The Melton Family After Reconstruction

In Chesterfield County, South Carolina, Reconstruction ended early in the morning of April 16, 1871. On that day, after months of harassment, Robert Melton and his wife were murdered in their home by a group of Ku Kluxers. 

Robert was a small farmer who lived in the northwestern part of the county, near the modern location of Pageland. After the Civil War, he was one of the few white men who actively supported the Republican Party. The party was especially active in the region. The newly elected state senator worked with northern investors to develop the township. They planned to purchase plantations, subdivide them, and sell small plots to farmers. Alongside those efforts, they were going to connect the region to larger towns via a railroad. The outcome, they hoped, would improve the economy and secure the county as a long-term base of Republican support.

Robert was well-positioned to support their efforts. He was one of the few South Carolinians who had supported the Union during the Civil War. When Gen. Sherman's army passed through the area, Robert and his family eagerly provided them with all the provisions they had.

At least in the beginning, Reconstruction uplifted Robert and his family in ways that would have been impossible during antebellum. Because of the development efforts, Robert was able to purchase his own farm, and he was appointed to positions in local government, serving as an election manager and a tax assessor. 

Robert's murder by Ku Kluxers brought an abrupt end to all of this. Not only was Robert dead, but the political changes that had empowered him were reversed. Investors abandoned their development plan, and fearing for their lives, Republican politicians fled the county. Chesterfield's wealthy lawyer / planter class regained political power and would govern the county for generations.

The Ku Kluxers killed both Robert and his wife Harriet, but they left behind their children, seven in total. All were young adults, and four of them were still living on the family farm. They witnessed the murder of their parents, and one daughter, Sarah, suffered a serious gunshot wound.

The Melton murder made the national news. The press mentioned that Sarah was hurt so badly that her leg would likely be amputated at the thigh, and she might succumb to the injuries. However, by the next month, the press cycle had moved on, and the Melton children passed out of the public spotlight.

The Melton children did not, however, escape the fallout of their parents' murder. Locally prominent Republican leaders were able to simply abandon Chesterfield County, secure employment elsewhere, and move on with their lives, but the Melton family had far fewer options.

Robert and Harriet's seven children were: (1) Mary Jane, aged thirty-two,  (2) Alexander L., aged thirty, (3) William J., aged twenty-eight, (4) Harriet Ann, aged twenty-six, (5) Sarah S., aged twenty-four, (6) Emaline R., aged nineteen, and (7) Robert C., aged seventeen. 

At the time of the Ku Klux attack, the oldest son, Alexander, was married and running his own family farm near Chesterfield Courthouse. He does not appear to have been very involved with his parents and siblings during this period. The others, however, were in the thick of things. Mary Jane, Sarah, Emaline, and Robert C. were all living at home, and Mary Jane, Sarah, and Robert C. had even been present during the assault. (Emaline is not mentioned in any accounts. She might have been absent, or she might have been shielded from public scrutiny because of her youth.)

Harriet Ann had married the son of a neighbor, Robert A. Allen, and they were running their own farm. However, they remained near Harriet Ann's parents, and Robert A. was one of the first people at  the scene after the attack. Harriet Ann's brother, William J., was also living in the area, although the records of his activities are thin.

One reporter wrote Robert Melton's daughters had "imbibed much of his courage," and both his sons and daughters demonstrated that in the years after their parents’ murders. Although the murderers went unpunished and likely remained in the area, the family was fully unrepentant. The year after the murders, Mary Jane submitted a financial claim to the federal government for compensation for the provisions they had given the Union army. As part of her claim, she had to submit a list of witnesses who would support her claim. She offered a full-throated response: "All of Old Store, Chesterfield Co."

Mary Jane's claim was barred. The reason for the decision was not recorded, but it may have been  rejected for technical reasons. She hadn't owned the provisions, they belonged to her deceased parents owned them. In any case, Mary Jane was in dire financial straits, and she had sacrificed much for her loyalty to the Union, so the rejection must have been hard to accept.

Hardship continued to be the lot of the Melton family for the duration of the 1870s. Emaline, Mary Jane, and Sarah all married, but Mary Jane and Sarah each lost their husband within a few years. Mary Jane's husband had a heartbreaking end. He suffered from severe mental health problems, and in March 1879, he committed suicide by jumping down a well. 

It is hard to imagine how Mary Jane and Sarah survived. They were middle-aged widows living in the community that harbored their parents’ murderers, and they had to provide for themselves and their children despite having no clear means to earn a living. They lived near Emaline, so they may have been supported by her family and her family friends, although in rural South Carolina, nobody would have had much money to spare.

Intriguingly, Mary Jane appears to have remained close to the few Republicans who remained in the area. In 1900, she was boarding with John McCulla. McCulla had served as county treasurer during the beginning of Reconstruction. By the end of Reconstruction, he had become a hated figure and was criminally prosecuted for misuse of his office and for election fraud. 

Despite the criminal charges, McCulla had fared better than the Melton family. He owned a great deal of farmland which he rented to Black sharecroppers. His boarding of Mary Jane was likely an act of generosity towards an old friend who had long ago fallen into hard times.

Mary Jane later moved in with the daughter of her sister Sarah. It’s unclear what happened to Sarah herself. She disappears from records after 1880.

The rest of the Melton family followed the path that many in rural South Carolina followed. They and their children eked out a living by farming until the growth of cotton mills and manufacturing work drew them to townlife. Likely in search of better work opportunities, Harriet Ann and her brother Robert C. moved to North Carolina. Harriet Ann's husband found work as a factory hand in Charlotte, while Robert C.'s son worked at a cotton mill in the town of Stanley.

Emaline remained in South Carolina, but her family moved to Lancaster County where her husband found work as a cotton mill laborer. Mill work was unhealthy and physically demanding, yet Emaline's husband was still working in the industry when he was in his sixties. 

All in all, the later history of the children of Robert and Harriet is one of quiet persistence in the face of financial hardship and bitter political conflict. Robert C. appears to have been the longest lived of the siblings. He died on November 20, 1932 and was buried in a Baptist cemetery in Mount Croghan. His death marked the end of a remarkable family. Although they were poor farmers, the Meltons had stood up against the Confederacy and offered nearly everything they had to the Union army. After the war, the father and mother gave their lives trying to build a new South Carolina, and Robert C. had personally fought the Ku Klux Klan. Despite all this, Robert C.'s death does not seem to have received any public notice. His gravesite, located at a simple county church, remains the sole physical marker of his presence. His tombstone is inscribed with the phrase "Gone but not forgotten," and the story of his family's lives remains to be remembered by those who explore South Carolina's history.

 

Sources

1) The National Archives in Washington D.C.; Record Group: Records of the Bureau of the Census; Record Group Number: 29; Series Number: M653; Residence Date: 1860; Home in 1860: Chesterfield, South Carolina; Roll: M653_1217; Page: 145; Family History Library Film: 805217  

TESTIMONY AT INQUEST FOR MARY JANE MELTON'S HUSBAND 

Miss Elizabeth S. Hill

Witness is sister to deceased. Witness has noticed for some time that deceased was not right in his mind. Heard him say on yesterday morning that he wished he was dead. Don't think that any person threw him in the well.

Robert Brewer

Witness was to work for Mr. Gathing today. Was going from the barn to where he was to work about eight o'clock this morning and saw deceased's coat and hat hanging on the windlass of the well.

Witness and others let down a pair steelyards, the hooks caught in the clothes of deceased and brought him up.

Witness thinks deceased went into the well voluntarily. There was plenty of water in the well to drown a man.

Robt. Brewer

John Gathings

Witness recognises the body here lying dead to be the corpse of A. M. Hill. Has known deceased intimately for fifteen months.

Witness has heard deceased use expressions which led him to believe that deceased would rather be dead than alive. After seeing deceased's hat and coat on the windlass of the well, witness with others proceed to search for him and found his body in the well.

Witness thinks that deceased went into the well voluntarily. Witness has noticed that deceased has been despondent and in low spirits for some time.

John Gathings

Mrs. Mary J. Hill Sworn

Was married to deceased in April 1878. Have noticed several times that his mind was not right.

He complained of his head hurting him not long ago and said that he wished he was dead. Felt uneasy all the time that deceased might commit suicide. Deceased got up at daylight this morning and walked off.

He seemed quite cheerful last night.

Witness does not think that deceased committed suicide by throwing himself into the well.

Mary J. [her mark] Hill

Pickle's story of leaving South Carolina

The account below was written by Frances Emmaline Allen ("Ema Pickle"), and it follows her account "Emaline's Tale" of Sherman's Union army in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. "Emaline's Tale" ended with the departure of Sherman's troops. 

The Allen family lived on a small farm near the town of Mount Croghan. They owned one-hundred thirty-five acres and farmed twenty-five acres on which they raised food provisions and a small amount of cotton. Emmaline mentions workers who were enslaved on the farm, and evidently, the workers made up at least a few families since she mentions multiple cabins on the farm. Unfortunately, its unclear exactly how many people were enslaved there as their presence went unrecorded in the 1870 census.

In the story below, Emmaline begins with the departure of Sherman's troops from the area around Mount Croghan, which was early March 1865. As was the case throughout the region, the Allen family was left destitute.

Emmaline describes Confederate soldiers, including members of her family, returning home after the Sherman's army left. She mentioned by name her father Eli, brother Robert Alfred, and an "Uncle Jas." I have not been able to verify the military service of all these family members. Eli does not appear in any records I examined, but he was in his fifties during the war (very old for military service), so he have served the Confederate government in a non-military capacity. Robert does appear but the extent record does not agree with Emmaline's recollection. He enlisted at the start of the war (August 25, 1861) in the Chesterfield Light Artillery but was discharged for health reasons. within a year, long before Sherman came to Chesterfield County.  "Uncle Jas" I have not been able to identify. The discrepancy could be attributed to missing record to Emmaline's mistaken memory. 

The narrative ends with Emmaline's family leaving for North Carolina and starting a new life for themselves. By 1870, the family had moved to Cabarrus County, North Carolina. Emmaline says that the family abandoned cotton growing and worked on the railroads after after the move, but the 1870 census records show the family continue to farm. However, they are recorded as farm hands, rather than farmers, indicated that they likely didn't own their own farm, showing a significant drop in economic status. 

Emmaline married a man by the name of James T. Burris in the 1870s (probably around 1872). Burris was a farmer in Stanly County, and Emmaline focused on home life, raising three kinds and helping care for her father-in-law William.  They remained on their farm until Emmaline's death in 1930.

Emmaline's discusses her sister, Nancy, who became a pariah after becoming romantically involved with a Union soldier. Independent records indicate that Nancy indeed was scarred by her experiences during the war. In 1880, she was living with Emmaline's family. Despite being in her late thirties, the census taker recorded that she was single, unemployed, and disabled. 

Homecoming – Leaving Home

After the army left, and the others that were to follow, had come and gone we had virtually nothing left. Our spirit was broken along with furniture, and all belongings. Mama managed to repair the secretary and safe with tin panels.

