Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

meant to be a sea-robber,—a pirate; that is, a thief. One old woman on this island, more than two thousand years afterward, wishes to call another a thief, and the word ‘Cartagene’ is the word she naturally uses! I suppose that has persisted on the West Coast and throughout all those village dialects in Africa without a break, all these centuries! The Zombi of the French islands? Yes, Mr. Stewart. There are some extraordinary beliefs. Why, perhaps you've heard penne made of Old Morris, Mr. Stewart. He used to live in your house, you now?” I held my breath. Here was a possible trove. I nodded my head. I did not dare to speak! “Well, Old Morris, you see, lived most of his earlier days in Martinique, and, it is satd, he had a somewhat adventurous life there, Mr. Stewart. Just what he did or how he got himself involved, seems never to have been made clear, but—in some way, Mr. Stewart, the Black People believe, Morris got himself involved with a very powerful ‘Jumbee,’ and that is where what I said about the persistence of ancient beliefs comes in. Look on that table there, among those photographs, Mr. Stewart. There! that’s the place. I wish I were able to get up and assist you. These maids! Everything askew, I have no doubt! Do you observe a kind of fish-headed thing, about as big as the palm of your hand? Yes! that is it!” I found the “fish-headed thing” and carried it over to Mrs. Heidenklang, She took it in her hand and looked at it. It Jacked a nose, but otherwise it was intact, a strange, uncouth-looking little godling, made of anciently pol- ished volcanic stone, with huge, protruding eyes, small, humanlike ears, and what must have been a nose like a Tortola jackfish, or a black witch-bird, with its parrot beak. “Now that,” continued Mrs. Heidenklang, “is one of the very ancient household gods of the aborigines of Martinique, and you will observe the likeness in the idea to the Lares and Penares of your school-Latin days. Whether this is a Jar or a penate, 1 can not tell,” and the old lady paused to smile at her little joke, “but at any rate he is a representation of something very powerful,—a fish-god of the Caribs, There’s something Egyptian about the idea, too, I’ve always suspected; and, Mr. Stewart, a Carib or an Arawak Indian,—there were both in these islands, you know,—locked much lke an ancient Egyptian; perhaps half like your Zufi or Aztec Indians, and half Egyptian, would be a fair statement of his appearance. These fish-gods had men’s bodies, you sce, precisely like the hawk-headed and jackal-headed deities of ancient E-gypt. : “Tt was one of those, the Black People say, with which Mr. Morris got him- self mixed up,—'Gahd knows’ as they say—how! And, Mr. Stewart, they say, his death was terrible! The particulars ’ve never heard, but my tather knew, and he was sick for several days, after seeing Mr. Morris’ body. Extraordinary, isn’t it? And when are you coming this way again, Mr. Stewart? Do drop in and call on an old lady.” I felt that I was progressing. The next time I saw Mr. Bonestcel, which was that very evening, I stopped him on the street and asked for a word with him. 119 comicbooks.com