Volume 14 — INFORMANTS (continued 5)

"Child, I tell you dat been a day to speak bout. When I come along, de women never vote, white nor colored, en it been years since I see a colored person vote, but I remember dey been gwine to vote in dat day en time just like dey was gwine to a show. Oh, honey, de road would be full of dem. Dey had to vote. Remember, way back dere, everybody would be singin en a dancin when dey had de election:

"White en black was all in a row dere dancin all night long. Ain' made no exception."

"I hear talk dat when freedom come here, de niggers was just turn loose to make dey livin de best way dey could. Say dat some of de white folks give dey niggers somethin to go on en some of dem didn' spare dem nothin. Dey tell me old Sherman didn' come through dis section of de country, but he sent somebody to divide out de things like so much corn en so much meat to de colored people. Now, I talkin bout dat what I hear de old people say. Put everything in Ben Thompson hand to deal out de colored people share to dem. Yes, mam, he was de one had de chair. Talk bout Sherman give Ben Thompson de chair, sayin what I hear de old people say. I don' know exactly how it was, it been so long since de old people talk wid me. Dat it, it been so long till God knows, I forgot."

"Well, I used to know a heap of dem songs dat I hear my auntie en my grandmammy sing dere home when I was comin up. Let me see, child, dey was natural born song too.

"Dat was my auntie's grandmother Eve piece way back yonder in slavery time. Dat was her piece."

"It just like I tellin you, dat been a day to speak bout. I remember when dey used to spin en weave all de cloth right dere home. Yes, mam, I wore many a wove dress to church. Dey would get dis here indigo en all kind of old bark out de woods en boil it in de pot wid de yarn en make de prettiest kind of colors. Den dey would take dat colored yarn en weave all kind of pretty streaks in de cloth. Dey would know just as good how many yards of dat thread it would take to make so much of cloth."

"Yes, mam, I know dere been better livin long time ago den dere be now. Know it cause I didn' never have no worryations no time when I was comin up. My God, child, I couldn' make a support today if I know my neck had to be hung on de gallows. No, mam, dis here a sin cussed world de people livin in dis day en time."

Source: Julia Woodberry, colored, Marion, S.C. Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, October-November, 1937.

Code No. Project, 1885-(1) Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis Place, Marion, S.C. Date, November 16, 1937

JULIA WOODBERRY Ex-Slave, Age ____

"No, mam, I ain' thought bout nothin no more to tell you. Death been in de family en seems like I just been so worried up wid my daughter sick in de house dere wid de straw fever. De doctor, he say it de fever en dat all we know, but it acts like de straw fever all up en down. I tell dem chillun dere de other night dat I would have to go back en get my mind fixed up wid somethin to speak bout fore you come here another time. Yes, mam, have to get my mind together somewhe' or another."

"I been born down dere in Britton's Neck, but most my days was lived up to Mr. Jim Brown's place to Centenary. My father, he was name Friday Woodberry en my mother, she come from off de sea beach in slavery time, so she told me. Say dat her old Massa stole her en her brother John, too, from off de sea beach. When freedom come here, her brother John went back to de sea beach, but my mother say dat she won' in no shape to go back. She went from family to family till after freedom was declared en her white folks wouldn' never have her ill-treated neither en wouldn' never let nobody else have her no time. When she was let loose from de white people, she went to Britton's Neck wid a colored woman. You see, she was a stranger to de country bout dere fore freedom come en she been know dat woman en dat how-come she went wid her. I mean she didn' know de people bout dere cause de white folks didn' allow dey colored people to go bout much in slavery time. Couldn' go nowhe' widout dey had a ticket wid dem. She stayed dere in Britton's Neck till Pa died en den she come back up here to Marion to live, but her white people was scattered all bout den."

"No, mam, I ain' never marry cause you had to court on de sly in dat day en time. I tell you, I come through de devil day when I come along. I was learned to work by de old, old slavery way en, honey, I say dat I just as soon been come through slavery day as to come under a tight taskmassa dat was colored. Yes, mam, if I never did a thing right, my dress was over my head en I was whipped right dere. I was engaged by letter, but dey kept me under dey foot so close till I never didn' slip de hay. I remember, I was stayin dere wid Mary Jane Rowell en she kept me cowed down so worser, I never couldn' do nothin."

"I tell you, I been a grown girl dere when I leave Mary Jane Rowell's house en go to cookin en a washin for Miss (Mrs.) Louise Brown. Yes, child, I love Miss Louise Brown to dis very day cause she been just like a mother to me. Yes, mam, Miss Brown was just as good to me as she could be. Mr. Jim Brown, he give me a house dere on his plantation to live in just to do de house work to de big house, but seems like de other colored people on de plantation would be tryin to down me most all de time cause I was workin ahead of dem. I know I would go dere to work many a mornin cryin, from what dem niggers been mouthin bout me, en Miss Brown would cry right along wid me. I tell you, Miss Brown was a tender hearted woman, so to speak bout. I tell Miss Brown, 'Carolina say I stole a towel off de line.' En Miss Brown say, 'Julia, if dere a towel gone off dat line, I know whe' it gone.' No, child, I ain' never think bout to lay no shame on dese hands. White folks been used to leave money all bout whe' I bresh (brush) en dust en I ain' never had no mind to touch it no time. Yes, mam, I been through a day since I come here. Erelong I move out Mary Jane Rowell's house, I been in white people house. If it ain' one class, it another. De very day dat Dr. Dibble been pronounce me to de hospital, dey come after me to wait on a woman. Yes, mam, Julia Woodberry ain' beat de state no time. Oh, I tell you, it de God truth, I has done every kind of work in my life. Me en my three chillun dere run a farm just like a man. Why, honey, you ain' know I had three girls? Yes, mam, dem chillun been born en bred right dere in de country to Centenary."

