Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves by Work Projects Administration

W >> Work Projects Administration >> Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

"De nex' Frid'y night Walter walked right into dat bar-room ag'in. Mr.
Dabbs say, "What you doin' here, Nigger?" Walter say, "You 'member what
you done to me tonight one week?" An' he say, "Well, what's to it?" Den
Walter say, "Well, I come to settle wid you." Mr. Dabbs say, "Let me see
if I can't hurry you up some," an' he retch[FN: reached] his han' back
his han' to his hip. But 'fore he could draw[FN: draw his gun] out,
Walter done run back to de door. Dey were a chinaberry tree close to de
door an' Walter got b'hin' it an' fired a pistol. Mr. Dabbs were hit wid
his arm a-layin' 'crost de counter wid his pistol in his han'.

"'Me an' Mr. Ed ('cause he were de jailor), we put him on a mattress in
de room back o' de bar. An' he died dat night. De word jus' kinda got'
roun' dat some of de Chisolm crowd done killed Mr. Gully's clerk.

"'Walter run off to Memphis. Mr. Gully were pursuin' after 'im to ketch
'im. Walter sho' got tired of him pursuin' after 'im. Dat were de
evidence Walter give out 'fore dey put de rope on his neck an' start him
on his way to de gallows, but twant nobody dere to put it down jus' lak
it were.

"'Mr. Sinclair were sheriff by dis time, an' my young marster an' me
went wid 'im to git Walter to take 'im to de gallows. Mr. Sinclair say,
"Ed, you goin' to de jail-house now? Here's a ha'f pint o' whiskey. Give
it to Walter, make 'im happy, den if he talk too much, nobody will
b'lieve it." Mr. Ed say, "Come on, Sambo, go wid me." He retched down
an' got a han'ful o' goobers an' put 'em in his pocket. We were eatin'
'em on de way down to de jail-house. He say, "Walter, Mr. Sinclair done
sent you a dram." Walter say, "Mr. McAllum, I see you an' Sam eatin'
peanuts comin' along. Jus' you give me a han'ful an' I'll eat dem on de
way to de gallows. I don't want no whiskey."

"'Den us got on de wagon. (I can see Walter now, standin' dere wid his
cap on de back o' his head ready to pull down over his eyes after he
git dere.) Dey were a pow'ful crowd 'roun' dat wagon.

"'Den come a rider from Scooba, pull a paper from his pocket, an' han'
it to Mr. Sinclair. He read it an' say," Let de people go on to de
gallows. De wagon turn 'roun' an' go back to de jail." De Gov'nor had
stopped de hangin' 'til de case were 'vestigated. (De people standin'
dere a-waitin' for Walter to be hung didn' know what were de matter.)

"'Dey placed Walter back in jail an' his coffin 'long wid' im. De
lawyers would visit 'im to git his testimony. Dey'd show 'im his coffin
all ready an' ask him did he do dis killin' or not. Dey want 'im to say
he were hired to do it. Dey fixed it all up. Twant nobody to tell jus'
how it were.'

"I were married by dis time to Laura. She were de nurse maid to Mr. J.H.
Currie. She's been dead twenty years, now. When de Curries come to
Meridian to live, dey give me charge o' dey plantation. I were de leader
an' stayed an' worked de plantation for' em. Dey been livin' in Meridian
twelve years. I's married now to dey cook.

"Mr. Hector tol' me if I'd come an' live wid' em here, he'd gimme dis
house here in de back yard an' paint it an' fix it all up lak you see
it. It's mighty pleasant in de shade. Folks used to always set dey
houses in a grove, but now dey cuts down more trees dan dey keeps. Us
don't cut no trees. Us porches is always nice an' shady.

"I'se got fo' boys livin'. One son were in de big strike in de
automobile plant in Detroit an' couldn' come to see me las' Chris'mus.
He'll come to see me nex' year if I's still here.

"Maybe folks goin' a-think hard o' me for tellin' what aint never been
tol' b'fore. I been asked to tell what I seen an' I done it.

"Dat's tellin' what I never thought to tell."

Charlie Moses, Ex-slave, Lincoln County
FEC
Esther de Sola
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes

CHARLIE MOSES
Brookhaven, Mississippi

Charlie Moses, 84 year old ex-slave, lives at Brookhaven. He possesses
the eloquence and the abundant vocabulary of all Negro preachers. He is
now confined to his bed because of the many ailments of old age. His
weight appears to be about 140 pounds, height 6 feet 1 inch high.

