The owner of this farm was a remarkable character. His name was Mr. John Frierson, but he was called by his intimate friends “Jack Frierson.” There was another John Frierson, who lived in the upper part of Sumter County, but this one was sometimes alluded to as “John Frierson on Pudden Swamp,” to distinguish him from the other Mr. John Frierson. His age I do not know, but he lived to be quite an old man.

He was a Christian and was, perhaps, the leading man in the Shiloh Methodist Church. I am told that he was educated for the Christian ministry in early life, but he never entered that holy calling. But he became a class leader, and this was the only sacred office he would accept, and he filled it well and to the satisfaction of the ministers and the members of the Shiloh Church. It was said that he was the best educated man in all that region of country. He was a very fine elocutionist and one of the best readers that ever opened a book or held a newspaper. During the exciting times that led up to the War Between the States, and during the four years of that bloody struggle, the white neighbors—and many of them were men and women of wealth and intelligence—used to come to the home of Mr. Frierson to hear him read the papers and to discuss with him the news and the burning questions of that day.

Mr. Frierson was married three times. By his first wife there was born but one child—a boy—whom he named Mack; by his second wife there were born five children—three girls and two boys, and by his last wife there was no issue. The children by his second wife were named as follows: Mary Ann, Isabella, Rush, Adolphus and Janie. I have given them in the order of their birth, as I remember it. These all grew up to manhood and womanhood. The following lived to be married off: Mack, Isabella, Adolphus and Janie.

Mr. Mack married a lady from Chesterfield County whose maiden name was Miss Martha Garland. Her father's name was Mr. Jesse Garland. He was a farmer, owned a few slaves, but his daughter—Miss Martha—was handsome and considered a belle in society. Miss Isabella married Mr. Ransom Garland, the brother of Miss Martha. Mr. Adolphus married the daughter of Mr. Billie Keels, known as “Little Billie Keels.” Miss Janie married a Mr. Kirby and afterwards settled in Columbia, S. C., as I have been informed. I also learned that she has some sons, and possibly grandsons living there now, and are merchants in that city. Miss Mary Ann never married, but lived to be a very pious and happy old maid. She became housekeeper for her father after the death of her mother and until he married again, which was his third and last marriage. Her own mother was a very devout Christian, and spared no pains in training up her children in the way they should go, so that when they became old they did not depart from it.

Mr. Rush grew up to a beautiful young manhood and became quite a favorite among the young ladies of the community, but the war broke out and there was a call for volunteers, and he was among the first to enter the Confederate army. His leaving the old plantation to go to the front was a sad occasion. Well do I remember the morning. The handsome young soldier in a beautiful new uniform of gray with shining buttons bade the family and servants good-bye, never to return. In less than two years he fell on one of the battlefields of Virginia, and sacrificed his life for the cause that is so dear to every Southern white man. When the news of his death reached the old plantation there was mourning and weeping among the white folks and the slaves. He was a good young man, and was much beloved by all. His body was never brought home, but was buried in that far-off land along with his comrades in battle. But he was a Christian, having been brought up in a religious atmosphere, and by devout parents, and, on the other side of the mystic river, he has met them, where peace forever abides and where happiness is the lot of all such.

Mr. Mack, the oldest son, was also a devout young man. Like Jacob of old, he was a man of prayer. There was a place in the thicket in the rear of the lot where he resorted for private communion with his Maker every evening at twilight. When the day's work was done, and when the horses and mules were stabled and fed, he would steal away to his sacred retreat and pour out his soul in prayer. Many were the times when the writer of these lines, then a boy of twelve, stood in the road just a short distance away from his place of prayer, when the stars were being revealed in the heavens and the crimson gradually fading away from the sunset skies, and listened alternately to the plaintive sounds of the whippoorwill and the audible voice of prayer, which was tremulous with emotion and frequently accompanied with tears. The scene was awe-inspiring to the inquiring mind and to the reverent soul, such as mine was at that time. I must confess that I scarcely knew what it all meant. But I sure did love to hear Mr. Mack pray and the whippoorwill hollo. But, thank God, I have lived long enough to know what prayer means.

But let us consider our subject a little further. Mr. Frierson invariably observed family worship twice a day—morning and evening. The Scriptures were read in course at each service. Singing was usually omitted except on special occasions, when perhaps there was a minister present, one who could sing. But he was never in such a hurry that he did not have time for family devotions. It mattered not in what season of the year and how busy they might be in the farm, his prayers he would say. And it was always a treat to hear that man read his Bible and then to take the different members of his family to a throne of grace. And his slaves were not forgotten during these warm, fervent and eloquent intercessary prayers.

Mr. Frierson always looked carefully after the morals of his slaves. I have already stated that he did not allow them to steal if he could possibly prevent it. He did everything he could to teach them to be truthful, to be honest, and to be morally upright. He had it understood on his plantation that there should be no little bastard slaves there. He gave it out that they were not wanted. When the boys and girls reached a marriageable age he advised them to marry, but marry some one on the plantation, and he would see to it that they should not be separated. But if they married some one from the adjoining plantations, they might be separated eventually by the “nigger traders,” as they were called in that day and time. But Mr. Frierson was never known to separate a man and his wife by sale or by trading. Nor was he ever known to separate mother and child. He did not believe in this kind of business.

Mr. Frierson was a good man and taught both his children and servants to fear God and keep His commandments. The Lord said of Abraham, “For I know him that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment.” These words may fitly be applied to our subject—Mr. Frierson—for he certainly emulated the example of the Father of the faithful.

There were some free colored people in the neighborhood. Some of these were free-born, but others bought their freedom. But all of them, according to the then existing laws, had to have some white man to be their guardian. That is, some white man to look after their interest to see that they got their rights, and to protect them, if necessary. And Mr. Frierson was chosen by some of these free colored people as their guardian. He was a kind-hearted man and never failed to respond to the call of distress. It mattered not whether it came from the poor slave or from the more fortunate freeman or from the oppressed white brother, he had an ear to hear the call, a heart to respond and hands to help. As Alfred Tennyson said of the Duke of Wellington, so I say of our subject: “The path of duty was the way to glory.”

He seemed not to care what men thought of him, but his whole aim was to please his Maker. He regarded the voice of conscience as the voice of God, and to the warnings and mandates of that voice he was always true. He was greatly beloved by all his neighbors. His children, his slaves and all his white associates loved and admired him. And when time shall be lost in the brilliant dawn of eternity's morning, many shall rise up and call him blessed.

The number that constituted the body of slaves on this plantation was not very large, but they were a fine-looking set of human beings. They were warmly clad, well fed and humanely treated. And, as forty-two years have passed since “the breaking up of the old plantation,” it is hardly possible that the writer should remember the name of every slave born and raised on that place. And yet he can recall the most of them and the image of their person still yet lingers in his memory.

Here they are: There were Uncle Fridie and Aunt Nancy, his wife; Uncle Isom and Aunt Tena, his spouse. There were two young women on the plantation—Namie and Peggie—who, after marriage, became very fruitful. Namie married a man by the name of Tom and Peggie a man by the name of Sam. Tom belonged to a Mr. Durant, and Sam to a Mr. Singletary. Namie became the mother of some nine children and Peggie some twelve or thirteen. Namie's children were Melton, Sam, Nellie, Tom, Kellie, Jimmie, Vinie, Martha and Joe. Peggie's were Prince, Caroline, Sydney, Mary, Henry, Elizabeth, Aleck, Sammie and four or five others whose names I cannot now recall. Nearly all of these grew up to manhood and womanhood and marired off, and themselves became fathers and mothers. And when the Emancipation Proclamation was issued by Mr. Lincoln, there were perhaps forty or fifty slaves on this plantation.

