I'm mixed up on my age, I'm 'fraid, for the Bible got burned up that the master's wife had our ages in. She told me my age, which would make me 89, but I believe I come nearer bein' 91, accordin' to the way my mother figured it out. I belonged to George Harper , he was Judge Harper . The' was my father, mother and two boys. He brought us from Mississippi, but I don' 'member what part they come from. We settled down here at Gonzales, on Peach Creek, and he farmed one year there. Then he moved out here to Medina County, right here on Hondo Creek. I don't 'member how many acres he had, but he had a big farm. He had at least eight whole slave families. He sold 'em when he wanted money. My mother's name was Mary Harper and my father's name was Ike Harper , and they belonged to the Harpers , too. You know, after they was turned loose they had to name themselves. My father named himself Grant and his brother named himself Glover , and my grandfather was Filmore . They had some kin' of law you had to git away from your boss' name so they named themselves. Our house we had to live in, I tell you we had a tough affair, a picket concern, you might say no house a-tall. The beds was one of your own make; if you knowed how to make one, you had one, but of course the chillen slept on the floor, patched up some way. We went barefooted in the summer and winter, too. You had to prepare that for yourself, and if you didn' have head enough to prepare for yourself, you went without. I don' see how they done as well as they done, 'cause some winters was awful cold, but I always said the Lawd was with 'em.

 We didn' have no little garden, we never had no time to work no garden. When you could see to work, you was workin' for him. Ho! You didn' know what money was. He never paid you anything, you never got to see none. Some of the Germans would give the old ones a little piece of money, but the chillen, pshaw! They never got to see nothin. He was a pretty good boss. You didn' have to work Sunday and part of Saturday and in the evenin', you had that. He fed us good. Sometimes, if you was crowded, you had to work all day Saturday. But usually he give you that, so you could wash and weave cloth or such. He had cullud women there he kep' all the time to weave and spin. They kep' cloth made. On Saturday nights, we jes' knocked 'round the place. Christmas? I don' know as I was ever home Christmas. My boss kep' me hired out. The slaves never had no Christmas presents I know of. And big dinners, I never was at nary one. They didn' give us nothin, I tell you, but a grubbin' hoe and axe and the whip. They had co'n shuckin's in them days and co'n shellin's, too. We would shuck so many days and so many days to shell it up. We would shoot marbles when we was little. It was all the game the niggers ever knowed, was shootin' marbles. After work at nights there wasn't much settin' 'round; you'd fall into bed and go to sleep. On Saturday night they didn' git together, they would jes' sing at their own houses. Oh, yes'm, I 'member 'em singin' 'Run, nigger, run,' but it's too far back for me to 'member those other songs. They would raise up a song when they was pickin' cotton, but I don' 'member much about those songs. My old boss, I'm boun' to give him praise, he treated his niggers right. He made 'em work, though, and he whipped 'em, too. But he fed good, too. We had rabbits and possums once in awhile. Hardly ever any game, but you might git a deer sometimes. Let 'em ketch you with a gun or a piece of paper with writin' on it and he'd whip you like everything. Some of the slaves, if they over did git a piece of paper, they would keep it and learn a few words. But they didn' want you to know nothin', that's what, nothin' but work. You would think they was goin' to kill you, he would whip you so if he caught you with a piece of paper. You couldn' have nothin' but a pick and are and grubbin' hoe. We never got to play none. Our boss hired us out lots of times. I don' know what he got for us. We farmed, cut wood, grubbed, anything, I herded sheep and I picked cotton. We got up early, you betcha. You would be out there by time you could see and you quit when it was dark. They tasked us. They would give us 200 or 300 pounds of cotton to bring in and you would git it, and if you didn' git it, you better, or you would git it tomorrow, or your back would git it. Or you'd git it from someone else, maybe steal it from their sacks. My grandfather, he would tell us things, to keep the whip off our backs. He would say, 'Chillen, work, work and work hard. You know how you hate to be whipped, so work hard!' And of course we chillen tried, but of course we would git careless sometimes. The master had a 'black snake' some called it a 'bull whip.' and he knew how to use it. He whipped, but I don' 'member now whether he brought any blood on me, but he cut the blood outta the grown ones. He didn' tie 'em, he always had a whippin' block or log to make 'em lay down on. They called 500 licks a 'light breshin,' and right on your naked back, too. They said our clothes wouldn' grow but your hide would. From what I heered say, if you run away, then was when they give you a whippin, prob'bly 1500 or 2000 licks. They'd shore tie you down then, 'cause you couldn' stan' it. Then you'd have to work on top of all that, with your shirt stickin' to your back.

