The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 396, October 31, 1829

So much for the fable. As to the word Hogue, there are several places in Jersey called Hougues, which are always situated on a rising ground. The word has evidently originated from the German hoch, from which is derived our English high. A hougue, therefore, means a mound or hillock, and in the present instance, the addition of bye is obviously a contraction of Hambye; and, in accordance with the foregoing tradition, means literally the barrow or tomb of the Seigneur de Hambye.

The chapel at la Hogue is said to have been rebuilt in imitation of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, by one of the popish deans of Jersey, in the reign of Henry VIII. La Hogue-bye remained for many years in a dilapidated state, till about 1790, when the late Admiral d'Auvergne, a native of Jersey, better known under his French title of Duke of Bouillon, became its owner by purchase, and hence it obtained its present name. At his death, in 1816, it was purchased by the late lieutenant-governor, Lieutenant-General Sir Hugh Mackay Gordon, whose heirs afterwards sold it to Francis le Breton, Esq., to whom it now belongs.

The most prominent object in the noble panoramic view from the top of Prince's Tower, is a huge fortress on the eastern side of the island, called the Castle of Mont Orgueil. It crests a lofty conical rock, that forms the northern headland of Grouville Bay, and looks down, like a grim giant, on the subjacent strait. The fortifications encircle the cone in picturesque tiers, and the apex of the mountain shoots up in the centre of them, as high as the flag-staff, which is in fact planted upon it. During war a strong garrison constantly occupied Mont Orgueil, but now a corporal and two privates of artillery composed the whole military force. The corporal, a quiet intelligent man, who spoke with much horror of paying a visit to the West Indies, which, in the mutations of his professional life, he had a prospect of doing at no distant period, acted as cicerone, and, among other places, introduced me into a small circular apartment, forming one of the suite appropriated to officers, which he said had been the habitation of Charles II. when a wanderer. This prince, when his unfortunate father fell into the hands of the regicidal party, found a loyal welcome in Jersey. Here he was recognised as king, when in England they sought his blood: here he remained in security, when his fatherland afforded him no asylum. During his lonely sojourn in this remote portion of his hereditary dominions, he is said to have employed himself in making a survey and delineating a map of the island. The natives, flattered by the confidence he reposed in them, and justly proud of nine centuries of unblemished loyalty to the throne of Great Britain, still refer to his residence as a memorable event; and in no other part of the British dominions, is the memory of the "merry monarch" more respected. When Cromwell, after the disastrous issue of the battle of Worcester, sent an expedition, under Admiral Blake, to reduce the island, it made a most gallant and protracted defence; and had not circumstances conspired to favour the Invaders, their victory would have been dearly purchased.

Mount Orgueil, in point of historical association, is by far the most interesting spot in Jersey. A part of the fortifications, according to tradition, are coeval with Caesar's incursions into Gaul; and the islanders hold it famous in their oldest story, and of antiquity beyond record. In 1374, the celebrated Constable du Guesclin passed over from Bretagne at the head of a large army, including some of the bravest knights of France, and encamped before this fortress, then called Gouray Castle, into which the principal inhabitants had retired for safety; but after a siege of several months, he was obliged to draw off his forces in despair, and quit the island. Henry V. added much to the strength and beauty of Gouray—made it a depot of arms, and conferred on it the proud name of Mont Orgueil. About 1461, Nanfant, the governor, a dependent of Henry VI. was prevailed upon, by an order of Queen Margaret, to surrender it to Surdeval, a Frenchman, agent of Peter de Brezé, Count of Maulevrier; but though de Brezé kept possession of it for several years, the natives, under the command of Philip de Carteret, Seigneur of St. Ouen, a family long illustrious in Jersey annals, prevented him from completely subjugating the island. Sir Richard Harliston, vice-admiral of England, afterwards re-captured Mont Orgueil, and put an end to Maulevrier's usurpation.

A small pier, intended to facilitate the landing of stores, and shelter the numerous oyster vessels that resort to Grouville Bay at the dredging season, projects into the sea, immediately under the castle guns. The bay, like that of St. Aubin, is defended by a regular line of martello towers, several of which are built far within flood-mark, on reefs that form part of the Violet Bank. The adjacent country is a perfect garden, and numerous secluded villas and cottages are scattered among the umbrageous and productive orchards that spread around. A small village, called Goree, lies a short way southward of Mont Orgueil. In former times, it was a sutling-place for the garrison; now it is only the rendezvous of a few oyster-fishers. In the auberges here, (every alternate house retailed liquor), brandy sold at a shilling a bottle.

