We went sorrowfully on our way, and two days after were at Burnham Thorpe (Nelson’s birthplace), when we heard at the village inn of a hairy mermaid being exhibited at Brancaster. We took no notice of the news but when we reached the village with a Roman name, we found the people quite excited over the wonderful mermaid, and with numerous other visitors paid our pennies to go in and see the curiosity--when behold, it was Harry’s seal! Of course Harry demanded it, but the men would not give it up, and as Brancaster does not contain a policeman, force had to be resorted to. My friend was a big, strong fellow, and I being scarcely less in size or strength, we made a good fight of it, and placed the seal in my van and made off. The villagers became very abusive and threatening, and many missiles were thrown at us, but we got away as quickly as possible, I handling the reins, and Harry keeping off the crowd with a gun in one hand and a whip, which he used pretty freely, in the other. We had three panes of glass broken, sundry cuts and bruises, and a black eye, which latter fell to my lot, on our side. We could not quite tell the number of the evening’s casualties; all we knew was that more than one bloody nose and contused cheek were to be seen. The seal was skinned and dressed in Lynn, and Harry had a waistcoat made for himself, and a fine lappet cap for me, which has been a great comfort in winter travelling, when the easterly winds are blowing. The following story of “Barbe Rouge” he kindly touched up, at my request, after I had written it, as I received it from his lips while in a mesmeric state, for, being a story within a story, it is rather difficult of interpretation. The case stands thus: “Barbe Rouge,” a piratical sea dog of the eighteenth century, enacted a tragedy, of which he left a record, which record, a hundred odd years later, was found by my friend, Harry Nilford, on the Isle of Jethou, one of the Channel Isles. The story of the tragedy he committed to memory, and in a hypnotic state recounted to me.[A] Being a complex story I have, as I mention above, requested him to touch it up here and there. This he has done with the following result. [A] Those of my readers who would like to read the adventures of Harry Nilford should obtain _Jethou, or Crusoe Life in the Channel Isles_, published by Messrs. Jarrold and Sons, 10 and 11, Warwick Lane, London, E.C. BARBE ROUGE. Visitors to Guernsey will remember that opposite the entrance to the Harbour of St. Peter Port, at a distance of about three miles, lies a curiously-shaped island called Jethou, which rises from the sea in a graceful curve, and looks at first sight like an immense turtle, or a huge floating dish-cover. It is a small island, probably not more than a third of a mile long and a quarter of a mile broad, but is so steep, that in the centre it reaches an altitude approaching three hundred feet.