"What can he tell that treads thy shore? No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the mind might soar High as thine own in days of yore."--The Giaour.--BYRON
In the beginning of the eighth century Guernsey was a favoured spot.Around, over the Continent and the British Isles, had swept successiveconquests with their grim train of sufferings for the conquered; butthese storm-clouds had not burst over the island. The shocks whichpreceded the fall of the Roman Empire had not been felt, nor had thethroes which inaugurated the birth of Frankish rule in Gaul and Saxonsupremacy in Britain, disturbed the prevailing tranquillity. Occasionaldescents of pirates, Northmen from Scandinavian homes or Southmen fromthe Iberian peninsula, had hitherto had a beneficial effect by keepingalive the martial spirit and the vigilance necessary for self-defence.In the third century three Roman ships had been driven on shore andlost; the legionaries who escaped had established themselves in theisland, having indeed for the moment no alternative. When theircommander succeeded in communicating with Gaul he suggested a permanentoccupation, being secretly influenced by tales of mineral wealth towhich he had lent an ear. Disillusioned and recalled, he was followed bya sybarite, whose palate was tickled by banquets of fish of which hewrote in raptures to his friends at Capri and Brindisi. This excellentman, dying of apoplexy in his bath, was replaced by a rough soldier, wholost no time in procuring the evacuation of a post where he saw with aglance that troops were uselessly locked up. From this time nothing hadbeen heard of the Romans; their occupation had lasted forty years, andin another forty the only physical traces of it remaining were a camp atJerbourg, the nearly obliterated tessellated pavement and fragments ofwall belonging to the sybarite's villa, which occupied the site in theKing's Mills Valley where the Moulin de Haut now stands, the pond inthe Grand Mare in which the voluptuary had reared the carp over which,dressed with sauces the secret of which died with him, he dwelt lovinglywhen stretched on his triclinium, and the basins at Port Grat in whichhe stored his treasured mullet and succulent oysters. The islanders wereof one mind in speeding the parting guests, but the generation which sawthem go were better men than their fathers who had trembled at thelanding of the iron-thewed demi-gods. Compelled to work as slaves, theyhad learnt much from their masters; a knowledge of agriculture and ofthe cultivation of the grape, the substitution of good weapons andimplements of husbandry for those of their Celtic ancestors, improveddwellings, and some insight into military discipline,--these weresubstantial benefits which raised them in some respects above theirContinental and British neighbours, among whom patriotism had, on thedisappearance of the civilization of the Romans, revived the morecongenial barbarism. Arrivals among them of Christian monks, scanty atfirst, more frequent since the landing of S. Augustine in Britain, hadalso had a certain effect. The progress of conversion was, however,slow; the people were bigoted, and the good fathers were compelled, asin Brittany, to content themselves with a few genuine converts, wiselyendeavouring rather to leaven the mass by grafting Christian truths onthe old superstitions than to court certain defeat, possible expulsionor massacre, by striving to overthrow at once all the symbols ofheathenism.
The island was larger in extent than it is at present, as, in additionto the Vale district, the islet of Lihou, Vazon Bay, and the rock groupknown as the Hanois formed part of it. It is with the events thataltered this configuration that the following legend deals.