Hopkinsville Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1889-1918, 1897-08-03
THE UNKNOWN.

The cemeteries of cities arc like
great hotels where the close proxim-
ity of different classes of life is not
always happy. The walls of parti-
tion seem to leak secret horror of
unrest; there is something Of con-
straint, of promiscuosity, of cold dig
nifty in the obligatory relations Of
body to body. Here the dead are not
at home.
In the graveyards of the country,
among the thick Towering under
brush and the quiet of the wide fields,
is better repose for us after our
stormy struggles. A cemetery thus
situated, the center of farreaching
horizons, inspires one with a desire
to die. To lie down here and sleep
seems good But most peaceful Of
all are the realms of the dead in ma
rine villages, at the edge of the sea,
within sound of the lulling of the
running waves which sing an eter-
nal song on the eternal sleep, amid
the wall of the wind over the an
cient tombs
One day about Is years ago /
entered one Of these places of SUI
preme rest beside the waves on the
Breton coast, with its crosses point
ing toward heaven in a way which
makes one think of eternity Beside
little old church, beneath the shad
ow of stone bell turret, slept the
forefathers who, whether they had
died in youth or in age, were all made
an equal age by accomplished time.
And there was no sadness in the evil
dence of a fatal destiny, but rather
a happy relief in the thought that
the burden of suffering will not al
ways weigh down our poor shoulders
and that sorrow has its prescribed
limit. And pleasant, too, was the
slow spelling out of the inscrip-
tons on the tombs in the warmth
of the sunlight which the fluttering,
intoxicated birds greeted with sweet
delirium of song. Three centuries
of time separated the old stones from
the new, and a peace was made over
all feuds here under the high crosses
with outstretched arms, clear-cut
against the green sea, standing in
their eternal attitude of forgiveness.
One tomb in the form of a chalice
arrested my attention, and l read
this singular epitaph: "EIere Lies an
Unknown, December 6, 1871. Tao
tia Transit" (She has passed 81
lently.)
/ wished to learn all that was
known of her, and in the evening !
inquired in the village, and this is
what / learned:
In November of the year 1860,
on a night of lowering sky and raging
sea, as the inhabitants slept in their
huts, which were shaken up by the
squat, the dull boom of cannon an
nounced the distress of ship out on
the waters across the promontory.
AT this time the little port did not
possess a single lifeboat, and to at
tempt to depart in such a gale in
the barks of the fishermen would be
simply folly. Each one who heard
the sound could only pray: "God
help themP Next morning the sea
stretched wide under the blue sky,
swept clear. Not a speck on the no.
rizon, nothing but the ripples of
foam on the waves. So it had dis
appeared, foundered, the boat that
had cried for help with a call of iron
during that night of terror. The sad
ness of the disaster caused a silence
among the fishermen, when sudden
ly down the strand a cry rose. At
this moment Marquis de Pontus,
master of the chateau, came up to the
group of people to learn the end of
the nights drama. He hurried down
the strand, followed by the fishermen.
The cry had come from peasant
who had discovered the body of
woman, clothed in long, white robe,
thrown between two enormous rocks.
She was undoubtedly dead, and must
have rolled from her bed on the ship
into the sea.
"Her heart still beatsp cried the
peasant. The marquis commanded:
ACarry her to my house quickly and
wrap this cloak around her"
He was obeyed In fact, the wom-
an stir lived, and after hours of in
genious labor opened her eyes.
"Ask her nothing" said Pontus,
"she is still too weak, and must sleep"
In the meanwhile the searcherscon-
tinued from strand to strand, but
nothing more was found II was
impossible to tell what this vessel
was which had gone down in the