"I was born July 16, 1852 at Jeter's old mill place in Santuc township.
The Neal's Shoal dam now marks the site of the old Jeter mill. My family
consisted of my parents and an older brother. My mother was Mandy Clark
of Union township. My grandfather Clark moved to the Jeter mill and ran
it for Mr. Jeter. My father, Tom Clark, was a laborer for the Jeters and
old man Tom Sims up on Broad River at what was then known as Simstown.
The Tom Sims and Nat Gist families owned everything in Santuc township
until their lands hit the Jimmie Jeter place.
"When I was twelve, my father went to the Confederate War. He joined the
Holcombe Legion of Union County and they went immediately to Charleston.
They drilled near the village of Santuc in what was then called
Mulligan's Old Field, now owned by Rion Jeter. This was the only
mustering ground in our part of the county. The soldiers drilled once a
week, and for the 'general muster, all of the companies from Sedalia and
Cross Keys come there once a month. During the summer time they had what
they called general drill for a week or ten days. Of course on this
occasion the soldiers camped over the field in covered wagons. Some came
in buggies. Slaves, called 'wait-men' cared for the stock and did the
cooking and other menial duties for their masters.
"The general store at Santuc and the store at the Cross Roads at Fish
Dam did good business during the summer while the soldiers were in camp.
The 'cross roads' have long been done away with at Fish Dam. The store
was under a big oak in front of the house now owned and lived in by W.
H. Gist. The Cross Roads were made by the Fish Dam Ferry Road and the
old Ninety-Six Road. They tell me that the old Ninety-Six Road was
started as an Indian trail by the Cherokee Indians, way yonder before
the Revolution. I have been told that a girl named Emily Geiger rode
that ninety-six miles in one day to carry a message to an American
general. The message kept the general and his army from being captured
by the red-coats.
"Near the Kay Jeter place just below the Ninety-six road there was a
small drill ground. The place is now known as the Pittman place and is
owned by the wife of Dr. J. T. Jeter of Santuc, I believe. Mr. 'Kay'
would send a slave on a horse or a mule to notify the men to come and
drill there. From here they went on to Mulligan's Field some five or six
miles away for the big drills. As I have told you, Mulligan's Field was
the big field for all that countryside. They tell me that the same
drilling tactics used then and there, are the same used right down
yonder at Camp Jackson.
"For about four of five years after the Confederate War, we had very
little to eat. We had given everything we could to the soldiers. After
the 'May Surrender' there came a big flood and washed everything away,
and the crops were so promising that August. As you know, that was in
'65. The rains and the high water destroyed everything. I do not believe
that Broad River and the Forest and Tyger have ever been as high before
or since.
"On Henderson's Island they saved no livestock at all. They just did
manage to save themselves. They had a hard time getting the slaves to
the mainland. Mrs. Sallie Henderson, her step-son, Jack and her son,
Jim, and daughter, Lyde were in the Henderson house when the freshet
came down upon them. They had to go up on the second floor of their
house but the water came up there.
"Mr. Ben Hancock was the ferryman at Henderson's Ferry at this time. Now
you know, Henderson's Ferry is on the Enoree just above where it empties
into the Broad. Henderson's Island is in the middle of Broad River in
full sight of where old Enoree goes into the channel of the Broad. Well,
Mr. Hancock was the best boatman in his day. He knew about the
Hendersons, so he tried to go to them but failed the first three times.
The fourth time, he got to the house. When he got there, he found the
whites and twenty-five slaves trapped with them.
"A barrel of flour had caught in the stairway that had washed down the
river from somewhere above. This was pulled upstairs and that is what
Mrs. Henderson fed her family and slaves on for about five days, or
until they were rescued by Mr. Hancock. Capt. Jack blew his opossum horn
every two hours throughout the day and night to let the people over on
the mainland know that they were still safe.
"For the rest of that year, river folks had very little to eat until
food crops were produced the next spring.
"My own father was shot down for the first time at the Second Battle of
Manassas. Here he got a lick over his left eye that was about the size
of a bullet; but he said that he thought the lick came from a bit of
shell. They carried him to a temporary make-shift hospital that had been
improvised behind the breastworks. A soldier who was recovering from a
wound nursed him as best he could.
