Old Aunt Harriet--last name uncertain, since she had borne t_The Conjure Woman

master, her mother, her putative father, and half a dozen

husbands in succession, no one of which seemed to take undisputed

precedence--related some very remarkable experiences. She at first

manifested some reluctance to speak of conjuration, in the lore of which

she was said to be well versed; but by listening patiently to her

religious experiences--she was a dreamer of dreams and a seer of

visions--I was able now and then to draw a little upon her reserves of

superstition, if indeed her religion itself was much more than

superstition.

"Wen I wuz a gal 'bout eighteen or nineteen," she confided, "de w'ite

folks use' ter sen' me ter town ter fetch vegetables. One day I met a'

ole conjuh man name' Jerry Macdonal, an' he said some rough, ugly things

ter me. I says, says I, 'You mus' be a fool.' He didn' say nothin', but

jes' looked at me wid 'is evil eye. Wen I come 'long back, dat ole man

wuz stan'in' in de road in front er his house, an' w'en he seed me he

stoop' down an' tech' de groun', jes' lack he wuz pickin' up somethin',

an' den went 'long back in 'is ya'd. De ve'y minute I step' on de spot

he tech', I felt a sha'p pain shoot thoo my right foot, it tu'n't under

me, an' I fell down in de road. I pick' myself up an' by de time I got

home, my foot wuz swoll' up twice its nachul size. I cried an' cried an'

went on, fer I knowed I'd be'n trick' by dat ole man. Dat night in my

sleep a voice spoke ter me an' says: 'Go an' git a plug er terbacker.

Steep it in a skillet er wa'm water. Strip it lengthways, an' bin' it

ter de bottom er yo' foot'.' I never didn' use terbacker, an' I laid

dere, an' says ter myse'f, 'My Lawd, wa't is dat, wa't is dat!' Soon ez

my foot got kind er easy, dat voice up an' speaks ag'in: 'Go an' git a

plug er terbacker. Steep it in a skillet er wa'm water, an' bin' it ter

de bottom er yo' foot.' I scramble' ter my feet, got de money out er my

pocket, woke up de two little boys sleepin' on de flo', an' tol' 'em ter

go ter de sto' an' git me a plug er terbacker. Dey didn' want ter go,

said de sto' wuz shet, an' de sto' keeper gone ter bed. But I chased 'em

fo'th, an' dey found' de sto' keeper an' fetch' de terbacker--dey sho'

did. I soaked it in de skillet, an' stripped it 'long by degrees, till I

got ter de en', w'en I boun' it under my foot an' roun' my ankle. Den I

kneel' down an' prayed, an' next mawnin de swellin' wuz all gone! Dat

voice wus de Spirit er de Lawd talkin' ter me, it sho' wuz! De Lawd have

mussy upon us, praise his Holy Name!"

Very obviously Harriet had sprained her ankle while looking at the old

man instead of watching the path, and the hot fomentation had reduced

the swelling. She is not the first person to hear spirit voices in his

or her own vagrant imaginings.

On another occasion, Aunt Harriet's finger swelled up "as big as a corn

cob." She at first supposed the swelling to be due to a felon. She went

to old Uncle Julius Lutterloh, who told her that some one had tricked

her. "My Lawd!" she exclaimed, "how did they fix my finger?" He

explained that it was done while in the act of shaking hands. "Doctor"

Julius opened the finger with a sharp knife and showed Harriet two seeds

at the bottom of the incision. He instructed her to put a poultice of

red onions on the wound over night, and in the morning the seeds would

come out. She was then to put the two seeds in a skillet, on the right

hand side of the fire-place, in a pint of water, and let them simmer

nine mornings, and on the ninth morning she was to let all the water

simmer out, and when the last drop should have gone, the one that put

the seeds in her hand was to go out of this world! Harriet, however, did

not pursue the treatment to the bitter end. The seeds, once extracted,

she put into a small phial, which she corked up tightly and put

carefully away in her bureau drawer. One morning she went to look at

them, and one of them was gone. Shortly afterwards the other

disappeared. Aunt Harriet has a theory that she had been tricked by a

woman of whom her husband of that time was unduly fond, and that the

faithless husband had returned the seeds to their original owner. A part

of the scheme of conjuration is that the conjure doctor can remove the

spell and put it back upon the one who laid it. I was unable to learn,

however, of any instance where this extreme penalty had been insisted

upon.

