cabbages, greens, potatoes, and plenty of molasses. When I worked up at 'the house' I et just what the master et; sometimes he would give it to me his-self. When he didn't, I et it anyway.
"He was so good, and I was so scared of him, till I didn't ever run away from his place", Ambrose reminisces; "I had somebody there that I liked, anyway. When he final y went to the war, he sold me back to a man in North Carolina, in Hornett County. But the war was near over then; I soon was as free as I am now.
"I guess we musta celebrated 'Mancipation about twelve times in Hornett County. Every time a bunch of No'thern sojers would come through they would tel us we was free and we'd begin celebratin'. Before we would get through somebody else would tel us to go back to work, and we would go. Some of us wanted to jine up with the army, but didn't know who was goin' to win and didn't take no chances.
"I was 21 when freedom final y came, and that time I didn't take no chances on 'em taking it back again. I lit out for Florida and wound up in Madison County. I had a nice time there; I got married, got a plenty of work, and made me a little money. I fixed houses, built 'em, worked around the yards, and did everything. My first child was already born; I didn't know there was goin' to be 37 more, though. I guess I would have stopped right there....
"I stayed in Madison County until they started to working concrete rock down here. I heard about it and thought that would be a good way for me to feed all them two dozen children I had. So I came down this side.
That was about 20 years ago.
"I got married again after I got here; right soon after. My wife now is 30 years old; we already had 13 children together. (His wife is a slight, girlish-looking woman; she says she was 13 when she married Douglass, had her first child that year. Eleven of her thirteen are still living.)
"Yossuh, I ain't long stopped work. I worked here in the phosphate mine until last year, when they started to paying pensions. I thought I would get one, but all I got was some PWA work, and this year they told me I was too old for that. I told 'em I wasn't but 91, but they didn't give nothin' else. I guess I'll get my pension soon, though. My oldest boy ought to get it, too; he's sixty-five."
FOLK STUFF, FLORIDA
Jules A. Frost
Tampa, Florida
May 19, 1937
"MAMA DUCK"
"Who is the oldest person, white or colored, that you know of in Tampa?"
"See Mama Duck," the grinning Negro elevator boy told me. "She bout a hunnert years old."
So down into the "scrub" I went and found the old woman hustling about from washpot to pump. "I'm mighty busy now, cookin breakfast," she said,
"but if you come back in bout an hour I'll tell you what I can bout old times in Tampa."
On the return visit, her skinny dog met me with elaborate demonstrations of welcome.
"Guan way fum here Spot. Dat gemmen ain gwine feed you nothin. You keep your dirty paws offen his clothes."
Mama duck sat down on a rickety box, motioning me to another one on the shaky old porch. "Take keer you doan fal thoo dat old floor," she cautioned. "It's bout ready to fal to pieces, but I way behind in the rent, so I kaint ask em to have it fixed."
"I see you have no glass in the windows--doesn't it get you wet when it rains?"
"Not me. I gits over on de other side of de room. It didn't have no door neither when I moved in. De young folks frum here useta use it for a courtin-house."
"A what?"
"Courtin-house. Dey kept a-comin after I moved in, an I had to shoo em away. Dat young rascal comin yonder--he one of em. I clare to goodness--" and Mama Duck raised her voice for the trespasser's benefit,
"I wisht I had me a fence to keep folks outa my yard."
"Qua-a-ck, quack, quack," the young Negro mocked, and passed on grinning.
"Dat doan worry me none; I doan let _nothin_ worry me. Worry makes folks gray-headed." She scratched her head where three gray braids, about the length and thickness of a flapper's eyebrow, stuck out at odd angles.
"I sho got plenty chancet to worry ifen I wants to," she mused, as she sipped water from a fruit-jar foul with fingermarks. "Relief folks got me on dey black list. Dey won't give me rations--dey give rations to young folks whas workin, but won't give me nary a mouthful."
"Why is that?"
"Well, dey wanted me to go to de poor house. I was willin to go, but I wanted to take my trunk along an dey wouldn't let me. I got some things in dere I been havin nigh onta a hunnert years. Got my old blue-back Webster, onliest book I ever had, scusin my Bible. Think I wanna throw dat stuff away? No-o, suh!" Mama Duck pushed the dog away from a cracked pitcher on the floor and refilled her fruit-jar. "So day black list me, cause I won't kiss dey feets. I ain kissin _nobody's_
feets--wouldn't kiss my own mammy's."
