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Rolt-Wheeler, Francis, 1876-1960

"The Boy With the U.S. Census"

Go on, boy."
"Floggin's started in when the convicts come, an' thar was no difference
made between us an' them. We were supposed to be paid, but our pay was
always in tickets to the comp'ny store, an' they charged double prices
for everythin'. They never gave us a cent o' money. A lot of us got
together an' decided to escape, but when it come to doin' it, only
three would go. One got away entirely, one was shot, an' Ah was caught.
They took me to the stockade an' whipped me 'mos' to death, three days
runnin'. The third day Ah was so near dead that they didn't tie me up,
an' when, hours later, Ah did stagger to mah feet, they jes' pointed to
the fields whar the hands was workin'. Ah heard one o' the guards say,
'He won't go far,' an' Ah hid in the woods, Ah don' know how long, jes'
livin' on berries, an' at las' Ah got away. Ah knew Ah would be safe in
Kentucky."
The Colonel looked at the man closely.
"I believe you've been a bad nigger," he said, "and I wouldn't believe
any more of your story than I had to. But it's easy enough to see that
you have been abused, and that you need help right now. I'll give you a
chance. Peter, your father is staying with you?"
"Yas, sah.


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