“Oh, Lord!  Marster never had no overseer; no car’iage driver neither; didn’t even have no car’iage yit.  He did have a surrey what he hitched mules to and driv for hisself.  Warn’t no hoss on dat plantation, nothin’ ’cept mules.

“How big was dat plantation?  Good Granny! it was so big I never did git all de way over it, and dere must a been 15 or 20 slaves.  Old Marster got us up ’bout sunrise and fetched us in at sundown.  He was all time knockin’ on his Niggers ’bout somepin.  He ’lowed dey didn’t do dis, or dat, or somepin else right—­he allus had to have some ’scuse to knock ’em ’round.”

A little Negro boy, possibly five years old, came up to Anderson with a peach in his hand and said:  “Look, Uncle Anderson, C.T. done gimme dis peach what he stole off dat dar wagon.”  The old man reached out his hand.  “Boy, you gimme dat peach,” he commanded.  “You knows I lak peaches.  Give it to me, I say.  I do declar’, nigger chillun jus’ got to steal anyhow.  Run git yourself ’nother peach off dat wagon, but don’t you let dat man see you git it.  Put dat peach under your shirt ’til you gits in dis yard, and if you leave dis yard ’gain I’ll buss your haid wide open.  Does you hear me, Boy?

“What was dat you was a-axin’ ’bout jails, Miss?  Yessum, us had ’em.  Niggers would git too rowdy-lak, drinkin’ liquor and fightin’, and dat was when de white folks slapped ’em in de gyardhouse, widout a bite to eat.  Gyardhouses is called jails dese days.  I’se lak my Ma.  I’se a fighter.  Ma would jump on anybody what looked at her twice.  De onliest time I ever got in de gyardhouse was a long time atter de end of de big War.  A man owed me some money, and when I axed him for it, he got mad and knocked me down.  I got right up and knocked him out, and right den and dar I was sont to de gyardhouse.

“Good Lord, Miss!  Slave folks warn’t ‘lowed no time for to larn readin’ and writin’.  Deir time was all tuk up in de field at wuk.  Slaves went to de white folks’ church, but one thing sho’ dey couldn’t read de Bible for deirselfs and couldn’t write none.  Jus’ to tell de truth, I didn’t take in what dey sung at church, but I ain’t forgot dem baptizin’s.  I’se been to so many of ’em.  Evvybody went in dem days.  Dere warn’t no place in de church houses for to be ducked dem days, so de white folks had a pool dug out by de branch for de baptizin’s, and white folks and slaves was ducked in de same pool of water.  White folks went in fust and den de Niggers.  Evvybody what come dar sung a song ’bout ’My Sins has all been Washed Away, and I is White as Snow.’

“Slave fun’rels was mournful sights, for sho’.  Dem home-made coffins was made out of pine planks, and dey warn’t painted or lined or nothin’.  And slave coffins warn’t no diffunt from de ones de white folks used.  Our Marster sot aside a spot in his own buryin’ grounds for de slaves’ graveyard.  When dey was a-buryin’ folks dey sung a song what went somepin lak dis:  ’Oh, Lord!  Us takes ’em to de Graveyard, Never to fetch ‘em Back.’