Great Falls. My marster was Ozmond Barber. My mistress was name Miss
Elizabeth; her de wife of Marse Ozmond. My pappy was name Jacob. My
mammy went by de name of Jemima. They both come from Africa where they
was born. They was 'ticed on a ship, fetch 'cross de ocean to Virginny,
fetch to Winnsboro by a slave drover, and sold to my marster's father.
Dat what they tell me. When they was sailin' over, dere was five or six
hundred others all together down under de first deck of de ship, where
they was locked in. They never did talk lak de other slaves, could just'
say a few words, use deir hands, and make signs. They want deir
collards, turnips, and deir 'tators, raw. They lak sweet milk so much
they steal it.
"Pappy care-nothin' 'bout clothes and wouldn't wear shoes in de winter
time or any time. It was 'ginst de law to bring them over here when they
did, I learn since. But what is de law now and what was de law then,
when bright shiny money was in sight? Money make de automobile go. Money
make de train go. Money make de mare go, and at dat time I 'spect money
make de ships go. Yes sir, they, my pappy and mammy, was just smuggled
in dis part of de world, I bet you!
"War come on, my marster went out as a captain of de Horse Marines. A
tune was much sung by de white folks on de place and took wid de
niggers. It went lak dis:
'I'm Captain Jenks of de Horse Marines
I feed my horse on corn and beans.
Oh! I'm Captain Jenks of de Horse Marines
And captain in de army!'"
"When de Yankees come they seem to have special vengeance for my white
folks. They took everything they could carry off and burnt everything
they couldn't carry off.
"Mistress and de chillun have to go to Chester to git a place to sleep
and eat, wid kinfolks. De niggers just lay 'round de place 'til master
rode in, after de war, on a horse; him have money and friends and git
things goin' agin. I stay on dere 'til '76. Then I come to Winnsboro and
git a job as section hand laborer on de railroad. Out of de fust
money,--(I git paid off de pay train then; company run a special pay
train out of Columbia to Charlotte. They stop at every station and pay
de hands off at de rear end of de train in cash). Well, as I was a
sayin': Out de fust money, I buys me a red shirt and dat November I
votes and de fust vote I put in de box was for Governor Wade Hampton.
Dat was de fust big thing I done.
"De nex' big thing I done was fall in love wid Mary Wylie. Dat come
'bout on de second pay day. De other nigger gals say her marry me for my
money but I never have believed it. White ladies do dat 'kalkilating'
trick sometime but you take a blue-gum nigger gal, all wool on de top of
her head and lak to dance and jig wid her foots, to pattin' and fiddle
music, her ain't gonna have money in de back of her head when her pick
out a man to marry. Her gonna want a man wid muscles on his arms and
back and I had them. Usin' dat pick and shovel on de railroad just give
me what it took to git Mary. Us had ten chillun. Some dead, some marry
and leave. My wife die year befo' last. Maggie is puny, as you see, and
us gits 'long wid de goodness of de Lord and de white folks.
"I b'longs to de St. John Methodist Church in Middlesix, part of
Winnsboro. They was havin' a rival (revival) meetin' de night of de
earthquake, last day of August, in 1886. Folks had hardly got over de
scare of 1881, 'bout de world comin' to an end. It was on Tuesday night,
if I don't disremember, 'bout 9 o'clock. De preacher was prayin', just
after de fust sermon, but him never got to de amen part of dat prayer.
Dere come a noise or rumblin', lak far off thunder, seem lak it come
from de northwest, then de church begin to rock lak a baby's cradle.
Dere was great excitement. Old Aunt Melvina holler: 'De world comin' to
de end'. De preacher say: 'Oh, Lordy', and run out of de pulpit.
