E-text prepared by Steven Gibbs, Martin Pettit, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 17618-h.htm or 17618-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/6/1/17618/17618-h/17618-h.htm)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/6/1/17618/17618-h.zip)
JETHOU
Or
Crusoe Life in the Channel Isles
Illustrated by Drawings Prepared from Author's Own Sketches
by
E. R. SUFFLING
Author of "History and Legends of the Broad District,"
"How to Organize a Cruise on the Broads,"
"Afloat in a Gipsy Van," etc.
Third Edition
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
London
Jarrold & Sons, 10 & 11, Warwick Lane, E.C.
[All Rights Reserved]
1898
PREFACE.
As the writer does not pretend to possess what is termed literary style,
he would ask the indulgence of the reader in any little slip of the pen
which may occur in these pages, as it is not every Crusoe who can
command the facile quill, the pure style, or the lively imagination of a
Daniel Defoe, to narrate his adventures.
It must be borne in mind that the island of Juan Fernandez possessed
many natural features, and a far greater area than Jethou can boast of,
and therefore more scope for the development of incidents and
descriptive embellishment.
Doubtless many of the adventures here placed before the public will
appear puny beside the exploits of the original Crusoe; but it must be
taken into consideration that the author does not, like Defoe's hero,
revel in the impossible. At the same time it may be noted that the
adventures detailed are of a sufficiently exciting kind as to be above
any suspicion of dulness.
Juan Fernandez lies about four hundred miles from the nearest land, and
it is therefore very difficult to imagine from whence the savages came
who were about to convert Friday into a _fricassee_. The Friday of our
story, y'clept Monday, came to Jethou in a natural if in an exciting
manner, and it will be found that everything else in the narrative, if
not an _exact_ account of what really did happen, is at least feasible.
It is in fact a practicable narrative, served up in a plain, ungarnished
form, except that to make it more palatable to the general reader a
little love-story has been introduced towards the conclusion, which, it
is hoped, sustains the interest right to the last, and makes the volume
end as all good books should, by allowing the principal actors to "live
happily ever after."
E. R. SUFFLING (HARRY NILFORD).
_Blomfield Lodge_,
_Portsdown Road_,
_London, W._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
My birth and home--My pretty cousin--Accident to the
"Kittywich"--Journey to Guernsey--Pleading to become
a Crusoe--My wish granted--Outfit secured--Sail
to Jethou 9
CHAPTER II.
I take possession of the Island--Landing stores--A grand
carousal--Farewell--Alone 24
CHAPTER III.
First thoughts and impressions--A tour of the Island and
description 32
CHAPTER IV.
Farming operations--I make a plough and a cart--A
donkey hunt--Dumb helpers--My live stock 44
CHAPTER V.
Canoeing--Fish of the place--The ormer and limpet--A
curious fishing adventure--Queer captures from the
sea--Rock fish--Construct a fish pond and water-mill 55
CHAPTER VI.
"Flapp," the gull--Surgical operation--The gull who refused
to die--Taxidermy extraordinary--Feathered friends--Snakes 69
CHAPTER VII.
I build a curious "box-boat"--An unpleasant night at sea--My
Sunday service--The poem, "Alexander Selkirk"--Its
applicability to my lot 79
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 93
CHAPTER IX.
Harvest operations--Explore La Creux Derrible, and nearly lose my
life--Crusoe on crutches--An extraordinary discovery--Kill a
grampus--Oil on troubled waters--Make an overflow pump 112
CHAPTER X.
A storm and a wreck--The castaway--Dead--A night of
horror--The boathouse destroyed--A burial at sea 126
CHAPTER XI.
Climate in Winter--Vision of my father--A warning voice--Supernatural
manifestations--The falling rock--My life saved by my dog 139
CHAPTER XII.
A fairy pool--Wonders of the deep--Portrait of a poet--The cave of
Fauconnaire--A letter from home and my answer to it 148
CHAPTER XIII.
Another terrible storm--Loss of the "Yellow Boy"--A ketch
wrecked--I rescue a man from the sea, badly injured--He recovers 159
CHAPTER XIV.
