bat-tle ob de field, I want to go to Heaven in de morn-in'!]
Old Mary, who sang this, was a nurse in our family. She, like most
negroes, had no idea how old she really was. She never worried, though
the heavens should fall, and this ignorance as to when their birthdays
rolled round may account for their longer lives here and in Africa,
and for their not showing their age. She found great difficulty in
arranging her religion to suit her morals, and once, in my childish
innocence, I remonstrated with her for getting "baptisted" so many
times, and she exclaimed indignantly: "I's a Methodist wid a Baptist
faith. I gits baptisted ebery summer when de water am rale warm, and I
gits turned out ebery winter fur dancin' and stealin', and you would
too, child, ef you was a nigger."
A few days ago I asked one of the most scholarly and noted ministers
of the colored race, who was visiting in New York, about the negro
music. He is very black, and his parents were pure Africans. He said
that undoubtedly the tunes came directly from Africa, that his father
said he had sung them at home in Africa, and that the tunes were
almost supernatural in their hold upon the people. He continued: "Upon
condition that you will never tell my name, I'll give you an incident
which will prove to you that many of our race are still under the
influences of voodooism, and that although I am, as you see, a
professed Christian, all the African practices hold a powerful charm
for me which I can't shake off." Knowing well his reputation and
position, I was startled. He went on and said: "And this may serve you
some time, as it is a true story of my own weakness. Once the bishop
ordered me to the city of ----, where I was to have charge of a
run-down church. The first prayer-meeting night the members locked me
out, and came with shotguns to the church steps and said they were
tired of ministers, that they had had four, and would not have a fifth
minister. By dint of eloquence and superior education I obtained their
consent to enter the church. Well, I tried faithfully to attract them.
I never had more than a handful, and for six months all seemed dead
set against me. I could not draw. Completely discouraged, I was in my
study praying when the door opened and a little conjure man came in
and said softly: 'You don't understand de people. You must get you a
hand as a friend to draw 'em. Ef you will let me fix you a luck charm
you'll git 'em.' In my desperation, I told him to fix it. He brought
the charm back in a few days, and said, 'Now, you must feed it wid
alcohol, whisky, or spirits, and never let it git dry, and always wear
it nex' your heart when you enters or leaves de church.'
"It was only an ugly piece of red flannel, and I hate to confess it,
but I obeyed his instructions. I always felt for it before I went down
on my knees to pray. The next Sunday the church was full of people.
The following Sabbath there was not standing room. For four years the
aisles were crowded every Sunday. I knew it was not the gospel's
power, but that wretched 'luck ball.' When the bishop sent me to
another church he wrote and said: 'When you came they tried to drive
you away with shotguns; here, now, twenty men write me begging to have
you stay. Now you draw beyond any minister in the city! How is this?'
I was ashamed to tell him. I opened the charm, and found these things
in it. It was a large piece of red flannel, with a horseshoe magnet
fastened flat to it. In the center of the space in the magnet was a
bright silver dime. On one side were sewed two needles, on the other
side of the money one needle. Below it were two more needles. The
whole was covered with what looked and tasted like gunpowder. I tore
it up and threw it away, and have never been able to draw an audience
since.--You want one? Well, I'll try to get one for you."
"Indeed I want one! What lecturer would not?"
I give this as an instance of the peculiar persistency of African
ideas even in enlightened, civilized, Christian minds.
There is a Mrs. R---- in a side street in a Northern town whom I
lately visited. She was the most prominent member in the Baptist
colored church. She was the leading singer. Another singer got jealous
of her power to holler the loudest; besides, she wanted to get her
washing away from her as well as her husband, and, worst of all,
_conjured_ her. At last the first singer fell sick, and the doctor
could do nothing to relieve her. A conjure woman called, and for
twenty-five dollars undertook the case. She came in and moaned a few
incantations in an unknown tongue. She carried a satchel, and took
from it a glass, poured some gin into it and drank a little, and then,
holding her hand over it, said:
"Mrs. R----, look inside yourself and tell me what you see."
Mrs. R---- was hypnotized, I suppose, and said, "I see pizen, and
snakes a-crawlin'."
