The Republican., 1900-12-13

Language is inadequate to portray
the fascinating and delightful trip on
steamboat from Appelachacola,
Florida, to Columbus, Georgia. |
chose that route because l prefer the
water to the railroad and also would
have the company of a lady friend
who was going to Ashville, n. c..
The Three States" was commodious,
the fare delicious-turtle soup, fish,
oysters, etc. The river is narrow and
continually winds in and out, Iaby-
rinth of trees, cypress, live oak and
willow and beautiful hanging vines
stained with red or white blossoms.
My friend, who has visited Europe,
says the scene equals the far-famed
Rhine.
Slowly we float along. 1t reminds
me of the Lotus Eaters of Oriental
countries. Apart from life's worries
and trials, one might almost wish to
float on forever. The waving boughs
of the cypress and willow are reflected
in the water; the pretty white moon
flower and other long scarlet flowers
and vines light up the dark dense
woods.
You will remember that when
came to st. Andrews last winter on
THE Naiode" l alluded to rival
steamer, THE Mascot" which tri-
umphantly passed us. A few hours
ago we made little detour to escape
wreck. l gazed out. Alas! there
lay the proud Mascot nearly sub
merged. In March, two o'clock at
night, she ran upon a snag and sunk
in two hours. Fortunately there was
time for all to escape. The wreck re-
minds me of many lives starting out
on life's journey, buoyant, ambitious,
hopeful, only later to be wrecked on
the shores of time, their banner "Ex-
celsior" trailing in the dust. Yet the
star of hope shines out, for it is truly
said, Men rise on stepping stones of
their dead selves to higher things
Although the sun shines brightly
and birds sing and flowers bloom most
OF the time in the South, yet to me a
veil of infinite pathos hangs over and
'encircles everything. So many in
stances, weird and fantastic, l have
not space to note. Legends old folks
lore, etc. While passing along we
noted a group of colored men, women
and children standing on the banks
of the river, the latter with white
turbans and gorgeous red dresses,
waving their arms, and as they waved
they chanted in loud thrilling tones:
1.-The judgment day is comingl
Coming! Coming?
Prepare, prepare to meet him?''
Just before steaming into Colum-
bus, Georgia, where the boat landed,
some one remarked to me: "If you
wish to view very unique and char
acteristic sight come out on the fore
deck. This tableaux occurs among
the negroes every time the vessel en-
ters the port" On an extreme end
of the boat, facing the city, stood
about twenty men, the roustabouts,
hands and walters, and as we gazed
they began low refrain in a minor
key, as each gently swayed his body,
but the song grew louder until it
reached Jubilatte and the Iswaying
of the bodies more violent, until
arms, legs and heads were in rapid
motion. This was their greeting,
their expression of gratitude for pass
ing through the perils of the trip, safe
at home. Where would anything
similar occur save in the South?
At Atlanta l parted with my friend
who went into Ashville, N. c., the re-
gion of Vanderbilt's magnificent
home, and l sped on to Washington.
Home! There is magic in the word;
l fully agree with the poet
Then stay at home my heart and rest,
hohle -heePlhS hear1 Us are happlest'
Since my return so many have dis
played an interest in the fate of the
young man, to whom l often alluded
in my letters, whose mental condition
was so singular and distressing. l
have decided to write out the sequel
to his unhappy life in future article
as this is already lengthy.
ALICE TAsKER.
Oakland, Sept. 20, 1900.