knos what dat is, don't you? Yes sir, it wuz on Marse Johnson D.
Coleman's plantation. And he had a plantation! Dese niggers here in
Carlisle--and niggers is all dey is too--dey don't know what no
plantation is. When I got big enough fer to step around, from de very
fus, my maw took me in de big house. It still dat, cep it done bout fell
down now, to what it wuz then. But some of Marse's folks, dey libs down
dar still. Den you see, dey is like dese white folks up 'round here now.
Dey ain't got no big money like dey had when I wuz a runnin' up. Time I
got big enough fer to run aroun' in my shirt tail, my maw, she lowed one
night to my paw, when he wuz settin by de fire, dat black little nigger
over dar, he got to git hissef some pants kaise I'se gwine to put him up
over de white fokes table. In dem times de doos and winders, dey nebber
had no screen wire up to dem like dey is now. Fokes didn't know nothin
bout no such as dat den. My Marster and all de other big white fokes,
dey raised pea fowls. Is yu ebber seed any? Well, ev'y spring us little
niggers, we coch dem wild things at night. Dey could fly like a buzzard.
Dey roosted up in de pine trees, right up in de tip top. So de Missus,
she hab us young uns clam up dar and git 'em when dey first took roost.
Us would clam down and my maw, she would pull de long feathers out'n de
tails. Fer weeks de cocks, dey wouldn't let nobody see 'em if dey could
help it. Dem birds is sho proud. When dey is got de feathers, dey jus
struts on de fences, and de fences wuz rail in dem days. If'n dey could
see dereself in a puddle o' water after a rain, dey would stay dar all
day a struttin' and carring on like nobody's business. Yes sir, dem wuz
purty birds. After us got de feathers, de Missus, she'ud low dat all de
nigger gals gwine to come down in de wash house and make fly brushes.
Sometime de Missus 'ud gib some of de gals some short feathers to put in
dere Sunday hats. When dem gals got dem hats on, I used to git so
disgusted wid 'em I'd leave 'em at church and walk home by my sef.
Anyway, by dat time all de new fly brushes wuz made and de Missus, she
hab fans make from de short feathers for de white fokes to fan de air
wid on hot days. Lawdy, I'se strayed fur from what I had started out fer
to tell you. But I knowed dat you young fokes didn't know nothin' bout
all dat. In dem days de dining room wuz big and had de windows open all
de summer long, and all de doos stayed streched too. Quick as de mess of
victuals began to come on de table, a little nigger boy was put up in de
swing, I calls it, over de table to fan de flies and gnats off'en de
Missus' victuals. Dis swing wuz just off'n de end of de long table. Some
of de white fokes had steps a leadin' up to it. Some of 'em jus had de
little boys maws to fech de young'uns up dar till dey got fru; den dey
wuz fetched down again.
"Well, when I got my pants, my maw fetched me in and I clumb up de steps
dat Marse Johnson had, to git up in his swing wid. At fus, dey had to
show me jus how to hole de brush, kaise dem peacock feathers wuz so
long, iffen you didn't mind your bizness, de ends of dem feathers would
splash in de gravy er sumpin nother, and den de Missus table be all
spattered up. Some o' de Marsters would whorp de nigger chilluns fer dat
carelessness, but Marse Johnson, he always good to his niggers. Mos de
white fokes good to de niggers round bout whar I comes from.
"It twad'nt long for I got used to it and I nebber did splash de
feathers in no rations. But iffen I got used to it, I took to agoin to
sleep up thar. Marse Johnson, he would jus git up and wake me up. All de
white fokes at de table joke me so bout bein' so lazy, I soon stop dat
foolishness. My maw, she roll her eyes at me when I come down atter de
marster had to wake me up. Dat change like ever thing else. When I got
bigger, I got to be house boy. Dey took down de swing and got a little
gal to stand jus 'hind de Missus' chair and fan dem flies. De Missus low
to Marse Johnson dat de style done change when he want to know how come
she took de swing down. So dat is de way it is now wid de wimmen, dey
changes de whole house wid de style; but I tells my chilluns, ain't no
days like de ole days when I wuz a shaver.