A lot of collard greens were left unharmed so we cooked messes of the stuff. Once Mama had stored a pot of them in the pie safe for overnight, and it came up a bad storm. Mama was scared to death of thunder and lightning. She woke us all up in the middle of the night and made us sit in the hall, lined up along a wall. Sleepy headed as we were, some would start snoring and she would pound our head and say that we should be prepared in case we have to run. After awhile the rain slacked off from making so much racket on the roof and it had been some time since the last crack of thunder. Mama told Eli to get up and look out the door and see how bad the storm was. He had been the one snoring and was half asleep. He accidentally opened the safe door instead and stuck his head in. There was a long period of silence and Mama hollered at him. 

"It's black as pitch and smells like collards!" He reported.

We faced another enemy: poverty and starvation. It was soon late spring and we needed to get seeds into the ground. Luckily, some seed was saved, but we didn't have a mule, plow or even a hoe to plant with. We had no saw to cut stove wood. One of my brothers tried to make a plow from piece of the old one, it turned out crooked and useless. Te saying "make do" had to be born here. There was no source of assistance available. The handful of help which were left behind were very aggressive towards us. The rest  either went on their own or were forced to join Sherman's army.

Somehow we did get another vegetable garden started and found cornmeal that was hidden. There were no salt to put in it or anything to make it rise, so it was flat and tasteless, but it was hot and filling. We did have a lot of fish fries in those days.

For months, I would awaken in the still of night and be very distressed. Squads of ragged looking refugees and our beloved soldiers in grey had been passing by daily.

One cold Saturday afternoon in December, we saw a column of weary men coming around the bend of a road, a dismal train of returning soldiers. A lanky, giant of a man with rounded shoulders and sunken chest broke apart from the rest. There was a tangle of black hair sprouting from holes in his hat like lots of ruffled grouse feathers and he looked quite a spectacle to us with his scraggly beard as he came closer. The  walk was very familiar but his stooped posture didn't fit my remembrance of Papa.

Us children, tow headed and thin as young pines standing there in rags must have looked like a spectacle to him as well.

"It's Papa! Eli shouted. The words "Papa" ran from every mouth except mine. There was no way that is Papa. You could not make me believe it. I remembered him being tall, but not this thin. The weather was bitter cold, and the wind whistled through the leafless trees. As he drew near us, the dozens of bearded men stopped to see what would happen. 

He definitely was coming to our place. There was a familiarity to his dusty, haggard face, a face which wore a weary expression that was painful to look at. He had no soles on his shoes, just tops. He walked from Pig Point, Virginia all the way to Chesterfield County.

But it was Papa. We surrounded him joyously. Hugged him and ground our faces into his rough worn coat, making it soaking wet from tears of joy.

The old wash pot that served many purposes and plugged with tallow was full of hominy Mama had prepared for our meal. She invited the soldiers to have some and never in my life have I witnessed such ravenous hunger. They filled their dirty hats with food to use for bowls. Some even used pieces of wood found on the ground. We drank some poor tea made from sassafras leaves and bark.

We had managed to save some of the silver by hiding it in the woods under the sod. The rest we could not find, but for one of the boys had placed it under a fence post. After the soldiers took up the posts to burn, its whereabouts could not be located. One of the neighbors had saved some household furniture, gave us a couple of chairs, two stools and an old pine table. We located several pieces of crockery and a wash basin, but we had to drink from gourds.

Papa had not seen home in four years. Yet here he was and he intended to try to regain the life he left. It was a hopeless cause. Try as he might, he did not succeed. We were not even left a Bible to read. The lawless men had took all the best horses and cows, then shot the rest and left them lying to rot. There was no way for us to get rid of them. The stench was unbearable. Everything was gone, not a building fit to use left standing, the house itself beyond repair.

The soldiers had even pushed Mama down snatched the shoes right off her feet and threw them in the fire when the woodpile was burning. As she fell, her snuff box tumbled from her picket, and of course, was promptly taken. I always looked forward to going in the yard and breaking off twigs to chew up the ends for Mama's toothbrushes. I would chew and chew to make it soft for her to dip with, now there was no reason to do so. We had only one needle to sew with; the one Margaret had hidden in her bonnet. 

Franklin and Eli were thin, sickly and often plagued with horrid nightmares. Eli never fully recovered from his shock at the creek. He used to be a fleshy child, but was now very peaked. The unhiding in the bushes the night of his torture was our Uncle Jas. He had returned from Virginia, traveling by night to avoid capture. He didn't survive, for he was caught when the found his haversack. He was tortured severely, and he died as a prisoner of war with the pneumonia. They were kind enough to let us retrieve his body which we laid him to rest under the magnolia tree. Such a lonely grave there by itself.

My brother, Robert, had walked most of the way home from Pig Point, Virginia. He had to hide out to avoid being taken and endured most horrid circumstances eventually being taken prisoner a short time. 

We were children that had lost childhood. Our family had led a life of hunger and terror. Nancy was in a bad way since she returned. Thin and claimed to have headaches. She would hardly eat and didn't do any work. Not that she was so inclined to do alot of anything before this, but now it was either an excuse or the fact that apparently she was still in love with our enemy. Somehow Papa found out, he always finds out everything.

He had not expected all that. When Papa returned to find her in this state. I think that's where his world ended. Nancy was his pick. He always believed every word she said, but her actions and attitude broke his heart. He felt that Chesterfield County was no longer our home.

I knew a change was coming before Papa decided to move us. I watched as daily, Mama stood, face streaming with tears when she thought no one could see. She had been caught wringing her hands for she could not bear to see him this dreadful shape. It sickened her heart. She grew even leaner and her face had a pinched look to it. At first, I thought it was because she missed her snuff. In the past, John would play pranks on her and all of us for that matter. He would hide her spittoon when she was in the house cooking or cleaning and didn't want to go out to spit. She would look around trying to find it and her face had this same pinched look. Lack of a place to split was not the reason for this.

 There was not a fence post anywhere. The peach and apple trees were gone. We did find the silver that was buried on the creek bank and a barrel of salt that we had disguised by burying it and covering  it over with leached ashes. But we couldn't even restuff our bedticks, there wasn't a chicken or duck on the place and the soldiers had taken their swords and stirred up the molasses in the feathers they took out of the pillows.

Such a sight of desolation and the prospect was gloomy at trying to resume our former life. Papa had tried but the coming of the carpetbaggers and those "bummer" outlaws was the last straw. We were attempting to resew our bed clothing when an outlaw came in and used his bayonet to reduce the clothing to small pieces. Finally, he gave up. He hitched a scrawny horse that he bought off someone to our ragged buggy and loaded what we had salvaged, of our property which wasn't much, and we left Chesterfield forever. 

Papa said we were going to a different world. A world with no more sand spurs and swamps. We would be in North Carolina. To us children, that place sounded grand compared to what we had been accustomed to. Also, he gave me a new nickname, 'Ema Pickle'. Maybe he is taking a cotton to me now, being as I am older and help mama the most around the house. He seemed to pay more attention to me than before.

He decided to take us to his brother in Mecklenburg, North Carolina. We lived for awhile in Morningstar Township which is which is Matthews before moving to down town Charlotte. My grandpa, uncles and aunts went along. too. The whole family left that barren, God forsaken country and it's bad memories. Grandpa and all the rest ended up in Cabarrus County, North Carolina. Up at Rocky River Township. Even help start a church in the area. There, we tried to forget the past by starting a new life. I know things are going to be better now. Mama's hands don't shake like they used to. I watched her part her hair in the middle and pull it smooth over her temples, then put it up in a top knot with a new jeweled comb that Papa brought her. Our cotton life was over, railroads were our new way to make a living. 

A neighbor's girl named Mary went with us when we left. A lot more wanted to go, but there wasn't enough room. It seemed she was with child and rumor was that it belonged to a Yankee. The family rejected her and she had to leave home. Papa felt sorry for a young girl in a situation like this especially since she was a friend to Nancy.

Mary's baby was born by the light of a tallow candle in our new place in Matthews, North Carolina. It was a beautiful boy. No matter, though, for Papa said she couldn't stay with us any longer. She would have to go to Anson County, to an all female college along with Nancy for they needed book learning. Mary took the baby with her. Later, the poor dear was discovered dead. It was told that she poisoned him and put the body in her suitcase. It was found by the lady that ran the boarding house where she stayed. For some reason, nothing every came of it. We didn't breathe a word about what she'd done even though we felt Nancy had a hand in it.

Nancy never married, but she went to church every Sunday. Why, she even went so early as to sit on the porch steps out front until it was time for the people to arrive. She was there every time the doors opened for the rest of her life. Papa told us tales in the evenings after supper about his long walk home. There was no money for to pay his way.

Coming through a steep, rugged pass in the mountains of North Carolina, he spent the night in an abandoned school house. He knew it was abandoned because it was thick with cobwebs and mice had knawed all the books into  nest materials.

In the middle of the night there was a slam and a bang. The benches were shaking and started turning over row by row. Before it got to the row on which he laid down, he fled out the door and ran as fast as he could without looking back. 

Then he had hidden in a briar patch and watched two outliers kill a man and take his horse. Both of them rode it off together and it was too much for  the horse bare. Horses were scarce for so many were killed in the war.

In one town he crouched in the weeds beside the train tracks until it was near time for the train to leave the station. When the whistle started blowing, he ran and pulled himself into an open boxcar. The workers walked up and down looking inside each one but somehow they didn't see him. The rattling of the wheels sang him to sleep and he almost didn't get off in time before the next stop.

Uncle Willie lives in the edge of the mountains, and it wasn't out of his way to stop by for a visit with the kin folks. His brother had not yet returned to help the family with the spring planting, so he stayed for a few days. He was in a hurry to get the last field plowed so that he could continue on his way and each evening he worked until there was no light to see by.

The last  few rows were down near a thick patch of woods. Suddenly, the mule didn't want to go in that direction. It rared up with eyes wild looking like an animal in a trap and snorted until it's nose bled. Then after a lot of tossing around, the harness came a loose and that mule ran off faster than any one Papa had seen go. There was deadly silence, not even a bird was heard. Papa froze, for standing in front of him was a huge bear. Someone up above must be looking after him, because he made it back to the house. Walking backwards the whole way. He said that he didn't want to turn his back on it.

Papa's advice is for all us southerners to work hard and wait. Wait for their time to come. One of these days, it will. 

Pickle's story of Gen. Sherman and Chesterfield County

The text below is an account of Sherman's army in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. It is a rare first-person account of young girl's experience.

Sherman's army arrived in Chesterfield County at the start of March 1865, during its march to North Carolina. Chesterfield County held little of military value, but it was in the Union army's path towards strategically important cities in North Carolina such as Fayetteville. 

At this point, the Confederacy had clearly lost the war. The Confederate army was unable to do more than delay Sherman's advance, and during the previous month, his troops had burn the state capital of Columbia. The war would end only a month later with Robert E. Lee's surrender. 

