The Central Nevadan. [volume] (Battle Mountain, Nev.) 1885-1907, 1901-04-25

Far out in the Atlantic ocean, OF the
northern French coast. almost due
west from Brest, lies a great rocky
island that Is one of the most deadly
traps for ships In all the world. 1t is
the island of Quessant, the notorious
lie de ~pEpouvante, the island of ter
ror. Bare, without a tree to break
its monotony, 1t lies in the path of the
ships seeking the English Channel. II
they steer too far north the hundred
shoals and reefs of the British coast
open their jaws for them. If they sail
100 far south Quessant reaches for
their bones. Bleak and far away from
any other land as the island of terror
is, 1t still has its population. What
mysterious thing 1t is which attracts
that population and makes 1t cling?
The infrequent visitor sees funny
fiocks of little sheep. scarcely twice as
large as hares. He sees small herds
of rough-coated ponies, almost as tiny
as the sheep. These are the only
signs of productive industry to be
seen. There is fishing, of course; but
fishing ear be prosecuted better from
the mainland, with less risk and a
more convenient market. What is the
mysterious attraction, then? So asked
Alexander Shuette, the traveller, re-
Gently when he made his way from
the coast of Brittany to Quessant. The
answer came, at least in part, n
evening when a great storm swept in
from the Atlantic and beat at the
shores with unexampled fury. He
says: 1.-The daughter of my hostess
led me up the narrow staircase to my
room. As l assembled ! noticed without
remarking the oddly of it at the time,
that the staircase was OF shining oak.
| was ushered into my room, a large.
low chamber, completely paneled from
top to bottom. Putting the lamp on a
huge oak table that shone like a mir
ror, she said:
'If you should need more firewood.
monsieur, you will find it in the next
room. Do not spare it. 1t is bitter
cold, and there will be more than
enough firewood In Quessant in two or
three days. Goodnight" | sat down
before the blazing fire and prepared for
a cozy evening. The storm ragged In the
narrow streets of the little village.
The surges Numbered against the
granite breast of the coast like endless
artillery fire, and sometimes / imagin-
ed that the very island trembled under
the onslaught of the hundreds of mil
lions of tons of water. AS l sat lis
tening l gazed into the flames. The
wood struck me as strange. And then
wondered. On the entire island
there is not a single tree. And yet I
had been told not to spare frewood.
There will be more b enough in
two or three days l arose and OPEN
ed the door into the next room. That
room was possibly twenty feet high
and was filled almost to the top with
timber. First with wonder, then with
growing awe, l gazed at the piles OF
wood. Truly, she was right. the little
maid, when she said that n need not
be economical with frewood on the
island of Quessant. There we're tim
bers of every shape-splintered masts
and spars. planks from decks and
sides, remnants of a steering wheel,
benches from the forecastle, yellow,
black, brown, white and red woods;
ever two figureheads; some bright, as
IL they were new; some crusted with
shells and hung with seaweeds. In
the entire room there was not a piece
of wood that did not come from some
wrecked ship. The heavy carved
chairs, the polished oaken table. even
the bed in which l was to sleep, all
came from shipwrecks. Now / under
stood the meaning of the word strand
rights In favor OF this island, far
away from the world, and murderous
for the ships that tie the world to-
gether, Aeolus with his Bride Of the
Winds is more fruitful than Is Ceres
to the mainlands with her harvest
moon and her Blessings of Fruit. The
Blessings of Quessant come from the
gale. The forests of Quessant! Are
there such others in the entire world,
so unique, so terrible? This forest.
instead of trees, has the mighty masts
of ships. In that tremendous forest
are the oaks and pines of Canada and
Maine, the cypress of Florida, the bao-
babs of Africa, the teak of Hindustan.
the ebony and sandal woods of South
America. The awful forests of Ques-
SAINT form the visible apex of a vast
cemetery that stretches from New
York to Cape La Hague."-New York
Press.