Jethou | Page 5

of M. Oudin that, in accordance with his custom,
he took a dram--in fact the circumstances were so very warrantable that
he took two--and probably even more; or else they were like Mynheer

Van Dunk's, "deep, deep draughts." Anyway, upon giving the
fisherman orders to sail him back to Guernsey, and attempting to
follow him with his serving man, they somehow found themselves at
the bottom of the gulch which led down to the shore (upon which the
boat was careened), so much mixed as to arms and legs, that an
observer would have wondered what curious animal he was gazing
upon. Two of them scrambled to their feet, and as well as they could,
shook themselves together; but the third, M. Oudin, had unfortunately
broken his right thigh-bone completely in two. Then the maudlin men,
despite his groans, placed him awkwardly in the boat, and hoisted sail
for Guernsey.
As luck would have it, my father and I were standing upon the deck of
the now nearly finished "Kittywich," when the boat came in, and M.
Oudin having communicated to my father the nature of his hurt, my
dad immediately gave orders for him to be taken to Gardner's Hotel,
where we were staying, and hurrying for a doctor soon joined him there.
The leg was set, and I spent the greater part of each day by the side of
M. Oudin's bed, chatting and reading to him, and attending to his wants.
During our conversation I happened to mention what a great treat I
should consider it to be allowed to live on his island for a few months.
Presently we went more fully into the "whys and wherefores" of the
case, so that I quite began to imagine it might all come to pass as I
wished, but the arrival of my father in the midst of our very pleasant
conversation quite put a damper on the scheme.
"Bah! he would hear nothing of it; it was a mad fool's idea. No, no,
think no more of such rubbish, my boy. Crusoe is all very well to read,
but it's a poor look out to have to live Crusoe."
M. Oudin, seeing how my mind was bent upon the scheme, gave my
father a day or two to simmer down, and then took him in hand quietly
and practically.
"Now look here, Nilford," said M. Oudin, motioning my respected
father to draw his chair nearer to the bed-side, "as you know, I must for
the present, at all events, leave Jethou, for by my brother's death my
presence is necessary in Paris. By his decease I become possessed of a

fortune of upwards of 700,000 francs and a large business to boot. Now
a business employing upwards of forty men will require my constant
supervision, and it is therefore very unlikely that I shall ever return to
Jethou, except perhaps for a very brief holiday.
"Now, during my enforced sojourn in this town, your son has shewn me
every attention and kindness, and with your permission I will give him
the whole of my interest in Jethou as a reward for his attention to me
during my recovery. The island is Crown property, which I rent for a
nominal sum, and as to the furniture, fixtures, and live stock they shall
be his (by your permission) to do as he likes with."
My father made a wry face at this, while I, who sat speechless, could
feel my heart bounding against my ribs for very joy. Alas! my father
negatived the whole thing. "It was not to be thought of; it could not be
carried out by a youngster like me; I should perhaps die without
assistance reaching me; I might starve," and a score more obstacles
were mentioned. By and bye, however, with my earnest persuasion,
backed up by M. Oudin's quiet but forcible manner, my dad melted so
far as to ask for a couple of days for consideration.
Oh! those two days, would they never pass? Yes, they rolled by at last,
and once more we were seated in M. Oudin's room.
"Well, Nilford, what is your decision? I trust it is a favourable one for
the lad, for I am sure he would thoroughly enjoy the life; but if not,
why in case he grew 'mammy sick,' he could return home. But the lad is
of the right metal, and I'll warrant would see twelve months out without
getting weary of the life. Come now, Nilford, give me your hand, and
boy let go."
By the way, my name is Harry Nilford, which I do not think I have
mentioned before.
Then came a long verbal tug of war between these two good men, in
which I could discern that my father's refusal was solely