Chapter VI: Part 6

"Old Daddy Rodgers and merry wuz she!
The old man wuz cripple
And Mary wuz blind.
Keep you hat on you head.
Keep you head warm
And set down under that sycamore tree!
My kite! My kite!
My kite! My kite!
Two oxen tripe!
Two open dish 'o cabbage!
My little dog!
My spotted hawg!
My two young pig a starving!
Cow in the cotton patch. Tell boy call dog drive pig out cotton!
Heah duh song;
Send Tom Taggum
To drive Bone Baggum
Out the world 'o wiggy waggum!"

(This last song chanted out by Aunt Eleanor Godfrey, age 99, is really a gem. She said 'Bone Baggum' boney old white cow. 'Wiggy waggum' is a picture word making one see the soft, wagging tufts of white cotton.)

Given by Aunt Eleanor Godfrey
Age 99 (100 come seben of Oct.)
June 25th, 1937
Conway, S.C.

Project 1655
Genevieve W. Chandler
Georgetown County, S.C.

FOLKLORE.

(MOM ELLEN SINGS * * *)
BONE BAGGUM (Bag o' bones?)

Send Tom Taggum (a man)
To drive Bone Baggum (a boney critter)
Out the world o' wiggly waggum. (cotton patch)

<tb>

Rock-a-bye!
Rock-a-bye!
Down come baby cradle and all!
Roll 'em! Roll 'em! Roll 'em!
Roll 'em and boll' em!
And put 'em in the oven!

<tb>

"I KNOW when I was a woman Ben was boy!" (Ben now 88)

<tb>

"Go to writin'!":

If you want to know my name
Go to Uncle Amos house.
Big foot nigger and he six foot high.
Try to bussin' at my waterfall! (Kissin' her waterfall--head-dress.)
Oh, the gay gal
Settin' on the rider (fence 'rider' on 'stake and rider fence')
Gay gal waterfall.
Don't tech (touch) my waist
But bounce my shirt!
Don't touch my waterfall!"

"I sing that sing to 'em and man buss out and cry! 'My God! You talk ME?' I ain't want him! I kick him with that same word.

"They was Zazarus and Lavinia. Dead can't wash for myself. I go wash and lay Lavinia out. And he husband wanter (want to) marry with me. I kick him with that same sing. Hint to wise. If he couldn't understand that he couldn't understand nothing.

"Mr. Godfrey my last husband, he worth all the two I got. I have the chillun. Wenus, Jane, Patient, Kate, Harry, Edmund, Jeemes--"

=Source:= Mom Ellen Godfrey
Age 100 October 1937
Conway, S.C.

S-260-264-N
Project #1655
Augustus Ladson
Charleston, S.C.

Page 1
No. Words 1654

MASTER WAS NEVER SO MOROCIOUS
SLAVES CALLED COW-MEAT FISH
SLAVE BORN WITH A 'CALL'

I come frum Mt. Pleasant an' was bo'n January 15, 1855 on Mr. Lias Winning plantation on the Cooper River. I wus den six years ole w'en the war broke out an' could 'member a good many things. My ma an' pa bin name Anjuline an' Thomas Goodwater who had eight boys an' eight gals. I use to help my gran'ma 'round the kitchen who wus the cook for the fambly. I am the older of the two who is alive. Peter, the one alive, live on my place now, but I ain't hear from dem for two years. I don' know for certain dat he's alive or not.

In slavery the people use to go an' catch possums an' rabbits so as to hab meat to eat. De driber use to shoot cows an in de night de slaves go an' skin um an' issue um 'round to all the slaves, 'speciall w'en cows come frum anodder plantation. He go 'round an' tell the slaves dey better go an' git some fish 'fore all go. Any time any one say e hab fish it wus understood e mean cow-meat. Our boss ain't nebber cetch on nor did e ebber miss any cow; Gie Simmons, de collud driber wus under Sam Black, the white overseer. Sam Black wusn't mean, he jus' had to carry out orders of Lias Winning, our master. Dere wus a vegetable garden dat had things for the year round so we could hab soup an' soup could be in the Big House.

One day w'en I wus 'bout fourteen I did supin an' ma didn' like it. A bunch of gals bin home an' ma wheel my short over my head an' start to be at me right 'fore the gals. Dey begged her not to lick me an' she got mad jus' for dat. I couldn't help myself cuz she tie' de shirt over my head wood a string, my han's an' all wuz tie' in de shirt wood the string. In hot wedder gals an' boys go in dere under shirts an' nothin' else.

Boys in dose days could fight but couldn' throw any one on the groun'. We had to stan' up an eider beat or git beat.

I wus married in 1872 to Catharine, my wife. At our weddin' we had plenty to eat. There wus possums, wine, cake, an' plenty o' fruits. I had on a black suit, black shoes, white tie an' shirt. Catharine had on all white. I stay' wood Catharine people for a year 'til I wus abled to buil' on my lan'. I am a fadder of nineteen chillun; ten boys an' nine gals; only two now livin'.

Lias Winning wusn' a mean man. He couldn' lick pa cus dey grow up togedder or at least he didn' try. But he liked his woman slave. One day ma wus in da field workin' alone an' he went there an' try to rape 'er. Ma pull his ears almos' off so he let 'er off an' gone an' tell pa he better talk to ma. Pa wus workin' in the salt pen an' w'en Mr. Winning tell him he jus' laugh cus e know why ma did it.

