Part 19

Lizzie Davis sends word for Heddie Davis to come over to her little shack to join in the conversation about old times and Heddie enters the room with these words: "Sis, I gwine hug your neck. Sis, I did somethin last night dat I oughtn't done en I can' hardly walk dis mornin. Pulled off my long drawers last night en never had none to change wid. I can' bear to get down en pray or nothin like dat, my knee does ache me so bad. I gwine up town yonder en get some oil of wintergreen en put on it. Yes'um, dat sho a good thing to strike de pain cause I heard bout dat long years ago. Sis, ain' you got no coffee nowhe' dis mornin? God knows, de Lord sho gwine bless you, Sis."

"What honey? No'um, I won' here in slavery time. I was just tereckly after it. Well, I come here a Lewis, but I inherited de Davis name when I married. Old man Peter Lewis was my daddy, en my mother--she was a North Carolina woman. Oh, I heard dat man talk bout de old time war so much dat I been know what was gwine fly out his mouth time he been have a mind to spit it out. My daddy, he belonged to de old man Evans Lewis en he been de one his boss pick to carry to de war wid him. Yes'um, he stayed up dere to Fort Sumter four years a fightin en hoped shoot dem old Yankee robbers. My old man, he had one of dem old guns en I give it to his brother Jimmie. He lives way up yonder to de north en he carried dat gun wid him just cause I give it to him, he say. He marry my younger sister en she grayer den I is. Think dey say dey lives to Rockingham, North Carolina. Yes, honey, my daddy was sho in dat wash out dere to Fort Sumter. Lord, have mercy, I never hear tell of crabs en shrimps in all my life till my daddy come back en tell bout a old woman would be gwine down de street, dere to Charleston, cryin, 'Shrimps, more shrimps.' But, my Lord, I can' half remember nothin dese days. If I had de sense I used to have, I would give de Lord de praise. Honey, he said a lot of stuff bout de war. Told a whole chance of somethin. Tell us bout de parade en everything, but I is forgetful now en I just can' think. De Bible say dat in de course of your life, you will be forgetful in dat how I is. Just can' think like I used to. You see, I gwine in 70 now.

"Oh, I was born dere to Mullins in January on de old man Evans Lewis' plantation. Den we moved dere to de Mark Smith place after freedom settle here. Dat long high man, dat who been us boss. His wife was name Sallie en de place was chock full of hands. No, mam, my white folks didn' care bout no quarter on dey plantation. Colored people just throwed 'bout all over de place. Oh, I tell you, it was a time cause de niggers was dere, plenty of dem. Some of dey house was settin side de road, some over in dat corner, some next de big house en so on like dat all over de place. Oh, dey lived all right, I reckon. Never didn' hear dem say dey got back none. Hear dey live den better den de people lives now. Oh, yes'um, I hear my parents say de white folks was good to de colored people in slavery time. Didn' hear tell of nobody gettin nothin back on one another neither. No, child, didn' never hear tell of nothin like dat. Seems like de people don' work dese days like dey used to nohow. Well, dey done somethin of everything in dat day en time en work bout all de time. Ain' nobody workin much to speak bout dese days cause dey walks bout too much, I say. I tell you, when I been a child gwine to school, soon as I been get home in de evenin en hit dat door-step, I had to strip en put on my everyday clothes en get to work. Had to pick up wood en potatoes in de fall or pick cotton. Had to do somethin another all de time, but never didn' nobody be obliged to break dey neck en hurry en get done in dem days. Chillun just rushes en plays too much dese days, I say. No, Lord, I don' want to rush no time. I tellin you, when I starts to Heaven, I want to take my time gettin dere.

"Lord, child, I sho hope I gwine to Heaven some of dese days cause old Satan been ridin me so tough in dis here world, I ain' see no rest since I been know bout I had two feet. My husband, he treat me so mean, if he ain' in Heaven, he in de other place, I say. Den all dem chillun, Lord a mercy, dey will kill you. I raised all mine by myself en I tell you, dey took de grease out of me.

"My daddy, he was a prayin man. Lord knows, he was a prayin man. Seems like de old people could beat de young folks a prayin up a stump any day. I remember, my daddy come here to de white people church to Tabernacle one night en time dem people see him, dey say, 'Uncle Peter, de Lord sho send you cause ain' nobody but you can pray dese sinners out of hell here tonight.' God knows dat man could sing en pray. Lord, he could pray. Oh, darlin child, dat man prayed bout all de time. Prayed every mornin en every night en when us would come out de field at 12 o'clock, us had to hear him pray fore he ever did allow us to eat near a morsel. Sis, I remember one day, when dey first started we chillun a workin in de field, I come to de house 12 o'clock en I was so hungry, I was just a poppin. God knows, people don' serve de Lord like dey used to."