The overseer woke us up. Sometimes he had a kin' of horn to blow, and when you heered that horn, you'd better git up. He would give you a good whippin' iffen he had to come and wake you up. He was the meanest one on the place, worse'n the boss man. The boss man had a nice rock house, and the women didn' work at all. I never did see any slaves auctioned off, but I heered of it. My boss he would take 'em there and sell 'em. They had a church this side of New Fountain and the boss man 'lowed us to go on Sunday. If any of the slaves did join, they didn' baptise them, as I know of. When one of the slaves would die, they would bury 'em on the land there. Reg'lar little cemetery there. Oh, yes, they would have doctors for 'em. If anybody died, they would tell some of the other slaves to dig the grave and take 'em out there and bury 'em. They jes' put 'em in a box, no preachin' or nothin.' But, of course, if it was Sunday the slaves would follow out there and sing. No, if they didn' die on Sunday, you couldn' go; you went to that field. If you wanted to go to any other plantation you had to git a pass to go over there, end if you didn' and got caught, you got one of the worst whippins'. If things happened end they wanted to tell 'em on other plantations, they would slip out at night and tell 'em. We never heered much about the fightin' or how it was goin." When the war finally was over, our old boss called us all up and had us to stand in abreast, and he stood on the gallery and he read the verdict to 'em, and said, 'Now, you can jes' work on if you want to, and I'll treat you jes' like I always did.' I guess when he said that they knew what he meant. The' wasn't but one family left with 'im. They stayed about two years. But the rest was just like birds, they jes' flew. I went with my father and he hired me out for two years, to a man named Riley , over on the Seco. I did most everythin', worked the field and was house rustler, too. But I had a good time there. After I left 'im. I came to D'Hanis. I worked on a church house they was buildin'. Then I went back to my father and worked for him a long time, freightin' cotton to Eagh Pass. I used horses and mules and hauled cotton and flour end whiskey, and things like that. I met my wife down on Black Creek, and I freighted two years after we was married, We got married so long ago, but in them days anything would do. You see, these days they are so proud, but we was glad to have anything. I had a black suit to be married in, and a pretty long shirt, and I wore boots. She wore a white dress, but in them days they didn' have black shoes. Yes'm, they had a dance, down here on Black Creek, Danced half the night at her house and two men played the fiddle. Eat? We had everythin' to eat, 2 barbecued calf and 2 hog, too, and all kinds of cakes and pies. Drink? Why, the men had whiskey to drink and the women drank coffee. We married about 7 or 8 in the evenin' at her house. My wife's name was Sarah Ann Brackins .

Did I see a ghost? Well, over yonder on the creek was a ghost. It was a moonlight night and it passed right by me and it never had no head on it a-tall. It almost breshed me. It kep' walkin' right by side of me. I shore saw it and I run like a good fellow. Lots of 'en could see wonnurful sights then and I heared lots of noises, but that's the only ghost I ever seen. No, I never knowed nothing 'bout charms. I've seen 'em have a rabbit heel or coon heel for good luck. I seen a woman one time that was tricked, or what I'd call poisoned. A place on her let, it was jes' the shape of these little old striped lizards. It was somethin' they called 'trickin it,' and a person that knowed to trick you would put it there to make you suffer the balance of your days. It would go 'round your leg clear to the hip and be between the skin and the flesh. They called it the devil's work.

