My name was Irella Battle and I was borned on August 15th, in. 1851, down at Craft's Prairie, in Bastrop County. I was 86 years old last August, and I'm blind in one eye. Mammy's name was Becky Batts , and she was a field worker, and dat about de most work she have to do, 'cept on rainy days. She had five girls and one boy and I'm de youngest and de only livin' one new. Daddy was Mesheck Bettle and when I'm a baby in mammy's arms, us sold to Massa Washington . Daddy had to de field work. I never knowed him de nothin' but farm. He she' make us behave and whop us if we didn't. Massa was purty good. De masses den times, same was good and some was bad, and about de most of dem was bad. I had to he'p round de big house and dey purty good to me. But when I still little I went to de fields. Dey give me a sack what de slaves make to pick cotton in. Dey spin de thread and make cloth on de loom and stitch it and make cotton sacks. Dey short for us chillen and de older folks had a short one to pick in and a big sack to empty in. I could pick about a hundred fifty pounds a day when I's twelve. Israel Roberts could pick five hundred a day. Us never get me money for pickin'. only good and clothes and a place to stay at night. Old man Jonas watched us chillen and kept us divin' fer dat cotton all de day long. Us wish him dead many a time. De plantation had a hoss-power gin and some days our rows of cotton tooked us right to de gin house and we'd look up and watch de slave boys settin' en de lever and drivin' dem hosses round and round. De cabins was log and mud and stick chimney. When one dem chimneys cotch fire us git on top and threw water on it. In summer us go barefoot, but dere shoemakers what make shoes for winter. When a beef killed, de hide kept and cleaned and put in de tannin' trough. Whom de leather ready, de shoes make in de little shoe shop, and when den shoes git dry dey hard as a rock. Daddy make us rub tallow or fried grease meat or any other kind grease into dat hard shoe leather, and it make dem soft, but when de dew and sun git on den again dey's hard again. Times de coyotes steal dem greased shoes and make off with dem. Dat act'ly happen a lot of times.

Old man Jack James work at day and have night school at night. He have long beards for benches and let dem down by ropes from de rafters. and have blue back spellers. He point to de letters with de long broom straw and dat's how we larn our A B C's. I can read purty good, when my eyes let me, but I can't write nothin. If it rained we had to shuck and shell corn or pull weeds in de yard, and it was a big one, too. De women spin thread for de loons, two of dem and a spinnin' wheel in every cabin. Us have beds de men make and take were out clothes and breeches and piece dem and stuff with cotton for quilts. When it cold us keep fire all night long. De plates an tin and a big gourd dipper to drink water with. De men make dere own cedar water pails. De week's ration for a crowed person run like. three pounds bacon and a peck cornmeal and soon homemade 'lasses. No flour and no coffee, but as parch bran or wheat and make coffee. Each night dey give a pint of sweet milk. But de chillen all et in a special place in de kitchen. One mornin' Massa Washington call us all and he road from de big paper. He say. 'You is free to live and free to die and free to go to de devil, if you wants to.' He tell us if we gather he crops he'd pay us far it. Den he turned and walked away and started cryin'. All de families stays but one man. De highest price massa pay anybody was about $15.00. but dat seem like a let of money to folks what wasn't used to gittin' any money at all. Finally my folks lived on a farm on Onion Creek, in Travis County, en rented land from Nat Watters and Dr. Shears , and farm on de third and fourth. We stays about six years and raises cotton and corn. But when I'm twenty years old I marries Joe Walker and us move to Bastrep County, and I stays dere till he dies in 1932. Us have eleven chillen and nine of den still livin'. I gits a pension, nine dollars de month, and it she' am a help now I's old and nearly blind.