"I hear people talkin bout dat thing call conjurin, but I don' know what to say dat is. It somethin I don' believe in. Don' never take up no time wid dat cause it de devil's work. Dat de olden talk en I don' think nothin bout dat. Don' want nobody round me dat believes in it neither. Don' believe in it. Don' believe in it cause dat en God spirit don' go together. I hear talk dat been belong to de devil, but I was so small, I couldn' realize much what to think cause dat what you hear in dem days, you better been hear passin. No, mam, dey knock chillun down in dat day en time dat dey see standin up lookin in dey eyes to hear. I has heard people say dat dey could see spirits, but I don' put no mind to dat no time. I believe dat just a imagination cause when God get ready to take you out dis world, you is gone en you gone forever, I say. Don' believe in no hereafter neither cause dey say I been born wid veil over my face en if anybody could see spirits, I ought to could. I know I has stayed in houses dat people say was hanted plenty times en I got to see my first hant yet. Yes, mam, I do believe in de Bible. If I hadn' believed in de Bible, I wouldn' been saved. Dere obliged to be a hereafter accordin to de Bible. Dere obliged to be a hereafter, I say. I can' read, but I talkin what I hear de people say. Dat a infidel what don' believe dere a hereafter."

"How-come I know all dat, I was raise up wid de old people. Come along right behind de old race en I would be dere listenin widout no ears en seein widout no eyes. Yes, mam, I took what I hear in, lady, en I ain' been just now come here. I been here a time. Dat de reason I done wid de world. God knows I is done. I is done. I recollects, way back yonder, Pa would sing:

"Dat was my father's piece dat he used to sing in slavery time. Dat right cause I can remember back more so den I can forward."

Source: Julia Woodberry, colored, age—about 70 to 75., Marion, S.C. Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Nov., 1937.

Project 1885 -1- District #4 Spartanburg, S.C. June 1, 1937

Edited by: E. Fronde Kennedy

FOLK-LORE: EX-SLAVES

While looking for an ex-slave in a certain part of Spartanburg this morning, I was directed across the street to "an old man who lives there". I knocked at the door but received no answer. Then I noticed an old man walking around by the side of the house. He was tall and straight, standing about 6 feet 2 inches. He said that his name was George Wood and that he was 78 years of age.

He stated that he was born during slavery, and lived on Peter Sepah's place in York County. Peter Sepah's farm, where he was born, was near the North Carolina line; it consisted of approximately 200 acres. His parents were named Dan and Sarah Wood. His mother was given to old man Sepah by his father as a wedding present, and his grandfather had been given to an older Sepah by his parent as a wedding present. He said it was the custom in slavery times that a slave be given to the son or daughter by the white people when they got married.

He was too young to work, but about the time the war was over, he was allowed to drive the horses that pulled the thrasher of wheat. His master used to walk around and around while the wheat was being thrashed, and see that everybody was doing their work all right. His father lived on another plantation. There was only one family of slaves on the whole plantation. He, his mother, and five children lived in a one-room log cabin about 30 or 40 feet from the "big house". Their beds consisted of straw mattresses. They had plenty to eat, having the same food that the white folks did. They ate ash cakes mostly for bread, but once a week they had biscuits to eat. When the wheat was thrashed, they had biscuits mostly for breakfast; but as the wheat got scarcer they did not have much wheat to eat. He said that Buffalo Creek flowed pretty close to their place and that the creek emptied into Broad River. Shelby, N.C., their market, was about ten miles distant. He thinks that it was easier then than now to get something to eat.

The log cabin where he and his mother lived was kept comfortably warm in the winter time. All they had to do, was to go to the wood-pile and get all the wood they needed for the fire. His mother worked on the farm, washed clothes and helped with the cooking at his master's house. The slaves stopped work every Saturday afternoon about three o'clock; then his mistress would have his mother to patch their clothes, as she did not like to see their clothes needing patching. "We used to have lots of fun," he said, "more than the children do now. As children, we used to play marbles around the house; but no other special game."

Uncle George said that the patrollers saw that the colored people were in their houses at 8 o'clock every night. "They would come to the house and look in; of course, if a man had a pass to another plantation or some place, that was all right; or if he had some business somewhere. But everybody had to be in the house by 8 o'clock." He also stated that if a slave strayed off the plantation and didn't have a pass, if he could out-run the "pateroller" and get back upon his own place, then he was all right. The only slave he ever saw get a whipping, was one who had stayed out after hours; then a switch was used on him by a "pateroller". He said he never saw any slaves in chains or treated badly, for his master was a good man, and so was his "Missus". One day his mother went to a church that was not her own church. On coming back, she saw a "pateroller" coming behind her. She began to run, and he did too; but as he caught up with her, she stepped over a fence on her master's place and dared the "pateroller" to do anything to her. He didn't do a thing and would not get over the fence where she was, as he would have been on somebody's place besides his own.

