When de w'ite folks read de freedom paper I was 13 year old. I jos' lean up agin de porch, 'cause I didn' know den what it was all about. I war'nt bo'n in Texas, I was bo'n in Ketchi, but I was rais' in Manfiel'. Law, yes, I 'member de fight at Manfiel'. My ol' marster tuk all he niggers and lef' at night. Lef' us little ones; say de Yankees could git us effen day wan' to, 'cause we no good no way, and I wouldn' care if day did git us, Dey put us in a sugar hogshead and give us a spoon to scrape out de sugar. 'Bout de ol' plantation, I work a little w'ile in de fiel'. I didn' know den like I see now. Dese chillen bo'n wid no' sense now dan we was den. Dey was 'bout ten cullud folks on de place. My ol' marster name Bob Hollingsworth , but day call 'im Major, 'cause he was a major in de war, not de las' one, but de one way back yonder. Ol' missus work de little ones roun' de house and under de house and kep' ev'yt'ing clean as yo' has'. The ol' marster I thought was de meanes' man de Lawd ever made. Look like he cuse ev'y time he open he mouth. De neighbor w'ite folks, some good, some bad. My work was cleanin' up 'roun de house and nussin' de chillen. Only times I went to church when day tuk us long to min' de chillens. When de battle of Manfiel' was, we didn' git out much. When de Yankees was comin' to Gran' Cane, my w'ite folks dig a big pit and put der meat and flour and all in it and cover it over wid dirt and put wagon loads of pine straw over it. It was 'bout five or six mile to Manfield and 'bout 49 or 50 mile to Shreveport. My ol' marster tuk all he niggers and went off somewheres, day called it Texas, but I didn' know where. De ol'er ones farm. Day rais' ev'yt'ing dey could put in de groun', day did. My pa was kirrige (carriage) driver for my ol' missus. He was boss nigger fo' de cullud men when marster wasn't right dere. My father jis' stay dere. See, day free our people in July. Dat leave de whole crop standin' dere in de fiel'. Day had to stay dere and take care of de crop. After dat dey commence makin' contraks and bargins. I was 22 years ol' when I marry de fus' time. Both my husban's dead. I had 13 chillen in all.  De fus' time I went to church, missus tuk me and another gal to min' de chillen. I never heared a preacher befo'. I 'member how de preacher word de hymn: 'Come, ye sinners, po' and needy, Weak and wounded, sick and so'.' I couldn' understan' it, but now when I look down on it I sees it now. I believe us been here goin' on fo' year' right yere in dis house.

Rosa Green , 85 years old, was born at Ketchi, Louisiana, but as soon as she was old enough, became a housegirl on the plantation of her owner, Major "Bob" Hollingsworth at Mansfield, Louisiana. To the best of her recollection she was about 13 when the "freedom papers" were read. Rosa has had 13 children by her two husbands, both now deceased, and makes her home with her youngest daughter in Beaumont. Their unpainted house has only one room and is one of a dozen similarly unprepossessing structures bordering an alleyway off Pine street. In the midst of an otherwise barren yard, Rosa, a spry little figure, crowned with short, snow white "pigtails" of hair extending in every direction on her head, spends most of her time in tending her small flower beds and vegetable garden. She is talkative, and her memory seems quite active. W'en I's a li'l gal I uster b'long to ol' marster Bob Hollingsworth over close by Mansfiel', Lou'siana. My father he was a preacher, and his name was Dawson Adkins . My mudder name was Matilda , and dey bofe come from Alabama. I 'members dey uster pray in de chim'ly corner. Sometimes dey uster set 'roun' de chim'ly and sing. One of de songs dey uster sing go like dis: 'Set knee to knee and look in de place Hadn' you ruther be at home? Yes, Lawd. W'en de folks want to go to chu'ch dey hafter ax ol' marster and git a permit. I uster t'ink ol' marster de meanes' man in de worl'. Dey couldn' go to chu'ch or anyw'ere iffen dey didn' had a permit. It was 'bout ten mile' to de Bowman place w'ere de church was. Dat was close to Mansfiel, I 'members dat w'en I's a li'l chile my mammy uster sing to me. She uster sing, 'Oh, Susanna' and I uster like to hear dat song. But I can't tune dat song now to save my life. Dey uster tek care of de li'l chilluns. One t'ing dat give 'em lots of trubble was dem li'l t'ings w'at crawl 'roun' in yo' head dey call 'em head lice now but dey uster call 'em "boogers". Dey'd jis' hafter comb and comb, and eben den sometime' dey couldn' git 'em out. W'en dey jis' couldn' git 'em out dey hafter shave dey head, and w'en dey do dat dey warn't nuffin' to comb but jis' de bare skull. Lots of times dey bo' (bore) de chillen's ears. Dey stick a needle froo de bottom en' of de ear. Dey lef' de thread in de hole, den ev'ry now and den dey pull de string and it warn't long befo' it heal up. Den dey put dey earring in.

W'en de w'ite folks read de freedom paper I was 13 year' ol'. I jes' lean up ag'in de po'ch (porch) 'cause I didn' know den w'at it was all 'bout. I warn' bo'n in Texas, I was bo'n in Ketchi, but I was raise' in Mansfiel'. Law, yes, I 'members de fight at Mansfiel'. My ol' marsta tuk all he niggers and lef' at night. Lef' us little ones; say de Yankees could git us iffen dey want to, 'cause we no good no way, and I wouldn' care if dey did git us. Dey put us in a sugar hogshead and give us a spoon to scrape out de sugar. 'Bout de ol' plantation, I wuk a little w'ile in de fiel'. I didn' know den like I see now. Dese chillen bo'n wid mo' sense now dan we was den. Dey was 'bout ten cullud folks on de place. My ol' marster name' Bob Hollingsworth , but dey call 'im Major, 'cause he was a major in de war, not de las' one, but de one way back yonder. De ol' marster I t'ought was de meanes' man de Lawd ever made. Look like he cuss eb'ry time he open he mouf. De neighbor w'ite folks, some good, some bad. My wuk was cleanin' up roun' de house and nussin' de chillen. Only times I went to chu'ch was w'en dey tuk us 'long to min' de chillen. W'en de battle of Mansfiel' was on, we didn' git out much. W'en de Yankees was comin' to Gran' Cane, my w'ite folks dig a big pit and put de meat and flour and all in it, and kivver it over wid dirt and put wagon loads of pine straw over it. It was 'bout five or six mile' to Mansfiel' and 'bout 49 or 50 mile' to Shrevepo't. My ol' marster tuk all he niggers and went off somew'ers, dey call' it Texas, but I don' know w'er. De ol'er ones farm. Dey raise' eb'ryt'ing dey could put in de groun', dey did. My pa was kirrige (carriage) driver for my ol' missus. He was boss nigger for de cullud men w'en marster warn't right dere. My father jis' stay dere. See, dey free our people in July, dat leave de whole crop stan'in' dere in de fiel'. Dey had to stay dere and tek care of de crop. Atter dat dey commence' makin' contracks and bargins.

I was 22 year' ol' w'en I marry de fus' time. Bofe my husban's dead. I had 13 chillen in all. De fus' time I went to chu'ch, missus tuk me and anudder gal to min' de chillen. I never heard a preacher befo'. I 'member how de preacher word de hymn: 'Come, ye sinners, po' an' needy, Weak an' wounded, sick an' po'.' I couldn' understan' it, but now w'en I look down in it, I sees it now. I b'leeve us been here goin' on fo' year' right in dis house. I uster could run a car, and Lawd, how I'd git wid is. Dey didn' hab cars and dese t'ings w'at you hop 'roun' in, in dem day. De Lawd, He gimme good healt'. I ain't never been in bed sick two whole day' in my life. But, I's weak. Iffen dat room could talk it would witness me dat right now. Den my eyes ain't too good. You kin see clear, but I jis' kin 'zern (discern) you. My eyes are ol' for my glasses.