"Dey sold us niggahs so bad down dere where I come from, dat when I was little I got sold from my mother and she never found me till after de war in 1871. Was we glad to see each other? I say we was. I was raised up hard, honey. I can count de winters I ever even had shoes on my poor feet. When Marse Dave bought my mother he only bought her and 6 us chillun. He was fairly nice to niggahs, but he didn't have as big a drove of 'em as de other plantation owners, but child we could hear niggahs hollen' every night on different plantations all around us from lashings dey gittin' from dere old overseers and masters too, for dat matter.
"My owner raised mostly cotton and corn, my mother wove all de clothes we wore, she even done all de spinning. During de Civil War, my old Miss use to hide us niggahs in de woods to keep de Yankees from seein' us. Dey pass through our place and got most all our stock just de same and all dey wanted to eat besides. But dey never found a one of us. After dey pass by we all go on back home.
"Dey sent us to church reglar and de preacher say to us, any you all see anybody stealin' old Miss chickens or eggs, go straight to old Miss and tell her who 'tis and all about it. Any one steal old Marse hogs or anything belong to old Marse, go straight to him and tell him all about it. Den he ask us, what your daddy bring home to you when he come, and what he feed you chillun at night. We scared to death to tell anything 'cause, honey, if we did de niggah get a killin, and our mammy tie up our feet and hang us upside down by our feet, build a fire under us and smoke us, scare us plum to death. We swear mammy goin' to burn us up. Lord, child, dat was an awful scare. Yes, mam, it was. De old preacher told us go on work hard, tell old Miss and old Master de truth and when we die God going let us in heaven's kitchen and sit down and rest from all dis work we doin' down here.
"We believe dat den. We didn't know no better, honest we didn't, honey. Our old Miss used to tell us, I want all my niggers to always tell de truth. If dey kill you, die telling de truth. But bless your soul, our mammy done smoked 'nough of us up side down, to not tell dem white folks nothin', a lie, nor the truth. No sir'ree. Who want to get smoked up likely to burn up hanging there as not. Now ain't dat so? No, sir, tell dem white folks, dey find out anything, they jes' find out by themselves, dat's it. I never did read or write. I been married three times. My last husband I married October 31, 1901 and moved right out here in dis house November 6, 1901, been here ever since. My husband been dead now 18 years. My children all died while dey was babies. I had six children. I wear glasses sometimes, but I praise God I can see good without glasses.
"De government gives me a pension and I git along fairly middlin'. Since peace been declared I made my living doing laundry work and cooking. I nursed right smart in Memphis. My mother died in 1893 here in St. Louis. Her name was Eliza Mullin, but I never did know how old she was. She didn't neither. I am a Baptist and go to church reglar as I kin, but I suffer so hard with indigestion. I can't go no place much. Guess dat's 'bout all I can remember worth 'membering, hope it helps de book out."
[Louis Hill]
Interview with Louis Hill,
age 78, Farmington, Missouri.
"I's borned on October 13, 1858 on the southeast side of Farmington, Missouri. My muthuh, Rose Hill, was borned in Virginia. She kum ta Missouri as a girl an frum dat time on she wuz a slabe fur John Hill, our boss. She worked thar till our freedom. Our family had three boys, Peter, William, and me an two girls, Sallie and Malinda. We bunked up in a cabin with one room. All us kids ate on da flo frum da same plate an da biggest dog got da mos. We generally wore a straight slip like a nightgown an hit fastened round the neck. (In the old South boys were dressed in this fashion until about ten years old and were called "shirttail boys".) Tak dis off an we war naked.
"The ole lady, the wife ob da Boss was da devil's sister. Her name was 'Whip'. She beat da ole folks mor'n tha kids. She used tha cowhide an we got a lickin' whether we did anythin' or not. We had ta git up early an after given supper we war put ta bed an did not 'pilfer' round. We had ta go on Sunday ta the Boss' Church, tha Carmelite or Christian Church. Ma muthuh wuz no han ta tell big yarns an so I know no ghost stories. We wuz raised very sensible. Tha white folks did not help us ta read an write. I learned that after we war free. I never did go ta school. Our games was 'Wolf on tha Bridge', an 'King-Kong-Ko.' We always had ta be doin' somethin', even if it war pickin' up kindlin'.
"I member when Price's army kum thro here in '64 or '65 on their way ta Pilot Knob. I wuz 'bout six or seben years ole. I an ma sister had bin down ta the white childr'n school ta take them dinner. We had ta bring tha basket bak an we sat down in tha corner ob da graveyard ta eat whut wuz left in da basket. Da graveyard was nex to da Fredericktown road and jus across frum our house. All at onc't I heard the mos' turrible noise an saw soldiers kum up da road. We war sure scared. We jumped up, ran cross da road, jumped over da fence an begun ta tak out fur da house. Da soldiers laughed an said somethin. One soldier on a horse kum up ta de fence, tore off da top rail, an with his horse jumped ober da fence, an took out after us, but he nebber cud catch us. We wuz sho runnin'. I wuz carryin' da basket and if I had a throwed it down we would a showed that soldier some runnin'. Da soldier turned his horse round but we went straight to da house to da Missus. She say dat dey was only havin' a good time an would not hurt us. We stood at da house an looked, an it took 'bout all afternoon fur da soldiers to pass. Thar war horses, wagons and cannons. Da soldiers durin' da war took all da Boss' horses away an he had only a yoke ob oxen lef.