Historical Reminiscences.
“Antiquities, or remnants of history, are, as was said,
_tanquam tabula naufragii_, when industrious persons, by
an exact and scrupulous diligence and observation, out of
monuments, names, words, proverbs, traditions, private records
and evidences, fragments of stories, passages of books that
concern not story, and the like, do save and recover somewhat
from the deluge of time.”--Bacon’s _Advancement of Learning_.
CADWALLA AND BRIAN.
Although the following story is entirely forgotten in Guernsey, and
indeed may possibly never have been popularly known in the island, it
is entitled, from its legendary and romantic character, to a place in
this collection. It is related by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his British
History, Book XII. Ch. 4.
It is necessary to premise that Edwin, the first of the Anglo-Saxon
Kings who embraced Christianity, having quarrelled with Cadwalla,
Sovereign of North Wales, attacked and defeated him at Widdington,
near Morpeth. Edwin pursued Cadwalla into Wales, and chased him into
Ireland. These events happened about the year 630 A.D. The story itself
shall be told in the words employed by Geoffrey in his account of
Cadwalla’s exile, as we find them translated in Bohn’s “Antiquarian
Library.”
“Cadwalla, not knowing what course to take, was almost in despair of
ever returning. At last it came into his head to go to Salomon, King
of the Armorican Britons, and desire his assistance and advice, to
enable him to return to his kingdom. And so, as he was steering towards
Armorica, a strong tempest rose on a sudden, which dispersed the ships
of his companions, and in a short time left no two of them together.
The pilot of the King’s ship was seized immediately with so great a
fear, that, quitting the stern, he left the vessel to the disposal of
fortune, so that all night it was tossed up and down in great danger
by the raging waves. The next morning they arrived at a certain island
called _Garnareia_,[226] where, with great difficulty, they got ashore.
Cadwalla was forthwith seized with such grief for the loss of his
companions, that, for three days and nights together, he refused to
eat, but lay sick upon his bed. The fourth day he was taken with a very
great longing for some venison, and, causing Brian (his nephew) to be
called, made him acquainted with it. Whereupon Brian took his bow and
quiver, and went through the island, that if he could light on any
wild beast, he might make booty of it. And when he had walked over the
whole island without finding what he was in quest of, he was extremely
concerned that he could not gratify his master’s desire, and was afraid
his sickness would prove mortal if his longing were not satisfied. He,
therefore, fell upon a new device, and cut a piece of flesh out of his
own thigh, which he roasted upon a spit, and carried to the King for
venison. The King, thinking it to be real venison, began to eat of
it to his great refreshment, admiring the sweetness of it, which he
fancied exceeded any flesh he had ever tasted before. At last, when
he had fully satisfied his appetite, he became more cheerful, and in
three days was perfectly well again. Then, the wind standing fair, he
got ready his ship, and, hoisting sails, they pursued their voyage
and arrived at the city Kidaleta (St. Malo). From thence they went to
King Salomon, by whom they were received kindly and with all suitable
respect; and, as soon as he had learned the occasion of their coming,
he made them a promise of assistance.”
The chronicler subsequently relates how Brian killed the second-sighted
magician of Edwin. Cadwalla returned to Britain, and, with the aid of
the Saxon Penda, King of Mercia, conquered and killed Edwin. He was
afterwards triumphant in fourteen great battles and sixty skirmishes
with the Angles, but finally perished, with the flower of his army, in
battle with Oswald, ruler of the Saxon kingdom of Bernicia.
[226] As some readers may be unable to detect “Guernsey” in
“_Garnareia_,” it may be as well to state that “_Ghernerhuia_,”
“_Gerneria_,” “_Guernnerui_,” and “_Gernereye_,” are all names given
to the island in ancient documents. The last indeed is found on the
ancient seal of the bailiwick.
DUKE RICHARD OF NORMANDY AND THE DEMON.
As the inhabitants of Guernsey may be presumed to be better acquainted
with the chronicles of their own Duchy of Normandy than with those of
the ancient Britons, it is not improbable that the following legendary
tale, related of Duke Richard, surnamed “Sans Peur,” may be known to
some of them. The _Chronique de Normandie_, printed at Rouen in 1576,
gives it in words of which the following is a close translation:--
“Once upon a time, as Duke Richard was riding from one of his castles
to a manor, where a very beautiful lady was residing, the Devil
attacked him, and Richard fought with, and vanquished him. After this
adventure, the Devil disguised himself as a beautiful maiden richly
adorned, and appeared to him in a boat at Granville, where Richard then
was. Richard entered into the boat to converse with, and contemplate
the beauty of, this lady, and the Devil carried away the said Duke
Richard to a rock in the sea in the island of Guernsey, where he was
found.”
Perhaps the marks of cloven feet, which have been found deeply
imprinted in the granite[227] in more than one spot in the island, may
be attributed to this visit.
[227] The stone at Jerbourg, which is said to bear the mark left by the
Devil’s claw, stands in a hedge on the right hand side of the road,
where the rise towards Doyle’s column begins. It is a large mass of
white quartz, and has the black mark of the Devil’s claw imprinted on
it.--_From J. Richardson Tardif, Esq._
ARCHBISHOP MAUGER.
If the two legendary tales, which we have just related, are unknown to
the present generation, it is not so with the well-authenticated fact
of the temporary residence in Guernsey of that turbulent ecclesiastic,
Mauger, Archbishop of Rouen, uncle of William the Conqueror.
All the Norman chroniclers agree in telling us that, although the
Pope had granted a dispensation, this audacious prelate ventured to
excommunicate his Sovereign for having contracted a marriage with
Matilda, daughter of the Count of Flanders, an alliance within the
degrees of affinity prohibited by the Church. Mauger’s insolence did
not remain unpunished. The Pope sent a Legate to Normandy, the bishops
of the province were assembled, and his treason to his Sovereign, and
contempt of the Papal authority, were punished by his deposition from
his archiepiscopal throne, and banishment to the island of Guernsey.
Some historians assign, as a further reason for his disgrace, the
immorality of his life, and his prodigal expenditure, which led him,
not only to waste the revenues of the Church, but even to sell the
consecrated vessels, and the ornaments of the sanctuary.
Tradition points out the spot in the neighbourhood of that romantic
little creek, known by the anglicised name of Saints’ Bay, but which,
in ancient documents, is called “_La Contrée de Seing_,” where the
deposed prelate lived during his enforced sojourn in Guernsey. Here,
it is said, he became acquainted with a noble damsel named _Gille_,
by whom he had several children, one of whom, Michael de Bayeux,
accompanied Bohemond of Austria to Palestine, and distinguished himself
greatly.
