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This is the “Memoirs of Judith Grier” whose grandfather was John Tillman of the Ark
Plantation. It is believed that Ms. Grier was born at the Ark Plantation in Surfside Beach. This
document was donated to the town by Stan Barnett, from Mount Pleasant, a descendant of Judith
Grier.
Chapter 1
Way back in 1857 about four months before your grandmother was born, her
great-great grandmother and her grandmother Dukes came to live with her father,
Squire Grier.
Old grandmother, as they always called her, great-great grandmother, was a
young married woman at the outbreak of the Revolutionary War. It is not known where
she lived before her marriage, but your grandmother said it seemed to her that old
grandmother came from the north. She was a Cartier. However, she lived on a big
plantation on the Waccamaw River at the time of the war.
She had the honor of shaking hands with President Washington during his trip
through this country. Some say he even dined at her home on the river, but that may
not be true. In fact, if the great Washington dined everywhere rumor says he did, he
must have been truly great, and in more ways than one.
After her second marriage, she moved to Petersfield and lived there until she
came to live with her grandson.
Her daughter, Mary Tillman, who had long been dead when old grandmother
came to Squire Grier’s, was married to a Mr. Covan, a Frenchman. There is a story we
have always loved to hear your grandmother tell of this marriage. At Halloween, a year
before her marriage, several young girls were spending the night together and decided
to try their fortunes with a mirror. Mary took her turn and after performing the
preliminary rites stood looking in the mirror. At first there was nothing but her own
face, then gradually, it faded and the outlines of a table appeared with an open trunk
upon it. Then, from out of nowhere came the glare of a dark haired, dark eyed young
man who leaned on the trunk and gazed straight into her eyes. As was befitting and
proper in those days, she promptly fainted.
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�A month or two later she and her mother went north, shopping and visiting.
They entered a store and immediately Mary saw displayed on the table an open trunk,
which she recognized as the very trunk she had seen in the mirror. As she looked and
wondered a young man with dark hair and eyes entered, leaned on the trunk and
looked into her eyes. That night at a ball they met and their wedding followed shortly.
Elizabeth Covan, your grandmother’s grandmother, was her only child. Elizabeth
was brought up mainly by her grandmother, old grandmother, for her father died when
she was very small and her mother married again. So old grandmother’s home at
Petersfield was also the home of Elizabeth, old grandmother always called her Betsy.
In her old days, when she became blind and helpless, old grandmother made her
home with Betsy who was a grandmother herself by that time. Elizabeth, also, was
married three times. Men must have been very plentiful in those days, or else, my girls,
you must be descended from a line of irresistible vamps. Her first husband, James
Marion Grier, is the one of most interest to us.
The night Elizabeth Covan was born was wet and stormy. Mr. Grier, who was
married to his second wife at this time, had been up the river on business. He was
returning home and took refuge from the night and weather at the Covan plantation.
His wife and Mrs. Covan were very good friends and often visited each other. This
night, however, Mr. Covan told him there was no room for him in the house. But, as he
could go no farther owing to the storm, Mr. Covan had the washroom warmed up and a
bed put in there for him. The next morning he came to the house before leaving and
asked to see the little girl. He took her in his arms, asked how much she weighed,
kissed her and went on his way. Fifteen years later, he married her.
He was a merchant in Georgetown and also had a large rice plantation on the
Waccamaw. He had a good overseer in charge of his plantation for he lived in
Georgetown. He also had a summer house on North Island.
On Election Day in September 1822, the time of the big storm as it was called,
your great-great grandfather Grier went in a sailboat from North Island to Georgetown.
He was a man of afffi8ars and of importance in Georgetown and was detained in town
after the election although he had intended reaching the island before dark. Before he
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�could leave the storm began to brew and he knew it would be death to be caught by
the wind and waves in that open boat.
The darker it grew, the wilder the storm became. The people in the smaller
cottages on the island and the one living close to the shore took refuge in the
lighthouse or in the home of your ancestor. It was larger and more substantially built
than some of the others as well as being in a more protected position.
All night long the storm raged. The waves dashed over the house. Amid the roar
of the wind and the clash of the thunder could be heard the snapping and cracking of
timbers as each furious wave took its toll. The waves were dashed against the large
house and entered the smallest crack and crevice until everyone and everything in it
were drenched. The house creaked and groaned but it held together although its
inmates thought each minute might be the last. Every house, except the lighthouse, Mr.
Grier’s house, and on other that was sheltered by a hummock, was washed out to sea.
All three of Elizabeth’s husbands were wealthy and each left his property to her
so she had plenty to live on. She had several stepchildren who were very dear to her,
but she had only one son herself, your great grandfather Grier.
At the death of her last husband, she was persuaded that the best thing she
could do was to break up housekeeping and move to the home of her only son, Squire
Grier. Her step children tried to persuade her to remain in the home of her last husband
at Petersfield, promising to look after her and the plantation, but she and old
grandmother moved. She left her house, full of fine old furniture, just as she had
always lived in it. Her son did not need it. He promised to send for it and store it on his
place, but failed to do so. Lather the old home was burned, and with it all her furniture,
furniture that today would be worth a fortune.
Old grandmother at the time of the move had been blind for forty years and deaf
for nearly the same length of time. She was now a tiny little woman who lay on her bed
all day. Although she could see nothing and hear only when shouted at, she was quickwitted and as sensible as she ever had been and remained so until her death.
At the Squire’s she was carried in to the big room downstairs and put on a bed
near the big fireplace where she could be kept war, for it was the middle of the winter.
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�As spring advanced and the arrival of your grandmother was expected daily it
was decided to carry old grandmother upstairs to share the room with her
granddaughter, Betsy. They told old grandmother they were moving her and thought
she understood, but evidently she failed to catch the meaning of their message. A
neighbor was called in and he lifted old grandmother as if she were a baby. She,
sensing that a stranger had her, began to struggle and cry out. Her granddaughter was
patting her and shouting at her trying to explain, but to no avail. All the house slaves
and all the children were drawn to the passage by the outcries. She kicked and
screamed all the way upstairs which delighted the little darkies as much as it frightened
the children of the family. When placed on her bed with Betsy close by, she finally
calmed down. It was there she lay for the last four years of her life.
Another member of the family was Blind Uncle, as your grandmother always
called him. He was her father’s uncle who had made the Squire’s his headquarters
when he was a gay young bachelor with plenty of means and health for a life of
pleasure. A regular Beau Brummel in his youth and middle age, he spent much time in
Charleston or up north a pleasuring around and having a good time. As he gradually
become blinder and blinder he made his home entirely with his nephew. He sat most of
the time in the sun with his dogs close by. He had his own Negroes with him so he was
no care for anyone.
There were besides these three, at the time of your grandmother’s birth, five
girls and two boys with their father and mother in the home.
Chapter 2
Your grandmother, Judith Crosby Grier, was born on the 21st of May 1857. Blind
Uncle named her Judith. His favorite sister, who died when she was a young girl, was
named Judith. He had begged as each of the older girls were born to be allowed to
name her. So they let him name the baby. He said she should have the finest family of
Negroes he had and one thousand dollars when he died. He made his will to that effect.
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�No one had time the next morning to tell old grandmother of the new arrival but
in the morning she called: “Betsy, Margaret has a little girl.” Betsy shouted, “Yes.”
“Bring her here,” commanded old grandmother.
So the tiny baby was carried upstairs and placed in the arms of her great-great
grandmother. The old lady cuddled the baby close to her, felt her little face and hands,
then pulled up her long clothes to feel her little legs. Satisfied finally that the baby was
all she should be, she cuddled her up again and tried to croon to her. It was with
reluctance that she at last parted with the baby.
Every morning after that she insisted that little Judy be brought up to her. That
visit of the wee, wee baby to the old, old lady became a regular part of the morning
routine. The old lady called her Judy and Judy she has remained until this day—much to
her disgust. As she grew older she learned to go up the stairs and to the bed where the
old grandmother lay. When little Judy was four years of age the old lady died. The little
girls, tiny as she was, slipped several times into the room where she lay, turned down
the sheet, touched her, and tried to make her answer her call. There was no fear in the
presence of death.
Blind Uncle tried to figure out her age and decided she must have been at least
120 or 125 years old
Your grandmother’s father, Thomas Rothmaler Grier, was a very large man. For
many years before his death he weighed over 300 pounds. You have seen the old vest
your grandmother has that he wore. It is as large as two ordinary sized vests. The big
chair which he had made especially for him is out in the shop now. Your father used it
for years. The rockers are worn almost through and it has been re-bottomed many
times but it is still strong.
The Squire was a stern, quick-tempered old man. Everyone yielded him the cup
when it came to swearing. It is still a by-word in this country concerning anyone who is
very fluent when it comes to the use of “cuss” words that “he can cuss most as good as
the Squire.” The children all feared him greatly, all but little Judy who was his pet and
plaything.
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�When he was first married he lived on a small plantation near the present site of
Hemingway where Mr. White Johnson now lives. But the larger two story house in
which he lived has long since been torn down.
Soon after he married he attended the auction of Col. Alston’s furniture from his
plantation on the Pee Dee River. He bought for a small sum the six legged sideboard, or
low boy, that your grandmother now has, and for which she has been offered large
sums. The old sideboard has been made in England of solid walnut. Much of the hand
carved trimmings has come off, but it is a fine old piece of furniture yet.
Later the Squire moved to the old home at Petersfield. He livered here only a few
years for the plantation at Johnsonville was given to his wife by her father. A fortune in
slaves was also given her. They remained at Johnsonville as long as they lived.
The Johnson plantation was part of the original grant to John James. William
Johnson Sr. had bought a part of this grant from the heirs of John James. He also
purchased a portion of the land granted to the Witherspoons. It was part of the
Witherspoon grant that was given to your grandmother’s mother. Your grandmother
has all the old grants, deeds and plats.
The old house had two stories with the first floor very high off the ground. There
were two large main rooms downstairs with two shed rooms built off from them at the
back. Upstairs were a small room and a large one. The small room as called “Pa’s
room,” while the large room was “Grandmother’s room.” The dining room and the
kitchen were connected with the main part of the house by an open cross passage way.
Here the family generally ate during the summer and it was the favorite gathering place
for the whole family.
Besides running the large plantation, the Squire had the largest inland store
between Georgetown and Marion. His state was about seven miles from the nearest
landing; most of the larger stores were closer to the river for greater convenience in
getting their goods. The Squire’s biggest business, however, was money lending,
always with good security, either in land or slaves. The Squire had the reputation of
being a hard man, and he never did let anyone get anything that belonged to him. He
was considered the wealthiest man in the country. Although he exacted his dues from
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�all the able-bodied, he never turned a deaf ear to the widowed or helpless. He name
made any ado about his kindness, but those in want knew where to turn.
Every morning, assisted by his body slave, a “boy” who had belonged to him
since he was small, he mounted his horse and rode over the whole plantation. Even
though he was very stout and it was a difficult job to get him on his horse, he rode as
erectly as he ever did. No detail on the farm was too small to escape eye, and
everything must be in its proper place. The darky who had performed his task well and
faithfully was sure to be rewarded with a kind word, while the darky who had slighted
his was just as sure to be rewarded with a “cuss” word or two. After his survey of the
plantation, he went to the store where he spent the remainder of the day.
Her mother was so busy that soon after old grandmother died little Judy went
upstairs to sleep with her grandmother and became her special charge, day and night.
That is why your grandmother knows so many tales of long ago. She used to ask
numberless questions and her grandmother was never too busy to answer her or to tell
her stories. At night after they were in bed the two talked a great deal.
There were three cooks in the kitchen, or rather kitchens, for in the summer they
moved the kitchen into cooler quarters in the yard. The little house in the yard was
called the summer kitchen. “Maum” Mary was the head cook. Venus and Silvia were her
assistants. Each of these had her own helper. There were also several pick-a-ninnies
always at the beck and call of the cooks and their assistants. These were in training to
become cooks themselves someday.
There were three boys who served the meals and waited on the long table
during the meals. These boys also had their tasks to do about the house and were
known as house boys.
The older children had a nurse who had a general oversight of them, kept their
clothes all mended and straight, and trained their Negro girls. The five older girls,
Agnes, who was 15 when your grandmother was born; Sarah; Hortense; Julia, and
Mary all had a girl of their own. These girls, about the ages of their mistresses, were
given to them when they were small. Jim and Mitchell, the two boys, also had their own
“niggers” from whom there were almost inseparable. Mitchell and your grandmother
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�had a nurse, Silvia, all to themselves. There were three Silvias and two Venuses among
the house servants.
In addition to the cooks, table boys, nurses, and individual servants, three or
four girls were on hand at all times to do anything that Ole Miss, Missis, or Master
required done. This huge household was fed from the Squire’s kitchen.
The Missis, as they called the Squire’s wife, was the mainspring that rant the
whole house and kept it regulated. Besides the house, she had charge of the supplies
for the plantation Negroes, which was a man-sized job in itself. She also had charge of
the spinning and weaving, not only for the household, but for the whole plantation, as
well. The big loom house stood in the yard and held the spinning wheels and looms. In
summer the spinning wheels were always carried out under the trees near the house.
Three spinning wheels were kept running from dawn until dark, summer and winter;
and three big looms were kept clacking to furnish cloth for the plantation. Dye, before
the war, was brought from the north or abroad and the hanks of yarn from the spinning
wheel were dyed before being carried to loom. The carders, too, worked in the yard
when the weather was pleasant, preparing the cotton for the spinning wheel. So
constant were the whir of the spinning wheel and the clickety-clack of the loom that at
night little Judy sometimes awoke and was alarmed at the unnatural stillness. At other
times half asleep she seemed to hear the busy buzz, whir, and clack still going on, so
accustomed was she to it, and in a drowsy voice she would ask her grandmother why
the workers were still at the looms.
Every garment was cut by the Missis herself. Cloth was much too precious to
allow anyone else to cut it. The garments were made by the fingers of women who
were not strong enough for active work. On fine days the seamstresses sat out in the
large back yard under the big shade trees. Each had her stool and work basket. On
days when the weather did not permit this, the most reliable workers were allowed to
carry their work to their own cabins. The others sewed in one corner of the large loom
house under the supervision of a trusty old woman.
All the Sunday dresses worn by the family were made of “factory cloth,” so called
to distinguish it from the cloth woven at home. The best dresses were always spoken of
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�as Sunday dresses as they were worn chiefly on Sundays. On his trips to Georgetown or
Charleston, the Squire frequently brought to the girls a pretty piece of goods for an
extra dress.
All other garments worn, even the Squire’s suits, were spun, dyed, woven, cut,
and made on the plantation. Her mother did a great deal of the family sewing herself at
night after the activities of the day were over. Many a night after supper your
grandmother says she has seen her sit down with a garment and so expert and quick
was she that the garment was completed before bedtime.
When she was a very little girl, not long before the war, her father bought a
family of slaves at an auction of the Collins estate on the Pee Dee, a woman with
several children.
On arrival, they were brought to the house for inspection. There was a little girl,
Amy, just the age of your grandmother. When Amy’s mother saw little Judy she brought
Amy forward and said, “Dis leetle missie maid.” And little missie made she remained, at
her side constantly all day and sleeping on a pallet at her bedside at night. Henry, one
of Amy’s brothers, was taken into the house as a house boy, and was one of the best,
most faithful servants they had.
Your grandmother and her brother, Mitchell, were constant companions. They
shared the same nurse and as they grew older little Judy began to follow Mitchell
wherever he went, so she became a sad tomboy at an early age.
Chapter 3
The plantation was an eight horse farm before the war. The original tract given
to your grandmothers had been added to by the Squire until a large area adjoining it
had been taken in. Much of it was swamp and woodland. The house lot itself consisted
of three acres. The Negro quarters took up as much more while there were outhouses
innumerable for every conceivable purpose.
There were no money crops planted but plenty of food for all: corn; peas,
potatoes, and great fields of cane. Cotton was planted only for home use.
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�Great herds of cattle and droves of hogs, goats, and sheep, as well as large
flocks of turkeys, geese, ducks, and chickens roved over the un-cleared land. So the
plantation was practically self-supporting. Sugar, flour, and coffee were the only things
bought and those were just for use at the big house and the sick among the hands.
Sugar for the slaves was obtained by thickening of the cane syrup, for if cooked thick
much of the syrup will turn to sugar.
The overseer had a cottage about a quarter of a mile from the big house. He had
his own garden, hogs, chickens, and barn. The overseer took his orders every morning
direct from the Squire. He, in turn, transmitted them to the Negro foreman. He had the
general supervision and care of the whole plantation, and the hands while at work,
although there was little he was allowed to do on his own initiative, for the Squire
directed everything. This was not so on all plantations. Some overseers had almost
complete control and authority. The overseer on the Southern plantation was generally
a man of the lower classes who owned no land and no slaves.
The Negro foreman was a strapping, big Negro buck, John. He was conceded to
be the strongest man in the country around. The Squire bought him for five hundred
dollars from the Britian’s [sic] estate. His master had died, his mistress has remarried
and John did not get on well with his new master. Finally after some grievance, fancied
or otherwise, John ran away. The Negroes knew where he was hiding, down among the
reeds and brakes of the swamp, and kept in touch with him. Word came to the hands
on the Squire’s place for one of them to go to the Square and ask him to go to the
Britian plantation and buy John for John had sent word that he’d come home and be a
good hand if Marse Grier would just buy him. After receiving the message, the Squire
rode over to see John’s owner and straightened things out. When he returned, he sent
John word to come on and go to work.
Johnson was one of the best hands on the place, strong, willing, and cheerful.
He used to swing your grandmother up into a feed basket, lift the basket to his
shoulders and carry her at a trot.
One of the hands, a grown man, somewhat jealous of the favor always shown
John, said one day, “You couldn’t carry me that way.”
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�John put little Judy down, lifted the man into the basket and carried him
apparently without effort into the feed room.
He saved your grandmother’s life one. One cold day the Negroes were carrying a
torch to the field to start a fire. Attracted by the flaming torch, she followed behind the
hands. The wind blew the sparks back and one of them fell on her shoulders. She felt
something begin to smart and sting. As she reached up to see what it was, Big John
rushed at her and tore her clothes off just as they were beginning to blaze. He bore her
triumph-fully to the house. She was unhurt, but it was some time before Big John could
use his hands again. They were carefully and gratefully tended by the Mistress herself
until every scar was healed.
All the shoes worn by the family and the hands were made at home. The hides
from cattle raised on the place were tanned and cured by the slaves. None of the
Squire’s slaves knew the shoemaker’s trade, so he hired two slaves from a nearby
plantation. These were kept at work every day in the little shoe shop.
There was a big syrup mill that in the fall was kept busy grinding cane and
cooking the juice. The Negroes like to be detailed for this duty. One trusty old darkie
had charge of it, but his helpers were often changed.
The Squire had corn ground at a mill on the river for his table use, but the
Negroes ground out their corn on the hold hand mill. Usually there was a large fire built
on the street of the quarters which furnished light as well as heat. Around this the
darkies would gather at night after supper with their corn. As they turned the mill they
sang. They sang all the familiar old Negro songs; one they were especially fond of was
“Wait for the Wagon.” It started off, “Soon Monday morning I’ll wait for my love. We’ll
jump in the wagon and all take a ride.”
The Squire made a weekly inspection of the Negro quarters, which were placed
about a quarter of a mile from the big house. Under his inspection the yards and all
outside premises were kept absolutely sanitary.
The cabins inside were inspected every week by the Mistress herself. Inside and
outside of each cabin was as clean and sanitary as need be and the slaves themselves
were a happy, hearty lot. Each cabin had two rooms with a large clay chimney at one
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�end. Some of the cabins had lean-to’s or shed rooms built on, if the family was very
large. Every building in the Negro quarters received a coat of whitewash each year. The
cabins were whitewashed inside and out.
There were 18 or 20 families in these quarters. Each family had its own garden,
potato patch, and chickens. Some even had a hog or two. This was not allowed on
every plantation, but at the Squire’s the darkies took a great pride in the possession of
their own things. The most industrious had a little patch of hearty annuals blooming in
front of the cabin and a vine growing over the door. The growing of these was
encouraged by the Mistress for it helped to keep the Negroes contented.
Several of these families belonged to Blind Uncle and it was one of these he had
named in his will to be given to your grandmother.
The Mistress, your great-grandmother, took entire charge of all the sick and
ailing. The Negroes were much too valuable to neglect them in any way. If one became
very ill or did not respond to her simple remedies, a doctor was called in immediately.
An old Negro nurse was installed and the Mistress went to and fro constantly giving
every does of medicine herself. Many a night did she sit in one of the little cabins,
watching over the sick and suffering and the Negroes adored her. They loved her as
much as they feared the Squire.
When a new baby was expected the expectant mother was guarded and
watched over carefully. The Mistress cut every garment herself for the layette and had
them made by the most careful seamstress on the place, Maum Hagar. All
arrangements for the confinement were directed by her. Afterwards, both mother and
baby received the utmost care and attention. The mother was fed from the Squire’s
table for several weeks and often longer if she or the baby proved to be delicate.
Negro babies were highly prized. They were more valuable than blooded stock is
now. Sometimes there were as many as 12 babies in a year, but each received the
same particular attention.
All the babies and children too young to be in the fields were left in the big back
yard under the shade trees. Two Negro women, too old for regular field work, under
the sight of Maum Hagar, had charge of them. The women sat on their stools and
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�sewed as they watched over their charges. Maum Hagar did the particular sewing while
the other women did the coarser work and patched and darned.
The little boys played with their sticks, rode them as horses, used them as
swords, and found countless other ways of diverting themselves.