It is seldom that any of these old Negroes will admit that he or she

possesses the power to conjure, though those who can remove spells are

very willing to make their accomplishment known, and to exercise it for

a consideration. The only professional conjure doctor whom I met was old

Uncle Jim Davis, with whom I arranged a personal interview. He came to

see me one evening, but almost immediately upon his arrival a minister

called. The powers of light prevailed over those of darkness, and Jim

was dismissed until a later time, with a commission to prepare for me a

conjure "hand" or good luck charm, of which, he informed some of the

children about the house, who were much interested in the proceedings. I

was very much in need. I subsequently secured the charm, for which,

considering its potency, the small sum of silver it cost me was no

extravagant outlay. It is a very small bag of roots and herbs, and, if

used according to directions, is guaranteed to insure me good luck and

"keep me from losing my job." The directions require it to be wet with

spirits nine mornings in succession, to be carried on the person, in a

pocket on the right hand side, care being taken that it does not come in

contact with any tobacco. When I add that I procured, from an equally

trustworthy source, a genuine graveyard rabbit's foot, I would seem to

be reasonably well protected against casual misfortune. I shall not,

however, presume upon this immunity, and shall omit no reasonable

precaution which the condition of my health or my affairs may render

prudent.

An interesting conjure story, which I heard, involves the fate of a lost

voice. A certain woman's lover was enticed away by another woman, who

sang very sweetly, and who, the jilted one suspected, had told lies

about her. Having decided upon the method of punishment for this

wickedness, the injured woman watched the other closely, in order to

find a suitable opportunity for carrying out her purpose; but in vain,

for the fortunate one, knowing of her enmity, would never speak to her

or remain near her. One day the jilted woman plucked a red rose from her

garden, and hid herself in the bushes near her rival's cabin. Very soon

an old woman came by, who was accosted by the woman in hiding, and

requested to hand the red rose to the woman of the house. The old woman,

suspecting no evil, took the rose and approached the house, the other

woman following her closely, but keeping herself always out of sight.

When the old woman, having reached the door and called out the mistress

of the house, delivered the rose as requested, the recipient thanked the

giver in a loud voice, knowing the old woman to be somewhat deaf. At

the moment she spoke, the woman in hiding reached up and caught her

rival's voice, and clasping it tightly in her right hand, escaped

unseen, to her own cabin. At the same instant the afflicted woman missed

her voice, and felt a sharp pain shoot through her left arm, just below

the elbow. She at first suspected the old woman of having tricked her

through the medium of the red rose, but was subsequently informed by a

conjure doctor that her voice had been stolen, and that the old woman

was innocent. For the pain he gave her a bottle of medicine, of which

nine drops were to be applied three times a day, and rubbed in with the

first two fingers of the right hand, care being taken not to let any

other part of the hand touch the arm, as this would render the medicine

useless. By the aid of a mirror, in which he called up her image, the

conjure doctor ascertained who was the guilty person. He sought her out

and charged her with the crime which she promptly denied. Being pressed,

however, she admitted her guilt. The doctor insisted upon immediate

restitution. She expressed her willingness, and at the same time her

inability to comply--she had taken the voice, but did not possess the

power to restore it. The conjure doctor was obdurate and at once placed

a spell upon her which is to remain until the lost voice is restored.

The case is still pending, I understand; I shall sometime take steps to

find out how it terminates.

How far a story like this is original, and how far a mere reflection of

familiar wonder stories, is purely a matter of speculation. When the old

mammies would tell the tales of Br'er Rabbit and Br'er Fox to the

master's children, these in turn would no doubt repeat the fairy tales

which they had read in books or heard from their parents' lips. The

magic mirror is as old as literature. The inability to restore the

stolen voice is foreshadowed in the _Arabian Nights_, when the "Open

Sesame" is forgotten. The act of catching the voice has a simplicity

which stamps it as original, the only analogy of which I can at present

think being the story of later date, of the words which were frozen

silent during the extreme cold of an Arctic winter, and became audible

again the following summer when they had thawed out.

_Modern Culture_, May 1901

CHARLES W. CHESNUTT

STORIES, NOVELS, & ESSAYS

_The Conjure Woman

The Wife of His Youth and

Old Aunt Harriet--last name uncertain, since she had borne those of her