Chapter XXXIII: Daddy Ancrum’s Story

I asked Daddy Ancrum to come some day and tell me all he could remember about the past, and this morning while I was reading the lessons to Clarinda in the front piazza we saw him coming through the gate, dressed in his Sunday clothes, with a very clean white shirt and a rather battered derby, but worn with such an air that you knew it was superfine and not worn every day. I wish I had a picture of the old man; seems to me he has such a lovely face in his old age; his figure is now bent, but up to a few years ago it was very erect and powerful. Old as he is, he gives me a better day’s work than any of the young ones. This is what he told me:

My mudder and fader was Ancrum and Henny, bought from Mr. Withers
after de storm. The creditor come in and we haf fu sell. My ma tell
me I ben five year old the March after the big storm. Maussa was a
big man, he was just as supple, why maussa stan’ too fine. When he
walk in Georgetown every man and woman had to look ’pon hum. When
I cum to Georgetown dere was only two full selling stores in town.
All was big house for lib in. When dem bring we to town for sell,
dem put up all de fambly, my uncle, my aunty, my pa, my ma, and der
cousin all together. Ole Mister Ben Allston come up to maussa and
trow ’e arm round maussa neck, and he say: “Robert, step forward,
the old Indigo Bank ain’t bruk yet.” Den maussa gon up and ’e buy
we all; Mr. Waterman want to buy me for mek pilot on de sea, and he
offer one tousand dolla, but maussa woodn’ let him have me. Ole
maussa used to live in dat little house you got for study house.
Maussa used to have all we chillun cum to de house and bring a
shell and fill um with molasses, and we chillun ben dat happy and
play round and maussa ben in de piazza and drop sleep, and we
chillun lauf and say: “Luk a’ buckra de sleep.” De fust chile I
min’ ben Clanda Ma Maria. When I tak dat chile fu nurse ober ribber
I see maussa been dat supple dat I seen him myself jump across dat
kenel. Den he choose me to send me up to Marion to old Uncle Joe,
’bout two miles from Warhee. I ben dey when maussa married and de
nex’ yeah, when he gwine to de mounting, him gone trough day for
see de place, and when he bring miss and Mas’ Ben just been ole
nuff fu miss to travel, and Amy ben a nussing, Maum Milly and Da
Jeam’s sister. Uncle Joe send me fu bring de colt out de field and
I bring dem up so miss can see dem. Uncle Joe pint to me and he
say: “Robert, that’s a smart boy. Please God you must take good
care of him.” Den maussa laff and say “Yes.” Dem eat dinner under
de wagon shed an de two sarvan, Amy the nuss and Hynes dribe de
wagon, de Josey wagon, and maussa dribe de carriage. No, didn’t ben
a carriage, ben a baruche, wid de top tun back. Dem gon on after
dinner--den I nebber seen miss or maussa till I hear say de place
in Marion sell to Mr. Tommy Godbald. Maussa had a hundred head of
cattle and Mauma Milly mild 30 head ebery year and send down butter
to miss and ebery year Uncle Joe drive from 60 to 100 head o’ hog.
Dem had 500 acre of wild land--Oh, my Lawd, if you wanna see plum
you must go dey, an’ apple an’ peach an’ walnut an’ eberyting to
eat. Bob been a big young man, an Peter and Sampson and David, dem
ben an’ outlan’ people Afrikan, one ben Gullah and one ben a
Guinea--the Gullah ben a cruel people--and de Fullah ben a cruel
people, but Guinea ben a tough workin’ people, an’ Milly ben a
Guinea, milk de cow, mak de butta, and bile and scald--and ma Laud,
you could pick up hominy off de flo’. Now, after mauss sol’ de
place and all de cattle an’ hog, ’e only fech down de pepple and de
hoss. When we come down him ben on de beach and he had annoder son
name Robert. Him ben a longer jinted boy, him was a pretty boy, an’
I seen him grown till he had on long ap’un. Maussa say when I come
hom I mus’n’t stop on de plantation dat night, I must go right over
to the sheashore, but de day I come an’ Mary ben jus’ out of him
time wid Billy, and him was to go down at dat time back to de beach
wid de baby, and dem had to ge’ befo’ ’twas too late in de ebening,
kase de baby was so young. My business was to cut marsh fo’ de hoss
and pick clam fo’ de duck; dat was at Kerneern an’ I do dat an’
Mary Grice was de cook, te Amy ben de nuss, Uncle Hynes was de
coach driver, Moses Barren was de butler, Cæsar was de hosier, Maum
Ria was de seamster, an’ Lavina was de fine seamster, and a gal
name Cotter--an’ Uncle Jeams Gallant was a fisherman--I met dem
dere when I cum fus and Sandy was de house boy, clean knife, rub
mahogany, I tell you we had someting to do den. Den Miss Bly habe
him sarvant ol’ lady Mary Bly was ’e right hand, Uncle Aleck was
de coach driber, ol’ Uncle Stephen Bly ben de butler, but when him
come to stay wid miss, him fish principal kase de was no wuck for
him in de house. All dem supply cum from Friend-Field. Haklus was
de cook, when Miss Bly ben home, but now him had not’ing to do but
cut mash for de hoss, Miss Bly had t’ree horse, Hope, Victory, and
Active. Jack was de tailor an’ Fannie his wife was Miss Bly
seamster, Binna was de house gal, F’ederick was de boy go behind de
carriage, open gate an’ ting. You ain’t know dat maussa own nearly
all of Georgetown? Dat Pint used to plant in corn and dat place
make all ’e own provision. I sell too much grass out o’ dat place.
Mauss used to rule de whole shubang--gracious Lord, Miss Bessie,
when I study an’ look back and ting--an’ fin’ out--you say you ben
so po’ I kyant believe, kase ole maussa ben too rich--I know befoh
de death of my ole maussa, he put on de pole boat 50 jimmy john o’
brandy an’ gin an’ rum foh tek up to Cheraw Bridge and put dem in
Mr. Coker in sto’, and one boat carry 160 barrel of rice an’ one
carry 140 barrel, an’ dem barrel hol’ 9 bushel an’ you ken pack 10
in ’em, not dem little kag you call rice-barrel now.

Maussa see somet’ing in me I didn’ see in myself, an’ he hol’ me
bak all ’e cud, den after I ben in de house, an’ den he put me in
de field for a while, and den he pint me to plow, an’ den when he
put Peter in de field for ditch, an’ den ’e pint me to wait on Mr.
Ellis. I wait on ’im about seven years, but one summah maussa wen’
travelling an’ to de No’th, den Mr. Ellis treat me so mean I run
’way an’ lef’ um. I done all ’e wuk an’ cut wood an’ do eberything
an’ he pa cum dere sick, an’ when nite cum I hab to brush muskita
off ’e pa, an’ I brush de muskita as long as I could keep awake,
but I drop ’sleep and den Mr. Ellis cum in and fin’ me ’sleep, and
take egvantage o’ me and beat me, an’ den I clean up an’ lef, and I
ben in de wood till I hear maussa cum home. Den maussa didn’ keep
Mr. Ellis anoder year, an’ after dat I gone in de held an’ after
dat he take me fo’ plow-man ober ribber, an’ after dat on de high
lan’--an’ den ’e make me captain of a gang in harvest, an’ I was a
regular arrand man, I nebber wuck in de field no mo’--jes’ tek
cha’ge of flat--carry supply to Waverly ebery week, when maussa was
gov’ner, carry down poultry, vegetable, rice, butter to go down to
miss in Charlestown, bring back molasses, sugar, rum, eberyt’ing,
an’ one time I was to take de house sarvant to put on de boat to
tek dem down to de town, dem was to cum on de flat, ’bout middle
night, an’ dem nebber cum till day clean, an’ jus’ as dem come in,
de boat gone. Nelson, William, and Fibby--Fibby in de house, was
ole Daddy Thomas’ daughta, and he ask maussa to buy her, an’ ’e
bought her and two chillun, Nancy and Jeams, an’ afterwards she
married Leander, the mule tender. Cuffy was drowned swimming de
ribber with Buie, an’ Sawney, too, dem had finish’ task soon, an’
so dem start home an’ swim de ribber, an’ Cuffy had a bucket tie’
round ’im neck and ’e fill with water an’ pull ’im down. I stan’ on
de bank an’ seen ’im drown. When I get to Squirrel Crick wid de
flat and de boat gone, an’ I hab to tek dat flat down to town, and
dat tek me till after dinner, an’ I didn’t hab nuffin to eat ’cause
I was only spectin’ to go to de mout’ of Squirrel Crick, an’ dat
boat gone in to Waverly, tek a load of rice, an’ pass me on de way,
an’ he gone into Keith field, an’ tek a load of rice, an’ pass me
on de way, and when I get to town I ben mos’ dead, I ben dat
hongry, an’ Fibby say to de captain, very polite, “Captain, can’
you gib these men something to eat, dey is mos’ dead.” Den de
captain said: “Dinner is done, and there ain’t nutting but plenty
of meat”; an’ he gib we plen’y of meat, an’ Fibby put ’e han’ in ’e
pocket an ’e tek out a twenty-five cents, an’ give we, an’ he say
you can each send a dozen eggs down to Charlestown sometime to me.
An’ we gone an’ buy rice.

After de wah come on and de sea all blockage an’ maussa send me in
charge o’ 22 han’ to wuck on fortification. In June I was wuckin
ober de ribber an’ maussa sen’ foh me, fust de Driver Richard was
to tell me, but he didn’t wan’ me to go, and I didn’t wan’ to go,
and I gone ober ribber ’gen in m’ task--and Mr. Belflowers sen’ foh
me, an’ after maussa cum an’ see me ben a fight foh hoe out m’
corn, den maussa tell me I ken tek dat day fu finish m’ corn, den
Paul say we mus’ leave at twelve or we can’ ketch de train.

Maussa tell me, ’e say: “Boy, you see nobody hurt my hands, you ask
the name of the person in charge and let me know, and when you go
anywhere to work, you ask the captain to put you in a tent by
yourself, with your own men, don’t mix up with other people.” Now
maussa tell me dat t’ree time’, an’ “Boy,” he say, “go to my yaad
when you get to Charleston.”

We ben dere a good while, an’ one day maussa cum in a bright
kerrige, an’ eberybody hurrah, an’ maussa cum to we an’ ’e say:
“Well, boy, how you gettin’ on?” An’ I say: “Not well, maussa. I
los’ one of me man, Pompey, an’ de res’ sick, an’ dis place don’
’gree wid dem.” He say: “Well, you can’t go till your wuck dun.”
“My maussa, dis wuck’ll nebber done. We’ll dun, but de wuck won’t
dun, we’s all sick.”

Maussa say: “Well, boy, if dat so you ken leave to-morrow. You meet
me in Charlestown Monday; this is Saturday. Don’t let any of the
hands go over to Charlestown until you go.” Jackson, Fibby’s
brother, wen’ off, but I couldn’t stop him. Monday we was to walk
to Charlestown, maussa tell de cap’ain put dem cross de bridge, but
he didn’ put we over till eleven o’clock, so maussa had to put we
on de mail train. When we get to Salters he tell Sam to give we
each four quart of rice an’ then Paul Bryan drive we in de wagon
four miles and maussa tol’ us to take two days to get home, bu’ we
cum righ’ ’ome dat same nite. I tell you him been a number one
maussa dat. Him’ll nebber back down from a man in trouble. He’ll
save you if you is to save! The night we left the wuk, Mr. King was
killed that day.

When we got home maussa send me to a place called Britton’s Neck,
dere ’e was clearing up land to plant. After dat maussa bring me
down and put me in a flat, and I carry de rice from Waverly Mill to
Kingstree. He sent Saundy fust, den maussa cum to Britton’s Neck,
an’ tell me: “Boy, I want one flat from Nightingdale Hall, three
from Chicora, and two from Guendalow, take all to Waverly, and all
take turns an’ load and then start together, and go up the Black
River to Kingstree, to the double bridge.”

You couldn’t pole in Waccamaw, you had to row, an’ you couldn’t
pole in Black River ’til you get to Mr. Green, Rockingham, then you
ken fin’ sum polin’ bottom. Sawny flat maussa put 111 barrel and
one week after maussa sen’ me an’ tell me to ketch Sawny, an’ Sawny
ben unload, an’ Mr. Shaw tek de rice an’ haul half a mile about to
de depot an den de railroad tek dem. Was a good deal of bad
weather, and dat way it tuk me two weeks--Nightingdale flat only
make one trip, but de odder five flat tek rice from Waverly to
Kingstree three years, an’ after dat maussa had two boat build, an’
send me an’ Joe Washington in charge of dem. My wife Maggie was a
healthy woman ’til she begin to breed, but after that maussa put
her to mind de sheep. Maussa say he nebber had any one fu’ mind
sheep like she. When she call to de sheep “Come back here,” dey
just wheel right round; when I gone on de boat up ribber, maussa
say my wife is very sick, she was at de pint of death; I was near
Cheraw--we wus aground three days, and we couldn’t go, and I pray,
an’ I pray, an’ I pray, dat night, ’cause I couldn’t lef’ de boat
on de road and de Lawd sen’ a big rain dat night and raise de
ribber thirty feet, and we gone up an’ git out de load an’ gone
right back home. An’ maussa tell me I mus’ put Maggie on de boat,
to go up, an’ I must walk and drive up de sheep Mr. George Jeams
had bought from him. “An’ you must drive them up to him, and then
you go on to a place I bought with my own money, and I got
ninety-five fine, good, prime people up there and I want you to
take charge of the place--those people can’t make feed enough there
to keep them four months; now I want you to see if you can make a
crop up there.” Den I say: “Maussa, what can I do with my cow and
calf; I kyant left them.” Him say: “Well, take them right along
with you.” Den I say: “Maussa, I got ninety sheep fu’ carry, and my
cow got a raging calf, an’ how can I tek them all along, on dat
journey all by myself.” Den maussa say: “You can take Michael with
you, till you get to Lynch’s Creek, where two men will meet you and
take the sheep.”

Well, I start from de farm and de sheep travel so slow, and so
tired, I never gone no fadder dan Mr. Blank way to Union Church; I
stay dere dat night, an’ de next day I gone to Lynch’s Creek, an’ I
wait dere, an no man nebber come for de sheep, an’ I just gone on
an’ tek de sheep and cattle, and when de man cum for de sheep dey
had to follow me about twenty miles, an’ den I tu’n Michael back
an’ I mek time on, an’ when I get to de place, maussa send me to
take charge of Morven, an’ I tek charge, an’ fust I build a house
for Maggie, when ’e come, and I ben dere three week before Maggie
cum. She had Pattie, and Kissie, and Pauline, and Aham; an’ Peter,
an’ Peter Sweet’s Louisa was on de boat, in delicate state, an’
Maggie had to put dem to bed on de boat. An’ when I ben dere one
month maussa come, an’ I been a clear ground when he come--he call
fo’ me and Mr. Yates, the agent, and Mr. Balentine, the obershear;
Mr. Yates sit near de fire, wid maussa, I stand behind, and maussa
say: “Well, Anchum, I bring you here to try and make a crop for
me, and Mr. Balentine, I want you to put everything in his
charge--he is to order the work, and he is to do the punishment,
and I want you to put the keys in his hands too.”