The little girls made dolls from sticks. They put a rag over a stick, tying it close
to one end to make a head, and then with charcoal they drew a face. They made
playhouses under the trees, using all the bits of broken glassware and dishes they could
find. The house, as outlined on the ground, invariably followed the plan of the house in
which they themselves lived. Your grandmother loved to run off, followed by Amy, or
led by Amy, to play with them. She thought it was much more fun to play with their
stick dolls than with her own China dolls in the house. Maum Hagar always stopped her
work when the little white girl came out to play and stayed near where the girls were
and quickly repressed any attempt at familiarity. The little colored girls were taught to
show due respect to “leetle missie”, while the “leetle missie” herself was taught
indirectly not to take advantage of those dependent upon her. Maum Hagar, at all
times, kept a keen eye on the behavior of the little darkies, chastising them freely when
she should they needed it. When field work was going on she had full control of them.
She was responsible for their manners and any misbehavior, rudeness, or act of
impoliteness on their part drew down reproof on her head. When the weather was bad
the little folks were taken into one corner of the big kitchen. They didn’t enjoy that so
much as they were compelled to be quiet and were not allowed to roam around.
Christmas morning as soon as breakfast was over the darkies from the quarters
crowded up to the back door of the big house. The house servants had already greeted
each member of the family with “Crismus gif, Marsa! Crismus gif, Missie!” And each
servant had been remembered with a small gift from each member of the family. The
personal servants received some nice gift from their own master or mistress. Now, as
the Negroes came in from the quarters, the family appeared at the door amid
vociferous cries of “Crismus all!” There was a present for everyone, a dress for the
older women, a hat or coat for the older men, pipes, tobacco or something fancy for
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�every one of the others. Blind Uncle always had several pounds of candy, which he
distributed among the little colored children.
Several hogs were barbecued at the quarters for the Christmas dinner to which
were added all the other delicacies which the women had prepared.
Each night during Christmas week there was a big dance. Everything would be
removed from one cabin. A big bonfire was placed in the yard at a safe distance from
the cabin door. A fire was started in the fireplace in the cabin. At dusk the crown began
to gather and soon the dance was in full swing. Between dances the crown around the
fire would add their voices to the music of the fiddle and the banjo in melodies that
could be clearly heard at the big house. While the dancers were resting often the active
Negro bucks, who never seemed to tire, would indulge in the buck and wing dance, the
Charleston, or a regular jig. These exhibitions were given mainly to show off before
some girl whose attention the dancer wished to attract.
Often the frolic lasted until dawn, but what did they care? They could sleep all
day if they wished. The next night another cabin would be cleared out. “Dance tonight
in Cynthy house” was the massage passed around and all able to dance and many who
could only look on would be on hand.
Negroes from many of the other plantations would come in for these dances.
The Squire allowed much freedom during the week’s holiday. On New Year’s Eve the
biggest frolic of all was held, the winding up of the whole year.
Sometimes special permission was granted during the year for a dance on
Saturday night. But this was permitted only very rarely and was considered a great
treat.
There were a few colored pastors and a few scattered churches for the Negroes.
But the slaves preferred, when they went to church, to go to Marsa’s church. Always
the back seats or the galleries were reserved for such as wished to come. The Negroes
joined the white people’s church and were received in by the white pastor. Your
grandmother says she has seen him take many a little Negro baby in his arm and
baptize it. This was especially true of the house servants. The field hands attended a
little chapel not far from the plantation. When your grandmother was a little girl, on
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�rainy days she’d sit and watch the water as it poured off the yard and as one big bubble
followed another she and Amy would cry, “It’s just like the niggers goi8ng to church.
That big fat one is Dicey and that little one is Sissy.” And so they named the bubbles as
they followed one another out of sight.
The Squire, who was a magistrate, was often called upon to marry couples,
white as well as black. Your grandmother remembers one night when six couples came
to be married. Henry and Dan, the house boys, stood on each side of the door with
great torches to light up the scene.
Every man on the place, white and colored, like to fish. The darkies used to
spend every minute they could spare at it.
Blind Uncle kept at it even after he had given up all other sports. He and his
servant, Hardtimes, would go down to the river, Uncle on an old white horse, Sally, with
Hardtimes leading her. Hardtimes rowed the boat and Uncle, who [was told by]
Hardtimes, knew every good fishing hole, did the fishing. Home they’d come. Hardtimes
with one and sometimes two heavy strings of fish, leading old Sally with Uncle on her
back.
Uncle would sometimes go for a short visit to some of his other kin. Nobody
knew when to expect him back, but some day the cry would be raised, “Marse Tom
coming! I see his dogs.” And down the road would appear five or six dogs, which
everyone knew belonged to Blind Uncle. Then down the road to meet him would stream
every child on the place, white and colored. Hardtimes would stop the horse and the
children would swarm all over the buggy and finally settle down so they could be driven
home. Once hone, they made a dive for Uncle’s pockets for they knew full well they
contained something nice for them. He used often to take a group of the children down
to a pine grove back of the house. Here he stretched his hammock and rested while
they told the children wonderful tales. He guided their hands and taught several of
them to make their letters and figures. When he grew tired and lay back in his
hammock for a doze, the children hushed their noises, while one kept the flies brushed
off with a pine top the others talked in whispers.
Page | 15
�Chapter 4
The Squire was a shrewd, far-seeing man. He listened to the rumblings of the
thunder of ware; he knew for himself that an awful upheaval was due; and he laid his
plans accordingly. Just before the war actually began, he made a trip to Charleston.
Your grandmother isn’t sure whether the North Eastern Railroad had its line through
Kingstree at that time or not, as she was so small and railroads interested her not at all.
If it did, her father very likely drove in a buggy the 30 miles to Kingstree and went by
train to Charleston. That was a long and tiresome journey, but not so bad as the one by
boat down the Pee Dee to Georgetown and then down the coast to Charleston, which
was the way the trip had been made many times.
While in Charleston this time, just before the war, he bought one hundred yards
of cloth, woolens, ginghams, and homespun, and a large quantity of flour, sugar, and
coffee. These supplies, used with care, lasted until the last year of the war. And
everything was used with care at the Squire’s for he was a thrifty soul. This
merchandise was not put in the store, but kept locked in a room at the house. Your
grandmother remembers seeing the rows and rows of cloth and the stack of groceries
when she slipped into the room behind some of the older people.
Her father was so much overweight that he wasn’t admitted to the army. But
there were many members of her mother’s family to do. She has a vivid recollection of
her uncle, her mother’s brother, Jim Johnson. He came to the house in full uniform and
she had her first sight of a soldier in all his glory. This memory was further impressed
upon her by seeing her calm, quite mother clinging to him and weeping bitterly.
His servant, March, went with him and stayed at his side during the entire war,
returning with him at the end. When they rode off at last they were accompanied far
down the road by the boys and Negroes. Even the women followed a short piece, so
loath were they to let him leave.
Her oldest brother, Tim, was only 14 at the outbreak of the war. He was with
difficulty kept at home, but in the last year of the war, when he was 18, the legal age
Page | 16
�for enlistment, his father fitted him out for the army. His clothes were packed; his
horse, nigger and uniform were all ready when Lee surrendered.
The slaves, without exception, proved faithful to their master and home at first.
The work on the plantation, at least for the first year, went on just as before. The
Negroes knew they were sure of three meals a day, and a roof at night, so the
unknown held few attractions for them. It was only when they were stirred up by
outsiders that they became discontented.
Your great grandfather was a member of the Soldier’s Relief Board and had
charge of goods and food sent by the Confederate Government to be given to the
needy families of the soldiers. It was given to the families according to the number of
dependents in it.
Dye was not to be obtained during the way. So after all the supply on hand had
been used, it had to be made at home. Your grandmother often followed her mother
when she went out to gather material for the dye. With several slaves, she went into
the woods and fields where she had them gather the wild indigo for the blue dye and
the poke berries for the red. The brown dye was made from walnut hulls before they
dried out. And, she thinks, but of this she isn’t sure, that the yellow dye was obtained
from the yellow daisies, or the brown-eyed Susans.
She doesn’t at this time recall the method of preparing any dye except the blue.
But she distinctly recollects seeing the indigo weeds, stems, and leaves put into a large
barrel and covered with water. After standing for a period, Negro women removed the
weeds, plunging their bared arms deep into the water bringing them out all blue with
dye. After the dye was strained, the yarn was dipped in and allowed to soak. When it
was removed from the water, it was carried to the branch and thoroughly rinsed in the
running water until all the surplus dye was removed.
During these troublesome times, Negroes were kept very close on their own
plantation. Strand people were not welcome anywhere. Many Negro men had wives and
children on other plantations. Visits from one plantation to another was allowed very
seldom now and when the slaves did leave their plantation, they had to have a permit
from their master and one from the master of the plantation to which they were going.
Page | 17
�These permits may have been used before the war, but of this your grandmother isn’t
sure. She knows, however, that their use was strictly enforced during the war. The
roads were patrolled night and day to keep the slaves from slipping around and to keep
strangers from slipping into the quarters.
Carpetbaggers, as they were called, were a common menace. They would slip
into the quarters, easily spot the restless hands and begin their insidious work. The
slaves were told that they were as good as their masters; that they should be getting
fabulous wages; that at the close of the war each should be given land and a mule.
They were urged to leave home and go elsewhere to better their conditions. To give
even the “devil” his due, it must be said that many of the carpetbaggers really believed
they were doing the slaves a favor. They had read “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and had
swallowed it, bait, line, and hook, and they never gave a thought to the fact that the
darkies were totally unable to look out for themselves.
Such talk, of course, made the slaves unwilling to work. When they were put to
work they performed their tasks in a haphazard, listless way that showed their hearts
were not in it. Following the Emancipation Proclamation, some of the men, all of them
field hands, urged on by outside influence, left their home plantation. These took their
families with them. A few of these soon came whining back, having found that board
and lodging were not as easily secured as they had thought. Every one of the house
servants remained at their work and continued to think of themselves as “Marsa’s
niggers.”
By this time the country was overrun with stray soldiers who had deserted or
were making their way from one military unit to anther; with Negroes who had left their
masters and had now no certain way of being provided with the necessities of life; and
with unscrupulous poor white trash who had followed in the wake of both armies. It
was not safe for women or children to go out unaccompanied by a grown man.
The homes along the roads followed by the bands of soldiers were despoiled of
everything valuable, as well as of everything edible. Many a cow, hog, or sheep was
butchered by the roving soldiers who removed a portion for their immediate use and
left the remainder by the roadside to ruin. Chickens were considered their lawful prey.
Page | 18
�The ones that could not eaten at once were tied up and carried away for future use.
The homes were entered; the pantries cleared of everything appetizing; the silver and
the other valuables all were taken by the looters and they left the house in flames. The
whole country was being destroyed.
The home off the main road were not so molested by the marauding hands of
the militia, but the unemployed negroes and white stole all they could find. It was not
safe to leave anything outside, chickens, hogs, clothes, tools, anything and everything
was taken by the thieves.
Great excitement reigned one afternoon at the Grier homestead. Little darkies
came streaking through the yard, rolling their eyes and shouting loudly, “Yanks
coming.” The hold home was at the end of an avenue, a mile long, off the main road.
Up the avenue now trotted a group of blue uniformed men.
Henry, the house boy, gave one hasty glance and quickly collected the silver with
which the table was always set and the most valuable of the extra pieces and went
through the back to the swamp. Here he securely hid his treasures. Your grandmother
has some of the solid silver spoons and forks that had belonged to the hold home. They
are thin and worn now.
At the Squire’s command the horses were quickly led from the stables into the
swamp; while the cattle and hogs were driven into the back pasture where the Yanks
would have a great deal of trouble hunting them out from among the reeds and
underbrush.
All the other colored men seized pitchforks, axes, rakes, anything they could use
as a weapon and gathered at one end of the porch. It mean little to them that the bluecoated men claimed to be their friends. It meant much to them that Marsa’s life and
property were in danger and they intended to defend both.
By the time the group of soldiers reached the front gage the Squire with his
house boys, all armed, were at the top of the steps awaiting them. The other men with
lowered brows and threatening murmurs stood ready for his orders.
The leader of the soldiers pulled his cap and with a slight smile at the sign of the
forces prepared for him, asked the Squire if he could give them something to eat. Not
Page | 19
�to be outdone in politeness by a Northerner, the Squire insisted that they come in.
Several of the men were called to feed and water the horses; and while the Northern
soldiers made themselves comfortable on the piazza, the Squire went in to make
arrangements with his wife to feed them. Venus brandished her rolling pin
threateningly, declaring she’d rather use it on them than for them. However, under the
directions of the Mistress, an appetizing meal was soon prepared to which the strangers
did full justice. When they finished their meal, the captain asked the Squire for his bill,
but of course, the Squire refused to be paid. As they were leaving the captain asked if
he had seen any of the new money which had just been issued. At the Squire’s reply
that he had not, the Federal officer pulled out a five dollar greenback, the first to be
seen in these parts, and instated that he take it as a souvenir.
In the last year of the way, when your grandmother was seven years old, her
baby sister, Pectina, was born, your father’s aunt who lives in Lake City.
Chapter 5
Your grandmother to this day has not outgrown her horror of the Radicals as she
calls them. The years of reconstruction were so bitterly stamped on her memory.
Although she was still small and few incidences stand out in her mind, she received a
lasting impression of the horrible and unjust things that were happening to the
Southland.
When Lee surrendered, the Squire call all his slaves together. His talk was brief
and to the point. He told them they were no longer slaves, but free men to go where
they wished. As many as desired to remain with him, he said, he’d give them a few
acres to share crop for him. Some stayed, many went. Pastures afar are always the
greenest, you know. A few of the house servants, allured by the unknown, went off to
seek their fortunes in new fields.
Venus, with her family, remained for several years. When she received a
message from her old mother who had lived on a plantation down the river that she
was sick, helpless, and alone, then she took all of her family, except Henry, and went to
take care of her. Henry refused to go and remained house boy. Amy and your
Page | 20
�grandmother both cried heartily at the parting and were quite inconsolable for some
time. Amy considered herself as “Miss Judy’s nigger” until the day of her death. She
lived at Petersfield and every year after she was grown until her death three years ago,
she made a trip to see “my missie.” After her death, Bossie, her son, came with a
message, “Tell my missie I gone on before, but I’ll wait at the gate until she comes so I
can help her put on her robe.”
Henry stayed at the old home until it was broken up years later. He acted now
not just as house boy, but often as nurse, as well. He had a general oversight of all the
smaller ones. Often even after your grandmother was a great big girl, when she forgot
to wash up before dark, Henry came out and washed her feet for her because she was
so sleepy. He always called Aunt Pec his baby for he carried her everywhere he went
and his heart was wrapped up in her.
When the estate was divided, henry was given a house and a few acres of land
by the heirs. There he lived the rest of his days. He was called Henry Williams for his
father had belonged to a man by that name. I know all you children remember old
Uncle Henry who always stopped for a meal when he came by. He felt that he belonged
to all Miss Judy’s children as well as to her. And I think all of Miss Judy’s children felt a
sense of responsibility and affection for him.
Do you remember the time he was here and said he would take off all of
Lynnette’s warts? Her hands were unsightly with them and there were even a few on
her feet. He wanted to take them off, so to humor him I told him to go ahead. He had
her to court them and write the number on a piece of paper, but not to tell anyone
what she had written there. When she had done so, he rolled the little paper into a
pellet and swallowed it. He said that very soon the warts would disappear from her
hands. After he had touched each one and said something in a mumbling voice, that
they would all come out on the inside of him since he had swallowed the, but he didn’t
care for he was an old many anyway. The warts did eventually disappear, but I doubt
if Uncle Henry had anything to do with it. He said that he had taken off so many warts
that all his ‘insides’ that was his way of expressing it, were covered with warts.
Page | 21
�He always asked that he be buried in the Grier graveyard at the foot of old Marsa
and old Mistress. ‘Twas only last year that he died and at his funeral there were as
many white mourners as there were black. We all felt that one who loved us had gone.
His “baby,” Aunt Pec, came from Lake City to his funeral. During his last illness, she
made many trips to see him and brought him little things to alleviate his sufferings and
to tempt his appetite.
The Squire lost heavily during the war and with no slaves to help work his
plantation, he divided it into small farms. These he either rented to or sharecropped
with the Negroes or white people. He was compelled to have them plant cotton as they
all wanted a money crop and cotton was the only money crop the South at that time
knew how to produce.
He hired an overseer or manager to keep up with the famers while he devoted
most of his time to the mercantile business. The great store where he did business is
still standing in Johnsonville, just this side of Uncle Beauregard’s house. The store stood
at the end of the long avenue that led to the house. He also did more lending of money
than he did before the war.
Chapter 6
The older children, Agnes, Sarah, Jim, and Hortense had a good fundamental
education. They with three or four other children from families who lived close by
received their training from a teacher brought into the community for that purpose. The
teacher was boarded around among his patrons.
Agnes, until the age of ten, lived with her grandmother Dukes down the river.
Sarah was taken home by her grandmother Johnson when only a wee girl and lived
there, a mile from her own home until she was married. She attended school with her
sisters.
Among the pupils was William Haselden, afterwards Lieutenant Haselden. He and
Sarah soon become engaged. The Squire bitterly opposed the match and refused to let
her be married from his house as she wished to be. So her grandmother Johnson gave
her a big wedding. The Squire did not even attend. The lieutenant left for the army
Page | 22
�soon after they were married. When he returned he taught school for a while and was
the first teacher your grandmother had.
During the war Hortense started up a little school in a tenant house on the
plantation. There was no teacher’s license to get or examination to stand for this was a
pay school where every pupil paid the teacher a dollar a month. The women, living
close around, asked her to teach their children. Your grandmother and her little
“nigger” Amy were sometimes allowed the privilege of spending the day there. She
learned her letters and made a start at reading. She and Amy used to run through the
woods every day to call her sister to dinner. The very thought of those days takes her
back until she seems to feel the leaves under her bare feet and see the trees along the
path they followed.
Her read education began at the age of eight, the year after the war. Her first
teacher was her brother-in-law, Lieutenant Haselden. He taught in a little house on
what we now call the old Simmons place. She had a three mile walk twice a day. The
school took in at nine and let out at four. Of course, they had the regular noon hour in
which to rest and play.
There were around 18 or 20 pupils in school. For the first time in her life, your
grandmother had companions of her own age, sec, and color. Amy had been her only
real playmate and while she played a great deal with Mitchell, as they grew older, she
wasn’t allowed to follow him around as she did when smaller. Mitchell and his “nigger”
didn’t want them always tagging on, either. During the long non hours she enjoyed the
company of her schoolmates. She was well grown for her age and generally played with
older girls than herself. The plans and games at school were much what would be
found on school grounds now: jump rope; thimble; contentment; and a ball game
called ‘cat.’ Contentment is an old game, but it is never played now. The players all sit
down and the leader says to the first child, “What will content you?” The player
answered, “To see Bill stand on his head,” or some such foolish little stunt. Of course,
the stunt picked out was the hardest thing for that person to do. The girl who couldn’t
sing was made to sing a song. The boy who couldn’t talk plain was made to recite.
They derived a great deal of fun from this.
Page | 23
�Cat was a girl’s game mainly. The boys scorned to play so simple a ball game. It
was played with four girls, two on each side. One was the batter, while the other stood
behind the bat to pitch the ball to the batter on the other side and catch it as it was
thrown or struck back. On a strike the batters ran from one base to the other while the
catcher tried to put out the successful batter. There were playhouses scattered around
the edges of the school ground where the younger children played. These houses were
very much like the ones the little slaves used to make in the back yard, only the house
plans laid off on the ground was a little more ambitious. These were usually following
the plans of the largest house they knew of.
The older more active girls worked off their energies at cat and jump rope.
Thimble, contentment, and the like were kept for rainy days when they had to play in
the school house. Baseball, played with a homemade string ball, was the favorite at all
times with the boys.
The desks were rude, homemade affairs with double seating capacity. The
Blueback speller, of course, was the main standby in the book line. It was used not only
as a speller, but often as a reader and a language book as well. When a pupil finished
the Blueback speller, he knew everything in it from start to finish, which can’t be said
nowadays of a pupil concerning a book. Many books are only partially mastered.
Each child had his reading lesson individually, but they were classed together as
much as possible in the other studies. There were all classes from “b-a, ba” to Vergil
and geometry.
Every Friday afternoon they had speeches, dialogs, and other entertainments.
The very timid and the very young were excused, but all others were expected to be on
hand with an offering worthy of the occasion. The older ones often had to read pieces
of their own composition on various matters of immediate interest. There was no
wealth of entertainment books with pieces easy to learn and just as easy to forget. The
recitations given by the older pupils were all of value, most of them classics. The
exercises always wound up with a spelling match which included every scholar. The
easy words were given out first, but as the small fry went to their seats, the words
became harder and harder until only the champion spellers were left. School was
Page | 24
�always dismissed early on Fridays so the preliminary agony was endured for the sake of
the great treat.
A pupil was encouraged to go on just as fast as he could. There was no holding
back a child who was able to do more than the average student, nor was there any
dragging along of a pupil who was unable to assimilate his tasks as quickly as the
others. They were made to learn to the top of their ability, but not pushed out into
deep waters where they could only flounder about. Your grandmother, being a healthy,
hearty girl, learned quickly. While many of those who entered school with her were still
spelling their “b-a, ba”, she was proudly spelling “b-a, ba; ker, ker; baker.”
This school was typical of all the schools she attended. Lieutenant Haselden
taught school that term for ten months, which was very unusual at that time. But
school work had been so interrupted during the war that all were hungry for it. This ten
months of school was followed by a three months fall term under Mr. Price. In the
spring, he held another three months term. Then Mr. Simmons taught her for two
terms of six and eight months, respectively. Her last school was a three months term
again under Mr. Price. The Price place was close to the school house. He lived on what
we now call the Lee Hughes’ place.
Thus 33 months of schooling was all she had, less than four of your school
years. At the end of her last school term, she had gone as far as the teachers of the
little school could carry her, so her school days ended abruptly at the age of 14. Her
teacher recommended that she be sent off to school and her father said he would do
so. He hated to give up his children, however, hated to have them leave home and
while he planned and talked about sending her off, he kept putting off his final plans
until it was too late.
She has told many interesting stories about her school days, but somehow I can
recall only one or two.