Austin Grant , brought to Texas from Mississippi with his grandfather, father, mother and one brother, all of whom were owned by George Harper , a cotton raiser, who settled with them on Peach Creek near Gonzales and farmed one year. They moved from there to Medina County north of Hondo. Most of Austin's boyhood was spent in being "hired out" by his master, and after the war his father hired him out to the Riley ranch on Seco Creek above D'Hanis, where he spent two years before going to work for himself. He eventually bought a farm in the slave settlement north of Hondo, where he farmed continuously until the death of his wife in 1936. In a cool south bedroom of his comfortable bungalow, surrounded by green hedges and trees, I found Uncle Aus Grant . Sitting on a snow-white bed, his long thin legs crossed and his hands idly reposed upon a much-used walking cane, he was convalescing through the lazy spring days from a long illness that had kept him confined throughout the winter. When he began talking, his voice was so deep-toned and clear I thought of darkies singing in the moonlight by their cabins and his wonderful bass voice singing with them, lifting or dropping easily within its wide range of volume. I asked if he used to sing, and, as the old man was nearly deaf, his son answered for him, saying he remembered very well how his father used to sing. In talking, his tones and inflections were Negroid, but his dialect was pronounced only when he was excited.

I'm mixed up on my age, I'm 'fraid,  Uncle Aus began,  for the Bible got burned up that she (the master's wife) had our ages in. She told me my age, which would make me eighty-nine, but I believe I come nearer bein' ninety-one accordin' to the way my mother figured it out. I belonged to George Harper . He was Judge Harper at that time. The' was my father and mother and two boys. He brought us from Mississippi, but I don't remember what part they come from. We settled down here at Gonzales, on Peach Creek, and he farmed one year there. Then he moved out here to Medina County, right here on this creek (Hondo). He handled stock and farmed. I don't remember how many acres he had  Good God! he had a big farm. He had at least eight whole families (slaves). My old boss, he sold 'em. When he wanted money, he'd sell off some of 'em. Sometimes he'd sell a pair. My mother's name was Mary Harper and my father's name was Ike Harper and they belonged to the Harpers too, you know. You know, after so long a time after they was turned loose they had to name themselves. My father named hiself Grant and his brother  my uncle  named himself Glover and my grandfather was Filmore . They had some kind of law that you had to get away from your boss' name and they named themselves. We went before the county court. He was the county judge, I think, that took our names. My brother's name was Henry , but my sisters was born and raised here in Texas. I had three sisters, one named Sally , the other one Beckie , and the other one Harriett . Our house we had to live in, I tell you we had a tough affair, a picket concern; you might say, no house a-tall. The beds was one of your own make; if you knowed how to make one, you had one, but of course childern didn't have any bed and slept on the floor, patched up some way. We went barefooted in the summer, and winter too. You had to prepare for that yourself; if you didn't have head enough to prepare for yourself, you went without. I don't see how they done as well as they did, 'cause some winters was awful cold, but I always said that the Lawd was with 'em. We didn't have no little garden. We never had no time to work no garden. When you could see to work, you was workin' for him. Ho! You didn't know what money was! Work! He never paid you anything, you never got to see none. Sometimes, the old folks, they went out to the Germans and got a little money. Some of the Germans would give the old ones a little piece of money, but the childern, pshaw! they never got to see nothin'. He was a pretty good boss. You didn't have to work Sunday and part of every Saturday. In the evenin', you had that. He fed us good. Sometimes, if you was crowded, on Saturday you had to work all day. He would give you that (Saturday afternoon) so you could wash up your clothes and weave cloth or such. He had cullud women there he kep' all the time to weave and spin. They kep' all the cloth made. On Saturday nights, we jes' knocked around on the place. Christmas? I don't know as I was ever at home on Christmas. I tell you my boss kep' me hired out. Oh, no, the slaves never did get any Christmas presents that I know of. And big dinners, I never was at nary one. They didn't give us nothin', I tell you, but a grubbin' hoe and axe and the whip. The' and that in it too,  And he laughed.  