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EX-SLAVE 85 YEARS OLD.
Eliza Hasty lives with her son-in-law and her daughter, Philip Moore and Daisy Moore, in an old time ante bellum home. It has two stories, eight rooms, and front and back piazzas, supported by slender white posts or columns. It is the old William Douglas homestead, now owned by John D. Kobley. He rents it to Philip Moore, a well behaved Negro citizen, who, out of respect for his mother-in-law, Eliza, supports her in the sore trials and helplessness of blindness and old age. The home is five miles southeast of Blackstock, S. C.
"Boss, you is a good lookin' man, from de sound of your voice. Blind folks has ways of findin' out things that them wid sight know nothin' 'bout and nobody can splain. De blindness sharpens de hearin', 'creases de tech, prickles de skin, quickens de taste, and gives you de nose of a setter, pointer or hound dog. Was I always blind? Jesus, no! I just got de 'fliction several years ago. I see well enough, when I was a young gal, to pick out a preacher for my fust husband. So I did! How many times I been married? Just two times; both husbands dead. Tell you 'bout them directly.
"What dat? Er ha, ha, ha, ha, er ha, ha, ha! Oh Jesus, you makes me laugh, white folks! De idea of my lossin' my sight a lookin' 'round for a third husband! You sho' is agreeable. Ain't been so tickled since de secon' time I was a widow. You know my secon' husband was bad after blind tiger liquor, and harlot eyed, brassy, hussy women.
"Well, I comes down to Winnsboro today to see, I should say to find out, 'cause you know I can't see, 'bout de pension they is givin' out to de aged and blind. My white folks say dat you wanna see me and here I is.
"Yes sir, I was born two miles south of Woodward and one mile south of old Yonguesville, on de Sterling place. I born a slave of old Marse John Sterling. Him have a head as red as a pecker-wood bird dat just de-sash-sheys 'round de top of dead trees, and make sich a rat-ta-ta-taple after worms. His way of gittin' his meat for dinner. My mistress name Betsy. Deir fust child was Robert, dat never marry; him teach nearly every school in Fairfield County, off and on befo' he died. Then dere was young Marster Tom, small little man, dat carry his Seccesion 'ligion so far, him become 'furiated and carry det 'ligion right up and into de Secession War. Make a good soldier, too! General Bratton call him, 'My Little Jackass of do Sharp Shooters'! Marse Tom proud of dat name, from de mouth of a great man lak General John Bratton.
"Marse Tom heard de fust gun fire at Fort Sumter, and laid down his gun, him say, under a big horse apple tree at 'Applemattox'.
"Miss Sallie, one of de chillun, marry Mr. Chris Elder, of Black-stock. Miss Hepaibah, they call her lieppie, marry a man named Boyd, in Chester County. Miss Mary Isabella, they call her Bell, marry Marse John Douglas; they are de 'cestors of dat very angel whose house us is settin' in right dis minute. Her name is Martha but when grown-up, they sublet (meaning change) dat name to Mattie, and when her marry, her become Mrs. Thomas P. Bryson. Her is a widow, just lak I is a widow. De only difference is, I's black and her is white. Her can see well enough to run after and ketch another man, but I's blind and can't see a man, much less chase after him. So dere it is! What for you laughin' 'bout? No laughin' business wid me.
"My pappy no b'long to Marse John Sterling: him slave of de Stinsons. Have to git a pass to come to see my mammy, Mary. Him name Aleck. After de war him take de name of Alexander Roseboro. Him lak a big long name dat would make folks set up and take notice of him.
"Us live in a little log-house wid a dirt floor. Us had mighty poor beds, I tell you. Us just had planks to lay de wheat straw mattress on. Pillows? De pillows was just anything you could snatch and put under your head. Yes sir, us had plenty to eat.
"They 'struct us in de short catechism, make us go to church, and sit up in de gallery and gine in de singin' on Sundays. Us was well 'tended to when sick. Marster didn't have many slaves. 'Members only two they have, 'sides us; they was Uncle Ned and Cindy. Seem lak dere was another. Oh yes! It was fred, a all 'round de creation boy, to do anything and everything. He was a aorta shirt-tail boy dat pestered me sometime wid goo-goo eyes, a standin' in de kitchen door, draggin' his weight from one foot to de other, a lookin' at me while I was a charain' or washin' de dishes. Dat boy both box-ankle and knock-kneed. When you hear him comin' from de horse lot to de house, his legs talk to one another, just lak sayin': 'You let me pass dis time, I let you pass nex' time.' I let you know I had no time for dat ape! When I did git ready to marry, I fly high as a eagle and ketch a preacher of de Word! Who it was? Him was a Baptis' preacher, name Solomon Dixon. 'Spect you hear tell of him. No? Well, him b'long, in slavery time, to your Aunt Roxie's people in Liberty Hill, Kershaw County. You 'members your Aunt Roxie dat marry Marse Ed D. Motley, her fust cousin, don't you?
