Major Vigoureux | Page 3

to any prison on the mainland, but only to the Island
lock-up; and also, if he chose, to prescribe the ducking-stool for
refractory or scolding women. The office carried no salary; but as
Governor under the Lord Proprietor he enjoyed a valuable perquisite in
the harbour dues collected from the shipping. Every vessel visiting the
port or hoisting the Queen's colours was liable, on coming to anchor or
grounding, to pay the sum of two shillings and two pence. All
foreigners paid double. And since, in addition to ships putting in from
abroad, it sometimes happened that two hundred sail of coasters would
be driven by easterly gales to shelter in St. Lide's Harbour, or roadstead,
or in Cromwell's Sound, you may guess that this made a very pleasant
addition to the Commandant's military pay.
In short, for a dozen years Major Narcisse Vigoureux had been, for an
unmarried man, an exceedingly happy one. If you ask me how an
officer bearing such a name happened in command of a British garrison,
I answer that he was not a Frenchman, but a Channel Islander of good
Jersey descent; and this again helped him to understand the folk over
whom he ruled. The wrong-doers feared him; but they were few. By the
rest of the population, including his soldiers, he was beloved, respected,
not a little envied. For a bachelor he mingled with zest in the small
social amusements of Garland Town, the capital of the Islands. He
shone at picnics and water-parties. He played a fair hand at whist. His
manner towards ladies was deferential; towards men, dignified without
a trace of patronage or self-conceit. All voted him a good fellow. At
first, indeed--for he practised small economies, and his linen, though
clean, was frayed--they suspected him of stinginess, until by accident
the Vicar discovered that a great part of his pay went to support his
dead brother's family--a widow and two girls who lived at Notting Hill,
London, in far from affluent circumstances.
In spite of this the Commandant's lot might fairly have been called
enviable until the day which terminated the ninety-nine years' lease

upon which the Duke held the Islands. Everyone took it for granted that
he would apply, as his predecessors had twice applied, for a renewal.
But, no; like a bolt from the blue came news that the Duke, an old man,
had waived his application in favour of an unknown
purchaser--unknown, that is to say, in the Islands--a London banker,
recently created a baronet, by name Sir Cæsar Hutchins.
In general, all Garland Town relied for information about persons of
rank and title upon Miss Elizabeth Gabriel, a well-to-do spinster lady,
daughter of a former agent of the Duke's. But Miss Gabriel's copy of
"The Peerage and Baronetage of Great Britain and Ireland" dated from
1845, and Sir Cæsar's title being of more recent--or, as she put it, of
mushroom--creation, the curious had to wait until a newer volume
arrived from the mainland. Meanwhile, at their whist parties twice a
week, the gentry of Garland Town indulged in a hundred brisk surmises,
but without alarm--"unconscious of their doom, the little victims
played." It was agreed, of course, that the new Lord Proprietor would
not take up his abode in the Islands. For where was a suitable residence?
On the whole the Commandant had little doubt that things would go on
as before, but he felt some uneasiness for Mr. Pope, the Duke's agent.
Within a fortnight, however, came two fresh announcements, of which
the first--a letter from Sir Cæsar, continuing Mr. Pope in his
office--gratified everyone. But the second was terrible indeed. The War
Office had decided to disband the garrison and remove its guns!
Major Vigoureux' face had whitened as he read that letter, five years
ago. It whitened yet at the remembrance of it. As for his hair, it had
been whitening ever since.
For dreadful things had happened in those five years. To begin with,
the new Lord Proprietor had upset prophecy by coming into residence,
and had reared himself a handsome house on the near island of
Inniscaw.... But here for a while let us forbear to retrace those five
years with their humiliating memories. It is enough that the
Commandant now walked with a stoop; that he wore not only his linen
frayed but a frayed coat also; and that he who of old had so often
wished that England would take note of his Islands against the western

sun, now prayed rather that the fogs would cover them and cut them off
from sight forever. He had practical reasons, too, for such a prayer; but
of these he was not thinking as he turned there by the windmill, and
spied Sergeant Treacher approaching along the ridge, and trundling a
wheel-barrow