Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.

com

DRUMS AND SHADOWS

SURVIVAL STUDIES AMONG THE GEORGIA COASTAL NEGROES

SAVANNAH UNIT

GEORGIA WRITER'S PROJECT

WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION

University of Georgia Press

[1940, copyright not renewed]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, January 2004. J. B. Hare, redactor. This text is in

the public domain because it was not renewed in a timely fashion at the US Copy
right Office as required at the time. These files may be used for any non-commer
cial purpose, provided this notice of attribution is left intact.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Grateful thanks are due to Melville J. Herskovits and Guy B. Johnson whose unfai
ling interest has been an inspiration and whose critical advice and untiring enc
ouragement have been a valuable aid to the project. The project also wishes to t
hank William Bascom, Sterling Brown, Benjamin L. Hubert, Charles S. Johnson, Wil
liam F. Ogburn, Newbell Niles Puckett, and Lorenzo Turner for helpful criticism
and to acknowledge the outstanding work of Virginia Thorpe, project editor, and
Albert Dunbar, project research field worker, in connection with the manuscript.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. vii]

CONTENTS

FOREWORD <page xv>

NOTES TO THE READER <page xix>
INTRODUCTION <page xxi>
COMMUNITIES
OLD FORT <page 1>
TIN CITY <page 11>
YAMACRAW <page 21>
FROGTOWN AND CURRYTOWN <page 29>
SPRINGFIELD <page 35>
BROWNVILLE <page 43>
TATEMVILLE <page 61>
WHITE BLUFF <page 69>
PIN POINT <page 77>
SANDFLY <page 83>
GRIMBALL'S POINT <page 91>
WILMINGTON ISLAND <page 97>
SUNBURY <page 105>
HARRIS NECK <page 113>
PINE BARREN NEAR EULONIA <page 125>
POSSUM POINT <page 131>
DARIEN <page 139>
SAPELO ISLAND <page 151>
ST. SIMONS ISLAND <page 165>
[p. viii]
ST. MARYS <page 177>
APPENDIX <page 185>
GLOSSARY <page 233>
INFORMANTS <page 235>
BIBLIOGRAPHY <page 239>
INDEX 243

Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com

[p. xv]

FOREWORD
The coastal region of Georgia and South Carolina is a fertile field for the stud
y of old cultural heritages. Artists, poets, and novelists are not the only ones
who have felt the, allure of this region with its old plantations, its sleepy t
owns, its cypress swamps, its moss-hung trees, its ox carts, and its Negro peasa
ntry. The works of C. C. Jones, Jr., John Bennett, Marcellus Whaley, Ambrose Gon
zales, Reed Smith, Elsie C. Parsons, Ballanta-Taylor, T. J. Woofter, Jr., Guion
G. Johnson, Guy B. Johnson, Robert Gordon, Lorenzo Turner, and others testify to
the continuing interest of scholars in the history, folklore, folk music, and d
ialect of the Negro people of this region. These Negroes, more perhaps than any
others in the United States, have lived in a physical and cultural isolation whi
ch is conducive to the survival of many old customs and thoughtways, both Africa
n and European. The present work represents an effort to go a bit deeper than an
y other work has done into certain aspects of the folk culture of these people i
n the coastal area. it is particularly welcome at this time, for it not only cov
ers an area which has not received as much attention as have other areas, notabl
y those around Charleston and Beaufort, but it is oriented toward the problem of
African heritages in this country, a problem which is coming to be more and mor

e important to the cultural anthropologist.

Readers of DRUMS AND SHADOWS will encounter much that is familiar, for many of t
he customs and beliefs found among the Georgia coastal Negroes are not peculiar
to them.
[p. xvi]
[paragraph continues] Indeed, many of these traits, such as the belief in ghosts
, witches, and conjure, are either known or practiced by thousands of white and
Negro people in other parts of the United States; while the dogmas and methods o
f Father Divine and Bishop Grace seem to flourish best among the proletariat of
Harlem, Chicago, Detroit, Washington, Richmond, and other urban centers. Neverth
eless, one finds much in these pages which is new, and one senses the great viri
lity of old heritages in the daily lives of the coastal Negroes.
DRUMS AND SHADOWS makes no pretense of offering a complete picture of the life a
nd culture of these people, but limits its scope of inquiry to certain definite
types. In undertaking the work, Miss Granger, the supervisor, also wisely refrai
ned from attempting to include an investigation of subjects like folk music and
dialect, which require special training and technical analysis. The visits, inte
rviews, and observations were made by the workers on the Georgia Writers' Projec
t. The investigators were enthusiastic and persistent, and, in spite of the fact
that they had had no formal training in ethnological methods, they have made a
real contribution to knowledge. They have recorded what is probably the most tho
rough search for African heritages among Negroes in a small area that has ever b
een attempted in this country up to the present time.
This question of the nature and importance of African heritage in America bids f
air to develop into something of a controversy. At one extreme are scholars like
Robert E. Park and E. B. Reuter who would not even consider the matter debatabl
e since they virtually deny the existence of any significant Africanisms in the
United States. Toward the other extreme is Melville J. Herskovits, who believes
that African heritages are very significant, that they have contributed much to
the culture of white America, and that the study of these heritages may point th
e way to racial understanding and the alleviation of friction between the races
in the United States. My own position lies somewhere between these two, since I
believe that there are a few important African survivals in the United States, b
ut that the degree of significance of these African heritages is questionable in
view of the overwhelming tendency of the culture of the white
[p. xvii]
man to displace the Negro's African culture, and that their influence on the eve
ryday problem of race relations is relatively inconsequential.
However, regardless of differences of opinion as to the nature and importance of
African heritages in our civilization, almost everyone would agree that the que
stion is interesting and worthy of study. Such study may not only satisfy a whol
esome curiosity but may throw light on the scientific problem of the processes w
hich go on when two different cultures come into contact. In dealing with the ma
terial collected for this book, Miss Granger makes no decision as to the African
sources of particular traits. She has, however, included a valuable appendix on
West African culture patterns and has cited therein numerous possible parallels
between these patterns and the culture of Georgia coastal Negroes.
DRUMS AND SHADOWS will interest the scholar as well as the general reader, for i
t has combed over a strategic area, has discovered clues, has raised problems, a
nd thus made easier the way of any cultural anthropologist who might want to fol
low and attempt a definitive scientific study of the question of African heritag

es and influences in American civilization.

GUY B. JOHNSON
University of North Carolina
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. xix]

NOTES TO THE READER

Pronunciation of individual words, elision, and emphasis play almost equal roles
in the Negro speech of this section. Except for the spelling of surnames, diale
ct in the interviews has been faithfully transcribed. Great care has been taken
to try to represent the pronunciation, but to have represented literally the eli
sion and emphasis would have made the text unintelligible to the average non-sci
entific reader. Therefore the elision has been moderated and the emphasis left t
o the reader. Diacritical marks have not been used because it was thought it wou
ld give the text too foreign an appearance, and apostrophes commonly used in dia
lect have been discarded for simplification. Many variations in pronunciation oc
cur even in a small area; younger members of a community speak differently from
older, the better educated differently from the less well educated. Excitement o
r emotion often throws the speaker back into a type of speech which ordinarily h
e no longer uses. Almost universally uh is substituted for er and d for th, thou
gh there are more exceptions to the latter than to the former. An h is nearly al
ways substituted for an r following a vowel and ah is substituted for the termin
al re; thus here becomes heah. This latter spelling is as near as can be achieve
d, and though the diphthong is present the e is very short. In certain cases per
sons have learned to pronounce certain words correctly while other words of the
same type will still be spoken in dialect. Mother is a common example of this. T
he th in this word has often been deliberately learned though the final er will
still be
[p. xx]
pronounced uh. Initial syllables are often pronounced differently from the same
syllable occurring in the middle of a sentence. The pronoun I at the beginning o
f a sentence is almost always pronounced correctly, whereas I in the middle of t
he sentence is usually pronounced uh. Thus the same word often varies according
to its importance and the need of the speaker for emphasis, and so on, ad infini
tum. Some of the above mentioned points may not seem worthy of mention to the st
udent familiar with white speech of the same section. But because the white spee
ch has many similarities of pronunciation, it does not make the recorded speech
of these studies any less of a dialect nor any less of a variation from standard
speech.
African parallels will be found in the appendix. These have been grouped accordi
ng to subjects and the subjects arranged alphabetically and numbered consecutive
ly. Text reference numbers (Arabic) refer to the appendix numbers where pertinen
t parallels may be found. Where an appendix number is followed by a letter, the
parallel under this heading is especially noteworthy. Though European parallels
could be cited for many of the cultural patterns, the citations in the appendix
have been limited to African material both because the European material is bett
er known and because the African parallels suggest interesting lines of investig
ation.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com

[p. xxi]

INTRODUCTION
The African Negro, introduced as a slave into Virginia in 1619, had been a part
of the plantation life of the older colonies of America for more than a century
before the Colony of Georgia was founded in 1733. Almost two decades passed befo
re the Trustees of Georgia legalized Negro slavery. Thus it was the middle of th
e eighteenth century before Georgia became an open market for slaves.
By this time certain land restrictions had been removed and the consequent devel
opment of large plantations, for which the Negro was an economic necessity, grea
tly stimulated the slave market. During these early years the plantations that d
eveloped in the tidewater regions of coastal Georgia planted principally rice, a
wet culture necessitating a high percentage of Negro laborers. Later, as additi
onal acres of adjoining higher ground were planted in sugar cane and cotton, the
demand for slaves persisted.
For more than a hundred years (1750-1858) this demand steadily increased, and it
was the common habit to dump from 300 to 400 "prime Africans" on the Savannah m
arket. Under these conditions Georgia, and more particularly the coastal region,
was being supplied with Africans when much of older America was already suffici
ently supplied or oversupplied with native born slaves bred for the domestic tra
de. Thus in many regions the long period of white contact was beginning to obscu
re tribal customs when Africans were being brought in great numbers to Georgia s
oil.
Although in 1798 the Georgia Constitution prohibited
[p. xxii]
slave importation directly from Africa and in 1808 the Federal Constitution made
the African slave trade unlawful, the favorable topography of the Georgia coast
encouraged smuggling. The tidewater coastline and large navigable rivers penetr
ating for miles into the interior facilitated the landing of cargo. Consequently
illegal slave traffic flourished in this region until 1858, when the slave ship
Wanderer landed its cargo on Georgia soil.
Newspaper advertisements indicate that a large proportion of these early cargoes
came from the Gambia River and Niger River sections; later the coast from the C
ongo River to the southern end of Portuguese West Africa was the base of operati
on. Accounts of various explorers' travels through Africa at that time, however,
indicate that native traders frequently collected their slave cargoes from inte
rior sections and shipped them from the west coast of Africa. Although to the wh
ite man, Negroes of an average cargo might have seemed similar in type, it is po
ssible that in many instances they were brought from widely separated regions.
The coastal Negroes of Georgia are sometimes called Gullahs, although in general
parlance the term is applied only to the Negroes of coastal South Carolina. Bec
ause of the similarity in type and speech, however, it is sometimes loosely exte
nded to include the Georgia coastal Negroes as well. The place name, Geechee, de
rived from Ogeechee River, near Savannah, is also used locally to designate the
Negroes of this district.
The coastal plantations that absorbed the slave traffic were remote from one ano
ther. The jungle swamps of the low country and the wide expanses of water separa
ting the coastal islands made communication difficult among the plantation labor
ers of this section. With the continued arrival of Africans to these isolated pl

antation communities, native ceremonies and customs were renewed or exchanged. T

his continuous exchange and renewal of folk customs intensified the folk urge fo
stered by isolation. This naturally delayed the intrusion of white culture and t
he Negro kept intact much of his racial heritage. For these reasons the student
of Negro folklore turns to coastal Georgia for source
[p. xxiii]
material. Here he may still find living Negroes who remember parents or grandpar
ents born in Africa.
Much research has been done and many books written on the folk customs and belie
fs of the Negro. In this section, however, where the Negro has been kept more or
less racially distinct the field is so rich that intensified study in special a
reas still reveals valuable information.
In an effort to present an accurate pictorial account of this type of Georgia co
astal Negro these field reports have been compiled. They endeavor to present the
customs and beliefs of what is left of a generation closely linked to its nativ
e African origin. Some of this generation of Negroes were slaves; many of them a
re the children of former slaves and the grandchildren of native Africans. Their
customs and tales are their own special heritage. Knowledge of them must be rec
orded now while this generation lives or they will lose much of their accuracy a
nd value.
No attempt has been made to give a cross section of the Negro scene as a whole,
but only that part of it which would seem to indicate the survival elements. Thi
s limitation of the field necessarily concentrates this study on the more primit
ive aspects of a comparatively small group of persons and ignores a large sectio
n of the Negro population whose interest and point of view are vastly different.
Effort has been made to base the studies on source material provided by the Neg
ro himself. Footnotes which give African parallels have been used. Though an Afr
ican parallel does not confine the custom or belief to Africa alone, it provides
interesting comparative material for the reader.
Visiting the communities was an interesting experience. Repeated visits were nec
essary to complete the studies. For the sake of simplicity and clarity, however,
each report is presented as the result of one visit of continuous interviews. T
hough this necessitated telescoping the time element, it in no way affects the m
aterial contributed by the persons interviewed.
Today sorcery is still practiced. Modern root doctors, visited frequently by the
ir superstitious clients, perform mystic rites and promise to work miracles and
cures. Many coastal Negroes view adversity not as the workings of fate
[p. xxiv]
but as the revenge of a personal enemy brought about by the mystic working of th
e conjure doctor. To this type of Negro there is little talk of "bad luck." To h
im it is "bad mouth" set against him by an enemy.
It is understandable that the older coastal Negro's use of ceremony and even the
ordinary routine of his daily life are influenced profoundly by his beliefs. Hi
s imagination continues to crowd his world with spirits, both good and evil. Spi
rits of the departed are still believed to make frequent visitations to the eart
h and are as real to this type of Negro as his next door neighbor. Into his Chri
stian ceremonies these superstitions and customs have been injected, lending a d
istinctiveness not found in many of the white man's ceremonies.
As the field of opportunity widens for the Negro and as his culture begins to ap

proximate that of his white neighbor, it is among this fast vanishing type that
the remnants of folk memories still live, without which this collection of sourc
e material could not have been compiled.
MARY GRANGER, District Supervisor
Georgia Writers' Project
Savannah, Georgia
November 4, 1940.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 1]

Drums and Shadows

Old Fort
Dusty, windy lanes bordered with rows of squat wooden houses, wide paved streets
lined on each side with paintless one-story frame structures, the smells of riv
er, fishboats, fertilizer plants and escaping gases, and overshadowing all, the
gigantic gas reservoirs. That is the impression given by the Negro section of th
e Old Fort, located in the extreme northeastern section of Savannah. Here life g
oes on serenely for days, months. Then suddenly, as it happened only a short tim
e ago on a calm Sunday morning, a woman is stabbed in the back and left writhing
on the pavement to die before a swiftly gathering crowd. It was whispered among
the frightened spectators that the death was caused by conjure, for despite all
efforts to remove the knife it remained firmly embedded in the victim's back.
The streets present a monotonous aspect because of the absence of grass and tree
s. Yet the pedestrian is frequently surprised to come upon a dead-end alley bloc
ked by an old brick tenement house with lovely arched windows or to find gay flo
wers in boxes and tin cans on some of the low stoops. On several corners the hou
ses abruptly give way to small grocery stores or beer parlors.
There are two Baptist churches and one Sanctified church in the Negro part of th
e Old Fort. Although the people are devout believers in all the tenets of the Ch
ristian faith, many of them, particularly the old ones, are bound by older belie
fs and superstitions. There exists among them a deep
[p. 2]
rooted fear of the unknown. Spirits, ghosts, and "cunjuh" all powerfully influen
ce their daily existence.
Young and middle-aged persons, reticent before strangers, appear dubious and sus
picious. They profess great knowledge of conjure and superstitions, but they has
ten to say that they "sho ain't gonuh tell nobody" what they know about these th
ings. The old inhabitants, more loquacious, enjoy relating their beliefs and cus
toms to a willing listener.
Among the older inhabitants is Aunt Mary, [*1] the daughter of a slave, who reme
mbers the days when rice fields lay east of the town and it was no unusual sight
to find a big "'gatuh" caught in the rice canal. Early morning finds Aunt Mary
hobbling to her work of scrubbing the entrances to stores. In going to and from
work she always drags a broom behind her. When we asked the reason for this, she

answered, "'Cuz uh dohn wants none uh deze fixuhs tuh git muh foot track, cuz d
en dey kin hanl yuh jis lak dey wants tuh."
"Do you really believe that, Aunt Mary? Do you believe in dreams and ghosts too?
"
"I sho does belieb in dreams an ghoses. Ef uh hab suttn
ue. Tuh dream uh fresh poke some uh yuh kin folks gwine
det uh some wite pusson yuh knows well. Tub dream uh a
n uh rain, an anudduh sign uh rain is wen a suttn place

dreams, dey sho comes tr

die; fresh beef mean duh
dead pusson is a sho sig
on muh head itches."

The old woman switched her broom around under the other arm and continued, "As f
uh ghoses, ain't uh got tuh belieb in um? Wy, I kin see um muhsef. Yuh see, I w
uz bawn wid a double caul obuh muh face an anybody knows dat a pusson bawn wid a
caul obuh dey face kin sho see ghoses. Deah's mo dan one kine uh ghos. Some co
me befo yuh natchul an pleasant; den some kin sho make yuh sked. I kin tell long
fo anyting happen wen it gwine happen. Nuttn ebuh happen tuh me widout me knowi
n it long fo it come." ,
Another old woman [*2] can recall when her slave mother used to carry her on her
back to the spring on their plantation. This woman wears large earrings of gold
which she
[p. 3]
has worn since her mother pierced her ears in childhood. Each wrist is encircled
by a band of copper wire. She smiled and inadvertently touched the wire as she
explained its presence.
"Ef yuh wuks hahd aw does much washin, it heps duh nerbes." ,
At the mention of "cunjuh" the old woman lit her pipe, smiled pathetically, and
shook her head. As the blue smoke curled upward, she told of having been conjure
d and of how it had changed her whole life in a few short weeks.
"Yeahs ago," she sighed, "I hab a huzbun wut treat me well an uh wuz libin good.
Dis wuz jis fo muh twins wuz bawn. Ise a twin too, an it sho is bad luck. Deah
wuz somebody wut want muh huzbun tuh leab me an go oft wid um, so dey hab me fi
x. Wen uh come home one day, I step in a hole by duh doe an deah wuz a bottle f
ix wid some tings in it. Right den an deah I took sech a misery in muh lef side
an den uh swell up all obuh; muh hands wuz twice deah size. , , I stay dataway
till I fine out wut tuh do. Den I sprinkle black peppuh an potash in duh hole we
ah duh bottle wuz an it bile up. Den some friens wash me off in wiskey ebry day
an soon uh wuz all right. But wen duh twins wuz bawn duh boy twin hab a lill ho
le right in is lef side weah I hab duh misery frum duh fixin. He lib nine days f
o he die."
"But the person did not succeed in getting your husband after all, did she?" we
asked.
"Yes'm but she sho did. Whoebuh fix me fix muh huzbun too, cuz he go off an leab
me an I know he ain nebuh done dat lessn he bin fix. Muh son die wen he wuz twe
nty-tree an wuz a fine lookin boy. Deah wuz so many women attuh him, lots uh peo
ple tink one uh dem fix im, but duh doctuh say he die frum pneumonia.
"I knowd he wuz gwine die cuz I heahd a owl jis a hootin duh day befo. Deah's u
dduh signs uh det too, sech as ef yuh sees a buzzud sailin roun duh elements, da
s a sho sign. Ef a rat eat yuh dress, yuh musn patch it yuhsef lessn yuh bun duh
place fo yuh sew on it, cuz das a sign uh det. Dat happen right heah in dis hou
se fo muh faduh die."

She folded her hands in her lap and slowly rocked her chair as she continued. "W
en a pusson die in duh house, ef
[p. 4]
yuh take em out fo duh ministuh say a few wuds, den deah spirit will hant duh ho
use, cuz dey jis caahn be happy till dey hab ebryting done propuh an right. I
hab heahd spirits roun dis house. Sometime dey call yuh. Wen dey call yuh, dey d
one come tuh hant yuh an git yuh tuh go weah dey is. Wen dey call, yuh mus say,
'I ain ready tuh go yit.'"
The old woman stopped rocking, sat upright, and removed the pipe from between he
r stained teeth. "An spirits ain all. Deah's witches. Wy, deah's a ole uhmun nea
h yuh wut people say is a witch wut rides folks. We all leab uh lone. We shuts
duh doe ef we sees uh comin. She come lak a nightmeah tuh duh folks wile dey sle
epin. But ef yuh puts duh bruhm cross duh doe, yuh kin keep any witch out duh ru
hm at night. Witches jis caahn cross obuh a bruhmstick."
Another woman [*1] was scornful about conjure. She tossed her head indignantly a
s she made known that most of her neighbors for blocks around, her friends, the
members of her church, believed in the infallibility of the root worker.
"Wy," she said, "they all believe that everything that happen tuh anybody is cau
se by some root wukuh. They don't leave anything fuh God tuh do. Ef anybody tak
es sick, yuh'll fine somebody theah sayin sumpm is wrong with yuh sickness, that
somebody 'put down' sumpm fuh yuh. Ef anybody dies roun heah, some root wukuh i
s responsible fuh the death. , Now, me, I don't believe people kin put sumpm u
nduh steps aw unduh yuh house that will hahm yuh. Some time ago my son, my only
chile, wuz drownded. Well every time I tun roun some of my neighbuhs wuz tellin
me my son's death wuzn't fair. They say 'somebody hoodood yuh chile an cause him
tuh git drownded.'"
She hastened to add, however, that she did believe "fuh sho" in some signs and o
mens, concerning which she has been "plenty sperienced."
"Take fuh instance," she explained, "ef I staht out an have tuh tun back, I know
it's bad luck less I makes a cross mahk an spits in it. I try tuh keep a woman
frum bein the fust pusson tuh come tuh my house on Monday mawnin even ef I have
tuh call in a man passin by. Fuh a woman tuh be yuh fust visituh on Monday mawni
n means bad luck the
[p. 5]
balance of that week. I won't borruh aw len salt, fuh my mothuh alluz said it wu
z bad luck. I believe in all the ole signs I ebuh heahd my parents talk bout. I
wouldn't sweep trash out of the house aftuh dahk fuh anything cuz it'll sweep yu
h luck away. Nevuh shake a tablecloth out duh doe aftuh dahk cause it means the
death of yuh kin. Nevuh sew aw make a piece fuh a sick pusson aw that pusson wil
l die. An dreams, I sho do believe in em. Jis fo my son wuz drownded I suttnly
have a dream that mean a death in the fambly."
The next person [*1]
ith in the return of
great earnestness of
er with a witch. He,

we interviewed several blocks away expressed an absolute fa

the dead in various shapes. This was a man, who spoke with
two experiences he had undergone, one with spirits, the oth
too, had been born with a caul.

"Muh fus time tuh see a ghos wuz in a rainstawm. Me an muh brudduh wuz caught, s
o we run tuh a ole vacant house an soons we git inside, duh doe slam shut. We to
ught it wuz duh win, but wen uh look roun deah wuz standin in duh cawnuh two men

wid no head. I tought muh brudduh see em too. Wen duh rain stop, we lef. Muh br
udduh didn say nuttn, so I say, 'Did you see dem mens in dat house'? He say, 'No
, wut mens?' Wen I tole im, he tought I bin crazy. But lots uh time attuh dat I
seen ghos." He folded his lips and nodded sagely.
"Now bout witches. Yuh know ghos an witches is diffunt. Witches is libin people
an ghos is spirits uh duh dead. I know a ole uhmun ebrybody say wuz a witch. Wel
l, bery soon she wuz ridin me. I could eben see uh come. Duh winduh--it would g
o up, an den uh would begin tuh choke an smudduh till somebody wake me up. I git
reel tin an po. Den cross duh street wuz a man wich wuz complainin bout his wif
e bein rid by a witch. It seem lak duh witch would ride me, den go obuh tuh his
house. So he say he would trap uh. He stay up. When he heah his wife strugglin,
he git a axe hanl an begin frailin roun in duh dahk till he hit sumpm. It let ou
t a screech an a cat run out duh winduh an down duh paat. So duh nex mawnin duh
man git his dog an put im on duh
[p. 6]
cat's trail. Well, suh, bout half a mile down duh road in duh fence cawnuh wuz
ole Malinda Edmonde wid tree rib broke. She beg im not tuh kill uh, but dat brok
e up duh witch ridin."
Further verification of the belief in the existence of spirits and witches was g
iven us by Jack Wilson [*1] who operates a small junk shop in the vicinity. We v
isited the elderly Negro in his residence and place of business, a small, queerl
y shaped shack that entirely blocks the narrow lane on which it stands. The lodg
ing is hardly more than a shelter made by driving several long poles into the gr
ound, suspending on these a frame-work of rope and wire, and piling on this foun
dation pieces of tin, iron, cardboard, and other junk. A small opening left at e
ach end reveals on the inside no furniture, only some old pipes and pieces of sc
rap iron, heaps of burlap sacks, and ragged clothes. Outside is a small vegetabl
e garden, and clustered around the house in confusion are the odd automobile par
ts, lengths of pipe, parts of stoves, rags, and other miscellaneous items that m
ake up the old man's stock in trade.
Wilson acknowledged a firm belief in the supernatural. He told us, "I wuz bawn w
id spiritual knowledge which gib me duh powuh tuh read duh mines uh people. ,
I kin see people wut bin dead many yeahs. Duh dead know wut duh libin is doin an
come roun deah close kin an friens wen dey is in trouble. I kin speak tuh duh
dead folk in song an dey kin unduhstan me.
"I kin see ghos mos any time. Dey seem lak natchul people. Duh way I know it's a
ghos is cuz I kin nebuh ketch up wid um. Dey keep jis a suttn distance ahead uh
me.
"Witches an cunjuh is jis groun wuk. Ef yuh keep way frum um dey sho caahn hut y
uh. Some hab magic powuh wut come tuh um frum way back in Africa. Muh mothuh use
tuh tell me bout slabes jis brung obuh frum Africa wut hab duh supreme magic po
wuh. Deah wuz a magic pass wud dat dey would pass tuh udduhs. Ef dey belieb in d
is magic, dey could scape an fly back tuh Africa. I hab a uncle wut could wuk d
is magic. He could disappeah lak duh win, jis walk off duh plantation an stay wa
y fuh weeks at a time. One
[p. 7]
time he git cawnuhed by duh putrolmun an he jis walk up to a tree an he say, 'I
tink I go intuh dis tree.' Den he disappeah right in duh tree."
These interviews, chosen at random from among the Old Fort Negroes, afford some
small glimpse behind the scenes of this section's placid daily routine. They giv

e significance to the penny often seen nailed to the bone-white doorstep and hel
p the outsider to understand the mojo ring or luck piece worn by almost every ma
n, the silver dime tied around many a woman's ankle. , , ,
Near this section lives a Negro basketmaker [*1] who claims that he is carrying
on the tradition of his ancestors. He stated that for generations the men of his
family had engaged in wood carving, basket making, and various phases of weavin
g, and that the craft had been passed on from father to son. He himself only ma
kes baskets. White oak and bulrushes are selected as the material from which to
make the baskets and they are stitched with scrub palmetto. Those made of bulrus
hes are of the coil type. A kind of thin rope is made from this grass which is t
hen twisted around and around and sewn tightly together. The baskets made from w
hite oak are plaited. The types of baskets include hampers, flat clothes basket
s, farm and shopping baskets, and the popular "fanner" which the Negro venders b
alance gracefully on their heads as they walk about the city, displaying a color
ful array of merchandise.
Some years ago an unusual discovery was made near this district when a boy notic
ed a carved spoon [*2] lying on top of a rubbish heap. This spoon, which has bee
n carefully preserved, is made of teak, and, judging from the dark polished surf
ace of the wood and its general appearance, it might well be more than a century
old. The bowl is shallow and about two by three inches and the whole length abo
ut seven inches. The most unusual feature of the spoon is the carved figure of t
he disproportionate little man forming the handle. Of particular interest are th
e flat cranium, the exaggerated ears, the gash-like mouth, the queerly shaped no
se, the long dangling
[p. 8]
arms, and the short tapering legs which appear to be far too small for the rest
of the body.
Near the Old Fort is the Peace Mission of Father Divine. [*1] This comparatively
new religious sect has an estimated membership of two million and a local membe
rship of about fifty. There is nothing prepossessing about the small white build
ing. The wooden floor is sprinkled with sawdust and except for the piano the onl
y furniture is several roughly built wooden benches. The walls of the mission ar
e hung with placards bearing inscriptions, of which the following are a few: "Pe
ace-the Kingdom of Heaven is not meat and drink, but joy, peace and good will,"
"Peace and Good Will to the World," "Peace, Father Divine is God, Salutation is
Peace."
At about eight o'clock in the evening members begin straggling in, two or three
at a time. They are dressed soberly, with a noticeable lack of bright colors and
ornamentation of any description, as one of the precepts of the cult is the sac
rifice of all worldly possessions. Upon joining the church they must surrender e
verything of material value to Father Divine. The old life is a thing of the pas
t. The convert must accept new habits, new names, and an entirely new scheme of
existence.
The ardor of followers is not dampened by the fact that their leader has never b
een known to visit the Savannah branch. They claim that he is always present spi
ritually and can in this manner accomplish his miracles. At the meeting a major
part of the service is given over to a number of testimonials, presented by many
of those present. One by one the converts intone their devotion to Father Divin
e [*2] and vividly recount what he has done for them.
[p. 9]
A stout Negro woman bearing the name of Sister Patience Peace [*1] gives the fol

lowing testimonial: "Once it wuz muh highes ambition tuh know duh tings uh duh w
orl. I loved cahds an drink an udduh vices. No day passed wen I wuz not so drunk
dat I would gib out an hab tuh go tuh bed. Now it is not so. I hab nebuh seen d
uh Fathuh in duh body, but I know dat he is God, fuh I hab made spiritual contac
wid him. Because uh rightous libin I am now weighin two hundud pouns. Praise Fa
thuh."
A thin, wiry little Negro man, [*2] whose eyes gleam with a fanatical light, spe
aks next. He gives his name as Noah's Ark and states that Father Divine has give
n him the power to raise his wife from the dead and has caused him to enter upon
a new and sanctified life. Faithful Patience, the wife, is also present and in
turn testifies as to the truth of his statement and as to her own faith in Fathe
r Divine.
Triumphant Virgin [*3] happy in the knowledge that she is now leading a blameles
s existence, steps forward and gives the following statement: "I know Fathuh Div
ine tuh be God cuz he lifted me out uh duh guttuh and changed me frum a
[p. 10]
drunkud an all udduh low tings dat I use tuh be. Muh ole name is dead an now tin
gs reign tru Fathuh Divine. Peace Thanks, Fathuh."
As the evening wears on, more of the devotees join in the chanting and in the sp
irited singing of the hymns. Demonstrations become more and more violent. Severa
l of the congregation, caught in the throes of a powerful religious intoxication
, begin to dance and sway with abandonment. Others in the group encourage the d
ancers with a rhythmic clapping of hands and stamping of feet.
On and on the dancers whirl while the piano pounds out its accompaniment; above
the din rises the wailed repetitious version of an improvised hymn. The particip
ants in the dance seem oblivious to everything except the series of contortions
in which they are indulging. Eyes half closed, fixed smiles on their faces, ever
y muscle in their bodies aquiver, they stumble blindly on. Some bump into the wo
oden benches, others fall exhausted to the floor. Still the dance goes on.
Over and over can be heard the hoarse chanting of the worshipers as they continu
e to give praise to Father Divine, the man who, according to their own account,
was not born in the ordinary manner but was "combusted" one day in New York City
and who was sent to earth to save his followers from destruction.
Footnotes
^2:1 Mary Hunter, 548 East St. Julian Street.
^2:2 Dye Williams, Old Fort.
^4:1 Katie McCarts, 744 Hull Street.
^5:1 S. B. Holmes, 716 East Perry Street.
^6:1 Jack Wilson, 272 McAlister Street.
^7:1 John Haynes, 933 Wheaton Street.
^7:2 Property of Edward A. Sieg, 128 West Jones Street.
^8:1 Though the meetings of Father Divine are common to many parts of the United
States, especially in the North, where white worshippers form a sizable proport
ion of the followers of Father Divine, this description accurately portrays the

House as it was found in this community. For this reason it was thought well to
include it.
^8:2 Father Divine is said to have been born George Baker on a Hutchinson Island
rice plantation near Savannah about sixty years ago. Sometime in the late 1890'
s it appears that he opened a meeting house in the Negro section of the Old Fort
, calling himself "The Son of Righteousness." His activities in the community ab
ruptly ceased when, after some trouble with the authorities, he fled from Savann
ah to escape a [p. 9] gang of whites who aimed to make him prove himself the rei
ncarnation of Christ by walking on the Savannah River.
Arriving in Baltimore, Maryland, he joined a religious sect headed by Father Jeh
ovia. Later, in New York City the new disciple decided to open his own cult. It
was then that he adopted his present name and that his converts created the maxi
m "Father Divine is God."
Converts both white and Negro were eager to join the new order. Today Father Div
ine computes his followers as being between 21,000,000 and 30,000,000, although
outsiders give a more conservative estimate. The leader travels extensively and
"heavens" have been established in various parts of the country. His weekly inco
me is reputed to be 20,000 and is derived from the many business establishments
operated under his supervision.
He has a fondness for flashy clothing, wears a five dollar gold piece for a stic
kpin, and rides about in a pale blue Rolls Royce and a scarlet monoplane.
The self-styled Messiah has now extended his activities to the field of Politics
, both national and international. There is a variance of public sentiment conce
rning him. To followers he appears to be "reincarnated God," while enemies insis
t he is a fraud, a hypnotist, and a remarkably clever actor who is at present gr
owing a little tired of the role he has chosen to enact.
Robert Allerton Parker, "The Incredible Messiah" (Boston, 1937), pp. 80, 93, 94,
106, 183, 188, 209-36.
^9:1 Sister Patience Peace, Old Fort.
^9:2 Noah's Ark, Old Fort.
^9:3 Triumphant Virgin, Old Fort.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 11]

Tin City
Eastward from Savannah in weed-grown fields lies Tin
n and nurtured by the lean years that have followed.
its uncertain lanes winding through a maze of grass
es out over two hundred acres of land where long ago
muck of rice fields.

City, born of the depressio

The little settlement, with
and tall shrubbery, stretch
slaves labored in the black

To the west and south this land is touched by the ragged fringe of Savannah; to
the north it sweeps away to the murky waters of the Savannah River. In 1819 the
city of Savannah condemned the wet-culture rice lands and attempted to build up
the unhealthy, low-lying acres with leaves and trash. With the passing years the
place has been marked with peculiar ridges and mounds, the result of this build

ing-up process. A wild growth of tall greenery covers the land.

About 1929 Louis Ellis, an old Negro who had been evicted from his home for nonpayment of rent, secured permission from Savannah to settle on the land. His sha
ck of discarded tin and his patch of a garden soon attracted other poverty stric
ken Negroes, and around him grew up a small community, self sufficient in its re
nt-free houses and its produce of garden and river. Although some of the settler
s have abandoned the community and only about twenty remain, Tin City still lead
s its own independent existence. Within its precincts the fresh atmosphere of a
country district prevails, for here and there a clump of chinaberry trees or an
oak tree spreads shade, rows of sugar cane and green corn grow tall, and sweet p
otato and pumpkin vines wander at random. The
[p. 12]
rusty little huts are built of scrap tin, bits of cast-off shed roof, salvagings
from automobile junk yards, even discarded signs advertising soft drinks or hea
dache tablets. Each house is surrounded by a garden, fenced either with uneven p
oles driven into the earth or with ingenious odds and ends of junk. Now and then
through the coils of an old bed spring that serves as a fence a wild morning gl
ory vine climbs riotously, or beside a wall hangs a yellow gourd effectively dec
orative above a row of "greens."
Two men claim the mayoralty of the settlement. One, through natural ability, has
held the office almost from the founding of the town. The other, settling later
, simply announced that he was mayor. Both officials have a following of politic
al supporters.
Nathaniel John Lewis, [*1] the first
behind a board fence. As he politely
tain amount of schooling was evident
ow, and careful. He smiled with grim
about conjure or spells.
"Cunjuh?"
h, I know
hs ago, I
in with a

mayor, has a neat little one-room dwelling

apologized for not being at his best, a cer
in his speech, which was extremely soft, sl
amusement when we asked if he knew anything

he repeated. "That's what is wrong with this ahm of mine. As I sit hea
that my enemy brought about this affliction. One night two, three yea
put out my hand to open my gate. Pain went into my palm jus like stabb
shahp needle. This ahm has been no use since then."

"Perhaps it is rheumatism?" we suggested.

"No, sir. It isn't. I know. An cunjuh must be fought with cunjuh. If I know my
enemy's name I could get somethin frum a cunjuh doctuh to help me seek revenge.
But I am helpless."
"What would the doctor do about it?" we asked.
"The toe nails, the finguh nails, even the scrapins frum the bottom of the foot
are all very powuhful. If the doctuh could get any of these frum my enemy, he w
ould mix them in whiskey an make my enemy drink. That is all."
"Would the enemy die or just get sick?"
But the old man was brooding with a faraway look in his eyes and would not answe
r our question.
[p. 13]
"Cunjuh," he said again. "You ask me if I know about these dahk things. I know t
oo well. My wife Hattie had a spell put on uh fuh three long yeahs with a nest o

f rattlesnakes inside uh. She jus lay theah an swelled an suffuhed. How she suff
uhed! Jus like the foam that comes on a snake's mouth when he is hungry, she wou
ld foam. But she couldn't eat."
"Did she die of snakes?" we wanted to know.
"No. It was predicted that she would have a spell put on uh to die by fyuh and s
ho enough one night she was burned to death with the snakes still inside uh."
"But how were the snakes given to her?"
"That I can't tell. She maybe drank them in a little whiskey. But I can't tell."
Nathaniel Lewis' somber gaze had all this time been directed through the open do
or to his garden. It was a pretty little green inclosure with rustic benches set
hospitably about. We commented on the vines and ferns, which showed careful cul
tivation.
"You like my gahden?" Lewis said mournfully. "That's all I can think of, my gahd
en. Theah's a bush out theah that's goin to protect me frum any othuh enemies.
Nobody can cunjuh me now because of that bush. If only I'd had a little piece of
that plant befo, Hattie would be alive an me well an strong. But I kept puttin
off goin to get a piece. You have to go to the woods in the dahk of night an fin
d it faw yuhself. If you get caught at sunrise in those woods, you can't get out
till night again. You plant a piece of the bush in somebody's yahd. They can't
go out till you let them. You plant it in yuh own yahd. Nobody can get in to do
you hahm. That's why I'm safe now. But," he concluded, with a melancholy look ar
ound his meagerly furnished domain, "I should've had it befo. My enemy has even
prevented me from gettin on relief."
Lewis showed us his single treasured book, which he said contained magic art. [*
1]
"This book has helped me some," he said, "but I didn't
[p. 14]
really need it. I was birthed with my wisdom because I was the seventh child an
bawn with a caul."
We asked if he could see and talk with spirits.
"I see them," he said simply. , , "Theah is a little ghos that stays right rou
n this house. The firs night I moved in heah he walked right in an jumped on me.
I managed to throw him off. Now he comes every night. Sometimes he stands at th
e gate with his feet so high off the groun," measuring about a foot, "an his fac
e is turned backwards, but he can always see you. I don't talk to him any aw tr
y to come close, because he would hahm me aw cause me to hahm myself. I jus pass
him by as if he wasn't theah. But I see him.
"I know theah must be buried treasure wheah this house is built, fuh wheahevuh t
heah is money aw othuh treasure a ghos is put theah to gahd it. One time I went
out to Deptford with two othuh men to dig up a pot of money that I knew was bur
ied theah. I saw three spirits, one man an two women. We dug and dug an finally
we could see the pot of money. Jus then one of the women laughed, 'Ha! Ha! Ha!''
, pot sunk down deepuh in the groun. We all ran.
The laugh that spirit gave went right through me. I nevuh tried to dig up the mo
ney again. Right now I know theah is treasure buried heah unduh me, but I wouldn
't try to get it. It is bad luck. That spirit warned me.

"I see witches, too," he continued. "Not everybody can tell a witch, but I can.
Theah's an old woman on Gwinnett Street with some cows. Othuh people don't know
it, but she's the worse kind of witch. Not very long ago she came and rode a wom
an heah in Tin City and sucked uh blood. You ought to see that woman. She's so
thin and weak she can't stand up."
"But isn't there some way to keep witches out?" we asked.
"Yes, you can lay a bruhmstick cross the doe befo night an they can't come in. A
little salt is good. They don't take to salt."
Then he insisted on returning to the subject of his magic book. We evinced the p
roper interest and he showed us a strange recipe jotted down in almost illegible
writing on the flyleaf of this book.
[p. 15]
Eggs--2
carisin--1 pint
turpentine--1 pint
vinegar
cy pepper table
salt--1 box
"That's a cunjuh mixin," the old man explained. "I don't know w
hat it's faw. It was in the book when Joe Fraser, a root doctuh, gave it to me.
"
"Where is Joe Fraser?"
"He is dead these long yeahs. All the real old root doctuhs are passin on to the
beyon." And Nathaniel Lewis sadly stroked his lame arm.
We left him standing in his garden and went on down the winding path. On each si
de, closed away behind their fences, stood the little houses of the town. One wa
s made entirely of old signs; another was merely a battered automobile body with
a rickety chimney sending up smoke from the roof.
From the doorway of one of the little tin houses, two heads peered out curiously
at us. We stopped and talked for a few minutes with Paul Singleton [*1] and his
wife.
The old man told us that he had been born during slavery times on a plantation n
ear Darien. His master had owned about thirty-five plantations in the vicinity.
He added that he had been brought to Savannah in 1869.
"Muh daddy use tuh tell me all duh time bout folks wut could fly back tuh Africa
. Dey could take wing an jis fly off," he confided. "Lots uh time he tell me ann
udduh story bout a slabe ship bout tuh be caught by revenoo boat. Duh slabe ship
slip tru back ribbuh intuh creek. Deah wuz bout fifty slabes on bode. Duh slabe
runnuhs tie rocks roun duh slabes' necks and tro um ovuhbode tuh drown. Dey say
yuh kin heah um moanin an groanin in duh creek ef yuh goes neah deah tuh-day.
"I bin seein ghos all muh life. One time a ghos try tuh skeah me an uh git mad
and den he leab me. Muh fus wife is dead, an muh second wife heah kin see uh com
e roun mos any time. She kin see any uh duh kin folks wut dead.
[p. 16]

"Ef I goes tuh duh cimiterry at twelve o'clock at night I kin see any one uh duh
dead folks standin at duh head bode uh deah grabe. Den dey settle down an disap
peah."
Mose Brown [*1] who lived near by told us, "I bin rid by witches an seed a thou
sandn mo ghos. I see um mos any time. Dey jis float long bout two feet frum duh
groun. Sometime dey come in a wirlwin.
"One day at duh rosin yahd deah come up a wirlwin. I see a big wite
show im tuh duh udduh men but dey dohn see im. I kin see im cuz uh
a double caul an foot foemos. Dat gib yuh duh powuh tuh see um. A
ah ebry night an peep in duh soouh obuh deah. He look in duh soouh,
cawnuh, an den disappeah. Any night I'm on dis stoop I kin see im.
"My gran use tuh tell me bout folks flyin back tuh Africa. A man
brung frum Africa. Wen dey fine out dey wuz slabes an got treat
s fret an fret. One day dey wuz standin wid some udduh slabes an
dey say, 'We gwine back tuh Africa. So goodie bye, goodie bye.'
ight out uh sight."

man in it. I
wuz bawn wid
ghos come he
walk tuh duh

an his wife wuz

so hahd, dey ji
all uh a sudden
Den dey flied r

"No, I nebuh see no ghos, but uh kin feel em," said another resident of the com
munity. This was Emma Monroe, [*2] an elderly woman who had formerly been a slav
e on a plantation known as Wilton Bluff Plantation. "Wen a ghos is roun muh haia
h rise up on muh head an sumpm tech me an uh feel strange all tru. It's duh same
wen witches is roun. Deah's plenty folks roun yuh duh witches ride. Dey kin gi
t in yuh house nebuh mine how yuh shut up.
"Duh ole folks use tuh tell us chillun duh story bout people
frica. I blieb um bout flyin. Some folks kin wuk roots too.
uh lay down sumpm tuh hahm yuh, an udduhs hab duh powuh tuh
ut down fuh yuh. I ain nebuh bin rooted yit, cuz I stay way

dat flied off tuh A

Dey hab duh powuh t
moob wut dey done p
frum sech people.

"One ting I do blieb in is signs. Ef yuh watch signs, dey alluz mean good aw bad
luck tuh yuh. Ef muh lef eye jump, I kin look fuh bad nooz, and ef muh right ey
e jump, I kin look fuh good nooz. Same ting wen yuh han itch. Yuh lef
[p. 17]
han mean yuh gwine tuh git a piece uh money; yuh right han say yuh gwine shake h
ans wid a strainjuh. Wen yuh foot itch, yuh gwine tuh walk on strange lan aw go
tuh duh grabeyahd. Dogs an chickens an buds all make signs dat mean sumpm. Ef so
mebody is comin, a roostuh come right up tuh duh doe an crow. Ef a dog sets up a
howlin, somebody in duh neighbuhhood gwine die. A screech owl screechin roun te
lls yuh somebody neah by gwine die."
Christine Nelson, [*1] a middle-aged Negro woman, admitted that she, too, believ
ed in witches and ghosts and that she knew there was a good deal of conjuring go
ing on in the neighborhood.
"Cunjuh is magic some folks is bawn wid," she explained. "It gibs um powuh obuh
tings udduh folks dohn unnuhstan. , Dey kin wuk dat powuh fuh good aw bad. Dey
kin put spells on yuh an lif duh spell some udduh root wukuh hab put on yuh. E
f a root wukuh break yuh spirit, he kin hanl yuh lak he want tuh. A witch is a c
unjuh man dat somebody paid tuh tawment yuh. I know uh folks dat wuz rid so much
by witches dat dey jis pine way an die."
The case of a man who had been conjured was described to us by James Moore. [*2]
"He jis mope roun--couldn git spirit nuff tuh wuk. Den all uh a sudden he swell
up an duh doctuhs couldn tell wut ail im. We tink he gonuh die. Den long come

a man we call Professuh. He say ef we kin git any money he kin lif duh spell.
We git some money tuhgedduh and he go out in duh stable an wen he come back he h
ab a lill black sack. He say dis hab duh cunjuh in it. , Den he bile up some m
ullen leaves and bathe muh frien in um. He tell us tuh keep on doin dis. In two
weeks duh swellin go down an he all right. Deah's root men wukin gense yuh all d
uh time. Dey kin lay tings down fuh yuh an ef yuh walk obuh dis, yuh fall unduh
duh spell. Less yuh kin fine somebody else wut kin wuk roots an kin lif duh spel
l, yuh is doomed.
"I kin see duh spirits uh people fo dey die. Duh spirit is most lak duh natchul
pusson but wen I see it I know dat duh pusson will soon die. Attuh a pusson die
, I see duh
[p. 18]
ghos an sometime dey is lak animals, and den agen lak people, jis floatin long
lak a piece uh papuh in duh win. Sometime dey hab no head aw feet an dey's allu
z dressed in wite.
"Witches done ride me plenty times. I spicioned who dey wuz but nebuh could ket
ch one. Dey alluz tun out tuh be somebody right in yuh neighbuhhood. Yuh kin kee
p em away by puttin sulphuh roun yuh house aw by placin a knife aw a Bible unduh
yuh pilluh.
"Deah's lots uh strange tings dat happen. I seen folks disappeah right fo muh ey
es. Jis go right out uh sight. Dey do say dat people brought frum Africa in slab
ery times could disappeah an fly right back tuh Africa. Frum duh tings I see mys
ef I blieb dat dey could do dis."
Ozie Cohen [*1] said that he too saw the spirits of people just before they were
about to die. He told us, "Not long ago a frien uh mine wuz sick. Duh night be
fo he die I see his spirit floatin long befo me in duh street. Duh nex day he pa
ss away. Eben aftuh some uh muh friens die, I see deah spirits nuff tuh know em.
"Hags worry me too. I see um slide in from noweah. I try tuh call out, den all a
t once I'm hepless an strugglin. Ef I membuh tuh put a Bible unduh muh pilluh,
dey dohn bodduh me.
"I hab heahd duh story bout folks flyin back tuh Africa. I tink it mus be true w
en I tink bout how witches kin come tru a keyhole tuhday.
"Yuh heah lots bout roots an fixin. Folks is alluz sayin somebody bin rooted mo
s anytime somebody git sick fuh a long spell. Den yuh heah dem sayin, duh sickne
ss ain feah. Dey bin rooted."
Down one long lane and up another we came upon the two or three-room dwelling of
the second mayor, George Boddison, [*2] built on the banks of the old rice cana
l. Boddison came out of his home to meet us. His wrists and arms were encircled
by copper wire strung with good luck charms; his fingers were covered with seve
ral large plain rings. A copper wire was bound around his head and attached to t
his wire
[p. 19]
were two broken bits of mirror which, lying flat against his temples with the re
flecting side out, flashed and glittered when he moved his head.
"Yes, Ise duh mayuh," he admitted. He was reluctant to talk of what he termed "m
ysterious tings uh duh elements." But after a few minutes' conversation, he told

us that he believed there was "sumpm" to certain beliefs and superstitions.

"I hab a deep suspicious mine dat way muhsef. I know deah is luck an unluck an s
ome people kin wuk it. it's a science in mos ebryting dey does. Dey kin swap yuh
frum good luck place tuh bad luck place."
"Has anyone tried to harm you?"
"Yes, dat dey hab." He smiled at this, and we saw that a brass ring had been ins
erted in his mouth in the place of a lower jaw tooth. "Some days I feel lak uh j
is caahn make it. It seem lak sumpm hab a holt on me an uh caahn wuk. Den I know
strong currents is directed tuh do me ebil. If dey res on me, uh would be sick,
maybe die. But deze dat I weahs," indicating the copper wire, the mirrors, and
the other charms, "keeps all deze tings frum huttn me. Duh ebil caahn dwell on m
e. It hab tuh pass on. , ,
"Many tings kin be done tuh cause people hahm aw make em disability," he went on
. "Dis is wut I hab confidence in. A pusson kin take sech as a cat aw dog aw a l
izud, sech creatures as libin. Dey kin kill dis animal an dey hab some way tuh c
ause its spirit tuh be ebil. Dis spirit moobs on currents tuh somebody duh pusso
n do not lak an is so powuhful dat it cause eben duh flesh tuh rot.
"So I weahs deze," he ended. "Long as I weahs em deah is nuttn kin do me reel ha
hm."
When we thanked him, he did not smile but only bowed his head. To the end of the
interview he kept his dignified and serious demeanor.
As we drove away, he stood there before his little house with the tall butterbea
n vine covered fence encircling it and the wild greenness of uncultivated fields
growing all around. The last glimpse we had was of the fragments of mirror boun
d to his head glittering in the sun.
Footnotes
^12:1 Nathaniel John Lewis, Tin City.
^13:1 W. de Laurence, "The Book of Magical Art, Hindu Magic and East Indian Occu
ltism." Chicago: The de Laurence Company, Twelfth Edition, Revised, 1914.
^15:1 Paul Singleton, Tin City.
^16:1 Mose Brown, Tin City.
^16:2 Emma Monroe, Tin City.
^17:1 Christine Nelson, Tin City.
^17:2 James Moore, Tin City.
^18:1 Ozie Cohen, Tin City.
^18:2 George Boddison, Tin City.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 21]

Yamacraw [*1]
Yamacraw takes its name from the little Indian town that Tomochichi, chief and f
riend of General Oglethorpe, established on the Savannah River bluff west of the
township of Savannah over two hundred years ago. Today waterfront industries ha
ve pushed the Negro district southward from the bluff, but it is still so close
to the river that some of the small shanties rattle when winds roar across the w
ater.
In this community the residents are drawn largely from coastal counties of Georg
ia and South Carolina. At one time an unruly element gained Yamacraw the reputat
ion of being the toughest section of Savannah, but the presence of an unusual nu
mber of churches of various denominations seems to have improved law and order i
n recent years. Intense religious interest is aided by pride felt in the fact th
at the first Negro Baptist church in America was established here and also that
Methodism gained an earlier start among Yamacraw Negroes than in any other part
of the county.
In spite of the difference in religious doctrines there seem to be certain commo
n beliefs handed down in families. We found an implicit and readily asserted fai
th in the power "tuh do unnatchul ting." Ghosts are everyday experiences. Root d
octors are in constant demand.
[p. 22]
Eighty-year old Martha Page, [*1] a small and. frail woman, remembers her Africa
n grandfather and the strange "talk he use tuh make wid two udduh slabes on duh
plantation."
"Wen dey git tuh gabbin, yuh couldn unnuhstan a wud dey say," Martha informed us
. "Muh gran sho hab funny name fuh call ting, too. He lub tuh hunt an fish an he
use tuh hab a lill piece uh wood wid a string on each en tuh kill squhrel an ha
wk wid. He call it he 'wah-hoo bahk.' Sometime he use tuh sing a song das staht
off like dis, 'Dody boda do dandy.' He say it mean, 'We come tuh make waw tuhday
."'
"Did your gran tell you about magic and conjure?" we asked.
"Dat he did. I sho wuz sked ub im wen he use tuh talk bout dem ting he people in
Africa could do. , , , Some ub em could make yuh disappeah, he say, an some
could fly all roun duh elements an make yuh do anyting dey wants yuh tuh do. We
n I growd up, I discobuh dat plenty uh duh tings gran tell me is sho nuff true."
"You've had personal experiences?" we queried hopefully.
"Me an muh sistuh bote. Witches use tuh ride uh regluh till it seem she gwine sw
ivel away an die. One day a man tell uh tuh tro salt on duh bed an no witch wou
ld bodduh uh. So dat ebenin muh sistuh sprinkle a heap uh salt on uh cubbuh. So
on attuh we git tuh bed, I seen a cat come right in duh doe an look me in duh e
ye. I try tuh holluh but uh couldn make a soun. Nex ting I know sistuh wuz poin
watuh in muh face.
"I dohn take tuh witches," said Martha Page. "I dohn mine ghos, cuz I caahn see
em as I wuzn bawn wid a caul. But I dohn want no mo sperience wid witches. Das
wy uh sprinkle salt down ebry night uh muh life."
The broom precaution against witches is also believed in among Yamacraw resident
s. Martha Major, [*2] aged sixty, related to us the time a witch had "worried" h
er. She was alone in a basement in an empty house, as the landlady was out of t
he city. No sooner had she gone to bed than she heard "sumpm comin down duh step

s."
"It jump on me," she declared, "an it choke me neah tuh
[p. 23]
det. But I knowd who it wuz. She come tuh see me duh bery nex day but she ain ne
buh been back sence, cuz I put a bruhm, by duh bed."
We noticed that as Martha Major had risen from her chair in excitement over her
story, she had exhibited a slight limp.
"Have you hurt your foot?" we asked.
"Oh, it mos well. Mos all duh wuhrums done crawl out now." ,
"Worms?"
At our astonishment she was instantly on guard.
"Muh foot all right," she said crossly, but her brown face was a mask of broodin
g. Finally she volunteered the information that she had been conjured the previo
us October, almost six months past.
"I dohn know who done it, but all ub a sudden muh leg begin
I call a regluh doctuh, but he didn seem tuh do no good; so
t tuh a root man. He gimme sumpm tuh take an sumpm tuh put
w days knots come out all obuh muh leg an wuhrums staht tuh
knot lef. I guess I soon be well."

tuh swell an swell.

tree weeks ago I wen
in muh bed. In a fe
crawl out. Only one

Out beyond Yamacraw, where the old brick and dirt streets of the community give
way to the broad, paved Augusta road, an old Negro named James Cooper has for ye
ars conducted a miscellaneous business in a ramshackle push cart. [*1] James sel
ls lunches to the workers at the Savannah Sugar Refinery; he also cobbles shoes
and repairs anything from broken pots to roller skates. Because of his skill as
a wood carver, particularly of walking sticks, he has become known in the vicini
ty as "Stick Daddy." A decidedly original technique is evident in his carving, b
ut he smiled when this was mentioned.
"I nevuh bin taught," he said. "I took up cahvin as paht time jis fuh the fun of
it. Muh granfathuh, Pharo Cooper, he used tuh make things frum wood an straw, s
ech as baskets an cheahs an tables an othuh things fuh the home. I guess I sawt
of inherited it frum, him."
One of "Stick Daddy's" canes is a slender, snake-encircled rod with a handle mad
e from a large black and white die.
[p. 24]
[paragraph continues] Another, slightly thicker, is carved with a single crocodi
le. The third, a heavy stick topped with a flashlight handle in which the snapsh
ot of a young Negro girl has been inserted, is artfully decorated with a turtle,
a large crocodile, and a small, sinuous snake. The chief characteristic of "Sti
ck Daddy's" work is the boldness with which the carved figures, dark-stained and
highly polished, stand out against their unfinished natural wood background. Ve
ry different is another stick that was found abandoned in an office building in
the city. This has a man's head for a handle but the stick proper is so covered
with minute, unpatterned crisscrosses that the little figure of a man upside dow
n, a horned head also upside down, and an undetermined object which may be eithe
r man or animal, are noticed only when the cane is carefully studied.