Everbody run out de church in de moonlight. When de second quake come,
'bout a minute after de fust, somebody started up de cry: 'De devil
under de church! De devil under de church! De devil gwine to take de
church on his back and run away wid de church!' People never stop
runnin' 'til they got to de court house in town. Dere they 'clare de
devil done take St. John's Church on his back and fly away to hell wid
it. Marse Henry Galliard make a speech and tell them what it was and beg
them to go home. Dat Mr. Skinner, de telegraph man at de depot, say de
main part of it was way down 'bout Charleston, too far away for anybody
to git hurt here, 'less a brick from a chimney fall on somebody's head.
De niggers mostly believes what a fine man, lak Marse Henry, tell them.
De crowd git quiet. Some of them go home but many of them, down in de
low part of town, set on de railroad track in de moonlight, all night. I
was mighty sleepy de nex' mornin' but I work on de railroad track just
de same. Dat night folks come back to St. John's Church, find it still
dere, and such a outpourin' of de spirit was had as never was had befo'
or since.
"Just think! Dat has been fifty-one years ago. Them was de glorious
horse and buggy days. Dere was no air-ships, no autos and no radios.
White folks had horses to drive. Niggers had mules to ride to a baseball
game, to see white folks run lak de patarollers (patrollers) was after
them and they holler lak de world was on fire."
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
ED BARBER
EX-SLAVE 77 YEARS OLD.
Ed Barber lives in a small one-room house in the midst of a cotton field
on the plantation of Mr. A. M. Owens, ten miles southeast of Winnsboro,
S. C. He lives alone and does his own cooking and housekeeping. He is a
bright mulatto, has an erect carriage and posture, appears younger than
his age, is intelligent and enjoys recounting the tales of his lifetime.
His own race doesn't give him much countenance. His friends in the old
days of reconstruction were white people. He presumes on such past
affiliation and considers himself better than the full-blooded Negro.
"It's been a long time since I see you. Maybe you has forgot but I ain't
forgot de fust time I put dese lookers on you, in '76. Does you 'members
dat day? It was in a piece of pines beyond de Presbyterian Church, in
Winnsboro, S. C. Us both had red shirts. You was a ridin' a gray pony
and I was a ridin' a red mule, sorrel like. You say dat wasn't '76?
Well, how come it wasn't? Ouillah Harrison, another nigger, was dere,
though he was a man. Both of us got to arguin'. He 'low he could vote
for Hampton and I couldn't, 'cause I wasn't 21. You say it was '78
'stead of '76, dat day in de pines when you was dere? Well! Well! I sho'
been thinkin' all dis time it was '76.
"'Member de fight dat day when Mr. Pole Barnadore knock Mr. Blanchard
down, while de speakin' was a gwine on? You does? Well, us come to
common 'greement on dat, bless God!
"Them was scary times! Me bein' just half nigger and half white man, I
knowed which side de butter was on de bread. Who I see dere? Well, dere
was a string of red shirts a mile long, dat come into Winnsboro from
White Oak. And another from Flint Hill, over de Pea Ferry road, a mile
long. De bar-rooms of de town did a big business dat day. Seem lak it
was de fashion to git drunk all 'long them days.
"Them red shirts was de monkey wrench in de cotton-gin of de carpet bag
party. I's here to tell you. If a nigger git hungry, all he have to do
is go to de white folk's house, beg for a red shirt, and explain hisself
a democrat. He might not git de shirt right then but he git his belly
full of everything de white folks got, and de privilege of comin' to dat
trough sometime agin.
"You wants me to tell you 'bout who I is, where I born, and how old I
is? Well, just cross examine me and I'll tell you de facts as best I
knows how.
"I was born twelve miles east of Winnsboro, S. C. My marster say it was
de 18th of January, 1860.
"My mother name Ann. Her b'long to my marster, James Barber. Dat's not a
fair question when you ask me who my daddy was. Well, just say he was a
white man and dat my mother never did marry nobody, while he lived. I
was de onliest child my mother ever had.
