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?'
'I'se jes' so so'.
'Uh-huh'.
"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.
"When a slave got sick we sent for the doctor. We never put much store
in herb root tea and such like.
"The Yankees went through Maybinton but didn't get over as far as us.
Some say they stole cattle and burned ginhouses.
"Squire Kenner was killed in the war, and when the war was over we
stayed on with de mistress; she was like a mamma. She had a son who was
killed in the war, too. Another son lived there and we worked for him
after Mistress died, but he soon moved far away and sold out his
plantation. His name was Howsen Kenner.
"I married Walter Cain at Mr. Walter Spearman's house, a good white man,
and the white folks give us a good supper after the wedding. I had one
child, 2 grandchildren, and one great-grand-child. I joined the church
before I married 'cause I wanted to do better, do right and live right,
and get religion. I think everybody ought to join the church and live
right. That is the reason the Lord blesses me in lots of ways today. We
had good time in slavery--sometimes I wish I was back there--would have
somebody to take of you and help you. If my mistress was living I would
rather be back in slavery."
Source: Granny Cain (90), RFD, Newberry; by G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C.
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg Dist. 4
Sept. 22, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I was born near the village of Maybinton, and lived on old Squire
Kenner's plantation. Squire Kenner and his wife, mistress Lucy, was good
to me. My mistress was so good I wish I was living with her now, I sho
wouldn't have such a hard time getting something to eat. I am old and
have rheumatism and can't get about good now.
"I live with some of my grand children, but they can't make so much for
us. We manage to eat, though. We rent a two-room house about two miles
from Newberry Courthouse.
"I don't know nothing about 40 acres of land for the slaves after the
war. We just stayed on with the master 'til he died, for wages; then we
hired out to other people for wages. I don't know nothing 'bout slaves
voting after the war. There was no slave up-risings then in our section.
"Ever since the war was over, the slaves have worked for wages on
plantations or moved to town and got little jobs here and there where
they could. Some of the slaves would rent small farms from land owners
or work the farms on shares. None of the slaves in our section come from
Virginia."
Source: "Granny" Cain (90), Newberry County, S. C.
Interviewer: G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C. 8/10/37.
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg Dist. 4
May 24, 1937
Edited by: Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I was born in Union County, S. C., not far from the ferry on Tyger
River. My mother was a slave of George R. Tucker who lived on the Enoree
River. I can't remember slavery times nor the war; but I remember about
the end of the war when everybody was coming home.
"My mother was a weaver, going to the white folks' houses and weaving
clothes for them for small pay. Carding and spinning was done by all the
white families at home.
"The farms had large gardens and raised most everything to eat. Large
patches of turnips, cabbage and green vegetables was the custom at that
time."
Source: Laura Caldwell (77), Newberry, S. C.
Interviewer: G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C. May 20, 1937
Project 1885-1
Folklore
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
Dec. 15, 1937
Edited by: Elmer Turnage
[~HW: (Caldwell~]
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"I own a little farm, about 22 acres, and I live on it wid my wife. I
ain't been married but once, but we had 15 chilluns. Dey is all done
married and left us. I is gitting so I can't do much work any more,
'specially plowing. I lives below Prosperity. I was born above dar, near
Beaver Dam Creek on de old Davenport place.
"My daddy was Alfred Caldwell and my mammy was Suella Caldwell. She was
a Nelson. Dem and me belonged to Marse Gillam Davenport. Marse Gillam
sho was rapid. I saw him whip my mammy till you couldn't put a hand on
her shoulder and back widout touching a whelp. Marse Gillam killed a man
and dey put him in Jail in Newberry, but he died befo' de trial come
off. Atter dat, I was put in de hands of his son, Sam Davenport. Dis was
atter freedom come. He was a purty good man, but my mammy was always
careful. At night she say, 'Come in chilluns, I got to fasten de do'
tight.' We lived in a little log house den. When we moved from dar we
went to Dr. Welch's place, jes' dis side of it.
"De niggers never had any churches till atter de war; den dey used brush
arbors or some old broke-down log house. We never had schools den, not
till later. I never had a chance to go a-tall.
"I 'member de Ku Klux and how dey rid around in white sheets, killing
all de niggers. De Red Shirts never killed but dey sometimes whipped
niggers. My daddy voted de Republican ticket den, but I know'd two
niggers dat was Democrats and rode wid de Red Shirts. Dey was old Zeb
and old Jeff Bozard.
"We had a big camp meeting sometimes at a log house dat was called
'Hannah's Church'. It was named for a nigger man of slavery time. He
bought de land for de church when freedom come and give it to dem. Dis
church is on de other side of Bush River, near Mr. Boulware's place.
"In old times we had plenty to eat dat we raised on de farm. We had
gardens, too. We raised hogs and made our own flour. We never worked on
Saturday afternoons and Sundays. On Christmas we got together and tried
to have extra things to eat, and maybe a few drinks.
"In old times we had lots of corn-shuckings and log-rollings. De niggers
all around would come and help, den we would git a feast of lamb or pig
that was cooked while we was working.
"Some old folks use to make medicines out of herbs. I 'member my ma
would take fever grass and boil it to tea and have us drink it to keep
de fever away. She used branch elder twigs and dogwood berries for
chills. Another way to stop chills from coming was to dip a string in
turpentine, keep it tied around de waist and tie a knot in it every time
you had a chill.