He said that when the corn-shucking time came, both whites and blacks would gather at a certain plantation. Everybody shucked corn, and they all had a good time. When the last ear of corn was shucked, the owner of the plantation would begin to run from the place and all would run after him. When they caught him, he was placed on the shoulders of two men and carried around and around the house, all singing and laughing and having a good time. Then they would carry the man into his house, pull off his hat and throw it into the fire; place him in a chair; comb his head; cross his knees for him and leave him alone. They would not let him raise a second crop under his old hat—he had to have a new hat for a new crop. Then they would all, colored and white, gather to eat. The owner of the farm would furnish plenty to eat; sometimes he would have some whiskey to drink, but not often, "as that was a dangerous thing to have".

He said that if a man who was chewing or smoking met a woman, he would throw his tobacco away before talking with the woman.

There was plenty of fruit in those days, so brandy was made and put into barrels in the smoke-house; and the same way they had plenty of corn, and would put up a still and put the whiskey they made into barrels.

People in those days, he said, had "manners". The white and colored folks would have their separate sections in the church where they sat. "I've seen a white man make another white man get up in church and give his place to a colored man when the church was crowded." He said his father was baptized by Rev. Dixon, father of Tom Dixon, who was a Baptist preacher. His mother was sprinkled by a Methodist white preacher, but he was baptized by a colored preacher.

Asked about marriages among the slaves, he said the ceremony was performed by some "jack-legged" colored preacher who pronounced a few words and said they were man and wife.

He said the colored people did not know much about Jeff Davis or Abraham Lincoln except what they heard about them. All that he remembered was a song that his Missus used to sing:

Another song was:

One day his "Missus" came to their house and told his mother they were free and could go anywhere they wanted to, but she hoped they would stay on that year and help them make a crop. He said his mother just folded her hands and put her head down and "studied". She decided to stay on that year. The next year, they moved to another plantation, where they stayed for twenty years.

"Before they were free, every colored man took the name of his master, but afterwards, I took my father's name."

He said that the Yankee soldiers did not come to their place, but they were ready for them if they had come. The silver was buried out in the lot, and stable manure was piled and thrown all about the spot. The two good horses were taken off and hidden, but the old horse his master owned was left. He said that sometimes a Confederate soldier would come by riding an old horse, and would want to trade horses with his master. Sometimes his master would trade, for he thought his horse would be taken anyway. His master would never get anything "to boot", as the soldier didn't have the "to boot" when the trade was made. So the soldier would ride off the horse, leaving the poor, broken-down one behind. Sometimes after the war, the Confederate soldiers would come by the house, sick, wounded and almost starved; but his mistress would fix something to eat for them; then they would go on.

"'Possum and 'taters were plentiful then. When a slave wanted to go hunting, he could go; but we had to work then—nobody works now." He said that on rainy days, his mother did not have to go to the field, but stayed at home and sewed or carded. He said that after freedom came to the slaves, he worked on a farm for $5.00 a month. After he had been on the farm for many years, he heard that Spartanburg was on a boom, so he came here and worked at railroading for many more years. He has quit work now; but still does a little gardening for some white folks. He said that the white people in the South understand the colored people.

When asked if he had ever seen a ghost, he replied that he had never seen one and had never seen a person who had. "I don't believe in those things anyhow," he said. He also stated he had never heard of anybody being "conjured" either. He said that all the niggers in his section were scared of the niggers from way down in South Carolina, for their reputation as conjurers was against them, so they always fought shy of them and didn't have anything to do with the "niggers from way down in South Carolina".

SOURCE: George Woods, 337 N. View St., Spartanburg, S.C. Interviewer: F.S. DuPre, Spartanburg, S.C.

Project #1655 W.W. Dixon Winnsboro, S.C.

ALECK WOODWARD, EX-SLAVE—83 YEARS.

"You knows de Simonton place, Mr. Wood? Well, dats just where I was born back yonder befo' de war, a slave of old Marster Johnnie Simonton. Five miles sorter south sunset side of Woodward Station where you was born, ain't it so? My pappy was Ike Woodward, but him just call 'Ike' time of slavery, and my mammy was name Dinah. My brother Charlie up north, if he ain't dead, Ike lives in Asheville, North Carolina. Two sisters: Ollie, her marry an Aiken, last counts, and she and her family in Charlotte, North Carolina; sister Mattie marry a Wilson nigger, but I don't know where they is.

"Us lived in a four-room log house, 'bout sixteen all told. Dere was pappy and mammy (now you count them) gran'pappy, Henry Davis, Gran'mammy Kisana, Aunt Anna, and her seven chillun, and me, and my two brothers and two sisters. How many make dat? Seventeen? Well, dat's de number piled in dere at night in de beds and on de floors. They was scandlous beds; my God, just think of my grands, old as I is now, tryin' to sleep on them hard beds and other folks piled 'scriminately all over de log floors! My Gran'pappy Henry was de carpenter, and old marster tell him 'if you make your beds hard, Henry, 'member you folks got to sleep on them.'

"I was just a little black feller, running 'round most of de time in my shirt tail, but I recollect pickin' cotton, and piddling 'round de woodpile, fetchin' in wood for white house and chips and kindling to fresh up de fires. Us had plenty to eat, 'cause us killed thirty-five hogs at a time, and de sausages and lights us did was a sight. Then de lard us made, and de cracklin' bread, why, I hungers for de sight of them things right now. Us niggers didn't get white flour bread, but de cracklin' bread was called on our place, 'de sweet savor of life.'