"After freedom my mother raised me on de Marse Adam Barber place, up by
Rocky Mount and Mitford. I stayed dere 'til all de 'citement of politics
die down. My help was not wanted so much at de 'lection boxes, so I got
to roamin' 'round to fust one place and then another. But wheresomever I
go, I kept a thinkin' 'bout Rosa and de ripe may-pops in de field in
cotton pickin' time. I landed back to de Barber place and after a
skirmish or two wid de old folks, marry de gal de Lord always 'tended
for me to marry. Her name was Rosa Ford. You ask me if she was pretty?
Dat's a strange thing. Do you ever hear a white person say a colored
woman is pretty? I never have but befo' God when I was trampin' 'round
Charleston, dere was a church dere called St. Mark, dat all de society
folks of my color went to. No black nigger welcome dere, they told me.
Thinkin' as how I was bright 'nough to git in, I up and goes dere one
Sunday. Ah, how they did carry on, bow and scrape and ape de white
folks. I see some pretty feathers, pretty fans, and pretty women dere! I
was uncomfortable all de time though, 'cause they was too 'hifalootin'
in de ways, in de singin', and all sorts of carryin' ons.
"Glad you fetch me back to Rosa. Us marry and had ten chillun. Francis,
Thompkins, William, Jim, Levi, Ab and Oz is dead. Katie marry a Boykin
and is livin' in New York. My wife, Rosa, die on dis place of Mr. Owens.
"I lives in a house by myself. I hoes a little cotton, picks plums and
blackberries but dewberries 'bout played out.
"My marster, James Barber, went through de Civil War and died. I begs
you, in de name of de good white folks of '76 and Wade Hampton, not to
forget me in dis old age pension business.
"What I think of Abe Lincoln? I think he was a poor buckra white man, to
de likes of me. Although, I 'spects Mr. Lincoln meant well but I can't
help but wish him had continued splittin' them fence rails, which they
say he knowed all 'bout, and never took a hand in runnin' de government
of which he knowed nothin' 'bout. Marse Jeff Davis was all right, but
him oughta got out and fought some, lak General Lee, General Jackson and
'Poleon Bonaparte. Us might have won de war if he had turned up at some
of de big battles lak Gettysburg, 'Chickenmaroger', and 'Applemattox'.
What you think 'bout dat?
"Yes sah, I has knowed a whole lot of good white men. Marse General
Bratton, Marse Ed P. Mobley, Marse Will Durham, dat owned dis house us
now settin' in, and Dr. Henry Gibson. Does I know any good colored men?
I sho' does! Dere's Professor Benjamin Russell at Blackstock. You knows
him. Then dere was Ouillah Harrison, dat own a four-hoss team and a
saddle hoss, in red shirt days. One time de brass band at Winnsboro, S.
C. wanted to go to Camden, S. C. to play at de speakin' of Hampton. He
took de whole band from Winnsboro to Camden, dat day, free of charge.
Ah! De way dat band did play all de way to Ridgeway, down de road to
Longtown, cross de Camden Ferry, and right into de town. Dere was horns
a blowin', drums a beatin', and people a shoutin': 'Hurrah for Hampton!'
Some was a singin': 'Hang Dan Chamberlain on a Sour Apple Tree'. Ouillah
come home and found his wife had done had a boy baby. What you reckon?
He name dat boy baby, Wade Hampton. When he come home to die, he lay his
hand on dat boy's head and say: 'Wade, 'member who you name for and
always vote a straight out democrat ticket'. Which dat boy did!"
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
MILLIE BARBER
EX-SLAVE 82 YEARS OLD.
"Hope you find yourself well dis mornin', white folks. I's just common;
'spect I eats too much yesterday. You know us celebrated yesterday,
'cause it was de Fourth of July. Us had a good dinner on dis 2,000 acre
farm of Mr. Owens. God bless dat white boss man! What would us old no
'count niggers do widout him? Dere's six or seven, maybe eight of us out
here over eighty years old. 'Most of them is like me, not able to hit a
lick of work, yet he take care of us; he sho' does.
"Mr. Owens not a member of de church but he allowed dat he done found
out dat it more blessed to give than to receive, in case like us.
