Eliza Hasty
From:
South Carolina
Project #1655
W.W. Dixon
Winnsboro, S.C.
ELIZA HASTY
EX-SLAVE 85 YEARS OLD.
Eliza Hasty lives with her son-in-law and her daughter, Philip Moore and
Daisy Moore, in an old time ante bellum home. It has two stories, eight
rooms, and front and back piazzas, supported by slender white posts or
columns. It is the old William Douglas homestead, now owned by John D.
Mobley. He rents it to Philip Moore, a well behaved Negro citizen, who,
out of respect for his mother-in-law, Eliza, supports her in the sore
trials and helplessness of blindness and old age. The home is five miles
southeast of Blackstock, S.C.
"Boss, you is a good lookin' man, from de sound of your voice. Blind
folks has ways of findin' out things that them wid sight know nothin'
'bout and nobody can splain. De blindness sharpens de hearin', 'creases
de tech, prickles de skin, quickens de taste, and gives you de nose of a
setter, pointer or hound dog. Was I always blind? Jesus, no! I just got
de 'fliction several years ago. I see well enough, when I was a young
gal, to pick out a preacher for my fust husband. So I did! How many
times I been married? Just two times; both husbands dead. Tell you 'bout
them directly.
"What dat? Er ha, ha, ha, ha, er ha, ha, ha! Oh Jesus, you makes me
laugh, white folks! De idea of my lossin' my sight a lookin' 'round for
a third husband! You sho' is agreeable. Ain't been so tickled since de
secon' time I was a widow. You know my secon' husband was bad after
blind tiger liquor, and harlot eyed, brassy, hussy women.
"Well, I comes down to Winnsboro today to see, I should say to find out,
'cause you know I can't see, 'bout de pension they is givin' out to de
aged and blind. My white folks say dat you wanna see me and here I is.
"Yes sir, I was born two miles south of Woodward and one mile south of
old Yonguesville, on de Sterling place. I born a slave of old Marse John
Sterling. Him have a head as red as a pecker-wood bird dat just
de-sash-sheys 'round de top of dead trees, and make sich a
rat-ta-ta-tapple after worms. His way of gittin' his meat for dinner. My
mistress name Betsy. Deir fust child was Robert, dat never marry; him
teach nearly every school in Fairfield County, off and on befo' he died.
Then dere was young Marster Tom, small little man, dat carry his
Seceeder 'ligion so far, him become 'furiated and carry dat 'ligion
right up and into de Secession War. Make a good soldier, too! General
Bratton call him, 'My Little Jackass of de Sharp Shooters'! Marse Tom
proud of dat name, from de mouth of a great man lak General John
Bratton.
"Marse Tom heard de fust gun fire at Fort Sumter, and laid down his gun,
him say, under a big horse apple tree at 'Applemattox'.
"Miss Sallie, one of de chillun, marry Mr. Chris Elder, of Blackstock.
Miss Hepzibah, they call her Heppie, marry a man named Boyd, in Chester
County. Miss Mary Izabella, they call her Bell, marry Marse John
Douglas; they are de 'cestors of dat very angel whose house us is
settin' in right dis minute. Her name is Martha but when grown-up, they
sublet (meaning change) dat name to Mattie, and when her marry, her
become Mrs. Thomas P. Bryson. Her is a widow, just lak I is a widow. De
only difference is, I's black and her is white. Her can see well enough
to run after and ketch another man, but I's blind and can't see a man,
much less chase after him. So dere it is! What for you laughin' 'bout?
No laughin' business wid me.
"My pappy no b'long to Marse John Sterling: him slave of de Stinsons.
Have to git a pass to come to see my mammy, Mary. Him name Aleck. After
de war him take de name of Alexander Roseboro. Him lak a big long name
dat would make folks set up and take notice of him.
"Us live in a little log-house wid a dirt floor. Us had mighty poor
beds, I tell you. Us just had planks to lay de wheat straw mattress on.
Pillows? De pillows was just anything you could snatch and put under
your head. Yes sir, us had plenty to eat.
"They 'struct us in de short catechism, make us go to church, and sit up
in de gallery and jine in de singin' on Sundays. Us was well 'tended to
when sick. Marster didn't have many slaves. 'Members only two they have,
'sides us; they was Uncle Ned and Cindy. Seem lak dere was another. Oh
yes! It was Fred, a all 'round de creation boy, to do anything and
everything. He was a sorta shirt-tail boy dat pestered me sometime wid
goo-goo eyes, a standin' in de kitchen door, drappin' his weight from
one foot to de other, a lookin' at me while I was a churnin' or washin'
de dishes. Dat boy both box-ankle and knock-kneed. When you hear him
comin' from de horse lot to de house, his legs talk to one another, just
lak sayin': 'You let me pass dis time, I let you pass nex' time.' I let
you know I had no time for dat ape! When I did git ready to marry, I fly
high as a eagle and ketch a preacher of de Word! Who it was? Him was a
Baptis' preacher, name Solomon Dixon. 'Spect you hear tell of him. No?
