Morning journal and courier., 1890-01-25

cloth, that all others might avoid them. Down until the seventeenth century 1t was offended. So Pierre Floqust and all his family were Cagots. His own storya An hundred years before, his great, great grand father was stoned to death in the little ham, let of Meira, on the sunny Rivadeo river, which leaps 1aughingly from the Sierra de Banadetro heights into Biseay Bay. Don- ming the garb, and assuming the ways, of the Gitani or gipsies, the wife and children escaped into France, and finally settled in vocation; became fishers at Concarneau; others of the Spanish Cagots came; inter- marriage resulted. Some died and some em- igrated to America. Pierre Floquet toiled at his seines and the sardines brought him competence. With its increase came that indeinable longing that comes to know the land from whence one sprang. Enriqueta was his mothers name. It was the name of the wife of the poor Cagot stoned to death by the banks of the Rivadeo. Meira was the village from whence his ancestors had fled. Pierre was realizing the dream of his life now in returning to Spain in his own ship, rich enough to be made alcalde of Meira; to build great monument to the murdered outcast; to make his blood and kin respect ed and feared, if not beloved; and somehow I felt a no mean thrillof pride and congrat-
 
 spised Cagot though he was.
 Our goelette WAS snug craft of one hun- dred and twenty tons burthen, and scarcely had we got out of sight of the gaping fisher men of Concarneau when our shrewd cap. tain, stripping himself nearly naked, un- wound from his body some scarlet and vel low stuff which proved to be the Spanish flag. When this was run up everything was pronounced snug and tidy for the voyage. which, with fairly favoring winds, was ac complished in just four days. found that an Americsn's ordinary geographic knowl- edge of the Bay of Biscay is subject to mod ifeation, or rather expansion, by even once sailing across it. On the maps of our youth time it seems but tiny, wrinkly hollow set in the coast angle north of the Spanish pe- ninsuls and to the west of France. But it's length from the Breton Finisterre to the Spanish Finisterre must be nearly five hun dred miles, while our sailing course exceeded six hundred. For two days and nights we skirted the French coast, by night now and then catching glimpses of warning lights, flashing or fixed, where danger lay; by day contemplating an unbroken line of plume like surf, surmounted by gray dunes of tempest shifting sand, here and there jag gedly capped at the horizon-edge by the dark silhouettes of stunted spruce and fir. Sailing the Florida Gulf, one says of the in- terminable sand and pine of the Florida coast, "Here is desolation indeedl" But in intense and awful dreariness, in the endless ness of utter desolation, it cannot be com pared with the French Biscayan coast, from the yawning mouth of the Gironde to the steely mouth of the Adour. Fifty miles be- low the latter the boundaries of Spain. the snow capped Pyrenees, were dimly sighted. Then we stood further out to sea, making for the extreme northwestern promontory of Spain, Punta de Ia Estaca de Wares, which we gave wide berth at night; in the early morning catching glimpse of Coruna, where the fiery valiente Don Suero de Quin- ones in July, 1434, for ten days challenged and fought on the bridge over the Orbigo seventy eight knights on their way to the grand jubilee in this oldsn city of pilgrim ages and festas, in which one hundred and seventysseven lances were split-all that he might be entitled to remove an iron link which he wore about his neck every Thurs love; passed grim Cape de San Adrian as the rising sun cast it's rays like streams of molt- en gold down into the dark chasms of its seaward walls; and shortly rounded the huge. long, ainty and lofty promontory of Finis- tsrre, our schooner gliding into the great, si- lent and deserted bay like some lonely sea | fowl skirting lonelier coast for prey.
 The Bay of Finisterre comprises at least 1 one hundred square miles of almost fathom- 1 less water, shut in by eastern, northern and western granite walls. There is not hu-
 man habitation in sight as you enter. The l most powerful glass cannot descry living be | ing. or beast or fowl upon the heights or within the gorges between. There is not 6 single craft within the silent bay. Away | around behind ore shadowy crag, hid in the
 stony loop of the promontory are few | straggling huts and some fishers' boats drawn l upon the beach of sand. These the sun l lights up, but there is no sign of life even
 among them. They only intensity the grim
 and heart hurting desolation to the behold.
 CT. Stern and savage grandeur is on every
 side. One sea-gull, whirling and hall
 screaming with it's whistling gurgle starts uI from somewhere behind the orsg, and comes to us as if imploring food. Yet here it wal
 that once ten thousand galleons paid tribute
 to the mighty pagan city of Duyo, and al
 the then known world made homage to tho
 mighty mistress of the sea. Hosts had beer
 born, had mingled in her wondrous activi.
 ties, had died, to give place to ether myriad men who had lived their little lives in "tht
 great city at the worlds end" Here, too
 the patron saint of Spain, St. James, hat
 won the heathen Spaniards from Paganism
 to Christianity. Not so much as block oi
 stone or tempest-ravaged grave can be found, as sign where Duyo was, to-day. Did the awful sea engulf it2 Can the tooth of time gnaw so fine and annihilatingly'
 Here should now sit, reaching with whit
 wings of commerce the remotest places O
 woman or child among them can read
 They soak their bodies and besot their soul in fiery aguardiente. They are foul witl
 sores, and reek in slime and ooze; and heav
 en help the helpless one that drifts alon
 among them.
 We came to anchor within one hundred
 yards of the beach, before single soul hat
 been seen in desolate Finisterrs. Then
 wretched sort of woman, half clad, emerged
 side the houses, disappeared within the doc
 of the largest, which served to uphold
 crumbling portal along its front. Pierre
 Floquet and myself were then rowed to thu
 shore by two of his stalwart sons. Just a
 we landed the door of the large house re
 opened and something resembling the wraitl
 of Rip Van Wrinkle on his return from hi
 sleep in the mountains, raised it's hands t
 the sky and let them fall with an expression
 of surprise, confusion and utter helplessness
 We stalked up the beach and accosted th
 figure civilly.
 "Pardon, in the name of God," spoke th , thin old man, who proved to be the alcald l. of Finisterre, and wretchedly ill, "the pligf we are found in. Every soul in Finisterre
 afflicted unto death with some strange malt dy. You are welcome to port, be you Gallt gans, merchantmen or pirates. If the la
 ter, you may capture and carry off in bor l. dage all our people, and there be none to lii a preventive hand. Would to God yo [ were, if likewise you might rob our coast { this dread plague!"
 F Then for the first time found that Pier , held Spanish tongue in his head, and
 spoke with the strange accent of Galici t He told the unfortunate alcalde his stol 3 cunningly, though making no reference ] his Cagot blood; revealed the fact that t had casks of caviare and kegs of sardine 8 with sacks of good Breton onions and pot B toes; and better yet, fagons of wine ar ] brandy-all for the honest people of Fini ' terre, that they might join in his gladness . nearing the home-spot of his ancestors. I - also as cunningly told him, that when b family and goods were disposed of at Meir ' then himself and his eldest sons were to I @ turn and fish the sardines with his Gallegl . brethren of Finisterre, and that meantin 8 his handsome goelette, Euriqueta del Meir D should ride at anchor before his very door + hostage for such performance. The we r zened old alcalde embraced Pierre Floqu D ardently; but an unpleasant thought for m :, in the line of his official duties, seemed F. haunt him. What of the extrangeroi-tl ]. foreigner, who surely was no man of Meir t nor one likely to return to the sardinhas # Finisterre? Good Pierre's face grew long aI It solemn. Together we tried to make the of s cial imbecie understand the harmlessness d my vocation; that I was merely sum