"Money? Us had eyes to see and ears to hear, but us just hear 'bout it, never even seen money.

"My marster had a fish pond, signs of it dere yet.

"My white folks attended church at Concord Presbyterian Church. Us went dere too, and us set up in de gallery. Yes, they asked us. De preacher asked us to jine in some of de hymns, especially 'De Dyin' Thief' and 'De Fountain Filled Wid Blood,' and dat one 'bout 'Mazing Grace How Sweet de Sound Dat Save a Wretch Like us.'

"Our young Marster Charlie went off to de war, got killed at Second Bull Run. Marster Watt went and got a leg shot off somewheres. Marster Jim went and got killed, Johnnie too, Marster Robert was not old enough to carry a gun.

"De young mistresses was Mary and Martha. Marster John, old mistress and all of them mighty good to us, especially when Christmas come and then at times of sickness. They send for de doctor and set up wid you, such tendin' to make you love them. When de Yanks come us all plead for Marster John and family, and de house not to be burnt. De house big, had ten rooms, big plantation, run fifteen plows.

"You ask 'bout was dere any poor white folks 'round? Not many, but I 'members old Miss Sallie Carlisle weaved and teached de slaves how it was done. Marster give her a house to live in, and a garden spot on de place, good woman. She show me how to spin and make ball thread, little as I was. Marster John had over fifty slaves, and they worked hard, sun up to sun down. It's a wonder but I never got a whippin'.

"Did I ever see a ghost? Mr. Wood, I seen sumpin' once mighty strange, I was gwine to see a gal Nannie, on de widow Mobley place, and had to pass 'tween two graveyards, de white and de colored. She was de daughter of Rev. Richard Cook. When I was just 'bout de end of de white graveyard, I saw two spirits dressed in white. I run all de way to de gal's house and sob when I got dere. I laid my head in her lap and told her 'bout de spirits and how they scared me. I still weepin' wid fear, and she console me, rub my forehead and soothed me. When I got quiet, I asked her some day to be my wife, and dat's de gal dat come to be years after, my wife. Us walk to church hand and hand ever afterwards, and one day Preacher Morris, white man, made us husband and wife. I 'members de song de white folks sung dat day. 'Hark from de tomb a doleful sound'. Don't you think dat a wrong song to sing on a weddin' day? 'Joy to de World,' was in our heart and dat tune would have been more 'propriate, seems to me.

"Marster John give de slaves every other Saturday after dinner in busy seasons, and every Saturday evening all other weeks. Us had two doctors, Doctor Brice at first, and when he git old, us had Doctor Lurkin.

"Was glad when marster called us up and told us we was free. De Yankees made a camp on de Doctor Brice place, and foraged de country all 'round. They made me run after chickens and I had to give up my onliest blue hen dat I had. My pappy was took off by them to Raleigh, wid dat I 'member, was de saddest day of slavery time.

"Nannie and me, under de providence of de Lord Jehovah, has had three chillun to live, and they have chillun too. I owns my own home and land enough to live on, though it is hard to make both ends meet some years.

"How I got my name, you ask dat? Well, after freedom us niggers had to come to Winnsboro and register. Us talk 'bout it by de fireside what us would lak. When us come, Marster Henry Gaillard had a big crowd of Gaillard niggers 'bout him beggin' for names. One of them say, 'Marster Henry, I don't want no little name, I wants big soundin' name.' Marster Henry write on de paper, then he read: 'Your name is Mendozah J. Fernandez, hope dats big enough for you.' De little nigger dwarf seem powerful pleased and stepped to de register. De rest of us spoke to Captain Gaillard and he said no better name than Woodward, so us took dat name. Its been a kind of a 'tection to us at times, and none of our immediate family has ever dragged it in a jail or chaingang, Bless God! and I hope us never will."

Project #1655 W.W. Dixon Winnsboro, S.C.

MARY WOODWARD EX-SLAVE 83 YEARS OLD.

"I knows you since you 'bout dis high (indicating). When was it? Where I see you? I see you at your auntie's house. Dat was your auntie, Miss Roxie Mobley, other side of Blackstock. You was in a little dress dat day, look lak a gal. Oh! Lordy, dat been a long time! What us has come thru since dat day and de days befo' dat, beyond freedom.

"I was born a slave of old Marster Adam Berber, near de Catawba River side de county, in 1854. I's a mighty small gal but I 'members when pappy got his leg broke at de gin-house dat day, in de Christmas week. Seem lak dat was de best Christmas I ever had. White folks comin' and a gwine, loadin' de bed down wid presents for pappy and mammy and me.

"What my pappy name? He was name Joe and mammy go by Millie. Both b'long to Marster Adam and Miss Nellie. Dat was her name and a lovely mistress she be in dat part of de country. Her was sure pretty, walk pretty, and act pretty. 'Bout all I had to do in slavery time was to comb her hair, lace her corset, pull de hem over her hoop and say, 'You is served, mistress!' Her lak them little words at de last.

