Forty years ago, in the Southern States, superstition held an exalted
place with all classes, but more especially with the blacks and
uneducated, or poor, whites. This was shown more clearly in their
belief in witchcraft in general, and the devil in particular. To both
of these classes, the devil was a real being, sporting a club-foot,
horns, tail, and a hump on his back.
The influence of the devil was far greater than that of the Lord. If
one of these votaries had stolen a pig, and the fear of the Lord came
over him, he would most likely ask the Lord to forgive him, but still
cling to the pig. But if the fear of the devil came upon him, in all
probability he would drop the pig and take to his heels.
In those days the city of St. Louis had a large number who had implicit
faith in Voudooism. I once attended one of their midnight meetings. In
the pale rays of the moon the dark outlines of a large assemblage was
visible, gathered about a small fire, conversing in different tongues.
They were negroes of all ages,--women, children, and men. Finally,
the noise was hushed, and the assembled group assumed an attitude of
respect. They made way for their queen, and a short, black, old negress
came upon the scene, followed by two assistants, one of whom bore a
cauldron, and the other, a box.
The cauldron was placed over the dying embers, the queen drew forth,
from the folds of her gown, a magic wand, and the crowd formed a ring
around her. Her first act was to throw some substance on the fire, the
flames shot up with a lurid glare--now it writhed in serpent coils, now
it darted upward in forked tongues, and then it gradually transformed
itself into a veil of dusky vapors. At this stage, after a certain
amount of gibberish and wild gesticulation from the queen, the box
was opened, and frogs, lizards, snakes, dog liver, and beef hearts
drawn forth and thrown into the cauldron. Then followed more gibberish
and gesticulation, when the congregation joined hands, and began the
wildest dance imaginable, keeping it up until the men and women sank to
the ground from mere exhaustion.
In the ignorant days of slavery, there was a general belief that a
horse-shoe hung over the door would insure good luck. I have seen
negroes, otherwise comparatively intelligent, refuse to pick up a pin,
needle, or other such object, dropped by a negro, because, as they
alleged, if the person who dropped the articles had a spite against
them, to touch anything they dropped would voudou them, and make them
seriously ill.
Nearly every large plantation, with any considerable number of negroes,
had at least one, who laid claim to be a fortune-teller, and who was
regarded with more than common respect by his fellow-slaves. Dinkie,
a full-blooded African, large in frame, coarse featured, and claiming
to be a descendant of a king in his native land, was the oracle on the
“Poplar Farm.” At the time of which I write, Dinkie was about fifty
years of age, and had lost an eye, and was, to say the least, a very
ugly-looking man.
No one in that section was considered so deeply immersed in voudooism,
goopherism, and fortune-telling, as he. Although he had been many
years in the Gaines family, no one could remember the time when Dinkie
was called upon to perform manual labor. He was not sick, yet he
never worked. No one interfered with him. If he felt like feeding the
chickens, pigs, or cattle, he did so. Dinkie hunted, slept, was at the
table at meal time, roamed through the woods, went to the city, and
returned when he pleased, with no one to object, or to ask a question.
Everybody treated him with respect. The whites, throughout the
neighborhood, tipped their hats to the old one-eyed negro, while the
policemen, or patrollers, permitted him to pass without a challenge.
The negroes, everywhere, stood in mortal fear of “Uncle Dinkie.” The
blacks who saw him every day, were always thrown upon their good
behavior, when in his presence. I once asked a negro why they appeared
to be afraid of Dinkie. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders,
smiled, shook his head and said,--
“I ain’t afraid of de debble, but I ain’t ready to go to him jess yet.”
He then took a look around and behind, as if he feared some one would
hear what he was saying, and then continued: “Dinkie’s got de power,
ser; he knows things seen and unseen, an’ dat’s what makes him his own
massa.”
It was literally true, this man was his own master. He wore a snake’s
skin around his neck, carried a petrified frog in one pocket, and a
dried lizard in the other.
A slave speculator once came along and offered to purchase Dinkie. Dr.
Gaines, no doubt, thought it a good opportunity to get the elephant off
his hands, and accepted the money. A day later, the trader returned the
old negro, with a threat of a suit at law for damages.
A new overseer was employed, by Dr. Gaines, to take charge of “Poplar
Farm.” His name was Grove Cook, and he was widely known as a man of
ability in managing plantations, and in raising a large quantity
of produce from a given number of hands. Cook was called a “hard
overseer.” The negroes dreaded his coming, and, for weeks before his
arrival, the overseer’s name was on every slave’s tongue.