They had co'n shuckin's in them days and co'n shellin's too. We would shuck so many days and so many days to shell it up. We would shoot marbles when we was little. Sometimes they would beat me, and I would beat them sometimes. It was all the games the niggers ever knowed, was shooting marbles. All these games they got now has been 'stablished since 'Mancipation. After work at nights there wasn't much settin' around; you'd fall into bed and go to sleep. On Saturday night, they didn't get together, they would jes' sing at their own houses, you know. Oh, yes'm, I 'member 'em singin' 'Run, Nigger, Run.' It was too fur back for me to 'member those songs they sang those days. They would raise up a song when they was pickin' cotton, but I don't 'member much about those songs. My old boss  I am bound to give him praise  he treated his niggers right. He made 'em work, though, and he whipped 'em too. But he fed good too. We had different families here and there on the place and they cooked for themselves. We had rabbits and 'possoms once in awhile. Hardly ever had any game, but if you could, you could git a deer, No, Christ A'mighty! Let 'im ketch you with a gun, or a piece of paper either! Let 'im ketch you with a piece of paper with writin' on it! He'd whip you like ever'thing. I believe some of the slaves, if they ever did get a piece of paper, they would get it and keep it, and learned a few words. They didn't want you to know nothin', that's what  nothin' but work. You would think they was goin' to kill you, he would whip you so if he caught you with a piece of paper. We never got to kill no deer, but anything we could ketch, like 'possums and coons, where they went into the ground and we could twist 'em out. No, we never had no 'nigger-shooters'; we learned about them after they was freed. You couldn't have nothin' but a pick and axe and grubbin' hoe. We never got to play none. They kep' me out on the farm all the time. Our boss man hired us out lots of times. I don't know nothin' about what he got for us. We had to do any kind of work there was to do. We farmed, cut wood, grubbed  anything. I herded sheep, I picked cotton, but that was on different places, that wasn't on my old boss' place. Now, we got up early, you betcha. You would be out there by the time you could see and you quit when it was dark. We worked hard for nothin'. Got nothin' but the lash. You'd get that! They tasked us here (in Texas). 

Some of the childern that was older, they would task them more than the others. They would give them two or three-hundred poun's of cotton to bring in and you would git it too, and if you didn't git it, you better, or you would git it tomorrow, or your back would git it. Or you'd git it from someone else! He began laughing as he remembered how they used to steal cotton from other sacks to keep from being whipped. My grandfather, that was the one that was called Ard and named himself Filmore after he was freed. Oh, yes'm, I 'member him. Oh, sho', sho'! You bet he would tell us things! To keep the whip off our backs, you know. Oh, he would tell you, 'Childern, work, work, work, and work hard. You know how you hate to be whipped, so work hard!' And of course we childern tried, but of course we would git careless sometimes. He lived a pretty good while after freedom. He registered his name as Filmore . He (the master or overseer) had a 'black snake', some called it a 'bull whip,' and he knew how to use it. He whipped me, but I don't 'member now whether he brought any blood, but he cut the blood out of the grown ones. He didn't tie 'em. He always had a whipping block or a log to make 'em lay down on. They called five hundred licks a 'light breshin,' and right on your naked back too. They said your clothes wouldn't grow up but your hide would.  The old man chuckled at the memory. He never spoke bitterly; it seemed to amuse him to recall those days.  From what I could hear 'em say, if you done wrong or run away, then was when they give you a whippin', probably fifteen hundred or two thousand licks. They'd shore tie you down then, 'cause you couldn't stand it. Then you'd have to work on top of all that with your shirt sticking to your back. The driver, or overseer, woke the slaves up. He would go around amongst 'em. Sometimes, they had some kind of hawn (horn) to blow. And when you heard that hawn, you had better get up. He would give you a good whippin' if he had to come in and wake you up. The overseer was the meanest one we had on the place. He was worse than the boss man. Sometimes the old heads would 'kill off' the overseer (whip him). Looked like he didn't have sense enough to know when to quit. Some of 'em would let the overseer whip 'em, but they would always let the boss man whip 'em. Sometimes, when the overseer would overdo the thing, the slaves would go there and tell the overseer that he had give that child or that man enough. In them days, if a slave whipped one (an overseer) the slave had to get a whipping too. That is why, you know, more of the old men wouldn't let the overseer whip 'em, they knowed they would get a whippin' anyway. I don't know how they stood it. Oh, my God, they were better men than they are now. They whipped the nigger women the same as they did the men. No difference in the fare. They kep' me hired out pretty much of the time, you know. The old boss man, he kep' me out. He got money for my work. Oh, sho'! I am pretty sho' of that. Yes, the man that I was hired out to whipped me. I sho' got whipped; I called 'em bad killin's. The boss man had a nice rock house. The white women didn't do any work a-tall. The slaves were allowed to marry each other. The boss man done the marryin'; he put 'em together himself.