"They have no chillun and dat was a grief to her more than to Marster Adam. Him comfort her many times 'bout it and 'low it was his fault. Then they 'spute 'bout it. Dats all de rumpus ever was 'twixt them. I 'spects if they had had chillun they wouldn't have been so good to me. What you reckon? They give me dolls and laugh at de way I name them, talk to them and dress them up.

"When de Yankees come, I was a settin' in de swing in de front yard. They ride right up and say: 'Where your mistress?' I say: 'I don't know.' They say: 'You is lyin'. Give her a few lashes and us'll find out.' Another say: 'No, us come to free niggers, not to whip them.' Then they ask me for to tell them where de best things was hid. I say: 'I don't know sir.' Then they ransack de house, bust open de smoke house, take de meat, hams, shoulders, 'lasses barrel, sugar, and meal, put them in a four-horse wagon, set de house, gin-house and barn afire and go on toward Rocky Mount. Our neighbors then, was Marster Aaron Powell and Sikes Gladden, on Dutchman Creek.

"After freedom I marry Alf Woodward. Us had chillun. How many? Let me see; Eli still alive, don't know where he is though. Rosa dead; Susannah live now on Miss Sara Lord's place, up dere near Metford. De rest of de chillun went off to Arkansas 'bout 1885, and us never heard from them.

"I forgot to tell you dat when de Yankees come and find me a settin' in dat swing, I had on a string of beads dat Miss Nellie give to me. Them rascals took my beads off my neck, and what you reckon they did wid them? Well, if you doesn't know, I does. De scamps, dat is one of them did, took my lovely beads and put them 'round his horse's neck and ride off wid them, leavin' me sobbin' my life out in dat swing. They say you must love your enemies and pray for them dat spitefully use you but I never have pray for dat Yankee scamp to dis day. Although I's Scotch Irish African 'Sociate Reform Presbyterian, de spirit have never moved me to pray for de horse and rider dat went off wid my beads dat my mistress give me. When I tell Marster William Woodward, my husband's old marster, 'bout it, him say: 'De low dirty skunk, de Lord'll take vengeance on him.' Marster William give Alf a half a dollar and tell him to git me another string of beads, though Alf never done so.

"Alf was Marster William's coachman and him and Wade Pichett, dat was a slave of Marster William, took fifteen mules, when de Yankees come, and carried them in de Wateree swamps and stayed dere and saved them. Every time Alf or Wade see Marster William, as de years comed and goed, they fetched up de subject of them mules and git sumpin' from him. One day he laugh and say: 'Look here Alf, I done 'bout pay for sixteen mules and dere was but fifteen in de drove.' Alf laugh but he always got way wid it when he see any of de Woodward white folks. Well I's glad to go now, though I has 'joyed bein' wid you. De Lord bless you and keep you."

Project, 1885-(1) Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis Place, Marion, S.C. Date, September 15, 1937

PAULINE WORTH Ex-Slave, 79 Years

"Yes'um, I know I been here in slavery time, but wasn' large enough to do nothin in dat day en time. I reach 79 de first day of November. To be certain dat how old I is, Miss Betty Evans give me my direct age here de other day. She know who I am cause I was raise near bout in de same yard dat she was raise in. Mr. Telathy Henry family was my white folks. Yes'um, I was raise right here in dis town. Ain' never been nowhere else but Marion."

"I was small den, but I remembers my old Missus. I sho remembers her all right. My old boss, he died. I can' remember nothin much bout dem times only I recollects when my old Missus used to get after me en whip me, I would run under de house. Didn' want to sweep de yard en dat how-come she get after me wid a switch. I was small den en she was tryin to learn me."

"No, child, I didn' live on no plantation. Didn' have no quarter for de slaves dere. My white folks live in town en dey just have my mother en her chillun en another old man. He stayed in de kitchen en would work de garden en go off on errands for de Missus. My mother en we chillun stayed in a little small one room house in de yard en he stayed in de kitchen. I wasn' large enough to do nothin much den only as like I tell you, my old Missus tried to learn me to sweep de yard."

"I was small den, child, but I got along all right cause we ate in de white folks kitchen. Oh, no'um, dey cook in de chimney long bout de time I come up. No'um, didn' see no stoves nowhe' when I come up. I remembers we had greens like collards en bread en potatoes to eat sometimes, but say remember all what we had to eat, I couldn' never think bout to do dat. I just knows dat I remembers old Missus provide good livin for us all de time. Wouldn' let nobody suffer for nothin be dat she know bout it. Old Missus used to give us every speck de clothes we had to wear too dat was made out dis here homemade homespun cloth. You see my mother was de cook dere. Old Massa used to keep dry goods store en de first I know bout it, she get de cloth out de store to make us clothes. Den after de old head died, old Missus commence to buy cloth from somebody in de country cause people weave dey cloth right dere on dey own plantation in dat day en time. Had dese here loom en spinning wheel. I remembers old Missus would take out big bolt of cloth en cut out us garments wid her own hands. Den she would call us dere en make us try dem on en mine wouldn' never be nothin troublesome nowhe' bout it. I remembers I used to hear my Missus, when she be readin de paper speak bout Abraham Lincoln en Jefferson Davis, but I was small den en never paid no much attention to it. Only cared bout my new homespun dress wid de pockets shinin right in de front part. My Lord, child, I been de proudest like of dem pockets."

"I hear de older people say de Yankees come en say de Yankees was here, but I was small den. Dey didn' do nothin bout dere dat I know of. I was small en I didn' know. Didn' hear de older peoples say nothin bout it neither."

