disremember, unless I die. My mammy and me b'long to Doctor Hunter,
some called him Major Hunter. When I was a small boy, I lived wid my
mammy on de Hunter plantation. After freedom, I took de name of my
daddy, who was a Boulware. He b'long to Reuben Boulware, who had a
plantation two and one-half miles from Ridgeway, S. C., on de road dat
leads to Longtown. My mistress' name was Effie. She and marster had four
sons, no girls a-tall. George, Abram, Willie, and Henry, was their
names. They was fine boys, 'cause they was raised by Mistress Effie's
own hands. She was a good woman and done things 'zackly right 'round de
plantation. Us slaves loved her, 'cause she said kind and soft words to
us. Many times I's seen her pat de little niggers on de head, smile and
say nice words to them. Boss, kind treatment done good then and it sho'
does good dis present day; don't you think I's right 'bout dat? Marster
had a bad temper. When he git mad, he walk fast, dis way and dat way,
and when he stop, would say terrible cuss words. When de mistress heard
them bad words, she would bow her pretty head and walk 'way kinda sad
lak. It hurt us slaves to see de mistress sad, 'cause us wanted to see
her smilin' and happy all de time.
"My mammy worked hard in de field every day and as I was just a small
boy, I toted water to de hands in de field and fetched wood into de
kitchen to cook wid. Mammy was de mother of twelve chillun; three of
them die when they was babies. I's de oldest of de twelve and has done
more hard work than de rest. I had five brothers and all of them is
dead, 'cept one dat lives in Savannah, Georgia. I has four sisters, one
living in Charleston, one in New York City, one in Ithaca, N. Y., and
one in Fairfield County, dis State.
"Does my folks help me along any? No sir, they sho' don't. I gits
nothin' from them, and I don't expect nothin' neither. Boss, a nigger's
kinfolks is worse than a stranger to them; they thinks and acts for
theirselves and no one else. I knows I's a nigger and I tries to know my
place. If white folks had drapped us long time ago, us would now be next
to de rovin' beasts of de woods. Slavery was hard I knows but it had to
be, it seem lak. They tells me they eats each other in Africa. Us don't
do dat and you knows dat is a heap to us.
"Us had plenty to eat in slavery time. It wasn't de best but it filled
us up and give us strength 'nough to work. Marster would buy a years
rations on de first of every year and when he git it, he would have some
cooked and would set down and eat a meal of it. He would tell us it
didn't hurt him, so it won't hurt us. Dats de kind of food us slaves had
to eat all de year. Of course, us got a heap of vegetables and fruits in
de summer season, but sich as dat didn't do to work on, in de long
summer days.
"Marster was good, in a way, to his slaves but dat overseer of his name
John Parker, was mean to us sometimes. He was good to some and bad to
others. He strung us up when he done de whippin'. My mammy got many
whippin's on 'count of her short temper. When she got mad, she would
talk back to de overseer, and dat would make him madder than anything
else she could do.
"Marster had over twenty grown slaves all de time. He bought and sold
them whenever he wanted to. It was sad times to see mother and chillun
separated. I's seen de slave speculator cut de little nigger chillun
with keen leather whips, 'cause they'd cry and run after de wagon dat
was takin' their mammies away after they was sold.
"De overseer was poor white folks, if dats what you is askin' 'bout,
and dat is one thing dat made him so hard on de slaves of de plantation.
All de overseers I knowed 'bout was poor white folks; they was white
folks in de neighborhood dat wasn't able to own slaves. All dis class of
people was called by us niggers, poor white folks.
"Us slaves had no schoolin', 'cause dere was no teacher and school nigh
our plantation. I has learnt to read a little since I got grown.
Spelling come to me natural. I can spell 'most any word I hears, old as
I is.
"Marster and mistress was Baptist in 'ligious faith, and b'long to
Concord Baptist Church. Us slaves was allowed to 'tend dat church, too.
