Thomas Johns ' statement is as follows: I was born April 18, 1847, in Chambers County, Alabama. I belonged to Colonel Robert Johns , who came to Alabama from Virginia. He owned between thirty and thirty-five slaves. We was well treated. We had the same food de white folks did, and we was well fed, didn't none of us go hungry. Colonel Johns didn't have his niggers whipped neither. We done a good day's wuk, but didn't have to wuk after night 'less it was necessary. We was allowed to stop wuk at 12 o'clock and have our lunch and some time for rest before goin' back to wuk. Other slave owners roun' our place wuzn't as good to deir slaves. Dey would wuk 'em hard and half starve 'em, and some de masters, or deir overseers, would whip deir niggers pretty hard, sometimes whip 'em to death. Dey would tell a nigger he had to pick so much cotton, say two hun'erd poun's in a day. Well when de cotton fir's open and hadn't dried out a man could pick two hun'erd poun's ever' day, but when de cotton had had time to dry out and course didn' weigh so much he maybe couldn' pick his two hun'erd poun's, or whatever de 'mount was set for him to pick; and den dey'd beat him 'cause he didn' pick what dey tol' him to. After de cotton was ginned it had to be baled, and dey would make deir niggers wuk right on frum de time it got too dark to see how to pick cotton without no supper balin' cotton even if it tuk till four o'clock in de mornin'. Dey jus' had horse gins den, and de people had to bale de cotton demselves. Dey raised hemp for rope to tie up the bales, didn't have steel hoops like dey has now. Lots of deir slaves would run away, and deir was one man kept bloodhoun's to hire to run de niggers down. Many's de time we heard dem houn's trailin' some runaway slave.

Several of de owners roun' us had more slaves dan Colonel Johns . One had eighty, 'nother one hun'erd or more, 'nother one had 'bout two hun'erd and fifty. A man named Todd had a big bunch of slaves, and he was mean to 'em. A man sol' Todd two big niggers which was brothers. They was so near white you couldn' hardly tell 'em frum a white man. Some people thought the man what sol' 'em to Todd was deir daddy. De men tol' Todd de two niggers would wuk good, and dey hadn' never been whipped and dey wouldn' stan' for bein' whipped. Todd tuk 'em, an' dey wukked good. One mornin' de two niggers was wukkin' in de horse and cow pens rakin' 'em up, and Todd come up to de brothers an' tol' de ol'est one to take his shirt off. De nigger say "Master, what you want me to take my shirt off for?" Todd say, "I tol' you to take your shirt off," De nigger say, "Master, I aint never tuk my shirt off for no man." Todd run in de house and got his gun and come back and shot de nigger dead. His brother fell down by him where he lay on de groun', and Todd run back in de house to load his gun again; it bein' a single-shot. Todd's wife and son grabbed him, and dey had all dey could do to keep him frum comin' out and killin' de other nigger, he was so mad. One day durin' de war we saw bunch of men on black horses comin'. Dey was some Yankee soldiers. William Johns , one of Colonel Johns ' sons, was in de house sick; he wuzn' much but skin and bones. When de Yankees lef' he was dead. I dohnno if dey killed him or if he died frum being excited 'cause de was dere. Dey didn' do much damage 'cept to burn up all de corn we had, and dey foun' and tuk some money what was hid on de place, but dey give my mother thirty dollars for cookin' for 'em. Colonel Johns and his wife had twelve children, and my mother had twelve, so one of us was to go to each of de white childern. I fell to one of de sons who was a doctor, and who had gone to Burleson county, Texas. When he come back to visit de folks and git me to take me to Texas with him, I was 'bout ten or twelve years ol'. He tuk me downtown and bought me a new suit of clothes and a hat and other things and a pair of red top boots with brass toes, and I sho' was feelin' mighty proud of myself. When we got back to de house I went in de kitchen where my mother, who was de cook for de fam'ly, was cookin' dinner, and showed her my new clothes and tol' her I was goin' to Texas with the doctor. She said, "Tom , is you goin' all de way to Texas, and leave de only mother you got and maby never see her agin?" I hadn't thought of that, and I felt like I couldn' go off and leave my mother. So I went in de room where de doctor was talkin' with his father, an I crawled up on his lap, an' I say, "Doctor, I ain't goin' with you to Texas and leave de only mother I got. I jus' cain' do dat." He say, "Well, you little rascal, whyn' you think of dat before I bought you all dese new clothes." So he lef' me with my mother and didn' take me to Texas. After de war was over; I was grown den; I come to Texas, an' I saw de doctor. I got me a job, but I got right sick, and I called for de doctor, and he come and give me some medicine, and I got a little better. He tuk a notion I oughter chew some tobacco, thought I ain' never chewed none in my whole life before. He sent to town and got some tobacco, and I tuk one chew, and I got so sick he had to say right with me for two weeks to git me well. Well, I thought I would owe him 'about two hun'erd and fifty dollars. I said, "Doctor, how much I owe you?" He laughed and said "Not a cent, Tom . You is still my nigger, and you don' owe me a cent." I said, "Why doctor, I was set free after de war, and I got a job, an' I can pay you." He said, "Don't care if you was set free, Tom , you is still my nigger, an' when I git to where I cain' go, I want you to come and say with me." I said, "I sho' will, doctor. I'll come frum wherever I is when I gits de word you wants me." I was wukkin' for de doctor's nephew drivin' a team of oxen haulin' freight for seventy-five dollars a month, and de road I traveled run by de doctor's place 'bout three-quarters of a mile frum his house.

