wo’ser till she plum los’ her min’.  Fer a long time, dey had to tie her to a tree.  Den afte’ de War, she lef Mr. Davenpo’t’s an’ jes traveled ‘bout over de country.  I stayed on wid Miss Margurite he’pin’ her jes lak I’d been doin’.  One day mammy come afte’ me an’ I run an’ hid under a pile of quilts an’ laked to smothered to death waitin’ fer her to go on off.

“Nex’ time she come, she brung a written letter to Miss Margurite frum de Free Man’s Board an’ taken me wid her.  We jes went frum place to place ’til I got mar’ied an’ settled down fer myself.  I had three chullun, but ain’t none livin’ now.”

Mississippi Federal Writers Slave Autobiographies

[TOM WILSON near New Zion Church, Mississippi]

[Illustration:  Tom Wilson]

“My name is Tom Wilson an’ I’se eighty fo’ years old.  My mammy was name Ca’line an’ my pappy was Jeff Wilson.  Us lived right out on de old Jim Wilson place, right by New Zion Chu’ch.  I lives thar now—­owns me a plot of groun’ an’ farms.

“Well, us b’longed to Marse Jim an’ Miss Nancy Wilson.  I was born right out thar, but my mammy was brung down frum Ten’see.  She come by heir to Marse Jim but ‘fo that her was sol’ for ten hun’erd dollars.  My mammy was a big sportly woman an’ brung a lot er money an’ my pappy, he brung nine hun’erd.  Marse Jim bought him offen de block, but I don’t know jes whar frum.  I jes ’members ‘bout hearin’ him tell ‘bout bein’ sol’.

“Bofe of dem was fiel’ han’s.  Law, mammy could plow jes lak a man all day long; den milk twen’y head er cows afte’ she quit de fiel’ at night.

“De Big House was made out’n logs an’ reckin hit had ’bout seben er eight rooms in hit, an’ de kitchen sot a piece frum de mainest house.  Thar was one brick chimbly an’ one dirt one to hit, an’ a great big wide po’ch ’cross de front of de house.  I ‘member Mis Nancy an’ white folks ‘ud set out thar of an evenin’ an’ mek us li’l cullud chullun dance an’ sing an’ cut capers fer to ’muse ’em.  Den dey had a trough, built ’bout lak a pig trough, an’ dey would mek de cook bake a gre’t big slab er co’n bread an’ put hit in de trough an’ po’ milk or lasses over hit, an’ tu’n us li’l cullud chullun loose on hit.  An’ I’se tell’n y’ as much of hit went in our hair an’ eyes an’ years[FN:  ears] as went in our moufs[FN:  mouths].

“I reckin thar was’ bout two er three hun’erd acres in Marse Jim’s place.  Us raised cotton, taters, an’ hogs.  No’m, slaves didn’ have no plots er dey own.  Marse Jim give us our rashins’ every week.  Well, mos’ er de cullud people ’ud cook dey victuals over de fire place in dey own houses.  Us sho’ did have ‘possum an’ taters.

“My mammy wuked in de loom room at night by light of a pine knot.  In de Big House dey had taller[FN:  tallow] can’les ’cause I ’member my mammy moulded ’em.  No’m, de spinnin’ wheels was kep’ in de kitchen of de Big House.  Hit had a dirt flo’.  Us jes wo’ li’l old suits made out’n lowell cloth whut mammy wove on de loom.  I doan ‘member wearin’ no shoes.