"I was born on June 20th and I remember when the war broke out, for I
was about five years old. We lived in Spartanburg County not far from
old Cherokee ford. My father was Emanuel Elmore, and he lived to be
about 90 years old.
"My marster was called by everybody, Col. Elmore, and that is all that I
can remember about his name. When he went to the war I wanted to go with
him, but I was too little. He joined the Spartanburg Sharp Shooters.
They had a drill ground near the Falls. My pa took me to see them drill,
and they were calling him Col. Elmore then. When I got home I tried to
do like him and everybody laughed at me. That is about all that I
remember about the war. In those days, children did not know things like
thay do now, and grown folks did not know as much either.
"I used to go and watch my father work. He was a moulder in the Cherokee
Iron Works, way back there when everything was done by hand. He moulded
everything from knives and forks to skillets and wash pots. If you could
have seen pa's hammer, you would have seen something worth looking at.
It was so big that it jarred the whole earth when it struck a lick. Of
course it was a forge hammer, driven by water power. They called the
hammer 'Big Henry'. The butt end was as big as an ordinary telephone
pole.
"The water wheel had fifteen or twenty spokes in it, but when it was
running it looked like it was solid. I used to like to sit and watch
that old wheel. The water ran over it and the more water came over, the
more power the wheel gave out.
"At the Iron Works they made everything by hand that was used in a
hardware store, like nails, horse shoes and rims for all kinds of
wheels, like wagon and buggy wheels. There were moulds for everything no
matter how large or small the thing to be made was. Pa could almost pick
up the right mould in the dark, he was so used to doing it. The patterns
for the pots and kettles of different sizes were all in rows, each row
being a different size. In my mind I can still see them.
"Hot molten iron from the vats was dipped with spoons which were handled
by two men. Both spoons had long handles, with a man at each handle. The
spoons would hold from four to five gallons of hot iron that poured just
like water does. As quick as the men poured the hot iron in the mould,
another man came along behind them and closed the mould. The large
moulds had doors and the small moulds had lids. They had small pans and
small spoons for little things, like nails, knives and forks, When the
mould had set until cold, the piece was prized out.
"Pa had a turn for making covered skillets and fire dogs. He made them
so pretty that white ladies would come and give an order for a 'pair of
dogs', and tell him how they wanted them to look. He would take his
hammer and beat them to look just that way.
"Rollers pressed out the hot iron for machines and for special lengths
and things that had to be flat. Railroad ties were pressed out in these
rollers. Once the man that handled the hot iron to be pressed through
these rollers got fastened in them himself. He was a big man. The blood
flew out of him as his bones were crushed, and he was rolled into a mass
about the thickness and width of my hand. Each roller weighed about
2,000 pounds.
"The man who got killed was named Alex Golightly. He taught the boys my
age how to swim, fish and hunt. His death was the worst thing that had
happened in the community. The man who worked at the foundry, made Alex
a coffin. It had to be made long and thin because he was mashed up so
bad. In those days coffins were nothing but boxes anyway, but Alex's
coffin was the most terrible thing that I have ever seen. I reckon if
they had had pretty coffins then like they do now, folks would have
bought them to sleep in.
"Hundreds went to Alex's funeral, white and black, to see that long
narrow coffin and the grave which was dug to fit it. On the way to the
graveyard, negroes sang songs, for Alex was a good man. They carried him
to the Cherokee graveyard on the old Smith Ford Road, and there they
buried him. My father helped to build the coffin and he helped haul him
to the graveyard. Pa worked at the Iron Foundry until he was very old.
He worked there before I was ever born.
"My father was sold four times during slavery. When he was brought to
Virginia he was put on the block and auctioned off for $4,000. He said
that the last time he was sold he only brought $1,500. He was born in
Alabama. When he was bought he was carried from Alabama to Virginia. It
was Col. Elmore who took him. He wanted to go to Alabama again, so Col.
Elmore let a speculator take him back and sell him. He stayed there for
several years and got homesick for South Carolina. He couldn't get his
marster to sell him back here, so he just refugeed back to Col. Elmore's
plantation. Col. Elmore took him back and wouldn't let anybody have him.
"Pa married twice, about the same time. He married Dorcas Cooper, who
belonged to the Coopers at Staunton Military Academy. I was the first
child born in Camden. She had sixteen children. I was brought to
Spartanburg County when I was little. Both ma and pa were sold together
in Alabama. The first time pa came to South Carolina he married a girl
called Jenny. She never had any children. When he went to Alabama,
Dorcas went with him, but Jenny stayed with Col. Elmore. Of course, pa
just jumped the broom for both of them.
