CHAPTER XVIII
THE WITCH
All that day I remained in a state of gloom. I was ashamed to thinkthat I had brought ridicule upon Molly by my clumsy dancing, and I wasgloomy because I understood that Molly must certainly marry some greatman, and that there would be an end of her so far as I was concerned.I was her servant; I was her faithful servant; what could I want more?I was never again to attempt the part of a fine gentleman--and shewould live wholly among fine gentlemen. I know now that it was morethan the common gloom of humiliation. That I should have thrown offwith ease. It was the terror of something evil--the consciousnesswhich seizes the soul without any cause that can be ascertained, andfills it with trembling and with terror. Certain words--harmlesswords--kept recurring to my mind; words uttered by Lord Fylingdale--"Cana ship be sold like a farm?" or words to that effect. Why did thesesimple words disturb me? The captain had no thought of selling any ofthe ships. And why, when I thought of these words, did I also rememberthe curious change that came over his face when he understood thegreat wealth of this young heiress? I seemed to see again the strangeflush of his pale, cold cheek; I seemed to see a strange smile uponhis unbending lips and a strange light in his eyes. There was never,surely, any gentleman with a face so cold and calm as that of my LordFylingdale. It was as if a perpetual peace reigned in his mind; as ifhe was disturbed by none of the passions and emotions of ordinary men.Therefore the smile and the strange look must have been in myimagination only.
Was it possible that the captain's secret prayers were to be granted?They were ambitious prayers. I have heard it said that the Lordsometimes grants to men the thing they most desire in order that theymay learn how much better it would have been for them had theirprayers been refused. You shall learn how this lesson was driven intomy mind--line upon line--precept upon precept. For my own part, whileI honestly desired for Molly the best of husbands, the thought of hermarrying this cold, stately, proud young nobleman filled me with pity.
And I must tell you, moreover, of a strange thing. It happened somethree or four years before these events, but I have never forgottenit.
It is connected with Molly's black woman whom we called Nigra. Likeall black women she was esteemed a witch. In earlier times she wouldhave been burned at the stake for her magic and sorcery. Yet she wasonly a white witch, as they call them; it was very well known that sheworked no mischief and cast no spells. Nobody was afraid of her. If achild fell into fits the mother, so far from thinking Nigra to be thecause, brought her to the black woman to be cured. Nobody could lookat her kindly, wrinkled old face, which was always smiling through herwhite teeth; nobody could see those smiles upon her face, which shonein the sun as if it was of burnished metal; nobody could talk withher, I say, and believe that she was of the malignant stuff that makesthe witch of the village. She had a great reputation for tellingfortunes; she could show girls their future husbands; she could findout lucky days for them, and tell them how to avoid unlucky days; shecould make charms to be hung round the necks of infants which wouldkeep them from croup, fits, and convulsions, and carry them safelythrough measels and whooping cough. She had sovereign remedies againsttoothache, chilblains, earache, growing pains, agues, fevers, and allthe diseases of boys and girls, and with the ailments which fall uponthe maids, such as megrims, headache, swoonings, giddiness, vapours,and melancholy. It was believed that even Dr. Worship himself couldnot compare with this black woman from the Guinea coast.
One evening, long before the events that I am relating, I surprisedher while she was engaged in her harmless spells and magic rites. Itwas in the kitchen, where she sat alone at a table before the fire.There was no candle, and the red light of the blazing coal made herface shine like copper and her eyes like two flames, and transformedher red cloth turban into rich crimson velvet. She had on the tablebefore her a string of shells, a monkey's skull--but it looked likethe skull of a baby--a thick round stick, painted with lines of redand blue, two or three rags of cloth, a cocoanut shell cut in two tomake a cup, and many other tools or instruments which I forget; and,indeed, it matters nothing, because no one would be any the wiser if Iset down the whole furniture of this old sorceress.
She was bending over the table, arranging in some kind of order thesemysterious means for learning the future, and murmuring the whilegibberish of the kind which serves these poor blacks for theirlanguage. She was so busy that she did not hear my footsteps, till Istole behind her and clapped both my hands over her eyes.
Then she jumped up with a shriek, letting her magical tools drop, andturned round. "Shoo!" she cried, bursting into a laugh. "Shoo! It'sMassa Jack. I thought it was de debble come to look on." This was theway she talked. I believe that if you take a negro as a baby and bringhim up with Christians, so that he hears no word of his own gibberish,in the end he will always speak in this way. It is part of his nature;it is one of the things which belong to his race--wool instead ofhair; black skin instead of white; thick speech instead of clear; theshin rounded instead of the calf; a projecting heel, and a big jawwith white, strong teeth.
