Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume XIV, South Carolina Narratives, Part 3
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Title: Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States from Interviews with Former Slaves, Volume XIV, South Carolina Narratives, Part 3
Author: United States. Work Projects Administration
Release date: May 4, 2011 [eBook #36022]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVE NARRATIVES: A FOLK HISTORY OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES FROM INTERVIEWS WITH FORMER SLAVES, VOLUME XIV, SOUTH CAROLINA NARRATIVES, PART 3 ***
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SLAVE NARRATIVES
_A Folk History of Slavery in the United States_
_From Interviews with Former Slaves_
TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY
THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
1936-1938
ASSEMBLED BY
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT
WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
_Illustrated with Photographs_
WASHINGTON 1941
VOLUME XIV
SOUTH CAROLINA NARRATIVES--PART 3
Prepared by the Federal Writers' Project of
the Works Progress Administration
for the State of Alabama
[HW:] Handwritten note
[TR:] Transcriber's note
INFORMANTS
- Adeline Jackson
- Cordelia Anderson Jackson
- Agnes James
- Fred James
- Isiah Jeffries
- Thomas Jefferson
- Henry D. Jenkins
- Maria Jenkins
- Paul Jenkins
- Emma Jeter
- Adeline Hall Johnson
- Anna Johnson
- Jack Johnson
- James Johnson
- Rev. James H. Johnson
- Jane Johnson
- Jimmie Johnson
- Mary Johnson
- Miemy Johnson
- Tom Johnson
- Richard (Look-up) Jones
- Wesley Jones
- Sallie Layton Keenan
- Ella Kelly
- Martha Kelly
- Mary Jane Kelley
- Gabe Lance
- Ephriam (Mike) Lawrence
- Ben Leitner
- Mary Ann Lipscomb
- Govan Littlejohn
- Easter Lockhart
- Gable Locklier
- Walter Long
- Gillam Lowden
- Emma Lowran
- Nellie Loyd
- Amie Lumpkin
- Ballam Lyles
- Eison Lyles
- Moses Lyles
- George McAlilley
- Ed McCrorey (Mack)
- Richard Mack
- Jake McLeod
- Bill McNeil
- Andy Marion
- Milton Marshall
- Charlie Meadow
- Albert Means
- Andrew Means
- Jason Miller
- Lucinda Miller
- Cureton Milling
- Abbey Mishow
- Sam Mitchell
- Charity Moore
- Sena Moore
- Silas Nelson
- Susan Nelson
- William Oliver
- Albert Oxner
- Ann Palmer
- George Patterson
- Sallie Paul
- Lina Anne Pendergrass
- Amy Perry
- Rob Perry
- Victoria Perry
- John Petty
- Sarah Poindexter
- Sam Polite
- William Pratt
- Henry Pristell
- Junius Quattlebaum
Adeline Jackson
*Interview with Adeline Jackson, 88 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
"I was born four miles southwest of where I is now, on de other side of
Woodward Station. I was a slave of old Marster John Mobley, de richest
man, de larges' land owner, and wid more niggers than any other white
man in de county. He was de seventh son of de seventh son, so he
allowed, and you knows dat's a sign of a big family, lots of cows,
mules, horses, money, chillun and everything dat's worth havin'. He had
a good wife too; dis de way he got her, he say. She de daughter of old
Maj. Andy McLean, who got a body full of bullets in de Revolution; he
didn't want Katie to marry Marster John. Marster John git on a mule and
ride up in de night. Miss Katie runned out, jump up behin' him, run away
and marry Marster John. They had de same birthday, March 27th, but
Marster John two years older than Miss Katie. Dat day was looked to,
same as Christmas, every year dat come. Big times then, I tell you!
"My mistress had long hair, techin' de floor and could dance, so Marster
John said, wid a glass of water on top of her head. Marster John got
'ligion and went all de way lak de jailer in de Bible. All de house
jined wid him and mos' of de slaves. It was Baptist and he built a
spankin' good church buildin' down de road, all out of his own money,
and de cemetery dere yet. He called it 'Fellowship.' Some fine
tombstones in dere yet. De finest cost two thousand dollars, dat's his
daughter Nancy's tomb. Marster John and my old mistress buried in dere.
"When my younges' mistress, name Marion Rebecca, married her second
cousin, Marster Edward P. Mobley, I was give to her and went wid them to
de June place. It was called dat because old Doctor June built it and
sold it to Marster Ed. I nussed her first chillun: Edward, Moses Hill,
John and Katie. It was a large, two-story frame house, with chimneys at
each gable end. Marster Edward got to be as rich as old marster; he
owned de June place, de Rochelle plantation, de Peay place and de
Roebuck place. Yes sir, course us had overseers for so many slaves and
plantations. I 'member Mr. Oze Brown, Mr. Neely and Mr. Tim Gladney. In
course of time I was took off de nussin' and put to de field. I drapped
cotton seed, hoed some, and picked cotton.
"I don't 'member no poor buckra, outside de overeeers, 'cept a Mr. Reed
dat lived down on wateroe, passin' our house sometime. He was a
Godforsaken lookin' man dat marster or mistress always give somethin'.
"Our neighbors was de Pearys, de Durhams, de Picketts, de Barbers and
Boulwares. Doctor Henry Gibson was our doctor. All dese folks kep' a
pack of hounds to run deer and foxes. Yes, I has eat many pieces of
deer. Good? I wouldn't fool you, taste it and you'll hunger for it ever
afterward.
"Yes sir, at certain times we worked long and hard, and you had to be
'ticular. De only whipping I got was for chopping down a good corn stalk
near a stump in a new ground. Marster never sold a slave but swaps were
made wid kin people to advantage, slaves' wives and husbands sometimes.
I never learned to read or write. I went to White Poplar Springs Church,
de Baptist church my mistress 'tended. De preacher was Mr. Cartledge. He
allowed Miss Marion was de flower of his flock.
"Slaves lived in quarters, a stretch of small houses off from de White
House. Patrollers often come to search for stray slaves; wouldn't take
your word for it. They would search de house. If they ketch one widout a
pass, they whipped him. We got most our outside news Sunday at church.
When farm work was not pressing, we got all of Saturday to clean up
'round de houses, and wash and iron our clothes.
"Everything lively at Christmas time, dances wid fiddles, pattin' and
stick rattlin', but when I jined de church, I quit dancin'.
"After de war, a man came along on a red horse; he was dressed in a blue
uniform and told us we was free. De Yankees dat I 'members was not
gentlefolks. They stole everything they could take and de meanest thing
I ever see was shoats they half killed, cut off de hams, and left de
other parts quiverin' on de ground.
"I married Mose Jackson, after freedom, and had a boy, Henry. Last I
heard, he was at Shelby, North Carolina. We had a daughter, Mary, she
married Eph Brown. She had ten chillun, many gran' chillun, they's my
great-gran' chillun. My mistress was a good Christian woman, she give me
a big supper when I was married. Her house, durin' de war, always had
some sick or wounded soldier. I 'member her brother, Zed, come home wid
a leg gone. Her cousin, Theodore, was dere wid a part of his jaw gone.
My mistress could play de piano and sing de old songs. I 'members
Marster Theodore had trouble wid de words. Dere was a song called
'Jaunita', 'bout a fountain. Marster Theodore would try hard, but would
say, everytime, 'Jawneeta', and de folks would laugh but mistress never
would crack a smile but just go on wid another song. I thinks everybody
should jine de church and then live right. Have prayers in de family
befo' gitting in de bed. It would have good change, 'specially in de
towns I thinks.
"Yes, women in family way worked up to near de time, but guess Doctor
Gibson knowed his business. Just befo' de time, they was took out and
put in de cardin' and spinnin' rooms.
"Yes, I see folks put irons in de fire and some throw a big chunk of
fire into de yard to make de screech owl stop his scary sounds.
"Befo' I forgits, Marster Edward bought a slave in Tennessee just 'cause
he could play de fiddle. Named him 'Tennessee Ike' and he played 'long
wid Ben Murray, another fiddler. Sometime all of us would be called up
into de front yard to play and dance and sing for Miss Marion, de
chillun and visitors. I was much happier them days than now. Maybe it
won't be so bad when I gits my old age pension."
Cordelia Anderson Jackson
*Interview with Cordelia Anderson Jackson, 78 years old*
*157 Kings St. Spartanburg, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
Cordelia lives in a small shack with some friends. She is quite an actor
and a tireless teller of yarns. She still ties her head up in a white
rag and has large eyes set far apart and a very flat nose. She is ebony
colored. She is a firm believer in her religion and she enjoys shouting
on any occasion for joy or for sorrow.
"White folks tells stories 'bout 'ligion. Dey tells stories 'bout it
kaise dey's 'fraid of it. I stays independent of what white folks tells
me when I shouts. De Spirit moves me every day, dat's how I stays in.
White folks don't feel sech as I does; so dey stays out. Can't serve God
all de time; allus something getting in de way. Dey tries me and den I
suddenly draps back to serving de Holy God. Never does it make no
difference how I's tossed about. Jesus, He comes and saves me everytime.
I's had a hard time, but I's blessed now--no mo' mountains.
"Ever since I a child I is liked white folks. Dey's good and dey does
not know why dey tells stories 'bout Jesus. I got a heap mo' in slavery
dan I does now; was sorry when Freedom got here. I 'specks I is nigh to
a hundred, but dat's so old. I jest calls myself any whars twixt
seventy-five and a hundred. I recollects slavery, though. Ma was
Charlotte Anderson and she lived in Union County wid de Tuckers, jest
across from de Richards Quarter.
"Biggest sight I ever see'd was dat balloon when it come down on Pea
Ridge. De man in it everybody addressed as Professor (Prof. Lowe--1861).
He let uncle Jerry git in it. Mr. McKissick helped uncle Jerry up in it.
It was de first balloon ever come to Union county, and 'til dis day I
don't like no balloons.
"Airplanes jest tickles, I cannot tell you how come, but dey jest does.
I went out dar (throwing her arm in the direction of the landing field)
and see'd 'em light. Dressed-up white folks hopped down out'n it from a
little do' dat a man wid leg'uns and a cap on opened. Thing gwine on wid
lots of burring and all like dat. When dem folks got out, some mo'
clam'ned in. Dat same man opened de do', shot (shut) it, and de plane
tuck off. White folks 'lowed dat it was gwine to 'lanta, Ga.
"Right dar I 'low'd, when I goes up like dat, I sho ain't gwine up wid
no man--I'se gwine up wid Jesus.
"Dat white woman [HW: Amelia Earhardt] went up and ain't nobody found
her yet and it been two months. Lawd, she looking fer de world's end.
God don't mean fer womens to do nothing like dat. Womens is stumbling
blocks at times.
"I got a boy dat been through school. He stays off, but he treats me so
good and talks to me like white folks does; so I calls him, 'white
child'. I 'longs to de church club. He tries to larn me to talk proper
when I goes out to dem meetings, but I fergits how befo' I reaches de
meeting. Us named it de 'Mothers' Club'. 'White child' pays fer me to
'long dar, and when I is down wid spells, dey nurses me. 'White child'
pays fer my 'onsurance' so dat I does not have no worriment to aggravate
my soul.
"White child birthed one Sunday morning jest a year atter de big
earthquake. It was also Christmas morning, kaise my child drapped a year
to de day atter dat earthquake and I feared dat he was not gwinter have
no sense. But My God, how he can read!
"One night, Aug. 30th, our house started rocking. We thought a panther
was a-rocking it, kaise my old man had see'd one. He run out wid a gun
and went to de wood pile; den he hollered to me and said, 'Delia, come
out here, de whole world is shaking'. God sho showed his power dat
night. Ever since dat I been fixed wid God. It won't long atter dat, us
heard a noise in our other room. Old man went in dar and see'd a panther
climbing up fer our rations. He grabbed his gun from over de do' and
shot dat panther in de corner.
"I used to think dat niggers was fools dat called me a nigger. I go and
tell Miss Nellie Tucker. She 'low, 'No, you ain't no nigger when other
niggers calls you one.' Marse William whistle like a partridge; den Miss
Nellie play her pianny. I dance and Marse send fer me a sugar and butter
biscuit. Marse git his banjo and he pick it fer me to sing 'Oh, Bob
white, is your wheat ripe? No, no, not quite.' Dat when I lived as a
little gal on Marse William's home tract, called Musgrove Tract.
VISION: "Was traveling in a gold chariot to Heaven. De overseer had come
to bleed me, but I went up. Something say to look back and see whar you
been. I looked back and said, 'Lawd, take me whar no rent won't bother
me!' Lawd answer, 'Do not pray dat way. Pray fer Him to do His will'.
Den I axed de Lawd whar is I. He say, 'Did you look down on dem
chimneys?' Den I see'd dat I was in de chariot wid water all under me.
It looked like de sky.
"To-day, I am so glad to walk about in Jesus' care. I wish people could
see my faith. I am a Christian."
Agnes James
*Interview with Mom Agnes James, 80 years old*
*Claussens, S.C.*
--_Annie Ruth Davis_
"Yes'um, I used to live in slavery time, but de Lord above know, I sho
don' really recollect nothin much to tell you 'bout slavery time. I don'
know exactly how old I is. Think I 'bout 80 some odd. Think dat 'bout de
age Bubba Gregg say I is. I tell you, I was so chillunfied in slavery
time, I ain' had no time to study 'bout no age. I say, I was so
chillunfied. Yes'um, dat it. Dat somethin dat I ought to had ax my
grandmammy 'bout how old I is, so den I might could call it up to you
right sharp. Oh, I wishes now I had ax my grandmammy dat word fore she
die.
"Us belong to Mr. Hector Cameron fore freedom come here. Right down dere
to Salem Church, dat whe' I was born. You hear talk of Miss Janie Little
over dere to Marion, ain' you? Dat who used to be my mittie in dem days.
Yes, mam, boss had pick me out to tend to Miss Janie. You see, he give
all his daughters one of us to have a care for dem.
"My white folks, dey had a right smart of colored people dey own en far
as I can reckon, dey been spend mighty good treatment to dem all de
time. I know 'bout old Miss used to love to feed us, my mercy! White
folks would send for all us chillun to go up to de big house en get
somethin to eat twixt meals. Yes'um, dey had a colored people quarter
dat been settin way back up on de hill. Had to have a quarter 'cause dat
whe' us been stay all de time old Miss won' stuffin' somethin down we
mouth. I remember, dere used to was de most pretty flowers in de lane
gwine through dem woods from us house right up to old Massa's yard en my
Lord, honey, I did love to be de first one long dere on a mornin to see
could I find a blossom to fetch to old Miss. Look like old Miss would be
so please to see my granny marchin all we chillun up dat path 'cause
when we would go dere on a mornin, she would set right down on de steps
en talk wid us. Would set dere in listen to see could all us say dat
prayin blessin she had learned us to speak fore she would hand us
anything to eat. Den she would give us everyone a spoonful of dis here
worm cure. Great Jerusalem! Miss would make dat herself out dese black
lookin seed mixed up in molasses. I remember, she would bring a big bowl
of dat out dere en would make Pickle tote it round for her while she put
it in us mouth. Yes, mam, Miss would give us all a spoonful of dat every
mornin en den she would ax us de next mornin if any us had any worms.
No, mam, she never didn' give us any other kind of medicine as I can
remember. Just give us dat en den feed us some milk en bread. Dat all
she give us, but I tell you, I was as proud of dat milk en bread as I is
of de rations I get dese days 'cause I never know no different den.
No'um, didn' nobody eat den like dey do now. All de people would make
dey own gardens in dem days en would fix soup en fry meat. I used to
been so glad to get me a 'tatoe en a piece of bread. I thought I was
eatin cake.
"I never didn' work in no field or nothin like dat no time. When I was a
little small girl, I would stay dere home en play 'bout de yard en nurse
my mammy's baby while she was workin in de field. Yes'um, old Massa
would give her task to pick cotton en hoe cotton en pick peas or
somethin another like dat 'bout all de time. Don' know whe' she work all
day or no, but I know she would always let up at 12 o'clock en come to
de house to get her somethin to eat. Can remember dat good as anything.
Oh, she would have to cook herself when she come home bein' dere wasn'
none of we chillun big enough to cook nothin. I recollects, I used to
get chips en pile dem up for her 'cause she always been tell me, if de
baby go to sleep, to get up some chips en put dem on de steps for her to
hurry en start fire wid. She would cook us meat en bread like corn
hoecake en fry meat de most of de time. Den another time, she would bake
a big round loaf like dat en break it in two en give me half en my
brother Charlie de other part. Would lay a piece of meat on de top of
it. No'um, I reckon 'bout all de people used to cook in de chimney. I
know my mammy used to cook in de chimney en I don' think she thought
nothin 'bout no stove in dem days. Cose if she did, I know we chillun
didn' get it.
"Yes, Lord, I been married 'bout 16 years fore my husband died. Yes'um,
I had a tolerable good size weddin over dere to Mr. Elija Gregg's house.
Been married in a white dress trimmed wid blue ribbon. You is hear talk
of a cream of tartar dress, ain' you? Oh, my Lord of mercy, dere was a
crowd of people dere dat night to get dey eye full en deyself full, too,
I say. Yes'um, I had four waiters in my ceremony. En had cake en rice en
'tatoe custard en a yearlin pig wid a red apple stuck in he mouth, so
dey tell me. Dat what was for de refreshments. De old man Charles
Reynolds, he was de preacher dere dat night en, say, he eat so much pig
till you could see pig in he face, so dey tell me. Cose I never had no
mind to know nothin 'bout it. Oh, yes Lord, I got seven chillun dat come
here fore my old man die, but dey all done gone en get married en left
me by myself. Dat how-come I stays over here wid Miss Bertie 'cause she
ain' have nobody to stay wid her neither en I tries to help her out
somehow. Yes'um, me en Miss Bertie does rest right well together, I say.
"Oh, great jumpin mercy, de shake! I sho knows all 'bout dat 'cause I
was stayin right up dere to old man Elija Gregg's place den. I tellin
you, it was a time, honey. I was gwine down side de road to prayer
meetin dat night wid my baby in my arms en dere come such a roarin' en a
rockin' in de elements till I thought my baby had got out my arms en I
was just a hollerin for somebody to come en help me get my baby back.
Been so crazy dat I was lookin in all de ditches for my baby. My
husband, he come a runnin to see what ailed me en say, 'Agnes, what de
matter wid you?' I say, 'My baby lost. Do Lord, whe' my baby gone?' He
say, 'Agnes, you must be ailin in de head. Dere de baby on your arm.'
Yes'um, I was crazy 'cause I had my baby in my arms en didn' know it.
Oh, de people done a piece of hollerin dat night. Everybody was a
hollerin en a prayin. I hear talk three or four of dem got converted in
de spirit dat night. I tellin you, it been a long time fore I got over
dat thing, too, 'cause I was scared most to death.
"No'um, I never didn' believe in nothin like dat. Never didn' believe in
no conjurin. Don' care what dey say 'bout it, I never didn' believe in
it. Yes'um, I hear people talk 'bout somebody had hurt dem, but dey make
a wrong mistake to say somebody do somethin to dem. Ain' nobody but de
Lord do nothin, I say. I know dere ain' nobody never do nothin to me.
Hear people say dey wear money round dey ankle to keep folks from hurtin
dem, but ain' nobody never bother me, I tell dem. If dey live right,
ain' nobody gwine trouble dem neither. No, Lord, ain' nobody never speak
no harm word to me en I ain' got no mind to harness up myself.
"Well, it just seems like de world growin wilder for de young folks. Dey
don' never think 'bout nothin 'cept gwine right head first all de time.
I know when I been comin up, I never see no such livin like de people
makin dese days. Dey just gwine head over heels to de worser. Don' never
think near a day dey got to stop some of dese days.
"I tell de truth, it ain' make no difference which time I think de best
time to live in. Everything went well en good wid me in de old days en
everything still gwine dat way, Thank de Lord, too."
Fred James
*Interview with Fred James (81)*
*Newberry, S.C. RFD*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"Yes, I 'member slavery time and de war. I was about 7 or 8 years old. I
belonged to Marse Tom Price. My father, John James, belonged to Madison
Brooks and my mammy belonged to Tom Price. When dey married dey lived
wid Madison Brooks awhile, but dey was wid Tom Price when I was a boy.
"Of cose I 'member de war. Us chaps, both niggers and white, was made to
go up-stairs in de big house and look out de window to see de soldiers
when dey come. We heard de Yankees marching befo' dey got dar, but dey
come from de other side of de house, facing south towards Caldwells, and
we didn't see dem marching in. Dey stopped at our house and looked
around and asked if marster was at home. We told him dat he wasn't dar.
We was eating apples, and dey asked us whar we got 'em. We told dem dat
we got de apples on de place, and dey asked us for some. We give dem
some apples; den dey left. Marse had carried his fine stock about a mile
off in de woods so de soldiers couldn't find dem; but we didn't tell de
soldiers.
"We lived in a little log cabin made wid mud between de logs, dat was de
kind of houses Marse had for his slaves. We slept on wood beds wid ropes
stretched tight across in place of slats. Dis held our straw mattress.
"My father's daddy come from Africa. His name was Emmanuel James. Atter
freedom come he give me a little yearling. We wasn't allowed to have
anything befo' freedom come; and we wasn't allowed to learn to read and
write. Dey whipped us if dey caught us wid a book trying to read or
write. Ma said dey cut off a hand if dey caught you.
"We raised hogs, sheep, goats, cows and plenty chickens; raised
everything at home, and had a good garden with plenty vegetables. Dem
cows and hogs and other cattle were branded and allowed to graze around
in bottoms of de lowlands whar dar was no fence.
"My clothes was made from yarn spun by my mammy, and she made my
clothes, too. Marse had my mammy to spin and weave for all de slaves on
de place. But marse and mistress was good to us. He had a nigger
overseer who sometimes brought a nigger to marse when he misbehaved; den
marse would have de nigger overseer to whip him. He had 8 to 10 slaves
all de time.
"Some slaves dat lived on places close to us would run off sometimes and
hide in de woods, and live dar in a den which dey dug. At night they
would go out and hunt food, like hogs; den kill 'em at night and dress
'em. Most of de day dey would stay in de den.
"I 'member when freedom come, old marse said, 'You is all free, but you
can work on and make dis crop of corn and cotton; den I will divide up
wid you when Christmas comes.' Dey all worked, and when Christmas come,
marse told us we could get on and shuffle for ourselves, and he didn't
give us anything. We had to steal corn out of de crib. We prized de ears
out between de cracks and took dem home and parched dem. We would have
to eat on dese for several days.
"We had to work, all day, sun up to dark, and never had Saturday
afternoons off anytime. My mammy had to wash clothes on Saturday nights
for us to wear on Sundays.
