id blow of my knife I
detached it, and ere it sank into the unknown depths of the pool,
plunged in my left hand and secured it. It was an ormer--at least, so I
supposed, and on this supposition took it home and compared it with a
book on shells I had, and being satisfied with my researches, cooked and
ate the mollusc, although in some doubt. Next day, feeling much as the
first man who ever swallowed an oyster did--alive and hearty--I went at
dead low tide and gathered some more and ate also, but finally came to
the conclusion that one good sole was worth a sack of ormers. Still,
there is no accounting for taste. Some of the islanders are very fond of
ormers; but what is one man's meat is another's "_poisson_."

Although at neap tide on many occasions I gathered many more, it was
more for the beauty of the shells than the flavour of the fish inside
them.

For one with artistic tastes and love of colour like myself, the
interior of an ormer shell is a veritable fairy grotto. One discovery I
made regarding them and that is, that they form a dainty dish for the
huge conger eels which abound among the rocks, and about this bait I
must presently tell a little more.

The granite rocks below high water-mark are simply spotted all over with
myriads of limpets, some of them of enormous size. Many of the shells in
my collection are over three inches across, and the fish when cooked
make two ample mouthfuls. My manner of dressing them was to place them
in a tub of sea water for a night, and then to lay them on a gridiron,
point downward, over a bright fire, and grill them. When cooked they
would drop out of their shells when turned upside down over a plate
containing vinegar and pepper, and I considered them very nice. A friend
of mine who has tasted them in Cornwall says they would make any
well-bred dog sick. Thus, I say again, tastes vary!

I must allow, however, that the leathery limpet is as far behind the
delicious sole or turbot in flavour, as a turnip is inferior to an
apple; but still a change is desirable, and for the matter of change I
think I had a turn at everything eatable on the island or in the sea
surrounding it, and still live to tell the tale.

Well, now, let me tell an adventure that befell me while conger fishing
off the Crevichon one calm evening just after dark. First let me point
out a device I had to adopt because my canoe had not sufficient space to
hold or carry all the fish I sometimes caught. I had