"When I gits to thinkin' back on them slavery days I feels like risin'
out o' this here bed an' tellin' ever'body 'bout the harsh treatment us
colored folks was given when we was owned by poor quality folks.

"My marster was mean an' cruel. I hates him, hates him! The God Almighty
has condemned him to eternal fiah. Of that I is certain. Even the cows
and horses on his plantation was scared out o' their minds when he come
near 'em. Oh Lordy! I can tell you plenty 'bout the things he done to us
poor Niggers. We was treated no better than one o' his houn' dogs.
Sometimes he didn' treat us as good as he did them. I prays to the Lord
not to let me see him when I die. He had the devil in his heart.

"His name was Jim Rankin an' he lived out on a plantation over in Marion
County. I was born an' raised on his place. I spec I was 'bout twelve
year old at the time o' the war.

"Old man Rankin worked us like animals. He had a right smart plantation
an' kep' all his Niggers, 'cept one house boy, out in the fiel'
a-workin'. He'd say, 'Niggers is meant to work. That's what I paid my
good money for 'em to do.'

"He had two daughters an' two sons. Them an' his poor wife had all the
work in the house to do, 'cause he wouldn' waste no Nigger to help 'em
out. His family was as scared o' him as we was. They lived all their
lives under his whip. No Sir! No Sir! There warnt no meaner man in the
world than old man Jim Rankin.

"My pappy was Allen Rankin an' my mammy was Ca'line. There was twelve o'
us chillun, nine boys an' three girls. My pa was born in Mississippi an'
sol' to Marster Rankin when he was a young man. My mammy was married in
South Carolina an' sol' to Marster Rankin over at Columbia. She had to
leave her family. But she warnt long in gittin' her another man.

"Oh Lordy! The way us Niggers was treated was awful. Marster would beat,
knock, kick, kill. He done ever'thing he could 'cept eat us. We was
worked to death. We worked all Sunday, all day, all night. He whipped us
'til some jus' lay down to die. It was a poor life. I knows it aint
right to have hate in the heart, but, God Almighty! It's hard to be
forgivin' when I think of old man Rankin.

"If one o' his Niggers done something to displease him, which was mos'
ever' day, he'd whip him' til he'd mos' die an' then he'd kick him 'roun
in the dust. He'd even take his gun an', before the Nigger had time to
open his mouth, he'd jus' stan' there an' shoot him down.

"We'd git up at dawn to go to the fiel's. We'd take our pails o' grub
with us an' hang' em up in a row by the fence. We had meal an' pork an'
beef an' greens to eat. That was mos'ly what we had. Many a time when
noontime come an' we'd go to eat our vittals the marster would come
a-walkin' through the fiel with ten or twelve o' his houn' dogs. If he
looked in the pails an' was displeased with what he seen in 'em, he took
'em an' dumped 'em out before our very eyes an' let the dogs grab it up.
We didn' git nothin' to eat then 'til we come home late in the evenin'.
After he left we'd pick up pieces of the grub that the dogs left an' eat
'em. Hongry--hongry--we was so hongry.

"We had our separate cabins an' at sunset all of us would go in an' shut
the door an' pray the Lord Marster Jim didn' call us out.

"We never had much clothes 'ceptin' what was give us by the marster or
the mistis. Winter time we never had 'nough to wear nor 'nough to eat.
We wore homespun all the time. The marster didn' think we needed
anything, but jus' a little.

"We didn' go to church, but Sundays we'd gather 'roun' an' listen to the
mistis read a little out o' the Bible. The marster said we didn' need no
religion an' he finally stopped her from readin' to us.

"When the war come Marster was a captain of a regiment. He went away an'
stayed a year. When he come back he was even meaner than before.

"When he come home from the war he stayed for two weeks. The night
'fore he was a-fixin' to leave to go back he come out on his front porch
to smoke his pipe. He was a-standin' leanin' up ag'in' a railin' when
somebody sneaked up in the darkness an' shot him three times. Oh my
Lord! He died the nex' mornin'. He never knowed who done it. I was glad
they shot him down.

"Sometimes the cavalry would come an' stay at the house an' the mistis
would have to 'tend to 'em an' see that they got plenty to eat an' fresh
horses.

