My name' Clara White , an' I stays in de eas' part of de nor'f quarters yere in Jaspers. I was bo'n eas' of Baton Rouge in Lou'siana. I's seb'nty-eight year' ol'. My father was Richard Freeman . He was bo'n an' raise' in Clinton, Lou'siana. My mudder was Flora Jenkins w'at come from Mo'house, Lou'siana. I hab five sister' but nary a brudder. Dey names is Hester Taylor , Ellen Jones , Jenica Hal , Louisa Williams , an' Betty Freeman . I jes' does 'member my gramma, an' dat dey uster call her Minty . My mudder die' an' my sister, Betty Taylor , raise' me. Father' marster name was McCans . Mudder's marster was Bill Woodward . He hab a big plantation eas' of Baton Rouge, an' kep' a lot of slaves. Us wo' slip dresses in summer. In de winter time us wo' clo's dat was t'icker an' warmer. He give us all one pair of shoes. I marry Dan White befo' I lef' Lou'siana. I's a Baptis'. Rev. Brook Hayward , de Baptis' preacher, he marry us in de Baptis' Chu'ch. So I knowed it was done right. My husban' was dress' in black with a w'ite bow of ribbon on he coat. I was dress' all in w'ite. Us hab t'ree chillen, two boy' an' a gal, but dey all dead now. My husban' he die' ten year' ago an' he bury at Pineland. "Us hab a good marster. Sister say he neber whip he slaves an' I neber seed none git punish'. I neber seed no sojers, only de cadets at de garrison in Baton Rouge. Marster he teach all he slaves to read an' write. He give he slaves a ol' house to hol' chu'ch in, an' dey read de Bible to us sometime. Doc Hayward , he was a cullud preacher, an' he was my mos' fav'rit preacher. We uster sing, 'W'en I is dead an' gone, don' you grieve over me.' Mudder's fav'rit was, 'De ol' time Religion.'  W'en Marster free' he slaves, he tol' dem dey needn' go 'way 'cause dey hab a home with him iffen dey want to stay. Atter a w'ile Father lef' an' went to work for hisse'f, den Mother taken sick an' hab to go to de hospital in New O'leans. She git a li'l better an' dey brung her back home, but she die' an' sister taken to raise." I 'member w'en I was li'l, I play dolls mos' of de time. De boys made demse'fs swings, an' play' with tops. On Crissmus Marster give us a hol'day with a feas' of eb'ryt'ing good to eat set on a big long table for all de slaves. W'en day hab time de slaves hunt' an' fish an' git wild tukkey, deer, squirrel, 'possum, 'coon, and duck to eat.

I neber hab no gran'chillen. Mr. Yarborough brung us to dis country for slaves to go into his tuppentime wuks t'ree mile' wes' of Pineland. My husban' wuk at de tuppentime 'bout ten year', den w'en he quit dat, he farm'. Since he die' I'se been wukkin' 'roun' for de w'ite folks. I's wash', iron', coo', nuss', an' eb'ryt'ing. W'en we was young, we wuk on a Sugar farm at Port Allen, Lou'siana. We stay dere t'ree or fo' (four) year'. I scrape' an' strip' cane, an' my husban' drive a wagon, an' haul de cane to de mill. "No, I ain' neber seed no ghos's, but onct I though I did. One time, back in Lou'siana, sister an' me was 'vited to a all-day meetin' an' social at de Chu'ch. Us fix' up a nice dinner, put it in two basket', an' start' for de Chu'ch. It was a long way 'roun', so sister say we'd cut t'roo de grabeyard. A li'l w'ile befo' dey hab dug up ol' Mr. Johnson , an' move his co'pse to another grabeyard. We was a-hurryin' 'long an' jes' as us start' pas' de grabe w'at dey hadn' fill' up, a big w'ite t'ing in de bottom of de grabe 'gin to move. Us neber eben stop to t'ink. I holler', 'O, dey moved Mr. Johnson , but dey didn' git his spirit. It comin' atter Us.' Us drop' de basket' an' 'gin to run. Sister was yellin' 'Murder! Help!" W'en we git to de Chu'ch, people come 'roun' to ax us w'at we runnin' for. 'W'at's de matter with you wimmim? Tom Jones say. 'Dat ain' nuffin' in dis worl' but a ol' goat.' 'I kin show you'  Atter us res' a li'l an' calm' down, Tom go'd back with us to git de basket' an' sho' 'nuf, dere was do ol' goat eatin' de bery (very) las' of de ham an' chicken an' cake.