Us set up in de gallery and jined in de singin' every Sunday. Us slaves
could jine Concord Church but Doctor Durham, who was de preacher, would
take de slaves in another room from de white folks, and git their
'fessions, then he would jine them to de church.
"My daddy was a slave on Reuben Boulware's plantation, 'bout two miles
from Marster Hunter's place. He would git a pass to come to see mammy
once every week. If he come more than dat he would have to skeedaddle
through de woods and fields from de patrollers. If they ketched him
widout a pass, he was sho' in for a skin crackin' whippin'. He knowed
all dat but he would slip to see mammy anyhow, whippin' or not.
"Most them there patrollers was poor white folks, I believes. Rich folks
stay in their house at night, 'less they has some sort of big frolic
amongst theirselves. Poor white folks had to hustle 'round to make a
living, so, they hired out theirselves to slave owners and rode de roads
at night and whipped niggers if they ketched any off their plantation
widout a pass. I has found dat if you gives to some poor folks, white
or black, something a little better than they is used to, they is sho'
gwine to think too high of theirselves soon, dats right. I sho' believes
dat, as much as I believes I's setting in dis chair talkin' to you.
"I 'members lak yesterday, de Yankees comin' 'long. Marster tried to
hide the best stuff on de plantation but some of de slaves dat helped
him hide it, showed de Yankee soldiers just where it was, when they come
dere. They say: 'Here is de stuff, hid here, 'cause us put it dere.'
Then de soldiers went straight to de place where de valuables was hid
and dug them out and took them, it sho' set old marster down. Us slaves
was sorry dat day for marster and mistress. They was gittin' old, and
now they had lost all they had, and more that dat, they knowed their
slaves was set free. De soldiers took all de good hosses, fat cattle,
chickens, de meat in de smoke house, and then burnt all empty houses.
They left de ones dat folks lived in. De Yankees 'pear to me, to be
lookin' for things to eat, more than anything else.
"Does I believe in 'ligion? Dat is all us has in dis world to live by
and it's gwine to be de onliest thing to die wid. Belief in God and a
'umble spirit is how I's tryin' to live these days. I was christened
fust a Methodist, but when I growed up, I jine de Presbyterian Church
and has 'mained a member of dat church every since.
"Thank God I's had 'nough sense not to believe in haunts and sich
things. I has 'possum hunt at night by myself in graveyards and I ain't
seen one yet. My mammy say she see haunts pass her wid no heads but
these old eyes has never seen anything lak dat. If you has done somebody
a terrible wrong, then I believes dat person when they die, will 'pear
to you on 'count of dat."
Project 1885-1
Folklore
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
Feb. 7, 1938
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
REMINISCENCES: THE RED SHIRTS
[~HW: Boy~]
"The Red Shirts had a big parade and barbecue in Spartanburg. They met
at the courthouse. There were about 500 Red Shirts, besides others who
made up a big crowd. I remember four leaders who came from Union County.
One of the companies was led by Squire Gilliam Jeter, and one by Squire
Bill Lyles. The company from the city was led by Capt. James Douglass
and 'Buck' Kelley from Pea Ridge was there with his company.
"Everything drilled in Spartanburg that day. The speakers of the day
from Union were Squire Jeter and Capt. Douglass. While they were
speaking, old Squire George Tucker from lower Fish Dam came with his
company. Mr. Harrison Sartor, father of Will Sartor, was one of the
captains. We saw Gen. Wade Hampton and old man Ben Tillman there.
"About this time I was bound out to Mr. Jim Gregory, a blacksmith. The
wealthy landlords bought negroes. Mr. Jim Gregory was the blacksmith for
old Johnny Meador and Aunt Polly, his wife. He told me that Uncle Johnny
bought a man, Heath, for $3,500. He also bought Heath's wife, Morrow,
for Aunt Polly, but I don't know what he paid. The Meador house is just
this side of Simstown. Aunt Polly's father, Triplett Meador, built that
mansion. The brick were made in a home kiln which was near the house.
