igorous of the island,
presented themselves. One by one they essayed; but not one could succeed
in reaching Herm. The last one who tried his skill was known for having
crossed, in a rowing-boat, the terrible narrow sea between Sark and
Brecq-Hou. Sweating with his exertions, he brought back the sloop, and
said, "It is impossible." Gilliatt then entered the bark, seized first
of all the oar, then the mainsail, and pushed out to sea. Then, without
either making fast the boom, which would have been imprudent, or letting
it go, which kept the sail under his direction, and leaving the boom to
move with the wind without drifting, he held the tiller with his left
hand. In three quarters of an hour he was at Herm. Three hours later,
although a strong breeze had sprung up and was blowing across the roads,
the sloop, guided by Gilliatt, returned to St. Sampson with its load of
stones. He had, with an extravagant display of his resources, even added
to the cargo the little bronze cannon at Herm, which the people were in
the habit of firing off on the 5th of November, by way of rejoicing over
the death of Guy Fawkes.

Guy Fawkes, by the way, has been dead two hundred and sixty years; a
remarkably long period of rejoicing.

Gilliatt, thus burdened and encumbered, although he had the Guy
Fawkes'-day cannon in the boat and the south wind in his sails,
steered, or rather brought back, the heavy craft to St. Sampson.

Seeing which, Mess Lethierry exclaimed, "There's a bold sailor for you!"

And he held out his hand to Gilliatt.

We shall have occasion to speak again of Mess Lethierry.

The sloop was awarded to Gilliatt.

This adventure detracted nothing from his evil reputation.

Several persons declared that the feat was not at all astonishing, for
that Gilliatt had concealed in the boat a branch of wild medlar. But
this could not be proved.

From that day forward, Gilliatt navigated no boat except the old sloop.
In this heavy craft he went on his fishing avocation. He kept it at
anchor in the excellent little shelter which he had all to himself,
under the very wall of his house of the Bu de la Rue. At nightfall, he
cast his nets over his shoulder, traversed his little garden, climbed
over the parapet of dry stones, stepped lightly from rock to rock, and
jumping into the sloop, pushed out to sea.

He brought home heavy takes of fish; but people said that his medlar
branch was always hanging up in the boat. No one had ever se