Irella Battle Walker , 86, was born a slave on August 15, 1851, at Craft's Prairie, Bastrop County. Her parents, Mesheck and Becky Battle , belonged to a Mr. Battle . When Irella was a baby, she and her parents were sold to Tom Washington of Travis County. Mr. Washington was the proprietor of a large cotton and corn plantation. Irella and her parents were field workers and she says they always had plenty of work. She was taught her A B C's on the plantation, although it was against the rules. Her teacher was an old slave named Jack James . Irella is sure her master did not know about James ' teaching abilities. This was the only schooling she ever had and today she is able to read but is not much on writing. When she was about twenty years old she married Joe Walker , a local farmer. They had eleven children, nine of whom are living. After her husband's death she moved to Austin, where she lives now with a relative, Ella Graham , 2902 Cole Street. Irella receives a monthly pension of eight dollars from the state. Her story:

My maiden name was Irella Battle , and I was bawn on August 15, 1851, down at Craft's Prairie, in Bastrop County. I was 86 years old in August, jes' past and I'm blind in one eye. It's hard fo' me to see anything. Mammy's name was Becky Battle . Mammy was a field worker, and dat's about all de most work dat she had to do, 'ceptin' on rainy days. She was a spare-made medium-sized woman. She had five girls and a boy, and she had a lot ob her chillun to die when dey was young. I was de youngest chile, and all ob dem is dead but me. I'm de only one livin' ob dat fambly. Daddy was Mesheck Battle . He belonged to Mawster Battle and when I was a baby in my mammy's arms, we was sold to Mawster Tom Washington . Mawster Washington had a laghe cotton and cawn plantation in de east paht ob Travis County. Daddy had to do field work. I never did know him to do nothin' but fahm. He was a medium-sized man. None ob us in our fambly was very big. Daddy always tried to tell us to tend to our own business, and how to go through dis world. He sure did make us behave and he sure would whoop us if we didn't, behave. About de mawsters ob dem times, some ob 'em was good, and better dan de others and some was bad, and about de most ob 'em was bad. Befor' I was laghe enough to know much, I had to help aroun' de big house. I had to help nuss de chillun fo' awhile. I don't know how many chillun dere was, but I sure know dat dere was a drove of 'em. But I didn't do much house work 'cause I was too small. I was still putty young when I first went to de fields. I was give a sack, which was home-made by de slaves. De slaves jes' spun de cotton thread and den made de cloth on de loom. Den dey took dis cloth and stitched it together, and we had sacks fo' pickin' cotton. De sacks was made short fo' us chillun. De older folks had short sacks to pick in and a lagher sack to empty in. When I was about twelb years old I could pick about one hundred and fifty pounds ob cotton a day. It sure was hard work.

Dere was one man, Israel Roberts , dat could pick his five hundred pounds a day. He sure was a good picker. But he never did git no pay fo' pickin' all ob dat cotton. He jes' got his food, clothes and a place to stay at night. None ob us got paid fo' our work. A lot ob folks would go along and pick de cotton and den make up songs to sing. I don't remembah none ob dem songs, but I sure know dat de folks sung 'em. Dere was a old slave, old man Jonas we called him, dat was a sort ob overseer over de chillun in de fields. He watched over dem chillun to see dat dey worked and he also done de weighin' ob de cotton. Old man Jonas kept us divin' fo' dat cotton all de day long. Dere was many a time when us chillun wished dat old man Jonas was dead. He sure was hard on us. De Washington plantation had a hoss power gin on it. Some days our rows ob cotton took us right to de gin house, and we'd look up and watch de slave boys settin' on de lever and drivin' dem hosses aroun' and aroun'. Us slaves all lived in log cabins, which was set far apart from each other. Each cabin had de mud and stick chimney. Dere was de time when two cabins burned down, 'cause ob dem mud and stick chimneys. De fireplaces made a good fire at night but dem chimneys was dangerous. When one ob 'em caught afire we'd have to git on top and throw water on it. All ob dem slaves had to go barefooted in de summertime. Everbody had to go barefooted. Jim Tibbens , Billy Pate and Austin Fields was de shoe-makers on de plantation. When a beef was killed, de hide was kept and cleaned and den put into de tannin' trough. I can't tell yo' how long de hide had to stay in dere. All I know is dat it was put in dere. When de leather was ready de shoes was made in de little shoe shop on de plantation. When dem shoes got dry dey was almost as hard as a rock. Our daddy made us rub tallow, fried meat grease, or any other kind ob grease into our hard shoe leather. De grease would make 'em soft, but when de dew and de sun got on 'em again de next mawnin' dey was hard again. Dere was de times down dere when de coyotes would steal dem greased shoes and make off wid 'em. Dat actually happened a lot ob times. Dere was old man Jack James dat had a sort ob night school. He had dis night school every other night. He made his own little school room at night in his cabin. He had long boards fo' de benches and desks was let down by ropes f'om de rafters. Dem desks was put out ob sight again by day. We had de blue back spellers, and we had to go a certain distance in 'em. We had to learn a certain amount each time.

