Since I wrote that last line I have met, in the Journal of American Folk-Lore, with a very interesting article on the Counting-out Rhymes of Children, in which the writer, H. Carrington Bolton, avows his belief that these doggerel verses or rhymes are the survivals of sortileges or divination by lot, and that it was practised among the ancient heathen nations as well as the Israelites:—
“The use of the lot at first received divine sanction, as in the story of Achan related by Joshua, but after this was withheld the practice fell into the hands of sorcerers—which very name signifies lot-taker. The doggerels themselves I regard as a survival of the spoken charms used by sorcerers in ancient times in conjunction with their mystic incantations. There are numerous examples of these charms, such as—
“ ‘Huat Hanat Huat ista pista sista domiabo damnaustra.’
(Cato, 235 B.C.)
“And—
“ ‘Irriori, ririori essere rhuder fere.’
“And—
“ ‘Meu, treu, mor, phor
Teux, za, zor
Phe, lou, chri,
Ge, ze, on.’
(Alexander of Tralles.)
“Tylor in his ‘Primitive Culture’ holds that things which occupy an important place in the life-history of grown men in a savage state become the playthings of children in a period of civilization; thus the sling and the bow and arrow, which formed the weapons of mankind in an early stage of its existence, and are still the reliance of savage tribes, have become toys in the hands of all civilized children at the present day. Many games current in Europe and America are known to be sportive imitations of customs which formerly had a significant and serious aspect.
“Adopting this theory, I hold that counting-out is a survival of the practice of the sorcerer, using this word in its restricted and etymological meaning, and that the spoken and written charms originally used to enforce priestly power have become adjuncts to these puerile games, and the basis of the counting-out doggrels under consideration.
“The idea that European and American children engaged in ‘counting-out’ for games, are repeating in innocent ignorance the practices and language of a sorcerer of a dark age, is perhaps startling, but can be shown to have a high degree of probability. The leader in ‘counting out’ performs an incantation, but the children grouped round him are free from that awe and superstitious reverence which characterized the procedure in its earlier state. Many circumstances make this view plausible, and clothe the doggrels with a new and fascinating interest.”
Mr. Bolton remarks, however, that “in only one instance have I been able to directly connect a child’s counting-out rhyme with a magic spell. According to Leland the rhyme beginning with
‘One-ery, two-ery, ickery, Ann,’
is a gypsy magic spell in the Romany language.”
It occurred to me long, long ago, or before ever the name “Folk-lore” existed, that children’s rhymes were a survival of incantations, and that those which are the same backward and forward were specially adapted to produce marvellous effects in lots. But there was one form of counting-out which was common as it was terrible. This was used when after a victory it was usual to put every tenth captive to death—whence the greatly abused word to “decimate”—or any other number selected. When there was a firm belief in the virtues of numbers as set forth by Pythagoras, and Plato in the Timæus, and of cabalistic names inspired by the “Intelligences,” it is not remarkable that the diviners or priests or sorcerers or distributors of sortes and sortileges should endeavour to prove that life and death lay bound up in mystic syllables. That there were curious and occult arithmetical means of counting-out and saving elected persons is shown in certain mystic problems still existent in Boys Own Books, and other handbooks of juvenile sports. It was the one on whom the fatal word of life or death fell who was saved or condemned, so that it was no wonder that the word was believed to be a subtle, mysterious existence: an essence or principle, yea, a spirit or all in one—diversi aspetti in un, confuse e misti. He who knew the name of Names which, as the Chaldæan oracles of old declared, “rushes into the infinite worlds,” knew all things and had all power; even in lesser words there lingered the fragrance of God and some re-echo of the Bath Kol—the Daughter of the Voice who was herself the last echo of the divine utterance. So it went down through the ages—coming, like Cæsar’s clay, to base uses—till we now find the sacred divination by words a child’s play: only that and nothing more.
Truly Mr. Bolton spoke well when he said that such reflection clothes these doggerels with a new and fascinating interest. Now and then some little thing awakens us to the days of old, the rosy, early morning of mankind, when the stars of magic were still twinkling in the sky, and the dreamer, hardly awake, still thought himself communing with God. So I was struck the other day when a gypsy, a deep and firm believer in the power of the amulet, and who had long sought, yet never found, his ideal, was deeply moved when I showed him the shell on which Nav, or the Name, was mystically inscribed by Nature. Through the occult and broken traditions of his tribe there had come to him also, perhaps from Indian or Chaldæan sources, some knowledge of the ancient faith in its power.
I think that I can add to the instance of a child’s counting-out game based on a magic spell, yet another. Everybody knows the song of John Brown who had
“Ten little, nine little, eight little, seven little, Six little Indian boys;
Five little, four little, three little, two little, One little Indian boy,[2]