"Cap, I was born on de Bonner place, five miles from Gaffney. Jest about
de very first recollection dat sticks wid me, is my mammy a-hiding me
when de Ku Klux was riding. She heard de hosses a-trotting and she
rushed us out'n our beds and took us and buried us in de fodder out in
our barn, and told us to be as quiet as possible. Both my parents went
and hid in de edge of de woods. De Ku Klux passed on by widout even
holding up dere hosses.
"During slavery my mother went to Mississippi wid her mistress,
Artimesse Smith Ross. Soon atter Freedom dey come back to Smith's Ford
on de Pacolet. Steers pulled 'slides', wid de white folk belongings on
de slides. We niggers went to meeting on de slides. De ends of de slides
was curved upward. When we got to meeting, we went under de brush
arbors. Fresh brush was kept cut so dat de sun would not shine through.
Under de arbors we sat on slabs and de preacher stood on de ground. We
had better meetings den dan dey have now. Everybody had better religion
den dan dey does now. In dem days religion went further dan it does now.
Yes sir, religion meant something den, and went somewhars. My pappy rode
a ginny to preaching.
"Dere was not as much devilment as dere is now. Times was better fer
niggers. One day last week I went to meeting and took dinner. We eat on
a slab table and had ice tea to drink. Meas was dere drinking on de
side, and all other devilment dey could carry on in sight of de church.
De preacher eat wid us. Some eat out of dere buckets and would not come
and be wid de crowd. Long time ago, nobody didn't act greedy like dat.
Girls cut up like boys now, and nobody don't look down on dem.
"When I was a boy, girls acted like de old folks and dey did not carry
on. Nobody ever heard of a girl drinking and smoking den. If a girl made
a mistake in de old days she was throwed overboard. Why when I was
little, us boys went in a-washing wid de girls and never thought nothing
'bout it. We was most grown befo' we know'd a thing 'bout man and woman.
I was fifteen years old when I got my first shoes and dey had brass
toes. We played ball wid de girls in de house, and sung songs like:
'Goosey, Goosey Gander'."
"We had wheat bread only once a week," said Jesse Stevenson who came up
and entered the conversation, "and dat was on Sunday. I had a good time
at Green's wedding. Green married Carrie Phillips who lived two miles
above me. We boys talked to de girls in school. We was around twenty
years old befo' we went to school. Of course dat was atter Freedom. De
teacher would light on both of us fer talking across de books. Carrie
was about a year younger dan Green. Green, tell de gentleman
(interviewer) what you said when you ax'd uncle Ben fer Carrie."
"I say," said Green, "come out into de cool of de yard, please sir, if
you will uncle Ben; I has a question of de utmost concern to us both to
lay at your feet'. Uncle Ben say, 'Look here, young nigger, don't you
know dat I ain't got no business gwine out in no night dew--what ails
you nohow?' I 'lows, 'Uncle Ben, it is a great matter of life and death
dat I wishes to consult wid you over'. He clear his throat and spit in
de fire and say, 'Wait, I'll come if it's dat urgent.' I took him under
a tree so dat no dew wouldn't drap on his head and give him a cold. I
said, 'I want to marry your daughter, uncle Ben.' He say, 'Which one is
dat dat you wishes, Sir?' 'De purttiest one, Carrie,' says I; 'dat is,
if you ain't got no objection.'
"Befo' I axed fer Carrie I was loving two gals, but of course I drapped
de other'n after uncle Ben give me a favorable answer. Me and Carrie
married at Miss Twitty Thompson's house. Dat whar uncle Ben had raised
Carrie. Carrie's missus give her a good wedding supper wid chicken, ham,
turkey, cake and coffee, and tater salad. Seventy-five people is what
Miss Twitty let Carrie ax to dat supper. All dem niggers was dere, too.
"I had on a grey suit wid big stripes in it. Carrie had on a white dress
and a white veil. We used dat veil to keep de skeeters off'n our first
two babies. It made de best skeeter net. We married one Sunday morning
at 'leven o'clock and had dinner at twelve; give de preacher twenty-five
cents. Never no one give us no presents. We stayed at my pappy's house
fer years. He give us a bed, a bureau and a washstand. Carrie's folks
give us de bed clothes, and dats what we started on. Jesse, tell de
gentleman what you did at my wedding."
