father was named Amos Early. My mother's mother's name was
Julia. My father's father was named Tom White and his mother was named
Susan.

"My father and mother both belonged to the Eason's. I don't know how
they spelled it. Eason's daughter married Munday and my uncle bought
this white man's place years after freedom. That is not far from
Clinton--about four or five miles. It is three miles from Ethel,
Louisiana.

"Amos, my grandfather, was the wagoneer on the old place. Father, he
used to drive the wagon too. He'd haul cotton to Baton Rouge and things
like that. He would run off and stay five or six months. I have heard
them talk about how he used to come back and bring hogs and one thing
and another that he had found out in the woods. He would run off because
the overseer would whip him. But he was such a good working man that
once or twice, the boss man turned off his overseer on account of him.
There wasn't nothing against his work. He just wouldn't take a blow.
Most of the times after he had been out a while the boss man would tell
the hands to tell Amos that if he would come on home they wouldn't whip
him for running off.

"My grandmother's mother on my father's side was named Melissa. I think
that was her name. My father's mother was named Susan like I told you.

She was part Indian--better work hand never was. But she wouldn't be
conquered neither. When they got ready to whip her, it would be half a
day before they could take her. When they did get her, they would whip
her so they would have to raise her in a sheet. The last time they
whipped her, it took her nearly a year to get over it. So the white man
just turned her loose and told her she was free. She went on off and we
never did know what became of her.

"The Easons were farmers and they had a large plantation. I don't know
just how many slaves they owned.

"My father and mother were fed like pigs. They had an old woman that did
the cooking. She was broke down from work. They would give the slaves
greens and the children pot-liquor. My parents were field hands. My
mother was too young to carry a row when she was freed, but she worked
on an older person's row. They worked from can till can't. You know what
I mean, from the time they could see till the time they couldn't. Reb
time was something like the penitentiary now. It never got too cold nor
too hot to work. And there wasn't any pay. My parents never were given
any chance to earn any money. I he