"Stick Daddy," besides being a general repair man and carver, knows a few "sho c
uos" for illnesses.
"I kin make a sho cuo fuh chills an fevuh. Yuh take some cawn fodduh an boil it
an make a tea. Yuh drink some an bathe in some an yuh'll git well soon. Fuh a co
ld yuh git some life-evuh-lastin and make a tea tuh drink, aw git some Jack-O."
We asked about roots.
"I dohn believe in them things," asserted "Stick Daddy." "I dohn believe in nuth
in like that. it's too dangerous. But I do believe in some signs. Yuh watch em a
nd yuh'll see that they dohn nevuh fail. If somebody borruh salt frum yuh, 'tis
not wise tuh accept it back; 'twill cause trouble. If yuh throw out stove an chi
mney cleanin aftuh sundown, 'tis sho death."
Fred Jones, [*1] a tall Negro of nearly eighty, with brown complexion and pierci
ng eyes, sternly forbade us to discuss conjure.
"Dohn yuh know," fearfully, "dat yuh might bring trouble on yuhsef? Das ting ain
nobody ought tuh mess wid."
"How do you know that?"
"Ain no mattuh how come I knows. I seen it. I seen pusson wid duh powuh tuh tun
hesef intuh any shape he got a mine tuh. Dey kin cause yuh plenty trouble an du
h only
[p. 25]
ting kin sabe yuh is tuh git tuh a root man on time." ,
Our surprise and interest drew him in spite of his fears to speak in a low voice
of several instances where he had seen conjure working.
"Deah wuz a man wid duh powuh. He draw a ring roun anudduh man an dat man could
n git out dat ring till duh root man come an wave tuh um. Den deah wuz a uhmun d
one up so bad by somebody dat ants wuz crawlin out tru uh skin. Wenebuh a pusso
n go crazy, wut is dat but conjuh?
"I dohn lak tuh talk bout muhsef, but I caahn nebuh fuhgit duh time I hab a dose
put on me by a uhmun uh didn lak. I wuz a good frien ub uh huzbun an she didn l
ak fuh us tuh go out tuhgedduh; so she tole me not tuh come tuh uh house no mo.
I ain pay no tention. Well, suh, duh nex night soon as uh laid down, uh feel muh
sef swoon. Ebry night it happen. Dis ting keep up till uh git sick. I couldn eat
an jis git tuh pinin way. Duh doctuh he caahn hep me none. Finally I went tuh
a root man. He say right off somebody done gib me a dose. He say 'I'll be roun
tuhnight. Git some money tuhgedduh cuz I caahn do yuh no good less yuh staht off
wid some silbuh.'
"Wen he come dat night an git duh silbuh,
a hole unduh duh doe step. Deah he fine a
h, 'Git gone, yuh debil.' Attuh dat I git
mun's house since. An I dohn lak tuh talk

he look all roun duh house an den dig

bottle. He tro it in duh fyuh an hollu
bettuh, but I ain nebuh bin tuh dat uh
about it."

Another octogenarian, Thomas Smith, [*1] told us that the same magic power that
Moses had used when he turned his rod to a snake before Pharaoh still exists tod
ay among Negroes.
"Dat happen in Africa duh Bible say. Ain dat show dat Africa wuz a Ian uh magic

powuh since duh beginnin uh histry? Well den, duh descendants ub Africans hab du
h same gif tuh do unnatchul ting. Ise heahd duh story uh duh flyin Africans an
I sho belieb it happen. I know doze wut could make a pot bile widout fyuh. Jis s
it it anyweah on duh flo aw in duh yahd an bile deah meals. Dey could make a buz
zud row a boat an hab a crow fuh pilot.
[p. 26]
"Long yeahs ago deah wuz; a cunjuh man wut could git uh out uh jail by magic. A
frien uh mine at Hilton Head git rested fuh stealin. He sen fuh duh cunjuh man
an duh man say, 'Dohn worry. Duh jedge gwine tun yuh loose.' Wen duh hour uh duh
trial come, duh cunjuh man tell me, 'See dat bud on duh cote house? I sen im up
deah. Deah wohn be no trial.' Sho nuff, wen duh case wuz call fuh, duh jedge gi
t tuh suchin roun tuhnin up ebryting tuh fine duh chahge gense muh frien. Attuh
wile he git disgusted an tell duh cote, 'Case dismissed. I caahn fine duh papuhs
.' Wen we git outside duh bud done fly away."
Thomas Smith's reference to flying Africans caused us to mention this story to C
arrie Hamilton, [*1] whom we next visited.
"I hab heah uh dem people," said this seventy year old woman, who has the tall,
heavy frame of a plantation hoe hand. "Muh mudduh use tuh tell me bout em wen we
set in duh city mahket sellin vegetubbles an fruit. She say dat deah wuz a man
an he wife an dey git fooled abode a slabe ship. Fus ting dey know dey wuz sole
tuh a plantuh on St. Helena. So one day wen all duh slabes wuz tuhgedduh, dis ma
n an he wife say, 'We gwine back home, goodie bye, goodie bye,' an jis like a bu
d they flew out uh sight.
"Muh mudduh use tuh tell me all kine uh ting cuz I wuz bawn wid a caul an wuz;
diffrunt frum duh res. Ebry now an den I see ghos. Dey hab all kine uh shape, so
metime no head, sometime no feet, jis floatin by. Dey is duh spirits uh duh dea
d, but ef yuh dohn meddle in deah business, dey ain gwine meddle in yoze."
Not only among these older Yamacraw Negroes but among younger residents we found
a solid background of ancestral beliefs and practices, for here little of moder
n progress has touched the dirt streets, pebbly walks, and tumble down houses of
another day.
Ellen Dorsey, [*2] forty years old, born in Savannah, gave us a detailed descrip
tion of the conjure her husband put on her.
"Me an him couldn git long so I lef im. He went tuh a
[p. 27]
root doctuh fuh him tuh make me come back home. Den duh root doctuh put me down
sick so duh wite people I wuz wukin fuh would dischahge me. I had pains runnin
up an down muh whole body, an I knowed I wuz cunjuhed but uh wouldn gib in. I c
all me in a man who use tuh try tuh sell me a han tuh wawd off cunjuh. , , He
rub muh legs down twice a day, an one mawnin a big black snake run outuh muh bi
g toe. 'Deah goes duh devil,' say duh root man, an frum den on I git bettuh. A
cousin uh mine git a dose once an wen duh root doctuh rub uh all ovuh wid a clea
h liquid, bugs begin crawlin out of uh skin. , Duh doctuh say if she had wait
one mo day it would uh bin too late."
"Did your husband ever try any more conjure on you?"
She laughed with great amusement. "He sho did. He went tuh duh same man dat cuo
me an give him thutty dolluhs tuh make me go back tuh him. One Sunday attuh chuc
h wen I ain had thought of evuh livin wid muh huzbun agen, I walked out duh chuc

h straight tuh muh huzbun's house. An dis happen," concluded Ellen, "widout duh
root man evuh seein me. I didn know nuthin bout it till long attuh we wuz reconc
ile."
Evans Brown [*1] is only fifty years old. To see him going daily about his dutie
s as janitor of the West Broad Street Negro School, no one would suspect unusual
powers at work beneath his good-natured exterior. Yet he not only said that he
believed absolutely in the supernatural but proudly asserted that he could work
magic himself.
"It come natchul tuh me, duh powuh tuh do suttn ting. Since I wuz lill I could s
ee ghos, sometime two feet off duh groun, sometime walkin. Wen muh haiah rise on
en an hot eah pass muh face, I tun roun an deah's alluz a ghos. Lots uh time it
's duh spirit ub a frien. Many wintuh mawnins wen I go tuh school early tuh make
fyuhs, uh heah doze open an shut an den uh see duh ghos dat do it.
"I didn know I hab powuh tuh do tings till muh mudduh wuz fixed. Yuh know, a man
kin fix a dose fuh a suttn pusson an only dat pusson will git caught. Fo women
wuz in duh house wid muh mudduh, but duh doe knob wuz dressed fuh
[p. 28]
huh. All dem women pass out befo she did, all tuhnin duh knob. But wen she come
out, a pain strik uh in duh side. We hab doctuhs but nuttn done no good. Uh whol
e side tun black an she die.
"Dat cause me tuh make a special study," Evans Brown quietly added, "an soon uh
realize uh wuz bawn wid duh powuh. I ain nebuh use it much, cuz I dohn lak tuh
bodduh wid dem ting. But I knowd a man name Doctuh Buzzud wut git yuh out ub any
trouble yuh wuz in. He would chahge yuh so much an tell yuh tuh hide duh money
in a suttn place. Duh money would disappeah an yuh trouble wid it.
"Duh poeleece rested a man right yuh in Yamacraw. Dey hab him by duh pants' wais
takin him tuh duh box tuh ring up fuh duh wagon. Wen duh poeleece git tru ringi
n an tun roun tuh look, dey holdin a ole gray mule an duh man done disappeah."
Footnotes
^21:1 Old Yamacraw has gone. Since late in 1939 there has been a radical physica
l change under the program of the Federal Housing Administration. Two thirds of
the tumble-down brick houses and wooden shanties in the once crowded area have b
een replaced by modern concrete buildings with low rentals for Negro tenants.
^22:1 Martha Page, 606 Zubly Street.
^22:2 Martha Major, 542 West York Street.
^23:1 James Cooper, Port Wentworth.
^24:1 Fred Jones, 607 West Congress Street.
^25:1 Thomas Smith, 37 Ann-Street.
^26:1 Carrie Hamilton, 530 West President Street.
^26:2 Ellen Dorsey, 515 West Congress Street.
^27:1 Evans Brown, West Broad Street School.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com

[p. 29]

Frogtown and Currytown

Within the western limits of Savannah are Frogtown and Currytown, through which
flows Musgrove Creek, narrow and sluggish, on its way from "Big Ogeechee" to the
red Savannah River. These are two poor communities, as can be seen from the pai
ntless little houses on dirt streets that often lack sidewalks. With the canal c
utting the center of the district, there is scant space for gardens; but in spit
e of this, there are small patches of earth green with collards and turnips, and
almost every "stoop" is decorated with a row of plants in tins of assorted dime
nsions.
During week days, with many persons away at work in other sections of the city,
it is mostly the old who are found at home. Grandmothers and grandfathers "mind"
the small children while the mothers work out.
One old woman, Anna Miller, [*1] had lived most of her youth on a Butler Island
plantation, where some of the older workers had occupied the same cabins given t
o them before emancipation.
"Sebral ub dem hans wuz bery ole people," said Anna Miller. "Dey speak a funny l
anguage an none ub duh res ub us couldn hahdly unuhstan a wud dey say. Dey hab s
pecial name fuh all kine uh ting, but duh only ting I kin membuh is dat dey call
a watuh bucket a 'juba haltuh'."
We found here, too, that in certain households certain foods are considered to b
ring bad luck.
[p. 30]
"I dohn eat peanuts," Millie McKen [*1] told us, "an I dohn let a soul in muh fa
mbly eat em."
"Can you tell us why?" we queried, but she only shook her head.
"All I know is dat dey's bad luck. I foun dat out, an I wohn leh one come in muh
house."
Handicraft objects in this section were more numerous than in many of the other
communities. We found a most unusual brush [*2] made from the palmetto. It was
about four inches in length and two inches wide; both bristles and back had been
made from a single piece of the rough fiber of the palmetto bark, spliced into
splinters on one surface to form the bristles.
The work of two wood carvers was brought to our attention. One of the carvers [*
3] made a specialty of small wooden figures. He showed us several full length hu
man figures, two or three busts mounted on square blocks of wood, and two oddly
shaped objects, each with mask-like features carved on one surface. When we rem
arked on the originality of his work and its symmetry of design, he said simply,
"I jis picked it up wen I wuzn wukin."
The other carver [*4] had made several nondescript figures, but we were chiefly
interested in two linked wooden chains. One of these, which had an attached box
with a ball enclosed, was similar to a chain previously shown us by another man
in the community. Each man had cut his chain with all its details from a single
block of wood. ,

In Frogtown and Currytown there is intense interest shown in witches, spirits, a

nd conjure. Personal experiences were related to us by several old residents, wh
o had come in contact with supernatural elements.
Old Henry Gamble [*5] told us that he has been accustomed to "seein tings" since
childhood. Particularly on rainy nights ghosts appear to him. He said, "Sometim
es dey float right at muh side. Ise use tuh um now an it's jis lak natchul peop
le
[p. 31]
tuh me. Yuh kin skeah witches an ghos ef yuh make a cross mahk. Dis will stop um
frum followin yuh."
Seventy-five year old Henry Bates [*1] readily acknowledged a belief in the supe
rnatural. "I done seen all kine ub strange ting happen in muh lifetime. Yuh wahn
me tuh tell yuh bout some uh dem ting, missus?
"One night I finished eatin dinnuh. Den I walk tuh duh kitchen doe. I see a stra
nge man comin down duh road; he wuz twenty yahds away. I tun muh head tuh look i
n duh house an wen uh look back he done disappeahed. I know he mustuh been a gho
s.
"Anudduh time I heah a knock on duh doe. I heah it tree times. Bam! Bam! Bam! We
n muh dog heah dat knock, he holluh lak he wuz sked tuh det. I git up an go tuh
duh doe an muh haiah riz up on muh head. Wen uh gits tuh duh doe, uh see sumpm a
s big as a cow, only it look lak a dog. Den it vanish lak a shadduh.
"One night muh wife an me git ready tuh go tuh bed. We fasten duh doe an winduh.
Attuh a time we heah a noise. Den we heah a click. Duh winduh come open jis lak
somebody open it. I strike a match an uh see a big yulluh cat walkin long side
duh bed. It hab a face jis lak a pusson. It go right out duh winduh.
"I fine out latuh dat duh cat wuz a witch. Witches is jis livin people wut bin
sole tuh duh debil. Lots uh nights I kin feel em ridin me. Jis duh udduh day I w
uz sittin in a cheah an I dozed off tuh sleep. All at once a hag jump on me an s
taht ridin me.
"Wen I wuz a boy I heah lots uh stories bout people flyin. Some folks brung obuh
frum Africa could fly off aw disappeah anytime dey wanted tuh. I alluz belieb d
at story. I know folks right now dat kin make duh spirits uh dead people come ba
ck.
"Wen I wuz jis growin up I knowd a boy dat hab a strange powuh. Eben ef he wuzn
wid duh udduh boys he could tell each one wut he bin doin. , One day attuh we
grown up he say dat he could bring back folks dat hab lef town an gone away.
[p. 32]
"Now deah wuz a uhmun whose huzbun hab lef uh. Dis uhmun wuz jis frettin uhsef t
uh det. Muh frien go tuh uh an say 'I will cause yuh huzbun tuh come back tuh yu
h. I will chahge yuh ten dolluhs. Yuh needn pay me till he come back but ef yuh
dohn pay me den, he wohn stay.'
"In a week's time duh uhmun's huzbun wuz back. He stay home till he die. Duh uhm
un pay muh frien in piece payments till she pay im duh ten dolluhs."
Living in a dirt lane on the fringe of Currytown is Chloe West [*1] who was born
at White Bluff and cannot remember her exact age. She told us that she frequent

ly sees ghosts and that a spirit warns her when anything out of the ordinary is
about to happen. ,
"One time I wuz; bodduhed by duh folks nex doe wut wuz tryin tuh cunjuh me. Some
body tell me tuh git some hot watuh an tro it wen I heah duh noise. Jis as I git
duh watuh hot, duh spirit ub a wite uhmun I use tuh wuk fuh peahed an tell me t
uh pray an duh witches would go way. Attuh she spoke, duh witches went out an ne
buh did bodduh me since. Duh witches wuz two men. One ub um went crazy an duh po
eleece foun duh udduh one out in duh woods. He died in duh po house.
"One night I heah a noise at muh winduh. A voice say, 'Chloe, dohn go neah duh w
induh.' I stop a minute, den uh go tuh duh winduh. Some kine uh powduh wuz trone
in muh face dat bline me. Den duh voice tell me tuh wash muh face quick in kar
isene. I do dat an duh blineness leab me.
"Anudduh time duh uhmun wut lib nex doe want me tuh moob an she git a cunjuh bag
an bury it unduh muh step.", Duh spirit wahn me agen an tell me a man would fin
e duh cunjuh fuh me. Duh nex day Doctuh Johnson, a root man, come by. He say su
mpm wuz laid down fuh me an he would take it up fuh fifty cent. I paid him duh m
oney. He come back dat night, dig unduh muh steps, an take out a bunl. It hab so
me dut an some haiah an sulphuh in it. Doctuh Johnson say it wuz grabe yahd dut
. Bin a long time since I bin bodduhed but uh sho belieb in all dem tings.
[p. 33]
"Duh fus time I ebuh see ghos wuz long yeahs back. Once wen I wuz young an recei
vin compny, deah wuz two men comin tuh see me. I lak one man duh bes an duh uddu
h man wuz jealous. Well, duh jealous man die. Aftuh dat many a time uh see a sha
dduh lak him come right up tuh muh doe an disappeah. One night be come, stretch
he ahm cross duh doe, an say jis as plain as anyting in a big loud voice, 'Is da
t udduh man still comin roun yuh?' I wuz sked stiff."
D. C. Kelsey, [*1] who has been blind for six years, told us that conjure had ca
used the loss of his sight.
"An I ain had duh money tuh git nobody tuh tun dis ting back on duh one dat put
it on me," he complained.
He looked pleased when a piece of money was placed in his hand. When we asked wh
y he blew on the coin, he smiled slowly. "Dat make mo luck. It'll hep me tuh git
mo. Yuh know, a root man, he wohn take money out yuh ban. He tell yuh tuh put i
t on duh table aw duh shef."
We encouraged him to continue on the subject of root men.
"Dey kin fix yuh wid mos anyting," Kelsey said. "Duh chinch bug is use a lot an
Ise sked ub em. I wouldn put muh han on dem ting fuh ten dolluhs. I hab a sistuh
name Ida Walker wut wuz fix wid candy. She ate duh candy an den uh ahm swell up
an tun blue. Yuh could see lill animals runnin up an down uh ahm. She got a roo
t doctuh name Sherman. Soons he look at it, he know wut it wuz. He come Toosday
an he gie uh a rub tuh use, and he say tuh rub down an he would come back Friday
. Wen he come, duh tings all done come intuh duh finguhs. He tuk a basin wid som
e wome watuh, an he put muh sistuh han in it. Den he ketch hol uh duh han an duh
tings run out in duh watuh. Dey wuz puppy dogs,
"He ax uh did she want em tuh go back weah dey come frum, an she say yes. So he
say he know duh man wut sen em, an he went tuh duh winduh an tro duh watuh wid d
uh puppy dogs in it in duh direction uh duh man house an say, 'Go.' One week lat
uh duh man wuz in he fiel ploughin an he

[p. 34]
drop duh. plough an fall down. Wen duh. people git tuh im, all he could say wuz,
'Dis is my wuk. Dis is my wuk.' He went plumb crazy an died, but muh sistuh got
well an fine. She lib neah Millen now."
Footnotes
^29:1 Anna Miller, 1018 Cuyler Street, Currytown.
^30:1 Millie McKen, 409 West Duffy Street, Currytown.
^30:2 Made by and property of Professor Redmond, Park Avenue and West Broad Stre
et, Currytown.
^30:3 Jerome Carter, 445 Jefferson Street, Frogtown.
^30:4 Preston Coleman, 532 Charles Street, Frogtown.
^30:5 Henry Gamble, 519 West Broad Street, Currytown.
^31:1 Henry Bates, 1118 West Waldbury Street, Currytown.
^32:1 Chloe West, 623 West Waldburg Lane.
^33:1 D. C. Kelsey, 521 West Gaston Street, Frogtown.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 35]

Springfield
Rows of faded gray houses, huddled close together and facing on narrow dirt lane
s, house the population of Springfield, a Negro community lying west of Savannah
near the city waterworks. In the neighborhood are several wooden churches of va
rious denominations, a well constructed modern brick school building, and a numb
er of stores that supply the six hundred odd Negroes of the community.
Many of the houses are shuttered, dim and quiet. So somber an atmosphere prevail
s that it is easy to imagine the spectral figures that the Negroes claim they se
e wandering at night along the twisting pathways. It is not surprising to be tol
d of the sinister powers which are constantly at work and against which many inh
abitants of this locality are always on guard.
A familiar figure
a fortune teller
wing steadily; ,
advice or perhaps

in the neighborhood is James Washington, [*1] famed locally as

and root doctor. It is said that Washington's patronage is gro
, each day new clients visit his dilapidated house, seeking
a cure for some puzzling ailment that has descended upon them.

The consulting room is smoky, airless, and reeking with a queer pungent odor. Th
e shades are drawn down tightly, and when a visitor is being given advice the do
or is shut securely against intrusion. The furniture is scant, consisting of a l
amp on a plain table, a couch for the visitor, and placed directly across the ro
om a wooden armchair in which sits
[p. 36]

the dealer in magic. The most remarkable object in the room is a "spirit picture
," showing the head of one of the creatures of the "shadduh worl." The eyes are
closed, the face bears a rapt, exalted expression, and the picture fades off int
o a dim mist of clouds.
Washington uses no cards or crystals. "I kin tell duh fewchuh jis by lookin at d
uh pusson," , he told us, "cuz I wuz bawn wid a double cawl wut wuz sabe fuh
me till I wuz grown. Duh spirit show me ebryting. Ain many people hab duh powuh
tuh see tings, but I got dis gif frum Gawd.
"I hab a deep knowledge uh magic. Deah's magic wut gahd yuh frum hahm an deah's
ebil magic wut kin put yuh down sick aw eben kill yuh. Wen yuh bin fix, yuh caa
hn git well wid regluh medicine. Yuh got tuh git a han gense duh fixin. Magic
roots hep a lots. Duh haiah is one uh duh mos powful tings yuh enemy kin git ho
le ub cuz it grow neah duh brain an a han made outuh haiah kin sho affec duh br
ain."
The credulous neighbors constantly seek Washington's aid, for there is much talk
of conjure among them. His recent acquittal on a charge of assault and robbery
was interpreted as evidence that he possessed the ability to "fix duh cote so de
y couldn nebuh sen im up."
We were told of a woman who had a spell cast upon her by her own sister. Wishin
g to verify our information, we decided to pay the unfortunate victim a visit.
The house stood at the dead end of a narrow street. A high wall separated it fro
m its neighbors and the barren ground encircling it was littered with refuse, ti
n cans, and large piles of rocks. A fierce looking dog prowled restlessly near t
he high arched gateway and bared his teeth at the intruders. At our request a ne
ighbor obligingly called over the fence to the sick woman, [*1] who a moment lat
er came limping towards us.
Her age was uncertain; she was gaunt and sickly in appearance. Her outfit consis
ted of a dull gray waist with a turban to match and a faded blue skirt. Large br
ass earrings dangled from her ears, making her lean face appear still more woebe
gone. Certainly there was something wrong with
[p. 37]
the woman, for she dragged listlessly with the effort of walking the short dista
nce from the house.
We inquired about her health but when we asked about the "cunjuh" which had been
put upon her, she looked at us distrustfully, saying, "Muh huzbun tell yuh bout
dat." With that she left us abruptly.
Soon the man [*1] appeared, a bent figure in ragged blue overalls, with a batter
ed felt hat on his grizzled head. Unlike his wife, Stephen Bryant was talkative
and friendly, and he told us readily of his wife's strange predicament. "She wuz
cunjuhed by uh own sistuh," he began. "Some days she all right an kin cook an c
lean up; den all at once tings git tuh runnin all obuh uh body. Sometimes she f
all down an hab tuh be put tuh bed."
We asked Stephen if he had consulted any root doctors about his wife's conditio
n and he said, "I hab monuh dozen root doctuhs tuh uh but dey dohn do uh no good
. I keep on tryin an maybe some day I fine duh right un tuh reach duh cunjuh."
In this instance retribution seemed to have come swiftly, for Stephen told us th
at the sister who had caused the conjure was now "laid up uhsef wid cunjuh, fuh
someone cas a spell on huh too."

When we asked Stephen if he believed in evil spirits, he nodded in affirmation.

"I sees um all duh time," he said. "Dey is lill an wite an hab no head. , Yuh
nebuh see um till attuh duh sun gone down. Yuh dohn bodduh um none an dey leab y
uh lone.
"Deah use tuh be a ole house right pas ours. Ebry night we would be woke up by a
loud bangin noise. Ef we look out duh winduh we could see dis spirit. He was al
luz wanduhin roun. Ebry now an den he would tro a rock at a ole gasoline tank an
it would make dat noise we heah. We alluz use tuh tink deah wuz buried treasur
e neah an dis spirit wuz gahdin it. I nebuh did look fuh duh treasure, I dohn w
ahn tuh fool wid no spirits. Attuh a time dey tuk down duh house an duh spirit n
ebuh did come back no mo."
Another victim of conjure, [*2] a Negro man of about
[p. 38]
eighty-eight, told us that although he did not usually believe superstitious tal
es, his own strange experience had forced him to realize that "folks kin fix yuh
." "One time I fall down sick frum a puhculeyuh disease. Nuttn didn do no good t
ill uh hab a root uhmun come in. Right away she tell me a enemy done put down a
dose fuh me. She say I wuz fined in fish. Well, den, she tell me tuh drink a ha
ffuh pint uh wiskey and tro way duh udduh res uh duh pint. Attuh uh done dis, uh
git well agen.
"I knows a case uh fixin right now. It's a young man wut dohn lib fah frum yuh.
He alluz complainin bout crickets crawlin unduh his skin an some uh duh neighbuh
s say dey see um. I blieb dis mus be so cuz deah's a uhmun roun yuh wut kin make
a han tuh put any kine uh insec in yuh body. She kill duh insec an grine it tu
h powduh an rub it on duh skin uh duh pusson aw gib it tuh um tuh drink. Wen it
entuh duh body, it tun back intuh insec, sometime a lizud aw a frawg aw a snake.
"
The old man continued, "Ise had plenty sperience bout root wuk, but I alluz try
tuh keep way frum dat kine uh folks. I membuh ole Doctuh Sheppard who use tuh o
ppurate yuh. He hab hunduds uh folks come tuh him day an night. He mustuh been b
ery good.
"Deah wuz a uhmun name Clara an she wuz good too. She use tuh ketch lots uh Doct
uh Sheppard's customuhs. I went tuh uh house once. She show me a box full uh pac
kages an she say dat ebry one wuz a han fuh diffrunt tings. -e I reach out tuh g
it hole ub em, but she stop me an say ef uh touch em, dey lose all duh powuh. Cl
ara and Doctuh Sheppard bote dead now.
"Ise heahd lots uh stories bout folks wut could fly. Some time back I wuz libin
in Woodville wen a man come tru deah. He wuz frum Liberty County. Dis man talk l
ot bout duh story uh duh Africans wut could fly. He say all dis wuz true. He say
he wuz takin awduhs fuh wings an dey wuz all yuh need tuh fly. A peah uh wings
coss twenty-five dolluhs. Duh man take yuh measure an a five dolluh deposit an s
ay he collec duh balance wen he delibuh duh wings. Lots uh people gib deah awduh
fuh wings, cuz; all deah libes dey been heahin bout folks wut could fly. Duh ma
n jis go roun
[p. 39]
takin awduhs an collectin five dolluhs. Das duh las any ub us ebuh heah uh duh m
an aw duh wings."
Clara Smith, [*1] a resident of this community, told us that she too remembered

the time when Dr. Sheppard and the woman called Clara, who it appeared was her a
unt, had operated a thriving business. "I didn unduhstan much wut dey did," she
said, "but dey wuz bote kep busy all uh dat time. Deah wuz alluz; a long line uh
folks waitin tuh see em.
"Dey say my Aunt Clara wuz bery good. She could wuk roots an gib good luck hans
an tell fawchuns, and fix yuh enemies.
"One time a man come an git muh aunt. He say somebody cunjuh his wife. She ack
queah an run away an stay fuh days at a time. My aunt go tuh duh house an dig al
l roun. She fine a sack filled wid sulphuh, an haiah, an matches, an grabeyahd
dut. Den she took in duh house an she fine mo sacks in duh mattress, in duh pil
luh, an in duh dressuh draws. Deze cunjuh sacks wuz wut causin duh woman tuh be
crazy. My aunt destroy duh sacks an gie duh woman a good luck ban tuh weah , ,
, so no udduh root wukuh could hahm uh. Attuh dis duh ebil spell went away an
duh woman wuz cuod."
One of the interesting characters of the section is Ellen Jones, [*2] better kno
wn as "Pipe Ellen" because of a very evident liking for tobacco. The old woman,
an ex-slave, claims to be almost one hundred and twenty-two years old and walks
almost daily from Springfield to Savannah. Winter and summer, her frail figure i
s snugly buttoned into a heavy top coat, so long that the hem trails on the grou
nd. On her white head she wears a dark wool skull cap.
"Pipe Ellen" told us that she firmly believed in conjure and in proof of this sh
e related the following instance: "Right yuh in Savannah a uhmun wut claim tuh b
e muh frien root-mahk me. I ain fraid tuh tell uh name, cuz she dead now. It wu
z Flossie Hopkins.
"She fix me wid tuhbaccuh. Yuh see she knowed I lub tuhbaccuh. She wuk a root on
me so strong dat she put a big snake in muh bed, an uh could feel tings moobin
all tru muh
[p. 40]
body. I could feel duh snake runnin all tru me. , Den I heah a noise an it kee
p on, so uh say tuh muhsef, 'A snake is in yuh.' I git up an set duh lamp in duh
middle uh duh room. Duh snake show up. I close all duh cracks roun duh house, s
o nuttn couldn git out.
"Nex ting I know dat uhmun wuz knockin at muh doe. Wen I let uh in, she grab dat
snake, tro it cross uh shoulduh an walk out.
"Ef uh hadduh kill dat snake, a man tole me, it sho would ub bin Flossie Hopkins
. He tole me tuh git a box uh Debil Lye. Denne dug unduh muh doe step an took a
bunle uh roots. Deah wuz red peppuh, an sulphuh, an salt, an some udduh kine uh
powduh. He sprinkle dis all roun duh place an say I need nebuh be fraid cuz dis
would kill any cunjuh put down fuh me."
During the course of an inter-view, which was held later with another woman [*1]
in the community, we again discussed the subject of conjure. This woman told us
, "Deah's plenty cunjuh in dis neighbuhhood. Deah wuz a man and his wife libed y
uh. Duh man couldn git wuk an he went away. Attuh he lef, duh wife wuz took sick
; dey say she wuz cunjuhed, an dey sen fuh duh huzbun. Wen he git home he git a
root doctuh tuh visit uh. Duh root man go tuh duh back step an dig a hole, an
deah he fine nails an sulphuh an haiah an some grabeyahd dut. In duh pilluhs an
mattresses an in duh dressuh draws, dey fine duh same ting. Dem tings run uh cra
zy. She ack queah an run away an stay fuh days at a time. Duh root doctuh moob d
uh cunjuh an she wuz cuod. He gie uh duh powuh tuh disappeah an appeah any time
she want tuh. I heah bout lots uh folks wut kin disappeah lak dat. Duh ole folks

use tuh tell bout duh people wut could take wing an fly right back tuh Africa.
"I alluz know deah wuz witches an ghos. Attuh I gits married muh huzbun tell me
dat he sees ghos. He describe duh ghos tuh me. It wuzn long fo I wuz seein duh
ghos too. Sometime he would say tuh me, 'Deah go a spirit. It jis floatin long,
ain got no head.' Sho nuff, deah I would see a shadduh floatin by me.
"Sometime muh huzbun see duh spirit uh some frien ub
[p. 41]
ours. Dat wuz a sho sign sumpm gwine happen tuh dat pusson, eeduh sickness aw de
t. One day he see a ghos ub a close frien uh his. Duh nex. day he git a tiligram
wut say duh frien wuz dead.
"I knowd folks dat wuz witches; dey nebuh bodduhed me but jis picked on muh huzb
un. Ain a night hahdly pass wen dey ain ride im. Deah wuz a uhmun libed on duh
same street we did. We use tuh call uh An Sally, duh cunjuh uhmun. She could tel
l fawchuns an gib hans , an fix yuh enemies fuh yuh. She ain seem tuh like muh
huzbun. Ef she pass our house durin duh day, dat night she come an ride im. Di
s went on till he staht pinin away. He git disagreeable roun duh home an denne w
ent away. He ain nebuh come back. I tink somebody git uh tuh fix im. Dat sho co
nvince me uh duh powuh uh cunjuh."
The spirits of the dead are believed to return and visit their former neighbors,
sometimes as frequently as in life. Their presence is not always regarded with
dread but is often looked upon as a natural incident. One woman made the follow
ing statement: "I know deah's ghos, fuh I kin see um. Ef any uh muh friens die,
I kin see um mos anytime. Dey peah jis as natchul as wen dey wuz libe."
On the fringe of the community was a small store at which we stopped for a few m
inutes. The proprietress, a robust, good-natured Negro woman of middle age, talk
ed with us amiably and verified the numerous reports regarding superstitions tha
t her neighbors had already confided in us. In parting we inquired if she though
t the people's faith in the supernatural was weakening. The woman regarded us wi
th a wide smile. Shaking her head she declared emphatically, "No, ma'am, dey sho
ain losin no faith in magic an sech tings. All deah libes dey heah bout um frum
duh ole folks. Seem lak tuh me dey beliebin in um mo an mo all duh time."
Footnotes
^35:1 James Washington, Springfield.
^36:1 Ryna Bryant, Springfield.
^37:1 Stephen Bryant, Springfield.
^37:2 Charles Singleton, Springfield.
^39:1 Clara Smith, 1139 East Duffy Street.
^39:2 Ellen Jones, rear 1304 Stiles Avenue.
^40:1 Dorothy Johnson, 1201 Murphy Avenue.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 43]

Brownville
Brownville, more prosperous of aspect than the Negro communities usually fringin
g business and industry, spreads westward along the edge of Savannah. Though on
its Currytown boundary it, too, contains the inevitable shacks in lanes, several
of its streets, paved and tree shaded, are lined with good frame and brick hous
es which are occupied by the more well-to-do Negroes, among them teachers, docto
rs, lawyers, and business men. A substantial school building and the Charity Hos
pital speak of advanced social consciousness.
On Bismark Street is found the House of Prayer, one of the many churches establi
shed throughout the country by Bishop Grace. Here several times each year the le
ader visits his congregation, and the day on which "Daddy Grace" [*1] returns t
o his flock is always a gala occasion. Regular members and visitors from outlyin
g districts crowd the heavy lumber benches of the House of Prayer. The air is te
nse with excitement. Above the confusion can be heard the strident but rhythmic
beat of drums. Bright splashes of color are given by the crepe paper decoration
s and the vividly contrasting military costumes of members of the church organiz
ations, among which are the Lilies of the Valley, the Queens, the Royal Guards,
the Silver Leaf Band, the Transportation Committee, Male Ushers No. 1, Male Ushe
rs No. 2, and the Sons and Daughters of the Prophet. Others in the
[p. 44]
congregation don their newest and most colorful garments.
Preparation has been made for all emergencies. In attendance are burly guards wh
ose duty it is to see that nothing occurs to disturb the smooth performance of t
he ceremonies. The floor has been thickly sprinkled with sawdust and the stout p
osts at the front of the church are padded to prevent injury to overzealous wors
hipers.
At the sudden sharp sound of a whistle all activity ceases; there is silence in
the church. The Armor Bearers leave the building to escort the Bishop to his sea
t of honor. Soon they return, followed by the Queen who is arrayed in a pate gre
en satin evening dress over which is worn a black velvet cape lined with scarlet
. A double line of uniformed guards follows, and marching proudly between the li
nes is the Bishop. According to his own statement, the Holy Prophet, as his foll
owers call him, is of Portuguese birth. His long dark hair which falls to his sh
oulders, his piercing eyes, his pointed beard, and sideburns all combine to give
him a distinguished and unusual appearance. [*1]
The procession continues to the front of the church, where, with much ceremony,
the Bishop seats himself upon a lofty throne set far back on the spacious platfo
rm. The Queen stands at the Bishop's right, facing the congregation. The music b
lares forth with renewed intensity and the entire
[p. 45]
multitude, led by the uniformed guard, passes in single file before the throne.
As members approach the Bishop, they pledge themselves to him by removing their
hats and bowing low. In the midst of all this commotion "Daddy" sits, a remote,
detached figure, his downcast eyes seemingly indicating that he is scarcely awar
e of this carefully planned reception.
Between the musical numbers several of the congregation rise and loudly testify
to the miracles that Bishop Grace has performed in their behalf. A flourishing
sale is conducted in consecrated handkerchiefs and copies of a newspaper publish
ed by the cult. These are believed to possess unusual healing powers. , A ready

market is also found for large pictures of the Bishop, for it is said that to c
hew up his likeness will cure many kinds of illness.
The grand march is spectacular. All those present assemble in the large center a
isle. The band strikes up a lively measure and the procession starts. At the fro
nt of the church the line of march divides, half the people going down one side
aisle, the other half going down the opposite one. At first the procession is or
derly and fairly quiet, but as time passes, the music becomes increasingly loud.
Above the brass instruments the steady throb of the drum can be heard. Voices a
re raised in accompaniment, feet stamp, shoulders sway, and hands clap.
Around and around the procession winds. The singing and dancing become wilder an
d more abandoned. Many now close their eyes, dancing blindly and stumbling into
those near them and into the benches and posts. By this time the music is almost
deafening and the noise made by the worshipers is equally loud. The muscles of
their bodies twitching convulsively, they continue in their dance.
Occasionally one of the participants stops, and, regardless of the hindrance to
the rest of the worshipers, jumps up and down wildly, crying out in a shrill, hy
sterical voice. At length, exhausted, he sinks to the floor and is dragged by fr
iends from under the whirling feet of the others.
One woman, seized by such a paroxysm, falls to her knees, screaming incoherently
. Exhausted by her violent emotion, she lies on the rough board floor, her jaws
hanging open
[p. 46]
loosely, her eyes closed. Slowly, she raises her hands and beats them together m
uttering, "Praise Daddy. Praise Daddy Grace."
The pulsating rhythm of the instruments increases in tempo. A man leaps high int
o the air, gesticulating and babbling; faster and faster he whirls, until he too
falls from utter exhaustion. Still the wild display continues. The terrific ner
vous strain is taking its toll, and now all but a few of the dancers stumble wea
rily. The steady, insistent sound of the drum urges them on; feet still shuffle,
hands beat out the rhythm, and voices chant an incoherent incantation.
Abruptly the band ceases and members straggle back to their places. Those who ha
ve fallen out from exhaustion are dragged to the benches by their friends.
The service continues. During the evening many collections are taken up. Two of
the deacons, acting on behalf of the Bishop, urge the people to contribute freel
y. Their methods of approach present a strong contrast. One, stout, dark-skinned
, and clad in a pearl gray suit, has a gentle and persuasive manner. He says sof
tly to the congregation, "Precious Haht, hep us tuh raise fawty bucks fuh Daddy
Grace right quick. Wile duh Prophet sits on duh throne befo us, let us all contr
ibute freely tuh him."
The
of
the
ody
ile

other deacon, short and wiry, darts about among the congregation. His manner
speaking is quick, and he barks his orders to first one and then another of
church members. "Step right up now," he advises. "Dohn hole back on us. Anyb
else now, come right up an contribute. Ebrybody gib at leas one nickel now w
we still hab duh privilege uh gibin tuh Daddy. Step up, ebrybody."

Until this point Bishop Grace, apparently indifferent, has had no active part in
the ceremony, but he now steps forward. There is a sudden hush.
"Daddy" becomes an intimate, vivid part of the group. Coming down among the cong
regation, he addresses his talk now to one individual, now to another, dropping

frequently into the southern Negro dialect. The theme of his address is, "Whatso
ever a man soweth, that also shall he reap." The main issue, however, is often s
idetracked, and the speaker comments in turn upon world politics, the war, anecd
otes of
[p. 47]
his own trips abroad, his persecution by enemies, all of whom "the Lord struck d
own dead," and the general condition of the local community. The entire discours
e is interspersed with humorous sayings that find a delighted response. "Daddy"
advises his followers strongly against trusting anyone. "If the angel from Heave
n comes down an wants an extra pair of wings, don't trust him," he warns. "Tell
him you ain't got no time to keep books today. He have to pay cash." Near the co
nclusion of his talk the Bishop says that be can accomplish anything he chooses,
even to sinking ships, destroying fleets of planes, or conquering entire nation
s. He is not the actual power, he says, but he is so close to it that he has onl
y to reach out his hand and pull the switch.
After every sentence or two that "Daddy" utters his listeners echo his statement
s with such remarks as "Ain't it so, Daddy," "Dat is duh trute," "Yes Daddy," "Y
ou tell em, Daddy," "Hallelujah," "Amen." These utterances, do not always agree
with what the speaker has just said but nevertheless are meant to express thorou
gh approbation. At one time "Daddy" tosses to a woman in the congregation a rose
he has used in illustrating a point in his sermon. This unexpected honor overco
mes the recipient to such an extent that she is seized with violent convulsions.
Noticing that the hour is growing late, the Bishop abruptly ends his talk. There
follows a prayer, led by one of the deacons and chanted rather than spoken. At
the end of each line the man's voice catches on a high sob verging on hysteria,
and those in the congregation murmur an almost inaudible echo of the speaker's p
lea. The other deacons join in the recital and in the wild sobbing. At the concl
usion of the prayer a high pitch of excitement is reached.
It is now time for the Bishop to take leave of his flock. Slowly, reverently, hi
s attendants bring him his top coat and high Stetson hat. From his pocket "Daddy
" draws out a large white handkerchief which he waves slowly in accompaniment to
the closing hymn, a corrupt version of Nearer My God To Thee. The worshipers, t
oo, wave their handkerchiefs in solemn tribute to their departing leader.
Shortly after a visit from the Bishop we pursued our course
[p. 48]
of research in Brownville. We found a number of people who had been named for we
ek days or the month in which they had been born. Thursday Jones, [*1] when ques
tioned about this particular custom, replied, "Dey name me dat way jis cuz uh ha
ppen tuh be bawn on Tursday, I guess. Sech tings seem tuh be in our fambly. I ha
b an uncle whose name is Monday Collins. It seem tuh come duh fus ting tuh folks
' mine tuh name duh babies fuh duh day dey is bawn on."
Another man [*2] told us, "We hab membuhs in our fambly name Monday, Friday, Jul
y an Augus. Dey jis didn tink ub any name tuh call em but duh day dey wuz bawn.
Deah wuz two brudduhs call July an Augus an deah two sons wuz name aftuh um. So
me uh deze names go all duh way back tuh slabery time. Duh chillun jis name aftu
h duh kin."
"Ise quainted wid two ole men, one call Uncle Friday, duh othuh Uncle July," was
the statement of a third Brownville resident. [*3] "One wuz bawn on Good Friday
an duh othuh on duh Foth uh July."

We learned that certain foods are viewed with suspicion and are never eaten or a
llowed to be brought into the house. The exact reason why these foods are forbi
dden was not explained to us. One woman said, "One ting I do lak is peanuts, but
I dohn eat um. An I dohn let nobody else eat um in muh house. I dohn know jis w
y, but it bring bad luck all duh week." [*4]
The palmetto tree, Robert McNichols [*5] told us, supplies an edible substance i
n the form of palmetto cabbage taken from the center of the tree, about a foot b
elow the top. This is the terminal bud of the tree, white in color, tender, and
resembling the ordinary northern cabbage. It may be eaten cooked or uncooked.
From the same tree a wine is made. We learned two different recipes for the prep
aration of this beverage. The wine is sometimes made from the cabbage, which whe
n first cut contains a white sap. The chopped cabbage is put in a container
[p. 49]
where it is allowed to ferment, after which it is strained and sugar added. [*1]
The wine may also be made from the dark blue palmetto berries. These are place
d in a container until fermentation occurs after which the juice is extracted an
d sweetened. The wine is a clear dark brown and is said to have an excellent fla
vor. Incidentally, the palmetto tree serves a variety of other purposes. Palmett
o fibre is used in making baskets, rugs, bottle holders, and numerous other obje
cts.
Many of the Brownville residents are skilled in palmetto weaving and also in woo
dcarving. Walking sticks were brought to our attention. One had a lizard carved
on its handle, [*2] while the likeness of a snake twisted its body realistically
about the length of the stick. , -h On a similar stick of dull, yellowish wood
the tense, erect head of the large reptile which wrapped itself about the cane
formed the handle. In the gaping mouth was held a ball. Even the smallest detai
l had been delicately and artistically executed. We could learn little of the hi
story of the stick except that it had been carved many years ago by an old Negro
who had given it to the present owner and soon afterward moved away from the se
ction. [*3] The snake decorating a third cane had eyes of rhinestones which gl
eamed and flashed as the stick was moved about. [*4]
Crude hand-carved wooden table utensils were in use in several households. -h We
were shown a fork with only two prongs set wide apart on the far sides of the b
ase. One of the Spoons was about the size of an average tablespoon, but with a b
owl of considerably greater depth. [*5]
One Negro showed much ingenuity in the carving of a linked chain [*6] with a box
-like object attached. inside the box was a small wooden ball. This entire contr
aption had been made from one solid piece of wood. -h Another man employed his s
pare time in the carving of small wooden
[p. 50]
dolls, jointed and so designed that they could stand alone. -i [*1]
An old Negro living in very poor circumstances owned a number of interesting obj
ects. [*2] These he said he had inherited from a grandfather who had come to thi
s country from Santo Domingo, West Indies. Among the objects were old coins, a p
istol, and a pocketbook made of shells clamped together with metal bands. The mo
st significant item, however, was a carved stone fig. The grainy texture and the
slight splits in the skin had been executed with great skill. The fig had been
carried as a charm by the old man's ancestor, but where this forebear had obtain
ed it we were unable to learn. , ,

On the Ogeechee Road not far from Brownville we came in contact with a Negro [*3
] whose favorite pastime was carving. He showed us the figure of a man, about t
wenty-seven inches high, with heavy shoulders and torso overbalancing the lower
part of the figure. The head was large and square, the eyes were painted on roug
hly, and the nose and mouth were attached pieces of wood. A wooden crane and oth
er birds carved by the same man bore a crude, primitive stamp. , ,
Near by on the Ogeechee Road we found Tony William Delegal, [*4] an old man, wel
l over one hundred years old, who was formerly a slave of Major John Thomas, Har
ris Neck, plantation owner. His dark eyes are filmed, his once powerful shoulder
s are bent, but Uncle Tony can still recall incidents which took place during hi
s childhood on the plantation. Sitting on the front porch of his daughter's hous
e, he sang an African song to us. Unfortunately he did not know the English tran
slation. The old man sang the song over and over and we were finally able to tak
e down the following:
Wa kum kum munin
Kum baba yano
Lai lai tambe
Ashi boong a nomo [p. 51]
Shi wali go
Ashi quank.
Kum baba yano
Lai lai tambe
Ashi lai lai lai
Shi wali go
Dhun.
In the heart of the thriving Brownville community live fortune
tellers, root doctors, and vendors of magic charms who conduct flourishing busin
esses. , , There is a ready market for their wares which are used for the var
ious activities of daily living. Numerous perplexities pertaining to. matters of
business, luck, and love affairs are thought to be solved by the mere possessio
n of certain charms.
Mattie Sampson, [*1] a robust young Negro woman, told us that she does an active
mail order business as representative of the Lucky Heart Company, the Sweet Geo
rgia Brown Company, and the Curio Products Company. She supports herself comfort
ably by means of selling her credulous neighbors good luck perfumes, roots, lode
stones, and similar charms. "Duh chahms an good luck puhfumes an powduhs do deah
wuk independent of any additional hep," Mattie said. "Ef anybody believe a puti
culuh chahm is wut dey need, well, dat chahm will do duh wuk."
"Mos of muh customuhs depen on special chahms tuh bring em good luck," the young
woman continued. "Dey nevuh puhmit deah supply tuh give out but awduh it ovuh a
n ovuh. I have sevral bes selluhs. One is duh Mystic Mojo Love Sachet. Dis is so
metimes call Quick Love Powduh an is guaranteed tuh make yuh populuh, successful
, an happy. Yuh use it tuh attrac a pusson an tuh make dat pusson admyuh an love
yuh. A lill uh dis powduh is wone in a bag aroun duh neck aw rubbed on duh body
. But ef yuh prefuh, yuh kin sprinkle it in duh dressuh draw aw in duh bottom uh
duh shoes.
"Mystic Mojo Incense is anudduh one uh muh bes selluhs. On duh box it says dis i
s duh same incense used by duh Hindus an Arabs an Tuks, an also duh Egyptians, a
n Chinese.
[p. 52]
[paragraph continues] In every box is five diffunt culluhs, each one fuh a diffu

nt puhpose." From a box which Mattie had on hand we took down the directions: "W
ork the magic spell now. Just hold Mystic Mojo in hand and light match to tip. P
erfumed with rare fragrance and exotic sandalwood, myrrh and incense. Price 25C.
Sweet and strong."
Mattie also constantly reorders a product known as Magnetic Lodestone in Holy Oi
l. "Dis is used," she explained, "tuh drive away evil spirits an bad luck an tuh
bring yuh luck in love, an business, an gamblin games. Den deah's Five Finguh G
rass. A lot uh duh people heah are sked of witches an spirits visitin em at nigh
t. Dey hang Five Finguh Grass ovuh deah bed aw doeway tuh protec duh whole house
." Some of em use Black Cat Incense an Powduh."
A few blocks from Mattie Sampson lives William Edwards [*1] who follows the dive
rse trades of root doctor, piano tuner, and watchman at a filling station. For
a while the old man stubbornly insisted that, although he had been a popular roo
t doctor in his younger days, he had not treated a patient in years. After a goo
d deal of casual friendly conversation, he at length admitted that he was at pre
sent doctoring a man who had malaria. He also admitted that he was treating a co
usin for an ailment and said that by the use of roots he had recently cured anot
her patient of kidney trouble.
"Muh roots kin cuo mos any pains," he said earnestly. "I wuks on dogs too. I kin
cuo a mad dog in lessn a day ef dey git tuh me in time. I make muh medicine fru
m King Physics. It grows on duh salts an is bery plentiful neah Montgomery, but
yuh hab tuh know how tuh fine it.
"Duh spiduh is bote good and ebil an is useful tuh man. I make a medicine out uh
duh spiduh by stooin eel skin in lahd wid it. Wen dis is done, I hab a saave d
at will stop any kine uh pain. On duh iluns, specialty St. Catherine, duh spiduh
is hel in high regahd by some uh duh people.
"I make muh medicine out uh King Physic root, an Indian Ash, an Tukish Wine. Wen
I wuz a boy I lun many tings frum duh ole people bout herbs dat wuz good fuh di
ffunt ailments. Deah wuzn so many doctuhs in dem days. We hab
[p. 53]
tuh fine remedies fuh our sickness an know how tuh cuo snake bite aw cuts an boi
ls, eben female complaints. So I lun wut herbs tuh use fuh deze ailments too.
"I kin cuo any rattlesnake bite in twenty-fo hours. Duh remedy is King Physic, t
uhpentine, an wiskey. Attuh duh pizen is kill, gib em plenty sweet milk an ebryt
ing will be all right in twenty-fo hours.
"Duh spiduh web is good fuh stoppin duh blood wen anybody git cut. I make a saav
e by stooin physic vine leaves an talluh an spiduh tuhgedduh. Dis saave will rel
ieve any bruise aw ole so. It draw all duh pizen out uh duh so. ,
"Tuh keep ghos away, missus, yuh hab tuh go in duh woods an fine a tree dat wuz
strik by lightin, an git some uh duh bahk an put some unduh duh doe step an carr
y a piece in yuh pocket. No ghos would ebuh bodduh yuh agen. I done dat an ain b
een bodduh since. Now all yuh hab tuh do tuh keep witches frum ridin yuh is keep
a Bible unduh yuh pilluh at night."
Another root doctor [*1] in the section told us that he had been born with a spe
cial knowledge of healing and had studied the science of herbs from the time he
was a small boy. Some of the herbs he uses in his mixtures are Golden Seal, Yel
low Dust, Golden Thread, Hippo Root, Pink Root, Lady Slipper, Yellow Root, Blood
Root, Rattlesnake Master, Black Snake Root, and John the Conqueror.

