The Forest of Vazon | Page 8

unexplored,
and that was practically unapproachable.

Early in the sixth century some piratical vessels had entered Rocquaine
Bay in a shattered condition; the crews succeeded in landing, but the
ships, for seagoing purposes, were beyond repair. The pirates
penetrated inland, driving out the inhabitants from Torteval and some
of the adjoining valleys. Here they settled; and being skilled in hunting
and fishing, having a fair knowledge of husbandry, and finding the
position peculiarly adapted for their marauding pursuits, throve and
prospered: so much so that when, some years afterwards, they had an
opportunity of leaving, the majority elected to remain. Their
descendants had continued to occupy the same district. Who they were,
whether pure Northmen or of some mixed race, it would be idle to
conjecture: they were originally put down by the islanders as Sarrazins,
that being the name under which the simple people classed all pirates;
the strangers, however, resented this description, and had consequently
come to be spoken of as Les Voizins, a definition to which no
exception could be taken. Hardy and warlike, quick of temper and
rough of speech, they had an undisputed ascendancy over the natives,
to whom, though dangerous if provoked, they had often given powerful
aid in times of peril. On the whole they made not bad neighbours, but a
condition was imposed by them the violation of which was never
forgiven: no native was permitted, under any pretext, to enter their
territory; death was the sure fate of an intruder found in Rocquaine Bay
or setting foot in the Voizin hills or valleys. Whatever may have been
the cause of this regulation the result had been to keep the race as pure
as it was on the day of the first landing.
Now it was in the Terre des Voizins that Jean had resolved to seek his
beloved, and his resolution was unalterable. He knew the danger; he
wished to avoid death if possible; he meant to employ to the full the
resources at his command; foolhardy as his enterprise seemed it was
long and carefully planned. He knew that in the summer evenings it
was the custom of the Voizin women to visit the sunny shores of the
bay: this he had seen from Lihou; could he then succeed in landing
unperceived, and in concealing himself in one of the many clefts of the
rocks, he felt sure that if the well-known form were there he would
descry it; what would follow afterwards was a question which had
taken many fantastic shapes in his imagination, none of which had

assumed a definite form.
Towards the close of July the conditions were favourable for his
attempt. In the night a strong tide would be running into the bay; the
wind was south-westerly, the moon set early. He prepared to start. He
had selected a small and light boat, which would travel fast under his
powerful strokes, and might be so handled as not to attract attention; in
it he had stored provisions which would last for a few days and a small
cask of fresh water. Towards evening he shaped his course for Lihou.
He had seen but little of the monk since the day of the feast, but he was
yearning to see him now. His love for the man, his reverence for the
truths he taught, his thought of his own future if he lost his life in his
rash expedition, all urged him to seek a parting interview.
The brothers received him affectionately and bade him join their frugal
meal. The monks were five in number: they had been six, but one had
recently been drowned while returning from a pious mission to Herm.
Jean knew them all; they were honest, God-fearing men, trustful and
truthful. If their reasoning powers were not great, their faith was
unswerving. Their life was a prolonged asceticism, and they had fair
reason to expect that martyrdom would be their earthly crown.
The only exceptional feature of the repast was the appearance of one
who had never yet been seated there in Jean's presence; this guest was
the hermit who dwelt on the extreme point, against which the Atlantic
waves dashed in their fiercest fury. The recluse did not seem to
cultivate the duty of abstemiousness, but he maintained silence. Jean
could not forbear furtively scanning his appearance, which was indeed
remarkable. He would have been of large stature in any country;
compared with the natives his proportions were gigantic. His broad
shoulders and muscular arms betokened enormous strength; his hair
and beard were fair; his blue eyes had a clear, frank, expression; there
was firmness of purpose in his massive jaw; he seemed between forty
and fifty, and would have been strikingly handsome but for three deep
scars which totally marred the expression of