Visitors to Guernsey will remember that opposite the entrance to the
Harbour of St. Peter Port, at a distance of about three miles, lies a
curiously-shaped island called Jethou, which rises from the sea in a
graceful curve, and looks at first sight like an immense turtle, or a
huge floating dish-cover. It is a small island, probably not more than
a third of a mile long and a quarter of a mile broad, but is so steep,
that in the centre it reaches an altitude approaching three hundred
feet.
It is a solid granite island, covered in most parts with bracken and
furze, which makes it a very paradise for the rabbits with which it
abounds. There are two small stone-built houses upon it, around one of
which is a prolific fruit and vegetable garden. There are out-buildings
attached, and at a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile from the
white house is an apology for a harbour.
It is a remarkably nice place for a holiday--sunny, healthy, quiet, and
not too far from aid in case of sickness or accident; but it is not a
resort for the general public, being private property.
It was on this island that in 186-- a young Norfolk gentleman elected
to spend twelve months as a recluse, or as he was pleased to term it--a
Crusoe.
He went to the island for two reasons; one of which was the
anticipation of a happy and adventurous time, and the other the winning
of a wager (that he would not leave the island before twelve months had
expired). In neither object was he disappointed.
While papering the walls of his little sitting-room, he had the good
fortune to find a parchment, hidden away in a niche in the wall, which
had hitherto been concealed by the thick covering of wall-paper, of
which he peeled off no less than five layers. He had read Edgar Allen
Poe’s story of “The Golden Beetle,” and finding a parchment covered
with hieroglyphics, he surmised that if he could only decipher it there
might be as thrilling a sequel as followed on the solution of the
cryptogram in Poe’s story.
Unfortunately he was not so clever as the man in the story, and
failed--unassisted--in discovering the secret of the parchment.
The puzzling document was a list of some sort which the finder could
not understand, as it was in French; beneath it was a drawing of a
square with a human skull in the centre, from which radiated lines
ending in certain letters, and having figures upon the rays.
The solution was discovered, however, after the young Crusoe had been
on the island for upwards of twelve months (he stayed eighteen months
in all), and in a most unexpected manner.
Being a Crusoe, it was not at all a surprising matter that he should
have a man Friday, and one day during a storm a Friday really did
appear, in the form of a French sailor, whose little vessel was wrecked
upon the hostile granite shores of Jethou. The man saved, the sole
survivor of a crew of four, was at once christened Monday, from the day
on which he was saved. This man (Alec Ducas) spoke very fair English,
and the two young men soon became fast friends.
One day the young Englishman, whose name was Harry Nilford, bethought
him of his curious parchment, and producing it from his box, asked his
friend if he could decipher it. The first part of the document was
quickly read, and no doubt astonished the finder. It was as follows--
“THIS IS THE LAST WILL of Jean Tussaud (sometimes known as Barbe
Rouge), Master Mariner, of C----.
“The person who is lucky enough to find my treasure-house, I hereby
declare to be my heir, and whatsoever he finds shall be his, and for
his sole benefit.
“My chief mate, William Trefry, a Cornishman, wished to become my heir
before my death, but we could not agree upon that point, although
I gave him possession of my _petites fées_ (little fairies) and a
key, also a valuable knife, for an inheritance. The bearings of my
treasure-house are these.”
Then followed the curious drawing with the death’s-head centre,
followed by the words--“The lucky one will find the following property.”
Here followed a long list of the articles stowed away; winding up with
the words--“and my box of pretty _petites fées_.”
* * * * *
“I leave Jethou to-night to make a voyage to the West Indies, to see
what business can be done there. I leave this paper so that, should
I never return, the goods I have so industriously, and at such risk,
gathered together, may be of service to the person who may have skill
enough to discover their whereabouts.
“Signed, JEAN TUSSAUD (Barbe Rouge),
“_February 19, 17--_.”