But one of the most important characters among them all was Granny, the cook. She was slightly lame in one leg. When she was a little girl she and other children were playing in a bed of deep sand. She ran and jumped into the sand, and as her feet sunk into it she suddenly turned around and this twisted her leg at the knee. The injury at first did not seem to be serious and no doctor was called, but her leg grew crooked and she became lame for life. Because of this lameness she was favored to the extent that she was not made a field hand, but was kept about the house and taught to cook. And right well did she learn her trade; for she became one of the most expert cooks in all that region of country. And she took special pride in her profession, especially when company came to visit the white folks. All they had to do was to give Granny the materials and tell her what to do with them, and it was done. She always carefully followed the instructions given by Mrs. Frierson or Miss Mary Ann, and all was right. When that breakfast, that dinner or that supper was sent into the dining room, especially when company was “in the house,” if the reader had been privileged to look upon it, or to sniff its delicious odor, he would have thought that there was a Parisian caterer who presided over that kitchen.

Mr. Frierson's house was the preacher's home. Like the Shunammite of old, he set apart a room in his house and denominated it the “Prophet's chamber.” He never forgot to entertain strangers, knowing that thereby some had entertained angels unawares. Among the preachers who served the Lynchburg circuit were: Rev. L. M. Little, Rev. M. A. Connolly, Rev. W. L. Pegues, Rev. W. W. Mood, Rev. P. F. Kistler, and Rev. F. Auld. These were all members of the South Carolina Conference of the M. E. Church, South. There were two eminent local preachers who preached acceptably to the people, namely: Rev. Jesse Smith and Rev. William Smith. These two ministers were brothers, and the latter, Rev. William Smith, was the father of three distinguished Carolinians, namely: the late Bishop A. Coke Smith, Rev. Charles B. Smith, and the Hon. E. D. Smith. But whenever these ministers would preach at the Shiloh church they would invariably come to Mr. Frierson's either for dinner or to pass the night. And when Granny, the cook, was notified that the pastor was coming, she would be delighted and made extensive preparations in the kitchen and did her best. All of Mr. Frierson's guests soon learned who the cook was, and seldom failed to give expressions of satisfaction when they left the dining room. Because of Granny's skill, Mr. Frierson did not have much trouble in persuading his pastors and friends to accept the hospitality of his home.

Granny could not be excelled in making and baking bread. Her biscuits, her light bread and her johnnie cakes were, to use a modern expression, “just out of sight.” Reader, do you know what a “johnnie cake” is? I am afraid that you don't. If you have never inhaled the odor nor tasted a johnnie cake I am sure I shall have some difficulty in making you understand what it is. It was not baked in an oven nor in a stove, but before the fire.

A board was made out of oak, hickory or ash wood. It was about six inches wide and twelve inches long, and highly polished. The ingredients of the johnnie cake were: corn meal and sweet potatoes for flour, butter for lard and pure sweet milk for water. I think eggs were also used and some other seasoning, which I cannot now recall. These things were carefully mixed in and then the dough was spread out over the johnnie cake board and placed on the hearth before an oak fire. The board was slightly tilted so as to throw the cake squarely before the fire. It would soon “brown,” as they said, and when Granny pronounced it done, the very sight, to say nothing of the odor, would make anybody's mouth water. Oh, how those preachers did like johnnie cake! Sometimes they would send for Granny to come into “the house” and shake her hand and congratulate this dusky queen of the kitchen.

It is said that women have a horror for snakes, and it is true. Ever since Mother Eve was beguiled by a serpent, all of her daughters—it matters not what their color may be, whether white, black or brown—have an awful dread of snakes. This intense hatred of the serpent tribe on the part of the women is of divine origin. In the Book it is written: “I will put enmity between thee and the woman and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head and thou shalt bruise his heel.” Thus spake the Lord to the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

But I want to tell the reader a story about Granny and the snake. The kitchen where Granny did the cooking was a small board building that set some distance from the dining room. It was about fifteen feet wide by twenty feet long. It had two doors—the doors being in the sides and opposite each other—and two windows. The building was unceiled. It was a mere shell. There was not even a loft overhead. This made it a den for rats, and, in consequence of this, a place for snakes. The rats came in search of food and the snakes came in search of rats.

One evening just about dark Granny was getting supper, and while stooping down at the fire-place a great big chicken snake was chasing a rat on the plate above. They turned the corner and while passing over the fireplace where Granny was stooping, the snake fell full length across her neck and instantly wrapped itself around her neck. It is needless to say that Granny alarmed the place. She hollered, she screamed; the dogs barked and the children cried. The white folks and the colored folks all came running to see what was the matter. Granny left the kitchen and took the yard, and the yard was a very large one, too. Doubtless the snake would have fled from fright, but Granny clutched it with both hands—one hand on each side of her neck. The men folks could not catch her to release her from the snake until she fainted, then they killed the snake and Granny soon came to. She was not bitten but greatly frightened. The white women had to finish getting the supper, while Granny tried to get herself together again, which she eventually succeeded in doing. But this was an experience which Granny never forgot. In subsequent years she used to sit down with a dozen or more children at her feet and relate to them, in graphic language, her experience with that old chicken snake. And oh, how the little ones used to ply her with questions! But she answered all of them to their satisfaction.

But Granny was great along other lines and for other things than that of cooking. It has already been stated that when Mr. Frierson lost his first wife she left a little motherless baby behind. It was a little boy, and his name was Mack. But Granny came to the child's rescue and acted a mother's part. She raised him. She prepared his food and fed him. She bathed him, dressed him, took him on her lap, tied his shoes, combed his hair and taught him his prayers. He slept in Granny's own bed with his lily white arms around her black neck. Little Mack loved Granny and Granny loved little Mack. And when he became a man he always entertained a high regard for her, and loved her to the end. Granny, though she was black, considered herself the mistress on that plantation. She thought that her color was no fault of hers, but circumstances (part of the time Mr. Frierson having no wife) and efficiency, made her head of the household. When Granny gave orders those orders had to be obeyed. White and colored respected and obeyed her.

Granny took great delight in caring for the chickens and the turkeys. She also gave the pigs about the yard some attention. All the waste from the kitchen was carefully saved for them. She saw that the cows were milked regularly. She kept the milk piggins and pans clean and nice, and did the churning herself. Consequently Mr. Frierson always had a plenty of fatted fowls for his table and a pig to roast whenever he felt like it. He also had an abundance of nice milk and butter. Granny took special pride in providing these things, and her master felt grateful to her for it.

Granny lived to see Emancipation, and, after becoming free, was taken by her son-in-law to his own hired home, where she was tenderly cared for until the angels came and escorted her soul home to that “happy land far, far away.” She lived the life of the righteous, and died in the Christian faith.