"Atter de war, I come up to Shelton and got to de 'P' Hamilton place. I
wuz grown den. I seed a young girl dar what dey called 'Evvie'. Her paw,
he had b'longed to de Chicks, so dats who she wuz, Evvie Chick. Dar she
sets in dat room by de fire. Now us got 'leven chilluns. Dey is
scattered all about. Dey is good to us in our ole age. Us riz 'em to
obey de Lawd and mine us. Dats all dey knows, and iffen fokes would do
dat now, dey wouldn't have no sassy chilluns like I sees here in
Carlisle.
"Evvie, what year wuz it we got married? Yes, dat's right. It wuz de
year of de 'shake'. Is you heerd bout de 'shake'? Come out here Evvie
and les tell him dat, kaise dese young fokes doan know nothin'. It wuz
dark, and we wuz eatin' supper, when sumpin started to makin' de dishes
fall out'n de cupboard. At fus we thought it wuz somebody a jumpin' up
and down on de flo. Den we knowed dat it wuz sumpin else er makin' dem
dishes fall out o' de cupboard. At fus we thought it wuz Judgment day,
kaise ev'ry thing started fallin' worser and worser. De dishes fell so
fast you couldn't pick'em up. Some of us went down to de spring. De
white fokes, dey come along wid us and dey make us fetch things from de
big house, like fine china dat de Missus didn't want to git broke up.
She tole us dat it wuz er earthquake and it wasn't no day o' Judgment.
Anyway, we lowed de white fokes might be wrong, so us niggers started to
a prayin', and den all de niggers on de plantation dat heerd us, well de
come along and jined wid us in de prayin' and singin'. Us wuz all a
shakin' mos as bad as de earth wuz, kaise dat wuz a awful time dat we
libbed through fer bout twenty minutes--de white fokes lowed it lasted
only ten, but I ain't sho about dat. When we got back to de big house,
de cupboard in de kitchen had done fell plum' down. In de nigger houses,
de chimneys mos all fell in, and de chicken houses ev'rywhar wuz shuck
down. While we wuz a lookin' aroun, and de wimmen fokes, dey wuz a
takin' on mightily another shake come up. Us all took fer de spring
agin; dis one lasted bout long as de first one. Us prayed and sung and
shouted dis time. It sho stopped de earth a shakin' and a quiverin'
some, kaise dat thing went on fer a whole week; ceptin de furs two wuz
de heaviest. All de other ones wuz lighter. Iffen it hadn't been fur us
all a beggin' de Lawd fer to sho us his mercy, it ain't no tellin' how
bad dem shakes would er been. Miss Becky Levister, you know her, she
live up yander in your uncle John's house now, she wuz wid us. She wuz
jus a little girl den. Her paw wuz Mr. Kelly. He died for ever you wuz
born. Not long ago I seed her. She lowed to me, 'uncle Henry, do you
recollect in de time o' de shake? Lacken she think I'd fergit such as
dat. It wuz in de time o' de worsest things dis ole nigger is ebber seed
hisself, and I is gwine on 82 now. Miss Becky, she wuz a settin' in her
car wid some one drivin' her, but she ain't fergot dis ole nigger. If I
is up town and Miss Becky, she ride by, she look out and lows' 'Howdy
uncle Henry', and I allus looks up and raises my hat. I likes mannerable
white fokes, mysef, and den, I likes mannerable niggers fer as dat goes.
Some of dese fokes, now both white--I hates to say it--and niggers, dey
trys to act like dey ain't got no sense er sumpin'. But you know one
thing I knos real fokes when I sees dem and dey can't fool me."
