Okla.

I remember them slave days well as it was yesterday, and when I get to
remembering the very first thing comes back to me is the little log
cabin where at I lived when I was a slave boy back 'fore the War.

Just like yesterday--I see that little old cabin standing on a bit of
hill about a quarter-mile from the Master's brick mansion, and I see
into the cabin and there's the old home-made bed with rope cords
a-holding up the corn shuck bedding where on I use to sleep after
putting in the day at hoeing cotton or following a slow time mule team
down the corn rows 'till it got so dark the old overseer just
naturally had to call it a day.

And then I see the old baker swinging in the fireplace. That cooked up
the corn pone to go with the fat side meats the Master Doctor (didn't
I tell you the Master was a doctor?) give us for the meals of the week
day. But on a Sunday morning we always had flour bread, excepting
after the War is over and then we is lucky do we get anything.

Just like yesterday--I hear the old overseer making round of the
cabins every day at four, and I means in the morning, too, when the
night sleep is the best, and the folkses tumbling out of the door
getting ready for the fields.

All the mens dressed about the same. Just like me. Wearing the grey
jeans with the blue shirt stuck in loose around the belt, brogan shoes
that feels like brakes on the feet about the hot time of day when the
old sun's a-grinning down like he was saying: "work, niggers, work!"
And the overseer is saying the same thing, only we pays more attention
to him 'cause of the whip he shakes around when the going gets kinder
slow down the row.

Now I sees them getting ready for the slave auction. Many of 'em there
was. The Master Doctor done owned about two hundred slaves and
sometimes he sell some for to beat the bad crops.

There they'd stand on the wooden blocks, their faces greased and
shiny, their arms and bodies pretty well greased too; seemed like they
looked better and stronger that way, maybe some other reason, I dunno.
And when the auction was over lots of the slaves would try to figger
out when would the next one be and worry some afraid they'd be
standing up there waiting for the buyers to punch and slap to see is
they sound of limb and able to do the days work without loafing down
the rows.

There's the old white preacher who tried to tell the slaves about the
Lord. He had a mighty hard job sometimes, 'caus