Part 5

But the fancy grew, and so did the stories, when Jezrul asked that she might be brought from the field and taken on trial as a house-maid. When Madame demurred, Jezrul promised to assist in the training himself, and he begged so hard that Madame finally agreed, first stipulating, however, that Crecy should learn to wear shoes; and this was how Jezrul’s trouble began, for Crecy could not be fired with ambition even by the most ardent lover, and did not even appreciate the honor conferred. Moreover, it was impossible to keep the shoes on her feet, though Jezrul tied them hard and fast every morning, with a warning; but they turned up mysteriously in every corner of the house, once even—oh! the horror of the thing!—behind the door in Madame’s drawing-room, and were discovered just in time to save Jezrul from overwhelming mortification.

In view of his contract with Ole Miss, Jezrul groaned helplessly in secret, as Crecy plodded plantigrade about the house, slipping nervously into the little black prisons and opening her mouth wide whenever she was called; but he was loving Crecy, and even these thorns, as sharp as they were, were blunted by love’s power.

The hardest trial came about through the conventionalities of high life in the Quarters, for Jezrul was a born gallant, and used to the making of pretty compliments, copied studiously from the “Big House,” but which “language of the court” was as Greek to Crecy’s ears.

Then there had been a little feeling when Madame had given a great ball and Crecy had been ignominiously set aside as too awkward and ungainly to serve upon the occasion, though that pain had been soothed by the policy of Jezrul, and the culmination came at the time of the Christmas “break-down.”

Ole Marse had just been to New Orleans, and as a Christmas gift to the Madame had brought Susanne, whose “Cagion” French and cunningly arched head-handkerchief bow had proved too much for Jezrul’s peace of mind, for he was an ardent believer in feminine accomplishments. And how she could dance! Her very feet seemed to be made of a different material from those of the others. Louisiana was giving Mississippi points, and, alas! the star of Mississippi was on the wane.

In her humble blue cotton gown, at first Crecy was awed and dazzled by the unfamiliar gorgeousness of the new-comer, with her flashing eyes and sallies of wit, until she saw the all-devouring gaze of Jezrul; then the reality fell like a leaden weight, and the fires of jealousy burned briskly, fanned, too, it is to be feared, by meddlesome observers, for in all of the gayeties Jezrul had not even seemed to see her. At first she sat apart, aimless and listless, watching the pair through half-closed eyes; it was a new experience, and thought travelled slowly. Then she threw herself wildly into the dance.

“I lay I l’arn him ter go kerhootin’ arter er strange gal!”

Faster and faster flew her feet; now she curtsied, now coquetted with a shuffling would-be partner, always keeping within the circle, but always dancing alone, with her eyes fixed upon the object of her jealousy.

“Go it, Crecy!” shouted the fiddler, and the music and patting grew louder and faster—“Pea-patch Ladies,” “Chicken in the Bread-Tray,” “Buzzard Lope,” and a score of others; then a medley of wild, half-savage fiddling and chanting followed, and the dancers were tiring out; but still Crecy whirled, her body swaying almost to the floor as she spread the folds of her swelling skirts. She was dancing to the pair, but Susanne and Jezrul were oblivious. Susanne was teaching him a shuffle that he had never seen before, and he was beating time for her, independent of the chanters. There was a strange light in Crecy’s eyes, and then Lemuel tried to drag his daughter from the floor, for the fiddler had stopped to rest, and the singers had quit from sheer exhaustion. But with a high, resonant note she struck into a wilder chant alone, wheeling and veering like a wounded bird.

“Look!” came the awe-struck whisper.

Still swaying and singing, every movement consorting with the rhythm of the chant, she bared her shapely body to the waist, whirling now above her head and now about her knees a cluster of rude castanets swung by a leather thong.

At each revolution, accompanied by a high note in the wail, the rough edges of the shells cut sharply into the steaming flesh.

The space was clear; every dancer had given way: they had been dancing for a jubilee, but this dance was another thing. The spell was irresistible; one by one the hoodoos who had been hanging on the outskirts moved forward, first with a vibrating finger, then with a waving arm, like the great claw of a sand-fiddler signalling from his hole, and then the entire figures, rags and all, reeled with the horrid song.

Only the hoodoos joined in it; the rest were dumb; and at last even Jezrul and Susanne were conscious of the mysterious thing, and Jezrul touched the charm he wore around his neck, and Susanne laughed softly and nervously.

Out and in, the figures of the hoodoos turned, weaving a cabalistic sign with that of Crecy, from whose breast and shoulders the blood was fast trickling.