"We chaps played marbles most all de time. Marse used to try to scare us
by telling us dar was spooks. Some of de old folks did believe in
spooks, but I don't know much about dem. We never used much medicine den
but quinine. Folks had lots of chills den, but dey never had any kind of
strokes or things like dat as dey do dese days.
"We had to get a pass from marse if we went out. If de patrollers caught
us widout a pass dey would whip us.
"Right atter de war de Ku Klux started. I 'member dem when dey would
march up and down de road. Dey marched most at night, and we could hear
de horses for a long distance as deir feet struck de ground.
"I married Nellie Wilson, and had 12 children. I got now 6 children; my
wife is dead. I got five grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.
"I think Abraham Lincoln and Jeff Davis was good men in deir way, as dey
thought. Booker T. Washington is a great man, and he is done lots of
good for de niggers. I think slavery was good in some ways and bad in
others. I was better off den dan I am now.
"I jined de church when I was 20 years old, because it was de law--to
trust in de Lawd, you got to belong to de church.
"I member something 'bout 40 acres of land and a mule dat de slaves
would get, but never come anything about it. When freedom come most of
de slaves hired out as wage hands, cutting wood and working on farms or
any odd jobs dey could get. Dar was lots of new ground, and many of de
niggers got work clearing it up.
"We didn't get any money in slavery time, but got plenty to eat; and
atter de war, we got a little money and a little to eat. I 'member dat
old Mr. Brown hired me out once about 45 years ago at 30c a day and my
meals. I think de younger generation ain't so good. Dey have deir own
way and don't respect old folks. Dat's de way it is wid both whites and
blacks."
Isiah Jeffries
*Interview with Isiah Jefferies, (age 86)*
*Gaffney, S.C. Rt. 6.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"I is what is known as a outside child. My Ma went to Hamlet. I lived on
de Jefferies plantation, below Wilkinsville in Cherokee County. My
father was Henry Jefferies. My mother was Jane Jefferies. My mother's
husband was named Ned. Before her marriage she was a Davis. She was sold
in slavery to Henry Jefferies. I allus lived with my mother, and Ned was
as good to me as he was to his own chillun. My mother had three outside
chilluns, and we each had a different father. Atter she married Ned; den
he jest come to be our Pa, dat is he let her give us his name. She and
Ned had four chillun.
"My first wife is dead and my second wife is named Alice Jefferies. I
got one child by my first wife, and I ain't got no outside chilluns. Dat
works out bad, at best. None of my folks is living. All of dem is done
dead now; jest me, my wife and my sister's daughter, Emma, who is grown
now. Her Pa and her Ma took and went crazy befo' dey died. Both of dem
died in de asylum. We took Emma, and she ain't jest 'zactly right; but
she ain't no bother to us.
"First thing I had to do as a child was to mind my Ma's other chilluns
as I was de first outside one dat she had. Dis I did until I was about
twelve years old. My Ma and Ned was working one day and I was minding
her chilluns as usual when I looked up and seed de top of our house on
fire. I hollered and dey come running from de field. De other hands come
with dem kaise I made such a noise hollering. Soon de big folks got de
fire out. Atter dat, Marse Henry had me to leave de house and go to work
fer him.
"It was spring and I started in chopping cotton. 'Peers dat I got on
pretty well, and dat de overseer liked me from de start. From dar on I
was broke into field work of all kinds and den I did work around de lot
as well. It was not long befo' everybody started calling me 'uncle
Zery', why--I did not know; but anyway dat name still sticks to me by
dem dat knows me well. My grandpa never called me dat, kaise I was named
atter him, and he too proud of dat fact to call me any nickname. I
stayed wid him at his house lots atter I started working fer de marster,
kaise he showed me how to do things. I worked fer him to git my first
money and he would give me a quarter fer a whole day's work. Dat made me
feel good and I thought I was a man kaise I made a quarter. In dem days
a quarter was a lot of money. I spent it fer chawing tobacco, and dat
made me sick at first. Dats all men had to spend money fer in dem days.
Everything was give you on de plantation and you did not need much
money. Sometimes we cooked out in de field and I have cooked bread in de
field in a lid.
"Ma teached me how to cook befo' I was twelve years old. We had good
things to eat den; more dan my chilluns has dese times. All de slaves
had dere gardens on my marster's plantation. He made dem do it, and dey
liked it. Niggers do not seem to take no pains wid gardens now. Land
ain't soft and mellow like it used to be. In cold weather we had to bank
out 'taters, rutabegas, beets, carrots and pumpkins. De pumpkins and
carrots was fer de hogs and cows.
"In warm weather we had cotton clothes and in cold weather we had woolen
clothes dat our marster had made fer us by de old ladies on de
plantation. But we did go barefooted all winter until we was grown and
married. We had all de wood we wanted fer fire. We kept fire all day and
all night. We sot by de fire in winter and popped corn, parched pinders
[HW: peanuts] and roasted corn ears.
"Marster and Mistress had six chilluns. Her name was Ellen and her house
was three stories high. Dere overseers allus lived wid dem. Dere was a
lot of slaves and dey all loved de white folks. De whole plantation was
allus up at sunup. But we did not work very late. I remember de
Patter-rollers, de Ku Klux and de Yankees. Niggers dreaded all three.
Dere was no jail fer us; de Patter-rollers kept us straight.
"When I got to be a big boy, my Ma got religion at de Camp meeting at
El-Bethel. She shouted and sung fer three days, going all over de
plantation and de neighboring ones, inviting her friends to come to see
her baptized and shouting and praying fer dem. She went around to all de
people dat she had done wrong and begged dere forgiveness. She sent fer
dem dat had wronged her, and told dem dat she was born again and a new
woman, and dat she would forgive dem. She wanted everybody dat was not
saved to go up wid her.
"De white folks was baptized in de pool first, and den dere darkies.
When de darkies time come, dey sung and shouted so loud dat de
Patter-rollers come from somewhar, but Marster and Missus made dem go
away and let us shout and rejoice to de fullest. Missus had all her
darkies to wear white calico in de pool dat was a-gwine in fer
baptizing. In de sewing-room she had calico robes made fer everybody. My
Ma took me wid her to see her baptized, and I was so happy dat I sung
and shouted wid her. All de niggers jined in singing. De white folks
stayed and saw us baptize our folks, and dey liked our singing."
Thomas Jefferson
*Interview with Thomas Jefferson, 102 years old*
*Shiloh Church, Highway 29*
--_Ellie S. Rice, Anderson, S.C._
It is not often that a person 102 years old is seen doing manual labor,
and especially as hard a job as picking cotton. Yet that is just what
Thomas Jefferson was doing, who, as he himself stated, is, "102 years
and 18 days old today." Asked why he was doing this, he replied, "Just
to take a little exercise."
Thomas lives with his daughter, Florence Humphreys, on a small farm, out
near Shiloh Church, on Highway 29. Until recently, he slept in a little
shack nearby, taking his meals with his daughter. He is too feeble to
live alone now, however.
Thomas Jefferson was born on the farm of Mr. Jenkins Hammond, on the old
Hammond place, out on the Williamston road, on November 1, 1834. When
Mr. Hammond's daughter, Mary Amanda Pauline, married Elias John Earle,
son of Samuel Girard Earle, who was one of the very first citizens of
Anderson county, Mr. Hammond gave her, as a wedding gift, Thomas
Jefferson's mother and five children, of which Thomas was one. And here
he lived with the Earles on "Evergreen" plantation, for many, many
years.
During the War Between the States, Mr. Earle operated a corn and flour
mill, and Thomas Jefferson was his miller. Asked if he remembered this,
he replied, "Well, I do remember it. I remember one time we worked all
night Saturday night, all day Sunday and Sunday night, and Monday
morning had ten barrels of flour to send the Confederate army."
Shiloh (Baptist) Church, nearby, Thomas said, was being constructed at
the time the war started, and was not finished until after the war was
over. The first person buried in the Shiloh graveyard was Elijah
Herring, who was in the Confederate army and became ill and died, and
was brought home to be buried.
When Samuel Girard Earle died in 1848, and his wife in 1865, they were
buried under a large apple tree at "Evergreen" plantation. Later, their
bodies were removed to the Shiloh graveyard, by their grand-daughter,
Miss Betty Earle. Thomas says he helped to move and rebury the bodies.
Thomas was at one time a member of Shiloh, but is now a member of the
Mt. Sinai colored church.
Thomas is remarkably well for a person one hundred and two years old.
His eyes are dim, his steps tottering, but his hearing is good and his
mind is as clear as it ever was. Asked about his appetite, he said, "I
eat anything I can get, I can eat anything." Many people much younger
than he is, and certainly with more money than he has, would envy him
for his splendid digestion.
Thomas has been on the relief rolls now for several years. It is a
peculiar pleasure for Mrs. A.M. Mitchell, County Director of Temporary
State Department of Public Welfare, to look after Thomas personally,
because her grandmother was the bride to whom he was given, with his
mother and brothers and sisters. The old man eagerly anticipates Mrs.
Mitchell's coming each month, to bring his check and to look after his
comfort. He is very humble and exceedingly grateful for everything done
for him, and says he is expecting to live many more years, with the good
care he is getting.
Henry D. Jenkins
*Interview with Henry D. Jenkins, 87 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
Henry D. Jenkins lives in a four-room frame house, which he owns. His
wife, two single daughters, his son and his son's wife and three small
children live with him. The house is constructed on a tract of land
containing four hundred and eighty (480) acres, which Henry also owns.
He does not suffer with an inferiority complex. He is self-reliant and
thrifty, with a pardonable pride in his farm and his rise from slavery
to a position of respectibility as a church member, citizen, and tax
payer. He is well preserved physically, for his age, 87 years, alert in
his movements and animated in conversation.
His plantation and home is in the south western part of Fairfield
County, six or seven hundred yards east of State highway #215.
"Yes sir, tho' I am a 'spectable colored citizen, as you see me; I pays
taxes and owns my own plantation. I was once a slave on de Reese place,
in Sumter County, below Columbia. Just when I come to b'long to Mr.
Joseph Howell, I don't know. I recollects dat Marse Joe had 'bout twenty
families of slaves and dere was six hundred acres in his plantation.
"My mistress was his wife, Miss Sara. They had four chillun. Miss
Mattie, married Oscar Chappell. Johnnie, married a Miss Lever. Thomas,
married some lady in Columbia, disremember de fam'ly name. Miss Jessie,
married Rev. Huggins, a Baptist preacher, though her folks wasn't of dat
'suasion; they was Methodist. Us niggers was 'structed early in 'ligion.
Took to Cedar Creek and camp meetin'. My white folks had a fine
carriage. A mulatto boy, Adam, was de driver. Sometime I'd go wid him to
meet visitors from de low country at de station, and look after de
baggage and sich.
"Yes sir, I doesn't deny it, I got many whuppins. Dere's not much to a
boy, white or black, dat don't need a whuppin' sometime on de way up.
When you break a wild spirited colt, they make de best hoss or mule. I
can do more work today, than most of dese triflin', cigaret young mens.
You sees me today, as straight as a arrow and like a wild cat on my
foots.
"You bet yo' life, my white folks was de bestest in de land. They wasn't
mealy mouthed; they made everybody work, sun to sun, seven days in de
week. But didn't de good Lord set de 'zample? Yes sir, he made us all
work, women in de perils of child birth, drapped cotton seed and corn
kernels. Dr. Turnipseed, dat was our doctor, 'low dat light labor lak
dat good for them.
"Farm hands got a peck of meal, three pounds bacon, quart of 'lasses,
cup of salt, and two cups middlin' flour, no white flour. Had good warm
clothes in winter, one-piece cotton suit in summer, and de little
niggers went dressed in deir shirt tails from fust of June, to fust of
October. They sho' did, and was as happy over it as de day was long.
"My mother named Emma. Never married to my daddy, 'cause they didn't
live on de same place and b'long to same master. Daddy b'long to de
Halls. I have a brother by dis same mammy. Daddy go by de name of
Dinkins. He took up wid another woman after freedom, and my brother and
me was 'shame of him. Us 'cided to take Jenkins for our name but keep a
'D' in de middle, so if anything come up, de 'D' could 'cite 'membrance
of who us really is. You see what I mean?
"Our shoes for de winter was made on de place, out of leather from our
own tan-yard and from our own cow hides. Marster had a good fish pond.
He had a four-hoss gin, though mules pulled it. De lint cotton was
packed in a bale and a screw pit. Baggin' was any old thing, like old
sacks or canvas sheetin'.
"My mother jined de Baptis' church, and I followed in her foot steps.
Everybody ought to b'long to some church, 'cause it's 'spectable, and
membership in de church is both a fire and a life insurance. It 'sures
you 'ginst hell fire, and gives you at death, an eternal estate in
Hebben. What you laughin' at? It's de gospel truth I'm givin' you right
now. Wish everybody could hear it and believe it.
"My marster, Joe Howell, went off to de old war. His niggers was so well
trained, dat they carried on for him whilst he was gone and dere was no
trouble. Everything went on just de same as if he was dere.
"Pat-a-rollers (patrollers) would come often and ketch niggers sometime;
caught my daddy once and whup him good. Ours was a fine body of slaves
and loyal to de mistress and her chillun.
"Dances? Yes sir, I can hear them fiddles and de pattin' now. Dis de way
de dance was called: 'Balance all; sashshay to your partners; swing her
'round and promenade all; forward on de head; ladies change;' and all
dat. Then de jigs went on. Believe me, them was times!
"The main drawback on Marster Joe's plantation was, de water on de place
was no 'count. Us had to haul water on a sled, wid a mule, from de
Friday place; dat's de onliest trouble us had. Sometime us had to tie up
fodder and 'tend to de hay in de field on Sunday.
"I married fust a girl name Sarah, in 1878. Got three chillun by her.
She died. Not good for a man to live alone, de Lord say. I picked out
another Sarah, but called her Sallie. Us has had nine chillun. Three of
dese [TR: are] Sailor, Tera, and Monroe. Monroe lives on my place and
farms 'long side of me. Sam is in Detroit, Michigan; Henry in Flurida
(Florida).
"When de Yankees come, what they do? They did them things they ought not
to have done and they left undone de things they ought to have done.
Yes, dat just 'bout tells it. One thing you might like to hear. Mistress
got all de money, de silver, de gold and de jewels, and got de well
digger to hide them in de bottom of de well. Them Yankees smart. When
they got dere, they asked for de ve'y things at de bottom of de well.
Mistress wouldn't tell. They held a court of 'quiry in de yard; called
slaves up, one by one, good many. Must have been a Judas 'mongst us.
Soon a Yankee was let down in de well, and all dat money, silver, gold,
jewelry, watches, rings, brooches, knives and forks, butter-dishes,
waters, goblets, and cups was took and carried 'way by a army dat seemed
more concerned 'bout stealin', than they was 'bout de Holy War for de
liberation of de poor African slave people. They took off all de hosses,
sheeps, cows, chickens, and geese, took de seine and de fishes they
caught, corn in crib, meat in smoke house, and everything. Marse General
Sherman said war was hell. It sho' was. Mebbe it was hell for some of
them Yankees when they come to die and give account of de deeds they
done in Sumter and Richland Counties."
Maria Jenkins
*Interview with Maria Jenkins, about 90 years old*
*64 Montague Street, Charleston, S.C.*
--_Martha S. Pinckney, Charleston, S.C._
Maria Jenkins, who is about ninety, is very nearly blind, and only by
quiet persistence can she be made to hear; once started, her mind is
clear. She shows no bitterness. Occasionally there are flashes of humor.
Her body is brawny, sturdy and well carried, considering her age.
Maria Jenkins was a daughter of Aaron Grant; her mother's name is Ellen
Grant, all of whom were owned by Mr. Hugh Wilson of Wadmalaw Island.
"I b'long Wadmalaw. When de Yankee come I ole 'nuf for mind chillun, and
take um to de field. I go up to Maussa' house ebery day for de milk for
we; and dey give we clabba (clabber) and cow peas and ting out de
garden. We git ebery evening a bushel ob corn grind and hand ober to de
nurse, and him sift out de flour. Yes Mam. He done grind in de hand mill
in de barn yard--de stone mill. Dat been uh big mill too. And dey gib we
uh big piece ob meat--so--(measuring with hands) and sometime chicken.
Rachel cook in de big pot for we chillun, and he dip um out. (She here
explained the big ladle or dipper.) You know dem big ladle. We put um in
we pan. Yes, Ma'am, he name Rachel, and he lick we. We haffa love um or
she lick we." Her huge mouth was illumined by a humorous smile.
"He teach me to wash de baby clean and put on he dipa (diaper), and if I
ain't do um good he konk my head. When de wah come, my pa put heself
free off to New Orleans; I dunno how he look. I dunno if he libbin or
dead now. My ma dead fust year ob de wah, I hab twelve chillun, and all
dead; I got two grand chillun left--de one in New York--I raise him from
baby atter he ma and pa dead."
"Your grand son helps you?"
"Wat dat?", leaning forward with her hand back of her ear. The question
was repeated.
"Him ain't no man, him my grand daughter, Ellen Jenkins. I raise him
from baby yes, she name Ellen. Him good to me; him help me ebery
minute."
"Are all your people dead?"
"De whole nation dead," reflectively, "De whole nation dead--Peggy
dead--Toby dead--all leaning on de Lord."
"When dem boat come up de ribber, and he shoot, and shoot, de big gun,
dat been de awful time. My ma dead de fust year ob de wah--I dunno if
dem big gun kill um. He kill 'nuf people.
"Maussa come and he say: 'Who-na (all of you) nigger take care ob
yourself, I must leab to take my fambly away. Will is here; and de cow,
and de pig in de pen, and de chicken all ober de place--I gib you your
freedom for take care ob yourself.' W'en he gone, dem nigger break for
the thick woods. Some dead and some ain't dead."
Later a camp was established for this plantation of Negroes, back in the
pine woods. When asked what they did after the war, Maria raised her
hands and said:
"After de wah we all come home, tank de Lord! tank de Lord!"
"But your master didn't have any money to care for you."
"Haffa scrabble for yo'self." Said she.
Paul Jenkins
*Interview with Paul Jenkins, 70 years old*
*18 Belser's Alley, Columbia, S.C.*
--_Stiles M. Scruggs, Columbia, S.C._
_SON OF A SLAVE TELLS OF HIS FATHER'S POLITICAL EXPERIENCES_
Paul Jenkins, age seventy, living at 18 Belser's Alley, Columbia, S.C.,
is a son of Paul Jenkins, a former slave, who decided to endure the
burdens he had in Colleton County, South Carolina, after he was set free
in 1865, rather than to fly to other places he knew nothing of. There he
won the respect of the white folks and Negroes alike, was repeatedly
elected to office, and lived there happily to the end of his life.
Here the present Paul Jenkins takes up the story, with:
"I was born in Colleton County in 1867. My daddy was in office when I
begin to recall things, and he keep in office, by the will of the
people, until I was nearly grown. My mammy, too, was a slave, when she
and daddy marry. She die when I was 'bout twelve years old, and my only
brother, Edgar, was goin' on ten. My daddy never marry again.
"One day some white men come to see daddy long after mammy was gone, and
they say to daddy: 'Paul, when you gwine to jump the broomstick again?'
My daddy was the only one who not laugh when they say that. He reply: 'I
has no women in view and no weddin' dream in the back of my head. I has
decided a wicked woman am a big bother and a good woman am a bore. To my
way of thinkin', that is the only difference between them.' The white
folks not smile, but say: 'You'll see! Just wait 'til the right girl
come along.'
"Daddy just seem to make friends of all the people 'bout him, and our
house, close to Smoak, was a big meetin' place most of the time.
Sometimes the visitors are all white men. But at other days the niggers
come and talk, tell funny tales, and laugh. Most of the meetin's at the
house was late at night, 'cause my daddy always go to his office at
Walterboro, on week days. People comin' and goin' there, all the time.
Daddy was sho' popular with the people, generally speakin'.
"The biggest crowd I ever seen up to that time, was when General M.C.
Butler come to Walterboro in 1882, to speak. He had been United States
Senator since 1876, and was a candidate for re-election. General Butler
much pleased, that day, when many white leaders and daddy call at his
hotel and tell him that daddy had been asked by his neighbors to
introduce him. He say: 'Well, from what I hears, Paul Jenkins can do
that job as well as anybody in the State.' Then he pat daddy on the
shoulder.
"At the speakin', daddy gets up, and the big crowd claps its hands for
joy, and laughs, too. Daddy not laugh much, just smile. Then he throw
back his shoulders and say:
General Butler, lak Moses, led us forth at last,
The barren wilderness he pass'd
Did on the very border stand
Of the bless'd Promise Land,
And from the misty mountain tops of his exalted wit,
Saw it himself and showed us it!
"'That's why we am sendin' him back----'. That was all I hear. Daddy not
allowed to finish. The people riot with pleasure, and General Butler say
the tribute am de finest he ever hear, and smile at daddy sittin' there
on the platform with the other big folks. At another time, daddy has a
nigger lawyer runnin' 'gainst him for County Commissioner. The lawyer's
name was Amphibious McIver. They begin the campaign at Cottageville.
McIver speak first. Daddy follow, and begin with:
A bullfrog tied by its tail to a stump,
It rear and it croak, but it couldn't make a jump!
"The white folks and the niggers clap, stamp, throw hats, and laugh;
finally, marchin' up to the table to grab daddy and carry him up the
street on their shoulders. He keep sayin': 'Boys, why don't you let me
finish my speech?' They would laugh and say: 'Paul, you done made de
best speech in de world!' Daddy win at the 'lection, in a big way.
"My daddy learn to read, write, and cipher while he was a slave. The
Jenkins family help him, he say, 'cause he always keep the peace, and
work as he was told to do. When he's set free, that white family help
him get settled and loaned him books. He go to Charleston 'bout 1868 and
buy an armful of books and studied at night or whenever he had the
chance. That is why he was able to make the political races which he
make and profit by. He send me and my brother, Edgar, to school, so that
we learn a good deal in books. Edgar, he fidgitty lak, and decide he go
to Pennsylvania and make a fortune!
"Edgar got work in a steel mill at Johnstown, soon after he got there,
and had considerable money, when he was sent to the hospital with
pneumonia. He pull through that sickness and go back to his job, but the
big flood come (May 31, 1889) and the girl he was to marry was among the
2,000 unknown people who was drowned, and he never has married--peculiar
lak our daddy, don't you think? I just been married to one. She is 68
and I's 70 and I may say we's through, too!
"I specialized on bridge-buildin'. I has helped build a sight of bridges
in my time, travelin' as far as Memphis, Tenn., in that work. I has made
oodles of money, but my dollars always has wings and, one way or the
other, they get away from me. Still me and my old woman not sufferin'
much and we hopes, when we goes away for good, we goes together."