For weeks the two young men puzzled their wits over the document;
but to abbreviate this narrative,[B] they ultimately succeeded in
discovering the place of concealment.
[B] The unravelling of the enigma may be found in _Jethou_.
It was in the centre of the garden, at the rear of the house, and after
great toil in digging they came upon the skeleton of a man, and were
about to fill up the large hole they had made, imagining, in their
horror, that they had come upon a grave instead of a treasure-house,
when one of them saw a glittering something protruding from the sternum
of the skeleton, which proved to be the jewelled haft of a dagger,
which had undoubtedly given the death-blow to the tenant of the grave,
being driven in with immense force, up to the hilt, quite through the
breast-bone. Clearing the bony relic, they found, suspended around the
neck, by a length of silver chain, which was much oxidized, a couple of
rusty keys.
This discovery led them to connect the skeleton with the mate, Trefry,
mentioned in the document, and they continued their search, which
was rewarded by their finding a large collection of miscellaneous
articles, among which were numerous weapons, bundles of gold lace,
several cups of the same metal, packages of once costly clothing and
fine linen (now mouldering with age), copes, chasubles, and a beautiful
jewelled mitre wrapped in a bullock’s hide, boots, sashes, etc.
Beneath all these, in a hollowed space, was a chest securely padlocked,
which was duly hoisted out and burst open, and in it were discovered
seventeen bags, each containing a hundred Spanish doubloons, three
parchment books, and last, but far from least, a small golden casket of
exquisite workmanship, filled quite full of precious stones in their
natural, rough state, except a very few which were cut and polished.
In all they would have filled a pint measure. These were Barbe Rouge’s
_petites fées_--his little fairies.
* * * * *
Now what I have recounted so far is a kind of prologue to what
follows. The purport of my story is to show how the skeleton came in
the treasure vault, which was opened by our good friends, Nilford and
Ducas, with whom, however, we have nothing further to do.
I must point out that the following narrative is what I have gathered
from the pages of one of the three books found in “Barbe Rouge’s”
chest, two of them being logs of his voyages (and _such_ voyages), and
the third a kind of private diary. I have pieced together the somewhat
disconnected jottings of Red Beard into the following story, drawing
_slightly_ on my imagination to fill in the gaps.
* * * * *
On the morning of April 28, 175--, the vessel owned and commanded by
“Barbe Rouge,” called _La Chauve-souris_, was lying quietly at anchor
in the little haven at the back of the lofty pinnacle of rocks known
as La Creviçhon, for she was to sail on the morrow, or the second day
at latest, for a cruise in the West Indies. She was a smart little
schooner, mounting ten guns, and carried the large complement of
thirty-eight men, for she was what the French Government were pleased
to call a licensed privateer, although, if public report went for
anything, she might with more propriety have been stigmatized as
something with a much more ugly name. Whatever people might call her
was no concern of Jean Tussaud (which was Barbe Rouge’s real name),
_he_ called her a privateer, and so we also will call her, for the word
_pirate_ is not at all a nice-sounding word.
She had some weeks previously returned from a very prosperous cruise
in the Mediterranean, and although she came home short-handed, to
the extent of eight men, she brought with her, as some sort of human
equivalent, two very fine women, both of whom were young and handsome.
One was a fair Circassian damsel called Retté, and her companion, an
English girl named Mary Whitford. These fair ones Barbe Rouge had
taken from an Algerian vessel which he intercepted on her voyage from
Cyprus to Dargelli, whither the girls were being conveyed to the sheik
Obdurrah, as reinforcements for his harem. How the girl Mary Whitford
could thus be sold Tussaud’s book says not; but he captured her, and
brought her and Retté to Jethou, where he took them ashore to his stone
house, much to the regret of William Trefry, the mate, who had fallen
greatly in love with Mary during the voyage home. Barbe Rouge saw what
was in the wind, and watched the couple unnoticed, but with a hawky,
jealous eye.
