When I's a gal, I's Rosina Slaughter , but folks call me Zina . Yes,sar It am Zina dat and Zina dis. I says I's born April 9, 1959, but I 'lieve I's older. It was somewhere in Williamson County, but I don't know the massa's name. My mammy was Lusanne Slaughter and she was stout but in her last days she got to be a li'l bit of a woman. She died only last spring and she was a hunerd eleven years old. Pepa was a Baptist preacher to de day of he death. He had asthma all his days. I 'member how he had de sorrel hoss and would ride off and preach under some arber bush. I rid with him on he hoss. First thing I 'member is us was bought by Massa Col. Pratt Washington from Massa Lank Miner . Massa Washington was purty good man. He boys, George and John Henry , was de only overseers. Dom boys treat us nice. Massa allus rid up on he hoss after dinner time. He hoss was a bay, call Sank. De fields was in de bottoms of de Colorado River. De big house was on de hill and us could see him comin'. He weared a tall, beaver hat allus. De reason us allus watch for him am dat he boy, George , try larn us our A B C's in de field. De workers watch for massa and when dey seed him a-ridin' down de hill dey starts singin' out, 'Ole hawg 'round de beach  Ole hawg 'round de bench.' Dat de signal and den everybody starts workin' like dey have something after don. But I's too young to larn much in de field and I can't read today and have to make de cross when I signs for my name.

Each chile have he own weed tray. Dere was old Aunt Alice and she done all de cookin' for de chillen in de depot. Dat what dey calls de place all de chillen stays till dere mammies come home from de field. Aunt Alice have de big pot to cook in, out in de yard. Some days we had beans and some day peas. She put great hunks of salt bacon in de pet, and bake plenty cornbread, and give us plenty milk. Some big chillen have to pick cotton. Old Junus was de cullud overseer for de chillen and he sure mean to dem. He carry a stick and use it, too. One day de blue-bellies come to de fields. Dey Yankee sojers, and tell de slaves dey free. Some stayed and some left. Papa took us and move to de Craft plantation, not far 'way, and farm dere. I been married three time. First to Peter Collinsworth . I quit him. Second to George Heard . We stayed togedder till he die, and have five chillen. Den I marries he brother, Jim Heard . I tells you de truth, Jim never did work much. He'd go fishin' and chop wood by de days, but not many days. He suffered with de piles. I done de housework and look after de chillen and den go out and pick two hunerd pound cotton a day. I was a cripple since one of my boys birthed. I git de rheumatis' and my knees hurt as much sometime I rub wed sand and mud on dem to case de pain. We had a house at Barton Springs with two rooms, one log and one box. I never did like it up dere and I told Jim I's gwine. I did, but he come and get me. Since freedom I's been through de toughs. I had to do de man's work, drop down trees and plow de fields and pick cotton. I want to tell you how glad I is to git my pension. It is sure nice of de folks to take care of me in my old age. Befo' I got de pension I had a hard time. You can she' say I's been through de toughs.

Rosina Heard , 78, was born a slave on April 9, 1859. She does not remember on whose plantation she was born, but does know that she and her parents, Alec and Lusanne Slaughter , were purchased by Colonel Pratt Washington from Lank Miner . The Washington plantation was located near Garfield, Travis County. Rosina has been married three times, to: Peter Collingsworth , George Hoard and then to his brother, Jim Hoard . She had six children, of which three are still living. Rosina , who is a very pleasant and sincere person, says she has had a "tough" life since she has been free. She receives a monthly pension of fourteen dollars from the State. Her address is 1301 Chestnut Street, Austin.

When I was a girl, I was Rosina Slaughter , but folks called me Zina . It was Zina dis and Zina dat. I was bawn on April 9, 1859. But, I believe dat I'se is older. But, den de folks say dat I'se seventy-eight years old. I'm right to keep it day way, ain't I? I was bawn up in Williamson County, but I don't remembah de mawster's name. My mammy was Lusanne Slaughter . Mammy was stout in her early days, but in her last days, she got to be a little bit of a woman. Why, she died only dis spring, and she was one hundred eleven years old. She could git around to de very last. Last year, she went to a funeral and could git around. It was her son's funeral, Frank , and I remembah how she said dat she wasn't goin' to grieve, 'cause she was goin' soon, too. Papa was a Baptist preachah. He was a preachah to de day ob his death. Papa had asthma all ob his days, and he preached through all ob dat. When he died his hair was all white lak cotton. I remembah how later in years papa had a sorrel hoss, and he would ride off and go and preach under some brush arbor. Yo' know dat we didn't hardly know whut a chu'ch was. Many was de time dat I rode wid papa on his hoss. My papa and mammy belonged to a lot ob different people, and I reckon dat's where dey got de name ob Slaughter . Yo' know how people done in dem days. Slaves was sold,-jes' sold lak cattle jes' put on a block and sold. I know dat my parents was bought by Mawster Pratt Washington f'om a man by de name ob Lank Miner .