The road leading directly from Grouville to St. Helier runs parallel with the southern shore, among corn fields, orchards, and hamlets, and is the best in the island. I travelled it after sunset, and found myriads of toads hopping across it in every direction. These reptiles are extremely common in Jersey; while, in the neighbouring island of Guernsey, if popular report may be credited, they are not only unknown, but cannot exist, as has been ascertained by importing them from less favoured countries. This exemption in favour of Guernsey, is in all probability a mere fable, originating with some ignorant native, the absurdity of which no person has been at the trouble to expose. Lizards and small snakes are also numerous in Jersey; and at night-fall, a chorus of crickets resounds from every hedge.

The Jersey cattle are small; but like the pigmy breed of the Scottish Highlands, their flesh is delicate, and their milk and butter rich. The butcher market at St. Helier is supplied chiefly from France. There are sportsmen in Jersey as well as in other countries, but game is neither various nor abundant. The list, however, includes hares, rabbits, the Jersey partridge, a beautiful bird, with pheasant eyes, red legs, and variegated plumage; and several varieties of water fowl. In severe winters, flocks of solan geese, locally denominated "barnacles," frequent the shores.

The Romans, the pioneers of discovery and civilization in Europe, conferred on Jersey the name of Caesarea, in honour of their leader; and Caesar and Tacitus concur in describing it as a stronghold of Druidism, of which worship many monuments still exist. The aborigines were doubtless sprung from the Celtic tribes spread over the adjacent continent; but the present inhabitants are universally recognised as the lineal descendants of the warlike Normans, who, under the auspices of the famous Rollo, conquered and established themselves in the north of France in the ninth century. It was first attached to the British crown at the conquest; and though repeated descents have been made on it by France during the many wars waged between the countries since that remote era, none of them were attended with such success as to lead to a permanent occupation of the island. The islanders, proud of an unconquered name, and gratified to recollect that they originally gave a king to England, not England a king to them, have been always distinguished for fidelity to the British government; and their unshaken loyalty has, from time to time, been rewarded by immunities and privileges, highly conducive to their prosperity, and calculated to foster that spirit of nationality, which is invariably distinctive of a free people. They are exempted from those taxes which press heaviest on the English yeoman, and from naval and military service beyond the boundaries of their own island. The local administration of justice is still regulated by the old Norman code of laws, and this circumstance is regarded by the natives as a virtual recognition of their independence; but strangers, when they inadvertently get involved in legal disputes, have often cause to regret its existence. In cases of assault, particularly the assaulting of a magistrate, even though his official character be unknown to the offender, a severe punishment is generally awarded. We heard several instances of military officers, who had been guilty of raising an arm of flesh against jurats in night frolics at St. Helier's, narrowly escaping the penalty attached to this heinous infraction of the laws—a penalty which would have left them maimed for life.

The introduction of Christianity, and final extirpation of idolatry, is said to have occurred in the sixth century. In the latter days of the reign of popery, Jersey formed part of the diocese of Coutances in Normandy, where the ancient records of the island were deposited; but at the Reformation, in the reign of Elizabeth, it was attached to the see of Winchester—an annexation, however, merely nominal, for the island is in reality exempt from the dominion of the church of England. The inhabitants are a well-disposed and peaceable race, but not particularly distinguished for enthusiasm in religion. The peasantry are orderly and industrious; the merchants enterprising; and the seamen, a numerous class, hardy and adventurous. The aggregate of the people live more after the French manner than the English; that is, they substitute fruit and vegetables, in a great measure, for animal food, and cider for ale. Neither men nor women are distinguished for personal beauty, though we noticed several very comely dames in our perambulations; and notwithstanding the boasted purity of their descent from the ocean-roamers of the north, they have many of the anomalous features of a mixed race.—Edinburgh Journal of Natural and Geographical Science. No. I.

THE NATURALIST

THE MOLE

Foreign naturalists have been much occupied of late with the mole. From the recently published observations of one of them, M. Flourens, it appears that this animal, as its organization indicates, is, if not exclusively, at least, essentially, carnivorous. It very soon dies if only roots be given to it; and if it destroy so many roots of vegetables, it is not for the purpose of eating them, but to seek among them for worms, insects, and particularly for the larvae of insects which harbour there. They may be kept alive for a long time upon any animal food. Ten or twelve hours are nearly the longest time they can live without food. Like all animals which feed upon blood and flesh, the mole is always very thirsty.—Monthly Mag.