"You wants to know all 'bout de slavery time, de war, de Ku Kluxes and
everything? My tongue too short to tell you all dat I knows. However, if
it was as long as my stockin's, I could tell you a trunk full of good
and easy, bad and hard, dat dis old life-stream have run over in
eighty-two years. I's hoping to reach at last them green fields of Eden
of de Promise Land. 'Scuse me ramblin' 'round, now just ask me
questions; I bet I can answer all you ask.
"My pa name, Tom McCullough; him was a slave of old Marster John
McCullough, whose big two-story house is de oldest in Fairfield County.
It stands today on a high hill, just above de banks of Dutchman Creek.
Big road run right by dat house. My mammy name, Nicie. Her b'long to de
Weir family; de head of de family die durin' de war of freedom. I's not
supposed to know all he done, so I'll pass over dat. My mistress name,
Eliza; good mistress. Have you got down dere dat old marster just took
sick and die, 'cause he wasn't touched wid a bullet nor de life slashed
out of him wid a sword?
"Well, my pa b'longin' to one man and my mammy b'longin' to another,
four or five miles apart, caused some confusion, mix-up, and heartaches.
My pa have to git a pass to come to see my mammy. He come sometimes
widout de pass. Patrollers catch him way up de chimney hidin' one night;
they stripped him right befo' mammy and give him thirty-nine lashes, wid
her cryin' and a hollerin' louder than he did.
"Us lived in a log house; handmade bedstead, wheat straw mattress,
cotton pillows, plenty coverin' and plenty to eat, sich as it was. Us
never git butter or sweet milk or coffee. Dat was for de white folks but
in de summer time, I minds de flies off de table wid the peafowl feather
brush and eat in de kitchen just what de white folks eat; them was very
good eatin's I's here for to tell you. All de old slaves and them dat
worked in de field, got rations and de chillun were fed at de kitchen
out-house. What did they git? I 'members they got peas, hog meat, corn
bread, 'lasses, and buttermilk on Sunday, then they got greens, turnips,
taters, shallots, collards, and beans through de week. They were kept
fat on them kind of rations.
"De fact is I can't 'member us ever had a doctor on de place; just a
granny was enough at child birth. Slave women have a baby one day, up
and gwine 'round de next day, singin' at her work lak nothin' unusual
had happened.
"Did I ever git a whippin'? Dat I did. How many times? More than I can
count on fingers and toes. What I git a whippin' for? Oh, just one
thing, then another. One time I break a plate while washin' dishes and
another time I spilt de milk on de dinin' room floor. It was always for
somethin', sir. I needed de whippin'.
"Yes sir, I had two brothers older than me; one sister older than me and
one brother younger than me.
"My young marster was killed in de war. Their names was Robert, Smith,
and Jimmie. My young mistress, Sarah, married a Sutton and moved to
Texas. Nancy marry Mr. Wade Rawls. Miss Janie marry Mr. Hugh Melving. At
this marriage my mammy was give to Miss Janie and she was took to Texas
wid her young baby, Isaiah, in her arms. I have never seen or heard tell
of them from dat day to dis.
"De Yankees come and burn de gin-house and barns. Open de smokehouse,
take de meat, give de slaves some, shoot de chickens, and as de mistress
and girls beg so hard, they left widout burnin' de dwellin' house.
"My oldest child, Alice, is livin' and is fifty-one years old de 10th of
dis last May gone. My first husband was Levi Young; us lived wid Mr.
Knox Picket some years after freedom. We moved to Mr. Rubin Lumpkin's
plantation, then to George Boulwares. Well, my husband die and I took a
fool notion, lak most widows, and got into slavery again. I marry Prince
Barber; Mr. John Hollis, Trial Justice, tied de knot. I loved dat young
nigger more than you can put down dere on paper, I did. He was black and
shiny as a crow's wing. Him was white as snow to dese old eyes. Ah, the
joy, de fusses, de ructions, de beatin's, and de makin' ups us had on de
Ed Shannon place where us lived. Us stay dere seven long years.