The author of the account is Frances Emmaline Allen, the thirteen year-old daughter of the small farmers Eli and Mahala Allen. The account is recorded in a pamphlet found in the Matheson Library in Cheraw, South Carolina. The pamphlet is titled "Home Ground: Civil War Memoirs of a Burned County Chesterfield, SC" by Barbara Johns. The pamphlet also includes (1) a short letter to another resident of Chesterfield ("Harrietta") describing conditions in New York City during the Civil War, (2) an account by Emmaline titled "Homecoming – Leaving Home" describing life immediately after the war, (3) a short description of John Blakeney, a prominent resident, and (4) newspaper articles published in North Carolina during the Civil War.

Unfortunately, Barbara Johns does not explain how she came across Emmaline's account. The pamphlet appears to have been typed on a personal computer, so Johns presumably typed up the text of another document (Emmaline certainly did not use a computer – she died in 1930). 

Its unclear when Emmaline wrote her account. The quality of writing is beyond that of a typical thirteen year old, and Emmaline uses the past tense, so it was likely written when Emmaline was an adult and living in North Carolina.

The text

Emaline's Tale

Spring 1865

My name is Pickle. Emaline Pickle A. I got the nickname 'Ema Pickle' from my love for pickles which saved me when the Yankees had our homes as their own for about a week. Mama and I were in the yard making soap in the wash pot when we heard the sound of galloping hooves along the road. A hard run horse lathered with foam came thundering into the yard of this calm spring morning. After that, we never had another quiet moment. Reality of what was happening far away was coming to our home ground.

Uncle Charlie dismounted and tethered his horse to a bush, then leaped up the steps to the piazza. He came rushing into the house all out of breath.

"You have to prepare now, the Yankees are coming!" He looked faint and we offered him a straight chair.

Mama told him we were already prepared. Our important items had been hidden with the help of the workers. She told him how we buried the silver in the garden and the hams down in the cellar under the porch. Flour and lard were between the walls of the house. The salt and sugar were buried in the path to the family graveyard. Personally, I had hidden several jars of pickles, since it was my job to save the canning. Maybe I had not been so careful. I hoped they would not other the dried peaches, apples, butterbeans or canned watermelon and fig preserves. The previous lard, flour, butter, vinegar salt and smokehouse meat were our main concern. We heard they were after gold and silver but without food we would starve.

We had laid by a bolt of cloth that was brought from the sale of cotton, in a small closet between the walls of the kitchen.

Since it was looking so gloomy for the Rebs, this war, some caught, huge thing. We didn't know for sure if we should go to all this trouble and we seemed to be waiting for nothing. Waiting just to be waiting.

Our trunks were packed to overflowing; surely they wouldn't go through them. We had sent the horses and mules to the creek bottom by the help and the cows and some hogs to the swamp. Valuables were buried in various locations spread all over the grounds. We just left one cow and some turkeys, chickens and a few hogs, hoping they would think that is all we have. Mama informed Uncle Charlie of this while he stopped to rest some.

"No, they're too smart." He remarked. "Too wise in the ways of concealment, even go into a cemetery and dig up newly dug graves. They have no respect for the dead and leave bodies on top of the ground for wild animals and hogs to feast on. For sure, do not hide things in the wall. They are stealing buckets and cutting the ropes. The officers lie to the slaves convincing them to tell where everything is hidden." He looked wild in his big dark eyes. We all had those large dark eyes, slightly slanted downward on the corners. Most of the family was tall and lanky, Mama says its from the dark Irish. When her brother, C. E. came to stay with us for awhile, Papa had to saw the legs off of a chair so he could fit under the table.

With shaky hands, he reached his fingers down inside a boot so worn that the top had caved in. I was astonished to see him retrieve something wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. A present for Mama. A pen and bottle of ink he had taken off a dead soldier.

"Place this where it won't be found for you are going to need it later."

There was a long silence broken only by some chickens crowing in the yard. I thought my uncle had fallen asleep for he sat with head down. His long beard resting on the breast of his homespun shirt. Maybe he had died. We began to get uneasy, but he looked up and continued.

"Some of the people you think are your friends turn their backs and inform the soldiers. Don't trust no one." He loudly declared.

It is tragic how you can't be. sure of who to trust. Scared to speak of the times to neighbor or kin, for they might be Union sympathizers and tell the blue bellies. All they know how to do is tear up everything and burn it. Destroy! Destroy!

"They are using metal rods to poke in the ground every few feet to look for anything of value. If your negroes know of the whereabouts of any valuables, then go! Run! Dig up what you can and hide it elsewhere, or you'll lose it all. By all means do not let them see."

"Do you still have the carriage?"

Mama stuttered an answer for she was overwhelmed by all this at once.

"If you put what you can in trunks," He insisted. "I'll help the boys tote them to the carriage and go into North Carolina. Things are not so bad there. We have cousins who would help us start over. Some even live where Sherman is not likely to go."

We were standing, mouths agape, dazed by this news. Feelings of doubt and anxiety washed over us. I looked at Mama and she was quivering all over, whether from fright or nerves, I know not. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched her hands gesture in despair. An action I had never witnessed from her. If we had known ahead what was to come, maybe we would have pulled foot for North Carolina. But, we preferred not to flee. Even though we heard they were supposed to be faring better there, mama and us nine children chose to stay and face a hostile enemy worse than we have ever imagined.

"Columbia is left in ruins, nothing but ashes." Charlie said. "Bridges burned and churches ruined. The demons are killing folks, raping women. Officers try, but can't keep them under control. Drunken soldiers torched horses and danced around cursing the state of South Carolina in the light of the flames like devils. If I am taken prisoner this day, my dear sister, then my mission is worth what I may suffer if some of these families left at home that I have warned can save themselves."

"I thought the sentinels gave a guard for the protection of women and children," Mama's face turned pale.

Uncle Charlie drew a long breath. He was overstaying his visit. It was dangerous to stay in one place long. He had traveled so far and was so exhausted he looked desperate for sleep.

"Even the convicts from prisons are among them. First, it's the infantry, then the calvary, next wagon trains and then stragglers. When one goes another is right behind to take what may be overlooked. They spare nothing, sack everything. Sew what you can into the garments on your back, it could be the only thing you may keep. Then I can't tell you they won't be ripped from you in their reckless greed. Hurry! Hurry! They are not far behind me. Do not dawdle!" He was yelling.

I raced upstairs to my room and opened the trunk I had so carefully packed earlier. It was crammed full of previous keepsakes. Oh, dead! What could be the most important things to save. A comb, ribbons for my hair, heirlooms from my great grandmother. Maybe this lace cap, collar and sleeves to match. Embroidered handkerchief, the china, the silver, the ... Oh, how can I do this so quickly?

I sank onto a heap of bed ticks piled on the floor and began to sob. How can I possibly get all of on my body? I just wanted to stand and scream, No! No!

Charlie came into the room and began to shout orders, what to do. He was very rough handed. When Nancy Haley Ann and I slowed a bit, he pushed us and gave us bus directions. Mary was so frightened that she ran outside and hid.

He called us weak, weepy, complaining women. Words like that smarted like brambles snagging the skin. He wasn't being a bit nice, or catering sympathy to our despair. We are children, not grown women. 

"I thought you came here to help us, but you're acting like the enemy." I burst out, stamping my foot. Uncle Charlie could not believe I had insulted him in that fashion. He did not answer, but his eyes bored into me. I blushed and lowered my head. Even though I was acutely ashamed and embarrassed by my behavior, I never cared beans for my mama's brother anyway. He always bossed us children around when he came for a visit. Today was the worst of all.

Mama must have heard the racket and came into the room. Franklin, only two, was following close behind, hanging onto the folds of her dress. My other brothers and sisters were darting back and forth in a frenzy. One ran by with jewelry, another with silver coins.

"Nancy, Mahala Ann, get the pillow cases from the closet and fill them with linen. We will stuff them up the chimney. It is too warm for a fire. Now, Ema. You do as your uncle requested and not complain," mama said. 

Our clothing became receptacles for valuables. We sewed in all the jewelry. Silver and gold coins each became its own ruffle so it would not jingle. I had a special item, Papa's gold watch. His grandpa had brought it from the old country. Next in turn would be Eli and on down through the family, but chances are that a girl should be the one to protect its whereabouts at this time. Papa left many other important things home for safe keeping when he joined the army in Chesterfield. 

We layered as many dresses as possible on ourselves. I could hardly walk. Mama looked like she weighed 300 pounds. Each of us bustled about sweltering under the clothes. Hoops skirts and corsets made terrific, although very uncomfortable, hiding places.

Alfred, Eli and John dug provisions from the spring room and what they had buried in the path. They took what they could to the creek and put it under big rocks; carefully, so no slaves saw them. Flour and other staples were removed and relocated. It wasn't hard to conceal our actions, or at least that is what we thought. For some reason all the cotton pickers had disappeared from the fields and the years. Mammy Sal usually came to the kitchen house to help prepare meals. We found this unusual for she never appeared.

Jackson and Robert removed the hames from under the porch cellar, and tied them up in tree tops. Maybe the enemy won't look up.

Little Margaret came into the room. "What about me, mama? I want to hide something." Her little red rose bud lips pursed tight. "You are only four old!" Mama exclaimed.

Mama could not stand to see her pout, so she became the recipient of an important item. A needle and thread and some buttons were carefully sown into her bonnet so she would not be impaled.

Uncle Charlie kept watch by making trips down the road and returning to report. He also helped my brothers with their huge endeavor. That afternoon an eerie quiet fell over all. Charlie didn't want to leave us but he knew it was too dangerous to stay any longer for the truth came out that he was a deserter. But, it was for a good cause. Someone had to warn the women and children and he had kept ahead of Sherman and his great army. After a very tearful goodby, he mounted and rode through the woods in the direction of Mr. J's farm. Mama couldn't stop crying for she felt it was the last time we would ever see him again. 

We almost didn't for he was taken prisoner. The next time we laid eyes on him, it was like looking at a different person for they ruined him. His whole body sagged and shook with raspy breathing. A long, deep scar ran the length of his jaw. A scar received because he didn't want to walk under the rag called the flag of the United States.

Nancy, Mahala Ann and Mama had just resumed the soap making when suddenly a rumble like thunder jarred the ground. A loud bang made them jump as a bullet tore a hole in the washpot and the water streamed out like pouring it from a teakettle. 

Our worst fear came in a wave of blue as. the procession of soldiers quickly filled the yard, surrounded the horse and outbuildings. Several officers confronted my mama, brothers,and sisters. I heard Mahala Ann's muffled cries as the enemy surged about them. Mama gathered all the children close and stood still and straight in a huddle beside the kitchen door. The soldiers looked them up and down. The little brood did the same, and for a long moment everyone stood thus.

I went out to put some jars of pickles in a hole that was theme last year for a family of owls. The large tree was on the far side of the woodpile, and out of sight of the house. When the intruders came roaring down the road, I had made it no further than the back of the woodpile. Their big horses stomped down the flower beds and tore up our neat yard. Mama takes pride in the appearance of our property and she is sure to stick a fire poked down their throats. Loud voices in tones of authority echoed from all directions. They were ordering Mama around. At first, I wanted to rush into her arms, but something made me stop. For a few moments I was rooted to the spot. Then, reality hit me like sleet in the face. Maybe things would be go better if they didn't know of my existence. Then I could be of help, but, if I stood there any longer, it would be too late.