"Oh, we went to de white peoples service to dat big Methodist church right up dere in dis town what was tore down long time ago. Walked dere to dat church every Sunday en set up in de gallery. Dat whe' all de slaves had place to sit. De only thing I could remember bout gwine to church dere was what I hear dem say. Dey say, 'I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, etc.' Dat all I remembers bout gwine to church dere. Everything I remembers. Don' know as I could tell you dat, but I hear my mother repeat it so much when she come home en be teachin us our prayer. Den Missus teach us de same thing till we get large enough to learn de Lord's Prayer. No'mam, white folks didn' teach us no learnin in dat day en time. Didn' hear bout no books only dese almanacs. When de white folks throw dem out, dey allow us to pick dem up to play wid. Dat all de books we know bout."

"Lord, child, dat was somethin. Dat was sho a time when dat shake come here. I remembers de ground be shakin en all de people was hollerin. Yes'um, I was scared. Scared of dat noise it was makin cause I didn' know but dat it might been gwine destroy me. I was hollerin en everybody round in de neighborhood was hollerin. Didn' nobody know what to think it was. Well, I tell you I thought it must a been de Jedgment comin. Thought it must a been somethin like dat."

"I don' know nothin bout dat. It just like dis, I heard people speak bout conjurin, but nobody never has talked to me nothin concernin no conjurin. My mother wouldn' allow nobody to talk dat kind of speech to us. No, I ain' never seen none of dem things people say is ghost. No, ain' seen none dat I remembers. My husband died en I was right in de room wid him en I ain' see a thing. Never thought bout nothin like dat. Thought when dey gone, dey was gone. When I was able to work, I didn' have no time to bother wid dem things. Didn' have no time to take up wid nothin like dat. I de one dat used to cook dere to Miss Eloise Bethea's mamma. Dis here de one dey call Pauline."

"I tell you my old Missus was good to us, child, good to us all de time. Come bout en doctor us herself when we get sick. Wouldn' trust nobody else to give us no medicine. I remember she give us castor oil en little salts for some ailments. Didn' give us nothin more den dat only a little sage or catnip sometimes. Dat what was good for colds."

"I don' know, child. I can' tell which de worser days den or dese times. I know one thing, dey dances now more den dey used to. I don' go bout much, but I can tell you what I hear talk bout. I don' know as de people any worser dese days, but I hear talk bout more dances. Dat bout all. Coase de peoples used to dance bout, but dey didn' have dese dance halls like dey have now. Didn' have none of dem kind of rousin places den. De peoples didn' have chance to dance in dat day en time only as dey have a quiltin en cornshuckin on a night. Den dey just dance bout in old Massa yard en bout de kitchen. Oh, dey have dem quiltin at night en would play en go on in de kitchen. Turn plate en different little things like dat. I don' know how dey do it, but I remembers I hear dem talkin somethin bout turnin plate. Wasn' big enough to explain nothin bout what dey meant. I just knows dey would do dat en try to make some kind of motion like."

"Honey, didn' never hear my parents tell bout no stories. My mother wasn' de kind to bother wid no stories like dat. She tried to always be a Christian en she never would allow us to tarnish us souls wid nothin like dat. She raise us in de way she want us to turn out to be. All dese people bout here livin too fast to pay attention to raisin dey chillun dese days. Just livin too fast to do anything dat be lastin like. Dat how-come dere be so much destructiveness bout dese days."

Source: Pauline Worth, age 79, ex-slave, Manning St., Marion, S.C. Personal interview, Sept., 1937 by Annie Ruth Davis.

Project #-1655 Phoebe Faucette Hampton County

Folklore

DAPHNEY WRIGHT 106 Year Old Ex-Slave

Just around the bend from the old mill pond on the way to Davis Swimming Pool lives a very old negro woman. Her name is Daphney Wright, though that name has never been heard by those who affectionately know her as "Aunt Affie". She says she is 106 years old. She comes to the door without a cane and greets her guests with accustomed curtsey. She is neatly dressed and still wears a fresh white cap as she did when she worked for the white folks. Save for her wearing glasses and walking slowly, there are no evidences of illness or infirmities. She has a sturdy frame, and a kindly face shows through the wrinkles.

"I been livin' in Beaufort when de war fust (first) break out", she begins. "Mr. Robert Cally was my marsa. Dat wuz in October. De Southern soldiers come through Bluffton on a Wednesday and tell de white folks must get out de way, de Yankees right behind 'em! De summer place been at Bluffton. De plantation wuz ten miles away. After we refugee from Bluffton, we spent de fust night at Jonesville. From dere we went to Hardeeville. We got here on Saturday evening. You know we had to ride by horses—in wagons an' buggies. Dere weren't no railroads or cars den. Dat why it take so long.

"Mr. Lawrence McKenzie wuz my Missus' child. We stayed wid him awhile, 'til he find us a place. Got us a little house. We stayed four years dere, 'til de war wuz over. Dey sent de young ladies on—on farther up de country, to a safer place. Dey went to Society Hill. My old Missus stay. Sae wuz a old lady. When de Yankees come she died. I wuz right dere wid her when she died. She had been sickly. After de war dey all went back to de old place. I had married up here, so when dey went back I stay on here.

"I been right here when de Yankees come through. I been in my house asittin' before de fire, jes' like I is now.