"I know in a dream," he said, "jis wen a patient is comin to consult me an I kno
w head uh time zackly wut kine uh herbs tuh gadduh in awduh tuh cuo im."
He had been born with this power to foretell the future, he asserted. , "Outsi
de uh dreams," he went on, "I kin use leaves an coffee grouns an a suttn kine uh
seed known as duh sensitive aw jumpin seed. Yuh fine deze seeds at suttn times
long duh sho uh duh Wes Indies. Yuh hab tuh keep duh seeds in a closed containuh
aw dey will jis disappeah. Tuh tell fawchuns yuh spread duh seeds out fo yuh on
duh groun an dey'll moob bout. Dey moob cawdn tuh wut yuh tinkin. Tellin fawchu
ns is jis a mattuh uh concentratin yuh imagination on suttn tings. Den ebryting
will appeah to Yuh." -d
[p. 54]
Conjure is being practiced all the time, the root doctor informed us. "Frawgs an
lizuds an sech tings is injected intuh people's bodies an duh people den fall i
ll an sometime die. , Udduh strange tings is happenin, too. Take duh story uh d
em people wut fly back tuh Africa. Das all true. Yuh jis hab tuh possess magic k
nowledge tuh be able tuh cumplish dis. Not long ago I see a man vanish intuh ti
n eah by snappin his finguhs. Hab yuh heahd uh duh man wut wuz put in prison in
Springfield? He jis flied away frum duh jail an wuz nebuh caught agen. , Yes,
ma'am, I know wut yuh hab tuh hab in awduh tuh fly aw vanish away, but it is mig
hty hahd tuh git. It's duh bone ub a black cat."
A woman [*1] informant, too, had heard about flying Africans and persons who cou
ld disappear at will. She said also that she had often been ridden by witches.
"Dey seem tuh come frum. noweah an staht chokin yuh. Witches an root men hab du
h same magic powuh."
Relative to the custom of placing food and possessions on a new grave this woman
spoke earnestly. "Dis wuz a common ting wen I wuz young. Dey use tuh put duh ti
ngs a pusson use las on duh grabe. Dis wuz suppose tuh satisfy duh spirit an ke
ep it frum followin yuh back tuh duh house, I knowd a uhmun at Burroughs wut use
tuh carry food tuh uh daughtuh grabe ebry day. She would take a basket uh cook
ed food, cake, pies, an wine. Den she would carry dishes too an set out a regluh
dinnuh fuh duh daughtuh an uhsef. She say duh daughtuh's spirit meet uh deah an
dey dine tuhgedduh."
Another woman [*2] told us that on holidays she carried food to her
ave and left it there for the spirit to come and get. "I carry duh
we use tuh hab tuh eat on duh days be wuz off frum wuk," she said.
ed chicken an cake an pie an cigahs--he like tuh smoke attuh eatin.
cuz I know he will be lookin fuh me tuh bring it.

husband's gr
kine uh food
"I take cook
, I do dis

"Ebuh since I kin membuh I hab heahd bout spirits wanduhin roun at night," she
continued. "Muh mothuh nebuh
[p. 55]
would let us go tuh bed at night widout leabin plenty uh watuh in duh pails fuh
duh spirits tuh drink wile yuh sleep. Ef yuh dohn leab no watuh dey wohn leh yuh
res good. I tink das wy hags ride some folks, cuz dey dohn leab no watuh. I bl
ieb witches is people dat's sole deah soul tuh duh debil. Dey hab duh powuh tuh
change frum deah own shape tuh anyting dey wants tuh be, so dey kin tawment udd
uh folks. Wen a ghos is roun I kin feel duh hot eah."
We found that belief in supernatural beings such as witches and ghosts was wides
pread throughout the community.
"Witches is lak folks," one woman said. [*1] "Dey done sell demsefs tuh duh debi

l an he make em do anyting he wants tuh. Some git a grudge gense yuh an stahts t
uh ride yuh. No mattuh wut yuh do, dey kin git in yuh house. Sometime dey come
lak a mouse, sometime a rabbit, an sometime eben a roach. I membuh heahin bout
a witch wut come ebry night lak a rabbit an rode a woman. A man wut knowd duh wo
man laid a trap fuh duh witch. Duh witch scape frum duh house, but duh dogs trac
k uh down. Wen she see she wuz caught, she beg duh man not tuh do nuttn tuh uh a
n she wouldn nebuh do no mo witchin."
A Negro preacher [*2] in a near by section said that he had been in the habit of
seeing ghosts all his life. , "Once wuz jis aftuh muh fathuh died. I saw him a
ll dressed up an weahin a Stetson hat. I called muh mothuh an said, 'Mothuh, hea
h come Papa.' Wen I tun roun, he wuz gone.
"Aftuh I marry I moob out by duh watuh wuks. A frien uh mine name Arthur Perry d
ie. Some time latuh anothuh frien die. One night I wuz lyin down wen I heah a no
ise. I look up an deah wuz two men all dressed up in wite, walkin cross dat room
. As I watch em dey begin tuh shrink till dey wuzn no bigguhn dawls. Den dey dis
appeah. I see ghos mos any time, so Ise used to it now."
That he was frequently visited by both witches and ghosts was the assertion of a
nother man. [*3] "Duh witches come in an strangle me," he said, "but duh ghos y
uh jis see, an no
[p. 56]
hahm come frum um. Jis las night attuh I gone tuh bed a ghos come in muh house.
I hab tuh git up an run im out. Sometime dey pull duh cubbuh right off muh bed.
"
The same man said considerable conjuring was being practiced in the neighborhood
, but that he kept a careful distance from people who were believed to be able t
o "do tings tuh yuh."
"Yuh see," he volunteered, "I hab muh leg fix once. Dat wuz back in 1893. Fus mu
h foot swell up, den muh leg. It wuz so bad I couldn walk. A man tole me tuh go
tuh Doctuh Buzzud, a root doctuh. Doctuh Buzzud gimme some root medicine an in
no time I wuz all right."
A more recent case of attempted conjure was told us by the woman [*1] who had be
en the intended victim. We found her living in new quarters where she had hurri
edly moved to escape the evil influences directed towards her by the downstairs
tenants in her former residence. Stout and middle-aged, she had not yet recovere
d from her fright at the time she was interviewed. As she talked, her dark eyes
rolled wildly and her manner betrayed signs of extreme agitation.
"Dem folks wuz detuhmined tuh git muh spirit. Ef dey do dat, den I go crazy an n
obody could hep me. Dey hab a' dog trained wut would git unduh muh winduh an bah
k twice tuh git me tuh look out. Ise on tuh em an uh stay shut in muh ruhm. Den
dey would blow a automobile hawn twice. Sometime dey would beat on a sycamo tree
in front uh duh house an call muh name, 'Tressie, Tressie, Tressie, wake up! Yu
h gwine tuh sleep alluh time?'
"Dey bun all kine uh powduh unduh muh winduh. I moob muh bedruhm, but dey fine
it out an somehow dey make holes unduh muh bed. Attuh twelve o'clock dey staht b
unnin powduh an roots an callin muh name agen. Duh nex mawnin I fine all kines u
h tings on muh poach, red peppuh an haiah an some kine uh powduh an some bus egg
s.
"One night I see em bunnin some kine uh powduh unduh muh winduh. Dat sho sked me
. I run upsteahs, and git muh huzbun's gun. Den I stan in duh back uh duh house

listenin.
"I heah a voice callin way off. It keep sayin 'Tressie,
[p. 57]
[paragraph continues] Tressie,' tryin tuh git me tuh ansuh. I didn say nuttn, cu
z ef uh ansuh tuh muh name den muh spirit would be stole. I heah muh name obuh a
n obuh an it seems dat it go right tru me. I take duh gun an fyuh two shot tru d
uh flo. Duh voice stop right off. Den somebody call a pleeceman. Wen he speak tu
h me, I tell im all bout duh root wuk an wy uh fyuhd duh gun. I ax im wouldn he
uh done duh same an he say, 'Cose, but dohn do it agen.'
"I bin tuh duh poeleece tuh hep me but dey cuss me out. Once wen dat poeleece sh
ow up, duh uhmun wut tryin tuh fix me staht combin uh haiah. She kep it up till
duh poeleece jis walk away. Den I went tuh a root doctuh an he tole me duh poele
ece caahn do nuttn long as duh uhmun comb uh haiah. He tell me tuh use tuhpentin
e tuh destroy duh ban wut she put down fuh me. Duh uhmun jist keep on wukin gens
e me an nobody couldn do nuttn tuh stop uh so I know I bettuh moob fo she git mu
h spirit."
In Brownville we found a man who knew how to make the old time drums. He made on
e for us out of a hollow log, across the end of which he tightly stretched a goa
t skin. He fastened the skin to the log by means of a number of wooden Pegs. Unl
ike modern drums, this one was taller than it was wide, measuring about eighteen
inches in length and ten inches in diameter.
The drum maker, James Collier, [*1] a middle-aged, intelligent, well-educated Ne
gro, said he had made a number of drums in this primitive manner. Collier told u
s that he had heard of drums having been used during funeral ceremonies in forme
r years. The mourners beat the drum while on the way to the cemetery; after arri
ving they marched around the, grave in a ring and beat the drum and shouted. "T
hey call it the dead march," explained the man.
"The spirit don't stay in the grave," he went on. "When the funeral procession s
tahts tuh leave, the spirit leaves the body an follows the people frum the grave
yahd. It nevuh stays with the body." A little later he volunteered the addition
al information, "Fuh the spirit tuh rest in the grave folks
[p. 58]
have tuh be buried at home. They nevuh feel right ef they buried frum home. The
spirit jist wanduh aroun.
"I have seen something I think wuz a ghost. I have no explanation of it, but I t
hink it wuz supuhnatural. I have heard of witchcraft, cunjuh an magic. I believe
some of these things happen, and the mo yuh probe intuh them the less yuh know.
"I have heard about a magic hoe that folks put in the gahden. They speak certain
words tuh it; then the hoe goes ahead an cultivates the gahden without anyone t
ouching it. They jist tell it tuh do the wuk and it does it."
We questioned Collier again about his personal experiences with supernatural bei
ngs and he related the following story:
"Wen I wuz jist a young boy muh family use tuh live in Currytown. Me and muh bro
thuh use tuh go and see muh aunt who lived in Yamacraw. Tuh get frum our house t
uh wheah she lived we had tuh go past a cemetery which wuz in back of the Union
Station.

"One time we had been tuh see muh aunt and it got tuh be late. We stahted fuh ho
me. It wuz beginnin of night. Muh brothuh he had rheumatism an he wuz hobblin al
ong on a stick. We stahted along by a fence tuh get tuh West Broad Street an wen
we had gone about a hundred yards we saw a lady comin tuhwards us. She wuz ver
y feah, very feah, an she wuz all dressed in black and had on a long black veil.
Her dress wuz black silk and rustled as she walked.
"Muh brothuh an I, we were suhprised tuh see the lady all of a sudden, fuh we ha
dn't noticed her befo. She come up tuh us an she say, 'Are yuh goin roun the fen
ce?' We tell her we wuz an she say, 'Yuh not afraid?' an we say, 'No--we not afr
aid.'
"The lady wanted tuh walk with us an we all staht walkin along. We had gone a sh
ort ways wen all of a sudden we look in the cemetery an we see a little white th
ing risin up out of the groun. It wuz kinduh hazy an shadowy an it spring up fro
m the groun an streak out tuh meet us on the path ahead. it looked like a lill a
nimal.
"The lady, wen she see the lill white sumpms a comin, she daht out like lightin
an she go right tuh meet it. Wen she get tuh it she disappeah right intuh the ea
h, disappeah right
[p. 59]
befo our eyes. Muh brothuh fuhgot he wuz crippled, he drop his stick an staht ru
nnin, an I run too. An we nevuh stop runnin, kept right on goin till we got home
tuh Currytown. He don't like to speak of it tuhday cause we're not supuhstitiou
s."
Footnotes
^43:1 Though the meetings of Bishop Grace are common to many parts of the United
States, it was thought well to include an accurate description of the House of
Prayer as it was found in this Community.
^44:1 Details of the early life of "Daddy Grace" are clothed in obscurity and li
ttle can be learned of the real origin of the House of Prayer. Some claim that h
e is of West Indian birth, others that he was born Marcilino Manuel Garcia in Po
rtugal, and still others interpret his references to "a land beyond the sea" as
indication that he hails from Egypt. All members of the cult must be baptized an
d during a four-week session in 1936 1,789 candidates were ministered to at a ch
arge of 1.00 each. The Bishop advocates that members give generously of their ma
terial goods to the church and he has been known on occasions to go about among
his congregation seizing purses and demanding that worshipers sacrifice treasure
d jewelry. It is a well known fact that his profession of "spiritual leader" has
proved a vastly profitable one, and in the course of the last several years he
has amassed a huge fortune. Many of "Daddy's" enterprises are looked upon with d
isfavor and suspicion by the police department. His frequent clashes with the la
w over various matters of an extremely worldly nature serve only to increase the
attendance and the collections at the church and also give the Bishop much desi
red publicity. Followers are unimpressed by his occasional arrests, secure in th
e knowledge that no earthly force can ever conquer "Daddy." See Time (New York),
March 7,1938, XXXI, No. 10, p. 30.
^48:1 Thursday Jones, Brownville.
^48:2 John Blackshear, 625 Grapevine Avenue.
^48:3 William Mikell, 616 West 32nd Street.

^48:4 Beatrice Ward, 832 West 35th Street.

^48:5 Robert McNichols, Brownville.
^49:1 Ibid.
^49:2 Made by and property of William Brown, Florence Street.
^49:3 Property of Henry Haynes, 41st and Harden Streets.
^49:4 Crawford Smith, 1704 Ogeechee Avenue.
^49:5 Made by and property of Alfred Wilcher, 610 West 31st Street.
^49:6 Ibid.
^50:1 Made by and property of Marion Ralph, 2411 Harden Street.
^50:2 Julian Linder, 612 West 36th Street.
^50:3 Lee Ross, Ogeecheetown, near Brownville.
^50:4 Tony William Delegal, Ogeecheetown, near Brownville.
^51:1 Mattie Sampson, West 32nd Street.
^52:1 William Edwards, corner West Broad and 32nd Streets.
^53:1 George W. Little, 737 West 34th Street.
^54:1 Florence Postell, 928 West 51st Street.
^54:2 Bessie Reese, 2407 Harden Street.
^55:1 Emma English, 628 West 36th Street.
^55:2 Barry Higgins, 1810 West Broad Street.
^55:3 Albert Jenkins, 627 West 36th Street.
^56:1 Tressie Cook, 911 West 38th Street.
^57:1 James Collier, 806 West 39th Street.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 61]

Tatemville
Extending southwest from Savannah over a widely scattered area is a section know
n locally as Tatemville. This settlement is inhabited largely by Negroes, some o
f whom are survivals of ante-bellum days.
It is interesting to note that a number of these old people in speaking of their
fellow-slaves frequently prefix "Golla" to the given name. [*1]
H. H. Miller, [*2] an educated old man of this community, who has acquired consi

derable wealth, stated, "I knew many of the 'Golla' tribesmen who were brought t
o this country, when I was a boy. I think some can be found aroun these pahts no
w."
A palsied old man, William Newkirk, [*3] who said he was born on the Newkirk pla
ce, obligingly replied to questions concerning root doctors and conjure, "Well,
duh root doctuh wuz all we needed. Dey wuz bettuh dan duh doctuhs now-a-days. De
ah wuzn all uh dis yuh cuttin an wen yuh sick, duh root doctuh would make some t
ea an gib yuh aw sumpm tuh rub wid an das all. Den fo yuh know it, yuh wuz all r
ight. He would fix tings fuh yuh ef somebody done put sumpm down fuh yuh. Deah
wuz many ways tuh wuk it. Sometime he would gib yuh sumpm tuh weah wid yuh aw su
mpm tuh take."
Spirits are a reality to Esther Jones, [*4] obviously a woman
[p. 62]
of schooling as evinced by her diction. She is a devout member of the Adventist
Church, her day of worship coming on Saturday instead of the customary Sunday, a
day observed and anticipated by the average Negro.
"Silvia Higgins," Esther testified, "wuz a medium. She talked with spirits all h
uh life. , She used the rapping signal. I myself have seen the work and acts o
f spirits. I've I seen cheahs and tables move about a room. And I've seen a woma
n and a boy come intuh my yahd and then disappeah, and I know that the woman wuz
dead. The boy wuz not dead but wuz not anywheah in this vicinity. Silvia Higgin
s wuz my mothuh. She has been dead thirty-two yeahs."
One of the most interesting Negroes in this settlement is Tonie Houston, [*1] an
old preacher, extremely gracious of manner and eager to be of help.
"I bin yuh in dis town fo dey wuz no big buildings an duh streets wuz all dut an
deah wuz no pavement."
"Do you remember any of the people brought over from Africa?" we asked.
"Yas, I know heaps ub um. Deah wuz 'Golla' John Wiley, 'Golla' Jim Bayfield--he
wuz bought by Mahse Chahles Lamar, and he sole im to Mr. McMullen. Den deah wuz
'Golla' Jack, 'Golla' Tom, 'Golla' Silvie, 'Golla' Chahles Carr, 'Golla' Bob, Ch
ahlotte, Cain, an Jeanette, an 'Golla' Alice. Dey wuz all bought by Mr. McMullen
."
When asked the meaning of so many "Gollas," he replied, "All duh people wut come
frum Africa aw obuhseas wuz call 'Golla,' and dey talk wuz call 'Golla' talk."
His knowledge of their language, gained by association with the Africans, was sc
ant. Among the words he remembered were musungo tobacco, mulafo whiskey, and sis
ure chicken. A cow was called gombay and a hog gulluh.
To questions regarding the utensils, such as buckets, tubs, dishes, and tools, o
f these people, he answered, "Dey would make any ting dey needed. Dey made spoon
s, trays, buckets. Dey made piggins an mawtuh an pestle from a lawg ub wood. Dey
would make wooden cuttuhs fuh meat an vegetubble an would dress some uh dem. wi
d pretty figyuhs."
[p. 63]
For their meetings, he said "Golla" Tom or another would beat the drum signallin
g them to gather; then all would sing and dance in a circle to the accompaniment
of the drum. The drums of death would also sound, summoning to the "settin-up"
or wake. "Dey would have some hot drinks," recounted Tonie Houston, "sech as c

offee an tea. Den at duh time fuh buryin, duh drum would beat an all would lay
flat on duh groun on dey faces befo duh body wuz placed in duh grave. Den all wo
uld rise and dance roun duh grave. Wen duh body wuz buried, duh drum would give
signal wen all wuz tuh rise aw fall aw tuh dance aw sing."
As to the magic of conjure, he had been well acquainted with a "cunjuh man" who,
he said, was a native of Africa and could disappear at will. However, this man,
Dick Hamilton, had died three years previously.
There had also been living in Tatemville "Golla" Jones Davis, an African, who, a
s affirmed by his relative, Solomon Davis, has not been heard of since his depar
ture for his native land, some five or six years ago.
Richard Wright, [*1] bent with age and rheumatism, talked at length about his ch
ildhood on the plantation, where he was one of seventy-five children owned by hi
s "Boss." He attested to the skill exhibited in that day by the men in wood carv
ing and the making of farm implements and by the women in making cloth.
He was staunch in his belief in signs as he declared, "Deah's many tings wut's b
ad luck. Ef we come in duh house wid our hat on we hab tuh go back an den pull i
t off an den come in. Wen yuh clean duh house in duh day an duh flo, git duhty a
gen by duh night time an yuh sweep duh flo, Yuh musn sweep duh dut out duh house
, but yuh hab tuh sweep it behine duh doe till mawnin.
"'Tis bad luck fuh girls
ould nevuh put noo bodes
uh men duh place dat yuh
lready buil. It sho mean
aw close friens, wen

tuh wistle. It will suttnly lead tuh misfawchun. Yuh sh

on a ole house but yuh should git a ole bode das good t
hab tuh fix. An nevuh put anudduh ruhm on a house das a
bad luck, eeduh sickness aw det tuh some uh yuh fambly

[p. 64]
yuh heah duh owl holluh by yuh house. Now yuh kin watch it. I ain see it fail y
et.'
The custom of spitting on money is a very old one, it seems. This, he explained,
will cause it to "stick tuh yuh aw it will draw mo tuh yuh."
Strolling down the sandy road with an ax across his shoulder and a dog at his he
els, Jack Waldburg [*1] hastily removed his hat at the sight of us. He is of med
ium height and slightly bent; his hair and beard are quite gray but his sprightl
y appearance belies the eighty years he aims.
He greeted us cordially, listened attentively to what we had to say, and answere
d without hesitation.
"Yes, missis, I bawn an raise in dis paht uh duh country, down at Cherry Hill in
Bryan County. But I bin libin roun yuh bout tutty yeahs. Muh gran wuz a African
. Das weah he come frum an be name wuz Buck Waldburg. He dahk in culluh an mediu
m high wid strong buil. He hab long haiah. But granmudduh, she from deah, too, a
n she feah. She duh one wut lun me tuh make medicine frum root. She a midwife a
n tell me duh kine tuh use. I dohn make it no mo cuz I ain got a license."
We asked if conjure were practiced by root men.
"No'm, I dohn know nuttn bout cunjuh. Some folks say dey kin wuk it but it bad a
n I dohn fool wid um.
"Now spirits is diffunt. Deah is good un an bad un. I caahn see um but uh feels
um. Sometime wen folks is comin tuh me I kin tell dey comin fo I see um, an wen

yuh die yuh head tun backwud. Soon's yuh die it tun roun.
"Duh folks frum Africa could see um. Dey natchul bawn in dat way. An wite dogs!
Dey alluz kin see spirit. Muh brudduh Simon he bawn wid a caul an he see um an
play wid um. Dey would climb trees an he climb attuh um so muh mudduh give um s
ome tea made frum caul uh women an bline um tuh um."
We endeavored to gain some information as to the ingredients of this tea but the
only explanation was that the concoction was more effective when made from caul
s of women.
[p. 65]
He could remember nothing as to the use of drums at funerals or other gatherings
but his eyes twinkled when we turned the conversation to a culinary line.
"Ma would make ash cake," he recalled. "She would mix duh cawnmeal, den open duh
oak ashes an spread in some hickory leaves, den put duh cawnmeal on duh leabes
an cubbuh wid mo leabes, den put duh hot ashes an coals on duh top. Wen it done,
she take duh bread frum duh ashes an rub it wid a rough clawt aw brush an it wo
uld be pretty an brown. Dis," he concluded smacking his lips, "wuz bery fine wid
fat meat aw surup."
Justine Singleton [*1] believed firmly in the existence of spirits as verified b
y her statement. "Yes, wen I wuz sick muh sistuh das dead come tuh me an I knowd
dat it wuz huh an she done talk tuh me. She tole me tuh git some weepin willuh
an bile it an make a wash fuh muh feet." This, she explained is an excellent rem
edy for foot ailments. "I done talk tuh duh spirits many times. Sometime I gib e
m sumpm. I caahn tell yuh no mo now cuz I caahn git muh mine tuhgedduh."
In this locality stands a small one-room structure occupied by an old man and hi
s dog, between whom there is a touching devotion. in addition to other means of
livelihood, he follows the profession of root doctor. "I kin cuo any kine uh sic
kness das put on yuh. An," he added, "I kin tell wut a man want. Soon's uh see i
m his spirit come tuh me. I lay down an sleep an know wen somebody want me. Deah
spirit come an wake me. Many times uh go an fine em lookin fuh me."
This man, whose name is Allen Parker [*2] is unusually adept with his hands, as
shown by his skill in mending clocks, watches, and firearms, in making chairs, b
askets, piggins, bread trays, spoons and forks, and in carving figures of such
animals as snakes, lizards, frogs, dogs, alligators and rabbits.
In reference to native Africans, he declared that he had known many of them but
that few were left in this vicinity although he thought some might be found arou
nd Darien.
[p. 66]
It was with difficulty that Rosanna Williams [*1] was persuaded to talk. She was
suspicious and reticent and lived behind tightly locked doors in a house that t
o all appearance was deserted. After much coaxing she cast aside some of her mis
trust and grudgingly responded to our friendly gestures.
"Muh name is Rosanna Williams. Muh pa wuz Lonnon Dennerson. He frum duh ole coun
try. Muh granpa wuz 'Golla' Dennerson, King uh his tribe. Wen muh pa wuz a lill
boy, him an muh granpa wuz fool away wid a red hankuhchuh. Dey wuz sole tuh Chah
ls Grant on one uh duh iluns roun Brunswick. Muh pa wuz six foot tall an on is f
urud wuz a scah bout dis big." She indicated the end of her forefinger.
We questioned her more closely regarding this mark which from her description se

emed to have been a small scar, oval in shape and slightly raised.
We had been told by her neighbors that she, too, bore a mark, although none of t
hem had seen it.
"Did he mark you too, Rosanna?"
She gave us a piercing look, ignored the question, and continued along another v
ein. "He eat funny kine uh food. Roas wile locus an mushrubm an tanyan root. It
lak elephanteah an tase like Irish potatuh. He plant mosly benne an rice. I plan
t a lill benne ebry yeah too. He use tuh beat benne seed in mawtuh an pestle, so
metime wid a lill shuguh an sometime wid a lill salt an make a pase. He eat it o
n bread aw he eat it jis so."
We broached the subject of drums.
"Yes'm, dey use tuh dance tuh drums an dey beat um fuh fewnuls too.
"I wuz too lill tuh membuh anyting wut wuz; said bout muh granpa, but muh pa wuk
on duh fahm fuh is 'boss.' He make lot uh duh tings dey use. I ain got nuttn wu
t he had but dis." She brought forth a curious looking tool resembling a can ope
ner with a hook in the end, which, she said, her father had used for extracting
teeth. He had also been familiar with various roots and weeds, which he used in
the
[p. 67]
preparation of medicines administered to the sick on the plantation.
We returned to the subject of the mark, at the mention of which her eyes suddenl
y narrowed.
"Wut yuh doin? Is yuh gonuh sen me back tuh Liberia?"
When we assured her that we had no such intention she became complacent and even
voluble.
"Yes'm, he mahk me," she admitted, "on muh ches."
"What did he do it with? What sort of an instrument did he use?" we asked, vainl
y trying to conceal our interest.
"I dohn membuh. I wuz too lill."
"But did he tell you why he marked you?" we persisted.
"No'm, he ain say wy. He jis tell me he done it wen Ise lill. I dohn known wut h
e do it wid an Ise mos grown fo uh know wut it is an Ise duh onlies one he mahk.
I duh tomboy uh duh fambly an folluh im roun askin wut duh ole country like."
"Rosanna," we ventured, "would you let us see the scar?"
She hesitated, then cautiously raised her hand to the fastening at the neck of h
er dress and, baring her chest, allowed us a glimpse of the scar. It appeared to
be an irregular circle the size of a fifty-cent piece with faint lines which se
emed to run toward the center. Time, however, had obliterated any design or pat
tern which it might once have had.
Footnotes

^61:1 See Introduction.

^61:2 H. H. Miller, 461h and Pearl Streets.
^61:3 William Newkirk Tatemville.
^61:4 Esther Jones, 308 West 46th Street.
^62:1 Tonie Houston, Tatemville.
^63:1 Richard Wright, Tatemville.
^64:1 Jack Waldburg, Tatemville.
^65:1 Justine Singleton, Tatemville.
^65:2 Allen Parker, Tatemville.
^66:1 Rosanna Williams, Tatemville.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 69]

White Bluff
Huge, moss-hung oaks form a canopy and cast filigreed shadows upon the White Blu
ff Road, which passes directly through the quiet Negro community of White Bluff,
eight miles southeast of Savannah.
Winding roads turn from the main highway and terminate in the various sections w
hich form the settlement and which are known as Nicholsonboro, Rose Dhu, Twin Hi
ll, and Cedar Grove. The sections east of the White Bluff Road are on the Vernon
River. It is here that many of the inhabitants make their living by catching cr
ab and fish which they sell in the city markets. West of the highway the narrow
roads lead through thickly wooded areas of great beauty. Along these roads famil
ies have cleared small tracts and built their homes, reserving garden space for
flowers and vegetables. In the summer wild crepe myrtle trees, with blossoms as
luscious a red as the heart of the watermelon, contrast colorfully with the brig
ht blue paint on the doors and trimmings of some of the houses.
The White Bluff Road, which for two miles forms the main street of the community
, passes the houses of other residents set well back from the road. Most of them
are small and unpretentious but well kept. At intervals of perhaps half a mile
are three rural grocery stores; farther along is a whitewashed church with red a
nd blue glass windows, and at the farthest extremity of the settlement is a simi
lar but larger church.
The inhabitants, of which there are approximately four hundred, are deeply relig
ious and lay great stress on being
[p. 70]
[paragraph continues] "Christian people." Many of the older inhabitants were for
merly slaves on a large plantation on St. Catherines Island. After the War betwe
en the States many of these Negroes moved to White Bluff, built their homes, rea
red their families, and have lived to see two generations reach maturity. With a
ll their fervent Christian doctrines the old people have an unwavering faith in

many of the beliefs taught them by their grandparents. A few remember their ance
stors who were brought from Africa on slave ships.
The younger group seem carefree as they perform their tasks in the cool part of
the morning. It is not unusual to see several young men lying on a shady porch r
esting or happily engaged in a card game as early as ten o'clock on a summer mor
ning. These young people have little faith in the practices of their elders, but
they believe profoundly in the power of certain charms to affect luck and love.
Having heard that Sophie Davis was one of the oldest persons in the community, w
e visited her and found her cordial in her reception. Sophie [*1] does not know
her exact age, but was eight at the time of the war. She is very short and very
stout with gray hair and a very large smiling face. The day we saw her she wore
a cotton print dress with gray predominating. Her sparkling eyes expressed her i
nterest in current happenings of the community, and when she laughed, her eyes b
ecame mere slits and her shoulders shook.
Indicating a small bush growing beside the doorway of her little cabin, Sophie t
old us, "Some uh duh folks heah sho belieb in some queah tings. Yuh see dis lill
bush--it call Cherokee an mos uh duh folks yuh plants it at duh doe. It bring u
m good luck. Lot uh medicine an cuos is made frum udduh roots and herbs an some
uh duh folks uses um wen dey's sick."
We inquired as to the kind of herbs used.
"Duh wite root," pointing to a wild shrub, "dey use fuh stomach troubles. Buttuh
root an palmettuh root an May apple, yuh bile tuhgedduh wid a quawt uh watuh ti
ll it simmuh down tuh haf uh pint, den yuh add some cawn wisky. Dat a fambly ton
ic tuh buil yuh up."
[p. 71]
Sophie went on to tell us something about the beliefs prevailing in the neighbor
hood. "Ef some relative is sick, yuh dohn nebuh deah tuh sew on a gahment wut yu
h is weahin cuz dat put a spell on duh sick un an dey mos liable tuh die. Deah'
s anudduh ting too. Yuh sho bettuh not steal tings frum a grabe. I sho know I w
ouldn. Deah's jis a lot uh udduh tings bout bad luck too. One sho sign is dat ef
a pusson sneeze wile dey's eatin long, dat is, dey hab food in dey mout, den de
y got tuh put it out lessn dey hab bad luck. Anudduh sign is duh hootin ub a ow
l."
A strange look of doubt and amusement came into Sophie's eyes at the mention of
conjuring. She smiled and slowly shook her head.
"I heahd ub a few cases weah dey say one uh duh neighbuhs cunjuh anudduh, but f
uh duh mos paht dey all gits long all right. Das cuz we's all Christians an dohn
put no faith much in dem kine uh tings. Dey say dat a powuhful chahm kin be mad
e frum grabeyahd dut fuh cunjuhin puhposes, but duh pusson dat git duh dut mus
put some pennies on duh grabe, else he hab trouble hissef. Nebuh let a enemy git
any ub yuh haiah wut bin cut off aw yuh nail clippins. Ef he git deze he kin ma
ke sumpm dat will cause lot uh trouble. I kin tell yuh sumpm else bout duh haia
h too. Ef a bud gits duh haiah, yuh'll hab a headache soon.
"Now Uncle John Bowen on St. Catherines he wuz a root man an one time a man come
tuh him tuh git somebody fix. Uncle John he wuz fixin tings tuh linguh um, an d
uh man sit on duh cheah weah he hab duh cunjuh tings an Uncle John he git so mad
he git right up an fix duh cunjuh right now so dat man wut awduh duh fixin die
hesef. He fix lot uh people. Deah so much debilment in ole Uncle John Bowen dat
finally he eat out hesef till he fix hesef an die." We asked about the use of dr

ums.
"Yes'm, dey alluz use tuh beat duh drum wen somebody die tuh let duh udduh folks
know bout duh det. An at fewnuls too, dey beat it."
Relative to spirits, she replied, "No'm, I caahn see spirits cuz I ain bawn wid
a caul. But now Bob Delegal he knows spirits. Down on Blackbeard Ilun, deah wuz
a big hawg wut wuz a ebil spirit. Dey call um Blackbeard an dey try an try
[p. 72]
tuh kill um. So ole Bob Delegal cut up some silbuh an put it in he gun. He aim a
t duh hawg but he miss um an ole Bob Delegal fall down an couldn speak. Dey carr
y um home an he nebuh did talk no mo, an duh nex day he die."
According to Sophie the old people on St. Catherines would pray at the rising an
d at the setting of the sun and at the conclusion of their prayers they would sa
y the words "Meena, Mina, Mo." Asked if she knew the meaning of these words, she
shook her head negatively.
"Yuh know, Susie Branch, who lib jis cross duh road deah, could tell yuh some uh
deze tings too. We wuz chillun tuhgedduh down on St. Catherines Ilun. I gwine c
all uh."
In a moment Susie [*1] arrived. Tall and thin, she was dressed in a red, green,
and blue cotton plaid skirt and a man's shirt with the tail hanging loosely outs
ide. She was very talkative and was enthusiastic in verifying many of the things
that Sophie had mentioned.
Susie listened gravely as we inquired about her recollections of the old people
in her family. She told us the following story: "Dey steal muh great-great-gran,
uh name wuz Sukey, frum off duh beach in Africa wen she wuz a young miss. I dun
no wut paht ub Africa she come frum. She alluz say she come frum Africa, duh cou
ntry weah dey dohn weah no cloze. At duh plantation at St. Catherines she wuz du
h seamstress fuh duh slabes. She make mos all dey weah."
When we asked her if she ever heard that dreaming about a snake "meant anything,
" the old woman replied, "Yes, ma'am, dat mean yuh got a enemy. Not many nights
ago I dream bout a snake an uh sho wuz sked wen uh wake up."
They both laughed and Susie leaned over and tapped Sophie on the arm and said, "
Oh yes, deah's lots uh dem tings bout babies. Wen dey bawn wid a caul, das sho a
sign dey will be bery wise an kin talk wid duh spirits. Ain dasso, Sophie?"
Agreeing, Sophie hastened to add what she had heard about babies born with teeth
. "Dey will hab bad luck all deah libes. Dat sho wuk out. Deah wuz one boy bawn
dat way wut lib right yuh in Wite Bluff an he wine up by bein in duh chain-gang
an dat sho nuff bad luck."
[p. 73]
"But dis lill plant heah called 'Cherokee' is spose tuh bring good luck ef yuh p
lants it by duh front doe step" said Susie.
In this community as in many others strangers are not allowed to be buried in th
e local cemetery but in what is known as the "strangers lot," a piece of ground
set apart from the cemetery proper. The custom of bringing the dead back to thei
r original home for interment is also prevalent throughout coastal Georgia. The
body of a young man who recently died in New York was brought back to White Bluf
f for burial. Relative to this custom, Susie spoke quietly. "Dey alluz brings um

back tuh bury um ef dey kin git duh money, cuz yuh see duh spirit'll jis wanduh
roun an nebuh be satisfied lessn it brung back home tuh be buried."'
I know Lunnon Grayson know all bout dem tings too. Yuh tun off tuh duh lef at du
h fus road leadin off frum duh highway yuh. Ax anybody den, an dey'll tell yuh w
ich is his house. He use tuh lib on St. Catherines too, but he come up yuh long
fo me an Susie," Sophie said.
Lunnon [*1] remembered a great deal about the old customs. Seated in his front y
ard under the shade of a crepe myrtle tree, he and Prince Sneed were chatting. L
unnon's hair was snow white and wooly. On his left ear was a gold earring, which
he claimed tended to improve his eyesight. When he laughed he bent double and
slapped his knees with his bands; at the same time his mouth opened wide, reveal
ing his three remaining teeth. At first he was reluctant to admit that he had he
ard much about conjuring. He finally admitted, between chuckles, that be had hea
rd about it from his mother and grandmother but vehemently denied any belief in
conjure himself. He was serious, however, as he told the following story about P
rince Sneed's father-in-law, who was being conjured at the time.
"I lib in White Bluff fuh bout fifty yeahs, an I kin tell yuh many stories I hea
hd bout cunjuhin an root doctuhs. Somebody heahbouts put an ebil spell on Prince
Sneed's fathuh-in-law, Lunnon Milton. He seem tuh git wus an wus an nuttn seem
tuh hep him none. Finally he sen fuh a root doctuh an
[p. 74]
he wuk obuh im. but he dohn git no bettuh. He call in eight ub um altuhgedduh,
but dey dohn seem able tuh countuhrack dat cunjuh. Duh ole man sick tuh dis day
. Maybe some day he fine a root doctuh wut is powful nuff tuh hep him."
As Uncle Lunnon finished his
ysique despite his sixty-odd
see a doctuh right away. Now
hs, but he say he ain gittin

story, Prince Sneed, [*1] a dark man of splendid ph

years, added, "It's lak dis. Wen Ise sick, I gonuh
muh faduh-in-law, he jis keep on wid dem root doctu
a bit bettuh."

Prince proved to be an interesting talker, much of his knowledge having been gle
aned from conversations by the fireside with his grandfather. The following narr
ative was still fresh in his memory:
"Muh gran say ole man Waldburg down on St. Catherine own some slabes wut wuzn cl
imatize an he wuk um hahd an one day dey wuz hoein in duh fiel an duh dribuh com
e out an two ub um wuz unuh a tree in duh shade, an duh hoes wuz wukin by demsef
. Duh dribuh say 'Wut dis?' an dey say, 'Kum buba yali kuni buba tambe, Kum kunk
a yali kum kunka tambe,' quick like. Den dey rise off duh groun an fly away. Nob
ody ebuh see um no mo. Some say dey fly back tuh Africa. Muh gran see dat wid he
own eye."
He had heard that on Blackbeard Island it was customary in the old days for a gr
oup of men to agree upon a location in which to bury their money, whereupon one
of them would voluntarily offer his life and be put to death at the hands of the
others, thereby enabling his spirit to stand guard and protect the treasure.
"I seen a spirit muhsef once wen I wuz a young man," Prince continued. "It wuz l
ate in duh aftuhnoon. I wuz cookin crab an uh look up an see a man widout a head
. I look away, den uh look back tuh weah uh see im, an sho nuff deah he is in pl
ain sight. I rush tuh duh house an staht tuh tell muh fostuh mudduh but she stop
me. She dohn wahn me tuh talk bout it. Den duh nex day she ax me wut uh see an
fix me sumpm tuh drink an I nebuh did see no mo spirit."
Another woman in the community, Bessie Royal, [*2] in relation

[p. 75]
to her belief in witchcraft and conjure said, "Lots uh people roun yuh say dat h
ags ride um at night. None ub um ebuh bodduhed me. Dey say dat duh hags is libe
folks wut hab duh powuh tuh change demsefs intuh animals an insecs an any udduh
ting dey want tuh be.
"I dohn know how it wuz done but muh faduh wuz cunjuhed by a suttn uhmun dat wu
z said to be a hag. He go crazy sometimes an ack lak he wuz sked by sumpm chasi
n im. He git wus and dey take im tuh a root doctuh. Duh root doctuh say he wuz c
unjuhed. He hab us ketch a wite chicken wich he split open wile duh chicken wuz;
still libe. He place dis chicken, blood an all wile it wuz still wome, on top u
h muh faduh head an boun it deah.
"Well, muh faduh git bettuh fuh a wile. Den all at once he hab anudduh attack an
he die befo duh doctuh could git tuh im. Attuh dis I belieb in cunjuh mo dan eb
uh."
Later that same day we visited a small Negro cabin set deep in the woods some di
stance from the highway. Here lived Serina Hall, [*1] born eighty-eight years ag
o on St. Catherines Island and a former slave of Jacob Waldburg. She said that w
hen she was a small child her master had brought the members of her family to Sa
vannah to be employed as house servants.
The old woman at first disclaimed any knowledge of conjure or the existence of s
upernatural creatures. After a time, however, her attitude changed and she launc
hed into a lengthy discussion of the current beliefs.
"I dohn lak tuh talk bout dem tings," she began, "but I hab tuh belieb wut muh e
yes see. I membuh once a man uh knew well got kill. Attuh he wuz buried his spir
it use tuh folluh me all duh time. I feel a heat come tuh me, den uh look roun,
an deah a shadduh ub a man pass by. I ax duh spirit, 'Wut you want?' Den it leab
me lone an I ain seen dat spirit sence." ,
We asked Serina if she had ever known any conjure workers and she said, "Witches
an root men is duh same ting. Dey kin tun demsefs intuh any shape, a insec, a c
at, aw a dog, aw any kine uh animal. Dey kin go tru any kine uh hole tuh git at
yuh.
[p. 76]
"Tub tun intuh sumpm else dey hab tuh hab duh powuh tuh take off deah skin. I he
ahd bout somebody watchin a hag take off is skin. He git some salt an peppuh an
rub it on duh skin. Wen duh hag go tuh put is skin back on, duh salt an peppuh
bun so he couldn git it on. Duh folks wuz able tuh ketch im an dey fine it wuz o
ne uh deah neighbuhs. He beg an plead an so dey fuhgib im. Dey nebuh hab no mo h
ag ridin.
"Muh ma tell me many times bout a man an his wife wut could wuk cunjuh. Anytime
dey want tuh dey would fly back tuh Africa an den come back agen tuh duh planta
tion. Dey come back cuz dey hab some chillun wut didn hab duh powuh tuh fly an h
ab tuh stay on duh plantation. One ub duh daughtuhs wanted tuh lun tuh fly an wu
k cunjuh. Duh faduh tell uh she hab tuh lun duh passwud, den she hab tuh kill a
man by cunjuh. Attuh dis den she would hab duh powuh. Duh magic passwud mean su
mpm like dis, 'Who loss duh key Branzobo?'"
Footnotes
^70:1 Sophie Davis, White Bluff.

^72:1 Susie Branch, White Bluff.

^73:1 London Grayson, White Bluff. Deceased November, 1939.
^74:1 Prince Sneed, White Bluff.
^74:2 Bessie Royal, White Bluff.
^75:1 Serina Hall, White Bluff.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 77]

Pin Point
Pin Point, a Negro community about nine miles southeast of Savannah, is scattere
d over some twenty or thirty acres on a peninsula overlooking Shipyard Creek. Ma
ny of the small wooden cabins are neatly whitewashed and are half hidden by shru
bbery and spreading oaks. Flowers and vegetables are planted in the most advanta
geous sunny spots near the houses and most of the yards are enclosed by picket f
ences, giving a cozy and pleasant privacy. The lanes, little more than wagon tra
cks, twist in and out and across the settlement. The informal and haphazard scat
tering of the houses, with high shrubbery bordering the lanes, gives an effect t
hat is pleasing and unusual.
Pin Point has a church, a pavilion on the tidewater creek, and a crab cannery. T
he men and women who do not work as domestic servants at the nearby country plac
es find employment in the crab cannery or fish and crab and shrimp for themselve
s. The life is quiet, soothed by the smell of the salt marsh.
It is only when some great excitement takes place, a stirring religious service,
a dance at the community pavilion, a death, , or some scandal concerning a ne
ighbor, that quiet Pin Point bestirs itself. Recently, one of the fishermen vent
ured into the foreign waters of the Ogeechee about ten miles distant and there h
e was almost devoured by an alligator. All that was left of him, "the ham," was
given a burial amid the loud lamentations of his relatives and neighbors.
[p. 78]
The people are, almost without exception, black or dark skinned, proud, upstandi
ng and loyal, suspicious of strangers but generous and trusting to friends. Most
of the very old inhabitants have died in the past decade, so that to have reach
ed the age of sixty places a man or woman in the patriarchal class. The grown pe
ople between twenty-five and thirty, are still close to the traditions and belie
fs in which they have been reared. Firmly believing in the Bible, they still are
aware of other beliefs and customs handed down by their parents and grandparent
s.
A pleasant, intelligent woman [*1] of about forty-five chatted with us. "Cose, d
et is duh will ub God, but dey do say jis duh same wen a pusson die, 'Maybe some
body fix em' aw 'I sho know dat uhmun wuz rooted.' I ain nebuh bought no powduh
muhsef but jis day befo yestuhdy a uhmun frum Tatemville wuz right yuh tuh dis
house sellin High John duh Conqueruh fuh fifty cent an she sho say it would brin
g yuh powuhful good luck, but I ain hab fifty cent.
"Cose, it ain good tuh fool much wid dem tings, but yuh sho hab tuh be keahful n

ot tuh let no enemy git bole uh yuh haiah combins; cuz dey say dey sho could fix
yuh den." She laughed a little uneasily. "Ef yuh dream ub a snake dassa enemy
neahby too, but ef yuh weah a snake skin roun yuh wais, it good fuh wut ail yuh.
, An ef uh enemy come tuh yuh house an yuh dohn wahn im deah no mo, yuh jis t
ake duh bruhm an sweep out quick attuh im. Den sprinkle a lill salt on duh flo w
eah his foot track bin an sweep em all out duh doe an he sho wohn come back no m
o."
At this point in her narrative a swarm of barefoot children, black and with shin
ing eyes, clustered around us. One and all were eating crabs, biting into the so
ft part of the body shell or cracking a claw with strong white teeth. Word had e
vidently just gone out that some excitement was brewing. Strangers had come and
were talking to "Miz Minnie." If anything was going on they didn't want to miss
it. But "Miz Minnie" felt differently. "Go long, yuh chillun. Go long wid yuh cr
ahb an stop lissnin tuh grown folks." Minnie flapped her apron and they scattere
d like a brood of young chicks.
[p. 79]
"Yasm, cose yuh do heah bout cunjuhin." Minnie turned back to us. "Dasso. Dey's
alluz talk bout it, an I know ole Lewis McIver wut libs, yuh right now, wut fou
n a bottle buried in his mattress. He wuz sick an somebody wuz tryin tuh fix im.
I seen dat bottle muhsef, wid muh own eyes. Yes, ma'am, I sho seen it. It hab y
ulluhlak oily lookin stuff in it an deah wuz a piece uh clawt stuck tru wid need
les an pins in it." Minnie looked worried at the mere memory. "I seen it fuh sh
o an dohn nobody know who put it deah. But Lewis is bettuh sence it wuz took out
. He say he ain hab neah so much pain.
"Den wen muh ole uncle wuz sick, dey sen fuh a ole uhmun wut know bout cunjuh
an she wehn out in duh yahd an dig up a piece uh clawt wadded intuh a ball wid n
ails in it an she cas it away. I seen dat too. She say somebody plant it deah ge
nse im.
"Dey make mojoes outn anyting but dey do say grabeyahd dut an nails an blood an
haiah, dey is impawtant. Cose I know bettuhn belieb all dis," she laughed, "bu
t it make yuh sked an yuh sho full uh worry ef somebody tryin tuh fix yuh." Afte
r cogitating on these dangers Minnie smiled, "But ef yuh weahs a silbuh dime tie
d tuh yuh ankle an yuh step obuh anyting wut put down fuh yuh, duh dime'll sho t
un black sudden an quick an den yuh knows it." , ,
Pin Point attained a certain measure of fame as the setting of the Bo-Cat murder
in 1932. Limerick De Lancy, Pin Point Negro nicknamed Bo-Cat, killed his wife,
Catherine, and dropped her corpse into the deep waters near Hell Gate. When the
crime was discovered, the fact that it had taken place on Friday, the thirteenth
, loomed significant in the consciousness of the small community and in no time
inspired a ballad. Attributed to no single author but apparently added to from t
ime to time, the ballad now runs:
On duh thuteent day ub May
Yuh could heah ole Bo-Cat say,
"Git muh deed an policy.
Tun it in duh ashes way."
Den ole Catherine she begin tuh inquyuh.
Didn know ole Bo-Cat had dem in duh fyuh.
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife. [p. 80]
Put uh in duh boat,
Dey begin tuh float,
Dey float tuh duh Raccoon Keys.

He knock uh on duh knees.

Catherine holluh, "Wa-Wan-Wa."
Bo-Cat make uh "Na-Nan-Na."
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife.
He knock uh in duh bres
An duh oah don duh res.
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife.
He knock uh in duh back
An duh oah miss an crack.
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife.
Wen Bo-Cat wehn back home
He meet uh daughtuh all alone.
Uh daughtuh say, "Bo-Cat, Bo-Cat,
Weah my mama is?"
Bo-Cat tun right out he head
An he tro uh cross duh bed.
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife.
Dey got Bo-Cat in jail
Bout tuh hang im by duh rail
It a shame how Bo-Cat done he wife.
One of the Pin Point women, Margaret Snead, [*1] recalls vividl
y the events of the De Lancy crime.
"Wy, duh night fo Catherine De Lanzy wuz kill, she spen it in town wid me," said
Margaret Snead. "Attuh dat night I didn see uh no mo. People frum duh Pint come
inquirin bout uh but nobody seem tuh know nuttn bout uh weahbouts. Bout two wee
ks latuh, a pahty uh wite mens out huntin come cross duh body at Raccoon Keys. D
is a ilun way beyon Hell's Gate. Mus be mohn twenny miles frum duh Pint. I dohn
see as how nobody could carry a pusson dat fah jis tuh murduh em. Anyways, duh b
ody wuz brung tuh duh city, an at duh unduhtakuh's office people went in tuh see
ef dey could dentify it. Dis a hahd ting tuh do. She bin in duh watuh fuh days
an days fo a high tide wash duh cawpse on sho. Duh body
[p. 81]
wuz caught tween two logs weah duh buzzuds went tuh wuk on It.
"I membuh a great big cawn wich she use tuh suffuh wid but couldn nebuh git rid
ub. So I went in an had a look at duh foot, an sho nuff deah wuz dat cawn jis la
k it use tuh be wen she wuz libe.
"Her ole huzbun, Limbrick De Lanzy, already wuz rested, an he git sen up fuh lif
e. It wuz Friday, May duh thuteent, dat ole Limbrick carried Catherine off down
duh ribbuh an murduh uh. A double bad luck, Friday an duh thuteent, das wy dey
make up duh song."
"Was the body buried at Pin Point?" we were interested to know.
"Yes, it wuz, but we didn hab no settin-up cuz duh body wuz too fah gone. Dat wu
z sad. Ebrybody lub Catherine an fuh uh tuh die an be buried widout a settin-up
aw lettin anybody view uh face aw lay deah hans on uh wuz sho a pity.
"Ebrybody wuz at duh fewnul. Come frum miles roun tuh pay deah las respecks tuh
a po wife murduhed by uh huzbun on Friday duh thuteent.
"Duh body wuz brung from duh unduhtakuh's pahluh straight tuh Sweet Fiel ub Eden

Chuch at duh Pint. Chuch so crowded yuh caahn hahdly see duh coffin up in front
. We sing hymns, an den wen duh singin hab die out an yuh could heah jis a lilt
hummin heah an deah, somebody stan up an Say, 'Catherine De Lanzy wuz a sistuh u
b duh Lawd.' 'She sho wuz,' somebody else say. 'She wuz a chile ub Jesus an she
walk in duh way ub righteousness.'
"Dis staht off duh whole congregation an deah mustuh bin neah a hundud people gi
t up and gib testimony bout Catherine's goodness. Some people cry an scream wen
dey tell duh congregation wut a fine uhmun she bin.
"Den duh remains wuz took tuh duh cimiterry neah duh chuch an buried. Duh whole
time we sing hymns an sway tuh duh soun uh duh music. Ebrybody tro a hanful uh d
ut in duh grabe an wen duh grabe digguhs fix duh moun, we Put some uh Catherine
's tings on duh top. Deah wuz a lilt flowuh vase wid duh bottom knock out, an a
lamp chimney, an some puhfumery bottles, an duh pitchuh she made ice
[p. 82]
watuh in jis to Bo-Cat tuk uh off. Den duh ministuh nounce dat duh fewnul suhmo
n wuz tuh be preach at duh annyul memorial wen dey pray fuh ebrybody who die dur
in duh yeah. An den das all an we wehn home."
"Way was Limerick De Lancy called Bo-Cat?" we asked.
"Deah ain no signifcunse tuh dat. I hab a frien dat ebrybody call Friday but uh
name is Lula. I hab a cousin name Angus Bond an a son name May Bud simply cuz h
e wuz bawn in May. One uh muh brothuhs wuz call Baby Head cuz at birth he wuz a
tiny baby wid sech a great big head.
"No, I dohn pay much mine tuh names," said Margaret Snead. "But I do pay tention
tuh bad luck dates. Look uh po Catherine De Lanzy, depribe ub all duh propuh ti
ngs dat come fo burial, cuz it wuz a double bad luck date. Folks at duh Pint do
say dat uh spirit nebuh will res in duh grabe."
Footnotes
^78:1 Minnie Dawson, Pin Point.
^80:1 Margaret Snead, Pin Point.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 83]

Sandfly
Sandfly, about nine miles southeast of Savannah, is a scattered Negro community
spreading through the hot pine barrens to the Isle of Hope. There is nothing unu
sual or outstanding about the sleepy little settlement; its three hundred inhabi
tants appear to lead a placid, uneventful existence.
Many of the houses are situated on a side road which leads to the Isle of Hope.
Modern conveniences are lacking, but the nondescript dwellings are brightened by
flower gardens in the front yards, while small truck gardens occupy the space t
o the rear and sides. The more substantial houses of the more prosperous citizen
s are set deep in the wooded sections and are reached by means of narrow winding
paths bordered with giant moss-hung oak trees.

