bery las of de club meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote house.  I heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase Chapel Hill hit warn’t fer frum whar I libed at dat time.  I seed Dr. Marris Gray on de rode on he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head.  Dr. Marris Gray he pulled up en sed, “Good mornin “D” is ye heard bout de fite whut wuz had last nite at Chapel Hill” en I sey “No Sir Doctor, whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?”, en de doctor sey he didn’t know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain’t dead yit, en dat he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain’t dead.  En den I sey “Doctor Morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he say “En cose I warn’t dere yo don’t think I gwine be roun what no shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en I say “Naw Suh” en de doctor he rid on down de rode den, but I knowed in my own mine dat Doctor Morris wuz in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en I seed er long pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat I iz knowed de doctor eber since I wuz a chile when Marse Tom uster hab him ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en I seed him one night er ridin wid de Klu Klux en heard him er talkin when I wuz hid in de bushes lon side de rode when I cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de thicket, en den Doctor Morris he wid General Forrest all throo de war en he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn’t neber go outen his way to miss no shootin.”

Interviewer:  Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed:  James Davis
                    1112 Indiana St. (owner), Pine Bluff, Ark. 
Age:  96
Occupation:  Cotton farmer

“This is what’s left of me.  How old?  Me?  Now listen and let me tell you how ’twas.  Old mistress put all our ages in the family Bible, and I was born on Christmas morning in 1840 in Raleigh, North Carolina.

“My old master was Peter Davis and he was old Jeff Davis’ brother.  There was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream.

“Old master was good to us.  He said he wanted us singin’ and shoutin’ and workin’ in the field from morning to night.  He fed us well and we had plenty good clothes to wear—­heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in the winter time.  When I was a young man I wore good clothes.

“I served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared.  We didn’t have a thing in God’s world to worry bout.  Every darky old master had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter.  Oh, he was rich—­had bout five or six thousand slaves.  Oh, he had darkies aplenty.  He run a hundred plows.

“I went to work when I was seven pullin’ worms off tobacco, and I been workin’ ever since.  But when I was comin’ up I had good times.  I had better times than I ever had in my life.  I used to be one of the best banjo pickers.  I was good.  Played for white folks and called figgers for em.  In them days they said ‘promenade’, ‘sashay’, ‘swing corners’, ‘change partners’.  They don’t know how to dance now.  We had parties and corn shuckin’s, oh lord, yes.