At a little past six away we steered for home, but with a head wind and rather choppy sea, so there was no help for it but to tack, which made a long trip of it; but to make it short to the reader we reached home about nine p.m., tired, wet, and hungry, for it began to drizzle at sundown. Still, I never enjoyed a trip better than this memorable one of about twenty-five miles, although I was glad after supper to lay my head down on my pillow (and dream it all over again).

At the risk of wearying my readers I must tell them of a trip I took round Guernsey about a month later.

"Begum" went with me, that was now a matter of course, for directly the boat was shoved off, he would jump in and take his seat as if he were pilot: there was no getting him out again.

Well provisioned and provided for casualties, we started at the somewhat late hour of six a.m., and in an hour made the land opposite St.

Sampson's harbour, and peeped in on pa.s.sing, so as to see the busy scene of granite tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, breaking, and loading, which goes on here from sunrise to sunset all the year round. I could plainly hear the detonations as shots were fired in the quarries, and the dull rumble of the stone, as great ma.s.ses of granite, which have been unmoved since the creation, were rent asunder and toppled into the quarry below. Vale Castle and Bordeaux harbour, where I anch.o.r.ed, look picturesque from whatever points they are seen, whether from land or sea, and two hours quickly glided by as I sketched the lovely little bits of scenery around me. My plan was to take about half an hour for each sketch, to get the general outline and feeling of color, so that on my return I had plenty to occupy me on a rainy day.

The next point of interest was a little rocky island just past Bordeaux, called Hommet Paradis, which is the scene of the death of Victor Hugo's hero, Gilliatt, as related in "The Toilers of the Sea." He creates a splendid hero, and in the last chapter makes him commit suicide in an impossible manner. He causes his hero to stand in the sea, so that the tide rises up to his feet, his knees, his waist, his shoulders, till, still watching the vessel which bears his love from him through his own stupid act, nothing but his head remains. Then the tide continues to rise, and as the vessel vanishes on the horizon, "the head of Gilliatt disappears. Nothing was visible now but the sea." Surely he might have left a lock of hair or a sigh to mark the spot where he disappeared. I have tried on even a very calm day to stand as Hugo's hero did, and let the tide rise around me, but find the thing an impossibility. The motion of the rising tide would lift one off their feet long before the water rose above their shoulders, and as to making the man stand _still_ and drown, why the idea is ludicrous. But as Hugo created his hero, why should he not be allowed to destroy him as he likes? The book (except the last chapter) is an exquisite piece of word painting, but I always wish he had made a happy end of his hero. I felt this so much when I read it on Jethou (for the third or fourth time) that I actually re-wrote the last chapter for my own edification, and made Gilliatt marry Dernchette w.i.l.l.y-nilly, so that everything ended properly, and the lovers "lived happily ever after."

North Guernsey (called Parish) is very uninteresting, in fact, from the sea it looks a perfectly flat wilderness or desert, and I was glad when the "Yellow Boy" glided into the deep clear blue water of Grand Havre, where we moored for lunch.

Here an incident occurred which might have caused me to go ash.o.r.e against my wish. While peppering some fish I was eating, the lid came off my little tin box, and the contents were strewn thickly on my food.

Some of the condiment I scooped back into the box, and then gave a mighty puff to blow the rest off my plate, when, unluckily blowing against the wind, some of it blew into my eyes, causing me exquisite pain for some time, necessitating my rubbing them.

Had I remembered the Spanish proverb, "Never rub your eyes but with your elbows," I should have saved myself a lot of needless pain, for they became quite inflamed. I bathed them first in tepid water and afterwards in cold, and then sat down in the bottom of the boat with a wet handkerchief over them for an hour. This did them much good, but still they felt very hot and inflamed. I could only just see to pick my way among the shoals of rocks along this west coast, and consequently made very slow progress. Saline, Cobo, and Vazon Bays were all sailed slowly through, and very pretty they were; but it now dawned upon me that I should not see Jethou to-night, as it was already approaching the gloaming of the day. Lowering the sail I put out the sculls, and paddled back to a little inlet I had noticed near Cobo Bay, called Albecq Cove, a rocky little inlet, but nicely sheltered from the south-west wind, then gently blowing. Here I made all snug for the night; put on my kettle to boil water for tea, while with the sail I made a kind of awning to roof in the boat should it come on to rain, and made myself generally comfortable.

At nine p.m. I went to sleep, and at four a.m. was up again getting ready for a start. My eyes felt nearly well again, but still rather weak, so, stripping, I jumped overboard, and had a swim and dive, then dressed, and after a cup of coffee felt no more of the eye soreness.

