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Laura remembered a long house with porches on Ellis Street, "running almost to Greene," between 7th and 8th, where slaves were herded and kept for market day. "Dey would line 'em up like horses or cows," she said, "and look in de mouf' at dey teeth. Den dey march 'em down together to market, in crowds, first Tuesday sale day."
In contrast to the pleasant recollections of most of the ex-slaves, Matilda gave a vivid picture of the worst phase of plantation life on a Georgia plantation. She had been plowing for four years when the war started.
"I was in about my thirteen when de war end," she mumbled. "Tum de fus' overseer, dey whu-op me to show me how to wuk. I wuk hard, all de time. I never had no good times. I so old I kain't rekellec' my marster's name. I kain't "member, honey. I had too hard time. We live in, a weather-board house, jus' hulled in. We had to eat anyting dey give us, mos'ly black 'lasses in a great big ole hogshead. When de war gwine on, we lad to live on rice, mos'ly, what dey raise. We had a hard time. Didn't know we was free for a long time. All give overseer so mean, de slaves run away. Dey gits de blood-houn' to fin' 'em. Dey done dug cave in de wood, down in de ground, and hide dere. Dey buckle de slave down to a log and beat de breaf' outter dem, till de blood run all over everywhere. When night come, dey drug 'em to dey house and greases 'em down wid turpentine and rub salt in dey woun's to mek 'em hurt wuss. De overseer give de man whiskey to mek him mean. When dey whu-up my mother, I crawl under de house and cry."
One of Matilda's younger friends, listening, nodded her head in sympathy.
"When Matilda's mind was clearer she told us terrible stories," she said. "It makes all the rest of us thankful we weren't born in those times."
Matilda was mumbling and weeping.
"Dey was mean overseer," she whispered. "But dey was run out o' de country. Some white ladies in de neighborhood reported 'um and had 'um run out.""
