"Now, I got another one of dem thought comin. Yes, my Lord, I hear talk dat if you get de broom en sweep your house out fore sunrise, you would sweep your friends out right wid de trash. Dat used to be a big sign wid de people, too. En it bad luck to take up ashes after de sun go down, dey say. Yes, I know bout plenty people won' do dat today."
"Well, honey, seems like when I calls back, de people in a worser fix den when I used to get 25 cents a day. Used to could take dat en go to a country store en get a decent dress to wear to church. Sell peck of us corn en get it in trade. Didn' never pay more den 50 cents for a load of wood in dem days en I remembers just as good eggs been sell for 10 cents a dozen en 15 cents bout Christmas time. Cose I ain' exactly decided what to speak bout de times cause it dis way to my mind. De people, dey have a better privilege dis day en time, but dey don' appreciate nothin like dey did back in my dark days. Yes, mam, de people was more thankful to man en God den dey is dese days. Dat my belief bout de way de world turnin, I say."
Source:
Lizzie Davis, colored, age between 70 and 80, Marion, S. C.
Personal interview by Annie Ruth Davis, Dec., 1937.
Project #1855
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
LOUISA DAVIS
EX-SLAVE 106 YEARS OLD.
"Well, well, well! You knows my white folks on Jackson Creek, up in Fairfield! I's mighty glad of dat, and glad to see you. My white folks come to see me pretty often, though they lives way up dere. You wants to write me up? Well, I'll tell you all I recollect, and what I don't tell you, my daughter and de white folks can put in de other 'gredients. Take dis armchair and git dat smokin' ash tray; lay it on de window sill by you and make yourself comfortable and go ahead."
"I was born in de Catawba River section. My grandpappy was a full blood Indian; my pappy a half Indian; my mother, coal black woman. Just who I b'long to when a baby? I'll leave dat for de white folks to tell, but old Marster Jim Lemon buy us all; pappy, mammy, and three chillun: Jake, Sophie, and me. De white folks I fust b'long to refuse to sell 'less Marse Jim buy de whole family; dat was clever, wasn't it? Dis old Louisa must of come from good stock, all de way 'long from de beginnin', and I is sho' proud of dat."
"When he buy us, Marse Jim take us to his place on Little River nigh clean cross de county. In de course of time us fell to Marse Jim's son, John, and his wife, Miss Mary. I was a grown woman then and nursed their fust baby, Marse Robert. I see dat baby grow to be a man and 'lected to legislature, and stand up in dat Capitol over yonder cross de river and tell them de Law and how they should act, I did. They say I was a pretty gal, then, face shiny lak a ginger cake, and hair straight and black as a crow, and I ain't so bad to look at now, Marse Willie says."
"My pappy rise to be foreman on de place and was much trusted, but he plowed and worked just de same, mammy say maybe harder."
"Then one springtime de flowers git be blooming, de hens to cackling, and de guineas to patarocking. Sam come along when I was out in de yard wid de baby. He fust talk to de baby, and I asked him if de baby wasn't pretty. He say, 'Yes, but not as pretty as you is, Louisa.' I looks at Sam, and dat kind of foolishness wind up in a weddin'. De white folks allowed us to be married on de back piazza, and Reverend Boggs performed de ceremony."