Work and song--Sunday service--Build a larger boat, the
"Anglo-Franc"--Collecting wreckage--Commence a
jetty--Our cookery--Blasting operations--The opening banquet 172
CHAPTER XV.
Trawling for fish and dredging for curios--Some remarkable
finds--A ghastly resurrection--The mysterious paper--The
hieroglyphic--A dangerous fall--_Hors de combat_--Attempts
to unravel the paper 181
CHAPTER XVI.
Yarns: The cabbages which hung their heads--The raft of
spruce--Voyage of the "Dewdrop"--A lucky family--A
deep, deep draught--The maire's cat 193
CHAPTER XVII.
The Will again--Searching for a clue to the paper--Barbe Rouge's
Will--A probable clue--Hopes and doubts--Perplexed--A memorable
trawl by moonlight--A real clue at last--The place of
the skull found 207
CHAPTER XVIII.
Digging for the treasure--A noonday rest--The ghastly tenant of
the treasure house--We find the treasure--An account of what
we discovered 217
CHAPTER XIX.
Preparing to leave--A letter home--We lengthen and enlarge the
"Anglo-Franc"--Re-christen her "Happy Return"--Love at first
sight--Victualling and stowing cargo--Pretty Jeannette--The long
voyage--Incidents en route--Vegetarians, and their diet--Yarmouth
reached--Fresh-water navigation--My native heath 231
CHAPTER XX.
I surprise the old folks at home--All well--Is Priscilla false--We
meet--The missing letters--A snake in the grass--Dreams
of vengeance 250
CHAPTER XXI.
The "Happy Return" inspected--More of my father's ghost--Unpacking
the treasure--Seek an interview with Walter Johnson--Two letters 257
CHAPTER XXII.
M. Oudin arrives--The Wedding Day--Division of the
spoil--Alec returns to Jethou--Wedding gifts--The end 265
APPENDIX.
A few words about the Channel Isles 271
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE ISLAND OF JETHOU _Frontispiece_ 1
THE OLD HOME AT BARTON 10
MAP OF THE ISLAND OF JETHOU 35
PLAN OF HOMESTEAD 43
MY PLOUGH 47
AN ANTEDILUVIAN CHARIOT 48
"I WAS SWAMPED IN A MOMENT" 61
THE "YELLOW BOY," PLANS, ETC. 81
A PORCINE MURDER 99
ROCKS AT SOUTH END OF SARK 101
THE MAIN PATH OF THE ISLAND 113
LA CREUX DERRIBLE 119
TOO LATE! 131
A GHOSTLY VISITANT 141
"ALONG THE RUGGED CLIFF PATH" 161
RESCUE OF ALEC DUCAS 167
THE PUZZLING DOCUMENT 186, 209
A TERRIBLE FALL 187
THE TENANT OF THE TREASURE HOUSE 223
LENGTHENING THE "ANGLO-FRANC" 235
[Illustration: Frontispiece--THE ISLAND OF JETHOU]
[Illustration: Decorative chapter heading]
JETHOU;
OR,
Crusoe Life in the Channel Isles.
CHAPTER I.
MY BIRTH AND HOME--MY PRETTY COUSIN--ACCIDENT TO THE
"KITTYWICH"--JOURNEY TO GUERNSEY--PLEADING TO BECOME A CRUSOE--MY
WISH GRANTED--OUTFIT SECURED--SAIL TO JETHOU.
That Crusoe of Crusoes, Alexander Selkirk, as I am aware, commences his
entertaining history with his birth and parentage, and as I am also a
Crusoe, although a very minor adventurer, I may as well follow the
precedent and declare my nativity.
I was born at the little village of Barton in Norfolk, at the time the
guns at Balaclava were mowing down our red coats and tars, where my
father had a small house facing the Broad. It was a comfortable old
two-storied building, with a thatched roof, through which a couple of
dormer windows peered out, like two eyes, over the beautiful green lawn
which sloped to the reed-fringed water. My father was in very
comfortable circumstances, as he was owner of six large fishing vessels
hailing from the port of Great Yarmouth, some ten or twelve miles
distant as the crow flies.
[Illustration: THE OLD HOME AT BARTON.]
Being born, as it were, on the water (for a distance of a hundred yards
matters but little), I was naturally from my birth a young water dog,
although they tell me that for some months after I made my bow to the
world, milk also played a prominent part in my career.