Dere wus a fambly doctor on de plantation name James Hibbins. My eye use to run water a lot an' he take out my eye an' couldn' put it back in, dats why I am blin' now. He ax ma an' pa not to say anything 'bout it cus he'd lost his job an' hab his license take 'way. So ma an' pa even didn' say anything even to Mr. Winning as to the truth of my blin'ness.

I wus by the "nigger quarters" one day w'en Blake, the overseer start' to lick a slave. She take the whip frum him an' close de door an' give him a snake beatin'.

Our boss had 'bout shree hund'ed acres o' lan' an' ober a hund'ed slaves. De overseer never wake de slaves. Dey could go in the fiel' any time in the mornin' cus ebery body wus given their tas' work on Monday Mornin'. No body neber work w'en it rain or cole. Nuttin' make Lias Winning so mad as w'en one would steal; it make him morocious. Any one he catch stealin' wus sure to git a good whippin'. He didn' like for any one to fight eider.

Dey tell me dat w'en slaves wus shipped to New Orleans dey had to be dress-up in nice clothes. My pa could read an' write cus he live' in the city here. His missus teach him.

Isaac Wigfall run 'way an' went to Florida an' meet a white man on a horse with a gun. He ax de man for a piece o' tobacco. The man give him de gun to hole while he git the tobacco for him. Isaac take the gun an' point it at the man an' ax 'im, "you know wha' in dis gun?" De man got frighten' an' he tell de man "you better be gone or I'll empty it in you." The man gone an' come back wood a group o' men an' houndogs. He'd jus' make it to de river 'fore the dogs cetch him. He had a piece o' light-wood knot an' ebery time a dog git near he hit um on de neck an' kill' all o' them. The men went back to git more help an' dogs but w'en dey git back Isaac wus gone.

Dere wus a collud church fifteen miles frum Mt. Pleasant w'ere we went to service. De preacher wus name' John Henry Doe. I use to like to sing dis song:

Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Sojus of the cross.

CHORUS

Hole on, hole on
Hole on, hole on
Hole on, hole on
Hole on, sojus of the cross.

Ma too use to sing dat song.

Dere use to be dances almos' ebery week an' the older boys an' gals walk twelve miles dis to be dere. Some time there wus a tamborine beater, some time dey use' ole wash tubs an' beat it wood sticks, an' some time dey jus' clap their han's. W'en any one die dey wus bury in the mornin' or early afternoon.

I always play wood ghost cus I wus bo'n with a "call". I kin see the ghost jus' is plain is ebber. Some time I see some I know an' again others I don' know. Only thing you can' see their feet cus dey walk off de ground. W'en I use to see dem my sister would put sand on de fire den dey would go an' I wouldn' see any for a long time. One mornin' my uncle wus passin' a church an' a ghost appear on the porch. My uncle had a dog wood 'im. He start to run an' the dog start to run too, an' down the road dey went. He didn' hab on anything but his shirt an' he say he run so fas' 'til the wind had his shirt-tail stif as a board. He couldn' out run the dog, nor could the dog out run 'im.

Dis is a spiritual dey use to sing durin' slavery:

Climb up de walls of Zion
Ah, Lord,
Climb up de walls of Zion
Ah, Lord, Climbin' up de walls of Zion
Ah, Lord.
Climbin' up de walls of Zion
Ah, Lord,
Great camp meetin' in the promise lan'.

My pa use to sing dis song:

See w'en' 'e rise
Rise an' gone,
See w'en' 'e rise
Rise an' gone.

Gone to Galilee on a Sunday morning.
Oh, my Jesus rise an' gone to Galilee
On a Sunday morning.

Dey use to sing dis in experience meetin's:

Go round, go round
Look at the mornin' star,
Go round, go round
Got a soul to save.

Chorus

Wuan' for ole satan
I wouldn' have to pray,
Satan broke God's Holy Law
I got a soul to save.

Dey use to sing dis too:

Room Anough, room anough
Room anough, room anough
Room anough in de Heaven I know,
I can't stay away,
Room anough in de Heaven I know,
I can't stay away.

=Source:=

Interview with Thomas Goodwater, 108 Anson Street.

P.S. The variations of words and sentences describe interviews with
individuals, naturally.

Code No.
Project, 1885-(1)
Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis
Place, Marion, S.C.
Date, August 31, 1937

No. Words ----
Reduced from ---- words
Rewritten by ----
Page 1.

CHARLIE GRANT
Ex-Slave, 85 Years

"I born de 24th day of February, 1852 bout 1½ miles of Mars Bluff. My father, Western Wilson, belonged to Col. William Wilson en my mamma name Chrisie Johnson. She belonged to Dr. William Johnson en we stay dere wid him four or five years after freedom. Dr. Johnson old home still standin yonder. It de Rankin home. I drive carts under dat house lots of times in slavery time." (The house is built high off the ground.)

"Dr. Johnson was a mighty able man, a stiff one, able one. He kill one hundred head of hogs to feed his niggers wid. Oh, I don' know how many acres of land in his plantation, but I reckon dere be bout 1,000 or more acres of land. He have slave house all de way from de side of his house to Tyner. De overseer stay on de lower end of street dat bout ¾ mile long en all de niggers house up from de overseer to Dr. Johnson house. Over hundreds of dem dere."