Mawster Washington was a putty good man, and he never had no real overseer fo' de older slaves. His two young boys, George and John Henry , was our only overseers. Dey was jes' boys. Heap ob folks won't tell yo' de truth, 'cause dey is now free, but I want to tell yo' dat dem boys treated us nice. Dey sure did. Dere was de one time when trubble stahted, John Henry wanted to whoop papa fo' doin' somethin' he shouldn't ob done, and dey got to fightin'. Papa had a old musket and he up and run to de woods and hid out. He'd come out at night, and we'd feed him. Mammy would give him enough food to last him till de next night. I reckon dat he stayed out about a week, and Colonel Washington , dat was de mawster, told some ob de hands dat if dey saw papa, he was to come on home, and dat he wasn't goin' to git no punishment. One day de hands was out in de fields and papa slipped in among 'em. Mawster Washington always rode up on his hoss after dinner time. His hoss was a bay and was named Sank. De fields was in de bottoms near de Colorado River. De "big house" was on a big hill, and we could see him comin' to de fields. Mawster Washington wore a tall beaver hat, and dat is about de only kind ob hat dat he wore. De reason we was always on de watch fo' de Colonel was 'cause ob somethin' dat always took place in de fields. De mawster never did care if we held night school in our cabins, but when we was in de fields, he wanted us to work. But George , his boy, when out in de field would try to learn us our A B C's, right out in de fields. Mawster George would take a blue back speller and learn us. De workers would watch out fo' de comin' ob Mawster Pratt Washington , and when dey saw him a ridin' down de hill toward de fields, dey would staht singin' out Ole hog 'round de bench Ole hog 'round de bench!" : Dat was de signal, and den dey would staht workin' lak dey had been workin' hard all ob de time. But I was too young to learn much, and I kain't read today, and I even have to make a cross when I sign fo' my name. I never did git to go to no public schools. My mammy had two boys and two girls. I was de oldest ob de chillun, so I had to act as dere nuss. We was jes' kids and we'd git together and have fights. We'd sure fight. We'd fight wid de other chillun. I'd most ginerally whoop de others whut bothered us. Sometines a big boy would beat me up but de next day I would git de best ob him in some way. I'd go and hide his wooden tray wid his dinner on it. Yo' know dat while de mothaws was out workin' in de fields, dere chillun was kept in a big place dat was called de depot. Here all ob de chillun had to stay. Dere was a big yard where dey could play in. Dis is where all de fightin' took place. Dere was some mighty fightin' sometimes. De chillun all jes' got together and played ring games. It was jes' mostly dat we'd run around. We'd ride stick hosses dat we made oursefs we'd run and stand on our heads--we'd run foot races--and we'd dance 'round and 'round. Each child had his own wooden tray. Dere was old Aunt Alice , I can see her jes' lak it was yesterday, a sort of tall and settled woman, dat done all of de cookin' fo' de chillun in de depot. Aunt Alice was good to us, and she never did whoop none ob us. She unnerstood chillun. Aunt Alice had a big black pot to cook in. Dis pot stood out in de yard. Some days we had beans and other days we had peas. She put great hunks ob bacon in dem beans and peas. Dis sure tasted good. She would bake plenty ob cownbread. She would give us plenty ob milk to drink. We sure had enough to eat. At dinner time, mammy would come over de hill and call to me to bring de baby. I would take de baby to her and she'd let it nuss. After the baby was through nussin', I'd take her back to de depot. Some ob de oldest chillun had to git out and pick cotton. Dere was ole Junus , he was a colored overseer jes' fo' de chillun, and he sure was mean to 'em. When ole Junus wanted de chillun to work faster, he would call out- Hoo-ray, there! Hoo-ray, there Ole Junus carried a stick and a whoop. Yo' see, he was kind ob lame, and he had to use a stick. Sometimes, he would use dat stick on de chillun. Sometimes, I had to go to de fields and ole Junus was so mean to us, dat I run away and stahted fo' de big house with Junus a hollerin' "catch dat Zina , Catch dat Zina ! A lot ob times I'd meet one ob de Washington boys a-comin' to de fields and he look at me and say,  Zina whut's wrong wid yo'?" I'd hold my hand to my head and moan,  Oh mawster Washington , I'se got a bad headache. He'd say,  all right yo' go on up to de house and git some medicine f'om Aunt Tildy .

