They brung him home and
buried him in the garden. Down close to Duncan on the place. I played in
the yard wid Mr. Jack Oates, Jr. when we was little fellars. Father's
master in Tennessee was Bill Tyler. My uncle went back to Tennessee to
them. His name was Tyler Oates. Mr. Jack Gates, Sr. used to pat me and
call me his little nigger. We thought the world and all of our white
folks. We sure did. Some of 'em 'round 'bout Helena they say now. Mr.
Jack, Jr., he had two boys and he was a widower.
"My own dear mother was Jane. My father called hisself Bill Tyler. My
stepmother was Liddy. The woman what raised me was 'Mammy' all I ever
knowed. But her name was Luckadoo.
"Mr. Tyler got killed. Pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. He
got sold. Then she died. Then mother died. Jack Oates went to my father
and brung him to Mississippi, then to Arkansas.
"Master Jack Tyler hid out. The Yankees come at night and caught him
there and shot him. His wife lived about two more years. She grieved
about him. They took everything and searched the house. My pa was hid
under the house. They rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen
him once. He was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the
dark.
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