Common report accused Mauger of being addicted to magical arts, and of
having intercourse with a familiar spirit called “_Thoret_,” a name
which brings to mind the thunderer _Thor_, one of the principal deities
of his Scandinavian ancestors. By means of this imp, it was believed,
he had the faculty of predicting future events.
Having embarked one day, with the design of reaching the coast of
Normandy, and having arrived at St. Vaast, he addressed the master of
the ship in these words:--“I know for certain that one of us two will
this day be drowned; let us land.” The master paid no attention to what
was said, but continued his course. It was summer, the weather was
extremely hot, and the Archbishop was attired in very loose raiment.
The vessel struck, Mauger endeavoured to leave the ship, but, becoming
entangled in his garments, fell into the sea, and was drowned before
any assistance could be given. When the tide retired, search was made
for the body, and it was found wedged in between two rocks, in an
upright position. The sailors carried it to Cherbourg, where it was
buried.
It is possible that the prelate might have been entirely forgotten
in the place of his exile, had it not been that a very numerous
family, bearing his name, still exists in the island, and claims to
be descended from him. No name indeed is more common in the parish
of St. Martin de la Belleuse, and especially in the neighbourhood of
Saint, than that of Mauger. An authentic document, the “Extent” of
Edward III., proves that a family of this name held land in this parish
in 1331.[228] All who bear the name, even in the humblest ranks of
society, have heard of the Archbishop, and pride themselves in their
supposed descent from him. Nor is this belief confined to Guernsey, for
in Jersey also, where a branch of the family has long existed, the same
idea prevails.
[Illustration: Ivy Castle.]
There is also extant an imperfect pedigree of the house of Mauger,
of Jobourg, near Cape La Hague, in Normandy, which connects them
with the insular family, but endeavours to get rid of the stigma of
illegitimacy, which would attach to the progeny of an ecclesiastic, by
the invention of an imaginary brother, who accompanied Mauger in his
banishment, and from whom, and not from the Archbishop, they pretend
to deduce their descent. The family of Guille, long established in
the island of Guernsey, and in the parish of St. Martin’s, claims the
questionable honour of having produced the fair Gille, whose charms
captivated the unscrupulous prelate.
There is one fact, however, of which the family of Mauger, of Guernsey,
has just cause to be proud, and that is the daring and successful
exploit of one of them in the service of the descendant of their
ancient Dukes. An extract from a manuscript register of the Cathedral
of Coutances, said to be preserved in the British Museum, tells us how,
on Midsummer Night, in the year of grace 1419, Jacques Mauger arrived
from Guernsey with his men, at the port of Agon, at the entrance of
the river, and took by escalade the fortress of Mont Martin, near
Coutances, and how Henry V., King of England, then in possession of
the greater part of Normandy, rewarded the gallant act by a gift of
the Seigneurie of Bosques, and the permission to bear henceforth on
his shield the cross of the blessed knight of St. George, in a field
argent, with his own paternal arms, two chevrons sable, in the first
and fourth quarters, and, in the second and third the arms of Bosques,
a lion rampant, also sable.
It may not be uninteresting to some to know that the Hampshire and
Isle of Wight family of Major were originally Maugers from one of the
Channel Islands, and that Richard Cromwell, son of the Protector,
married one of them.
It may be as well to give here a copy of the pedigree of Mauger, of
Jobourg, in Normandy.
“Extrait de la Généalogie de la Famille du Mauger à Jobourg en
Normandie au Cap La Hague.
“Le Duc de Normandie, nommé Guillaume le Conquérant, éleva son cousin
d’Evreux, nommé Mauger, à l’Archevêché de Rouen en la troisième
année de son règne en Normandie. Le Seigneur Archevêque, menant une
vie non conforme à sa dignité, attira sur lui la haine du Duc, son
bienfaiteur, qui le fit reléguer a l’île de Greneseye; il prit terre
en ce lieu avec son frère Gautier Mauger, sur la côte et paroisse de
St. Martin, et après avoir passé quelques années en ce lieu il péri
au ras de Bartleur, après avoir prédit sa mort. Son frère Gautier eut
plusieurs fils naturels, dont deux nommés Léopold et Théodore: Léopold
épousa Pauline de Carteret, fille et seule héritière de Samuel de
Carteret, Ecuyer, Seigneur du Castel, et Théodore ne maria point, et
laissa deux fils et une fille naturels, l’un nommé Paul, l’autre nommé
Rodolphe, et la fille nommée Cléotilde. Les deux fils furent mariés;
l’un épousa Sandirez Lampeirier ou Lampereur de Jersey, et Rodolphe
épousa Marie Careye de Greneseye. Paul eut plusieurs fils, dont deux
nommé Alexandre et Gautier, comme son premier père, lequel fut chassé
de l’île de Jersey, avec deux des fils de Rodolphe qu’il avait eus de
Marie Careye; les autres enfans sortis de Rodolphe furent à Greneseye,
demeurant sur l’héritage de leur mère en l’année 1399. Gautier fit
plusieurs acquêts à Jobourg à la Hague, où il établit sa demeure, après
avoir quitté Jersey, et fut marié à une des filles de Pierre de Mary,
Seigneur de Jobourg, en l’année 1418. Gautier engendra Toussaint et
Jacques, le dernier repassa à Greneseye pour prendre possession d’un
héritage par succession, et Toussaint resta à Jobourg; de Toussaint
naquit Fabien; de Fabien naquit Chaille; et Chaille engendra Pierre; de
Pierre Chaille, qui vivoit encore en 1570; à l’egard de Léopold, qui
avait epousé Pauline de Carteret, nous n’avons point, pour le present,
de connaissance de sa généalogie.
“Les Armoiries des Mauger (descendant de Guillaume le Conquérant, Duc
de Normandie) sont une ancre et des roses au dessus du dit ancre. Tiré
de la Heraudrie, et approuvé du dit Duc.”[229]
[228] EDITOR’S NOTE.--And at the Assizes held in Guernsey in 1319, a
“Rauf Mauger” appears among the landowners of St. Martin’s parish.
The same name--“Rauf Mauger”--appears in the Extent of 1331; “Richard
Mauger” in a Perchage of Blanchelande, (undated, but made before 1364).
