Leah Storey was my mothaw. She used to be lak me, big and strong. I used to weigh two hunnert and thutty pounds. She was a cook on de Jim Storey wheat plantation, in Nashville, Tennessee. She had five chillun' anyhow dat's all of de chillun dat I kin remembah. Mothaw died durin' slavery days. My fathaw's name was Isaac Storey . I don't remembah much about him. I know dat he went along wid Mawster Storey's son Walter, to de Civil War. I remembah dat I was jes' a little child when he come back. I was under de bed in our cabin, and was looking out f'om de foot of de bed, when dey carried fathaw in. Julius ,' Mawster Storey said, 'here is yo' fathaw. It look lak I'm goin' to lose him. Fathaw died three days later. Julius Wilson is my name. I took de name of Wilson later in life. I was bawn on September 14, 1854. Dis was on de Jim Storey wheat plantation, in Nashville, Tennessee. Mawster Jim was a fine man. He hit me only once durin' de time dat he owned me. When I was a child, I had to pack water to de field hands. Mawster Jim never had no cotton, but he planted wheat, rye, barley, and cawn. Dey never would let me fool wid stuff in de fields. Mawster Jim had a big still on his place. He made likker f'om his own cawn and barley. He had a big still-house, and jes' to go in dere and smell de air was almost enough to make yo' drunk. Mawster Jim never was much of a drinker. I think dat he sold a lot of de likker. My sistah Anne was workin' fo' a Mistress Duffel in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. I stayed wid her fo' awhile. One day Mistress Duffel said, 'Anne , Julius is gettin' to be too big to stay around here and play wid de chillun.' Anne got to cryin'. Whut's de matter wid yo' Anne ?' I asked. Mistress Duffel said dat yo' is done too big to stay here. Either yo' go or else I'll lose my job. Dat's whut she said.' Yo' won't lose yo' job Anne ,' I told her, 'cause I kin git me a home.' I never said goodbye, and jes' walked away. I ain't never seen her since. I den went down a road, and come to a fork. I took de left hand road. Den I come to a place in de road, where a straight pole was put across it. I didn't know at dat time dat it was a toll-gate, and dat it was five, ten, fifteen and twenty-five cents fo' crossin'. It was five cents fo' walkin'; ten cents fo' hoss-back; fifteen cents fo' a buggy; twenty-five cents fo' a wagon and team. De man whut owned de toll-gate lived right at de gate. His wife was Mrs. Dalton , a middle-aged lady, and she was settin' on de gallery in a rockin' chair. She saw me, but she didn't say nothin'. I jes' stooped down and went under de gate. I kept on goin' and never stopped till I come to de top of de next hill. When I got to de top of de hill, I saw a big pond. I sat down at de pond and threw rock into it. When it was twelb o'clock, I walked up to a house nearby. I saw a little colored boy, younger'n me, at de house. Den I walked up to de big house and I met a mighty bad dog. When I got up in de yard dis dog raised up and looked at me, but he didn't bother me. I went on around to de kitchen door, and de white folks was settin' down at de dinner table. I got to de door, and said, 'Do yo'-all want to hire a boy to work?' Dere Son, Reuben Wells , was in his twenties. "He said, 'Whut kin yo' do?' I kin do anything dat any other boy of my age can do,' I tole him. Did yo' ever plow?' he asked me. I told him yes. But I had never put my hand on a plow befo' in my life. I wanted dat job. Dey give me a good dinner. Man, dey had a good dinner, dere was meat, ham, dey had peach cobbler, bread, butter, cakes, and coffee. Dere was everything dat a man wanted. I never suffered fo' want of food in my life. Dat's 'cause I always got along wid folks. Den Mawster Reuben took me to de field dat afternoon. He took de plow and made two rounds. Man, I followed him and watched dat plow. After he went the two rounds, he said, 'Now Julius , take a hold. Let me see whut yo' kin do.' I grabbed de plow quick. Now don't yo' hit dat hoss wid dat line,' Mawster Reuben said. Dat dark bay hoss was named Doc, and he was as fat as a mole. Now, go ahead Julius .' Giddap, Doc!' I said. Dat hoss went ahead, all right. I plowed about ten or fifteen steps, and down I went. I grabbed de plow, and got up. I went ahead a few steps