"My old marster name Sam Brice. His wife, my mistress, tho' fair as de lily of de valley and cheeks as pink as de rose of Sharon, is called 'Darkie.' Dat always seem a misfit to me. Lily or Rose or Daisy would have suited her much more better, wid her laces, frills, flounces, and ribbons. Her mighty good to de slaves. Take deir part 'ginst de marster sometime, when him want to whup them. Sometime I sit on de door-steps and speculate in de moonlight whut de angels am like and everytime, my mistress is de picture dat come into dis old gray head of mine. You say you don't want po'try, you wants facts?
"Well, here de facts: My mammy name Clara. Don't forgit dat. I come back to her directly. My young mistress was Miss Maggie. Her marry Marse Robert Clowney; they call him 'Red-head Bob.' Him have jet red hair. Him was 'lected and went to de Legislature once. No go back; he say dere too much ding dong do-nuttin' foolishness down dere for him to leave home and stay 'way from de wife and chillun half de winter months.
"Marse Sam never have so pow'ful many slaves. Seem lak dere was more women and chillun than men. In them days, pa tell me, a white man raise niggers just lak a man raise horses or cows. Have a whole lot of mares and 'pendin' on other man to have de stallion. Fust thing you know dere would be a whole lot of colts kickin' up deir heels on de place. Lakwise a white man start out wid a few women folk slaves, soon him have a plantation full of little niggers runnin' 'round in deir shirt-tails and a kickin' up deir heels, whilst deir mammies was in de field a hoeing and geeing at de plow handles, workin' lak a man. You ketch de point? Well I's one of them little niggers. My pa name Vander. Him b'long to one of de big bugs, old Marse Gregg Cameron. Marse Gregg, him 'low, always have more money and niggers than you could shake a stick at, more land than you could walk over in a day, and more cuss words than you could find in de dictionary. His bark was worser than his bite, tho'. Pa was de tan-yard man; he make leather and make de shoes for de plantation. After freedom date, de way he make a livin' for mammy and us chillun was by makin' boots and shoes and half solin' them for white folks at Blackstock, S. C. Marse Sam Brice mighty glad for mammy to contact sich a man to be de pappy of her chillun.
"Us live in a log house wid a little porch in front and de mornin' glory vines use to climb 'bout it. When they bloom, de bees would come a hummin' 'round and suck de honey out de blue bells on de vines. I 'members dat well 'nough, dat was a pleasant memory. Is I told you my mammy name Clara? My brothers and sisters, who they? George dead, Calvin dead, Hattie (name for pa's young mistress) dead, Samson, who got his ear scald off in a pot of hot water, is dead, too. I's existing still. I did mighty little work in slavery times. 'Members not much 'bout de Yankees.
"Freedom come, pa come straight as a martin to his gourd, to mammy and us pickaninnies. They send us to school at Blackstock and us walk fourteen miles, and back, every day to school. At school I meets Mary Stroud, a gal comin' from de Gaillard quarter. Her eyes was lak twin stars. Her hair lak a swarm of bees. All my studyin' books was changed to studyin' how to git dat swarm of bees in a hive by myself. One day I walk home from school with her and git old Uncle Tom Walker to marry us, for de forty cents I saved up. Us happy ever since. Nex' year I work for Ben Calvin, a colored man on de Cockerell place, jinin' de Gaillard place. Us did dat to be near her pappy, Uncle Morris Stroud.
"All thru them 'Carpet Bag' days my pappy stuck to de white folks, and went 'long wid de Ku Kluxes. His young mistress, Miss Harriet Cameron, marry de Grand Titan of all de Holy invisible Roman Empire. Him name was Col. Leroy McAfee. Pappy tell me all 'bout it. Marse Col. McAfee come down from North Ca'lina, and see Marse Feaster Cameron at old Marse Gregg Cameron's home and want Marse Feaster to take charge down in dis State. While on dat visit him fall in love wid Marse Feas's sister, Harriet, and marry her. You say Marse Tom Dixon dedicate a book to her, de Clansman? Well, well, well! To think of dat. Wish my pappy could a knowed dat, de Sundays he'd take dat long walk to Concord Church to put flowers on her grave. They all lie dere in dat graveyard, Old Marse Gregg, Marse Leroy, Miss Harriet, and Marse Feas. De day they bury Marse Feas de whole county was dere and both men and women sob when de red earth rumbled on his coffin top. Pappy had me by de hand and cried lak a baby, wid de rest of them, dat sad day.
"Does you 'member de time in 1884, when my pappy made you a pair of boots for $10.00 and when you pay him, him knock off one dollar and you pay him nine dollars? You does? Well dat is fine, for I sure need dat dollar dis very day.
"Does I 'member de day old Marse Gregg die? 'Course I does. It happen right here in Winnsboro. Him come down to 'tend John Robinson's Circus. Him lak Scotch liquor; de tar smell, de taste, and de 'fect, take him back to Scotland where him generate from. Them was bar-room days in Winnsboro. De two hotels had bar-rooms, besides de other nine in town. Marse Gregg had just finished his drink of Scotch. De parade of de circus was passing de hotel where he was, and de steam piano come by a tootin'. Marse Gregg jump up to go to de street to see it. When it pass, him say: 'It's a damn humbug' and drop dead."
Project #1855
W. W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S. C.
THOMAS CAMPBELL
EX-SLAVE 82 YEARS OLD.