Aunt Evvie tells the following story about her father, Rufus Chick. The
story is known by all of the reliable white folks of the surrounding
neighborhood also: "My paw, Rufus Chick, lived on the Union side of
Broad River, the latter days of his life. Maj. James B. Steadman had
goats over on Henderson Island that my paw used to care for. He went
over to the Island in a batteau. One afternoon, he and four other
darkies were going over there when the batteau turned over. The four
other men caught to a willow bush and were rescued. My paw could not
swim, and he got drowned. For three weeks they searched for his body,
but they never did find it. Some years after, a body of a darky was
found at the mouth of the canal, down near Columbia. The body was
perfectly petrified. This was my paw's body. The canal authorities sent
the body to a museum in Detroit. It was January 11, 1877 when my father
got drowned.
"When I wuz a young fellow I used to race wid de horses. I wuz de swifes
runner on de plantation. A nigger, Peter Feaster, had a white horse of
his own, and de white fokes used to bet amongst de selves as much as
$20.00 dat I could outrun dat horse. De way us did, wuz to run a hundred
yards one way, turn around and den run back de hundred yards. Somebody
would hold de horse, and another man would pop de whip fer us to start.
Quick as de whip popped, I wuz off. I would git sometimes ten feet ahead
of de horse 'fore dey could git him started. Den when I had got de
hundred yards, I could turn around quicker dan de horse would, and I
would git a little mo' ahead. Corse wid dat, you had to be a swift man
on yer feets to stay head of a fas horse. Peter used to git so mad when
I would beat his ole horse, and den all de niggers would laf at him
kaise de white fokes give me some of de bettin money. Sometimes dey
would bet only $10.00, sometimes, $15 or $20. Den I would race wid de
white fokes horses too. Dey nebber got mad when I come out ahead. After
I got through, my legs used to jus shake like a leaf. So now, I is gib
plum out in dem and I tributes it to dat. Evvie, she lowed when I used
to do dat after we wuz married, dat I wuz gwine to give out in my legs,
and sho nuf I is."
"Uncle" Henry says that his legs have given out in the bone.
Source: Henry Coleman and his wife, Evvie, of Carlisle, S. C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S. C.
Project 1885-1
District #4
Spartanburg, S. C.
May 31, 1937
FOLKLORE: EX-SLAVES
"I was born about 1857 and my wife about 1859. I lived on Squire
Keller's farm, near the Parr place, and after the squire died I belonged
to Mrs. Elizabeth (Wright) Keller. My mother died when I was a boy and
my father was bought and carried to Alabama. My father was Gilliam
Coleman and my mother, Emoline Wright. My master and mistress was good
to me. The old Squire was as fine a man as ever lived on earth. He took
me in his home and took care of me. After the war the mistress stayed on
the place and worked the slaves right on, giving them wages or shares.
"The slaves were not whipped much; I 'member one man was whipped pretty
bad on Maj. Kinard's place. He had a colored man to do whipping for
him--his name was Eph. There was no whiskey on the place, never made
any. Us did cooking in the kitchen wid wide fireplaces.
"When the Yankees came through at the end of the war, they took all the
stock we had. The mistress had a fine horse, its tail touching the
ground, and we all cried when it was taken; but we got it back, as some
men went after it.
"I married in 1874 to Ellen T. Williams. She belonged to Bill Reagan.
After I married I worked in the railroad shops at "Helena", and
sometimes I fired the engine on the road, for about eight years. Then I
went into the ministry. I was called by the Spirit of the Lord,
gradually, and I preached 51 years. I have been superannuated two years.
"I have one child, a son, who is in the pullman service at Washington,
D. C.
"I owned my little house and several acres and am still living on it."
Source: Rev. Tuff Coleman and wife (80 and 78), Newberry, S. C.
Interviewer: G. Leland Summer, Newberry, S. C.
Code No.
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S. C.
Date, May 27, 1937
No. Words ----
Reduced from ---- words
Rewritten by ----
MOM LOUISA COLLIER
Ex-Slave, 78 years.
