Giles Smith , 79, now residing at 3107 Blanchard St., Fort Worth, Texas, was born a slave of Major Hardway , on a plantation near Union Union Springs, Alabama. The Major gave Giles to his daughter when he was an infant and he never saw his parents again. In 1874 Frank Talbot brought Giles to Texas, and he worked on the farm two years. He then went to Brownwood and worked in a gin seventeen years. In 1908 he moved to Fort Worth and worked for a packing company. Old age led to his discharge in 1931 and he has since worked at any odd jobs he could find.

My name am Giles Smith , 'cause my papa was born on the Smith plantation and I took his name. I's born at Union Springs, in Alabama and Major Hardway owned me and 'bout a hundred other slaves. But he gave me to Mary , his daughter, when I's only a few months old and had to be fed on a battle, 'cause she am jus' married to Massa Miles . She told me how she carried me home in her arms. She say I was so li'l she have a hard time to make me eat out the bottle, and I put up a good fight so she nearly took me back. I don't 'member the start of the war, but de endin' I does. Massa Miles called all us together and tall us we's free and it give us all de litters. He treated all us fine and nobody wanted to go. He and Missy am de best folks de Lawd could make. I stayed till I was sixteen years old. It am years after freedom Missy Mary say to me what massa allus say, 'If the nigger won't follow orders by kind treatin', sich nigger am wrong in the head and not worth keepin'. He didn't have to rush us. We'd just dig in and do the work. One time Massa clearin' some land and it am gittin' late for breakin' the ground. Us allus have Saturday afternoon and Sunday off. Old Jerry says to us, 'Tell yous what us de, - go to the clearin' this afternoon and Sunday and finish for the Massa. That sho' make him glad.' Saturday noon comes and nobody tells the massa but go to that clearin' and sing while us work, cuttin' bresh and grubbin' stomps and burnin' bresh. Us sing Hi, he, ug, hi, ho, ug. De sharp bit, de strong arm, Hi, ho, huh, hi, ho, ug, Dis tree am done 'fore us warm.' De massa come out and his mouth am slippin' all over he face and he say, 'What this all mean? Why you workin' Saturday afternoon?' Old Jerry am a funny cuss and he say, 'Massa, O, massa, please don't whop us for cuttin' down yous trees.' I's gwine whop you with the chicken stew,' Massa say. And for Sunday dinner dere am chicken stew with noodles and peach cobbler.

So I stays with massa and after I's fifteen he pays me $2.00 the month, and course I gits my eats and my clothes, too. When I gits the first two I don't know what to de, 'cause it the first money I ever had. Missy make the propulation to keep the money and buy for me and teach me 'bout it. There ain't much to buy, 'cause we make nearly everything right there. Even the tobaccy am made. They put honey 'twixt the leaves and put a pile of it 'twixt two beards with weights. It am left for a month and that am a man's tobaccy. A weaklin' better stay off that kind tobaccy. First I works in the field and then am massa's coachman. But when I's 'bout sixteen I gits a idea to go off somewheres for myself, I hears 'bout Mr. Frank Talbet , wham an takin' some niggers to Texas and I gees with him to the Brazes River bottom, and works there two years. I's lonesome for massa and missy and if I'd been clost enough, I'd sho' game back to the old plantation. So after two years I quits and goes to work for Mr. Winfield Scott down in Brownwood, in the gin, for seventeen years. Well, shortly after I gits to Brownwood I meets a yaller gal and after dat I don't care to go back to Alabama so hard. I's married to Dee Smith on December the eighteenth, in 1880, and us live together many years. She died six years ago. Us have six chillen but I don't know where one of them are now. They all forgit their father in his old age! They not so young, either. My women could write a little so she write missy for me, and she write back and wish us luck and if we ever wants to come back to the old home we is welcome. Us write back and forth with her. Finally, us git the letter what say she sick, and then awful low. That 'bout twenty-five years after I marries. That am too much for me, and I cotches the next train back to Alabama but I gits there too late. She am dead, and I never has forgive myself, 'cause I don't go back befo' she die, like she ask us to, lots of times. I comes here fifteen years age and here I be. The last six year I can't work in the packin' plants no more. I's too old. Anything I can find to do I does, but it ain't much no more. The worst grief I'm had, am to think I didn't go see missy 'fore she die. I's never forgave myself for that.

