h oxen on the pulling end.

From up in Arkansas come the stage coach along the road. To San
Antonio. The drivers bring news the Mexicans just about all killed off
and the white folks say Texas was going to join the Union. The
country's going to be run different they say, but I never see no
difference. Maybe, because I ain't white folks.

Wasn't many Mexicans around the old plantation. Come and go. Lots of
Indians. Cherokees and Choctaws. Living in mud huts and cabin shacks.
I never see them bother the whites, it was the other way around.

During the Civil War, when the Red River was bank high with muddy
water, the Yankee's made a target of Jefferson. That was a small town
down south of Linden.

Down the river come a flat barge with cannon fastened to the deck. The
Yankee soldiers stopped across the river from Jefferson and the
shooting started.

When the cannon went to popping the folks went arunning--hard to tell
who run the fastest, the whites or the blacks! Almost the town was
wiped out. Buildings was smashed and big trees cut through with the
cannon balls.

And all the time the Yankee drums was a-beating and the soldiers
singing:

We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
As we go marching on!

Before the Civil War everybody had money. The white folks, not the
negroes. Sometimes the master take me to the town stores. They was
full of money. Cigar boxes on the counter, boxes on the shelf, all
filled with money. Not the crinkley paper kind, but hard, jingley gold
and silver! Not like these scarce times!

After the War I stay on the plantation 'til a soldier man tells me of
the freedom. The master never tell us--negroes working just like
before the War.

That's when I leave the first time. Slip off, saying nothing, to
Jefferson. There I found some good white folks going to New Orleans.
First place we go is Shreveport, by wagon. They took me because I fix
up with them to do the cooking.

On to the Big River (Mississippi) and boards a river steamboat for New
Orleans. Lots of negroes going down there--to work on the canal.

The whole town was built on logs covered with dirt. Trying to raise
itself right out of the swamp. Sometimes the water get high and folks
run for the hills. When I got there almost was I ready to leave.

I like Texas the best. Back to Jefferson is where I go. Fifteen-twenty
mile below Linden. Almost the first person I see was Master Davenport.

He says, "Black rascal, you i