The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1906-07-21
The Church
in the Swamp
BY DALLAS LORE SHARP
Copyright, BY Joseph b. Bowles.)

Copyright, By Joseph b. BowlesJ
There was a time when the little
nat-bottomed cotton boats touched at
almost every woody bend as they pad
died down the Savannah from Angus
ia. But the streams of population have
changed their course since the coming
OF the railroad. The low-lying swamps
are nearly deserted; and now, except
at the few regular stations, the boat
turns her shovel nose into the bank
only when she smells barrel of resin,
a bale of cotton, or sights some lonely
dweller waving his hat or a pine knot
from stump in the edge of the
swamp.
One autumn day about ten years
ago, I was put ashore nearly $50 miles
below Augusta, and struck in through
the swamp to the higher levels for
wild turkeys. It had been beautiful
October weather. but the game was
scarce. At the end of two days wan
behring's l had not heard gobble, and
when night of the second day came
down with dreary drizzle. was back
along the river awaiting for the re-
turning boat.
| Just where I was I did not know.
! did not relish the prospect of an
other night in the swamp, not in this
neighborhood, anyhow. alone, In the
rain and reeds, and among the snakes.
malaria and other beasts lodging there
about: dared wait NO longer. and,
shouldering my fife, made my way
back to find higher, dryer bed.
had not gone far when I found l
was following an old path-a hog trail
probably-and, with just hope that
1t would lead to clearing, l kept on.
With the extra sense of woodsman,
felt | was nearing something or some
where; and. turning a bend over the
rising ground, saw through the trees
What seemed like a number of pines
blazed by the pitch gatherers. But, on
approaching. the pitch pines proved to
be, not pines, but gravestones. had
stumbled upon an ancient graveyard.
Only few of the names could be
made out. They were all IN French,
and l guessed 1t must be an old HUI
guenot burying ground.
Peering In among the cedars that
had rooted out many of the stones, l
caught a glimpse of white house,
and hurrying forward as though l had
not done one of my 40 miles that day,
wondering If 1t was white-washed
cabin, turpentine still or-I suddenly
stood before a Westinghouse, older
and thousand times more spectral
than the graveyard. 1t was on a knoll,
and had been in sight Of the river be-
low once; but now the brush and trees
completely hid 1t, except when one
might happen to run upon 1t; and 1t
looked in the gloom as If might be
the only one to have done that in half
q century. The door was locked.
tried the windows. They were fasten-
ed, too; but on the river side the end
window was partly torn away, leaving
an opening large enough to admit me.
I climbed inside and CROPPED my way
about with the last of the light. A
dozen or more plain benches were
drawn up parallel with the platform
and close together. There was an
antique swallow-nest pulpit hanging
high up on the wall, with kind of
tunnel stairway leading down from it
to the platform. 1t was a hollow.
musty place. and from the odor
Judged the bats must have recently
assembled in large and frequent con-
gregations here. 1t was spooky, too;
but it was a shelter. and any kind of
shelter-a house at that!-was the
widest kind of luxury In such place.
laid my rifle on the platform and
prepared my bed; whistling a tune fit
to wake every old ghost about the
place. The back bench was out of the
draft of the broken window, and
spreading my rubber blanket on this,
with my game-bag for a pillow, l lay
down to sleep.
The wind freshened in the trees and
the pines broke out aloud in their
eternal dirge. The rain began to pat
ter in drops against the loose panes. 1t
was pitch dark. What a At place to be
dead in-the graveyard outside!
Soughing pines, moss-hung expresses,
night and storm and everlasting soli-
tude! Rather, how unfit!
I fell asleep and dreamed l was one
of large and happy congregation
listening to good old father pleading
from the pulpit overhead. Then the
scens changed: the congregation van
ished. the morning sunlight and the |
good-faced preacher disappeared, and
I was alone. In the dark with Satan |
making ready from the pulpit to swoop |
down upon me. l woke with start |
and shiver. For moment the dream |
was so real could still see the gleam-
ing eyes Of Satan staring down at me.
The wind was high outside, the rain
had ceased. the clouds were broken
and driving across the moon, and now