"I never seen no fightin'. I stayed on the plantation 'til the war was
over. I didn' see none o' the fightin'.

"I don't 'member nothin' 'bout Jefferson Davis. Lincoln was the man that
set us free. He was a big general in the war.

"I 'member a song we sung, then. It went kinda like this:

'Free at las',
Free at las',
Thank God Almighty
I's free at las'.
Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm.'

"I only seen the Klu Klux Klan onct. They was a-paradin' the streets
here in Brookhaven. They had a Nigger that they was a-goin' to tar an'
feather.

"When the mistis tol' us we was free (my pappy was already dead, then)
my mammy packed us chillun up to move. We travelled on a cotton wagon to
Covington, Louisiana. We all worked on a farm there 'bout a year. Then
all 'cept me moved to Mandeville, Louisiana an' worked on a farm there.
I hired out to Mr. Charlie Duson, a baker. Then we moved to a farm above
Baton Rouge, Louisiana an' worked for Mr. Abe Manning. We jus'
travelled all over from one place to another.

"Then I got a letter from a frien' o' mine in Gainesville, Mississippi.
He had a job for me on a boat, haulin' lumber up the coast to Bay St.
Louis, Pass Christian, Long Beach, Gulfport, an' all them coast towns. I
worked out o' Gainesville on this boat for 'bout two year. I lost track
o' my family then an' never seen 'em no more.

"In the year 1870 I got the call from the Lord to go out an' preach. I
left Gainesville an' travelled to Summit, Mississippi where another
frien' o' mine lived. I preached the words of the Lord an' travelled
from one place to another.

"In 1873 I got married an' decided to settle in Brookhaven. I preached
an' all my flock believed in me. I bought up this house an' the two on
each side of it. Here I raised seven chillun in the way o' the Lord.
They is all in different parts of the country now, but I sees one of 'em
ever' now an' then. Las' April the Lord seen fit to put me a-bed an' I
been ailin' with misery ever since.

"The young folks now-a-days are happy an' don't know' bout war an'
slavery times, but I does. They don't know nothin' an' don't make the
mark in the worl' that the old folks did. Old people made the first
roads in Mississippi. The Niggers today wouldn' know how to act on a
plantation. But they are happy. We was miserable.

"Slavery days was bitter an' I can't forgit the sufferin'. Oh, God! I
hates 'em, hates 'em. God Almighty never meant for human beings to be
like animals. Us Niggers has a soul an' a heart an' a _min'_. We aint
like a dog or a horse. If all marsters had been good like some, the
slaves would all a-been happy. But marstars like mine ought never been
allowed to own Niggers.

"I didn' spec nothin' out of freedom 'ceptin' peace an' happiness an'
the right to go my way as I pleased. I prays to the Lord for us to be
free, always.

"That's the way God Almighty wants it."

Henri Necaise, Ex-Slave, Pearl River County
FEC
Mrs. C.E. Wells
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes

HENRI NECAISE
Nicholson, Mississippi

Henri Necaise, ex-slave, 105 years old, lives a half-mile south of
Nicholson on US 11. Uncle Henri lives in a small plank cabin enclosed by
a fence. He owns his cabin and a small piece of land. He is about five
feet ten inches tall and weighs 120 pounds. His sight and hearing are
very good.

"I was born in Harrison County, 19 miles from Pass Christian, 'long de
ridge road from de swamp near Wolf River. My Marster was Ursan Ladnier.
De Mistis' name was Popone. Us was all French. My father was a white
man, Anatole Necaise. I knowed he was my father, 'cause he used to call
me to him an' tell me I was his oldes' son.

"I never knowed my mother. I was a slave an' my mother was sol' from me
an' her other chilluns. Dey tol' me when dey sol' 'er my sister was
a-holdin' me in her arms. She was standin' behin' da Big House peekin'
'roun' de corner an' seen de las' of her mother. I seen her go, too. Dey
tell me I used to go to de gate a-huntin' for my mammy. I used to sleep
wid my sister after dat.

"Jus' lemme study a little, an' I'll tell you 'bout de Big House. It
was 'bout 60 feet long, built o' hewed logs, in two parts. De floors was
made o' clay dey didn' have lumber for floors den. Us lived right close
to de Big House in a cabin. To tell de truf, de fac' o' de business is,
my Marster took care o' me better'n I can take care o' myse'f now.