"Dr. Johnson en his wife was good to dey niggers as dey could want anybody to be. Had plenty to eat en plenty clothes to wear all de time. He give all de slaves out something on Saturday or he give dem more any time dey needed it. Just go en say, 'Boss, I ain' got no rations en I need some.' Dey give us meat en bread en molasses to eat mostly, but didn' have no wheat flour den. Dey plant 10 or 20 acres of sprangle top cane en make de molasses en sugar out dat. Bill Thomas mash it together en cook it for de molasses. Den he take cane en cook it down right low en make sugar, but it wasn' like de sugar you buy at de store now days. Oh, yes, de slaves had dey own garden dat dey work at night en especially moonlight nights cause dey had to work in de field all day till sundown. Mamma had a big garden en plant collards en everything like dat you want to eat."

"All de niggers dat live in de quarters had bunk beds to sleep on what was thing dat have four legs en mattress put on it. Have mixed bed dat dey make out of cotton en shucks. De boy chillun have shuck bed en de girl chillun have cotton bed."

"De peoples bout dere have good clothes to wear in dat day en time. Dey was homemade clothes. My mamma spin en send dem to de loom house en den dey dye dem wid persimmon juice en different things like dat to make all kind of colors. Dey give us cotton suit to wear on Sunday en de nicest leather shoes dat dey make right dere at home. Clean de hair off de leather just as clean as anything en den de shoemaker cut en sew de shoes. Vidge Frank father de shoemaker. Vidge Frank live down dere at Claussen dis side de planing mill."

"I hear dem tell dat my grandparents come from Africa. Dey fooled dem to come or I calls it foolin dem. De peoples go to Africa en when dey go to dock, dey blow whistle en de peoples come from all over de country to see what it was. Dey fool dem on de vessel en give dem something to eat. Shut dem up en don' let dem get out. Some of dem jump over board en try to get home, but dey couldn' swim en go down. Lots of dem still lost down dere in de sea or I reckon dey still down dere cause dey ain' got back yet. De peoples tell dem dey gwine bring dem to a place whe' dey can live."

"I tellin you dat was a good place to live in slavery time. I didn' have to do nothin but mind de sheep en de cows en de goats in dat day en time. All de slaves dat was field hands, dey had to work mighty hard. De overseer, he pretty rough sometimes. He tell dem what time to get up en sound de horn for dat time. Had to go to work fore daybreak en if dey didn' be dere on time en work like dey ought to, de overseer sho whip dem. Tie de slaves clear de ground by dey thumbs wid nigger cord en make dem tiptoe en draw it tight as could be. Pull clothes off dem fore dey tie dem up. Dey didn' care nothin bout it. Let everybody look on at it. I know when dey whip my mamma. Great God, in de mornin! Dey sho had whippin posts en whippin houses too in dem days, but didn' have no jail. I remember dey whipped dem by de gin house. De men folks was put to de post what had holes bored in it whe' dey pull strings through to fasten dem up in dere. Dey catch nigger wid book, dey ax you what dat you got dere en whe' you get it from. Tell you bring it here en den dey carry you to de whippin post for dat. No men folks whip me. Women folks whip me wid four plaitted raw cowhide whip."

"Niggers went to white peoples church in dat day en time. Dr. Johnson ride by himself en bought carriage for niggers to drive his girls dere to Hopewell Church below Claussen. You know whe' dat is, don' you? Miss Lizzie (Dr. Johnson's daughter) good teacher. She sent me to de gallery en I recollect it well she told me one Sunday dat if I didn' change my chat, dey were gwine to whip me. She say, 'You chillun go up in de gallery en behave yourself. If you don', I gwine beat you Monday.' Dey had catechism what dey teach you en she say, 'Charlie, who made you?' I tell her papa made me. She ax me another time who made me en I tell her de same thing another time. I thought I was right. I sho thought I was right. She took de Bible en told me God made me. I sho thought papa made me en I go home en tell papa Miss Lizzie say she gwine beat me Monday mornin. He ax me what I been doin cuttin up in church. I say, 'I wasn' doin nothin. She ax me who made me en I tell her you made me.' He told me dat God made me. Say he made Miss Lizzie en he made everybody. Ain' nobody tell me dat fore den, but I saved my beaten cause I changed my chat."

"I hear tell bout de slaves would run away en go to Canada. Put nigger dogs after dem, but some of dem would get dere somehow or another. If I was livin on your place, I wouldn' dare to go to another house widout I had a permit from my Massa or de overseer. We slip off en de patroller catch en whip us. One time dey give my daddy a quilting en ax several women to come dere. Dey had a lot of chillun to cover en give a quilting so dey can cover dem up. Mistress tell dem to give so en so dis much en dat much scraps from de loom house. I was settin dere in de corner en dey blow cane. Common reed make music en dance by it. Dat de only way niggers had to make music. Dance en blow cane dat night at grandmother's house (Wilson place). Dey was just a pattin en dancin en gwine on. I was sittin up in de corner en look up en patrol was standin in de door en call patrol. When dey hear dat, dey know something gwine to do. Dey took Uncle Mac Gibson en whip him en den dey take one by one out en whip dem. When dey got house pretty thin en was bout to get old man Gibson, he take hoe like you work wid en put it in de hot ashes. People had to cut wood en keep fire burnin all de year cause didn' have no matches den. Old man Gibson went to de door en throwed de hot ashes in de patrol face. Dey try to whip us, but de old man Gibson tell dem dey got no right to whip his niggers. We run from whe' we at to our home. Dey tried four year to catch my daddy, but dey couln' never catch him. He was a slick nigger."

