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Updated: June 19, 2025
There is a fearful joy, after all, in living on a volcano. But, alas, for Sergeant Archelaus! He was at this moment standing on the crust of a volcano, and that crust was momentarily wearing thinner. Lide's shore.
Lide's Pool, as they made seven fathoms and hoped for open water, the fog lifted suddenly, and they saw Garrison Hill right above them. This befell them a short hour before sunset. The skipper rounded up to the wind, dropped anchor, got out a boat, and groped his way shoreward for the fog had descended again, even more speedily than it had lifted.
From the hill above the farmhouse they watched her, after breakfast, as she steamed past the southern point of the island, nosed her way slowly through Chough Sound, between Inniscaw and St. Lide's, and so headed away to the northward until her smoke lay in a low trail on the horizon. They had never before seen a steamer of her size.
Tregarthen had a shrewd notion that most of the guineas which his mother had hoarded in a stocking had come at one time or another from the contraband trade; also he had a notion that his father's renewed activities in digging and hedging must have coincided pretty accurately with the building of the coastguard station upon St. Lide's and the arrival of a Divisional Officer.
Lide's the one nook in the Islands where you lost sight and almost sound of the sea, and could look out of window upon green trees was a better-most person and something of a scholar. But the Bishop of those days had a weak stomach, and, on the advice of his doctor, kept postponing the voyage.
There, while the weather held, the Commandant and his guest could slip away without fear of prying eyes and sail off among the islands as they had sailed off yesterday, Vashti sitting low and covering herself with a spare-sail, until beyond sight of St. Lide's quay and the houses on the slope. To be sure they had to reckon with Mr. Rogers' telescope, or rather to leave it out of account. If Mr.
Vashti took the correction meekly, with downcast look. "And still less, I'll bet," Mr. Rogers continued, "would he be pleased to know that one of his woman-kind was straying across to St. Lide's at this hour of the night." "Oh, sir," she caught him up, "but that's where I've been hindered!
Sure enough we found name and owner's name cut on her transom 'Two Sisters: E. Tregarthen. Now, what d'you make of it?" "Very little," answered the Commandant, recovering himself; "and that little in all likelihood quite innocent. Someone, we'll say, wishes to cross over from Saaron to St. Lide's this evening on any simple errand, say to fetch a parcel from the steamer.
Lide's town, garrison, and country side numbered a little over fourteen hundred. You entered them beneath a massive but ruinous gateway, surmounted by a bell, which Sergeant Treacher rang regularly at six, nine, and twelve o'clock in the morning, and at three, six, and nine p.m., and struck to announce the intervening hours: for the Islands had no public clock.
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