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
But his eye lingered in the north. He stood with his dog curled at his
feet beside a bunch of egrets,--killed for their plumage,--the butt of
his long fowling-piece resting on the platform, and the arm half
outstretched whose hand grasped the barrels near the muzzle. The hand,
toil-hardened and weather-browned, showed, withal, antiquity of race.
His feet were in rough muddy brogans, but even so they were smallish
and shapely. His garments were coarse, but there were no tatters
anywhere. He wore a wide Campeachy hat. His brown hair was too long,
but it was fine. His eyes, too, were brown, and, between brief moments
of alertness, sedate. Sun and wind had darkened his face, and his pale
brown beard curled meagre and untrimmed on a cheek and chin that in
forty years had never felt a razor.
Some miles away in the direction in which he was looking, the
broadening sunlight had struck and brightened the single red lug-sail
of a boat whose unseen hull, for all the eye could see, was coming
across the green land on a dry keel. But the bayou, hidden in the tall
rushes, was its highway; for suddenly the canvas was black as it
turned its shady side, and soon was red again as another change of
direction caught the sunbeams upon its tense width and showed that,
with much more wind out there than it would find by and by in here
under the lee of the swamp, it was following the unseen meanderings of
the stream. Presently it reached a more open space where a stretch of
the water lay shining in the distant view. Here the boat itself came
into sight, showed its bunch of some half-dozen passengers for a
minute or two, and vanished again, leaving only its slanting red sail
skimming nautilus-like over the vast breezy expanse.
Yet more than two hours later the boat's one blue-shirted, barefoot
Sicilian sailor in red worsted cap had with one oar at the stern just
turned her drifting form into the glassy calm by the railway-station,
tossed her anchor ashore, and was still busy with small matters of
boat-keeping, while his five passengers clambered to the platform.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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