further, and then some mo'e. Every row I got better and better. Julius, I'm goin' to town now.' So, he went on to town. After he left and got out of sight I counted off fifty rows. I said to myself, 'I'm goin' to plow dem out befo' night'. "I plowed dem rows befor' sundown. Mawster Reuben came back jes' a little befo' sundown, and he come out to de field and looked at de plowin' dat I had done. He never did come to where I was plowin'. Den he went back to de house. Dat night he said to me, 'How'd yo' git along, Julius ?' I got along putty well, I reckon. How many rows did yo' git?' Fifty rows, Mawster Reuben .' Why Julius , dat's mor'e dan I plow in a day.' He never did have to tell me f'om den on whut to do, and I was a boy of only about eight years old. Dat's all. I slept upstairs in de big house. I got my room, board, and clothes. I didn't git no money at dat time. I sure liked dem folks and dat place. I stayed wid 'em fo' mo'e dan twenty years. Jim Wells was Mawster Reuben's fathaw. His mothaw was Ca'oline Wells , one of de finest wimmen dat ever lived. My own mother couldn't have been better to me. At night I would help Mistress Ca'oline pick de seeds f'om de lint. I had to pick off two pounds of seeds every night. If yo' put de cotton close to de fire, it was easier to pick de seeds f'om de lint. I picked my two pounds every night. When I got my two pounds of seeds picked out, I was ready fo' bed. When I had de seeds picked out, Mistress Ca'oline would card de lint into hanks.

We left Tennessee in 1867. In 1868 we made a crop somewhere in Arkansas. In 1869, we landed at Round Rock, Williamson County, Texas. We made a crop dere in 1870. In 1871, we moved across de Colorado River, near Austin. Mawster Wells had a six hunnert acre fahm out dere. I helped wid de plowin' and de plantin' and de gatherin' of crops. But I never was a good cotton picker. Two hunnert pounds was about the most dat I could pick in day. A good picker kin pick f'om three to six hunnert pounds a day. De Wells ' folks always told me dat I was a free man, and could go anywhere at any time; but I obeyed dem folks, 'cause dey raised me. In 1881, I left de Wells ' fambly. Mistress Ca'oline ,' I said, 'I'm goin' to git married.' All right, by granny, Julius , we'll build yo' a little house.' And dey did. I married Susan Sprouts . I was about twenty-sebben at de time, and Susan was about nineteen. We had sixteen chillun. Some of 'em died when dey was babies. Dere is only three livin' today; Esther , Eva , and Pearl . Susan was a mighty good wife. She died in 1906, de same year dat I stopped fahmin'. Den I worked at other jobs. In de fall I would haul hay to town and sell it. I made many a dollah at it, too. I hauled hay fo' folks fo' fifteen cents a hunnert pounds. Sometimes I'd have f'om sixteen hunnert to two thousand pounds at one load. I was such a good hauler and seller, dat folks would come to me and say, 'Wilson , I want yo' to sell my load of hay.' Whut's in it fo' me?' "Dey would make me a price. I made as much as five dollahs a day. Kain't do dat nowadays. I never did have to ask nobody fo' nothin' in dem days. My second wife was Anne Kyle . We had no chillun. We separated. She separated f'om me. She saw somebody else dat she wanted. Will yo' sign dis divorce?' she asked me one day. Sure,' I told her, 'two times, if yo' want it.'   She got her divorce. I don't know whut year dis was. My third wife was Emma Johnson . I married her right here in dis house. It's her house. She was a widow wid five chillun. Befo' she died, in February 1936, she told me dat I could live here as long as I lived. Emma was about my own age. Her death has broke me up ever since. My eyes bother me - got cataracts in 'em; and once I fell asleep fo' four days, and couldn't git up. I done dat even when my wife was livin' yit. I could hear everything dat was said, but I couldn't move or talk. I wanted to sleep all of de time. I never did have much of a education. Some of my white folks was good enough to show me my A B C's but I jes' never could learn. I read and write some now. "I've been goin' to Sunday school fo' de past twenty years. I lak to go. I told 'em at de chu'ch dat when I got so dat I kain't come dere, dat dey was to come and git me. I sure do lak dem lessons dat dey give us every Sunday