"I don' remember what kind of medicines dey use in slavery time, but I know my mamma used to look after de slaves when dey get sick. Saw one child bout year or two old took sick en died en Lester Small want me to dig it up en carry him to de office. I expect dey gwine be dere, but dey never come. I took it out en laid it on de bank in sheet dat dey give me. Den I picked it up en carried it in de house. It smeared me up right bad, but I carried it in de office en he look at it. He put it in de corner en say, 'You can go.' Pay me $2.00. Dr. Johnson want to cut dat child open. Dat what he want wid it. I know dis much dat dey use different kind of roots for dey medicines en I see dem wear dime in dey clothes dat dey tell me was to keep off de rheumatism. Send to Philadelphia to get dat kind of dime."

"I tellin you time hard dese days. I had stroke here en can' work, but I doin de best I can. Miss Robinson help me daughter do de best she can. Do washin en ironin. Miss Robinson say she gwine give me old age pension. I ask Miss Robinson, I say, 'I livin now en can' get nothin. If I die, would you help my chillun bury me?' She say, 'I will do de best I can to help put you away nice.' Miss Robinson good lady."

=Source:= Charlie Grant, ex-slave, age 85, Florence, S.C.

Personal interview by H. Grady Davis and Mrs.
Lucile Young, Florence, S.C., May 11, 1937.

Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County

Folklore

[HW: Grant, Rebecca Jane]
NINETY TWO YEAR OLD NEGRO TELLS OF EARLY LIFE AS SLAVE

In Hampton County at Lena, S.C., there lives an old negro woman who has just passed her ninety-second birthday, and tells of those days long ago when man was bound to man and families were torn apart against their will. Slowly she draws the curtain of Time from those would-be-forgotten scenes of long ago that cannot ever be entirely obliterated from the memory.

"Well, just what is it you want to hear about, Missus?"

"Anything, everything, Auntie, that you remember about the old days before the Civil War. Just what you've told your grand-daughter, May, and her friend, Alice, here, many times, is what I want to hear."

"Tell her, mamma," said Alice with a whoop of laughter, "about the time when your Missus sent you to the store with a note!"

"Oh that! Not that Missus?"

"Yes, Auntie that!"

"Well, I was just a little girl about eight years old, staying in Beaufort at de Missus' house, polishing her brass andirons, and scrubbing her floors, when one morning she say to me, 'Janie, take this note down to Mr. Wilcox Wholesale Store on Bay Street, and fetch me back de package de clerk gie (give) you.'

"I took de note. De man read it, and he say, 'Uh-huh'. Den he turn away and he come back wid a little package which I took back to de Missus.

"She open it when I bring it in, and say, 'Go upstairs, Miss!'

"It was a raw cowhide strap bout two feet long, and she started to pourin' it on me all de way up stairs. I didn't know what she was whippin' me bout; but she pour it on, and she pour it on.

"Turrectly she say, 'You can't say "Marse Henry", Miss? You can't say, "Marse Henry"!'

"Yes'm. Yes'm. I kin say. 'Marse Henry'!

"Marse Henry was just a little boy bout three or four years old. Come bout halfway up to me. Wanted me to say Massa to him, a baby!"

"How did you happen to go to Beaufort, Auntie? You told me you were raised right here in Hampton County on the Stark Plantation."

"I was, Miss. But my mother and four of us children (another was born soon afterwards) were sold to Mr. Robert Oswald in Beaufort. I was de oldest, then there was brother Ben, sister Delia, sister Elmira, and brother Joe that was born in Beaufort. My father belong to Marse Tom Willingham; but my mother belong to another white man. Marse Tom was always trying to buy us so we could all be together, but de man wouldn't sell us to him. Marse Tom was a Christian gentleman! I believe he seek religion same as any colored person. And pray! Oh, that was a blessed white man! A blessed white man! And Miss Mamie, his daughter, was a Christian lady. Every Wednesday afternoon she'd fill her basket with coffee, tea, sugar, tobacco and such things, and go round to de houses where dere was old folks or sick folks. She'd give um de things; and she'd read de scriptures to um, and she'd kneel down and pray for um. But we had to leave all de folks we knew when we was took to Beaufort.

"All of us chillun, too little to work, used to have to stay at de 'Street'. Dey'd have some old folks to look after us--some old man, or some old woman. Dey'd clean off a place on de ground near de washpot where dey cooked de peas, clean it off real clean, den pile de peas out dere on de ground for us to eat. We'd pick um up in our hands and begin to eat. Sometimes dey'd cook hoe cakes in a fire of coals. Dey'd mix a little water with de meal and make a stiff dough that could be patted into shape with de hands. De cakes would be put right into the fire, and would be washed off clean after they were racked out from de coals. Sometimes de Massa would have me mindin' de birds off de corn. But 'fore I left Beaufort, I was doin' de Missus' washin' and ironin'. I was fifteen years old when I left Beaufort, at de time freedom was declared. We were all reunited den. First, my mother and de young chillun, den I got back. My uncle, Jose Jenkins come to Beaufort and stole me by night from my Missus. He took me wid him to his home in Savannah. We had been done freed; but he stole me away from de house. When my father heard that I wasn't wid de others, he sent my grandfather, Isaac, to hunt me. When he find me at my uncle's house, he took me back. We walked all back--sixty-four miles. I was foundered. You know if'n a foundered person will jump over a stick of burning lightwood, it will make um feel better."

"Tell us, Auntie, more about the time when you and your mother and brothers and sisters had just gone to Beaufort.