In 1364 another “Rauf Mauger” appears among the Jurymen of St. Martin’s
summoned to adjudicate on the rights of the Abbot of Blanchelande; and
a Richard Mauger, of St. Martin’s parish, is mentioned in the “Bille de
Partage” of Denis Le Marchant in 1393.
[229] EDITOR’S NOTE.--The obvious inaccuracy of this pedigree can be
judged by only nine generations being given to supply the interval
of 515 years, 1055-1570. Thirty-three and a quarter years are
generally allowed for a generation, so that to give any appearance of
probability, at least sixteen generations would have to be accounted
for.
THE BALLAD OF IVON DE GALLES.
Before the invention of printing, oral tradition was almost the
only way in which the people--generally ignorant of writing or
reading--could transmit the recollection of facts and circumstances
which they deemed worthy of being remembered; and it was soon
discovered that versification afforded a very strong aid to memory.
Hence arose that species of metrical tale which we call a ballad.
These ballads, passing from mouth to mouth, soon became corrupted.
Whole verses were sometimes omitted, by which the thread of the story
was lost or rendered obscure, and others were supplied by borrowing
from the work of another bard, or by the invention of the reciter.
Nevertheless, in the historical ballads, facts and details were often
preserved which had escaped the notice of the more regular chroniclers.
Whether, in former days, Guernsey could boast of any number of these
metrical histories, it is now impossible to say. Unless we include
in this category, a sort of “complainte,” written in 1552 by the
Roman Catholic priests, whom the progress of the doctrines of the
Reformation had driven out of their cures, the ballad of “_Ivon de
Galles, ou la descente des Aragousais_,” is the only one which has come
down to us.[230] Many copies of it have been preserved, differing but
slightly from each other in the main, although there are one or two
verbal differences of some importance. Most of the copies conclude with
the twentieth verse, but some have a second part, consisting of six
stanzas, and purporting to give an account of Ivon’s adventures after
he left Guernsey, and the subsequent melancholy fate of himself and his
fleet. As this account is quite different from what has come down to
us in history, it is probably the work of some later bard, who wished
to make the story more complete than he found it, and by a sort of
poetical justice to punish Ivon and his followers for the evil they had
inflicted on the island.
The ballad agrees in the main with the account of the invasion as given
by Froissart and Holinshed. The adventures in the second part probably
relate to some other of the numerous descents on the island during
the reign of Edward III., perhaps to that by Bahuchet, a French naval
commander, about the year 1338. This Bahuchet landed in England, and
committed great atrocities at Portsmouth and Southampton, for which,
when he was taken prisoner in the great engagement off Sluys, in 1340,
Edward ordered him to be hanged at the main-yard.
From Froissart’s _Chronicles_ we learn that Ivon, or as he calls him,
Yvain de Galles, was the son of a Prince of Wales whom Edward III. had
put to death, and whose possessions he had seized upon. Ivon, thus
disinherited, took refuge in France, where he entered into the service
of the King, Charles V., and was by him entrusted with the command
of ships and three thousand men. It appears from another part of the
Chronicle, that Henry of Trastamara, King of Castille and Aragon, had
supplied his ally, Charles, with a large fleet, well armed and manned,
and it is probable that the galleys which Ivon commanded formed part of
this fleet. If so, the name of “Aragousais,” or men of Aragon, given in
the ballad to the invading force, is accounted for. With these troops
he sailed from Harfleur and reached Guernsey.
Aymon, or Edmund, Rose, esquire of honour to the King of England, and
Governor of the island, advanced to meet him with all the force he
could muster,--about eight hundred men. The battle was long and hotly
contested, but ended in the discomfiture of the insular force, with
the loss of four hundred of their men, and in the retreat of Aymon
Rose into Castle Cornet, to which Ivon laid siege. Several assaults
were made on the Castle, but, as it was strongly fortified and well
provisioned, they were not attended with success. How long the siege
lasted we are not informed, but the French King, requiring the services
of Ivon elsewhere, and believing Castle Cornet to be impregnable, sent
orders for the siege to be raised. A few years afterwards, Ivon lost
his life by the dagger of an assassin of his own nation, a Welshman of
the name of Lambe, apparently at the instigation of Richard II.
According to the ballad, Ivon landed his troops early on a Tuesday
morning in Vazon Bay. A countryman, who had risen early to look after
his sheep, perceived the invaders and gave the alarm, upon which all
the inhabitants assembled and endeavoured to repel them, but without
success. A stand was at last made on the hill above the town of St.
Peter Port, and a sanguinary engagement took place, in which five
hundred and one of both sides were killed.
Tradition points to a spot near Elizabeth College as the scene of
this encounter, and the locality to this day bears the name of “_La
Bataille_.”
A deep lane, which formerly passed to the eastward of the strangers’
burial ground, but which has been long filled up and enclosed within
the walls of the cemetery, was said to owe its name of “_La Ruette
Meurtrière_” to the same event.
Towards the evening, eighty English merchants,--probably the crews
of some trading vessels--arrived, and lent their assistance to the
islanders. By means of this reinforcement the enemy was prevented from
penetrating into the town, but they reached the shore, and, the tide
being low, crossed over to Castle Cornet, and attacked it.
Most of the copies of the ballad say that they took the Castle, “_par
force prindrent le Chasteau_,” but one, which has been preserved in
the registers of the parish of St. Saviour, where it is inserted
about the year 1638, has these words--“_Il vouloient prendre le
Chasteau_,”--which seem to agree better with the other statements in
the ballad that Ivon’s ships came round the island by the southward,
that they received some damage from the peasantry at La Corbière, and
that they re-embarked their troops at Bec de la Chèvre, now known by
the name of the Terres point, after which Ivon ordered them to make
sail for St. Sampson’s Harbour.
Here they landed. Negotiations were entered on with Brégart, the Prior
or Commissary of St. Michel du Valle, a dependency of the famous Abbey
of Mont St. Michel in Normandy, and Ivon laid siege to the Vale Castle,
whither Aymon Rose, the Governor of the island, whom we hear of for the
first time, had retreated and entrenched himself.
Summoned by Ivon to surrender, he refused, but agreed to sanction an
arrangement which Brégart had made with the people, and which seems
to have had for object to buy off the invaders by payment of a sum of
money.
The ballad assigns this as the origin of the charge on land called
“champart,” but it is certain that this species of tithe existed long
before this time.
Most of the copies end here, but some have a second part, of which we
have already spoken, and which was probably written at a later period.