One day as I was goin' by de doctor's place Nancy , de nigger woman which kep' house for de doctor, was waitin' inside de fence, and she called to me, an' said. "Tom , de doctor is down in bed. He's bad off. He don' know nuthin'." I jumped out of dat wagin 'thout even stoppin' my team, and threw my whip on de groun' and run and jumped over de ten-foot fence and didn' stop runnin' till I got to de house and to de doctor. He didn' know me. I got a tub of hot water ready and give him a bath an' put clean clothes on him, and sent for his nephew and a doctor, an' we got him roun' so dat he was sorter better, but he hardly knowed us. He was married to his second wife, and Nancy said de doctor and her didn' git along very well together, and one day when dey was havin' a fuss de wife hit de doctor over de haid with a pair of fire tongs. Dat was sometime before, and it didn' seem to hurt him much, but I reckon it helped bring on this spell I'm speakin' of, which he had when he was sixty-five years old. I was with him de whole two weeks he lived after de spell started, and died in my arms, and I'm proud I got to be with him and take care of him. His wife, who was livin' in 'nother part of de twelve-room house, never come 'bout him durin' de two weeks he lived after de spell hit him. I'se gone hungry, in fac' I'm sorter hungry now, but I never stole nuthin', an' I never been in jail. De Yankees tol' us niggers when dey freed us after de war dat dey would give each one of us forty acres of land and a mule. De nearest I'se ever come to dat, to bein' give sumpin' by de Gov'nment, is de pension of 'leven dollars I gits now. But I'se jus' as thankful for dat as I kin be, in fac' I don' see how I could be any more thankful if it was a hun'erd and 'leven dollars. A man tol' me dat a nigger woman which had wukked for his wife tol' 'em dat she had had such a hard time she would ruther be slave den free. Well, I think, but I might be wrong, anybody which says that is jus' tellin' a lie. Dere is sumpin' 'bout bein' free and not havin' to do jus' like some other man tells you dat makes up for all de hardships. I'se been both slave and free, and I knows. Course while I was a slave I didn' have no responsibility, didn' have to worry 'bout where sumpin' to eat and wear and a place to sleep was comin' from, but dat don' make up for bein' free.

My mother was born and raised in slavery in Virginia, and she married and she and her husban' had a little girl, and my mother and de little girl was sol' away from her husban' and brought to Alabama. My father was born and raised in Africa, and he married dere and him and his wife had a little girl, and him and de little girl was sol' away from his wife and brought to dis country. I was born of his and my mothers marriage. I usually tended to de cattle and sheep, but I could take raw cotton and card and spin it on a spinnin' wheel into thread, fine enough to be sewed with a needle. We woun' de thread on a broche, make like and about de size of an ice pick. De thread was den woun' on a reel about de size of de fore-wheel of a wagon. De reel would turn forty-eight times and then cluck (click). Dat was for dem to be able to tell w'en we was wukkin'. W'en de wheel clucked twelve times dat was one hank of thread or twelve cuts together. De hank was den put on a pair of windin' blades ready for the loom. De thread was den fastened to de walkin' bars and woun' on a larger spool, den it went to what was called a slay. De slays, dere was two of 'em, was about a yard long and six inches wide, and was made of two wooden pieces between which was placed strips of cane just far 'nough 'part for de thread to pass through. De slays was wukked with a treadle which wukked de slays up and down. As de slays wukked, a sickle, which was slim, roun' piece of wood, was passed back and forth through de thread in de slays, which wove de thread into cloth. A good weavin' woman could weave three or four yards of cloth a day, but it would sure keep her busy. Some of us couldn' weave, jus' didn' have de knack of it. My mother could weave wool cloth worth five dollars a yard. I never made any money while I was in slavery, but after I was free I wukked for a man what had married one of ol' mahster's daughters; plowed for him three days, and he paid me a dollar and a half in three fifty-cent pieces. I was about twenty years ol' when we were freed and I sure thought I was makin' money fas'. I was so proud of dat money dat I tuk it and almos' run all de way to town, and got my mammy and daddy some coffee and sugar. W'en de man paid me he said, "Tom , let me tell you somethin' to remember. W'en you goes to a man for wuk, you see if he's got well fed dogs. If dey ain't, don't you wuk for him, but if dey is fed good, den de man's all right to wuk for." I wukked roun' over Alabama and Georgy and Texas and I noticed dat nearly eve'y man what fed his dogs good was all right to wuk for, and de men what didn' was mean to wuk for. I never did forget him tellin' me dat, thou' it's been about seventy years since he tol' me.