"I born en raise up dere in Colonel Durant yard en I in my 78th year
now. Dat seem lak I ole, don' it? Coase Colonel Durant hab plenty udder
colored peoples 'sides us, but dey ne'er lib dere in de yard lak we. Dey
lib up in de quarters on de plantation. My pappy name Ben Thompson en he
hadder stay dere close to de big house cause he wus de Colonel driver.
De Colonel hab uh big ole carriage wha' to ride in den. It hab uh little
seat in de front fa my pappy to set in en den it hab two seat 'hind de
driver whey de Colonel en he family is ride. I kin see dat carriage jes
uz good right now dat my white folks hab to carry em whey dey is wanna
go."
"Den my mammy come from de udder side uv Pee Dee en she name, Lidia
Bass. She was de servant 'round de yard dere en dat count fa we to ne'er
stay in de quarters wid de udder colored peoples 'fore freedom declare.
I ne'er hadder do no work long uz I lib dere in de yard cause I ain'
been but five year ole when freedom declare. My grandmammy lib right
dere close us en Colonel Durant hab she jes to look a'ter aw de
plantation chillun when dey parents wuz workin'. Aw uv de plantation
peoples 'ud take dey chillun dere fa my grandmammy to nu'se."
"I 'member one day dere come uh crowd uv peoples dere dat dey tell us
chillun wuz de Yankees. Dey come right dere t'rough de Colonel yard en
when I see em, I wuz 'fraid uv em. I run en hide under my grandmammy
bed. Don' know wha' dey say cause I ain' ge' close 'nough to hear nuthin
wha' dey talk 'bout. De white folks hadder herry (hurry) en put t'ings
in pots en bury em or hide em somewhey when dey hear dat de Yankees wus
comin' cause dey scare dem Yankees might take dey t'ings lak dey is
carry 'way udder folks t'ings. I hear em say dey ne'er take nuthin from
de Colonel but some uv he wood."
"My white folks was well-off peoples en dey ain' ne'er use no harsh
treatment on dey plantation peoples. De Colonel own aw dis land 'bout
here den en he see dat he overseer on de plantation provide plenty uv
eve't'ing us need aw de time. I hear tell 'bout some uv de white folks
'ud beat dey colored peoples mos' to death, but I ain' ne'er see none uv
dat no whey. I is 'member when dey'ud sell some uv de colored peoples
way offen to annuder plantation somewhey. Jes been bid em offen jes lak
dey wuz cattle. Some uv de time dey'ud sell uh man wife 'way en den he
hadder ge' annuder wife."
"A'ter freedom declare, we ne'er lib dere at de big house no more. Move
in de colored settlement en den we ain' eat at de big house no more
neither. Dey le' us hab uh garden uv we own den en raise us own chicken
en aw dat. I 'member de Colonel gi'e us so mucha t'ing eve'y week en it
hadder las' us from one Saturday to de next. My mammy 'ud go to de
Colonel barn eve'y week en ge' she portion uv meal en meat. Dat de way
dey pay de hand fa dey work den. Ne'er gi'e em no money den."
"Peoples wha' lib on Colonel Durant plantation ain' know nuthin but to
lib on de fat uv de land. Dey hab plenty cows den en dey gi'e us plenty
uv milk eve'y day. I 'member we chillun use'er take we tin cup en go up
to de big house en ge' us milk to drink en den some uv de cows 'ud be so
gentle lak dat we chillun is follow em right down side de path. Den when
dere ne'er wuz nobody lak de Colonel overseer 'bout to see us, we is
ketch de cow en ge' some more milk. I al'ays'ud lub to drink me milk dat
way. We is eat plenty green peas en 'tatoes en fish in dem days too en
dey is use 'tatoe pie right smart den."
