Dat sure has been a long time since freedom cried out. It has sure been a long time since de slavery days. I don't remembah my pappy. I know dat his name was John King . I always heard mammy say dat pappy belonged to a Mawster King down in Marion County, Arkansas. Mammy would tell us how pappy loved her so much dat when she and two of her girls, me and Julia , was brought on down to Texas he follered 'em fo' about sixty miles. Harriet ,' he'd say, 'come on wid me. Let's run away f'om yo' mawster, and we'll live together.' I kain't John ,' mammy tole him, 'cause I got to look out fo' my little Tempe and Julia .' Goodbye Harriet ,' pappy said. So pappy rode away on his hoss and mammy never did see him again. She got jes' about one letter f'om him. Later in life we tried to look up some of de King famblies in Arkansas but we never did find no trace of pappy. I reckon dat he's been dead fo' a long time. My mammy was Harriet King . She was of a putty good size. She done mos' any kind of work durin' her life. She didn't live long, only twenty-seben years. When she was in Texas, she up and married James Parker . He was a worker on Mawster James Parker's cotton plantation down in Burleson County. Parker was so mean to us kids dat his boss man run him off of de place. Dat step-pappy of our'n sure was rough. Dey done named me Tempe Salina Bettie King . Dat was my name when I was a girl. Mos' folks jes' called me Tempe . I don't know jes' why dey called me Tempe . I was bawn on November 25, 1862. Dat means dat I'm goin' to be seventy-six years old dis year. Oh, my and how I've been bustled around in all of dat time. I was bawn on de Charley Primm cotton plantation in Marion County, Arkansas. He was mammy's mawster. Pappy's mawster was a Mr. King . Den Mawster Primm's son-in-law, William Tyson , bought us. He was comin' to Texas. Me, Julia , and mammy was brought along. He den run a cotton plantation in Burleson County. He had only a few slave famblies.  I was about sixteen years old, in 1878, when I got married. My husband's name was Sylvester Elgin . Instead of callin' him Sylvester , we always jes' shortened it to Bess . Dat's it - Bess .  Bess rented two hosses and we rode all of de way to Bryan, in Brazos County, to git married. A Jedge Connell , I think it was, married us. We didn't pay nothin' fo' de marryin' but Bess had to pay about a dollah and a half fo' de license. Den we rode back to de place where we worked on de Jedge Davis cotton fahm, in Burleson County. We worked jes' lak always. Yo' see dat's where I met my husband. After slavery when our step-pappy was run off'n his boss man's place me and Julie den worked fo' a lot of other famblies. I stahted to work fo' Jedge Davis . I chopped and picked cotton. De jedge give me four bits a day fo' choppin' de cotton, f'om sun to sun, but fo' pickin' cotton I got fifty cents fo' each hunnert pounds dat I picked. Of cose, at dat time I couldn't pick more'n a hunndert or a hunnert and ten pounds a day. I was jes' a girl. But when I got older I got so dat I could pick three and four hunnert pounds a day. I always did lak to pick cotton. Dere wasn't much to pickin' cotton in de early days but I had to make a livin'. I lived wid de other workers in some cabins on de fahm. We wasn't changed no rent but we had to buy our own groceries, sich as bacon, molasses, coffee, meal, and flour. If we had flour-biscuits fo' our Sunday dinner, we thought it was cake. De men folks on de place worked by de month. Yo' see dis was after slavery. Each man got fifteen dollahs a month, his rent and food was free. Every week each man was rationed about four pounds of bacon, a peck of meal, a little bucket of molasses, some flour and a few other things dat he might need. De way he got lard was to keep de grease f'om de fried bacon, or if de boss man kilt a hog he would give de man meaty bones, some fat f'om de guts, and give him plenty of cracklin's.   Dat's away folks lived even after slavery. Dem whut never had no hosses had to walk to de places dat dey had to go to. I remembah how dem whut walked toted bundles and boxes of groceries on dere heads. And if dey was bringin' home some eats de kids was always waitin' to see if dere was any candy in dem boxes. Bess worked by de month fo' Jedge Davis . He plowed de fields, and planted and chopped de crops. I didn't have to go into de fields, cause Bess was gittin' paid by de month, but when I did I got paid fo' de work dat I done. Me and Bess stayed on dis place till 1882. I was twenty years old. Den we moved on up here to Austin. Bess picked cotton, worked at de Butler's Brick Works, den at de city water works, den fo' truck-gardeners hereabouts. He worked in de truck-gardens fo' years. Den in his last years he worked fo' de Austin Oil Mill Company. He worked mos' of de time in de hull house where he kept de seeds swept up. He kept de office clean, too. While Bess was doin' them kind of jobs me and de kids - dere was five of 'em, three boys and two girls - would go out to de cotton patch and pick cotton. We'd staht in August up in Taylor, Williamson County, and work on up through Paris, up in northeast Texas, around to Dallas and back to Austin in November. On each cotton fahm was some houses fo' de pickers. Each house had a wood-burnin' stove and there was plenty of wood but, of 'cose, we had to buy our own groceries. One fall me and de kids made one hunnert and ninety dollahs over all of our expenses. By us pickin' cotton f'om August to November and by me takin' in washin' and ironin' durin' de rest of de time, me and Bess was able to pay off dis little place of our'n here. Dis used to be a nigger section around here, but now de Mexicans has moved in. In November 1937, Bess got down bad sick. He had a stroke. He got so dat he couldn't walk across dis here yard. I'd have to help him. It got so dat I was always sick and nervous. De doctah told me dat I would have to calm down. I was walkin' all humped over. Bess was always so big-boned and healthy dat I didn't never think dat he was very sick. He would lay in his bed and watch me when I'd come into de room. Mama,' he always called me mama, 'yo' sure have been a good wife to me,' he said one day. 'Yo' wore yo' sef out fo' me. If I live mama, I'll try to help yo'.' Don't worry Bess ,' I told him, 'but jes' try to git well and try to serve de Lawd.' Den one day, November 25, right on my birthday, he called to me that he waz hongry. Yo' is Bess ?' I said. 'Well, all right, whut would yo' lak, a glass of milk?' No, mama.' A poached egg Bess ?' A poached egg is all right mama,' he told me. I still had some fire in my stove so I poached de egg, and brought it to him. He et it. Den I come back and he had throwed it up. I wiped his face. My son and daughter-in-law was now in de room wid me and Bess .  Bess looked twice at each one of us, never said a word, den turned his head to one side and was still. I knowed dat he was dead. My son tried to tell me different. Den de doctah come. Dis man is dead,' he said.

I never did git to go to school in de early days. My white folks never did show me my A, B, C's. I was jes' a ignorant little girl. But here a few years back, I went to whut dey called de night school. I liked it all right. I went up to whut is de fourth grade. Den I got cataracts in my eyes, and I couldn't read much no mo'e. I reckon dat by now I would of been in de fifth or sixth grade.