Part 6 (2/2)
sleep. On such occasions I always gave my animals a double allowance of food, and if they were improvident enough to consume it, as if it were carnival time, or a period of some great feast, that was their look out, and after their feast came a fast, which at worst only gave them an increased appet.i.te, and did them no real harm.
Speaking of appet.i.te and eating, I must describe my first pig-killing. I felt that I required pork, and the more I thought of it the more I was convinced that I _must_ have it, although a murder had to be committed before I could have it either roast, boiled, or fried. Very well, what easier! There were the two pigs, each about one hundred and forty pounds weight; all I had to do was to kill one. Of course I would set about it at once; but upon reflection I became aware that some courage was required, and that I was totally ignorant of the work before me.
However, I sharpened a long knife and went and had a look at the pigs, and the more I looked the less I liked my task; so much so, that after half an hour I decided that I would have tinned mutton for dinner--the pork would be too fresh, and perhaps it might be a dull day to-morrow, and I should want something to do! So the pig received a respite. Next morning when I awoke and considered how and when I should kill the pig, I made the resolve that come what might ”that day the pig should die.”
After breakfast I again sharpened the knife, as if it had become blunt again in the night, and got up a razor edge on the weapon, and once more proceeded to the stye. I selected my victim, and got one of my legs over the wall of the enclosure; but then my heart failed me, it seemed as if I was about to slay an old friend; indeed, they _were_ old friends, those two piggies, and I had had many a chat with them, in fact, could almost understand their language of grunts.
How was I going to secure my victim before giving the _coup de grace_?
Should he not be offered up on a stool? if so, I had not one to use; but an idea struck me, and that idea I adopted. Over the stye, about ten feet from the ground, the limb of a walnut tree stretched across, and my idea was to drop a line over the bough and make it fast round the porker's snout, haul him up on his hind legs, and bury my knife up to the hilt in his throat about where I thought his heart was situated.
Away I went and procured my cord, threw the end over the limb, made a noose, and got it in the pig's mouth and over his nose; then I hauled away amid the most blood-curdling shrieks imaginable. I got him on his hind legs, and then for the first time, as I took the knife from my belt, I knew the full meaning of the word ”coward.” But the deed had to be done, it would never do to let the animal die of old age while I wanted meat; so, setting my teeth, plunge went the knife, and at the same time in my eagerness to step back, down I fell backward over the other pig, who turned and bit me in the thigh, and then as he rushed away went full b.u.t.t into his comrade, which broke the rope, and down came the bleeding animal on top of me. I was in an awful state of filth, and as I rose they both came at me again; in fact I might have been seriously hurt had I not used my knife freely on the already-wounded pig. Luckily the other ran away, or it might have been serious for me.
In falling a second time I went down with my leg under me, and could not rise; but I drove the knife into the animal's breast with all my might, and then, seizing him round the body with my arms, forced the hilt further in with my chest, but instead of killing the beast, to my horror the point came out of his back as he freed himself and walked away. I rose and got out of the stye as nimbly as I possibly could, and sat down to try and find my face through the acc.u.mulation of blood and filth, which having done, I peeped over the stye wall, and found the pig still alive; so, to end the poor thing's misery and my own, I took up my gun and shot him dead. What a relief it was to see him lie stone still in an instant. I vowed never to attempt a porcine murder again, and while I was on the island the other pig had a good time of it, for as governor of Jethou I abolished capital punishment, and if a pig's years were as many as Methuselah's, he might enjoy them all before I should again attempt to put a period to them.
From a.s.sa.s.sination to boat sailing is a long stride but at least a change.
I performed two long voyages in my little craft; at least they seemed long ones to me at the time, considering the dangers of navigation in these rocky, swift seas.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A PORCINE MURDER.]
One trip was to Sark, which lies about six miles south-east of Jethou. I selected a beautiful day in August for this trip, and started at daylight, about four a.m., well provisioned, and with ”Begum” to accompany me, for somehow I always felt safer with him beside me. A light south-west wind was blowing, so we reached Sark by six a.m., and mooring the boat at the foot of the Coupee, in a bay called Grand Greve, I prepared coffee, and had a very leisurely breakfast, wondering at man's capacity for stowage; but that is due to the salt breeze which never yet put a man's liver wrong.
After enjoying the rocking in the bright warm suns.h.i.+ne, and watching the tiny people crossing the Coupee (like the little men crossing a bridge on a willow-patterned plate), three hundred feet overhead, off I started again. I kept about two hundred yards from the precipitous sides of the island, steering so close to the rock Moie de la Bretagne, which rises ninety feet above the sea, that I touched it as we (my boat, dog, and I) glided by.
