Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-11-15
curve. The lip of the chimney was
smooth. chastely decorative line.

Council had seen Stlck-and-mud cnln-
news, but nowhere had he encountered
one that was more than frankly utlll-
tartan. This chimney was actually hand
some. And that fact was filed away in
his mind and taken home to be pom
dered over as he bent above the glowing
forge where he was working out the de-
sign of some new tool. The chimney just
didn't fit into the pioneer, the primitive
scheme of things. There must be some
thing back of it.
It was a harassing Winter for the bear
in the Swamps along the WaccamaW
River. Mr.. Council and the ClewiSeS and
the SaSerS and the DuvalS hunted them
aSsiduouSly, and friendship grew between
the swamp people and the toolmaker.
Swapping story for story with them,
Mr.. Council listened with growing faS-
cination to the tales that the swamp peo-
pie had to tell And he wondered where
they got the idea for decorating their
chimneys. He feared that it would be
considered rude to inquire directly about
this, and the mystery persisted until one
night in his reading he came across a
picture Of French country place. The
chimneyS In the picture looked vaguely
familiar, and then there was no mystery
about it at all. These chimneyS on Crue-
Soe's Island were duplicates of the CHM
neys in the picture.
After that, bit by bit as the islanders
lost their furtive timidity with him, and
as he was able to turn inquiry deity
backward toward the beginnings Of the
settlement, the story began to piece itself
together. Dimly remembered legends
that had a singularly authentic ring of
truth unfolded as he liStened-and when
he would come home he would set down
the tale in fragmentary notes
Some day he planned to get all of these
notes together and set down the story OF
this fragment of French civilization that
had escaped from the DessalineS mas
sacre and had found its way to this re-
mote swamp and taken root there. But
somehow the quest was never quite COM
plete; he was busy about so many other
matters. First he must, over the oppo-
sition of his fellow commissioners, do
something for this newly discovered race.
They must have roads. They must have
a good school and church.
Now they have their school and their
roads and new modern methods of farm
ing and church. In two decades the
swamp has been transformed, trans
muted. But Mr.. Council died lately and
the real story remains buried in the
fragmentary notes that were 20 years in
the making. It's verify had been checked
as carefully as circumstances permitted.
The butchery of the French by the
blacks in Haiti in 1904 was not quite
complete. Members Of four or five fami-
lies of rich planters somehow managed
to escape to the coast of the blood
drenched island. There they found a
small boat, scarcely big enough to hold
a dozen people. More than 20 men and
women and children crowded into it
without provisions of any sort and
showed off into the sea.
HAPPILY, it was the only boat in sight,
and when the revengeful blacks
rushed down to the shore in pursuit there
was no boat at hand In which to follow
them further. Late that day they were
picked up by a barque headed for VIII
mington, N. c. The master Of the barque,
when he discovered the identity of the
castawayS, was fearful. If the blacks set
out to search the sea and the fug1t1veS
were found aboard his craft, things would
fare badly with the master and crew. But
there were women and children to be
considered. He did not cast them adrift
He declined, however, to take them as
far as Wilmington. Word might reach
Haiti, and he traded there regularly. He
put in at the mouth Of the Waccamaw
River, where it empties into the sea. 80
miles below Cape Fear, the entry into the
port of Wilmington, and there he set the
fugitives ashore, warning them never To