us all
up round de lead row man--dat my own uncle Sandy--and den he tell us
de law!

"You niggers been seeing de 'Federate soldiers coming by here looking
purty raggedy and hurt and wore out," he say, "but dat no sign dey
licked!

"Dem Yankees ain't gwine git dis fur, but iffen dey do you all ain't
gwine git free by 'em, 'cause I gwine free you befo' dat. When dey git
here dey going find you already free, 'cause I gwine line you up on de
bank of Bois d' Arc Creek and free you wid my shotgun! Anybody miss
jest one lick wid de hoe, or one step in de line, or one clap of dat
bell, or one toot of de horn, and he gwine be free and talking to de
debil long befo' he ever see a pair of blue britches!"

Dat de way he talk to us, and dat de way he act wid us all de time.

We live in de log quarters on de plantation, not far from Washington,
Arkansas, close to Bois d' Arc Creek, in de edge of de Little River
bottom.

Old Master's name was Dr. Isaac Jones, and he live in de town, whar he
keep four, five house niggers, but he have about 200 on de plantation,
big and little, and old man Saunders oversee 'em at de time of de War.
Old Mistress name was Betty, and she had a daughter name Betty about
grown, and then they was three boys, Tom, Bryan, and Bob, but they was
too young to go to de War. I never did see 'em but once or twice 'til
after de War.

Old Master didn't go to de War, 'cause he was a doctor and de onliest
one left in Washington, and purty soon he was dead anyhow.

Next fall after he ride out and tell us dat he gwine shoot us befo' he
let us free he come out to see how his steam gin doing. De gin box was
a little old thing 'bout as big as a bedstead, wid a long belt running
through de side of de gin house out to de engine and boiler in de
yard. De boiler burn cord wood, and it have a little crack in it whar
de nigger ginner been trying to fix it.

Old Master come out, hopping mad 'cause de gin shet down, and ast de
ginner, old Brown, what de matter. Old Brown say de boiler weak and
it liable to bust, but old Master jump down off'n his hoss and go
'round to de boiler and say, "Cuss fire to your black heart! Dat
boiler all right! Throw on some cordwood, cuss fire to your heart!"

Old Brown start to de wood pile grumbling to hisself and old Master
stoop down to look at de boiler again, and it blow right up and him
standing right dar!

Old Master was blowed all to pieces, and dey jest find little bitsy
chunks o