Aunt Polly was a little girl when the house was built. While the brick
for the sitting-room fireplace were still wet, he made little Polly step
on each one of them to make the impression of her feet. So those foot
prints in that fireplace are Aunt Polly's when she was five years old.
She grew up there and married, and lived there until her death.
"Miss Ida Knight's house (formerly the Sims house) was built not later
than 1840. Dr. Thompson lived there first. Dr. Billy Sims married Dr.
Thompson's sister, Miss Patsy, and that is how the house got into the
Sims family. The old post office was known as Simstown, and I believe it
was up near the Nat Gist mansion. Simstown was the name for the river
community for years, because the Sims settled there and they were
equally or more prominent than the Thompsons and Gists in that
community. All the Sims men were country doctors.
"To this community at the close of the Confederate War, came old man
Ogle Tate, his wife, and Ben Shell, as refugees, fleeing from the
Yankees. When they came into the community, Nat Gist gave them a nice
house to live in on his plantation.
"Mr. Gregory got all the sheet iron used on the Meador and Gist
plantations, and also on the Sims and Thompson plantations. Plows were
made in his blacksmith shop from 10 inch sheet iron. The sheet was
heated and beaten into shape with his hammer. After cooling, the tools
could be sharpened. Horse and mule shoes were made from slender iron
rods, bought for that purpose. They were called 'slats', and this grade
of iron was known as 'slat iron'. The shoe was moulded while hot, and
beaten into the correct shape to fit the animal's foot. Those old shoes
fit much better than the store-bought ones of more recent days. The
horseshoe nails were made there, too. In fact, every farm implement of
iron was made from flat or sheet iron.
"I spun the first pants that I wore. Ma sewed them for me, and wove and
finished them with her hands. She made the thread that they were sewed
with by hand on the loom. I made cloth for all my shirts. I wore
home-made cotton underwear in summer and winter, for we were poor. Of
course my winter clothes were heavier.
"We raised some sheep, and the winter woolens were made from the wool
sheared from the sheep every May. Wool was taken to the factory at
Bivensville and there made into yarn. Often, cotton was swapped for yarn
to warp at home. Then ma ran it off on spools for her loom. 'Sleigh
hammers' were made from cane gotten off the creek banks and bottoms.
"Aunt Polly Meador had no patrollers on her place. She would not allow
one there, for she did her own patrolling with her own whip and two bull
dogs. She never had an overseer on her place, either. Neither did she
let Uncle Johnny do the whipping. Those two dogs held them and she did
her own whipping. One night she went to the quarter and found old 'Bill
Pea Legs' there after one of her negro women. He crawled under the bed
when he heard Aunt Polly coming. Those dogs pulled old 'Pea Legs' out
and she gave him a whipping that he never forgot. She whipped the woman,
also.
"Morg was Morrow's nickname. Morg used to sit on the meat block and cut
the meat for Aunt Polly to give out. Morg would eat her three pounds of
raw meat right there. Uncle Johnny asked her what she would do all the
week without any meat, she said that she would take the skin and grease
her mouth every morning; then go on to the field or house and do her
work, and wait until the next Saturday for more.
"I do not know how old I am, but I well remember when Wheeler's men came
to the plantation. They tore up everything. We heard that they were
coming, so we dug holes and buried the meat and everything we could. We
hid them so well that we could never find some of them ourselves.
Wheeler and 36 men stopped on the Dick Jeter place. I think that was in
1864. The Jeter place touched Miss Polly's plantation. The Jeter place
was right near Neal Shoals on Broad River. Mr. Jeter had the biggest gin
house in the entire township. Old Mr. Dick was at home because he was
too old to go to the war. Pa was still in the war then, of course. Ma
and I and one of the other children and a few darkies were at our home.
"We saw Wheeler and his men when they stopped at that gin house. They
began to ransack immediately. Wheeler gave some orders to his men and
galloped off towards our house. The negroes ran but ma and I stayed in
the house. Wheeler rode up in front of the door and spoke to my mother.