"When pa left Alabama to refugee back, he had to leave Dorcas. They did
not love their marster anyway. He put Dorcas up on the block with a red
handkerchief around her head and gave her a red apple to eat. She was
sold to a man whose name I have forgotten. When they herded them she got
away and was months making her way back to South Carolina. Those
Africans sure were strong. She said that she stayed in the woods at
night. Negroes along the way would give her bread and she would kill
rabbits and squirrels and cook and eat in the woods. She would get drunk
and beat any one that tried to stop her from coming back. When she did
get back to Col. Elmore's place, she was lanky, ragged and poor, but
Col. Elmore was glad to see her and told her he was not going to let
anybody take her off. Jenny had cared so well for her children while she
was off, that she liked her. They lived in the same house with pa till
my mother died.
"Col. Elmore said that negroes who were from Virginia and had African
blood could stand anything. He was kind to ma. He fed her extra and she
soon got fat again. She worked hard for Col. Elmore, and she and pa sure
did love him. One time a lot of the negroes in the quarter got drunk and
ma got to fighting all of them. When she got sobered up she was afraid
that Col Elmore was going to send her back to Alabama; so she went and
hid in the woods. Pa took food to her. In about a month Col. Elmore
asked where she was, and pa just looked sheepish and grinned. Col.
Elmore told pa to go and bring her back, for he said he was tired of
having his rations carried to the woods; so ma came home. She had stayed
off three months. She never felt well anymore, and she died in about
three more months. Pa and Jenny kept us till we got big and went off to
ourselves.
"Jenny was born and raised in South Carolina, and she was good to
everybody and never fought and went on like ma did. Ma liked her and
would not let anybody say anything against her. She was good to pa till
he died, a real old man. Jenny never had any children. She was not old
when she died, but just a settled woman. We felt worse over her death
than we did over ma's, because she was so good to us and had cared for
us while ma and pa were in Alabama; then she was good to us after Dorcas
died and when she hid in the woods.
"It seems that folks are too tender now. They can't stand much. My ma
could stand more than I can. My children can't stand what I can right
now."
=Source:= Emanuel Elmore (77). Sycamore St., Gaffney, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. 11/16/37
Code No.
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S.C.
Date, December 16, 1937
MOM RYER EMMANUEL
EX-SLAVE, AGE 78
"Oh, my Lord, child, I ain' know nothin bout slavery time no more den we
was just little kids livin dere on de white people plantation. I was
just a little yearlin child den, I say. Been bout six years old in
slavery time. Well, I'll say dat I bout 80 some odds, but I can' never
seem to get dem odds together. I was a big little girl stayin in old
Massa yard in dem days, but I wasn' big enough to do nothin in de house
no time. My old Massa been Anthony Ross en he had set my age down in de
Bible, but my old Missus, she dead en I know dem chillun wouldn' never
know whe' to say dat Bible at dese days. Old Miss, she been name Matt
Ross. I wish somebody could call up how long de slaves been freed cause
den dey could call up my age fast as I could bat my eyes. Say, when de
emancipation was, I been six years old, so my mammy tell me. Don' know
what to say dat is, but I reckon it been since freedom."
"I been born en bred right over yonder to dat big patch of oak trees
bout dat house what you see after you pass de white people church cross
de creek dere. De old man Anthony Ross, he been have a good mind to his
colored people all de time. Yes, mam, my white folks was proud of dey
niggers. Um, yes'um, when dey used to have company to de big house, Miss
Ross would bring dem to de door to show dem us chillun. En my blessed,
de yard would be black wid us chillun all string up dere next de door
step lookin up in dey eyes. Old Missus would say, 'Ain' I got a pretty
crop of little niggers comin on?' De lady, she look so please like. Den
Miss Ross say, 'Do my little niggers want some bread to gnaw on?' En us
chillun say, 'Yes'um, yes'um, we do.' Den she would go in de pantry en
see could she find some cook bread to hand us. She had a heap of fine
little niggers, too, cause de yard would be black wid all different
sizes. Won' none of dem big enough to do nothin. No, mam, dey had to be
over 16 year old fore old Massa would allow dem to work cause he never
want to see his niggers noways stunt up while dey was havin de growin
pains. Den when dey was first grow up, dey would give some of dem a
house job en would send de others in de field to mind de cows en de
sheep en bring dem up. Wouldn' make dem do no heavy work right to start
wid. But dem what was older, dey had to work in de field. I reckon dey
would be workin just bout like dey is now from sunrise in de mornin till
sunset in de evenin."
"Yes, honey, I been come here under a blessin cause my white folks never
didn' let dey colored people suffer no time. Always when a woman would
get in de house, old Massa would let her leave off work en stay dere to
de house a month till she get mended in de body way. Den she would have
to carry de child to de big house en get back in de field to work. Oh,
dey had a old woman in de yard to de house to stay dere en mind all de
plantation chillun till night come, while dey parents was workin. Dey
would let de chillun go home wid dey mammy to spend de night en den she
would have to march dem right back to de yard de next mornin. We didn'
do nothin, but play bout de yard dere en eat what de woman feed us.
Yes'um, dey would carry us dere when de women would be gwine to work. Be
dere fore sunrise. Would give us three meals a day cause de old woman
always give us supper fore us mammy come out de field dat evenin. Dem
bigger ones, dey would give dem clabber en boil peas en collards
sometimes. Would give de little babies boil pea soup en gruel en suck
bottle. Yes, mam, de old woman had to mind all de yearlin chillun en de
babies, too. Dat all her business was. I recollects her name, it been
Lettie. Would string us little wooden bowls on de floor in a long row en
us would get down dere en drink just like us was pigs. Oh, she would
give us a iron spoon to taste wid, but us wouldn' never want it. Oh, my
Lord, I remember just as good, when we would see dem bowls of hot
ration, dis one en dat one would holler, 'dat mine, dat mine.' Us would
just squat dere en blow en blow cause we wouldn' have no mind to drink
it while it was hot. Den we would want it to last a long time, too. My
happy, I can see myself settin dere now coolin dem vitals (victuals)."
"Like I speak to you, my white folks was blessed wid a heap of black
chillun, but den dere been a odd one in de crowd what wasn' noways like
dem others. All de other chillun was black skin wid dis here kinky hair
en she was yellow skin wid right straight hair. My Lord, old Missus been
mighty proud of her black chillun, but she sho been touches bout dat
yellow one. I remember, all us chillun was playin round bout de step one
day whe' Miss Ross was settin en she ax dat yellow child, say, 'Who your
papa?' De child never know no better en she tell her right out exactly
de one her mammy had tell her was her papa. Lord, Miss Ross, she say,
'Well, get off my step. Get off en stay off dere cause you don' noways
belong to me.' De poor child, she cry en she cry so hard till her mammy
never know what to do. She take en grease her en black her all over wid
smut, but she couldn' never trouble dat straight hair off her noway. Dat
how-come dere so much different classes today, I say. Yes, mam, dat whe'
dat old stain come from."
"My mammy, she was de housewoman to de big house en she say dat she
would always try to mind her business en she never didn' get no whippin
much. Yes, mam, dey was mighty good to my mother, but dem other what
never do right, dey would carry dem to de cow pen en make dem strip off
dey frock bodies clean to de waist. Den dey would tie dem down to a log
en paddle dem wid a board. When dey would whip de men, de boards would
often times have nails in dem. Hear talk dey would wash dem wid dey
blood. Dat first hide dey had, white folks would whip it off dem en den
turn round en grease dem wid tallow en make dem work right on. Always
would inflict de punishment at sunrise in de mornin fore dey would go to
work. Den de women, dey would force dem to drop dey body frock cross de
shoulders so dey could get to de naked skin en would have a strap to
whip dem wid. Wouldn' never use no board on de women. Oh, dey would have
de lot scatter bout full of dem what was to get whip on a mornin."
"You see, de colored people couldn' never go nowhe' off de place widout
dey would get a walkin ticket from dey Massa. Yes, mam, white folks
would have dese pataroller walkin round all bout de country to catch dem
colored people dat never had no walkin paper to show dem. En if dey
would catch any of dem widout dat paper, dey back would sho catch
scissors de next mornin."
"Well, I don' know as de white folks would be meanin to kill any of dey
niggers, but I hear talk dey would whip dem till dey would die some of
de time en would bury dem in de night. Couldn' bury dem in de day cause
dey wouldn' have time. When dey would be gwine to bury dem, I used to
see de lights many a time en hear de people gwine along singin out
yonder in dem woods just like dey was buryin buzzards. Us would set down
en watch dem gwine along many a night wid dese great big torches of
fire. Oh, dey would have fat lightwood torches. Dese here big hand
splinters. Had to carry dem along to see how to walk en drive de wagon
to haul de body. Yes, child, I been here long enough to see all dat in
slavery time. All bout in dese woods, you can find plenty of dem slavery
graves dis day en time. I can tell bout whe' dere one now. Yes, mam,
dere one right over yonder to de brow of de hill gwine next to Mr.
Claussens. Can tell dem by de head boards dere. Den some of de time, dey
would just drop dem anywhe' in a hole along side de woods somewhe' cause
de people dig up a skull right out dere in de woods one day en it had
slavery mark on it, dey say. Right over dere cross de creek in dem big
cedars, dere another slavery graveyard. People gwine by dere could often
hear talk en couldn' never see nothin, so dey tell me. Hear, um--um--um,
en would hear babies cryin all bout dere, too. No'um, can' hear dem much
now cause dey bout to be wearin out. I tell you, I is scared every time
I go along dere. Some of dem die wicked, I say."
=Source:= Ryer Emmanuel, colored, age 78, Claussens, S.C.
Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Dec., 1937.
Project 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S.C.
Date, December 26, 1937
MOM RYER EMMANUEL
EX-SLAVE, AGE 78
"Well, how you feelin dis mornin, honey? I had tell Miss Sue dat I would
be keepin a eye out dat door dere en when I is see a car stop up to de
house, I would try en make it up dere dis mornin. Yes, mam, Miss Sue
tell me you was comin today en I promise her I would be up dere, but I
ain' been feelin so much to speak bout dis mornin. Den you see, I know I
gwine be obliged to run down to de woods en fetch me up some wood en
kindlin fore night fall. I been 'spect to make Koota break me up some
splinters, but he ain' no count worth nothin. Yes, mam, he my grandson.
Cose I tries to knock bout somewhe' en let me get out in de cotton
patch, I can put in a good sturdy job any day. You see, my eyes does be
pretty good cause dey got on dey second glove, I say. Can see good to my
age. But oh, my Lord, right in my chest here, it does thump sometimes
just like a drum beatin in dere en I can' never stand to hurry en walk
hard no more dese days."
"No, mam, it don' bother me noways to leave dat door open. I keeps it
dat way bout all de time, so as I can look out en see what gwine along
de road dere. What de matter, honey, you don' loves to smell dem chitlin
I got boilin dere on de stove? I hear some people say dey can' stand no
chitlin scent nowhe' bout dem, but I loves dem so much dat it does make
my mouth run water to think bout how me en Koota gwine enjoy dem dis
evenin. No, mam, us don' never eat us heavy meal till dat sun start
gwine down behind dem trees cross de creek yonder. You see, I does keep
some 'tatoes roastin dere in de coals on de hearth en if us belly sets
up a growlin twixt meals, us just rakes a 'tatoe out de ashes en breaks
it open en makes out on dat. My God, child, I think bout how I been
bless dat I ain' never been noways scornful bout eatin chitlins. Yes,
mam, when I helps up dere to de house wid hog killin, Mr. Moses, he does
always say for me to carry de chitlin home to make me en Koota a nice
pot of stew."
"I tellin you, when us been chillun comin up, people sho never live like
dey do dis day en time. Oh, I can remember just as good when I used to
go dat Hopewell Presbyterian Church cross de creek dere. Yes, mam, dat
been de white people slavery church en dat dey slavery graveyard what
settin right dere in front de church, too. Dat sho a old, old slavery
time church, I say. Massa Anthony Ross would make us go dere to preachin
every Sunday en dey was mighty strict bout us gwine to prayer service,
too. Us would go up dem steps in dat little room, what been open out on
de front piazza to de church, en set up in de gallery overhead en de
white folks let down dere below us. Yes, mam, dat whe' de colored people
went to church in dem days en some of dem go dere till dey die cause dat
whe' dey been join de church. Some of dem does go dere often times dese
days, too, when de white people axes dem to sing to dey church. I
remember, when I been baptize dere, I was just a little small child. Oh,
de white preacher baptized all us little niggers dere. Old Massa, he
tell all his hands to carry dey chillun up dere en get dem baptized. Oh,
my happy, dey been fix us up dat day. Put on us clean homespuns en long
drawers, dat been hang down round us ankles like boots, en all us get a
new bonnet dat day. I recollects, dey would march us right up to de
front of de church en de preacher would come down to whe' we was standin
wid a basin of water in one hand en a towel in de other hand. He would
take one of us chillun en lay he wet hand on dey head en say, 'I baptize
dee in de name of, etc.' Den dat one would have to get back en another
one would step up for dey turn. De preacher, he would have a big towel
to wipe his hands wid en every child's mammy would be standin right
behind hind dem wid a rag to wipe de (drain) dren water out dey eyes."