"I stood wid Green," said Jesse Stevenson, "and I had on a brown suit
wid grey stripes gwine up and down it. Atter de ceremony all de gals
wanted to swing me and Green, but Carrie grabbed him and shake her head
and grin; so I got all de swinging."
Green said, "Me and Carrie never went no whar atter our marriage. We
stayed on wid my pappy and worked. We been doing well ever since."
=Source:= W. M. Green (71); Jesse Stevenson (71), Rt. 1, Gaffney, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims 8/23/37
Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County
Approx. 390 words
FOLKLORE
ADELINE GREY 82 YEAR OLD
Ex-Slave
Adeline Grey seemed in good health as she sat before her granddaughter's
comfortable fire. She spoke quietly, with little excitement, and readily
recalled events of her early childhood.
"I was a girl when freedom was declare, an' I kin remember 'bout de
times. My Ma used to belong to ole man Dave Warner. I remember how she
used to wash, and iron, an' cook for de white folks durin' slavery time.
"I member when de Yankees come through. I wuz right to de old boss'
place. It wuz on de river side. Miss Jane Warner, she wuz de missus. De
place heah now--where all de chillun raise. Mr. Rhodes got a turpentine
still dere now--jes after you pass de house. Dey burn de ginhouse, de
shop, de buggyhouse, de turkeyhouse an' de fowlhouse. Start to set de
cornhouse afire, but my Ma say: 'Please sir, don't burn de cornhouse.
Gie it to me an' my chillun.' So dey put de fire out. I member when dey
started to break down de smokehouse door, an' ole Missus come out an'
say: 'Please don't break de door open, I got de key.' So dey quit. I
remember when dey shoot down de hog. I remember when dey shoot de two
geese in de yard. Dey choked my Ma. Dey went to her an' dey say; 'Where
is all de white people gold an' silver?' My Ma say she don't know. 'You
does know!' dey say, an' choke her till she couldn't talk. Dey went into
de company room where de ole Miss wuz stayin' an' start tearin' up de
bed. Den de captain come an' de ole Miss say to him: 'Please don't let
'em tear up my bed,' an' de captain went in dere an' tell 'em 'Come
out!'.
De ole Miss wasn't scared. But de young Miss May was sure scared. She
was courtin' at de time. She went off an' shut herself up in a room. De
ole Miss ask de captain: 'Please go in an' talk to de Miss, she so
scared'. So he went in an' soon he bring her out. We chillun wasn't
scared. But my brother run under de house. De soldiers went under dere
a-pokin' de bayonets into de ground to try to find where de silver
buried, an' dey ran 'cross him. 'What you doin' under heah?' dey say.
'I'se jes runnin' de chickens out, sir,' he say. 'Well, you kin go on
out,' dey say. 'We aint gwine to hurt you.'
'I remember when dey kill de hog an' cook 'em. Cook on de fire where de
little shop been. Cook 'em an' eat 'em. Why didn't dey cook 'em on de
stove in de house? Didn't have no stoves. Jes had to cook on de
fireplace. Had an oven to fit in de fireplace. I remember when my Ma saw
de Yankees comin' dat mornin' she grab de sweet potatoes dat been in dat
oven and throw 'em in de barrel of feathers dat stayed by de kitchen
fireplace. Jes a barrel to hold chicken feathers when you pick 'em.
Dat's all we had to eat dat day. Dem Yankees put de meat in de sack an'
go on off. It was late den, 'bout dusk. I remember how de Missus bring
us all 'round de fire. It was dark den.
'Well chillun,' she say, 'I is sorry to tell you, but de Yankees has
carry off your Ma. I don't know if you'll ever see her any mo.' Den we
chillun all start cryin.' We still a-sittin' dere when my Ma come back.
