I was ten year old when freedom come and I'm the oldest slave what was born in Orange County still livin' there. They called Orange, Green Bluff at the first, then they call it Madison, and then they call it Orange. I used to live on Colonel Fountain Floyd's plantation on Lacey's River, 'bout 17 miles from here. They had 'bout forty hands big enough to pick cotton. My grandmother was with me, but not my mother, and my father, Ball , he belong to Locke and Thomas . We lived in houses with homemade furniture. Yes, they had rawhide chairs and whenever they kilt a beef they kep' the skin offen the head to make seat for chairs. Colonel Floyd he treat us good, as if he's us father or mother. No. we didn' suffer no 'buse, 'cause he didn' 'low it and he didn' do it hisself. Parson Pipkin , he come 'round and preach to the white folks and sometimes he preach extry to the cullud quarters. Some of the cullud folks could read the hymns. Young missus, she larn 'em. They sing. Jerdon ribber so still and col', Let's go down to Jerdon. Go down, go down, Let's go down to Jerdon.

Every man had a book what carried his own niggers' names. The niggers' names was on the white folks church book with the white folks names and them books was like tax books. The tax collector, he come 'round and say, 'How many li'l darkies you got?' and then he put it down in the 'cessment book. Folks had good times Christmas. Dancin' and big dinner. They give 'em two or three day holiday then. They give Christmas gif', maybe a pair stockin's or sugar candy. The whitefolks kill turkey and set table for the slaves with everything like they have, bread and biscuit and cake and po'k and baked turkey and chicken and sich. They cook in a skillet and spider. The cullud folks make hoe cake and ash cake and cracklin' bread and they used to sing, 'My baby love shortenin' bread.' When a hand die they all stop work the nex' day after he die and they blow the horn and old Uncle Bob , he pray and sing songs. They have a wake the night he die and come from all 'round and set up with the corpse all night. They make the coffin on the place and have two hands dig a grave. The way they done when 'mancipation come, they call up at twelve o'clock in June, 1865, right out there in Duncan Wood, 'twixt the old field and Beaumont. They call my mother, who done come to live there. They say, 'Now, listen, you and your chillen don' 'long to me now. You kin stay till Christmas if you wants. So mother she stay but at Christmas her husban' come and they all go but me. I was the las' nigger to stay after freedom come, and the marster and I'd would go huntin and fishin' in the Neches River. We ate raccoon then and rabbit and keep the rabbit foot for luck, jus' the first joint. The 'Toby' what we call it, and if we didn' have no 'Toby( we couldn' git no rabbit nex' time we goes huntin'.

As small and birdlike as his wife, though less spry, Andrew Moody is an intelligent, slender negro, in his early eighties. Seated on the vine shaded porch of his own home, he is barefooted and comfortably clad in a clean blue shirt and blue trousers supported by worn suspenders. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hands tremble, more with excitement than age, however. An ever present cane lies within easy reach of his thin, expressive hand. Andrew is said to be the oldest ex-slave born in Orange county still living there. He was once the property of Colonel Fountain Floyd on a plantation some 17 miles from the present city of Orange. I was ten year' ol' w'en freedom come. I's de ol'es' slave w'at was bo'n in Orange County still livin' dere. Dey call Orange, Green Bluff at d' fus' den dey call' it Madison 'n' den dey call it Orange. I uster live on Cunnel Fountain Floyd ' plantation on Lacey's River, 'bout 17 mile' from yere. I guess dey was 250 acres clear 'n' de res' in marsh. Dey had 'bout 40 han's big nuf' t' pick cotton. Dey sell my gran'mudder but dey didn' sell my mudder. Ball, he was my father he b'long t' Locke 'n' Thomas . We live in dog houses. Dey had home made furnichure in 'um. Yes, dey had rawhide chairs. W'enever dey kill' a beef dey keep de skin offn' de haid (head) t' mek seat fo' de chairs. I 'member plowin' at nine year' ol' jus' a year' 'fore 'mancipation w'en dey put me t' plowin'. I seen de Confederick camp w'ere Po'te Neches is now in Jeff'son county. My young marster he was in de Civil War. Dey was t'ree de Floyd boys in de war. Dey was 'Lonzo , 'n' Carl , 'n' Ben . Dey didn' stay yere but dey went 'way off. 'Lonzo he git kill' in de battle 'r' Mansfiel'. I never see no Yankee sojers 'til atter freedom come. Den dey come ovah from Beaumont t' see if d' w'ite folks t'un de slaves a-loose. Cunnel Floyd he treat us good as if he's us father 'r' mother. No we didn' suffer no 'buse. No suh, he didn' 'low it 'n' he didn' do it hisse'f.. Parson Pipkin (the first resident minister in Beaumont) he come 'roun' 'n' preach t' de w'ite folks. Atter he preach t' de w'ite folks sometime' he preach extry in de cullud quarters.

He allus preach t' de cullud folks onct a mont'. Dey sing 'Amazin' Grace,' 'n' 'O Ship 'r' Zion' mos'. Some 'r' de cullud folks could read de hymns in de hymn book. Young mistus she learn 'em. Dey uster sing hymns de cullud folks mek. Dey sing: 'Jerd'n ribber so still 'n' col', Le's go down t' Jerd'n. Go down, go down, Le's go down t' Jerd'n.' Ev'ry man had a book w'at carried his own niggers' names. De niggers' names was on de w'ite folks chu'ch book wid de w'ite folks' names. Dem books was like de tax books. De tax c'leckter he come 'roun' 'n' say, 'How many li'l darkies y' got?' 'n' den he it down in de 'cessment book. Some folks uster try t' scare us 'bout speerits 'n' dead people comin' back. I don' b'leeve it, 'n' 'bout de Debbil gwinte come ketch yer. Folks had good times Crissmus. Dey had dancin' 'n' big dinner. Dey give 'um two 'r' t'ree day hol'day den. If Crissmus come on Sunday dey give 'em Monday 'n' Thusday hol'day too. Dey give us some Crissmus gif' too. Maybe a pair 'r' stockin's 'n' a stick 'r' sugah candy. De w'ite folks kill turkey 'n' set table fo' de slaves wid ev'yt'in like dey hab on dey own table. Dey have plate, 'n' bread, 'n' biskit, 'n' cake, 'n' po'ke, 'n' bake' turkey, 'n' chicken 'n' sich. Dey cook in a skillick 'n' spider. Dey mek hoe cake 'n' ash cake 'n' cracklin' bread. Dey uster sing 'My baby lub shortenin' bread. I is de ol'es' black man livin' bo'n in Orange. I was bo'n in 1855 on a Janawerry de fus' day, on a Sunday mornin'. De marster he come down 'n' name' me Andrew Jackson . I allus ten' t' my bus'ness. I never fight 'r' in law. Dey never tu'n me down co'se I never ax fo' w'at I didn' want 'r' need. De way dey done w'en 'Mancipation come dey call up at twel' o'clock in June 1865 right out dere in Duncan' Wood twixt de ol fiel' 'n' Beaumont. Dey call my mother.

She have five chillun. Dey call 'er Betty . Her name was 'Lisbeth . Dey say, 'Betty , you all come up yere. Now lissen, you 'n' yo' chillern don' b'long t' me no mo' now. You b'long t' yo' husban', Bob Thomas . You kin stay 'til Crissmus if you wanter 'n' if you wanter stay wid de chillern all night.' So mother she stay 'til Crissmus come 'n' den father he come wid a wagon 'n' tuk 'em t' his marster's. W'en a han' die dey all stop wuk de nex' day atter he die. Dey blow de ho'n (horn) 'bout dis time in de atternoon. Ol' Uncle Bob he was a good Meth'dis' man. He pray 'n' dey sing songs. Dey have a wake de night he die. Dey come from all 'roun' 'n' sit up wid de co'pse all night jus' like dey do now 'cept w'en dey tek 'em t' de undertakers. Dey mek de coffin on de place den. Dey wuk 'til dey blow d' ho'n t' come 'n' git ready fo' de fun'ral. Dey have one 'r' two dig de grave. If it a small pusson like a baby dey totes it. If it was a middle size pusson fo' (four) men carry it. If it was a growed up man dey put 'im in de wagon.  was de las' one 'r' de niggers t' stay atter freedom come. I was de las' t' wuk fo' marster atter all de res' gone. We uster hunt 'n' trap birds. Ev'ry bird we git jus' dat much mo' t' eat. Den we go fishin' sometime' in de Neches river. We git 'possum 'n' cook 'possum-soop 'n' 'taters. We eat raccoon den 'n' cotton tail rabbit. We kep' de rabbit foot fo' luck, jus' de fus' joint. De 'Toby' w'at dey call it. If dey didn' have no 'Toby' dey couldn' git no rabbit nex' time dey go huntin'. Dey uster be lots 'r' grown deer 'n' varmints 'r' all kin's. Dey uster have fox chase 'n' deer drive, but now dey don' have 'em no mo'.