Trefry feared his skipper, for he had seen him perform cruel deeds that
made the boldest heart on board tremble, and because Barbe Rouge’s
giant form possessed the strength of two men; so, fearing any personal
encounter, he resolved by stratagem to carry out a scheme for Mary’s
release which he had been elaborating during the last few days of the
voyage.
He foresaw that the two girls would be immediately taken ashore on
the arrival of _La Chauve-souris_ at Jethou, and with this in view
he arranged two or three plots with Mary, by which they might escape
together to Guernsey; they also arranged a set of private signals with
which to communicate with each other.
As anticipated, an hour after reaching the haven of Jethou, Mary
and Retté were taken ashore, and, alas for their hopes, the girls
were quartered in a room which did _not_ overlook the haven; and
furthermore, they were only allowed out for exercise after dusk, when
their jealous protector, Barbe Rouge, accompanied them for a walk round
the island.
Thus were their signals of no more avail than a wink in the dark.
The days sped rapidly; boats went to and from St. Peter Port bringing
stores and taking various goods for sale. Half-a-dozen carpenters and
a smith, besides the sailmaker and others, were busy with the ship’s
hull and rigging, refitting and altering, repairing and renewing all
kinds of gear, and over these men was placed Trefry, to whom the whole
crew looked up as skipper during Barbe Rouge’s frequent and prolonged
absences ashore on Jethou.
The young Englishman gnawed his very heart away in devising schemes
for Mary’s release, and his eyes grew weary with looking for the
preconcerted signals from her, but none ever appeared.
Could she have forgotten him?
Was it a case of “out of sight out of mind”? No, that could never
be, for the girl’s anxious desire was to escape, and reach her dear
old Yorkshire home, from which she had been absent nearly two years.
She had left it to take a trip on her uncle’s bark, _The Develin_,
from Whitby to Samos in the Grecian Archipelago, in company with her
brother, who was two years her senior.
They reached Samos safely, but one morning, her uncle and brother
being ashore, two native boatmen came alongside, one of whom, in fair
English, said the old gentleman had sent them “to fetch Mary, to show
her some of the sights of the place.” Mary accordingly seated herself
in their boat, but the men took her to another port, a league up the
coast, and thus kidnapped her.
As the days before sailing to the West grew fewer, Trefry became nearly
mad with his pent-up feelings; but in the presence of Barbe Rouge had
to dissemble and assume as calm a countenance and manner as he possibly
could, although at heart he could have wished the old pirate hung at
the end of his own gaff.
Only two or three days intervened before the date of sailing, and his
very appetite forsook him, and he could not help glaring at the skipper
whenever they met; but Barbe Rouge, with an imperturbable countenance,
took no notice of the mate’s despair, although he well knew what was
passing in his heart; he saw the young fellow’s terrible struggle with
himself, and gloated over it.
Trefry dared not make an open show of concern about Mary, as even at
the last moment there might arrive the opportunity for a rescue, so he
held his peace till the morning of April 28th.
As the first grey streak of dawn appeared in the N.E. Trefry stepped on
deck and strained his eyes towards the stone house on shore. It was too
dark to discern anything in the form of a signal, but he looked ever
and anon, and to his great joy did not look in vain.
He could scarce believe his eyes when he saw something appear out of
and above a chimney on the old house. It was but a wisp of rag, but it
was quite sufficient to denote its purpose as a signal, and Trefry knew
its meaning to be an urgent appeal for succour.
One or two of the crew also saw it, and it soon became known to the
whole ship’s company that the girls were making signals for help; but,
though comments were many, no one dared take any action, for the crew
of _La Chauve-souris_ was, as often happens on privateers and suchlike
vessels, divided into little coteries, each afraid of, or watching the
actions of the others.
Barbe Rouge had devotees numbering about twenty, while those whom
Trefry could rely upon to take his view of anything on the tapis, he
could count on the fingers of his two hands.
Moreover only one day remained. What could he do?
