My goat and donkey I turned loose, and as for my pigs, I had not seen them since I landed; but I trusted that they were not like the evil-tempered swine of the Bible, who cast themselves headlong into the sea, for if that were the case they could commence their suicide at any moment by rolling down any of the steep sides of the island into the sea.  I trusted that my pigs were sweet-tempered beasts, and of a non-suicidal variety, and so they afterwards proved, and toothsome into the bargain.

The boathouse received my canoe, fishing gear, carpenter’s tools, and gunpowder, for I was afraid to keep the latter near the house, as I had a large quantity, nearly half a hundredweight.  I had this large quantity for several reasons, the principal being that I wished to shoot a large collection of sea fowl, and still have plenty for the big cannon which was to summon aid from Herm or Guernsey, should it be required.  My good father had made arrangements for me to signal as follows: 

If I fired a single gun, the coastguard from Herm would put off to my aid; if two guns were fired, help was to be considered very urgent, and either the coastguard or one of the peasants of Herm would put over, if the weather were calm enough to allow of a boat being launched.  If I fired minute guns, either by night or day, they would be reported to the harbour master of St. Peter Port, who had my father’s instructions to send out a doctor immediately.  Thus I felt comparatively easy in my mind as to help in case of great need, either by accident or sickness.  My gunpowder was therefore kept in the lower floor of the boathouse, as I thought it the safest place.  I took only a pound at a time to the house for shooting purposes.

Having got everything stowed away to my satisfaction, my next step was to look over the island and see how I could employ my time in cultivating the soil.  Near the top I found a large patch of arable land fenced in with wire netting, but it was greatly overgrown, having apparently been some time out of cultivation.  I stepped it out in as correct yards as I could command by striding, and to my dismay found there were just two acres, which discovery somewhat nonplussed me for a time; for to dig over two acres with a spade was no light task, and I took time to reflect and see if I could not concoct some easier means of turning the soil than by digging.

Down I sat upon a stone and lighted my pipe—­the solitary man’s comforter—­and with my gun across my knees ready for a stray shot, I made out my plan of campaign, after much cogitation.  Why not make a plough?  Nothing is made of nothing!  What had I to turn into a plough?  Then the idea of a real Saxon plough came into my head, and there the idea took tangible form, as I saw close by me a tree which would answer my purpose.  Down went my gun, and away I trotted down the rocky path to the house, and quickly returned with an axe.  I was quite out of breath when I regained the tree, having made as much haste as if the tree were provided with means of locomotion, or as if I had to cut down the tree in a given time; but that is just my way, I am much too impulsive.