CLIMATE OF THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE

The climate of the British dominions in the south of Africa is one of the finest in the world. The average height of the barometer is above thirty inches, and the average summer heat at noon is about 78 deg. It resembles the climate of Italy, but is rather warmer and dryer. It is so dry, that draining is little required for the ground: on the contrary, it is necessary to retain moisture as much as possible, and even irrigation is desirable, more especially from the grasses. The mountains abound in springs, but the supply of water is scanty and precarious, from the want of energy and skill in procuring that essential article. Such a scarcity frequently arises, that the cattle perish from thirst, and the people themselves are in danger of a similar fate.—Gill's Repository.

Sea Pens

The cuts represent two fine Sea Pens—Silver and Red, with Sections.

Of all the Sea Pens yet known, the first is one of the largest and most curious in its appearance; being of a beautiful silvery white, elegantly straited on each of the feather-like processes, with lines or streaks of the deepest black. It is extremely rare, and is a native of the Indian Seas. The accompanying Engraving is copied from a fine specimen in the British Museum.

THE RED SEA-PEN IS

Of a very beautiful appearance, and is found on the British coast. The animal consists of a flattened stem, or body, which is furnished with an internal bone, and dilates into an expanded part, consisting of several pinnae, or lateral branches, which are divided on their inner edges into a number of tubular processes, through each of which is protruded a part of the animal, resembling the head of a hydra or polype; the whole animal may, therefore, be considered as a very compound or ramified union of polypi, the bodies of which are contained in the naked part or stem, and from thence ramify into a vast number of processes, each furnished with its particular head. The animal emits a very strong phosphoric light, and it is even so luminous, that it is no uncommon circumstance for the fishermen to see the fish which happen to be swimming near it merely by the light of the Pens. Its colour is a bright red crimson, and the general size that of the figure.

Mr. Ellis, in the Philosophical Transactions, has published some specimens of this extraordinary animal, of a kidney-shaped form, and observes that it nourishes and supports itself by the succours of polype filaments, which we have expressed in the Engraving in a magnified size. By these they take in their food and discharge the exuviae. In case of danger these little succours are drawn in.

Sea Pens are termed locomotive zoophytes, and swim in the manner of fish. Five hundred polypes may frequently be numbered on a single feather; and they number among the most rare and interesting animals of the order to which they belong.

SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY

Vermin in Ships

Steam has been lately found very successful in cleansing ships from vermin, and especially the white ant. In India, a steam boat was lately placed alongside a merchant vessel, and steam from its boiler conveyed by a very simple system of pipes in the hold of the latter, the apertures to which were closed as well as they could be. The operation was continued for several hours; and there is reason to believe it was effectual, and will prove a valuable process in the navy. Besides the direct object of cleansing the ship, another advantage accrued from the discovery of every leaky place existing, by the oozing of the water through it. The expense is said to be very moderate; and it is further stated to be the only process at present known, not even except sinking, which effectually destroys the white ant.—Brande's Journal.

Agriculture

England possesses more pasture land than any other European country; and Spain the least.

In agriculture, France is a century behind England; and to equal England, France would have to make the immense progress which, since that time, has more than doubled the prosperity of the former country.

England not only surpasses France in the number of its cattle, but the animals are also finer, and their flesh is of better quality; so that an Englishman may enjoy nearly double the quantity of animal food that France supplies to each of its inhabitants, and with the further advantage of better quality. "Oh, the Roast Beef of Old England."

Indian Rouge

We find in Jameson's last Journal, a very interesting paper by Dr. Hancock, on a Red Pigment, called Carucru, or Chica, which appears to be the Rouge of the interior Indians. It is produced like Indigo, from the plant chiefly found towards the head of Essequibo, Parima, and Rio Negro. On breaking a branch, the leaves, when dry, become almost of a blood red, and being pounded, are infused in water till a fermentation ensues. The liquor is then poured off and left to deposit a settlement, which forms the Chica paint. It is put up very neatly in little caskets made with palm leaves, and carried by the Atorayas and trading Caribs all over Guiana. It has a soft, cochineal, crimson shade, and is in great demand among the Indians as an ornamental paint. The use is chiefly for the face, whilst they stain the other parts of the body with Arnotta. They also apply the Chica on the cheeks and about the eyes, and variegate the countenance by marking the forehead, and along the facial line, with their coomazu, a yellow clay or ochre. This manner of painting produces a striking contrast, and gives them a very strange and furious appearance.

From the scarcity of the Chica, its employment is almost exclusively confined to the chiefs and higher orders, their nobility. The rest must be contented with Arnotta, or Poncer mixed with the oil of Carapa, a portion of which, with the Balsam of Aracousiri, mixed with these paints, imparts to them a very delightful odour. The toilet, therefore, of the rude tribes is as simple as their manners and mode of life, their chief material being perfume, and all being carried in a little gourd.