"Well, we'd al do lots of things for our mothers that we wouldn't do for anyone else."
"Maybe you would, but not me. My mammy put me in a hickry basket when I was a day an a half old, with nothin on but my belly band an diaper.
Took me down in de cotton patch an sot me on a stump in de bilin sun."
"What in the world did she do that for?"
"Cause I was black. Al de other younguns was bright. My granmammy done hear me bawlin an go fotch me to my mammy's house. 'Dat you mammy?' she ask, sweet as pie, when granmammy pound on de door.
"'Doan you never cal me mammy no more,' granmammy say. 'Any woman what'd leave a poor lil mite like dis to perish to death ain fitten to be no datter o' mine.'
"So granmammy took me to raise. I ain never seen my mammy sincet, an I ain never wanted to."
"What did your father think of the way she treated you?"
"Never knew who my daddy was, an I reckon she didn't either."
"Do you remember anything about the Civil War?"
"What dat?"
"The Civil War, when they set the slaves free."
"Oh, you mean de fust war. I reckon I does--had three chillern, boys, borned fore de war. When I was old enough to work I was taken to Pelman, Jawja. Dey let me nust de chillern. Den I got married. We jus got married in de kitchen and went to our log house.
"I never got no beatins fum my master when I was a slave. But I seen collored men on de Bradley plantation git frammed out plenty. De whippin boss was Joe Sylvester. He had pets amongst de women folks, an let some of em off light when they deserved good beatins."
"How did he punish his 'pets'?"
"Sometimes he jus bop em crosst de ear wid a battlin stick."
"A what?"
"Battlin stick, like dis. You doan know what a battlin stick is? Well, dis here is one. Use it for washin clothes. You lift em outa de wash pot wid de battlin stick; den you lay em on de battlin block, dis here stump. Den you beat de dirt out wid de battlin stick."
"A stick like that would knock a horse down!"
"Wan't nigh as bad as what some of de others got. Some of his pets amongst de mens got it wusser dan de womens. He strap em crosst de sharp side of a barrel an give em a few right smart licks wid a bull whip."
"And what did he do to the bad ones?"
"He make em cross dere hands, den he tie a rope roun dey wrists an throw it over a tree limb. Den he pul em up so dey toes jus touch de ground an smack em on da back an rump wid a heavy wooden paddle, fixed full o'
holes. Den he make em lie down on de ground while he bust al dem blisters wid a raw-hide whip."
"Didn't that kill them?"
"Some couldn't work for a day or two. Sometimes dey throw salt brine on dey backs, or smear on turputine to make it git wel quicker."
"I suppose you're glad those days are over."
"Not me. I was a heap better off den as I is now. Allus had sumpun to eat an a place to stay. No sich thing as gittin on a black list. Mighty hard on a pusson old as me not to git no rations an not have no reglar job."
"How old are you?"
"I doun know, zackly. Wait a minnit, I didn't show you my pitcher what was in de paper, did I? I kaint read, but somebody say dey put how old I is under my pitcher in dat paper."
Mama Duck rummaged through a cigar box and brought out a page of a Pittsburgh newspaper, dated in 1936. It was so badly worn that it was almost illegible, but it showed a picture of Mama Duck and below it was given her age, 109.
FLORIDA FOLKLORE
Jules Abner Frost
May 19, 1937
"MAMA DUCK"
1. Name and address of informant, Mama Duck, Governor & India Sts., Tampa, Florida.
2. Date and time of interview, May 19, 1937, 9:30 A.M.
3. Place of interview, her home, above address.
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant, J.D. Davis (elevator operator), 1623 Jefferson St., Tampa, Florida.
5. Name and address of person, if any accompanying you (none).
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.
Two-room unpainted shack, leaky roof, most window panes missing, porch dangerous to walk on. House standing high on concrete blocks. Located in alley, behind other Negro shacks.
NOTE: Letter of Feb. 17, 1939, from Mr. B.A. Botkin to Dr. Corse states that my ex-slave story, "Mama Duck" is marred by use of the question and answer method. In order to make this material of use as American Folk Stuff material, I have rewritten it, using the first person, as related by the informant.
Personal History of Informant
[TR: Repetitive information removed.]