The chant and dance, if such it could be called, continued for nearly three-quarters of an hour, when suddenly the girl raised both arms, with a yell like that of a crazed animal, and fell upon her clattering castanets; and the hoodoos carried her out, for Lemuel was afraid to touch her.

* * * * *

A red glow lighted the cabin faintly. Goobers and sweet-potatoes were roasting on the hearth, but Crecy let them burn.

Mumbling and moaning, she was busying herself with rags and sticks and thread, for out of her rude material she was fashioning a man.

“I gwine tame him—I gwine tame Jezrul! He gwine feel de toof er de big green sarpint. He gwine be hot in de mouf an’ cole in de belly. I lay I gwine l’arn him!”

Slowly the work grew under the clumsy, eager fingers, and the sunbeams were shining through the chinks before she hid the little image of Jezrul in a crevice by the chimney.

* * * * *

All that day Crecy moped alone in the cabin; she had been dismissed from the “Big House” for nodding over her work, and Jezrul had not even interceded; but there was some comfort in it all, for she was freed from the humiliating comment of the house negroes and the despised shoes had been left behind, though the loneliness was oppressive, for the Christmas festivities were at their height. Still keeping her fast, for she had eaten nothing since the day before, she stirred the coals upon the hearth, whipping her wrath into a frenzy; and as she heard the voice of Susanne in the quarters and Jezrul’s laugh that followed, she thrust the image through with a toasting-fork and held it over the flame.

“Burn! burn!” she hissed. “Burn wid de fires dat’s er-eatin’ out dese in’ards,—’case I gwine ter tame you, Jezrul! Burn, I say!” And putting out the blaze that started, she held the thing over the coals again. “Hit ’ll retch yo’ heart, an’ sizzle hit lack de fires er de debil, ’case you gwine ter be mine, Jezrul!”

Day after day Crecy tortured the little image, now sticking it full of pins, now scorching it again, but always taking the precaution not to utterly destroy it—“’case he cain’t die—’case he’s mine,” she muttered.

Though night after night the festivities went on, Susanne coquetted and Jezrul laughed, and Crecy was forgotten.

But New-Year’s Day had filled the quarters with sensation, and dozens of ears were tingling with the news.

Old Marse had been giving a stag dinner to the judge of the circuit and the attorney-general. They had been sitting at table for nearly three hours, and Jezrul, who adored such great personages, was in his glory; but just as he was bringing in the cigars and liqueurs with his usual flourish upon such occasions, he fell in a fit at Old Marse’s feet. Such a thing as a ripple in the course of one of Old Marse’s dinner-parties had never occurred before; the Colonel was beside himself, for he was helpless without Jezrul.

Jezrul was a long time in coming round, and in the confusion Susanne threw her apron over her head and went into hysterics, as the knowing ones whispered; while down in her cabin alone, with the little image stuck full of pins and pressed close against her breast, Crecy gave a fiendish yell, for she believed that the spell she had set, was working at last. With ghoulish delight she tortured the miserable doll; and day after day, fearful and livid with superstition, but still unwilling to give up Susanne, Jezrul fell to the floor under the strange delusion; and at last, too ill even to creep up to the house, he begged so piteously for the curse to be removed, that the Colonel thought that he was wandering in a fever, and alternately bled him to remove the engorgement and stimulated to remedy the depletion, until he dragged about, dodging and starting at the casting of his own shadow.

* * * * *

Susanne was comforting in these dark days, and he could not give her up, for her long slender hands were as ready as her nimble feet; and the wiseacres said that Susanne would marry Jezrul if he ever got well, which now seemed very unlikely. But a pair of great wide eyes were watching the ministrations furtively and jealously, and another little image, a smaller one in petticoats, appeared in the cabin.

* * * * *

There was plenty of gossip in the Quarters, beside the blazing pine knots, over the sweet-potatoes and chestnuts roasting in the ashes, for though the fits were coming upon Jezrul harder than ever, he had suddenly refused to let Susanne even come near him, and Maumer Belle touched her cunger knowingly, and said that she had seen Jezrul turn away from Susanne in positive loathing, for all that he had loved her so; and Susanne, in mortification, finding no sympathy among the negroes, had gone to the Madame, but Ole Miss calmly told Susanne that Jezrul was crazy—“as crazy as a loon,” said Ole Miss.

* * * * *

“Dat’s nuffin,” said Unc Ephraim, throwing his blazing cob into the fire and adjusting another. “Dat’s on’y what we gotter ’spec’, ’case hit’s de dark er de moon now, an’ hit’s nuffin but er hoodoo dat ail Jezrul, an’ Crecy she sho at de bottom uv hit all. Maumer Belle, yo’ knows yo’ tole Lemuel dat Crecy gwine ter be er hoodoo, ’fore she were free day ole.”

