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    The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911
    The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911
    The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911
    Ebook47 pages33 minutes

    The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911

    By Mary Noailles Murfree

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911

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      The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba 1911 - Mary Noailles Murfree

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba, by

      Charles Egbert Craddock    (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree)

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: The Phantom Of Bogue Holauba

             1911

      Author: Charles Egbert Craddock    (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree)

      Release Date: November 19, 2007 [EBook #23552]

      Last Updated: January 5, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHANTOM OF BOGUE HOLAUBA ***

      Produced by David Widger

      THE PHANTOM OF BOGUE HOLAUBA

      By Charles Egbert Craddock

      1911

      Gordon never forgot the sensation he experienced on first beholding it. There was no mist in the midnight. The moon was large and low. The darkness of the dense, towering forests on either hand impinged in no wise on the melancholy realm of wan light in which the Mississippi lay, unshadowed, solitary, silent as always, its channel here a mile or more in breadth.

      He had been observing how the mighty water-course was sending out its currents into a bayou, called Bogue Holauba, as if the larger stream were a tributary of the lesser. This peculiarity of the river in the deltaic region, to throw off volume instead of continually receiving affluents, was unaccustomed to him, being a stranger to the locality, and for a moment it focussed his interest The next, his every faculty was concentrated on a singular phenomenon on the bank of the bogue.

      He caught his breath with a gasp; then, without conscious volition, he sought to explain it to his own shocked senses, to realize it as some illusion, some combination of natural causes, the hour, the pallor pervading the air, the distance, for his boat was near the middle of the stream,—but the definiteness of the vision annulled his efforts.

      There on the broad, low margin, distinct, yet with a coercive conviction of unreality, the figure of a man drawn in lines of vague light paced slowly to and fro; an old man, he would have said, bent and wizened, swaying back and forth, in expressive contortions, a very pantomime of woe, wringing gaunt hands and arms above his head, and now and again bowing low in recurrent paroxysms of despair. The wind held its breath, and the river, mute as ever, made no sign, and the encompassing alluvial wilderness stood for a type of solitude. Only the splashing of the paddle of the dug-out gave token of the presence of life in all the land.

      Gordon could not restrain his wonder. What—what—is—that Thing—over there on the bank of the bogue? he called out to the negro servant who was paddling the canoe.

      He was all unprepared for the effect of his words. Indeed, he was fain to

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