LEGEND OF MOULIN HUET
by
LIZZIE A. FREETH
Author Of _The Adventures of Carl Skinflint among the Fairies_
Guernsey: Le Lievre, Printer, Star-Office,
10, Bordage Street.
1872
DEDICATED TO
"THE CONWAY BOYS."
DEDICATION.
Though the story contained in the following pages has no connection with
them, yet it is my wish to dedicate this little work to "The Conway
Boys," and all those connected with that most invaluable institution,
"H.M.S. Conway," lying at Rockferry, Birkenhead.
I have particular reason to speak well of the "Conway," as any "Boy" may
know who may have been on board for the last five or six years, from the
fact that two of my brothers, after passing a successful career under
the careful teaching of the Rev. Henry O'Brien; L.L.D., Cork, continued
to build on the good foundation laid, and left the "Conway" with credit
both to their teachers and themselves. I shall always have pleasure in
meeting with any "Conway Boy," and hearing of the good old ship to which
I wish a long continuance of her success in preparing Boys creditably
for one of the great sources of our national strength and wealth--"Our
Merchant Navy."
I must just add a word of thanks to my friends in Guernsey and
elsewhere, who so kindly encouraged and supported me when publishing on
a former occasion, and whom I see, by reference to the subscription
list, coming forward again--among some new friends--with a repetition of
their kindness.
Montpelier, Guernsey, 1872.
CHAPTER I.
In the year 165-, when Cromwell had gained ascendancy in England and
over the greater portion of the Channel Islands, there lived in
Guernsey, at the Bay of Moulin Huêt, a miller of the name of Pierre
Moullin. Unlike his class generally, he was a very morose man, hard in
his dealings with the poor around him, and exceedingly unsympathizing in
all his domestic relations, as will appear as our story unwinds itself.
Before speaking of the family surroundings of Pierre Moullin we will
glance at the circumstance which forms the basis of the present tale.
Visitors to the Bay of Moulin Huêt, as well as to other parts of this
and the surrounding Islands, may have observed a crimson appearance on
the rocks, suggesting very sanguinary ideas, but for which, geologists
doubtless, would be able to account in a very satisfactory manner.
Looking at a portion of the original gully through which the water runs
after passing through the mill wheel, we find that this crimson
appearance is very visible, and as our purpose is not to raise
scientific enquiries, we will take one of the fanciful reasons (of which
there are two or three in existence), for this coloring on by the hand
of Nature, which has so abundantly bedecked Guernsey in general, and
Moulin Huêt in particular. Dipping into the Fairy lore of that part of
the island, we find that many believe that some mischievous Fairies who
annoyed the miller much with their nightly pranks were ground to pieces
by the mill wheel becoming unfastened, and that their blood remains
there to this day, as a warning to all others among the "good people"
who might wish to vent their superfluous mischief in a like manner.
So much for the Fairy lore in the Moulin Huêt Chronicles; but we must
turn our attention elsewhere to find out whose blood it was that thus
dyed the watercourse of the Moulin Huêt Mill.
At the time of which we are speaking, (the opening of the year 165-)
Pierre Moullin and his two children, a son and a daughter, lived in a
house adjoining the mill, in fact, the same roof covered both mill and
house, which were built facing the sea. The stream of water which turned
the wheel was far more powerful than the present, as the old marks
(still partially visible) denote. Pierre Moullin, like many of his
fellow-islanders, was a strong adherent of Cromwell; his son Hirzel was
also,--though perhaps he did not go quite as far as his father in his
hatred of the Royalist party. He had nevertheless acquaintances among
the Royalist soldiers who were quartered in the strong fortress at
Jerbourg. One in particular he had made a great friend of--Charlie
Heyward. Old Pierre often used to say he knew harm would come of this
friendship, and felt his words were being proved true when he
discovered that an attachment was springing up between his daughter
Marguerite and the young soldier. On becoming aware of this his rage was
unbounded, and he repeatedly said he would be the death of Charlie if he
could manage it. He tried in every way to bring his son to his way of
thinking, but though Hirzel did not much like the idea of his sister
marrying a Royalist soldier, and besides which another friend and
fellow-countryman of his Jacques Gaultier, was also much attached to the
fair Marguerite, and had long persecuted her with his unwelcome
attentions, still Hirzel would have done anything rather than have
injured his friend Charlie, whom he liked well, though he did not like
his principles. In Jacques Gaultier the old miller saw a ready tool
towards gaining his wicked end of destroying Charlie. The latter did not
think Pierre's hatred reached the extent it did, at the same time he was
still aware there was no chance of his ever gaining the old man's
consent to his marrying Marguerite.
One night Pierre sent his son to bring Jacques Gaultier saying, he
wished to speak to him about taking some flour into the town next day.
Jacques was only too delighted to get any excuse for going to the mill,
and immediately said he would accompany Hirzel if he "would wait until
he got something which he had been making for Marguerite."
"All right, Jacques, my boy, but look sharp, as the old man seems
impatient to-night."
"Thy tone and way of speaking savour far more of the style of that base
soldiery which our island is burdened with, than the tone of thy
father's son should be," replied Jacques.
"Very well," said Hirzel, "I will promise to mend my ways, but do be
quick, as I promised to walk with my sister at seven, and now it is nigh
on half-past; and she says she needs my counsel much on a matter."
"Ah! thou art an impatient lad, but it would be worse with me were I in
thy case; long till she'd ask me to walk with her, not I warrant were I
dying for a look at her sweet face."
"Don't be down-hearted, Jacques, how know'st thou but that my sister
may change her mind and look kindly on thee yet; wait till the Redcoats
have gone down to the Castle, and then perhaps thy fishers' garb may
find favour in her sight, but what hast thou got there? Some woman's
trifles, which thou seem'st to understand better than I have yet
learned."
"I made these sore against my will, for I would rather see thy sister
reading some edifying book than passing her time on such vanities as
these are used for, they are bobbins, lad."
"Ha, Ha," laughed Hirzel, "were I to go into the market to-morrow and
say that stern Jacques Gaultier spent his hours carving out lace
bobbins, who would believe me?"
"Don't laugh at me, Hirzel, perhaps one of these fine days thou wilt do
something more foolish: when thy nineteen summers shall have ripened
like mine to thirty thou wilt have different thoughts."
"Time enough to speak when it comes. Now I love my boat better than
anything else! But how we are wasting this fine evening. My Father will
think we are lost or gone to be soldiers, eh Jacques? Come along, and we
will see what Marguerite thinks of those little sticks of thine."