“How my childish nature quailed at hearing the superstitions discussed, I cannot explain.  I have never believed in witchcraft nor spells, but I remember my Indian grandmother predicted a long, cold winter when she noticed the pelts of the coons and other furred creatures were exceedingly heavy.  When the breastbones of the fowls were strong and hard to sever with the knife it was a sign of a hard, cold and snowy winter.  Another superstition was this:  ’A green winter, a new graveyard—­a white winter, a green graveyard.’”

George Fortman relates how, when he accompanied two of his cousins into the lowlands—­there were very many Katy-dids in the trees—­their voices formed a nerve-racking orchestra and his cousin told him to tiptoe to the trees and touch each tree with the tips of his fingers.  This he did, and for the rest of the day there was quiet in the forest.

“More than any other superstition entertained by the slave Negroes, the most harmful was the belief on conjurors.  One old Negro woman boiled a bunch of leaves in an iron pot, boiled it with a curse and scattered the tea therein brewed, and firmly believed she was bringing destruction to her enemies.  ’Wherever that tea is poured there will be toil and troubles,’ said the old woman.

“The religion of many slaves was mostly superstition.  They feared to break the Sabbath, feared to violate any of the Commandments, believing that the wrath of God would follow immediately, blasting their lives.

“Things changed at the George homestead as they change everywhere,” said George Fortman.  “When the Civil War broke out many slaves enlisted in hopes of receiving freedom.  The George Negroes were already free but many thought it their duty to enlist and fight for the emancipation of their fellow slaves.  My mother took her family and moved away from the plantation and worked in the broom cane.  Soon she discovered she could not make enough to rear her children and we were turned over to the court to be bound out.

“I was bound out to David Varnell in Livingston County by order of Judge Busch and I stayed there until I was fifteen years of age.  My sister learned that I was unhappy there and wanted to see my mother, so she influenced James Wilson to take me into his home.  Soon goodhearted Jimmy Wilson took me to see Mother and I went often to see her.”

Sometimes George would become stubborn and hard to control and then Mr. Wilson administered chastisement.  His wife could not bear to have the boy punished.  ‘Don’t hit him, Jimmie, don’t kick him,’ would say the good Scotch woman, who was childless.  ’If he does not obey me I will whip him,’ James Wilson would answer.  So the boy learned the lesson of obedience from the old couple and learned many lessons in thrift through their examples.

“In 1883 I left the Wilson home and began working and trying to save some money.  River trade was prosperous and I became a ‘Roustabout’.  The life of the roustabout varied some with the habits of the roustabout and the disposition of the mate.  We played cards, shot dice and talked to the girls who always met the boats.  The ‘Whistling Coon’ was a popular song with the boatmen and one version of ‘Dixie Land’.  One song we often sang when near a port was worded ’Hear the trumpet Sound’—­