Between Lihou Island and the sh.o.r.e I moored in shallow water to make a sketch of the remains of what are said to have once been a Priory, standing on the island, and which have since been used as a manufactory of iodine, although it is now discontinued. When my sketch was nearly completed, I became suddenly aware, by reason of the cessation of motion, that my craft was aground. Sure enough so it was, for the tide had left me on the causeway (laid bare at low tide), which serves as a means of communication with the sh.o.r.e for the family who occupy the only house on the eighteen-acre island. I jumped up and seized the oars, and pushed with main and utmost might, but the "Yellow Boy" refused to budge, and I was in a quandary. The tide would not float me for another three or four hours, so to wait would spoil my whole morning, and if I stepped overboard and pushed off, should I not be breaking my contract by landing? I sat down a few minutes and held council with myself, and came to the conclusion that to stand in a foot of water was not _landing_, so over I jumped, and by dint of a great deal of pushing, hauling, perspiring, and the use of interjections (not profane, for I never use a bad word), I got her off into deep water, and jumped in, resolving never to anchor again in fleet water with a falling tide.

From Lihou I made a bee-line to the Hanois lighthouse, which stands about a mile from the sh.o.r.e, and forcibly reminds one of the Longship Light off Land's End, Cornwall. I pa.s.sed so close that the two men who were standing on the rocks with a tub between them doing their week's washing, asked me ash.o.r.e; but I made a gurgling noise in my throat, and pointed to my ears and mouth as I pa.s.sed on. I meant them to understand by this that I was a deaf mute, but they evidently took me for a lunatic, as I could hear by their remarks.

Rounding Pleinmont Point, upon which stands the dreary, solitary stone house mentioned so frequently in Hugo's "Toilers of the Sea," I caught the south breeze which was now blowing very fresh, and having a lea sh.o.r.e on my left, I had to give it rather a wide berth till I came to La Moye Point, where I turned into Pet.i.t Bo Bay for my mid-day meal, that being somewhat sheltered from the wind. It is a lovely little haven, and so I found Icart, Moulin-Huet, and Fermain Bays, with their t.i.tanic surroundings.

While moored in Fermain Bay admiring the beautiful scene, the wooded slopes of the environing hills, the grand rocks, the pretty little semicircular stretch of yellow sandy beach, the puny little martello tower, and other items of interest, I discovered that while my surroundings were interesting _me_, that I was also interesting my surroundings, for I found I was gradually being surrounded by boats.

These contained pleasure parties, to whom the fishermen had evidently told the story of my Crusoe life, and they were therefore anxious to get a near view of me and my curious craft, while "Begum" came in for his share of attention also.

Some of the people wished to speak to me, but I up anchor, and with my usual dumb appeal to my ears and mouth tried to get away, but there was so little wind under the great cliffs that my progress was very slow, so I had to sit, tiller and sheet in hand, while my tormentors said their say, to me and about me, in French, German, and English. One young lady, when she found I was dumb to her enquiries, made a confidant of "Begum,"

and told him how she would like to see over Crusoe's island, as she called Jethou, but all to no purpose, for, like his master, the dog was dumb also, though not deaf.

I should have bubbled over with pleasure to show the damsel my island and resources; but all I could do was to raise my yellow cap, and expand my mouth horizontally across my face, to signify my approval of her attention to _my dog_!

As the boat crept out from the headland of Fermain Bay my yellow sail began to draw, and very soon I left my pursuers behind. I had become so used to my queer yellow boat and its yellow sail and flag, that I had long ceased to see anything peculiar in it; but of course to other eyes my craft and its crew were a source of speculation and surprise. After this I never went near Guernsey again during the day-time.

I made a straight run for home now, but somehow felt rather melancholy, and could not get the young lady's face out of my mind. I felt somewhat depressed to think I was fleeing from my fellow-men, as if I had committed some grave offence and could not face them; but when once my foot touched Jethou's sh.o.r.e (about seven p.m.) my thoughts and melancholia vanished. There I was, home again, patting "Eddy's" back, and pulling his long ears, and feeding the pig, and milking the goat, getting ready my tea, and finally stretching my weary legs to take out the kinks, which a couple of days in an open boat will put into any man's limbs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative scroll]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative chapter heading]

CHAPTER IX.

HARVEST OPERATIONS--EXPLORE LA CREUX DERRIBLE, AND NEARLY LOSE MY LIFE--CRUSOE ON CRUTCHES--AN EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY--KILL A GRAMPUS--OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS--MAKE AN OVERFLOW PUMP.

After my boating adventures I began to think it was high time I should spend a week or two ash.o.r.e, looking after my crops and the estate generally.