"Abraham Lincoln was a good man. Seems like all de niggers loved him
lots. I don't know much about Jefferson Davis. Booker Washington was a
good man. I 'member he was once in Newberry and I heard him preach in de
old courthouse. (?)
"I joined de church when I was 12 years old. In dem days de old folks
made chillun go to church when dey was 12 years old, and join den. Dat
was de reason I joined. I was a Methodist but I joined de Baptist later,
because, well, I saw dat was de right way."
Source: Solomon Caldwell (73), Newberry, S. C. RFD
Interviewer: G. L. Summer, Newberry, S. C. 12/7/37.
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon,
Winnsboro, S. C.
NELSON CAMERON
EX-SLAVE 81 YEARS.
Nelson Cameron and his wife, Mary, together with a widowed daughter,
Rose, and her six children, live in a four-room frame house, two miles
south of Woodward, S. C., about sixty yards east of US highway #21. He
cultivates about eighty acres of land, on shares of the crop, for Mr.
Brice, the land owner. He is a good, respectable, cheerful old darkey,
and devoted to his wife and grandchildren.
"Marse Wood, Ned Walker, a old Gaillard nigger says as how he was down
here t'other day sellin' chickens, where he got them chickens I's not
here for to say, and say you wanna see me. I's here befo' you and pleads
guilty to de charge dat I'm old, can't work much any longer, and is poor
and needy.
"You sees dere's a window pane out of my britches seat and drainage
holes in both my shoes, to let de sweat out when I walks to Bethel
Church on Sunday. Whut can you and Mr. Roosevelt do for dis old
Izrallite a passin' thru de wilderness on de way to de Promise Land? Lak
to have a little manna and quail, befo' I gits to de river Jordan.
"My old marster name Sam Brice. His wife, my mistress, tho' fair as de
lily of de valley and cheeks as pink as de rose of Sharon, is called
'Darkie.' Dat always seem a misfit to me. Lily or Rose or Daisy would
have suited her much more better, wid her laces, frills, flounces, and
ribbons. Her mighty good to de slaves. Take deir part 'ginst de marster
sometime, when him want to whup them. Sometime I sit on de door-steps
and speculate in de moonlight whut de angels am like and everytime, my
mistress is de picture dat come into dis old gray head of mine. You say
you don't want po'try, you wants facts?
"Well, here de facts: My mammy name Clara. Don't forgit dat. I come back
to her directly. My young mistress was Miss Maggie. Her marry Marse
Robert Clowney; they call him 'Red-head Bob.' Him have jet red hair. Him
was 'lected and went to de Legislature once. No go back; he say dere too
much ding dong do-nuttin' foolishness down dere for him to leave home
and stay 'way from de wife and chillun half de winter months.
"Marse Sam never have so pow'ful many slaves. Seem lak dere was more
women and chillun than men. In them days, pa tell me, a white man raise
niggers just lak a man raise horses or cows. Have a whole lot of mares
and 'pendin' on other man to have de stallion. Fust thing you know dere
would be a whole lot of colts kickin' up deir heels on de place. Lakwise
a white man start out wid a few women folk slaves, soon him have a
plantation full of little niggers runnin' 'round in deir shirt-tails and
a kickin' up deir heels, whilst deir mammies was in de field a hoeing
and geeing at de plow handles, workin' lak a man. You ketch de point?
Well I's one of them little niggers. My pa name Vander. Him b'long to
one of de big bugs, old Marse Gregg Cameron. Marse Gregg, him 'low,
always have more money and niggers than you could shake a stick at, more
land than you could walk over in a day, and more cuss words than you
could find in de dictionary. His bark was worser than his bite, tho'. Pa
was de tan-yard man; he make leather and make de shoes for de
plantation. After freedom date, de way he make a livin' for mammy and us
chillun was by makin' boots and shoes and half solin' them for white
folks at Blackstock, S. C. Marse Sam Brice mighty glad for mammy to
contact sich a man to be de pappy of her chillun.
"Us live in a log house wid a little porch in front and de mornin' glory
vines use to climb 'bout it. When they bloom, de bees would come a
hummin' 'round and suck de honey out de blue bells on de vines. I
'members dat well 'nough, dat was a pleasant memory. Is I told you my
mammy name Clara? My brothers and sisters, who they? George dead, Calvin
dead, Hattie (name for pa's young mistress) dead, Samson, who got his
ear scald off in a pot of hot water, is dead, too. I's existing still. I
did mighty little work in slavery times. 'Members not much 'bout de
Yankees.
"Freedom come, pa come straight as a martin to his gourd, to mammy and
us pickaninnies. They send us to school at Blackstock and us walk
fourteen miles, and back, every day to school. At school I meets Mary
Stroud, a gal comin' from de Gaillard quarter. Her eyes was lak twin
stars. Her hair lak a swarm of bees. All my studyin' books was changed
to studyin' how to git dat swarm of bees in a hive by myself. One day I
walk home from school with her and git old Uncle Tom Walker to marry us,
for de forty cents I saved up. Us happy ever since. Nex' year I work for
Ben Calvin, a colored man on de Cockerell place, jinin' de Gaillard
place. Us did dat to be near her pappy, Uncle Morris Stroud.