"I love Solomon and went down under de water to be buried wid him in baptism, I sho' did, and I come up out of dat water to be united wid him in wedlock. When us marry, him have on a long-tail coat, salt and popper trousers, box-toed shoes, and a red lead pencil over his ear, just as long as de one I 'spects you is writin' wid, tho' I can't see it.
"How I dressed? I 'members 'zactly. I wore a blue worsted shirt, over a red underskirt, over a white linen petticoat wid tuckers at de hem, just a little long, to show good and white 'long wid de blue of de skirt and de red of de underskirt. Dese all come up to my waist and was held together by do string dat held my bustle in place. All dis and my corset was hid by de snow white pleated pique bodice, dat drapped gracefully from my shoulders. 'Round my neck was a string of green jade beads. I wore red stockin's and my foots was stuck in soft, black, cloth, gaiter shoes.
"My go-away-hat was 'stonishment to everybody. It was made out of red plush velvet and trimmed wil white satin ribbons. In de front, a ostrich feather steed up high and two big turkey feathers flanked de sides. Oh, de treasures of memory to de blind! I's happy to sit here and talk to you 'bout dat day! I sho' is!
"Us live at Marse John Douglas for a time and dat's where my fast child was born. I name her for your Aunt Roxie, tho' I give her de full name, Roxanna Dixon. Her marry John Craig. They live on your grandpa Woodward's old Nickey place, four miles southeast of Blackstock. I had another baby and I name her Daisy. Her marry Philip Moore. I lives wid them in de old William Douglas mansion. Nearly all de white folks leavin' de country dese days and de colored folks cits de fine country houses to live in.
"Well, after de years fly by, my husband, Solomon, go to de mansion prepared for him and me in hebben. I wait a year and a day and marry William Hasty. Maybe I was a little hasty 'bout dat, but 'spects it was my fate.
him drink liquor and you know dat don't run to de still waters of peace and happiness in de home. Him love me, I no don't dat, but he get off to bar room at Blackstock, or de still house in bottom lands, get drunk and spend his money. De Bible say lat kind of drowsiness soon clothe a man in rags. Him dead now. God rest his coul!
"De Yankees come. They took notice of me! They was a bad lot dat Magrace Mr. Lincoln dat sent them here. They insult women both white and black, but de Lord was mineful of his own.
"I knows nothin' else to tell you, 'less you would be pleased to hear 'bout it what de eyelone did to my missus and de old sterling house. Somewhere 'bout 1830's one of them sayer knockiel (equinoctial) storms come 'long, commencin' over in Alabama or Georgia, crosses de savannah, sweep through South Carolina, layin' trees to de ground, cuttin' a path a quarter of a nile wide, as it traveled from weat to east. Every house it tech, it carry de planks and shingles and sills and joists 'way wid it. De old sterling house was in de path. Dere was a big oak tree in de front yard. Old miss and her son, robert, was dere and Miss Heppie, a granddaughter, was in dat house. De storm hit dat house 'bout 9 o'clock dat night and never left a bit of it, 'capt some of de bricks. Some of de logs and sills was found de nex' day over at de other side of de railroad track. Some of de planks was found six miles east, some of de shingles across Catawba River, 25 miles east, and carious to say, de wind blowed old miss against do big oak tree and kill her. It blowed Miss Heppie in de top of dat tree where she was settin' a cryin' and couldn't git down, and it never harm a hair of Marse Robert's head. Him look 'round for Miss Heppie, couldn't find her, went off to get help, and when they come back, they have to git a ladder from old Mr. Bob Hobley's house to git her down.
"Well, here comes my daughters. I hear one outside but I bet you don't hear a thing. Dats deir steps I hear. Glad for you to meet them. They is mighty fine gals, if I do have to say so. They come up wid good white folks, de Mills'. Marse Jim Mills have family prayer in de mornin' and family prayer befo' they go to bed. Dat was de fust thing wid him and de last thing wid de Mills' family. If all de families do dat way, dere would be de answer to do prayer, 'Dy kingdom come, Dy will be done, on earth as 'tis in hebben'.
"Well, give me my stick. There they is. I bids you goodbye and God bless you."
Reference; Personal interview with Aunt Dolly Haynes, age 91 Arthurtown, S. C.
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