[Illustration: _Hannah Irwin, [TR: Eufaula?], Alabama_]
"Well, what about the Yankees?" she was asked. "Did you ever see any Yankees; and what did you think of the ones that came through your place? Were you glad that they set you free?"
"I suppose dem Yankees was all right in dere place," she continued, "but dey neber belong in de South. Why, Miss, one of ’em axe me what was dem white flowers in de fiel’? You’d think dat a gent’men wid all dem decorations on hisself woulda knowed a fiel’ of cotton. An’ as for dey a-settin’ me free! Miss, us niggers on de Bennett place was free as soon as we was bawn. I always been free."
*Interview with Martha Jackson* _Ruby Pickens Tartt, Livingston, Alabama_
"When de War fus’ started," said Martha Jackson, who was born in 1850, "dey wouldn’t let none of de cullud people go to chu’ch ’thout dey had a pass, and mighty few white folkses would give ’em a pass. Dere was a heap of men (hit mou’t have been six or twelve, my recollection is short, but anyhow ’twas jus’ a big crowd) whut went back’erds en ferwerds jes’ lack sher’fs and de calls de’se’fs de ’Patterrollers.’ Ef de white folks give de niggers a pass, den dey could go, and ef dey was to go’thout one, dem Patterrollers would have ’em a-runnin’ thoo de woods jes’ lack dey was a lot of deer, an ef dey ever cotch ’em, dey’d take ’em to dey Marster and he’d jes’ natchelly wear ’em out!
"Den dey didn’t ’low ’em for to go nowhurs much, eben when de plantation j’ined one ernudder did, dey’d ketch ’em over dere and fetch ’em back and dey’d git whooped ag’in, and dat’s ’zackly how come a heap uv ’em run’d away. I knowed a nigger onc’t whut was gone nigh ’bout a year, and he wa’n’t gone nowhur but right up de big road a piece, livin’ in a cave whut he dug outer de side uv a clay bank. And Miss Betty say, ’Marthy, whur you reckon Dan at?’ And I never said nothin’. De Patterrollers couldn’t fine him or nobody, and he ain’t never showed hisse’f in daylight ’tel he peered up atter de S’render.
"And I knowed a woman name Tishie, Miss Mollie’s house sarvant. She run away ’case dey so mean to her, I reckon, and de cullud folks harbored her and hid her up in de grain house wid de peas and sech lac’, stedder down in de corn crib. And who ever ’twas ’trayed her I ain’t sayin’ but a crowd uv dem Patterrollers come and got ’er one night, and tuck her away, and I ain’t nebber seed Tishie no mo’.