bigger dan dis nigger.

"I has de bad luck jus' one time with dat team and it am disaway: massa
have jus' change de power for de gin from hoss to steam and dey am
ginnin' cotton and I's with dat team 'side de house and de hosses am
a-prancin' and waitin' for missy to come out. Massa am in de coach. Den,
de fool niggers blows de whistle of dat steam engine and de hosses never
heered sich befo' and dey starts to run. Dey have de bit in de teeths
and I's lucky dat road am purty straight. I thinks of massa bein' inside
de coach and wants to save him. I says to myself, 'Dem hosses skeert and
I don't want to skeer 'em no more.' I jus' hold de lines steady and keep
sayin', 'Steady, boys, whoa boys.' Fin'ly dey begins to slow down and
den stops and massa gits out and de hosses am puffin' hard and all foam.
He turns to me and say, 'Boy, you's made a wonnerful drive, like a
vet'ran.' Now, does dat make me feel fine! It sho' do.

"When surrender come I's been drivin' 'bout a year and it's 'bout 11
o'clock in de mornin', 'cause massa have me ring de bell and all de
niggers runs quick to de house and massa say dey am free niggers. It am
time for layin' de crops by and he say if dey do dat he pay 'em. Some
stays and some goes off, but mammy and pappy and me stays. Dey never
left dat plantation, and I stays 'bout 8 years. I guess it dat coachman
job what helt me.

"When I quits I goes to work for Ed Mattson in La Grange and I works in
dat cotton gin 18 years. Fin'ly I comes here to Fort Worth. Dat am 1896.
I works for Armours 20 years but dey let me off six years ago, 'cause
I's too old. Since den I works at any little old job, for to make my
livin'.

"Sho', I's been married and it to Jane Owen in La Grange, and we'uns
have three chillen and dey all dead. She died in 1931.

"It am hard for dis nigger to git by and sometime I don't know for sho'
dat I's gwine git anudder meal, but it allus come some way. Yes, suh,
dey allus come some way. Some of de time dey is far apart, but dey
comes. De Lawd see to dat, I guess.

420148

LIZA JONES, 81, was born a slave of Charley Bryant, near Liberty,
Texas. She lives in Beaumont, and her little homestead is reached
by a devious path through a cemetery and across a ravine on a plank
foot-bridge. Liza sat in a backless chair, smoking a pipe, and her
elderly son lay on a blanket nearby. Both were resting after a hot
day's work in the field. Within the op