Emanuel Elmore
From:
South Carolina
Project 1885-1
Folklore
Spartanburg, Dist. 4
Dec. 23, 1937
Edited by:
Elmer Turnage
EX-SLAVE STORIES
EMANUEL ELMORE.
"I was born on June 20th and I remember when the war broke out, for I
was about five years old. We lived in Spartanburg County not far from
old Cherokee ford. My father was Emanuel Elmore, and he lived to be
about 90 years old.
"My marster was called by everybody, Col. Elmore, and that is all that I
can remember about his name. When he went to the war I wanted to go with
him, but I was too little. He joined the Spartanburg Sharp Shooters.
They had a drill ground near the Falls. My pa took me to see them drill,
and they were calling him Col. Elmore then. When I got home I tried to
do like him and everybody laughed at me. That is about all that I
remember about the war. In those days, children did not know things like
thay do now, and grown folks did not know as much either.
"I used to go and watch my father work. He was a moulder in the Cherokee
Iron Works, way back there when everything was done by hand. He moulded
everything from knives and forks to skillets and wash pots. If you could
have seen pa's hammer, you would have seen something worth looking at.
It was so big that it jarred the whole earth when it struck a lick. Of
course it was a forge hammer, driven by water power. They called the
hammer 'Big Henry'. The butt end was as big as an ordinary telephone
pole.
"The water wheel had fifteen or twenty spokes in it, but when it was
running it looked like it was solid. I used to like to sit and watch
that old wheel. The water ran over it and the more water came over, the
more power the wheel gave out.
"At the Iron Works they made everything by hand that was used in a
hardware store, like nails, horse shoes and rims for all kinds of
wheels, like wagon and buggy wheels. There were moulds for everything no
matter how large or small the thing to be made was. Pa could almost pick
up the right mould in the dark, he was so used to doing it. The patterns
for the pots and kettles of different sizes were all in rows, each row
being a different size. In my mind I can still see them.
"Hot molten iron from the vats was dipped with spoons which were handled
by two men. Both spoons had long handles, with a man at each handle. The
spoons would hold from four to five gallons of hot iron that poured just
like water does. As quick as the men poured the hot iron in the mould,
another man came along behind them and closed the mould. The large
moulds had doors and the small moulds had lids. They had small pans and
small spoons for little things, like nails, knives and forks, When the
mould had set until cold, the piece was prized out.
"Pa had a turn for making covered skillets and fire dogs. He made them
so pretty that white ladies would come and give an order for a 'pair of
dogs', and tell him how they wanted them to look. He would take his
hammer and beat them to look just that way.
"Rollers pressed out the hot iron for machines and for special lengths
and things that had to be flat. Railroad ties were pressed out in these
rollers. Once the man that handled the hot iron to be pressed through
these rollers got fastened in them himself. He was a big man. The blood
flew out of him as his bones were crushed, and he was rolled into a mass
about the thickness and width of my hand. Each roller weighed about
2,000 pounds.
"The man who got killed was named Alex Golightly. He taught the boys my
age how to swim, fish and hunt. His death was the worst thing that had
happened in the community. The man who worked at the foundry, made Alex
a coffin. It had to be made long and thin because he was mashed up so
bad. In those days coffins were nothing but boxes anyway, but Alex's
coffin was the most terrible thing that I have ever seen. I reckon if
they had had pretty coffins then like they do now, folks would have
bought them to sleep in.
"Hundreds went to Alex's funeral, white and black, to see that long
narrow coffin and the grave which was dug to fit it. On the way to the
graveyard, negroes sang songs, for Alex was a good man. They carried him
to the Cherokee graveyard on the old Smith Ford Road, and there they
buried him. My father helped to build the coffin and he helped haul him
to the graveyard. Pa worked at the Iron Foundry until he was very old.
He worked there before I was ever born.
"My father was sold four times during slavery. When he was brought to
Virginia he was put on the block and auctioned off for $4,000. He said
that the last time he was sold he only brought $1,500. He was born in
Alabama. When he was bought he was carried from Alabama to Virginia. It
was Col. Elmore who took him. He wanted to go to Alabama again, so Col.
Elmore let a speculator take him back and sell him. He stayed there for
several years and got homesick for South Carolina. He couldn't get his
marster to sell him back here, so he just refugeed back to Col. Elmore's
plantation. Col. Elmore took him back and wouldn't let anybody have him.
"Pa married twice, about the same time. He married Dorcas Cooper, who
belonged to the Coopers at Staunton Military Academy. I was the first
child born in Camden. She had sixteen children. I was brought to
Spartanburg County when I was little. Both ma and pa were sold together
in Alabama. The first time pa came to South Carolina he married a girl
called Jenny. She never had any children. When he went to Alabama,
Dorcas went with him, but Jenny stayed with Col. Elmore. Of course, pa
just jumped the broom for both of them.
"When pa left Alabama to refugee back, he had to leave Dorcas. They did
not love their marster anyway. He put Dorcas up on the block with a red
handkerchief around her head and gave her a red apple to eat. She was
sold to a man whose name I have forgotten. When they herded them she got
away and was months making her way back to South Carolina. Those
Africans sure were strong. She said that she stayed in the woods at
night. Negroes along the way would give her bread and she would kill
rabbits and squirrels and cook and eat in the woods. She would get drunk
and beat any one that tried to stop her from coming back. When she did
get back to Col. Elmore's place, she was lanky, ragged and poor, but
Col. Elmore was glad to see her and told her he was not going to let
anybody take her off. Jenny had cared so well for her children while she
was off, that she liked her. They lived in the same house with pa till
my mother died.
"Col. Elmore said that negroes who were from Virginia and had African
blood could stand anything. He was kind to ma. He fed her extra and she
soon got fat again. She worked hard for Col. Elmore, and she and pa sure
did love him. One time a lot of the negroes in the quarter got drunk and
ma got to fighting all of them. When she got sobered up she was afraid
that Col Elmore was going to send her back to Alabama; so she went and
hid in the woods. Pa took food to her. In about a month Col. Elmore
asked where she was, and pa just looked sheepish and grinned. Col.
Elmore told pa to go and bring her back, for he said he was tired of
having his rations carried to the woods; so ma came home. She had stayed
off three months. She never felt well anymore, and she died in about
three more months. Pa and Jenny kept us till we got big and went off to
ourselves.
"Jenny was born and raised in South Carolina, and she was good to
everybody and never fought and went on like ma did. Ma liked her and
would not let anybody say anything against her. She was good to pa till
he died, a real old man. Jenny never had any children. She was not old
when she died, but just a settled woman. We felt worse over her death
than we did over ma's, because she was so good to us and had cared for
us while ma and pa were in Alabama; then she was good to us after Dorcas
died and when she hid in the woods.
"It seems that folks are too tender now. They can't stand much. My ma
could stand more than I can. My children can't stand what I can right
now."
=Source:= Emanuel Elmore (77). Sycamore St., Gaffney, S.C.
Interviewer: Caldwell Sims, Union, S.C. 11/16/37
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Ryer Emmanuel
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Rev John B Elliott
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