Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1882-08-07

pronged spear, takes perch on the centre
thwart, just in front of US. He is a tall, gaunt,
almost grim looking creature not drop of
true Gallo blood in his veins. The gray eye
and high cheekbones, and crisp, reddish hair,
not yet wholly grizzled by age, prove him no
real son of the South. Perhaps descendant
of the fine old Visigoths who lived uncon-
quered in the Pyrsnees, when Moor and
Frank and Norman disputed over the vine.
lands of Gascony. His long limbs and rug,
ged features accord we'll with his attitude
he rises aloft above us, brandishing the YEA
pom of his craft His bare feet cling fast to
the rugged thwart on which they rest. and
the hard sinews and muscles stand out like
ropes and cords upon his bare arms and
hands. What picture he would make,
his strong, lean figure towers between us and
the sky, balancing himself with the left arm
as the right is raised aloft, waiting in act to
strike downward with the steel tipped trident
it holds His whole form seems animated
by the eager expectancy with which he
watches his chance and its tiger like energy
is set off the more wildly by the dull sleepy
posture of the other man slowly working his
oars to and fro Now and then as the torch
light flashes up, we can see its glitter reflect
ed In his eye as it scans with keen and cruel
glance the Pickering green of the sea be-
low.
And this torchlight, then, whence does it
come? 1t is behind US, shining bright and
warm from a grating fixed on an iron bar
which reaches out from the stern. little
pile of half-dry pine wood is collected in this
open CRATE, and flares away merrily as the
cool but balmy air of the bay rushes through
it. Beyond it, now on this side and now on
that, shift our of course to right or
left, a thick stream of dusky smoke floats
away into the air. dull roaring and spit
ting reminds constantly of its near pres
ence, and the atmosphere is filed with the
strong pungent fragrance of the pitch fire
In the rudy glow which it casts on the water
we can See down through it to the sand below,
and mark the flakes and ridges into which
the storms have divided it, A sudden lurch
of the boat interrupts such idle observations,
as the old fisherman makes his stroke, and
dashes the spear like lightning over the gun
vale In another second it is reared aluft
again, and on it's end are seen two small
snake like fish glittering green in the fire.
He holds them up wriggling for a moment,
and then with the adroit skill OF long prac
tice rubs them off against the side of the we'll
below him, and stands again ready for a
fresh stroke. Again and again the cruel steel
descends, seldom rising again without vic
tim Often two and sometimes three of the
shining fish are speared in its remorseless
teeth We have got amongst small shoal of
the diguilles and now with little practice
we can see them fitting along over the sand
little stripes of light semi transparent green
Pickering rather than moving over the yell
lowiah background below them.
So we wandered about over the still sea,
now hardly rippled at all beneath the darksn-
ing sky. No sound interrupts the business,
except the occasional splash of the oars and
sharp dash of the we'll aimed spear. Only
now and then the distant tinkle of bell as
the ponies shake their heads far away on the
shore, where they stand waiting for us, or
the short plaintive cry of the sea-bird. TIE
two men are speeches., save when the spear
man, in low, cultural notes, issues mono
syllable command to his fellow.
We drift along, speeches. ourselves over
come at once by the balmy breath of the
of the boat and the languor in which all ma
ture around seems wrapped. At times a
change in our course brings the strong fra
GRANGE of the smoke back more forcibly our
way, and now and then breath of the night
air stirring like sigh over the sea sends
slight SILVER through our fur coverings
Soon tho boat and the sea, the oarsman and
the spearman begin to fade in hazy indistinct-
ness. No longer the writhing struggles of
the victims excite sigh of compassion from
me, or shudder of pain from the uncon-
scious form beside me. Only the rough
shock of the boat as it is brought suddenly
to shore dispels at length the soft charm Of
| the sleep god. But even we glide back
| through the sombre woods, with the bells
jngGng in front, we seem still in dreams to
see the gaunt form of the spearman towering
close at hand, and to start as his bright wea
pom plunges again and again into an imagin-
airy peopled with cleaning but unreal
0igati3Les