The soldiers at the Arsenal
used to get powder in tins called canteens. When there was a little
left--a tablespoon full or such like, they would give it to the little
boys and show them how to pour it in the palm of their hand, touch a
match to it and then blow. The burning powder would fly off their hand
without burning. We were living in a double house at Eighth and Main
then; another colored family in one side. They had lots of children,
just like us. One canteen had a lot more powder in. My brother was
afraid to pour it on his hand. He put a paper down on top of the stove
and poured it out. It was a big explosion. My little sister was standing
beside her brother and her scalp was plum blowed off and her face burnt
terribly. His hand was all gone, and his face and neck and head burnt
terribly, too. There was a young doctor live close by name Deuell.
Father ran for him. He tell my mother if she will do just exactly what
he say, their faces will come out fine. He told her to make up bread
dough real sort of stiff. He made a mask of it. Cut holes for their
eyes, nose holes and mouths, so you could feed them, you see. He told
mother to leave that on till it got hard as a rock. Then still leave it
on till it crack and come off by itself. Nobody what ever saw their
faces would believe how bad they had been burnt.
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