Bonaventure: A Prose Pastoral of Acadian LouisianaCable, George Washington
General
Bonaventure: A Prose Pastoral of Acadian Louisiana
Cable, George Washington
Country life -- Fiction; Louisiana -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction
When at dawn of the fifth day he again looked for cover in the
prairie, the water was too high to allow him concealment, and he
sought the screen of some willows that fringed the edge of the swamp
forest, anchoring in a few rods' width of open water between them and
the woods. He did not fear to make, on the small hearth of mud and
ashes he had improvised in his lugger, the meagre fire needed to
prepare his food. Its slender smoke quickly mingled with the hazy
vapors and shadows of the swamp. As he cast his eye abroad, he found
nowhere any sign of human approach. Here and there the tops of the
round rushes still stood three feet above the water, but their slender
needles were scarcely noticeable. Far and near, over prairie as over
lake, lay the unbroken yellow flood. There was no flutter of wings, no
whistle of feathered mate to mate, no call of nestlings from the
ruined nests. Except the hawk and vulture, the birds were gone. Untold
thousands of dumb creatures had clung to life for a time, but now were
devoured by birds of prey and by alligators, or were drowned.
Thousands still lived on. Behind him in the swamp the wood-birds
remained, the gray squirrel still barked and leaped from tree to tree,
the raccoon came down to fish, the plundering owl still hid himself
through the bright hours, and the chilled snake curled close in the
warm folds of the hanging moss. Nine feet of water below. In earlier
days, to the northward through the forest, many old timbers rejected
in railway construction or repair, with dead logs and limbs, had been
drifted together by heavy rains, and had gathered a covering of soil;
canebrake, luxurious willow-bushes, and tough grasses had sprung up on
them and bound them with their roots. These floating islands the
flood, now covering the dense underbrush of the swamp, lifted on its
free surface, and, in its slow creep southward, bore through the
pillared arcades of the cypress wood and out over the submerged
prairies. Many a cowering deer in those last few days that had made
some one of these green fragments of the drowned land a haven of
despair, the human castaway left unharmed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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