Colonel Washington had a colored nuss fo' us, too. She was Aunt Tildy , and we called her de  medicine woman.  Us folks on de Washington plantation didn't need no passes, 'cause one ob de mawster's boys would always go along wid de slaves, when dey went visitin' or to a dance on de next plantation. One day I remembah seein' de "blue bellies" a goin' over de fields. Dey was de yankee soldiers. Den all ob de slaves got to sayin',  We is free we is now free. De "blue bellies" done told us dat we is free! I know dat de slaves was glad to be free, 'cause I know how dey could stay or dey could leave. Some ob de folks stayed and some ob de folks left. Papa took his fambly away and we moved down to de Craft plantation, not fur away. Papa stahted to fahmin' on de halfs. We had our own little log cabin. Most ob de slaves, when dey was turned loose, stahted to fahmin'. I'se been married three times, and I was still in my teens, when I got married de first time. My first husband's name was Peter Collinsworth . He was a fahmer in dis county. We had one boy, Jimmy . Me and Peter didn't live together fo' very long. I quit him. I don't remembah none ob de dates or years when all dat took place. Jimmy died when he was a little boy. My second husband was George Hoard . He was a fahmer, too. George moved on up here to Austin, where he got a job as a ditch digger fo' de city. We stayed together till he died. Dat's been a long time ago. George and me had five chillun. Two ob 'em died when dey was babies. Three boys is still livin': Sherman , George and Alec . Why Sherman , de oldest boy, is already fifty three years old. Den I up and married George's brothah, Jim Hoard . I'se goin' to tell yo' de truth, dat Jim never did work much. Sometimes he'd go fishin', den he'd chop wood by de day, and he'd chop and pick cotton. Ob 'course he wasn't in de best ob health. He suffered wid de piles. Me and de chillun would go along and pick cotton. I had my house work and de cookin' to do and to look after de chillun, but I'd go out and still pick my two hunnert pounds ob cotton a day. I was a cripple, too, ever since de birth ob one of my boys. And den I was crippled wid de rheumatism. I couldn't bend on my knees and pick cotton, 'cause I couldn't git up again. My knees hurt so much sometimes dat after a rain I rubbed wet sand and mud over my knees because I thought dat would ease de pain. We had a home up near de ole Rabb place up at Barton Springs, at Austin. We rented f'om de Rabbs . Our house had only two rooms, one log and one box. One day in April, 1900, I believe it was, my four year old boy, George , come a runnin' to de house and shouted: Mamma de water is after me--Mamma, de water is after me!. I said,  aw, he's jes' tryin' to scare somebody, but I went out to look and sure enough, de water was racin' right after him. It was muddy and reddish and it was backin' up Barton Springs. Den somebody told us dat de Austin dam had busted dat day. I never did like it up dere in dem mountains, 'cause dere was a laghe scorpion lak lizard up dere dat was full ob poison, and his bite was supposed to kill yo'. I didnt lak dat, so I told Jim dat I was leavin'. He says,  Well if yo' kain't stay where I is, yo' can go back to your folks. I told him dat I was leavin'. I did. But he come down dere and got us again, and we moved to my uncle Frank Hall's place near Crafield, Travis County. I ain't no good at figurin' or at keepin' time now since Jim died. Since we've been free, I'se been through de toughs. After I got married, I went through de toughs. After slavery I had to do de work dat many a man had to do: chopped down trees on rainy days, plowed de fields on good days wid hosses and oxen, and done plenty ob field work. When Jim died I had to go out and chop cotton, pick cotton and wash clothes. When I was a young girl I heard tell about dem Ku Klux Klan, but I never seen one in my whole life. Dey never did come around and bother us. But hoss thieves bothered us durin' dem early days. I remembah how papa had a fine hoss, and he had to tie him to a tree near de house at night, where he had tied two goodsized yard dogs. And now I want to tell yo' how glad I is to git my pension. It is sure nice ob de folks to take care ob me in my old age. Befo' I got dis pension I had to go out and work, and it cost me more to git well again dan I made at working. Yo' kin sure say dat I'se been through de toughs.