Well, him b'long, in slavery time, to your Aunt Roxie's people in
Liberty Hill, Kershaw County. You 'members your Aunt Roxie dat marry
Marse Ed D. Mobley, her fust cousin, don't you?
"I love Solomon and went down under de water to be buried wid him in
baptism, I sho' did, and I come up out of dat water to be united wid him
in wedlock. When us marry, him have on a long-tail coat, salt and pepper
trousers, box-toed shoes, and a red lead pencil over his ear, just as
long as de one I 'spects you is writin' wid, tho' I can't see it.
"How I dressed? I 'members 'zactly. I wore a blue worsted shirt, over a
red underskirt, over a white linen petticoat wid tuckers at de hem, just
a little long, to show good and white 'long wid de blue of de skirt and
de red of de underskirt. Dese all come up to my waist and was held
together by de string dat held my bustle in place. All dis and my corset
was hid by de snow white pleated pique bodice, dat drapped gracefully
from my shoulders. 'Round my neck was a string of green jade beads. I
wore red stockin's and my foots was stuck in soft, black, cloth, gaiter
shoes.
"My go-away-hat was 'stonishment to everybody. It was made out of red
plush velvet and trimmed wid white satin ribbons. In de front, a ostrich
feather stood up high and two big turkey feathers flanked de sides. Oh,
de treasures of memory to de blind. I's happy to sit here and talk to
you 'bout dat day! I sho' is!
"Us live at Marse John Douglas for a time and dat's where my fust child
was born. I name her for your Aunt Roxie, tho' I give her de full name,
Roxanna Dixon. Her marry John Craig. They live on your grandpa
Woodward's old Nickey place, four miles southeast of Blackstock. I had
another baby and I name her Daisy. Her marry Philip Moore. I lives wid
them in de old William Douglas mansion. Nearly all de white folks
leavin' de country dese days and de colored folks gits de fine country
houses to live in.
"Well, after de years fly by, my husband, Solomon, go to de mansion
prepared for him and me in hebben. I wait a year and a day and marry
William Hasty. Maybe I was a little hasty 'bout dat, but 'spects it was
my fate. Him drink liquor and you know dat don't run to de still waters
of peace and happiness in de home. Him love me, I no doubt dat, but he
get off to de bar room at Blackstock, or de still house in bottom lands,
get drunk and spend his money. De Bible say dat kind of drowsiness soon
clothe a man in rags. Him dead now. God rest his soul!
"De Yankees come. They took notice of me! They was a bad lot dat
disgrace Mr. Lincoln dat sent them here. They insult women both white
and black, but de Lord was mindful of his own.
"I knows nothin' else to tell you, 'less you would be pleased to hear
'bout what de cyclone did to my old missus and de old Sterling house.
Somewhere 'bout 1880's one of them super knockshal (equinoctial) storms
come 'long, commencin' over in Alabama or Georgia, crossed de Savannah
River, sweep through South Carolina, layin' trees to de ground, cuttin'
a path a quarter of a mile wide, as it traveled from west to east. Every
house it tech, it carry de planks and shingles and sills and joists 'way
wid it. De old Sterling house was in de path. Dere was a big oak tree in
de front yard. Old miss and her son, Robert, was dere and Miss Heppie, a
granddaughter, was in dat house. De storm hit dat house 'bout 9 o'clock
dat night and never left a bit of it, 'cept some of de bricks. Some of
de logs and sills was found de nex' day over at de other side of de
railroad track. Some of de planks was found six miles east, some of de
shingles across Catawba River, 25 miles east, and curious to say, de
wind blowed old miss against de big oak tree and kill her. It blowed
Miss Heppie in de top of dat tree where she was settin' a cryin' and
couldn't git down, and it never harm a hair of Marse Robert's head. Him
look 'round for Miss Heppie, couldn't find her, went off to get help,
and when they come back, they have to git a ladder from old Mr. Bob
Mobley's house to git her down.
"Well, here comes my daughters. I hear one outside but I bet you don't
hear a thing. Dats deir steps I hear. Glad for you to meet them. They is
mighty fine gals, if I do have to say so. They come up wid good white
folks, de Mills'. Marse Jim Mills have family prayer in de mornin' and
family prayer befo' they go to bed. Dat was de fust thing wid him and de
last thing wid de Mills' family. If all de families do dat way, dere
would be de answer to de prayer, 'Dy kingdom come, Dy will be done, on
earth, as 'tis in hebben'.
"Well, give me my stick. Here they is. I bids you goodbye and God bless
you."
Reference:
Personal interview with Aunt Dolly Haynes, age 91
Arthurtown, S.C.
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