Henry is intensely religious. He says "the people don't notice God now because they're free." "Some people say there aint no hell," he continued, "but I think there must be some kind of place like that, because you got to go some place when you leave this earth, and you got to go to the master that you served when you were here. If you serve God and obey His commandments then you go to Him, but if you don't pay any attention to what he tells you in His Book, just do as you choose and serve the devil, then you got to go to him. And it don't make any difference if you're poor or rich, it don't matter what the milliner (millionaire) man says."
He seemed so proud of his garden, with its broad view across the Ashley River, showing his black walnut, pear and persimmon trees, grape vines and roses, that the writer said, "Henry, you know a poet has said that we are nearer God in the garden than anywhere else on earth." "Well ma'am, you see," he replied, with a winning smile, "that's where God put us in the first place."
Project #-1655
Augustus Ladson
Charleston, S. C.
EX-SLAVE BORN 1857
GRAND PARENTS CAME DIRECTLY FROM AFRICA
I was nickname' durin' the days of slavery. My name was Henry but they call' me Toby. My sister, Josephine, too was nickname' an' call' Jessee. Our mistress had a cousin by that name. My oldes' bredder was a Sergeant on the Charleston Police Force around 1868. I had two other sister', Louise an' Rebecca.
My firs' owner was Arthur Barnwell Rose. Then Colonel A. G. Rhodes bought the plantation who sol' it to Capen Frederick W. Wagener. James Sottile then got in possession who sol' it to the DeCostas, an' a few weeks ago Mrs. Albert Callitin Simms, who I'm tol' is a former member of Congress, bought it. Now I'm wonderin' if she is goin' to le' me stay. I hope so 'cus I'm ol' now en can't work.
My pa was name' Abraham Brown; he was bo'n on Coals Islan' in Beaufort County. Colonel Rhodes bought him for his driver, then he move here. I didn't know much 'bout him; he didn't live so long afta slavery 'cus he was ol.
Colonel Rhodes had a son an' a daughter. The son went back to England afta his death an' the daughter went to Germany with her husban'. They ain't never come back so the place was sol' for tax.
Durin' the war we was carry to Deer Pond, twelve miles on dis side of Columbia. W'en the war was end' pa brought my sister, Louise, Rebecca, who was too small to work, Josephine an' me, home. All my people is long-lifted. My grand pa an' grand ma on pa side come right from Africa. They was stolen an' brought here. They use to tell us of how white men had pretty cloth on boats which they was to exchange for some of their o'nament'. W'en they take the o'nament' to the boat they was carry way down to the bottom an' was lock' in. They was anchored on or near Sullivan's Islan' w'ere they been feed like dogs. A big pot was use' for cookin'. In that pot peas was cook' an' lef' to cool. Everybody went to the pot with the han's an' all eat frum the pot.
I was bo'n two years before the war an' was seven w'en it end. That was in 1857. I never went to school but five months in my life, but could learn easy. Very seldom I had to be tol' to do the same thing twice.
The slaves had a plenty o' vegetables all the time. Master planted t'ree acres jus' for the slaves which was attended to in the mornin's before tas' time. All provision was made as to the distribution on Monday evenin's afta tas'.
My master had two place: one on Big Islan' an' on Coals Islan' in Beaufort County. He didn't have any overseer. My pa was his driver.
Pa say this place was given to Mr. Rhodes with a thousand acres of lan' by England. But it dwindled to thirty-five w'en the other was taken back by England.
There wasn't but ten slaves on this plantation. The driver call' the slaves at four so they could git their breakfas'. They always work the garden firs' an' at seven go in the co'n an' cotton fiel'. Some finish their tas' by twelve an' others work' 'til seven but had the tas' to finish. No one was whip' 'less he needed it; no one else could whip master' slaves. He wouldn't stan' for it. We had it better then than now 'cause white men lynch an' burn now an' do other things they couldn't do then. They shoot you down like dogs now, an' nothin' said or done.
No slave was suppose' to be whip' in Charleston except at the Sugar House. There was a jail for whites, but if a slave ran away an' got there he could disown his master an' the state wouldn't le' him take you.
All collud people has to have a pass w'en they went travelin'; free as well as slaves. If one didn't the patrollers, who was hired by rich white men would give you a good whippin' an' sen' you back home. My pa didn't need any one to write his pass 'cause he could write as well as master. How he got his education, I didn't know.
Sat'day was a workin' day but the tas' was much shorter then other days. Men didn't have time to frolic 'cause they had to fin' food for the fambly; master never give 'nough to las' the whole week. A peck o' co'n, t'ree pound o' beacon, quart o' molasses, a quart o' salt, an' a pack o' tobacco was given the men. The wife got the same thing but chillun accordin' to age. Only one holiday slaves had an' that was Christmas.
Co'nshuckin' parties was conducted by a group of fa'mers who take their slaves or sen' them to the neighborin' ones 'til all the co'n was shuck'. Each one would furnish food 'nough for all slaves at his party. Some use to have nothin' but bake potatas an' some kind of vegetable.
An unmarried young man was call' a half-han'. W'en he want to marry he jus' went to master an' say there's a gal he would like to have for wife. Master would say yes an' that night more chicken would be fry an' everything eatable would be prepare at master' expense. The couple went home afta the supper, without any readin' of matrimony, man an' wife.
A man once married his ma en' didn't know it. He was sell from her w'en 'bout eight years old. When he grow to a young men, slavery then was over, he met this woman who he like' an' so they were married. They was married a month w'en one night they started to tell of their experiences an' how many times they was sol'. The husban' tol' how he was sol' from his mother who liked him dearly. He tol' how his ma faint' w'en they took him away an' how his master then use to bran' his baby slaves at a year ol'. W'en he showed her the bran' she faint' 'cause she then realize' that she had married her son.
Slaves didn't have to use their own remedy for sickness for good doctors been hired to look at them. There was, as is, though, some weed use for fever an' headache as: blacksnake root, furrywork, jimpsin weed, one that tie' on the head which bring sweat from you like hail, an' hickory leaf. If the hickory is keep on the head too long it will blister it.
W'en the war was fightin' the white men burn the bridge at the foot of Spring Street so the Yankees couldn't git over but they buil' pontoos while some make the horses swim 'cross. One night while at Deer Pond, I hear something like thunder until 'bout eleven the next day. W'en the thing I t'ought was thunder stop', master tell us that evenin' we was free. I wasn't surprise to know for as little as I was I know the Yankees was goin' to free us with the help of God.
I was married twice, an' had two gals an' a boy with firs' wife. I have t'ree boys with the second; the younges' is jus' eight.
Lincoln did jus' what God inten' him to do, but I think nothin' 'bout Calhoun on 'account of what he say in one of his speech 'bout collud people. He said: "keep the niggers down."
To see collud boys goin' 'round now with paper an' pencil in their han's don't look real to me. Durin' slavery he would be whip' 'til not a skin was lef' on his body.
My pa was a preacher why I become a Christian so early; he preach' on the plantation to the slaves. On Sunday the slaves went to the white church. He use to tell us of hell an' how hot it is. I was so 'fraid of hell 'til I was always tryin' to do the right thing so I couldn't go to that terrible place.
