s time it was '76.

"'Member de fight dat day when Mr. Pole Barnadore knock Mr. Blanchard
down, while de speakin' was a gwine on? You does? Well, us come to
common 'greement on dat, bless God!

"Them was scary times! Me bein' just half nigger and half white man, I
knowed which side de butter was on de bread. Who I see dere? Well, dere
was a string of red shirts a mile long, dat come into Winnsboro from
White Oak. And another from Flint Hill, over de Pea Ferry road, a mile
long. De bar-rooms of de town did a big business dat day. Seem lak it
was de fashion to git drunk all 'long them days.

"Them red shirts was de monkey wrench in de cotton-gin of de carpet bag
party. I's here to tell you. If a nigger git hungry, all he have to do
is go to de white folk's house, beg for a red shirt, and explain hisself
a democrat. He might not git de shirt right then but he git his belly
full of everything de white folks got, and de privilege of comin' to dat
trough sometime agin.

"You wants me to tell you 'bout who I is, where I born, and how old I
is? Well, just cross examine me and I'll tell you de facts as best I
knows how.

"I was born twelve miles east of Winnsboro, S. C. My marster say it was
de 18th of January, 1860.

"My mother name Ann. Her b'long to my marster, James Barber. Dat's not a
fair question when you ask me who my daddy was. Well, just say he was a
white man and dat my mother never did marry nobody, while he lived. I
was de onliest child my mother ever had.

"After freedom my mother raised me on de Marse Adam Barber place, up by
Rocky Mount and Mitford. I stayed dere 'til all de 'citement of politics
die down. My help was not wanted so much at de 'lection boxes, so I got
to roamin' 'round to fust one place and then another. But wheresomever I
go, I kept a thinkin' 'bout Rosa and de ripe may-pops in de field in
cotton pickin' time. I landed back to de Barber place and after a
skirmish or two wid de old folks, marry de gal de Lord always 'tended
for me to marry. Her name was Rosa Ford. You ask me if she was pretty?
Dat's a strange thing. Do you ever hear a white person say a colored
woman is pretty? I never have but befo' God when I was trampin' 'round
Charleston, dere was a church dere called St. Mark, dat all de society
folks of my color went to. No black nigger welcome dere, they told me.
Thinkin' as how I was bright 'nough to git in, I up and goes dere one
Sunday. Ah, how they did carry on, bow and scrape a