One day when Lieutenant Haselde4n had left the school grounds at noon, a
drunk man came riding into the yard brandishing a razor and calling for the Lieutenant,
saying he wanted to cut his throat. All the large boys were playing at a distance. The
girls and little boys rushed shrieking to the school house where they attempted to lock
Page | 25
�the door, failing this, they began to pile the benches against it. The smaller ones were
crying with fright. Some of the larger boys came up on a run and told the old man he
was frightening the girls so he quieted down and assured them: “I wouldn’t hurt you
girls, bless your pretty hearts. I love you every one. I just want to cut Lieutenant
Haselden’s throat. He insulted me.”
The old many was well known by most of the boys and they finally persuaded
him to leave the grounds. When the Lieutenant came he found only a very much
agitated group of girls and boys.
Another time old deaf and dumb Ben wandered into the school room. He was a
constant visitor of Blind Uncle and your grandmother knew him well. Most of the
children were very much afraid of him. He knew this and while there was no harm in
him, he liked to scare them. He carried a switch in his hand that time and shook it
threateningly at the children as he mumbled. The little ones’ eyes grew big and even
the larger ones were just a little timid. They weren’t really afraid for teacher was there
and they had all the confidence in the world in him. But your grandmother wasn’t at all
afraid and smiled so fearlessly at him that he patted her on the head. The other girls all
thought she was so brave and made much of her on the way home, which is doubles
the reason she remembers it.
There was a great clay hole by the side of the house. One of the favorite past
times was jumping across this hole, or trying to do so. The children would stand against
the building and then spring forward as far as possible. One day as your grandmother
jumped, she slipped and fell, sprained her ankle very badly. She had a bad time getting
home. Her sisters and Mitchell helped her as she limped and hopped along till she could
go no farther. When she gave out they, with their companies, took turns making a chair
with their hands and carrying her as long as their strength permitted. But she was so
heavy that they soon gave out at it. Halfway home, they stopped in desperation and
despair. They didn’t know how to get her home. Luckily, her brother, Jim, came by just
at that time and took her the rest of the way home. Her foot was given all the known
remedies; hot water baths with vinegar in them, and plasters of clay and vinegar were
Page | 26
�the most successful, but it was three weeks before she could return to school. She kept
up her lessons under her sister, Hortense.
There was no trouble in discipline, as she remembers it, in any of the schools
she attended. The teacher was absolute boss, feared and obeyed by all his pupils. His
authority was well backed by the parents at home. In these early years after the way,
there were very few large boys in school. With slaves just freed, the boys were all
pressed into service in the fields at an early age. In the months of her attendance, your
grandmother says she remembers only two whippings being given. Both of these were
given for idleness, not misbehavior. A boy received one and a girl the other. So sex did
not excuse one from the rod in those days. Your grandmother never could bear to see
anyone punished. She says they told her she was like her grandmother Dukes in that,
who always hid and wept when a slave was punished. Each time the teacher sent for a
whip to administer the promised chastisement, your grandmother, to the amusement of
the other children, always asked for received permission to be excused from the room.
The pupils in school were constantly spending the night with each other, going
home with their hosts after school and returning with them to school next morning.
Little friends very often went home with your grandmother and her sisters, but the
Squire rarely let them return any of these “spend the nights.” He kept them strictly at
home. Just twice was your grandmother allowed to accompany a friend home and
these were red letter occasions. Both times she went home with Lizzie Ann Huggins,
later Mrs. Pope. Lizzie Ann’s father, Uncle Sam as he was lovingly known, was an
Abraham of old, for he was a “friend of God’s.” No doubt the Squire felt that only good
could come to her in that household.
One of Judy’s tasks during the summer was to carry her father’s dinner to him
every day. This she dearly loved to do. Some days she rode the gentle old horse down,
but more often she walked the mile through the shady avenue. She went very swiftly
with his dinner, but on the way back she loitered along the road and enjoyed every foot
of it. During the winter when she was at school, his dinner was carried to him by one of
the hands.
Page | 27
�In November of the year your grandmother was 12, her sister, Mary, died. Mary
was only 19, but she had been an invalid and a great sufferer for over a year. This first
bereavement in her life was followed in March by the death of her grandmother Dukes.
This grandmother was almost more to her than her mother was, and she felt the loss
keenly. Then in June of the same year, old Blind Uncle opened his eyes in another
world. So the family as it had been during her childhood was fast breaking up for her
oldest sister, Agnes, and her brother, Jim, had both married and left home.
Her oldest sister had been married for two or three years at this time. She
married Henry Spivey. He was well-to-do, and had a great deal of property. He was a
merchant and farmer, and was also interested in a turpentine business on Pee Dee. The
Squire consented to her marriage and gave her a great wedding. She was the only one
of the children who married with his full consent.
Your Uncle Jim, now, did not marry to please him. The Squire refused to see him
for some time after his marriage. The women of the family all admired Aunt Celia very
much, and she made him a fine wife all his days. She was one of the finest of women.
Uncle Jim rented a farm and made good on it. He was making an independent living,
but finally, the Squire sent for him. He needed him, so Uncle Jim went back to him. At
first he lived at the river and ran the ferry for his father; later he was given a portion of
the home farm and went there to live. He was an excellent mechanic and kept up all
the machinery on the place.
The first years after all the slaves left, help was very scarce and good help was
almost impossible to get. There was a large family of girls so they each took their turn
of a week in the kitchen. By the time she was 12 years old, your grandmother was
taking her turn with the rest. She was as large as her older sisters, energetic, and
strong. During her kitchen week, she cooked the three meals a day and cleaned up
after them. Often during her free weeks, she’d follow Mitchell into the field and was
soon able to hoe her own row by the side of his. She didn’t like her kitchen work very
much, but loved the outdoor work, much to the disgust of her more delicate sisters.
Page | 28
�Chapter 7
Almost everyone rode horseback as that was the easiest way of getting around.
The roads were rough and a ride even in a spring buggy was not much of a pleasure.
There were very few buggies in this country, though, which your grandmother was
growing up. When trips were not made on horseback, wagons and carts were used.
Your grandmother learned to ride a gentle old horse before she was six years old, and
as she grew older, would ride anything with four legs. She even rode the pig once and
riding the goats was often indulged in.
Goods were shipped by boat up the river to the landings all along its banks. Most
of the large old plantations were situate4d along the river, close enough to be within
easy access to the landing. The landings usually took their name from the plantation on
which they were. There were Allison’s, Savage’s, Petersfield, Smith’s Mill, Chicora, and
many other, too numerous to mention. Pitch Landing, just below Petersfield, was the
refueling station. There the boats stopped to take on lightwood for the engines,
therefore, its name, Pitch. The Squire generally used the landing at Savage.
The North Eastern Railroad passed through Kingstree and Graham’s Cross Roads
as Lake City was then known.
Twice a year, the Squire would drive to Kingstree, put up his team at the stables,
and board the train for Charleston. Lake City was nearer, being only 23 miles away,
while Kingstree was five miles farther. But, as he generally had business to transact at
the courthouse, he usually went by Kingstree. In anticipation of these trips, his wife
kept a slip of paper on which she jotted down the items she needed as the need arose
so by the time he left there was quite a formidable list awaiting him. Stern and strict as
he was, he was in many ways an indulgent father. He always called each child to him
and asked especially what she wished. One time your grandmother recalls asking for a
string of coral beads. He had great difficulty finding them, spent half a day looking for
just the beads his little girl wanted, but he got them. Another time when she was older,
it was black silk mitts he brought at her request.
Page | 29
�She remembers the first commercial fertilizer ever used in the part of the
country. Before the war none had ever been bought here. The Squire was a great
reader and he read so much of the high yields from the use of commercial fertilizers the
decided to try some. It was bought from the firm of Wilcox and Gibbes, and came upon Page | 30
the boat to Savage. When the Squire went to have it hauled, he found everyone holding
his nose and vowing he’d never smelled such a smell. The fertilizer was carried by the
house and the feminine section promptly asked that it be put out of smelling distance,
so it was placed in an unoccupied tenant house some distance away.
The fertilizer was used on a quarter of an acre of Irish potatoes. On the whole
patch, one plant came up. Hoping to get a bumper crop and not yet being well versed
in the nature of fertilizers, he had used too much.
Very little fertilizers were bought for several years after this for the swamp land
was rich in nature’s own fertilizer, which was to be obtained by raking it up. Every
farmer also kept as much stock as he could and thus he had plenty of compost.
Her grandmother Johnson lived only one mile away and every week her mother
spent one day at the old home. This she never failed to do, except when Grandmother
Johnson was spending a week or so with them, which she did very often. She was at
the Squire’s when she died.
Except for these weekly visits, the women at the Squire’s stayed very close at
home. He always wanted to find them all at home when he came in. One day, Little
Pectina and a friend, Minnie Grier, went out to play and didn’t get home before the
Squire came in. Minnie was spending the day with Pectina and they went to the
overseer’s house where they were trying their fortunes with the grounds in the coffee
cups. That was before the days of percolators and often there were a great many
grounds in the cup. The cup was inverted in the saucer and left for a few minutes. The
grounds were supposed to form some object to show what the future might hold. So
engrossed were they that it never occurred to them it was time to go home until they
heard “Pectina, you-o-o-o, Pectina.” They knew it was the Squire and two more
frightened little girls had never been seen. Pectina knew that they were not allowed to
�go even to the overseer’s and she dreaded her father’s anger. However, he said nothing
to them when they reached home, panting and out of breath.
There were many parties and frolics in the neighborhood, but your grandmother
and her sisters were never allowed to attend. Weddings were the biggest social events
of the countryside. The house of the bride’s parents was thrown open to all. Only the
chosen few were asked to partake of the wedding dinner or supper, but all who wished
to come were welcomed at the dancing.
When Aunt Agnes was married, there was a great ball in the large front room of
the old Grier house. Your grandmother was only ten or 11, but she attended dressed in
her very best. She was allowed to mix with the crowd, which overflowed the big room
and the porch into her mother’s room, which had been fixe dup for the occasion. Your
grandmother remembers standing on the stairway, looking down on the gay scene and
watching the dancers and the fiddlers as they swayed to the music. Such a wedding
supper as had been served! It was a wonder that those who partook of it could move
so nimbly on the floor now.
There were big picnics every Fourth of July; to this they all went. Sometimes it
was held on the church ground; often the gathering was at a landing on the river.
They attended church generally at Trinity, four miles up the Marion road. The
same building is still used today and has been there as far back as your grandmother
can remember. Sometimes they went to old Muddy Creek Church, built on the same
spot where the present building stands. Our old Johnsonville church wasn’t built until
she was 15. The family attended there regularly after it was erected. The Squire was
one of its heartiest backers and contributed largely to the funds, which made the
building of it possible. The land on which it stands was given by Mr. Ard, on the
condition that as long as it was used for a place of worship, the land belonged to the
church, but if the church was moved, the land should revert to the heirs. Just across
from the church was Mr. Ard’s private burying ground. As it was so convenient to the
church, first one person, and then another, asked permission to bury their dead there,
until it was regarded as a church property also.
Page | 31
�The Squire was not a religious man and made no pretense of being a Christian,
but he was an habitual church goer and rarely passed a Sunday without going to
church. He always insisted that every one of the family, who was well enough, should
go, too.
Page | 32
Most of the congregation came in wagons. In the winter, they used quilts to
keep themselves warm, while in summer, every woman used an umbrella to keep off
the sun’s rays. The Squire’s family and a few other families had large carry-alls. They
looked something like an old stagecoach. Many of the churchgoers walked. In summer
it was a common sight to see a group of worshippers, clad in their very best, walking
down the road in their bare feet, with their shoes and hose slung over their shoulders
or carried in their hands. The roads were so muddy in wet weather and so dusty in dry
that their shoes would not correspond with the rest of their costumes if worn on the
way. On arriving in sight of the church, they sat down on the roadside and donned their
footgear. So they were spic and span when they reached the church.
Mail was brought in twice a week. The mail rider came from Mars Bluff and
stopped overnight at Johnsonville. The old Squire had a room in the back of the store
where the mail rider slept. Next morning he went on to Georgetown. On his return trip,
he again spent the night in Johnsonville.
Chapter 8
In the winter before her 16th birthday, Judith Grier was well grown,
physically and mentally. Her mind and body were healthy and robust.
She was considered the prettiest of all the Grier girls. Now, your
grandmother didn’t say that, she is far too modest, but Aunt Agnes
told me so several times before her death. So I have it on good
authority. At home no were Hortense, Julia, Mitchell, and Judith, as
well as little Pectina.
The Squire sold his store at the end of the lane and it was now Kimball and
Johnson’s. He had built a large new store very close to the house and moved his
business there. He continued to do a good business there.
�Plans were being seriously considered by the Squire now to send Judith off to
school. He promised she should go the next fall. Hortense had been prepared for
college before the war, but owing to this interruption, she had to wait, and during the
first few years afterwards, her father was not able to send her. She was now her
father’s right hand; kept all his books, and was consulted often by him concerning his
affairs. She often said she’d never marry as long as her father lived. And, she didn’t.
Some years after his death, she married a widower with several children.
Julia had never been strong and had not attended school regularly. Neither she
nor Mitchell showed any strong leaning towards books and school. So, the Squire’s
hopes were all pinned on Judith. He was anxious for her to go and yet reluctant to have
her leave her home. When he decided to send her, it was too late for your grandmother
met your grandfather.
One Sunday in February before she was 16 in May, Judith and her two sisters
went to the ferry to see their brother, Jim, who was very ill. While they were there, two
young men on horseback came across the ferry and tying their horses came in to warm
their hands. Hortense knew one of these, Zachary Taylor Eaddy, and introductions were
soon made. It was a case of love at first sight, so both parties concerned always
declared.
When the girls started home, the boys, as boys will the whole world over, walked
with them and led their horses. Taylor Eaddy tried to walk by Judith, but she demurely
put Hortense between them. Every time he dropped back on a narrow path, she’s step
ahead and when he advanced on the side where Judith had been, he’d find Hortense
still between them. Your grandmother says he teased her many times about that walk
in after years.
After that walk, it was curious how often she ran across him. She’d never seen
him before, but now every day or so he was at the store, just at the times she was
there, too. She saw and chatted with him on Sundays at the church, and he passed the
house several times. Each time he passed, he was seized with consuming thirst and
must have a drink from the Squire’s well.
Page | 33
�He finally summoned up his courage and came around with the boys who came
to see the older girls one Sunday afternoon. This amused the other girls as he was
Judy’s first beau. There were not many Sunday callers, not for lack of attractions on the
parts of the girls, but for lack of encouragement on the part of the Squire. He was not
only not encouraging, he was downright discouraging! He disliked anyone who came to
see his daughters. He was a possessive old man; what was his, he wanted to keep,
boys and girls, as well as property and money.
Soon Taylor Eaddy’s attention to Judy became so persistent as to attract notice.
The Squire was beginning to rumble way down in his throat about that “young cub.”
The rumblings became an outburst when Taylor finally went to him and asked his
permission to address his daughter. He answered that Judy was too young; she was to
go off to school in the fall, and added that he, Taylor Eaddy had best stay away.
Still the young man persisted. He found out that Judy “was willing” to quote
Barkis, so back to the Squire he went! This time there was thunder, lightning, and rain
for Judith cried when her father came home and issued his orders. She was not to be
allowed out of the house unless accompanied by her mother or Hortense. She was not
to be allowed to see or communicate with “that young whippersnapper” again.
Opposition only made the young people more determined. Taylor brought letters
to the home of the Squire’s manager and gave them to the manager’s wife. Judith sent
Henry after them; he also carried her answers. Taylor still came to the house, but when
he drove up Judith was sent upstairs and not allowed down until he left. But, they
communicated all the same. He’d leaned against the railing on the porch. Henry crawled
under the house and received the note dropped. After reading it, Judith answered, and
Henry again crawled under the house. He’d push the note on the edge of the porch
where Taylor’s foot quickly hid it from sight. Henry used to roll his black yes and say, “If
Marsa a-knowed what I’se a-doing, he’d kill me shore.” But, he struck by Judith to the
end.
Preparations were being pushed to get Judith off to school when the young folks
took things into their own hands. They left one night and were married. Henry and her
sister, Julia, helped her off. She packed her suitcase early in the afternoon and had
Page | 34
�Henry slip it out of the side door and hide it under the gooseberry bush, just inside the
garden. Her mother was away from home that afternoon, and it made the task easier.
Taylor met her at the back gate, while her father and mother sat on the front porch.
Her father said just before she left the house, “I believe those children are up to
something. I’ll take Judith off tomorrow, and we can send the rest of her things.”
Judith and Taylor had to make a detour from the back to the road in front of the
house; one of Taylor’s friends with a buggy waited around the bend in the road for the
runaways. Both young men were very much afraid of the Squire and they had quite a
good laugh on his friend that night. He had waited for the couple until his nerves were
all on edge, and finally, heard someone coming on horseback. He thought surely it was
the Squire, so hastily deserting the horse and buggy, he made off down the road. The
horseman, however, overtook him and told the joke on him.
The runaways came at length, and the three went to Taylor Eaddy’s home where
the preacher and a big supper awaited them. There were games, frolicking, and music
until nearly daylight, but no dancing at “old man Taylor Eaddy’s.”
The Squire knew she had gone before bedtime, but he made no effort to go
after her. He forbade them to speak of her; he would not let them send her clothes to
her, and never, as long as he lived, did he speak to her, nor, until after his death, did
she speak to her mother. On Sundays, she generally saw her sisters at church and they
always had a talk. He never interfered, but he never asked them a question of how she
fared.
However, at his death they found that she had been included with the rest of the
heirs in the notes and items he left. He had made no will, but left a paper showing what
he wished each to have.
Your grandmother says in looking back over the years, “I don’t blame Pa a bit.
He was right. Of course, I was too young, but I couldn’t see it then, and I’ve never
regretted it for no married life could have been happier than ours.”
Three years later, Julia, now 26, was married. The Squire again opposed the
match, but seeing that she was determined to marry with or without his consent, he at
least gave in. She was quietly married at home, only the immediat4 family being
Page | 35
�present. The Squire would not come into the house, but paced the porch all during the
ceremony.
Mitchell had always stayed at home and worked on the farm. He was the farmer
and Jim was the mechanic. When he was 22 years old, Mitchell was suddenly stricken
and died from an illness of only two days. Doctors then said that he had an abscess on
the liver, but it has since been thought that he must have had appendicitis.
A bother of N. H. Venters bought hogs several times from the Squire. He always
brought his collie dog, Larry, to help him catch them. Larry took quite a fancy to
Mitchell and kept running away from home to stay with him. Mr. Venters moved and
gave the dog to Mitchell. The two were inseparable. Larry slept at the door of his
master’s room. When Mitchell became ill, the dog stayed under the bed until forced out.
Then he went under the house where at intervals he howled pitifully. The night his
master died, he howled all night. He followed the family to the graveyard and after the
funeral, he remained beside the grave. At night fall, the Squire sent Henry for him. He
was found stretched out at the foot of the grave. Henry carried him home, and offered
him something to eat for he had eaten nothing since the last time his master had fed
him. He refused to eat, and the moment he was let loose, he returned to his master’s
grave. They brought him home several times, but he always slipped off and went back.
When he was tied, he gnawed the rope in two and left; when they shut him up, he
howled until it was unbearable and head to be let out. All this time, not one mouthful
did he eat. He was so weak that he reeled when he walked. The last time he went
back, the Squire had Henry take the gun and shoot him. It was better to kill him than to
let him starve to death.
Pectina married at 15. Again, her father gave way to his daughter’s wishes and
allowed her to be married at home. He didn’t want her to marry, but if she was
determined to do so, he said he’d rather she’d be married at home than to run away.
The morning she was to be married, he left the house immediately after breakfast,
went to the store, and locked himself in. First one, and then another went after him,
but he wouldn’t even open the door. His wife made what excuses she could to the
minister and the guests who assembled. The bridal couple and their guests had dinner
Page | 36
�at 12, but it was only after the last buggy had driven away that the Squire came back
to the house.
Chapter 9
Your grandfather, Zachary Taylor Eaddy, was 24 and your grandmother was 16
when they were married. The night of the marriage he said, “There’s an old saying that
runaway matches never turn out well. Let us be sure that ours does.” And it did.
The Eaddy place was only four or five miles from the Grier home, but four miles
in those days was as great a distance as 20 miles is today. As that family attended
church at Prospect until Old Johnsonville was built, the two families had no
acquaintance with each other. Mr. Eaddy and the Squire were acquainted in a business
way, but there had been no occasion for a more personal intimacy.
Grandfather Eaddy, Taylor’s father, was often likened to Jacob in his old days for
he had 12 sons. But at the time, your grandmother went there, he had only 11. Those
were borne by his first two wives. He was no married to his third wife, who was later
the mother of his 12th son, Aunt Emily, as she was known far and wide. She herself was
a widow at the time she married Grandfather Eaddy and brought three girls and three
boys with her. Several of Taylor’s older brothers were married and off at work for
themselves, so when he brought Judy there she found only six of the Eaddy boys, three
girls and three boys of Aunt Emily’s and one of Taylor’s sisters-in-law.
Two of the Stone girls, Aunt Emily’s first husband was a Stone, were well grown,
but the baby girl was only two or three. She soon learned to love “Sis Judy” better than
all the rest and cried when Judy left her at any time. Your grandmother had always said
that she was the sweetest baby she ever knew. The little girl died from pneumonia
when she was just six years old.
The house was a large two-pen log house. A two-pen house is built with a wide
central hall with rooms on either side. The wide hall here was 16 feet wide and it ran
into a cross passage nearly as wide. Behind the cross passage were the dining room
and kitchen.
Page | 37
�Doc, one of Taylor’s brothers, had built a little house at the end of the lane in
front of his father’s. There were two double beds in Doc’s house and some of the boys
slept there with him, but they all ate at their father’s. At Grandfather Eaddy’s they ran
nine beds and every one of them was generally full.