It is difficult to account for the discrepancy between the local
account and that of Froissart and others as to the name of the Castle
into which the Governor, Aymon Rose, retired, unless by the supposition
that the historians knew Castle Cornet by name as a fortress deemed
impregnable, and assumed, without further inquiry, that it must be the
one in which the Governor entrenched himself.
[Illustration: Houses formerly facing West Door of Town Church.]
An event of so much importance was well calculated to make a lasting
impression on the people. And to this day “_Les Aragousais_” are
spoken of, and various traditions relating to them are repeated. It is
singular, however, to find that with the lapse of time they have come
to be looked upon as a supernatural race--in fact, to be confounded
with the fairies. The form which this traditional remembrance of them
has taken will be found on page 204, and tends in some degree to
confirm the idea entertained by some writers on fairy mythology that
many of the tales related of those fantastic beings may be accounted
for by the theory that they refer to an earlier race of men, gradually
driven out by tribes more advanced in civilisation.
The places called “_La Bataille_[231]” and “_La Ruette Meurtrière_”
have already been mentioned as the spots where the great battle took
place. The “_Rouge Rue_,” leading down the hill to the westward of St.
John’s Church, is said to derive its name from the blood spilt on this
occasion. If this really be the origin of the name, we may suppose
that the islanders, retreating towards the Vale Castle, or perhaps the
Château des Marais, were overtaken there, and that a second engagement
took place. But there is reason to believe that the tradition relates
to another locality in quite a different direction, which in times gone
by bore also the name of “_La Rouge Rue_,” but which has long ceased
to be so called. We speak of the upper part of Hauteville, sloping
southwards towards the valley of Havelet. According to the late Miss
Lauga, who died at the advanced age of eighty-five, her mother, who had
inherited from her ancestors property in this neighbourhood, always
spoke of it as “_La Rouge Rue_,” and said that a sanguinary battle
had been fought in ancient days on this spot. And, indeed, this name
appears in the old contracts and title-deeds, by which property in
the neighbourhood is held. The consequence of its having ceased to be
known popularly by its ancient appellation would naturally be that
the traditionary tale of the name being derived from the blood spilt
there would be transferred to another and better known locality, which
chanced--perhaps simply from the colour of the soil--to bear the same
name.
Firearms were of such recent invention that it is scarcely to be
supposed that any had as yet found their way to Guernsey. If, however,
any faith can be placed in tradition, their use and construction were
not totally unknown in the island, for it is said that the trunk of a
tree was hollowed out and bound round with iron hoops, but that when
this deadly weapon was loaded, no one could be found bold enough to
fire it, until a child, ignorant of the risk he was incurring, was
induced, by the promise of a cake, to perform the dangerous feat.
It is also said that the women of the island contributed all their
ear-rings and other jewels to buy off the invaders; and it was very
generally believed that a peculiar breed of small but strong and
spirited horses--now unfortunately extinct--was derived from those that
had escaped during the battle, and so had remained in the island after
the Spaniards left.
The tradition, which confounds Ivon’s forces with the fairies, relates
how all the islanders were killed, except a man and a boy of St.
Andrew’s parish, who concealed themselves in an oven, over the mouth of
which a woman spread her black petticoat, and so escaped; and how the
conquerors, who are described as a very diminutive race, married the
widows and maidens, and so re-peopled the island. The small stature
and dark complexion of some families are occasionally appealed to as
proofs of this origin.
Perhaps this tradition may be an indistinct recollection of a far
earlier invasion and possession of the island by some of the piratical
hordes from the North, that began to infest the coasts of the Channel
as early as the beginning of the fifth century. These were not unlikely
to have subjugated the men of the island, and to have taken forcible
possession of their wives, and any tradition of the event might very
naturally be transferred from one invasion to another, and come finally
to be fixed on the last and best known.
The ballad, of which an English translation is attempted, has
evidently suffered much from the defective memory of reciters, and
the carelessness of transcribers, so that some of the stanzas appear
to be almost hopelessly corrupt. The main incidents of the story
are, however, tolerably well defined. It seems to have been composed
originally in French, and not in the Norman dialect used in the island.
The stanzas consist of the unusual number of seven lines, of which
the first and third rhyme together, and the second, fourth, fifth and
sixth--the seventh rhyming occasionally with the first and third,
but more frequently standing alone. In some verses assonances take
the place of more perfect rhymes, which may be adduced as a proof of
the antiquity of the ballad. Perhaps it would not be impossible, by
comparing the various copies, choosing the readings which appear least
corrupt, altering here and there the position of a line in the stanza,
or the arrangement of the words that compose it, or even sometimes
changing a word where the exigencies of the rhyme seem to require it,
to produce a copy that would offend less against the rules of prosody;
but this is a process which would require great care, and which respect
for antiquity forbids us to attempt.
We must take the ballad, with all its faults and imperfections, as we
find it.
EVAN OF WALES, OR THE INVASION OF GUERNSEY IN 1372.
_Part the First._
I.
Draw near and listen, great and small,
Of high and low degree,
And hear what chance did once befall
This island fair and free
From warlike men, a chosen band,
Who roamed about from land to land,
Ploughing the briny sea.
II.
Evan of Wales, a valiant knight,
Who served the King of France,
In Saragossa’s city bright
Hired many a stalwart lance:
One Tuesday morn at break of day,
To land these troops in Vazon Bay,
He bade his ships advance.
III.
At early dawn from quiet sleep
John Letoc rose that day,
To tend his little flock of sheep
He took his lonely way,
When lo! upon the Vazon sands
He saw, drawn up in warlike bands
The foe in fierce array.
IV.
A horse he met upon his way
Trotting along the road,
Strayed from the camp--without delay
The charger he bestrode,
And soon from house to house the alarm
He gave, crying out “to arms, quick, arm!”
Through all the isle he rode.
V.
“To arms, to arms, my merry men all,
To arms, for we must fight,
Hazard your lives, both great and small,
And put the foe to flight;
Hasten towards the Vazon Bay
Hasten our cruel foes to slay,
Or we shall die this night.”
VI.
Evan of Wales, that vent’rous knight,
Led the foe through the land,
But pressing forward in the fight,
Upon a foreign strand,
He won a garter gay, I ween,
’Twas neither silk nor velvet sheen,
Though crimson was the band.
VII.
For near the mill at La Carrière,
With halbert keen and bright,
Young Richard Simon, void of fear,
Attacked the stranger knight.
