Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-12-06
Vales aud Sketfhes.
THE CHARCOAL BURNER.


Look yonder, Monsieur, down that deep
narrow pathway, where the trees arch
overhead so closely that the sunlight does
but sprinkle sparingly the ground beneath.
Do You see, high up on the tallest tree, a
white cross cut In the bark. That sign.
cut by these hands, is memorial of the
foules: murder ever done in this land.
There is not a lonelier spot in all the forest
than the little glade that lies beneath that
tree 1t is Autumn now, and the leaves
are spare but in full Summer the tiny
pathway You see yonder is covered up with
foliage. and long grass so rank that only
a forester S eye can trace the track; and
scarce any but forester's foot can follow
it, as it winds down over crags and preci-
pices into the solitary dell below. In that
dell the underground is cleared away.
giving place to softest turf: and through
the midst there runs little rill, trickling
music all the day. Lilies of the valley,
forget-me-nots. and wild roses edge the
streams, with many other herbs and flow
ers, for whick my rude, unlettered tongue
can find no name. But Elmire knew them
all, and she came hilher constantly in
Summer time to Gull and dry them in the
sun. Except for that tall. solitary tree,
the dell is open to the sky, and though it
Is no small that man may pace it from
end to end within minute, yet here he
seems to breathe freer, fresher air, as,
looking upward, no shadow tails between
the face and the blue heavens.
"Ihink of the loneliness of this spot.
where pebble flung into the stream
startles the ear, and the sound of football
comes like wonder. If shrek of agony
ii cry for help went up to heaven from
this lone place. no human eye would wit
ness it-no tongne could ever testify
against the evil-doer.
Ten years ago, one August day, when
the saI was blazing in the skv, | crept
away from my fellows. and bent my steps
toward this dell. All the hot morning, as
worked, | had thought Of ii longinglv,
and the sound of the cool rill trickling
over the pebbles had haunted me, whisp-
erng of rest and freshness. So, while the
others betook themselves to their siesta
beneath the trees, crept away, and
wound round through the wood, following
the music of the brook
"Somehow. it seemed to me that did
not step through the underwood, but that
broke through it suddenly. like man
would in dream. and then | saw Elmire
'hf- VII thN hsSs III luO StdiO vi tuo
MONDAY sun. 1t did not come upon me
gradually that she was dead. knew it
like flash, even as | beheld her
The place was silent as wrecked ship
in mid-ocean might me. Not leaf stirred
in the hot air. not a blade of grass quivered
as | stood looking at her. / saw she
was dead. yet would not see it, would
not believe it. So. as the color came
slowly back to my face. as my heart be-
gan to beat again. cried softly:
'Elmire Elmire
"Ihere was no answer-no movement
in the PROSTATE form; and then knew
the silence was the silence of death.
81 sprang across the brook and lifted
her in my arms. | do not tell you what
felt. As | have said before. suffering has
no words The tongue cannot betrav the
agony of the soul, strive a. it may. No;
il cannot even utter the pangs of the flesh;
true grief and pain are silent, and the
woes that chatter of their smart are moth
ing.
"She was stabbed before she died.
could see the blood upon the grass.
could see the places where she had knelt
and begged for mercy. And from her
knees she had fallen on her face, and so
found her-her hands clasped as she had
lifted them in prayer and her fair face
pressed against the ground.
1T is Luc Leroy said, as laid her
back gently on the grass.
81 had not cried aloud for help, had
not even thought OF it. Whether the
horror of the scene. or the instructive
knowledge of the uselessness of cries in
this lone place kept me silent, | know
not. Neither do know how long | sat
with my dead love in nv arms, before
reused myself and rushed from that dreary
sunshine into the dim wood.
81 came up this rug gged path a mailman,
blind with grief and rage. Had | met
Luc Leroy then. | should have torn his
heart out. | ran on toward the place
where had left my companions, but be-
fore | reached them, | met her father stag
gerng through the wood stupidity drunk
en-. He stared at me with bleared eyes
and saw the blood on me.
"'What's this o. he said eagerly. See-
log him helpless. | would have passed
him in silence that was half pity. half
disgust; but the miserable man seized
me and shrieked aloud for help.
'Let me pass onr l cried: your
daughter lies murdered in the dell
The sense left in him was so little that
he caught at the words wrong.
"'Do you dare to own that you have
killed her2' he shrieked. Help. COM
rades help
I'VE were struggling together on the
ground when they came running to the
spot, and as they lifted me, nv ghastlv
looks might well make them dee m me
guilty,
"'He comes red from the deed cried
Pere Martin, shaking with terror.
Look at his handsr
"The old mans drowned senses were
so bewildered now. that he struck at me
frantically. crying aloud the while on his
daughters name and raving of her beau
ty and goodness.
ale was jealous-this assassin here
he knows rich man wanted my child:
Luc Leroy would have made her his
wife"
Meanwhile fought with my fellow
workmen like a maniac. | strove to
speak to them; l strove to tell them all
that had happened to me; but my reason
had gone wild, nv heart was breaking,
my lips were cracked, my voice came In
gasping sobs.