"Aw de colored peoples on Colonel Durant plantation hab good bed wha' to
sleep on en good clothes to put on dey back. Coase we ne'er hab no
bought fu'niture in dem days, but we hab bedstead wha' dey make right
dere en benches en some uv de time dey is make wha' dey call 'way back
chair. Den we is make us own bed outer hay cause de white folks ne'er
spare de colored peoples no cotton den. Hadder cut de hay in de fall uv
de year en dry it jes lak dey dries it fa to feed de cattle on. Den dey
hadder take sack en sew em up togedder en put de hay in dese. Dey sleep
right smart in dem days. Don' mucha people sleep on straw bed dese day
en time en dey don' dress lak dey use'er neither. I 'member de long
dress dey is wear den. Hadder hold em up when dey walk so dey won' tetch
de floor 'bout em. Den some uv dem is wear wha' dey call leggens. Dey'ud
gather em 'round de knee en le' em show 'bout de ankle. Dey wuz pretty,
dat dey wuz. De white folks'ud make de plantation clothes outer calico
en jeanes cloth en dat time. De jeanes cloth be wha' dey make de boy
clothes outer. Dey is weave aw dey cloth right dere on de plantation en
den dey use'er dye de thread en weave aw sorta check outer de different
color thread. Wha' dey make de dye outer? Dey ge' bark outer de woods en
boil de color outer it en den dey boil de thread in dat. Dat how dey is
make dey dye. Ne'er see de peoples hab no hat lak dey hab now neither.
Aw de colored peoples wear wha' dey call shuck hat den cause dey been
make outer shuck. Dat aw de kinder hat we is hab."
"Peoples use'er ge' aw kinder useful t'ing outer de woods in dem days
'way back dere. Ne'er hadder buy no me'icine tall den. Ain' ne'er been
no better cough cure no whey den de one my ole mammy use'er make fa we
chillun. She larnt 'bout how it made when she stay 'round de Missus en
dat how come I know wha' in it. Jes hadder go in de woods en ge' some
cherry, call dat wild cherry, en cut some uv de wild cherry bark fust
(first) t'ing. A'ter dat yuh hadder find some uv dese long-leaf pine en
ge' de bud outer dat. Den yuh hadder go to whey dere some sweet gum grow
en ge' de top outer dem en ge' some mullen to put wid it. Ain' ne'er no
cough stand aw dat mix up togedder in no day en time. Dey gi'e dat to de
peoples fa dat t'ing wha' dey use'er call de grip cough. Den dey use'er
make uh t'ing dat dey call "bone set" tea. I forge' how dey make it but
dey gi'e it to de peoples when dey hab de fevers. It been so bitter dat
it'ud lift yuh up 'fore yuh is ge' it aw down de t'roat. Ain' see no
fever me'icine lak dat nowadays."
"Yas'um, I 'members when dey hab plenty uv dem cornshucking to one
annuder barn. De peoples'ud come from aw de plantation 'bout dere. Dem
corn-shuckings wuz big times, dat dey wuz. Gi'e eve'body aw de
"hopping-john" dey kin eat. Jes cook it aw in uh big pot dere in de yard
to de big house. Ain' nuthin ne'er eat no better den dat "hopping-john"
is eat."
"Den de peoples use'er come from aw de plantation 'bout en hab big
dancing dere. Dat when I lub to be 'bout. Dey hab uh big fire build up
outer in de yard en dat wha' dey dance 'round 'bout. Call dat uh torch
fire. Dey'ud hab fiddle en dey dance wha' dey call de reel dance den. I
'member I use'er lub to watch dey feet when dat fiddle 'ud ge' to
playing. I jes crawl right down on me knees dere whey I'ud see dey feet
jes uh going."