He thought over many schemes for liberating the girls, but could not
hit upon one likely to be successful; so, finding his own imaginative
faculties at fault, he called two or three of his more intimate cronies
together, and placed the case before them in a council in the captain’s
cabin, while one kept watch.
Many suggestions were made, of various degrees of practical merit, some
indeed so sieve-like that they would not hold the water of common-sense
at all. Trefry soon found that, great burly brute as he was, Barbe
Rouge had a strong following of staunch men on board; men who loved the
skipper because their natures were coarse and rough, and who saw in him
the beau-ideal of brute strength, stature, and power to command: his
very courage and daring delighted them. Sentiment, and the wrongs of
others, were nothing to such as they.
Trefry found that, all told, he could only count on eleven others
besides himself to help him in the contemplated carrying off of the two
girls; but, to better equalize the numbers, he determined, after dark,
to give leave to six or eight of the skipper’s staunchest men to take
the long-boat, and pull across to Guernsey for a spree.
This was agreed to as part of the programme; and it was also agreed,
that at eleven o’clock that night he should go ashore alone to the
stone house, and bring off the girls, while his eleven comrades should
arm themselves (from the arm-chest, of which he had the key), and make
themselves masters of the ship while he was ashore.
The day passed slowly by, and the shades of night at length fell,
draping its mantle of deepening blue over the pretty little island.
At eleven o’clock Trefry, well armed, went ashore as arranged.
The night was dark, for there was no moon, and calm, for there was but
little wind.
Quietly he crept round the side of the house, and taking off his boots
went up the stone steps leading to the garden at the rear, where he
quickly became aware of a faint glow of light rising from behind a
tremendous mound of earth in the very centre of the garden.
He paused and listened; then silently crept across the garden on all
fours to the mound, up which he as noiselessly climbed, and peeped
over.
He beheld a great excavation several feet square, from which the light
came, and peering over the edge, he saw on the opposite side of the
wall of the hole, the shadow of Barbe Rouge’s great head and beard,
projected by the light of a lantern placed on this side of the pit. The
shadow moved but slightly, showing that the fiery skipper was deeply
engrossed in some task or other of a weird nature, or he would not have
chosen night for his work.
Like a flash of light it entered Trefry’s brain that the old buccaneer
had killed the girls, or at least one of them, and was now hiding the
evidences of his guilt by burying the body in the garden.
However, there _might_ still be a chance that they were alive; and not
to leave a stone unturned, he resolved, now that he knew Barbe Rouge
was in the hole, to go round the house and gently tap at each window,
to endeavour to obtain a response from those he was in quest of. This
idea he carried into effect, but without receiving any reply to his
tapping, and he again went to the mound and peeped over--Barbe Rouge
was still busy, as his shadow, bobbing about in the uncertain light of
the horn lantern, proved.
Could it be possible that the skipper had left the door of the house
unlocked? He would see at all events, and back to the house he went.
Upon pressing the handle, to his great joy the door swung back, and he
quietly entered. For fear of being discovered, should Barbe Rouge enter
the doorway, he leaned a stick, which he found in the passage, against
the door on the inside, so that any one entering from without could not
fail to knock it down with a clatter upon the stone floor, and thus
give him warning.
Carefully he searched each of the five rooms which the house contained,
breathing ever and anon the names of Mary and Retté, but when he came
to the last room, and found it empty, his feelings overcame him, and,
but for some wine which he discovered on a table, he would certainly
have fainted with horror, thinking that his Mary and her companion had
been cruelly murdered, and were now being buried by his captain, the
dreadful Barbe Rouge.
More wine; and then he gradually grew into a frenzy, swearing that but
one task remained, which ere he left Jethou should be accomplished.
This was to revenge the deaths of Mary and Retté by killing the monster
who was now sitting in the pit, which in another minute should be
his tomb. Burning with rage, so that he shook in every limb, he had
difficulty in calming his feelings sufficiently to accomplish his task
in an unfailing manner.