Usually life in Sandfly flows along pleasantly and without serious interruption.
Even in the morning men and women sit around on porches or in yards, sometimes
talking, sometimes dozing in the sun. The more industrious are at work in the ga
rdens or may be seen through doors busily occupied in washing or ironing clothes
. Many of the men are employed as fishermen or day laborers, and the women who w
ork out are generally engaged as house servants in homes at near-by Isle of Hope
.
At first residents of the community were reluctant to talk about their superstit
ions and beliefs and their knowledge of conjure. Their customary response when f
irst approached was a laconic, "No, ma'am, I ain got no fait in sech tings as cu
njuh." When pressed for details, however, and when assured
[p. 84]
that the interviewers' interest was a friendly one, their attitude frequently ch
anged and they talked volubly of queer happenings in the vicinity.
"They jis don't think bout nuthin but cunjuh," said one woman, a newcomer in the
neighborhood. [*1] "Yuh heah all the time of folks havin spells put on em an fi
ndin cunjuh bags buried in the yahd. All the times some folks are fixin othuhs.
"A woman that lived in Homestead Park jis couldn't seem to have nothin but bad l
uck. She thought maybe an enemy had conjuhed uh, so she looked in the yahd an sh
o nough theah wuz a cunjuh bag. It wuz a queah lookin bundle with a lot of brown
clay in it. She destroyed the bag an the bad luck stopped an the evil spirits d
idn't bothuh uh none."
A small child complained to his parents that he felt snakes moving about in his
head. , A local doctor diagnosed the illness as ringworm, but this explanation
failed to satisfy the parents for the child's own theory of snakes seemed to the
m much more convincing. One morning, soon after, the mother discovered a large s
nake crawling about in front of the house. She killed the snake and the next day
the inflamed places on the boy's head began to heal. In a few days he was compl
etely cured. [*2]
Professional witch doctors and root doctors ply an active trade and are employe
d in the more extreme cases, but often the people take matters in their own hand
s and by means of conjure bags and charms seek to alter their own destinies and
those of their neighbors. Retribution is brought to bear on an enemy, the favor
of a loved one is gained, and luck in business or in games of chance is assured
by the possession of some sort of luck charm or powder.
In a section of Sandfly known as Baker's Crossing lives Ophelia Baker, better kn
own as Madam Truth, professed fortune teller and clairvoyant. The woman's sober
attire and her modern attractive house give little evidence of her profession. W
hen holding a seance, however, her whole appearance
[p. 85]
undergoes a change; her body becomes tense and jerks spasmodically; her dark eye
s roll wildly. Of her ability in her chosen field the medium says, "I advise on
business an love affeahs. I tell good an bad nooz comin tuh yuh. Deah's a remedy
fuh ebry trouble and I hab dat remedy, fuh a spirit hab brung it tuh me." ,
Madam Truth, a member of the Holy Sanctified Church of Sandfly, said that all me
mbers must undergo a sanctifying process in order to be saved. After this has be
en accomplished members claim to be able to hear, from a great distance, singing
, talking, and the sounding of drums. We were told that the beating of the drums
has a special significance, but that was all we could learn on the subject; we

were told that this was a secret, divulged only to members.

Members of the church are forbidden to eat certain kinds of fish and also cabbag
e, lettuce, and other green vegetables. The reason they give is that they have r
eceived a warning from the spirits that it is unwise to eat these foods.
The plump, dark-skinned fortune teller said that she had spent her childhood on
Skidaway Island. She remembered hearing the drums beaten to tell the people in t
he nearby settlements of an approaching dance or festival. Her father had been o
ne of those who beat the drum and thumped out a regular message on it, a message
that could be beard for miles and was clearly understood by all those who had h
eard it.
The woman also remembered wakes which had been held on Skidaway. Coffee and sand
wiches were served the , mourners, each one of whom poured some of the coffee
on the ground for the spirit of the deceased. ,
Another native of Skidaway, [*1] now living in Sandfly, also remembered drum cod
es being sent out from Skidaway. A member of the Baptist Church, he has never h
eard drums beaten in the house of praise, but he described with great pride and
earnestness the ceremony of a river baptism.
"We gadduh at duh chuch wid duh candidates who comes all dressed ready fuh bapti
sm in long wite robes. Duh deacons range duh folks in line, two by two. Den duh
mahch
[p. 86]
tuh duh ribbuh begin, duh pastuh an duh deacons leadin duh way. Dis is a solemn
time, an duh candidates an deah friens an relatives all rejoice. As we mahch we
sing. Some uh duh songs we sing is I'm Gwine Down tuh duh Ribbuh ub Jawdan an Oh
, Who Will Come an Go Wid Me?
"Wen we git tuh duh ribbuh some uh duh folks is so happy an dey scream an jump r
oun so much dat some uh duh udduhs hab tuh hole em. Duh candidates is led intuh
duh watuh, one by one, an baptize. Attuh duh baptizin dey change deah cloze an w
e all go tuh duh chuch fuh duh communion services."
Here, as in many other sections, a silver coin is frequently worn on the ankle t
o insure good luck and to give warning by turning black at any effort by an ene
my to conjure the wearer. , , In regard to this custom of wearing a coin one
woman who is married to a man "wid duh powuh tuh see tings" , said, "Duh folks
roun yuh use tuh weah five dolluh gole pieces on deah ankle, but hahd times jis
nachly make dem gole pieces jump off." [*1]
The same woman told that when she and her husband first moved to Sandfly several
years ago, a neighbor employed a conjure man to put a spell on them to drive th
em away.
"I membuh wen deze folks cross duh way wuz conjuhin us, an strikin roun, I went
tuh duh sto an change a dolluh bill fuh one of deze silvuh dolluhs. It wuz roun
an shiny as yuh please. I carry it in muh pocketbook an duh nex day it tun black
an I know fuh sho dey wuz tryin tuh cunjuh us."
Repeated efforts were made to conjure the newcomers. At first bottles filled wit
h a queer oily substance were buried around the house. When these failed in effe
ct a more powerful charm was compounded, and a few days later the intended victi
m discovered buried in her back yard what she described as "a bottle neck down i
n duh groun. It wuz filled wid some kine of funny lookin oil."

"I know dis wuz a cunjuh," she said. "I call muh huzbun an show it tuh im. He gi
t plenty mad an say he gonuh settle mattuhs once and fuh all wid dis cunjuh man.
He wait fuh im by duh lane an wen he come long, he grab im an shake im an tell
im he know all bout wut he bin doin. He tell im
[p. 87]
he bettuh stop tryin tuh cunjuh us, fuh he know bout cunjuh his ownsef an he tel
l im all duh tings dat be done. Wen duh cunjuh man heah dis, he fall down on is
knees an beg muh huzbun tuh fuhgib im. He tell im bout all sawts uh magic dat he
wukd on udduh folks in duh neighbuhood. He promise not tuh do no mo uh dis an m
uh huzbun let im go."
We were told of another woman who, as a result of conjure, fell mysteriously il
l and felt snakes running up and down her left side under the skin. , Medical
care did not help the case and she is now, according to report, "jis wastin away
an no one caahn do nuttn." [*1]
Graveyard dirt is often employed in the making of conjure bags. , if possible
this must be taken from the grave of a murdered person and some money must be le
ft in exchange. Not very long ago when a man was arrested for murder, his friend
s, wishing to save him, went to the grave of the murdered man, secured some dirt
, and left three pennies on the grave. A man, lingering in the vicinity, stole t
he money and shortly thereafter spent it in the neighborhood store. As one neigh
bor put it "duh ban come widin an inch uh wukin." Although the defendant was not
acquitted, he was sentenced to a mere two or three years, and there was some sp
eculation as to whether or not the theft of the money had been what kept him fro
m going entirely free. [*2]
A woman, suspecting that someone was attempting to conjure her daughter, dug up
the ground around her house until she found the evil charm. Of this case our in
formant says, "It wuz two balls of graveyahd dut, all wrapped up in a clawt. De
y tuk it roun an show it tuh ebrybody. It wuz up at duh poolruhm all spread out
on duh pool table, an folks stop in all duh time tuh xamine it. Duh girl dat wuz
cunjuhed buy a han frum a root man an duh spirits dohn bodduh uh none." [*3]
People in the community believe that extremely powerful charms can be made from
the dust from people's foot tracks. There is a constant dread that someone will
secure this dust, and zealous care is taken to prevent this. We were told, "A
[p. 88]
ole uhmun who libed heah-a-bouts wuz so sked dat somebody would fix uh dat she a
lluz carried a rake wid uh. Down duh road she would go, rakin up uh foot-steps i
n back of uh, so dat nobody could git dat dus an fix uh." [*1]
Another resident who neglected these precautions said she became very ill, due t
o the fact that someone had manufactured a charm from the dust left by her foot
tracks. As her condition became more aggravated she at length consulted a root d
octor. He sold her a counter charm and soon the mysterious illness disappeared.
[*2]
Death, especially if violent or unexpected, is attributed to witchcraft or conju
re. One woman voiced the sentiment of many of the community when she said, "The
ah ain't supposed tuh be no sech thing as nachul death yuh in Sandfly. Wen a pus
son dies some one have fix im sho. Bout a yeah go ole woman went fuh a walk righ
t down this road yuh. She went up on a hill cross frum yuh weah she live an the
nex mawnin she wuz foun dead theah. Mos folks said she wuz cunjuhed that night,
though theah wuz some wut did say she have haht trouble. Jis a week aw so ago th
e brothuh of a neighbuh die right sudden an folks said he wuz cunjuhed too." [*3

]
In regard to death we found a rigid observance of customs that were prevalent al
so in the other communities. For example, one Negro's body had been shipped back
from New York City in order that it might be buried in Sandfly. Otherwise, we w
ere told, the spirit of the deceased would have found no rest, but instead would
have roamed the countryside. Here, too, was observed the practice of placing b
roken bits of pottery and possessions last used by the dead person on the grave
for the purpose of supplying the needs of the spirit.
In Sandfly there is a ready market for love powders and charms. [*4] This field
has been highly commercialized and representatives of different corporations fre
quently visit Sandfly selling such articles as Adam and Eve Root,
[p. 89]
[paragraph continues] Lucky Mojo Love Drops, Black Cat Ashes, and Courting Powde
r. Apparently the women resort to the use of the love charms more frequently th
an the men, and their reason for doing so was described by one woman as being "s
o dat dey kin rule duh men." [*1]
Old and young entertain a firm belief in the existence of witches and spirits. T
he witches may come in a variety of shapes, appearing as a person either male or
female, an animal, or sometimes as an insect. When questioned regarding the ap
paritions, one person said, "A witch ride muh sistuh mos every night. He come s
ingin a lill song. I heah uh movin bout an moanin an in duh mawnin she is jis bo
ut wone out an uh haiah is all tangled. Sometime she wake up an drive him away,
but some nights he come back two aw three times an ride uh. In duh mawnin she ji
s too tied tuh go tuh wuk. [*2]
"Deah wuz a ole woman in Savannah dat dey say wuz a witch. One night a ole man w
ake up an foun dis witch ridin im. He say it look lak a bug. He ketch it an br
eak off duh leg at duh joint. Duh nex mawnin he go an see duh ole woman an sho n
uff she have uh ban all tie up wid a bandage. Dey tell me bout uh an I go see uh
. Uh finguh wuz right off at duh joint."
Spirits of the dead often wander along the dark roadways, , and
belated stroller runs screaming in terror, declaring that he is
[*3] The spirits may appear as misshapen men or women, as sheep,
, A spirit need not always assume the same appearance but may
irely each time. [*4]

frequently some
being pursued.
dogs, and cats.
change form ent

The following story was told by a woman in the community:

"I sho believe in spirits. I have seen em wid muh own eyes. One evenin jis as it
wuz gittn dusty I wuz goin in tuh town tuh see duh dressmakuh. I walk tuh duh c
ah tracks an deah sittin on a rail wuz a lill tiny man, bout long as dis. I nevu
h seen sech a lill man. , He wuz so lill he ain good
[p. 90]
fuh nuthin. I look at im hahd. On his head wuz a lill tin lamp wut gleamed in du
h dahk. He wuz kine of an Indian culluh. He wuz a grown man fuh sho fuh he hab a
lill mustache. I holluh fuh a man tuh come out an see wut I foun, but wen he gi
t deah duh lill man hab disappeah. Jis den duh cah blowed an I hab tuh leab.
"Wen I gits home dat night, it wuz real dahk. I ain goin tuh walk dat dahk road
by mysef an I holluh fuh every man I knowd dat live neahby. I make em all walk h
ome wid me, but deah wuzn no signs of duh lill man.

"Attuh dat lots of folks say dey see im. Wen duh moon is noo an deah is a drizzl
e, he come walkin along wid his lill lamp. He take all kine uh shapes. Sometime
he's a man an sometime he's a animal. Dey say he's comin roun cuz deah's buried
treasure neah yuh." [*1]
Here in this little Negro community there seem to be few phases of life left unt
ouched by superstitious fears. As one woman aptly expressed it--"Everything that
happen is cause by cunjuh an magic. They jis dohn leave nuthin tuh Gawd." [*2]
Footnotes
^84:1 Lizzie Jenkins, Sandfly.
That this informant came from another section of Georgia was reflected in her sp
eech.
^84:2 Ophelia Baker, Baker's Crossing.
^85:1 John Bivens, Baker's Crossing.
^86:1 Lee Baynes, Sandfly.
^87:1 Lee Baynes, Sandfly.
^87:2 Ibid.
^87:3 Ibid.
^88:1 Ellie Davis, Sandfly.
^88:2 Lizzie Jenkins, Sandfly.
^88:3 Ibid.
^88:4 Ibid.
^89:1 Lee Baynes, Sandfly.
^89:2 Ibid.
^89:3 Ibid.
^89:4 Ibid.
^90:1 Lee Baynes, Sandfly.
^90:2 Lizzie Jenkins, Sandfly.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 91]

Grimball's Point
Grimball's Point, lying at the northwestern end of the Isle of Hope on the marsh
es and creeks that run from the wide Skidaway River, is one of the characteristi
c spots of Savannah's rural landscape. The lowland spreads grassy flats against
the horizon; the squawks of marsh hen rise from the long reeds on Grimball's Cre

ek; all the year round a familiar sight is the Negro fisherman sitting patiently
in his small bateau or trudging with his plump catch up an old oak-shaded shell
road.
A few white residents maintain comfortable summer homes at Grimball's Point, but
the settlers scattered on the southern part of the point are Negroes, former sl
aves and descendants of slaves who once worked the great plantations on the Isle
of Hope and other near-by islands. Some of the inhabitants are employed on Grim
ball's Point hunting preserve, while others are farmers or fishermen. Their abod
es are frame bungalows with front porches or little shacks of one or two rooms,
but most of the dwellings are surrounded by sun-dappled yards, fenced with board
s or chicken wire. Each has its backyard pump as there is no running water.
Of the ten Negro families on the point, young and old believe in signs and augur
ies. "Catfish Tom" William, Habersham Gibson, and Solomon Gibson professed to kn
ow that "some signs sho do wuk." Thomas Tuten, who has spent his fifty-eight yea
rs on the island, warned us that "yuh sho has tuh watch people cuz dey kin do yu
h." Aging Aunt Cinda Smith, employed on the old Wiley place, is given the respec
t
[p. 92]
of all the settlers as one who can read signs and interpret dreams.
Solomon Gibson's wife, Mary Liza, [*1] a slender black woman of about forty, cam
e to the island from Skidaway upon her marriage. She was an amiable person, not
at all disinclined to an interview.
"I kin cook and wash an ion an make baskets an do anyting roun duh house," she s
aid. "Yes, I belieb in many signs. Yuh musn sweep out duh doe aftuh dahk an it b
ad luck tuh split a tree wen yuh's walkin. Deah's two signs uh det. Ef duh dog h
olluhs aw a owl hoffuhs, somebody is gonuh die. I lun all dis frum duh ole peop
le an I know it's true."
Bruurs Butler, [*2] well past three score and ten, worked for "Capm Wiley" for n
early thirty years and is still an able field hand. He owns his small house, whi
ch is equipped with electricity and a radio.
"I wuz bawn on DeRenne place," he told us, "an my mothuh an fathuh wuz owned by
Mistuh DeRenne. My fathuh wuz a second sergeant in the Confederate Ahmy. None of
us lef duh plantation aftuh duh waw. I wuk crops fuh Mistuh DeRenne till I wuz
a young man."
We asked if there had been any Gullah Negroes on the Isle of Hope in the old day
s and he nodded.
"Use tuh be many 'Golla' people roun yuh but dey all died out. Dey tell me them
people could do all kine uh curious tings. Dey could make fahm tools wuk fuh um
jis by talkin tuh um. An," he added soberly, "some of um could disappeah at wil
l. Wist! And dey'd be done gone.
"Yuh askin me bout signs? Well," he appeared amused, "yuh'll fine that ef yuh be
lieve sumpm is bad luck an yuh look fuh bad luck, yuh gonuh fine bad luck. Deah'
s some signs that come frum Gawd, though, and these is unfailin. Lak dreams an f
oewahnin not tuh do dis aw dat."
One of the oldest of the residents is white-haired F. J. Jackson [*3] who rememb
ers his childhood days on "Massuh George Wiley plantation" when many freed Negro
es stayed on to work in the cotton fields. Years have weakened his

[p. 93]
once sturdy frame and slowed down both thought and gesture, but the light of hum
or still gleams in his dimmed eyes. We found Jackson in the kitchen of his comfo
rtable frame bungalow, a new house built to replace a little old shanty that was
burned down. He was making a casting net, his twisted old fingers still deft wi
th the cords. He conversed like one glad of congenial company.
"Does I membuh ole times?" he repeated in answer to our question. "Yes, I dohn g
it away frum dis place much now an uh jis sit roan an tink ub a long time ago. D
eah wuzn no automobiles an duh only way tuh git tuh Savannah wuz by duh mule an
caht aw git in duh road wid yuh foots. Not many uh duh people still livin wut co
me long wid me. Dey's bout gone. Me an ole man Bruurs Butluh's bout duh onlies o
nes lef uh duh fus settluhs.
"Yes, I membuhs duh plantation days. Massuh George wuz a slave dealuh to duh waw
, an he tuk us all, muh grandaddy, Lewis Hargray, an muh maw, an muh daddy--I na
me attuh him. Massuh George use tuh buy an sell but he wuz a good man an lot uh
his slaves stay wid im on duh fahm attuh freedom. Dat big house in duh ben uh du
h road wuz weah he lib, an dey still got duh ball an chain an duh banjo table in
duh house now.
"Wen I lef duh fahm an moob tuh duh pint, ain but five wite families yuh. Ain no
roadn nuttn, jis woods. I done a lot uh huntin an fishin. Deah wuz plenty uh de
ahs roun yuh.
"I use tuh go back tuh duh fahm on Satdy night fuh duh big times. Dey hab wut yu
h call shouts. Wut kine uh music did us hab?" Jackson's aged eyes twinkled. "We
use drum an fife an we made duh drum frum holluh beehive lawg. I tell yuh how w
e done it. Yuh cut duh lawg an tak a deah hide an stretch obuh duh hole. Den yuh
cut a hoop ban dat could lock roun duh lawg. Den yuh cut strips uh deah hide an
make bans tuh hole duh head cuvvuh tight. How yuh make duh fife? Well, yuh jis
cut reed cane.
"Lots uh udduh tings we
made out uh deah hide,
les, baskets an buckets
eah's much I caahn tell

make our ownsef," said the old man. "All duh fishin cawd
and we make mos uh duh house needs sech as cheahs an tab
an stools, an sometime spoons an beds and Cubbuds. Oh, d
off han."

[p. 94]
Jackson's wife, who was not many years past middle age, came in about this time,
greeted us, and sat down to listen.
"Wut dis bout signs?" Jackson laughed. "Sho I knows a few. Deah's some dat foete
ll wut comin. Wen yuh see duh hawgs bring straw in deah mouf, it's a sho sign wi
ntuh goin tuh be cole. Ef duh roostuh come in duh doe an crow an den go out, it'
s sho sign uh sorruh in dat house. Duh owl is a true messenjuh uh det, an wen y
uh see a bunch uh crows flock up, yuh jis watch out fuh a fewnul. Deah's many si
gns an wunduhs. Duh Bible tell us so. I had a buckeye fuh many yeahs dat keep of
f bad luck. I use tuh have a hawse shoe ovuh duh doe uh duh ole house wut bun do
wn, but I ain put one on dis un yet.
"Rootn?" he shook his head disdainfully. "I seen duh root man say he tak wuhrums
an pins an tings out uh people, but belieb it's some trick. I ain got no fait i
n dat stuff."
"But I have," put in his wife. [*1] "Muh brothuh-in-law wuz fixed by his wife.
Not muh sistuh but anothuh woman. He tun intuh a invalid an laid down helpless f
uh twenny-five yeahs. None uh the medical doctuhs couldn hep im, an sevral root

doctuhs wuz called in. One of um said nuthin couldn be done fuh im cuz the puss
on that put im in this fix wuz dead an theah wuzn nobody tuh throw it back tuh.
So he had tuh linguh on till finally it reached his haht an he died."
Jackson scratched his bristly chin and smiled sheepishly. "I do belieb in some r
oom," he said, "but uh didn wannuh talk too fas. I seen a root man tak is bag an
in it wuz needles an pins an grabeyahd dut an sulphuh an rusty nails, an he mad
e it crawl.
"But nuttn evuh done me hahm," he went on in his gentle voice. "I alluz got wut
I want all deze yeahs. Cuz yuh know wy? I hab a black cat bone."
We had heard of the potency of the black cat bone. Other Negroes had told us tha
t it could ward off conjure, cure sickness, or even give its possessor the power
to fly. Thus far, however, we had met no one who had acquired so miraculous a c
harm.
[p. 95]
"How did you get the bone?" we excitedly queried. We summoned up visions of Jack
son creeping in the dead of night to some lonely spot near a cemetery and shooti
ng a black cat between its glowing green eyes. The actual facts proved far diffe
rent.
"Wen I wuz a young man," said Jackson, "I ketched a big black cat. Den I made a
big fyuh in duh yahd an put on a pot uh watuh an let it come tuh a bile. Den I t
ied duh black cat up an put im in duh watuh alibe an put a weight obuh duh pot t
uh keep im in and uh let im bile tuh pieces. Den I strain duh stoo an separate d
uh bones an I shut muh eyes an pull duh bones tru muh mouf till uh got duh right
one. All deze yeahs I kep dat bone an nuttn ebuh do me no ebil."
Footnotes
^92:1 Mary Liza Gibson, Grimball's Point.
^92:2 Bruurs Butler, Grimball's Point.
^92:3 F. J. Jackson, Grimball's Point. Deceased July, 1940.
^94:1 Della Jackson, Grimball's Point.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 97]

Wilmington Island
Uncle Jack Tattnall [*1] and Uncle Robert Pinckney [*2] are river men. For many
years they have earned a frugal living by casting for shrimp or crabbing or fish
ing in the Wilmington River. Apparently they are in little fear of the elements.
Winter or summer, at whatever hour of the day or night the tide is "right," the
y are on the water in their bateaux.
Many of the Wilmington island Negroes depend upon the river for their livelihood
. In leisure hours, here as in other sections, skillful fingers carve or weave t
o pass the time away. We were fortunate in being shown a walking stick carved so
me years before by an old fisherman of the island. [*3] The delicately detailed
figure of a human being formed a third of the stick, with hair, features, finger

s, and shoes carefully executed. The narrow thin figure stood stiffly gowned in
a garment edged with a saw-tooth design.
For some time we had been anxious to obtain interviews with Uncle Jack and Uncle
Robert, who were among the oldest inhabitants of Wilmington Island, in order th
at we might learn something regarding beliefs and customs that had been handed d
own to them. Until the present time, we had met with little success.
A barbecue to be held in the side yard of Celia Small, one of the islanders, at
last gave us the long hoped for opportunity of meeting a number of the residents
at one time.
[p. 98]
[paragraph continues] When we arrived, it was just getting dark. Black masses of
trees were outlined against the sky. To the south a shining river curved into s
hadows. A little wind blowing up from the marsh tasted of salt.
The party was in full swing. Small groups clustered about the open fire, chattin
g amiably and tending the juicy pork which was slowly roasting on a grill. The l
ight of the fire lit up the shiny black faces and touched here and there on a br
ight blouse or turban.
Uncle Jack, tall, bony-framed and lanky, had worn his usual workaday clothes to
the party. His kindly, near-sighted eyes shone with excitement. Uncle Robert, sm
all and spry, had dressed up in honor of the occasion. He was conspicuously prou
d of his derby hat, neatly brushed and cleaned. It was about two sizes too large
and came down to Uncle Robert's ears at the sides and to his eyebrows in front,
but, almost new, it gave the old man a certain air of assurance and seemed to m
ake him forget that his brown suit was faded and well worn.
When the opening merriment had somewhat subsided, the crackling of pork fat and
the smell of hot yams drew the party around the fire where Uncle Jack and Uncle
Robert were exchanging reminiscences of old times. For the most part the others
listened, occasionally interjecting a sentence or two.
We asked how long the old men had lived on the island and Uncle Jack answered, "
All muh life I lib right yuh on Wilmington Ilun. Bawn yuh an nebuh want tuh lib
no place else. I got ebryting I want right yuh."
Uncle Robert, who was eighty-one, about ten years older than Uncle Jack, said th
at he had come to the island from Clinch County just before the War between the
States.
The long journey undertaken so many years ago had made a vivid impression on him
. With a far-away expression in his eyes, the old man told us about that trip.
"We come in a wagon hitch up tuh a double team uh hawse. We pile ebryting in duh
wagon, all duh pots and pans an beddn. Duh women ride in duh wagon an duh men t
rudge longside.
"It take us days an days tuh come frum Clinch County
[p. 99]
tuh yuh. We cross tree ribbuhs. We git tuh one ribbuh wut take us a half day tuh
git obuh. Wen night come, we sleep in duh houses long duh road wut duh folks de
suhted. I membuh one time we stay at a house wut dohn hab no flo. Jis walls an a
roof. We put duh beddn right down on duh groun an sleep deah.

"We done sell tuh Mistuh Barnard. Yuh know duh Barnards, missus? Mis Barnard com
e outn a Barstow. Dey lib yuh, too. Well, wen we git tuh Wilmington Run, deah wu
z jis a few houses on duh ilun. Deah wuz still some folks yuh wut hab come frum
Africa. I recollect dat one gang uh slabes wuz brung frum Liberia. Dat wuz fo I
git yuh. Duh las gang wuz brung attuh I git yuh an dey come ovuh frum Africa an
dey stop an add tuh um at Santo Domingo.
"Yuhs heahd bout dat lot, ain't yuh? Big boat try tuh creep up duh Savannah Ribb
uh, but dey chase um out tuh open sea an dey keep chasin um till wen dat boat gi
t way an kin lan dem slabes, it way down tuh Jekyll Ilun. Den attuh dey git um d
eah, dey steal some ub um back an carry um up yuh tuh Hutchinson Ilun. I tink da
sso, missus.
"I membuh doze Africans wen dey fus come couldn walk on duh groun bery good. Dey
hab lill clumpy feet an dey ain weah no shoes needuh."
We asked if Uncle Robert had ever heard the Africans say how they had been captu
red and he nodded. "Yes'm, I heahs um talk bout dat many times. Dey say duh wite
mens git um tuh come on ship an dey fool um wid all kine uh pretty tings. Den d
ey lock um in duh hatch an wen dey git out, dey way out on duh open sea."
Did Uncle Robert remember any particular words that the African people had used?
"Ole man Pompey he say, 'skinskon' ebrytime he git mad. Wen he wuz bery mad he a
lluz say dat. But nobody know wut he mean. He call a watuhmelon a 'balonga.'
"I membuh duh African mens use tuh all duh time make lill clay images. Sometime
dey lak mens an sometime lak animal. Once dey make a big un. Dey put a speah in
he han an walk roun im an say he wuz duh chief. But dat clay got too much ribbuh
mud in um an he ain las long. Sometime
[p. 100]
dey try tuh make duh image out uh wood, but seem lak duh tool ain right, so mos
times dey's ub clay." , ,
We questioned the old man about any other recollections he might have concerning
African people and he added, "Doze Africans alluz call one anudduh 'countryman.
' Dey know ef dey come frum. duh same tribe by duh mahk dey hab. Some hab a lon
g mahk an some hab a roun un. Udduhs weah eahring in duh eah. Some weahs it in d
uh lef eah an doze frum anudduh tribe weahs it in duh right eah.
"Deah's two Africans buried on duh ilun right now. Lonnie Green an his brudduh,
dey buried right neah duh Indian mouns. Jack Pinckney yuh, he bury um."
At this point Uncle Jack and Uncle Robert engaged in an animated discussion of t
he types of funerals which had been held in those early days.
Uncle Jack said, "Wen a pusson die, we beat duh drum tuh let ebrybody know bout
duh det. Den dey come tuh duh wake an sit up wid duh body."
Uncle Robert added, "Wen one uh doze Africans die, it wuz bery sad. Wen a man's
countryman die, he sit right wid um all night. Den in duh mawnin he go out an pr
ay tuh duh sun. Yuh know, missus, doze Africans ain got no Christianity. Dey ain
hab no regluh religion. Dey jis pray tuh duh sun an moon an sometime tuh a big
stah. Attuh dey pray, dey come in an put deah han on duh frien an say good-bye.
, Den dey go home."
"We beat duh drum agen at duh fewnul." This from Uncle Jack. "We call it duh de
ad mahch. Jis a long slow beat. Boom-boom-boom. Beat duh drum. Den stop. Den bea

t it agen."
We wanted to know what the drums looked like and the, two men took turns in supp
lying the information.
Uncle Robert spoke first. "Duh ole drums wut duh Africans make wuz make out ub a
skin uh some kine uh animal stretch obuh a holluh lawg. Dey didn eben take duh
haiah off duh skin. Jis put it on datta way."
Here Uncle Jack spoke up, "Ain so long sence dey stop makin drums. Wen I wuz a y
oung man, we use tuh make um. Dey wuz fo-cawnuhed sometimes an wuz cubbuh wid a
skin.
[p. 101]
[paragraph continues] Dey wuz bout fo feet hiah. At duh fewnul wen we beat duh d
rum we mahch roun duh grabe in a ring."
We asked if any of them knew any spider stories. There was some hesitancy; then
they all said, "No'm."
Celia Small, [*1] a slim, middle-aged Negro woman, listened intently, nodding he
r head. We asked Celia if she had heard of them.
"Yes'm, muh granma she speak ub em many time an say dey's wicked." Celia laughed
slyly. "She say dey talk bout um mung duh mens."
We asked if the spider had a name, like Brer Rabbit.
"No'm, he ain got no name. Lease, I ain nebuh heahd it. Only time I knows yuh ca
ll a spiduh wen yuh say, 'An Nancy got um,' an das wen he ketch duh fly. Duh sp
iduh is wicked. Hab tuh be bery keahful bout um. He drop right down out uh duh s
ky on yuh."
"What about the spider stories?" we persisted.
Celia looked at us warningly. She laughed softly, "Spiduh stories mus be bad. Ca
ahn git duh mens tuh tell um tuh dis day. Dey jis say dey ain know nuttn bout um
. Dey ain want tuh tell um tuh duh ladies."
Gene, [*2] Uncle Jack's stalwart son, who had for the most part stood quietly at
the fringe of the little group and had volunteered no information at all, now c
ontributed, "Doze spiduh stories ain nuttn but duhty jokes. Dat's all dey is. Yu
h call a duhty joke 'An Nancy story.' Ain no stories tuh tell duh ladies."
A sudden silence followed and we asked if any of the group had heard of flying A
fricans. Uncle Jack's face brightened. "Long as I kin membuh, missus, I been hea
hin bout dat. Lots uh slabes wut wuz brung obuh frum Africa could fly. Deah wuz
a crowd ub um wukin in duh fiel. Dey dohn lak it heah an dey tink dey go back tu
h Africa. One by one dey fly up in duh eah an all fly off an gone back tuh Afric
a."
As the old man was talking, the others nodded in agreement and mumbled that they
too had heard of "folks wut could fly." Peter McQueen, [*3] small and middle-ag
ed, said,
[p. 102]
[paragraph continues] "Deah's folks wut kin fly eben now. Folks is alluz complai
nin bout bein rid by witches.

There was again a murmur of agreement and we were able to catch snatches of conv
ersation dealing with people in the neighborhood who had been ridden by witches.
Celia Small told us, "Dey's mosly folks yuh know. Jis change deah shape at night
an come in duh house an ride yuh."
"Now das sumpm reel," approved Uncle Robert. "I bin rid lots uh time by witches.
Jis sit on yuh ches an ride yuh. Yuh wake up an feel lak yuh smudduhin. Ef yuh
kin git duh succulation an tro um off, it all right."
The talk of witches suggested other apparitions and we were informed that a vari
ety of spirits were said to be seen on the island. These, it seemed, took differ
ent sizes and shapes and frequently appeared to the local residents. , ,
"Sometimes," said Celia, "doze spirits put spells on yuh, fix yuh."
"Spirits ain duh only ones," added Peter McQueen. "Folks kin wuk wid cunjuh too.
Ain dasso, Uncle Robert?"
"Dasso," Uncle Robert nodded sagely. "Muh own brudduh wuz cunjuhed. He hab a spe
ll put on um. He hab fits all duh time--hydrophobical fits--act lak he crazy. Nu
ttn we do hep im, an attuh a few yeahs he die."
"Only ting yuh kin do tuh keep frum bein cunjuhed is tuh carry a ban," said Pete
r. "Mos folks tote a ban wid um." , , , ,
"Plenty folks kin fix yuh wid a ban dey make deysef," said another voice.
"What are the charms made of?" we wanted to know.
"Haiah," "Nails," "Frum duh cloze" were the various responses and Celia enlarge
d on this information. "Ef yuh hab a enemy, nebuh let um git a piece uh yuh cloz
e. An yuh bun yuh haiah an yuh nail parins. Dey kin sho make powuhful han frum d
eze."
We inquired if many persons made a profession of this, and Peter informed us, "S
ometimes dey git um frum a root doctuh." , ,
"Duh root doctuh kin hep yuh too," added Uncle Robert.
[p. 103]
[paragraph continues] "Dey is powful smaht. I use tuh heah tell ub a root man Da
me Smaht McCall. , Ef yuh git in any trouble, yuh jis go see um an he git yuh
out ub it. Deah wuz a man wut got rested. He wuz plenty skeah bout wut would hap
pen tuh um. He go see Smaht McCall an Smaht say not tuh worry cuz be would hep u
m. Duh day uh duh trial come an wen dey try duh case, a buzzud fly in duh cote h
ouse winduh. He fly roun. Den he light on duh jedge desk. Well, sub, wid dat bu
zzud deah duh jedge jis couldn do nuttn. He jis had tuh pick up an go. Duh case
wuz dismissed."
"Tell bout wut Smaht McCall done tuh Doctuh Rogers," requested Uncle Jack.
"Well, Doctuh Rogers, he wuz a regluh doctuh an sometime duh folks would go tuh
see um wen dey git sick stead ub goin tuh Smaht McCall. Smaht, he git mad. He sa
y he fix dis Doctuh Rogers. He put a spell on duh hawse. Wen Doctuh Rogers go ou
t nex time an git in he carriage, duh hawse run right intuh a tree an Doctuh Rog
ers git kill."

As an afterthought he finished with, "Sometime deze root doctuhs is smahtuhn duh

regluh doctuhs. Long time ago a doctuh tell me I hab tuh stop eatin meat. He sa
y it ain good fuh me an ef uh eat it, I git sickn die. I bin eatin it ebuh sence
an Ise still alibe. Dat doctuh bin dead fuh yeahs. Mos deze root doctuhs knows
plenty; dey know nuff tuh lib."
There were a number of palmetto trees in the section and we asked if any of the
people had ever heard of eating palmetto cabbage.
"Yes'm," they answered.
"Palmettuh cabbages is good eatin."
"Yuh kin jis cut it up an eat it raw an yuh kin cook it up wid fat meat," Uncle
Robert told us.
"Yuh kin make good palm wine outuh duh berries," volunteered Peter McQueen.
Various members of the party asked Peter McQueen to tell one of the numerous sto
ries about Brer Rabbit and Brer Wolf. Peter pondered for a minute; then he start
ed:
"Bruh Rabbit and Bruh Wolf wuz alluz tryin tuh git duh bes uh one anudduh. Now B
ruh Wolf he own a hoe an it wuk fuh crop all by itsef. Bruh Wolf jis say, 'Swis
h,' tuh it. Den he sit down in duh fiel an duh hoe do all duh wuk.
[p. 104]
"Bruh Rabbit he wahn dat hoe. He hide behine bush an watch how duh wolf make it
wuk. One day wen duh wolf way, Bruh Rabbit he steal duh, hoe. He go tuh he own f
iel an he stan duh hoe up an he say, 'Swish.' Duh hoe staht tuh wuk. It wuk and
it wuk. Fo long duh crop is done finish. Den rabbit want hoe tuh stop, an he cal
l out an he call out but hoe keep right on wukin. Bruh Rabbit dohn know wut wud
tuh say tuh stop it. Pretty soon duh hoe cut down all Bruh Rabbit wintuh crop an
still it keep on wukkin an wukkin. Bruh Rabbit wring he hans. Ebryting he hab i
s gone. Es den Bruh Wolf come long an he laugh an he laugh out loud wen he see h
ow Bruh Rabbit steal he hoe an how it done ruin all duh crop. Bruh Rabbit he kee
p callin out, 'Swish, swish,' an duh hoe go fastuhn fastuh. Wen he see Bruh Wolf
, he ax um tuh make duh hoe stop. Bruh Wolf wohn say nuttn uhtall cuz he mad dat
Brut Rabbit steal he hoe. Den attuh a time he say, 'Slow, boy,' an duh hoe he s
top wukkin. Den Bruh Wolf he pick up he hoe an carry um home."
By this time it had grown late, and the figures about the fire were shadows. Fro
m the direction of the marshes the wind was blowing more sharply and it was time
to go home. Uncle Jack came up to say goodbye to us and said that he was going
to spend the night on the river, shrimping. When we expressed surprise, he laugh
ed and said that this was his usual custom.
Uncle Robert nodded in agreement. "We's at home in duh ribbuh," he said. "Bin ou
t deah so many yeahs. Ain nuttn tuh, be feahed ub."
Footnotes
^97:1 Jack Tattnall, Wilmington Island.
^97:2 Robert Pinckney, Thunderbolt.
^97:3 Property of Edward A. Sieg, 128 West Jones Street, Savannah.
^101:1 Celia Small, Wilmington Island.

^101:2 Gene Tattnall, Wilmington Island.

^101:3 Peter McQueen, Wilmington Island.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 105]

Sunbury
Our car came to an abrupt stop in the sandy road before the board fence which en
closed a small group of weather-beaten clapboard houses. We called to a young Ne
gro girl who lounged in a doorway and she came forward to see what we wanted. Al
most simultaneously there appeared from the other houses scattered about the cle
aring a number of other persons.
Two women about thirty-five years old and nine or ten small children all approac
hed the fence. At first they were rather wary, but their attitude gradually turn
ed to friendliness and they hung over the high board fence, talking and laughing
in great good humor. Elizabeth Roberts, [*1] the young girl whom we had first s
een, appeared to be the leader of the group.
We were interested to know if these people had river baptisms any more. "Duh Sun
bury Baptis Church an duh Palmyra Baptis Church both hab baptizins," Elizabeth t
old us. "Cose it depend on how many folks wants tuh leab duh Presbyterian Church
an jine duh Baptis. Mos ub us is already baptize."
"Where do they hold the baptisms?" we inquired.
The group all pointed in the direction of the river. "Right Obuh deah in duh Sun
bury Ribbuh," they chorused.
Elizabeth again took the initiative. "All duh candidates is robed in wite," she
explained. "Duh preachuh come frum Savannah an he is dressed in a long robe. He
walk long an
[p. 106]
duh folks all mahch behine im. Dey goes down tuh duh ribbuh an sing as dey go. D
ey alluz hab duh baptizin wen duh tide is goin out so duh watuh will wash duh si
ns away. Attuh dey all gits tuh duh ribbuh, dey stop an duh preachuh ast duh can
didates tuh step fawwud. One by one he dip em in duh watuh an dey is buried in b
aptism. Wen dey is all baptize, duh preachuh pray tuh duh ribbuh an ast dat all
sins be taken away. Den all duh folks sing an shout an praise duh Lawd."
The little group leaning on the railing nodded in agreement and as if in memory
of the ceremony their bodies swayed rhythmically. As we listened and watched we
could almost see the white robed procession winding to the river bank; we could
almost hear the chanting of the converts as their sins were washed away.
The conversation turned to burial customs in the section and the women told us t
hat "settin-ups" were still held for those who died.
"We all sit wid duh body an sing an pray an keep duh spirit company," said one o
f them.
Another added, "At duh fewnul we sing an we puts our hands on duh cawpse tuh say

goodbye. It bad luck not tuh do dis."

We had heard in other communities that in case of death away from home the body
is brought back to its native town for burial. This custom is also prevalent in
Sunbury, we learned.
"Ebrybody wannuh be buried in deah own town,"' Elizabeth said. "An we nebuh bury
strainjuhs wid our own folks. Ef a strainjuh die yuh, we bury em in duh strainj
ah's lot."
Emma Stevens, [*1] tall and slim, a baby in her arms and several small children
gathered about her, spoke up, "Yuh got tuh be plenty keahful bout duh spirits. D
uh spirit is hungry jis lak duh pusson. Yuh hab tuh put food in duh ruhm fuh duh
spirit tuh come eat."
"Dat is duh truth," agreed young Elizabeth. "Ef duh spirit is hungry, it will sh
o come back an hant yuh."
This talk of spirits started us on a new train of thought
[p. 107]
and we were curious to learn of the local theories regarding ghosts and witches.
"Duh spirit nebuh go in duh groun wid duh body," volunteered Emma. "It jis wand
uh roun. Dey come out wen duh moon is noo."
Mary Stevens, [*1] whose short, stocky figure was clad in bright pink and who wo
re a sailor hat perched rakishly on her head, stated, "Duh spirits is ebryweah.
Dey peah mosly at duh fus dahk an in duh middle night."
Young Elizabeth, too, had something to say about spirits. "I sees em all duh tim
e," she said. "Dey dohn hurt yuh none, jis walk long wid yuh an talk. Some hab d
uh head on an some hab duh head off."
From ghosts and shadows of the night the discussion followed its natural course
to even darker powers, such as conjure, evil roots, and counter charms. The litt
le group glanced slyly at one another. It was in lowered tones that they volunte
ered remarks on this subject.
"We do heah bout folks rootin each udduh all duh time. Yuh sho hab tuh be keahf
ul. Some folks weahs a dime aw a penny tied on duh ankle an wen it tun black, de
y knows somebody is tryin tuh root em." , ,
"What are the conjures made of?" we wanted to know.
"Dey make em uh haiah an nails an frum lots uh tings," we were told.
Elizabeth
unny oily
n dat wuz
fo he git

said, "Duh heabiest root I ebuh heard bout waz a cunjuh made uh some f
stuff in a bottle. Duh enemy ketch duh pusson's spirit in dat bottle a
a powuhful spell. Duh man fell sick an had tuh go tuh a root doctuh
cuod."

"Yuh sho hab bad luck ef yuh do a lot uh tings," warned one of the women. "Nobod
y ebuh carry a hoe aw a rake tru duh house. Das a bad sign."
"It's bad luck tuh carry wood on yuh shoulduh tru duh house," was added to this
information.
"But it ain bad luck ef you weahs a Lucky Haht;" interposed Emma.

"And what is a Lucky Heart," we inquired.

[p. 108]
"It's fuh good luck. All duh people roun yuh carries Lucky Hahts and Lucky Mojoe
s an sech tings."
Respecting harvest festivals one of the women said, "I hab heah tell how dey doh
n do dat no mo."
"We do git tuhgedduh an hab dance an pahties an big suppuhs," stated another. He
r eyes sparkled at the pleasant memory. "We does duh Snake Hip an duh Buzzud Lop
e."
The others chorused, "An addalas dance we did duh Fish Tail an duh Fish Bone an
duh Camel Walk."
All efforts failed to persuade the women to describe these dances. Evidently thi
nking of the antics of their neighbors at the recent dance they laughed repeated
ly, shaking their heads and nudging one another but refusing to be cajoled into
a demonstration.
After learning that we wished to record the old customs as far back as possible,
the women suggested that we visit Uncle Jonah, [*1] who was the great grandfath
er of Elizabeth. In answer to repeated halloos the old man came trudging down th
e road. As he drew nearer the car, we could see that he was a spry, erect little
figure, clad in a blue chambray shirt and a pair of dark trousers. Although he
carried a gnarled stick for support, he appeared to move with considerable rapid
ity. His salutation was, "Dis is Uncle Jonah, duh man wut swalluh duh whale."
Uncle Jonah told us that he was eighty-seven years of age and that he had been b
orn on a plantation on Harris Neck. He had remained there until after the time "
uh duh big raid," he said and he had been in Sunbury for a period of about sixty
years.
When asked if he could remember any of the slaves who had come from Africa, a fa
raway expression came into his eyes. Finally he offered, "Yes'm, I membuh two. O
le man Ben an Sally dey bote come frum Africa. Dey sho use tuh use some funny wu
ds. Wen it would tunduh, dey would alluz say it wuz 'maulin a bumba.'"
Uncle Jonah tried to recall some of the African stories he had heard in his yout
h. He knit his brows in deep thought. After a time he said, "I membuh heahin bou
t a boatload uh
[p. 109]
[paragraph continues] Nigguhs wut wuz bring frum Africa. Dey wuz kep hid in duh
cabin till. dey git tuh Sunbury. Wen dey let um out an dey see dey wuzn in Afric
a, dey jis take wing an fly back home. Cose now, ma'am, I didn see dis but I hea
h bout it many times."
Another story that the old man told us was as follows: "Deah wuz two countrymen
wut bote come frum Africa libin on duh plantation. One ub dem die an dey bury um
widout duh udduh knowin bout it. Pretty soon he lun bout how he frien die an he
make um dig um up. He say he wannuh say a few wuds tuh um. Dey dig up duh man a
n he speak tuh um an den put um back in duh grabe. It wuz all right attuh he say
goodbye."
"Uncle Jonah," we asked, "do you remember much conjuring in those days?"

The white head nodded slowly. "Yes'm, deah sho wuz cunjuhin, but deah's mo cunju
hin in deze days dan deah wuz in doze. I heah bout it all duh time roun yuh."
Our interview concluded, we set out in search of Siras Bowen, who, we had been t
old, carved wooden tombstones. , We rode down the sandy, tree-lined road until
we came to the Sunbury Baptist Church, a white frame building set back from the
highway against a background of verdant spreading trees. The Bowen family burial
ground was to the right of the church and here we discovered that Siras' skill
in wood carving was manifested in many unusual markers.
These were wooden images set on graves that were close together. One resembled a
large bird; another represented a snake writhing upon a stand; and the third wa
s the figure of a man, round and pole-like of body, with a head that resembled a
ball and rudely sculptured features. Another Bowen marker was of clay painted
yellow; in its surface was roughly cut the outline of an open hand with a small
mirror glittering in the palm.
Most of the graves were decorated with possessions of the departed persons. The
re were many glasses, bottles, and vases, most of which had been turned a shimme
ring purple from long exposure to the sun. For a time we wandered
[p. 110]
through the little cemetery, reading the inscriptions on the various tombstones.
The same day we visited another cabin on the dirt road leading back from Sunbury
Bluff. We had already driven past the little two-room shack, painted green, its
dark roof patched in many places, when our attention was attracted by a stout,
middle-aged woman who was sitting on the porch idly playing with a long, dangero
us looking knife. At once we reversed the gears and rolled backward to a stop. N
ear the woman was seated the husky figure of a young girl. She wore but one garm
ent, a faded green dress which hung raggedly to about the knee. Beneath the skir
t were large muscular legs that were twisted about the rungs of the chair. Long,
staring yellow eyes looked out at us with disturbing, unblinking fixity. The gi
rl's hair stood out stiffly in a number of tight little braids. She was slowly,
laboriously stringing weights on a fish net.
The older woman spoke at first in a grudging, reserved manner. The girl continue
d her work on the fish net, occasionally glancing at us with that impenetrable e
xpression.
After much persuasion we gained the older woman's confidence and she spoke to us
freely. She, too, attended the baptisms held by members of the two churches and
also remembered various "settin-ups" she had gone to. She told us that food was
usually prepared for the watchers.
"Bread an coffee," she said, "das wut dey gie yuh at a settin-up."
"We thought they ate chicken," we remarked.
"No, dey dohn hab no chicken. Jis bread an coffee."
The subject of food led us to inquire if she knew of any persons who refused to
eat certain things.
"Muh huzbun wohn nebuh eat chicken. Ain nebuh eat it sence he wuz bawn, an needu
h his mudduh befo him."
"Why is that? Doesn't he like it?"

"Ain no mine wedduh he lak it aw ain lak it. He jis wohn eat it. Lots uh folks s
ay deah's some food wut dey dohn eat. I nebuh eat rabbit. An none uh muh folks w
ouldn eat it needuh. Dey say it wuz no good tuh eat."
The conversation drifted on until the talk of food brought
[p. 111]
to the woman's mind gala occasions at which she had feasted and danced in her yo
uth.
"We use tuh dance all duh time tuh duh drums," she said. "We would dance roun an
roun in a succle an clap our hans an sing. Dey would hab duh dances obuh on St.
Catherine Ilun."
"How would you know when they were going to hold a dance?"
"Dey beat duh drums on St. Catherine. Den dey heah it at Harris Neck an folks d
eah tell all ub us yuh bout duh dance. We all go obuh tuh St. Catherine in a boa
t an dance an dance till mos daylight."
When the talk finally turned to roots and other potent elements of conjure, we w
ere told of a recent incident in the neighborhood.
"I sees dis wid muh own eyes," asserted the story-teller. "Deah wuz a ole man ro
un yuh wut wuz cunjuhed an hab lots uh trouble wid his eyes. He dig roun his yah
d tuh see ef any dose is buried deah. Attuh a time he fine a dawl baby buried un
duh duh doe step. Its two finguhs wuz stuck in its eye. Duh man tro duh dawl in
duh ribbuh an duh trouble disappeah."
She said that she knew of no other recent case of conjure, but it appeared that
both women had had experiences with witches. We were informed that it was a comm
on occurrence for "folks tuh hab witches ride um at night." The girl contribute
d little to the conversation, but occasionally nodded her head in agreement when
the older woman made a statement. Only once did she speak, and then it was to i
ssue a brief sharp rebuke to a very small child who was scampering naked about t
he yard.
After a time the older woman, too, sank into a heavy, unresponsive silence. When
she answered our queries at all, it was with a flat, "No, ma'am, I ain nebuh he
ahd uh dat," or an exasperating, "Wut, ma'am?"
We left the two women as dusk was falling. Looking back, we saw the older woman
again slowly waving the knife and the girl still in the same almost motionless p
ose, her slow methodical work on the fish net continuing.
Footnotes
^105:1 Elizabeth Roberts, Sunbury.
^106:1 Emma Stevens, Sunbury.
^107:1 Mary Stevens, Sunbury.
^108:1 "Uncle Jonah," Sunbury.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 113]

Harris Neck
Turning off from the coastal highway near Riceboro a tree-shaded dirt road leads
to Harris Neck, a remote little settlement connected to the mainland by a cause
way and located about forty-eight miles south of Savannah. Narrow, ruffed roads
curve and turn unexpectedly through the densely wooded area. Set singly or in li
ttle clusters of two or three and sometimes almost hidden by the trees and folia
ge are the houses of the inhabitants. There is a peaceful atmosphere about the e
ntire island; life flows along in a smoothly gliding stream; the people seem sat
isfied for the most part with a simple, uneventful scheme of existence.
The first house we stopped at was that of Ed Thorpe, [*1] a familiar and well li
ked character in the section. A small, neatly inscribed placard placed near the
gate bore the owner's name. The attractive house was set well back from the road
in a large grove of oak trees. A whitewashed fence protected the property.
The old man, who was eighty-three years old, was working in the side yard adjoin
ing the house. His broad, erect shoulders and his bright alert eyes made him app
ear to be much younger than his actual age. He told us proudly that he had lived
in this particular house for twenty-five years. Then he apologized because his
present circumstances prevented him from having the house and fence repainted.
[p. 114]
We discussed native Africans and Ed Thorpe remembered that his grandmother had c
ome from Africa.
"She come frum. Africa an uh name wuz Patience Spaulding," he began. "She tell m
e dat in Africa she use tuh eat wile tings. I membuh she use tuh go out in duh w
oods roun yuh an bring back some kine uh weed wut she cook. She call it 'lam qua
to.' It look lak pokeberry tuh me.
"She say all duh people in Africa loves red. Das how dey ketch um. I mean duh fo
lks wut bring um yuh as slabes. Dey put up a red clawt weah dey would see it. We
n dey git close tuh duh boat, dey grab um an bring um yuh. She say das duh way d
ey ketch huh.
"Wen muh gran pray, she kneel down on duh flo. She bow uh head down tree time an
she say 'Ameen, Ameen, Ameen.'
"Muh gran say deah wuz lots uh cunjuh in Africa. Deah wuz some men wut could mak
e a pot bile widout fyuh an deah wuz some wut could fly. , She tell me dat deah
wuz witches wut rode folks. Dey could take off deah skins an hang um up an go
out as cats. Wen dey come back duh nex mawnin, dey would put on duh skins. Deah
is folks roun heah tuhday wut says dey caahn sleep nights cuz duh witches ride
um.
"Folks say duh road tuh Maringo is hanted. I use tuh lib at Maringo some time b
ack, but I nebuh did see no spirits. Once I tink I see one. Wen I git closuh, it
tan out tuh be a big dog."
Later that day we stopped at a neat whitewashed cottage and talked for a while w
ith Isaac Basden, [*1] a blind basketmaker about sixty years of age. The old ma
n had learned his trade during his youth before he had gone blind and now suppor
ted himself comfortably in this manner.
We found him sitting in the front room, surrounded by his work. A number of fini

shed baskets were also in evidence. They varied widely in size and shape and wer
e all of the coil type. Many were fanners, while there were also a number of la
rge round baskets, about twenty inches in diameter, with matching covers that fi
tted well down over the rim. Isaac
[p. 115]
used bulrushes and grasses for his material and worked with a sure deft touch th
at insured sturdy construction.
He remembered that drums had been used for a variety of purposes during his yout
h. He said, "I use tuh dance tuh duh drum. I recall wen dey beat duh drum tuh c
all duh people on Harris Neck tuhgedduh fuh a dance aw fewnul. Cose, dey hab a
diffunt beat wen dey call um. tuh a settin-up aw fewnul frum. duh one dey use tu
h call um tuh a dance. Deah wuz two kine uh drum. One dey call duh kittle drum,
an one wuz duh bass drum. It stan bout two an a half foot high. Dey use tuh allu
z hab a settin-up wen somebody die. Wen folks would go tuh duh settin-up, dey wo
uld gib um bread an coffee. ,
"Dey still hole ribbuh baptisms yuh. Dey git tuh duh ribbuh an attuh dey pray an
sing up on duh bank, duh preachuh take duh candidates down in duh ribbuh. Fo be
baptize each ub um, he say a prayuh tuh duh ribbuh an ax fuh all duh sins tuh b
e wash away."
Remembering what we had been told about the haunted road to Maringo, we question
ed Isaac and he said, "Yes'm, I hab heah bout duh hanted road tuh Maringo on duh
Young Man Road. Lots uh folks say deah is spirits roun deah. Wen yuh try tuh p
ass duh fawk in duh road, duh spirits stop yuh sometime an wohn let yuh by. Some
uh duh spirits mus be good, fuh Ise heahd one story bout a man who wuz passin b
y an all ub a sudden his hawse jis stop shawt in his tracks. Jis wouldn go anudd
uh step. Duh man try an try, but he couldn make duh hawse moob. Den he see a spi
rit come long an it take bole ub duh hawse bridle an lead him long. Duh hawse go
right long. Den duh spirit disappeah. I hab heahd lots uh stories bout dat road
but uh nebuh see nuttn muhsef."
Our next interview was an unusually delightful one. Sitting on the front porch o
f Liza Basden's [*1] small, compactly constructed brown house, we listened to he
r comments about the prevailing beliefs and customs. The scene before us was res
tful. The garden planted at the sides and front of the house was enclosed by a l
ow wire fence. Within this enclosure a number of dogs and chickens scuttled abou
t. At a
[p. 116]
short distance from the house stood an iron pump and an immense rusted iron pot,
probably used in the past for boiling clothes. On all sides as far as the eye c
ould see were vas stretches of green land, shaded by massive-trunked, moss-drape
d trees and covered with an abundance of semi-tropical foliage and underbrush. H
ere and there could be glimpsed the slanting roofs of neighboring houses.
When we first arrived Liza, a pretty golden-skinned, rather heavy-set woman abou
t eighty years of age, and a small black grandchild were the only occupants of t
he porch. She told us she had recently come home from a visit to children in the
North. Presently her husband and a daughter approached without speaking and sat
down unobtrusively in a corner. For the most part they listened to the conversa
tion, contributing only an occasional remark.
"I wuz bawn with a caul," Liza told us, pausing in her task of peeling and eatin
g figs from the pan that she held in her lap. "That means I see ghos. Least I c
ould see em. till aftuh I stop havin chillun. Then I stop seein em.