Emma Jeter
*Interview with "Aunt" Emma Jeter*
*21 Long Twelve, Union, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"Lordy, Honey, I sho was born in slavery and I is proud o' it too. Ole
Marse Cole Lawson was my ole marster. When I axed him how old I was, he
allus 'lowed something like dis, 'you is older than you is good', and
dat all he ever said 'bout my age. Sweet Dreams (her grand daughter),
come here and fetch me a drink from de well to wet my mouth! My
grand-daughter stay wid me at night. When she doan stay, some o' de
other grand uns stays. Sometime it's jest me and Sago here all alone. I
jes' sets and looks at him at night while he sleep. He work de rich
white folks' flower yards fer 'em, and dat brings him in at night real
tired. My grand-daughter's real name is Marguerite Porter, but nobody
don't hardly know dat; kaise everybody call her Sweet Dream, her lil
baby name. She my oldest daughter's fifth chile. My feelings tells me I
is ole, and my white folks 'll tell you I was born in slavery, 'cept dey
is all dead.
"Light furs' struck me on de large plantation o' Ole Marse Cole Lawson,
de paw o' Mr. Victor Lawson. Mr. Victor ain't no spring chicken no mo'
hisself. Dat over in Sedalia in de Minter Section. You kno's 'bout de
large plantation o' Marse James E. Minter, dat gib de section its name?
(CHS show boundaries of Minter lands). Way back over dar whar I was
born.
"Paw stay in Union County. Maw was sold to a man name Marse Bailey Suber
over in Fairfield, while I still a suckling. At dat time, my paw was
bought by a widder woman, Miss Sarah Barnett, in Union Cnty. Lawd Jesus!
Dat separate my maw and paw. Maw tuck me 'long wid her. Maw name Clara
Sims. When Me and maw went to Fairfield, us didn't stay dar long 'fo ole
man Harrison Sartor of Santuck, bought my maw. Us glad to git back to
Union. I was a big size gal by dis time and I start to be de waiting gal
in my new Marse's house fer his wife, Miss Betsy. Miss Betsy had one
sister, Miss Nancy Wilson, dat live wid her. Her missus and old Marster
and dere son, Willie, was all dat I had to wait on, kaise dat was all
dar was in de household.
"God-A-Mighty! Is you gwine to fill up dat book wid all dat I says?
Well, Marse Harrison didn't 'low paw to see maw 'cept twice a
year--laying-by time and Christmas. My paw still 'longed to Miss Sarah
Barnett. Dat's 'zactly why I is got five half-sisters and one-half
brother. Paw got him another wife at Miss Sarah's. Miss Sarah want young
healthy slaves. Maw had jes' me and Ann. Ann been daed, Oh, Lord, forty
years. Dis all to my recollections.
"Is you gwine to fix fer me and Sago to git some pension? Gawd naw, some
dese lil babies whats 'er sucking de maw's titties is gwine to git dat
pension. Us all gwine to be daed 'fo it even come out. You ain't gwine
to even sho' dat to no Gov'ment man; no Lawd, ain't never thought I's
gwine to git it.
"Yes, Honey, I was in Fairfield den, but I 'members when crowds o' men
come in from de war. All us chilluns seed mens coming and us run and
tuck off fas' as us could fer de nearest woods, kaise us wuz dat scared,
dat dem mens gwine to git us. Atter dat, us found out dey was our own
folks. Us had done tuck and run from dem den.
"Chile, you come back when Sago here, and us tell you dat book full, sho
nuff."
Adeline Hall Johnson
*Interview with Adeline Hall Johnson, 93 Years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
Adeline Hall's husband was Tom Johnson but she prefers to be called
"Hall", the name of her old master. Adeline lives with her daughter,
Emma, and Emma's six children, about ten miles southeast of Winnsboro,
S.C., in a three-room frame house on the Durham place, a plantation
owned by Mr. A.M. Owens of Winnsboro. The plantation contains 1,500
acres, populated by over sixty Negroes, run as a diversified farm, under
the supervision of a white overseer in the employ of Mr. Owens.
The wide expanse of cotton and corn fields, the large number of dusky
Negro laborers working along side by side in the fields and singing
Negro spirituals as they work, give a fair presentation or picture of
what slavery was like on a well conducted Southern plantation before the
Civil War. Adeline fits into this picture as the old Negro "Mauma" of
the plantation, respected by all, white and black, and tenderly cared
for. She has her clay pipe and stick ever with and about her. There is a
spacious pocket in her dress underneath an apron. In that pocket is a
miscellany of broken pieces of china, crumbs of tobacco, a biscuit, a
bit of wire, numerous strings of various colors, and from time to time
the pipe becomes the warm individual member of the varied assortment.
Her eyes are bright and undimmed by age and the vigor with which she can
telegraph her wants to the household by the rappings of that stick on
the plank floor is interesting and amusing.
She is confident that she will round out a century of years, because:
"Marse Arthur Owens done tell me I'll live to be a hundred, if I stay on
his place and never 'lope away wid any strange young buck nigger.
"I's not so feeble as I might 'pear, white folks. Long time I suffer for
sight, but dese last years I see just as good as I ever did. Dats a
blessin' from de Lord!
"Who I b'long to in slavery time? Where I born? I born on what is now
called de Jesse Gladden place but it all b'long to my old marster,
William Hall, then.
"My old marster was one of de richest man in de world. Him have lands in
Chester and Fairfield counties, Georgia and Florida, and one place on de
Red River in Arkansas. He also had a plantation, to raise brown suger
on, in old Louisiana. Then him and his brudder, Daniel, built and give
Bethesda Church, dats standin' yet, to de white Methodis' of Mitford,
for them to 'tend and worship at. He 'membered de Lord, you see, in all
his ways and de Lord guide his steps.
"I never have to do no field work; just stayed 'round de house and wait
on de mistress, and de chillun. I was whupped just one time. Dat was for
markin' de mantel-piece wid a dead coal of fire. They make mammy do de
lashin'. Hadn't hit me three licks befo' Miss Dorcas, Miss Jemima, Miss
Julia, and Marse Johnnie run dere, ketch de switch, and say: 'Dat enough
Mauma Ann! Addie won't do it agin'. Dats all de beatin' I ever 'ceived
in slavery time.
"Now does you wanna know what I do when I was a child, from de time I
git up in de mornin' to de time I go to bed? I was 'bout raised up in de
house. Well, in de evenin', I fill them boxes wid chips and fat
splinters. When mornin' come, I go in dere and make a fire for my young
mistresses to git up by. I help dress them and comb deir hair. Then I
goes down stairs and put flowers on de breakfas' table and lay de Bible
by Marse William's chair. Then I bring in de breakfas'. (Table have to
be set de night befo') When everything was on de table, I ring de bell.
White folks come down and I wait on de table.
"After de meal finish, Marse William read de Bible and pray. I clear de
table and help wash de dishes. When dat finish, I cleans up de rooms.
Then I acts as maid and waitress at dinner and supper. I warms up de
girls' room, where they sleep, after supper. Then go home to poppy John
and Mauma Anne. Dat was a happy time, wid happy days!
"Dat was a happy family. Marse William have no trouble, 'cept once when
him brudder, Daniel, come over one mornin' and closet wid Marse William.
When Marse Daniel go, Marse William come in dere where me and de
mistress was and say: 'Tom's run away from school'. (Dats one of Marse
Daniel's boys dat 'tended school at Mt. Zion, in Winnsboro) Her 'low:
'What him run away for?' 'Had a fool duel wid a Caldwell boy,' him say.
I hear no more 'bout dat 'til Marse Tom come home and then I hear
plenty. White folks been laughin' 'bout it ever since. Special talk
'bout it since Marse Tom's grandson b'come a United State Judge. Bet
Marse Dan Hall told you 'bout it. Want me to go ahead and tell you it my
way? Well, 'twas dis a way: Marse Tom and Marse Joe Caldwell fell out
'bout a piece of soap when they was roomin' together at school. Boys
crowd 'round them and say: 'Fight it out!' They hit a lick or two, and
was parted. Then de older boys say dere must be a duel. Marse Joe git
seconds. Marse Tom git seconds. They load guns wid powder but put no
bullets in them. Tell Marse Joe 'bout it but don't tell Marse Tom. Then
they go down town, fix up a bag of pokeberry juice, and have it inside
Marse Joe's westcoat, on his breast. Took them out in a field, face
them, and say: 'One, two, three, fire!' Guns went off, Marse Joe slap
his hand on his chest, and de bag bust. Red juice run all over him.
Older boys say: 'Run Tom and git out de way.' Marse Tom never stop 'til
him git to Liverpool, England. Marse William and Marse Daniel find him
dere, sent money for to fetch him home and him laugh 'bout it when he
git back. Yes sir, dat is de grandpappy of Marse Lyle Glenn, a big judge
right now.
"De white folks near, was de Mellichamps, de Gladdens, de Mobleys,
Lumpkins, Boulwares, Fords, Picketts, and Johnsons.
"When de Yankees come, they was struck dumb wid de way marster acted.
They took things, wid a beg your pardon kind of way, but they never
burnt a single thing, and went off wid deir tails twixt deir legs, kinda
'shame lak.
"After freedom I marry a preacher, Tom Johnson. Him die when in his
sixties, thirty years ago. Our chillun was Emma, Mansell, Tom, and
Grover. Bad white folks didn't lak my husband. Dere was a whiskey still,
near our house where you could git three gallons of liquor for a silver
dollar. Him preach agin' it. Dat gall both makers and drinkers. Him
'dured persecution for de Lord's sake, and have gone home to his awards.
"In slavery, us have all de clothes us need, all de food us want, and
work all de harder 'cause us love de white folks dat cared for us. No
sirree, none of our slaves ever run 'way. Us have a week off, Christmas.
Go widout a pass to Marse Daniel's quarters and they come to our'n.
"Dr. Scott and Dr. Douglas 'tend sick slaves. I don't set myself up to
judge Marse Abe Lincoln. Dere is sinners, black and white, but I hope
and prays to git to hebben. Whether I's white or black when I git dere,
I'll be satisfied to see my Savior dat my old marster worshipped and my
husband preach 'bout. I wants to be in hebben wid all my white folks,
just to wait on them, and love them and serve them, sorta lak I did in
slavery time. Dat will be 'nough hebben for Adeline."
Anna Johnson
*Interview with Anna Johnson (75)*
*Rt.4, Gaffney, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"I sho is spry, kaise I sho is done took care of myself and I done dat
good, too. I know Will Evans who is 72 and he is all bent over and
wrinkled and all stewed up. Dat's de way folks wants to see you befo'
dey calls you old, but dey ain't gwine to see me like dat, 'deed dey
ain't. Most folks calls me de youngest, but I was born on de 30th day of
July, and I is passed by 75 Julys and still gitting around better dan
some dat is seed but 60 Julys.
"Well does I remember when my young marster, John Kitchens, went to de
'Federate War. He was a big fat feller, and jolly. De morning he left,
he come through de yard leading a fine bay. All of us was dar to see him
off. We had fetched him things, but he say dat you couldn't carry
nothing to war but a pack on your back and he laid dem all down and
wiped his eyes and rode off wid a big yell to us. Dat was de rebel yell
and we answered back.
"One morning de very next week we heard our young missus hollering and
we went to see what de trouble was. She had got word dat he had done
gone and got kil't by a Yankee. We all cried. De little chilluns, John,
Will, Ella and Bob cried, too. Missus went to her ma and pa, Mr. Green
and Miss Sallie Mitchel, near Trough Shoals. Frankie Brown and Malissa
Chalk went wid her to her pa's. Our plantation was awful big. It was
sold and us wid it.
"Wasn't long till young Missus married again and went to Virginia to
live. Frankie and Malissa come back to our plantation. Den slavery was
over and dat is de last dat I ever heard of our Missus."
Jack Johnson
*Interview with Jack Johnson, 84 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
"You see me right here, de sin of both races in my face, or was it just
de sin of one? My Marster was my father, his name was Tom Reed, and he
lived six miles from Lancaster Court House. Dats where I was born. My
mammy name Jane, don't know where she come from. My marster was kind to
us. I done no work much, just picked peas and sich like during de war. I
was my mammy's only child, and when de war was over, and I grow up, I
left dere and come to Cedar Creek, low part of Fairfield County. I marry
a gal, Bella Cook, and us had sixteen chillun, thirteen of them is a
livin' now. I then marry Hannah Dubard, a widow. She and me have had no
child.
"I b'long to de Sanctified Church, and you have to go down into de water
and come up straight way out of de water to b'long to dat church. Where
is it? Its on Little Cedar Creek in dis county. Who de preacher? His
name is the Reverend Edmunds. Us sings spirituals, one is, 'Dat Heavenly
Railroad Train', another is 'Dere is a Rock in my Heart', another, 'So
glad I'm here, but I'd rather be up yonder Lord'. Some colored churches
'sinuate a child born out of wedlock can't enter de kingdom of heaven.
Our church say he can if he ain't a drunkard, and is de husband of one
wife and to believe on, and trust in de Lord as your Savior, and live a
right kind of life dat he proves of. Dat seem reason to me, and I jine
and find peace as long as I does right.
"Never was sick a day in my life, can plow yet, eat three meals a day,
but can't sleep as much as I use to, six hours plenty for me now. I's
just here today findin' out 'bout dat old age pension dats a comin'.
Will you kinda keep a eye on it for me and let me tend to de ox and de
grass at my home on Little Cedar Creek? A short hoss is soon curried, so
dats 'bout all I kin 'member to tell you now."
James Johnson
*Interview with James Johnson, 79 years old*
--_Henry Grant, Columbia, S.C._
_THE COTTON MAN_
James Johnson lives with a sister at 1045 Barron Street, College Place,
[HW: Columbia], S.C. He is incapable of self support on account of age,
ill health, and impaired feet. One of his feet was mashed off and the
other badly damaged by handling bales of cotton several years ago. He
subsists on what his sister and other people are able to give him.
"I has been livin' right here in Columbia for the past thirty-six years.
I has worked in de cotton business, first as ginner and then wid cotton
buyers, ever since I has been here. I knows all de grades of lint cotton
and can name them right now. (He ran through the different grades fairly
correctly.)
"I learned all I knows 'bout cotton and de grades from Mr. M.C. Heath
and Mr. W.E. Smith, cotton buyers in Columbia for thirty years or more.
They thought so much of my knowledge of cotton, dat they sent me many
times to settle claims wid big men and big buyers.[1]
[1] Verification not available.
"It ain't what a nigger knows dat keeps him down. No, sir. It is what he
don't know, dat keeps de black man in de background. White folks dat is
business folks, pays no 'tention to our color as much as they does to
dat money makin' power us has. Of course, de white man sticks to his
color and you can't blame him for dat. If de nigger shows dat he is
willin' to work and to learn to be business lak, make money and walk
straight wid his boss and fellowman, de better class of de white people
is gwine to treat him right. I knows what I's tellin' you is so, from my
own 'sperience wid Mr. Heath and Mr. Smith. They always treated me
better than I deserved and even now in my old age, deir folks and deir
friends gives me money, dat keeps me out de poorhouse.
"No, sir, I don't 'member de Civil War a-tall myself but I has heard all
'bout it from my own folks and de white folks I has worked wid. It seems
lak I knows too much 'bout them awful times. I sho' am glad I didn't
come 'long then. I feels and knows dat de years after de war was worser
than befo'. Befo' de war, niggers did have a place to lie down at night
and somewhere to eat, when they got hungry in slavery time. Since them
times, a many a nigger has had it tough to make a livin'. I knows dat is
so, too, 'cause I has been all 'long dere.
"Many niggers have gone north to live, since freedom, but de most of
them either comes back south again or they wants to come back. De north
don't suit de nigger. Cold climate lak they has up dere is too hard on
him. He has thin blood and you knows dat a thin pan gwine to git hot
quicker than a thick one and cold de same way. You see a heap of niggers
is lak wild animals, in a way. He laks to eat a heap, sleep a heap, and
move 'bout slow. When he goes up north he has to step 'round fas',
'cause if he don't, he gits in de way of them Yankees dat move 'bout
quick.
"De black man is natchally lazy, you knows dat. De reason he talks lak
he does, is 'cause he don't want to go to de trouble to 'nounce his
words lak they ought to be. When he says 'dat' he saves a letter, same
way wid 'dis' and nearly all other words. It ain't after savin' so much;
he is just too careless and lazy to care 'bout it. A nigger wants what
is in sight and not dat what he can't see; it can look out for itself. I
is sorry I has to say all dis 'bout my own color but it is de truth. De
truth makes you free and runs de devil. I is a nigger myself and I knows
what they is and what they does.
"Is de nigger 'ligious? Yes, sir, many of them is very 'ligious widout
'ligion. He takes all dat from white folks. So many think 'ligion is
gwine to git them somethin' widout workin' for it and fool people by
makin' them think they is good and can be trusted and all dat. But I
'spects some of them is right, even at dat, 'cause if they ain't got
'ligion they sho' ain't got nothin' in dis world. I pays no 'tention to
all dis 'gwine on' lak I see some 'ligious folks does. Maybe I wouldn't
be in de fix I is, if I paid more 'tention to churches and all dat. I
believes in churches and good folks but I don't practice them good
things lak I ought to. Boss, if you take de dollar out of 'ligion and de
churches, you sho' would have to hunt for them. I believes dat. I don't
see no 'ciples gwine 'bout a preachin' and doin' good, lak I has heard
they once done, barefooted and askin' no pay. De preachers dese days is
a ridin' in de finest automobiles and you sho' better look out for
yourself, if you don't, you is gwine to git run over.
"I has been a good man, in body, all de time since I got grown. For many
years I didn't know my own strength. I never seen a bale of cotton I
couldn't pick up and tote where I wanted to, by myself. You see dese
foots of mine? They was mashed off, from drappin' bales of cotton on
them, back yonder many years ago.
"I 'members mighty well, when de fust skyscraper was built in Columbia.
My bosses was one of de fust to have a office in dere. Dat was de Loan
and Exchange Bank Building, on de corner of Washington and Main streets.
I has been here and seen dis city grow from a small place to what you
see 'tis now.
"My mammy and daddy b'long to Mr. Andrew Johnson of Orangeburg County,
of dis State. They said dat they was treated mighty good by deir marster
all de time they was slaves. My daddy took his old marster's name. I was
born a slave but all I knows is what I has heard. Some of it might be
right and some might be wrong."
Rev. James H. Johnson
*Interview with James H. Johnson, 82 years old*
--_Stiles M. Scruggs, Columbia, S.C._
"My name is James H. Johnson. I was born December 20, 1855, at the town
servants' quarters of Alfred Brevort at Camden, South Carolina, and that
was home until I was turning into twelve years of age. I was nearly ten
years old, when the army of General Sherman came to Camden. I talked to
some of the soldiers, soon after they arrived."
Such was the greeting of the Rev. James H. Johnson; a retired, and well
educated Methodist Episcopal minister, when a WPA reporter called at his
residence, 2029 Marion Street, Columbia, South Carolina, and asked for
an interview. He sat in his study, furnished for comfort and equipped
about as well as any study, of this kind, in Columbia.
"My mother," he explained, "was one of the maids at the Brevort home,
and my father was one of the overseers of the plantation. We did not
hear about President Lincoln's freedom proclamation in 1863, but the
status quo of slavery kept right on as it had been until Sherman's army
came through. You know General Lee surrendered the same spring, and we
learned we were free.
"In 1866 my father bought four acres in the vicinity of Camden and
improved it with a house and barn, and we lived there for several years.
My father went into the mercantile business in Camden and prospered.
There I went to the public schools. We had teachers from the North, and
I finished all the grades. There were no high schools in the state at
that time.
"We had our own home-raised hams and plenty of food products in our
quarters, when my mother and I heard shooting nearby. We stepped into
the yard and saw a big number of soldiers shooting at a running white
man of the community. They did not hit him. In a moment or two five
soldiers strode into our yard and we were scared at first, but they told
us they were friends, and one of them spied the hams and asked if they
belonged to the big house. When told that they were ours, they said they
were hungry, and mother fixed them a dinner of ham and eggs and plenty
of other things. They thanked us and left, doing no harm.
"Before they left, I noticed a crowd of soldiers at the Brevort home. I
ran there, and told the troops, please, to do no damage to the premises,
as the mistress, then in charge, was the best friend my mother and I had
ever had. They left soon afterward, showing no animus toward the Brevort
family and taking nothing away.
"We never received any aid from the Freedmen's bureau, for we did not
need it. After I finished the public school work at Camden and helped my
father in his store for a time, I entered the University of South
Carolina, in October, 1874 and stayed there until 1877. You know there
was a change in government in 1876, and Negroes were excluded from the
university in 1877. I was in my junior year, when I left.
"I returned to Camden and taught school in Kershaw County for ten years.
During that time I opened school in the Browning Home, which still
stands in Camden. In the meantime, I had been an interested member of
the Methodist Episcopal Church since my early years, and I was made an
elder in that denomination in 1888, and sent to Columbia as pastor of
the Wesley Methodist Church.
"When I came here as pastor, that church stood on the corner of Sumter
and Gervais streets, on the site where the United States post-office now
stands. The congregation sold that corner in 1910 and built the brick
church at Barnwell and Gervais streets. I was the pastor all that time,
retiring in 1930 due to physical feebleness. The congregation of that
church has always been rather small. This accounts for my doing other
work. I was a clerk in the internal revenue office in Columbia for
eighteen years.
"Now, I am a notary public and make some income from that. The church
gives me a small pension, and I advise and do literary work for a large
number of Negro residents. In that way, I keep fairly busy and my family
has never gone hungry. I did preach some, a few years ago. I am now too
feeble to undertake that task, and have to be content, mostly at home."
(Reporter's Note: The Rev. James H. Johnson speaks no dialect. He speaks
choice, grammatical diction and has a most pleasing personality. His is
one of the very few Methodist Episcopal Churches in South Carolina for
Negroes. He says he is glad the church is now seeking to void the split
over slavery in 1860. He resides in a comfortable home at 2029 Marion
Street, Columbia, S.C.)
Jane Johnson
*Interview with Jane Johnson, 90 years old*
--_Henry Grant, Columbia, S.C._
Jane Johnson is living with her niece at 1430 Harden Street, Columbia,
S.C. She is of small statue, dark, not black, plump and apparently well
cared for. On account of her age and bodily afflictions she is incapable
of self-support. Her niece is unmarried, owns a comfortable home, works
and provides for her grandmother in a good and satisfactory manner.
"Come in, white folks, take dat chair and set down. I hears dat you
wants to talk to me 'bout myself and my master in slavery time. My name
is Jane Johnson and I's 'bout ninety years old, from de best 'membrance
I has from my white folks friends and my own people. One thing I does
know, I's been here so long, dat I sometimes think I's near 'bout a
hundred years old.
