EMMA. "I have that. The British Channel is the southern boundary of Great Britain, and extends to the coast of France. The islands in this channel are the Isle of Wight—capital Newport,—Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney and Sark."
MRS. WILTON. "The Isle of Wight has, from time immemorial, been eulogized for its beautiful scenery. It is about twenty-three miles from east to west, and twelve from north to south. You have all heard of the Needles, which obtained their name from a lofty pointed rock on the western coast, bearing a resemblance to that little implement; and which, with other pieces of rock, had been disjointed from the mainland by the force of the waves. This rock was 120 feet high. About seventy years ago, it fell, and totally disappeared in the sea. The height of the cliffs now standing, is in some places 600 feet, and, when viewed from a distance, they are magnificent in the extreme. In this island her majesty Queen Victoria has a delightful residence.
"Guernsey is the most westerly of the Channel Islands: it is eight miles one way, and six miles the other, very fertile, with a mild and healthy climate. A striking object presents itself on approaching Guernsey, called Castle Cornet, situated on a rock somewhat less than half a mile from the shore, entirely surrounded by water, supposed to have been built by the Romans, and formerly the residence of the governors."
MR. BARRAUD. "I have read a curious description of a most remarkable thunder storm, which visited this place in December, 1672. It is as follows:—
"On Sunday night, about 12 o'clock, the magazine of the castle was blown up with the powder in it by the lightning. The night was very stormy and tempestuous, and the wind blew hard. In an instant of time, not only the whole magazine containing the powder was blown up in the air, but also the houses and lodgings of the castle, particularly some fair and beautiful buildings, that had just before been erected at great expense, under the care and direction of Lord Viscount Hatton (then governor.) who was at the same time within the buildings of the castle, all which buildings were with many others, reduced to a confused heap of stones, and several persons buried in the ruins. In the upper part of the castle, at a place called the New Buildings, was killed by the accident the dowager Lady Hatton, by the fall of the ceiling of her chamber, which fell in four pieces, one of them upon her breast, and killed her on the spot. The Lady Hatton, wife to the governor, was likewise destroyed in the following manner:—Her ladyship, being greatly terrified at the thunder and lightning, insisted (before the magazine blew up,) upon being removed from the chamber she was in to the nursery; where, having caused her woman to come also to be with her, in order to have joined in prayer, in a few minutes after, that noble lady and her woman fell a sacrifice, by one corner of the nursery-room falling in upon them, and were the next morning both found dead. In the same room was also killed a nurse, who was found dead, having my lord's second daughter fast in her arms, holding a small silver cup in her hands, which she usually played with, and which was all rimpled and bruised. Yet the young lady did not receive the least hurt. The nurse had likewise one of her hands fixed upon the cradle, in which lay my lord's youngest daughter, and the cradle was almost filled with rubbish: yet the child received no sort of prejudice. A considerable number of other persons were all destroyed by the same accident."[[5]]
MRS. WILTON. "What a very remarkable preservation of those little children. Who could deny the finger of God, with such wonderful instances of his Omnipotence before their eyes? Surely such events must shake the tottering foundations of infidelity, and cause the most disbelieving to confess 'The Lord He is God.' Jersey is the next island for consideration; but I know so little of it, that I must refer you to some person better acquainted with the subject."
CHARLES. "I have been to Jersey, madam, and shall be happy to afford you the trifling information I have gained respecting its peculiarities. Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands, is situated in a deep bay of the French coast, from which it is distant twenty miles. Its extreme length from east to west is twelve miles, its breadth six. The island is fertile and beautiful, it enjoys a mild and salubrious climate; the coast is studded with granite rocks, and indented by small bays, which add greatly to the beauty of the scenery. The chief town is St. Helier's,—its principal trade is with Newfoundland: ship-building is carried on extensively. The natives are kind, but thrifty and parsimonious."
MRS. WILTON. "Thank you, Charles; your description is short, and very much to the purpose. The Channel Islands, I believe, were attached to England, as the private property of William the Conqueror: the French have made several unsuccessful attempts to gain possession of them. The natives are Norman, and the language Norman-French. These islands enjoy a political constitution of their own; exemption from all duties, and various privileges granted them by Royal Charter; they are much attached to the English government, but entirely averse to the French. We will now pass over the other islands, and, 'putting our ship about,' we will stop to view the Eddystone lighthouse."