I never did see any slaves auctioned off but I heard of it. My old boss he would take 'em there and sell 'em, you know. He didn't sell one here in this country. He carried one, I know, back in Mississippi and sold him, and I believe the niggers were freed, too, but the niggers didn't know it. He didn't turn 'em loose then, I know. Well, they would give us one white person after the war to teach school. The first teacher ever taught here in this country was a white man and he was the first teacher they ever had. He had a kind of a little old picket concern to teach in (schoolhouse). I kep' that fellow's name a long time, but I done forgot it now. They had a church this side of New Fountain and the boss man allowed us to go to church on Sunday if we wanted to. It was the white folks' church and if they wanted to come they could come to it. A nigger didn't know how to preach. All he knew was the axe and grubbin' hoe. If any of the slaves did join, they never did baptize them that I know of. I've heard 'em say a nigger wouldn't go to the same place the white folks went to. I 'member my old grandfather was a religious old fellow and he went to church and the boss man always let him go, but they never would take 'im in, 'cause if he did I would a-knowed it. Our old boss man was a preacher too. A kind of exalted old boss man. His son was a preacher too. I heard lots of 'em but I never heard any that could have beat him. I can't see to save my life how they know so much about God's business and never have seen 'Im. He never did come down here and tell 'em nothin', and when a person goes there he never comes back. I don't know, myself! All this preachin' and goin' on is man's work, and so I don't know. I believe, though, there is a supreme bein' above us all, but Where? Who's seen 'Im? Nobody. And if they have, they ain't here. When one of the slaves would die they would bury 'im on the land there. Regular little cemetery set aside there. Oh, yes, they would have doctors for 'im, but you know lots of times doctors or no one else can save 'em. If any of the slaves died they would just tell some of the other slaves there to dig a grave and come back and take 'im on out there and bury 'im. They jes' put 'im in a box. No preachin' or nothin'. But of course if it was on Sunday the darkies would follow 'im out there and sing. No, if they didn't die on Sunday you couldn't go; you went to that field! Jes' talk about that if you dare! None of my old boss' old slaves never did run away from him. He hauled cotton to Mexico; his niggers, they would all come back. They would go on the other side of the river too, but they would come back. They could have run away, but they didn't do that. Now, it was jes' like this: Now, if you wanted to go to that other plantation you had to go get a pass to go over there and if you didn't get it and got caught, you got one of the worst whippin's you ever got. Oh, yes, they would slip off lots of times. Well, they never would know nothin, about anything, I don't suppose, but if anything happened on the other plantations and they wanted to let some of the others know about it, they would slip out at night and tell 'em. If some man had a plantation as close as that highway there, you had to go and get written authority to go there. Then it didn't matter who seen you. I don't 'member much about the fightin' or the battles they had, but I 'member when the master sent me off away from the settlement and the Indians would chase me so I had to run. We had to look out for our own selves. We never heard much about the fightin' or how it was goin'. When the war did fin'ly end, our old boss called us all up and had us to stand in abreast and he stood on the gallery and he read the verdict to them and said, Now, you can jes' work on if you want to and I'll treat you jes' like I always did. I guess when he said that they knew what that meant.  Uncle Aus laughed.  