"I b'long to Master Tom Robertson. My mistress' name was Ophelia. I
didn't see her much in slavery time, 'cause she stayed in de big house
on Arsenal Hill, Columbia, S.C. De onliest time I see her a-tall, was
when I was sent to de big house for somethin' and dat wasn't often.
Master and mistress had heaps of chillun, 'mong them was twins, all dead
now, if I 'members right, 'cept Master Tom Robertson, a grandson and a
rich man too; he living right here in Columbia. My old master lived in
Columbia but his plantation, where us slaves lived, was 'bout four or
five miles from Columbia on de Sumter road, just beyond de soldiers
hospital (Veterans Hospital), dat's right.
"Master Tom come to de plantation every day 'cept Sundays and sometimes
he come dat day, 'specially in crop season. He never talked to us slaves
much, just talked to de overseer 'bout us all, I reckon. De overseer was
a nigger and de meanest man, white or black, I ever see. Dat nigger
would strut 'round wid a leather strap on his shoulder and would whip de
other slaves unmerciful. He worked us hard from sunrise to sunset every
day in de week, 'cept some Saturday evenin's. 'Most of de grown slave
women knocked off from field work at dinner time on Saturdays and done
de washin' for de rest of de slaves.
"Yes sir, us had a plenty of rations to eat; no fancy vittles, just
plain corn bread, meat and vegetables. Dere was no flour bread or any
kind of sweet stuff for de slaves to eat. Master say sweet things
'fected de stomach and teeth in a bad way. He wanted us to stay well and
healthy so us could work hard.
"Master Tom was good to us, course he was, 'cause he didn't see us much
no way. But dat nigger overseer was de devil settin' cross-legged for de
rest of us on de plantation all de time. I never has believed dat master
'tended for dat nigger to treat us like he did. He took 'vantage of his
bein' 'way and talk soft talk when he come again. Yes sir, he sho' did.
"Not very long after de Yankees come, us was told dat de niggers was
free. You might think dat was a happy day for us slaves, but I didn't
think lak dat. I was kinda lonesome and sad lak. Us slaves was lost,
didn't know what to do or where to go. Don't you think dat was a sad
time?
"How old was I when I done my courtin'? What's dat? Dat courtin' stuff
is what white folks does, no nigger knows what dat fancy thing is. Us
just natchally lives together; men and women mates lak de animals out
dere. Colored people don't pay no 'tention to what white folks call
love, they just 'sires de woman they wants, dat's all. I married dat man
of mine, Tilghman Thompson, and us got 'long right smart, 'til he die. I
got 'nother one, Anderson Johnson, and he die too, so here I is, left
here yit.
"You knows de black man has had a long, hard road to travel since he was
first brought to this country. From de first, he b'long to de white man
to be took care of and to work. Some colored folks 'pear to be doin'
right well dese days but back yonder long befo' I was born, I's been
told, they didn't know how to provide for themselves. What I wants to
know, what de nigger gwine to do widout de 'sistance of de white man?
What they has got come from them, you knows dat. I hear some of them
growlin' 'round, dat they is gwine to do dis and gwine do dat and they
don't do nothin', 'cept talk too much. They sho' better do right; live
in peace and git somethin' dat will stay with them.
"Maybe I's wrong to say dis but you knows, white man, de nigger is a far
way back of de white man; his time ain't come yit, leastwise dat's de
way it 'pear to me. De nigger come from Africa and other hot places, so
he takes after de hot country he come from and has a short temper, hard
head, and not 'nough sense to keep him out of trouble when he gits mad
or 'cited. When he come here, de white man made him work, and he didn't
like dat. He is natchally lazy and when he had to work, then he began to
get huffy and to conjure up in he mind hate and other bad things against
de whites. Ever since the first time de nigger found out he had to work,
he has silently despised the white man. If he had lived and done
nothin', then he would be a 'tirely different person to dis very day, I
knows dat.
"Does I 'member President Lincoln? I sho' does, but not so much, 'cause
I was too young to have much sense. I has heard my mammy and daddy say
he was a good man and wanted everybody to be free, both white and black.
Dere was a heap of poor white folks in slavery time, and some of them
lived mighty hard, worse than the slaves sometimes. You knows blood is
thick and it is gwine to turn to its kind befo' helpin' de others. They
say slavery was wrong but what 'bout hard times? Dat is de worse kind of
slavery, I thinks. All dis hollerin' 'round 'bout freedom they has,
shucks, all dat kind of talk ain't nothin'. When you has work and some
money in your pocket so you can go to de store and buy some meat and
bread, then you has de best freedom there is, don't tell me.
"President Roosevelt is 'nother good man. He has looked down on de poor
and 'tressed in dis land wid mercy; has give work and food to de poor
people when nobody else would. He sho' has turnt dis country 'round and
tried so hard to make things right wid de people. When he turn dis way
and turn dat way, them men up there where he is, try to stop him from
helpin' us, but de Blessed Master is gwine to hold his hands up. They
ain't gwine to be able to stop him, 'cause he has done so much good in
de world. Dat man is gwine to be 'membered by de people always, but them
dat has fought him and worked against him is sho' gwine to be forgot.
Nobody wants to 'member them for de evil they has done. You knows dat if
you sows evil you is sho' gwine to gather evil in time. They ain't gwine
sow much longer; their harvest time is right out dere in sight, but de
President is gwine to live on wid us.
"I's gettin' old now, I has to draw on de 'membrance of de past, tottle
'long in de present and stare wid dese old eyes out dere into what is to
come (future). I has rheumatism and high blood pressure, so you see I's
in for a troublesome time from now on to dat last day. I's livin' wid my
niece now, in her own home, dat is some pleasure to me in my old age."
Jimmie Johnson
*Interview with "Uncle" Jimmie Johnson (90)*
*172 E. Park Ave., Spartanburg, S.C.*
--_F.S. DuPre, Spartanburg, S.C._
"I was born in Virginia, but Dr. L.C. Kennedy bought me, my mother and
brothers and we moved to Spartanburg. My father stayed in Virginia. Dr.
Kennedy lived near where North Church Street and Kennedy Place now is,
and I lived in a two-room house in his back yard. I was just a baby at
the time. My old masser was as good and kind to me as he could be, so
was my missus. My mother died when I was ten years old, and Missus was
just like a mother to me all the time. When I got old enough I used to
do some things around the yard for Masser and Missus.
"Masser was an Episcopalian, and I went to Sunday School where the rock
church now stands (Church of the Advent). Miss Mary Legg was my teacher,
and she was a saintly woman. She was a niece of old Masser. Old Missus
used to come to the house where I lived and teach me my alphabet. After
I got older, I used to take care of Masser's horse and buggy for him;
used to hitch-up the horse for him and go with him on his ways to see a
patient. Bless his heart, he let me take my Webster's blue back speller
and my history with me when I would drive with him. I would study those
books and Masser would tell me how to pronounce the hard words. That is
the way I got my education. Masser would tell Missus that Jimmie was a
smart boy, that he had no father nor mother and that they must be good
to him. They sure was. I never wanted for a thing. Sometimes on our
drives Masser would tell me some Latin words, but I never did study
Latin--just English.
"My masser would say that Jimmie had sense, was a good boy, so Missus
would let me practice on her organ or her piano in the house. I got
pretty good on these, so when I got to be a young man, I taught lessons
on both the reed organ and the melodian, then on the piano. I taught the
rudiments of music and piano for about 25 years.
"When the Yankee soldiers come to Spartanburg it scared me. They kept
telling me that they were not going to hurt me, but I got a pile of
brick-bats and put them under the house. I told Missus I wasn't going to
let any of the soldiers hurt her. The Yankee soldiers did not bother me.
They came all around our house, but every one of them was quiet and
orderly. They took some of Missus' sugar and hams, but did not kill any
of the chickens. I told them not to take the sugar, but they took it and
the hams anyhow.
"Missus told me that I was free, but I told her I was going to stay on
where I was and protect her until I died. And when Masser died, I
grieved and grieved about him. I loved him dearly and I know he loved
me. He was good and kind to me always. He never whipped me, not once. I
grieve about my masser to this day. He was a kind gentleman.
"No, I never married, and I haven't got anybody kin to me now. My
brothers all died and I am the only one left. I adopted four children. I
taught them music and we got on pretty well after Missus died. I stayed
with her until she died. I told Masser I was going to stay with them
even if I was free, and I did. When Masser died, I had no one to love
but Missus. I taught music and gave piano lessons, but I can't do that
now, as I am too old. Lately I tried to cut some wood. I would cut a
lick, then rest; cut a lick, then rest, so I gave it up.
"Lord bless your soul! I am so glad you told who you are, and you talk
like Masser Dan. You know he and I used to play together as boys. He
would give me anything he had. Honey, come around and see me again. I is
sure glad to see you. What did you say your name was?" Upon being told,
his face would light up with a smile, and he would repeat just what he
had said before. He was then asked when he got to be a poet. "Law'
chile, my old missus told me I was going to be a poet."
This ninety-year-old ex-slave then sat down at the piano and played for
the writer.
Mary Johnson
*I*
*Interview with Mary Johnson (85)*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I was born seven miles from Newberry, near Jalapa. I was a slave of
John Johnson and his wife, Polly (Dorroh) Johnson. They was good to dere
slaves. My daddy was Daniel and my mudder Elisa Johnson who was slaves
of marster John Johnson. My mudder come from Georgia when she was 14
years old, bought by Marse Johnson. We lived in a little one-room house
in dere yard. The mistress learned me to card and spin, and to weave
when I was a child. When I was old enough, dey put me in de field to
work, hoe and pick cotton. We got no money for working, but got our
place to live, some victuals and a few clothes to wear. We had no
garden, but helped de mistress in her garden and she give us something
to eat from it. We had homespun dresses; we made not much underclothes,
but sometimes in awful cold weather, we had red flannel underskirts.
"Nigger boys in slavery when dere work was done in evening, sometime
went hunting and caught rabbits, squirrels or 'possums.
"We got up at sun-up in mornings and worked 'till sun-down. We had
Saturday afternoon off to do anything we wanted to do. At Christmas
time, we got dat day off, and de master would have a big dinner wid all
kinds good things to eat, spread out in de yard.
"We never did learn to read and write--had no nigger school and had no
nigger church, but sometimes de white folks would have us go to dere
church and set in back seat or gallery.
"The white folks had cotton pickings and corn shuckings often and we
helped. Dey had good dinners for them coming to it. De childrens, white
and black played marbles sometimes, and played base. Us slave children
played base and jumped from one base to another before could be caught;
and we sing: 'Can I git to Molly's bright? Three course and ten. Can I
get there by candle-light? yes, if your legs are long and light.'
"Marse John's youngest son got to be a doctor. He was a good man and
helped us when we was sick. He did not gibe herbs much, but some of de
ole folks used 'life everlasting', now called rabbit tobacco, for cure
of bad colds or pneumonia. Dey boiled it and make a plaster and put it
on sore places of chest. Dey used holly bush or spice bush bark, boiled
to a tea and drunk for sickness.
"De padderrollers come in dat section, they rode at night and if caught,
a nigger, when he was out of his place, would be took in and told dat he
would get 25 lashes if he was caught again. When de war was over, de
Yankees went through but didn't bother us; but dey stold horses, mules,
cows and supplies. When freedom come, we left the place, 'cause marse
Johnson and some his folks went to Mississippi. We hired out to Kirk
Richards nearby.
"De Ku Klux was not a bother. Dey jus marched sometimes at night, wid
long white sheets over dem and all over de horses. Dere heads were
covered with small holes for eyes, nose and mouth, and had long white
ears like a horses ears.
"I think Abe Lincoln was a fine man, and Jeff Davis was good too. Slaver
did good to nigger, made him careful and know how to work."
*II*
*Interview with Mary Johnson (85)*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I live in town in a little two-room house wid some of my grandchilluns.
We rent de house. I am too old to work, but do what I can.
"I was de slave of John Johnson. His wife was Miss Polly. Dey was good
to de slaves, and I had no trouble. My mother was Eliza Johnson and my
pa was Daniel Johnson. Dey was both slaves to Marse John Johnson. My
mother was from Georgia. We always lived in de yard behind de house in a
small one-room cabin, a pretty good place to live, I reckon.
"We didn't git no money fer our work. We got something to eat, but not
much clothes to wear. We worked hard dem days; got up at sun-up and
worked all day till sun-down or as long as we could see. We didn't git
much time off, 'cept maybe a day at Christmas.
"No, de white folks didn't learn us to read and write. We had no school
and no church in slavery time, but some of de niggers was made to go to
de white folks' church and sit in de back seat.
"Yes, de Yankees was bad. Dey burn't everything in deir way, and stole
cattle; but dey didn't come near our place."
Miemy Johnson
*Interview with Miemy Johnson, 82 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
Miemy Johnson has no particular place of abode. She is a transient among
her children, kin people, and friends. In whatever home she may be
temporarily an occupant, she does the cooking and family washing.
"I knowed when dat bunty rooster hopped in de door, flap his wings and
crowed, dis mornin', dat us gonna have company today. I told Sam so
befo' he left here. Him laugh and say: 'Ma, dat bunty rooster is a big
liar sometime. Maybe him just wanna recommend hisself to you and beat de
pig to de slop bucket dat you ain't carried out to de pen yet.' I's sure
glad dat you come, for it'll show Sam dat dat chicken never told a lie.
"Set down dere and let me fetch you a plate of boil peanuts, which I
just is set off de fire. You lak them? Glad you do, honey. Most white
folks love them dat way, 'stead of parched. How you been? You sure is
growed since de last day I clap my eyes on you. How's I been? Poorly.
I's just a waitin' for de chariot to carry me home!
"Well, us done cut down de underbrush, now let us git into de new
ground. You just wanna talk 'bout me and what happen to me all 'long de
last eighty years? Dat's some big field to go over.
"My pappy was name Henry. My mammy name Ceily. They both b'long to old
Marse Johnnie Mobley, but my pappy's pappy b'long to de Johnson's;
they's big white folks on de Catawba River side of de county. They sold
deir plantation and some of de slaves, to old marster and his daughter,
Miss Nancy. She was de widow Thompson befo' her marry dat Kentucky hoss
drover, Marse Jim Jones.
"Freedom come. My pappy 'membered de Johnson's and took dat for his
name. I never been able to git 'way from dat name. I marry little Phil
Johnson. My brudder was Adam Johnson and my sister was Easter. Her marry
Allan Foster.
"My husband and me live in de old Mobley quarter, three miles southwest
of Woodward and just 'bout a quarter of a mile from where you settin'
dere a writin' right now. Long as him live, him was de carriage driver
for de Mobleys. He 'tend Fellowship Church. All de Mobleys done dead or
moved 'way. Dere is nothin' left to tell de tale but dat cemetery you
passed, comin' 'long down here and de ghosts dat shiver 'round dere in
de nighttime. Whenever it snow, them ghosts have been seen travelin'
down de road and up de avenue to Cedar Shades. You know dat's 'bout a
quarter of a mile farther down de road from where Marse Johnnie's
brudder, James Mobley, lived. Fine old house dere yet, but just colored
folks live in it.
"Our chillun was Roxanna, Malinda, Ben, Mary, Waddell, Queen Elizabeth,
Russell, Pearly, Thomasine, Helen, Alberta, Maggie, Mary Jane, Willie,
Sam and Roy. Had de easiest birth pains when, to my big surprise, de
twins, Sam and Roy come. Dat been forty years ago last July. I 'members
well, dat de twins was born on a Wednesday and I walk to Red Hill Church
de very nex' Sunday. Rev. Richard Cook was de preacher. Him didn't see
me a settin' in de church and he pray for me by name, as bein' in de
perils of childbirth. And bless God, me right dere in dat church a goin'
'long wid de rest of them a singin': 'Amazin' Grace How Sweet De Sound
Dat Saved A Wretch Lak Me'. I was a proud wretch dat day as sure's you
born!
"Does I 'member anything 'bout de earthquake? Jesus my Lord, yes! Us was
holdin' a revival meetin' in Red Hill dat night! It was a moonlight
Tuesday night. Brother Stevenson and Brother Moore was a helpin' Brother
Richard Cook carry on de meetin'. It was de last day of August, in '86.
Brother Moore had preached, de choir had sung a hymn, and Brother
Stevenson was in de middle of a prayer. Him said sumpin' 'bout de devil
goin' 'round lak a roarin' lion a seekin' folks for to devour. Then de
roarin' was heard. De church commence to crack and shake and rock. Then
all de folks holler: 'Oh Lordy.' They run out dat church and some took
up de big road to de depot at Woodward. Some fell down in de moonlight
and cry and pray. Brother Cook say de Bible says: 'Bow down, or kneel or
fall on your face befo' de Lord'. Then he say: 'Let us all fall on our
faces dis time.' Us did and each one of them preachers pray. 'Bout time
they git through, us see a rider on a milk white hoss a gallopin' up to
de church wid de white mane and tail of dat hoss a wavin' and shinin' in
de moonlight. De people went wild wid fear and scream at de top of deir
voices; 'It's de white hoss wid his rider of de book of Revelations
goin' forth, conquerin' and to conquer.' They bust forth in dat mighty
spiritual 'Oh Run Here, Believer, Run Here, Oh Sinner Your House On
Fire! Oh Sinner Your House On Fire!' They run and surround de white hoss
and his rider and what you reckon? Us find out it was just Marse Ed
Woodward on his white hoss, John, comin' back from courtin' my young
mistress, Tillie Mobley, dat him marry de nex' Christmas.
"Marse Ed got down off dat hoss when us beg him to stay wid us. It's a
pow'ful comfort to have a brave white man 'round at sich a time 'mongst
a passle of terrified niggers, I tells you! And to think Marse Ed done
dead.
"You goin' now? You ain't eat all your peanuts. Put them in your pocket
and eat them on de way to de Boro. Goodbye--I 'spect I'll git to glory
befo' you does. If I does, I'll be dere a waitin' wid a glad hand and a
glad voice to welcome you to de everlastin' home."
Tom Johnson
*Interview with Tom Johnson (83)*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G. Leland Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I was born on the Gilliam place, I reckon about 1854. My father died
when I was little; I don't remember him. My mother was Lucy Gilliam who
belonged to Reuben Gilliam. Reuben Gilliam was a big farmer and
slave-owner. He was good to de nigger chaps but whipped de big ones
every day or two. I was too little to learn to read and write, but dey
never learned any slaved to do dat. Dey never paid us any money wages,
just give us eats and a place to sleep, and a little clothes. I worked
in de field when I got bigger. Never had school in de place, and never
had a church, either.
"Us children played lots of games, like rolly-hole. There are two holes
and you try to roll a ball in one hole. The white folks had
corn-shuckings, lots of them, as they raised lots of corn on de farms.
Dey had cotton pickings, too, and carding and spinning bees, quilting
bees. I used to feed de shippers when women folks spin de yarn, when I
was a small boy. We raised plenty corn, cotton, and other things. We had
a big garden, too.
"When freedom come all of us left and went off. I went back to get
something to eat. I married Mattie Kinard who belonged to old Maj. John
Kinard. We had nine children.
"I 'member de red shirts when dey come through our place. I like it
better now dan in slavery times."
Richard (Look-up) Jones
*Interview with Richard Jones (Dick Look-up), age 93 [HW: 125?]*
*County Home, Union, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
Dick has an upward stare all the time, and holds his head as if he were
always looking up into the sky, consequently he has won the sobriquet,
'Look-Up'.
"Everybody dat knows me knows dat I was born on de Jim Gist plantation,
and it used to jine Mr. Winsmith's and de Glenn Peak plantations. Mr.
Winsmith was a doctor. Marse Jim sho was a good man to his darkies.
"My father was named Ned Jones and he belonged to Marse Berry Jones. His
plantation was across de forest, next to West Springs. Mother was Lucy
Gist, belonging to Marse Jim. My parents had de following chilluns:
Esther, Bella, Ephriam, Griggs, John, Penfield, me and Richard. Dey
married and so we was all Jones.
"De slaves in de Gist Quarter lived well. All nigger chilluns in dat
quarter had very small tasks until dey was seventeen or eighteen years
old. De quarter had nine houses. Dere was seventeen hundred acres in our
plantation; or dat is, de part where we lived and worked. We lived in
one-room log cabins dat had to be well kept all of de time.
"All de chilluns in de Quarter was well fed, clothed, housed and
doctored until dey was strong and well developed younguns. Den dey was
give tasks and learnt to do what de master and de mistress thought dey
would do well at.
"In de houses we had comfortable home-made beds and chairs. We had nice
tables and plenty to eat. Our clothes was kept mended by a seamstress,
and dese things was looked after by one of de mammies on de plantation
dat was too old to work.
"Ah yes, well does I 'member my Granny from Africa, and straight from
dere, too; Judith Gist, dey named her. Dat ole lady could not work when
she died, fer she was a hundred and ten years old. Dey had in de paper
dat I was 125 [HW: 93?]. It gives me notice to say dat I is de oldest
man in Union County. Can't 'member any of my grandfathers. Millie Gist
was my mother, and aunt Judith was her mother.
"Granny Judith said dat in Africa dey had very few pretty things, and
dat dey had no red colors in cloth, in fact, dey had no cloth at all.
Some strangers wid pale faces come one day and drapped a small piece of
red flannel down on de ground. All de black folks grabbed fer it. Den a
larger piece was drapped a little further on, and on until de river was
reached. Den a large piece was drapped in de river and on de other side.
Dey was led on, each one trying to git a piece as it was drapped.
Finally, when de ship was reached, dey drapped large pieces on de plank
and up into de ship 'till dey got as many blacks on board as dey wanted.
Den de gate was chained up and dey could not get back. Dat is de way
Granny Judith say dey got her to America. Of course she did not even
know dat de pieces was red flannel, or dat she was being enticed away.
Dey just drapped red flannel to dem like us draps corn to chickens to
git dem on de roost at night.
"When dey got on board de ship dey were tied until de ship got to sea;
den dey was let loose to walk about 'cause dey couldn't jump overboard.
On de ship dey had many strange things to eat, and dey liked dat. Dey
was give enough red flannel to wrap around demselves. She liked it on de
boat. Granny Judith born Millie, and Millie born me. No, I ain't never
had no desire to go to Africa, kaise I gwine to stay whar I is.
"Uncle Tom come 'long wid Granny Judith. Two womenfolks come wid dem,
aunt Chany and Daphne. Aunt Chany and aunt Daphne was bought by de Frees
dat had a plantation near Jonesville. Uncle Tom and 'Granny' was bought
by Marse Jim Gist, but dere marsters allus 'lowed dem to visit on July
4th and Christmas. When dey talk, nobody didn't know what dey was
talking about. My granny never could speak good like I can. She talk
half African, and all African when she git bothered. No, I can't talk no
African.
