North Guernsey (called Parish) is very uninteresting, in fact, from the sea it looks a perfectly flat wilderness or desert, and I was glad when the “Yellow Boy” glided into the deep clear blue water of Grand Havre, where we moored for lunch.

Here an incident occurred which might have caused me to go ashore against my wish.  While peppering some fish I was eating, the lid came off my little tin box, and the contents were strewn thickly on my food.  Some of the condiment I scooped back into the box, and then gave a mighty puff to blow the rest off my plate, when, unluckily blowing against the wind, some of it blew into my eyes, causing me exquisite pain for some time, necessitating my rubbing them.

Had I remembered the Spanish proverb, “Never rub your eyes but with your elbows,” I should have saved myself a lot of needless pain, for they became quite inflamed.  I bathed them first in tepid water and afterwards in cold, and then sat down in the bottom of the boat with a wet handkerchief over them for an hour.  This did them much good, but still they felt very hot and inflamed.  I could only just see to pick my way among the shoals of rocks along this west coast, and consequently made very slow progress.  Saline, Cobo, and Vazon Bays were all sailed slowly through, and very pretty they were; but it now dawned upon me that I should not see Jethou to-night, as it was already approaching the gloaming of the day.  Lowering the sail I put out the sculls, and paddled back to a little inlet I had noticed near Cobo Bay, called Albecq Cove, a rocky little inlet, but nicely sheltered from the south-west wind, then gently blowing.  Here I made all snug for the night; put on my kettle to boil water for tea, while with the sail I made a kind of awning to roof in the boat should it come on to rain, and made myself generally comfortable.

At nine p.m.  I went to sleep, and at four a.m. was up again getting ready for a start.  My eyes felt nearly well again, but still rather weak, so, stripping, I jumped overboard, and had a swim and dive, then dressed, and after a cup of coffee felt no more of the eye soreness.

Between Lihou Island and the shore I moored in shallow water to make a sketch of the remains of what are said to have once been a Priory, standing on the island, and which have since been used as a manufactory of iodine, although it is now discontinued.  When my sketch was nearly completed, I became suddenly aware, by reason of the cessation of motion, that my craft was aground.  Sure enough so it was, for the tide had left me on the causeway (laid bare at low tide), which serves as a means of communication with the shore for the family who occupy the only house on the eighteen-acre island.  I jumped up and seized the oars, and pushed with main and utmost might, but the “Yellow Boy” refused to budge, and I was in a quandary.  The tide would not float me for another three or four hours, so to wait would spoil my whole morning, and if I stepped