Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1897-04-17
The STORY Teller.
BACK TO BARBARISM,
From the Washington Post.

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since their emancipation, it will sur
prise many to learn that in certain
isolated spots along the South Caroline
coast the blacks are lapsing into
their primeval state of savagery and
superstition. On the island of Jehosss
| in particular the colored inhabitants
have became since the war little better
than their naked sires in Africa. The
barbaric mysticisms of voudou OF
hoodoo are rife among them, and civ
ilization comes not near.
Jehossa island lies just off the South
Carolina coast-one of the chain o.
islands, great and small, which gird
the state from Cape Roman to Ty'
bee Roads.
Before the war it was the home o.
many opulent cotton planters, who
lived luxuriously and dispensed an
elegant and bountiful hospitality. One
of these southern barons, whose manor
was surrounded by illimitable fields
of long staple cotton was Governor
Aiken. He owned more than 1,00C
slaves, who were Loyalty attached tc
him, few of whom and hundreds o.
whose children and grandchildren
still remain on the island.
During the war between the states
the settlements on Jehossa island were
devastated. The many handsome
dwellings were burned, and now only
piles of debris, crumbling columns
fragments of stone and stucco work,
mark where these mansions stood
and are grim reminders of former
wealth and grandeur.
Not long since I visited Jehossa is
land for the purpose of ascertaining
the truth of certain wild stories tina,
I heard of the native Jehossites. /
was directed to visit the most i'm
portant parsonage of the island, who
was known as "Old King Kamo," the
voudou chief or doctor, who was said
to exercise the most powerful influence
on the Negroes.
Passing the cabin of woman who
was engaged in spreading on sprawl
ing bush some linen she had washed,
inquired the way to his abode.
II kin tell you, sar," she said, wiping
her brown hands on her apron; "but
massa, he mos likely be out at dis
hour OBJ de day to hunt up de charm,
dey be sarpent skins, de rabbit gall an
de frog eye, an if you will lissen to
dis ole granny, who amt gwine lie,
when you git to de cross road whar he
home be, cross you fus finger on de
big toe eff you lef' foot, an spit on de
groun,' for sure he gwine CONCUR you
eff you don't. Massa, I know you is
stranger, dat is why I glib you dis
revise"
I thanked the ancient crone, which
thanks I emphasized by tossing her
some loose change, that caused her to
courtesy and mutter blessings on me
so long as 1 could hear her.
After riding some distance my horse
suddenly halted before the door of the
hut, a one-room cabin of logs, filed in
with mud and clay. 1t looked more
like the haunt of an animal than the
home of a man. There was not a
living object visible, save learn-look-
ing, half.starved cat that sat doing in
the sun, and an attenuated yellow dog
that wagged good-naturedly the frag-
ment of his abbreviated tail.
~ called out, "Hello, there!" In
stantly King Kamo tottered to the
door, leaning heavily on stick. No
wonder, thought 1, that he is the ter
ror of his neighbors, for chilly SEN
sation seized me as I saw the strange
object approach. The man must have
been near 100 years old. His face was
large and scanned with dark folds,
more like the hide of the rhinoceros
than human skin. A patch of snow
white wool covered his otherwise bare
skull. Eyes leering and jet black
looked from beneath shaggy, thick
eyebrows, and as he silently gazed at
me I felt that my call had surely
aroused the evil worker.
"May I come in and see you?" I
said, dismounting from my horse, at
the same time jingling some loose sill
yer in my pocket, the sound of which
caused smile to play on the rough
visage of the aged Negro.
"To be sure ye kin come in. "Come
in, sar," and I entered.
Truly it was an abode more wiz
ardly than the witches of Macbeth
ever dreamed of. A slow fire was
burning beneath a huge vessel that
emitted strange, noxious fumes.
Around the place there were skins
nailed to the logs, bunches of rabbits
feet, claws of birds and punches OF
dry weeds. The old man turned to
the boiling caldron, seeming uncon-
scious of my presence, and began stir
ring it vigorously, as he tore what
looked to be dried frog, and threw it
into the vessel as he moaned:
Bile, frog, bile; de stranger in de doe,
Bile, snake, bile, wild de sargent an de
crow.
After this poetical incarnation he
turned to me and said: "Now, sar,
no ebil spell gwine hurt ye! Set
down, MASTER" and he pulled the old
straw bottomed chair toward me. AT
the same time handed him a piece ol
tobacco, by way of gaining his good