Part 2 (1/2)

All around was the dark night, and rocks, and trees, which gave a most weird aspect to the scene when viewed from a short distance.

And thus they were enjoying their pandemonium when my father, the skipper, and I left them in the ”wee sma' hours” and retired to rest.

How long they kept it up I know not, but when I awoke and dressed at daylight all was quiet. At six all hands were called, and a sorry sight they presented. Ross had mounted a jury-leg, while among the other men no less than three black eyes appeared, beside bruised cheeks, and red swollen noses. However, all were friendly again, and agreed that they had hardly ever before spent such a jolly night. Such was a sailor's idea of a jolly time or ”high old spree!”

Breakfast over, my goods were hauled from the beach and placed in the different rooms and sheds according to their kind, while by noon the ”Cormorant,” with her Blue Peter flying, was ready for a start northward to dear old England. The Guernseaise had departed amid give and take cheering directly after breakfast, so that only the crew of the vessel remained. My father bade me an affectionate farewell on the deck of the vessel, but at the last embrace I felt too full of emotion to speak, for a lump was in my throat, and a tear started from my father's eye and rolled down his bronzed cheek, so that I knew that he, too, was greatly moved at losing me for such a long period. A firm grip of the hand told without words how we, father and son, loved each other, and to hide my emotion I tumbled over the bulwarks into the dingy, and was pulled ash.o.r.e by a couple of hands, amid the hearty cheers of the men who stood on deck. They gave me a salute of twelve _guns_ (fired from two revolvers).

I stood on the rocky sh.o.r.e and waved a tablecloth tied to a boat-hook till the vessel was hull down on the horizon, and then turned my face to my island home, not feeling nearly so happy as I had antic.i.p.ated a month before. Alone! I felt as if the whole world had departed from me, and that I was the sole survivor of the human race.

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

CHAPTER III.

FIRST THOUGHTS AND IMPRESSIONS--A TOUR OF THE ISLAND AND DESCRIPTION.

As I walked up the rocky path leading to the house, I must confess I felt anything but sprightly. I felt that Crusoe life, after all, was not all _caviare_. I was very depressed, and must admit a few tears, as the whole force of what I had undertaken presented itself vividly to my mind. What if I met with an accident? What if I were taken ill? Suppose someone put in at night and cut my throat for the sake of plunder? Who would help me? Who would know of my position? Might I not die any one of a hundred deaths without the fact being known for weeks, perhaps months?

What did this idiotic idea of mine amount to after all? Where was the pleasure? Would it not be better to be home in dear old Barton with my skiff and pretty Priscilla?

Such were some of my thoughts, but my depression I cannot so readily sprinkle on paper, and will not try to describe it. Let it suffice that _I was_ depressed, and deeply too.

I felt thirsty, so wandered to the house and sat down and poured myself out a bottle of Ba.s.s, and as I drank it, became aware of the presence of my dog, who placed his muzzle in my hand and looked into my face with positively tears in his dear old eyes. Why, after all, I was not alone.

No, here was a friend indeed (teste Byron), who would be ever by my side in weal and woe. ”Poor dog, are you hungry then?” Yes he was, and by the bye, why should I not try something? We ate; and in half an hour--such is the changeableness of the human mind--I was as happy as a sand-boy (whatever that may be), as I wandered by the sunny sh.o.r.e.

I would make a tour of inspection of my estate; and, reader, if you will kindly accompany me, I will show you the different sights of my little island.

Jethou, I must premise, is about half a mile long by a quarter wide. It rises steeply from the sea all round, except at the North end, where the slope is somewhat gentle. It is a dome-shaped ma.s.s, rising at the summit to a height of nearly three hundred feet. It may serve to give a good idea of its form if I liken it to a huge dish cover (a Britannia metal one, if you will, for it is crown property), as it is very symmetrical when viewed from a distance. It is, in fact, a huge bosom-like hill, around which three paths are cut; the first varying from fifty to a hundred feet above the sea, the second averages one hundred and fifty feet above high water, and another runs round perhaps fifty feet higher still. These paths at certain points are connected by other paths, so that one may readily get from one elevation to another, except where the island is unusually steep, when zig-zag paths have to be negotiated.