"The second time my father was wounded was in Kingston, N.C. He shot a
Yankee from behind a tree and he saw the blood spurt from him as he
fell. Just about that time he saw another Yankee behind a tree leveling
a gun at him. Father threw up his gun but too late, the Yankee shot and
tore his arm all to pieces. The bullet went through his arm and struck
the corner of his mouth knocking out part of his jaw bone. Then it went
under the neck vein and finally it came out on his back knocking a hole
in one of his shoulder blades large enough to lay your two thumbs in.
His gun stock was also cut into. He lay on the battlefield for a whole
day and night; then he was carried to a house where some kind ladies
acting as nurses cared for him for over four months. He was sent home
and dismissed from the army just a mile below Maybinton, S.C. in
Newberry County. Father was unable to do any kind of work for over two
years. The war closed a year after he got home. From that time on I
cared for my mother and father.
"We had moved to the plantation of Mr. Ben Maybin in Maybinton before my
father was sent home wounded. Father lived until March, 1st, 1932 when
he died at the ripe old age of 102. When he died we were living at one
of the Jeter plantations near Kelley's Chapel, in Fish Dam township,
one-half mile from Old Ninety-Six Road. Father is buried at Kelley's
Chapel.
"Mr. Harvey has a bullet that Gov. Scott issued to the negroes during
reconstruction times when he was governor of South Carolina under the
carpetbag rule. Scott issued these bullets to the negroes to kill and
plunder with. Mr. Harvey says that bullets like this one were the cause
of many negroes finding their graves in the bottom of Broad River. Mr.
Harvey, so it is said, is still a Ku Klux. They were the chief
instruments in getting him into the County Home of Union in 1925.
"The Ku Klux made a boat twenty-five feet long to carry the negroes down
the river. They would take the negroes' own guns, most of them had two
guns, and tie the guns around their necks in the following manner: The
barrel of one gun was tied with wire around the negro's neck, and the
stock of the other gun was fastened with wire around the negro's neck.
When the captain would say, 'A-M-E-N', over the side of the boat the
negro went, with his guns and bullets taking him to a watery grave in
the bottom of Broad River. The wooden parts of the guns would rot, and
sometimes the bodies would wash down on the rocks at Neal's Shoals what
was then Jeter's Old Mill. Old gun stocks have been taken from there as
mementoes.
"Bill Fitzgerald was my first Ku Klux Captain. He organized the clan in
Newberry. When I came to the Klan over on the Union side, Judge W. H.
Wallace and Mr. Isaac McKissick were leaders.
"When we got the negroes from the county jail, the same jail that we
have now, that were arrested for killing Matt Stevens, I broke the lock
on the jail door. Buck Allen was the blacksmith. He held a sledge hammer
under the lock while I threw a steel hammer overhanded on the lock to
break it.
"I think Abe Lincoln would have done the South some good if they had let
him live. He had a kind heart and knew what suffering was. Lee would
have won the war if the mighty Stonewall Jackson had lived. Stonewall
was ahead of them all. I had two uncles, Jipp and Charlie Clark in
Stonewall's company. They would never talk much about him after his
death. It hurts them too much, for Stonewall's men loved him so much.
Jeff Davis was a great man, too."
=Source:= Mr. Charlie Jeff Harvey, Rt. 4, Box 85, Union, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. 8/18/35.
Project #1655
W.W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S.C.
ELIZA HASTY
EX-SLAVE 85 YEARS OLD.
Eliza Hasty lives with her son-in-law and her daughter, Philip Moore and
Daisy Moore, in an old time ante bellum home. It has two stories, eight
rooms, and front and back piazzas, supported by slender white posts or
columns. It is the old William Douglas homestead, now owned by John D.
Mobley. He rents it to Philip Moore, a well behaved Negro citizen, who,
out of respect for his mother-in-law, Eliza, supports her in the sore
trials and helplessness of blindness and old age. The home is five miles
southeast of Blackstock, S.C.
