Bewitched in the Woods: Old Rif and the Rabbit

A few weeks ago I went to the Boston Athenaeum and found lots of old witch stories in various in old New Hampshire history books. A few weeks ago I wrote about Mother Carr from Weare, New Hampshire. Here's another witch story I found, this time from the town of Windham. As the days grow shorter I find myself drawn more and more to these stories!

Many years ago, an enslaved Black man named Old Rif and a man named George Simpson were out hunting in the woods near Windham. After hunting for a while they became lost.

The sun was sinking behind the western hills, and they came to a halt. At that moment they saw a rabbit standing upon its hind legs, looking at them; they tried to frighten it away, but it would not away at their bidding. Old Rif knew that the rabbit was bewitched, and he had heard that to shoot silver sleeve-buttons at a rabbit would destroy the witch. So he loaded his gun, putting in his silver sleeve-buttons, and shot the rabbit. The witch was instantly killed, their minds immediately became clear, the ground at once became familiar, the pathway was plain before them, and they readily and quickly found their way home. He (Old Rif) was said to be the last slave in New Hampshire, and died not far from 1842 (L.A. Morrison, History of Windham in New Hampshire, 1719 - 1883 (1883))

There are lots of interesting things about this story. First of all, there's Old Rif. He's a reminder that there was slavery in New England. I am not an expert on the history of New England slavery, but it seems that although the New Hampshire legislature banned slavery in 1789, it was not completely abolished until the 1850s. Was Old Rif really the last slave in New Hampshire? I will leave that to a better historian than me to determine. Regardless, Old Rif is clearly the hero of this story. He knows that he and George Simpson are bewitched, and he knows how to end it.

Young Hare, by Albrecht Durer

He ends the witch's spell in a traditional way - by shooting a silver button at an animal that is actually a witch in bestial form. Silver bullets are familiar to modern readers from Hollywood werewolf movies, but any silver object would do the trick. If you don't have a bullet, use a button. 

Maybe the most famous story of a witch being shot with a silver button is the one about Peg Wesson from Gloucester, Massachusetts, who had taken the form of a crow to harass a group of soldiers. It's unclear in either story if the witch is possessing an actual animal, or if the witch has merely sent out their soul in the shape of an animal. Either way, the result of the silver button/bullet is the same - the animal is injured or killed, as is the witch. 

In the Peg Wesson story, Peg is only injured after a soldier shoots the crow with a silver button. But in this story about Old Rif, the witch dies as soon as the rabbit is shot. I wish there was more information about the witch in this story. Who were they? Did they just keel right over in their house? Did anyone find a silver button embedded in their corpse? I suppose we'll never know.

It's a little strange that the witch is never identified in Old Rif's story, but the witch is almost never the main character in these stories. These stories are instructional tales, intended to tell the listener or reader how to fight witchcraft. The witch's identity didn't really matter to the person in Windham who first told this story. What did matter was instructing people how to stop a witch.

I will end with a couple disclaimers. One, your neighbors are not evil witches hexing you. Two, please don't go around shooting random animals if you get lost in the woods. That little bunny just wants to eat some grass in peace. 

Rabbits, wine and murderous mayhem

The cutest rabbit photo ever. But keep him away from the sacramental wine!

Wikipedia tells me the Easter Bunny probably originated in Germany, and was introduced to the US by German settlers who came to Pennsylvania. This doesn't really explain why people thought an egg-carrying rabbit should be associated with Christ's resurrection in the first place, but I suppose his true origin lies in a murky undocumented zone of pagan practices and folklore survivals.

I don't think the English who settled around here paid much attention to rabbits or hares, but the local Algonquians sure did. Roger Williams noticed his 17th century Narragansett neighbors treated rabbits very well, and wrote: "They have a reverend esteem of this creature, and conceive there is some deitie in it." The Ojibwa, who lived west beyond New England counted Nanabozho, the Great Rabbit, as one of their chief gods.

The Algonquians who lived in northern New England had mixed feelings about hares. Last year I wrote about the Great White Hare, who presides over the souls of the dead on a frozen mountain. He's like the Easter Bunny's evil twin! But even the typical, non-supernatural white hare was associated with blizzards. The Penobscot said hares sat in their holes and counted snowflakes, excreting a pellet each time a flake fell. That's a lot of poop!

But there are multiple species of rabbits and hares in Maine, and the rabbit (as opposed to the northern hare) was a humorous trickster character in many Penobscot stories. He's a little bit Bugs Bunny, a little bit Charles Manson. One tale that's strangely relevant for Easter begins when Rabbit pointlessly kills the children of the Fisher while he's away. When the Fisher finds out what Rabbit has done, he pursues him through the forest and swamps, intent on revenge.

The chase goes on for days. Finally, exhausted from running, Rabbit finds himself on the steps of a small church with the Fisher closing in. He knows he can't win a fair fight against the Fisher, so he uses trickery. He transforms himself into a Catholic priest. (Note: this story was collected in the 1930s, long after the Penobscot had converted to Catholicism.)

"Come on into the church, my son", he says to the Fisher, "and tell me your problems." The Fisher comes in, and tells the priest how his children were savagely murdered, and how he wants to rip Rabbit into pieces and eat him alive. "Oh, that's terrible", Rabbit the priest says. "Have some of this red wine - it will make you feel better. Have some of this bread, too."

The Fisher drinks the wine and eats the bread, and then eats some more. Rabbit the priest gives him even more, and more, until the Fisher falls asleep drunk. Rabbit takes this chance to turn back into animal form, and runs off. When the Fisher wakes up he realizes he's been tricked, and starts pursuing Rabbit again. And according to the story, they're chasing each other still.

There you go. Rabbits, wine and the eucharist all in one New England folk tale. Happy Easter!

(The story about Rabbit and Fisher is from Frank Speck's 1935 article on Penobscot religious beliefs.)