I was born Jan, 12th, 1855. My first owners was the Martins , and when their daughter, Mary , married, I was give to her. My mama lived to 112 years old. She had sixteen children. I was the baby. Missus Mary McFarland , my mother's missus and mine, taught us children with her own: Learned us how to read and write. She treated us just like we were her children. We had very strict leaders, my mother and Missus Mary . She'd say, 'Mary Lize (my mother), 'you'll have to come and whop Oscar and Hagar , they's fightin' Mammy Lize would say, 'No. I won't whop 'em, I'll just punish 'em.' And we'd have to stand with our backs to each other. My missus never did much whoppin'. We lived in cabins made of logs and chinked with mud mortar. We had beds that had only one leg; they fit in each corner of the walls. They was strong, stout. We could jump on 'em and have lots of fun. We didn' stay in quarters much. The cabins was near a creek where willows grew and we'd make stick horses out of 'em. We called it our horse lot. On the farm was a spring that threw water high, and we'd go fishing in a big lake on one corner of the form. Marster owned half a league, maybe more. I was 12 years old when freed. I can remember the way my marster come home from the war. The oldest son, Oscar , and I was out in the yard, and I saw marster first, comin' down the road, and I hollered and screamed, 'O, Oscar , Marse John's a-comin? Marse John's o-comin' home!' We stayed on with them 'till they all died off but Oscar . We never changed our name 'till after the Civil War. Then Marse John said, 'Mammy Lize, you gotta choose z name.' He carried us into Tyler to a bureau or something. Mammy Lize say, 'I'm going to keep the name McFarland . I ain't got no other name.'

My father was a slave from another farm. My mother was the cook. She cooked it all in the same place for white folks and us. We ate the same, when the white folks was finished. They's a big light bread oven in the yard of the big house and in front of the quarters, under a big tree. That one baked the pies. The cabins had a big fireplace a der than that piano there. They'd hang meat and sausage and dry them in the fireplace. Out holes in ham and hang them there. Had big hogsheads filled up with flour, corn and wheat. Some pore niggers were half starved. They belonged to other people. Missus Mary would call then in to feed 'em, see 'en outside the fence pickin' up scraps. They'd call out at night, 'Marse John , Marse John .' They's afraid to come in daytime. Marse John'd say, 'What's the matter now?' They'd say, 'I'se honery.' He'd say, 'Come in and git it.' He'd cure lots of meat, for we'd hear 'em hollerin' at night when they'd best the pore niggers for beggin' or stealin', or some crime. Marse John would saddle up Old Sharlie and go see. He had a big shot gun across his lap. We'd hear that ole bull whip just a poppin'. They'd turn 'end loose when Marse John got after 'em. He prosecuted some marsters for beatin' the slaves. He knew they was half feeding' 'em. One time he let us go see where they'd drug Charlieggers to death with, oxen. For steal in' or somethin'.

I can't say we were treated bad, 'cause I'd tell a story. I've always been treated good by whites, but many of the niggers was killed. They'd say bad words to the bosses and they'd shoot 'em. We'd ask Miss Mary why did they kill old Uncle so and so, and Miss Mary would say, 'I don't know. It's not right to say when you don't know.' I'm glad to see slavery over. When I was turned loose Miss Mary was training me and mister to do handwork, knittin' and such. Mama wouldn't let us dance, didn't want any rough children. Miss Mary 'd say, when I'd get sleepy. 'Owl eyes, ain't you sleepy?' I'd say, 'No, ma'am. anything you want us to do?' I cried to sleep in the big house with Miss Mary and the children. 'cause my sister Belle did. Said she's goin' to turn white 'cause she stayed with the white folks, and I wanted to turn white, too, Miss Mary 'd make our Sunday dresses. My mother put colored thread in woven material and they was pretty. We had plenty of clothes. Miss Mary saw to that. They paid my mother for every child she had that was big enough to work, and Marse John saw that others did the same. Some whites had a dark hole in the ground, a'dungeon,' they called it, to put their slaves in. They'd carry 'em bread and water once a day. I'se afraid of the hole, they'd tell me the devil was in that hole. We set traps for 'possum, coons and squirrels. We used to have big sport ridin' goats. One near busted me wide open. Miss Mary's brother put no on it, and they punished him good for it. He didn't get to play for a long time. And we had an old buck sheep. He'd keep Oscar and I up on the oak patch fence all the time. We'd watch the doodle bugs build their houses. We'd sing, 'Doodle, Doodle, your house burned down.' Those things would come up out of their holes just a shakin'. One game I remember was, 'Skip frog, Skip frog, Answer your Mother, she's callin' you, you, you.' We'd stand in a circle and one would be skip frog. We'd slap our hands and skip frog would be hoppin' just like frogs do. Oh, I wish I could call them times back again. I'd go back tomorrow. But I'm tryin' to live so I can meet 'em once again.