"Sis, you wants dat one patch, too. Lord Jesus, dere ain' no limit to dis one. Sis, I must be come here on Saturday cause everywhe' I goes, I has to work. Hear talk, if you born on a Saturday, you gwine have to work hard for what you get all your days. I been doin somethin ever since I been big enough to know I somebody. Remember de first thing I ever do for a white woman. Ma come home en say, 'Heddie, get up in de mornin en wash your face en hands en go up to Miss Rogers en do everything just like she say do.' I been know I had to do dat, too, cause if I never do it, I know I would been whip from cane to cane. When I got dere, I open de gate en look up en dere been de new house en dere been de old one settin over dere what dey been usin for de kitchen den. I won' thinkin bout nothin 'cept what Miss Rogers was gwine say en when I been walk in dat gate, dere a big bulldog flew up in my head. I stop en look at him en dat dog jump en knock me windin en grabbed my foot in his mouth. Yes'um, de sign dere yet whe' he gnawed me. White folks tell me I been do wrong. Say, don' never pay no attention to a dog en dey won' bother up wid you. But, honey, dat dog had a blue eye en a pink eye. Ain' never see a dog in such a fix since I been born. I tell you, if you is crooked, white folks will sho straighten you out. Dat dog taught me all I is ever wanted to know. Lord, Miss Mary, I been love dat woman. De first time I ever see her, she say, 'You ain' got no dress to wear to Sunday School, I gwine give you one.' Yes, mam, Miss Mary dress me up en de Lord knows, I ain' never quit givin her de praise yet.

"Yes'um, de Yankees, I hear my daddy talk bout when dey come through old Massa's plantation en everything what dey do. Say, dere was a old woman dat was de cook to de big house en when dem Yankees come dere dat mornin, white folks had her down side de cider press just a whippin her. Say, de Yankees took de old woman en dressed her up en hitched up a buggy en made her set up in dere. Wouldn' let de white folks touch her no more neither. Oh, de place was just took wid dem, he say. What dey never destroy, dey carried off wid dem. Oh, Lord a mercy, hear talk dere was a swarm of dem en while some of dem was in de house a tearin up, dere was a lot of dem in de stables takin de horses out. Yes'um, some was doin one thing en some another. En Pa tell bout dey had de most sense he ever did see. Hitched up a cart en kept de path right straight down in de woods en carted de corn up what de white folks been hide down dere in de canebrake. Den some went in de garden en dug up a whole lot of dresses en clothes. En dere was a lady in de house sick while all dis was gwine on. Oh, dey was de worst people dere ever was, Pa say. Took all de hams en shoulders out de smokehouse en like I tell you, what dey never carried off, dey made a scaffold en burned it up. Lord, have mercy, I hopes I ain' gwine never have to meet no Yankees."

Source: Heddie Davis, colored, age 72, Marion, S. C. Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Jan., 1938.

Project #1655 W. W. Dixon Winnsboro, S. C.

HENRY DAVIS EX-SLAVE 80 YEARS OLD.

Henry Davis is an old Negro, a bright mulatto, who lives in a two-room frame house on the farm of Mr. Amos E. Davis, about two miles southwest of Winnsboro, S. C.

In the house with him, are his wife, Rosa, and his grown children, Roosevelt, Utopia, and Rose. They are day laborers on the farm. At this period, Henry picks about seventy-five pounds of cotton a day. His children average one hundred and fifty pounds each. The four together are thus enabled to gather about five hundred and twenty-five pounds per day, at the rate of sixty-five cents per hundred. This brings to the family, a daily support of $3.41. This is seasonal employment, however; and, as they are not a provident household, hard times come to Henry and his folks in the winter and early summer.

"I was born on de old Richard Winn plantation dat my master, Dr. W. K. Turner, owned and lived on. I was born de year befo' him marry Miss Lizzie Lemmon, my mistress in slavery time.

"My mother was name Mary and took de name of Davis, 'cause befo' freedom come, her was bought by my master, from Dr. Davis, near Monticello.

"I had a good many marsters and mistresses. Miss Minnie marry Dr. Scruggs. Miss Anna marry Mr. Dove. Miss Emma marry Mr. Jason Pope. Marse Willie K. marry a Miss Carroll up in York, S. C., and Marse Johnnie marry Miss Essie Zealy. My brothers and sisters was Minton, Ike, Martha, and Isabella.