1. Ancestry: Negro.
2. Place and date of birth: Richard (probably Richmond), Va., about 1828.
3. Family: unknown.
4. Places lived in, with dates: Has lived in Tampa since about 1870.
5. Education, with dates: Illiterate.
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates: None. Informant was a slave, and has always performed common labor.
7. Special skills and interests: none.
8. Community and religious activities: none.
9. Description of informant: Smal , emaciated, slightly graying, very thin kinky hair, tightly braided in small pigtails. Somewhat wrinkled, toothless. Active for her age, does washing for a living.
10. Other points gained in interview: Strange inability of local Old Age Pension officials to establish right of claimants to benefits.
Inexplainable causes of refusal of direct relief.
MAMA DUCK
Gwan away f'm here, Po'-Boy; dat gemmen ain't gwine feed you nuthin. You keep yo' dirty paws offen his close.
Come in, suh. Take care you don't fal thoo dat ol' po'ch flo'; hit
'bout ready to go t' pieces, but I 'way behind on rent, so I cain't ask
'em to have hit fixed. Dis ol' house aint fitten fer nobody t' live in; winder glass gone an' roof leaks. Young folks in dese parts done be'n usin' it fer a co't house 'fore I come; you know--a place to do dey courtin' in. Kep' a-comin' atter I done move in, an' I had to shoo 'em away.
Dat young rascal comin' yondah, he one of 'em. I claiah to goodness, I wisht I had a fence to keep folks outa my yahd. Reckon you don't know what he be quackin' lak dat fer. Dat's 'cause my name's "Mama Duck." He doin' it jus' t' pester me. But dat don't worry me none; I done quit worryin'.
I sho' had plenty chance to worry, though. Relief folks got me on dey black list. Dey give rashuns to young folks what's wukkin' an' don't give me nary a mouthful. Reason fer dat be 'cause dey wanted me t' go t'
de porehouse. I wanted t' take my trunk 'long, an' dey wouldn't lemme. I got some things in dere I be'n havin' nigh onto a hunnert years. Got my ol' blue-back Webster, onliest book I evah had, 'scusin' mah Bible.
Think I wanna th'ow dat away? No-o suh!
So dey black-list me, 'cause I won't kiss dey feets. I ain't kissin _nobody's_, wouldn't kiss my own mammy's.
I nevah see my mammy. She put me in a hick'ry basket when I on'y a day and a half old, with nuthin' on but mah bel y band an' di'per. Took me down in de cotton patch an' sot de basket on a stump in de bilin sun.
Didn't want me, 'cause I be black. Al de otha youngins o' hers be bright.
Gran'mammy done tol' me, many a time, how she heah me bawlin' an' go an'
git me, an' fotch me to mammy's house; but my own mammy, she say, tu'n me down cold.
"Dat you, Mammy" she say, sweet as pie, when gran'mammy knock on de do'.
"Dont you _nevah_ cal me 'Mammy' no mo'," gran'mammy tol' 'er. "Any woman what'd leave a po' li'l mite lak dat to perish to death ain't fitten t' be no dotter o' mine."
So gran'mammy tuk me to raise, an' I ain't nevah wanted no mammy but her. Nevah knowed who my daddy was, an' I reckon my mammy didn't know, neithah. I bawn at Richard, Vahjinny. My sistah an' brothah be'n dead too many years to count; I de las' o' de fam'ly.
I kin remember 'fore de fust war start. I had three chillen, boys, tal er'n me when freedom come. Mah fust mastah didn't make de li'l chillen wuk none. All I done was play. W'en I be ol' enough t' wuk, dey tuk us to Pelman, Jawjah. I never wukked in de fiel's none, not den. Dey allus le me nuss de chillens.
Den I got married. Hit wa'nt no church weddin'; we got married in gran'mammy's kitchen, den we go to our own log house. By an' by mah mahster sol' me an' mah baby to de man what had de plantation nex' to ours. His name was John Lee. He was good to me, an' let me see my chillens.
I nevah got no beatin's. Onliest thing I evah got was a li'l slap on de han', lak dat. Didn't hurt none. But I'se seen cullud men on de Bradley plantation git tur'ble beatin's. De whippin' boss was Joe Sylvester, a white man. He had pets mongst de wimmen folks, an' used t' let 'em off easy, w'en dey desarved a good beatin'. Sometimes 'e jes' bop 'em crost de ear wid a battlin' stick, or kick 'em in de beehind.