"Then de Klu Kluxes comed and lak to scared de life out of me. They ask
where Prince was, searched de house and go away. Prince come home 'bout
daylight. Us took fright, went to Marster Will Durham's and asked for
advice and protection. Marster Will Durham fixed it up. Next year us
moved to dis place, he own it then but Marster Arthur Owens owns it now.
Dere is 2,000 acres in dis place and another 1,000 acres in de Rubin
Lumpkin place 'joinin' it.
"Prince die on dis place and I is left on de mercy of Marster Arthur,
livin' in a house wid two grandchillun, James twelve years, and John
Roosevelt Barber, eight years old. Dese boys can work a little. They can
pick cotton and tote water in de field for de hands and marster say:
'Every little help'.
"My livin' chillun ain't no help to me. Dere's Willie, I don't know
where he is. Prince is wid Mr. Freeman on de river. Maggie is here on de
place but she no good to me.
"I 'spect when I gits to drawin' down dat pension de white folks say is
comin', then dere will be more folks playin' in my backyard than dere is
today."
Project 1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
ANDERSON BATES
EX-SLAVE 87 YEARS OLD.
Anderson Bates lives with his son-in-law and daughter, Ed and Dora
Owens, in a three-room frame house, on lands of Mr. Dan Heyward, near
the Winnsboro Granite Company, Winnsboro, S. C. Anderson and his wife
occupy one of the rooms and his rent is free. His son-in-law has regular
employment at the Winnsboro Cotton Mills. His wife, Carrie, looks after
the house. Anderson and his daughter, Dora, are day laborers on the
neighborhood farms, but he is able to do very little work.
"I was born on de old Dr. Furman place, near Jenkinsville, S. C., in de
year, 1850. My pappy was name Nat and mammy name Winnie. They was slaves
of old Dr. Furman, dat have a big plantation, one hundred slaves, and a
whole lot of little slave chillun, dat him wouldn't let work. They run
'round in de plum thickets, blackberry bushes, hunt wild strawberries,
blow cane whistles, and have a good time.
"De old Dr. Furman house is ramshackle but it is still standin' out dere
and is used as a shelter for sawmill hands dat is cuttin' down de big
pines and sawin' them on de place.
"Where did my pappy and mammy come from? Mammy was born a slave in de
Furman family in Charleston, but pappy was bought out of a drove dat a
Baltimore speculator fetch from Maryland long befo' de war. Doctor
practice all 'round and 'bout Monticello, happen 'long one day, see my
pappy and give a thousand dollars for him, to dat speculator. I thank
God for dat!
"Dr. Furman, my old marster, have a brudder called Jim, dat run de
Furman School, fust near Winnsboro, then it move to Greenville, S. C.
"My mistress name Nancy. Her was of de quality. Her voice was soft and
quiet to de slaves. Her teach us to sing:
'Dere is a happy land, far, far 'way,
Where bright angels stand, far, far 'way,
Oh! How them angels sing!
Oh! How them bells ring!
In dat happy land, far, far 'way!'
"Dere was over a thousand acres, maybe two thousand in dat old Furman
place. Them sawmill folks give $30,000.00 for it, last year.
"My pappy and mammy was field hands. My brudders and sisters was:
Liddie, Millie, Ria, Ella, Harriet, Thomas, Smith, and Marshall. All
dead but me and Marshall.
"I was fifteen when de Yankees come thru. They took off everything,
hosses, mules, cows, sheep, goats, turkeys, geese, and chickens. Hogs?
Yes sah, they kill hogs and take off what parts they want and leave
other parts bleedin' on de yard. When they left, old marster have to go
up into Union County for rations.
"Dat's funny, you wants to set down dere 'bout my courtship and weddin'?