And gashed full sore his brawny thigh,
Then smote his right hand lifted high,
To check the daring wight.
VIII.
Above Saint Peter Port ’tis said,
The conflict they renewed,
Of friends and foes five hundred dead
The grassy plain bestrewed:
Our ladies wept most bitterly,
Oh! ’twas a dismal sight to see
Their cheeks with tears bestrewed.
IX.
Thoumin le Lorreur was in truth
Our leader in the fray,
But brave Ralph Holland, noble youth,
He bore the palm away;
Yet was he doomed his death to meet,
The cruel foes smit off his feet,
He died that dismal day.
X.
Hard blows are dealt on every side,
The blood bedews the plain,
The footmen leap, the horsemen ride,
O’er mountains of the slain.
A deadly weapon, strongly bent,
Against the foes its missiles sent,
And wrought them death and pain.
XI.
But eighty English merchants brave,
Arrived at Vesper-tide,
They rushed on shore the isle to save,
And fought on our side:
Our foes fatigued, began to yield,
And leaving soon the well-fought field,
To Heaven for mercy cried.
XII.
To’ards Galrion they bend their course,
And range along the bay,
In hopes to make by fraud or force
Into the town their way,
But now the gallant Englishmen
Return, and on our foes again
Their prowess they display.
XIII.
But rallying soon, th’adventurous band
Cornet’s strong towers attack,
With ebbing tides, across the sand,
They find an easy track,
The beach is strewed with heaps of dead,
The briny sea with blood is red,
Again they are driven back.
XIV.
Many are killed, and wounded sore;
Meanwhile the hostile fleet,
Coasting along the southern shore
A warm reception meet
From peasants bold at La Corbière;
At Bec d’la Chèvre the land they near,
And aid their friends’ retreat.
XV.
But Evan’s troops were mad with rage,
Like lions balked of food,
Swear that their wrath they will assuage
In floods of English blood;
Then suddenly their course they steer
Towards Saint Sampson’s port, and there
They land in angry mood.
[Illustration: Old Cottage, Fermain.]
XVI.
Saint Michael’s Abbey soon they seek,
Friar Brégard there had sway,
Who, full of fear, with prayers meek
Meets them upon their way;
With presents rich and ample store
Of gold, and promises of more
Their fury to allay.
XVII.
To Eleanor, that lady fair,
Sir Evan’s beauteous bride,
The crafty monk gave jewels rare
To win her to his side.
At Granville, in the pleasant land
Of France, Sir Evan sought her hand,
Nor was his suit denied.
XVIII.
Near the Archangel’s Castle then,
Upon a rising ground,
Sir Evan camped--our countrymen
Sure refuge there had found.
Brégard, in hopes to increase his store,
Advances to the Castle door
And bade a parley sound.
XIX.
He counselled them to yield forthwith,
But brave Sir Edmund Rose
Declared he’d sooner meet his death
Than bend to foreign foes,
But to the Abbot should they yield
A double tithe on every field,
He would it not oppose.
XX.
The Abbot to Sir Evan went,
And soon a bargain closed;
The simple peasants gave assent
To all the monk proposed,
And bound their lands a sheaf to pay,
Beyond the tithes, and thus, they say,
The Champart was imposed.
_Part the Second._
I.
With spoils and presents not a few
Sir Evan sailed once more
Tow’rds le Conquet, his ships with new
Supplies of food to store;
Before Belleisle (so goes the tale)
They burnt a fleet of thirty sail,
The crews being gone on shore.
II.
The south wind rose, and on the coasts
Of Brittany they passed,
An English fleet to stop their boasts
Appeared in sight at last:
Full sixty men a footing found
On board Sir Evan’s bark, and bound
His crew in fetters fast.
III.
Sir Evan to the mast they tied,
And then before his face
Insult his young and beauteous bride
And load her with disgrace;
They take him to Southampton town
And on his head, in guise of crown,
A red-hot morion place.
IV.
They dragged his men out one by one,
And hung them up in chains,
And now not one of all the crew
Save Eleanor remains.
A beggar’s scrip her only store,
She roams about from door to door,
And scarce a living gains.
V.
How fared the rest of Evan’s fleet?
Methinks I hear you say,
When raging winds for ever beat
The strongest towers decay;
To bend these ships before the breeze,
And sinking ’neath the briny seas,
In vain for mercy pray.
VI.
Our holy island’s shores at last,
One Tuesday morn they reach;
But on the Hanois rocks are cast,
And soon on Rocquaine’s beach
The waves their lifeless corpses threw,
That vengeance still will guilt pursue,
Their dismal fate may teach.
[230] EDITOR’S NOTE.--I have also met with an account of the
destruction of the Tower of Castle Cornet by lightning in 1672, in some
old MSS. dated 1719, where the visitation is ascribed to the sins of
the people!
[231] EDITOR’S NOTE.--On the slope of the hill rising to the south of
Perelle Bay there is also a spot called “La Bataille,” and about a
quarter of a mile further inland another spot called “L’Assaut.” This
probably refers to some other conflict.--_From J. de Garis, Esq._
THE RECAPTURE OF SARK.
At the beginning of the present century, when little more was known of
the Norman Islands than their names, it might have been necessary, in
speaking of Sark, to describe where it is situated. Guernsey, Jersey,
Alderney, Sark, and Man, were always associated together in Acts of
Parliament and in school books for teaching children geography; and
while there were many who believed the five to form but one group,
there were many others who would have been very much puzzled to
point out on the map the precise situation of any one of them. Now,
thanks to the incessant intercourse with England by means of steam,
and the attractions the islands present as resorts for tourists and
excursionists, they are as well known as most watering places on the
English coast.
Sark, though the smallest of the group, is by many considered the most
beautiful of the Channel Islands, and, certainly in point of rock and
cliff scenery, combined with the ever-varying effects of sea and sky,
there are few lines of coast, of the same extent, that can compare with
it. So precipitous are the shores on all sides, that there are very few
spots where a landing can be effected, and in former days it would not
have been difficult to repel an invader, merely by rolling down stones
from the heights.