He said that he had to feed his men and horses and asked her where the
corn was. She told him that the gin house and the crib which contained
the corn did not belong to her, so she could not give him the keys. At
that he ordered his men to remove a log from the crib. By this means
they broke into the crib and got all the corn. They then ransacked the
house and took everything there was to eat. They tore out the big cog
wheel in the gin and camped in it for the night. Next morning they set
fire to the gin and then galloped away. Soon Mr. Jeter's big gin had
gone up in flames. They took all of our corn and all of the fodder, 200
bundles that we had in the barn, away with them."
Source: Mr. John Boyd, County Home, Union, R. F. D.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S. C. 1/26/38
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg Dist. 4
May 24, 1937
Edited by: Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I was born in Newberry County, near the Laurens County line, above
Little River. Me and my mother belonged to the Workman family.
Afterwards, I belonged to Madison Workman. He was a good man to his
slaves. My work was around the house and home. I was too young to work
in the fields until after the war.
"I can't remember much about them times. I married there and soon after
come to town and lived, where I have worked ever since. I do washing and
other work.
"On the farm, the old folks had to cook outdoors, or in a kitchen away
off from the house. They had wide fireplaces where they put their pots
to cook the meals.
"I remember the old Little River Presbyterian Church where people would
go on Sundays. They would go in the mornings, and again in the
afternoons and have preaching."
Source: Jane Bradley (80), Newberry, S. C.
Interviewer: G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C. May 17, 1937
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
ANDY BRICE
EX-SLAVE 81 YEARS OLD.
Andy Brice lives with his wife and two small children, about twelve
miles east of Ridgeway, S. C., in a two-room frame building, chimney in
the center. The house is set in a little cluster of pines one hundred
and fifty yards north of state highway #34. Andy, since the amputation
of his right leg five years ago, has done no work and is too old to
learn a trade. He has a regular beggar's route including the towns of
Ridgeway, Winnsboro, Woodward, and Blackstock. His amiability and good
nature enable him to go home after each trip with a little money and a
pack of miscellaneous gifts from white friends.
"Howdy Cap'n! I come to Winnsboro dis mornin' from way 'cross Wateree,
where I live now 'mongst de bull-frogs and skeeters. Seem lak they just
sing de whole night thru: 'De bull-frog on de bank, and de skeeter in de
pool.' Then de skeeter sail 'round my face wid de tra la, la la la, la
la la part of dat old song you is heard, maybe many times.
"I see a spit-box over dere. By chance, have you got any 'bacco? Make me
more glib if I can chew and spit; then I 'members more and better de
things done past and gone.
"I was a slave of Mistress Jane. Her was a daughter of old Marster
William Brice. Her marry Henry Younge and mammy was give to Marse Henry
and Miss Jane.
"My pappy name Tony. Mammy name Sallie. You is seen her a many a day.
Marse Henry got kilt in de war. His tombstone and Mistress Jane's
tombstone am in Concord Cemetery. They left two chillun, Miss Kittie and
Miss Maggie. They both marry a Caldwell; same name but no kin. Miss
Kittie marry Marse Joe Caldwell and move to Texas. Miss Maggie marry
Marse Camel Caldwell and move to North Carolina.
"My pappy die durin' de war. After freedom, mammy marry a ugly, no
'count nigger name Mills Douglas. She had one child by him, name Janie.
My mammy name her dat out of memory and love for old mistress, in
slavery time. I run away from de home of my step-pappy and got work wid
Major Thomas Brice. I work for him 'til I become a full grown man and
come to be de driver of de four-hoss wagon.
"One day I see Marse Thomas a twistin' de ears on a fiddle and rosinin'
de bow. Then he pull dat bow 'cross de belly of dat fiddle. Sumpin' bust
loose in me and sing all thru my head and tingle in my fingers. I make
up my mind, right then and dere, to save and buy me a fiddle. I got one
dat Christmas, bless God! I learn and been playin' de fiddle ever since.