Cook came, he called the negroes up, men and women; counted them,
looked them over as a purchaser would a drove of cattle that he
intended to buy. As he was about to dismiss them he saw Dinkie come
out of his cabin. The sharp eye of the overseer was at once on him.
“Who is that nigger?” inquired Cook.
“That is Dinkie,” replied Dr. Gaines.
“What is his place?” continued the overseer.
“Oh, Dinkie is a gentleman at large!” was the response.
“Have you any objection to his working?”
“None, whatever.”
“Well, sir,” said Cook, “I’ll put him to work to-morrow morning.”
Dinkie was called up and counted in.
At the roll call, the following morning, all answered except the
conjurer; he was not there.
The overseer inquired for Dinkie, and was informed that he was still
asleep.
“I will bring him out of his bed in a hurry,” said Cook, as he started
towards the negro’s cabin. Dinkie appeared at his door, just as the
overseer was approaching.
“Follow me to the barn,” said the impatient driver to the negro. “I
make it a point always to whip a nigger, the first day that I take
charge of a farm, so as to let the hands know who I am. And, now, Mr.
Dinkie, they tell me that you have not had your back tanned for many
years; and, that being the case, I shall give you a flogging that you
will never forget. Follow me to the barn.” Cook started for the barn,
but turned and went into his house to get his whip.
At this juncture, Dinkie gave a knowing look to the other slaves, who
were standing by, and said, “Ef he lays the weight ob his finger on me,
you’ll see de top of dat barn come off.”
The reappearance of the overseer, with the large negro whip in one
hand, and a club in the other, with the significant demand of “follow
me,” caused a deep feeling in the breast of every negro present.
Dr. Gaines, expecting a difficulty between his new driver and the
conjurer, had arisen early, and was standing at his bedroom window
looking on.
The news that Dinkie was to be whipped, spread far and near over the
place, and had called forth men, women, and children. Even Uncle Ned,
the old negro of ninety years, had crawled out of his straw, and was
at his cabin door. As the barn doors closed behind the overseer and
Dinkie, a death-like silence pervaded the entire group, who, instead
of going to their labor, as ordered by the driver, were standing as if
paralyzed, gazing intently at the barn, expecting every moment to see
the roof lifted.
Not a word was spoken by anyone, except Uncle Ned, who smiled, shook
his head, put on a knowing countenance, and said, “My word fer it, de
oberseer ain’t agwine to whip Dinkie.”
Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed, and the usual sound
of “Oh, pray, massa! Oh, pray, massa!” heard on the occasion of a slave
being punished, had not yet proceeded from the barn.
Many of the older negroes gathered around Uncle Ned, for he and Dinkie
occupied the same cabin, and the old, superannuated slave knew more
about the affairs of the conjurer, than anyone else. Ned told of
how, on the previous night, Dinkie had slept but little, had closely
inspected the snake’s skin around his neck, the petrified frog and
dried lizard, in his pockets, and had rubbed himself all over with
goopher; and when he had finished, he knelt, and exclaimed,--
“Now, good and lovely devil, for more than twenty years, I have served
you faithfully. Before I got into your service, de white folks bought
an’ sold me an’ my old wife an’ chillen, an’ whip me, and half starve
me. Dey did treat me mighty bad, dat you knows. Den I use to pray to
de Lord, but dat did no good, kase de white folks don’t fear de Lord.
But dey fears you, an’ ever since I got into your service, I is able to
do as I please. No white dares to lay his hand on me; and dis is all
owing to de power dat you give me. Oh, good and lovely devil! please to
continer dat power. A new oberseer is to come here to-morrow, an’ he
wants to get me in his hands. But, dear devil, I axe you to stand by me
in dis my trial hour, an’ I will neber desert you as long as I live.
Continer dis power; make me strong in your cause; make me to be more
faithful to you, an’ let me still be able to conquer my enemies, an’
I will give you all de glory, and will try to deserve a seat at your
right hand.”
With bated breath, everyone listened to Uncle Ned. All had the utmost
confidence in Dinkie’s “power.” None believed that he would be
punished, while a large number expected to see the roof of the barn
burst off at any moment. At last the suspense was broken. The barn door
flew open; the overseer and the conjurer came out together, walking
side by side, and separated when half-way up the walk. As they parted,
Cook went to the field, and Dinkie to his cabin.