You don't know what's a battlin' stick? Well, dis here be one. You use it fer washin' close. You lif's de close outa de wash pot wid dis here battlin' stick; den you tote 'em to de battlin' block--dis here stump.
Den you beat de dirt out wid de battlin' stick.
De whippin' boss got pets 'mongst de mens, too, but dey got it a li'l wusser'n de wimmens. Effen dey wan't _too_ mean, he jes' strap 'em
'crost de sharp side of a bar'l an' give 'em a few right smaht licks wid a bull whip.
But dey be some niggahs he whip good an' hard. If dey sass back, er try t' run away, he mek 'em cross dey han's lak dis; den he pull 'em up, so dey toes jes' tetch de ground'; den he smack 'em crost de back an' rump wid a big wood paddle, fixed ful o' holes. Know what dem holes be for?
Ev'y hole mek a blister. Den he mek 'em lay down on de groun', whilst he bus' all dem blisters wid a rawhide whip.
I nevah heard o' nobody dyin' f'm gittin' a beatin'. Some couldn't wuk fer a day or so. Sometimes de whippin' boss th'ow salt brine on dey backs, or smear on turpentine, to mek it wel quicker.
I don't know, 'zackly, how old I is. Mebbe--wait a minute, I didn't show you my pitcher what was in de paper. I cain't read, but somebody say dey put down how old I is undah mah pitcher. Dar hit--don't dat say a hunndrt an' nine? I reckon dat be right, seein' I had three growed-up boys when freedom come.
Dey be on'y one sto' here when I come to Tampa. Hit b'long t' ol' man Mugge. Dey be a big cotton patch where Plant City is now. I picked some cotton dere, den I come to Tampa, an' atter a while I got a job nussin'
Mister Perry Wal 's chillen. Cul ud folks jes' mek out de bes' dey could. Some of 'em lived in tents, till dey c'd cut logs an' build houses wid stick-an'-dirt chimbleys.
Lotta folks ask me how I come to be cal ed "Mama Duck." Dat be jes' a devil-ment o' mine. I named my own se'f dat. One day when I be 'bout twelve year old, I come home an' say, "Wel , gran'mammy, here come yo'
li'l ducky home again." She hug me an' say, "Bress mah li'l ducky." Den she keep on callin' me dat, an' when I growed up, folks jes' put de
"Mama" on.
I reckon I a heap bettah off dem days as I is now. Allus had sumpin t'
eat an' a place t' stay. No sech thing ez gittin' on a black list dem days. Mighty hard on a pusson ol' az me not t' git no rashuns an' not have no reg'lar job.
FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
American Guide, (Negro Writers' Unit)
Pearl Randolph, Field Worker
Madison, Florida
January 30, 1937
WILLIS DUKES
Born in Brooks County, Georgia, 83 years ago on February 24th, Willie[TR:?] Dukes jovial y declares that he is "on the high road to livin' a hund'ed years."
He was one of 40 slaves belonging to one John Dukes, who was only in moderate circumstances. His parents were Amos and Mariah Dukes, both born on this plantation, he thinks. As they were a healthy pair they were required to work long hours in the fields, although the master was not actual y cruel to them.
On this plantation a variety of products was grown, cotton, corn, potatoes, peas, rice and sugar cane. Nothing was thrown away and the slaves had only coarse foods such as corn bread, collard greens, peas and occasional y a little rice or white bread. Even the potatoes were reserved for the white folk and "house niggers."
As a child Willis was required to "tote water and wood, help at milking time and run errands." His clothing consisted of only a homespun shirt that was made on the plantation. Nearly everything used was grown or manufactured on the plantation. Candles were made in the big house by the cook and a batch of slaves from the quarters, al of them being required to bring fat and tal ow that had been saved for this purpose.
These candles were for the use of the master and mistress, as the slaves used fat lightwood torches for lighting purposes. Cotton was used for making clothes, and it was spun and woven into cloth by the slave women, then stored in the commisary for future use. Broggan shoes were made of tanned leather held together by tacks made of maple wood. Lye soap was made in large pots, cut into chunks and issued from the smoke house.
Potash was secured from the ashes of burnt oak wood and al owed to set in a quantity of grease that had also been s