My father's name was George and my mother's name was Nellie . My father was born in Africa. Him and two of his brothers and one sister was stole and brought to Savannah, Georgy, and' sol'. Dey was de childern of a chief of de Kiochi tribe (the name of the tribe is spelled phonetically by the writer from Tom's pronunciation). De way dey was stole, dey was asked to a dance on a ship which some white men had, and my aunt said it was early in de mornin' w'en dey foun' dey was away from de lan', and all dey could see was de stars and de water all 'roun'. She said she was a member of de file, tooth tribe of niggers. My father's teeth was so dat only de front ones met together when he closed his mouth. De back ones didn' set together. W'en his fron teeth was together, de back ones was 'part sorta like a V on its side. My mother said her mother was part Indian and part nigger. Her father was part white and part nigger, but he look about as white as a white man, but his hair was not so good as a white man's. My mother's hair was straight and black. My mother liked my father because he was very black. He was about six feet, two inches, and one of de stongest, hardest workin' men I ever see, and one of his brothers was too. It look like dey could jus' chop cotton all day widout stoppin'. My father was about eighty-seven years ol' w'en he died. My brothers' names was John , Jake and Dave . My sister's names was Ann , Katie , Judie and Easter . We was always well treated. We was called "John's free niggers", not dat we was free, of course, but 'cause we was well treated. Some folks 'roun' us was mean to deir slaves. Jesse Todd , whose place joined ours, had about five hunderd slaves, and he treated 'em mighty bad. He whipped some of 'em to death. Our mahster's place had five hunderd acres in it. We raised cotton, corn and some rice. We raised vegetables, and every sort of fruit dat would grow dere, a lot of it growin' wile. We et mostly hog meat, and I liked de shoulder of a hog better'n any other part. We had some beef and mutton, too, but not often. W'en we'd kill a beef w'd sen' some beef to all de neighbors, and w'en dey'd kill a beef dey'd sen' us some. Nobody ever thought of killin' a beef and not sen'in' de neighbors some of it. I never will forgit dat rice patch. It shore got me some lickin's. My daddy would tell me to watch de birds away from dat rice, and sometimes dey would get to it, and den I would get a lickin'. It jus' seem like de black-birds jus' set 'roun' and watched for dat rice to grow up where dey could get it. De groun' where de rice was planted was covered with water to about knee-deep. W'en de rice grew up above dat we would gather it by de handful and whack it off with a knife of sickle. Den we would cut down a big pine tree, about two feet across, and cut off a block of it at de bigges' en', and build a fire on it and burn it out. Den we would cut down into it and scrape and clean out all de char, and den put de rice in dere and beat and poun' it with a pes'le till we had de grain all beat out de heads. Den we would put it in a half-bushel measure and spread down a big sheet of cloth and hol' up de half-bushel and pour out de rice on de cloth, and de chaff and trash would blow away. We would usually raise 'nough rice on de patch to run us all de year. We wore some cotton clothes in de summer, but we was tol' dat wool clothes was better in dat country as it would help keep de heat out. In de winter, we wore wool clothes. We always had shoes. A shoemaker would come 'roun once a year and stay maybe thirty days makin' shoes for everybody on de place, den in about six months, he would come back and half-sole and make other repairs to de shoes. We made all our clothes on de place. We wove light wool cloth for summer and heavy for winter. Dere was plenty of wild game, toop possums, rabbits, turkey and so on. Dere was fish, too, in de creek.