As I grew into boyhood, of course I had my rowing punt and my rod, and
thus gained my first taste for a solitary life, as it frequently
happened that I would be away from sunrise to sunset on some little
expedition to one or other of the neighbouring Broads. By and bye came
the time when I arrived at that rare age for enjoyment, fourteen years.
This birthday, the fourteenth, was a red-letter day in my life, as I
received two presents, which were in my eyes very valuable ones; my
uncle presented me with a beautiful little light gun, and my father
handed me over his small sailing boat. Now I was a man! I felt it, and I
knew it, and so did my schoolmates, for there was not one of them, who
at some time or other, had not felt the effects of my prowess in a
striking manner. Still, the drubbings I gave were not always to my
credit, for I was a very big and strong lad for my age, and my
self-imposed tasks of long rowing trips and other athletic exercises,
naturally made me powerful in the arms and chest. Of my brain power I
shall say little, as my mind was ever bent on sporting topics when it
should have been diving into English history or vulgar fractions. Some
new device in fishing gear was always of more consequence to me than any
inquiry as to the name of the executioner who gave Charles the I. "chops
for breakfast," as we youngsters used to say, when we irreverently spoke
of the decollation of his Majesty.
Still, somehow I stumbled through my schooling till I was sixteen, when
I was sent off to my father's office on the Quay at Yarmouth to take
charge of the books, which were an everlasting humdrum record of
herrings and the various trawl fish which came in so frequently in our
vessels.
Between whiles I had plenty of spare time, and whenever a few hours were
allowed me, I could not keep out of my boat, so that if the sea happened
to be fairly calm, I was sure to be found bobbing about on it, and was
as well known by the fishermen along the coast ten miles north and south
of Yarmouth, as I was by the folks in my own village. When the sea was
rough I turned my attention to Breydon Water, or the Bure, or other of
the rivers flowing into it, so that at an early age I could command my
little boat as easily as one manages a horse in driving. On Saturdays,
when the wind and weather were at all favourable, I used frequently to
hurry away from business as early as possible, and sail home along the
Bure and Ant, a distance of about twenty miles, rather more than less,
and became so accustomed to the route that I knew every tree and post,
aye, and almost every reed and bulrush on the river's bank on my
homeward way.
Sometimes night would close in rather quickly upon me, but as I only had
two turnings to look out for, Thurne Mouth and Ant Mouth, I seldom made
a mistake, however dark it might be, especially when the venerable old
ruined gateway of St. Benet's Abbey was once passed.
Almost always these trips were solitary ones, if I except the
companionship of my retriever "Begum," who was a present from my cousin
on his return from India. Begum, he informed me, was a ruler in India,
but whether male or female I never discovered.
My dog was a gentleman, but to this day it has remained a matter of
conjecture with me, as to whether we inadvertantly gave him a lady's
name, or no. Anyway, "Begum" sounded well; he was a ruler, and being
black coincided with our school rulers, which were always black with
ink. Unfortunately, everyone persisted (possibly to annoy me if they
could), in calling him By Gum! strongly accentuating the second word,
and till the poor old dog died, the name stuck to him like a postage
stamp to a letter.
In my holiday trips I had a companion, my cousin Priscilla, who was, if
the term be permissible; as great a water dog as myself. I am not going
to attempt a description of her, but I _must_ let the reader know that
she was bigger, stronger, and a vast deal prettier than any girl within
a radius of many miles of our village; not that I wish to disparage the
looks or figures of our Norfolk girls, for they can hold their own with
the rest of England, as Bad King Harry knew when he wooed and won
Norfolk's Queen, Mistress Anne Boleyn of Blickling.
'Cilla, as I called my cousin for brevity, could row, sail a boat,
skate, and shoot; yes, she was a very fair shot, and never a winter
passed but she gave a good account of duck, teal, mallard, pewit, and
geese, as the result of her prowess.
But I will say no more of pretty cousin 'Cilla at present, as this
narrative is to be a record of what more nearly concerns myself, so I
must not "_mardle_," as we say in Norfolk, but proceed with my story.
