I gets the Old Age Pension and meets the wagon and gets a little commodities.  I works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house.  I trusts in de Lord and try to do right, honey, dat way I lives.

Interviewer:  Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed:  Maria Sutton Clements, De Valls Bluff, Ark. 
Age:  Between 85 and 90
[TR:  Also reported as Maria Sutton Clemments]

“Miss, I don’t know a whole heap bout Mr. Wimbeish.  I don’t know no other name that what they all call him.  Some I heard say it like Wimbush.  He was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here [stomach].  He have hair bout color youn [light].  He have big blue eyes jes’ sparklin’ round over the victuals on the table.  He was a lively man.  He had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout.  He had fair skin and rosy jaws—­full round face.  He laughed out loud pretty often.  He looked fine when he laughed too.  They all was foolish bout him.  He was a newcommer in there.  I don’t know whah he stay.  He come down the road regular as Friday come, going to practice em marchin’.  Looked like bout fifty fellows.  I never seed Mr. Wimbeish on a horse all time he passed long that road.  He miter jes’ et round mong the people while he stayed there.  He wore red ‘appletts’ on his shoulders.  I never seed him outer that fresh starched white suit.  It was fishtail coat and had red bands stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] [TR:  ‘britches’ is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side.  He sure was a young man.  They had him bout different places eatin’.  Old mistress said, ‘Fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.’  That table was piled full.  It was fine eatin’.  He say so much I couldn’t forgit.  Never was a Yankee what have a heart he couldn’t understand.  I don’t know what he was.  He was so different.  He muster been a Southerner ’cause white folks would not treated him near that good.  It was fo de war.  They say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done gone an’ nebber been heard of till dis day.  I heard some say last they seed him, he was rollin’ over an’ over on the ground and the men run off to find em nother captain.  I don’t know if they was tellin’ like it took place.  I know I never seed him no more.

Slave Times

“The servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans—­little wooden bowls—­and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups.  Some had tables fixed up out under the trees.  Way they make em—­split a big tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit.  They cooked on the fireplaces an’ hearth and outerdoors.  They cooked sompin to eat.  They had plenty to eat.  But they didn’t have pies and cake less they be goiner have company.  They have so much milk they fatten the pigs on it.

“The animals eat up the gardens and crops.  The man kill coon and possum if they didn’t get nough meat up at the house.  I say it sure is good.  It is good as pork.  The men prowl all night in the winter huntin’.  If you be workin’ at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a bucket that high [2 ft.], that big er round [1-1/2 feet wide].  The hands all come an’ did they eat.  That be mostly fried meat and bread and baked taters, so they could work.