Word: voodoos
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Through the infernal blackness of the midnight jungle on an island "as yet not, self-determined by marines" fled Jones, Imperator. He was pursued by the tom-tom's beat, by the tax-leeched natives whom he had ruled, by voodoo devils, by the weakness of the mortal flesh. Three shots rang out. His Majesty fell, staggered forward, collapsed at the feet of Smithers, white, rum-soaked, trader. "Where's year 'igh an' mighty airs now, yer bloomin' Majesty? Gawd blimey, but yer died in the 'eighth o' style...
...serious novel, was a far cry from Ol' Man Adam; most readers found it sordid and sinister. John Henry was a little consciously folk-tale-ish. But now, in Kingdom Coming, Author Bradford has turned the trick: neatly sidestepping the hoodoo of black-face minstrel-showmanship and the voodoo of Harlem, he has written a grown-up novel about Negroes of the Old South. Grammy (full name: Telegram) knew that his daddy, Messenger, and his mother, Crimp, were superior slaves. He could not figure out why their master should have sent them from New Orleans...
...other figure was a buxom octoroon woman in her 30's, wearing a high white turbanish mobcap, a bright embroidered shawl and a black silk dress. She was famed Marie Leveau, sometime hairdresser, New Orleans' potent Voodoo Queen, one of the country's first and most successful blackmailers. The picture Painter Catlin made is the only portrait of Queen Marie to survive...
...Louis Cemetery No. 1, back of the Southern Railway's Terminal Station, in the heart of the oldtime redlight district. Many a Negro, an occasional white, still believes that if he scratches a cross on the nameless tomb on St. John's Eve (June 23), prays to Voodoo's Gran' Zombi, P'tit Zombi and Marie Leveau, he will get what he wants before next June...
...started writing in Manhattan. One evening in 1924 he met an Arab, shortly afterwards went to Arabia for 15 months among the Bedouins and Druses of the Arabian mountains. Sympathetically curious if not credulously enthusiastic about magic, he went to Haiti for a year to find out about voodoo. He has also visited whirling dervishes at their monastery in Tripoli, Yezidi devil-worshipers in Kurdistan. Tall, heavy of build and face, with near Hitlerian mustache, Traveler Seabrook looks hopelessly lethargic, is not. He says: "I am not brave. Only full of curiosity." Other books: Adventures in Arabia, The Magic Island...