Henri Necaise, Age: 105 | Fictional account based on WPA Slave Narratives (Mississippi)
As a MDAH volunteer, one of my assignments was to write scripts for potential historical re-enactors based on historic documents.
Henri Necaise
Former slave, Age: 105
Timeperiod: 1936-38
Prop/pantomime Options: Rope for tying sailor’s knots while talking, seated on his porch.
Descriptors: WPA Interviewee
I was born in Harrison County, 19 miles from Pass Christian, along the ridge road from the swamp near Wolf River. My Marster was Ursan Ladnier. The Misses name was Popone. We all French. My father was a white man, Anatole Necaise. I know he was my father, because he used to call me to him and tell me I was his oldest son.
I never knew my mother. I was a slave and my mother was sold from me and her other children. They told me when they sold her my sister was holding me in her arms. She was standing behind the Big House peekin’ around the corner and saw the last of her mother. I seen her go, too. They tell me I used to go to the gate calling for my mammy. I’d sleep with my sister after that.
We stay in a cabin right close to the Big House. It’s about 60 feet long, built of hewed logs, in two parts with clay floors. The floors was made of clay. They didn’t have lumber for floors then. My Marster didn’t have a lot of slaves. There was one, two, three, four, just for of us slaves. I was the stockholder. I tended the sheep and cows and garden stuff. He had a heap of cattle. They could run out in the big woods then, and so could the sheep. He sold cattle to New Orleans and Mobile, where he could get the best price. That’s the way folks do now too, ain’t it? They sell wherever they can get the most money. They didn’t give me money, but, you see, I was a slave. They did give me everything else, clothes and shoes. Food to eat, better than I can get now.
My Marster was a Catholic. Made me Catholic too. They taught of God’s word ‘Our Father which art in Heaven.’ Everybody ought to know that prayer. When I moved here weren’t no church and I joined the Baptist and was baptised. Now the white folks let me go to their church. I guess it’s all right. I figger that God is everywhere.
My Misses knew how to read and write. Don’t know about the Marster. He could keep the store anyway. We all spoke French in those days. I near about forgot all the songs we used to sing. They was all in French anyway, and when you don’t speak no French for about 60 years, you just forget it.
I knew a slave to run away, and I seen him whupped. They was good slaves and mean ones. I heard talk about Lincoln freeing us slaves, but I paid them no mind. I was French, them white folks were going to fight, right or wrong.
I was big enough during the Civil War to drive five yokes of steers to Mobile and get grub to feed the women and children. Some of the men was fought and some ran and some hid. I was a slave and I had to do what they told me. I carried grub into the swamp to men, but I never knew what they was hiding from.
I was 31 years old when I was set free. My Marster didn’t tell us about being free. The way I found out, he started to whup me once and the young Marster come up and said, “You ain’t got no right to whup him now, he’s free.” Then the Marster turned me loose. I left my Marster and went over to the Jordon River, and there I stayed and worked. To tell the truth, the facts of the matter is, it was my Marster’s kinfolks I was working for. I bought me a schooner with the money and carried charcoal to New Orleans. I did this for about two years and then I lost my schooner in a storm off of Bay St. Louis.
After I lost my schooner, I come here to Nicholeon and got married. I was 43 years old. Same wife I have today. She was born a slave, too. I didn’t have no children, but my wife did.
It ain’t none of my business about whether the niggers is better off free than slaves. I don’t know accept about me, I was better off then. I did earn money after I was free, but after all, you know money is the root of all evil. That's what the Good Book say.