"Well mam. My mother say she didn't know a soul. All de time she'd be prayin' to de Lord. She'd take us chillun to de woods to pick up firewood, and we'd turn around to see her down on her knees behind a stump, aprayin'. We'd see her wipin' her eyes wid de corner of her apron, first one eye, den de other, as we come along back. Den, back in de house, down on her knees, she'd be aprayin'. One night she say she been down on her knees aprayin' and dat when she got up, she looked out de door and dere she saw comin' down out de elements a man, pure white and shining. He got right before her door, and come and stand right to her feet, and say, "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah!"

"Yes, Sir."

"What is you frettin' bout so?"

"Sir. I'm a stranger here, parted from my husband, with five little chillun and not a morsel of bread."

"You say you're parted from your husband? You're not parted from your husband. You're jest over a little slash of water. Suppose you had to undergo what I had to. I was nailed to the Cross of Mount Calvary. And here I am today. Who do you put your trust in?

"My mother say after dat, everything just flow along, just as easy. Now my mother was an unusually good washer and ironer. De white folks had been sayin', 'Wonder who it is that's makin' de clothes look so good.' Well, bout dis time, dey found out; and dey would come bringin' her plenty of washin' to do. And when dey would come dey would bring her a pan full of food for us chilluns. Soon de other white folks from round about heard of her and she was gettin' all de washin' she needed. She would wash for de Missus durin' de day, and for de other folks at night. And dey all was good to her.

"One day de Missus call her to de house to read her something from a letter she got. De letter say that my father had married another woman. My mother was so upset she say, 'I hope he breaks dat woman's jawbone. She know she aint his lawful wife.' And dey say her wish come true. Dat was just what happened.

"But we all got together again and I thanks de good Lord. I gets down on my knees and prays. I thanks de Lord for His mercy and His goodness to me every day. Every time I eats, I folds my hands and thanks Him for de food. He's de one that sent it, and I thanks Him. Then, on my knees, I thanks him.

"Aunt Jane receives an ample pension since her husband fought on the side with the Federals. He was known as James Lawton before the war, but became, James Lawton Grant after the war."

=Source:= Mrs. Delacy Wyman, Mgr. Pyramid Pecan Grove, Lena S.C.
Rebecca Jane Grant, ninety-two year old resident of
Lena, S.C.

Project #-1655
Phoebe Faucette
Hampton County

REBECCA JANE GRANT

"Yes, Ma'am," Aunt Beckie said, "I remembers you, you Miss Mamie Willingham' granddaughter. She was sure a good woman. She'd fill her buggy with sugar, tea, coffee and tobacco, and go every Thursday to see the sick and old people. She wouldn't except none--white or colored. No'm she wouldn't except none! That's the kind of folks you sprung from. You's got a good heritage.

"The most of what I remembers before the war was when I was in Beaufort. They used to take care of the widows then. Take it by turns. There was a lady, Miss Mary Ann Baker, whose husband had been an organist in the church. When he died they would all take turns caring for Miss Mary Ann. I remember I'd meet her on de street and I'd say, 'Good mornin' Miss Mary Ann.' 'Morning Janie.' 'How you this mornin' Miss Mary Ann?' She'd say, 'Death come in and make alterations, and hard living make contrivance.' She'd take any old coat, or anything, and make it over to fit her children, and look good, too. She was a great seamstress. You'd see her children when they turn out on de street and they looked the same as some rich white people's children. Nearly all of her children was girls. Had one boy, as well as I kin remember.

"Dey used to make de clothes for de slaves in de house. Had a seamstress to stay there in de house so de mistress could supervise the work. De cloth de clothes was made out of was hand woven. It was dyed in pretty colors--some green, some blue, and pretty colors. And it was strong cloth, too. Times got so hard during de war dat de white folks had to use de cloth woven by hand, themselves. De ladies would wear bustles, and hoops made out of oak. Old times, they'd make underbodies with whalebone in it. There was something they'd put over the hoop they call, 'Follow me, boy'. Used to wear the skirts long, with them long trains that trail behind you. You'd take and tuck it up behind on some little hook or something they had to fasten it up to. And the little babes had long dresses. Come down to your feet when you hold the baby in your lap. And embroidered from the bottom of the skirt all the way up. Oh, they were embroidered up in the finest sort of embroidery.

"One day when I was nursing, my Missus' son--him and I been one age, 'bout the same age--he go up town and buy a false face. Now I didn't see nuthin' like dat before! He put dat thing on and hide behind de door. I had de baby in my arms, and when I start toward de door with de baby, he jump out at me! I threw the baby clean under the bed I was so scared. If it had of killed it, it wouldn't been me. It'd been dem! Cause I ain't never seen sech a thing before.

"You say what schoolin' de slaves got? They didn't get none--unless it was de bricklayers and such like, and de seamstresses. If de masters wanted to learn them, they'd let 'em hold de book. But they wouldn't miss de catechism. And they was taught they must be faithful to the Missus and Marsa's work like you would to your heavenly Father's work.

"Didn't have no colored churches. De drivers and de over-seers, de house-servants, de bricklayers and folks like dat'd go to de white folk's church. But not de field hands. Why dey couldn't have all got in de church. My marsa had three or four hundred slaves, himself. And most of the other white folks had just as many or more. But them as went would =sing=! Oh they'd sing! I remember two of 'em specially. One was a man and he'd sing bass. Oh, he'd roll it down! The other was a woman, and she'd sing soprano! They had colored preachers to preach to de field hands down in de quarters. Dey'd preach in de street. Meet next day to de marsa's and turn in de report. How many pray, how many ready for baptism and all like dat. Used to have Sabbath School in de white people's house, in de porch, on Sunday evening. De porch was big and dey'd fill dat porch! They never fail to give de chillun Sabbath School. Learn them de Sabbath catechism. We'd sing a song the church bells used to ring in Beaufort. You never hear it any more. But I remembers it."

