“About a year after de war started de Mahster got one ob dese A.W.O.L.’s frum de Army so we could come to Miller County, where he bought de place on Red River now known as de Adams Farm.

“When we fust came here dis place, as well as de rest ob de Valley, wuz just a big canebrake—­nothin’ lived in dere but bears, wolves, and varmints.  Why de Mahster would habe to round up de livestock each afternoon, put dem in pens, and den put out guards all night to keep de wolves and bears frum gettin’ em.  De folks didn’t go gallivatin’ round nights like dey do now or de varmints would get them.  But den we didn’t stay here but a few months until de Mahster’s A.W.O.L. wuz up, so we had to go back and jine de army.  We fought in Mississippi Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina.”

“When de war ended de Mahster moved us to Miller County, but not on de Adams farm.  For de man whut used to own de farm said Uncle Sam hadn’t made any such money as wuz paid him for de farm, so he wanted his farm back.  Dat Confederate money wuzn’t worth de paper it wuz printed on, so de Mahster had to gib him back de farm.  Poor Massa Ogburn—­he didn’t live long after dat.  He and his wife are buried side by side in Rondo Cemetery.”

“Not long after de negroes wuz freed, I took 86 ob dem to de votin’ place at Homan and voted ’em all straight Democratic.  On my way back home dat evenin’ five negroes jumped frum de bushes and stopped me.  Dey ’splained dat I wuz too ’fluential wid de negroes and proceeded to string me up by de neck.  I hollers as loud as I could, and Roy Nash and Hugh Burton, de election officers, just happen to be comin’ down de road and hear me yell.  Dey ran off de niggers and cut me down, but by dat time I had passed out.  It wuz several weeks befo’ I got well, and I can still feel dat rope ’round my neck.  Iffen dey had known how to tie a hangmans knot I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it.”

“It wuzn’t long after dis dat I jined Colonel’ Baker’s Gang for ’tection.  ‘Colonel’ Baker wuz a great and brave man and did mo’ fo de white folks of dis country den any other man.  Why iffen it hadn’t been fo’ him de white folks couldn’t hab lived in dis country, de negroes wuz so mean.  Dey wuz so mean dat dey tied heavy plow shoes aroun’ de necks ob two little white boys and threw dem in de lake.  Yes suh.  I wuz dere.”

“And another time I wuz wid a bunch of niggers when dey wuz plannin’ on killin a white man who wuz a friend ob mine.  As soon as I could I slips away and tips him off.  When I got back one ob dem niggers looks at me suspicious like and asks, “where yo been, nigger?” I wuz shakin’ like a leaf in a storm, but I says:  “I ain’t been nowhere—­just went home to get some cartridges to help kill dis white man.”

“Not long after I jined Colonel Baker’s Gang, we wuz comin’ frum Fulton to Clipper through de Red River bottoms.  De river wuz overflowin’ an’ as we wuz crossin’ a deep, swift slough, Colonel Baker and his horse got tangled up in some grape vines.  Colonel Baker yelled, and I turned my mule around and cut all de grape vine loose wid my Bowie knife.  Dere ain’t nothin’ like a mule for swimmin’.  Dey can swim circles aroun’ any horse.  As long as he lived, Colonel Baker was always grateful to me fo’ savin’ his life.”