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.
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.