s drill a short distance from the house. She says
"I though it was very pretty, 'course I did'nt know what was causing
this or what the results would be". Mr. Moore's oldest sons went to war
[HW: but he] himself did not enlist until the war was nearly over. She
was told that the Yankee soldiers burned all the gin houses and took all
live stock that they saw while on the march, but no soldiers passed near
their plantation.

After the war ended and all the slaves had been set free, some did not
know it, [HW: as] they were not told by their masters. [HW: A number of
them] were tricked into signing contracts which bound them to their
masters for several years longer.

As for herself and her grandmother, they remained on the Moore property
where her grandmother finally died. Her mother moved away when freedom
was declared and started working for someone else. It was about this
time that Mr. Moore began to prosper, he and his brother Marvin gone
into business together.

According to Jennie Kendricks, she has lived to reach such a ripe old
age because she has always been obedient and because she has always
been a firm believer in God.

[HW: Dist 1
Ex-Slave #62]

EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW:
EMMALINE KILPATRICK, Age 74
Born a slave on the plantation of
Judge William Watson Moore,
White Plains, (Greene County) Georgia

BY: SARAH H. HALL
ATHENS, GA.
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]

One morning in October, as I finished planting hyacinth bulbs on my
cemetery lot, I saw an old negro woman approaching. She was Emmaline
Kilpatrick, born in 1863, on my grandfather's plantation.

"Mawnin' Miss Sarah," she began, "Ah seed yer out hyar in de graveyard,
en I cum right erlong fer ter git yer ter read yo' Aunt Willie's
birthday, offen her toomstone, en put it in writin' fer me."

"I don't mind doing that for you, Emmaline," I replied, "but why do you
want to know my aunt's birthday?"

"Well," answered the old ex-slave, "I can't rightly tell mah age no
udder way. My mammy, she tole me, I wuz bawned de same night ez Miss
Willie wuz, en mammy allus tole me effen I ever want ter know how ole I
is, jes' ask my white folks how ole Miss Willie is."

When I had pencilled the birthdate on a scrap of paper torn from my note
book and she had tucked it carefully away in a pocket in her clean blue
checked gingham apron, Emmaline began to talk of the old days on my
grandfather's farm.

"Miss Sarah, Ah sho did love yo' aunt Willie. We wuz chil