The slaves all shook their heads significantly. The fact that the old
negro had received no punishment, was evidence of his victory over the
slave driver. But how the feat had been accomplished, was a mystery.
No one dared to ask Dinkie, for he was always silent, except when he
had something to communicate. Everyone was afraid to inquire of the
overseer.
There was, however, one faint chance of getting an inkling of what had
occurred in the barn, and that was through Uncle Ned. This fact made
the old, superannuated slave the hero and centre of attraction, for
several days. Many were the applications made to Ned for information,
but the old man did not know, or wished to exaggerate the importance of
what he had learned.
“I tell you,” said Dolly, “Dinkie is a power.”
“He’s nobody’s fool,” responded Hannah.
“I would not make him mad wid me, fer dis whole world,” ejaculated Jim.
Just then, Nancy, the cook, came in brim full of news. She had given
Uncle Ned some “cracklin bread,” which had pleased the old man so much
that he had opened his bosom, and told her all that he got from Dinkie.
This piece of information flew quickly from cabin to cabin, and
brought the slaves hastily into the kitchen.
It was night. Nancy sat down, looked around, and told Billy to shut
the door. This heightened the interest, so that the fall of a pin
could have been heard. All eyes were upon Nancy, and she felt keenly
the importance of her position. Her voice was generally loud, with a
sharp ring, which could be heard for a long distance, especially in the
stillness of the night. But now, Nancy spoke in a whisper, occasionally
putting her finger to her mouth, indicating a desire for silence, even
when the breathing of those present could be distinctly heard.
“When dey got in de barn, de oberseer said to Dinkie, ‘Strip yourself;
I don’t want to tear your clothes with my whip. I’m going to tear your
black skin.’
“Den, you see, Dinkie tole de oberseer to look in de east corner ob de
barn. He looked, an’ he saw hell, wid all de torments, an’ de debble,
wid his cloven foot, a-struttin’ about dar, jes as ef he was cock ob de
walk. An’ Dinkie tole Cook, dat ef he lay his finger on him, he’d call
de debble up to take him away.”
“An’ what did Cook say to dat?” asked Jim.
“Let me ’lone; I didn’t tell you all,” said Nancy. “Den you see de
oberseer turn pale in de face, an’ he say to Dinkie, ‘Let me go dis
time, an’ I’ll nebber trouble you any more.’”
This concluded Nancy’s story, as related to her by old Ned, and
religiously believed by all present. Whatever caused the overseer to
change his mind in regard to the flogging of Dinkie, it was certain
that he was most thoroughly satisfied to let the old negro off without
the threatened punishment; and, although he remained at “Poplar Farm,”
as overseer, for five years, he never interfered with the conjurer
again.
It is not strange that ignorant people should believe in characters of
Dinkie’s stamp; but it is really marvellous that well-educated men and
women should give any countenance whatever, to such delusions as were
practised by the oracle of “Poplar Farm.”
The following illustration may be taken as a fair sample of the easy
manner in which Dinkie carried on his trade.
Miss Martha Lemmy, being on a visit to Mrs. Gaines, took occasion
during the day to call upon Dinkie. The conjurer knew the antecedents
of his visitor, and was ready to give complete satisfaction in his
particular line. When the young lady entered the old man’s cabin, he
met her, bade her be welcome, and tell what she had come for. She took
a seat on one stool, and he on another. Taking the lady’s right hand
in his, Dinkie spit into its palm, rubbed it, looked at it, shut his
one eye, opened it, and said: “I sees a young gentman, an’ he’s rich,
an’ owns plenty of land an’ a heap o’ niggers; an’, lo! Miss Marfa, he
loves you.”
The lady drew a long breath of seeming satisfaction, and asked, “Are
you sure that he loves me, Uncle Dinkie?”
“Oh! Miss Marfa, I knows it like a book.”
“Have you ever seen the gentleman?” the lady inquired.
The conjurer began rubbing the palm of the snow-white hand, talked to
himself in an undertone, smiled, then laughed out, and saying: “Why,
Miss Marfa, as I lives it’s Mr. Scott, an’ he’s thinkin’ ’bout you
now; yes, he’s got his mind on you dis bressed minute. But how he’s
changed sense I seed him de lass time. Now he’s got side whiskers an’
a mustacher on his chin. But, let me see. Here is somethin’ strange.