Of the history of Sark but little is known. St. Maglorius, a Briton
from South Wales, who succeeded his kinsman, St. Samson, Bishop of Dol,
about the year 565, in that see, gave up a few years afterwards his
pastoral charge to his successor, St. Budoc, and retired to end his
days in meditation and prayer in Sark, where he established a convent
and college for training young men as missionaries to the neighbouring
nations. As a priory, dependent probably on some one or other of the
large monasteries in Normandy, this convent was still in existence
in the reign of Edward III., but the wars between this monarch and
the French king, seem to have been the cause of the monks withdrawing
themselves entirely from the island about the year 1349. After the
departure of the monks, Sark appears to have become the resort of
pirates, who did so much injury to the trade of the Channel, that,
in 1356, a vessel belonging to the port of Rye was fitted out by the
merchants of that town and of Winchelsea to endeavour to expel this
band of marauders. This they succeeded in doing, and are said to have
effected an entry into the island by means of a stratagem, which Sir
Walter Raleigh, sometime Governor of Jersey, where he may be supposed
to have gained his information, relates as having occurred in the reign
of Queen Mary, and attributes to the crew of a Flemish ship.
We copy Sir Walter Raleigh’s account of the re-taking of Sark, from
his _History of the World_, Part I., Book IV., chapter XI., p. 18, but
must premise by saying that he is incorrect in stating that Sark had
been surprised by the French in the reign of Queen Mary. It was in the
year 1549, during the reign of her brother Edward VI., that the French,
being at war with England, and finding the island uninhabited, landed
four hundred men and took possession of it. The anonymous author of
_Les Chroniques de Jersey_, written apparently in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, in noticing the recapture of Sark by Flemings, says nothing
of the stratagem, but simply that, guided by some Guernseymen, they
landed at night and overpowered the French garrison, which, at that
time, was very much reduced in numbers.
“The Island of _Sark_, joining to _Guernzey_, and of that Government,
was in Queen _Mary’s_ time surprized by the _French_, and could never
have been recovered again by strong hand, having Cattle and Corn
enough upon the Place to feed so many Men as will serve to defend it,
and being every way so inaccessible that it might be held against the
_Great Turk_. Yet by the industry of a Gentleman of the _Netherlands_,
it was in this Sort regained. He anchored in the Road with one Ship,
and, pretending the Death of his Merchant, besought the _French_ that
they might bury their Merchant in hallowed Ground, and in the Chapel
of that Isle; offering a Present to the _French_ of such Commodities
as they had aboard. Whereto (with Condition that they should not come
ashore with any Weapon, not so much as with a Knife), the _French_
yielded. Then did the _Flemings_ put a Coffin into their Boat, not
filled with a Dead Carcass, but with Swords, Targets and Harquebuzes.
The _French_ received them at their Landing, and, searching every one
of them so narrowly as they could not hide a Penknife, gave them leave
to draw their Coffin up the Rocks with great difficulty. Some part
of the _French_ took the _Flemish_ Boat, and rowed aboard their Ship
to fetch the Commodities promised, and what else they pleased, but,
being entered, they were taken and bound. The _Flemings_ on the Land,
when they had carried their Coffin into the Chapel, shut the Door
to them, and, taking their Weapons out of the Coffin, set upon the
_French_. They run to the Cliff, and cry to their Companions aboard the
_Fleming_ to come to their Succour. But, finding the Boat charged with
_Flemings_, yielded themselves and the Place.”
Falle, the historian of Jersey, in citing this anecdote says:--“I
have seen Memoirs which confirm the taking of this Island by such a
Stratagem; but the other Circumstances of Time and Persons do not agree
with the foregoing Story.”
He then quotes, in a footnote, a passage from a MS. chronicle in Latin,
which appears to have been in the possession of the de Carteret family,
Seigneurs of St. Ouen, in Jersey, giving an account of the recapture of
Sark by a vessel from Rye, by means of the stratagem related above, but
he does not assign any date to the transaction.
It would be rash to assert that no such event ever occurred in the
history of Sark, but it is curious to note that similar stories
are told of Harold Hardráda, a Scandinavian adventurer who was in
the service of the Byzantine Emperors, and of the famous sea-king,
Hastings. The former fell dangerously ill while besieging a town in
Sicily. His men requested permission to bury him with due solemnity,
and, on bringing the coffin to the gates of the town, were received
by the clergy. No sooner, however, were they within the gates than
they set down the coffin across the entrance, drew their swords, made
themselves masters of the place, and massacred all the male inhabitants.
Hastings, about the year 857, entered the Mediterranean with a large
fleet, appeared before the ancient Etruscan city of Luna, professed to
be desirous of becoming a Christian, and was baptised by the Bishop.
After a time he pretended to be dangerously ill, and gave out that he
would leave the rich booty he had amassed to the Church, if, in the
event of his death, the Bishop would allow him to be interred in one of
the churches of the city. This was conceded, and, shortly afterwards,
his followers appeared, bearing a coffin, which they pretended
contained his dead body. No sooner had they entered the church and set
it down, than Hastings started up, sword in hand, and slew the Bishop.
His followers drew their swords, and, in the confusion, soon made
themselves masters of the city.
[Illustration: Old Mill, Talbot.]
These particulars are taken from Bohn’s editions of Mallet’s _Northern
Antiquities_, pages 169 and 170. Perhaps the earliest known germ of
this story is to be found in the famous Trojan horse; but it is curious
to note that a tale, similar in all its incidents to that related of
Sark, is told as having happened in the reign of William and Mary
at Lundy, a small isle in the Bristol Channel. It will be found in
_Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in Devon and Cornwall_; and as the
date assigned to it is long subsequent to the publication of Sir Walter
Raleigh’s _History_, the natural conclusion is that the incidents in
the alleged taking of Lundy, have been borrowed from those of the
recapture of Sark, as narrated by Sir Walter. In confirmation of this
view of the case we would draw attention to the circumstance that the
“Gentleman of the Netherlands,” with his crew of Flemings, of the
earlier narrative, becomes in the later edition of this story “A ship
of war under Dutch colours.”
With these preliminary remarks, we proceed to copy the account of the
surprise of Lundy:--
“The principal event in the history of Lundy is its capture by a party
of Frenchmen, in the reign of William and Mary. A ship of war, under
Dutch colours, brought up in the roadstead, and sent ashore for some
milk, pretending that the captain was sick. The islanders supplied
the milk for several days, when at length the crew informed them that
their captain was dead, and asked permission to bury him in consecrated
ground. This was immediately granted, and the inhabitants assisted in
carrying the coffin to the grave. It appeared to them rather heavy,
but they never for a moment suspected the nature of its contents.
