Page:Frank Owen - The Wind That Tramps the World (1929).djvu/106



The swamp like a ribbon of heavy green and golden velvet stretched for miles along the Pearl River. On fetid days a thick vapor rose from it, a vapor laden with queer, fragrant perfumes. At night great trees loomed up against the moon-splashed sky assuming odd shapes, black monsters, evil spirits, witches. Many and varied were the legends and superstitions which circulated throughout Canton about the awesome swamp. For one thing few persons had ever wandered through it and those that had told tales so strange they were less believable than the legends.

The swamp was privately owned. It was really the garden of Fu Hsi for in the center of it was a great house that rambled leisurely over much ground as is often the case in Chinese houses. Fu Hsi himself was almost as legendary as the spirits of the swamp. No one had ever seen him. No one knew him. His servants wandered about the city but they told nothing. They were as secretive as seditious plotters. Small wonder then that what could not be gleaned in any other way was invented. Some said that Fu Hsi was beloved of the gods. He was of handsome appearance, tall and straight as a young elm, with face like the full-moon,