The Chica is not merely esteemed as a pigment, but is considered in the Orinoko as the most sovereign remedy for erysipelas, where that complaint is very prevalent. It is simply made with water into a paste, thinly spread on old linen or cotton, and applied as a plaster to the inflamed part.—Abridged.

Indian Graters

The Tacumas (Indians) are the fabricators of those curious Cassada Graters, which are considered superior to all others by those who are acquainted with them. They are made of a very hard wood, studded over with pointed flint stones, and fixed by a kind of cement and varnish of surprising durability; the substance being at the same time a strong cement and transparent varnish. These Cassada Graters are scarcely, if at all, known on the coast, or in the European settlements.—Jameson's Journal.

Wild Bulls

In the province of San Martin, in South America, M. Roulier saw wild bulls feeding in the llanos among domestic cattle. These animals pass their morning in the woods, which cover the foot of the Cordillera, and come out only about two in the afternoon to feed in the savanna. The moment they perceive a man they gallop off to the woods.

Mount Souffre

During the eruption of this volcano in 1812, the explosions were heard at 600 or 700 miles distance; and cinders were taken from the deck of a vessel 150 miles distant.

Force of Running Water

In August, 1827, the small rivulet called the College, at the foot of the Cheviot Hills, was so swollen by the heavy rains, that the current tore away from the abutment of a mill dam, a large block of stone, weighing nearly two tons, and transported it to the distance of a quarter of a mile.

Cement

The large snails which are found in gardens and woods, discharge a whitish substance, with a slimy and gelatinous appearance, which has been known to cement two pieces of flint so strongly as to bear dashing on a pavement without the junction being disturbed, although the flint broke into fragments by fresh fractures.

Artificial Ice

A mixture of four ounces of nitrate of ammonia, four ounces of subcarbonate of soda, and four ounces of water, in a tin pail, has been found to produce ten ounces of ice in three hours.—Brande's Journal.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