De web looks a little smoky, an’ when I gets to dat spot, I can’t get
along till a little silver is given to me.”
Here the lady drew forth her purse and gave the old man a half dollar
piece that made his one eye fairly twinkle.
He resumed: “Ah! now de fog is cleared away, an’ I see dat Mr. Scott
is settin in a rockin-cheer, wid boff feet on de table, an’ smokin’ a
segar.”
“Do you think Mr. Scott loves me?” inquired the lady.
“O! yes,” responded Dinkie; “he jess sets his whole heart on you.
Indeed, Miss Marfa, he’s almos’ dyin’ ’bout you.”
“He never told me that he loved me,” remarked the lady.
“But den, you see, he’s backward, he ain’t got his eye-teef cut yet in
love matters. But he’ll git a little bolder ebbry time he sees you,”
replied the negro.
“Do you think he’ll ever ask me to marry him?”
“O! yes, Miss Marfa, he’s sure to do dat. As he sets dar in his
rockin-cheer, he looks mighty solem-colly--looks like he wanted to ax
you to haf him now.”
“Do you think that Mr. Scott likes any other lady, Uncle Dinkie?” asked
Miss Lemmy.
“Well, Miss Marfa, I’ll jess consult de web an’ see.” And here the
conjurer shut his one eye, opened it, shut it again, talked to himself
in an undertone, opened his eye, looked into the lady’s hand, and
exclaimed: “Ah! Miss Marfa, I see a lady in de way, an’ she’s got
riches; but de web is smoky, an’ it needs a little silver to clear it
up.”
With tears in her eyes, and almost breathless, Miss Lemmy hastily took
from her pocket her purse, and handed the old man another piece of
money, saying: “Please go on.”
Dinkie smiled, shook his head, got up and shut his cabin door, sat
down, and again took the lady’s hand in his.
“Yes, I see,” said he, “I see it’s a lady; but bless you soul, Miss
Marfa, it’s a likeness of you dat Mr. Scott is lookin’ at; dat’s all.”
This morsel of news gave great relief, and Miss Lemmy dried her eyes
with joy.
Dinkie then took down the old rusty horseshoe from over his cabin door,
held it up, and said: “Dis horseshoe neffer lies.” Here he took out of
his pocket a bag made of the skin of the rattlesnake, and took from
it some goopher, sprinkled it over the horseshoe, saying: “Dis is de
stuff, Miss Marfa, dat’s gwine to make you Mr. Scott’s conqueror. Long
as you keeps dis goopher ’bout you he can’t get away from you; he’ll
ax you fer a kiss, de berry next time he meets you, an’ he can’t help
hisself fum doin’ it. No woman can get him fum you so long as you keep
dis goopher ’bout you.”
[Illustration: RUNNING DOWN SLAVES WITH DOGS.--Page 82.]
Here Dinkie lighted a tallow candle, looked at it, smiled, shook his
head,--“You’s gwine to marry Mr. Scott in ’bout one year, an’ you’s
gwine to haf thirteen children--sebben boys an’ six gals, an’ you’s
gwine to haf a heap of riches.”
Just then, Dinkie’s interesting revelations were cut short by Ike and
Cato bringing along Peter, who, it was said, had been killed by the old
bell sheep.
It appears that Peter had a way of playing with the old ram, who was
always ready to butt at any one who got in his way. When seeing the ram
coming, Peter would get down on his hands and knees and pretend that he
was going to have a butting match with the sheep. And when the latter
would come full tilt at him, Peter would dodge his head so as to miss
the ram, and the latter would jump over the boy, turn around angrily,
shake his head and start for another butt at Peter.
This kind of play was repeated sometimes for an hour or more, to the
great amusement of both whites and blacks. But, on this occasion,
Peter was completely caught. As he was on his hands and knees, the ram
started on his usual run for the boy; the latter, in dodging his head,
run his face against a stout stub of dry rye stalk, which caused him to
quickly jerk up his head, just in time for the sheep to give him a fair
butt squarely in the forehead, which knocked Peter senseless. The ram,
elated with his victory, began to back himself for another lick at
Peter, when the men, seeing what had happened to the poor boy, took him
up and brought him to Dinkie’s cabin to be resuscitated, or “brought
to,” as they termed it.
Nearly an hour passed in rubbing the boy, before he began to show signs
of consciousness. He “come to,” but he never again accepted a butting
match with the ram.