"I ne'er hab mucha schooling 'fore freedom declare cause I been raise up
on de plantation. Dis child (her daughter) pappy wuz de house boy to de
big house en he ge' more schooling den I is. De Missus larnt he how to
read en write she self. A'ter freedom declare, I go to school to uh
white man up dere to de ole Academy en den I is go to annuder school
down dere to uh blacksmith shop. I go to uh white man dere too. Ne'er
hab no colored teacher den cause dey ain' hab 'nough schooling den. Dese
chillun don' know nuthin 'bout dem times. I tell dese chillun I don'
know wha' dey wanna run 'bout so mucha cause dere plenty t'ing to see
dat pass right dere by us house eve'y day. I t'ink dis uh better day en
time to lib en cause dis uh brighter day now dat we hab."
Source: Mom Louisa Collier, age 78, colored, Marion, S. C
Personal interview, May 1937.
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
JOHN COLLINS
EX-SLAVE, 85 YEARS OLD.
John Collins lives in a two-room frame cottage by the side of US 21,
just one mile north of the town of Winnsboro, S. C. on the right side of
the highway and a few hundred yards from the intersection of US 21 and
US 22. The house is owned by Mr. John Ameen. His son, John, who lives
with him, is a farm hand in the employ of Mr. John Ameen, and is his
father's only support.
"They tells me dat I was born in Chester County, just above de line dat
separates Chester and Fairfield Counties. You know where de 'dark
corner' is, don't you? Well, part is in Fairfield County and part is in
Chester County. In dat corner I first see de light of day; 'twas on de
29th of February, 1852. Though I is eighty-five years old, I's had only
twenty-one birthdays. I ketches a heap of folks wid dat riddle. They ask
me: 'How old is you Uncle John?' I say: 'I is had twenty-one birthdays
and won't have another till 1940. Now figure it out yourself, sir, if
you is so curious to know my age!' One time a smart aleck, jack-leg,
Methodist preacher, of my race, come to my house and figured all day on
dat riddle and never did git de correct answer. He scribbled on all de
paper in de house and on de back of de calendar leaves. I sure laughed
at dat preacher. I fears he lacked some of dat good old time 'ligion, de
way he sweated and scribbled and fussed.
"My daddy was name Steve Chandler. My mammy was called Nancy. I don't
know whether they was married or not. My daddy was sent to Virginia,
while de war was gwine on, to build forts and breastworks around
Petersburg, so they say, and him never come back. I 'members him well.
He was a tall black man, over six feet high, wid broad shoulders. My
son, John, look just lak him. Daddy used to play wid mammy just lak she
was a child. He'd ketch her under de armpits and jump her up mighty nigh
to de rafters in de little house us lived in.
"My mammy and me was slaves of old Marse Nick Collins. His wife, my
mistress, was name Miss Nannie. Miss Nannie was just an angel; all de
slaves loved her. But marster was hard to please, and he used de lash
often. De slaves whisper his name in fear and terror to de chillun, when
they want to hush them up. They just say to a crying child: 'Shet up or
old Nick will ketch you!' Dat child sniffle but shet up pretty quick.
"Marster didn't have many slaves. Best I 'member, dere was about twenty
men, women, and chillun to work in de field and five house slaves. Dere
was no good feelin's 'twixt field hands and house servants. De house
servants put on more airs than de white folks. They got better things to
eat, too, than de field hands and wore better and cleaner clothes.
"My marster had one son, Wyatt, and two daughters, Nannie and Elizabeth.
They was all right, so far as I 'member, but being a field hand's child,
off from de big house, I never got to play wid them any.
"My white folks never cared much about de slaves having 'ligion. They
went to de Universalist Church down at Feasterville. They said everybody
was going to be saved, dat dere was no hell. So they thought it was just
a waste of time telling niggers about de hereafter.
"In them days, way up dere in de 'dark corner', de white folks didn't
had no schools and couldn't read or write. How could they teach deir
slaves if they had wanted to?
"De Yankees never come into de 'dark corner'. It was in 1867, dat us
found out us was free; then we all left. I come down to Feasterville and
stayed wid Mr. Jonathan Coleman. From dere, I went to Chester. While I
was living dere, I married Maggie Nesbit. Us had five chillun; they all
dead, 'cept John. My wife died two months ago.