"One of 'em come up an' say, 'You know who I is?'

"I say, 'No.'

"He say, 'Well, I is come to set you free. You kin stay wid your old owners if you wants to, but dey'll pay you wages.'

"But dey sure did plenty of mischief while dey wuz here. Didn't burn all de houses. Pick out de big handsome house to burn. Burn down Mr. Bill Lawton' house. Mr. Asbury Lawton had a fine house. Dey burn dat. (He Marse Tom Lawton' brother.) Burn Mr. Maner' house. Some had put a poor white woman in de house to keep de place; but it didn't make no difference.

"De soldiers say, 'Dis rich house don't belong to you. We goin' to burn dis house!'

"Dey'd go through de house an' take everything'. Take anythin' they could find. Take from de white, an' take from de colored, too. Take everything out de house! Dey take from my house. Take somethin' to eat. But I didn't have anythin' much in my house. Had a little pork an' a week's supply of rations.

"De white folks would bury de silver. But dey couldn't always find it again. One give her silver to de colored butler to bury but he wuz kill, an' nobody else know where he bury it. It wuz after de war, an' he wuz walkin' down de road, an' Wheeler's Brigade kill him.

"Been years an' years 'fore everythin' could come together again. You know after de war de Confederate money been confiscate. You could be walkin' 'long de road anytime an' pick up a ten dollar bill or a five dollar bill, but it wuzn't no good to you. After de greenback come money flourish again.

"De plantation wuz down on de river. I live dere 'cept for de four years we refugee. Dat been a beautiful place—dere on de water! When de stars would come out dere over de water it wuz a beautiful sight! Sometimes some of us girls would get in a little 'paddle' an' paddle out into de river. We'd be scared to go too far out, but we'd paddle around. Sometimes my father would go out in de night an' catch de fish with a seine. He'd come back with a bushel of fish 'most anytime. Dey were nice big mullets! He'd divide 'em 'round 'mongst de colored folks. An' he'd take some up to de white folks for dere breakfast. My white folks been good white people. I never know no cruel. Dey treat me jes like one of dem. Dey say dey took me when I wuz five years old. An' I stay wid dem 'til freedom. I am 106 years old now.

"Dem people on de water don't eat much meat. Twenty-five cent of bacon will last dem a week. Dey cut de meat into little pieces, an' fry dem into cracklings, den put dat into de fish stew. It surely makes de stew good. When dey kill a hog dey take it to town an' sell it, den use de money for whatever dey want. Dey don't have to cure de pork an' keep it to eat. Dey jes' eat fish. Dey have de mullets, an' de oysters, an' de crabs, an' dese little clams. Dey have oyster-stew. Dey have roast oysters, den de raw oysters. An' dey have dey fried oysters! Dat sure is good. Dey fish from de boat, dey fish from de log, an' dey fish 'long de edge of de water wid a net. When de tide go down you kin walk along an' jes pick up de crab. You could get a bucket full in no time. We'd like to go up an' down an' pick up de pretty shells. I got one here on de mantel now. It ain't sech a big one, but it's a pretty little shell.

"I is always glad to talk 'bout de old times an' de old people. We is livin' in peace now, but still it's hard times. We ought to be thankful though our country ain't in war."

Source: Daphney Wright, Scotia, S.C.

Project 1885-1 Folk Lore District No. 4. May 28, 1937.

Edited by: J.J. Murray.

STORIES OF EX-SLAVES

Seated on the front steps of his house, holding a walking cane and talking to another old colored man from Georgia, who was visiting his children living there, the writer found "Uncle" Bill Young. He readily replied that he had lived in slavery days, that he was 83 years old, and he said that he and Sam were talking about old times.

He was owned by Dave Jeter at Santuc, S.C.; though he was just a boy at the time his mother was a slave. He used to mind his "Missus" more than anybody else, as he stayed around the house more than anywhere else. His job, with the other boys, both white and black, was to round up the milk cows late every afternoon. The milk cows had to be brought up, milked and put up for the night; but the other cows and calves used to stay in the woods all night long. Some times they would be a mile away from the house, but the boys would not mind getting them home, for they played so much together as they slowly drove the cows in.

When asked if he got plenty to eat in slavery days, he replied that he had plenty, "a heap more than I get today to eat". As a slave, he said he ate every day that the white folks ate, that he was always treated kindly, and his missus would not let anybody whip him; though he had seen other slaves tied and whipped with a bull-whip. He said he had seen the blood come from some of the slaves as they were whipped across the bare back. He said he had seen the men slaves stand perfectly naked and take a beating. He also said that he never had a whipping and that his "Missus" wouldn't let his own mother whip him. She would say, "Don't tech that boy, as he is my Nigger." She told him one day that he was free, but he stayed right on there with her and worked for wages. He got $6.00 a month, all his rations, and a place to stay.

"Uncle" Bill said there was some humor at times when a slave was to be whipped. His hands and feet tied together, the slave would be laid across a rail fence, feet dangling on one side and head on the other side; then the master would give the slave a push or shove and he would fall heavily on the ground on his head. Not being able to use his feet or his hands, the slave's efforts to catch himself before he hit the ground was something funny. "That was funny to us Niggers looking at it, but not funny to the Nigger tied up so."