"After I was seventeen I did all kinds of hoeing and plowing and other
farm work fer my marster. He said dat by dis time, his little niggers'
bones had done got hard enough fer dem to work. We had a 'driver', a
older person, dat showed us how to do everything right. Marse never let
him over-work or hurry us. We liked him--'Uncle July Gist', we called
him and dat was his real name, too. His wife, Aunty Sara, was good to
us; dey both buried at Woodson's Chapel Baptist Church.
"Fer my first task I had 1/4 of an acre in taters, 'bacca and
watermelons de first year. Some of de boys had 'pinders, cantloupes and
matises (tomatoes) in dere task of a 1/4 acre.
"De next year, we made corn and sold it to our master fer whatever he
give us fer it. All de use we had fer money was to buy fish hooks,
barlows, juice harps and marbles. Boys did not use 'bacca den until dey
got twenty-one or over. Marse allus carried a roll of money as big as my
arm. He would come to de quarter on Christmas, July 4th and
Thanksgiving, and get up on a stump and call all the chilluns out. Den
he would throw money to 'em. De chilluns git dimes, nickles, quarters,
half-dollars and dollars. At Christmas he would throw ten dollar bills.
De parents would take de five and ten dollar bills in charge, but Marse
made de let de chilluns keep de small change. I tell you, I ain't never
seed so much money since my marster been gone. He buried at Fairforest
Presbyterian Cemetery as white folks calls it, but we calls it Cedar
Grove.
"When he died, he had sixteen plantations, you can see dat at de
courthouse in Union. All his darkies went in a drove of wagons to his
burying. He was killed by dem Yankees in Virginny. Uncle Wylie Smith,
his bodyguard, come back wid his body and told us dat Marse was kilt by
a Yankee. Marse Jim was a sentinel, and dat Yankee shot him in his nose,
but strange to say, it never tore his face up none. Miss Sara buried him
in his uniform and she wrapped a Confederate flag over de top of de
coffin. Uncle Wylie put Master's watch around Miss Sara's neck like he
had done told him to do when he got home. Miss Sara cried and us cried,
too. Jim never married and dat's why Miss Sara to do everything, kaise
she was his sister what lived wid him.
"Mr., I run on Broad River fer over 24 years as boatman, carrying Marse
Jim's cotton to Columbia fer him. Us had de excitement on dem trips.
Lots times water was deeper dan a tree is high. Sometimes I was throwed
and fell in de water. I rise up every time, though, and float and swim
back to de boat and git on again. If de weather be hot, I never think of
changing no clothes, but just keep on what I got wet. Five niggers allus
went on Marse's boat. One man steer de boat and of course he was de
steerman, and dat what he went by. I recollects two steermans, Bradley
Kennedy and Andy McCluny. Charlie Gilliam was de second steerman, by dat
I means dat he de young nigger dat Bradley and Andy had to break in.
"Sometimes Marster have three flat boats a-gwine down at one time, and I
has recollections of as many as five a-gwine from our plantation; dat
was not so often, though. Us had long poles to steer de boats wid; den
dere was some paddles, and some of de niggers was called privates dat
handled de cotton and used de paddles when dey had to be used. You knows
dat batteaus was what dey always used de paddles wid. Privates did de
shoving and other heavy work. De seconds and de privates allus shoved
wid de poles when de water was rough, and de steerman give orders. I was
allus a boatman.
"Charlie Gilliam acted as boatman, some; and den de other boatmen was:
Bill Hughes, Warren Worthy, Green Stokes and John Glenn. Dey made de
poles to suit de job. Some of de poles was longer dan others was. Some
of dem was broad and flat at de end; others was blunt and others was
made sharp. When de Broad River rose, sometimes de waves got higher dan
my house dar. Den it was a real job to handle one of Marse's boats. Fact
is, it was five men's jobs. Wid water a-roaring and a-foaming and
a-gwine round you like a mad tiger a-blowing his breath, so dat you was
feer'd (scared) dat all your marster's cotton gwine to be spilt, you had
to be up and a-doing something real fast. Sometimes dat river take your
boat round and round like a merry-go-round, 'til you git so
swimmy-headed dat you have to puke up all de victuals dat you done eat.
Den it swing from dat whirl into a swift stream dat take you a mile a
minute, yes sir, a mile a minute fer I don't know how fer.
"Den you see a tree a-coming right straight to you. If de boat hit dat
tree, you knowed dat you be busted into a million pieces. You had to git
your poles and somebody had to let a pole hit dat tree ahead of de boat.
Of course dat change de boat's course from de tree and you went sailing
on by. Once in a freshet us raced twenty-five miles in twenty-five
minutes. Marse Jim was wid us dat time, and he tole us so by his watch.
De water a-jumping real high and dat boat a-jumping still wusser made me
so skeer't dat I just shake in my knees and all de way up and down my
legs.
"On dis trip we had went plumb up in North Carolina. Us never had been
dat fer up befo'. I ain't never seed North carolina befo'; neither is I
seed it since. Broad River was real narrow when we went up and she look
like a lamb; but when we come down it had done and tuck and rained and
dem banks was vanished ... but dat water sho did rare up dar to git back
in its regular channel. De rocks up dar was mo' scary looking dat dey is
whar it run through Union to Columbia. Dat night we run into a nine-mile
shoal. Couldn't none de niggers keep dat boat off'n dat shoal it was so
powerful ... dat is, de water just tuck dat boat plumb smack out'n our
hands. But it throwed our boat in shallow water and of course dat made
it drag. Good dat it never drug over no sharp rocks--and dey was setting
all around us--but it happened dat it hit sand. We camped dar fer de
night. By morning we had done go a quarter mile from de channel.
"When we et (ate), we worked de boat out into de main channel again. Den
we staked her to a tree and tuck a look around befo' we started down
stream fer Union; dat seemed fer off right den. Finally de master
boatman give de order, 'Shove off, boys!' We shoved and we fell into a
clear open channel and our boat went a-skeeting down stream. We never
had to hit a lick, but she went so fast dat we was all skeer'd to take a
long breath. Finally Marster said, 'Boys, see dem willow trees down
yonder; well, steer her to run over dem so dat she will slack her
speed.' Us did, but it never deadened our speed a mite, dat us could
see. Marster shake his head and 'low, 'Bound fer hell, maybe, boys'.
"Got to Cherokee Falls, wid water so high couldn't tell no falls dar.
Marster say, 'Lay her to de right, we can't wreck dis boat widout
putting up a honest man's fight.' Den he say, 'If us does, us'll sho go
to hell.' We tried to swing her by grabbing to a big willow, and we
broke a lot of limbs in trying, but we did swing her and she run a 100
yards widout steering, and de boat landed on a little mountain of land.
Marse 'low, 'Ain't never seed sech a ocean of water since I was eighteen
years old, damn if I have.' He look at me and say, 'Don't know whether
Dick scared or not, but he sho is a brave man.' I was a-setting my feets
on land den, and I look at him and 'low, 'No sir, I ain't skeer't, why I
could come over dat little place in my bateau.' Truth is, dat I was so
skeer't dat I wasn't skeert. We lay over a day and a half. De water had
done receded back some, and we come 27 miles down to Lockhart Shoals in
dat one day. De water was still so high dat we run over de shoals widout
a tremor. Come sailing on down to Fish Dam and went over de Fish Dam and
never knowed dat it was dar. Den we landed at de road wid everybody safe
but still scar't.
"Dar was two Charlie Gilmores ... one was kil't right below Fish Dam. He
was hit in de head by a private. When de private was cutting de boat,
Charlie got in de way of de pole and it hit him in one of his temples
and he fell over in de water dead. When dey got him, wasn't narry drap
of water in his lungs, dat's how-come us knowed dat he was kil't
straight out. Some says dat he was hit in de y'er (ear), but anyway it
was on a tender spot and de lick sho done him up. Nothing wasn't done to
de private, kaise it was all accidental and Marse and everybody felt
sorry fer him.
"On river trips, we took rations sech as meat, bread and cabbage, and us
cotch all de fish dat we wanted and had coffee. We each took day in and
day out to cook, dat is, all dem dat could half-way cook did dat."
Wesley Jones
*Interview with Wesley Jones*
*Rt. 2, Union, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"Yes sir, I drinks jes' a leetle likker, and I drinks it--I don't let it
drink me. One call fer another. Dar it goes 'till you be's drunk. I is
97 years old and I ain't never been drunk in my life. No sir-ee, nobody
ain't never saw me drunk. It sho drink some of 'em though.
"Heep o' stars fell when I was young. Dey fell regular fer a minute er
so. I laid down fer a nap and de niggers woke me up a hollering. Ev'y
darky was scared, but it sho was a pretty sight.
"I 'members de earthquake, too. De earth shake and tremble so hard dat
some loose bricks fell out my chimney and de pitcher fell off de
winder-sill down on de flo'. I was 'bout 50 years old den, if I 'members
correct. Dat come 'long in 1886.
"I also 'members Gen. Wade Hampton, when I was a building up de
breastworks to keep de Yankees from shooting us. Dem was scary times,
but de Ku Klux days was scary times de most.
"My young marster, Dr. Johnny Hill, used to have me drive him to
Padgett's Creek Church. Sometime us go to de Quaker church, den agin, us
go to church over in Goshen Hill.
"'Bout fus' thing my white folks had me a-doing, was gwine fer de papers
up to de sto' at Sardis. I would git a lot o' letters, fer in dem days,
de white folks rit letters to one another mo' dan dey does now. I guess
dese days de mos' writing dat is done is business writing. At de Sardis
sto' dey used to give big barbecues. Dem days barbecues was de mos'
source of amusement fer ev'ybody, all de white folks and de darkies de
whole day long. All de fiddlers from ev'ywhars come to Sardis and fiddle
fer de dances at de barbecues. Dey had a platform built not fer from de
barbecue table to dance on. Any darky dat could cut de buck and de
pigeon wing was called up to de platform to perform fer ev'ybody.
"Night befo' dem barbecues, I used to stay up all night a-cooking and
basting de meats wid barbecue sass (sauce). It made of vinegar, black
and red pepper, salt, butter, a little sage, coriander, basil, onion,
and garlic. Some folks drop a little sugar in it. On a long pronged
stick I wraps a soft rag or cotton fer a swab, and all de night long I
swabs dat meat 'till it drip into de fire. Dem drippings change de smoke
into seasoned fumes dat smoke de meat. We turn de meat over and swab it
dat way all night long 'till it ooze seasoning and bake all through.
"Lawyer McKissick and Lawyer A.W. Thompson come out and make speeches at
dem barbecues. Both was young men den. Dey dead now, I living. I is 97
and still gwine good. Dey looked at my 'karpets' (pit stakes). On dem I
had whole goats, whole hogs, sheep and de side of a cow. Dem lawyers
liked to watch me 'nint' dat meat. Dey 'lowed I had a turn fer ninting
it (annointing it)."
Sallie Layton Keenan
*Interview with Sallie Layton Keenan, 80 yrs. old*
*20 Calhoun St., Union, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
'Aunt' Sallie (80 yrs. old) and 'Uncle' Robert live with their grandson.
A daughter lives nearby. They like to tell of the days when they were
children:
"Land o' de libbin, my maw, she wuz one o' de Hughes and Giles niggers.
She used to lob to set down by de fire an' tell us younguns 'bout de
times what de had down dar on de big ribber (Broad River). Our
plantation, she used to say, wuz de one what de white folks called Mt.
Drury. But when maw wuz rael young, jus big enough to wait on de fine
white ladies, she wuz put on de 'block', you nos what dat wuz, and sold
to Marse 'Matt' Wallace. Marse Matt took it into his haed dat he wuz a
gwine to a place what dey calls Arkansas. His white folks, specially his
wife's, dem wuz de Mengs, dey riz up an put forth mighty powferul
objections. Fer a long time he wuz jus onsettled in he mind 'bout zactly
what he really wuz a gwine to do.
"Peers to me like my maw 'lowed dat he sorter kept his intentions secret
when he had rightly make up he mind 'bout de whole business. In dem
days, dere wo'nt no trains like dare is now. Everbody had to ride in
waggons, and de white ladies, dey allus rid in fine carriages. De
chilluns, dey rid wid de wimmen folks. Our Marster, he rid high steppin'
horse, cept on de Sabbath, when he rid wid de missus to meetin' house
out on de creek. (Brown's Creek).
"Anyhow, one cold mornin' not long fore Christmas and jus atter
Thanksgivin' us sot out fore day, or dat is, my maw and pa did, kaise I
wuz not born till we got to Mississippi River. Dar wuz fo' in de white
folks carriage--I is heered Maw tell it a thousand times, over and
over--In de carriage dar wuz Missus; and de fo' chilluns, Jeanette,
Clough, Winter and Ida. Marse Matt, he rid de horse right by de side o'
de carriage. Paw--de call him 'Obie', he driv a waggin wid all de little
nigger chaps in it dat wuz too little to walk. De big nigger boys and
gals dat wuz strong, dey walked. De roads wuz jus narrow little trails
wide enough fer de carriage and de waggin to git through de lims o' de
trees. Dey would hit you in de face iffin you didn't duck 'em, so maw
allus 'lowed. Dey had pack mules dat fetched along de supplies, fer dey
had to spen' de night in de thick woods what nebber had been cut. All
kinds er varmints used to git atter dem and maw 'lowed dat dey wuz
scared when dey sot camp, and she used to tremble mo' den she slep. When
she did sleep, she 'lowed dat she drempt de awful varmints wuz a gittin'
atter her. De missus, she wuz scared at night too. Marse Matt, he 'lowed
he warn't one bit scared, but maw sat dat Missus say he jump powerful in
he sleep sometimes.
"Marse Matt had done sot a task of so many miles fer dem to travel from
sun-up to sundown, but maw 'lowed dat dey nebber did hardly git dat fer.
De pack mules would git short winded, and sometime de carriage horses,
dey would git lame; or one o' de waggin wheels would take and break; or
it wuz allus some bad luck er follerin atter dem. Den Marse Matt, he
'lowed dat he didn't believe in no travelin' signs, and 'cause o' dat,
maw 'lowed dat dey had de worsest kind o' luck. Dat is de reason dat de
train did not git no further than 'Promoter' County, Miss. (Mr. Wallace
really went to Como, Desoto County, Miss., verified by Mrs. J. Clough
Wallace). It took dem fo' weeks to reach 'Promotor'. Dar dey set up de
new home. Maw 'lowed dat dey wuz called tender feeted poineers by dem
what had got dar ahead of dem. Peers like maw 'lowed dat dey stayed dar
five year. Anyway de fus year, a lot o' de niggers tuck all manner o'
ailiments and dey died. De Missus, she kept full o' cold in dat log
house. Dey had a fine house here, you nos de house what Miss Roberta
Wallace libs in, well, dat wuz de one, cepin it wuz not as fine as Miss
Roberta got it now. Anyway, maw and paw, dey didn't like it no better
dan missus, cepin dey wuz skeered to speak dere minds. Finally, de
Marster, he tuck down sick, and in spite o' all dat Missus do fer him,
maw 'lowed he kept a growin' worser and worser till he tuck and died one
bad night. Missus, 'Dandy' de Marster allus called her, had got so broke
down wid worry and sorrow, dat she wuz nigh to death's door, herself,
when de Marster died, maw said. Fer dat reason, dey kept it from her fer
two weeks. Dey thought dat she wuz gwine to have de pneumonia, like him,
but she started to gittin' well fore she tuck de pneumonia. Maw said dat
dey used all o' de ole nigger remedies on de Missus dat dey knowed and
fer dat reason dey brung her through. Maw is told me dem remedies but I
is so ole now, dat I jus remembers dem. If Bob wuz at hisself he could
give you some. You come by here some day when de moon is right and den
Bob'll be in his right mind to tell you some o' dem.
"De Missus, she come back powerful slow, and it wuz mi' nigh
Thanksgiving when she got strong. It wuz so cold dat she used to 'low
how she wish fer her paws big warm fire, and de Carolina sunshine. So
one bad morning, she took and got a letter from her paw in Union. He
axed her to fetch us all back here to Union. It had done tuck de letter
over three weeks to git to her. Long fore de Marster had died he had gib
up hope er gwine to Arkansas. When dat letter rive, maw 'lowed dat de
Missus she tuck and started to cryin'. All dat day she cry and read it
over an over. De very next morning she called up all us, I wuz born den,
and maw 'lowed dat I wuz a carrin' a sugar tit in my mouf and dat I had
de cooter bones round my neck. Course I disremembers all cept dat what I
is been told over and over. When maw and paw went out dar, dey had one
little chile. He wuz six years ole when dey got back here. One had done
tuck and died fore dey lef here. Den me and my sister, we wuz born in
Miss.
"Dat wuz one glad day fer us, kaise Missus 'lowed dat she wuz a gwine
back to her paw in Union. All de niggers, dey started to dancing and a
hollerin' like dey wuz wile. Maw 'lowed dat some folks dat libbed three
miles away tuck and come to see us. Some o' dem called us slackers, er
sometin' kaise we wuz a leavin'; but others, maw 'lowed, dat dey wished
dey could go as fer as Georgia wid us. But I is nebber liked Georgia
myself. Missus gib de orders fer us to begin packin' and maw said dat de
way dem niggers worked wuz a dyin' sin. De Missus, she sell her mules
and other stock, kaise we wuz a gwine to ride all de way back on de
railroad train. It had jus broke through to Miss. Some o' de ole niggers
'lowed dat dey wuz feered to ride on dem things, bein' as dey wuz drawed
by fire. Dey thought de debbil, he wuz a workin' in de inside of dem.
Maw 'lowed dat if de Missus wuz not feered she would not be. De Missus
was feered 'bout dem dat wuz not gwine to ride on de train, but when she
'lowed dat dey could jus stay in Miss. Maw said dat dey nebber did hear
no mo''bout dem bein' feered o' de train.
"Maw and paw allus tole me 'bout de things what I did on de train. I wuz
so young dat I jus remembers anything about dat. She 'lowed dat she tuck
de cooter bones from my neck fore we started to de train. Maw 'lowed dat
when de train come up, dey wuz so scairt dat we did not want to git on
till she did. All de niggers wuz looked up to when dey got back here,
maw 'lowed, kaise no niggers in Union had ebber rid on de train ceptin
dem dat had rid fer as Alston, and dey wuz so few dat you could count
dem on your hand.
"Missus 'Dandy' come right back to her paw's house. He wuz Mr. Clough
Meng. Missus Dandy's little boy, Clough, wuz big enough to go to school
when dey got back. It wuz Christmas when dey got to 'Promotor' County,
and it wuz Christmas when us rive back.
"When my paw, 'Obie', wuz a courtin, a nigger put a spell on him kaise
he was a wantin' my maw too. De nigger got a conjure bag and drapped it
in de spring what my paw drunk water from. He wuz laid up on a bed o'
rheumatiz fer six weeks. Dey all knowed dat he wuz conjured. He could
not even set up when his victuals wuz fetched to him. So his brother
knowed who had put de spell on him. He tuck and went to another old
conjure man and axed him to take dat spell off'n paw. De conjure man
'lowed to paw's brother dat a grapevine growed over de spring, and fer
him to go dar and cut a piece of it six feet long and fetch it to his
house at night. When he tuck it to de conjure man's house, de conjure
man, he took de vine in a dark place and done somethin to it--de Lawd
knows what. Den he tole my paw's brother to take it home and give it to
paw. De man what put de spell on paw, I mean de nigger what had it done,
he come often and set down by paw and ax him what was ailen him. Our
conjure man, he tole paw dat de nex time de man come an' set down by his
bed, fer him to raise up on his lef elbow and rech down by his bed and
take dat piece o' grapevine and hit de nigger over de head and face. Den
atter he had done dat, our conjure man 'lowed dat paw could den rise up
from his bed o' rheumatiz.
"It wont long before de nigger come to visit my paw. My paw, he axed him
real nice like to have a seat. His maw had done put a chair by de bed,
so dat he would set down wid his face toward paw. Atter he and paw got
to talkin, paw reched down an' axed him to have a look at de grapevine
dat he was gwine to smoke fer his ailment. Dat nigger, he 'lowed to my
paw dat it wuz not a goin to do his rheumatiz no good. Jus as he 'lowed
dat, paw, he riz up on his lef shoulder and elbow and wid his right han'
he let loose and come down over dat nigger's face and forehead wid dat
grapevine. Dat nigger, he jump up and run out o' dat house a hollerin'
kaise he knowed dat paw and done got de spell offin him. My paw got up
de next day and dey 'lows dat he nebber did have no mo' rheumatiz."
Ella Kelly
*Interview with Ella Kelly, 81 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
"Yas sir, I was born a slave of Mr. Tom Rabb, they call him black Tom
Rabb, 'cause dere was two other Tom Rabbs. Marster Tom's hair was jet
black and even when he shave, whisker roots so black face 'pear black.
Yas sir, I come to birth on his place two or three miles from Monticello
in de country, so I did. They say de year was de year President Buchanan
was president, though I dunno nuttin' 'bout dat.
"My pappy name Henry Woodward, and b'long to old preacher Beelie
Woodward's son, John. But all dis was just what I heard them say 'bout
it. My mammy name Ella. She was de cook. I too little to work in slavery
time, just hang 'round kitchen wid mammy, tote water and pick up chips,
is all de work I done I 'members.
"Money? Help me Jesus, No. How could I ever see it? In de kitchen I see
none, and how I see money any where else, your honor? Nigger never had
none! I ain't got any money now, long time since I see any money.
"What did us eat? Dat's somethin' I knows 'bout. My mammy de cook for de
white folks, wasn't I right dere at her apron strings all de time? Eat
what de white folks eat, all de time, sho' I did! Too little to 'member
much what slavery was like; can't tell nothin' 'bout clothes, never had
no shoes. Us went to church some Sundays. Funny, them dat had not been
good or done somethin' bad was kept at home by de white overseer, and
some of them played wid de white chillun. Sorry I can't answer every
question.
"One story I 'member 'bout is de pa'tridges and de Savior. My pappy
allowed de reason pa'tridges couldn't fly over trees was: One day de
Savior was a-riding long on a colt to de Mount of Olive Trees, and de
drove flewed up, make sich a fuss they scared de colt and he run away
wid him. De marster put a cuss on de pa'tridges for dat, and ever since,
they can't fly over tree tops. You reckon dat so boss? They say they
never does fly over trees!
"I had a good marster and mistress. When de slaves git sick, they 'tend
to them same as one of their own chillun. Doctor come quick. They set up
and fan you and keep de flies off. They wouldn't let de slaves do dis,
'cause certain times you got to take medicine 'cordin' to doctors
orders, and a slave might make a mistake. Oh, they was 'ticular 'bout
sickness. They has a hard time wid some nigger chillun and dat cast' oil
bottle, I tell you!
