"My full name wuz Rachael Exelina Mayberry (Mabrey) an' my mammy's name was Cynthy Minerva Jane Logan. You see I carried de name Mayberry 'cause dat wuz my masta's name. Masta' Josiah Mayberry. My mammy carried de name Logan 'cause dat wuz de famly she belonged to fo' Masta' bought her down in Buckskull, Arkansas. Masta had three sons, Dosh, his wife wuz Roberta, Alf his wife wuz Malissa and Byrd, his wife wuz Cully. In dem days we called 'em all by dere first name. We honored de ole Masta', but de younger folks, we didden call Masta' Dosh, or Masta' Byrd—or Missus Cully. It wuz jes Dosh, Byrd or Cully. I didden' know de ole Missus. Dey tole me she went crazy and kilt herself shortly after I wuz borned 'cause she thought I was white. We wuz de only slave famly Masta' had en he wuz good to us. We all liked him, all o' us but Cynthy, dat's my mammy I allus called her Cynthy till after de war wuz over. Cynthy always called him "Ole Damn"—she hated him 'cause he brought her fum Arkansas and left her twins an' dey poppy down dere. Cynthy's daddy was a full Cherrokee. She wuz always mad and had a mean look in her eye. When she got her Indian up de white folks let her alone. She usta run off to de woods till she git over it. One time she tuk me and went to de woods an' it was nigh a month fore dey found her—and I wuz nigh dead. Dey kept me at de white folks house till I got strong again. Only one time Masta' whip me. We made lots o' molasses on our place. Oh! lots of molasses en' dey wuz allus some barrels standin' upright wid bungs in close to de bottom so de 'lasses run out. One day I seed one o' de men fix him some sweetened tobaccy. He had his tobaccy in a box about so big, en he push de bung des way, en dat way—den down, den up den he hol' it jes loose enough so de 'lasses trickle out over his tobaccy. I watched him an thought I'd fix me some, too. I got my box fixed en' I pushed at de bung, I pushed dis way, en dat way like I seed him do when all at once dat bung flew out en' dat lasses flew all over de place. De barrel was full en' it cum out so fast I couldn't git de bung back in. I tried till I wuz wadin' in 'lasses to my knees. Den I run call Masta' and tell him a bung dun bust out. He say how you do dat? I tell him I jes knock again' 'en it flew out. Den he seed my box and he knowed how I done it. Den he laid me on de floor an' he put his foot on my haid. He took his switch and he gave me one good out. Den he kept beatin on de floor. I guess dat wuz to make de others think he wuz giving me a big beatin'. But I didden want that big foot on my haid no more.
"De big house stood facing de road. It wuz built like lots o' houses wuz in dem days, de kitchen and dinin' room on one side. Masta's room on de udder with a big open hallway between. Across de front was a big porch. We called it a gallery. Across de road, back a piece ways wuz our cabin. Cynthy did all de cookin, an she wuz a good cook. We allus had plenty good things to eat. De white folks would sit down en eat, en when dey's through we'd sit down at de same table. I 'members de first shoes I ever had. One of de men had got em fo' his little girl, en' dey was too small. So he giv' 'em to my step-daddy for me. Dey uz too big but I wore em en wuz proud of em. They wuz so big fo' me, they went dis way en' dat way en' den de heels went all crooked. I wore 'em till 'bout de time de first snow came den I guess I thought I'd wore 'em long enuf an' I throwed em away. My step daddy whipped me for dat and made me wear 'em all winter.
"I must a been 'bout eight year old when de war start. Fust I knowed, one day Masta said to me. "Child go out to de gate an see if anyone comin." I went to de gate like he tole me an' dere was men comin down de road. Whew! I never seed so many men in all my life. I went back en' tole him. He didden' say nuthin' but lit out the back way across the fields an we didden see him again fo' some time.
"After that we saw lots o' sojers—dey'd stop at our place but dey never bother nuthin. Masta told us allus to have plenty cookin' an bakin' ready when de sojers came. Cynthy'd have de kitchen cupboard piled full o' lightbread and cakes and pies—sometime dey's Rebel sojers an sometimes dey's Republicans—We called de Northerns Republicans. We cud allus tell 'em. The Rebels wore brown coats and the Northerners wore blue suits wid pretty gold pieces on dey shoulders. My! but dey wuz pretty.
