The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1906-06-26

as seasoned dried and wrinkled as q
decayed prune. In. former times he
was won't to manage the ferry alone
but now a small black, bead-eyed
ragged gnome assists him-at least
nominally; and the ancient mariner
says: "Fore God, Marster, dis mig,
ger boy bin torment my life outen
me-"
But hear We that sonorous hum
ming and buzzingq The mosquitoes
in the lagoons below the ferry. We
have said that all is silence on the
shores Of these horrible lagoons.
While the sun shines, this is so, but
when he sinks to rest, and the inky
shadows creep between the boughs
of the overhanging, close growing
trees, sound long-drawn, shudder-
ing, terrible, echoes and re-cchoes on
the dense silence of the dcsolate waste
of noisome growing things and blue
jack, turgid water. The sun is sink
ing behind the horizon at this mo-
ment, and our companions, or rather
guides, two stalwart negro men, say:
"Marse Jeems, dis trip ain gwin be
no fun fur you." Through all the
hours Of twilight and early night you
hear the horrible hoot of the fore
bodingowl-the great, staring, deaht-
fore-telling night owl. This unholy
hoot racks the silence, interspersed
with the clash and clangor, the shrill
pipe, the hoarse horn and rattling
whistle of many million frogs of all
possible sizes.
Sometimes, we have been told, adj
venturous hunters launch boats upon
these still waters and paddle from
one lagoon to another, but no game
worth the bagging can be had. A
few loathsome, fishy birds, huge
hawks, giant owls and swarms of
crows abide in the branches of the
funereal trees, and the shy, lovely
heron hides her nest in twigs and
branches wherever she may find a
foothold. 1t has been said by hunters
who have passed much time among
the lagoons that they are bottomless,
that no soundcr that could be devils
ed by them has ever tochcd bottom.
Yet they swarm with many kinds of
fish, yielding them generously, but
they, the fish, are yalucless on ac-
count Of their bad-tasting flesh.
Many of the lagoons have never
been explored, and just how many
there are cannot, seemingly be ascer-
tanned. Dense cancbrakes, absolutely
as impregnable as stone wall, suit
ting out daylight, in their vicinity
cut Off communication except where
the titled lands skirt them, or where
narrow and tortuous passage leads
into the Savannah. It is n curious
phenomepon that however high the
rive rises, or however low it sinks,
the waters in the lagoon remain the
same-weird, ghostly, mysterious, a
freak of nature in her most sombre
mood-spots of eternad mourning
mayhap for bygone transgressions-
blots upon the fair face of nature be-
meath the ardent Southern sun.
But let us climb up to the top of
the high white cliffs Of Beach Is
land, on the South Carolina side
whence spreads out the level duelline
ground. The September moon is
rising, and the silence is intense al
most palpable or tangible as it we're
The reddening, gum leaves flutter in
the lazy breeze-hurrying lightly over
the moss with sound that might be
things unseen. Even the bird voices
seem far away and hushed; the moon
light filters through the whispering
pines that complain in far-off hushed
undertones and standing there one
feels as though civilization and the
fret of life and the strife of man had
been left many miles behind, and that
the land in which it is always after
noon--if not black night-were we'll
at hand.
We do not shudder, but we fell in
tensely sad, and as the red and yellow
gum leaves furry softly over our
feet, we look, almost longingly, for
the fair shades of our two slender
and youthful uncles who pcrishcd
here-on the fold of honor-lOno no.
fore we were born.