down and wishes for old Master Ben to come and get me, and
take care of this old woman like he use to do when she is just a
little black child on the plantation in Missouri!

God Bless old Master Ben--he was good white folks!

Oklahoma Writers' Project
Ex-Slaves

ELIZA EVANS
Age 87
McAlester, Okla.

I sho' remember de days when I was a slave and belonged to de best old
Master what ever was, Mr. John Mixon. We lived in Selma, Dallas
County, Alabama.

My grandma was a refugee from Africa. You know dey was white men who
went slipping 'round and would capture or entice black folks onto
their boats and fetch them over here and sell 'em for slaves. Well,
grandma was a little girl 'bout eight or nine years old and her
parents had sent her out to get wood. Dey was going to have a feast.
Dey was going to roast a baby. Wasn't that awful? Well, they captured
her and put a stick in her mouth. The stick held her mouth wide open
so she wouldn't cry out. When she got to de boat she was so tired out
she didn't do nothing.

They was a lot of more colored folks on de boat. It took about four
months to get across on de boat and Mr. John Mixon met the boat and
bought her. I think he gave five hundred dollars for her. She was
named Gigi, but Master John called her Gracie. She was so good and
they thought so much of her dat they gave her a grand wedding when she
was married. Master John told her he'd never sell none of her chillun.
He kept dat promise and he never did sell any of her grandchillun
either. He thought it was wrong to separate famblys. She was one
hundred and three years old when she died. I guess her mind got kind
of feeble 'cause she wandered off and fell into a mill race and was
drowned.

Master John Mixon had two big plantations. I believe he owned about
four hundred slaves, chillun and all. He allowed us to have church one
time a month with de white folks and we had prayer meeting every
Sunday. Sometimes when de men would do something like being sassy or
lazy and dey knowed dey was gonna be whipped, dey'd slip off and hide
in de woods. When dey'd slip back to get some food dey would all pray
for 'em dat Master wouldn't have 'em whipped too hard, and for fear
the Patroller would hear 'em they'd put their faces down in a dinner
pot. I'd sit out and watch for the Patroller. He was a white man who
was appointed to catch runaway niggers. We all knew him. His name was
Howard Campbell. He had a big pack of dog