An’ den I say: “Maussa, I well onderstan’ de wuck, an’ I’ll tek
charge of dat, but I don’t want to tek no key.” An’ maussa say I
must. But when maussa gone, I slip de key back in Mr. Balentine’s
hand an’ say, “I don’ want de key, you keep de key,” an’ maussa say
to me: “You feed my horse and you feed Mr. Balentine’s horse too,
and your daughter Patty milk the cow.” But I wouldn’t let Patty
milk, ’cause I wouldn’t run ’cross Amy, him been a’milk, and I know
what was going on, an’ I knows dem people been eat de meat out o’
de smoke-house, an’ I know dem would tu’n it on me--so I wait till
we fin’ out, an’ Mr. Balentine gib dat man, Chance Grate, an’ he
an’ Abram Hynes an’ himself were partners, and when Chance tuk some
one else in the smoke-house without tell Abram he get mad an’ tu’n
State evidence an’ tell me, an’ I must ask Mr. Balentine: “Y’ miss
any meat?” An’ he say “No.” An I say: “Dat strange, ’cause Chance
has got some; you’d better look.” An’ he gone in de smoke-house,
an’ miss a lot. He had kill an’ cure fifty hog, and the meat ought
to ben dere. When Mr. Balentine gone to count de meat he find half
gone, den he gone with me to Chance house, an’ dere he find two
hams an’ a shoulder, an’ Mr. Balentine give him a big licking, ’til
he confess how he done it. Den I stop him, I hold ’e hand an’ I
say: “Maussa only want de trut; he don’t allow lick after dat, not
another cut.” Dere was two rice-barrel pack wid 300 bottle of ole
wine in de cellar at Morven. I wucked and wucked and made a fine
crop of peas, corn, and potatoes. Mr. Evans come up with ole miss
to look at de crop, w’en I let her know I had housed de corn, one
passel was shucked clean, an’ Mista Evans, when he look at it,
estimate 1,000 bushel of corn. Howsumeber, in de fall in February
we hear de Yankees was bombarding Chiraw; eberybody was trying to
get away from dat side, as de bridge was burned by we people. Two
soldiers cum one nite an’ ask me to let them spend de night--dey
was what de people call de “Georgia Wild Cat.” Dey say: “Ole man,
de Yankees will be here before nine to-morrow morning.” Dey hadn’t
sooner gone away from de house next morning, when de whole place
was surround wid soldier, and dey call on de men to surrender.
What dey call de picket guard cum fust, and ax dat Daddy Hammedy
fo’ de key, an’ when him hesitate, dem say, “I don’t want no key,”
an’ he just rushed up and kicked de door in, an’ rushed in, and run
up-stairs, and cum down with a bag full of silver, an’ forks and
spoons an’ plate an’ dat man say: “Ole man, de man dat own dis
place must be a hell of a rich man, he got such fine tings.” An’ I
say: “Yes, sir, my master is a powerful rich man.” Den de oders run
in an’ git more; den dey gone--den we tought dey was all gone, when
on a sudden de whole place full of people, from every corner--dey
seem to rise right out de ground; now dis was de infantry, an’ dey
cum to station dere, and dey station dere for one week. Dem people
just run dat grits-mill from de time day cum; dey just grind all de
corn we mek, an’ in a half hour de smoke-house was empty, and dey
kill and dey fetch in, and dey kill and dey fetch in, and dey kill
and dey fetch in, an’ I got tired of it, I was sassy to them; I was
wore out. Me an’ Hammedy was de only man on de place; I jus’ had to
stey by de captain to perteck me and dese womens--den he put a
guard an’ tell dem to shoot any soldier dat went to burn or trouble
de people. By de time dey was gone dere was nothing left but de
rough rice--400 bushels--an’ dey couldn’t manage dat; dey took all
de corn, and if it hadn’t been for de rice we would have starved.
The Yankees left on Tuesday, an’ de next Sunday Mr. Yates sent me
word, I must take de people an’ left at once; we must take de road,