There was a good supply of fresh water fish in Pudden Swamp in ante-bellum days. The varieties known and caught in those days were suckers, pikes, jacks, perches and catfish. But the slaves hadn't much time for fishing; they had to work during the day. But they were very fond of hunting coons and 'possums, and even this pastime had to be gratified at night.

The flesh of these animals, when properly prepared, makes a very savory and palatable dish. The method of cooking the 'possum or coon was this: They first parboiled it whole and then roasted or baked it brown. Sweet potatoes were also boiled and skinned and roasted around it. The slaves were very fond of such dishes.

As has already been remarked, the young men had a natural fondness for hunting. Like the sporting men of all races, there were some slaves who possessed a natural fondness for the chase.

There were four dogs belonging to the white folks and perhaps one or two belonging to the slaves. These were all trained by the slaves. There was old Sumter, named for General Sumter of Revolutionary fame, and old Bull, Rip and Tiz. The last two were full-blood fox hounds, male and female. Better 'possum and coon dogs never entered the woods. Then there was old Toler. He was half bull and belonged to Tom. He was the fighter. When the other dogs failed he would swing to a 'possum or coon to the last. A 'possum was not much at fighting, unless he was caught in his den, then it took all the dogs to bring him out, and often all failed but old Toler. He would bring him out or die. Consequently the boys seldom left him behind. His presence was necessary to do the fighting.

'Possums usually inhabit the woodland and coons the swamps. The boys thought that they would like to have a 'possum for their Sunday morning's breakfast, and yet they had been told by Uncle Fridie and Uncle Isom not to go hunting on Saturday night, for, as the holy Sabbath began at midnight and as they had no way of telling when midnight came, they would be likely to hunt on Sunday. They owned no watches, but were told that when the seven stars reached a point directly overhead that it was midnight. Such was the case at that season of the year.

After supper the boys started out. The only things necessary to achieve a successful hunt was the dogs and two or three good, sharp axes with which to cut down the trees when the dogs would tree the game. They first went to the woods for a 'possum hunt, but, after wandering away for two miles, the dogs failed to strike a trail. They then concluded to go to the swamp (Pudden Swamp), for a coon hunt. Away then went, holding in their hands bright pitch pine torches. Now and then they would give to the dogs a keen coon hunters' whoop, but there came no response from them. On they went in the dark and dense swamp, whooping up the dogs. Presently the clear, full yelp of old Bull was heard. Sydney said, “It is a rabbit, for old Bull likes to run rabbits.” “Wait and see,” said Tom. Sam, who was the oldest in the crowd, and who had more experience in the hunting business than all the others, said: “I am waiting on old Tiz, for she never runs rabbits at night. If she barks then I will know it's a coon.” Again the boys whooped to the dogs. Just then a long, rolling bark was heard, such as a full-blood fox hound would make when it strikes a warm trail. Sam said: “Boys, it is old Tiz, and I believe it is a coon. Come on.” The torch-bearers snuffed their torches and quickened their steps. Again the boys whooped. By this time all four of the dogs, as the hunters used to say, were speaking. Old Bull, old Sumter, Rip and Tiz. The sound of their barking and yelping was like different voices singing the four parts of music. There was the soprano, alto, tenor and bass. Again the boys whooped. On they went trying to keep up with the dogs. The fellows got lively as they thought of the fun just ahead of them, when they would have the pleasure of witnessing a great coon-dog fight. But all of a sudden every dog ceased barking and the hunters stopped. They did not know what to make of it. Again they whooped, but there was no response on the part of the dogs. They listened in silent wonder. Presently the dogs came in, one by one, with their tails drooping between their hind legs. The boys noticed that their bristles were all upturned and they whined at their feet. The hunters became frightened and they began to think. Tom said, “Boys, perhaps it is after midnight and we are hunting on Sunday.” Instantly all eyes were upturned as they peered into the heavens looking for the seven stars, and to their surprise the seven stars had passed the zenith and swung far over into the western sky. Then they remembered what Uncle Fridle and Uncle Isom had told them about hunting on Sunday. Immediately they all concluded that God was angry with them for desecrating His holy day, and allowed the devil to come after them. It is needless to say that they left the swamp unceremoniously, for such was the case. They ran nearly every step of the way home, and when they got their breath they awoke the whole negro quarters and related their wonderful but very unpleasant experience. All the slaves believed that it was the devil sent after those wicked boys, but when the white folks heard of it they said it was a bear, for Mr. Adolphus saw one just a few days before while squirrel hunting in that region. But the slaves all held to their belief and still contended that it was the devil and that he came in the form of a big black bear. Suffice it to say that it cured the boys, and from that time on there was no more 'possum and coon hunting by the slaves on Saturday night in all that part of the country.

The slave young men and young women were like the young people of all other races, they fell in love and they married. Their love affairs, their courtship and their marriage were of the simplest form. They could not read nor write, therefore notes and letters did not figure in their love experiences. But they loved all the same. Cupid managed to kindle the divine spark in their breasts, and he had a way to fan it to a flame.

Love, as every one who has loved knows, has a language peculiarly its own. And it is not a language of words, but rather a language like that of free masonry. It is a language of grips, of signs and of symbols. When two young slaves fell in love with each other the young man would make it known on his part by a gentle pressure of the young woman's hand as they shook hands. Or he would give her a peculiar or affectionate smile and accompany his action with a loving gift. And in the majority of cases the gift consisted in the most beautiful red apple that he could secure from the orchard. The girl would rarely eat the apple until the Sabbath was passed and until it had become mellow. The presentation would likely be made on the Sabbath as they went or returned from church, and the girl invariably carried the apple in her hand or wrapped it in her handkerchief. As she gazed upon its beauty and inhaled its fragrance, she would be reminded of the tender love of her sweetheart.

When the young man became satisfied that he had won the heart of his girl, he then proceeded gently and modestly to ask her to become his wife. This was called among the slaves “popping the question.” Having secured her consent, he next secured the consent of her parents, if she had any, and the consent of his master and her master, if she lived on another plantation. This ended it. He was considered married, and he took her to be his wife. This was the usual way. There was no religious wedding ceremony and no marriage supper.

But there were a few isolated cases where the slaves were allowed to marry in due form and were given a wedding supper. These were the more prominent or favorite slaves, such as butlers, coachmen, nurses, chambermaids or cooks, sometimes enjoyed this privilege. Sam, the foreman on Mr. Frierson's plantation, was granted such a favor. He married a girl whose name was Bettie. She belonged to Mr. Isaac Keels, who owned the adjoining plantation just north of Mr. Frierson's.

The time was Saturday night and the occasion was a great one. Careful and elaborate preparations were made. The Friersons on Sam's side, and the Keelses on Bettie's side, co-operated to make the wedding a success. Also the relatives of the bride and the groom came forward to render assistance.