"Boss, you is a good lookin' man, from de sound of your voice. Blind
folks has ways of findin' out things that them wid sight know nothin'
'bout and nobody can splain. De blindness sharpens de hearin', 'creases
de tech, prickles de skin, quickens de taste, and gives you de nose of a
setter, pointer or hound dog. Was I always blind? Jesus, no! I just got
de 'fliction several years ago. I see well enough, when I was a young
gal, to pick out a preacher for my fust husband. So I did! How many
times I been married? Just two times; both husbands dead. Tell you 'bout
them directly.
"What dat? Er ha, ha, ha, ha, er ha, ha, ha! Oh Jesus, you makes me
laugh, white folks! De idea of my lossin' my sight a lookin' 'round for
a third husband! You sho' is agreeable. Ain't been so tickled since de
secon' time I was a widow. You know my secon' husband was bad after
blind tiger liquor, and harlot eyed, brassy, hussy women.
"Well, I comes down to Winnsboro today to see, I should say to find out,
'cause you know I can't see, 'bout de pension they is givin' out to de
aged and blind. My white folks say dat you wanna see me and here I is.
"Yes sir, I was born two miles south of Woodward and one mile south of
old Yonguesville, on de Sterling place. I born a slave of old Marse John
Sterling. Him have a head as red as a pecker-wood bird dat just
de-sash-sheys 'round de top of dead trees, and make sich a
rat-ta-ta-tapple after worms. His way of gittin' his meat for dinner. My
mistress name Betsy. Deir fust child was Robert, dat never marry; him
teach nearly every school in Fairfield County, off and on befo' he died.
Then dere was young Marster Tom, small little man, dat carry his
Seceeder 'ligion so far, him become 'furiated and carry dat 'ligion
right up and into de Secession War. Make a good soldier, too! General
Bratton call him, 'My Little Jackass of de Sharp Shooters'! Marse Tom
proud of dat name, from de mouth of a great man lak General John
Bratton.
"Marse Tom heard de fust gun fire at Fort Sumter, and laid down his gun,
him say, under a big horse apple tree at 'Applemattox'.
"Miss Sallie, one of de chillun, marry Mr. Chris Elder, of Blackstock.
Miss Hepzibah, they call her Heppie, marry a man named Boyd, in Chester
County. Miss Mary Izabella, they call her Bell, marry Marse John
Douglas; they are de 'cestors of dat very angel whose house us is
settin' in right dis minute. Her name is Martha but when grown-up, they
sublet (meaning change) dat name to Mattie, and when her marry, her
become Mrs. Thomas P. Bryson. Her is a widow, just lak I is a widow. De
only difference is, I's black and her is white. Her can see well enough
to run after and ketch another man, but I's blind and can't see a man,
much less chase after him. So dere it is! What for you laughin' 'bout?
No laughin' business wid me.
"My pappy no b'long to Marse John Sterling: him slave of de Stinsons.
Have to git a pass to come to see my mammy, Mary. Him name Aleck. After
de war him take de name of Alexander Roseboro. Him lak a big long name
dat would make folks set up and take notice of him.
"Us live in a little log-house wid a dirt floor. Us had mighty poor
beds, I tell you. Us just had planks to lay de wheat straw mattress on.
Pillows? De pillows was just anything you could snatch and put under
your head. Yes sir, us had plenty to eat.
"They 'struct us in de short catechism, make us go to church, and sit up
in de gallery and jine in de singin' on Sundays. Us was well 'tended to
when sick. Marster didn't have many slaves. 'Members only two they have,
'sides us; they was Uncle Ned and Cindy. Seem lak dere was another. Oh
yes! It was Fred, a all 'round de creation boy, to do anything and
everything. He was a sorta shirt-tail boy dat pestered me sometime wid
goo-goo eyes, a standin' in de kitchen door, drappin' his weight from
one foot to de other, a lookin' at me while I was a churnin' or washin'
de dishes. Dat boy both box-ankle and knock-kneed. When you hear him
comin' from de horse lot to de house, his legs talk to one another, just
lak sayin': 'You let me pass dis time, I let you pass nex' time.' I let
you know I had no time for dat ape! When I did git ready to marry, I fly
high as a eagle and ketch a preacher of de Word! Who it was? Him was a
Baptis' preacher, name Solomon Dixon. 'Spect you hear tell of him. No?