It was now September, and my apples and pears were ripe, and so were the lovely mulberries. The giant tree was a sight to behold, with its bushels of red, purple, and blackish-ruby fruit. I might have gathered enough fruit and vegetables to have supplied a small community throughout the season, so prolific is the soil, and encouraging to vegetation the air.

My potatoes turned out remarkably well--free from blemish, and of good flavour. I must have had two or three tons, and went through the labour of digging them and picking up all the tiny ones, as if I expected or feared a famine. The pig's winter food was a.s.sured, at all events.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MAIN PATH OF THE ISLAND.]

Long previous to this I had cut and gathered my hay crop, which was to form the chief sustenance for "Eddy," and the goat, "Corny," for the next five or six months. This I made into a neat stack close to the house, and thatched thickly with brakes, beside which I covered it with tarpaulin, and girded it about with old chain-cable to prevent its being blown away: also I guarded the base with a surrounding of wire-netting to preserve it from the rabbits.

The crop I took most pleasure in was the barley, which I looked upon as my legitimate harvest; the other crops seeming to be more like gardening than real harvest work. I cut every handful with a reaping hook, which took a long time; but as I had not a scythe this was my only way of cutting it down. True, the Channel Islands mode of harvesting the barley is to pull it up by the roots, a handful at a time, knocking the soil off the roots upon the toe of the boot; but this seemed to me such an un-English method that I would have nothing to do with it.

After it had lain to dry for three or four days I called "Eddy" and my solid-wheeled cart into requisition, and took it, load by load, down the rocky path to the store-house, where I placed it all safely away in the upper chamber. The pathway was so narrow in places that the deviation of a few inches would have caused donkey, load, and cart, to be precipitated scores of feet down the abrupt slope into the sea beneath.

To avoid this catastrophe I had to take a pick-axe and shovel, and devote a whole day to widening it in parts, making this, the main path to the top of the island, nowhere less than four feet wide.

I rode home atop of the last load, and at my own door drank my own health, with three cheers for everything and everybody, to which "Flap,"

the gull gave a kind of croak, by way of approval to my sentiments.

While my harvest was in progress I met with an adventure which might have terminated the harvesting and my existence at the same time.

It was a boisterous day. I was tired of digging potatoes, for my back ached, and I wanted a rest. The Cotills being near the awful crater-like mouth of La Creux Derrible, I thought I would go and explore it, and find out in my own way, all about it; so, dropping my occupation, I wandered slowly down the zig-zag, bracken-hemmed path, lit my pipe, and prepared myself for laziness for an hour.

When I am lazy I like to be _thorough_. I cannot bear to be half at work and half at play; it is neither one thing nor another. So on this occasion I strolled quietly down the pathway, which zig-zags seven or eight times before it ends abruptly on the brow of a little cliff facing La Fauconnaire. I scrambled down the cliff, across the beach, and over the rocks which form a barrier to the entrance of the cavern leading to the Creux. I noticed that the tide allowed an entrance to be effected, so I climbed in over the gigantic boulders with which the floor of the black cavern is covered, and soon found myself standing on the pebbly floor of the chasm, looking up at its perpendicular sides, and admiring the various ferns, weeds, and flowers which grew in beauty from its many clefts and fissures. Then I saw something move in a hole near my feet, and found it to be a wounded rabbit, which had apparently fallen down the shaft from one of the little ledges a hundred and fifty feet above.

The timid little fellow did not attempt to run away, so, picking him up, I examined him and discovered that both his fore legs were broken, and it quite hurt me to see the pitiful look he gave with his bright, prominent, gazelle-like eyes. I fondled the wounded animal, and looking upward intently, presently saw other little rodents hopping round little ledges near the top, which did not appear, from where I stood, to be so wide as their bodies; but there they were, and although I waited expectantly for a long time for a prospective dinner, no others fell upon me. I should have been afraid to shoot at them had I had my gun, for fear of detaching pieces of rock, which, falling from such a height, might have crushed my skull in.

Seeing it was hopeless to think of saving the poor little bunny's life, I gave him the "regulation stretch," and quieted him for ever. It seemed strange that I should have cared for this one's life, and would have saved it if I could, when I was daily trapping and shooting them in all directions.

I think it was his plaintive look that did it, or the consciousness that I was a superior being, and had his little life (to a certain extent) at my command, just as our Father above has mine; but anyway, in his wounded state I knew that death was his best friend. Looking round I at once realized what death meant--death in a terrible form--not to a rabbit, but _death to myself_--and for a moment I felt paralyzed; for there was the sea creeping in upon me, not ten yards away. The roof of the cavern through which I had to pa.s.s, did not appear far above the water at the outer mouth. As I gazed along the tunnel-like aperture the waves continually broke, sending spray to the roof, shutting out much of the daylight seaward, though from the opening above me the sunlit sky shed its light upon me.

