"Min says it, an' Mack says it, an' I b'lieves it. You always was
jealous of her, 'kase Marse John taught her, and made more of her than
he did of you."
"Then it's likely this _spell_ will put her out of my way," said Tina,
all the sweetness gone out of her voice and face, and nothing but venom
left. She turned to go in, but Religion dropped on her knees and clasped
her feet.
"Oh, Tina! if you did put a spell on Min, take it off, for Christ's
sake. Nobody kin do it but you. Our pooty, pooty Min! she be dyin' there
before our eyes, and we-uns can't do nothin'. Take the ban off, an' I'll
work for you the longest day I live."
Tina dragged herself away and shut the door heavily.
* * * * *
Religion was in the field scattering pine straw, and Beck was there
too, harnessed in company with a very lean Texas pony. Her mother and
Bud were in the same occupation, but Mollie, the old brown cow, drew
their wagon.
Religion was crooning a solemn old ditty, as she always did when alone
and thinking.
"I just made up my mind this mornin' that I'd got to do sumpin when Mr.
Frye come for we-uns to scatter this straw. An' I wish I knowed what to
do. Oh, Lord, don't I wish I knowed what to do. There's Min been down on
that air bed one whole year come Christmas, and nobody can't say what is
the matter with her. Sich a heap o' calomel, and quinine, and
turpentine, and doctor's stuff as she has took, and 'tain't done no
good. I can't count the times I been to the tavern. I know I brung off
more'n two gallons of the best whiskey, an' it's been mixed up with
pine-top, an' snakeroot, an' mullein, an' I dun'no' what all, an' none
of it 'ain't done no good. An' Min is dyin' just as fast as she can die.
Oh, Lord!"
A fine mule, drawing a light road-cart, trotted past. The driver was a
short, squat man, his face almost hidden in hair. It was Dr. Buzzard. He
was known for miles as a successful "conjurer" and giver of "hands."
Most of the people around had perfect faith in his cures and
revelations, and had advised Religion to try him, but the girl objected,
vaguely questioning reason and conscience, and Min was getting worse. It
was despair, not belief, which made her whisper to herself, "I'm goin'
to see him this very night."
"Great day! 'ain't we-uns had trouble! Lord, Lord! I b'lieve one-half
this wurl' has all the trouble fur all the rest, anyhow!"
Religion was on her way, and thinking over the family record as she
walked. The sun had set, the cotton-pickers were in, and odors of supper
were afloat. Religion was eating hers as she walked and thought--it was
a finely browned ash-cake, richly flavored with the cabbage leaves in
which it was baked.
The Beckets had always been very poor, hard-working people, without any
especial grace or finer touch of nature about them. The two brothers had
married two sisters, and such marriages were considered unlucky.
When Religion was a little girl her father broke his contract with his
employer, and to escape imprisonment he ran away. Religion remembered
his stolen visits at night, and his silent caresses of her. After a
while the visits stopped. They heard of him in a distant city, but he
never came back. His brother had died long before.
The widowed sisters stayed on the plantation, and both were favorites of
Mr. Robinson. Min and Tina were half-sisters. They were as opposite in
character as they were in appearance; everybody loved Min; she sang like
a bird, and her voice had been carefully trained, and some especial
provision had been made for its further cultivation when this strange
sickness overtook her.
Good nursing was unknown on the plantations, or perhaps the slight cold,
which was the beginning of the end with Min, might have been cured.
Since no member of the family had died with consumption, it was not
believed that she could have it.
When all the home remedies and doctors' prescriptions failed, there was
but one verdict, Min was "hurt." It was known that her half-sister was
not very friendly nor over-scrupulous, and it was believed that Tina,
out of jealousy, had thrown an evil spell.
The light was still lingering when Religion, turning out of the road,
ran down a narrow lane bordered with turpentine woods on one side, and
on the other by a field of dead pines. Away back among the latter was a
substantial log house, with good brick chimneys at either end. There
were several smaller buildings in the yard, and in one a woman was
stooping over the fire frying cakes, a young man was thrumming a banjo,
and a little boy in scantiest jeans was careening around to the
inspiring strains of "Old Joe kicking up behind and before."
Inside, the large low-ceiled room was in a blaze of light. There was a
tumbled bed in one corner, a table covered with dusty dishes and
glass-ware in another, and a large case filled with bottles, jugs, and
bundles occupied a third. Walls and ceiling were hidden by packages of
herbs and strings of roots, while over the fireplace were three shelves
piled high with cigar-boxes, carefully labelled.
Half buried in a great chair, his breast bare, his sleeves rolled up
above his elbows, the veins in his arms standing out like cords, his
legs wrapped in a blanket and resting upon a stool, sat Dr. Buzzard, to
all appearances in a deep sleep. On the floor, close to the hearth, was
a most evil-looking old crone, continually stirring a pot bubbling on
the coals. She threw one glance at Religion, and went on stirring. The
doctor never moved. A splendid-looking mulatto noiselessly brought a
box, and the girl subsided upon it.