Well, sir, I stay on de old plantation, work for my old marster, de
doctor, and fell head over heels in love wid Carrie. Dere was seven more
niggers a flyin' 'round dat sugar lump of a gal in de night time when I
breezes in and takes charge of de fireside cheer. I knocks one down one
night, kick another out de nex' night, and choke de stuffin' out of one
de nex' night. I landed de three-leg stool on de head of de fourth one,
de last time. Then de others carry deir 'fections to some other place
than Carrie's house. Us have some hard words 'bout my bad manners, but I
told her dat I couldn't 'trol my feelin's wid them fools a settin'
'round dere gigglin' wid her. I go clean crazy!
"Then us git married and go to de ten-acre quarry wid Mr. Anderson. I
work dere a while and then go to Captain Macfie, then to his son, Wade,
and then to Marse Rice Macfie. Then I go back to de quarry, drill and
git out stone. They pay me $3.50 a day 'til de Parr Shoals Power come in
wid 'lectric power drills and I was cut down to eighty cents a day. Then
I say: 'Old grey hoss! Damn 'lectric toolin', I's gwine to leave.' I
went to Hopewell, Virginia, and work wid de DuPonts for five years. War
come on and they ask me to work on de acid area. De atmosphere dere tear
all de skin off my face and arms, but I stuck it out to de end of de big
war, for $7.20 a day. I drunk a good deal of liquor then, but I sent
money to Carrie all de time and fetch her a roll every fourth of July
and on Christmas. After de war they dismantle de plant and I come back
to work for Mr. Eleazer, on de Saluda River for $2.00 a day, for five
years.
"Carrie have chillun by me. Dere was Anderson, my son, ain't see him in
forty years. Essie, my daughter, marry Herbert Perrin. Dora, another
daughter, marry Ed Owens. Ed makes good money workin' at de factory in
Winnsboro. They have seven chillun. Us tries to keep them chillun in
school but they don't have de good times I had when a child, a eatin'
cracklin' bread and buttermilk, liver, pig-tails, hog-ears and turnip
greens.
"Does I 'member anything 'bout de Klu Kluxes? Jesus, yes! My old
marster, de doctor, in goin' 'round, say out loud to people dat Klu
Kluxes was doin' some things they ought not to do, by 'stortin' money
out of niggers just 'cause they could.
"When he was gone to Union one day, a low-down pair of white men come,
wid false faces, to de house and ask where Dick Bell was. Miss Nancy say
her don't know. They go hunt for him. Dick made a bee-line for de
house. They pull out hoss pistols, fust time, 'pow'. Dick run on, secon'
time, 'pow'. Dick run on, third time, 'pow' and as Dick reach de front
yard de ball from de third shot keel him over lak a hit rabbit. Old miss
run out but they git him. Her say: 'I give you five dollars to let him
'lone.' They say: 'Not 'nough.' Her say: 'I give you ten dollars.' They
say: 'Not 'nough.' Her say: 'I give you fifteen dollars.' They say: 'Not
'nough.' Her say: 'I give you twenty-five dollars.' They take de money
and say: 'Us'll be back tomorrow for de other Dick.' They mean Dick
James.
"Nex' day, us see them a comin' again. Dick James done load up de
shotgun wid buckshot. When they was comin' up de front steps, Uncle Dick
say to us all in de big house: 'Git out de way!' De names of de men us
find out afterwards was Bishop and Fitzgerald. They come up de steps,
wid Bishop in de front. Uncle Dick open de door, slap dat gun to his
shoulder, and pull de trigger. Dat man Bishop hollers: 'Oh Lordy.' He
drop dead and lay dere 'til de coroner come. Fitzgerald leap 'way. They
bring Dick to jail, try him right in dat court house over yonder. What
did they do wid him? Well, when Marse Bill Stanton, Marse Elisha
Ragsdale and Miss Nancy tell 'bout it all from de beginnin' to de end,
de judge tell de jury men dat Dick had a right to protect his home, and
hisself, and to kill dat white man and to turn him loose. Dat was de end
of de Klu Kluxes in Fairfield."
Project 1885-1
From Field Notes
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
April 28. 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
FOLK LORE: FOLK TALES (negro)