Giles Smith , 79, now residing at 3107 Blanchard St., Ft. Worth, Tex., was born a slave to Maj. Hardway , who owned Giles ' parents with about 100 other slaves and a large plantation located near Union Springs, Alabama. Giles was still a nursing infant when Maj. Hardway gave Giles to his daughter, Mary . Giles never saw his parents again. He remembers only a small portion of the war. He remained with his master until he was about 16 years old, when he was migrated to the Brazos River Section of Texas by Mr. Frank Talbot , who owned a farm and ranch, bordering the river. Giles went to Brownwood Texas about two years later. Winfield Scott employed him as a gin hand there for about 17 years. Giles then worked at odd jobs for about 15 years, when he came to Ft. Worth, and secured employment with the packing industry in the city. Old age forced his discharge in 1931. He has worked at odd jobs since then. He married Dee Smith on Dec. 18, 1830. Six children were born to them before her death in 1931.

My name am Giles Smith . De way my name am Smith , 'stead ob Hardway , am 'cause my pappy was bo'n on de plantation ob Marster Smith , an' den sold to Marster Hardway . I's tooks my pappy's name. De place whar I's bo'n, am Union Springs, Alabama, on de plantation ob Marster Hardway . No Sar, I's don't know any tudder name fo' de old Marster 'cept Major Hardway . Him had a big plantation, an' 'twas 'bout 100 slaves on de place. Dis nigger don't stay on de Marster's place long aftah I's bo'n. De Marster gave me to his daughter Mary , w'en I's jus' a few months old, an' had to be fed on de bottle. Missy Mary am jus' mai'ied to Marster Miles , a short time den. She often told me how she carried me to her home in her ahms. Now, I's gwine to told yous what de Missy told me aftah I's grown, 'bout de time she gits de piccaninny dat am dis nigger. She told me dat I's so young, dat she had a hahd time to feed me. 'Cause I's so young, milk am de only food I's could take, an' she had to use de bottle. Up to den, I's had nursed at de breast, an' I's fit de bottle. She says I's put up a good fight, an' come neah winnin' de battle, dat she am 'bout to tooks me back w'en I's finally gives in. I's guess hungah drove me to it. Dere was no cullud women on de Missy's place dat could nurse me, so dat's why deys nurse me on de bottle. Marster Miles have jus' a small plantation. Deys am jus' gittin' stahted wid deys place. Dere am 'bout 25 slaves dat am wo'kin' de place.

I's don't 'membahs de staht ob de wah, but I's 'membahs de endin'. Lets see, I's 'bout seven yeahs old w'en surrendah come, an' de cullud fo'ks am turned loose. W'en de Marster called allus cullud fo'ks together, an' told us weuns am free lak he am, an' could go whar an' w'en weuns lak, dat gives me de jitters, 'cause I's don't git what him means, an' I's sho dat weuns have to leave. Lawd amighty! Dat am bad news fo' weuns, 'cause de Marster sho treats weuns fine, an' I's think de world ob dem, an' a tudder thing, I's not know whar to goes, nor what to does. Co'se, I's jus' a chil's an' don't undahstand. Yas Sar, de Marster an' de Missy am de best fo'ks dat de Lawd could make. Deys am good wid de wo'k, de feed, de clothes, an' de play. Him 'lows weuns to have de pahties, an' gives de pass fo' weuns to go to pahties, an' de chu'ch. Dere am no whuppin', an' sich. Now, sometimes a nigger fails to 'tend to his wo'k jus' lak de Marster says, or violate de o'dahs in some way. Well, wid de Marster, 'twarnt de whup an' de bawlin' lak 'twas on some ob de tudder places. De Marster tooks sich nigger an' talks to him, an' splains de hahm dat him am causin'. Him 'splain de diffe'nt 'twix him an' tudder Marsters, an' how 'twould be if him use de whup. Weuns all lak de Marster 'cause of him's way. Yas Sar, 'twas mo' dan lak him. Weuns think mo' ob him dan anyone in de world, an' de Missy, too. 'Twas yeahs aftah dat, dat de Missy an' I's talk 'bout de Marster's treatment, an' she told me dat de Marster always says, 'If de nigger wont follow de o'dahs by de kind treatment, den sich nigger am wrong in de head, an' am not worth keepin". "W'en I's says, on dat place it am jus' lak one big fam'ly, dat 'splains de sit'ation. Allus cullud fo'ks am pleased to does what de Marster, or de Missy, wants weuns to does. W'en weuns know dat some wo'k am in de rush, de Marster don't have to rush weuns. No Sar! Weuns jus' dig in, an' does dat wo'k. I's 'membahs many things dat weuns does to please de Marster. I's will tells 'bout one to show how weuns try to he'p de Marster. De Marster am clearin' some land, an' it am gittin' late fo' breakin' de ground so de land could be planted. Now, weuns always have Saturday evenin', an' Sunday off. Old Jerry says to weuns on Saturday mo'nin', 'Tell yous what weuns do, allus goes to de clearin' dis aftahnoon, an' Sunday, an' finish de clearin' fo' de Marster. Dat will sho make him glad.' Sho! Sho! Weuns all says. I's jus' a kid, an' warnt worth anything much fo' wo'k, but I'se says, 'Sho!', too, an' does lak de rest. Saturday noon comes, an' aftah weuns all eats de dinnah, weuns not says a word to de Marster, but goes to de clearin', an' dere weuns wo'k lak fightin' fiah, an' am asingin' while weuns am wo'kin', cuttin' de brush, grubbin' de stobs, pilin' an' burnin' de brush. I's a pickin' up de brush lak a big fellow, an' feels big, too, asingin' wid de rest. Old Jerry am de leadah. What weuns sing? Lawdy Man! 'Twas so many diffe'nt songs him have. Let me s-e-e. I's m'ybe 'membahs de words ob one. Dis am one, an' de way deys do, am dis away, w'en dey raise de axe, or de grubbin' hoe, dey says, 'Hi'. W'en deys swing it down, dey says, 'Ho', an' w'en de axe hits, deys says, 'Ug', so de song goes: "Hi, Ho, Ug, Hi, Ho, Ug, De sharp bit, de strong ahm, Hi, Ho, Ug, Hi, Ho, Ug, Dis tree am done 'fo' weuns am wahm". "Dere weuns am awo'kin', an' singin', 'Hi, Ho, Ug,', an' de Marster comes out. His mouth am slippin' all over his face f'om de smile, an' him says to weuns, 'What dis all means? Yous niggers wo'kin' on Saturday aftahnoon'. "Old Jerry am a funny cuss, an' him says to de Marster, 'Marster, Oh Marster!', an' him hold his hands up an' shake his knees, 'Please don't whup weuns fo' cuttin' down yous trees'. I's sho qwine to whup yous all, wid de chicken stew', de Marster told weuns. 'Yas Sar,' him says, 'Tomorrow fo' de dinnah'. Fo' dat Sunday's dinnah, dere am chicken stew wid noodles an' peach cobblah. W'en I's gits through eatin', I's so full dat I's have hahd time breathin'. De Marster looks me over an' says,  Yous look lak de pisen pup'. I's don't know how a pisen pup feels, but I's know I's feel lak a full one.

Well, dat's de way 'twas all de time on de Marster's place. Ever'one fo' de Marster, an' de Marster fo' allus. Now den, yous undahstand why 'twas bad news to weuns w'en de Marster tells weuns dat allus am free, an' to goes whar weuns please. Co'se, w'en him says dat all dem dat wants to stay, could do so, an' him would 'range fo' de wages, dat sounded bettah, an' dere warnt one dat left. "Freedom am good, but whar could weuns go dat would be bettah dan wid de Marster. If weuns gits bad misery, him calls de doctahman. Weuns have good clothes, good food, qua'tahs, an' ever'thing. De cabins in de qua'tahs am logs, but weuns have de windahs wid screens on dem fo' de flies an' skeeters. Sho! Weuns have skeeter bar fo' screens. Dere am a white neighbah dat laugh at de Marster fo' puttin' screens on de cabins, an' de Marster laugh back at him an' says, 'How yous s'pose de nigger can wo'k good in de day if him fits de skeeters all night?' Now, I's don't 'membahs befo' de wah 'bout de rations, so I's don't know if dere am any diffe'nce in de supply ob rations durin' de wah, but I's do 'membahs dat weuns have plenty to eat. Sojers am plentiful. I's see lots ob dem, both de Yanks an' de 'Federates, but I's don't 'membahs any battles fit 'roun' dere. "I's stay wid de Marster 'til I's 17 yeahs old. Aftah I's gits to be 15, him stahts to payin' me wages. At fust, 'twas $2.00 a month, an' ob co'se, I's gits board an' clothes, too.  De fust money dat I's seen, was w'en de Missy showed me de fust wages dat I's earned. She says, 'Here 'tis. Do yous want it? How much 'tis it?' Ob co'se, I's don't know, so she makes de propulation dat she keep de money, an' buy fo' me 'til I's larnt de value 'bout money. She buys fo' me, an' 'vise me 'bout what to buy. "I's 'gree to have her 'tend to my money an' sich fo' sev'ral yeahs. 'Twarnt much to buy, 'cause weuns make ever'thing a person must have, right dere on de place. Weuns make all de clothes, shoes, an' all de food. Even make de t'baccy fo' dem dat use it. Fo' de chewin' t'baccy, deys put honey 'twix de t'baccy leaves, an' den place a pile ob it 'twix two boards wid weights on de boards. De t'baccy am left dat away fo' a month, or mo'. Dat am de man's t'baccy. De weaklin' bettah stay off f'om it. My wo'k am in de fields at fust, an' den I's stahts to be de Marster's coachman. W'en I's gits to be 'bout 17 yeahs old, I's gits it in my head dat I's wants to goes somewhar fo' my se'f. I's tells de Missy, an' she says dat she don't blame me, but she don't want me to go. She also says, 'Always 'membahs dis am yous home', an' she says, 'Giles , I's raised yous f'om a tiny chick, an' w'en to be a good nigger, an' yous are good. Now, yous want to 'membahs what weuns teached yous'. Yas Missy, I's sho will', I's says to her, an' I's always tried to follow her 'vice. I's heahs 'bout de man, Frank Talbot , dat am tookin' some niggers to Texas. I's goes wid him, an' weuns come to de Brazos River Country. I's wo'ked dere fo' him fo' 'bout two yeahs. Dem two yeahs am hahd, 'cause I's lonesome fo' de Missy an' de Marster. Fo' de fust six months, dis nigger cried many nights 'stead ob sleepin', an' if I's been close 'nough, I's would sho go back to de home plantation. De only thing dat stop me f'om gwine, am dat I's skeert dat I's could not make it back to Alabama. I's quit Marster Talbot aftah 'bout two yeahs an' goes to Brownwood. I's goes to wo'k dere fo' Marster Winfield Scott , in de gin fo' 'bout 17 yeahs.    Well, 'twas only a short time aftah I's gits to Brownwood dat I's meets a yallow gal, an' aftah dat, I's not care fo' gwine back to Alabama so hahd.

I's mai'ied to Dee Smith on Decembah de 18th, 1880. She an' I's lived together fo' many yeahs. Yas Sar, she died six yeahs ago. Weuns have six chilluns, an' I's don't know whar one ob dem are now. Dey all fo'git dere father in his old age. Shucks! Deys am not so young, either. My womens could write a little, so w'en weuns am mai'ied, she write de Missy fo' me. I's told Missy dat weuns am mai'ied. De Missy write back right away, an' she says she am glad to heah dat I's mai'ied, an' wish weuns luck, an' also says dat if weuns ever want to come to de old home, weuns would be welcome. Weuns writes back an' fo'th wid her. Weuns tells her w'en de fust chil's am bo'n, an' she sends it a present. Finally, weuns gits de lettah, tellin' dat de Missy am sick, an' den a tudder one which says dat, no doubt 'twould be de last one, 'cause de Missy am awful low. 'Twas m'ybe 'bout 25 yeahs aftah I's mai'ied dat de sad lettah comes. Dat am too much fo' me. I's catch de next train fo' Alabama to see her, but I's 'rived too late. She am dead w'en I's gits to de old home. I's never fo'give myse'f, 'cause I's don't goes back to see de Missy befo' she die lak she ask weuns to, lots ob times. I's come to Fort Worth 'bout 15 yeahs ago, an' heah I's be. I's wo'k in de packin' plants fo' 'bout nine yeahs, an' den I's told dat I's too old fo' to be ob good use to dem. De last six yeahs, I's jus' do dis, an' dat. Jus' what I's can find to does, an' 'tis not much ob anything dat I's can git to does. Bout all I's can does now, am to think 'bout de past, an' de wust 'gret I's have, am dat I's never see de Missy befo' she died. No Sar, I's never fo'give myse'f fo' dat.