e time puttin' me up to tellin' de
Mistis. Marse D.D. Withers was my young marster. He was a little man,
but ever'body stepped when he come 'roun'.

"Don' rightly know how it come 'bout. Lemme see! De bes' I 'member my
nex' Marster was Pres'dent Jefferson Davis hisse'f. Only he warnt no
pres'dent den. He was jus' a tall quiet gent'man wid a pretty young wife
what he married in Natchez. Her name was Miss Varina Howell, an' he sho'
let her have her way. I spec I's de only one livin' whose eyes ever seed
'em bofe. I talked wid her when dey come in de big steamboat. 'Fore us
got to de big house, I tol' her all 'bout de goins'-on on de
plantations. She was a fine lady. When I was a boy 'bout thirteen years
old dey took me up de country toward Vicksburg to a place call
Briarsfield. It mus'-a been named for her old home in Natchez what was
called 'de Briars.' I didn' b'long to Marse Jeff no great while, but I
aint never fo'git de look of 'im. He was always calm lak an' savin' on
his words. His wife was jus' de other way. She talked more dan a-plenty.

"I b'lieves a bank sol' us nex' to Marse L.Q. Chambers. I 'members him
well. I was a house-servant an' de overseer dassent hit me a lick.
Marster done lay de law down. Mos' planters lived on dey plantations
jus' a part o' de year. Dey would go off to Saratogy an' places up
nawth. Sometimes Marse L.Q. would come down to de place wid a big wagon
filled wid a thousan' pair o' shoes at one time. He had a nice wife. One
day whilst I was a-waitin' on de table I see old Marse lay his knife
down jus' lak he tired. Den he lean back in his chair, kinda still lak.
Den I say, 'What de matter wid Marse L.Q.?' Den dey all jump an' scream
an', bless de Lawd, if he warnt plumb dead.

"Slaves didn' know what to 'spec from freedom, but a lot of 'em hoped
dey would be fed an' kep' by de gov'ment. Dey all had diffe'nt ways o'
thinkin' 'bout it. Mos'ly though dey was jus' lak me, dey didn' know
jus' zackly what it meant. It was jus' somp'n dat de white folks an'
slaves all de time talk 'bout. Dat's all. Folks dat ain' never been free
don' rightly know de _feel_ of bein' free. Dey don' know de meanin' of
it. Slaves like us, what was owned by quality-folks, was sati'fied an'
didn' sing none of dem freedom songs. I recollec' one song dat us could
sing. It went lak dis:

'Drinkin' o' de wine, drinkin' o' de wine,
Ought-a been in heaven three-thousan' yeahs
A-drinkin' o' dat wine, a-drinkin' o'