There were other visitors. A young man wanted help to get money that was
due him; another sought assistance in settling a difficulty. A woman
with a child in her arms wanted to charm her recreant husband back to
her; a sick one desired relief from the spell which was making her cough
her life out.
But the great man slumbered on with a gentle snore, and the old woman
stirred the pot. There was not a sound in the room save his snore, the
swish of the spoon, and the occasional dropping of a coal. Every one sat
in silent, intense expectation, waiting for--they knew not what.
The oaken logs had died down to a bed of glowing coals when suddenly a
red glare flashed from it. Religion closed her eyes, blinded by the
light. When she opened them the doctor was sitting upright, his head
hanging back, his eyes wide open and staring upward, and his breast
heaving as if in pain. His wife was in the room holding whispered
consultations with each person. The men stated their complaints
briefly, but the women detained her longer. When she had been the round
she glided back to the side of the doctor.
Then in a low chant, sweet and sorrowful, she repeated the story which
each had told her, running them into a continuous recitative. The old
woman rose from the floor, and joining in the chant in a quavering
croon, sprinkled salt at the thresholds of the doors and at the feet of
every person, ending by throwing a large handful up the chimney. It fell
back and sputtered and cracked in the fire. Seizing one of the
cigar-boxes, she sprinkled a pinch of its contents over the fire. A
dense gray vapor rose. The doctor raised his arms, and let them fall
slowly, three times.
"The fire holds many secrets," he uttered, in a hollow, unnatural voice,
like one talking in his sleep; "he who would see his enemy about his
work of destruction, let him look in the fire."
With eyes ready to start from her head, Religion with the rest bent
forward to look. She saw, or thought she saw, in the curling gray cloud
a woman's face. It seemed to take shape and expression, as she gazed,
until it grew familiar. The forsaken woman, who had seen the face of a
successful rival, sank heavily upon the floor. Some of the others
screamed, some moaned and prayed. The cloud over the fire was repeated
many times, and dissolving into fantastic shapes, pictured to the
excited fancy of the others their enemies and distresses. At last the
exhibition ended, and the visitors were sent from the room, and called
in again, separately, to receive directions, medicines, and charms
against further evil.
Religion found the doctor sitting at the table, surrounded by jugs,
bottles, and boxes, his wife and the old woman standing on either side.
He still slept, breathing heavily. His hands were on the table.
"A girl named Religion Becket inquiring for her sister," spoke the
doctor in the same strange voice. "The sister seems to be dying."
"Say yes close to his right ear," instructed the wife, and Religion did
so.
"The doctors know nothing about the case," responded the conjurer. "A
red scorpion is inside her body feeding on her vitals. I see a woman
hiding something in a black-gum tree that hangs over running water. It
is at the hour when spirits walk. The first creature that runs over the
cleft where the hand is hidden is the one to torment your sister. That
first creature is a red scorpion. Its young one lives in your sister's
side. I, even I, can withdraw it."
Like one moved by some power outside of himself, his hands moved in the
array before him, lightly touching this or that bottle and bundle until
he found what he sought. And like a careful druggist he deliberately
measured each ingredient, giving clear directions at the same time. When
Religion came out she had a large bottle of medicine, several huge
plasters, and orders for a bewildering list of root teas, with a promise
of an early visit from the great man himself.
* * * * *
Religion was feeding the cane-mill. Bud was on the other side drawing
out the crushed cane; the mother was under the shed stirring the boiling
syrup. Beck was travelling round and round doing the grinding. The sun
was set. It would soon be time to stop work. Religion seemed to be
expecting some one; she never stooped to pick up an armful of stalks
without glancing up the road.
"What you keep lookin' up the road for, 'Ligion?" inquired her mother,
her body swaying back and forth as she drew or pushed the long wooden
ladle.
"Nuthin'. I ain't lookin' fur nuthin'."
"I b'lieve there's a spell on youna too," said her mother, surveying her
anxiously. "I wish youna'd be more keerful and not put your fingers so
close to the teeth."
"It's time to quit, anyhow," put in Bud; "the sun's 'way down, an' I'm
more'n middlin' hungry."
"You kin take the mule out an' go home an' make the fire. Will you go
an' git supper, Religion, or stay an' stir?"
"I reckon I'll stay and stir. You kin bring me some supper when you
come. We'll be here half the night."
With another look up the road, where the sunlight was fast fading, she
took up the wet bags which protected her dress, and passed under the
shed, glad to sit down and rest her aching limbs. The shed was a
primitive affair, but everything was convenient for syrup-boiling, and
the two long boilers were full of the golden-brown liquid. There was
nothing to do but to stir continually and keep a steady fire.
The short autumn twilight had died out, and the fields and woods were
slipping into gloom. The cane-mill was in the overseer's yard, and back
of it the quarter began. A multitude of sounds came up to Religion's
ear--the crying of babies, the laughing of children, the barking of
dogs, the whistle of the boys rubbing off the mules, the scolding and
calling of women for wood and water. Night was closing in. Religion
stirred and thought.
