CHAPTER XI.

CLIMATE IN WINTER--VISION OF MY FATHER--A WARNING

VOICE--SUPERNATURAL MANIFESTATIONS--THE FALLING ROCK--MY LIFE SAVED

BY MY DOG.

Winter was now come, but a very different atmosphere prevailed to what I

had been used to in my Norfolk home. There I was accustomed to see the

broads and rivers frozen over, and the means of communication by boat

between the various rivers completely stopped. There we dreaded the

marrow-piercing north-east wind which, coming straight across the cold

North Sea from icebound Norway and the frozen Baltic, caused everything,

animal and vegetable, to be cut and chilled, so that frequently both man

and plant succumbed to its penetrating rigour; but here the north or

east wind is not nearly such a dreaded visitor, and it is only on

exceptional days that its biting power is felt.

There nothing seemed to grow during the winter, all vegetation

slumbered, sometimes never to awaken; here in mid winter the primrose

and violet were in full bloom, and on New Year's Day I gathered quite a

posy of garden flowers, including roses and other fragrant flowers.

Snow fell on two or three occasions, but the bright sun dissipated it

very quickly, and the frosts were not at all severe; in fact, were only

of occasional occurrence. These frosts are only severe enough to hurt

one class of persons, and that is the gardeners, who dread a frost

coming after the blossoms are set on the trees. The climate being so

mild the blossom buds burst at a very early period, so that a late frost

coming nips them, then good-bye to the fruit.

Frequently potatoes are here being eaten before the green tops are above

ground in England, which is another proof of the mildness of the

climate. No doubt this mildness and equability of temperature is due in

a great measure to the influence of the Gulf Stream, which keeps the

surrounding sea at an even temperature; the sea in turn tempering the

wind, keeps the thermometer very level.

There is usually a very mild fortnight towards the end of October, which

the natives call "La petite été;" it appears like a return of summer,

and is greatly enjoyed by everyone as the last of the really warm

weather.

In the matter of sunshine England cannot be compared with these islands,

for taking our much-favoured Devonshire, and comparing the hours of

sunshine for December, January, and February, I find that in the Channel

Islands the sun shews its face just double the number of hours that it

does in fertile Devon.

In my garden on January 25th I had peas a foot above ground. How I

should have liked to shew my father these, he would scarcely have

believed his eyes, for April 25th in Norfolk, would not have produced

anything much more forward.

Now, having mentioned my father, I must tell a curious incident which

happened concerning him upon the last day of January. About eight

o'clock in the evening I was sitting finishing a sketch of Creviçhon,

with my dog lying asleep near the fire, when he suddenly half raised

himself, and looking towards the other end of the room commenced to

whine.

I followed his eyes, and there to my astonishment sat my father. He sat

on a stool facing me, with his leg, which was enveloped in a huge

covering, upon another stool. His right hand rested upon the covered

leg, while his left was placed upon his heart. As the dog whined he

looked straight at me, and in his well-known voice said,

"It's all right, Harry, my boy, but it _was_ a shake!"

I stood up to rush to him, but as I rose he melted away, leaving nothing

but the two empty seats. I was staggered, but calm immediately, for I

had read of things of this kind before, and concluded that my father had

met with some accident, and had thus by some unknown means communicated

with me in spirit.

[Illustration: A GHOSTLY VISITANT.]

I knew nothing of the why or wherefore of this wonderful means of

communication between two persons, but judged that in this case it

happened in this wise. My father had met with a severe accident, which

he was probably afraid might have had a fatal termination, that his

thoughts were intent upon me, his absent son. As he intently thought of

me, and how he should like to speak to me, he may have actually spoken

the words to himself, which by some unknown means I heard apparently

fall from his own lips, and in his very voice.

The words assured me of his safety, and therefore beyond taking a note

of the day and the hour, I did not trouble myself much more about the

curious incident.

While on this subject of the apparently supernatural, I will mention one

or two other inexplicable things which occurred to me during my

residence on Jethou.

One night in autumn I could not sleep, so towards dawn got up and

dressed myself, as I had frequently done before, and took a walk round

the island, a distance of over a mile. This proceeding always had the

effect of giving me the desired sleep upon my again wooing Morpheus. On

this particular night my mind was filled with the question, "How can I

keep my fish pond always replenished with sea water?" and as I wandered

on in the dark, knowing the path so well, I was concocting a new pumping

device, when my steps were suddenly arrested by the word "Harry!"

pronounced gently but plainly just behind me. This woke me abruptly from

my reverie, and I turned round quickly, but could see nothing but my

faithful dog at my heels. "Strange, very strange indeed," I thought, and

was about to resume my walk, but there, not four steps away, was the

yawning abyss of La Creux Derrible, into which I should have walked in

another second, and been dashed to pieces on the rocks below. My life

was saved, but by what? Was it a spirit voice or some night bird that in

my abstraction I fancied pronounced my name?[2] Some will say the

latter, but I must maintain that it was a curious thing that this should

happen at precisely the correct instant, just in time to save me from a

violent death. It _was_ a voice, for I recognized it as that of my own

love, Priscilla, who was at the moment two or three hundred miles away.