I always tell people that two jars of pickles saved me from receiving the harsh treatment that befell those left in the house. Afterward, my sisters were very jealous that I had not been in their situation. They never got over it and held it against me leaving guilt on my part forever.

My brothers, sisters and I had played fort in the middle of the huge woodpile. We had stacked the logs neatly around where the inside was empty. Outside, no one could not tell there was a hollow place and the height was well over the heads of men. Through a tangle of vines, we had a very small tunnel where we would crawl into and remove a few certain logs and go in, then replace the entrance and no one could tell we were inside. We hid there a few times when we did bad things and Papa was sure to whip us. None of the grownups knew about our secret. Quickly, I squatted low and ducked into the network of brambles and into my haven.

The blue men tramped everywhere, over everything. They searched and destroyed what they could find. I am surprised that the light of the sun still shines and it most likely wouldn't if they could get their hands on it. Then house and yard did not belong to us anymore. Big voices shouted all day and into the night along with the loud stomp of their boots on the porches and in the house. There was the sound of mad bellows and frightened scrams as the livestock was being slaughtered. They had found the fattening hogs from the swamp and the cows at the creek.

Animal not killed were in the garden ruining the vegetables. Through a crack in the logs, I could see a group of men sitting on the porch, their muskets laid aside staring down through the planks at some interest they had found. Suddenly, they swore with exasperation, fanned their noses and then laughed loudly at hogs underneath rooting and pooting. The hogs were trying to dig up the hidden meat that my brothers didn't have time to relocate.

The butt end of a musket was used to gain entry to any door that seemed to be locked. The fodder house, smoke-house, dairy, gin house and papa's cotton screw were all destroyed. I had a feeling the main house would be next. Fiddle music and loud singing came from inside and on the porches, merriment that could be heard far part candle lighting time.

Once I heard screams followed by the high sharp sound of glass breaking. Our mirror perhaps. My heart sank, it was my great grandmother's, the only one we had to comb our hair by and get something out of our eyes with. I tried to see better through the cracks and when I shifted my position, a stick of wood became dislodged and hit my ankle. Not being able to cry out, a smothered whimper escaped and I feared being discovered. Men came running out of the house laughing and staggering around. Singing at the top of their lungs. They appeared to be roaring drunk, most likely they had found Papa's homebrew. Mama was in the yard tying to finish boiling the soap when a bearded rough looking solider staggered up to her. She was down on hands and knees trying to plug up the bullet hole with tallow.

"Time for supper, stop what you're doing old woman." he bellowed. "Get in here and cook us some meat."

Another raider came up and yanked the earrings out of her ears and grabbed her by her hair. He tore out the jeweled band she always wore around her top knot. One more previous thing we had failed to conceal. Her smooth hair rumpled up and hung down around her face. The first soldier pushed her down, then routed her toward the house and kicked her in her rear. He  thrust my sister, Martha,aside and made her fall face first upon the ground. She had tried to come to Mama's rescue. 

An old sow and drove of little piglets tore out of the woods and headed straight into the sweet potato patch. The poor things were still eating their fill when they met with their demise.

Long hours I lay, afraid to move, listening to their work of destruction. Somehow, they found our two mules and a soldier brought them into the yard with great difficulty. They stopped deadstill and when a bulldog looking man tried to push them in the direction he intended, he was kicked in the head and killed. The soldiers buried him not far from my hiding place in a shallow grave.

A kind of chill spilled over me, like when you step out of a warm kitchen into the snow and the icy air hits you. Even though it was spring, and the days were warm and nice, the nights still put a shiver to one who has no covers. Thank goodness for my extra clothing, but I was not spared hunger. All that I had was the pickles.

For another day, I lay in my hole. I slept with vermin crawling around my heard. Once I silently fought off a thick army of ants that took up residence. In my waiting silence I didn't know how much longer I could prevail alone without nourishment. At night, I would crawl out and stand on shaky legs and walk around and around. I tried to sleep int he day and stay awake at night, continually moving. On the second day, I felt that if nothing changed, a trip to the creek would have to be made. This meant walking through the woods at night and by the swamp for the creek was over half a mile. Passing by the swamp was a great fear, for no one ventured that way after dark. waiting for the night, I wondered what had happened Tony siblings. All bad memories of past differences between us faded and good ones magnified. My ears strained for the sound of their voices.

The next thing I heard was a sniffing noise. Burrowing further under the wood, I moved as little as possible. There was another sniffle and the crunch of someone walking in sand close by.Then, all was ominously quiet. Shivering, I immediately assumed the worst. But to my surprised, it was Finny, my friend. She belonged to Mammy Sal.

I tried to stand and almost fainted from hunger. I tryed to call her. Instead of words, I made a slight cracking noise. No wonder I frightened her. My voice rasped like a rusty hinge for there were no moisture left in my mouth from having no water to satisfy my thirst.

My lips were pursed up like biting into green persimmon for I tried to drink the pickle juice. Finny's eyes were stretched wide and her mouth flew open in preparation for a screw. No scream came, for she was struck dumb. "Finny, it's me, Ema! Please! Please don't scream!"

Her chin quivered real fast, and her mouth twitched. It was obvious that she was close to tears. I heard drips of water on the sand and looked down at the piddle slowing gathering at her feet where she had wet on herself. She listened to my request with her mouth standing open like that of a dead animal. I don't think she was capable of closing it.

I begged her to fetch me water for I was about to perish and not to tell of my hiding place. You never realize how much you need something until it is impossible to get. The small girl nodded, but she did not speak. Off she trotted looking back over her shoulder toward me as she scampered off. I feared soldiers would try and see what she was looking at. A huge, burly man with blond curls peeping out from under his cap, stopped her and bade her to knock over a chicken for supper. I heard him tell her he was in want of some chicken fixins. I was very nervous for while she chased the hen, she kept cutting her eyes in my direction. Later, she returned to the backside of the woodpile where my entrance was concealed and brought water. I have never been so thankful for anything in my life. 

About dusk, there were sounds coming from the kitchen of a meal being eaten. Pots and pants rattling and silverware hitting plates. I visioned sitting at the table forking potatoes into my mouth and warm fresh homemade biscuits. It was about more than I could stand. The back door slammed and instead of the dreaded soldiers, it was Mama. Sheh held a bowl in her hands and was heading in the direction of the woodpile, but, she walked on past.

I scooted to the far corner to get a better look. A thump on the ground where Mama had stood up a thick log to stand on was a blessed sound. There she was peering over the top. At the sight of her loving face, I began to cry. Tears slid down her wrinkled cheeks. Funny, I never notices her having those wrinkles before.

"Ema, I am so happy to see you. Don't tryout, they might hear you." Mama's mouth barely moved as she whispered these words.

"Finny told me where you were and my only hope is that she is trustworthy for your sake. I will try to bring you scraps after breakfast if there is any left. It's hard to get out of the house without being followed or watched every minutes. They demand meals and have plundered all. We must not let them know we are afraid, that's a hard thing to do. I want to send you for help, but there is no where to go.

She raked the contents of the bowl onto a flat piece of wood. Then turned and walked quickly back toward the house. I didn't care if the bread and meat was half eaten. I was starving. For two days after that, I survived on slop, even running my small fingers to retrieve what had fallen between the cracks of the wood carefully picking out the bark bits.

Once, I had to take my shoe off to draw some soup that was puddled up on the ground. It was disgusting not to have cloth to wipe my mouth and instead using the back of my hand.

I was scared to stay and afraid to leave. Hunger pains running around in my stomach were so loud that if anyone came near they were sure to hear. 

During the day, the trees swayed gently with bars of sunlight playing on the ground. Birds and squirrels would sit in the nearby Tres and chatter noisily. In my mind they were deliberately saying, "Here, look over here." At night, the crickets and tree frog's chirping announced spring and fishing time. Papa used to always take us to Cheraw fishing about this time of year and we looked forward to the trip. It has been three years since we last went and now I know that was a thing to remember and not to hope for again.

At night, I would watch the windows hoping to get a glimpse of my family. It was a long wait for the lard oil lamps to be put out. Then, I would rise on my shaky legs as long as I dared. Along in the dark out of my fort, my thoughts went in circles like my body pacing around and around. Maybe I should come forward and reveal myself. Weighing this in my head and the pacing made me dizzy and almost put me in a trance. Footsteps and voices slipped me into awareness. Perhaps I had made too much noise. Not another step should to be taken so I shrunk myself as small as possible against the outer wall and waited.

Next, came the sound of my sister, Nancy, giggling and flirting with a handsome officer. To my surprise and disgust, they strolled into the woods and I heard his deep smooth voice and her sweet one fade into the night. She had become a traitor to all that we believed in. Minutes may have been hours. It was a long time and I had no way of knowing how long. The returning couple passed by, then stopped at a large pine tree. She kissed him in the moonlight, then proceeded toward the house. My hunger had left me with gloomy thoughts which swam in my head. A feeling of deep frustration. What will Papa do when he finds out? But, we had not heard anything from Papa. If he should never return. Maybe he was d–––. No!

The third day arrived and anxiously I waited. No one came all day. The lonely hours just dragged by. I smelled something burning and saw a thick, black column of smoke on the horizon. It wasn't long before the air above my heard was filled with smoke and ash fell now and then on my face. They were burning grain and cotton bales on the next farm. How long would it be until they fired our house and buildings?

We couldn't do one thing to stop these demons. We just had to wait out our fate. everyone needs a plan when in a situation like this. Without a plan there is no hope. With my mind clouded from hunger, thirst and fatigue, a plan would not come into focus. 

I heard loud curses coming from the house. Someone was crying. Two soldiers burst out of the door and ran over the stubble in the cotton field holding Mama's prize bedtick high over their heads. Feathers were flying from the slit they had made in it with a knife. Their laughter rang out as they enjoyed their horrible feat and became mixed with the screams coming from the house. I put my fingers in my ears and squatted as low as I could inside the woodpile.

In the evening I expected to be fed. Maybe Finny would bring water. I waited and waited for Mama to come with the scraps, but darkness fell and my stomach ached badly. The night was clear with a pale full moon. The trip would have to be made. I couldn't stand it any longer. Carefully, I pushed away the logs that covered the escape route.

I poked my head and shoulders part of the way out, then pulled back in. Just pretend it is the same as last night and the night before when I walk around and around for awhile and then go back inside. Finally, I got my courage up to put a little ground between me and my hiding place. Then a little more ground. I could go back at any time, it's not that far away. Before long I could not see the woodpile and just had to make up in my mind there was no way out of it. I needed to go to the creek for water. Maybe I would faint along the woods or get lost.

What happened to my family/ I had not seen any of my sisters except Nancy since the house was taken. But I have heard their cries. Mama never spoke when she came with the scraps since the first time. She was afraid her words would be heard. I wanted to tell Mama what I knew about Nancy, but decided against it for fear words would be heard by others. Perhaps she already knew.