"One of my young marsters was name Charlie. After freedom he marry one
of Colonel Province's daughters and me and my mammy moved and lived wid
them a while. Then I got married to Wates Kelly, and went to live and
work for a white man 'bove White Oak. His name was Long John Cameron, de
best white man to work for, but when Sat'day come and all de hands paid
off, he git dat red hoss and turn and gallop to Winnsboro and bring back
a passel of low down white trash wid him to de disturbment of all de
good colored person on de place.
"Yas sir, Klu Klux was a terror to certain colored persons. I 'members
they come dressed up in white and false faces, passed on to de
Richardson place and whipped somebody one night.
"My husban' been dead twelve years. I's got thirteen chillun and Minnie
is de onliest one livin' wid me in dis house. Her name Minnie Martin.
Got whole lot of gran' chillun; they cover de earth from Charlotte to
Jacksonville, and from Frisco to Harlem, New York; but never see them,
just three, Franklin, Masie and Marie Martin.
"I heard 'bout Lincoln and Booker T. Washington. De President now in de
White House, Mr. Roosevelt, have done more good for de nigger in four
years than all de other presidents since Lincoln, done in fifty years.
You say its been seventy-two years? Well, than all de rest in
seventy-two years. Don't you know dat is so? Yas sir, dats de gospel
truth.
"I's a member of de Baptist Church. Been buried wid my Lord in baptism
and hope for a resurrection wid him in Beulah Land.
"Yes, de overseer was de poor buckra, he was what you calls dis poor
white trash. You know boss, dese days dere is three kind of people.
Lowest down is a layer of white folks, then in de middle is a layer of
colored folks and on top is de cream, a layer of good white folks.
'Spect it'll be dat way 'till Jedgement day.
"I got one boy name Ben Tillman, livin' in dis town. White folks calls
him Blossom, but he don't bloom 'round here wid any money, though he is
on de relief roll by sayin' he got a poor old mammy nigh a hundred years
old and he have to keep her up. 'Spect when I gits my old age pension my
chillun will pay me some little 'tention, thank God. Don't you know they
will, sure they will."
Martha Kelly
*Interview with Martha Kelly (age between 70 and 75)*
*Marion, S.C.*
--_Annie Ruth Davis_
"All I can tell you, I come here de second year of freedom. Cose I had a
lot of trouble en I can' hardly imagine how long it be dat I de age I
is. My mother, she know my age good, but she been dead for de years come
en gone from here. Ain' much I can remember to tell you 'cause I was
small den. No, my mammy didn' tell we chillun nothin. Didn' have no time
to tell we chillun nothin. She had to go out en work in de field in de
day en she would be tired when night come.
"My mammy white people was name Charlie Law en his family en dey lived
in Britton's Neck till dey come up here to Marion. We lived in a rice
country down in dat place call Britton's Neck. Ain' you hear talk of it?
My mammy en her chillun stayed right dere on old man Law's place till
long time after dey tell dem dey was free to leave dere. Stayed to de
nigger quarter in my mammy house 'cause we was learn to be field
hands.--Harold, I told you hold off me 'cause I don' feel like you layin
on me dis mornin.--(Harold--small grandson). Didn' know 'bout nothin
much to eat in dat day en time, but bread en meat en rice en all such as
dat. Oh, de peoples in dat country made plenty rice. Dey would plant it
on dis here black lookin dirt en when dey would see dat it was right
ripe, dey would cut it en thrash it out. Den dey would have one of dem
pestle en mortar to beat it wid. My blessed, child, dat been turn out de
nicest kind of rice. No, mam, don' see no such rice dese days dat been
eat like dat rice eat.
"I recollects I used to be right much of a hand to pull fodder en pick
cotton en all such like dat 'cause all my work was in de field mostly
till I got to de place dat I couldn' work no longer. You see, when I was
married, I moved out dere on Dr. Miles' place over next Pee Dee en 'bout
all my days was spent in de country. Lived out dere on Dr. Miles' place
till I come here to town to live 'bout seven or eight years ago. You is
hear talk of Dr. Miles, ain' you? I used to do what you might say a
right good size washin, but I ain' able to get 'bout to do nothin dese
days much. Just washes out a piece or two like a apron every now en den.
"Some of de peoples used to sing dere, but I wouldn' never bear much
along dat line. Didn' have no voice much to sing. Is you got dis one?
Lord, I wonder,
Lord, I wonder,
Lord, I wonder,
(Repeat 3 Times)
When de lighthouse
Gwine shine on me.
"Dat all dere be to dat one. I don' know whe' if I could remember dat
other one or no. Seem like it go somethin like dis:
Oh, didn' it rain?
It rain 40 days,
En it rain 40 nights,
It ain' never stop a droppin yet,
En I heard de angel in de mornin sing,
Oh, didn' it rain?
But down by de graveyard,
Me en my Lord gwine stand en talk.
Up on de mountain fire en smoke,
I wouldn' be so busy 'bout de fire en smoke.
I heard de angel in de mornin sing,
Oh, didn' it rain?
Oh, didn' it rain?
It rain 40 days,
En it rain 40 nights,
Widout still a droppin yet,
I heard de voice of de angel in de mornin sing,
Oh, didn' it rain?
Oh, didn' it rain?
Down by de graveyard,
Me en my Lord gwine stand en talk.
Chillun, my good Lord,
I heard de voice of de moanin angel,
Oh, didn' it rain?
Oh, didn' it rain?
It rain 40 days,
En it rain 40 nights,
Widout still a droppin yet,
En I heard de voice of de angel in de mornin,
Oh, didn' it rain?
"Well, dere ain' been so much dat I remember dat happen when I come
along but what been happen in a way dis day en time. Cose dere been a
difference 'cause de people ain' used to live fast like dey do dese
days. Dere been de shake dat come here in '86 dat I ain' never see de
like since en ain' want to see nothin like dat no more neither. I
remember it come here on a night en when I get in bed dat night, I ain'
been expectin nothin had been de matter. Den dere somethin been rouse me
up en all de dishes was a rattlin'. When I get up en go out in de yard,
de house en all de elements was a rockin'. Yes, mam, I was scared. Didn'
know what was de matter. Thought it was de Jedgment comin when I wake up
en hear all de people round 'bout dere screamin en a hollerin, Jedgment!
Oh, Jedgment! Say dem what ain' right better get right. I tell de people
dat dere won' no need to run to de church den 'cause we was all gwine be
destroyed dere together. Child, I give myself up den en I get just as
happy as I could be.
"Oh, dey had slavery time doctors to tend de people when dey was sick in
dat day en time. Yes, mam, had dey plantation doctor right dere dat
would go from one plantation to de other en doctor dem what was ailin.
De doctor would come dere to my white folks plantation en tell my
grandmother what to feed dem on en she would give dem de remedy dey tell
her. Dey would use all kind of different herbs in dat day en time dat
dey would get out de old fields en de woods for dey cures. Honey, dey
was good too en dey good yet. I couldn' tell you half de herbs dey use,
but I recollects dere was boneset dat was good for fever, sage for de
baby, pennyroyal dat was good for girls dat catch cold, mint for sick
stomach, catnip to hope a cold, horehound to strike a fever en dat 'bout
all I recollect. No, mam, I can' remember half de herbs dere was in de
field, but I know we got some of dat sage growin dere in de garden now.
"I hear talk of dem Yankees plenty times, but I don' know much to speak
'bout dem. Couldn' tell de first word 'bout dem. I dis kind of person, I
don' pay much mind to nothin like dat. Dey was white people, I think.
"Seems like it was better livin long time ago den dere be now. Seems
like times so tight dese days. Reckon it 'cause I ain' able to work, but
dey tell me de people don' get nothin much to speak 'bout for dey work
dis day en time. Seems like I got along good when I was able to whip
round en 'bout.
"I hear de people say dere such a thing as ghost, but I don' know en I
ain' de kind to speak 'bout de devil business. I hear talk dey could be
walkin right along wid you en dere some people could see dem en den dere
others could look wid all de eyes dey got en couldn' see dem. No, I ain'
never see dem. I has seen people wear one of dese dime round dey ankle,
but I never didn' ax dem nothin 'bout what dey wear it for 'cause some
people is curious en don' like for you to be axin dem 'bout things. I
did always keep out of fuss en I still keepin out it. Never did bother
none wid it. When I see anybody fussin, I shuns dem. My mammy didn'
raise me to do dat."
Mary Jane Kelley
*Interview with Mary Jane Kelley (85)*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I live in a rented house wid my daughter who takes care of me. I was
born in de Santuc section. My pa and ma was Richard Dawkins and Marsha
Shelton Dawkins. I think dey lived wid de Hendersons in de Maybinton
section near Broad River, but dey lived wid Marse Bill Jeter near Santuc
when I was born. My husband was Ike Kelley, he been dead good many
years.
"Marse whipped me once or twice. We had to work in de cotton fields, and
I have split rails and ditched like men, too.
"We had home-raised meat, lots of hogs and cattle. Marse had a big
garden and we got lots of vegetables. Marse fed slaves in a trough in de
yard. He had his own smokehouse whar he cured his meat. His flour was
ground in de neighborhood. Sometimes he give a slave family a small
patch to plant watermelons in.
"We wore heavy brogans wid brass toes. Sometimes Marse would make his
own leather and have shoes made in de neighborhood and dese would have
wooden bottoms. He never let us learn to read and write. He never
allowed us to go from one place to another unless it was on his place.
De patrollers would git us if we didn't have a pass; even if we went to
church wid white folks we had to have a pass. Niggers didn't have no
church till atter de war; den dey built brush arbors in de woods.
"I married at my house. We is Baptists, and I used to go and see dem
baptize sinners.
"We used to go home at night when de work was over and go to bed and
rest. We worked all day on Saturdays, but never worked on Sundays. On
Christmas Days we had off, and Marse would give us good things to eat
and some whiskey to drink.
"My mother worked around de house in slavery time, she helped cook,
clean up and wash dishes, and sometimes she would card, spin and weave.
"Dey used to make a yellowish dye from mud, a grayish dye from maple
tree bark and a brownish dye from walnut tree bark. We allus planted by
de signs or de scales. Irish potatoes, turnips and sweet potatoes we
planted in de dark of de moon; while beans was planted in de sign of de
craw-fish.
"I remember when de Yankees come through atter de war. Dey stole
everything and burned up everything dey couldn't steal. De Ku Klux was
in our section. Dey killed lots of niggers around dar.
"I don't remember anything about Abraham Lincoln nor Jefferson Davis,
only heard about dem. I don't know much about Booker Washington,
either."
Gabe Lance
*Interview with Uncle Gabe Lance, age 77*
*Sandy Island, Murrells Inlet, S.C.*
--_Genevieve W. Chandler_
_BORN AND LIVING ON SANDY ISLAND_
"Great Peace! Missus, have to study up that!"
Uncle Gabe had just arrived from Sandy Island at the country
post-office, having rowed over for his month's supply of sugar and
coffee and things he cannot raise. After the five or six mile row he
must needs walk three miles to the office.
"I could remember when the Yankee boats come to Montarena--gun-boats.
'Bout ten o'clock in the morning. Soldier all muster out and scatter all
over the island. You know that cause-er-way? Gone over that two by two,
gun on shoulder glisten gainst the sun! Blue-coats, blue pants, hat all
blue. Come back to landing 'bout five o'clock. Have hog, geese, duck!
Broke in barn. Stole rations from poor people. My Grandfather the
Driver--slave Driver. Name Nelson. Maussa--Frank Harriott. Maussa gone
in swamp. Hid in woods. My Grandfather take old Miss Sally--Miss Sally
Harriott--count she couldn't walk with rheumatism--Grandfather took old
Miss Sally on he back to hid 'em in the woods where Maussa. Yankee stay
but the one day. Ravage all over us island. All goat, hog, chicken,
duck, geese--all the animal but the cow been take on the Yankee gun
boat. They broke in Maussa big rice barn and share all that out to the
colored folks.
"Some my people run away from Sandy Islant. Go Oaks sea-shore and
Magnolia Beach and take row-boat and gone out and join with the Yankee.
Dem crowd never didn't come back.
"Any slave run way or didn't done task, put 'em in barn and least cut
they give 'em (with lash) been twenty-five to fifty. Simply 'cause them
weak and couldn't done task--couldn't done task! 'Give 'em less rations
to boot! Cut 'em down to
1 qt. molasses
1 lb. meat
1 pk. corn for a week
"Good Master all right. Give plenty to eat. Reasonable task. Task dem
time one-fourth to one half acre. Ditching man ten compass. Got to slush
'em out. Got to bail that water out till you kin see track.
"All dem rice-field been nothing but swamp. Slavery people cut kennel
(canal) and dig ditch and cut down woods--and dig ditch through the raw
woods. All been clear up for plant rice by slavery people.
"Beat my Pa and Ma to death and turn me loose! Ought to take care 'o me!
I send off my 35 ct. fust (first) time, next time twenty-five cents I
put what little I have in it. Ain't hear no answer. Some ten or fifteen
head round here send off blank and don't get no hearing! Take what
little I have and don't send me nothing 'TALL! I tired with that now!
Ain't had a hearing!" (Referring to 'old age compensation').
Ephriam (Mike) Lawrence
*I*
*Interview with Ephriam Lawrence*
*Edisto Island, S.C.*
--_C.S. Murray_
"I don't 'member much 'bout slavery time 'cause I been lee (little) boy
when war declare. I raise up under de Murray--all my generation belong
to de Murray. Dey know how to treat slave. Ain't lick um much, hardly
any. Chillun hab easy time. All I been require to do was tote coal to
Mosser when he ready fer light. Adam Mack and me, we been de fire boy.
Mosser gib Adam to Mister Eberson. I ain't gib to nobody--'specially.
"All white people ain't treat slave good. Some make um wuk haa'd all
day, and 'cuss um plenty. De slave who been live near Steamboat Landing
had rough time when dere old Miss git in tantrum. She been 'nuse to
trabbel all over de world, and when she come back, she call all de slave
together, and say: 'When I come, de debbil come.'
"We family ain't had all dat to worry 'bout. Behave yourself and you all
right. Plenty to eat, plenty to drink. Run 'round and enjoy yourself if
you got uh mind to. Wuk when you wuk, play when you play. Ole Miss 'nuse
to 'tend all de sick nigger. Go from house to house, wid lee pair of
scale and bottle ram jam pack of calomel. Give lee nigger big dose of
castor oil, and dey git well quick, mighty quick.
"Old Mosser 'nuse to keep all de likker in de world on hand. Had to keep
plenty, 'cause he friend drink lot and nigger drink lot too. He ain't
drink so much heself. Old nigger been live on de place call John Fraser,
same one I tell you 'bout, dat cut all dem tree down. John sure been
slick. When Mosser call fer he fine likker to hand 'round, John come
back and tell him all gone. Mosser want to know why. John make reply:
'Why, Mosser you know you hab Mister Binyard to supper last night and he
finish all dat good stuff. You know how Mr. Binyard drink. Sometime he
drink when your back t'un (turned). How you 'speck um to last?' Mosser
scratch he haid, and say, yes he know how Mr. Binyard drink, and mebbe
dats why de last bottle empty. He ain't satisfy, but he can't prove dat
John drink um.
"Mosser 'nuse to keep de whiskey down in de cellar by de barrel, and he
draw um off in bottle when he need um and take um upstair to de wine
room. De nigger dat wuk 'round de house and de yaa'd, help dem self out
de barrel when dey feel tired. Mosser 'spect dem to do dat--dey 'title
(entitle) to um. Whiskey been kinder ration in dem day.
"Nigger jest know haa'd time now. Ain't been dat way when I been lee
boy. You ain't lacking fer nutting den dat you really need. No tussling
'bout fer yourself and knock 'round from pillar to post. If we need
anything slavery time we ax (ask) fer um--make we want known. Any
feeling ably white man who hab slave, gib we what we need. No puzzling
'tall (at all).
"Ain't I tell you 'bout dat time when John Fraser take overcoat from
Mosser right on Meeting Street? No. Well, it been uh cold day, and
Mosser tell John Fraser to meet him on de corner Meeting and Broad wid
de overcoat, 'cause he going out dat night and he want 'um. John been
wid Abel Wright, and de two of dem walk down de street to meet de Major.
John say to Abel: 'I cold as de debbil, and I going to ax Mosser fer he
coat.' Abel say: 'You crazy. He send for um and he sure ain't going, to
gib you he good new coat anyhow.' John say: 'You wait and see.'
"Soon Mosser come in sight. When he see John he git mad right off 'cause
John hab on he overcoat. Before he kin say uh wud (word) John speak up
fast. He say: 'Yes, Mosser I got on your coat 'cause it mighty cold. Got
to excuse old nigger. You hab 'nother coat. I ain't got nutting but dis
here jumper. Go on home Mosser and git torrer (the other) coat. I going
to keep dis. He jest fit me. Go on home.'
"Mosser study fer uh while, den he laugh. He see how keen de coat fit
John, and he know it been cold sure 'nough. John look sekker (just like)
dress up monkey in dat long tail overcoat, and dat make de Major laugh
all de more. So he tu'n round and go home, and John hab dat coat till he
die.
"Old Mosser scarcely going to deny you nutting, if he like you."
*II*
*Interview with Ephriam (Mike) Lawrence, about 80, farmer and
laborer*
*Edisto Island, S.C.*
--_C.S. Murray_
Mike Lawrence belonged to what he calls "de Murray state" in slavery
times. He was one of Major William Meggett Murray's "fire boys", who was
charged with the specific duty of bringing live coals to the master
whenever he wanted to light his pipe. Mike was only a small lad when war
was declared, but he remembers numerous stories relating to "Maussa's
niggers", some of which are worth recording. He speaks from first hand
knowledge, he says, for the things that he tells about happened during
his childhood and still stand out clearly in his mind.
Here is one of Mike's stories:
"Old John Drayton was de smaa'test of all de nigger de Maussa place. He
wuk so haa'd some time dat Maussa jest got to stop him, or he kill
heself. I nebber see sech uh man fer wuk in all my life. Maussa t'ink uh
lot ob um, 'cause he been uh good field hand, beside know lot 'bout
cutting 'ood (wood) and building fence. What been more old John play fer
all de dance on de plantation. He fair (really) mek fiddle talk. When
Maussa gib uh dance he always call 'pon John.
"Yas, suh dat man sure could play. W'en he saw down on de fiddle and
pull out dat june (tune) 'Oh, de Monkey Marry to de Babboon Sister,' he
mek paa'son (parson) dance.
"One day more dan all, Maussa Murray send wud (word) to John dat de cow
der break out ob de pasture, and he got to mend de fence quick. But John
done promise some nigger on Fenwick Island to play fer uh dance, and he
steal paa't (path) and go. (This expression means to go away by
stealth). Dat been Friday night and Maussa say John got to finish de
fence by sundown the next day.
"W'en Old John ain't show up Saturday morning, Maussa ax eberybody where
he been and de nigger all band togedder (together) and tell Maussa dat
dey see him leabe in uh boat to go fish and he ain't seen since. Maussa
been worry sure 'nough den 'cause he t'ink John might be drown'. He
'gage (engage) four man to shoot gun all ober creek to mek John body
rise. Atter dat day drag all 'bout in de gutter.
"Maussa gone bed wid heaby haa't (heart) 'cause he been very fond ob Old
John.
"John come back from Fenwick Island early Monday morning and 'fore day
clean he in de 'odd der cut fence rail. Now, one hundred rail been call
uh good day wuk, but Old John decide he going to do better den dat. He
find fibe (five) tree grow close togedder, and he cut piece out ob every
one. Den he chop at the biggest tree till he fall, and dat tree knock
all de rest ober wid um.
"W'en all dem tree fall togedder, it make sech uh noise, dat ole Maussa
hear um in he bed, and hasten to dress so he kin see w'at der go on in
de woods.
"Maussa saddle de horse and ride 'till he git to de center ob de noise
and dere he see Old John cutting 'way like he crazy. Maussa been mad
sure 'nough, but den he glad to see John ain't drown'. He staa't to say
some t'ing but Old John interrupt, and sing out: 'Go 'way Maussa, I
ain't got time to talk wid you now.'
"Old John den gather up five ax, and go to de five tree laying down on
de ground. He dribe uh ax in ebery tree and den grab uh neaby maul. W'en
Maussa look on, he tek de maul and run from one tree to torrer (one to
the other) and quick as he hit de ax, de tree split wide open. Maussa
staa't to say some t'ing 'gain but John ain't let him talk. He say: 'Go
on home to Missus, Maussa, I too 'shame, great God I too 'shame! Go on
home.'
"Maussa tun (turn) 'round in he track and go home widout uh wud, 'cause
he see de old nigger ain't going to gib him any satisfaction 'bout
Saturday. W'en he go back in de 'ood dat evening he check up and find
dat Old John done cut five hundred rail. Oh, dem been man in dose day, I
tell you."
Ben Leitner
*Interview with Ben Leitner, 85 years old*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
"I see you go by de road de other day, on your way to old man Wade
Jackson's house. 'Member de old fellow dat am paralyzed, de one dat
lives beyond Fellowship graveyard? I was setten' in dat graveyard when
you and Marse Thomas pass in de automobile. I 'quire nex' day where you
was a goin', then Marse Thomas say you goin' 'round doin' sumpin' 'bout
old slaves and 'spect you'd like to see me. So here I is.
"Well, I's knowed you since you was knee-high and Marse Thomas say,
maybe you help me to get a pension. If you can't, nobody can.
"I was born a slave of old Marse Robin Brice, not far from New Hope
A.R.P. Church. My mistress was name Miss Jennie. My young marsters' was:
Marse John, Marse Chris, and Marse Tom. Marse Tom been a little runt;
they call him Tom Shanty. Him got to be a member of de Legislature,
after de war. All them went to de 'Federate War. Deir sister, Amanda,
marry Marse Bill Kitchen. You 'member him, don't you? Course you does.
"'Member dat day baseball fust come out and they got up a team, not a
team then; they called it a 'Nine', when de game fust come to woodward
section? If you ketch a ball on de fust bounce, dat was a 'out'. No sich
thing as a mask for de face, gloves for de hands, and mats to protect
your belly. No curves was allowed, or swift balls throwed by de pitcher.
Him have to pitch a slow dropball. De aim than was to see how far a
batter could knock de ball, how fast a fellow could run, and how many
tallies a side could make. Mighty poor game if de game didn't last half
a day and one side or de other make forty tallies.
"Marse Bill Kitchen was workin' in de store of his brudder-in-law, Marse
John A. Brice. Him was called out to make one of de 'Nines'. Him went to
de bat, and de very fust lick, him knock de ball way over center field.
