lot of times he let
some Negro slave obersee. Well, dis oberseer beat some of de half grown
boys till de blood run down ter dar heels an' he tole de rest of us dat
if we told on him dat he'd kill us. We don't dasen't ast de marster ter
git rid of de man so dis went on fer a long time.

It wuz cold as de debil one day an' dis oberseer had a gang of us
a-clearin' new groun'. One boy ast if he could warm by de bresh heap. De
oberseer said no, and atter awhile de boy had a chill. De oberseer don't
care, but dat night de boy am a sick nigger. De nex' mornin' de marster
gits de doctor, an' de doctor say dat de boy has got pneumonia. He tells
'em ter take off de boys shirt an' grease him wid some tar, turpentine,
an' kerosene, an' when dey starts ter take de shirt off dey fin's dat it
am stuck.

Dey had ter grease de shirt ter git it off case de blood whar de
oberseer beat him had stuck de shirt tight ter de skin. De marster wuz
in de room an' he axed de boy how come it, an' de boy tole him.

De marster sorta turns white an' he says ter me, 'Will yo' go an' ast
de oberseer ter stop hyar a minute, please?'

When de oberseer comes up de steps he axes sorta sassy-like, 'What yo'
want?'

De marster says, 'Pack yo' things an' git off'n my place as fast as yo'
can, yo' pesky varmit.'

De oberseer sasses de marster some more, an' den I sees de marster
fairly loose his temper for de first time. He don't say a word but he
walks ober, grabs de oberseer by de shoulder, sets his boot right hard
'ginst de seat of his pants an' sen's him, all drawed up, out in de
yard on his face. He close up lak a umbrella for a minute den he pulls
hisself all tergether an' he limps out'n dat yard an' we ain't neber
seed him no more.

No mam, dar wuzent no marryin' on de plantation dem days, an' as one
ole 'oman raised all of de chilluns me an' my brother Johnnie ain't
neber knowed who our folkses wuz. Johnnie wuz a little feller when de
war ended, but I wuz in most of de things dat happen on de plantation
fer a good while.

One time dar, I done fergit de year, some white mens comes down de
riber on a boat an' dey comes inter de fiel's an' talks ter a gang of us
an' dey says dat our masters ain't treatin' us right. Dey tells us dat
we orter be paid fer our wuck, an' dat we hadn't ort ter hab passes ter
go anywhar. Dey also tells us dat we ort ter be allowed ter tote guns if
we wants 'em. Dey says too dat sometime our marsters was gwine ter kill