preacher I ever heered of. He have three sons, Landrum and Judson and
Bryson. Bryson have gif' for business and was right smart of a orator.

"Dey's fourteen niggers on de Lipscomb place. Dey's seven of us chillen,
my mamma, three uncle and three aunt and one man what wasn't no kin to
us. I was oldest of de chillen, and dey called Sallie and Carrie and
Alice and Jabus and Coy and LaFate and Rufus and Nelson.

"Old Ned Lipscomb was one de best massa in de whole county. You know dem
old patterrollers, dey call us 'Old Ned's free niggers,' and sho' hate
us. Dey cruel to us, 'cause dey think us have too good a massa. One time
dey cotch my uncle and beat him most to death.

"Us go to work at daylight, but us wasn't 'bused. Other massas used to
blow de horn or ring de bell, but massa, he never use de horn or de
whip. All de man folks was 'lowed raise a garden patch with tobaccy or
cotton for to sell in de market. Wasn't many massas what 'lowed dere
niggers have patches and some didn't even feed 'em enough. Dat's why dey
have to git out and hustle at night to git food for dem to eat.

"De old massa, he 'sisted us go to church. De Baptist church have a shed
built behind de pulpit for cullud folks, with de dirt floor and split
log seat for de women folks, but most de men folks stands or kneels on
de floor. Dey used to call dat de coop. De white preacher back to us,
but iffen he want to he turn 'round and talk to us awhile. Us mess up
songs, 'cause us couldn't read or write. I 'member dis one:

'De rough, rocky road what Moses done travel,
I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd;
It's a mighty rocky road but I mos' done travel,
And I's bound to carry my soul to de Lawd.'

"Us sing 'Sweet Chariot,' but us didn't sing it like dese days. Us sing:

'Swing low, sweet chariot,
Freely let me into rest,
I don't want to stay here no longer;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
When Gabriel make he las' alarm
I wants to be rollin' in Jesus arm,
'Cause I don't want to stay here no longer.'

Us sing 'nother song what de Yankees take dat tune and make a hymm out
of it. Sherman army sung it, too. We have it like dis:

'Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
Our bodies bound to morter and decay,
But us souls go marchin' home.'

"Befo' de war I jes' big 'nough to drap corn and tote water. When de
little white chillen go to school 'bout half mile, I wait till noon and
run all d