My lungs took in the sharp, spring air. I had not walked very far in days and at first my legs were very shaky. Sometimes in the dark you see things that aren't really there. In the light from a large low moon I crept cautiously. I was afraid to reach out to touch anything for it might be alive. A spiderweb netted my hair and neck and I brushed at it hard swinging arms and twirling around. In a tree nearby a whippoorwill shattered the night with its call and made me jump. Even though the cool, night air washed over my face, my insides felt hot. I tried to keep the footpath in sight slightly to the right of me, and it was difficult. Going slowly and stopped every few yards to make sure I wasn't straying away. In was not wise to keep directly on the path. My foot hid a large object and I toppled headlong over a dead cow whose carcass had been left to a large mass gathering of feasting maggots. Its flesh had burst open from being puffed so big.

I scrambled to my feet, not knowing which way to go for the shock of this discovery confused me. The foul smell that was on my hands and clothes was overpowering not only my sense of small. I heard a moaning noise, it seemed to be coming from. I couldn't cry or scream, just make this whimpering noise.

It was Dolly, I knew by her spots. Her head had been split by an axe. My head swam and my stomach contracted. Nausea washed over and I had to fight back against the warm feeling in my throat. It was hard not to cry, but tears escaped anyway running down my cheeks and into my open mouth. Oh! Salt, just when I needed.

Blustery, hostile voices along with the loud clicking of bayonets and splashing of water made me balk. I hid in the low bushes surrounding the creek by prostrating myself on the ground. The sickness was there, yet I could not make a sound of fear of being found.

A drifting fog wreathed the water, and made it hard to see. Straining to identify shapes. Eli's voice came clearly through the others. Several men were holding him by the heels and immersing his head in the rushing water. They were trying to make him tell where our valuables had been hidden. His screams and choking gasps and their curses seeped right through my skin. A lump of anger rose in my throat and I kept swallowing this back and it just boiled back up choking me. It was hard to keep from rushing forward to kill the beasts. Somehow, I managed to keep still and stay in the green fringed safety of the busy. It wasn't long before they gave up, for he had come so befuddled that it was no use to continue. At the time, it was impossible to tell if he was still alive or not, for they hauled him across one man's shoulder and made their way up the path toward the house.

Just as I started to come forth, a low bush detached itself from behind a tree and followed the others at a distance. If it was a friend or foe, I was too frightened to find out.

After a long drink of water, I decided to return. Maybe, mama had left the remains of supper. Closer to home, the smell of woodsmoke pierced my nostrils. Fire rose high into the night. The house. No. The woodpile.

The soldiers were burning every single stick, then threw something in and gloated over it. I ran back into the woods, stumbling over roots and logs, until I was back at the creek. Crazy thoughts rolled through my head. If I had stayed... miracle.... cooked alive....

I really needed a hallow log big enough for me, but, there was no way to see one in the dark. Afraid I would get lost if I wandered far, I sat down on a stump. Little eyes were everywhere. Any other time I would have been afraid. The little creatures were not my problem this night. It was the evil humans.

I could not go home and my fort ws gone. There was no use going to neighboring farms. Smoke came from the direction of the closest place days ago. Late, from other directions. Most likely they had the same circumstances as we did. The only thing left was to try and see if Finny's family would give me shelter. After all, they were Papa's dearest and oldest slaves. What about Uncle Charlie's warning not to trust anyone? Finny helped me and she didn't tell where I was, or did she? Maybe that is why they burned the woodpile. My mind asked questions and then tried to answer them making me more confused.

Picking my way as carefully as possible, I decided to follow the creek. On the bank were masses of brambles and it wasn't long before I became entangled. The flat woods in the South Carolina Sandhills have a lot of thick, impassable undergrowth. 

Something slithered across in front of me, then a rat ran across with another rat on its back. The moon went behind a cloud and I tripped over a barrel half buried in the sand. It had once held rice. Franklin must not have covered it well and some soldiers saw a sign that it was recently placed there. 

Eventually there was a road ahead, but which direction to go on it? Desperate to get to the cabins, I decided to take a right and keep just inside the shelter of trees. sometimes I would loose sight of the road but always found it again. Papa would be proud. He taught me how to spot the tallest tree and keep the top to my right so as to not get lost when out picking blackberries. As long as it is in view, I would end up back at the beginning. 

An urge came to relieve myself and as I squatted over what I believed to be a mass of moss, something crunched under my foot. I stepped aside and my other foot crunched what did not sound like stepping on twigs. At first, it was difficult to make out just what I had been standing in the midst of that would be making a sharp brittle noise under my feet. Realization hit me as I found that I had been standing in the ribcage of a deadman.

I must have fainted, for the next sound I heard was the loud croak of a frog sitting close by. Scrambling up, I must have miscalculated the direction in my flight, for I ran headlong down a blind trail straight into the ooze of the dreaded swamp. Fear took hold so hard that my kneecaps jumped up and down and would not stop.

The strangeness of cold wet air met me, the kind that streams up in your face when you look down a well. Marred in the damp soft ground where I had to pull one foot out at a time with a jerk, made the going slow.

There was a snap of twig behind me and the sound of sucking footsteps. I whirled to face a blurred figure which grabbed my arm in a viselike grasp, the fingers dug into my wrist. My screams were a high, choking sound that didn't seem one from my throat at all.

The monster thought I was out hiding some valuables and there was no persuading him otherwise. He dragged me farther and father into the swamp. Said he would teach me to lie. That he would make me sorry I was ever born if I didn't reveal to him at once what I knew. He turned his face toward mine swearing at me the whole way with huge puffs of breath that smelt of whisky and rotten teeth.

When he would stop up for a minute to rest, my kneecaps would jump up and down and my teeth were chattering so loud that he slapped me hard in the face. The smell of his sweat almost choked me.

"Stop that infernal noise."

I kept trying to shake him off by twisting this way and that, when suddenly both our feet slid into the black water of a quagmire. Once you get in, it's hard to get out of the slippery, moss and black mud. The past two days of rain made it all the worse.

I wanted to scream my hot words of anger at him, but it was of no use. We scrambled and fought like two blind dogs in a meat house. I was surprised to find out how much strength I really had. Then he was going down and down into some kind of sinkhole. His hand lost its grasp on me, but still snatched at my clothes, grabbing, losing hold, then gaining it. He was going to take me with him to my death.

At one time we both went under. I saw white in front of my eyes. This is it, I thought. The end.

Somehow, I managed to get my head and arms up out of the water. Even thought he still had hold of me, I managed to grab the exposed tree roots and wrap my arms around them while my dress was being yanked and ripped. Since there were so many layers of clothes, one less didn't really make a difference. Finally, he released his grip and I watched in horror the roundness of his mouth frozen forever as it formed his last words. For awhile, I remained clinging to tree roots on the steep bank. When death lunges at you and missed, you can hardly go away from it quickly. Your mind reels and your sense whirl and at first it is hard to realize that you are still alive.

At last, I hauled myself onto the edge of the slippery bank. Afraid to travel for there might be quicksand, I sat down beside a tree and rested. The cool, spring wind bore through my soaked clothes. I sat there wringing out my dripping hair.

In the faint light of dawn, I managed to find my way to Finny's cabin. Instead of going straight up to the door, I stopped in the grove of Myrtle trees and listened for scraps of conversation going on. Something was happening. I overheard plans of joining up with the soldiers that were leaving today for Anson County, North Carolina. To my amazement, some of Papa's best and most trusted families had sold us out to the Yankees. They had Mama's Waterbury clock and other valuables that we had hidden with their assistance in their possession and the laughter and jokes made me sick to my stomach. My blood boiled to think of such treachery, yet, I could do nothing but listen. Retreating into the surrounding woods, I stayed hidden until everyone was gone in the direction of our house. A dray and rig was loaded full of their belongings and ours. This must be the awaited day for departure.

After what felt like hours, I went inside their cabin, the first time in shelter for days. It had a sour smell of old apples and animals. Not thinking it fit to sit or lie on what little furniture they had left, I sat down on the dirt floor. Right now, exhaustion took over and I became careless of the consequences. What if someone returned? I fell asleep listening to the cry of mockingbirds calling to each other in the tall ponds.

I woke up later in the day. For a little while, I couldn't remember where I was. My legs and back ached either from sleeping on the hard floor or the ordeal in the swamp. Memory came back and rushed over me like a giant wave. Taking my chances, I started for hime trembling from fear and anticipation of facing my family.

As fast as they came, the enemy had left. Another group came by for them to join with. Long lines of soldiers passed out of our yard and but he road, heading north. Mama said Nancy left with them. She told me that my sister was taken as a hostage because the soldiers did not find as many valuables as they expected. I couldn't imagine what they had expected, everything we owned was taken. Including the negroes. A few weeks later, Finny ran into the yard. She had managed to escape and all she wanted to do was come home. She told that one of her little brothers had died and the soldiers would let her mammy have time to bury him, just left the body on the roadside The decision to leave her family and return to us was made then and there and at the next available moment she left.

This faithful friend stayed with us for many years to come. It was her choice, for she was free to do as she liked. When she later married and had her first child, a girl, she named it Emmaline just for me.

Later, Nancy was returned by the officer. He said she had left on her own free will. Mama called him a liar.

She did not believe Nancy could do such a thing. It upset Mama so that I didn't mention my secret. But, really, I knew what the did. Sometimes its better to know and not say. Just keep secrets from even someone as close to you as Mama if it will hurt her to know the truth. It was difficult to predict Nancy's moods and she caused a lot of problems in our household. She was prone to lie. Everyone knows a lie will grow, can either kill or cripple you and everyone close to you. Nancy had a different set of values than the rest of us. Sh was very emotional and always tried to find something to satisfy her. Something she never could put her hands on. When her lover thought she was becoming too much of a burden, he sent her away. It seems that she had a problem with not wanting to cross the Mason-Dixon Line.

There was nothing to do but to face shame and come back to her family. She led them to believe that it was the soldier's fault. But, every time she passed by me, I gave her a cold hard look. I think she knew that I knew.

Our house was spared from the torch, but only because they had used it for headquarters. Mama said that one of the officers always thanked her for meals and was decent towards them all. He even tried to protect my sisters from the men. We came to find out that he was the one Nancy took liking to. Mama said she didn't care if he did thank her for he wasn't welcome one bit. We were left with a little pig which the officer brought into the yard and gave to John as they moved out. The months came and went as we struggled along with not enough to eat and not enough to wear. We did manage to salvage a piece of the mirror large enough to use.

Juries in Reconstruction-era South Carolina

We have carefully and earnestly investigated the circumstances of the killing of Robert Melton and his wife and the severely wounding of his daughter by a party of armed men on the night of the sixteenth [unreadable] but are sorry to say that our efforts so far have been failures. but hope o'er long the peace officers of the County may be more successful in ferreting out all pertaining to this outrageous and terrible crime. We think it however due to the people of the county to say that our investigations in the matter have only strengthened our convictions that this murder was not caused by political prejudice but rather the effect of a personal malice and revengeful feeling.

This statement was part of a grand jury report, and it marked the end of legal efforts to bring Robert Melton's killers to justice. The report is remarkable. Many in the community completely disagreed with the grant jury's assertion that the killings were an act of "personal malice and revengeful feeling." Melton's neighbors, Henry J. Fox and S. E. Lane, said that crime was the culmination of campaign of Ku Klux Klan harassment. Fox felt so concerned about his safety that he took to sleeping in the woods. Ultimately, he voted with his feet and left the county.

What is going on here? A natural reaction is to dismiss the grand jury report as yet another example of "southern justice." The history of the civil rights movement is filled with examples of all-white juries who refused to convict white men for violent crimes against black men. Yet this phenomenon was a twentieth century phenomenon. The criminal justice system looked very different during the 1870s. In this post, we will take a look at the Chesterfield grand jury and speculate on why they were so ineffective in bringing justice to the Melton family.

the law as it now stands virtually opens the way to ignorance and wholly restricts the power to prevent incompetent persons from becoming jurors. . . . It can only be characterized as a depraved prejudice seeking to uproot the foundations of society, and wishing to break down every barrier of common sense in the administration of justice. Verily, we have fallen upon evil times!

-The Anderson Intelligencer newspaper, April 8, 1869 

The South Carolina criminal justice was completely rebuilt in the first years after the Civil War. As the above quote shows, white conservatives were horrified at the changes that took place. 

As a precondition to restoring civilian government, Congress required the state to revise its constitution and, among other changes, grant Black men the right to sit on juries. The specifics of jury selection were determined by laws passed by South Carolina's pro-Black Republican party. 

Under the 1868 constitution, jury selection functioned differently than how it does today. Jury duty was not regarded as an obligation for all voters. Rather, it was a responsibility for the county's leading citizens. Jury members were chosen at random from a list drawn up by township selectmen (the smallest governing body). The selectmen were instructed to choose people who were "of good moral character" and had "sound judgement," and at most one-tenth of voters could be chosen.

Selectmen were locally elected, so communities exhibited significant control over the jury selection process. Recognizing that former enslavers and ex-Confederate soldiers could not be expected to protect the rights of freedpeople, the state legislature amended the laws governing the jury selection process in March 1869 so that the racial composition of a jury had to match the relative populations of the county. In Chesterfield County, this meant that a jury needed to be approximately one-third Black and two-thirds white. 

The requirement that juries include Black members drew the greatest condemnation from conservatives. Articles in conservative newspaper questioned whether there were enough men of good moral character among the Black population to fill the jury pool. Several of the writers suggested legal strategies for getting around the new law (arguing that it violated civil rights guaranteed by the state constitution, for example).

The Republicans who designed the new jury selection process seemed to have mixed feelings about its success. Several Republican lawyers and judges were asked about the legal system as part of Congress's 1871 investigation into Ku Klux Klan activity. The answers given should be viewed critically: Republicans hoped that the investigation would demonstrate the need for federal intervention, conservatives for the opposite. James Orr, a former conservative governor who was then serving as a circuit judge, told Congress that he found no fault with the "experiment" of racially mixed juries. His expressed opinion might reflect conditions in his circuit, but a more likely explanation is that it was a disingenuous effort at dissuading Congress from intervening in state affairs.

Most of the legal officials who testified said that the court system was unable to curb political violence. They attributed the problem to mixed juries, although not because of any inadequacies of Black jurors. Rather, political tensions were so high that jurors of a given political party would not vote for conviction for political violence against the opposing party. Like Orr, these legal officials were not disinterested parties, but their testimony is supported by the bare fact that not a single person was convicted for Ku Klux Klan violence despite its endemic nature. 

"hearty Republicans, & as individuals & families, kind & friendly to all around us – but Sir, we are in terror from Ku-Klux threats & outrages– there is neither law or justice in our midst."

-letter from Robert Melton's neighbor, Louise Lane, to President Grant

Who made up the grand jury that deliberated on the murders of Robert and Harriet Melton? Consistent with state law, the grand jury was two-thirds white. The white jurors were drawn from the class that had long led the county: affluent smaller farmers. Most of the white jurors were not wealthy enough to have been members of the planter class, but most owned their own land and at least four were from slave-owning families. The exception was James H. Powe who came from one of the wealthiest families in the county. His father was a former state senator who had enslaved over one-hundred people before the Civil War. Powe himself was a graduate of both South Carolina College and the Charleston Medical College, a rare distinction. 

Most of the white jurors were veterans of the Confederate army. The Confederate government used conscription, so military service did not necessary indicate support for the Confederacy, but at least some served with enthusiasm. Powe volunteered as soon as the war broke out, and he even helped finance the war by purchasing uniforms for his unit. Powe was very proud of his military service and was active in Confederate veterans organizations. 

Powe also appears to have had a deep hatred for the Reconstruction government. Certainly, he had reasons to be upset. Not only had the defeat of the Confederacy ruined his family financially, but it had also ruined Powe physically. He had been seriously injured during war, and while serving on the jury, the injury still left him still partially paralyzed. Other white jurors likely also bore deep financial, physical, and psychic wounds from the war. 

Information about the Black jurors is harder to come by. I haven't been able to find any information about two of the jurors (Edward Pegues and Miller Robinson). Two others, Horace Chapman and Ambrose Robertson, appear in the record as farmers, but this isn't notable as it was the profession of the overwhelming majority of residents. None of these people appear in the historical record until after the war, so they were very likely born enslaved.

The best documented juror is Wade Floyd. Floyd appeared to have been active in the local Republican party as he was an election manager in 1870 (the position was a gubernatorial appointment, likely at the recommendation of Chesterfield's state legislators).  Floyd worked as a schoolteacher, initially for the Freedmen's Bureau. This is very significant since it means that he was educated. In particular, he was literate. In contrast, all the other Black jurors as well as some of the white jurors were illiterate, so Floyd was the only Black juror who could read the report that the Grand Jury produced. 

How should we view the Grand Jury report in light of the jury makeup? With men like Powe on the Grand Jury, it was hardly surprising that the Grand Jury failed to bring Robert Melton's killers to justice. Powe almost certainly felt the killings were justified and, viewing the state government as illegitimate, felt no compulsions about lying to protect the killers. He may have even known the killers and had personal knowledge of their plans. 

It is surprising that the Grand Jury report offered such a strong statement about the killing. I would have expected jurors like James H. Powe to have been balanced by the presence of jurors like Wade Floyd with the consequence that any official statement by the Grand Jury would have avoided making a clear statement either way. 

One possibility is that white jurors were able to dominate the Grand Jury proceedings. Certainly, men like Powe would have felt more comfortable in a courtroom, and with his college education, Powe would have been far better equipped to understand the legal system and express himself in writing than the Republican jurors. He and his conservative allies might have been able to wield economic power over the Republican jurors. Several of the jurors, such as Horace Chapman and Ambrose Robertson, farmed on rented or sharecropped land, making them vulnerable to threats of kicking them off the land. 

Another possibility is that everyone on the jury had it out for Robert Melton and his allies. By 1871, anger over political corruption had split the county Republican party into two factions. Robert Melton had been allied with state senator R. J. Donaldson who was strongly opposed by the faction committed to fighting corruption. Jurors like Wade Floyd might have been allied with the Donaldson's opposition, and they could have decided that allying themselves with conservatives and tacitly condoning the murder of Melton was preferable to allowing the corruption of Donaldson's administration to continue unabated. 

Ultimately, we only have the thinnest evidence to evaluate the Grand Jury's activities. The Grand Jury's statement that Robert Melton's killing was not politically motivated is absurd and certainly worth a close inspection, but I don't see how to reach any definitive conclusion about why they issued their report. Perhaps the only clear conclusion is that Louise Lane was certainly correct that for her and other Republicans in Chesterfield County they could expect "neither law or justice in our midst."

May 1871 Grand Jury

Black Jurors

1. Wade Floyd (b. 1840)

2. Horace Chapman (b. 1826). illiterate. 

3. Edward Pegues (b. 1850)

4. Ambrose Robertson (b. 1842). illiterate. 

5. Miller Robinson (?)

White Jurors

1. William Jeptha Gaddy (b. 1828). Jury foreman. 

2. Colin Campbell (b. 1830)

3. Jeremiah M. Funderburk (b. 1844)

4. Calvin Massey (b. 1813)

5. James H. Powe (b. 1835)

6. Stephen Purvis (b. 1840)

7. Alexander Anderson Pollack (b. 1832)

8. Nevins Stewart Smith (b. 1827)

9. Thomas Threatt (b. 1809)

10. J. H. Villaneuse (b. 1836)

Sources

1. "Items – Editorial and Otherwise." The Anderson intelligencer. [volume], April 30, 1874, Image 2

2. "The New Jury Law." The Anderson intelligencer. [volume], April 08, 1869, Image 2.

3. "The New Jury Law." The Charleston daily news. [volume], April 10, 1869, Image 2.

4. "The New Jury Law – Its Legal Interpretation." The Anderson intelligencer. [volume], April 15, 1869, Image 2.

Stopping the Steal in Chesterfield County, 1870

January 1871 was a difficult time in Chesterfield County, South Carolina. The 1868 political enfranchisement of former slaves had resulted in the dominance of the county government by Republicans. This was a horrifying outcome for the country's traditional elites, who were comprised of planters and ex-Confederate officers. The October 1870 election had been their first opportunity to regain control of local government.

At first, it seemed like conservatives had succeeded in sweeping the election. Their victory had been hard won. The Republican state senator (R. J. Donaldson) and his supporters had engaged in ballot misconduct, but these efforts had only narrowed the margin of conservative's victory, and the senator was now facing criminal prosecution. At the statehouse on November 22, the conservative Reform candidates were sworn in as Chesterfield's legislative representatives. Chesterfield, it seemed, had been "redeemed" from "Radical rule." 

Later events showed that celebrations were premature. A week after the conservatives were sworn into office, their Republican challengers contested the election outcome. The state legislature is ultimately responsible for determining outcomes, and conservatives had legitimate fears that the election results would be overturned by the Republican-dominated Legislature. To eliminate Republicans as a political force in the county, Chesterfield conservatives would use all available tools, the legal system, the press, and even political violence.

One of the first steps took place at the end of the January 1871 term of the circuit court. At the end of every term, the county grand jury issues a report. Typically, the grand jury would report on the performance of elected officials and the condition of government facilities. A typical report might describe how the county jail was in a poor state and needed repairs. However, the Grand Jury had the ability to report on potential crimes that they felt should be prosecuted. They did not have the ability to force a prosecution, but a report put pressure on law enforcement and judicial officials as it put the matter on public record. It was in this way that the grand jury appears to have tried to use the legal system to weaken county Republicans. 

In their report, the grand jury stated that six men (Patrick Quilty, Grave Graves, Alfred Thomas, Evander Brayboy, Jim Chavis, and Andrew Marshall) had illegally voted. The grand jury also gave a list of witnesses who could testify. 

The grand jury didn't offer any details about the charges, and I have hard a time tracking down what they specifically the men were accused of doing. (The South Carolina Department of Archives and History might have relevant records if anyone is interested in digging into this.) The only details I can find are about the charge against Alfred Thomas. He had voted in Chesterfield County but was accused of being a resident of Darlington County, where his wife lived. 

One of the accused, Patrick Quilty, was a Black merchant living in Cheraw. Two of the three men listed as witnesses against him were election managers for the Cheraw polling station, so presumably the election managers saw him illegally cast a ballot in Cheraw. Two of the other men accused (Grave Graves and Evander Brayboy) appear also have been connected to Cheraw as some of the suggested witnesses were people who can be identified as Cheraw residents. Legal records did not record the race of the accused men, but I am guessing that they were all Black men. This was one of the first elections in which Black men could vote in, and many white conservatives accused them of abusing their right. 

The legal process

More information is available about how the legal process played out. Then as now, the county solicitor was responsible for deciding whether or not to prosecute. If he decided to prosecute, he first had to make a case before the Grand Jury. If the Grand Jury was convinced, then they would issue a true bill of indictment and there would be a jury trial to determine guilt. The circuit judge presided over both the grand jury hearing and the jury trial.

The solicitor was elected by popular vote, so the solicitor for Chesterfield county was typically a conservative, and the solicitor at the time, Archibald J. Shaw, was very much a product of South Carolina's conservative political class. He had spent his entire life in South Carolina and had worked as a lawyer during the antebellum. When the Civil War broke out, he served as an officer in the Confederate army. I have not been able to find any record of his political views, but he almost certainly was horrified that Black men had been given the right to vote and was more than willing to prosecute them for voting irregularities. 

The circuit judge, James M. Rutland, was from a similar background as Shaw. He too was a native South Carolinian who had worked as a lawyer in the antebellum. However, he held opposing political beliefs. He was one of the very few elite South Carolinians who had openly opposed secession. After the war, he supported Reconstruction and served as a delegate to the 1868 convention held to revise the state constitution. Rutland's politics played an important role in election to a judgeship. Unlike solicitors, circuit judges were elected by the state legislature, which then was dominated by Republicans.

What about the composition of the juries? Unlike today, juries were not formed by randomly selecting voters. Rather, they were respected community members chosen by local government. Each year the selectmen of each town were to make a list of voters who were "well qualified to serve as jurors, being persons of good moral character, of sound judgement" that contained between a tenth and a twentieth of the voter population. Then, at the start of each term of circuit court, the county clerk filled a grand jury and two petit juries by randomly picking from the lists provided. 

Only men could served as jurors, and certain professions (members of state government, lawyers, ministers, teachers, etc) and the elderly were excluded from service. Most significantly, Black men, enslaved only five years earlier, could be jurors. 

Despite the revolutionary political changes, the January 1871 grand jury that reported on the accusations of illegal voting was not that different from antebellum juries. The foreman was J. C. Craig, a fifty-something year old white farmer from Cheraw. In the antebellum, Craig had run his farm with help from eighteen enslaved workers, putting him on the cusp of planter status. I can document that two other jurors (John Henry Perkins and William Freeman) enslaved people. However, the jury was not all white. It included at least one Black man, Edward Blakeney. Blakeney in his fifties and living in Old Store township (approximately the location of modern Pageland). His last name suggests that he had been enslaved by John Blakeney, the largest enslaver in the area.

Both the grand jury and the petit juries formed for the next court of court (in May) were similar. They included two Black men, Wade Floyd and Robert Brewer. Both appear to have been community leaders. Floyd had served as an election manager in 1870, while Robert was a Republican candidate for the state legislature in 1874. However, these men were exceptions. Most jurors were white South Carolinians, many of whom had supported the Confederacy. We have an unusually detailed information about the views of one juror, James Harrington Powe. Powe was a college graduate and a former Confederate army captain. Many years after the war, he wrote down reminiscences of his experiences during the Civil War and Reconstruction, and these were published by his daughter. 

One of the sketches that Powe wrote is a "humorous" account of a political meeting that was held on his farm "during Carpet-Bagger rule." The sketch is a satire that highlights the ignorance and dishonesty of Republican politicians. Two Republican candidates for the state legislature, "Prof. Theodore St. Clair Cobblestone, from Massachusetts" and "Mr. 'Cristofer Hodges'." Hodges is freedman described as "a great dude, his long kinky hair, being parted in the middle, fell over each ear, giving him the appearance of an umbrella. He was attired in a swallow-tail, black trousers, and white vest." Powe has him speaking in thick dialect: "I come for te ax yer tea gib me yo votes, so I kin go ter Kerlumby ter risprisint yer den dat State His, day call de Legislature. I'll wurk fer de eberlastin' good ob all uns, an' I'll do my lebel bes' tea git dat forty akers an' de mule." The meeting ends with Hodges being accused by another freedman, Cuffe Prince, of stealing his watermelons during the antebellum, and the two reconciling and getting elected to the Legislature.

Powe's account bear little resemble to historical fact. There were no legislators named Christopher Hodges or Cuffe Prince. At most two of Chesterfield's legislators, J. P. Singleton and D. J. J. Johnson, were formerly enslaved, and these men were skilled workers who lived in Cheraw (Singleton was a mason). However, it does clearly demonstrate Powe's attitudes towards Black voters. He certainly was not someone to hesitate to convict a freedman for illegal voting.

What happened?

Criminal prosecutions began in May, the first term of court after the Grand Jury reported on the allegations of illegal voting. The solicitor brought changes against seven men, five of the men that were accused in the Grand Jury's report and two other men (Charles Robeson and Ben Hinson). (As far as I can tell, no charges were ever brought against one of the men, Jim Chavis, who was named in the Grand Jury report.)

Of the seven men charged, the Grand Jury only returned a true bill of indictment against three of them. Only one jury trial was held, and it resulted in the criminal conviction of Alfred Thomas. Thomas was sentenced to three months in the county jail. However Alfred did not serve his full sentence. He was pardoned by the governor on June 23, the month after he was convicted. As justification for his decision, the governor explained that the jury had determined that Alfred could only legally vote in Darlington County (where his wife lived), but he had always lived and voted in Chesterfield County.

One additional charge was filed the next year. In the January term of the circuit court, Jack Evans was convicted of illegally voting and sentenced to three months in jail. However, he too did not serve the full sentence as he was pardoned by the governor on March 15 (so Evans likely spent approximately two months in jail). The reasons for Evans's pardon are somewhat curious. The governor wrote that Evans was "ignorant of the offense he was committing, being used as a tool by others." This was a common explanation for misconduct by freedmen, with the "others" typically being white Republican politicians. He also stated that the county probate judge and others had recommended the pardon. The year 1872 was an election year, and it is unclear whether the judge making the recommendation was the outgoing judge or the incoming judge. The incoming judge was W. J. Hanna, a leading conservative figure within the county. The outgoing judge was one "K. Craig." I can't find any information about him (even his first name appears to have gone unrecorded), but he also appears to have been a conservative.

In all, a year of legal proceedings had resulted in two men being imprisoned for a few months. No further prosecutions for illegal voting took place. My guess is that, after the initial grand jury report, conservative leaders in Chesterfield backed away from further political conflict. The month before the grand jury again met (in April), Robert Melton, a Republican official in northwestern Chesterfield, was murdered by Ku Kluxers, who almost certainly had been encouraged by the general anger towards Chesterfield Republicans. This act of violence seems to have been a step too far. Quite generally, political violence against Republicans had exploded in the South Carolina in the months after the election, and conservatives everywhere realized it needed to be stopped. Not only was it provoking a heavy-handed response from the federal government, but it was also empowering violent common criminals who threatened to plunge the state into general chaos. Moreover, violence was not needed. The Republican Party lost all county elected positions except for the two seats in the state's House of Representatives, and they only held onto them because the Republican-dominated Legislature was willing to overturn the election results and act against the will of Chesterfield voters. Republicans' grip on Chesterfield was slipping, and with the county's large white majority, the county was likely to completely slip out of their grasp after the next election. There was no need to prosecute a handful of people for illegally voting. The next election, held in 1872, demonstrated the truth of this. Conservatives spent the county elections. For generations, Chesterfield County would be run white conservatives, and Black voters would be almost wholly excluded from political decisions.

Sources

1. Reminiscences & Sketches of Confederate Times

John McCulla: A name better forgotten?

The approximate location of McCulla's farm is shown in red
From Library of Congress

John McCulla (or McCullough) was a central figure in efforts to reconstruct Chesterfield County during the years after the Civil War. He was a particular figure of hatred for regional conservatives, but he is largely absent from historical accounts of Reconstruction in South Carolina. In this post, we will take a look at who he was and what he did.

McCulla was born in Ireland around 1840. He moved to the United States around the end of the Civil War, when he was in his twenties. (Accounts differ as to whether he arrived in 1864 or in 1866.) I have been unable to find any records about McCulla prior to 1868, so it is unclear why he left Ireland, although there was nothing unusual about it. Ireland saw a huge level of emigration as people tried to flee the famine and poverty that had been devastating the country for decades.

McCulla had moved to South Carolina by 1868, and he quickly found a place within the state's newly empowered Republican Party. Following the ratification of a new state constitution that enfranchised freed slaves, McCulla was appointed treasurer for Chesterfield County by Republican governor Robert K. Scott. This position granted him considerable powers as it made him responsible for collecting taxes and disbursing state funds. 

McCulla likely secured his gubernatorial appointment through connections with Chesterfield's state senator, R. J. Donaldson. Both were incorporators for a Chesterfield land development company, the South Carolina Improvement and Trust Company, and they worked closely together after Donaldson was elected to office.

McCulla purchased land for himself in fall 1868. He bought a two-hundred and twenty-nine acre plot from William K. Edgeworth, a member of a local planter family. The plot was located near the Hornsboro post office, where Thompson's Creek meets Store House Creek. A little over a year later (on January 6, 1870), he bought an adjacent two hundred and three acre plot in a sheriff's sale following the death of the owner (Alexander McMillan). These purchases provide further evidence of McCulla's relation with Donaldson and his supporters. The lands bounded land owned by the Challenge Mining Company which was run by Donaldson's supporters. 

McCulla used the land he purchased for farming. He did not have a family, so he was reliant on sharecropper and hired labor. Most of the people he employed were former slaves. As a farmer, McCulla practiced a mixture of cotton growing and subsistence farming that was typical for the region. 

The fact that McCulla was able to purchase so much land raises suspicions. He spent over $3,500 only a few years after he had immigrated from a poverty-stricken Ireland. He soon fell under suspicion for corruption and dishonesty. The biggest cause for anger was the allegation that he was "shaving" funds for himself when fulfilling money orders as treasurer.

