"When a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal, he didn't ax de gal, but he went and told Marster 'bout it. Marster would talk to de gal and if she was willin', den Marster would tell all de other Niggers us was a-goin' to have a weddin'. Dey would all come up to de big house and Marster would tell de couple to jine hands and jump backwards over a broomstick, and den he pernounced 'em man and wife. Dey didn't have to have no licenses or nothin' lak dey does now. If a man married up wid somebody on another place, he had to git a pass from his Marster, so as he could go see his wife evvy Wednesday and Sadday nights. When de patterollers cotched slaves out widout no passes, dey evermore did beat 'em up. Leastways dat's what Mammy told me.
"Durin' de big war all de white folkses was off a-fightin' 'cept dem what was too old to fight or what was too bad crippled and 'flicted. Dey stayed home and looked atter de 'omans and chillun. Somebody sont Mist'ess word dat dem yankees was on de way to our plantation and she hid evvything she could, den had de hogs and hosses driv off to de swamps and hid. Mammy was crazy 'bout a pet pig what Marster had done give her, so Mist'ess told her to go on down to dat swamp quick, and hide dat little pig. Jus' as she was a-runnin' back in de yard, dem yankees rid in and she seed 'em a-laughin' fit to kill. She looked 'round to see what dey was tickled 'bout and dere followin' her lak a baby was dat pig. Dem yankees was perlite lak, and dey never bothered nothin' on our place, but dey jus' plumb ruint evvything on some of de plantations right close to our'n. Dey tuk nigh evvything some of our neighbors had t'eat, most all deir good hosses, and anything else dey wanted. Us never did know why dey never bothered our white folkses' things.
"When dey give us our freedom us went right on over to Marse Billie Battle's place and stayed dar wid Daddy 'bout a year; den Daddy come wid us back to Marse Henry's, and dar us stayed 'til Old Marster died. Long as he lived atter de war, he wukked most of his help on sheers, and seed dat us was tuk keer of jus' lak he had done when us all b'longed to him. Us never went to school much 'cause Mammy said white folks didn't lak for Niggers to have no larnin', but atter de war was done over our Old Mist'ess let colored chillun have some lessons in a little cabin what was built in de back yard for de white chillun to go to school in.
"Atter dey buried our Old Marster, us moved down to Hancock County and farmed dar, 'cause dat was all us knowed how to do. Us got together and raised money to buy ground enough for a churchyard and a graveyard for colored folks. Dat graveyard filled up so fast dat dey had to buy more land several times. Us holped 'em build de fust colored church in Hancock County.
"School for colored chillun was held den in our church house. Our teacher was a white man, Mr. Tom Andrews, and he was a mighty good teacher, but Lordy, how strick he was! Dese here chillun don't know nothin' 'bout school. Us went early in de mornin', tuk our dinner in a bucket, and never left 'til four o'clock, and sometimes dat was 'most nigh sundown. All day us studied dat blue back speller, and dat white teacher of ours sho' tuk de skin offen our backs if us didn't mind him. Dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' and foolin' 'round on de way home, 'cause dat white teacher 'lowed he had control of us 'til us got to our Mammies' doors and if us didn't git for home in a hurry, it was jus' too bad for us when he tuk it out on us next day wid dat long hick'ry switch.
"Things is sho' diffunt now. Folks ain't good now as dey was den, but dere is gwine to be a change. I may not be here to see it, but it's a-comin' 'cause de Good Lord is done 'sied (prophesied) it, and it's got to be. God's sayin' is comin' to pass jus' as sho' as us is livin' and settin' in de shade of dis here tree.
"Lordy, Miss! How come you axes 'bout colored folks'es weddin's? I was a-courtin' a little 14-year old gal named Lovie Williams, but her Mammy runned me off and said she warn't gwine to let Lovie git married up wid nobody 'til she got big enough. I jus' bought dem licenses and watched for my chanct and den I stole dat gal right from under her Mammy's eyes. My Mammy knowed all 'bout it and holped us git away. Us didn't have no time for no weddin'. De best us could do was jus' to git ourselfs married up. Lovie's Mammy raised de Old Ned, but us didn't keer den, 'cause it was too late for her to do nothin' to part us. Lovie was one of the bestest gals what ever lived. Us raised 12 chillun and I never had one speck of trouble wid her. Lovie's done been daid 15 years now."
His voice trembled as he talked about his first wife, and Lula almost stopped her work to listen. This kind of talk did not please her and her expression grew stern. "You done talked a-plenty," she told him. "You ain't strong 'nough to do no more talkin'," but Jasper was not willing to be silenced. "I reckon I knows when I'se tired. I ain't gwine to hush 'til I gits good and ready," was his protest. "Yes Missy," he continued. "All our chillun is done daid now 'cept four and dey is 'way off up North. Ain't nobody left here 'cept me and Lula. Lula is pow'ful good to me. I done got too old to wuk, and can't do nothin' nohow wid dis old foot so bad off. I'se ready and even anxious to go when de Good Lord calls for old Jasper to come to de Heav'nly Home.
"I ain't heared nothin' from my only brother in over 7 years. I 'spose he still lives in Crawfordville. Missy, I wishes I could go back down to Crawfordville one more time. I kin jus' see our old homeplace on de plantation down dar now. Lula a-washin' here, makes me study 'bout de old washplace on Marse Henry's plantation. Dere was a long bench full of old wood tubs, and a great big iron pot for bilin' de clothes, and de batten block and stick. Chillun beat de clothes wid de batten stick and kept up de fire 'round de pot whilst de 'omans leaned over de tubs washin' and a-singin' dem old songs. You could hear 'em 'most a mile away. Now and den one of de 'omans would stop singin' long enough to yell at de chillun to 'git more wood on dat fire 'fore I lash de skin offen your back.'
"Oh Missy, dem was good old days. Us would be lucky to have 'em back again, 'specially when harvest time comes 'round. You could hear Niggers a-singin' in de fields 'cause dey didn't have no worries lak dey got now. When us got de corn up from de fields, Niggers come from far and nigh to Marster's cornshuckin'. Dat cornshuckin' wuk was easy wid evvybody singin' and havin' a good time together whilst dey made dem shucks fly. De cornshuckin' captain led all de singin' and he set right up on top of de highes' pile of corn. De chillun was kept busy a-passin' de liquor jug 'round. Atter it started gittin' dark, Marster had big bonfires built up and plenty of torches set 'round so as dere would be plenty of light. Atter dey et all dey wanted of dem good things what had done been cooked up for de big supper, den de wrastlin' matches started, and Marster allus give prizes to de best wrastlers. Dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' 'lowed on our place, and dem wrastlin' matches was all in good humor and was kept orderly. Marster wanted evvybody to be friends on our plantation and to stay dat way, for says he: 'De Blessed Saviour done said for us to love our neighbor as ourselfs, and to give and what us gives is gwine to come back to us.' Missy, de Good Lord's word is always right."