"When us was slaves Marster tell us what to do. He say, 'Henri, do dis,
do dat.' An' us done it. Den us didn' have to think whar de nex' meal
comin' from, or de nex' pair o' shoes or pants. De grub an' clo'es give
us was better'n I ever gits now.

"Lemme think an' counts. My Marster didn' have a lot o' slaves. Dere was
one, two, three, fo', yes'm, jus' fo' o' us slaves. I was de
stockholder. I tended de sheep an' cows an' such lak. My Marster didn'
raise no big crops, jus' corn an' garden stuff. He had a heap o' cattle.
Dey could run out in de big woods den, an' so could de sheeps. He sol'
cattle to N'awlins[FN: New Orleans] an' Mobile, where he could git de
bes' price. Dat's de way folks does now, aint it? Dey sells wherever dey
can git de mos' money.

"Dey didn' give me money, but, you see, I was a slave. Dey sho' give me
ever'thing else I need, clo'es an' shoes. I always had a-plenty t'eat,
better'n I can git now. I was better off when I was a slave dan I is
now, 'cause I had ever'thing furnished me den. Now I got to do it all
myse'f.

"My Marster was a Catholic. One thing I can thank dem godly white folks
for, dey raise' me right. Dey taught me out o' God's word, 'Our Father
which art in Heaven.' Ever'body ought-a know dat prayer."

(Note. In this Wolf River territory in Harrison County, where Uncle
Henri was born and raised, all the settlers were French Catholics, and
it was the scene of early Catholic missions.)

"I was rais' a Catholic, but when I come here twant no church an' I
joined de Baptis' an' was baptised. Now de white folks lemme go to dey
church. Dey aint no cullud church near 'nough so's I can go. I spec' its
all right. I figgers dat God is ever'where.

"My Mistis knowed how to read an' write. I don' know 'bout de Marster.
He could keep sto' anyway. Us all spoke French in dem days. I near 'bout
forgit all de songs us used to sing. Dey was all in French anyway, an'
when you don' speak no French for 'bout 60 years, you jus' forgit it.

"I'se knowed slaves to run away, an' I'se seen 'em whupped. I seen good
marsters an' mean ones. Dey was good slaves an' mean ones. But to tell
de truf, if dey tol' a slave to do anything, den he jus' better do it.

"I was big' nough in de Civil War to drive five yoke o' steers to Mobile
an' git grub to feed de wimmins an' chilluns. Some o' de mens was
a-fightin' an' some was a-runnin' an' hidin'. I was a slave an' I had to
do what dey tol' me. I carried grub into de swamp to men, but I never
knowed what dey was a-hidin' from."

(This may be explained by the fact that Uncle Henri was owned by and
lived in a settlement of French People, many of whom probably had no
convictions or feeling of loyalty, one way or the other, during the War
Between the States.)

"My old Marster had fo' sons, an' de younges' one went to de war an' was
killed.

"De Yankees come to Pass Christian, I was dere, an' seen 'em. Dey come
up de river an' tore up things as dey went along.

"I was 31 years old when I was set free. My Marster didn' tell us' bout
bein' free. De way I foun' it out, he started to whup me once an' de
young Marster up an' says, 'You aint got no right to whup him now, he's
free.' Den Marster turnt me loose.

"It was dem Carpetbaggers dat 'stroyed de country. Dey went an' turned
us loose, jus' lak a passel o' cattle, an' didn' show us nothin' or giv'
us nothin'. Dey was acres an' acres o' lan' not in use, an' lots o'
timber in dis country. Dey should-a give each one o' us a little farm
an' let us git out timber an' build houses. Dey ought to put a white
Marster over us, to show us an' make us work, only let us be free 'stead
o' slaves. I think dat would-a been better 'n turnin' us loose lak dey
done.

"I lef' my Marster an' went over to de Jordon River, an' dere I stayed
an' worked. I saved my money an' dat giv' me a start. I never touched
it' til de year was winded up. To tell da truf, de fac's o' de matter
is, it was my Marstars kinfolks I was workin' for.

"I bought me a schooner wid dat money an' carried charcoal to N'awlins.
I done dis for 'bout two years an' den I los' my schooner in a storm off
o' Bay St. Louis.