Could I find a means of climbing up the perpendicular sides of my prison, if only a few feet? No, I could not see a spot where even a squirrel could ascend. What was to be done? The outlet was now filled to the roof with the incoming tide, which here has a rise of from twenty-five to thirty feet from low to high tide.

The sea reached my feet, and to my excited imagination felt like the fingers of death trying to clutch me. But I am not one to give up without a big struggle, and I made up my mind to attempt to swim round and round the opening, _like a rat in a pail_, if it came to the worst; but although I am a good swimmer, I doubted my ability to keep afloat for three or four hours, with a heavy sea pouring into the circular cavity, which would presently be filled with a whirlpool of seething, foaming water. I should be knocked and buffeted from side to side against the adamantine rocks till I was dead, then tossed and played with till the tide ran out and carried my body into the vast ocean beyond, as food for fishes. My friends would never hear of me again, and my animals on the island would starve till--yes, why not try?

My soliloquy was cut short by noticing a crag project beyond the others about ten or twelve feet from the ground. Why could I not throw my doubled silk sash over it, and haul myself up? I would try.

The sea was now up to my knees, and was beginning to exert a rotary motion, which, as the tide rose, would increase in velocity. So off came my waist-sash, and after a few attempts it lodged over the boss of rock; then to strengthen it I twisted it like a double rope, and carefully hauled myself up it, hand over hand, till I grasped the protruding rock; but as it only jutted out a few inches there was no possibility of sitting upon it, so I gradually worked my way up by clutching at any inequalities in the surrounding rock till I got one knee upon it, and there I hung, with my fingers bent over a fissure like fish-hooks. How I envied the rabbits overhead, who occasionally dislodged the _detritus_ of rock, which fell upon me. What would I not have given to be back on the ledges of the Cotills, digging potatoes! But there I was, like a rat in a trap, with no means of egress.

In a short time my fingers became cramped, and the sharp rock cut my knee to such an extent that the perspiration broke out clammily on my forehead, as I realised that in a few minutes I must loose my hold and drop into the whirling water beneath, unless I could find some other means of supporting myself. I looked about, and presently found a small hole for my right hand--one deep enough to get a fairly good hold upon--and putting my fingers into this, I gently let my left hand glide down the rock and bring up the sash on that side. This I placed in my mouth, gently changed hands and hauled up the right end of the sash, then, after many attempts, with my mouth and right hand I managed to tie a knot in it so as to form the sash into a short endless band. This I dropped down, and putting my foot in the loop, had a somewhat secure support.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LA CREUX DERRIBLE.]

There I hung for about three hours, till the tide only left about two feet of water on the upper part of the floor of the cavern. When I attempted to descend I found I could not straighten my right leg because of the constant pressure for such a long time upon the knee-joint, so I waited till the cave floor was almost bare, and then let myself _fall_ down as gently as possible. I was not hurt by the fall, but could not stand, as my knee would not allow itself to be straightened. I sat down for an hour till the tide allowed me to hop out in great pain. Oh, how glad I was to be out of that dreadful place; and even in my crippled state I rejoiced at my liberty! Upon getting to the foot of the Cotills cliff, I whistled for my faithful "Begum," but no "Begum" came, so I sat down and rested, and whistled, and whistled again, till presently away he came tumbling down the breech in the cliffs, to my great delight.

After a bit I despatched him to fetch "Eddy," and while that worthy was on his way to my help, managed, with great exertion and risk, to scale the cliff. "Eddy" bore me up the zig-zag, and home by the lower path, and thankful indeed was I to get there.

I bathed my knee, and did all I could for it, but it was many days before I fully recovered the use of the limb; in fact, for three days I used a crutch, which helped me along famously. Fancy a Crusoe on crutches! After this adventure I made up my mind that I was not born to be drowned.

Now, a week after my Creux adventure another incident occurred which greatly influenced my career both as regards my stay on the island and my after life. This was a curious discovery I made quite by accident.

It happened to be a very wet morning when I rose, and looked as if it would continue all day, so I thought I would stay indoors and tidy up my dwelling. I soon prepared my breakfast, and sat down to enjoy it, and as I and my dog were discussing it, I could not help noticing the dilapidated state of the stained and ragged wall-paper. It had probably been on many years, and I recollected that somewhere among my stores I had about a dozen rolls of new paper, so I said to myself, "Why not strip the walls and re-paper the room?"