I was born in Tennessee, but I don't remember where, and I don't know how ol' I is. I don't remember what de mahster's name was dere. While I was still mighty young, my mother and father was sol' to a man named Kennard , who lived in Carroll County, Arkansas. (Mary's pronunciation of Arkansas was not as though it ended in "saw", but as in Kansas, saying that that was the pronunciation when she lived there as a child). My mother's name was Liza , and my father's name was Dick . When I was four years ol' my mahster and mistis give me to dere daughter, who married a Dr. James Cox , and dey come to Texas and brought me wid 'em. I never see my ol' mahster Kennard but one time. Dat when he was sick, and he had all his little niggers dressed up and brought in to see him. He was settin' up in de bed. He had white hair and long white beard, and had on a red woolen undershirt. I was scairt of him. He didn't say nuthin' dat I heerd; jus' look at us and nodded his haid, and den we went out. He was good to his slaves I think. Anyways, his daughter and her husband was always good to me. Dr. Cox and his wife and his sister and me come to Fort Graham, in Hill county, Texas, from Arkansas. We was about two weeks comin', I guess. We had been out about a week when one night when we was camped in a creek bottom, we liked to got drowned. We was travelling' in a wagon with a team of horses. It had been rainin' durin' de day, and de groun' was too wet to sleep on, so we all slep' in de wagon. De horses was tied to de wagon, and de noise dey made trampin' 'roun' in de water woke us up, and dat what saved us from drownin'. De water was up nearly wais' deep. It had run down in de creek bottom and riz. De doctor had to drive de horses fas' to get us out to save us from bein' drowned.

A few nights later a bunch of Indians, I guess about a hundred, rode up and roun' us, yellin' whoopin! We had a big water barrel, and they thought it was whiskey, and they wanted whiskey. Mahster give 'em all a drink, took nearly all de water in de barrel. Fort Graham wasn't no regular fort. Dere was jus' some soldiers camped dere, and dere was a little town. Lots of Indians would come in to trade. They'd bring in venison and wild turkey and some bear and buffalo meat and other wild game and sell it to de white folks. My mahster would buy some. I always had to eat what de white folks had. I liked it all. De Doctor got a farm on Nolan River, not far from Cleburne now is, and we went there from Fort Graham. We lived dere for sometime, and den went to Seguin, Texas. While we was on de farm, I got married. My husband was Isaac Wright . He's daid now. I had seven children by him, only two of which is livin'. One, Harrison Wright , who lives here in Cleburne, was born de day after we was freed. My second husband, who I married sometime after we was free, was Sam Overton . Him and me had two childern, which is both daid. I had only two grandchildern, one of which is daid. I wasn't married to Isaac by a preacher or a justice of the peace. De slaves wasn't generally married dat way. De niggers jus' tol' dey mahsters dey wanted to be husban' and wife, and if de mahsters 'greed to it, dat was all dere was to it, dey was said to be married. I heerd some of de white folks had weddin's for dere niggers, but I never did see none. Isaac was owned by another man' he wasn't owned by my mahster. He was treated good. He run away once, and come back to his mahster, but he wasn't punished. My mahster usually had about four slaves.

He sold and bought slaves several times, but he couldn't sell me, 'cause I b'longed to de mistis, and she wouldn't let him sell me. At one time, he had three other slaves besides me, two women and a man. De man run away, but he was caught and brought back. De mahster didn't punish him. He jus' sol' him to a mighty hard man, which I guess was punishment 'nough, but de mahster bought him back in two or three months. The two women was married, but their husbands was owned by other owners. When slaves was married which was owned by different mahsters, dere mahsters would let 'em go to see each other. Dere was not so many slaves roun' where we was, and so I wasn't with other slaves much.   I cooked and washed and ironed clothes and looked after de mahster's and mistis' childern mostly. Dey had three childern, but de mistis died when the least one was about six months old, and I raised de two older ones. Dey was two boys, and dey was about grown when I left after freedom. "We slaves had good 'nough houses to live in. We didn't have no garden and de mahster didn't have none 'cep' on de farm on Nolan River. I wore cotton dresses in de summer time, and linsey dresses and a shawl in de winter. I had shoes most of de time. My white folks was pretty good to keep me in clothes. I gene'ly went to church wid de mistis, and wore a new dress sometimes and a clean white apron. Didn't have no special clothes when I got married. I slep' in de kitchen gen'ly, and had a wooden bed, sometimes wid a cotton mattress and sometimes it was a shuck mattress. Mahster didn't have no overseer. "I don't know jus' how big de doctor's farm was. He was a good doctor and had a big practice all de time. I don't know nuthin' about my grandparents.

I don't know much about my mammy and daddy as I was tuk away from dem when I was four years ol' and brought to Texas, and never went back to Arkansas. My mistis tried to teach me to read and write, but I wouldn't learn. I never went to school neither. She would read de Bible to us. There wasn't no church for de niggers. I didn't have no favorite songs when I was in slavery as I didn't know none. I didn't know about any baptizin'. Didn't go to no funerals neither. I didn't play no certain games when I was a chile jus' played roun' de yard. I don' know no ghost stories, and I never did see no ghosts. I used some herbs for medicine, but I always bought 'em; don't know what dey was. I never was at no sale of slaves. I saw some slaves bein' tuk by in chains once, when we lived at Reutersville about six miles from Lagrange. I guess they was bein' tuk to Lagrange to be sol'. Dey was said to be about fifty in de bunch. Dey was chained together, a chain bein' run between 'em somehow and looked like dey was chained to it by dere wrists. Dey was all men and women, no childern 'mong 'em. Dey looked like dey had been travelled pretty fas'. Dey was on foot. Two white men was wid 'em ridin' horses, and drivin' de niggers like dey was a herd of cattle. Dey didn't do nughin' to de niggers dat I saw. Lots of slaves run away. I don't know how dey got word or news roun' 'mongst de niggers. I don't remember much about de war. Dere wasn't no fightin' where we was. We was on de farm on Nolan River most of de time durin' de war. My mahster didn't go. He stayed to look after de womenfolks and childern of de men who went to de war. On de day we was made free, de mahster come to de cook shack where we was and called us out one at a time and tol' us we was free. He said to me,  Mary , you is free by de law. You don't belong to me no more. You can go wherever you want to when you want to. I ain't got no more to say about you. You is free by de law." He tol' us if he was us he'd stay wid him awhile anyway as de people was pretty much worked up and might treat us pretty mean. De rest of de niggers stayed about a week, den dey went off and never did come back 'cep' Isaac, he come back. I didn't go. 

I stayed wid my white folks a long time after we was made free. I didn't have no where to go, and didn't know nuthin' to do. Dere at de doctor's I had plenty to eat and wear and a place to stay, and dat was all I knowed about.   When I left de doctor's place, I hired out as a cook. I got ten dollars a month, and all my food and clothes and a place to sleep. I didn't spend but one dime of my pay for eight months. I bought candy wid dat dime. I bought stick candy like a walkin' stick. I wouldn't spent dat much, but a man come to de door sellin' de candy. "I sure wish I knew how old I is, but I ain't sure. I don't even know my birthday According to Liza Foote , married daughter of Mary Overton , and with whom Mary lives, some white persons who have known Mary for some time, calculated from information Mary had given them as to her life when she was younger, and her memory better than it is now that she is more than one hundred years old.