"After I los' my schooner, I come here an' got married. Dis was in 1875
an' I was 43 years old. Dat was my firs' time to marry. I'se got dat
same wife today. She was born a slave, too. I didn' have no chillun, but
my wife did. She had one gal-chil'. She lives at Westonia an' is de
mammy o' ten chillun. She done better'n us done. I'se got a lot o'
gran'-chillun. What does you call de nex' den? Lemme see, great
gran'-chillun, dat's it.

"I never did b'lieve in no ghos' an' hoodoos an' charms.

"I never did look for to git nothin' after I was free. I had dat in my
head to git me 80 acres o' lan' an' homestead it. As for de gov'ment
making me a present o' anything, I never thought 'bout it. But jus' now
I needs it.

"I did git me dis little farm, 40 acres, but I bought it an' paid for it
myse'f. I got de money by workin' for it. When I come to dis country I
dug wells an' built chimneys on' houses. (Once I dug a well 27 feet an'
come to a coal bed. I went through de coal an' foun' water. Dat was on
de Jordon River.) Dat clay chimney an' dis here house has been built 52
years. I's still livin' in' em. Dey's mine. One acre, I giv' to de Lawd
for a graveyard an' a churchhouse. I wants to be buried dere myse'f.

"A white lady paid my taxes dis year. I raises a garden an' gits de Old
Age 'Sistance. It aint 'nough to buy grub an' clo'es for me an' de old
woman an' pay taxes, so us jus' has to git 'long de bes' us can wid de
white folks he'p.

"It aint none o' my business' bout whether de Niggers is better off free
dan slaves. I dont know 'cept 'bout me, I was better off den. I did earn
money after I was free, but after all, you know _money is de root o' all
evil_. Dat what de Good Book say. When I was a slave I only had to obey
my Marster an' he furnish me ever'thing. Once in a while he would whup
me, but what was dat? You can't raise nary chile, white or black, widout
chastisin'. De law didn' low dem to dominize over us, an' dey didn' try.

"I's gittin' mighty old now, but I used to be pretty spry. I used to go
60 miles out on de Gulf o' Mexico, as 'terpreter on dem big ships dat
come from France. Dat was 'fore I done forgot my French talk what I was
raised to speak.

"De white folks is mighty good to me. De riches' man in Picayune, he
recognizes me an' gives me two bits or fo' bits. I sho' has plenty o'
good frien's. If I gits out o' grub, I catches me a ride to town, an' I
comes back wid de grub.

"De good Lawd, he don't forgit me."

Mississippi Federal Writers
Slave Autobiographies

[REV. JAMES SINGLETON
Simpson, Mississippi]

"My name's James Singleton. I'se a Baptist preacher. I was born in 1856,
but I doan know zactly what date. My mammy was Harr'et Thompson. Her
marster was Marse Daniel Thompson over in Simpson County on Strong River
at a place called Westville. My pappy, he come from South
Ca'lina--Charleston--an' was give to do old folks' darter. His name was
John Black an' he was owned by Mr. Frank Smith over in Simpson. He was
brought down frum South Ca'lina in a wagon 'long wid lots mo'.

"Me, I was sol' to Marse Harrison Hogg over in Simpson when I was 'bout
six years old, and Marse Hogg, he turn right 'roun', and sol' me an'
sister Harr'et an' brother John nex' day for fo' thousan'. Two thousan'
fo' John, 'cause he's older an' bigger, an' a thousan' fo' Harr'et an'
me. Miss Annie an' Marse Elbert Bell bought us.

"Marse Elbert had three mo' sides us--makin' six. Us slep' on pallets on
de flo', an' all lived in one long room made out of logs, an' had a dirt
flo' an' dirt chimbly. There was a big old iron pot hangin' over de
hearth, an' us had 'possum, greens, taters, and de lak cooked in it. Had
coon sometimes, too.

"Marse Elbert, he lived in jes a plain wood house made Califo'nia style,
wid a front room an' a shed room where de boys slep'. Dey had two boys,
Jettie an' William.

"I reckin dere was 'bout a hun'erd an' sixty acres planted in taters an'
corn, an' dey made whiskey too. Yessum, dey had a 'stillery[FN:
distillery] hid down in de woods where dey made it.