"Who I marry and all 'bout it? How come you want to know dat? I 'clare! You think dat gwine to loosen me up? Well, I marry de 'Rose of Sharon' or I calls her dat when I was sparkin' her, though she was a Lemmon. Her was name Rose Lemmon. Lots of times she throw dat in my face, 'Rose of Sharon' when things go wrong. Then her git uppish and sniff, 'Rose of Sharon, my eye! You treats me lak I was a dogwood rose on de hillside or worse than dat, lak I was a Jimson weed or a rag weed.'

"My mammy and us chillun live in de yard not far from de kitchen. My mammy do de washin' and ironin'. Us chillun did no work. I ride 'round most of de time wid de doctor in his buggy and hold de hoss while he visit de patients. Just set up in de buggy and wait 'til him git ready to go to another place or go home.

"I 'member de Yankees comin' and searchin' de house, takin' off de cows, mules, hosses, and burnin' de gin-house and cotton. They say dat was General Sherman's orders. They was 'lowed to leave de dwellin' house standin', in case of a doctor or preacher.

"Miss Lizzie had a whole lot of chickens. Her always keep de finest pullets. She make pies and chicken salad out of de oldest hens. Dat February de Yankees got here, she done save up 'bout fifty pullets dat was ready to lay in March. A squad of Yankees make us chillun ketch every one and you know how they went 'way wid them pullets? They tie two on behind, in de rings of de saddle. Then they tie two pullets together and hang them on de saddle pommel, one on each side of de hosses neck. Dat throw them flankin' de hosses withers. I 'members now them gallopin' off, wid them chickens flutterin' and hollerin' whare, whare, whare, whare, whare!

"After slavery time, us live on de Turner place nigh onto thirty years and then was de time I go to see Rosa and court and marry her. Her folks b'long to de Lemmons and they had stayed on at de Lemmon's place. De white folks of both plantations 'courage us to have a big weddin'. Her white folks give her a trousseau and mine give me a bedstead, cotton mattress, and two feather pillows. Dat was a mighty happy day and a mighty happy night for de 'Rose of Sharon'. Her tells young niggers 'bout it to dis day, and I just sets and smokes my pipe and thinks of all de days dat am passed and gone and wonder if de nex' world gwine to bring us back to youth and strength to 'joy it, as us did when Rose and me was young.

"Does I 'members anything 'bout patrollers? 'Deed, I do! Marster didn't 'ject to his slaves gwine to see women off de place. I hear him say so, and I hear him tell more than once dat if he ever hear de patrollers a comin' wid blood hounds, to run to de lot and stick his foots in de mud and de dogs wouldn't follow him. Lots of run'ways tried it, I heard, and it proved a success and I don't blame them dogs neither."

Project #1655 W. W. Dixon Winnsboro, S. C.

JESSE DAVIS EX-SLAVE 85 YEARS OLD.

Jesse Davis, one of the fast disappearing landmarks of slavery times, lives with his wife and son, in one of the ordinary two-room frame houses that dot, with painful monotony, the country farms of white landowners. The three attempt to carry on a one-horse farm of forty acres, about thirty acres in cotton and the remainder in corn. The standard of living is low. Jesse is cheerful, his wife optimistic with the expression that the Lord will provide, and their son dutiful and hopeful of the harvest. Their home is about ten miles southwest of Winnsboro, in the Horeb section of Fairfield County.

"Dere is some difficulty 'bout my age. Nigh as I can place it, I was born befo' de Civil War. I 'members 'tendin' to and milkin' de cows, and keepin' de calf off, drawin' water out de well, and bringin' in wood to make fires. I 'spects I's eighty-five, mountin' up in years.

"I lives on Mr. Eber Mason's place wid one of my chillun, a son name Mingo. Us all work on de place; run a farm on shares. I can't do much work and can't support myself. It's mighty hard to be 'pendent on others for your daily rations, even if them others is your own bone and flesh. I'd 'preciate sumpin' to help my son and wife carry on. Dats why I wants a pension. Do you 'spect God in His mercy will hear de prayer of dis feeble old believer? I don't beg people but de Bible give me a right to beg God for my daily bread. De Good Book say: 'Take no consarnment 'bout your raiment'. You can see from what I's got on, dat me nor nobody else, is much consarned 'bout dis raiment.

"My mammy b'long to de Smiths. My master was Dr. Ira Smith. My mistress was him wife, Miss Sarah. Deir chillun was: Marse Gad, Marse Jim, and Marse Billie. Marse Jim was de baker of dis town all his life, after de way of old-time oven-cookin', 'til Boy bread and Claussen bread wagons run him out of business. Him is now on de 'lief roll and livin' in de old McCreight house, de oldest house in Winnsboro.