I pat one foot while I playin'. I kept on playin' and pattin' dat foot
for thirty years. I lose dat foot in a smash up wid a highway accident
but I play de old tunes on dat fiddle at night, dat foot seem to be dere
at de end of dat leg (indicating) and pats just de same. Sometime I
ketch myself lookin' down to see if it have come back and jined itself
up to dat leg, from de very charm of de music I makin' wid de fiddle and
de bow.
"I never was very popular wid my own color. They say behind my back, in
'76, dat I's a white folks nigger. I wear a red shirt then, drink red
liquor, play de fiddle at de 'lection box, and vote de white folks
ticket. Who I marry? I marry Ellen Watson, as pretty a ginger cake
nigger as ever fried a batter cake or rolled her arms up in a wash tub.
How I git her? I never git her; dat fiddle got her. I play for all de
white folks dances down at Cedar Shades, up at Blackstock. De money roll
in when someone pass 'round de hat and say: 'De fiddler?' Ellen had more
beaux 'round her than her could shake a stick at but de beau she lak
best was de bow dat could draw music out of them five strings, and draw
money into dat hat, dat jingle in my pocket de nex' day when I go to see
her.
"I 'members very little 'bout de war, tho' I was a good size boy when de
Yankees come. By instint, a nigger can make up his mind pretty quick
'bout de creed of white folks, whether they am buckra or whether they am
not. Every Yankee I see had de stamp of poor white trash on them. They
strutted 'round, big Ike fashion, a bustin' in rooms widout knockin',
talkin' free to de white ladies, and familiar to de slave gals,
ransackin' drawers, and runnin' deir bayonets into feather beds, and
into de flower beds in de yards.
"What church I b'long to? None. Dat fiddle draws down from hebben all de
sermons dat I understan'. I sings de hymns in de way I praise and
glorify de Lord.
"Cotton pickin' was de biggest work I ever did, outside of drivin' a
wagon and playin' de fiddle. Look at them fingers; they is supple. I
carry two rows of cotton at a time. One week I pick, in a race wid
others, over 300 pounds a day. Commencin' Monday, thru Friday night, I
pick 1,562 pounds cotton seed. Dat make a bale weighin' 500 pounds, in
de lint.
"Ellen and me have one child, Sallie Ann. Ellen 'joy herself; have a
good time nussin' white folks chillun. Nussed you; she tell me 'bout it
many time. 'Spect she mind you of it very often. I knows you couldn't
git 'round dat woman; nobody could. De Lord took her home fifteen years
ago and I marry a widow, Ida Belton, down on de Kershaw County side.
"You wants me to tell 'bout dat 'lection day at Woodward, in 1878? You
wants to know de beginnin' and de end of it? Yes? Well, you couldn't wet
dis old man's whistle wid a swallow of red liquor now? Couldn't you or
could you? Dis was de way of it: It was set for Tuesday. Monday I drive
de four-hoss wagon down to dis very town. Marse John McCrory and Marse
Ed Woodward come wid me. They was in a buggy. When us got here, us got
twenty, sixteen shooters and put them under de hay us have in de wagon.
Bar rooms was here. I had fetched my fiddle 'long and played in Marse
Fred Habernick's bar 'til dinner time. Us leave town 'bout four o'clock.
Roads was bad but us got home 'bout dark. Us put de guns in Marse Andy
Mobley's store. Marse Ed and me leave Marse John to sleep in de store
and to take care of de guns.
"De nex' mornin', polls open in de little school house by de brick
church. I was dere on time, help to fix de table by de window and set de
ballot boxes on it. Voters could come to de window, put deir arms thru
and tuck de vote in a slit in de boxes. Dere was two supervisors, Marse
Thomas for de Democrats and Uncle Jordan for de Radicals. Marse Thomas
had a book and a pencil, Uncle Jordan had de same.