"I is tired now, and I is sad. I's thinking about Maggie and de days dat
are gone. Them memories flood over me, and I just want to lay down.
Maybe I'll see you sometime again. I feel sure I'll see Maggie befo'
many months and us'll see de sunrise, down here, from de far hebben
above. Good day. Glad you come to see me, sir!"
Project 1885-1
Folklore
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
Nov. 29, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
STORIES FROM EX-SLAVES
"Time is but time, and how is I to know when I was born when everybody
knows dat dey never had no calendars when I come here. Few it was dat
ever seed even a Lady's Birthday Almanac. I is 75 years old. I was dat
last January on de 13th day [~HW: 186~]. I was born in old Union County
about 4 miles south of Gaffney.
"Marse Mike Montgomery had a place dat reached from town way yonder to
Broad River whar de Ninety-nine Islands lays. Now, de way de road lays,
dey counts it twelve miles from Gaffney. When I was a boy it was lots
further dan dat.
"Never know'd why, but de Red Shirts whipped my pa, Tom Corry. Dey jes'
come and got him out'n his house. He come back in de house. Chilluns was
not give no privileges in dem days, so I never axed no questions, kaise
I was fear'd. Chilluns jes' trots into your business dese days.
"My pa say he was a slave on dem Ninety-nine Islands. All I know is what
he told me. Mr. Mike Montgomery built lots of boats. Dey carried from 50
to 60 bales of cotton down at one time. De cotton was carried in de
fall. De Smith place jined de Montgomery place and dat run into de Nancy
Corry place. I have forded de river dar lots of times. Broad River is
shallow, deepest place in it back den was at de mouth of King Creek,
jes' below Cherokee Falls. It ain't so broad dar.
"Pa was de boatman for Mr. Mike. De boat was big and long, and dey
always started off early in de morning wid a load of cotton. Old man
Dick Corry had to stand in de boat jes' behind pa. Dey had two steermen.
So many rocks in de shallow water dat it kept de steermen busy dodging
rooks. Dey pushed de boat off de rocks wid long poles. Dey had to work
away from de rocks. Sometimes dey had to get out in de water and roll
some rocks from dere path if de water wasn't cold.
"Wharever night caught dem, dar dey stopped and pitched a camp. Dey
fished and killed wild ducks or birds dat was plentiful den, and cooked
dem along wid bread and other things fetched from home. On de way from
Columbia dey had lots of store-bought things to eat. Store-bought things
was a treat den. Now ducks and things is a treat. Times sho changes
fast.
"Spring was took up wid farming. Every man, white and black, had a
family back in dem days. Dat dey did, rich or poor, white or black, all
raised families. Men farmed and hauled manure and cleaned up de
plantation lots and fields and grubbed in de spring. Women cooked and
washed and ironed and spun and kept house and made everybody in de house
clothes, and made all de bed clothes. Dey stayed home all of de time.
Men got through work and set down at home wid deir wives and never run
around. Now all goes. Dat's all dey does dese days is go.
"We had plenty of bread and milk and we raised hogs and killed all kinds
of wild things like turkey, ducks and birds, and caught fish. Men had
guns dat dey used every day, and dey hit things, too. Folks kept in
practice, wid guns and had shooting matches.
"After dey stopped boating, wagons come in. Den things begin to change.
Dey still is changing. Wagons went to Spartanburg to take cotten. Folks
never went to Columbia no more. Spartanburg begin to grow and it sho
still is at it."
Source: Bouregard Corry (N, 75), Rt. 2, Gaffney, S. C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S. C. (11/22/37).
Project #1655
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
CALEB CRAIG
EX SLAVE 86 YEARS OLD.
Caleb Craig lives in a four-room house, with a hall, eight feet wide,
through the center and a fireplace in each room. He lives with his
grandson, who looks after him.