"My pappy was Allen Rankin an' my mammy was Ca'line. There was twelve o'
us chillun, nine boys an' three girls. My pa was born in Mississippi an'
sol' to Marster Rankin when he was a young man. My mammy was married in
South Carolina an' sol' to Marster Rankin over at Columbia. She had to
leave her family. But she warnt long in gittin' her another man.

"Oh Lordy! The way us Niggers was treated was awful. Marster would beat,
knock, kick, kill. He done ever'thing he could 'cept eat us. We was
worked to death. We worked all Sunday, all day, all night. He whipped us
'til some jus' lay down to die. It was a poor life. I knows it aint
right to have hate in the heart, but, God Almighty! It's hard to be
forgivin' when I think of old man Rankin.

"If one o' his Niggers done something to displease him, which was mos'
ever' day, he'd whip him' til he'd mos' die an' then he'd kick him 'roun
in the dust. He'd even take his gun an', before the Nigger had time to
open his mouth, he'd jus' stan' there an' shoot him down.

"We'd git up at dawn to go to the fiel's. We'd take our pails o' grub
with us an' hang' em up in a row by the fence. We had meal an' pork an'
beef an' greens to eat. That was mos'ly what we had. Many a time when
noontime come an' we'd go to eat our vittals the marster would come
a-walkin' through the fiel with ten or twelve o' his houn' dogs. If he
looked in the pails an' was displeased with what he seen in 'em, he took
'em an' dumped 'em out before our very eyes an' let the dogs grab it up.
We didn' git nothin' to eat then 'til we come home late in the evenin'.
After he left we'd pick up pieces of the grub that the dogs left an' eat
'em. Hongry--hongry--we was so hongry.