There were six bridesmaids and six groomsmen. The bridesmaids were all dressed in white and the groomsmen in black. Most of these costumes were borrowed—some from the white folks and some from the colored. The marriage feast was a bountiful affair. A good size shote, the gift of Mr. Frierson, was nicely barbecued. Uncle Tom, the father of the groom, was an expert at barbecuing. He did a lot of it for the white folks, especially on occasions of general musters, weddings, picnics, etc. Dozens of chickens were roasted, potted and fried. An abundance of sweet potato custards, apple pies and cakes were baked, and several large pots of rice were boiled. Every plantation within a radius of five miles was represented at that wedding. The marriage took place at the bride's home, or, I might say, in the negro quarters on Mr. Isaac Keels' place. Several white folks were present, especially of the Friersons and the Keelses. Uncle John Woods, an ante-bellum negro preacher, was engaged to perform the marriage ceremony. He was a very intelligent old man. He could read well and talk fluently. He was considered a great preacher by the slaves, and many of the devout white folks were fond of hearing him. He wore black pants and a black shad-belly or pigeon-tail coat and white vest. It was a secondhand outfit, and was the gift of his old master, Mr. Woods. He also wore a black silk beaver hat that looked rather seedy because of its extreme age and exposure to the elements. He wore a stiff standing white collar that spanned his neck and touched his ear on each side, and a white tie. But, withal, he had the appearance of a distinguished negro clergyman of ante-bellum days.

The marriage ceremony took place in the yard. At some distance in front of the door of the two-room cabin was placed a small table with a clean white cloth over it and on which were two brass candlesticks. In these burned two tallow dips or candles. Behind this table stood the preacher. Near him sat Jerry Goodman in a chair with a fiddle, who played the wedding march. The waiters, as they were called, filed out in couples, a man and a woman walking together. The groom and his bride followed in the rear, with the bride gracefully leaning upon the arm of her beloved. As now, so then, everybody tried to gain a view of the pair. Perfect silence reigned while Uncle John read, in a full, clear voice, the Methodist marriage ceremony. At the end the preacher was the first to kiss the bride, the groom the second, then followed kisses from all the bridesmaids and groomsmen. This was the custom in ante-bellum days among the slaves.

The next thing in order was the supper. Two tables had been built on different sides of the yard, one for the white folks and the other for the colored. The table for the white folks was about twelve feet long and three feet wide; the one for the colored was about twenty feet long and three wide. Clean white cloths were spread over these tables and plates were placed thereon as close as persons could stand. Food was put upon these tables until, if they were things of life, they would literally have groaned under the burdens of good things. Uncle John was placed at the head of the colored people's table with the groom and his bride on the right and the groomsmen and bridesmaids on each side down the line. He asked the divine blessing, or said the grace, for both tables. There were several tables full of the guests, but, as the food supply was ample, all had enough. The whole scene was a picturesque one, and it was made more so by the glare of the big bonfire that was kept burning in the yard.

After supper the fiddle struck up, with the nimble fingers of Jerry Goodman on the bow, and the dancing began and continued until a very late hour of the night. Early in the next week Sam, the groom, settled the marriage fee by giving the preacher, Uncle John Woods, a peck of clean-beat rice. Thus ended the wedding festivities on the old plantation.

Not many of the slaves knew the historical significance of Christmas. They could not read nor write, hence their knowledge of the important events of history, even those of sacred history, was exceedingly limited. Most they knew about Christmas was that it meant a good time for everybody. It was the custom on the plantations in that region of the country to kill the fattening hogs just before Christmas so that all, white folks and slaves, might have plenty of fresh meat to eat during this joyous season. This gave rise to the expression, which originated among the slaves, “a hog-killing time.” Backbones, spare-ribs and rice were a favorite dish about Christmas time.

There is another thing to be considered about the way and manner in which Christmas was observed on the old plantation in ante-bellum days, and that is this: Three days were usually given to the slaves for Christmas. The day before, generally called “Christmas Eve,” and the day after; hence the slaves thought all three days were Christmas. They frequently referred to Christmas Eve as “the first day of Christmas,” to Christmas itself as “the second day of Christmas,” and the day after as “the third or last day of Christmas.” And this thought and this manner of expression have been brought over into freedom. Among the country colored people we frequently hear similar expressions used even at this day and time in speaking of Christmas.

On some plantations it was the custom to have all the slaves repair in a body to the white folks' house on Christmas morning and receive a dram as “a Christmas present.” Old and young, male and female, came forward for the “Christmas dram.” It was certainly a lively time with the slaves on the old plantation. Those who came early to the yard would have to wait until all came. And while they waited they would whistle, jig or dance, or “They sat and sung Their slender ditties when the trees were bare.”

But this was not the case on Mr. Frierson's plantation. He was a Christian man, and, therefore, believed in and practiced the principles of temperance. He, nor a single member of his family, were ever known to indulge in strong drink. Such a thing as whiskey was unknown on that plantation. But it was freely used on some of the adjoining plantations. On some of these there were drunkards to be found both among the white folks and among the slaves. But not so on Mr. Frierson's place. It was a plantation where sobriety was strictly taught and practiced by the white folks, and, consequently, the slaves were greatly benefited.

But Christmas was observed on Mr. Frierson's place in a way that was highly enjoyable to all. It was the custom on all the plantations around to give at the beginning of the winter each male among the slaves a new outfit, consisting of shoes, pants, coat and a cap. The women and girls got shoes and dresses. Mr. Frierson made it a point to give out these on Christmas morning.

On or about a month before Christmas the right foot of each slave, male and female, was measured and Mr. Frierson would get in his buggy and drive to Sumter, the County seat, and Sam would bring the two-horse wagon. The purpose was to buy shoes for the slaves. The town was only about twenty miles away, and by starting before day they could, and did, make the trip in a day, and do all their trading, too. The topic of conservation during that day among the slaves while they worked was the trip of the old boss and Sam to Sumter. As the sun went down and the time drew near for them to return the slaves would listen for the rumbling of the wagon wheels and the sound of horses' hoofs. That night their slumbers were filled with dreams and visions of new suits, new shoes, new caps and new dresses. But these things were not given out until Christmas morning. And while this glad day was perhaps only a month off, yet the month seemed longer, the days seemed longer and the nights seemed longer than at any other season of the year. This was naturally and literally true of the nights, but it was not true of the days nor the month, but so it seemed to the slaves. The anxiety, the longing and the solicitude for the dawn of Christmas morning is indescribable. The thought of old Santa Claus among enlightened people never could produce such a feeling as that which animated the breasts of these poor, ignorant slaves.

But Christmas came. The sun arose without a cloud to obscure his brightness. Breakfast is over and all hands repair to the “house.” Presently the yard is full of darkies with smiling faces and joyous hearts. And there are as many piles on that long front piazza of the white folks house as there are hands on that place. In each pile there are shoes, a suit, or dress, and a cap. On each pile there is a tag with the name of the person written on it for whom it is designed. Now, imagine, if you can, the exquisite joy that thrilled each heart as his or her name was called. And as each person filed out of that gate on their return to the negro quarters they seemed to be as happy as angels. And it is needless to say that the white folks enjoyed the distribution of the winter's outfit on Christmas morning as much as the slaves, for such undoubtedly was the case. Everybody felt that this was a better way than having a dram on Christmas morning. Such was Christmas on the old plantation in ante-bellum days.

Sunday was always a welcome day on the old plantation, not only by the slaves, but also by the white folks. It came in all right to break the monotony of plantation life. The older and more serious ones went to “meetin'” or visited the sick, or made social calls, while the youngsters met other youngsters from the adjoining plantations and spent the day in wrestling, jumping, boxing, running foot races and sometimes fighting. In the summer season they would sometimes roam through the fields from plantation to plantation in search of watermelons and fruits. They would plunge into the dark and dense swamp in search of wild muscadine grapes or through the fields for blackberries, or the pine woods for huckleberries.