Dere was about eight of us childern, black and white, ol' 'nough to be up and runnin' 'roun'. I was de ol'es, and I was de leader of de bunch. We would take little lines and hooks and catch fish in de creek, mostly little ones. De water was so clear you could see de little ones swimmin' 'roun', but de bigger fish dey'd hide down deeper under the ledges. We'd catch jus' a hunderd fish, dat's all. Den we'd take some lard; dere was always plenty of lard, and dey'd give us a gallon, maybe two gallons. We'd git de lard boilin' hot in a big roun' pan, den we'd put de fish in widout guttin' 'em, and dey'd cook till dey was like cracklin's. Den we'd put down a rag rug in de yard under a big mulberry tree and pore de fish out on dat and den eat 'em, and dey shore was good. Course, 'fore we'd put 'em in de hot lard, we'd kill 'em wid a fork; didn't take much to kill 'em. Dey was mostly cat, yellow cat and blue cat. My mahster and mist' is had twelve childern. De house dey lived in was Southern Colonial style, and had twelve rooms. I was born in dat house. De slaves had log cabins to live in. Mahster didn' have no overseer. He seed to de wuk, and my father was foreman. For awhile after ol' mahster died, which was in '62 or '63, I forget which now' we had a overseer named John Sewell . He stayed from February to up in de summer, I reckon. But he was mean. He whipped de childern, and my mother went and tol' Miss Lucy , Ol' mahster's ol'es daughter, who was dere; and she wrote and tol' Mahster William , ol' mahster's son, who was off in de war; dat Sewell was mean to de childern, and she didn't want him dere. Mahster William wrote back and tol' her Sewell would have to move on.

My mother give de childern, white or black, all de whippin's dey needed. Ol' mahster he drilled men for de army. De drill groun' was about a mile from our place. He had many as five hunderd men to drill sometimes, cavalry and foot soldiers. Dere would be about three or four hunderd cavalry horses dere. Ol' mahster's title was Colonel, Colonel Robert Johns . Ol' mahster was a dead shot wid a rifle. He had a rifle wid a extra long barrel. We childern we'd run in de house where he was sometimes, and if he was readin' and didn' want to be disturbed he'd take his cane and whack us and run us out, but if we saw a hawk circlin' 'roun', den we'n we run in and tol' ol' mahster dere was a hawk he'd grab his rifle and come out and shoot, down'd come dat hawk. I don't think I ever saw him miss. He could shoot squirrels in de highes' trees. Ol' mahster never beat his slaves, and he didn't sell 'em; didn' raise none to sell neither, but some of de owners did. If a owner had a big woman slave and she had a little man for her husban', and de owner had a big man slave, or another owner had a big man slave, den dey would make de woman's little husban' leave, and dey would make de woman let de big man be with her so's dere would be big childern, which dey could sell well. If de man and de woman refuse to be together, dey would get whipped hard, maybe whipped to death. Course hard whippin' made a slave hard to sell, maybe couldn' be sold, 'cause w'en a man went to buy a slave, he would make him strip naked and look him over for whip marks and other blemishes, jus' like dey would a horse. Course even if it did damage de sale of a slave to whip him, dey done it, 'cause dey figured 'kill a nigger, breed another kill a mule, buy another. One of my brothers had a chile by a woman on another farm, and Ol' mahster tried to buy it, but dey say, no, she never sell dat chile. It shore was a black little rascal. After we was freed we stayed on ol' mahster's place a long time, and my father finally bought a part of de ol' place and had him a farm. I come to Texas in 1874, and went back dere to the ol' country in 1883, and dey was mos' of 'em still 'roun' dere. I come back to Texas in January, 1884.

Thomas Johns , now ninety years old, is in fair health, of medium height, spare in build; and does not appear to be as old as he is by ten years or so. His hair is gray, but not white. His face does not have a wizened, shrivelled appearance as is often the case with members of the colored races. His skin is of an even, medium, dark brown. He seems to have possessed all his life an extraordinary power of observation, and what he has seen and heard have been recorded in an unusually clear, strong memory. He is able to tell of occurrences and to give description of places he saw even into the days of his boyhood, in almost minute detail. Born in slavery, he was about nineteen years of age when emancipation came. Owned by a humane master, who treated him and his fellow slaves well, Uncle Tom , as he is known, seems to feel no bitterness against the white race, though he knew of much cruelty endured by the slaves of other owners whose plantations adjoined that of Uncle Tom's master. He takes pleasure in recounting the events and describing the customs of slavery days as well as his experiences during the years after he became free. He seems particularly delighted at an opportunity to tell white people of those times, and speaks of occasions upon which white people have listened to him talk of his past as if proud of the attention given him. He is always respectful in his attitude towards members of the white race. He has been called upon a few times to address classes in the white schools upon the subject of slavery times. He has an intelligence much above that of the average negro, and which would even do credit to some ranks of the white race.