"Three of my chillun they bawn with cauls too. They wuz always skedduh than othu
hs. They wuz always fraid of the dahk an nevuh lak tuh go off by themselfs. I ne
vuh know jis wut they see."
"What did the ghost that you saw look like?" we inquired.
A reflective expression crossed Liza's round pleasant face and she nodded her gr
ay head with its neatly pinned braids.
"They peah jis as nachral as anybody. Most of em ain got no heads. Jis go right
along down the path. One time I see a man go right down that path theah. I go o
ut tuh see who he wuz an all of a sudden he disappeah. Theah wuzn't no foot trac
ks aw nuthin. I nevuh see im no mo. I think maybe he wuz gahdin buried treasure.
"Anothuh time I look out in the yahd an theah wuz a hawg jis a eatin up the cawn
. That wuz the biggest hawg I evuh did see. He stand theah an keep eatin an eat
in. I run an tell muh huzbun an he drop wut he wuz doin an come runnin. Wen we g
it theah, the hawg done disappeah. Theah wuzn't no sign of im an the cawn wuz al
l right theah. It didn't look lak anybody bin eatin on it uhtall.
"Then one time I see a crowd of cows in the field.
[p. 117]
Theah wuz a big bull in the middle. They wuz jis a cuttin down the cawn. Theah w
uz a big empty space weah they have already eat. I run tuh weah muh brothuh wuz
an tell in, tuh come quick. We run weah the cows wuz but wen we git theah, they
have all vanished. They wuz all gone. Theah wuz no tracks an all the cawn wuz gr
own back. All of a sudden I feel a terrible pain. I could hahdly git tuh the hou
se. That's the way it is bout the spirits. Ef yuh tell yuh see em an they disapp
eah an no one else can see em, then it cause yuh tuh git sick."
After a while Liza remembered an incident that had been related to her by her gr
andfather and she told us, "Muh gran, he see a deah come down the bluff. He run
quick an jump on his back. The deah run all aroun the woods. He teah an scratch
an try tuh shake muh gran off. He couldn do it. Finally he run intuh the rivuh.
Muh gran jump off an make it tuh the sho. He wuz so tired he wuz mos dead."
Was there no protection against the visits of these creatures from the spirit wo
rld, we wanted to know. Ah of the little group assembled on the porch shook thei
r heads and mumbled a reply.
"Yes'm, mos of the folks carry sumpm fuh pruhtection," said Liza. "These keep o
thuh folks frum wukin cunjuh on em too. They's made of haiah, an nails, an grav
eyahd dut, sometimes from pieces of cloth an string. They tie em all up in a li
ll bag. Some of em weahs it roun the wrist, some of em weahs it roun the neck,
an some weahs a dime on the ankle. Then ef somebody put down cunjuh fuh em it tu
n black an , , they git anothuh one tuh wawd off the evil." Some of em has a
frizzled chicken in the yahd. People do say they kin dig up cunjuh an keep it fr
um wukin gense yuh.
"Yuh heah all the time bout folks wut is cunjuhed. They gits crippled up an ef t
hey dohn do nuthin bout it, some of em dies."
We asked if river baptisms were still held in
s'm, they hole the baptisms right down yonduh
on the ebb tide; that's so the sins be washed
wn tuh the rivuh. The preachuh leads the way.

the section and Liza answered, "Ye

in the rivuh. They always hole em
away. All the pruhcession mahch do
Fus

[p. 118]
the preachuh Stan on the bank an pray. Then he take the candidates one by one an
dip em in the watuh. Then he make a prayuh fuh the rivuh tuh wash away the sins
. I call that prayuh 'the matrinal.'"
Liza was unable to explain just what this term meant, but she said it was always
applied to the prayer to the river. She told us, too, that "settin-ups" were he
ld for those who died and that the mourners sat up all night with the body and s
ang and prayed. "In the ole days they always use tuh beat the drum at the funera
l an they still does it tuhday. As they take the body tuh the graveyahd, they be
at the drum as they move long. They put the body in the grave. Then they mahch
roun an sing an beat the drum."
We had been told that several midwives rendered services to those residing in th
e section. We asked Liza about this and she told us, "Anna Johnson, she's my sis
tuh. She's a midwife an she tends tuh lots of folks roun heah. Those midwifes sh
o knows wut tuh do. They use a shahp knife aw sizzuhs tuh cut the pain. Once we
n I wuz in pain a midwife put a peah of sizzuhs unduh muh pilluh. All of a sudde
n the pain stop right quick. The pain wuz cut right off."
Josephine Stephens, [*1] one of the older residents of the island, lived a short
distance from Liza Basden. Her house was set back several hundred yards from th
e highway in the midst of a large field. There was no pathway and in order to ge
t to the house we had to cut directly through the field. As we neared the gate a
t the front of the house a tall gaunt woman, who we learned was Josephine's daug
hter, ran to meet us, It appeared that the mother had been ill for some time pas
t and the younger woman had been caring for her.
As we talked with Josephine, the daughter stood in an adjoining room, ironing cl
othes. She stopped every now and then to take part in the conversation. The two
women were utterly different types. Josephine, dressed becomingly in a blue and
white checked gingham outfit, was the antebellum type of Negro. The daughter, ta
ll, thin and dashing, and probably in her forties, represented a more modern era
. She had on a blue checked sport shirt, a white skirt upon the
[p. 119]
surface of which was the dim outline of the trade name of a flour mill, and a pa
ir of shiny black satin bedroom slippers. Her two front teeth were gold and shon
e and sparkled as she talked. Two large gold hoop earrings dangled beneath her c
lose cropped straightened hair.
"I bin wukin ovuh at St. Simon," she explained to us. "Befo that I had a good jo
b up Nawth. My mothuh git sick tho, an she need me tuh take keah of huh. That's
why I come heah an stay. She gittin tuh be long in yeahs an caahn do so well by
uhsef."
The mother did not know exactly how old she was but said she had been about four
teen at the close of the War between the States. We questioned her about her rec
ollections of early days, but her memory was rather clouded. She answered pleasa
ntly, however, and when she was not talking to us mumbled softly to herself.
"I do know dat folks bawn wid a caul kin see spirits," she admitted. "Plenty uh
folks roun yuh say duh spirits peah tuh um."
When we inquired about drums being beaten at funerals, she shook her head stubbo
rnly and refused to say anything on the subject.

The daughter, overhearing the conversation, paused in her task of ironing, and s
aid, "Yes'm. Dasso. They beats the drum tuhday at the fewnul. Specially ef yuh
blongs tuh a awganization, they goes right along in the fewnul pruhcession an be
ats the drum as they mahch. I remembuh heahin bout in the ole days they beat out
messages on the drum. Let the folks know wen sumpm wuz bout tuh happen. Wen th
ey give a dance ovuh on St. Catherine, they beat the drum tuh let the folks heah
know bout it."
At a funeral, the bottles and dishes and other possessions belonging to the depa
rted person were left on the grave, the Women informed us. "The spirit need thes
e," the younger woman explained, "jis lak wen they's live. Evrybody mahch roun
the grave in a succle an shout an pray."
We inquired if some people in the section were afraid to eat certain foods. Once
more Josephine shook her head in negation.
[p. 120]
The obliging daughter who listened intently to everything that was said again in
terceded. "I do heah bout that. Theah is some folks wut caahn eat suttn foods. T
hey say it's bad luck an they nevuh do eat it. Right now theah's lots of foods w
ut some folks dohn eat."
At this point in the conversation the older woman brightened and told us about t
he harvest festivals held during plantation days.
"We hab big feas. Ebrybody bring some ub duh fus crops. We all gib tanks fuh duh
crop an we dance an sing."
Shortly after this she again fell to mumbling and muttering unintelligibly and s
eemed unwilling to be drawn again into the conversation. She did confide in us t
hat she had lived in her house for over fifty-eight years and she proudly displa
yed her immaculate blue outfit which she said her daughter had recently purchase
d for her. As it was growing late and we had other interviews to obtain in the v
icinity, we concluded our visit. The two women urged us to return soon. Setting
out again to make an uncertain jagged path across the field, we looked back and
saw Josephine, a rather tragic tall figure huddled at the end of the porch. The
daughter waved gaily. Her gold earrings glinted in the sun.
When we found Anna Johnson, [*1] she was standing in the front yard of Ed Thorpe
's talking with a tall middle-aged woman who, we later learned, was Rosa Sallins
, [*2] her niece and Liza Basden's daughter.
The two women walked over to the car and greeted us. We inquired about the vario
us methods the midwife employed and she said, "Tuh cut a pain yuh use a shahp in
strument, lak a knife, aw a peah of sizzuhs. Yuh put it unduh duh pilluh on duh
bed. Duh pusson who is sick musn see yuh do it aw it wohn wuk. Sometime yuh use
a smoothin ion. Dat cut duh pain too."
Rosa, who had been rather impatiently waiting an opportunity to speak, now offer
ed, "Lots ub duh chillun bawn wid a caul. Ef dey is bawn wid a caul, dey kin see
spirits."
The midwife looked solemn. "Folks hab tuh be mighty
[p. 121]
keahful wen duh chile is bawn lak dat. Ef dey dohn do sumpm bout it, duh chile w
ill be hanted all its life. It'll alluz be fraid uh ghos."

"What can be done so that the child won't be haunted?" we asked.

"Dey dry duh caul an make a tea out ub it an hab duh chile drink it. Den all du
h ebil will disappeah. Duh chile will see ghos, but dey will nebuh hahm um an he
wohn be afraid ub um."
Rosa exposed her large white teeth in a broad smile. "I wuz bawn wid teet. Had t
wo front teet wen I wuz bawn."
Neither Rosa nor the midwife knew the significance of this unusual occurrence, t
hough both women thought it was probably a good luck sign.
Anna was reminded of some old remedies that she had found beneficial to teething
babies. "Yuh take a alligatuh tusk an clean it an shine it an hang it roun duh
neck uh duh chile," she explained. "Den yuh kin take duh foot ub a groun mole. I
fuhgits wich one it is. Wich is it, Rosa?"
"Dohn mattuh wich one it is jis so long its duh foefoot."
"Yuh dry it, put it in a sack made out ub a new piece uh clawt an hang it roun d
uh baby's neck. , Sho heps wid duh teethin. I knows plenty bout cuos lak dat,"
she concluded. "I ain lak deze root folks, dough, das alluz fixin people."
Rosa agreed with her aunt. "Sho is plenty rootin yuh. It goin on all duh time. D
eah's plenty uh root people wut is alluz wukin gense folks."
"Dey git a grudge gense yuh an put down sumpm fuh yuh," supplemented Anna, "an p
retty soon yuh dohn know yuh ownsef."
"Sometime dey put it in yuh food," this from Rosa again. "Ef yuh got a enemy, yu
h dohn dare eat wut yuh lak. Nubuh know wen deah's sumpm in duh food, an ef deah
is, yuh sho wohn las. Cose ef yuh weahs a han, it'll wahn yuh an keep duh cunju
h frum wukkin. , , Lots uh folks carries some kine uh chahm all duh time."
"Some uh our folks yuh keep frizzle chicken. Dey dig up cunjuh wut is laid down
fuh yuh an let yuh know wen somebody is aftuh yuh."
[p. 122]
The midwife told us that she had recently returned to Harris Neck, after having
lived for many years in Waycross. We asked her which community she preferred, an
d she said, "I lak it in Waycross, missus. Duh two places jis ain nuttn lak. Tin
gs is sho diffunt yuh. Duh folks jis dohn ack duh same. Yuh wouldn even know dey
wuz human. Soon as kin Ise goin back tuh Waycross. I jis dohn lak it heah."
The conversation turned to drums and in regard to this subject Rosa spoke up emp
hatically. "Yes'm, I membuh bout how some time back dey use tuh beat out message
s on duh drum. Dat wuz tuh let us know wen deah wuz tuh be a dance aw a frolic.
Wen dey hab a dance obuh on St. Catherines, dey beat duh drum tuh tell us bout
it. Duh soun would carry obuh duh watuh an we would heah it plain as anyting. De
n duh folks heah beat duh drum tuh let em know bout it in udduh settlements."
The women also spoke of drums in connection with death customs. They told us tha
t they were still beaten by those in the procession accompanying the body to the
grave.
"Ebrybody put duh hans on duh body tuh say goodbye," Rosa told us.
"Yuh speak tuh duh pusson, too, an tell um a las message," said Anna.

"Yuh put dishes an bottles an all duh pretty pieces wut dey lak on duh grabe. Y
uh alluz break deze tings fo yuh put um down."
We wanted to know the reason for doing this, for we had been informed on other o
ccasions that it was done so that no one would be tempted to steal.
Rosa, however, stated an entirely different motive.
"Yuh break duh dishes so dat duh chain will be broke, Yuh see, duh one pusson is
dead an ef yuh dohn break duh tings, den duh udduhs in duh fambly will die too.
Dey will folluh right long. Folks alluz hab two fewnuls. We hab one wen dey die
an den once a yeah we hab a suhvice fuh ebrybody wut died durin duh yeah. Duh
preachuh say a prayuh fuhrum all."
From this source we obtained added verification of the fact that river baptisms
were still held.
[p. 123]
"We alluz baptize on duh ebb tide," said Rosa. "Duh watuh washes duh sin away. D
uh preachuh pray up on duh bank an den wen he baptize duh candidate, he pray tuh
duh ribbuh tuh take away duh sins."
Later in the conversation the women recalled harvest festivals that had been he
ld many years before. "Dat wuz allaz a big time." Anna's rather somber face lit
up at the remembrance of the festive occasion. "Ebrybody bring some ub duh fus c
rop tuh duh chuch an we prepeahs a big feas. We pray an gib tanks fuh duh crop a
n pray fuh duh nex yeah. We all eat an sing an dance. One uh duh dances call duh
Buzzud Lope. We still dance dat tuhday."
Rosa told us proudly that she was a granddaughter of Katherine Basden who had be
en recognized as a leader among the Negroes in the section.
"Me an muh brudduh wuz muh granmudduh's favorites," she said. "She alluz said sh
e lak us bettuhn all duh udduh chillun. Wen I wuz only bout twelve yeahs ole, sh
e tell me wen I grow up I would take huh place an carry on duh wuk she wuz doin.
"
Moving her powerful shoulders in rhythm and clapping her hands together, the wom
an sang us a song that her grandmother had crooned to new-born babies as she hel
d them in her arms. The words were, for the most part, indistinguishable. Over a
nd over we caught one repeated phrase, "nikki yimi, nikki yimi."
"Muh granmudduh wuz took very sick. She knew she wuz gonuh die. Dat wuz jis wen
muh oldes chile wuz bawn. Muh granmudduh jis refuse tuh die fo she seen me an du
h baby. She say she hab tuh see us fo she die. Ebry day she ax fuhrus. She git w
eakuh an weakuh but she jis wohn die. Wen duh baby wuz a few days ole, I git dre
ss an go tuh see uh. Fus I wuz fraid tuh bring duh baby intuh duh sick ruhm fuh
dey say it bad luck fuh somebody bout tuh die tuh look at a baby. Sometime duh b
aby die too. I tell dis tuh muh gran an she laugh at me an tell me she ain gonuh
take duh baby wid uh. Den I bring duh baby in an she sing tuh uh an hole uh in
uh ahms. She tell me she wuz gonuh die now an dat I wuz tuh continue uh wuk wid
duh folks yuh. Right attuh dat she die."
[p. 124]
For a while longer the woman chatted on in a friendly manner, discussing various
incidents that had taken place ill tho neighborhood. In parting they presented
us graciously with some fresh figs from the garden and asked us to visit them ag
ain whenever we returned to the settlement.

Footnotes
^113:1 Ed Thorpe, Harris Neck.
^114:1 Isaac Basden, Harris Neck.
^115:1 Liza Basden, Harris Neck.
^118:1 Josephine Stephens, Harris Neck.
^120:1 Anna Johnson, Harris Neck.
^120:2 Rosa Sallins, Harris Neck.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 125]

Pine Barren Near Eulonia

After the muddy ruts through the pine clearing had ended, there was no road, and
the car jerked and bounded about among the pine trees. The soft brown needles m
ade better traveling than the boggy wagon tracks that were behind us, but our me
thod of procedure was rather bewildering, for there was no mark by which to retr
ace our tracks. As we went deeper into the pine woods there was no sign of habit
ation.
Our driver, [*1] who had offered to help us when our car had stuck in the bog, w
as a six-foot, shiny black Negro, strong necked and lithe, with a twelve-inch hu
nting knife strapped to his hip. We had never seen him before, nor the smaller N
egro beside him on the front seat. In the back seat we were concerned with our f
eet, which rested precariously among loose cartridge shells. We feared that a su
dden jolt from a Pine stamp might make us stamp down on the shells and explode t
hem.
Suddenly we came upon a reed and paling fence higher than the head of a tall man
. There was nothing to be seen over the top of it, no sign of occupation. We dro
ve around to the side where, protected by some feathery bushes, a small opening
hardly distinguishable from the palings led into an enclosure. Scattered without
plan about a smooth sand clearing were three or four small unpainted wooden cab
ins, two connected by a narrow board walk just above the ground. Other smaller s
tructures, sheds, and work tables were placed
[p. 126]
helter-skelter about the enclosure. There was some wire fencing, but dogs, cats,
chickens, a litter of very young pup. pies, and an old rooster roamed at will.
Sunning themselves against a cabin wall were two old women, and from the windows
of another cabin popped the heads of three curious younger women. An open door
suddenly gave forth several children, smiling and scantily clad, shining eyes an
d surprised faces upturned to the strangers.
The two elderly women rose and came forward to greet us. Our guide explained our
mission and inquired as to the whereabouts of Uncle Ben Washington, with whom w
e wished to talk. Aunt Sarah, [*1] who was Uncle Ben's wife, explained that her
husband had gone to work in the woods early that morning.

A glance at the dense forest surrounding the little clearing convinced us that U
ncle Ben would be unlikely to hear the halloos with which our guides were attemp
ting to summon him.
Just as we were about to abandon the venture a unique figure appeared inside the
fence and Reuben Taylor, the older of our guides, exclaimed, "Deah's Uncle Ben
now." Uncle Ben [*2] appeared in a long frock coat and high felt hat, carrying a
walking stick. It was difficult to understand how he could have worked in such
a costume. He seemed young for the eighty-five years he claimed, for he moved ab
out with considerable agility.
As he drew nearer, Aunt Sarah went forward to greet him and the two old people c
ame toward us together. When we again explained about the information we were se
eking Uncle Ben said with grave courtesy that he was glad to have visitors.
Thinking of the precarious journey that lay behind us and wondering how far from
the main road this little settlement might be, we asked Uncle Ben how often he
went to town. He shook his head slowly. "We dohn nebuh go tuh duh road," he said
. "We got ebryting we needs right yuh."
Aunt Sarah nodded her gray head in agreement. "Seems lak we libed yuh fuh mos ub
our libes," she stated simply.
[p. 127]
"We, built deze houses wen we fus come yuh. All duh chillun wuz raise yuh an we
nebuh take up no time wid duh folks on duh outside. Nebuh did set no sto by mixi
n wid strainjuhs an sech doins."
Incredible as it seemed, they were speaking the truth. For half a century they h
ad lived in this isolated spot, only a few miles from a frequently traversed hig
hway.
Despite their evident liking for solitude the old couple were not averse to answ
ering our questions. "is there much conjure and magic around here, Uncle Ben?" w
e asked.
"I heah tell ub tings lak dat," he answered and looked up with a sly quizzical s
mile. "Ise heahd bout bein cunjuhed an I know fuh true deah's sech tings as magi
c." Uncle Ben chuckled, "Ef yuh ebuh see a cross mahk in duh road, yuh nebuh wal
k obuh it. Das real magic. Yuh hab tuh go roun it. It's put deah by a enemy an e
f yuh walks cross it, duh ebil spell will cause yuh hahm. Duh cross is a magic
sign an hab tuh do wid duh spirits."
"Ef dat happens," said Aunt Sarah, "reckon bout duh only ting yuh could do would
be tuh see a root doctuh. He gib yuh sumpm, wut cuos yuh."
Uncle Ben turned to us. "Lots uh folks carry hans all duh time an dis bring em,
luck an keep duh ebil spirits away." , , ,
The old man seemed unable to describe these good luck charms, but he was more su
ccessful in describing the charms used in conjuring an enemy.
"Dey is made mosly frum haiah aw nails an lots uh times duh dus frum yuh foot tr
ack," he said.
Aunt Sarah's face darkened. "Ain nobody git my haiah," she declared. "I buns it
so nobody kin wuk hahm wid it."
Young Reuben spoke up. "Ef yuh weahs a silvuh coin, it brings yuh good luck," he

stated doggedly. "An ef any body cunjuh yuh aw wuk gense yuh, duh money tun bla
ck an yuh know yuh hab tuh do sumpm. bout it fo duh cunjuh wuks." , ,
"Did you ever see anyone who was conjured?" we asked. All three nodded solemnly.
Uncle Ben spoke first "Dey's mosly all crippled up an
caahn moob bout. Ef dey dohn do nuttn, duh cunjuh gits wus, an dey dies."
"Folks wut is cunjuhed hab snakes in em an sometimes frawgs. Yuh kin see em moo
bin roun in deah bodies," volunteered Reuben. "Wen dey visit duh root doctuh an
he wuks obuh em, den dey's jis as good as noo."
"Some folks roun bout say dey sees spirits," added Uncle Ben. "Dey calls em plat
-eye, cuz dey hab jis one big eye hangin out in front. I dohn fool roun wid sec
h tings fuh dey's sho bad luck."
"In some places the people told us that dead people's spirits returned to earth.
Is that true here?" we asked.
Aunt Sarah speculated. She wagged her black-bonneted head until her brass earrin
gs jangled. Finally she offered, "I dohn guess yuh be bodduh much by duh spirits
ef yuh gib em a good fewnul an put duh tings wut belong tuh em on top uh duh g
rave."
Uncle Ben helped with this explanation. "Yuh puts all duh tings wut dey use las,
lak duh dishes an duh medicine bottle. Duh spirits need deze same as duh man. D
en duh spirit res an dohn wanduh bout."
Aunt Sarah said that they went to set-ups and that in the old days, after the mo
urners had arrived, a chicken was killed. , , Neither Aunt Sarah nor Uncle Be
n, however, knew the reason for this.
Catching sight of a few crudely made farm implements propped up against one of t
he buildings, we recalled a belief prevailing in most of the Negro communities a
lready visited.
"Does a hoe possess magic qualities?" we wanted to know.
Uncle Ben and Reuben glanced at each other, then muttered in unison, "Yes'm, duh
hoe is magic sho nuff."
From Reuben we received the additional statement, "Ef yuh carry duh hoe tru duh
house, it sho mean bad luck."
Uncle Ben's contribution was, "I heah lots uh tings bout duh hoe. I heah tell bo
ut how it jis stan right up in duh fiel by itsef an wuk fuh yuh widout nobody te
chin it--das ef yuh kin wuk it right."
When we asked about the music played at dances and at church services, Uncle Ben
explained to us, "Some yeahs back at duh dances dey would alluz beat duh drums
an shake'
[p. 129]
some kine uh bones wut dey make frum cow's ribs. All duh folks would keep time w
id deah hans an feet an dance tuh duh music."
Apparently the memory of similar affairs was pleasant to Reuben, the young guide
, for his eyes gleamed and his white teeth flashed in a sudden smile. "Fo I wuz

married," he said, "I use tuh go tuh dances an picnics all duh time. Dey would h
ab only duh drums fuh music an dey would beat on em an duh folks would dance rou
n in a ring tuh duh toon."
As it was growing dark, we were forced to end our visit to this interesting sett
lement. Reuben led the way back to the car and we plunged again into the pine fo
rest.
Going back over the trail we commiserated with Reuben, who apparently made the t
rip frequently. "I comes tuh see em mos ebry day. Yuh see, Ise married tuh deah
baby girl," he confided.
Footnotes
^125:1 Reuben Taylor, Eulonia.
^126:1 Sarah Washington, in the pine woods about five miles from Eulonia.
^126:2 Ben Washington, in the pine woods about five miles from Eulonia.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 131]

Possum Point
A winding tree-shaded dirt road leads from Darien up the Altamaha to the Negro c
ommunity of Possum Point. The freshets in the section rise in the rainy season a
nd the road is often flooded. On either side the trees are mirrored in the shall
ow water which surrounds them. In the spring against the fresh green of the tree
s and foliage there is the soft color of wild honeysuckle and Cherokee Rose. Thr
ough the thickly-massed trees the sun filters dimly; a misty, unreal atmosphere
overhangs the entire scene.
Set back from the roadway are occasional small dwelling places, with boards turn
ed dun-colored from age and exposure. Neatly tended vegetable and flower gardens
stretch out to the front and sides of the houses. The owners can be found indus
triously working in the gardens, sitting on the porches, or gathered in little g
roups along the road. Here and there small bridges span the road, and at each of
these a number of persons are often seen leisurely fishing, their long bamboo p
oles forming graceful arcs from the bank to the water.
We had been told that Alec Anderson was an old man and one who would be able to
enlighten us regarding the beliefs prevalent in that section. We stopped a few t
imes to inquire where he lived. After continuing for several miles, the road tur
ned to the right. It swerved again a short distance later and continued in a nar
row, uneven pathway through the woods. This section was but sparsely settled and
we glimpsed a cabin only now and then.
At length we came upon a neatly kept house enclosed by
[p. 132]
a wire set back from the road. In the distance we could see a bent and stocky f
igure trudging toward us along the road and this we thought might be Alec. At on
e side of the house was a garden; at the other side the sprawling branches of an
old oak tree shaded an iron pump and an ancient black iron pot used for boiling
clothes. Chickens scuttled about the yard and a small black puppy, dozing in th

e sun, awoke at our approach.

On the porch a group of Negroes were seated. A plump, elderly woman, a young gir
l and two small children watched with interest as we approached.
The older woman was Rachel, [*1] Alec Anderson's wife. She scarcely appeared to
be the seventy-three years she admitted. Her round good-natured face was framed
with a number of tight little gray braids on top of which perched a small brown
felt hat. Her green blouse and red skirt were worn but clean and her bare brown
feet peeped out from under the voluminous skirt. The younger woman was reticent
but friendly, and the two children watched the proceedings with wide-eyed concer
n.
The man we had noticed
had surmised this was
veralls and a battered
e amiable, intelligent
tarted in to chat in a

walking down the road turned in at the gateway, and as we

Alec. [*2] He was clad in a pair of faded and torn blue o
felt hat. Thick-lensed brown glasses did not entirely hid
eyes. With profound courtesy the old man greeted us and s
pleasant, unselfconscious manner.

"Cose yuh do heah bout cunjuh," he told us. "But I nebuh bodduh much wid dat kin
e uh ting. Deah's plenty uh folks wut does belieb in it an I hab heah uh strange
tings happenin tuh some folks wut hab spells put on um."
Here Rachel interrupted. "I alluz bun muh haiah combins cuz das wut mos folks ma
ke cunjuh outuh. Ef dey git yuh haiah, yuh hab to do any ting dey wahn yuh tuh.
"
Alec stated solemnly, "Some folks is alluz sayin dat spirits is bodduhin um. Ne
buh hab trouble wid um muhsef."
This was explained by Rachel who said that they knew a
[p. 133]
horse-shoe was an excellent remedy for "keeping duh hant away'"
"Witches come in at night an ride yuh too," said Alec. "Jis ride duh folks till
some ub um gits so po dey jis pass way."
We asked if they had ever heard that a frizzled chicken could dig up conjure lai
d down for a victim and they both nodded in affirmation.
"Chicken kin sho dig up cunjuh. Alluz hab heah uh dat," they echoed.
Alec told us that he had been born three years before freedom. He dwelt for a ti
me on those long-past days and recollected some of the customs that had been pre
valent then.
"Use tuh alluz beat duh drum at fewnuls. Right attuh duh pusson die, dey beat um
tuh tell duh udduhs bout duh fewnul. Dey beat a long beat. Den dey stop. Den de
y beat anudduh long beat. Ebrybody know dat dis mean somebody die. Dey beat duh
drum in duh nex settlement tuh let duh folks in duh nex place heah."
We had previously been told of a similar means of communication employed by the
people in this section in former years. At various points large metal discs were
hung on trees and posts. On these messages had been beaten out and relayed from
place to place. in this manner the people were informed of dances, picnics, mee
tings, wakes, and other such gatherings.
The old couple went on to describe what took place at a wake.

"Wen dey fix duh cawpse, dey put pennies on duh eyes an dey put salt on duh stom
ach tuh keep it frum purgin. Ebrybody put duh hands on um tuh say good-bye.
"On duh way tuh duh grabe dey beat duh drum as dey is mahchin long. Wen duh bod
y is put in duh grabe, ebrybody shout roun duh grabe in a succle, singin an pray
in. Each one trow a hanful uh dut in duh grabe."
The conversation shifted to topics of a more cheerful nature and Rachel told us
that in former years at harvest time, they had been in the habit of holding "cro
p suppuhs."
Her face creased itself into a delightful grin and her eyes
[p. 134]
shone as she told us, "Dat sho wuz a big time. We hab a big feas. All night we s
houts an in duh mawnin right at sunrise we pray an bow low tuh duh sun. Muh grea
t-gran--she name Peggy--I membuh she pray ebry day, at sunrise, at noon, an at s
unset. She kneel down wen she pray an at duh en she bow low tree times, facin du
h sun."
Alec's thoughts in the meantime had turned to more trivial affairs. He went on t
o tell us about the various dances that are popular at the present-day social af
fairs.
"Cose we do duh Buzzud Lope," he began. "Ebrybody knows dat.
anudduh dance. We calls it 'Come Down tuh duh Myuh.' We dance
ban an fiddle duh foot. One ub us kneel down in duh middle uh
all call out an rise an shout roun, an we all fling duh foot

Den we alluz does

roun an shake duh
duh succle. Den we
agen."

In answer to our question about river baptisms the old people informed us that t
hey are still held in the section. Alec described these. "We all sing an pray an
duh preachuh pray tuh duh Lord. Cose duh candidate caahn be save less he reely
want tuh be. Duh preachuh an duh candidates goes down in duh watuh. Den duh prea
chuh make a prayuh tuh duh ribbuh an duh ribbuh washes duh sin away."
It is bad luck to eat certain types of food, Rachel told us. This belief had nev
er influenced Rachel or Alec but they had known of people who were "fuhbid tuh e
at eel fish mong udduh tings."
Our visit was such a pleasant one that we stayed for a while longer to talk. The
household was an unusually contented and peaceful one. The old couple were appa
rently satisfied with a simple scheme of existence although Alec did venture the
usual remark regarding his old-age pension. "Sho would lak tuh hab it, missus.
Mebbe yuh kin git dem gubment folks tuh see dat I gits it."
When we were about ready to leave, a middle-aged daughter, who had been lingerin
g at the gateway, came up and joined the group. She confided that she had been m
arried to one man for thirty years, but that he had died and she had recently re
married. This second marriage was evidently not so successful, for she said, "Di
s huzbun ain lak duh fus one.
[p. 135]
[paragraph continues] He's triflin an ain sech a good providuh. Wen I loss duh f
us huzbun, I sho loss ebryting."
At that time Rachel and Alec had been married for fifty-seven years and during a
ll this period there had been few differences or unpleasant happenings. As Alec

escorted us to the car he told us of his high regard for his wife, assuring us i
n conclusion, "I ain nebuh had no trouble wid uh. Ain so much as tech uh wid a p
ocket hankuhchuh sence I done bin had ub."
A little later we went to visit Susan Maxwell, [*1] who was sitting on the porch
of her house when we drove up. She was about ninety-two years old and, having b
een ill recently, was snugly wrapped up in a variety of garments.
The house, she told us, was about one hundred years old. A hall ran from the fro
nt to the back part, and from the back porch a passage led to a lean-to kitchen.
A barn near the house was about to collapse from age and lack of repair. In the
yard a black ox lay chained under a tree and a large hollowed-out log set on le
gs served as a watering trough for the ox.
Susan told us about the death of her mother, Rachel La Conte, who had come from
Liberty County. "She die right in dis house. Dey measure uh wid a string. Dey be
at duh drum tuh tell ebrybody bout duh settin-up. We all set up wid duh body. W
e hab a big wash pot full uh coffee an hab a big sack uh soda crackuh fuh duh fo
lks. , Ebrybody place dey ban bery light on uh eahs an on uh nose an den dey s
ay, 'Dohn call me. I ain ready fuh tuh go yit.' ,
"We bury uh by tawch light attuh dahk. Ebrybody mahch roun duh grabe in a succle
. Ebry night attuh duh fewnul I put food on duh poach fuh duh spirit tuh come gi
t it." ,
"In duh ole days dey beat duh drum tuh call duh people tuh duh fewnul. Dey beat
it slow-boom-boom-boom. Wen dey wannuh stuhrup duh folks fuh a dance aw frolic,
dey beats duh drum fas. Den dey knows it ain fuh no fewnul an dat it's fuh a go
od time. Duh people neahby, wen dey heahs it, beats deah drum an das how dey sen
ds a message so udduh folks gits it.
[p. 136]
"I kin membuh two kine uh drum. Deah wuz duh lill kittle drum. Hit wuz bout fift
een inches cross. an tree an a half foot high. Dat wuz duh drum dey beat fuh a s
ettin-up."
Susan, too, gave us a description of the river baptisms.
"Dey baptize in duh watuh down at duh landin. All duh candidates is dressed in w
ite. Dey all confess deah sins an say dey want tuh be save.
"We all mahch long in a line an sing an pray. Wen we git tuh duh ribbuh bank, we
stop an duh preachuh say a long prayuh tuh duh Lawd. Den duh preachuh take duh
candidates one by one and dey go down in duh ribbuh. Duh preachuh he say a prayu
h tuh duh ribbuh. Dey alluz baptize on duh ebb tide cuz duh ribbuh is spose tuh
wash duh sins away. All duh folks sing a song called All Muh Sins Done Wash Awa
y."
There were several white chickens wandering about the yard and Susan told us tha
t her principal reason for keeping them was that they possessed the power to dig
up conjure.
We asked the old woman if she had ever known any Africans, and she said, "I know
one man. He name Primus O'Neal. He come frum Africa an he talk funny talk. He c
all a pot a 'jam.' I membuh he say, 'Lemme cook sumpm fuh nyam.' He mean sumpm f
uh tuh eat."
It later developed that this same Primus O'Neal was the grandfather of Rosa Gran
t [*1] whom we found living in a small gray cottage on the Townsend Road. Rosa w

as sixty-five years old, with copper-colored skin and rather aquiline features.
We asked about her grandfather and she told us some of the things of which she h
ad heard him speak.
"He tell me dey nebuh hab tuh plant in Africa. Dey gadduh wile okra an palmettah
cabbage fuh food frum duh forres. He tell bout a wine call 'figlin watuh' dat d
ey drink in Africa. But he nebuh say jis how dey make it.
"Muh gran come frum Africa too. Huh name wuz Ryna. I membuh wen I wuz a chile se
ein muh gran Ryna pray. Ebry mawnin at sun-up she kneel on duh flo in uh ruhm an
[p. 137]
bow obuh an tech uh head tuh duh flo tree time. Den she say a prayuh. I dohn mem
buh jis wut she say, but one wud she say use tuh make us chillun laugh. I membuh
it wuz 'ashamnegad.' Wen she finish prayin she say 'Ameen, ameen, ameen.'
"She talk plenty bout cunjuh. Say dat wen a pusson bin made tuh swell up frum a
ebil spell, dey got tuh hab somebody tuh pray an drag fuhrum. Ef yuh hab a pain
aw a misery in duh leg aw ahm, yuh kill a black chicken an split it open an sla
p it weah duh pain is an dat will cuo duh pain.
"She tell me dat in Africa she lib in a palmettuh house. She say dey kill animal
s wid a bow an arruh. Some dey use fuh food an some dey kill fuh skin. All duh p
eople keep deah finguh nail long so dey could grab tings tuh eat off duh trees a
n bushes. Eben attuh she come tuh dis country, she keep uh nail long fuh a long
time. Wen she staht cuttin um, she alluz bun duh pieces an she bun duh combins f
rum uh haiah too. She say it dangerous tuh let anybody git um. Dey make cunjuh g
ense yuh. She say in Africa dey plant berries an pumpkin an dey had tuh plant u
m ebry seben yeahs or dey die.
"Friday wuz duh day she call huh prayuh day. Den she use tuh make bread. Wen she
mix it up, she put duh dough in a wet bag an bake it in duh ashes.
"She tell me bout duh hahves time wen duh folks stay up all night an shout. At s
un-up dey all sing an pray and say dey live bettuh an be mo tankful duh nex yeah
."
"Was your 'gran' grown up when she came from Africa?"
"No'm, she wuz jis a leedle ting. She say dat duh way she happen tuh come frum A
frica wuz dat dey wuzn use tuh seein anyting red. One day dey see a boat wid a r
ed piece uh clawt flyin on it. Wen dey go up close tuh see it, dey wuz caught. H
uh mothuh, Theresa, wuz caught too an dey wuz brought tuh dis country. Attuh dey
bin yuh a wile, duh Mothuh git to weah she caahn stan it an she wannuh go back
tuh Africa. One day muh gran Ryna wuz; standin wid uh in duh fiel. Theresa tun r
oun--so--" here Rosa made two quick swings with her skirt. "She stretch uh ahms
out--so--an rise right up an fly right back tuh Africa. Muh gran say she
[p. 138]
wuz standin right deah wen it happen. She alluz wish dat uh mothuh had teach uh
how tuh fly. She try an try doin duh same way but she ain nebuh fly. She say she
guess she jis wuzn bawn wid duh powuh."
Footnotes
^132:1 Rachel Anderson, Possum Point.

^132:2 Alec Anderson, Possum Point.

^135:1 Susan Maxwell, Possum Point.
^136:1 Rosa Grant, Townsend Road, Possum Point.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 139]

Darien
The Negroes of the Darien section, many of whom live in small scattered communit
ies outside the town, are proud of their Darien ancestry. When the younger peopl
e migrate to larger communities, it is a common thing to hear them say proudly,
"My people come frum Darien."
One of the most typical settlements is opposite the Todd Grant Negro School. A f
ew houses are clustered about the knoll facing the school building, and more dil
apidated board shacks are scattered over the little hill. At the top is Aunty Ja
ne Lewis' cabin, surrounded by small sheds and fenced patches of ground where ch
ickens and a goat are kept from wandering too far. At the north a few cypress tr
ees straggle off to the wood. A sturdy bush provides the sunny drying ground for
the gourds that later will be used as water dippers.
Aunty Jane [*1] claims that she is one hundred and fifteen years old, and to see
the small bent woman with the deeply lined black skin and filmy eyes is to beli
eve her claim. Her voice is high pitched, with the thin timbre of extreme age, b
ut she still moves with sudden agile gestures. During our conversation she hoppe
d up from the steps and began to do the Buzzard Lope to illustrate her story.
"I belong tuh Robert Toodle wut lib in Nawt Calina an he sole me down yuh wen Is
e twenty-one. I ain membuh much bout Nawt Calina but uh membuhs plenty bout duh
ole days yuh, cuz I bin yuh neah bout a hunnud yeahs. I belongs
[p. 140]
tuh Huger Barrett an Ise one uh duh bes fiel hans on Picayune Plantation."
We interrupted the old woman's reminiscences about plantation days to question h
er about funeral customs.
"We didn alluz hab too much time fuh big fewnul in dem days cuz deah wuz wuk tuh
be done an ef yuh ain do yuh wuk, yuh git whipped. Lots uh time dey jis dig a h
ole in duh groun in put duh body in it, but wenebuh we kin, we hab a settin-up."
We asked Aunty Jane if they used to provide plenty of food for the mourners.
"Yes'm, dey sho did hab regluh feastes in dem days, but tuhday, at mos settin-up
s, yuh dohn git nuttn but coffee an bread. , Den dey would cook a regluh meal
an dey would kill a chicken in front uh duh doe, wring he neck an cook um fuh du
h feas. Den wen we all finish, we take wut victuals lef an put it in a dish by
duh chimley an das fuh duh sperrit tuh hab a las good meal. We cubbuh up duh di
sh an deah's many a time Ise heah dat sperrit lif um. We ain preach duh suhmon w
en we bury um but we waits a wile so's all duh relations kin come."
"Is it bad luck to steal from a grave?" we wanted to know.

"Bad luck?" repeated Aunty Jane. "Sho it bad luck. Dem dishes an bottles wut put
on duh grabe is fuh duh sperrit an it ain fuh nobody tuh tech um. Das fuh duh
sperrit tuh feel at home. Wen he die fah off, we bring um home tuh bury um, doh
n leh no strainjuh be bury wid um. Yuh gib people wut ain belong tuh yuh anudduh
piece uh groun tuh be bury in. We alluz hab two fewnul fuh duh pusson. We hab
duh regluh fewnul wen yuh die. Den once a yeah we hab one big preachin fuh ebryb
ody wut die dat yeah."
Aunty Jane looked up slyly when we asked her if she believed in conjure.
"I ain belieb in um muhsef but deah's plenty wut do. Ise had Ellen Hammond libin
wid me. She die las yeah. She sho wuz alluz fixin cunjuh. She tie up ebryting
in sacks. She git a lill foot track dus, a lill haiah combins, an nail parin,
an she tie um up wid a lill rag. Cose, I dohn belieb in dis an wen she die, I bu
n um. Ef yuh hab any trouble wid snakes,
[p. 141]
yuh ketch um an bun um wid duh trash. Den all duh whole kingdom uh snakes will l
eab yuh lone."
We next questioned Aunty Jane about signs.
"Yes'm, I knows plenty uh signs but my head so full uhrum I dohn know wich tuh t
ell yuh. Some ub um I beliebs an some ub um I ain belieb. Wen yuh go on a journe
y an yuh hattuh tun back, yuh make a cross mahk on duh dut an spit on it, an it
sho bad luck tuh bring a hoe in duh house."
The subject of drums was then brought up.
"I ain heah um beat duh drums in my chuch," Aunty Jane said. "But I sho is heah
plenty uh drum beat. We use tuh alluz dance tuh duh drums. We dance roun in a su
ccle an we hab drum an we hab goad rattle an we beat tin pan tuhgedduh. Some ti
me dey hab sto-bought drum, but Alex Harris, he muh son, he make um. He lib up d
uh ribbuh."
Aunty Jane gave us a description of how the drums were made.
"Yuh kill a coon an yuh skin um an yuh tack duh skin up side duh house tuh dry a
n yuh stretch um good till um tight an smood. Den yuh stretch um obuh duh en ub
a holluh tree trunk. Sometime dey is big drum wut stan as high as dis." She rai
sed her hand about three feet from the ground.
We asked Aunty Jane what trees they used. Did they use oak?
"No, ma'am, it ain good tuh use oak ef yuh kin hep it. It too hahd. Yuh take a g
ood cypress aw ceduh wut eat out on duh inside an yuh take um an scoop um out an
stretch duh skin obuh duh ens. Sometime yuh kin fine a holly wut'll do. Alex, h
e make drum up tuh two yeah ago an we sho hab big time doin duh dances wile dey
beat duh drums. Wenebuh we happy aw wannuh celebrate, we dance." At this Point A
unty Jane rose to give us an exhibition of two dances, the Buzzard Lope and the
Snake Hip.
Across the highway from Aunty Jane's settlement, about one mile north of Darien,
back of a turpentine still, is an irregular settlement of small houses, most of
which are enclosed by high dilapidated paling fences. Here Wallace Quarterman [
*1] occupied a cabin with his daughter, Abby Gibson.
[p. 142]

[paragraph continues] Wallace was old but with a clear mind, and he enjoyed a h
igh standing in his community. We felt that he would know about the old beliefs
and customs.
We left the highway on a narrow dirt road, little more than a path through the b
ush, and after much winding in and out we came upon a street of Negro cabins wit
h their enclosed yards, vegetable patches, and tumbled down sheds. Wallace was s
itting on the porch of Abby's house. Lizzie Sanders volunteered to be our guide
and paid a visit to Wallace along with us.
We asked him how old he was and where he was born.
"Ise bawn July 14, 1844. Now figguh dat out fuh yuhsef, missus. Ise bawn at Sout
Hampton, Libuty County, an I belong tuh Roswell King, but he done die long bout
sometime in duh fifties an Ise sole fuh debt tuh Cunl Fred Waring on Skidaway I
lun. Ise bin bout fifteen wen I sen tuh Skidaway."
For a long time we had wanted to establish some connection with Skidaway Island
that reached back before the War between the States. We questioned Wallace about
the church on Skidaway.
"We sho did hab big time goin tuh chuch in doze days. Not many uh deze Nigguhs k
in shout tuhday duh way us could den. Yuh needs a drum fuh shoutin."
We asked if they shouted to a drum then.
"We sho did. We beat a drum at duh chuch an we beat a drum on duh way tuh duh gr
abeyahd tuh bury um. We walks in a long line moanin an we beats duh drum all duh
way."
We inquired about the making of drums and the kinds of drums.
"We makes drums out uh sheep hide but we gottuh dry um an stretch duh skin obuh.
Some makes it out uh holluh lawgs wid skin obuh duh en an some ub um is as long
as tree feet."
We asked the old man if he remembered any slaves that were real Africans.
"Sho I membuhs lots ub um. Ain I sees plenty ub um? I membuhs one boatload uh se
ben aw eight wut come down frum Savannah. Dat wuz jis a lill befo duh waw. Robbi
e McQueen wuz African an Katie an ole man Jacob King,
[p. 143]
dey's all African. I membuhs um all. Ole man King he lib till he ole, lib till I
hep bury um. But yuh caahn unduhstan much wut deze people say. Dey caahn unduhs
tan yo talk an you caahn unduhstan dey talk. Dey go 'quack, quack, quack,' jis a
s fas as a hawse kin run, an muh pa say, 'Ain no good tuh lissen tuh um.' Dey gi
t long all right but yuh know dey wuz a lot ub um wut ain stay down yuh."
Did he mean the Ibos [*1] on St. Simons who walked into the water?
"No, ma'am, I ain mean dem. Ain yuh heah bout um? Well, at dat time Mr. Blue he
wuz duh obuhseeuh an Mr. Blue put um in duh fiel, but he couldn do nuttn wid um.
Dey gabble, gabble, gabble, an nobody couldn unduhstan um an dey didn know how
tuh wuk right. Mr. Blue he go down one mawnin wid a long whip fuh tuh whip um go
od."
"Mr. Blue was a hard overseer?" we asked.

"No, ma'am, he ain hahd, he jis caahn make um unduhstan. Dey's foolish actin. He
got tuh whip um, Mr. Blue, he ain hab no choice. Anyways, he whip um good an de
y gits tuhgedduh an stick duh hoe in duh fiel an den say 'quack, quack, quack,'
an dey riz up in duh sky an tun hesef intuh buzzuds an fly right back tuh Africa
." ,
At this, we exclaimed and showed our astonishment.
"Wut, you ain heah bout um? Ebrybody know bout um. Dey sho lef duh hoe stannin i
n duh fiel an dey riz right up an fly right back tuh Africa."
Had Wallace actually seen this happen, we asked.
"No, ma'am, I ain seen um. I bin tuh Skidaway, but I knowd plenty wut did see um
, plenty wut wuz right deah in duh fiel wid um. an seen duh hoe wut dey lef stic
kin up attuh dey done fly way."
This story of the flying Africans seemed to be a familiar one, for it was later
repeated to us by William Rogers, [*2] who lived about a mile from Darien on the
Cowhorn Road. We had been told that he had been a cabinet maker in his
[p. 144]
youth and still spent much of his spare time in the carving of a variety of obje
cts. The old man was evidently well known in the vicinity, for upon inquiry neig
hbors quickly directed us to his house.
Because a short time ago a fire had destroyed Rogers' home and most of his posse
ssions, we found him living in an unfinished cottage which was as yet unpainted
except for the bluish-green trimming on all the window facings. In spite of the
apparent newness of the house, there was a pleasant homelike atmosphere about it
. Proof of Rogers' skill was demonstrated in scroll-work which decorated the por
ch and in a cupboard and fine square chimney in the dining room which the old ma
n and his wife were building.
Rogers, who was seventy-two years old, was small of stature with copper-colored
skin and alert black eyes. His manner was affable and friendly despite the fact
that a recently suffered paralytic stroke had partially deprived him of the use
of his hands. He told us that his grandmother had been one-quarter Indian. While
we were on the subject of Indians, he remembered a rusty part of an old Indian
gun which he had found in the vicinity. Displaying this, he explained in detail
how the trigger struck a piece of flint, thereby igniting the powder.
We inquired about his wood carving and he showed us some of the wooden figures a
bout which we had been told. One of these, a spoon of cedar, was about a foot in
length and had the roughly-sculptured head of a man on its handle. The head wa
s square in shape, the features were only slightly raised, and the eyes were nai
l heads. Another item was a frog which, with eyes of brass nail heads, crouche
d on a block of wood. The frog and the stand had been carved from a solid piece
of wood , and lightly varnished.
As we left, the old man promised us, "Wen I gits muh hans back intuh use, I hope
s tuh cahve a cane wid a gatuh on it lak duh ones I made long ago. Wen I do, I s
ho sen it tuh yuh."
We had no idea that we would hear from him again, but a few months later he wrot
e us that he had made a stick especially for us. This proved to be of stout ceda
r carved
[p. 145]

with a large alligator and topped with the bust of a Negro man cut all in one wi
th the body of the stick and painted black to signify his race. The smooth, almo
st square, protruding skull of the figure, its small, high-set ears, broad mouth
, blue bead eyes driven in by minute steel nailheads, and little short arms with
four-fingered hands are all note-worthy points. The alligator's eyes are also b
lue beads driven in by nailheads.
After leaving William Rogers, we retraced our way back over the winding dirt roa
dway into Darien and from the town we drove eastward through a residential secti
on. The houses here were substantial and attractive, surrounded by trim lawns, a
nd the thoroughfare was shaded by old moss-hung trees. After a distance the road
narrowed; for a time there were no houses in sight; then we came to the Low Blu
ff community. Negro cabins dotted the landscape and the settlement terminated at
a grassy bluff where stood the last small house.
We were looking for Priscilla McCullough [*1] and the obliging neighbors directe
d us to her house. It stood to the left of the roadway, a queer haphazard little
dwelling place that looked like something out of a fairy tale. It was a tumbledown house, painted white, its roof patched with pieces of loose roofing which o
verlapped one another and hung down some distance in the front. An irregular fen
ce made alternately of board and wire surrounded it. The tiny porch was crowded
with old pieces of furniture and miscellaneous items, including half of a tatter
ed screen which hung at one side. Near the house a second building leaned at suc
h a precarious angle that it could be expected to tumble over momentarily.
We made our way down the little dirt walk and into the house and there in the ce
nter of the room sat Priscilla. She was sewing on a mattress which almost filled
the small space. Even the bizarre exterior had not prepared us for the appearan
ce of the inside of the house. Here again there was so much crowded together tha
t it took a while before separate articles could be clearly seen. Jumbled closel
y around
[p. 146]
Priscilla was a mass of furniture, each article of which was in turn almost hidd
en by a burden of clothing, dishes, bottles, pictures, and items too numerous to
mention.
Priscilla adjusted her eyeglasses which were tied on with a shoestring and told
us something of her early life. She said she had been "bawn tree yeahs to freedo
m in Sumtuh, Sout Calina." As quite a young woman she had moved to Georgia but s
till retained many pleasant recollections of the days of her early youth. She ha
d heard of many African customs and went on to tell us some of these.
"I heahd many time bout how in Africa wen a girl dohn ack jis lak dey should, de
y drum uh out uh town. Dey Jis beat duh drum, an call uh name on duh drum an duh
drum say bout all duh tings she done. Dey drum an mahch long an take duh girl
right out uh town.
"Girls hab tuh be keahful den. Dey caahn be so trifflin lak some ub em is now. I
n Africa dey gits punished. Sometime wen dey bin bad, dey put um on duh banjo. D
at wuz in dis country."
This being "put on duh banjo" was unintelligible to us and we asked for an expla
nation.
"Wen dey play dat night, dey sing bout dat girl an dey tell all bout uh. Das put
tin uh on duh banjo. Den ebrybody know an dat girl sho bettuh change uh ways."

The story of flying Africans was a familiar one to the old woman and she said th
at her mother had often told her the following incident which was supposed to ha
ve taken place on a plantation during slavery times.
"Duh slabes wuz out in duh fiel wukin. All ub a sudden dey git tuhgedduh an stah
t tuh moob roun in a ring. Roun dey go fastuhnfastuh. Den one by one dey riz up
an take wing an fly lak a bud. , Duh obuhseeuh heah duh noise an he come out a
n he see duh slabes riz up in duh eah an fly back tuh Africa. He run an he ketch
duh las one by duh foot jis as he wuz bout tuh fly off. I dohn know ef he wuz n
eah nuff tuh pull um back down an keep um frum goin off."
As we left, Priscilla accompanied us down the walk to the gateway. She was reluc
tant to see us go and until the last minute regaled us with a variety of stories
.
[p. 147]
We had learned that an elderly Negro named Lawrence Baker [*1] lived out on the
Ridge Road near the Ridgeway Club. We followed the road for about two miles and
came finally to a signpost directing us to turn right in order to reach the club
. This section in former times had been occupied by extensive plantation holding
s. Most of these estates had been deserted for years and now and then we saw a h
ouse, once evidently charming but now in a dilapidated and crumbling condition.
Through an old gateway to what had once been a prosperous estate we rode past ac
res now weed-grown and neglected. At last we came upon a one story white plantat
ion house. Inside blinds were at all of the French windows and the wide floor bo
ards gave indication that the house had probably been standing for about one hun
dred years.
The man for whom we were looking was plowing in a field at the rear. Baker's rug
ged build and his keen intellect made it difficult to believe that he was in his
late seventies. For years he had acted as caretaker of the club and often lived
in the plantation house, as it had been unoccupied for some time.
He had heard of the custom of beating drums to warn people of a recent death. He
said, "Dey use tuh alluz beat duh drum aw blow duh hawn wen somebody die. Dey
beat two licks on duh. drum, den dey stop, den dey beat tree licks. Wen yuh beat
dat, yuh know somebody done die. , Lots uh duh drums wuz home-made. Dey wuz m
ade out uh goat skin aw coon skin wut stretch out obuh hoops. Deah wuz tree siz
es uh drums. Deah wuz duh big barrel drum. It wuz highuhn it wuz cross. Den deah
wuz a lill drum frum twelve tuh fifteen inches wide an bout eighteen inches hig
h. Duh udduh drum wuz duh medium size, kine uh in between duh udduh two. Duh big
drum wuz duh one dey beat at duh wake. Dey use drums at dances an meetins, too.
"Wen we hab a fewnul, we all mahch roun duh grabe in a ring. We shout an pray."
We wanted to know if river baptisms were always held during an ebb tide and Lawr
ence hastened to assure us,
[p. 148]
[paragraph continues] "Yes'm, dey alluz hole duh baptism on a high ebb tide. Das
so duh tide will carry duh sin out."
Had the old man ever known any people who had been named for the days of the wee
k?
"I knowd one man name Fridy, one dat wuz name Satdy an anudduh he name wuz Toosd
y. Guess dey name um dataway cuz dey wuz bawn on doze days."