Everybody holler: 'Run Kitchen! Run Kitchen! Run Kitchen!' Marse Bill
stand right dere wid de bat; shake his head and long black whiskers and
say: 'Why should I run? I got two more licks at dat ball!' They git de
ball, tech him and de umpire say: 'Out'. Marse Bill throw de ball down
and say; 'D--n sich a game!' Folks laugh 'bout dat 'til dis day.
"My daddy name Bill Leitner. Him never b'long to Marse Robin. Him b'long
to Marse John Partook Brice. Mammy b'long to Marse Robin. Her name
Sarah. Daddy have to have a pass to come to see mammy.
"My brudders and sisters was Eliza, Aleck, and Milton. Patrollers whup
daddy one time when they come to de house and find him widout a pass.
Marster have mammy whup us chillun, when us need a whuppen. Her milk de
cows, churn, and 'tend to de milk, butter and dairy. I helped her wid de
cows and calves, and churnin'.
"You ask me is I had plenty to eat? Sure I did, wid all dat milk 'round
me all de time. Best thing I 'member right now was runnin' my finger
'round de jar where de cream cling, and suckin' it off my fingers.
"Marster took good care of his slaves. They never went hungry or cold.
"My marster and mistress live in a big two-story house. Us live in
little log house, wid log chimneys. I 'members fightin' chinches in de
summertime and fleas all de time. I wore a asafetida bag 'round my neck,
when a child to keep off croup, measles, diphtheria, and whoopin' cough.
Marster send for Dr. Walter Brice when any slave get very ill.
"De fust year of freedom I work for Marse Chris Brice. Been wid de
Brices all my life. Now livin' on Marse Tom Brice's place.
"When de Yankees come, they ramsack de house for silver and gold. They
burn de house and gin-house; carry off mules, hosses, and cows. They
took de chickens, load all de provisions, put them in a four-hoss
waggin, and leave us and de white folks cold and hungry. It was cold
winter time then too.
"I marry a ginger cake lady, one-fourth white, daughter of Louis Grier.
Tho' I ain't much on looks as you sees me today, dat gal often, befo'
and after de weddin', put her arms 'bout me and say: 'Ben you is de
han'somest man I ever have see in de world.'
"Us had three chillun. My wife led me to de light of de Lord. I jined de
Red Hill Baptist Church, under de spell of Peter Cook's preachin' and my
wife up in de choir a singin': 'Give me dat old time Religion.' Preacher
Miller is my pastor now. Peter Cook dead and gone to glory long years
ago. I 'members now dat old preacher's warm hand, when he took my hand
dat night I jined. Him say: 'God give you a life to live. You have a
soul to save. God give you His Son to save dat soul. Glory be His
name!."
Mary Ann Lipscomb
*Interview with Mrs. Mary Ann Lipscomb*
*Gaffney, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
_REMINISCENCES_
"My husband, Nathan Lipscomb, was over on Mt. Pleasant fighting, and I
had been over there to see him. He was a private in the rear ranks. When
we were coming back to Charleston on a rice steamer, an open boat, the
Yankees were shelling the town. I played with my fingers in the water of
the bay as the steamer went along. We landed at a different landing from
the one where we had started from. When I got off the steamer I was very
much frightened, for they had shot through the hotel where we were
staying.
"We immediately left the city by train. I hated to leave my husband so
far behind, but I could do nothing about it. In that day the train used
only wood for fuel. Only two trains a day came from Columbia to
Charleston. They made about 18 miles per hour, but that was good
traveling at that time.
"My brother, Thomas Wilkins, went through the war. My father, Russell,
and Richard were in training when the surrender came. I stayed with my
father at White Plains while my husband was off to war. When we heard
that the Yankees were coming, we had the Negroes to hide all the horses
but two, and to hide the cows and turn the hogs loose to ramble in the
woods.
"When the Yankees rode up to the yard and got off their horses, we could
easily tell they had been drinking. We told them that our horses were in
the stable and that the Negroes had fled in terror, which was true. They
ate up everything they could find and ransacked the closets and pantry.
They then caught the chickens, took the two horses in the stable and
went away.
"The darkies came back with the cows and horses, and we got settled for
the night. About nine o'clock, the Yankees came unexpectedly and took
all the horses and cows. They killed the cows, and made our darkies help
them to butcher them and barbecue them. The Yankees soon ate everything
up and left with our horses.
"My grandmother, Agnes Wood, gave my mother, Elizabeth Wilkins, a
beautiful young mare. The Yankee who took that mare, turned over a pot
of fresh soap when my mother asked him not to take the mare. Our cook,
Matilda, had the soap ready to cut in the pot, so we saved some of it.
"During the second year of the war I was making me a homespun dress, and
while my father helped me with the weaving he told me of a dress that
one of his friends made during the Nullificatlon days. I carded and spun
the filling for my new dress, wove it, made the dress and wore it to
Charleston when I went to see my husband. It had broad, black stripes
the width of my two fingers, and two green threads between the black
stripes. It also had a little yellow stripe. It was really a beautiful
dress and looked very much like silk."
Govan Littlejohn
*I*
*Interview with Govan Littlejohn*
*Park Ave. and Liberty St., Spartanburg, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"Capt. Sam Littlejohn whipped Miss Sallie H.'s slave. His name was Ambus
H. Cap' tied him to a tree. Never had no corn-shuckings, us shucked de
corn quick as us hauled it from de field.
"My marse kilt as many as twenty hogs every time he butchered, which be
about fo' times every winter. Marse Richard Littlejohn never married. He
lived wid his mother and seven brothers.
"Marse was one good man and he love his darkies. He never had no
overseer, because he had only 'bout 80 slaves as I remembers. I de
onliest chile dat my ma had and I be 88 if I live to see dis coming
December. My ma teach me to fight nothing in dis world but de devil.
"My father was Peter Littlejohn. Lawyer Tommie Dawkins was his marster.
I never was sold. I married, but never had no chilluns. My old lady been
gone over de river dese many years, so many dat I cannot recall how
many. Yes Sir, I used to light my ma's pipe and wear home-made clothes.
Ole lady Rhoda was de seamstress. She died not long atter we was
liberated.
"I lives in de Woods Funeral Home which is on de corner of Park Ave. and
Liberty Street. Once I befriend a man in distress. He now own interest
in de undertaking 'stablishment and dat is why I has a room dar in my
old age."
*II*
*Interview with Govan Littlejohn*
*387 S. Liberty St., Spartanburg, S.C.*
--_F.S. DuPre, Spartanburg, S.C._
Govan Littlejohn, of Spartanburg, told the writer he was 87 years old
and that he remembered slavery times. He said he was born on the farm of
Dicky Littlejohn, located near Grindal Shoals. He said Richard
Littlejohn owned a mill on Pacolet River, though his brother, Jim
Littlejohn, owned the land. This was a grist mill. Govan Littlejohn's
father was a colored man from another farm and his name was Hawkins, but
he took the name of Littlejohn. He remembers the Yankee Soldiers passing
in the public road, but they did not bother any one there; didn't take
or steal anything, and just passed on quietly. He says his master did
not know how to whip anybody, though he remembers him catching hold of
him one day and switching him with a small twig, saying "You little
rascal, you." His master whipped some of the grown negroes but not hard
enough to hurt them, though once or twice he saw a grown negro with bare
back feel the switch. "But he did not know how to whip anybody."
"Yes, I been conjured," he said. "You see that left foot? Well, once
when I was a young 'buck', I was setting up to a gal and there was
another fellow setting up to her, too. I held a little bit the upper
hand with the gal. But when my left foot began to swell up and pain me,
I had to go to bed. I stayed there three months. Dr. Nott came to see me
and treated me with corn poultices, but they would dry up and fall off
and I didn't get any better. He lanced my foot three times, but nothing
but blood would come. One day a herb doctor came to see me and said he
could cure my foot. He took corn meal poultices, rhubarb roots and some
other things, and it wasn't long before my foot got well. About that
time, my mother found the 'conjuration' right in the front yard at the
door-steps. I must have stepped over it, or got my foot caught in it
some way. The 'conjuration' was, pins, feathers and something else all
tied up in a bag. My mother heard that if it was put in running water,
the conjurer would leave the country. So pretty soon after she put the
stuff in running water, that fellow left the country. He got his arm
caught in a cotton gin not long after he left, and got it chewed off
right to his shoulder.
"Vegetables should be planted during the dark of the moon. One day, the
man I was working for told me he wanted his Irish potatoes planted. I
told him that wasn't the time to plant potatoes. He told me to plant
some in one particular place that day and call them his potatoes, then
when I thought the time was right, to plant the rest in another place.
His potatoes came up and made prettier vines than mine, had pretty
blooms on them and the vines grew very high. He ragged me about how fine
his potatoes were. He told me to gather the potatoes under my vines for
the house, but not to disturb his potatoes. For several days, the family
ate potatoes from my vines, then I gathered up the potatoes left. I got
five or six wheelbarrows full. I then dug his potatoes and got a little
more than one wheelbarrow full. He told me to plant the garden when I
thought the time was right, and not to say anything to him about when
and what to plant. I always had plenty of vegetables for his family."
Easter Lockhart
*Interview with Easter Lockhart (80)*
*322 Hill Street, Gaffney, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"Folks thinks that I was born round Easter, but that ain't so. March the
9th is what they always told me. The year I cannot recollect hearing,
but by my count that I keep I am running close to eighty years. White
folks give me my age to keep when I married, and I have kept it ever
since, so I cannot be far wrong.
"It was the chief of police's grandpa that I knew and it was off his
place that my old man come from. I was born Easter Norris and I married
Nathan Lockhart when I was young, maybe fifteen, ain't sure about that.
He was a little older than me. In slavery I was born and my mother was
sold while I was a very young child, so they say. We then lived with Mr.
Clayton Clark. Freedom broke when I was around thirteen, and we then
went back to the Lockhart Plantation. There is where I nursed Henry, a
little baby. He is now the chief of police. Miss Bessie, his mother, had
me to clean up her yards for her.
"Miss Bessie fixed me up to be baptized at the Limestone Baptist church.
It was then near Johnson Street and across from where Central school now
stands. It was a Negro church. We had to go to the spring pond called
Austin's Pond where all the baptizing took place in those days. Mr.
Austin had a mill there run by a big water wheel. The white folks
carried on their baptizing there, too. The first warm Sunday in May was
when I was baptized.
"All Saturday I prayed and Miss Bessie told me what I was going to do,
and read to me from the Bible about baptizing and about John the Baptist
baptizing Christ. Yes sir, the Bible say Christ went down in the water,
in the waters of Jordan. Miss Bessie was telling my ma how to fix my
clothes while she was reading the Bible to me. All my clothes was white
but my shoes. In those days they did not have white shoes. I wore white
cotton stockings. I had a white dress to wear to the pond and I took two
pairs of white stockings. A crowd was to be baptized at 2:30 o'clock
that evening. The sun was good and hot. I went with my folks. Miss
Bessie went and all the white folks went to see their Negroes go under.
"The dress I wore to the baptizing was starched so stiff it stood out. I
wore a white handkerchief over my head that Miss Bessie give me. On top
of that I had a white bonnet that had frills and tucks all over it. When
we got there the banks of Austin's Pond was lined with Negroes shouting
and singing glory and praises. They sang all the songs they could think
of and the preacher lined out songs to them. The people to be baptized
congregated before the preacher, and he told them what to do. Then we
went in and put on the clothes we was to go under in.
"I had a long white gown gathered from my shoulders and it had a big
kind of sleeves. On my head I wore a white cap and kept on my white
stockings, but I pulled off my black shoes. Never had no white shoes
that I know of way back then. I felt so good that I seemed to walk real
light. While we were getting in our baptizing clothes we shouted praises
as the people on the banks sang. Some of us jumped up. When my time come
I started to the pond and just before the preacher turned to take my
hand, I shouted 'Lord have Mercy' and clapped my hands over my head.
Somebody said, 'Dat child sho is gitting a new soul'.
"Down in the water I went. First it hit my ankles and then I felt the
hem of my skirts getting wet. I looked down and my gown was floating on
top the water. I took my hand and pushed it down. The preacher pulled me
to him and I went in water to my waist. I said 'Oh Lordy' when that
water hit my stomach. The preacher said, 'Now sister, you just hold your
breath and shut your mouth; trust in the Lord and don't act like a
grunting pig, but have faith'. Then the singing seemed far off and the
preacher's voice got deep. He put his big hand over my mouth and told me
to limber up my back. His other hand was under my back. He pushed me
over, and down in the water I went; then up I come. The preacher put a
towel over my face, and while I was getting water out of my eyes and
mouth, he was saying about the Lord done reached down from Heaven and
created a new soul. I felt real funny when I turned to walk up out of
the water. I could hardly walk for I had on so many clothes and they
were so heavy. As soon as I could I got into the clothes that I wore to
the baptizing and put on my black shoes and the pair of white stockings
that I had fetched with me. While aunt Kizie Lockhart was tying the
handkerchief around my head that Miss Bessie give me, I told her about
how I felt. She said, 'Why, sure child, ain't you done washed your sins
away and got converted?'
"Then she grabbed me by the hand and we went out among the people
shouting praises to the Lord. I ain't never felt the same since. Aunt
Kizie took me round to say 'howdy' to Miss Bessie. When the preacher had
got them all baptized, we went into the church and had services. The
white folks went on home after the baptizing was over. At the church we
shouted till we could not shout no more. Folks don't like that now. They
don't feel good when they join the church no more, either. I ain't had
nothing to come against me since I was baptized. My head loses lots of
things, but not my religion.
"Lots of folks was at Mr. Henry's Pa's house for his infair dinner. Mr.
Hiram and Miss Bessie give the infair after the wedding. Miss Agnes, his
sister come back for the wedding. Mr. Henry had sharp snapping eyes and
he was good looking then. His eyes can still snap. When he looked at
Miss Mary his face would light up. Her name was Miss Mary Gilmer, and
she lived up near the lead mine. She sure looked good in white. I did
not see the wedding, so I had to look careful at them when they come in
Miss Bessie's front door so I could take it all in.
"The infair sure was fine. The table was most breaking down with turkey,
chicken, ham, salads, pies and cakes. All the things to eat, already
fixed on the plates, was fetched in from the kitchen by the Negroes. The
chickens and turkeys just set on the table for ornaments and was not
touched until the next day.
"The infair started at three o'clock in the afternoon. There were three
or four tables for the people to sit at. The dining room and one other
room were used to seat the guests at the tables while they ate. I can
still see Miss Bessie's white linen table cloth that reached nearly to
the floor. Such a time as I had the week before, washing and ironing the
big linen napkins and shining the silver.
"They all looked mighty fine at the tables in their fine clothes. I
could not help looking often at Mr. Henry's wife. Miss Bessie had done
studied everything out so as it all went off fine."
Gable Locklier
*Interview with Uncle Gable Locklier, age 86*
*Gourdin, S.C.*
--_H. Grady Davis and Mrs. Lucile Young, Florence, S.C._
"I born in Clarendon county, 50 yards of Davis Station. Massa Henry
Bethune dat have big plantation dere was my first boss en after he died,
Mrs. Bethune sold everything en moved to Summerton. Stayed dere till she
married Mr. Thomas, de preacher, dat have big place in Summerton wid
trees in long row right up to de door. He bought place three miles from
Summerton called de Bashet place. Mrs. Bethune was a sport lady en was
good to me en Mr. Thomas good man too, but he was a Yankee. He come to
Summerton to be a school teacher en won' long fore he commence to escort
my Missus en dey made up in a year or two, I hear ma say. I was in de
kitchen en I hear dem. She told ma, 'Eliza, I gwine marry Mr. Thomas.'
Ma say, 'You is.' 'Yes, you reckon he gwine be all right?' 'I reckon he
is, he looks all right.' 'Well, I gwine marry him en try him.' Mr.
Thomas, he Yankee, but he fought for de Confederates.
"Massa Henry Bethune had big plantation en had a right sharp of slaves
dere. De boss house was here en my house next en all de other slave
house was string along in row dat way. My white folks, dey didn' exactly
treat you as most of dem did. Dey come round en examine you house en see
what you needed. All us live in two room pole house dat have a wood
floor. Old people sleep on some kind of bed prop wid rope wind up like
cow yoke en have quilts en mattresses taking white homespun. De others
sleep on de floor. Dey give us good clothes made out of blue denim cloth
en some had checked or stripe goods. Den dey give us heavy woolen
clothes to wear in de winter time en had Sunday clothes too. My Massa
was good to his slaves all de time. Have own garden dat my mother en
sister would work en my mother done all de cookin for de slaves 'cause
our folks all eat out de same pot. Cook rice en fat meat en dese collard
greens en corn bread en cabbage. Make plenty of de cabbage en eat heap
of dem.
"I didn' never have to work hard, but dey work dem till dark come on
some places. Dey blow horn en us go to work after daylight en sometimes
get off in time to eat supper by sundown. I was so slow dat when de rest
knock off, dey make me work on. Mr. Thomas, he stand en look at me. My
hands just look like dey put on wrong. When I quit off, I eat supper en
den I go to bed.
"I ain' never see any slaves punished but I hear tell 'bout it. Some of
dem run away 'cause dey get tired of workin en if dey catch em, dey sho
whip em. Used to have to get ticket from boss or Missus to go any place
off de plantation widout you get punish for it. I hear tell 'bout de
overseer en de driver whip plenty of de slaves en some of de time, dey
would put em in de screw box over night. Sell em if dey didn' do like
dey tell em to do. Speculator come dere to buy slaves en dey sell em to
de highest bidder. I hear em say a certain one bring $1400 or $1500. I
know a man offered my boss $1000 for my brother, Joe, but he wouldn'
sell him.
"My Massa would give me money now en den. First money I remember he give
me was 75c paper money. He tell me to check his horse en bring him up to
de yard en give me 75c en said, 'I can' carry you wid me dis mornin.' I
was 'bout 9 or 10 years old den. I stood up on de block en wondered why
he couldn' carry me en when I go back to de house, I see my Missus cryin
en she say, 'We won' see him no more.' When he come back, he shot
through de foot. He tell me to go to de blacksmith shop en bring
crutches. Den he went to de war again en when he come back, he was shot
on de right side of de neck. Give me a quarter in silver money dat time.
I ain' never been to de store fore den, but I go to de storekeeper en I
say, 'Mr. King, half dis money mine en half Joes.' I thought it was his
place to give me what I wanted en when I walk out, he say, 'Come back en
get your money,' I carried it home en give it to brother Joe en he give
it to pa en don' know what come of it after dat. Bought plug of tobacco
for pa wid de other money I had.
"Our folks didn' get no learnin much nowhe' in dem days, but my Missus
sister child learn me right sharp. Dey was boardin at our house en when
I started to school, I didn' have no trouble. I remembers I found a
little book one time en man say he pay me 10c for it. Ma give me a
needle en thread en little sack en I sew my 10c in it. Put it in de
rafter en it stay dere till next Christmas. Believe I took it down en
tote it a long time fore man come by sellin tobacco en I bought piece en
give it to pa. Man give my sister bigger piece for a dime den he give
me.
"De slaves what belong to my white folks have frolicsome days all
through de year. Go to frolic on Saturday en go to white folks church on
Sunday en sit in portion of church in de gallery. Den on Christmas eat
en drink de best liquor dere was en de Fourth of July de one day dat dey
have to go to [HW: Eutaw] Springs. Dey go in buggies en wagons en have
plenty of everything to eat dat day. I know dere was a battle up dere,
although I didn' never go wid em. Cotton pickin en corn shuckin days
won' no work times, dey was big frolics. De first one shuck red corn had
to tell who his best girl was en all dem things. All dem come to cotton
pickin dat want to en pick cotton en cook big dinner. Pick cotton till
'bout 5:30 in de evenin' en den knock off for de eats en de dancin. Go
to all de slaves weddings too. Dey would mostly get married 'bout on a
Sunday evenin'.
"I was 'bout 15 year old when freedom come, but I don' remember much
'bout dat day. I remembers de Yankees come to de house one day. De white
folks had a bull dog tied in de smoke house en one Yankee hold de gun on
de dog en another take de meat out de house. Den dey come out en set
table en eat. Dog didn' try to bite em 'cause dog know when to bite.
Somebody ask em to have some rice en dey say, 'I would cut my throat
fore I eat dat thing.
"I tell you de truth wid de treatment I been gettin I don' see why I
could fought slavery time. I lives here by myself en I used to get check
but check don' come no more en I just lives on what people gets me.
Government got woman bring me wood en bucket of water en niece give me
dis house en acre of land to live on my lifetime. Cook only one meal a
day 'cause I can' afford it. De water I got it ever since yesterday
mornin. Sunday mornin I had hominy en salt water fish en dat de last
time I had good meal. (Wednesday afternoon). Lady tell me dere ain'
gwine be no more checks. It be two months since I get check en lady come
en I tell her I hungry en she go to Gourdin en buy me two cans en loaf
of bread. Had two big watermelons en was saving one for Miss Lanes. Girl
come runnin in en say my niece house on fire en I go runnin to see 'bout
fire en my biggest watermelon gone. Dat de one I been saving for Miss
Lanes en den I wake up on Friday mornin en de other one gone. Next thing
I know, dey started on my late ones. One night woman come in patch en
thump en thump. I was standin at de peach tree in de patch en she have
one en when she get near me, she stoop down en pick another. I say, 'You
reckon dat one ripe?' She sho drop em en run dat time.
"Thank you, sir, your kindness will not be forgotten. Dis here dozen
matches last me till next week.
"Good-by. Yunnah come back."
Walter Long
*Interview with Walter Long, 83 years old*
*2440 Sumter Street, Columbia, S.C.*
--_Henry Grant, Columbia, S.C._
"I's a little bit stiff, when I tries to git up, and sometimes when I's
walkin' I weaves and wobbles like a drunk person, but know all dat comes
from old age. I has been healthy and strong all my life. De onliest
trouble I has ever had in my life has been wid my teeth; they sho' has
been bad a long time, and now I has only one or two old snags left. I
don't want no store bought teeth nohow, 'cause they 'minds me of a hoss
or mule wid a bit in their mouth floppin' up and down. No sir, I don't
want them triflin' things botherin' me, I think I can take care of de
little I gits to eat wid dese few snags I has left.
"Me and all my folks was slaves and b'longs to Master John Long, and his
wife, Betsy Long. Their plantation was six miles north of Chapin,
Lexington County, South Carolina. De plantation was a big one and lay
'long Saluda River. You know it had to be a big place 'cause master had
over three hundred slaves in all. Everything de slaves needed was made
right dere on de plantation; all de food 'cept sugar and coffee, and
what us need to wear, 'cept buttons for de clothes.
"Master and mistress raised four fine boys, no girls I 'members 'bout.
