The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1897-09-01
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Copyright by Robert Bonner's Sons.
PROLOGUE.

About a score OF years ago, q man was
following the trail Of q deer through
dense swamp in one Of our Western States.
Coarse and wiry grass grew thick and tall
on each side of a little ridge OF land along
which the deer had taken his way, and the
sound Of the wind among its lance-like
leaves, as the hunter paused to listen for
some sound Of the animal he was in pursuit
Of, was inexpressibly mournful. 1t was
something like the sound of the wind
among the pines, only more shrill and
incisive. and seemed to dominate all other
sounds in that lonesome spot. Here and
there tall tamarack-trees rose grimly sky
ward, most Of them dead and seeming like
ghosts Of what they had once been, and
their decaying branches gave the scene an
additional loneliness, in perfect keeping
with the sound of the wind among the
grass. Far as the eye could see, these half
dead trees grew, and it seemed as if one
had got out Of the world in which men and
women lived and loved and died, and would
never find his way back to it through so
much wilderness, each mile Of which was
but repetition of the mile preceding it.
All was alike in this swamp-Yorld to any
but trained eyes.
The hunter, following the family defined
track OF the fleeing deer, came suddenly
upon a little opening in the underbrush
through which he had threaded his way,
and paused for breath again.
He leaned upon his gun and looked about
him as he wiped the sweat from his face.
He seemed to have reached sort OF island
in the great sea of swamp. The edges of it
were fringed with a dense growth Of white
sumach the eXhalations from which will
often poison one, and which few can touch
with impunity. It's greenish-white berries
shone like waxen fruit in the slant rays OF
the sun, contrasting strongly with the
foliage Of q creeper whose leaves had red
dened in the autumn frost till they looked
like great stains of blood. In the center OF
the island stood huge cedar-tree, dead,
with one limb stretched out like an arm.
Swinging from that limb was an old rust
eaten chain, and dangling from it, caught
by the hook on its end, was human skull,
grinning, white and CHASTITY. Beneath the
skull lay little heap Of bones, bleached
white by years OF rain and snow, and worn
into half their former size by the work OF
the elements upon them. No weed grew
near them. 1t seemed as If they made the
spot on which they lay barren and accursed.
The hunter could not repress feeling Of
almost superstitious fear at sight Of the
weird and horrible thing before him.
With the gloom and deSolation of dead
and diving trees behind and all about it,
and the sound OF the wind in the grass max
ing the lonesomeness Of the scene oppreS-
SlYe, as IL the very air was perVadeu WIN
sense Of horror and awe, the uncanny OBJ
ject seemed to leer at him from the eyeless
sockets of the skull, and he could fancy
that skeleton fingers moved among the
moldering bones, as if to clasp him in a
horrible clutch, from which it would be i'm
possible to shake himself loose. The scene
was like weird nightmare picture in low
tones Of color, that affect one rs minor
music does, the only relief to its depressing
influence being the crimson creeper leaves,
and these, from their lurid suggestion of
blood, only seemed to heighten and in
tensify the feeling of awe and terror which
the esolitarysspectatorf felt.
A sudden fierce wind blew through the
trees, making moaning sounds among the
naked limbs. 1t caught the dangling skull
in its grasp, and swung it to and fro as if it
were horrible plaything of fate. A raven
flew from the stunted top OF the old cedar,
with hoarse croak that sent shiver
through the man who listened. 4 strange
fright took possession of him, and, with a
cry, he turned and fed from the place.
1t is the story OF this swamp skeleton that
I am going to tell you.