On some of the nearby plantations the younger slaves were made to do light work on Sunday, such as minding the birds and crows from the corn, rice and potatoes. When these plants were coming up the crows and rice birds were very destructive. They would pull them up, and often the whole crop would have to be carefully replanted. But Mr. Frierson, who planted the same kinds of stuff as was planted on the other plantations, did not put any of his slaves on guard in the fields on Sunday, and yet he always made good crops and had an abundance. He was a God-fearing man, and held that the Sabbath was a day of rest for man and beast. He kept the day as sacred and required all his slaves, as nearly as possible, to do the same.

The Shiloh Methodist Church, to which Mr. Frierson and his family belonged, formed a part of the circuit known as the “Lynchburg Circuit.” The parsonage was located at Lynchburg, a little cross-roads village about eight miles away. The minister was accustomed to preach in the Methodist Church at Lynchburg Sunday morning at 11 o'clock and at Shiloh in the afternoon at 3:30 o'clock the same day. His appointment at the Shiloh Church was once a month, but to keep the slaves—and especially the younger ones—out of mischief, Mr. Frierson had preaching in his yard under the stately old water oaks on the regular preaching day at Shiloh. This service was conducted by some one of the old ante-bellum negro preachers. There was also a Sunday school conducted at the Shiloh Church in the afternoon just before preaching. All this was done for the spiritual and moral uplift of the slaves as well as to keep them out of devilment, and from desecrating God's holy day.

It may appear strange to the reader, but it is true, nevertheless, that in some way or other the slaves very often connected sickness and death with voodooism or conjuration. This belief and practice of voodooism and conjuration originated in Africa, and was brought over to America when the native African was brought here and made a slave. The idea is deeply rooted in the negro thought and life. Its history runs back, perhaps, four thousand years among the native tribes of that Dark Continent.

I quote from the University Encyclopedia: “Voodoo, a name given by the negroes of the West Indies and the United States to superstitious rites and beliefs brought with them from Africa, and to the sorcerer who practiced these rites.

“In the Southern States of the Union there was at one time a widespread and deep-rooted belief in the power of these sorcerers. As the negroes advance in education the belief is dying away. At one time, however, despite all efforts of religious teachers to banish the mastery of this belief from the minds of the slaves, the voodoo “doctor’ was an almost omnipotent individual in the estimation of his fellows. No slave could, under any pretext, be persuaded to expose himself to the vengeance or wrath of one of these conjurers. In some cases there was a reasonable foundation for these fears, for in not a few instances has it been proven that some of the voodoos were skillful poisoners, and while the great mass of their professed art was a rank imposture, still they possessed enough of devilish skill to render them objects of wholesome dread.

“Their methods were as varied and variable as the winds. Anything that was mysterious or likely to impress the ignorant mind with a feeling of terror was eagerly seized on and improved by them to their own advantage. Their services were more often invoked in destructive than in curative offices. If a negro desired to destroy an enemy he sought the aid of the voodoo, who, in many cases, would undertake to remove the obnoxious one, and the removal was generally accomplished through the medium of poison. No doubt exists that in many cases the victim of a voodoo died from sheer fright, for whenever a negro had reason to think that he was possessed by the spell of the voodoo, he at once gave up all hope, thus hastening the accomplishment of the end toward which the energies of the sorcerer were directed. Their incantations and spell-workings were always conducted with the greatest secrecy, no one being allowed to witness the more occult and potent portion of their ritual. They were frequently employed by dusky swains to gain for them the affections of their hardhearted inamoratas, and love powders and other accessories for ‘tricking’ constituted their stock in trade, and in some instances yielded them no insignificant revenue. The field in which voodooism flourished best was the far South, among the rice, cotton and sugar plantations, where the negroes were not brought into contact so closely with their masters as they were further North.”

The above quotation is a correct presentation of the conditions as they existed on the Frierson plantation, as well as on every plantation in the Southern States. What was true of one as regards voodooism and conjuration, was true of all of them.

Well, there was a girl on the Frierson plantation by the name of Mary. She was a black girl of medium size, but rather good looking. She was quite a favorite among the young men of the place and neighborhood. Several, so to speak, were cutting after her. Mary was a daughter of Aunt Peggie and Uncle Sam. But it came to pass that she took sick, and, after a lingering illness of possibly four or six months' duration, she died, leaving behind her a little infant. During the entire period of her sickness it was whispered around on the plantation, also on the adjoining plantations, that Mary had been conjured. Of course, this meant that she had been poisoned. There was a woman who lived on a plantation not far away, whose name was Epsey. This woman was said to have been Mary's rival in a love scrape, and, therefore, was accused of being the one who administered the dose. Some conjurer of the neighborhood prepared the dose for her, so it was said. This thing—Mary's sickness and death, and the talk of her being conjured—stirred the negroes on all the plantations for miles around.

But the white folks took no stock in all these rumors and gossip. They knew that Mary was sick, therefore they sent for Dr. Adolphus Higgins Frierson. He was a brother of the proprietor of the old plantation, and was a graduate of a medical college in Philadelphia, Pa. He was a learned man and a very competent physician. He was the family physician for the white folks, and also attended the slaves.

Dr. Frierson treated Mary, but the slaves did not think that he understood the case perfectly well. He said Mary had been “hurt” or “conjured,” and that he alone could cure her. So he treated her secretly at the same time that Dr. Frierson was treating her. But it came to pass that Mary died and her funeral was the largest ever held in all that region of the country.

Death always made a very profound impression upon the slaves. They could not understand it. Their dead was invariably buried at night or on the Sabbath, at which time the slaves from the adjoining plantations attended in large numbers. Mary's funeral took place at night.

The coffin, a rough home-made affair, was placed upon a cart, which was drawn by old Gray, and the multitude formed in a line in the rear, marching two deep. The procession was something like a quarter of a mile long. Perhaps every fifteenth person down the line carried an uplifted torch. As the procession moved slowly toward “the lonesome graveyard” down by the side of the swamp, they sung the well-known hymn of Dr. Isaac Watts:

Mary's baby was taken to the graveyard by its grandmother, and before the corpse was deposited in the earth, the baby was passed from one person to another across the coffin. The slaves believed that if this was not done it would be impossible to raise the infant. The mother's spirit would come back for her baby and take it to herself. This belief is held by many of the descendants of these slaves, who practice the same thing at the present day.

After this performance the corpse was lowered into the grave and covered, each person throwing a handful of dirt into the grave as a last and farewell act of kindness to the dead, and while this was being done the leader announced that other hymn of Dr. Watts:

These hymns were sung with a spirit and pathos which were sufficient to move the heart of a savage. A prayer was offered, the doxology sung and the benediction was pronounced. This concluded the services at the grave. No burial or committal service was read, for it was only now and then that one could be found among the slaves who could read well enough to do it. At a subsequent time, when all the relatives and friends could be brought together, a big funeral sermon was preached by some one of the ante-bellum negro preachers. And this practice has been brought over into the land of freedom, and is still observed in some places and by some colored people at the present day.