Baker told us that many people in the section refused to eat certain foods, beli
eving bad luck would follow if they ate them.
"Deah's lots dataway now," he commented. "Lots uh folks dohn eat some food cuz e
f dey did dey say it would bring bad luck on duh parents. Some dohn eat rice, so
me dohn eat egg, an some dohn eat chicken.
"Muh gran, she Rachel Grant, she use tuh tell me bout lot uh deze tings. I membu
h she use tuh pray ebry day at sunrise, at middle day and den at sunset. She all
uz face duh sun an wen she finish prayin she alluz bow tuh duh sun. She tell me
bout duh slabes wut could fly too. Ef dey didn lak it on duh plantation, dey jis
take wing an fly right back tuh Africa.
"Muh gran say dey use tuh eat wid oystuh shells. Use um fuh spoons. Wen dey go t
uh shoot duh gun, dey ketch duh fyuh wid a rag an flint."
We asked him if he had ever heard of a hoe that worked by itself and he told us
that he had often heard this story regarding the hoe and that he had also heard
many tales about a magic rail splitting wood without anyone touching it.
Suddenly the quiet of the afternoon was shattered by a high reed-like whistling
sound. It continued for quite a time, then stopped as abruptly as it had started
. Was it a person or an animal? It was impossible for us to tell.
"Das a spiduh, missus," Baker explained. "It come roun yuh all duh time an wistl
e jis lak a pusson. I dohn fool wid no spiduh. Dey is bad luck. All duh time dey
drop down right out ub a tree.
"I know deah is spirits an ghos cuz I kin see um. Yuh hab tuh be bawn wid a cau
l tuh be able tuh see duh spirits.
"Some uh duh folks is rid so much by witches dat attuh a time dey git tin an po
an jis die. Wen a witch come in duh
[p. 149]
house, it hang up duh skin behine duh doe an ef yuh put salt on duh skin, duh wi
tch caahn put it on agen. Benne seed is bad fuh duh witch too an keep um way.
"Witches take all kine uh shape. Sometime dey lak animal, sometime lak bud. In
Harris Neck deah wuz a big buzzud wut use tuh light on duh fence ebry time dey w
ould be milkin duh cows. Wen duh buzzud would fly off, one uh duh milk buckets w
ould alluz be dry. Dis happen ebry day. Dey would shoot at duh bud but nobody c
ould ebuh hit it. One man he take a dime an he quawtuh it; den he put it in duh
gun. Duh nex day wen duh buzzud light, he shoot at it an he hit it in duh wing.
It fly off an go down a chimbley ub a house. Wen duh men go in duh house, dey fi
ne a ole uhmun wid uh ahm broke. Dey know den she wuz a witch. I know deah wuz s
ome talk bout bunnin uh up, but I dohn tink dey do it.
"Ebry night I sit on dis poach heah." He pointed to the back porch of the white
house. "I kin see duh spirits goin by. Deah is a whole crowd uh lill wite tings.
Dey is goin obuh deah tuh duh spring. Some is lak chillun; some is lak grown fo
lks. Dey jis go cross duh fiel tuh duh mahble steps uh duh ole gahden an down du
h steps tuh duh fountn. I ain nebuh bodduh um an dey ain nebuh do me no hahm."
Footnotes
^139:1 Jane Lewis, Darien.

^141:1 Wallace Quarterman, Darien. Deceased autumn, 1938.

^143:1 A group of slaves from the Ibo tribe refused to submit to slavery. Led by
their chief and singing tribal songs, they walked into the water and were drown
ed at a point on Dunbar Creek later named Ebo (Ibo) Landing.
^143:2 William Rogers, Cowhorn Road, Darien.
^145:1 Priscilla McCullough, near Darien.
^147:1 Lawrence Baker, the Ridge Road, near Darien.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 151]

Sapelo Island
Sapelo Island is one of the chain of "Golden Isles" lying along the Georgia Coas
t. The word Sapelo was derived from "Zapala," the name used by the Indians when
the island was a favorite hunting ground for the tribes that had given up much o
f the mainland to the Spaniards and later to the English. Among the landmarks th
at recall colorful historical episodes are Indian mounds, tabby ruins of colonia
l days, and the remains of a house built by Jean Berard Mocquet, Marquis de Mont
alet, a French Royalist who immigrated to Georgia from Santo Domingo about 1797.
Plantation life flourished on Sapelo in the early nineteenth century. Here Thoma
s Spalding conducted one of the most extensive agricultural enterprises in the c
oastal section. The "big house" on the south end of the island was a spacious ta
bby mansion, so strongly constructed that the original walls are still standing
and form the nucleus of the present dwelling. The island, with the exception of
a number of Negro homesteads, is now the property of Richard Reynolds of Winston
-Salem, North Carolina, but, although many improvements and changes have been ma
de, much of the atmosphere of the early days has been preserved.
Industrial activity is concentrated in the central portion of Sapelo, where ther
e is a sawmill that gives employment to many of the islanders. Nearby are the co
mpany houses, a Post office, and a store. Several Negro churches and a dance hal
l are located elsewhere on the island.
Small Negro settlements are scattered at the north end of
[p. 152]
[paragraph continues] Sapelo and are reached by winding roads that cut through t
he tropical woodlands and brush. The Negroes are descendants of the slaves of th
e plantation era. Many lead an easy, carefree life which consists chiefly of fis
hing, crabbing, and cultivating a small patch of garden, while others engage in
regular employment at the sawmill or in the company offices.
Living an isolated island existence, these Negroes have preserved many customs a
nd beliefs of their ancestors, as well as the dialect of the older coastal Negro
. An old oxcart jogging along a tree shaded road is a familiar sight, and under
the guidance of a Negro boy named Julius we discovered instances of crude wooden
implements in common usage. The many Negroes interviewed gave a graphic picture
of survival elements that have persisted since the days when slave ships brough
t their ancestors to the new country.

One of the oldest inhabitants is Katie Brown, [*1] whose grandmother, Margaret,
was a daughter of Belali Mohomet, the Mohammedan slave driver of Thomas Spalding
. Katie, sunning herself on the back steps of her small house, was disposed to b
e gracious to us. Shaking her head at the size of the shoes brought to her as an
incentive to conversation, she relented at the sight of some pipe tobacco and b
egan to talk:
"I dunno bout drums at chuches. Use tuh hab um long time ago, but not now on duh
ilun,--leas I ain heah um. Hahves time wuz time fuh drums. Den dey hab big time
s. Wen hahves in, dey hab big gadderin. Dey beat drum, rattle dry goad wid seed
in um, an beat big flat tin plates. , Dey shout an moob roun in succle an loo
k lak mahch goin tuh heabm. Hahves festival, dey call it."
In response to our query about "set-ups" Katie replied, "Yes'm, we hab set-ups w
id duh dead, but I ain know bout killin chicken. At duh fewnul, dey kills hawg a
n hab plenty tuh eat. , Duh reason fuh dis is so dat sperrit hab plenty at du
h las. Wen fewnul pruhcession gits tuh grabeyahd, dey stops. I ain know wy dey d
o it but dey stops at duh gate, and dey ax leab tuh come in. Deah ain nobody at
[p. 153]
duh gate, but dey alluz ax jis duh same. Dey say, 'Fambly, we come tuh put our b
rudduh away in mudduh dus. Please leh us go tru gate.'"
About conjure, however, the old woman was not very communicative. "I ain know bo
ut cunjuh," she said. "I heahs bout spells on people, but I ain see um. Now shad
duhs, I see um. One night comin down duh road, I git tuh place weah road tun, an
I heah sumpin behine me runnin long close tuh groun. He got big long tus, dis l
ong, an he tongue hangin out. He pas close tuh me, an he look a me. I see um goo
d. He got long tick haiah lak Noofounlan. Deah ain nebuh bin dog lak um on ilun.
He mus be shadduh.
"Den one night, I come frum clinch wid huzbun. We gits tuh tun, I heahs sumpm ag
en. I looks, an deah is sumpm look lak man. Huzbun he ain see um. Den I heahs a
stompin, an sumpm come by so close tuh me I kin mos tech um, an he tun tuh spott
ed ox. 'Budge,' I calls um wen dey changes lak dat. Dat spotted ox go gallopin o
ff, an I say tuh huzbun, 'Yuh ain see um?' He say, 'Wut?' I say, 'Da spotted ox
wut go pas down duh road an out in da fiel?' He say, 'I ain see nuttn.' Das wen
I luns dat wen yuh see um, yuh musn talk bout um.
"No'm, I dunno no animal stories. I heah um, but I fuhgits. I know bout lizzud a
n rabbit, dough. Yuh ain know bout lizzud an rabbit? Well, lizzud, he wuk hahd.
He hab sode wut he cut crop wid, an it wuk by itsef an it cut so fine, nuttn lef
. Lizzud he speak wuds tuh it--it do all duh wuk. Now, rabbit, he smaht. He ain
got no sode lak lizzud got an he wahn one. He hide behine bush, an he watch da
sode wuk fuh lizzud, an he wahn it bad. One day wen lizzud not at home, rabbit,
he sneak up, an he steal lizzud sode. He laf tuh hesef cuz he got da sode. He ta
ke da sode tuh he fiel an he staht it tuh wuk. He tink he know duh wuds dat lizz
ud say tuh sode, an he call, 'Go-ee-tell.' Sode staht wukin. Pretty soon, sode f
inish duh crop, an rabbit wahn um tuh stop. Sode comin too close tuh noo wintuh
crop wut rabbit got tuh hab fuh lib on. So rabbit he yell, 'Go-ee-tell' in loud
voice, and sode he wuk all duh fastuh. He cut down ebryting rabbit hab an ain le
ab nuttn. Lizzud who bin hidin in bush, he laf an he laf tuh he sef at rabbit, c
uz rabbit tink hesef so smaht
[p. 154]
wen he steal sode an now he ain got nuttn tuh eat all wintuh. Rabbit he see lizz
ud, an he call, 'Stop dis sode.' Lizzud he say, 'it my sode.' Rabbit he say, 'Da
sso. It yuh sode, 'but stop it. It cut down ebryting uh got.' Lizzud say, 'Sode

wuk fastuh ebry time he heah 'Go-ee-tell.'" Den lizzud he staht laffin an he cal
ls out loud, 'Go-ee-pom,' an sode stop. Lizzud den go out an pick up sode an tak
um home."
Knowing that Katie was a descendant of Belali, we asked her if she knew anything
of him. She nodded and answered, "Belali Mohomet? Yes'm, I knows bout Belali. H
e wife Phoebe. He hab plenty daughtuhs, Magret, Bentoo, Chaalut, Medina, Yaruba,
Fatima, an Hestuh.
"Magret an uh daughtuh Cotto use tuh say dat
h bead. Dey wuz bery puhticluh bout duh time
h hour. Wen duh sun come up, wen it straight
me dey pray. Dey bow tuh duh sun an hab lill
long string. Belali he pull bead an he say,
be she say, 'Ameen, Ameen.'

Belali an he wife Phoebe pray on du

dey pray an dey bery regluh bout du
obuh head an wen it set, das duh ti
mat tuh kneel on. Duh beads is on a
'Belambi, Hakabara, Mahamadu.' Phoe

"Magret she say Phoebe he wife, but maybe he hab mone one wife. I spects das ber
y possible. He come obuh wid all he daughtuhs grown. He whole fambly wuz mos gro
wn up. Hestuh she Shad's gran. Yuh knows Shad? Bentoo she duh younges. Magret sh
e my gran."
We asked if Belali Mohomet had been related to Belali Sullivan on St. Simons.
"I ain know bout St. Simon but Cotto use tuh talk bout cousin Belali Sullivan.
"Yes'm, I membuh muh gran too. Belali he frum Africa but muh gran she come by Ba
hamas. She speak funny wuds we didn know. She say 'mosojo' an sometime 'sojo' we
n she mean pot. Fuh watuh she say 'deloe' an fuh fyuh she say 'diffy.' She tell
us, Tak sojo off diffy.'
"Wen sumpm done she say, 'Bim-boga-rum.' Yuh tell uh sumpm wut is a subprise lak
somebody die, den she say, 'Ma-foo-bey, ma-foo-bey.'
"She am tie uh head up lak I does, but she weah a loose wite clawt da she trow o
buh uh head lak veil an it hang loose
[p. 155]
on uh shoulduh. I ain know wy she weah it dataway, but I tink she ain lak a tigh
t ting roun uh head.
"She make funny flat cake she call 'saraka.' She make um same day ebry yeah, an
it big day. Wen dey finish, she call us in, all duh chillun, an put in hans in f
lat cake an we eats it. Yes'm, I membuh how she make it. She wash rice, an po of
f all duh watuh. She let wet rice sit all night, an in mawnin rice is all swell.
She tak dat rice an put it in wooden mawtuh, an beat it tuh paste wid wooden pe
stle. She add honey, sometime shuguh, an make it in flat cake wid uh hans. 'Sara
ka' she call un."
Before the cabin stood a crudely constructed wooden mortar made many years befor
e by Katie's husband and used originally for the pounding of rice. A deep basinlike aperture had been hewn out of the center of a log which was about three fee
t long and from eighteen to twenty inches wide.
Across the dusty road from Katie Brown's another narrow wooden gate opened into
a field where a winding path led to the small cabin of Julia Grovernor, [*1] cal
led Juno by the island Negroes. Julia, very black, tall and gaunt, was slightly
hostile and suspicious and disinclined to talk. Even the pipe tobacco, potent in
most cases, she indifferently dropped.

"No'm, I ain know nuttn. Ise feeble-minded. I bin weak in head sence I small chi
le. No'm, I ain know nuttn bout witches. I ain know nuttn bout root doctuhs. No'
m, I ain nebuh heah uh cunjuh. No'm, I ain know nuttn bout spells. No'm, I ain k
in tuh Katie Brown."
This refusal to answer except in the negative seemed to continue indefinitely. F
inally, however, after innumerable Slow, quiet, good-humored questions that show
ed no resentment at her hostility, she became friendly in a reserved and superio
r way. It was soon evident that this sullen, reticent woman, though hostile to o
utside invasion, was not feeble-minded, but on the contrary sharp-witted, with a
dry sense of humor.
"Muh gran, she Hannah. Uncle Calina muh gran too; dey bote Ibos. Yes'm, I membuh
muh gran Hannah. She marry
[p. 156]
Calina an hab twenny-one chillun. Yes'm, she tell us how she brung yuh.
"Hannah, she wid huh ahnt who wuz diggin peanuts in duh fiel, wid uh baby strop
on uh back. Out uh duh brush two wite mens come an spit in huh abut eye. She bli
nded an wen she wipe uh eye, duh wite mens done loose duh baby frum huh back, an
took Hannah too. Dey led um intuh duh woods, weah deah wuz udduh chillun dey do
ne ketched an tie up in sacks. Duh baby an Hannah wuz tie up in sacks lak duh ud
duhs an Hannah nebuh saw huh ahnt agen an nebuh saw duh baby agen. Wen she wuz l
et out uh duh sack, she wuz on boat an nebuh saw Africa agen."
A back path from Julia's house led to the house of her sister, Katie, [*1] who h
ad a regal and impressive bearing. She, too, had a hostile and taciturn manner.
"No'm, Ise younguh
tell uh cunjuh. I
n know none uh dis
young chile, an I
ks a funny talk. I

dan Juno. I dohn membuh nuttn uh doze times. No'm, I ain heah
dohn know bout witch doctuhs. I dohn know spells. No'm, I doh
yuh askin. Yes'm, I nuss Hannah an Calina wen deys ole, but I
dohn membuh nuttn bout um. No'm, I cahn unnuhstan um; dey tal
cahn unnuhstan um."

In the afternoon we went to see Phoebe Gilbert, [*2] another descendant of the I
bos, Calina and Hannah. Phoebe, black, buxom, and comely, lived in a comfortable
cottage in Shell Hammock. Obviously embarrassed at being the center of a rapidl
y increasing crowd of Negro listeners, she evaded most questions. Our visit did
not prove entirely unsatisfactory, however, for after considerable humorous chat
ting Phoebe rewarded our efforts by giving a vivid description of how her grandf
ather, Calina, was captured and brought here from Africa.
"Belali Smith muh gran. I ain know bout Belali Mohomet. Yes'm, I membuh muh gran
. She Hannah. Yes'm, muh gran Calina, too. Dey's Ibos. Muh gran Calina tell me h
ow be got heah. He say he playin on beach in Africa, an big boat neah duh beach.
He say, duh mens on boat take down
[p. 157]
flag, an put up big piece uh
edge tuh see flannel an see
an wen duh ole folks come in
all on boat. Den dey brings

red flannel, an all chillun dey git close tuh watuh

wut doin. Den duh mens comes off boat an ketch um,
frum duh fiels dey ain no chillun in village. Dey's
um yuh."

Cuffy Wilson, [*1] sitting in the clean-swept yard which surrounded his whitewa
shed house, told us about the much discussed experience of a neighbor of his. Th
is dealt with the current belief concerning the necessity of asking leave to ent
er the graveyard.

"Grant Johnson, he wannuh cut some wood an he git obuh duh fence uh duh cimiterr
y," he explained to us. "He didn ax leab uh nobody. He wuz a cuttin duh wood do
wn as fas as he could wen all ub a sudden he see a big black dog wut come attuh
im. Dat wuz a shadduh an he ain lose no time in jumpin obuh duh fence.
"Wen yuh hab a fewnul eben today, yuh hab tuh ax leab tuh entuh duh cimiterry ga
te. Duh spirit ain gonuh let yuh in lessn yuh ask leab ub it."
We visited Nero Jones, [*2] an elderly Negro who lived on his sixty-five-acre tr
act of land with a daughter, Henrietta. Sitting beneath the protecting shade of
an arbor which overlooked a peanut field, the old man was busily engaged in shuc
king a large basket of the nuts.
He, too, remembered having seen harvest dances. "We use tuh hab big time at hahv
es," he began. "We pray an sing duh night tru. Wen duh sun riz we go out an dan
ce. We hab big beatin uh drums an sometimes we dry duh goads an leab duh seed in
um. Dey make good rattle. ,
"I membuh Uncle Calina an An Hannah well. Dey mighty Ole an dey bun up in duh ho
use. Dey talk lot uh funny talk tuh each udduh an dey is mighty puhticuluh bout
prayin. Dey pray on duh bead. Duh ole man he say 'Ameela' and An Hannah she say
'Hakabara.'"
Later we drove slowly over the flat grass-lands to Hog Hammock, another Negro co
mmunity at the south end of Sapelo. The red-legged herons winging their way agai
nst the
[p. 158]
vivid blue of the sky, the dense foliage rimming the edges of the inland marshes
, clumps of feathery bush, all contributed to the tropical beauty of the island.
At Hog Hammock we visited Shad Hall, [*1] another Belali Mohomet descendant, who
came to the door of his neat cottage clad in blue denim. Delighted to have visi
tors, Shad was eager for conversation. With a few polite words of thanks for the
pipe tobacco, he began to talk of the old days.
"Muh gran wuz Hestuh, Belali's daughtuh. She tell me Belali wuz coal black, wid
duh small feechuhs we hab, an he wuz bery tall. She say Belali an all he fambly
come on same boat frum Africa. Belali hab plenty daughtuhs, Medina, Yaruba, Fati
ma, Bentoo, Hestuh, Magret, and Chaalut.
"Ole Belali Smith wuz muh uncle. His son wuz George Smith's gran. He wuz muh gra
n Hestuh's son an muh mudduh Sally's brudduh. Hestuh an all ub um sho pray on du
h bead. Dey weah duh string uh beads on duh wais. Sometime duh string on duh nec
k. Dey pray at sun-up and face duh sun on duh knees an bow tuh it tree times, kn
eelin on a lill mat."
We asked Shad if he had ever heard his grandmother say anything about Africa. Ha
d she ever mentioned what sort of house they lived in or what food was generally
eaten? Shad nodded eagerly, and from the steady flow of talk that followed it w
as evident that he had heard much of the land of his ancestors.
"Muh gran Hestuh say she kin membuh duh house she lib in in Africa. She say it w
uz cubbuh wid palmettuh an grass fuh roof, an duh walls wuz made uh mud. Dey mak
e duh walls by takin up hanfuls uh mud an puttin it on sumpm firm, sticks put cr
ossways so. I membuh some pots and cups dat she hab made uh clay. She brung deze
frum Africa. She membuh wut dey eat in Africa too. Dey eat yam an shuguh cane a
n peanut an bananas. Dey eat okra too. Yes'm, das right, dey calls it gumbo. Dey

dohn hab tuh wuk hahd wid plantin deah. Jis go in woods an dig, an git big yam.
Dey eat udduh roots too. Dey ain no flo tuh house. Dey sleep on hahd
[p. 159]
groun inside house. House wuz neah lill ilun weah dey ketch parrot and sell um."
"Do you remember any special kinds of food that your grandmother used to prepare
?" we asked.
Shad, after pondering briefly, said, "She make strange cake, fus ub ebry munt. S
he call it 'saraka.' She make it out uh meal an honey. She put meal in bilin wat
uh an take it right out. Den she mix it wid honey, and make it in flat cakes. So
metime she make it out uh rice. Duh cake made, she call us all in an deah she ha
b great big fannuh full an she gib us each cake. Den we all stands roun table, a
nd she says, 'Ameen, Ameen, Ameen,' an we all eats cake."
We asked Shad what sort of animals his grandmother remembered seeing in Africa,
and be said, "She say lion is duh mos powful uh beas. She say lion git up tree j
is lak cat. Yuh come long unduh tree, an lion he reach down wid great paws an gr
ab yuh--so. Snakes, dey big, too. Dey wrap deah tail roun tree an lean obuh an r
each yuh, too."
Shad furnished us additional information regarding "setups." "Yes'm, Gran Hestuh
tell me uh set-ups. Dey kill a wite chicken wen dey hab set-ups tuh keep duh sp
irits way. She say a wite chicken is duh only ting dat will keep duh spirits way
an she alluz keep wite chicken fuh dat in yahd. Lak dis. Hestuh, she hab frien
an frien die. Ebry ebenin friens spirit come back an call tuh Hestuh. Hestuh k
nowd ef she keep it up, she die too. Hestuh den kills wite chicken, tro it out u
h doze, an shut doe quick. Wen she tro it out, she say, 'Heah, spirit, moob away
--dohn come back no mo.' I dunno wut she do wid duh blood an fedduhs.
"Yes'm, I heah tell uh witches, but I ain see um. I know eel skin tie roun neck
bring good luck an cuo yuh ef Yuh sick. Yes'm, I see um bury sack unduh doe step
tuh pruhtec house; I see um tie rag tuh gate tuh pruhtec too. , I ain know s
nake-skin bring good luck, but eel-skin, yes'm.
"Yuh ain heah so much bout cunjuh on dis ilun, but deah's a few wut does a might
y lot uh talkin. Nellie Dixon, she lib right obuh deah in dem trees, she alluz t
alkin bout roots. She say somebody go tru duh yahd an drap a root fuhrum. She to
te a sack roun uh neck tuh gahd um." , , ,
[p. 160]
When asked to whom he had belonged during slavery he answered, "Muh fus massuh M
ontally. He ole massuh. Young massuh wuz Massuh Tom Spalding. Den I belongs tuh
Mike Spalding; dat befo freedom. Sometime duh ole folks call duh missus 'maduba'
an duh massuh 'mahaba.' Yes'm I bin big man wen freedom come."
Shad remembered that during his childhood he had often witnessed harvest festiva
ls and dances.
"Hahves time dey hab big time. It come once a yeah an dey pray an dey sing all n
ight long till duh fus cock crow. Den dey staht tuh dance an tuh bow tuh duh sun
as it riz in duh sky. Dey dance roun in a succle an sing an shout. Sho is a big
time.
"Wen yuh hab a buryin, yuh alluz hab tuh ask leab tuh duh grabeyahd. Dey do dat
tuh dis day. Yuh say, 'Fambly, please let us lay yuh brudduh in mudduh dus.'"

The story which Cuffy Wilson had already told us about Grant Johnson's having be
en chased from the grave-yard by a shadow was also verified from this source. Sh
ad told us, "Grant Johnson he go deah one time tuh cut wood widout askin leab. H
e busy cuttin wood wen all ub a sudden he see big black dog comin tuh um wid one
paw raise an red eye an big grinnin teet. Grant he ain lose no time in gittin
way. Dat dog wuz shadduh wut come attuh um.
"Duh ole folks use tuh tell dat story bout duh hoe wut could wuk by itsef. It st
an right up in duh fiel widout nobody holdin tuh it. Das ef yuh knowd how tuh w
uk it. Doze Africans knowd how tuh make dat hoe wuk an dey knowd how tuh wuk roo
ts.
"Doze folks could fly too. Dey tell me deah's a lot ub un, wut wuz bring heah an
dey ain much good. Duh massuh wuz fixin tuh tie um up tuh whip um. Dey say, 'Ma
ssuh, yuh ain gwine lick me,' and wid dat dey runs down tuh duh ribbuh. Duh obuh
seeuh he sho tought he ketch um wen dey git tuh duh ribbuh. But fo he could git
tuh um, dey riz up in duh eah an fly way. Dey fly right back tuh Africa. I tink
dat happen on Butler Ilun.
"I use tuh heah lots ub animal stories, but it bin so long I mos fuhgit bout um.
I ain heah much bout duh spiduh cep he is bery wicked an he shahp. He kin spin
he tread an riz
[p. 161]
right up in duh eah widout nuttn tuh hep um. He see a fly an begin tuh spin roun
an roun um till he ketch um in he web. Den he caahn git way an An Nancy got um.
Das wut duh chillun say tuh dis day wen dey see a spiduh ketch a fly--An Nancy
got um.'"
On Sunday evening Julius drove us through black swamp and bush to the church at
Silver Bluff. The little white frame building with yellow light from oil lamps s
hining through the windows made the night suddenly come alive. Negro men and boy
s were moving about outside in the darkness and a few were gathered on the steps
. All the women and children were inside.
Escorted by Julius and a deacon we went into the church and took our places on t
he second from the front middle bench. The pulpit stood on the raised platform o
n which most of the light was concentrated. The men and boys came in. The church
was filled with a tense quietness.
The preacher came from behind the platform and stood silently behind the pulpit
desk, looking dramatically over his congregation. He was tall and spare, with br
own skin, narrow face, and a thin pointed beard, a Mohammedan looking Negro. He
wore a black skull cap, which we learned later was not ritualistic but was worn
to protect his head from the draught. This was Preacher Little who, we were afte
rwards told, was an itinerant preacher, not a native to the island but a type na
tive to the district.
His text, read in a loud, commanding voice, was "You ah the salt of the earth; b
ut if the salt has lost its savory, wherewith shall it be salt; it is then no go
od and should be trompled intuh earth." The exposition of this pronouncement was
awaited with breathless interest.
The sermon that followed, however, was in no way connected with the text. Preach
er Little divided his sermon into three parts and lectured his congregation on "
straying frum duh paat." What he said was not really coherent. Words stood out,
phrases rang in our ears, quotations from the Bible resounded at random but that
was the beginning and the end. The impelling element was the sound of Preacher
Little's voice.

In each part he began slowly, quietly, persuading and reasoning

[p. 162]
with his congregation. His voice would carry a pleading question to them and the
y would answer, "Huh." As he progressed, the quiet reasoning diminished; he sho
uted to his listeners. The "Huh-Huh's" became loud, guttural, vibrating grunts t
hat echoed through the little building. Regular stamping of the feet began; the
vibration penetrated into every corner. It was impossible not to think of the be
ating of the drum. The regular rhythmic, swelling noise was deafening. It meant
agreement with Preacher Little. It urged him on to greater heights until his sho
uting voice not only seemed to fill the church but to reverberate from wall to w
all. This climax was reached three times, at the end of each of the three parts
of the sermon. Each time it seemed to act as a great emotional purge to the list
eners and leave them happily exhausted.
When the sermon ended, spirituals were sung under the able direction of a young
Negro named George Smith. [*1] The singing was enhanced by the fervor and the ea
rnest simplicity with which it was presented. Shining countenances raised heaven
ward, voices lifted exultantly, and feet beating rhythmically in accompaniment,
the congregation entered wholeheartedly into the singing and seemed oblivious of
everything else.
The next day on the boat returning to the mainland, Smith, young and well educat
ed, tried to remember some of the tales told him when he was a boy. They were mo
stly the better known ones, except the Fox and the Rabbit, which concerned the F
ox thriftily planting sweet potatoes and the Rabbit digging them up.
Prevalent beliefs covered wider ground. If an owl hoots on top of the house or n
ear the house, it is supposed to be a sign of death. A counteractive is to thro
w salt on the fire, burn an old shoe, or turn pockets wrong side out. If a roost
er comes upon the porch and starts crowing, it is a sign of death in the house.
It is also considered bad luck to start on a journey and have to turn back. The
method employed to ward off disaster is to draw a cross where you turned back a
nd spit on it. We were told that most of the island Negroes believed
[p. 163]
in root doctors, but that they imported them from the mainland. There were none
on the island.
Smith admitted that he knew very little about the Negroes' belief in spirits. He
did know that if a person had something that the spirit wanted very badly that
person would be haunted by the spirit.
A frizzled chicken is known as a wise chicken and is used to find lost articles.
If something has been buried and its place forgotten, a frizzled chicken can, a
ccording to the islanders, find the place and scratch up the lost article.
Smith remembered hearing the older Negroes tell of having watches on certain def
inite occasions when they sat up all night waiting for sunrise. When the sun at
last appeared over the horizon, they would start a sun-dance and bow to the sun.
Death watches he knew nothing about, except present-day customs. However, he did
say that the snake known as the coach-whip was sometimes wrapped around the nec
k of a person supposedly dead and its tail put in the person's mouth to see if h
e were still breathing.
We questioned young Smith about the festivals that the other Negroes had describ

ed and he told us that during the harvesting season various celebrations are sti
ll held.
The boat neared the mainland. Our trip was over. As we bade goodbye to our guide
, we cast a look of farewell at the dim outline of the tropical island. On the j
ourney homeward impressions received during our stay on Sapelo crowded against o
ne another in disturbing sequence. Innumerable memories assailed us. Faintly the
echo of shouting rose and fell in the distance. The measured chanting of voices
and the pounding of feet seemed to follow us across the water.
Footnotes
^152:1 Katie Brown, Sapelo Island.
^155:1 Julia Grovernor, Sapelo Island. Deceased winter, 1938.
^156:1 Katie Grovernor, Sapelo Island.
^156:2 Phoebe Gilbert, Sapelo Island.
^157:1 Cuffy Wilson, Sapelo Island.
^157:2 Nero Jones, Sapelo Island.
^158:1 Shad Hall, Sapelo Island.
^162:1 George Smith, Sapelo Island and Brunswick.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 165]

St. Simons Island

St. Simons, one of the larger coastal islands, lies off the Georgia coast not fa
r from Brunswick on the mainland. For about fifteen years it has been connected
by causeway and bridge to the Coastal Highway. St. Simons has always had a consi
derable Negro population, owing to the fact that from early times many large pla
ntations as well as smaller settlements flourished on the island. This has given
the Negroes considerable contact with white people and of late years with the r
ather sophisticated type of tourist. Fearing that the old customs would have bee
n forgotten, we had little hope of good field work here.
However, we had not worked half a day in the north end settlements of the island
before we were happily surprised. Around Harrington and Frederica there still l
ive many old Negroes who remember the customs and beliefs told them by their par
ents and grandparents. Most of them are intelligent, reticent, and proud. Not ea
sy of approach but with good manners, they responded to the request to help reco
rd the traditional beliefs of their forefathers. Once they had realized the obje
ct of our conversation, they talked freely and graciously, and several were outs
tanding for their keen comprehension.
We went to see Catherine Wing, [*1] who lives at the corner of the Harrington Ro
ad and the main Frederica Highway. Her comfortable frame house was set in the mi
dst of a flower garden and her washtubs were conveniently placed under a
[p. 166]

grape arbor and spreading live oaks. On the side road stood three stately pine t
rees from which hung silvery festoons of Spanish moss. Catherine was black, smal
l, and lively at sixty-nine.
"Ise bawn in Meridian," she said, "but Ise lib mos muh life heah. Muh people bel
ong tuh duh Atwoods ub Darien an tings heah on duh ilun is pretty much duh way d
ey wuz deah. Some tings is changed wut hadduh change, lak wen we hab a fewnul du
h unduhtakuh come an git duh body an dey dohn lak yuh tuh hab no settin-up. In d
uh ole days we would sing an make prayuh all night an dey would come an measure
duh body wid a string tuh make duh coffin tuh bury em in. Dey use tuh alluz sen
yuh home tuh bury ef dey could git duh money but dey ain eben alluz do dat no m
o. Dey nebuh use tuh bury no strainjuhs in duh buryin groun but heah dat am kep
strick needuh."
We asked about the dances and festivals of her youth.
"We use tuh hab big times duh fus hahves, an duh fus ting wut growed we take tu
h duh chuch so as ebrybody could hab a piece ub it. We pray obuh it an shout. We
n we hab a dance, we use tuh shout in a ring. We ain hab wut yuh call a propuh d
ance tuhday.
"One uh duh dances wuz call duh Buzzud Lope. Its a long time sence we done it,
but I still membuh it. We ain hab much music in doze days but dey use a drum tuh
call duh people tuhgedduh wen dey gonuh hab games aw meetin. It sho bin a long
time sence I tought bout dem days."
Catherine told us that Ryna Johnson, who lived about a mile down the Harrington
Road, was one of the oldest people on the island. Leaving the main highway, we f
ollowed the narrow, less traversed side road. It was a heavily wooded section. W
e viewed the massive-trunked hoary oak trees through a misty curtain of hanging
moss. The fences along the road were covered with honeysuckle and wild grape. Sh
ortly before we arrived at our destination, the road divided to give way to a gr
owth of towering oaks; then it joined again, resuming its winding trail through
the quiet, shadowed countryside.
The little settlement now known as Harrington was formerly
[p. 167]
the property of the Demere family. A little less than a mile north of this settl
ement was Harrington Hall, home of Raymond Derriere, who came to this country wi
th Oglethorpe after serving ten years under Lord Harrington at Gibraltar.
To the left of the road was a small unpainted store operated by Ryna Johnson's d
aughter with whom she lived. Various advertisements on the front of the small bu
ilding gave splashes of color to the green of trees and foliage.
Set back from the store was Ryna's house, surrounded by an expanse of short gras
s upon which a horse was grazing. The house was weathered with age, as were the
vertical boards of the fence that enclosed the garden; here and there in the fen
ce a new unpainted board, regardless of length, had replaced an old, and the top
presented an irregular, jagged pattern. The cabin was the usual two-room affair
but with a hall through the center and a lean-to in the back. The walls were pa
pered with newspapers and, although there was a motley collection of objects and
furniture, everything was scrupulously clean.
Ryna [*1] was blind from cataracts and had not been feeling very well; so she ha
d just got up from bed. Although her body was bent and very feeble, her mind was
still clear.

"Ise bout eighty-five yeahs ole, but I caahn tell zackly. I belong tuh duh Coupe
rs wen I wuk on duh plantation. It bin sech a long time I mos stop studyin bout
dem days. But I membuh we use tuh hab good times."
In answer to our inquiry regarding any Africans whom she had known during planta
tion days, Ryna told us, "Alexanduh, Jummy, an William, dey is all African. I me
mbuh ole William well an he tell me lots bout times in Africa. Dey ain weah no c
loze, he say, but a leedle clawt string roun em.
"William say dat dey ain hab much trouble gittin tings tuh eat in Africa cuz so
much grow free. Dey cut duh tree an let duh suhrup drain out. Duh women tie duh
leedle chillun all duh babies on tuh deah back tuh carry em roun.
"He say wen dey come in duh boats tuh ketch em, dey trail red flag an dey ain us
e tuh see red an das duh way dey git duh load. William he talk funny talk. He ha
b funny wud
[p. 168]
fuh tings. I use tuh know some ub em, cuz he teach em tuh me but it so long, mis
sus, Ise fuhgit. But I membuh he say pot call 'sojo' an watuh 'deloe' an he call
fyuh 'diffy.' He sho did dat, but das all I kin membuh. Ef uh study bout em, ma
ybe I kin membuh some mo."
We wanted a description of William, the African.
"William a good size man, heaby set. He hab two leedle line mahk on he right che
ek."
Ryna mused: "Tings is sho change. Wen we is young, we use tuh hab big frolic an
dance in a ring an shout tuh drum. Sometime we hab rattle made out uh dry goad a
n we rattle em an make good music." ,
We wondered if she, too, remembered the Buzzard Lope and she assured us, "Yes'm,
sho I knows it. Ebrybody knows it."
Shortly afterward the conversation turned to conjure and the old woman told us,
"I sho heah plenty bout da ting. Way back we hab plenty discussion bout root mak
uhs. , I membuh my huzbun Hillard Johnson speak bout a root makuh in Darien wu
t make duh pot bile widout fyuh. My huzbun he frum Sapelo. He could tell yuh bou
t sech tings ef he wuz libin."
A short distance away lived Charles Hunter, [*1] whose small board house was set
well back from the road. The front yard enclosed by a wire fence was planted wi
th a profusion of brightly colored flowers along the sandy walk leading to the h
ouse. Across the road to the left was a field which had been planted in corn.
Charles, a medium-sized, intelligent man, very black of skin and rather small-fe
atured, talked to us about his people.
"Dey is long libin people," he began. "Muh fathuh lib until he a hundud an muh m
othuh wuz ninety wen she die Muh gran, she name Louise an come from Bahama Ilun.
[*2] She lib tuh hundud an fifteen. Das duh way dey do an I guess I'll do duh s
ame."
Did the people around Harrington believe in the old customs
[p. 169]
the way his mother and grandmother had believed in them?

"Yes'm, dey sticks tuh em but duh times is changin an yuh hab tuh change wid em.
Duh unduhtakuh come now an mone lakly he bring yuh back tuh duh chuch an dey ai
n no watch an singin."
In the course of our talk he told us that the river baptisms were held by member
s of the local churches. "Yes'm, we still baptize in duh ribbuh," Charles said.
"We hab one not long ago. We hab tuh wait till a Sunday wen a ebb tide come at a
good time, cuz; it duh ebb tide wut carry yuh sin away."
Charles confirmed what the other residents had told us regarding conjure.
"Well, dey's some belieb in cunjuh an some wut dohn. Dey's lots wut say sickness
ain natchul an somebody put sumpm down fuh yuh. I ain belieb in it much muhsef
but dey's curious tings happen. Now, wen I wuz a boy deah's a root makuh wut li
b yuh name Alexanduh. He wuz African an he say he kin do any kine uh cunjuh wut
kin be done an he kin cuo any kine uh disease. He wuz a small man, slim an bery
black. Alexanduh say he could fly. , He say all his fambly in Africa could fl
y. I ain seen em fly muhsef but he say he could do it all right. We's sked ub im
wen we's boys an use tuh run wen we see im come."
During the interview Emma, Charles' wife, hovered nearby, seemingly very much in
terested in the proceedings. Finally we asked her to come and talk to us. Althou
gh she said that she was too young to remember much of the old times, she gave u
s some recollections regarding superstitions and African customs.
"Now muh gran Betty she wuz African an she plant benne seed. Once yuh staht plan
tin benne, yuh got tuh plant em ebry yeah aw yuh die. I tell yuh who kin tell yu
h sumpm bout ole times an das Chahls Murray. He ain tell me how ole he is but I
ketch he age jis duh same. Yuh go down tuh duh main road a lill way an duh road
spring off tuh Chahls Murray house."
Emma also told us how to reach Ben Sullivan, one of the oldest men living on the
island.
From Hunter's we turned left on a lane flanked by a thicket
[p. 170]
of low trees and bushes. After about two or three miles we came to a clearing wh
ere there was a scattering of houses and sheds.
A tall, spare man was plowing in a field to the left of the road. We hailed him
and asked him if he could help us find Ben Sullivan. He left his mule and plow a
nd came over to the car. He was tall, as straight as a soldier, with a lean agil
ity that bespoke youthfulness. Over his long jaws and rather straight features h
is copper skin was smooth.
"Ise Ben Sullivan," [*1] he said, and we were puzzled.
"But," we said, "the Ben Sullivan we are looking for is an old man."
"Ise duh only Ben Sullivan," he answered. "Ise eighty-eight."
It seemed incredible that this active, intensely alive man could really be so ol
d. We asked him who his people were and what he remembered about the old times.
"We belong tuh duh Coupers. Ise son tuh Belali. He wuz butluh tuh James Couper a
t Altama. I membuh we hab lots uh time tuh play wen we's chilluns." He smiled pl
easantly at the memory.

This man, too, remembered native Africans he had known, for he told us, "I membu
h lots uh Africans, but all ub em ain tame. But I knowd some ub em wut is tame a
n I knowd one tame Indian."
We asked again about old Alexander, the African root maker.
"Yes'm, I membuh him. He wuz a lill black man an he belong tuh duh Butlers but I
ain know him well cuz we's diffunt people. Now ole man Okra an ole man Gibson a
n Ole Israel, dey's African an dey belong tuh James Couper an das how I knows em
. Dey tell us how dey lib in Africa. Dey laks tuh talk. It funny talk an it ain
so easy tuh unnuhstan but yuh gits use tuh it. Dey say dey buil deah own camp de
ah an lib in it.
"Ole man Okra he say he wahn a place lak he hab in Africa so he buil im a hut. I
membuh it well. It wuz bout twelve by foeteen feet an it hab dut flo an he buil
duh side lak basket weave wid clay plastuh on it. It hab a flat roof wut he mak
e
[p. 171]
frum bush an palmettuh an it hab one doe an no winduhs. But Massuh make im pull
it down. He say he ain wahn no African hut on he place.
"Ole Israel he pray a lot wid a book he hab wut he hide, an he take a lill mat a
n he say he prayuhs on it. He pray wen duh sun go up an wen duh sun go down. Dey
ain none but ole Israel wut pray on a mat. He hab he own mat. Now ole man Israe
l he hab shahp feechuh an a long pointed beahd, an he wuz bery tall. He alluz ti
e he head up in a wite clawt, an seem he keep a lot uh clawt on ban, fuh I membu
h, yuh could see em hangin roun duh stable dryin."
Asked if he remembered any other Africans who tied their heads up, the old man t
old us, "I membuh a ole uhmun name Daphne. He didn tie he head up lak ole man Is
rael. He weah loose wite veil on he head. He waz shahp-feechuh too an fight uh c
omplexion. He weah one ring in he eah fuh he eyes. I hab refrence to it bein so
me kine uh pruhtection tuh he eyes. Wen he pray, he bow two aw tree times in duh
middle uh duh prayuh."
We asked about the music they used to have and what they used for dancing in the
old days.
"We ain dance den duh way dey dances now. We dance roun in a succle an den we da
nces fuh prayin. I membuhs we use tuh hab drums fuh music an we beat duh drum f
uh dances.
"Now, ole man Dembo he use tuh beat duh drum tuh duh fewnul, but Mr. Couper he
stop dat. He say he dohn wahn drums beatin roun duh dead. But I watch em hab a f
ewnul. I gits behine duh bush an hide an watch an see wut dey does. Dey go in a
long pruhcession tuh duh buryin groun an dey beat duh drums long duh way an dey
submit duh body tuh duh groun. Den dey dance roun in a ring an dey motion wid du
h hans. Dey sing duh body tuh duh grabe an den dey let it down an den dey succl
e roun in duh dance.
"Dey ain hab no chuch in doze days an wen dey wannuh pray, dey git behine duh ho
use aw hide someweah an make a great prayuh. Dey ain suppose tuh call on duh Law
d; dey hadduh call on duh massuh an ef dey ain do dat, dey git nine an tutty.
"Dey ain marry den duh way dey do now. Attuh slabery
[p. 172]

dey hadduh remarry. Dey hab big baptizin in duh ribbuh lak dey do tuhday an dey
dip em on duh ebb tuh wash duh sins away an duh preachuh he make a great prayuh
tuh duh ribbuh.
"Ole man Okra he a great un fuh buil drum. He take a calf skin an tan it and ma
ke duh side uh maple, Ise pretty sho it wuz maple. He stretch em obuh it good. I
t wuz bout eighteen inches wide an fifteen inches deep wen he finish it. He beat
it wid a stick. Ole man Okra he sho kin chase a drum. Ole man Jesse he frum. Af
rica, too, an he make he own drum."
When we asked Ben if he remembered any African words, he replied, "I know dat de
ah wuz a ole man, it bin so long I caahn relate his name, at duh plantation wut
wehn roun wid ole man Okra an I membuh well he call all duh fish an ting uh duh
ribbuh by duh name uh 'nyana' an den I heah pancake call 'flim.' Muh granmothuh
Hettie, duh mothuh uh muh mothuh Bella, he come from Africa too an he huzbun com
e frum Africa. He name wuz Alex Boyd. Alex wuz bery small felluh but heaby an he
hab dahk skin an shahp-feechuch. Yes, ma'am, he talk African but he stuttuh so
he dohn talk much roun us chillun, cuz we make fun at im, an as I say befo, I wu
z small lad den. Alex wuz knock-kneed an he tie he head up in a clawt."
Had his grandmother, Hettie, ever talked to him about Africa, we wanted to know.
Ben told us, "Many time. He tell some tings I membuh. He say he mus be bout tute
en aw foeteen wen dey bring im frum Africa. He say deah wuz great talk bout comi
n tuh dis country an some men tell em it would take only two aw tree days tuh gi
t deah. Dey wuz all happy tuh come. Him an lot uh friens come tuhgedduh.
"Wen Hettie fus come, he say he feel worried cuz he couldn unnuhstan duh talk yu
h an many udduh tings bein so diffunt frum he own country. He hab two sistuhs an
tree brothuhs but dey couldn git a chance tuh come. He hab mo refrence tuh he m
othuh dan tuh he fathuh. An he say dat in Africa he lib in a 'groun house.' It w
uz a squeah house, an he say dat he didn lib close tuh a salt ribbuh but weah de
ah wuz a lot uh wile swamp. Wen he fus come tuh dis country, he didn unnuhstan b
out fish. But he tell a lot bout monkey
[p. 173]
an parakeet. An, too, he say nuttn ebuh die way. Duh crops is come back ebry yea
h widout habin tuh be planted.
"Das all I membuh Hettie tellin bout Africa. Muh fathuh's fathuh come frum Afric
a too but wen muh fathuh Belali wuz a small young lad, muh granfathuh wehn tuh D
ungeness on Cumberland Ilun tuh trade in slabes an nebuh wuz seen agen. It wuz m
uh fathuh Belali dat made rice cakes."
When asked about his father's mother, Ben continued, "Muh fathuh's mothuh lib at
Altama. Huh name wuz Luna, but muh fathuh's fathuh wuz a unmarried man. Deah's
many tings I do not membuh, it wuz sech a long time ago. I know dat wen deah wuz
tuh be a buryin, dey alluz bury duh dead at night at duh plantation. Dey alluz
come in frum duh tas befo dahk.
"In doze days deah wuz no way tuh git tuh Savannah cep by boat an wen Mr. Couper
wannuh go, he use a boat bout fifty foot long an bout six foot wide. He take si
x strong oahsmen an dey would make it in ten aw twelve hours. I heahd tell ub a
house buil by a man frum Africa, wid cawn stalks an mud an wid a straw filluh."
The flying story about old Alexander, the root maker, had interested us and we a
sked if Ben Sullivan had heard of it.

"I ain heahd specially bout him but Ise heahd plenty Africans talk bout flyin. D
eah's plenty ub em wut could fly. , I sho heahd em talk bout great doins an Is
e heahd ole Israel say duh hoe could wuk by itsef ef yuh know wut tuh say tuh it
. It bin a long time sence Ise tought bout tings lak dat, but ef uh studies bou
t em, dey comes back tuh me."
On the way back from Harrington to St. Simons village we stopped at Nora Peterso
n's [*1] small cabin to talk with her. Nora, the daughter of Tom Floyd, an Afric
an who came to this country on the Wanderer in 1858, is a nice looking, middle-a
ged woman, pleasant and up to date. She told us about her father.
"I wuz bery lill wen he died--not mone bout fo yeah ole, uh spec. I do know he c
ome frum Africa. I membuhs dat an uh membuh muh Uncle Slaughtuh wuz his brothuh
an he
[p. 174]
come frum Africa, too. I nebuh heahd him talk much bout it but maybe uh wuz too
lill tuh membuh."
Although she had been so young at the time of her father's death, the woman stil
l retained a vivid picture of him and she gave us the following description:
"He wuz shawt an dahk, an heaby buil. Yuh see, he wuzn but bout sixty yeah ole w
en he died. Muh mothuh wuz Charity Lewis an uh got one brothuh, Caesar Prince, b
ut he's younguh dan me an dohn membuh nothin."
From Nora's we went to the old tabby slave house of Floyd White [*1] who was rel
ated to her. Floyd was of middle height, black, and of a powerful build. When we
were uncertain and groping as to the right questions to ask, Floyd was clear an
d helpful.
"Ise nephew tuh Charity Lewis, so Nora is muh cousin, but Ise olduhn Nora an I m
embuh ole Tom Floyd well. I bout fifteen wen he die. He waz shawt an tick set. I
tinks he wuz Ibo. He used tuh whoop an holluh. He say dey do da way in Africa.
He wuz doctuh too an he could cut yuh wid a knife an cop yuh. I wish he wuz yuh
right now tuh cop me. I sho needs it an it make yuh feel lots bettuh. I heah hi
m talk plenty bout Africa but I caahn membuh so much ub it cuz uh wuz young boy
den. He say he lib in a hut on a ribbuh an dey eat coconut an bread wut grow on
a tree. Dey plant yam ebry seben yeah an dey dohn hadduh wuk it. Dey hab peanut
an banana. He call it by anudduh name but I caahn membuh it. I seen plenty ub Af
rican people an dey all say dey plant duh crop an dey dohn hadduh wuk it. I heah
lot ub em tell how dey git obuh yuh. Dey trap em on a boat wid a red flag."
Old Tom Floyd was not the only root doctor Floyd could remember. There were many
others, he said, some still living and plying their trade.
"I knows a root makuh now," he told us. "Uncle Quawt, he root makuh. Does yuh kn
ow him?"
We replied that we had known Quarterman for some but that he had never told us h
e could work roots.
"Maybe he ain tell yuh but he kin wuk em all right. He kin put a cunjuh on wid
a goofa bag as good as anybody.
[p. 175]
[paragraph continues] Now, I tell yuh bout im. Deah's two felluhs in Brunswick w
ut does a lill killin an wen duh case is call, two buzzud fight on duh cote hous

e an wen duh men come up befo duh jedge, he let um go free. Now, Uncle Quawt, he
had sumpin tuh do wid dat. Dey ain so many root makuhs lef."
Floyd, too, had heard of Alexander, the old African root maker.
"Yes'm, Ise heahd much bout im. He wuz still libin wen I wuz a boy. Ise heahd em
tell plenty uh tales bout im. Dey say duh boat leab fuh Savannah an Alexanduh h
e yuh. He say good-bye frum yuh an tell em tuh go on widout im but he say he see
em deah an wen duh boat git tuh Savannah, Alexanduh he in Savannah on duh dock
tuh ketch duh line."
Pleasant memories associated with the social activities of the past caused Floyd
to ponder abstractedly for a time. Finally he roused himself and told us, "We u
se tuh dance roun tuh a drum an a rattle goad. Dey could make good drum frum haw
g an bass drum frum cow. Doze days dey ain only beat duh drum fuh dancin; dey b
eat it on duh way tuh duh grabe yahd. Dat wuz fuh duh det mahch wen dey use tuh
carry duh body in a wagon. Dey hab lot uh singin den too an dey hab singin at d
uh baptizin. Den dey baptize em in duh ribbuh jis lak dey does now. Dey sing wid
all duh candidates walkin in wite robes tuh duh ribbuh an duh preachuh he dip e
m on duh ebb tide an he pray duh ribbuh tuh take duh sin away. Dey ain mine git
tin wet in duh ribbuh.
"Heahd bout duh Ibo's Landing? Das duh place weah dey bring duh Ibos obuh in a s
labe ship an wen dey git yuh, dey ain lak it an so dey all staht singin an dey m
ahch right down in duh ribbuh tuh mahch back tuh Africa, but dey ain able tuh gi
t deah. Dey gits drown."
Footnotes
^165:1 Catherine Wing, St. Simons Island.
^167:1 Ryna Johnson, Harrington, St. Simons Island.
^168:1 Charles Hunter, Harrington, St. Simons Island.
^168:2 A number of slaves accompanied their masters from the West Indies to this
country. It was also the custom for slave ships to stop at the Bahamas en route
to America with a cargo.
^170:1 Ben Sullivan, St. Simons Island.
^173:1 Nora Peterson, St. Simons Island.
^174:1 Floyd White, St. Simons Island.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 177]

St. Marys
The Negroes of St. Marys live scattered about the town and its outskirts. In the
past few years many of the very old people have died and there remain only a fe
w who are past eighty years old. We went to see Hettie Campbell, [*1] who was on
ly seventy-two. Her mother had belonged to Dr. Wright of St. Marys and all her a
nte-bellum knowledge had been imparted to her by her mother and her stepfather,
Andrew King. When we drove up she was sitting on the porch of her small house. T
he front garden was a packed dirt yard with formal plantings of flowers and shru

bbery. During most of our talk Hettie's son, Horace, [*2] stood in the doorway,
half interested in and half amused by the conversation.
We asked Hettie to tell us about the old times.
"I remembuh Uncle Patty an Ahnt Rachel. They wuz frum. Africa. Aftuh the waw wen
they move from the plantation, they lived in a house on the watuhfront an they
use tuh talk funny tuh each othuh so none of us chilluns couldn unduhstan em. I
dohn remembuh so much bout em cuz uh wuz mighty lill then, but Henry Williams he
remembuhs all right. Henry's eighty-seven yeahs ole.
"I do remembuh the big times we use tuh have wen I wuz young. We does plenty uh
dances in those days. Dance roan in a ring. We has a big time long bout wen crop
s come in an evrybody bring sumpm tuh eat wut they makes an we all gives praise
fuh the good crop an then we shouts an sings
[p. 178]
all night. An wen the sun rise, we stahts tuh dance. It ain so long since they s
top that back in the woods but these young people they does new kines uh dances.
"
Horace interjected here, "I seen em do those dances back in the woods but not yu
h."
We asked what sort of music they had for the dances.
"They mosly have guitah now," said Hettie, "an we use tuh use guitah too, but we
makes em frum goad an we beats drums too. We makes em frum coon hide stretched
ovuh hoops. Muh step-fathuh, Andrew King, who lived down the Satilla Rivuh, use
tuh tell me how it wuz in the ole days. He tell me they bring a boatload of the
m Africans ovuh frum a ilun tuh theah plantation. That wuz jis befo the waw an t
hey wuz running frum the Yankees."
We asked if she had known any families who refused to eat certain kinds of food.
"Thas a hahd un, ma'am. Mos people eat wut they kin git but I knowd Chahlotte Fr
oman who wouldn tech chicken. They all say that chicken wuz a duhty animal an th
ey ain gonuh eat em. They keeps chicken cuz frizzle chicken is a wise chicken.
it sho kin fine wut you caahn fine."
We asked about conjure.
Horace laughed and said, "I tell yuh, ma'am, they's mo doin of cunjuh up roun Sa
vannah than theah is in these pahts. I jis bin up theah an I ain nevuh heahd so
much talk of it in muh life. Theah's a lot of ole customs still roun an we've al
l heahd bout em an knows bout em but theah ain nobody much wut's ole nuff tuh pa
y much tention tuh em." Horace smiled with the superiority of the younger genera
tion.
Later we visited Henry Williams [*1] whose little house sat back in a clump of t
all, overgrown brush that grew close to the dilapidated paling fence. Henry, who
sat on his sunny porch, was strong and healthy looking for his eighty-seven yea
rs. The shabbiness of his clothes contrasted with the splendor of the naval cap
on his head. Two little neighbors, Enoch and Artie Jones, were playing in the ya
rd.
When we told Henry that we wanted to know about old times, he launched into eage
r conversation.

