his niggers, but they had to have a pass to leave
the plantation. There were patrolers to look after the slaves and see
that they did not run around without a pass. If they found one without a
pass, he was strapped then and there by the patrolers. Of course I was
too young in those days to run around at night, and my mother always had
us in bed early. It was long after the war that I did my courting. I was
to have married a girl before I went to Atlanta in the 80's, but she
died. I later married a Yankee nigger in Atlanta. She belonged to the
400, and some how, she never could get used to me and my plain ways. We
had four children, three boys and one girl. Two of the boys died, and I
have living today, one daughter married and living in Washington, D.C.
and my son and his family live in Alabama.

"My Marster did not go to the war, but we all worked at home preparing
food and clothes and other things for those who did go. Some of the
slaves went as helpers, in digging ditches and doing manual labor. The
Yankee soldiers visited our territory, killing everything in sight. They
were actually most starved to death. Marster was all broken after the
war. He had planned to buy another plantation, and increase his
holdings, but the war sorter left us all like the yellow fever had
struck.

"After a number of years in Mission work and in the ministry I was
compelled to retire on account on my broken health. I owe my long life
to my mother's training in childhood. There are four things that keep
old man Gullins busy all the time--keeping out of jail, out of hell, out
of debt, and keeping hell out of me. I learned to put my wants in the
kindergarten, and if I couldn't get what I wanted, I learned to want
what I could get. I believe it is just as essential to have jails as to
have churches. I have learned too, that you can't substitute anything
for the grace of God."

1-25-37

Minnie B. Ross.

EX SLAVE

MILTON HAMMOND.

After explaining the object of the visit to Mr. Hammond he smiled and
remarked "I think that is a good piece of work you're doing; and I'll
tell you all that I can remember about slavery, you see I was only a
small boy then; yesterday though, I was 83 years old." Mr. Hammond led
the way up a dark stairway down a dark hall to a door. After unlocking
the door, he turned on a light which revealed a very dark room commonly
furnished and fairly neat in appearance. The writer took a seat and
listen