_By Alexander Sutherland, Esq. Member of the Royal Physical Society of
Edinburgh_.
We lost sight of the Needles at sunset. There was little wind; but a
heavy weltering sea throughout the night. Nevertheless, our bark drove
merrily on her way, and at day-break the French coast, near Cape de
la Hogue, was dimly visible through the haze of morning. At dawn the
breeze died away; and as the tide set strongly against us, it was found
necessary to let go an anchor, in order to prevent the current from
carrying us out of our course. The surface of the ocean, though furrowed
by the long deep swell peculiar to seas of vast extent, looked as if
oil had been poured upon it. The vessel pitched prodigiously too; but
neither foam-bubbles nor spray ruffled the glassy expanse. Wave after
wave swept by in majesty, smooth and shining like mountains of molten
crystal; and though the ocean was agitated to its profoundest depths,
its convulsed bosom had a character of sublime serenity, which neither
pen nor pencil could properly describe.
The night-dew had been remarkably heavy, and when the sun burst through
the thick array of clouds that impended over the French coast, the
cordage and sails discharged a sparkling shower of large pellucid drops.
In the course of the forenoon, a small bird of the linnet tribe perched
on the rigging in a state of exhaustion, and allowed itself to be
caught. It was thoughtlessly encaged in the crystal lamp that lighted
the cabin, where it either chafed itself to death, or died from the
intense heat of the noon-day sun, which shone almost vertically on its
prison. At the time this bird came on board, we were at least ten miles
northward of the island of Alderney, the nearest land.
At one P.M. tide and wind favouring, we weighed anchor, and stood away
for the Race of Alderney, which separates that island from Cape de la
Hogue. In the Race the tide ran with a strength and rapidity scarcely
paralleled on the coasts of Britain. The famous gulf of Coryvreckan in
the Hebridean Sea, and some parts of the Pentland Firth, are perhaps the
only places where the currents are equally irresistible. To the latter
strait, indeed, the Alderney Race bears a great resemblance; and an
Orkney man unexpectedly entering it, would be in danger of mistaking
Alderney for Stroma, and Cape de la Hogue for Dunnet Head. In stormy
weather the passage of the Race is esteemed by mariners an undertaking
of some peril--a fact we felt no disposition to gainsay; for though the
day was serene, and the swell from the westward completely broken by
the intervention of the island, the conflict of counter-currents was
tremendous. At some places the water appeared in a state of fierce
ebullition, leaping and foaming as if convulsed by the action of
submarine fires; at others it formed powerful eddies, which rendered
the helm almost of no avail in the guidance of the vessel.
We steered as near to Alderney, or Aurigni as it is frequently called,
as prudence warranted. It is a high, rugged, bare-looking island,
encompassed by perilous reefs, but supporting a pretty numerous
population. The only arborescent plants discernible from the deck of our
vessel, were clumps of brushwood. The grain on the cultivated spots was
uncut, and several wind-mills on the higher grounds, indicated the means
by which the islanders, who have very little intercourse with the rest
of the world, reduce their wheat into flour. The southern side of the
island is precipitous, and its eastern cape terminates in a fantastic
rock called the Cloak, which our captain consulted as a landmark in
steering through the Race. There is only one village in Alderney--a
paltry place, named St. Anne, or in common parlance La Ville; and there
a detachment of troops is generally stationed. Small vessels only can
enter the harbour, which is shelterless, and rendered difficult of
access by a sunken reef. At sunset Alderney was far astern, and three
of its sister islands, Sark, Herm, and Jethau, were in view ahead.
It was impossible to behold, without a portion of romantic enthusiasm,
the dazzling radiance of the orb of day, as it went down in splendour
beyond the gleaming waves. A thousand affecting emotions are liable to
be excited by the prospect of that mighty sea whose farther boundaries
lie in another hemisphere--whose waters have witnessed the noblest feats
of maritime enterprise, and the fiercest conflicts of hostile fleets.
Where shall we find the man to whom science is dear, who dreams not of
Columbus, when he first feels himself rocked by the majestic billows
of the Atlantic--who regards not the golden line of light, which
the setting sun casts over the waste of waters, as a type of the
intellectual illumination experienced by the ocean pilgrim, when he
first steered his bark into its solitudes? Who can survey, even the
hither strand of that vast sea, without reflecting that the waves that
break at his feet have laved the palm-fringed shores of America; and
that the bones of millions--the pride, and pomp, and treasure of
nations--repose in the same capacious tomb?
Anxious to be a spectator of the perils that beset navigation among
these islands, I repaired to the deck before day-break, at which time,
according to our captain's calculation, we were likely to double the
Corbiére--a well-known promontory on the western side of Jersey--which
requires to be weathered with great circumspection. Jersey was already
visible on our larboard bow--a lofty precipitous coast. Wind and tide
were in our favour, and we swept smoothly and rapidly round the cape;
but the jagged summits of the reefs that environ it, and the impetuosity
of the currents, bore incontestable evidence to the verity of the tales
of misfortune which our captain associated with its name. The rock
which bears the appellation of the Corbiére, is close in shore, and
so grotesque in form, as to be readily singled out from the adjacent
cliffs. A reef, visible only at low water, shoots from it a considerable
distance into the sea, and another ledge of the same aspect, lies still
farther seaward; consequently the course of a careful pilot, is to hold
his way free through the channel between them. If a lands-*man may be
permitted to make an observation on a nautical point, I would say that
our steersman kept the peak of the Corbiére exactly on a level with the
adjacent precipices, till we were directly abreast of the headland, and
then stood abruptly in-shore till within a few fathoms of the cliffs,
under the shadow of which he afterwards held a steady course till
we opened the bay of St. Aubin.
The fantastic and inconstant outline of the Corbiére, as we were
hurried swiftly past it, was a subject of surprise and admiration.
When first seen through the haze of morning, it resembled a huge
elephant supporting an embattled tower; a little after, it assumed
the similitude of a gigantic warrior in a recumbent posture, armed
_cap-a-pie;_ anon, this apparition vanished, and in its stead rose a
fortalice in miniature, with pigmy sentinels stationed on its ramparts.
The precipices between the Corbiére and the bay of St. Aubin, are no
less worthy of notice than that promontory. They slope down to the
water-edge in enormous protuberances, resembling billows of frozen
lava, intersected by wide sinuous rifts, and present a most interesting
field for geological research.
The bay of St. Aubin is embraced by a crescent of smiling eminences
thickly sprinkled with villas and orchards. St. Helier crouches at the
base of a lofty rock that forms the eastern cape: the village of St.
Aubin is similarly placed near Noirmont Point, the westward promontory,
and between the two, stretches a sandy shelving beach, studded with
martello towers. The centre of the bay is occupied by Elizabeth
Castle--a fortress erected on a lofty insulated rock, the jagged
pinnacles of which shoot up in grotesque array round the battlements.
The harbour is artificial, but capacious and safe, and so completely
commanded by the castle, as to be nearly inaccessible to an enemy. The
jetties and quays, which had only been recently constructed, are of
great extent and superior masonry. The majority of the vessels in port
were colliers from England; but summer is not the season to look for
crowded harbours. The merchants of St. Helier engage deeply in the
Newfoundland fishery, and are otherwise distinguished for maritime
enterprise; consequently there is no reason to infer that the vast sum
of money which must of necessity have been expended in the improvement
of the harbour, has been unprofitably sunk. During the late war the
islanders rapidly increased in opulence, as the island was filled with
troops and emigrants, who greatly enhanced the value of home produce;
but the cessation of hostilities restored matters to their natural
order, and the Jerseymen bewail the return of peace and plenty with
as much sincerity as any half-pay officer that ever doffed his martial
appurtenances.
St. Helier may contain about 7,000 inhabitants. Internally it differs
little from the majority of small sea-ports in England, save it may be
in the predominance of foreign names on the signboards, and the groups
of French marketwomen, distinguished by their fantastic head-gear, who
perambulate the streets. The only place worthy of a visit is the market,
which, for orderly arrangement, and plenteous supply, is scarcely
excelled in any quarter of the world. It was occupied chiefly by Norman
women, who repair here regularly once a-week from Granville to dispose
of their fowls, fish, eggs, fruit, and vegetables. Most of them were
seated at their stalls, and industriously plying their needles, when
not occupied in serving customers. They had a mighty demure look, and
never condescended to solicit any person to deal with them--a mode of
behaviour which the butchers, fishmongers, fruiterers, and greengrocers,
of Great Britain would do well to imitate. The generality were
hard-featured; and their grotesque head-dresses, parti-coloured
kerchiefs, and short clumsily-plaited petticoats, gave them a grotesque,
antiquated air, altogether irreconcilable to an Englishman's taste.
They were, however, wonderfully clean, and civil and honourable in their
traffic, compared with the filthy, ribald, over-reaching hucksters who
infest our markets; and it was gratifying to hear that the Jersey people
encouraged their visits, and treated them with hospitality and respect.
The rock on which Elizabeth Castle is perched, is nearly a mile in
circuit, and accessible on foot at low water by means of a mole, formed
of loose stones and rubbish, absurdly termed "the Bridge," which
connects it with the mainland. In times of war with France, this
fortress was a post of great importance, and strongly garrisoned;
but in these piping days of peace, I found only one sentinel pacing his
"lonely round" on the ramparts. The barracks were desolate--the cannon
dismounted--and grass sufficient to have grazed a whole herd, had sprung
up in the courts, and among the pyramids of shot and shells piled up at
the embrazures. The gate stood open, inviting all who listed to enter,
and native or foreigner might institute what scrutiny he pleased without
interruption.
The hermitage of St. Elericus, the patron saint of Jersey, a holy man
who suffered martyrdom at the time the pagan Normans invaded the island,
is said to have occupied an isolated peak, quite detached from the
fortifications, which commands a noble seaward view of the bay. A small
arched building of rude masonry, having the semblance of a watch-tower,
covers a sort of crypt excavated in the rock, into which, by dint of
perseverance, a man might introduce himself; and this, if we are to
credit tradition, is the cave and bed of the ascetic. Here, like the
inspired seer of Patmos, he could congratulate himself on having shaken
off communion with mankind. Cliffs shattered by the warfare of the
elements--a restless and irresistible sea, intersected by perilous
reefs--and the blue firmament--were the only visible objects to distract
the solemn contemplations of his soul.
An abbey, dedicated to St. Elericus, once occupied the site of Elizabeth
Castle. The fortress was founded on the ruins of this edifice in 1551,
in the reign of Edward VI., and according to tradition, all the bells in
the island, with the reservation of one to each church, were seized by
authority, and ordered to be sold, to defray in part the expense of its
erection. The confiscated metal was shipped for St. Malo, where it was
expected to bring a high price, but the vessel foundered in leaving the
harbour, to the triumph of all good Catholics, who regarded the disaster
as a special manifestation of divine wrath at the sacrilegious
spoliation.
The works of Fort Regent occupy the precipitous hill that overhangs the
harbour, and completely command Elizabeth Castle, and indeed the whole
bay. They are of great strength, and immense masses of rock have been
blown away from the cliff in order to render it impregnable. The
barracks are bomb-proof, and scooped in the ramparts; and the parade
ground, which in shape exactly resembles a coffin, forms the nucleus of
the fortifications. This fortress had been completed since the peace,
and we found the 12th regiment of the line garrisoning it; but little
of the pomp and circumstance of warlike preparation was visible on
its ramparts. The prospect seaward is magnificent, and includes
a vast labyrinth of rocks called the Violet Bank, which fringes the
south-eastern corner of the island. One glimpse of this submarine garden
is sufficient to satisfy the most apprehensive patriot, that Jersey
is in a great measure independent of "towers along the steep."
At St. Helier a stranger may, without any great stretch of imagination,
fancy himself in England; but no sooner does he penetrate into the
country, than such self-deception becomes impossible. The roads, even
the best of them, are mere paths, narrow, deep sunk between enormous
dikes, and so fenced by hedges and trees, as to be almost impervious to
the light of day. The fields, of which it is scarce possible to obtain a
glimpse from these "covered ways," are paltry paddocks, rarely exceeding
two or three acres. Hedges and orchards render the face of the country
like a forest, and nearly as much ground is occupied by lanes and fences
as is under the plough.
(_To be concluded in our next_.)
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