The old woman sang the song for me as melodiously and beautifully as any young person. The words are:

"I want to be an angel, and with an angel stand,
A crown upon my forehead, a harp within my hand.
Right there before my Saviour, so glorious and so bright,
I'll hear the sweetest music, and praise Him day and night."

"Old Parson Winborn Lawton used to preach for us after the war until we got our church organized. He had a daughter named Miss Anna Lawton. At the white folk's church at Lawtonville they had a colored man who used to sing for them, by the name of Moses Murray. He'd sit there back of the organ and roll down on them bass. Roll down just like de organ roll! He was Moses Lawton at that time, you know.

"You know how old I am? I'm in my 94th year. Ella has a dream book she looks up my age in and tells me what luck I have, and all that. I generally had good luck."

=Source:= Rebecca Jane Grant, 93 years old. Lena, S.C.

Project 1885-(1)
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg, S.C.
District No. 4.
May 26, 1937.

Edited by:
R.V. Williams

STORIES OF EX-SLAVES

"Mos' everybody know my name. You gotta help me. Oh, yeah, dat's what I goes by. It's Brack; dey calls me ole uncle Brack".

"Look out, over dar!" said a negro who was standing nearby. "Uncle Brack, you know you is got mo' names dan dat. Why, everwhar you goes, dey calls you a different name."

"Shet up, you sassy-mouth nigger!" Uncle Brack waved his stick as the younger negro moved out of its reach. Uncle Brack walks with two sticks nearly all the time. He is bent almost double.

"He de greatest nigger rascal a-gwine," Uncle Brack said. "He jest dream all de time, and dreams don't nebber amount to nothin'. Dem dreams what he carries on wid in de daytime, dey is what makes him tell so many lies. De idea, talking like I has a different name everwhar I goes, when I don't go nowhar. Why, I can't hardly hobble to de sto'.

"Dey mus' help me. I took down sick in November. Mr. Rice sent me things. You gov'ment folks ain't sont me much as Mr. Rice and de good white folks what likes me. I'se bawn ten years when Freedom come out. Benn seventy-odd years since Freedom, ain't it, Cap?

"Dr. Jim Gibbs was mighty good to me. You sees dat I'se a-gwine about now. Dr. Gibbs come from Aiken to Union and set up a drug sto' whar Cohen's is now. Dr. Gibbs was a Charleston man, but I is a Kentucky darky. Dr. Gibbs brung me from Kentucky to Charleston when I was five years old. My ma was de one dat dey bought. Dr. Gibbs' wife was a Bohen up in Kentucky. When Dr. Gibbs fetch his wife to Charleston, he bought my ma from his wife's pa, and she fetch me along too.

"It ten o'clock befo' I can creep. Dat de reason dat I has to beg. Wasn't fer my age, I wouldn't ax nobody fer nothing. De Lawd done spared me fer somethin' and I carries on de best dat I can. Doctor say he couldn't do no good. Dat been five years ago de fust time I tuck down. Doctors steadies about money too much. I trustes de Lawd, He spare me to dis day. I can't hardly walk, and I jus' can't bear fer nothing to touch dis foot. I has to use two sticks to walk. (Uncle Brack punched his foot with a stick; then looked up and saw two negro girls approaching.)

"As the girls got opposite Uncle Brack, he threw his stick in front of them and they exclaimed, "Is dat you, Uncle Brack? How did you get up here?" Uncle Brack replied, "I never meant fer you to git by me. Jes kaize I'se ole, ain't no reason fer you not speaking to me." As the girls walked on, Uncle Brack said, "I flirts wid all de colored gals, and I also has a passing word for de white ladies as dey goes by."

"I used to work at the baker shop over dar when Mr. James' chilluns was little saplings. I'se gwine on eighty-six and dem big boys raise dey hats to me. White people has respec' for me kaize I ain't never been in jail. I knows how to carry myself, and I specs to die dat way if I can. Lil chile what jus' could talk good gived me a penny dis mawning.

"I used to could read. I learnt to read in Aiken, when school fust broke out to de colored people. Northern people teached me to read long time ago. Now my eyes is dim."

=Source:= JOHN GRAVES, (Col. 86) N. Church St., Union, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. (2/27/37)

Project 1885-1
FOLKLORE
Spartanburg, Dist. 4:
Sept. 8, 1937

Edited by:
Elmer Turnage

STORIES OF EX-SLAVES

"Miss Alice Cannon give me my age from de foundation of my mother. Dey been bringing my things out to me--is dat what you'se doing, setting down here by me? I was born on de first Christmas Day, I means de 25th of December, 1855; in Newberry County on de Sam Cannon place. You had to turn off de Ashford Ferry Road about seven and a half miles from de town of Newberry. My mother was Frances Cannon of near Cannon Creek Church.

"I'll try to give you a straight definition. Old man Sim Gallman was my old missus' brother; she was Miss Viny Cannon. My boss was overseer for Mr. Geo. Gallman. We was on Mr. George's place. When Mr. Gallman started overseeing, Mr. Sim Gallman come over dar for dem to take his place and care for him.

