PASSING between the point of _Vale_ and Herm, we are directly off the
harbour of _St. Peters Port_, its fort of _Castle Cornet_ crowning an
isolated granite rock, southward of the pier, which now connects it with
the shore, and forms the harbour of refuge. The coup d’œil assumes a
perfect Norman aspect, and the costume, dialect, and manners are in just
harmony with the scene. The marine quarter of the “town,” as it is _par
excellence_ termed (and indeed there is no other in Guernsey),
especially the old church, the hotels, and wineshops, of dark grey
stone, with which the quay is lined, is perfectly _continental_. The
shops and offices, of more modern aspect, compose the streets; the
dwellings of the opulent, among which _Castle Carey_ is conspicuous, are
chiefly on terraces along the abrupt escarpment; _Elizabeth College_,
the modern church, and the _Victoria Tower_, by the cemetery, on the new
ground, being the most prominent public objects. The old church on the
quay, dating about 1120, is crucial, the interior being darkened by its
massive columns and heavy galleries.
The marble slabs of the fish-market are profusely supplied with choice
fish—turbot, dorey, and very fine crustacea; and the stalls teem in the
season with the treasures of Pomona.
The education at the College is economical, about £12 per annum; the
cost for living with the Principal not exceeding £60.
The influence of this facility of learning will enlighten the minds even
of the unlettered islanders, among whom there is a prevalent
superstition. The belief in witchcraft may still be discerned, although
it is now two centuries since women were tortured, hung, and burned
under this demoniac creed.
The scenic quality both of the interior and of the eastern and northern
coasts of Guernsey is mere prettiness. On the south, however, from
Fermains Bay to Rocquaine it is buttressed by some of the most
magnificent rocks in the Channel, the land gradually descending from
them northward. The coast rocks on the east, south-east, south, and
south-west, from Saline to Rocquaine, are of _gneiss_, those of
Rocquaine are of _schist_, and thence they are _granitic_.
A line from Vagon Bay on the west through Catel to Amherst cuts the
islet into two unequal parts, differing in geological character. Much of
the bed of the northern portion is alluvial; some, indeed, embanked from
the sea by General Doyle. The southern is a more elevated platform, and
consists of a series of undulating hills, and sloping bosky lanes, and
little glens with rippling runnels, until the highest downs dip at once
into the waves their magnificent gneiss cliffs, rounding into beautiful
bays, embossed with outlying rocks, and worn into clefts and fissures,
or running up into exquisite little dingles. This magnificence is
confined to the south; the sea and coast views, however, to the east,
are finely backed by the islets of Herm and Jedthou, and the more
distant ridge of Serque.
Guernsey is an easy study; it may be _coasted_ and _threaded_, and its
objects of natural and archæological interest analysed, in four or five
days. In calm weather, however, the cliff beauty of the islet may be
contemplated more perfectly from a boat, surveyed from Fermains Bay to
Les Hanois.
The coast from Port St. Pierre to St. Sampson is flat, and studded with
rocklets, on which loads of _vraich_ and _laminaria_ and _asperococcus_
are profusely strewn. These algæ are gathered and dried for fuel, at the
legal harvest time, in March and July, the harvest home being profusely
supplied with _vraich cakes_ and bread. The digging and blasting of the
quarries of black stone, and the tiny windmills that drain these
excavations, give life to the scene as we approach St. Sampson’s.
Martello towers crown several of the brows, and there is within very old
walls to the left a little remnant now styled _Ivy Castle_. It is not
worth the visit, although it is a bit of a castle, built by Robert of
Normandy, contemporary with that of Jerbourg.
We are close to the archæological gems of the islet,—the churches of
_St. Sampson_ and _Braye la Ville_, or _du Val_, within a mile of each
other, at each end of a flat alluvial isthmus. The first is dated 1111,
its name being derived from Sampson, Bishop of St. David’s, consecrated
Bishop of Dol under the Duke of Brittany, and endowed with these islets
by Childebert of France. He came to Guernsey, and built a chapel here.
There are three aisles, with massive pillars and Norman arches; the old
gallery-loft and the tower are in exquisite antique. It is profusely
covered by most luxuriant ivy with enormous stems.
The steeple of Braye du Val, dated 1117, is very eccentric, immense
granitic blocks lying before the belfry-door.
At low water we cross the harbour of St. Sampson’s, Vale, or Du Val, on
stepping-stones. The Castle on the mound was erected as a defence
against the incursion of the Danes, and then called St. Michael’s, or
the Castle of the Archangel. There is a legend imputing its erection
chiefly to a band of military monks, who, in a sort of holy pilgrimage,
made a descent on the islet.
A Druidical _carn_ lies on the hill, half a mile northward on the left
of the road. There are twelve upright and three immense horizontal
stones. The largest of these, fifteen feet long and a yard thick, rests
on four uprights, the second only on two, the third on the second and
the edge of the pit, so that six uprights are unoccupied. From this brow
there is a perspective view of the chief objects in the islet, Alderney
lying on the horizon to the north-east.
Forts _Doyle_ and _Pembroke_ are on the northern point on either side of
_Lancresse Bay_, the bay of “_Anchorage_,” in which the Duke of Normandy
landed in a storm, as he was sailing over to England to Edward the
Confessor.
The shores and bays are here flat and dull; as we leave the Race Course
and pass _Portinger_ and _Long Port_, the upheaved blocks of gneiss
increase in number and proportion. In _Cobo_ Bay stands _Le Grande
Roche_; its veins of rose-coloured feldspar are unique. Here and there
we have picturesque glimpses—one of the flat islet of _Lihou_, once
hallowed by a priory built in the reign of Henry I., the grouping of
cots and walls still in bold relief. The outlying rocklets are profuse
between _Le Grand Havre_ on the north and the bold blocks of _Les
Hanois_ or _Hanoreaux_ off _Pleinmont Point_, the west corner of the
islet; they completely stud the bays of _Port du Fer_, _Saline_, _Long
Point_, _Great Cobo_, _Vazon_, _Perelle_, _Le Rie_, _Rocquaine_, the
widest bay in Guernsey. It was in Vazon Bay that the Spaniard Yvon de
Galles descended and fought the battle in which the islander Jean de
Lesoc performed feats of great valour. The site of this conflict is
still named La Bataille.
In contrast to this record of history is a fairy legend. In this bay of
Vazon was “_Les Creux des Fées_,” a cavern haunted by the little people.
Why and when and how we know not, but they conquered Guernsey!
A sterile sameness reigns around Pleinmont Point and Mount _Herault_ and
_Creux Marie_, a cavern 200 feet deep, and _Le Corbière_, until we reach
_Point la Maye_. In the vicinity are the old village churches of _St.
Peter_ in the Wood, of the æra of Henry II., 1167, and _Torteval_, still
more ancient, of the æra of Henry I., 1130, which was erected by Philip
de Carteret and dedicated to his Saint, Philip, after a vow during a
storm in Rocquaine Bay. There is the menhir stone in a meadow by one of
the lanes.
