ib 'em a
paper so's de patterollers won't git 'em.

Dey went up de riber to other plantations ter dances an' all dem
things, an' dey wuz awful fond uv singin' songs. Dat's whut dey done
atter dey comes ter dere cabins at de end o' de day. De grown folkses
sings an' somebody pickin' de banjo. De favorite song wuz 'Swing Low
Sweet Chariot' an' 'Play on yo' Harp Little David'. De chilluns uster
play Hide an' Seek, an' Leap Frog, an' ever'body wuz happy.

Dey had time off ter hunt an' fish an' dey had dere own chickens, pigs,
watermillons an' gyardens. De fruits from de big orchard an' de honey
from de hives wuz et at home, an' de slave et as good as his marster et.
Dey had a whole heap o' bee hives an' my mammy said dat she had ter
tell dem bees when Mis' Mary died. She said how she wuz cryin' so hard
dat she can't hardly tell 'em, an' dat dey hum lak dey am mo'nin' too.

My mammy marry my pappy dar an' she sez dat de preacher from de
Methodis' Church marry 'em, dat she w'ar Miss Mary's weddin' dress, all
uv white lace, an' dat my pappy w'ar Mr. Charlie's weddin' suit wid a
flower in de button hole. Dey gived a big dance atter de supper dey had,
an' Marster Charlie dance de first [HW correction: fust] set wid my
mammy.

I jist thought of a tale what I hyard my mammy tell 'bout de Issue
Frees of Edgecombe County when she wuz a little gal. She said dat de
Issue Frees wuz mixed wid de white folks, an' uv cou'se dat make 'em
free. Sometimes dey stay on de plantation, but a whole heap uv dem, long
wid niggers who had done runned away from dere marster, dugged caves in
de woods, an' dar dey lived an' raised dere families dar. Dey ain't
wored much clothes an' what dey got to eat an' to w'ar dey swiped from
de white folkses. Mammy said dat she uster go ter de spring fer water,
an' dem ole Issue Frees up in de woods would yell at her, 'Doan yo'
muddy dat spring, little gal'. Dat scared her moughty bad.

Dem Issue Frees till dis day shows both bloods. De white folkses won't
have 'em an' de niggers doan want 'em but will have ter have 'em
anyhow.

My uncle wuz raised in a cave an' lived on stold stuff an' berries. My
cousin runned away 'cause his marster wuz mean ter him, but dey put de
blood hounds on his trail, ketched him. Atter he got well from de
beatin' dey gib him, dey sold him.

I'se hyard ole lady Prissie Jones who died at de age of 103 las' winter
tell 'bout marsters dat when dere slaves runned away dey'd set de
bl