Part 6 (1/2)
More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford;
But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard; Never sighed at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.”
It is scarcely true to say that the rocks _never_ hear the sound of the church-going bell, for with a westerly breeze the bells can be heard quite plainly, and I have even heard a dog bark at that distance, which shows how distinctly, and to what a great distance sound will travel over water.
If rocks have ears they must occasionally have been ravished by my rendering of Sankey and Moody's hymns. If they have a memory they must have learnt several of them by heart; in fact, have been so familiar with them as to desire a change for something secular. They never applauded me, but when the Heavens spoke with thunder they clapped their granite hands till they cracked again.
The last verse hits me again--quite a bull's eye:
”But the sea fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot.”
Yes, I nightly had to repair to my cabin, and in the wet season had my cabin to repair; but I made it so cosy, that like the last line, ”it reconciled me to my lot.”
Oh, Crusoe! how I would have loved to have shared Juan Fernandez with thee! What a Friday I would have been, and what enjoyment I should have discovered in everything--except black man killing! But even that I should have taken my part in it if it came to the question ”kill or be killed.”
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FOOTNOTE:
1: It so happened that only a few years since, a young lady, taking a row after church one Sunday evening, lost an oar overboard and drifted out to sea. In the morning she was picked up (being then quite out of sight of land) by a vessel bound for Canada, and actually taken to Newfoundland, from whence in about a month she arrived home safely, much to the joy of her sorrowing friends, who had given her up as drowned.
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CHAPTER VIII.
A TRIP TO ST. SAMPSON'S HARBOUR--A HORRID PORCINE MURDER--A VOYAGE ROUND SARK--NEARLY CAPSIZED--TRIP ROUND GUERNSEY--THE PEPPER-BOX--CURIOSITY OF TOURISTS.
From time to time I made many improvements in the ”Yellow Boy,” and learnt her capabilities, so that in time I took quite long cruises as far as Guernsey, and even to Sark.
It will be remembered that two of the conditions my father imposed upon me, were that I should not land on any other island nor speak to anyone under any pretence whatever, and these rules I rigorously carried out.
Many a time pa.s.sing boatmen hailed me, but a wave of the hand and my finger pointed to my output tongue was the only answer they received, consequently I was called the ”Dumb Man of Jethou,” or the ”Yellow Boy,”
and as such and by no other name many of the fishermen knew me. Those who did not know my history pitied me as a kind of voiceless castaway or semi-sane being.
My long trips were sometimes undertaken on calm moonlight nights: one, I remember, was to St. Sampson's Harbour, Guernsey. I started about three a.m., and reached the harbour before four o'clock, so that I had a good look around the little haven, and at the s.h.i.+pping before anyone was astir. I moored to the cable of a big brigantine which was lying alongside the wharf ready for her cargo of granite for London. Curb stones, blocks for paving, and broken metal for macadam roads are all s.h.i.+pped here to the amount of several thousand tons weekly, so that the granite quarrying and dressing give occupation to about 2,000 men, women, and children. Granite working and fruit growing are the two great industries of the island, which seems to me to be composed princ.i.p.ally of two extremely different materials--granite and gla.s.s; at any rate it is not the place for stone throwing.
As I swung on the cable of the big s.h.i.+p, I made myself a cup of coffee; for I always carried a small lamp stove with me, so that I could cook the fish I caught fresh from the sea, or make myself a cup of tea or coffee to wash my meal down with.
I have since found, that within the memory of persons still alive, Guernsey was nearly cut off from Vale Parish by an arm of the sea, which flowed over the salt marshes at high tide, so that all communication was cut off between the two parts of the island except by one little bridge and the ferry boat. The bridge was about 380 yards west of St. Sampson's Church; but at the present day pleasant meadows, houses, and roads take the place of the broad stream of salt water and marshes, which formerly made Guernsey and Vale separate islands twice a day, at the time of high tide.
Just before five o'clock when heads began to peep over bulwarks, and men to appear on the quay, pa.s.sing to their work, I thought it time to be off, as my strange craft would be sure to attract attention, which I did not court, so I packed up and made snug for sailing. I was only just in time, for a bearded face looked over the bulwarks of the brigantine, and hailed me with a ”Good morning, mate!” but I only pointed to my mouth and ears as I unmoored. When I looked up again as I pushed off there were half a dozen merry faces peering over the side at me, and I could see they were surprised at the ”Yellow Boy” and her dumb skipper. As I sculled out of the harbour I could hear their remarks and laughter, despite my deaf-mutism, and would gladly have had a chat with them if it had not been for my ”rules,” for these were the first human voices I had heard close by me for nearly four months.
Away I scudded, taking my way across the Little Russel, past the stone fort, with its one pop-gun on top, which is supposed to dominate the channel, standing as it does on a rocky islet midway between Guernsey and Herm. If a modern wars.h.i.+p meant business, the bellicose gunners of this little inkpot-looking fort would have what the French call a _mauvais quart d'heure_. Arrived home about seven I had all the day before me. One of our poets says,
”The only way to lengthen our days, Is to take a piece off of the night, my boys!”
This I used frequently to do, but always took care to take _my_ piece off the night, so as to _prefix_ the day instead of making it a kind of bacca.n.a.lian _appendix_. I have sometimes had my day twenty hours long, from two in the morning till ten at night; but with this I used afterwards to take an antidote in the shape of ten or eleven hours'