The slaveholders of ante-bellum days had some customs that were very convenient, and, at the same time, very helpful to each other. There were no markets and butchers in the country, where they could get fresh meats: hence they formed a market among themselves, and each man was his own butcher. That is, a number of them formed themselves into a club, one of which killed a fat young beef every Saturday, and a choice piece was taken to each member of the club. Thus they were supplied with nice fresh beef every week. This beef was not sold, but was distributed around among the members of the club as a sort of an exchange arrangement. When a member of the club killed, he put the whole beef into the wagon (except his own choice or piece) and sent it round to each member of the club, and they made their own selection. When the club was formed, each member subscribed to, or promised to take so many pounds each week, and it was done. This arrangement obtained all through the country, and it worked very nicely. There was another arrangement, which was formed by the planters for mutual helpfulness: namely, the log-rolling. A day was set on which the log-rolling was to take place, and then invitations were sent out to the neighboring planters, and each sent a hand. This work was returned when the others had their log-rolling. A log-rolling always meant a good dinner of the best, and lots of fun, as well as a testing of manhood. This testing of manhood was something that everybody was interested in. The masters were concerned, and consequently they selected and sent to the log-rolling their ablest-bodied men; the slave women were concerned: for they wanted their husbands and sweethearts to be considered the best men of the community. Then, too, the men took great pride in the development of their muscles. They took delight in rolling up their shirt sleeves, and displaying the largeness of their arms. In some cases, their muscles presented the appearance of John L. Sullivan—the American pugilist.

The woodlands of the South were covered with a variety of trees and undergrowth. Among the trees, were to be found the majestic pine, the sturdy oak, the sweet maple, the lovely dogwood, and the fruitful and useful hickory. When a piece of woodland was cleared up, and made ready for planting, it was called “new ground.” In clearing up new ground, the undergrowth was grubbed up and burned; the oaks, maples, dogwood, and hickories were cut down, split up, and hauled to the house for firewood; and the pines were belted or cut round, and left to die. After these pines had died and partially decayed, the winter's storms, from year to year, would blow them down: hence the necessity for the annual log-rolling. These log-rollings usually took place in the spring of the year. They formed an important part of the preparations for the new crop.

On the appointed day, the hands came together at the yard, and all necessary arrangements were made, the most important of which was the pairing or matching of the men for the day's work. In doing this, regard was had to the height and weight of the men. They were to lift in pairs, therefore, it was necessary that they should be as nearly the same height and weight as possible. The logs have all been cut about twenty feet in length, and several good, strong hand sticks have been made. Now, everything is ready, and away to the fields they go. See them as they put six hand-sticks under a great big log. This means twelve men—one at each end of the hand-stick. It is going to be a mighty testing of manhood. Every man is ordered to his place. The captain gives the order, “Ready,” and every man bows to his burden, with one hand on the end of the handstick, and the other on the log to keep it from rolling. The next command given by the captain is, “Altogether!” and up comes the big log. As they walk and stagger toward the heap, they utter a whoop like what is known as the “Rebel yell.” If one fails to lift his part, he is said to have been “pulled down,” and therefore becomes the butt of ridicule for the balance of the day. When the women folks learn of his misfortune, they forever scorn him as a weakling.

At 12 o'clock the horn blows for dinner, and they all knock off, and go, and enjoy a good dinner. After a rest, for possibly two hours, they go to the field again, and finish up the work for the day. Such was the log-rolling in the “days before the war.”

At a subsequent day the women and children gather up the bark and limbs of these fallen trees and throw or pile them on these log heaps and burn them. When fifty or seventy-five log heaps would be fully ablaze in the deepening of the evening twilight, the glare reflected from the heavens made it appear that the world was on fire. To even the benighted and uneducated slave, the sight was magnificent, and one of awe-inspiring beauty.

All who have the good fortune to have been born and reared in the country, can recall with pleasing recollections the joy that welled up in all hearts during the harvest. Rev. Dr. Henry Duncan, an English writer of singular ability, says: “The heart thus opened, is prepared for that social enjoyment which we observe so remarkably diffused over whole bands of reapers engaged in the same toilsome but healthful employment. The emotion spreads from heart to heart, and the animation which prevails while the work proceeds, is not less an indication of gladness than the joke and song with which the welkin resounds during the intervals of rest. Who can view the joy which sparkles in the eye, and bursts from the lips of the reaper while he plies his daily tasks and not acknowledge a beneficent Creator?”

In the Book of Ruth we have a vivid and beautiful picture given us of an oriental harvest. The fields of Boaz teem with plenty. The golden crop yields its stores to replenish his granaries. The voice of the season calls for the reapers. They take down their sickles and whet them until they are keen and bright. Then away to the harvestfield they go, followed by the binders and gleaners; among the latter is the lovely Ruth. With patient industry they ply the sickle from morn till noon, at which time they gather, master, reapers, binders and gleaners, to partake of their bountiful meal. This they do with a beautiful simplicity and with great joy and gladness. And this joy and gladness is not the result of having a plenty to eat and drink, but the responsive gratitude of the finer qualities of the heart for the gracious and lavish gifts of a Divine Providence. This sentiment—joy at the return of the harvest—is characteristic of human nature. This is the testimony of all ages the world over. So it was with the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. And so it is with us at the present day. The writer of these pages can remember the time when, even in America, the grain harvest was a time of great rejoicing. Of course this was before reapers or harvesters became so common. The neighbors for miles around used to send each a hand, with the old-fashioned “cradle,” to our house, to assist in reaping down the harvest. And when ours was all done, we sent to help each of them. This was the custom in those days. With twenty hands we could reap down nearly a hundred acres in a day. Each reaper had a binder to follow him, and each binder had a little boy to gather up the handfuls as fast as the reaper would let them fall, and hand them to him or her. The writer was one of those little boys. It was fun for us. We always had a plenty to eat and drink of the best the farm afforded. The fun, the sport, and the joy we all had cannot be described. Only those who have had some acquaintance with farm life can imagine how we enjoyed it. What we ate and drank, and the joy the harvest afforded, constituted a considerable portion of our reward for bearing the burden and the heat of the day in the harvest field. This was wheat harvest, which usually occurred in June.

But the corn harvest came in the fall, and the corn-shucking always took place at that season. The fodder was generally pulled or stripped in August and September, and the ears of corn were left on the stock to dry until about the first of November. But now the day has come, and the corn breaking has begun. The hands all go to the field, and they break off the ears and throw them into piles. These piles are made in the middle of the same row about twenty feet apart, and contain the corn of some twelve rows. Two wagons, each drawn by a pair of mules or horses, with bodies the same size, are loaded level full of corn. At the barn yard it is thrown into two piles preparatory to the corn-shucking. One load is put on this pile, and the other on that, and so on, until the entire crop is hauled in.

Then the night is set for the corn-shucking: for it was usually had at night, so that the slaves from the adjacent plantations could come and enjoy the sport. Invitations were sent far and near, and they were readily accepted. Great preparations were made in food and drink. The only drink allowed at the corn-shucking was coffee, but it was customary on some of the plantations to have whiskey at corn-shuckings, but Mr. Frierson never allowed it.

It was often the case that from fifty to seventy-five men, beside the women, came to the corn-shucking. All these had to be fed. Great pots of rice, meat, bread and coffee were prepared. It was enough for all who came and took part in the corn-shucking.