All Dr. Buzzard's instructions had been carefully followed. He had come
many times, performed a variety of strange operations, frightened and
gladdened them all one day by declaring that the red scorpion had passed
out of her body through her foot and run into the fire, that now all
danger was passed, pocketed thirty dollars which Minnie and Religion had
obtained by giving a lien on Beck, the old cow, all the corn in the
crib, and every article of furniture their cabin held; and still Min was
no better--was worse, indeed, with the worry of it all.
Some one was coming. "Is that you, Bud?" she called.
The unnatural laugh that answered her could belong to no one but Mack.
Lifting a blazing stick above her head, she peered out into the
darkness.
"Come fur youna," he mumbled. "Miss Tina goin' on drefful; come fur
youna quick."
"You go, Religion," said a woman who had come unperceived. "The Lord's
gwine to cl'ar up some t'ings what's took place in this quarter. You go,
an' I'll stay an' stir."
Religion hurried away. She found Tina tossing about in a pretty white
bed, her hands and feet bound in onions, her whole body swathed in red
flannel saturated with turpentine, and her head bandaged with dock
leaves wet with vinegar. There was a hot fire, and the room was crowded
with men and women.
Dr. Buzzard was there, with a black calico bag, from which he frequently
drew a black bottle, examined it sharply at the lamp, then gravely
replaced it, after which he always looked at and pinched Tina's fingers.
"Mother," he said at last, addressing himself to Tina's mother, "the
time has come for me to show you the cause of your daughter's illness.
She has been hurt. She was too beautiful and well loved to suit all I
could name. An evil hand was laid on her."
He took out his watch, looked at it gravely, and laid it upon the table.
Removing his coat, he turned back the cuffs of his brown shirt, then
took off the bandages from Tina's hands and feet.
He rubbed each arm from the shoulder to the end of the fingers with one
sweep, first lightly, then harder, snapping his fingers violently after
every stroke. Tina writhed under the treatment, then screamed loudly,
and tried to leap from the bed. He called two men to hold her, and the
rubbing went on.
With each stroke he grew more and more excited. He lifted his arms high
above his head, and bore down upon Tina painfully. His eyes were
burning, and the perspiration pouring down his face. He broke into a low
humming, and the women took it up, moaning in concert, and rocking their
bodies in sympathy.
Suddenly he yelled out, "Ah! there it is; see there, see there; there he
goes into the fire, the miserable lizard, which was purposely put into
Tina's drink, and has grown in her, and poisoned her blood until I came
to drive it out!"
Every one jumped to see the lizard, and saw nothing but the glowing
logs. There was a faint smell of burning flesh. The women fell back into
their seats, staring fearfully into each other's faces. Tina sprang
upright in bed.
"Min is down by the Black Run calling me, an' I'm goin' to her. He told
me to put her hair and some stuff he give me into a hole in the
black-gum that hangs over the stone, and I did it. Before God! I never
meant to hurt her. I hated her because Marse thought more of her than he
did me. He taught her, but he never taught me, and we was both his
children. But I never meant to hurt her. Tell Religion so. I'm comin',
Min; yes, I'm comin'; wait for me!"
She leaped upon the floor, but the unnatural strength supplied by the
delirium of fever had fled. She dropped at Religion's feet with a cry
like a wounded dog.
Daylight found Religion in the lonely swamp: only great pools of thick
black water and leaning trees shrouded in long gray moss. The water lay
still in those levels until the sun dried it up. In just one place was
there the slightest movement. A short descent sent a stream slowly
curling away under masses of green briers.
The only stone known to be in the whole swamp was at the head of the
stream, on a tiny hillock formed of logs and the débris of many
freshets. It was known as Cuffee's Stone, and the story was that a slave
escaping from his master, and hiding in the swamp, had carried the stone
there to build his fire upon. Close by, its sprawling roots washed by
the running water, was an immense black-gum, in the branches of which
the same Cuffee had built himself a covert of branches, from which he
watched his pursuers in their vain hunt for him. Had Cuffee's shade,
which was said still to haunt the tree, been abroad at that hour, it
would have seen a girl narrowly scanning the rough stem, to find some
crack or cleft in which anything might be hidden.
And she found a small crevice which would have escaped any but her
searching eyes. They lit up as if she had found a rare treasure.
Inserting the point of a knife, she drew out a little bag wet and
mouldy. She never stopped to examine it, but leaped from log to log
through the briers and water out of the swamp.
"Here's your hair, Min. Curl it round your finger three times and throw
it in the fire. Oh, Min, now youna'll get well!"
A light shone in the sick girl's eyes. "Yes, I shall get well. Come out
and listen to the music, Religion."
"There isn't any music, Min. See the hair."
"Yes, I see the hair; but, oh, the beautiful music! If I could only
learn it!"
Religion clasped her close in her arms. The water-oaks were in a
golden-brown haze, and the room was full of rich light. But it swam in
darkness before the exhausted girl.
A moment after she recovered herself, but Min was well.