The long table seldom seated all at a time. Fifteen or 16 was the regular number
to eat three meals a day there. As Grandfather Eaddy kept an open house, and there
was a constant stream of company there were very frequently several more, especially
for dinner and supper.
Aunt Emily had a small wooden bucket with a lid to it, somewhat larger than a
gallon syrup can. This was the sugar pot. It always sat on a stool by the side of Aunt
Emily’s chair. She said that a smaller one would be a waste of time. Your grandmother
has it now and all of you children have used it as a seat. When the small grandchildren
come on a visit, at mealtimes, out comes the bucket. Placed in a chair it makes just the
right height for the babies.
There was always a cook in the kitchen, but with such a large family, there was
work for all to do. Aunt Emily was an industrious woman who fully believed that Satan
found work in idle hands. She always kept busy herself and saw to it that those around
her had their tasks. There were four large girls in the house, her two daughters, Sally
and Liza, and two of Grandfather Eaddy’s daughters-in-law, Aunt Selma and our
grandmother. These four took turns helping with the dishes. Your grandmother says
before she noticed it, she’d fallen into a habit of complaining with headaches a great
deal. One day she was outside leaning against the house. Liza was with her, rubbing
her head, when she heard Sally say, “It’s Sis Judy’s and Sis’ time to do the dishes, but
it’s no use to call them. Every time it’s their turn, Sis Judy has the headache, and Sis
has to rub it.” Instead of getting mad, your grandmother laughed it off, and she saw to
it that her headaches did not interfere with their household duties after that.
Grandfather Eaddy controlled the whole household. All his stepchildren went to
him for orders. Aunt Emily was his sister-in-law by marriage. In other words, his wife, I
don’t know which one, and Aunt Emily’s first husband were brother and sister.
Page | 38
�His brother, Martin Eaddy, was a Methodist preacher. He [was the one] who
performed the wedding ceremony for your grandparents.
Grandfather Eaddy was a great Christian. There was always prayer, night and
morning. The children and members of the family were allowed a great deal of
freedom, but all knew exactly where to stop. He was strict and firm, but never harsh or
unjust with them, and their obedience was given to him like due.
He loved company of any kind and young folks, especially. Often, the old house
was filled to overflowing, but there was no unseemly behavior, no matter how large a
crowd had collected there.
One Sunday afternoon, just as the congregation was dismissed at Prospect
Church, a bad cloud gathered. At Grandfather Eaddy’s invitation, between 40 and 50
people went to his house and to wait until the cloud passed. The storm broke just as
they reached the house and raged so long and fiercely that they all had to spend the
night. The presiding elder was one of the guests. The 40-odd people were given supper
in [stages.] They all ate heartily and yet there was plenty left. The presiding elder said
he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He likened it to the
feeding of the multitude by the Lord. They guests were also given breakfast the next
morning before they left. Fortunately, it was summertime, so there was difficulty about
preparing beds for all.
His house was headquarters for the preachers; and travelers were always sent to
“old man Taylor Eaddy’s” when they asked where they could find a place to spend the
night. All such travelers were welcomed not only for their own sakes, but for the touch
of the outside world they brought.
This household was so vastly different from the one in which she had been
reared, and it gave her a new outlook on life.
Chapter 10
In January, young Taylor and his wife, Judy, left his father’s house and rented a
place for themselves. They had a place about a mile from the old Eaddy home. Your
Page | 39
�Uncle Laurie and Aunt Salema, Uncle John and Aunt Beulah were their near neighbors,
and they were all close enough to run in and out at their father’s.
The Tow started housekeeping very simply. They furnished a bedroom, dining
room, and kitchen. Their father Eaddy gave them a bedroom suite, part of it handmade. Page | 40
This she still has. He also gave them [sic] two mattresses and a feather bed, all
homemade, but just as comfortable, your grandmother says, as any you can buy
nowadays.
Uncle Jerry Cribb, uncle by courtesy to the entire community, made two rockers
and six chairs for them. The large rocker is still in constant use in her bedroom, while
the little chair is the one she gave me when Carolyn was born. She rocked all her
babies in it, and I’ve rocked all of mine in it. She still has most of her chairs, though
they are now stored in the loft of the garage. His uncle made them two old fashioned
bread trays and a dining table.
The cooking was done in the big open chimney. And, your grandmother said with
such a wistful look and accent, “It was such a nice chimney,” as if the very thought of
those days was sweet.
They bought pots, pans, dishes, and bed linen, no such supply as a bride now
deems necessary, but a nice supply of good substantial things.
There was no money to buy a horse or mule, with corn and forage to feed it.
But, they were not all all-at-a-loss; they used an ox. The ox needed very little attention
or food for he could get almost all he needed by grazing. Of course, he was slow, but
the world wasn’t in such a hurry then as it is now, and the ox made a good crop for
them.
Aunt Emily gave them a good start in the chickens, just common mixed stock,
but they furnished all the eggs the young couple needed, as well as giving them an
occasional chicken to eat. Their father Eaddy gave them a brood sow and so they set
up housekeeping for themselves.
They had company very often. As there was only one bed, when there were
guests, the hosts put one of the mattresses for themselves on the floor in the dining
room and gave their room to their company. They slept as well on the floor for they
�were young and the joy of having company made their hard bed easy to them; so they
slept as only the young and hardworking can.
And they did work hard. They were up before daylight so the young farmer could
bet to the field early. He worked on the farm all his life, but always with his father and
under his directions, and this was his first venture for himself. He toiled early and late,
while she cooked, washed, mended, and kept the house and garden just as it all should
be.
Cabbage seed was the only seed bought for the garden. The other seed was
saved from year-to-year. If a neighbor had a very prolific seed of beans, collards, peas
or what not, he, or usually she, saved a little extra to give her friends. “Just enough for
seed,” she’d say as she gave it.
This first year on the farm yielded them sixty bushels of rice over and above
their own needs; plenty of corn; potatoes; syrup, and their own meat. The extra rice
was carried to Georgetown and sold there.
With the proceeds of this year’s labor, he made the first payment on a little place
near his father’s and built on it. This was called Brown’s Summer House Place.
The old historical settlement of Indiantown was only five or six miles away. The
elite of the countryside lived near Indiantown before the war. Here where your
grandfather bought was a natural artesian spring, Boiling Springs. It must have derived
its name from the way it bubbled and oiled up out of the ground for it was certainly
cool and delightful to drink. There are several of these natural springs in this country,
although they have been neglected since the art of boring an artesian well just where
it’s wanted has been developed. The water in this low country was considered as
unhealthy, especially when there was much rain for then the wells were filled with
surface water. These artesian springs came from underground streams whose sources
were in the mountains. The water generally came from some depth and the hotter the
day, the cooler the water seemed.
Several of the well-to-do families at Indiantown had formed a summer colony
with the Boiling Springs as a center. At the end of the war, they had been unable to
Page | 41
�keep up their summer home, so had sold them when they could do so. This place had
belonged to the Brown’s.
Your grandfather built on the site of the summer house, which had long been
burned by careless tenants. A few fruit trees and several shade trees made a nice
setting for the little log house he planned. He and two men went into the woods where
the cut and peeled the logs, then hauled them to the selected spot. Word went out over
the neighborhood, “House raising for Tay Eaddy at the Old Summer House Place.”
The morning set for the house raising, women with their snow white aprons on,
their babies and their handwork in their arms, followed their husbands to Grandfather
Grier’s. They helped prepare a bountiful dinner. The men all went to work on the new
house until dinner time. After dinner and an hour’s rest, the men went back, while the
women plied their needles and their tongues. By night time, the logs were all in place,
and the rafters on and ready for shingling. The shingles themselves were split by hand,
down in the woods and then hauled up. The only charge for all the help given was a
dinner, which the host enjoyed as much as his guests.
Your grandfather planted no money crops this year. He worked in the turpentine
woods. He planted plenty of food crops, as well as forage, and the stayed at home
when they needed attention. Other days, the young folks arose at two o’clock in the
morning. Your grandmother cooked breakfast and fixed lunch for her husband. He
walked to his father’s where others joined him. They all went off together some five or
six miles and reached there in time to begin work at daylight.
Meantime, Judith generally went back to bed; she had very little to do and she
had all day to do it in. Often neighbors came in or she carried her sewing, all of which
was done by hand, over to spend the afternoon with Aunt Emily.
It was always dark before your grandfather came rushing through the woods to
find her waiting at the edge of the clearing. “One night,” said your grandmother, “Tay
was late. I watched and watched. I was so uneasy I just couldn’t rest. I just knew
something had happened to him. At nine he still hadn’t come. I couldn’t endure it any
longer. So off I set to father Eaddy’s. The moon was full and as bright as day. But as I
had to go through the woods, I lighted a fat lightwood torch. About halfway, just before
Page | 42
�I reached Jim Cox’s house, I hear Tay coming and whistling. I stopped and sat down by
a stump by the side of the path to wait for him. Nothing had happened to him, and I
began to feel just the least bit amused. His whistle sounded so cheery and satisfied and
I had been so miserable and worried.
Just as Tay got in front of Jim Cox’s house, Jim hailed him, “That you, Tay?” On
Tay’s answering, Jim asked, “Did anyone pass you up the path there?” And when Tay
said “no,” he continued, “That’s funny. I sure seen a light down yonder away and it
went out all in a minute.” Tay assured him he’d passed no one and added, “I must
hurry. Wife’s all alone and looking for me.”
I heard every word that was said very clearly, and as Tay came on I thought
surely he’d see me. I had on a white dress and I was sitting right by the edge of the
path. But, he passed me whistling just as hard as he could. I was pretty made by that
time, so I let him get well ahead. Then I got up and followed him. As he turned a bend,
he found the woods were beginning to blaze. A spark had blown off my torch and set
things a burning. He seized some underbrush and began to beat it out. After seeing
that he’d have no trouble quenching the flames, I slipped around by another path, ran
home quickly, and when he finally came in I was undressed and in the bed. I was
determined not to give him any idea of how worried I’d been. I didn’t tell him of it for
several years later.
Here the first baby was born. Your grandfather had insisted the first baby must
be a boy. The event was eagerly looked forward to and great was the grief of the
young parents when the baby was still-born. After the death of the baby, they both
took a dislike to the little home they’d built with such high hopes and as there was
another payment due on the place he sold out to his brother.
Chapter 11
The third year they sharecropped up very near Lake City. The people there were all
lovely to them; they made some fast friends, but they were homesick, especially your
grandmother. She said the first three months she stayed there were the most miserable
she ever “put over.”
Page | 43
�The whole year she was there she didn’t go to church a single Sunday. Church as
the meeting place for the community. It was the center of life for the neighborhood. As
soon as one Sunday was over the people began to plan for another. To have to spend
one Sunday at home was bad, but to be unable to attend for 52 Sundays was
unbearable.
Their second little girl was born here. Your grandfather had jokingly said again
that the baby must be a boy, and was a little disappointed that it was a girl. However,
the wee lady only opened her eyes and then closed them forever. It tore them both,
but especially the father.
The next year they went back to Grandfather Eaddy’s. He gave them a house
and all the land they wanted to work. Your grandfather worked in the turpentine woods
and hired most of his farm work done. Labor was to be had for two meals and 25 cents
a day. The hands were willing to take corn, peas, or potatoes in place of cash.
Here the third baby arrived. Before its birth your grandfather was asked, “Do you
want a girl or a boy?” And his fervent answer was, “Either one, either one. Just so it
lives.” When the baby girl, hearty and healthy, was placed in his arms, there wasn’t a
happier man in the world.
It is a characteristic of the Eaddys to adore babies and I’ve never seen a baby
refuse to go to one. Your grandfather was no exception. All the babies and little folks in
the neighborhood loved him and were loved by them in return.
This baby was named Margaret Ann after her maternal grandmother. Your
grandfather was always accused of being partial to “Sister.” And indeed, she was and
remained the apple of his eye as long as he lived.
All these years your grandmother saw neither her father nor mother. Her mother
constantly sent messages, but she respected her husband’s wishes enough not to cross
him. Your grandmother saw the girls at home every Sunday and often at her married
sisters’ or Brother Jim’s. There was a constant interchange of visits among these
married sisters. “And no brother was ever better to any sister than Brother Jim was to
me,“ I’ve heard your grandmother say over and over. When he caught his first shad, his
second one went to little Judy as she always remained to him.
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�Your grandfather was a great fisherman himself, as well as a hunter. He kept his
table well supplied with squirrel, wild turkey, deer, partridge, and wild duck in season.
He was always among the first to get shad in the spring and a day on the river with his
rod or nets, or in the swamp with his gun, was his delight.
The year your Uncle Bub was born your grandfather and grandmother were
living at what we now call the Lee Hughes place. Then it was known as the Price place.
Her former teacher, Mr. Price, had lived there. It was about half a mile from Ard’s Cross
Roads.
The new baby was expected daily and your grandfather had been tied down at
home, afraid to leave. One afternoon, he said he must go to the cut landing to see
about his boat and get it ready for shad fishing. Rene Timmons, a white woman, was
there with your grandmother and she said, “Don you leave, Tay. Don’t you leave. I’m
not a-going to stay here with Judy by myself.” He laughed, promised to be back by
dark, and right after dinner he left, with Rene still protesting.
About the middle of the afternoon your grandmother was sitting in front of the
fire popping corn for the baby when suddenly she stopped and called, “Rene.” Rene
came on the run, “I knew it. I knew It. That good-for-nothing Taylor Eaddy ought to be
hung. He had no business leaving. Set still, honey, don’t you move till I come back.”
As she reached the porch, she leaned over and pulled off one shoe and gave it a
fling; the other one followed as she muttered, “Can’t make no time with those things
on.” And down the road she went panting. As soon as she got in sight of the Cross
Roads, she began to call. Mr. and Mrs. Ard and Rene’s sister came to meet her. Mr. Ard
told the women to hurry back to your grandmother while he hitched up and went for
the doctor. They called her the doctor, but for such a case a doctor was never even
considered. A doctor woman was all that was deemed necessary. So natural and so in
the general run of things did they consider a confinement that no one thought of
getting a doctor. It was thought an unnecessary expense. Dr. Grier was living at the
Cross Roads and it would have been nearer to get him than to go for “Aunt Lizzie,” but
such an idea never entered their heads. When your grandfather returned they had his
long wished for son to show him, although he was back by dark.
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�They left the Price place in March. Grandfather Eaddy had given your
grandfather a place on the Lake in what they called then the “backwoods.” In the
intervals of his turpentine working he was trying to build a house on his place. But it
was a long tramp from the backwoods to the Price place, so when he had a change to
move to the Cox place he was glad to do so. He was asked to move there and oversee
the picking and weighing of Cousin Robert’s cotton. It put him much closer to his own
place.
He finished up his house so he could move in January. When they moved he
made a special trip to Kingstree and bought her first stove for your grandmother. It was
while she was living there that she bought her firs sewing machine. Machine agents
were riding the country over in buggies with large flat backs on which they carried one
or two machines for demonstrating purposes. Several of the neighbors bought a very
inferior machine which lasted only a short time and was very unsatisfactory; but your
grandmother bought a Household. That machine had the reputation that the Singer
enjoys now. And it was a good one! Your grandmother bought it in 1882 or ’83 and she
used it for all her sewing until 1912. In 1915, she gave the old Household to me. It was
still doing good work. You older girls all learned to sew on it and I suppose we’d still be
using it, but some of the babies lost the only bobbin we had and it couldn’t be found.
One afternoon in early spring when your Uncle bub was a little fellow he pulled
off his shoes and stockings and went into the yard. Your grandmother was sweeping
the yard and as she was almost through, she made him sit on top of a box until she
was ready to go in. He went to bed as well as usual, but just as his mother and father
were preparing to retire, he gave one croupy cough and then choked right up. They
worked over him with all the medicine they had, but couldn’t relieve him. So your
grandfather ran to yard, and called his brother, John, whose home was within calling
distance. He and Aunt Beulah came with their remedies. Aunt Beulah had a bottle of
new medicine for croup. It had been made by an Indian who lived several miles away.
She insisted on giving the baby some “Aligator [sic] Oil” and as he seemed to be getting
worse, they finally decided to try it. Whether it was the alligator oil or the other
remedies, his breathing soon became better, but it was nearly daylight before they
Page | 46
�decided it was safe to leave him. Your grandmother says that was the worse croup she
has ever seen and it was not possible to get a doctor to him that night. Your
grandfather had no horse; so he would have had to walk to his father’s house, nearly a
mile away, hitch up and ride five miles for the doctor, then ride the five miles back with Page | 47
him. It would have been nearly daylight before the doctor could have reached him.
One day in February your grandfather went shad fishing; that day was cloudy
with occasional spells of sunshine. The [clouds] seemed heavy and your grandmother
felt tire and restless. Just after dinner a quick, heavy shower came; then the sun shone
again. Your grandfather with his friends left the river with a fine catch and started
home again, but as they reached a house close to the landing, another sudden burst of
rain caused them to take refuge in the house. The rain fall was sharp and heavy but it
lasted only a few minutes. Your grandfather picked up his fish and said, “Well, boys, I
must be going.” As he, followed by the other fishermen and their host, started out they
heard a terrible roaring. The noise was indescribable. They rand to the door and your
grandfather said, “If you have a ditch or a cellar on the place, you’d better get the
children in it for that’s a twister coming, as sure as I’m alive.”
But there was no such thing on the place. Everyone gathered in a group in the
yard. They were afraid to stay out, and yet the cloud seemed to woven a spell over
them, for they stood as if chained to the spot. The air seemed still, but the black cloud
was rapidly approaching and the rumbling grew louder and louder. A breeze sprang up
and became a gale. The storm swept by them but it struck the house full force, taking
the four outside walls and the roof off, leaving only the floor and the inner partitions.
When at last your grandfather could get away, anxious to see how his family had
fared, he had to cross the path of the storm. A section over which they generally
passed in ten minutes took them two hours to cross. Huge trees were down, portions of
houses, furniture, and logs from no one knew where had to be cleared out of the road
before they could pass.
The storm didn’t touch the backwoods section, but it struck the hill where we
now live. Dr. Grier had just completed this house and moved in. He had put a family of
Negroes in the old log Horse House. That house stood about where that old horse apple
�tree stands in the field. This house did not stand in the path of the storm, but it
demolished the Horse house. Not one log was left on another. Some of the logs were
afterwards found as far off as the cut landing, carried there by the force of the storm.
The Negroes who lived there had come in haste to Dr. Grier’s at the first sound and
sight of the storm.
No one was hurt during the storm although great damage and loss was dealt to
the houses and trees. There was one woman hurt after the storm. The floor in her
house had been torn up in many places and she stepped in one of the large cracks thus
made and broke her leg.
Your grandmother’s health wasn’t all good the years she lived here. She was
almost an invalid though she managed to keep things going. She was subject to severe
headaches, which left her nerves all torn up. She had not been real well since the last
baby came. A doctor had settled on the lake. He treated her and tried to cure her, but
the good doctor had periods of irresponsibility. He couldn’t’ always come when needed
so your grandfather made several trips to Kingstree to see Dr. Scott, who tried treating
her by long distance.
Chapter 12
In the second year they lived there, the old Squire died from a combined attack
of pneumonia and pleurisy. He left each of the children a nice sum of cash outright. His
property, personal and real, was all put up for sale at public auction. They family bid in
most of things. One of the things your grandmother bid in was the big, six legged
sideboard that he had bought at Col. Alston’s sale when he was first married. It had
been removed from the dining room some years before when the Squire bought a more
modern one. The home place, of course, was her mother’s property already.
The Squire had quite a large number of stocks, bonds, and mortgages. These
were all labeled as “worthless,” “worth 100%,” “worth 75%”, and so on; so the heirs
had no trouble dividing them evenly. Before the division several people came to your
grandmother and asked her to please buy their mortgages. She did take in as many of
these requests as she could.
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�She did not go home to her father’s funeral. She felt that as he had never
allowed her to come in his life time, she rather not go in the house while he lay there.
After the funeral her mother sent the buggy for her, but she refused to go. Then her
mother sent her brother-in-law, Henry Spivey, with the message that now she, her
mother, was boss at home, and she wanted all the children home so your grandmother
went.
Not quite a year later Grandfather Eaddy died. At that time his and Aunty Emily’s
baby, his 12th son, was nearly six year old. Marvin Eaddy as an extraordinary child. Your
grandmother says he was born good and yet he was full of fun. He was about a year
older than her oldest little girl. When he was two your grandparents were living in sight
of his father’s and Marvin used to spend a great part of his time there. One afternoon,
he stayed until it was nearly dusk, as he started home, your grandmother said, “Wait
awhile, son. When Brother Tay comes he’ll take you home.” “No, Sis Judy,” he said
gravely, raising his big blue eyes, “I’ll just toddle along.”
Marvin’s life was short for he died just as he reached manhood, but he left a
lasting imprint on all whose lives came in contact with his.
Grandfather Eaddy had no vast wealth to his boys. Before his death he had given
each of them a farm, but he left them that which is better, an honest and upright
heritage.
The year following her father’s death, your grandmother’s health grew rapidly
worse. Dr. Scott told your grandfather he believed he could straighten her out if he
could see her every day. If he couldn’t bring her to Kingstree to live for a while, she’d
have to go to the hospital. In those days, the hospital was the last resort. A person who
had gone to the hospital … [script illegible] … A move for a year was considered
preferable to a few weeks in the hospital.
It was a big change for your grandmother. All her life had been spent on farms
with the nearest neighbor just in sight, if not out of sight. Now she had neighbors to
the right of her; neighbors to the left of her; neighbors in front of her, and neighbors in
the back. Your grandmother enjoyed them all. She was always good company herself
and she did like to be with others. So many of her days had been spent alone, and
Page | 49
�while she was never lonely, she reveled in her present position. The neighbors were all
busy people but they took time to show many delicate attentions to the new neighbor
who wasn’t as strong as they.