AN OLD MAN'S STORY

BY MARY HOWITTThere was an old and quiet man,And by the fire sate he,"And now," he said, "to you I'll tellA dismal thing, which once befellIn a ship upon the sea.'Tis five-and-fifty years gone by,Since from the River Plate,A young man, in a home-bound ship,I sailed as second mate.She was a trim, stout-timbered ship,And built for stormy seas,A lovely thing on the wave was she,With her canvass set so gallantlyBefore a steady breeze.For forty days, like a winged thingShe went before the gale,Nor all that time we slackened speed,Turned helm, or altered sail.She was a laden argosyOf wealth from the Spanish Main,And the treasure-hoards of a PortugueseReturning home again.An old and silent man was he,And his face was yellow and lean.In the golden lands of MexicoA miner he had been.His body was wasted, bent, and bowed,And amid his gold he lay—Amid iron chests that were bound with brass,And he watched them night and day.No word he spoke to any on board,And his step was heavy and slow,And all men deemed that an evil lifeHe had led in Mexico.But list ye me—on the lone high seas,As the ship went smoothly on,It chanced, in the silent second watch,I sate on the deck alone;And I heard, from among those iron chests,A sound like a dying groan.I started to my feet—and lo!The captain stood by me,And he bore a body in his arms,And dropped it in the sea.I heard it drop into the sea,With a heavy splashing sound,And I saw the captain's bloody handsAs he quickly turned him round;And he drew in his breath when me he sawLike one convulsed, whom the withering aweOf a spectre doth astound.But I saw his white and palsied lips,And the stare of his ghastly eye,When he turned in hurried haste away,Yet he had no power to fly;He was chained to the deck with his heavy guilt,And the blood that was not dry.'Twas a cursed thing,' said I, 'to killThat old man in his sleep!And the plagues of the sea will come from him;Ten thousand fathoms deep!And the plagues of the storm will follow us,For Heaven his groans hath heard!'Still the captain's eye was fixed on me,But he answered never a word.And he slowly lifted his bloody handHis aching eyes to shade,But the blood that was wet did freeze his soul,And he shrinked like one afraid.And even then—that very hourThe wind dropped, and a spellWas on the ship, was on the sea,And we lay for weeks, how wearily,Where the old man's body fell.I told no one within the shipThat horrid deed of sin;For I saw the hand of God at work,And punishment begin.And when they spoke of the murdered man,And the El Dorado hoard,They all surmised he had walked in dreams,And had fallen overboard.But I alone, and the murderer—That dreadful thing did know,How he lay in his sin, a murdered man,A thousand fathom low.And many days, and many more,Came on, and lagging sped,And the heavy waves of that sleeping seaWere dark, like molten lead.And not a breeze came, east or west,And burning was the sky,And stifling was each breath we drewOf the air so hot and dry.Oh me! there was a smell of deathHung round us night and day;And I dared not look in the sea belowWhere the old man's body lay.In his cabin, alone, the captain kept,And he bolted fast the door,And up and down the sailors walked,And wished that the calm was o'er.The captain's son was on board with us,A fair child, seven years old,With a merry look that all men loved,And a spirit kind and bold.I loved the child, and I took his hand,And made him kneel and prayThat the crime; for which the calm was sent,Might be purged clean away.For I thought that God would hear his prayer,And set the vessel free,—For a dreadful thing it was to lieUpon that charnel sea.Yet I told him not wherefore he prayed,Nor why the calm was sentI would not give that knowledge darkTo a soul so innocent.At length I saw a little cloudArise in that sky of flame,A little cloud—but it grew and grew,And blackened as it came.And we saw the sea beneath its trackGrow dark as the frowning sky,And water-spouts, with a rushing sound,Like giants, passed us by.And all around, 'twixt sky and sea,A hollow wind did blow;And the waves were heaved from the ocean depths,And the ship rocked to and fro.I knew it was that fierce death-calmIts horrid hold undoing,And I saw the plagues of wind and stormTheir missioned work pursuing.There was a yell in the gathering winds,A groan in the heaving sea,And the captain rushed from the hold below,But he durst not look on me.He seized each rope with a madman's haste,And he set the helm to go,And every sail he crowded onAs the furious winds did blow.And away they went, like autumn leavesBefore the tempest's rout,And the naked masts with a crash came down,And the wild ship tossed about.The men, to spars and splintered boards,Clung, till their strength was gone,And I saw them from their feeble holdWashed over one by one.And 'mid the creaking timber's din,And the roaring of the sea,I heard the dismal, drowning criesOf their last agony.There was a curse in the wind that blew,A curse in the boiling wave;And the captain knew that vengeance cameFrom the old man's ocean grave.And I heard him say, as he sate apart,In a hollow voice and low,'Tis a cry of blood doth follow us,And still doth plague us so!'And then those heavy iron chestsWith desperate strength took he,And ten of the strongest marinersDid cast them into the sea.And out, from the bottom of the sea,There came a hollow groan;—The captain by the gunwale stood,And he looked like icy stone—And he drew in his breath with a gasping sob,And a spasm of death came on.And a furious boiling wave rose up,With a rushing, thundering roar,—I saw the captain fall to the deck,But I never saw him more.Two days before, when the storm began,We were forty men and five,But ere the middle of that nightThere were but two alive.The child and I, we were but two,And he clung to me in fear;Oh! it was pitiful to seeThat meek child in his misery,And his little prayers to hear!At length, as if his prayers were heard,'Twas calmer, and anonThe clear sun shone, and warm and lowA steady wind from the west did blow,And drove us gently on.And on we drove, and on we drove,That fair young child and I,But his heart was as a man's in strength,And he uttered not a cry.There was no bread within the wreck,And water we had none,Yet he murmured not, and cheered meWhen my last hopes were gone;But I saw him waste and waste away,And his rosy cheek grow wan.Still on we drove,I knew not where,For many nights and days,We were too weak to raise a sail,Had there been one to raise.Still on we went, as the west wind drove,On, on, o'er the pathless tide;And I lay in a sleep, 'twixt life and death,And the child was at my side.And it chanced as we were drifting onAmid the great South Sea,An English vessel passed us byThat was sailing cheerily;Unheard by me, that vessel hailedAnd asked what we might be.The young child at the cheer rose up,And gave an answering word,And they drew him from the drifting wreckAs light as is a bird.They took him gently in their arms,And put again to sea:—'Not yet! not yet!' he feebly cried,'There was a man with me.'Again unto the wreck they came,Where, like one dead, I lay,And a ship-boy small had strength enoughTo carry me away.Oh, joy it was when sense returnedThat fair, warm ship to see.And to hear the child within his bedSpeak pleasant words to me!I thought at first that we had died,And all our pains were o'er,And in a blessed ship of HeavenWere sailing to its shore.But they were human forms that kneltBeside our bed to pray,And men, with hearts most merciful,Did watch us night and day.'Twas a dismal tale I had to tellOf wreck and wild distress,But, even then, I told to noneThe captain's wickedness.For I loved the boy, and I could not cloudHis soul with a sense of shame:—'Twere an evil thing, thought I, to blastA sinless orphan's name!So he grew to be a man of wealth,And of honourable fame.And in after years, when he had ships,I sailed with him the sea,And in all the sorrow of my lifeHe was a son to me;And God hath blessed him every whereWith a great prosperity.The Amulet for 1830.