It came time to say goodbye to this island paradise of birds and fish, gators and the endless ocean waves.
I took a walk on the Wood Bridge over the Beaufort River.
The "High Sheriff of the Low Country" by J.E. McTeer has now been reprinted. Sheriff McTeer said it well:
A man can find a secluded spot there even today and closing his eyes, almost hear the dreaded war cry of her Indians trying to repel the Spanish invaders from their beloved land of plenty. The cries of "pull ahead" still ring out there at times, recalling the days (of). the pursuit of the giant devilfish...The thunder rolling in over the marsh in the late afternoon could almost be the rumble of a battalion's marching feet, and the lightning, the flash of the dreaded dynamite gun as it blasted a deadly projectile out over the sound.
But now the sound lies calm, and the thunder recedes back over the marsh more often than not. ...The people have changed throughout the years, but basically, the island has not.
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