[Illustration: LE FORÊT, GUERNSEY]
The highest peak of the islet is the perpendicular cliff eastward of
Maye Point, rising to 300 feet—with offset rocklets and caverns or
slits in perfection. After the steep descent to the north-east into the
little cove of _Petit-bôt_, we mount abruptly to a very fine brow,
_Mount Hubert_, the name associated with the chase, and as we are now in
the district of _Le Forêt_, we may believe that we are on the site of
sylvan sport in the olden time. The dingle over which we look to the
elevated church of _Le Forêt_, on the opposite brow, reminds us of the
ravines of Devon or Man, the road winding in zigzag down a very deep
valley with a rippling streamlet at its side. We are now on the brow
over Icart Bay, the wildness and breadth of its waters spread out far
below us. The sienite rocks are finely chaotic, exactly grouped for the
pencil, and among the best studies in the islets; and around us we may
discover very luxuriant patches of lichen—among them the _Roccella
Tinctoria_, or _Orchel_, to which we owe many a bright olive dye and the
litmus paper so essential as a test. Another descent to eastward brings
us to the most exquisite little cove, _Saint’s Bay_; the huts and nets
and grouping of fishermen are on a ledge of the rock, adding life to the
otherwise solitary scene. The martello tower that was to guard the
descent of the gorge, like a Border peel in Scotland, is properly
perched to carry off the cliffs. Crossing Bon Point, the most fantastic
outlying rocks of Muel Huet at once arrest the eye; disintegration has
left them at present almost as caricatures. Leaving St. Martin’s on our
left, the high brow of _Jerbourg_ rises eastward, on which there is a
lofty column to the memory of General Doyle. It is the finest point for
a panorama of the isles; Herm and Jedthou beneath us, Serque and Jersey
extending their long grey ridges in the distance. The lines at _Fort
George_ commanding the road and the port are dismantled; from the
eastern bastion we gain a very fine bold view of the harbour and Castle
Cornet, with the eastern coast to the Castle of du Val, Alderney, lying
on the horizon. And so we accomplish the coast route of Guernsey.
[Illustration: MUEL HUET]
It is early evening in summer: wandering in the interior of this floral
islet, we are directly surrounded by pretty quiet hamlets and
homesteads: the abrupt lanes are lined and feathered by underwood of
very luxuriant yet dwarfish growth. The little gardens are glowing with
flowers, and they, as if to shame the forest by a contrast, attain a
gigantic height, their colours being exquisitely deepened into perfect
beauty. The tree _verbena_ rises twenty feet; _camellia_, _oleander_,
_myrtle_, _aloe_, _cystus_, blue _hydrangea_, _fuchsia_, _geranium_,
_magnolia_, all blooming profusely in the open air; _amaryllis_, the
Guernsey lily, being here unparalleled. The _heliotrope_ overruns its
bed in the wildest luxuriance—a carpet of the richest dyes more
beautiful by far than the cloth of gold of Hindustan, and on which Flora
might well hold her Court of Blossoms—and the _canna indica_ is now a
denizen in the islet. And here on the brow is the village of _Catel_,
looking down and across the flats to Braye. The antique church of the
twelfth century, frowning in dark stone, adds subject of high interest
to the bright landscape around us. And look at that eccentric daub
within it—three knights on horseback with falcons, and three skeletons
lying on the ground. It is somewhat tempting to hatch a legend, but we
refrain in pity, especially as the ovum is _addle_. There are, however,
real records of the ceremonial magnificence with which these islet
churches were consecrated, that are truly entitled to a remembrance.
Bishops and abbots and feudal lords, with their trains of vassals and
servitors, were wont in days of old to take, we hope, a holy pride in
assembling to grace the consecration with their state. Still more
fanciful is the romance of the Well of St. George, near Catel, which is
fraught with a very potent charm. St. George beats St. Valentine hollow;
for a maiden has merely to make a votive offering to this Saint at his
well nine days in succession, and lo! if she looks then into the well,
she not only sees her lover, but may _claim_ him as her right. So he
becomes a Benedict will he nill he.
From the slopes as we walk are the home peeps down the lanes and across
the dingles, with the church of du Val, and a windmill, and an arch, and
the martello of Crevelt, composing pictures of quiet beauty; and amid
such fair scenes we wander along to _St. Peter_ in the Wood, and _St.
Sauveurs_ (near which is the Beacon Hill, _La Hogue foque_,) and _St.
Andrew_, all consecrated by ancient fanes that claim the era of Henry
II.
And there in the hall of an old manor house—for we are bold in our
peregrination, and assume all the invasive liberty, the freemasonry of
curiosity—there, in the hall, we look on a large couch covered with dry
grass, fern, and heather; and what doth it import? It is the _Lit de
Veille_. On this bed, during the dreary evenings of winter, assemble the
maidens and youths of the isles, and there they sit and huddle or
recline often beneath festoons of autumnal or dried flowers, and beguile
the hours with song and chat, and thrifty needle too, forming a group
worthy of the pen of Boccaccio or the pencil of Watteau.