I don't care 'bout this worl' an' its vanities 'cause the Great Day is comin' w'en I shall lay down an' my stammerin' tongue goin' to lie silent in my head. I want a house not made with han's but eternal in the Heavens. That Man up there, is all I need; I'm goin' to still trus' Him. Before the comin' of Chris' men was kill' for His name sake; today they curse Him. It's nearly time for the world to come to en' for He said "bout two thousand years I shall come again" an' that time is fas' approachin'.
Source
Interview with Henry Brown, 637 Grove Street. He is much concerned with
the Scottsboro Case and discusses the invasion of Italy into defenseless
Ethiopia intelligently.
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon,
Winnsboro, S. C.
JOHN C. BROWN AND ADELINE BROWN
EX-SLAVES 86 YEARS AND 96 YEARS OLD.
John C. Brown and his wife, Adeline, who is eleven years older than himself, live in a ramshackle four-room frame house in the midst of a cotton field, six miles west of Woodward, S. C. John assisted in laying the foundation and building the house forty-four years ago. A single china-berry tree, gnarled but stately, adds to, rather than detracts from, the loneliness of the dilapidated house. The premises and thereabout are owned by the Federal Land Bank. The occupants pay no rent. Neither of them are able to work. They have been fed by charity and the W. P. A. for the past eighteen months.
(John talking)
"Where and when I born? Well, dat'll take some 'hear say', Mister. I never knowed my mammy. They say she was a white lady dat visited my old marster and mistress. Dat I was found in a basket, dressed in nice baby clothes, on de railroad track at Dawkins, S. C. De engineer stop de train, got out, and found me sumpin' like de princess found Moses, but not in de bulrushes. Him turn me over to de conductor. De conductor carry me to de station at Dawkins, where Marse Tom Dawkins come to meet de train dat mornin' and claim me as found on his land. Him say him had de best right to me. De conductor didn't 'ject to dat. Marse Tom carry me home and give me to Miss Betsy. Dat was his wife and my mistress. Her always say dat Sheton Brown was my father. He was one of de slaves on de place; de carriage driver. After freedom he tell me he was my real pappy. Him took de name of Brown and dat's what I go by.
"My father was a ginger-bread colored man, not a full-blooded nigger. Dat's how I is altogether yallow. See dat lady over dere in dat chair? Dat's my wife. Her brighter skinned than I is. How come dat? Her daddy was a full-blooded Irishman. He come over here from Ireland and was overseer for Marse Bob Clowney. He took a fancy for Adeline's mammy, a bright 'latto gal slave on de place. White women in them days looked down on overseers as poor white trash. Him couldn't git a white wife but made de best of it by puttin' in his spare time a honeyin' 'round Adeline's mammy. Marse Bob stuck to him, and never 'jected to it.
"When de war come on, Marse Richard, de overseer, shoulder his gun as a soldier and, as him was educated more than most of de white folks, him rise to be captain in de Confederate Army. It's a pity him got kilt in dat war.
"My marster, Tom Dawkins, have a fine mansion. He owned all de land 'round Dawkins and had 'bout 200 slaves, dat lived in good houses and was we well fed. My pappy was de man dat run de mill and grind de wheat and corn into flour and meal. Him never work in de field. He was 'bove dat. Him 'tend to de ginnin' of de cotton and drive de carriage.
"De Yankees come and burn de mansion, de gin-house and de mill. They take all de sheep, mules, cows, hogs and even de chickens. Set de slaves free and us niggers have a hard time ever since.
"My black stepmammy was so mean to me dat I run away. I didn't know where to go but landed up, one night, at Adeline's mammy's and steppappy's house, on Marse Bob Clowney's place. They had been slaves of Marse Bob and was livin' and workin' for him. I knock on de door. Mammy Charity, dat's Adeline's mammy, say: 'Who dat?' I say: 'Me'. Her say: 'Who is me?' I say: 'John'. Her say: 'John who?' I say: 'Just John'. Her say: 'Adeline, open de door, dat's just some poor boy dat's cold and hungry. Charity is my fust name. Your pappy ain't come yet but I'll let dat boy in 'til he come and see what he can do 'bout it.'
"When Adeline open dat door, I look her in de eyes. Her eyes melt towards me wid a look I never see befo' nor since. Mind you, I was just a boy fourteen, I 'spects, and her a woman twenty-five then. Her say: 'You darlin' little fellow; come right in to de fire.' Oh, my! She took on over me! Us wait 'til her pappy come in. Then him say: 'What us gonna do wid him?' Adeline say: 'Us gonna keep him.' Pappy say: 'Where he gonna sleep?' Adeline look funny. Mammy say: 'Us'll fix him a pallet by de fire.' Adeline clap her hands and say: 'You don't mind dat, does you boy?' I say: 'No ma'am, I is slept dat way many a time.'
"Well, I work for Marse Bob Clowney and stayed wid Adeline's folks two years. I sure made myself useful in dat family. Never 'spicioned what Adeline had in her head, 'til one day I climbed up a hickory nut tree, flail de nuts down, come down and was helpin' to pick them up when she bump her head 'ginst mine and say: 'Oh, Lordy!' Then I pat and rub her head and it come over me what was in dat head! Us went to de house and her told de folks dat us gwine to marry.
"Her led me to de altar dat nex' Sunday. Gived her name to de preacher as Adeline Cabean. I give de name of John Clowney Brown. Marse Bob was dere and laugh when de preacher call my name, 'John Clowney Brown'.
"Our chillun come pretty fast. I was workin' for $45.00 a year, wid rations. Us had three pounds of bacon, a peck of meal, two cups of flour, one quart of 'lasses, and one cup of salt, a week.
"Us never left Marse Robert as long as him lived. When us have four chillun, him increase de amount of flour to four cups and de 'lasses to two quarts. Then him built dis house for de old folks and Adeline and de chillun to live in. I help to build it forty-four years ago. Our chillun was Clarice, Jim, John, Charity, Tom, Richard, and Adeline.
"I followed Marse Robert Clowney in politics, wore a red shirt, and voted for him to go to de Legislature. Him was 'lected dat time but never cared for it no more.
"Adeline b'long to de church. Always after me to jine but I can't believe dere is anything to it, though I believes in de law and de Ten Commandments. Preacher calls me a infidel. Can't help it. They is maybe got me figured out wrong. I believes in a Great Spirit but, in my time, I is seen so many good dogs and hosses and so many mean niggers and white folks, dat I 'clare, I is confused on de subject. Then I can't believe in a hell and everlastin' brimstone. I just think dat people is lak grains of corn: dere is some good grains and some rotten grains. De good grains is res'rected, de rotten grains never sprout again. Good people come up again and flourish in de green fields of Eden. Bad people no come up. Deir bodies and bones just make phosphate guano, 'round de roots of de ever bloomin' tree of life. They lie so much in dis world, maybe de Lord will just make 'lie' soap out of them. What you think else they would be fit for?"
Project #1655
Martha S. Pinckney
Charleston, S. C.
FOLKLORE
Approx. 660 words
INTERVIEW WITH EX-SLAVE
Age 88-90
Mary Frances Brown is a typical product of the old school of trained house servants, an unusual delicate type, somewhat of the Indian cast, to which race she is related. She is always clean and neat, a refined old soul, as individuals of that class often are. Her memory, sight and hearing are good for her advanced age.
