Marlboro County ScArchives History - Books .....Chapter XXXIX Down To The Twentieth Century 1897
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Joy Fisher sdgenweb@yahoo.com January 13, 2007, 11:23 pm

Book Title: A History Of Marlboro County

CHAPTER XXXIX.
DOWN TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.

  "Love thou thy land with love far brought
   From out the storied Past, and used
   Within the Present; but transfused
   To future time, by power of thought."

  From many evident causes the author has in a very desultory manner covered
over a space of one hundred and seventy-six years in the history of Marlboro. In
these pages we have been carried back to primitive forests whose solitude was
disturbed only by the twittering of birds and the hunting songs of the red men,
whose rights there were none to dispute. At the coming of the white man we have
seen the dusky Indian fleeing farther and yet farther into the wild woods, until
he disappeared forever.

  We have seen the struggle for subsistence of the early settlers of this
section of South Carolina. Later, their growing discontent at the hardships and
tyrannies imposed upon the feeble colonists by the mother country We have
learned that our forefathers of the Pee Dee section bore their share of
taxation; gave of their meager subsistence; took up their guns and fought and
died for the independence that was bequeathed to their posterity, as the result
of the Revolutionary War. We have seen under what almost insurmountable
difficulties the infant republic was born. Had the straggling population been
unanimous for a colonial government it would have still been difficult. But a
portion of the population were loyal to British rule, and conscientiously
opposed all measures looking towards the establishment of American government,
and later were engaged in predatory hostilities against what they honestly
believed rebellion in the colonists. The early struggles of the infant republic
were serious and discouraging. But true and tried men stood at the helm. Numbers
of them bore our names. Many sons and daughters of Marlboro to-day may justly be
proud of the part their ancestry took in establishing peace and prosperity in
this fair land.

  In the march of years we find Marlboro grown to be a fine, flourishing
district. Prosperity and civilization had rewarded the industry of those sturdy
sons of the soil, our forefathers of a later generation. Again we find
Marlboro's sons buckling on the sword in defense of principles as dear to them
as were those of their Revolutionary sires. Bidding adieu to homes of luxury,
and loved ones, they endured for years the hardships and privations of war. The
noble women of the South became not only the bread-winners for their families,
but by their devotion and assistance food and clothing were supplied to the
armies, to a large extent. The mothers and daughters of the South with their
lily hands toiled and spun; spun and sung; prayed and waited. Waited for the
husbands and sons who never came home; who had fought and lost—lost not only
life and property, but principles and institutions that had been bequeathed from
sire to son. Institutions and principles so interwoven with their industrial and
political life, that the result of the Civil War left our State and county in
almost as impoverished a condition as were our forefathers after their struggle
for liberty. Among the many disasters of war one of the hardest was that our
county had been invaded by the enemy. Traditions of the future will tell many a
sad story of experiences and scenes enacted during Sherman's raid. Hidden spoons
and trinkets, buried demijohns, and incised feather-beds may figure in these
recitals. But these legends rightly belong to those who were the participants in
those fearful times, and through them to their descendants. So, as a fair
historian, we will not trespass on family matters. We have never ceased to
wonder, however, if that little pest and destroyer known as the Sherman bug was
really left behind as an ever-present reminder of Sherman's raid. If so, by what
process of incubation were the bugs hatched the year after the raid? If these
are not actual facts, would it not be fair to the distinguished Sherman family
to trace the pedigree of the yellow bug to the name of some other destroyer. As
remembered at this late day, there may have been some amusing and ridiculous
incidents connected with the terrors of Sherman's raid. Yet the realities and
distress were pathetic in the extreme. In many cases, a bed of smouldering coals
was all that was left of once happy homes. In other families there was not food
enough left for the next meal, and everywhere there was desolation and
devastation. But bread for the hungry children had to be won in some way. Sadly
and slowly our stricken and impoverished people rallied their energies. Hope and
Faith lifted them out of the depths of Despair; crushed and kneeling in the dust
of defeat and humiliation, they implored the Ruler of Destinies for strength to
again start the struggle for life and home. Turning their faces to a future that
was uncertain of all but toil and tears they gathered up their scattered
agricultural implements—it was all that was left— and went resolutely to work.
Truly they started from the bottom. Former methods were useless to them now.

  Henceforth their efforts were a matter of experiment. Eking out what few
provisions they had with a painful economy, and wearing their remnants of
clothing they went cautiously on, a step at a time. Through the sad, strange
days just after the war, through the uncertain, perilous times of
reconstruction, the people of Marlboro passed quietly and peacefully. No acts of
lawlessness or bloodshed stained the fair name of our county, as was the case in
some of the other counties. The men who had been brave enough to face the
cannon's mouth in war were wise enough in defeat to courteously, if silently,
pass the United States garrison of troops whose presence proclaimed our county
for awhile under military rule.

