"Dere is lots of people right today who can't tell you how de new constitution come up. In slave time, young man, we was stock, like cattle and hogs. If I killed 50 men nothin' was said about jail, but we got whipped den. Dat was your sufferin' for what you done done. Man, I never got but one whippin' from my master. I can tell you just how it come. It was done through takin' care of an old cow. Now, in dem times, son, dere was not gates like dere is now. You called dem 'slip bars', and would let down a rail fence called bars to let the cattle in. Understand, listen at it good now. Every mornin' I had to go up to de straw stack and drive de cows to de barn. To milk dem we had to drive dem down a lane to de house for de old cook woman to milk. As I drove dese cows dey all got through de gate but when de last cow come through she fell over de bottom rail and de master was standin' at de window and saw dis happen. De snow was about three feet deep. Now listen good. De old master was crippled and so here he come with a walkin' stick in one hand and a cowhide in de other.
"He said, 'By God, I'm goin' to learn you, by God, how to let down bars'. I said, 'Marster Jim, I let down every bar 'cept dat one on de bottom'. He jumped on me and got me down in dat snow till I couldn't see him at all. Every time he raised up an' come down with dat cowhide it cut through de snow and hit me. I didn't had nuthin' on 'cept an old pair of socks around my feet. You know if you was raised from birth like dis you could stand it. It come to me, I thought dat if I ever get to be a man I would pay de marster back for dat.
"And so after dat when we got free I was growin' on 13 years of age. My aunt and brothers come and got me. My old master was a shoemaker, and one day my uncle told me to take a pair of boots and take dem over to have half-soled. I taken dem over. I had not come across the old master since de time we was free until dis day. But when I went in de house de family was around dere and I forgot about payin' him back for de way he done treated me. Jim's mother who was dere said, 'Well, Peter, don't you wish you was back here livin' with us again?' I said, 'No, mam.' Den I went in de kitchin and talked to Jim's wife. She was a Republican and said, 'Wasn't dat hateful what she said about you bein' back here again?' De next time I met my old master, Mr. Galvin, was on de road. He was walkin' and could hardly drag. I was ridin' my horse and thought about gettin' down and whippin' him but when I looked at him I thought I might as well be whippin' a year old child. I let him go.
"Later on Jim got poor and one day I met him at de saloon in Staabtown. He wanted to get some leather from another store. He asked me if he could have my horse. I said rather sharp, 'No, I won't.' Den I thought and said, 'Mr. Jim, I'll go and get de leather myself.' So I got de leather and taken it to his home and set it in on de porch by his door. Den he said, 'Peter, I thank you a thousand times. Any time you need anything in de shoe line come to me.'
"Later on he was down and out and he come to his sisters. Dey could not take care of him so dey put him in de asylum in Farmington. I met him in Farmington on lots of days, and felt like payin' him back for dat whippin'. But just looked like every time, God would say, 'No, don't do dat. He will pay for dat. He will come down'. And he sure did pay for it. He died in de asylum out from Farmington. I never mentioned about dat whippin' to Jim Galvin, not a nary time.
"When I was freed I felt like I was goin' into a new world. It was de daughter of de old mistress what told me I was as free as dey was. It was dangerous around de house durin' of de war. So de old mistress broke up de old place and us boys was given to our godmother. Mary was my godmother and it was here I was told dat I was free. We was little and didn't know which way to go. My mistress said, 'Now Peter, you are free and de first chance we get we are going to send for your aunt to come and get you.' Dere were four of us brothers bein' taken care of by four sisters, when we was free. My uncle was in de army and served two years and had come home. He asked my aunt, 'Where are dose boys?' My aunt said, 'Dey is still with de white folks.' So my uncle come to get us. When he come he rid up and we was so glad to see him we run out and met him. He said, 'Boys, I've come after you.'
"We walked up to de house. Den de white folks was just as glad to see Uncle Julius as if he had been their brother. Den Uncle Julius said to my godmother, Mary, 'Well, Miss Evely, I come after Pete.' She said, 'Julius, I'm awful glad you've come to get him, I hate to give him up, but take him and take good care of him.' Julius was told de same thing by all de other godmothers of my brothers. All of dese sisters had de winter clothes for us cut out but dey wasn't made. De white women said, 'All your aunt has to do is to make dem.' We had between nine and ten miles to go to get down to my aunt's home.
"My aunt's husband was freed at least 15 years before de war started. His master died and he was freed by a will when the master went to de court house in Ste. Genevieve. Now, just listen good. Dis master willed 800 acres to his slaves who divided up de farm. Before he died, he put it down in a way dat his daughters and sons-in-laws could not break it 'cepting dey would raise several thousand dollars. De old slaves would sit down and tell us about it. De master turns in and pays de taxes up for 100 years. One of de trustees for de will was a Dr. Herdick and Henry Rozier both of Ste. Genevieve. My uncle's part was 40 acres and it was dis farm where I went when I come out from under de shelter of de white folks. De colored would sell 2 or 3 acres at a time and all dis farm is now sold. I was 13 when I got free and went to dis farm and there was my home until I was right at a grown man. De only taxes we had to pay was on household goods and stock. Every year when de personal taxes come due I would go into Ste. Genevieve to pay de taxes. As long as Dr. Herdick and Henry Rozier lived as overseers we was well protected on de farm. But Ed Rozier, a lawyer, tried to get us to pay de other kind of taxes.
"I was goin' on 20 or 21 before I left de farm. De old lady and Uncle died about de same time. Dey took de old lady to de River Aux Vases Catholic Church to bury her and I stayed with de old man and he died before dey got back from de funeral. We sold our forty acres and dere was six heirs. Den I went to work on a farm of Mr. Aubushon for $10 a month for 15 years. When I quit Aubushon I went den out in Washington County at Potosi and stayed with my two uncles out dere. I served in a iron factory dere for about two years. Sometimes I would get $5 a day. Den when de price would fall off I would get less. Den I come back to Ste. Genevieve County and worked by de day and den went to St. Louis. I worked dere from one iron factory to another and so den I quit dat.
"Den I 'run the river' three straight years from St. Louis to Cairo and Memphis, and Baton Rouge, and New Orleans. I den quit de down trade and rested up and made de northern trip from St. Louis to St. Paul. Everything had to be sent from de South out to California. Dat boat had nothin' on it 'cept eatin' things. So my aim was to get out to California to dig gold. I got defeated in dis way.