“Um, um,” grunted Maumer. “An’ las’ night my Sam he rid fru de parster, er-sarchin’ fur de muel colt dat git out somers, an’ he say dat de hoodoos was er-dancin’ ergin in de big ditch; an’ sech er dance! an’ Crecy were wid ’em. Crecy was er-swingin’ dem shells ergin, an’, Sam say, were er-scatterin’ ashes ober her head, too, an’ putty nigh start naked, lack she were de odder night, an’ I sho dun’no’ what Lem mean fur ter let dat gal take on so; but yo’ min’ my words, ’case I knows what I’s er-tellin’ yo’, dat mean dat Jezrul gwine ter take Crecy back ’fore he git outen dis. Hain’t no common yarb truck ner teas gwine ter do Jezrul any good, ’case Crecy sho tamin’ uv him.”

There was a thoughtful silence and a steady gazing into the fire, when a hoarse scream brought the gossipers to their feet.

“Dat’s Jezrul,” whispered Maumer Belle, “an’ his voice soun’ sorter nat’rul.”

The night was very dark, and the sick man had fallen in front of his cabin, but by the uncertain flare of the hastily lighted torches the watchers could see Crecy down upon her knees beside him, and the willowy form of Susanne scurrying away into the shadow.

“Take hit off! take hit off!” he moaned. “I’s er dyin’ man, but I lubs on’y you, Crecy!”

The teeth of the girl glistened in the torchlight.

“Fur good?”

“Fur good.” It was only a whisper, but it was an earnest, solemn truth.

Her right arm was around his neck, but her left hand was pressing into his the little images of Susanne and himself.

“Come inter de cabin an’ burn ’em wid you’ own han’, honey, ’case dat ’ll make yo’ well!” Crecy rose and led the way, and Jezrul meekly followed, for Jezrul was “tamed.”

DARK ER DE MOON

Abijah was a hoodoo; moreover, he had the reputation, over a wide stretch of territory, of having the evil or Judas eye, as it was called among the negroes, which gave him a power over them all the year round, which was only claimed by the first exhorter during “Big Meetin’.”

No journey was ever undertaken, no new work begun, in fact, nothing of importance was ever planned by the negroes without first consulting Uncle ’Jah, who spoke as an oracle.

His fame extended even to the poor whites of the section who had never owned a slave, and many were the potions for healing and philters for unrequited love, that passed from Uncle ’Jah’s hands for a small consideration.

Uncle ’Jah also told the stars, and blended the inherited African rites most unreservedly with the Indian traditions and his idea of the white man’s religious ceremonials.

Of course there were other hoodoos on the place, for what plantation had them not? but they were all lesser lights whose radiance paled before the effulgence of the leading spirit.

Uncle ’Jah added to his dignities and honors the fact of having been born free. The story ran, that his mother was a princess in her own country, having been stolen by traders at an early age, and in the home of her adoption her faithfulness and tender care won the sympathy of her invalid mistress, who was pleased to give her freedom as a reward.

She had never left the plantation, for a humble romance followed, and the free woman became the wife of a slave.

By “Ole Miss’s” will in the olden time her children were to be free from their birth, and Abijah, the seventh son of the seventh son, though living, as his father had done, on the plantation, was free to come and go, and received wages for his labor when he chose to work.

But Abijah was gathered to his fathers long ago, and many were the lamentations when he passed away. As the passing of a dusky Mohammed, marvels were expected, and great were the wonders and happenings on his burial night, for, like his aforesaid predecessor, he planned his own funeral, and he decreed that the burial should occur at night.

It was said that everything had come to him in the dark of the moon; it was dark when he was born, and dark when he died; so they buried him in the midst of the tall bracken, whose swaying plumes cast weird and grotesque shadows by the light of the flickering pine torches.

The exhorters were holding their services at the meeting-ground, and would not officiate, as they deemed the burial unholy; but the mass of negroes, who knew the work of Abijah, were afraid that his ghost would walk, and attended for the laying of his spirit; and all but the torch-bearers prostrated themselves low upon the ground, while the hoodoos waved their arms, as the coffin was lowered, and forbade the spirit’s return to earthly habitations; then bitter herbs and Abijah’s drinking-cup were thrown in before the grave was filled.

* * * * *

As has been said, the passing of Abijah happened many years ago, and now in the third and fourth generations his fame had grown even to that of a dusky god.