"Dere was my young misses, Miss Lizzie and Miss Lennie. My mammy name Sarah, just lak old mistress name Sarah. Her b'long to marster and mistress but my pappy no b'long to them. Him b'long to de big bugs, de Davis family. Him was name Mingo, and after slavery him and all us take de name, de secon' name, Davis, and I's here today, Jesse Davis. See how dat work out to de name? Good Book again say: 'Good name better than riches; sweeter to de ear than honey-comb to de tongue.'

"You is well 'quainted wid Marse Amos Davis, ain't you? Well, his people was pappy's people. I had a brudder name Gabriel, tho' they called him Gabe. Another one name Chap; he got kilt while clearin' up a new ground. Sister Fannie marry a Ashford nigger. Marse Ira, de doctor, have a plantation near Jenkinsville, S. C.

"When de Yankees come thru, they come befo' de main army. They gallop right up, jump down and say: 'Hold dese hosses! Open dat smoke-house door!' They took what they could carry 'way. 'Bout dat time marster rode up from a sick call him been 'tendin' to. Course you know him was a doctor. They surround him, take his watch, money, and hoss, and ride 'way.

"De main army come nex' day, Saturday mornin' 'bout 8 o'clock. They spread deir tents and stay and camp 'til Monday mornin'. When they leave they carry off all de cows, hogs, mules, and hosses. Then they have us ketch de chickens, got them all, 'cept one old hen dat run under de house, and they didn't wait to git her. Marster have to go 'way up to Union County, where him have kin folks, to git sumpin' to eat.

"My marster was not big rich lak de Davises, de Means, and de Harpers, but him have all them people come to see him. Him know a heap of things dat they 'preciate. De way to dye cloth was one of dese secrets. Marster have a madder bed. Him take de roots of dat madder put them in de sun just lak you put out pieces of apples and peaches to make dried fruit. When them roots git right dry, him have them ground up fine as water-ground meal. He put de fine dust in a pot and boil it. When he want red cloth, he just drop de cloth in dat pot and it come out all red to suit you. Want it blue, him have a indigo patch for dat.

"I never hear anything 'bout alum dese days. Well, de slaves could take peach tree leaves and alum and make yellow cloth and old cedar tops and copperas and make tan cloth. Walnut stain and copperas and make any cloth brown. Sweet-gum bark and copperas and make any cloth a purple color. I 'member goin' wid one into de woods to git barks. One day old marster come 'cross a slippery elm tree. Him turn and command me to say right fast: 'Long, slim, slick saplin' and when I say long, slim, sick slaplin', him 'most kill hisself laughin'. You try dat now! You find it more harder to say than you think it is. Him give me a piece of dat bark to chew and I run at de mouth lak you see a hoss dat been on de range of wild clover all night and slobberin' at da bits.

"Yes sah, I b'longs to de church! My wife and son, Mingo, just us three in de house and de whole household jined de Morris Creek Baptist Church. What's my favorite song? None better than de one dat I'll h'ist right now. Go ahead? I thanks you. Listen:

'Am I born to die To lay dis body down A charge to keep I have A God to glorify.'

"You lak dat? Yes? You is praisin' me too highly I 'spect, but since you lak dat one just listen at dis one; maybe you change your mind, 'cause I's gwine to h'ist it a wee bit higher and put more of de spiritual in it. Ready? Yes? I stand up dis time.

'All de medicine you may buy All de doctors you may try Ain't gonna save you from de tomb Some day you got to lay down and die. De blood of de Son can only Save you from de doom! Some day you got to lay down and die.'

"You lak dat one? You just ought to hear my wife, Mingo, and Me, singin' dat 'round de fire befo' us go to bed.

"Well, I'll toddle 'long now. Good-bye."

Project, 1885-(1) Prepared by Annie Ruth Davis Place, Marion, S. C. Date, February 4, 1938

LIZZIE'S 'SPONSIBILITY

I.

The first scene of "Lizzie's 'Sponsibility" is that of the small, one room dwelling place of Lizzie Davis, aged colored woman of Marion, S. C. A disorderly, ill-lighted, crudely furnished room, saturated with the odor of food. Behind the front door stands a gayly colored iron bed, over which is thrown a piece of oilcloth to keep the rain from leaking on it. In the center of the room are several little quaint home-made stools and two broken rockers, while in one corner sits a roughly finished kitchen table, the dumping place of all small articles. Still in another corner, almost hidden from sight in the darkness, is the dim outline of an old trunk gaping open with worn out clothing, possibly the gift of some white person. A big fireplace in one side of the wall not only furnishes heat for the little room, but also serves as a cooking place for Lizzie to prepare her meals. On its hearth sits a large iron kettle, spider, and griddle, relics of an earlier day. The room is dimly lighted by the fire and from two small doors, together with a few tiny streaks that peep through at various cracks in the walls and top of house.