The Prior of Lihou.
The small islet of Lihou lies on the western coast of Guernsey, from which it is separated by an arm of the sea. An ancient causeway, which is uncovered at half-tide, affords an easy access to the main-land, but it is dangerous to attempt the passage when the tide is flowing, for the coast is so flat that the water rises with great rapidity, and many accidents have occurred. A church, the ruins of which are still to be seen, existed here until the Reformation. It was dedicated to Notre Dame de la Roche, and was served by a prior, who was appointed by the Prior of St. Michel du Valle, a dependency of the great Abbey of Mont St. Michel-au-peril-de-la-Mer, in the Bay of Avranches. The isle is to this day looked upon with such veneration by the Norman and Breton sailors employed in the coasting trade, that they never pass it without saluting, by lowering their topmasts, and there is reason to believe that it was a favourite resort of pilgrims. A house belonging to a family of the name of Lenfestey, and situated at Les Adams, is said to have been, in former days, the residence of the priest who officiated at Lihou. A free-stone let into one of the exterior walls has a rough delineation of a church incised on it, which is said to represent the Priory Church of Lihou as it formerly existed.[173]
Stone supposed to represent the ancient Priory at Lihou.
A few years ago the remains of a skeleton were discovered in sinking a well on the property, to which a certain number of houses in the neighbourhood have a right of resorting for water. Many persons who have gone to draw water at night have heard groans, thrice repeated, as if from a person expiring, and these have generally been followed by the death of some near relation of the hearer. Three days after Mrs. Savidan heard the groans, a boat, in which were two of her relations named Le Cras, was capsized in a storm and both perished.[174]
Notwithstanding the sanctity of the place, however, the old proverb of “The nearer the church, the farther from God,” might at one time have been applied to it, for it is related of one of the priors that he was addicted to the black art. Neither the fear of God, nor the censures of the church, could wean him from the fascinating study of magic, and the Grand-Mêle was far oftener in his hands than the Bible or breviary. But wizards, it is well known, have often been the victims of their own art, and so it chanced with the profane Prior of Lihou.
One morning, taking advantage of the receding tide, he crossed over to Guernsey to seek an interview with another adept in necromancy, the priest of the neighbouring Chapel of Ste. Apolline. He was accompanied by his servant, to whom he had entrusted a ponderous tome, containing the formulas by which he performed his incantations, and to whom he had given strict orders on no account to open the volume or read a word which it contained.
The visit over, the prior prepared to return to his convent, and walked along leisurely, knowing as it was then spring tide that two or three hours must elapse before the returning waves could bar the passage to the islet. The servant lingered behind, and when he arrived on the beach found his master already half way over. His curiosity had been vividly excited by the repeated injunctions of his master that he should abstain carefully from opening the book. He began to think that it must contain something very wonderful, and that, as but few minutes must elapse before their arrival at the convent, when the mysterious volume would, without doubt, be instantly demanded by the prior, if he did not seize this opportunity of acquainting himself with its contents, no other occasion might ever present itself. He yielded to the temptation, opened the book, and began to read. The prior by this time had arrived at about the middle of the causeway, and was astonished to find the tide rising rapidly and threatening to cut off his further progress, either backwards or forwards. He felt that some unnatural agency was at work, and, guessing how matters stood, looked back to the shore which he had just left, and saw his faithless servant comfortably seated on a heap of dried sea-weed, with the fatal volume spread open on his knees. He was reading aloud, and the prior caught enough of the words to know that his attendant had hit upon the spell which causes the tides to rise out of their usual course, and, moreover, that he was reading most leisurely.
In great fright he called out to the man to read on quickly to the end, as he knew that then the waves would stop and return to their proper limits. The servant was too much absorbed in his reading to pay any attention to the directions given him, and the waves had by this time reached above the prior’s waist. In mortal agony he called out for the second time:—