The Banner-Democrat. [volume] (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, 1896-10-03
LAKE PROVIDENCE.
WATER coLoBs.

FOR BACK ground the rlcn gloom o
forest trees mistily outlined against :
cloud-swept sky; the stretch of blue
| blue water at the foot of the whit,
road, moss-hung expresses, old, rug
ged and sturdy as moral strength
itself, and occasionally the lumber
ing of great cotton wagons, over
flowing with their feecy staple;
still scene, broken every row anC
then by the lazy voices of the negroe
calling to the lazy mules. or th'
whirring of some white birds abov'
the surface of the lake-a still, peace
full scene, to some monotonous, bu
to others, fraught with interest il
spite of its quietude.
We look at 1t as we look at tn,
last Of series of Hogarth' pictures
and it gains Significance by what ha
gone before.
We look at the placid lake ant
think Of the time beyond the memor,
OF man, when the water was choket
by the long, dense reeds and rushes
when the surrounding country was
luxuriant Wilderness, marshy anC
gorgeous. Huge alligators, yellow
languorous qulvered in the sultry sun
light of that far Off era. Snakes anC
birds and wild beast held dominion
over the land. at last, a few Indian.
penetrated the thickets. Their canoes
cut path way through the tangled
grasses of the lake. They fshet
and hunted in the day time and a
night their lurid torch lights faret
and 1ickered across the cleared
spaces of the water. Rude hut!
were erected near the margin of thu
lake and frenzied dances, they had
around their burning cauldrons.
The cain water before us reflected
the figures painted faces, their grotis
que, their ecstacies, their gloom. The
wild Indian life vanished hike the
reeds and the rushes, but the waite,
still remained.
White men, Adventures, river
pirates, struck their paths through
the jungles of the forest. Bunch
and his crew steered crafts oil
i'll gotten gains swiftly, silently
across the lake. Each stroke of their
oar made their hearts beat quickly
with expectation. They feared de.
lection until they had reached the
bayou which leads to the bend. fifteen
miles above here. Hence, tine legend
is, they called the lake, Providence,
because once passed through it, they
were out of the power of the law and
man. Another story is, the lake
was given its name to distinguish il
from the bend which was named for
Bunch.
The rough pirate life passed away,
like an eagle through the air, leaving
no trace that it had ever been. But
the lake still remained.
A magnificent, poetic civilization
grew in strength and beauty on It's
seven miles of margin. lis horse
shoe shape veritably signified good
fortune. The clear waves reflected
a picture of the old South. Large
white frame houses surrounded by
galleries, their columns nodded after
the Greek. Ionic, or Colithian or
Doric; spaciaus yards, well wooded
and with larons, whose flower tend
rils dropped into the sunlit water.
High rooms, made sumptuous with
rich carpets, and silken curtains, and
bronzes and European paintings.
Adjoining the household, villages
of small white cabins used as quar-
tiers for the slaves. Miles and miles
of-land cultivated in cotton, rows of
negro es, singing at their easy work.
All Of them well clothed, welIfed well
cared for. At Christmas and Thanks
giving a big ball in the quarters at
the old barn house. The musician a
single fiddler, the grand cake walk,
the grander supper.
At the homestead itself, visitors
staid for months at time, their
chief pleasures, reading and music,
and horseback riding, and converse
ton. A proud, beautiful, life it
was, that of the Old South, one in
which both the white and colored
race fiourised admirably, but 1t passed
away. Its grandeur and its glory
melted into the oblivion of history as
completely as in the eventide the
golden sunset clouds melt into the
dusk of night. But the water still
remains.
Four years of civil war desolated
the land; four years of bloodshed
and misery and poverty painted their
images on the smooth surface of the
lake. Men reared in luxury and in
dolence, Invent on the battlefield.
They fought, endured and sacri-
feed as no other heroes have
ever done. But it was to no avail.
They returned broken hearted, to
find their homes desecrated, their
fortunes wrecked, their very liberty
threatened. A dark pail hung over
the lake during those years and the
days of the reconstruction period,
making its waters black as the
Echoe river in Mammoth Cave.
AT last the clouds were rolled away
as scroll. We Danish from our