  Gradually our people grew stronger. Year by year the most successful methods
of agriculture under the new system of labor have been discovered. New
enterprises have been the outgrowth of the changed conditions. There are two
distinct generations among us to-day. The older, who succeeded under the system
in ante-bellum days and who gathered up the scattered threads and strove
patiently and humbly to disentangle the web that war had left. The younger, who
have been born in that New South where all men are free and equal, and in which
the greatest success comes to him who strives the hardest. Both generations,
assisted by the freedman, have contributed their full share of work on that
wonderful structure, the New South. Without fear of challenge we make the proud
boast that Marlboro, in all the mutations of the past century, has kept pace
with the most prosperous of her sister counties. Peace, contentment and plenty
reign throughout our land. Fine crops of varied products are the reward of
industry. The skillful, painstaking methods of the farmers, both colored and
white, have brought the lands up to a high state of cultivation never dreamed of
by our forefathers. Farms that produce more than one bale of cotton to the acre
are not uncommon. And Marlboro stands to-day the proud champion of the world in
the production of the greatest amount of corn to the acre.

  As we ride over these fine level fields that so easily yield a support to all
who work, and see the hundreds of elegant homes, and notice the improved
machinery and commodious farm buildings, we wonder at the strides that have been
made in prosperity in the last thirty years. Yet some are heard to wish that the
fortunes of war had been otherwise. Indeed, the passing away of the blot of
slavery is felt to be not only the grandest moral act ever performed by a
nation, but it has proven a blessing to all and none the less to those who felt
most injured at the time. The habits of industry and the strength gained by
individual effort have led to greater prosperity as to individuals and as to the
country than could ever have been hoped for under the old system. Marlboro's
sons and daughters review the events of the past century with tender, chastened
emotions, but none the less with gratitude, for the years so fraught with trials
and sorrow brought many blessings.

  But true it is that our faces are turned cheerfully and hopefully to the light
that precedes the dawn of the twentieth century. Our fond prayer is that the
generations who will make the history of the twentieth century may make as much
of their improved opportunities as their forefathers did of their limited ones.
But let them be urged here to ever more look back reverently at the trials,
sorrows and struggles of those who cut out and smoothed the pathway for them to
tread.

     "Gently and without grief the old shall glide
      Into the new; the eternal flow of things
      Like a bright river of the fields of heaven
      Shall journey onward in perpetual peace."

THOMAS MEMORIAL BAPTIST CHURCH.

  The foundations of this building were laid about one year ago, and many read
the name through a mist of tears. Every brick that has gone into that stately
pile has been a tribute of love for him whose memory it perpetuates. They have
builded wisely. Solid walls have been reared that tell of the strength with
which he stood for right. Beautiful arches suggest the gentleness that made even
little children love him. The tall graceful spire that crowns this magnificent
edifice will forages to come, point the weary, careworn sinner to a haven of
rest. The old bell in the tower for more than thirty years called the people of
Marlboro to the old church to listen to the counsels and receive the
benedictions of one who loved them as a father. During the ministrations of
almost fifty years, he had rejoiced with friends on nuptial occasions; he had
helped to soothe their bed in sickness and had wept with them when their hearts
were stricken. The years came and went, the summers bringing more weariness to
his lagging footsteps and the winters more frost to his honored head. Yet his
loving hands and aching heart found ever more and more work among the flock he
loved as a tender shepherd. At last there came a long midsummer day when his
work wearied him past mortal endurance. It was a Sabbath, but4iis rest came not
till nightfall.

     "He knelt, all his service complete,
        His duties accomplished, and then
      Finished his orisons sweet
        With a trustful and joyous 'Amen!'
      And softly, when slumber was deep,
        Unwarned by a shadow before,
      From a halcyon pillow of sleep
        He went to the thitherward shore.
      Without a farewell or a tear,
        A sob or a flutter of breath,
      Unharmed by the phantom of fear,
        He glided through the darkness of death."

  The old bell, whose Sabbath morning peals had been sweetest music to his ear,
called the people of Marlboro together once more. But in solemn tones it tolled
a requiem over the loved and honored father, J. A. W. Thomas.

  The first Sunday in August, 1897, was the first anniversary of the day on
which "God's finger touched him and he slept." On that day the old bell rang in
a new, magnificent edifice and the "Thomas Memorial Baptist Church" was
dedicated to the worship of God with appropriate ceremonies. Rev. Lansing
Burrows, D. D., of Augusta, Ga., preached the dedicatory sermon. Many ministers,
life-long friends of him so honored, assisted the pastor, Rev. Rufus Ford, in
the services. They wove a memorial chaplet to crown this grand monument that the
people of Marlboro have erected to the memory of J. A. W. Thomas. This stately
monument will proclaim to unborn generations the respect and devotion of
Marlboro's people to their friend and fellow citizen. If he left no memory which
will "grow greener with years, and blossom through the flight of ages," yet
would his feeble effort at leaving the History of Marlboro to future generations
prove his devotion to his friends and neighbors.

  Sad was it that before his pen could complete the work in his own better
style, Death, all too soon, wrote on the pages of his perfect life
FINIS.



Additional Comments:
Extracted from:

A HISTORY OF MARLBORO COUNTY,
WITH
TRADITIONS AND SKETCHES OF NUMEROUS FAMILIES.

REV. J. A. W. THOMAS, AUTHOR.

A wonderful stream is the river Time
  As it runs through the realms of tears 
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme,
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime
  As it blends with the ocean of years.
                        —TENNYSON.

ATLANTA, GA.:
THE FOOTE & DAVIES COMPANY,
Printers and Binders.
1897.


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