*Interview with Lina Anne Pendergrass*
*Union, S.C., Rt. 1*
--_Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C._
"I'se born 10 years befo' Freedom on a Christmas day. Marse Tom Sanders,
whose place I'se born on, lived in Chester County. One of my first
'memberances is a dream. I though' I saw my little sister, Sars, laying
on a cooling board. I was five years old at dat time. I woke my mother
up and tole her 'bout it, but it was jus' a dream an' wasn't nothin' to
it.
"I never had no schooling and the Ku Klux sho scairt me. They took my
daddy; my brother was too young. It was on Sat'day night. Next day was
Sunday, and dey didn't fix de doors what de Ku Klux broke down. Us
nebber did see pa no mo'.
"As it was in de day of Noah, so shall it be in de coming of de days of
Jesus Christ. Peoples fitting and a-killin' and a-scrappin' all de time
now, kaize dey don't take no time to go to prayer meeting. My
grandfather had a prayer-meeting house. All de niggers on de plantation
went to it ever Sat'day night. Dey sot on benches, and den dey would git
down on dere knees and pray. I was a little gal, and me and de other
gals would fetch water for dem to drink. Us toted pine when it was cole,
and us'd take coals 'round fer de ole folks to light dere pipes wid.
Atter while, dey git to singin' and shoutin'. Den de Spirit done come
down and tuck hole of dem. Dat would be when everybody would get happy.
De ole rafters creak and shake as de Spirit of de Lord sink deeper and
deeper in de hearts of the prayin' folks. Tate Sanders, de preacher from
Lowryville, would come in 'bout dat time and raise his hands 'bove de
congregation and plead wid de Lawd to open de hearts of de wicked so dat
de Holy Spirit could come in. Wasn't no killin' and scratchin' going on
in dem days. De ole folks tell us chillun dat if we do wrong, de Lawd
gwine come down in His wrath and punish us on dis earth. Sides dat, He
gwine send us to torment whar we's live in 'ternal hell fire. De worl'
is so wicked now dat I'se looking fer de locust to come and stay five
months and sting everybody in de fo'head dat ain't got religion. Den
people will be so 'shame of deself fer dere wickedness dat dey will seek
death, and dey won't be able to get no death.
"De Lawd, He is a-pressin' me on up. Yes, Lawd, Revelation is wonderful.
De comin' out of smoke, dem's de devil's angels. When you reads de Word
of de Lawd, take an interes' in it. De people dat I knows is so wicked
dat my heart keeps anguished.
"I learnt myself how to read. My pa brought a Bible from de war. I has
dat and I reads it. My pa got shot comin' from Mississippi. Marse
Sanders hear about it and he sont and brung him home. Den us lived 15
miles from Chester on Broad River. My pappy was named Henry Dorsey. When
he was young, he was Marse Sander's butler boy. He got well from de
shot. Den de Ku Klux got him for something. I ain't never knowed what. I
don't know what dey done when I was a baby.
"I'se nussed since I was a little gal. My ma made me make teas to cure
folks' colds and ailments. She made me fetch her water and towels and
other things while she wait on de sick folks. Dat's de way I was broke
into nussing. Nineteen-eighteen laid out folks at Monarch. I started
right after breakfas' wid two dollars. Git home at night with narry a
penny. Git folks soup and milk. Everybody dat didn't get sick worked
hard. De folks died anyway like flies. De Lawd give me strength to stand
up through de whole time. When de flu pass on and de folks get well, den
dey pay me for my services.
"Millie Nash, Andy's wife, she look atter me since I'se got ole. She
gooder to me dan anybody I know, but at de same time, she's aggravation
to me kaise she drink likker. Millie sho does git drunk, but I keeps on
prayin' fer her. Dis mawnin she's gwine to a funeral. She was poling
'long 'hind me and drapped her pocketbook. When us git ready to go into
de church, she stopped and grabbed hol' of me and say, 'Lina, whar my
pocketbook?' I looks at her and say, 'Nigger, how does I know whar'bouts
you throw dat thing down? You stayed 'hind me all de way from de ice
house. Didn't I tell you to let dat dram alone befo' you left de house?'
I sot down in front of de church and Millie turned around and went down
de street toward de ice house. She seed her pocketbook where she drapped
it, 'bout half way twixt de ice house and de church. When she come 'long
whar I was sitting, I 'lowed to her dat I'se gwine up to de relief
office. I lef' her and here I is. Won't be long befo' Millie be here,
too. De funeral done marched on when Millie got back to de church."