“Marster never lakked to git up real early hisself in slavery time, so he had one man what got de Niggers up out of bed so early dat dey had done et breakfast and was in de field when daylight come.  Atter de war was over and evvybody was free, all de Niggers used to jus’ piddle and play ‘round evvy mornin’ whilst dey was waitin’ for Marster to come.  Dem and de mules would be jus’ a-standin’ still and when de word was passed dat Marster had done got up all of ’em would start off wid a rush, jus’ a-hollerin’:  ‘Whoa, dar!  Gee haw!’ jus’ lak dey had done been wukkin’ hard all mornin’.  One day Marster cotch ’em at it, and he didn’t say a word ’til time come to pay off, and he tuk out for all de time dey had lost.

“Sometimes slaves run away and hid out in caves.  Dey would pile up rocks and sticks and pine limbs to hide de caves, and sometimes dey would stay hid out for weeks, and de other Niggers would slip ’em somepin t’eat at night.  Dere warn’t many what run off on our place, ’cause our Marster was so good to all of ’em dat dere warn’t nothin’ to run from.

“Marster made all his wuk tools at home.  Plow-sheers was made out of wood trimmed to de right shape and fastened to a iron point.  When dey was plowin’ in de young cotton, dey nailed a board on one side of de plow to rake de dirt back up ’round de cotton plants.

“Marster’s gin was turned by a mule.  Dat big old gin wheel had wooden cogs what made de gin wuk when de old mule went ’round and ’round hitched to dat wheel.  Dat old cotton press was a sight.  Fust dey cut down a big old tree and trimmed off de limbs and made grooves in it for planks to fit in.  It was stood up wid a big weight on top of it, over de cotton what was to be pressed.  It was wukked by a wheel what was turned by a mule, jus’ lak de one what turned de gin.  A old mule pulled de pole what turned de syrup mill too.  Missy, dem old mules done deir part ’long side de Niggers dem days, and Marster seed dat his mules had good keer too.  When dem mules had done turned de mill ’til de juice was squez out of de sugarcane stalks, dey strained dat juice and biled it down ’til it was jus’ de finest tastin’ syrup you ever did see.  Marster’s mill whar he ground his wheat and corn was down on de crick, so de water could turn de big old wheel.

“Dem old cornshuckin’s was sho’ ’nough big times, ’cause us raised so much corn dat it tuk several days to shuck it all.  Us had to have two generals.  Dey chose sides and den dey got up on top of de biggest piles of corn and kept de slaves a-singin’ fast so dey would wuk fast.  De fust crowd what finished got de prize.  Dere ain’t much I can ’member of words to dem old cornshuckin’ songs.  One general would start off singin’:  ’Shuck up dis corn, shuck up dis corn, ‘cause us is gwine home,’ and de other general would be a-shoutin’:  ’Make dem shucks fly, make dem shucks fly, us is gwine to go home.’  Over and over dey kept on singin’ dem lines.  Come nighttime Marster would have big bonfires built up and set out torches for ’em to see how to wuk, and evvy time he passed ’round dat jug of corn likker shucks would fly some faster.  When all de corn was done shucked and de big supper had been et, dere was wrastlin’ matches and dancin’ and all sorts of frolickin’.