The' wasn't but one family left with 'im; they stayed about two years after that. But the rest were just like birds! They jes' flew! I was with my father then and he hired me out. He hired me to a man named Riley over on the Seco. I worked for 'im two years. I did most ever'thing  worked the field and was house rustler and farmer. I had to cut and haul wood, and I sure had to watch out for Indians. I would cut awhile and then I would listen. I would put my ear to the ground and I could hear 'em if they was any comin'. And sure 'nough, when I run, they'd always come in sight. Old Man Riley , he didn't believe I saw any Indians. I used to tell him not to put his horses out, but he didn't listen and he always lost his horses. But I had a good time there. He had a bunch of boys and he had some daughters too. Tobe and Dick , they died. The' was the Miller boys lived close there too. And George , he was killed and scalped by the Indians. I was with all them boys all the time. I learned to smoke and chew tobacco while I was working for Old Man Riley . They learned it to me. After I left Old Man Riley , I came to D'ennis (D'Hanis) and worked there. I worked on a church house they were building there. It was the first church they had in D'ennis. That was called 'Old Town' over there then. I went back over there while back (his son said it was a long time ago) and Johnny Ney , he taken me over there and showed me what was left of the church. They tore it down and moved most of it to the new town. After I got through with that (building the church), I came home to my mother and father and hired myself out then. I went out on ranches and worked for these men. I worked for my father a long time and was working for him freighting cotton to Eagle Pass. I used mules and horses to freight with, myself. I jes' hauled dry goods and groceries, like barrels of flour, whiskey and things like that. I met my wife down here on Black Creek. I freighted about two years after we married. I hauled from San Antonio to Del Rio, Uvalde, Brackett  everywhere. After I quit freighting, I settled down and went to farming about two miles west of here (Hondo). We had 'leven childern. I've got fourteen grandchildern and six great-grandchildern. I still have a place out there, but I live in town now with my daughter. I have had a long sick spell, but if I could get well enough, I would go back out there  but, my childern wouldn't let me. Well now, I'll tell you  we got married so long ago  but in them days anything would do. You see, these days they are so proud, but we were glad to have anything. I hardly remember how I was rigged up now. I had on a black suit. Pretty long shirt, longer than they have in these days and times, I know. I wore boots in those days and got married in boots. She (his wife) had on a white dress. In them days they didn't have any white shoes. Yes'm they had a dance. It was down here on Black Creek. Danced about half the night at her house. Two culled men played the fiddle. Just two fiddles was all they had. Eat? My God, we had everything to eat. Barbecued a calf and had a hog too. All kinds of cakes and pies. Drink?" He laughed heartily.  Why the men had whiskey to drink and the women drank coffee. We married about seven or eight o'clock in the evenin' at her house. I lived up here with my father then. I was workin' for him. My wife's name was Sarah Ann Brackins . I don't know how old I was, for, as I foretold you, I couldn't exactly say 'cause the niggers' ages got bu'nt up. Over yonder on the creek, they say it was a ghost. It was a moonlight night and it passed right by me and it never had no head on it a-tall. It almost breshed me. I kep' looking at it and it kept walking right by the side of me. Some people calls them spirits. But I shore saw that and I run like a good fellow. I was goin' out to the lot  it was in slavery times  and this person I met was coming up that way down toward the house and I kept looking at it and couldn't see no head to it. He come, meeting me, and passed me and I never said anything to him, but I sure did run. There was lots of them could see wonderful sights then. I have heard lots of noises at night, but that was the only ghost I ever saw. No, I never knowed nothin' about charms. Well, I've seen 'em carry a rabbit foot or a 'coon heel and claim it brought 'em good luck, but I never did. I seen a woman one time that was tricked, or what I'd call poisoned. It was a place on her leg and it was jes' the shape of these little old striped lizards runnin' aroun' now and it was in her leg. It was somethin' they called 'trickin' it' and a person that knowed how to trick you would put it there to make you suffer the balance of your days. It would go all about your leg clear to your hip and stay between the skin and the flesh. I don't know nothin' about nothin' like that. If I ever seen a man that could do that, I didn't know it, but I don't see how they can. They called it the devil's work by most of the people.