evil days come an' de darkness of de night draw nigh, your strength,
it shall not perish. I will lift you up 'mongst dem what 'bides wid
me.' Dat is de Gospel, Boss.

"My old mars, he was named Arch Kendricks and us lived on de
plantation what de Kendricks had not far from Macon in Crawford
County, Georgia. You can see, Boss, dat I is a little bright an' got
some white blood in me. Dat is 'counted for on my mammy's side of de
family. Her pappy, he was a white man. He wasn't no Kendrick though.
He was a overseer. Dat what my mammy she say an' then I know dat
wasn't no Kendrick mixed up in nothin' like dat. Dey didn't believe in
dat kind of bizness. My old mars, Arch Kendricks, I will say dis, he
certainly was a good fair man. Old mis' an' de young mars, Sam, dey
was strickly tough an', Boss, I is tellin' you de truth dey was cruel.
De young mars, Sam, he never taken at all atter he pa. He got all he
meanness from old mis' an' he sure got plenty of it too. Old mis', she
cuss an' rare worse 'an a man. Way 'fore day she be up hollerin' loud
enough for to be heered two miles, 'rousin' de niggers out for to git
in de fields even 'fore light. Mars Sam, he stand by de pots handin'
out de grub an' givin' out de bread an' he cuss loud an' say: 'Take a
sop of dat grease on your hoecake an' move erlong fast 'fore I lashes
you.' Mars Sam, he was a big man too, dat he was. He was nigh on to
six an' a half feet tall. Boss, he certainly was a chile of de debbil.
All de cookin' in dem days was done in pots hangin' on de pot racks.
Dey never had no stoves endurin' de times what I is tellin' you 'bout.
At times dey would give us enough to eat. At times dey wouldn't--just
'cordin' to how dey feelin' when dey dishin' out de grub. De biggest
what dey would give de field hands to eat would be de truck what us
had on de place like greens, turnips, peas, side meat, an' dey sure
would cut de side meat awful thin too, Boss. Us allus had a heap of
corn-meal dumplin's an' hoecakes. Old mis', her an' Mars Sam, dey real
stingy. You better not leave no grub on your plate for to throw away.
You sure better eat it all iffen you like it or no. Old mis' and Mars
Sam, dey de real bosses an' dey was wicked. I'se tellin' you de truth,
dey was. Old mars, he didn't have much to say 'bout de runnin' of de
place or de handlin' of de niggers. You know all de property and all
the niggers belonged to old mis'. She got all dat from her peoples.
Dat what dey left to