True Stories of Old Houston and Houstonians by Samuel Oliver Young

Author:Samuel Oliver Young [Young, Samuel Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Geschichte
Publisher: Jazzybee Verlag
Published: 2017-06-22T22:00:00+00:00

HANTS AND HOODOOS.

I WAS amused when I read in the papers the other day about the negroes being so frightened by the report that the "Axe Man" had reached Houston and was looking over the field before beginning his destructive work here. The description of how the negroes were using charms to ward off the disaster, which they feared was pending, was peculiarly amusing to me because I recognized that the negro of today is the same as the negro of my boyhood days. They are better educated, of course, but you can't educate superstition and the belief in charms out of a negro, and it is useless to try. "Hants," "hoodoos" and "spirits" are just as potent today as they have ever been with the negroes.

When I was a boy I had as implicit faith in the reality of ghosts as I had in anything, notwithstanding the fact that I was born a Doubting Thomas. The negroes taught me all kinds of nonsense and I became as superstitious as they. I was not alone in this for my state was common to all boys raised in the South among the negroes. I would no more dream of going in swimming without a string tied round my ankle to ward off cramps or to allow another boy to stunt my growth by stepping over me while I was lying down than I would have thought of jumping off the highest building in town. All three would prove fatal and I knew it.

Ghosts, however, were our strong points. Graveyards were shunned, even after early twilight, and after dark no boy would venture near one alone for anything. One of the greatest panics I ever was mixed up in was caused by this universal fear of ghosts. Four or five of us had been out hunting up Buffalo Bayou beyond the old San Felipe graveyard. We had stayed longer than we intended and it was quite dark when we came down the road by the side of the cemetery. Each boy recognized the dangerous position we were in, but not the slightest reference was made to the graveyard. We walked along boldly, each trying to get as far away from the cemetery fence as he could without attracting especial attention to what he was doing. There were several negro boys with us, for in that day no hunting party was complete unless there were as many negro boys as white ones. These negroes were frankly afraid and did not try to disguise the fact that they were shunning that fence. We talked loudly about everything we could think of except ghosts, though each boy knew that these latter were on each boy's mind and most prominently so, too. The real trouble was that none of the boys wanted a stampede, through fear of being left alone behind or of getting too far ahead and thus finding himself alone there.

All went well until about half of our perilous journey had been made. Then

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