*Interview with Charity Moore, 75 years*
--_W.W. Dixon, Winnsboro, S.C._
One quarter of a mile north of Woodward station and one hundred yards
east of US #21, is the beautiful residence of Mr. T.W. Brice. In the
back yard is a two-room frame house. In this house lives Charity Moore
and another aged Negro woman, said to be an octogenarian. They occupy
the house together and exist on the goodness and charity of Mr. Brice.
Charity was born a slave of Mr. Brice's father and has lived all her
days in his immediate family.
"Don't you 'member my pa, Isaiah Moore? Course you does! He was de Uncle
Remus of all de white chillun 'round dese parts. He sho' was! I seen him
a settin' wid you, Marse Johnnie, Marse Boyce, and Dickie Brice, in de
back yard many a time. You all was askin' him questions 'bout de tale he
was a tellin' and him shakin' his sides a laughin'. He telled all them
tales 'bout de fox and de rabbit, de squirrel, brer tarrapin, and sich
lak, long befo' they come out in a book. He sho' did!
"My ma name Nancy, dat was pa's wedded wife. Dere was no bigamous nor
concubine business goin' on wid us. My brothers was Dave, Solomon,
Fortune, Charlie, and Brice. My sisters was Haley, Fannie, Sarah,
Frances, Mary, and Margaret. Hold your writin' dere a minute. Dere was
thirteen. O yes, I left out Teeta. Dat rounds them up, a baker's dozen,
Marse Thomas use to 'low.
"White folks, my pa had Bible tales he never told de white chillun. Did
you know dat my pa know de catechism from cover to cover, and from de
back end to de startin' end? Concord Church gived him a Bible for
answering every question in the catechism. Here 'tis. (Producing
catechism published and dated 1840). My pa maybe never telled you any
Bible tales he told de colored chillun. He 'low dat de fust man, Adam,
was a black man. Eve was ginger cake color, wid long black hair down to
her ankles. Dat Adam had just one worriment in de garden and dat was his
kinky hair. Eve hate to see him sad, 'cause her love her husband as all
wives ought to do, if they don't.
"Well, Adam play wid Eve's hair; run his fingers through it and sigh.
Eve couldn't do dat wid his kinky hair. De debbil set up in de plum
bushes and took notice of de trouble goin' on. Every day Eve's hair
growed longer and longer. Adam git sadder and sadder. De debbil in de
plum bushes git gladder and gladder. Dere come a day dat Adam 'scused
hisself from promenadin' in 'mong de flower beds wid his arms 'round
Eve, a holding up her hair. De debbil took de shape of a serpent, glided
after Eve, and stole up and twisted hisself up into dat hair far enough
to whisper in one of them pretty ears: 'Somebody's got something for to
tell you, dat will make Adam glad and like hisself agin! Keep your ears
open all day long.' Then de serpent distangled hisself, drapped to de
ground, and skeedaddled to de red apple tree, close by de fountain. He
knowed dat Eve was gwine dere to bathe. He beat her dere, 'cause she was
walkin' sorta slow, grievin' 'bout Adam and thinkin' 'bout how to cheer
him up. When she got dere, de old debbil done changed from a snake to a
angel of light, a male angel, I reckon. He took off his silk beaver hat,
flourished his gold headed cane, and 'low: 'Good mornin'! Lovely day!
What a beautiful apple, just in your reach too, ahem'! Eve say: 'I's not
been introduced,' 'Well', said de debbil, 'My subjects call me Prince,
'cause I's de Prince of light. My given name is Lucifer. I's at your
service, dear lady.' Eve 'flected: 'A prince, he'll be a king some day.'
Then de debbil say: 'Of course, one of your beauty will one day be a
queen. I seen a sadness on your lovely face as you come 'long. What
might be your worry?' Eve told him and he 'low: 'Just git Adam to eat
one bite out dat apple 'bove your head and in a night his hair will grow
as long, be as black, and as straight as your'n.' She 'low: 'Us ain't
'lowed to eat of de fruit of de tree in de midst of de garden. Us dare
not tech it, lest us die.' Then Satan stepped a distance dis way, then
another way and come back and say: 'Gracious lady! Dis tree not in de
midst of de garden. De one in de midst is dat crabapple tree over
yonder. Of course de good Lord didn't want you to eat crabapples.' De
debbil done got her all mixed up. De apple looked so good, she reached
up, and quick as you can say 'Jack Robinson,' she bite de apple and run
to Adam wid de rest of it and say: 'Husband eat quick and your hair will
be as long, as black, and straight as mine, in de mornin'.' While he was
eatin' it, and takin' de last swallow of de apple, he was 'minded of de
disobedience and choked twice. Ever since then, a man have a 'Adam's
Apple' to 'mind him of de sin of disobedience. Twasn't long befo' de
Lord come alookin' for them. Adam got so scared his face turned white,
right then, and next mornin' he was a white man wid long hair but worse
off than when he was a nigger. Dere was more to dat tale but I
disremember it now.
"I's livin' wid my young marster, Thomas, now. He took good care of my
pa, when he got so old and feeble he couldn't work no more. God'll bless
Marse Tommie for all his goodness. When Pa Isaiah come to die, Marse
Tommie come every day. One day in leavin', he said in his gruff, kind
way: 'Is dere anything I can do for you Uncle Isaiah?' Pa say: 'Take
care of Charity.' 'I will,' say Marse Tommie. Then he 'low: 'Ain't dere
something else?' 'Yes,' pa 'low, 'I want a white stone over de head of
my grave.' 'What must I put on de stone,' asked Marse Tommie? 'Just my
name and age,' said pa. 'Oh yes, dere ought to be something else,' says
Marse Tommie. Pa shook his head. 'I want something else on it Uncle
Isaiah,' said Marse Tommie. Wid a tear and a smile, pa raised his white
head and said: 'You can put down, below de name and age, just dis: 'As
good as ever fluttered.' And dat stone at Concord Cemetery 'tract more
'tention then any stone and epitaph in dat churchyard. Why, de white
folks puts flowers on it sometimes.
"I wonder sometime in de winter nights, as de north wind blows 'bout de
cracks in de house, if pa is warm and in Abraham's bosom. But I knows
pa; he's 'umble. There's so many white folks in dat bosom he'll just be
content to lie in Isaac's bosom or maybe de prophet Isaiah's, for who he
was named.
"Wait dere! You have bad luck to leave by dat door. You comed in by dis
door and you just leave by de same door. Some folks say nothin' to dat
but I don't want you to risk dat. Glad you come. Good bye."