So there were not wanting those who, through the mists of time and forgetfulness, attributed to him supernatural powers, a fearless handling of the forces of good and evil, even a personal exorcism of the devil—that old-fashioned devil who donned such familiar forms upon occasion.

Of course such a devil is entirely out of date, but in that long ago there was a certain little maid to whom these devil stories, forbidden fruit though they were, gave the most unalloyed delight.

They were told at night when the trundle-bed was rolled out and the little toes were toasting by the fire, and sometimes even, it is to be feared, the “Now I lay me” was rather hastily said, that the story might be resumed; later, perhaps, an anxious mother wondered why the little one tossed so restlessly, but every genuine child has been duly “scared to death once upon a time,” and so had the little maid.

* * * * *

Through the tangles of the past a picture rises, though the Scheherazade of the nursery has passed away, the voice comes no more to the childish ears, for the little maid too is gone; perhaps the stories are half forgotten, but a word, a thought, stirs the pulse of memory.

“Tell a devil tale, Ellen.”

“Naw, I hain’t gwine tell you ’n’ Charlie no mo’ devil tales.”

“Please, Ellen, we’ll go to sleep in two minutes if you will.”

“Tell about Uncle ’Jah, the devil, and the dark of the moon.”

“I hain’t gwine tell hit—Miss ’Tishy say you git skeered an’ don’ go ter sleep, an’ I hain’t gwine tell ’em ter yo’ no mo’.”

“Oh, Ellen, yes, we will; they don’t scare us. We’ll get right in bed and listen, and by the time you are through we’ll be asleep. Mamma won’t care.”

“But she do keer; she say you mustn’t heah ’em no mo’. Dey gibs her de horrors.”

“Go on, Ellen. She was just afraid that we’d be scared in the night, but we are too big for that now. Go on about the devil and Uncle ’Jah.”

“Miss ’Tishy be mighty mad!”

“But we won’t tell her. Her mammy used to tell her those tales when she was little; she said so.”

“An’ yo’ won’t tell yo’ maw?”

“No, we won’t tell her.”

“Yo’ sho’ yo’ won’t tell?”

“Cross my heart and body, we won’t, Ellen!”

* * * * *

“Well, one time dey hab er powerful Big Meetin’ on de place whar Unc’ ’Jah lib, an’ dar was er mighty prophesyin’ an’ ’zortin’ ’count er hit.

“Dey was er-prophesyin’ ’bout dis an’ prophesyin’ ’bout dat, but dar wa’n’t many sinners got up twel er stranger kim up an’ sot inter prophesyin’, an’ den sech er gittin’ erbout yo’ nebber did see; dar wa’n’t ’nough benches fur de mo’ners, an’ dey des laid down in de straw.

“Some uv ’em ’low de stars gwine fall ergin; an’ some uv ’em ’low de stars hain’t gwine fall, but de pest’_lence_ er kimmin’; an’ some ’low de pest’_lence_ ain’ kimmin’, but dey gwine hab er rain er sarpents; but de stranger he ’zort an’ prophesy louder an’ longer, an’ he ’low dat arter de Big Meetin’, de debil gwine be loose on de place an’ gwine take de form uv er sarpent, er tarrypin, er man, an’ er fly, an’ he gwine pester mightily de chillen er de promus; but de sarpent dey kin shoot, de tarrypin dey kin kill, an’ de man dey kin see, but hit gwine ter be mighty hard ter ketch up wid de fly, specuil in fly-time, ’case de debil choose de innercentest house-fly he kin fin’.

“But de stranger say de debil do de mos’ tore-down things es er fly, ’case he kin go ever’whar, an’ walk on de ceiling top side down des er-seein’ things dat’s hid, an’ he kin git erroun’ faster ’n de man, an’ fas’ ergin es de sarpent, an’ er hundred times es fas’ es de tarrypin. He taken de tarrypin so’s ter git de ’scusin’ er movin’ slow. Well, Unc’ ’Jah he don’ pay no ’tention ter de prophesyin’ an’ de churchin’, ’case he do he own prophesyin’ an’ workin’, so he des lay low an’ keep still.

“‘Bout dat time Unc’ ’Jah’s boy Rube he go co’tin’ de putties’ nigger gal dat ebber were borned; but she were unner conviction at de Big Meetin’, an’ don’ ’pear ter take no notice er Rube, but she like him powerful, unbeknownst.

“Oh, but she were putty! an’ she were er house-nigger, an’ w’ar finer close dan t’others, an’ sot an’ sew right by her Ole Miss.