"Our home Marlboro. Mas Luke Turnage was my master—Marlboro-Factory-Plantation name 'Beauty Spot'. My missis was right particular about neat and clean. She raise me for a house girl. My missis was good to me, teach me ebbery ting, and take the Bible and learn me Christianified manners, charity, and behaviour and good respect, and it with me still.
"We didn't have any hard times, our owners were good to us—no over share (overseer) and no whippin'—he couldn't stan' that. I live there 'til two year after freedom; how I come to leave, my mother sister been sick, and she ask mother to send one of us, an she send me. My mother been Miss Nancy cook. Miss Nancy was Mas Luke's mother—it take me two years learning to eat the grub they cook down here in Charleston. I had to learn to eat these little piece of meat—we had a dish full of meat; the big smoke house was lined from the top down. (Describing how the meat hung) I nebber accustom to dese little piece of meat, so—what dey got here. Missis, if you know smoke house, didn't you find it hard? My master had 'til he didn't know what to do with. My white people were Gentile." (Her tone implied that she considered them the acme of gentle folks). "I don't know what the other people were name that didn't have as much as we had—but I know my people were Gentile!"
Just here her daughter and son appeared, very unlike their mother in type. The daughter is quite as old looking as her mother; the son, a rough stevedore. When the writer suggested that the son must be a comfort, she looked down sadly and said in a low tone, as if soliloquizing, "He way is he way." Going back to her former thought, she said, "All our people were good. Mas Luke was the worse one." (This she said with an indulgent smile) "Cause he was all the time at the race ground or the fair ground.
"Religion rules Heaven and Earth, an there is no religion now—harricanes an washin-aways is all about. Ebberything is change. Dis new name what they call grip is pleurisy-cold—putrid sore-throat is called somethin'—yes, diptheria. Cuttin (surgery) come out in 1911! They kill an they cure, an they save an they loss.
"My Gran'ma trained with Indians—she bin a Indian, an Daniel C. McCall bought her. She nebber loss a baby." (the first Indian relationship that the writer can prove). "You know Dr. Jennings? Ebberybody mus' know him. After he examine de chile an de mother, an 'ee alright, he hold de nurse responsible for any affection (infection) that took place.
"Oh! I know de spiritual—but Missis, my voice too weak to sing—dey aint in books; if I hear de name I can sing—'The Promise Land', Oh, how Mas Joel Easterling (born 1796) use to love to sing dat!"
"I am bound for de Promise Land!
Oh! who will arise an go with me?
I am bound for the Promise Land!
I've got a mother in the Promise Land,
My mother calls me an I mus go,
To meet her in the Promise Land!"
Source: Mary Frances Brown, Age 88-90, East Bay Street, Charleston,
S. C.
Project #-1655
Cassels R. Tiedeman
Charleston, S. C.
FOLKLORE
INTERVIEW WITH AN EX-SLAVE
Mary Frances Brown, about ninety years of age, born in slavery, on the plantation of Luke Turnage, in Marlboro County, was raised as a house-servant and shows today evidence of most careful training. Her bearing is rather a gentle refined type, seemingly untouched by the squalor in which she lives. She willingly gives freely of her small store of strength to those around her.
Her happiest days seem to have been those of her early youth, for when she was questioned about the present times, and even about those closely associated with her today she bowed her head and said: "Deir way is deir way. O! let me tell you now, de world is in a haad (hard) time, wust (worse) den it eber (ever) been, but religion! It eberywhere in Hebben an' in de ert (earth) too, if you want em. De trouble is you ain't want em; 'e right dere jes de same but de time done pass when dis generation hold wid anyt'ing but de debbul. When I a gal, grown up, I had a tight missus dat raise me, you hab to keep clean round her, she good an' kind an' I lub her yet, but don't you forgit to mind what she say.
"My massa, he 'low no whipping on de plantation, he talk heap an' he scold plenty, but den he hab to. Dere was haad time for two year after de war was ober (over) but after dat it better den it is now. Dis is de wust time eber. I ain't eber git use to de wittle (victual) you hab down here. I lib ober Mount Pleasant twenty five year after I come from de old place up Marlboro, den I come to Charleston.
"Dey were happy time back dere. My massa, he run round ebery way, spend plenty money on horse race, he gib good time to eberybody an' tell us we mus' tek good care of de missus when he ain't dere. An de wittles we hab I ain't nebber see de lak no time. Dem were de times to lib. I old now but I ain't forgit what my missus larn (learn) me. It right here in me."
Mary Frances was asked if she could sing spirituals. The following is one that she sang in a very high pitched wavering voice and then she complained of shortness of breath on account of her heart.
"We got a home ober dere,
Come an' let us go,
Come an' let us go,
Where pleasure neber (never) die.
Chorus:
"Oh! let us go where pleasure neber die,
Neber die,
Come and let us go,
Where pleasure neber die, neber die.
"Mother is gone ober dere,
Mother is gone ober dere,
Where pleasure neber die,
Where pleasure neber die.
Chorus:
"Father is gone ober dere,
Father is gone ober dere,
Where pleasure neber die,
Where pleasure neber die.
Chorus:
"Sister is gone ober dere,
Sister is gone ober dere,
Where pleasure neber die,
Where pleasure neber die.
Chorus:
"Brudder is gone ober dere,
Brudder is gone ober dere,
Where pleasure neber die,
Where pleasure neber die."
Chorus:
Source: Interview with Mary Frances Brown, 83 East Bay St.,
Charleston, S. C. (age—90)
Code No. ——
Project. 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S. C.
Date, July 8, 1937
No. Words ——
Reduced From —— words
Rewritten by ——
MOM SARA BROWN
Ex-Slave, 85 years
"Oh, my God, de doctors have me in slavery time. Been here de startin of de first war. I belong to de Cusaac dat live 15 miles low Florence on de road what take you on to Georgetown. I recollects de Yankees come dere in de month of June en free de colored peoples."
"My white folks give me to de doctors in dem days to try en learn me for a nurse. Don' know exactly how old I was in dat day en time, but I can tell you what I done. My Lord, child, can' tell dat. Couldn' never tell how many baby I bring in dis world, dey come so fast. I betcha I got more den dat big square down dere to de courthouse full of em. I nurse 13 head of chillun in one family right here in dis town. You see dat all I ever did have to do. Was learnt to do dat. De doctor tell me, say, when you call to a 'oman, don' you never hesitate to go en help her en you save dat baby en dat mother both. Dat what I is always try to do. Heap of de time just go en let em pay me by de chance. Oh, my Lord, a 'oman birth one of dem babies here bout two weeks ago wid one of dem veil over it face. De Lord know what make dat, I don', but dem kind of baby sho wiser den de other kind of baby. Dat thing look just like a thin skin dat stretch over da baby face en come down low it's chin. Have to take en pull it back over it's forehead en den de baby can see en holler all it ever want to. My blessed, honey, wish I had many a dollar as I see veil over baby face. Sho know all bout dem kind of things."