"Does the devil often come here, Nigra?"
"Massa Jack," she replied, with as much solemnity as she couldcommand, "don't you nebber ask if the debble comes here."
"What is he like, Nigra?"
She sat down and began to laugh. She laughed till her mouth nearlyreached her ears; she laughed till her turban nodded and shook, andher shoulders shook, and she shook all over. She laughed, I know notwhy. "What he like? Ho! Ho! Ho! Massa Jack--what he like?"
"Well, but, Nigra, tell me how you know him when you see him."
"Massa Jack," she became serious as suddenly as she had fallen intoher fit of laughter. "Look ye here. When you see de debble--then youknow de debble." So saying, she turned to the table again and began togather up her unholy possessions.
"Well, but Nigra, I am not the devil, and so you may as well tell mewhose fortune you are telling."
"Missy's fortune."
"What is it?"
She shook her head. "Can't tell you, Massa Jack. Mustn't tell you."
"Why not? Come, Nigra, you know that I desire the very best fortunefor her that can be given to any one."
She hesitated. Then she laid her hand on mine. "Massa Jack," she said,"I tell her fortune your people's way, by the cards, and my people'sway, by the gri-gri and the skull. It's always the same fortune."
"What is it?"
"Always the same. They say--trouble for Missy--great big trouble--shedunno yet what trouble is. Bimeby she find out, and then all detrouble go--like as if de sun come out and de rain leave off. All thesame fortune."
"I don't understand it at all, Nigra. Why should trouble come to MissMolly?"
"Cards don' tell that. Sometimes, Jack, de head"--she laid her hand onthe skull of the monkey, or was it the skull of a child?--"de headtells me things. Befo' you come in de head was talking fine. He say,'Lose to gain; lose to gain. Him no good. Bimeby bery fine man comealong.' Dat's what de head said to-night."
"Nonsense, Nigra--a fleshless skull cannot speak."
"Dat's what de head say to me dis night," she replied, doggedly.
I looked at the skull, but it remained silent, grinning with thedreadful mockery of the death's head.
"Bimeby--bery fine man come along," Nigra repeated.
I laughed incredulous. Then she laid her hand upon my eyes for amoment--only for a moment. "Listen, then."
It was like a voice far away. I opened my eyes again. Before me sat,or stood unsupported, the skull, and nothing else. The room hadvanished, Nigra and her tools and everything. The eyes of the skullwere filled with a bright light, and the teeth moved, and the thingspoke. It said: "Lose to gain! Lose to gain! By and by a better manwill come."
I shivered and shook. I shut my eyes for the brightness of the light.I opened them again immediately. Everything was as before; the oldblack woman beside me at the table; the skull and the rest of thethings; the red light of the fire.
"Nigra,
" I cried, "what have you done? You are a witch."
"What did de skull say, Massa Jack?"
"How did you do it? What does it mean?" To this day I know not how shecontrived this witchcraft.
She would talk no more, however. I suppose she read the signs andtokens according to the rules of her witchcraft, and knew no more. Iam not one of those who believe that these black women can penetratethe clouds of the future and can foresee, that is, see clearly, beforethey happen, the things that are coming. It would be too much toexpect of a mere black. Why should Providence, who has manifestlycreated the black man to be the slave of the white, confer upon theblack woman so great a gift as that of prophecy? It is not credible.
All that day, after Lord Fylingdale climbed down by the rope ladder, Ikept hearing over again the words of the black woman, which came backto me, though I had long forgotten them, "By and by. By and by, abetter man will come."
Some there are who laugh at these things, which they callsuperstitions. I have heard my father and the vicar arguing learnedlythat the time for witchcraft has passed away, with that of miracles,demoniac possessions, and the casting out of devils. Well, it is notfor me to speak of things that belong to the landsman. There may be nosuch thing as witchcraft; there may be no overlooking; the moon andthe planets cannot, perhaps, strike children. But as for what thesailor believes--why, he knows. All the Greek and all the Hebrew inthe world will not shake out of his mind what he knows. He learns newknowledge with every voyage, and new experience with every gale, andwhen those words of poor old Nigra came back to me, and would notleave me, keeping up a continual sing-song in my head, I knew verywell, indeed, that some trouble was brewing--and that the trouble hadto do with Molly.
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