They had quite an exciting time there one night. Your grandfather always got up Page | 50
and brought fresh water for your grandmother to take her medicine during the night. A
door from their room opened onto the back porch and was fastened on the inside with
a wooden latch. That night he got the water as usual, but evidently failed to latch the
door on his return. Just before day, bot started out of their sleep to hear a soft pad,
pad as of someone with bare feet walking around the room. Your grandfather put his
hand warningly on your grandmother’s arm. The sound paused at the dresser which
stood at the head of the bed, and they could hear someone breathing in quick, short
breaths. Another step or two and the intruder knocked over the chair with the medicine
and glass on it. After the first loud crash, the silence was so great that they were
almost afraid to breath. Your grandfather’s pistol was at the head of the bed but the
unwelcome visitor was so close that there had been no change to get it. Soon the steps
sounded again; this time the intruder seemed to be sneaking toward the door into the
hall. As soon as your grandfather ascertained this, he seized his pistol and fired twice,
quickly, both time rather low down. There was one low sound heard, then again
silence.
“Stick a match, wife, quick.” And your grandfather was out in the hall, bending
over something just outside the door. Quick footsteps sounded at the front and a
neighbor who happened to be up and dressed called, “Open up, Eaddy; open up.
What’s happened” Your grandfather opened the door and said, “For goodness sake,
come here and help me to take this dog out and bury him before someone sees him. I
haven’t the least idea who he belongs to, but he nearly scared wife and me to death.”
They never did find out to whom he belonged, but you may be sure that the
back bedroom door was safely latched every night after that.
Your grandmother’s health improved rapidly under Dr. Scott’s care. Your
grandfather had to be away from home a great deal. He spent much of his time back
home for it kept him busy, riding from one place to another, over which your
�grandmother had mortgages. He had to see to it that the Negroes kept up their work so
they could meet their payments when due.
She son sold nearly all her mortgages in a lump to a lawyer from Lake City. She
kept a few choice places near where she had always lived.
As soon as Dr. Scott turned her a-loose they moved back. Your grandfather had
bought a part of the old Owings Place and in November 1885 they moved there from
Kingstree and lived there until his death 21 years later.
Chapter 13
The conditions in this part of the country had changed but little since your
grandmother was a little girl. The methods of transportation were the same. The roads
were just as bad as ever. None of the streams [had] bridges. They had to be forded
and every road had two or three streams running across it. When the streams were
high there was very little traveling done by the ladies, and when the men went they
either rode horseback or walked. Each stream had a foot log stretched over it for the
travelers on foot. One had to have a steady head and a sure foot to cross on these in
all kinds of weather. In rainy weather the water came up into the buggies, sometimes
even covering the seat, for that reason they were not used so much.
The mail came now by way of Lake City to Vox post office and on to
Johnsonville. It still came only twice a week. It had been let out on contract as a star
route. The carrier served several little country post offices on his trip.
Your grandmother’s new home was three miles from Ard’s Cross Roads, where
the Old Johnsonville Church was. At the Cross Roads was also a general store run by
Mr. Ard and another store, generally called the whiskey shop.
Leaving the house to come to the Cross Roads, first your grandfather crossed
the stream that ran through the swamp directly in front of the house. One the other
side of the swamp, about three quarters of a mile away, lived Llewelyn Stone, one of
Aunty Emily’s boys. Next was the Owings Place; then through another swamp to the
Irwin schoolhouse, built by the men of that section for “Miss Nannie” to teach in. This
was a mile and a half from home. Lee McDaniel’s was the next house and on the other
Page | 51
�side of another swamp stood the Claywall farm. Nearly a mile further was the home of
Mr. Venters. The Ards themselves lived at the Cross Roads where Mr. Cox lives. That
road has changed very little as far as buildings are concerned. The woodlands have all
been cleared up and are cultivated every year. The swamps have been thinned out to
some extent and the streams have been bridged, but otherwise a traveler returned
after years afar, would feel very much at home.
On the other side of your grandmother and within calling distance but facing on
another road lived Cousin Robert Cox. Cousin Fannie, his wife, was a notable doctor.
She was called in for every ailment for miles around. She had her doctor books and
studied them. “Old Doctor Gunn” was her standby. Your grandmother has a copy of it
and even now you’ll hear her say often concerning some disease or afflictions, “Old
Doctor Gunn says…” Cousin Fannie kept quite a store of herbs, wild and cultivated on
hand. She had in her own garden every known herb that could be used for medicine.
She had her regular times to go into the swamp and hedges; there she gathered May
apple, which was used in place of calomel, and sassafras roots from which she made a
blood purifier. A blood purifier was considered absolutely necessary every spring after a
winter diet of pork and hominy and cornbread, with an occasional dish of collards or a
pot of peas.
All these roots, barks, and herbs were put up and kept by Cousin Fannie. Her
services and concoctions were given freely and willingly and not one cent did she
charge. Her presence was a tonic. She never gave anything but the simplest of
remedies, but she used plenty of common sense and cleanliness. She was like a mother
to your grandmother.
Diagonally across the fields and on the same road with Cousin Robert lived
Cousin Fannie’s brother, Cousin Charlie Huggins and his wife, Cousin Sallie. It is a
question as to which your grandmother liked the best, Cousin Sallie or Cousin Fannie.
Both were much older than she and she thought a great deal of them both.
Cousin Sallie was a great doctor herself. Her father was a physician, an
Englishman, and had received his education in England. She had studied some with him
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�and had helped him a great deal with his practice. She was glad to help anyone who
came to her, but she did not go around to other people’s houses.
Now, I won’t presented to trace the kinship, or to state whether Cousin Fannie
and Cousin Sallie were really any kin at all to your grandmother. She always called
them cousins and they called her the same.
That was the neighborhood into which your grandparents moved. They went into
the old house on the place in November intending to build when it grew warmer. But
the weather was so mild during January they decided to turn the old house around so it
could be used as an ell on the new house. They wanted to get the work started before
the field work had to be begun.
Enoch and Pedden Cannon, who lived a mile back of your grandmother, had a
mortgage over their farm. They promised to work it off if your grandmother would life
the mortgage, and as they were good carpenters, she agreed to do this.
The two men with 20 hands came early one morning, tore down the big old clay
chimney at one end of the house, and turned the body of the house long-ways and
back a little to serve as dining room and kitchen. The family lived in this until the
building was completed.
The next day was warm and sunshiny so the workmen cut the opening for the
big double chimney and started work on it. About mid-day it clouded up, rained, sleeted
and froze all before dark. Your grandmother had a white girl, Mary Ard, staying with her
and Mary built a fire under the large cooper’s shed close to the house. Here they kept
warm until bedtime. The freeze continued for two weeks. It was one of the coldest
spells there’s ever been in this section. Lynch’s River and the lake froze over and one
could skate across them. Never before had such a thing happened and it has never
happened since. Every neighbor’s house was thrown open to your grandparents, but
they elected to “stay by their stuff.” Your grandfather put up a stove in a small outside
house and they were comfortable enough during the day. At night they covered up well
and not even the baby took cold.
The Cannons had the house almost completed by May when a most important
event occurred, important at least to you and to me. Your father was born. Both the
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�older children and your grandmother had whooping cough. Your grandmother had it
very badly. Your grandfather had the pleurisy at that time, also.
Dr. Laurence, who lived over the lake, had been attending your grandmother,
but she was so ill with the whooping cough, he dreaded the responsibility and sent for
his friend, Dr. Bird, from Scranton to stay with him several days and be with him during
her coming confinement. Your grandfather was still uneasy so he sent to Kingstree for
Dr. Scott, also. Dr. Scott was their first guest in their new home for the work was
rushed on the guest room so it would be ready for his arrival. He spent several days
with them. So your father was well attended when he was ushered into this world.
Strange to say he did not contract the whooping cough although everyone was
whooping all around him. He was ten years old before he had it.
In August, the whole house was completed, except for the brick work. You see,
the carpenters could only work when the farm work was not pressing. In August, then,
a brick mason and his two helpers came to underpin the house and were given the
back bedroom. The first night they were there the earthquake came. Everyone had
gone to his room, but your grandfather and his brother, Cape, who was spending the
night there. They were on the front porch. Your grandmother knelt down to say her
prayers and ask she did the baby began to cry. She got in the bed, took the baby in her
arms and was lying there finishing up her prayers when the shock came. The bed
rocked back and forth; the chairs were tossed this way and that; your grandmother
tried to rise, but until the quaking ceased, she could not even sit up. As the tremor
lessened everyone rushed out to talk it over. There were no more quakes here that
night for it was too far from the center of disturbance. All the next day there was one
shock after another, but none as severe as the first one. It wasn’t until the mail came in
from Georgetown several days later that they learned how disastrous the earthquake
had been in many places. (PS The earthquake happened August 31, 1886, at 9:50
p.m.)
The two older children, Sister and Bub, went to school at the Irvin schoolhouse
where “Miss Nannie” taught. She taught for several years and all her old pupils have a
very tender spot in their hearts for her. She brought her small children to the
Page | 54
�schoolhouse and had a pallet on the floor for them to rest on. The McDaniels, Coxs,
Huggins, and Eaddys, besides a few other families, sent their children to her. The
school was a mile and a half from your grandmother, but the road was shady and there
was plenty of company coming and going.
The little girls wore white aprons over their dark dresses. And I’ve heard your
grandmother tell often of how long Sister could wear her apron and still have it fresh
and clean. As soon as she returned from school she replaced her white school apron
with a gingham one for housework.
The little boys wore knee pants and white waists with big collars and wide
ruffles.
Miss Nannie was a graduate of Charleston College. Your grandfather and Cousin
Charlie hired her at first to come and teach their children, two in each family. Then the
Irvin schoolhouse was built and she ran what was called a pay school. Each pupil paid
her a dollar a month. Later she was engaged by the county to teach school in this
district. That was called a free school.
There were no grades but where children had the same books they were put into
a class together. When the parents went to get books they got what books they could
find. It made no difference if theirs were different from all the rest. The old Guffey’s
and Appleton’s Readers were used chiefly.
Chapter 14
Your grandparents were anxious for Sister to take music lessons and one of
Cousin Charlie’s boys wanted them, too. So your grandfather and Cousin Charlie hired a
teacher, who taught the children not only music but all other subjects as well. The
teacher stayed at your grandfather’s as there were only two boys at Cousin Charlie’s to
go to school. For the next three years, they stopped Miss Nannie’s school altogether.
During these three years they had three different teachers. They were always fortunate
in getting good teachers, ones who became members of the family and set a good
example for the pupils under them. Your father started to school under the last one
they had in the house.
Page | 55
�Two other little folks were in the house now, Fitzhugh and Sadie. With an
increasing family and a teacher, in addition, besides having company constantly, your
grandmother always kept plenty of help. A colored woman came in every [day] to do
the washing and ironing. For help with the house work and the babies, she always had
a white woman or girl. She always said she rather have someone she could trust with
the baby as she’d much prefer to cook than to look after the babies.
Mary Ard stayed with her for several years and only left when she married. After
that she had two or three different women. One of the, the little boys, Ulmer and
Fitzhugh, liked to mock as she lisped so. “She says tettle for kettle and ittle for little.”
Your grandmother’s mother died when Sadie was a baby and the old home and
everything in it was divided among the heirs. Her mother had a good housekeeper for
several years before her death. Joanne Creel asked your grandmother to let her go
home with her. As your grandmother needed help then, she was glad to have her
come. Several others wanted Joanne but she had a daughter just 14 and it didn’t suit
everyone to have her. Your grandmother however, was glad to have her for she took
almost complete charge of the baby at once. Joanne went off several times to help
others for a while, but she left Mary there. While she was gone once, Mary was so
badly burned that she died.
Mary loved the baby, Sadie, very much and it was her chief delight to tend to her
little clothes. She wouldn’t let me go into the regular wash, but washed and ironed
them every day herself. She put the irons before the fire to heat that morning, while
she was washing the dishes. She came into your grandmother’s room singing, with an
old table cloth in her hands, and asked if she could use part of it for a dish cloth. She
went back and in just a few minutes your grandmother heard a commotion and going
out she saw Mary running around the house in a sheath of flames. She stretched out
both arms to your grandmother and started to her. Someone passing rushed into the
yard and threw his coat over her shoulders; while your grandfather ran from the house,
picked up a tub of water at the well with two shads in it and dashed it over her. She
was horribly burned and suffered agonies before she died. The little room near the
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�kitchen where she died was ever after that shunned by the small members of the
family, especially after dark.
The boys were growing rapidly and kept your grandparents busy. There are
several pieces of mischief over which your grandmother laughs now and just whispers
to the grandchildren, but which were justly punished at the time of their occurrence.
Maum Hannah, the washerwoman, loved her pipe. One day she put down the
pipe which she had just filled and went into the house for a match. The boys slipped
up, emptied out the tobacco and filled it up with gunpowder from an old gun shell.
They sprinkled tobacco on top of the powder. Then they sneaked off and hid where
they could see, but not be seen. They could scarcely contain themselves as she pressed
down the tobacco in the bowl, struck her match and began to puff. It’s well to draw the
curtain here and not display what happened to Maum Hanna or the boys, for the trick
was immediately laid to their door.
But the boys could not leave Maum Hannah alone. On the corner of the dining
room mantel there always stood a bottle of whiskey, kept there for use as medicine.
Maum Hannah was a privileged character for she worked there for years and was a
good and faithful servant. But everyone has his failings and Maum Hannah was no
exception. She came in one day feeling very unwell so your grandmother gave her a
little does of the stimulant. After that she came in full misery very often until it became
a habit for her to step in sometime during the morning and put a little “tonic” in a glass
and drink it to pep her up. The members of the household joked a great deal about
this, but no one moved the bottle. One day Maum Hannah eyed the bottle rather
solemnly for there was only about enough for one dose left. The next week when she
came she went immediately to the mantel, seemingly to warm her feet, but her face
brightened wonderfully when she saw the bottle in its accustomed place, not empty,
but full. Later she slipped in, poured out a stiff drink and began to down it in big
swallows. At the first good taste Maum Hannah left the floor while the glass went there.
“Lordy! Lordy! I’se a-burning up! I’se on fire! Miss Judy! Miss Judy!” Everyone rushed in
to find Maum Hannah dancing wildly and calling alternately on the Lord and Miss Judy.
Catching sigh of the boys’ faces with eyes agleam, she stopped her gymnastics to shake
Page | 57
�her fist at them. “Them’s the ones. Them’s the ones done it. The good-for-nothing little
imps. They’s niah killed this poor old nigger.”
The boys had made a mixture of sale, pepper, Sloan’s liniment, and vinegar and
put it in the bottle. So great was Maum Hanna’s haste to get her drink that she failed to Page | 58
notice that it didn’t smell as it should have.
Maum Hannah never bothered the bottle of “tonic” again, but several times came
to your grandmother to “giv me a drap of sumpin pure dat’s been whar them boys
couldn’t find hit.”
The boys all became hunters at an early age. Their father was such a sportsman
and loved to take the boys with him. But the boys did all their early hunting in the
swamps and woods close home. They learned to shoot an old double barreled breech
loader. The first time your father shot it he was kicked completely over. The year Sister
was 16, she completed the work of the 10th grade. Her uncle, Lieutenant Haselden, was
principal of a school in Georgetown County. He came up and gave her the
examinations, which she successfully passed.
Bub went off to school very soon and the younger boys, Ulmer and Fitzhugh,
went back to the Irvin schoolhouse. They were little fellows and often the plow hand
went to help them over the swamp. Later Sadie and Leah went to the same school.
When Miss Nannie stopped teaching, Cousin Manda Simmons taught school at
the old Simmons place for a few years. She taught at the same place where your
grandmother had gone to school when she was a little girl. She was “Cousin Manda” to
practically every child she taught.
The length of the school terms under Miss Nannie and Cousin Manda was
generally three months in the summer and three months in the winter when farm work
would not keep the children at home. At the end of the winter term there were always
elaborate exercises. The schoolhouse was always scrubbed from top to bottom, then
decorated for the occasion.
The original closing exercises had been more of an examination day when the
teacher endeavored to show the patrons and trustees how much the pupils had
learned, but they changed by degrees, until the exercises were more of an entertaining
�nature. What parent wouldn’t prefer to go to see Mary representing a fairy than to hear
her say “six times six is 36.”
Chapter 15
The three years that there were young teachers in the house were years full of
jollity and fun. Sister was just growing up and took part in all the gayeties. Weekends
were gay and hilarious occasions. Young folds would gather there on Saturday and
Sunday nights and were cordially welcomed by the older folk as well as by the younger
ones. Much of the time was spent around the organ, the teacher or Sister playing and
all the crown singing. On Saturday night, all the late and the old songs were sung with
a will, and on Sunday night the hymns were enjoyed just as much. No one ever thought
of singing anything but hymns on Sunday. An admirer of the organist usually patiently
stood and held a lamp when she was placed at the organ. The young people, often
accompanied by your grandparents, like to go to Cousin Fannie’s after dark and spend
the evening. There was a big family of growing boys and girls there and everyone had a
good time. The older folk sat in the living room, while the young crowd went to the
large dining room to play games or to sit and talk.
There were many cousins akin on both sides of the house and the young folks
were constantly spending the day or night or two or three days with each other. They
all loved to come to your grandparents’ best though for your grandfather and
grandmother seemed to be one of them. In the winter time there was a succession of
parties, while in the summer picnics held sway. The picnics were nearly always held
near the river or lake where fish could be added to the menu and boating to the
amusements.
Among the games played at the picnics and the parties were Needle in the eye,
London Bridge, Laugh and Go Foot, and Snap, but the favorite was Rock that
Cinnamon. Rock that cinnamon round and round; Rock that cinnamon round. This
ended up with a little dance step which caused it to be frowned upon by the elders,
although it was nothing but a folk dance of the simplest kind.
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�A great part of their entertainments consisted of games wherein the boy or girl
had to choose a partner. These games were in high favor with the popular girls.
Many of the games were kissing games. All of their amusements were of a
physical nature calling for muscular exercise. The nature of the entertainments have
changed greatly in the last few years. Now the games at the parties are quieter, quite
frequently calling for mental exercise; contests of one kind and another, bridge, rook
and heart’s dice are all favorites, and are not found wanting when weighed in the
balance with choosing and kissing games.
The reason for this change must lie in the fact that a girl’s outlook on life has so
radically changed. In those days a girl’s mind was set on finding the best possible
husband as soon as possible. Marriage was considered the only career for woman,
unless they didn’t mind being an old maid and having to be dependent on her relatives
in her old days. Girls always gave the party and chose the games and naturally the
trend of the games followed the trend of the girl’s thoughts and hopes. Now girls are
not dependent on marriage for the independence which they thought they’d enjoy after
marriage. There are all fields open to woman [sic] today, so choosing a mate is no
longer the most important thing in a girl’s life.
Your Uncle Fred went off to school for several years and now had a farm about
five or six miles from his father’s, Cousin Charlie Huggins. He had built himself a nice
house and had started a store and was doing nicely. He kept flying around Sister
although she was getting ready to go to Columbia College.
Each Sunday just before dark, he strolled over to your grandfather’s and went to
the barn where Bub was feeding up. Your grandfather walked out and after the feeding
up was over they all started to the house. Your Uncle Fred cleared his throat nervously
and said, “Cousin Tay, I’d like to speak to you a minute.” Your grandfather turned and
followed him to one side. Bub started, too. His father looked at him and said, “Better go
on to the house, Bub.”
He moved off with a backward look and said, “Huh, looks like you’ve lots of
secrets, you two.”
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�After that conference plans for sending Sister to college were dropped and
shortly afterwards everyone began work on her trousseau.
Her father went with her to Charleston to buy what she needed. At the
Sturgeons in Lake City they conferred with Mrs. Sturgeon as to materials, yardage,
trimmings and patterns. She claimed the privilege of making Sister’s wedding dress and
her second day dress, as her gift to the bride.
Materials for household lines were bought to be beautifully embroidered at
home. Table cloths and doilies were hemstitched; sheets were hemstitched, and pillow
cases were embroidered and trimmed. Scarfs and center pieces galore were deemed
necessary. Not only was embroider used but knitting, tatting, and crochet. Her mother
helped her make two or three pretty quilts. The choicest feathers at goose picking time
were made into the best of pillows and feather beds. Her father bought her a supply of
blankets.
Your Uncle Fred’s mother died in August before they were to be married in
November. But as soon as she knew that he was to be married, she had begun to lay
aside things she wanted him to have. This bed, that mattress, these spreads, those
quilts were all to go to him when he started housekeeping.
The kin and neighbors all had something substantial to give the young couple.
One gift was a wool mattress. The ladies lavished fancy work on her. Your Uncle Fred
furnished the house to suit his bride’s taste, although her father bought her a cook
stove as his gift.
Her wedding dress was of white brocaded satin trimmed with real lace seven or
eight inches wide. She wore a veil with the orange blossom wreath.
Her second dress was of Cherokee brown cashmere trimmed with red and green
plain satin. The second dress was worn by the bride the day after the wedding and was
of almost as much importance as the wedding dress itself.
Her hat was of white satin trimmed with lilies of the valley.
They were married in November 1896 at four o’clock. Mrs. Sturgeon came from
Lake City in the morning to dress the bride. Two girls, Mabel Huggins and Lillian Davis,
“stood up with her” while your Uncle Freed had two of his friend to support him. It was
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�just a quiet marriage at home, but all the kith and kin and neighbors came in. There
were only 20-odd that remained for supper. Barbecue and several turkeys formed the
backbone of the supper, and for dessert there were cakes and pies of all descriptions.
The bridal pair took no honeymoon trip, but was invited out and entertained by
every aunt and uncle, cousin and friend either of the possessed.
In September before her marriage occurred an event worthy of describing in
detail. It might well be considered as marking the beginning of a new era in this
community. This was the first church festival ever held in this part of the country.
The only gatherings that had been held in the neighborhoods were quilting,
huskings, and house raising bees. These reached only those who were already intimate
with each other; then benefited only those for whom the bees were held, and while
they were enjoyed thoroughly by all partaking, still it was no recreation or rest for those
helping. It meant a heavy meal to be prepared with plenty of dishes to wash up
afterwards. It mean hard work before and after the hearty meal.
