My Life in the South | Page 2

the rest of the slaves, with the
plantation, to Col. Dick Singleton, upon whose place mother was born.

I was born on this extensive plantation, twenty-eight miles southeast of
Columbia, South Carolina, in the year 1849. I belonged to Col. M.R.
Singleton, and was held in slavery up to the time of the emancipation
proclamation issued by President Lincoln.
THE CHILDREN.
My father had fifteen children: four boys and three girls by his first
wife and eight by his second. Their names were as follows: of the
boys--Toney, Aszerine, Duke and Dezine; of the girls--Violet, Priscilla,
and Lydia. Those of his second wife were as follows: Footy, Embrus,
Caleb, Mitchell, Cuffey and Jacob, and of the girls, Catherine and
Retta.
SAND HILL DAYS.
Col. M.R. Singleton was like many other rich slave owners in the South,
who had summer seats four, six or eight miles from the plantation,
where they carried the little negro boys and girls too small to work.
Our summer seat, or the sand hill, as the slaves used to call it, was four
miles from the plantation. Among the four hundred and sixty-five
slaves owned by the colonel there were a great many children. If my
readers had visited Col. Singleton's plantation the last of May or the
first of June in the days of slavery, they would have seen three or four
large plantation wagons loaded with little negroes of both sexes, of
various complexions and conditions, who were being carried to this
summer residence, and among them they would have found the author
of this little work in his sand-hill days.
My readers would naturally ask how many seasons these children were
taken to the summer seats? I answer, until, in the judgment of the
overseer, they were large enough to work; then they were kept at the
plantation. How were they fed? There were three or four women who
were too old to work on the plantation who were sent as nurses to the
summer seats with the children; they did the cooking. The way in
which these old women cooked for 80, and sometimes 150 children, in
my sand-hill days, was this:--they had two or three large pots, which
held about a bushel each, in which they used to cook corn flour, stirred
with large wooden paddles. The food was dealt out with the paddles
into each child's little wooden tray or tin pail, which was furnished by
the parents according to their ability.
With this corn flour, which the slaves called mush, each child used to

get a gill of sour milk brought daily from the plantation in a large
wooden pail on the head of a boy or man. We children used to like the
sour milk, or hard clabber as it was called by the slaves; but that
seldom changed diet, namely the mush, was hated worse than medicine.
Our hatred was increased against the mush from the fact that they used
to give us molasses to eat with it, instead of clabber. The hateful
mixture made us anxious for Sundays to come, when our mothers,
fathers, sisters and brothers would bring something from the plantation,
which, however poor, we considered very nice, compared with what we
had during the week days. Among the many desirable things our
parents brought us the most delightful was cow pease, rice, and a piece
of bacon, cooked together; the mixture was called by the slaves
"hopping John."
THE STORY OF GILBERT.
A few large boys were sent yearly to the sand-hill among the smaller
ones, as guides. At the time to which I am referring there was one by
the name of Gilbert, who used to go around with the smaller boys in the
woods to gather bushes and sticks for the old women to cook our food
with.
Gilbert was a cruel boy. He used to strip his little fellow negroes while
in the woods, and whip them two or three times a week, so that their
backs were all scarred, and threatened them with severer punishment if
they told; this state of things had been going on for quite a while. As I
was a favorite with Gilbert, I always had managed to escape a whipping,
with the promise of keeping the secret of the punishment of the rest,
which I did, not so much that I was afraid of Gilbert, as because I
always was inclined to mind my own business. But finally, one day,
Gilbert said to me, "Jake," as he used to call me, "you am a good boy,
but I'm gwine to wip you some to-day, as I wip dem toder boys." Of
course I was required to strip off my only garment, which was an
Osnaburg linen shirt, worn by both sexes of the negro children in