Well, him b'long, in slavery time, to your Aunt Roxie's people in
Liberty Hill, Kershaw County. You 'members your Aunt Roxie dat marry
Marse Ed D. Mobley, her fust cousin, don't you?
"I love Solomon and went down under de water to be buried wid him in
baptism, I sho' did, and I come up out of dat water to be united wid him
in wedlock. When us marry, him have on a long-tail coat, salt and pepper
trousers, box-toed shoes, and a red lead pencil over his ear, just as
long as de one I 'spects you is writin' wid, tho' I can't see it.
"How I dressed? I 'members 'zactly. I wore a blue worsted shirt, over a
red underskirt, over a white linen petticoat wid tuckers at de hem, just
a little long, to show good and white 'long wid de blue of de skirt and
de red of de underskirt. Dese all come up to my waist and was held
together by de string dat held my bustle in place. All dis and my corset
was hid by de snow white pleated pique bodice, dat drapped gracefully
from my shoulders. 'Round my neck was a string of green jade beads. I
wore red stockin's and my foots was stuck in soft, black, cloth, gaiter
shoes.
"My go-away-hat was 'stonishment to everybody. It was made out of red
plush velvet and trimmed wid white satin ribbons. In de front, a ostrich
feather stood up high and two big turkey feathers flanked de sides. Oh,
de treasures of memory to de blind. I's happy to sit here and talk to
you 'bout dat day! I sho' is!
"Us live at Marse John Douglas for a time and dat's where my fust child
was born. I name her for your Aunt Roxie, tho' I give her de full name,
Roxanna Dixon. Her marry John Craig. They live on your grandpa
Woodward's old Nickey place, four miles southeast of Blackstock. I had
another baby and I name her Daisy. Her marry Philip Moore. I lives wid
them in de old William Douglas mansion. Nearly all de white folks
leavin' de country dese days and de colored folks gits de fine country
houses to live in.
"Well, after de years fly by, my husband, Solomon, go to de mansion
prepared for him and me in hebben. I wait a year and a day and marry
William Hasty. Maybe I was a little hasty 'bout dat, but 'spects it was
my fate. Him drink liquor and you know dat don't run to de still waters
of peace and happiness in de home. Him love me, I no doubt dat, but he
get off to de bar room at Blackstock, or de still house in bottom lands,
get drunk and spend his money. De Bible say dat kind of drowsiness soon
clothe a man in rags. Him dead now. God rest his soul!
"De Yankees come. They took notice of me! They was a bad lot dat
disgrace Mr. Lincoln dat sent them here. They insult women both white
and black, but de Lord was mindful of his own.
"I knows nothin' else to tell you, 'less you would be pleased to hear
'bout what de cyclone did to my old missus and de old Sterling house.
Somewhere 'bout 1880's one of them super knockshal (equinoctial) storms
come 'long, commencin' over in Alabama or Georgia, crossed de Savannah
River, sweep through South Carolina, layin' trees to de ground, cuttin'
a path a quarter of a mile wide, as it traveled from west to east. Every
house it tech, it carry de planks and shingles and sills and joists 'way
wid it. De old Sterling house was in de path. Dere was a big oak tree in
de front yard. Old miss and her son, Robert, was dere and Miss Heppie, a
granddaughter, was in dat house. De storm hit dat house 'bout 9 o'clock
dat night and never left a bit of it, 'cept some of de bricks. Some of
de logs and sills was found de nex' day over at de other side of de
railroad track. Some of de planks was found six miles east, some of de
shingles across Catawba River, 25 miles east, and curious to say, de
wind blowed old miss against de big oak tree and kill her. It blowed
Miss Heppie in de top of dat tree where she was settin' a cryin' and
couldn't git down, and it never harm a hair of Marse Robert's head. Him
look 'round for Miss Heppie, couldn't find her, went off to get help,
and when they come back, they have to git a ladder from old Mr. Bob
Mobley's house to git her down.
"Well, here comes my daughters. I hear one outside but I bet you don't
hear a thing. Dats deir steps I hear. Glad for you to meet them. They is
mighty fine gals, if I do have to say so. They come up wid good white
folks, de Mills'. Marse Jim Mills have family prayer in de mornin' and
family prayer befo' they go to bed. Dat was de fust thing wid him and de
last thing wid de Mills' family. If all de families do dat way, dere
would be de answer to de prayer, 'Dy kingdom come, Dy will be done, on
earth, as 'tis in hebben'.
"Well, give me my stick. Here they is. I bids you goodbye and God bless
you."
Reference:
Personal interview with Aunt Dolly Haynes, age 91
Arthurtown, S.C.
AUNT DOLLY HAYNES
EX-SLAVE, 91 YEARS OLD, ARTHURTOWN S.C.
"I nebber wuz no rockin' chair setter. I ain't nebber had no time to set
down and do nuthin'. I wuz born at Euta, South Carolina. We belong to
Marse Charlie Baumer. My Ma died and lef four motherless chillun but de
missus wuz mighty good to us--call us her chillun. Pa rung de bell on de
plantation fur ter wake de slaves up fur to go to de fiel'. My Missus
wuz blind but she wuz a mighty kin' lady. Mek de cook bring plate of
vittals to see ef it wuz heavy nough for her little chillun.
"After freedom all us moved wid de Marse and Missus to Childs, South
Carolina and I mar'd Paul Haynes, who belonged to old Colonel Hampton.
"Paul wanted to preach but nedder of us had no learnin' an' I say to
Paul, 'Does you think you got nough learnin' to lead a flock of people?
I don' wan' you to git up an' mek me shame.' I tell him to go to de
Benedicts an' see what book he needs to study, come by town bring me a
pair of broggans for me, 'cause I wuz a-gwine to wuk and he wuz a-gwine
to school. For t'ree long years I plowed de farm an' sent Paul to de
Benedicts 'til he wuz edicated. De briars cut my legs an' de breshes
tore my skirt, but I tuck up de skirt an' plow right on 'til I bought my
little farm. Paul bin dead now 'bout twelve years, but he preached right
up to de day he died.
"I got a neffu but I lives alone, wen deys some one in de house I puts
down and dey picks up--I cleans up and dey tears up. I don' owe nobody
nuthin'. Wen de nurvus spells leaves me an' I feels a little strong in
de legs I wuks mah garden. I loves to be doin' somethin' to keep clean,
'cause I jes ain't no rockin chair setter".
Code No.
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S.C.
Date, November 11, 1937
Reduced from ---- words
Rewritten by ----
LINEY HENDERSON
EX-SLAVE, 70 YEARS
"Accordin to de way dey figures up my age, dey say I 70 now en I
believes dat right, too, en de government ought to give me somethin.
When we was born, de white folks put us chillun age down in de Bible en
I know from dat I been 19 years old de year of de shake. Cose I gets
clothes give to me, but no help no more den dat en all dis here wood en
coal bill put on me. No, mam, ain' got no support to help me out no
time. But justice will plum de line some day. I just gwine leave it in
de hands of de Lord. Ain' gwine cry over it."
"I tell you, I been wid white folks all my days en I was properly cared
for long as I been in dey protection. I suffers now more den I is ever
think bout would come to me. Yes, mam, I done raise over 20 head of
white chillun. Dat de God truth. I been in de white folks kitchen all my
days en if I feel right, I think dey ought to take of me in my old age.
I don' brag on myself, but if I could work like I used to, I wouldn' ax
nothin from nobody. I had a family of white people to send for me de
other week to come en live wid dem en dey would take care of me, but I
never had nobody to trust aun' Sallie wid. You see, child, she such a
helpless, poor creature just settin dere in dat bed all de time en can'
see to do one thing widout I give her my hand. Cose de government helps
aun' Sallie, but dat ain' me. En, honey, I ain' even able to stand up en
iron, I has dis rheumatism so bad. It hurts me so terrible at night, I
has to keep my foots out from under de cover. It a sort of burnin
rheumatism like. Yes, mam, it does worry me right smart."
"Oh, my Lord, I was raise down dere to old Dr. Durant plantation. Yes,
mam, dem Durants had everything right to dey hand. Never had to want for
a glass of water or nothin en didn' none of Dr. Durant's colored people
never had no trouble wid de law from de time de law take care to dis. I
remember old Massa would always kill his plantation people a cow on de
fourth of July en couldn' never count de number of hogs dey would have,
dere be so many. Honey, dey would take dem hogs up dis time of de year
from out de swamp en put dem in dey fattenin pen. Lord, Lord, de many a
time dat I been see dem take bucket on a bucket of milk to dat pen. When
my mother was dere helpin dem, dey used to been a week to a time tryin
up lard en makin blood puddin en sausage en joinin up ears en things
like dat. Yes, mam, all dey plantation niggers what been helpin dat day
set for hog killin would eat to de white folks yard. Dey would just put
two or three of dese big wash pot out in de yard en full dem up wid
backbone en haslets en rice to satisfy dem hungry niggers wid en would
bake de corn bread to de Missus kitchen. I mean dey would have hog
killin days den, too. Would have dese long old benches settin out dere
under de trees to work on--long benches, child. Some days, dey would
kill 15 hogs en some days, dey would kill 20 hogs en I mean dey was
hogs, not pigs. De number dey would kill would be accordin to how many
hands was helpin de day dey pick to kill. You see, dey would kill dem
one day en hang dem up en den dey would set de next day to cut dem up.
Oh, dey would hang dem up right out to de eyes of everybody en didn'
nobody never have no mind to bother nothin. My Lord, couldn' trust to do
nothin like dat dese days. En dey had de nicest homemade butter en whip
cream dere all de time. Seems like things was just more plentiful en dey
was better in dat day en time."
"It just like I tellin you, it de way of de past, everything had to be
carried out right on Dr. Durant's plantation. When freedom come here,
dere couldn' no head never get dem colored people to leave from dere.
Yes, mam, dey great grand-chillun dere carryin on to dis very day. Dem
Durant chillun ain' never had to hunt for no hand to do somethin for
dem. Yes, mam, my white folks had dey own colored people graveyard what
was corn crated in en it still dere right now. When one of de colored
people on de plantation would die, dey white folks would be right dere
to de funeral. En it de blessed truth, old Dr. Durant had his own
carpenters right dere on de plantation to make de corpse boxes en line
dem en all dat en dig de graves. Dat was a day, honey, en dat a day gone
from here, I say."
"I ain' never been one of dese peck abouts when I was comin on cause I
didn' done nothin, but nurse de white folks chillun dat was comin up.
Yes, mam, I would go all bout wid de white people. Dey never didn' leave
me home. Lord, de chillun what I nurse, dey got seven en eight head of
chillun of dey own now. Like I been tellin you, some of dem beg me to
come en live wid dem, but my God, I can' struggle wid dem chillun no
more after I done wash baby breeches all my best days, so to speak. Yes,
my Lord, dem chillun would get dey 10:30 lunch in de mornin en I been
get mine, too. Ain' never had to work in de field in all my life.
Anybody can tell you dat what know me."
"I has a little boy stayin here wid me en aun' Sallie what was give to
me. I don' never think hard of de people for not fussin bout him stayin
here cause he helps me so much. No, mam, I know his mother fore she die
en he been stayin wid his aun' en she chillun en dey treat him mean. He
been raise to himself en he can' stand no other chillun en he come home
from school one day en ax me to let him stay here wid me. No, child, he
ain' no trouble cause de Lord give me dat child. He can stay out dere in
dat yard right by himself en play all day fore he would ever get dirty
up."
"Well, I tell you, I don' know hardly what to say bout how de world
gwine dese days. I just afraid to say bout it. I know one thing, I used
to live better, but President Roosevelt, seem like he tryin to do de
right thing. But if I could be de whole judge of de world, I think de
best thing would be for de people to be on dey knees en prayin. De
people talkin bout fightin all de time en dis here talk bout fightin in
de air, dat what got my goat. Might lay down at night sound en wake up
in de mornin en find us all in destructiveness. I say, de Lord all what
can save dis country."