Each person had one ob dem books. Jack had a long piece of broom straw and he pointed wid it to de letters, and dat's how we learned our A B C's. I never did git far enough to learn much about writin' but I can read putty good, when my eyes let me. Jack James was a worker on de plantation and I don't know if Mawster Washington ever knowed dat Jack was learnin' us our A B C's at dat night school. Dere was no chu'ch on de place fo' us but we was allowed to hold prayer meetin's. Dere was de times when big baptizin's took place in de creeks. De men was never allowed to go huntin' durin' de week 'xceptin' on Sunday. Durin' de week if it rained and we couldn't do no field work, we had to shuck and shell cawn. Dere was two laghe cawn shellers in de log crib and we had to do dat kind of work, or we had to go out and pull up all de weeds in de yard, and it was a big one too. A lot ob de wimmen would stay in de cabins and spin thread fo' de looms. Dere was two laghe looms on de place and every cabin had a spinnin' wheel. In our cabins was de home-made four-poster beds dat de men folks made. Every man had to build his own bed. We'd take old wore out clothes and britches, piece 'em up and stuff cotton in 'em. Dem was our quilts. Dey was heavy and dey was putty wahm. Durin' cold weather a fire was kept goin' all night long. We used tin plates and cups and had a big gourd dipper to drink water wid. De men would make dere own cedar water pails. Dere was a shelf on de outside ob de cabin and durin' de summertime we'd set de bucket out dere, and de water would git good and cool. A week's rations fo' one grown pusson was lak dis: three pounds ob bacon, one peck ob cawn meal, about three quarts ob home-made molasses; dere was no flour fo' us, we wasn't allowed no coffee, but we could parch some bran or wheat and make our own coffee. We was allowed about a pint of sweet milk each night. Dere was a special place in de kitchen at de big house where de slave chillun et, and rations was given out jes' to de older folks. De chillun was given de same to eat, but dey got a little more milk to drink. De chillun was small and dey was glad to eat almost anywhere. One mawnin' Mawster Washington told his house girl to go out and tell his slaves to come on up to de yard. He had a big paper and he read f'om it. All dat could go went up to de yard and listened. He den told us, "yo' folks is now free. Yo' is now free to live and free to die and free to go to de devil, if yo' want to. Den he told us dat if we would help gather his crops he would pay us fo' it. Mawster turned, walked away and started cryin'. All ob de slave famblies stayed and jes' one man left. He couldn't git along wid de mawster's son, George . De other famblies all stayed on de place and helped mawster gather his crops. We all stayed f'om June till November. De highest price dat he paid anybody fo' helpin' to gather de crop was about fifteen dollars. Dis seemed lak a lot ob money to folks dat wasn't used to gittin' money fo' doin' fahm work. My folks moved on a fahm down on Onion Creek, near Del Valle, Travis County. We rented land f'om Nat Watters and Dr. Shears , and fahmed on de third and fourth. We stayed on dis place about six years. We raised cotton and cawn. I helped in de fields lak all de rest. After dis, when I was about twenty years old, I was married to Joe Walker . He was a fahmer. We moved on down to Bastrop County, where we stayed till my husband died on September 2, 1932. We had eleven chillun, six girls and five boys. Nine ob de chillun is livin'.