He pronounces well most of the words he uses, and seldom misplaces one as to meaning, even occasional "big" words. Quoting Uncle Tom : "All I knew of in de line of ghost stories or things like that was what happened to a sister of mine, my fourth youngest sister. She liked to wrap a sheet round her and go round scarin' folks. One day my father sent my brother to de blacksmith shop at our little town, Cuseta , to get some plowshares sharpened, and he couldn't get back home 'fore after dark. So my sister wrapped a bedsheet 'round her and went to field dat my brother would pass on his way back, De field was across a branch from home. Dis was in '66, de year after de war, and we had moved away from de ol' home place for dat year as it had been sol' to man name of Dick Autry . De richest man in dat country, said to be anyway, wanted us to work in his farm, so our daddy moved over there. After dat year, though, ol' master's ol'est daughter, Miss Lucy , wouldn't hear to us stayin' anywhere but on her farm. She had a big two-story house. Part of it was lumber, but two stories of it was made of split logs. Well, it was on de rich man's place we was livin' when dis happened to my sister. She set down in de corner of a ten-rail fence, and she saw my brother comin'. Den she saw somepin' white over in another corner of de fence, and it come up to her and it was wrapped in white. It said to her, so she tol' us, "You come here to sceer, and I come here to sceer, and we'll both just sit and sit." Well, my sister she lit out of there runnin'. She didn' look back to see if the thing was comin' after her or not. My brother, he was 'bout three hunderd yards from her when he saw her tear across de branch and off toward home; he tried to ketch her, she was runnin' so fast, 'fore she got home. When she got dere she was so scart and out of breath she couldn't talk so's she could tell us what happened to her till way 'long de next day. She never did scarin' nobody after dat. Nobody 'roun' dere ever owned up to scarin' her. She swore it was a ghost dat got after her, not a person. Dere was some folks said dat in a certain cemetery dey had seen at night a fire of logs with people settin' 'roun' it not saying nuthin', and dey took 'em to be ghosts. I never did see dat, but one time when my father was out huntin' and didn' come home till after dark, he come by dat cemetery, and he saw de fire. Said dere was some logs burnin', and some people was settin' 'roun' not sayin' nuthin'. He went up and passed by 'em, and dey didn't say anything to him, or to each other, jus' set dere. He said dey looked like real people and not ghosts.

My mother, my baby brother and myself was auctioned off once. After ol' master died dere was some debts, and some of de property had to be put up and sol', and de debtors, or some of em, wanted us three put up for auction. Dey didn't seem to want any of de slaves but us. But our white folks bought us in for fifty-five hunderd dollars. Dey wasn' goin' to let us get away from dem. I didn't get to see any others sol' den, as we was put on de block firs', and as soon as it was over for us my mother got in de buggy and brought us right home. But I saw some other auctions. Dey had a block dey called it, or a platform or a scaffold on which de slaves stood. W'en a buyer bid on a slave he took him to a room built for dat purpose and made him take off his clothes, and he examined him for broken bones, whip marks or other blemishes. Dere was traders; dey was called refugees, but dat ain't according to de usual meanin' of de word, or maybe dey was called referees, anyway it seems like refugees was what my mother and father said dey was called. Anyways, dey was slave traders, and dey would go through de country and buy up slaves, and take 'em along through de country and sell 'em. Dey would buy a slave, say, dat was not doin' so well, was sick maybe, and feed him up, and let him res' and take it easy, and put good clothes on him. Dey would get a slave like dat in poor condition for maybe two hunderd dollars, and sell him for two or three hunderd dollars more. Some of dese traders was mean to de slaves. Dey would fasten de slaves two by two to long chains, and march 'em through de country. Dere was jails for slaves De slaves didn' have a church. De white folks had one, and de slaves was allowed to have church after de white folks had had their services. Ol' mistis read de Bible to us. If de slaves wanted to go to de white folks' church when de white folks was havin' dere preachin' dey would let de negroes set in de back of de church. My favor-ite song was 'De Ol' Time Religion'. I kin sing dat song now, and bring folks up singin' or shoutin'. We liked to sing, too, 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot', and others. My mother's favor-ite song went like dis: We are climbin' Jacob's ladder, (repeated three times), '"For de work is mos' done.  Brother in Heaven just before you (repeated three times), for the work is mos' done.  Brethern, don't get weary, (repeated three times) for de work is mos' don. For baptizin' we almos' always sung, 'On Jordan's Stormy Bank I Stand". De white folks had a big Baptist church, and I was baptized dere. When de colored folks would hol' church dere I has seen fifty women throwin' demselves 'roun', and shoutin' and singin'.