=Source:= Liney Henderson, age 70, colored, Marion, S.C.
Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Nov., 1937.
Project #1655
W.W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S.C.
JIM HENRY
EX-SLAVE 77 YEARS OLD.
Jim Henry lives with his wife, Mary, in a four-room frame house, three
miles southeast of Winnsboro, S.C. He owns the house and nine acres of
land. He has only one arm, the other having been amputated twenty years
ago. He employs a boy to plough, and he and his wife make a living on
the property.
"I was born in the Bratton slave quarter, about six miles northeast of
Winnsboro. I was born a slave of General John Bratton. He use to tell me
I come from 'stinguished stock, dat he bought my father, James, from de
Patrick Henry family in Virginia. Dat's de reason my pappy and us took
dat name after freedom.
"My mother, Silva, and her mother, was bought from de Rutledge family in
Charleston, by General Bratton. My grandfather, on my mother's side, was
name Edward Rutledge. No, sir, I don't mean he was a white man; he just
ginger-cake color, so my mother say. My pappy say his father was a
full-blooded Indian, so, dat makes three bloods in my veins, white
folks, Indian folks, and Negro folks. Derefore, us been thrifty like de
white man, crafty like de Indians, and hard workin' like de Negroes.
"In slavery time, us lived in one of de nice log houses in de Bratton
quarters. Our beds was pole beds, wid wheat straw ticks, and cotton
pillows. De Brattons was always sheep raisers, and us had woolen
blankets and woolen clothes in de winter. My mother was one of de
seamstresses; she make clothes for de slaves. Course, I'm tellin' you
what she tell me, mostly. I was too little to 'member much 'bout slavery
time. All de little niggers run 'round in deir shirt-tails in summer
time; never work any, just hunt for grapes, muscadines, strawberries,
chinquapins, hickory nuts, calamus root, slippery elmer (elm) bark, wild
cherries, mulberries, and red and black haws, and was as happy as de
days was long.
"I just can 'member de Yankees. Don't 'member dat they was so bad. You
know they say even de devil ain't as black as he is painted. De Yankees
did take off all de mules, cows, hogs, and sheep, and ransack de
smoke-house, but they never burnt a thing at our place. Folks wonder at
dat. Some say it was 'cause General Bratton was a high 'gree mason.
"While Marse John, who was a Confederate General, was off in de war, us
had overseers. They made mother and everybody go to do field. De little
chillun was put in charge, in de daytime, wid an old 'mauma', as they
called them in them days. Dere was so many, twenty-five or thirty, dat
they had to be fed out of doors. At sundown they was 'sembled in a tent,
and deir mammies would come and git them and take them home. Dere used
to be some scrappin' over de pot liquor dat was brought out in big pans.
De little chillun would scrouge around wid deir tin cups and dip into de
pan for de bean, pea, or turnip pot liquor. Some funny scraps took
place, wid de old mauma tryin' to separate de squallin', pushin',
fightin' chillun.
"De overseers was Wade Rawls and a Mr. Timms. After freedom, us moved to
Winnsboro, to Dr. Will Bratton's farm near Mt. Zion College. I went to
school to Mr. Richardson and Miss Julia Fripp, white teachers employed
by northern white people. I got very 'ligious 'bout dat time, but de
brand got all rubbed out, when us went to work for Major Woodward. His
'ligion was to play de fiddle, go fox huntin', and ride 'round gittin'
Negroes to wear a red shirt and vote de democrat ticket. I went 'long
wid him and done my part. They tell a tale on Marse Tom Woodward and I
'spects it's true:
"He was runnin' for some kind of office and was goin', nex' day, up in
de dark corner of Fairfield to meet people. Him hear dat a old fellow
name Uriah Wright, controlled all de votes at dat box and dat he was a
fox hunter to beat de band. He 'quire 'round 'bout Mr. Wright's dogs. He
find out dat a dog name 'Ring Smith' was de best 'strike'. Jolly Wright
was de name of de cold 'trailer', and Molly Clowney was de fastest dog
of de pack. Marse Tom got all dis well in his mind, and nex' day rode up
to old Mr. Wright's, 'bout dinner time.