But how could _she_ know of my danger?

It may strike the reader as strange, and it is _strange_, I will allow;

but on another occasion my life was saved in a remarkable manner. One

afternoon late in the winter, after a heavy fall of rain, I was sitting

near the brink of the granite cliff on the west side of the island,

making a sketch of some rock masses in the glow of the ruddy setting

sun, when "Begum" became suddenly restive, and rubbed several times with

his head against my leg, looking up into my eyes at intervals. Then he

would walk away, looking round as if wanting me to follow and see

something (a proceeding he had often done before); but being busy I did

not give way to his solicitations, and went on working. This did not

please him, for he now took hold of my coat sleeve, and gave me a tug,

with his eyes at the same time fixed on mine; so, to oblige him, I rose,

and went after him to see what wonder he had to shew me. Contrary to his

usual custom he appeared to have nothing for me to see, but seemed

pleased to have me follow him, shewing his joy by wagging his tail, as

if he would wriggle his body in two, and looking up into my face over

his shoulder to shew his pleasure. As I had nearly finished my sketch I

thought I would humour him, and avoid taking cold by sitting too long in

the cool atmosphere among the damp rocks. With this thought in my mind I

turned round to fetch my colours and sketch, when suddenly near the top

of the island a large block of granite, about the size of a thirty-six

gallon barrel became detached, and commenced a downward career, crashing

all before it in its course. I paused and watched it, waiting to see it

bury itself with a mighty splash in the sea.

It descended in leaps and bounds with increasing velocity, till, with a

final rise it launched itself upon the very stone on which I was sitting

a minute before, and with a sharp crash broke it completely in two,

hurling the pieces and itself the next instant into the sea!

My sketch went with the rocky seat, and but for the intervention of my

dog I should have been _killed_ first and drowned _afterwards_. My

colours, lying on the ground a foot away, were uninjured.

What is the interpretation of this? It might be said that the previous

heavy rains had loosened the rock, and the warm sunshine having swelled

the mass of the earth beneath, had overbalanced it, and thus nearly

brought about a catastrophe. But what of the dog's warning? It was

_strange_, that is all the solution I can give. As a Norfolk labourer

once said to me when I was pumping him upon the subject of superstition,

"Master, there's more things about than we knows of about both by day

and night."

Perhaps there are, and if they are _things_ of _good_, so much the

better. We know of hypnotism, psychic force, spiritualism, thought

reading, and other occult sciences which appear to produce nothing very

grand as results for _good_, but who shall say there is not some

"Guiding Good" which can (even against our wills) warn us, or sway our

minds in a given direction or in some way influence our movements, by

means _outside ourselves_?

Sometimes after dark, with a half gale blowing, I have fancied all kinds

of things were about, of which the eye or ear might get indistinct

glimpses, and with the wind sighing and moaning among the trees and

rocks and my solitary life also taken into consideration, was this to be

wondered at.

Solitude gives latitude for an imaginative mind to expand itself, and

for one shut up by himself as I was, trifles are frequently made

prominent, simply because there is nothing greater to attract one's

attention and thought.

The wind sweeping among the rocks in a gale, will at times, form at it

were, notes or peculiar noises, which will, with other sounds of

rustling branches, the cry of wild fowl and the beat of the sea on the

shore, all taking place concurrently, cause the listener to imagine he

hears voices. Again, who has not, when walking by a noisy babbling

brook, where it falls among rocks and other impediments in a quiet

place, heard as he has thought voices as of persons conversing at a

distance? Many trout-fishers will have heard these sounds, and know the

reason of their being heard; they can fully explain the cause, but I

doubt if they could explain the curious experiences related in this

chapter.

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FOOTNOTE:

2: I am aware that these things are but trifles to the

Theosophists and Esoteric Buddhists, who profess to project their astral

bodies, and play many other hocus pocus tricks of transmitting voices

and articles to immense distances. They may therefore be able to explain

these phenomena, I cannot; still I have the belief that there is some

spirit-force which can and does act as a medium between distant persons

who are in sympathy with each other.

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Jethou; or, Crusoe Life in the Channel Isles · 第 11 / 22 章