"Masta' ud come home once en awhile—an den one day he come home—I can see him yet a-sittin by de kitchen stove. De stove sat back in de big fireplace far enuf so de pipe go up de flue but not too far so you could look in de oven. Dere sat de Masta lookin' like he had sumthin' to tell mammy but was skeered to. She had her mad up that day—I jes foun' a hen's nest an' wuz runnin' in to tell her. I hollered "Cynthy, Cynthy"—Masta' put up his hand en say, slow like—"Stop chile! You mustin' call her Cynthy no more. The war is over and you no more slaves. Now you must call her mammy". But dat all de difference it made—we kep' on livin dere just de same, till Masta' died two year atter de war.
"One day a mule kicked him on de laig what wuz hurt in de war. It got so bad de doctor couldn' do nuthin for it. Masta' wud holler wid pain—It wuz in de fall of de year. One day I came in and sed, "Masta' you know dat big yellow apple tree? It's bloomin again, en it's got little green apples on it." He looked at me an sez—'Chile, youre lyin". I sez, "No Masta I ain't." He say "If you're lyin' to me, I'll get up and lick you again", so I runs and gets him a branch wid flowers on, and little green apples, an when he sees it, he cries. He knows he's gonna die 'cause de tree is bloomin out of season. But I didden know it. I says "Masta' if dem apples gits ripe, we'll have good eatins''cause de big yellow mealy ones wen dey fall, dey bust wide open."
"Masta' died en if I'd a know'd what I know now I could have saved him. I'd a took young elder leaves en boiled em to make a tea—den I'd a poured dat in de sore en it ud a got well.
"Masta' musta had hundreds a acres—'cause he give each o' his boys a big farm—en dey was his dotter Caroline, by his fust wife—I forgit 'bout her—he give her a farm, too—Dis wuz down in Stoddard County, near Advance. Shortly after dat Dosh died, en de rest sold out en' went to Texas.
"We seed Masta' lots a times after he died. I sez it wuz Masta' 'cause it looked like him. One day I was standin lookin thru de bars o' de gate wen I seen out in de road de largest dog I ever seed in all my life. He wuz standin' der lookin' at me. I says to my brother, 'Look! he's got thick sandy red hair like Masta's, en he's got a nose like Masta's, en he's got eyes like Masta's, an he sho' do look like Masta'—Den I run back onto de gallery where de adder folks is. Dat dog stan' dere lookin at us, de big brush on his tail jes a wavin', den he reach thru de gate wid one paw, en onlatch it, and walked right in. The gate went shut agin but it didden make no noise. Den he cum up de walk en go rite across de gallery in front of us. He jump over de side fence, en run across de field, en go inter de woods. We know'd it wuz Masta', jes cum to look aroun, en it git so he'd cum every day 'bout noon, jes when Masta' always cum in fo' dinner. We ain't never seed him cum outer de graveyard, but he always com frum dat way. En one day I wuz playing in de doorway of our cabin an I looked across to de big house, and dere sat Masta' in his big chair on de gallery. I called Mammy en she says—'If you're lyin', I'll whup you.' But she cum en look, en she seed him too, he had his white shirt-sleeve rolled up to his elbow and his red flannel undershirt sleeve down to his wrist jes like he uster wear it. Der he sat en while we wus lookin he got up en walked off around the house.
"I 'members one evenin' 'bout dusk I wuz commin thru de cotton patch, an' I run plum into a man crawlin' along—Dat wuz durin' de war, en der he wuz crawlin' on his hands en knees. He had de biggest hands I ever seed on a human, an his feet wasn't ever touchin de groun'—dey wuz jes floppin' one over de udder, dis way. An his face!—I've seed false faces but dis wuz de worst I ever seed—dere wuz big red en white stripes all across his face. He rared up an looked at me like a dog rare on his haunches, and jes' dat way he wuz taller dan I wuz. I didden stop to look again' but I lit out en run through dat cotton patch. Lawd ha' mercy! how I did run. I jes' knocked dat cotton one way er nother—en dey didden whip me for it when I tole em 'bout it nuther. Nex' mornin' we went down der to look, en we seed de tracks where his knees had made—thru de cotton patch, cross the road, en enter de woods. But no body else never did see him. I often studied, wuz he natchel, or jes a ghost.