The quilting and husking bees have so often been described that it isn’t
necessary here, but at the end of a husking bee, the giver had a barn of husked cord
and everyone else had sore hands and backs. At the end of a quilting bee the ladies
were almost as badly off, for there’s no fun in bending over a quilting frame hour after
hour, taking tiny stitches, no matter how entertaining the company is.
The festival, however, called together all the members of the church. It was the
beginning of the welding together of the various neighborhoods into one community
with one aim and one purpose. Therefore, it was the beginning of progress in a
countryside that had remained almost dormant since the war. The festival called for no
labor on the part of the participants. Everyone was willing to pay little money for
something out of the ordinary, something to talk about. Besides the money they spent
was to be re-spent for something they all would get the benefit of, something they all
could enjoy.
This festival was a lawn party and was held at Uncle Steven Haselden’s. He had
several girls and boys near the age of your Aunt Maggie. But this wasn’t just a frolic for
the young people. Everybody, young and old went. The women carried their babies.
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�Most of them came in wagons and as it was very warm the babies were made
comfortable on the hay with a quilt spread over it.
Uncle Steven’s house was just across the road from where the parsonage now
stands in Johnsonville. Close to it was a large turpentine still. The skimmings from the
crude sap were thrown out in a great heap and when it cooled this dross was as hard
as a rock, and burned like the fattest lightwood. There were large piles of dross and
good sized lumps of it were knocked off, placed upon scaffolds about waist high and
then set ablaze. This gave the brightness of daylight to the scene.
Inside the house in the dining room a regular hot supper was served, turkey and
barbecue with all its fixings, at 50 cents a plate. There was nothing stingy about those
plates full, either. Outside in the lights of the beacons were stands where lemonade and
little cakes and ice cream were sold. These stands were thronged with customers until
everything was gone. It was the first ice cream ever made in this community and was
considered a great treat.
The ice was shipped up Black Mingo from Georgetown to the bridge 12 miles
from Johnsonville. It was brought from the bridge on a wagon, half a days trip at least,
so of a hundred pounds of ice there wasn’t too much left.
The ice cream was made from boiled custard, made with cream and eggs. One
egg for every cup of cream was the rule. The custard was poured 50 pound tin lard
cans and covered. These cans were placed in large zinc or wooden tubs, surrounded by
ice and salt and vigorously turned back and forth until it was frozen through. At
intervals, the cans had to be opened and the frozen cream around the sides scraped off
and the whole stirred so it would freeze through and through.
Two cakes were raffled off at the festival and Miss Core Huggins bore them both
home. There were games and entertainments for all that night, but the chief interest
aside from the supper itself was the crowning of the queen of the festival.
Old Johnsonville Church had never had an organ and some of the enterprising
young members had decided they must have one. Hence, the church festival. They
made enough that night to get the organ, the same organ that still serves us every
Sunday.
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�The September night had been warm when the crowd gathered at dusk, but it
few colder and colder. Many were without wraps, but preferred to shiver rather than to
leave. Around the big lights were the most popular spots, though. There was a killing
frost before daylight.
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The Atlantic Coast Corporation had been very recently organized at this time.
Some of the Johnsonville boys who were working with the company came home for the
occasion.
That company was and is important in the development of our section of the
country. There were some far-sighted men at the head of that company. The country
was heavily timbered. Most of the trees were virgin pines. Much of it had been tapped
and boxed when the woods were worked for turpentine, but the scars were not very
deep nor very high up. The heads of the company could see the immense value locked
up in these swamps and forests, but methods of transportation were lacking. The
nearest railroad was 25 miles away. They took a risk and richly did they profit by it.
They sent representatives throughout the country and bought the timber rights on
every piece of time land they possibly could. The contract gave the owner the right to
use all the time and wood he needed for his personal use, but he must not cut it for
commercial purposes. The contract also retained the right for the company to cut the
timber anytime during the next 20 years. They owners sold their timber rights for a
mere nominal sum, although it looked like good money then as it was paid in cash on
the signing of the contract. The Coast Company did not start operations on this timber
until about two years before the time was out. They worked it over during the war and
the years immediately succeeding it when the value of the time was at its highest point.
They carried out thousands of dollars worth of good time off these lands.
Chapter 16
Life after they finally settled down in their own home was good to your
grandmother, but as she had endured and grown under the hardships of the first years
of marriage, now she stood prosperity with dignity.
�Twice a year now they went shopping in Charleston. Your grandfather always
went, and whenever she could, your grandmother went, too. Often one of the children
accompanied them. They would leave home after dinner, spend the night in Lake City,
and take the train next morning for Charleston. They stayed at the National House on
King Street until it went out of business, then they always stayed at the Mosely House.
These were great trips and were eagerly anticipated. They generally remained at least a
week.
Your grandfather bought barrels of flour, rice, and sugar, and great cans of
coffee. He had them shipped up by boat to Smith’s Mill. He kept these groceries on
hand and paid his laborers off with groceries instead of cash. All their dry goods were
bought on these trips, bolts of homespun and bleach and quantities of dress goods.
T5he medicine chest was replenished at least once a year: castor oil; salts; liver
medicine; fever tonics; quinine; paregoric, and laudanum, and Sloan’s Liniment.
Laudanum and paregoric were the only relief they could obtain from pain and a large
supply of them was kept on hand. Most of the liniments and salves were made at
home. The salves, and liniments as well, were made most of tallow, turpentine, and
kerosene.
Your grandfather had that large tool chest in the barn made and filled it with
over a hundred dollars worth of carpenter tools. He had quite a mechanical turn
hi8mself and although he didn’t follow that trade at all, he like to have the tools handy
for any little job he might undertake. People borrowed them right and left. He never
could refuse to lend and it wasn’t long before his tool box was nearly empty.
On every trip to Lake City they stayed at the Sturgeon House. Mrs. Sturgeon was
a personal friend and she also did most of your grandmother’s sewing, and your Aunt
Maggie’s, as well, as she grew up. It seems a long distance to go to have a dress made,
but women didn’t have the dresses they do now. One dress in the spring and another in
the fall was what the majority of them had.
Of course, they had house dresses, but these were usually of a dark material and
made for wear and not for looks. An apron was always worn, a gingham apron when
there was work to be done, but it was laid aside for a white one when work was over.
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�Circuses and carnivals were frequent in those days and not one came to Lake
City that your grandfather took everything on the place large enough to go. He never
outgrew his fondness for seeing the children enjoy themselves. They’d go to town very
early in the morning, leaving the house before dawn and get there in time to see the
parade. He’d stand with the smallest on his shoulders and the others close around.
Anyone seeing him would have declared he was the biggest boy of them all. He took
them to see the afternoon and night performances, spent the night at the Sturgeon
Hotel and drove home next morning.
At the time of the World’s Fair in Chicago, he persuaded your grandmother to go
with him. Fitzhugh was the baby. Mary Ard was there; and a neighbor woman and her
husband, who frequently took charge of things on their trips to Charleston, were to stay
at the house and look after things for them. Your grandmother want to go and finally
let them persuade her that the children would be all right.
Clothes were bought and made, suitcases packed and your grandmother, with
many misgivings, put on her new dress. It was so far from the baby. What if something
happened? She told them all goodbye, lingered a little over the baby and started to the
buggy, then turned. “You go on, Tay. I just can’t leave the baby. He might get sick. I
wouldn’t have an easy minute.”
In spite of the remonstrances and pleas, she remained firm. She tried to get her
husband to go on without her, but he refused saying it wouldn’t be any fun alone, doing
the things they had planned to do together. So they both stayed. When the Exposition
was in Charleston, however, she went and enjoyed the fair with a clear conscience. The
older children were all of an age when they could go, too, and appreciate it. There were
five older children and the two babies, Lean and Rupert, by that time. Your Aunt
Maggie had two babies of her own by that time, so she kept the small children and let
your grandmother with two of the large boys go. Later your grandmother kept the
babies so your Aunt Maggie could go.
Your grandfather’s brothers and their wives were constantly in and out of his
home. He loved to have them come and so did your grandmother. The nieces and
Page | 66
�nephews on both sides of the house enjoyed coming and often stayed weeks at a time,
even after your Aunt Maggie was married.
Nearly every weekend some of his brothers or her sisters came on Saturday and
stayed until late Sunday or early Monday. Sunday there was always a great crown there Page | 67
to eat dinner and supper, so Saturday as an extra busy day. Such cooking up as there
was ‘Twould make your mouth water to even hear of it; pies, cakes, hams, chickens or
turkeys, large enough so they generally had one, or two for special occasions, for every
Sunday from early fall until spring. Your grandfather always tended to the chickens,
turkeys and the like Following an old turkey hen to her nest was great sport to him.
One time he set a turkey on 14 eggs and she hatched 15 little pullets! He never could
account for the extra turkey, but supposed the hen had laid another egg after he had
shut her up to set. Next to tracking a turkey to her nest, he liked to hunt for the
guineas’ nest. It was no rare sight to see him come in with 60 or 70 eggs at a time
when he had found where the guineas had made their nests.
Then, besides the baking and cooking on Saturday, the house must be
thoroughly cleaned, for there was no telling who’d be there the next day. The dining
room, kitchen and back porch must be scrubbed, the yards must be swept and the
children must have an extra bath. It is a wonder that your grandmother survived
Saturdays.
Chapter 17
The next day at church they lingered in the church yard until they had spoken to
everyone and shaken every hand. No one was in a hurry to leave. It was the only social
outlet most of them enjoyed and they made the most of it. Invariably at parting the
invitation was given, “Drive by the house and take dinner.” Sometimes the answer was,
“I can’t go today. You come go with me.” Or else it was, “I don’t mind if I do. I haven’t
been to see you in quite a spell.”
No matter how many accepted her invitation it didn’t bother your grandmother
for she had plenty cooked and to spare. She took great pride in her reputation of
setting a good table at all times.
�The parsonage was at Rome, nine miles away and the pastor served four
churches. Rome and Good Hope twice a month and Muddy Creek and Old Johnsonville
twice.
When it was preaching Sunday at Old Johnsonville, they all wet there, but on
other Sundays they went to Muddy Creek or to Prospect. They were duty bound to go
to church somewhere.
There were a few buggies to come to church but very few. When the family was
ready to go to church the wagon was brought out; chairs were placed in it for the
grown-ups and clean fresh hay put in for the children to ride on. Oxcarts were
numerous and those who drove them were as highly thought of as any of the others.
Cousin Robert Cox had a big double seated phaeton, built much like a stage coach. On
Sundays a pair of mules were hitched to it and the family went in style.
Your grandfather bought his first horse after they had built their new homes and
always kept a fine horse after that. He had several nice horses before the bought old
Buffalo. He wasn’t old Buffalo then, but a young fiery horse. Your grandfather drove
him generally hitched to a road cart. Your grandmother preferred the older, steadier
horse when she drove off. Buffalo was a member of the family until he was of ripe old
age and everyone had forgotten that he had ever been dangerous to drive.
The day before preaching services were held at Old Johnsonville the pastor came
from Rome and stayed with your grandmother. He was sure of a hearty welcome,
plenty to eat and good company.
Sometimes he spent a week visiting among his old Johnsonville congregation.
Then your grandmother’s home was his headquarters. They liked all the preachers, but
Preacher Baker was so constantly in their home they could hardly help being especially
fond of him. The children all called him Uncle Baker. The guest room was called Uncle
Baker’s room, and the bed in it was Uncle Baker’s bed.
He told your grandfather and Cousin Charlie one day, “You boys are always
going fishing. I want to go next time. But mind now, Tay, I hear you two often carry a
bottle along with you. You leave it at home when I go, you hear?”
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�They set a time and on the day appointed the three went fishing. Cousin Charlie
had a flat pocket flask which he filled with cold coffee. It could have been mistaken for
grape or berry wine from the color.
After they had fished for a while Uncle Baker said, “My, I’m thirsty.” Cousin
Charlie’s flask was produced on the spot, “Have a drink, then.” The offer was
indignantly refused so Cousin Charlie poured out some and drank it off, then offered
the flask to your grandfather, “Have a drink, Tay.” “I don’t mind if I do,” and when he’d
drained his first cup your grandfather calmly poured another.
“Taylor Eaddy, don’t you take another drop. You’ll be turning us all over,” said
Uncle Baker. But your grandfather said, “Oh, I can stand a lot of this,” and he drank the
second cup. There was an explosive silence for a short space, then Uncle Baker broke
out, pointing to the hill. “Take me back this instant. Put me back on shore. I wouldn’t
stay here with you another minute.”
They thought they’d carried the joke far enough so began to explain. It took a
great deal of explanation and he had to smell the contents of the flask before he’d
believe them, but when he was convinced, he took the joke good naturedly and
enjoyed the fun.
The salesmen, agents, and travelers all stopped at Taylor Eaddy’s overnight
when they were working out this way. His hospitality was known far and wide and his
wife enjoyed the company as much as he did. During campaign speakings the
candidates all stayed there. In the summertime often the children had to give up their
rooms to the visitors and sleep in a pallet on the floor of their mother’s room. Not one
cent did they ever take from anyone passing the night there. The guests and their
horses were given supper and breakfast, and sent on their way rejoicing.
Some men from Tennessee selling lightning rods made their headquarters there.
As they were there from May until November, they paid board. There were eight men in
and out and they kept six or eight horses. When they left their board bill was only $75.
The men selling Home Comfort ranges came by in a spring wagon with a range
in the back of it. They demonstrated the unbreakable-ness of it by throwing the caps
down on the floor with force. The oven door was let down and a horse led up. The
Page | 69
�demonstration placed the horse’s front feet on this door to show its strength. With
these stoves came a kettle, a pot, and a copper frying pay, as well as a large sized
baking pan. Your grandmother bought one which certainly served her faithfully for
many years. In fact, the inside of the old copper reservoir is still here in daily use. They Page | 70
cost then $175 and were paid for in installments. A great many of them were sold.
One day when the presiding elder was taking dinner with them there was quite
an accident. There were several other guest present that day, Uncle Sam Huggins
among them. Uncle Sam was sitting about the middle of the table on one side and was
talking away at a great rate, arguing some question with the presiding elder. Just as he
thumped on the table with his fist to emphasize his point, the table bent and gave way
right in the middle. All the dishes slid downwards while the gravy spilled into
everything. After the excitement subsided, the diner roared with laughter and teased
Uncle Sam about knocking down the table. It was an extension table, but after this
incident, it ceased to be extendable for your grandfather nailed good stout boards to
each side so there’d be no more catastrophes. That table is still in daily use at your
grandmother’s today.
Plodding down the road at fairly regular intervals one was apt to see a darkskinned man with a large pack on his back. He was the peddler, a well-known visitor to
every home. In that pack was everything from notions to dress goods. Combs, mirrors,
mouth organs, beads, laces, gloves, knives, hose, gingham, and silk goods all were
displayed when that pack was spread open. Children crowded around to see, crying
with their elders in ‘ohing and ahing’ [sic] at his stock. The male portion of the family
pretended to be above such childishness, but he kept a keen eye out for all that. When
Mary wanted a strong of beads or Johnny the knife his hands were quick to come out of
his pocket with the necessary change. Not quite so quick was he at all times when the
wife eyed some piece of finery longingly and then looked at him questioningly. The
peddler was a shrewd fellow and when he saw that the housewife had set her mind on
a certain thing, he usually talked at the man, cutting his price and extolling the quality
of this wonderful bargain. Seldom did he miss making a sale. Most of the peddlers were
Italians. The majority of them followed a certain route, penetrating into the most
�remote habitations. They knew by-ways and paths that very few ever traveled.
Occasionally, a new peddler made his appearance.
Besides the peddler with notions and dry goods, there was a tin peddler. He
could be heard as soon as he was seen. Some of these used a little cart or covered van; Page | 71
some came on horseback with their goods hung in packs on each side of the saddle.
Still others walked with their packs on their backs. Not only did they have new pots and
pans to sell, but they carried their solder and soldering iron with them. Many a hole did
they mend in the vessels the women brought out to them.
At times there could be seen a queer sight approaching down the road. As the
objects drew nearer it could be seen that they were a brown bear led by a man with
dark skin and hair and flashing white teeth. The bear was usually muzzled, but he was
made to look as fierce as possible. The advent of these comers drew young and old.
The bear had a few tricks to perform and he took up a collection. Nearly everyone gave
a few pennies. They had enjoyed the few minutes of fun and of something out of the
ordinary. They all felt a sense of pity for this man without a home. They might have but
little, but this man had less. He and his bear generally spent the night in the open, if
the weather was rough, he sometimes received permission to sleep in an outhouse or
barn. These foreigners, unlike the peddlers who seemed of a superior class, were
usually dirty and uninviting looking. They were so unprepossessing in their appearance
that all were glad when they moved on although they had enjoyed the sight of the
bear.
Another welcome visitor was the man with the hand organ and the monkey. The
monkey with his red can and little red coat created more interest than anything that
ever went through this country. The children and grown-ups liked the tunes played on
the hand organ and they especially liked the monkey.
Chapter 18
Johnsonville, where your grandmother first lived, was named for her mother’s
family. Their first, and for a long time the only, post office in this section was in
Johnsonville. All the families in that community attended church at Old Johnsonville.
�At the beginning of this century in Johnsonville proper, S. B. Poston had a good
general mercantile business. Besides being a shopping center for that district, he “ran”
the farmers, as it was called. He took a lien on their next year’s crop and then supplied
them with fertilizers, dry goods and groceries.
At Lambert’s, W. C. Hemingway and Company were doing the same thing.
Beyond Johnsonville there was a large establishment at the Half Moon; while on the
other side of Lambert, D. F. Rhem had the largest business of all. Nothing but a country
store, but it reached the farmers and laborers for miles in every direction. Smith’s Mill,
on the Pee Dee about 12 miles from Old Johnsonville, was a large lumber mill. There
were a score or more of houses for the mill hands; several nice houses for the
manager, overseers, and bookkeeper, and the Smith home itself, which was almost
palatial. There was a large commissary, of course, connected with the mill.
Each of the above named places was just a post office and a large general store
with a small number of dwellings around the store. The post office was always located
in the store and the storekeeper was generally, but not invariably, the postmaster, as
well. The nearest town was Lake City, and it was little more than a village. There was
no close market for the produce raised by the farmers. All the cotton had to be shipped
by boat to Georgetown and sold there; some few raised rice for a while, but that soon
played out.
A couple of maiden ladies raised a large flock of turkeys and you’d never guess
how they got those turkeys to market. The turkeys were as tame as could be, so there
was no difficulty in driving them, but I think most people would hesitate to drive a flock
of 20 or 30 turkeys 40 miles to the market in Georgetown. But, that is what those ladies
did each fall, and probably got quite a kick out of the adventure. The ladies drove the
buggy with the turkeys in front of them. At night they stopped near a house. The
turkeys roosted in the trees, while the ladies themselves had no trouble finding lodging
for the night. In the day time they took it along very slowly so the turkeys would be in
good shape when they reached market. It took them over a week to get to Georgetown
and they and two ferries to cross. I don’t know how they managed to get the turkeys
across on the ferry, but managed they did.
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�These post office had been developed from the lengthening and branching out of
the bi-weekly route from Lake City to Johnsonville. The mail now came every day. One
carrier had the contract for the distance he could conveniently go and return in a day.
Where he stopped another carrier began so that numerous post offices had sprung up
the beginning of this century.
Except for the development of the post offices and large general stores the
country had remained almost dormant since the close of the war. So far from the
railroad were the people here that the outside world had little meaning for the majority
of them. There were a few who took the daily paper and the news was a day old when
it got there; there were a few who went off to school, but the large majority of the
people only attended the three months school long enough to learn to write their
names and to read with an effort. “Me and my wife and my son, John, and his wife”
was their immediate interest. To raise enough food to feed the large family of children
most of them had was their sole thought and anxiety.
In the early years of 1900’s, N. H. Venters ran out a route and took the contract
to carry the mail from Lake City to the Cross Roads and so the Venters post office was
established. Many other little offices sprang up too at this time. One of these was
Chapman, right near where your Uncle Fred and Aunt Maggie were living, half way
between the Cross Roads and Smith’s Mill.
For several years now there had been a doctor living in Johnsonville, later there
were two of them and though they kept changing there was always at least one good
doctor there. About the time the post office at Venters was established by Dr.
Hemingway, and a little later Dr. Baker settled in Lamberts, where Dr. Hemingway’s
father had a large store.
Dr. Hemingway very soon began discussing the possibility of founding a graded
school. He was ably supported by several of the men in the community, but especially
was he backed by Mr. S. B. Poston on Johnsonville and Mr. Jeff Rollins of the Venters
neighborhood. It wasn’t long before they had everyone enthusiastic on the subject,
except a few who declared that a graded school such as they wanted would raise their
taxes until they’d be unbearable. Through Dr. Hemingway’s effort the district was run
Page | 73
�out and the election arranged for. He managed and pushed everything through. He was
a popular young doctor with a persuasive tongue; he had nothing to gain personally by
his efforts and he had his way with the people. His plans were successful and as the
Cross Roads was a central point and the church was already there, it was natural for
the school to follow. In the rural districts one generally finds the schoolhouse beside the
church. The church is built first and the schoolhouse comes after, just as sure as
sunshine follows rain. The schoolhouse was built on the church grounds, land given
years before the church by Mr. Ard.
The post office at Venters was in Blane’s store. This store was a two storied
building on the corner opposite Mr. Cox’s store. The top floor of this was partitioned off
and the new school with three teachers started to work in the fall of 1902. The principal
and his assistants had a job on their hands; to classify and grade those children. Some
were reading sixth and seventh grade readers and were still learning their multiplication
tables; some were working fractions and still using primary readers; some were
advanced in geography and knew nothing about history and vice versa. The teachers
attempted to grade them as far as possible in six grades.