The Frenchmen then requested the islanders to leave the church, as
it was the custom of their country that foreigners should absent
themselves during a part of the ceremony, but informed them that they
should be admitted to see the body interred. They were not, however,
detained long in suspense; the doors were suddenly flung open, and the
Frenchmen, armed from the pretended receptacle of the dead, rushed,
with triumphant shouts, upon the astonished inhabitants, and made them
prisoners. They then quietly proceeded to desolate the island. They
hamstrung the horses and bullocks, threw the sheep and goats over
the cliffs, and stripped the inhabitants even of their clothes. When
satisfied with plunder and mischief, they left the poor islanders in a
condition most truly disconsolate.”
No reference to any authority for the story is given, and it is
difficult to conceive that such an unprovoked and barbarous outrage,
leading to no useful end--for Lundy could be of little or no use to
either in time of war--could have been perpetrated so lately as the
reign of William III.; but in the case of Lundy, as well as in that of
Sark, the date assigned to the event is extremely vague, some asserting
that it happened in the time of the great rebellion, others that it is
to be found related by one of the old chroniclers who wrote the history
of that long period of civil strife known as the Wars of the Roses.
THE ALARM OF PULIAS.
A time of war between England and France would naturally cause great
anxiety and excitement in all the Channel Islands. Situated as they
are, so near to the French coast that buildings of any size may be
discerned in clear weather by the naked eye, and coveted by that nation
ever since the time when King John, having lost Normandy, the islands,
firm in their allegiance to the Duke, followed the fortunes of England,
they were peculiarly exposed to a hostile attack.
England, fully aware of the importance of these islands, and knowing
well what a command of the Channel the possession of them gives, has
always been careful to have them well fortified and garrisoned in
time of war, and to keep a fleet cruising in their waters. The local
militia--a body of men which may be more correctly termed trained
bands, for, by the ancient constitution of the islands, every male
capable of bearing arms _must_ be trained to the use of them, and is
required to serve his country from the age sixteen to sixty--forms
a subsidiary force, frequently and carefully drilled. In times when
danger was to be apprehended, watch houses were erected on all the
hills and promontories round the coast, where a vigilant lookout was
kept up night and day; and near each of these was placed a large stack
of dried furze, which might be set on fire at a moment’s warning, and
which would convey the intelligence of approaching danger to all parts
of the island. The keeping of these guards was confided to the militia,
or, to speak more precisely, to householders, who were told off by the
constables of their respective parishes for this duty. Every house, in
its turn, had to furnish a man, and even females living alone were not
exempt, but were expected to find a substitute. These substitutes,
being well paid for their trouble, were, of course, not difficult to
be met with; but as they were for the most part idle fellows, and as
they were enrolled under their employers’ names, these last sometimes
found themselves in an awkward predicament. It is said that two maiden
ladies, householders, of most unblemished reputation, and belonging to
two of the most aristocratic families in Guernsey, were reported one
morning as having been drunk and disorderly on guard the previous night!
During the last wars between England and France there does not appear
to have been, except on one occasion, any very serious alarm in
Guernsey; but every now and then the sight of ships of war off Cape La
Hague, in the neighbourhood of Cherbourg, gave rise to some uneasiness,
and put the island on the alert. It is no wonder if some amount of fear
was felt by the inhabitants on these occasions, when we remember the
panic that Bonaparte’s threatened invasion in flat-bottomed boats from
Boulogne, occasioned in England.
It was during the American war, in the early part of the year 1781,
shortly after the attempt made on Jersey by the French adventurer, de
Rullecour, so gallantly repelled by a small body of the regular forces
and the militia of that island, under the command of Major Pierson, who
was killed fighting bravely at the head of his troops, that a drunken
frolic of three thoughtless youths threw the whole island of Guernsey
into a state of consternation, and was the unfortunate cause of the
death of several sick persons.
On the night of Sunday, the 4th of March, these men, officers in one
of the militia regiments, after attending a muster of the force, which,
in those days, generally took place on the Sunday, had finished the
day by dining together, and were returning from the Castel parish to
their homes in the Vale and St. Sampson’s. Their way was along the
sea-coast, at that time not nearly so thickly inhabited as at present,
and, on arriving at an almost solitary house, situated near the marsh
of Pulias, just at the foot of the hill of Noirmont, on which a watch
and a beacon, ready to be fired, were always in readiness, the fancy
took them to knock at the door of the cottage, and to represent
themselves as part of a French force, consisting of over ten thousand
men, who had just effected a landing. They demanded that a guide should
be furnished them forthwith to shew them the most direct road to the
town, and to the residence of the Governor, promising that he should
be amply rewarded for his trouble. It so chanced that the only inmates
of the house were an old man and his wife. With admirable presence of
mind, the man replied that it was out of his power to serve them as
guide, as he had the misfortune to be stone blind, but that if they
went a few hundred yards further in a direction which he pointed out to
them, they would find another habitation, where, no doubt, the guide
they were in search of would be forthcoming. They took their departure,
going in the direction indicated to them, and, no sooner were their
backs turned, than the old woman opened a window in the rear of the
house, and made her way across the fields, over hedges and ditches, and
through the thick furze that covers the hill, to the signal station
on the summit of Noirmont. She told her story to the men on watch,
and it was not many minutes before the beacon was in flames, and the
signal taken up by all the others round the coast. A swift messenger
was sent into town with the unwelcome news. Before long, the alarm had
spread into every part of the island. The troops in garrison were soon
under arms, the militia regiments mustered at their respective places
of meeting, and scouts were sent out to search for the enemy, and to
find out where they had taken up their position. With the return of
daylight, the reconnoitring parties came back to headquarters, bringing
the reassuring intelligence that not a sign of an enemy was to be seen
on any part of the coast. It was then evident that the whole community
had been made the victim of a heartless hoax. A strict enquiry was set
on foot to discover the authors of it, but, though suspicion pointed
strongly in the direction of the real culprits, nothing definite could
be brought home to any one in particular; but the surmise was converted
into certainty by the sudden departure from the island of the suspected
parties, who did not venture to return to their homes till many years
afterwards, when the affair was well-nigh forgotten, and when there was
no longer any danger of their being called to account for their mad
freak. A bitter feeling was, however, engendered in the minds of the
people, which found vent in satirical songs, some verses of which are
still remembered.
JEAN BRETON, THE PILOT.