man, woman, and chillun; we must be gone Monday night--that I must
take de hands and march off at once. I send George Green to tell
miss, say “Come at once,” and Tuesday miss cum, Daddy Eleck drive
’um, and Miss Bessie cum wid um, an’ Mista Evans ride ’long side,
an’ miss say “What’s matter?” an’ I say: “Mr. Yates drive we, say
we must lef’.” Then miss say, “Well, turn to work, repair de land
and plant what you can”; but I say: “Miss, I want to go home.” Miss
laugh and say: “Where is your home, Acrum?” I say: “Wherever you
is, miss, dere is my home.” An’ miss say: “Well, if you go home
now, ’tis too late to plant crop, so you had better plant your crop
here, so by fall you can go after you gather the crop.” So we done
so, an’ we mek a fine crop of corn and peas, an’ when de time cum
for to move, all de people what didn’t have chillun tek dey fut an’
gone, an’ we big fambly couldn’t do dat, an’ I study, an’ I study
an’ at las’ I say to Daddy Hammedy: “You an’ your son is carpenter,
and you can mek a flat; I can tek a man an’ cut down some big dead
pine, an’ haul dem in, an’ we got saw-mill, and we can mek flat,
and so we done, an’ in two weeks after we done gather in de crop we
had de flat done and ready to start on a Saturday; den we say we
will move next week, and de people say let’s go now, and so we
done, but de oxen and ting worry me. Ole miss had send Mr. Yates
and Mr. Balentine away an’ got a young man name John Shaw in
charge, and he done just what I say. Den I puswade March--he had a
ole horse he pic’ up--to tek de oxen down to ole miss to Society
Hill, wid de hoss, and he done so. We started Sunday evening at
four o’clock, and we did not get down to Chicora until de next
Sunday night in de night. Me and Daddy Hammedy, an’ his wife Mary
Ann, an’ my wife Maggie, an’ his daughter Tyra, an’ granddaughter
Cherry, my chillun--Patty, Elizabeth, Pauline, Kizzie, Aham, and
the baby Kilpatrick, then York Blye and Mary, his wife, and Joseph,
Betsy, March’s wife, Leah, and Hetty, and Flora, Phenix, and his
wife Elizabeth, and his daughter Mary, and his daughter Miley, and
Lucy. When I got off to Chicora everything been tear up, people
don gone crazy; now, when I left my house maussa tell me no one was
to stay in my house till I come. I come back and find Moses in my
house. I gone right in an’ mek Moses come right out. Now Mauss Ben
he done puty by me; I had nine head to feed, an’ Mauss Ben say he
feed them all fo’ my wuck, so Mauss Ben feed my family fu’ dat
year, and feed dem well, an’ we mek fine crop o’ rice. The fust
contract was you fu’nish land and seed and animals an’ get
two-thirds; I fu’nish wuck and get one-third. Every day I didn’t
wuck was deduct’ from my share.

Daddy Ancrum advised a change to one-half, the hands to furnish the work animals as well as their own work, and the owner furnish the land in good fix, and seed rice, and it was divided equally in half. (This proved very successful, as they had their own work animals.)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See vol. 1, page Q119, _Encyclopedia Heraldica_.

[2] I remember now two other men who were opposed to the war--Nicholas Williams of Society Hill, and Gov. Perry of Greenville.

[3] It is one of the peculiarities of the darkies of the past that they always spoke of that innermost garment which Shakespeare calls “a shift” as “their linen,” even if it was made of coarse, unbleached homespun.

[4] I always sleep on that bed myself now.

[5] Since writing this my esteemed friend, Professor Yates Snowden, has given me an interesting account of an interview with Mr. B----, a pilot of Charleston, who was one of two men who were picked up on the coast of Georgia, survivors of the _Juno_. They had spent days on a chicken-coop in the terrible storm which wrecked the overloaded little boat.