She say she slip behind, an' slip behind, slip behind, an' when she come
to a little pine thicket by de side of de road, she dart into it, drop
de sack of meat dey had her carryin, an' start out for home. When we had
all make over her, we say to her den: 'Well why didn't you bring de sack
of meat 'long wid you?'
Dey took de top off ole Marse John carriage, put meat in it, an' made
him pull it same as a horse. Carry him way down to Lawtonville, had to
pull it through de branch an' all. Got de rock-a-way back though--an' de
ole man. I remember dat well. Had to mend up de ole rock-a-way. An' it
made de ole man sick. He keep on sick, sick, until he died. I remember
how he'd say: 'Don't you all worry'. An' he'd go out in de orchard.
Dey'd say: 'Don't bother him! Jes let him be! He want to pray!' Atter a
while he died an' dey buried him. His name was John Stafford. Dey Massa
wasn't dere. I guess he was off to de war.
"But after freedom was de time when dey suffered more dan before. Dese
chillun don't know how dey blessed. My Ma cooked for de white folks for
one year after freedom. I remember dey cook bread, an' dey ain't have
nuthin' to eat on it. Was thankful for a cornbread hoecake baked in de
fireplace. But dey had some things. Had buried some meat, an' some
syrup. An' dey had some corn. My Ma had saved de cornhouse. De rice burn
up in de ginhouse. After freedom, dey had to draw de best thread out of
de old clothes an' weave it again. Ole Miss had give my Ma a good moss
mattress. But de Yankees had carry dat off. Rip it up, throw out de
moss, an' put meat in it. Fill it full of meat. I remember she had a red
striped shawl. One of de Yankee take dat an' start to put in under his
saddle for a saddle cloth. My brother go up to him an' say: 'Please sir,
don't carry my Ma's shawl. Dat de only one she got.' So he give it back
to him. To keep warm at night, dey had to make dere pallet down by de
fire; when all wood burn out, put on another piece. Didn't have nuthin'
on de bed to sleep on.
"I remember when de ole Miss used to have to make soap, out of dese red
oaks. Burn de wood, an' catches de ashes. Put de ashes in a barrel wid a
trough under it, an' pour de water through de ashes. If de lyewater dat
come out could cut a feather, it was strong.
"Used to weave cloth after freedom. Used to give a brooch (hank) or two
to weave at night. I'se sometimes thread de needle for my Ma, or pick
out de seed out de cotton, an' make it into rolls to spin. Sometimes I'd
work de foot pedal for my Ma. Den dey'd warp de thread. If she want to
dye it, she'd dye it. She'd get indigo--you know dat bush--an' boil it.
It was kinder blue. It would make good cloth. Sometimes, de cloth wuz
kinder strip, one strip of white, an' one of blue. I remember how dey'd
warp de thread across de yard after it wuz dyed, an' I remember seem' my
Ma throw dat shuttle through an' weave dat cloth. I member when de ole
Miss made my Mamma two black dresses to wear through de winter. She'd
keep 'em clean; had two so she could change.
"I don't know why dey didn't burn de house. Must have been 'cause de
captain wuz along. De house dere now. One of de chimney down. I don't
think dey ever put it up again. Colored folks are in it now.
"I never did know my Pa. He was sold off to Texas when I was young. My
mother would say, 'Well, chillun, you aint never known your Pa. Joe
Smart carry him off to Texas when he went. I don't guess you'll ever see
him.' My father wuz name Charles Smart. He never did come back. Joe
Smart come back once, an' say dat our father is dead. He say our Pa had
three horses an' he want one of them to be sent to us chillun heah; but
no arrangements had been made to get it to us. You see he had chillun
out dere, too.
"Atter freedom, my Ma plow many a day, same as a man, for us chillun.
She work for ole man Bill Mars. Den she marry again. Part of de time dey
work for Mr. Benny Lawton, de one-arm man, what lost his arm in de war.
Dese chillun don't know what hard times is. Dey don't know how to
preciate our blessings.
=Source:= Adeline Grey, 82-year old resident of Luray, S.C.
Project #1655
Everett R. Pierce
Columbia, S.C.