From the earliest times of which we have any authentic record, the
people of Guernsey appear to have been a seafaring race. Perhaps they
inherit their disposition for maritime pursuits from their remote
ancestors, those hardy Scandinavian adventurers, who, there can be no
doubt, found these islands a very convenient resort in their early
piratical incursions, and probably had settled in them long before
they took possession of that fertile province of France, now known
as Normandy, the land of the Northmen. But, however this may be, the
inhabitants of these islands could scarcely be other than mariners,
surrounded as they are by a sea abounding in an endless variety of
fish, and especially when we take into consideration the small extent
of land in them available for agricultural purposes compared with
the teeming population which,--exclusive of that of the town, which
has increased considerably since the beginning of the nineteenth
century--appears from authentic documents to have been quite as dense
in the rural districts in the early part of the fourteenth century as
it is in the present day.[232]
Their situation gave the islands importance in a strategical point
of view, and was favourable also to the development of commerce,
possessing moreover, as they did, the extraordinary privilege of
neutrality in times of war between England and France.
[Illustration: Water Lane, Couture.]
After the forfeiture of Normandy by King John, it was long before the
inhabitants of that Province acquiesced cordially in their change of
masters; and the district known as _Le Cotentin_, to which the islands
naturally appertained, was last to give up their allegiance to their
ancient Dukes. Indeed, it can scarcely be said to have been lost
entirely to England, until the final expulsion of our kings from all
their continental possessions in the reign of Henry VI. During the
long wars between the two nations, the possession of these islands
was of the utmost importance to England, commanding as they did so
long a line of the French coast. Guernsey alone at that time possessed
a tolerably secure haven, the early existence of which is proved by
a charter of William the Conqueror, dated prior to his invasion of
England, in which St. Peter Port is mentioned. Edward I. allowed of
certain dues on merchandise being levied for the improvement of this
harbour, and that an active trade was carried on between Guernsey and
the English possessions in Acquitaine is undoubted. No wonder then that
we find the names of Guernsey ships in the lists of those chartered
for the conveyance of troops to France in time of war. But what,
perhaps, more than anything else contributed to form a race of hardy
and courageous seamen were the important fisheries, which, before the
discovery of America and the banks of Newfoundland, gave employment
to an immense amount of men, in catching, salting, and drying for
exportation, the fish which abound in the neighbourhood of the islands.
The dangerous nature of the coast, and the surrounding seas, is owing
to sunken rocks, strong currents and tides, which vary from day to
day. It requires a life-long apprenticeship to become well acquainted
with all the hidden and open perils which threaten a seaman’s life.
No wonder then if some of our fishermen, brought up to the sea from
their earliest youth, become experienced and fearless pilots, knowing
every reef, every set of the tide, and able to reckon to a nicety,
how long the current will run in one direction, and when it may be
expected to take a different course. In making their calculations they
are very much guided by the bearings of certain marks on land, such as
churches, windmills, or other conspicuous buildings, and the following
anecdote, related of one of our pilots, Jean Breton, is well worthy of
being remembered, not more for the skill he displayed under very trying
circumstances, than for the significant and touching answer he gave
when questioned whether he was sure of his marks.
In the year 1794, Captain Sir James Saumarez was at Plymouth, in
command of H.M.S. _Crescent_ and a squadron consisting of two other
frigates, the _Druid_ and the _Eurydice_, and two or three armed
luggers and cutters. He received orders to sail for Guernsey and
Jersey, to ascertain, if possible, the enemy’s force in Cancale Bay and
St. Malo. On the 7th of June he left Plymouth, having, a day or two
before, accidentally met Jean Breton, whom he knew. He asked him what
he was doing there. “I am waiting, Sir, for a passage to Guernsey,”
was the reply. Sir James, whose active benevolence always prompted
him to do a kind action when it was in his power, offered to take
him across, and his kindness to his poor fellow-countryman was amply
repaid in the sequel. The day after their departure from Plymouth,
when about twelve leagues to the N.N.W. of Guernsey, and with a fresh
N.E. breeze, the English ships fell in at dawn with a French squadron
of considerably greater force. The superiority of the enemy being much
too great to be opposed with any chance of success, it became the
imperative duty of the English commander to effect, if possible, the
escape of his ships. Observing that his own ships, the _Crescent_
and the _Druid_, had the advantage in sailing, and fearing that the
_Eurydice_, which was a bad sailer, would fall into the enemy’s hands,
he shortened sail, and, having ordered the _Eurydice_, by signal, to
push for Guernsey, he continued, by occasionally showing a disposition
to engage, to amuse the enemy and lead him off until the _Eurydice_ was
safe. He now tacked, and, in order to save the _Druid_, closed with
the enemy, passing along their line. The capture of the _Crescent_ now
seemed inevitable, but the _Druid_ and the _Eurydice_ escaped in the
meanwhile, and arrived safely in Guernsey Roads, the smaller craft
returning to Plymouth.
But Sir James had, for his own preservation, a scheme, to effect which
required great courage, consummate skill in the management of his ship,
and an intimate knowledge of the intricate passages through the reefs
which render navigation, on that part of the coast in particular, so
very dangerous. The providential presence of Jean Breton on board
enabled him to put this scheme into execution with an almost certainty
of success. Sir James knew that if there was a man in Guernsey
thoroughly acquainted with every danger that besets that iron-bound
shore, Jean Breton was that man; and, making a feint to run his ship on
the rocks to avoid being captured by the enemy, but trusting implicitly
in his pilot’s skill, he ordered him to steer through a narrow channel,
a feat which had never before been attempted by a vessel of that size.
The result of this manœuvre was watched with the utmost anxiety from
the shore, and remarks were made by the lookers-on that Jean Breton
alone, of all the pilots in Guernsey, would venture on such a perilous
feat, little suspecting that it was indeed he, to whom, under God,
was to be attributed the safety of the ship and her gallant crew. The
frigate was soon brought to in a secure anchorage under shelter of the
fire of the batteries on shore, and the French, mortified at being
baulked of a prize of which they had made quite sure, had to retire
from the contest.
The scene of this daring adventure was to the westward of the island,
off the bays known as Le Vazon and Caûbo, on the shore of the former of
which Jean Breton’s cottage was situated, and full in view of Sir James
Saumarez’s own manorial residence, a position truly remarkable, for on
one side was a prospect of death or a French prison, on the other side
home with all its joys! When in the most perilous part of the Channel,
Sir James asked the pilot whether he was sure of his marks? “Quite
sure,” was Jean Breton’s reply, “for there is your house and yonder is
my own!”
[232] EDITOR’S NOTE.--This was true years ago when Sir Edgar MacCulloch
wrote the above, but it has ceased to be true now.