The cotton-seed would be dumped into a hugh pot, and boiled for several hours, the seed gradually rising to the top.  The seed would then be dipped off with a ladle.  The next and final step would be to pour corn-meal into the thick liquid, after which it was ready to be eaten.  Cotton-seed, it must be remembered, had little value at that time, except as livestock feed.

“Yes suh, Cap’n,” the old negro went on to explain.  “I has never eaten anything whut tasted any better, or whut would stick to your ribs like cotton-seed, and corn-meal cake.  Rich?  Why dey’s nuthin dat is more nutritious.  You never saw a healthier or finer lookin’ bunch of negroes dan wuz on Colonel Harvey’s place.

“I ‘member one time tho’ when he changed us off cotton-seed, but we didn’t stay changed fo’ long.  No suh.  Of all de grumblin’ dem niggers did, becase dey insides had got so used to dat cotton-seed and corn-meal dey wouldn’t be satisfied wid nothing else.”

“One mornin’ when about forty of us niggers had reported sick, de Mahster came down to de qua’ters.  ‘Whut ailin’ ye’ lazy neggers?’ he asked.  Dem niggers los’ about fifty pounds of weight apiece, and didn’ feel like doin’ anything.  ‘Mahster,’ I say.  ’Iffen you’ll have de wimmen folks make us a pot full of dat cotton-seed and corn-meal, we’ll be ready to go to work.’  And as long as I work fo’ Colonel Harvey, one uv de bes’ men whut ever lived, we always had cotton-seed and corn-meal to eat.”

Texarkana District
folklore subjects
Name of Interviewer:  Mrs. W.M.  Ball
Subject:  Anecdotes of an Aged Ex-Slave. 
Subject:  Superstitious Beliefs Among Negroes. (Negro lore)
Story:—­Information: 

Information given by:  Doc Quinn
Place of Residence:  12th & Ash Sts., Texarkana, Ark. 
Occupation:  None (Ex-Slave)
Age:  92
[TR:  Information moved from bottom of second page.]
[TR:  Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]

“Mah young marster wuz Joe Ogburn.  Me and him growed up togedder an’ I wuz his body guard durin’ de wahr.  Many’s de day I’ze watched de smoke ob battle clear away an’ wait fo’ de return ob mah marster.  All de time I felt we wuz born to win dat wahr, but God knowed bes’ an’ you know de result.

“Three years ago I went to Little Rook wid Mr. Fisher.  Lac’ all folks whut goes to dis city, we wend our way to de Capitol to see de Governor.  Gov.  Futtrell sittin’ bac’ in his great fine office, saw me and jined me in conversation.  De fus’ question he axed me wuz ‘whut party does yo’ ‘filiate wif?’ I sez, ‘de Democrat—­de party whut’s a frien’ to de nigger.’  De Governor axed me how does I lac’ dis life?  I sez ’very well, tho’ things has changed since slavery days.  Those wuz good ole days for de black man; didn’t hafter worry about nuthin’.  Now, I sho’ does mah share ob worryin’.  I worries from one meal to de odder, I worries about whure I’ze gwine get some mo’ clothes when dese wears out?’