[p. 179]
"I belong tuh William Cole Wut live at
the waw an then I wuz free an come tuh
Patty in his tannin yahd ovuh theah on
hoemakuh too an use tuh make all kines

Oakland Plantation but it wunt long befo

town. Wen I wuz bout twelve, I hep Daddy
the watuh by the cimiterry. Patty wuz a s
uh things out uh hides an skins."

We asked him to tell us all he could remember about Uncle Patty and his wife.
"Well, they's both frum Africa an as I remumbuh they's Ibos. They wuz bout middl
e height an heavy buil. I ain suttn bout Ahnt Rachel but Daddy Patty belong tuh
ole man Arnow an I think he bought im at a sale an bring im down yuh. They use t
uh talk tuh each othuh in a language wut we couldn unduhstan an Patty use tuh al
luz be singin a song, 'a-shou-tu-goula.'
"Daddy Patty, he use tuh talk tuh the mens in the tannin yahd bout weah he come
frum. He ain talk tuh me but I heah im. He say they ain hadduh plant but once a
yeah cuz evrything grows wile. They buns gumbo fuh wood. He say they live in 'bo
o-boo-no' made out uh sticks an straw thas plastuhed with mud. Fus they digs a b
ig flat celluh bout a foot deep an packs the earth down smooth an tight. Thas th
e flo. Then they leans the sticks tuh the centuh an they puts the straw an the m
ud on em an it come out lak a beehive an thas weah they lib.
"They buil a big 'boo-boo-no' fuh the chief. Patty he wuz the chief son an he ha
ve three straight mahks slantin down on he right cheek an that wuz a bran tuh sh
ow who he wuz. He wuz the waw chief son and doze mahks tell whut tribe he belon
g tuh. Wen I knowd im, he stay down in a lill house on the alley neah the ribbuh
. I sho heahd im talk a lot. Ise hole duh bide fuh im wen he scrapes em with a s
crapuh. Patty say all the people suppote the king by plantin cassaba an givin th
e king some uh the cassaba."
We asked Uncle Henry about the dances and the customs of long ago.
"I sho, see dances wut give thanks fuh the crop an we prays in the night an dan
ce wen the sun rise. I know the Buzzud Lope too. I seen em do that an they use
tuh have big Satdy night doins. Roun Christmas we git three days'
[p. 180]
holiday an theah's plenty uh dances an shoutin then. We I goes tuh the ownuh an
gits a ticket an we all gathuhs at the same place an we shouts an kick up with e
ach othuh, but wen yuh ticket out, ef yuh dohn come back, the patrol will git yu
h an then yuh gits whipped."
We asked him about witch doctors and taboos.
"I tell yuh, missus, they ain many wut knows bout roots yuh tuhday. Some does co
me tuh sell hans an chahms all they's a heap uh signs fuh the bad an good luck
ef I have time tuh study bout em. Now the Jordan family, ole man Jordan, he dohn
let none uh his family eat rabbit. Theah's the ole man an Ahnt Tillah an theah
chillun, Sally an Austin. He use tuh tell the boy, 'Dohn yuh go shoot no rabbits
roun yuh; we dohn none of us eats rabbit. Thas bad luck fuh us.' He sho wuz str
ick bout it."
We questioned the old man further about his recollections of the beliefs and pra
ctices of his ancestors. It appeared, however, that for the present, his discour
se had come to a close.
After a moment's hesitation he answered us with, "I ain think bout doze ole days
so much lately, miss, but wen ub gits tuh studyin bout em, lots uh things comes

back tuh me."

We went by to talk with Charity Lucas, a fine looking upstanding, middle-aged Ne
gro woman. She told us she did not know much about her father's people,--they ha
d come from around Carolina,--but her mother and her mother's people had come fr
om around Waycross and she herself had been born in Waycross. She said that the
coast Negroes were very different from the interior people. She had heard talk o
f conjure and spirits around St. Marys but she didn't believe much in it herself
; she had not been brought up that way.
Her son Robert, a tall, lithe, powerful young Negro of about twenty-five, was ra
ther taciturn. He had heard of these things but didn't care to speak of them and
didn't believe in them much anyway.
Charity advised us to go to see old Jim Myers. "Now theah's one that's ole an'll
be able tuh tell yuh plenty. He's neahly ninety and sho likes tuh talk."
[p. 181]
We asked if his memory were good. "Yes'm, it's as good as mine. I guess it's bet
tuh."
We asked for directions and she told us how to go, ten miles deep into the woods
off from the St. Marys-Kingsland highway.
Our road and what later turned out to be a pine needle wagon track carried us th
rough Marianna, John Houstoun McIntosh's plantation, through Sweeetwater Hammock
and on through other settlements to Mush Bluff Island where old Jim Myers lived
. The last mile we had to walk, owing to some swampy patches in the wagon track.
A Negro boy of about eleven sauntered around a bush, and his eyes popped open i
n frightened surprise at strangers appearing so suddenly in the woods.
"Does Jim Myers live near here?" we asked.
"Right theah roun the cawnuh of the path," he said, and we came suddenly upon th
e house, a three room unpainted, board cabin sitting about two feet off the grou
nd on large, sturdy oak stumps. The front steps were three oak logs of increasin
g diameter that made a massive if difficult tread to the door. The house was in
a large grove of oak trees and the usual plows, iron pots, and implements were s
cattered about the hard packed, sand yard. Jim Myers owned a good deal of land a
nd there was a well-to-do feeling about the whole place, though it was old-fashi
oned and isolated in the extreme.
Uncle Jim [*1] came down the log steps to greet us. His bare feet manipulated th
e round treads easily. He was a big man, slightly bent from rheumatism, very bla
ck with a white fringe of a beard. His eyes were rheumy with age. Around his ank
les were two brass wires, which helped to take the pain out of his legs.
"Uncle Jim," we said, "tell us about the times when you were a boy."
Uncle Jim laughed in condescending good humor. "Lawd, missus, thas so long ago I
ain thought bout them days in a long time and theah ain much tuh tell. Ise bawn
jis twenny mile from yuh on Mr. John Tompkins' plantation and I lived
[p. 182]
roun yuh all muh life. I bin heah on Mush Bluff Ilun a long time."
We asked him if he had known any Africans when he was a young man.

"Yes'm, I sho knowd plenty of em. Theah wuz a lawg house that belonged to Mr. Ha
llowes wich use tuh set right ovuh theah in them woods until about ten yeahs ago
. That was the house that they kep the wile Africans in. It had big ion rings in
the flo. They chained them wile Africans theah till they wuz tame. They'd take
em out one by one and they'd give em a stick an put em in the fiel with people w
ut knowd how tuh wuk and that way they lun how too. They sked to give em a hoe.
It's shahp and they might frail roun with it."
We asked Uncle Jim if he could see spirits. "No'm, I ain nevuh seen em. I wuzn b
awn with a caul an I caahn see em. Now, muh brothuh he kin see em cuz he wuz ba
wn with a caul. He see em all the time. Spirits is alluz roun in time of fewnuls
an wen a pusson die, we have a settin-up and then we leave sumpm wut we got tuh
eat in a dish by him to eat --that is, we use tuh do that--an we put salt on em
in the ole days an we go up to em an we put our hands on theah chest to bid em
feahwell."
We asked Uncle Jim if they used to have night funerals in the old days. "No'm, w
e alluz have our fewnuls in the day time but my great granmothuh, now, she say i
n Africa they have night fewnuls."
We asked him to tell us more of his African great grandmother.
"Muh great gran, hub name wuz Bina; thas all we know ub, by. She brought up muh
mothuh cuz muh gran got bun up in uh house wen muh mothuh wuz two days ole."
We asked him if he remembered her well. "Yes'm, I wuz a big boy about fifteen we
n she die an they all say she wuz a hundud an thutty yeahs ole at that time. She
sho ole, I know dat, but she remembuh plenty. She tell us chillun so much I caa
hn remembuh all them things."
We asked again about night funerals. "She jis say they have em at night but she
didn say wy. She did say they alluz kill a wite chicken at the time they go to b
ury em an they take the blood an feathuhs an they do sumpm special with
[p. 183]
em but I ain unduhstood how it is. , I tell you wut she tell me, how she get h
eah on a big boat an she Ian down theah on Cumberland Ilun on a big dock in the
time of Mr. Nightingale an she say they put em in a lill pick house to keep em s
afe an the chimbly of that same lill house is standin about two hundud yahds out
in the rivuh off Cumberland tuhday."
We asked if she had told him how they lived in Africa and what kind of house the
y lived in. "She ain speak of wut kine uh house but she do speak of monkeys. The
y have monkeys all roun em and they dohn have tuh do no plantin cuz evrything is
wile and they pick it off the trees."
We asked him if he could remember any African words be had heard his grandmother
use. "They wuz funny wuds," be laughed, "I ought tuh be able to remembuh em but
I caahn. She use tuh sing songs with African wuds. Ef I could study about em, I
might remembuh some but now you ask me I jis caahn git em tuh mine. She did sin
g a chuch song wat have wuds we could unduhstand, an then in the middle of it sh
e say 'yeribum, yeribum, yeribum, by,' and looked like wen she come to the en of
each stanza, she sing 'yeribum, yeribum, yeribum, by.' It sho is a long time ag
o, them-days."
Later we followed a deeply rutted sand road which led westward in the direction
of Folkston. Few cars traveled this way and once during our trip we encountered
an old fashioned two-wheeled ox cart whose driver guided his oxen deftly to one
side in order to let us pass.

About three or four miles out on the road we turned in a gate and drove to the s
ide of Shadwick Rudolph's [*1] house. The old man greeted us smilingly. At first
glance be did not appear to be the eighty-six years he claimed, but on closer o
bservation we noticed that his eyes were dimmed from age. He talked with us for
some time, telling us among other things, "I belong tuh Mr. Dave Bailey. He own
Woodbine Plantation. Muh granfathuh, his name wuz Jim. He come ovuh tuh this cou
ntry frum Africa. He tell me that ovuh theah they have houses made of palmettuh.
"Then, ole Nanny Mammy, she live at the plantation too, and she come frum Africa
. She alluz set down tuh wuk; no mattuh wut kine uh wuk, she set down tuh do it.
Nanny
[p. 184]
[paragraph continues] Mammy use tuh set down in the middle of the flo of ub. hou
se wen she go tuh eat an she alluz cat out of a wooden bowl. Sometimes she use a
spoon, but mos of the time she jis eat with uh finguhs. Muh granfathuh use tuh
set with uh an talk. They talk a lot an speak the African wuds an souns. I ain k
now wut they talk bout, mosly bout the times in Africa I think. One soun aw wud
I membuh they say wuz 'cupla' but wut it mean I sho dohn know.
"Fuh the longes time I have a wooden bowl bout lak the one Nanny Mammy have. It
wuz holluhed out jis as smooth, an it wuz made of some kine uh dahk wood. Not l
ong ago muh wife say she ain see da bowl in monuh yeah. She think mebbe one uh t
he chillun, muh grans I mean, mustuh misplace it someway.
"Theah's a lot uh things I membuh at the plantation. Muh grandmothuh, Sally, she
make the bes rice cakes. She make em with brown shuguh. She ain mix em up with
honey. I seed em make home-made drums theah too. They stretch a sheep-hide ovuh
a roun bucket. Then they beats the drum in the fewnul cession wen they mahches
tuh the buryin groun. Long then wen a pusson die they have a settin-up an have
a suppuh too. , Theah wuz an still is pussons wut put a dish uh food out on t
he poach fuh the spirit, but some of em take cooked food tuh the grave an leave
it theah fuh the spirit. They say, too, that a frizzle chicken kin dig up any k
ine uh cunjuh. Theah's a lot uh talk bout cunjuh these days mung the young folk
s, even mo than in the ole days."
A short while later, our interview concluded, we thanked the old man for the inf
ormation and took our leave. Looking back we saw him sitting on the steps of his
house, his gray head bent, to all appearances lost in a reverie of the past.
Footnotes
^177:1 Hettie Campbell, St. Marys. Deceased autumn, 1939.
^177:2 Horace Campbell, St. Marys.
^178:1 Henry Williams, St. Marys.
^181:1 Jim Myers, Mush Bluff Island.
^183:1 Shadwick Rudolph, Folkston Road, near Woodbine.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 185]

APPENDIX
1. BURIAL AT HOME
1a Basden says of the Ibo: "The desire of every Ibo man and woman is to die in t
heir own town or, at least, to be buried within its precincts. For a long period
it was very difficult to persuade a man to travel any distance from his native
place, and if he were in need of medical assistance an Ibo would seldom agree to
go from home in spite of assurances that he would be able to have better treatm
ent elsewhere. in case of death occurring at a distance, if it can be done at al
l, the brethren will bring the body home for burial. It may be that this cannot
be done for several days, according to distance and other circumstances."
Among the Ibos of Nigeria, pp. 115-16.
1b Bosman says of the coast of Guinea: "The Negroes are strangely fond of being
buried in their own Country; so that if any Person dies out of it, they frequent
ly bring his Corpse home to be buried, unless it be too far distant."
Description of the Coast of Guinea, p. 232.
1c Meek says of Nigeria: 'When a man dies at a distance from his home his body i
s always taken back, when possible, to his home, wrapped up in mats covered by a
cloth and placed on a bier or cradle, which is carried on the shoulders of his
relatives. The reason assigned for this is that the dead must not be severed fro
m the company of other ancestors--they should be buried close to their living de
scendants on whom they are dependent for nourishment. Moreover, it is important
that the ritual traditional to the kindred should be carried out accurately. Thi
s cannot be done by strangers."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 309.
[p. 186]
1d Nassau says of the Bihe country: "It is considered essential that a man shoul
d die in his own country, if not in his own town, On the way to Bailundu, shortl
y after leaving Bihe territory, I met some men running at great speed, carrying
a sick man tied to a pole, in order that he might die in his own country."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 228.
2. BURIAL OF SECTIONS OF BODY
2a Burton says of Gelele: "Amongst the Egbas and various tribes of the Congo fam
ily . . ., various small parts of the body are brought home to be reinterred."
A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome, II, 165.
2b Ellis says of the Gold Coast: "Toh-fo, 'one lost' is a ceremony held when a p
erson has met with death, and the body has either been destroyed or cannot be fo
und; for instance, when a man has been burned to death and the body reduced to a
shes, or when one has been drowned and the body cannot be recovered. . . . In th
e case of a man destroyed by fire, some of the ashes of the burned body, or of t
he house in which it was consumed, are placed in the coffin with similar ceremon
ies.
"In this ceremony a fragment of the corpse is always interred if possible; and,
if no portion of it can be found, some earth, water, or other substance from the
locality in which the death occurred."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 223.
3. BURIAL OF RELATIVES AND STRANGERS
3a Pearce says of West Africa: "There is a strong feeling of kinship in Africa a
nd only relatives may be buried in the same piece of ground together."

(Interview with John Pearce of Hinesville, Ga., an ex-missionary in West Africa

.)
4. CAUL
4a Beckwith says of Jamaica: "A baby born with a caul has the power to see duppi
es without the duppies' harming him. Parkes was born with a caul and attributed
his frequent visions of ghosts to this circumstance."
Black Roadways, p. 57.
[p. 187]
4b Herskovits says: "Born with a caul is significant in Dahomey, West Africa, Du
tch Guiana, Jamaica, and probably everywhere among the New World Negroes."
From correspondence dated October 10, 1938.
4c Peterkin says: "Animals have 'second sight' and can see spirits, but only peo
ple born with cauls over their faces have this keen vision."
Roll, Jordan, Roll, p. 206.
4d Beckwith says: "The caul is also connected with sympathetic magic of a healin
g, rather than an injurious kind. It should be removed and carefully parched ove
r a hot brick and a bit put into the baby's tea to prevent convulsions due to th
e irritation of a ghost."
Black Roadways, p. 57.
4e Herskovits says of Haiti: "A child born with a can] is believed to be strong
in combating all evil spirits. The caul is dried and reduced to powder, and the
infant is given some of the powder in water two or three days after birth."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 95.
4f Herskovits says of Dahomey: "A child born with a caul--'with a veil over its
face'--who follows the first child after twins, is called, if a boy Wusu^, if a
girl Wume. The child born after such a one is called Wu^sa or Wuhwe, according t
o sex. If the child with the caul does not follow the first child born after twi
ns, then the names given are Kesu^ or Kesi; the child who follows one of these i
s called Kesa, if a boy. No special name is given a girl born immediately after
a child with a caul."
Dahomey, I, 264.
5. CHARMS, MADE OF ANIMALS, INSECTS
5a Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Thus from the earth, from trees and shrubs, from
rocks, and from the bodies of animals and humans the Dahomean obtains materials
for his gbo^, while from the Aziza###808###. and other spirits of the forest, f
rom Legba, the Fa Group, Da###808###, and the Great Gods, he obtained knowledge
of how to endow them with effective power."
Dahomey, II, 287.
5b Leonard says of West Africa: "These are procured from or made with the spines
of certain animals, porcupines more especially, compounded with potash, iron fi
lings, and other inorganic
[p. 188]
matters, which are reduced to a powder. In this form they are supposed to be com
municated invisibly with such celerity and exactness against a person, that bloo
d poisoning supervenes."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 500.

5c Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Paramaribo Negro: Fiofio, as envis
aged in this belief, is the name of an insect and also of a spirit which, taking
the shape of this insect, enters human bodies, causing illness and sometimes de
ath. It comes as a result of family quarrelling which does not end in reconcilia
tion. Strictly speaking, it is the extending of gestures of friendship or intima
cy at a later date, when the bitterness of the quarrel has either passed or is m
asked, which brings on the illness. Such gestures of intimacy or friendship incl
ude accepting food that is offered, or a caress, or borrowing some kind of weari
ng apparel, or asking and receiving any other favor, and the resulting illness c
omes to either one or both of the persons who had participated in the quarrel."
Suriname Folk-Lore, p. 53.
6. CHARMS, COUNTER
6a Farrow says of the Yoruba: "The power of 'medicine' (ogun) exercised through
a certain channel may be neutralised or overcome by a superior power of ogun thr
ough another channel. Van Gennep tells us that in Madagascar fady (the local nam
e for 'taboo') may be broken by one who has a higher power known as hasina. So i
n Yoruba, a stronger 'medicine' is employed to overcome, or counteract, an evil
one, or a curse incurred through a broken ewo ('taboo'). This is the explanation
of the use of 'charms,' whether material (as amulets), vocal, or actionary. It
is the invocation of a higher power, or a fuller measure of the same power."
Faith, Fancies and Fetich, p. 121.
6b Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Sukpikpa^, brings danger to another. a. This gbo
^ is essentially a 'counter' against sorcery. Actually, it demonstrates the prin
ciple which will be developed at greater length in the succeeding pages, that th
e line between good magic and bad magic is difficult to determine, since evil ca
n be done by a charm otherwise good, if it is directed toward an evil end, and g
ood by an evil charm, if properly handled. This gbo^ is called agba###807###ngba
'outside'--and consists of a piece of wood first split in two, and then, after
the ingredients are placed between the pieces, tied together with cord and faste
ned by passing the end through, and tying but not knotting it. One end is colore
d green. If a man who is strong in magic power is angry with the owner,
[p. 189]
and it is deemed likely that an attempt may be made to kill him with magic, the
owner takes this charm, inserts it in the ground near his house, puts a stone on
top of it and the evil magic is thereby not only prevented from becoming effect
ive, but any evil attempted will rebound on him who has sent it."
Dahomey, II, 269.
6c Melville and Frances Herskovits say of Dahomey: "No matter how strong the mag
ic, somewhere there is stronger magic which not only can overcome it, but may, i
n certain cases, turn back its effect on the person who invoked the original mag
ic. This is true not only of evil charms, but of protective ones as well. Thus,
we have in lengthy detail, information concerning a charm which a man buries in
his field to protect it. Against this there is an evil 'counter' which will not
only allow its user to steal from the field, but brings evil on the rightful own
er. Against this bad magic there is, in turn, an elaborate 'counter-counter,' wh
ich brings the thief to book."
An Outline of Dahomean Religious Belief, p. 65.
7. CHARMS, FOOT-TRACK
7a Puckett says of the Gold Coast: "On the Gold Coast it is believed that a man
may be harmed by a 'medicine' made from the dust picked up from his foot-tracks
. . ."
Folk Beliefs of the Southern Negro, p. 220.

8. CHARMS, GENERAL
8a Brown says of the Bantu tribes: "As the Bechuana believe that no misfortune b
efalls one naturally, but is always the effect of malevolence on the part of the
living or the dead, so they also strongly believe that good fortune can only be
maintained by means of charms."
Among the Bantu Nomads, p. 137.
8b Ellis says of the Ewe of West Africa: "Magic powders are very numerous. One k
ind, when blown against a door or window, causes it to fly open, no matter how s
ecurely it may be fastened; another, when thrown upon the footprints of an enemy
, makes him mad; a third, used in the same way, neutralizes the evil effects of
the second; and a fourth destroys the sight of all who look upon it.
"Magic unguents (iro) are not uncommon. They and the powders are obtained from t
he priests, and must be rubbed on the body of
[p. 190]
the person who is to be influenced by them. Some are believed to compel a man to
lend money, but their more common property is to constrain the unwilling fair t
o listen favourably to the amorous proposal."
The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 94.
8c Herskovits says: "In Dahomey magic charms are sold by professional workers of
magic."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 31.
8d Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Magic charms form another type of personal prope
rty. As has been noted, these charms, which include herbs and other medicines, a
re held by tradition to have been revealed chiefly to hunters in the bush. When
a hunter had learned how to make a given charm, or had been taught how to use a
certain leaf to cure some disease, this knowledge was then his property and had
salable value. When he was sought out for a charm to achieve a specific purpose-to protect a man on a journey, or to make of him a successful trader, or to ins
ure the death of an enemy--if the hunter detailed the contents of the charm, how
to put the ingredients together, the situation in which it would become effecti
ve and any formulae necessary to set it in operation, this knowledge then became
the property of the purchaser as well as the vender. . . . To the professional
dealers in charms, then, these comprise a stock in trade that is their property
and potential wealth; for others, while the charms they own are property, they d
o not represent a source of income."
Dahomey, I, 81-82.
8e Kingsley says of West Africa: "Charms are made for every occupation and desir
e in life-loving, hating, buying, selling, fishing, planting, travelling, huntin
g, etc."
Travels in West Africa, p. 448.
8f Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Suriname Negro: "That is, people a
re spoken of as 'buying luck' or 'wearing luck,' and comments are heard about th
e importance of carrying one's 'luck' when walking alone at night, when going on
a journey, when wooing a woman, or seeking work, or combating the effect of bla
ck magic."
Suriname Folk-Lore, p. 99.
8g Nassau says of the Gabun territory: "For every human passion or desire of eve
ry part of our nature, for our thousand necessities or wishes, a fetich can be m
ade, its operations being directed to the attainment of one specified wish, and

limited in power only

[p. 191]
by the possible existence of some more powerful antagonizing spirits."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 85.
8h Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: "Ibokk are, for the most part, made for def
ensive purposes, for protection against ill-wishers or evil messengers, but are
sometimes procured from 'doctors' to harm an enemy."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 21.
8i "There is what may be termed a 'white art' as well as a 'black art,' and the
great majority of fetiches and charms are intended to protect from evil, and not
to attack innocent folk."
The Geographical Journal, XXXI, 607.
9. CHARMS, GRAVEYARD DIRT
9a Pearce says of West Africa: "Juju bags containing graveyard dirt and other ma
terial which had had a spell put upon it by juju are effective for either good o
r evil purposes. A bag of this sort worn around the neck, as a Catholic wears a
scapula, serves as a protection from the spells of enemies. However, if a man wi
shes to work evil on his enemy, he may purchase a juju bag containing evil powde
r, and through it cast a spell on his enemy."
(Interview)
10. CHARMS, HAIR AND NAILS
10a Ellis says of the Ewe: "Hence it is usual for pieces of hair and nails to be
carefully buried or burned, in order that they may not fall into the hands of s
orcerers; and whenever a king or chief expectorates, the saliva is carefully gat
hered up and hidden or buried."
The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 99.
10b Meek says of the Jukun: "Sorcerers also capture and injure or kill souls in
a variety of ways, notably by acting on the hair, nail-parings or excreta of a p
erson, the soul substance being regarded as immanent in these. If a person wishe
s to injure another he has merely to obtain a piece of his enemy's nails and han
d them to a sorcerer, who, if he knows his work, will speedily cause the death o
f the former owner of the nail-parings. For this reason a Jukun always hides or
buries his hair and nail cuttings. Some Jukun burn these, but others would refra
in from doing this on the ground that the burning would cause a scorching of his
soul."
A Sudanese Kingdom, p. 298.
[p. 192]
10c Milligan says of the Mpongwe: "The parings of fingernails, the hair of the v
ictim and such things are powerful ingredients in these 'medicines.' An Mpongwe,
after having his hair cut, gathers up every hair most carefully and burns it le
st an enemy should secure it and use it to his injury. When sickness continues f
or a length of time they usually conclude that some offended relation has caused
an evil spirit to abide in the town."
The Fetish Folk of West Africa, p. 39.
10d Nassau says of
ed over them, that
carefully burn it
Fetichism in West

the Bantu: "So fearful are natives of power being thus obtain
they have their hair cut only by a friend; and even then they
or cast it into a river."
Africa, p. 83.

10e Nassau says of the Benga, the Mpongwe, and the Fang: "If it be desired to ob
tain power over some one else, the oganga must be given by the applicant, to be
mixed in the sacred compound, either crumbs from the food, or clippings of finge
r nails or hair, or (most powerful!) even a drop of blood of the person over who
m influence is sought. These represent the life or body of that person."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 83.
10f Nassau says of the Banita region: "Sitting one day by a village boat-landing
in the Banita region, about 1866, while my crew prepared for our journey, I was
idly plucking at my beard, and carelessly flung away a few hairs. Presently I o
bserved that some children gathered them up. Asking my Christian assistant what
that meant, he told me: 'They will have a fetich made with those hairs; when nex
t you visit this village, they will ask you for some favor, and you will grant i
t, by the power they will thus have over you."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 83.
10g Nassau says of the West Coast natives: "Lately a fellow missionary told me t
hat in a conversation with certain natives, professed Christians, they admitted
their fear lest their nail-clippings should be used against them by an enemy, an
d candidly acknowledged that when they pared their nails they threw the pieces o
n the thatch of the low roof of their house."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 104.
10h Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: ". . . witches and wizards try to obtain h
air, nail-clippings, or a piece of cloth long worn by the person whom they desir
e to injure."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 65.
[p. 193]
10i "Ekanem, witness for prosecutor, stated on oath: 'I remember Ofuo Afaha Eke
telling me that Tomkpata had come to his mother in a dream and cut off some of h
er hair. So next day she went to him and said that he must restore her soul.' Of
uo Afaba Eke, sworn, stated: 'Tomkpata is my elder brother, I complained to him
that my mother had dreamed a dream in which she saw him cut off her hair with sc
issors. From this we knew that he was trying to snare her soul.'"
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 122.
11. CHARMS AND BAD LUCK SIGNS, HOUSE AND PROPERTY
11a Burton says of Dahome: "Every house has its 'fetish' hanging up, and every m
an has a 'fetish' charm about his person. There is a devil fetish for driving aw
ay evil spirits, and another for bringing good luck."
A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome, II, 361.
11b Ellis says of the Yoruba: "An onde for the protection of the person is worn
on the body, being tied round the wrist, neck, or ankle, or placed in the hair.
Others, for the protection of property, are fastened to houses, or tied to stick
s and stumps of trees in cultivated plots of ground. In consequence of their bei
ng tied on to the person or object they protect, the word edi, which really mean
s the act of tying or binding, has now the meaning of amulet or charm, just as i
n Ew###780###e the word vo###780###-sesa (amulet) is derived from vo###780### an
d sa, to tie or bind."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 118.
11c Farrow says of the Yoruba: "Charms and amulets of various kinds are greatly
used by the Yorubas. The Bale, or head-chief, of Ogbomosho, being of a particula
rly nervous and superstitious nature, had not only a number of tutelary gods gua
rding the threshold of his dwelling, but had laid in the ground, from one side o

f his compound to the other, chains and other charms to render each person who a
pproached him powerless to do any evil. Charms for the protection of property ar
e fastened to the houses, etc. They may consist of sticks, stumps of trees, etc.
"
Faith, Fancies and Fetich, p. 123.
11d Beckwith says: "Other acts are to be avoided lest they pay the penalty of de
ath to the immediate family. Never add to a house or cut down an old tree."
Black Roadways, p. 87.
[p. 194]
12. CHARMS, MEDICINAL
12a Delafosse says of the African in general: "Belief . . . in the power of amul
ets and talismans is legendary among the Negroes. There is not one of them, what
ever his religion, who does not wear on his body several 'gris-gris,' of which o
ne is to preserve him from such and such a malady, a second from the evil eye."
Negroes of Africa, pp. 236-37.
12b Ellis says of the Yoruba: "Another word sometimes used to express amulet is
ogun, which, however, more properly means medicinal preparation, poison, or magi
cal drug."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 118.
12c Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "We h
ad not been long in her hut before we noticed the iron arm-band she wore. It was
, we knew, a 'tapu'--a magical preventive which, in this instance, warned its we
arer of danger, and kept her from harm in a combat."
Rebel Destiny, p. 288.
12d "Obia, then, is the spirit; obia is the preventive and curing agent; obias a
re the charms that are worn by people to help them."
Rebel Destiny, p. 321.
13. CHICKEN AND COCK SUPERSTITIONS
13a Herskovits says: "Frizzled chickens are prized both in Africa and in the New
World for their ability to find and scratch up evil magic buried against the ow
ner."
From correspondence dated October 10, 1938.
13b Rattray says of Ashanti: "A cock crowing at midnight or long before dawn is
immediately killed, as it is considered unlucky."
Ashanti Proverbs, p. 80.
14. CICATRIZATION
14a Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Another form which these positive injunctions t
ake has to do with facial cuts, which vary from sib to sib. Thus the Adjalenu ma
ke no cuts at all. The Hwedanu who live in Whydah, make two cuts on each cheek.
The Agblomenu, who are considered a group of autochthonous inhabitants of the pl
ateau of Abomey, make three cuts on each side of the face, one on
[p. 195]
the temple called adjakasi (tail of a rat), and two on the cheek, both in front
of the ear. The Gedevi^, another aboriginal group near Abomey, distinguish thems
elves by means of three cuts on each temple. At the present time all Dahomeans a
re supposed to have three cuts on the temple, though the Agblomenu have suppress

ed the two of these three and only cut the 'rat's tail.'"
Dahomey, I, 162.
14b "Twelve sets of cuts constitute a complete cicatrization."
Dahomey, I, 292.
14c "The last design is placed between the breasts, and often takes the form of
a series of links or of straight lines radiating from a central point."
Dahomey, I, 295.
14d Livingstone says of South Africa: "They mark themselves by a line of little
raised cicatrices, each of which is a quarter of an inch long; they extend from
the tip of the nose to the root of the hair on the forehead."
Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa, p. 576.
15. CONJURE, ILLNESS AND DEATH
15a Ellis says of the Yoruba: "They consequently attribute sickness and death, o
ther than death resulting from injury or violence, to persons who have for bad p
urposes enlisted the services of evil spirits, that is to say, to wizards and wi
tches."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 117.
15b Meek says of the Jukun: "Sudden deaths, especially of young people, are usua
lly regarded as the work of sorcerers (ba-shiko or ba-shibu). If the deceased ha
d been noted for his disrespect to his seniors his death would be ascribed to of
fended ancestors, and he would go to his grave with 'bloodshot eyes'; but otherw
ise it is thought that one who had died suddenly had met his death by the foul m
eans of witchcraft and would take vengeance in his own time."
A Sudanese Kingdom, pp. 223-24.
15cMilligan says of a Mpongwe tribe: "Sickness and death, they believe, may be c
aused by fetish medicine, which need not be administered to the victim, but is u
sually laid beside the path where he is about to pass."
The Fetish Folk of West Africa, p. 39.
[p. 196]
15d Nassau says of West Africa: "'According to native ideas, all over Africa, su
ch a thing as death from natural causes does not exist. Whatever ill befalls a m
an or a family, it is always the result of witchcraft, and in every case the wit
ch-doctors are consulted to find out who has been guilty of it.'"
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 117.
15e Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: "When a man falls sick because his soul ha
s gone forth and is being detained by an enemy, or when he believes that such an
one is trying to entice it from out his body, he, in turn, goes to a Juju man k
nown to have the power of seeing clearly."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 121.
15f Talbot says of the Yoruba: "The Yoruba, like all other tribes here, consider
ed that a large number of deaths was due to witchcraft or ill-will on the part o
f some enemy, and when many people died of famine or sickness, a general meeting
was held and resort had to divination to find out the guilty persons, who were
at once killed or offered in sacrifice to one of the Orisha."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, III, 474-75.
16. "DADDY"
16a Hutchinson says of the Ethiopian: "The appellative 'Daddy' is used by the Af

ricans as expressive of their respect as well as confidence."

Ten Years' Wanderings among the Ethiopians, p. 22.
17. DANCES, BUZZARD LOPE, ETC.
17a Cuney-Hare says of the Bushman: "They possess a variety of dances pertaining
to social customs, each of which has its appropriate chant. One dance imitates
the actions of different animals."
Negro Musicians and Their Music, pp. 10-12.
17b Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "Thos
e who danced for the buzzard had no machetes, but went about in a circle, moving
with bodies bent forward from their waists and with arms thrown back in imitati
on of the bird from which their spirit took its name."
Rebel Destiny, p. 330.
17c "Bush and town invoke the buzzard, Opete, so named in Ashanti, and sacred ev
erywhere in West Africa. . . ."
Rebel Destiny, Preface, X.
[p. 197]
17d "The men were dancing to the great Kromanti spirits; the tiger-jaguar-and th
e buzzard, two of the three forms which the dreaded Kromanti obia can take. 'Obi
a! Huh! Huh!' one ejaculated, imitating the tiger, as his dancing became wilder
and wilder."
Rebel Destiny, p. 17.
18. DANCES, FUNERALS
18a Moore says of a Mandingo funeral: "They begin with Crying, and at Night they
go to Singing and Dancing, and continue so doing till the Time they break up an
d depart."
Travels Into the Inland Parts of Africa, p. 130.
18b Rattray says of Ashanti: "People from a far place who were related to the de
ceased and people from towns near by, also form their own companies. They dance
the war-dances in the morning, and at 'the mouth' of evening, when the sun is sl
anting, they circle the grave. It is now that the corpse is taken to the grave."
The Tribes of the Ashanti Hinterland, p. 194.
19. DANCES, RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE
19a Rattray says of Ashanti: "Dancing in Africa invariably has a religious signi
ficance."
Religion and Art in Ashanti, p. 184.
19b Talbot says of the Sudanese tribes: "Among Nigerians, however, it would appe
ar that the god was not evolved out of the dance, but was there first and the da
nce was developed as a method of worship, of attaining union with him, and of ex
erting an influence with his help on the fertility of men and of crops."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, III, 803.
20. DAY NAMES
20a Beckwith says of Jamaica: "According to an old custom recorded from the Afri
can Gold Coast, every child receives at birth a name depending on the day of the
week on which it is born.
Friday

Cuffee

(Coo-fee)

Black Roadways, p. 59.

20b Ellis says of the Tshi-Speaking native: "Every child, from the moment of bir
th, is given a name which is derived from the day of the week on which it is bor
n."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of West Africa, p. 219.
[p. 198]
20c Rattray says of Ashanti: "As soon as it is born, all the old women shout, 'H
ail so-and-so,' at once naming the infant after that particular day of the week
upon which it is born. This -name, which is sometimes called 'God's name,' will
ever after be the child's natal day name. To this, as will be noted presently, w
ill later be added a patronymic, and possibly later on in life one or more 'stro
ng names' (mmerane)."
Religion and Art in Ashanti, pp. 56-57.
21. DAYS, LUCKY AND UNLUCKY
a Ellis says of the Tshi-Speaking native: "There are national and tribal lucky a
nd unlucky days, and individuals also have days which they consider lucky and un
lucky for themselves. Kwoffi Karikari considered Thursday an unlucky day, and wo
uld never commence any undertaking on a Thursday. Kidjo Monday, which falls earl
y in February, is considered by the Ashantis the luckiest day of the year. Their
most unlucky day is the anniversary of the Saturday on which Osai Tutu was slai
n in an ambush near Acromanti in 1731."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 220.
22. DIVINERS, DIVINING, SEED CASTING, ETC.
22a Delafosse says:
en things, by means
ur own clairvoyants
Negroes of Africa,

"Numerous fortune-tellers predict the future and reveal hidd

of processes, many of which strangely resemble those which o
employ."
p. 237.

22b Herskovits says of Dahomey: "A third type, called ag###596######780###kwika,

employed two magically treated ago^ seeds tied to the ends of a cord long enoug
h to go about the neck of the accused, and the seeds were buried lightly in the
ground. Such was the spiritual power in these seeds, that if the accused was gui
lty of the crime, he could not remove them from the ground; if he succeeded in r
ising, he was declared innocent."
Dahomey, II, 18.
22c "In this myth, not only is the explanation found of how the prevalent system
of divination came to man, but the principal outlines of the practices which ch
aracterize the Fa cult are to be discerned--that is, the sixteen palm--kernels e
mployed in throwing the
[p. 199]
lots, the sixteen combinations in which they may fall, and which foretell the fu
ture.
Dahomey, II, 206.
22d "The details of this system by means of which the future is foretold may now
be considered. In essence, Fa is based on the interpretation, by reference to a
ppropriate myths, of the permutations and combinations obtained by the diviner w
hen he manipulates the sixteen palm-kernels he employs for this purpose. Before
him as he works lies a rectangular wooden tray, on which powdered white clay or

meal has been sprinkled. In one hand he holds his sixteen palm-kernels, and with
great rapidity brings the hand which holds them into the palm of the other one,
leaving either one or two seeds for an instant before they are once more picked
up and the process is repeated. As soon as he has glimpsed the one or two kerne
ls in his left hand, the right, with the palm-kernels, closes down upon it and t
he two clasp the seeds. The index and second fingers of the right hand are, howe
ver, left free and with these he describes marks in the white powder on the boar
d in front of him. Moving his fingers away from him, he makes a double line for
each single kernel, a single line if two seeds are left. The process is repeated
eight times for a complete reading."
Dahomey, II, 209-10.
22e Rattray says of the Ashanti: "The soothsayer, oracle man, or diviner, as wil
l be seen presently, takes a leading part in the everyday life of these people.
He is consulted on almost every conceivable occasion. Hardly anything can be don
e until he has been asked. He is really a medium, a 'go-between' in the land of
the living and the world of spirit ancestors. The root of the word used to descr
ibe, this person is generally the same as that found in the word for shrine. The
people consult him at some shrine, the spirit in which guides him and directs h
is answers."
The Tribes of the Ashanti Hinterland, I, 44.
23. DRUMS
23a Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Paramaribo Negro: "Drums are the
most important instruments in both Town and flush, and the drummers, in these as
in all Negro cultures, achieve a virtuosity of performance and an intricacy of
rhythm that come of long practice. It was impossible to obtain satisfactory reco
rdings of drumming which would reveal the complexity of these rhythm
[p. 200]
patterns, chiefly because, lacking electrical recording apparatus, the inner rhy
thms which in combination give a steady beat are lost, and only the points where
the notes of the several instruments coincide can be discerned.
"The drums have more than a musical significance in this culture. Tradition assi
gns to them the threefold power of summoning the gods and the spirits of the anc
estors to appear, of articulating the messages of these supernatural beings when
they arrive, and of sending them back to their habitats at the end of each cere
mony. Both in Town and in the Bush, the dancers who are the worshippers,--one of
the most important expressions of worship is dancing--face the drums and dance
toward them, in recognition of the voice of the god within the instruments."
Suriname Folk-Lore, pp. 520-21.
23b Milligan says of the West African: "The fact is, however, that the only one
of his musical instruments which the African regards with profound respect is hi
s dearly beloved tom-tom-the drum to which he dances."
The Fetish Folk of West Africa, p. 77.
24. DRUMS, FUNERAL
24a Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Outside the house the funerary zcli, a pottery
drum, is played day and night. The drummers are the members of the dokpwe^ of th
e quarter where the dead man lived, or if he was a villager, of his village, and
it is the head of this dokpwe^ who is the commanding dokpwega at the funeral."
Dahomey, I, 355.
24b Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "That
night whenever we stirred in our sleep we strained for the sound of the drums,

but the wind blew from the east, and though Gankwe, where the dead man lay in st
ate, was but a ten-minute run down the rapids, we could hear nothing. In the mor
ning, however, we heard them plainly, heard the invocations drummed by the grave
diggers on their way to the burial ground deep in the bush on the opposite bank
."
Rebel Destiny, p. 3.
24c Livingstone says of South Africa: "Drums were beating over the body of a man
who had died the preceding day, and some women were making a clamorous wail at
the door of his hut, and
[p. 201]
addressing the deceased as if alive. The drums continued beating the whole night
, with as much regularity as a steam-engine thumps, on board ship."
Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa, p. 467.
25. DRUMS, MANUFACTURE OF
25a DuPuis says of Ansah: "The large drums were carried on the heads of men, and
beaten in that posture; but the small ones were slung as kettle drums. These ad
ded to calabashes and gourds filled with shot or small stones, concave bits of i
ron, and striking sticks, will give an idea of the national taste in harmonic ma
tters."
Journal of a Residence in Ashantee, p. 43.
25b Ellis says of the Gold Coast: "Drums are made of the hollowed sections of tr
unks of trees, with a goat's or sheep's skin stretched over one end. They are fr
om one foot to four feet high, and vary in diameter from about six to fourteen i
nches. Two or three drums are usually used together, each drum producing a diffe
rent note, and they are played either with the fingers or with two sticks. The l
ookers-on generally beat time by clapping the hands."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 326.
25c Herskovits says of Haiti: "Drums, iron, and rattles are indispensable for a
vodun dance. The drums, of the characteristic hollow-log African type, tuned wit
h pegs inserted in the sides and reinforced with twine wound about the stretched
heads of cow-hide or goat-skin, are played in batteries of three, the largest b
eing called manman, the middle the seconde, and the smallest the bula."
Life in a Haitian Valley, pp. 181-82.
25d Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Generally the drums are of the usual African ty
pe, made of a hollowed-out log with a more or less crudely carved foot, its head
of animal skin being attached to pegs inserted into the body of the drum, just
below its upper end. The drum-head is tightened by driving these pegs into the d
rum until the required note is sounded, since by this method the skin is stretch
ed to produce the desired tone. Ordinarily the attachment of the head to the peg
s is by means of strips of the skin itself; in some forms, however, a cord attac
hment is used. A small barrel drum, the only one of its kind observed, about eig
hteen inches high
[p. 202]
and twelve inches in diameter, and which does not have a foot, is used in the Sa
gbata rites. The other more conventional drums range from two feet in size to a
length of five feet and more."
Dahomey, II, 318.
25e Moore says of the Mandingo: with him came two or three Women, and the same N
umber of Mundingo Drums, which are about a Yard long, and a Foot, or twenty Inch

es diameter at the Top, but less at the Bottom, made out of a solid Piece of Woo
d, and covered, only at the widest End, with the Skin of a Kid. They beat upon t
hem with only one Stick, and their left Hand, to which the Women will dance very
briskly."
Travels Into the Inland Parts of Africa, p. 64.
25f Ward says of the Bakongo country: "The natives were drumming on a goat-skin
stretched tightly across the mouth of a hollowed-out log, and dancing round a fi
re lighted in their midst, one man singing a refrain, while others took up the c
horus; and the mingled sound of the voices and the distant beating of other drum
s in neighboring villages helped to keep me awake."
Five Years with the Congo Cannibals, p. 68.
25g Beckwith says: "The beating of the gombay drum is a familiar accompaniment o
f death."
Black Roadways, p. 83.
26. DRUM MESSAGES
26a Rattray says of Ashanti: "A great deal is heard in Africa about the wonderfu
l way in which news can be passed on over great distances in an incredibly short
space of time. It has been reported that the news of the fall of Khartum was kn
own among the natives of Sierra Leone the same day, and other equally wonderful
instances are quoted to show that the native has some extraordinary rapid means
of communicating important events. It must, however, be remembered that most of
the instances that one hears quoted are incapable of verification, and would, mo
reover, probably be found to have been much exaggerated. Having said this much,
however, it must be admitted that these natives have a means of intercommunicati
on which often inspires wonder and curiosity on the part of Europeans. One of su
ch means of communication is by drumming.
"This idea the European will readily grasp, and being familiar with various mean
s of signalling, will suppose that some such a method might be adapted to drums;
but among the Ashantis the drum is
[p. 203]
not used as a means of signalling in the sense that we would infer, that is by r
apping out words by means of a prearranged code, but (to the native mind) is use
d to sound or speak the actual words."
Ashanti Proverbs, pp. 133-34.
26b "I first became interested in this difficult subject many years ago. At that
time it was generally known that the Ashanti, in common with certain other West
Coast peoples, were able to convey messages over great distances and in an incr
edibly short space of time by means of drums, and it was thought that their syst
em was based upon some such method as that with which Europeans are familiar in
the Morse code."
Ashanti, p. 242.
27. EARRINGS
27a Beckwith says of the Jamaica Negro: "Parkes says
ts' wear a red flannel shirt, or a crosspiece of red
s, and generally gold earrings. Not all men who wear
hermen, for example, generally wear one earring. The
heir eyes to see ghosts,' but also a gold earring is
al sight."
Black Roadways, p. 108.

that men who 'deal in spiri

under their ordinary clothe
earrings are Obeah Men; fis
gold is said to 'brighten t
put on to improve the natur

28. EARTH THROWN IN GRAVE

28a Brown says of the Bantu Nomad (the Bechuana): "A pit is dug and into it the
body is lowered in the sitting position. The grave is then filled in, each perso
n present slowly pouring earth onto the body and around it with their hands unti
l the grave is full."
Among the Bantu Nomads, p. 67.
28b Meek says of Nigeria: "Loose earth is then thrown in on the body, together w
ith the mat and cloth. Even very young sons must throw in a little earth, as evi
dence that they had taken a share in their father's burial rites. The last handf
uls are thrown in with the back turned to the grave, as a sign that they had fin
ished with the dead man."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, pp. 307-08.
29. ECHO OF SPEECH
29a Herskovits says of Haiti: "With the benediction, the action de grace came to
an end, and the solemn, tired voice of the pret savanne
[p. 204]
was heard intoning a hymn, which, in the usual fashion, was repeated by the asse
mbled group until, without interlude, without even a pause, the interpolations o
f the chorus gradually changed, so that the rhythm became African, and, with the
transition, the vodun priest took over the leadership. The hungan began by repe
ating several times the phrase which throughout the entire ceremony was to punct
uate all its climaxes, 'Grace [et] mise'corde,' and the family murmured it in re
sponse."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 161.
30. FAREWELL TO CORPSE (SPOKEN TO)
30a Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "Now
the ceremony was drawing to a close, and the leave takings were to be said. . .
. Distinctly the low voice of Sedefo came to us as he addressed the corpse:
'The hour has come when we must part from you. What the Earth ha
s decreed we cannot help. We have done for you what we could. We have given you
a funeral worthy of you. You must care for us, and you must deliver us from all
evil that may come upon us.'"
Rebel Destiny, p. 18.
31. FAREWELL TO CORPSE (TOUCHED)
31a Pearce says of the Gold Coast of West Africa: "The mourners sit around the b
ody with their hands upon it, and chant a farewell dirge."
32. FIG, SACRED
32a Rattray says of Ashanti: "The chief here--in answer to my question--said tha
t the fig tree was a famous sanctuary, and that any one sentenced to death who e
scaped there would be safe."
Ashanti, pp. 128-29.
33. FOLK TALES
33a Rattray says of Hausa folk tales: "Stories and traditions collected through

the medium of an interpreter are amusing, and might prove of interest in the nur
sery, though much would have to be omitted or toned down, as savage folk-lore is
often coarse and vulgar according to our notions."
Hausa Folk-Lore Customs, Proverbs, Etc., I, Author's Note, XI
[p. 205]
34. FOREST-DWELLING FORCES
34a Farrow says of the Yoruba: "Certain trees are particularly sacred. The silkcotton tree (Yoruba peregun) is highly venerated throughout West Africa 'from th
e Senegal to the Niger,' probably because of its majestic appearance, for it is
of little utility, the timber being soft, and its cotton possessing neither stre
ngth nor durability. This tree often grows to a stupendous height, approximating
300 feet, far out-topping all other trees of the forest."
Faith, Fancies and Fetich, p. 16.
34b Herskovits says of Dahomey: "The psychological liaison between the gods and
magic, however, is revealed in the character of the semi-divine spirits who are
believed to people the forest--Minona, Hoho, the abiku^ and the aziza###808###."
Dahomey, II, 260.
34c Kingsley says of the Bantu tribes: "In some part of the long single street o
f most villages there is built a low hut in which charms are hung, and by which
grows a consecrated plant, a lily, a euphorbia, or a fig."
Travels in West Africa, p. 452.
34d Leonard says of Southern Nigeria: "Groves and woods, and those portions of t
he bush close to every town which are reserved as burial-grounds, are considered
sacred and worship is paid to either the spirits or the deities who inhabit or
preside over them."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 298.
35. FOWL, SACRIFICE OF
35a Ellis says of the Yoruba: "After this invitation to be gone, the fowl, calle
d adire-iranna, is sacrificed, which, besides securing a right-of-way for the so
ul, is supposed also to guide it. The feathers of the fowl are scattered around
the house, and the bird itself carried out to a bush-road, where it is cooked an
d eaten."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 160.
35b Leyden says of the Mandingo territory: "The journey was marked by nothing re
markable, except the sacrifice of a white chicken, which was offered by Johnson,
the interpreter, to the spirits of the woods, described as a powerful race of w
hite beings, with long flowing hair."
Historical Account of Discoveries and Travels in Africa, I, 339.
[p. 206]
35c Meek says of Nigeria: "The next rite is known as Ekuibuocha, a phrase which
seems to mean 'Making the face (of the dead man) white (i.e. radiant).' Women of
the deceased's family bring a cock fastened to a string of cowries and one of t
he women who is considered especially lucky (e.g. whose children are all alive),
or some person previously indicated by the deceased, holds or hangs the cock ov
er the dead man's head. When the cock shakes its wings (a sign of acceptance by
the deceased), it is taken out and hung at the door of the hut or on a branch of
an oterre tree in the compound. After a while it is taken down and its neck is
drawn, the blood being allowed to drip on to the ground at the threshold. The fo
wl is then cooked and eaten by the female relatives. The intention in leaving th

e fowl hung up is, apparently, to give the deceased time to see and receive the
offering."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, pp. 303-04.
35d Rattray says of Ashanti: "The eldest son supplies a sheep and a fowl which a
re killed in the yard of the compound (dundon) and grain-food is prepared which
is called sanfana (in Dagomba, sore segam, literally 'food for the road'). The s
extons and others attending the funeral partake of this food, and a portion of t
he grain-food and a leg of the fowl are also placed in a calabash which is set d
own in the room where the corpse had been laid prior to interment."
The Tribes of the Ashanti Hinterland, II, 460-61.
36. FUNERAL, PROPER OBSERVANCE
36a Ellis says of the Yoruba: "It is considered the greatest disgrace to a famil
y not to be able to hold the proper ceremonies at the death of one of their numb
er, a notion which is comprehensible when we remember how much the welfare of th
e soul of the deceased is supposed to depend upon their performance. Hence famil
ies not unfrequently reduce themselves almost to beggary in order to carry them
out, or pawn or sell their children to raise the money necessary."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 161.
36b Leonard says of the Ibo: "All Ibo place great faith in the due and proper ob
servance of the funeral ceremony, for they are of the opinion that it enables th
e soul to go to God and to find its final destination, and that without this sac
red rite the soul is prevented by the other spirits from eating, or in any way a
ssociating with
[p. 207]
them, and in this manner, from entering into the Creator's presence. So in this
way it becomes an outcast and a wanderer on the face of the earth, haunting hous
es and frequently burial grounds, or is forced perhaps to return to this world i
n the form or body of some animal."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 142.
36c Meek says of Nigeria: "The spirit of a dead Ibo is considered to hover round
his home, or wander aimlessly in the. underworld, until the final funeral rites
have been performed."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 314.
36d Milligan says of the Mpongwe of Gaboon: "The spirit of the deceased knows al
l that is going on and is supposed to be very sensitive in regard to the amount
of mourning and the details of the funeral."
The Fetish Folk of West Africa, p. 148.
37. FUNERALS, WAKES--IMPORTANCE, SOCIAL ACTIVITY
37a Herskovits says of Dahomey: "A death-watch is now provided to see to it that
the body is not left unattended. This watch is kept with rigid care, especially
when the body is in the hands of the members of the dokpwe^ who actually carry
out the ritual of the funeral. This is because of the opportunity a corpse affor
ds anyone who is desirous of obtaining the means for working magic by capturing
the soul of the deceased, since a bit of the dead man's cloth, or, better still,
some of his hair or nail-parings might easily be taken and used to this end. Fu
rthermore, with such material, or with a cloth placed inside the mouth of the co
rpse to absorb some of the moisture remaining there, charms of great power and t
herefore great value could be made."
Dahomey, I, 353.