INTERVIEW WITH FANNIE GRIFFIN
EX-SLAVE 94 YEARS.
"You wants me to tell you all what I 'members 'bout slavery in slavery
time? Well ma'am, I was just a young gal then and I's a old woman now,
nigh on to ninety-four years old; I might be forgot some things, but
I'll tell you what I 'members best.
My massa, Massa Joe Beard, was a good man, but he wasn't one of de
richest men. He only had six slaves, three men and three women, but he
had a big plantation and would borrow slaves from his brother-in-law on
de 'joining plantation, to help wid de crops.
I was de youngest slave, so Missy Grace, dats Massa Joe's wife, keep me
in de house most of de time, to cook and keep de house cleaned up. I
milked de cow and worked in de garden too. My massa was good to all he
slaves, but Missy Grace was mean to us. She whip us a heap of times when
we ain't done nothing bad to be whip for. When she go to whip me, she
tie my wrists together wid a rope and put that rope thru a big staple in
de ceiling and draw me up off de floor and give me a hundred lashes. I
think 'bout my old mammy heap of times now and how I's seen her whipped,
wid de blood dripping off of her.
All that us slaves know how to do, was to work hard. We never learn to
read and write nor we never had no church to go to, only sometimes de
white folks let us go to their church, but we never jine in de singing,
we just set and listen to them preach and pray. De graveyard was right
by de church and heap of de colored people was scared to go by it at
night, they say they see ghosts and hants, and sperits but I ain't
never see none, don't believe there is none. I more scared of live
people than I is dead ones; dead people ain't gwine to harm you.
Our massa and missus was good to us when we was sick; they send for de
doctor right off and de doctor do all he could for us, but he ain't had
no kind of medicine to give us 'cepting sperits of turpentine, castor
oil, and a little blue mass. They ain't had all kinds of pills and stuff
then, like they has now, but I believe we ain't been sick as much then
as we do now. I never heard of no consumption them days; us had
pneumonia sometime tho'.
You wants to know if we had any parties for pastime? Well ma'am, not
many. We never was allowed to have no parties nor dances, only from
Christmas Day to New Year's eve. We had plenty good things to eat on
Christmas Day and Santa Claus was good to us too. We'd have all kinds of
frolics from Christmas to New Years but never was allowed to have no fun
after that time.
I 'members one time I slip off from de missus and go to a dance and when
I come back, de dog in de yard didn't seem to know me and he bark and
wake de missus up and she whip me something awful. I sho didn't go to no
more dances widout asking her. De patarollers (patrollers) would ketch
you too, if you went out after dark. We most times stay at home at night
and spin cloth to make our clothes. We make all our clothes, and our
shoes was handmade too. We didn't have fancy clothes like de people has
now. I likes it better being a slave, we got along better then, than we
do now. We didn't have to pay for everything we had.
De worst time we ever had was when de Yankee men come thru. We had heard
they was coming and de missus tell us to put on a big pot of peas to
cook, so we put some white peas in a big pot and put a whole ham in it,
so that we'd have plenty for de Yankees to eat. Then when they come,
they kicked de pot over and de peas went one way and de ham another.
De Yankees 'stroyed 'most everything we had. They come in de house and
told de missus to give them her money and jewels. She started crying and
told them she ain't got no money or jewels, 'cepting de ring she had on
her finger. They got awfully mad and started 'stroying everything. They
took de cows and horses, burned de gin, de barn, and all de houses 'cept
de one massa and missus was living in. They didn't leave us a thing
'cept some big hominy and two banks of sweet potatoes. We chipped up
some sweet potatoes and dried them in de sun, then we parched them and
ground them up and that's all we had to use for coffee. It taste pretty
good too. For a good while we just live on hominy and coffee.
No ma'am, we ain't had no celebration after we was freed. We ain't know
we was free 'til a good while after. We ain't know it 'til General
Wheeler come thru and tell us. After that, de massa and missus let all
de slaves go 'cepting me; they kept me to work in de house and de
garden."
Home address:
2125 Calhoun St.
Columbia, S.C.
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg Dist. 4
June 22, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage