The Indianapolis Leader

Uncle Remus on Witches.
[Joel C. Harris' New Book.]
"Yasser," continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous sigh and a mysterious shake of the head, "ef dey ain't some quare gwines on in dish yer naborhood, den I'm de ball-headedest creeter 'twixt dis an nex' Jinawerry wuz a year 'go, w'ich I knows I ain't. Dat's w'at."
"What is it, Uncle Remus?"
"I know Mars John bin drivin' Cholly sorter hard terday, en I say ter myse'f dat I'd drap roun' 'bout dus'en fling nudder year er corn in de troff en kinder gin 'im a techin' up wid de kurrier-koam; en bless gracious! I ain't bin in de lot mo'n a minnit 'fo' I seed sump'n was wrong wid de hoss, en sho' nuff dar wuz his mano fuller witch stirrups."
"Full of what, Uncle Remus?"
"Fuller witch stirrups, honey. Ain't you seed no witch-stirrups? Well, w'en you sea two stran'er ha'r tied tugedder in a hoss' mane, dar you see a witch-stirrup, en mo'n dat, dat hoss dun been rid by um."
"Do you reckon they have been riding Charley?" inquired the little boy.
"Co'se, honey. Tooby sho' dey is. W'at else dey bin doin'?"
"Did you ever see a witch, Uncle Remus?"
"Dat ain't needer yer nor dar. W'en I see coon track in de branch, I know de coon bin long dar."
The argument seemed unanswerable, and the little boy asked with a tone of confidence:
"Uncle Remus, what are witches like?"
"Dey comes diffunt," responded the cautious old darkey. "Dey comes en dey cuniun fokes. Squinch owl holler eve'y time he see a witch, en w'en you hear de dog howlin' in de middle er do night, one un um's mighty ap'ter be prowlin' 'roun'. Cunjun fokes kin tell a witch de minnit dey lays der eyes on it, but dem w'at ain't cunjun, hits mighty hard ter tell w'en dey see one, kaze dey might come in de 'pearance un a cow en all kinder beas's. And I ain't bin useter cunjun myse'f, but I bin livin' long nuff fer ter know w'en you meets up wid a big black cat in de middle of de road, wid yallar eyeballs, dars yo' witch fresh fum de Ole Boy. En fudermo', I know dat tain't proned inter no dogs fer to kech de rabbit w'at uses in de berryin'-groun'. Dey er de mos' ungodlies' creeturs w'at you ever laid eyes on," continued Uncle Remus, with unction. "Down dar in Putmon County yo' Uncle Jeems, he make like he gwine ter ketch wunner dem dark graveyard rabbits. Sho' nuff, out he goes, en de dogs ain't no mo'n got ter de place, fo' up jump de ole rabbit right 'monst 'em, en atter runnin' 'roun' a time or two she skip right up ter Mars Jeems, en Mars Jeems he des put de gun-bairl right on 'er en lammed aloose. Hit tore up de groun' all 'roun', en de dogs dey rush up, but dey wan't no rabbit dar; but bimeby Mars Jeems he seed de dogs tuckin' der tails 'tween der legs, en he look up en dar wuz de rabbit caperin' 'round on a tomb-stone, en wid dat Mars Jeems say he sorter feel like de time done come w'en yo' gran'ma was spectin' un him home, en he call off de dogs en put out. But dem wuz ha'nts. Witches is dees kinder of fokes wat kin drap der body en change inter a cat en a wolf en ail kinder creeters."
"Papa says there ain't any witches," the little boy interrupted.
"Mars John ain't live long ez I is," said Uncle Remus by way of comment. "He ain't bin broozin' 'roun' all hours er de night en day. I know'd a nigger w'ich his brer wuz a witch, kaze he up'n tole me how he tack'n kyo'd 'im; en he kyo'd 'im good, mon."
"How was that?" inquired the little boy.
"Hit seem like," continued Uncle Remus, "dat witch-fokes is got a slit in de back er de neck, en w'en dey wanter change derse'f dey des pull de hide over der head same ez if twuz a shut, en dar dey is."
"Do they get out of their skins?" asked the little boy in an awed tone.
"Tooby sho, honey. You see yo' pa pull his shut off? Well, dat's des 'zackly de way dey duz. But dish yer nigger w'ich I'm tellin' you 'bouts he kyo'd his brer de ve'y fus' pass he made at him. Hit got so dat fokes in de settlement didn't have no peace. De chilluns 'ud wake up in de mawnins wid der ha'r tangle up, en wid scratches on um like dey bin thoo a brier patcb, twel bimeby one day dis nigger he 'low dat he'd set up dat night en keep his eye on his brer; en sho' nuff dat night, dez ez de chickens wuz crowin' er twelve, up jump de brer an' pull eff his skin en sail out'n de house in de shape un a bat, en w'at duz de nigger do but grab up de hide en turn it wrong sud out'ards en sprinkle it wid salt. Den he lay down en watch fer ter see w'at de news wuz gwine ter be. Des 'fo' day yer come a big black cat in de do', en de nigger he git up, he did, en driv her 'way. Bimeby yer come a big black dog snuffin' 'roun', en de nigger up wid a chunk en lammed 'im side er de head. Den a squinch owl lit on de koam er de house, en de nigger jam de shovel in de fire en make 'im flew away. Last yer come a great big black wolf, wid his eyes shinin' like fire-coals, en he grab de hide en rush out. 'Twan't long 'fo' de nigger hear his brer hollerin' en squallin', en he tuck a light he did, en went out, en dar wuz his brer wallerin' on de groun' en squirmin' roun' kaze de salt on de skin wuz stingin' wuss'ef he had his britches lined wid valler-jeckets. By nex' mornin' he got so he could sorter shufle along, but he gun up cunjun', en ef der wuz enny mo' witches in dat settlement dey kep' mighty close, en dat nigger he aint skunt hisse'f no mo' not endurin' er my 'membunce."
The result of this was that Uncle Remus had to take the little boy by the hand and go with him to the "big house," which the old man was not loth to do; and when the child went to bed he lay awake a long time expecting an unseemly visitation from some mysterious source. It soothed him, however, to hear the strong, musical voice of his sable patron, not very far away, wrestling, so to speak, with a lusty tune; and to this accompaniment the little boy dropped asleep:
"Hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-eight,
Christ done made dat crooked way straight
En I don't wanter stay here no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-nine,
Christ done turned dat water inter wine--
En I don't wanter stay here no longer."