Hagar Lewis , tall and erect at 82 years of age, resides in a nicely furnished home at 4313 Rosa Street, El Paso, Texas. She was a slave of the Martin family and was given with her mother and family to Mary Martin when she was married to John M. McFarland . They lived near Tyler, in Smith County Texas. When freed she remained with the McFarland family until she married A. Lewis and went to live in San Antonio, Texas. Widowed early, she reared two sons of a family of four. One son, a chief electrical engineer with the United States Government service who lives in New York City. He provides for his aged mother.

I was born the 12th of January 1855. My mistress give me that number. My first owners was Martins , my mistresses father. She was a Martin when she married McFarland . I can remember the way my marster come home from the war. The oldest son Oscar McFarland and I was out in the yard and I saw him first, coming down the road and I hollered and screamed: "Oh Oscar, Marse John's a-comin! Marse John's a comin home". We was raised up together. My mama raised his mother. The mistress died and mama had to finish raising 'em. My mama was 112 years old. She had sixteen children. I was the baby. Mrs. Mary McFarland , my mothers mistress and mine, taught us children with her own. Taught us to read and learned us how to write. We belonged to Missus Mary . She treated us just like we were her children. She was given two slaves when she married Marse John . My mother and family, and a black man slave. Miss Mary didn't know any momma but Mammy Lize . Just three months old when her mother died.

We had very strict leaders. My mother and my mistress, Miss Mary . She'd say "Mammy Lize ", meaning my mother, "You'll have to come and whop Oscar and Hagar , they's fighting". Mammy Lize would say, "No I won't whop 'em, I'll just finish 'em". And we'd have to stand with our backs to each other. Couldn't make faces at each other like we wanted to. My mistress never did much whopping. Mama did the whopping. My mistress Miss Mary's in Heaven. There was sure some screaming when she left us. We lived in cabins made of logs and chinked with mud mortar. We had beds that had only one leg; they fit in each corner of the walls. They was strong, stout. We could jump on 'em and have lots of fun. We didn't stay in quarters much. The cabins were not far from a creek where willows grew and we'd make stick horses out of them. We called it 'our horse lot'. On my 'Whites' big farm was a spring that threw water very high. It was four miles from Tyler. We'd go fishing in the big lake on one corner of the farm. Marster owned half a leag maybe more. Those bubbling springs, just as cold as cold could be, would make your teeth ache. I want to go down there this summer and I'm going to wade around in there. I know its sweet and clean water. I'm going to tell 'em I want to get my feet wet once more in that sweet water, and then I'll come back home and go on to Heaven and see my Momma and my mistress, Miss Mary . I was twelve years old when freed. We stayed on with them until they all died off but Oscar . He has a big store in Tyler. I go to him when I can and he's so glad to see me. Our Marster's father was very cruel. They fell out before the war over the question. He'd say 'Niggers are all right if you treat em right, else that old Adam will crop out'. T

he old man McFarland give his son Marse John a boy and girl slave when he married. Ambrose and Lu. The boss married them. No wedding cake and stuff like that, but other food that was good. They'se married under a big oak tree. They took a picture, so's to keep a record of the number. We nevva change our name until after the Civil War. Then Marse John said, 'Mammy Lize , you got to choose a name'. He carried us into Tyler to a bureau or something. Mammy Lize say "I'm going to keep the name McFarland ". My father was a slave from another farm. My mother was the cook. They big cooking was done altogether. Mamma cooked it all in the same place for white folks and us. We ate the same. We ate when the white folks was finished. They's a big light bread oven in the yard of the big house and in front of the quarters, under a big tree. That one baked the pies. The cabins had a big fireplace wider than that piano there. They'd hang meat and sausage and dry them in the fireplace. Cut holes in hams and hang them there. Had big hogs heads filled up with flour, corn and wheat. Some pore niggahs were half starved. They belonged to other people. Miss Mary would call the niggahs in to feed 'em, see 'em outside the fence picking up scraps. Miss Mary's say its "nasty". Marse John say its "nasty". We'd say its "nasty". Thay'd call out at night, "Marse John ! Marse John !" They's afraid to come in daytime. Marse John'd say "What's the matter now Andrew or Jim," or some one's name. "I'se hongrey"; He'd say: "Come on in and git it". He'd cure lots of meat for we'd hear em hollerin at night when they'd beat the pore niggahs to death for begging or stealin', or some crime. Marse John would saddle up Old Charlie and go see. He had a big shot gun across his lap. We'd hear that ole bull whip just a poppin'. They'd turn em loose too. He prosecuted some marsters for beating the slaves. He knew they was half feedin em. One time he let us go see where they'd drug two niggahs to death with oxen, for some crime. Stealin' or something. I can't say we were treated bad, cause I'd tell a story. I've always been treated good by "whites". Many of the niggahs were killed. They'd say bad words to the bosses and they they'd shoot em. We'd ask Miss Mary why did they kill old Uncle, 'so and so', and Miss Mary would say "I don't know". It's not right to say when you don't know. I'm glad to see slavery over tho. Never had to beg in my life. I've always had some bread and meat. When I was turned loose Miss Mary was training me and mister to do hand work, knitting and such. She'd teach us our lessons in the evening in the big house. Mama wouldn't let us dance, didn't want any rough children. Miss Mary'd say when I'd get sleepy: "Owl eyes, ain't you sleepy?" She'd be teachin us at night. I'd say No Mam'm, anything you want us to do?" "I want you to go to bed". I cried to sleep in the big house with Miss Mary and the children 'cause my sister Belle did. Said she's goin to turn white cause she stayed with the white folks; and I wanted to turn white too.

Mama would fix me up to go with Miss Mary . I'd yell to go along. People come to visit her while her husband's at war. Miss Mary'd say "We're going to such and such a place. Big eyes want to go along? She'd make our Sunday dresses. My mother put colored thread in woven material and they was pretty. We had plenty of clothes. Miss Mary saw to that. She'd go over our hair if we played with other children. We didn't know very little about slavery. They paid my mother for every child she had that was big enough to work, and Marse John saw that the community did the same. My marster lived to way after freedom. He was a smart man. He's in Heaven today. Some Whites had a dark hole in the ground, a dungeon they called it, to put their slaves in. They'd carry 'em bread and water once a day. I'se afraid of the hole; they'd tell me the devil was in that hole. We set traps for 'possom, coons and squirrels. We used to have big sport ridin goats. One near busted me wide open. Ise afraid to this day of goats. Miss Mary's brother put me on it, they punished him good for it. He didn't get to play for a long time. An we had an old buck sheep. He'd keep Oscar and I up on the oak patch fence all the time. Ah, them's cruel things, them old sheep is. We played all time. We'd watch the doodle bugs build their houses. We'd sing 'Doodle, Doodle, your house burned down'. That thing would come up out of their holes just a shakin. One game I remember was: - 'Skip frog, skip frog, answer your mother, she is calling you, you, you.' We'd stand in a circle and one would be skip frog. We'd slap our hands and skip frog would be hoppin just like frogs do. Oh I wish I could call them times back again. I'd go back tomorrow. But I'm trying to live so I can meet em on