"Next day, atter de funeral was over, Mist'ess, she said: 'Robert, I want you to stay on wid me 'cause you know how he wanted his wuk done.' Den Mist'ess' daughter and her husband, Mr. Dickenson, come dar to stay. None of de Niggers laked dat Mr. Dickenson and so most of 'em left and den, 'bout 2 years atter Marster died, Mist'ess went to 'Lanta (Atlanta) to stay wid another of her daughters, and she died dar. When Mist'ess left, I left too and come on here to Athens, and I been here ever since.
"Dere warn't much town here den, and 'most all 'round dis here place was woods. I wuked 'bout a year for Mr. John McCune's fambly on de old Pitner place, den I went to wuk for Mr. Manassas B. McGinty. He was a cyarpenter and built most of de fine houses what was put up here dem days. I got de lumber from him to build my house. Dere warn't but two other houses 'round here den. My wife, Julie, washed for de white folks and helped 'em do deir housewuk. Our chillun used to come bring my dinner. Us had dem good old red peas cooked wid side meat in a pot in de fireplace, and ashcake to go wid 'em. Dat was eatin's. Julie would rake out dem coals and kivver 'em wid ashes, and den she would wrop a pone of cornbread dough in collard or cabbage leaves and put it on dem ashes and rake more ashes over it. You had to dust off de bread 'fore you et it, but ashcake was mighty good, folks what lived off of it didn't git sick lak dey does now a-eatin' dis white flour bread all de time. If us had any peas left from dinner and supper, Julie would mash 'em up right soft, make little cakes what she rolled in corn meal, and fry 'em for breakfast. Dem sausage cakes made out of left-over peas was mighty fine for breakfast.
"When de chillun started out wid my dinner, Julie allus made two of 'em go together and hold hands all de way so dey wouldn't git lost. Now, little chillun jus' a few years old goes anywhar dey wants to. Folks don't look atter dey chillun lak dey ought to, and t'ain't right. Den, when night come, chillun went right off to bed. Now, dey jus' runs 'round 'most all night, and it sho' is a-ruinin' dis young genrayshun (generation). Dey don't take no keer of deirselfs. My own grandchillun is de same way.
"I left Mr. McGinty and went to wuk for Mr. Bloomfield in de mill. Mr. Bill Dootson was our boss, and he was sho' a good man. Dem was good times. I wuked inside de mill and 'round de yard too, and sometimes dey sont me to ride de boat wid de cotton or sometimes wid cloth, whatever dey was sendin'. Dere was two mills den. One was down below de bridge on Oconee Street, and de old check factory was t'other side of de bridge on Broad Street. Dey used boats to carry de cotton and de cloth from one mill to de other.
"Missy, can you b'lieve it? I wuked for 68¢ a day and us paid for our home here. Dey paid us off wid tickets what us tuk to de commissary to git what us needed. Dey kept jus' evvything dat anybody could want down dar at de comp'ny store. So us raised our nine chillun, give 'em plenty to eat and wear too and a good roof over deir haids, all on 68¢ a day and what Julie could make wukin' for de white folks. 'Course things warn't high-priced lak dey is now, but de main diff'unce is dat folks didn't have to have so many kinds of things to eat and wear den lak dey does now. Dere warn't nigh so many ways to throw money 'way den.
"Dere warn't so many places to go; jus' church and church spreads, and Sundays, folks went buggy ridin'. De young Niggers, 'specially dem what was a-sparkin', used to rent buggies and hosses from Mr. Selig Bernstein. He kept a big livery stable den and he had a hoss named Buckskin. Dat was de hoss what evvybody wanted 'cause he was so gentle and didn't skeer de 'omans and chilluns. Mr. Bernstein is a-livin' yit, and he is sho' a good man to do business wid. Missy, dere was lots of good white folks den. Most of dem old ones is done passed on. One of de best of 'em was Mr. Robert Chappell. He done passed on, but whilst he lived he was mighty good to evvybody and de colored folks sho' does miss him. He b'lieved in helpin' 'em and he give 'em several churches and tried his best to git 'em to live right. If Mr. Robert Chappell ain't in Heb'en, dere ain't no use for nobody else to try to git dar. His granddaughter married Jedge Matthews, and folks says she is most as good as her granddaddy was."
Robert chuckled when he was asked to tell about his wedding. "Miss," he said, "I didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'. Me and Julie jus' jumped over de broom in front of Marster and us was married. Dat was all dere was to it. Dat was de way most of de slave folks got married dem days. Us knowed better dan to ax de gal when us wanted to git married. Us jus' told our Marster and he done de axin'. Den, if it was all right wid de gal, Marster called all de other Niggers up to de big house to see us jump over de broom. If a slave wanted to git married to somebody on another place, den he told Marster and his Marster would talk to de gal's Marster. Whatever dey 'greed on was all right. If neither one of 'em would sell one of de slaves what wanted to git married, den dey let 'em go ahead and jump over de broom, and de man jus' visited his wife on her Marster's place, mostly on Wednesday and Sadday nights. If it was a long piece off, he didn't git dar so often. Dey had to have passes den, 'cause de patterollers would git 'em sho' if dey didn't. Dat meant a thrashin', and dey didn't miss layin' on de stick, when dey cotch a Nigger.
"Dese days, de boys and gals jus' walks off and don't say nothin' to nobody, not even to dey mammies and daddies. [TR: written in margin: "Elopement">[ Now take dis daughter of mine—Callie is her name—she runned away when she was 'bout seventeen. Dat day her mammy had done sont her wid de white folks' clothes. She had on brass-toed brogan shoes, a old faded cotton dress dat was plum up to her knees,—dem days, long dresses was stylish—and she wore a old bonnet. She was totin' de clothes to Mrs. Reese and met up wid dat Davenport boy. Dey traips'd up to de courthouse, got a license, and was married 'fore me and Julie knowed nothin' 'bout it. Julie sho' did light out from hyar to go git Callie. She brung her back and kept her locked up in de house a long time 'fore she would let her live wid dat Nigger.
"Us had our troubles den, but dey warn't lak de troubles us has now. Now, it seems lak dem was mighty good days back when Arch Street was jus' a path through de woods. Julie, she's done been gone a long time, and all of our chillun's daid 'cept three, and two of 'em is done gone up north. Jus' me and my Callie and de grandchillun is all dat's left here. Soon I'se gwine to be 'lowed to go whar Julie is and I'se ready any time, 'cause I done been here long 'nough."