I was twenty-one and some months more, for the rejoicings consequent
upon the event had become matter of past history, when my father one day
received intelligence of one of his fishing vessels having been towed in
a disabled state into the harbour of St. Peter Port, Guernsey. She was
so badly damaged that his presence was imperative, to decide as to her
ultimate fate.
She had been to a Spanish port for cork and hemp, as the fishing season
was not a very good one, and on her return voyage had run upon an island
called Jethou, during a dense fog, luckily in a calm sea, or she would
never have come off whole again. Nothing ever does when it once plays at
ramming these granite islands. Like the Syrens, who lured or tried to
lure Ulysses, these islands are very fair to behold; but woe to the ship
that comes into contact with them, for they rarely escape from their
deadly embrace.
The very next day (my father having allowed me to accompany him) we
started for Plymouth, a long journey, _via_ London, at which city, being
my first visit to the metropolis, I could fain have broken our journey,
but our business being urgent we steamed away to Plymouth by the night
train. After a substantial meal next morning we sallied out to find the
first vessel sailing to Guernsey, and were lucky in discovering one
called the "Fawn," which was preparing to sail the same day. Although
only a cargo ketch the skipper bargained to take us, and about two p.m.
we unmoored and were soon off. Our passage was a quick one, a strong
N.W. wind bowling us over to St. Peter Port in time for early breakfast
next morning.
It is needless for me to go through the whole story of the running
ashore of our smack, as beyond the important fact that it was her mishap
which caused me ever to visit the Channel Islands, she has little else
to do with my narrative.
She was damaged very seriously amidships, but my father, who had a happy
knack of turning almost everything to a good account, unless
irredeemably hopeless, was struck with a capital idea in this instance.
Instead of selling her as a worthless hulk, he had her cut in two, the
damaged timbers removed, a new length of keel laid down, and had her
lengthened about ten feet; after which operation she was as sound as
ever, and as my father had prophesied, no one recognized her again for
the same vessel.
While we were waiting for the "Kittywitch" (for that was her name) to be
run off the slips, we had plenty of time to look about us; in fact, we
spent nearly seven weeks among these lovely islands.
We explored Guernsey and Sark thoroughly, also Herm as far as we were
allowed, that island being more of a proprietary place than the others.
We also spent about ten days in Jersey, which is quite a large place in
comparison with the other islands. But of all the islands, I think Sark
carries off the palm, not that it has beauties of its own, or is grander
or more prolific, but it is an _epitome_ of all the other islands; in
fact it contains in a small space every salient feature of the Channel
Isles; the people, the granite cliffs, the bays, the caves, the hills,
the woods, the shady lanes, the sandy beaches, are all there, and the
surrounding sea is not a tone the less blue in its intensity, nor the
air a whit less balmy than that with which the other islands are
favoured.
Now it happened, while we were staying at St. Peter Port, awaiting the
re-launching of our vessel, that we made friends with the proprietor of
the island of Jethou, upon which the "Kittywich" struck, and although it
was a good three miles from St. Peter's harbour, yet we made occasional
trips to the islet when the wind was fair and the sea smooth. With this
little island of Jethou I was charmed, and fancied I could make it my
Paradise, if only I could be allowed to live there for a twelvemonth, _a
la_ Robinson Crusoe.
At this idea my father, who was a thoroughly business-like,
matter-of-fact man, set up his eyes and called me a name not at all
polite; but as he was my parent, and viewed life through older optics
than mine, I daresay he was right in the main, when he called me, to put
it mildly, a "stupid fool." But although he pooh-poohed the idea, and
bade me dismiss it from my mind, I could not help the thought entering
my brain, and I wished something might possibly happen by which I might
be left alone on the island, to try, at all events, what Crusoe life was
really like.
Sure enough something did happen which ultimately gave me the
opportunity of carrying out my idea in its entirety. M. Oudin, the
proprietor of the island, had two events to chronicle in one day,
events which quite altered his after life, and took him at an hour's
notice from his Jethou home to Gardner's Hotel, Guernsey.