"De old man had just come in from de field. Marse Tom rode up to de gate
and say; 'Is dis Dr. Wright?' De old man say: 'Dat's what de people call
me 'round here.' Marse Tom say: 'My name is Woodward. I am on my first
political legs, and am goin' 'round to see and be seen, if not by
everybody, certainly by de most prominent and 'fluential citizens of
each section.' Then de old man say: 'Git down. Git down. You are a
monstrous likely man. I'll take you in to see Pinky, my wife, and we'll
see what she has to say 'bout it.'
"Marse Tom got down off his horse and was a goin' to de house talkin'
all de time 'bout crops. Spyin' de dogs lyin' 'round in de shade, him
say: 'Dr. Wright, I am a 'culiar man. I love de ladies and admire them
much but, if you'll pardon my weakness, a fine hound dog comes nearer
perfection, in my eye, than anything our Father in heaven ever made to
live on this green earth!'
"'And what do you know 'bout hounds?' Old man Uriah asked, turnin' from
de house and followin' Marse Tom to where de dogs was. Marse Tom set
down. De whole pack come to where he was, sniffed and smelt him, and wag
deir tails in a friendly way. Marse Tom say: 'What is de name of dis
dog? Ring Smith, did you say, Doctor? An uncommon fine dog he seems to
me. If dere be any truth in signs, he oughta be a good strike.' De old
man reply: 'Good strike, did you say? If dere was 5,000 dogs here, I
would bet a million dollars dat Ring Smith would open three miles ahead
of the best in de bunch. And you might go befo' a trial justice and
swear it was a fox, when he opened on de trail.'
"Marse Tom nex' examined de pale black and tan dog, which was Jolly
Wright, de coldest trailer. Feelin' his nose and eyein' him all over, he
say at last: 'Dr. Wright, I think dis is one of de most remarkable dogs
I has ever seen. I would say he is de coldest trailer of your pack?'
"'Coldest, did you say? Why he can smell them after they have been along
three or four weeks.' Molly Clowney was nex' picked out by Marse Tom,
and come in for his turn. 'Here ought to be de apple of your eyes, Dr.
Wright,' say Marse Tom, 'for if I know anything 'bout dogs, this is the
swiftest animal dat ever run on four feet. Tell me now, honor bright,
can't she out run anything in these parts?'
"'Run, did you say? No. She can't run a bit. But dere ain't a crow nor a
turkey buzzard, dat ever crossed de dark corner, dat can hold a candle
to her flyin'. I've seen her run under them and outrun deir shadows many
times. Dinner is 'bout ready, and I want you to meet Pinky.'
"Marse Tom was took in de house and de old man led him 'round like a
fine horse at a show or fair. 'Why, Pinky, he is smart; got more sense
than all de candidates put together. He is kin to old preacher Billy
Woodward, de smartest man, I heard my daddy say, in Europe, Asia,
Africa, North America, or South America.' They say Marse Tom promised
befo' he left to pass a bill dat no fence was to be higher than five
rails, to suit fox hunters. Then de old man tell Miss Pinky to bring his
fiddle, and he played 'De Devil's Dream'. When he finished, Marse Tom
grab de fiddle and played: 'Hell Broke Loose In Georgia', wid such power
and skill dat de old man, Uriah, hugged Miss Pinky and cut de 'Pigeon
Wing' all over de floor. Marse Tom, they say, carry every vote at dat
dark corner box.
"I fall in love with Mary Hall. Got her, slick as a fox. Us had ten
chillun. Eight is livin'. Robert is at de Winnsboro Cotton Mills. Ed in
de same place. Estelle marry a Ford, and has some land near Winnsboro.
Maggie marry a Pickett. Her husband took her to Washington. John Wesley
is at Greensboro. Florence marry a Barber and lives in Winston Salem,
N.C. Charley is in Winnsboro. Corinne marry a McDuff and is in
Winnsboro.
"Mighty glad to talk to you, and will come some day and try to bring you
a 'possum. You say you would like to have one 'bout Thanksgivin' Day?"
Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg Dist. 4
June 1, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage