Fathaw's name was Elisha Norwood , and he belonged to dat good man, Mawster James B. Norwood . Us slaves always called him Mawster Jim . Fathaw had to do all kinds of field work and a little of everything else. He was medium-sized and not heavy-set. He come to Texas wid de James B. Norwood fambly f'om Nashville, Tennessee. De Norwood's located at Merrilltown, in Travis County. Den dey moved to Gilliland Creek, near Manor, Travis County. Dere he had a cotton fahm and ranch. He had about ten slaves. Mawster Jim was a Irishman and sometimes he was ailin', but he wouldn't allow nobody to whoop us. No patrol was ever allowed on his place. Mawster Jim was a mighty good man. Durin' de Civil War de white folks give us slaves some passes. Our passes f'om Mawster Jim read: 'Let my boy pass, repass and pass. Dat meant fo' nobody to touch his slaves. He didn't want no man to touch his folks. I wouldn't be sufferin' now wid my back, if Mawster Jim was here. Mama's name was Sarah Norwood and she was brought f'om Nashville too. Mama had twelb chillun, five girls and seben boys. Me and another boy is de only ones still livin', I believe. De last time I heard f'om him was when we had de big Galveston stawn in 1900. I reckon he's still livin'. Somebody said dat he is still livin' in Columbus, Colorado County. De chillun's names was William , Neil , Albert , Bishop , John , Isaiah , Dee , which was all of de boys. De girls was Lizzie , Mandy , Lucy , Callie , and Katie . A hard worker is what mama was. She was Mawster Jim' s leadin' cook till she could cook no mo'e on account of her eyes. Mawster Jim's baby boy was called Doc and mama thought as much of him as she did of her own boys. De whole neighborhood loved Doc Norwood . He was a religious boy and good to everybody. Den Doc went away to fight in de Civil War, and we never did git to see him no mo'e 'cause he was killed in de army. I hate dat to dis day, 'cause we all loved Doc .

Mama's been dead now about near thutty years. She is buried in de old Mount Salem chu'ch yard, near Sprinkle, Travis County. My name is Isaiah Norwood and I was bawn on October 1, 1852. Looks to me lak I was a little child when Mawster Jim Norwood brought us f'om Nashville, Tennessee, to Texas. I saw many a hard day, and I'm a old man. I'm gittin' old, but I didn't rush out  I wore out. My work was to tend to de sheep, cows and hosses on Mawster Jim's place. I'd ride anything dat I could saddle up. We'd work wid steers. I herded dem sheep in a cottonwood district dat was mighty snaky. I had to herd about one thousand head of sheep. I didn't have no dog at dis time, and one day it was gittin' dark when I drove de sheep toward home. De head sheep was kind of holdin' hissef back and I couldn't understand it. I went ahead to see about it. Sheep have thick wool, yo' know, and a snake kin hardly bit 'em. Whut I saw was a big rattler hangin' around de head sheeps neck! It was a powerful lookin' snake, and it had sank its fangs into dat wool and it couldn't git loose agin. We crossed a creek and den I picked up a stick and broke de snake loose. De only way dat I took count of de sheep was to sit on a gate and count 'em. One day a loafer wolf attacked a sheep. I got to hollerin' and called my dog, I had a dog den, and dat loafer wolf cut dat sheep's throat and sucked de blood. De dog chased him, but I never did know if he got de wolf. We had time to go huntin' sometimes. We hunted jackrabbits, deer, wild turkeys, 'possums, prairie chickens, and a lot of other animals and birds on de prairies. We could keep everything dat we shot. Mama could really cook, and she wouldn't jes' fool wid it, she'd go ahead and cook de stuff. Sometimes we saw brown bears and wild cats passin' by. We saw plenty of bufferlo, but we never did shoot none. Dey would always back out and run away, befo' we could git close enought to 'em. Yo' could take one of dem bufferlo rugs and yo' could sleep out in de rain and cold wid 'em, if yo' slept between, wid de hairy-side on de inside and de hide-side on de outside. One of de men on a neighborin' plantation had a overseer and a foreman. De overseer was a white feller by de name of Harmon , and de foreman was a colored feller by de name of Dave . One day Harmon wanted to whoop Dave . But Dave didn't want to git whooped. Harmon den went and got some men to help him whoop Dave . Well, dey come on over to Mawster Jim's place and asked him to come over the help whoop Dave . Mr. Norwood,' he say, 'we wants yo' to come on over wid de rest of us and help git Dave . I won't do it,' Mawster say. But Norwood , we accuse Dave of takin' a sack of wheat.'

Well men, no nigger would steal if yo' fed him enough, I won't help.' Mawster Jim wouldn't go, but old Dave got his whoopin'. Durin' slavery days some mawsters give dere slaves a task to do each day. Dey had to pick so much cotton a day, or a certain amount of work in a day. Mawster Jim never did have a task-a-day fo' his slaves. We worked durin' de day and whut we could git done was all dat we had to do. But me and my brothaws was a powerful lot of good cotton pickers and we didn't need no task. In slavery time our people had heard - people would hear about it yo' know - f'om some outside white folks dat all de niggers was to be free. Say,' they'd tell us, 'don't tell de boss, but yo' all will be free soon. It won't be long.' Some of us unnerstood whut it was all about, and some of us didn't. But one Sunday mawnin' Mawster Jim called all of his hands, and he told 'em dat dey was free. Some of us thought dat dat was good, and some of us thought dat we didn't know jes' whut to do. Mawster Jim had tears in his eyes when he told us dat we was free. He told us dat we didn't have to leave and dat we could stay and work fo' him and git paid fo' it. Some of de folks left fo' Austin and hired out. Me and de folks stayed on de place and helped reap de crops. I think dat Mawster Jim paid us about fifty cents a day fo' workin' on his place. Den we heard dat all freed niggers was to git sixty acres and a mule. It never did come about. But some of de mawsters was good and dey give dere older slaves a little land, and helped 'em.

After dis my folks went to work fo' Parson Giles , pickin' cotton on his place. De Parson's place was jes' above Manor, Travis County. I think dat we got fifty cents fo' pickin' a hunnert pounds of cotton. Den we bought us some ponies, and we rode 'em. We also plowed wid 'em in de fields. Dere was Baldy, a bald-faced sorrel and Gip, a brown hoss. I fahmed fo' a good while here and dere. I was about twenty-two years old when I married Jennie Carrington . We was engaged fo' four years, and here's de reason; befo' I got married and when I was jes' a boy of eighteen, I got into a shootin' scrape. So I had to wait f'om eighteen till twenty-two befo' I got married. I was runnin' a press in de Pfluger gin and dis was near de Carrington place. A nigger come up one day and has some cotton ginned. He didn't have enough to pay fo' de ginnin' and he needed two dollahs yet. I paid it fo' him, and he said dat a party was to be held dat night at a place nearby, and dat I come, come in and eat and dance free. When I come dere dat night I saw de feller dat I paid de ginnin' fo'. He told me dat it was half a dollah to git by dat door into de dance hall. Isaiah ,' he say, 'it's fifty cents to get in here.' But yo' got yo' fifty cents already.' I knowed dat he knowed dat. He wouldn't let me in. I had to git in 'cause Jennie , my gal, was inside. I paid de money and when I passed by him I said, 'I'll see yo' in de mawnin'.' He didn't make no answer. I didn't have no gun on me at dat time. We was served eats in a kind of shed room and some of de men drank. Dere was whiskey, brandy, rock and rye, gin and all of that. Dere was a dance on dis same night. De lone fiddler played 'Saddle Old Ball' and 'I'll Tell You' and other old timey songs. Durin' de dance everything was all right. I tried to go on and dance wid my gal but I was so mad dat I actually got a chill. I had to ask my gal to come and set down wid me. Give me a chair, Jennie ,' I say, 'I kain't dance dis set.' Jennie knowed dat I had paid out dem two dollahs, and dat Scott Gray , dat was de man's name, made me pay to come in. I left dere dat night widout anything happenin'.

One Sunday I went over to see my friend, Louis Davidson , 'cause he had my gun, a Smith-Weston cap-and-ball pistol. His wife kind of caught on dat something was wrong. I don't see how she caught on 'cause I tried to laugh and talk lak always. Isaiah , whut's de matter?' she asked. Oh, nothin',' I say. Den I went home and greased up de gun. Monday I went to work at de gin. Monday night I went to de place where Jennie lived. While I was at her place somebody come in back of me and struck at me. My hoss jerked his head up and dat saved me. I didn't know whut Scott had on him and we got to scufflin'. I tried to git my gun out of de linin' on de inside of my pants. Scott cussed me. I got my gun out, and I shot him in de shoulder, but I was aimin' to shoot him in the chest. People got to yellin', 'Scott is shot! Scott is shot!' I shot jes' one time and he fell to de ground and I thought dat I had him. He didn't git up or else I would of shot him all to pieces. He was hurt right smaht, but he didn't git up. Scott was a overbearin' nigger, anyhow, and he was always goin' to git me. I never was tried, 'cause I run away. I stayed wid some folks in de deep Brazos bottoms, near Waco, McLennan County. I stayed away about four years. Den I come back, and I run right into Scott . Folks had been tellin' me how he had bragged dat he was goin' to git me. Scott , I've come on back here to live,' I tole him. 'I lost all of my stock on account of yo'. I stayed away four years, and now I want peace. I heard how yo' said dat yo' was goin' to git me. Now, I want to live here and I want peace.' Scott throwed up his right hand and swore dat he never threatened me. He said dat people said dat jes' to keep us apart. After day, me and Scott was de best of friends.

I come back when I was goin' on twenty-two. Den I married my gal, Jennie Carrington . De Carringtons liked Jennie's work so much dat dey wanted to keep her on de place. She was a house worker. So dey asked me to stay on dere place and fahm. We had a little house, some rented land, and a yoke of steers to work wid. Me and Jennie was happy. We had three chillun: Charlie , Lelia , and Isaiah . I don't think dat I had Jennie wid me more'n six years. She died one of de best wimmen dat ever talked. I expect it was about a year befo' I got married again. My second wife was Elvira Manor . Dere was three chillun: John , Esther , and Viney . We had been married about three years and Elvira died. My third wife was Viola Tweedle . She had been married befo' and she had five chillun already. She had been a Thompson . I had only one boy, Otis , f'om Viola. Otis lives here wid me and he's sixteen years old. Viola died on September 29, 1932.

Early in life I got to doin' Baptist missionary work, and I laked dat. Dis allowed me to git around and visit de folks. One time I had to git to a certain place in a hurry, and I went by freight. After I told de man on de freight dat I was a preachah and dat I had to git to a certain place on time dey let me ride in de caboose. But I didn't git dere in time to preach a Saturday sermon. It was night when I got dere, and I heard a lot of dogs barkin'. I got behind a tree and waited to see if dem dogs was loose. If dey was, I was goin to climb dat tree. I hollered and de woman of de house hollered back dat it was all right and dat de dogs was tied. Dem folks had expected me. But I made up fo' lost time by preachin' a good Sunday sermon. Dere was a good crowd. Dem folks had come by buggies and wagons, and some had even walked. I seen 'em comin' out of de brush f'om every which way. Dem folks brought dere meals wid 'em, and dey stayed all day. Dis place was called Mount Olive, near Manchaca, Travis County. I also pastored in de Central Texas villages of Del Valle, Wheatville, and Oatmeal. But about seben years ago I had to give up de preachin' on accounts of old age. Now my eyes bother me and I kain't even read my Bible. But dat's all right 'cause I still got de spirit in me.