My answer was quickly written, for my reply was very laconic:
“February 28th, 18—.
“MY DEAR FATHER,
“All is well. I accept
Johnson’s wager of one hundred pounds, that
I do not occupy Jethou for another six months.
About noon I espied two men fishing off the nearest point of Herm, and going to the north-east corner of my island, to the promontory guarding Lobster Bay, I signalled them with a handkerchief upon an ash sapling. They soon saw the signal and pulled towards me. As they neared me I was pleased to find they were the same two men who brought my father’s letter to me in the morning. They came close into the bay, so that I had only to lean down and drop the letter into the boat, pointing towards St. Peter Port to signify I wanted it to go there by the first boat going.
“Oui, tres bien.”
Then I dropped half a crown (three francs) into their boat, and away they pulled, quite pleased. I went about my work, but in about twenty minutes, looking towards Guernsey, I saw the two men pulling away to St. Peter Port with my letter. This was more than I expected, as it would give them a rough pull of six miles. I only meant them to take the letter to Herm; but away it went, and a day was saved.
Away to my digging. I returned and forgot all about the men and the letter, but to my astonishment about four hours after, they hailed me, shouting and gesticulating, “C’est juste,” they cried, and then away they went home, and I saw them no more.
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3: Perhaps one of my musical readers will have the great kindness to set this little Carol to music, and let me see what it goes like to a tune that is musical and carol-like.
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ANOTHER TERRIBLE STORM—LOSS OF THE “YELLOW BOY”—A KETCH WRECKED—I RESCUE A MAN FROM THE SEA, BADLY INJURED—HE RECOVERS.
February went out angrily, a heavy sea and a high wind being constant companions, but if February was wild the opening days of March were worse; it blew great guns and was cold also, and was decidedly unpleasant.
Beside the weather being unpleasant it was also a source of anxiety to me, for I had drawn the “Yellow Boy” upon a ledge of the Fauconnaire, above high water-mark; but now that the sea was in such a terrible rage, I was afraid it should dash over the ledge and dislodge her. If it did, nothing could save her. I could go over to her at low water, but could not draw her up higher, as the great rocks shelved out over her to the height of forty or fifty feet, and I had no tackling strong enough to raise her bodily to that awkward altitude; so I hoped and hoped on, but on the 4th of March matters came to a climax.