"Oh, my Lord, when de Yankees come through dere, I hear dem say it was
de Republicans. Mr. Ross had done say dat he hear talk dat dey was comin
through en he tell his niggers to hurry en hide all de plantation
rations. Yes, mam, dey dig cellars under de colored people houses en
bury what meat en barrels of flour dey could en dat what dey couldn' get
under dere, dey hide it up in de loft. Mr. Ross say, 'Won' none of dem
damn Yankees get no chance to stick dey rotten tooth in my rations.' We
say, 'Ma, you got all dese rations here en we hungry.' She say, 'No, dem
ration belong to boss en you chillun better never bother dem neither.'
Den when Mr. Ross had see to it dat dey had fix everything safe, he take
to de swamp. Dat what my mammy say cause he know dey wasn' gwine bother
de womens. Lord, when dem Yankees ride up to de big house, Miss Ross
been scared to open her mouth cause de man was in de swamp. No, child,
dey didn' bother nothin much, but some of de rations dey get hold of.
Often times, dey would come through en kill chickens en butcher a cow up
en cook it right dere. Would eat all dey wanted en den when dey would go
to leave, dey been call all de little plantation niggers to come dere en
would give dem what was left. Oh, Lord, us was glad to get dem vitals,
too. Yes, mam, all dey had left, dey would give it to de poor colored
people. Us been so glad, us say dat us wish dey would come back again.
Den after dey had left us plantation, dey would go some other place
where dere was another crowd of little niggers en would left dem a pile
of stuff, too. Old Massa, he been stay in de swamp till he hear dem
Yankees been leave dere en den he come home en would keep sendin to de
colored people houses to get a little bit of his rations to a time.
Uncle Solomon en Sipp en Leve, dey been eat much of boss' rations dey
wanted cause dey been know de Yankees was comin back through to free
dem. But my mammy, she was a widow woman en old man Anthony Ross never
left nothin to her house."
"I tell you, honey, some of de colored people sho been speak praise to
dem Yankees. I don' know how-come, but dey never know no better, I say.
Dey know en dey never know. One old man been ridin one of dese stick
horses en he been so glad, he say, 'Thank God! Thank God!"
=Source:= Ryer Emmanuel colored, age 78, Claussens, S.C.
Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Marion, S.C.
December, 1937.
Code No.
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S.C.
Date, January 7, 1938
MOM RYER EMMANUEL
EX-SLAVE, 78 YEARS
"Good evenin, child. How you is? How Miss Sue gettin along over dere to
Marion? I hope she satisfied, but dere ain' nowhe' can come up to restin
in your own home, I say. No, Lord, people own home don' never stop to
cuss dem no time. Dere Koota's mamma all de time does say, 'Ma, ain' no
need in you en Booker stayin over dere by yourself. Come en live wid
us.' I say, 'No, child. Father may have, sister may have, brother may
have, en chillun may have, but blessed be he dat have he own.' I tell
all my chillun I rather stay here under my own roof cause when I takes a
notion, I can go in en bake me a little hoecake en draw me a pot of
coffee en set down to eat it in satisfaction."
"After you was gone de other day, I thought bout right smart to speak to
you, but when I gets tired, I just get all fray up somehow. My sister,
she come to see me Sunday en I had dem all laughin bout what I say dat I
had tell you. My sister, she make out like she don' know nothin bout dem
olden times. Her husband, he done gone en die en she out lookin round
for another one. Reckon dat what ails her. I tell her, I ain' see none
nowhe' dat I would be pleased to take in. But I don' care what she say,
us sho been here in slavery time cause my mother didn' have but one free
born child en dat one come here a corpse."
"I remember, Ma used to tell we chillun bout how dey couldn' never do
nothin in slavery time, but what de white folks say dey could do. I say,
'If I been big enough in dem days, I would sho a let out a fight for
you.' You see, I was a little small child den en I never know no better
den to speak dat way."