"Oh, honey, I tell you de people bless dis day en time. Don' know nothin bout how to be thankful enough for what dey have dese days. I tell de truth de peoples sho had to scratch bout en make what dey had in slavery time. Baby, dey plant patches of okra en parch dat en make what coffee dey have. Den dey couldn' get no shoes like dey hab dese days neither. Just make em out of de hide of dey own cows dat dey butcher right dere on de plantation. Coase de peoples had plenty sometin to eat like meat en turkey en chicken en thing like dat. Oh, my God, couldn' see de top of de smoke house for all de heap of meat dey have in dem times. En milk en butter, honey, dey didn' never be widout plenty of dat. De peoples bout here dese days axes ten cents a quart for sweet milk en five cents a quart for old sour clabber. What you think bout dat? Dat how-come people have to hunt jobs so mucha dese days. Have to do some sorta work cause you know dey got to put sometin in dey mouth somewhe' or another. Oh, my child, slavery days was troublesome times. Sugar en salt never run free wid de peoples den neither. I know de day been here when salt was so scarce dat dey had to go to de seashore en get what salt dey had. I gwine to tell you all bout dat. Dey hitch up two horses to a wagon en den dey make another horse go in front of de wagon to rest de other horses long de way. Dey mostly go bout on a Monday en stay three days. Boil dat salty water down dere en fetch two en three of dem barrel of salt back wid em dey get dat way. It was just like dis, it take heap of salt when dey had dem big hog-killin days. En de sugar, dey make dat too. Made de sugar in lil blocks dat dey freeze just like dey freeze ice dis day en time. I know dey do dat—know it. Dey make molasses en some of it would be lighter den de other en dey freeze dat en make de prettiest lil squares just like de ice you see dese days. Dey have sometin to freeze it in. Dis here old black mammy know heap of things you ain' never hear bout. Oh, baby, de peoples sho bless dese days."
"Oh, my god, de colored peoples worship to de white folks church in slavery time. You know dat Hopewell Church over de river dere, dat a slavery church. Dat whe' I go to church den wid my white folks. I had a lil chair wid a cowhide bottom dat I always take everywhe' I go wid me. If I went to church, dat chair go in de carriage wid me en den I take it in de church en set right by de side of my Miss. Dat how it was in slavery time. Oh, my Lord, dere a big slavery people graveyard dere to dat Hopewell Church."
"Honey, you mind if I smoke my pipe a lil whilst I settin here talkin wid you. I worry so much wid dis high blood dese days en a ringin in my ears dat my pipe de only thing dat does seem to satisfy my soul. I tell you dat high blood a bad thing. It get such a hold on me awhile back dat I couldn' do nothin, couldn' pick cotton, couldn' say my—me, couldn' even say, God a mighty—thing pretty. Oh, I don' know. I start smokin pipe long time ago when I first start nursin babies. Had to do sometin like dat den."
"No, Lord, I never believe nothin bout dat but what God put here. I hear some people say dey was conjure, but I don' pay no attention to dey talk. Dey say somebody poison em for sometin dey do, but dere ain' nobody do dat. God gwine to put you down when he get ready. Ain' nobody else do dat."
"Oh, my Lord, I been here a time. I sho been here a time en I thank de Lord I here dis day en time. I can thread my needle good as ever I could en I ain' have no speck neither. Sew night en day. De chillun have dey lamp dere studyin en I hab my lamp dere sewin. My old Miss learnt me to sew when I stay right in de house wid her all de time. I stay bout white folks all my life en dat how-come I so satisfy when I wid em."
Source: Mom Sara Brown, age 85, ex-slave, Marion, S. C.
Personal interview, June 1937.
Code No. ——
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S. C.
Date, September 10, 1937
No. Words ——
Reduced from —— words
Rewritten by ——
MOM SARA BROWN
Ex-Slave, 85 Years
"I stay in house over dere cross Catfish Swamp on Miss Addie McIntyre place. Lives wid dis grand-daughter dat been sick in bed for four weeks, but she mendin some now. She been mighty low, child. It start right in here (chest) en run down twixt her shoulder. She had a tear up cold too, but Dr. Dibble treat her en de cough better now. She got three chillun dere dat come just like steps. One bout like dat en another like dat en de other bout like dis."
"De house we stay in a two room house wid one of dese end chimney. All sleep in de same room en cook en eat in de other room. My bed on one side en Sue bed on de other side. Put chillun on quilts down on de floor in de other end of de room. Baby, whe' dem curtains you say you gwine give me? I gwine hang dese up in Sue room. Dey help me fix up de room nice en decent like."
"It all on me to feed en clothe both dem chillun en de baby too. It just too much on me old as I is. Can' do nothin worth to speak bout hardly dese days. Can' hold my head down cause dis high blood worries me so much. It get too hot, can' iron. If ain' too hot, I makes out to press my things somehow en sweep my yard bout. Sometimes I helps little bit wid doctor case, but not often. Can wash de baby en de mother, but can' do no stayin up at night. No, baby, can' do no settin up at night."
"I tries to catch all what little I can to help along cause dat how I was raise up. Government truck brings me little somethin once a month pack up in packages like dry milk en oatmeal en potatoes. Give dat to all dem dat can' work en ain' got nobody to help dem. Dat dry milk a good thing to mix up de bread wid en den it a help to fix little milk en bread for dem two little ones. De potatoes, I stews dem for de chillun too. Dey mighty fond of dem. Now de oatmeal, de chillun don' eat dat so I fixes it for Sue en every now en den I takes a little bit wid my breakfast."
"I don' know much what to tell you bout Abraham Lincoln. I think he was a mighty great man, a mighty great man, what I hear of him."
"I remembers de Yankees come dere to my white folks plantation one day en, child, dere was a time on dat place. All dem niggers was just a kickin up dey heels en shoutin. I was standin dere on de piazza lookin at dem en I say, 'I don' see why dey want to carry on like dat for. I been free all de time.' When dey get through de Yankees tell dem dey was free as dey Massa was en give dem so many bushels of corn en so much meat for dey own. Some take dey pile en go on off en some choose to stay on dere wid dey Missus. She was good to all her colored people en dey stay on dere for part de crop. Give dem so much of de crop accordin to de chillun dey had to feed. I know dis much, dey all know dey gwine get 12 bushels of corn a year, if dey ain' get no more. Dat a bushel every month. Yes, dat how it was."
"O Lord, baby, I don' know a thing bout none of dat thing call conjurin. Don' know nothin bout it. Dat de devil work en I ain' bother wid it. Dey say some people can kill you, but dey ain' bother me. Some put dey trust in it, but not me. I put my trust in de Lord cause I know it just a talk de people have. No, Lord, I can' remember dat neither. I hear dem say Raw Head en Bloody Bones would catch you if you be bad, but how it started, I don' know. I know I don' know nothin bout how dey look en I don' want to see dem neither. No, child, people say dey sho to be, but I ain' see none. How dey look, I don' know."
"I don' know what to think bout de times dese days. De times worse den dey used to be, child. You know dey worse. Dis here a fast time de people livin on cause everybody know de people die out heap faster den dey used to. Don' care how dey kill you up. No, child, dey sho worser. My people en yunnah people. Don' it seem so to you dat dey worser?"
"Baby, I got to get up from here en leave now cause I huntin medicine dis mornin. I ain' got time to tell you nothin else dis time, but I gwine get my mind fix up on it en den your old black mammy comin back fore long en stay all day wid you en your mamma. What time dat clock say it now, honey? I got to hurry en catch de doctor fore he get away from his office en be so scatter bout till nobody can' tell whe' he is. Dr. Dibble a good doctor, a mighty good doctor. When he come, don' never come in no hurry. Takes pains wid you. Dat been my doctor. I is just devoted to him."