When all the invited hands had arrived, the first thing in order was the election of two men to be captains, and these captains selected their companies from the crowd present. It was done alternately, something after the manner of school boys when they make up their sides to play a game of baseball. Captain Number One had the first choice, and then his opponent, and so on, until the two companies were made up. These preliminary matters having been arranged, they then set in to shucking corn.

The reader will remember that there are two piles of corn of equal size, and now there are two companies of shuckers of equal numbers, each company having a captain. It was considered no little honor to be elected captain of a corn-shucking company. His hat or cap was invariably decorated with the inside shucks of a large ear of corn. He was delighted with the office, and everybody—white and colored—did him honor. In the election of these captains, regard was had to their ability to sing: for the captains usually led their company in singing while shucking corn. At a given signal, each captain took his seat on the top of his pile of corn, and his shuckers surrounded it. While they shucked corn they engaged in singing corn-shucking songs. Much of the fun of the occasion depended upon which side should win. It was a race that grew more exciting as the piles of unshucked corn grew less. They shucked, they sang, and they shouted. Then they knew that a bountiful supper awaited them just as soon as the work was done. On they went—a jolly good set, singing, joking and laughing. In the midst of it all, they could sniff the aroma of hot coffee, and the delicious odor of roasted meats and other nice dishes. This, as well as the hope of victory, was quite an inspiration to the boys. Well, the work is done. The last ear of corn has been shucked, and captain number one, with his company, has won. See the boys, as they toss their hats into the air! Hear them shout! The victory is theirs. They are a happy set.

Supper is now ready. Long tables—well laden with good things—have been prepared. Fully two score colored women are there to wait on the table. And they eat, and eat, and drink, to their satisfaction. The supper being over, with the moon shining brightly (moon-light nights were invariably selected for corn-shuckings) the boys spend some time in wrestling, foot racing and jumping before going home. And in all these games they matched one's agility, strength, and manhood against that of his fellow. This is kept up until a late hour of the night, and then they retire to the various plantations whither they belong.

Such was the corn-shucking on the old plantation in ante-bellum days. It was very much enjoyed by both the white folks and the slaves. The incidents and the happenings of a corn-shucking were long talked of on all the plantations represented. Nearly all the plantations had their corn-shuckings, and they certainly kept things lively during this season of the year in those days.

Little Jimmie was, perhaps, the most interesting character on Mr. Frierson's plantation. He was not a mulatto in the strict sense of that word. Webster, who is an authority on the meaning of words in the English language, says: “A mulatto is the offspring of a negress by a white man, or of a white woman by a negro.” Jimmie was the son of Uncle Tom and Aunt Namie. Both of them were mulattoes. Both of their fathers were white and both of their mothers were black.

Jimmie's father—Uncle Tom—was a free man. He was born a slave, but purchased himself and his mother long before the first gun of the Civil War was fired. He was a man of industry; frugality, and wisdom. His wife—Aunt Namie—possessed the same qualities as her husband in an eminent degree, to all of which she added another very desirable quality, and that was a deep and sincere piety. Though a slave, she was one of Zion's noblest daughters.

Jimmie was not like Isaac, a child of promise; nor like Moses, a goodly child; nor like Samuel, a child of desire and prayer; but like the unnamed offspring of David and Bathsheba, he was a child of affliction. According to the testimony of his mother, his father, and his grandmother, he came into the world a sorely afflicted child. They never thought that they would ever succeed in raising the little fellow. But they did all in their power for the child, backed by the efforts of the white folks; and God blessed the means used, and the child lived, and grew to be a bright and active little boy.

Jimmie possessed a lively, sunshiny, and frank disposition, which never failed to win friends for him. Consequently, from his early childhood, he became a general favorite on the plantation among both the white folks and the slaves. Just as soon as he became old enough, his old master took him from his mother to be his waiting-boy. This necessitated his eating at the yard and sleeping in the white folks' house. Family prayers were invariably had, evening and morning, and Jimmie was always called in. The family sat in a semi-circle around the fireside, and Jimmie's little chair formed a part of that semi-circle. The Bible was read in a most impressive manner, and prayer was offered. The memory of those days has always been helpful and a source of inspiration to Jimmie.

This love story is not a tale of fiction, nor is it one of romance, but it is a real story of love based on facts. It contains all the elements necessary to the making of a fascinating novel of two hundred or more printed pages. The characters were both slaves—having been born and reared in that condition. Nevertheless, they were not so lowly as to escape Cupid's notice. He aimed a dart at the heart of each of them, and in each case it struck and stuck fast. The flame that was kindled in these hearts by the son of Mars and Venus was as pure, and burned as fervently as in any human breast. Jimmie, the bright little mail boy, fell in love with Isabella. This young girl was a beautiful quadroon. She was inclined to be tall, and somewhat slim, and possessed a lovely face. Her skin was fair, her eyes were dark, and her hair was black and fell in curls upon her shoulders. Her teeth were white, and it seemed that nature took special pains in making them in a uniform size, and in adjusting them in such a way that they would be attractive, and an object of admiration to all with whom she came in contact. Her dresses were always neat and clean. They were such as were worn by the nurses and chambermaids of the well-to-do white folks of that day and time. This beautiful girl—Isabella— belonged to Mr. Charles Durant, who lived on Lynches river, about five miles above Lynchburg, on the main road to Bishopville. This put a space of some twelve miles or more between Jimmie and his lover. And while he loved her dearly, yea, with all his heart, yet he could not go to see her. The distance was too great, and he was too shy and young. Therefore he had to wait until the spring season, when the quarterly meeting took place at the Methodist church at Lynchburg, or until the fall, when the annual camp-meeting was held at the old Tabernacle camp ground on Lynches river about four miles below Lynchburg.

As already stated, the Methodist parsonage was located at Lynchburg, and, perhaps, the largest and most important church of the circuit was at this point. And when the quarterly meeting of this church took place, it brought together many people from different parts of the circuit, and among them were the Friersons and the Durants. It was here that Jimmie would have the privilege of meeting his sweetheart—Isabella. She was nurse and waiting maid for the Durants, and was invariably brought along to care for the baby. Jimmie was coachman, and came as driver for the Frierson girls. While the services would be going on in the church, and the minister would be delivering one of his most eloquent discourses to an intensely interested audience, Jimmie and Isabella would be sitting out in the carriage talking love, and making plans which they could never be able to execute. Being slaves—and quite youthful at that—there were insurmountable barriers in the way, which they did not dream of. But it was a great pleasure for them to meet on these big meeting occasions, and look at each other, smile at each other, and tell each other how much each loved the other. One did not doubt the sincerity and genuineness of the other's love. Each felt that their love was reciprocated, and this, in a measure, gave them satisfaction. These quarterly meetings lasted only about two days—Saturday and Sunday—and thus ended the interviews of Jimmie and his beloved Isabella. These meetings usually were held every three months on the charge, but in the Lynchburg church it took place in the spring of the year, and these lovers would meet no more until the fall, when the great Tabernacle camp-meeting came on.

On the morning of April 12th, 1861, the first gun of the great Civil War was fired. It was fired on Fort Sumter from a Confederate battery located in Charleston harbor. It was a terrific bombardment of thirty-four hours' duration. This was the beginning of a struggle which resulted in the emancipation of 4,000,000 of slaves. On the 1st day of January, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued his famous Emancipation Proclamation, and it completely swept away the institution of African slavery, which had had an existence on the American continent for two hundred and forty-four years. But this Proclamation did not go into universal effect until General Lee surrendered at Appomattox Courthouse on the 9th of April, 1865.