He said some Yankee soldiers came by the house at times, but they never bothered anybody on the place. "Of-course they would take something to eat, but they never bothered anybody."

After working for Dave Jeter for many years, he moved up to Jonesville, where he married. He lived in or near Jonesville for about thirty years, then he moved with his son, who was a barber, to Spartanburg, and has been here thirteen years.

"I never knew anything about rent 'til I got here. I always had a house to live in, raised my own feed and got my wood off the place. So when I got to Spartanburg I learned what rent was. I just quit work two years ago when I had high blood pressure; and now I ain't able to work. Do you see that Nigger across the street, going to work somebody's garden? Well, if I didn't have high blood pressure, I'd be just as good to work as him."

"Yes sir, with my peck of meal, my three pounds of meat each week and my $6.00 a month wages, I had more to eat than I gets now."

SOURCE: "Uncle" Bill Young. 202 Young Street, Spartanburg, S.C. Interviewer: F.S. DuPre, Spartanburg Office, Dist. 4.

Project 1885-1 Folklore Spartanburg, Dist. 4 Feb. 4, 1938

Edited by: Elmer Turnage

STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES

"March 15, 1862 is de date I allus takes when folks axes how old is you. Dat's de best, to follow one date, den no argument don't follow.

"Some see'd it powerful hard in slavery, others never see'd it so bad. Dat 'pends on you a lot, den it 'pends on dem dat you stays wid. It still like dat everywhar dat I is been, but I ain't been no further dan Spartanburg gwine north, and to Lyles's Ford gwine south.

"From a wee bitty baby dey teach me to serve. Befo' you serves God you is got to know how to serve man. De Bible speaks of us as servants of de Lawd. Niggers can serve him better dan white folks, kaise dat is all dey does if dey stays whar dey belongs. Young folks and chillun being raised up real biggity like dey is now, dey can't serve nothing, kaise if you can't serve your earthly father, how is you gwine to serve your Heavenly Father?

"De big plantation and house whar Mr. Jimmie Jeter's sons stay is whar I first see'd earthly light. Dat place still look fine, and it look fine den, too. When I was 8 years old I started out in de field, afo' dat I did jes' what all little nigger boys did, nothing but eat and sleep and play and have a big time wid de little white boys. Lots of my playmates, both white and black, done gone on now. Some done gone to de bad place and some done gone to Heaven, jes' ain't no use talking, dat's sho nuff de truth.

"War was raging all 'round Charleston and Columbia when I come in dis world so dey says, Yankees camped in half mile of Santuc. I is heard dat everybody was scared. Has even heard dat I cried when dem Yankees come, but all I knows is jes' what I heard. Folks hears lots and dey tells it, and dat's jes' what I is doing now—jes' telling what dey told me when I got big. If folks didn't never tell nothing no worse, it wouldn't make no difference, but often dey takes devilish notions and tells dat what injures, if anybody believes dem.

"Aunt Phyllis Jeter 'low when dem Yankees got to Santuc, she was a weaving jes' as hard as she could for her white folks. She say dat she started to run, but dem Yankees come in de house and throw'd away her yarn and took her and tied her to a tree. When she hollered, dey whipped her. She say dat dey was drunk, but dey never burn't up nothing in de house. Dey went on singing, and she got me to playing and got up de yarn from de dirt in de yard and cleaned it. De Yankees never bothered us no mo', and dey never stayed in Santuc long.

"Once when I was a big boy I got drunk and pa whipped me so hard I never got drunk no mo' till I was married, and den I jumped on my old lady for fun and she hit me wid a bed slat. Dat knocked me sober and I 'cided de best thing for me to do was let liquor go to de devil. When I was young I allus walked to Union. Dat ain't but ten miles down de railroad. Den I used to walk all over Santuc and down to Herbert in Fish Dam. Now I is drapped most all my walking. De chilluns travels fast in automobiles, but I jes' as lieve walk to Union as to ride in dem things. Wrecks kills you off so quick dat you does not have time to repent.

"Walking never has hurt nobody, and I buys leather and tacks it on my own shoes, and in dat way it don't cost me nothing much. Folks goes so fast in dem automobiles, and half de time dey ain't in no hurry kaise dey ain't gwine to nothing no way. I gits on my shoe in de winter and I walks. When I wants to drap in for a chaw at some friend's house, I does. I sets dar till I gits rested and warm and I goes on. If dey eats, I does too, and when I gits to Union my chillun is done out and gone. Jes' de same, I reaches home at night befo' dem.

"Dey has tales to tell about gitting out of gas, and when I axes whar dey been, dey jes' as apt to say Spartanburg as any whars. As long as dey has a quarter dey is allus gwine to ride and come home broke. If you fools wid automobiles, you is gwine to spend lots of time in jail. I ain't never been in jail and I thinks it is a disgrace. My chillun says dat I is 'old timey' and don't know nothing 'bout living. Jes' de same, I likes slow moving, and takes mine out in walking and gits home at dark or soon atter.

"Dese fast ways don't bother me. Dey makes sassy chilluns. Sassy chilluns dat can't serve deir pa need not think dat dey can ride to de Promise Land in narry automobile dat dey is ever seed. Gwine round in fast circles and never gitting nowhars seems to satisfy dem, so I don't know what is gwine to become of dem."

Source: Bob Young (75) Jonesville, S.C. Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. 11/10/37

FOOTNOTES