Source: Mom Sara Brown, ex-slave, age 85, Marion, S. C.
Second Report.
Personal interview, September, 1937 by Annie Ruth
Davis, Marion, S. C.
Project #-1655
Mrs. Genevieve W. Chandler
Murrells Inlet, S. C.
Georgetown County
FOLKLORE
(Some recollections of 'The Reb Time day' given by
Aunt Margaret Bryant)
Visitor: "How are you Aunt Margaret?"
Margaret: "Missus, I ain't wuth! I ain't wuth!"
Visitor: "Aunt Margaret you've been here a long time. How old are you?"
Margaret: "I can't tell you my age no way in the world! When freedom come, I been here. Not big nuff (enough) for work for the Reb, but I been here Reb time. Been big nuff (enough) to know when Yankee gun-boat come to Watsaw (Wachesaw). Whole gang o' Yankee come to the house and didn't do a thing but ketch (catch) a gang o' fowl and gone on. And tell the people (meaning the slaves) to take the house and go in and get what they want. The obersheer (overseer) hear the Doctor whistle to the gate and wabe (wave) him back. And then the Doctor know the Yankee been there and he gone on to the creek house and get all he gold and ting (thing) out the house and gone—Marion till Freedom then he come back.
"Yankee come in that night. Moon shine lak a day. Stay in the Doctor house that night. Morning come, take a gang o' fowl and gone on!"
Visitor: "Aunt Margaret, what was your name before you were married?"
Margaret: "Margaret One. Brother and sister? I ain't one when I come here. Ain't meet aunty, uncle—none. Me and my brudder Michael wuz twin. I ain't meet none when I come here. All been sell. Me and my Ma One here. Mary One. Husband title, husband nichel (initial) been 'One.' Number one carpenter—give 'em that name Michael One—and he gibe 'em that name. Born Sandy Island. Been to landing to Watsaw when gun-boat come. Just a sneak long! Boat white. Hab (have) a red chimbley (chimney.) Didn't try to carry we off. Tell 'em 'Go and help youself.' Been after the buckra. (The Yankee trying to catch the buckra.)
"I see my Ma dye with some bush they call 'indigo,' and black walnut bark. Big old pen for the sheep-folds.
"My Pa sister, Ritta One had that job. Nuss (nurse) the chillun. Chillun house. One woman nuss (nurse) all the chillun while they ma in the field—rice field. All size chillun. Git the gipsy (gypsum) weed. Beat 'em up for worm. Give 'em when the moon change. Take a bucket and follow dem. And tell the Doctor how much a worm that one make and that one and count dem (them). When the moon change, do that.
"I have one born with caul. Loss he caul. Rat carry 'em. Ain't here; he see nothin. (The custom seems to be, to preserve the caul.)
"Child born feet fore-most see 'um too." (See spirit) "Talk chillun? Put duh switch. Put you 'Bull pen.' Hab 'um (have them) a place can't see you hand before you. Can't turn round good in there. Left you in there till morning. Give you fifty lash and send you to work. You ain't done that task, man and woman lick!
"Couldn't manage my ma. Obersheer (overseer) want to lick ma, Mary One say, 'Going drownded meself! I done my work! Fore I take a lick, rather drownded meself.'" Obersheer gone tell the Doctor. Tie her long rope. Right to Sandy Island. Man hold the rope. Gone on. Jump in river. So Doctor say, 'You too good labor for drown. Take dem (them) to Watsaw.' Me and she and man what paddle the boat. Bring her to weave. Two womans fuh card; two spin. Ma wop 'em off. Sail duh sheckel (shuttle) through there.
"Po-buckra come there and buy cloth from Ma. Buy three and four yard. Ma sell that, have to weave day and night to make up that cloth to please obersheer. Come big day time. 'Little chillun, whey (where) Mama?' Tell 'em Ma to the weaving house. Don't have money fuh pay. Bring hog and such like as that to pay.
"You know Marse Allard age? Me and Marse Allard suck together. Me and Marse Allard and my brudder Michael. My ma fadder mix wid (with) the Injun. Son Larry Aikens. Stay Charston (Charlestown). Just as clean! (Meaning Larry, her Uncle, very bright skin. Mixed with Indian.) See 'em the one time. Come from Charston bring Doctor two horse."
Given by Aunt Margaret Bryant
Age—(Born before Freedom)
Murrells Inlet, S. C.
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
SAVILLA BURRELL, EX-SLAVE, 83 YEARS
"Our preacher, Beaty, told me that you wanted to see me today. I walked three miles dis mornin' before the sun gits hot to dis house. Dis house is my grand daughter's house. Willie Caldwell, her husband, work down to de cotton mill. Him make good money and take good care of her, bless the Lord, I say."
"My Marster in slavery time was Captain Tom Still. He had big plantation down dere on Jackson Crick. My Mistress name was Mary Ann, though she wasn't his fust wife—jest a second wife, and a widow when she captivated him. You know widows is like dat anyhow, 'cause day done had 'sperience wid mens and wraps dem 'round their little finger and git dem under their thumb 'fore the mens knows what gwine on. Young gals have a poor chance against a young widow like Miss Mary Ann was. Her had her troubles with Marse Tom after her git him, I tell you, but maybe best not to tell dat right now anyways."
"Marse Tom had four chillun by his fust wife, dey was John, Sam, Henretta and I can't 'member de name of the other one; least right now. Dey teached me to call chillun three years old, young Marse and say Missie. Dey whip you if dey ever hear you say old Marse or old Missie. Dat riled dem."
"My pappy name Sam. My mother name Mary. My pappy did not live on the same place as mother. He was a slave of de Hamiltons, and he got a pass sometimes to come and be with her; not often. Grandmammy name Ester and she belonged to our Marse Tom Still, too."
"Us lived in a log cabin wid a stick chimney. One time de sticks got afire and burnt a big hole in de back of de chimney in cold winter time wid the wind blowing, and dat house was filled wid fire-sparks, ashes, and smoke for weeks 'fore dey tore dat chimney down and built another jest like the old one. De bed was nailed to de side of de walls. How many rooms? Jest one room."
"Never seen any money. How many slaves? So many you couldn't count dem. Dere was plenty to eat sich as it was, but in the summer time before us git dere to eat de flies would be all over de food and some was swimmin' in de gravy and milk pots. Marse laugh 'bout dat, and say, it made us fat."
"Dey sell one of mother's chillun once, and when she take on and cry 'bout it, Marse say, 'stop dat sniffin' dere if you don't want to git a whippin'.' She grieve and cry at night 'bout it. Clothes? Yes Sir, us half naked all de time. Grown boys went 'round bare footed and in dey shirt tail all de summer."
"Marse was a rich man. 'Fore Christmus dey would kill thirty hogs and after Christmus, thirty more hogs. He had a big gin house and sheep, goats, cows, mules, hosses, turkeys, geese, and a stallion; I members his name, Stockin'-Foot. Us little niggers was skeered to death of dat stallion. Mothers used to say to chillun to quiet dem, 'Better hush, Stockin'-Foot will git you and tramp you down.' Any child would git quiet at dat."
"Old Marse was de daddy of some mulatto chillun. De 'lations wid de mothers of dese chillun is what give so much grief to Mistress. De neighbors would talk 'bout it and he would sell all dem chillun away from dey mothers to a trader. My Mistress would cry 'bout dat.
"Our doctor was old Marse son-in-law, Dr. Martin. I seen him cup a man once. He was a good doctor. He give slaves castor oil, bleed dem some times and make dem take pills."
"Us looked for the Yankees on dat place like us look now for de Savior and de host of angels at de second comin'. Dey come one day in February. Dey took everything carryable off de plantation and burnt de big house, stables, barns, gin house and dey left the slave houses."
"After de war I marry Osborne Burrell and live on de Tom Jordan place. I'se de mother of twelve chillun. Jest three livin' now. I lives wid the Mills family three miles 'bove town. My son Willie got killed at de DuPont Powder Plant at Hopewell, Virginia, during de World War. Dis house you settin' in belongs to Charlie Caldwell. He marry my grand daughter, Willie B. She is twenty-three years old."
"Young Marse Sam Still got killed in de Civil War. Old Marse live on. I went to see him in his last days and I set by him and kept de flies off while dere. I see the lines of sorrow had plowed on dat old face and I 'membered he'd been a captain on hoss back in dat war. It come into my 'membrance de song of Moses; 'de Lord had triumphed glorily and de hoss and his rider have been throwed into de sea'."
"You been good to listen. Dis is the fust time I can git to speak my mind like dis mornin'. All de' people seem runnin' here and yonder, after dis and after dat. Dere is a nudder old slave, I'se gwine to bring him down here Saturday and talk to you again."
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg, S. C.
Sept. 15, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I works on de shares and makes a fair living on a rented farm; don't own no land. I was born in Newberry County, near de old Longshore store, about 12 miles northwest of Newberry Courthouse on de Henry Burton place. My parents belonged to Henry Burton in slavery time. He was our marster. I married Betty Burton, a nigger girl whose parents belonged to Marse Henry Burton, too.
"We had a good marster and mistress. Dey give us a good place to sleep and lots to eat. He had a big four-acre garden where he raised lots of vegetables fer his slaves. He had plenty meat, molasses and bread. We ground our corn and wheat and made our own feed.
"Marster wouldn't let anybody bother his slaves. He wouldn't 'low his overseers or de padrollers to whip 'em. He never whipped one.
"We had no school and no church; but was made to go to de white folks church and set in de gallery. When Freedom come, de niggers begin to git dere own church, and built small brush huts called 'brush harbors'.
"We didn't do work on Saturday afternoons, but went hunting and fishing den, while de women folks cleaned up around de place fer Sunday. De marster liked to hunt, and he hunted foxes which was plenty around dere den. Now dey is all gone.
"We danced and had gigs. Some played de fiddle and some made whistles from canes, having different lengths for different notes, and blowed 'em like mouth organs."
Source: C. B. Burton (79), Newberry, S. C.
Interviewer: G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C. (9/10/37)
Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County
Folklore
GEORGE ANN BUTLER
Ex-Slave 75 Years
West of the paved highway at Garnett one may reach, after several miles, the old Augusta Road that follows along the Savannah River from Augusta to a landing point a little south of Garnett. Miles from the busy highway, it passes, in quiet majesty, between fields and woods, made rich by the river's overflow and heavy dews. Nature has done her best in producing beautiful evergreen trees of immense size and much luxuriant shrubbery of many kinds. Live oaks, magnolias, yellow slash pines, hollies, and many evergreen shrubs keep the woods even in winter, a fascinating wilderness to hunters and nature lovers. On this road George Ann Butler lives, and has lived for the seventy-five years of her life.
"I was born an' raised on de Greenwood place. It belonged to ole man Joe Bostick. He owned all dese places 'long dese here road. He own de Bostick place back yonder; den he own de Pipe Creek place next dat; den Oaklawn; den joinin' dat was Greenwood. De Colcock's Elmwood was next. My Husband was birth right here on de Pipe Creek, an' been here ever since. He kin tell you more'n I kin. I was George Anne Curry before I marry.
"I can't remember so much 'bout slavery time. I was crawlin' over de floor when slavery time—dey tell me. But atter de war, I 'members. Couldn't find no corn seed! Couldn't find no cotton seed! Couldn't find no salt! You knows it was hard times when dere wasn't no salt to season de vegetables. Had to go down to de salt water an' get de water an' boil it for salt. Dat been a long way from here. Must be fifty or sixty mile! An' dey couldn't go so fast in dem days. Sufferin' been in de neighborhood atter de war pass!
"Cotton was de thing 'way back yonder. An' right 'long dis road dey'd haul it. Haul it to Cohen's Bluff! Haul it to Matthews Bluff! Haul it to Parichucla! Don't haul it dis way no more! Send de cotton to de railroad! But in dem days it was de ships dat carried it to Savannah. Cotton seem to be play out now—dey plant so much.
"I hear 'em tell 'bout de war, an' havin' to drill an' step when dey say step, an' throw up dey hands, when dey say throw up de hand. Everything had to be done jes' so! De war was sure a terrible thing."
Source: George Anne Butler, R. F. D. Garnett, S. C.
Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County
ISAIAH [HW: Solbert (?)] BUTLER, EX-SLAVE 79 YEARS
[HW: See Ms. #3]
"Yes, dis is Isaiah Butler, piece of him. Ain't much left of him now. Yes, I knows all 'bout dis heah country from way back. I was born and raised right on dis same place here; lived here all my life 'sides from travellin' round a little space. Dere was a rice field not far from dis house here, where I plowed up more posts that had been used as landmarks! Dis place was de Bostick place, and it jined to de Thomson place, and de Thomson place to Edmund Martin's place dat was turned over to Joe Lawton, his son-in-law. Bill Daniel had charge of de rice field I was telling you 'bout. He was overseer, on de Daniel Blake place. Den dere was de Maner place, de Trowell, de Kelly, and de Wallace places. Back in dem times dey cultivated rice. Had mules to cultivate it! But cotton and corn was what dey planted most of all; 4,000 acres I think dey tell me was on dis place. I know it supposed to be more than ten miles square. Nobody know de landmarks 'cept me. When de Bostick boys came back from out west last year, dey had to come to me to find out where dere place was. Dey didn't know nuttin' 'bout it. Dey used to use twenty plow, and de hoe hands was over a hundred, I know.
"I 'member when de Yankees come through. I was no more'n a lad, nine or ten years old. Bostick had a big gin-house, barn, stables, and such like. And when de soldiers come a goat was up on de platform in front of de door to de loft of de barn. Dere were some steps leadin' up dere and dat goat would walk up dem steps same as any body. De fuss thing de Yankees do, dey shoot dat goat. Den day start and tear up eberyt'ing. All de white folks had refugeed up North, and dey didn't do nuttin' to us niggers.
"Fore dat time I was jes' a little boy too young to do nuttin'. Jes' played aroun' in de street. Ole Mr. Ben Bostick used to bring clothes an' shoes to us and see dat we was well cared for. Dere was nineteen houses in de street for us colored folks. Dey wuz all left by de soldiers. But in de year 1882 dere come a cyclone (some folks call it a tornado), and knocked down every house; only left four standing. Pieces of clothes and t'ings were carried for four or five miles from here. It left our house; but it took everyt'ing we had. It took de walls of de house, jes' left de floorin', an' it wus turn 'round. Took everyt'ing! I'd jes' been married 'bout a year, and you know how dat is. We jes' had to scuffle and scuffle 'roun' till de Lord bless us.
"Dere wuz plenty of deer, squirrel, possum, an' rabbits in dem times; no more dan dere is now, but dere wuz no hinderance den as now. De deer come right up to my door now; dey come all 'roun' dis house, and we cain't do nuttin'. De other day one wuz over dere by dat peachtree, an' not long ago four of 'em come walkin' right through dis yard. I don't go fishin' no more. Folks say de streams is all dried up. But I used to be a good fisherman, me an' me ole woman. She's spryer'n me now. I used to allus protect her when we wuz young, an' now its her dat's acarin' for me. We had our gardens in de ole days, too. Oh, yes'm. Little patches of collards, greens an' t'ings, but now I ain't able to do nuttin', jes' hang 'roun' de place here.
"My father used to belong to General Butler, Dennis Butler was his name. My mother was a Maner, but originally she wuz draw out of de Robert estate. Ole Ben Bostick fuss wife wuz a Robert. Dey wuz sure wealthy folks. One of 'em went off to sail. Bill F. Robert wuz his name. He had so much money dat he say dat he goin' to de end of de world. He come back an' he say he went so close hell de heat draw de pitch from de vessel. But he lost his eyesight by it. Wa'n't (it was not) long after he got back dat he went stone blind.
"My ole boss, preacher Joe Bostick wuz one of de best of men. He wuz hard of hearin' like I is, an' a good ole man. But de ole lady, ole "Miss Jenny", she wuz very rough. She hired all de overseers, and she do all. If'n anybody try to go to de old man wid anyt'ing, she'd talk to 'em herself an' not let 'em see de old man.
"In slavery time de slaves wuz waked up every morning by de colored over-driver blowin' a horn. Ole man Jake Chisolm wuz his name. Jes' at daybreak, he'd put his horn through a crack in de upper part of de wall to his house an' blow it through dat crack. Den de under-driver would go out an' round 'em up. When dey done all dey day-work, dey come home an' cook dey supper, an' wash up. Den dey blow de horn for 'em to go to bed. Sometime dey have to out de fire an' finish dey supper in de dark. De under-driver, he'd go out den and see who ain't go to bed. He wouldn't say anyt'ing den; but next mornin' he'd report it to de overseer, an' dem as hadn't gone to bed would be whipped.
"My mother used to tell me dat if any didn't do dey day's work, dey'd be put in de stocks or de bill-bo. You know each wuz given a certain task dat had to be finish dat day. Dat what dey call de day-work. When dey put 'em in de stocks dey tie 'em hand and foot to a stick. Dey could lie down wid dat. I hear of colored folks doin' dat now to dare chillun when dey don't do. Now de bill-bo wuz a stabe (stave) drove in de ground, an' dey tied dere hands and den dere feet to dat, standin' up. Dey'd work on Saturday but dey wuz give Sundays. Rations wuz give out on Mondays. Edmund Lawton went over to Louisiana to work on de Catherine Goride place, but he come back, 'cause he say dey blow dey horn for work on Sunday same as any other day, and he say he wa'n't goin' to work on no Sunday. Dey didn't have a jail in dem times. Dey'd whip 'em, and dey'd sell 'em. Every slave know what, 'I'll put you in my pocket, sir!' mean.
"De slaves would walk when dey'd go anywhere. If'n dey buy a bunch of slaves in New Orleans, dey'd walk by night and day. I 'member when one young girl come back from refugin' wid de white folks, her feet were jes' ready to buss open, and dat wuz all. You couldn't travel unless de boss give you a pass. De Ku Klan had "patrol" all about in de bushes by de side of de road at night. And when dey caught you dey'd whip you almost to death! Dey'd horsewhip you. Dey didn't run away nowhere 'cause dey knowed dey couldn't.
"If'n you wanted to send any news to anybody on another plantation, de overseer'd write de message for you and send it by a boy to de overseer of de other plantation, and he'd read it to de one you wrote to.
"When de war wuz over, ole man Jones cone over frum Georgia and sell t'ings to de colored folks. He'd sell 'em everyt'ing. He took all de colored folks' money!
"I learned to read when I wuz goin' to school when I wuz about fifteen years old, but I learned most I know after I wuz married, at night school, over on de Morrison place. De colored folks had de school, but 'course Mr. Morrison was delighted to know dey wuz havin' it. As for church, in de olden times, people used to, more or less, attend under de bush-arbor. In 1875 when I jined de church, ole man John Butler wuz de preacher.
"Ghosts? I'se met plenty of um! When I wuz courtin' I met many a one—One got me in de water, once. And another time when I wuz crossing a stream, I wuz on de butt end of de log, an' dey wuz on de blossom end, an' we meet jes' as close as I is to you now. I say to him, same as to anybody, 'I sure ain't goin' to turn back, and fall off dis log. Now de best t'ing for you to do is to turn 'round and let me come atter (after) you. You jes' got to talk to 'em same as to anybody. It don't pay to be 'fraid of 'em. So he wheel 'round. (Spirits can wheel, you know.) And when he get to de end of de log, I say, 'Now you off and I off. You kin go on 'cross now.' Dey sure is a t'ing, all right! Dey look jes' like anybody else, 'cept'n it's jes' cloudy and misty like it goin' to pour down rain. But it don't do to be 'fraid of 'em. I ain't 'fraid of nuttin', myself. I never see 'em no more. Guess I jes' sorta out-growed 'em. But dere sure is sech a t'ing, all right! De white folks'd see 'em, too. I 'member hearin' ole Joe Bostick, de preacher, say to a man, by de name of Tinlin, 'Did you hear dat hog barkin' last night? Well, de spirit come right in de house. Come right up over de mantlepiece.' I wuz in de field workin' same as I allus done, and I hear'd ole Joe horse a snortin'. Ole Joe didn't want nuttin'. He jes' want to see what I wuz doin'.
"Abraham Lincoln done all he could for de colored folks. But dey cain't none of 'em do nuttin' without de Lord."
Source: Isaiah Butler, Garnett, S. C.
Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County
Approx. 800 Words
SOLBERT BUTLER EX-SLAVE OF 82 YEARS
Miles from the highway old Solbert Butler lives alone under the shadow of the handsome winter home of an aged northerner upon the same soil that he has seen pass from Southerner to Negro, to Southerner, to Northerner. Though shrunken and bent with age he still enjoys talking.
"I lives in de Deer Country. A couple of months ago, I saw eight in a drove at one time, like a drove of sheep, or sech like. You can't raise nuthin' 'round here. Dey'll eat up your garden. And de wild turkey! And de partridge! But you can't shoot 'em without de Cassels give you a license to do it. Now he comin' next month and dere'll be more shootin'! But he aint able to hunt none hisself. He kin ride 'bout in de woods in de car. Dey are blessed people, though!
"Dis used to be de Bostick place. Old Massa Ben Bostick lived fourteen miles from here. Dere was Ben Bostick, Iva Bostick, Joe Bostick, Mr. Luther, Eddie Bostick, an' Jennie Jo Bostick. De place was divided up between 'em. O-oh! I couldn't number de plantations old Mr. Bostick owned. I think he owned fifteen plantations! He was de millinery (millionaire)! Oh, de Bosticks, O-oh!! De house dey live in, dey call um—what was it dey call um—de Paradise house. No one go to dat house but only de rich.
"At Christmas dey'd go up dere. And oh, I couldn't number it! Oh, it was paradise. He was good to 'em. An' he whip 'em good, too! Tie 'em to de fence post and whip 'em. But I didn't' have anythin' of dat. I was a little boy. Jes' 'bout six year old when de war broke out. But I got plenty of whippin's all right.
"Massa take me as a little boy as a pet. Took me right in de carriage! Had a little bed right by his own an' take care of me. Every morning dey bring in dey tray, an' go back. My uncle was a carriage man. Dey kept two fine horses jes' for de carriage. Massa'd come up to de Street every Monday morning with big trays of rations. He'd feed his colored folk, den go on back."
(Another old ex-slave from the same plantation had said that on Mondays the week's rations were given out.)
"Dey planted cotton, corn, peas, potatoes, rice—an' dey'd lick you! All de time, dey'd lick you. After dey'd lick 'em until de blood come out, den dey'd rub de red pepper and salt on 'em. Oh, my God! Kin you say dem as done sech as dat aint gone to deir reward? My uncle was so whip he went into de woods, an' live dere for months. Had to learn de independent life. Mr. Aldridge was de overseer. Old Mr. Aldridge gone now. But dere can't be no rest for him. Oh my God no! He do 'em so mean dat finally ole Massa hear 'bout it. And when he do hear 'bout it, he discharged him. He had everything discharged—to de colored driver. Den he got Mr. Chisolm. After Mr. Chisolm come in, everythin' jes' as sweet an' smooth as could be! Dere's a nice set of people for you—de Chisolms. Two of 'em livin' now. One at Garnett, an' one at Luray, I believe.
"I refugeed wid Massa. Dey come together in Virginia. Dey surrendered in Virginia. Set de house afire. And set all dey houses. Dey burned Massa's cotton. Over 200 bales! But if'n de colored folks begged for some, dey let 'em have some. I stayed right wid Massa. He carried me everywhere he went. Carried me all de way to Mill Haven, Georgia.
"After de war de colored folks jes' took an' plant de crop an' make de livin' wid de hoe. Didn't have no mule, no ox, or thin' like dat. When ole Massa come back, he took de cotton, an' give de colored folks de corn. De Yankees kill all de hog. Kill all de cow. Kill all de fowl. Left you nothin' to eat. If de colored folk had any chicken, dey jes' had to take dat an' try to raise 'em somethin' to eat.
"I'se a Methodist. I was converted under Elder Drayton—come from Georgia at St. Luke Methodist Church on de Blake Plantation. De Blake Plantation right dere. It jines dis one. De ole Methodist white folk's church where I was baptized been take down. It was called de Union Church. But de cemetery still dere. It right up dere not a mile down de road. Dere was a good ole preacher name of Rev. Winborn Asa Lawton. An' de camp meetin'! Oh, Lord, Lord! Dey had over a thousand dere. Come from Orangeburg. Come from Aiken! An' come way from Cheraw! Come from Charleston, Beaufort, and Savannah! De colored folks got a church now up here on what used to be de Pipe Creek place of ole Ben Bostick where de white folks used to have a Baptist church. De colored folks church call it Kenyon Church. Dat's de church dey white folks moved to Lawtonville, den to Estill. But when de colored folks built, dey built de church to face de East. Built on de same foundation; but face it east, facing a little road dat had sprung up and wind 'round dat way right in close to de church. But de white folks church was face west, facing de Augusta road. Dat big space twixt de road and de church was a grove.
"Ghosts? I used to 'em. I see 'em all de time. Good company! I live over dere by myself, an' dey comes in my house all de time. Sometime I walk along at night an' I see 'em. An' when you see 'em you see a sight. Dey play. Dey dance 'round an' 'round. Dey happy all right. But dey'll devil you, too. When dey find out dat you scary, dey'll devil you. Dey don't do nothin' to me. Only talk to me. I'll be in my house an' dey'll come talk to me. Or I'll be walkin' down de road, an' meet 'em. Dey'll pass de time of day wid me, Like:
'Hey, Solbert! How far you goin', Solbert?'
'I'se jes' goin' down de road a little piece,' I'll say.
'Uh-huh'.
"Or sometime dey'll say, 'Mornin', Solbert. How you feeling?'
"Dey all favors. Dey all looks alike. You remembers when dat car come down de road jes' now? Well, I see a bunch of 'em right den! Dey get out de road for dat car to pass. Oh, you can't see 'em. No matter how much I shows 'em to you—you can't see 'em. But me! Dey swell wid me. I see 'em all de time. De big house up dere. It full of 'em. De white folks see 'em, too. Dat is some of de white folks. I see de other day a white man dat has to work up here start toward de house when de ghosts was comin' out thick. When I tell him you ought to see him turn an' run. One of 'em push me over in de ditch one time. I say,
'Now what you done dat for?'
'Well, dat aint nothin''
'Aint nothin'. But don't you do dat no more.'
"I talks to 'em jes' de same as if dey was somebody. Some folks outgrows 'em. But not me. You have to be born to see 'em. If'n you be born wrapped in de caul, you kin see 'em. But if you aint, you can't see 'em."
Source: Solbert Butler, 82 years, R. F. D. Scotia, S. C.
Project 1885-1
District #4
Spartanburg, S. C.
May 31, 1937
FOLKLORE: EX-SLAVES
"I was born on the other side of Maybinton, in Newberry County, South Carolina. Old Squire Kenner was my master and his wife, Lucy, my mistress. My pa was Joseph Gilliam, who was a slave of John Gilliam, and my mamma was Lou Kenner, who was a slave of Squire Kenner. I stayed with my mamma at Squire Kenner's and waited on my mistress, Mrs. Lucy Kenner, who was the best white woman I know of—just like a mother to me, wish I was with her now. I stayed there 'till my mistress died, was right by her bed.
"It sure was a good place to live. Dey didn't give us money for work but we had enough to eat and place to sleep and a few clothes. Squire had a big farm he got from the Hancocks, some of his kin. He didn't have overseers; he looked after his own farms. Master had a big garden and give us lots from it to eat. We hunted 'possums, rabbits, squirrels, wild turkeys, on the river. We lived right near Broad River.
"I remember de padderrolers; dey come to my pa's house and want to come in, but pa had an old musket gun and tole them if dey come in dey wouldn't go out alive—and dey went away.
"After the day's work was done, the slaves would set down and talk, and on Saturday afternoons, they would stay home, go fishing or wash up, and sometimes the chaps would go to de river and watch the boats full of cotton go by. On Sundays we go to church. They made us go to Baskets church, de white folks church, and set in the gallery. On Christmas Day we would get time off and master would give us good things to eat. We never had any corn-shuckings and cotton pickings there. All of the family and the slaves do that work on moon-shiney nights. We had some games we played, like Molly Bright, Hiding Switches, Marbles. We played on Sunday, too, unless the mistress calls us in and stops us.