Dr. Hemingway, Mr. Rollins and Mr. Poston were made trustees and they served
in this capacity as long as Old Johnsonville was the center of the community, some 13
or 14 years.
Miss Cora Huggins was one of the teachers. She was a college graduate and was
well fitted for her work. She was a home girl and took an even greater interest in the
school than did the other teachers. During that first year through her efforts the
teachers worked up and presented three entertainments, which needed her enough to
buy a piano for the school. It might be slander to say so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if
it wasn’t the same old piano we have at the schoolhouse now. It sounds as if it were
that old and it certainly looks battle scarred enough.
While the school was being run as best the teachers could under the
circumstances the plans for the new building were being pushed as fast as possible.
The land cost nothing as it was church property on which it was built. Money for the
building itself was raised largely by subscriptions. Many who had no money gave their
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�work, and so the Old Johnsonville School was built. Money for the equipment was
raised mainly from entertainments and hot suppers.
For three years the school was taught in the old Blane store, and then they
moved into the new building. The second year there were plenty of pupils for four
teachers, but they lacked space, so the three teachers did the best they could.
The first year in the modern two-storied building four teachers were engaged
and the school grew apace. Its first class of seven graduated in 1907 from the 10th
grade. A great commencement celebrated this event. There were three nights of it; one
night the primary grades had their exercise, a most elaborate cantata; the next night
the upper grades had their innings. Sunday was a big day with the baccalaureate
sermon preached by as big a man as they get for the occasion; and the commencement
wound up with the graduating exercise on Monday night.
Your father and Uncle Fitzhugh attended very irregularly. They were big boys by
now and could do much on the farm. But your Aunt Leah and Aunt Sadie attended
whenever the weather permitted. They had a three mile walk and often it wasn’t
feasible for them to go.
Besides the commencements, which were of course free, at least two
entertainments were given a year. Sometimes the cast was drawn from the student
body. Again it was the teachers and young folks of the community that gave the play.
Many of the actors showed unexpected ability and were great favorites with their
audience.
An entertainment to which we can scarcely get an attendance today when it is
free brought out people within a 12 miles radius. Entertainments then drew crowds
from far and near. An oyster supper in the fall, a hot supper in the winter, and an ice
cream supper in the spring always followed the entertainment. And how the money did
roll in! The boys and young men especially bought until their last cent was none. Men
with families were not far behind them.
At one hot supper, the supper was sold in one room and a smaller one fitted up
with a counter built around the store. Here hot chocolate and homemade candy was
sold. The teachers had labored for a week before hand in the afternoons after school
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�hours to make plenty of candy. As it was in the late fall, the room was profusely
decorated with autumn leaves, gold rod and asters. The candy and hot chocolate sold
out like magic and soon nothing was left but the decorations; still the young bloods
were jingling their money, anxious to spend it. So the enterprising young teacher began Page | 76
selling bouquets from the decorations at 50 cents a pierce and gathered in $5 in just a
few minutes. When the principal reprimanded her for taking their money for nothing,
she defended herself by saying, “It was for a good cause. And besides, if they hadn’t
spent it here, they’d spend it foolishly somewhere else.”
At these entertainments cakes were auctioned or raffled off. The raffles were
frowned upon by many of the strict church members, but it brought in so much money
that the custom persisted. Votes were sold at five cents each. A boy picked out the girl
he wanted to have the cake and after buying as many votes as he could himself, he
went around soliciting votes from his friends. The contest between the voters for two or
three girls would be hot and heavy sometimes. The girl who received the most votes
proudly carried the cake home with her. It was always a thing of beauty to look at as
well as a joy to eat. Often a cake brought in an incredible sum. Your grandmother
baked one at one time that brought in $70. The amount received for the cakes was
always clear gain, for the cakes were always given by one of the patrons of the school.
Indeed it was considered a great honor to be asked to make a cake to be raffled off.
Box suppers were another sure way of clearing up a tidy sum for the school.
Every young lady and girl, and the older ladies too, when they felt inclined, fixed up a
box of dainties, put her name on the inside, then decorated the outside with as much
taste as she possessed. Those boxes were auctioned off to the highest bidder; then the
owner of the box ate supper with the buyer. If a swain had a suspicion of which was his
best girl’s box, he’d run the bid up until he got it. And just as surely as the other boys
saw he was bent on getting that particular box, they’d begin to bid against him. That
would get his “dander” up. He was determined no one else should have her box and eat
supper with her while he looked on from afar. Often a box brought in $10 of $15, a
high price for supper I’d call that.
�The general stores here and at Lake City carried practically no luxuries. Their
stock consisted of necessities. A few boxes of stick candy was kept on hand for any
who might be feeble minded enough to buy it. It was not as a rule kept on display but
back on a shelf out of the way. So when people’s simple needs were filled there was
little urge to spend their money. These school and church entertainments were about
their only form of indulgence. And in better changes and equipment for their children,
they received in full the value of the money so spent.
Chapter 19
The graded school was the greatest factor in welding the isolated neighborhoods
into an enterprising community. The daily mail at the local post office was another. For
even the men who did not subscribe to a daily paper went to the post office at mail
time and heard the news or at least the headlines, read and discussed. And so an
interest was being awakened as to what was going on in the world at large.
The telephone came through here about the same time the school started. Mr.
Poston at the Half Moon had a line run to his store from Lake City. There was only one
telephone in Lake City then, at Sturgeon’s store. From the Half Moon a party line of 12
ran out, which went by devious ways from one to another of the 12 houses or stores on
the line. When the phone rang, the receiver at all 12 stations went down and the news
told over it reached half the countryside in a few hours.
The telephone was a great satisfaction to your grandmother and grandfather.
Your Aunt Maggie lived at Chapman’s post office about six miles from home. She and
your Uncle Fred went to her home every Sunday morning and stayed there until late
that night or the next morning. But her health wasn’t good and the telephone kept
them in constant touch with her. Your grandfather couldn’t go more than two or three
days without seeing her. About the middle of the week, he’d hitch up old Buffalo, pick
up his babies, and say, “Got to go see Maggie. Haven’t seen her since Sunday.”
As the grandbabies came along, he was foolishly proud and fond of them. His
youngest son and his second grandson were almost the same age and took great
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�delight in his three fine boys. Your father has so often said when you all were small,
“How pa would have loved these babies, if he had lived.”
The low country was for years and years considered very unhealthy. In fact, our
earliest historians all make that statement in their histories. The drinking water available Page | 78
was one of the chief causes of this belief, the amount of swamp land was another. The
dwellers of the upcountry considered it as certain death to visit the low country in the
summer or fall. The drinking water, if the weather was all rainy, was not pure and was
likely to cause diseases of one kind or another. About the time the people in the
community were awakening to other facts the artesian wells were brought to their
attention. With all the enthusiasm with which they welcomed anything new, they began
to dig artesian wells. One was put down at the church to replace the old well, which
kept caving in, or at least it had until they put a big Cypress Baum curbing in it. The
well at the church now has the finest flow of any well around here and everyone
passing stoops at the Old Johnsonville well for a cool drink. Over 300 feet deep, no
matter how dry a spell we have the flow is just as strong. Everyone who could afford to
have one bored out in an artesian well and so the problem of drinking imputer water
was solved. The wells cost about 50 cents a foot to bore; the average well is 300 feet,
so it cost around $150 to have one put in.
The Cross Roads was beginning to be civilized as compared to the turbulent days
after the war when it was known as Buzzard’s Roost, when a decent man, let alone a
woman, wouldn’t be seen around there in the week, when on Saturday it was the resort
of all the worst characters, when drinking and gambling were the rules and there was
even an occasional shooting to add to its back reputation.
It had lost much of its ill repute before the school was established; in fact, it
began to improve soon after the church was built. A whiskey shop doesn’t thrive close
to a church. On Saturday afternoon and night it was still rather wild at times. But that
was so wherever there was a general store and post office. Men, coming to the store to
buy their week’s supplies were sure to go by the whiskey shop. If they didn’t buy the
whiskey sold by permission of the government there was plenty of “white mule” sold on
the sly. Saturday was one day when no self-respecting woman put her foot into a store
�nor was she seen on the road unless accompanied by someone capable of protecting
her from insults from the drinking rowdies she was apt to meet anywhere. This was not
only true at the country stores, but at every small town and village.
Your Uncle Bub put up a large mercantile business at the Cross Roads soon after Page | 79
the school started. His first store was the building now used as a dwelling close to the
railroad. But he soon outgrew it and built a larger one on the corner where the Gasters
now have their home. This rapidly developed into a profitable business. He ran the
famers as did the other merchants.
The farmers planted cotton entirely as a money crop for years. Rice had never
been a very profitable crop this high up. The large rice plantations were farther south,
closer to the coast. The farmers went into debt each spring for fertilizers and supplies.
In the fall, they were forced to sell their cotton to pay the merchant, no matter what
cotton was selling for. Their debts and rents, if they rented, or taxes if they didn’t,
usually took all their money. But they had plenty of food to carry them through the
winter.
Tobacco planting was introduced into this section about this time. It had been
planted successfully over the river for several years and now farmers turned to it as an
additional money crop. At first only the big farmers could plant it. They hired men who
had worked at it in Virginia and Kentucky to direct the planting, cultivating, gathering,
and curing. This made it too expensive for the small farmer. As they became more
familiar with it, and the treatment of it, they began to plant small patches round about
to try it out. It soon became the leading money crop. All the work on the tobacco crop,
except for a few days in the spring when the plants are set out, is done in the summer
months during vacation. This fact has helped the children in getting to school, for the
cotton planters could never let the children come to school in the fall until all the cotton
was picked.
The church circuit was changed also about the time the school was built. The
pastor on this charge was given the four churches of Good Hope, Muddy Creek, Old
Johnsonville and Prospect. The parsonage was built close to Old Johnsonville Church. It
�stood almost where Mr. Brown’s residence now stands. The land for the house and
garden was given by Mr. Venters.
Money for the parsonage was raised mainly by the ladies of the church, who
gave festivals, suppers, sold candy and cakes, and held raffles. Some money was raised Page | 80
by subscription. The lumber was donated. Many gave their work and just before it was
conference time as the parsonage was still uncompleted the whole community turned
out. The men went to the parsonage early in the morning with their tools and started to
work. The women followed later with the children and the dinner. And they spent the
day for after dinner the women cleaned up while the mend put on the finishing touches.
The first preacher to live in the new parsonage was Preacher Owings. He was a
widower and Ms. Nannie was then a widow, so …
The first time they came to your grandmother’s after they married, Miss Nannie
put both arms around your father and Uncle Fitzhugh, who were great boys then, and
kissed them. Mr. Owings shook his head over such proceedings and told the boys they’d
have to be careful whom they kissed hereafter. He didn’t allow such good looking boys
to kiss his wife. That good man and his wife died just last summer.
In 1095 your father was taken very ill. Dr. Hemingway pronounced it appendicitis
and said he must be carried to John Hopkins immediately. Your grandfather sold a
piece of land to get the money to defray expenses. He generally had plenty of hand for
everyday use. But this was quite an undertaking and cost more than he could put his
hand son without selling his land. Public opinion was very much against any such
proceeding as an operation. They thought it was flying in the face of God to allow one’s
self to be cut open. No one in this whole section had every had an operation and most
of the people took “No stock in such doings.” Your grandfather was advised on all sides
not to do it, but he had faith in Dr. Hemingway, so off they set. He stayed in Baltimore
with your father the two weeks he was kept there.
Quite a delegation met them in Lake City on their return and a regular reception
was held when they reached home. He was regarded almost as one who comes from
the dead. And the wonder was still greater when the day after his return, he went to
work and pitched hay all day.
�Chapter 20
In 1907 your grandfather had a stroke which laid him up for some time, but he
recovered and seemed as well as ever. He even walked to Snow’s Lake on more than
one occasion, a distance of nine or ten miles. He had high blood pressure and if the
doctors had known then what they do now about treating it, no doubt he’d lived to a
ripe old age. As it was, only a year later he had another and fatal stoke. He was only
58.
Your Uncle Bub was staying at the Cross Roads, your father and Uncle Fitzhugh
were both working away from home so that left only the three younger children at
home with your grandmother. She couldn’t manage the large farm nor stay there alone.
Besides, the school was such a distance away.
One of the mortgages she had bought in when her father died was over the
Grier home at the Cross Roads. This she had not sold when she let her other mortgages
go. Now it was decided best for her to leave her old home and move to Stony Run, as
the place was known. The house was worked over, the walls papered, and the
chimneys rebuilt before they moved in. the old place was rented out, as was the farm
land at Stony Run.
For 21 years she had lived at the old place and her life had become firmly rooted
there. It was hard to leave. The fruit trees had all been put out since they moved there
and most of the shade trees, as well. She knew her neighbors as she did herself and
they were neighbors in the truest sense. The house had been built for her. The
furniture had grown to a part of the house. They’d look and feel strange anywhere else.
The deer antlers that hung on the front porch to serve as a hat rack belonged there.
Your grandfather had killed the deer and hung the horns up himself long before. Above
the big old wardrobe was the rack where his gun had stayed, time out of mind. The
rack is still there and the shadow that the gun left on the wall.
Here her babies had been born; here she had lost one little son; here her eldest
had married and gone to a home of her own. There is a saying that a house is not a
home until there has been a birth, a death, and a marriage in it. So this had been her
Page | 81
�home. But when a thing seemed best, your grandmother could always yield with grace.
Besides it didn’t seem much like home without your grandfather. So the move was
made.
She rented the two horse farm for $250. That was big rent for that time, but
here was every convenience there and it was fixed up much better than most farms
were that were rented. She had nothing to live on now but her rent from her farms. But
even when she had plenty, she was a careful spender and now she knew how to make
every penny count.
The first automobile seen in this country was owned by a man in Georgetown,
but was used by Mr. Snow in going around and taking orders for groceries at the
various country stores. It was a white Buick, and could be heard for some time before it
was seen. All, both young and old, rushed to the road to see it pass. It was an
interesting object of discussion: its speed; its wheel; its motor; its noise, and
particularly its smell. Women were heard to declare that they never expected to put
their foot in such a thing.
Some of the local doctors soon indulged in one, but the old gray mare was used
much more often that the shining car was. When a car was bought, a chauffeur was
hired to run it. It was considered a great thing to be able to drive a car. The chauffeur
was a popular hero and took advantage of his popularity. It was a common sight to see
one strutting around with his cap and leggings on, followed and admired by a group of
envious youth. Today, we see the aviator enacting the same role.
By degrees other citizens bought cars and learned to drive them. The women
equipped themselves with voluminous veils and automobile coats. The roads were
narrow, rough and unabridged. If one took a trip to Lake City and returned without
having to stop once or twice to fix a tire, a spring or some other vital part, it was talked
of for weeks.
In rainy spells, they couldn’t the used at all. The streams rose so that it was
impossible to drive a car through without drowning out the engine. It wasn’t very
pleasant to have to get out, pull off one’s shoes and stockings, roll u one’s trousers and
push the car out of the water to dry land and then maybe not be able to get it cranked
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�for half an hour or more. A horse, in the rainy weather, was the only resort unless one
walked. Gasoline was a problem, too, just at first. There were no filling stations at every
corner. Can you imagine such a thing! Each car owner had to buy his drum of gasoline
and have it shipped up by boat.
Page | 83
Cars were a necessity in the up country long before they were at all practical
here, on account of the streams having to be forded. Streams that were too large to be
forded were easier to cross than the smaller ones. The larger creeks or rivers all had
ferries and the automobiles could cross in these as easily as could a buggy.
Smith’s Mill closed down shortly after your grandmother moved to Stoney Run.
The company bankrupted and Mr. Smith, with his family and his corps of works left.
The fine old house with all its nice furniture was left untenanted and was finally burned
by some careless fisherman or traveler.
Huge pieces of machinery were left at the mill to ruse away. The large mill with
its equipment was a wonder for its day and those thousands of dollars worth of
valuable machinery were never used again. Your grandmother says she has seen the
great iron jaws swoop down from the second story, pick up out of the water a log ten
to 20 feet long and as large around as a barrel, carry it up and place it on the skidder
with movements that seemed almost human. There were saws for every purpose and of
every size. Fifteen or 20 men, mostly colored, were kept on a trot stacking the lumber s
the saws ripped up the logs.
There isn’t much left there now. The houses have all been burned. The mill itself
has rotted down. The machinery fell to the ground as its supports gave way and was
buried by the debris as it crumbled up. Many of the pieces that could be detached were
carried away by fishermen and others wandering around.
Chapter 21
The church had begun to experience a change now. Buggies and carriages were
common. The top buggy, with steel rimmed wheels, was generally used; a rubber tired
buggy was the height of extravagance and the object of envy. They really caused more
envy than the cars in those early days. An auto seemed totally out of reach for most
�people, but a rubber tired buggy might someday be attained. An occasional wagon was
still seen at church, but no ox carts. Old Johnsonville had outgrown that vehicle.
The elite from Johnsonville, Lamberts and the surrounding country, came in their
alike and fine dresses with new hats twice a year. The poorer people came in what they Page | 84
had with hats that lasted as long as a hat pin could hold it on their heads. One good
woman with a large family wore a sky blue hat every Sunday, summer and winter for
several years and never did she seem the least bit self-conscious nor was she made to
feel so by any of the congregation. She had the respect of everyone. The living of these
merchants, doctors, and professional people all depended on the farmers and right well
did they know it. They knew which side their bread was buttered on and besides, they
were well bred folk. In fact, they were not so far removed from that stage of progress
themselves, but they still felt that “The Colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady are sisters
under the skin.”
Every woman, elite or not, brought their babies with them. And the songs were
sung and the prayers were prayed and the sermons were preached to the constant
accompaniment of coos and cries and soft whisperings and the hushed footsteps of
mothers or fathers or little sisters bearing out a quarrelsome youngster. The mothers all
carried cookies or bread or cake in a paper and there was a rustle, rustle as Mary or
Johnny leaned over and announced in a stage whisper, “I’m hungry.” But the preacher
didn’t mind and the congregation didn’t mind; and young and old carried away with
them the sense of having been in God’s house that is not felt today in many a proper
congregation.
One prominent church member one Sunday morning dressed her month old boy
first and put him on the bed out of the way while she dressed her three older lively
chaps for church. Dressing herself hastily, she bundled her children into the buggy and
drove the three miles to church. Arriving she tied her horse and went to pick out the
hymns as she was the customary organist. It was her first trip out since the new baby,
so someone called out, “What did you do with you boy this morning?” The old mare
made quicker time over the road than she had done in many a day. And the baby was
found sleeping sweetly in the middle of the bed.
�The school when built had four large classrooms. The large auditorium covered
the whole of the second floor. There was a nice sized stage with dressing rooms on
either side. The stairway was small and narrow with an elbow in it, squeezed into one
corner so as to take up as little space as possible. A veritable firetrap, but somehow no
one ever seemed to think of that. At commencements and on nights when there were
entertainments, the place was packed until there wasn’t even standing room.
The school grew so rapidly that soon there were six teachers and a music
teacher employed. Two rooms were partitioned off from the auditorium for classrooms.
The partitions were made so they could be removed for entertainments. The music
teacher used the stage for her music room and both teach and pupils nearly froze when
it was cold. The first grade had a room all to itself; the second and third grade were
together. One teacher had the third and fourth and one the sixth and seventh. Two
teachers had charge of the high school, which only ran through the tenth grade. A very
inadequate school force it seems now, but a far cry from the three months one teacher
school. Some great work was done. A great deal was expected of the teacher in the
community, as well as in the classroom. The trustees were conscientious in their
selection of a principal and his corps of teachers. The teachers, one and all, were
expected to attend church regularly and a teacher who was unwilling to teach a Sunday
School class need not expect to be re-elected.
Teachers received $40 a month and paid $12.50 for board. They taught from
nine until four with one hour for dinner, and always attended church on Sunday.
The day began with chapel exercises, which were not a mere matter of form.
The first three grades had their songs. The Scripture lesson was ready by a principal
who believed every word he read and followed by an earnest prayer. A song by the
school closed the exercises and the classes all marched to their rooms.
Friday afternoon was given over to the Literary Society, which had taken the
place of the old time Friday speaking. Now the society was modeled on the literary
societies found at college. They had their president, secretary, censor and critic. The
five lower grades had their separate society, which the teachers cut as short as was
possible so they could go up to the “big” society. Training the pupils on duty for the
Page | 85
�next program was part of the teacher’s daily work. It was no idle jest to be on the
program in the lower grades and still less so in the upper grades. A teacher felt the
same keenly if one of o her pupils failed to do well.
The larger society developed in time into interesting occasions. Busy men left
their work and came to hear the young people debate o question of moment. These
debates usually found the whole patronage of the school divided into earnest partisans
for the side they favored. The debaters engaged all the brains of the community in
getting up points for them, so the debates became more or less community affairs.
Some notable debates were held and many of the boys who had the beginning of their
training there followed that line to success. The recitations were not lack-a-daisical,
half-learned pieces, but were well chosen and given with spirit by well-trained pupils.
Snappy dialogs and one act comedies were popular. Everyone enjoyed the meeting the
literary society and the participators enjoyed it most of all.
In the fall the teachers came in on Friday or Saturday. They went to church
Sunday to be inspected by the public. Monday school began. The Saturday after the
first week of school, a school picnic was held. Every patron of the school came with
ample baskets. Many others came also, some with and some without baskets. But there
was always plenty for all. Several barbecues were prepared and rice was cooked in
huge wash pots. Lemonade was made by the barrelful. Here the teachers really got in
touch with the people whom they were to serve.
Every spring when the shad were running the teachers were given a fish fry.
Early Saturday morning the picnickers went to Snow’s Lake or to Staples Lake where
the ruins of Smith’s Mill stood. Sometimes the young people coupled off and went twoby-twos in buggies, but more often a two horse wagon with plenty of hay was brought
along and all the young folks piled in and went together. At the lake the men raised
their nets, which had been set the evening before. The men then cleaned the fish and
the ladies did the cooking. A huge pot of pine bark stew was cooked. Just why the
name, pine bark stew, no one seems to know, but it is a delicious concoction of onions,
tomatoes, ketchup, fish and butter. Pan after pan of the fish was fried, crisp and brown.
