Dougherty County is the
west end of the Black Belt, and men once called it the Egypt
of the Confederacy. It is full of historic interest. First there is
the Swamp, to the west, where the Chickasawhatchee flows
sullenly southward. The shadow of an old plantation lies at its
edge, forlorn and dark. Then comes the pool; pendent gray
moss and brackish waters appear, and forests filled with
wildfowl. In one place the wood is on fire, smouldering in
dull red anger; but nobody minds. Then the swamp grows
beautiful; a raised road, built by chained Negro convicts, dips
down into it, and forms a way walled and almost covered in
living green. Spreading trees spring from a prodigal luxuri-
ance of undergrowth; great dark green shadows fade into the
black background, until all is one mass of tangled semi-
tropical foliage, marvellous in its weird savage splendor.
Once we crossed a black silent stream, where the sad trees
and writhing creepers, all glinting fiery yellow and green,
seemed like some vast cathedral,--some green Milan builded
of wildwood. And as I crossed, I seemed to see again that
fierce tragedy of seventy years ago.
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