A letter arrived at St. Peter Port for him, from Paris, which, according
to custom, was placed in the guernsey breast of a fisherman, who sailed
with it straightway to M. Oudin. The latter gentleman having adjusted
his glasses, after instructing his man to give the messenger spirituous
refreshment (which is so very cheap in these islands), proceeded to scan
the contents of the letter. It was from a lawyer in Paris, informing him
of the decease of his brother, a leather merchant, who, dying wifeless
and childless, had bequeathed him both his business and fortune. This
intelligence of both joy and sorrow so bewildered and unstrung the
nerves of M. Oudin that, in accordance with his custom, he took a
dram--in fact the circumstances were so very warrantable that he took
two--and probably even more; or else they were like Mynheer Van Dunk's,
"deep, _deep_ draughts." Anyway, upon giving the fisherman orders to
sail him back to Guernsey, and attempting to follow him with his serving
man, they somehow found themselves at the bottom of the gulch which led
down to the shore (upon which the boat was careened), so much mixed as
to arms and legs, that an observer would have wondered what curious
animal he was gazing upon. Two of them scrambled to their feet, and as
well as they could, shook themselves together; but the third, M. Oudin,
had unfortunately broken his right thigh-bone completely in two. Then
the maudlin men, despite his groans, placed him awkwardly in the boat,
and hoisted sail for Guernsey.
As luck would have it, my father and I were standing upon the deck of
the now nearly finished "Kittywich," when the boat came in, and M. Oudin
having communicated to my father the nature of his hurt, my dad
immediately gave orders for him to be taken to Gardner's Hotel, where we
were staying, and hurrying for a doctor soon joined him there. The leg
was set, and I spent the greater part of each day by the side of M.
Oudin's bed, chatting and reading to him, and attending to his wants.
During our conversation I happened to mention what a great treat I
should consider it to be allowed to live on his island for a few months.
Presently we went more fully into the "whys and wherefores" of the case,
so that I quite began to imagine it might all come to pass as I wished,
but the arrival of my father in the midst of our very pleasant
conversation quite put a damper on the scheme.
"Bah! he would hear nothing of it; it was a mad fool's idea. No, no,
think no more of such rubbish, my boy. Crusoe is all very well to
_read_, but it's a poor look out to have to _live_ Crusoe."
M. Oudin, seeing how my mind was bent upon the scheme, gave my father a
day or two to simmer down, and then took him in hand quietly and
practically.
"Now look here, Nilford," said M. Oudin, motioning my respected father
to draw his chair nearer to the bed-side, "as you know, I must for the
present, at all events, leave Jethou, for by my brother's death my
presence is necessary in Paris. By his decease I become possessed of a
fortune of upwards of 700,000 francs and a large business to boot. Now a
business employing upwards of forty men will require my constant
supervision, and it is therefore very unlikely that I shall ever return
to Jethou, except perhaps for a very brief holiday.
"Now, during my enforced sojourn in this town, your son has shewn me
every attention and kindness, and with your permission I will give him
the whole of my interest in Jethou as a reward for his attention to me
during my recovery. The island is Crown property, which I rent for a
nominal sum, and as to the furniture, fixtures, and live stock they
shall be his (by your permission) to do as he likes with."
My father made a wry face at this, while I, who sat speechless, could
feel my heart bounding against my ribs for very joy. Alas! my father
negatived the whole thing. "It was not to be thought of; it could not be
carried out by a youngster like me; I should perhaps die without
assistance reaching me; I might starve," and a score more obstacles were
mentioned. By and bye, however, with my earnest persuasion, backed up by
M. Oudin's quiet but forcible manner, my dad melted so far as to ask for
a couple of days for consideration.
Oh! those two days, would they never pass? Yes, they rolled by at last,
and once more we were seated in M. Oudin's room.
"Well, Nilford, what is your decision? I trust it is a favourable one
for the lad, for I am sure he would thoroughly enjoy the life; but if
not, why in case he grew 'mammy sick,' he could return home. But the lad
is of the right metal, and I'll warrant would see twelve months out
without getting weary of the life. Come now, Nilford, give me your
hand, and boy let go."
By the way, my name is Harry Nilford, which I do not think I have
mentioned before.
Then came a long verbal tug of war between these two good men, in which
I could discern that my father's refusal was solely based upon his love
for me and his apprehension for my safety. The tug of words, like a tug
of war at an athletic meeting, was a long one, first one gained an
advantage only to lose it to his opponent directly after; then the
opponent would get in a strong verbal tug, and nearly draw his man over
the line; but at length my father, with great reluctance, conceded a
point, a great point in fact, one which virtually settled the contest.
"M. Oudin," said my parent, "I'll consent on one condition, which is,
that I may be allowed to draw up an agreement as to the boy's tenancy of
the island, and if Harry agrees to abide by it, well and good."
"Very well, father," I quickly put in, "here are writing implements;
draw up your Code and I will soon tell you my decision."
This was said with great emphasis on the "_my_," and delivered with an
air of--"see what a decided person _I_ am."
In an hour my father had drawn up the following document:--
TERMS OF AGREEMENT FOR MY SON'S RESIDENCE UPON JETHOU FOR 12
MONTHS.
My son Harry wishes to live the life of a Crusoe or Hermit, on the
Island of Jethou for twelve months, and to this I agree only on
his signifying his willingness to abide by the terms stated in this
agreement.
1. He shall allow no one to land on the island.
2. Shall not himself land upon any of the surrounding islands
(rocks which are uninhabited excepted).
3. Shall not speak to a living soul during the course of his
self-exilement.
4. Shall obtain no stores nor goods of any kind from any other
island, nor from any passing vessel.
5. Shall hold no communication with anyone, in any way:--
(_a_) Either ashore or afloat.
(_b_) Except in case of sickness, accident, detrimental to limb or
life, or
(_c_) In other case of dire necessity.
Should my son choose to abide by the above regulations, I will
agree to his holding the island for a period of one year.
Signed, THOMAS J. NILFORD.
"There!" said my father, laying down his pen, "that is my ultimatum, my
son; and mark me, I will agree to _nothing_ else."
This was said in a manner which shewed plainly that he considered he had
drawn up a code so stringent that he did not deem it at all likely I
should accept his plan; but to his great chagrin, and I may almost say
his consternation, I reached out my hand, after reading the document,
and taking the goose quill, wrote under the last clause,
"Accepted--Harry Nilford."
That being done, my father could not go back upon his word, and
accordingly the whole thing was settled.
M. Oudin was pleased, and I was supremely delighted, but my good old
father was quite dejected, and frankly avowed that it was like
sentencing me to twelve months' imprisonment. So it was, but what a
delightful imprisonment I anticipated it would be!
However, in a day or two he came round, and as he could not well alter
the turn circumstances had taken, he endeavoured to ameliorate them. He
made me write down a list of what I thought I should require, and to
this list he added a long supplement; and after mature consultation with
M. Oudin, another list was added as addendum; in fact, the articles were
so numerous that they filled four huge packing cases.
These cases were zinc-lined to keep the goods dry, as some of them were
perishable, and no one can tell with what pride I gazed at these boxes,
and thought of the glorious life I was about to lead. No thought of any
accident, or other drawback, even entered my head; in fact, as I sat on
the top of a case, swinging my legs and counting the hours which had to
pass before the day arrived when I was to take possession of my island
home, I was most consummately happy, being naturally ignorant of what
was to befall me.
At length came the day for launching the "Kittywich," at which I
assisted to my utmost; for I knew that any hitch with her meant further
detention in Guernsey for me. All went well, and as she slid off the
stocks (like a duck entering the water) without a splash or jar of any
kind, a ringing cheer went up, and then I knew that I should soon bid
farewell to picturesque St. Peter Port, one of the finest harbour towns
of Great Britain.
A few more days and the "Kittywich" had received her cargo for home,
and with it a new name, for in consideration of her additional carrying
capacity, we rechristened her the "Cormorant." Then came the day on
which the Blue Peter was seen at her masthead, but what was even better
in my eyes, was my own outfit packed in the four huge cases which stood
so prominently on her hatchway amidships.
M. Oudin hobbled down to the harbour to see us off, and in doing so
handed me a long heavy case as a parting gift, with instructions not to
open it for a week, by which time he hoped to be far away in Paris.
We unmoored, left the harbour, and in an hour were laying at anchor off
the north end of Jethou.
[Illustration: Decorative scroll]
[Illustration: Decorative chapter heading]