At this time—April 9th—the farmers in the South had pitched their crops. The corn, the cotton, and the potatoes had been planted, were up, and growing nicely. And now comes the emancipation of all the slaves, and if they all leave the old plantation at once, what would be the result? It meant starvation and death both for the white folks and the newly made freedmen. But the authorities at Washington relieved the situation by advising the landlords and the ex-slaves to enter into contracts to remain together until the following January, to work the crops, and to divide them at the harvest in the fall. This was done.

We come now to the most pathetic part of our story, namely: “The Breaking Up of the Old Plantation.” And well do I remember it. I do not remember the day of the week—whether it was Monday, Tuesday, or some other week-day— but most vividly do I remember the scene.

Mr. Frierson—on a certain day—requested all the hands on the plantation to come to the “house.” The men, the women, and the children were included in his order. And some of the free colored people of the neighborhood heard of the order, and they also came to see and hear. In those days of excitement, curiosity reached a high degree of feverish expectation and desire for knowledge, for information, and for light. The slaves had heard of the Emancipation Proclamation, which had been issued a little more than two years before, but which had never changed their condition. They had also heard of the surrender of General Lee, which put an end to the war. Mr. Adolphus—a Confederate soldier—had returned home, and there he sat at a small table on the front piazza, writing. The paper which he was writing afterwards proved to be the contract between the landlord and the ex-slaves, which they were called together to sign.

It was a beautiful spring day. There was not a cloud in the heavens to obscure the brightness of the sun. The yard in front of the piazza, and in front of the east end of the same, was crowded with negroes. Their faces were all turned toward Mr. Frierson, who stood on the piazza with the contract in his hand. Their eyes were fixed on him, and their ears were attentive. But before he read the contract, he made to them a speech. He spoke, in part, as follows:

“My Servants: I call you together today, to read this contract to you, and have you all to sign it. This is the order issued by the Government at Washington. The North and the South have been engaged in a four-years' bloody war. As you all know, I have had two sons at the front— your Marse Rush and your Marse Adolphus. Your Marse Rush was killed in battle by those cruel Yankees, and is buried in an unknown grave in that far off land. Your Marse Adolphus —through a kind Providence—passed through the awful struggle without receiving as much as a scratch, and has been permitted to return home to us again. I know you all are glad, and rejoice with me in his safe return.

“But I must now tell you that you all are no longer my slaves. All the colored people who have been held in the South as slaves are now free. Your freedom is one of the results of the war, which has just closed. I do not know what you all are going to do after this year. I do not know whether you intend to leave me, and go out to seek homes elsewhere, or whether you will remain. But I want to assure you that I will be glad to have you all remain—every one of you.

“There is not one among you that was not born in my house, save four, namely: Uncle Fridie and his wife, and Uncle Isom and his wife. These four came into my possession by inheritance. They were my father's slaves, and when he died, at the division of his estate, they fell to me. I have kept them through all these years, even down to old age. And when they became so old and feeble that they could not work, I have kindly clothed, fed and cared for them. I have made them as comfortable in their declining years as it was possible for me to do.

“Then again, I declare unto you that I have not been cruel to any of you. I have not abused you myself, and did not allow anybody else to do it—not even my own sons, Mack, Rush, nor Adolphus. And all the neighborhood knew that I did not wish to have my negroes imposed upon. The patrols so understood it. And to avoid trouble with them, and to keep them from slashing your backs when they caught you away from the plantation, I always wrote you a ticket or a pass. But some of you have gone off without my knowledge, and without a ticket, and have been caught and whipped, but it was not my fault. I was not to blame for that. You, yourselves, were responsible for it.

“There is another thing which I want to call your attention to. I have never put an overseer over you, neither have I employed a ‘nigger driver’ on my plantation. I have owned no blood hounds, and have not given any encouragement, nor employment to those who have owned them. I have never separated, by selling nor by buying, a mother and her child; a husband and his wife. Of the truth of this, you will bear me witness. In all these matters, I have the approval of a good conscience.

“And now, I wish to say again, you are no longer my slaves, but you all are now free. And I want to say to you that I bear no ill-will toward you. You are not responsible for the great change that has come upon us, and for the separation of master and servants. Others are responsible for these things. In the future let us be friends and good neighbors. You all have been taught to work, and to behave yourselves, and I hope you will continue to lead such lives in the future.”

At the close of this talk, Mr. Frierson read the contract, in which it was agreed that all the slaves should remain on the plantation until the first day of January, 1866, when the crop would be divided. When he had finished reading, the older heads of these ex-slaves filed in one by one, and touched the pen in the hand of Mr. Adolphus, and made their mark. They then left the yard, and returned to their work.

But what were their feelings? Ah! words are inadequate to describe them. Their joy was unspeakable. But they had good sense. They imagined what were the feelings of the white folks because of the loss of their slaves. They knew that they were chafed in their minds, and that an outward demonstration of joy on their part would be unwise. Therefore their rejoicing was a subdued rejoicing. Though they had been kindly treated, and their relations to, and their attachment for, the white folks had been one of tenderness, yet they welcomed the change, and were glad of the new order of things. But they scarcely knew what it all meant. It was decidedly a new experience to them. They all remained except Jimmie until January.

During the fall the crops were harvested and divided according to the provisions of the contract, and when January came, there was a breaking up, and a separation of the old plantation. Nearly all the slaves left and went out and made contracts with other landlords. A few remained for one year, and then the last one of them pulled out and made their homes elsewhere. Thus they were all scattered, as it were, by the four winds of the heavens, never to come together again until the judgment.

Sometime during the next spring (1866) Mr. Frierson, the proprietor of the old plantation, went out into the field to view his growing crop, and fell with a paralytic stroke, and died soon after. He was buried at the old family graveyard.

In 1886, just twenty years after the breaking up and separation of the old plantation, Jimmie, the mail boy, (now the Rev.——) returned to Lynchburg to visit his parents—Uncle Tom and Aunt Namie. It was during this visit that Jimmie proposed to his mother that they visit once more the Friersons' at the old plantation on Pudden Swamp. He thought he discovered in himself a sorter hankering desire to revisit the place where he first saw the light, and view once more the scenes of his childhood. He had heard that Mr. Frierson—the old man—had gone to his long home, so had Mr. Adolphus, but the girls were still living, and occupied the old mansion on the Frierson plantation, and Jimmie wanted to see them once more in this life. Hundreds of times Jimmie had driven those girls in the carriage while attending “big meetings,” weddings, and while making social calls. In those days these girls were good to Jimmie, and he had not forgotten it. Now, he wants to see them for the last time, so he persuaded his mother to accompany him to the old plantation. This she readily consented to do.

After breakfast one morning Jimmie hitched up his father's horse and buggy and, with his mother, started for Pudden Swamp. They drove up into the yard at the Friersons' just as the old clock in the “house” struck 12, and Jimmie recognized the familiar tones of the old timepiece, and it so filled him with glee that as he alighted from the buggy, he said: “That is the same old clock by which I used to rise at four in the morning, and blow the horn for the boys to come and feed the horses and the mules.” And so it was.