"My mother, she was de house woman to de big house in slavery time, but
she never didn' get no money for what she been do. No, mam, white folks
never didn' pay de poor colored people no money in dat day en time. See,
old boss would give dem everything dey had en provide a plenty somethin
to eat for dem all de time. Yes'um, all de niggers used to wear dem old
Dutch shoes wid de brass in de toes en de women, dey never didn' have
nothin 'cept dem old coarse shoes widout no linin. Couldn' never wear
dem out. Yes'um, dey always give us a changin of homespuns, so as to
strip on wash day en put on a fresh one."
"Den I recollects we chillun used to ax us mammy whe' us come from en
she say, 'I got you out de hollow log.' Well, just like I tell you,
slavery chillun had dey daddy somewhe' on de plantation. Cose dey had a
daddy, but dey didn' have no daddy stayin in de house wid dem. White
folks would make you take dat man whe' if you want him or no. Us chillun
never didn' know who us daddy been till us mammy point him out cause all
us went in Massa Anthony Ross' name. Yes, mam, all us had a different
daddy, so my mammy say."
"Who dat come here wid you? Lord, dat don' look like no wife. How long
you is been married, honey? You ain' say so. Look like you is just
bloomin, I say."
"Oh, I tell you, I see a heap of things in dem days, but I ain' got my
studyin cap on right now en I can' call up nothin right sharp. Us never
know nothin bout us was gwine get free in dat day en time. Us was same
as brutes en cows back dere cause us been force to go by what white man
say all de time. Oh, dey would beat de colored people so worser till dey
would run away en stay in de swamp to save dey hide. But Lord a mercy,
it never do no good to run cause time dey been find you was gone, dey
been set de nigger dog on you. Yes, mam, dey had some of dese high dogs
dat dey call hounds en dey could sho find you out, too. Oh, dem hounds
would sho get you. Don' care whe' you was hidin, dem dogs would smell
you. If you been climb up a tree, de dog would trail you right to de
foot of dat tree en just stand up en howl at you. Dey would stand right
dere en hold you up de tree till some of de white folks been get dere en
tell you to come down out de tree. Den if you never do like dey say, dey
would chop de tree down en let you fall right in de dog's mouth. Would
let de dog bite you en taste your blood, so dey could find de one dey
was lookin for better de next time. Yes, mam, white people would let de
dog gnaw you up en den dey would grease you en carry you home to de
horse lot whe' dey would have a lash en a paddle to whip you wid. Oh,
dey would have a swarm of black people up to de lot at sunrise on a
mornin to get whip. Would make dem drop dey body frock en would band dem
down to a log en would put de licks to dem. Ma was whip twice en she say
dat she stay to her place after dat. I hear talk dey give some of dem 50
lashes to a whippin. Dat how it was in slavery time. Poor colored people
couldn' never go bout en talk wid dey neighbors no time widout dey Massa
say so. I say, 'Ma, if dey been try to beat me, I would a jump up en
bite dem.' She say, 'You would get double portion den.' Just on account
of dat, ain' many of dem slavery people knockin bout here now neither, I
tell you. Dat first hide dey had, white folks just took it off dem. I
would a rather been dead, I say. I remember, we chillun used to set down
en ax Ma all bout dis en dat. Say, 'Ma, yunnah couldn' do nothin?' She
say, 'No, white people had us in slavery time.'
"My God a mercy, I think now de best time to live in cause I ain' gettin
no beatin dese days. If I had been big enough to get whip in slavery
time, I know I would been dead cause I would been obliged to fight dem
back en dey would kill folks for dat in dem days. If anybody hurt me,
dey got to hurt back again, I say. Cose us had us task to do in dem
days, but us never didn' have to bother bout huntin no rations en
clothes no time den like de people be burdened wid dese days. I tell
you, what you get in dese times, you got to paw for it en paw hard, but
ain' nobody else business whe' you do it or no."
"Oh, de young people, dey ain' nothin dis day en time. Ain' worth a
shuck no time. De old ones can beat dem out a hollow anywhe'. Ain' no
chillun raise in dese days, I say. After freedom come here, I know I
been hired out to white folks bout all de time en, honey, I sho been put
through de crack. Lord, I had a rough time. Didn' never feel no rest.
Dat how-come I ain' get all my growth, I say."
=Source:= Mom Ryer Emmanuel, colored, 78 years, Claussens, S.C.
Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Marion, S.C.
[HW: See ES XVII, MS. #14.]
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg--Dist. 4
May 18, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage