Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-12-05
Gales aud Sketfhes.
THE CHARCOAL BURNER.

7 CUdTcOdl-Durnpra
LIVING apart among the woods, in huts
roughly put together, and rarely mixing
with the denlzens of town or village, they
seem by their wild ways. to be link be.
tween the old savage times and the mod
ern days OF civilization. They are a soli-
tary, people pursuing their calling in the
lowiiest glades OF the forest, never seeking
to associate with others, never seeking to
change their manners and modes of living.
never assimulating themselves to the re.
finements. the religions, or the culture
around them. Some say thev never 90 TO
mass and all their baptisms, (if any, and
all their marriages, are settled by laws of
their own. At all events, they marry only
among themselves; the reason, per-
haps. being that to the rest of the commn-
NIFTY they are pariahs, with whom a man
would be ashamed to connect himself.
Strange tales have reached nv ears of
| the savagery OF the charcoal-burners.
"Iheir children are as untaaght and as
wild as young wolves" said one. ..Thev
attend no school, they go to no church."
Their dwellings are foul with smoke
and dirt cried another. mo doors. no
windows, no chimney, and as to water
they can't understand the use of it. In
"And why do they live such a STRANGE
life ?" | asked
81 don't know. They have always done
it. They lived like that hundreds of wears
ago, and they live so still"
This was the answer | invariably re.
ceived. No one seemed to possess anv
deeper knowledge; so was lain to put
mp with the scanty information could o, +.
ipHpa6 l., oil 7 l.
coal-burners to this day. for their huts Law
80 far In the recesses Of the forest that /
never round time to pay them visit, and
prove oy the evidence of my own senses,
whether the strange tales told me of their
savage lives We're too highly colored or
not.
could fancy that in the lowly glades Ct
that great wooded belt which stretches in
to the ack Forest, a race of men mioIt
grow savage; and finding themselves de-
splsed and stunned, they might learn, on
their side, to contemn the civilization and
the religion of those who scorned them.
But would this make them wickedp Sure.
~ IN the green, quiet cloisters of the wuod,
IN the long, leafy naves of this great ten
pie, in its shadowy and arched choir. the
human soul is more attuned to worship
where sin walks unabashed, insolepl and
loud.
''YOu wanted to see a charcoal burner
sald Madame Rodiere to me one morning.
"Well here comes the charette of Pierre.
the charcoal burner. Now you can talk
to him Monsieur if you will"
ran out into the road, and followed the
wheels OF the cart till they stopped at the
grocers's door. Then tall, spare man,
with iron'gray hair. sprang to the ground
and entered the shop. His face was hard
and bronzed, the features good, the ewes
piercing, the cheeks thin and hollow, with
mouth firm and grave TO such strange
degree that 1t seemed never to have smiled.
1t was this which gave to his face a pe.
cuIiarlty so remarkable that could not
refrain from watching him almost rudely.
tie took no notice, however, of my steady
gaze, as with a singular display OF memo
ry, he enumerated the puzzling varieties
OF articles required by his community,
whose commissioner he was.
For all these things he had pile of lit
tie packets, each containing money, and
TO my surprise he made no single error,
either in the reckoning of this, or ia the
name of the person to whom it belonged
81 am astonished you should trouble
yourself to remember all this" said |.
why not write it down P"
"Monsieur, | cannot WRITE" returned
the charcoal burner. gravely. 1--WE can
not learn writing in the woods; we must
trust to our memories. The memory of
charcoal burner is good" he added.
lie said this with sudden flash in his
fierce eyes, while there tell on his face an
expression of hate and suffering in
describable.
THAT man has history. and strange
one,' thought. rs | watched the shadow
OF pain come over his hard features and
leave them as composed and passionless
as before
How old should you think Pierre to
be :" asked the grocer. in his usual mine
ing voice, as the charcoal burner strobe
away to help Adophe, the shopman. stow
the packages in the cart
81 should think him between Fl ty and
sixty | answered
The grocer chuckled with delight at
this reply.
why, ten years ago, he cried. there
wasn't handsomer young fellow in the
woods than Pierre. At the utmost he is
not more than thirty-four."
WIS SO dslOnlsneu tndt could only
turn my eyes in bewlderment on the
worn, hard face, whose aged lines of care
and sorrow seemed so utterly to belle the
grocer's words
"Ah p said he, "you may we'll look
surprised, bat tell you the exact truth.
That man has not seen more than thirty
four years of life--a hard, strange life,
certainly. and it has made him what YOU
see him. In fact he has never smiled
since"
"Since what? since when? ?" | cried,
half angrily.
"Since the murder. OF course YOU
know all the story, Monsieur?"
"Of course | know nothing" | an
swered. You Ardennais. are the most
aggravating people upon earth. No
sooner does stranger come among YOU
than you talk to him as If he knew all
your village gossip since the days of st.
Hurbet."
"Monseur is half right there. Bat I
thought Madame Rodiere had told you the
story of poor Elmlre's DEATH" said the
grocer.