There never was anything that smelled so inviting as those fish fried in the open to a
Page | 86
�group of young people who had tired themselves down rambling around while their
elders worked. And how those fish did disappear! Each fish fry was always the best
they’d ever had.
Some wonderful people were among the patrons of the school. Men and women
who lived in common little frame houses, but once removed from the log cabins, with
only the bar necessities of life, nor wanted any other so it seemed, were gifted with
personalities and abilities that often made the teachers with all their advantages feel
like hiding their heads in shame for not making better use of the privileges. They
seemed buried or rather their talents seemed buried, but they show up today in the
lives of the children they raised.
In one house a teacher picked up a violin and being interested peeped inside.
She was astonished to find the name “Amati” there. It had been in the family since
before his birth, her host said and what she tried to tell him of its value, if it was a
genuine Amati impressed him not at all. The value of it to him lay in his heritage and
his enjoyment of it.
Your grandmother boarded the teachers for several years though most of the
times they stayed at Mrs. Cox’s and Mrs. Cockvield’s [sic].
Chapter 22
In the year of 1911 the Seaboard Airline Railway Company projected a railroad
from Mullins to Andrews, which was to run directly through the heart of this section.
The school and church being located at the Cross Roads, it was considered as the
logical place for the depot and consequently for the town. If the people from
Johnsonville and Lamberts had all come together at a central point, a thriving little town
would have developed with the best minds in the whole country behind it. But that
wasn’t what happened.
Most of the land at the Cross Roads belonged to five people. N. M. Venters
owned the bulk of it. His property was involved in a lawsuit and he could not give clear
titles to any of it. L. L. Ard owned a good deal, but it was all entailed property. He was
trying to arrange to have the entail removed, but it was a long and costly procedure.
Page | 87
�Mrs. H. M. Cox, sister of Mr. Ard, had the place she still has and your grandmother and
Uncle Bub owned the majority of the remainder.
As things were so tied up here, Mr. Poston, who held titles to or mortgages on
most of the property at Johnsonville, had a town laid off and held a public auction to
sell off lots. In Lamberts the same thing was done. W. C. Hemingway and Company had
gained control over a large acreage there. This was divided into lots and sold, also.
Free dinners were served at these auctions. A hand was brought in for the
occasion. Various prizes were given, and lots sold like hot cakes. Many a back-woodsy
looking old fellow who wouldn’t be suspected of having an extra dollar, unearthed from
his overall pockets enough to pay for a lot, or maybe two.
When the lots at Hemingway were sold and a depot assured, the name of the
post office and depot was changed to Hemingway.
During the building of the roadbed and the laying of the tracts everyone spent
his time at the railroad. The huge steam shovels were never failing sources of interest
and men stood agape as they watched it operate. The first train to pass found every
station crowded with those who had come to look and see. For years after that first
train, every time a train was heard, work was dropped in the house while the women
threw something over their heads and ran to a place where the train could be seen.
The plowmen stopped their plow and the hoe hands forgot their hoes until it had
disappeared and only a faint blue line indicated its whereabouts. Even then they
listened for its faraway whistle. “Thar now she’s passed the crossing. Gid-dap, Balaam.”
And interest in their daily work was resumed.
Teachers, who in September had bought tickets to Lake City and then made the
long tiresome ride to the Cross Roads in a buggy, went in June to Hemingway where
they boarded the train for Andrews where they could make any connections they
wished.
Stores and houses went up like magic. Hemingway’s store occupied the principal
position in town. The post office was in the back of the store. Your Uncle Fred and
Uncle Bub built stores and homes there and very shortly afterwards moved their
families. T. G. Eaddy built a large two-story hotel directly in front of the depot. Dr.
Page | 88
�Hemingway and his two brothers both had nice houses there. Now, Dr. Baker put up
one. A bank was established and the cashier had to have a new house, and so the town
grew apace. So busy were the two doctors with their other affairs that they gradually
ceased to practice their profession and called in another doctor, who of course, had to
have a home. A drug store was also put up and a pharmacist came to take charge of it.
Farmers were beginning to plant more tobacco every year. Cotton seemed to
have played out in this district, but the farmers had difficulty in marketing their tobacco.
It had to be hauled to Lake City or to some more distant market. So plans were made
to make Hemingway a great tobacco market. If the town had been located at the Cross
Roads all these ventures would have thrived and prospered, but Johnsonville, only five
miles away was doing just what Hemingway was doing, and soon an intense rivalry
existed between the two villages. Instead of pulling together on common grounds at
the Cross Roads, each worked for itself and against the other.
The tobacco market opened with three warehouses running and they did a large
volume of business. They did a thriving business and the little town prospered for
tobacco buyers from all the big companies spent the summer here, paying board and
spending money freely. The famers sold their tobacco and went around to the stores
and spent it. The school and church still remained at the Cross Roads for two years
after the railroad came though. Rather, it still remained to be used by the inhabitants of
both small towns for they are both still in existence today. But as the towns grew they
each started a school and church of their own, leaving the mother church at Old
Johnsonville a little weak in moneyed members, but strong in all else.
School was taught in Hemingway at first in a tobacco warehouse, while a
temporary schoolhouse was hastily erected. This building was planned so it could be
sold for a dwelling when a permanent school building should be erected. Church
services were also held in the tobacco warehouse for a season. The population
preferred to attend worship nearer home, even if not conveniently situated, to going
the two miles to Old Johnsonville.
Page | 89
�It was only after the establishment of a school and a church at Johnsonville that
the ones at the Cross Roads became known as Old Johnsonville to distinguish it from
the town of Johnsonville.
It was about the same time and a little before the railroad had reached this far
that a bridge was built across Lynch’s River, or the creek as it was commonly called.
The driving of the piles caused much discussion and interest. The bridge itself was a
narrow, one-way wooden affair with a railing on either side, not to be for one moment
compared with the wide, modern bridge which displaced it several years ago. But the
building of this last bridge was taken as a matter of course and excited very little
comment or interest—so soon do we become used to our advantages.
The spanning of the creek did away with the cumbersome old ferry, which had
been run there for time out mind; and it also did away with one of the most beautiful
roads in the low country. This road had wound between two tall cliffs, tall at least for
this part of the country. On each side the old trees spread out until their branches
almost interlaced overhead. The trees were festooned with wreaths and streamers of
gray moss. The road sloped down to the ferry and when one arrived at the top one was
compelled to pause and admire, even though it was an often seen view. But progress
does not hold back for the picturesque so the giant trees with their hoary hair were cut
down and the steam shovel bit ruthlessly into the hillside.
Chapter 23
As the town grew and prospered naturally the country around changed and
prospered, too. The big country store vanished for the town was too near. Having
competition the merchants sold cheaper and bout new and fancier stock. As this stock
increased in variety, so did the farmers’ purchases increase. The more one sees, the
more one needs. Tobacco was bringing a good price, the famers raised their food at
home and had money on hand most of time.
Gradually and so imperceptibly that it was done before the inhabitants of the
country realized it, the streams no longer had to be forded. They were all bridged. The
roads were still narrow and rough and in rainy spells all but impassable. But the
Page | 90
�automobile cold be used now, with fair success even in the rainy weather, at least the
engine wasn’t drowned out every time a stream was crossed.
The houses on the farms began to show an improvement; instead of being
satisfied with a two or three room shack with no conveniences, the farmer began to try
their hands on something better. After a drive into town and a look at the neat, painted
houses, his neglected place didn’t look so good to him.
A large brick building was put up for the school, which soon grew from the four
teacher school that it was when organized in ’13 or ’14 to a 12 and later 14 teacher
State High School. Courses in agriculture and domestic science were introduced.
Not by the community was this school built; not by subscriptions; festivals and
entertainments, nor in any way so that the patrons had a person interest in it. No
lumber was donated, nor work given by those unable to give money. The district was
bonded and the children educated there would have to help in later years to pay off the
indebtedness. The materials were all bought and the workmen all paid a very
substantial wage for their labor.
In just a few years the school was running busses and gathering up the children
from far and near. There were four or five busses, each covering around ten miles on
its trip. One watching the busses rolling in and unloading could not but wonder where
all those children came from Looked as if they might have been growing on bushes
there were so many of them. Dr. Hemingway gave the lot for both the school and the
church. A nice church was built in time and a baby pipe organ bought and installed.
May efforts had been made to get the women of Old Johnsonville church
together to organize a Ladies’ Aid or a Missionary Society, but the membership was
widely scattered. The ladies could rarely get the horse just when they needed it and it
was too far for all but a few to walk, so all the efforts failed. But soon after the church
got to going strong in Hemingway a society was organized which grew and flourished
and is flourishing. Even after times grew hard the Missionary Society never failed to pay
all they promised. If the money couldn’t be collected directly from the members it was
raised in some other way.
Page | 91
�Very recently the ladies went to a great deal of trouble and got up a minstrel
which netted them a very decent sum and paid them out of debt. And then what did
the good men do but say they thought the ladies should give them a good portion of it
to pay off a church debt. But the ladies reply was, “If you need money, get out and get Page | 92
it for yourselves. Don’t sit down and wait until we make something and then want to
spend if for us.” And they held tight to what they made.
Very soon after Hemingway was made a town the post office was moved into a
building to itself. A rural route was run off, this proved to be such a necessity that by
degrees three other routes were added. These served over 200 miles of road, bad
roads, too. A carrier’s job was not very desirable then. The pay was poor, the roads
were rough, and the cars were all more or less dilapidated. It was a common thing for a
carrier to leave his car and walk in with his mail. Later when the roads were better, the
carriers well paid and cars cheaper there was a scramble for every vacancy. In the first
years the carrier was rather looked down on; was considered not quite so good as the
farmer or merchant. Anyone could work for the government was the general opinion of
that time. Buy my, how completely general opinion did change.
Many people who lived far out in the country moved into town so as to be close
to the school and the church. It was easy to find work to do. Odd jobs could be picked
up at any time by anyone wanting to work, so there was no danger of anyone going
hungry. Most of those who moved in had farms which they sharecropped or rented out.
In fact, all the merchants and other inhabitants of town had their farms, which they
saw after diligently as they did their other business. They were all raised on the farm;
farming was the backbone of the country and they all loved it. Soon every house in
Hemingway was full and owners of lots began to put up more houses to rent.
Since your Aunt Maggie and Uncle Bub were both living in Hemingway your
grandmother had her little home built there where she’d be close to them. So she made
another home and there she has lived nearly 20 years, although it doesn’t seem so
long.
A good local telephone system was installed and everyone in town had a
telephone. The line was run out Johnsonville and everyone on the road between the
�two places had a phone put in. In a few homes along that road you will still see on the
wall just inside the door the big, cumbersome, old telephone box. Whether the people
there think it is an ornament or whether they are just too lazy to take it down, I haven’t
even an idea.
During the war Hemingway and the surrounding country did its part; bought
Liberty Loans; sent her boys overseas; had her wheat-less, meatless, and sugarless
days with the rest of the nation, and grew rich off the fat of the land as did the rest of
the world.
Roads were improved in all directions. And now everybody had a car, Negro and
Bucro [sic]. All the women wore silk hose and silk dresses. Everybody made money and
everybody spent what he made. No longer was this on the outskirts of nowhere. Even
the small farmer thought nothing of cranking up his closed car and going to Charleston
or Columbia for a day’s shopping. The mail order catalog brought the latest styles for
their inspection. No longer could a country cracker be told by her clothes. A few years
before they styles and fashions in the country were always a year behind time, but not
now. Country folks are as up-to-date as their city cousins.
So affluent were the people and such prices were brought by farm produce that
Hemingway thought it could support another bank. It did for a while. A nice new brick
building was put up for it and soon it was doing as much business as the old.
So now Hemingway was a most modern, progressive town and seemed to be
headed on for the top, wherever that was.
The Cross Roads, in the meantime, looked rather neglected for some years. The
school dwindled until it employed only four teachers and then only three. The church
membership was visibly smaller, but there were many who retained their membership
and their loyalty to her. The parsonage at the Cross Roads was burned and the pastor
was moved to Hemingway. Bub’s big store was empty for everyone rode into town for
what they wanted. The schoolhouse itself was burned, but was immediately rebuilt with
the insurance money. The new building was even better than the old for ideas in school
architecture had changed considerably in the few years that had elapsed between the
times of building.
Page | 93
�So at the roll of the wave of fortune Old Johnsonville stood at the trough and
Hemingway rode on the crest. There it stood for a brief time and then slid downward
with the wave as it subsided.
Chapter 24
There were these years of prosperity and of forging ahead. There was even talk
of having another county cut out [w]ith Hemingway at its county seat.
But these prosperous times were brought to a sudden halt. Tobacco had brought
such fine prices, and everyone had made money from it: the merchant, the farmer, the
warehousemen, and the tobacco buyers. The farmers grew greedy and backed by the
merchants they planted larger and even larger fields of tobacco. The increase in
quantity was bound to bring a decrease in quality for the farmers could not handle well
so much of it. The increase also caused the supply to exceed the demand. So the prices
of tobacco fell off. The merchants had overstocked themselves with high price good and
their consumers were now unable to buy. Many of the farmers were in debt to the
merchant and were unable to pay out. The merchant, fearing to lose what was owed to
him, and hoping that the next year tobacco would pick up in its prices still credited the
farmers, thus sinking good money after bad.
The banks lent money to the merchants to carry the farmers and while things
were on the boom they had let out a great deal also. Now things tightened up and the
money could not be returned
so the banks, first one and then the other closed their
doors. As the people expressed it in a few words, “The bank busted.”
This took all the surplus wealth out of the country for faith in the banks had been
strong and all the savings of years had been deposited in the bank. There were widows
and helpless ones who were left penniless. It was the first blow.
But the people struggled on and in time another bank was established. This time
it was a branch of a well-known, town established national bank. Everyone felt that
there was something solid behind it so felt renewed confidence and even the most
conservative began to put their money back in the bank.
Page | 94
�Hemingway had its share in the excitement during the epidemic of bank
robberies that swept the country. The cashier of the bank and his wife were just ready
to retire one night about ten o’clock when he stopped and said, “I forgot to set the time
clock on the vault this afternoon. I expect I’d better run back and do it now.”
His wife thought it wouldn’t hurt to leave it off for one night, but as he seemed
uneasy, she said she’d go with him. Just then a rap on the door sounded. As he opened
the door, a man jabbed a gun in his ribs with the order to be quiet. Another man sidled
past the cashier and covered his wife as she emerged from the room. A car, a Buick,
with its motor throbbing softly stood at the sidewalk. Neither of the men were masked,
but they were both complete strangers to the cashier. They told their prisoner that he
must come and open the bank and then the vault for them. Thinking rapidly, the
cashier answered that he could not open the vault as it had a time lock and could only
be open when the lock was automatically released, which would not be until seven
o’clock the next morning. Afterwards, he bitterly lamented the fact that he had not said
nine o’clock, but of course, he had no idea to what an extent they were willing to carry
the affair.
The two men forced the cashier and his wife, after gagging them, into the
waiting car where they found two women, evidently confederates of the men. They
were driven around to the bank and ordered to open the door. Once inside they went to
the vault and could hear the steady ticking of the time clock which had been wound
and set, but not connected. Satisfied that the cashier was telling them the truth, the
robbers bundled the cashier and his wife back into the car and drove them all over the
town, which seemed quietly sleeping. Every house was dark and all was quiet. Then
they were kept until six forty-five. When the cashier’s wife began to shake from nerves
and the chill of the night air, one of the men wrapped his coat around her.
As six forty-five they road back to the bank. How anxiously did they scan the
street for some early stirrer. They did see one man just as he disappeared into his
store, but he just thought it was a car passing through and paid no attention to it. The
cashier was unable to cry out for the gags had been replaced before they left the
woods.
Page | 95
�Into the bank they went and into the vault at seven. Taking out the bags of coins
and paper money they put the cashier and his wife into the vault and shut the door.
While they were making good their escape and chuckling over their success the two
prisoners were busy. It had been a game for them for her to lock him in the vault and
see how long it took him to free himself, and so a tiny flashlight and a screwdriver were
lying just inside the door. It was the work of only a second for him to give her the light
while he manipulated the screwdriver. The robbers had gone no more than half a mile
before the distracted pair rushed out of the bank and called for help. They got on their
trail at once and followed it to the Yawhannah Bridge where they changed cars and
were joined by one or two others. The trail was lost soon afterwards but in a few weeks
they were caught as they tried that trick elsewhere. They confessed their guilt and were
duly punished.
Tobacco having started on the downward path could not be halted. A few
tobacco growers tried to organize a tobacco association, but the farmers were a little
shy of it. In order to force sales through the association, the business men did away
with all the tobacco warehouses in Hemingway, but the one run by the association.
Farmers would not and often could not wait for the money for their crops. They
preferred the little on the spot than the promise of much later. Those who did get their
crops tied up in the association very often sold on the outside in someone else’s name.
The association was doomed before the end of the first summer. The organizers of the
association were trying to hold the crop over until the surplus on hand had been used,
then they could force the manufacturers to buy at their price. But so much was sold out
of the association that the buyers would not ever look at that which the association
held.
After the failure of the association, the manufacturers refused to send buyers to
the Hemingway open market. Hemingway had shut them out one year and so they
crossed her off their lists. The whole town lost by it. The money that tobacco brought
was sent elsewhere. Summers were for a while the liveliest times of the year, the
merchants and those who took roomers or boarders made great presentations for the
event. But with the closing of the markets, all was changed. Farmers generally carry
Page | 96
�their tobacco to Mullins or Lake City. The good roads and big trucks make this possible.
A great deal of tobacco is planted, but the farmers are constantly seeking other ways to
make a money crop.
They turned to trucking, trying to get their produce on the market between the
Florida crops and the Northern. If there is an early spring here sometimes the first to
begin shipping get a fairly good price for the first few shipments. As the main crop
comes on, the market falls off until the producer fails to pay expense.
So one spring a man came through who promised to take the chance out of the
cucumber market. He contracted to take the farmers’ cucumber crop, cull them, ship
them, and tend to it all. All the farmer had to do was to bring him the cucumbers to the
depot station. The famers were all disgusted with the independent shipping and this
sounded like a streak of luck to them.
When the cucumbers were brought in they were so closely culled less than one
third were shipped. By the time all expenses were defrayed and the commission
merchant paid the farmers got nothing. When a farmer or two sold on the outside, he
was instantly sued for breaking his contract. But when the market price got so low that
it no longer paid the commissioner to ship, he immediately shut down and left the rest
of the crop on the farmers’ hand and there was no suing done.
This should have taught the farmers a lesson but the next year they signed up
with another man for another sort of contract which include cucumbers and beans.
Again they were stung. One farmer on an acre of cucumbers picked 75 baskets of
cucumbers at 75 cents a crate. The seed cost around $5 and the fertilizers were added
to the cost. He received from the man he had contracted with exactly 62 cents. That is
the way it goes.
They still plant [and] truck peas, beans, cucumbers, and potatoes, but they
barely cover expenses if they do so. The farmers have made nothing on their truck nor
on their tobacco for many years. Sometimes a little cotton is planted but it brings
nothing, so the merchant does very little business. They sit around and talk about how
dull times are. The merchants all have farms and all try to raise something to eat. The
Page | 97
�farmers are beginning to plant more and more food crops and let the money crop
alone, although they try to plant a little for they must have some money.
The roads have been improved and re-improved until now we can travel north,
east, south, and west, and never get in a bog. A highway right through Hemingway
leads to Myrtle Beach, over which there is a constant stream of tourists in the summer.
The power company has run lines out from Kingstree and the town and vicinity
are well lighted. Most of the people bought refrigerators, radios, irons, and fans on the
installment plan.
Several banks were organized and then closed. The last one closed little over a
year ago and there has been no comeback from it. It literally wiped the country clean.
There is no bank there now and no prospect of one for no one has anything to put in it.
The school has discontinued all the many buses they once ran and the children
get to school as best they can. There is quite an array of cars of all types, kinds, and
conditions outside of the school every day. The number of teachers has been lessened
and they don’t get their pay.
During the war the church paid a high salary to their pastor and this was
considered a very desirable charge, but when hard times struck the congregation the
church was one of the first things to suffer. The appropriations were not cut for several
years--they simply weren’t paid. When they were cut the people had become used to
not paying up so they fell short right on.
So in many ways, we have come a long way since the day your grandmother
was born, but we are having to go back to the old way of living. Live at home and buy
only necessities. Our idea of necessities is much broader than they used to be, but they
are gradually narrowing down to the essentials.
And today Hemingway is like many another sleepy little town; plenty of stores;
filling stations on every corner; a street or two of nice looking houses; electric lights; a
nice school that can’t pay its teachers, and a nice church that can’t pay its pastor, and
yet, so your grandmother thinks, the best place in the world.
And today the Cross Roads has its schoolhouse with four teachers who can’t be paid
either, its church with a slender but loyal membership that can’t pay its pastor, either,
Page | 98
�one small store at the crossing, several houses within the radius of half a mile, but for
all that is we think the best place in the world.
Page | 99
At last it was done. Not finished ever because Grandma kept talking and as she
talked new stories and facts came out.
These pages were written for the seven of us and our children. We seven can
never forget Grandma. She lives for us and as we read we hear her again. Thank you,
Miz Beth, for preserving this part of our heritage for us.
We hope that as our children read they will picture Grandma in her black and
white gingham dress, her white apron, her ever busy fingers, and will then sit back and
listen to Grandma talking.
Thank you Mam, Miz Beth!
������������
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This is the “Memoirs of Judith Grier” whose grandfather was John Tillman of the Ark Plantation. It is believed that Ms. Grier was born at the Ark Plantation in Surfside Beach. This
document was donated to the town of Surfside by Stan Barnett, from Mount Pleasant, a descendant of Judith
Grier.
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Stan Barnett
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Memoirs of Judith Grier