De boys names was: West, Mid, Gradon and Hill. Master West and Mid
served as overseers on de plantation. Dese boys being de overseers, was
de whole reason us slaves was treated good and kind. They knowed us
slave would b'long to them some day, when old Master John died. De
slaves never worked hard, and they was give every Saturday and Sunday to
rest.
"Our food in slavery time was good and a lot of it. De food was cooked
good and prepared for us by servants dat didn't do nothin' else but
'tend to de food dat de rest of de slaves had to eat. When us had beef
us went to de pasture for it; when us had pork, us went to de hog lot.
De cabbage and turnips come from de garden and field dere at home, and
when us was eatin' them us knowed they didn't come from out yonder, like
de stuff us has to eat dese days.
"De houses us slaves lived in was built of logs and then de logs was
covered over inside and out wid plank, dat made them tight and warm.
Every family was furnished plenty of covering, so they wouldn't suffer
in cold weather but in summer de most of us slept on pallets on de
floor.
"Master John was a business man, but he never got too busy to be polite
and gentle to mistress. Both of them has good schoolin'. They knowed
just how to treat both their slaves and their white friends. They was
good to all, and they never turnt anybody down dat come to them for
help. Many was de poor white folks dat 'most lived on Master John. They
was what I calls, real white folks; no sich people is easy found dese
days by de poor niggers.
"Mistress was mighty 'ticular 'bout our 'ligion, 'cause she knowed dere
was no nigger any too good nohow. Us slaves 'sorbed all de good us had
in us from our mistress, I really believes. She was so kind and gentle,
she moved 'mong us a livin' benediction. Many was de blessings dat fell
from her hands for de sick and 'flicted. She got tired, but I has never
seen her too weary to go to a cryin' child or a moanin' grown person on
de place and 'quire what was de matter. Us was 'bliged to love her,
'cause she knowed us more better than us knowed ourselves. More than
dat, she and her sons' wives teached us how to read, write and figure,
'nough to help us in small business.
"When did I git married? I wish you hadn't ask dat question. I sho' had
a bad mixup wid my first gal. You see it was dis way: I was good grown
befo' I left my daddy and mammy who was then farmin' for Master Mid
Long, on the other side of Saluda River. My mammy had a heap of sense
dat she got from de white folks. So, one day while me and she was
pickin' cotton out in de field she all at once stopped pickin' cotton,
straightened up, pointed her finger at me and said: 'Look here nigger,
you knows I don't like for you to be gwine to see dat brown skin gal
what lives over yonder on Cling Creek. After I has raised you up de best
I knowed how and then for you to do like you is, foolin' your time 'way
wid such sorry women makes your old mammy sick and mad all over. One
other thing I wants to say to you is dat some of dese nights when you go
to see dat gal, you is gwine to see something dat is sho' goin' to call
to your mind what I's sayin' to you.' Well boss, you know how 'tis wid
men. I knowed mammy could give good 'vice, and I knowed she sho'
wouldn't do me no harm. But what 'bout dat I's gwine to see some nights
when I go to see dat gal? So I thinks and thinks 'bout dat two or three
days and never did satisfy my mind what dat something gwine look like.
"Late one evenin', close to sunset, several days after mammy said what
she did to me, I kinda loafed off down to de cross-road store, 'tending
I was gwine after some 'bacco. I fool 'round de store a good long while
like I didn't have nothin' on my mind 'cept my 'bacco. I had a plenty on
my mind, 'cause as dark come I headed up de Cling Creek road towards dat
gal's house. When I got close to her house I seen her down at de fence
in front of de house. Soon as she glimpsed me, she 'tended like she was
lookin' for something dat wasn't dere. I knowed what she was lookin'
for, 'cause women has got their own 'culiar way of foolin' men; keepin'
them from knowin' what they are thinkin' 'bout. Dat gal knowed all de
time in dat little kinky head of hers dat I was goin' to see her dat
night. When I spoke to her she didn't 'pear to be de least bit
frightened or surprised.
"Quick as a cat she climbed up and set down on top of de fence, while
from de other side I leaned against it, close by. Dere she was smilin'
just as shy and skittish as a squirrel. Us stayed right dere and talked
and talked 'bout everything we knowed 'bout and a heap we didn't know
'bout, 'til de big yellow moon stood straight up, befo' I said farewell
to her and begun makin' my way down de big road towards home.
"I went on down de road whistling wid nothin' on my mind 'cept dat gal.
When I got 'bout a mile from home I seen a woman wid a basket on her
arm, a little piece ahead, comin' towards me. Just as I turnt to let her
pass I kinda raised my hand to my hat to speak. But bless your soul, I
ain't seen dat woman no more. I stopped and looked everywhere and dere
was nobody in dat road 'cept me. Well, dere you is. What does all dis
mean nohow? So de more I thought de more a 'culiar feelin' crept over my
body. Then I say: 'Here I is been lookin' for hants and spirits all my
life and I ain't never seen one befo' dis one.' By dis time dat 'culiar
feelin' had reached my foots and they got to movin' 'bout uneasy like.
Dis ain't gwine to do I said and wid dat I tore off down de road faster
than a wild hoss. White man, I believes I run de first hundred yards in
nearly no time and after dat I kinda picked up a bit. I begun to feel
dat I wasn't makin' as good time in de road as I ought to be makin' so I
cut 'cross de field towards a narrow strip of woods close to home. When
my foots hit de rough grass and corn stalks of de field they took holt
then and got to bird-working[2], smooth and nice like machinery. I
thought I heard something back of me, I glanced back to see what it was
and befo' I could git my head straight again I smacked head on into a
pine tree as big as I is. Well, my runnin' ceasted right dere, de big
yellow moon went dark, a breeze fanned my face, and then everything got
still.
[2] Swift movement
"De next mornin' when my mind come back to me, de sun was shinin'
straight in my face. I lay dere on de ground blinkin' my eyes, wonderin'
if I was still livin'. After a while I tried to move and sho' 'nough I
was dere all right.
"After de war de most of us slaves stayed on de plantation and worked
right on just like nothin' had happened. I lived with my mammy and daddy
a long time after I was grown. Old master and mistress died soon after
de war and then my family went to live wid young Master Mid on his
plantation on de other side of Saluda River.
"When I got some over thirty years old I got married and then I left de
farm, moved lower down in Lexington County and went to work at a
sawmill. I worked in de sawmill business 'bout twenty-five years.
Rollin' big logs to de saw wid a kanthook ain't no easy job, but it was
better to do dat than nothin'. I made a pretty good livin' but didn't
save no money, 'cause money was scarce in them days, nobody was paid
much for their labor in them times.
"Soon after I quit working in de sawmill business I moved to Columbia
and has been here every since. De white folks has been pretty good to me
here, 'cause I has had work most all de time. I has always been able to
pay my bills and support my family right good. I believes de reason of
dat is, I has never bothered nobody, and attended to my own little
business as best as I knowed. Even now, as old as I is, I can git work
from my white friends 'most all de time, dat's right.
"Did I marry dat first gal what mammy fussed wid me 'bout? Listen at
dat. No sir, I ain't seen dat gal in 'bout fifty years and I don't know
if she is dead or not."
Gillam Lowden
*Interview with Gillam Lowden (75)*
*Greenwood, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I was born at Greenwood, S.C. about 1862. I can't 'member anything
'bout de Confederate War or anything right after de war. I heard my
mammy and daddy talk 'bout de patrollers but I don't know much. My daddy
was Abram Lowden and my mammy was Sidney Williams dat married my daddy.
Our marster in slavery was Dr. Davis, and his wife, our mistress, was
Miss Martha Davis. Dey didn't learn us to read and write.
"Atter de war, my mammy always done washing on Sad'day atternoons, and
us little chaps helped to tote water and bring her wood. I 'member de
old brick oven our marster had. Dey cooked lots of bread on Sad'day
atternoons to last several days. Den we had corn-shuckings, de women had
quiltings.
"Us chaps didn't play many games 'cept marbles, rope-skipping, and
jumping high rope. We didn't git to go to school.
"Some of de cures dey made was from gypsum weed, which was boiled into a
tea and drunk. Thread-salve buds was picked and strung on thread like a
necklace, den put around de neck to keep off chills.
"I jined de church when I was 31 years old, because I was seeking
salvation. I wanted God to release me from my sins and dat was de way I
had to do it. We can't git along widout Jesus.
"I never did think anything 'bout Jeff Davis or Abraham Lincoln, and
don't know nothing 'bout Booker Washington."
Emma Lowran
*Interview with Emma Lowran*
*550 Horseshoe St., Spartanburg, S.C.*
--_F.S. DuPre, Spartanburg, S.C._
A colored woman who states she was about four years old during slavery
times, states she doesn't remember much about those days, except what
her mother told her. Her mother was a slave and was given to Bill Smith,
otherwise known as "Big-eyed Smith", and they used to live on his
plantation somewhere between Glenn Springs and Spartanburg. The actual
possession of her mother was 'vested in Mrs. Bill Smith, as the mother
was presented to Mrs. Smith by her father. Her mother's work was around
the house, such as cleaning house, washing, milking the cows etc.; but
she never had to do the cooking for the Smith family. The source states
that she and the other children of slaves used to play in the sand and
have a good time--just as all children do. Sometimes Mr. Smith would go
to whip her mother for some reason, but Mrs. Smith wouldn't let him do
so, for she told her husband that the woman belonged to her and she was
not going to have her whipped. However, she stated she does not remember
ever seeing Big Eyed Smith whipping any slave, for his wife would always
stop him. As a whole, she and her mother were treated very kindly,
though at times they did not have enough to eat. Mrs. Smith would always
tell her mother who was milking to give the children plenty of milk.
This woman was too young to remember anything about the Yankee soldiers
coming to their place, but one day a black man came by the house and
told her mother she was now free. She states her mother continued to
work for Mr. Smith after she was set free. She was sent to school where
she learned to read and write, but when she became older, she came to
Spartanburg to live, because it looked like in the country, no one could
get a doctor out there until he or she was about dead; so she wanted to
be in town where she could get a doctor when she got sick.
Nellie Loyd
*I*
*Interview with Nellie Loyd*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I was born in Union County, S.C., near Goshen Hill, about 91 years ago.
I belonged to Mr. George Buchanan. He went to the war and got his right
arm shot off. After the war, his sons moved to Oklahoma. He was good to
his slaves, and never allowed any negro under 12 years of age to work in
the fields. I helped around the house until I was 12 years old.
"The soldiers were called 'minute men'. They had wide hats with palmetto
buttons in front. They sometimes mustered at Goshen Hill. Some of the
slaves was hanged for stealing, but my master never hanged any.
"I married Nozby Loyd soon after the war, and had three children. I come
to Newberry about thirty years ago, and have worked with white families
or in the fields."
*II*
*Interview with Nellie Loyd (91)*
*Newberry, S.C.*
--_G.L. Summer, Newberry, S.C._
"I lived wid Albert and Carrie Coleman. Dey is no kin, but dey give me a
place to live. I am too old to work much, but I does what I can to help.
"I was born near Goshen Hill in Union County, and I was a slave of Marse
George Buchanan. He give us good quarters to live in and plenty to eat.
He was a good master. I believe he never whipped any slaves, for I never
did hear of it if he did, and he never allowed anybody else to whip dem
either.
"My grand-mother's mother come from Virginia. It was said she was kin to
de Indians.
"I worked around de house most of de time. My mother cooked at de home
of Marse George. She kept de keys to de smokehouse where dar was always
plenty of home-raised smoked meat. Marse made his own flour, too. He
made salt by digging a deep hole in de ground and getting de mud dat had
salt in it. We never had our own gardens, but we had small watermelon
patches. Marse had a big garden.
"Marse had a blacksmith shop and he used charcoal in it. To make de
charcoal he would cut down pine trees and pile de big limbs up and put
dirt over dem; den burn de limbs and dat would leave de charcoal. He
would pour water over it den.
"Some of Marse Buchanan's boys went to war, and some of dem got killed.
Dey had patrollers den, and if dey caught you off de place dey would
have twelve men to whip you.
"We never worked at night except sometimes when it rained and we had to
get de corn shucked or de fodder hauled to de barn. Sometimes we picked
cotton by de light of de moon. We worked on Saturday afternoons but not
on Sundays. On Christmas we had a good time and good things to eat. De
men would drink beer and whiskey. Beer was made from locusts and
persimmons, and everybody would drink some of it.
"De slaves never learned to read and write. Dey never had any churches,
but dey had to go to church and so dey went to de white folks' church
and set in de back or de gallery. Niggers had lots of dancing and
frolics. Dey danced de 'flat-foot'. Dat was when a nigger would slam his
foot flat down on de floor. De wooden bottom shoes sho would make a loud
noise. At weddings everybody would eat and frolic.
"We had our own leather made and tanned at home; den it was tacked to de
wood soles to make shoes.
"When anybody got sick, de old folks made hot teas from herbs dat dey
got out of de woods. One was a bitter herb called 'rhu'. It was put in
whiskey and drunk to prevent sickness. Marse always give it to de nigger
children, and to de grown ups, too. Dey hung asafetida bags around de
necks of de kids to keep down sickness.
"When freedom come, Marse said we was free, but he kept us till dat crop
was finished, and some of de niggers stayed on for several years and
worked for wages.
"De yankees come through our section, and Marse hid his meat and things
in deep holes dat he dug in de cemetery. He built a fence around de
cemetery. De yankees took good horses and left poor ones. Dey made
niggers cook for dem all night. De Ku Klux wore white clothes and white
caps. Dey made out dey was ghosts from de cemetery, and dey would get a
man and carry him off, and we never would see him again. De Red Shirts
come in '76. I 'member my husband voted once or twice. He was a
Republican; but dey soon put a stop to dat.
"I think Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson must have been all right; just
heard about them. Dey said dat Jeff Davis surrendered under a June apple
tree. Just heard about Booker Washington and dat is all I know. Reckon
he is doing good work.
"I joined de church when I was quite young, because meningitis was in de
neighborhood killing so many folks and I got scared.
"Atter de war de niggers started up hill; den went back. Since dat time
up to now, dey has been working most on farms. Some rent small farms and
some work as wage hands or share-croppers. Dem dat went to town have
worked as carpenters and other such work.
"I can't 'member anything more, except dat marse had a still-house on
his place, and other farmers did, too. Dey made brandy and whiskey from
peaches, apples and grapes dat dey raised; den sold it to other farmers
in de neighborhood who didn't have as much as dey did."
Amie Lumpkin
*Interview with Amie Lumpkin, 88 years old*
*1411 Pine St. Columbia, S.C.*
--_Stiles M. Scruggs, Columbia, S.C._
"I was born on de plantation of Master John Mobley, in Fairfield County,
South Carolina, in 1849. Both my parents was slaves on that plantation
at that time. Master Mobley had a big farm and he had many slaves and
chillun when I began to understand things there. My daddy worked in de
field, but my mammy worked in de big house, helpin' to cook.
"There was pretty good order on de plantation, generally at de time in
1856, when I was 'bout seven years old. Most of de slaves go right along
doin' their chores, as expected of them, but a few was restless, and
they break de rules, by runnin' 'bout without askin', and always there
was one or two who tried to escape slavery by goin' far away to the
North.
"I 'member seein' one big black man, who tried to steal a boat ride from
Charleston. He stole away one night from Master Mobley's place and got
to Charleston, befo' he was caught up with. He tell the overseer who
questioned him after he was brought back: 'Sho', I try to git away from
this sort of thing. I was goin' to Massachusetts, and hire out 'til I
git 'nough to carry me to my home in Africa.'
"It was de rule when a trial was bein' held lak this, for all de bosses
and sometimes de missus to be there to listen and to ask the run'way
slave some questions. After this one talked, it was Missus Mobley
herself who said; 'Put yourself in this slave's shoes, and what would
you do? Just such as he has. The best way to treat such a slave is to be
so kind and patient with him, that he will forget his old home.'
"He was led away and I never did hear if he was whipped. He lak a
Cherokee Indian, he never whimper if he should be whipped 'til de blood
stream from him; but I do know he never got away again. He was de first
one to pick up his hat and laugh loud, when President Lincoln set all
slaves free in January, 1863. He say: 'Now I go, thank de Lord, and he
strike right out, but he not git much beyond de barn, when he turn and
come back. He walked in de yard of de big house, and he see Missus
Mobley lookin' out at him. He take off his hat and bow low and say:
"Missus, I so happy to be free, that I forgits myself but I not go 'til
you say so. I not leave you when you needs a hand, 'less de master and
all de white folks gits home to look after you.
"De missus look down at her feet end she see de black man, so big and
strong, sheddin' tears. She say to him: 'You is a good nigger and you
has suffered much; make yourself at home, just as you have been doin'
and when you want to go far away, come to me and I'll see that you git
'nough money to pay your way to Boston and maybe to Africa.' And that is
what happen' a year or two later.
"My daddy go 'way to de war 'bout this time, and my mammy and me stay in
our cabin alone. She cry and wonder where he be, if he is well, or he be
killed, and one day we hear he is dead. My mammy, too, pass in a short
time. I was sixteen when Sherman's army come through Fairfield County. I
see them ridin' by for hours, some of them laughin' and many of them has
big balls in their hands, which they throw against de house and it
explode and burn de house.
"I have always 'spected that am just de way they set de houses when
Columbia was burned in a single night. Some of de houses in Fairfield
was burned, some in Winnsboro, and others in de country, but Columbia
was de only place that was wiped out. As de army pass, we all stand by
de side of de road and cry and ask them not to burn our white folks'
house, and they didn't.
"I came to Columbia in 1868, and for a time I cooked in one or two of de
hotels, then running in Columbia. About 1878, I was employed as cook in
de home of de late W.A. Clark, and I stayed there, in de servant's
quarters, on de place 'til I became too feeble to continue.
"It has been one of de big pleasures of my life that I has so many fine
white friends, and so far as I knows, de good will of all de black folks
as well. While workin' at Mr. Clark's home, which stood in a fine grove
of magnolias at the corner of Elmwood Avenue and Park Street I never
thought I should live to see it fade away. But you know it did, since de
big stone mansion was torn away and de Junior High School now stands in
that grove.
"While there, I think it was about thirty years service, I saw many of
de leading white folks of de city and state, as guests there; they, at
least many of them, still befriend me. De remnants of de Clark family
treat me fine when they see me, and sometimes they drive by to see me.
Of course, I had a pretty nice little roll of money when I got too old
to work reg'larly but it has all been spent since. One day I's thinkin'
'bout it and I recalls de sayin' of my Missus Mobley. She say: 'Money
has wings and it soon fly away.'
"For de last twelve years now, I has been de guest of Missus Ruth Neal,
a fine Christian woman and a teacher in de public schools. She always
treat me just as though I be her mother. My white friends have not
forgot me to date and they enable me to live, without too much aid from
my present benefactor. Her chillun, all in school now, call me 'Auntie.'
Lookin' over my life it seems to me, I has done de best I could to live
right and I have a hope that when de summons comes my Lord will say:
'Well done, Amie.'"
Ballam Lyles
*Interview with "Uncle" Ballam Lyles (74)*
*Carlisle, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"Likker puts de wrong ideas in people's haids. I see dat ever since de
time I shed my shirt tail. When dey gits likker in dem, dey thinks dey
is important as de president. All o' 'em wants to act like millionairs.
And if de truth be known, ain't narry one uv 'em worth killing. Likker
jes' brings 'em down to dat. It'll do anybody like dat. It don't make no
difference how rich dey is nor how white dey is. It'll sho' ruin 'em.
And de niggers, it does dem de same way, 'cept dey don't have as far
down to come as de white folks does. And dat's de reason I ain't got no
use fer no likker.
"When I was a lil shirt-tail boy, I recollects our soldiers gwine from
house to house wid packs on dere backs. Dey was de awfullest looking
white folks dat us had ever seed. Dat picture still stay right clear in
my mind, even if I is a old man wid everything a growing dim. Dey sot up
a camp at Marse's Bill Oxner's place--dat in Goshen Hill and ain't
nothing much left dar fer you to see now. Dem soldiers never had nothing
in dere packs but a few old rags and maybe a lil keepsake from de women
folks back home what dey loved. Dere hair was dat long and stringy dat
it was all matted around de face and neck. 'Cause in dem days, all de
fine white mens wore beards, kaise dat was de fashion. But dem soldiers'
beards looked wusser dan dere hair. Dere faces carried de awfullest look
what you is ever seed on any man's face. Dere clothes looked wusser dan
any darky's clothes had looked 'fo de war. None o' dem never had no
garments a fittin 'em. Us'd look out and say, 'Yonder comes some mo' o'
dem old lousy soldiers.'
"Wheeler's soldiers come to Mr. Oxner's place and burnt de crib and tuck
all our corn and jes' wasted it. Den dey tuck our meat and carried on
something scandalous. Dey stayed a day or two and when dey had 'stroyed
everything and scared us all half to death, dey went on somewheres
else."
Eison Lyles
*Interview with Eison Lyles (73)*
*Santuc, S.C.*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
_REMINISCENCES_
"Dey comes slow--dem things you calls recollects, or whatever it is; but
I knows what I is talking about, dat I does. My daddy named Aaron Lyles.
Him and Betsy Lyles was my parents. She come from Virginia. Deir white
folks, de Lyles, brought dem from Virginia to Maybinton, S.C.
"I was too little to know much of de old war, but jes' can remember
living wid Mr. Alf Wright when de horn blow, saying dat de war was done
over. I thought Jedg'ment Day done come!
"I soon learn't to put up 'hopper'. Dat was hanging up strong ash wood
and hickory ashes in a bag dat was wet, so dat de lye would drip out in
a box whar soap was made. When de moon got right, de grease was biled
off de bones and put in de lye; den it was cooked up into soap. It was
done on de increase of de moon and only a sassafras stick was used for
stirring. De soap maker stirred from her all de time. When a real hopper
was made, it was in a V shape, wid a trough underneath for de drippings.
Dat is all of de kind of soap folks had in dem hard times. If it was too
strong when you took a bath, de skin would come off. Hard soap was used
for washing, and soft soap for clothes. Another thing we did wid lye,
was to shell corn and put de grains in lye and clean it. When it come
white, we called it 'hominy'.
"Things slip me sometimes, dat is, dey slips my memb'ance. I reckons dat
old Gordam Mill was run by water, down yonder on Tyger River. Tyger
separates Maybinton from Goshen Hill. Mr. Bill Oxner had de post office,
and he lived up in a big grove whar de squirrels was real tame and loved
to play.
"When we lived on de old Lyons place I got acquainted wid Mr. Bob Lyons.
His family refuged from Charleston to Maybinton during de war, and dey
stayed dar until he died; den his folks went back to Charleston. I
know'd Mr. Jim Thomas, den.
"My father we
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