“Well, Rube he savin’ uv he wedges, an’ he think he ax Ole Marse mought he buy her, arter dey marries, fur hit ’pear lack dey gwine ter marry arter de Big Meetin’, ’case Rube he were mighty lack he Mammy, an’ all de gals was plum sot on him. Well, Unc’ ’Jah don’ ’pear ter take no notice, ’case he were er-workin’ on he Mammy, who were mighty po’ly, des er-draggin’ one foot an’ totin’ t’other, twel sumpen ’pear ter happen ter Rube’s gal, an’ den Unc’ ’Jah he ’pear ter des wake up.

“Hit happin dis way: ’Bout de time de Big Meetin’ ober dar kim er stranger in de Quarters dat taken er powerful shine ter de gal, an’ he allus kim in de night, an’ walk an’ talk wid de gal er little erway fum t’others.

“Well, dat gal she show him her putty teef, an’ laugh an’ jeck her putty head erbout, but she thinkin’ ’bout Rube.

“Den he fotch some big gole year-rings an’ er brooch—powerful fine fur er nigger, ’case dey mos’ es fine es her Ole Miss wear ever’ day; an’ dat nigger w’ar broadclof lack er gemmen; an’ Rube he were powerful low in he min’, ’case de stranger talk mighty putty, an’ he ’low dat ’omens lub putty talkin’; but dat stranger ain’ say whar he fum, an’ he ain’t call he name ter any er de niggers, not eben ter de gal.

“An’ sing! Lord, how dat stray nigger sing, an’ pick de banjo, an’ mek de fiddle fa’rly dance! Eben de ’zorters, hearin’ uv hit ’way off, couldn’ keep dey foots fum shufflin’ an’ dey han’s fum pattin’ when dey hears dat nigger play de fiddle. But es fine es he were, wid he mustache an’ de b’ar’s grease on he hair, he allus wanter set down; an’ Unc’ ’Jah, ’case Rube were so po’ly, he pull he eye, lack er lizard, down on him, an’ he see dat he got sumpen de matter wid de right foot, an’ he try ter hide hit all he kin.

“But Unc’ ’Jah don’ say nuffin; he des er-workin’. An’ de stray nigger he promus de gal fine close an’ fine house lack her Ole Miss got; an’ de gal she show him her teef ergin, but she still er-thinkin’ ’bout Rube.

“Den de stranger he chink de gole money in he pocket an’ show hit ter de gal; she ’ain’t nebber see er nigger tote gole money erfore, an’ she op’n ’er eyes wide, an’ ain’ think ’bout Rube no more.

“Dat Rube he were er cuissome nigger, an’ he git ter be mighty painful, an’ he ain’ wanter eat ’count er de gal, an’ ain’ look at t’others des er-rinnin’ arter him; an’ Unc’ ’Jah he ain’ say nuffin, but he sot er charm fur de gal dat done promus ter marry de stray nigger an’ shakes her big gole hoops in de face er Rube. Dat gal mout er-knowed de stray nigger ’ain’ git ’em hones’.

“Den he gib her er ring wid two hearts on hit dat ud come in two, perzackly lack white folks, an’ dat rin Rube putty nigh crazy, ’case he done gib her he gran’maw’s gole ring; an’ de gal gib out dat she gwine marry de stranger, an’ er-gwine ter er far country. Unc’ ’Jah were mighty pestered, an’ he casts erbout; den he ups an’ ax de gal fur er lock uv her hair ter ’member her by.

“Hit please de gal powerful, ’case she were mighty uppish—uppish lack white folks—an’ she gib hit ter ’im; an’ Unc’ ’Jah chuckle powerful, ’case he got all he want fur ter mek he charm work.

“An’ dat night when de gal was er-walkin’ wid de stranger in de moonlight, she see sumpen dat skeer her mos’ ter def; but she ’feared ter holler; fur de stranger he taken he hat off fur ter cool he head, des er-talkin’ sweet’s sugar all de time; an’ dat gal, sho’s you born, see two little horns des er-growin’ in de moonlight, er-sproutin’ outer he forud; an’ she skeered so she look down, an’, my Lord! she see de lame foot des nuffin but er hoof! Den dat gal she know she done gib her promus ter marry wid de debil, ’case Unc’ ’Jah’s charm hit taken de scales fum her eyes; an’ she think ’bout Rube ergin, an’ she shuck an’ shuck, an’ tell de debil she cole; but he laugh, an’ show he teef, an’ ’low, ’You’s done mine now; I gwine warm yo’ bimeby.’ An’ she sweat cole, and ’low she gwine gib back de ring an’ de gole year-rings, an’ de promus; dat she ain’ lub nobody but Rube; but hit de debil, an’ he ain’ let her go, an’ he say she gotter marry him; but she say she ain’, dat she hate him.