"My boss, Sam Cannon, promised me a place. Miss Viny Cannon suckled me and her son Henry at de same time, me on one knee and Henry on t'other. Dey calls me 'Timber'. Miss Sallie said to us atter Freedom, 'You ain't got no marsters'. I cried. My Ma let me stay wid Miss Sallie. Mr. Henry Gallman promised to marry Miss Sally Cannon, my young missus; but he went to de war and never come back home no mo'. Mr. Jeff Gallman went, but he come back wid one arm. Mr. Tom Gallman went and married his first cousin, Miss Addie Cannon; he never got to go to de war.

"My father was a full-blooded Indian from Virginia. He was a refugee. But you know dat dey had a way of selling people back den. Somebody caught him and sold him at one of dem sales. De man what bought him was Mr. Jeff Buzzard. He went back to Virginia atter de surrender. I would not go. He took another woman on de place, and my mother would not let me go. De woman's name dat he took was Sara Danby. She had two brothers and a sister--Samuel, Coffee, and Jenny.

"My mother was mixed Indian and African blood. My folks got 'stroyed up in a storm. My grandfather was named Isaac Haltiwanger. My grandmother, his wife, was named Annie. Dey had one child who was my mother; her name Frances. My grandmother's name was Molly Stone.

"My parents, talking 'bout de Africans, how funny dey talked. Uncle Sonny and uncle Edmund Ruff was two of de old 'uns. Old man Charles Slibe was de preacher. He was a Methodist. My father was a Baptist. His white folks, de Billy Caldwells, prepared de barn for him to preach to dere slaves. In dat day, all de Africans was low chunky fellers and raal black. Dey said dat in Africa, little chilluns run 'round de house and de fattest one fall behind; den dey kill him and eat him. Dat's de worst dat I ever heard, O Lawd!

"I hates dat Missus didn't whip me mo' and let me be teached to read and write so dat I wouldn't be so ignant.

"For de neuralgia, take and tie two or three nutmegs around yo' neck. Tie brass buttons around de neck to stop de nose a-bleeding."

Greeley's house has four rooms and it is in great need of repair. It is badly kept and so are the other houses in "Fowler's Row". He lives with his wife, Eula, but she was not home during the visit.

"My house 'longs to a widder woman. She white but I does not know her name. Her collector is Mr. Wissnance (Whisenant). He got a office over here on E. Main St., right up in de town. I rents by de month but I pays by de week--a dollar. De house sho is gwine down. Rest of de houses on de Row is repaired, but mine ain't yet; so she have Mr. Wissnance drap off twenty-five cents, and now I is paying only seventy-five cents a week. Me and Eula has to go amongst de white folks fer bread and other little things. Ain't got no bread from 'Uncle Sam' since last August. See my tater patch, wid knee-high vines.

"De case worker want to git my age and whar I's born. I told her jest what I told you. She say she got to have proof; so I told her to write Mr. Cannon Blease who was de sheriff. I means de High Sheriff, fer nigh thirty years in Newberry. And does you know, she never even heard of Mr. Cannon Blease. Never had no money but Mr. Blease knowed it, so he up and sont my kerrect age anyway. It turn't out jest 'zactly like I told you it was. What worried me de mostest, is dat she never knowed Mr. Cannon Blease. Is you ever heard of sech a thing as a lady like dat not knowing Mr. Blease?

"Now Mr. Dr. Snyder is a man dat ain't setting here 'sleep. He's a mill'onaire, kaise he run Wofford College and it must take a million dollars to do dat, it sho must. My case worker knowed him.

"De case worker calls me 'Preacher', but I ain't got up to dat yet--I ain't got dat fer. I been sold out twice in insurance. I give my last grand-baby de name 'Roosevelt', and his daddy give him 'Henry'. His Ma never give him none. Some folks loads down babies and kills dem wid names, but his ma never wanted to do dat. So us jest calls him Henry Roosevelt. Us does not drap none and us does not leave none out.

"Went to church one night and left my pocketbook in a box on my mantel. Had $120.00 in it in paper, and $8 in silver. Some niggers dat had been watching me broke down my do' dat I had locked. Dey took de $120 and left de $8. Went home and I seed dat broke do'. I went straight to my mantel and see'd what was done. Dey never bothered de books and papers in dat box. Next morning, de nigger what lived next do' to me was gone. I went to a old fortune teller, a man; he say I know dat you lost a lot. De one I thought got de money, he said, was not de right one. He say dat three hobos got it. One had red hair, one sandy hair and de other had curly hair. He say somebody done cited dem and dey sho going to be caught dis very day. He say dat dey come from Asheville. But he was wrong, kaise dey ain't never caught no three hobos dat I ever learn't about.

"One day when I was plowing, I struck de plow 'ginst something. My plow knocked off de handle. I heard money rattle. It ringed three times. I couldn't see nothing, so I called my wife and son and dey looked, but we never found but five cents. Never in my life did I hear of a bank in slavery times. Everybody buried dere money and sometimes dey forgot where dey put it. I thought dat I had run on some of dat money den, but I never found none. Lots of money buried somewhars, and folks died and never remembered whar it was.

"A nigger republican leader got kilt. I hel't de hosses fer de Ku klux. Great God-a-mighty, Dave and Dick Gist and Mr Caldwell run de sto' at de Rutherford place in dem times. Feeder of dem hosses was Edmund Chalmers. Mr. Dick say, 'Hello, Edmund, how come dem mules so po' when you got good corn everywhar--what, you stealing corn, too?' Mr. Oatzel say, 'Yes, I cotch him wid a basket on his shoulder.' 'Whar was you carrying it?' Edmund say, 'To Mr. Caldwell'. Mr. Caldwell say he ain't see'd no corn. Dey took Edmund to de jail. He had been taking corn and selling it to de carpetbaggers, and dat corn was fer de Ku Klux hosses.