In one part seven or eight zig-zags have to be walked to rise to an elevation of about sixty or seventy feet, so steep is the south end of the island. At the north-west rises a curious pyramidal ma.s.s of granite, about one hundred and twenty feet above high water, called Crevicon, which may be reached on foot at low tide or even quarter flood; but after the tide once gets above the boulders it comes in like a mill race, rising at times during certain winds as much as seven feet within the hour; so that one may be cut off from the main island in a very few minutes, as it would be madness to try and cross during a heavy sea, whatever excellent swimming powers one might possess, as the rush of the tide would sweep one away like a straw.

Strange to say, there is another of these vast piles of granite, but of greater alt.i.tude and bulk, at the south end of the island, with just such a race of water running between it and the mainland after the tide turns. It is called La Fauconnaire, or the Falconry, and approaches two hundred feet in height, and very difficult of ascent. Each of these rock-islands is surmounted by a stone beacon in form of a miniature lighthouse tower (without the lantern story), about fifteen feet high.

These beacons serve seamen as landmarks, from which to take bearings, and to warn them of the danger of a too near approach to this dreadful coast--or rather coasts--for all these islands are terrible places in rough weather.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ISLAND of JETHOU By E. R. Suffling]

Now I will ask the reader to accompany me on a brief tour round the island. Starting from the house, past the pigeon-tower, we pa.s.s under some large walnut trees so thickly planted as to make the part very shady, even on a bright day, and on dull days quite gloomy. We take the middle path, which is about four feet wide, and flanked on each side by braken and boulders. Indeed, nearly half the island consists of brakes and granite blocks. I will mention the various items of interest as we pa.s.s along, if the reader will supply his own imaginings of whirling seagulls, frisking rabbits, sea breezes, bellowing surge as it b.u.mps and breaks against the granite sides of the island, flowers and bloom, singing birds and sweet-smelling shrubs, etc. These things a mere pen, however facile and graceful, cannot adequately describe without the help of the reader's brain; so I will ask him to imagine the above for himself, but I must warn him not to take cold with his lively imagination, as occasionally the March winds are very keen here, and in the present age of hypnotism, and thought-reading, and like gymnastics of the brain, it is very easy to make the imagination play pranks of an undesirable nature.

Now to resume our walk. Taking the middle path we quickly ascend to a height of nearly two hundred feet above the boiling surge das.h.i.+ng against the impregnable rocks below, and get a splendid view of Guernsey, a good three miles distant, stretching far away to the north, where it lies so low that it seems to melt gradually away into the sea.

Presently we come to some huge rocks which lie so much in our path that the footway has to wind round them. They are huge ma.s.ses of granite so poised that apparently a good push would send them rolling into the sea below, but their very size makes them secure, as some of the larger ones must certainly weigh forty or fifty tons, and the wind would have to blow a hurricane indeed which would dislodge them.

Here is one weighing perhaps three or four hundredweight which I will try and push over. I tug, and push, and presently it nods, and nods, and rolls over and over, till gathering impetus down the steep side of the island, it crashes with irresistible force through the furze, and heather, and shrubs, clearing a path as it goes till it reaches the granite rocks, upon which it crashes and bounds, breaking off great splinters, till finally with a boom it buries itself in the foam, never more to be seen by mortal eyes.

Following the path we come to some curious terraces, one above the other, which form a hanging garden facing due south. Now covered with turf, it was many years ago a famous potato garden. This spot is known as the Cotils.

Almost opposite this end of the island and at a short distance, rises the huge pyramidal ma.s.s of granite called La Fauconnaire (The Falconry).