Pulp Fiction, 1865 · page 227 of 400
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212 THE CHANNEL ISLAN@S By CHARLES W. Woop, F.R.G.S. | AUTHOR OF ** THROUGH HOLLAND,” *‘ THE CRUISE OF THE RESERVE SQUADRON,” &c. WE left Jersey on the loveliest of morn- ings. The month was Octo- ber, it might have been June. No June day ever saw a sea more tranquil. The little Weymouth boat was motionless almost as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. No one attempted a = even to affect illness, except : ‘(liasaneieal a = =e | ~== the lady with the terrible a) Mesias ee —-.r=— trunk, and her indisposition was the result of agitation, not mal-de-mer. arin == Se We rounded the Jersey ey ee ees coast ; noted all the head- ri "1 ~ ~ a eres | UNH UINL ry Geers eee lands, rocks and _ bays; Sa ees ee looked again upon the shores we had walked, the SSS cliffs we had climbed, the Jacos’s LADDER. heights we had _ scaled. Then, for us, Jersey passed away as a tale that is told; it remained as a dream in the memory; a very pleasant dream, all sunshine, blue skies, pure breezes, the murmur of a sea that flashed all the colours of the rainbow, made Fairyland a reality, and created a wonder as to what beautiful object would take its place in the far-off country, where we are told there shall be no more sea. As Jersey melted away, a pale mist rose out of the water, and the mariners steered by their compass only. Guernsey remained in- visible until we were close upon it. Then white cliffs, phantom-like, appeared ; and Fort George, crowning a dizzy height ; and presently the stone piers, meeting like strong arms that would shelter all within the fine harbour; keep all in safety from outside tempest ; give refuge on dark nights when “stormy winds do blow,” and many find their last rest only in a death which makes death twice lone- some: more lonely still that long journey each one has to take single-hand and solitary beyond the mysterious boundary that separates eternity from time. iii )) 2 ee Eomicbooks (e (0)