37b Leonard says of the Ibo and other tribes: "Although the death of a man is in
reality a great loss to his household or even to the community, the occasion of
his obsequies is regarded as an event of great entertainment to the community a
t large. It is looked upon as a circumstance in which the family honour is conce
rned in a distinctly two fold sense, affecting its reputation in this world as w
ell as in the next. For the reception of the soul of the deceased in spiritland
and his final prestige are altogether dependent on the grandeur and liberality o
f the human entertainment."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, pp. 157-58.
[p. 208]
37c Talbot says of the Sudanese tribes: "A wake invariably takes place, the dura
tion and grandeur of which depend upon the wealth of the family. Animals--includ
ing cows if these can be afforded--are slain in profusion, while palm wine and g
in are provided in plenty, and in old days, rum. Cannons and guns are fired off
to give notice to the ghosts that a 'big man' is coming, and plays are performed
by the clubs and societies of which the deceased was a member. In fact, funeral
s provide the best opportunity for festivals, 'plays,' dances and performances i
n general."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, III, 473.
38. HARVEST FESTIVALS
38a Ellis says of the Tshi-Speaking native: "Yam, or Harvest Festivals.--These a
ppear to be festivals held for the purpose of returning thanks to the gods for h
aving protected the crop. There are apparently two; one held in September, when
the yam crop is ripe, and another, called Ojirrah, in December, when it is plant
ed. A minor festival, called Affi-neh-dzea-fi, which is held in April, appears,
however, to be of the same nature. The September festival lasts a fortnight, and
is commenced by a loud beating of drums. It is called by the Ashantis Appatram,
and no new yam may be eaten by the people till the close of the festival."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 229.
38b Meek says of Nigeria: "Public sacrifice to Ala may be offered periodically a
t the beginning of the agricultural season, before clearing new land, or after c
learing old, before planting yams, or at the end of the yam harvest.
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 26.
38c Rattray says of Ashanti: "There appear to be at least three great festivals
which are held by the Talense in connexion with the crops and harvest."
The Tribes of the Ashanti Hinterland, II, 358-59.
38d Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: "At the time of new yam planting, people c
ame from far and near to beg protection and increase for their crops and herds.
On such occasions the brow of the chief priest is bound with a fillet of white c
loth, which may not be taken off till the time of sacrifice comes round again. H
e marks all the people with white chalk, as a sign that they have attended the f
estival and asked the blessing of the genius of the pool."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 38.
[p. 209]
39. HOE, MAGIC
39a Rattray repeats a Hausa folk tale: "When he struck one blow on the ground wi
th the hoe, then he climbed on the hoe and sat down, and the hoe started to hoe,
and fairly flew until it had done as much as the hoers. It passed them, and rea
ched the boundary of the furrow."
Hausa Folk-Lore Customs, Proverbs, Etc., I, 74-76.

39b Rattray tells an Ashanti folk tale: "The Hoe turned over a huge tract (of la
nd). Then they stopped work and went off, and the Porcupine took the hoe and hid
it. And Kwaku, the Spider, saw (where he put it). He said, 'This hoe that I hav
e seen, to-morrow very, very early I shall come and take it to do my work.' Trul
y, very, very, very early, the Spider went and got it; he took to his farm. Now,
the Spider did not know how to make it stop, and he raised his song:
'Gyensaworowa, Kotoko, saworowa.
Gyensaworowa, Kotoko, saworowa,
Gyensaworowa.'
And the Hoe, when it commenced hoeing, continued hoeing. And it hoed until it ca
me too far away. Now it reached the Sea-god's water. Thence it came to the Land
of White-men-far, and the White men took it, and looked at it, and made others (
like it). That is how many (European) hoes came among the Ashanti. Formerly it w
as only Kotoko, the Porcupine, who had one."
Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales, p. 43.
40. HOG, SACRIFICE OF
40a Beckwith says of Jamaica: "When they come to the Grave, which is generally m
ade in some Savannah or Plain, they lay down the Coffin, or whatever the Body ha
ppens to be wrapt up in; and if he be one whose Circumstances could allow it (or
if he be generally liked, the Negroes contribute among themselves) they sacrifi
ce a Hog."
Dark Roadways, p. 79.
41. IMAGES
41a Cruickshank says of the Gold Coast of Africa: "They also mould images from c
lay, and bake them. We have seen curious groups of these in some parts of the co
untry. Upon the death of a
[p. 210]
great man, they make representations of him, sitting in state, with his wives an
d attendants seated around him."
Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast of Africa, p. 270.
41b Ellis says of the Ewe: "The head is sometimes of wood, rising like a cone; t
he mouth extends from ear to ear, and is garnished with the teeth of dogs, or wi
th cowries to represent teeth; the eyes are also represented by cowries. The arm
s of the figure are invariably immensely long, while the legs are short and the
feet large."
The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 42.
41c Guillaume and Munro say: "He is especially fond of giving a flashing regard
to the eyes by inserting beads, shells, stones or bits of metal."
Primitive Negro Sculpture, p. 29.
41d "Constructed like a building of solid blocks, a typical negro, statue is its
elf a solid, a full, substantial block, set with convincing, massive reality in
its own space. Its effect does not depend, as that of much other sculpture does,
on elaborate superficial decoration scratched upon a weak and vaguely realized
mass. There is rarely a sense of overdecoration or pretense, a feeling of inner
rottenness, as though, one could squash the whole fabric between the hands, or s
crape off its ornaments at a stroke. Surface decorations there may be in profusi
on, but they are based upon a firm foundation and integrated with it, to form an
unyielding and immovable structure."

Primitive Negro Sculpture, p. 37.

41e Kingsley says of the West African: "He cuts from a tree a moderately thick b
ranch which he carves into a rude resemblance of the human figure; usually these
figures are simply cylindrical pieces of wood, from ten to fourteen inches in l
ength and from three to four in diameter. Two or three inches from one end, whic
h may be called the top, the stick is notched so as to roughly resemble a neck,
and the top is then rounded to bear some rough distant resemblance to a head."
Travels in West Africa, p. 510.
41f Leonard says of the Ibo and other tribes: "It is quite impossible to underst
and the spiritual conception and the god-idea of these natives unless we possess
a knowledge of that peculiarly personal system of society out of which it has e
volved and developed; and we recognise that the gods are but the shadows or
[p. 211]
spirits, so called, of mortals. They are rude but perfect pictures of the very w
orshippers in whose own human image they have been either kneaded out of clay or
carved out of wood."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 433.
41g "Not so the barbarian, however. With him the Ju-Ju or emblem is no child's p
lay, no mere outlet for a state of activity which he is not particularly desirou
s of, not even a safety-valve by which the accumulated steam of his pent-up emot
ions might escape, but a matter of life and death, connecting, as it does, one t
o the other, i.e. himself and household to the household in the spirit. To natur
al man this grotesque image of clay or wood is no mere toy, no senseless figure,
that he moulds or carves for amusement during his hours of leisure, simply to k
ill time with.
"So this bundle of repressed but irrepressible emotions appeals to his household
doll, as to an association--not in a merely abstract but in a personal sense, a
s a lifelong association, to which, connected and related as he is, from a twofo
ld aspect, he is doubly bound. He appeals to it, as to a familiar object, embody
ing, as it does, his familiar and guardian spirit, not because he merely thinks
or hopes this to be so, but because in all sincerity he feels and believes it to
he the case. More than this, because he believes it to be the spirit of his fat
her or grandfather, who, in accordance with the divine instructions, occupies th
e position of communicator and mediator between the human and spiritual househol
ds."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 384-85.
41h "Small figures and images, such as are mentioned above, purporting and belie
ved by the natives to contain the spirits of the defunct, and occupying exactly
the same status as the Aryan 'Pitris' or 'Fathers' and the Roman Lares and Penat
es, are also made and venerated by all the Delta tribes. Food and liquid offerin
gs are regularly placed on graves or at the monuments erected, or the symbols th
at have just been referred to, for the use of the departed spirits."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 183.
41i Rattray says of Ashanti: "The priestly class and the sumankwafo, the doctors
in suman, demanded for their professional purposes figures in human or animal f
orms; this resulted in the carving of Sasabonsam, mmoatia and, finally, human fi
gures; in all of these the genius of the people found an outlet for latent artis
tic talent."
Religion and Art in Ashanti, p. 269.
[p. 212]

42. MEMORIAL (SECOND FUNERAL)

42a Farrow says of the Yoruba: "In June of each year the Annual Egun festival is
held, for seven days. It is the Yoruba 'All Souls' festival, when mourning is r
epeated for all those who have died during the last few years. Egungun is specia
lly powerful in Ibadau, even as Oro is in Abeokuta."
Faith, Fancies and Fetich, pp. 79-80.
42b Leonard says of the Ibo and other tribes: "The Lamentation or Second Burial.
--This is conducted on much the same lines as the first, except that a greater e
ntertainment is provided and the expenses incurred are heavier.
"In a spiritual sense, however, the rite is one of infinitely greater importance
, because it is a special memorial service held over the deceased in order to re
lease him from the thraldom of the region of the dead in which all souls are con
fined, where they exist on leaves or grass just like the brute beasts, and to us
her him triumphantly, as befits his birth, into the abode of his fathers in the
world of spirits.
"For the universal belief on this point is that no human soul can attain to the
peaceful ancestral habitations without this rite of second burial. Hence the gre
at aversion shown by a community towards those who fail to observe this holy sac
rament."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, pp. 159-60.
42c Meek says of Nigeria: "The Ekwa-Ozu rites are commonly referred to in Englis
h as Me Second Burial,' though there is no apparent reason for the use of this e
xpression.
"The responsibility for performing the rites falls mainly on the principal heir,
who should endeavour to carry them out within a year of the dead man's death. B
ut the period may be extended, if the deceased's family has been unable to find
the necessary means, and cases have occurred of the final funeral rites being po
stponed for as much as ten or twenty years."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 314.
42d Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: "This first burial, generally called Mkpa
Owo, is followed, from six months to two years later, by the Ewouga or Usiak Ekk
po, the second burial, with which the obsequies are completed and without which
the deceased is thought to be unable to take his proper position in the realm of
the dead."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 142.
[p. 213]
43. MORTARS
43a Monteiro says of Angola: "These mortars are made of soft wood, mostly of the
cotton wood tree, which is easily cut with a knife; for scooping out the interi
or of the mortars the natives use a tool made by bending round about an inch of
the point of an ordinary knife, which they call a "locombo."
Angola and the River Congo, p. 167.
44. OWL, HOOTING OF
44a Ellis says of the Vais: "The Vais consider the owl the king of all witches.
They believe that some old king transformed himself into the owl and became the
king of witchcraft. The owl is called huhu. Whenever the cry of this bird is hea
rd they tremble with fear. It is said when an owl sits upon a home at least one
of its inmates is sure to die."

Negro Culture in West Africa, p. 66.

44b Nassau says of West Africa: "Then, concerning owls; see that your camp at ni
ght is not disturbed by the cry of the Kulu (spirit of the departed), that warns
you that one of you is going to die."
Fetichism in West Africa, pp. 195-96.
45. PALM CABBAGE, PALM WINE
45a Bridge says of the West Coast of Africa: "Palm wine is the sap of the tree;
and its top furnishes a most delicious dish, called palm-cabbage. The trunk supp
lies fire-wood and timber for building fences. From the fibres of the wood is ma
nufactured a strong cordage, and a kind of native cloth; and the leaves, besides
being used for thatching houses, are converted into hats. If nature had given t
he inhabitants of Africa nothing else, this one gift of the palm-tree would have
included food, drink, clothing, and habitation, and the gratuitous boon of beau
ty, into the bargain."
Journal of an African Cruiser, p. 106.
45b Burton says of Gelele: "The palm, after being felled, is allowed to lie for
a couple of days, the cabbage is removed for food, and in its place a pipe, gene
rally a bit of papaw-stalk, conducts the sap into the calabash below. At times,
to make the juice flow more freely, a lighted stick is thrust into the hole, whi
ch is afterwards scraped clear of charred wood. This "toddy" is the drink
[p. 214]
of the maritime regions, where it is most impudently watered, and we shall not t
aste it beyond the Agrime swamp."
A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome, I, pp. 128-29.
46. POSSESSION
46a Basden says of the Ibo: "The more one listens to native music, the more one
is conscious of its vital power. It touches the chords of man's inmost being, an
d stirs his primal instincts. It demands the performer's whole attention and so
sways the individual as almost to divide asunder, for the time being, mind and b
ody. . . . Under its influence, and that of the accompanying dance, one has seen
men and women pass into a completely dazed condition, oblivious and apparently
unconscious of the world around them."
Among the Ibos of Nigeria, p. 192.
46b Ellis says of the Gold Coast: "The drums strike up, and the priest commences
his dance, leaping, bounding, and turning and twisting round and round, until h
e works himself into a real or simulated condition of frenzy, with foam dropping
from the mouth, and eyes wildly rolling."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 125.
46c Ellis says of the town of Forhudzi: "A god was beginning to take possession
of him. . . . In the meantime the trembling increased, and soon the priest was s
huddering as if in an ague fit. Every portion of his body seemed to shake; the h
ead, arms, legs, abdomen, and pectoral muscles, all quivering violently. He lean
ed forward and appeared to be endeavoring to vomit, doubtless to give the idea t
hat his body was struggling to expel the god which was now supposed to possess h
im. A little foam appeared on his lips, and from time to time saliva fell on the
ground. Next, with open mouth and protruding tongue, and with eyes wildly rolli
ng, he worked himself, still seated and quivering violently, into the middle of
the arena."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 132.

46d Herskovits says of Haiti: "Fundamentally, to be possessed by a loa means tha

t an individual's spirit is literally dispossessed by that of the god. Personali
ties undergo radical change in accordance with the nature of the deity, while ev
en the sex of the one possessed is disregarded if it differs from that of the go
d, so that, for example, a woman 'mounted' by Ogun is always addressed as
[p. 215]
[paragraph continues] Papa Ogun. One wears the colors of the god and the ornamen
ts he likes, eating and drinking those things he prefers, and otherwise manifest
ing his peculiar characteristics--rolling on the earth, if possessed by Damballa
or chattering incessantly if by Gede."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 146.
46e Leonard says of the Ibo and other tribes: "This possession by spirits, altho
ugh not confined to any particular tribe or tribes in the Delta, is said to be m
uch more common among the Ijo and Brassmen, and women are afflicted in a conside
rably greater proportion than men. These possessions--which are invariably made
by the Owu or water spirit--may occur at any time, or in any place, and as soon
as a woman jumps up and begins to talk a strange language--usually either Okrika
or Kila--it is the first as it is a sure indication that she has become possess
ed. The fact that in many instances the obsessed person in her normal state is u
nable to speak the tongue which, when possessed, she speaks quite fluently, is n
aturally looked upon as direct evidence that it is the investing spirit who spea
ks and not the woman herself. So, too, a girl or woman who through excessive shy
ness is too coy to dance in public, develops, when under the influence of the Ow
u, an excess of boldness, which enables her to do things that under ordinary con
ditions she would not dream of doing. This boldness is to these natives merely t
he confirmation of a pre-existing conviction that it is not the person that is d
oing these things but the spirit who has invaded and obsessed her.
"It is further believed that persons so afflicted are possessed of physical stre
ngth which is altogether superhuman, so that when they become violent and uncont
rollable they are scarcely to be overcome by half a dozen or more able-bodied me
n."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, pp. 227-28.
46f Meek says of the Yaku: "As the dance proceeds they are one by one assailed w
ith convulsive shiverings, wave their arms, strike themselves and throw themselv
es on the ground like demented persons."
A Sudanese Kingdom, p. 278.
47. POSSESSIONS ON GRAVE
47a Burton says of Dahome: "At the end of the funeral customs, especially in the
Old Calabar River, a small house is built upon the beach, and in it are placed
the valuables possessed by the departed-[p. 216]
some whole, and others broken,--statues, clocks, vases, porcelains, and so forth
."
A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome, II, p. 262.
47b Nassau says of the Benga, the Mpongwe and the Fang: "Formerly also slaves ca
rried boxes of the dead man's goods, cloth, I hardware, crockery, and so forth,
to be laid by the body, which in those days was not interred, but was left on th
e top of the ground covered with branches and leaves."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 218.

47c Talbot says of the Ibibio: "Next a table and some of the finest pieces of ho
usehold furniture, together with jars, dishes, and bowls of old china, were carr
ied thither and set in order. When all had been arranged, the coffin was careful
ly lowered down the shaft, borne through the passage and laid upon the resting-p
lace so reverently prepared."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 154.
48. ROOT DOCTORS
48a Cardinall says of the Gold Coast: "With the belief that spiritual agents are
the cause of misfortune and sickness, it follows that medical treatment consist
s generally in charms. There are certain men considered most proficient in the c
urative art. These are the liri-tina (Kassena), tiindana (Nankanni), tinyam (Bui
lsa), (owner of medicine). Their medicines are drawn from the bush, and are usua
lly bitter-tasting grasses, herbs, and barks. For poultices the same herbs are u
sed mixed with shea-butter and charcoal and ashes. Usually they are covered with
cow-dung. It is said that the stronger the smell the more easily will the evil
spirit causing the sickness be driven away."
The Natives of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, p. 46.
48b Cruickshank says of the Gold Coast native: "The natives of the Gold Coast ha
ve Do despicable knowledge of the qualities of herbs. A collection of these was,
at one time, sent home for analysis; and it was found generally that they posse
ssed some qualities calculated to be of use in alleviating the diseases for whic
h the natives applied them."
Eighteen Years an the Gold Coast, II, 147.
48c Leyden says of the interior sections of West Africa, such a, the Congo, the
banks of the Senegal and the Gambia, etc.: "The
[p. 217]
magicians appear to have been resorted to universally in cases of malady, which
proved a hard trial on the faith even of the steadiest converts. When their chil
dren or near relations were seized with illness, they immediately began to cast
a longing eye towards their old method of cure; and if they had not recourse to
it, they even incurred reproach among their neighbors, as suffering their relati
on to die, rather than incur the expence of a magician."
Historical Account of Discoveries and Travels in Africa, I, 120.
48d Meek says of Nigeria: "The believer in witchcraft feels he has a right to pr
otect himself by every means in his power, and chief among these is the employme
nt of a witch-doctor . . . [who] is therefore considered just as essential in mo
st negro communities as a medical practitioner is amongst ourselves, and, though
some witch-doctors may abuse their powers for selfish ends, as a class they are
regarded as champions of morality."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 345.
48e Nassau, quoting Menzies' History of Religion, p. 73, says of the Benja, the
Mpongwe, the Fang, and other West African tribes: "'There is generally a special
person in a tribe who knows these things, and is able to work them. He has more
power over spirits than other men have, and is able to make them do what he lik
es. He can heal sickness, he can foretell the future, he can change a thing into
something else, or a man into a lower animal, or a tree, or anything; he can al
so assume such transformations himself at will. He uses means to bring about suc
h results; he knows about herbs, he has also recourse to rubbing, to making imag
es of affected parts in the body, and to various other arts. . . . It is the spi
rit dwelling in him which brings about the wonderful results; without the spirit
he could not do anything.'"
Fetichism in West Africa, pp. 86-87.

48f Ward says of the Bakongo tribes: "it is a general belief with the Bakongo th
at all sickness is the result of witchcraft exercised by some member of the comm
unity, and the services of the charm-doctor are employed to discover the individ
ual who is ndoki, i.e., bedeviled, and guilty of devouring the spirit of the unf
ortunate invalid; and in the event of the sick person dying, the medicine-man is
deputed by the relatives of the deceased to find out the witch who has 'eaten t
he heart.'"
Five Years with the Congo Cannibals, p. 39.
[p. 218]
49. SEWING ON CLOTHES
49a Puckett says of West Africa: "In West Africa one dare not sew his cloth whil
e it is on his body lest his relative die."
Folk Beliefs of the Southern Negro, p. 405.
50. SERPENTS
50a Beckwith says of Jamaica: "The snake is the 'baddest of all,' anyone will af
firm, but as there are seldom to be found snakes in Jamaica today this takes one
back in the history of obeah to the days of ob, to the voodoo, and the Obeah Ma
n of the past who carried 'A staff carved with snakes or with a human head on th
e handle, a cabalistic book and a stuffed snake.'"
Black Roadways, p. 122.
50b Leonard says of Southern Nigeria: "Reptiles, snakes, and crocodiles particul
arly are much more utilised as emblems, simply, it is to be presumed, because th
ey are more in evidence in the forests and rivers of the Delta than any other sp
ecies of animals, consequently must have appealed to the natives as the most con
venient and suitable repositories for the ancestral manes."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 317.
50c Melville and Frances Herskovits say of Dahomey: "The next personal spirit or
force we are to describe is one less esteemed than feared. It is called Da###80
8###, which signifies 'serpent.' What is the power of Da###808###? All serpents
are Da###808### but not all serpents are worshipped. Quintessentially, Da###808#
## represents the principle of mobility, of sinuosity. 'All things which curve,
and move, but have no feet, are Da###808###.'"
An Outline of Dahomean Religious Beliefs, p. 56.
50d Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Paramaribo Negro: "The most preva
lent types of winti among women in particular are those associated with the snak
e, and since these enter into all the categories of winti, we list them after th
e gods of the Sky and Earth. Of these we have Dagowe, Papa, V###596###du###808##
#, Hei###810###-gr###596######808###, Aboma, Aninine, Alado, Sinero, Korowena, K
wenda, Tobochina, and Cheno. The term Dagowe often serves, in the town, as a gen
eric term for all the snake spirits, though the Dagowe, snake, properly speaking
, is one of the constrictor group found in the colony, and is believed by the na
tives to inhabit both land and water. This is, of course, good observation on th
eir part, for this characteristic of all snakes of the boa type is well-known. N
ot all snakes are sacred, yet no one will kill a snake."
Suriname Folk-Lore, pp. 63-64.
[p. 219]
50e Talbot says of the Ibibio tribes: "Each great Ibibio Juju man is supposed to
keep one such serpent familiar in his house, in the 'bush' where secret rites a
re celebrated, or in some place by the waterside. It is called Kukubarakpa, and,

by virtue of this agent, much of the magician's power is said to come to him. T
he possession of a snake is also supposed to bring riches, though its magic is t
hought to be of no avail during the season of storms."
Life in Southern Nigeria, p. 17.
51. SERPENTS, DREAM OF
51a Leonard says
enemies seeking
ation of an evil
The Lower Niger

of Southern Nigeria: "A snake seen in a dream implies a host of

to destroy the dreamer's life. Nightmare is caused by the visit
or it may be antipathetic spirit."
and Its Tribes, p. 147.

52. SNEEZING
52a Puckett says of the Ewe: "Sneezing is regarded as a bad omen by the Ewe trib
es of Africa because it indicates that the indwelling spirit is about to quit th
e body, affording an opportunity for a homeless spirit to enter in and cause ill
ness. A similar belief leads the Calabar natives to exclaim, 'Far from you!' whe
n a person sneezes, with an appropriate gesture as if throwing off some evil."
Folk Beliefs of the Southern Negro, p. 453.
53. SPIDER STORIES
53a Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Suriname Negro: "Though few tales
have been recorded, these play an important role in the life of the Suriname Ne
groes. They are, whatever their nature, called Ana###808###nsi-tri, the stories
of Anansi, the Twi trickster-hero, who, like in Curacao, and Jamaica, has surviv
ed his migration to the western hemisphere to be here, as on the Gold Coast, the
most important single character in the folk-tales of the Negroes of these regio
ns."
Suriname Folk-Lore, p. 138.
54. SPIRITS, ANIMALS
54a Ellis says of the Yoruba: "The souls of the dead are sometimes reborn in ani
mals, and occasionally, though but rarely, in plants."
The Yoruba-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 133.
[p. 220]
54b Herskovits says of Haiti: "Baka appear as small bearded human-like figures w
ith flaming eyes, or as cattle, horses, asses, goats, bears (?) and dogs."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 241.
55. SPIRITS, DWARFS
55a Cardinall says of the Gold Coast: "They are kyikyiri (Kassena), kukru (Buils
a), and chichirigu (Nankanni). Sometimes they are visible to men, and in appeara
nce resemble the mmotia of the Ashanti, ill-shapen dwarfs . . . they annoy trave
llers by night by 'throwing stones at them.'"
The Natives of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, pp. 27-28.
56. SPIRITS, EXISTENCE AFTER DEATH
56a Campbell says of the Aku, Yoruba tribes: "They believe in the spirit after d
eath, and in its power of being present among the living for good or evil purpos
es."
A Pilgrimage to My Motherland, p. 75.
56b Cruickshank says of the Gold Coast native: "They are unanimous in thinking t

hat there is in man a spirit which survives the body. This spirit is supposed to
remain near the spot, where the body has been buried. They believe it to have a
consciousness of what is going on upon earth, and to have the power of exercisi
ng some influence over their destiny."
Eighteen Years on the Gold Coast of Africa, II, 135.
56c Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "As i
n Africa, the spirit of the dead is powerful for good or evil, and the rites of
death must be carried out as tradition demands, so that the dead man may feel he
has received honor among the living and proper introduction to the world of the
dead."
Rebel Destiny, p. 4.
57. SPIRITS, FACES TURNED BACKWARD
57a Cardinall says of the Gold Coast: the spirits turned their faces to the back
of the head."
The Natives of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, p. 34.
[p. 221]
58. SPIRIT, FOOD FOR
58a Cole says of West Africa: "The spirits of the dead, as well as genii, are al
so honored and adored. Food, tobacco, and rum are placed on the graves for the d
eparted, and their aid is requested at the taking of a journey, or in times of n
eed."
A Revelation of the Secret Orders of Western Africa, p. 39.
58b Herskovits says of Dahomey: "Food is brought in the dishes from which the de
ad ate when alive, and each meal is given to the ak###596###vi###779### on guard
, who takes three morsels and puts them down one after the other near the corpse
. She also allows water to drop three times nearby, and then tells the wife of t
he deceased to gather up and remove everything that has been put down. The dead
man's pipe must now be placed next to him; tobacco is put into it, and it is smo
ked for the enjoyment of the dead man by the ak###596###vi###779### and the wife
who watch the body."
Dahomey, I, 356.
58c Hutchinson says of the Efik: "Amongst the Efik tribe, who are the residents
here, there exists a practice of cooking food and leaving it on the table of a f
abric called the 'devil house,' which is erected near the grave of a man or woma
n. The food is placed there in calabashes, and it is believed that the spirit of
the deceased, with those of the butchered serfs who are her or his fellow-trave
lers, frequently came to partake of it in their journey to the world of spirits,
whither they are supposed to be travelling."
Ten Years' Wanderings Among the Ethiopians, pp. 206-07.
58d Nassau says of West Africa: "When affairs are going wrong in the villages, a
nd the people do not know the cause, offerings of food and drink are taken to th
e grave to cause the spirit to cease disturbing them, and prayers are made to it
that it may the rather bless them."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 220.
58e Rattray says of Ashanti: "An Ashanti never drinks without pouring a few drop
s of the wine on the ground for the denizens of the spirit world who may happen
to be about (also some for 'fetishes'). Food is constantly placed aside for them
."
Ashanti Proverbs, p. 37.

58f "If you see your ancestor in a dream lying dead, as he did on the day of his
death, then you know that there is going to be an
[p. 222]
other death in your clan; otherwise, to be visited by an ancestor only means tha
t he is hungry and you place food upon his stool."
Religion and Art in Ashanti, pp. 193-94.
59. SPIRITS AND GHOSTS, GENERAL
59a Kingsley says of the West Coast of Africa: "Accounts of apparitions abound i
n all the West Coast districts, and although the African holds them all in high
horror and terror, he does not see anything supernatural in his 'Duppy.' It is a
horrid thing to happen on, but there is nothing strange about it, and he is ten
thousand times more frightened than puzzled over the affair. He does not want t
o 'investigate' to see whether there is anything in it. He wants to get clear aw
ay, and make ju-ju against it, 'one time.'
"These apparitions have a great variety of form, for, firstly, there are all the
true spirits, nature spirits; secondly, the spirits of human beings--these huma
n spirits are held to exist before as well as during and after bodily life; thir
dly, the spirits of things."
Travels in West Africa, p. 509.
59b Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Suriname Negro: "When going home
late from winti-dances, we were led away from certain thoroughfares, and went a
roundabout way to avoid a corner, or a tree, or a house, because these were know
n to be 'bad' places,--that is to say, they were haunted. At least two persons a
ccompanied us home, so that, in returning to their own homes, they would not hav
e to walk the streets alone. The hours that are dangerous are mid-day, from 5:30
to 6:30 in the evening, and from 12:30 to 1:30 at night."
Suriname Folk-Lore, p. 111.
59c Rattray says of Ashanti: "Sasabonsam. Deriv. bonsam, a devil, or evil spirit
(not the disembodied soul of any particular person, just as the fetish is not a
human spirit). Its power is purely for evil and witchcraft. The obayifo is perh
aps its servant, as the terms are sometimes synonymous."
Ashanti Proverbs, p. 47.
60. SPIRIT, GUARDIAN OF ENTRANCE (LEGBA)
60a Herskovits says of Haiti: ". . . they proceeded slowly to the gateway, where
a ceremony was held for Legba, the guardian of entrances, that he might permit
the other loa to pass."
Life in a Haitian Valley, pp. 172-73.
[p. 223]
60b "Even at the church, however, where all go to offer the prayers that are the
central observances of the fete, the many candles placed on the rocks at the en
trances are usually for St. Anthony; that same St. Anthony who, it will be recal
led, is the loa named Legba, the Guardian of all entrances."
Life in a Haitian Valley, p. 286.
61. SPIRIT, GUARDIAN OF BURIED TREASURE
61a Herskovits says of Haiti: "Baka are often employed to guard buried money. 'I
n this country, when you find money buried in jars, it is an affair of baka. The
re is never one jar, but always two or three, and you must call a hungan to find

out which one you may take and which you must not touch. Generally the finder i
s allowed to take half of the treasure, for if he took all he would be tormented
by the baka who had been left as guardian. Such jars, it is said, are usually f
ound with human bones beside them or under them, and tradition has it that the s
lave-owners who are believed to have been strong in magic customarily killed the
most evil slave on a plantation that his spirit might keep watch over the jars.
If the owner never returned, the spirit of the slave, as a 'sold baka,' remaine
d to wreak vengeance upon anyone who dared disturb his charge."
Life in a Haitian Valley, pp. 242-43.
62. SPIRITS, PLAT-EYE
62a Johnson says of St. Helena: "In the Georgetown section plat-eye is used to s
ignify a ghost or spook. Its etymology is uncertain, and it may be an instance o
f an Africanism surviving in a restricted area."
Folk Culture on St. Helena Island, South Carolina, p. 58.
62b Nassau says of West Africa: "Another manifestation is that of the uvengwa. .
. . It is the self-resurrected spirit and body of a dead human being. It is an
object of dread, and is never worshipped in any manner whatever. Why it appears
is not known. Perhaps it shows itself only in a restless, unquiet, or dissatisfi
ed feeling. It is white in color, but the body is variously changed from the lik
eness of the original human body. Some say that it has only one eye, placed in t
he centre of the forehead. Some say that its feet are webbed like an aquatic bir
d. It does not speak; it only wanders, looking as if with curiosity."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 71.
[p. 224]
63. SPIRITS, RIVER
63a Cardinall says of the Gold Coast: "Spirits of rivers and waterholes are grea
tly respected. They are most powerful spirits, too. They can slay men and they c
an bring much good fortune. To them are brought many sacrifices of fowls and goa
ts, etc. It is said that these spirits live below the river-bed."
The Natives of the Northern Territories of the Gold Coast, p. 34.
63b Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Paramaribo Negro: "A fourth group
of winti are those which are associated with the river. This group, as all othe
rs, overlap the Snake gods, since the constrictor lives in the water as well as
on land. However, there are other gods, among them the kaima###808###, which are
peculiar to the rivers alone. The river-gods are headed by the Liba-Mama, or Wa
tra-Mama, respectively Mother of the River, or Mother of the Water, who, again,
is not referred to by name. Among the Saramacca tribe of Bush-Negroes, the river
-gods go under the generic name of Tone, and this name, like the name from the i
nterior for the gods in general, is also sometimes employed in Paramaribo."
Suriname Folk-Lore, pp. 64-65.
63c Meek says of Nigeria: "At Eha-Amufu (Nsukka Division) there is a river-cult,
the priest of which is known as the Atama Ebe. Ebe is the spirit of the river a
nd controls the fish, who are regarded as the spiritual counterparts of the inha
bitants of Eha-Amufu. The big fish are the counterparts of the principal men of
the village group, while the fry are the counterparts of persons of no consequen
ce. When a villager dies a fish dies, and when a fish dies a villager dies. It i
s taboo, therefore, to catch fish in the river, and much annoyance has been caus
ed by visits of foreign fishermen who disregard the local scruples. Ebe, the spi
rit of the river, being the guardian of the fish, which are his children and mes
sengers, is regarded as the giver of children to men, and is thus the object of
public and private worship."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 38.

64. STEALING FROM GRAVE

64a Nassau says of the interior tribes
ut these gifts to the spirits is that,
ll not steal from a grave. The coveted
in, and the valuable garment will flap
ds will not

of the West Coast: "A

however great a thief
mirror will lie there
itself to rags in the

noticeable fact abo

a man may be, he wi
and waste in the ra
wind, but human han

[p. 225]
touch them. Sometimes the temptation to steal is removed, by the donor fracturin
g the article before it is laid on the grave."
Fetichism in West Africa, p. 232.
65. TABOOS
65a Bosman says of Guinea: "Each Person here is forbidden the eating of one sort
of Flesh or other; one eats no Mutton, another no Goats-Flesh, Beef, Swines-Fle
sh, Wild-Fowl, Cocks with white feathers, &c. This Restraint is not laid upon th
em for a limited time, but for their whole Lives: And if the Romanists brag of t
he Antiquities of their Ecclesiastical Commands; so if you ask the Negroes why t
hey do this, they will readily tell you, because their Ancestors did so from the
beginning of the World and it hath been handed down from one Age to another by
Tradition. The Son never eats what the Father is restrained from, as the Daughte
r herein follows the Mother's Example; and this Rule is as strictly observed amo
ngst them, that 'tis impossible to persuade them to the contrary."
Description of the Coast of Guinea, pp. 154-55.
65b Burton says of the Dahomean: "Some are allowed to eat beef, others only mutt
on; many are prohibited to touch the flesh of goats. Poultry is permitted to som
e, eggs to others."
A Mission to Gelele, King of Dahome, II, 361-62.
65c Ellis says of the Ewe: "The usual reverence is paid by the members of a clan
to the animal or plant from which the clan takes its name. It may not be used a
s food, or molested in any way; but must always be treated with veneration and r
espect. The general notion is that the members of the clan are directly descende
d from the animal, or plant, eponymous."
The Ewe-Speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa, p. 100.
65d Ellis says of the Tshi: "With some races the reverence originally felt for t
he deceased ancestor, and in later times transferred to the animal for which he
was named, culminates in the animal being regarded as a tutelary deity, and cons
equently a being to be worshipped and propitiated by sacrifice; but in other cas
es-and this is almost always the case with the family divisions of the natives o
f the Gold Coast-an abstention from the use of the flesh of the animal whose nam
e the family bears, is sometimes the only remaining sign of any feeling of rever
ence or respect."
The Tshi-Speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast of West Africa, p. 206.
[p. 226]
65e Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Suriname Negro: "An illness may b
e caused by . . . an unconscious violation, arising out of the fact that a man's
mother had never told him the name of his true father, and consequently he had
been observing food taboos which were not his own and had been neglecting to obs
erve those which were his, since, as we have seen, these personal food taboos ar
e inherited from the father."
Suriname Folk-Lore, pp. 59-60.

66. TEETH, CHILDREN BORN WITH

66a Meek says of Nigeria: "Children born feet first or with teeth or any deformi
ty were also destroyed, on the ground that they were incarnations of evil spirit
s."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, pp. 290-91.
66b Thomas says of the Ibo of Nigeria: "Not only twins, but many other children
are, or were, exposed because of some circumstance connected with their birth or
development. For example, a child born with teeth is regarded as a monster who
will bring misfortune on its father-perhaps the belief may be that it will devou
r him. . . ."
Anthropological Report on the Ibo-Speaking Peoples of Nigeria, I, pp. 10-11.
67. TWINS
67a Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Suriname Negro: "Twins, and the c
hild born after twins, who is called Dosu, and children born feet foremost, are
in a category by themselves, and they are often spoken of as ###596###gri. . . .
bad."
Suriname Folk-Lore, p. 42.
67b Meek says of Nigeria: "And twins were allowed to die or were deliberately ki
lled by being enclosed in a pot or ant-hill. For the Ibo hold the common belief
that the birth of twins is an indication of the disfavour of the spirits, and a
punishment, possibly of adultery. Twin-births are regarded as non-human, and it
is a common belief that the chi or accompanying soul of a twin is the chi of an
animal. After the birth of twins a diviner is consulted to ascertain which spiri
t or ancestor had been offended, and sacrifice is offered to appease his wrath."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, p. 291.
67c Nassau says of Africa: "All over Africa the birth of twins is a notable even
t, but noted for very different reasons in different
[p. 227]
parts of the country. In Calabar they are dreaded as an evil omen, and until rec
ently were immediately put to death, and the mother driven from the village to l
ive alone in the forest as a punishment for having brought this evil on her peop
le.
"In other parts, as in the
eless considered necessary
f their lives, or, if they
Fetichism in West Africa,

Gabun country, where they are welcomed, it is neverth

to have special ceremonies performed for the safety o
die, to prevent further evil."
p. 206.

68. WITCHES, ANIMAL FORM

68a Herskovits says of Dahomey: "The az###596######808###ndato, as such practiti
oners are called, are spoken of in whispers, and are said to be organized into a
close guild. They exercise power over the souls of those who have not had prope
r burial and therefore wander about the earth discontented, and over these souls
procured by 'killing' their owners in the manner described above. These az###59
6######808###ndato are to be recognized by their blood-shot eyes, and Dahomeans
stealthily point out two or three such persons in the market-place who usually m
ay be remarked to be doing somewhat better business than those who sit near them
. These dangerous individuals change into bats at night, or assume other animal
forms and go forth to hold council together or to perform their dark deeds."
Dahomey, II, 287.

68b Meek says of Nigeria: "Witches (amozu) and wizards (ogboma) have also animal
counterparts, and so assume the forms of owls, lizards, vultures, and numerous
species of night-birds. Consequently, if a night-bird comes and rests on a house
, the owner loses no time in trying to drive it away or shoot it; and if he fail
s he will seize his ofo and call on his ancestors or any local deity to rid him
of his enemy. A witch always assails at night. By magic means she attacks the th
roat, so that the victim is paralysed and cannot move or speak, and in the morni
ng may be found lying senseless and naked outside his hut. . . . Witches can pen
etrate into a house through the smallest cracks in the wall, and can assume the
form of the smallest insect. Flies and other creatures which bite are witches or
the agents of witches, and if a person is severely bitten he may consult a divi
ner, who will order the patient to offer sacrifice to propitiate some witch, and
induce the witch to remove the spell by transferring it to some one else. Witch
es can poison food or infect it with sorcery, and if any one eats a meal cooked
by a witch he will become seriously ill or die. Mothers,
[p. 228]
therefore, advise their children to avoid eating food outside their own homes."
Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe, pp. 79-80.
68c Talbot says of Southern Nigeria: "Witches often change into leopards and oth
er animals."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, II, 219.
68d "Witchcraft seems to have been more dreaded in the Oru clan than among any o
ther Ibo. . . . They can change into crocodiles, fish, leopards, bush-cows, snak
es and goats."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, II, 213.
68e Farrow says: "The witch-doctor is, of course, a privileged person. He is cal
led in to trace the source of disease and death, for these are generally attribu
ted to witchcraft, unless they are evidently caused by the vengeance of Shopono
(smallpox), Shango, or some similar deity. Various forms of disease are describe
d as 'snakes inside' (ejo-inu), 'an insect' (kokoro), etc., and it is supposed t
hat these have been introduced by a foe through the agency of witchcraft."
Faith, Fancies and Fetish, p. 125.
69. WITCHES, RIDING VICTIMS
69a Ellis says of the Vais: "There is a belief, as I have stated, among the Vais
that witches come to your house and ride you at night,--that when the witch com
es in the door he takes off his skin and lays it aside in the house. It is belie
ved that he returns you to the Ned where he found you, and that the witch may be
killed by sprinkling salt and pepper in certain portions of the room, which wil
l prevent the witch from putting on his skin. Just before they go to bed it is a
common thing to see Vais people sprinkling salt and pepper about the room."
Negro Culture in West Africa, p. 63.
69b Leonard says: "In Brass the natives firmly believe that witches exist, and t
hat certain persons by natural operations--or rather by co-operation with natura
l forces--possess the power of inflicting disease, injury, or death upon their n
eighbours. These individuals are divided into two classes--the harmful and the h
armless.
"The former are said to go out of their houses at night, and to hold meetings wi
th demons and their colleagues, to determine whose life is next to be destroyed.
This is done by gradually sucking the blood of the victim through some supernat
ural and invisible

[p. 229]
means the effect of which on the victim is imperceptible to others."
The Lower Niger and Its Tribes, p. 486.
69c Rattray says of Ashanti: "Men and women possessed of this black magic are cr
edited with volitant powers, being able to quit their bodies and travel great di
stances in the night. Besides sucking the blood of victims, they are supposed to
be able to extract the sap and juices of crops."
Ashanti Proverbs, p. 48.
70. WOODCARVING AND WEAVING
70a Herskovits says: "In West Africa, the development of techniques of all kinds
is the greatest on the continent. The Benin bronzes, the brass-work of Dahomey,
the weaving of the Ashanti, or the wood carving of the Ivory Coast, Dahomey, an
d Nigeria are famous, while pottery of a high grade, basketry, and iron work are
found everywhere."
Social History of the Negro, p. 221.
70b Herskovits says of the Bush Negro: "In the villages of the Bush Negroes the
artist holds an enviable position, and the good carver is sought after in marria
ge and often wins the most desirable young woman for his wife. This is because S
uriname woodcarving is a part of all phases of life."
Social History of the Negro, p. 247.
70c Herskovits says of Dahomey: "But, as stated, the greatest proportion of obje
cts are intended for some specific end. The spotted hyena, for example, formed a
handle for the staff of a chief. The two wands with human figures on them are e
mployed in the Fa cult. The three figures in the background of the same plate, r
epresenting a woman, an animal, and a bird respectively, support cups which hold
the seeds employed in the Fate cult.
Dahomey, II, 370.
70d "Wood-carving is the most democratic, and the most widely practiced, of all
the arts. It constitutes the one mode of artistic expression open to all men in
Dahomey, for, as in many cultures, wood-carving is not a technique permitted to
women. In addition, however, to the democratic nature of the art it pervades the
daily life of the people to a greater degree than any other art-form, and a cat
alogue of the uses to which the objects carved in wood are put by the Dahomeans
would touch upon all elements of Dahomean culture. Carvings thus catalogued woul
d range from the artistic
[p. 230]
statuettes found in the shrines of the gods and the smaller human figures used a
s gbo^, the beautifully carved cups which hold the palm-kernels employed in the
Fa cult, and the carefully worked handles of the Xevioso axes, all of which indi
cate the association of wood-carving with religion, to the mortars, stools, and
other decorated objects used in the everyday round of life."
Dahomey, II, 363.
70e "Among these forms are plastic and graphic arts, music, dancing and a wide r
ange of oral literature. In the former group woodcarving is the most widespread
and the most commonly practised. As will be indicated in detail below, carvings
in wood enter many phases of life. Statues of the gods, human forms which, as gb
o^, protect the owner and his household, and the implements of the Fate cult, ar
e all a part of the religious life. The sceptres of King and chiefs, and the ela
borately carved stools on which they sat were indispensable symbols of rank and

succession. The wands of office and stools of sib-chiefs associate this art with
social organisation, especially where the totem animal is figured, while even t
he adji game-boards of the Dahomeans are embellished by the carvings of the arti
st."
Dahomey, II, 311.
70f Melville and Frances Herskovits say of the Bush Negro of Dutch Guiana: "Ther
e were other carvings which we bought-a large rice-carrying tray, and some food
stirrers, one of which was especially fine, made as it was of two small paddles
with miniature blades, the handles joined by a wooden ring-chain, and all of thi
s carved out of one piece of wood."
Rebel Destiny, p. 277.
70g "Few things on the river seemed to the outsiders more characteristic of the
life of the Saramacca people than these carvings which were met with everywhere,
however small the village, however poor the home. When the seasonal rains came,
men incised their desires on wood, which later told the legend of procreation,
or safety on the river, or a curse invoked against a woman if she proved unfaith
ful; or something of humor, such as a man bidding for a girl's favor, and she re
fusing him, while up above intertwined were a man and woman, symbolizing the ult
imate consummation with the proper suitor."
Rebel Destiny, pp. 277-78.
70h Talbot says of the Sudanese tribes: "Carving in wood is common among all tri
bes, but is for the most part rather crude. In all
[p. 231]
cases articles were as far as possible made from the solid block; never nailed o
r glued together."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, III, 928.
70i "The varieties of woven work include checker, twilled and wicker; others are
plaited, and there are several sorts of coiled basketry. The oblong market bask
ets used by the women, particularly among the Ibo and many of the Semi-Bantu tri
bes, closely resemble those of the Ancient Egyptians."
The Peoples of Southern Nigeria, III, 938.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 233]

GLOSSARY
ahmeen--spoken in a prayer
ameela--spoken in a prayer
anansi, An Nancy-spider
balonga--watermelon
belambi, hakabara, mahamadu--spoken in a prayer
boo-boo-no--circular African house of sticks and straw, plastered with mud
cop--to cut, to bleed

cunjuh--magical practices, the casting of spells

de big raid--War Between the States
deloe--water
diffy--fire
dose--conjure mixture
figlin water--wine
flim--pancake
gran--grandfather, grandmother
ground house--African dwelling
gumbo--okra
hakabara--spoken in a prayer
han--a magic charm carried to insure good luck
heaby root--a powerful spell
hoodoo--magical practices, the casting of spells
juba haltuh--water bucket
line scahs--tribal marks
maduba--mistress
ma-foo-bey--ejaculation of surprise
mahaba--master
maulin a bumba--thunder
mojo--charm.
mosojo--sojo--pot
[p. 234]
nayam--to eat
nyana--seafood
planted--place an evil charm
plat-eye--especially dreaded ghost
put down--place an evil charm
rootin--casting an evil charm
saraka--flat rice cakes

settin-ups--wakes
shadduh--ghost
shoutin--rhythmic beating of hands and feet
skinskon--expression of anger
strikin roun--working conjure
tabby--a mixture of lime and oyster shell, used for building material
totem, taboo--forbidden article of food
tuh fix--cast a spell
voodoo--magical practices, the casting of spells
wukin roots--curing by magic
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 235]

INFORMANTS
Anderson, Alec, Possum Point, Sterling.
Anderson, Rachel, Possum Point, Sterling.
Baker, Lawrence, Darien, Darien.
Baker, Ophelia, Sandfly, R.F.D., Savannah.
Basden, Isaac, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.
Basden, Liza, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.
Bates, Henry, Frogtown and Currytown, 1118 Waldburg Street, Savannah.
Baynes, Lee, Sandfly, R.F.D., Savannah.
Bivens, John, Sandfly, R.F.D., Savannah.
Blackshear, John, Brownville, 625 Grapevine Avenue, Savannah.
Boddison, George, Tin City, Savannah.
Branch, Susie, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah.
Brown, Evans, Yamacraw, West Broad Street School, Savannah.
Brown, Katie, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Brown, William, Brownville, Florence Street, Savannah.
Butler, Bruurs, Grimball's Point, Grimball's Point.

Bryant, Ryna, Springfield, R.F.D., Savannah.

Bryant, Stephen, Springfield, R.F.D., Savannah.
Campbell, Horace, St. Marys, St. Marys.
Campbell, Hettie, St. Marys, St. Marys. (deceased)
Carter, Jerome, Frogtown and Currytown, 443 Jefferson Street, Savannah.
Cohen, Ozie, Tin City, Savannah.
Coleman, Preston, Frogtown and Currytown, 532 Charles Street, Savannah.
Collier, James, Brownville, 806 W. 39th Street, Savannah.
Cook, Tressie, Brownville, 911 W. 38th Street, Savannah.
Cooper, James, Yamacraw, Port Wentworth.
Davis, Ellie, Sandfly, R.F.D., Savannah.
[p. 236]
Davis, Sophie, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah.
Dawson, Minnie, Pin Point, R.F.D., Savannah.
Delegal, Tony, Brownville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Dorsay, Ellen, Yamacraw, 515 W. Congress Street, Savannah.
Edwards, William, Brownville, W. Broad and 32nd Streets, Savannah.
English, Emma, Brownville, 628 W. 36th Street, Savannah.
Gamble, Henry, Frogtown and Currytown, 519 W. Broad Street, Savannah.
Gilbert, Phoebe, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Gibson, Mary Liza, Grimball's Point, Grimball's Point.
Grace, Bishop, Brownville, House of Prayer, 643 Bismark Street, Savannah.
Grant, Rosa, Possum Point, Sterling.
Grovernor, Julia, Sapelo Island, Sapelo. (deceased)
Grovernor, Katie, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Grayson, London, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah. (deceased)
Hall, Serina, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah.
Hall, Shad, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Hamilton, Carrie, Yamacraw, 530 W. President Street, Savannah.
Haynes, Henry, Brownville, 41st and Harden Streets, Savannah.

Haynes, John, Old Fort, 933 Wheaton Street, Savannah.

Higgins, Harry, Brownville, 18 10 W. Broad Street, Savannah.
Holmes, S. B., Old Fort, 716 E. Perry Street, Savannah.
Houston, Tonie, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Hunter, Mary, Old Fort, 548 E. St. Julian Street, Savannah.
Hunter, Charles, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Hunter, Emma, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Jackson, F. J., Grimball's Point, Grimball's Point. (deceased)
Jackson, Delia, Grimball's Point, Grimball's Point.
Jenkins, Albert, Brownville, 627 W. 36th Street, Savannah.
Jenkins, Lizzie, Sandfly, R.F.D., Savannah.
Johnson, Anna, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.
Johnson, Dorothy, Springfield, 1201 Murphy Avenue, Savannah.
Johnson, Ryna, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Jonah, Uncle, Sunbury, Sunbury.
Jones, Ellen, Springfield, near 1304 Stiles Avenue, Savannah.
Jones, Esther, Tatemville, 308 W. 46th Street, Savannah.
Jones, Fred, Yamacraw, 607 W. Congress Street, Savannah.
Jones, Nero, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Jones, Thursday, Brownville, 39th Street near Florence Street, Savannah.
[p. 237]
Kelsey, D. C., Frogtown and Currytown, 521 W. Gaston Street, Savannah.
Lewis, Nathaniel John, Tin City, Savannah.
Lewis, Jane, Darien, Darien.
Linder, Julian, Brownville, 612 W. 36th Street, Savannah.
Little, George W., Brownville, 737 W. 34th Street, Savannah.
Little, Preacher, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Major, Martha, Yamacraw, 542 W. York Street, Savannah.
Maxwell, Susan, Possum Point, Sterling.
McCarts, Katie, Old Fort, 744 Hull Street, Savannah.

McCullough, Priscilla, Darien, Darien.

McKen, Millie, Frogtown and Currytown, 409 W. Duffy Street, Savannah.
McNichols, Robert, Brownville, E. 39th Street, Savannah.
McQueen, Peter, Wilmington Island, R.F.D., Savannah.
Mikell, William, Brownville, 616 W. 32nd Street, Savannah.
Miller, Anna, Frogtown and Currytown, 1018 Cuyler Street, Savannah.
Miller, H. H., Tatemville, 46th and Pearl Streets, Savannah.
Moore, James, Tin City, Savannah.
Munroe, Emma, Tin City, Savannah.
Myers, Jim, St. Marys, Mush Bluff Island, R.F.D., St. Marys.
Nelson, Christine, Tin City, Savannah.
Newkirk, William, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Noah's Ark, Old Fort, Peace Mission, Joe and Harmon Streets, Savannah.
Page, Martha, Yamacraw, 606 Zubly Street, Savannah.
Parker, Allen, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Peace, Sister Patience, Old Fort, Peace Mission, Joe and Harmon Streets, Savanna
h.
Peterson, Nora, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Pinckney, Robert, Wilmington Island, R.F.D., Savannah.
Postell, Florence, Brownville, 928 W. 51st Street, Savannah.
Quarterman, Wallace, Darien, Darien. (deceased)
Ralph, Marion, Brownville, 2411 Harden Street, Savannah.
Redmond, Professor, Frogtown and Currytown, W. Broad Street, Savannah.
Reese, Bessie, Brownville, 2408 Harden Street, Savannah.
Roberts, Elizabeth, Sunbury, Sunbury.
Rogers, William, Darien, Darien.
Ross, Lee, Brownville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Royal, Bessie, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah.
Rudolph, Shadwick, St. Marys, R.F.D., Woodbine. (Folkston Road)
[p. 238]
Sallins, Rosa, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.

Sampson, Mattie W., Brownville, W. 32nd Street, Savannah.

Singleton, Charles, Springfield, R.F.D., Savannah.
Singleton, Justine, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Singleton, Paul, Tin City, Savannah.
Small, Celia, Wilmington Island, R.F.D., Savannah.
Smith, Clara, Springfield, 1139 W. Duffy Street, Savannah.
Smith, Crawford, Brownville, 1704 Ogeechee Avenue, Savannah.
Smith, George, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Smith, Thomas, Yamacraw, 37 Ann Street, Savannah.
Snead, Margaret, Pin Point, R.F.D., Savannah.
Sneed, Prince, White Bluff, R.F.D., Savannah.
Stephens, Josephine, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.
Stevens, Emma, Sunbury, Sunbury.
Stevens, Mary, Sunbury, Sunbury.
Sullivan, Ben, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Tattnall, Gene, Wilmington Island, R.F.D., Savannah.
Tattnall, Jack, Wilmington Island, R.F.D., Savannah.
Taylor, Reuben, Eulonia, Eulonia.
Thorpe, Ed, Harris Neck, Harris Neck.
Triumphant Virgin, Old Fort, Peace Mission, Joe and Harmon Streets, Savannah.
Waldburg, Dick, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Ward, Beatrice, Brownville, 832 W. 35th Street, Savannah.
Washington, James, Springfield, R.F.D., Savannah.
Washington, Ben, Eulonia, Eulonia.
Washington, Sarah, Eulonia, Eulonia.
West, Chloe, Frogtown and Currytown, 623 W. Waldburg Lane, Savannah.
White, Floyd, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Wilcher, Alfred, Brownville, 610 W. 31st Street, Savannah.
Williams, Dye, Old Fort, Peace Mission, Joe and Harmon Streets, Savannah.
Williams, Henry, St. Marys, St. Marys.

Williams, Rosanna, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.

Wilson, Cuffy, Sapelo Island, Sapelo.
Wilson, Jack, Old Fort, 272 McAlister Street, Savannah.
Wing, Catherine, St. Simons Island, St. Simons.
Wright, Richard, Tatemville, R.F.D., Savannah.
Drums and Shadows, by Georgia Writer's Project, [1940], at sacred-texts.com
[p. 239]

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