He paused to calm his quivering nerves, and then went gently along the
passage, pistol in hand, to where he had left the broom-stick at the
door. It remained as he had left it; so he quietly leaned it against
the wall, and nervously began to open the door, for fear the giant’s
form might be about to enter.
Inch by inch it opened and he peeped out.
All was quiet.
With his pistol still grasped tightly he made for the mound, intending
to shoot Barbe Rouge in his self-made grave, but before reaching
the spot, he fell prone over a large piece of granite rock; he lay
perfectly still, for fear Barbe Rouge should peep out of his hole to
see what had caused the noise.
[Illustration: “Suddenly a heavy hand seized him from behind.”--_p.
121._]
For some minutes he lay silent but alert; then, as the skipper did
not appear, he arose, returned his flintlock to his belt, and picked up
the huge stone at his feet.
This he resolved should be the instrument of Barbe Rouge’s death--a
stone for a dog--reserve the bullet for a nobler foe!
Up the bank of earth he staggered with his burden. Yes! Barbe Rouge was
still at work--he could see his white stocking cap and the shaggy red
locks beneath; so, pausing, he raised the mass of stone high above his
head, thinking to hurl it down with crushing force upon the cranium of
the monster below, when suddenly a heavy hand seized him from behind,
and the stone, losing its balance, fell from his grasp with a thud
into the hole. He gave one glance round, his last on this earth, for
his eyes met the infuriated orbs of Barbe Rouge himself, who, with a
stroke swift as sight, drove a long keen dagger deep into the young
Englishman’s breast. Without a groan he fell dead into the yawning gulf
before him.
* * * * *
With a chuckle at the success of his fiendish work, Barbe Rouge quietly
descended a short ladder into the great vault he had dug, and took out
a book from an iron-bound chest at the bottom, in which he calmly wrote
certain notes, stating that he had killed Trefry for endeavouring to
meddle with his “_petites fées_,” or little fairies, but whether he
referred to the two girls or the gems is not very evident.
Trefry was a doomed man from the time he stepped ashore, as, through a
spy on board _La Chauve-souris_, Barbe Rouge was cognizant of all that
had taken place on board the schooner. He received information that
Trefry would come ashore between eleven and twelve, and had prepared a
ruse to deceive and place him at his mercy.
He made a dummy head with a red tow wig and beard in imitation of
himself, and on the top placed his old white stocking cap. This little
device was fixed at the bottom of the excavation upon a cross pole
fastened to an upright. At the end of the cross pole which touched the
ground a live rabbit was fastened, that, moving about a foot from right
to left, the dummy head was made to oscillate. A lantern was so placed
as to throw a shadow of the head upon the side of the pit farthest from
the house, and the trap thus artfully baited caused the downfall of the
gallant young Cornishman, Trefry.
Barbe Rouge signified his intention of leaving Jethou with his fair
ones next day for a voyage to the West Indies, and from a record in
a St. Peter Port document, we find that he actually did sail on May
1st, after giving a grand farewell entertainment to many of the good
townspeople of St. Peter Port on the previous evening.
Thus we see that virtue is not always triumphant, and that every dog
has his day, including the somewhat numerous species known as the Sea
Dog.
* * * * *
After a year or two I met the adventurous Nilford again, when he
informed me that he had put my van quite in the shade by a novel idea
of his own. It appears that he was so struck with my mode of life that
he purchased an old gipsy-van, and rambled about in it for a week or
two together, just when the fit seized him. Then the idea occurred to
him of making a pair of boats, into which the wheels of his van were
fitted, and by decking the space fore and aft between the boats, he
went all over the Broads, and finally coasted it to Essex, whence he
had the good or ill luck to be blown over to Holland. As he has written
the history of his adventures, it is no business of mine further to
divulge them here, but will content myself with calling the reader’s
attention to a book entitled, _Afloat in a Gipsy Van_.[C]
[C] Jarrold and Sons, 10 and 11, Warwick Lane, London, E.C.