MR. WILTON. "Before we quit the shores of France, I wish to read you an extract from Leigh Ritchie's Travelling Sketches. You remember in our conversations on the Rivers last winter, that we mentioned the stain that would ever remain on Havre from the prominent part taken by the inhabitants in the dreadful traffic in slaves. The extract I am about to read is from the journal of a youth named Romaine, on board the 'Rodeur,' a vessel of 200 tons, which cleared out of Havre for Guadaloupe, on the 15th January, 1819. The boy writes to his mother, while the vessel lay at Bony in the river Calabar, on the coast of Africa:—'Since we have been at this place, I have become more accustomed to the howling of these negroes. At first it alarmed me, and I could not sleep. The captain says if they behave well they will be much better off at Guadaloupe; and I am sure I wish the ignorant creatures would come quietly, and have it over. To-day, one of the blacks, whom they were forcing into the hold, suddenly knocked down a sailor, and attempted to leap overboard. He was caught, however, by the leg, by another of the crew; and the sailor, rising in a passion, hamstrung him with his cutlass. The captain, seeing this, knocked the butcher flat upon the deck with a handspike. "I will teach you to keep your temper," said he; "he was the best slave of the lot!"' The boy then runs to the chains, and sees the slave who was found to be 'useless,' dropped into the sea, where he continued to swim after he had sunk under the water, making a red track, which broke, widened, faded, and was seen no more. At last they got fairly to sea. The captain is described as being in the best temper in the world; walking the deck, rubbing his hands, humming a tune, and rejoicing that he had six dozen slaves on board; men, women, and children; and all in 'prime marketable condition.' The boy says, their cries were so terrible, that he dare not go and look into the hold; that at first he could not close his eyes, the sound so froze his blood; and that one night he jumped up, and in horror ran to the captain's room; he was sleeping profoundly with the lamp shining upon his face, calm as marble. The boy did not like to disturb him. The next day, two of the slaves were found dead in the hold, suffocated by the foulness of the atmosphere. The captain is informed of this, and orders them in gangs to the forecastle to take the fresh air. The boy runs up on deck to see them; he did not find them so very unwell, but adds, 'that blacks are so much alike that one can hardly tell.' On reaching the ship's side, first one, then another, then a third, of the slaves leaped into the sea, before the eyes of the astonished sailors. Others made the attempt, but were knocked flat on the deck, and the crew kept watch over them with handspikes and cutlasses, until they should receive orders from the captain. The negroes who had escaped, kept gambolling upon the waves, yelling what appeared like a song of triumph, in the burden of which some on deck joined. The ship soon left the 'ignorant creatures' behind, and their voices were heard more and more faint; the black head of one, and then another, disappearing, until the sea was without a spot and the air without a sound. The captain, having finished his breakfast, came on deck, and was informed of the revolt. He grew pale with rage, and, in dread of losing all his cargo, determined to make an example. He selects six from those who had joined in the chorus, has three hanged, and three shot before their companions. That night the boy could not sleep. The negroes, in consequence of the revolt, are kept closer than ever. As a consequence, ophthalmia makes its appearance among them. The captain is compelled to have them between decks, and the surgeon attends them 'just as if they were white men.' All the slaves, then the crew, save one, the captain, surgeon, and mate, the boy, and at last the solitary one of the crew, are stone blind. 'Mother,' says the boy, 'your son was blind for ten days.'
"Some of the crew were swearing from morning till night, some singing abominable songs, some kissing the crucifix and making vows to the saints. The ship in the meanwhile helmless, but with sails set, driving on like the phantom vessel, is assailed by a storm, and the canvass bursts with loud reports, the masts strain and crack, she carrying on her course down the abyss of billows, and being cast forth like a log on the heights of the waters. The storm dies away, when the crew are startled with a sound which proves to be a hail from another vessel. They ask for hands, and are answered with a demand for like assistance. The one crew is too few to spare them, and the other is too blind to go. 'At the commencement of this horrible coincidence,' continues the boy, 'there was a silence among us for some moments, like that of death. It was broken by a fit of laughter in which I joined myself; and before our awful merriment was over, we could hear, by the sound of the curses which the Spaniard shouted against us, that the St. Leo had drifted away.'