"My first baby was born to my husband. I didn't throw myself away. I
married Mr. Cragin in 1867. He lived with me about fifteen years before
he died. He got kicked. He was a baker. During the War, he was the cook
in a camp. He went to get some flour one morning. He snatched the tray
too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. He never did get over it. The
tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. It was a sliding tray.
It rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. I don't know
why they called it a kick.
"I married a second husband--if you can call it that--a nigger named
Jones. He had a spoonful of sense. We didn't live together three months.
He came in one day and I didn't have dinner ready. He slapped me. I had
never been slapped by a man before. I went to the drawer and got my
pistol out and started to kill him. But I didn't. I told him to leave
there fast. He had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them,
and then he used to use bad language too.