Dere was a big pine thicket near de road to Cuseta, and I've seen at leas' five hunderd people in dat grove singin'. Dere wasn' no funeral songs. Dey didn' hol' funeral services for de slaves. But all dat died on our place, white or black, was buried in de same cemetery. We could hear soldiers singin' on de trains at Cuseta goin' to de war, from our place three miles away. I have seen soldiers dey had caught who was tryin' to run away from de war with dere guns run under dere knees and dere hands fastened to de guns. De slaves didn' go to school. I learned what I know 'bout readin' and writin' by jus' pickin' it up, mostly after we was 'mancipated. I was always watchin' things close and listenin' to what folks said, and I asked questions whenever I could. I got a good mem'ry. When I was 'bout fourteen years ol' I heard two men talkin' and I remember what dey said. One was a white man, well, so was de other. But de firs' one he was a good carpenter and woodworker. He could make most anything in the way of furniture and other things, and he had a shop at Cuseta, Alabama, our little town, 'bout three miles from ol' mahster's place. De post-office was in de back of dis man's shop, and he was de postmaster. He was a good man and a smart man, but was unlearnt. De other man come in one day when I was dere to get de mail, and he asked the carpenter how ol' he was, and he said, 'Well, I was born in Arkansas and I lived dere fifty years, and I moved to Texas and I lived dere fifty years, and den I went to Louisiana and I lived dere fifty years, and den I come here to Alabama and I have lived here fifty years'. De man what asked him his age laughed and says, 'Dat makes you two hundred years ol'.' De carpenter he think a little bit, and den he says, 'It's a damn' lie. I ain't dat ol'.' De other man went off laughin'. I tol' de folks 'bout it when I got home, and dey laughed. Well, I remember dat just as clear, and it happened over seventy years ago. Slaves was nearly all time runnin' 'way from mahsters what didn't treat 'em right. Sometimes de slaves runnin' 'way would slip by our place and we'd give 'em food. We didn't get to go 'roun' to other farms and visit much with other slaves. If we did it was mostly late at night, when de white folks was in dere house and didn' know what was goin' on. De white folks didn't stay out very late at night, and when dey went in at night dey had big bulldogs and other big dogs dey turned loose to guard de house, and dem dogs was bad to get mixed up with. I knowed of some run-away slaves what 'scovered a cave under one of de white folks' houses, and de slaves dug a tunnel from a big mulberry tree which was 'bout ten yards from de corner of de house to de cave, and dey lived in dat cave from 'bout fifteen years before 'mancipation to 'mancipation. De white folks didn' know nothin' 'bout 'em. De other niggers wouldn' tell on 'em. De white folks had a big white bulldog. He was so big a man could hardly lift him. He wouldn' do nothin' to de runaway slaves, but he wouldn' let no other niggers come 'roun' de house at night. De slaves in de cave stole chickens and turkeys, and de white folks would talk about it, but dey never did figger out 'bout dese slaves, and dey would wonder who was doin' de stealin'. De slaves when dey dug out the tunnel and dug out de cave to make it bigger would take de dirt and throw it in a runnin' stream so's it wouldn' be found. Dey wasn' 'scovered doin' de diggin' 'cause, as I said, de white folks wasn' out much at night, and den the other niggers on de place would watch and keep de runaway slaves warned 'bout what de white folks was doin'. When 'mancipation come and de slaves was all free de white folks what had been de meanes' to 'em treated 'em de bes', 'cause dey was 'fraid de slaves might do somepin' to 'em for vengeance. De wife of one of de owners what had owned a lot of slaves and was pretty mean to 'em said if she had knowed dat dey would be freed she would 'a' had 'em all killed. After de white overseer followed de slaves all day he was too tired to watch 'em after night, and he would put a nigger driver to see after 'em if dey had to work at night, and de nigger driver would be meaner to 'em dan de white man.