The way in which McCulla was alleged to have enriched himself is demonstrated by an incident involving the state-funded Poor House. A women, Mrs. Williams, maintained a state-supported Poor House for paupers, and she was to receive five dollars per month for each pauper who was boarding with her. In the summer of 1870, the County Commissioners issued a money order to her. McCulla was present when this was done, and he explained that he did not have the funds to fulfill the order. When one of the commissioners, G. W. Duvall, said this was unacceptable, McCulla told Mrs. Williams that she should go to Cheraw and present the order to Mr. Donaldson. This was unusual because Donaldson was then Chesterfield's state senator and had no responsibility for distributing state funds.

Mrs. Williams did as McCulla suggested. However, upon arriving at Donaldson's office, she met with his clerk who only offered to provide her with half of the funds she was suppose to receive. This presented her with a dilemma as the money offered was not enough to provide for the paupers under her care. While debating what to do, she happened to encounter G. W. Duvall on the street. He advised her to see if a merchant would take the money order for payment, but none would. Finally, having exhausted other options, Mrs. Williams accepted the funding that Donaldson's clerk was willing to offer. She was given less than half of the money she was due. The week after, Duvall became upset when he examined McCulla's records and found that it was falsely recorded that Mrs. Williams  falsely had received the full amount she was due.

Conservative leaders charged that the treatment of Mrs. Williams was representative of how McCulla performed the duties of his office. Milly Chapman, W. L. Mangum, and Ellenor Horn all reported similar experiences. 

Efforts to hold McCulla accountable for misuse of office began to gain momentum in September 1870. Each quarter, the county grand jury issued a presentment which provided them with a forum in which to criticize public officials. That term, the grand jury criticized McCulla and two other public officials. McCulla was criticized for not exhibiting his books to the grand jury, and the circuit judge (James M. Rutland) responded by ordering that his office be searched and he be required to show cause at the next term of court why they should not be primally prosecuted for dereliction of duty.

The criticism McCulla received suggests that the criticism was not purely political. The circuit judge was a moderate Republican, and the grand jury included several Black men (including Oliver Hanna, Lisbon Timmons, Load Miller, and Malcolm McFarlan). 

The month after the presentment was issued was the month that the election was held. This was an important event. It was the second election for legislative offices that was held under the new state constitution, and it presented conservatives with their first opportunities to remove the Republicans from county government. 

Much was at stake for McCulla. With his personal ties to state senator Donaldson, he had a powerful defender, but Donaldson was up for reelection in October. If Donaldson was defeated by a conservative candidate, then both he and McCulla would not only lose political power, but they would also be facing the wraith of newly empowered conservatives. In fact, Donaldson was running against G. W. Duvall, the very man who had been been frustrated in his efforts to get McCulla to fulfill a money order for the county poor house.

McCulla and other supporters of Donaldson went to extreme efforts to see that Donaldson and other Republicans in the county were reelected. Conservatives alleged that McCulla and others engaged in election fraud. Election managers had given the ballot boxes to McCulla (who had no formal role in managing the election) to bring to Chesterfield Courthouse for counting. However, before he did so, he met with Senator Donaldson's brother-in-law (Alfred T. Peete) who replaced valid ballots for conservative candidates with fraudulent ones. 

A little over a week after the election (on October 31), the son of G. W. Duvall (Henry P.) swore a complaint against McCulla, Donaldson, and two others. McCulla was charged with conspiracy to alter the ballots and polls list for the precincts of Oro and Old Store. Based on the complaint, the trial justice Frank H. Eaton ordered their arrests. The fact that Eaton issued orders for arrests is a sign that the charges was serious. Eaton was a Union veteran from Maine and no friend of South Carolina conservatives like G. W. Duvall. 

McCulla was released on bond on a few days after his arrest was ordered. However, his fortunes continued to decline. A few weeks after his arrest (on November 22), the conservatives candidates arrived at the statehouse and were sworn in as the elected legislative representatives for Chesterfield County. McCulla's patron, R. J. Donaldson, had been removed from power, and his office was now held by the father of the man who had requested McCulla's arrest, G. W. Duvall.

Unlike Donaldson, McCulla did not lose his position as county treasurer in the October election because his position was appointed, not elected. Nevertheless, his position was in danger. Governor Scott, the man who had originally appointed McCulla, had been reelected, but he could be expected to remake his political appointments in response to the political changes demonstrated by the election.

Removing McCulla from office seems to have been a priority in Chesterfield. In February 1871, Duvall, now Chesterfield's state senator, wrote the governor a long letter asking that McCulla be removed from office and detailing at length his reasons for the request. Not only did Duvall repeat the complaints that McCulla was engaging in financial misconduct, but he also complained that he was "frequently drunk and unfit to attend to business." The governor finally removed McCulla from office in March.

McCulla's legal problems were becoming even more serious during this time. He was subject to a second bench warrant in January. The solicitor had issued a warrant after the grand jury issued a presentment reporting that McCulla had been overcharging for services. (He reportedly was charging five per cent on all monies received and on all funds passing through his office.)

When the court next met (in May), the grand jury indicted McCulla on the charge of failing to turn over his treasurer's books, and he was accused of "outrageously oppressing the people" by charging tax penalties beyond what was allowed by law. The last accusation led to yet another bench warrant was issued. 

McCulla finally faced a jury trial in January 1872, a full year after legal proceedings had begun. The trial had been delayed because the judge had not appeared for the previous term of court (held in September). The jury found him guilty on two counts: one for failing to turn over the treasurer's books and one for exercising the office of treasurer after his removal. McCulla was also indicted on official misconduct. There is no record of that third charge being dropped, but this was likely the case as the court journal show that he later repaid the government for the excessive charges he made.

I have not been able to find any record of the sentence that McCulla received, and whatever it was, it seems that he did not serve it. McCulla appealed to the state Supreme Court, and in May 1874, the court struck off the charge.

While McCulla was facing charges for his conduct as treasurer, he was also facing charges for election fraud. The records of what happened with these second set of charges aew unclear. The court journal records that the grand jury returned no bill again him and the other men charged during the September 1872 term of court. The indictment paper, signed by the jury foreman, also states that the jury returned no bill. However, indictment records also include a handwritten document, signed by the solicitor, stating that the jury swore on their oath that McCulla and the others had committed the crimes they were accused of. Yet a third outcome was reported by the press: they reported in October that the solicitor had decided not to pursue matters further (i.e. he entered a "nol. pos." against Donaldson and his supporter John McCulla). 

The dates on the legal documents raise further questions about what exactly took place. The dates on both the indictment paper and handwritten document have been changed. On the handwritten document, the months "May" and "January" were written and then stricken out and the word January written a second time. Similarly, the year was changed from 1871 to 1872. None of these dates are the dates recorded in the court journal. The dates on the indictment paper are similar. The document is dated to January 1871, but the months "January" and May" were written and then stricken out.

Ultimately, the long-term legal consequences for McCulla seem to have been minimal. Not only does it seem that he avoided jail time, but he was even appointed to serve as an election manager in 1874, only a few years after he was indicted for election misconduct. One possible explanation is that all involved parties felt it was best to avoid further deliberation on the matter and simply move on. The need to prosecute McCulla and others in Donaldson's circle was diminished as county Republicans had largely been removed from power in the 1870 election. Moreover, close scrutiny of the election was likely to raise awkward questions for conservative politicians. In the months following the election, conservatives were accused of having engaged in voter suppression and of being involved in the murder of the Republican, Robert Melton, one of the witnesses set to testify in defense of McCulla and others. 

In his correspondence with the governor over the treasury appointment, G. W. Duvall explicitly spoke to the need to reduce political tensions. He wrote that he had made a recommendation regarding the appointment in the belief that it would "end the war between the two factions." He also appears to hint at the potential for further violence. After expressing anger at efforts by a Republican to secure the appointment, Duvall wrote that "[a]ll [is] quiet in this county," with the implication that the state of affairs would change if a poor appointment was made.

After Donaldson was voted out of office, most of Donaldson's supporters left Chesterfield. Donaldson's brother-in-law, who had also been indicted for election misconduct, moved to Spartanburg and found work as a music teacher and later as a dentist. Donaldson himself moved to Columbia for a few years and then ran a rice plantation near Georgetown that he purchased. McCulla, however, remained in Chesterfield County.

McCulla seems to have left political life by the mid-1870s, and certainly his political prospects were minimal by this time as the county government was firmly in the hands of his conservative enemies. He seems to have focused on his farm in Mount Croghan township. In 1880, a census taker recorded that he employed over one hundred Black farmers, making his farm one of the largest operations in the region. .  

McCulla appears to have financially supported himself for the remainder of the nineteenth century by renting land to Black sharecroppers. He never had a family, and he certainly could not have performed all the labor that was needed on a farm by himself. I can't find a record of his death, but he was still living in Mount Croghan in 1910, when he was in his seventy years old. By this time, it appears he had largely retired. He sold most of his land in the 1900s. Some of the land was purchased by Archibald Wade Hursey who built a mill, Hursey's mill, on the land. 

Approximate location of Hursey's Mill indicated in red
Image from Google Maps

Despite the anger that had been directed at him during Reconstruction, McCulla seems to have quickly faded from public memory. In a 1949 newspaper article, an older resident, Tom Turner, was interviewed about the history of the area. Turner recalled Reconstruction as some of the "darkest days," and mentions McCulla by name (although it was printed as "McCullough"). However, he only says that McCulla was a "Yankee" who was involved with a New York-based land development company and oversaw a 2,800 acre plot of land that was rented to Black tenant farmers. No mention is made of election fraud or the misuse of the treasurer's office. In the interview, Turner remarked that many names associated with Reconstruction, "that luckless era," are "better forgotten," and the same attitude appears to apply to McCulla's actions.

The area around McCulla's farm
From South Caroliniana Library

Sources

1. The daily phoenix. [volume], November 05, 1868, Image 2

2. The Charleston daily news. [volume], March 24, 1871, Image 3

3. The daily phoenix. [volume], May 05, 1874, Image 2

4. The daily phoenix. [volume], April 06, 1871, Image 2

September Grand Jury

1. W. A. Mulloy (b. 1815). White farmer and merchant in Chesterfield C. H. 

2. Lewis Ganey (b. 1846). White farmer in Chesterfield township.

3. Thomas Britt

4. J. H. Williams (b. 1810). A white miller in Alligator township

5. D. B. Douglas (b. 1848) A white farmer in Cole Hill township.

6. O[ilver] Hanna (b. 1832) A Black farmer in Chesterfield township.

7. T[homas] D. Spencer (b. 1840). A white farmer in Chesterfield township.

8. T[homas] M. Kirkley (b. 1835). White constable in Jefferson township. Born in North Carolina. 

9. J. W. Watson (b. 1838). A white farmer in Cole Hill township. 

10. S[amuel] Wilkinson (b. 1844) A white farmer in Cole Hill township.

11. Lisbon Timmons (b. 1827). A Black farmer in Mt. Croghan township. 

12. S. Hegmen?

13. L[oad] Miller (b. 1839). A Black farmer in Jefferson township.

14. D. McLean

15. M[alcolm] McFarlan (b. abt. 1846). A Black farmer in Cole Hill township. 23

16. E. Lowry. 

17. J[ohn] H. Lowry (b. abt. 1831): White man living in Mt. Croghan township.

18. W. Miller