"Dere was a Mr. Brown, a white man, dat come up to live in Newberry. Dey called him a refugee. Us called him Mr. 'Refugee Brown'. He was sorter destituted and not a bit up-to-date. He settled near de Gibson place. I fed de Gibson boys' fox-dogs about dat time fer dem.

"I want to git right wid you, now; so I can meet you lovely. In '73, I thought someone was shaking my house; I come out doors wid my gun; see'd white and colored coming together. Everybody was scared. All got to hollering and some prayed. I thought dat de earth gwine to be shook to pieces by morning. I thought of old Nora (Noah).

"Dem Bible folks see'd a little hand-span cloud. Nora had done built him a house three stories high. Dat little cloud busted. Water riz in de second story of de wicked king's palace. He sont fer de northern lady. When she come a-shaking and a-twisting in de room de king fell back in his chair. He say dat he give her anything she want, all she got to do is ask fer it. She say to cut off John Wesley's head and bring it to her. De king had done got so suluctious dat he done it. Dat king and all of dem got drowned. Nora put a lot of things in de ark dat he could have left out, sech as snakes and other varments; but de ark floated off anyhow. No sir, dat wasn't de Clifton flood, dat was Nora's flood."

=Source:= Sim Greeley (82), 280 Fowler's Row, Spartanburg, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. (8/27/37)

S-260-264-N
Project #1655
Augustus Ladson
Charleston, S.C.

Page I
No. Words: 1497

EX-SLAVE BORN DECEMBER 25, 1843

COWARD MASTER RAN OUT CIVIL WAR--LEAVING HIM

"I was bo'n in Charleston at 82 King Street, December 25, 1843. The house is still there who' recent owner is Judge Whaley. My ma an' pa was Kate an' John Green. My ma had seben chillun (boys) an I am the last of 'em. Their names was: Henry, Scipio, Ellis, Nathaniel, Hobart, Mikell, an' myself.

"From the South-East of Calhoun Street, which was then Boundry Street, to the Battery was the city limit an' from the North-West of Boundry Street for sev'als miles was nothin' but fa'm land. All my brothers was fa'm han's for our master, George W. Jones. I did all the house work 'til the war w'en I was given to Mr. Wm. Jones's son, Wm. H. Jones as his "daily give servant" who' duty was to clean his boots, shoes, sword, an' make his coffee. He was Firs' Lieutenant of the South Car'lina Company Regiment. Bein' his servant, I wear all his cas' off clothes which I was glad to have. My shoes was call' brogan that has brass on the toe. W'en a slave had one of 'em you couldn't tell 'em he wasn't dress' to death.

"As the "daily give servant" of Mr. Wm. H. Jones I had to go to Virginia durin' the war. In the battle at Richmond Gen'al Lee had Gen'al Grant almos' beaten. He drive him almos' in the Potomac River, an' then take seven pieces of his artillery. W'en Gen'al Grant see how near defeat he was, he put up a white flag as a signal for time out to bury his deads. That flag stay' up for three weeks while Gen'al Grant was diggin' trenches. In the meantime he get message to President Lincoln askin' him to sen' a reinforcement of sojus. Gen'al Sherman was in charge of the regiment who sen' word to Gen'al Grant to hol' his position 'til he had captur' Columbia, Savannah, burn out Charleston while on his way with dispatch of 45,000 men. W'en Gen'al Sherman got to Virginia, the battle was renew' an' continued for seven days at the en' of which Gen'al Lee surrender' to Gen'al Grant. Durin' the seven days fight the battle got so hot 'til Mr. William Jones made his escape an' it was two days 'fore I know he was gone. One of the Gen'als sen' me home an' I got here two days 'fore Mr. William got home. He went up in the attic an' stay' there 'til the war was end'. I carry all his meals to him an' tell him all the news. Master show was a frighten' man; I was sorry for him. That battle at Richmond, Virginia was the wors' in American history.

Dr. George W. Jones, my master, ran a blockade. He had ships roamin' the sea to capture pirates ships. He had a daughter, Ellen, who was always kin' to the slaves. Master had a driver, William Jenkins, an' an' a' overseer, Henry Brown. Both was white. The driver see that the work was done by the supervision of the overseer. Master' fa'm amounted to twenty-five acres with 'bout eighteen slaves. The overseer blow the ho'n, which was a conch shell, at six in the mornin' an' every slave better answer w'en the roll was call' at seven. The slaves didn't have have to work on Sat'day.

Mr. Ryan had a private jail on Queen Street near the Planters Hotel. He was very cruel; he'd lick his slaves to death. Very seldom one of his slaves survive' a whippin'. He was the opposite to Govenor Aiken, who live' on the North-West corner of Elizabeth an' Judith Streets. He had several rice plantations, hundreds of his slaves he didn't know.

Not 'til John C. Calhoun' body was carried down Boundry Street was the name change' in his honor. He is bury in St. Phillip Church yard, 'cross the street with a laurel tree planted at his head. Four men an' me dig his grave an' I clear' the spot w'ere his monument now stan'. The monument was put up by Pat Callington, a Charleston mason. I never did like Calhoun 'cause he hated the Negro; no man was ever hated as much as him by a group of people.