"Joe Foster, big buckra nigger, want to vote a stranger. Marse Thomas
challenge dis vote. In them times colored preachers so 'furiate de
women, dat they would put on breeches and vote de 'Publican radical
ticket. De stranger look lak a woman. Joe Foster 'spute Marse Thomas'
word and Marse Thomas knock him down wid de naked fist. Marse Irish
Billy Brice, when him see four or five hindred blacks crowdin' 'round
Marse Thomas, he jump thru de window from de inside. When he lit on de
ground, pistol went off pow! One nigger drop in his tracks. Sixteen men
come from nowhere and sixteen, sixteen shooters. Marse Thomas hold up
his hand to them and say: 'Wait!' Him point to de niggers and say:
'Git.' They start to runnin' 'cross de railroad, over de hillside and
never quit runnin' 'til they git half a mile away. De only niggers left
on dat ground was me, old Uncle Kantz, (you know de old mulatto,
club-foot nigger) well, me and him and Albert Gladney, de hurt nigger
dat was shot thru de neck was de only niggers left. Dr. Tom Douglas took
de ball out Albert's neck and de white folks put him in a wagon and sent
him home. I drive de wagon. When I got back, de white boys was in de
graveyard gittin' names off de tombstones to fill out de talley sheets,
dere was so many votes in de box for de Hampton ticket, they had to vote
de dead. I 'spect dat was one resurrection day all over South
Carolina."
Project 1885-1
Folklore
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
Nov. 10, 1937
Edited by: Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I is gwine over to Tosch to see Maria. Everybody know Maria. She go by
Rice--Maria Rice. She sont fer me to cure her misery. First, I went from
my home in lower Cross Keys, across de Enoree, to see Maria. When I
reached dar whar she stay, dey tell me dat her daughter over to Tosch.
Done come and got her.
"A kind friend dat de Lawd put in my path fetched me back across de
Enoree and over to Tosch to Maria's gal's house. I is gwine straight
over dar and lay my hand on Maria and rid her of dat misery dat she sont
word was ailing her all dis spring. Don't make no diff'uns whar you
hurts--woman, man or suckling babe--if you believes in de holler of my
hand, it'll ease you, allus do it. De Bible say so, dat's why it be
true. Ain't gwine to tell you nothing but de truth and de whole truth,
so help me Jesus. Gone 65 years, I is been born agin dat long; right
over in Padgett's Creek church, de white folks' church, dat's what de
Lawd tuck my sins away and washed me clean agin wid His blood. Dat's why
I allus sticks to de truth, I does.
"Dey all 'lows dat I is gwine on 89, and I has facts to believe it am
true. I 'longed to Marse Jesse Briggs. Did you know dat it was two Jesse
Briggs? Yes sir, sho was two Jesse Briggses.
"What I gwine to relate to you is true, but in respect to my old Marse,
and in de case dat dem what reads dat book won't understand, you needs
not to write dis statement down. My marster was called 'Black Jesse',
but de reason fer dat was to keep him from gitting mixed up wid de other
Jesse. Dat is de secret of de thing. Now dat's jes' fer your own light
and knowledge, and not to be wrote down. He was de blacksmith fer all de
Cross Keys section, and fer dat very thing he got de name by everybody,
'Black Jesse'. I allus 'longed to dat man and he was de kindest man what
de countryside had knowledge of.
"In Union County is whar I was born and raised, and it's whar I is gwine
to be buried. Ain't never left de county but once in my life, and if de
Lawd see fitten, I ain't gwine to leave it no mo', 'cept to reach de
Promise Land. Lawd! Lawd! De Promise Land, dat's whar I is gwine when I
leaves Union County. Dey carried me a hundred miles to cure a sick
woman, onliest time I ever left Union County. I loves it and I is fit
throughout and enduring de time dem Yankees tried to git de county, to
save it. What is I gwine to leave it fer? Mr. Perrin and all de white
folks is good to me since my marse done gone and left his earthly home.
And he is waiting up dar wid Missie to see me agin. Dat I is sho of.