lk an' dey et it in de trough wid de pigs,
an' sometimes dey only had pie crusts an' bread crusts at night when dey
et on de cabin flo'. Dem was hard times afte' de War.

"'Nother time one nigger run 'way frum our plantation an' hid by day an'
traveled by night so de nigger dogs wouldn't git him an' he hid in a
hollow tree. Dere was three cubs down in dat tree an' hit was so slick
inside an' so high 'til he couldn't clim' out, an' afte' while de ole
bear came back an' throw in half a hog. Den she go 'way an' come ag'in
an' throw in de other half. 'Bout a hour later, she came back an' crawl
in back'ards herse'f. De nigger inside de tree kotched her by de tail
an' pulled hisself out. Hit scared de bear so 'til she run in one
direction an' de nigger in 'nother. But de nigger, he run in de
direction of his marster's place an' said he'd neber run off again as
long as he libed.

"I can't 'member de old songs but dese niggers today can't sing lak dat
neither 'cause dey ain't libed back dere, an' dey can't feel hit lak us
old folks. Dem was de good old days allright, an' dey was hard days
too."

JAMES LUCAS
Natchez, Mississippi

James Lucas, ex-slave of Jefferson Davis, lives at Natchez, Adams
County. Uncle Jim is small, wrinkled, and slightly stooped. His woolly
hair is white, and his eyes very bright. He wears a small grizzled
mustache. He is always clean and neatly dressed.

"Miss, you can count up for yo'se'f. I was born on October 11, 1833. My
young Marster give me my age when he heired de prope'ty of his uncle,
Marse W.B. Withers. He was a-goin' through de papers an' a-burnin' some
of 'em when he foun' de one 'bout me. Den he says, 'Jim, dissen's 'bout
you. It gives yo' birthday.'

"I recollec' a heap' bout slav'ry-times, but I's all by myse'f now. All
o' my frien's has lef' me. Even Marse Fleming has passed on. He was a
little boy when I was a grown man.

"I was born in a cotton fiel' in cotton pickin' time, an' de wimmins
fixed my mammy up so she didn' hardly lose no time at all. My mammy sho'
was healthy. Her name was Silvey an' her mammy come over to dis country
in a big ship. Somebody give her de name o' Betty, but twant her right
name. Folks couldn' un'erstan' a word she say. It was some sort o'
gibberish dey called gulluh-talk, an' it soun' _dat_ funny. My pappy was
Bill Lucas.

"When I was a little chap I used to wear coarse lowell-cloth shirts on
de week-a-days. Dey was long an' had big collars