"That's right! It's the lady across the way has put the spell on you,
and she has cut your shape out in red flannel and stuck it full of
pins and needles and biled it. She's trickin' you, and killin' you.
But I'll throw it back on her--scatter your spell to the four winds.
She has killed a snake and taken the blood and mixed it with wine, and
in twenty-four hours it turned into snakes and you drank it and you
were going crazy, and your home would have been gone." It is needless
to say the sick woman recovered.
She showed the caul she was born with tied up in a bundle in her
stocking. The neighbors were always trying to touch the lump so they
could put spells on people and be healed from diseases. The conjure
woman also makes luck balls for sale. She tells her customers they
must always wear them next their skin on the right side, and keep them
wet with "feedin' medicine."
I was so fortunate as to discover the contents of one of her balls.
Corn, twine, pepper, a piece of hair from under a black cat's foot, a
piece of rabbit's right foot, and whisky--all put into a red flannel
bag. This was all inclosed in a buckeye biscuit. She puts loadstones
in some of them to draw away a lover from a girl. She also takes roots
of several different herbs and flowers and makes them into love
powders, and gives them to a darkey lassie to throw upon her truant
lover to bring him back to her waiting heart.
It is not to be disputed that Africa has touched in many ways and in
divers places the highest civilization of the Old World. I am fully
persuaded that in the near future scientific researches will discover
among native African tribes traditions which disclose the real
parentage of many of the weird stories concerning the Creation and
the Flood which are now current among their descendants in this
country. The same may be said of "Brer Rabbit" and the "Tar baby,"
"Brer Fox," "Brer Dog," "Brer Wolf," and all that other wonderful
fraternization with animal nature which simple savage life and
unbridled childish imagination suggest. In many instances they will be
found absolutely identical with those that are now told in the wilds
of Africa.
To show the existence of this belief among the negroes themselves, I
will quote from an old negress, whom I know well, named "Aunt
Lucinda":
"Dis is an ole tale. Hit done come down since de Flood. Why, chile, de
Bible didn't git eberyting by a good deal--cose it didn't! Us niggers
done tole dis in Africk, and Moss John done say de Bible say ef it got
all de words Jesus say hit couldn't holt 'em. And dere's lots of tales
de Bible didn't git. Dis one now be 'bout de hammer and de ark:
"One time God done tole Moss Nora to build him a ark, case de people
fo de Flood was a singin' and a cuttin' up and a givin'
entertainments, and God wanted to raise up a better people to a sarve
him, and so Moss Nora had to build de ark tight, so de few people
wouldn't drown. God tole him to take a he and a she of every kind and
fix de jistes tight so de ark wouldn't leak water when de Flood came.
De people sat around on de benches a-pokin' fun at him, and dey say,
'Moss Nora, what you doin'?'
"He say, 'I's a-hammerin' de jistes tight.'
"And de people say, 'What dat you doin'?'
"And Moss Nora say, 'I got this ark to build, and I gwine to build
it.'
"And de people kep' a-pokin' fun. Dey say, 'Moss Nora, what dat hammer
say?'
"And he say, 'What it sound to you like it say, humph?'
"And de people laugh and say it soun' like it say nuffin but
'Tim--tam! tim--tam!'
"And Moss Nora say: 'Dot's whar you fotch up wrong. I got ter build
this ark so tight de water won't leak thoo, and de people won't fall
out, and dat hammer don't say "Tim--tam," no sich ting. Hit say ebery
time I hits de jistes, "Repent! repent!"'
"Dere's a spiritual what goes long wid it too, honey, 'bout de hammer
an' de nails, but I don't know it. Hit's a ole, ole story dat we been
singin' since de Flood--jes come down from mouf to mouf. Hist de
Window is a ole tune, but not ole like dis one. Hit done come jis like
I tole you."
In regard to one song, at least, I have irrefragable proof of its
African origin. Mrs. Jefferson Davis tells me her old nurse was a
full-blooded African named Aunt Dinah. She would lovingly put her
little charge to sleep with this doggerel:
[Music: FADDING, GIDDING.
Fad-ding, gid-ding, fad-ding go; San-té mo-lé, san-té mo-lé;