Daily Kennebec journal., 1901-01-12

yOnd the village. One day / counted a
| dozen women working at different
heights on the hill and dipping their
| clothes into the waters of the same tu-
multuous rivulet.
The cemetery beyond them Law in
strong contrast to this scene, in quiet
and solitude, overgrown with black
and white wooden crosses silhouetted
against the sky. There was q general
tangle of flowers, too. and on many of
the graves there We're wreaths of bios
SONS made of wax or beads. Sometimes
a shrine with enamel cloth on the floor
took the place of the customary cross.
with a tiny image of the Virgin and a
candlestick within. The entire place is
fenced about with rails set upright to
keep out the animals The pigs and
the cows and the goats and the dogs
that ramble at will through the streets
about
On the beaches at the other side OF
the town the graviers work. those boys
who are employed under the protection
of the government to dry fish on the
rocks and pile it in circular mounds
The road runs out along the edge OF
the water for a mile or two beyond the
beach, with a single row OF houses on
the inland side. In one place a high
wall shuts in luxurious garden.
though but partially concealing the
gieam of tall, dark evergreens within.
The house connected with il, though a
large one, is somewhat protected. too.
from curious eyes, and the whole place
assumes an air of seclusion even of
mystery. Much thought and labor must
have been expended here. and one lit
tie wonders that the man who built it
should have made n request
to have his grave placed on the hillside
overlooking the water, where his gaze
had so often fingered in life. A niche
has been cut into the solid rock, and a
life-size figure of the Virgin stands
there to guard the bones of this man
and those of his grandson. resting on
the consecrated ground at her feet. Not
having been buried in the cemetery
limits his ghost. however, is doomed
to go wandering forever over the rocks
and among the streams of st. Pierre.
This is the story of one of the graviers,
who had piled fish on the beach. and
later in life had built a house there
where he and his children's children
could live.
The island is under the usual colonial
regulations, and is governed by q COM
mandant sent every three years from
the mother country. The people of the
English portion of the town have a
tiny structure where they can worship
by themselves, but the Catholic church
represents the majority of the inhab
= tny
where else, one is impressed by the
poverty of the people. though it speaks,
too, of their hearts and lives. Before
the shrines are piles of flowers, and
always, I believe, a tiny wooden ves
sci with sails full spread. hung there,
probably with tears and prayers for
the safe return of the loved ones on
the seas. and with faith. too, perhaps.
that this votive Offering will bring
them back. There are many figures Of
ST. Antoine to be seen in the church.
as of the Virgin Mary. all of them quite
large and imposing. especially when
seen among the barren surroundings OF
that interior and in contrast to the
board benches that fill in the rear of
the church.
n llile Ioiu NllluS dtouiib thN iii'''
now in view of the harbor and now
of the ocean. to the settlement OF hsh-
ermen's houses on the other side of
the island, Savoyard. 1t is here that
the people drive and walk on Sunday,
and here we We're invited to go in a
wagonette IF it would not be too much
trouble to us" There were a few chat
eaus. or summer houses. built in much
the style of Swiss cottages. The land
can be secured from the government
on condition that house is built upon
it and it is nut into state of cuiti-
walton within five years from the time
of the grant. We stopped at one OF
these places and were served to deli
cate pastries and sweet white wine. In
fact. we were in the land of large
hearted people and had constant proof
of their hospitality.
Every incident that occurred at the
place was interesting-even romantic
from the time we landed from the tug
boat to the moment when, as we left
our pension at the last. Il trumpet at
the street corner called attention to
the reading of a notice of music that
was to be given at the church in the
afternoon. This was the last glimpse
we had of the customs of the quaint
people At that moment group of our
new friends, French and English. We're
waiting on the wharf to see us off, and
in half an hour we had shaken hands
and given a last wave of our handker-
chiefs. The French flag fiuttered in
the breeze over our heads. The group
we had left and the quay and the
houses became dim in the distance.
Our experiences at st. Pierre were
things of the past.
We left the Pro Patria at North
Sidney and nearly a week later arrived
at the wharf at Halifax. I looked up
and saw the Queens Hotel above us
and the Citadel far beyond. Then my
ewes fell upon the pilot house of a
steamer on the other side of the wharf.
I stood on tiptoe and beheld once again
the French flag on the Pro Patria and
beneath it the figure of our captain
We had spent few hours altogether