"My mammy an' pappy was fiel' han's, an' I was mighty little to do so
much. I jes minded de cow pen, made fires in de Big House, an' swep' de
house. When I made de fires, iffen dere wa'nt any live coale lef', we
had to use a flint rock to git it sta'ted.

"Dere was a bell ringin' every mornin' 'bout fo' 'clock, fer to call de
slaves tar git up an' go to de fiel's. Day wuked 'til sundown. Dey was
fed in de white folks' kitchen, and Cook cooked fer us jes lak she done
fer de whites. De kitchen was built off a piece frum de hous', y'know.

"Marse never did whup any of us li'l chullun. Miss Annie, she tried once
to whup me 'cause I chunked rocks at her li'l chickens, but mighty
little whuppin' she done. Dere wa'nt no overseer.

"Chris'mas time, we had two or three days to play, an' had extry food.

"I seen 'pattyrollers' ridin' 'bout to keep de darkies from runnin'
'roun' widout passes. I never seen 'em whup none but dey tol' us we'd
git twen'y-nine licks iffen we got caught by 'em. I seen darkies git
whuppin's on other plantations--whup 'em half a day sometimes, gen'ly
when dey tried to run away.

"We didn' have no dancin' dat I 'member, but had plen'y log rollin's.
Had fiddlin', an' all would jine in singin' songs, lak, "Run nigger run,
pattyrollers ketch you, run nigger run, it's breakin' days." I still
fiddle dat chune[FN: tune]. Well, you see, dey jes rolled up all de old
dead logs an' trees in a big pile, and burned it at night.

"I seen de Yankee sojers when dey passed our house but dey didn' bother
us none. None didn' even stop in. Dey was wearin' blue jackets an' had
gold buttons on caps an' jackets. But when de Confed'rate sojers come
along, dey stopped an' killed a fat cow er two, an' taken de fat hoss
an' lef' a lean one, an' taken ever'thing else dey seen dey wanted.

"No'm, didn' none of de slaves run off wid dem dat I knows of, an' de
Yankees didn' try to bother us none. Well, afte' de War, Marse Elbert
tol' us dat we was free now, an' pappy come an' got us an' taken us to
live wid de cook on Mr. Elisha Bishop's place, an' he paid Mr. Barren
Bishop to teach us. He taught us out of Webster's Blue Back Spellin'
Book.

"My pappy, he had a stolen ejucation--'at was cause his mistress back in
South Ca'Line hoped him to learn to read an' write 'fo he lef' there.
You see, in dem days, it was ag'inst de law fer slaves to read.

"I was glad to be free 'cause I don't b'lieve sellin' an' whuppin'
peoples is right. I certainly does think religion is a good thing,
'cause I'se a Baptist preacher right now, and I live 'bout six miles
from Crystal Springs. I farm too."

Berry Smith, Ex-slave, Scott County
FEC
W.B. Allison
Rewrite, Pauline Loveless
Edited, Clara E. Stokes

BERRY SMITH
Forest, Mississippi

"Uncle Berry" Smith is five feet two or three inches tall. He is
scrupulously neat. He is very independent for his age, which is
calculated at one hundred and sixteen years. He believes the figure to
be correct. His mind is amazingly clear.

"I was born an' bred in Sumpter County, Alabama, in de prairie lan', six
miles from Gainesville. Dat's where I hauled cotton. It was close to
Livingston, Alabama, where we lived.

"I was twelve years old when de stars fell. Dey fell late in de night
an' dey lighted up de whole earth. All de chaps was a-runnin' 'roun'
grabbin' for 'em, but none of us ever kotched[FN: caught] one. It's a
wonder some of' em didn' hit us, but dey didn'. Dey never hit de groun'
atall.

"When dey runned de Injuns out de country, me an' another chap kotched
one o' dem Injun's ponies an hung him up[FN: tied him up] in de grape
vines. He said it was his pony an' I said it was mine.

"Marse Bob's boy tol' us his daddy was gwine a-whup us for stealin' dat
pony, so we hid out in de cane for two nights. Marse Bob an' his brother
whupped us' til we didn' want to see no more Injuns or dey ponies,
neither.

"I was born a slave to Old Marse Jim Harper an' I fell to Marse Bob.
Marse Jim bought my pa an' ma from a man by de name o' Smith, an' Pa
kep' de name. Dat's how come I is Berry Smith.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10