Next, into the romantic little bay of Port Gorey (just a lovers'
paradise), where I let ”Begum” have a run ash.o.r.e while I sketched. Here are situate the mines which were abandoned many years ago as a dismal failure, leaving as a legacy to those fond of sketching some ruinous cottages and huge chimney shafts, which look down on the little Bay of Gorey, as Gog and Magog look down on the visitors to the London Guildhall.
Leaving Gorey we had a good look at the rock called L'Etac de Sark with its satellites, and gave them a wide berth, for their tooth-like appearance is not at all pleasant when but an inch of wood lies between one and a watery grave. L'Etac is the highest isolated rock round the island, rising nearly two hundred feet above low water.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ROCKS AT SOUTH END OF SARK.]
To save time, instead of sweeping the bays we made a straight line, so as to pa.s.s between Point Derrible and La Couchee, and quickly arrived off what one may suppose the most picturesque spot in the Channel Isles--Creux Harbour, with its stumpy little breakwater pier and cave cutting which gives entrance to the island. The half-dozen fishermen on the quay gave us a cheer as we pa.s.sed, in answer to a wave from my yellow cap.
On our right were the rocky islets, rising about one hundred feet above the sea, called La Burons, and I pa.s.sed just in time to see a sheep fall with a plunge and splash into the sea, shot by a man in a boat. This appeared to be the local way of slaughtering the sheep which are put on the rocks to crop the spa.r.s.e herbage which grows above high-water mark.
After a fortnight among the rocks sheep will get so agile and surefooted, that a man has no chance with them in running or climbing, hence the rifle has to be employed to obtain mutton.
After pa.s.sing Grand Moie (one hundred and seventeen feet)--there are no other rocks of any magnitude--so keeping well out I stripped and tumbled overboard, hanging now to the stern, and then swimming alongside, but never more than a yard away, for fear a current might part my boat and me. ”Begum,” of course, swam with me, and seemed to keep an eye on his master, for he seldom went far away from me. Whenever I looked round his dear old brown eyes were upon me, as if he would say, ”How are you getting on, master?”
We rounded the northernmost point of Sark, a rock called Bec du Nez, about twelve a.m., and with a fair wind ran into Port Jument, where we hove to for dinner; then creeping round Point Moie de Mouton, anch.o.r.ed off the famous Gouilot caves, and took a sketch, but could not by reason of my compact enter them. This was very annoying, for I had heard so much about them and their wonderful pools and anemonae. Disappointedly hauling in my anchor I steered for the Gouilot Pa.s.s, and like a fool nearly lost myself and craft. The distance between Moie de Gouilot and the island of Brechou is only about seventy yards, and as it was now past three o'clock, a swift tide was pouring pell-mell through the channel; this in my indolence I did not think of, and had like an a.s.s taken a turn of the sheet round a cleat, and somehow got it jammed. Away went the ”Yellow Boy,” like a shot out of a gun, and as we pa.s.sed through, a big puff of wind came round the end of Brechou, and nearly took the mast out before I could let go the sheet. Another two or three inches more and we must have capsized, and it was only due to the boat being rather heavily laden with cooking apparatus, gun, and cartridges, extra provisions, and the weight of ”Begum” (eighty pounds), who was fortunately lying to windward, that we did not heel right over. As it was we were all afloat in each compartment, so I ran into the beautiful bay of Havre Gosselin and anch.o.r.ed. It took an hour to bale out and sponge dry and put everything in order for the run home. After rightsiding, and when over my tea, I cast my eyes upon the beautiful precipitous vale which comes down from a height of about one hundred and fifty feet to the sandy sh.o.r.e. It was an exquisite sight in the full glow of the western sun, and would make a lovely theme for a canvas. It was an emerald valley, through the trees of which the sun glinted and made splendid contrasts of light and shade so beloved by the artist, while at the top of the vale, hung, or appeared to hang, half a dozen fishermen's cottages, such as the aforesaid artist frequently looks for in vain; but here they are, and perhaps my artistic friends may thank me for pointing out these delightful ”bits” to them.
I lingered as long as prudence would allow at this enchanting spot, and crept along the lee of Brechou Island to get a peep at its harbour or port, and soon found it, facing due west, a snug little haven enough in calm weather; but the very thought of trying to get into it in a heavy sea was enough to make one shudder. A steep path leads up from the beach to a farmhouse, which stands high upon the island; it is the _only_ habitation in the place.
This island is probably larger than Jethou, but being so near Havre Gosselin is not so lonely, as help may very quickly be summoned in case of accident or illness.
How I should have loved to pay the old farmer and his family a visit to compare notes with him; but it could not be, and even if I had seen him it is doubtful if I could have understood him, as doubtless he spoke Sarkoise French, and with that language I was totally unacquainted.
Still, we might have had what the Indians call a ”pow-wow,” and fraternised to some extent if only by signs.
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